A SAUCY SAILOR.

One night in the Trades, while the mate's watch were bracing the yards, I heard the sound of angry voices on deck. The next morning I asked the mate if he had any trouble with any one in the middle watch.

He replied: "I had some words with Peterson, that's all, sir."

"What was the matter?"

The mate answered: "For some time back Peterson has been slack about giving an answer. I didn't want to check him before the men, for he has become religious this passage, and some of the men are down on him about it. If I growled at him, the men would have another handle on him; so, after we got through bracing, I called him one side and told him I wished he would be more particular about giving an answer. I thought that was treating him pretty kindly; I never condescended to do as much for a sailor before, but he got mad about it and was saucy. I gave him some strong talk, and it was all I could do to keep my hands off him. He says he is going to complain to you about my imposing on him. They say for'ard he is crazy, and I most thought so myself last night. I got excited and threatened to knock him down if he didn't shut up; but all the time he talked religion." Said he, "You can strike me if you like; I've got all over fighting now; if you hit me on one cheek I'll turn the other to you."

Peterson had the wheel that forenoon from eight to ten o'clock, and when I went up on the poop-deck he said, "Will you allow me to speak to you, sir." "No," I replied, "I am going to speak to you," and I gave him a sharp reproof for giving the mate "back answers." His feelings were very much hurt. I perceived the cause of his behavior to be erroneous ideas upon religious matters. He had led a wild life and always sailed in rough ships, and at the commencement of the voyage he was greatly impressed by the treatment adopted, and by the instructions given at our Sunday service. He professed to have been converted when a fortnight out, and had ever since been very zealous in exhorting his shipmates. One remark showed the whole trouble. He said to me, "Now that we are Christian brethren we are all equal and we ought to get along easily together." He evidently thought this sentiment should level the inequality of our stations, and there should naturally follow a relaxing of discipline, and more familiar treatment. Afterwards I called him below. He dropped his cap outside the door, and we sat down at the cabin table. I spoke to him about our difference as fellow Christians, and as captain and sailor, saying, "If you should insult me on shore, I should take no notice of it whatever, but if you do so on board of my ship, while personally I forgive you, yet as master of the ship I am obliged to resent it, for the sake of discipline. Suppose a man struck me in the street, to throw contempt upon me as a religious man, why then I would turn the other cheek to him; but if, when I entered my house, my boy should strike me in the face, I would punish him for it, because I consider it a christian duty to rule my own house well and keep my children in subjection. Just so on board ship it is my duty to be faithful to the owner's interests, and to guard the trusts committed to me, subject of course to the spirit of Christ's teachings. These interests require that there should be good discipline in the ship, and therefore the mate does right to notice any disrespect that is shown him."

A day or two after this, Peterson said to me at the wheel, "I've been thinking over what you said to me. I see that I was wrong, and it sha'n't happen again." For the remaining ten months of the voyage no one had a word of complaint against Peterson, and his influence over his shipmates was most excellent.

In the evening after this occurrence, when the mate came aft at eight o'clock to relieve the second officer, we began talking about the affair.

"There is one thing," said the mate, "that I haven't quite settled yet, and that is whether you can treat sailors well or not. At any rate, if a man is a Christian he had better not go on board of a ship as officer. I feel so mad sometimes I'd like to slaughter the whole watch."

I replied, "It's a matter that I settled a long time ago. You cannot treat a sailor well without his taking some advantage of it. Inferiors will presume upon a kind disposition in their superiors, all the world over. It is human nature. I made up my mind to that in the very beginning. But there is another question. Is it best to treat sailors well, all things considered? As a matter of principle there can of course be but one answer:—Christ's teachings entirely settle that. A divine precept must be of universal application; there can be no exceptions, and if sea life were proved to be a sphere where Christ's commands could not be obeyed, it would also be condemned as an occupation no one could follow guiltlessly. As a question of policy there seem to be different opinions, though whatever is good principle must be good policy. I say most decidedly it is best; best for the ship, for the owners, for the officers, and of course best for the men themselves. It is very poor policy to make sailors the enemies of the ship. How many vessels have been set fire to by an enraged crew! How many spars and sails have been lost, because, just out of spite, a sailor neglected to report the first stage of an accident which he alone observed in a dark night! How many ships have remained in port for weeks after they were loaded, because they had so bad a reputation no one would go in them, and they only sail at last with a kidnapped crew! How much running gear has been cut, and how many sails ripped with sheath knives on the night of arrival at the port of destination, by men thus taking revenge for harsh usage! How many refusals of duty, mutinies, murders, and lawsuits have their beginning in a foul word or blow! Just sum these up and look at the other side. I am no apologist for those who let sailors do as they like. The results of inefficiency do not belong to our side of the account. But take this vessel for an example. We are not treated with the strict deference the sailor gives to a severe ruler, but we secure his enduring respect and a good name on shore. We hear more growling about 'grub,' for if the cook doesn't make 'bread scouse' to suit them, the men are not afraid to come aft to the cabin to complain about it. In ordinary work we have not quite so much drive and smartness, but all important duties are done as well if not better. I think of no other disadvantages, and all that can be said of what I have named is, that our discipline is not as rigid as that of ships where men are abused; but no one can deny that we have good discipline. As to your remark about Christian officers, I must say I think it a very cowardly speech. If shipboard is a place of trial it is just the place for a Christian, for who has such resources as he?"

