In ship and prison

by William P. Chipman

At length the light through the doorway grew so faint as to be scarcely perceptible, and I crawled out of my hole, and went over to the entrance. First gently, and then more vigorously I tried to open the door. My efforts were useless, however, for it was fastened on the outside. So I retraced my steps to the place where I had entered, rolled the cask away from the door, and opened it. Stepping through into the next room, I turned to close the entrance after me, when a voice startled me.

“So you were there after all, my young bantam,” it exclaimed. “Tim Waters thought so. You didn’t fool him, if you did the others; and it has been worth while to wait for you too, for now the five pounds offered for your capture is mine.”

A glance showed me that the speaker was a burly fellow, evidently the porter of the warehouse. Doubtless he had known that the door between the apartments of the building was not fastened, and finding it secured, had quickly divined that I was within. So, stimulated by the reward offered for my apprehension, he had patiently awaited my coming.

Scarcely had I surmised this fact when he sprang forward to seize me. But quick as he was, I was quicker, and, eluding his grasp, dodged by him. So confident was he that he was going to grab me, he had put his whole force into his forward spring, and now, missing me, he also lost his balance, and plunged headlong against the door. Startled by his call, I had but partly closed it, and, swinging back as he came against it, he was precipitated into the other room. The cask which I had used as a barricade was only a few feet away, and striking upon this with his head and shoulders on one side and his legs and feet upon the other, he set it to rolling. I could scarcely refrain from a shout of laughter as I saw him struggling to regain his feet, and by his very efforts sending his unwieldy steed farther and farther down the room. Not until the barrel fetched up against the pile of cotton bales did it stop, and even then it was a moment or two before he could regain an upright position. I only waited long enough to notice he was not seriously injured, and then shutting the door, I fastened it on my side by passing a piece of a box cover through the door handle.

In another minute I was in the open air, and finding the way clear, I hastened through the fast falling darkness to the street. Keeping in the shadows as much as possible, I went down the river bank to a point nearly opposite the first American vessel. Here I undertook to reach the end of an adjacent wharf, hoping there to find a boat in which I could visit the brig. But I had hardly got a dozen feet down the planking before a watchman confronted me, saying gruffly as he tried to look me over in the darkness:

“Who are you? What do you want here? Are you that rebel midshipman I have been told to look out for? Faith, I believe you are!” and he seized me by the collar before I could do a thing to prevent him.

Then began a struggle which lasted for some minutes. We were about equally matched in strength, but he had me at a disadvantage and I am quite sure would have at length mastered me but for an accident. Coming to a place where the flooring suddenly raised itself a few inches, he stumbled and fell full length upon his back. I was pulled down upon him, but he lost his hold upon me, and before he could recover it, I regained my feet and was away.

I had no trouble in eluding him, or those he aroused by his cries, but as I made off under the friendly cover of the night I must confess my heart was filled with apprehension. It was very evident that the whole water front had been guarded against every attempt on my part to board a ship from the colonies. The offer of a reward for my arrest had, moreover, put all the watchmen on the alert. If I escaped, therefore, two things were clear: I must change my naval garb for one less conspicuous, and I must make off across the country to some other port. Having come to this conclusion, I left the river, and started towards the rear end of the town. After going a mile or more the lights of a second-hand clothing shop attracted me. Crossing the street, I glanced in at the window. The store was evidently kept by an old Jew who was alone, and I ventured in.

“Have you a second-hand rig you would exchange for this I have on?” I briefly asked.

He glanced curiously at me, and then with a shrewd look in his eyes remarked: