For fifteen days more the angry captive bit his thumbs on the taffrail of the guard-ship, and gazed either at vacancy or the waters of the Senegal. At the end of that period, a gunboat transferred our convict party to the frigate Flora, whose first lieutenant, to whom I had been privately recommended, separated me immediately from my men. The scoundrels were kept close prisoners during the whole voyage to France, while my lot was made as light as possible, under the severe sentence awarded at San Luis.

The passage was short. At Brest, they landed me privately, while my men and officers were paraded through the streets at mid-day, under a file of gens d’armes. I am especially grateful to the commander of this frigate, who alleviated my sufferings by his generous demeanor in every respect, and whose representations to the government of France caused my sentence to be subsequently modified to simple imprisonment.

I have so many pleasant recollections of this voyage as a convict in the Flora, that I am loth to recount the following anecdote; yet I hardly think it ought to be omitted, for it is characteristic in a double aspect. It exhibits at once the chivalric courtesy and the coarse boorishness of some classes in the naval service of France, at the period I am describing. On board our frigate there were two Sisters of Charity, who were returning to their parent convent in France, after five years of colonial self-sacrifice in the pestilential marshes of Africa. These noble women lodged in a large state-room, built expressly for their use and comfort on the lower battery-deck, and, according to the ship’s rule, were entitled to mess with the lieutenants in their wardroom. It so happened, that among the officers, there was one of those vulgar dolts, whose happiness consists in making others as uncomfortable as possible, both by bullying manners and lewd conversation. He seemed to delight in losing no opportunity to offend the ladies while at table, by ridiculing their calling and piety; yet, not content with these insults, which the nuns received with silent contempt, he grew so bold on one occasion, in the midst of dinner, as to burst forth with a song so gross, that it would have disgraced the orgies of a cabaret. The Sisters instantly arose, and, next morning, refused their meals in the wardroom, soliciting the steward to supply them a sailor’s ration in their cabin, where they might be free from dishonor.

But the charitable women were soon missed from mess, and when the steward’s report brought the dangerous idea of a court-martial before the terrified imagination of the vulgarians, a prompt resolve was made to implore pardon for the indecent officer, before the frigate’s captain could learn the outrage. It is needless to add that the surgeon—who was appointed ambassador—easily obtained the mercy of these charitable women, and that, henceforth, our lieutenants’ wardroom was a model of social propriety.

THE PRISON OF BREST.

I was not very curious in studying the architecture of the strong stone lock-up, to which they conducted me in the stern and ugly old rendezvous of Brest. I was sick as soon as I beheld it from our deck. The entrance to the harbor, through the long, narrow, rocky strait, defended towards the sea by a frowning castle, and strongly fortified towards the land, looked to me like passing through the throat of a monster, who was to swallow me for ever. But I had little time for observation or reflection on external objects,—my business was with interiors: and when the polite midshipman with whom I landed bade farewell, it was only to transfer me to the conciÈrge of a prison within the royal arsenal. Here I was soon joined by the crew and officers. For a while, I rejected their penitence; but a man who is suddenly swept from the wild liberty of Africa, and doomed for ten years to penitential seclusion, becomes wonderfully forgiving when loneliness eats into his heart, and eternal silence makes the sound of his own voice almost insupportable. One by one, therefore, was restored at least to sociability; so that, when I embraced the permission of our keeper to quit my cell, and move about the prison bounds, I found myself surrounded by seventy or eighty marines and seamen, who were undergoing the penalties of various crimes. The whole establishment was under the surveillance of a naval commissary, subject to strict regulations. In due time, two spacious rooms were assigned for my gang, while the jailer, who turned out to be an amphibious scamp,—half sailor, half soldier,—assured us, “on the honor of a vieux militaire,” that his entire jurisdiction should be our limits so long as we behaved with propriety.

Next day I descended to take exercise in a broad court-yard, over whose lofty walls the fresh blue sky looked temptingly; and was diligently chewing the cud of bitter fancies, when a stout elderly man, in shabby uniform, came to a military halt before me, and, abruptly saluting in regulation style, desired the favor of a word.

“Pardon, mon brÂve!” said the intruder, “but I should be charmed if Monsieur le capitaine will honor me by the information whether it has been his lot to enjoy the accommodations of a French prison, prior to the unlucky mischance which gives us the delight of his society!”

“No,” said I, sulkily.

“Encore,” continued the questioner, “will it be disagreeable, if I improve this opportunity, by apprising Monsieur le capitaine, on the part of our companions and comrades, of the regulations of this royal institution?”

“By no means,” returned I, somewhat softer.

“Then, mon cher, the sooner you are initiated into the mysteries of the craft the better, and no one will go through the ceremony more explicitly, briefly and satisfactorily, than myself—le Caporal Blon. First of all, mon brÂve, and most indispensable, as your good sense will teach you, it is necessary that every new comer is bound to pay his footing among the ‘government boarders;’ and as you, Monsieur le capitaine, seem to be the honored chef of this charming little squadron, I will make bold to thank you for a Louis d’or, or a Napoleon, to insure your welcome.”

