As soon as I could collect my scattered senses and compose my distracted mind, I found that I was stared at from all sides by my unhappy countrymen, who at that moment happened to be out of their souterrains, on their permission to take those few gasps of fresh air that were essential to their being able to exist for the rest of the day in their noxious dungeons. I could hear some of these poor fellows questioning whether I was a British subject. “He must have been at the head of some banditti!” said one. “He looks like it,” observed another. “Perhaps,” remarked a third, “he is the captain of the soldiers he is chained to.” “Very likely,” rejoined another. “At all events,” said a fifth, “whether he is an Englishmen or a foreigner, it is clear he is not a prisoner of war, for they never would load a prisoner of war of any nation so heavily with chains.” In this opinion, and in this alone, did they all agree; and I was set down by universal consent as some daring criminal that had committed one, or even a host of atrocious crimes. At length some of my old friends saw and recognised me. “Good heavens!” exclaimed one, “it is our old friend O’Brien.” “But why such chains, and with such a gang?” was the reply. None dared approach to ask a question; and, as I afterwards found, the general inference was, that, in my attempt to escape, I had killed some officer or soldier who had opposed me, and that I was led here thus secured preparatory to my trial and execution for murder.

But it was not many minutes before my old friends and companions, Ashworth and Tuthill, found means to get at me.

I was never more thunderstruck in my life, for I had flattered myself that they had effected their escape, and had been happy in the thought, which had worked itself into my mind as a fact, that they had arrived safely in England. Mr. Baker, of the merchant service, and in a short time all my old companions, surrounded me, except poor Lieutenant Essel; and on my anxiously inquiring for him, to my great grief was I informed that he had been dashed to pieces in endeavouring to get over the walls, in a fresh attempt to escape. Mr. Ashworth and Tuthill told me that they had been arrested or recaptured about two hours after they had parted from me in the wood. It had, in fact, been so suddenly surrounded by soldiers and peasantry that it was impossible to escape from it. They added that they never had been able to account for my getting clear. The other prisoners had not taken advantage of the diversion we had made in their favour, but had remained in the waggon.

The melancholy intelligence of my poor fellow-sufferer Essel’s violent death was an additional pang to my misfortunes and anguish. I was anxiously asking the particulars, when the guard came up, and angrily drove my friends to their respective dungeons for daring to communicate with me. I, with the Corsicans, was most unceremoniously conducted to a different part of the fortress, called La Grosse TÊte.

I shall not attempt to describe the fortress of Bitche. To give a minute detail of its strength, souterrains, etc., would fill a volume. At this moment it is sufficient for me to say that it is reckoned one of the strongest fortifications of France, and is built on the summit of an immensely high rock, out of which all its subterranean caves are hollowed. It has, on one side, three ramparts. The first is from 90 to 100 feet high; the second, from 40 to 50; and the third, from 25 to 30, with redoubts, entrenchments, and all contrivances of military engineering, almost innumerable.[24] As I surveyed these stupendous heights and depths, it appeared to me a physical impossibility to escape from it, and I was filled with despair. Nothing but madness could entertain a thought of attempting to escape. Being now arrived at the wretched dungeon I was to inhabit, my handcuffs and chains were taken off, and the Corsican deserters were conducted to the condemned cells. They were, I believe, soon afterwards shot. A dismal dungeon was unlocked, in which it seemed that I was doomed to be entombed alive. Solitude appeared to me dreadful, and I looked upon a “living death” as my final lot; but I found in the dungeon Mr. Worth, midshipman, and a Captain Brine of the merchant service. The latter was one of those who came from Verdun with me. They were on a door, which they had managed to unhinge, and which lay as a platform to keep them out of the excrement and wet, that were more than ankle deep: they had a little straw and a blanket. They informed me, they had been companions of the unfortunate Essel in the late attempt to get over the ramparts. Six of them had broken out of their cave, had got a rope made of sheets, and were on the point of lowering themselves down, when they were discovered and the alarm given, which made four of them clap on the rope together, though only strong enough to lower one at a time, or two at most; the rope, in consequence, broke. One was dashed to pieces, and the three others—I think their names were Nason, Potts, and Adams—so severely mangled and bruised that little hopes were at first entertained of their recovery; Worth and Brine were soon seized by the guards on the embrasure. The others were then improving fast, and they expected them in the dungeon in a few days, as soon as the surgeon had reported them well enough; after which they would have to remain in this receptacle of filth for thirty-one days, which was the usual time of being buried alive in the first and most horrible gradation of our captivity. It was fifty deep stone steps under ground, for I have often counted them, and the most dark and intricate passages led from it to the gaoler’s house, who had the watching and superintending of the prisoners, in conjunction with a guard.

