To the same part
O'Brien had a tow-line, which taking in his teeth, he towed me down with
the stream to about a hundred yards clear of the fortress, where we
landed. O'Brien was so exhausted that for a few minutes he remained
quite motionless; I also was benumbed with the cold. "Peter," said he,
"thank God we have succeeded so far; now must we push on as far as we
can, for we shall have daylight in two hours." O'Brien took out his
flask of spirits, and we both drank a half tumbler at least, but we
should not in our state have been affected with a bottle. We now walked
along the river-side till we fell in with a small craft, with a boat
towing astern: O'Brien swam to it, and cutting the painter without
getting in, towed it on shore. The oars were fortunately in the boat. I
got in, we shoved off, and rowed away down the stream till the dawn of
day. "All's right, Peter; now we'll land. This is the Forest of
Ardennes." We landed, replaced the oars in the boat, and pushed her off
into the stream, to induce people to suppose that she had broken adrift,
and then hastened into the thickest of the wood. It still rained hard; I
shivered, and my teeth chattered with the cold, but there was no help
for it. We again took a dram of spirits, and, worn out with fatigue and
excitement, soon fell fast asleep upon a bed of leaves which we had
collected together.
Chapter XXII
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.
Pages:
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274