ails set; for the boy who was at the helm
left it to throw something overboard, and the carpenter, who was an old
sailor, knowing that the wind was light, put the helm down and hove her
aback. The watch on deck were lowering away the quarter-boat, and I got
on deck just in time to heave myself into her as she was leaving the
side. But it was not until out on the wide Pacific in our little boat
that I knew we had lost George Ballmer, a young English sailor, who was
prized by the officers as an active and willing seaman, and by the crew
as a lively, hearty fellow and a good shipmate.

He was going aloft to fit a strap round the main-topmast head for
ringtail halyards, and had the strap and block, a coil of halyards, and
a marlin spike about his neck. He fell, and not knowing how to swim, and
being heavily dressed, with all those things around his neck, he
probably sank immediately. We pulled astern in the direction in which he
fell, and though we knew that there was no hope of saving him, yet no
one wished to speak of returning, and we rowed about for nearly an hour,
unwilling to acknowledge to ourselves that we must give him up.

Death is at all times solemn, but never so much so as at sea; and the
effect of it remains upon the crew for some time. There is more kindness
shown by the officers, and by the crew to one another. The lost man is
seldom mentioned, or is dismissed with a sailor's rude eulogy, "Well,
poor George is gone! His cruise is up soon. He knew his work, and did
his duty, and was a good shipmate." We had hardly returned on board with
our sad report before an auction was held of the POOR man's clothes.

_II.--At the Ends of the Earth_

On Tuesday, November 25, we reached the Island of Juan Fernandez. We
were then probably seventy miles from it; and so high did it appear that
I took it for a cloud, until it gradually turned to a greener and deader
colour. By the afternoon the island lay fairly before us, and we
directed our course to the only harbour. Never shall I forget the
sensation which I experienced on finding myself once more surrounded by
land as I stood my watch at about three the following morning, feeling
the breeze coming off shore and hearing the frogs and crickets. To my
joy I was among the number ordered ashore to fill the water-casks. By
the morning of the 27th we were again upon the wide Pacific, and we saw
neither land nor sail again until, on January 13, 1835, we reached Point
Conce