Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Eighteen.I go away on service, am wounded and taken prisoner with O’Brien—Diamond cut diamond between the O’Briens—Get into comfortable quarters—My first interview with Celeste.And now I have to relate an event, which, young as I was at the time, will be found to have seriously affected me in after-life. How little do we know what to-morrow may bring forth! We had regained our station, and for some days had been standing off and on the coast, when one morning at daybreak, we found ourselves about four miles from the town of Cette, and a large convoy of vessels coming round a point. We made all sail in chase, and they anchored close in shore, under a battery, which we did not discover until it opened fire upon us. The shot struck the frigate two or three times, for the water was smooth, and the battery nearly level with it. The captain tacked the ship, and stood out again, until the boats were hoisted out, and all ready to pull on shore and storm the battery. O’Brien, who was the officer commanding the first cutter on service, was in his boat, and I again obtained permission from him to smuggle myself into it.We ran on shore, amidst the fire of the gun-boats which protected the convoy, by which we lost three men, and made for the battery, which we took without opposition, the French artillerymen running out as we ran in. The first lieutenant, who commanded, desired O’Brien to remain with the first cutter, and after the armourer had spiked the guns, as officer of the boat he was to shove off immediately. O’Brien and I remained in the battery with the armourer, the boat’s crew being ordered down to the boat, to keep her afloat, and ready to shove off at a moment’s warning. We had spiked all the guns but one, when all of a sudden a volley of musketry was poured upon us, which killed the armourer and wounded me in the leg, above the knee. I fell down by O’Brien, who cried out, “By the powers! here they are, and one gun not spiked.” He jumped down, wrenched the hammer from the armourer’s hand, and seizing a nail from the bag, in a few moments he had spiked the gun. At this time I heard the tramping of the French soldiers advancing, when O’Brien threw away the hammer, and lifting me upon his shoulders, cried, “Come along, Peter, my boy,” and made for the boat as fast as he could; but he was too late; he had not got half-way to the boat, before he was collared by two French soldiers, and dragged back into the battery. The French troops then advanced, and kept up a smart fire; our cutter escaped, and joined the other boat, who had captured the gun-boats and convoy with little opposition. Our large boats had carronades mounted in their bows, and soon returned the fire with round and grape, which drove the French troops back into the battery, where they remained, popping at our men under cover, until most of the vessels were taken out: those which they could not man were burnt. In the meantime, O’Brien had been taken into the battery, with me on his back: but as soon as he was there, he laid me gently down, saying, “Peter, my boy, as long as you were under my charge, I’d carry you through thick and thin; but now that you are under the charge of these French beggars, why, let them carry you. Every man his own bundle, Peter, that’s fair play; so if they think you’re worth the carrying, let them bear the weight of ye.”As soon as our boats were clear of their musketry, the commanding officer of the French troops examined the guns in the battery, with the hope of reaching them, and was very much annoyed to find that every one of them was spiked. “He’ll look sharper than a magpie before he finds a clear touch-hole, I expect,” said O’Brien, as he watched the officer. And here I must observe, that O’Brien showed great presence of mind in spiking the last gun; for had they had one gun to fire at our boats towing out the prizes, they must have done a great deal of mischief to them, and we should have lost a great many men; but in so doing, and in the attempt to save me, he sacrificed himself, and was taken prisoner. When the troops ceased firing, the commanding officer came up to O’Brien, and looking at him, said, “Officer?” to which O’Brien nodded his head. He then pointed to me—“Officer?” O’Brien nodded his head again, at which the French troops laughed, as O’Brien told me afterwards, because I was what they called anenfant, which means an infant. I was very stiff and faint, and could not walk. The officer who commanded the troops left a detachment in the battery, and prepared to return to Cette, from whence they came. O’Brien walked, and I was carried on three muskets by six of the French soldiers,—not a very pleasant conveyance at any time, but in my state excessively painful. However, I must say, that they were very kind to me, and put a great coat or something under my wounded leg, for I was in an agony, and fainted several times. At last they brought me some water to drink. O how delicious it was! In about an hour and a half, which appeared to me to be five days at the least, we arrived at the town of Cette, and I was taken up to the house of the officer who commanded the troops, and who had often looked at me as I was carried there from the battery, saying, “Pauvre enfant!” I was put on a bed, where I again fainted away. When I came to my senses, I found a surgeon had bandaged my leg, and that I had been undressed. O’Brien was standing by me, and I believe that he had been crying, for he thought that I was dead. When I looked him in the face, he said, “Pater, you baste, how you frightened me: bad luck to me if ever I take charge of another youngster. What did you sham dead for?”“I am better now, O’Brien,” replied I: “how much I am indebted to you! you have been made prisoner in trying to save me.”“I have been made prisoner in doing my duty, in one shape or another.”I squeezed the offered hand of O’Brien, and looked round me; the surgeon stood at one side of the bed, and the officer who commanded the troops at the other. At the head of the bed was a little girl about twelve years old, who held a cup in her hand, out of which something had been poured down my throat. I looked at her, and she had such pity in her face, which was remarkably handsome, that she appeared to me as an angel, and I turned round as well as I could, that I might look at her alone. She offered me the cup, which I should have refused from any one but her, and I drank a little. Another person then came into the room, and a conversation took place in French.“I wonder what they mean to do with us,” said I to O’Brien.“Whist, hold your tongue,” replied he; and then he leaned over me, and said in a whisper, “I understand all they say; don’t you recollect, I told you that I learnt the language after I was kilt and buried in the sand in South America?” After a little more conversation, the officer and the others retired, leaving nobody but the little girl and O’Brien in the room.“It’s a message from the governor,” said O’Brien, as soon as they were gone, “wishing the prisoners to be sent to the gaol in the citadel, to be examined; and the officer says (and he’s a real gentleman, as far as I can judge) that you’re but a baby, and badly wounded in the bargain, and that it would be a shame not to leave you to die in peace; so I presume that I’ll part company from you very soon.”“I hope not, O’Brien,” replied I; “if you go to prison, I will go also, for I will not leave you, who are my best friend, to remain with strangers; I should not be half so happy, although I might have more comforts in my present situation.”“Pater, my boy, I am glad to see that your heart is in the right place, as I always thought it was, or I wouldn’t have taken you under my protection. We’ll go together to prison, my jewel, and I’ll fish at the bars with a bag and a long string, just by way of recreation, and to pick up a little money to buy you all manner of nice things; and when you get well, you shall do it yourself—mayhap you’ll have better luck, as Peter your namesake had, who was a fisherman before you. But somehow or another, I think we mayn’t be parted yet, for I heard the officer (who appears to be a real gentleman, and worthy to have been an Irishman born) say to the other, that he’d ask the governor for me to stay with you on parole, until you are well again.” The little girl handed me the lemonade, of which I drank a little, and then I felt very faint again. I laid my head on the pillow, and O’Brien having left off talking, I was soon in a comfortable sleep. In an hour I was awakened by the return of the officer, who was accompanied by the surgeon. The officer addressed O’Brien in French, who shook his head as before.Two other persons then came into the room: one of them addressed O’Brien in very bad English, saying that he was interpreter, and would beg him to answer a few questions. He then inquired the name of our ship, number of guns, and how long we had been cruising. After that the force of the English fleet, and a great many other questions relative to them; all of which were put in French by the person who came with him, and the answers translated and taken down in a book. Some of the questions O’Brien answered correctly; to others he pleaded ignorance; and to some he asserted what was not true. But I did not blame him for that, as it was his duty not to give information to the enemy. At last they asked my name and rank, which O’Brien told them.“Was I noble?”“Yes,” replied O’Brien.“Don’t say so, O’Brien,” interrupted I.“Peter, you know nothing about it; you are grandson to a lord.”“I know that, but still I am not noble myself, although descended from him; therefore pray don’t say so.”“Bother, Pater! I have said it, and I won’t unsay it; besides, Pater, recollect it’s a French question, and in France you would be considered noble. At all events it can do no harm.”“I feel too ill to talk, O’Brien; but I wish you had not said so.”They then inquired O’Brien’s name, which he told them; his rank in the service, and also whether he was noble.“I am an O’Brien,” replied he; “and pray what’s the meaning of the O before my name, if I’m not noble? However, Mr Interpreter, you may add, that we have dropped our title because it’s not convanient.” The French officer burst out into a loud laugh, which surprised us very much. The interpreter had great difficulty in explaining what O’Brien said; but as O’Brien told me afterwards, the answer was put downdoubtful.They all left the room except the officer, who then, to our astonishment, addressed us in good English: “Gentlemen, I have obtained permission from the governor for you to remain in my house, until Mr Simple is recovered. Mr O’Brien, it is necessary that I should receive your parole of honour, that you will not attempt to escape. Are you willing to give it?”O’Brien was quite amazed; “Murder an’ Irish,” cried he; “so you speak English, colonel.”“I’m of Irish descent,” replied the officer, “and my name, as well as yours, is O’Brien. I was brought up in this country, not being permitted to serve my own, and retain the religion of my forefathers. But to the question, Mr O’Brien, will you give your parole?”“The word of an Irishman, and the hand to boot,” replied O’Brien, shaking the colonel by the hand; “and you are more than doubly sure, for I’ll never go away and leave little Peter here; and as for carrying him on my back, I’ve had enough of that already.”“It is sufficient,” replied the colonel. “Mr O’Brien, I will make you as comfortable as I can; and when you are tired of attending your friend, my little daughter shall take your place. You’ll find her a kind little nurse, Mr Simple.”I could not refrain from tears at the colonel’s kindness: he shook me by the hand; and telling O’Brien that dinner was ready, he called up his daughter, the little girl who had attended me before, and desired her to remain in the room. “Celeste,” said he, “you understand a little English; quite enough to find out what he is in want of. Go and fetch your work, to amuse yourself when he is asleep.” Celeste went out, and returning with her embroidery, sat down by the head of the bed: the colonel and O’Brien then quitted the room. Celeste then commenced her embroidery, and as her eyes were cast down upon her work, I was able to look at her without her observing it. As I said before, she was a very beautiful little girl; her hair was light brown, eyes very large, and eyebrows drawn as with a pair of compasses; her nose and mouth was also very pretty; but it was not so much her features as the expression of her countenance, which was so beautiful, so modest, so sweet, and so intelligent. When she smiled, which she almost always did when she spoke, her teeth were like two rows of little pearls.I had not looked at her long, before she raised her eyes from her work, and perceiving that I was looking at her, said, “You want—something—want drink—I speak very little English.”“Nothing, I thank ye,” replied I; “I only want to go to sleep.”“Then—shut—your eye,” replied she, smiling; and she went to the window, and drew down the blinds to darken the room. In the evening, the surgeon called again; he felt my pulse, and directing cold applications to my leg, which had swelled considerably, and was becoming very painful, told Colonel O’Brien that, although I had considerable fever, I was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. But I shall not dwell upon my severe sufferings for a fortnight, after which the ball was extracted; nor upon how carefully I was watched by O’Brien, the colonel, and little Celeste, during my peevishness and irritation arising from pain and fever.

