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<h3>Chapter Twenty Two.</h3> <h4>Grave consequences of gravitation—O’Brien enlists himself as a gendarme, and takes charge of me—We are discovered, and obliged to run for it—The pleasures of a winter bivouac.</h4> It was not until noon that I awoke, when I found that O’Brien had covered me more than a foot deep with leaves, to protect me from the weather. I felt quite warm and comfortable; my clothes had dried on me, but without giving me cold. “How very kind of you, O’Brien!” said I. “Not a bit, Peter: you have hard work to go through yet, and I must take care of you. You’re but a bud, and I’m a full-blown rose.” So saying, he put the spirit-flask to his mouth, and then handed it to me. “Now, Peter, we must make a start, for depend upon it, they will scour the country for us; but this is a large wood, and they may as well attempt to find a needle in a bundle of hay, if we once get into the heart of it.” We set off, forcing our way through the thicket, for about three hours, O’Brien looking occasionally at his pocket compass; it then was again nearly dark, and O’Brien proposed a halt. We made up a bed of leaves for the night, and slept much more comfortably than we had the night before. All our bread was wet, but as we had no water, it was rather a relief; the meat we had with us was sufficient for a week. Once more we laid down and fell fast asleep. About five o’clock in the morning I was roused by O’Brien, who at the same time put his hand gently over my mouth. I sat up, and perceived a large fire not far from us. “The Philistines are upon us, Peter,” said he: “I have reconnoitred, and they are the gendarmes. I am fearful of going away, as we may stumble upon some more of them. I’ve been thinking what’s best before I waked you; and it appears to me, that we had better get up the tree, and lie there.” At that time we were hidden in a copse of underwood, with a large oak in the centre, covered with ivy, “I think so, too, O’Brien; shall we go up now, or wait a little?” “Now, to be sure, that they’re eating their prog. Mount you, Peter and I’ll help you.” O’Brien shoved me up the tree, and then, waiting a little while to bury our haversacks among the leaves, he followed me. He desired me to remain in a very snug position, on the first fork of the tree, while he took another amongst a bunch of ivy on the largest bough. There we remained for about an hour, when day dawned. We observed the gendarmes mustered at the break of day by the corporal, and then they all separated in different directions to scour the wood. We were delighted to perceive this, as we hoped soon to be able to get away; but there was one gendarme who remained. He walked round the tree, looking up into every part; but we were well concealed, and he did not discover us for some time. At last he saw me, and ordered me to come down. I paid no attention to him, as I had no signal from O’Brien. He walked round a little farther, until he was directly under the branch on which O’Brien lay. Taking up this position, he had a fairer aim at me, and levelled his musket, saying, “Descendez, ou je tire.” Still I continued immovable, for I knew not what to do. I shut my eyes, however; the musket shortly afterwards was discharged, and, whether from fear or not I can hardly tell, I lost my hold of a sudden, and down I came. I was stunned with the fall, and thought that I must have been wounded; and was very much surprised, when, instead of the gendarme, O’Brien came up to me, and asked whether I was hurt. I answered I believed not, and got up on my legs, when I found the gendarme lying on the ground, breathing heavily, but insensible. When O’Brien perceived the gendarme level his musket at me, he immediately dropped from the bough, right upon his head; this occasioned the musket to go off, without hitting me, and at the same time the weight of O’Brien’s body from such a height killed the gendarme, for he expired before we left him. “Now, Peter,” said O’Brien, “this is the most fortunate thing in the world, and will take us half through the country; but we have no time to lose.” He then stripped the gendarme, who still breathed heavily, and dragging him to our bed of leaves, covered him up, threw off his own clothes, which he tied up in a bundle, and gave to me to carry, and put on those of the gendarme. I could not help laughing at the metamorphosis, and asked O’Brien what he intended. “Sure, I’m a gendarme, bringing with me a prisoner, who has escaped.” When we stopped at night, my youth excited a great deal of commiseration, especially from the females; and in one instance I was offered assistance to escape. I consented to it, but at the same time informed O’Brien of the plan proposed. O’Brien kept watch—I dressed myself, and