As for the huge, gaunt-looking albatross as they flapped their leather-looking wings like vampires around us, no one seemed particularly anxious to settle accounts with them: a superstitious awe influenced even the most reckless amongst us as they circled above our heads. Curiously enough, the only one who had the courage to pull a trigger at them was young K---- of the 74th, and he died soon after he landed. We were now in latitudes where westerly gales are of frequent occurrence, and a rattling one caught us one night as we were running with studding-sails set. So sudden was its approach that there could be no question of our taking in sail; so, in a storm of wind and rain, we flew along as though Neptune on his foaming sea-horses was trying to catch us. The poor little Arethusa fairly staggered under the force of the gale, like a startled hare now swerving to the right, now to the left, twisting, cracking, and burying herself in the sea as deep as she could without absolutely giving up the struggle and going once for all to the bottom, until old blustering Boreas at last, in kind compassion, relieved us of some spars. Then, with the rags of our late flaunting sails, and with just as much more as was necessary to steady us on our course, we proceeded more safely if more humbly than before. The little ship rose buoyant to the seas as though no longer afraid of them, starting afresh from the top and sliding down the ribbed backs of the long-rolling billows, defying them as they crested their foaming heads in anger behind us. It was very exciting. I thought of Sam Rowe and his little smack battling with such weather, and though I had more confidence in his skill than in that of our skipper, yet, like Tom Bowling, I preferred the Arethusa in the Bay of Biscay to the Mary Jane. Good old Sam! I hope he won’t think me foolish as he reads these lines--for the old boy is hale and hearty yet, and, with spectacles on nose, and ‘Western Times’ in hand, can still discuss matters shrewdly. On the 30th July the white cliffs of Brighton gladdened our eyes, and running up the coast, we hove to off Eastbourne and took a pilot on board. Some of us were so anxious to get ashore that we took passage in the boat that had brought out the pilot, and with a cheer from some of the more patient who had remained on deck, pulled away to the beach; but on our arrival there, we found that the boat was too deep in the water to get close in to the shore. This did not stop us. Young L---- and I jumped into the surf up to our waists and waded ashore. This ducking had in no wise cooled my excitement, for, in placing my foot once more on English soil, I threw myself on the ground and gave it a hearty kiss.