At 3 o’clock A. M. the next morning we all at once felt a change in the atmosphere, and, on inquiring the cause, found that the wind had hauled to the westward. A few minutes afterward the fleecy scud drove rapidly to the leeward, and the wind from the southwest bore down on us with extreme violence. But not too violent for us. Oh, no! It was hailed with delight. It was fair and strong; and, although we could show only close-reefed topsails and foresail to it, we bowled away, with it on our quarter, at the rate of twelve knots an hour. As we gradually neared the land we saw a number of small coasting-crafts laying-to, with the water sweeping over them--they not venturing to run in such weather. Of these we spoke several, and ascertained from them the bearings of Montauk Point. We found now that our chronometer was indeed wrong, and that had we depended upon it we would most likely have been by this time high and dry on some part of our own coast. This variation of the chronometer was very strange to us. During the whole voyage we had found it perfectly trustworthy; and, of course, after so long an acquaintance with its exactness, we had learned to place implicit confidence in it. At St. Helena it was correct, and so also off Cape St. Roque only three weeks before. But the present was precisely the case with it on the last voyage, when Captain James Allen commanded the ship. Then, likewise, there had not been a mile’s variation in it until he had crossed the Gulf Stream, homeward-bound, when an error of fifty miles was discovered--a pilot-boat giving him his true whereabouts. Now, the question is, what was the cause of this singular variation? Was it the Gulf Stream, or what was it? Here is a question for the savans, and should they solve it, I will be happy to hear of their explanation. CHAPTER XVI. After speaking these coasting crafts, our course was still onward and homeward. At noon we saw land; it was greeted with three as hearty cheers as ever swelled American throats. All was bustle and excitement, and naught but the discipline of a well-regulated ship kept our enthusiasm within bounds. The watch below, wearied with exertion, caught the gladsome cry, and, leaping from their berths, hurried on deck as they were, and, without hesitating at the coldness of the weather, sprang, half nude, into the rigging, to catch a sight of their native land. One, more enthusiastic than the rest, made the foretop a rostrum, and, hatless and shoeless, with his shirt flying in the wind, he repeated in a loud voice, intelligible above the shrieking of the gale, the beautiful lines of Sir Walter Scott: