“By no means,” returned I, somewhat softer.
“Then, mon cher, the sooner you are initiated into the mysteries of the craft the better, and no one will go through the ceremony more explicitly, briefly and satisfactorily, than myself—le Caporal Blon. First of all, mon brâve, and most indispensable, as your good sense will teach you, it is necessary that every new comer is bound to pay his footing among the ‘government boarders;’ and as you, Monsieur le capitaine, seem to be the honored chef of this charming little squadron, I will make bold to thank you for a Louis d’or, or a Napoleon, to insure your welcome.”
The request was no sooner out than complied with.
“Bien!” continued the corporal, “c’est un bon enfant, parbleu! Now, I have but one more mystère to impart, and that is a regulation which no clever chap disregards. We are companions in misery; we sleep beneath one roof; we eat out of one kettle;—in fact, nous sommes frères, and the secrets of brothers are sacred, within these walls, from jailers and turnkeys!”
As he said these words, he pursed up his mouth, bent his eyes scrutinizingly into mine, and laying his finger on his lip, brought his right hand once more, with a salute, to the oily remnant of a military cap.
I was initiated. I gave the required pledge for my party, and, in return, was assured that, in any enterprise undertaken for our escape,—which seemed to be the great object and concern of every body’s prison-life,—we should be assisted and protected by our fellow-sufferers.
Most of this day was passed in our rooms, and, at dark, after being mustered and counted, we were locked up for the night. For some time we moped and sulked, according to the fashion of all new convicts, but, at length, we sallied forth in a body to the court-yard, determined to take the world as it went, and make the best of a bad bargain.
I soon fell into a pleasant habit of chatting familiarly with old Corporal Blon, who was grand chamberlain, or master of ceremonies, to our penal household, and turned out to be a good fellow, though a frequent offender against “le coq de France.” Blon drew me to a seat in the sunshine, which I enjoyed, after shivering in the cold apartments of the prison; and, stepping off among the prisoners, began to bring them up for introduction to Don Téodor, separately. First of all, I had the honor of receiving Monsieur Laramie, a stout, stanch, well-built marine, who professed to be maître d’armes of our “royal boarding-house,” and tendered his services in teaching me the use of rapier and broadsword, at the rate of a franc per week. Next came a burly, beef-eating bully, half sailor, half lubber, who approached with a swinging gait, and was presented as frère Zouche, teacher of single stick, who was also willing to make me skilful in my encounters with footpads for a reasonable salary. Then followed a dancing-master, a tailor, a violin-teacher, a shoemaker, a letter-writer, a barber, a clothes-washer, and various other useful and reputable tradespeople or professors, all of whom expressed anxiety to inform my mind, cultivate my taste, expedite nay correspondence, delight my ear, and improve my appearance, for weekly stipends.
I did not, at first, understand precisely the object of all their ceremonious appeals to my purse, but I soon discovered from Corporal Blon,—who desired an early discount of his note,—that I was looked on as a sort of Don Magnifico from Africa, who had saved an immense quantity of gold from ancient traffic, all of which I could command, in spite of imprisonment.
So I thought it best not to undeceive the industrious wretches, and, accordingly, dismissed each of them with a few kind words, and promised to accept their offers when I became a little more familiar with my quarters.