And now I have to relate an event, which, young as I was at the time, will be found to have seriously affected me in after-life. How little do we know what to-morrow may bring forth! We had regained our station, and for some days had been standing off and on the coast, when one morning at daybreak, we found ourselves about four miles from the town of Cette, and a large convoy of vessels coming round a point. We made all sail in chase, and they anchored close in shore, under a battery, which we did not discover until it opened fire upon us. The shot struck the frigate two or three times, for the water was smooth, and the battery nearly level with it. The captain tacked the ship, and stood out again, until the boats were hoisted out, and all ready to pull on shore and storm the battery. O’Brien, who was the officer commanding the first cutter on service, was in his boat, and I again obtained permission from him to smuggle myself into it.

We ran on shore, amidst the fire of the gun-boats which protected the convoy, by which we lost three men, and made for the battery, which we took without opposition, the French artillerymen running out as we ran in. The first lieutenant, who commanded, desired O’Brien to remain with the first cutter, and after the armourer had spiked the guns, as officer of the boat he was to shove off immediately. O’Brien and I remained in the battery with the armourer, the boat’s crew being ordered down to the boat, to keep her afloat, and ready to shove off at a moment’s warning. We had spiked all the guns but one, when all of a sudden a volley of musketry was poured upon us, which killed the armourer and wounded me in the leg, above the knee. I fell down by O’Brien, who cried out, “By the powers! here they are, and one gun not spiked.” He jumped down, wrenched the hammer from the armourer’s hand, and seizing a nail from the bag, in a few moments he had spiked the gun. At this time I heard the tramping of the French soldiers advancing, when O’Brien threw away the hammer, and lifting me upon his shoulders, cried, “Come along, Peter, my boy,” and made for the boat as fast as he could; but he was too late; he had not got half-way to the boat, before he was collared by two French soldiers, and dragged back into the battery. The French troops then advanced, and kept up a smart fire; our cutter escaped, and joined the other boat, who had captured the gun-boats and convoy with little opposition. Our large boats had carronades mounted in their bows, and soon returned the fire with round and grape, which drove the French troops back into the battery, where they remained, popping at our men under cover, until most of the vessels were taken out: those which they could not man were burnt. In the meantime, O’Brien had been taken into the battery, with me on his back: but as soon as he was there, he laid me gently down, saying, “Peter, my boy, as long as you were under my charge, I’d carry you through thick and thin; but now that you are under the charge of these French beggars, why, let them carry you. Every man his own bundle, Peter, that’s fair play; so if they think you’re worth the carrying, let them bear the weight of ye.”

As soon as our boats were clear of their musketry, the commanding officer of the French troops examined the guns in the battery, with the hope of reaching them, and was very much annoyed to find that every one of them was spiked. “He’ll look sharper than a magpie before he finds a clear touch-hole, I expect,” said O’Brien, as he watched the officer. And here I must observe, that O’Brien showed great presence of mind in spiking the last gun; for had they had one gun to fire at our boats towing out the prizes, they must have done a great deal of mischief to them, and we should have lost a great many men; but in so doing, and in the attempt to save me, he sacrificed himself, and was taken prisoner. When the troops ceased firing, the commanding officer came up to O’Brien, and looking at him, said, “Officer?” to which O’Brien nodded his head. He then pointed to me—“Officer?” O’Brien nodded his head again, at which the French troops laughed, as O’Brien told me afterwards, because I was what they called anenfant, which means an infant. I was very stiff and faint, and could not walk. The officer who commanded the troops left a detachment in the battery, and prepared to return to Cette, from whence they came. O’Brien walked, and I was carried on three muskets by six of the French soldiers,—not a very pleasant conveyance at any time, but in my state excessively painful. However, I must say, that they were very kind to me, and put a great coat or something under my wounded leg, for I was in an agony, and fainted several times. At last they brought me some water to drink. O how delicious it was! In about an hour and a half, which appeared to me to be five days at the least, we arrived at the town of Cette, and I was taken up to the house of the officer who commanded the troops, and who had often looked at me as I was carried there from the battery, saying, “Pauvre enfant!” I was put on a bed, where I again fainted away. When I came to my senses, I found a surgeon had bandaged my leg, and that I had been undressed. O’Brien was standing by me, and I believe that he had been crying, for he thought that I was dead. When I looked him in the face, he said, “Pater, you baste, how you frightened me: bad luck to me if ever I take charge of another youngster. What did you sham dead for?”

“I am better now, O’Brien,” replied I: “how much I am indebted to you! you have been made prisoner in trying to save me.”

“I have been made prisoner in doing my duty, in one shape or another.”

I squeezed the offered hand of O’Brien, and looked round me; the surgeon stood at one side of the bed, and the officer who commanded the troops at the other. At the head of the bed was a little girl about twelve years old, who held a cup in her hand, out of which something had been poured down my throat. I looked at her, and she had such pity in her face, which was remarkably handsome, that she appeared to me as an angel, and I turned round as well as I could, that I might look at her alone. She offered me the cup, which I should have refused from any one but her, and I drank a little. Another person then came into the room, and a conversation took place in French.

“I wonder what they mean to do with us,” said I to O’Brien.

“Whist, hold your tongue,” replied he; and then he leaned over me, and said in a whisper, “I understand all they say; don’t you recollect, I told you that I learnt the language after I was kilt and buried in the sand in South America?” After a little more conversation, the officer and the others retired, leaving nobody but the little girl and O’Brien in the room.

“It’s a message from the governor,” said O’Brien, as soon as they were gone, “wishing the prisoners to be sent to the gaol in the citadel, to be examined; and the officer says (and he’s a real gentleman, as far as I can judge) that you’re but a baby, and badly wounded in the bargain, and that it would be a shame not to leave you to die in peace; so I presume that I’ll part company from you very soon.”

“I hope not, O’Brien,” replied I; “if you go to prison, I will go also, for I will not leave you, who are my best friend, to remain with strangers; I should not be half so happy, although I might have more comforts in my present situation.”

“Pater, my boy, I am glad to see that your heart is in the right place, as I always thought it was, or I wouldn’t have taken you under my protection. We’ll go together to prison, my jewel, and I’ll fish at the bars with a bag and a long string, just by way of recreation, and to pick up a little money to buy you all manner of nice things; and when you get well, you shall do it yourself—mayhap you’ll have better luck, as Peter your namesake had, who was a fisherman before you. But somehow or another, I think we mayn’t be parted yet, for I heard the officer (who appears to be a real gentleman, and worthy to have been an Irishman born) say to the other, that he’d ask the governor for me to stay with you on parole, until you are well again.” The little girl handed me the lemonade, of which I drank a little, and then I felt very faint again. I laid my head on the pillow, and O’Brien having left off talking, I was soon in a comfortable sleep. In an hour I was awakened by the return of the officer, who was accompanied by the surgeon. The officer addressed O’Brien in French, who shook his head as before.

Two other persons then came into the room: one of them addressed O’Brien in very bad English, saying that he was interpreter, and would beg him to answer a few questions. He then inquired the name of our ship, number of guns, and how long we had been cruising. After that the force of the English fleet, and a great many other questions relative to them; all of which were put in French by the person who came with him, and the answers translated and taken down in a book. Some of the questions O’Brien answered correctly; to others he pleaded ignorance; and to some he asserted what was not true. But I did not blame him for that, as it was his duty not to give information to the enemy. At last they asked my name and rank, which O’Brien told them.

“Was I noble?”

“Yes,” replied O’Brien.

“Don’t say so, O’Brien,” interrupted I.

“Peter, you know nothing about it; you are grandson to a lord.”

“I know that, but still I am not noble myself, although descended from him; therefore pray don’t say so.”

“Bother, Pater! I have said it, and I won’t unsay it; besides, Pater, recollect it’s a French question, and in France you would be considered noble. At all events it can do no harm.”

“I feel too ill to talk, O’Brien; but I wish you had not said so.”

They then inquired O’Brien’s name, which he told them; his rank in the service, and also whether he was noble.

“I am an O’Brien,” replied he; “and pray what’s the meaning of the O before my name, if I’m not noble? However, Mr Interpreter, you may add, that we have dropped our title because it’s not convanient.” The French officer burst out into a loud laugh, which surprised us very much. The interpreter had great difficulty in explaining what O’Brien said; but as O’Brien told me afterwards, the answer was put downdoubtful.

They all left the room except the officer, who then, to our astonishment, addressed us in good English: “Gentlemen, I have obtained permission from the governor for you to remain in my house, until Mr Simple is recovered. Mr O’Brien, it is necessary that I should receive your parole of honour, that you will not attempt to escape. Are you willing to give it?”

O’Brien was quite amazed; “Murder an’ Irish,” cried he; “so you speak English, colonel.”

