II.CAPE HORN.

All places that the eye of Heaven visitsAre to a wise man ports and happy havens.Teach thy necessity to reason thus:There is no virtue like necessity.Shakspeare:Richard II.

All places that the eye of Heaven visitsAre to a wise man ports and happy havens.Teach thy necessity to reason thus:There is no virtue like necessity.

All places that the eye of Heaven visits

Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.

Teach thy necessity to reason thus:

There is no virtue like necessity.

Shakspeare:Richard II.

Atsix o’clock,A. M., Dec. 20, a man at the mast-head cried, “Land, ho!” We saw the highlands of Tierra del Fuego, about a hundred miles from Cape Horn. We lay on the water motionless. About a mile from us was a brig apparently bound the same way. The captain ordered a boat to be made ready; and the mate, one of the boatswains, and three sailors, rowed to her. She proved to be the brig “Hazard,” Capt. Lewis, of Boston, belonging to Messrs.Baker and Morrill, eighty days from Malaga, bound to San Francisco, with raisins and lemons. The visitors received much information, and gave papers,—which, though fifty-seven days old, were gladly received,—some buckwheat, and other things; and received kind tokens in return. The swell would often hide the boat from the ship and the ship from the boat, except the upper sails. In the afternoon the wind sprung up fair; soon we came close to, and the captains had conversation.

Tierra del Fuego lies south of Patagonia, separated by the Straits of Magellan. It has high hills, which, at a distance, look like domes. Many bays indent the coast, causing it to bend frequently. Between this district of country and Staten Land or Island, are the Straits of Le Maire, twelve miles broad. Entering the Straits with a fair wind and a strong current, on the morning of a bright,cool day, Dec. 21, we went at the rate of thirteen knots. We came alongside of a great patch of seaweed and kelp on which were eleven large birds. We had tacked or had been becalmed for almost a week, losing nearly five days. We therefore enjoyed our speed the more. The hills were picturesque in the variety of their shapes; their jaggedness and grouping were beyond imagination. One cluster was surmounted by an enormous stone, fluted like a sea-shell, looking as if it were placed there for a memorial purpose. There was another hill which terminated in the appearance of a man’s head, the face upward, the features regular, and so much resembling one of the sailors that it received his name. Flocks of wild ducks, twenty or thirty in each, albatrosses, cape hens, cape pigeons, penguins or divers, were abundant. These penguins float with only the head above water, and dive often; they all madethe scene most lively. We sat or stood three or four hours enjoying the wild enchantment. It was worth to any one a voyage from New York. We saw no trace of an inhabitant. They are said to be of large stature, almost naked, their skin and flesh toughened by the climate. They do no tillage, but live on shell-fish and game. I shall always remember this region for its wild beauty and seemingly intense barrenness.

We came up with a New-Bedford whaler; the name “Selah” was on her quarter, whaleboats over her side, and men at the mast-head, looking for whales or seals. We also descried a large ship ahead of us which we overtook. She proved to be the “Cambrian,” Liverpool, seventy days out. We enjoyed the sight of her, an iron vessel, with wire rigging, neat and handsome.

CAPE HORN.Page 84.

At length we saw Cape Horn Island, the object of our desire, and at 7,P. M., were abreast of it. Some high rocks stood about like sentinels. We were within a mile of the Cape.

Cape Horn Island is the southernmost extremity of Tierra del Fuego, in south latitude 55° 58´. It is the southern termination of a group of rocky islands surmounted with a dome-like hill, out of which is a projection like a straight horn. But Schouten, the Dutch discoverer, is said to have named Cape Horn fromHoorn, in the Netherlands, his native place. The whole hill is a bare rock; indeed, how could anything, even the lowest forms of vegetable life, find root on a place smitten as this is by the waves? Only the lichens, stealing with seeming compassion over every form in nature doomed to barrenness, succeed in holding on to these rocks. The hill is about eight hundred feet high, its base environed by low, black rocks, with not a sign even of marine vegetation. One lineof these rocks looks like a fort, the seeming gateway, higher than the rest of the wall, being composed of perpendicular fragments. All along the base of the rough hill, low, irregular piles, like a growth of thorns and brambles around a bowlder in a field, constitute a fringe, as though Nature felt that the place needed some appropriate decoration; and what could be more so than that which she has here given? For a long space toward the termination of the Cape, sharp rocks stand up in groups, and some apart, making a gradual ending of the scene, all in agreement with the wildness which marks the region.

The sight of this spot, one landmark of our continent, can never fade from the memory of the beholder. Like many a distinguished object it is of moderate size, its impressiveness being due not to its bulk or height, but to its position. At first you are disappointedin not seeing at such a place something colossal; you would have it mountainous; at least, you would have thought that it would be columnar. Nothing of this; you have the disappointment which you feel on seeing for the first time a distinguished man, whom you find to be of low stature, whereas you would have had him of imposing appearance. But soon, however, you feel that you are at one of the ends of the earth. Here the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans begin, the great deep dividing itself into those two principal features of our globe. Anything monumental, any thing statuesque, or even picturesque, here, you feel would be trifling. Like silence, more expressive at times than speech, the total absence of all display here is sublimity itself; you would not have it otherwise than an infinite solitude, unpretentious, without form, almost chaotic. Around this point it is as though there were a contestto which ocean each billow shall divide; here the winds and waters make incessant war; the sea always roars and the fulness thereof. The rocks which finally terminate the Cape stand apart, as you sometimes see corners of blocks of buildings where an extensive fire has raged and the most of the walls have fallen in; but here and there a shoulder of a wall overhangs the ruins.

