I arrived at Newcastle and was fortunate enough on the first day to ship as able seaman on the barque “P.C.E.”—Captain Law—bound for Noumea, New Caledonia, with a cargo of coal. My wages were to be seven pounds a month: I felt that I had “struck oil” at once for I had never heard of seamen getting such fabulous wages. I found out, however, that colonial owners paid good wages, and required good workers for their money, no limejuice methods would suit the coast trade. But I was young, strong and healthy, and I got along famously with both officers and men. Captain Law was as rough and unpolished a specimen of the British seaman as it was possible to meet, but a sailor from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet. The mate was a most illiterate man, coarse in speech and manner, and proud of his manners, or lack of them, but a good seaman, and utterly fearless. It was generally believed on board that he would have gone to sea on a plank if the pay had been good enough.
We had a fine passage of eight days to Noumea, New Caledonia, which is a penal settlement under the French flag. At Noumea there are a large number of prisoners both political and criminal out on parole—many of them are in business and doing well for themselves, but they cannot, of course, leave the island, and naturally there are always a number of daring and eager spirits ready and willing to run any risk to obtain their freedom, if they can get anyone to assist them. The political prisoners, many of whom are well off, or have friends who are well supplied with money for such a purpose, are always on the qui vive for such a chance.
Whilst unloading our cargo, the captain spent most of his time on shore at one of the saloons. Captain Law was very fond of a glass of grog when on shore, but, to his credit be it said, he never touched liquor at sea. One day while at the saloon Captain Law was approached by a Frenchman named Balliere as to his willingness to assist some prisoners to escape, and a good round sum was offered on account of Henri Rochefort, French Communist, who was then on Ducos Peninsular. Captain Law had heard of the famous journalist and was rather in sympathy with him, but the sum of ten thousand francs won his sympathy entirely. This was the sum Henri Rochefort had offered through Balliere. Captain Law accepted the offer, stipulating that no other member of the crew should be told for fear of them informing the officials, by whom a large reward would be paid for such information. Altogether it was a dangerous undertaking, for had he failed, or been caught in the act, the vessel would have been confiscated and all the crew imprisoned, perhaps shot. It was, therefore, arranged that the exiles should board the vessel themselves at their own risk, so that in the event of failure the authorities would not confiscate the vessel. But there was another side to the question which Captain Law, apparently, had everlooked—that he was risking the lives and liberty of his officers and crew without their consent or knowledge, which, in law is a criminal offence.
There was no difficulty for the three exiles at Noumea—Jourde, Balliere and Granthille—to get on board the “P.C.E.” They were out on parole and were in business in Noumea, but for Henri Rochefort, Oliver Pain and Pascal Grousett, on the Ducos Peninsular, it was a difficult and dangerous undertaking. But these men were quite accustomed to dangerous undertakings, their very lives had been spent among risks and perils, and they were prepared to do or die. Better far better to die in a struggle for freedom than to live a hopeless, lingering life, desolate and alone in their sun-scorched island prison. All of them had wives and families in their beloved France, and to see their faces again they were prepared to risk all, feeling that they were bound to be the gainers, whichever way things went. If they were caught, they would be shot—well, their misery would be over—if they succeeded they would be free. Free men again—Oh! how their hearts throbbed at the very thought of it! The joy of liberty is seldom appreciated until it is lost.
But to return to the exiles on Ducos. It was not possible to approach the bay in a boat without being seen by the sentry on duty. Now, just off the peninsula there was a small volcanic rock about one mile from the beach and in a line between Noumea and the Bay of Ducos. On the side facing Ducos was a mass of coral reefs, the other side had a bit of sandy beach, on which the surf breaks heavily at times. The waters around the island were infested with sharks, this, to those in authority, greatly lessening the possibility of prisoners escaping.
Now on the day the barque “P.C.E.” finished unloading at Noumea, Balliere had sent word to Henri Rochefort that a boat would be off the rock at 8 p.m., and he and his two friends Oliver Pain and Pascal Grousett were to make their way to the rock. All that day they had been talking about it, and as they talked the great ugly sharks were lazily swimming about in front of them, a sight that was enough to make the stoutest heart quail and quake. Yet, in spite of this, they resolved to swim out to the rock when the time came.
