THE GOOD-BY. 
25 
company. We were eating and drinking in our little 
cabin, when the summons came for them to hurry up 
instantly and leap aboard the boat. The same heavy 
squall which made us cast loose so suddenly the cable 
of the steamer gathered upon us the night and the 
storm together ; and in a few minutes our transition 
was complete, from harbor life and home associations 
to the discomforts and hardships of our career. 
The dilference struck me, and not quite pleasantly, 
as I climbed over straw and rubbish into the little pe- 
culium which was to he my resting-place for so long 
a time. The cabin, which made the homestead of four 
human beings, was somewhat less in dimensions than 
a penitentiary cell. There was just room enough for 
two berths of six feet each on a side ; and the area 
between, which is known to naval men as “ the coun- 
try,” seemed completely filled up with the hinged ta- 
ble, the four camp-stools, and the lockers. A hanging 
lamp, that creaked uneasily on its “ gimbals,” illus- 
trated through the mist some long rows of crockery 
shelves and the dripping step-ladder that led directly 
from the wet deck above. Every thing spoke of cheer- 
less discomfort and narrow restraint. 
By the next day the storm had abated. We were 
out of sight of land, hut had not yet parted with the 
last of our well-wishers. A beautiful pilot-boat, the 
Washington, with Mr. Grinnell and his sons on board, 
continued to bear us company. But on the 25th we 
saw the white flag hoisted as the signal of farewell. 
We closed up our letters and took them aboard, drank 
healths, shook hands — and the wind being fair, were 
out of sight of the schooner before evening. 
I now began, with an instinct of future exigencies, 
to fortify my retreat. The only spot I could call my 
