Spare shot-boxes, sea-chests, and heavy articles of baggage or cabin furniture were fetching away to the destruction of crockery and other brittle ware, and the no small danger of limbs.

While to crown all, the upper works of the vessel which had been caulked in the damp atmosphere of an English winter, had opened out under the hot sun of the Azores through every seam, and the eternal clank, clank of the pumps, which it was fondly hoped had been heard for the last time when the poor, worn-out little Sumter had been laid up, played throughout the long night a dismal accompaniment to the creaking of the labouring vessel, and the wild howling of an Atlantic gale.
So passed the Alabama's first night at sea.

The next day the gale still continued, and hindered not a little the energetic exertions of the First Lieutenant, who, whilst Captain Semmes endeavoured, by snatching a few hours' sleep, to quiet his worn-out nerves, took his turn in the endeavour to bring something of order out of the apparently hopeless chaos, and gradually reduce the vessel to the trim and orderly condition proper to a well-commanded man-of-war.

On the Tuesday the gale abated, though there were still the remains of a heavy sea.

Topsails and gallantsails were set, and the propeller, which had hitherto been merely disconnected, and left to revolve, was hoisted up out of the water.
Several days now passed in setting matters to rights, passing spare shot below, laying the racers for the pivot guns; overhauling and stowing the magazines; securing furniture, baggage, and other loose articles that had hitherto pretty well "taken charge" of the deck below; and otherwise making things somewhat snug and shipshape, and preparing the vessel for self-defence in case of need.
By Friday, August 29th, these preparations were nearly completed, and in the early morning of that day the cry of "Sail, ho!" was heard for the first time from the look-out at the fore-topgallant crosstrees of the Alabama.