My frequent visits to the shore gave me many opportunities to run away; while my dislike of everything about the _Macedonian_ inspired me with the disposition to improve them. Against this measure my judgment wisely remonstrated, and, happily for my well being, succeeded. Such an attempt would inevitably have been followed by my recovery, since a handsome bounty was paid for the delivery of every runaway. There are always a sufficient number to be found who will engage in pursuit for the sake of money--such men as the Canadian landlord, described by Rev. Wm. Lighton, in his interesting narrative,[6] a work with which, no doubt, most of my readers are acquainted, since it has enjoyed an immense circulation. Endurance, therefore, was the only rational purpose I could form. Perhaps the hope of a speedy discharge, through my mother’s efforts, tended somewhat to this result in my case; besides, my situation had become somewhat more tolerable from the fact, that by dint of perseverance in a civil and respectful behavior, I had gained the good will both of the officers and crew. Yet, with this advantage, it was a miserable situation. There are few worse places than a man of war, for the favorable development of the moral character in a boy. Profanity, in its most revolting aspect; licentiousness, in its most shameful and beastly garb; vice, in the worst of its Proteus-like shapes, abound there. While scarcely a moral restraint is thrown round the victim, the meshes of temptation are spread about his path in every direction. Bad as things are at sea, they are worse in port. There, boat-loads of defiled and defiling women are permitted to come alongside; the men, looking over the side, select whoever best pleases his lustful fancy, and by paying her fare, he is allowed to take and keep her on board as his paramour, until the ship is once more ordered to sea. Many of these lost, unfortunate creatures are in the springtime of life, some of them are not without pretensions to beauty. The ports of Plymouth and Portsmouth are crowded with these fallen beings. How can a boy be expected to escape pollution, surrounded by such works of darkness? Yet, some parents send their children to sea because they are ungovernable ashore! Better send them to the house of correction. There is one aspect in which life at sea and life in port materially differ. At sea, a sense of danger, an idea of insecurity, is ever present to the mind; in harbor, a sense of security lulls the sailor into indulgence. He feels perfectly safe. Yet, even in harbor, danger sometimes visits the fated ship, stealing upon her like the spirit of evil. This remark was fearfully illustrated in the loss of the _Royal George_, which sunk at Spithead, near Portsmouth, on the 29th of August, 1782.