It would have been reasonable to suppose that, having made one long voyage in a sailing ship, my wife and I would have been content to stop ashore for the rest of our lives, or at least to limit the length of our voyages to the distance which separates the United States and Europe. For a while, indeed, after our return to America from India, we were contented enough on land, and were kept busy answering the innumerable questions of interested relatives and friends concerning the voyage just ended. But restlessness presently attacked us again; and it was not hard to perceive by the avidity with which my wife searched the Herald’s ship-news columns every morning for tidings of deep-water vessels that no persuasion on my part would be necessary in the event of our undertaking another voyage. Therefore, when two years had passed away, we began to discuss the advisability of once more tempting the elements in another sea-journey to far-distant lands. Japan loomed up before us in a particularly rosy light as a destination for this voyage; but there was one great objection to it: a voyage to Yokohama would have taken us around the Cape of Good Hope a second time, and it was our cherished desire to double Cape Horn, and thus overcome the two most celebrated and tempestuous promontories on the globe. Indeed, as far back as I can remember, I have always wanted to accomplish the westerly passage around the southernmost extremity of the earth’s continents. The very name of Cape Horn is enough to fire the imagination of a true lover of the sea, and fills the mind with pictures of ships battling with gales of wind and giant seas and visions of bleak, iron-bound shores wrapped in the gloom which enshrouds that desolate region. After much discussion, then, we decided on the voyage from New York to San Francisco. It was January when we first broached the matter, and, after arguing the pros and cons of the subject, concluded to try and get away in May, as that would take us to the Horn in July, the middle of the antarctic winter. At this our friends stood aghast. “It is quite bad enough,” they said, “to tempt Providence at all on so foolhardy an excursion, but to double Cape Horn in midwinter is going beyond the limits of reason.” But we stood our ground in spite of the hurricane of objections (and it required some moral courage to do it), and forthwith commenced systematic preparations for the journey. We were making the voyage to a great extent for the purpose of experiencing the weather and seas off Cape Horn, and as the latter would, no doubt, be larger and grander in winter than in summer, I don’t think that our idea was so very preposterous after all.

Naturally, our first thought was of the vessel in which we were to sail, and we looked forward with much interest to a voyage in an American ship, having all our lives heard that our ships were run in a splendid manner, that the discipline on board was perfect, etc.; and it would also be interesting to compare this vessel with those of another nation, as our first voyage was made in the British ship “Mandalore.” Now, it happened that all of our largest deep-watermen were away from New York, and we were at a loss what to do, for, as a general rule, the larger the vessel the more comfortable she is in bad weather. There are many who will, no doubt, take exception to this, as being by no means true; yet it would be absurd to argue that the “Germanic,” for instance, is as easy in heavy weather as the “Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse,” or a twelve-hundred-ton sailing ship as the “Potosi.” At length, one morning appeared the announcement in the marine news that the ship “Hosea Higgins,” Abner Scruggs, master, had arrived from San Francisco. She was not as large as the “Roanoke” by a thousand tons or more; but she was well known to us by name, and we went over to Brooklyn one day, where she was discharging a cargo of wine, canned salmon, and whale-oil, and introduced ourselves to the captain. Although gruff in the extreme at first, he subsequently thawed out sufficiently to warrant the belief that he was really quite an amiable individual, and we parted with his assurance that if the owners were willing he would take us around to San Francisco, and even went to the length of offering us his own room, which was very large and well ventilated. The owners raised no objections to our going, so we paid the passage-money of six hundred dollars and took possession of the captain’s room. I might remark parenthetically that this seemed to be a pretty good round sum to pay as passage-money, in view of the fact that we paid only three hundred dollars to Calcutta on the first voyage; however, in the latter case the money went to the captain, while in the present instance it went to the owners; besides, this passage would probably be somewhat longer. The captain received no recompense whatever, unless we should choose to make him a present.

The ship was advertised to sail on May 1, but there was the usual delay incident to the departure of a sailing ship taking out a general cargo, and it was nearly a fortnight after that date before we finally departed.

Under any conditions it is interesting to watch the loading of a large sailing ship, and when you are going to sea in that ship, a certain degree of interest seems to attach itself to each article, and the assortment of freight was bewildering. In a couple of hours, one morning when I was on board, there came down in rapid succession two large boilers for Spreckles’s sugar refinery in Honolulu, several hundred cases of starch, ditto kegs of nails, two wagon-loads of sewing-machines, two hundred bales of oakum, and four very large whale-boats, about thirty-five feet long, going out to Sitka. Strange that they can not or do not build good whale-boats on the Pacific coast; the best boats used by our whalers are all built in New Bedford, even down to the present time, and sent out to Alaska round the Horn.

It will be easily perceived how difficult it must be to stow a cargo of this sort so that in the heaviest of weather it will not shift. Imagine packing away four clumsy boats in a ship’s hold so that they will not be crushed by heavier objects, and yet in such a way as to prevent these very objects from shifting. If the various articles could be delivered on the pier to suit the stevedores, it would be plain sailing; but everything must be taken as it comes, and it calls for the greatest skill from the most experienced men. There is said to be only a single firm of this sort in New York whose men understand perfectly the art of stowing the cargo of a deep-water ship.

For several days we were tortured on the rack of expectation; but after the most aggravating delays and daily messages from the owners that the ship “would positively go to sea to-morrow,” we learned one Monday morning that the ship would be cleared that day and would sail the next morning, which was

May 11

Oh, the riot attendant upon the departure of a ship on a long voyage! The distraction and tumult are at some moments terrific, in spite of everything that has been written about a vessel’s being in perfect order to a sailor’s eye when leaving port. We have been on two large ships now when getting under way, and all I have to say on the subject is, that it is wonderful how much disturbance and disorder can be gathered into so small a space as a ship’s deck. We were told to be on board by nine o’clock, as the tide would serve soon afterward, and we would haul out about ten. At the stipulated hour, then, we went over the side and found that the crew had just come down. They were collected together in the waist, and in the centre of the group stood a hard-looking individual whom I took for the shipping-master. He was haranguing the men, who seemed to listen intently, though I couldn’t hear what was said; and when I strolled to the break of the poop to be nearer to him, he gruffly commanded me to “go way from there, will you.” Why he did so it is impossible to say, unless he was engaged in some unlawful transaction. This was, no doubt, the reason, as there is no attempt made by the United States authorities to enforce the laws relating to the shipping of seamen. By and by this creature took his disagreeable countenance over the side, and immediately those who were not too drunk were turned to at various odd jobs about the decks. Some of the men, however, were too far gone to even stand upright alone, so the two mates seized half a dozen of them and drove them forward and into the forecastle, the door of which was then locked, and the men were left to themselves to sleep off some of the effects of South Street grog. Those who come aboard in this condition generally have a bottle or two each of rum concealed about them, and after a vigorous search the mate found himself possessed of several quarts of very bad grog, which he hove into the river.

Several of our relatives and friends had come down to see us off, and, seated aft by the wheel-house, they seemed to take deep interest in the rakish fellows who were to be our companions, as it were, for four or five months. On the whole, they were a very decent-looking crowd; but when the second mate sung out, “Come up here a couple of you, and give us a hand with this tow line,” and all hands came stumbling up the poop ladders and lumbered aft with that fixed, idiotic stare of half-intoxicated men trying to show how very sober they are, we observed that our relatives shuddered as they thought of our being imprisoned for maybe half a year with this company of ruffians, as they, no doubt, supposed the men to be.