“I’m of Irish descent,” replied the officer, “and my name, as well as yours, is O’Brien. I was brought up in this country, not being permitted to serve my own, and retain the religion of my forefathers. But to the question, Mr O’Brien, will you give your parole?”

“The word of an Irishman, and the hand to boot,” replied O’Brien, shaking the colonel by the hand; “and you are more than doubly sure, for I’ll never go away and leave little Peter here; and as for carrying him on my back, I’ve had enough of that already.”

“It is sufficient,” replied the colonel. “Mr O’Brien, I will make you as comfortable as I can; and when you are tired of attending your friend, my little daughter shall take your place. You’ll find her a kind little nurse, Mr Simple.”

I could not refrain from tears at the colonel’s kindness: he shook me by the hand; and telling O’Brien that dinner was ready, he called up his daughter, the little girl who had attended me before, and desired her to remain in the room. “Celeste,” said he, “you understand a little English; quite enough to find out what he is in want of. Go and fetch your work, to amuse yourself when he is asleep.” Celeste went out, and returning with her embroidery, sat down by the head of the bed: the colonel and O’Brien then quitted the room. Celeste then commenced her embroidery, and as her eyes were cast down upon her work, I was able to look at her without her observing it. As I said before, she was a very beautiful little girl; her hair was light brown, eyes very large, and eyebrows drawn as with a pair of compasses; her nose and mouth was also very pretty; but it was not so much her features as the expression of her countenance, which was so beautiful, so modest, so sweet, and so intelligent. When she smiled, which she almost always did when she spoke, her teeth were like two rows of little pearls.

I had not looked at her long, before she raised her eyes from her work, and perceiving that I was looking at her, said, “You want—something—want drink—I speak very little English.”

“Nothing, I thank ye,” replied I; “I only want to go to sleep.”

“Then—shut—your eye,” replied she, smiling; and she went to the window, and drew down the blinds to darken the room. In the evening, the surgeon called again; he felt my pulse, and directing cold applications to my leg, which had swelled considerably, and was becoming very painful, told Colonel O’Brien that, although I had considerable fever, I was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. But I shall not dwell upon my severe sufferings for a fortnight, after which the ball was extracted; nor upon how carefully I was watched by O’Brien, the colonel, and little Celeste, during my peevishness and irritation arising from pain and fever.

Chapter Nineteen.We remove to very unpleasant quarters—Birds of a feather won’t always flock together—O’Brien cuts a cutter midshipman, and gets a taste of french steel—Altogether “flat” work.As soon as I was well enough to attend to my little nurse, we became very intimate, as might be expected. In five weeks I was out of bed, and could limp about the room; and before two months were over, I was quite recovered. The colonel, however, would not report me to the governor; I remained on a sofa during the day, but at dusk I stole out of the house, and walked about with Celeste. I never passed such a happy time as the last fortnight; the only drawback was the remembrance that I should soon have to exchange it for a prison. I was more easy about my father and mother, as O’Brien had written to them, assuring them that I was doing well; and besides, a few days after our capture, the frigate had run in, and sent a flag of truce to inquire if we were alive or made prisoners; at the same time Captain Savage sent on shore all our clothes, and two hundred dollars in cash for our use. I knew that even if O’Brien’s letter did not reach them, they were sure to hear from Captain Savage that I was doing well. At the end of twelve weeks the surgeon could no longer withhold his report, and we were ordered to be ready in two days to march to Toulon, where we were to join another party of prisoners to proceed with them into the interior. I must pass over our parting, which the reader may imagine was very painful. I promised to write to Celeste, and she promised that she would answer my letters, if it were permitted. We shook hands with Colonel O’Brien, thanking him for his kindness, and much to his regret, we were taken in charge by two French cuirassiers, who were waiting at the door. As we preferred being continued on parole until our arrival at Toulon, the soldiers were not at all particular about watching us: and we set off on horseback, O’Brien and I going first, and the French cuirassiers following us in the rear.The evening of the second day we arrived in Toulon, and as soon as we entered the gates, we were delivered into the custody of an officer, with a very sinister cast of countenance, who, after some conversation with the cuirassiers, told us in a surly tone that our parole was at an end and gave us in charge of a corporal’s guard, with directions to conduct us to the prison near the Arsenal. We presented the cuirassiers with four dollars each, for their civility, and were then hurried away to our place of captivity. I observed to O’Brien, that I was afraid that we must now bid farewell to anything like pleasure. “You’re right there, Peter,” replied he; “but there’s a certain jewel called Hope, that somebody found at the bottom of his chest, when it was clean empty, and so we must not lose sight of it, but try and escape as soon as we can; but the less we talk about it the better.” In a few minutes we arrived at our destination: the door was opened, ourselves and our bundles (for we had only selected a few things for our march, the colonel promising to forward the remainder as soon as we wrote to inform him to which depôt we were consigned) were rudely shoved in; and as the doors again closed, and the heavy bolts were shot, I felt a creeping, chill, sensation pass through my whole body.As soon as we could see—for although the prison was not very dark, yet so suddenly thrown in, after the glare of a bright sunshiny day, at first we could distinguish nothing—we found ourselves in company with about thirty English sailors. One man, who was playing at cards, looked up for a moment as we came in, and cried out, “Hurrah, my lads! the more the merrier,” as if he really were pleased to find that there were others who were as unfortunate as himself. We stood looking at the groups for about ten minutes, when O’Brien observed that “we might as well come to an anchor, foul ground being better than no bottom;” so we sat down in a corner upon our bundles, where we remained for more than an hour, surveying the scene, without speaking a word to each other. I could not speak—I felt so very miserable.We had been in the prison about two hours, when a lad in a very greasy, ragged jacket, with a pale emaciated face, came up to us, and said, “I perceive by your uniforms that you are both officers, as well as myself.”O’Brien stared at him for a little while, and then answered, “Upon my soul and honour, then, you’ve the advantage of us, for it’s more than I could perceive in you; but I’ll take your word for it. Pray what ship may have had the misfortune of losing such a credit to the service?”“Why, I belong to theSnappercutter,” replied the young lad; “I was taken in a prixe, which the commanding officer had given in my charge to take to Gibraltar: but they won’t believe that I’m an officer. I have applied for officer’s allowance and rations, and they won’t give them to me.”“Well, but they know that we are officers,” replied O’Brien; “why do they shove us in here, with the common seamen!”“I suppose you are only put in here for the present,” replied the cutter’s midshipman; “but why I cannot tell.”Nor could we, until afterwards, when we found out, as our narrative will show, that the officer who received us from the cuirassiers had once quarrelled with Colonel O’Brien, who first pulled his nose, and afterwards ran him through the body. Being told by the cuirassiers that we were much esteemed by Colonel O’Brien, he resolved to annoy us as much as he could; and when he sent up the document announcing our arrival, he left out the word “Officers,” and put us in confinement with the common seamen.Fortunately we were not destined to remain long in this detestable hole. After a night of misery, during which we remained sitting on our bundles, and sleeping how we could, leaning with our backs against the damp wall, we were roused at daybreak by the unbarring of the prison doors, followed up with an order to go into the prison yard. We were huddled out like a flock of sheep, by a file of soldiers with loaded muskets; and, as we went into the yard, were ranged two and two. The same officer who ordered us into prison, commanded the detachment of soldiers who had us in charge. O’Brien stepped out of the ranks, and addressing them, stated that we are officers, and had no right to be treated like common sailors. The French officer replied that he had better information, and that we wore coats which did not belong to us; upon which O’Brien was in a great rage, calling the officer a liar, and demanded satisfaction for the insult, appealing to the French soldiers, and stating that Colonel O’Brien, who was at Cette, was his countryman, and had received him for two months into his house upon parole, which was quite sufficient to establish his being an officer. The French soldiers appeared to side with O’Brien after they had heard this explanation, stating that no common English sailor could speak such good French, and that they were present when we were sent in on parole, and they asked the officer whether he intended to give satisfaction. The officer stormed, and drawing his sword out of the scabbard, struck O’Brien with the flat of the blade, looking at him with contempt, and ordering him into the ranks. I could not help observing that, during this scene, the men-of-war sailors who were among the prisoners, were very indignant, while, on the contrary, those captured in merchant vessels appeared to be pleased with the insult offered to O’Brien. One of the French soldiers then made a sarcastic remark, that the French officer did not much like the name of O’Brien. This so enraged the officer, that he flew at O’Brien, pushed him back into the ranks, and taking out a pistol, threatened to shoot him through the head. I must do the justice to the French soldiers, that they all called out “Shame!”When O’Brien returned to the ranks, he looked defiance at the officer, telling him that “he would pocket the affront very carefully, as he intended to bring it out again upon a future and more suitable occasion.” We were then marched out in ranks, two and two, being met in the street by two drummers, and a crowd of people, who had gathered to witness our departure. The drums beat and away we went. The officer who had charge of us mounted a small horse, galloping up and down from one end of the ranks to the other, with his sword drawn, bullying, swearing, and striking with the flat of the blade at any one of the prisoners who was not in his proper place. When we were close to the gates, we were joined by another detachment of prisoners: we were then ordered to halt, and were informed, through an interpreter, that any one attempting to escape would immediately be shot; after which information we once more proceeded on our route.

As soon as I was well enough to attend to my little nurse, we became very intimate, as might be expected. In five weeks I was out of bed, and could limp about the room; and before two months were over, I was quite recovered. The colonel, however, would not report me to the governor; I remained on a sofa during the day, but at dusk I stole out of the house, and walked about with Celeste. I never passed such a happy time as the last fortnight; the only drawback was the remembrance that I should soon have to exchange it for a prison. I was more easy about my father and mother, as O’Brien had written to them, assuring them that I was doing well; and besides, a few days after our capture, the frigate had run in, and sent a flag of truce to inquire if we were alive or made prisoners; at the same time Captain Savage sent on shore all our clothes, and two hundred dollars in cash for our use. I knew that even if O’Brien’s letter did not reach them, they were sure to hear from Captain Savage that I was doing well. At the end of twelve weeks the surgeon could no longer withhold his report, and we were ordered to be ready in two days to march to Toulon, where we were to join another party of prisoners to proceed with them into the interior. I must pass over our parting, which the reader may imagine was very painful. I promised to write to Celeste, and she promised that she would answer my letters, if it were permitted. We shook hands with Colonel O’Brien, thanking him for his kindness, and much to his regret, we were taken in charge by two French cuirassiers, who were waiting at the door. As we preferred being continued on parole until our arrival at Toulon, the soldiers were not at all particular about watching us: and we set off on horseback, O’Brien and I going first, and the French cuirassiers following us in the rear.

