The Fox of France - Chapter 490 (Patreon)

Chapter 490: Retreat

When Jarvis and his companions reached the dock, the small sailboat had already left, running more than twenty meters away from the dock. Since they couldn't perform the light-footed technique of running over water, it was naturally impossible for them to shout loudly and leap into the air, stepping with the left foot on the right and vice versa to fly onto the boat. However, they all jumped into the sea without hesitation, plunging into the ocean like a group of penguins.

But their swimming motions were far less agile than those of penguins; rather, they were as clumsy as penguins on land. Particularly Captain Jarvis, who had filled his belt with gold coins, was so heavy that he had to use more strength just to stay afloat rather than moving forward.

However, the others were not much better; even swimming a bit faster, they could not catch up with the boat, even one powered only by sails. As the boat grew farther away, their distance from it increased from twenty to thirty, then to forty meters. No matter how loudly they shouted or how much they floundered, the boat continued to drift away.

Eventually, their cries for help turned into curses. They started cursing that the king was mad, that the crown prince would be beheaded—comments that clearly violated the laws of the United Kingdom. However, the British constables on the boat trampled over their duties by not turning the boat around to arrest them.

Meanwhile, at the defensive line, more and more "security forces" realized they were being abandoned. They issued impeachment cries, which were as thunderous as landslides. These security forces frantically ran toward the port, kicking up clouds of dust visible from afar.

Such commotion naturally caught the attention of the independent forces and the French. Captain Jarvis estimated that it wouldn't be long before the French started bombarding this area.

Now, the boat was more than a hundred meters away, but suddenly it slowed down and even turned around, starting to approach them again!

"Thank God! They've finally seen us! I love the United Kingdom!" someone joyously exclaimed.

"I knew it; the United Kingdom would never abandon any of its loyal dogs," another person exclaimed with relief. Out of sheer joy, he accidentally swallowed some seawater, leading to a violent coughing fit, nearly causing him to sink.

But although the boat was heading toward them, it didn't stop by their side but instead passed them by, heading toward the dock. On the dock, a big yellow dog sat wagging its tail and barking happily. Indeed, the United Kingdom would never abandon any of its loyal dogs.

The boat slowed down, neared the jetty, and a gangplank was lowered to the dock. People on the boat called out the dog's name, "Spike, Spike, where did you go? Come on up, quick!"

Spike stood up, wagging his tail, and started hopping towards the gangplank. But just as his front paws touched the plank, he hesitated, then turned his head back—at the end of the dock, a gray-blue cat leisurely strolled by.

"Bark, bark, bark!" Spike barked loudly, turned around, and charged at the cat.

"Spike, you silly dog! Come back! Come back!" a British constable shouted as he rushed down from the boat.

"Spike is such a good dog," Jarvis thought as he quickly swam back. He needed to get on board before the constable could bring the silly dog—or rather, the good dog—back. Otherwise, considering the Britons' performance, they might not wait for them.

At that moment, due to the weight of his belt, Jarvis was among the slowest swimmers. But as the saying goes, every cloud has a silver lining; now, he was the closest to the dock.

Jarvis discarded the two large revolvers hanging from his belt—they were utterly useless now—and swam back with all his might. As he swam, he prayed that the dog would buy them a little more time.

The dog was helpful, or perhaps it was the cat that was very helpful, so by the time Jarvis swam back to the shore, climbed up, and ran to the gangplank, the dog and the constable hadn't returned yet.

But Jarvis was still stopped by several constables.

"What are you doing!" the constables demanded.

"Sir, the governor said we could board," Jarvis replied.

The leading constable frowned and said, "This isn't your ship. Your ship will come later."

Jarvis looked out at the sea, where there were no ships coming their way, and on land, the noise of collapse was getting closer—what remained of the defensive forces had crumbled. Moreover, in the sky, a hot air balloon had already taken off—the Irish independence army's attack and the French bombardment were about to begin!

"Sir, please! Look at

 the situation; we can't wait for another ship," Jarvis pleaded as he subtly blocked others' view and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a bag (a contingency reserve filled with several gold coins) and handed it to the leading constable. The constable weighed the small bag in his hand, glanced at the other constables beside him, and then pocketed it, saying, "Alright, there's some room left on deck, you can come aboard. Just find a spot on the deck to stay."

"Thank you, sir, thank you," Jarvis said as he boarded the deck. After him, several other "die-hard collaborators" also boarded the ship after paying their way.

The ship was not large; it was an old-style brigantine that, in the past, would have had several cannons on its deck. However, like the ship, those cannons were now obsolete. Though the ship was no longer suitable for long voyages, it was still usable for coastal sailing, while the cannons were completely useless. So, the ship was still in use, but the cannons were gone.

The ship was small, so with so many people on board, even the deck was quite crowded. But for Jarvis and his companions, just being able to board was bearable. After all, once they reached Britain, everything would be alright.

At that moment, a sound as loud as a train racing across the sky filled the air. Everyone's expression changed—it was the sound of a French 280mm cannon shell whizzing overhead. Such shells were enormously powerful; a direct hit on their brigantine, not to mention a near miss, could easily destroy it.

The whistling grew louder, and then the shell struck about three hundred meters away at the port authority building, exploding violently. The walls of the three-story office building were blown up like leaves in a strong wind, flying high into the air. Some small debris even landed on the ship.

However, the impact of the shell provided some reassurance—it was a slow-firing cannon, generally taking at least four to five minutes to reload. So, for a few minutes at least, they were safe.

But then two smaller shells fell, fortunately far from them.

Actually, considering only the artillery, the so-called "final defensive line" was clearly a deception. As they continuously abandoned positions, the French artillery got closer to the port. Initially, only the 280mm guns could reach the port; later, the 203mm guns could also hit it. If they abandoned another line and retreated to the so-called "last line," even 100mm guns could shell the port.

"Why hasn't he come back yet!" the constable captain was getting anxious. He kept checking his pocket watch, almost ready to order the ship to leave.

"That silly dog, why hasn't he come back? Damn it, forget about the dog! If we don't leave now, we'll be hit by shells!" Jarvis thought to himself. Just before, he had called the dog a "good dog," hoping it would run farther away, but in a blink, the dog became a "silly dog." In reality, the dog hadn't changed—it was only his situation that had.

It was like in the future, when some people sit in car seats, they think those riding electric bikes dart around chaotically, showing low quality; but when they sit on electric bike seats, they think cars at pedestrian crossings don't slow down and beep randomly, showing no quality. This shows that "the butt decides the brain," a timeless facet of human nature.

Just as the constable captain was about to issue the command to sail immediately, he saw from afar the constable running back, carrying the silly dog, and waving and shouting at them.

Once the man and the dog were aboard, more people could be seen running toward them, all waving and shouting.

These were the "security forces" soldiers and junior officers who had realized something was wrong. But they were still far away, while the constables' ship had already left the dock, sails fully hoisted, heading out to sea.

Jarvis stood on the deck watching the dock, over a hundred meters away, where a large group of "security forces" soldiers chaotically ran to the dock and shouted at the ship. As more people crowded in, those who couldn't find footing fell into the sea, plopping into the water like souls jumping from Charon's boat into hell.

Jarvis breathed a sigh of relief, deeply happy for his own good fortune. He watched those struggling in the sea, happily anticipating better days ahead. He did not notice that the British constable captain, in the shadow of the sails, was peering at them and whispering with a group of constables.

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