THE NORTH PACIFIC
Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her short again!
Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl,
Loose all sail, and brace your yards back and full--
Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!
Well, ah, fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my love--
Down, set down your liquor and your girl from off your knee;
For the wind has come to say: “You must take me while you may,
If you’d go to Mother Carey (walk her down to Mother Carey!)
Oh, we’re bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!”
KIPLING.
_Friday, 25th August._--Manned the capstan at 4 A.M. The crew were
turned out with some difficulty, and some of them looked very much the
worse for wear, especially those that only came aboard last night. The
German-American bosun soon began to give tongue, which, with his size,
soon brought the loiterers up to the scratch.
The longbars were put into the capstan, and we were soon tramping
drearily round in the raw, misty, morning air. As no one felt equal
to a chanty, we hove her short to occasional “Heave, and she comes!”
“Heave, and break her out!” “Heave, and she must!” “Heave, and bust
her!”
Presently the anchor was hove short, and we had to wait a while for our
tug.
I took the opportunity to take stock of our crew; they seemed all
sizes, shapes, and kinds. At my bar was a long, thin man, who looked
like a sailor: he turned out to be a Swiss naturalised American, one of
the hardest workers in the ship, who, though he had been at sea all his
life in sailing-ships and steamers, yet could not steer, and certainly
was hardly qualified for A.B.’s work.
Close to him was a little Arab, who, in light blue dungarees, dark
blue shirt, and red tam-o’-shanter, made a picturesque figure, with
his bowlegs and face of bright copper. This man had shipped as A.B.,
thereby earning four pounds a month; but he soon showed himself a lazy
and ignorant little coward. Alongside him was a man who looked the
very image of an old weather-beaten tar, but who also turned out very
different.
Presently as it grew lighter, we made out the tug coming off. We soon
had her hawser aboard, and “Man the capstan!” came the order, and
“Break out the mudhook!”
Then came a struggle; everybody strained with all their might, slower
and slower went the “click” of the pawls, until at last we were almost
at a standstill;--that mudhook refused to leave his pleasant quarters
at the bottom of Frisco Bay, and twenty men did not seem able to move
him.
Puff! goes the tug, and with its help we soon break out the demon,
which presently appears at the rail, with a mass of dark blue clayish
mud clinging to him. A man is sent to the wheel, and the tug goes ahead.
The anchor is soon catted and fished, and we are turned to getting all
ready for sea.
Slowly, in the twilight of early dawn, we leave Frisco, and pass our
comrades lying in the bay. One of them, the smart French barque, has a
tug alongside of her, and will soon be on our heels.
Anxious as I was to get to sea, I felt quite sorry as I saw Frisco,
that gay wicked city of the West, fading out of sight. It was a lovely
view as the sun rose in all his glory and flashed on the windows of the
great “Call” buildings and lit up the bay, with the deep-sea sailors at
anchor nearest the American battleship _Iowa_, beyond the ferry, and
close to her the transport that had brought the Californian boys home,
and a great Australian liner.
Good-bye, Frisco, we shall ever have pleasant memories of you; but, as
the good old chanty goes--
“Our anchor we’ll weigh, and our sails we’ll set,
Good-bye, fare-ye-well!
Good-bye, fare-ye-well!
The friends we are leaving, we leave with regret,
Hurrah! my boys, we’re homeward bound!”
As Frisco fades into the distance, the Golden Gate begins to open up,
and the deck to have a bit of a jump in it as we near the bar.
Here we had quite a tumble for a short time, and one of our landlubbers
did not require any breakfast when eight bells went. For myself, as
usual, I had an appetite like a shark, and one of our invaluable pots
of jam was sacrificed to the occasion.
I had an accident this morning that might have turned out badly. I was
down in the cabin helping the steward to put away some stores in the
lazarette; the trap-door down to the lazarette was open, of course, and
I carelessly, without looking where I was going, stepped through it,
and of course fell with a terrific bang to the bottom of the lazarette,
a fall of over 10 feet, but I am pretty hard and fit now, and was not a
bit hurt.
By 8.30 we were nearly up with the light-ship, and we were turned to
again.
“All hands make sail!” sang out the mate. There was a steady breeze
from the north-west.
I went up on to the fore-topsail yards and loosed those sails, and then
to the fore-topgallant yards, and finally the royal. We had a busy
morning of it setting all sail.
When the royal yards had been mastheaded, I was sent up to the
fore-royal to overhaul the leech and buntlines. This means shinning up
the royal halliards, which are, of course, of chain, and just within
reach from the top of the topgallant rigging.
Up I went, without any difficulty as regards the climbing, and luckily
for me I have a very good head, so I was soon on the royal foot-ropes
overhauling the gear.
What a magnificent lookout one gets from the royal yard of a ship,
and what wee specks the people working on deck do look from such an
elevation!
Having overhauled the gear, I was preparing to descend on to the
upper-topgallant yard when I was hailed by one of the new hands, who
was trying to overhaul the gear of the main upper-topgallant yard. He
evidently knew nothing about the job, and I had to shout directions to
him. Then he wanted to know how to get on to the main-royal yard. I
told him, by shinning up the royal halliards. This was a job he did not
seem to relish at all, and he was for going down on deck again, but up
came the mate’s voice from below,
“Topgallant yard there!--get a move on, and overhaul those royal
buntlines!”
Up he had to go, and a pretty shaky job he made of it; any moment I
expected to see him lose his nerve and come tumbling down on deck, but
at last he got up and on to the foot-ropes.
This man was afterwards on the starboard watch with me: he was a
German-American, and had been “hoboing.” He was an ex-American soldier,
and had no idea of anything connected with a ship; he found, like the
Canadian, that it was very different from what he had expected. For
some reason, most landsmen think that at sea, except for setting and
taking in sail, you have nothing to do but sit and smoke.
When all the gear had been overhauled, and the _Royalshire_ was off
with the wind on the beam, with everything drawing and the decks
cleared up, all hands were called aft, and the watches were picked.
Don had a big compliment paid him, as, though only rated O.S., he was
made lamp-trimmer, a job generally given to an A.B., and one which is
sought after, as the lamp-trimmer has two hours of his afternoon watch
on deck, (whether it is the afternoon or first dog watch) in which he
is allowed to retire into the lamp-locker and prepare his lamps and
binnacles for the night. As a smart man does not take two hours over
this work, he generally has an easy time, instead of having to work at
some job or other under the eye of the mate or bosun.
