The Fox of France - Chapter 491 (Patreon)

Chapter 491: Retreat

"Captain, I didn't realize these Irish folks were so loaded! Just a single tap and so much comes out," one gendarme said to his captain, eyeing Jarvis and his companions from the corner of his eye.

"Exactly, this is enough for the whole village to dine out," another gendarme added, licking his lips.

"Hack, you really are unambitious," the captain said. "Think about it, these guys can cough up fifteen or sixteen pounds just like that, and in gold coins no less. What does that tell you?"

As he spoke, the captain flipped a one-pound gold coin into the air. The coin tumbled upward, then fell back down, a beam of sunlight piercing through a hole in the sail, lighting up the spinning coin brilliantly.

A one-pound gold coin of that era weighed about eight grams, though considering purity, the actual gold content was just over seven grams. For a regular worker, a month's income was about three pounds. For female workers, it might not even reach two pounds, and for child laborers, it could be just one pound. However, a gendarme's income was somewhat higher, with a weekly salary of one pound, and with combat allowance, it rose to one and a half pounds per week. That amounted to six pounds a month—a middle-class income by those standards.

Of course, this was just theoretical income, as even the legitimate British forces were starting to delay payments due to the poor economic situation.

"What does it tell you?" Hack hadn't grasped the captain's point yet.

"Do you know? The Duke of Norfolk has a golden retriever," the captain, for some reason, brought up an unrelated topic. "I've seen him take that dog hunting, shooting down a wild duck, and then the dog would go fetch it. It's such a gentle and beautiful animal, much better than Robson's silly dog that chases after cats."

As they spoke of Robson's foolish dog, they all burst into laughter.

"Later, I was at a pet store in London visiting a friend. There, I saw almost the same breed of dog. Out of curiosity, I asked my friend how much such a hunting dog would cost. Guess how much?" the captain asked.

"How much?" said Hack.

"Guess!"

"Fifty pounds? Captain Smith, am I right?" another gendarme said.

"You country bumpkins haven't seen the world!" Captain Smith exclaimed. "Just the selling price is about four hundred fifty pounds, and with the professional training fees, it's about another two hundred pounds. Heh, quite a sum, right? But for the wealthy, that's just the price of a dog. Think about it, these guys easily whipping out fifteen or sixteen pounds, what does that tell you?"

"Ah, Captain, I get it now!" a gendarme suddenly realized. As he spoke, he suddenly worried his voice was too loud, quickly lowered it, and covered his mouth with his hand while sneakily glancing toward Jarvis and his group.

"Captain!" he lowered his voice. "You mean these guys are really rich, so they don't care about this little amount of money?"

"Leonard, you're finally getting it," Captain Smith also lowered his voice.

"But are they carrying all their money on them?" Leonard asked again.

"Who knows," Captain Smith replied. "But look at that guy. See his belt? It's thick and weighs down his waist. There's probably something there. Look at him, soaking wet from the sea, he took off his jacket and laid it aside, but he didn't take off his pants. That's to avoid us noticing something about his belt. Look at that other guy. Took off both his jacket and pants, but refused to take off his shoes. Watch how he walks; those shoes are likely hiding something too. And..."

As Captain Smith pointed out the suspicious aspects of these men, everyone's eyes gleamed yellow, as if countless gold coins were shining within them.

"Captain, should we..." another gendarme whispered in a low voice, sounding like a hyena whimpering in the night, while his eyes flashed with a predatory gleam.

"Why not? The ship's crew are our own, and no one knows they boarded our ship."

"The crew members know," someone said.

"Just give them a sum to keep quiet. Who'd want to make trouble over a few Irishmen?"

Their voices grew quieter and their eyes more ferocious as they spoke.

Yet Jarvis, drying his wet jacket on a barrel and wearing his still damp pants to avoid drawing attention to the secrets hidden in his belt, was blissfully unaware of all this. Far from the fires of Ireland, aboard a ship bound for Britain, his heart was full of happiness. In his belt were money, a full 10 kilograms of gold coins, and several property deeds.

"Once we reach Britain, I can finally live well,"

 Jarvis thought, looking at the sky so blue, the sun so warm, the sea breeze so gentle... And then he thought of the house he bought in Britain.

"I have a house, facing the sea, with flowers blooming in spring..." Jarvis's heart was so full of joy he almost wanted to shout out his happiness to everyone.

Like Jarvis, the other "die-hard Irish traitors" were also immersed in the happiness of having survived great adversity, anticipating their future blissful lives. They, too, had exchanged their compatriots' blood for far more money than Judas Iscariot ever did; the properties they bought in Britain were much larger than the field of blood that Judas acquired.

Now these fellows were lazily sunbathing on deck, the breeze cool, yet none heard the ominous cries from the blood in their gold.

As Jarvis and the others dreamed of the future, the gendarmes aboard the ship were communicating with each other. The ship was not large, currently hosting about a dozen sailors, over thirty gendarmes, and eight "die-hard Irish traitors," crammed to the brim.

The gendarmes soon learned that these "die-hard Irish traitors" were rich pickings. They discussed briefly and all felt this was divine providence. As the saying goes, "What God gives you, you must not refuse." To refuse God's benevolence would surely, no, definitely lead to bad outcomes. So, they quickly reached a consensus. The sailors joined in too, willing to accept this divine gift.

So, having a religious belief really was a wonderful thing. Because whatever you do, you can always blame the deities.

"Captain, let's do it!" Leonard, always impatient, urged.

"Don't rush, they can't escape anyway," Captain Smith said. "But their wealth is definitely on them, and they're all up on deck. If we act now and they jump into the sea, and if we don't catch them, wouldn't we lose out? So, we need a plan to get them all down into the hold. Then we can finish them off there and make sure to get the money!"

"We were only allowing them on deck, now if we call them down, they might suspect something because they have money on them," Captain Zillings said. "I'll declare the ship is leaking, need everyone's help, and then we can bring them down with that excuse. Control them, get the money, and then deal with them."

This suggestion received unanimous support, and so it was settled. By the afternoon, the sun had shifted westward, and the retreat ships were faster than this old ship, so now only this lonely vessel remained on the vast sea.

By then, Jarvis' clothes and pants had dried, though they were stiff with salt, not very comfortable to wear. However, compared to the impending happiness, this was nothing.

At that moment, a gendarme, sweating profusely, came up from below deck, barely showing half his body before shouting. "Everyone down, everyone down to help... This damned ship is leaking! Damn it, all down to help, including you damned Irish! Get down here!"

Since it was an order from the officer, the "die-hard Irish traitors" naturally obeyed. Several of them didn't suspect anything and followed down into the hold. Compared to outside, the hold was quite dark, and those who just went down could hardly see anything.

In the pitch dark, a hand grabbed Jarvis' wrist. Jarvis thought the person was worried he might fall, so he extended his hand to help. Although the other person couldn't possibly see clearly in the dark, Jarvis still smiled and said thanks.

However, the person didn't care for that at all, grabbing his hand and twisting it violently, pinning it behind his back. Another person pounced out, grabbing his other hand, and together, they forcefully pressed him to the ground.

"Officer, officer, I'm one of you, one of you!" Jarvis shouted, hoping for luck. But the men holding him down didn't care, reaching for his waist, unbuckling his belt, and then pulling it out.

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