A Ladder of Swords: A Tale of Love, Laughter and Tears. Gilbert Parker

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СКАЧАТЬ target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#fb3_img_img_1798f4a3-711f-5632-900a-cdde05e4eeff.jpg" alt=""/> FOR weeks De la Forêt and Buonespoir had lain in hiding at St. Brieuc. At last Buonespoir declared all was ready once again. He had secured for the Camisard the passport and clothes of a priest who had but just died at Granville. Once again they made the attempt to reach English soil.

      Standing out from Carteret on the Belle Suzanne, they steered for the light upon the Marmotier Rocks of the Ecréhos, which Angèle had paid a fisherman to keep going every night. This light had caused the French and English frigates some uneasiness, and they had patrolled the Channel from Cap de la Hague to the Bay of St. Brieuc with a vigilance worthy of a larger cause. One fine day an English frigate anchored off the Ecréhos, and the fisherman was seized. He, poor man, swore that he kept the light burning to guide his brother fishermen to and fro between Boulay Bay and the Ecréhos. The captain of the frigate tried severities; but the fisherman stuck to his tale, and the light burned on as before—a lantern stuck upon a pole. One day, with a telescope, Buonespoir had seen the exact position of the staff supporting the light and had mapped out his course accordingly. He would head straight for the beacon and pass between the Marmotier and the Maître Ile, where is a narrow channel for a boat drawing only a few feet of water. Unless he made this he must run south and skirt the Écrivière Rock and bank, where the streams setting over the sandy ridges make a confusing, perilous sea to mariners in bad weather. Or he must sail north between the Ecréhos and the Dirouilles, in the channel called Étoc, a tortuous and dangerous passage save in good weather, and then safe only to the mariner who knows the floor of that strait like his own hand. De la Forêt was wholly in the hands of Buonespoir, for he knew nothing of these waters and coasts; also he was a soldier and no sailor.

      They cleared Cape Carteret with a fair wind from the northeast, which should carry them safely as the bird flies to the haven of Rozel. The high, pinkish sands of Hatainville were behind them; the treacherous Taillepied rocks lay to the north, and a sweet sea before. Nothing could have seemed fairer and more hopeful. But a few old fishermen on shore at Carteret shook their heads dubiously, and at Port Bail, some miles below, a disabled naval officer, watching through a glass, rasped out, “Criminals or fools!” But he shrugged his shoulders, for if they were criminals he was sure they would expiate their crimes this night, and if they were fools—he had no pity for fools.

      But Buonespoir knew his danger. Truth is, he had chosen this night because they would be safest from pursuit, because no sensible seafaring man, were he king’s officer or another, would venture forth upon the impish Channel save to court disaster. Pirate and soldier in priest’s garb had frankly taken the chances.

      With a fair wind they might, with all canvas set—mainsail, foresail, jib, and foretopsail—make Rozel Bay within two hours and a quarter. All seemed well for a brief half-hour. Then, even as the passage between the Marmotier and the Ecréhos opened out, the wind suddenly shifted from the northeast to the southwest and a squall came hurrying on them—a few moments too soon; for, had they been clear of the Ecréhos, clear of the Taillepieds, Felée Bank, and the Écrivière, they could have stood out towards the north in a more open sea.

      Yet there was one thing in their favor: the tide was now running hard from the northwest, so fighting for them while the wind was against them. Their only safety lay in getting beyond the Ecréhos. If they attempted to run in to the Marmotier for safety, they would presently be at the mercy of the French. To trust their doubtful fortunes and bear on was the only way. The tide was running fast. They gave the mainsail to the wind still more, and bore on towards the passage. At last, as they were opening on it, the wind suddenly veered full northeast. The sails flapped, the boat seemed to hover for a moment, and then a wave swept her towards the rocks. Buonespoir put the helm hard over, she went about, and they close-hauled her as she trembled towards the rocky opening.

      This was the critical instant. A heavy sea was running, the gale was blowing hard from the northeast, and under the close-hauled sail the Belle Suzanne was lying over dangerously. But the tide, too, was running hard from the south, fighting the wind, and at the moment when all seemed terribly uncertain swept them past the opening and into the swift-running channel, where the indraught sucked them through to the more open water beyond.

      Although the Belle Suzanne was in more open water now, the danger was not over. Ahead lay a treacherous sea, around them roaring winds, and the perilous coast of Jersey beyond all.

      “Do you think we shall land?” quietly asked De la Forêt, nodding towards the Jersey coast.

      “As many chances ’gainst it as for it, m’sieu’,” said Buonespoir, turning his face to the north, for the wind had veered again to northeast, and he feared its passing to the northwest, giving them a head-wind and a swooping sea.

      Night came down, but with a clear sky and a bright moon, the wind, however, not abating. The next three hours were spent in tacking, in beating towards the Jersey coast under seas which almost swamped them. They were standing off about a mile from the island, and could see lighted fires and groups of people upon the shore, when suddenly a gale came out from the southwest, the wind having again shifted. With an oath Buonespoir put the helm hard over, the Belle Suzanne came about quickly, but as the gale struck her the mast snapped like a pencil, she heeled over, and the two adventurers were engulfed in the waves.

      A cry of dismay went up from the watchers on the shore. They turned with a half-conscious sympathy towards Angèle, for her story was known by all, and in her face they read her mortal fear, though she made no cry, but only clasped her hands in agony. Her heart told her that yonder Michel de la Forêt was fighting for his life. For an instant only she stood, the terror of death in her eyes, then she turned to the excited fishermen near.

      “Men, oh men!” she cried, “will you not save them? Will no one come with me?”

      Some shook their heads sullenly, others appeared uncertain, but their wives and children clung to them, and none stirred. Looking round helplessly, Angèle saw the tall figure of the Seigneur of Rozel. He had been watching the scene for some time. Now he came quickly to her.

      “Is it the very man?” he asked her, jerking a finger towards the struggling figures in the sea.

      “Yes, oh yes,” she replied, nodding her head, piteously. “God tells my heart it is.” Her father drew near and interposed.

      “ ‘LET US KNEEL AND PRAY FOR TWO DYING MEN’ ”

      “Let us kneel and pray for two dying men,” said he, and straightway knelt upon the sand.

      “By St. Martin, we’ve better medicine than that, apothecary!” said Lemprière of Rozel, loudly, and, turning round, summoned two serving-men. “Launch my strong boat,” he added. “We will pick these gentlemen from the brine or know the end of it all.”

      The men hurried gloomily to the long boat, ran her down to the shore and into the surf.

      “You are going—you are going to save him, dear seigneur?” asked the girl, tremulously.

      “To save him—that’s to be seen, mistress,” answered Lemprière, and advanced to the fishermen. By dint of hard words and as hearty encouragement and promises, he got a half-dozen strong sailors to man the boat.

      A moment after, they were all in. At a motion from the seigneur the boat was shot out into the surf, and a cheer from the shore gave heart to De la Forêt and Buonespoir, who were being driven upon the rocks.

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