Kilgorman Part 28

Still my name was held back. Either they had overlooked it in the crowd, or had marked it through as dead already, or considered it less important than others who had more pressing claims on the executioner's knife.

Hope rose within me. I became so used to being pa.s.sed that I ceased to expect anything else, and only counted the days till the blood-red cloud should have drifted past and left me free.

When, therefore, on the very night that news had come in that Robespierre had indeed fallen, and was even then before his judges, I heard the name "Regnier" read off the fatal list, I broke into a cold sweat of amazement and terror, and fancied myself in a dream.

My name was the last on the list. With a dreadful fascination I watched the turnkey chalk it on the door and the governor fold up his paper and stick it in his belt. Then as they turned to the door despair seized me. But before they could leave, a sudden clamour at the far end of the room detained them. One of the condemned, driven mad by the announcement of his doom, had sprung to the window and was tearing at the bars with such superhuman force that they promised at any moment to yield.

The jailer and his men made a dash to seize him, and in that moment I slipped out of the half-closed door, stopping only to wipe out my name with my cap as I pa.s.sed, and crept into the courtyard.

No one could have seen my departure, for though I lay hid an hour under the shadow of the wall, and even saw the jailer and his men cross the court, there was no hue and cry or alarm of an escape. Nor, I surmise, did any one even of my fellow-prisoners, distracted as they were by their own concerns and the excitement of the madman's attempt, miss me.

My only hope now lay in patience and prudence. To scale the wall I knew was impossible. To steal through the governor's office would mean instant detection. But to wait where I was was my only chance.

I had studied the ways of the place enough to know that on the stroke of six the outer gates swung open to admit the carts which were to carry to the scaffold the victims of the day. I knew, too, since the horse- master I had served had often supplied carts on an emergency, that these vehicles were usually sent in charge of common carters, one man often being in charge of two or three. These men, having deposited their carts in the yard, were wont to go off to breakfast and return in an hour to convey their freight under an escort of Guards to the place of execution.

Their daily arrival was now so common an occurrence that it attracted little attention inside or out. Indeed, the gate was often left standing open a minute or two while some parley was taking place; for no prisoners were allowed in the court till after the departure of the procession, and no precautions therefore seemed necessary for closing it with special celerity.

This, then, was my hope. Could I but lie _perdu_ beside the gate till the time of opening, I might in a happy moment slip out. As if to favour me, a cart of straw intended for the floors of the prison rooms had been admitted into the court the night before, and stood drawn up close to the gate. It was not difficult to conceal myself at the tail of this, under the straw, and so remain unseen, not only by the carters that entered, but by the turnkey that let them in. By equal good fortune, the owner of the cart had left his coat and whip and cap behind him, thus giving me just a disguise that suited me best.

The night--it was July then--seemed interminable; and with morning a drenching rain set in that found its way through the straw and soaked me to the skin. I heard the city without gradually waking up. Market- carts rumbled in the roads, the shrill cry of the street vendors sounded in the air, and above all was the heavy splash of the rain.

At last a long low sound fell on my ear, which I knew only too well to proclaim the approach of the carts crawling in our direction. Nearer and nearer they came till they stopped at the gate, and the familiar bell tolled out. I heard the footsteps of the warder plas.h.i.+ng across the yard, growling at the rain. Then I heard the grating of the bolts as they were slowly drawn back, and the creaking of the gates on their hinges. Then the rumble began again, and one by one the carts drew up into the yard. There were eight of them, and as I peeped out I could see that the last three were all in charge of one driver, who rode on the leader. The warder, impatient to return to shelter, called to this man to see the bolts made fast after him, which the man, a surly fellow and hardly sober, grumblingly promised to do at his own convenience.

Now was my chance. I slipped from my hiding-place, clad in the driver's blouse and peaked cap, with a whip over my shoulder and a straw between my lips, and strolled quietly and to all appearance unconcernedly out into the street. If any saw me come out, they probably set me down as one of the tumbrel drivers on his way to breakfast, and paid me no more heed than such a fellow deserved; indeed less, for on that day of all others Paris was in a tremendous ferment. The tocsin was ringing from the steeples, there was a rush of people towards the Tuileries, and cries of "_A bas Robespierre_"--the most wonderful cry Paris had heard yet.

