What was to be done? We had ninety-seven on the sick-list. Made signal to _Endymion_, working down near the opposite shore. Of course, she was “charged with despatches.” I was not sorry at the reply. When I get into a scrape I like to get out of it without help. It reminds me of the old couplet: When Dido found Æneas did not come, She wept in silence, and was Dido-dum. We had nothing else to do after sails were furled but to lay out stream and kedge anchors, seize two of the largest junks, chuck what they might have overboard, and commence lightening. With my sickly crew it was heavy work. The weather was fine, but it was not until the following afternoon, and the last gun out, that the cables laid out began to slacken. The same evening we were dropping quietly down with the current, looking beautiful as ever, and I much pleased with my new First Lieutenant. [Sidenote: Woosung, Sept. 24.] Our stick in pâdi-fields did not improve my health nor the Master’s nerves. We drifted quietly down in company with _Belleisle_ into Woosung Roads. Tides ran strong and irregular; influenced by winds and heavy rains. 98th Regiment still sickly. We found _North Star_, 28, with her stout and good-tempered captain, Sir Everard Home. I was more pleased still to find my young friend, Henry Seymour, in command of one of Symonds’ beautiful brigs, the _Wanderer_, 16. We had not met since he left me in the _Childers_, Mediterranean. His larder better furnished, and, far from well myself, I was glad to have a quiet and early dinner with him. A storm brewing, got away early, and none too soon. Home dined with the hospitable 98th. It was blowing and raining, with a slashing ebb-tide, when at 9 P.M. there were loud calls ahead for a rope. Home had missed his _North Star_, and would have drifted past us to, nobody knows where. But my “Didos” were equal to the occasion. _North Star’s_ long painter was secured to us, but the bowman could not haul the boat up to the gangway. When Home rushed forward to assist, his extra weight caused the boat to dip and capsize. Our men were on the alert; no lives were lost, but the Captain would not allow himself to be hauled on board until he was assured that every man of his crew was safe. We got him down to my cabin, and rigged him out in seaman’s blue flannel frock and trousers, and a stiffish glass of grog before he laid himself on a sofa to rest. He begged to be called at slack-water, that he might return on board his own ship. I gave directions accordingly. Mr. D’Aeth, of an old Kentish family, was officer of the watch, and at midnight came down to tell Sir Everard it was slack-water, but raining hard. It was some time before the gallant captain could be awoke, and longer still before he could understand where he was. I was awake, laughing at the conversation. At last Sir Everard called out, “Where am I? Who are you? What’s your name?” He got an answer: