Then ensued a hue and cry the like of which Thames Street had not often witnessed. The soldiers, encumbered as they were with their harness, could only shout and raise the town. Others, more fleet, pressed me hard; others, coming to meet the uproar, hustled me, and struck me at, and tripped me as I went by. But I had not wrestled and played football in Finsbury Fields for naught. At length the crowd became so great, all running one way, that not a man knew why he ran, or what it was all about. As for me, when I saw that, I mingled with the crowd, and shouted, “Stop thief!” with the loudest of them. Then, when no one thought of me, I slipped quickly down to the water’s edge, and flung myself into the first wherry I found.
But by this time the hour was long gone by. For we had been chasing half-an-hour up and down; up Watling Street, across Cheap, behind the New Exchange, up Cornhill, down Gracious Street, and along the new Fish Street towards the Bridge; so that when, more dead than alive, I struck out into the stream and shot the Bridge, not a sign was there of the Miséricorde.
I was tempted to give it up then, and let who would take me. And, indeed, there seemed a good chance of that. For the owner of my wherry, supposing me to be the thief I seemed, was already out after me, and in another few minutes the hue and cry by water would be as loud as that by land. So on I went on the rapid ebb for dear life. And casting my eyes upward, I noticed that the air was still and windless; so that wherever she was, the Miséricorde could be getting little help from her canvas. And if she were only drifting on the tide, why should not I with my oars make as good or better pace than she?
Yet I confess I was sorely vexed to think that they had gone without me; and when I remembered further that I had the lady’s purse with me, I could have thrown myself, in despair, over my boat’s side. What would they think and say of me!
I could see the waterman’s boat behind me come through the Bridge, and guessed well enough that some other craft near it were joining in the pursuit. So I pulled desperately, and made my boat fly down the stream. Yet ever as I turned and looked ahead there was no sign of the Miséricorde. Worse still, a flutter of breeze on my brow showed that the wind was already coming, and then, I knew I might row my arms off, and never catch her. The dogged waterman behind me still held on and seemed to be gaining. Little wonder if he did, for I had been rowing all night, and now my arms began to flag. Yet what was his stake on this race compared with mine? So away down the stream I pulled past Deptford, and the Queen’s Palace at Greenwich (Heaven save her!) turning my looks now forward, now backward, and praying each minute for a sight of the Miséricorde. A little past Greenwich I was near meeting my end; for, looking eagerly for a sight of my pursuers behind, I failed to perceive a boat crossing the river ahead of me; nor was it till my boat’s nose struck her full in the side that I was aware of the obstacle. The man and woman in the boat (which seemed to be a floating pedlar’s shop plying among the ships), swore at me roundly, and I had much ado to persuade them that no harm was done, and that if any one had a right to complain, I had. I was rowing on, to put an end to the parley, when my eye caught sight of a bundle of garments on the boat’s poop.
“Stay,” cried I, “to show I bear you no malice, I will even make a purchase of you, if you have what I require.”
“Name it,” said they, doubtfully.
“Have you a cloak, warm enough and smart enough, to wrap my poor old mother in, when I take her on the water?” said I.
“That have we,” cried the woman, fumbling in the heap, “but ’tis more than you will pay.”
“How much?” I remanded.