t straw hats. Some are
aloft, and watching with eager eyes to catch the first glimpse of a sail
on the distant horizon; and this he must do from his loftly outlook
before the officer of the deck or quartermaster espies one, as they
sweep the sky with their long-reaching glasses--else he may suffer
reprimand and prison fare.

These and our meals are epochs which measure out the time, between which
the minutes and hours pass most wearily, and are filled with longings
for home or some welcome words from there, the next meal, or the drum
beat to quarters. Said one to me whose time is not used up as is that of
the watch officers, by four-hour watches twice in the twenty-four hours:
'When breakfast's done, the next thing I look forward to is dinner, and
when that's done, I look for supper time, and then wait in patience till
the clock strikes ten, and the 'master at arms' knocks at our several
doors, saying: 'Four bells, gentlemen; lights out, sirs.'' So time drags
often for weeks together. No new excitement fills the head with thought,
and more or less of _ennui_ takes hold on all. In fact, some consider
life on shipboard not many removes from prison life; and a man
overflowing with the sap of life, whose muscles from head to foot tingle
for a good mile run across some open field, a tramp through a grand
forest, or climb of some mountain crag, and who loves the freedom of
good solid _terra firma_--he, I say, feels like a close-caged lion.

After every calm comes a storm, and so, after weeks of listless waiting,
doing nothing, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, a very gale of bustle
comes on. 'Sail ho!' comes from the lookout aloft. 'One point off our
starboard bow!' 'Man the windlass and up anchor!' shouts the officer of
the deck, as the strange sail bears down steadily toward us, finally
showing signals which tell us she's a friend and brings a mail. The
Iroquois steams out to meet her; their anchors drop, and they hold
friendly confab. We, too, soon come up, and hear that letters, papers,
fresh meat, and ice await us, on the good old Bay State steamer
Massachusetts. We prepare to lower boats and get our goodies, when we
are told from the Iroquois that a sail lies far off to the N. N. E., and
are ordered off on chase. 'It never rains but it pours,' think we.
Letters, goodies, and now a chance at a prize! 'Begone dull care!' 'Ay,
ay, sir!' responds swift-vanishing _ennui_, as our eyes are strained in
the direction we were tol