“Well, Peter, I’m happy to find you all safe, and much happier to find that you can be trusted when I leave you, for you could not have behaved more prudently. Now I’ll tell you what I did, which was not much, as it happened. I knew that there was no cabaret between us and Flushing, for I took particular notice as I came along: so I took the road to Middleburg, and found but one, which was full of soldiers. I passed it, and found no other. As I came back past the same cabaret, one of the soldiers came out to me, but I walked along the road. He quickened his pace, and so did I mine, for I expected mischief. At last he came up to me, and spoke to me, in Dutch, to which I gave him no answer. He collared me, and then I thought it convenient to pretend that I was deaf and dumb. I pointed to my mouth with an Au—au—and then to my ears, and shook my head; but he would not be convinced, and I heard him say something about English. I then knew that there was no time to be lost, so I first burst out into a loud laugh and stopped; and on his attempting to force me, I kicked up his heels, and he fell on the ice with such a rap on the pate, that I doubt if he has recovered it by this time. There I left him, and have run back as hard as I could, without any thing for Peter to fill his little hungry inside with. Now, Peter, what’s your opinion? for they say, that out of the mouth of babes there is wisdom; and although I never saw anything come out of their mouths but sour milk, yet perhaps I may be more fortunate, this time, for, Peter, you’re but a baby.”
“Not a small one, O’Brien, although not quite so large as Fingal’s babby that you told me the story of. My idea is this. Let us, at all hazards, go to the farmhouse. They have assisted us, and may be inclined to do so again; if they refuse, we must push on to Flushing and take our chance.”
“Well,” observed O’Brien, after a pause, “I think we can do no better, so let’s be off.” We went to the farm-house, and, as we approached the door, were met by the great mastiff. I started back, O’Brien boldly advanced. “He’s a clever dog, and may know us again. I’ll go up,” said O’Brien, not stopping while he spoke, “and pat his head; if he flies at me, I shall be no worse than I was before, for depend upon it he will not allow us to go back again.” O’Brien by this time had advanced to the dog, who looked earnestly and angrily at him. He patted his head, the dog growled, but O’Brien put his arm round his neck, and patting him again, whistled to him, and went to the door of the farm-house. The dog followed him silently but closely. O’Brien knocked, and the door was opened by the little girl: the mastiff advanced to the girl and then turned round, facing O’Brien, as much as to say—“Is he to come in?” The girl spoke to the dog, and went in-doors. During her absence the mastiff laid down at the threshold. In a few seconds the woman who had brought us from Flushing came out, and desired us to enter. She spoke very good French, and told us that fortunately her husband was absent; that the reason why we had not been supplied was, that a wolf had met her little girl returning the other day, but had been beaten off by the mastiff, and that she was afraid to allow her to go again; that she heard the wolf had been killed this evening, and had intended her girl to have gone to us early to-morrow morning. That wolves were hardly known in that country, but that the severe winter had brought them down to the lowlands, a very rare circumstance, occurring perhaps not once in twenty years. “But how did you pass the mastiff?” said she; “that has surprised my daughter and me.” O’Brien told her; upon which she said, that “the English were really ‘des braves.’ No other man had ever done the same.” So I thought, for nothing would have induced me to do it. O’Brien then told the history of the death of the wolf with all particulars, and our intention if we could not do better, of returning to Flushing.
“I heard that Pierre Eustache came home yesterday,” said the woman; “and I do think that you will be safer at Flushing than here, for they will never think of looking for you among the casernes, which join their cabaret.”
“Will you lend us your assistance to get in?”
“I will see what I can do. But are you not hungry?”
“About as hungry as men who have eaten nothing for two days.”
“Mon Dieu! c’est vrai. I never thought it was so long, but those whose stomachs are filled forget those who are empty. God make us better and more charitable!”
She spoke to the little girl in Dutch, who hastened to load the table, which we hastened to empty. The little girl stared at our voracity; but at last she laughed out, and clapped her hands at every fresh mouthful which we took, and pressed us to eat more. She allowed me to kiss her, until her mother told her that I was not a woman, when she pouted at me, and beat me off. Before midnight we were fast asleep upon the benches before the kitchen fire, and at day-break were roused up by the woman, who offered us some bread and spirits; and then we went out to the door, where we found the horse and cart all ready, and loaded with vegetables for the market. The woman, the little girl, and myself got in, O’Brien leading as before, and the mastiff following. We had learnt the dog’s name, which was Achille, and he seemed to be quite fond of us. We passed the dreaded barriers without interruption, and in ten minutes entered the cabaret of Eustache; and immediately walked into the little room through a crowd of soldiers, two of whom chucked me under the chin. Who should we find there but Eustache, the pilot himself, in conversation with his wife; and it appeared that they were talking about us, she insisting, and he unwilling to have any hand in the business.
“Well, here they are themselves, Eustache: the soldiers who have seen them come in will never believe that this is their first entry, if you give them up. I leave them to make their own bargain; but mark me, Eustache, I have slaved night and day in this cabaret for your profit; if you do not oblige me and my family, I no longer keep a cabaret for you.” Madame Eustache then quitted the room with her husband’s sister and little girl, and O’Brien immediately accosted him. “I promise you,” said he to Eustache, “one hundred louis if you put us on shore at any part of England, or on board of any English man-of-war; and if you do it within a week, I will make it twenty louis more.” O’Brien then pulled out the fifty Napoleons given us by Celeste, for our own were not yet expended, and laid them on the table. “Here is this in advance, to prove my sincerity. Say, is it a bargain or not?”