Chapter Nineteen.
A Foolhardy Adventure.
Short time after this, a melancholy event occurred, which cast a gloom over the entire fleet.
The siege was not progressing to the admiral’s satisfaction; the garrison showed no sign of yielding; and our chief became anxious to learn something with regard to the condition of things within the walls of Bastia.
The moment that this desire became known, a host of volunteers stepped forward, with offers to do their best to make their way inside and gain the required information. Admiral Hood, however, felt very reluctant to allow any of these volunteers to expose themselves to so great a risk; particularly as it turned out, when questioned, that not one of them had been able to devise a really practicable and promising scheme.
The least unpromising idea of them all, was that suggested by Lieutenant Carré Tupper, of the flag-ship; which was, that he should endeavour to effect a landing inside the chain of defences, and, penetrating into the town, gain all the information he could; and trust to his good fortune for the means of getting off to the ship again. This plan seemed all the more feasible, from the fact that he spoke the French language with the ease and fluency of a Parisian.
After much consideration, therefore, the admiral accepted this gallant young officer’s offer, and gave his consent to the experiment.
A disguise was accordingly prepared under Lieutenant Tupper’s own supervision; and on the first favourable night the experiment was tried.
It was perfectly calm, with an overcast sky and no moon, when he stood, dressed in his disguise, in the gangway of the “Victory,” receiving from the admiral his last instructions; and many a hearty hand-shake, and many a fervent “Success attend you, my dear fellow,” did he receive before passing down the lofty side of the 100-gun ship, into the pinnace which, with muffled oars and a crew armed to the teeth, awaited him at the foot of the side-ladder.
At last the final parting was spoken, the final shake of the hand given, and with a gay laugh, in response to the half-serious, half-jocose warnings to take care of himself which followed him, he sprang lightly down the side, took his seat in the stern-sheets, and gave the order to shove off.
He had most carefully reconnoitred the place beforehand, both from the topgallant-yard of the “Victory,” and from the deck of the little “Mouette;” so that he knew exactly for what point to steer; and there was no hesitation whatever upon that score.
All went well with the little expedition until the boat arrived within half a mile of Bastia, when a little breeze sprang up; the canopy of cloud which had overspread the heavens cleared away as if by magic, and the stars shone out brilliantly, flooding earth and sea with a light which, though subdued, was sufficient to reveal to the sharp-eyed French sentinels the small dark object which was silently stealing toward the shore.
The alarm was immediately given; but instead of opening upon the boat with their heavy guns, at the risk of missing their object, and driving off their prey, the French allowed the boat still to approach, and, marking carefully the spot for which she was making, silently placed a strong body of sharpshooters in ambush to await her coming.
Had the Frenchmen in ambush but observed the most ordinary caution, there is no doubt they would easily have captured the boat and the whole of her crew, but instead of this they gave way to the excitement which is one of their failings, and indulged in such loud and continuous chatter that the coxswain of the pinnace heard them when within about twenty yards of the landing-place, and the boat was at once pulled round with her head off shore, and the crew ordered to “give way with a will,” in order to escape the very obvious danger.
But it was too late. The moment that it was observed that their destined prey had taken the alarm, a terrific volley of musketry was poured into the boat, and the gallant young officer who had undertaken the chief risk of the expedition fell forward into the bottom of the boat, dead and riddled with bullets. The coxswain also and two of the crew were more or less severely wounded. The boat was as speedily as possible taken out of range, and though, when it was found that there was a prospect of her escaping, some of the batteries opened upon her, and two or three boats started from the shore in chase, she reached the “Victory” without further mishap, about an hour and a half from the time when she started upon the disastrous expedition.
Much grief was felt throughout the fleet at the loss of this gallant and promising young officer, whose distinguished services at the evacuation of Toulon, as well as his kindly and genial disposition, had made him universally liked and respected.
After this, there was no further talk of obtaining information respecting the condition of the enemy.
But the idea had taken hold of me, and I had thought about it until I had become completely fascinated.
