Peter Simple

“We’ll mitigate it, sir, in half-an-hour.”

“I wish that you would use common phrases, when you speak to me, Mr Muddle. I presume, by mitigate, you mean to say that you can secure it. Do you mean so, sir, or do you not?”

“Yes, sir, that is what I mean, most decidedly. I hope no offence; Captain Savage; but I did not intend to displease you by my language.”

“Very good, Mr Muddle,” replied the captain; “it’s the first time that I have spoken to you on the subject, recollect that it will be the last.”

“The first time!” replied the carpenter, who could not forget his philosophy; “I beg your pardon, Captain Savage—you found just the same fault with me on this quarter-deck 27,672 years ago, and—”

“If I did, Mr Muddle,” interrupted the captain, very angrily, “depend upon it that at the same time I ordered you to go aloft, and attend to your duty, instead of talking nonsense on the quarter-deck; and although, as you say, you and I cannot recollect it, if you did not obey that order instantaneously, I also put you in confinement, and obliged you to leave the ship as soon as she returned to port. Do you understand me, sir?”

“I rather think, sir,” replied the carpenter, humbly touching his hat, and walking to the main rigging, “that no such thing took place, for I went up immediately, as I do now; and,” continued the carpenter, who was incurable, as he ascended the rigging, “as I shall again in another 27,672 years.”

“That man is incorrigible with his confounded nonsense,” observed the captain to the first lieutenant. “Every mast in the ship would go over the side, provided he could get any one to listen to his ridiculous theory.”

“He is not a bad carpenter, sir,” replied the first lieutenant.

“He is not,” rejoined the captain; “but there is a time for all things.”

“Mr Simple, what are you about, sir?”

“I was listening to what you said,” replied I, touching my hat.

“I admire your candour, sir,” replied he, “but advise you to discontinue the practice. Walk over to leeward, sir, and attend to your duty.”

When I was on the other side of the deck, I looked round, and saw the captain and first lieutenant both laughing.

Chapter Eighteen

I go away on service, am wounded and taken prisoner with O’Brien—Diamond cut diamond between the O’Briens—Get into comfortable quarters—My first interview with Celeste

And now I have to relate an event, which, young as I was at the time, will be found to have seriously affected me in after-life. How little do we know what to-morrow may bring forth! We had regained our station, and for some days had been standing off and on the coast, when one morning at daybreak, we found ourselves about four miles from the town of Cette, and a large convoy of vessels coming round a point. We made all sail in chase, and they anchored close in shore, under a battery, which we did not discover until it opened fire upon us. The shot struck the frigate two or three times, for the water was smooth, and the battery nearly level with it. The captain tacked the ship, and stood out again, until the boats were hoisted out, and all ready to pull on shore and storm the battery. O’Brien, who was the officer commanding the first cutter on service, was in his boat, and I again obtained permission from him to smuggle myself into it.

We ran on shore, amidst the fire of the gun-boats which protected the convoy, by which we lost three men, and made for the battery, which we took without opposition, the French artillerymen running out as we ran in. The first lieutenant, who commanded, desired O’Brien to remain with the first cutter, and after the armourer had spiked the guns, as officer of the boat he was to shove off immediately. O’Brien and I remained in the battery with the armourer, the boat’s crew being ordered down to the boat, to keep her afloat, and ready to shove off at a moment’s warning. We had spiked all the guns but one, when all of a sudden a volley of musketry was poured upon us, which killed the armourer and wounded me in the leg, above the knee. I fell down by O’Brien, who cried out, “By the powers! here they are, and one gun not spiked.” He jumped down, wrenched the hammer from the armourer’s hand, and seizing a nail from the bag, in a few moments he had spiked the gun. At this time I heard the tramping of the French soldiers advancing, when O’Brien threw away the hammer, and lifting me upon his shoulders, cried, “Come along, Peter, my boy,” and made for the boat as fast as he could; but he was too late; he had not got half-way to the boat, before he was collared by two French soldiers, and dragged back into the battery. The French troops then advanced, and kept up a smart fire; our cutter escaped, and joined the other boat, who had captured the gun-boats and convoy with little opposition. Our large boats had carronades mounted in their bows, and soon returned the fire with round and grape, which drove the French troops back into the battery, where they remained, popping at our men under cover, until most of the vessels were taken out: those which they could not man were burnt. In the meantime, O’Brien had been taken into the battery, with me on his back: but as soon as he was there, he laid me gently down, saying, “Peter, my boy, as long as you were under my charge, I’d carry you through thick and thin; but now that you are under the charge of these French beggars, why, let them carry you. Every man his own bundle, Peter, that’s fair play; so if they think you’re worth the carrying, let them bear the weight of ye.”

