“But I was not free yet, I had to pass the steps, from which two of the gang ran to stop me; but I had good way on then, and as one of them made a blow at me with a cudgel, I came down upon him like a ram, tumbled him over too, and then was racing along the street with half a dozen of the gang shouting and running after me like mad.
“It was a hard run that, up one lane and down another, hard as I could tear, with the hot breath panting out of my chest, and a burning feeling strong on me, as if I’d swallowed live coals. But it was for liberty, and the thought of what would follow if I was caught made me dash on faster every time I felt ready to sink and give in. Whenever I looked over my shoulder I could see one or two of the gang after me, but at last there was only one, and him it seemed as if I couldn’t tire out, for there he always was just about the same distance behind, taking step for step with me. We were neither of us going fast now for want of breath, and the perspiration ran down my face; but every time I tried to shake him off it seemed of no use, and every time I turned round to look, there he was still hunting me down like a dog. I tried doubling down a court, but he was close after me; turned down one street and up another, but there he was still; and the more I tried the closer he seemed to get to me.
“Well, this seemed to make me savage, and my teeth got gritting together, and as I knew that he was only one now, having outrun all his mates, and must be as tired out as I was, I said to myself, ‘If he takes me, he’ll have to fight for it.’ Then I ran down another court which turned off to the right again directly after, and then came a horrible disappointed feeling, for I saw that I was in a trap, and when I remembered the cudgel the press-gang man had, it seemed as if my chance was gone, for there was no way out at the bottom of the court.
“People think quickly at a time like this, and in a moment I was hid behind a corner, and listening to the patter of the sailor’s feet as he came down the court. Next moment I put all the strength I had left in the blow I fetched him aside his head; down he went with his head upon the stones, and, jumping over him, I ran out into the street and felt that I was free.
“I was sorry for the press-gang chap as soon as I had hit him; but, duty or no duty, the men then were a deal too fond of getting other poor fellows into the same scrape as themselves, and as I felt I was free, my breath seemed to come easier, and I went along the streets at a gentle trot, till I knew that I must be safe.
“I wasn’t going to stop in London any more, so I made my way, late as it was, to the Great North Road, and daybreak found me trudging wearily along between the pleasant hedgerows, thinking very sadly about poor Harry, who came from the next village to mine in Hertfordshire, and turning it over in my mind how I should tell his poor old folks about their lad being drowned at home here when trying to get clear of the press-gang. It seemed so hard, and I’m afraid I said more than one queer thing against the king and all his sarvice as I trudged along homewards; but, in spite of all, the morning was so bright and cheery, the country looked so green and sweet, and the birds sang so, that I couldn’t feel down-hearted long; while, having no kit to carry, I got fast over the ground, only stopping once to have a good hearty breakfast at a roadside public-house, and early that afternoon I was at home.
“I’m not going to keep you long now, while as to the fuss made over a sailor at home after a long voyage, that’s a matter of course. Next day I started off to walk six miles to Harry’s friends, to tell them the sad news; and a hard job that seemed, for they were nice old people, and of a better class—the old man doing a bit of farming in his way—and, as he afterwards told me, there was plenty for Harry to do at home, only he would go to sea. ‘Poor old chap,’ I thought, ‘it does seem hard,’ and twenty times over I was ready to turn back, for I felt that I couldn’t tell the old folks the bitter news.
“Last of all I stood resting on a stile, thinking it over, and going through the whole scene—even seeming to hear the poor fellow’s cry as he leaped right into the water. It was only after a hard fight I could wind myself up to the right pitch, when, for fear that my heart should fail again, I ran hard right up to the little place, and walked into the kitchen where the old folks were sitting at dinner.
“‘News of Harry?’ they both cried, jumping up; and then they read it all in my blank face, and the poor old woman was down on her knees sobbing, with her apron over her head, and the old man trying to comfort her. They didn’t ask no questions, and the words all seemed to stick in my throat as I tried to speak, and say that, after all, it might not be so bad as I felt sure it was. Last of all, with a regular wail, the old lady burst out—
“‘Dead—dead—dead! Oh, my poor—poor boy!’