“All right,” whispered “Josh,” smiling broadly, and he again hobbled around the yard.
After awhile the sentry motioned for him to come nearer. He did so—and as he approached—a large bundle was stealthily shoved into his arms. He hastened to his cell and there put on the undress uniform of an officer of the British army.
Drawing on his great-coat, he went into the yard and hobbled about upon his two sticks until the time drew near for the mid-day mess. Then he drew close to the gate.
One o’clock tolled from the iron bell upon the prison rampart, and, as its deep-toned echoes sounded from its tower, several of Barney’s friends engaged the half-dozen sentries in conversation. It was the time for action.
The astute “Josh” suddenly dropped his crutches. Then—walking across the enclosure towards the gate,—he winked to the sentry. A companion was at hand. With a spring he leaped upon his shoulders. One boost—and he was on top of the walk. Another spring, and he had dropped to the other side as softly as a cat.
But the second gate and sentry had to be passed.
Walking up to this red-coated individual he placed four guineas (about $20.00) into his outstretched palm. The soldier smiled grimly, as the great-coat was tossed aside, and the shrewdest privateer in the American Navy walked towards the opening through the outer wall, which was usually left ajar for the convenience of the prison officials. Another sentry stood upon duty at this point.
Barney nodded. The sentry had been “squared” (told of the coming escape) and so he turned his back. Thus—with his heart beating like a trip-hammer—“Josh,” the nervy one—walked down the cobbled street outside of the “Old Mill.” He was free.
Dodging into a lane, he soon met a friend who had been told of his attempt, and who took him to the house of an old clergyman in Plymouth. In the morning, with two fellow-countrymen, who were also in hiding (for they had been captured as passengers in a merchant vessel), he secured a fishing-smack. “Josh” now covered his uniform. Putting on an old coat with a tarred rope tied around his waist, a pair of torn trousers, and a tarpaulin hat, the disguised Jack-tar ran the little vessel down the River Plym, just as day was dawning. The forts and men-of-war were safely passed, and the little shallop tossed upon the gleaming wavelets of the English channel.
We are told that his escape was not noticed for some time because “a slender youth who was capable of creeping through the window-bars at pleasure crawled into Barney’s cell (in the Old Mill Prison) and answered for him.” I doubt this, for—if you have ever seen the bars of a prison—it would take a Jack Spratt to get through them, and Jack Spratts are not common. At any rate someone answered to the daily roll-call for Joshua B., so that it was full two weeks before the authorities knew of his escape. Perhaps there was a ventriloquist in the jail.