“When I was in Bengal, Madras, and Batavia,” said he, “I used to get some stuff called arrack--we used to call it a horn of malt; but this was some good rum.” Bob’s manner was so exquisitely ridiculous while delivering this harangue, that both officers and men broke out into an involuntary laugh. The captain looked confounded, but recovering himself, he said to Mr. Hope, the first lieutenant, “Put that rascal in irons; it is of no use to flog him.” One of the peculiarities of Captain Carden was an ardent desire to have a crew of picked, first-rate men. The shiftless, slovenly seaman was his abhorrence. Had he dared, he would gladly have given all such their discharge; as it was, he never attempted their recovery, by offering a reward for their detection, if they ran away; while he spared no pains to catch an able, active, valuable man like Sadler. He even gave these drones opportunity to escape, by sending them on shore at Lisbon, to cut stuff to make brooms for sweeping the deck. The men sent out on these expeditions were nicknamed “broomers.” Now, although Bob Hammond was as expert a sailor as any man in the ship, yet his unconquerable audacity made the captain fear his influence, and wish to get rid of him; hence, a few days after this drunken spree, Bob was called on deck to go with the broomers. “You may go, Mr. Hammond,” said the captain, eyeing him in a very expressive manner, “with these fellows to cut broom.” Bob understood the hint perfectly, and replied, “Aye, aye, sir, and I will cut a long handle to it.” I scarcely need remark that the broomers returned without Bob. Whether he remained on shore to cut the long handle, or for some other purpose, he never informed us: certain it is, however, that the presence of Bob Hammond never darkened the decks of the _Macedonian_ again. About this time the prevailing topic of conversation among our men and officers was the probability of a war with America. The prevailing feeling through the whole fleet was that of confidence in our own success, and of contempt for the inferior naval force of our anticipated enemies. Every man, and especially the officers, predicted, as his eye glanced proudly on the fine fleet which was anchored off Lisbon, a speedy and successful issue to the approaching conflict. We now received orders to sail to Norfolk, Virginia, with despatches. The voyage was accomplished without any occurrence of note. We found ourselves on the American coast, with no very pleasant impressions. It was late in the fall, and the transition from the mild, soft climate of Spain and Portugal, to the bleak, sharp atmosphere of the coast of Virginia, was anything but delightful.