For myself, the tidings filled me with fear. Directly to America I would have gladly gone; but to be carried to England, in one of her ships of war, was like going to certain death. How was it possible for me to escape detection? How could I avoid meeting with some old _Macedonians_, who would, of course, recognise and betray me? These questions had resolved me to volunteer to remain at the Cape, a short time before, when some of our number were sent to England. Now, they tortured me beyond endurance. I felt like an escaped criminal with the officers of justice at his heels. Death at the yard-arm haunted me day and night, like the fancied ghost of a murdered man, staring ghastly at the window of his murderer. No one can imagine my uneasiness, unless he has been placed in a similar situation. I made many promises to God that if he would carry me in safety to America, I would cease to be a swearer, and would most punctually attend his house every Sabbath. These things constituted my highest ideas of human duty at that time; but even these promises, like those made during the heat of the battle in the _Macedonian_, were made to be broken.
After a little delay, we were conveyed on board the _Cumberland_, where we soon heard the well-known summons of “All hands up anchor, ahoy!” A cloud of canvas dropped from her gigantic yards; the sportive breeze came obedient to our wish; and the huge form of the _Cumberland_, accompanied by a large convoy of merchant vessels, was borne rapidly along upon the yielding waves. Cape Town, Table Mountain, the Lion’s Rump, and our prison-yard, were soon left far behind, leaving no traces of their existence on the distant horizon; they were to be known to us hereafter only among the images of the brain--as recollections, not as realities. We had spent eight months in the prison of Cape Town.
Our treatment in this ship was superior to what we received in the _Medway_. Instead of the cable tier, we had berths on the upper gun deck, and our allowance of food was sufficient for our wants.
Arriving at St. Helena, we remained a few days in port. This rough, rock-bound island had not yet received its future prisoner, the emperor of France. Here we were removed from the _Cumberland_. Twenty-four of us were sent on board the _Grampus_, of fifty guns, the rest were sent home in our old conqueror, the _Medway_; my lot being cast among the former.