“Ay, ay,” interrupted Mr. Palmer, “so I thought; and there was no great merit, or glory either, in a French fifty gun taking an English frigate, after standing a six hours’ contest with another ship. Well, my dear sir, what became of poor Walsingham? How did this rascally Frenchman treat his prisoners?”
“Scandalously!” cried Beaumont; “and yet Walsingham is so generous that he will never let me damn the nation, for what he says was only the fault of an individual, who disgraced it.”
“Well, let me hear and judge for myself,” said Mr. Palmer.
“La Force carried the Resolute in triumph into a French port,” continued Mr. Walsingham. “Vain of displaying his prisoners, he marched them up the country, under pretence that they would not be safe in a sea-port. Cambray was the town in which they were confined. Walsingham found the officers of the garrison very civil to him at first; but when they saw that he was not fond of high play, and that he declined being of their parties at billiards and vingt-un, they grew tired of him; for without these resources they declared they should perish with ennui in a country town. Even under the penalty of losing all society, Walsingham resisted every temptation to game, and submitted to live with the strictest economy rather than to run in debt.”
“But did you never send him any money? Or did not he get your remittances?” said Mr. Palmer.
“My dear sir, by some delays of letters, we did not hear for two months where he was imprisoned.”
“And he was reduced to the greatest distress,” pursued Beaumont; “for he had shared all he had, to the utmost farthing, with his poor fellow-prisoners.”
“Like a true British sailor!” said Mr. Palmer. “Well, sir, I hope he contrived to make his escape?”
“No, for he would not break his parole,” said Beaumont,
“His parole! I did not know he was on his parole,” said Mr. Palmer. “Then certainly he could not break it.”