The request was no sooner out than complied with.

“Bien!” continued the corporal, “c’est un bon enfant, parbleu! Now, I have but one more mystÈre to impart, and that is a regulation which no clever chap disregards. We are companions in misery; we sleep beneath one roof; we eat out of one kettle;—in fact, nous sommes frÈres, and the secrets of brothers are sacred, within these walls, from jailers and turnkeys!”

As he said these words, he pursed up his mouth, bent his eyes scrutinizingly into mine, and laying his finger on his lip, brought his right hand once more, with a salute, to the oily remnant of a military cap.

I was initiated. I gave the required pledge for my party, and, in return, was assured that, in any enterprise undertaken for our escape,—which seemed to be the great object and concern of every body’s prison-life,—we should be assisted and protected by our fellow-sufferers.

Most of this day was passed in our rooms, and, at dark, after being mustered and counted, we were locked up for the night. For some time we moped and sulked, according to the fashion of all new convicts, but, at length, we sallied forth in a body to the court-yard, determined to take the world as it went, and make the best of a bad bargain.

I soon fell into a pleasant habit of chatting familiarly with old Corporal Blon, who was grand chamberlain, or master of ceremonies, to our penal household, and turned out to be a good fellow, though a frequent offender against “le coq de France.” Blon drew me to a seat in the sunshine, which I enjoyed, after shivering in the cold apartments of the prison; and, stepping off among the prisoners, began to bring them up for introduction to Don TÉodor, separately. First of all, I had the honor of receiving Monsieur Laramie, a stout, stanch, well-built marine, who professed to be maÎtre d’armes of our “royal boarding-house,” and tendered his services in teaching me the use of rapier and broadsword, at the rate of a franc per week. Next came a burly, beef-eating bully, half sailor, half lubber, who approached with a swinging gait, and was presented as frÈre Zouche, teacher of single stick, who was also willing to make me skilful in my encounters with footpads for a reasonable salary. Then followed a dancing-master, a tailor, a violin-teacher, a shoemaker, a letter-writer, a barber, a clothes-washer, and various other useful and reputable tradespeople or professors, all of whom expressed anxiety to inform my mind, cultivate my taste, expedite nay correspondence, delight my ear, and improve my appearance, for weekly stipends.

I did not, at first, understand precisely the object of all their ceremonious appeals to my purse, but I soon discovered from Corporal Blon,—who desired an early discount of his note,—that I was looked on as a sort of Don Magnifico from Africa, who had saved an immense quantity of gold from ancient traffic, all of which I could command, in spite of imprisonment.

So I thought it best not to undeceive the industrious wretches, and, accordingly, dismissed each of them with a few kind words, and promised to accept their offers when I became a little more familiar with my quarters.

After breakfast, I made a tour of the corridors, to see whether the representations of my morning courtiers were true; and found the shoemakers and tailors busy over toeless boots and patchwork garments. One alcove contained the violinist and dancing-master, giving lessons to several scapegraces in the terpsichorean art; in another was the letter-writer, laboriously adorning a sheet with cupids, hearts, flames, and arrows, while a love-lorn booby knelt beside him, dictating a message to his mistress; in a hall I found two pupils of Monsieur Laramie at quart and tiÈrce; in the corridors I came upon a string of tables, filled with cigars, snuff, writing-paper, ink, pens, wax, wafers, needles and thread; while, in the remotest cell, I discovered a pawnbroker and gambling-table. Who can doubt that a real Gaul knows how to kill time, when he is unwillingly converted into a “government boarder,” and transfers the occupations, amusements, and vices of life, to the recesses of a prison!

Very soon after my incarceration at Brest, I addressed a memorial to the Spanish consul, setting forth the afflictions of twenty-two of his master’s subjects, and soliciting the interference of our ambassador at Paris. We were promptly visited by the consul and an eminent lawyer, who asserted his ability to stay proceedings against the ratification of our sentence; but, as the Spanish minister never thought fit to notice our misfortunes, the efforts of the lawyer and the good will of our consul were ineffectual. Three months glided by, while I lingered at Brest; yet my heart did not sink with hope delayed, for the natural buoyancy of my spirit sustained me, and I entered with avidity upon all the schemes and diversions of our stronghold.

Blon kept me busy discounting his twenty sous notes, which I afterwards always took care to lose to him at cards. Then I patronized the dancing-master; took two months’ lessons with Laramie and Zouche; caused my shoes to be thoroughly mended; had my clothes repaired and scoured; and, finally, patronized all the various industries of my comrades, to the extent of two hundred francs.

Suddenly, in the midst of these diversions, an order came for our immediate transfer to the civil prison of Brest, a gloomy tower in the walled chateau of that detestable town.