The evening of the second day we arrived in Toulon, and as soon as we entered the gates, we were delivered into the custody of an officer, with a very sinister cast of countenance, who, after some conversation with the cuirassiers, told us in a surly tone that our parole was at an end and gave us in charge of a corporal’s guard, with directions to conduct us to the prison near the Arsenal. We presented the cuirassiers with four dollars each, for their civility, and were then hurried away to our place of captivity. I observed to O’Brien, that I was afraid that we must now bid farewell to anything like pleasure. “You’re right there, Peter,” replied he; “but there’s a certain jewel called Hope, that somebody found at the bottom of his chest, when it was clean empty, and so we must not lose sight of it, but try and escape as soon as we can; but the less we talk about it the better.” In a few minutes we arrived at our destination: the door was opened, ourselves and our bundles (for we had only selected a few things for our march, the colonel promising to forward the remainder as soon as we wrote to inform him to which depôt we were consigned) were rudely shoved in; and as the doors again closed, and the heavy bolts were shot, I felt a creeping, chill, sensation pass through my whole body.

As soon as we could see—for although the prison was not very dark, yet so suddenly thrown in, after the glare of a bright sunshiny day, at first we could distinguish nothing—we found ourselves in company with about thirty English sailors. One man, who was playing at cards, looked up for a moment as we came in, and cried out, “Hurrah, my lads! the more the merrier,” as if he really were pleased to find that there were others who were as unfortunate as himself. We stood looking at the groups for about ten minutes, when O’Brien observed that “we might as well come to an anchor, foul ground being better than no bottom;” so we sat down in a corner upon our bundles, where we remained for more than an hour, surveying the scene, without speaking a word to each other. I could not speak—I felt so very miserable.

We had been in the prison about two hours, when a lad in a very greasy, ragged jacket, with a pale emaciated face, came up to us, and said, “I perceive by your uniforms that you are both officers, as well as myself.”

O’Brien stared at him for a little while, and then answered, “Upon my soul and honour, then, you’ve the advantage of us, for it’s more than I could perceive in you; but I’ll take your word for it. Pray what ship may have had the misfortune of losing such a credit to the service?”

“Why, I belong to theSnappercutter,” replied the young lad; “I was taken in a prixe, which the commanding officer had given in my charge to take to Gibraltar: but they won’t believe that I’m an officer. I have applied for officer’s allowance and rations, and they won’t give them to me.”

“Well, but they know that we are officers,” replied O’Brien; “why do they shove us in here, with the common seamen!”

“I suppose you are only put in here for the present,” replied the cutter’s midshipman; “but why I cannot tell.”

Nor could we, until afterwards, when we found out, as our narrative will show, that the officer who received us from the cuirassiers had once quarrelled with Colonel O’Brien, who first pulled his nose, and afterwards ran him through the body. Being told by the cuirassiers that we were much esteemed by Colonel O’Brien, he resolved to annoy us as much as he could; and when he sent up the document announcing our arrival, he left out the word “Officers,” and put us in confinement with the common seamen.

Fortunately we were not destined to remain long in this detestable hole. After a night of misery, during which we remained sitting on our bundles, and sleeping how we could, leaning with our backs against the damp wall, we were roused at daybreak by the unbarring of the prison doors, followed up with an order to go into the prison yard. We were huddled out like a flock of sheep, by a file of soldiers with loaded muskets; and, as we went into the yard, were ranged two and two. The same officer who ordered us into prison, commanded the detachment of soldiers who had us in charge. O’Brien stepped out of the ranks, and addressing them, stated that we are officers, and had no right to be treated like common sailors. The French officer replied that he had better information, and that we wore coats which did not belong to us; upon which O’Brien was in a great rage, calling the officer a liar, and demanded satisfaction for the insult, appealing to the French soldiers, and stating that Colonel O’Brien, who was at Cette, was his countryman, and had received him for two months into his house upon parole, which was quite sufficient to establish his being an officer. The French soldiers appeared to side with O’Brien after they had heard this explanation, stating that no common English sailor could speak such good French, and that they were present when we were sent in on parole, and they asked the officer whether he intended to give satisfaction. The officer stormed, and drawing his sword out of the scabbard, struck O’Brien with the flat of the blade, looking at him with contempt, and ordering him into the ranks. I could not help observing that, during this scene, the men-of-war sailors who were among the prisoners, were very indignant, while, on the contrary, those captured in merchant vessels appeared to be pleased with the insult offered to O’Brien. One of the French soldiers then made a sarcastic remark, that the French officer did not much like the name of O’Brien. This so enraged the officer, that he flew at O’Brien, pushed him back into the ranks, and taking out a pistol, threatened to shoot him through the head. I must do the justice to the French soldiers, that they all called out “Shame!”

When O’Brien returned to the ranks, he looked defiance at the officer, telling him that “he would pocket the affront very carefully, as he intended to bring it out again upon a future and more suitable occasion.” We were then marched out in ranks, two and two, being met in the street by two drummers, and a crowd of people, who had gathered to witness our departure. The drums beat and away we went. The officer who had charge of us mounted a small horse, galloping up and down from one end of the ranks to the other, with his sword drawn, bullying, swearing, and striking with the flat of the blade at any one of the prisoners who was not in his proper place. When we were close to the gates, we were joined by another detachment of prisoners: we were then ordered to halt, and were informed, through an interpreter, that any one attempting to escape would immediately be shot; after which information we once more proceeded on our route.

