the shore, I
began to realise that France itself was only a trap on a larger scale
than Paris. True, I might possibly find a berth as an able-bodied
sailor on a French ship; but that was not what I wanted. As for English
ships, it was a time of war, and none durst show their prows in the
harbour, save under a false flag. Yet the longing for home was so
strong in me, that I think, had I found one, I would even have seized a
small rowing-boat and attempted to cross the Channel in it single-
handed.

For two days I prowled hither and thither, vainly looking for a chance
of escape, and was beginning to wonder whether after all I should have
to return to Benoit, when I chanced one evening on a fellow who, for all
his French airs and talk, I guessed the moment he spoke to be an
Irishman. He was, I must confess, not quite sober, which perhaps made
him less careful about appearances than he should have been.

It was on the cliffs of La Heve we foregathered. He was walking so
unsteadily on the very margin that I deemed it only brotherly to lend
him an arm.

"Thank you, my lad," said he, beginning the speech in French, but
relapsing into his native tongue as he went on; "these abominable French
cliffs move about more than the cliffs at Bantry. Nothing moves there--
not even custom-house runners. Bless your dear heart, we can land our
bales there under their very noses! Steady, my friend, you were nearly
slipping there. You French dogs never could walk on your hind legs.
There she lies, as snug and taut as a revenue cutter, and just as many
teeth. What did I come ashore for now? Not to see you, was it? 'Pon
my word, monsieur, I owe you a hundred pardons. I quite forgot. You
look a worthy fellow. I press you into the service, and the man that
objects shall have an ounce of lead through him. Come, my lad, row me
aboard. The anchor's apeak, and we're off for the ould country, and a
murrain on this land of yours!"

So saying he stumbled along, down a zigzag path that led to the foot of
the cliff, where lay moored a small boat and two men in her.

"Belay there, hearties! I've got the villain. Clap him in irons, I
say! He tried to send me over the cliff, but-- how are you, my friend?
Give us your hand. You're one of the right sort.--Pull away, boys. The
wind's in the east, and the tide's swung round the _cap_. This time to-
morrow we shall be scraping the nose of ould Ireland--glory to her!"

The men, who