A remarkable feature of the departure of our ship was the crowd that had gathered to see us off. A body of men and boys to the number of at least two hundred were ranged along the pier, minutely criticising the ship and the way in which she was sparred, as well as the probable length of voyage. “It’ll be Cape Horn in July,” said one, “and she’ll never do it in less than a hundred and fifty.” “Guess you don’t know the old man, or you wouldn’t say that,” said his neighbor. “If Scruggs don’t take her out under a hundred and twenty, I’m a farmer.” Here a movement was perceptible among the crowd; somebody seemed to be elbowing his way through the midst, and in another moment we recognized the fierce whiskers of Abner Scruggs himself. With him was one of the agents, and they both seemed angry about something; but the captain greeted us very amiably, imparting to us at the same time the unwelcome news that he must now clear the ship of all who were not going along. Sad farewells were said, relatives and friends were handed over the gangway, which was instantly drawn on board, the powerful tow-boat “C. E. Evarts” started ahead, and we began to move slowly out, stern first, into the rapid current of the East River. So imperceptibly did we gather way that it was a minute or so before any one on the pier saw that we had started; some one in the crowd suddenly perceived it and shouted “she’s off;” and as our long, slender jib-boom glided out past the string-piece, we were saluted with a series of hearty cheers, which lasted until the tugs (for another joined us) had slued the ship around and headed her for Governor’s Island. On the way down the river we passed two splendid iron sailing vessels,—the German ship “H. Bischoff,” which had just arrived after an extraordinarily long passage of two hundred and eighteen days from Hong Kong; and the British ship “Walter H. Wilson,” being one of only a few English vessels named after individuals.

The second tow-boat left us at Governor’s Island, and afterward it was extremely slow work, as the speed at no time was greater than four knots an hour. Off Tompkinsville we passed the battle-ship “Indiana” and the cruiser “New York,” each of which we saluted with three dips of the ensign, which were returned in kind. We could see the sailors on the men-of-war gather in crowds to watch us drag slowly by, for it is not so very frequently nowadays that a large ship flying the stars and stripes is seen on her way to sea.

In the lower bay we found a very light southerly wind blowing, and a German iron bark with painted ports that had passed us outward bound, returned and anchored in the Horseshoe, not caring to continue under conditions somewhat unfavorable. However, we kept on, and commenced to make sail off the point of the Hook; and I must here assert that I never saw such confusion as reigned during this operation. The disorder when hauling into the stream was bad enough, but when the command was given to cast off the gaskets the ship was in a perfect whirl till the mizzen sky-sail had been swayed aloft, and as it takes several hours to make sail when first leaving port, the mates were almost out of their minds when the job had been finished. All hands began with the customary blackguarding of the men who had bent the sails, and the second mate passed the afternoon taking his oath that he “never did see quite the like of the mess them riggers had made aloft,” while the men were jumping about the decks like headless chickens, trying to find where the various ropes led to, for no two ships are rigged alike. It may be imagined how confusing it is for a man to come aboard of a ship and find that some of the sheets and clew-lines are not belayed in the same place as in the vessel that he left only a week ago. Indeed an intelligent second mate will often be two or three days getting the “hang” of a sailing vessel.

Before dark, though, everything had been straightened out, and the ropes coiled away over the pins, and the decks at length began to assume that well-ordered appearance so attractive in a large square-rigger.

The men are a far better lot than we expected to find in a Cape-Horner, and most of them are on the sunny side of thirty-five, though there are two or three old hulks among them. About three o’clock the drunken sailors were hauled out of the forecastle, and they were a sight as they yawed around, falling over ropes and capstan-bars. As the foretop-gallant-sail was being sheeted home, the captain went down on the main deck to have a look about the ship, when to our intense astonishment a young tow-headed sailor, the drunkest of the lot, lurched up to him, and, leaning against the skipper’s shoulder, poured some tale of woe into his ear. Now, Captain Scruggs doesn’t look like a particularly mild-tempered person, and when the man held out a ponderous fist to shake hands with him, we didn’t know what was going to happen. But the captain gravely gave him his hand and nodded his head, while the man lurched forward to his companions. At six o’clock Captain Scruggs said, “I don’t believe in giving grog to sailors at any time, but some of the men are feeling pretty well used up from the hard work after a long drunk ashore, so I’m going to give ’em a bracer.” Forthwith a bucketful of diluted Jamaica rum was served out at the cabin door, each man as his pannikin was filled nodding his thanks to the steward. One of them, however, a very sinister-looking man, tried to snatch the bucket away from the little steward; but the skipper caught him at the moment, and then for the first time we heard Captain Scruggs’s deep-sea voice. The man was so scared by the hurricane of words hurled at him that he dropped the bucket, which luckily didn’t capsize, and, pulling his front hair to the skipper, insisted that it wasn’t he “who was doin’ the funny business.”

Our first night on board began silently and peacefully, and we turned in early after the turmoil of the day.

May 12

When we reached the deck this morning, the lofty Navesink highlands had vanished beyond the horizon and we floated alone upon the ocean. The day came on with a fresh southerly wind and a lively sea. My wife went to bed last night sea-sick, and this morning she was very ill and wholly given over to dismal reflections. The motion was quite severe, and I myself felt far happier on deck than below. Indeed, it generally takes me three or four days to grow fully accustomed to being at sea. The captain evidently saw that I wasn’t feeling particularly robust, so he instilled life into me by asking whether I wouldn’t like to keep the meteorological record during the voyage, the ship being provided with blanks for the purpose by the Hydrographic Office at Washington. This will be very interesting work for me, and I feel quite important.

If a man commenced guessing what we in the cabin had for breakfast to-day, he might keep on indefinitely without hitting the mark, for we had broiled sweet-breads! Ponder on this, ye landsmen; a week hence, though, will see the end of our ice and therefore of the fresh meat. To our surprise, one hundred pounds of prime beef, mutton, and chickens for broiling came down about an hour before we sailed, beautifully packed in a cask in alternate layers of meat and ice, and now repose under the forecastle head in a cool place. No doubt, by exercising a little care, much, for us aft, may be accomplished in the way of prolonging our Lucullian banquets. Imagine a fresh, juicy roast of beef off Cape Horn!

Before proceeding with the history of our voyage, there may be some readers who would like to know what sort of a ship this is in which we are journeying, and the following is a description of the vessel.

The “Hosea Higgins” is a powerful wooden ship, a fraction over two thousand tons net, with a length over all of two hundred and sixty feet, a beam of forty-four feet, and a draught of twenty-five; she was built at Waldoboro, Maine, in 1885, and is of course classed A 1. She is a three-master, very loftily rigged, as nearly all Yankee ships are, crossing three sky-sail-yards, and her mainyard is ninety-five feet long. There is but one house on the main-deck, but it is a very large one and contains the forecastle, sail-room, galley, and carpenter-shop, in which there is a twenty horse-power donkey engine. So many persons have asked us at various times about the cabins of sailing ships, that we have made a plan of the saloon and staterooms, which appears on the opposite page.

So much for the ship; now for the monarch who commands her. Abner Scruggs is one of a very large family of sea-faring men, and hails from Rockland, Maine; in stature he is not exalted, but is very massive, and before he grew stout was no doubt a powerful man, his age being about fifty years. He is fierce of aspect, with bristling whiskers and dark eyes that snap like electric sparks when angry; and I have never known a man who could utter his commands in so determined, severe, and brittle a voice.

