Russel left us. We had lost Bill; and, another Bill, a dull Irish lad, who
had gone to Spain, quitted us also. Our crew consisted of only Spanish
Joe; Big Dan; Little Dan; Stephen, the Kennebunk man; Cooper; a Swede,
shipped in London; a man whose name I have forgotten; and a young man who
passed by the name of Davis, but who was, in truth,--------, a son of the
pilot who had brought us in, and taken us out, each time we passed up or
down the river. This Davis had sailed in a coaster belonging to his
father, and had got pressed in Sir Home Popham's South-American squadron.
They made him a midshipman; but, disliking the sea, he was determined to
go to America. We had to smuggle him out of the country, on account of the
press-gang; he making his appearance on board us, suddenly, one night, in
the river.

The Sterling was short-handed this passage, mustering but four hands in a
watch. Notwithstanding, we often reefed in the watch, though Cooper and
Little Dan were both scarcely more than boys. Our mates used to go aloft,
and both were active, powerful men. The cook, too, was a famous fellow at
a drag. In these delicate times, when two or three days of watch and watch
knock up a set of young men, one looks back with pride to a passage like
this, when fourteen men and boys--four of the latter--brought a good sized
ship across the ocean, reefing in the watch, weathering many a gale, and
thinking nothing of it. I presume half our people, on a pinch, could have
brought the Sterling in. One of the boys I have mentioned was named John
Pugh, a little fellow the captain had taken as an apprentice in London,
and who was now at sea for the first time in his life.

We had a long passage. Every inch of the way to the Downs was tide-work.
Here we lay several days, waiting far a wind. It blew fresh from the
southwest-half of that summer, and the captain was not willing to go out
with a foul wind. We were surrounded with vessels of war, most of the