“Indeed, but I am, my dear,” replied O’Brien; “and so is this lad with me; and the favour which your sister requires is that you help us over the water, for which service there are one hundred louis ready to be paid upon delivery of us.”

  “Oh, mon Dieu! mais c’est impossible.”

  “Impossible!” replied O’Brien; “was that the answer I gave your sister in her trouble?”

  “Au moins c’est difficile.”

  “That’s quite another concern; but with your husband a pilot I should think a great part of the difficulty removed.”

  “My husband! I’ve no power over him,” replied the woman, putting her apron up to her eyes.

  “But one hundred louis may have,” replied O’Brien.

  “There is truth in that,” observed the woman, after a pause; “but what am I to do, if they come to search the house?”

  “Send us out of it, until you can find an opportunity to send us to England. I leave it all to you — your sister expects it from you.”

  “And she shall not be disappointed, if God helps us,” replied the woman, after a short pause; “but I fear you must leave this house and the town also to-night.”

  “How are we to leave the town?”

  “I will arrange that; be ready at four o’clock, for the gates are shut at dusk. I must go now, for there is no time to be lost.”

  “We are in a nice mess now, O’Brien,” observed I, after the woman had quitted the room.

  “Devil a bit, Peter; I feel no anxiety whatever, except at leaving such good quarters.”

  We packed up all our effects, not forgetting our two blankets, and waited the return of the hostess. In about an hour she entered the room. “I have spoken to my husband’s sister, who lives about two miles on the road to Middleburg. She is in town now, for it is market-day, and you will be safe where she hides you. I told her it was by my husband’s request, or she would not have consented. Here, boy, put on these clothes: I will assist you.” Once more I was dressed as a girl, and when my clothes were on, O’Brien burst out into laughter at my blue stockings and short petticoats. “Il n’est pas mal,” observed the hostess, as she fixed a small cap on my head, and then tied a kerchief under my chin, which partly hid my face. O’Brien put on a great coat, which the woman handed to him, with a wide-brimmed hat. “Now follow me!” She led us into the street, which was thronged, till we arrived at the market-place when she met another women, who joined her. At the end of the marketplace stood a small horse and cart, into which the strange woman and I mounted, while O’Brien, by the directions of the landlady, led the horse through the crowd until we arrived at the barriers, when she wished us good day in a loud voice before the guard. The guard took no notice of us, and we passed safely through, and found ourselves upon a neatly-paved road, as straight as an arrow, and lined on each side with high trees and a ditch. In about an hour we stopped near to the farm-house of the woman who was in charge of us. “Do you observe that wood?” said she to O’Brien, pointing to one about half-a-mile from the road. “I dare not take you into the house, my husband is so violent against the English, who captured his schuyt, and made him a poor man, that he would inform against you immediately; but go you there, make yourselves as comfortable as you can to-night, and to-morrow I will send you what you want. Adieu! Je vous plains, pauvre enfant,” said she looking at me as she drove off in the cart towards her own house.

  “Peter,” said O’Brien, “I think that her kicking us out of her house is a proof of her sincerity, and therefore I say no more about it; we have the brandy-flask to keep up our spirits. Now then for the wood, though, by the powers, I shall have no relish for any of your pic-nic parties, as they call them, for the next twelve years.”

  “But, O’Brien, how can I get over this ditch in petticoats? I could hardly leap it in my clothes.”

  “You must tie your petticoats round your waist and make a good run; get over as far as you can, and I will drag you through the rest.”

  “But you forget that we are to sleep in the wood, and that it’s no laughing matter to get wet through, freezing so hard as it does now.”

  “Very true, Peter; but as the snow lies so deep upon the ditch, perhaps the ice may bear. I’ll try; if it bears me, it will not condescend to bend at your shrimp of carcass.”