It certainly seemed to me a preposterous piece of presumption that I should flatter myself I could succeed where an older and much more talented officer had failed, but the idea had got into my head, and the more I thought of it, the more sanguine did I become of success.
I had, after much thought, evolved a scheme which appeared to me so very promising that I determined to put it to the test without delay, taking care, however, not to breathe a word of my purpose to any of the officers, because I felt certain that after the late lamentable failure, no further attempts of a like kind would be permitted.
I needed assistance, however, to carry this notable scheme into effect, and I accordingly took little Bobby Summers into my confidence.
The “Mouette,” I ought to mention, had been brought round with the rest of the fleet, and was occasionally employed in communicating between the ships and the forces on shore. Bobby and I retained our former posts in her, and as she was required at all hours of the day and night, we had removed our chests and hammocks to her little cabin, merely visiting the old “Juno” at odd times, to maintain our connexion with her, when we had nothing else in particular to do.
This arrangement was most favourable to my scheme, inasmuch as it allowed of my embarking upon it unmolested, and it also rendered little Bobby’s assistance available at whatever moment I might require it.
There seemed to be only one serious difficulty in my way, and that was the want of a really good and effective disguise; and this difficulty was quite unexpectedly removed by the merest accident.
I had taken Summers into my confidence, and had received from him a prompt promise of his heartiest co-operation; the first dark night therefore which followed upon the unfolding of my purpose to my enthusiastic shipmate, we took the first steps necessary to its accomplishment.
I am, as I think I have already mentioned, an excellent swimmer, and it was upon the possession of this accomplishment that I chiefly based my hopes of success. My plan was simply to row in as near the shore as possible, accompanied by Summers, in the cockleshell of a dinghy belonging to the “Mouette,” and then quietly slip into the water and swim the remainder of the distance. The dinghy in question was so very diminutive a craft that I felt sure we might under favourable circumstances get quite close in without being discovered.
The first thing which I considered necessary, was to ascertain the set and rate of the tide, such as it was; and to do this, we started away in the dinghy one very dark night, armed with a cutlass and a brace of pistols each, and paddled leisurely in toward the shore.
We arrived in due time within about half a mile of the harbour’s mouth, and then laid upon our oars to watch the drift of a small piece of plank, painted white, which we launched overboard, keeping the boat just far enough away to prevent her influencing its course, while at the same time able to distinguish its position pretty clearly.
We had been occupied thus for nearly an hour, and had seen enough to very nearly satisfy me upon the point in question, when, at no great distance away, we heard a sound as of some one laying in an oar upon a boat’s thwart.
Curiosity at once urged us to ascertain, if possible, the source and meaning of this sound, as we felt pretty confident it could proceed from no boat belonging to the fleet, and we easily arrived at the logical conclusion that it must therefore proceed from some boat belonging to the enemy. Abandoning, therefore, our float to its fate, we loosened our cutlasses in their sheaths, and our pistols in the belts which supported them, and very cautiously paddled in the direction from whence the sound appeared to proceed.
We had not gone very far when we heard the sound of voices speaking in a low tone, apparently just inshore of us, and we accordingly turned the boat’s head in that direction.
As we proceeded, the sound of talking rapidly became more distinct, and at length we were near enough to distinguish that the speakers, whoever they were, ere conversing in French.
At this point we rested on our oars again, and peered eagerly into the darkness in the endeavour to see something of our neighbours.
After perhaps a minute’s intense gaze shoreward, Bobby leaned over, and whispered,—
“There they are, right ahead, and close under our bows. It is a boat, with two men in her, and as nearly as I can make out, they are leaning over the side and hauling something into the boat.”
I looked intently in the direction indicated, and at length succeeded in making out the craft. There were, as Bob had said, two men in her; they were leaning over the side, and as I watched, one of them raised his arm, and I detected, just for a moment, the faint glitter of some object just beneath it. At the same instant a voice said in French,—
“Here is another, and a fine fellow he is, too. He will make a splendid dinner for the general to-morrow.”
