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Well, it doesn’t come into my tale to tell you what they went through. Bosistow wrote out an account of it years after, and you shall read it for yourself. At one place they had to cross a river, and Billy being, like the most of our fishermen, no swimmer, his mates stuck him on a hurdle and pushed him over while they swam behind. They steered by the Pole Star (for, you understand, they could only travel by night) and also by a fine comet which they guessed to be in the north-west quarter.

You see the difference between these two fellows, and how little Providence made of it. Back in Jivvy, Abe Cummins was staring at this same comet out of his prison windows, and doing his sums and thinking of Selina Johns. And here was Bosistow following it up for freedom–with the upshot that he made the coast and was taken like a lamb in the attempt to hire a passage, and marched in irons from one jail to another, and then clean back the whole length of France, pretty well to the Mediterranean Sea. And then he was shut up in a prison on the very top of the Alps [2] and twice as far from home as he had been in Jivvy. That’s a moral against folks in a hurry if ever there was one.

Well, let alone that while he was here he received a free pardon from the Emperor, which his persecutors took no notice of, he broke out of prison again, and was caught and brought back half-starving. And ’twasn’t till Christmas of the year ‘thirteen that orders came to march him right away north again, with all the prisoners, to a place in the Netherlands; and no sooner arrived than away to go again three hundred and fifty miles west-sou’-west for Tours, on the Loire river. I’ve figured it out on the map, and even that is enough to make a man feel sore in his feet. But what made Bosistow glad at the time, and vicious after, was that on his way he fell in with a draft of prisoners, and, among them, with Abe Cummins, who, so to say, had reached the same place by walking a tenth part of the distance. And, what’s more, though a man couldn’t very well get sleek in Jivvy, Abe had kept his bones filled out somehow, and knew enough navigation by this time to set a course to the Channel Fleet. ‘Deed, that’s what he began talking about on the first day’s journey he and Billy trudged together after their meeting. And he began it after a spell of silence by asking, quiet like, “Have you been happening to think much about Selina Johns this last year or two?”

“Most every day,” answered Billy.

“So have I,” said Abe, and seemed to be pondering to himself. “She’ll be a woman growed by this time,” he went on.

“Turnin’ twenty-seven,” Billy agreed.

“That’s of it,” said Abe. “I’ve been thinking about her, constant.”

“Well, look’ee here,” spoke up Billy, “our little agreement holds, don’t it?–that is, if we ever get out of this here mess, and Selina hasn’t gone and taken a husband. Play fair, leave it to the maid, and let the best man win; that’s what we shook hands over. If that holds, seemin’ to me the rest can wait.”

“True, true,” says Abe; but after a bit he asks rather sly-like: “And s’posin’ you’re the lucky one, how do’ee reckon you’re going to maintain her?”

“Why, on seaman’s wages, I suppose; or else at the shoe-mending. I learnt a little of that trade in Jivvy, as you d’know.”

“Well,” says Abe, “I was reckonin’ to set up school and teach navigation. Back in Ardevora I can make between seventy and eighty pounds a year at that game easy.”