This was on
Saturday, Saturday night--that dreadful time when we were all so gay.
They held a pair of pistols at poor Dan's head, or at least a man was
holding one to each of his ears, and they corded his arms, because he
ventured to remonstrate. That was before they had even started, so you
may suppose what they would have done to us. Poor Daniel made up his
mind to die, and it would have eased his mind, he says now, if he had
done so. But while they were waiting for the signal, which through dear
father's vigilance they never did receive, Dan managed to free both
his hands in the dark, and as soon as he saw the men getting sleepy,
he knocked them both down, and jumped overboard; for he can swim like a
fish, or even better. He had very little hopes of escaping, as he says,
and the French fired fifty shots after him. With great presence of mind,
he gave a dreadful scream, as if he was shot through the head at least,
then he flung up his legs, as if he was gone down; but he swam under
water for perhaps a hundred yards, and luckily the moon went behind
a black cloud. Then he came to a boat, which had broken adrift, and
although he did not dare to climb into her, he held on by her, on the
further side from them. She was drifting away with the tide, and at last
he ventured to get on board of her, and found a pair of oars, and was
picked up at daylight by a smuggling boat running for Newhaven. He was
landed last night, and he heard the dreadful news, and having plenty
of money, he hired a post-chaise, and never stopped until he reached
Springhaven.
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