Hearing so much said about running away, and feeling almost as unhappy as when in the _Macedonian_, I began to think of it myself. Sometimes I thought of trying to get into the Spanish garrison as a soldier; at others, of joining some of the numerous slavers that lay there, and in which our men said a good chance could be had. Sad chances, as they now appear, especially the latter; but I was young and ignorant. My feelings and the advice and opinion of my shipmates influenced me more than the dictates of an enlightened understanding. Resolving to make a trial, if opportunity offered, I one day put on an extra shirt and drew on a second pair of pantaloons. When thus prepared, the officer of the deck happened to discover the two waistbands of my trousers; he questioned me with a suspicious curiosity. I told him as specious a tale as I could invent on the spot; which was, that I had been mending my trousers, and, before they were finished, was called to go ashore in the boat, and not having time to put them away, had slipped them on. Fortunately, a needle and some thread which I had about me, confirmed my story and saved me from difficulty. It was pretty obvious, however, that the officer, though silenced, was not _satisfied_; for I was so closely watched, after that day, I gave up the idea of escape as utterly futile and hopeless. From Havana we returned to the mouth of the Mississippi, where we captured the _Comet_, a patriot schooner, on suspicion that the patriotism of her crew had degenerated into something less respectable. Harsh as it must have sounded in the ears of her officers, we charged them with piracy; took possession of the vessel, and brought her hands, as prisoners, on board our brig. Her master’s name was Mitchell; his crew were all stout, fierce-looking blacks, having all sorts of odd names, such as Monday, Friday, &c. She had a rich cargo, and contained large sums of money. It was reported that they had attacked an island somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, and murdered its governor. We put them in irons, with sentries over them, who were charged to cut off their heads if they dared to lift them above the hatchway. I performed this duty a part of the time, parading round the hatch with a drawn cutlass; but they showed no symptoms of resistance, and were sent in their vessel to New Orleans. Their fate I never ascertained.