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Peter Simple

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<h3>Chapter Twenty One.</h3> <h4>O’Brien receives his commission as lieutenant and then we take french leave of Givet.</h4> If I doubted the practicability of escape when I examined the exterior, when we were ushered into the interior of the fortress, I felt that it was impossible, and I stated my opinion to O’Brien. We were conducted into a yard surrounded by a high wall; the buildings appropriated for the prisoners were built with lean-to roofs on one side, and at each side of the square was a sentry looking down upon us. It was very much like the dens which they now build for bears, only so much larger. O’Brien answered me with a “Pish! Peter, it’s the very security of the place which will enable us to get out of it. But don’t talk, as there are always spies about who understand English.” We were shown into a room allotted to six of us; our baggage was examined, and then delivered over to us. “Better and better, Peter,” observed O’Brien, “they’ve not found it out!” “What?” inquired I. “Oh, only a little selection of articles, which might be useful to us by-and-by.” He then showed me what I never before was aware of; that he had a false bottom to his trunk; but it was papered over like the rest, and very ingeniously concealed. “And what is there, O’Brien?” inquired I. “Never mind; I had them made at Montpelier. You’ll see by-and-by.” The others, who were lodged in the same room, then came in, and, after staying a quarter of an hour, went away at the sound of the dinner-bell. “Now, Peter,” said O’Brien, “I must get rid of my load. Turn the key.” O’Brien then undressed himself, and then he threw off his shirt and drawers, showed me a rope of silk, with a knot at every two feet, about half an inch in size, wound round and round his body. There were about sixty feet of it altogether. As I unwound it, he, turning round and round, observed, “Peter, I’ve worn this rope ever since I left Montpelier, and you’ve no idea of the pain I have suffered; but we must go to England, that’s decided upon.” For some days O’Brien, who really was not very well, kept to his room. During this time, he often examined the map given him by the gendarme. One day he said to me, “Peter, can you swim?” “No,” replied I; “but never mind that.” “But I must mind it, Peter; for observe, we shall have to cross the river Meuse, and boats are not always to be had. You observe, that this fortress is washed by the river on one side: and as it is the strongest side, it is the least guarded—we must escape by it.” “Are you then determined to escape, O’Brien? I cannot perceive how we are even to get up this wall, with four sentries staring us in the face.” “Never do you mind that, Peter, mind your own business; and first tell me, do you intend to try your luck with me?” “Yes,” replied I, “most certainly, if you have sufficient confidence in me to take me as your companion.” “To tell you the truth, Peter, I would not give a farthing to escape without you.” The prison was by all accounts very different from Verdun and some others. We had no parole, and but little communication with the townspeople. Some were permitted to come in and supply us with various articles; but their baskets were searched, to see that they contained nothing that might lead to an escape on the part of the prisoners. Without the precautions that O’Brien had taken, any attempt would have been useless. “Now, Peter,” said he one day, “I want nothing more than an umbrella for you.” “Why an umbrella for me?” “To keep you from being drowned with too much water, that’s all.” “Rain won’t drown me.” “No, no, Peter; but buy a new one as soon as you can.” I did so. O’Brien boiled up a quantity of bees’-wax and oil, and gave it several coats of this preparation. He then put it carefully away in the ticking of his bed. We had been now about two months in Givet, when a Steel’s List was sent to a lieutenant, who was confined there. The lieutenant came up to O’Brien, and asked him his Christian name. “Terence, to be sure,” replied O’Brien. “Then,” answered the lieutenant, “I may congratulate you on your promotion, for here you are upon the list of August.” “Sure there must be some trifling mistake; let me look at it. Terence O’Brien, sure enough; but now the question is, has any other fellow robbed me of my name and promotion at the same time? Bother, what can it mane? I won’t belave it—not a word of it. I’ve no more interest than a dog who drags cats’-meat.” I then told O’Brien how I had written to Captain Savage, and had had the fact attested by the major who had made us prisoners. “Well, Peter,” said O’Brien, after a pause, “there is a fable about a lion and a mouse. If, by your means, I have obtained my promotion, why, then the mouse is a finer baste than the lion.” For a few days after this O’Brien was very uneasy, but fortunately letters arrived by that time; one to me from my father, in which he requested me to draw for whatever money I might require, saying that the whole family would retrench in every way to give me all the comfort which might be obtained in my unfortunate situation. I wept at this kindness, and more than ever longed to throw myself in his arms, and thank him. He also told me that my uncle William was dead, and that there was only one between him and the title, but that my grandfather was in good health, and had been very kind to him lately. My mother was much afflicted at my having been made a prisoner, and requested I would write as often as I could. O’Brien’s letter was from Captain Savage; the frigate had been sent home with despatches, and O’Brien’s conduct represented to the Admiralty, which had, in consequence, promoted him to the rank of lieutenant. O’Brien came to me with the letter, his countenance radiant with joy as he put it into my hands. In return I put mine into his, and he read it over. “Peter, my boy, I’m under great obligations to you. When you were wounded and feverish, you thought of me at a time when you had quite enough to think of yourself; but I never thank in words. I see your uncle William is dead. How many more uncles have you?” “My uncle John, who is married, and has already two daughters.” “Blessings on him; may he stick to the female line of business! Peter, my boy, you shall be a lord before you die.” “Nonsense, O’Brien; I have no chance. Don’t put such foolish ideas in my head.” “What chance had I of being a lieutenant, and am I not one? But, Peter, do me one favour; as I am really a lieutenant, just touch your hat to me only once, that’s all: but I wish the compliment, just to see how it looks.” “Lieutenant O’Brien,” said I, touching my hat, “have you any further orders?” “Yes, sir,” replied he, “that you never presume to touch your hat to me again, unless we sail together, and then that’s a different sort of