We stood together as we passed the last landmarks, and sang,

“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.”

It had been a day from beginning to end of constant pleasure, from the moment that we entered the Straits of Le Maire. We had accomplished one great design in our voyage. Would that the pleasant theory that musical sounds leave their vibration in the air might have reality given to it, and praise to God break forth from all of every language who navigate the Cape!

We had reason to feel that we were not a great way from circumpolar regions; for at a quarter before eleven, the night previous, there were lingering streaks of pink light in the west. We never before read out of doors so late in the evening as we did that 21st of December on deck.

We had been steering south, going five degrees below the Cape; then we needed to turn and go northward; but the fierce winds made no account of our plan. You may be several weeks trying in vain, as a ship belonging to our firm was, to double the Cape; but by favoring winds, we were only six days. Once only during this time had we a full view of the Horn; our captain had been here six times, and now for the second time only saw the Cape. Nothing lay between us and the Antarctic Circle and the South Pole. The waves were Cape-Horn swells, peculiar to that region. The sight of theocean there was wild beyond description. Now and then the sun would come out, but his smile seemed sarcastic. Going on deck to view the tempest you are made to feel, as the ship goes down into deep places, that you would be more surprised at her coming up than if she should disappear. It is a good time and place for faith. One of the Latin fathers said, “Qui discat orare, discat navigare;” Let him who would learn to pray go to sea. It is to be doubted whether there are many places on the globe where one feels the power of solitude precisely as here. In the depth of a wilderness, or among mountains, solitude is more like death; but here it seems to have consciousness; you are spell-bound by some awful power; there is an infinitude about these watery realms; it seems like being in eternity. In the ascent of Mont Blanc, while gazing from the Mer de Glace on those needles of granite, inaccessibleexcept to the eagle, I once felt that nothing could exceed the sense of desolateness there inspired; but to be at the end of a continent, with two oceans separating and forming a wild race-way where they go asunder, all the winds and storms being summoned to witness the inauguration of two oceans, their frantic uproar seemingly designed for the great occasion, Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego with their stupendous solitudes listening to the clamor; and then the feeling that the next place recorded on the map is the Antarctic Circle, with its barriers of cold and ice, you are warranted in the conviction that you are as near the confines of unearthly dimensions as you can be on this planet. You think of home, and the thought of your separation from friends and country and your consignment to these awful wilds, gives you a feeling of littleness, of nothingness, seldom if ever experienced elsewhere.And here is the proud ship that stretched her length in the pier at New York so far as to hold her spar over the passing drays, reaching almost to the opposite ware-rooms, now less than an egg-shell in these waters,—a tiny nautilus, a bubble, whose destruction any moment, unseen by any human eye, could not detain any of these proud waters to be so much as a mound over her grave.

One day, before we entered the Straits and reached Cape Horn, along the neighborhood of Patagonia, the sea was more than usually disturbed, a ground-swell succeeding a gale lifting the waves higher than we had seen them, so that the motion of the ship had no uniformity for any two consecutive moments during the larger part of the day,—a cold, cheerless day, the sun now and then shining faintly, the wind ahead, no chance for a nautical observation, everything to the last degreeforlorn. A bird came in all this turmoil and lighted in the water near the ship, and swam about us. The sight suggested the followinglines:—

THE CAPE-HORN ALBATROSS.

The ship lay tossing on the stormy ocean,A head wind challenging her right of way;Sail after sail she furled; in exultationThe waves accounted her their yielding prey.On her lee beam the Patagonia coast lineKeeps ambushed reefs to snare the drifting keel;We fancied breakers in the dying sunshine,And questioned what the daybreak would reveal.No cities, towns, nor quiet rural villageGladden the heart along this lonely way;But cannibals may lurk with death and pillageFor all whom winds and currents force astray.The Falkland Isles, Tierra del Fuego,Straits of Le Maire, the near Antarctic Zone,The stormy Horn, whose rocks the tempest echo,Can faith and courage there maintain their throne?Watching the swell from out the cabin windows,The towering waves piled high and steep appear;But what is riding on those mighty billows?An albatross. The sight allays my fear.Her snow-white breast she settles on the water,Her dark wings fluttering while she trims her form,Then calmly rides; nor can the great waves daunt her,Nor will she heed the menace of the storm.She spreads her wings, flies low across the vessel,She scans the wake, then sails around the bows,Not moving either pinion; much I marvelHow like one flying in a dream she goes.She craves the presence of no other sea-bird;She revels in the power to go at will;The ocean solitudes, the wandering seaward,The distant sail, her daring spirit thrill.Behold, this fowl hath neither barn nor storehouse;An unseen Hand assists her search for food;Storms bring her up deep things of ocean’s produce,Prized the more highly in the storm pursued.With joy each day I’ll take the wings of morning,Dwell in the utmost parts of this lone sea;E’en there thy hand shall lead me, still adoring,And thy right hand shall hold who trust in Thee.

