In its slow but steady revolution, the wheel of fortune had now apparently brought Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter to the lowest possible point; and the former of these worthies consoled himself with the reflection that, as things could scarcely get worse with them, it was probable they would get better.  His friend disputed this point.

“It’s all very well,” said Ben, crossing his legs and clasping his hands over his knees, as he swayed himself to and fro, “to talk about havin’ come to the wüst; but we’ve not got to that p’int by a long way.  Why, suppose that, instead o’ bein’ here, sound in wind and limb, though summat unfort’nate in regard to the matter o’ liberty,-suppose, I say, that we wos lyin’ in hospital with our right legs an’ mayhap our left arms took off with a round shot.”

“Oh, if you go for to supposin’,” said Bill, “you may suppose anything.  Why not suppose at once that we was lyin’ in hospital with both legs and arms took off by round shot, an’ both eyes put out with canister, an’ our heads an’ trunks carried away by grape-shot?”

“I didn’t suppose that,” said Ben quietly, “because that would be the best instead o’ the wüst state we could come to, seein’ that we’d know an’ care nothin’ about it.  Hows’ever, here we are, low enough, an’ havin’ made an assault on the turnkey, it’s not likely we’ll get much favour at the hands of the Mounseers; so it comes to this, that we must set our brains to steep, an’ see if we can’t hit upon some dodge or other to escape.”

“That’s what we must do,” assented Bill Bowls, knitting his brows, and gazing abstractedly at the blank wall opposite.  “To git out o’ this here stone jug is what I’ve set my heart on, so the sooner we set about it the better.”

“Just so,” said Ben.  “Well, then, let’s begin.  Wot d’ye propose fust?”

To this Bill replied that he must think over it.  Accordingly, he did think over it, and his comrade assisted him, for the space of three calendar months, without any satisfactory result.  But the curious thing about it was that, while these men revolved in their minds every conceivable plan with unflagging eagerness, and were compelled to give up each, after brooding over it for a considerable time, finding that it was unworkable, they were not dispirited, but rather became more intense in their meditations, and ingenious as well as hopeful in their devisings.

“If we could only git hold of a file to cut a bar o’ the winder with, an’ a rope to let ourselves down with, I think we could manage to git over the walls somehow.”

“If we was to tear our jackets, trousers, vests, and shirts into strips, an’ make a rope of ’em, it might be long enough,” suggested Bill.

“That’s so, boy, but as we would be stark naked before we got it finished, I fear the turnkey would suspec’ there wos somethin’ wrong somehow.”

Ben Bolter sighed deeply as he spoke, because at that moment a ray of sunshine shot through the little window, and brought the free fresh air and the broad blue sea vividly to his remembrance.  For the first time he experienced a deep sinking of the heart, and he looked at his comrade with an expression of something like despair.

“Cheer up,” said Bill, observing and thoroughly understanding the look.  “Never say die, as long as there’s a-shot-in-”

He was too much depressed and listless to finish the sentence.

“I wonder,” resumed Ben, “if the Mounseers treat all their prisoners of war as bad as they treat us.”

“Don’t think they do,” replied Bill.  “I’ve no doubt it’s ’cause we sarved ’em as we did when they first put us in quod.”

“Oh, if they would only give us summat to do!” exclaimed Ben, with sudden vehemence.

It seemed as if the poor fellow’s prayer were directly answered, for at that moment the door opened, and the governor, or some other official of the prison, entered the cell.

“You must vork,” he said, going up to Bill.

“We’ll be only too glad to work, yer honour, if you’ll give us work to do.”

“Ver’ good; fat can you vork?”

“We can turn handy to a’most anything, yer honour,” said Ben eagerly.

It turned out, however, after a considerable amount of talk, that, beyond steering a ship, reefing topsails, splicing ropes, tying every species of complex knot, and other nautical matters, the two seamen could not claim to be professionally acquainted with any sort of handicraft.  Somewhat discomfited, Ben at last said with a perplexed air-

“Well, yer honour, we’ll try anything ye choose to put us at.  I had a brother once who was a sort of tinker to trade, an’ great at mendin’ pots, pans, old umbrellas, and the like.  I wos used to help him when a boy.  P’r’aps if yer honour, now, has got a old umbrella as wants refittin’, I might try my hand on that.”

The governor smiled.  “Vell, I do tink I have von old omberilla.  You sall try for to mend him.”

Next day saw Bill and Ben surrounded by tools, scraps of wood and whalebone, bits of brass and tin, etcetera, busy as bees, and as happy as any two children who have invented a new game.

