The Blue Pavilions Read online

  CHAPTER X.

  THE TRIBULATIONS OF TRISTRAM.

  "I think there must be some mistake," said Tristram, as he turned insurprise and saw a tall man of soldierly presence, with threestalwart comrades immediately behind him.

  "No mistake at all," said the tall man, with conviction. "My ordersare to arrest and convey you back to The Hague."

  "But I am about to leave Holland, and this will cause me considerabledelay."

  "Undoubtedly."

  "In that case," Tristram replied, springing back a pace and whippingout his sword, "I must decline to follow you."

  "Bah! This is folly."

  "On the contrary, it is the conclusion of a valid syllogism which Iwill explain to you if you have time."

  "Seize him!" was the only answer. The four men drew their swords andrushed forward together. Perceiving that he must be skewered againstthe shop door if he awaited their onset, Tristram contented himselfwith disarming his foremost assailant; then, springing wildly back onhis left heel, he spun round and began to run down the street fordear life.

  His movement had been so sudden that he gained a dozen yards beforehis enemies recovered from their surprise and set off in pursuit.Sword in hand, Tristram flew along the causeway, under the highgarden-walls, for the open country and the windmills ahead. He heardthe feet pounding after him, but luckily did not look behind.Therefore he was ignorant that his leading pursuer carried a brace ofpistols in his belt and was pulling one out as he ran.

  It was so, however; and in half a minute the pistol cracked outbehind him--as it seemed, at the very back of his ear.

  He sped on nevertheless, not knowing if he were wounded or not, butvery wisely deciding that this was the surest way to find out.

  As it happened, this pistol-shot proved of the greatest service tohim. For an inquisitive burgher, hearing the outcries along theroad, had popped his head out of his garden door at the very momentthat Tristram whizzed by, followed by the detonation. The burgher,too, was uncertain about the bullet, but determined on the instant totake the gloomier view. He therefore fell across the pavement on hisstomach and bellowed.

  The distraction was so sudden that two of the pursuers tripped overhis prostrate form and fell headlong. Their swords clanged on thecobbles. With the clang there mingled the sound of a muffledexplosion.

  "Curse the idiot! You've killed him, Dick."

  The pair picked themselves up as their comrades leapt past them.Dick snatched up his second pistol, and resumed the pursuit withouttroubling his head about the burgher.

  The burgher picked himself up and extracted the ball--from the foldsof his voluminous breeches. Then he went indoors for ointment andplaster, the flame of the powder having scorched him severely.Later he had the bent guelder (which had diverted the bullet)fastened to a little gold chain, and his wife wore it always on thefront of her bodice. Finally it became an heirloom in a thrivingDutch family.

  But he was a very slow man, and all this took a considerable time.Meanwhile we have left Tristram running, about thirty yards ahead ofhis foremost enemy.

  He gained the end of the quiet suburb, still maintaining hisdistance, and scanned the landscape in front. Evening was descendingfast. To his right he saw the waters of a broad canal glimmeringunder the grey sky. Straight before him the high-road ran, withoutso much as a tree to shelter him, for miles. On the horizon a scoreof windmills waved their arms like beckoning ghosts. He was a goodswimmer. It flashed upon him that his one hope was to make for thecanal and strike for the farther bank. There was a reasonable chanceof shaking off one or more of his pursuers by this device.

  He leapt the narrow ditch that ran parallel with the road, and beganto bear across the green meadows in a line which verged towards thecanal-bank, at an angle sufficiently acute to prevent his foes fromintercepting him by a short cut. By their shouts he judged that hisguess was fairly correct, and the prospect of having to swim thecanal daunted them somewhat. He looked over his shoulder. The pacehad told upon three of them, but one man had actually gained on him,and could not be more than twenty strides behind.

  "I shall have to settle with this fellow," he thought. "He is goingto catch me up before I reach the bank."

  His first wind was failing him, and his heart began to thump againsthis ribs. He spied a beaten path at this point that trended acrossthe meadow at a blunter angle than the one he was following.Almost unconsciously he began to reason as follows:

  "A beaten path is usually the shortest cut: also, to follow it isusually to escape the risk of meeting unforeseen obstacles. But if Ichange the angle at which I am running for one more obtuse, I give mypursuer the advantage of ten yards or so. Yes; but I shorten thedistance to be covered, and, moreover, this is a long-distance man,and he is wearing me down."