By the way, I forgot to mention the fact that the tug had cast off
directly we had got our topsails mastheaded, and with a toot of
farewell had turned her head for the Golden Gate; and soon after the
beautiful pilot-boat, the schooner _Bonita_, ran down upon us, and sent
a boat aboard to take off the pilot.
But, to return to our watch picking, the mate always has first choice,
and he took a Welshman, who was immediately made sailmaker. Our new
Sails was a Cardiff man and one of the best all-round sailormen in
the ship, besides being one of the most cheery. He was a man who knew
something, having worked ashore and steadied down. He had a big outfit
of clothes in his chest, which is a sure sign in a sailor that he does
not chuck his money about quite so wildly as most foremast hands.
[Illustration: THE PILOT-BOAT “BONITA”
(_Drawn by the Author_)]
For some unknown reason, all the dago’s were picked in the mate’s
watch; the second mate, in whose watch I was, having by far the best
men. He only made one bad pick, which was in picking old man Higgins,
second choice: this was the old buffer who I thought looked such an old
salt whilst we were heaving up the anchor. Though rated A.B., he was
soon found to be absolutely useless in any technical work.
It was his wheel in the forenoon watch, and, after nearly getting the
ship in irons three times, he had to be sent away from the helm in
disgrace. He was no sailorman at all really, but an old soldier who had
seen a good deal of service in India with Roberts.
He was an Irishman, and a very good old chap; but the poor old man was
very badly off for clothes, and the hardships of the passage pretty
nearly broke him up. It was really hardly safe to send him aloft, and
when you did, he was of very little use, as he could do nothing more
than hang on as a rule.
The watches being picked, I think I might take the opportunity to give
a list of the ship’s company.
Besides the captain, the bosun, Sails, Chips, the cook, and steward
keep no watches. They are called on board ship the “idlers”--a very bad
term, as no men work harder as a rule on board ship than the bosun,
sailmaker, and carpenter, who begin work at 6 A.M., and with half an
hour for breakfast and half an hour for dinner, as the midday meal at
sea is called, work all day, knocking off at 6 P.M.
Of course, they have all night in, besides have a half-holiday on
Saturday, and all Sunday free; but I had had all I wanted of working
all day and sleeping all night, and I think working watch and watch
infinitely more preferable.
I think I have already described all the idlers, and so will turn to
the watches. In the mate’s watch were:--Scar, third mate; Whitmore, the
nipper, and Don Henderson, lamp-trimmer, all three in the half-deck;
Frenchie, an old man who had been some years in the French Navy, and
was a good sailor but a bad helmsman, and was getting rather too
ancient (he was a quarrelsome little beast, though, and the worst
grumbler in the ship); Hassan, the Arab, I have already mentioned;
Liverpool, a young Lancashire man, and not much of a sailor; Yoko,
the Peruvian, a rare good old chap, and about the best sailor in the
port watch, though too old (he was the first man of the crew to come
aboard), he had an extraordinary sweet voice, a very rare thing in a
sailor, and without doubt had the best temper in the ship; Webber, the
Swiss-American, who was alongside me heaving up anchor; and Pedro, a
Brazilian, the merry rascal already mentioned.
These six were all A.B.’s, and had come up from Chile in a dago
barque, which they had left in Frisco. The two ordinary seamen in the
port watch were the two hobos, Jackson and Joy, who had wanted to start
work the other day in boiled shirts and white collars. Joy boasted when
he came on board that he was a hobo, and had never done an honest day’s
work in his life, and at first was inclined to think himself somebody,
but this was soon knocked out of him.
The starboard watch consisted of--Mr Knowles, the second mate;
MacDenny, fourth mate; Loring, and myself. Of the after gang, I don’t
think I have mentioned Loring before. He was a young Londoner, about
eighteen years old, and I believe his grandfather was an admiral. He
was an apprentice of two voyages’ standing, but on his second voyage
had run from his ship in Frisco, on account of bad treatment by the
mate and captain. Then, enlisting in the American regular cavalry, he
served several months, and did very well; but at Honolulu, on his way
to Manilla, he deserted for two reasons, the chief of which was, that
his charger, which he had a great love for, had died on the passage,
and the other was, that he had won a lot of money at poker. From
Honolulu he came back to Frisco first-class, in the clothes he stood
up in, and there the good people of the Institute looked after him,
and got him back again on his old ship, which had not yet sailed; but
the day she was to sail, he fell down with enteric fever, and was sent
ashore into hospital.
Recovering from fever, he found himself stranded again, and in danger
of being arrested as a deserter; but Karney of the Institute got our
old man to ship him as an ordinary seaman, and give him a bunk in the
half-deck.
When he first came on board, he was so weak that it was as much as he
could do to lift a bag of flour. I noticed this as he and I put the
stores away in the lazarette, under the eye of the second mate.
Loring turned out one of the best, and full of grit. He and I were, of
course, watch mates, and the first part of the passage looked after
the binnacles, and kept time at night in our watch, each taking two
hours. Our A.B.’s forward are--Jamieson, a little Scotchman, who had
been shipwrecked three times, and is the best helmsman the captain has
ever had, a good seaman and a hard worker; Taylor, an ex-man-of-war’s
man, and a Londoner, but getting on in years (he was the cheery man in
the starboard forecastle, though the passage ended very badly for him);
Wilson, a Swede, an old man with a voice like a foghorn, and a nature
as kind and affectionate as a child’s, a good sailor, and terrific hard
worker; Johnsen, whom you have already heard about; Rooning, a young
Norwegian, and a very good sort altogether, with a good temper for a
red-headed man; and Higgins, the old soldier.
The O.S.’s were Bower and Jennings. Bower was the German-American who
I had instructed in overhauling gear, and Jennings was the young,
down-east American, who had interpreted the signals of the _Iowa_ the
other day: precious little seamanship he knows, and he is a bit of a
shirker too, though he is pretty active aloft, and twice as much use as
Bower or Higgins. So much for the crew of the _Royalshire_: they were a
pretty scratch lot, all things considered, though they might have been
much worse.
The forenoon watch is our watch on deck; the wind is not very strong,
and has hauled ahead, so that we are close-hauled on the starboard
tack. The French barque soon ran past us, and heading higher, much to
our disgust, was soon almost out of sight to windward. At which Don let
off some keen sarcasm at Scar and Mac, who had been talking a great
deal about the wonderful sailing qualities of the _Royalshire_.