Ben mended the umbrella admirably.  At the same time, Bill fashioned and carved two or three paper-knives of wood with great neatness.  But when it was discovered that they could sew sail-cloth expeditiously and well, a quantity of that material was given to them, and they were ordered to make sacks.  They set to work accordingly, and made sack after sack until they grew so wearied of the monotonous work that Ben said it made him wish to sit down in sackcloth and ashes; whereupon Bill remarked that if the Mounseers would only give them the sack altogether, it would be very much to their credit.

Soon the imprisoned mariners began again to plot and plan their escape.  Of course they thought of making ropes of the sail-cloth and twine with which they wrought, but as the turnkey took the material away every night, and brought it back every morning, they gave up this idea, as they had given up many other ideas before.

At last, one afternoon, Bill looked up from his work, hit his thigh a slap which produced a pistol-shot crack that echoed up into the high ceiling of the cell, as he exclaimed, “I’ve got it!”

“I hope you’ll give us a bit of it, then,” said Ben, “if it’s worth havin’.”

“I’ll give you the benefit of it, anyhow,” said Bill, throwing down his tools and eagerly beginning to expound the new plan which had struck him and caused him to strike his thigh.  It was to this effect:-

That they should beg the turnkey to let them have another old umbrella to work at by way of recreation, as the sack-making was rather monotonous; that, if they should be successful in prevailing on him to grant their request, they should work at the umbrella very slowly, so as to give them time to carry out their plan, which was to form a sort of parachute by adding sail-cloth round the margin of the umbrella so as to extend it to twice its circumference.  After it should be finished they were to seize a fitting opportunity, cut the bars of their window, and, with the machine, leap down into the yard below.

“Wot!” exclaimed Ben, “jump together!”

“Ay, why not, Ben?  Sink or swim, together, boy.”

“Very true, but I’ve got my doubts about flyin’ together.  Better do it one at a time, and send the umbrella up by means of a piece of twine.”

“Well, we might do it in that way,” said Bill; “but what d’ye think o’ the plan?”

“Fuss rate,” said Ben, “we’ll try it at once.”

In accordance with this resolution, Ben made his petition that night, very humbly, to the turnkey, who at first turned a deaf ear to him, but was finally prevailed on to fetch them one of his own umbrellas to be repaired.  It happened to be a very large one of the good old stout and bulgy make, and in this respect was the better suited to their purpose.  All the tools necessary for the work of repair were supplied except a file.  This, however, was brought to them, when Ben pointed out, with much earnestness, that if he had such an implement he could clean up and beautify the ivory handle to such an extent that its owner would not recognise it.

This device of improving the ivory handle turned out to be a happy hit, for it enabled Ben to keep the umbrella much longer by him than would otherwise have been possible, for the purpose of covering it with elaborate and really beautiful carving, the progress of which was watched by the turnkey with much interest from day to day.

Having gained their end the sailors wrought with indefatigable zeal, and resolutely overcame the difficulties that met them from time to time.  Each day they dragged the bench under the window.  Ben got upon it, and Bill climbed on his shoulders, by which means he could just reach the iron grating of the window, and there, for half-an-hour at a time, he cautiously used the file.  They thought this enough of time to bestow on the work, because the bars could be easily filed through before the parachute was ready.

In the preparation of the umbrella, the first difficulty that met them was how they were to conceal their private work when the turnkey came in the evenings to take away their materials for sack-making.  After some examination they discovered a plank in the floor, in the corner where they were wont to sleep, which was loose and easily forced up with one of Bill’s unfinished paper-knives, which he made very strong for this special purpose!  Beneath there was sufficient room to stow away the cloth with which they fashioned the additional breadth to the umbrella.  To have cabbaged at one time all the sail-cloth that was required would have risked discovery; they therefore appropriated small scraps each day, and sewed these neatly together until they had enough.  Soon they had a ring of canvas formed, into the centre of which the umbrella fitted exactly, and this ring was so cut and sewn in gores that it formed a continuation of the umbrella, which was thus made to spread out and cover a space of about nine or ten feet in diameter.  All round the extremity or margin of the ring, cords of twisted twine were fixed, at intervals of about six inches.  There were about sixty of these cords or stays, all of which met and were fastened at the end of the handle.  A stout line, made of four-ply twine, was fastened at the top of the umbrella, and passing through a small hole in it was tied round the whalebones inside, and twisted down the stick to the handle, to which it was firmly secured.  By this means the whole machine was, as it were, bound together.

All these additionals and fixings had, however, to be so constructed that they could be removed, or affixed with some rapidity, for there was always before the sailors the chance that the turnkey might look in to observe how their work was progressing.