As night drew near the exiles grew anxious lest anything should happen that would defeat their plans, and towards 7 o’clock their hearts sank, for the sky grew dark and threatening, and a fierce tropical storm broke over their heads, the thunder, lightning and rain being truly terrific, while it lasted. But strange though it may seem, although the exiles at the time did not realize it, the storm was a Godsend to them. First it drove the lookout sentries in, and secondly no fish will remain near the surface during thunder and lightning, they always sink to the still calm water below. Thus were the exiles spared a battle with these monsters of the deep. Just before 8 o’clock they stripped and walked down to the beach. But here a fresh difficulty presented itself. The night was so dark they could not see the rock, but there was no time to hesitate, somewhere out there lay the means that was to help them to regain their freedom, so into the water they went. Rochefort, ever a leader, first, and they struck out in the direction they knew the rock to be. After swimming for some time, expecting every moment to find themselves in the jaws of a shark, and seeing no signs of the rock, their hearts began to sink for fear they had missed it, then suddenly they found themselves among the kelp on the reef, so with thankful hearts they landed and crawled around to the other side.
They had only just got there, when the sound of muffled rowing fell upon their ears. Holding their breath they waited, for perhaps they had already been missed, and the sound they heard might be the guard boat. They did not know if it were friend or foe. Presently a voice called out cautiously.
“Are you there?”
They were afraid to answer for fear they had been followed, and the voice seemed strange to them.
Again out of the darkness came a voice:
“Are you there? It is I, Granthille!”
Thus assured that it was the voice of a friend the three fugitives replied, and were told to swim out to the boat as there was too much swell on the reef to risk taking the boat inside. This they did, and were soon assisted into the boat, and supplied with dry clothes. Few words were spoken, their hearts were too full for words, and there was still dangerous work before them, this was but the first step towards freedom. But a silent clasp of the hand was given, and understood by all.
The boat was at once headed for Noumea. The darkness was intense, but a faint glimmer of the harbour lights could be seen. Do what they would, they could not prevent a long phosphorescent light streaming behind the boat, and as the night was so black, this brilliant light was very conspicuous and might possibly betray them to any observant watcher. Their whole souls were full of doubt and fear and racked with anxiety as to the issue of the attempt, for more than one of them had resolved never to return alive to their late prison.
As the boat drew near to the vessels they had a truly marvellous escape from detection, but thanks to a heavy downpour of rain, which drove all watchers into shelter. Before leaving Noumea with the boat, Balliere had strolled down to the harbour and taken note of the position of the vessels, and the “P.C.E.” in particular to enable them to find her in the dark, but during the short storm the wind had changed, and had altered the position of the vessels at anchor, bringing a small French despatch-boat into the position previously occupied by the “P.C.E.” The Frenchmen, not being seamen, did not notice the change, and pulled over alongside the French boat. One of the exiles actually had his foot on the ladder to climb on board, when they heard voices above them speaking in French. At once they realized the extreme danger that threatened them: with faces sternly set, but with their hearts in their mouths as it were, for they scarcely dared to breathe, they let the boat drop quietly astern, not knowing whether they had been seen or heard. Lightly they dipped their muffled oars and rowed over to the next vessel, which proved to be the one they were seeking. The side ladder was hanging over the side, quickly and quietly the exiles climbed on board. The steward was on deck aft and stared with astonishment at the six big fellows as they came over the rail. Before any explanation could be asked or given, Captain Law made his appearance, the steward was ordered to his room, and the captain pointed to the after hold, where the fugitives all defended and stowed themselves away among a lot of old ropes, tarpaulins and cargo gear. The hatch was closed, but afterwards re-opened to disarm suspicion, should an official by chance come off. The only persons who knew the escaped prisoners were on board were Captain Law, the steward and myself, as I was keeping anchor watch. The plug of the boat was taken out, and a quantity of stone ballast that had been hoisted on deck during the afternoon, was put into her and she was sunk alongside the ship. It was not safe to let the boat go adrift, suspicion would have been aroused, and a muster of prisoners ordered, and then all hope of getting away would vanish.