  O’Brien tried the ice, which was firm, and we both walked over, and making all the haste we could, arrived at the wood, as the woman called it, but which was not more than a clump of trees of about half an acre. We cleared away the snow for about six feet round a very hollow part, and then O’Brien cut stakes and fixed them in the earth, to which we stretched one blanket. The snow being about two feet deep, there was plenty of room to creep underneath the blanket. We then collected all the leaves we could, beating the snow off them, and laid them at the bottom of the hole; over the leaves we spread the other blanket, and taking our bundles in, we then stopped up with snow every side of the upper blanket, except the hole to creep in at. It was quite astonishing what a warm place this became in a short time after we had remained in it. It was almost too warm, although the weather outside was piercingly cold. After a good meal and a dose of brandy, we both fell fast asleep, but not until I had taken off my woman’s attire and resumed my own clothes. We never slept better or more warmly than we did in this hole which we had made on the ground, covered with ice and snow.

  Chapter Twenty Five.

  O’Brien parts company to hunt for provisions, and I have other company in consequence of another hunt — O’Brien pathetically mourns my death and finds me alive — We escape.

  The ensuing morning we looked out anxiously for the promised assistance, for we were not very rich in provisions, although what we had were of a very good quality. It was not until three o’clock in the afternoon that we perceived a little girl coming towards us, escorted by a large mastiff. When she arrived at the copse of trees where we lay concealed, she cried out to the dog in Dutch, who immediately scoured the wood until he came to our hiding-place, when he crouched down at the entrance, barking furiously, and putting us in no small dread, lest he should attack us; but the little girl spoke to him again, and he remained in the same position, looking at us, wagging his tail, with his under jaw lying on the snow. She soon came up, and looking underneath, put a basket in, and nodded her head. We emptied the basket. O’brien took out a Napoleon and offered it to her; she refused it, but O’Brien forced it into her hand, upon which she again spoke to the dog, who commenced barking so furiously at us, that we expected every moment he would fly upon us. The girl at the same time presenting the Napoleon, and pointing to the dog, I went forward and took the Napoleon from her, at which she immediately silenced the enormous brute, and laughing at us, hastened away.

  “By the powers, that’s a fine little girl!” said O’Brien; “I’ll back her and her dog against any man. Well, I never had a dog set at me for giving money before, but we live and learn, Peter; and now let’s see what she’s brought in the basket.” We found half-boiled eggs, bread, and a smoked mutton-ham, with a large bottle of gin. “What a nice little girl! I hope she will often favour us with her company. I’ve been thinking, Peter, that we’re quite as well off here, as in a midshipman’s berth.”

  “You forget that you are a lieutenant.”

  “Well, so I did, Peter, and that’s the truth, but it’s the force of habit. Now let’s make our dinner. It’s a new-fashioned way though, of making a meal lying down; but, however, it’s economical, for it must take longer to swallow the victuals.”

  “The Romans used to eat their meals lying down, so I have read, O’Brien.”

  “I can’t say that I ever heard it mentioned in Ireland, but that don’t prove that it was not the case; so, Peter, I’ll take your word for it. Murder! how fast it snows again. I wonder what my father’s thinking on just at this moment.”

  This observation of O’Brien induced us to talk about our friends and relations in England, and after much conversation we fell fast asleep. The next morning we found the snow had fallen about eight inches, and weighing down our upper blanket so much, that we were obliged to go out and cut stakes to support it up from the inside. While we were thus employed, we heard a loud noise and shouting, and perceived several men, apparently armed and accompanied with dogs, running straight in the direction of the wood where we were encamped. We were much alarmed, thinking that they were in search of us, but on a sudden they turned off in another direction, continuing with the same speed as before. “What could it be?” said I to O’Brien. “I can’t exactly say, Peter; but I should think that they were hunting something, and the only game that I think likely to be in such a place as this are otters.” I was of the same opinion. We expected the little girl, but she did not come, and after looking out for her till dark, we crawled into our hole and supped upon the remainder of our provisions.

  The next day, as may be supposed, we were very anxious for her arrival, but she did not appear at the time expected. Night again came on, and we went to bed without having any sustenance, except a small piece of bread that was left, and some gin which was remaining in the flask, “Peter,” said O’Brien, “if she don’t come again to-morrow, I’ll try what I can do; for I’ve no idea of our dying of hunger here, like the two babes in the wood, and being found covered up with dead leaves. If she does not appear at three o’clock, I’m off for provisions, and I don’t see much danger, for in this dress I look as much of a boor as any man in Holland.”