At noon we went about, and no one who has not witnessed the sight of a
big ship going about, can imagine the yelling and excitement that goes
on.
Before going about, the braces are carefully coiled down on the deck
from off the pins, all clear for running. The spankerboom is then
hauled amidships. The old man then comes to the break of the poop, and
calls out, “Ready oh!”
All hands are at their stations; being of the after gang, my station
is on the poop with the fourth mate, at the mizen-topgallant and royal
braces. The old man gives a keen look round, and then motions to the
helmsman to ease the helm down. The helm is eased down, so that her way
may not be checked too suddenly.
As soon as the helm is down, the old man calls out, “Helm’s alee!”
On which the fore and head sheets are let go and overhauled, the cook
always attending to the fore sheet. Directly the wind is out of the
mainsail, the order comes--
“Raise tacks and sheets!”
The foretack is kept fast until the mainsheet is hauled, for, as the
foresail bellies into the mast, which it does directly the foretack is
let go, it retards the ship from coming to.
Then comes the order--
“Mainsail haul!” and if the old man has judged his time well, the yards
swing round so quickly that you can hardly get the slack of the braces
in sharp enough.
The afteryards are now braced up and belayed. The ship is filled with
strange, weird cries, and the tramp of many men, as on an occasion
like this, every man sings out independently at the top of his pipes as
he hauls on the brace. We on the poop soon have our topgallant yards
round, and fly down on to the main deck to help the rest of our watch
at the crossjack and mainbraces, whilst the mate and his watch attend
to the foreyards.
I think the bosun has the most lively time, though, for he with two
men has to attend to the headsheets, which, when the ship is put about
in anything of a breeze, thrash about and thump their heavy blocks on
the deck with a force strong enough to knock a man’s brains out; so he
has to keep his eyes skinned, besides which he has the ticklish job of
letting the foretack go.
Our German-American bosun is a pretty big coward, having had most of
his nerve knocked out of him by a knife through his lung put in from
behind, and this foretack job he fairly hates.
Everybody works as for a wager, and the old man stands at the break
of the poop ready for trouble; woe betide the mate if he has trouble
trimming his foreyards, but generally the bosun and his foresheet
receive the most language.
Whilst the mate trims the foreyards, the old man generally attends to
the trimming of the afteryards. Then we of the starboard watch board
the maintack, whilst the port watch board the foretack.
The yards being trimmed, the tacks boarded, and the bowlines hauled
out, the old man retires, and the order is given, “Go below, the
watch!” the watch on deck coiling down and clearing up.
After a little practice at going about, the crew get together well, and
the manœuvre is executed rapidly and without any hitch, and each time
we go about we try to break the record as to time. Of course, putting
about a great big ship like the _Royalshire_, whose yards are so heavy
that it requires a couple of strong men to the royal braces, is a
pretty heavy job, and every one has to put all his available weight and
strength into the work.
Our old man is a thorough seaman, as are both the mates, and though
there is plenty of noise, and a good deal of hard language, still there
are no belaying pins flying, and wild confusion, as on some ships,
Yankees mostly, with hard gangs aft.
Twice we went about in the afternoon, much to our disgust, as it was
our watch below. The breeze freshened up towards sunset, and we took in
the gaff-topsail in the second dog watch.
The _Royalshire_ is logging 10 knots, laying over to it, a bit cranky
at present until the grain settles down a bit. The gaff-topsail is one
of my sails, which I have always to go up to whenever they are set or
taken in; and Loring and I went up to make the sail fast.
The gaff-topsail is an easy enough sail to get in if you know how, but
if you do not know how, it is a terror. The way to do it is, to get on
the outside of the sail and ride it down: and after two or three times,
I found that even in a gale of wind I could manage to muzzle it pretty
easily by myself.
Our first night at sea was an easy one, as it was our middle watch, so
that we got the first and morning watches in.
Coming on deck at midnight, we found nothing to do, and most of the
watch curled up and went to sleep on the deck. This is allowable in the
tropics, the only men awake sometimes on a smooth night in the tropics
being the mate of the watch, the helmsman, lookout, and timekeeper.
Timekeeping is by no means fun: all through the night at sea the bells
are struck every half-hour, and one bell struck a quarter before the
watch changes. So the timekeeper has no chance to get a doze, though I
have slept between the bells.
Keeping the binnacles alight was the worst job. The cheapest and
foulest of mineral oil being used, the wicks soon had a cake on them,
and the binnacles promptly went out; this the timekeeper has to look
out for, as the helmsman, when steering by the compass, must have his
binnacles alight.
No extra matches were allowed for lighting binnacles; one has to use
one’s own private store, and sometimes on a bad night I have used as
many as a couple of boxes of matches in a watch, and the amount of
swearing it produced was lamentable. I have sat in that half-deck, the
sea washing about the floor up to my knees, a binnacle in each hand,
my matches wet, in pitch darkness, as the lamp was not allowed alight
at night after one bell in the first watch; when I got a match well
alight, I had to scrape the wick clean and then light it, but often it
utterly refused to light inside, as there was not air enough, and it
would not keep alight outside, as there was too much.
There I would sit, lighting match after match, burning my fingers, and
cursing in a loud whisper for fear of waking the watch below. Then the
second mate’s voice would be heard at the break of the poop, “Hurry up
with those binnacles!” and it would be a case of more haste less speed.
Every half-hour, after striking the bell, the timekeeper has to go
forward and see that the side lights burn brightly, and the lookout is
wide awake on the forecastle head. Coming aft, one reports in a kind
of chant, “Lights burn brightly, and all is well.”
Talking of matches, it is a great question for sailors and prospectors,
and anybody on the trail or camping out, what are the best matches to
take.
I have tried all kinds, from “stinkers,” the common West Coast matches,
to all kinds of different wooden matches.
If you put a block of stinkers amongst your provisions, you may be
certain that the provisions will be all spoilt. Wooden matches that
only strike on the box are a great nuisance, as you invariably lose the
box, or else it wears out in your pocket. I also had wooden matches
that would strike anywhere, but their heads invariably come off. So
the match question is still an unsolved one, as only millionaires can
afford to use wax vestas out of England.
Coming over from Japan, there was great gambling on board in matches,
the nipper losing twenty or thirty dozen, and Mac winning as many.
Don and I brought three different kinds on board--stinkers, matches
that struck on the box, and big wooden matches that struck anywhere.
