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. 166

“So far, well enough,” thought Archie, as he rowed ashore, 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 hoarse, 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 glass 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 167 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 168 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 169 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. 170

“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.

If there was pursuit it did not come within 171 sight. The old schooner came safely to Ruddy Cove, where Bill o’ Burnt Bay, Josiah Cove and Archie Armstrong lived for a time in sickening fear of discovery and arrest. But nothing was ever heard from Saint Pierre. The Heavenly Home had been unlawfully seized by the French; perhaps that is why the Ruddy Cove pirates heard no more of the Miquelon escapade. There was hardly good ground in the circumstances for complaint to the Newfoundland government. At any rate, Archie wrote a full and true statement of the adventure to his father in St. John’s; and his father replied that his letter had been received and “contents noted.”

There was no chiding; and Archie breathed easier after he had read the letter.