The mate took exception to one part of my admissions and paid me the compliment of saying, "I never sailed with a captain that received as much respect from sailors as you do. I notice whenever you come for'ard how the men straighten themselves up to their work, and the respectful manner in which they step out of your way."

One moonlight evening, when the trade-wind was driving us briskly along, we were sitting in our easy chairs on deck enjoying the romance of the sea, and the passenger asked me, if sailors always behaved well when they were well treated. In answer I told him the story of

AN EASY SHIP.

When a lad of nineteen years, in company with a friend of my own age, I made a voyage from Boston to Cronstadt and back to New York as passenger in the ship "Volant." She was a full-built vessel of about six hundred tons register and carried a crew of fourteen before the mast. The captain was a Swede named Nelson, a good natured, worthy man. Mr. Smith, the first mate, was an Englishman, a man with a very kind heart and easy disposition. The second mate, Mr. Kemp, was an old sea dog, hailing from New Hampshire. He was a hard drinker when on shore and appeared to be wholly destitute of ambition. His sea character depended entirely on that of his superiors. If they were severe he could be as great a tyrant as any one, and if they were inclined to take their ease he could be as quiet and unconcerned as though he had nothing to do with the ship. Of the sailors, five were Irish, three were "Dutchmen," two English, two American and two from Nova Scotia. They were of rather a low grade, but were for the most part a well disposed set of men, though half of them were very deficient in seamanship. For the first week of the passage they seemed very peaceable, with the exception of one man who called himself "Brock," and was one of the vilest sort of "Liverpool Packet Rats." He was always grumbling and cursing, no sailor, and a miserable shirk. His talk, by degrees, affected the others, the poison gradually spread and the rest of the crew became surly and discontented,—ready to join in with whatever "growl" Brock might start. It was hard to see what they could find fault with, for there was scarcely ever a "hurrah" or "bear a hand" uttered by the officers; the men took fifteen or twenty minutes to "turn out," and the mate had been forward the second night after leaving Boston, and had told the watch on deck that there was no need of more than one remaining on deck, and the rest might lie down on their chests in the forecastle and be ready for a call. The result was that the men usually stayed in their bunks all night.

The captain hardly ever opened his mouth in hearing of the crew. At seven o'clock in the morning he got out of his berth and came to the breakfast table. After winding his chronometer and taking the usual observation for longitude, he lighted his pipe and sat down to read the New York Herald, of which he had a large pile on the right hand side of his chair, and the voyage was principally devoted to building a pile on his left hand with the papers that had been read. The observation for latitude was taken at noon, then followed dinner, a smoke and a nap till about half-past four, and then came another smoke and supper. The evening was chiefly devoted to his pipe and the favorite newspaper, and if the weather was unsettled he sometimes appeared on deck once or twice in the night. It was seldom this routine was disturbed by anything more serious than an attack on him by his young passengers with boxing gloves or fencing foils.