The mate’s name is Leander Goggins. By the way, on a sailing ship the man who holds that position is never called the chief mate, first officer, or anything except simply “the mate,” even if there are four of them. Mr. Goggins was born in Chichester, England, about fifty years ago, but left that country when a lad and became a citizen of the United States, an unusual performance for an Englishman, who seldom renounces his native land. He is short and small generally, talks with a terrific cockney accent, in spite of his thirty-five years in and about America, and possesses one of those countenances which you can’t tell anything about; but his looks are not in his favor. One of his most objectionable points is his fawning servility, which is never prominent in a man who amounts to much, however humble his station.

The second mate, Thomas Rarx, is a Nova Scotian, and is a large, raw-boned, hearty man with a fresh complexion, and is therefore the mate’s antithesis. You would never suppose that he was addicted to the thumping of sailors, yet this is one of the most important duties of the second mate of an American ship; on some of our sailing vessels it seems to be the most important. Then there are two bosuns; one of them, a Brooklyn youth, is a weak-looking creature, and has more the appearance of an American District Messenger boy than that of bosun of a Cape-Horner; perhaps his name has crushed his spirit,—it is Jimmie Rumps. But the other bosun is a brawny Scot, David MacFoy, of Troon; he is a splendid man, beautifully built, tall, straight, very good-looking, and is somewhat conceited, handles the men well, and has a cyclonic voice.

The cook and steward are both natives of the East. The latter is from Singapore, and is therefore a true Malay; blandness seems to be his chief attribute, and his bashfulness allows him to do nothing but smile and back out of sight. What there is of the cook seems to be unexceptionable; he is a Cantonite, about four feet and a half high, weighs possibly ninety pounds, and is a tip-top sea-cook.

Next comes the carpenter, whose only name aboard ship is “Chips.” Instead of a neat, clean person, redolent of pine shavings and saw-dust, our carpenter is a very dirty, fat individual, who appears to have been steeped for an indefinite period in a solution of kerosene and lamp-black. Most Finns (why Russian Finn? The man who says that will say hop-toad) seem to be dirty, however, so that he is no exception; in weight he would go well over two hundred and thirty pounds, and, as a whole, is the most objectionable-looking person whom I have ever seen. You could never call him Chips. As for Sammie, the boy, he is a short, thick, young Jew, not prepossessing in appearance, and with an apparently wonderful capacity for doing nothing; like Peter Simple, he looks as though he could stand a great deal of sleep. We have seen so little of the sailors as yet that, of course, no notion of any of them can be formed.

We did fairly well as to distance sailed in the twenty-four hours, and at noon we were one hundred and seventy-five miles from Sandy Hook.

May 13

This was a glorious morning, with a fresh breeze from the southward. Last night the wind came whistling along in strong puffs, and we had to stow both sky-sails and royals for it; and when I went on deck at 7.30, quite a hummocky sea was running from the southwest. My wife was exceedingly sea-sick all night long, and clung tenaciously to the theory that she would perish within twenty-four hours. At about ten this morning, though, both wind and sea having gone down somewhat, my wife consented to go on deck, so we arranged chairs on the cabin-house, and she stayed there all day, improving every minute. By supper-time she had a hearty longing for food, and we have no more misgivings as to sea-sickness for the rest of the voyage.

I rather like the way in which the second mate goes to work; he appears to be a very fine seaman, and this is perhaps the most desirable and necessary of all the acquirements of a second mate. He has also considerable quiet humor; yesterday afternoon he caught sight of one of the men who had not yet recovered the full use of his faculties, fussing about on the mainyard; and after watching him for a few moments he sung out, “Mainyard there, what the h—— are you gapin’ at! Cast off that yard-arm gasket; d’ye think yer messperized?” After which, he rolled forward, and we could see him chuckling and shaking at his own conceit.

Our fresh breeze wafted us across two hundred and twenty miles of the North Atlantic yesterday, and at noon we were in latitude 39° 22′ north; longitude, 65° 8′ west.

May 14

Another fine day with the same fresh breeze from the southward, and the captain is busy shaking hands with himself on his good offing; remembering the German who turned back and anchored in the Horseshoe, he mutters from time to time, “Oh, I wish I was under Sandy Hook, I don’t think.” We couldn’t carry the sky-sails last night, but they were set this forenoon, and we are now doing fully ten knots. My wife has entirely recovered, and is amusing herself with the three cats on board. One of them is a splendid animal, a pure Maltese, whose companion is a so-called coon cat; both of them belong to the captain. The third beast is the mate’s, an unfortunate, weird, black-and-white alley-cat, tall and lank, and as hideous as a nightmare.

It is remarkable how good the eating is on board; for although on many ships the meat, flour, etc., are often the best that can be bought, everything is frequently spoiled by villainous cookery; even our coffee is as good as people generally have ashore. Captain Scruggs told us before we sailed that he was a dyspeptic, and said that he had to be very particular about what he ate. On this we somewhat callously congratulated ourselves; and, sure enough, the skipper’s stomachic infirmities have insured us none but the best of everything. It might be here remarked that we brought absolutely nothing with us in the way of provisions. It is customary for captains to ascertain what their prospective passengers’ preferences are before storing the ship; and, as I knew the company who had the vitualling of the ship, it was certain that nothing better could be bought. Indeed, the average ship in these days carries such an abundance and variety of wholesome food, that unless one cared to take along such absurd edibles as patés and the like, the food question can very well take care of itself.

The mate, Leander Goggins, entertained us at breakfast this morning with some more or less remarkable conversation. It really seems impossible that a man can hate his native country as he does; and he gave an affirmative reply to Scott’s famous question,—

The skipper jollies him up constantly about his still being an Englishman in spite of his citizen’s papers, and this morning the mate couldn’t withstand it any longer, and delivered himself as follows, with great intensity: “Cap’n Scruggs, sir, I thank God I left Hengland w’en I were eleven year hold, sir. I tell you, cap’n, and you too, sir, it ain’t no fit country for a man to call himself a native of. A pore man carn’t take off ’is ’at to a lord, sir; ho, no; ’e’s got to bow and sheer and pull ’is front ’air; and if hit’s a lady, why ’e mustn’t look at all.” This was enough to disgust any one with him; and he made so strange an appearance with his weather-stained face, bleary little eyes, and heavily veined temples, that I almost shouted when he finished. A great slashing scar on his chin, when his stubby beard permits it to be seen, doesn’t add much to his personal charms. Later on he began to talk about Captain Bob Waterman, perhaps the most unpleasantly notorious ship-master in the old New York-California trade. The mate averred that he had sailed with “Cap’n Bob,” and he added that the yarn about Cap’n Bob’s having cast off the lee main-brace in a Cape Horn squall one night, jerking half a dozen men into the sea just because he didn’t like them, he had always considered as probable. “’E shot ’is own child, you know,” pleasantly added Mr. Goggins, as though he were mentioning the killing of a chicken.

At noon we were six hundred and fifty miles from Sandy Hook, in latitude 38° 58′ north; longitude, 60° 14′ west.

May 15

Glorious weather, with southwest winds as fresh as ever; it is growing much warmer, and the temperature of the water has risen to 71°, making it possible to bathe in it without much gasping.

