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a night in the forecastle, by m. j. burns.—See page 333.

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the last voyage of the surprise.1

(Bring the Diary of a Trip Around the World by a College Boy.)

ii.crossing the line.

October 21 .—Twenty-sixth day out.—While studying the chart to-day, the cap-tain told me there were fifty danger spotsmarked on it, which, on examination, wereproved to be fictitious. He says that sur-veying parties often think they see a rockwhen in reality it is a whale sunning him-self. He was once frightened almost outof his senses, on a trip around Cape Horn,by seeing directly ahead five black rocks.It turned out that he saw the waves splash-ing over five innocent whales. Had theweather been dusky, he would most cer-tainly have reported rocks. He has attimes sailed miles out of his course toavoid dangers on the chart which subse-quently proved to be imaginary.

We are only three degrees from theequator, about the latitude of Ashanteeand the Gulf of Guinea. The men areanxious to observe the time-honored cus-tom of “playing Neptune,” on crossing theline, for there are some green hands onwhom they would be most delighted topractise their brutal jokes.

The captain, however, will not listen to it.He said that on one of his trips they tooka poor devil and made him fast to a ropethat went under and around the ship. Theydropped him over board on the port sideand hauled up a corpse on the starboard.That cured the captain.

This morning we outsailed two barksand a barquentine—all traveling in thesame direction. The captain is very proudof the Surprise’s sailing powers, and bragsabout them with delight whenever I havetime to listen.

We had a bill of fare to-day that wouldhave done credit to a good hotel—a mar-velous one to have on the twenty-seventhday out, and crossing the line at that.Here it is:

Real Chicken Soup.Real boiled chicken, tongue, corned beef and cab-

bage, canned green peas and boiled potatoes.Potato Salad.

Plum pudding. Stewed apples.Cheese.

Sunday, October 25.—Twenty-ninth dayout.—Crossed the Equator at ten o’clocklast Thursday night. We have caught theTrade Winds and are driving with a freshbreeze through shoals of flying fish.2

Passed this morning the Brazilian penalcolony of’ Fernando Norhona—a smallpeaked island off the easternmost point ofSouth America. It is only seven miles square,to be sure, and yet of tremendous inter-est to me, being the first land in nearly amonth.

The captain does not hold religious ser-vice on Sunday. The mate, however, madeup for this by letting me read him to sleepout of Spurgeon’s Sermons.

Sighted, this morning, a large Englishclipper ahead of us, with all sail set in thesame direction. She carried six yards onher mainmast and one more staysail thanwe. The captain took her to be an Aus-tralian clipper. We soon overhauled her,however, and now (2 P.M.) she is asternand almost out of sight. This is the sortof thing that makes the captain’s hidecrackle with smiles of delight.

Commenced, to-day, an excellent work on

“touch and go.”1 We are indebted to Messrs. Cassell & Co. for the use of the cuts representing “Our Little Companions,” “In a Phos-

phorescent Sea,” and the “Flying Fish.”—E d .2 We are probably indebted to these so-called Trade Winds for the discovery of America, for their value to navigators was

known at least a century before Columbus set sail from Palos. They are currents of the air setting towards the equator inoblique lines from north and south, rushing in to fill up the space left by the hot air that has been carried upwards from the hotequatorial belt.

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China, by Doctor Carl Abel—being a trans-lation from the Russian into the German of

We are now in latitude 25° south, a little

a mass of Chinese matter contributed to thebeyond that of Rio Janeiro; the weather is

Russian Government by special politicalgrowing steadily colder, and the southerly

and ecclesiastical envoys. I had seen thesewinds are, oddly enough, bringing all thecold. We are getting what the men call

books at home for many years past, but “slop chest latitudes.”

the mate’s cabin.

they had always looked particularly unin-teresting tome, until I started for the east.

To-day we passed the sun. That is tosay, the sun at noon will now be to thenorth of us, instead of, as formerly, to thesouth. December will be July, as far astemperature goes, and the further we travelsouth, the further we go from the sunand its warmth. I had the curious expe-rience this noon of casting no shadow, al-though the sun was at its best. I supposea few hundred years ago such a statementas this would have convicted me either oflying or having mortgaged myself to thedevil.