Indeed one afternoon they were almost discovered at work on the parachute.  The turnkey was heard coming along the passage when Ben was in the act of fitting on the new appendages, and the key was actually in the door before the last shred of them was thrust into the hole in the floor, and the loose plank shut down!  Ben immediately flung several of the sacks over the place, and then turning suddenly round on his comrade began to pommel him soundly by way of accounting for the flushed condition of his countenance.

Thus taken by surprise, Bill returned the blows with interest, and the combatants were separated by the turnkey when in a rather breathless condition!

“If you do so more agin, you sall go separate,” said the turnkey.

The mere thought of separation at such a moment struck like a chill to the hearts of the sailors, who forthwith shook hands, and vowed earnestly that they would “never do it again.”  In order to conciliate the man, Ben took up the umbrella, and pointing to the beautifully carved handle said-

“You see it’s all but finished, and I’m very anxious to git it done, so if you’ll let me keep it by me all to-night, I’ll work as long as I can see, and be at it the first thing in the morning.”

The man, pleased at the unusual interest which Ben took in the worn-out piece of goods, agreed to let him keep it by him.  After carrying away all the other materials, and looking round to see that all was right, he locked them up for the night.

Left to themselves, they at once began to prepare for action.  They drew forth all the different parts of the parachute (for such it really was, although the machine so named had never been seen, but only heard of, by the seamen), and disposed them in such a manner beside the hole in the floor as to be ready at a moment’s notice, either to be fitted on to the umbrella or thrust back into the place of concealment.

Their manacles had been taken off at the time they began to work, so that these were no longer impediments in the way.

“Now, Bill, are the bars sure to give way, d’ye think?”

“Sartin sure,” said Bill; “they’re holdin’ by nothin’ thicker than a pin.”

“Very good, then, let’s go to work.  In an hour or so it will be dark enough to try our flyin’ machine, and then good-bye to France-or to the world.  It’s neck or nothin’, d’ye see?”

“All right,” answered Bill.

They sat down to work in good earnest.  The spreading rim of canvas, instead of being tagged on as on former occasions, was now sewn securely to the umbrella, and when the latter was expanded, the canvas hung down all round it, and the numerous stays hung quite loose.  Ben expected that the rapidity of the descent would suddenly expand this appendage, and check the speed.  The ends of the loose cords were gathered up and fastened to the handle, as was also the binding-cord before referred to-all of which was done with that thoroughness of workmanship for which sailors are celebrated.

Then a stout cord was fastened to one of the stanchions of the window, which had been left uncut for the purpose.

When everything was ready the adventurous sailors began to experience all the anxiety which is inseparable from an action involving much danger, liability to frustration, and requiring the utmost caution combined with energy.

They waited until they thought the night was at its darkest.  When all sounds around them had ceased, they took off their shoes and carefully lifted the bench to the wall under the window.  Ben went up first by mounting on Bill’s shoulders.  With one powerful wrench he pulled the iron framework of the window into the room, and handed it down to Bill, who stooped a little and placed it gently against the wall.  His comrade then thrust his head and shoulders out at the window, and while in that awkward position spread his jacket over the sill.  This was intended to protect the cord which was fastened to the top of the umbrella, and by which it was to be drawn up after his descent.

When this was done, Bill clambered up by the cord which hung from the uncut stanchion, and pushed the umbrella past Ben’s body until he got hold of the end of it, and drew it out altogether.  Bill then descended into the cell, having the small cord in his hand, and watched the motions of his comrade with intense anxiety.

The window was so small that Ben could barely get his head and shoulders through it.  There was no possibility of his getting on his feet or his knees to make a leap.  The only course that remained for him, therefore, was to expand the umbrella, hold on tight, and then wriggle out until he should lose his balance and fall head foremost!  It was an awful position.  Bold though the seaman was, and desperate the circumstances, his strong frame quivered when he gazed down and felt himself gradually toppling.  The height he knew to be little short of sixty feet, but in the dark night it appeared an abyss of horrible profundity.  A cold sweat broke out upon him, and for one moment he felt an almost irresistible tendency to let go the umbrella and clutch the window-sill, but he was too late.  Like lightning he shot down for a couple of yards; then the parachute expanded and checked him with such violence, as he swung round, that he nearly lost his hold and was thrown into a horizontal position-first on one side, then on the other.  Finally, he reached the ground with a shock that almost took away his breath.  He sat still for a moment or two, then rose slowly and shook himself, to ascertain whether he were still alive and sound!  Immediately after he examined the parachute, found it all right, and gave his comrade the signal-a couple of tugs at the cord-to haul up.

