CHAPTER III. 
About one o’clock on the 2 2d of May, the asthmatic 
old steam-tug that was to he our escort to the sea 
moved slowly off. Our adieux from the Navy Yard 
were silent enough. We cost our country no compli- 
mentary gunpowder; and it was not until we got 
abreast of the city that the crowded wharves and 
shipping showed how much that bigger community 
sympathized with our undertaking. Cheers and hur- 
ras followed us till we had passed the Battery, and 
the ferry-boats and steamers came out of their track 
to salute us in the hay. 
The sky was overcast before we lost sight of the 
spire of old Trinity ; and by evening it had clouded 
over so rapidly, that it was evident we had to look for 
a dirty night outside. Off Sandy Hook the wind fresh- 
ened, and the sea grew so rough, that we were forced 
to part abruptly from the friends who had kept us 
