Grey and I were in high feather. We dined that day with the captain, who complimented us on our exploit, and made us give him all the particulars. He told us that the carpenter, who had been sent on board to survey the schooner, had reported favourably of her, and that he proposed to employ her as a tender, while the frigate was refitting at Port Royal.
As it was necessary to get rid of our prisoners, a course was steered at once for Jamaica, so that we might land them there. We found, after a little time, that the French colonel was not a bad old fellow. I really believe that he was as brave as most men, and that he had spoken the truth when he said that “le mal de mer had overcome him.” Probably most of his men were in the same condition. Grey and I did not forget our resolution to try and learn French, and as one of the mates, Duncan McAllister, could speak a little, we begged him to ask the old colonel if he would teach us. He replied that he would do so gladly, and would teach any one else who wished to learn. Indeed our proposal was ultimately of great service to him, for when he got on shore, and was admitted as a prisoner on his parole, he gained a very comfortable livelihood by teaching French. I afterwards heard that, when the war was over, he declined going back to la belle France, and settled among his friends the English. It is just possible, that the way in which he had allowed himself and his thirty men to be taken by us had something to do with this decision.
The colonel’s name was, I remember, Painchaud, which is translated Hotbread,—a funny name, which I never met elsewhere. We invited him into the berth to give his lessons, but we had to clear away several boxes and hampers to afford him space to stretch his legs under the table. As he sat on the narrow locker with his bald head touching the deck above, his elbows resting on the table, and his long legs stretched out to the other side of the berth, while we youngsters in every variety of attitude grouped ourselves round him, he looked like some antiquated Gulliver among a party of rather overgrown Lilliputians. At first he had a considerable number of pupils, but it was very evident that they assembled more for the sake of trying if any fun could be found, than with any serious intention of learning French. We had forgotten when we had made our proposal that books would be necessary to enable us to make any progress in the language, but not a French work of any sort was to be procured on board, still less a grammar. At length the colonel produced two from his valise. They were, I have reason to believe, not such as would have tended to our edification; but happily, in the then state of our knowledge of the language in which they were written, they were not likely to hurt our morals. As we had no grammar, the colonel made us understand that he wanted paper and pens and ink; and then he wrote out words, and intimated to us that we were to repeat them after him. He would take the hand of one of his pupils and exclaim “main,” and make each of us repeat it after him. Then he would seize an ear and cry out “oreille,” and pretty hard he pinched too. If any of us cried out, it evidently afforded him infinite amusement. We, of course, gave him the name which he always afterwards kept, of Colonel Pinchard. When any of his pupils pronounced the word wrongly, it was highly amusing to watch the wonderful way in which his shoulders went up and his head sank down between them. No English pair of shoulders could have behaved in the same way; nor could certainly any English mouth have rolled out the extraordinary expletives with which he was wont to give force to his sentiments. His great delight was, however, pulling Grey’s and my ears, which, we agreed, was in revenge for taking him prisoner. One day he wrote down nez, and asked me what it meant. I replied by a loud neigh like a horse. The rest of the party took the joke and laughed, as I intended they should; but he, not understanding the cause of this, and thinking that they were laughing at him, seized my nose and gave it a tweak, which made me fancy he was pulling it off. In the impulse of the moment I sprang on the table, and seizing his nasal promontory, hauled away at it with hearty goodwill, and there we sat, he sending forth with unsurpassable rapidity a torrent of “Sa–c–r–r–és,” which almost overwhelmed me; neither of us willing to be the first to let go. At last, from sheer exhaustion and pain, we both of us fell back. I might have boasted of the victory, for, though I felt acute pain, my nose did not alter its shape, while the Frenchman’s swelled up to twice its usual proportions. The contest, however, very nearly put an end to our French lessons. However, as our master was really a good-natured man, he was soon pacified, and we set to work again as before.
Chapter Ten.
We made wonderful progress with our French, in spite of our want of books. Indeed, I have reason to believe that information attained under difficulties, is not only acquired more rapidly, but most certainly more completely mastered, than with the aid of all the modern appliances of education, which, like steam-engines at full speed, haul us so fast along the royal road to knowledge, that we have no time to take in half the freight prepared for us. We found, too, that the old colonel knew considerably more about English than we had at first suspected, and at last we ascertained that he had before been captured, and shut up in a prison in England. He did not seem to have any pleasing recollections of that period of his existence. One day, after we had annoyed him more than usual with our pranks, and stirred up his bile, he gave vent to his feelings—
“Ah, you bêtes Anglais,” he exclaimed. “You have no sympathé vid des misérables. Vous eat ros beef vous-mêmes, and vous starve vos prisonniers.”
He then went on gravely to assure us, that when the inspector of prisons one day rode into the yard of the prison, and left his horse there while he entered the building, the famished prisoners rushed out in a body and surrounded the animal. Simultaneously they made a rush at the poor beast, and stabbed it with their knives. In an instant it was skinned, cut up, and carried off piecemeal. When the inspecting officer came back, he found only the stirrups and bit and hoofs. The prisoners were busily occupied cooking their dinners, and had already produced most delicious fricassees, so that the English officer could not believe that they were formed out of the animal on whose back he had galloped up to the prison not an hour before.
“That’s pretty well up to one of Mr Johnson’s yarns,” observed Grey to me. “I wish the old fellow could understand him; the boatswain would take the shine out of him I suspect.”