It wasn’t long before the work of repair was progressing satisfactorily, when the skipper appeared at the cabin door, and, without preliminary, commenced to shake things up a little. He shook with such success that in three or four minutes Jimmie Rumps began to simply hop into the air at intervals, the men were reduced to idiots, while Mr. Goggins charged about, gulping with excitement; for the captain would sandwich in such observations as, “I wonder whether I shipped you for a mate or a farmer”; and requesting him, in soft but deadly tones, to be “good enough to secure that sheet so it’ll hold till to-morrow, anyway.” After snarling everything up into a hundred grannies, Captain Scruggs vanished, and the work proceeded quietly. The only man who kept his head was the second mate. This French seaman, Louis Jacquin, is an ideal sailor. He is built like an ox, short and very broad, with a bull neck thrust well down between massive shoulders, a back all corrugated with muscle, and, what is very remarkable in a sailor, large, strong legs. He is as swarthy as a Spaniard, with blue-black hair and short moustache, and a wide, powerful jaw, with a pleasant scowl, if such can exist, on his lean, determined face. He is a man to lean on in an accident.

We were glad to hear that when repairs had been made, the men were going to mast-head the top-gallant- and royal-yards to the stimulus of chanties; and sure enough, when the top-gallant-halliards were manned, the invigorating strains of “A Long Time Ago” broke out in a hoarse but agreeable barytone. A sailor’s chorus of this sort is a very inspiring thing. The whole of the crew, eighteen brawny fellows, were stretched in line, clear across the deck, with David MacFoy, the lusty-voiced Scot, at the end, to sing the verses; and at the conclusion of each line a roar would go ringing over the water that must have been heard behind the horizon, the halliards coming in a full yard at each swing. The main-royal went aloft to the tune of “A Poor Old Man,” and the boys seem to find so much pleasure in their chanties and their faces so shine with merriment that even the sight of them is enough to put a man in a good humor.

Over against this pleasant diversion looms up gloomily to-day’s evening repast. The captain had again imbibed enough to make him quarrelsome, and during the half-hour that we were at table the mate was so jerked about at the end of the skipper’s tongue that, objectionable as he is, we could but pity him, for in five minutes he was in a running perspiration. The only one who enjoyed the situation was the little Malay steward, whose face shone with delight as he moved noiselessly about the table with his gentle “scuse” (excuse), which he utters whenever he places a plate before us. It might be stated that the mate and the steward of a ship are at perpetual war; for the former always has charge of the beef, pork, and flour, which he invariably grudges to the steward.

The skipper has surprised us by handing me his sextant now and then, at about a quarter to noon, with the injunction, “Just look out for her to-day,” and has then disappeared below, to lie concealed often for several hours. We made the discovery to-day that he does this to avoid making himself ridiculous when taking the sun; for naturally a man requires all his faculties to know exactly when the sun is at meridian. Latitude, 14° 34′ north; longitude, 35° 12′ west.

May 27

Our good luck still follows us, for the Trades are stronger than ever. We made two hundred and twenty-two miles in the twenty-four hours, and for the last ten days our average daily run has been one hundred and ninety miles. Not very many vessels can show such a record in the northeast Trades at the end of May, and while two hundred and twenty-two miles would be merely a fair run with a free wind, it is extremely good work close-hauled with the leeches of the sky-sails lifting. It is true that we are still four degrees too far west for this latitude, but I expect that we’ll fetch by San Roque all right anyhow. “Where will we lose the Trades?” is in every one’s mouth; forty eight hours will, no doubt, see the end of them, and then for the Doldrums and rain. It is very hot now, but the atmosphere is quite dry.

The captain hasn’t boozed any all day, and at dinner he was in normal condition, and we had a long talk about the Scotch clippers of forty and fifty years ago. I asked him which he thought was the fastest sailing ship ever launched; he was in a good humor and answered pleasantly, “Well, that’s a big question. Some will tell you that the ‘Sovereign of the Seas’ was the smartest; others, the ‘Andrew Jackson’; some, the ‘Flying Cloud,’ which went out to San Francisco in eighty-five days, twenty-one hours, in 1857. These were all American ships, as I suppose you know; but the fastest ship, I think, that ever left the ways was the ‘Lothair,’ of Aberdeen, and I believe she was faster than that other Scotchman, the ‘Thermopylæ,’ with her sixty days from London to Melbourne. I’ll tell you what happened to me once: I was second mate of a Newburyport ship, and we were running our easting down bound out to Canton, and were somewhere near Tristan d’Acunha, when we sighted a vessel astern. It was blowing hard from the nor’west, and the next time I looked, a couple of hours later, there was the ship close on our quarter, and we doing twelve knots. ‘Holy jiggers,’ says I to the mate, ‘there’s the “Flyin’ Dutchman.”’ ‘Naw,’ says he, ‘its the “Thermopylæ.”’ But when she was abeam a little later, she hoisted her name, the ‘Lothair,’ and its been my opinion ever since that she was making mighty close to seventeen knots.” Then I asked him what he thought of the runs of some of our old tea-clippers of from four hundred to four hundred and forty miles. “Don’t believe it,” was all he said. It is very possible that the “Lothair” was doing better than sixteen knots at that time, and one of the most prominent young naval architects in New York told me once that if he got the order, he could design a sailing vessel which, under favorable conditions, would log eighteen knots.

