We ran into bad weather in the Caribbean and were forced, after all, to put in at Kingston, leaking badly. The ship was so opened up, in fact, that she had to be recalked and have a few new planks, which necessitated putting her in dry dock. The port regulations stipulated that when a ship went in dry dock a general cargo could be left in her, at the option and risk of the owner, but that all explosives and munitions of war must be taken out and stored in the government arsenal, or in some place selected by the commandant. There was nothing for it but to take out our cargo, and five days were consumed in loading and repairing the ship. I had the work hurried with all possible speed, for the mail ship from England was due in nine days after our arrival and I was fearful that she would bring an order for our detention, which, as a matter of fact, she did, as I learned years afterward. When the repairs were completed the governor of the island refused to allow us to reload our cargo, as he had an intimation that the ship was not what she pretended to be. This hint, it developed later, came from Jimmy Donovan, a “sea lawyer” whom I had shipped at the last minute in the hurry of getting away from London. He made what is known on the sea as a “pier-head jump.” On the fourth day I prevailed on the governor to allow us to take on our cargo, but he insisted that the ship must be held, with both anchors down, until further orders. I decided that we would go out that night and so informed Lorensen, the sailing master. Knowing me even as well as he did he laughed incredulously, thinking I was joking, for the channel through the harbor was shaped like the letter “S” and commanded by a fort which could, as he said, blow us out of the water without half trying. “Just the same,” I said, “we are going to sea or to hell to-night.” “All right, Captain, but it will be to hell, if I am any judge,” was the quiet reply of the game Lorensen, than whom a braver or better seaman never walked a deck. During the evening he greased all of the blocks so we could start on our problematical journey without any noise. The moon went down at midnight and before it was out of sight we had one anchor up, with a muffled capstan. We were getting up the other when the harbor policeman came along. A few Bank of England notes blinded him and we got under way, with two of the ship’s boats towing us and the tide helping us along. Evidently the fort had orders to look out for us but we caught them napping, apparently, for we were almost past it when we were hailed and ordered to stop. In a minute, without giving us a decent chance to heave to, even had we been so inclined, they whanged away at us. The second shot went clear through us, just below the waterway, and Lorensen, who was with me at the wheel, exclaimed grimly, “Here we go, Captain.”