“Fishermen, by all that is lucky!” I exclaimed, in an excited whisper. “Now, Bob, let’s dash alongside and board the craft; a selection from the rig of those two men will make exactly the rig I want.”
“All right,” returned Bob. “You’re the skipper, give the word, and we’ll nab the Mossoos in a jiffy.”
“Now!” said I.
We dashed our oars into the water, and in half a dozen strokes were alongside the astonished fishermen.
As the two boats touched, Bob laid in his oar, and with the dinghy’s painter in one hand and his drawn cutlass in the other, leaped on board the stranger, treading as he did so upon a mass of fish which lay writhing and flapping feebly in the bottom of the boat, and instantly assuming, quite unintentionally on his part, you may be sure, a sitting position amongst the thickest of the slimy, scaly cargo. As he boarded forward, I did so aft, and presenting a pistol in each hand, as sternly as I could, while struggling to suppress my laughter at Bob’s exploit, ordered the fishermen to surrender, and to keep perfect silence, upon pain of instant death as the penalty of disobedience.
The poor fellows were taken completely by surprise, and seemed to have no idea of resistance. They meekly cast off that portion of their lines which still remained overboard, and taking to their oars, pulled quietly away in the direction which I ordered, or towards the “Mouette,” the dinghy being in tow astern.
As we, or rather they, rowed off to the cutter I questioned the men as to their reason for running so great a risk for the sake of a few fish, and in reply gained the information that the garrison, though still in possession of a moderate supply of food, foresaw that a time of scarcity was rapidly approaching; and the general had, accordingly, a few days previously taken the remaining provisions under his own control, issuing to each inhabitant a daily ration upon a very reduced scale. Under these circumstances, the fishermen of the place thought they saw their way to a good market for any fish they could contrive to capture, and a few of them had accordingly ventured out at night with their hooks and lines.
This was most valuable information, if true, but coming from the enemy I thought it scarcely reliable—though the men spoke with the utmost freedom, and apparently in perfectly good faith. I therefore determined, while slightly modifying my original plan, still to carry it out.
On our arrival on board the “Mouette,” I invited our two prisoners down into the cabin, and pouring them out a stiff “nor’wester” each, to cheer them up a little and loosen their tongues, I told them frankly that it was necessary I should make my way into Bastia, and intimated to them, that as they would be retained as hostages until my safe return, and liberated immediately afterwards, it would obviously be to their interest to give me all the information and help in their power to enable me to provide for my safety. I also informed them that it would be necessary for me to borrow certain portions of their habiliments, to be used as a disguise.
“It is a dangerous game which you are about to play, monsieur,” remarked the elder of the two, who gave his name as Jean Leferrier. “The greatest precautions are taken to prevent the access of spies into the place. Most of the inhabitants are well known, and any stranger would certainly be noticed and sharply questioned as to how he came there, and upon what business. I greatly fear you will be arrested before you have been three hours in the place. If monsieur will condescend to accept the advice of a poor, ignorant fisherman like myself, he will abandon his idea, and not embark upon so hazardous an enterprise.”
This, however, I would not listen to for a moment, in fact every word spoken only made me the more determined to go on; and this I intimated pretty plainly.
“Perhaps if monsieur were to adopt the rôle of an escaped prisoner from the British fleet he might succeed in disarming suspicion,” remarked Pierre Cousin, the other prisoner. “Monsieur’s accent is certainly not quite perfect (if he will pardon my presuming to say so); still it may pass without attracting much notice, and if you, Jean, were to give him a note to la mère, she could take him in and look after him,—that is, if monsieur could endure the poor accommodation to be found under her roof.”
“Certainly,” replied Jean, “that might be done. But monsieur would have to report himself to Monsieur le Maire immediately on his arrival, and would therefore have to be prepared with a good detailed plausible story.”
I replied that I thought I could manufacture a story which would hold water sufficiently to satisfy the functionary referred to, the thought flashing into my mind that I could personate the lad whom we had found in charge of the “Mouette” on the eventful evening of her capture.
“Then if monsieur is still determined to pursue his adventure, I will write the letter,” remarked Jean.
