I was very much struck by the way my old captain, I may say the once pirate, spoke; and I afterwards learned that he had not failed to instil into his son the better principles he had imbibed. Still I am bound to say that he was an exception to the general rule; for, as far as my experience goes, men who grow careless of their duty to God and indifferent to religion, continue through life increasing in hardness of heart and conscience, without a thought of the past or a fear for the future--truly, living as if they had no souls to care for, as if there were no God who rules the world. Dreadful is their end! Therefore I say to all my readers: Never put off for a single hour--for a single minute--repentance and a diligent searching for newness of life. You know not what an hour, what a minute may bring forth. You may be suddenly summoned to die, and there may be no time for repentance. Among other questions, Captain Helfrich kindly inquired for my old friend Peter Poplar. How ashamed I felt of my own ingratitude, my heartlessness, when I could not tell him! No one I had met could tell me whether he still survived, or whether he had fallen among the thousands of brave men who had died that England might be free. I promised to make further inquiries before I sailed, and, should I fail to hear of him, to set out on my return from my proposed voyage with the express purpose of discovering him. That visit to my old captain is one of the few things performed of my own accord on which I can look back with satisfaction. The next day I sailed for Liverpool. Many strange and curious coincidences have occurred to me during my life. Two days before the _Drake_ was ready for sea, having failed to gain any tidings of Peter, I was standing on the quay--work being over-- in the evening, with my hands in my pockets, just taking a look at my future home, when I observed a boat-load of men landing from a sloop which had lately brought up in the river. By their cut I knew that they were men-of-war's men. Several of them I saw had been wounded, and, judging by their shattered frames, pretty severely handled. One was a tall thin man. The sleeve on his right side hung looped up to a button, and he leaned over on the opposite side, as if to balance himself. I looked eagerly in his face, for I doubted not I knew his figure. It was Peter Poplar himself! I sprung eagerly forward. Captain Helfrich's appearance had made me feel old, but Peter's weather-beaten countenance and grizzly hair reminded me that my own manhood must be waning. For a moment I do not think he knew me. He had thought me dead--killed by the French fishermen, or murdered in prison. At all events he had heard nothing of me from the moment I was carried off in the fishing-boat. How kindly and warmly he shook my hand with his remaining one!