_Note to Bass Fishing._—MUTINY ON BOARD THE ESSEX FRIGATE.—While the Essex was lying at the Marquesas Islands, recruiting and refreshing her crew from one of the long and arduous cruises in the Pacific, Commodore Porter was informed through a servant of one of the officers, that a mutiny had been planned, and was on the eve of consummation. That it was the intention of the mutineers to rise upon the officers—take possession of the ship—and, after having remained as long as they found agreeable at the island, to hoist the black flag and “cruize on their own account.”—Having satisfied himself of the truth of the information, Commodore Porter ascended to the quarter-deck, and ordered all the crew to be summoned aft. Waiting till the last man had come from below, he informed them that he understood that a mutiny was on foot, and that he had summoned them for the purpose of inquiring into its truth.—“Those men who are in favour of standing by the ship and her officers,” said the commodore, “will go over to the starboard side—those who are against them will remain where they are.” The crew, to a man, moved over to the starboard side. The ship was still as the grave. Fixing his eyes on them steadily and sternly for a few moments—the commodore said—“Robert White—step out.” The man obeyed, standing pale and agitated—guilt stamped on every lineament of his countenance—in front of his comrades. The commodore looked at him a moment—then seizing a cutlass from the nearest rack, said, in a suppressed voice, but in tones so deep that they rung like a knell upon the ears of the guilty among the crew—“Villain!—you are the ringleader of this mutiny—jump overboard!” The man dropt on his knees, imploring for mercy—saying that he could not swim. “Then drown, you scoundrel!” said the commodore, springing towards him to cut him down—“overboard instantly!”—and the man jumped over the side of the ship. He then turned to the trembling crew, and addressed them with much feeling—the tears standing upon his bronzed cheek as he spoke. He asked them what he had done, that his ship should be disgraced by a mutiny. He asked whether he had ever dishonoured the flag—whether he had ever treated them with other than kindness—whether they had ever been wanting for any thing to their comfort, that discipline and the rules of the service would allow—and which it was in his power to give. At the close of his address, he said—“Men!—before I came on deck, I laid a train to the magazine!—and I would have blown all on board into eternity, before my ship should have been disgraced by a successful mutiny—I never would have survived the dishonour of my ship!—go to your duty.” The men were much affected by the commodore’s address, and immediately returned to their duty, showing every sign of contrition. They were a good crew, but had been seduced by the allurements of the islands, and the plausible representations of a villain. That they did their duty to their flag, it