“Do so at once, by all means,” said I. “Tell her that, venturing too far out, you have been made prisoners by a boat’s crew from the British fleet, and that you found, on board the ship to which you have been taken, another prisoner, who had contrived to make preparations for his escape, and that you had only time to write this note, informing your mother of your whereabouts, and recommending the bearer to her good offices, before he proceeded to put his plans into execution, the night being favourable for the attempt.”
“There is no time like the present,” I continued to Summers. “The night is dark, and altogether favourable for the enterprise. I have the locality fresh in mind, so I shall go at once.”
“And when do you intend to return?” asked Bob.
“Ah!” I replied, “that is more than I can tell you. You may depend upon it, I shall not stay an hour longer than is absolutely necessary for obtaining the required information, but whether I shall be able to get out again when that is obtained, it is impossible to say. There is one thing you must do, Summers, and that is, keep a constant lookout, from the time I leave you until I turn up again, and if you observe anything unusual inshore, leading you to suppose I am attempting to get out, do the best you can to help me. I shall leave a note with you for the skipper, explaining what I intend to do; and that note I want you to take on board, and deliver into his own hands, the first thing in the morning.”
I then set about writing the note, and by the time that I had finished, Jean had also brought his communication to a close. He passed it over the table for me to read, and I found that it was substantially to the same effect as I had suggested, but written in his own homely and not very precise style of composition. I looked it very carefully through to see that there was no covert suggestion therein of a character intended to betray me; but as far as I could see it was a perfectly straightforward affair from beginning to end.
This matter settled, I borrowed a pair of breeches, and the long boots belonging to one of them; and the dirty ragged canvas overalls of the other; topping off with a dilapidated blue worsted cap which I had been wearing continually since joining the “Mouette,” and my rig-out was complete.
I intended pulling boldly ashore in the boat belonging to the captured fishermen, that being infinitely preferable to my mind to swimming ashore as I had originally proposed; so, as soon as I was ready I sat down once more, and questioned them very minutely respecting the position of the landing-place, the locality of la mère’s domicile, and everything else I could think of likely to be of service in my undertaking.
Jean, the elder of the two, replied freely to all my inquiries; adding such information as suggested itself to him at the moment, and winding up by saying,—
“Monsieur must not be surprised if he is challenged on entering the harbour, that is almost certain to occur; and if it does he has only to give the watch-word, and he will not be further interfered with.”
“And what is the watch-word?” I asked.
“Simply ‘Bateau-pècheur; Bastia,’” he replied. “If you are challenged give the pass-word, and lie upon your oars; that will show them that you are one of us, and you will at once receive permission to proceed.”
“Very well, I think I am pretty well primed now, and may venture to start. Good-bye, Bob, old fellow. Keep a sharp lookout, and bear a hand with your assistance if you see that I need any when returning. And don’t forget my letter to the skipper.”
“All right, never fear; I’ll remember everything. I only wish I could have gone instead of you, Chester. If you succeed it will be no end of a feather in your cap, but if you fail,”—he concluded the sentence with a pantomimic gesture expressive of strangulation. “But there,” he added, “I’ve no fear of that; I never saw such a fellow as you for pulling through; good-bye, old boy; ta-ta; ‘be sure you write.’”
And he wrung my hand heartily; with a gay laugh upon his lips, but something very like a tear glittering in his eye, as the feeble rays of the cabin lamp struggled through the skylight and fell upon his face.
I stepped into the heavy, clumsy, and slimy boat belonging to the fishermen; and, shipping the oars, shoved off and gave way for the shore; a faint twinkling light here and there in the town serving to guide me upon my proper course.
It took me nearly two hours to reach the harbour; the boat being heavy, and the oars much more cumbersome than any I had ever handled before; but I passed in between the two piers at last; and as I did so a dark figure appeared on the extremity of one of them, looming up indistinctly against the dusky sky; and a voice exclaimed sharply, in French,—
“Who goes there?”
