Bill and Ben set their Brains to Steep with Unconquerable Perseverance.  
In its slow but steady revolution, the wheel of fortune had now apparently brought Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter to the lowest possible point; and the former of these worthies consoled himself with the reflection that, as things could scarcely get worse with them, it was probable they would get better. His friend disputed this point.
 
“It’s all very well,” said Ben, crossing his legs and clasping his hands over his knees, as he swayed himself to and fro, “to talk about havin’ come to the wust; but we’ve not got to that p’int by a long way. Why, suppose that, instead o’ bein’ here, sound in wind and limb, though summat unfort’nate in regard to the matter o’ liberty,—suppose, I say, that we wos lyin’ in hospital with our right legs an’ mayhap our left arms took off with a round shot.”
 
“Oh, if you go for to supposin’,” said Bill, “you may suppose anything. Why not suppose at once that we was lyin’ in hospital with both legs and arms took off by round shot, an’ both eyes put out with canister, an’ our heads an’ trunks carried away by grape-shot?”
 
“I didn’t suppose that,” said Ben quietly, “because that would be the best instead o’ the wust state we could come to, seein’ that we’d know an’ care nothin’ about it. Hows’ever, here we are, low enough, an’ havin’ made an assault on the turnkey, it’s not likely we’ll get much favour at the hands of the Mounseers; so it comes to this, that we must set our brains to steep, an’ see if we can’t hit upon some dodge or other to escape.”
 
“That’s what we must do,” assented Bill Bowls, knitting his brows, and gazing abstractedly at the blank wall opposite. “To git out o’ this here stone jug is what I’ve set my heart on, so the sooner we set about it the better.”
 
“Just so,” said Ben. “Well, then, let’s begin. Wot d’ye propose fust?”
 
To this Bill replied that he must think over it. Accordingly, he did think over it, and his comrade assisted him, for the space of three calendar months, without any satisfactory result. But the curious thing about it was that, while these men revolved in their minds every conceivable plan with unflagging eagerness, and were compelled to give up each, after brooding over it for a considerable time, finding that it was unworkable, they were not dispirited, but rather became more intense in their meditations, and ingenious as well as hopeful in their devisings.
 
“If we could only git hold of a file to cut a bar o’ the winder with, an’ a rope to let ourselves down with, I think we could manage to git over the walls somehow.”
 
“If we was to tear our jackets, trousers, vests, and shirts into strips, an’ make a rope of ’em, it might be long enough,” suggested Bill.
 
“That’s so, boy, but as we would be stark naked before we got it finished, I fear the turnkey would suspec’ there wos somethin’ wrong somehow.”
 
Ben Bolter sighed deeply as he spoke, because at that moment a ray of sunshine shot through the little window, and brought the free fresh air and the broad blue sea vividly to his remembrance. For the first time he experienced a deep sinking of the heart, and he looked at his comrade with an expression of something like despair.
 
“Cheer up,” said Bill, observing and thoroughly understanding the look. “Never say die, as long as there’s a—shot—in—”
 
He was too much depressed and listless to finish the sentence.
 
“I wonder,” resumed Ben, “if the Mounseers treat all their prisoners of war as bad as they treat us.”
 
“Don’t think they do,” replied Bill. “I’ve no doubt it’s ’cause we sarved ’em as we did when they first put us in quod.”
 
“Oh, if they would only give us summat to do!” exclaimed Ben, with sudden vehemence.
 
It seemed as if the poor fellow’s prayer were directly answered, for at that moment the door opened, and the governor, or some other official of the prison, entered the cell.
 
“You must vork,” he said, going up to Bill.
 
“We’ll be only too glad to work, yer honour, if you’ll give us work to do.”
 
“Ver’ good; fat can you vork?”
 
“We can turn handy to a’most anything, yer honour,” said Ben eagerly.
 