I had not been more than half-an-hour in this dismal and filthy abode, when a gendarme came, and desired le nouveau arrivÉ to follow him. I imagined it was to liberate me (that is to say, from this dungeon), and to place me with my companions, Messrs. Ashworth and Tuthill, in one of the caves, which was deemed a kind of indulgence, they having a bed and fire allowed in the latter; but I was greatly in error.

I followed my guide through all the before-mentioned passages, and at last arrived at the gaoler’s house; where I was accosted, in the following words, by a man who wore a leathern cap and frock-coat:—

“You, sir, are the person who has given us so much trouble, and been the cause of the gendarmes having been transported to the galleys.”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“You are, sir, and merit the greatest severity that can be inflicted.”

This induced me to request to be informed what he meant.

“I mean, sir,” revociferated he, “that you deserve the severest punishment, for not resting quietly with your guards, and for being accessory to the punishment of them.”

I replied, “I was conscious that I had only done my duty in endeavouring to escape from slavery, tyranny, and oppression, and every other cruelty that could be invented.”

I showed him the marks I then had on my wrists and different parts of my body, expressing very warmly at the same time my detestation of a country that could countenance such treatment.

“Pray,” said he, “do you know who you are thus accosting?”

“I really do not.”

“Then, sir, I would have you to know, that I am commandant over all the prisoners confined in this fort; that I have very great power invested in me, and could place you, in a moment, where you would never be seen or heard of.”

I replied, “That I was not aware he was commandant—I had not the smallest doubt with regard to his power—was far from having a wish to give him the least offence—that I was entirely in his power—he could therefore act by me as he thought proper.”

He listened with great attention; became quite soft and mild; was extremely sorry, but could not avoid punishing me. He accordingly ordered me to be conducted back to the dungeon I had just left. My companions procured me something to eat; and I absolutely felt happy, although in so miserable a place, at being with my own countrymen: I had nothing now to fear but the guillotine, or slavery in the galleys.

Thus, my mind being a little at ease, and my spirits somewhat recruited, I gathered together a few of the scattered straws, laid myself down on the platform that had been contrived by my comrades in adversity, and fell fast asleep. When I awoke, the night was far advanced. My companions, by some means or other, had procured a flint, tinder-box, and candle, and we struck a light. They were anxious to have an account of my adventures, with which I indulged them, and they in return narrated to me their misfortunes and sufferings. In this manner did I pass my first night in this horrible dungeon.

There were three, and but three, livres of my money still remaining, and with this, by dint of bribery, we procured some brandy from the gaoler. This stimulus we found very necessary, for the effluvium from this noxious and pestiferous place was as strong, and almost as offensive, as that of the last dungeon at Niederbronn, in which I had been confined with the Corsican soldiers. We had recourse also to smoking tobacco, which to a great degree mitigated the effects of the fetidity of this revolting place, although it made me very sick. I now received secret intelligence, that a Madame B—l—a—d, in the little town of Bitche, had lately received, through the medium of my worthy friend, the Rev. Launcelot C. Lee, an order to supply my pecuniary wants to a certain extent; and I need not say how much this considerate and humane act of generosity and kindness had exhilarated my drooping spirits.

I could not help expressing to my comrades my astonishment at the immense strength and security of our dungeons. They surpassed anything I had ever seen, or anything I had ever formed an idea of; and it seemed to me wonderful how men could ever imagine and construct such places for the torment and slow destruction of their fellow-creatures.

It was some time the next day before we could obtain anything whatever to recruit exhausted nature, although our cries on the gaoler’s name, La Roche, had been re-echoed a thousand times from the bottom of our cell. We had taken it by turns to call out, but all of us were nearly worn out, when the fellow came to the bars of the small hole that admitted air; and after soliciting and praying, flattering and appealing, to all his good qualities (Heaven forgive us for our hypocrisy!), the rogue agreed to give us some refreshment. This he passed through the triple bars of the hole, as he was not entrusted with the keys of the door, and whatever he brought we eagerly devoured.