The best authentic day’s run which I know of was made by the ship in which we sailed from New York to Calcutta three years ago, on her next eastern voyage to Anjer. She was running her easting down in ballast not far from Amsterdam Island, and from noon to noon on one occasion she sailed three hundred and fifty-one miles, an average of fifteen miles an hour; I mean knots, of course. Captain Kingdon wrote to me of this performance from Passaroean, and asserted positively that it was done by some of the best observations which he ever got in the Southern Ocean, and that dead reckoning had nothing to do with it. Indeed, that whole passage was a very quick one, as he went out to Java in eighty-three days from New York, and broke the record, as far as he knew, from the longitude of Cape Agulhas to Anjer, having covered that immense distance in twenty-one days. I told Captain Scruggs about this, and he doubted it, until he learned the vessel’s name. “Oh,” said he, “the ‘Mandalore’; well, maybe she did. I saw her in the dry-dock once, and there never was such a bottom on a merchant ship; ’twas like a yacht’s.” And, in truth, the handsomest vessel which I ever saw, taken as a whole, alow and aloft, was the “Mandalore” of London, built at Stockton-on-Tees. Seen, as we often saw her afterwards, moored in the Hooghly at Calcutta, among scores of the finest sailing ships in the world, she was the star of the fleet, the pride and very life of her captain. Poor, dear old Kingdon! The voyage on which he broke the record from Good Hope to the Straits of Sunda was the last he ever made. The “Mandalore” sailed from Banjoewangie, bound to Boston on the return passage, but called a few weeks later at Table Bay with the captain sick. He pluckily continued, though against the doctor’s orders, but was soon afterwards landed at St. Helena ill with cancer, the vessel proceeding in charge of the mate. Captain Kingdon then went by steamer to London via Madeira, but was too far advanced in life for an operation, so he was ordered to Cairo, in the hope that the dry atmosphere would prolong his life. But his constitution was not able to hold out much longer, and two months after his arrival in Egypt died Ray Kingdon, true friend, master mariner, gentleman. Latitude, 11° 25′ north; longitude, 33° 14′ west.

May 28

The wind god is so exceedingly gracious to us at present that I cannot but think that he is saving himself to swoop down upon us in fell wrath at the Horn. Here we are bowling merrily along within five hundred miles of the equator, doing two hundred and twenty miles in the twenty-four hours, with an unlimited prospect of wind ahead; and if we could maintain this speed of nine knots, we would cross the line on Sunday, nineteen days from New York. There are sure to be several days of calms between the Trades, though, so let us call it twenty-five days.

During the whole of yesterday the captain kept as sober as a lord chancellor, until ten o’clock last night, when he took a drink, which set him off again. He was very talkative when we left the deck at 10.30, and the last thing that I remember before dropping off to sleep was, “You’ll have an easier time of it if you break a few of their —— —— heads.” This to the second mate after he had had two more drinks. We knew by this he was in for another round of festivities, and my wife said this morning that he was charging around the cabin all night, snoring and groaning, falling over camp-chairs and door-sills. I have known him to sink into a stupor on the cabin sofa, shoot off with a whoop in a lurch of the ship, wallow on the floor till he struck the table-legs, and then peacefully continue his slumbers in that attitude. He doesn’t like my mixing with the men so much, especially when pumping-ship; he is very suspicious, and said last evening that he shouldn’t think that I’d want to come into contact with such men, forgetting how much more interesting they are than he is.

If sailors can be induced to talk, they are the most entertaining people as a class which it is possible to find. But it is very hard for a stranger to break the ice with them; and if the stranger should be a gentleman it makes it twice as hard, for they will always be extremely reserved in his presence. The only way to do if you want them to talk freely among themselves (which is much the most amusing) is to ask them questions and try to start conversations with them at every opportunity; generally, at the end of a week, they will see that you really like to converse with them, the ice will gradually melt, and from that time forward, if you should ever feel gloomy and sulky, go down on the main-deck and stand by the galley during the second dog-watch, and listen to the witty passes at each other; in fifteen minutes you will be shaking with laughter, for theirs is real humor.

At the pumps this evening I asked the Frenchman several questions, and found him not at all averse to talking, though his English is very bad. In speaking of the Southern Ocean, he said that his preference lay in favor of the Horn voyages, saying that the Good Hope seas were too short, meaning that in the event of a very heavy sea it is best to have as long a one as possible. Probably he was thinking of the Agulhas Bank, where there is at times possibly the most dangerous sea in the world,—a Bay of Fundy sea multiplied by ten. Across this bank, in a westerly direction, flows a swift current that issues from the Mozambique Channel, called now the Agulhas Current, and this, meeting the westerly gales, produces enormous, hollow seas, from which no vessel, however buoyant, can keep free.

What a splendid fellow this Gaul is! What a back and legs! and his wrists are as large as some men’s ankles. He has a really engaging smile, too, in spite of his bulldog jaws and shaggy brows. Opposite to me to-day pumped Jimmie Rumps. Curiously enough, he is the only sailor whom I have ever heard swear in joking among themselves, however they may talk alone in the forecastle, and he does so because he thinks that it is big. “There’s a fellow I’d like to see on the pumps,” he remarked, quite an ugly look coming into his face; and, glancing astern, I saw the skipper descending the weather-poop ladder. Though many of the men were evidently of this opinion, not a word was said by any of them; for might I not repeat their sentiments aft in the cabin for aught that they knew? Therefore the observation was received with scowls and a dead silence, which continued until Rumps again broke in with, “Last voyage I was in the American ship ‘Ivanhoe,’ and I was nearly starved to death!” “Eh?” said Louis, sharply. “I said I was starved in the ‘Ivanhoe,’” repeated Jimmie. “Oh,” replied the Frenchman; “I t’ought you meant zees sheep; you’ll find no bettair food anywhere zan here.” It is not often that a sailor will acknowledge this, and it speaks very well for Louis.