  Though this process of reasoning appeared to him deliberate enough,in point of fact he had worked it out and put the conclusion intopractice in a couple of bounds. As he darted aside and along thefootpath he could hear the momentary break in his antagonist'sstride.

  Tristram had hardly turned into this footpath, however, before he sawthe occasion of it. Just before him lay a plank, and beneath theplank a sunken dyke, dividing the meadow so unexpectedly that atfifty yards' distance the green lips seemed to meet in one continuousstretch of turf. And yet the dyke was full forty feet wide.He leapt on to the swaying bridge and across to the farther edge,almost without a glance at the sluggish black water under his feet.

  It is probable that his sudden weight jolted the plank out of itsposition. For hardly was he safe on the turf again when he heard asharp cry. Throwing a look behind, he saw his pursuer totter, clutchat the slipping timber, and, still clutching at it, turn a somersaultand disappear.

  Tristram ran on. Then a series of shouts rang in his ear, and helooked behind again. The other three men had come up, and wererunning aimlessly to and fro upon the farther bank. From the pit attheir feet rose a gurgling and heartrending appeal for help. It wasplain the poor fellow was drowning, and equally plain that hiscomrades could not swim. Tristram took a couple of strides, andhalted. Then he faced about and walked back towards the dyke, hisheart still knocking against his ribs.

  "Help! help!" resounded from the depths of the dyke.

  "Gentlemen," said Tristram, "are you aware that your comrade isperishing?"

  They stared at him helplessly. Without more to-do he slipped off hisshoes, and sliding down the bank, flung himself forward into the icywater. In two strokes he was able to grasp the drowning man by thecollar and began to tug him towards the bank.

  But it appeared that the fellow had other views on the right methodof being saved: for, casting his arms about Tristram's neck andwreathing them tightly, he not only resisted all efforts to drag himashore, but began to throttle his rescuer. In the struggle both wentunder.

  As the water closed over them the drowning man relaxed his hold alittle, and Tristram, breaking free, rose to the surface coughing andspouting like a whale. Another moment, and a hand appeared above thewater, its fingers hooked like a bird's talons. This grisly appealdetermined Tristram to make another attempt. He kicked out, seizedthe uplifted arm just around the wrist, and with half a dozen fiercestrokes managed to gain the bank at the feet of his enemies.While he dug a hand into the soft mud and paused for a moment toshift his hold and draw breath, one of the three unclasped a leathernbelt and dangled it over the brink. Tristram reached out, caught itby the buckle, and was helped up with his burden. Two pairs ofstrong arms grasped and pulled him forward.

  "Turn him--on his face and let the water--run out; then on his back--give him air!" he gasped, and with that fainted clean away on thegreen turf.

  When his senses came back, the three men were bending over him.

  "Where is the other one?" he asked feebly.

  "Oh, Dick's all right." And indeed Dick was sitting up a few pacesoff, and coughing violently.

  "But look here, you've played us a pretty trick!" the
voice went on.

  Tristram did not know that his wig had been lost in the struggle, orthat the burnt cork which Captain Salt had applied was now runningacross his face in a vague smear. He had forgotten all about hisdisguise.

  "I was thinking," he answered simply, "that you might give me thestart I held before this happened. Fifteen yards, gentlemen, is asnear as I can guess it. Don't you think that would be fair!"

  "But why should we chase you at all?"

  "Upon my word, sirs, _I_ don't know. I took it for granted that youmust have some motive."

  "So we had; but it appears that you are not Captain Salt."

  "That is certain. A man cannot well be his own father."

  "But you are disguised to resemble him."

  "Ah! I remember. It was a fancy of his to dress me thus, an hourback. But stop a minute--I begin to perceive. You were after myfather?"

  "Yes, to arrest him. The King suspects him of carrying treasonablepapers."

  As the full treachery of his father's conduct began to dawn uponTristram, they heard the clatter of hoofs on the road at their back,and turned. A thin moon hung in the twilight sky. It was just thathour before dark when the landscape looks flat to the eye, and formsat a little distance grow confused in outline. Yet they could seethe horseman plainly enough to recognise him. It was Captain Saltwho flew past, well out of pistol-shot, and headed southwards at astretch-gallop, his hands down and his shoulders bent as he rode.

