The peasants told us we had come far out of the direct road to St. Malo, and pressed us to stay the night in their village.  But this I would by no means consent to, for I was on thorns already lest something should mar our plot, and was keeping a wary eye on our wagoner, who, though slow-witted, was clearly in a state of great uneasiness.  Professing, then, that having missed our way we must needs hurry on to make up for lost time, I listened patiently to the minute and befogging directions given us for finding the St. Malo road and ordered my party to march.  But when we had gone some few miles out of the village, and darkness was settling down, I called a halt, and we rested till daylight in a field, taking it in turns to watch.

During the night I talked long with Joe Punchard about our course.  The good fellow was very uneasy, fearing that when it came to negotiating for a boat our scheme would break down.

“Pluck up heart, Joe,” I said.  “I own we are running a desperate hazard, but so far we have had good luck, and ’tis a case of grasping the nettle boldly.”

“But what reason can we give for hiring a boat, sir?  If this Cancale is but ten miles from St. Malo we can not say we are sailing thither; ’twould be quicker to go by road.”

“Then we’ll change our destination, Joe.  We may do what we please in this country in the name of the king, and provided there be no soldiers in Cancale we have but to put on an impudent assurance to weather through safely.”

I asked the deserters what other port besides St. Malo we might give out to be our destination, and learning that Cherbourg was some sixty or seventy miles to the northward, and by that much nearer home, I determined to make that our aim.  This involved another difficulty, for the authorities in Cancale might reasonably say that the prisoners having escaped from near St. Malo, should be entrusted to them to convey back to their prison.  But ’tis no good meeting troubles halfway, and I resolutely kept my thought from dwelling on the manifold dangers that bestrewed our path to liberty.

We so contrived our march next day that we arrived at the outskirts of Cancale late in the afternoon, but with time enough, as I hoped, to set sail before night.  When I beheld the size of the place my heart sank.  I had imagined it to be little more than a village; but found it a regular town (though small for that), its little red-tiled houses clustering thick upon a height overlooking a bay.  We had already met and exchanged speech with some of the townsfolk, and to retreat now might awaken suspicion.  There was nothing for it but to adventure boldly, and I made up my mind to this the more readily because I had caught a glimpse of half a dozen fishing smacks lying in the little harbor, and a larger vessel of perhaps fifty tons moored to the jetty.

With a word to my comrades to be alert and ready for anything that might happen, I led the way at a quick pace into the town.  I had grave misgivings when I noticed that the streets were en fete, flags flying at the windows, and people gossiping in knots at the corners.  But we had certainly come too far to retreat, so I boldly accosted a red-capped fisherman and demanded to be led to the mairie.