  We passed an uneasy night, as we felt convinced either that the danger was so great that they dare not venture to assist us, or, that being over-ruled, they had betrayed us, and left us to manage how we could. The next morning I climbed up the only large tree in the copse and looked round, especially in the direction of the farm-house belonging to the woman who had pointed out to us our place of concealment; but nothing was to be seen but one vast tract of flat country covered with snow, and now and then a vehicle passing at a distance on the Middleburg road. I descended, and found O’Brien preparing for a start. He was very melancholy, and said to me, “Peter, if I am taken, you must, at all risks, put on your girl’s clothes and go to Flushing to the cabaret. The women there, I am sure, will protect you, and send you back to England. I only want two Napoleons; take all the rest, you will require them. If I am not back by to-night, set off for Flushing to-morrow morning.” O’Brien waited some time longer, talking with me, and it then being past four o’clock, he shook me by the hand, and, without speaking, left the wood. I never felt miserable during the whole time since we were first put into prison at Toulon, till that moment, and, when he was a hundred yards off, I knelt down and prayed. He had been absent two hours, and it was quite dusk, when I heard a noise at a distance: it advanced every moment nearer and nearer. On a sudden, I heard a rustling of the bushes, and hastened under the blanket, which was covered with snow, in hopes that they might not perceive the entrance; but I was hardly there before in dashed after me an enormous wolf. I cried out, expecting to be torn to pieces every moment; but the creature lay on his belly, his mouth wide open, his eyes glaring, and his long tongue hanging out of his mouth, and although he touched me, he was so exhausted that he did not attack me. The noise increased, and I immediately perceived that it was the hunters in pursuit of him. I had crawled in feet first, the wolf ran in head-foremost, so that we lay head and tail. I crept out as fast as I could, and perceived men and dogs not two hundred yards off in full chase. I hastened to the large tree, and had not ascended six feet when they came up; the dogs flew to the hole, and in a very short time the wolf was killed. The hunters being too busy to observe me, I had, in the meantime, climbed up the trunk of the tree, and hid myself as well as I could. Being not fifteen yards from them, I heard their expressions of surprise as they lifted up the blanket and dragged out the dead wolf, which they carried away with them; their conversation being in Dutch, I could not understand it, but I was certain that they made use of the word “English.” The hunters and dogs quitted the copse, and I was about to descend, when one of them returned, and pulling up the blankets, rolled them together and walked away with them. Fortunately he did not perceive our bundles by the little light given by the moon. I waited a short time and then came down. What to do I knew not. If I did not remain and O’Brien returned, what would he think? If I did, I should be dead with cold before the morning. I looked for our bundles, and found that in the conflict between the dogs and the wolf, they had been buried among the leaves. I recollected O’Brien’s advice, and dressed myself in the girl’s clothes, but I could not make up my mind, to go to Flushing. So I resolved to walk towards the farm-house, which being close to the road, would give me a chance of meeting with O’Brien. I soon arrived there, and prowled round it for some time, but the doors and windows were all fast, and I dared not knock, after what the woman had said about her husband’s inveteracy to the English. At last, as I looked round and round, quite at a loss what to do, I thought I saw a figure at a distance proceeding in the direction of the copse. I hastened after it and saw it enter. I then advanced very cautiously, for although I thought it might be O’Brien, yet it was possible that it was one of the men who chased the wolf, in search of more plunder. But I soon heard O’Brien’s voice; and I hastened towards him. I was close to him without his perceiving me, and found him sitting down with his face covered up in his two hands. At last he cried, “O Pater! my poor Pater! are you taken at last? Could I not leave you for one hour in safety? Ochone! why did I leave you? My poor, poor Pater! simple you were, sure enough, and that’s why I loved you; but, Pater, I would have made a man of you, for you’d all the materials, that’s the truth — and a fine man too. Where am I to look for you, Pater? Where am I to find you, Pater? You’re fast locked up by this time, and all my trouble’s gone for nothing. But I’ll be locked up too, Pater. Where you are, will I be; and if we can’t go to England together, why then we’ll go back to that blackguard hole at Givet together. Ochone! Ochone!” O’Brien spoke no more, but burst into tears. I was much affected with this proof of o’brien’s sincere regard, and I came to his side, and clasped him in my arms. O’Brien stared at me— “Who are you, you ugly Dutch frow?” (for he had quite forgotten the woman’s dress at the moment,) but recollecting himself, he hugged me in his arms. “Pater, you come as near to an angel’s shape as you can, for you come in that of a woman, to comfort me; for, to tell the truth, I was very much distressed at not finding you here; and all the blankets gone to boot. What has been the matter?” I explained in as few words as I could.