Shortly after breakfast the captain asked us if we wouldn’t like to go forward and see him catch a bonito, as there were several playing about the forefoot. So we went up on the forecastle head, sat down on the gammoning-iron, and watched the skipper creep out on the bowsprit with a cod-line and a hook baited with a bit of rag in his hand. Then he went through various manœuvres necessary in the capture of these deep-sea fish, and incidentally nearly manœuvred himself off the jib-boom. The scheme consisted in dropping the rag swiftly down till it touched the water, and instantly jerking it upward again, to excite the imagination of the fish, I suppose. They looked very fine darting about at great speed several feet beneath the surface, being of a brilliant hue, and at first we thought that they were young dolphins,—that is, the dolphin of sailors. At length, after innumerable vain efforts, accompanied with much hard breathing and damning of the fish’s eyes, the captain hooked one and hauled him up, snapping and fighting till he was dropped into a gunny sack held by one of the men. He looked like a plump mackerel, weighed six pounds, and will afford a little variety to our evening repast.

This afternoon the skipper said that I ought to have a pair of sea-slippers; so he vanished into the slop-chest (the technical name for the apartment where all sorts of wearing apparel for the crew is kept) and emerged with the most uncomfortable looking foot-gear that I ever beheld. The slippers (?) were made of immensely thick red grain-leather, with heavy, pegged soles, as inflexible as plate armor and as easy-looking as Belgian sabots. The captain said that they were as tight as sea-boots, if I kept the water from flowing over the tops, adding, “I’ll tell you what I do: in cold, wet weather I just haul a pair of heavy socks right over the outside of the slippers and make boots of ’em.”

At a quarter to five this afternoon we sighted a steamer on the lee bow, and as there was a chance of signalling her, and she was bound to the westward, we put our helm up a little and kept away a couple of points. At 5.30 she was abreast of us, and we hoisted our number and “report me all well,” to which she hoisted her answering pennant. She was a very large English cargo-boat, one of that new style of tramp freighters with one funnel, two pole-masts, and a great sheer. She seemed to be making more than ten knots (though the snow-drift under her bows indicated about twenty-five), and should therefore reach New York in time to be reported in next Wednesday’s papers. Latitude at noon, 38° 31′ north; longitude, 55° 2′ west.

May 16

Our first Sabbath at sea broke calm and warm. When we went on deck at seven bells not a breath of air was stirring, the ship had no steerage-way, and an oily calm lay upon the face of the deep, recalling memories of our previous voyage, when, in this very part of the ocean in the month of July, we averaged twenty miles a day for twenty-one days. Four hundred and twenty miles in three weeks wouldn’t burn a ship’s copper off; it is about three-quarters of one day’s run of the fastest express steamers.

It was truly hot this afternoon, for the calm prevailed all day; but fortunately there was quite a swell present, in which we rolled about, creating pleasant draughts from the slatting sails. How orderly and quiet a ship is on a Sunday afternoon when the weather is mild and clear! Every rope, every implement, is in its place, the decks have been washed as clean as hard scrubbing can make them, and the brass mountings shine like mirrors. Coiled away in shady nooks lie the watch, each with a book or paper in his hand, deep buried in its contents. Some recline in the waterways under shadow of the bulwarks, others in the shade of the deck-house; some on the forecastle-head, where cool airs circulate from the swinging of the big foresail and jibs. The only audible sounds are the flapping of the sails, the somnolent cheeping of the blocks, and the working of the rudder-head as the ship rolls about in the swell, with perhaps the low tones of a man’s voice humming an air to himself on the main-hatch. A more peaceful scene it would be impossible to find than that presented by a large ship thus becalmed,—more tranquil and solemn than the little country hamlet dozing in the drowsiness of a mid-summer, Sabbath afternoon.

Let a breeze come along, though, from an unexpected quarter, and in an instant everything starts into life. “Square the crojjick-yard!” comes with startling suddenness from the officer of the watch. In a moment the half-hidden forms of the men spring with a bound from their cool retreats, and the forward part of the ship resounds with their deep voices as they come rolling aft, each repeating the order, “Square the crojjick-yard, sir.” Aft they come in a shuffling trot,—not slovenly, but in a cheerful way,—and the ponderous yards creak slowly round to the hoarse tones of the bosun.

It is during such scenes as this that the magic of the sea takes hold of the imaginative mind. The remembrance of gales of wind, and of hail and sleet and snow fade utterly from the memory, and the mind is conscious only of the inexpressible charm which the mighty deep exerts over those who truly love the sea and go down to it in ships.

After breakfast this morning the mate told me how oranges are loaded at Tahiti, by hauling the vessels up under the trees which overhang the water and shaking the fruit into the hold. Already Mr. Goggins is beginning to growl at the weather. What he wants all the time is “just enough to show the sky-sails to, sir.” We had a little more wind after breakfast, it is true, but it came from the southeast and let go at ten. Last night, just before we turned in, some Mother Cary’s chickens which were flying around the ship began to utter their quaint, plaintive cries, at which Captain Scruggs and the mate shuddered and looked grave. I asked Mr. Goggins what was wrong, and he replied, “Whenever the blarsted birds cry, there’s sure to be a long spell o’ light weather.”

It is strange what disdain merchant skippers have for yachting, nor can they ever understand why a man should expend so much on a vessel without trying to derive some income from the same. I happened to mention to the skipper last evening that I once chartered a pine-apple schooner at Nassau and took a party of friends on a cruise through the Bahamas. “After shells, I suppose,” quoth the worthy man, thinking that my scheme was to load up with the beautiful shells found in those islands and take them across to the mainland and sell them. Again I told him that my most cherished scheme was to navigate the South Seas in an auxiliary yacht. “Yes,” he answered, “it’s a good notion; trading ain’t dead there yet.” Perhaps the most amusing incident of this sort happened once when I was on board a yacht lying at Vineyard Haven. A large three-masted schooner came in, having lost her mizzentop-mast. The owner of the yacht pulled aboard of the schooner and looked her over, and then asked her captain and mate back to the yacht. Of course they admired her exceedingly, and as she was quite a large boat, they observed that it must cost a sight to run her. Finally, when they were about to return to their own vessel, the skipper asked, gravely and in perfect good faith, “What I don’t understand is, how do you make her pay?” Latitude, 37° 50′ north; longitude, 53° 40′ west.

May 17

Perhaps we may change our opinion before the voyage is over. Perhaps we may not. I have seen enough of the skipper to know that this voyage is not going to be exquisitely pleasant for ourselves, the mates, or the men. A little disturbance started this forenoon in the following manner: A barrel of carrots, onions, and parsnips had been rolled under the forecastle-head by the mate, who then forgot all about it; so that, instead of giving it to the cook, he allowed the green stuff to wilt and wither in the heat of the past forty-eight hours. The captain heard of this for the first time to-day, and ever since not a single thing has gone right for him. We first noticed that something was amiss with the skipper by the tone he used to the helmsman at eleven o’clock, when he told him to “hold her up a little more.” The man obeyed instantly, but made an inexcusable mistake: he forgot to answer, and in this he was, of course, wrong, for he should have either repeated the order or said, “Ay, ay, sir.” The captain then told him in forcible language what would happen to men who failed to answer. We thought that the matter was settled, when the mate came aft from the break of the poop on a run, thrust his fist through the wheel-house window in the man’s face and snarled, “Now, luk ud ’ere, ain’t I told yer to answer w’en yer spoken to, eh? Well, you just do it, or I’ll teach yer to open yer mouth; I’ll fix yer.” Innocent words, comparatively speaking, but no one can imagine the intensity of emphasis on the “fix,” or the malignant, hazing tone which the mate threw into his threat. The skipper had just “jumped on” the mate, and, of course, the latter must find some one to retaliate on, and here was an opportunity. The boy Sammie, too, came in for his share of attention, but it must be said that this slothful youth deserved it; and, finally, the skipper and mate came to words at dinner about a barrel of hard bread. Captain Scruggs graduated years ago with high honors in the art of nagging, and at last he provoked Mr. Goggins beyond endurance. “Goddlemighty, Cap’n Scruggs, if I ain’t seen no ship-bread, ’ow could I break it out?” We expected an explosion from the old man, but he only tugged fiercely at his whiskers and shut the mate up with, “All right, sir; all right. We won’t continue the argument.” As the day wore on his temper grew worse and worse; and when I called his attention to a school of fish playing alongside, supposing that he would like to see them, he answered tartly, “Very well, sir; you’d better jump overboard and catch ’em.” I thought it best not to reply; but it was very annoying, for some of the men hard by smiled broadly.

