Being pursued by the _gens-d'armes_ there, and called upon to surrender, his companions had given themselves up.

Not so our hero; nor was he secured until he lay unconscious with a bullet-hole in the cheek.

It was this which ever afterwards affected his speech, the bullet having cut or partially paralysed some string of the tongue.
It had been touch-and-go with him; but he recovered, and, passing henceforward as a desperate character, was drafted south with a dozen other desperate characters to the gloomy fortress of Briancon.
There, in a second attempt for liberty, a fall from the ramparts had cost him his leg.
But worse than all his incarceration had been the final tramp through France--right away north to Valenciennes; then left-about-turn, three hundred and fifty miles to Tours; then south-east to Riou; and from Riou south-west to Bordeaux, where the transport took him off--one of six transports for about fifteen hundred released prisoners.

All the way, too, on a wooden leg! Heaven knows how bitterly he had come to hate that leg.

Yet his heart, hardened though it was by all this long adversity, had melted as the _Romney_ transport beat up closer and closer for England, and at sight of Plymouth heights he had broken into tears.
Troy! Troy! After all, Troy would remember him.