A casual visitor in a man of war, beholding the song, the dance, the revelry of the crew, might judge them to be happy. But I know that these things are often resorted to, because they feel miserable, just to drive away dull care. They do it on the same principle as the slave population in the South, to drown in sensual gratification the voice of misery that groans in the inner man--that lives within, speaking of the indignity offered to its high nature by the chain that eats beyond the flesh--discoursing of the rights of man, of liberty on the free hills of a happier clime: while amidst the gayest negro dance, not a heart among the laughing gang but would beat with high emotions and seize the boon with indescribable avidity, should it be offered its freedom on the spot. So in a man of war, where severe discipline prevails, though cheerfulness smiles at times, it is only the forced merriment of minds ill at ease; minds that would gladly escape the thraldom of the hated service to which they are bound. Nor is this forced submission to circumstances universal. There are individuals who cannot be reached by these pleasantries; in spite of everything, their spirits will writhe under the gripe of merciless authority. We had a melancholy instance of this species of mind on board our frigate. His name was Hill, the ward-room steward. This man came on board with a resolute purpose to give satisfaction, if possible, to his superiors. He tried his utmost in vain. He was still scolded and cursed, until his condition seemed unendurable. One morning a boy entered the after ward-room, when the first object that met his astonished eye was the body of the steward, all ghastly and bleeding. He had cut his throat, and lay weltering in his gore. The surgeon was called, who pronounced him to be yet alive. The wound was sewed up, the poor sufferer carried to the hospital-ship, which was in attendance on the fleet, where he recovered, to be returned to his former ship, though in another and worse capacity, that of common sailor. We had on board a colored man whose name was Nugent, who possessed a remarkably fine person, was very intelligent, exceedingly polite in his manners, and easy in his address. He soon grew weary of the caprices of our officers, and ran away. He was taken, however, in rather a curious manner. The officers frequently walked the deck with their spy-glasses. As one of them was spending a few leisure moments in looking at the surrounding shipping, what should appear within the field of his glass, but the person of the fugitive Nugent on the deck of an American vessel! Upon this, a boat was despatched, which soon returned with the crestfallen deserter, who was unceremoniously thrown into irons. By some fortunate chance, however, he escaped a flogging.