It must be acknowledged that the thought of being obliged to sit opposite to this man at table three times a day for at least four months is a disagreeable one, and this is not a cheerful meditation at the very beginning of a voyage. Yet, the captain has proved that in some ways he is very kind and considerate; but he has that hard, flinty voice and overbearing manner, an instance of which the reader can doubtless recall among his seafaring friends.

Throughout nearly the entire day we had an almost perfect calm; this, of course, aggravated the old man’s temper, for he seems to be a most intolerant individual. So little headway did we make that at noon we were in latitude 37° 22′ north; longitude, 52° 39′ west.

May 18

We had another sample of American ship “discipline” this morning. We went on deck at 7.30 to eat some fruit before breakfast, and as soon as the skipper hove in sight it was plain that he was looking for trouble. Presently the mate appeared, and it was evident from his countenance that he had found the trouble the captain was looking for. In a little while two of the men came aft, each with a case of oil in his arms, which they deposited on deck by the wheel-house, preparatory to passing them down into the lazarette. One of the hands, Brün, an inoffensive, quiet Norwegian (the most peaceable sailors in the world), happened to put his case down with the lettered side underneath, which displeased the skipper, who asked him, in his ogre’s voice, if he hadn’t told him the way to handle case-oil. Now, the man was evidently doing the very best he could, which was evident from his great desire to please, and also from the way in which his hands shook. Finally he grew so nervous that when he picked up the case to turn it over, it slipped and fell with a loud noise on the deck. At this the poor fellow jumped back several feet and put up his arm to ward off the expected blow; but the skipper saw plainly that it was an accident and was going to let the matter pass, when the mate jumped in between them and, catching a firm hold of Brün’s right ear, gave it a terrific wrench, that slued him round and brought him to his knees, while he yelled, “Ain’t I told yer how to lay them cases down?”

Such scenes as this are extremely unpleasant, particularly as they are always accompanied with boisterous language; and, as we saw the whole affair, I can say with certainty that it was absolutely unprovoked and unnecessary. If the man had been of a surly or ugly disposition, and intentionally put the case down wrongly, some excuse might be in order for the mate’s conduct; but this fellow has always been unobtrusive, and actually jumps in his desire to please. It is generally men of a certain temperament that mates pick out to haze,—men with no appearance of “sand.” I have never known a man of Mr. Goggins’s sort to try it on a determined-looking, deliberate seaman.

How calm it was until five o’clock yesterday afternoon! The sea was as if oiled and of a rich blue, fascinating to contemplate and deeper in color than usual. No stream that ever cascaded down a mountain-side could approach in transparency the sea-water as found in the remote solitudes of the ocean. We had a strange sunset, too, the horizon being apparently at an immense distance, with whole chains of ragged, golden-tipped clouds, like jagged mountain rocks, seemingly a hundred miles away. We had a fine breeze all day from east-northeast, which, it is true, jammed us on the wind, but it was fresh enough to blow us along at seven knots. Latitude at noon, 36° 5′ north; longitude, 50° 36′ west.

May 19

This was perhaps the finest day which we have had yet. It broke with the heavens obscured; but during the forenoon the clouds melted under the influence of the sun and an afternoon of dazzling brilliancy followed. A fresh breeze whistled out of the east-northeast, giving us as much as we could show the sky-sails to; and the ocean was covered with foam-topped waves like immense snow flakes, the crests of which often came tumbling in glee over the weather side.

Yesterday afternoon at two o’clock we rose the upper canvas of a bark on the port bow, bound in the same direction as ourselves; at 4.30 she was abeam, and at seven in the evening, her trucks had vanished below the horizon astern! In truth this ship is a flyer on a wind, for, in order to pass the other vessel in so short a time, we must have sailed almost, if not quite, two miles to her one. Again, this morning at daylight, we made out the sails of a ship hull down to leeward; she was then abeam, steering about southeast, but during the afternoon we ran her out of sight, too. For the past twenty-four hours we have certainly done splendidly, logging one hundred and ninety-eight miles, hauled as close to the wind as possible. Captain Scruggs even went so far as to say that he thought that there were only two other American ships afloat that could have made more than two hundred miles to-day by the wind,—the “Henry B. Hyde” and the “A. G. Ropes.” Later I asked the skipper which he considered was the finest all-round wooden ship under the flag to-day; his answer instantly was, “the ’Hyde’ by all odds; and not only that, but she’s one of the finest ships that ever came out of a Maine ship-yard.” She was built about ten years ago in Bath, by John McDonald, a Nova Scotian and a pupil of the famous Donald Mackay of Boston, who turned out so many celebrated clippers thirty or forty years ago. The “Hyde” is a large ship, registering twenty-five hundred tons; but in spite of her size she is a three-master, being, I believe, the second largest ship of this rig at the present time, the British ship “Ditton” heading the roll of three-masters with a net tonnage of about twenty-eight hundred. Almost all sailing vessels of over two thousand tons register are now built with four masts.

Last night I was talking with the mate about sea-birds, and he was giving me considerable information of the birds on the Pacific coast, when he said, suddenly, “I see a ’awk at sea once, sir.” “Indeed,” said I, “that is very interesting, for the bird is almost extinct; it must have been a long time ago, for even the eggs now are quite valuable.” He looked very hard at me then for a few moments, when the captain called him away; and for some time I wondered why he had stared at me so fixedly; when all at once I realized that he meant hawk, not auk! Latitude, 34° 4′ north; longitude, 47° 15′ west.

May 20

Light showers prevailed this morning early, but at ten the clouds disappeared, leaving a sky of deep cobalt and a glorious, sparkling sea. Fresh winds from east-northeast blew all day, giving us frequently ten knots, the ship driving along with the even, modulated swing of a pendulum. The mate says that Captain Scruggs is so lucky in making fast passages that in New York they say that he carries a fair wind in his pocket and spills it out when necessary. However true this may be, the direction of the wind could be easily improved at the present time, by hauling more to the northward, so that we could come up a little; our position, too, would be a far better one if we were five or six degrees more to the eastward, as it is a little too soon to make so much southing. Nolens volens, though, southeast has been our course for some time, and the skipper jocosely remarks that he expects to see San Roque this time.