“Say,” Jimmie went on, “I’ve had enough of the sea, and if I can, I’m going home to Brooklyn on eight wheels [i.e., railway car]; and lemme give you a tip on San Francisco; don’t you miss the baths, though it’ll cost you ten cents, and a quarter for a fresh-water swim. And, say, you go over and see Oakland; but I dunno if they’ve got the fare down to five yet.”

It is rather surprising that Captain Scruggs doesn’t take an interest in keeping track of his various voyages, plotted off on the different charts, as Captain Kingdon did. The latter used some which had sixteen voyages pricked off on them as plain as ink could make it, forming a very useful aid for future work, as he could select the average from them all, for each voyage as it progressed. Our skipper, however, takes no such pains, and so far hasn’t even looked at an ordinary chart. To-day my wife asked him to show her where we were, at noon, and he hauled out from under the sofa an old, ragged, hydrographic wind-chart, and after much stertorous breathing he managed to stab the position on the paper with the dividers, being so palsied from last night’s potations that he had to steady one hand with the other before he could hit the chart within several degrees of where we were. Latitude, 8° 24′ north; longitude, 31° 40′ west.

May 29

The end of the Trades is at hand. After blowing us through nearly twenty-five degrees of latitude, the wind began to let go yesterday afternoon and to simultaneously haul to the southward, while an immense pall of blue-black cloud rose slowly out of the southwest and solemnly spread itself over the clear sky, with an indication of thunder-squalls in the “white heads” which crowned its summit. Sure enough, in the middle watch there was some mild thunder and lightning, but hardly any rain. However, a drizzle started later on, and as the morning was a soft one and the atmosphere almost as heavy and hot as the steam from a kettle,—a typical tropical morning,—the men were turned to scrubbing the paint-work generally. It was a very long, tedious job, for every particle of white paint had been transformed into a dirty drab in the New York docks. I never saw such a change in a vessel as the men, starting at the taffrail, worked their way forward—poop, bulwarks, boats, skids, everything putting off the grimy look, and assuming in its stead a glossy whiteness which almost hurt the eye.

It is strange that we have no head-pump here. On the “Mandalore” there was a very powerful one, worked by four men, and a line of two-inch hose that reached to the after hatch. Our method of washing down the decks, though, is as primitive as irrigation in India, for all the water must be hoisted over the side in a canvas bucket and dumped into a cask, whence it is taken out as wanted.

Speaking of the “Mandalore” reminds me of a gruesome tale which MacFoy, the bosun, told me last evening. So broad is his brogue that it was rather hard to understand him, but I gathered the following: One day, about nine years ago, there started from Hamburg, bound to San Francisco, the big Liverpool ship “Falls of Ayr.” The weather growing very bad in the Channel, though, she up helm and ran back for the Downs, to anchor till the gale should break. Shortly before she sailed the “Mandalore” left Hull, also bound around the Horn to San Diego, on what MacFoy said was her maiden voyage. After getting well out into the Channel, though, and finding it as thick as pea-soup, she, too, ran back for the Downs, and before anybody knew what was happening, with a fearful crash she hit the “Falls of Ayr” head on, well aft on the quarter, dividing her nearly in two and smashing her boats, which she carried aft, Liverpool fashion. Very curiously, the “Ayr” had no after companion-way, entrance to the main cabin being effected solely by means of the doors on the main-deck. These, being of iron, crumpled like paper under the impact of collision, and then jammed, so that in the hurry and confusion they baffled all attempts at opening, and before anything could be done the ship foundered, carrying down with her every soul aft,—captain, two mates, steward, and cook, caught like flies in a trap. Nor was this all. Three boats had been broken into match-wood, leaving but one unharmed, in which only a handful of the men and two apprentices escaped. “And look again, sir,” continued David, “she’s the unluckiest ship that ever left a yard. Two years later she ran down a large Belfast ship off Pernambuco, one of the Star Line,—I think ’twas the ‘Star of Greece,’—though both ships finally made Buenos Ayres for repairs.”

And this was the dear old “Mandalore” which carried us so happily across thirteen thousand miles of ocean only a short time ago! We had absolutely no suspicion of those accidents before, and I asked the bosun if he couldn’t be mistaken, but he answered, “I never forget a ship, sir; this one I mean is a London ship built at Stockton nine years ago.” That settled it; but how strange that we should never have heard of either case!

There are two boxes of Sicilian oranges on board which are holding out remarkably well; for though they are getting a little dry, not one has so far spoiled. We also have good cool water to drink yet; for in spite of the great heat of the last two days, it has not penetrated the big galvanized iron tanks below. Indeed, the water is so much cooler than the air that a blur forms on the outside of a tumbler. But this will soon change, and we will have drinking-water at a temperature of ninety degrees for a fortnight. Latitude, 6° 5′ north; longitude, 30° 30′ west.