The ship lay tossing on the stormy ocean,A head wind challenging her right of way;Sail after sail she furled; in exultationThe waves accounted her their yielding prey.

The ship lay tossing on the stormy ocean,

A head wind challenging her right of way;

Sail after sail she furled; in exultation

The waves accounted her their yielding prey.

On her lee beam the Patagonia coast lineKeeps ambushed reefs to snare the drifting keel;We fancied breakers in the dying sunshine,And questioned what the daybreak would reveal.

On her lee beam the Patagonia coast line

Keeps ambushed reefs to snare the drifting keel;

We fancied breakers in the dying sunshine,

And questioned what the daybreak would reveal.

No cities, towns, nor quiet rural villageGladden the heart along this lonely way;But cannibals may lurk with death and pillageFor all whom winds and currents force astray.

No cities, towns, nor quiet rural village

Gladden the heart along this lonely way;

But cannibals may lurk with death and pillage

For all whom winds and currents force astray.

The Falkland Isles, Tierra del Fuego,Straits of Le Maire, the near Antarctic Zone,The stormy Horn, whose rocks the tempest echo,Can faith and courage there maintain their throne?

The Falkland Isles, Tierra del Fuego,

Straits of Le Maire, the near Antarctic Zone,

The stormy Horn, whose rocks the tempest echo,

Can faith and courage there maintain their throne?

Watching the swell from out the cabin windows,The towering waves piled high and steep appear;But what is riding on those mighty billows?An albatross. The sight allays my fear.

Watching the swell from out the cabin windows,

The towering waves piled high and steep appear;

But what is riding on those mighty billows?

An albatross. The sight allays my fear.

Her snow-white breast she settles on the water,Her dark wings fluttering while she trims her form,Then calmly rides; nor can the great waves daunt her,Nor will she heed the menace of the storm.

Her snow-white breast she settles on the water,

Her dark wings fluttering while she trims her form,

Then calmly rides; nor can the great waves daunt her,

Nor will she heed the menace of the storm.

She spreads her wings, flies low across the vessel,She scans the wake, then sails around the bows,Not moving either pinion; much I marvelHow like one flying in a dream she goes.

She spreads her wings, flies low across the vessel,

She scans the wake, then sails around the bows,

Not moving either pinion; much I marvel

How like one flying in a dream she goes.

She craves the presence of no other sea-bird;She revels in the power to go at will;The ocean solitudes, the wandering seaward,The distant sail, her daring spirit thrill.

She craves the presence of no other sea-bird;

She revels in the power to go at will;

The ocean solitudes, the wandering seaward,

The distant sail, her daring spirit thrill.

Behold, this fowl hath neither barn nor storehouse;An unseen Hand assists her search for food;Storms bring her up deep things of ocean’s produce,Prized the more highly in the storm pursued.

Behold, this fowl hath neither barn nor storehouse;

An unseen Hand assists her search for food;

Storms bring her up deep things of ocean’s produce,

Prized the more highly in the storm pursued.

With joy each day I’ll take the wings of morning,Dwell in the utmost parts of this lone sea;E’en there thy hand shall lead me, still adoring,And thy right hand shall hold who trust in Thee.

With joy each day I’ll take the wings of morning,

Dwell in the utmost parts of this lone sea;

E’en there thy hand shall lead me, still adoring,

And thy right hand shall hold who trust in Thee.

It became stormy in the afternoon of December 21st, with rain. We were driven off our course. The sea came over the sides of the main deck. The motion of the ship wasthat of a rocking horse. She was so full of a cantering spirit that I knew it would be useless to expect sleep in my berth, so I lay upon a cabin sofa and had rest. The waves were Cape Horn swells. We are directly at the foot of the American continent inclining upwards toward the North. Should we do as well the rest of the way as the preceding, we shall be a hundred and twelve days only from New York to San Francisco. We were all on deck this afternoon enjoying the Cape Horn scenery. The captain and I talked of an event in our family history when he was eight years old, which made this day memorable. We did not then dream of going round Cape Horn twenty-one years from that day. “O how great is thy goodness which thou hast laid up for them that fear thee, which thou hast wrought for them which trust in thee before the sons of men.”

Dec. 24. The gale to-day exceeded anything which we have had. The sight of the ocean was wild beyond description. I went on deck and held on, to see the tempest. The ship went down into deep places, more profound, seemingly, than ever before. But she is a noble sea boat. We have understood how men become enthusiastically attached to the vessel which they are ready to think has consciously borne them around the globe.

You soon are so much used to the wild behavior of the sea that you lose all apprehension of danger. Some experiences in the cabin, in bad weather, make you feel that you are more safe on deck where you seem to have more ‘sea room.’ It is hard to walk in the cabin; the walls are so near you that your eye is more affected with the motion than on deck. You must watch for a windwardroll, which does not let you down so low or so violently as a lee roll; then you run to your seat or to a side of the cabin, where you grasp something till the lee lurch has spent itself, when you make for the next point, like runners in playing ball. The difficulty of lifting your feet is marvellous. You are as really cumbered as though you had weights on your feet, or wore heavy clothing. It is amusing to see even the captain pause in the middle of the cabin, unable to move, his feet judiciously wide apart, waiting for the back roll to restore the level. He retorts by expressing the wish that the congregation at home could see their pastor in his efforts to get across the cabin.

