He was taken, so the account ran, by his rescuers, on the barque Hannah, to London, where he lived for five years.  His lodgings were in Cheapside, and it was there that he compiled his work on Atlantis, having obtained his subject matter from the Atlantean books he had managed to bring with him, and which, after an enormous amount of perseverance and labour, he had translated into English.  Though these books were subsequently destroyed in a big fire that demolished the entire street, luckily for him, he had sent his Ms. to the publishers, Messrs. Bettesworth and Batley, a week or so before the conflagration broke out; so that he was, at any rate, spared the loss of his own arduous and invaluable work.

The publishers did not accept the Ms. at once.  At that time there were very severe laws in operation against anything savouring of witchcraft and magic, and as the manuscript dealt at length with these subjects, and in a manner that left no doubt whatever that he, Thomas Maitland, had practised sorcery extensively, Messrs. Bettesworth and Batley were forced to consider whether it would be injurious to them to publish it.  Mrs. Bettesworth was eventually consulted—­as indeed she always was, on extraordinary occasions—­and her interest in the Ms. being roused, she decided in its favour.  Within a week of its publication, however, it was suppressed by law; all the copies saving three presentation ones to the author, which he successfully concealed, were destroyed; Messrs. Bettesworth and Batley were put in the stocks on Ludgate Hill and fined heavily, and he, Thomas Maitland, was ordered to be arrested, flogged and imprisoned.

“But,” wrote Maitland, “I was not to be caught napping.  My previous adventures and hairbreadth escapes had rendered me unusually wary, and perceiving a number of people, among whom were two or three sheriff’s officers, approaching my house, I at once interpreted their mission, and climbing through a trap-door leading on to the roof of the building, nimbly made my way to the end of the row, and slipping down a waterpipe easily eluded my enemies.  London, however, being now too hot to hold me, I booked passage on board the Peterkin, a Thames trading vessel of some eighty tons, and sailed for Boston.  My flight had been so hasty that I brought very little with me—­nothing in fact except the clothes I stood in—­a stout winter suit of home-spun brown cloth, a cloak, and a pair of good, strong leather leggings—­a purse of fifty sovereigns (all I had), a knife, pistol and two copies of my precious book, the third copy, alas!  I had left behind in my hurry.”

After giving a few unimportant details as to his life on board ship, Maitland went on to say:—­