Bill was scarcely less agitated than his friend.  He had seen Ben’s legs disappear with a suddenness that told eloquently of his having taken flight, and stood in the cell above listening intently, while large drops of perspiration coursed down his face.  On feeling the tug at the string, a mountain appeared to be lifted off his chest.  Carefully he pulled up the umbrella.  When it showed its point above the window-sill he clambered up and went through the same terrible ordeal.  He was not, however, so fortunate as his friend, for, when he jumped, three of the stays gave way, which had the effect of slightly deranging the motion of the umbrella, and he came to the ground with such violence that he lay stunned and motionless, leading his horrified comrade to fear that he was killed.  In a few minutes, however, he revived, and, on examination, found that no bones had been broken.

“Now, Ben, what next?” said Bill, getting up, and giving himself a shake.

“The wall,” said Ben, “can’t be far from where we stand.  If there wos only a bit of moonshine it would help us.”

“Better as it is,” whispered Bill, groping about, for the night was so intensely dark that it was scarcely possible to see a yard.  “I knows the way to the harbour, if we only manage to get out.-Ah, here’s the wall, but it’s an oncommon high one!”

This was indeed too true.  The top of the wall was faintly visible like a black line across the dark sky, and when Ben mounted on Bill’s shoulders, it was found that he could only reach to within three feet of the bristling iron spikes with which it was surmounted.  For half-an-hour they groped about, and made the discovery that they were in a small enclosure with bare walls of fifteen feet in height around them, and not a projection of any kind large enough for a mouse to lay hold of!  In these circumstances many men would have given way to despair; but that was a condition of mind which neither of our tars ever thought of falling into.  In the course of their explorations they came against each other, and immediately began an animated conversation in whispers, the result of which was that they groped for the umbrella, and, having found it, cut off all the cords about it, with which they proceeded to plait a rope strong enough to bear their weight.  They sat down in silence to the work, leaning against the prison wall, and wrought for a full hour with the diligence of men whose freedom depends on their efforts.  When finished, the rope was found to be about a yard too short for their purpose; but this defect was remedied by means of the canvas of their parachute, which they tore up into strips, twisted into an additional piece of rope, and spliced it to the other.  A large loop was made on the end of it.  Going once more to the wall, Ben mounted on Bill’s shoulders, and threw the loop over the top of the wall; it caught, as had been expected, on one of the iron spikes.  Ben then easily hauled himself up, hand over hand, and, getting hold of two spikes, raised himself so that he could see over the wall.  Immediately after he descended.

“I sees nothin’, Bill, so we must just go over and take our chance.”

Bill agreed.  Ben folded his coat, and ascending again, spread it over the spikes, so that he could lean on them with his chest without being pierced.  Having re-ascended, Bill followed; the rope was then hauled up, and lowered on the other side.  In another moment they slipped down, and stood on the ground.

“Now, the question is, where are we!” whispered Bill.  “P’r’aps we’re only in another yard after all.”

The sound of footsteps pacing slowly towards them was heard at that moment.

“I do believe,” whispered Bill, in an excited tone, “that we’ve got into the street, an’ that’s the sentry.  Let’s bolt.”

“We can’t bolt,” said Ben, “’cause, if I took my bearin’s right, he’s between us an’ the shore, an’ it would be of no manner o’ use boltin’ into the country to be hunted down like a couple of foxes.”

“Then we’ll floor him to begin with,” whispered Bill.

“That’s so,” said Ben.

The sentry approached, and the sailors drew up close against the wall.  Presently his dark form became faintly visible.  Bill rushed at him at once, and delivered a blow that might have felled an ox at the spot where he supposed his chest was, sending the man back almost heels over head, while his arms rattled on the pavement.  Instantly there were heard the sounds of opening locks, bolts, and bars.  The two friends fled, and shouts were heard behind them, while lights flashed in various directions.

“This way, Bill,” cried Ben, turning down a narrow lane to avoid a lamp which came in sight when they turned a corner.  A couple of belated and drunken French fishermen happened to observe them, and gave chase.  “Hold on, Ben, let’s drop, and trip ’em up,” said Bill.

“All right,” replied Ben; “down with ’e.”