But it is not all fun. I was sitting about six feet from the stove in the dining-room, in the forward cabin, in the low easy-chair which we brought from home. The back legs were inside a closet, the threshold ofwhich it was hoped would serve for a stay against sliding; when the ship gave a lurch, and I went head first into the low wooden box, in which the stove, a very heavy one, stood, my weight pushing the stove out of place, and bringing me down on my knees and wrists, the chair following me on my back. The steward ran and helped me up. After a few moments I was well, but I record this as a merciful preservation. Feeling strong and able-bodied, I have no trouble from such mishaps, but I would not advise a feeble person to go to sea, certainly not round Cape Horn; but if he must go, to be as careful in the cabin as he can see that he must be on deck.

It would have been pleasant to our friends to see stockings on our door handles and to witness the contents. Mine had a colored-letterdrawing of the words, “The Lord is my Shepherd;” a long shoe-case made of duck, bound with green; a small muslin bag filled with lumps of white sugar, marked, Cape Horn confectionary. The captain had a green necktie, made in a region where neckties are not often devised, the materials, however, unquestionably from “Chandler’s” or “Hovey’s;” also a pen-wiper; the mates had some articles of needle work, and chains made in part of bloom raisins which came the other day from the brig Hazard. Fresh raisins off Cape Horn are a greater curiosity and luxury than friends at home can suppose. The captain’s presents to the donors of these gifts were, a jar of pickles and a bottle of olives; mine were destined to be for some time useless, there being no shops in this region; but the small pieces of gold expressed a good intention. The afternoon was spent by a party, including the captainand first mate, around the stove in the forward cabin listening to one of Dickens’ Christmas Carols, they having already enjoyed six volumes of his works in beguiling some dreary afternoons; also, in amusing themselves with the exercise of “bean bags,” on deck. When it was dark we were entertained with narratives of expedients which were used in preparing the presents, the emptying of the rag bag and the search among its contents for materials, the difficulty of standing, of going about and even of sitting at work while the ship was playing her antics of position; the devices by the principal actors in hanging up the presents so as to elude detection, pretending unusual wakefulness in sitting up beyond midnight and trying to persuade the captain that he needed sleep; and especially the attempt to keep awake beyond the hour when the mate would come down to the pantry to refreshhimself with a bite of salt beef and pie. The amusements of the day ended with putting down the cabin light and standing at the window to see and hear the boatswain perform his Christmas Carol, sitting in his little room, his feet on his bunk level with his head, he singing, “Shall we gather at the river?” his pipe in his hand lifted to his mouth for a few whiffs at the end of each verse, the pipe seemingly performing the part of the customary interlude on the musical instrument at church. So we had our Christmas presents where a year ago we little expected. Last evening we observed our custom of having Milton’s Christmas Hymn read to us, the captain being appointed the reader. It was very dark and stormy at noon, but we had a merry Christmas.

* * * * *

Dec. 26. It rains, and there is the thickest fog which it seems to me I ever saw. Igroped my way into the bows, to look, as a transcendentalist would say, “into the invisible.” A sailor was in the bows alone, leaning against the forestay, wrapped in his oil-cloth coat, looking out for any vessel which might be passing. His watch was for two hours, a dreary, uninteresting service. He was a young man, full of zeal to go aloft, among the first to venture out to the weather earring, to leap upon the swinging board over the side or stern in painting. None seem so happy as the boys of the crew; but this duty of watching in a fog, of a cold day, has as little excitement in it as any thing in a sailor’s routine.

One who had been several years before the mast and afterwards successively third, second, first mate, lately said to me, “When a young man, standing on the top gallantforecastle, leaning against the forestay, in a foggy day or dark night, the ship rushing into the dark unknown beyond, I sometimes thought, What if there should be an end to the sea, a precipice over which we should plunge, an undiscovered continent against which we should run! How did Columbus feel on his first voyage in a fog or in darkness? What a picture of life, its unknown future! so little the sailor knows what may be ahead of the ship; but the captain, confident in his chart, compass and reckoning, knows the way that he takes.”

I have been much affected by what the young sailor told me of his first months before the mast; how he parted with members of his family circle, the ship just taken in tow by the tug, the last line which held them to the shore cast off, he standing with his arm on the rail, his head on his hand, looking at those he loved best on earth, andthinking what scenes he should pass through in the sixteen months before he should see them, if ever, again; when he was roused from his reverie by the mate’s calling to him, “Boy, what are you standing there for? go forward and tie up those cabbages.” He saw one of his family waving a handkerchief to him; but he was ashamed to be seen answering it; the hour of sentiment had passed; he must go and tie up the cabbages. The first few nights at sea the profane, vile talk of some of the sailors at night used to keep him awake, astonished and terrified. He used to say to himself, “My God! have I come to this? Did I once have a christian home? Why did I leave it? The physician said that I must go to sea, but he could not have known what life in a forecastle is. An old sailor said to me, ‘Boy, do you know that you stepped into hell afloat, when you came here?’ Soon I managed to stop upmy ears when I turned in, so as not to hear the dreadful talk.”

