Great was the joy of my companions, when the news reached us that we were to embark shortly, in the _Cumberland_, seventy-four, for England. Little was now said or done, except what related to our departure. With strange, yet common perversity of conduct, serious matters were laid aside for the one absorbing thought, “We shall soon be free!” Thus, an event which should have given birth to gratitude and religious service, only served for an occasion of further neglect and unthankfulness. How strangely wicked is the human heart! For myself, the tidings filled me with fear. Directly to America I would have gladly gone; but to be carried to England, in one of her ships of war, was like going to certain death. How was it possible for me to escape detection? How could I avoid meeting with some old _Macedonians_, who would, of course, recognise and betray me? These questions had resolved me to volunteer to remain at the Cape, a short time before, when some of our number were sent to England. Now, they tortured me beyond endurance. I felt like an escaped criminal with the officers of justice at his heels. Death at the yard-arm haunted me day and night, like the fancied ghost of a murdered man, staring ghastly at the window of his murderer. No one can imagine my uneasiness, unless he has been placed in a similar situation. I made many promises to God that if he would carry me in safety to America, I would cease to be a swearer, and would most punctually attend his house every Sabbath. These things constituted my highest ideas of human duty at that time; but even these promises, like those made during the heat of the battle in the _Macedonian_, were made to be broken. After a little delay, we were conveyed on board the _Cumberland_, where we soon heard the well-known summons of “All hands up anchor, ahoy!” A cloud of canvas dropped from her gigantic yards; the sportive breeze came obedient to our wish; and the huge form of the _Cumberland_, accompanied by a large convoy of merchant vessels, was borne rapidly along upon the yielding waves. Cape Town, Table Mountain, the Lion’s Rump, and our prison-yard, were soon left far behind, leaving no traces of their existence on the distant horizon; they were to be known to us hereafter only among the images of the brain--as recollections, not as realities. We had spent eight months in the prison of Cape Town. Our treatment in this ship was superior to what we received in the _Medway_. Instead of the cable tier, we had berths on the upper gun deck, and our allowance of food was sufficient for our wants. Arriving at St. Helena, we remained a few days in port. This rough, rock-bound island had not yet received its future prisoner, the emperor of France. Here we were removed from the _Cumberland_. Twenty-four of us were sent on board the _Grampus_, of fifty guns, the rest were sent home in our old conqueror, the _Medway_; my lot being cast among the former.