May 30

This afternoon was very hot and calm, and we had the first hard rain of the voyage. As we had had no wind at all previous to this shower, the courses had been hauled up to prevent chafing; but some of the buntlines and clew-lines had been let go when the rain came, although as there was not much wind in the squall, the men were allowed to drop braces and everything else and run for tubs and buckets to be filled with fresh water, so that for the next thirty minutes the decks presented a remarkable sight. The head-yards were braced up, while the main- and after-yards were still squared, with the starboard clew of the foresail, both clews of the mainsail, and the port-clew of the cross-jack hauled up, while the decks were covered with a wonderful snarl of ropes. However, we filled every bucket, tub, and cask on board, while the men ran for their soiled clothes and spread them out all over the forward deck to soften in the warm rain, the mate producing three pairs of old trousers which he carefully deposited on the after-hatch. Odd notion, this washing of ordinary clothes; I had never heard of such a thing. The rain lasted for an hour, and the captain had the bathtub filled and I had a delightful fresh-water bath, the temperature of the rain being 79°. Only those who have been compelled to bathe for weeks in brine can appreciate the luxury of fresh water.

Our calm reminded the mate at dinner of a curious circumstance which happened once in the Pacific. Quite a fleet of ships started out together from San Francisco bound around the Horn; and, keeping well together, they all fell into a calm streak just north of the line which lasted for twelve days. During this time several ships passed this fleet about fifty miles to the westward of them (among which was the “Wandering Jew,” an American ship, since burned) with half a gale of wind! This story seems to be quite true, as the “Jew’s” log-book for that day showed that she was a degree west of the becalmed vessels, and mentioned that they stowed the fore and mizzentop-gallant sails. A fact of this sort shows what different weather conditions may exist at a distance of less than one hundred miles.

We witnessed a punishment this afternoon which I thought was never resorted to except in the navy; and, even there, the construction of a modern war-ship necessarily precludes it. We were sitting at the break of the poop, when we saw a man coming down from aloft in a hurry, as though he were especially anxious to reach the deck; when, to our surprise, no sooner had he done so than MacFoy gruffly said to him, “Back you go; and this time to the sky-sail-yard; d’ye hear?”

So up he went again (it was Louis Eckers, the youngest and dullest seaman in the ship) till he reached the main-royal, when of course he had to “shin” up to the sky-sail-yard, as there are never any ratlines above the royals. Presently, though, he stood upon the yard, one hundred and eighty feet above the water, grasping the slender sky-sail pole with one arm, and surveying the deck quite comfortably. When he had been there about half an hour, the bosun roared out “Come down”; and it was not till then that we realized that he had been mast-headed for bad conduct. It seems incredible that a punishment so humane should be resorted to on a Yankee ship.

The eating on board, aft at any rate, is still extremely good, particularly the coffee, which is put up in convenient packages for sea use and labelled “Best Maracaibo”; thus there is no deception, the greater part of “Mocha” having its origin in Central or South America. Every day at meals the mate seems to grow more hideous and grotesque, and he is the only man whom I ever saw to whom the latter adjective could be applied. His nose, which is enormous, is canted far over to the right; one nostril is the size of a slate-pencil, while the other would fit a small gas-pipe, and his dense, kinky moustache becomes at meals the lurking place of various liquids and solids; while ears like water-lilies expand from his head like those of a bat. His table manners are actually shocking, though in some ways he is perhaps not much worse than the skipper, who contrives to decorate the lapels of his coat with a spray of soup at each dinner. Some men embellish the region of their waist-bands with various fluids, but Captain Scruggs is dexterous enough to decorate his entire front with such things.

Mr. Goggins has a stock phrase which is simply too absurd, when he declines anything further at table. Suppose the captain to say, “Have some more potatoes, sir?” he will reply, closing one eye and leering at the dish with the other, “No-o-o, sir, I thank you, sir; I’ve ’ad sufficient, sir, I thank you, sir.” This answer is invariable, and it is never abbreviated or curtailed in any way. He has also of late acquired the extremely objectionable habit of coming to the table with bare feet, which I am going to ask the skipper if he cannot prevent. Latitude, 5° 16′ north; longitude, 30° 5′ west.

May 31

Our progress for this twenty-four hours was not such as would delight the heart of a steam-yachtsman, for our difference of latitude was precisely nothing, and we made twenty-five miles of westing, which would indicate a current. The heat, of course, is great, and also the oppressiveness, everything being indescribably sticky and soft. The temperature of the sea has risen to correspond with that of the air, both standing at about eighty-four degrees; severe rain-squalls with little or no wind necessitate oil-skins on deck, for if your clothes get wet they will be hours drying in this weather; indeed, they will not dry at all, unless you put them on, when the heat of the body evaporates the moisture. As we have been several days now in very hot weather, we have had plenty of opportunity of comparing the cabins of a wooden and an iron ship in the tropics. As might have been expected, that of the “Higgins” is cooler than that of the iron “Mandalore”; but the difference is surprisingly little, not more than two or three degrees. The principal disparity we notice at night, as the “Mandalore’s” top-sides used to retain the heat of the sun for so long a period that it was frequently two o’clock in the morning before the temperature fell perceptibly. The thermometer now in our room stands at about 85° day and night as against 87° and 88° in the other ship.

Yesterday we caught a dolphin. It was a true dolphin, delphinus delphis, a mammal, the bottle-nose of sailors; seafaring people giving the name to a small beautifully-colored fish, coryphœna hippuris, which isn’t a dolphin at all.

