Darkness came on, and the vessels separated. The Americans were flinging their dead into the sea--they lifted the body of Peter. His hands moved--the supposed dead man groaned. They again placed him on the deck. He at length looked round in bewilderment. He raised himself on his side. "I say, neighbours," said he to the group around him, "is this _our_ ship or _yours_?" The Americans made merry at Peter's question. "Well," continued he, "if it be yours, I can only tell you it was foul play that did it. It was a low, cowardly action, to fell a man behind his back; but come face to face, and twa at a time if ye like, and I'll clear the decks o' the whole ship's crew o' you." "You are a noble fellow," said the lieutenant whom he had encountered, "and if you will join our service, I guess your merit shan't be long without promotion." "What!" cried Peter, "raise my right hand against my ain country! Gude gracious, sir! I wud sooner eat it as my next meal!" In a few weeks the vessel put into Boston for repairs; and, on her arrival, it was ascertained that peace had been concluded between the two countries. Peter found himself once more at liberty; but with liberty he found himself in a strange land, without a sixpence in his pocket. This was no enviable situation to be placed in, even in America, renowned as it is as the paradise of the unfortunate; and he was standing, on the second morning after his being put on shore, counting the picturesque islands which stud Boston harbour, for his breakfast, poor fellow, when a person accosted him--"Well, my lad, how is the new world using you?" Peter started round--it was his old adversary the lieutenant. "A weel-filled pocket, sir," returned Peter, "will mak either the new warld or the auld use you weel; and without that, I reckon your usage in either the ane or the ither wad be naething to mak a sang about."