Chapter Twenty.O’Brien fights a duel with a French officer, and proves that the great art of fencing is knowing nothing about it—We arrive at our new quarters, which we find very secure.At night we arrived at a small town, the name of which I forget. Here we were all put into an old church for the night, and a very bad night we passed. We were afraid to lie down anywhere as, like all ruined buildings in France, the ground was covered with filth, and the smell was shocking. At daybreak, the door of the church was again opened by the French soldiers, and we were conducted to the square of the town, where we found the troops quartered. As the French officers walked along our ranks to look at us, I perceived among them a captain, whom we had known very intimately when we were living at Cette with Colonel O’Brien. I cried out his name immediately; he turned round, and seeing O’Brien and me, he came up to us, shaking us by the hand, and expressing his surprise at finding us in such a situation. O’Brien explained to him how we had been treated, at which he expressed his indignation, as did the other officers who had collected round us. The major who commanded the troops in the town turned to the French officer (he was only a lieutenant) who had conducted us from Toulon, and demanded of him his reason for behaving to us in such an unworthy manner. He denied having treated us ill, and said that he had been informed that we had put on officers’ dresses which did not belong to us. At this O’Brien declared that he was a liar, and a cowardlyfoutre, that he had struck him with the back of his sabre, which he dared not have done if he had not been a prisoner; adding, that all he requested was satisfaction for the insult offered to him, and appealed to the officers whether, if it were refused, the lieutenant’s epaulets ought not to be cut off his shoulders. The major commandant and the officers retired to consult, and, after a few minutes, they agreed that the lieutenant was bound to give the satisfaction required. The lieutenant replied that he was ready; but, at the same time, did not appear to be very willing. The prisoners were left in charge of the soldiers, under a junior officer, while the others, accompanied by O’Brien, myself, and the lieutenant, walked to a short distance outside of the town. As we proceeded there, I asked O’Brien with what weapons they would fight.“I take it for granted,” replied he, “that it will be with the small sword.”“But,” said I, “do you know anything about fencing?”“Devil a bit, Peter; but that’s all in my favour.”“How can that be?” replied I.“I’ll tell you, Peter. If one man fences well, and another is but an indifferent hand at it, it is clear that the first will run the other through the body; but if the other knows nothing at all about it, why, then, Peter, the case is not quite so clear: because the good fencer is almost as much puzzled by your ignorance as you are by his skill, and you become on more equal terms. Now, Peter, I’ve made up my mind that I’ll run that fellow through the body, and so I will, as sure as I am an O’Brien.”“Well, I hope you will; but pray do not be too sure.”“It’s feeling sure that will make me able to do it, Peter. By the blood of the O’Briens! didn’t he slap me with his sword, as if I were a clown in the pantomime—Peter, I’ll kill the harlequin scoundrel, and my word’s as good as my bond!”By this time we had arrived at the ground. The French lieutenant stripped to his shirt and trowsers; O’Brien did the same, kicking his boots off, and standing upon the wet grass in his stockings. The swords were measured, and handed to them: they took their distance, and set to. I must say that I was breathless with anxiety; the idea of losing O’Brien struck me with grief and terror. I then felt the value of all his kindness to me, and would have taken his place, and have been run through the body, rather than he should have been hurt. At first, O’Brien put himself in the correct attitude of defence, in imitation of the lieutenant, but this was for a very few seconds: he suddenly made a spring, and rushed on his adversary, stabbing at him with a velocity quite astonishing, the lieutenant parrying in his defence, until at last he had an opportunity of lounging at O’Brien. O’Brien, who no longer kept his left arm raised in equipoise, caught the sword of the lieutenant at within six inches of the point, and directing it under his left arm, as he rushed in, passed his own through the lieutenant’s body. It was all over in less than a minute the lieutenant did not live half-an-hour afterwards. The French officers were very much surprised at the result, for they perceived at once that O’Brien knew nothing of fencing. O’Brien gathered a tuft of grass, wiped the sword, which he presented to the officer to whom it belonged, and thanking the major and the whole of them for their impartiality and gentlemanlike conduct, led the way to the square, where he again took his station in the ranks of the prisoners.Shortly after, the major commandant came up to us, and asked whether we would accept of our parole, as, in that case, we might travel as we pleased. We consented, with many thanks for his civility and kindness; but I could not help thinking at the time, that the French officers were a little mortified at O’Brien’s success, although they were too honourable to express the feeling.I had almost forgot to say, that on our return after the duel, the cutter’s midshipman called out to O’Brien, requesting him to state to the commandant that he was also an officer; but O’Brien replied, that there was no evidence for it but his bare word. If he were an officer, he must prove it himself, as everything in his appearance flatly contradicted his assertion.“It’s very hard,” replied the midshipman, “that because my jacket’s a little tarry or so, I must lose my rank.”“My dear fellow,” replied O’Brien, “it’s not because your jacket’s a little tarry; it is because what the Frenchman call yourtout ensembleis quite disgraceful in an officer. Look at your face in the first puddle, and you’ll find that it would dirty the water you look into.”“Well, it’s very hard,” replied the midshipman, “that I must go on eating this black rye bread; and very unkind of you.”“It’s very kind of me, you spalpeen of theSnapper. Prison will be a paradise to you, when you get into good commons. How you’ll relish your grub by-and-by! So now shut your pan, or by the tail of Jonah’s whale, I’ll swear you’re a Spaniard.”I could not help thinking that O’Brien was very severe upon the poor lad, and I expostulated with him afterwards. He replied, “Peter, if, as a cutter’s midshipman, he is a bit of an officer, the devil a bit is he of a gentleman, either born or bred; and I’m not bound to bail every blackguard-looking chap that I meet. By the head of St. Peter, I would blush to be seen in his company, if I were in the wildest bog in Ireland, with nothing but an old crow as spectator.”We were now again permitted to be on our parole, and received every attention and kindness from the different officers who commanded the detachments which passed the prisoners from one town to the other. In a few days we arrived at Montpelier, where we had orders to remain a short time until directions were received from government as to the depôts for prisoners to which we were to be sent. At this delightful town we had unlimited parole, not even a gendarme accompanying us. We lived at thetable d’hôte, were permitted to walk about where we pleased, and amused ourselves every evening at the theatre. During our stay there, we wrote to Colonel O’Brien at Cette, thanking him for his kindness, and narrating what had occurred since we parted I also wrote to Celeste, enclosing my letter unsealed in the one to Colonel O’Brien. I told her the history of O’Brien’s duel, and all I could think would interest her; how sorry I was to have parted from her; that I never would forget her; and trusted that some day, as she was only half a Frenchwoman, that we should meet again. Before we left Montpelier, we had the pleasure of receiving answers to our letters: the colonel’s letters were very kind, particularly the one to me, in which he called me his dear boy, and hoped that I should soon rejoin my friends, and prove an ornament to my country. In his letter to O’Brien, he requested him not to run me into useless danger—to recollect that I was not so well able to undergo extreme hardship. The answer from Celeste was written in English; but she must have had assistance from her father, or she could not have succeeded so well. It was like herself, very kind and affectionate; and also ended with wishing me a speedy return to my friends, who must (she said) be so fond of me, that she despaired of ever seeing me more, but that she consoled herself as well as she could with the assurance that I should be happy. I forgot to say that Colonel O’Brien, in his letter to me, stated that he expected immediate orders to leave Cette, and take the command of some military post in the interior, or join the army, but which he could not tell; that they had packed up everything, and he was afraid that our correspondence must cease, as he could not state to what place we should direct our letters.I must here acquaint the reader with a circumstance which I forgot to mention, which was, that when Captain Savage sent in a flag of truce with our clothes and money, I thought that it was but justice to O’Brien that they should know on board of the frigate the gallant manner in which he had behaved. I knew that he never would tell himself, so, ill as I was at the time, I sent for Colonel O’Brien, and requested him to write down my statement of the affair, in which I mentioned how O’Brien had spiked the last gun, and had been taken prisoner by so doing, together with his attempting to save me. When the colonel had written all down, I requested that he would send for the major who first entered the fort with the troops, and translate it to him in French. This he did in my presence, and the major declared every word to be true. “Will he attest it, colonel, as it may be of great service to O’Brien?” The major immediately assented. Colonel O’Brien then enclosed my letter, with a short note from himself, to Captain Savage.In ten days, we received an order to march on the following morning. The sailors, among whom was our poor friend the midshipman of theSnappercutter, were ordered to Verdun; O’Brien and I, with eight masters of merchant vessels, who joined us at Montpelier, were directed by the government to be sent to Givet, a fortified town in the department of Ardennes. But, at the same time, orders arrived from government to treat the prisoners with great strictness, and not to allow any parole. It was exactly four months from the time of our capture, that we arrived at our destined prison at Givet.“Peter,” said O’Brien, as he looked hastily at the fortifications and the river which divided the two towns, “I see no reason, either English or French, that we should not eat our Christmas dinner in England. I’ve a bird’s-eye view of the outside, and now have only to find out whereabouts we may be in the inside.”I must say that, when I looked at the ditches and high ramparts, I had a different opinion; so had a gendarme who was walking by our side, and who had observed O’Brien’s scrutiny, and who quietly said to him in French, “Vous le croyez possible?”“Everything is possible to a brave man—the French armies have proved that,” answered O’Brien.“You are right,” replied the gendarme, pleased with the compliment to his nation; “I wish you success, you will deserve it; but—” and he shook his head.“If I could obtain a plan of the fortress,” said O’Brien, “I would give five Napoleons for one;” and he looked at the gendarme.“I cannot see any objection to an officer, although a prisoner, studying fortification,” replied the gendarme. “In two hours you will be within the walls; and now I recollect, in the map of the two towns, the fortress is laid down sufficiently accurately to give you an idea of it. But we have conversed too long.” So saying, the gendarme dropped into the rear.In a quarter of an hour we arrived at the Place d’Armes, where we were met, as usual, by another detachment of troops, and drummers, who paraded us through the town previous to our being drawn up before the governor’s house. As we stopped at the governor’s house, the gendarme who had left us in the square, made a sign to O’Brien, as much as to say, I have it. O’Brien took out five Napoleons, which he wrapped in paper and held in his hand. In a minute or two, the gendarme came up and presented O’Brien with an old silk handkerchief, saying, “Votre mouchoir, monsieur.”“Merci,” replied O’Brien, putting the handkerchief which contained the map into his pocket; “voici à boire, mon ami;” and he slipped the paper with the five Napoleons into the hand of the gendarme, who immediately retreated.This was very fortunate for us, as we afterwards discovered that a mark had been put against O’Brien’s and my name, not to allow parole or permission to leave the fortress, even under surveillance.

At night we arrived at a small town, the name of which I forget. Here we were all put into an old church for the night, and a very bad night we passed. We were afraid to lie down anywhere as, like all ruined buildings in France, the ground was covered with filth, and the smell was shocking. At daybreak, the door of the church was again opened by the French soldiers, and we were conducted to the square of the town, where we found the troops quartered. As the French officers walked along our ranks to look at us, I perceived among them a captain, whom we had known very intimately when we were living at Cette with Colonel O’Brien. I cried out his name immediately; he turned round, and seeing O’Brien and me, he came up to us, shaking us by the hand, and expressing his surprise at finding us in such a situation. O’Brien explained to him how we had been treated, at which he expressed his indignation, as did the other officers who had collected round us. The major who commanded the troops in the town turned to the French officer (he was only a lieutenant) who had conducted us from Toulon, and demanded of him his reason for behaving to us in such an unworthy manner. He denied having treated us ill, and said that he had been informed that we had put on officers’ dresses which did not belong to us. At this O’Brien declared that he was a liar, and a cowardlyfoutre, that he had struck him with the back of his sabre, which he dared not have done if he had not been a prisoner; adding, that all he requested was satisfaction for the insult offered to him, and appealed to the officers whether, if it were refused, the lieutenant’s epaulets ought not to be cut off his shoulders. The major commandant and the officers retired to consult, and, after a few minutes, they agreed that the lieutenant was bound to give the satisfaction required. The lieutenant replied that he was ready; but, at the same time, did not appear to be very willing. The prisoners were left in charge of the soldiers, under a junior officer, while the others, accompanied by O’Brien, myself, and the lieutenant, walked to a short distance outside of the town. As we proceeded there, I asked O’Brien with what weapons they would fight.

“I take it for granted,” replied he, “that it will be with the small sword.”

“But,” said I, “do you know anything about fencing?”

“Devil a bit, Peter; but that’s all in my favour.”

“How can that be?” replied I.

“I’ll tell you, Peter. If one man fences well, and another is but an indifferent hand at it, it is clear that the first will run the other through the body; but if the other knows nothing at all about it, why, then, Peter, the case is not quite so clear: because the good fencer is almost as much puzzled by your ignorance as you are by his skill, and you become on more equal terms. Now, Peter, I’ve made up my mind that I’ll run that fellow through the body, and so I will, as sure as I am an O’Brien.”

“Well, I hope you will; but pray do not be too sure.”

“It’s feeling sure that will make me able to do it, Peter. By the blood of the O’Briens! didn’t he slap me with his sword, as if I were a clown in the pantomime—Peter, I’ll kill the harlequin scoundrel, and my word’s as good as my bond!”

