ched a cottage in which there was a
whiteheaded old fellow, a girl, and two young men. I told them that I
had been pressed and ill-treated, and was trying to make my escape from
the cruelty of the English. The young men said at once that they would
protect me, and would answer that I should not be retaken. The old man
warned them that they were playing a dangerous game, and said that he
would have nothing to do with the business, advising them to take me
back to the boat. The girl, however, pleaded for me, and observed that
now I had run, my punishment would be ten times greater, and that it
would be cruel and inhospitable to refuse me shelter. She prevailed on
her old grandfather. That evening the young men took me down aboard a
little `hooker,' which they said was just going to sail for Liverpool,
and that if I liked I could go in her. Her cargo, they said, was timber
and fruit, but turned out to be faggots and potatoes. I knew that at
Liverpool there was no chance of being discovered, and I at once agreed.
We reached the Mersey in a couple of days. As ill-luck would have it,
I landed close to where the `Emu' was getting ready for sea. Knowing
that I could not venture to return home, I went on board and asked if a
boy was wanted. The first mate at once said yes, as one of the
apprentices had cut and run and could not be found. I thought I was in
good luck, but we hadn't been to sea many days before I found that I had
fallen out of the frying-pan into the fire. The other apprentice, poor
Jack Drage, told me that he had been kicked and cuffed from the first
moment that he had stepped on board, and that if he had had any friends
on shore, he'd have taken French leave as the other had done. Things
had grown worse instead of better, and he was already weary of his life.
I advised him not to give in; that in time things must mend; but he was
a poor-hearted fellow and only wrung his hands and cried, declaring that
he was utterly miserable. I did my best to keep up his spirits, but it
was all of no use. One night during a gale we had soon after sailing,
he disappeared. Whether he had thrown himself overboard into the sea,
or been knocked overboard no one could tell. Of course it was entered
in the log that he had been knocked overboard. In my opinion he
sacrificed his life rather than endure his miseries. I told the first
mate so, and he knocked me down. The next time he called me a sulky
rascal, but I answ