He was unexpectedly surprised by a mounted piquet of the enemy, who, upon observing him, caused their trumpeter to blow the charge; his horse became instantly unmanageable, the well-known martial sound completely fascinated the animal, so that all his efforts to spur him on proved fruitless. From this unlucky event he was surrounded and made prisoner. The officer in command coming up at the moment in full gallop, made a cut at him with his sabre, which, however, L'Estrange dexterously parried, and then forced him to surrender. The lieutenant was now taken under escort to Verdun, in the east of France, a station selected by their government for English prisoners of war. The journey occupied some time, and was tedious and fatiguing. He arrived at his destination in March 1809, and was detained for a considerable period at that place on parole. At first he became reconciled in a measure to his position, in consequence of the hospitality evinced by the French residents at Verdun to the English priBalls and parties succeeded each other, and a variety of amusements introduced, to all of which they were invited. At a bal masqué L'Estrange appeared in female costume, where the following adventure occurred to him, which unfortunately resulted in a duel, and he was severely wounded. His partner in the dance, a naval officer of the British service, was not aware of the deception; his attentions being encouraged, a flirtation ensued, which gave no little amusement to those in the secret. During the course of the evening, the officer in question discovered the imposition; but instead of taking it in good part, his anger was aroused. An apology was freely offered, and every exertion made by friends on both sides to subdue his resentment. All their efforts were unavailing; nothing would satisfy him but a hostile meeting, which accordingly took place the next morning. L'Estrange fired in the air; his opponent's shot, passing through his right side, seriously wounded him; but he ultimately made a perfect recovery. His adversary expressed deep regret for what had happened, and was particularly kind to him during his illness. They afterwards became great friends. This incident created no little sensation in the various circles of Verdun. The police were much censured on account of the duel, and the authorities dismissed some from office; this naturally gave rise to increased animosity towards the English. Some time after the duel, he had a disagreement with a tradesman, who exacted payment of his bill over again, the receipt for which could not at first be found amongst L'Estrange's papers. Refusing to wait till further search had been made, the man hurried to the prefect to lodge a com plaint, glad of an opportunity to exercise his power. L'Estrange was thus unjustly thrown into prison, without even giving him the satisfaction of explaining the circumstance. However, at this period it occurred to him that he could now with propriety and honour effect his escape; he was tired of a life of idleness and dissipation, and longed to resume the active duties of his profession. Full of this idea, he consulted his friends on the subject, for he had many; in fact, he was a universal favourite. They all agreed, that as he was imprisoned, his parole became nugatory. With these assurances, he made up his mind to escape, and succeeded in doing so, disguised as a pedlar. By this arrangement, he was enabled to carry some wearing apparel without attracting particular notice. His knowledge of the French language, which he spoke with fluency, he found of great use; but the want of a passport was a terrible drawback. To avoid the police, who were constantly on his track, often puzzled him, and he was obliged to journey on foot at night, taking refuge in the woods by day. He had provided himself with a variety of costumes; yet, with all his precautions, he had the utmost difficulty to outwit the vigilance of the gendarmerie in pursuit of him. One adventure is worth relating, and is somewhat romantic. He was so closely pressed by his tor mentors, that he adopted the disguise of a female peasant, having purchased a dress in a village at nightfall. Returning with it to a neighbouring wood, his late hiding-place, he put it on, concealing his other garments there. Repairing to an auberge for refreshment in his new character, and while in the act of partaking it, the police suddenly made their appearance. He heard them eagerly inquiring after a fugitive English prisoner, describing to the landlord a person resembling himself in all particulars. They were actually in the same room within a few steps of him; but quietly continuing his repast, he did not attract their observation. In the same costume, he approached a cottage in the vicinity. of the village, and begged a night's lodging. His request was granted. In order to baffle the designs of the police, he resolved to remain in his present concealment. The cottagers were extremely kind; and not arousing their suspicions, he passed a week with those good people, assisting them to work in the fields, it being harvest-time; in this manner he made himself very useful; the family consisted of the farmer, his wife, two sons, and a daughter. After a few days, the latter discovered his deception. She promised faithfully