By this time we had arrived at the ground. The French lieutenant stripped to his shirt and trowsers; O’Brien did the same, kicking his boots off, and standing upon the wet grass in his stockings. The swords were measured, and handed to them: they took their distance, and set to. I must say that I was breathless with anxiety; the idea of losing O’Brien struck me with grief and terror. I then felt the value of all his kindness to me, and would have taken his place, and have been run through the body, rather than he should have been hurt. At first, O’Brien put himself in the correct attitude of defence, in imitation of the lieutenant, but this was for a very few seconds: he suddenly made a spring, and rushed on his adversary, stabbing at him with a velocity quite astonishing, the lieutenant parrying in his defence, until at last he had an opportunity of lounging at O’Brien. O’Brien, who no longer kept his left arm raised in equipoise, caught the sword of the lieutenant at within six inches of the point, and directing it under his left arm, as he rushed in, passed his own through the lieutenant’s body. It was all over in less than a minute the lieutenant did not live half-an-hour afterwards. The French officers were very much surprised at the result, for they perceived at once that O’Brien knew nothing of fencing. O’Brien gathered a tuft of grass, wiped the sword, which he presented to the officer to whom it belonged, and thanking the major and the whole of them for their impartiality and gentlemanlike conduct, led the way to the square, where he again took his station in the ranks of the prisoners.

Shortly after, the major commandant came up to us, and asked whether we would accept of our parole, as, in that case, we might travel as we pleased. We consented, with many thanks for his civility and kindness; but I could not help thinking at the time, that the French officers were a little mortified at O’Brien’s success, although they were too honourable to express the feeling.

I had almost forgot to say, that on our return after the duel, the cutter’s midshipman called out to O’Brien, requesting him to state to the commandant that he was also an officer; but O’Brien replied, that there was no evidence for it but his bare word. If he were an officer, he must prove it himself, as everything in his appearance flatly contradicted his assertion.

“It’s very hard,” replied the midshipman, “that because my jacket’s a little tarry or so, I must lose my rank.”

“My dear fellow,” replied O’Brien, “it’s not because your jacket’s a little tarry; it is because what the Frenchman call yourtout ensembleis quite disgraceful in an officer. Look at your face in the first puddle, and you’ll find that it would dirty the water you look into.”

“Well, it’s very hard,” replied the midshipman, “that I must go on eating this black rye bread; and very unkind of you.”

“It’s very kind of me, you spalpeen of theSnapper. Prison will be a paradise to you, when you get into good commons. How you’ll relish your grub by-and-by! So now shut your pan, or by the tail of Jonah’s whale, I’ll swear you’re a Spaniard.”

I could not help thinking that O’Brien was very severe upon the poor lad, and I expostulated with him afterwards. He replied, “Peter, if, as a cutter’s midshipman, he is a bit of an officer, the devil a bit is he of a gentleman, either born or bred; and I’m not bound to bail every blackguard-looking chap that I meet. By the head of St. Peter, I would blush to be seen in his company, if I were in the wildest bog in Ireland, with nothing but an old crow as spectator.”

We were now again permitted to be on our parole, and received every attention and kindness from the different officers who commanded the detachments which passed the prisoners from one town to the other. In a few days we arrived at Montpelier, where we had orders to remain a short time until directions were received from government as to the depôts for prisoners to which we were to be sent. At this delightful town we had unlimited parole, not even a gendarme accompanying us. We lived at thetable d’hôte, were permitted to walk about where we pleased, and amused ourselves every evening at the theatre. During our stay there, we wrote to Colonel O’Brien at Cette, thanking him for his kindness, and narrating what had occurred since we parted I also wrote to Celeste, enclosing my letter unsealed in the one to Colonel O’Brien. I told her the history of O’Brien’s duel, and all I could think would interest her; how sorry I was to have parted from her; that I never would forget her; and trusted that some day, as she was only half a Frenchwoman, that we should meet again. Before we left Montpelier, we had the pleasure of receiving answers to our letters: the colonel’s letters were very kind, particularly the one to me, in which he called me his dear boy, and hoped that I should soon rejoin my friends, and prove an ornament to my country. In his letter to O’Brien, he requested him not to run me into useless danger—to recollect that I was not so well able to undergo extreme hardship. The answer from Celeste was written in English; but she must have had assistance from her father, or she could not have succeeded so well. It was like herself, very kind and affectionate; and also ended with wishing me a speedy return to my friends, who must (she said) be so fond of me, that she despaired of ever seeing me more, but that she consoled herself as well as she could with the assurance that I should be happy. I forgot to say that Colonel O’Brien, in his letter to me, stated that he expected immediate orders to leave Cette, and take the command of some military post in the interior, or join the army, but which he could not tell; that they had packed up everything, and he was afraid that our correspondence must cease, as he could not state to what place we should direct our letters.

I must here acquaint the reader with a circumstance which I forgot to mention, which was, that when Captain Savage sent in a flag of truce with our clothes and money, I thought that it was but justice to O’Brien that they should know on board of the frigate the gallant manner in which he had behaved. I knew that he never would tell himself, so, ill as I was at the time, I sent for Colonel O’Brien, and requested him to write down my statement of the affair, in which I mentioned how O’Brien had spiked the last gun, and had been taken prisoner by so doing, together with his attempting to save me. When the colonel had written all down, I requested that he would send for the major who first entered the fort with the troops, and translate it to him in French. This he did in my presence, and the major declared every word to be true. “Will he attest it, colonel, as it may be of great service to O’Brien?” The major immediately assented. Colonel O’Brien then enclosed my letter, with a short note from himself, to Captain Savage.

In ten days, we received an order to march on the following morning. The sailors, among whom was our poor friend the midshipman of theSnappercutter, were ordered to Verdun; O’Brien and I, with eight masters of merchant vessels, who joined us at Montpelier, were directed by the government to be sent to Givet, a fortified town in the department of Ardennes. But, at the same time, orders arrived from government to treat the prisoners with great strictness, and not to allow any parole. It was exactly four months from the time of our capture, that we arrived at our destined prison at Givet.

“Peter,” said O’Brien, as he looked hastily at the fortifications and the river which divided the two towns, “I see no reason, either English or French, that we should not eat our Christmas dinner in England. I’ve a bird’s-eye view of the outside, and now have only to find out whereabouts we may be in the inside.”

I must say that, when I looked at the ditches and high ramparts, I had a different opinion; so had a gendarme who was walking by our side, and who had observed O’Brien’s scrutiny, and who quietly said to him in French, “Vous le croyez possible?”

“Everything is possible to a brave man—the French armies have proved that,” answered O’Brien.

“You are right,” replied the gendarme, pleased with the compliment to his nation; “I wish you success, you will deserve it; but—” and he shook his head.

“If I could obtain a plan of the fortress,” said O’Brien, “I would give five Napoleons for one;” and he looked at the gendarme.

“I cannot see any objection to an officer, although a prisoner, studying fortification,” replied the gendarme. “In two hours you will be within the walls; and now I recollect, in the map of the two towns, the fortress is laid down sufficiently accurately to give you an idea of it. But we have conversed too long.” So saying, the gendarme dropped into the rear.

In a quarter of an hour we arrived at the Place d’Armes, where we were met, as usual, by another detachment of troops, and drummers, who paraded us through the town previous to our being drawn up before the governor’s house. As we stopped at the governor’s house, the gendarme who had left us in the square, made a sign to O’Brien, as much as to say, I have it. O’Brien took out five Napoleons, which he wrapped in paper and held in his hand. In a minute or two, the gendarme came up and presented O’Brien with an old silk handkerchief, saying, “Votre mouchoir, monsieur.”

“Merci,” replied O’Brien, putting the handkerchief which contained the map into his pocket; “voici à boire, mon ami;” and he slipped the paper with the five Napoleons into the hand of the gendarme, who immediately retreated.

This was very fortunate for us, as we afterwards discovered that a mark had been put against O’Brien’s and my name, not to allow parole or permission to leave the fortress, even under surveillance.