We are now in the approximate position of the American iron ship “May Flint” (late steamer “Persian Monarch”), one of the largest sailing vessels under our flag, when she was hove down and dismasted about a year ago in a cyclone. Captain Nickels subsequently accomplished so fine a piece of seamanship that a short account of the whole affair might not prove uninteresting. The vessel left Philadelphia bound to Hiogo with a cargo of case-oil on August 21, and on September 8, about four hundred miles from the Azores, she encountered a gale which gradually increased to a tremendous hurricane, in the centre of which she became involved; and shortly afterward she was hove on her beam ends and the fore and maintop-masts and mizzentop-gallant-masts, together with all standing gear above the lower mast-heads went by the board. Her condition was really terrible, as all hands were in momentary expectation of seeing some of the broken spars alongside stave in the hull, as the wreckage was battering and thumping furiously against the ship. A steamer was sighted later on,—the “Craftsman,”—which stood by the “Flint” till the weather moderated, and then offered to tow her to New York. This offer Captain Nickels refused, though at their request he transshipped his two passengers, one a Boston and the other a Chicago man, and they returned to New York on the “Craftsman.” It is reasonable to presume that neither of these individuals will ever step over the side of another sailing ship.

When the cyclone had passed and the ship had come up on an even keel, Captain Nickels surveyed the wreck aloft and then decided on his course, which was as follows: a part of the spars and rigging having been saved, a foretop-mast was made from a spare spar, and the stump of an old mizzentop-gallant-mast was used for a foretop-gallant-mast. The ship carried a spare fore-yard, the lower foretop-sail-yard was intact, and the upper maintop-sail-yard was utilized for an upper fore; the foretop-gallant- and royal-yards were saved, thus square-rigging the vessel forward. A portion of the main-yard, which was broken, was used for a maintop-mast, leaving the mainmast fore-and-aft rigged. The mizzentop-gallant-mast, which was apparently hopelessly damaged, was fished and repaired together with all the yards below it, so that the vessel was square-rigged forward and aft, but schooner-rigged amidships, presenting a most extraordinary appearance. She looked at a distance somewhat like two hermaphrodite brigs, yet after the repairs had been made, which occupied fifteen days, she was successfully navigated into New York harbor, a distance of two thousand two hundred miles, and on one day logged the extremely good run of two hundred and forty knots. For this fine performance the underwriters presented the gallant captain with a superb gold watch, and well he deserved it, for it was an act of seamanship so bold and unusual as to command the applause of Captain Nickels’s fellow ship-masters, a class of men who, as a rule, are extremely reserved in their expressions of approbation. Latitude, 31° 34′ north; longitude, 42° 10′ west.

May 21

Last night was windy, with a severe squall at one o’clock in the morning, with much rain, and we haven’t seen the sky-sails since six last evening.

As I was leaning against the rail yesterday afternoon, looking at the mizzen-stay being set up by the starboard watch, the captain came up and said, “I’ve found out we’ve got another cap’n aboard, a fellow called Murphy, I believe. I’m going to send him aft to run the ship, and I’m going forrad to sleep in the fo’c’sle.” The skipper has a curious way of saying such things, and we never know whether to smile or not. Presently, though, he cast joking aside and began to blackguard Murphy in the language of the deep sea, saying that when he (the captain) had gone forward to see that the regular weekly washing out of the forecastle was properly done, some of the men did not seem to relish the process, and he heard Murphy grumble. Now, when a foremast hand has been somewhat disagreeable for a few days, and at length finds audible fault with various things, it is almost certain that some one hour in the succeeding twenty-four will be unpleasant for him. Thus with Murphy. After supper we were sitting on the deck-house, when Captain Scruggs came up and said that at eight bells the decision would be reached, whether or not there were two captains aboard. He was very nervous and couldn’t sit still; which reminds me that I have never yet seen a long-voyage skipper who wasn’t nervous at even the mildest encounter with the men.

The evening shades fell early, by reason of heavy clouds, and at eight o’clock it was dark. Word was passed forward that both watches were to muster aft, and when eight bells had been struck, the eighteen seamen (including the bosuns) came trooping down from forward and grouped themselves at the after hatch. Here I sent my wife below, fearing scenes which she ought not to witness; while the captain at the same moment passed out of the cabin to the main deck and faced the men.

It was an impressive, rugged scene. The wind was puffy and uncertain and the decks were wet; and though it was too dark to see the men’s expressions, their forms stood out clearly enough as they rolled from side to side with the heave of the ship, two broad beams of light shooting out from the cabin doors and illuminating the showers of spray that flew incessantly over the weather side; the great main-sail bridging over the scene with its huge curve, till lost in the gloom of the upper sails.

As soon as the captain appeared, he began to pace athwartships between the hatch and the poop, keeping it up for several minutes in a dead silence. How well he knows how to handle a crew! Nothing is more effective than such a silence, for it shows the men that the skipper is about to act with deliberation. Suddenly he unexpectedly rapped out, “Go forrad, the port watch”; and the nine men quickly disappeared, wondrous glad to escape, no doubt. Now what the captain said to the rest I could not hear, for the wind cut his words off short; but he walked up among the men, shouldering his way roughly through them, until he stood directly in front of Murphy, who, though putting on some “side,” shrunk back from the glare that I knew shot from the old man’s eye. He spoke to him in the fierce, intense tones of a thoroughly angry man; and, after a considerable harangue, he seized Murphy by his nasal extremity, the size of which afforded him excellent holding ground, and led the recalcitrant youth around in a small circle, every few seconds tweaking and twisting his nose, till I was surprised that it did not part company with the rest of his face. This done, he sent the men forward, entered the cabin, sat down, and joined us in a game of casino.

At first this seemed a very puerile manner of administering punishment, but it is considered wonderfully effective, and, in truth, it is humiliating to be hauled about by the nose in the presence of one’s companions. I had expected that Murphy would have been floored with a belaying-pin, that handy instrument of correction which most American masters and mates know so well how to wield. But Captain Scruggs seems to be restraining himself, owing in part, no doubt, to our presence on board, though chiefly to the space which the newspapers have been devoting lately to aggravated cases of cruelty at sea. Indeed, the skipper himself said the other day, “What’s a ship-master to do nowadays, when the press jumps on him when he gets ashore?” He forgets that if the said ship-master conducted himself at sea like the captain of a ship ought to, the press would have no cause for writing him up.

The course has been poor, with the wind at times to the southward of east, and, horrible to relate, we made a degree of westing in the twenty-four hours. If we don’t have a better chance than this, we’ll be jammed on San Roque in earnest. Latitude 28° 30′ north; longitude, 43° west.

May 22

It is necessary here to make an announcement of a very painful nature, an announcement of a fact so lamentable and unfortunate that for a long while we tried to believe that it could not be. Captain Scruggs has several times in the last week been very much under the influence of strong liquor! More than once we have noticed that he exhibited a strange uncertainty in his gait, and for two days he has been unusually aggressive and sometimes silly in his arguments. Still, neither of us would acknowledge to the other that which we knew in our hearts was true, until last evening at supper his conduct compelled us to admit the shocking fact that the master of the ship in which we have but just commenced one of the longest and stormiest of voyages was plainly drunk. He had to steady himself against the mizzen-mast at the end of the dining-room before he could sit down, and during the meal he was for a time a drooling idiot. His chief amusement seemed to lie in spilling small quantities of maple syrup over the table-cloth, in which he then dabbled with his fingers, like a boy with his feet in a puddle. The syrup appeared to revive memories of his childhood, for he told us stories of his passion for this fluid when a youth. Said he: “Why, I used to go out in the woods, tap a maple-tree, and let two gallons of surrup run into me.” No one said a word. “Two gallons!” glaring fiercely at the mate, who, of course, didn’t offer any objection. Then he caught sight of a small wash-tub, and, turning on the mate again, cried out violently, “When I was a boy, I used to could drink that right down full er maple surrup. This ’ere hain’t surrup; h’its mucilage.” Here we excused ourselves and went on deck.

