loosing the sail, the buntline in some way got a couple of half hitches around his neck, and when we hoisted the sail we dragged him over the yard. Here he was seen to hang nearly lifeless, his tongue protruding from his mouth. As he swung there by the neck, two men ran aloft to his assistance, and it became doubtful on deck whether all three would not be dragged over by the weight of his body. A breathless anxiety held us all as we stood in momentary expectation of seeing a fellow- being dashed to the deck. Finally others gave assistance, and he was lowered and brought to the deck still alive. He soon recovered his senses, and recollecting that the drum had rolled to grog just before his accident, he asked, sailor like, for his share of it. This was truly a narrow escape, but, however, poor George was not destined to live out the voyage. He died on our way home, in the China Seas, from the black vomit.
On the 16th of September the tall cliffs and jagged outlines of the island of Madeira were discerned looming up above the water to the south. We soon doubled Estroza Pass, a prominent landmark for mariners while making the island. It is nearly sixteen hundred feet above the sea-level, and can be seen at a great distance. It is the home of the osprey and the sea-gull. At six o’clock we dropped anchor in Funchal Roads, near the town. We were soon visited by the American consul, who often came on board.
While lying here, we went on shore with the surveying party and witnessed the method of manufacturing the famous Madeira wine. Although a description may not add a relish to one’s cup, I will give it here as
