“Why, he would, for a mere frolic or for a trifling wager, seals the walls of the castle under the very eye; of the sentries, making his way into the woodlands on the north of Portsdown Hill, where he would ramble at large, stealing all the eggs and fowls he could lay his hands on. He had, as he explained, a great weakness for poultry.”
“By Jove, I can quite excuse him,” said the Captain in his funny way. “I’m partial to a chicken, myself!”
“So am I, too,” remarked Mrs Strong. “It was only what might be called ‘an amiable weakness’ on his part, considering that probably the poor prisoners were not too well fed.”
“They were not, my dear Edith,” replied her sister-in-law, “if all accounts be true; for the French Government complained of their being half-starved! However, be that as it may, Dufrèsne used to plunder away amongst the cottagers, until their anger at losing their stock led to his recapture and remission to durance vile. Once he actually made his way to London; when, calling at the house of the ‘French Commissioner’ there, who was the agent for all the prisoners of the war, he procured a decent dress and a passport, with which he presented himself again at Porchester and made a triumphant return to his prison!”
“The governor must have been surprised,” said Bob. “Wasn’t he, auntie?”
“He was,” assented his aunt. “Very much surprised, my dear.”
“Did they punish him for escaping?” asked Nell. “I don’t think they ought to have, as he came back.”
“No, I don’t think they did,” replied Mrs Gilmour. “But, my dear, I think I’ve told you enough now of the castle and all belonging to it, and must really stop, for it’s time for us to be going back.”
“Indeed we must, ma’am,” said the Captain, “that is, if we’re going over the Victualling Yard.”
“What, more sight-seeing!” exclaimed Mrs Strong in a voice of despair. “Can’t you let us off doing any more to-day?”