not to betray him; and she kept her word. To get away from this perilous position without delay was not an easy matter. His inventive genius Feign did not desert him now. ing sickness one morning, he proposed to take charge of the dwelling while the family were at work; during their absence he fled from the cottage, and reached his hiding-place in the wood,-without attracting any notice, where he had previously left his bundle. In the afternoon, observing a party of mounted gendarmerie proceeding towards the village, he felt convinced they were the very same that he had been in such unpleasantly close proximity to at the auberge: he was afterwards confirmed in this supposition. Later in the day he saw a man advancing on horseback with a pillion. Reflecting upon the wisest plan to pursue, he suddenly decided how to act, and coming out of his shady recess, asked the rider to give him a lift. His request was willingly complied with. 'Monter, Mademoiselle!' said the equestrian, and backing the animal, our adventurer was soon seated on the pillion. While conversing, his unsuspecting companion told him as an amusing piece of information, he had just met the gendarmerie, and they were in search of an English prisoner who had escaped from Verdun! Prudence prompted him not to be too inquisitive, in case it might lead to more awkward consequences. He had ascertained the fact, without doubt, that the party referred to were retracing their steps in pursuit of the fugitive, and like hounds at fault in the chase, were turning back to find their game. This circumstance removed considerable uneasiness from his mind, and he now hoped to be able to continue his journey with less risk of being captured. When they had travelled about two leagues he dismounted, wishing him good-night, with many thanks for his politeness, and directed his steps towards a plantation which was some little distance from the road, where, throwing of his woman's garb for that of his own sex, and feeling less apprehensive than he had done for some time, he lifted up his heart in gratitude to God for thus far preserving him from falling into the hands of his enemies; then, sitting down to rest in this tranquil spot, he began considering which would be the safest character to personate on his way to Rotterdam. The female he thought objectionable, as the police might have gained information from the cottagers of his late proceedings, and the pedlar's was equally imprudent; so he resolved to equip himself as a sailor; but, alas! on seeking through his little stock of requisites, he did not possess the necessary additions to make his toilet complete as a jolly tar. At last he decided to try the dress of a labourer seeking harvest work; with a red wig, and a patch on his eye, he was sure it would be difficult for any one to recognise him. After re L leagues and a half from Cuddalore. They had passed three arms of the river, and advanced at as great a pace as they possibly could, to make use of the night, since their hope of safety depended chiefly on the distance they could reach before the morning light. of all his efforts he was carried along with the current, and constrained, at a considerable distance, to return to the same side of the river. Providentially, at the place where he landed, he discovered by the moonlight, dry on the beach, a canoe, which he immediately seized, and was drawing down to the river, when two black men rushed upon him, and demanded whither he was going with that boat. He seized the outrigger of the canoe, as his only weapon of defence against the paddles, which they had secured, and told them he had lost his way, had urgent business at Tranquebar, and thither he must go; and launching with all his remaining strength the canoe into the river, he entreated them to convey him to the other side. The good-natured Indians laid down their paddles on the thwarts, and whilst he stood in the stern, rowed him to the opposite shore. He returned them many thanks, having nothing else to give them, and leaping on the beach, immediately pushed forward with all his might. Not far from Porto Nuovo a sepoy sentry challenged, 'Who goes there?' on which they shrunk back, and concealed themselves, turning down on the river-side. The river in that place was very wide, and being near the sea, the tide ran in with rapidity. He took, however, the boy on his back, as he had done before, and bade him be sure and hold only by his hands, and cast his legs behind him; but when they came into the breakers, the boy was frightened, and clung round the captain with his legs so fast as almost to sink him. With difficulty he struggled with the waves, and turning back to the shore, found they must inevitably perish together if he thus attempted to proceed. Therefore, setting the boy safe on land, he bade him go back to Dr. Mein, who he thought might take care of him; but the poor lad was never again heard of, though the most diligent in-velled, and therefore continue quiries were made after him. As delay was death to Wilson, he plunged again into the stream, and buffeting the waves, pushed for the opposite shore; but he found the tide running upwards so strong, that in spite He found he had as great a distance to pass to the Coleroon as he had already tr his course with unabated |