We now approached the stranger very fast, when to our great mortification she proved to be an English frigate; made the private signal; it was answered; showed her number, we showed ours, and her captain being junior officer came on board, to pay his respects and show his order. He was three weeks from England, brought news of a peace with France, and, among other treats, a navy list, which, next to bottle of London porter, is the greatest luxury to a sea officer in a foreign climate. Greedily did we all run over this interesting little book, and among the names of the new-made commanders, I was overjoyed to find my own: the last on the list, to be sure, but that I cared not for. I received the congratulations of my mess-mates. We parted company with the stranger, and steered for the island of St. Jago, our captain intending to complete his water in Port Praya Bay, previous to a long cruise after the American squadron. We found here a slave-vessel in charge of a naval officer, bound to England; and I thought this a good opportunity to quit, not being over anxious to serve as a lieutenant when I knew I was a commander. I was also particularly anxious to return to England for many reasons, the hand of my dear Emily standing at the head of them. I therefore requested the captain's permission to quit the ship; and as he wished to give an acting order to one of his own followers, he consented. I took my leave of all my mess-mates, and of my captain, who, though an unfeeling coxcomb, and no sailor, certainly had some good points about him: in fact, his lordship was a gentleman; and had his ship fallen in with an enemy, she would have been well fought, as he had good officers, was sufficiently aware of his own incapability, would take advice, and as a man of undaunted bravery was not to be surpassed in the service. On the third day after our arrival the frigate sailed. I went on board the slaver, which had no slaves on board except four to assist in working the vessel; she was in a filthy state, and there was no inn on shore, and of course no remedy. Port Praya is the only good anchorage in the island; the old town of St. Jago was deserted, in consequence of their being only an open roadstead before it, very unsafe for vessels to lie it. The town of Port Praya is a miserable assemblage of mud huts; the governor's house, and one more, are better built, but they are not so comfortable as a cottage in England. There were not ten Portuguese on the island, and above ten thousand blacks, all originally slaves; and yet everything was peaceable, although fresh arrivals of slaves came every day.