I inquired of my companions if they were never permitted to breathe fresh air; and, to my sorrow, they replied that as yet they had never enjoyed that indulgence. It appeared to me an impossibility to exist many days in such a place without it. I told my fellow-sufferers that I thought it would be advisable to solicit the indulgence by a joint letter to the commandant, stating our situation—at the same time requesting immediate death, if it were his intention to deprive us of health, and so cause us to linger away, and terminate a miserable existence by degrees.

This application had the desired effect, and we were allowed to breathe the air every day, between the hours of eleven and one. On this the first day, whilst respiring the air, which proved to us a relief beyond expression, I was informed by one of the gendarmes, that on the day after I had escaped, their commanding officer had issued strict orders to the men of his corps, who had been despatched to scour the woods and the country in search of me, that, in the event of their finding me, they were to scar and disfigure me with their sabres au front et au visage, and to mutilate me in such a manner as would prove an example to deter, in future, any British prisoner of war from attempting to escape. This circumstance I heard frequently repeated afterwards by others of the same corps.

Upon my putting the question to them, whether, in the event of falling in with me, they would have actually put in execution those injunctions, some made an evasive reply and hesitated; while others, more candid, acknowledged that they would have been obliged to obey their orders À la lettre,—and that, of course, they would have been directed to state, in justification of such conduct, that they had no alternative, as I would not surrender, but resisted most desperately. No entreaty whatever could procure us any more cleanliness. We were literally worse off than pigs or dogs.

We now again began to devise and meditate upon plans for escaping. One proposed undermining the dungeon. I saw no prospect whatever of succeeding in this point. I, however, was willing to try every means to regain my liberty. Hammers and chisels with great difficulty were procured, and we carried them always about us, as the dungeon was ransacked every day in our absence. We hung an old coat up against that part of the rock which we intended to begin upon. Rope was necessary to descend the ramparts after we had got out of the dungeon; we accordingly, through some friends, who had obtained permission to come and see us, contrived to purchase some stout linen for shirts (which we really much wanted), and from the shoemakers amongst the prisoners we got, now and then, a ball of twine. We procured needles, bees’-wax, etc., by degrees, and made a rope of four or five fathoms for each, which we marled with the remainder of the twine, and passed tight round our bodies underneath the shirt. Our working time commenced immediately on being locked up after breathing the fresh air. Night would not do, as it would be necessary to have candle-light, and we might have been seen through the bars by our sentinels.

The undermining business was found impracticable, and was consequently dropped. Having a rope, we flattered ourselves we might, some day whilst allowed to breathe the fresh air, be able to elude the vigilance of the sentinels and scale the walls. However, this proved to be a plan so difficult to accomplish that it was abandoned, and our only hope was that we might have an opportunity of using the rope when we should be liberated from our present dungeon and placed in another souterrain or apartment of the fortress.

Christmas night came, but without either Christmas cheer, etc., or cheerfulness. We were reflecting upon our miseries without anything to soothe them. The tune of “Oh, the roast beef of Old England!” would occur to us, and visionary plum-puddings and rich sirloins would torment the imagination. All the hospitality, mirth, and good-heartedness that are displayed in our native isles on this festivity were vividly before us in recollections. “Nessun maggior dolor che ricordarsi del tempo felice nella miseria,” was now fully verified. Intense thought and intense feelings overcame the frame, and I at length fell into a profound sleep. In a short time I was suddenly roused by my friends and violently dragged into a corner of my cell. Upon my inquiring what this meant, I was informed that the sentinel had burnt priming through the bars at Mr. Worth, and had snapped his musket again before I was apprised of it; if it had gone off, the ball must have passed through my body, as I was point-blank opposite the bars. The fellow had desired Mr. Worth to put his candle out, and he had refused, upon which the unfeeling wretch (perhaps intoxicated), without saying a word more, had twice snapped his piece at him—a summary method of enforcing orders. We soon placed ourselves where he could not hit us, even if his musket should go off. The candle was still burning, and this fiery though non-firing sentinel was obliged to turn suppliant, and to beg us to put it out. All the time of his supplication he kept his piece levelled at the candle. We had had an abundance of experience with reference to the character of such rascals, and carefully kept out of his way. At midnight he was relieved, and we made known his conduct to the corporal of the guard, who rebuked him severely, and gave us permission to keep our candle burning. What was the harm? We could hatch no treasons, and contrive no stratagems, by a rushlight; nor were we in danger of setting fire to a damp, vaulted, stone dungeon.