Chapter Twenty One.O’Brien receives his commission as lieutenant and then we take french leave of Givet.If I doubted the practicability of escape when I examined the exterior, when we were ushered into the interior of the fortress, I felt that it was impossible, and I stated my opinion to O’Brien. We were conducted into a yard surrounded by a high wall; the buildings appropriated for the prisoners were built withlean-toroofs on one side, and at each side of the square was a sentry looking down upon us. It was very much like the dens which they now build for bears, only so much larger. O’Brien answered me with a “Pish! Peter, it’s the very security of the place which will enable us to get out of it. But don’t talk, as there are always spies about who understand English.”We were shown into a room allotted to six of us; our baggage was examined, and then delivered over to us. “Better and better, Peter,” observed O’Brien, “they’ve not found it out!”“What?” inquired I.“Oh, only a little selection of articles, which might be useful to us by-and-by.”He then showed me what I never before was aware of; that he had a false bottom to his trunk; but it was papered over like the rest, and very ingeniously concealed. “And what is there, O’Brien?” inquired I.“Never mind; I had them made at Montpelier. You’ll see by-and-by.”The others, who were lodged in the same room, then came in, and, after staying a quarter of an hour, went away at the sound of the dinner-bell. “Now, Peter,” said O’Brien, “I must get rid of my load. Turn the key.”O’Brien then undressed himself, and then he threw off his shirt and drawers, showed me a rope of silk, with a knot at every two feet, about half an inch in size, wound round and round his body. There were about sixty feet of it altogether. As I unwound it, he, turning round and round, observed, “Peter, I’ve worn this rope ever since I left Montpelier, and you’ve no idea of the pain I have suffered; but we must go to England, that’s decided upon.”For some days O’Brien, who really was not very well, kept to his room. During this time, he often examined the map given him by the gendarme. One day he said to me, “Peter, can you swim?”“No,” replied I; “but never mind that.”“But I must mind it, Peter; for observe, we shall have to cross the river Meuse, and boats are not always to be had. You observe, that this fortress is washed by the river on one side: and as it is the strongest side, it is the least guarded—we must escape by it.”“Are you then determined to escape, O’Brien? I cannot perceive how we are even to get up this wall, with four sentries staring us in the face.”“Never do you mind that, Peter, mind your own business; and first tell me, do you intend to try your luck with me?”“Yes,” replied I, “most certainly, if you have sufficient confidence in me to take me as your companion.”“To tell you the truth, Peter, I would not give a farthing to escape without you.”The prison was by all accounts very different from Verdun and some others. We had no parole, and but little communication with the townspeople. Some were permitted to come in and supply us with various articles; but their baskets were searched, to see that they contained nothing that might lead to an escape on the part of the prisoners. Without the precautions that O’Brien had taken, any attempt would have been useless. “Now, Peter,” said he one day, “I want nothing more than an umbrella for you.”“Why an umbrella for me?”“To keep you from being drowned with too much water, that’s all.”“Rain won’t drown me.”“No, no, Peter; but buy a new one as soon as you can.”I did so. O’Brien boiled up a quantity of bees’-wax and oil, and gave it several coats of this preparation. He then put it carefully away in the ticking of his bed. We had been now about two months in Givet, when a Steel’s List was sent to a lieutenant, who was confined there. The lieutenant came up to O’Brien, and asked him his Christian name. “Terence, to be sure,” replied O’Brien.“Then,” answered the lieutenant, “I may congratulate you on your promotion, for here you are upon the list of August.”“Sure there must be some trifling mistake; let me look at it. Terence O’Brien, sure enough; but now the question is, has any other fellow robbed me of my name and promotion at the same time? Bother, what can it mane? I won’t belave it—not a word of it. I’ve no more interest than a dog who drags cats’-meat.”I then told O’Brien how I had written to Captain Savage, and had had the fact attested by the major who had made us prisoners.“Well, Peter,” said O’Brien, after a pause, “there is a fable about a lion and a mouse. If, by your means, I have obtained my promotion, why, then the mouse is a finer baste than the lion.”For a few days after this O’Brien was very uneasy, but fortunately letters arrived by that time; one to me from my father, in which he requested me to draw for whatever money I might require, saying that the whole family would retrench in every way to give me all the comfort which might be obtained in my unfortunate situation. I wept at this kindness, and more than ever longed to throw myself in his arms, and thank him. He also told me that my uncle William was dead, and that there was only one between him and the title, but that my grandfather was in good health, and had been very kind to him lately. My mother was much afflicted at my having been made a prisoner, and requested I would write as often as I could. O’Brien’s letter was from Captain Savage; the frigate had been sent home with despatches, and O’Brien’s conduct represented to the Admiralty, which had, in consequence, promoted him to the rank of lieutenant. O’Brien came to me with the letter, his countenance radiant with joy as he put it into my hands. In return I put mine into his, and he read it over.“Peter, my boy, I’m under great obligations to you. When you were wounded and feverish, you thought of me at a time when you had quite enough to think of yourself; but I never thank in words. I see your uncle William is dead. How many more uncles have you?”“My uncle John, who is married, and has already two daughters.”“Blessings on him; may he stick to the female line of business! Peter, my boy, you shall be a lord before you die.”“Nonsense, O’Brien; I have no chance. Don’t put such foolish ideas in my head.”“What chance had I of being a lieutenant, and am I not one? But, Peter, do me one favour; as I am really a lieutenant, just touch your hat to me only once, that’s all: but I wish the compliment, just to see how it looks.”“Lieutenant O’Brien,” said I, touching my hat, “have you any further orders?”“Yes, sir,” replied he, “that you never presume to touch your hat to me again, unless we sail together, and then that’s a different sort of thing.”About a week afterwards, O’Brien came to me, and said, “The new moon’s quartered in with foul weather; if it holds, prepare for a start. I have put what is necessary in your little haversack; it may be tonight. Go to bed now, and sleep for a week if you can, for you’ll get but little sleep, if we succeed, for the week to come.”This was about eight o’clock. I went to bed, and about twelve I was roused by O’Brien, who told me to dress myself carefully, and come down to him in the yard. It was some time before I could find O’Brien, who was hard at work; and, as I had already been made acquainted with all his plans, I will now explain them. At Montpelier he had procured six large pieces of iron, about eighteen inches long, with a gimlet at one end of each, and a square at the other, which fitted to a handle which unshipped. For precaution he had a spare handle, but each handle fitted to all the irons. O’Brien had screwed one of these pieces of iron between the interstices of the stones of which the wall was built, and sitting astride on that, was fixing another about three feet above. When he had accomplished this, he stood upon the lower iron, and, supporting himself by the second, which about met his hip, he screwed in a third, always fixing them about six inches on one side of the other, and not one above the other. When he had screwed in his six irons, he was about half up the wall, and then he fastened his rope, which he had carried round his neck, to the upper iron, and lowering himself down, unscrewed the four lower irons; then, ascending by the rope, he stood upon the fifth iron, and, supporting himself by the upper iron, recommenced his task. By these means he arrived in the course of an hour and a half at the top of the wall, where he fixed his last iron, and making his rope fast, he came down again.“Now, Peter,” said he, “there is no fear of the sentries seeing us; if they had the eyes of cats, they could not until we are on the top of the wall; but then we arrive at the glacis, and we must creep to the ramparts on our bellies. I am going up with all the materials. Give me your haversack—you will go up lighter; and recollect, should any accident happen to me, you run to bed again. If, on the contrary, I pull the rope up and down three or four times, you may sheer up it as fast as you can.”O’Brien then loaded himself with the other rope, the two knapsacks, iron crows, and other implements he had procured; and, last of all, with the umbrella.“Peter, if the rope bears me with all this, it is clear it will bear such a creature as you are, therefore don’t be afraid.”So whispering, he commenced his ascent; in about three minutes he was up, and the rope pulled. I immediately followed him, and found the rope very easy to climb, from the knots at every two feet, which gave me a hold for my feet, and I was up in as short a time as he was. He caught me by the collar, putting his wet hand on my mouth, and I lay down beside him while he pulled up the rope. We then crawled on our stomachs across the glacis till we arrived at the rampart. It was some time before O’Brien could find out the point exactly above the drawbridge of the first ditch; at last he did—he fixed his crow-bar in, and lowered down the rope.“Now, Peter, I had better go first again; when I shake the rope from below, all’s right.”O’Brien descended, and in a few minutes the rope again shook; I followed him, and found myself received in his arms upon the meeting of the drawbridge; but the drawbridge itself was up. O’Brien led the way across the chains, and I followed him. When we had crossed the moat, we found a barrier-gate locked; this puzzled us. O’Brien pulled out his picklocks to pick it, but without success; here we were fast.“We must undermine the gate, O’Brien; we must pull up the pavement until we can creep under.”“Peter, you are a fine fellow; I never thought of that.”We worked very hard until the hole was large enough, using the crowbar which was left, and a little wrench which O’Brien had with him. By these means we got under the gate in the course of an hour or more. This gate led to the lower rampart, but we had a covered way to pass through before we arrived at it. We proceeded very cautiously, when we heard a noise: we stopped, and found it was a sentry, who was fast asleep, and snoring.O’Brien thought for a moment. “Peter,” said he, “now is the time for you to prove yourself a man. He is fast asleep, but his noise must be stopped. I will stop his mouth, but at the very moment that I do so you must throw open the pan of his musket, and then he cannot fire it.”“I will, O’Brien; don’t fear me.”We crept cautiously up to him, and O’Brien motioning to me to put my thumb upon the pan, I did so, and the moment that O’Brien put his hand upon the soldier’s mouth, I threw open the pan. The fellow struggled, and snapped his lock as a signal, but of course without discharging his musket, and in a minute he was not only gagged but bound by O’Brien, with my assistance. Leaving him there, we proceeded to the rampart, and fixing the crow-bar again, O’Brien descended; I followed him, and found him in the river, hanging on to the rope; the umbrella was opened and turned upwards; the preparation made it resist the water, and, as previously explained to me by O’Brien, I had only to hold on at arm’s length to two beckets which he had affixed to the point of the umbrella, which was under water. To the same part O’Brien had a tow-line, which taking in his teeth, he towed me down the stream to about a hundred yards clear of the fortress, where we landed. O’Brien was so exhausted, that for a few minutes he remained quite motionless; I also was benumbed with the cold.“Peter,” said he “thank God we have succeeded so far; now we must push on as far as we can, for we shall have daylight in two hours.”O’Brien took out his flask of spirits, and we both drank a half tumbler at least, but we should not, in our state, have been affected with a bottle. We now walked along the riverside till we fell in with a small craft, with a boat towing astern; O’Brien swam to it, and cutting the painter without getting in, towed it on shore. The oars were fortunately in the boat. I got in, we shoved off, and rowed away down the stream, till the dawn of day. “All’s right, Peter; now we’ll land. This is the forest of Ardennes.” We landed, replaced the oars in the boat, and pushed her off into the stream, to induce people to suppose that she had broken adrift, and then hastened into the thickest of the wood. It rained hard; I shivered, and my teeth chattered with the cold, but there was no help for it. We again took a dram of spirits, and, worn out with fatigue and excitement, soon fell last asleep upon a bed of leaves which we had collected together.

If I doubted the practicability of escape when I examined the exterior, when we were ushered into the interior of the fortress, I felt that it was impossible, and I stated my opinion to O’Brien. We were conducted into a yard surrounded by a high wall; the buildings appropriated for the prisoners were built withlean-toroofs on one side, and at each side of the square was a sentry looking down upon us. It was very much like the dens which they now build for bears, only so much larger. O’Brien answered me with a “Pish! Peter, it’s the very security of the place which will enable us to get out of it. But don’t talk, as there are always spies about who understand English.”

We were shown into a room allotted to six of us; our baggage was examined, and then delivered over to us. “Better and better, Peter,” observed O’Brien, “they’ve not found it out!”

“What?” inquired I.

“Oh, only a little selection of articles, which might be useful to us by-and-by.”

He then showed me what I never before was aware of; that he had a false bottom to his trunk; but it was papered over like the rest, and very ingeniously concealed. “And what is there, O’Brien?” inquired I.

“Never mind; I had them made at Montpelier. You’ll see by-and-by.”

The others, who were lodged in the same room, then came in, and, after staying a quarter of an hour, went away at the sound of the dinner-bell. “Now, Peter,” said O’Brien, “I must get rid of my load. Turn the key.”

