Part 12 (1/2)
”Was I n.o.ble?”
”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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble. 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 n.o.ble.
”I am an O'Brien,” replied he; ”and pray what's the meaning of the O before my name, if I'm not n.o.ble? However, Mr Interpreter, you may add, that we have dropped our t.i.tle 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...b..ien told me afterwards, the answer was put down _doubtful_.
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...b..ien. 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 compa.s.ses; 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 circ.u.mstances.
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 MIDs.h.i.+PMAN, 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 pa.s.sed 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...b..ien had written to them, a.s.suring 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 sh.o.r.e 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 pa.s.s 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 cuira.s.siers, 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 cuira.s.siers 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 cuira.s.siers, 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 a.r.s.enal. We presented the cuira.s.siers 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 depot 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 pa.s.s 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 suns.h.i.+ny 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.”