  "Devil seize him if he hasn't got my mare!" roared the man Dick,forgetting his cough and leaping to his feet. "I can tell the sorrela mile away!"

  Then followed a dismayed silence as they watched the escaping rider.

  "She's the best nag of the four, too," one of the men mutteredgloomily.

  "Boys," said the fellow who had first arrested Tristram, "he's doneus for a certainty. In an hour or two he'll reach the Frenchoutposts. We must go back and patch up the best story we can find.Young man," he added, turning sharply, "I'd like to be certain you'reas big a fool as you make out. Where d'ye come from, and where areye bound for?"

  Tristram told his story ingenuously enough.

  "We'll have to search you."

  They searched him and found a sealed packet.

  "What is this?"

  "Pepper-cress seed."

  "Pepper-cress be damned!" was the only comment.

  However, when the packet was opened it was found that he spoke thetruth.

  "Well, we can't take you along with us, or we shall have to tell hisMajesty the truth; which is something more improbable than I care torisk. Moreover, you've saved a comrade--"

  "And many thanks for it, my lad," Dick added, shaking Tristram by thehand.

  "Therefore you're free to go. The question is, where you do want togo?"

  "Harwich."

  "Harwich is a long way; and you've lost your passport. However,there's a chance you may find a boat on the coast to smuggle youover. Cross the canal yonder, and bear away to the west. There's aroad'll take you to Nieupoort. But first you'll have to pass thiscursed dyke, unless you care to follow us back to the town and walkround."

  "Thank you, no; I'll push on. I've crossed the dyke twice alreadythis evening, and a second wetting won't matter much. Besides, I seemy sword and shoes lying on the other bank."

  He said farewell, slid down into the dyke again, and swam across.Then, regaining his property, he turned, called back another "Goodnight!" and bore resolutely across the meadow, the water squishing inhis shoes at every step. The one purpose in his head was to reachthe coast. He was young and sick of heart, but his gentle mindabhorred from considering his father's baseness. He thought only ofhome and Sophia.

  In a minute or two he began to run; for the night air searched hissodden clothes and chilled him. The sky was starless, too, but hesaw the dull gleam of the canal, and made for it. Then he followedthe towpath southward for half a mile, and came to a bridge, andcrossing it found himself upon a firm high-road leading (as itseemed) straight towards the west, for it certainly diverged from thecanal at something like a right angle. Unfortunately, Tristram couldnot see in the gloom that the canal here took a sharp bend inland,and in consequence he tramped on with his face set almost due south,nothing doubting of his direction, but hoping, as each hour passed,that the next would bring him within sound of the surf. The road ranstraight for mile after mile. Now and again he passed a smallcabaret brightly lit and merry with a noise of talk and laughterthat warmed his heart for a moment. In the stretches of darknessbetween he met one or two wayfarers, who wished him "Good night" ingruff voices and passed on. Not understanding what they said, hemade no reply, but pushed forward briskly, breaking into a runwhenever the cold began to creep upon him. By and by the road wascompletely deserted. The lights no longer shone from the lowerfloors of the wayside cottages, but, after lingering for a while inthe bedroom windows, vanished altogether. The whole country slept.Then followed hour after hour of dogged walking. A thick hazeencircled the moon, and under it a denser exhalation began to creepup from the sodden land. In the silence the fog gathered till itseemed to bar the way like a regiment of white ghosts, wavering andclosing its ranks as the wind stirred over the levels. This windbreathed on his right cheek steadily. He never guessed that it camefrom the sea, nor remembered that when he ran towards the canal ithad been blowing full in his face.

  It was in the chilliest hour--the one before dawn--that a voicesuddenly called out from the fog ahead:

  "_Qui va la?_"

  Tristram halted, then took another step forward in some uncertainty.

  The voice repeated its challenge in an angrier tone; and this timeour hero stood stock-still. The misfortune was that he knew not aword of the French language.

  Once more the voice called. Then a trigger clicked, a yellow flareleapt out on the fog with a roar, and something sang by Tristram'sear. He jumped off the road and pelted across the meadow to hisright. A second shot was sent after him, but this time very wide ofits mark. Then, as it seemed, at his very feet a dozen black formsrose out of the earth. He tripped over one and went floundering onto his nose. As his hands touched the ground, a score of brightsparks flew up and were extinguished. With a cry of pain he rolledupon his back, and was at once pinned to the ground by a dozen firmhands.