I said to him, “How did you help using their language and practising their wicked ways?”

He replied, “So far from corrupting me you will think it strange, perhaps, if I say that it made me more pure. I left off some things which I used to practise without compunction. But the behavior of the men showed me what I should become, if I practised any kind of wickedness. When I heard the men swear and talk ribaldry, I repeated passages of Scripture as fast as I could, said all the hymns I could remember, and I knew a good many. My sister once promised me a half dollar if I would learn the Wesminster Assembly’s Shorter Catechism; I said it to her, and she gave me the money, and I used to say that Catechism over and over in bed; Effectual Calling,Justification by faith, and, What is required, and What is forbidden in each of the commandments, used to be to me in that forecastle like a cloth dipped in some aromatic liquid and pressed to my face.”

I told the young man that if he would write and publish his experience he might find, by the good that he would do, why providence led him into that bitter experience in the forecastle.

“I often think,” said he, “of those words: ‘His way is in the sea,’ for I am sure it has been so with me.”

The recollection of this narrative was forced upon me in looking into the fog as I lay in the knightheads and looked over and watched the cutwater breaking the way for the ship. But it grew cold, and I retreated to the stove.

We had a lively time in the middle of the night. The jib could not stand the gale,part of it was blown to tatters, much of it was blown away. It is a three-cornered sail, sixty feet in its extreme length. The men said that the noise of the wind among the loose sails was as though the forward part of the ship was breaking up. The watch below had turned in half an hour before, but now all hands were ordered on deck. Twenty-four men were on the main yard taking in the sail. It makes a landsman dizzy to see them standing aloft on a foot rope, the wind filling the sail and keeping it stiffly bent from them; yet they must clutch it, bring it in against the wind, holding on by the little slack which they must contrive to gather, their feet meanwhile with nothing under them but a rope. I could liken the noise of the wind and the roar of the sea only to the noise made by an express train when you are standing on a platform at a railway station. The sound sleep into which I fell was not disturbedby this uproar, but it yielded to so slight a cause as the dropping of water upon my bed. The hot weather of previous weeks had made the chinks open, and now the rain had found its way through the deck. There was no more sleep in the premises for that night. An alarm of fire is hardly less effectual in its power to wake you than the slow, measured, dripping water. The captain brought his india rubber coat, spread it over the bed, and made a place for a pool, which in the morning was filled, the tenant having been obliged to beat a retreat for the remainder of the night to a cabin sofa.

Dec. 26. We are almost round the Cape. From Lat. 50° South in the Atlantic to 50° South in the Pacific is called “round the Cape.” We are getting into the longitude of Boston, 71° W., so that time with us will be the same as with those at home, for a while.

Dec. 27. We came within twenty-five miles of Tierra del Fuego again, on its western side, the wind setting us that way, so that we had to tack and run W. instead of S. E. The captain, after he has taken an observation, draws a line on his chart with his pen, showing the distance run and the direction for the last twenty-four hours. It is described for the last three days thus, (the line representing the number of degrees, according to an arbitrary measurement, and each day indicated by a cipher:)

Sometimes the course is deflected by contrary winds; for example, thus:

which is a loss. We have a chart with the tracks of several vessels printed on it. One vessel was sixty daysin getting round the Cape; the winds let us pass in twelve. The vessel referred to made several squares in her course, with other geometrical figures, sailing a part of the time thus:

You hereby see one cause of long passages. One day we made only eight miles out of one hundred and twenty sailed; a few days before we went two hundred and forty miles. One day while going round the Cape we gained so little that we should be, at that rate, one thousand days in getting to San Francisco.

Dec. 29. Saturday afternoon the captain said, “We shall see land before dark.” Atsunset our hope was fulfilled. We saw, fifteen miles off, a high hill in New Chili, formerly a part of Patagonia. We tacked and ran S. W. instead of N. W. To-day the head wind beat us within twelve miles of land, and again we had to tack. We must do it once more this evening. The captain evidently has a great strain on his mind, though he says but little. He keeps on deck a large part of the time of late, leaving little or nothing to the mates.

A year ago to-day I should have anticipated being anywhere as here. Never have I had so much cause for wonder and joy at the close of a year. Blessed sickness! which prepared the way into the wilderness of waters. It would not be easy to trace the connection of the following lines which occurred to me about this time, with the meditationssuggested by the close of the year; but I had been thinking of our Omnipresent Saviour as once living in a house; a humble dwelling, no doubt, in “a city called Nazareth.” It was good to think of Him who has now gone up on high that he might fill all things, as once tabernacled with men. The train of thought will serve for an illustration of the liberty which the mind will sometimes take of being independent of situation and circumstances:

“And the two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus. Then Jesus turned and saw them following, and saith unto them, What seek ye? They said unto him, Rabbi, (which is to say, being interpreted, Master,) where dwellest thou? He saith unto them, Come and see. They came and saw where he dwelt and abode with him that day; for it was about the tenth hour.” JohnI.37, 39.