  “Well, Peter, I’m happy to find you all safe, and much happier to find that you can be trusted when I leave you, for you could not have behaved more prudently. Now I’ll tell you what I did, which was not much, as it happened. I knew that there was no cabaret between us and Flushing, for I took particular notice as I came along: so I took the road to Middleburg, and found but one, which was full of soldiers. I passed it, and found no other. As I came back past the same cabaret, one of the soldiers came out to me, but I walked along the road. He quickened his pace, and so did I mine, for I expected mischief. At last he came up to me, and spoke to me, in Dutch, to which I gave him no answer. He collared me, and then I thought it convenient to pretend that I was deaf and dumb. I pointed to my mouth with an Au — au — and then to my ears, and shook my head; but he would not be convinced, and I heard him say something about English. I then knew that there was no time to be lost, so I first burst out into a loud laugh and stopped; and on his attempting to force me, I kicked up his heels, and he fell on the ice with such a rap on the pate, that I doubt if he has recovered it by this time. There I left him, and have run back as hard as I could, without any thing for Peter to fill his little hungry inside with. Now, Peter, what’s your opinion? for they say, that out of the mouth of babes there is wisdom; and although I never saw anything come out of their mouths but sour milk, yet perhaps I may be more fortunate, this time, for, Peter, you’re but a baby.”

  “Not a small one, O’Brien, although not quite so large as Fingal’s babby that you told me the story of. My idea is this. Let us, at all hazards, go to the farmhouse. They have assisted us, and may be inclined to do so again; if they refuse, we must push on to Flushing and take our chance.”

  “Well,” observed O’Brien, after a pause, “I think we can do no better, so let’s be off.” We went to the farm-house, and, as we approached the door, were met by the great mastiff. I started back, O’Brien boldly advanced. “He’s a clever dog, and may know us again. I’ll go up,” said O’Brien, not stopping while he spoke, “and pat his head; if he flies at me, I shall be no worse than I was before, for depend upon it he will not allow us to go back again.” O’Brien by this time had advanced to the dog, who looked earnestly and angrily at him. He patted his head, the dog growled, but O’Brien put his arm round his neck, and patting him again, whistled to him, and went to the door of the farm-house. The dog followed him silently but closely. O’Brien knocked, and the door was opened by the little girl: the mastiff advanced to the girl and then turned round, facing O’Brien, as much as to say— “Is he to come in?” The girl spoke to the dog, and went in-doors. During her absence the mastiff laid down at the threshold. In a few seconds the woman who had brought us from Flushing came out, and desired us to enter. She spoke very good French, and told us that fortunately her husband was absent; that the reason why we had not been supplied was, that a wolf had met her little girl returning the other day, but had been beaten off by the mastiff, and that she was afraid to allow her to go again; that she heard the wolf had been killed this evening, and had intended her girl to have gone to us early to-morrow morning. That wolves were hardly known in that country, but that the severe winter had brought them down to the lowlands, a very rare circumstance, occurring perhaps not once in twenty years. “But how did you pass the mastiff?” said she; “that has surprised my daughter and me.” O’Brien told her; upon which she said, that “the English were really ‘des braves.’ No other man had ever done the same.” So I thought, for nothing would have induced me to do it. O’Brien then told the history of the death of the wolf with all particulars, and our intention if we could not do better, of returning to Flushing.