  He had blundered full-tilt across the embers of a French camp-fire.

  A lantern was lit and thrust close to his face. He blinked painfullyfor a moment or two, and then perceived that he lay within a circleof fierce, grey-coated soldiers, who were putting him a score ofquestions in a tongue which he felt sure it would take him a year tomaster.

  He endeavoured to say so.

  "Ar-r-rh!" exclaimed one of the soldiers, spitting contemptuously,"_C'est un Anglais_."

  "_Espion!_"

  "_J'en reponds_." He gave an order, and in a trice Tristram's wristswere strapped together with a handkerchief. Then he was heaved up onhis feet, and a couple of men took him, each by an arm. They wereabout to march him off, when a voice hailed them, and up rode ageneral officer, with two dragoons cantering behind him for escort.

  "_Qu'y a-t-il, mes enfants?_" He had plainly been disturbed by thenoise of the firing.

  The soldiers murmured, "M. de Soisson!" and presented arms.Then they explained matters, and thrust Tristram forward, holding thelantern uncomfortably near his face.

  M. de Soisson began an interrogatory in good French. As the prisonershook his head, he harked back and repeated his questions inextremely bad English. Tristram answered them truthfully, which hadthe effect of raising disbelief in M. de Soisson's breast. After tenminutes this disbelief grew to such an extent that the pepperyofficer turned to the sergeant and ordered Tristram to be taken offto the barn where the deserters were kept under guard.

  This barn lay a mile to the rear, across half a dozen meadows, overwhich Tristram was hurried at a quick trot, with the point of abayonet at his back to discountenance delay. On arriving at thebu
ilding he was held while the sergeant unlocked the door. Then hewas kicked into inner darkness. He stumbled over the legs of a manwho cursed him volubly, and dropped on to a heap of straw.Within ten minutes he was asleep, utterly worn out both in body andmind.

  Three hours passed, and then the door of the barn was flung open andanother sergeant appeared with a squad of soldiers at his back.He strode through the barn, kicking the sleepers, among whom was ourhero. Tristram sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was one of at leastthree dozen poor wretches, hollow-eyed, lean of cheek, and shiveringwith famine, whom the sergeant proceeded to drive into a small crowdnear the entrance, shouting an order which was repeated outside.Six men appeared, each carrying a load of chains. With these hefastened his prisoners together, two-and-two, by the wrist and ankle,and marched them out into the open air.

  Outside the rain was descending sullenly, and in this downpour thecaptives waited for a mortal hour. Then three men came along,bearing trays heaped up with thick hunks of brown bread. A hunk wasdoled out to each of the gang, and Tristram ate his portion greedily,slaking his thirst afterwards by sucking at the sleeve of his cloak.He had hardly done when the sergeant gave the word to march.

  That day they tramped steadily till sunset, when they reached thetown of Courtrai, and were halted on the outskirts. Here theyremained for half an hour in the road while the sergeant sought forquarters. Tristram's comrade--that is to say, the man who wasattached to him by the wrist and ankle--was sulky and extremelydejected. As for Tristram, his very soul shuddered as he looked backupon the journey. He was wet to the skin and aching; his teethchattered with an ague; his legs were so weary that he could scarcelydrag them along. But worse than the shiverings, the weariness, andthe weight of his fetters, were the revolting sights he had witnessedalong the road--men dropping with hunger and faintness, kicked totheir feet again, prodded with bayonets till the blood ran, knoutedwith a thick whip if they broke step, jeered at when they shrieked(as some did) for mercy. There was worse to come, and he alone ofall the gang was ignorant of it. Very merciful was the confusion oftongues which hid that knowledge from him for a few hours.

  At length they were marched back half a mile and turned into a barn,narrower than their shelter of the previous night. Nor was there anystraw in it. They slept on the hard bricks, pillowing their heads oneach other's legs, or lay awake and listened to their fellows' moans.Two sentries with loaded muskets kept guard by the door, and lookedin whenever a chain clanked or some unfortunate began to rave in hissleep. Before morning a third of the gang was sickening forrheumatic fever or typhus. At six o'clock the sergeant entered andexamined them. Then he retired, and came back in another hour with acovered wagon, into which the sick were hoisted and packed likeherrings. All who had power to move their legs were afterwardsturned out and treated to a pound and a half of the "King's bread"and a drink of water before starting. Tristram was one of these.The fever had relieved him of his companion, and this day he marchedwith more comfort, albeit his wrists were bound together and a ropeof ten yards or more tied him by the waist to a couple of fettereddeserters in front.

