One hundred and seven days out from Sandy Hook, we crossed the line for the second time in longitude 122° west from Greenwich. The grooming for port then started in grim earnest. Holystones were brought out and the time-honored couplet of the sea,

Six days shalt thou labor and do all that thou art able,
And on the seventh holystone the deck and scrape the cable.

became a matter of routine on board the Fuller. Captain Nichols had never been in the islands before, in fact none of us had, and we were to make our acquaintance with them dressed up and polished in Yankee form.

The art of holystoning, as practiced on American deepwater ships, deserves a special niche in the archives of the sea. No more thorough proceeding can be imagined. To the steamship hand who holystones like a gentleman, at the end of a long handle, the art has lost its fine points. On the Fuller we dug into the work in deep sea fashion. Our knees became sore from constant "praying" and the skin on our hands was worn down thin, making us tender in hauling at the braces or going aloft. To overcome the hardness of the deck, we rigged up pieces of board to which three cleats were nailed and a strip of old canvas stretched over them. This afforded a yielding cushion to kneel on and kept our legs out of the water swishing about with the rolling of the ship.

We worked in gangs, sawing away with the stones and wearing a scum of wood from the deck. Each man soon became jealous of the work done by his shipmates and we were careful to keep all hands going, as there was a certain amount of deck to be gone over, and the sooner finished the better. In holystoning we used two sizes of stones, the larger ones called "bibles" and the small pieces, useful for getting into the corners and along the edges of paintwork, known as "prayer books."

From the time of commencing to holystone, and slick up for port, there was no more watch below in the afternoon; the watch coming on deck at eight in the morning would stay on deck until six in the evening with a half hour below at noon for dinner. Going below at six, supper would be had and at eight the watch that had been on deck all day would turn out for the first watch at night.

Thus, every other day, a watch coming on in the morning would have eighteen hours of duty on deck during the following twenty-four. On the other hand, the other watch would merely have the usual watch and watch. Of all diabolical inventions for working men this afternoon on deck was best designed.

While still in the doldrums, and after the holystoning had been completed, we were set to cleaning the sides of the ship where the rust had worked through, and where the dirt from the scum rubbed off the decks had streaked long lines down from the scuppers. We liked this work, scrubbing the black sides, and painting. It always seemed to me like a vacation to get outside of the ship and off of the familiar deck. Scaffolds were rigged and sometimes our feet would dangle in the cool water on the shady side of the hull.

One day there was a commotion as Brenden and I worked away on a plank slung beneath the mizzen channels. The water under us surged up and a great black object rose beneath our feet, for all the world like a submarine boat coming to the surface. Outcries brought all hands to the ship's side. A huge whale had come up in the shadow of the ship. Some hands ran forward, and presently big Scouse came aft on the run carrying a harpoon from the bosun's locker and a coil of heaving line.

As he was mounting the rail the mate jumped after him, yanked the harpoon from his grasp and sent the red head scurrying forward.

"You damned mutton-headed ass!" he cried. "Do you want to send us all to the bottom? That's a razorback. He'll ram us, quick as hell, if we rile him."

The whale sank from sight as suddenly as he appeared, and, razorback or not, we had no opportunity to try his temper.

The sight of the whale started all hands forward looking for ambergris. This was described as a grayish amberlike substance to be found floating on the unsuspecting surface of the sea in large chunks of fortune, the finding of which would set a man up on a cosy farm for life, or enable him to see a snug retirement behind his own bar and beer kegs. Frenchy and Jimmy both had seen ambergris, and for a while regaled us with many tales of its origin, value and uses.

One of the results of the prospecting overboard for ambergris as we lazed along in the tropic seas of the Pacific was the better knowledge we obtained of the abounding life in the sea. In after years when at sea on the decks of swiftly moving steamers, I have often pondered over the sights that were given us of the queer inhabitants of the deep as we slowly worked our way across the ocean in the Fuller. From her low decks, when becalmed, or when sailing along at from four to five knots in fine weather, especially in the tropic seas, the teeming life in the depths below was brought very close to us.

