There were six seamen in the room, lately discharged from different merchantmen. The house was at the end of a dirty, narrow court, all the inhabitants of which were of the lowest description. As we were sitting smoking, a tap was heard at the door. Old Growler went to it. Several questions were asked by a person outside. He came back in a hurry, and beckoned to his wife to come and answer them. "There are some man-of-war's men outside," said he. "They say that they are come to look for a deserter. They'll soon make my missus open the door, so you've no time to lose, my lads. Be quick, then; through the door, and stowaway in the coal-shed." The house had a back-door, or it would not have been fit for old Growler's purposes; and the door opened into what they called a garden, but it was a bit of dirty barren ground, strewn with broken bricks and crockery, and bits of rotten wood, with some tumble-down sheds on either side of it. In one of these he proposed we should hide. As we opened the door, however, to rush out, we found ourselves confronted by a dozen stout seamen; and before we could make the slightest resistance, we were all of us bound hand and foot. The front-door being opened, an officer and several men entered through it, and a large party of us assembled in Mrs Growler's kitchen. The lieutenant and midshipman who commanded the press-gang took very coolly the abuse which our worthy host and hostess so liberally bestowed on them. We were allowed to go, two and two at a time, under escort, to collect our traps, and then marched down to a couple of boats waiting for us at the quay. In a short time we were put on board a cutter, with a number of other men who had been picked up in a similar way. There was a good deal of grumbling, and some of the men seemed to have been very hardly dealt with; but I cannot say that my change of lot made me particularly unhappy. Another night's foray on shore considerably increased our numbers; besides which several volunteers, mostly landsmen, were obtained, and the cutter then sailed to discharge her passengers into the ships most requiring men. I and several others found ourselves going up the side of His Majesty's ship _Glutton_, of 50 guns, commanded by Captain Henry Trollope. As I stood on the deck looking about me, previous to being summoned aft, I saw on the other side the tall figure of a man whose back was turned towards me. My heart beat with surprise and joy, for I felt almost sure he must be Peter Poplar. He shortly turned his head. I was right. He was no other than my old friend. I sprung over to him, and warmly grasped his hand. He started when he saw me, stared at me with astonishment, and for a minute could not speak. "Is it really you, Jack?" he at length exclaimed. "Why, lad, I thought you were dead. I was told that you had been lost overboard from the _Juno_."