They procured some canvas for a sail, which,
to stop a dispute that arose on the subject,
Winterfield himself undertook to carry out; but
he had not gone two furlongs before he
perceived the same spy who had seized him before,
following him at a quick pace. His presence of
mind did not desert him. Observing an Englishman
washing clothes by the sea, he proceeded
to him, and appeared to ask his assistance in
washing the canvas. The spy came and stood
upon the rock just above their heads; but they
continued unconcernedly washing the canvas,
and even spread it out on the rock to dry. The
spy at length took himself off, but Winterfield
deemed it necessary to carry back the canvas
into the city, and reported his failure to his
confederates. They comforted and encouraged one
another, and entered into a council as to where
and how they should meet and put their boat
together, and finally put to sea. They agreed
to meet on a certain night at eleven o'clock,
in a valley surrounded by hedges, about half
a mile from the sea; and dispersed different
ways, to prevent suspicion, till the time
appointed.

All this while, Winterfield kept up his
shop, paid his patron his wonted visits, kept
fair correspondence with him, and duly paid
his demands; but at the same time privately
turned his goods into ready money as fast
as possible, or carried them off. He stowed
all in a large trunk, which he committed to
the fidelity of Mr. Newton, who honourably
delivered it to the owner on his return to
Scotland.

As soon as they were all met together at the
appointed place, their first operation was to saw
down a small fig-tree, to strengthen the keel of
their boat. Two of the number had to ascend the
hill for this purpose; but they had scarcely got to
the place when they heard the barking of dogs
on the hill. Two men with dogs came very
near them; but they lay close, and remained
undiscovered. The scattered limbs of the boat
were at last brought into one place (though not
without several narrow escapes), and the whole
party set to work. So near were they to
persons in the neighbouring gardens, that they
could hear them speak; they therefore acted by
signs, and "pointed, pulled, and nodded," but
were all mutes.

The two parts of the keel were soon joined,
the ribs riveted, opened to their full length, and
fastened to the top of the keel with rope yarn
and small cords; then, small canes were bound
all along the ribs lengthwise, both to keep them
from wearing, and to bear out the canvas; they
then made notches at the end of the ribs, in
which the oars were to ply; then tied down the
seats and strengthened the keel with the
fig-tree, and, lastly, drew on the double tarpaulin
canvas case. "Truly," says the captain, " the
canvas seemed a winding-sheet for our boat,
and our boat a coffin for us all." Four of the
people took the boat on their shoulders and
carried it down to the sea, which was half a
mile off.

When they came to the sea they stripped
themselves, laid their clothes in the boat, and
carried it and them as far into the sea as they
could wade. This was in precaution against
stones or rocks, which might easily have torn a
boat of so slender a construction. They then
all got into her, but quickly discovered that
they had miscalculated the tonnage. Their
vessel began to sink. One of the company
volunteered to quit the enterprise; but still
they were so deeply laden that there was no
venturing out to sea. At length another went
ashore, and then the boat held up her head
bravely. Taking a solemn farewell of their
two companions, the remaining six launched
out, upon the 30th of June, 1782, with the
following bill of lading: John Anthony, William
Adams, John Jephs, John Wilson, William
Oakley, and the captain, Winterfield.

They were now at sea without helm or pilot:
without anchor, tackle, or compass. The water
very soon began to soak through their canvas,
and it became one man's constant work to
bale it out. They laboured hard all night,
but at daybreak were still within sight of the
ships and galleys of Algiers. They tugged at
the oar like galley-slaves, and no pursuit seems
to have been attempted. They soon began to
find their want of forethought in one particular.
Their bread was saturated with salt water
and spoiled; and their water became nauseous,
"But so long as bread was bread," they
complained not. With good husbandry it lasted
for three days; then both bread and water were
gone, and famine stared them in the face. The
wind was also dead against them, and they were
compelled to labour without intermission for a
very trifling advance. A third great evil was
the insupportable heat to which they were
exposed without shelter. The climate and season
were alike raging hot; and when the man who
emptied the boat of water threw it upon his
comrades, hoping to relieve them, their bodies
rose in blisters all over. By day, they steered by
a pocket-dial, which answered the purpose of a
compass; by night, when the stars appeared,
they steered by them; and when the stars
disappeared, they guessed their way by the motion
of the clouds.

In this plight they continued four days and
nights. On the fifth day, they were in despair,
and ceased to labour. All they did was to bale
the water out of the boat. In this state, as
they lay " pulling up and down at the dead ebb
of hope," they discovered a turtle not far from
them, asleep upon the sea. " We silently rowed
to our prey, took it into the boat with great
triumph, cut off her head, and let her bleed into
a pot; we drank the blood, eat the liver, and
sucked the flesh." Supplied with fresh strength,
they rowed so heartily that about noon they
thought they discovered land, and after some
hours of exertion became satisfied of the fact.
In the exuberance of their joy, they all leaped
into the sea, despite the numerous sharks,
and, after a delicious bath, lay down to sleep.
Their progress was so slow, with all their labour,