On the fall of the fortress it was "slighted" by order of Old Noll himself, and the keep and walls were blown up with powder. So strong was the construction of the masonry that the work of destruction was only partially done, though the keep was riven from base to summit, and several of the smaller towers were thrown bodily out of plumb. This much I had heard from report, and now, in spite of my cramped position, and faintness from want of food, I could not help looking with interest on the shattered walls, which still showed the black marks of the powder, though now, after a lapse of twenty years, their barrenness was beginning to be hidden by a kindly garb of ivy. The fear of sorcery and witchcraft was firmly fixed in the minds of the Dorset peasantry, and in consequence few would venture amid the grim ruins by day, still less by night, so the smugglers’ hiding place was practically free from interruption. The cart came to a sudden stop in an archway under the keep, and, with a hurried warning: "Look alive; the sun’s nearly up", the men proceeded to unfasten the tarpaulin. This was done, the canvas fell in a heap on the ground, and the men began to unload the straw. The time for action had arrived. With a bound I sprang from the cart, nearly overthrowing the astonished men, who yelled with terror, as if his Satanic Majesty had suddenly appeared. I did not stop to think in which direction I should run, but started off towards a gap in the walls. Passing through this, I found myself on a steep bank, at the bottom of which a white chalky road led towards a town some miles away, the towers of whose churches were plainly visible in the morning light, while away to the right was a large expanse of water which I guessed correctly was the harbour of Poole. Descending the steep, grassy mound at a breakneck pace, I gained the road and headed northwards, keeping the sun on my right hand. After running a quarter of a mile or so, and finding no signs of pursuit, I slackened my pace and walked, the effect of my prolonged fast being very evident. An hour later I was crossing a long causeway close to the town. Here I met a cowherd, who looked at me in astonishment, my clothes being in rags and covered with wisps of straw, while my face, blackened with dirt, was surmounted by a crop of ruffled hair that did duty for a hat. In answer to my question he told me that I was in Wareham, and a few minutes afterwards I was sitting in a bakery, eagerly devouring a half-loaf and a cup of milk that a kindly baker provided for me. Seeing that I was utterly exhausted, he allowed me to lie down in front of his oven, and, in spite of the hardness of my couch, I slept soundly till midday, when I was aroused by Greville Drake and some of the late crew of the _Gannet_, who were being entertained in the town till they could be conveyed to their homes.