Now, what is all this going to lead to? Pleasant thought, that of knocking about in a gale of wind off Cape Horn with a groggy skipper in charge! Indeed, when we first discovered his bibulous inclination, my wife was in despair, and the only consolation we have is to be found in the hope that the case of whiskey that we have seen is the only one on board. We can account now, too, for the innumerable times that the captain has popped into his little room, only to emerge in a few seconds, smelling furiously of Florida-water. Well, we’ll probably have fine, light weather through the northeast Trades, which we are now sure that we have taken; and at the rate at which the grog is vanishing at present, it will be gone before we reach the squally Doldrums, provided that the skipper has but one case.

In a copy of a nautical magazine on board, I saw an account of a singular fact that occurred a short while ago. The British ship “Crompton” was homeward bound a few months since, from Calcutta to Dundee, when one morning Captain Lloyd sighted something ahead which seemed to be either a capsized vessel or the back of a whale. As the vessel approached, however, the captain saw that it was neither, but a rock, about sixty feet long, eight feet high, and the same broad. He could scarcely believe his senses, for the position of the rock was 47° north and 37° 20′ west! Imagine a rock’s existing in the most crowded ocean on the globe, almost every square mile of which it was reasonable that at least one vessel had traversed, which had never been seen or reported before! For some time Captain Lloyd could not believe that it really was a rock, and so to verify it he sailed as close to it as possible; and as the morning was a perfectly clear one, and the hour twenty minutes to eight, he was at last compelled to believe the evidence of his eyes, that here was a large rock, extremely dangerous to navigation, lying five hundred miles north-northwest of the Azores!

Speaking of those balmy isles reminds one of that ardent, skilful yachtsman, the Prince of Monaco. About two years ago, while prosecuting some deep-sea soundings in the vicinity of the Azores on his steam yacht, he found a bank or ledge which rose from a depth of about two thousand fathoms to one of something like fifty fathoms, which, like the aforementioned rock, had never been charted or reported. So extremely zealous is the prince in his pursuit of knowledge concerning the floor of the Atlantic, that he shortly afterward gave an order for a twelve-hundred-ton steam yacht (he can well afford it!) fitted with the most recent inventions in connection with deep-sea sounding apparatus. I wonder whether he will use the machine for this purpose invented by Captain Sigsbee, who commanded the battleship “Maine” at the time of her destruction. It is said that Lord Kelvin, who, when Sir William Thompson, invented the famous sounding machine which bears his name, has stated that Captain Sigsbee has adopted an idea in his apparatus which he (Lord Kelvin) had vainly sought for years to utilize in his mechanism. If this be true, Captain Sigsbee has reason to be a very proud man, for Lord Kelvin is, perhaps, the most learned individual now living on hydro-dynamics and kindred sciences.

Last voyage it took us exactly a month in which to reach this spot where we are now, which illustrates how uncertain and erratic long voyages are. All fear of being “stuck” in this region, as we were before, has disappeared, for the Trades have come now without question; and while they are quite fresh enough to suit us, we would like to see the wind back two points to the northward. Latitude, 26° 18′ north; longitude, 41° 9′ west.

May 23

Last night was a windy one, and in the middle watch we split the mizzen-royal in a severe squall; so we took in the fore- and main-royals, the sea being choppy and the vessel plunging a good deal. It is customary to cut the light sails in such a manner that a fore-sky-sail will answer for a mizzen-royal; therefore, toward the end of the morning watch the fore-sky-sail was unbent and stretched on the mizzen-royal-yard, the royals having been set again an hour or so previously. It didn’t fit particularly well, but it will do until to-morrow, when the royal will be repaired, as such work is not done on Sunday unless in case of urgent need. Sometimes there is necessity for hard work on the Sabbath aboard ship, such an instance having occurred on the “Hosea Higgins” on her last homeward voyage from San Francisco. It might be first observed that, though it is the custom to give the men a holiday on Sunday, still if the captain orders anything done, he must be obeyed without murmur. On this particular occasion, Captain Scruggs saw fit to order one of the bosuns to do some work aloft, which he refused. The skipper went down on the main deck then and spoke to the man, a lusty young German, asking him why he refused to turn to.

“Because it’s Soonday, zur,” he replied.

“Sunday? Never heard of it. What is Sunday? Who told you anything about it?” quizzed the old man.

“I say, a man’s not supposed to turn to on Soonday, zur,” repeated the bosun.

“Oh, he’s not,” quoth the skipper; “then we always put him where he’ll have plenty of leisure. Mr. Goggins, the irons.”

(This same mate came around from California in the “Higgins.”)

The irons were brought, and the man, quietly enough, but with angry eye and sneering lip, put his hands behind him; the irons were locked on, and he was led down into the lazarette, where he sat calmly down, and the key was turned. Six hours afterward the mate went to him with some food and found that the man had in some way contrived to shift his hands around in front and was disposed to be ugly. Therefore he was taken up into the after part of the wheel-house (these structures on American ships are divided into equal portions, one containing the wheel and binnacle, the other the rudder-head, tiller, flag-locker, etc.), where a staple was driven into a carling, to which the man’s hands, still ironed, were secured, leaving him so that he could not sit down, his wrists being about six inches above his head. Now, this posture for twelve hours is enough to break the heart of a wild beast; yet this bosun stood there without a word for thirty hours, refusing food or drink during that time! At the end of every six hours or so the mate went to him and asked if he had had enough, to which the Teuton would answer “Naw.” His endurance yielded at the thirtieth hour and he implored to be released, which he was six hours later, and for the rest of the passage he was a model sailor.

At this time we are on or near a favorite whaling ground, great numbers of these leviathans being taken in this vicinity every year by schooners. In the old days a first-class whaling bark cost about thirty-five thousand dollars, and was manned by perhaps thirty Western Islanders, or natives of the Azores. They were owned by companies who supplied the vessels with provisions, clothes, and outfits, and also advanced certain sums of money to captain and crew (which did not go to crimps as it does now) while they were away on a three years’ cruise. No wages were ever paid to any one, but all hands received a percentage when the ship returned, the bulk, which remained, being divided among the stockholders. The most lucrative whaling voyage of which there is any record was made by the “Onward” of New Bedford, which, after a forty-one months’ voyage, stocked two hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, the captain’s share alone amounting to thirty-three thousand. More startling even than that is the fact that during the fifty-two years which formed the golden era of Massachusetts’s whaling industry the total value of whale products landed in New Bedford alone amounted to one hundred and forty-five million dollars!

We had quite an agreeable shock this morning when the carpenter walked aft to breakfast with a clean, new, checked shirt on, it being Sunday. He had combed the sawdust and other little inconveniences out of his unctuous locks, and he made quite a respectable appearance as he wabbled into the cabin.

Fresh Trades blew all day, and we have made good a course about south-southeast. Latitude, 23° 28′ north; longitude, 40° 15′ west.