This fellow’s conduct, however, had been so outrageous that we determined to report him to the commandant the next day, and we endeavoured to compose ourselves for the remainder of the night, thanking Providence that, by his musket missing fire, we had escaped his murderous intentions.

Accordingly, during the time we were out, I made what had happened known to the marÉchal de logis, Monsieur Mitchell, who was second in command. I pointed out to him the inhumanity of this wretch, in endeavouring to deprive poor prisoners of war of their lives, who had been placed already in the most horrible state imaginable, for having an inch of candle burning on Christmas night. He replied with a vast deal of sangfroid, “But his piece did not go off; none of you were hurt; and where is the use of taking any more notice of it?”

23rd January 1808.—We were, at length, conducted from the dungeon to a miserable hole under ground, to which I descended by thirty steep stone steps, where Messrs. Tuthill and Ashworth, with fifty of our countrymen, were already buried alive. Here I remained, planning and scheming everything possible to effect my escape, but in vain. I, however, wore the rope constantly round me; yet the guards were so watchful that I had very little hopes of ever being able to make the intended use of it.

This continued during the months of February, March, April, May, and June; at the expiration of which the commandant had the kindness to allow me to go up into a small room, where there were already twelve more. This indulgence, he had the courtesy to say, was in consequence of my good conduct. Messrs. Tuthill, Ashworth, and Brine were of the number. The latter wore his rope as I did, and was the only person of the party, then in the room, who knew I had one. We became daily more intimate from this confidence in each other; and after a vast number of fruitless endeavours, on the 17th of July 1808 the term of our slavery appeared to be drawing to a conclusion: I was on that day told in confidence by one of the seamen—a young Irishman, whose name I forget—that a party had thoughts of breaking out that night from the souterrain; that he was one of them; and he informed me who the rest were. I began to regret having ever left the cave. However, I imagined there was a probability of getting down to them for the night. I accordingly waited upon the heads of this party during their time for breathing the air, and, without intimating my motives, I requested that they would allow me to visit them in the cave, or souterrain, that evening. They stared, and the oddness of the request made them suspect that I had a knowledge of their designs. Knowing their complete confidence in me, I did not hesitate to tell them the truth. With everything complimentary in their opinions of me, they still refused to comply with my request; for they assured me that they could not deviate from their fixed plan, and that was, that none of those upstairs were to be admitted below. The motive of this was a dread to excite suspicion, for it was necessary to obtain permission from the marÉchal de logis for us to go to the lower cell, and even asking it might put the authorities on the qui vive. Greatly did I feel mortified at my exclusion from the enterprise. At the usual hour, six in the evening, they were made to descend, in order to be locked up, but as they went below I told them that I did not despair of joining them that evening. After their doors had been locked, I had observed that it was the habit of the marÉchal de logis to quit the fortress for some time, and this night I anxiously watched his departure. At about half-past six I saw him go out; at seven it was our turn to be locked up. The interval was to me momentous—no time was to be lost. Never was I in a greater state of anxiety. At last I went boldly up to the gendarme on guard, whose name was BuchÉ, and told him that I had been invited to celebrate the anniversary of an old friend’s birth-night in the souterrain, and that he would oblige me greatly by allowing me to descend. He hesitated. “Nay, my kind Monsieur BuchÉ,” I said most civilly, “what apprehensions can you possibly be under? Am I not by far more secure in the souterrain than in the cell upstairs?” This well-timed observation satisfied him, and I received his permission to descend.

I immediately apprised Messrs. Tuthill, Brine, and Ashworth, of my success, when they also persuaded the guard to let them join in celebrating the birth-night. I was afraid that their application would create suspicion, and prevent even my joining the party; but I was glad to find that the very reverse was the case. My celebrity for stratagems in effecting escapes was unhappily so great that any request I might make immediately conjured up a host of confused suspicions; but when poor Monsieur BuchÉ found so many wishing to celebrate the birth-night, he concluded that there really was a birth-night to celebrate, although it might have struck a more sapient brain that it was rather an absurdity for men to celebrate anything who had scarcely sufficient food to put in their mouths.

