Grave consequences of gravitation--O'Brien enlists himself as a
gendarme, and takes charge of me--We are discovered, and obliged to run
for it--The pleasures of a winter bivouac.
It was not until noon that I awoke, when I found that O'Brien had
covered me more than a foot deep with leaves to protect me from the
weather. I felt quite warm and comfortable; my clothes had dried on me,
but without giving me cold. "How very kind of you, O'Brien!" said I.
"Not a bit, Peter: you have hard work to go through yet, and I must take
care of you. You're but a bud, and I'm a full-blown rose." So saying, he
put the spirit-flask to his mouth, and then handed it to me. "Now,
Peter, we must make a start, for depend upon it they will scour the
country for us; but this is a large wood, and they may as well attempt
to find a needle in a bundle of hay, if we once get into the heart of
it."
"I think," said I, "that this forest is mentioned by Shakespeare, in one
of his plays."
"Very likely, Peter," replied O'Brien; "but we are at no playwork now;
and what reads amazing prettily, is no joke in reality. I've often
observed, that your writers never take the weather into consideration."
"I beg your pardon, O'Brien; in King Lear the weather was tremendous."
"Very likely; but who was the king that went out in such weather?"
"King Lear did, when he was mad."
"So he was, that's certain, Peter; but runaway prisoners have some
excuse; so now for a start."
We set off, forcing our way through the thicket, for about three hours,
O'Brien looking occasionally at his pocket compass; it then was again
nearly dark, and O'Brien proposed a halt. We made up a bed of leaves for
the night, and slept much more comfortably than we had the night before.
All our bread was wet, but as we had no water, it was rather a relief;
the meat we had with us was sufficient for a week. Once more we laid
down and fell fast asleep. About five o'clock in the morning I was
roused by O'Brien, who at the same time put his hand gently over my
mouth. I sat up, and perceived a large fire not far from us. "The
Philistines are upon us, Peter," said he; "I have reconnoitred, and they
are the gendarmes. I'm fearful of going away, as we may stumble upon
some more of them. I've been thinking what's best before I waked you;
and it appears to me, that we had better get up the tree, and lie
there."
At that time we were hidden in a copse of underwood, with a large oak in
the centre, covered with ivy. "I think so too, O'Brien; shall we go up
now, or wait a little?"
"Now, to be sure, that they're eating their prog. Mount you, Peter, and
I'll help you."
O'Brien shoved me up the tree, and then waiting a little while to bury
our haversacks among the leaves, he followed me. He desired me to remain
in a very snug position, on the first fork of the tree, while he took
another, amongst a bunch of ivy, on the largest bough. There we remained
for about an hour, when day dawned. We observed the gendarmes mustered
at the break of day, by the corporal, and then they all separated in
different directions, to scour the wood. We were delighted to perceive
this, as we hoped soon to be able to get away; but there was one
gendarme who remained. He walked to and fro, looking everywhere, until
he came directly under the tree in which we were concealed. He poked
about, until at last he came to the bed of leaves upon which we had
slept; these he turned over and over with his bayonet, until he routed
out our haversacks. "Pardi!" exclaimed he, "where the nest and eggs are,
the birds are near." He then walked round the tree, looking up into
every part, but we were well concealed, and he did not discover us for
some time. At last he saw me, and ordered me to come down. I paid no
attention to him, as I had no signal from O'Brien. He walked round a
little farther, until he was directly under the branch on which O'Brien
lay. Taking up this position, he had a fairer aim at me, and levelled
his musket, saying, "_Descendez, ou je tire_." Still I continued
immoveable, for I knew not what to do. I shut my eyes, however; the
musket shortly afterwards was discharged, and, whether from fear or not
I can hardly tell, I lost my hold of a sudden, and down I came. I was
stunned with the fall, and thought that I must have been wounded, and
was very much surprised, when, instead of the gendarme, O'Brien came up
to me, and asked whether I was hurt. I answered, I believed not, and got
upon my legs, when I found the gendarme lying on the ground, breathing
heavily, but insensible. When O'Brien perceived the gendarme level his