It turned out, however, after a considerable amount of talk, that, beyond steering a ship, reefing topsails, splicing ropes, tying every species of complex knot, and other nautical matters, the two seamen could not claim to be professionally acquainted with any sort of handicraft. Somewhat discomfited, Ben at last said with a perplexed air—
 
“Well, yer honour, we’ll try anything ye choose to put us at. I had a brother once who was a sort of tinker to trade, an’ great at mendin’ pots, pans, old umbrellas, and the like. I wos used to help him when a boy. P’r’aps if yer honour, now, has got a old umbrella as wants refittin’, I might try my hand on that.”
 
The governor smiled. “Vell, I do tink I have von old omberilla. You sall try for to mend him.”
 
Next day saw Bill and Ben surrounded by tools, scraps of wood and whalebone, bits of brass and tin, etcetera, busy as bees, and as happy as any two children who have invented a new game.
 
Ben mended the umbrella admirably. At the same time, Bill fashioned and carved two or three paper-knives of wood with great neatness. But when it was discovered that they could sew sail-cloth expeditiously and well, a quantity of that material was given to them, and they were ordered to make sacks. They set to work accordingly, and made sack after sack until they grew so wearied of the monotonous work that Ben said it made him wish to sit down in sackcloth and ashes; whereupon Bill remarked that if the Mounseers would only give them the sack altogether, it would be very much to their credit.
 
Soon the imprisoned mariners began again to plot and plan their escape. Of course they thought of making ropes of the sail-cloth and twine with which they wrought, but as the turnkey took the material away every night, and brought it back every morning, they gave up this idea, as they had given up many other ideas before.
 
At last, one afternoon, Bill looked up from his work, hit his thigh a slap which produced a pistol-shot crack that echoed up into the high ceiling of the cell, as he exclaimed, “I’ve got it!”
 
“I hope you’ll give us a bit of it, then,” said Ben, “if it’s worth havin’.”
 
“I’ll give you the benefit of it, anyhow,” said Bill, throwing down his tools and eagerly beginning to expound the new plan which had struck him and caused him to strike his thigh. It was to this effect:—
 
That they should beg the turnkey to let them have another old umbrella to work at by way of recreation, as the sack-making was rather monotonous; that, if they should be successful in prevailing on him to grant their request, they should work at the umbrella very slowly, so as to give them time to carry out their plan, which was to form a sort of parachute by adding sail-cloth round the margin of the umbrella so as to extend it to twice its circumference. After it should be finished they were to seize a fitting opportunity, cut the bars of their window, and, with the machine, leap down into the yard below.
 
“Wot!” exclaimed Ben, “jump together!”
 
“Ay, why not, Ben? Sink or swim, together, boy.”
 
“Very true, but I’ve got my doubts about flyin’ together. Better do it one at a time, and send the umbrella up by means of a piece of twine.”
 
“Well, we might do it in that way,” said Bill; “but what d’ye think o’ the plan?”
 
“Fuss rate,” said Ben, “we’ll try it at once.”
 
In accordance with this resolution, Ben made his petition that night, very humbly, to the turnkey, who at first turned a deaf ear to him, but was finally prevailed on to fetch them one of his own umbrellas to be repaired. It happened to be a very large one of the good old stout and bulgy make, and in this respect was the better suited to their purpose. All the tools necessary for the work of repair were supplied except a file. This, however, was brought to them, when Ben pointed out, with much earnestness, that if he had such an implement he could clean up and beautify the ivory handle to such an extent that its owner would not recognise it.
 
This device of improving the ivory handle turned out to be a happy hit, for it enabled Ben to keep the umbrella much longer by him than would otherwise have been possible, for the purpose of covering it with elaborate and really beautiful carving, the progress of which was watched by the turnkey with much interest from day to day.
 