These big ones used to make a terrific explosion when struck; and
at first, when I used to go down and wake the mate at one bell, and
light his lamp, I used these, and sometimes I would use nearly a
dozen before one would light, each one going off like the report of a
pistol, and their heads coming off. They were an awful swindle too, for
occasionally we came upon a box which had not got a match in it with a
head on.
At last I had to give up these matches for lighting the mate’s lamp,
for fear of waking the old man.
Bang! bang! bang! they would go, accompanied by whispered curses,
whilst the second mate and Mac on the poop listened, and laughed to
themselves.
“Listen to Bally’s bombardment of the mate; did you ever hear such a
row?”
The second mate swore one morning that he had picked up nearly thirty
of these matches round the door of the mate’s cabin.
The worst of the matches in general use was, that their boxes soon
crumbled up in your pocket, or the striker on the side of the box wore
out.
The second mate, who only smoked cigarettes, used always to have one of
these boxes in his pocket, with a couple of matches and a cigarette-end
inside.
But--to return at last--one’s two hours are up, and one strikes four
bells, then the lookout and wheel are changed, and the old lookout
reports who relieved him.
Much amusement was caused in our first middle watch by Bower, who came
aft from the lookout and reported,
“Mr Higgins relieved the lookout, sir.”
Great was the laughter at the “mister” being given to a poor,
broken-down old soldier.
This man Bower was fearfully green about seafaring matters. Whilst I
was having a bit of a yarn with him, he asked me if all ships had the
same coloured lights, referring to the sidelights. Nevertheless, when
he left the ship at Liverpool, he thought he knew a terrible deal about
the sea.
The weather is delicious and warm, without being too hot. A pair of
serge trousers, rolled up to my knees, and a flannel shirt, is all I
shall wear until we are well out of the south-east trades a month ahead.
What a blessing it is not requiring shoes or stockings; one’s feet soon
get hard, and up aloft or at work on deck I never wore shoes except in
cold weather, and then it was a case of rubbers and oilskins day and
night.
Mac has been telling Loring and myself terrible yarns about the state
of the half-deck in bad weather.
“You just mark my words: many a night in bad weather an’ you’ll wake up
and find the water washing into your bunk; aye, I guess you two will
have to swim for it in your lower bunks, off the Horn, sure enough,”
says Mac.--“Why, I’ve had to swim out of my bunk before now, and its a
top one!”
And truly, Mac’s words were verified; the half-deck was the worst and
most dangerous part of the whole ship in bad weather.
_Saturday, 26th August._--Under full sail all day, with lightish fair
breeze. Fine, smooth, favourable weather, and wind getting more and
more on the quarter. In the forenoon watch we hauled down the staysails
and jibs, and squared the yards. Busy sand-canvasing poop ladders, and
overhauling gear aloft. The rigging is very badly off for ratlines,
especially the fore and mizen topgallant.
This is one of the things a sailor has to be very careful about.
“Never hold on by the ratlines,” is one of the well-known rules.
What might happen, and what sometimes does happen, is this:--The
watch is sent aloft to shorten sail, all going up one after the other
to windward; the first man breaks a ratline as he steps on it--he
is holding on by a ratline also, that goes too, and down he comes,
probably bringing several of the men underneath him down also. If ever
you see a rotten ratline aloft, out with your knife and cut it at once.
In our topgallant rigging in some places there were three or four
ratlines gone all together; this had to be seen to, and our best men
under the bosun were put on the job.
Every day, at four o’clock in the afternoon, the fresh-water pump is
shipped and water served out, the watch below doing the carrying,
so many buckets to the cook, so many to the forecastle, one to the
midship-house, and one to the captain, and one to the half-deck, and
two to the steward.
Fresh water is very valuable on board ship, and if a drop is spilt as
it is being carried along the deck, there is considerable trouble for
the delinquent.
Scar and Mac each have charge of a tank, and give it out week and week
about.
_Sunday, 27th August._--Wind dead aft; captain thinks we have got the
N.E. trades. Weather superb. Deep-blue sky, and trade-wind clouds. We
are doing about 5 knots.
We had our first go of soft tack to-day, each man getting a small loaf
for breakfast. It was very poor bread, made with sour dough; and I
thought longingly of the lovely, hot, yeast bread I used to make up in
the Klondyke.
Nevertheless, I managed to eat the whole of my loaf at breakfast, and
would have liked another.
It was my forenoon watch below, and I found no difficulty in sleeping
from 8.30 to 11.30, after having the eight hours on deck last night.
I went out on to the bowsprit end to-day, and had a grand view of the
ship as she cut through the clear water under full sail.
Spent part of the afternoon busy with needle and thread, putting
patches on my overalls and oilskins.
As I sat sewing, Loring came up to me and proposed that we should make
some dandyfunk for tea. I was always ready for anything in the eating
line, and at once seconded the proposal; but what dandyfunk was I had
no more idea than the man in the moon.
“What do you make it of?” I asked.
“Well, first we must make a canvas bag,” he answered.
“What, to put it in?”
“No, to smash it up in, of course.”
“Smash it up in?” I asked; this was truly curious. What could be the
dish, that to start making it you have to smash it up in a canvas bag?
At last I struck it.
“You are not going to make us a pudding out of brick-dust and
oyster-shells, like the hen’s food, are you? because, if so, I’m off.”
“You will eat it quick enough when I’ve made it,” Loring answered.
“I’ll make the dandyfunk if you will make the bag.”
Well, curiosity and greed got the better of me, and borrowing a palm
and needle from the third mate, I soon had a small canvas bag made.
This Loring proceeded to fill with hard tack, and then went forward
with it; I followed.
He took it to the rail forward of the galley, and then looked about him
for something.
“Get me an iron belaying pin, will you?” he asked.
“Certainly, if you swear not to use it on me.”
I gave him the belaying pin, with which he proceeded to pound the bag
of biscuits until it was so much fine dust.
He put this dust into my plate (as it was the largest in the
half-deck), and then proceeded to put water to it, and mixed it up
until it was a thick paste. Then he added molasses and some jam
(Don and I still had a pot or two left). This compound, after being
thoroughly mixed up, was taken to the cook, who put it in the oven.
At tea time we were all curious to see the result of the dandyfunk.
Loring went to the galley for it, and brought it aft steaming hot, a
mixture between a cake and a pudding.
