"Diego Ramirez ahead, a point on the port bow!" This was the news that greeted us as we turned out on the morning of July 17th, 1898. It was Sunday, cloudy, but clear, one of the first days without snow or hail since the fourth of July. Off to the E. S. E. was a sail and by the long time it took us to raise her we knew she too was a homeward bounder.

The morning watch had set all of the tops'ls, shaking the reefs out of the fore and main, and we were sent aloft to loose the main t'gans'l, sheeting home and hoisting away with a will. As we raced along under the lowering gray, the rocky islands of Diego Ramirez stood out with the distinctness of cameos cut against the light skyline to the northeast. The breaking and dashing of the white frothy seas marked them well and served to remind us that we were plowing in a fairish sort of a seaway ourselves. Our added sail made the riding better and we hove the log after getting the t'gans'l on, showing a speed of ten knots.

As it was Sunday, there was no objection to our doing some sightseeing; I got the ship's head from the wheelhouse and went forward and made sketches of the island, the first one, bearing north, magnetic. This gave a continuous line with a cleft near the eastern side. A few minutes more and the cleft opened up, showing Diego Ramirez to be at least two separate islands. My sketches were made on N.; N.N.W.; and N.W.

Australia also got busy with his case of crayons, for he was an artist as well as a story-teller, and his sketch of Diego Ramirez is one of the most cherished souvenirs in my scrapbook.

All hands gazed at that bit of weather-scarred rock jutting up from the troubled waters, with a feeling of reverence. It was the turning point, the high tide of distress on many a hard voyage into those stormy waters. Kahemuku and Black Joe watched it with a sort of fascination. No green-capped cliffs with white cataracts dashing into a warm deep sea as at their native islands of Hawaii. Not a scrap of verdure, not a ray of hope, only black-blue water and sullen sky with between them the primal crags rearing their worn heads above the sea.

Since John Aahee was lost, the brown-skinned brothers had merely suffered to exist. They talked much together, and Aahee was mentioned constantly. We did our best to cheer them, though to tell the truth we all felt the death keenly. To starboard they missed him more than we. Second Mate Tom was of course blamed by the fo'c'sle judges, though he had nothing to do with the accident any more than having been on deck at the time.

As we quickly dropped Diego Ramirez on the quarter, we went below at noon for our dinner. The day was incredibly fine for that season and we made the most of it. We were then tearing past the south point and would soon get some northing into the course. Cape Horn lay far below the horizon to the north, and from the progress we were making we had hopes of establishing a record, for the Fuller at least. We had made the run from Honolulu to Diego Ramirez in forty-five days; as a matter of advance information to the reader, it took us sixty-three days more to sail from Ramirez to the Delaware Capes, our passage as a whole merely proving a very fair one of one hundred and eight days, against one hundred and twenty-one on the passage out. This difference of thirteen days in favor of going east can be attributed to the westerly winds off Cape Horn. From this it will be seen that the ship A. J. Fuller was not the fastest craft afloat, and yet she was far from being the slowest.

The sail ahead of us proved to be a Norwegian bark. We came up to her in handsome style, our ensign snapping from the monkey gaff, and as her colors went up, we "dipped" in the long graceful salute of the sea. The bark made her number and asked to be reported. She was droughing along at a slow pace under reefed main upper tops'l, lower tops'ls, and reefed fores'l, showing a leg-o'-mutton sail on the mizzen. We were then under all plain sail to royals, and must have made a glorious picture to the sailors lining the sides of the square-head craft. Moments like that make one tingle with pride at the sight of the colors, a sort of pride that seldom comes to those who sail under the flag in these degenerate days.

From Diego Ramirez we shaped a course to take us well clear of Staten Land; the familiar sound of this name was like home, and I found myself talking about it in the dog watch with peculiar relish. Old Smith of starboard joined us, and told of having run through the Strait of Le Maire on the passage to the eastward. This is safe enough, though careful skippers like Captain Nichols prefer the wider reaches of the Atlantic to the Le Maire Strait, dividing Staten Land from the larger island of Terra del Fuego.

As we brought the wind about two points abaft the port beam, the sky started to thicken and during the early watches of the night we were again treated to real Cape Horn weather. At midnight we took in the lighter canvas, reefing the main t'gans'l. By eight bells in the midwatch we had her staggering under reefed fore and main upper tops'ls, lower tops'ls and reefed fores'l, fore topmast stays'l, and reefed spanker. We were making heavy weather of it, the seas dashing high over the fo'c'sle head as she buried her nose whenever a big roller tumbled in under the counter.