Scores of the big, graceful creatures had been disporting themselves around the ship for several hours, as many as a dozen sometimes simultaneously breaking the water in a space which apparently could have been covered with a table-cloth. By and by they aroused the blood-loving propensities of the mate, who forthwith rigged his harpoon and stationed himself on the bowsprit-shrouds to watch for his prey. Presently a dolphin shot under the martingale-boom, when zip, the heavy iron flew through the air and passed completely through the unhappy creature, whose blood instantly transformed the lovely blue of the sea to a rich crimson. Here Mr. Goggins showed indications of insanity and bawled for the watch, who came running up on the forecastle-head with beaming faces. A dozen hands seized the harpoon-line, and a few hearty pulls landed the dolphin alongside the starboard anchor amid the wildest acclamations from the men. As he was to furnish fresh food for them for several days, however, their joy was natural, and he was dragged down on the main deck, cleaned, and skinned, which latter process was accomplished by slitting the hide into longitudinal sections, and then, starting each strip, three hands would take a strong hold and with a hard wrench the strip or ribbon would be ripped off with a noise like the tearing of heavy silk; one of the men, the facetious Charley Neilsen, suggesting the propriety of starting a chanty. After this had been accomplished, the carcass was suspended from the mainstay, bearing a singular resemblance to a hind-quarter of beef.

This morning we had dolphin liver for breakfast, which could scarcely have been detected from calf’s liver, and this, with some new-laid eggs and salt mackerel, afforded us much the same breakfast which we would have had ashore. “And the flesh you won’t know from beef; eh, cap’n?” said Mr. Goggins. But we hardly believed this and our distrust was justified when a strange dish was placed before the skipper at dinner. “What on earth is that?” I asked.

“Oh, this is a dolphin stew,” quoth Captain Scruggs, with much satisfaction, “and that’s just pork fat on top to flavor it.”

Whatever it was, the thing was in a deep yellow dish and looked like a wretched meat pie, the slabs of pork taking the place of crust. But yet stranger things were to be disclosed; for when the captain inserted a spoon and sculled around in the recesses of the cavernous redoubt, he brought to light and placed upon our plates irregular lumps of what seemed to be coke, while some of the fragments were of that dead black that pitch assumes, smooth in places, and in others sharp and ragged. I can assure the reader that a dolphin ragout is a strange thing.

It will no doubt surprise some people to know that the largest steamship line in the world is the Hamburg-American Company. That is, its vessels, which number one hundred and twenty-four, aggregate the greatest number of tons. The new freight steamers “Pennsylvania” and “Pretoria” of this line are mammoth vessels, and two more of the same class are now building by the Vulcan Works at Stettin. Their gross tonnage is about twelve thousand five hundred, with a displacement of twenty-three thousand tons, and a carrying capacity of twenty thousand tons. It is marvellous that a vessel should be able to carry, safely, twenty-twenty-thirds of her own weight. The new White Star freighter “Cymric” slightly exceeds these vessels in carrying capacity, and it requires six hundred and twenty-five carloads of freight to fill her enormous hull.

Below will be found a list of the five largest steamship lines, with the aggregate tonnage of each.

The Cunard Line is simply swallowed up in these figures, and even the White Star Line, with all its freighters, falls below them; while the Japanese Nippon Yusen Kabushiki, with one hundred and sixty-two thousand tons, exceeds the Cunard, which the average citizen would perhaps place first on the list. Latitude 5° 16′ north; longitude, 30° 30′ west.

June 1

Three weeks at sea this day, and we are involved in the vortex, so to speak, of the Doldrums, with all which the name implies: intense heat, sultry, humid atmosphere, a baking sun which glares down between heavy showers and an almost total absence of wind. We were congratulating ourselves last night, for at 8.30 we took a northeasterly wind, which sent us along at seven knots through a sea spangled with phosphoric jewels and leaving a wake of silvery light astern, like the trail of a meteor.

“About, about, in reel and route,
The death-fires danced at night.”

But on issuing from the companion-way this morning, lo! a great calm was lying upon the waters; while the sun, like a globe of incandescent gold, sent down terrible rays of heat, trebly intensified by the brassy glare from the ocean. Perspiration dripped from the faces of the weather-hardened seamen upon the least exertion, the pigs breathed in short gasps and the poultry stalked about the deck with open bills.

A typical day of the low latitudes this. To me there is ever something wonderfully impressive in an absolute calm, when no breath of wind tarnishes the surface, and the only evidence that the ship is not resting upon a plane of glass is to be found in an occasional slow, deep surge, hardly ever absent when in the profound depths of the ocean.

All around the northern and eastern horizon hung superb, dense masses of violet cloud, descending at intervals in steaming showers, while broad on the port bow lay becalmed a large square rigger, hull down, but lifting at times on the swell till we could see her courses hanging in the buntlines in easy, graceful curves. Nearer and nearer, by imperceptible degrees, she approached, till at eleven o’clock she lay not more than three miles distant,—a magnificent four-masted bark, bearing the stamp of the Clyde upon her powerful iron hull, and presenting, with her double top-gallant-yards and splendid sheer, a perfect illustration of the modern sailing ship, of the largest and finest class. How beautiful and stately and proud she looked as she floated along, apparently conscious that she was homeward bound, and fully aware that she was one of the “swift shuttles of an empire’s loom” which Kipling mentions in those fine verses “The Coastwise Lights of England!”

“I’ll bet there’s nothin’ ter eat aboard there but rice, hard bread, and water,” said a croaking voice at my elbow, and the greasy countenance of the grizzly old mate was thrust suddenly into the foreground, totally destroying the beauty of the scene. Mr. Goggins (always Mr.) never loses a chance to blackguard his native country, which shows better than anything else what sort of creature he is. We made our number to the ship, to which she replied with her own name, but which we unfortunately could not make out, though, owing to the position of our flags, she may have been able to do so.

