Page 77 of A Castaway in Cornwall
Breathless, Alex nodded and awkwardly rose to a sitting position, which was dashed difficult with ankles bound and hands behind his back.
Above them, he heard more panicked shouts and the captain trying in vain to keep his men on task. “Remain calm! Stay at your posts. Down helm. Sheets up. We’ve got to lift her off.”
Alexander had experienced similar chaos when theVictorinewas captured. And from the keening sounds the ship was making, he knew they were in serious danger.
He struggled against the ropes to no avail.God help us, he prayed. Then, with a battle cry, he yanked at his bonds with all his might, not caring if he scraped off every layer of skin or dislocated his wrists. He managed to wrench free his hands, his skin flaming, but at least he did not dislocate or break any bones.
Then he untied his ankles.
From the bunk, Daniel urged, “Go. Save yourself.”
“I will not leave until you are free.”
François had tied a proper knot on Daniel, and the more he struggled the tighter it became.
“My carving tools,” Daniel shouted. “In my pocket!”
Alexander found a likely tool and began cutting away at the rope. Water flowed beneath the cabin door, and Alex sawed all the faster. If François had realized the danger, would he stillhave trapped them? Surely his intention had been to detain them and perhaps turn them over to the authorities, not see them drowned. Either way, anger seared Alex, burning hotter than his blazing wrists.
Finally, Daniel’s hands were free. Thankfully, François had not bothered to tie Daniel’s ankles as well, for by then water was gushing into the cabin.
Alexander sloshed to the door. “I am going after François.”
“Be careful. I will join you as soon as I find my knapsack.” Daniel frantically searched the small cabin.
“Don’t be long.”
Alexander pushed open the door against the flow of water and bolted up the narrow stairs as though climbing a waterfall.
When he reached the deck, he saw François roll up the folded paper he had taunted Alex with and shove it inside a silver flask. Alexander guessed he’d stolen the flask from among the crew’s belongings to protect his prized letter. The crew had no doubt been too busy trying to save the ship to notice the theft. Nor did they seem to notice the passengers now, clustered as they were on the elevated quarterdeck, with one terrified youth perched in the rigging above.
Remembering LaRoche’s hints that the letter might help and perhaps even save Alan, fierce determination swept over Alex. He charged across the deck and grabbed at the flask, trying to wrench it from his clutch. François took a swing at his head. Alex ducked and kicked the man’s legs out from under him. With the two still gripping hands over the flask, they fell hard to the deck, which tilted at a precarious angle, water rushing over its rails. They wrestled through the icy flow. Alex managed to jerk the flask free, but François drew his knife and shoved it into Alex’s side. Pain flared. Flask in one hand, Alex pressed the other to his wound and made one final lunge at his foe,but injured as he was, he fell short, and the flask went sliding across the deck.
For a few moments, Alex lay there in the water and his own blood, stunned and winded. Then Daniel knelt at his side.
“Capitaine, are you all right?”
“Been better,” he muttered. “Find your knapsack?”
“No, but that’s hardly important now.”
“We ... must... stop ... François,” Alex panted.
His friend helped him to his feet, and together they moved to the rail in time to see François rowing away in one of theKittiwake’s lifeboats. The second was floating away, empty and useless.
“The devil!” Daniel cursed.
They were too late. Alex did not see the flask anywhere and assumed François had taken it with him—and all his hopes of saving his brother with it.
As he finished describing that awful night, Laura murmured, “That’s why you were injured and your wrists rope burned.” Taking one of his hands in hers, she turned the wrist up and gently stroked the newly healed skin.
He nodded, mouth dry. The sensation was most pleasurable, and soon the terrible scenes in his mind faded. “Thank you again for saving me, Miss Callaway. I am sorry I repaid you with less than the absolute truth. Can you understand now why I want that flask?”
“Yes.”
Then he noticed her shiver and began rubbing both arms to warm her. “You are cold, and Miss Chegwin is out of firewood. Let’s get you home.”
The escapes of French prisoners-of-war in this country, and especially those on parole, having of late become exceedingly frequent, and such prisoners being in the practice of proceeding to [the] coast and seizing upon any vessel which they may not find properly guarded, a caution is hereby given to all owners of boats.