When half way across the Atlantic the captain went on deck one evening to take a look at the weather before "turning in." Casting his eye to windward he saw that a heavy squall was about to strike the ship, and looking around for the second mate, he discovered that worthy fast asleep on the after bitts wholly unconscious of the two squalls that threatened him. The captain showed the possession of some temper by catching the sleeping officer by the neck and sending him sprawling to the deck. "You good-for-nothing," said he, "I didn't think an old sailor like you would serve me such a trick. Call all hands to shorten sail!" The second mate picked himself up and got to the forecastle as quickly as his confused senses would allow him, and called to the men to "tumble out" as quickly as possible. His own watch were in there as well as the watch below, and all were soundly asleep. They had got so accustomed to slow movements that even a squall would not hurry them much, but a few got out on deck and had just let go the top-gallant halyards and hauled down the flying-jib, when the squall struck the ship and laid her almost on her beam-ends, for she had a cargo of cotton and was very crank. The topsail halyards were then let-go, the spanker lowered and the ship was got off before the wind. The rain poured in torrents and the work of shortening sail was certainly not very agreeable. Through all the work Brock's voice could be heard swearing and grumbling,—"If any one ever asks me to go another Russian voyage," said he, "if I've got money enough to buy an old rusty pistol I'll shoot him." Several of the sails were split and two hours of the passage were lost by the second mate's nap. The captain thought best to keep a stricter eye on him after this and ordered that the watch on deck should keep out of the forecastle. For a few days they did so, but one by one they tried the experiment of going in there, and finding it created no uproar, they soon got back to old habits.

When four weeks out we passed the Orkney Islands and the same afternoon sighted Fair Island off the port bow. We passed within five miles of the Island, and two boats with six men in each pulled off to meet us. The men were small and thin and with only one exception had light complexions and sandy hair and beards. They came on board and begged, in whining tones, to be allowed to exchange their fish for bread and salt meat. After a trade, made very much in their favor, they produced woollen mittens and socks, knitted by the women of the island, and made another trade. These being exhausted they proceeded to beg, with a stock of appeals to charitable motives. When all the clothes had been obtained that seemed likely to be forthcoming, they asked for "rel-ee-gious books and tracts." Two days after this we made the Coast of Norway. Then beating against a head wind for two days more we got through the Skager Rack, passed the Scaw of Denmark, and steered through the Cattegat towards Elsinore.

The cook of the ship was a negro—a lazy, dirty fellow he was! Neither the captain nor the officers paid any attention to the state of things in the galley, except that the "old man" gave an occasional admonition to be economical, and "Cuffey" lived in ease and slovenliness. The "grub" was poorly cooked, and scanty at that; and the tea was so weak that when one night "Doctor," as the cook is always called, forgot to put any tea into the coppers, the men drank the warm water and molasses without any idea of the omission. A barrel of beef was intended to last twelve days at least, but owing to the gifts to the Fair Islanders the barrel at this time was about exhausted on the tenth day. The cook thought he could eke it out one day longer, and the consequence was that in the evening, "Bill," a short, stout Nova Scotian, with a very lugubrious countenance, marched aft carrying a large tin pan, containing a very small piece of boiled salt beef. The mate was standing by the weather-rail, just forward of the poop. Bill deposited the pan at his feet. Folding his arms he exclaimed in a very meek and mournful tone, "Mr. Smith, I wish you'd take a belaying pin and beat my brains out."

"What good would that do you?" said the mate.

"I'd rather die at once than starve to death," the sailor answered.

"Who's going to starve you to death?"

"We don't get food enough for a dog, let alone a man," said Bill.

The mate then endeavored to prove that Bill was not a man; the main point of his argument being that a few days before he had "made a splice in the foretopmost studding-sail tripping-line that would be a disgrace to a loblolly boy." This argument went on for a while, till the man became convinced that the mate was neither disposed to accept his polite invitation as to the disposition of his brains, nor to furnish any more beef that evening. So he thought it best to be contented with the promise of a larger allowance in the morning, and make use of the small supply at hand.

The cook was sulky because the men had complained about him, and the next evening he made the tea with salt water. This imposition was more than they could swallow, and brought about another complaint, in consequence of which the captain summoned the "Doctor" aft, and in a great rage stuttered out a string of phrases, the burden of which seemed to be, "I—I'll swab the decks with you."

We had a good passage up the Baltic and Gulf of Finland, and got to our moorings in Cronstadt Mole, where we discharged our cotton and loaded a cargo of sheet-iron, hemp, cordage and crash. One of the men was taken ill with cholera and died in the hospital, and a good deal of discussion took place among the crew as to whether his place would be filled. Great efforts were made to despatch the vessel by September 20th, as after that day the premium of insurance on vessel and cargo would advance one per cent., owing to the increased dangers of navigation later in the season, making a difference of one thousand dollars to the owners. On the morning of the twentieth the last of the cargo was put on board. The captain went on shore to obtain his clearance papers, leaving word with the mate to be all ready to haul out of the Mole at noon. Upon his return he found the ship fast at her moorings, with no signs of any intention to move. Coming over the gangway in a rage he was met by the mate, who prevented the explosion that was about to take place by informing him that the men had refused duty.