At daylight the pilot came off to take the vessel out, but unfortunately the wind had died away and he refused to get the ship under weigh. The delay in sailing was very serious. Both Captain Law and the fugitives were in a terrible state of anxiety and suspense, expecting every moment a search party would come off to overhaul the vessel. Up to the present the alarm gun on the hill had not been fired, so far we knew that the escape of the prisoners had not been discovered, but at the same time we also knew that the moment the escape was discovered the signal gun would be fired and that no vessel would be able to leave port without being searched.
At noon a breeze sprang up, but it was in the wrong quarter to enable us to get through the usual passage in the reef, however, Captain Law insisted on the pilot taking the vessel out of the harbour, so the anchor was lifted and we stood out towards the entrance. Once outside, the pilot was dismissed and we made all sail, and with a fair wind steered for the Balearic Channel, coasting along the Ducos Peninsular, where the poor exiles had spent so many weary months of imprisonment. As the evening drew on the wind increased, and before dark we had cleared the coast and waters of New Caledonia.
The captain then called the Frenchmen on deck and told them that thus far they were free. Henri Rochefort was the first to come on deck, and a more pitiable looking object it would have been hard to find. He stood quite six feet in height and was as thin as a lath, with a long head and a very prominent forehead. The only clothes he wore were an old pair of pants, a shirt, and a seaman’s sou’wester on his conspicuous head, and he was covered from head to foot with coal dust from the vessel’s hold, where they had been lying concealed. I doubt if his best friends would have recognised, in the miserable-looking object before them, the most famous French journalist of the day, whose writings and doings had stirred France to the core. They were all more or less suffering from sea-sickness, and were taken into the cabin to have a clean up and make themselves presentable. There was only one who could speak a few words of English, but the warm clasp of the hand and the happy look in their eyes spoke volumes of gratitude for their deliverance.
All through the following day the strong north-east wind kept up, and running before the breeze with every stitch of canvas set, we soon put a good distance between us and the Island. The crew did nothing but work the ship and keep a lookout for overtaking vessels. The only one we were afraid of was the despatch-boat that we left at anchor at Noumea when we sailed.
The second and third day remained hazy with a strong wind. The exiles rarely left the deck, but would pace to and fro for hours, so anxious and fearful were they of recapture. All day long they would scan the horizon, their lips muttering the thoughts that would not be kept back, thoughts of home and loved ones. Surely fate would not be so hard as to let them be captured again, and be taken back to that living death. No, they would never be captured alive, no never again. Then the thought of all their aims and ambitions with the Commune, the strife and bloodshed in their beloved Paris made their hearts cry “enough”; if the great God above them would grant them a safe return to their homes and loved ones, they would live in peace with all men.
On the fourth day the wind veered into the south east, and cleared up fine. Observations gave our position three hundred miles from Newcastle. On the fifth day the wind shifted into the south, reducing our speed to five knots an hour. After consulting with the mate, the captain decided not to continue on a direct course, but to stand in towards the land and take advantage of the current setting towards the southward. The fugitives grew very restless when they found out the alteration of the course, and Captain Law had great difficulty in making them see that it was for their safety that we should get inside the three mile limit in case of eventualities, but nothing occurred to alarm us, and we had a fine run right up to Newcastle, a seven days run from Noumea.
The authorities and citizens of Newcastle gave the fugitives a very hearty welcome, and showered congratulations upon them at their daring escape from exile and prison. They put up at the Great Northern Hotel and soon supplied themselves with clothing, etc., suitable to their position. Then they telegraphed home the news of their freedom and need of funds. They stayed a few days at Newcastle and then went on to Sydney there to await the remittance that was wired back to them at once.
On its arrival Henri Rochefort at once paid Captain Law the amount that had been agreed upon for their deliverance, what the actual amount was I do not know, but each of the crew received £4 10s. as their share, and with this, I, for one, was very satisfied.