Charles Adams, Bernard Mitchell, Nicholas Powers, William H. May, Alpheus Townshend, Barney R. Kehoe, Joseph E. Mears, James Dougherty, and Peter M. Cox. The whole number on board when she sailed was thirty-three persons. In addition to the above, five seamen were shipped at the Verd Islands, which made thirty-eight, all told.

As is generally the case, the majority of these were strangers, and perhaps had never seen each other's countenances until they appeared on the deck of the ship, henceforth to be their new home for months, and it may be for years.

Besides, in this number there were representatives from different and distant sections of the country, and not unfrequently an assortment of nations, and even races.

Here were gathered for the first time many a wandering youth, attracted to the seaboard by the spirit of romantic adventure, to see the world of waters, and to share in the excitement of new scenes. His wayward history, in breaking away from the wholesome restraints and watchcare of home, may be found written, perhaps, in many sorrowful hearts which he has left behind. Years may pass away before either parents or relatives shall hear again from the absent one, and it may be never. Such instances are not uncommon.

How much interest there is centred in a whale ship, as she is about to leave port! It is felt not only by those who embark their property and lives in her, but there are other attractions towards the ship. They are found in the desolateness which is felt in many home circles, in bidding adieu to husbands, sons, and brothers. When the anchor is weighed, and the sails are spread to the faithful breeze, sadness reigns in many households and in many hearts. The thoughts are not only painfully busy concerning present separations, but they bound forward to the future, and anticipate what may be the experience of a few years to come. Changes! one hardly dares think of them! Amid the perils and dangers of the deep, how long will the ship's company remain unbroken? Will the ship ever return, and reënter her port again? Will those who have just released themselves from the embraces of friends, and wiped away the falling tear, and barred their hearts to the separation, will they ever return? or, if they should, will they ever see again those whom they are now leaving? These inquiries and reflections find expression only in painful emotions, sadness, and sorrow. Time will make changes, and leave its ineffaceable footprints with every passing year.

The land was lost sight of in the evening of the day upon which we sailed, with a strong south-west wind. We were accompanied out of the bay by two other outward bound whale ships—the Columbus, of Fairhaven, Captain Crowell, and the Hunter, of New Bedford, Captain Holt.

After the usual passage, with variable winds, and no particular incident of marked importance, except the ordinary and certain amount of seasickness on board, which generally attends the uninitiated in their first interviews with "old Neptune," Cape Verd Islands were made on the 4th of December.

With seasickness, homesickness follows; and then it is that many of the inexperienced, having left good homes and quiet life, wish a thousand times that they had never "learned the trade." But all such wishes are now in vain. With a new life on shipboard and in the forecastle, romance passes away, and leaves in its place the stern outlines of a living reality. Seasickness, however, is only a temporary affair; in most cases, indeed, it soon subsides, and then spirits and hope revive with recruited and invigorated health.

We took our departure from the islands on the 6th, in company with the ship Benjamin Tucker, Captain Sands; strong breezes, north-east trades. The first whales were seen about lat. 30° S., lon. 31° 41´ W., distant about seven miles—light winds. We set signal for the Benjamin Tucker, four or five miles distant, to notify Captain Sands that whales were in sight—an agreement we made while sailing in company. Boats were lowered; the mate fastened to a whale, which brought the shoal to. The second mate was less successful; his boat was stoven by a whale, and his men were floating about upon scattered and broken pieces of the wreck. Other boats soon came up and rescued their companions. The ship now ran down to the boat which was fastened to the whale. The whale, however, was lost, in consequence of cutting the line in the act of lancing him. After a pursuit of an hour or more, the mate fastened to another whale, and finally secured it, though it proved to be of but little pecuniary value. At the same time the boats of the Benjamin Tucker captured a whale, but they could not boast of much superiority. It made them three barrels. Thus ended the first whaling scene on the voyage, and certainly not a very profitable day's work.

The Citizen was put on her course. We passed several ships—weather good. December 20, lat. 40° S., whales were raised again, but took no oil. Still in company with the Benjamin Tucker. On Christmas Eve, Captain Sands and his wife took tea on board of our ship, thus reviving remembrances of home and friends, though thousands of miles distant from our native port.

The next incident of more than ordinary interest was another whale scene, of sufficient excitement and peril to satisfy the most ardent and aspiring.

The Benjamin Tucker had luffed to, headed to the westward, with signal to the Citizen that whales were in sight. The ship Columbus was then in company. The three ships were in full pursuit of the monsters of the deep. The school was overtaken in course of an hour or two working to the leeward. At first, one of the boats was lowered from the Citizen, and then another, and another, until four boats were bounding over the waves, each seeking to be laid alongside of his victim, and join in the uncertain conflict. From the three ships there were twelve boats pressing forward with the utmost celerity to share in the encounter, and each emulous to bear off his prize. The fourth boat despatched from the Citizen fastened to a whale. He was shortly lanced, and spouted blood—a sure indication that he had received his death wound. In mortal agony, he plunged, and floundered, and mingled the warm current of his own life with the foaming waters around him. Conscious, apparently, of the authors of his sufferings, with rage and madness he at once attacked the boat, and with his ponderous jaws seized it, and in a moment bit it in two in the centre. Nor was there any time to be lost by the humble occupants of the boat. The rules of courtesy and ordinary politeness in entertaining a superior were for the time being laid entirely aside. Each seaman fled for his life—some from the stern, and others from the bow, while the cracking boards around and beneath them convinced them that the whale had every thing in his own way. Besides, the sensation was any thing but pleasant in expecting every moment to become fodder to the enraged leviathan of the deep. In quick succession those enormous jaws fell, accompanied with a deep, hollow moan or groan, which evinced intense pain, that sent a chill of terror to the stoutest hearts. They felt the feebleness of man when the monster arose in his fury and strength. A boat was soon sent to the rescue of their companions, who were swimming in every direction, to avoid contact with the enraged whale, which seemed bent on destroying every thing within his reach. He really asserted his original lordship in his own native element, and was determined to drive out all intruders. He therefore attacked the second boat, and would probably have ground it to atoms, had not a fortunate circumstance of two objects perhaps somewhat