The glint of queer fins, the vivid flash of some big fish rising near the surface in hot pursuit of prey, and the common sight of a school of flying fishes rising from the water just in time to miss the cruel jaws of their pursuers, gave us a faint idea of the ruthless rule of might below. Often the smother of white mist as the cloud of flyers would rise, and the swift black demons in hot chase under them, like avenging torpedoes tearing through the blue, would show glimpses of other and larger fish after the pursuers.

Time and again we would lie out on the martingale and look under the fore foot of the ship to see if there was a pilot fish around. These queer customers would swim along just under the stem of the ship, convict garbed, in thwartship black and white stripes, and about two feet long. The presence of a pilot fish under the bow was evidence of a shark under the bottom of the vessel, swimming along in the hope that something edible would be thrown overboard, or that the vessel would founder and disgorge her human freight into the deep.

Whole flotillas of the dainty nautilus would sail by us for days. These "Portuguese men-o'-war," as sailors call them, spread a shell-like sail to the wind, pink and airy, gliding gaily before the gentle zephyrs of the line. They truly teach us a lesson, as Pope has it:

"Learn of the Little Nautilus to sail
Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale."

With the picking up of the N. E. trade wind a few degrees north of the line, we knew that the main haul to Honolulu was on its last stages. There was more easting in the wind than is generally the case, and we made good progress, holding a course well to windward of Hawaii. For a week at a time we cut through the water at an average speed above ten knots, going it night and day. The sailing was glorious and we all felt the thrill of it. Were we not rushing forward to a paradise set in the middle of the broad Pacific for our rest and refreshment? We hungered for fresh provisions and for a decent sleep of more than a shade over three and a half hours at a stretch. The afternoons on deck had worn us down and the cooler winds bringing such speed and hope were a wonderful tonic.

"Will I take in the skysails?" Mr. Stoddard asked of the captain one night as he came on deck to take the midwatch. I was at the wheel turning over the course to Axel, who came aft to relieve me. The Fuller was boiling along, everything taut, the white water in her lee scuppers.

"No, leave them blow away," said the skipper, laughing. However, we found him on deck still at four in the morning and he took coffee with the mate before going below for a nap. But the skysails "stayed put" and indeed every bit of rag was doing noble duty.

"The Honolulu girls have us in tow," was the slogan on board.

At brace and sheet and halyard, we sung our ropes with a will, and a cheerier crowd of weather-worn, under-fed and half-rested humanity would be hard to find. Man is an adaptable animal, more rugged than the beasts of burden, and cheaper than machinery, and in the lesson taught us on the clean white decks of the Fuller is to be found the remaining hope for the survival of sail. It is cheaper, and with the advent of iron boxes rigged by means of screws, and bolts, and nuts, the sailor of the marling spike days will not be needed. Crews can be recruited, and fed for less than it takes to make steam, and men can be found to sail them, to drive them, as we were driven, and if they, too, are past masters at the art, to lull the crews into a state of contentment, and even happiness, after experiences that would cause a revolt in the worst penitentiary of the land.

When in 154 degrees of west longitude, and 21 degrees north latitude, Captain Nichols up helm and shaped a course direct for the northeast point of the Island of Molokai, the leper island of the Hawaiian group. We made the land just before nightfall. Anchors were got over the bow ready for letting go in case of emergency, and the dipsea lead was placed handy on the fo'c'sle head, the line being carried aft, outside of all gear, to the tub at the taffrail, in which the bulk of it was coiled. A small snatch block on the weather mizzen t'gallant backstay was ready for hauling in should we have to take a cast. The hand lead, or blue pigeon, was coiled in the mizzen chains; I was told by the mate to stand by in case we should have to use it, my schoolship training having made me a good leadsman.

All was excitement on board as we closed in with the land, the good smell of it coming out to us as we raced into the Kaiwi Strait, lying between Molokai and Oahu, upon the southern shore of which Honolulu is situated.

At midnight we were abreast of Koko Head, a peak near the eastern end of Oahu. We put down our helm and hauled our wind ahead, bracing sharp, under easy canvas, on the starboard tack, the ship heading north. Skysails, royals, and flying jib were allowed to hang in their gear, while we hauled up the mains'l, and furled the crojik, at the same time setting the spanker.

At four bells in the midwatch, closing in with the land faster than was comfortable to sailors accustomed to large sea room, we wore ship, and headed her back toward Molokai.

