Having got our package from England, we finally quitted the friendly harbour of Porto Grande on Thursday afternoon, May 29th, sailing forth once more, this time to cross the Atlantic, with the little shiver and thrill which it still gave some of us when we committed our bodies to the deep for a long and lonely voyage, even with every hope of a resurrection on the other side of the ocean. After we sighted St. Jago, the capital of the Cape Verde group, on the following day, we saw no trace of human life for thirteen days; so that if mischance occurred there was nothing and no one to help in all the blue sea and sky. The self-sufficiency needed by those who go down to the sea in ships is almost appalling. Instead of making direct for Pernambuco, we steered first of all due south, carrying with us the north-east trade, in order to cross the Doldrums to the best advantage, and catch the south-east trade as soon as possible on the other side. The calm belt may be expected just north of the Equator, but its position varies with climatic conditions, and it was therefore a matter of excitement to know how long we should keep the wind. In the opinion of our authorities it might leave us on Sunday and could not be with us beyond Tuesday. The engineer, whose duty had so far been light, had been chaffingly warned by the rest of the crew that his turn would come in the tropics, when he would have to work below for twenty-four hours on end. On Sunday S. gave orders that the engine was to be started by day or night, whenever the officer in command of the watch thought it necessary; but still the north-east trade held good. On Monday all hands were at work stowing the mainsail, for as soon as the calm came the squalls were expected which are typical of that part of the world. On Tuesday evening, when according to calculation we should have been out of its zone, we were still travelling before the wind, and we began to congratulate ourselves with trembling, that our passage would be more rapid than we had ventured to hope. All Wednesday, however, the breeze was very light, and we kept our finger on its pulse as on that of a sick man. By Thursday it had faded and had died away, the sails hung slack, the gear rattled noisily, the motor was run. The air was hot, damp, and sticky, with heavy squalls, and the nights were trying. It is impossible to sleep on the deck of a small sailing ship, with so many strings about and someone always pulling at something, so we roamed from our berths to cabin floors and saloon settees and back again, “seeking rest and finding none.” The thermometer in the cabin never throughout the voyage rose to more than eighty-three degrees, but, as is well known, it is humidity and lack of air rather than the absolute height of temperature which determine comfort. Friday afternoon increased air roused our hopes; but, alas! it soon subsided, and during the night we again relied on the engine.