Phillipe sighed as he reached the dock. He had made it this far without
getting caught. One quick leap and he was on the edge of a large ship that
was at shore for repair. Hiding among the rotting timbers, the boy was able
to get a good view of Le Vainqueur. The old ship was almost seaworthy
again. It had arrived at Toulon in complete disrepair after a heavy storm.
Honoré, Phillipe's father, had worked on the ship since it first came to port. Smiling, the boy easily picked out his father's form among the others. Though the hard labour had bent his back, he still stood a good head taller than the galley slaves and the guards who supervised him. Little did the young boy know now, today would be a day he wished he had been caught for. He heard shouts, though he could only make out the odd curse on the wind. Standing up carefully, he tried to get a better look at the commotion on board. Suddenly, he saw his father straighten, and lay a guard out flat. The other guards swarmed around him like locusts. With an echoing clang, a chisel was brought down on the chains that bound Honoré to the rest of the chain gang. However, his freedom was short lived, he was grabbed by the guards and in one swift movement, was thrown overboard. The water erupted as the man hit the water. White foam ringed his flailing form as he struggled to gain his breath and his balance against his manacles. However, with the tide coming in, and the chains made of iron, is attempts were futile, causing him to soon tire. The moment he saw his father hit the water, Phillipe leapt into in. "Papa!" he called as he swam frantically through the choppy waves. The rough current felt like needles; it was so cold it soon numbed his long legs and arms. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, the boy pushed onward until he had reached the spot where he saw his father sink. A cry from overhead distracted him.
"You there, what do you think you are doing?"
"He..he is drowning!"
"He is already dead" the guard snickered in reply.
Phillipe felt his body grow colder than the water he was struggling to stay afloat in. At the startled look the boy gave, the guard gave sharp laugh, roughened by brandy.
"He fell overboard.." He took another large gulp of the drink. "There was nothing we could do"
"You LIE! I saw it, he was pushed overboard"
A musket clicked, and its barrel was soon aimed at the boy, who was treading water at point blank. At the accusation, the guard's face reddened with fury, and he gestured with the weapon as he spoke.
"You swim back to shore at once! Unless, of course...You'd rather join that gypsy vermin."
Realizing that the guard spoke with all truth, Phillipe turned back to the shore, his eyes stinging, though he knew it wasn't from the sea. The swim back seemed to take months. There was no will left in the boy's numbed limbs as he dragged himself through the bitter currents and back across to the dock. Once ashore, he used everything left in his frail body to trudge back to the cell where his mother would return to soon. Pushing open the heavy iron door, he crawled into the threadbare cot, too stunned to think or feel, though his head was pounding, and he shivered like a cur.
Honoré, Phillipe's father, had worked on the ship since it first came to port. Smiling, the boy easily picked out his father's form among the others. Though the hard labour had bent his back, he still stood a good head taller than the galley slaves and the guards who supervised him. Little did the young boy know now, today would be a day he wished he had been caught for. He heard shouts, though he could only make out the odd curse on the wind. Standing up carefully, he tried to get a better look at the commotion on board. Suddenly, he saw his father straighten, and lay a guard out flat. The other guards swarmed around him like locusts. With an echoing clang, a chisel was brought down on the chains that bound Honoré to the rest of the chain gang. However, his freedom was short lived, he was grabbed by the guards and in one swift movement, was thrown overboard. The water erupted as the man hit the water. White foam ringed his flailing form as he struggled to gain his breath and his balance against his manacles. However, with the tide coming in, and the chains made of iron, is attempts were futile, causing him to soon tire. The moment he saw his father hit the water, Phillipe leapt into in. "Papa!" he called as he swam frantically through the choppy waves. The rough current felt like needles; it was so cold it soon numbed his long legs and arms. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, the boy pushed onward until he had reached the spot where he saw his father sink. A cry from overhead distracted him.
"You there, what do you think you are doing?"
"He..he is drowning!"
"He is already dead" the guard snickered in reply.
Phillipe felt his body grow colder than the water he was struggling to stay afloat in. At the startled look the boy gave, the guard gave sharp laugh, roughened by brandy.
"He fell overboard.." He took another large gulp of the drink. "There was nothing we could do"
"You LIE! I saw it, he was pushed overboard"
A musket clicked, and its barrel was soon aimed at the boy, who was treading water at point blank. At the accusation, the guard's face reddened with fury, and he gestured with the weapon as he spoke.
"You swim back to shore at once! Unless, of course...You'd rather join that gypsy vermin."
Realizing that the guard spoke with all truth, Phillipe turned back to the shore, his eyes stinging, though he knew it wasn't from the sea. The swim back seemed to take months. There was no will left in the boy's numbed limbs as he dragged himself through the bitter currents and back across to the dock. Once ashore, he used everything left in his frail body to trudge back to the cell where his mother would return to soon. Pushing open the heavy iron door, he crawled into the threadbare cot, too stunned to think or feel, though his head was pounding, and he shivered like a cur.