disturbed, and if we could not effect the removal of the stones in one night, there would be no fear of discovery during the next day, as we were seldom molested by any of the gaolers.  We could walk about the prison just as we liked and mix with the other prisoners, whether felons or debtors.  In fact your Liverpool Tower contains a large family party.  We worked all night at the wall, and just before daybreak contrived to remove a large stone and soon succeeded in displacing another, but light having at length broken, we gathered up all the mortar and rubbish we had made, stuffing some of it into our beds, and covering the rest with them in the best way we could.  To aid us in preventing the gaoler discovering what we had been about, one of our party remained in bed when the doors were unlocked, and we curtained the window grating with a blanket, stating that our compatriote was very ill and that he could not bear the light.  We had no dread of a doctor coming to visit him, for unless special application was made for medical attendance on the sick nobody seemed to care whether we lived or died.  The day passed over without any suspicions arising from our preparations.  The afternoon set in stormy, as the preceding evening had done, and in the course of the night of our escape we had a complete hurricane of rain and wind, which eventually greatly favoured us by clearing the streets of any stragglers who might be prowling about.  No sooner were we locked in at night than we recommenced our work at the wall, and were not long in making a hole sufficient to allow a man to creep through, which one of us did.  He reported himself to be in an open yard, that it was raining very heavily, and that the night was affreuse; we all then crept through.  We found

ourselves in a dark yard, with a house before us.  We obtained a light in a shed on one side of the yard, and then looked about.  We found a sort of cellar door by the side of a window.  We tried to open it: to our surprise it yielded.  Screening our light we proceeded into a passage, taking off our shoes and stockings first (some of us had none to take off, poor fellows!) so that we should make no noise.  The house was quite still; we scarcely dared to breathe.  We went forward and entered a kitchen in which were the remains of a supper.  We took possession of all that was eatable on the table.  It was wonderful that nobody heard us, for one of us let fall a knife after cutting up a piece of beef into pieces, so that each man might have a share.  Although there were people in the house no one heard us; truly you Englishmen sleep well!  Before us was a door—we opened it.  It was only a closet.  We next thought of the window, for we dared not climb up stairs to the principal entrance.  We tried the shutters which we easily took down and, fortunately without noise, opened the window, through which one of us crept to reconnoitre.  He was only absent about a minute or two, returning to tell us that not a soul was to be seen anywhere; that the wind was rushing up the main street from the sea, and that the rain was coming down in absolute torrents.  Just as the neighbouring church clock struck two we were assembled under an archway together.  We determined to disperse, and let every man take care of himself.  Bidding my friends good bye I struck out into the street.  At first I thought of going to the river, but suddenly decided to go inland.  I therefore went straight on, passed the Exchange, and down a narrow street facing it (Dale-street) in which I knew mademoiselle dwelt.  I thought of her, but had no hope of seeing her as I did not know the house wherein she resided.  I

pushed on, therefore, until I came to the foot of a hill; I thought I would turn to the left, but shutting my eyes with superstitious feelings I left myself to fate, and determined to go forward with my eyes closed until I had by chance selected one of the four cross roads [Old Haymarket, Townsend-lane (now Byrom-street), Dale-street, and Shaw’s-brow] which presented themselves for my choice.

“I soon found I was ascending a hill, and on opening my eyes I discovered that I was pursuing my route in an easterly direction.  I passed up a narrow street with low dirty-looking houses on each side, and from the broken mugs and earthenware my feet encountered in the darkness, I felt sure I was passing through the outskirts of Liverpool—famous for its earthenware manufactures.  During all this time I had not seen a living thing; in fact it was scarcely possible for anything to withstand the storm that raged so vehemently.  In this, however, rested my safety.  I sped on, and soon mounting the hill paused by the side of a large windmill (Townsend mill) which stood at the top of London-road.  Having gained breath, I pushed forward, taking the road to the right hand which ran before me (then called the road to Prescot).  I began now to breathe freely and feel some hope in my endeavour to escape.  My limbs, which, from long confinement in prison, were stiff at first, now felt elastic and nimble and I pushed on at a quick pace, the wind blowing at my back the whole time; still onward I went until I got into a country lane and had another steep hill to mount.  The roads were very heavy.  The sidewalk was badly kept, and the rain made it ankle-deep with mud.  On surmounting the hill, which I afterwards learned was called Edge-hill, I still kept on to the right hand road, which was lined on both sides

with high trees.  I at length arrived at a little village (Wavertree) as a clock was striking three; still not a soul was visible.  I might have been passing through a world of the dead.  After traversing this village I saw, on my left hand, a large pond, at which I drew some water in my cap.  I was completely parched with my unusual exertions.  Resting under a large tree which proved some shelter, I ate up the bread and meat I had procured from the kitchen of the house through which we had escaped.  Having rested about half-an-hour I again started forward.  I now began to turn over in my mind what I should do.  I felt that if I could get to Ireland I could find friends who would assist me.  I knew a French priest in Dublin on whom I could rely for some aid.  I at length hit upon a course of action which I determined to pursue.  Through narrow lanes I went, still keeping to the right, and after walking for more than an hour I found myself in a quaint little village (Hale) in which there was a church then building.  The houses were constructed principally of timber, lath, and plaster and were apparently of great antiquity.  Onward still I went, the rain beating down heavily and the wind blowing.  In about a quarter of an hour I gained a sight of the river or the sea, I know not which, but I still continued my road until I came up to a little cottage, the door of which opened just as I was passing it.  An old woman came out and began to take down the shutters.  Now, as I came along the road I had made up my mind to personate a deaf and dumb person, which would preclude the necessity of my speaking.  I felt I could do this well and successfully.  I determined to try the experiment upon this old lady.  I walked quietly up to her, took the shutters out of her hands and laid them in their proper places.  I then took a broom and began sweeping away the water

which had accumulated in front of her cottage, and seeing a kettle inside the door, I walked gravely into the house, took it, and filled it at a pump close by.  The old woman was dumb-struck.  Not a word did she say, but stood looking on with mute amazement, which was still more intensely exhibited when I went to the fire-place,