No better night could one imagine than that of the first Monday of November, when every one was warned to make ready for escape. Conyngham himself led the way and dug, lying on his back with the earth falling all about him, until at last he could feel the free air as his hand broke through the upper crust. In three minutes more a hole was made sufficiently large to admit of his thrusting forth his head and shoulders.
It was dangerous indeed, for should a sentry happen by any chance to be in the vicinity, not only might the discovery lead at once to the detection of the plot, but also to death by a musket-ball. No one was in sight! The deep black shadows lay heavy under the high wall, and above it towered the great roof of the prison. Beyond them rose the square watch-tower against the gray misty moonlit sky. All at once he heard a voice behind him. It was evident that if he did not take care, the very eagerness of the men to make their way out would prove their own undoing, for they had already begun jostling and shoving one another, despite the stringent orders he had given. With great difficulty he forced his way back through the hole, and there in a few earnest words impressed upon them the necessity for caution and patience. Order restored and the muttering stopped, he drew himself by sheer strength out of the hole and rose to his knees on the ground outside. One after another the men were pulled forth. All went well until the last man’s turn came. I say “man,” but in reality he was a huge overgrown boy, whose weeks of imprisonment had not appeared to have reduced his bulk, for he stuck fast in the hole and apparently could not be moved either one way or the other. If the position had not been so full of danger it might have been found amusing, but every minute’s delay increased the prospect of discovery, so they struggled to relieve the fat boy from his predicament. Three men had hold of one of his arms, when suddenly he gave a sharp cry. He once had been hurt or wounded, and in their endeavors to release him they had broken the large bone of his forearm. However, after his first outcry the poor fellow said nothing, and by dint of digging and more careful hauling they succeeded in releasing him.
One after another the men were pulled forth.
By common consent they were to divide into small parties and make their way to London or the vicinity, where from their various hiding-places they were to inform a certain Mr. Digges of their arrival. It would be six hours and more before their escape would be discovered.
One by one, keeping close to the cover of the walls, they each made the shelter of a small clump of bushes, from which they reached a wood about a half mile distant, where a meeting was held to determine on their future course of action. It was a very short one, for Conyngham dominated it and impressed upon them the necessity for haste. Soon all were on the highroad, which they followed for about five miles and then broke up in small parties as had been arranged for. Strange to say, only fourteen of them, so far as could be ascertained, were ever recaptured. The fat boy escaped!
Conyngham and one of the officers were the first to reach London, where they immediately repaired to the house of Mr. Digges, who provided them with food, money, and clothing, and despite the great risk began to make preparations to assist the other men as they should arrive.
Conyngham, while walking the streets of London, had the pleasure of seeing displayed, in the window of a print-shop, a most extravagant print alleged to be his portrait, “representing him a man of gigantic stature, very broad in the shoulders, the whole person indicating great strength, with a ferocious countenance. Under the arm was a sword at least six feet long, and beneath the whole was the legend, ‘The Yankee Pirate, Conyngham, the arch-rebel. An Admirable likeness.’”
Soon a vessel was found that was sailing for Amsterdam, and on board of her Conyngham embarked in the guise of an English merchant, but before this, six of his companions had made their way to the seacoast, where they had helped themselves to a small fishing boat and arrived safely on the French coast. As soon as he reached Amsterdam he wrote the letter to Benjamin Franklin which we quoted at the beginning of this chapter.
John Paul Jones was then in the Texel, where he was having any amount of trouble with the Dutch authorities owing to the objections of the English representatives to his remaining there with his prizes. Conyngham joined him, when at last he was forced to leave, and sailed with him in the Alliance; but the captain’s misfortunes were not yet over.