George Henty - Under Wellington's Command - A Tale of the Peninsular War

Terence's motive for speaking to the men was to discover whether they were forbidden to talk, and it was satisfactory to find that, if there was such a rule, it was by no means strictly observed. Leaning on the parapet, he and Ryan stood for some time looking at the sea. There were many fishing boats dotting its surface, and the tapering masts of two schooners could be seen near the mouth of the river.

"I have no doubt that they are privateers," Terence said. "They have just the appearance of that fellow we captured on the way out. One would not have much chance of getting far in a boat, with those fellows after us.

"It seems to me that, if it could possibly be managed, our safest plan would be to lie quiet in the town for a week or so, after we got out; then it would be comparatively safe to get hold of a boat and make off in it."

"Yes, if that could be managed, it certainly would be the safest plan. If we changed our minds about making off by sea, we might then be able to pass out through the fortifications, without question. Of course, they would be vigilant for a short time after we were missing; but I suppose that, at ordinary times, the country people would go in and out unquestioned, just as in any other town for, with no enemy nearer than Portugal, there could be no occasion whatever for watchfulness."

Terence and his companion had seen nothing of their friends on parole, as these, they found, although lodged in prison for their own convenience, were not permitted to have any communication with the other prisoners. Ten days after they arrived at Bayonne, the warder, who had, since he first spoke to them, said nothing beyond the usual salutations, remarked carelessly:

"The soldiers who came down with you took up the prison duties last night. My cousin told me to say that you will know him, and four or five of his comrades of the 72nd of the line, all of whom are thoroughly in agreement with him, by their saying as you pass them:

"'The morning is fair, Colonel.'

"To any of them you can speak, when you find an opportunity of doing so, unobserved."

"Thank you; but will it not be safer for them were you to carry my messages?"

"No; I cannot do that," the warder said. "I think that it is quite right that my cousin, and his comrades, should do anything in their power to aid those who stood by them when attacked; but I wish to know nothing about it. It must be between you and them, for I must be able to swear that I had no hand in the matter, and that I locked you up safely, at night."

"You are quite right, Jean. It is much the best plan that it should be so. I certainly should not, myself, like to know that in making my escape I might endanger the life of one who had acted simply from kindness of heart; and trust that no suspicion, whatever, will fall upon you. I thank you most heartily for having brought me the message from your cousin, and for the goodwill that you have shown us."

When Terence and Ryan went out as usual, after breakfast, all the sentries they passed saluted, as if to one of their own officers. They of course returned the salute, and made a cheery remark to each, such as "Rather a change, this, from our work up in the hills, lad," to which each gave some short and respectful answer, three of them prefacing it with the words: "The morning is fair, mon Colonel ".

Two of these had the number of their regiment on their shako. The other, who had a deep and scarcely-healed scar over the ear, only wore a forage cap, having evidently lost his shako when wounded.

"What do you mean by saluting a prisoner," a French staff officer, when he was passing, angrily asked an old soldier. "You have been long enough in the service, surely, to know that prisoners are not saluted."

The soldier stood at attention.

"Monsieur le Capitaine," he said, "I am not saluting a prisoner. I am saluting a brave officer, whose orders I have obeyed in a hard fight, and to whom I and my comrades probably owed our lives. A mark of respect is due to a brave man, whether a prisoner of war or not."

The officer passed on without answering and, arriving at headquarters, reported the circumstances to the general.

"I am not surprised, Captain Espel," the latter replied, with a slight smile. "A French soldier knows how to respect bravery, and in this case there is little doubt that, but for the assistance of their prisoners, it would have gone very hard with that detachment. That young officer who, strangely enough, is a colonel, was a prisoner when he fought side by side with these men; and it is but natural that they scarcely regard him as one, now. He has refused to give his parole, and I am afraid he means to try to make his escape. I am sorry for, should he do so, he is sure to be captured again."

The third one of the 72nd men, the one with a forage cap, chanced to be posted at the point of the wall that was not overlooked and, after he had repeated the formula agreed upon, Terence said to him:

"You are one of those lads who sent me a message that you would assist me, if you could."

"That is so, mon Colonel. You assisted us when we were somewhat hotly pressed, and tis but good comradeship to repay such a service, if one can. We have been thinking it over and, although it would not be difficult for you to escape from here, we do not see how you are to be got out of the town."

"That is the difficulty I see myself," Terence replied. "We could not hope to pass through the circle of fortifications and, were we to take a boat and make off, we should be pursued and recaptured, to a certainty; for of course, as soon as our escape was known, there would be a hot search made for us.

"There are two things needed. The first is disguises. The second is a shelter, until the search for us slackens, after which it would be comparatively easy for us to make off."

"What sort of disguises would you want, monsieur?"

"If we go by land, peasant dresses; if by water, those of fishermen. We have money, which I can give you to purchase these."

"That we could do for you, monsieur, but the hiding place is more difficult. However, that we will see about. I am a native here, and have of course many friends and acquaintances in the town. When we have made our plans I will let you know. I will manage that, when it is my turn for duty, I will always be posted here; and then I can tell you what is arranged, and give you whatever is necessary to aid you to make your escape. My cousin, Jean Monier, will shut his eyes; but he will not do anything himself, and I think that he is right, for of course he will be the first to be suspected.

"As for us, it will be no matter. Everyone knows how you stood by us, and they will guess that some of us have had a hand in it; but they will never find out which of us was chiefly concerned. I expect that soon we shall all be taken off this prison duty, for which we shall not be sorry, and sent back to Spain with the first detachment that comes along; but after all, one is not so badly off in Spain, and certainly Madrid is a good deal more lively than Bayonne."

"I suppose," Terence said, nodding towards their guard, who was standing a few paces away gazing over the country, "he knows nothing about this."

"No, monsieur, we have kept it to just the men of our own regiment; but all feel the same about your being kept a prisoner, and there is no fear of his telling anyone that you spoke to one man more than another, when it is found out that you have escaped. Still, it might be as well that you should not speak to me again, until I tell you that it is a fine morning; for although all our own men can be trusted, if any of the regular prison warders was to notice anything he would not be slow in mentioning it, in hope of getting promotion."

Accordingly Terence made a point of only passing along that part of the wall once a day, and merely saying a word to the soldier, as he did to others, on the occasions when he was on duty.