Took the banjo to the for’ard house in theevening and inaugurated a concert of variedtalent. The “triangle” was played ‘by asailor, who jingled two marlin spikes intime, while another had produced a pair ofbones from the galley stock pot. The ven-erable steward, nearly sixty years old, be-came so worked up by the picking of thestrings, that he abandoned his butter firkinbanjo and gave us a plantation breakdown,until the perspiration streamed from hisforehead, into eyes sparkling with negroecstasy. The surrounding mariners “pat-ted” him in true darkey fashion and en-joyed the excitement hugely.

This slop chest is the name given tothe captain’s special supply of sailor’sgoods, which he buys at the lowest ratesand sells again to the poor sailors at anextravagant figure. The captain is a dis-gusting Shylock in this trade, for he chargesthe men much more than the price of thegoods on shore and gives very inferiorgoods in return. However, when a manhas no boots, or oilskins, in bad weather,he will pay almost anything rather than gowithout, and herein lies the captain’s ad-vantage.

While the wind and rain were at theirworst, last night, I crept up to the forecastlegangway and looked in. The sailors arevery jealous of their privacy and I did notcare to let them know that I was watchingthem. A tin dip lamp, such as minerssometimes use, hung from aloft, and leftlong streaks of smoky flame as it swung toand fro with the rolling of the ship. Thisfitful light made soothy shadows of thesailors, who sat about on chests and casks,playing with greasy cards for little piles ofchewing tobacco. What, with the strangelight, the rough dress and the eager, al-most savage, look on their features, theymight have been reproduced on canvas andlabeled “Pirates dividing their spoil.”1

Our stock of arms is being overhauled,1 See Frontispiece.

Monday, November 1.—Thirty-seventhday out, and traveling nearly due south.

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in a phosphorescent sea.

now, in anticipation of a possible occasion guns. As we sat in groups bout the deck,for them while going through the Eastern employed with oil and brick dust, rubbingpassages between New Guinea and Java. up our savage implements, I could notWe have twelve muskets, twelve pistols, but think that happenstances would havetwelve cutlasses and four rifled Dahlgreen been very much against us had we been

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overhauled by an inquisitorial man-of- We have also a large following of Stormywar.

The captain says that many an East In-Petrels , cal led by the sai lors Mother

diaman has been surprised, during calms,Carey’s Chickens or Cape Pigeons. They

by a few canoe-loads of natives, who floatare strong and graceful little birds, that hop

down against a ship with the current, climbabout on the crests of waves as though

noiselessly up the chains, and cut the crewenjoying the motion—perhaps it is a kindof see-saw to them. The mate says their

to pieces before they can get at their weap- name “Petrel” comes straight from St.ons. The ship is then run aground, plun- Peter. It seems, according to his version,dered at leisure and burned. The plunder-ing parties are usually led by deserters from

that on the occasion of this apost le ’ s

merchantmen, who know the internal ar-a t t empt to wa lk upon the wa te r h i s

rangement of European ships. All this ismovements were so irregular as to re-mind the seamen on board of this little

pleasant news for a fellow off for his health! bird. Without vouching for the correct-November 5 .—Forty-first day out.— We

are now in the “Cape swell,” as they call theness of this yarn, the little Petrel un-doubtedly acts as though treading on

our little companions.

huge waves characteristic of the watersabout the Cape of Good Hope. Cold, rawand damp weather We are in the midstof albatrosses, a sure sign of cold. Wefish for them with a hook and piece ofpork. Mindful of the Ancient Mariner, Ishould not have ventured to harm one ofthese strange guests had not the captainset me an example. But I mean to stuffsome to bring home.

The mate tells me that these birds arethe strongest as well as the largest sea birdin existence, and that he believes they sleepon the wing. He says he has known themto be over seventeen feet from tip to tip ofwings—a pretty stiff story, I thought—but the mate says he is positive.

the water, and also as though in momentarydanger.

