Rattenbury now remained at home for four years, and was employed in piloting and victualling ships. One day, while at Bridport, he was taken by the press-gang. He managed, however, to escape, and was pursued by the lieutenant and nine men of the _Greyhound_. During the chase his wife appeared on the scene, and seized the lieutenant round the neck. A scuffle ensued, in which the townspeople joined, and Rattenbury was able to get clear away. After this adventure he went to live at Beer, and made many trips in smuggling with varied success; but the lieutenant of the _Greyhound_ was his most persistent enemy, and was determined to capture him. On one occasion, at Weymouth, hearing that the lieutenant was on his track, he took refuge in a public-house, the landlord of which was a friend of his. The lieutenant having received information as to his hiding-place proceeded to the spot, and at two o’clock in the morning roused up the house, threatening to fire at the landlord through the window and force an entrance if he did not immediately come down and open the door. On the alarm being given, Rattenbury concealed himself in the chimney, and remained there for about an hour, while the premises were being searched. On the departure of the lieutenant he came out of the chimney in a parlous condition, black with soot and much bruised, but, as he says, “triumphing over the sense of pain itself, in the exultation which he experienced at having once more escaped out of the clutches of this keen-eyed Lieutenant and indefatigable picaroon.” Becoming sick of being constantly hunted, he determined to take to privateering again, and shipped accordingly on board the _Unity_, a cutter then fitting out at Weymouth, commanded by Captain Head. About February, 1805, they proceeded to sea, touching at Alderney to take in provisions and spirits, and steered a course for Madeira, Teneriffe, etc., in the hope of falling in with prizes; but they met with no success, and returned to Beer in August of the same year. In consequence of his continued want of success in privateering, he determined never again to engage in it, “a resolution,” he says, “which I have ever since kept, and of which I have never repented.” Rattenbury now settled down ostensibly to a life of fishing, but actually of smuggling, in which he met with many adventures and every variety of fortune. He had not been long at this employment when he was captured by the _Roebuck_ while off Christchurch, in Hampshire; but during the chase one of the man-of-war’s men, named Slaughter, had his arm blown off in the act of firing one of the guns. The captain was anxious to land the wounded man, and ordered a boat alongside to take him ashore, into which Rattenbury smuggled himself, and on reaching shore got clear off. That same evening he borrowed a boat and rescued his companions from the _Roebuck_, together with three kegs of gin, part of his contraband cargo which had been seized.