honored by a visit from the President of the United States, Martin Van Buren, and his cabinet. All the vessels had their yards manned, and a national salute was fired. The next day, the 17th of August, 1838, a gun was fired, and signals were made that the squadron was under sailing orders. Soon after, the commodore’s gig came alongside, bringing orders for me with my bag and hammock. It seemed to me that I should sink through the deck. I felt more like jumping overboard than sailing with my worst enemy, and one on whom I had sworn to be revenged. I begged Captain Ringold to let me remain on board the brig. He said he wanted me to stay, but that he must obey orders, and told me to get into the boat. As we neared the ship, another gun was fired, and signals were made for the squadron to get under way. Shortly after we arrived on board, the capstan was manned, the anchor catted, and we were soon off, with an ebb tide and a light air from the sou’west. At five p. m. we anchored at the Horseshoe, in consequence of its falling calm, but at nine a. m. the wind freshened, and we tripped and stood down the bay. At four p. m. on the 19th we passed Cape Henry Light, and at nine a. m. we discharged our pilot and took our departure. This being Sunday, at six bells a. m. all hands were called to muster, and Divine service was performed by our chaplain, Mr. Elliot. He preached earnestly about the dangers and length of the voyage, and the probability that all of us might not live to return to our native land, then sinking from view. He spoke of God and his goodness, and reminded us that his all-seeing eye was ever upon us, whether at sea