“Bateau-pècheur; Bastia,” I replied composedly, resting on my oars at the same time.
“You are late, comrade,” remarked the sentry. “What luck?”
“Very poor,” I replied. “I have only been able to find half my lines, the darkness is so great; and in searching for the others I have lost a good deal of time.”
“Ah,” returned he, “you are lucky to have found any of them. Pass on, monsieur le pècheur; and good-night.”
“Good-night,” I shouted back, stretching out at the oars once more, and rowing laboriously up the harbour against a slight ebb-tide.
I had no difficulty in finding the landing-place. It was a sort of slipway leading down from the top of the quay to the water’s edge; and some ten or a dozen other fishing-boats were either hauled up there, or moored alongside. There was not a soul to be seen about the place when I ranged up alongside the green and slimy piles of which the slipway was constructed; I was consequently able to moor the boat at leisure, and in such a way that if I wanted her again in a hurry, I should have no difficulty in quickly casting her adrift.
I then gathered up the fish and placed them in a basket which was stowed away in the eyes of the boat; and throwing the rope strap over my shoulders, trudged with my load up the slipway until I stood upon the top of the quay.
I had been very minute in my inquiries as to how I was to proceed on landing, so as to be able to go direct to the abode of Dame Leferrier; and the fisherman Jean had been equally minute and careful in directing me; I had only to stand a few seconds, therefore, as though taking breath after the steep ascent, and look carefully about, to recognise the landmarks which he had given me to determine the direction I ought to take.
A low and villainous-looking waterside tavern stood at the corner of a street at no great distance, dimly visible in the light of a grimy lantern which swung over the door; and making for this, and keeping it on my right, I found myself in a narrow, wretchedly-paved street; up which I passed for about a couple of hundred yards, when I found myself opposite a rickety little hovel, having a light burning in its window. I was directed to look for such a light in the house to which I was bound; and as this appeared to be the only place in the street so distinguished, I walked boldly up to the door, raised the wooden latch, and entered.
I found myself in a small, low-ceiled room, stone-paved; with a heavy wooden table in the centre, having a rough wooden bench on each side; a couple of three-legged stools against the wall; a pair of clumsy oars and a boat-hook in one corner; a boat’s mast and sails in another; a fireplace, with a few smouldering logs, over which was suspended an iron pot, occupied nearly the whole of one side of the room; and, by the side of the hearth, with her back toward me, sat an old dame, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, gazing, half-asleep, at the almost extinct fire.
On my entrance, she rose wearily to her feet, and looked round in feeble surprise, but without any sign of perturbation at seeing a stranger before her.
“Have I the honour to address Madame Leferrier?” I inquired, with as polite a bow as the heavy fish-basket on my back permitted me to make.
“I am Dame Leferrier,” she replied. “Who are you, young man? As far as my dim eyes will allow me to judge, I have never seen you before.”
“You are quite right, madame,” said I. “I am a perfect stranger to you. This note, however, from your son Jean will tell you who I am.”
“A note from Jean!” she exclaimed. “What is the meaning of it? Why is he not here, himself?”
“I am sorry to inform you that a slight misfortune has befallen him,” I replied. “He and his comrade Pierre are at present prisoners in the hands of the English; but they will no doubt soon find the means to escape, as I have just done.”
“Prisoners!” she exclaimed. “Mon Dieu! what will become of them? And what,” she added, “will become of me, now that I have lost the support which they only would give me?”
“Be not distressed, madame,” I replied, “either on their account or your own. They will be treated with the utmost kindness, prisoners though they are; and, for yourself, I shall need a home until I can get out of Bastia and return to my own; and if you will give me shelter, I am both able and willing to pay you well for it.”
I still held the note in my hand, and as I ceased speaking I offered it her again.
“Read it out to me, monsieur, if you please,” said she. “My sight is but poor at the best of times; and is certainly not equal to reading poor Jean’s letter by this light.”
