In the morning watch to-day the gale broke after blowing for twenty-four hours, the main-sail being set at four o’clock, during which process both mates were knocked down flat on the deck by an unexpected sea while they were standing by the main-hatch. At eight this morning the wind had moderated to a light, fitful breeze, and we wallowed all the forenoon in a high, broken sea; indeed, throughout the night we could get but little sleep owing to the severe rolling. Glancing to leeward as soon as we appeared on deck, there was our old friend the “Dowes” on our beam, distant a little more than a mile, bobbing about under her top-gallant-sails as we were, though she carried her cross-jack and we the spanker. She made, indeed, a fine picture as she forged sullenly ahead, showing a glistening sheath of copper as she divided the slopes of the larger seas, with a glint of brass from the poop when the sun peered out from between light showers. At nine o’clock we perceived several agitated figures close to her wheel, and presently a string of flags blew out and were run up to her gaff-end, and quite a little conversation ensued. The first signal which Platt made was DWV, signifying “How are you?” This we answered with BRC, which is to say, “All well.” Then followed in rapid succession, “When did you sail?” “When did you pass the equator?” “A pleasant voyage,” to all of which we replied with the various flag combinations which spelled the words; each then dipped the ensign three times, and the interview was brought to a close. It was very interesting thus conversing with the sly wretch, and it is singular how much interest foremast hands always take in such proceedings, carefully following every shift of flag, some of the older sailors always professing to be able to read the signals, often telling their messmates the most absurd things, which they implicitly believe.