was at the open window, when he rushed in, seizing me and declaring that he would inform the government of the conduct of the parties. Their confusion and distress was very great. They offered O’Brien twenty, thirty, forty Napoleons, if he would hush it up, for they were aware of the penalty and imprisonment. O’Brien replied that he would not accept of any money in compromise of his duty, that after he had given me into the charge of the gendarme of the next post, his business was at an end, and he must return to Flushing, where he was stationed. “I have a sister there,” replied the hostess, “who keeps an inn. You’ll want good quarters and a friendly cup; do not denounce us, and I’ll give you a letter to her, which, if it does not prove of service, you can then return and give the information.” O’Brien consented; the letter was delivered, and read to him, in which the sister was requested, by the love she bore to the writer, to do all she could for the bearer, who had the power of making the whole family miserable, but had refused so to do. O’Brien pocketed the letter filled his brandy flask, and saluting all the women, left the cabaret, dragging me after him with a cord. We were following our route, avoiding Malines, which was a fortified town, and at the time were in a narrow lane, with wide ditches, full of water, on each side. At the turning of a sharp corner we met the gendarme who had supplied O’Brien with a map of the town of Givet, “Good morning, comrade,” said he to O’Brien, looking earnestly at him, “whom have we here?” “A young Englishman, whom I picked up close by, escaped from prison.” “Where from?” “He will not say; but I suspect from Givet.” “There are two who have escaped from Givet,” replied he: “how they escaped no one can imagine; but,” continued he, again looking at O’Brien, “Avec les braves, il n’y a rien d’impossible.” “That is true,” replied O’Brien; “I have taken one, the other cannot be far off. You had better look for him.” “I should like to find him,” replied the gendarme, “for you know that to retake a runaway prisoner is certain promotion. You will be made a corporal.” “So much the better,” replied O’Brien; “adieu, mon ami.” “Nay, I merely came for a walk, and will return with you to Malines, where of course you are bound.” “We shall not get there to-night,” said O’Brien, “my prisoner is too much fatigued.” “Well, then, we will go as far as we can; and I will assist you. Perhaps we may find the second, who, I understand, obtained a map of the fortress by some means or another.” O’Brien observed, that the English prisoners were very liberal; that he knew that a hundred Napoleons were often paid for assistance, and he thought that no corporal’s rank was equal to a sum that would in France made a man happy and independent for life. “Very true,” replied the gendarme; “and let me only look upon that sum, and I will guarantee a positive safety out of France.” “Then we understand each other,” replied O’Brien; “this boy will give two hundred—one half shall be yours, if you will assist.” “I will think of it,” replied the gendarme, who then talked about indifferent subjects, until we arrived at a small town called Acarchot, when we proceeded to a cabaret. The usual curiosity passed over, we were left alone, O’Brien telling the gendarme that he would expect his reply that night or to-morrow morning. The gendarme said, to-morrow morning. O’Brien requesting him to take charge of me, he called the woman of the cabaret to show him a room; she showed him one or two, which he refused, as not sufficiently safe for the prisoner. The woman laughed at the idea, observing, “What had he to fear from a pauvre enfant like me?” “Yet this pauvre enfant escaped from Givet,” replied O’Brien. “These Englishmen are devils from their birth.” The last room showed to O’Brien suited him, and he chose it—the woman not presuming to contradict a gendarme. As soon as they came down again, O’Brien ordered me to bed, and went upstairs with me. He bolted the door, and pulling me to the large chimney, we put our heads up, and whispered, that our conversation should not be heard. “This man is not to be trusted,” said O’Brien, “and we must give him the slip. I know my way out of the inn, and we must return the way we came, and then strike off in another direction.” “But will he permit us?” “Not if he can help it; but I shall soon find out his manoeuvres.” O’Brien then went and stopped the key-hole, by hanging his handkerchief across it, and stripping himself of his gendarme uniform, put on his own clothes; then stuffed the blankets and pillows into the gendarme’s dress, and laid it down on the outside of the bed, as if it were a man sleeping in his clothes—indeed it was an admirable deception. He laid his musket by the side of the image, and then