musket at me, he immediately dropped from the bough, right upon his
head; this occasioned the musket to go off, without hitting me, and at
the same time, the weight of O'Brien's body from such a height killed
the gendarme, for he expired before we left him. "Now, Peter," said
O'Brien, "this is the most fortunate thing in the world, and will take
us half through the country; but we have no time to lose." He then
stripped the gendarme, who still breathed heavily, and dragging him to
our bed of leaves, covered him up, threw off his own clothes, which he
tied in a bundle, and gave to me to carry, and put on those of the
gendarme. I could not help laughing at the metamorphosis, and asked
O'Brien what he intended. "Sure, I'm a gendarme, bringing with me a
prisoner, who has escaped." He then tied my hands with a cord,
shouldered his musket, and off we set. We now quitted the wood as soon
as we could; for O'Brien said that he had no fear for the next ten days;
and so it proved. We had one difficulty, which was, that we were going
the wrong way; but that was obviated by travelling mostly at night, when
no questions were asked, except at the cabarets, where we lodged, and
they did not know which way we came. When we stopped at night, my youth
excited a great deal of commiseration, especially from the females; and
in one instance I was offered assistance to escape. I consented to it,
but at the same time informed O'Brien of the plan proposed. O'Brien kept
watch--I dressed myself, and was at the open window, when he rushed in,
seizing me, and declaring that he would inform the Government of the
conduct of the parties. Their confusion and distress were very great.
They offered O'Brien twenty, thirty, forty Napoleons, if he would hush
it up, for they were aware of the penalty and imprisonment. O'Brien
replied that he would not accept of any money in compromise of his duty;
that after he had given me into the charge of the gendarme of the next
post, his business was at an end, and he must return to Flushing, where
he was stationed.
"I have a sister there," replied the hostess, "who keeps an inn. You'll
want good quarters, and a friendly cup; do not denounce us, and I'll
give you a letter to her, which, if it does not prove of service, you
can then return and give the information."
O'Brien consented; the letter was delivered, and read to him, in which
the sister was requested, by the love she bore to the writer, to do all
she could for the bearer, who had the power of making the whole family
miserable, but had refused so to do. O'Brien pocketed the letter, filled
his brandy-flask, and saluting all the women, left the cabaret, dragging
me after him with a cord. The only difference, as O'Brien observed after
he went out, was, that he (O'Brien) kissed all the women, and all the
women kissed me. In this way, we had proceeded by Charleroy and Louvain,
and were within a few miles of Malines, when a circumstance occurred
which embarrassed us not a little. We were following our route, avoiding
Malines, which was a fortified town, and at the time were in a narrow
lane, with wide ditches, full of water, on each side. At the turning of
a sharp corner, we met the gendarme who had supplied O'Brien with a map
of the town of Givet. "Good morning, comrade," said he to O'Brien,
looking earnestly at him, "whom have we here?"
"A young Englishman, whom I picked up close by, escaped from prison."
"Where from?"
"He will not say; but I suspect from Givet."
"There are two who have escaped from Givet," replied he: "how they
escaped no one can imagine; but," continued he, again looking at
O'Brien, "_avec les braves, il n'y a rien d'impossible_."
"That is true," replied O'Brien; "I have taken one, the other cannot be
far off. You had better look for him."
"I should like to find him," replied the gendarme, "for you know that to
retake a runaway prisoner is certain promotion. You will be made a
corporal."
"So much the better," replied O'Brien; "_adieu, mon ami_."
"Nay, I merely came for a walk, and will return with you to Malines,
where of course you are bound."
"We shall not get there to-night," said O'Brien, "my prisoner is too
much fatigued."
"Well, then, we will go as far as we can; and I will assist you. Perhaps
we may find the second, who, I understand, obtained a map of the
fortress by some means or other."
We at once perceived that we were discovered. He afterwards told us that
the body of a gendarme had been found in the wood, no doubt murdered by
the prisoners, and that the body was stripped naked. "I wonder,"
continued he, "whether one of the prisoners put on his clothes, and
passed as a gendarme."