thing.” About a week afterwards, O’Brien came to me, and said, “The new moon’s quartered in with foul weather; if it holds, prepare for a start. I have put what is necessary in your little haversack; it may be tonight. Go to bed now, and sleep for a week if you can, for you’ll get but little sleep, if we succeed, for the week to come.” This was about eight o’clock. I went to bed, and about twelve I was roused by O’Brien, who told me to dress myself carefully, and come down to him in the yard. It was some time before I could find O’Brien, who was hard at work; and, as I had already been made acquainted with all his plans, I will now explain them. At Montpelier he had procured six large pieces of iron, about eighteen inches long, with a gimlet at one end of each, and a square at the other, which fitted to a handle which unshipped. For precaution he had a spare handle, but each handle fitted to all the irons. O’Brien had screwed one of these pieces of iron between the interstices of the stones of which the wall was built, and sitting astride on that, was fixing another about three feet above. When he had accomplished this, he stood upon the lower iron, and, supporting himself by the second, which about met his hip, he screwed in a third, always fixing them about six inches on one side of the other, and not one above the other. When he had screwed in his six irons, he was about half up the wall, and then he fastened his rope, which he had carried round his neck, to the upper iron, and lowering himself down, unscrewed the four lower irons; then, ascending by the rope, he stood upon the fifth iron, and, supporting himself by the upper iron, recommenced his task. By these means he arrived in the course of an hour and a half at the top of the wall, where he fixed his last iron, and making his rope fast, he came down again. “Now, Peter,” said he, “there is no fear of the sentries seeing us; if they had the eyes of cats, they could not until we are on the top of the wall; but then we arrive at the glacis, and we must creep to the ramparts on our bellies. I am going up with all the materials. Give me your haversack—you will go up lighter; and recollect, should any accident happen to me, you run to bed again. If, on the contrary, I pull the rope up and down three or four times, you may sheer up it as fast as you can.” O’Brien then loaded himself with the other rope, the two knapsacks, iron crows, and other implements he had procured; and, last of all, with the umbrella. “Peter, if the rope bears me with all this, it is clear it will bear such a creature as you are, therefore don’t be afraid.” So whispering, he commenced his ascent; in about three minutes he was up, and the rope pulled. I immediately followed him, and found the rope very easy to climb, from the knots at every two feet, which gave me a hold for my feet, and I was up in as short a time as he was. He caught me by the collar, putting his wet hand on my mouth, and I lay down beside him while he pulled up the rope. We then crawled on our stomachs across the glacis till we arrived at the rampart. It was some time before O’Brien could find out the point exactly above the drawbridge of the first ditch; at last he did—he fixed his crow-bar in, and lowered down the rope. “Now, Peter, I had better go first again; when I shake the rope from below, all’s right.” O’Brien descended, and in a few minutes the rope again shook; I followed him, and found myself received in his arms upon the meeting of the drawbridge; but the drawbridge itself was up. O’Brien led the way across the chains, and I followed him. When we had crossed the moat, we found a barrier-gate locked; this puzzled us. O’Brien pulled out his picklocks to pick it, but without success; here we were fast. “We must undermine the gate, O’Brien; we must pull up the pavement until we can creep under.” “Peter, you are a fine fellow; I never thought of that.” We worked very hard until the hole was large enough, using the crowbar which was left, and a little wrench which O’Brien had with him. By these means we got under the gate in the course of an hour or more. This gate led to the lower rampart, but we had a covered way to pass through before we arrived at it. We proceeded very cautiously, when we heard a noise: we stopped, and found it was a sentry, who was fast asleep, and snoring. O’Brien thought for a moment. “Peter,” said he, “now is the time for you to prove yourself a man. He is fast asleep, but his noise must be stopped. I will stop his mouth, but at the very moment that I do so you must throw open the pan of his musket, and then he cannot fire it.” “I will, O’Brien; don’t fear me.” We crept cautiously up to him, and O’Brien motioning to me to put my thumb upon the pan, I did so, and the moment that O’Brien put his hand upon the soldier’s mouth, I threw open the pan. The fellow struggled, and snapped his lock as a signal, but of course without discharging his musket, and in a minute he was not only gagged but bound by O’Brien, with my assistance. Leaving him there, we proceeded to the rampart, and fixing the crow-bar again, O’Brien descended; I followed him, and found him in the river, hanging on to the rope; the umbrella was opened and turned upwards; the preparation made it resist the water, and, as previously explained to me by O’Brien, I had only to hold on at arm’s length to two beckets which he had affixed to the point of the umbrella, which was under water. To the same part O’Brien had a tow-line, which taking in his teeth, he towed me down the stream to about a hundred yards clear of the fortress, where we landed. O’Brien was so exhausted, that for a few minutes he remained quite motionless; I also was benumbed with the cold. “Peter,” said he “thank God we have succeeded so far; now we must push on as far as we can, for we shall have daylight in two hours.” O’Brien took out his flask of spirits, and we both drank a half tumbler at least, but we should not, in our state, have been affected with a bottle. We now walked along the riverside till we fell in with a small craft, with a boat towing astern; O’Brien swam to it, and cutting the painter without getting in, towed it on shore. The oars were fortunately in the boat. I got in, we shoved off, and rowed away down the stream, till the dawn of day. “All’s right, Peter; now we’ll land. This is the forest of Ardennes.” We landed, replaced the oars in the boat, and pushed her off into the stream, to induce people to suppose that she had broken adrift, and then hastened into the thickest of the wood. It rained hard; I shivered, and my teeth chattered with the cold, but there was no help for it. We again took a dram of spirits, and, worn out with fatigue and excitement, soon fell last asleep upon a bed of leaves which we had collected together. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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