"Refused duty!" said the captain; "what can that mean?"

"Why, sir, they say they won't go to sea unless you ship a man in the place of the one that died."

"But I can't now," said he; "the ship must go right to sea, and no one would go on such a short notice."

"I've told them that, sir, but that villain, Brock, has made the rest ugly."

Capt. Nelson returned on shore and spent half an hour in a vain attempt to find a sailor who would go immediately to sea. Returning on board he asked me to go into the forecastle and try to persuade the men to turn to. I did what I could, but of course a boy's talk was not much heeded, and I got rather scared myself by their curses and threats. Then the mate came to the door and asked in a shaky voice, "Are you going to turn to?"

"When that man comes aboard," was Brock's defiant answer.

Mr. Smith hastened back to report that they still refused duty, and the captain hailed a passing boat and procured some Russians from the "Captain of the 'Branvault,'" as the harbor-master is called. With their assistance the ship was hauled to the Mole-head, and gave her hawser to the towboat that was waiting outside. Then the Russians stepped ashore, I took the wheel, the mates cast off the lines, and we proceeded in tow of the steamer.

When fairly off, the captain told the mate to call all hands aft. Standing by the cabin door he made an address to them, offering to divide among them the wages that would have come to the dead sailor, had he lived to complete the voyage.

Some of the men were inclined to give in, but Brock muttered, "We don't want a dead man's wages."

"Well," said the captain, "I'll give you what I should have paid another man if I had shipped one."

"Oh, we've been humbugged that way before, Cap'n," said Brock, who turned and went forward, followed by the rest of the crew, leaving the captain in the midst of another conciliatory harangue.

The ship was soon abreast of Tollbaken, ten miles from Cronstadt. The wind was dead ahead; and having nominally sailed, the captain decided to come to anchor and wait for the wind and crew to favor him.

The mate asked the men if they would turn to and let go the anchor; and thinking they would thus gain their point, and also their dinner, they consented. The steamer was cast off and the ship brought to anchor.

The crew were then allowed to get their dinner, but when called on to work, they again refused. The captain was greatly troubled, and so much at a loss what to do, that he appealed to me for advice. I felt rather flattered by his consideration, and suggested that he should put the men in irons. He was afraid to try that, so I proposed that he should give them nothing to eat till they resumed duty. When supper-time came they went to the galley, and being refused, Brock marched aft with his tin pot in hand, and with the coolest impudence, asked the captain if they were not to be allowed any supper.

"Not till you turn to," was the reply.

The man then put on an air of injured innocence and declared it was a shame to try to starve men to death. But he sauntered forward, and the men turned in, laughing at the way they had "waxed the old man," but feeling a little concerned on the score of eating.

At nine o'clock in the evening, the wind hauled fair. The captain went to the forecastle, and after fifteen minutes spent in argument upon the propriety of their going to work, the promise of some tea, and other fair words, prevailed upon the men to get the ship under way, and the passage was fairly begun.

We passed through the Baltic and by Elsinore without any remarkable occurrence, except the increased independence and insolence of the crew. They felt that the Cronstadt disturbance had proved there was no fight in the officers, and some of the crew showed more zeal in taking their comfort than in obeying orders.

Brock particularly distinguished himself. He boasted in the forecastle that he was going to try to induce an officer to strike him, in order that he might raise some money by a lawsuit on arriving in New York. One day the ship was running before a strong breeze, under the main-top-gallant-sail. Brock was at the wheel, and, being a miserable helmsman, was letting the ship yaw about two points each side of her course.

"Keep her straight," said the captain.

"I should like to see any one keep her any straighter," was Brock's answer; and upon this the captain took hold of the wheel to prove that it could be done. Instead of stopping to witness the proof, Brock started forward.

"Come back here!" shouted the captain.

"One's enough to steer the ship," was the polite answer, and the fellow made for the forecastle, leaving the captain working the wheel, unable to leave it until relieved. The mate, finding out the trouble, went to the forecastle and saw Brock leisurely lighting his pipe.

"Go aft and take the wheel again! What business have you got here?"

"Don't you fret; I'll come out when I get ready," said Brock. The mate turned away and sent another sailor to relieve the captain. After Brock had finished his smoke, he appeared again on deck, and politely asked Mr. Smith if he had a job for him. The mate gave him a few of his opinions about his behavior, and set him at work aloft.

That night, in the first watch, I was keeping the mate company on deck, and hearing Mr. Smith's complaints about Brock. "Why don't you knock him down?" said I. "That's the only kind of treatment such a man can understand."

