“The privateer touched at Le Passage, in Spain, and there permitted the two Spaniards to go on shore. From thence the prisoners were conveyed to Bayonne, in France; and Mr. Judson again, to his surprise and indignation, found himself marched through the streets in company with the crew of the _Packet_. He had as yet acquired only a few words of French, and of these he made as much use as possible, to the infinite amusement of the passers-by. Finally it occurred to him that he was much more likely to meet some person, either a native or a foreigner, who understood English, than to make his broken French intelligible. Accordingly he commenced declaiming in the most violent manner possible against oppression in general, and this one act in particular. The guards threatened him by gestures, but did not proceed to violence; and of the passers-by, some regarded him a moment carelessly, others show little interest or curiosity, while many laughed outright at his seemingly senseless clamors. Finally a stranger accosted him in English, advising him to lower his voice. ‘With the greatest pleasure possible,’ he answered, ‘if I have at last succeeded in making myself heard. I was only clamoring for a listener.’ ‘You might have got one you would have been glad to dismiss, if you had continued much longer,’ was the reply. In a few hurried words Judson explained his situation, and, in words as few, learned that the gentleman was an American from Philadelphia, and received his promise of assistance. ‘But you had better go on your way quietly now,’ added his new friend. ‘O, I will be a perfect lamb, since I have gained my object.’
“The prison was a gloomy-looking, massive structure, and the apartment into which they were conveyed was underground, dark and dismal. In the centre was a sort of column, on which burned a solitary lamp, though without it was still broad day. Around the walls a quantity of straw had been spread, on which his companions soon made themselves at home; but Mr. Judson could not divest himself of the idea that the straw was probably not fresh, and busied his imagination with images of those who had last occupied it. The weather had seemed almost oppressively hot above-ground; but now he shivered with the chilling dampness of the place, while the confined air and mouldy smell rendered him sick and giddy. He paced up and down the cell, he could not tell how long, but it seemed many hours, wondering if his new friend would really come; and again, if he did not, whether he could keep upon his feet all night; and in case of failure, which part of the straw he should select as the least loathsome. And then his thoughts would wander off again to Plymouth, and to Bradford, and to the ‘biggest church in Boston,’ but not with the feeling that he had before. On the contrary, he wondered that he ever could have been discouraged. He knew that at most his imprisonment could not last long. If he only had a chair, or the meanest stool, that was all he would ask. But he could not hope to walk or stand long.
“While leaning against the column for a moment’s rest, the door of the cell opened, and he instantly recognized the American he had seen in the street. He suppressed a cry of joy, and seeing that the stranger did not look at him, though he stood close by the lamp, tried himself to affect indifference. The American making some remark in French, took up the lamp, and then adding (or perhaps translating) in English, ‘Let me see if I know any of these poor fellows,’ passed around the room, examining them carelessly. ‘No; no friend of mine,’ said he, replacing the lamp, and swinging his great military cloak around Mr. Judson, whose slight figure was almost lost in its ample folds. Comprehending the plan, Mr. Judson drew himself into as small a compass as possible, thinking that he would make the best of the affair, though having little confidence in the clumsy artifice. His protector, too, seemed to have his doubts, for, as he passed out, he slid some money into the jailer’s hand, and again, at the gate, made another disbursement, and as soon as they were outside, released his protégé, with the expressive words, ‘Now run!’ Mr. Judson quite forgot his fatigue from walking in the cell, as he fleetly followed his tall conductor through the streets to the wharf, where he was placed on board an American merchantman for the night. The next evening his friend returned, informing him that his place of refuge had been only temporarily chosen, and as the papers necessary to his release could not be procured immediately, he would be much safer in the attic of a shipbuilder, who had kindly offered this place of concealment. Accordingly he removed to the attic, from which, after a few days, he was released on parole.