I thought it extremely good, and it had another excellent quality, it
was exceedingly stodgy, and filled up the chinks splendidly.
For several Sundays, Loring, the nipper, and I made dandyfunk, but it
soon got stopped. The old man noticed one of us bringing it aft one
day from the galley, and thinking that too much hard tack was used by
this means, put his veto on it, and shortly afterwards, having run out
of both jam and molasses, we had to give up our Sunday dish.
Crackerhash is another sea-dish for tea. You save some of your salt
junk from dinner, and mixing it up roughly with broken-up hard tack,
have it baked by the cook, and thus you have something hot for tea.
Old Slush hated having to bake our dandyfunk and crackerhash for us;
but the old man gave us leave to have crackerhash for tea, and ordered
the cook to bake it for us.
Each man brought forward his little dish of crackerhash, and the
cook often had his ovens full, contributions coming both from the
forecastle, midship-house, and half-deck.
The wind is getting rather light. We hauled down the staysails in the
second dog watch.
Lovely starlight night. We shall soon have seen the last of the North
Star, as it is almost on the horizon now.
_Monday, 28th August._--The wind is same as yesterday, evidently the
north-east trades, but rather light.
We started shifting sail again to-day, changing our hard weather
sails for the old and light weather sails. With a whole watch on the
job, this is a very much lighter business than the bending sail up the
Sacramento.
I had my first taste of sea grub to-day, as our fresh meat has now
given out, and salt junk and pork are now the order of the day.
I did not think much of the look of our first go of salt junk.
There, in the kid, lay a greasy, fat mass, which gave out a very strong
and nasty smell.
If one is lucky, one may find a couple of mouthfuls of meat on one’s
portion, which is chiefly nasty red fat. The cook, who is nicknamed
“Old Slush,” well deserves his name, and many a curse did we give him
as we tried in vain to find some meat on the dirty, greasy, square
chunk he had given us.
The port watch are no good; we are by far the stronger and better
of the two watches, illustrating well the fact that Britishers and
Dutchmen are far superior to dagos.
Perhaps I ought to explain, for the benefit of those who do not know
it, that in sea parlance “Britishers” include, of course, anybody
hailing from the “British Isles.” “Dutchmen” include Germans, Swedes,
Danes, Russians, Russian Finns, and Norwegians; and “dago” is a general
term for any one of the Latin races.
The two O.S.’s in our forecastle, namely Bower and Jennings, are great
rivals, and disputes and arguments are everlasting between them. They
have both fallen foul of Johnsen already, and I expect matters will end
in a fight. Jennings is a stout-built little chap, and knows how to
handle his fists, but I doubt if he has got much “sand.”
Bower is a thin, weedy, unhealthy man, with no strength or endurance
about him.
To-day, when we were bending the fore upper-topsail, I was between
Johnsen and Rooning on the yard, and was talking to Rooning as we put
in the rovings.
Suddenly Johnsen chimes in, and says to Rooning,
“What’s dat you say about me, young fellow? Wait till I gets mit you on
deck; you just call me dat down dere, and you see I just puts one big
head on you.”
Rooning, not knowing Johnsen’s peculiarities yet, did not know what to
make of this, as he was not even speaking about Johnsen. So I turned
my tongue adrift on Johnsen, as the only way to treat a scoundrel like
him, was to take a high hand, or he would try to bully you.
“You d--d scoundrel of a white-livered Swede, we weren’t talking about
you at all. You just keep that villainous mouth of yours shut, and
don’t come any of your idiotic talk over us, or when we get on deck,
I’ll turn to and give you such a dressing down as you never got in your
life.”
This stopped his nonsense, and he kept clear of the pair of us for a
bit after this.
Whenever he got up to any of his rot with me, I always used to let
him have it straight back in the worst language I could think of, and
sometimes even laid hands upon him; and under this treatment he was
always very polite to me, though it all went down in his log, which,
for fear of having it stolen, he always carried about with him inside
his shirt, even in the hottest weather, much to the amusement of
everybody on board.
In this logbook of his he puts down every little incident that occurs
on board, but it is chiefly full of different offences which have been
committed against him by various members of the crew. They managed
to get hold of the book one day in the forecastle, and great was the
laughter thereat; every soul on the ship had been “logged” for some
offence or other, from the captain down, and as for people like Don,
Mac, and myself, there were pages given up to our misdemeanours.
The man was as sulky as a bear, and not a man would he speak to
forward; but with quiet cunning he palled up to the bosun, and thus
managed to get a lot of soft jobs out of him until he tumbled to it.
_Tuesday, 29th August._--Same fine weather. We finished bending sail
to-day, our lightest and oldest sails being bent.
The old man is at work now all day making the most beautiful little
model yachts, at which he is a past master. He told me one day that he
had made models of every kind of ship that sails the seas.
Though his models are very pretty, still I am not particularly fond of
them, as he covers the poop with shavings, and as I have to see that
the poop is kept shipshape and clean in our watch. Every afternoon
I have to spend some time sweeping these shavings up out of all the
corners.
We are busy again on all the teak wood with the everlasting sand and
canvas.
_Wednesday, 30th August._--Same fine weather; the wind is blowing nice
and fresh, and we logged 10 knots in the first dog watch.
The bosun come into the half-deck this evening, in the second dog
watch, with his guitar, which he plays very well, and gave us some
songs, we doing full justice to the choruses, of which the following
was a great favourite:--
CHORUS OF “DUCKFOOT SUE.”
“For now I’ll sing to you,
Of the girl I love so true;
She’s chief engineer of the ‘white shirt’ line,
And her name is ‘Duckfoot Sue.’
Her beauty was all she had;
She’d a mouth as large as a crab;
She had an upper lip like the rudder of a ship,
And I tell you she was mad.”
This is sung very fast, and with a great swing. Besides comic songs, he
had some pathetic ones; one of the prettiest of the choruses was this--
“Just a little cradle,
Just a little child,
Just a few fast-fleeting years,
Then a boy so wild!
Soon he reaches manhood,
Then comes on old age;
Thus we have the journey from
The cradle to the grave.”
The wind dropped in the middle watch, and it came on to rain. There
is nothing more detestable at sea, I think, than rain. Rain water
seems so different to salt water; it wets you, makes you feel cold and
miserable, gives you rheumatism, and washes the oil off your oilskins.
_Thursday, 31st August._--Wet day and head-wind.
