movement of the armament above, or noise about the ship, roused me, until everything seemed one confused and horrid nightmare. One night, after slumbering a short time, I was awakened by an unusual noise on deck, and as the wind had increased, and we were sailing more rapidly, I feared that a heavy gale was approaching. The most courageous rarely desire a repetition of a storm at sea, and the timid are always agonized in the prospect of one. Belonging to the latter class, an undefinable sensation of fear and dread seized me. There was no light in the cabin, but quickly rising and groping in the dark as best I could, I reached the companion-way, and on climbing the stairs, a man stationed at the top, armed _cap-à-pie_, forcibly reminded me of our captivity. Fearful of giving offence, I asked the sentinel to excuse me, and added that I was very timid at sea, and observing that the wind seemed to be increasing, feared that we were about to have a gale. The man,--who was one of the rough crew,--after civilly assuring me that all was right, and that we had only a fine breeze, added, “I knows you’s not fit for the likes of this.” There was real kindness of heart in the tones of Erin, and I was sorry that the “likes of him” should be engaged in so desperate a business. I afterwards learned that several of the crew from Mobile and New Orleans, in private conversation with the crew of the _Jacob Bell_, deplored being on the _Florida_; but said that they had been compelled to ship so as to get food, as they were without employment and without means. Moreover they expressed regret that they also were not to be transferred to a neutral vessel, or to be landed at some port from whence they could go to the North.