I accordingly read the letter over to her, and when I had finished, she remarked,—
“Poor boys! poor boys! Prisoners! Well, well, it cannot be helped. We must be patient, and trust to the mercy of Le Bon Dieu. And now, monsieur, as to yourself. You are doubtless hungry and tired. Here is the supper which I had prepared for my two; alas! they are not here to eat it; but draw up, monsieur; put the basket in the corner there, and draw up to the table. You are heartily welcome to such as a poor widow has to give; and when you have satisfied your hunger I will show you to your bed. It was my boy’s—my poor Jean’s—ah! will he ever sleep on it again?”
I drew up to the table, in accordance with the poor old soul’s invitation; and while partaking of what turned out to be a very savoury meal, did my best to cheer her up with the hope of speedily seeing her Jean once more.
My meal concluded, she conducted me up a rickety, worm-eaten staircase, to a small room above that which we had just left; and indicating one of the two beds therein as the one belonging to her Jean, and the one, therefore, which I was to occupy, bade me good-night and retired.
I must admit that, now I had fairly embarked upon my adventure, I found there were certain physical discomforts incidental to it, which were by no means to my taste. Thus, the disguise upon which my safety to a great extent depended, consisted of clothing the reverse of clean, and though it was certainly odoriferous enough, the perfume was by no means that of “Araby the blest.” Then there was my lodging. It was moderately clean, perhaps, compared with the condition of a few of the places in the immediate neighbourhood; but ideas of cleanliness, like ideas upon many other matters, vary, and this place, though doubtless considered scrupulously clean by the rightful occupants, was sufficiently the reverse to make me really uncomfortable; and for a short time I abandoned myself to reflections the reverse of self-complimentary with regard to the impulse which had led me into such a situation. But the fact remained that I was there; and common-sense suggested the desirability of making the best of the situation; I accordingly arranged matters as comfortably as I could, and flinging myself upon the coarse pallet was soon wrapped in a dreamless slumber.
My first business in the morning was to find out and report myself to the maire. I had given a great deal of consideration to this matter while rowing ashore on the previous night, weighing carefully the arguments for and against such a course; and had finally arrived at the conclusion that, though such a proceeding would undoubtedly be fraught with great danger, yet it would in reality be the safest thing to do. The great thing to avoid was the exciting of suspicion; and the surest means of achieving this seemed to me to be, not the actual courting of observation, certainly, but the careful avoidance of anything which seemed like shunning it.
Accordingly, after an early breakfast, during the discussion of which I easily extracted from my unsuspicious hostess all the information necessary to enable me to find my way to the various points I deemed it most important to visit, I shouldered my basket of fish, and set out on my way to the residence of Monsieur le Maire.
As I slouched heavily and leisurely along the streets, affecting as nearly as I could the clumsy gait of a common seaman on terra firma, I glanced carefully about me to note such signs as might make themselves visible of the state of things within the town. It was not however until I reached the more respectable business quarter of the town that I was able to detect much. Then I observed tickets in the windows and on the stalls, announcing the various articles for sale—and especially provisions—at only—such a price—and exorbitantly high these prices were, too.
I soon had reason to see that my resolution to report myself was a wise one; for I had not proceeded far on my way before I found myself the subject of sundry suspicious glances, and shortly afterwards a corporal of infantry hurried up behind, and, laying his hand upon my shoulder, exclaimed,—
“Halt, friend, and give me your name and place of residence, if you please. You are a fisherman, apparently, yet two of your own people have just pointed you out to me as certainly a stranger.”
“I am a stranger, comrade,” I replied composedly. “I only arrived in Bastia late last night, after effecting my escape from the British fleet two hours previously. Two of the fishermen belonging to this place—Jean Leferrier and Pierre Cousin by name—venturing too far off shore last night, were pounced upon and made prisoners by a boat belonging to the fleet. They were placed in irons, and confined between the same two guns as myself, and learning that I intended trying to escape, they directed me how to find my way on shore, and how to behave when here; giving me also a note to convey to Madame Leferrier. I am now on my way to the house of Monsieur le Maire to report myself.”
“Good!” exclaimed my unwelcome companion; “I will accompany you there, and show you the house, since you are a stranger.”