This roof once covered him who built the sky;A room inclosed him who now fills all spaceWith thousand thousands rendering ministry;He led the way to this His dwelling place,And two disciples shared his courtesies,Had friendly talk and brake their privacies,Nor once withdrew from him their wondering eyes.Sleep soothed him here whose eyes are flames of fire;Here waked he at the crowing of the cock;Hunger and thirst his daily thoughts requireWho now feeds worlds, as one would feed a flock.Here would he kneel in prayer; dominions ownHim sovereign, bide his orders; round his thronePrayers ceaseless rise, urged in his name alone.Not far from this abode the wild gazelleCropped the red lilies and would venture near.The devils knew him, cried, foreboding ill,Fell down before him with tormenting fear.Diseases fled; he stayed the expiring breath,Bade the blind see; he brake the bars of death,His home, the while, despised Nazareth.By night upon this housetop oft he sat;He watched the young moon as the light of dayGrew dim from east to west; he tarrying yetHer crescent sank; on snow crowned Hermon layThe lingering twilight, with a roseate hueTinging the snow, the small hills lost to view.He formed that light; he framed the darkness too.Let me believe that on this humble floorHis mother sought a piece of money lost,And swept the house; his young eyes counting o’erThe pieces nine, she craved the stray piece most.He wandering o’er these hills of GalileeBeheld a flock all shepherdless and free,The shepherd searching one through brake and lea.Faith loves the mystery which it cannot read,How he a child once in a manger lay,Yet prayed he thus: The glory which I hadWith Thee ere time was now repeat in me.The eastern wise men to his cradle came,Yet said this child; “Ere Abraham was, I am;”He made the star which did their zeal inflame.All which the twelve possessed by faith I have;I live by faith of thee, thou Son of God!Yet would I this my tabernacle leaveAnd look upon my Lord in his abode.When in the lonesome valley praying thee,“Master, where dwelleth thou?” do thou on meLet fall the whisper, saying, ‘Come and see’.

This roof once covered him who built the sky;

A room inclosed him who now fills all space

With thousand thousands rendering ministry;

He led the way to this His dwelling place,

And two disciples shared his courtesies,

Had friendly talk and brake their privacies,

Nor once withdrew from him their wondering eyes.

Sleep soothed him here whose eyes are flames of fire;Here waked he at the crowing of the cock;Hunger and thirst his daily thoughts requireWho now feeds worlds, as one would feed a flock.Here would he kneel in prayer; dominions ownHim sovereign, bide his orders; round his thronePrayers ceaseless rise, urged in his name alone.

Sleep soothed him here whose eyes are flames of fire;

Here waked he at the crowing of the cock;

Hunger and thirst his daily thoughts require

Who now feeds worlds, as one would feed a flock.

Here would he kneel in prayer; dominions own

Him sovereign, bide his orders; round his throne

Prayers ceaseless rise, urged in his name alone.

Not far from this abode the wild gazelleCropped the red lilies and would venture near.The devils knew him, cried, foreboding ill,Fell down before him with tormenting fear.Diseases fled; he stayed the expiring breath,Bade the blind see; he brake the bars of death,His home, the while, despised Nazareth.

Not far from this abode the wild gazelle

Cropped the red lilies and would venture near.

The devils knew him, cried, foreboding ill,

Fell down before him with tormenting fear.

Diseases fled; he stayed the expiring breath,

Bade the blind see; he brake the bars of death,

His home, the while, despised Nazareth.

By night upon this housetop oft he sat;He watched the young moon as the light of dayGrew dim from east to west; he tarrying yetHer crescent sank; on snow crowned Hermon layThe lingering twilight, with a roseate hueTinging the snow, the small hills lost to view.He formed that light; he framed the darkness too.

By night upon this housetop oft he sat;

He watched the young moon as the light of day

Grew dim from east to west; he tarrying yet

Her crescent sank; on snow crowned Hermon lay

The lingering twilight, with a roseate hue

Tinging the snow, the small hills lost to view.

He formed that light; he framed the darkness too.

Let me believe that on this humble floorHis mother sought a piece of money lost,And swept the house; his young eyes counting o’erThe pieces nine, she craved the stray piece most.He wandering o’er these hills of GalileeBeheld a flock all shepherdless and free,The shepherd searching one through brake and lea.

Let me believe that on this humble floor

His mother sought a piece of money lost,

And swept the house; his young eyes counting o’er

The pieces nine, she craved the stray piece most.

He wandering o’er these hills of Galilee

Beheld a flock all shepherdless and free,

The shepherd searching one through brake and lea.

Faith loves the mystery which it cannot read,How he a child once in a manger lay,Yet prayed he thus: The glory which I hadWith Thee ere time was now repeat in me.The eastern wise men to his cradle came,Yet said this child; “Ere Abraham was, I am;”He made the star which did their zeal inflame.

Faith loves the mystery which it cannot read,

How he a child once in a manger lay,

Yet prayed he thus: The glory which I had

With Thee ere time was now repeat in me.

The eastern wise men to his cradle came,

Yet said this child; “Ere Abraham was, I am;”

He made the star which did their zeal inflame.

All which the twelve possessed by faith I have;I live by faith of thee, thou Son of God!Yet would I this my tabernacle leaveAnd look upon my Lord in his abode.When in the lonesome valley praying thee,“Master, where dwelleth thou?” do thou on meLet fall the whisper, saying, ‘Come and see’.

