The ship Lady Madison left Liverpool about the 17th of March, 1812. The wind had been blowing a long time from the westward, with occasional gales which prevented vessels from getting to sea; and we sailed in company with a large fleet of merchant ships at the commencement of a change of wind. We left the Mersey with a fine breeze and soon passed the headmost vessels in the fleet. Our ship was large, a fine model, newly coppered, well provided with sails, and having left part of her cargo in Liverpool was in good ballast trim, and slipped through the water like a fish. For eight days this easterly wind continued, the ship sometimes carrying top-gallant sails and a fore-topmast studding sail, and sometimes running directly before the wind under double-reefed topsails and foresail, progressing at the rate of ten, eleven, and eleven and a half knots. Chronometers were unknown in those days, and lunar observations, owing to the cloudy weather and other causes, could not be taken during the passage. It is, therefore, not remarkable that under the circumstances, and with a heavy sea following the ship, the judgment of the navigators was at fault and the ship overran her reckoning. On the eighth day after the Lady Madison left the dock, the atmosphere being hazy and the temperature unusually cool, I was standing on the lee side of the forecastle when something afar off on the bow caught my eye. It looked like a massive fortress on a mountain rock of crystal. Its appearance, different from anything I had ever seen on the ocean, excited my wonder. Could it be a cloud? I pointed it out to one of my watchmates, who, being familiar with such appearances, instantly called out, "Ice, ho!" There was a commotion throughout the ship. "Ice!" exclaimed the captain, rushing up the companion-way, spyglass in hand. "Ice! Where-away? 'Tis impossible! We cannot be near the Grand Bank!" The ice island was now clearly perceptible, looming up through the thin fog, "a fixed fact," which could not be shaken. We were on the eastern edge of the Bank of Newfoundland. In eight days the ship had run nearly two thousand miles. Although this may not be considered a remarkable feat for a modern clipper of giant proportions, it was an instance of fast sailing and favorable breezes seldom exceeded in those days. Had the wind continued unchanged in strength or direction after we reached the Bank, we should have made the passage to New York in twelve days. But its force was spent. Instead of feeling grateful and expressing satisfaction at such a noble run, the captain, and I believe every man on board, as is usual in such cases, grumbled intolerably when the change took place! Head winds and calms prevailed, and ten days elapsed before we greeted the highlands of Neversink. We passed inside of Sandy Hook on the 4th of April 1812, having made a passage of eighteen days from Liverpool to anchorage off the Battery!