No sooner does Israel see his companions housed, than putting speed into his feet, and letting grow all his wings, he starts like a deer.

He runs four miles (so he afterwards affirmed) without halting.

He sped towards London; wisely deeming that once in that crowd detection would be impossible.
Ten miles, as he computed, from where he had left the bargemen, leisurely passing a public house of a little village on the roadside, thinking himself now pretty safe--hark, what is this he hears ?-- "Ahoy!" "No ship," says Israel, hurrying on.
"Stop." "If you will attend to your business, I will endeavor to attend to mine," replies Israel coolly.

And next minute he lets grow his wings again; flying, one dare say, at the rate of something less than thirty miles an hour.
"Stop thief!" is now the cry.

Numbers rushed from the roadside houses.
After a mile's chase, the poor panting deer is caught.
Finding it was no use now to prevaricate, Israel boldly confesses himself a prisoner-of-war.