dishes, from
the privacy of tins of potted meats, and hidden delicacies of the store
rooms. We all became sociable, quizzed one another good humoredly--some
declared they had been dreadfully spooney with some fair girls before
leaving home, but were better now, and thought the marine air wholesome
for those complaints. Others, again, still remained faithful, compared
their watches with the chronometers, to determine the exact difference
of time on certain periods designated beforehand, with may be a choice
collection of stars of the first magnitude, to gaze at by night.
Nevertheless, there was a radical change for the better; we became more
companionable, hobnobbed across the table, after dinner, heard with calm
delight orchestral music from the flutes and fiddles of papa Gheeks and
family--an old gentleman from _faderland_, whom the sailors, in their
ignorance of German, had baptized "Peter the Greeks," a soubriquet by
which he universally went--and one of our mess had the humanity to
inquire if the small French horn, or octave flute, had tumbled down the
hatchway, and whether he broke his neck or was merely asphyxic. We even
ceased grumbling at the servants, and to a man all agreed that the
passage had been of unexampled pleasantness.

Nothing checked our headlong speed, and the fiftieth day from Boston saw
us close to the high, desolate mountains of cape Frio, within plain view
of the little rocky nook where the English frigate Thetis made a futile
attempt to batter the island over, but went down in the struggle. 'Tis
said the gun room mess were entertaining the captain at dinner, who
somewhat oblivious to everything, save being homeward bound to merry
England with a ship laden with treasure, disregarded the sailing
master's wishes to alter the course, and the consequence was, after
night set in, the frigate struck, going eight knots--providentially the
crew were saved. The long Atlantic swell was rolling heavily against the
bluff promontories, and the surf lashing far up the black heights,
giving many of us a nervous disinclination to making a night expedition
among the rocks, going to sleep with a dirty shirt and mouthful of sand,
without even the consolation of being afterwards laid out in clean
linen, to make luncheon for vultures; but since it takes a complication
of those diversions to compose a veritable sea life, we banished
perspective danger, and indulged in speculations upon the pleasures of
port.