As soon as our boats were clear of their musketry, the commanding officer of the French troops examined the guns in the battery, with the hope of reaching them, and was very much annoyed to find that every one of them was spiked. “He’ll look sharper than a magpie before he finds a clear touch-hole, I expect,” said O’Brien, as he watched the officer. And here I must observe, that O’Brien showed great presence of mind in spiking the last gun; for had they had one gun to fire at our boats towing out the prizes, they must have done a great deal of mischief to them, and we should have lost a great many men; but in so doing, and in the attempt to save me, he sacrificed himself, and was taken prisoner. When the troops ceased firing, the commanding officer came up to O’Brien, and looking at him, said, “Officer?” to which O’Brien nodded his head. He then pointed to me—“Officer?” O’Brien nodded his head again, at which the French troops laughed, as O’Brien told me afterwards, because I was what they called an enfant, which means an infant. I was very stiff and faint, and could not walk. The officer who commanded the troops left a detachment in the battery, and prepared to return to Cette, from whence they came. O’Brien walked, and I was carried on three muskets by six of the French soldiers,—not a very pleasant conveyance at any time, but in my state excessively painful. However, I must say, that they were very kind to me, and put a great coat or something under my wounded leg, for I was in an agony, and fainted several times. At last they brought me some water to drink. O how delicious it was! In about an hour and a half, which appeared to me to be five days at the least, we arrived at the town of Cette, and I was taken up to the house of the officer who commanded the troops, and who had often looked at me as I was carried there from the battery, saying, “Pauvre enfant!” I was put on a bed, where I again fainted away. When I came to my senses, I found a surgeon had bandaged my leg, and that I had been undressed. O’Brien was standing by me, and I believe that he had been crying, for he thought that I was dead. When I looked him in the face, he said, “Pater, you baste, how you frightened me: bad luck to me if ever I take charge of another youngster. What did you sham dead for?”

“I am better now, O’Brien,” replied I: “how much I am indebted to you! you have been made prisoner in trying to save me.”

“I have been made prisoner in doing my duty, in one shape or another.”

I squeezed the offered hand of O’Brien, and looked round me; the surgeon stood at one side of the bed, and the officer who commanded the troops at the other. At the head of the bed was a little girl about twelve years old, who held a cup in her hand, out of which something had been poured down my throat. I looked at her, and she had such pity in her face, which was remarkably handsome, that she appeared to me as an angel, and I turned round as well as I could, that I might look at her alone. She offered me the cup, which I should have refused from any one but her, and I drank a little. Another person then came into the room, and a conversation took place in French.

“I wonder what they mean to do with us,” said I to O’Brien.

“Whist, hold your tongue,” replied he; and then he leaned over me, and said in a whisper, “I understand all they say; don’t you recollect, I told you that I learnt the language after I was kilt and buried in the sand in South America?” After a little more conversation, the officer and the others retired, leaving nobody but the little girl and O’Brien in the room.

“It’s a message from the governor,” said O’Brien, as soon as they were gone, “wishing the prisoners to be sent to the gaol in the citadel, to be examined; and the officer says (and he’s a real gentleman, as far as I can judge) that you’re but a baby, and badly wounded in the bargain, and that it would be a shame not to leave you to die in peace; so I presume that I’ll part company from you very soon.”