"Peter," said O'Brien, "are we to murder this man or not?"
"I should say not: pretend to trust him, and then we may give him the
slip." This was said during the time that the gendarme stopped a moment
behind us.
"Well, we'll try; but first I'll put him off his guard." When the
gendarme came up with us, O'Brien observed, that the English prisoners
were very liberal; that he knew that a hundred Napoleons were often paid
for assistance, and he thought that no corporal's rank was equal to a
sum that would in France make a man happy and independent for life.
"Very true," replied the gendarme; "and let me only look upon that sum,
and I will guarantee a positive safety out of France."
"Then we understand each other," replied O'Brien; "this boy will give
two hundred--one half shall be yours, if you will assist."
"I will think of it," replied the gendarme, who then talked about
indifferent subjects, until we arrived at a small town, called Acarchot,
where we proceeded to a cabaret. The usual curiosity passed over we were
left alone, O'Brien telling the gendarme that he would expect his reply
that night or to-morrow morning. The gendarme said, to-morrow morning.
O'Brien requesting him to take charge of me, he called the woman of the
cabaret to show him a room; she showed him one or two, which he refused,
as not sufficiently safe for the prisoner. The woman laughed at the
idea, observing, "What had he to fear from a _pauvre enfant_ like me?"
"Yet this _pauvre enfant_ escaped from Givet," replied O'Brien; "these
Englishmen are devils from their birth." The last room showed to O'Brien
suited him, and he chose it--the woman not presuming to contradict a
gendarme. As soon as they came down again, O'Brien ordered me to bed,
and went up-stairs with me. He bolted the door, and pulling me to the
large chimney, we put our heads up, and whispered, that our conversation
should not be heard. "This man is not to be trusted," said O'Brien, "and
we must give him the slip. I know my way out of the inn, and we must
return the way we came, and then strike off in another direction."
"But will he permit us?"
"Not if he can help it; but I shall soon find out his manoeuvres."
O'Brien then went and stopped the key-hole, by hanging his handkerchief
across it, and stripping himself of his gendarme uniform, put on his own
clothes; then he stuffed the blankets and pillow into the gendarme's
dress, and laid it down on the outside of the bed, as if it were a man
sleeping in his clothes--indeed, it was an admirable deception. He laid
his musket by the side of the image, and then did the same to my bed,
making it appear as if there was a person asleep in it, of my size, and
putting my cap on the pillow. "Now, Peter, we'll see if he is watching
us. He will wait till he thinks we are asleep." The light still remained
in the room, and about an hour afterwards we heard a noise of one
treading on the stairs, upon which, as agreed, we crept under the bed.
The latch of our door was tried, and finding it open, which he did not
expect, the gendarme entered, and looking at both beds, went away.
"Now," said I, after the gendarme had gone down-stairs, "O'Brien, ought
we not to escape?"
"I've been thinking of it, Peter, and I have come to a resolution that
we can manage it better. He is certain to come again in an hour or two.
It is only eleven. Now I'll play him a trick." O'Brien then took one of
the blankets, make it fast to the window, which he left wide open, and
at the same time disarranged the images he had made up, so as to let the
gendarme perceive that they were counterfeit. We again crept under the
bed, and as O'Brien foretold, in about an hour more the gendarme
returned; our lamp was still burning, but he had a light of his own. He
looked at the beds, perceived at once that he had been duped, went to
the open window, and then exclaimed, "_Sacre Dieu! ils m'ont echappés et
je ne suis plus caporal. F----tre! à la chasse_!" He rushed out of the
room, and in a minute afterwards we heard him open the street door, and
go away.
"That will do, Peter," said O'Brien, laughing; "now we'll be off also,
although there's no great hurry." O'Brien then resumed his dress of a
gendarme; and about an hour afterwards we went down, and wishing the
hostess all happiness, quitted the cabaret, returning the same road by
which we had come. "Now, Peter," said O'Brien, "we're in a bit of a
puzzle. This dress won't do any more, still there's a respectability
about it, which will not allow me to put it off till the last moment."
