“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.