"I'll tell you why I don't," said the mate. "About five years ago I was mate of the ship "Neptune" in the Liverpool trade. We hove up our anchor in the River Mersey and were being towed out to sea. I was anxious to get the anchor catted as soon as possible, as the pilot wanted sail made on the ship, and I had all the crew on the forecastle, heaving on the capstan. An ugly-looking Liverpool Irishman, called Jim Kelley, was holding the turn, and just as the anchor was about up to the cat-head he let go the rope; it flew around the capstan at a lively rate, and the anchor went down.

"I growled at him for it, and he said it slipped away from him. We went at it again, and had the anchor half-way up, when Kelley surged the fall and let it go again. It was raining at the time, and things were very slippery, and he pleaded that as his excuse; but I thought I saw mischief in his eye. The end of the fall had hit two of the men pretty severe blows, as it flew around the capstan. I was pretty mad by this time, and told him if he did that again I'd knock his head off. I thought he'd hold on the next time, but just as I was going to say, "Heave a pawl!" down went the anchor for the third time. I heard the pilot rattling off a string of oaths as long as the maintop-bow-line, and I stepped up to Kelley and gave him a touch of my fist that sent him head first off the top-gallant forecastle on to a pile of chain cable. He didn't feel like holding any more turns for a day or two, you may bet, and the rest of the crew said it served him right. But when we got into New York I was hauled up in court for it, and had to pay fifty dollars fine. Now I've got a wife and five children, and as good-looking ones as you'd wish to see they are, too, though I say it, and my wages are all they have to support them. That villain Brock, is a good deal of a sea-lawyer, and if I lay my hand on him, it's only taking the bread out of my little ones' mouths and giving him rum money. I made a vow after that time that I'd never strike a man again."

"But what can you do," said I; "you ought to keep good discipline. Hasn't the captain got any legal power to punish ugly sailors?"

"Yes," said Mr. Smith, "the captain has power, but he doesn't want to be troubled, and it's considered the mate's place to keep the men straight. Once I went to a captain and reported an impudent sailor, and the only satisfaction I got was, "What did you come here for if you can't take care of the crew," and I got turned out of the ship at the end of the voyage. I made a vow then that I'd never complain to the old man again; so between my two vows I don't see that I've got much chance with a sailor that's bent on making a row. If this ai'n't a dog's life, I'd like to know what it is."

All the way across the Atlantic the sailors may be said to have had charge of the ship, and did about as they pleased. Brock's insolence was beyond all bounds, and it seemed incredible that it should be submitted to by the captain and officers. He was evidently in a desperate mood to get struck, and one evening at eight o clock, when the captain kept his watch up a few minutes to take in the top-gallantsails, as a stormy night was coming on, Brock stepped up to him and said, "Cap'n, it's too late for you to try and humbug us now. It's our watch below." The captain sputtered some bad words at him, and told him he was no sailor: but the hoped-for blow was not given.

The passage ended at last, and New York was reached, none too soon for all on board. The day after arrival, the crew came to the ship to be paid off, and Brock called the mate aside and made this startling speech: "Mr. Smith, I want to beg your pardon for the way I behaved on this voyage. You're the kindest man ever I sailed with, and I know I ought to be ashamed of myself. I can show you the marks on my head where the last mate I was with split it open with a belaying pin, and I deserved it too. You'd have done right if you had served me the same way. What would my good old mother have said if she had known what a wretch I have been! She used to pray with me, and beg me to be a good man. Now that she's dead, her words sometimes haunt me, and I have made up my mind that I'll be a different man for the rest of my life." A tear stood in his eye, and good Mr. Smith took his hand and said, "I don't bear you no ill-will, Brock. I don't harbor malice towards nobody living. If a man should cut my throat, I believe I'd forgive him the next minute." As he turned away, he caught a whiff of Brock's breath, and the suspicion came sadly to his mind that this repentance was not so much the result of piety as of whiskey.

