When the rush was at its height a sailor disguised in the sooty garb of a smith emerged from behind a stack of timber, piled near the main entrance, and joining a party of workmen, who evidently recognized him, was forced on with them towards the gate, the man walking as unconcernedly as any ordinary labourer. As they neared the detectives the attention of the latter was suddenly distracted by the noise of a passing circus procession, and for a moment the officials were off their guard. "Keep your face this way, mate, and look careless at the peelers," whispered one of the party to the deserter, and the man so warned did as he was directed, although he scarcely breathed as he brushed by them, the very buttons on their uniforms seeming to spy him out, and to raise a fear in his breast that he would find a hand rudely laid upon his collar, and hear the words, "You're a prisoner?" However, they did not even look at him, and in another moment he found himself free. The deserter was an able seaman named Tom Clare, a sober, excellent sailor, and the devoted husband of a worthy girl to whom he had been but a few weeks united. Tom had not long before arrived home from the China Station in H. M. S. Porpoise, and finding some property bequeathed to him, had applied to the Admiralty for his discharge, but his application was refused; and although he offered to provide one or more substitutes, his petition was returned to him, with orders to proceed at once to the ship to which he had been drafted, under penalty of being arrested as a deserter. Tom found, to his sorrow, there was no alternative. If he stayed, the authorities would at once arrest him, as they were notified of his whereabouts. He knew England had just entered upon a tremendous struggle with Russia; so, hoping it would soon be over, and the demand for seamen decrease, he determined to face his misery, and proceed to Woolwich to join the Stinger, that ship being rapidly fitted out for foreign service. As it was customary to allow the men leave to go on shore at least twice a week, Clare was accompanied to the port by his wife, his only request being that she should never attempt to visit him on board his ship, to which she reluctantly agreed, but thought it very hard that her husband should make such a stipulation. Leaving her in respectable lodgings, he walked down to the docks, was directed to his ship, and in a few moments found himself before the first lieutenant. This officer, by name Howard Crushe, was a tall cadaverous-looking man, with a face upon which meanness and cruelty were plainly depicted. Clare knew him at once, Crushe having been the second lieutenant of his last ship, and as such having twice endeavoured to get him flogged. "Come on board to jine, if you please, sir," said the seaman. "Oh! that's you, Mr. Clare, is it?" sneered this ornament of the navy.