The crew worked heartily, the brave ship righted herself, the sails filled with the breeze, and the Queen Charlotte, stood gallantly out to the Channel. A shout from the shore cheered her on. But she was not a fast sailer, this honest old Queen Charlotte, any more than her royal namesake was a “fast woman.” She was, on the contrary, “slow and sure,” like her good old majesty, the defunct queen. She was, in fact, an old-fashioned, short and square-bowed brig, one of the last of her generation, and very unlike in build and behavior to the long and narrow-decked, high-masted and rakish Baltimore clippers that were then in such high favor. In something more than due time, then, the Queen Charlotte left Lundy Island to leeward, got out of the Channel and into the broad Atlantic. The fair wind continued for several days, and yet the brig made but moderate progress. How she would possibly get on against a head-wind remained to be seen. The season seemed to promise a continuance of fine weather, and consequently a pleasant voyage, for the violent spring gales were over, and the latter summer storms were not soon to be expected. Yet they had not been at sea more than two weeks before the weather changed, the sky became dark and gloomy, the wind sprang up, the waves arose, and for several days the ship beat about in a high sea, against a head wind, making no progress, scarcely able to hold her own. Day after day showed the same scene—morning after morning the murky sky, heavy with clouds, lowered down upon a turbulent sea, broken into high and coursing waves, whose crests were tipped with frost, like foam upon the lips of racers—night after night the impenetrable darkness above, around, beneath, and relieved only by the phosphoric glimmer and sparkle of the crested waves. A frisky clipper might have been lost in this gale, but the staid old Queen Charlotte “stood the storm” for a week. And then there came another change of weather, bringing a clear sky, gentle breeze, and a calm sea, which continued with little variation for two or three weeks, during which the brig made moderate headway. Ill could Lord Montressor brook this sort of “making haste slowly.” Often he reproached himself for taking passage in the Charlotte, instead of waiting ten days longer to embark in the Mercury. And this regret was in no degree lessened by an event that occurred when they were nearing the Azores. It was a very fine day in August, with a fair, brisk wind, and the Queen Charlotte, being in most unaccountably gay spirits, had crowded on all her canvas, even to the studding sails and royals, and was doing her best at running before the wind—as if her long defunct majesty had ever in her court array forgotten her royal dignity and tried to run! While thus going under full sail the brig was hailed by a vessel bearing down full upon her. “Ship—ahoy-oy!” came reverberating over the water from the speaking-trumpet of the purser. “Halloo!” responded the Queen Charlotte.