All which the twelve possessed by faith I have;

I live by faith of thee, thou Son of God!

Yet would I this my tabernacle leave

And look upon my Lord in his abode.

When in the lonesome valley praying thee,

“Master, where dwelleth thou?” do thou on me

Let fall the whisper, saying, ‘Come and see’.

The serious and ludicrous are near akin in emotional relationship, for we often pass without a shock from the one to the other, and it matters not which takes precedence. Some of our company younger than the restyearned for sport. So the captain said that they might have a candy scrape. Accordingly some molasses was sent to the galley to be boiled, while the chief agents in the enterprise shelled some nuts to be put into a part of it, the rest being intended to be pulled and therefore was kept clear. The molasses proved to be old and fermented, therefore it did not boil well and so could not harden. The result was, instead of nut candy, a pan of sour molasses mixed with nuts, which was offered to us as a second course at supper. The other half of the molasses was sentenced to be boiled over again. The steward appeared with it and laid it before the adepts in candy frolics; but it looked like a mass of kelp; he had vainly tried to work it into a state which would tempt the appetite; but it was too stiff to be pulled, so he had chopped it into a likeness to sticks. Though it tasted burnt and sour, it was pronounced as goodas could be expected.—At sundown one of the mates found some fire crackers which had escaped discovery in some former voyage. The sailors were allowed to celebrate the advent of New Year, so they borrowed of the steward some tin vessels and as soon as eight bells were struck, forward and aft, they set up a fearful din and the crackers were fired, to welcome the incoming year. The noise resembled that with which, as we afterwards observed, the Chinese prelude their fights. In the midst of the tumult the stentorian voice of the boatswain was heard resounding some admonitory strain, ending with his favorite canticle, “On Canaan’s happy shore.”

After beating about the Horn for eight days, going only from forty to eighty miles day after day, a fine breeze sprung up and wehave for twenty-four hours been going at the rate of ten knots an hour, sometimes faster. To look out of the cabin windows and see the water racing by makes one dizzy, and you hasten on deck to gratify the eye with a longer range of sight.

12M., we have made two hundred and fifty-nine miles the last twenty-four hours, the best day’s run of the voyage thus far. In the Gulf we made two hundred and fifty miles, and once nearly as much off the River Plate.

One of the tiniest little fishes which we have seen was found on deck. It was washed over the side yesterday when every twenty minutes a sea came over the rail. The little thing shows us what the birds pick up at sea. “The small and the great are there.” We are glad to see the smallest thing in this region of wonders in the deep.

We are now fully round the Horn, havingpassed beyond 50° S., which completed the semicircle. At 12M.one day lately we had gone beyond 50° to 43°. Patches of blue sky appear. Our spirits are revived. The ship seems to partake of our joy. Toward evening to-day she seemed to the captain to be exerting herself beyond her strength, having on a crowd of canvas. He ordered the royals to be taken down, to our regret; but it relieved her. We are promised another race at daybreak should the weather be fair.

One of the pleasant things about this voyage is, the frequent change of seasons. Leaving New York late in October we were in a few days in the warm region of the Gulf; then came spring and summer in the tropics, then fall and winter with severe blasts round the Horn. To-day, Jan. 6th, spring seems to have dawned. By Jan. 20th,we shall have premonitions of summer heat. I took my old seat on the house under the mizzenmast, a mild air about me yet strong enough to bear the ship along at the rate of eight or nine knots, the sky clear, the water smooth, the horizon distinct, everything indicating our approach to the tropics.

If I were asked, “What recurs to you most frequently with pleasure in your experience at sea thus far”, I should say, The hour under the mizzen mast, morning after morning. The solitude there was unrivalled. In the depths of a forest you are not sure of being alone; for you yourself have come thither, and what hinders the approach of others? Half of the ship’s company are asleep; those who are up are busily occupied; before you left your bed you heard the tramp of feet overhead. The dash of bucketsof water, the noise of brooms, the holy-stone drawn backwards and forwards and athwart ship, and then the perfect quiet, made you feel that everything was ready for any one who wished to be alone on deck. Behind you, but hidden from view by the spanker, is the man at the wheel; the rudder-head jounces monotonously at every turn; a sailor here and there creeps about barefooted; the steward makes his official visits to the galley; these, and the few others who are stirring, only seem to make you feel that you are isolated. The depths are around you; the distant sail tells you that yonder is a company of human beings shut out like you from the world; you understand how solitary you are, by musing on them; you fancy how lonesome you would be sailing away, as they seem to be, from human fellowship, not considering that you are also. I had made an index to the book of Psalms, easilydrawn up, and had written it on paper the size of a small ‘Testament and Psalms,’ twelve pages, and had pasted it in my small Testament. I did not need De Wette, nor Rosenmuller, nor any other commentator to remind me that a word of David was in Hiphil or Hophal, Piel or Pual; the index, looked over, beginning; A, As the hart panteth, 42. B, Behold, bless ye, 134. D, Deliver me from, 59, would each day suggest a Psalm which seemed to have the same key note with the feelings with which I had awaked. No song of bird, no wheels, nor hum of labor disturbed the exceeding peace which all nature seemed to have concentrated, in this morning hour in the solitude of ocean. I could not refrain from thinking how it would have been wholly broken up by paddle wheels or propeller, and by the sympathy which the jaded mind would have with the incessant walking beam, the alternating pistons;and by the column of black smoke, the imprisoned steam. Let trade, and strong nerves, and economy of time, and imperative engagements gratefully avail themselves of machinery in passing from one side of the sea to the other, but let some sailing vessels be spared, with their poetry of motion, and architecture of canvas, mystery of rigging, habits, usages, phraseology, modes of life, the tar and slush, the going aloft instead of down into the furnace room, the laying becalmed instead of driving ahead impetuously, reckless of wind and weather. In our desire for the advancement of mankind, we do not calculate for indisposition. It is out of place. But these clipper ships could not be better contrived for comfort, had they been arranged expressly for invalids.

