Billy Topsail & Company Part 20

When they came to the door of Skipper Bill's cell, Archie was endeavouring to evolve a plan for having a word with him without exciting Deschamps' suspicion. The jailer saved him the trouble.

"Monsieur is an American," said Deschamps. "Will he not tell the pig of a Newfoundlander that he shall have no breakfast?"

"Skipper Bill," said Archie, in English, "when I leave here you howl until your throat cracks."

Bill o' Burnt Bay nodded. "How's the wind?" he asked.

"What does the pig of a Newfoundlander say?" Deschamps inquired.

"It is of no importance," Archie replied.

When Archie had inspected the guillotine in the garret, which Deschamps exhibited to every visitor with great pride, the jailer led him to the open air.

"Do the prisoners never escape?" Archie asked.

"Escape!" Deschamps cried, with reproach and indignation. "Monsieur, how could you suggest it? Escape! From me--from _me_, monsieur!" He struck his breast and extended his arms. "Ah, no--they could not! My bravery, monsieur--my strength--all the world knows of them. I am famous, monsieur. Deschamps, the wrestler! Escape! From _me_! Ah, no--it is _impossible_!"

When Archie had more closely observed his gigantic form, his broad, muscular chest, his mighty arms and thick neck, his large, lowering face--when he had observed all this he fancied that a man might as well wrestle with a grizzly as oppose him, for it would come to the same thing in the end.

"You are a strong man," Archie admitted.

"Thanks--thanks--monsieur!" the delighted Deschamps responded.

At that moment, a long, dismal howl broke the quiet. It was repeated even more excruciatingly.

"The pig of a Newfoundlander!" groaned Deschamps. "My head! It is fearful. He will give me the headache."

Archie departed. He was angry with Deschamps for having called Newfoundlanders pigs. After all, he determined, angrily, the jailer was deserving of small sympathy.

CHAPTER XIX

_In Which Archie Armstrong Goes Deeper In and Thinks He Has Got Beyond His Depth. Bill o' Burnt Bay Takes Deschamps By the Throat and the Issue Is Doubtful For a Time_

That afternoon, after a short conversation with Josiah Cove, who had thus far managed to keep out of trouble, Archie Armstrong spent a brief time on the _Heavenly Home_ to attend to the health and comfort of the watchman, who was in no bad way. Perhaps, after all, Archie thought--if Deschamps' headache would only cause the removal of Bill o' Burnt Bay to the dilapidated cell on the ground floor--the _Heavenly Home_ might yet be sailed in triumph to Ruddy Cove. He strutted the deck, when necessary, with as much of the insolence of a civic official as he could command, and no man came near to question his right. When the watchman's friends came from the _Voyageur_ he drove them away in excellent French. They went meekly and with apologies for having disturbed him.

"So far, well enough," thought Archie, as he rowed ash.o.r.e, glad to be off the schooner.

It was after dark when, by appointment, the lad met Josiah. Josiah had provided himself with a crowbar and a short length of line, which he said would be sure to come useful, for he had always found it so. Then the two set off for the jail together, and there arrived some time after the drums had warned all good people to be within doors.

"What's that?" said Josiah of a sudden.

It was a hoa.r.s.e, melancholy croak proceeding from the other side of the wall. The skipper's cell had been changed, as Archie had hoped, and the skipper himself was doing his duty to the bitter end. The street was deserted. They acted quickly. Josiah gave Archie a leg. He threw his jacket over the broken gla.s.s and mounted the wall. Josiah made off at once; it was his duty to have the skiff in readiness.

Archie dropped into the garden.

"Is that you, b'y?" whispered Skipper Bill.

Again Archie once more found it impossible to take the adventure seriously. He began to laugh. It was far too much like the romances he had read to be real. It was play, it seemed--just like a game of smugglers and pirates, played on a summer's afternoon.

"Is it you, Archie?" the skipper whispered again.

Archie chuckled aloud.

"Is the wind in the west?" the skipper asked.

"Ay," Archie replied; "and blowing a smart sailing breeze."

"Haste, then, lad!" said the skipper. "'Tis time t' be off for Ruddy Cove."

The window was low. With his crowbar Archie wrenched a bar from its socket. It came with a great clatter. It made the boy's blood run cold to hear the noise. He pried the second and it yielded. Down fell a block of stone with a crash. While he was feeling for a purchase on the third bar Skipper Bill caught his wrist.

"Hist, lad!"

It was a footfall in the corridor. Skipper Bill slipped into the darkness by the door--vanished like a shadow. Archie dropped to the ground. By what unhappy chance had Deschamps come upon this visitation? Could it have been the silence of Skipper Bill? Archie heard the cover of the grating drawn away from the peep-hole in the door.

"He's gone!"

That was Deschamps' voice. Doubtless he had observed that two bars were missing from the window. Archie heard the key slipped into the lock and the door creak on its hinges. All the time he knew that Skipper Bill was crouched in the shadow--poised for the spring. The boy no longer thought of the predicament as a game. Nor was he inclined to laugh again. This was the ugly reality once more come to face him. There would be a fight in the cell. This he knew. And he waited in terror of the issue.

There was a quick step--a crash--a quick-drawn breath--the noise of a shock--a cry--a groan. Skipper Bill had kicked the door to and leaped upon the jailer. Archie pried the third bar out and broke the fourth with a blow. Then he squirmed through the window. Even in that dim light--half the night light without--he could see that the struggle was over. Skipper Bill had Deschamps by the throat with his great right hand. He had the jailer's waist in his left arm as in a vise, and was forcing his head back--back--back--until Archie thought the Frenchman's spine would crack.

"Don't kill him!" Archie cried.

Skipper Bill had no intention of doing so; nor had Deschamps, the wrestler, any idea of allowing his back to be broken.

"Don't kill him!" Archie begged again.

Deschamps was tugging at that right arm of iron--weakly, vainly tugging to wrench it away from his throat. His eyes were starting from their sockets, and his tongue protruded. Back went the head--back--back! The arm was pitiless. Back--back! He was fordone. In a moment his strength departed and he collapsed. He had not had time to call for help, so quick had been Bill's hand. They bound his limp body with the length of line Josiah had brought, and they had no sooner bound him than he revived.

"You are a great man, monsieur," he mumbled. "You have vanquished me--Deschamps! You will be famous--famous, monsieur. I shall send my resignation to His Excellency the Governor to-morrow. Deschamps--he is vanquished!"

"What's he talkin' about?" the skipper panted.

"You have beaten him."

"Let's be off, b'y," the skipper gasped.

They locked the door on the inside, clambered through the window and scaled the wall. They sped through the deserted streets with all haste. They came to the landing-place and found the skiff tugging at her painter with her sails all unfurled. Presently they were under way for the _Heavenly Home_, and, having come safely aboard, hauled up the mainsail, set the jib and were about to slip the anchor. Then they heard the clang, clang, clang of a bell--a warning clang, clang, clang, which could mean but one thing: discovery.

"Fetch up that Frenchman," the skipper roared.

The watchman was loosed and brought on deck.

"Put un in his dory and cast off," the skipper ordered.

This done the anchor was slipped and the sheets hauled taut. The rest of the canvas was shaken out and the _Heavenly Home_ gathered way and fairly flew for the open sea.