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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 the Snapper cutter,” 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 cowardly foutre, 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 your tout ensemble is 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 the Snapper. 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 the table 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 the Snapper cutter, 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.