We lost one of our crew overboard, on this passage, in a manner somewhat singular. He was an Italian, called Antonio, and remarkable for a love of cleanliness a priceless virtue, when not carried to excess. He was continually washing his face and hands, as if to get rid of impurities communicated by the atmosphere. One Sunday afternoon, with a strong breeze on the quarter, the brig was reeling it off at the rate of eight or nine knots, and a rough and turbulent sea was helping her along. Notwithstanding the wind was three or four points abaft the beam, Captain Mott insisted on carrying main-topmast and middle staysails, and occasionally when the vessel was a little off of her course, the main-topmast staysail sheet, which was fastened to a cleat in the main deck, would give a "slat," with great violence. Antonio had just left the helm, and, according to his usual custom, proceeded to draw a bucket of water from alongside, in which to immerse his face and hands. But while he was stooping, in the very act of performing his ablutions, the brig, through the inattention of the helmsman, was run off her course nearly before the wind, the staysails were becalmed and the main-topmast staysail sheet, that is, the rope which kept the sail in its proper position, give a terrible jerk, caught the unfortunate Italian behind, lifted him from his feet, and actually tossed him over the gunwale. The thing was so sudden, he had not time to struggle, or even to scream, as he sank beneath the billows, while the brig swept onward, leaving him far astern. The cry, "A man's overboard!" was instantly raised by those who witnessed the sad event. One man sprang into the weather main shrouds in order to keep an eye on the poor fellow who became a martyr to cleanliness. The helm was put down, the brig rounded to, and sails laid aback. But attempts to rescue him were fruitless. He was not seen after he struck the water. After having been about forty-five days at sea, we got sight one morning of "the Caskets," in the middle of the English Channel, about thirty miles west of Cape LaHogue, and on the following day entered the harbor of Havre, the seaport of Paris, situated at the mouth of the Seine. Chapter XXXIV. THE GENERAL ARMSTRONG Nothing remarkable happened during our stay in Havre, excepting an unpleasant affair in which our good-humored shipmate, Jonas Silvernail, played a principal part. The master of an English brig, an ignorant man, but excessively arrogant and presuming, one day took some of our men to task on the quay, accusing them of having taken a portion of his crew to a grog-shop, where they plied them with liquor until they were drunk, and then left them alone in their glory.