There was no warm breakfast, Chow having been flooded that morning by a heavy sea. The door to the carpenter shop was stove in and poor Chips was in a state bordering on hysteria, with all of his tools wet. To add to our woe, and looked upon as a sign of bad luck by all hands, the parrot was drowned when his cage unshipped from the hook under the fo'c'sle head and he was deposited in the scuppers. He lay there all night and was picked up by the starboard watch in the morning. Poor Jake, of all the sad birds that ever cruised on stormy water, you were the unluckiest as well as the most profane.

Everything was afloat fore and aft. The fo'c'sle was swimming and the after cabin was also washed out when a storm shutter carried away on one of the ports. Brenden, Frenchy and I were called aft during our watch below on Monday forenoon and told to swab up the captain's quarters. We worked the better part of an hour in these palatial spaces, our caps respectfully tucked into our pockets. The captain gave us a large tin of cabin roast beef, and a half can of fine pilot bread, as a reward for our trouble. Of course we shared this forward and we had a rather elaborate spread that noon—a clammy cracker hash which we threw overboard, hot slops, and the grub from aft.

"Give me meat like this and they can take my watch below any day," was Frenchy's opinion of the canned roast beef. At about the same time, no doubt many of our soldiers were dying of this stuff under the hot sun of Cuba,—they called it embalmed beef.

Ramirez is in 56 degrees 29 minutes south, corresponding in latitude to the Wrangell Astronomical Station just south of Sitka, Alaska. When we remember that the Antarctic winter is even more severe than that of the northern hemisphere, it will be possible to get some idea of the state of the sea through which we were racing. Running north between Staten Land and the Falklands we encountered a succession of storms that were calculated to impress us with the quality of the Cape. We were under shortened canvas most of the time, and as the winds became very unsteady, we were compelled to wear ship frequently, the great seas making it difficult to attempt to put her about in the eye of the wind.

My journal entries follow, covering the last two weeks of heavy weather, shifting winds, and great cross seas; a period of cold and wet without parallel on the voyage:

July 18th, 1898. Wind hauled to S.E. at end of day. Yards sharp up on starboard tack. Heavy snow at nightfall. Cold. Saw some small cakes of pan ice. Wind stronger.

July 19th. Snow, hail, and ice, all over decks. Wind moderate, from S.E. as before, veering a point at noon. Braced in yards. Set topgallant sails. Overhauled another homeward bound bark; could not make out her colors.

July 20th. No snow today, but very cold. Are heading N.N.W. Wheel from four to six during washdown, glad to get out of it. Passed between Falkland Islands and mainland today, no land in sight. Wind holding steady.

July 21st. Colder today. Wind freshening. Furled fore and main upper topsails in the midwatch. Heading N.N.W., starboard tack. Looks bad. Rigged life lines today.

July 22nd. Wore ship in morning watch, set fore upper topsail and mainsail. Ship under fore and main upper topsails and two courses, fore topmast staysail and spanker.

July 23rd. Warmer, but still cold enough for my monkey jacket. Weather puzzling. Old Man seems worried. Told me we were a long way from home; I know it.

July 24th. Sunday. Wind unsteady. At braces most of day. Calm in afternoon. Got orders to shorten down to reefed topsails. Caught two Cape Pigeons in dog watch. Let one go and took wings of best one. Glass falling. Got up rolling tackles. Steadied out life lines. All hands forward hope the skipper has made a mistake. Funny sky to south.

July 25th. Wind jumped out of the south last night. Heavy sea running. Colder than before. Sleet in the wind. Under lower topsails and reefed foresail. Running fast. Shipping blue water.

July 26th. Running with wind one point on starboard quarter. Sea came aboard in midwatch and carried away the freeing ports on port side, from mainmast to the poop. After cabin flooded again. Colder, hail all night.

July 27th. Wind abating. Got sail on her to topgallant sails. High sea running. All hands standing by. Ship yawing badly. Took in mizzen topgallant. Blowing up again at end of day, started to shorten down.

July 28th. All hands took in the mainsail at six this evening. Called all hands at six bells in first night watch and took in foresail. Living gale. Under lower topsails and fore topmast staysail.

July 29th. We hove to at daybreak. Got her around in the smooth and used a lot of oil to windward. Under fore and main lower topsails. We took in the mizzen lower as soon as she came around and set the mizzen storm sail. Fore lower topsail blown out of bolt ropes at noon. All hands on deck, aft on poop. Everything streaming to leeward. Captain rates wind at 11. Hail and sleet all night. Very cold.

July 30th. Still blowing hard. Sent down remains of fore lower topsail and bent new one. Set this at four bells in afternoon. Wind moderating. Warmer.

July 31st. Sunday. Gale dropped, day broke fine. Set all sail to royals. Warm. Had plum duff. Drying clothes. Are making ten knots and going faster as sea goes down. Deck wet, rigging forward full of clothes.