“But what if he asks me in what part of the city Pine street is situated, and what streets join it?” I answered, determined not to take a step in the dark if I could avoid it. The midshipman assured me that no such questions would be put; and, partly confiding and partly doubting, I resolved to make the experiment. Going on board, we were paraded before the officers. Addressing me, one of them said, “Well, my boy, what is your name?” Mustering all the confidence I could command, I boldly answered, “William Harper, sir.” “What part of America do you belong to, my boy?” “Philadelphia, sir.” Here one of the officers smiled and remarked, “Ah, a townsman.” I trembled at hearing this, inwardly hoping that they would ask me no more questions. To my increased alarm, however, he continued by asking, “What street in Philadelphia?” “Pine street, sir,” said I, with the air of a man who feels himself drawn toward a crisis he cannot escape. “What street joins Pine street, my lad?” asked my tormentor, with a knowing laugh. This was a poser; for further than this my instructions had not proceeded. However, I rallied the little confidence which remained, and said, “I don’t remember, sir.” The officer who had claimed me as a townsman, mentioned the next street, and my examiner went on by asking me what street joined the one mentioned by the officer. My colors, which had fallen to half-mast before, were now fairly struck. I had to surrender at discretion; but thinking to get off with the honors of war, I answered, “Gentlemen, it is so long since I was in Philadelphia, I have forgotten all about it.” This point blank shot might have saved me, when, as if Providence had determined to make my attempt at lying a total failure, one of them detected a glittering anchor button, which had contrived to get rid of the covering placed over it by the fingers of the widow. Pointing it out to the others, he said, “Where did you get that English button? Did you pick it up in Philadelphia?” This was a shot which raked me fore and aft. I hauled down my colors and stood silent. The officers laughed heartily as one of them said, “Go below, my lad; you will make a pretty good Yankee.” Through all this procedure the reader will perceive how perfect was the disregard of truth among all parties, from my humble self to the officers, who were evidently rather pleased than otherwise at my attempt to pass for an American. Such an absence of moral rectitude is deplorable; it exhibits the unfitness of the parties for a mansion in His kingdom who is a God of truth: it lays the foundation for a mutual distrust and suspicion among men, and it leaves the offender to meet a fearful weight of responsibility in the day that shall try every man’s work. I am thankful that the influences of Christianity have fallen upon me since that time, in such abundance as to renew the spirit of my mind, and to fill me with abhorrence towards a violation of truth.