Hard at work scrubbing and sand and canvasing the poop ladders, rails,
etc., in the pouring rain, with oilskins on.
The glass is falling, and there is a heavy head-sea. We took in the
jigger-topmast staysail and gaff-topsail in the forenoon watch.
I shinned up to the staysail, and got dripping wet in spite of my
oilskins, whilst I was making it fast, as the sail was full of water.
I was not sorry to go below at eight bells, as our watch on deck had
been very cold, wet, and uncomfortable.
We are all furious with our dirty old cook, as the food is so awfully
badly cooked, and comes aft one mass of dirty grease and fat, with
hardly a mouthful of meat per man.
The pea-soup, which is our chief sustenance, and which we get three
times a week, is so dirty that, instead of being white it is nearly
black, as he never takes the trouble to wash the peas.
Still, though Mac says it is the worst pea-soup he has ever tasted, I
take good care to get all I can of it, as without it I really don’t
think we could exist.
We save a little of our meat and potatoes for tea, and take it to the
galley, so that the cook can make us some dry hash out of it.
At present the steward has given us nothing from the cabin; he will
find out his mistake when the bad weather comes.
The wind fell altogether in the afternoon, and an oily calm with a
swell remained, which continued until the middle watch, when a breeze
sprang up.
_Friday, 1st September._--Same fine weather.
The crew came aft to-day at eight bells, noon, with their grub, and
there was some strong language on both sides. Of course we in the
half-deck did not take a hand, as we are supposed to be of the after
gang, though we are no better off than those in the forecastle.
In the midship-house the carpenter, bosun, and sailmaker are living
like fighting-cocks, as the carpenter has got flour, currants, and jam;
so they even get plum dough, besides getting the nicest bits of meat.
The old man was down on the men like a ton of bricks, and says that
they shall now only have their legal whack according to the Board of
Trade regulations, which have made a fine science of prescribing just
enough to keep a man alive and no more.
The rules say a man is to have 1-1/4 lbs. of salt junk a day. This is
weighed out every day by the steward; but is so boiled away in the
cooking, that a man thinks himself lucky if he gets half a dozen
mouthfuls.
It is the same with the pork, of which each man’s allowance is supposed
to be three-quarters of a pound.
We had less than 1 lb. of pork between three of us to-day, and my belt
is rapidly getting too large for me.
The other day the old man and the mate had a terrific row, and
they have not spoken to each other since. The old man has the mate
absolutely in his power, as it is only by his influence that the mate
can get a ship, which he has been hoping for for so many years--the old
man having more influence than any skipper in the line.
The second mate gets all the old man’s smiles now the mate is in bad
odour; but presently the mate and old man will be all right again, and
the second mate’s turn will come for the rough side of the old man’s
tongue.
From what I can see of the matter, I think this petty rowing between
old man and mates is pretty general in wind-jammers, and is chiefly
caused by the old men getting livers on them, caused by not getting
enough exercise; this, added to anxiety, worry, and excitable
dispositions, is quite enough to account for the extraordinary
exhibitions of childish temper which sea-captains so often give way to.
It was wet again during the night, and the wind was very light.
_Saturday, 2nd September._--We scrub out the half-deck twice a week,
each watch taking it in turn on Saturdays and Thursdays.
To-day it was our turn.
An institution on board a sailing-ship is “peggy.” Each of us take it
in turn, and peggy has to fetch the grub from the galley, and, in fact,
do all the “fagging” necessary.
At breakfast this morning, the steward called to me to give the burgoo
to the chickens.
This was the remains from the cabin table, and I was the chicken that
ate it.
There are a lot of flying-fish about now, and I think they produce one
of the prettiest effects in the tropics.
It is lovely to see a mass of them suddenly dart out of the water,
flashing like silver in the sun, to plunge with tiny little splashes in
again; out and in, they never get any rest, for the bonita go for them
in the water, and the bosun birds in the air.
I think we are only about 18° N. latitude now.
The port watch caught four albacore this afternoon. These are big fish,
rather like bonita, and are not at all bad eating. Dagos are pretty
good fishermen as a rule.
The binnacles were an awful nuisance last night. We lit them no less
than twenty-one times in the middle watch.
_Sunday, 3rd September._--Lovely day; flying-fish and bosun birds in
abundance. The wind freshened up, and we set staysails and jibs.
The latitude to-day is 17°.06 N., longitude 121°.18 W., and the run for
the last twenty-four hours was 111 miles--not very good; but our bottom
is awfully foul, as the inland seas of Japan and Frisco Bay are two of
the worst places for fouling a ship’s bottom.
It is much hotter to-day, and I slept on deck. Sunday is given over to
washing and repairing one’s clothes, and there is a run on needles.
To-day I put a huge patch in my oilskins, which have got rather worn,
from work in the Klondyke, and I wished that I had invested in another
suit at Frisco.
_Monday, 4th September._--To-day, at noon, the steward appeared with a
bucket of lime-juice for the first time.
Each man had to come aft and take his whack. In the half-deck we all
thought it very good, and were up to all kinds of dodges for getting
two goes; in the end, the steward finding we appreciated his brew, used
to give us whatever was left over every day.
I never heard anybody growl at having to take lime-juice, as, besides
being a very good drink, each deep-water jack knows how good it is to
keep off scurvy.
We turned the after-hatch to-day into a barber’s shop in the second dog
watch; of the haircutters, the bosun was the best, and I was the worst.
The nipper was my victim, and I don’t think his hair has ever grown
since. I found myself cutting huge holes, so cut round them to level it
down; the result was, that when I had finished, only a razor would have
been of any use to take more hair off, and the nipper got up looking
like an escaped convict gone prematurely bald.
We are still hard at work sand and canvasing the poop rails and
stanchions; every bit of varnish has to be rubbed off by the primitive
means of sand and canvas, pumice stone, and elbow-grease.
_Tuesday, 5th September._--Calm, with big swell running. Two sharks
have been hanging around us to-day. It is interesting to watch a shark
and his pilot-fish. This little fish is the one friend and companion of
the shark: he is of a blue-and-gold colour, and generally swims just
in front of the shark, or alongside the shark’s head, and in times of
danger even takes refuge in the shark’s huge jaws along with the little
sharks. No shark will touch even the most tempting lump of pork before
he has had the little pilot-fish’s report upon it. Contrary to general
belief, the shark in reality is a very timorous beast, and a little
splashing is sufficient to frighten any number of ravenous sharks away.
