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. There's
twice as much room in one of the cells as there is in a midshipman's
berth, my boy; and the prison yards, where you are allowed to walk, will
make a dozen quarter-decks, and no need of touching your hat out of
respect when you go into it. When a man has been cramped up on board of
a man-of-war, where midshipmen are stowed away like pilchards in a cask,
he finds himself quite at liberty in a prison, Peter. 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.

"Wh