St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in EnglandStevenson, Robert Louis
General
St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
But this was no time to give way. I had (by God’s single mercy) got
myself alive out of that fortress; and now I had to try to get the
others, my comrades. There was about a fathom of rope to spare; I got it
by the end, and searched the whole ground thoroughly for anything to make
it fast to. In vain: the ground was broken and stony, but there grew not
there so much as a bush of furze.
‘Now then,’ thought I to myself, ‘here begins a new lesson, and I believe
it will prove richer than the first. I am not strong enough to keep this
rope extended. If I do not keep it extended the next man will be dashed
against the precipice. There is no reason why he should have my
extravagant good luck. I see no reason why he should not fall—nor any
place for him to fall on but my head.’
From where I was now standing there was occasionally visible, as the fog
lightened, a lamp in one of the barrack windows, which gave me a measure
of the height he had to fall and the horrid force that he must strike me
with. What was yet worse, we had agreed to do without signals: every so
many minutes by Laclas’ watch another man was to be started from the
battlements. Now, I had seemed to myself to be about half an hour in my
descent, and it seemed near as long again that I waited, straining on the
rope for my next comrade to begin. I began to be afraid that our
conspiracy was out, that my friends were all secured, and that I should
pass the remainder of the night, and be discovered in the morning, vainly
clinging to the rope’s end like a hooked fish upon an angle. I could not
refrain, at this ridiculous image, from a chuckle of laughter. And the
next moment I knew, by the jerking of the rope, that my friend had
crawled out of the tunnel and was fairly launched on his descent. It
appears it was the sailor who had insisted on succeeding me: as soon as
my continued silence had assured him the rope was long enough, Gautier,
for that was his name, had forgot his former arguments, and shown himself
so extremely forward, that Laclas had given way. It was like the fellow,
who had no harm in him beyond an instinctive selfishness. But he was
like to have paid pretty dearly for the privilege. Do as I would, I
could not keep the rope as I could have wished it; and he ended at last
by falling on me from a height of several yards, so that we both rolled
together on the ground. As soon as he could breathe he cursed me beyond
belief, wept over his finger, which he had broken, and cursed me again.
I bade him be still and think shame of himself to be so great a cry-baby.
Did he not hear the round going by above? I asked; and who could tell but
what the noise of his fall was already remarked, and the sentinels at the
very moment leaning upon the battlements to listen?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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