ther side of the hedge over which he had leaped.

"Good-bye and good luck!" cried the kind-hearted servant as he closed
the private gate which led to the waterside. And, with a wave of the
hand, the fleeing American was soon hastening to the winding river,
over which he must cross in order to get on to Plymouth.

Luck was still with him. A butcher who was ferrying some beeves by
water, took him in his boat, and, as night fell, the keen-witted
privateersman crept through the back door of the old clergyman's house
at Plymouth--from which he had started. For the time being, he was
safe.

Strange to relate, the two friends of the fishing-smack adventure here
joined him once more, for they, also, had run away from the crew of
the privateer, and--as they sat around the supper-table--the
town-crier went by the house, bawling in harsh and discordant tones:

"Five guineas reward for the capture of Joshua Barney; a rebel
deserter from Mill Prison! Five guineas reward for this deserter! Five
guineas! Five guineas!"

But Barney stuffed his napkin into his mouth in order to stop his
laughter.

Three days later a clean-shaven, bright-cheeked, young dandy stepped
into a post chaise, at midnight, and drove off to Exeter. At Plymouth
gate the conveyance was stopped; a lantern was thrust into the black
interior; and the keen eyes of the guard scanned the visages of those
within:

"He's not here," growled the watchman, lowering the light. "Drive on!"

Thus Joshua Barney rolled on to home and freedom, while the
stout-bodied soldier little guessed that the artful privateersman had
slipped through his fingers like water through a sieve.

Two months later--in the autumn of 1781--Joshua Barney: fighter,
privateer, liar and fugitive, walked down the quiet streets of
Beverly, Massachusetts, and a little fish-monger's son whispered to
his companions,

"Say, Boys! That feller is a Jim Dandy. He's been through more'n we'll
ever see. Say! He's a regular Scorcher!"

* * * * *

Many months later--when the Revolutionary War had ended--the good ship
_General Washington_ lay in Plymouth Harbor on the south coast of
England. Her commander--Captain Joshua Barney--gazed contentedly at
the Stars and Stripes as they flew jauntily from the mizzen-mast, and
then walked to the rail, as a group of British officers came over the
side. But there was one among these guests who was not an officer. He
was bent, old, weath