Never did my heart misgive me as it did when we were on our way to the shore; the voice of the boy’s master came echoing along the waves. “Where are you going with that boat?” he shouted. Recovering myself, I persuaded the boy he was only bidding him to make haste. So the lad replied, “I am going to get some geese, sir!” and pulled on. A few minutes more, and, to my unspeakable delight, I stood on American soil. Giving the boy a half dollar, we pushed on for New York, some ten miles distant. For this act of running away, I have never blamed myself; for the means by which it was effected, I have frequently done so. As the reader has seen, it was done at the expense of truth. I told several deliberate lies to the deceived boy in the boat. This is inexcusable, and the only palliation that can be offered is, my want of religious instruction. I was not then a Christian. Still, the act of lying was an offence before God, and no man should purchase his liberty at the price of a lie. He who saves his life at the cost of offending God, pays dearly for the purchase. I am thankful I have since learned this lesson, at the foot of the cross of Jesus Christ. Not having our “land legs” on, we soon became excessively fatigued. When within two or three miles of the city, we concluded to stop all night at a tavern on the road. The inmates looked somewhat surprised to see two sailor lads inquiring for lodgings; so I at once told them we were runaways from the captured frigate. This made them our friends! The evening passed quite pleasantly; we relating the particulars of the battle, and singing sea songs, and they listening with the utmost good humor. It seemed strange to us to find ourselves in a bed, after sleeping two years and a half in a hammock; nevertheless, we slept soundly, and to our inexpressible pleasure arose in the morning at our leisure, without being driven by the swearing boatswain at our heels. After breakfast, our generous host having refused to receive any payment for his hospitality, we set out for the city of New York. Here I very fortunately alighted on one of the crew of the _Macedonian_, named Fitzgibbons, who informed me that most of our men had been landed at New London, and confined as prisoners in an old barn; but that, not being over closely guarded, most of them had run away. He also introduced me to a sailors’ boarding-house, kept by a widow named Elms, near the old Fly Market in Front street.