Late in September Laurence Washington, with George and his faithful body-servant Peter, sailed for Barbadoes. The voyage lasted five weeks, and was very tedious. It did more to cure George of his still smouldering passion for a sea life than he had thought possible. To a young man accustomed to the boundless forests the confinement was irksome. He was used to pursue his plans regardless of weather, and the lying motionless for days in a dead and depressing calm chafed him inexpressibly. Laurence, who bore patiently all the discomforts and delays of their position, could not forbear a wan smile when George, coming down one day to his cabin, burst forth: