The rascal translated this speech in a manner to suit himself; that is, he said never a word concerning his own treachery, but to make up for the omission he included that part which had reference to my probable speedy fate.
Of course I had learned pretty much all this in the first conversation between him and the sergeant; it was no news to me, but it terribly confirmed the surmises which had suggested themselves to my mind when I first became conscious that I was a prisoner. There was a single ray of hope, it is true, to which I clung, but it was by no means bright. I was evidently to be taken before his commanding officer, and I would acquaint him with the fact of my being a British officer, and claim to be treated as a prisoner of war. But then there was the ugly fact of my being in plain clothes—how was that to be got over? There was of course the shadow of a possibility that I might get out of my difficulties, could I but fabricate a sufficiently ingenious string of falsehoods; but now that it actually came to the point, I could not bring myself to the depths of meanness and cowardice which this involved. I had learned at school the maxim that “liars never prosper,” and my dear old father had taught me to avoid falsehood from much higher considerations than those of mere temporal prosperity. I determined therefore that, whatever the danger, I would not endeavour to shield myself by anything so despicable as a lie.
In the meantime it was no use to be down-hearted over my misfortune, that would only tend to make matters worse instead of better; besides which, I had no notion of showing my enemies that I was disheartened or apprehensive; so I brightened up, and assuming a great deal more nonchalance than I felt, I directed the Corsican to inquire our destination, and also to say that I hoped we should breakfast before starting, as I felt frightfully hungry.
He interpreted my question, adding that, as he supposed the sergeant could find his way back to Ajaccio without assistance, he would now leave us, as he had several matters requiring his immediate attention. Before going, however, he trusted that the sergeant would pay him the reward promised in case of my capture, or give him a note to the colonel, certifying that he had duly performed his contract.
The sergeant seemed rather surprised at the proposal; beyond expressing, however, an ironical regret that the party was to be deprived of Master Guiseppe’s entertaining society, he made no demur, and drawing an old letter from his pocket he scribbled in pencil on the inner side of the envelope the required certificate, which he handed over to the Corsican with the remark,—
“There you are, most glorious Apollo; take care of it, for it is worth more than you are likely to honestly earn for many a year to come. Will you stay and have some breakfast? No? Well, good-bye then for the present; I dare say we shall meet again.”
“Assuredly, signor, and not long hence, I trust. For breakfast I have all I require with me, and I shall eat as I travel, since time is precious with me, and I wish to get a lift as far as Ajaccio in one or other of the market carts. Au revoir!”
The Corsican flung his musket over his shoulder as he spoke, and, thrusting the certificate into his ammunition pouch, strode out of the hut and disappeared, just as one of the men entered with a pot of hot coffee, which had been prepared outside.
Upon this the sergeant produced some bread and meat from his wallet, and drawing forth a knife divided it into two equal parts, one of which he offered me, saying,—
“Come, mon enfant, eat and be merry while you have the opportunity. We have a long tramp before us, and for you there is probably a still longer journey afterwards; still, do not let that spoil your appetite. We cannot understand each other, but I am sorry for you, pauvre garçon! and we may as well be friends for the short time that remains.”