  The weather had lifted somewhat; but the roads were still heavy, andtheir pace was regulated by the covered wagon, which seemed to loitermalevolently, as if to get every possible jolt out of the ruttedhighway. With every jolt came a scream from one or more of the sickmen inside. Some, however, were past screaming, and babbledcontinuously in high delirium; and the ceaseless, monotonous talk ofthese tortured Tristram's ears from Courtrai to Lille.

  They reached Lille long after dark, and were driven through thestreets, between the bright windows of happier men, to the gloomytower of Saint Pierre, that at this time was set apart forgalley-slaves. On entering the prison they were marshalled in a longcorridor, where a couple of jailers searched them all over.Nothing was found on Tristram but his packet of pepper-cress seed,which the searchers obligingly returned. As soon as this ceremonywas over, all who were not broken with fever were led up two flightsof stone stairs. An iron door was opened, and the sound of heavysnoring struck their ears. Inside they perceived by the light of thejailer's lantern a dozen figures stretched on straw pallets, andbetween the sleepers as many more empty couches, for which thenewcomers were left to scramble. Tristram secured one as the doorclanged and left them in pitch-black night, but gave it up to apitiful wretch who crept near and kissing his hand implored leave toshare it. Curling himself up upon the bare floor, he was quicklyasleep and dreaming of Sophia.

  A hand shook his shoulder and aroused him. Looking up, he saw acouple of villainous faces, which he did not recognise as belongingto the gang he had been walking with for two days. It was morning,as he could perceive by the light that was strained through acobwebbed grating over his head.

  The two men demanded if he wished to be tossed in a blanket.Tristram, not understanding, shook his head.

  They thereupon demanded money and began to threaten. Tristram hitone violently in the eye, and catching the other by the throatpounded his head against the wall of the dungeon. He was surprisedat the strength left in him, and also at a fury which he had neverfelt before in his life. A few of the prisoners roused themselveslistlessly and laughed. He kicked the two fellows out of the way andlay down again.

  Later in the morning he witnessed the game they had meant to playwith him. One of his comrades, a wretched boy, blue with starvation,denied them money, for the simple reason that he had none in hispocket. Four of the old hands thereupon produced a filthycounterpane of coarse cloth and stretched their victim upon it.Then each took a corner, and raising it as high as they could reach,they let the counterpane fall on the stone flooring with a horriblethud. Tristram leapt forward indignantly and caught one of theseruffians a blow on the back of the neck that sent him down like anox. Upon this the other three dropped their sport and fell upon him,like angry women, tooth and nail. Nobody interfered. He was drivenback against the wall, where he leant, just contriving to keep hisadversaries at arm's length with his fists, and feeling, now that thefirst spurt of wrath had left him, that within three minutes he mustfaint from hunger and weakness.

  There is no knowing how the affair would have ended had not the doorbeen thrown open at this moment. A couple of priests advancedbetween the files of prisoners, who sat up at once and started tohowl out a dismal litany at the top of their lungs. Tristram'sassailants left him hurriedly, and, shrinking back to their pallets,began to lift their voices with the rest. The noise was like that ofa cat's battle, and the priests marched to and fro while itcontinued, smiling to left and right and exhorting the poor devils toan increase of fervour. One of them spied Tristram and whispered tohis brother; and the pair seemed about to address him, when threejailers entered with large trays, bearing the prisoners' breakfasts.The litany ceased and the singers glanced at these trays with greedyeyes.

  It proved to be the best meal that Tristram had swallowed since hismisfortunes began, there being a pint of soup to each man in additionto the usual brown bread. After devouring it, Tristram sat with hisback to the wall, wondering if the three ruffians would renew theirattack; but they appeared to have forgotten their resentment, andeven his presence. Some of his fellow-miserables fell to chatting;others to plaiting ropes out of the straw on which they lay; whilesome occupied themselves in keeping a look out for the rats thatswarmed everywhere and stole out in the dim light to gnaw the piecesof bread which the prisoners saved and hid away for future use.

