at the
head of his troops on the Mont es Pendus, with counsel to surrender.

"Sir," said he, "this has been a very sudden surprise, for I was made
prisoner before I was out of my bed this morning."

"Sir," replied Peirson, the young hero of twenty-four, who achieved
death and glory between a sunrise and a noontide, "give me leave to tell
you that the 78th Regiment has not yet been the least surprised."

From Elizabeth Castle came defiance and cannonade, driving back
Rullecour and his filibusters to the Cohue Royale: from Mont Orgueil,
from the Hospital, from St. Peter's came the English regiments; from the
other parishes swarmed the militia, all eager to recover their beloved
Vier Marchi. Two companies of light infantry, leaving the Mont es
Pendus, stole round the town and placed themselves behind the invaders
on the Town Hill; the rest marched direct upon the enemy. Part went by
the Grande Rue, and part by the Rue d'Driere, converging to the point of
attack; and as the light infantry came down from the hill by the Rue des
Tres Pigeons, Peirson entered the Vier Marchi by the Route es Couochons.
On one side of the square, where the Cohue Royale made a wall to fight
against, were the French. Radiating from this were five streets and
passages like the spokes of a wheel, and from these now poured the
defenders of the isle.

A volley came from the Cohue Royale, then another, and another. The
place was small: friend and foe were crowded upon each other. The
fighting became at once a hand-to-hand encounter. Cannon were useless,
gun-carriages overturned. Here a drummer fell wounded, but continued
beating his drum to the last; there a Glasgow soldier struggled with
a French officer for the flag of the invaders; yonder a handful of
Malouins doggedly held the foot of La Pyramide, until every one was cut
down by overpowering numbers of British and Jersiais. The British
leader was conspicuous upon his horse. Shot after shot was fired at
him. Suddenly he gave a cry, reeled in his saddle, and sank, mortally
wounded, into the arms of a brother officer.

For a moment his men fell back.

In the midst of the deadly turmoil a youth ran forward from a group
of combatants, caught the bridle of the horse from which Peirson
had fallen, mounted, and, brandishing a short sword, called upon his
dismayed and wavering followers to advance; which they instantly did
with fury and courage. It was Midshipman Philip d'Avranche. Twenty
muskets we