They stopped suddenly, and squatted as low as possible.  The lane was very narrow; the fishermen were close behind; they tumbled right over them, and fell heavily on their faces.  While they were rising, our heroes knocked them both insensible, and hastily appropriating their coats and red caps put them on as they ran.  By this time a crowd of fishermen, sailors, and others, among whom were a few soldiers and turnkeys with lanterns, were pursuing the fugitives as fast as was possible in so dark a night.  Bill suggested that they should turn into a dark corner, and dodge them.  The suggestion was acted on at once.  They dashed round the first corner they came to, and then, instead of continuing their flight, turned sharp to the left, and hid in a doorway.  The pursuers came pouring round the corner, shouting wildly.  When the thickest of the crowd was opposite their place of concealment, Bill and Ben rushed into the midst of them with a shout, imitating the tones of the Frenchmen as nearly as possible, but taking care to avoid the use of word, and thus they joined in the pursuit!  Gradually they fell behind, as if out-run, and, when they found themselves in rear, turned about, and made off in the opposite direction, then, diverging to the left, they headed again towards the shore, ran down to the beach, and leaped into the first boat they came to.

It happened to be a very small one,-a sort of dinghy.  Ben thought it was too small, and was about to leap out and search for a larger, when lights suddenly appeared, and the shouts of the pursuers-who had discovered the ruse-were heard as they approached.

“Shove off, Ben!”

“Hurrah, my hearties!” cried the seaman with a stentorian shout as he seized an oar.

Next moment the little boat was flying over the smooth water of the port, the silence of which was now broken by exclamations and cries from the shipping in reply to those from the shore; while the splashing of oars were heard in all directions as men leaped into boats and rowed about at random.  Darkness favoured the Englishmen, but it also proved the cause of their being very nearly re-captured; for they were within two yards of the battery at the mouth of the harbour before they observed it, and swerved aside just in time to avoid a collision.  But they had been seen, and a random discharge of musketry followed.  This was succeeded by the sudden blaze of a blue light, which revealed the whole port swarming with boats and armed men,-a sight which acted so powerfully on the warlike spirits of the sailors that they started up simultaneously, flung their red caps into the air, and gave vent to a hearty British cheer, which Ben Bolter followed up as they resumed the oars, with “Old England for ever! farewell, Mounseers!”

The blue light went out and left everything in darkness thicker than ever, but not before a rapid though ineffective discharge of musketry had been made from the battery.  Another blue light, however, showed that the fugitives were getting rapidly out to sea beyond the range of musketry, and that boats were leaving the port in chase.  Before the light expired a cloud of smoke burst from the battery, and the roar of a heavy gun rushed over the sea.  An instant later and the water was torn up by grape-shot all round the little boat; but not a ball touched them save one, which struck Bill Bowls on the left hand and cut off his thumb.

“I think there’s a mast and sail in the bottom of the boat, and here comes a breeze,” said Ben; “give me your oar, and try to hoist it, Bill.”

Without mentioning his wound, our hero did as he was bid; and not until the boat was leaping over the ruffled sea did he condescend to bind up the wounded hand with his necktie.  Soon they were beyond the range of blue lights and artillery.

“Have ’e any notion what course we’re steerin’?” inquired Bill.

“None wotsomediver,” answered Ben.

Soon after that, however, the sky cleared a little, and Bill got sight of part of the constellation of the Great Bear.  Although the pole-star was not visible, he guessed pretty nearly its position, and thus ascertained that the breeze came from the south-west.  Trimming the lug-sail accordingly, the tars turned the prow of the little craft to the northward, and steered for the shores of old England.

About a year after this stirring incident, a remarkably noisy party was assembled at tea in the prim little parlour of Mrs Blyth’s cottage in Fairway.  Besides the meek old soul herself, there were present on that occasion our old friends Ben Bolter and Tom Riggles, the latter of whom flourished a wooden stump instead of a right leg, and wore the garb of a Greenwich pensioner.  His change of circumstances did not appear to have decreased his love for tobacco.  Ben had obtained leave of absence from his ship for a day or two, and, after having delighted the heart of his old mother by a visit, had called at the cottage to pay his respects to his old messmate, little thinking that he would find Tom Riggles there before him.  Miss Bessy Blunt was also present; and it was plain, from the expression of her speaking countenance, that she had not forgiven Ben, but tolerated him under protest.  Our hero and sweet Nelly Blyth were not of the party, however, because they happened just then to prefer a quiet chat in the summer-house in the back-garden.  We will not presume to detail much of the conversation that passed between them.  One or two of the concluding sentences must suffice.

“Yes, Bill,” said Nelly, in reply to something that her companion had whispered in her ear, “you know well enough that I am glad to-morrow is our wedding-day.  I have told you so already, fifty times at least.”

“Only thrice, Nell, if so often,” said Bill.  “Well, that was the luckiest shot the Frenchmen ever fired at me; for if I hadn’t had my thumb took off I couldn’t have left the sarvice, d’ye see; and that would have delayed my marriage with you, Nell.  But now, as the old song says-

“`No more I’ll roam Away from home, Across the stormy sea.  I’ll anchor here, My Nelly dear, And live for love and thee.’”