“If they won’t do it for kindness, they shall do it because they cannot help it,” said Arthur, when he saw that the men still showed no disposition to go down the stream; and as he spoke he pulled his pistol out of his belt, and prepared to cock it.  The pistol, in truth, was perfectly harmless, for it had been over and over again immersed in the water, and the powder was saturated with wet; but this did not occur to the boatmen, nor, very possibly, to Arthur either; and when he, stepping across the thwart, on which the hinder man was sitting, held the pistol close to the ear of the other, threatening that if he did not at once do as he was bid, he would blow out his brains and take his place on the seat, the poor old man dropped his oar from his hand into the water, and falling on his knees on the bottom of the boat, implored for mercy.

“Spare me, Monsieur! oh, spare me!” said he.  “Ladies, pray speak for me:  I am not used to this work—­indeed I am not—­and I and my comrade are nearly dead with fatigue.”

Arthur put the pistol back into his belt when the poor man begged for mercy, and pulling the fallen oar out of the water, declared that he would himself row round the island, and that the two old men might take the other oar in turns.  They agreed to this, and then he who had been so frightened, and who was plainly the master of the two, told his tale to them, as he filled Arthur’s place in the bow of the boat.

“When they had heard,” he said, “what his former occupation had been, they would not wonder that the hard work at which they found him was almost too much for him.  He was,” he said, “a priest, and had been employed above twenty years as Cure in a small parish on the river side, between St. Florent and Chaudron.  The other man, who was working with him, had been his sexton.  He had, like other Cures, been turned out of his little house by the Republic, but had returned to his parish when he heard that the success of the Vendean arms seemed to promise tranquillity to the old inhabitants of the country.  He had, however, soon been again disturbed.  The rumour of Lechelle’s army had driven him from his home, and he had fled with many others to St. Florent.  He had been advised that those who were taken in a priest’s garb, would be more subject even than others to the wrath of the republicans, and he had therefore disguised himself; and as from having lived so long near the river he had become somewhat used to the management of boats, he had, for charity’s sake, leant his hand to the poor Vendeans, willing,” as he said, “to use what little skill and strength he had for those who lost their all in fighting for him, his country, and his religion.  But now,” he added, “he found himself almost knocked up; and although, when he had been chosen to take over Monsieur and the two ladies, he had not had the heart to decline, still he had found that his strength would fail him.  He knew that he and his companion could not, unaided, reach the opposite shore; but if the young gentleman would assist, they would still do their best, and perhaps they might cross over in safety.”