We walked on till daylight, when we hid ourselves in a copse of trees.
At night we again started for the forest of Ardennes, for O'Brien said
our best chance was to return, until they supposed that we had had time
to effect our escape; but we never reached the forest, for on the next
day a violent snowstorm came on; it continued without intermission for
four days, during which we suffered much. Our money was not exhausted,
as I had drawn upon my father for £60, which, with the disadvantageous
exchange, had given me fifty Napoleons. Occasionally O'Brien crept into
a cabaret, and obtained provisions; but, as we dared not be seen
together as before, we were always obliged to sleep in the open air, the
ground being covered more than three feet with snow. On the fifth day,
being then six days from the forest of Ardennes, we hid ourselves in a
small wood, about a quarter of a mile from the road. I remained there
while O'Brien, as a gendarme, went to obtain provisions. As usual, I
looked out for the best shelter during his absence, and what was my
horror at falling in with a man and woman who lay dead in the snow,
having evidently perished from the weather. Just as I discovered them,
O'Brien returned, and I told him; he went with me to view the bodies.
They were dressed in a strange attire, ribands pinned upon their
clothes, and two pairs of very high stilts lying by their sides. O'Brien
surveyed them, and then said, "Peter, this is the very best thing that
could have happened to us. We may now walk through France without
soiling our feet with the cursed country."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean," said he, "that these are the people that we met near
Montpelier, who come from the Landes, walking about on their stilts for
the amusement of others, to obtain money. In their own country they are
obliged to walk so. Now, Peter, it appears to me that the man's clothes
will fit me, and the girl's (poor creature, how pretty she looks, cold
in death!) will fit you. All we have to do is to practise a little, and
then away we start."
O'Brien then, with some difficulty, pulled off the man's jacket and
trowsers, and having so done, buried him in the snow. The poor girl was
despoiled of her gown and upper petticoat, with every decency, and also
buried. We collected the clothes and stilts, and removed to another
quarter of the wood, where we found a well-sheltered spot, and took our
meal. As we did not travel that night as usual, we had to prepare our
own bed. We scraped away the snow, and made ourselves as comfortable as
we could without a fire, but the weather was dreadful.
"Peter," said O'Brien, "I'm melancholy. Here, drink plenty;" and he
handed me the flask of spirits, which had never been empty.
"Drink more, Peter."
"I cannot, O'Brien, without being tipsy."
"Never mind that, drink more; see how these two poor devils lost their
lives by falling asleep in the snow. Peter," said O'Brien, starting up,
"you sha'n't sleep here--follow me."
I expostulated in vain. It was almost dark, and he led me to the
village, near which he pitched upon a hovel (a sort of out-house).
"Peter, here is shelter; lie down and sleep, and I'll keep the watch.
Not a word, I will have it--down at once."
I did so, and in a very few minutes was fast asleep, for I was worn out
with cold and fatigue. For several days we had walked all night, and the
rest we gained by day was trifling. Oh how I longed for a warm bed with
four or five blankets! Just as the day broke, O'Brien roused me; he had
stood sentry all night, and looked very haggard.
"O'Brien, you are ill," said I.
"Not a bit; but I've emptied the brandy-flask; and that's a bad job.
However, it is to be remedied."
We then returned to the wood in a mizzling rain and fog, for the weather
had changed, and the frost had broken up. The thaw was even worse than
the frost, and we felt the cold more. O'Brien again insisted upon my
sleeping in the out-house, but this time I positively refused without he
would also sleep there, pointing out to him, that we ran no more risk,
and perhaps not so much, as if he stayed outside. Finding I was
positive, he at last consented, and we both gained it unperceived. We
lay down, but I did not go to sleep for some time, I was so anxious to
see O'Brien fast asleep. He went in and out several times, during which
I pretended to be fast asleep; at last it rained in torrents, and then
he lay down again, and in a few minutes, overpowered by nature, he fell
fast asleep, snoring so loudly, that I was afraid some one would hear
us. I then got up and watched, occasionally lying down and slumbering
awhile, and then going to the door.