squalls, either of rain or wind. A minute later, the flapping sail is hard aback, with a contrary wind; torrents of rain are falling; squall follows squall, in rapid succession, each from a different point--and thus they continue, until, having boxed the compass in the course of an hour, the ship returns to her former position, and lazily drags herself along for awhile, when the same scenes re-occur, and so alternate day after day. For ten days were we in irons, (as seamen term our situation,) during the whole of which time we made no more than ten degrees--an average of two and a half miles per hour: a pace that was far too slow to be easily endured by men who had been for forty-four months past looking forward to this passage with such intense interest. No idea of the uneasiness (I can use no better word) of the crew can be formed by a person who has never witnessed a ship’s company situated precisely as we were. Every mile--every degree of the course was accurately measured and counted. All who were capable might have been seen, with quadrant in hand, taking the sun’s altitude, working up the ship’s time, comparing one day’s run with another, and guessing what the performance of the next twenty-four hours would be; whilst those not possessed of a quadrant watched with peering eyes for the moment that would reveal the result of the operator’s calculations. On turning out, before donning their apparel, the first questions of the watch below, were--how is the wind? how many knots is she going? what is the latitude? what the longitude?--all delivered in a breath. If the answer was, “She is going along some eight or nine knots an hour,” the interrogator took a long inspiration, thus evincing his relief and inward satisfaction, and would then say, “Pull, girls, pull!” But if the ship was plunging, and the spars and rigging creaking from the pressure of their snow-white pinions, he would be delighted; and, jumping on deck to assure himself that everything was drawing, he would chuckle forth, in the height of his glee, “Give it to her, old boy! She is all oak. She knows where she is bound to; so, pack on your tappa--she will hear it!” If some one remarked that she was heeled down very much, and sail was being dragged instead of carried, he was hooted at for a soldier, and sent to the cook to learn seamanship. If the officer of the deck started away or took in any sail, he was maligned for a milksop, and fated to hear lots of grumbling, together with the advice, given to him in an undertone, that he should stay at home, when he got there, and send his big sister to sea to carry sail for him.