However, it was not our business to be too curious, and I descended with my companions. As we approached the cave, my ears were struck with the din of merriment, which was artfully assumed in order to prevent the sentinels hearing the noise of chisels, saws, and other tools, that I concluded were hard at work. Some were singing or shouting, others dancing, others were making their dogs howl and bark, and by no gentle means; and the deception was so admirably kept up that the gaoler and guards might have supposed that there was a boisterous saturnalia celebrating amongst their prisoners. Before seven we were in the midst of these “merry fellows,” and our guard locked us all in together, laughing that we English could make ourselves so happy upon little or nothing. We had taken a few necessaries with us for the night, which could not be observed, in our pockets.

Our friends received us with open arms, and admired our perseverance. I found they were getting on rapidly; the miners were very active. One door was already forced. The second door was an immense iron one; it was impossible to break through it; the miners had therefore worked away the earth and rock under it. It was half-past ten before we got a hole large enough for a small man to creep through, which enabled him to force the bolts and bars at the opposite side and to open the door. This man, whose name was Daly, was afterwards a navy agent, and lived at Greenwich: he escaped from Verdun with, I believe, Dr. Clarke, and landed safely in England. The principal obstacles were now removed in every one’s opinion, and there remained but two slight doors more to impede our advancing to a subterraneous passage that led out of the fort. This was a very intricate communication, and we had to feel our way to those slight doors, as it was dangerous to have candle-light.

Some unfortunate English prisoners, owing to treachery amongst themselves, had been sabred in the same passage years before, in a vain attempt to escape during the night. How valuable would a dark-lanthorn have been now! Everybody, except the few that were appointed to force the doors, were preparing for their escape. It was nearly midnight. Our over-eagerness in forcing the third door shot the bolt back, which caused a noise that was overheard by the sentinels outside. This occasioned a general alarm to be instantly beat—all hopes were at an end. “What unfortunate wretches!” were the only words that could be heard, everybody endeavouring to get to his respective place before the guards entered. Those who were all over dirt tried to strip and hide their clothes; the confusion was great in all parts of the cave; the running against one another, mistaking each other’s beds, and clothes, etc., was quite ludicrous. The visitors were, of all others, worst off: their friends, whom they came to spend the evening with, had no beds to offer them. The doors were now opening, the guards entering, and I, who was all over dirt, was rambling about without being able to find any place to creep into. By accident I stumbled over a bed, and I instantly crawled under the blankets, with my boots and all my clothes on. The guards passed close by me, even before I had settled myself; but they were too intent upon reaching the spot from whence they imagined they had heard the noise. In our cave, at this time, everything was silent. You might have heard a pin drop. Every prisoner seemed fast asleep, and one or two were even snoring. By the guard’s light, as they passed, I found that I had got into the bed of a servant, an American named Clarke. He was so intolerably intoxicated (they managed that night to get some snique, or brandy, smuggled in) that I was a long time before I could rouse him; and when he was awake, I had as much difficulty in making him understand who I was, and why I had got into his bed. I dreaded lest the stupefied fellow might utter some ejaculation that might expose everything. Fortunately, however, as soon as he was able to understand what I said, he desired me to cover my face, and assisted me to conceal myself as well as he could. It afterwards appeared that he had gone to bed fully aware of the part he was to play the next morning, and that he had got a little drunk to give him courage for his enterprise; and as in drunkenness a little always leads to more, he had at last got very drunk, under the delusion that he would recover himself before the time of decamping arrived. This is the common self-deception, I believe, of all incipient drunkards.

On discovering that the first door had been opened, the commanding officer of the searching party said, with a sneer, “That he would give us weeks to get through the next;” meaning the ponderous, massive iron door which I have already described. On advancing a few paces, one of the guards proclaimed, with a horrid oath, that even the iron door had been forced. This put the officer in a furious passion, and he swore outrageously against the “sacrÉs coquins, les Anglais,” uttering a tirade of oaths upon his resolution to discover the chiefs of such a horrible conspiracy. “Where are the visitors?” cried he, in a furious voice. “Where are those who, I understand, prevailed on the gendarmes to be admitted to the cell? They must be the authors of this horrible business, or complot.”

Passion is never rational, or it would have taught this officer that those who had been admitted as visitors for only one evening could not have been the authors of a plot that must have been in active operation for many days, or weeks, or even months.

