No answer was made; they all remained motionless in their seats. The sentry walked to the edge of the rock and looked down; but not distinguishing any thing, and hearing no further noise, returned to his post.
For some little while Newton would not allow them to move: the oars were then carefully lifted over the gunnel, and their clothes laid in the rollocks, to muffle the sound; the boat was pushed from the landing-place into the middle of the narrow inlet. The tide was ebbing, and with their oars raised out of the water, ready to give way if perceived, they allowed the boat to drift out of one of the narrow channels which formed the entrance of the harbour.
The rain now beat down fast, and anxious to be well clear of the coast before daylight, Newton thought they might venture to pull. The oars were taken by him and Collins; but before they had laid them three times in the water one of the sentries, hearing the noise, discharged his musket in the direction.
“Give way, now, as hard as we can,” cried Newton; “it’s our only chance.”
Another and another musket was fired. They heard the guard turned out; lights passing on the batteries close to them, and row-boats manning. They double-banked their oars, and with the assistance of the ebb tide and obscurity they were soon out of gunshot. They then laid in their oars, shipped their mast, and sailed away from the coast.
It was nine o’clock in the evening when they started, and at daylight the French coast was not to be seen. Overjoyed at their escape, they commenced an attack upon the provisions and a small keg of wine; and perhaps a more joyful breakfast never was made. The sun rose in vapour, the sky threatened, but they were free and happy. The wind freshened, and the boat flew before the gale; the running seas topping over her stern, and forcing them continually to bale her out; but all was joy, and freedom turned their “danger to delight.” They passed several vessels at a distance, who did not observe them; and before sunset the English coast was in sight. At ten o’clock the double lights on the Lizard were on their starboard bow. They hauled up upon the larboard tack with the ebb tide, and having passed the Lizard, kept away for Mount’s Bay, to avoid the chance of falling in with any of the king’s vessels, and being again impressed. At daylight they ran in under St. Michael’s Mount and once more stepped upon English ground.
Here, as by previous agreement, they divided the provisions, and took farewell of each other.
“Good bye, gentlemen,” said Collins; “allow me to observe that, for once, you may think yourselves fortunate in having been placed in my very respectable company!”