The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20Stevenson, Robert Louis
General
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
The round, however, went by, and nothing was discovered; the third man
came to the ground quite easily; the fourth was, of course, child's
play; and before there were ten of us collected, it seemed to me that,
without the least injustice to my comrades, I might proceed to take care
of myself.
I knew their plan: they had a map and an almanac, and designed for
Grangemouth, where they were to steal a ship. Suppose them to do so, I
had no idea they were qualified to manage it after it was stolen. Their
whole escape, indeed, was the most haphazard thing imaginable; only the
impatience of captives and the ignorance of private soldiers would have
entertained so misbegotten a device; and though I played the good
comrade and worked with them upon the tunnel, but for the lawyer's
message I should have let them go without me. Well, now they were beyond
my help, as they had always been beyond my counselling; and, without
word said or leave taken, I stole out of the little crowd. It is true I
would rather have waited to shake hands with Laclas, but in the last man
who had descended I thought I recognised Clausel, and since the scene in
the shed my distrust of Clausel was perfect. I believed the man to be
capable of any infamy, and events have since shown that I was right.
CHAPTER VII
SWANSTON COTTAGE
I had two views. The first was, naturally, to get clear of Edinburgh
Castle and the town, to say nothing of my fellow-prisoners; the second
to work to the southward so long as it was night, and be near Swanston
Cottage by morning. What I should do there and then, I had no guess, and
did not greatly care, being a devotee of a couple of divinities called
Chance and Circumstance. Prepare, if possible; where it is impossible,
work straight forward, and keep your eyes open and your tongue oiled.
Wit and a good exterior--there is all life in a nutshell.
I had at first a rather chequered journey: got involved in gardens,
butted into houses, and had even once the misfortune to awake a sleeping
family, the father of which, as I suppose, menaced me from the window
with a blunderbuss. Altogether, though I had been some time gone from my
companions, I was still at no great distance, when a miserable accident
put a period to the escape. Of a sudden the night was divided by a
scream. This was followed by the sound of something falling, and that
again by the report of a musket from the Castle battlements. It was
strange to hear the alarm spread through the city. In the fortress drums
were beat and a bell rung backward. On all hands the watchmen sprang
their rattles. Even in that limbo or no-man's-land where I was
wandering, lights were made in the houses; sashes were flung up; I could
hear neighbouring families converse from window to window, and at length
I was challenged myself.
"Wha's that?" cried a big voice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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