The infuriated officer called over the muster-roll of the visitors, and Tuthill, Ashworth, and O’Brien resounded from his angry lungs. I was too old a sailor to notice the first call. The first two officers were so indiscreet as to answer. They thought that as they were stripped and in bed they could escape suspicion. But far different was the result. They were ordered to get up, put on their clothes, and, under very rough usage, they were about to be conducted to what had been my former habitation—the dungeon. Again did the enraged officer repeat my name—O’Brien. Poor Mr. Brine answered to the call; and he was, without ceremony, ordered to dress, and compelled to join the other two. Again did the name of O’Brien resound from the lips of the enraged officer; but Mr. O’Brien had no more inclination to answer to the call than he had had at first. The drunken servant had sufficiently recovered himself to understand the whole scene, and he played his part with great tact. I remained under the bed-clothes, whilst he sat up with his knees so raised as to prevent the possibility of discovering me. He protested that he was alone in bed; and appearances favouring his assertion, the guards did not trouble him, but passed on to the next bed. For my part, I saw no prospect of escaping, as the searchers were well aware of my being below, and I was frequently on the point of jumping up and joining my comrades, who were now put on march for the dungeon. The intoxicated servant shrewdly observed, “That it would be time enough to join that party when I was discovered, and that I ought to wait patiently the result.” I found a good deal of reason in what he said, and remained quiet. There were three or four more ringleaders (as they called them) discovered by the clay and soil found about their garments, and the whole were escorted to the direful dungeon. The doors were then locked, sentinels being placed on those that had been broken open. I expected that the guards would return to search for another set of ringleaders, and I remained full of anxiety waiting their arrival. In the meantime, I was of opinion that it would be as well to take my boots and clothes off. I accordingly stripped, and concealed those that were full of earth and dirt in different parts of the souterrain. Some time elapsed, yet no return of the guards disturbed me. I composed myself as well as I could: my bedfellow left me in full possession, and I fell into a profound sleep.

When I awoke it was daylight. The usual hour for allowing the prisoners to breathe the fresh air had arrived; but the doors were not opened as before: and they were soon informed that they would be kept locked down, until they thought proper to deliver up the names of all those who had intended to escape on the preceding night. The prisoners laughed at such a proposition, since there was nothing more certain than that all who had been capable of walking would have embraced so excellent an opportunity of regaining their liberty. On second consideration, it was agreed to give only the names of those already in the dungeon, they being certain of punishment. The commandant would not credit the assertion of so small a number of names, and the souterrain was kept locked. At all events, I was sure of being missed from my room, as there was no possibility of getting back to it. At eleven o’clock they generally mustered us—the gendarme who gave us permission to go down was in confinement, and it appeared that he had not given the correct names in the beginning, and had not been interrogated particularly afterwards, which accounted for the mistake between my name and Mr. Brine’s. However, the moment which left me no hope or possibility of avoiding detection was quickly approaching.

At nine o’clock, the commandant, Monsieur Clement, and all the other officers of the garrison, descended in order to ascertain the havoc that the English prisoners had made in the engineering of the fortification.

They found, of our tools, only an old piece of a saw, one solitary hammer, and a few chisels, and they all expressed their astonishment at our having made such great progress through such massive obstructions in so short a time, and with such few and bad implements. During this investigation I had a great deal of difficulty to conceal myself; and, although I succeeded, I knew that eventually it could not be of any use, for that when eleven o’clock arrived my fate would be decided.

At about ten o’clock, a load of wood came for the prisoners. Permission was then asked to have the doors opened, that they might come up and fetch it. This was denied, and the prisoners in the rooms above were ordered to throw the wood down to those in the dungeon, through the air holes, but, fortunately for me, the billets were too large to pass through the gratings. Our guards were therefore obliged to open the souterrain, and allow a certain number of the prisoners to ascend, in order to fetch the wood down. A strict guard was placed at the door.

I contrived to get some clean clothes down, which were conveyed to me through the bars, and I concerted a plan with one of my fellow-prisoners that were bringing the wood down, a very respectable and well-conducted man, a serjeant of marines of H.M.S. Magnificent. He was to make a particular sign, by putting his hand on the back part of his head, when the guard’s eyes were off the door; which he did, and at that instant I glided, or rather jumped out.