did the same to my bed, making it appear as if there was a person asleep in it of my size, and putting my cap on the pillow. “Now, Peter, we’ll see if he is watching us. He will wait till he thinks we are asleep.” The light still remained in the room, and about an hour afterwards we heard a noise of one treading on the stairs, upon which, as agreed, we crept under the bed. The latch of our door was tried, and finding it open, which he did not expect, the gendarme entered, and looking at both beds, went away. “Now,” said I, after the gendarme had gone down stairs, “O’Brien, ought we not to escape?” “I’ve been thinking of it, Peter, and I have come to a resolution that we can manage it better. He is certain to come again in an hour or two. It is only eleven. Now, I’ll play him a trick.” O’Brien then took one of the blankets, made it fast to the window, which he left wide open, and at the same time dissarranged the images he had made up, so as to let the gendarme perceive that they were counterfeit. We again crept under the bed; and as O’Brien foretold, in about an hour more the gendarme returned; our lamp was still burning, but he had a light of his own. He looked at the beds, perceived at once that he had been duped, went to the open window, and then exclaimed, “Sacre Dieu! Ils m’ont éschappés et je ne ne suis plus corporal. Foutre! à la chasse!” He rushed out of the room, and in a few minutes afterwards we heard him open the street door, and go away. “That will do, Peter,” said O’Brien, laughing; “now we’ll be off also, although there’s no great hurry.” O’Brien then resumed his dress of a gendarme; and about an hour afterwards we went down, and wishing the hostess all happiness, quitted the cabaret, returning the same road by which we had come. “Now, Peter,” said O’Brien, “we’re in a bit of a puzzle. This dress won’t do any more, still there’s a respectability about it which will not allow me to put it off till the last moment.” We walked on till daylight, when we hid ourselves in a copse of trees. Our money was not exhausted, as I had drawn upon my father for 60 pounds, which, with the disadvantageous exchange, had given me fifty Napoleons. On the fifth day, being then six days from the forest of Ardennes, we hid ourselves in a small wood, about a quarter of a mile from the road. I remained there, while O’Brien, as a gendarme, went to obtain provisions. As usual, I looked out for the best shelter during his absence, and what was my horror at falling in with a man and woman who lay dead in the snow, having evidently perished from the inclemency of the weather. Just as I discovered them, O’Brien returned, and I told him: he went with me to view the bodies. They were dressed in a strange attire, ribands pinned upon their clothes, and two pairs of very high stilts lying by their sides. O’Brien surveyed them, and then said, “Peter, this is the very best thing that could have happened to us. We may now walk through France without soiling our feet with the cursed country.” “How do you mean?” “I mean,” said he, “that these are the people that we met near Montpelier, who came from the landes, walking about on their stilts for the amusement of others, to obtain money. In their own country they are obliged to walk so. Now, Peter, it appears to me that the man’s clothes will fit me, and the girl’s (poor creature, how pretty she looks, cold in death!) will fit you. All we have to do is to practise a little, and then away we start.” O’Brien then, with some difficulty, pulled off the man’s jacket and trowsers, and having so done, buried him in the snow. The poor girl was despoiled of her gown and upper petticoat with every decency, and also buried. We collected the clothes and stilts, and removed to another quarter, where we pitched upon a hovel and took our meal. “Peter,” said O’Brien, “lie down and sleep, and I’ll keep the watch. Not a word, I will have it—down at once.” I did so, and in a very few minutes was fast asleep, for I was worn out with cold and fatigue. Just as the day broke, O’Brien roused me; he had stood sentry all night, and looked very haggard. “O’Brien, you are ill,” said I. “Not a bit; but I’ve emptied the brandy-flask; and that’s a bad job. However, it is to be remedied.” I did not go to sleep again for some time, I was so anxious to see O’Brien fast asleep. He went in and out several times, during which I pretended to be fast asleep; at last it rained in torrents, and then he laid down, and in a few minutes, overpowered by nature, he fell fast asleep, snoring so loudly that I was afraid some one would hear us. I then got up and watched, occasionally lying down and slumbering awhile, and then going down to the door. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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