When O'Brien returned to the ranks, he looked defiance at the officer, telling him, "That he would pocket the affront very carefully, as he intended to bring it out again upon a future and more suitable occasion." We were then marched out in ranks, two and two, being met at the street by two drummers, and a crowd of people, who had gathered to witness our departure. The drums beat, and away we went. The officer who had charge of us mounted a small horse, galloping up and down from one end of the ranks to the other, with his sword drawn, bullying, swearing, and striking with the flat of the blade at any one of the prisoners who was not in his proper place. When we were close to the gates, we were joined by another detachment of prisoners: we were then ordered to halt, and were informed, through an interpreter, that any one attempting to escape would immediately be shot, after which information we once more proceeded on our route.
Nothing remarkable occurred during our first day's march, except perhaps a curious conversation between O'Brien and one of the French soldiers, in which they disputed about the comparative bravery of the two nations. O'Brien, in his argument, told the Frenchman that his countrymen could not stand a charge of English bayonets. The Frenchman replied that there was no doubt but the French were quite as brave as the English--even more so; and that, as for not standing the charge of bayonets, it was not because they were less brave; but the fact was, that they were most excessively _ticklish_. We had black bread and sour wine served out to us this day, when we halted to refresh. O'Brien persuaded a soldier to purchase something for us more eatable; but the French officer heard of it, and was very angry, ordering the soldier to the rear.
O'Brien fights a duel with a French officer, and proves that the great art of fencing is knowing nothing about it--We arrive at our new quarters, which we find very secure.