We are having the first premonition of port. The sailors are employed washing thewhite paint with potash in the way of spring cleaning. Every rope in the standing rigging is to be tarred and the ship is to be painted inside and outside, so that when she enters port she will look as new as when she left home. You may wonder how a vessel can be painted outside at sea. Here in the Pacific there are days when the weather and the swell of the sea allow staging to be lashed to the side, stern, and bows, and men move safely from point to point with brushes.

When first I began to throw writings overboard I was careful to tear them into small pieces, supposing that they might be picked up. I soon learned that this was useless. The captain seeing me do it told me that he would be willing to throw any writing into the sea fearless of its being found and read. In a very little while the water would reduce it to pulp, the incessant motion would destroyit, and even if it did not, the chance of its being picked up or washed ashore would be many millions to one of its ever coming into anybody’s hand. Among the countless things which we had seen afloat we never saw at sea a piece of writing. After this I took some old manuscripts on deck and threw them overboard, leaf by leaf. A sermon which one of the children at home had written for me in pencil from dictation I had copied in ink and the original was now useless. Mother Cary’s chickens flew down upon the pages as they one after another settled on the water, and finally a large albatross came, lighted on the water, watched the leaves as they floated along and tried to eat one. We little imagined, that rainy afternoon as we sat on the piazza at Milton, that the leaves which one who may read this held in her hand would pass under the eye of a Cape Horn albatross on the Pacific Ocean.

When the sailors have used up a barrel of tar, they have sport in putting kerosene in the barrel, lighting it, and dropping it to leeward. It blazes, vehemently, and while we sail away from it we cannot persuade ourselves that it is not moving rapidly from us. The swell of the sea causes it to disappear now and then, rising up occasionally very far astern. Some on shore have thought that this might be a false light to vessels. Sailors are too well accustomed to the practice to be deceived by it; but apart from this, in mid ocean there is no danger of mistaking it for a light house.—Having spoken of dropping the barrel to leeward rather than to windward where it might be blown against the ship, I am reminded of a prudential maxim at sea: Never throw anything overboard to windward but 1. Ashes; 2. Hot water.

We have sailed over ten thousand miles, and have five thousand more to sail before we come to “Frisco.” It seems strange to think of arriving there by land in ten days from home, while we have been from Oct. 26th to Jan. 12th, seventy-eight days, on our way. If we were in haste to reach our port this difference of speed would try our patience. As it is we are grateful; it seems painful to be whirled along in ten days, night and day, instead of coming at our leisure unmindful of time, willing to be where we are, indefinitely, except that we sympathize with the captain’s desire to make a short voyage, and feeling willing also to shorten this part of our way knowing that we shall have sufficient experience of the sea by the time that we have belted the globe.

Seeing a sailor go to the galley with histin pan, receive his allowance from the cook, take it out on deck, seat himself on a spar, I was reminded of his limited supply of table cutlery. But in the first place he has no table. He holds his pan in his hand, lays his biscuit on the spar, his drink along side of it, takes his piece of potato, turnip, cabbage with his finger, serves his bone in the same way, and if the piece of meat which has fallen to his lot needs to be divided he feels for his sheath knife which he carries all the time in its sheath behind him, holds the meat with one hand and makes the sheath knife play the part both of knife and fork. He wipes his fingers on his pants. Artificial and useless do many things appear at sea, as, for example, forks, napkins, and, of course, napkin rings, doilies, sugar bowls, slop bowls, saucers, ladles, dessert spoons; in short the things absolutely indispensable at a sailor’s meal could be counted on the fingers of onehand, omitting the thumb and little finger. Yet there are frequently young men in a crew who have been used to the numberless luxuries of life. I had a talk yesterday with the son of a minister; early in the voyage his fine face attracted me. He has eleven brothers and sisters at home. He had a desire to see the world; was weary of the shop, of the few associates in a country village. This is his first long voyage. He makes light of privations and dangers; says that almost all the things which he used to have on the table at home would now seem superfluities. He would need experience to make them necessary. He would feel toward some of them, no doubt, as a sailor did in a boarding house who spit on the floor, which the waiter perceiving kept pushing a spittoon nearer to him; till at last the sailor annoyed by it said, “If you keep pushing that thing so near to me I shall be in danger of spitting in it.”

The moon set at half past nine, and left the heavens aglow. Imagine the milky way, without its milky appearance, all the haze gone, the stars in it in crowds. The nebulous light dissolves in brilliant worlds, the Southern Cross at one end,

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