It is pleasant to study a great vessel like this, and to wonder how old she is and what great gales she must have witnessed in her career, walking up and down the world; now perhaps carrying five thousand tons of grain from California to the starving multitudes in India; now beating her way round tempestuous Agulhas, full to the hatches with tea and silk; now struggling against the thunderous southwesterly monsoon in the Bay of Bengal, homeward bound from Calcutta with twenty thousand bales of flossy jute in her great body. God speed the gallant ship! Latitude, 4° 24′ north; longitude, 29° 35′ west.

June 2

This afternoon was a perfect scorcher, even worse than yesterday, and the sun glittered down from a sky absolutely cloudless. Half a dozen albacores gambolled lazily around the ship all day, sometimes casting themselves several feet out of the water and then falling back with such a splitting crack that it was marvellous how their skins withstood it; and as these fish usually weigh about two hundred pounds and are some five or six feet in length, they made quite a fascinating display.

Last night we had what will probably be our last look at the pole-star for a couple of months. The sky was very clear then in the north, showing Polaris just above the horizon; theoretically, the altitude of this star is the approximate latitude in, and it ought to be visible at, the equator; but owing to vapors, etc., the polar star is generally not visible south of 5° north.

My wife is remarkably well in all this heat, a fact well illustrated by her hearty appetite at meals, considering that what we eat for dinner is usually supposed to be the accompaniments of cold weather. Our noon repast to-day, as an example, comprised a liberal portion of dense, steaming pea soup, hot Boston baked beans, and brown bread, followed, topped off with, oh, heavens! smoking plum pudding and Edam cheese in lumps as large as walnuts! Most people would consider this a throttling diet on the equator, and so it is, more or less; but our appetites are so fine that just now we don’t mind such a little inconvenience as Boston beans bubbling in pork fat.

At supper the heat was worse than ever and we were hurrying to get on deck, when my wife called attention to the strange, yellow tinge of a cloud-bank right ahead, which we could see through the cabin door.

“Oh, it’s nothing at all,” said the skipper; but, as if to nail his words, there came a blast of cold wind, which heeled the ship over to the scuppers and sent the captain and mate flying on deck. We followed instantly, and beheld a thrilling sight. Ahead, from southwest to east, the sky was covered with thick, windy-looking, saffron clouds, rushing rapidly toward us; while the sea, as black as beneath a summer thunder-squall, was whipped into angry, spitting white-caps, through which we were just beginning to force our way. In the northwest, over against this gloomy scene of dun vapor and dark, foam-flecked water, gleamed the sun, just setting in golden splendor, encircled with wonderful clouds of the most delicate blues and grays.

Meanwhile, the ship was in the wildest uproar which we had seen yet. The newly washed clothes had been hung in lines across the poop, and they were thrashing about like tattered flags; while ever and anon detached clothespins whistled by, necessitating very lively dodging. On the main-deck sixteen sailors were doing absolutely nothing but casting off the wrong braces; while ropes were flying, sails were slatting and booming, the bosuns were jumping about sulphurous with profanity, and Mr. Goggins in five minutes had so far lost command of himself as to lean helplessly against a capstan, quite speechless. Captain Scruggs stood at the weather poop-ladder shouting commands, to which no one paid any attention, such as, “Brace up those head-yards there; what’s the matter with you, Mr. What’s-your-name? Come out o’ that trance and git a watch-tackle on the foresheet. Hurry up that handy-billy now; or maybe you want me to show you what a handy-billy is.” (This with blighting sarcasm.) “Bosun, get that jib-topsail in!” The trumpeting of a rogue elephant couldn’t have been worse than the roar in which these orders were given, and the relief was infinite when objects began to straighten themselves out and the skipper went below. At seven o’clock we were doing eight knots, steering southwest by the wind. “The southeast Trades,” said the captain, positively; “they always come in a squall like that.” But, so far from this being the truth, the wind had let go entirely at eleven, and we were once more lying idly on a motionless sea. Latitude, 3° 50′ north; longitude, 29° 3′ west.

June 3

Even Captain Scruggs’s proverbial good luck seems to have vanished, for we have not made more than fifty miles per diem for several days, usually drifting about all over the ocean without steerage-way, until a squall comes along every two hours or so and sends us ahead four or five miles. The skipper lately has kept his temper well for so intolerant a man, but it is now oozing rapidly away, and he rolls out a reverberating oath at the men every few minutes, at whom he rages for apparently nothing. He seems to think that the most laborious tasks ought to be accomplished instantaneously, and he stuns Jimmie Rumps now and then with something like, “I’ll learn yer to obey with the end of a rope, for yer can’t pull any more than somebody’s d—— cow”; and constantly asks him, “Ain’t yer got a mouth on yer to answer with?”

I had a talk with Coleman the other day. This man is the graven image of the conventional Mephistopheles, and arrived, together with Olsen, at New York, on the American ship “S. P. Hitchcock” a fortnight before we sailed, ninety-two days from Honolulu. Coleman couldn’t say enough in favor of Captain Gates (indeed, every one speaks well of him), adding, “She’s a bloody sight different from this packet.” In saying which he alluded to Captain Scruggs’s abusive manner when talking to the men, which is entirely unnecessary and doesn’t do any good. Sailors, of course, can’t bear this when they are doing their best, and will make it just as hard as they can for a captain in return. In the face of several recent outrageous pieces of cruelty on our ships, I do not think that our skipper will personally lay hands on the men. Still, you cannot tell to what length he will go when we have been together three or four months.