We wore ship again before daybreak in order to hold the weather gauge off Diamond Head, and at the first streak of dawn we squared away and the Fuller was put under full sail as we bore down past Diamond Head for the entrance to Honolulu Harbor.

A whale boat put out from the land carrying the pilot, followed by a wheezy tug of diminutive build. We put down our helm, paid a hawser out over the bow to the tug, and as we horsed up on her the Kanakas started a panic cry on her decks, while the captain on the poop shouted rapid orders to both mates and we let our yards down by the run and swayed up on the courses, manning the clew garnets, clewlines and buntlines in feverish haste.

"Take the lead!" the mate shouted to me, and at a nod from Captain Nichols, I sent the blue pigeon shooting out ahead into the clear blue water of the harbor entrance as we ran down between the barrel and spar buoys that mark the fairway.

"And a half, six!" I felt sand. "Hard bottom!"

The pilot came over to me and looked curious. "No need of this, captain," he said.

"Oh, give the lad some exercise, pilot," the skipper answered. "It won't hurt him."

"By the mark, five!"

We were running past the sea wall and the boathouse to starboard. I could see the lighthouse over the deck on the port bow. The tug was whistling, and as we swung to port, into the harbor proper, I noted the marine railway and the Pacific Mail Wharf with a lot of people on the Esplanade watching us come in.

"Mark under water, five!" I shouted.

"All right, Felix, come in; that'll do," said the skipper, and a few minutes later I found myself on the mizzen skysail, furling sail. We were brought to in the stream by letting go the port anchor and casting off the tug at the same time, and, as the chain rattled through the hawse pipes in a smoke of rust, a whistle on a factory ashore blew a long blast of welcome. It was noon, the harbor life suddenly stopped, for we missed the faint rattle of steam winches and the shouting of the Kanaka stevedores at the railroad wharf.

"Now give us a harbor furl, boys," called up the mate. And as we worked away, we noted the captain going ashore in the whale boat with the pilot. Below us stretched the most beautiful city in the world; cool looking green palm trees lined the streets, the fat squat outline of the Punchbowl rose gratefully verdant behind the little city, a restful sight to our sea-weary eyes, and far beyond we looked up into the misty vista of the Nuuanu Valley. Stranger still, on the wharves we noted native and white women in their fresh looking white dresses, and we could hear the cries of children at play.

Laying down from aloft we squared yards, and went below for our dinner of pea soup and pork, with a kid of cabin tack—a piece of strategy on the part of Chow that was truly an inspiration. The sight of weevils, and the near view of the clean sweet shore, would have been too great a contrast.

We opened hatches that afternoon, ready for the port warden's inspection, ripping out the caulking of oakum and taking off the three layers of tarpaulin, but not lifting the covers. We also sent down the fore and main courses and tops'ls, and cockbilled the main yard for a cargo boom, rigging the cargo pendant from the main topmast head, the same being stayed out over the main hatch by a fall from the fore topmast cross trees.

At four o'clock the captain returned with a boatload of fresh provisions, joints of clean red meat, fresh vegetables, onions, green stuff, bananas and pineapples, and a big basket of real baker's bread, the loaves rich and mellow in the sunlight, like bricks of gold. How our eyes popped out at the sight and smell of this treasure cargo from the shore! Our salt ridden senses were starved for something fresh and clean. A dozen hands rushed to the side to help unload the boat, passing the grub up the ladder and carrying it in to Chow.

Captain Nichols also announced that we would go alongside at Brewer's Wharf the next day.

At six, in the evening glow of the harbor, we pumped her out and went below for supper. Vegetable soup, floating with fresh green things and rich in meat extract; steak, onions, and potatoes! Have you ever been without potatoes for three months? If you have you will know how it feels to crave them. The fresh bread and the delicious ripe bananas topped off the meal.

We were too full to speak, all hands together at our feast under the break of the fo'c'sle head. Millionaires cannot buy such appreciation, and our bellies were stretched to the utmost limit.

An anchor watch was set, by lot, of one hour tricks, and I was fortunate enough to escape. Before eight o'clock the fo'c'sle was heavy with slumber as we dreamed away the hours in such heaven sent rest as only the angels can understand; we were one hundred and twenty-one days out from the port of New York, and our first night of unbroken sleep ahead of us.