And now some of the circumstances reminded me of the similar mischance that had befallen me on the Bristowe road.  There also the scene had passed in a ruined building strewn with straw.  And the recollection of the indignity I had suffered at the hands of Topper and his fellows, coupled with the sight of the three deserters lying manacled and open-mouthed against the wall, gave me an idea that pleased me mightily.  I had once changed clothes against my will; why should not Monsieur le Capitaine learn humility in the same way?  He was about my height:  his clothes would certainly fit me better than Job the poacher’s had done; and whereas my former change had been for the worse, the change I contemplated should turn out very much for the better, and so the whirligig of time would have his revenges.

I told my comrades what I had in mind.

“All very well for you, sir,” said the bosun bluntly, “but what about us tars?”

“Why, some of you can slip into the Frenchmen’s clothes,” I replied.  “You won’t get a fit, I fear, bosun; you are overgrown” (I smiled as the words others had used about me came unbidden to my lips); “but the sergeant there is very much Joe Punchard’s figure, and five of you can make shift, I daresay.  You would make quite a pretty squad of Frenchmen, and show a little more brawn.”

“But what’s the good, sir?” objected Tolliday.  “We can’t talk a word of the lingo, and if your idea be to march through the country till we can find a boat, bless my buttons if we can do it, ’cos the first cuss I say will be the ruin of us.”

“I haven’t told you all my plan yet,” I said.  “But first I must speak to these poor fellows here:  they are deserters and were on the way to Rennes to be shot.

“Take ’em outside, Joe.”

The plan I had in mind when seizing the Frenchmen was somewhat hazy, but it was becoming clearer every moment, and, being spiced with hazard, it appealed to all that was adventurous in my nature.

When I had the deserters out of earshot of their late guards, I asked them if they wished to regain their freedom, knowing well what their answer would be.

“Well,” said I, “if I set you free now it may do you no good.  You have been caught once and may be caught again.  But if you throw in your lot with us there is a chance for you.  We are English prisoners who have escaped:  join us, and we will try to take you to England.”

They demurred to this.  They did not want to go to England, where they would be friendless and might starve.  They would rather remain in their own country, among their own kin.

“But there is a France overseas,” I said.  “From England you may perhaps sail by and by for Quebec, where you would be among your own countrymen, and run little risk of being recognized.  If you stay here you will sooner or later be captured again and shot.  A new land is the place for you.”