To this salutation the first lieutenant jocosely answered, “There, and back again, on a man of war’s cruise.” Such a reply would not have satisfied a British soldier; but we shot past the fort unmolested. After two days we parted company with the _Grand Turk_, and by the aid of a fair wind soon found ourselves in the Gulf Stream; where, instead of fearing frozen fingers, we could go bare-footed and feel quite comfortable. We now kept a sharp look-out at the mast-head, but met with nothing until we reached the Canary Islands, near which we saw a boat-load of Portuguese, who, coming alongside, talked in their native tongue with great noise and earnestness, but were no more intelligible to us than so many blackbirds. While off the African coast, our captain died. His wasted body was placed in a coffin, with shot to sink it. After the service had been read, the plank on which the coffin rested was elevated, and it slipped into the great deep. The yards were braced round, and we were under weigh again, when, to our surprise and grief, we saw the coffin floating on the waves. The reason was, the carpenter had bored holes in the top and bottom; he should have made them only in the top. After the funeral, the crew were called aft, and the first lieutenant, Mr. Nicholson,[20] told us that it should be left to our decision whether he should assume the command and continue the cruise, or return home. We gave him three hearty cheers, in token of our wish to continue the cruise. He was a noble-minded man, very kind and civil to his crew; and the opposite, in every respect, to the haughty, lordly captain with whom I first sailed in the _Macedonian_. Seeing me one day with rather a poor hat on, he called me aft and presented me with one of his own, but little worn. “Good luck to him,” said I, in sailor phrase, as I returned to my messmates; “he has a soul to be saved.” We also lost two of our crew, who fell victims to the heat of the climate. One morning the cry of “Sail ho!” directed our attention to a strange sail, which had hove to, with her courses hauled up. At first, we took her for a British man-of-war brig. The hands were summoned to quarters, and the ship got ready for action. A nearer approach, however, convinced us that the supposed enemy, was no other than our old friend, the _Grand Turk_. She did not appear to know us; for no sooner did she see that our craft was a brig of war, than, supposing us to belong to Johnny Bull, she crowded all her canvas, and made the best of her way off. Knowing what she was, we permitted her to escape without further alarm.