Around the first corner and down to Watling Street I ran, taking the nearest course to the river, though I had no intention of returning to my ship. The startling news I had heard about the state of affairs in the homeland had fired me with a patriotism before which all thought of allegiance to the King vanished. I was inflamed with the desire to cross the ocean at once and throw in my lot with my struggling countrymen. For the present I would endeavor to escape my pursuers; later I would find some way to return to my native land.

I came to this decision in the brief time it took me to reach St. Paul’s church. Turning there, I crossed Carter Lane and Queen Street, and came out upon the Thames near St. Paul’s pier. Here a glance behind me showed that I had distanced my pursuers. Noting this fact with much satisfaction, I sped out upon the wharf and darted through the open door of the nearest warehouse. No one appeared to dispute my entrance or to check my advance, and swiftly I glided between the barrels and boxes to the farthest side of the room. Here I found another door. It was closed but unfastened, and I had time to open it before the angry mob that was following me appeared. Passing quickly into the next apartment, I shut the door and rolled a huge cask of rum against it, effectually barring it. Confident now that it would be some time before my pursuers discovered my whereabouts, I proceeded leisurely through the semi-darkness of the room to a place where great bales of cotton were piled nearly to the ceiling. Among these I at length found an open space which allowed me to crawl back of the outer tier, where I lay down and waited.

So still was the immense building I could plainly hear the pursuing men enter the other apartment in search of me. The persistence with which they kept at their task told of their eagerness to find me. At length two of them tried the door of the room in which I was hiding, and, on discovering it was barred, one of them exclaimed confidently:

“He cannot have gone in there!”

“Where is he then?” asked the other doubtingly. “I certainly saw him enter here. Where can he have gone?”

“Out of that open scuttle in the roof,” answered the first.

“But it is more than four and twenty feet to the ground,” objected the second.

“What of that?” retorted his companion scornfully. “He’s a sailor and can climb up or down these walls as easily as he would a mast. It’s just as I told you, while we have been looking for him among these boxes and barrels, he has made good his escape.”

The objector seemed to be convinced, for without another word he followed his comrade down the room. The sound of their footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and finally ceased altogether. Evidently the search for me had been abandoned. Still I did not stir. I was safely hidden, and would remain where I was until the hour for closing the warehouse had come.

Opposite the opening through which I had crawled was an outside door, one edge of which was warped enough to allow a few rays of light to enter. I watched these, knowing that when they disappeared it would be time for me to make a move.

How slowly the minutes passed! What a tumult of thoughts crowded through my brain! The events since I had left the colony came trooping in rapid succession. The life on board the frigate was lived over again. With these bygone experiences came plans for the future. I knew there were several vessels in the river hailing from American ports. Once let their captains know of the battle at Bunker Hill and they would hasten to sail for home. Doubtless on one of these crafts I could find a berth. I resolved therefore, to visit them in turn under the cover of the night until I had secured a place.

At length the light through the doorway grew so faint as to be scarcely perceptible, and I crawled out of my hole, and went over to the entrance. First gently, and then more vigorously I tried to open the door. My efforts were useless, however, for it was fastened on the outside. So I retraced my steps to the place where I had entered, rolled the cask away from the door, and opened it. Stepping through into the next room, I turned to close the entrance after me, when a voice startled me.

“So you were there after all, my young bantam,” it exclaimed. “Tim Waters thought so. You didn’t fool him, if you did the others; and it has been worth while to wait for you too, for now the five pounds offered for your capture is mine.”

A glance showed me that the speaker was a burly fellow, evidently the porter of the warehouse. Doubtless he had known that the door between the apartments of the building was not fastened, and finding it secured, had quickly divined that I was within. So, stimulated by the reward offered for my apprehension, he had patiently awaited my coming.

Scarcely had I surmised this fact when he sprang forward to seize me. But quick as he was, I was quicker, and, eluding his grasp, dodged by him. So confident was he that he was going to grab me, he had put his whole force into his forward spring, and now, missing me, he also lost his balance, and plunged headlong against the door. Startled by his call, I had but partly closed it, and, swinging back as he came against it, he was precipitated into the other room. The cask which I had used as a barricade was only a few feet away, and striking upon this with his head and shoulders on one side and his legs and feet upon the other, he set it to rolling. I could scarcely refrain from a shout of laughter as I saw him struggling to regain his feet, and by his very efforts sending his unwieldy steed farther and farther down the room. Not until the barrel fetched up against the pile of cotton bales did it stop, and even then it was a moment or two before he could regain an upright position. I only waited long enough to notice he was not seriously injured, and then shutting the door, I fastened it on my side by passing a piece of a box cover through the door handle.

In another minute I was in the open air, and finding the way clear, I hastened through the fast falling darkness to the street. Keeping in the shadows as much as possible, I went down the river bank to a point nearly opposite the first American vessel. Here I undertook to reach the end of an adjacent wharf, hoping there to find a boat in which I could visit the brig. But I had hardly got a dozen feet down the planking before a watchman confronted me, saying gruffly as he tried to look me over in the darkness:

“Who are you? What do you want here? Are you that rebel midshipman I have been told to look out for? Faith, I believe you are!” and he seized me by the collar before I could do a thing to prevent him.