The mate approached us last evening and gave it as his opinion that we’d never see the big steel Bath ship “Dirigo” again. “Why not?” said I; “she had not been more than one hundred and sixty days at sea when we sailed.”

“I know; that’s all right,” he answered; “but she was spoken off the Horn by the Briddish ship ‘Howth,’ that arrived a month before we left. Oh, you’ll never see her again.” That’s the way with this individual,—he always thinks that something is going to happen. Then he suddenly asked,—

“Do you know wot Dirigo means?”

I told him that I did know what it meant,—“I direct.”

“Naw,” he replied; “hit’s the motto of the State of Maine, and means ‘go ahead’”; and when I tried to tell him that that was a very free translation of it, he said, “I don’t care for no translation; in the Greek language it means ‘go ahead.’” Such incontrovertible evidence was, of course, indisputable.

Mr. Rarx, the second mate, is of an altogether different type from Mr. Goggins. He has more natural intelligence, is very neat and clean, and is, besides, a far better seaman, and handles the men in such a way as to get twice as much work accomplished in a watch as the mate. But I am inclined to think that he has a very bad temper, from the motion he made with a fid the other day at two of the sailors who had made a mistake with a splice; and when he told me about an easy voyage which he had just made in the “William H. Smith,” and added, “I didn’t have to speak cross to the men once from Singapore to New York,” he looked at me very hard, and it seemed as though he were “sounding” me, to see whether I would believe improbable yarns. Still, I may be doing him injustice.

Perhaps the most agreeable man in the ship is David MacFoy, and we talked together for half an hour yesterday at about six o’clock. “This is a tedious place, mister,” said he; “we were three weeks here in the Doldrums a couple of months ago in the ‘P. N. Blanchard,’ from Manila to Boston. We’ll be awhile here now if signs count; and what’s that we’ve got ahead of us?—the Horn in mid-winter! Oh dear, dear! The last time I went round to the westward was in the ‘Tam o’ Shanter,’ a couple of years ago now, and we were forty-nine days off Cape Horn, and that much snow that in half an hour the lee decks would be full o’ drift. But d’ye know, I’d rather double the Horn to the west’ard than run the eastin’ down goin’ out to China and Australia. If yer do get heavier sou’west gales there, you’re hove to comfortable-like; but runnin’ to the east’ard, it’s a terrible thing to have them greyhounds a-chasin’ yer. On the last passage out to Wellington two hands were washed overboard out o’ the waist, another was washed away from the wheel off the poop, and a fourth poor fellow fell from the upper mizzen-top-sail-yard, and only lived ten minutes. Oh! that other’s a crool cape, sir. No, I’m not married; there’s too many grog-shops around. Now, look: when I landed in Boston a few weeks ago from the ‘Blanchard’ I had a hundred and seventy-six dollars comin’ to me. That was on a Friday. The next Monday I landed in New York with fifty cents, and signed here next day; but that was pretty quick work.”

This, and much more, did the big, handsome Scot reveal to me, in the pleasant accents of his native land, and with that knack of story-telling which so many ship-masters imagine that they possess, to the chagrin and distraction of their friends. I expect many more agreeable half-hours with this interesting fellow, for he instils much individuality into his tales. Nor will I ever forget him as he leaned against the pin-rail in the dusk this evening, his clean checked jumper lying open across his brown chest, as round as a barrel, and his head shaded by a wide-brimmed felt hat. He is an ideal bosun.

Being now in one of the great ocean cross-roads, we are constantly sighting vessels, both steamers and wind-jammers, bound north and south, the steamers being those on the voyage to and from the river Plate and Brazil to the United States and Europe. Yesterday we sighted five vessels, but none near enough to speak. Latitude, 3° 40′ north; longitude, 27° 50′ west.

June 4

Our calm hot weather continues with no indications of a break, and the sun is continuously obscured by heavy, cumulus clouds, though the heat is scarcely so overpowering as it was a day or two ago. But the humidity is suffocating, and as we have no sun, rugs, towels, and everything else feel almost wet to the touch. Last evening we had a sharp squall at 6.30, for which we lowered the sky-sails and luffed smartly at the same time. Very heavy rain fell too, making the fourteenth hard shower of the day. In the middle watch last night, the mate said that the heaviest rain fell which he had ever seen, together with a single dazzling lightning-flash and a simultaneous crash of thunder.

In our lives we have witnessed many scenes of great tumult, but never have I seen any to compare with that on board this ship this afternoon at four o’clock. Captain Scruggs had been growling and yapping around the main-deck all day, cursing everything, and particularly the light air which came fanning along, whenever it fanned at all, straight out of the south. Thus far we had not once tacked ship, though several times the wind had shifted so as to bring it on the other side. We were crawling along then this afternoon toward the east when eight bells went and both watches came on deck; while in another minute, without previous warning, the skipper yapped out, “All hands ’bout ship.” Paint-brushes and serving-mallets were dropped and tar-pots stowed away, while every one hastened to obey the summons.