I did not, of course, dare to manifest any objection to such a proposal, or I should instantly have been made a prisoner, if indeed I might not consider myself in reality one already.
I accordingly acquiesced in the most cheerful manner I could assume; and we trudged on together, I describing, in response to the corporal’s questioning, the details of my assumed escape.
Just as I had finished my recital, we arrived at the corner of a street, and my companion stopped.
“This,” said he, “is the street in which Monsieur le Maire resides. But before we go further, may I ask, comrade, what you are going to do with those fish in your basket?” casting at the same time a hungry glance over my shoulder.
“Well,” said I, “they really belong to poor Jean Leferrier and his mate; and I intended asking Monsieur le Maire to accept one or two of the finest of them, after which I should sell the remainder, and hand over the proceeds to Jean’s mother, who I find depended entirely upon her son for house, food, and clothing. But I suppose one or two more or less will not make much difference to the good dame, especially,”—a bright idea striking me—“as I intend going out to-night and trying my luck; so if you would like a bit of fish for dinner and will accept one or two, make your choice, comrade; you have been very kind in guiding me thus far, and I am sure you are heartily welcome.”
I was about to unsling the basket from my shoulders, as I spoke, but he hastily stopped me.
“You are a good fellow, mon ami,” said he, “and I accept your offer. But not here—it would never do for me to be seen here in public accepting such a present; it would be sure to get to our general’s ears, and I should be simply flogged for my presumption. Why, if you had not told me yourself that you are a stranger, I should have known it at once, from your ignorance of the value of the contents of your basket. Why, we are closely besieged, mon cher; provisions are growing scarce, and your fish are worth—well—almost their weight in silver. Come this way; never mind Monsieur le Maire, he would only send you on to the general’s quarters to report yourself there; so you may as well save your intended present to him—or, better still, hand it to the general’s cook, and that will insure you from all further trouble in the future, especially if you happen to make a point of leaving a little bit of fish at the general’s whenever you happen to be passing that way. Ah! here we are at the barracks!”
We turned in, as he spoke, through a pair of large, high folding gates of wood, thickly studded along the top with sharp iron spikes, and I found myself in the barrack square, a large open space, surrounded on three sides by buildings, and on the fourth—that side which abutted on the street—by a wall about twenty feet high.
The edifice, which occupied the whole of that side of the square facing the street, was an extremely ancient structure, and had evidently been at one time a castle of considerable strength. The walls were constructed entirely of masonry, apparently of great solidity; but the age of the building, and the ravages of time were plainly indicated by the stained and weather-beaten appearance of the stone-work, as well as by the way in which the exterior surface of the masonry had crumbled away, leaving the once smooth face rough and jagged, with frequent indentations, where stones had become loosened in their setting and finally dislodged altogether. The chief entrance to the building was through a high and wide semicircular archway, of considerable depth, adorned with crumbling pillars and half-obliterated mouldings, flanked on each side by solid and bold projecting buttresses. The lower storey of the building was lighted by good-sized windows of modern construction, which had evidently been pierced in the walls at no very distant date; but above this the original narrow slits in the masonry which did duty as windows still remained. A short flagstaff, from which, the tricolour fluttered in the morning breeze, surmounted the central portion of the building, which, from its superior height and apparent strength, I judged must have originally been the keep.
The two adjacent sides of the square were occupied by plain brick buildings, three storeys high, which evidently constituted the men’s quarters.
My companion conducted me across the square to the great centre door already mentioned, and, on our safely reaching the shelter of its deep recess, bade me place my basket on the ground. I did so; whereupon—first glancing round to see whether there were any curious eyes turned in our direction, and apparently satisfied that there were not—he stooped down, and planting himself well in front of my basket, hastily selected a couple of moderate-sized fish, which he thrust up inside his tunic. This done, he seized a wooden handle which hung at the extremity of a rusty chain issuing from a small aperture in the wall, and tugged smartly at it. The result was a clanging from a large bell, imperfectly heard in the remote distance of the interior.
