“Yes,” replied I, “most certainly, if you have sufficient confidence in me to take me as your companion.”
“To tell you the truth, Peter, I would not give a farthing to escape without you.”
The prison was by all accounts very different from Verdun and some others. We had no parole, and but little communication with the townspeople. Some were permitted to come in and supply us with various articles; but their baskets were searched, to see that they contained nothing that might lead to an escape on the part of the prisoners. Without the precautions that O’Brien had taken, any attempt would have been useless. “Now, Peter,” said he one day, “I want nothing more than an umbrella for you.”
“Why an umbrella for me?”
“To keep you from being drowned with too much water, that’s all.”
“Rain won’t drown me.”
“No, no, Peter; but buy a new one as soon as you can.”
I did so. O’Brien boiled up a quantity of bees’-wax and oil, and gave it several coats of this preparation. He then put it carefully away in the ticking of his bed. We had been now about two months in Givet, when a Steel’s List was sent to a lieutenant, who was confined there. The lieutenant came up to O’Brien, and asked him his Christian name. “Terence, to be sure,” replied O’Brien.
“Then,” answered the lieutenant, “I may congratulate you on your promotion, for here you are upon the list of August.”
“Sure there must be some trifling mistake; let me look at it. Terence O’Brien, sure enough; but now the question is, has any other fellow robbed me of my name and promotion at the same time? Bother, what can it mane? I won’t belave it—not a word of it. I’ve no more interest than a dog who drags cats’-meat.”