Now, there is always more or less confusion the first time that a square-rigger tacks or wears on a voyage, though if everybody keeps his head there ought not to be so very much; and if our skipper had only let Mr. Goggins attend to the small details there wouldn’t have been a tenth of the disorder here. From the moment that the helm was put down, however, until we filled away on the other leg the ship was like a mad-house at recess. I don’t believe that there ever was heard on a vessel’s deck such yelling, or howling, which is a more comprehensive word. Nearly every order given by either mate the captain at once countermanded, sometimes without knowing it, often on purpose. The main-deck was full of capstan-bars, lead blocks and braces, which had been cast off when the order came to ’bout ship; and over and among these encumbrances eighteen men wrangled, stamped, and swore to an accompaniment of chattering blocks and thrashing canvas, as the ship came up to the wind, the mates cuffing and thumping the awkward ones with unflagging diligence, Mr. Goggins lumbering heavily aft to administer a painful booting to that hapless creature, Neils Brün, who has been in almost continuous trouble since the mate nearly pulled his ear off, a fortnight ago.

And where was the master of the ship all this time? Behold him at the break of the poop raging like the heathen, while at times he shook both fists together above his head and swore like a pirate, as his voice went booming and crashing above the noise of battle. But the full glory of the scene was reached when, a few moments after he had roared out “Maintop-sail, haul!” the main-brace jammed in the brace-block and wouldn’t render. His passion was almost fearful as he called upon the blank-blank-blankety who fouled the brace to show himself; while he jumped off the poop and raged away, tearing the braces apart as though he were wringing some one’s neck. Even the second mate lost his head once as the old man shouted to his bosun, “I told yer to let go that t’gallant-brace, didn’t I? Do yer want me to show yer how it’s done? I will; but I’ll wipe the deck with yer first. Where are yer steerin’ the ship to, yer at the wheel? Maybe yer’d like to have her aback?”

Now, if we had never been to sea before, we might have supposed that this was the necessary and proper manner of putting a ship about; but as we had seen the “Mandalore” under similar conditions several times, where there was almost perfect order during such evolutions, this scene was positively astounding, and disgusted us with Captain Scruggs. He is manifestly a fine seaman (American ship-masters are invariably that), but he loses command of himself and every one else as soon as there is anything to be done.

Although the American sailing ships have decreased in numbers amazingly in the last twenty-five years, there being in 1871 twenty-four hundred and sixty-six square-rigged vessels under the flag, as against four hundred and fifty-six at the present time, there seems to be good reason to think that an increase in this branch of ship-building is about to commence. Arthur Sewall, the great Bath ship-owner, has a large three-thousand-ton vessel completed and the keel of another one laid down, both of steel, while it is not improbable that he will build a fleet of such sailing ships. Think of our immense trade to the East fifty years since, and then ponder on the fact that not long ago the only vessel which entered the port of Calcutta flying the American flag for a period of four years was a British-built steam-yacht! That sailing vessels in general are not passing away as rapidly as people suppose, however, was shown by a circumstance that occurred about six months ago, when the freight-steamer “Massachusetts” arrived one day at New York from London and reported that in twelve hours she passed fifty-four sailing vessels of various rigs, all close-hauled on the starboard tack! Her approximate position then was latitude 48°, longitude 27°.

For several days the men have been setting up the rigging fore and aft, and they are now finishing the mizzen-top-gallant, royal and sky-sail backstays. It was a tedious job, but intensely interesting to watch, and I had never seen it done before on a square-rigger, as the other ship’s rigging was set up with turnbuckles. Latitude, 3° 22′ north; longitude, 27° 50′ west.

June 5

We think that we have taken the southeast Trades, though the wind as yet is nothing to the eastward of south. Last evening the dense rain-clouds and vapory masses of the Doldrums gave way to a clear sky dotted with trade clouds, and a lovely night followed, the moon in the first quarter being visible for the first time in many days. We had also a magnificent view of the southern heavens, with the golden Cross now well up, wheeling slowly through the sky, the finest constellation in the south. Immediately beneath, though a little to the left of, the Cross a strange thing is to be observed in the shape of what seems to be a large pear-shaped blot in the surrounding stars, bearing a close resemblance to a dark cloud, about the same size as the Cross itself. Within this space, which sailors call the Black Cloud, not a single star can be observed with the naked eye, though the sky round about the Cross in every other direction is thick with stars of the third and fourth magnitude.

At eight o’clock this evening we tacked ship for the third or fourth time to-day, and by reason of so much practice this herculean task was accomplished with a little less noise than before. Still, the disturbance was very great, with a prodigious amount of shouting and bad language from the skipper, which once more rose to a climax when one of the fore buntlines caught on something, just after he had sung out “Let go and haul.” Captain Scruggs, who was standing at the extreme forward end of the cabin-house, here executed a few fantastic steps to relieve his mind, and being clearly outlined in the moonlight, he made a very idiotic appearance. The manœuvre of tacking on this occasion, by the way, was a very impressive one, the white moon-beams transforming the dull gray canvas into cloths of satiny sheen as the great yards revolved to maintop-sail haul.

It must be said that the captain was justified to-day in kicking at the weather. The breeze was of the very faintest sort, and as often as we tacked ship the wind actually seemed to jump around and head us off, so that, after we were once more braced up on the port tack this evening and the wind shifted back and into the south, heading us off to nearly west, we really began to pity the skipper.

The phosphoric display here is the most beautiful which we have ever seen. Our wake every night is a swirling, gyrating, writhing path of liquid fire, in which glitter thousands of apparently incandescent globes as large as billiard-balls, with now and then a suggestion of fiery serpents twisting and wriggling through the glowing mass.