O’Brien then undressed himself, and then he threw off his shirt and drawers, showed me a rope of silk, with a knot at every two feet, about half an inch in size, wound round and round his body. There were about sixty feet of it altogether. As I unwound it, he, turning round and round, observed, “Peter, I’ve worn this rope ever since I left Montpelier, and you’ve no idea of the pain I have suffered; but we must go to England, that’s decided upon.”

For some days O’Brien, who really was not very well, kept to his room. During this time, he often examined the map given him by the gendarme. One day he said to me, “Peter, can you swim?”

“No,” replied I; “but never mind that.”

“But I must mind it, Peter; for observe, we shall have to cross the river Meuse, and boats are not always to be had. You observe, that this fortress is washed by the river on one side: and as it is the strongest side, it is the least guarded—we must escape by it.”

“Are you then determined to escape, O’Brien? I cannot perceive how we are even to get up this wall, with four sentries staring us in the face.”

“Never do you mind that, Peter, mind your own business; and first tell me, do you intend to try your luck with me?”

“Yes,” replied I, “most certainly, if you have sufficient confidence in me to take me as your companion.”

“To tell you the truth, Peter, I would not give a farthing to escape without you.”

The prison was by all accounts very different from Verdun and some others. We had no parole, and but little communication with the townspeople. Some were permitted to come in and supply us with various articles; but their baskets were searched, to see that they contained nothing that might lead to an escape on the part of the prisoners. Without the precautions that O’Brien had taken, any attempt would have been useless. “Now, Peter,” said he one day, “I want nothing more than an umbrella for you.”

“Why an umbrella for me?”

“To keep you from being drowned with too much water, that’s all.”

“Rain won’t drown me.”

“No, no, Peter; but buy a new one as soon as you can.”

I did so. O’Brien boiled up a quantity of bees’-wax and oil, and gave it several coats of this preparation. He then put it carefully away in the ticking of his bed. We had been now about two months in Givet, when a Steel’s List was sent to a lieutenant, who was confined there. The lieutenant came up to O’Brien, and asked him his Christian name. “Terence, to be sure,” replied O’Brien.

“Then,” answered the lieutenant, “I may congratulate you on your promotion, for here you are upon the list of August.”

“Sure there must be some trifling mistake; let me look at it. Terence O’Brien, sure enough; but now the question is, has any other fellow robbed me of my name and promotion at the same time? Bother, what can it mane? I won’t belave it—not a word of it. I’ve no more interest than a dog who drags cats’-meat.”

I then told O’Brien how I had written to Captain Savage, and had had the fact attested by the major who had made us prisoners.

“Well, Peter,” said O’Brien, after a pause, “there is a fable about a lion and a mouse. If, by your means, I have obtained my promotion, why, then the mouse is a finer baste than the lion.”

For a few days after this O’Brien was very uneasy, but fortunately letters arrived by that time; one to me from my father, in which he requested me to draw for whatever money I might require, saying that the whole family would retrench in every way to give me all the comfort which might be obtained in my unfortunate situation. I wept at this kindness, and more than ever longed to throw myself in his arms, and thank him. He also told me that my uncle William was dead, and that there was only one between him and the title, but that my grandfather was in good health, and had been very kind to him lately. My mother was much afflicted at my having been made a prisoner, and requested I would write as often as I could. O’Brien’s letter was from Captain Savage; the frigate had been sent home with despatches, and O’Brien’s conduct represented to the Admiralty, which had, in consequence, promoted him to the rank of lieutenant. O’Brien came to me with the letter, his countenance radiant with joy as he put it into my hands. In return I put mine into his, and he read it over.

“Peter, my boy, I’m under great obligations to you. When you were wounded and feverish, you thought of me at a time when you had quite enough to think of yourself; but I never thank in words. I see your uncle William is dead. How many more uncles have you?”

“My uncle John, who is married, and has already two daughters.”

“Blessings on him; may he stick to the female line of business! Peter, my boy, you shall be a lord before you die.”

“Nonsense, O’Brien; I have no chance. Don’t put such foolish ideas in my head.”

“What chance had I of being a lieutenant, and am I not one? But, Peter, do me one favour; as I am really a lieutenant, just touch your hat to me only once, that’s all: but I wish the compliment, just to see how it looks.”

“Lieutenant O’Brien,” said I, touching my hat, “have you any further orders?”

“Yes, sir,” replied he, “that you never presume to touch your hat to me again, unless we sail together, and then that’s a different sort of thing.”

About a week afterwards, O’Brien came to me, and said, “The new moon’s quartered in with foul weather; if it holds, prepare for a start. I have put what is necessary in your little haversack; it may be tonight. Go to bed now, and sleep for a week if you can, for you’ll get but little sleep, if we succeed, for the week to come.”

This was about eight o’clock. I went to bed, and about twelve I was roused by O’Brien, who told me to dress myself carefully, and come down to him in the yard. It was some time before I could find O’Brien, who was hard at work; and, as I had already been made acquainted with all his plans, I will now explain them. At Montpelier he had procured six large pieces of iron, about eighteen inches long, with a gimlet at one end of each, and a square at the other, which fitted to a handle which unshipped. For precaution he had a spare handle, but each handle fitted to all the irons. O’Brien had screwed one of these pieces of iron between the interstices of the stones of which the wall was built, and sitting astride on that, was fixing another about three feet above. When he had accomplished this, he stood upon the lower iron, and, supporting himself by the second, which about met his hip, he screwed in a third, always fixing them about six inches on one side of the other, and not one above the other. When he had screwed in his six irons, he was about half up the wall, and then he fastened his rope, which he had carried round his neck, to the upper iron, and lowering himself down, unscrewed the four lower irons; then, ascending by the rope, he stood upon the fifth iron, and, supporting himself by the upper iron, recommenced his task. By these means he arrived in the course of an hour and a half at the top of the wall, where he fixed his last iron, and making his rope fast, he came down again.

“Now, Peter,” said he, “there is no fear of the sentries seeing us; if they had the eyes of cats, they could not until we are on the top of the wall; but then we arrive at the glacis, and we must creep to the ramparts on our bellies. I am going up with all the materials. Give me your haversack—you will go up lighter; and recollect, should any accident happen to me, you run to bed again. If, on the contrary, I pull the rope up and down three or four times, you may sheer up it as fast as you can.”

O’Brien then loaded himself with the other rope, the two knapsacks, iron crows, and other implements he had procured; and, last of all, with the umbrella.

“Peter, if the rope bears me with all this, it is clear it will bear such a creature as you are, therefore don’t be afraid.”

So whispering, he commenced his ascent; in about three minutes he was up, and the rope pulled. I immediately followed him, and found the rope very easy to climb, from the knots at every two feet, which gave me a hold for my feet, and I was up in as short a time as he was. He caught me by the collar, putting his wet hand on my mouth, and I lay down beside him while he pulled up the rope. We then crawled on our stomachs across the glacis till we arrived at the rampart. It was some time before O’Brien could find out the point exactly above the drawbridge of the first ditch; at last he did—he fixed his crow-bar in, and lowered down the rope.

“Now, Peter, I had better go first again; when I shake the rope from below, all’s right.”

O’Brien descended, and in a few minutes the rope again shook; I followed him, and found myself received in his arms upon the meeting of the drawbridge; but the drawbridge itself was up. O’Brien led the way across the chains, and I followed him. When we had crossed the moat, we found a barrier-gate locked; this puzzled us. O’Brien pulled out his picklocks to pick it, but without success; here we were fast.

“We must undermine the gate, O’Brien; we must pull up the pavement until we can creep under.”

“Peter, you are a fine fellow; I never thought of that.”

We worked very hard until the hole was large enough, using the crowbar which was left, and a little wrench which O’Brien had with him. By these means we got under the gate in the course of an hour or more. This gate led to the lower rampart, but we had a covered way to pass through before we arrived at it. We proceeded very cautiously, when we heard a noise: we stopped, and found it was a sentry, who was fast asleep, and snoring.

O’Brien thought for a moment. “Peter,” said he, “now is the time for you to prove yourself a man. He is fast asleep, but his noise must be stopped. I will stop his mouth, but at the very moment that I do so you must throw open the pan of his musket, and then he cannot fire it.”

“I will, O’Brien; don’t fear me.”

We crept cautiously up to him, and O’Brien motioning to me to put my thumb upon the pan, I did so, and the moment that O’Brien put his hand upon the soldier’s mouth, I threw open the pan. The fellow struggled, and snapped his lock as a signal, but of course without discharging his musket, and in a minute he was not only gagged but bound by O’Brien, with my assistance. Leaving him there, we proceeded to the rampart, and fixing the crow-bar again, O’Brien descended; I followed him, and found him in the river, hanging on to the rope; the umbrella was opened and turned upwards; the preparation made it resist the water, and, as previously explained to me by O’Brien, I had only to hold on at arm’s length to two beckets which he had affixed to the point of the umbrella, which was under water. To the same part O’Brien had a tow-line, which taking in his teeth, he towed me down the stream to about a hundred yards clear of the fortress, where we landed. O’Brien was so exhausted, that for a few minutes he remained quite motionless; I also was benumbed with the cold.

“Peter,” said he “thank God we have succeeded so far; now we must push on as far as we can, for we shall have daylight in two hours.”

O’Brien took out his flask of spirits, and we both drank a half tumbler at least, but we should not, in our state, have been affected with a bottle. We now walked along the riverside till we fell in with a small craft, with a boat towing astern; O’Brien swam to it, and cutting the painter without getting in, towed it on shore. The oars were fortunately in the boat. I got in, we shoved off, and rowed away down the stream, till the dawn of day. “All’s right, Peter; now we’ll land. This is the forest of Ardennes.” We landed, replaced the oars in the boat, and pushed her off into the stream, to induce people to suppose that she had broken adrift, and then hastened into the thickest of the wood. It rained hard; I shivered, and my teeth chattered with the cold, but there was no help for it. We again took a dram of spirits, and, worn out with fatigue and excitement, soon fell last asleep upon a bed of leaves which we had collected together.

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