The sentinels seized me, and desired me to descend again instantly. I asked why they did not allow me to come up, since they had just now permitted me to go down? I told them that I did not belong to the souterrain, and that I had descended merely out of curiosity to see what the prisoners had been about the last night. I reminded those who had been in the habit of mustering the room to which I belonged, of their mistake, and asked them how they could possibly suppose that I belonged to the souterrain? They looked at me, appeared convinced, and seemed surprised that they could not recollect my having passed them in my descent, begged my pardon, and allowed me to pursue my way. I reached my own apartment, where, in a few seconds, I was indisposed, and snug in bed. Thus did I avoid being sent to the galleys: for, after my reiterated attempts to escape, one more detection would have consigned me to that horrible fate.

There was no danger of my being now discovered, until the gendarme, who granted me the permission, should be liberated. In the afternoon I obtained leave to go to the dungeon, to see my poor comrades and condole with them. They were much rejoiced at my good fortune, but feared my trick would soon be found out. Eight days passed on: I frequently paid those poor fellows a visit during the time. The gendarme BuchÉ was then released, and I was obliged to keep constantly in the room when he was on duty; and, when he came to muster us, I was covered over in bed. They never called the names: to count heads was their method, which suited me admirably. Five more days had passed away in a similar manner, when we received orders to prepare for a general review, which usually takes place once a month.

4th August.—On this day we were all placed in ranks and minutely inspected. It appeared to my friends and myself that I could not avoid discovery on this occasion, as all the gendarmes attended. There was no exception or excuse of sickness to be made; if a prisoner was able to crawl he must attend, and frequently they were carried. I took my station in the ranks, expecting in a few minutes to be lodged with my old companions in limbo.

The gendarme, whom I had so long avoided, riveted his eyes upon me. I had received information that he was going to make known to the commandant Clement, or to General Maisonneuve, that I had importuned him more than the rest, and was the person who prevailed on him to let any down. He was astonished at seeing me, having been informed that I was in the dungeon with the others. Shortly afterwards he passed me, and I saw him go and speak to both the above-mentioned officers: I was then confident he had completed the business. The review took place; every one was inspected, and some were asked several questions. I was passed over with very little notice. I could not account for it, yet was of opinion that they would have said something on the subject had they been made acquainted with it. Glad was I when we were all dismissed and the officers allowed to retire. My escape was to me unaccountable, but not on that score the less welcome; I was, however, so confounded at my good fortune that I had forebodings that some latent mischief was held in reserve.

Whilst I was pacing to and fro, in an awkward dilemma, the gendarme BuchÉ approached and accosted me in these words:—

“By what miracle have you escaped from the dungeon? How, in the name of all wonders, have you got up from the souterrain? I have seen you walking about some days, although perhaps you did not see me.”

There was no mistaking his meaning, but, full of apprehensions as I was, I resolved to put on a face of wonder at his thus presuming to address me, and to persevere in an assertion of my ignorance of all he alluded to.

“Pray, sir,” I replied, “and why should I be put in the dungeon?”

“My God!” he exclaimed, astonished at my effrontery, “were you not the very person that was chiefly the occasion of my letting you and your three companions down to visit your friends, and to celebrate the anniversary of a birthday, as you called it?”

“You must certainly, sir, have made a mistake; it was not me,” I rejoined with an air of offended innocence.

The man was not to be browbeaten or imposed upon in this way. He stuck to his text, and insisted that I was the culprit; but, to my great relief, he added that he had no desire to see me punished, for, as his punishment was over, mine could afford him no alleviation. I was glad to find one human being so devoid of the spirit of revenge; and yet the fellow added that he would have told the general and commandant of me, had not his wife persuaded him—AnglicÈ, ordered and compelled him—not to do it. Perhaps the lady might have had some peccadilloes on the part of her husband to resent, and was not over-grieved at the punishment into which I had betrayed him.

I still preserved my dignified composure, and assured him that he should lose nothing by his indulgence, and for what he had suffered in consequence of it, for I knew the generosity of the gentleman on whose account he had been put into confinement.

At this he could retain his countenance no longer, and he burst out into a horse-laugh in my face. I was obliged to throw off the mask. He shook me by the hand, and we became such good friends that he even took me to the dungeon that afternoon, to see my unfortunate companions. Nothing could astonish them more than my appearing with this man, whom they imagined it morally impossible to appease, as his indulgence to me had led to his disgrace and punishment. I gave them an account of all that had happened, and of the dialogue that had that day taken place between him and me, upon which they all congratulated me, and styled me the most fortunate prisoner of the fortress.