Page 71 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“You lot! Break it up.” Two militia officers appeared up the street and turned their steps toward the harbour.
The crowd quickly dispersed, some men to their own boats or back to work on the sloop.
François glanced at the approaching officers, then pulled off the ring. “See how it feels.”
He reeled back and threw it toward open water.
Shock thundered through Alex as a flash of gold flew over his head. “No!”
Suddenly Jago jumped, long arm outstretched, big palm extended, and caught the ring. He landed on the edge of the quay, teetered, then regained his balance.
Jago handed over the treasured possession, then gestured toward the Black Rock ferry, about to depart. “Better get out of here.”
Alex nodded and stood, returning Dyer’s knife.
Tom Parsons helped François up and slung a casual arm around the man’s shoulder, as though the two were old friends. He handed him a rag for his bloody nose and led him toward the nearby inn. “Come on, mate. Let’s celebrate our bargain with an early drink.”
Seeing the crowd disperse and the fight break up, the officers retreated, turning toward the custom house instead. But Alex guessed he had not seen the last of them.
As he stepped aboard the ferry, the ferryman took one look at him and winced, and the few other passengers gave Alex a wide berth. He no doubt looked like a ruffian or the lowestraffaléwith his rumpled clothing and bleeding lip.
After the ferry crossed the estuary and landed in Black Rock, Alexander began the walk to Trebetherick, his eye swelling, knuckles bleeding, and whole body sore from the fight. As he trudged along the sandy track, he muttered an unflattering epithet about François. He’d been surprised to see his old nemesis in Padstow with Parsons, and Alex remembered feeling a similar jolt upon finding François in the same prisoner-of-war camp more than a year before.
The British frigate that captured theVictorinehad carried Alexander and his crew to northern England. In Norfolk, at the port of King’s Lynn, they disembarked and were transported inland on barges and lighters, escorted by armed militia. Hour by hour, they moved farther from France and freedom—and in Alexander’s case, closer to Cambridge, where he had briefly been a student not so many years before. He did not mentionthis to his men, knowing it would serve only to alienate him from his crew at a time when morale had already plummeted.
But Daniel stood near him and asked in quiet French, “Are you familiar with this area?”
Alexander nodded, wondering if that familiarity might aid them in a future escape.
From the town of Peterborough, the captives were marched to their final destination. When they filed through the gate of the Norman Cross prison, Alex surveyed what seemed like a bustling city of some forty acres. In the center stood an octagonal block house, mounted with cannons and manned by soldiers.
Guards ordered the prisoners to line up in front of several desks, where clerks registered their names and ranks. When Alex’s turn came, he quietly stated his identity and handed over his papers.
The clerk looked up, quill suspended. “Captain, ey? That qualifies you for lodging in separate officer’s quarters, with the possibility of parole.”
Alexander glanced at Daniel, then demurred in polite English. “I prefer to remain with my men.”
“Suit yourself.” The clerk shrugged and made a notation in his register.
Then Alex and Daniel moved on, gathering their provisions. First there was clothing—coat, pantaloons, shirts, stockings—all in either bright yellow or blue and stamped with the lettersT.O.for Transport Office. Each man was also issued a hammock, straw mattress, blanket, tin mug, bowl, platter, and spoon. Arms full of new requisitions, the prisoners found their way to the assigned barracks. Inside, Alex and Daniel found empty hooks and hung up their hammocks. Exhausted from their ordeal, they quickly fell asleep.
At sunrise, the turnkey gave the signal for the prisoners to rise, fold up their bedding, and hang their hammocks against the wall to allow more space for general use during the day. After a breakfast of bread and cheese, they gathered in the graveled exercise yard where, they’d been told, they would spend the greater portion of their waking hours.
There, Alexander was shocked to see François LaRoche among the hundreds of milling men, some fencing with wooden swords, others playing skittles, carving, smoking, or talking.
When he noticed him, François’s lip instantly curled. He said in French, “Eh bien.If it isn’t the spoiled rich boy, come to wallow with the peasants.”
Beside him, Daniel stiffened, retorting, “This is acapitainein our emperor’s navy, deserving of your respect.”
“Capitaine, is it?” François smirked. “Not a very good one, obviously, or he wouldn’t be here.”
Alexander lifted his chin. “And what about you? I am surprised to see you, François. Though there are other civilians here, I gather.”
“Not exactly an ordinary cit, now, am I? I was en route from Jersey when our ship was commandeered.” He shrugged. “I could leave this place any time I want, yet I have my reasons to stay. How much more so, now that you are here. Whatamusementwe will have. I shall enjoy showing you the ropes and watching you trip over them.”
Alexander’s hand fisted, but Daniel held him back, murmuring under his breath, “Remember rule number five.”
Right.Fighting, quarreling, or exciting the least disorder is strictly forbidden.He forced himself to remain calm and walk away, joining his men.