I have seen men bathing off ships in water infested with sharks, such
as the roads off Durban, Natal; but, what with the splashing, laughing,
and shouting, not a shark dared approach.
Sharks eat human beings whenever they can, for the chief reason
that they have to keep body and soul together, as they are not fast
enough swimmers, and far too sluggish, to catch any other fish. Their
movements are so slow that expert swimmers, like South Sea Islanders,
have no fear of them in smooth water, and as the shark turns slowly on
to his back to open his mouth, they dive quickly under him and plunge a
knife into his white belly, to his great discomfort.
Of all things that have life, the shark has the greatest appetite, and
nothing goes amiss with him; indigestion does not trouble him, and he
takes his food as it comes, whether it be animal, mineral, or vegetable.
I don’t suppose even one of Sandow’s big dumb-bells would give him the
least inconvenience.
Lat. 12°.59 N., long. 120°.28 W.
Course--S. 14 E. Run 95 miles.
The ex-American soldier, Bower, in our watch, is finding out that
sailoring is very different to anything he imagined. He complains
that the work and the food are more than he can bear, and he is so
despondent that he says it will be a merciful release if he were to
fall overboard and be drowned.
There is something to be said, however, for the poor devil, as he is in
an awful state of health, being one mass of boils from head to foot.
_Wednesday, 6th September._--Calm all day. There was a thunderstorm in
the second dog watch, it being our watch on deck.
We took in the spanker, gaff-topsail, and royals in pitch darkness,
with the rain coming down in torrents. One soon gets used to working up
aloft in the dark.
The storm took us by surprise, and as we did not have time to get our
oilskins on, we got a nice soaking.
Lat. 12°.30 N., long. 120°.29 W. Course--S.
The run was only 29 miles. We are now right in the troubles, and
trials, and heart-burnings of the doldrums. Very trying weather, hot
and muggy; heaps of rain; the wind never steady for a moment, and
during a good deal of the time conspicuous by its absence.
However, the thunderstorm did not last long, and we had to set the
spanker, gaff-topsail, and royals again before the watches changed.
It is trying work at night at the braces in the doldrums, bracing her
up, then squaring the yards again to every puff of wind.
Behold us on deck in the middle watch; it is a coal-black night, with
not a star showing, and what little wind there is, is very unsteady and
constantly shifting.
The watch are all lying about under the break of the poop, and probably
the second mate, the helmsman, the lookout on the forecastle head, and
myself, who am timekeeper, are the only people awake on the ship.
Even I, though I have to strike the bell every half-hour, am dozing
between the times. I open my eyes for a moment, and am just turning
over for another snooze, when the second mate’s voice rings clear
through the quiet night,
“Weather crossjack brace!”
I jump to my feet and cry out, in repetition,
“Weather crossjack brace! Up you get, there! Can’t you hear? Weather
crossjack brace!”
Mac goes to the lee braces to slack them away, and on doing so, cries,
“Haul away!”
Meanwhile we are all standing ready to haul, with the crossjack brace
in our hands, the A.B.’s at the head, the O.S’s at the tail of the
rope. Our general order was--Wilson, Jamieson, Rooning, Johnsen, or
Taylor, myself, Loring, Bower, and Jennings.
Then one of us would sing out as we haul on the brace--(Jamieson and
Wilson were our chief criers, and Jamieson had a very weird, curious
note, in high, minor tones),
“Eh--hai--ai! Eh--hai--ee! Eh--heu!”
Old Wilson had a very deep, gruff voice. We called him old “Foghorn.”
His cry was like the growl of a big dog, ending in a half bark.
Johnsen used to sing out jerkily,
“Oh--ho! Now den! In mit her!”
I used to sing out,
“Aye--hay! Aye--hay--oh! Oh--ha! Oh--ho--ah!”
In would come the crossjack brace; until the second mate would cry,
“Turn the crossjack brace!”
Then--“Lower-topsail brace! Take it off!”
More hauling and crying.
“Belay!”
Then--“Upper-topsail brace!”
More hauling and crying.
“Turn the upper-topsail brace!” from the second mate.
Then--“A couple of hands to the topgallant braces!”
The topgallant and royal braces come down to the fife-rail. Loring and
I were the two hands meant, and a rare time we did have sometimes, as
they were very heavy yards, and occasionally, of course, several hands
were wanted to them.
Whilst we were at the topgallant braces, the rest of the watch were at
the crossjack sheet.
In a strong breeze we had to take the sheets to the capstan, but in an
ordinary breeze you can get the sheet in easy enough, if you watch your
time.
Say it is blowing fresh, we all get on to the sheet, even the second
mate, the strongest nearest the head.
The man who is going to take the sheet off the pin, cries,
“Ready?”
“Take it off!” cries the second mate. “In with her, now--hang on
all--watch for the slack up--now she flaps--in she comes--in with her
sharply--now turn that! Look sharp, do you think we can hang on all
day?”
Devil take the man who does not turn a brace or sheet quickly; the rest
hang on with straining muscles, the sheet trying to pull the first man
through the port into the sea, as he has to give inch by inch.
A sheet never really succeeded in taking charge of us in the starboard
watch; but it did with the port watch, two or three times, and then
there was trouble.
It takes quite a slice out of the watch, bracing up the _Royalshire_,
as her yards are so heavy.
As a rule, in the trades the lee braces would be hauled tight in the
second dog watch, the lifts and sheets being also attended to.
You have to be sharp at turning braces; generally this was Loring’s or
my job in our watch.
Directly the mate says “Turn that!” the men in front of you hang on,
and the men behind you at the tail of the rope leave go, and you take
it round the pin as quick as you can directly it is fast, calling out,
“All fast!”
Then, and not till then, the men at the head of the brace leave go.
_Thursday, 7th September._--Light breeze and sunshine once more.
Grub very scarce, and bad. We got a greasy lump of fat for our watch
dinner to-day, and had a consultation what to do with it, as it was
quite uneatable. I advised heaving it at the cook’s head; but as the
responsibility for any row falls on the shoulders of the fourth mate,
he decided against this course, instead heaving the fat overboard in
the presence of the cook, at the same time commenting on the cooking in
language both promiscuous and free.
Lat. 11°.25 N., long. 120°.32 W.
Course--S. 20 W.; 65 miles.
_Friday, 8th September._--Fine breeze, with tacks boarded all day, the
ship doing 9 knots.
