And, hurrah again! there came the pilot-boat. Now was the time: we could not lose a minute. “Loosen topgallant-sails and royals!” (We dared not set them; but should the wind have moderated, we would have lost no time in casting off gaskets.) A few minutes more, and the pilot-boat was alongside. “Is there New-Bedford pilot in the boat?” was our hail. “Aye, aye!” came booming across the water. “Send down a boat, with a barrel of pork and a tub of tow-line, and he will board you.” This was soon effected. The pilot entered the boat, now half full of water; but her crew knew bow to manage her. He was soon aboard the ship, and without further delay took the command of her. Captain Sherman’s vocation has gone--his responsibility is over: the ship is now in American waters, with an American pilot aboard, who gives his orders to the ever-willing crew. He is obeyed with alacrity, as long as he makes sail; but no one wants to take any in--neither does he. He is a perfectly competent man, and fortunately a driver. “Where are your studding-sails? Pack them on whilst we have a chance. Never mind a few yards of canvass, or a whole sail. Give them to her. Let her have all she can spread: the wind may not hold half an hour.” There she goes!--now she is moving! Block Island is passed. There, off the beam, frowns Point Judith. Now for Cuttyhunk light. “Go along, old ship!--cleave the waters, as never you did before. Soon you, as well as we, will be at rest.” Nobly did the old barque answer our appeal. She appeared endowed with life--and, on she goes! The Cuttyhunk light is passed; Clarke’s Point opens to our view, and some of the crew, who reside in the rural districts, see familiar landmarks. “There I live,” you hear from one. “There is the church-steeple--there, the sawmill--there, the almshouse.” “Hurrah!”--now we near the city. There are new buildings, erected since we left here. There is a new lighthouse. There is Fair Haven. There is the shipping at the docks. And now we are closing-in with Clarke’s Point. The wind is hauling--well, who cares--who cares now? We are perfectly independent of the clerk of the weather. But we can go only a few ship’s lengths farther: that is near enough--we are only three miles from New Bedford. “Now, then, round in on your weather-braces. Start away tacks and sheets. Clew up everything. Haul down your jibs and staysails. Start away your halyards, and let your yards come down by the run. Let the spanker remain till she comes to the wind. Hard down the helm. Square the main yard. Brail up the spanker--one minute more. Let go the anchor.” The heavy cable runs out unimpeded, and once more we have a firm hold on American bottom!