On a cold bleak morning of the 9th of November Admiral Jones, with a disappointed and saddened spirit, stepped from the deck of his flag-ship, the Wolodimir, into an open boat which had been launched at its side. A freezing blast tossed and crested the waters of the widely expanded sea, while his own ships rolling heavily on the billows, and the masts of the Turkish squadron could be seen rocking to and fro, far away in the distance. In this open boat, exposed to the wintry gales, encountering sleet and snow, and drenched with spray, the war-worn, world-weary admiral spent three days and three nights, before he reached Cherson. His sufferings, from the combined influence of hostile elements and an agitated mind, were very great. The day after his arrival, an impassable barrier of ice extended as far as the eye could reach. Completely worn out, he sank upon his bed, and it was long doubtful whether he would ever leave it till he was borne to his burial. Slowly he recovered. Nearly a month passed away, of winter’s most dismal storms in that dreary region, ere he was able to set out on his long journey of more than two thousand miles, across the whole breadth of Russia. He left Cherson on the morning of the 6th of December, 1788. The mercury was then at twenty-six degrees below zero. That very morning, as he soon afterwards learned, the Russians took Oczakow by storm. Eleven thousand soldiers composed the Turkish garrison. In the intensity of the cold, just before the dawn of day, the Russians, in six strong columns, with loud yells, a storm of bullets, and gleaming sabres, rushed upon the Turks, taking them completely by surprise. It was an awful scene of demoniac clamor, blood, and woe. In a few hours the dreadful deed was done. Not one in the garrison, not a Turk in the city, was spared. Nineteen thousand gory corpses, frozen in the wintry blast, strewed the streets of the city. Had the Turks been victorious, the Russians would have been put to the sword with equal ferocity. Such is man in his treatment of his brother. Such, in the main, has been the history of our race since the Fall. In the swiftly drawn sledges of Russia, Admiral Jones was whirled along over the drear and treeless plains, at the rate of over one hundred miles a day. At Skloff, he made a short tarry, where he was received by General Soritsch, with the most distinguished attention. He reached St. Petersburg on the 28th of the month, after a journey of twenty-two days. The empress invited him to the honor of a private audience on the 31st. He presented the letter from Prince Potemkin. The empress received him kindly. He was informed that a little time must elapse, before it could be decided what new command should be intrusted to him. He was however assured that it should be one certainly of not less importance than that of a squadron in the Black Sea.