“I hope not, O’Brien,” replied I; “if you go to prison, I will go also, for I will not leave you, who are my best friend, to remain with strangers; I should not be half so happy, although I might have more comforts in my present situation.”

“Pater, my boy, I am glad to see that your heart is in the right place, as I always thought it was, or I wouldn’t have taken you under my protection. We’ll go together to prison, my jewel, and I’ll fish at the bars with a bag and a long string, just by way of recreation, and to pick up a little money to buy you all manner of nice things; and when you get well, you shall do it yourself—mayhap you’ll have better luck, as Peter your namesake had, who was a fisherman before you. But somehow or another, I think we mayn’t be parted yet, for I heard the officer (who appears to be a real gentleman, and worthy to have been an Irishman born) say to the other, that he’d ask the governor for me to stay with you on parole, until you are well again.” The little girl handed me the lemonade, of which I drank a little, and then I felt very faint again. I laid my head on the pillow, and O’Brien having left off talking, I was soon in a comfortable sleep. In an hour I was awakened by the return of the officer, who was accompanied by the surgeon. The officer addressed O’Brien in French, who shook his head as before.

Two other persons then came into the room: one of them addressed O’Brien in very bad English, saying that he was interpreter, and would beg him to answer a few questions. He then inquired the name of our ship, number of guns, and how long we had been cruising. After that the force of the English fleet, and a great many other questions relative to them; all of which were put in French by the person who came with him, and the answers translated and taken down in a book. Some of the questions O’Brien answered correctly; to others he pleaded ignorance; and to some he asserted what was not true. But I did not blame him for that, as it was his duty not to give information to the enemy. At last they asked my name and rank, which O’Brien told them.

“Was I noble?”

“Yes,” replied O’Brien.

“Don’t say so, O’Brien,” interrupted I.

“Peter, you know nothing about it; you are grandson to a lord.”

“I know that, but still I am not noble myself, although descended from him; therefore pray don’t say so.”

“Bother, Pater! I have said it, and I won’t unsay it; besides, Pater, recollect it’s a French question, and in France you would be considered noble. At all events it can do no harm.”

“I feel too ill to talk, O’Brien; but I wish you had not said so.”

They then inquired O’Brien’s name, which he told them; his rank in the service, and also whether he was noble.

“I am an O’Brien,” replied he; “and pray what’s the meaning of the O before my name, if I’m not noble? However, Mr Interpreter, you may add, that we have dropped our title because it’s not convanient.” The French officer burst out into a loud laugh, which surprised us very much. The interpreter had great difficulty in explaining what O’Brien said; but as O’Brien told me afterwards, the answer was put down doubtful.

They all left the room except the officer, who then, to our astonishment, addressed us in good English: “Gentlemen, I have obtained permission from the governor for you to remain in my house, until Mr Simple is recovered. Mr O’Brien, it is necessary that I should receive your parole of honour, that you will not attempt to escape. Are you willing to give it?”

O’Brien was quite amazed; “Murder an’ Irish,” cried he; “so you speak English, colonel.”

“I’m of Irish descent,” replied the officer, “and my name, as well as yours, is O’Brien. I was brought up in this country, not being permitted to serve my own, and retain the religion of my forefathers. But to the question, Mr O’Brien, will you give your parole?”

“The word of an Irishman, and the hand to boot,” replied O’Brien, shaking the colonel by the hand; “and you are more than doubly sure, for I’ll never go away and leave little Peter here; and as for carrying him on my back, I’ve had enough of that already.”

“It is sufficient,” replied the colonel. “Mr O’Brien, I will make you as comfortable as I can; and when you are tired of attending your friend, my little daughter shall take your place. You’ll find her a kind little nurse, Mr Simple.”