A minute or so elapsed; and then a wicket, cut in the woodwork of the door, opened; and an individual in plain clothes, apparently an officer’s orderly, became visible inside.
“Can Monsieur Lemaitre be seen?” inquired my companion.
“Doubtless,” replied the individual to whom the question was put. “Come in, Jacques. What do you want with him?”
“That I will tell him myself, comrade, when I see him,” responded Jacques, passing through the wicket and beckoning me to follow; which of course I did.
“As you please, mon ami,” replied the other; and without further parley he departed to apprise that important personage, the general’s cook, that he was wanted.
In the interval I employed myself in looking round me.
I found myself in a sort of entrance-hall of considerable size. The wall opposite the door contained a huge fireplace, sunk in the thickness of the masonry. The side walls were pierced, on my right and left, with semicircular archways, deeply moulded, and closed with strong wooden doors; and on the left, a massive and elaborately carved stone staircase, of much more modern date than the building itself, led upward to a stone gallery which ran all round the wall, with doors communicating with the apartments above. The hall ceiling, two storeys above the pavement, was of stone, groined; the ribs of the groins boldly moulded, and massively keyed in the centre with a stone of considerable size, boldly carved with the representation of a dragon or griffin coiled into a circle. Over the great fireplace hung a trophy of rusty and dinted armour, surmounted by another trophy of faded and dusty silken banners; and two other flag trophies adorned the side walls.
By the time that I had completed my survey, a sound of shuffling footsteps was heard; and immediately afterwards there emerged from a passage underneath the staircase, a short, stout good-tempered-looking personage, dressed in a blouse and military trousers, with a cook’s cap on his head, and a long white apron in front, reaching from his neck almost to his feet. He held a huge meat-knife in one hand, and a basting-ladle in the other. As he approached, my friend Jacques hastily informed me in a whisper that this was Monsieur Lemaitre.
In answer to this individual’s inquiries, the corporal related the story of my pretended escape from the enemy, hinting also my desire to report myself to the general; and winding up with a description of my anxiety to procure Monsieur Lemaitre’s acceptance, on behalf of the general, of the pick of my basket.
I began dimly to see that the general—whoever he was—was a much-dreaded individual; and that this present of fish, suggested by my friend the corporal, was intended by him, in all kindness, as a bribe, whereby I might obtain as favourable an introduction as possible to the presence of the great man.
Monsieur Lemaitre stooped down and, with much deliberation, turned over the various fish which I had brought, finally selecting a quantity of the choicest, amounting to about half my stock, which he laid upon the stone pavement of the hall. This done, he, in a very gracious and patronising manner, assured me I might count upon his best services to obtain for me an early interview with his master, and retired; promising to send some one forthwith to remove the fish he had selected.
The moment he was out of sight, my friend the corporal turned to me, and congratulated me warmly upon the favourable reception which had been accorded me by the great man’s great man; congratulating himself, at the same time, upon the opportunity which had been afforded him of rendering a service of some little importance to a stranger. As he spoke thus, he cast such an expressive glance into my fish-basket, that there was no possibility of my misunderstanding him. Accordingly, when he immediately added that, as he could now be of no further service to me, he would take his departure, I uttered a few words of thanks for his kindness; and expressed a hope that he would oblige me by making a further selection of fish, as a slight token of my gratitude.
“Well, comrade,” said he, “since you are so anxious about the matter, I will; and I do it all the more readily since—between you and me—you will find these fellows about here such sharks that you will have to part with every fish in your basket before you will get an opportunity of reporting yourself. For my part, I detest such greediness; nothing is more abhorrent to a sensitive soul like mine; I consider that it ought to be baulked and discouraged in every way; and in order to aid in so good a work as far as possible I will just take this—and this—and these three—under my own care. And now—good-bye, comrade—nay, no thanks; you are heartily welcome; and I wish you a pleasant interview with the general.”
Saying which he hastily retired through the wicket; just as a sound of footsteps along the passage under the staircase announced the approach of Monsieur Lemaitre’s assistants.