It was not to be expected that I should altogether escape the attentions of wretches such as these, and accordingly my ears were soon assailed with ribald jests and ruffianly speculations touching the mode and time of my execution, the manner in which I should bear myself, and so on; but I turned a deaf ear to it all, devoting my entire energies to the devising of some practicable method of escape, and, as it appeared to them that I understood nothing of what was said, my tormentors after a time turned their conversation to other matters.
“I expect we shall very soon make another excursion in this direction,” said one.
“Indeed, and for what purpose?” asked another.
“Nay, then, has it not been told thee, Adolphe, that our colonel suspects one of these Corsican aristocrats of being concerned in the present rising of his countrymen, and of plotting with the accursed English for assistance?” remarked the first speaker.
“Mille bombes! that it might be so. It would be rare sport to hunt the old rat out of his hole, or, better still, burn him in it. It would be a pleasant change from the dullness of mounting eternal guard, marching and countermarching every day, and all to what purpose? For my part I am tired of it, and long for a little more of the sport we had in dear Paris. Ah! it was worth living for, to see fifty or sixty of the proud aristocrats carted away to the guillotine every day. I doubt if there is such a thing as a guillotine in the whole island.”
“Soyez tranquille, mon cher Adolphe! The machine is not difficult to construct. But for real amusement give me such as we had at Ostend, when Davoust shot down with grape 500 men, women, and children under the ramparts, to say nothing of those which we sent afloat in the harbour in old and leaky boats which sank with all on board. And, ah, the sport that it was to chase the people through the streets until they could fly no longer, and then bayonet them! You were there, Antoine, mon camarade! you have not forgotten the day?”
“And never shall,” responded Antoine, the most ruffianly-looking of the whole party. “A day or two like that would bring these vile Corsicans to their senses. ‘Give them plenty of bayonet,’ say I. And if you want real sport, do as I did: chase the mothers until they drop, then bayonet their children first, and themselves afterwards. But do not bayonet the mothers too soon, or you rob yourself of half your amusement.”
“Good! ah, ah! very good indeed!” laughed the wretches.
“But say, Baptiste, mon cher, who is this Corsican of whom you were speaking?”
“He is called Count Lorenzo Paoli,” responded Baptiste. “He has a fine place away yonder among the hills, which, it is said, would make those rich who could have the plundering of it. And, moreover, he has a daughter—ah! but she is simply divine,” and the brute smacked his lips in a way which made me long to spring at his throat. “Le cher Guiseppe—is he not delightful?—says that this boy Englishman has papers which are thought to be for this rascally Count, and if it be so, ma foi! but there will be rare doings at the chateau before long.”