There was a heavy squall in the afternoon watch, with rain.
I had to go up the jigger and make fast that everlasting nuisance, the
gaff-topsail, and soon afterwards the royals were tied up.
There has been a good deal of fishing off the bowsprit, and a number of
bonita were caught to-day, and Loring, who is a great fisherman, caught
a couple.
I had a try, but was not successful. You want to trail your bait (a bit
of white linen makes as good a bait as anything else) along the water,
jumping it occasionally.
_Saturday, 9th September._--My birthday, but the celebrations were not
up to their usual excellence, and there was no birthday cake.
Since last night, we have been going like a steamboat, lying over
to the fresh breeze, close-hauled, with the royals fast and the lee
scuppers full of water.
Shoals of porpoises are all round us: they are a pretty sight as they
come curving out of the water, the sun gleaming on their glistening
backs.
Loring, the fisherman, caught another bonita to-day.
_Sunday, 10th September._--We had Loring’s bonita for breakfast in
the half-deck. I don’t think any of these deep-water fish are much
good eating, being coarse and without much flavour; but they are very
welcome on a hungry “lime-juicer,” though sometimes you catch a tartar
in the shape of a poisonous one.
We went about at two bells in the forenoon watch, and set staysails,
flying-jib, gaff-topsail, and royals; and are now on the port tack,
heading S.W. by W. by compass.
A fine day, and fresh breeze. We think we have got the S.E. trades.
Lat. 6°.25 N., long. 116°.35 W.
Course--S. 68 E. Run 114 miles.
Everybody on board seems very curious about the Klondyke, and an
admiring group sit round me in the dog watch as I discourse thereon.
Most of them seem to think that one simply went up there with a spade
and dug up nuggets like potatoes.
Jamieson and old Foghorn are especially curious, and very keen to go to
the Golden North, but some of my yarns damped their enthusiasm a good
deal.
_Monday, 11th September._--We have got the S.E. trades all right, but
they are too far to the S., so we can only head S.W. by S.
The trades are the ideal weather at sea,--day after day you sail before
a fresh breeze in warm, balmy weather without touching brace or tack.
“Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love--
I am steady and strong and true;
They follow my track by the clouds above,
O’er the fathomless tropic blue.
“For, close by the shores of the sunny Azores,
Their ships I await to convoy;
When into their sails my constant breath pours,
They hail me with turbulent joy.
“From the deck to the truck I pour all my force,
In spanker and jib I am strong;
For I make every course to pull like a horse,
And worry the great ship along.
“As I fly o’er the blue I sing to my crew,
Who answer me back with a hail;
I whistle a note as I slip by the throat,
Of the buoyant and bellying sail.
“I laugh when the wave leaps over the head,
And the jibs thro’ the spraybow shine;
For an acre of foam is broken and spread,
When she shoulders and tosses the brine.
“Through daylight and dark I follow the barque,
I keep like a hound on her trail;
I’m strongest at noon, yet under the moon,
I stiffen the bunt of her sail.
“The ocean wide thro’ for days I pursue,
Till slowly my forces all wane;
Then, in whispers of calm, I bid them adieu,
And vanish in thunder and rain.”
Thus sings Thomas Fleming Day of the “Trade-Wind.”
The ship is evidently very foul, as she is only logging 5 knots in this
fine breeze.
On board a sailing-ship a patent log is not generally used much, and
the log is hove in the old-fashioned and most reliable style about once
every watch.
The log is a conical-shaped canvas bag, to the mouth of which the
logline is attached.
The logline, which is wound on a reel, is divided up into knots by
means of different pieces of leather--the first knot being a single
piece of leather, the second knot has two tails to the leather, and the
third knot has an ordinary knot tied, and so on. The knots are marked
off on the line to correspond with a sand-glass running 28 seconds, the
distance between each knot on the logline bearing the same proportion
to a real knot that the 28 seconds of the sand-glass bear to the
seconds in an hour. Thus, avoiding any calculation, you just read off
the number of knots that have run astern during the 28 seconds, and
they are the number of knots per hour the ship is going.
The mate or second mate generally heave the log, whilst one of us held
the glass, and another the reel, which he holds above his head as the
line runs out.
The first 20 or 30 fathoms of line are allowed to run out, so that the
log may settle in the water; then, when a piece of rag is reached, the
mate, who is at the rail watching the line run out, calls out sharply
to the man holding the glass, “Turn!”
The man turns the glass, and the moment the sand has run out, calls,
“Stop!”
The mate at once stops the line from running out further, and notes the
number of knots that have run out.
When the ship is going 10 knots or over, the line runs out very fast,
and it is as much as one man can do to haul it in again.
It was the duty of us in the half-deck; and on hearing the second mate
sing out from the poop, “Heave the log!” Loring and I always had to
scuttle out on to the poop, one to hold the glass, and the other the
reel. The log was generally hove at the end of the watch, just before
eight bells.
We had a lovely sunset to-day, with a mackerel sky.
I stood my first trick at the wheel last night, from ten to twelve in
the first watch.
It was an easy night to steer in, as the wind was steady, and it
was light enough to see the mizen-royal, which, as the ship was
close-hauled, required watching, to see that the clew was just lifting
and no more.
_Tuesday, 12th September._--Wind rather light all day. We sighted a
sail in the afternoon off our lee quarter, and could see down to her
topsails from the deck.
This is the first sail we have sighted, and there was some excitement
as to what ship she was, as it was evident, as she was heading our
course, that she is one of the San Francisco Cape Horn fleet.
She turned out to be the smart French barque which had passed us the
first day out, and so everyone was in great spirits at our being ahead
of her, especially the old man.
A superb night again, with the breeze freshening up.
The second mate is very keen for me to take him up to the Klondyke. If
I did ever think of going there again, I could not wish for a better
partner for the job.
_Wednesday, 13th September._--All hands disgusted to find the Frenchy
out on our weather beam at daybreak this morning. The old man is very
angry about it, and bent and set a topgallant jigger-staysail and a
“save-all,” or “jimmy green,” consisting of a spare topsail under the
mainsail.
Of course, stunsails are hardly known at sea now, and very seldom met
with, though I believe the American clippers _Judas Dowes_, _Indiana_,
and _Paul Revere_, still carry them.
A fine breeze, and lovely day.
We can only head S.S.W. by the wind, and shall cross the line to-night,
as at noon to-day our lat. was 1°.25 N. only.