  About four in the afternoon the great door was flung open again andthe chief jailer appeared, with four turnkeys and the soldiers of theprison guard, all armed to the teeth with pistols, swords andbayonets. Their object, it turned out, was to examine the four wallsand the floor very minutely, to see if the prisoners were making anyholes or planning any attempt to escape. They spent a full half anhour in routing out the prisoners and searching high and low withtheir lanterns, using great roughness and the most abominable talk.Tristram watched their movements for some tim
e, but at length curledhimself up in his corner, which had already been explored. He wasclosing his eyes, and putting a finger in each ear to shut out theriot, when a smart blow descended across his thighs.

  One of the soldiers was belabouring him with the flat of a sword, asa hint to stand up.

  Tristram did so, and now observed that a dozen of the men with whomhe had marched during the two previous days were collected in alittle group by the door. He was taken by the arms and hustledforward to join them. As he came close and could see their faces inthe dingy twilight, he saw also that, though big, strapping fellows,the most of them were weeping, and shivering like conies in a trap.

  He was still wondering at the cause of their agitation when thejailer reopened the door and they were marched out, down the stonestairs, then sharply to the right and along a narrow corridor.A lamp flickered at the farther end, over a small door studded withiron nails; and before this door another small company of soldierswas drawn up in two rows of six, with their backs to either wall ofthe corridor. Between them the prisoners were forced to defile,still cringing and weeping, as the small door opened and they passedinto the chamber beyond.

  And now for the first time Tristram felt thoroughly alarmed.The chamber was narrow and lofty, and without any window that hecould perceive. But just now it was full of a red light that pouredout through the eyes of a charcoal brazier in the far corner.Two grim figures in leathern aprons stood over this brazier, with theglare on their brutal faces--the one puffing with a pair of bellowstill the room was filled with suffocating vapours, the other diving ahandful of irons into the glowing centre, wherein five or six alreadyglowed at a red heat.

  Beside them, and watching these operations with a business-like air,stood a gentleman in a handsome suit and plumed hat.

  "_Premiree fournee!_" announced the sergeant in a loud tone,marshalling the prisoners along the wall. Four or five of them hadby this time broken out into loud sobs and cries for mercy.The gentleman scarcely turned his head, but continued to watch theheating of the irons. At length, satisfied that all was ready, heturned and walked in front of the line, examining each prisonerattentively with an absolutely impassive face.

  Coming to Tristram--who by this time was committing his fate toHeaven--he paused for a moment, and beckoning the sergeant put aquestion or two. The sergeant shrugged his shoulders and spread outboth palms apologetically. Then the gentleman addressed a sentenceto Tristram, and receiving no answer but a shake of the head, castabout for a moment and began again in English.

  "You are Englishman?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Not French deserter?"

  "Certainly not."

  "Then what the devil you do here?"

  This was a question that seemed to require a deal of answering.While Tristram was perpending how best to begin, his interrogatorspoke again:

  "Speak out. I am M. de Lambertie, Grand Provost of Flanders.You had better speak me the truth."

  Our hero began a recital of his woes, condensing as well as he could.After a minute, M. de Lambertie interrupted him.

  "I beg your pardon. I speak the English ver' well; but _mordieu_ ifI can comprehend a word as you speak it! _Tenez donc_--You are a spy?"

  "Not a bit."

  "Well, well," said the Grand Provost, altogether gravelled, "you_must_ be something--come!"

  He called the sergeant again; who plainly could give no information,and was quite as plainly surprised that any fuss should be made overan affair so trivial. Indeed, the sergeant ventured to suggest thatTristram should be branded on the off-chance of its turning out forhis good.

  "But no," said M. de Lambertie, "I am a man of justice and of logic.It is incredible that a youth who cannot speak a word but Englishshould be a deserter from our Majesty's army. Moreover, I am aphysiognomist, and his face is honest. Therefore," concluded the manof logic, "he shall go to the galleys."

  This was interpreted to Tristram, who found the argument fallacious,but fell on his knees and kissed M. de Lambertie's hand.

  "Take him away," said the Grand Provost. He was dragged to his feetand led to the door, followed by the desperate eyes of his comrades.He heard their sobs and outcries renewed above the steady pant of thebellows. Then the door clanged. The soldiers took him upstairs andcast him back into the great dungeon.

  The next morning he started in a chain of thirty-five slaves for thegalleys at Dunkirk.