Then began a struggle which lasted for some minutes. We were about equally matched in strength, but he had me at a disadvantage and I am quite sure would have at length mastered me but for an accident. Coming to a place where the flooring suddenly raised itself a few inches, he stumbled and fell full length upon his back. I was pulled down upon him, but he lost his hold upon me, and before he could recover it, I regained my feet and was away.

I had no trouble in eluding him, or those he aroused by his cries, but as I made off under the friendly cover of the night I must confess my heart was filled with apprehension. It was very evident that the whole water front had been guarded against every attempt on my part to board a ship from the colonies. The offer of a reward for my arrest had, moreover, put all the watchmen on the alert. If I escaped, therefore, two things were clear: I must change my naval garb for one less conspicuous, and I must make off across the country to some other port. Having come to this conclusion, I left the river, and started towards the rear end of the town. After going a mile or more the lights of a second-hand clothing shop attracted me. Crossing the street, I glanced in at the window. The store was evidently kept by an old Jew who was alone, and I ventured in.

“Have you a second-hand rig you would exchange for this I have on?” I briefly asked.

He glanced curiously at me, and then with a shrewd look in his eyes remarked:

“Running away from your ship, are you?”

“Yes,” I admitted promptly, “but I am willing to give you a good bargain, so what does that matter to you?”

He shook his head. “It might get me into trouble with the naval authorities,” he replied. “It’s risky business.”

“I don’t see how,” I retorted. “You can tell them I claimed to have surrendered my commission, or anything else you choose. They cannot blame you for making a good trade when you had the chance.”

He came slowly around his counter and looked my uniform carefully over. It was nearly new, and in excellent condition, and as he noted these facts the look in his eyes changed to one of greed.

“It’s risky, risky,” he replied, “and I can’t allow you much for the garments. But here is something I will give you for it,” and he led the way to the other side of the shop. From a shelf he took what had evidently been the suit of a farmer lad. It was of coarse material and well worn, yet neat and clean.

“I took this a week ago from a youngster who ran away to sea,” he explained; “now I’ll exchange with you to help you run away from the sea,” and he laughed at his attempt at facetiousness.

The clothes were not worth half those I was wearing, but I did not hesitate.

“I will do it,” I said. “Can I go into your back room and make the change?”

He assented, and led me into the rear room, leaving me alone, as another customer came in just then. I took the opportunity, while changing my clothing, to look over the state of my finances, finding I had five shillings and a sixpence. There was little likelihood of my earning any more and this sum, therefore, must last me until I could find a ship for home. So it was clear that whatever port I decided to go to, I must walk, in order to husband my little store.

My first anxiety, however, was to put the city behind me, and with this end in view, upon leaving the shop I struck off uptown at a brisk rate. An hour later, in the outskirts, I stopped at an inn long enough to get supper, and then resumed my tramp. All night long I kept it up, but as dawn came on, finding myself near a small village, which I afterwards learned to be Watford, I entered and made my way to its one tavern. There I secured a room, to which I at once retired for a much needed rest. Some hours later I was awakened by the inn-keeper, whom I found sitting down on the side of my bed gazing long and fixedly at me.

“There is a squad of soldiers down stairs who are looking for a lad about your size and build, I should judge.”

Though greatly alarmed by the tidings, there was something in the man’s gaze which reassured me, and I waited for him to go on:

“They say he is a young rebel from the colonies, who has cursed the King.”

Still I was silent.

“Tell me all about it,” he continued. “You have a friend in me.”

The man’s dealing with me proved that, so I frankly told my story.

“If that is all, I will protect you,” he declared. “I have a brother over there, and my sympathies are with the colonies. I hope they will win,” and he abruptly left the room.

Listening at the door, I heard him descend the stairs, and say to the officer in charge of the troopers:

“I have no one here dressed as you say that young rebel was; but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If he comes this way, I’ll take care of him,” a promise he literally kept. For he not only boarded me a week, long enough, as he believed, to end all search for me, but on my departure put money enough into my hands to pay my fare by stage to Liverpool, where he advised me to go.

“You may regard all I have done for you as a loan,” were his parting words, “and repay me when I come to America,” a thing I am glad to say I was able to do.

I left Watford with little fear of detection, and enjoyed to the full my ride across the country to St. Helen’s, a small town a few miles out of Liverpool. The stage reached there just at dark, and, as I had done a half dozen times before, I descended from its top and entered the tavern to order supper and a room for the night. Two feet over the threshold a hand was laid upon my shoulder and a voice I instantly recognized said:

“Master Dunn, you are my prisoner.” It was the recruiting sergeant whom I had heard in Cheapside, London, telling of the war with the colonies.

Resistance was useless, for behind the officer stood four soldiers with their muskets ready for instant use, so I submitted to my arrest with the best grace I could muster.

In a few minutes they mounted me upon a horse, surrounded me with a squad of troopers, and hurried me off towards Liverpool. Reaching the city, they hastened along its narrow streets to a huge stone building on the river’s edge before which they stopped. Tumbling me unceremoniously from the beast I rode, they led me through the heavy portals, and along the dark corridors to a room in the rear, into which they thrust me and swung to its stout door with a clang that still echoes in my ears. I did not need to be told where I was—the structure, its form, its appearance, its interior arrangements, spoke louder than human words. It said in a silent but unmistakable language, “You are in a British prison.”