About 3 P.M. made the island of Tortuga.  A sail reported on the starboard bow, standing across our bows on the port tack.  Through the stupidity of the look-outs the next thing we knew was that she was off on the starboard quarter, and to windward of us, she having been on the starboard tack all the while!  I turned in to-night, hoping to get some rest, as I had been up the greater part of last night.  But after undressing, and before getting into my cot (10 P.M.), the officer of the deck came below in a great hurry to say there was a large vessel running down on us—­we were hove to—­which appeared to be a steamer.  Immediately ordered the officer to fill away; went on deck, and at a glance perceived that the sail was a brig running clear of us, and some distance astern.

Went below again, and this time succeeded in actually getting into bed, when I was again aroused by the announcement that a vessel, with very white canvas, was running down upon us, a little forward of our weather beam.  Went on deck, filled away again, and ran on under easy sail to assist the stranger’s approach.  The night squally, with showers of rain, and the wind fresh.  At 1.30 A.M. the stranger approached, and we spoke him.  He was a small schooner—­white, as almost all the West Indian schooners are—­Spanish, &c.  Turned in at two o’clock, and at daybreak down came intelligence again that there were two sail in sight, and at 7 A.M., one of them being within signal distance, I had again to turn out.  This night will serve as a specimen of a great many spent by me in my cruises.

Wednesday, December 3rd.—­We are cruising to-day, with the weather very fine and clear, in the passage between San Domingo and Cuba.  Caused two neutral vessels to show their colours, and at noon squared away for the east end of Cuba.  Where can all the enemy’s cruisers be, that the important passages we have lately passed through are all left unguarded?  They are off, I suppose, in chase of the Alabama!

At 10 P.M. a barque, having come quite near us in the bright moonlight, we fired a blank cartridge to heave him to, and wore ship.  As he disregarded our signal, I directed a round shot to be fired at him above his hull.  This had the desired effect, our shot passing—­as we learned from him afterwards—­between his fore-stay and foremast.  He proved to be the French barque, Feu Sacre, from Port au Prince to Falmouth.[9] When asked why he did not heave to at the first shot, he replied that he was a Frenchman, and was not at war with anybody! * * * At midnight made the light on Cape Maise.

[Footnote 9:  From the boarding officer’s memoranda it appears that the master of this vessel protested vehemently against being annoyed by United States vessels—­the Alabama passing in this case as the U.S. ship Wyoming.]