We left after a two days’ stay. “The General” was due to return from here, but he had made himself so universally popular that Sir Ernest persuaded him to go on as far as the Cape Verde Islands. Neither our discomforts nor the vagaries of the _Quest_ had upset him in the slightest, and he had proved himself a useful member of the crew, taking a trick at the wheel and carrying on the work on deck generally. We now entered fine weather, and, running comfortably before the north-easterly trade winds, reached St. Vincent on October 28th. The engines had continued to give trouble, and Kerr reported that extensive repairs and readjustments would be necessary before continuing farther. They were carried out quickly and effectively by Messrs. Wilson, Sons & Co., who acted as our agents, and most generously supplied us on leaving with one hundred tons of coal free of all charge. We said good-bye to “General” Lysaght, whom we saw depart with genuine regret. We had a farewell dinner, at which was produced all the best the _Quest_ could offer, and when the Boss proposed “The General!” we drank his health and wished him luck. Although he was returning to home and comforts, he would, I believe, had it been possible, have accompanied us farther on our way. At the conclusion he was presented with an illuminated card, the combined work of all the artists aboard, but chiefly, I think, of Wilkins, which bore the following poem composed by the Boss: TO GERALD LYSAGHT, A.B. After these happy days, spent in the oceanways, Homeward you turn! Ere our last rope slipped the quay and we made for the open sea You became one of us. You have seen the force of the gale fierce as a thresher’s flail Beat the sea white; You have watched our reeling spars sweep past the steady stars In the storm-wracked night. You saw great liners turn; high bows that seemed to churn The swell we wallowed in; They veered from their ordered ways, from the need of their time kept days, To speed us on. Did envy possess your soul; that they were sure of their goal Never a damn cared you, For you are one with the sea—in its joy and misery You follow its lure. In the peace of Chapel Cleeve, surely you must believe, Though far off from us, That wherever the _Quest_ may go; what winds blow high or low— Zephyrs or icy gale: Safe in our hearts you stand; one with our little band. A seaman, Gerald, are you! —E. H. S.