This story reminds me of a little incident that occurred in Bombay when I was mate of the "Lizzie Oakford." There were two English ships anchored, one on each side of us. It was a calm morning, and we could hear some of the words spoken on board these vessels. A little after breakfast our attention was attracted to the ship on the port side, by the sound of angry voices. The captain was having an altercation with some of his crew, and very soon passed from words to blows. He "ended" four or five of them over, and with every stroke of his fist we could hear him swear about the Act of Parliament. In the course of half an hour we heard a row on board the ship on the starboard side, and looking towards her we saw a number of her crew on the poop-deck. One of the sailors had seized hold of the mate's coat-tail, and was whirling him around in a circle, while another, with a folded strip of canvas, belabored his back every time he flew past. Our second mate was so indignant at this insult to his cloth that he wanted to board the vessel and fight the sailors on his own account, but he said he should want to "lick the mate too." "There," said he, "are the two extremes, and we are the middle. In one ship the officers abuse the sailors, and in the other the sailors abuse the officers. Here there hasn't been much of either yet awhile, though I think the old shell-backs have got a little the best of it."

We ran down the trades, and keeping well to the southward in order to catch the "brave westerlies" as soon as possible, we came in sight of Tristan d'Acunha, a noble, symmetrical mountain island, 8,326 feet high, its top covered with snow. We were becalmed in sight of it for several hours, and enjoyed resting our eyes, wearied with gazing for weeks upon the dancing water, by fixing them on this grand, immovable mass. Books gave an interesting account of a colony formed here; but we were not near enough to perceive any signs of human life. The lazy rolling of the bark in the swell, made even the idea of a residence on the snowy peak seem attractive, and there was comfort in thinking of a future world which is to be all land.

A breeze, springing up from the north-east, gradually freshened. The sea being quite smoothed down by the calm, we were able to carry a press of canvas; and with all sail set and the yards braced up, the bark lay down on her side, and made a run of 261 miles in 24 hours, and the day after, she made 252 miles. The fore topgallantmast was then found to be sprung, and a new one had to be put in its place. While sending it up, we overtook and passed a brig, loafing along under reefed topsails, evidently seeming to think it was blowing a gale of wind, whereas we had our main-royal set. This showed why some vessels make long passages.

We sped along swiftly, passing the Cape of Good Hope when 61 days out, and running along the parallel of 40° S., a succession of gales helped us onward. The weather was chilly, often wet and disagreeable, but our good progress kept us cheerful. One night was especially exhilarating, when running in a north-west gale, with the wind quartering, under reefed canvas, the bark flying away, at the rate of 14 knots, from wind, rain, thunder, lightning and towering waves. There is some sublimity in a sailor's life, and this wild scene was a good specimen of it. I enjoyed standing by the bitts and singing at the top of my voice some hymns expressing trust in the Creator, knowing that the noise of the elements made the sound inaudible to the crew. As we neared Amsterdam Island, the weather continued rainy, and there was no chance for observations by which to verify our position. On the day I expected to pass it, the sun appeared, most providentially, just at noon for a moment. I caught the altitude with my sextant and found the latitude. But I had no means of determining the longitude. We were a few miles south of the latitude of the island, so I steered due east, keeping a hand on the lookout to watch for the land, as I desired to sight it to verify the reckoning and the chronometers. No land appeared; a dark night was coming on, and I felt anxious at running down so nearly in the latitude of the island; but at evening-time it was light, and at 6, P.M., we saw the noble mass of land, nearly three thousand feet high, bearing off the weather-quarter. We had already sailed by it, within five miles distance.

One feature of great interest in these latitudes is the presence of sea-birds. The noble Albatross, the king of sea-birds, is almost always in sight, floating in the air about the vessel, no matter how fast she goes. Its wings seldom move, and what its propelling power is, no one can tell. It seems to depend only on its volition. The Stormy Petrel or "Mother Carey's Chicken," is here and everywhere else on the ocean. The pretty white and black Cape Pigeons flock in the wake. We caught several of these with small fish-hooks, and tried their value as component parts of a pigeon-pie, but the flavor was rather strong and oily. The homely, black Cape Hens are numerous also. They always bring to my mind a scene witnessed on a former voyage. Coming on deck one Sunday, I found the mate and passengers engaged in tying pieces of pork and bits of red flannel at each end of a string and throwing them overboard. The Cape Hens greedily swallowed the pork, and several of them were flying about with streamers hanging from their mouths; another trick was to tie several pieces of pork to the same string. Two or three birds darting at these, and each swallowing a piece, they would rise in the air tied together. I took the part of the hens on this occasion, and let the mate brace the yards for a while.

The weather was cool in these latitudes, and it was no longer agreeable to sit on deck. Our evenings were usually passed in the cabin, and I employed some of the hours in reading to the passenger an account of my experiences in the ship Dublin. I explained to him that it was written while I was officer of a ship, and had no leisure to attempt literary embellishment. Its sole object was to record the events relating to the management of the crew, and I requested him to forbear criticism of its style.