oe again half choked with
straw. We soon had him and his men rigged up, gagged and manacled
as deserters; we borrowed (without leave) kerchiefs of various
colors which the Frenchmen had about them, and of them made
bandages for those who were to pass as wounded. Joe donned the
sergeant's clothes, and the bosun those of the largest of the
company, though they were a sad misfit.

It struck us that we should make the imposture more complete if we
got a cart in which to convey our wounded men, so when the
preparations were otherwise complete I, attired as the French
captain, mounted his horse and, accompanied by two of the quondam
deserters (now appearing quite respectable infantrymen), set off to
find a farm where in the name of King Lewis I might demand what we
needed. We had to go some three miles before we came to a likely
looking farmhouse, and there, assuming an authoritative and
hectoring manner quite foreign to my amiable disposition, I secured
a wagon and two horses, for which I gave the farmer a formal
receipt.

The sight of his dairy reminded me that I was hungry, and I added
to my requisition a good store of food, for which I knew my
comrades would bless me. For driver I picked out the stupidest
looking yokel I could find among the farmer's men, and then we
returned to the ruined farmhouse in triumph and not a little haste,
for I was eager to set my teeth in the bread and cheese we were
conveying.

Chapter 18: In The Name Of King Lewis.

While we were appeasing our appetites, I got from the deserters an
inkling of our locality. They had been marching, as I knew, from
St. Malo to Rennes, but instead of keeping to the highroad through
Combourg, they had taken a short cut that saved several miles. It
passed through several hamlets, some of which, they said, could be
avoided; but there were others which we must take on our way, and
it was in these that we should be put to the test.

I asked the men if they knew of any spot on the coast where we
might find a boat to convey us across the Channel, and after
consulting together they decided that the only likely place was the
little fishing town of Cancale, about ten miles east of St. Malo.
It had a harbor on the Bay of St. Michel, whence the luggers sailed
forth a little before sunset. I would rather have chosen a smaller
place, and one more distant from our late prison, but the men
assured me that there was no other so easily accessible, or so
likely to