w steadily, we did not remain stationary
altogether. So that the following week saw us on the south side of the
tropic of Capricorn, the south-east trade done, and the dirty weather
and variable squalls, which nearly always precede the "westerlies,"
making our lives a burden to us. Here, however, we were better off than
in an ordinary merchantman, where doldrums are enough to drive you
mad. The one object being to get along, it is incessant "pully-hauly,"
setting and taking in sail, in order, on the one hand, to lose no time,
and, on the other, to lose no sails. Now, with us, whenever the weather
was doubtful or squally-looking, we shortened sail, and kept it fast
till better weather came along, being quite careless whether we made one
mile a day or one hundred. But just because nobody took any notice of
our progress as the days passed, we were occasionally startled to find
how far we had really got. This was certainly the case with all of us
forward, even to me who had some experience, so well used had I now
become to the leisurely way of getting along. To the laziest of ships,
however, there comes occasionally a time when the bustling, hurrying
wind will take no denial, and you've got to "git up an' git," as the
Yanks put it. Such a time succeeded our "batterfanging" about, after
losing the trades. We got hold of a westerly wind that, commencing
quietly, gently, steadily, taking two or three days before it gathered
force and volume, strengthened at last into a stern, settled gale that
would brook no denial, to face which would have been misery indeed. To
vessels bound east it came as a boon and blessing, for it would be a
crawler that could not reel off her two hundred and fifty miles a day
before the push of such a breeze. Even the CACHALOT did her one hundred
and fifty, pounding and bruising the ill-used sea in her path, and
spreading before her broad bows a far-reaching area of snowy foam, while
her wake was as wide as any two ordinary ships ought to make. Five or
six times a day the flying East India or colonial-bound English ships,
under every stitch of square sail, would appear as tiny specks on the
horizon astern, come up with us, pass like a flash, and fade away ahead,
going at least two knots to our one. I could not help feeling a bit
home-sick and tired of my present surroundings, in spite of their
interest, when I saw those beautiful ocean-flyers devouring the distance
which lay before them, and reflected tha