May 24

This day broke with a strong breeze and a cloudy sky; but, as usual, the vapor cleared away at ten o’clock and a superb afternoon followed.

Nearly all wooden ships have to be pumped out twice every day, once in the morning watch and again at six in the evening. It is almost impossible to build a tight wooden vessel of any size, and the rougher the sea the more water she will make, on account of laboring. Of course, the leakage varies greatly, but I suppose that our own is an average one, about one thousand strokes of the pumps being necessary to free the ship at each session of thirty minutes, and the aperture through which the water escapes is about as large as a fire-hose.

Last evening, sadly needing exercise, I descended to the main-deck after supper and announced to Jimmie Rumps, the young starboard watch bosun, that it was my intention to assist in pumping ship, if the men had no objection; at which they smiled, while Rumps assured me that any such assistance would be eagerly welcomed. A ship’s pumps are worked by means of handle-bars attached to large, heavy fly-wheels, six feet in diameter; and the motion of pumping is similar to the old-fashioned way of lifting rock out of an excavation by man-power derricks. I therefore grasped the handle-bar with the reckless assurance of a man who knows not what he does, having opposite to me a raw-boned, powerful Englishman, Coleman. “Shake her up” came from the second mate in another moment; and, urged by the strong arms of the men, the great wheels began to slowly revolve. As moments passed, though with no indication of acceleration in the speed, I began to fear that after all I was not to find much exercise in this way, when all at once there was a distinct increase in the movement, and my breath came shorter and quicker. Faster and yet faster flew the iron handles till we must have been doing sixty revolutions to the minute. I was nearly pitched off my feet at every turn, and my head commenced to swim. Usually, at the end of fifteen minutes, a halt is called for a breathing-spell; but now we went on and on with no signs of cessation, and the men wrought with wooden faces. Then instantly I saw that they were having their joke, initiating me, as it were, and that they had no intention of resting till the trick was over. The pace was quite frightful; but I decided to faint on the deck rather than yield. Round went the relentless, cruel handles, carrying me with them, like a nautical Don Quixote on the windmill, while Jimmie Rumps, that young limb of Satan, made facetious observations, at which the men smiled compassionately.

“Fine exercise this, mister”; and, “How’d you like to do this when we’re turnin’ the Corner with two feet of water on deck?”

A ghastly smile was the only answer that I could summon, and in five minutes more I should certainly have succumbed to dizziness and want of breath, when I heard the voice of the mate, sounding strange and distant, “That’ll do the pumps.” I let go the handle, grinned like a skull to show how happy I was, summoned all my strength, tottered to the poop ladder, crawled up, fell into a deck-chair and for five minutes endured the bitter agonies of a man thoroughly “pumped.” This was a good deal better than giving in, however, and it is my intention to hammer away at it for the rest of the voyage.

To-day the sun was overhead at noon, the declination and latitude being the same. We made a somewhat better course during the past twenty-four hours, about south 30° east, and a heavy bank in the northeast presages a breeze from that quarter, so that we may come up a couple of points farther. The captain continues his libations with no indication of a change; evil as the thing is, though, there is some compensation in it for us, as he is usually asleep in his room all day. An ill wind, and so on. Latitude 20° 3′ north; longitude, 38° 23′ west.

May 25

Last night we celebrated the Queen’s birthday for Mr. Goggins’ sake; and the old man had a fête all by himself with a bottle of Monongahela. The first part of the proceedings consisted in burning balls of tar-soaked oakum mounted on sticks secured to the weather rail. Each ball was of the size of man’s head and burned with a brilliant flame that lit up the whole ship with a red glare, sending now and then a stream of sparks across the deck, quite alarming till we remembered that everything in the waist was drenched with spray.

The second portion of the festivities was more elaborate and was begun by carrying a barrel of oiled shavings up on the poop. The open end of the barrel was headed up and a hole a foot square was then cut in the side. Of course, the captain insisted on performing this piece of carpentry, and he entertained himself for ten minutes, jabbing away at the hard wood with a little key-hole saw till he was in quite a frenzy.

“Now gimme a match and I’ll show you some fireworks,” said he.

“Hi don’t think it’ll burn, Cap’n Scruggs: the hole ain’t big enough,” meekly observed the mate.

“I didn’t ask you whether you thought ’twould burn or not,” responded the skipper, who had snapped about an inch off the end of his little saw. “I asked you for a match.”

Finally the contents of the barrel were ignited, and the skipper, seizing the chimes at one end, bade the mate do the same at the other; then to lift it horizontally, swing it to and fro, and when he said “three,” to let it go over the stern. But the mate got it wrong in some way, and let go at “two,” and as the captain hung on, there was a good deal of excitement for a few seconds. The barrel all but hauled him overboard after breaking off two or three finger nails, banged loudly against the counter, turned over, and dropped into the water hole-side down.

The scene which followed was too harrowing for reproduction, but it was interrupted by the loud voice of the lookout, “Light right ahead, sir.” Instantly all was silent. The skipper jumped up on the deck-house, while the mate ran for the top-gallant-forecastle, whence he shouted back, “All right, sir, she’s keeping away”; and in a few minutes, a bark of about seven hundred tons under topsails passed us to leeward, by the wind, bound north.

Mr. Goggins entertained us at dinner to-day with a new version of an old sea-fight. The captain did not come to the table until supper, owing to his celebrations, which he prolonged far into the night; so, after the soup had been cleared away at dinner, the mate began, “Did you ever hear, sir, and ma’am, of the true ’istory about Sims (Semmes) in the battle of the ‘Kearsarge’ and ‘Halabama’?” “No,” said I; “let us have it.”

“’Twon’t take long to tell,” said the mate. “He warn’t in the fight at all. Where was he? Aboard o’ that English yacht, the ‘Greyhound,’ or whatever she was, a-lookin’ on! Yes, sir; I was in Liverpool then, and he come in and went on board the ‘Great Western,’ and her cap’n spit in his face, and him without the courage to reply.”

Mr. Goggins had a sousing yesterday which diverted all hands for some time. He was coming down from forward on the weather side, with that peculiar confidence assumed by captains and mates when the spray is flying, as if it were impossible for a drop of water to strike them. The mate had reached the main hatch, when he heard the swash of an unusually heavy sea, and casually turned his head in time to see a perfect storm of spray flying down upon him. It hit him fairly between the shoulders. He staggered, fluttered about for a moment, and then flapped heavily and helplessly against the hatch-combing, where he sat up finally in a foot of water, drenched to the bone.

Our fine breeze holds, but we are still hard on the wind; course, southeast by south, true. Latitude, 17° 15′ north; longitude, 36° 50′ west.

May 26

Last night was a squally one and the sky-sails were furled early in the evening, hands being stationed at the royal-halliards as well, until they, too, were stowed at three in the morning.

We had an accident yesterday afternoon, which, though comparatively trivial, occasioned some lively work. My wife and I were playing backgammon at the forward end of the deck-house in the first dog watch, and everything was running very smoothly, when, with a snap and a rattle of chain links, the lee maintop-gallant-sheet was carried away. In a second there was an uproar. Two men jumped with great alacrity into the weather rigging and in a few minutes were astride of the lee upper maintop-sail-yard-arm, working like demons, with the long length of chain sheet waving and slashing among the braces as the ship rolled in the beam seas. Louis, the Frenchman, swung himself into the rigging immediately afterward, stationing himself on the royal-yard-arm, followed by Mr. Rarx and three other men.