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So on Mousehole Quay these three stepped ashore, and the first man to shake hands with them was Capen Josiah Penny, of the Perseverance trading ketch, then lying snug in Mousehole Harbour. Being a hearty man he invited them down to his cabin to take a drop of rum. The Penzance fellow, having only a short way to trudge, said “No, thank’ee,” and started for home with a small crowd after him. But Bosistow and Cornish agreed ‘twould be more neighbourly to accept, and, to tell the truth, they didn’t quite know how to behave with so many eyes upon them. Cornish had on a soldier’s red jacket with white facings, and a pair of blue trousers out at the knees, while Bosistow’s trousers were of white cloth, and he carried a japanned knapsack at the back of his red shirt: and with a white-painted straw hat apiece, you may guess they felt themselves looking like two figures of fun.

So down they went to the Perseverance’s cabin, and Capen Penny mixed them a stiff glass of rum and called them fine fellows, and mixed them two more glasses while they talked; and when the time came to say “so long,” Billy was quite sure he didn’t care for appearances one snap of his fingers.

They linked arms on the quay, where they found a crowd waiting for them, and many with questions to ask about absent friends, so that from Mousehole to Penzance it was a regular procession. And then they had to go to the hotel and tell the whole story over again, and answer a thousand and one questions about Penzance boys imprisoned at Jivvy. And all this meant more rum, of course.

It was seven in the evening, and day closing in, before they took the road again. Billy had fallen into a boastful mood, and felt his heart so warm towards Cornish that nothing would do but they must tramp it together so far as Nancledrea, which was a goodish bit out of Cornish’s road to Ludgvan. By the time they reached Nancledrea Billy was shedding tears and begging Cornish to come along to Ardevora. “I’ll make a man of ‘ee there,” he promised: “I will sure ‘nough!” But Cornish weighed the offer, and decided that his mother at Ludgvan would be going to bed before long. So coming to a house with red blinds and lights within they determined to have a drink before parting.

In the tap-room they found a dozen fellows or so drinking their beer and smoking solemn, and an upstanding woman in a black gown attending on them. “Hullo!” says one of the men looking up, “What’s this? Geezy-dancers?” [3]

“I’ll soon tell ‘ee about Geezy-dancers,” says Billy. “Here, Missus–a pot of ale all round, and let ’em drink to two Cornish boys home from festerin’ in French war prisons, while they’ve a’been diggin’ taties!”

There was no resisting a sociable offer like this, and in two two’s, as you might say, Billy was boasting ahead for all he was worth, and the company with their mouths open–all but the landlady, who was opening her eyes instead, and wider and wider.

“There isn’ none present that remembers me, I dare say. My name’s Bosistow–Billy Bosistow–from Ardevora parish. And back there I’m going this very night, and why? you ask. I ben’t one of your taty-diggin’ slowheads–I ben’t. I’ve broke out of prison three times, and now–” He nodded at the company, whose faces by this time he couldn’t very well pick out of a heap–“do any of ‘ee know a maid there called Selina Johns? Because if so I warn ‘ee of her. ‘Why?’ says you. Because that’s the maid I’m goin’ to marry, and I’m off to Ardevora to do it straight. Another pot of beer, please, missus.”