In the midst of it all I walked unchallenged to the Quai Necker. Alas!

any hopes I had of comfort there were vanished. The familiar top storey stood empty, with the hole still in the roof, and six doors away, where I had left them last, the attic was empty too.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

A VOICE IN THE DARK.

All Paris seemed up that morning, hurrying to the scene of the day's wonder. There was a rumour of fighting in the streets, of guns being pointed against the sacred doors of the Convention, of tyrants fallen and heads to fall. To Paris, sick of blood and strained by terror, it seemed like the end of all things, and the people with one accord rushed eastward to witness the dawn of their new revolution.

I, who had had enough of revolutions, wandered disconsolately westward along the river-bank till the rush was over and the sounds behind me grew faint in the distance. Where next? I asked myself. Whether Citizen Robespierre fell or not, there was not much quarter to be hoped for by a runaway from the Conciergerie. Paris was a rat-trap still, and though large, I should be cornered sooner or later.

As I ruminated thus, I came to a bridge below which was moored a barge, laden with goods and spread over with its great waterproof sheet, ready to drop down the stream. How I envied the two men in charge of her, to whom the barrier of the city would offer no obstacle, and who were free to go in and out of the rat-trap as they pleased!

Apparently they were not so sensible of their good fortune as I was, for they were quarrelling angrily, and filling the air with their insults and recriminations.

"Villain! robber!" I heard one say, who seemed to be a.s.sistant to the other, "I demand what is due to me."

"It will be paid you at Rouen, fool," said the other.

"I shall not be there to receive it," snarled the other. "I will have it here, or nowhere."

"What, you will dare to desert! It is treason against the Republic whom we serve. I will denounce you."

"Idiot, I defy you," exclaimed the man, stripping off his jersey and flinging his red cap on the deck. "I spit on your Republic which does not pay its debts!"

"I promise you shall receive all arrears at Rouen," replied the other.

"I am under penalties to reach Havre in a week."

The mutineer laughed savagely.

"Pay me what you owe me, and you shall reach it."

"At Rouen," persisted the skipper.

"No! here, I tell you."

The skipper's reply was to make a grab at his companion, who, however, was quick enough to elude him and jump ash.o.r.e.

"There, thief and robber, villain and a.s.sa.s.sin, I wash my hands of you!

I have done with you. Reach Havre when you like. Adieu!" and he spat at the barge.

The skipper looked as if he would have followed him, but thought better of it. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled out a cigar. The other, after standing insultingly on the bank for some minutes, heaping all sorts of imprecations and taunts on his late employer, swaggered away, and was presently caught up in a knot of belated sightseers hastening to the scene of the insurrection.

I waited till the coast was clear, and then descended to the river side.

"Citizen bargee," said I, with a salute, "do you want a man to-day?"

The skipper looked up at me and took his cigar from his lips.

"Can you sail a barge?" said he.

"Ay, and tow it too if you like," said I. "And as for wages, suit yourself, and give me what you like at the journey's end."

"I serve the Republic," said the man.

"_Vive la Republique_," said I. "She does not desert her sons."

"Your name?" demanded he. "Belin," said I, inventing a name for the occasion. "You are engaged, Belin," said the skipper; "we start this minute."

With a grateful heart I stepped on board and busied myself with casting loose the rope.

"Observe, Belin," said my new master, noticing approvingly that at least I knew how to handle a rope, "your name under me is Plon, that of a vagabond scoundrel who has just deserted me, and who is named on the way-bill. There are his jersey and his cap; put them on, and keep your counsel."

"Pardon, my captain," said I, when I had obeyed him, "what is our business for the Republic?"

"We carry coats and boots for the Army of the North."

"Long live the Army of the North," said I devoutly.

We soon reached the bridge which marked the boundary of the city. Here our bill of lading was carefully scrutinised, and our cargo inspected to make sure we carried no fugitive hidden in the midst of it.