John Carne, a native of Penryn, had been captured on one of the Falmouth Packets. He lay in prison for fifteen months; until one night he found an opportunity of climbing the prison wall. The wall was forty feet high; but Carne took the chance and leapt down. He fell upon his head and shoulders, broke his collar bone, and bruised himself very severely; but fortunately he was still able to walk, and, injured as he was, got clear away from pursuit. Travelling always by night, through bye roads and over hedges, half-crippled with his broken bone which remained unset, he lay by day concealed under bridges, or among reeds in river beds; and so, toiling on doggedly, he reached the coast at last, and in some way managed to cross to his own country. Bourrienne in his memoirs tells on good authority a still more extraordinary story. Two English sailors in the year 1804 made good their escape from Verdun, and arrived at Boulogne without having been discovered, though all the roads were watched with great care. When these men reached the sea-coast, whence England was in sight, they were still as far from liberty as at Verdun. Napoleon was at Boulogne, supervising the collection of the flotilla which was to convey his armies into England. Every craft for miles along the coast was registered and watched. The two seamen had no money, and lay in hiding, desperate and almost hopeless. At last they determined to construct a boat, and began gathering such scraps of wood as they could find. They had no tools except their knives, but with these the ingenious fellows fashioned a boat at last, though it was no more than three or four feet wide, and a trifle more in length. They covered it with a piece of sailcloth. It was so light that a man could easily carry it on his shoulders; and in this frail cock-boat they determined to cross the channel. An English frigate one day lay off the coast, reconnoitring, and the two sailors made a bold effort to reach her. They pushed off in their skiff, but not unobserved; for they had made only a few hundred yards when they were pursued and brought back by the Custom-house officers. They then ran an excellent chance of being shot as spies, but their story reached Napoleon’s ears. He sent for them, and questioned them. Their boat was brought with them. “Is it really true,” he asked, “that you thought of crossing the sea in this thing?” “Sire!” they answered, “if you doubt it, give us leave to go, and you shall see us depart.” Napoleon could not but admire their audacity, and, acting on a generous impulse, gave the men their liberty, and caused them to be placed on board an English ship. The incident was never forgotten by him; and even in his last days at St. Helena he referred to it with admiration.