In vain did my companions endeavour to pull me out by force, I was
caught as if in a trap, and the pain of my situation was so extreme,
that not expecting further help from within, I called to the sentry to
render me assistance. He approached with the precaution of a man who
fears a surprise, and presenting his bayonet to my breast, forbade me
to make the slightest movement. At his summons the guard came out, the
porters ran with torches, and I was dragged from my hole, not without
leaving behind me a portion of my skin and flesh. Torn and wounded as
I was, they immediately transferred me to the prison of Petit Hotel,
when I was put into a dungeon, fettered hand and foot.
Ten days afterwards I was placed amongst the prisoners, through my
intreaties and promises not to attempt again to escape.
[Here he meets with a fellow named Bruxellois, _the Daring_, of whom
the following anecdote is related:--]
At the moment of entering a farm with six of his comrades, he thrust his
left hand through an opening in the shutter to lift the latch, but when
he was drawing it back, he found that his wrist had been caught in a
slip knot. Awakened by the noise, the inhabitants of the farm had laid
this snare, although too weak to go out against a band of robbers which
report had magnified as to numbers.
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