I could not refrain from tears at the colonel’s kindness: he shook me by the hand; and telling O’Brien that dinner was ready, he called up his daughter, the little girl who had attended me before, and desired her to remain in the room. “Celeste,” said he, “you understand a little English; quite enough to find out what he is in want of. Go and fetch your work, to amuse yourself when he is asleep.” Celeste went out, and returning with her embroidery, sat down by the head of the bed: the colonel and O’Brien then quitted the room. Celeste then commenced her embroidery, and as her eyes were cast down upon her work, I was able to look at her without her observing it. As I said before, she was a very beautiful little girl; her hair was light brown, eyes very large, and eyebrows drawn as with a pair of compasses; her nose and mouth was also very pretty; but it was not so much her features as the expression of her countenance, which was so beautiful, so modest, so sweet, and so intelligent. When she smiled, which she almost always did when she spoke, her teeth were like two rows of little pearls.

I had not looked at her long, before she raised her eyes from her work, and perceiving that I was looking at her, said, “You want—something—want drink—I speak very little English.”

“Nothing, I thank ye,” replied I; “I only want to go to sleep.”

“Then—shut—your eye,” replied she, smiling; and she went to the window, and drew down the blinds to darken the room. In the evening, the surgeon called again; he felt my pulse, and directing cold applications to my leg, which had swelled considerably, and was becoming very painful, told Colonel O’Brien that, although I had considerable fever, I was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. But I shall not dwell upon my severe sufferings for a fortnight, after which the ball was extracted; nor upon how carefully I was watched by O’Brien, the colonel, and little Celeste, during my peevishness and irritation arising from pain and fever.

Chapter Nineteen

We remove to very unpleasant quarters—Birds of a feather won’t always flock together—O’Brien cuts a cutter midshipman, and gets a taste of french steel—Altogether “flat” work

As soon as I was well enough to attend to my little nurse, we became very intimate, as might be expected. In five weeks I was out of bed, and could limp about the room; and before two months were over, I was quite recovered. The colonel, however, would not report me to the governor; I remained on a sofa during the day, but at dusk I stole out of the house, and walked about with Celeste. I never passed such a happy time as the last fortnight; the only drawback was the remembrance that I should soon have to exchange it for a prison. I was more easy about my father and mother, as O’Brien had written to them, assuring them that I was doing well; and besides, a few days after our capture, the frigate had run in, and sent a flag of truce to inquire if we were alive or made prisoners; at the same time Captain Savage sent on shore all our clothes, and two hundred dollars in cash for our use. I knew that even if O’Brien’s letter did not reach them, they were sure to hear from Captain Savage that I was doing well. At the end of twelve weeks the surgeon could no longer withhold his report, and we were ordered to be ready in two days to march to Toulon, where we were to join another party of prisoners to proceed with them into the interior. I must pass over our parting, which the reader may imagine was very painful. I promised to write to Celeste, and she promised that she would answer my letters, if it were permitted. We shook hands with Colonel O’Brien, thanking him for his kindness, and much to his regret, we were taken in charge by two French cuirassiers, who were waiting at the door. As we preferred being continued on parole until our arrival at Toulon, the soldiers were not at all particular about watching us: and we set off on horseback, O’Brien and I going first, and the French cuirassiers following us in the rear.

The evening of the second day we arrived in Toulon, and as soon as we entered the gates, we were delivered into the custody of an officer, with a very sinister cast of countenance, who, after some conversation with the cuirassiers, told us in a surly tone that our parole was at an end and gave us in charge of a corporal’s guard, with directions to conduct us to the prison near the Arsenal. We presented the cuirassiers with four dollars each, for their civility, and were then hurried away to our place of captivity. I observed to O’Brien, that I was afraid that we must now bid farewell to anything like pleasure. “You’re right there, Peter,” replied he; “but there’s a certain jewel called Hope, that somebody found at the bottom of his chest, when it was clean empty, and so we must not lose sight of it, but try and escape as soon as we can; but the less we talk about it the better.” In a few minutes we arrived at our destination: the door was opened, ourselves and our bundles (for we had only selected a few things for our march, the colonel promising to forward the remainder as soon as we wrote to inform him to which depôt we were consigned) were rudely shoved in; and as the doors again closed, and the heavy bolts were shot, I felt a creeping, chill, sensation pass through my whole body.