Having gained their end the sailors wrought with indefatigable zeal, and resolutely overcame the difficulties that met them from time to time. Each day they dragged the bench under the window. Ben got upon it, and Bill climbed on his shoulders, by which means he could just reach the iron grating of the window, and there, for half-an-hour at a time, he cautiously used the file. They thought this enough of time to bestow on the work, because the bars could be easily filed through before the parachute was ready.
 
In the preparation of the umbrella, the first difficulty that met them was how they were to conceal their private work when the turnkey came in the evenings to take away their materials for sack-making. After some examination they discovered a plank in the floor, in the corner where they were wont to sleep, which was loose and easily forced up with one of Bill’s unfinished paper-knives, which he made very strong for this special purpose! Beneath there was sufficient room to stow away the cloth with which they fashioned the additional breadth to the umbrella. To have cabbaged at one time all the sail-cloth that was required would have risked discovery; they therefore appropriated small scraps each day, and sewed these neatly together until they had enough. Soon they had a ring of canvas formed, into the centre of which the umbrella fitted exactly, and this ring was so cut and sewn in gores that it formed a continuation of the umbrella, which was thus made to spread out and cover a space of about nine or ten feet in diameter. All round the extremity or margin of the ring, cords of twisted twine were fixed, at intervals of about six inches. There were about sixty of these cords or stays, all of which met and were fastened at the end of the handle. A stout line, made of four-ply twine, was fastened at the top of the umbrella, and passing through a small hole in it was tied round the whalebones inside, and twisted down the stick to the handle, to which it was firmly secured. By this means the whole machine was, as it were, bound together.
 
All these additionals and fixings had, however, to be so constructed that they could be removed, or affixed with some rapidity, for there was always before the sailors the chance that the turnkey might look in to observe how their work was progressing.
 
Indeed one afternoon they were almost discovered at work on the parachute. The turnkey was heard coming along the passage when Ben was in the act of fitting on the new appendages, and the key was actually in the door before the last shred of them was thrust into the hole in the floor, and the loose plank shut down! Ben immediately flung several of the sacks over the place, and then turning suddenly round on his comrade began to pommel him soundly by way of accounting for the flushed condition of his countenance.
 
Thus taken by surprise, Bill returned the blows with interest, and the combatants were separated by the turnkey when in a rather breathless condition!
 
“If you do so more agin, you sall go separate,” said the turnkey.
 
The mere thought of separation at such a moment struck like a chill to the hearts of the sailors, who forthwith shook hands, and vowed earnestly that they would “never do it again.” In order to conciliate the man, Ben took up the umbrella, and pointing to the beautifully carved handle said—
 
“You see it’s all but finished, and I’m very anxious to git it done, so if you’ll let me keep it by me all to-night, I’ll work as long as I can see, and be at it the first thing in the morning.”
 
The man, pleased at the unusual interest which Ben took in the worn-out piece of goods, agreed to let him keep it by him. After carrying away all the other materials, and looking round to see that all was right, he locked them up for the night.
 
Left to themselves, they at once began to prepare for action. They drew forth all the different parts of the parachute (for such it really was, although the machine so named had never been seen, but only heard of, by the seamen), and disposed them in such a manner beside the hole in the floor as to be ready at a moment’s notice, either to be fitted on to the umbrella or thrust back into the place of concealment.
 
Their manacles had been taken off at the time they began to work, so that these were no longer impediments in the way.
 
“Now, Bill, are the bars sure to give way, d’ye think?”
 
“Sartin sure,” said Bill; “they’re holdin’ by nothin’ thicker than a pin.”
 
“Very good, then, let’s go to work. In an hour or so it will be dark enough to try our flyin’ machine, and then good-bye to France—or to the world. It’s neck or nothin’, d’ye see?”
 
“All right,” answered Bill.
 
They sat down to work in good earnest. The spreading rim of canvas, instead of being tagged on as on former occasions, was now sewn securely to the umbrella, and when the latter was expanded, the canvas hung down all round it, and the numerous stays hung quite loose. Ben expected that the rapidity of............