The Sea Lion, of Oyster Pond, had now cast off the last ligament which connected her with the land.  She had no pilot, none being necessary, or usual, in those waters; all that a vessel had to do being to give Long Island a sufficient berth in rounding its eastern extremity.  The boat was soon shut in by Gardiner’s Island, and thenceforth nothing remained but the ties of feeling to connect those bold adventurers with their native country.  It is true that Connecticut, and subsequently Rhode Island, was yet visible on one hand, and a small portion of New York on the other; but as darkness came to close the scene, even that means of communication was soon virtually cut off.  The light on Montauk, for hours, was the sole beacon for these bold mariners, who rounded it about midnight, fairly meeting the long, rolling swell of the broad Atlantic.  Then the craft might be said to be at sea for the first time.

The Sea Lion was found to perform well.  She had been constructed with an eye to comfort, as well as to sailing, and possessed that just proportion in her hull which carried her over the surface of the waves like a duck.  This quality is of more importance to a small than to a large vessel, for the want of momentum renders what is termed “burying” a very deadening process to a light craft.  In this very important particular Roswell was soon satisfied that the ship-wright had done his duty.

As the wind still stood at south-west, the schooner was brought upon an easy bowline, as soon as she had Montauk light dead to windward.  This new course carried her out to sea, steering south-south-east, a little easterly, under everything that would draw.  The weather appearing settled, and there being no signs of a change, Gardiner now went below and turned in, leaving the care of the vessel to the proper officer of the watch, with an order to call him at sunrise.  Fatigue soon asserted its power, and the young man was shortly in as profound a sleep as if he had not just left a mistress whom he almost worshipped for an absence of two years, and to go on a voyage that probably would expose him to more risks and suffering than any other enterprise then attempted by sea-faring men.  Our young sailor thought not of the last at all, but he fell asleep dreaming of Mary.

The master of the Sea Lion of Oyster Pond was called precisely at the hour he had named.  Five minutes sufficed to bring him on deck, where he found everything as he had left it, with the exception of the schooner itself.  In the six hours he had been below, his vessel had moved her position out to sea nearly forty miles.  No land was now to be seen, the American coast being very tame and unpicturesque to the eye, as the purest patriot, if he happen to know anything of other parts of the world, must be constrained to admit.  A low, monotonous coast, that is scarcely visible at a distance of five leagues, is certainly not to be named in the same breath with those glorious