I had nothing more but my watch, which I offered and he refused.—Once more, said he, will you tell? I have nothing to tell, said I. On with the rope, said the villain, and hoist away. The fellow with the noose came towards me, and I sprang overboard. They took me up, after some time, apparently insensible. They took off all my cloaths, and laid me on my back on deck, naked as I was born, except having a blanket thrown over me. Here I laid five hours without moving hand or foot. Meanwhile they robbed us of every thing of the least value. Against me they seemed to have a particular spite, stealing even the ring from my finger, and all my cloaths from my trunks which they sent on board the privateer.

At night they left us, but returned once or twice, for a few minutes, to see how I was. That night the privateer, with two or three of her convoy went to sea, and next morning, Christmas day, we got under way.—Having taken good notice of the courses steered in coming in, and keeping the lead constantly going, we found our way out to blue water without much difficulty, and next morning, 26th, arrived without further accident at Havana.

The privateer was, I think, fitted out from this island. The Captain is a Spaniard, a short man with a remarkable good face, that nobody would suspect to belong to such a gang. The Lieutenant is a Frenchman, a creole of St. Domingo, but called himself an Italian. The man they called Davis, who ordered me to be hanged, is the pilot or sailing master, and their boarding officer. He is an American, belongs to New-York, and was the worst man on board. He is a good looking fellow, something perhaps over the middle size, but the most brutal rascal I ever met. There was another American on board, only a common hand, being a drunkard.—Two negroes are all the residue of the gentlemen with whom I had much acquaintance.

The goods taken from us were upwards of fifty thousand dollars worth, and I have no doubt are landed on the coast of this Island. The neighborhood of Cuba will be troubled waters until our government shall seriously determine to put down this system of piracy.

Akin to this subject it may be proper to record an incident which many years ago concerned myself, and might have been tragical in its result. In the month of February, 1854, it fell to my lot to sail out of Boston harbor for Malta, aboard the bark Sylph, of Liverpool, Nova Scotia. At that period vessels sailing under the English flag were known in this country as lime-juicers, so called because in the British navy the consumption of lime or lemon juice was enforced as an anti-scorbutic remedy. The only other passenger beside myself was Gen. William A. Aiken, now of Norwich, Connecticut. The vessel was in command of Captain Roberts, of Liverpool; and the first officer was Mr. Hicks, and the second officer, Mr. Wharton. According to my recollection there were eight in the forecastle, which number, together with the cook and steward, made up a complement of fourteen persons, all told, aboard the bark. The cook and steward were represented by a single person of African descent, who prided himself both on his hair and his cooking, as well as on his brotherly kinship to the self-styled rival of Jenny Lind, who was then called the "Black Swan" (Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield), a singer, well-known in her day. His hair deserves a word of special note, as it was sometimes closely associated with his cooking, inasmuch as its elaborate dressing was done before a glass hanging just beside a stove in the cook's galley. He generally kept his long wool tightly furled in numerous curling papers that stood out from his head like spikes. On great occasions, such as Sundays and wonderful deliverances from storms, he used to unfurl his kinky locks which seemed ample enough then to fill a bushel basket.

After a delay of a week or ten days in the harbor, owing to head winds or inclement weather we set sail; and I remember well that the