My first anxiety, however, was to put the city behind me, and with this end in view, upon leaving the shop I struck off uptown at a brisk rate. An hour later, in the outskirts, I stopped at an inn long enough to get supper, and then resumed my tramp. All night long I kept it up, but as dawn came on, finding myself near a small village, which I afterwards learned to be Watford, I entered and made my way to its one tavern. There I secured a room, to which I at once retired for a much needed rest. Some hours later I was awakened by the inn-keeper, whom I found sitting down on the side of my bed gazing long and fixedly at me.
“There is a squad of soldiers down stairs who are looking for a lad about your size and build, I should judge.”
Though greatly alarmed by the tidings, there was something in the man’s gaze which reassured me, and I waited for him to go on:
“They say he is a young rebel from the colonies, who has cursed the King.”
Still I was silent.
“Tell me all about it,” he continued. “You have a friend in me.”
The man’s dealing with me proved that, so I frankly told my story.
“If that is all, I will protect you,” he declared. “I have a brother over there, and my sympathies are with the colonies. I hope they will win,” and he abruptly left the room.
Listening at the door, I heard him descend the stairs, and say to the officer in charge of the troopers:
“I have no one here dressed as you say that young rebel was; but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If he comes this way, I’ll take care of him,” a promise he literally kept. For he not only boarded me a week, long enough, as he believed, to end all search for me, but on my departure put money enough into my hands to pay my fare by stage to Liverpool, where he advised me to go.