The mate says that at times of sinkingthey get so fat that the Faroe Islandersstick wicks in them and use them for lamps.Rather a picturesque idea, but worst insmell than even petroleum.

It is a pity that none of the birds thataccompany us are fit to eat—it wouldsave an immense amount of salt meat.

N o v e m b e r 9 .—Forty-f i f th day out .—Foggy and cold, and hardly enough sun totake an observation. My clothing is allwet, and the only way to keep warm is toeither work or go to bed. We have no stovein the cabin, and the captain will not put oneup for fear of encouraging cock-roaches.

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The mate read me yesterday “Nordhoff’sNorthern California”—clearly written, en-tertaining and instructive. It made merealize that we have, between the Sierrasand the Pacific, an almost self-supportingempire.

My only fellow passenger, who came onboard an invalid, and has rarely left hischair while on deck, has now taken to hisbunk. He was not communicative, con-fined his occupations to chewing tobaccoand reading back numbers of police news-papers, and gave the captain to understandthat he had some heart trouble which along sea voyage would cure. Last night, twosailors watched alternately at his cabin door.

When I came down, at nine o’clock, theseaman on watch was moaning with thepain of a wrenched ankle, the result offalling from a spar. But the plucky fel-low would not leave his post until relieved.After preparing him some liniment, I in-duced him to go off to his bunk by thepromise to keep his watch for him. Asmy cabin adjoined the invalid’s, I tied astring from his wrist to mine so as to behandy. As the captain had ordered him adose of something, for every hour of thenight, my sleep was anything but refresh-ing, until my watch time was spent.

The fellow passenger is in a bad way, Itear. His disease is peculiar—in fact, onewhich few but princes can afford to have.

Yesterday was a notable day. Nothingless than pig day; which means that ourmarine pig-pen was robbed of its first pig—leaving five for other notable occasions.

Sunday, November 14.—Fiftieth day out.—We have crossed the Greenwich meridianand are now east longitude 7° 29´; southlatitude 40° 12´. Traveled 257 miles inthe last twenty-four hours—very fair trav-eling for a sailing vessel. We are nearlyas far from the Equator in south latitudeas New York is distant in the other direc-tion. The thermometer indicates 55° atnoon, and I am glad of all my winterclothing. Icebergs are not far from us tosouthward, and to-day I saw a whale closeup.

The mate read me the “Life of JohnStuart Mill,” and I read him one of Spur-geon’s sermons in return.

When there is not much sail to make, Idon’t get enough exercise and have thereforecommenced going up into the mizzen topevery day, stripping coat and vest and go-ing through regular gymnastics, using thestays, braces and spanker halyards as par-allel bars. It beats an ordinary gymna-sium, for here I get no end of fresh airbesides the continual rolling and tossing ofthe ship.

November 16.—Fifty-second day out.—While in my chair on the port side of thepoop deck this afternoon, reading Horace,I heard a dull thud up aloft, and saw anobject fall into the water on the starboardside. It was the body of one of the“boys,” who had been sent aloft by themate to furl the mizzen royal. A heavysea was running at the time, the proverbialcape swell, and with a fresh wind west-north-west, we were making nine knots anhour.

The captain, who saw the fall, ran to theman at the wheel, and shouted to put theship about. But this he almost immedi-ately afterwards countermanded, grufflyadding: “The boy’s dead, no power underheaven can save him.”

While he spoke, the blue flannel on theboy’s back passed rapidly astern and wassoon lost amid the sea birds that eddiedover the wake.

There was much growling among themen because no effort was made to savethe boy’s life, although I do not see howany good could have come of such an at-tempt. The boy struck the back of hisneck against the spar that runs along thestarboard boat from one davit to another.Falling all the way From the highest yardon the mast, the blow must have killed him.He made no sign of life after striking thewater—in fact, no part of him was visiblebut a bit of his blue shirt.

It was a bad time to put about our four-teen yards, three jibs and three staysails.The decks were full of water from the seaswe were shipping with every wave. Thewind was nearly dead aft, and fresheningrapidly. Even had the boy been alive anda good swimmer, there was not one chancein a hundred that we could have pickedhim up.

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