How heavily the moments passed that night! That "_fair young man_," as Governor Dummer calls him, in the _lettres de cachet_--too young, it may seem, at twenty-two, to commence a pilgrimage, like Cain's--how sublimated his misery must have been! What sacrifice would he not have made, to break the dead man's slumber! There he lay; as yet unfound, stark, and stiff, and with eyes unclosed-- "Cut off, ev'n in the blossoms of my sin, Unhousel'd, unanointed, unanneal'd." Bootless sorrow! He had made his bloody bed--and therein must he lie o'nights, and in no other. There were no hops in that pillow, for his burning brain. The undying memory of a murdered victim--what an everlasting agrypnic it must be! Time, to this wretched boy, seemed very like eternity, that night--but the sound of the splashing oar was audible at last--the boat touched the wharf--for the last time he shook the hand of his friend, Peter Faneuil, and left the land of his birth, which he was destined never to revisit. The boat was turned from the shore, and the rowers gave way. But so intense was the fog, that night, that they got on shore, at Dorchester Neck; and, not until long after midnight, reached the Sheerness, man of war. They were received on board. Captain Conrad and Lieutenant Pritchard were very naturally disposed to sympathize with "_a fair young man_," in a predicament, like this--it was all in their line. Gillam, the elder brother, related the occurrence; and, before day, parted from Henry, whom he was destined to meet no more. Early, on the following morning, the events of the preceding night had been whispered, from man to man; for the pleasure of being among the earliest, to communicate the intelligence of a bloody murder, was precisely the same, in 1728, as it is, at the present day. Mrs. Winslow, the lady of the Captain of the Molly, had learned all the details, doubtless, before the morning watch. The surgeons, who dressed the wounds of Henry Phillips, for he also was wounded, felt themselves under no obligation to be silent. The sailors of the Molly, who had overheard the conversation of several of the party, were under no injunction of secrecy. Indeed, long before the dawn of the fourth of July--not then the glorious Fourth--the intelligence had spread, far and wide; and parties were scouring the Common, in quest of the murdered man. At an early hour, Governor Dummer's proclamation was in the hands of some trusty compositor, in the office of Samuel Kneeland, in Queen Street; and soon the handbills were upon all the town pumps, and chief corners, according to the usage of those days.