“Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love—
I am steady and strong and true;
They follow my track by the clouds above,
O’er the fathomless tropic blue.
“For, close by the shores of the sunny Azores,
Their ships I await to convoy;
When into their sails my constant breath pours,
They hail me with turbulent joy.
“From the deck to the truck I pour all my force,
In spanker and jib I am strong;
For I make every course to pull like a horse,
And worry the great ship along.
“As I fly o’er the blue I sing to my crew,
Who answer me back with a hail;
I whistle a note as I slip by the throat,
Of the buoyant and bellying sail.
“I laugh when the wave leaps over the head,
And the jibs thro’ the spraybow shine;
For an acre of foam is broken and spread,
When she shoulders and tosses the brine.
“Through daylight and dark I follow the barque,
I keep like a hound on her trail;
I’m strongest at noon, yet under the moon,
I stiffen the bunt of her sail.
“The ocean wide thro’ for days I pursue,
Till slowly my forces all wane;
Then, in whispers of calm, I bid them adieu,
And vanish in thunder and rain.”

Thus sings Thomas Fleming Day of the “Trade-Wind.”

The ship is evidently very foul, as she is only logging 5 knots in this fine breeze.

On board a sailing-ship a patent log is not generally used much, and the log is hove in the old-fashioned and most reliable style about once every watch.

The log is a conical-shaped canvas bag, to the mouth of which the logline is attached.

The logline, which is wound on a reel, is divided up into knots by means of different pieces of leather—the first knot being a single piece of leather, the second knot has two tails to the leather, and the third knot has an ordinary knot tied, and so on. The knots are marked off on the line to correspond with a sand-glass running 28 seconds, the distance between each knot on the logline bearing the same proportion to a real knot that the 28 seconds of the sand-glass bear to the seconds in an hour. Thus, avoiding any calculation, you just read off the number of knots that have run astern during the 28 seconds, and they are the number of knots per hour the ship is going.

The mate or second mate generally heave the log, whilst one of us held the glass, and another the reel, which he holds above his head as the line runs out.

The first 20 or 30 fathoms of line are allowed to run out, so that the log may settle in the water; then, when a piece of rag is reached, the mate, who is at the rail watching the line run out, calls out sharply to the man holding the glass, “Turn!”

The man turns the glass, and the moment the sand has run out, calls, “Stop!”

The mate at once stops the line from running out further, and notes the number of knots that have run out.

When the ship is going 10 knots or over, the line runs out very fast, and it is as much as one man can do to haul it in again.

It was the duty of us in the half-deck; and on hearing the second mate sing out from the poop, “Heave the log!” Loring and I always had to scuttle out on to the poop, one to hold the glass, and the other the reel. The log was generally hove at the end of the watch, just before eight bells.

We had a lovely sunset to-day, with a mackerel sky.

I stood my first trick at the wheel last night, from ten to twelve in the first watch.

It was an easy night to steer in, as the wind was steady, and it was light enough to see the mizen-royal, which, as the ship was close-hauled, required watching, to see that the clew was just lifting and no more.

Tuesday, 12th September.—Wind rather light all day. We sighted a sail in the afternoon off our lee quarter, and could see down to her topsails from the deck.

This is the first sail we have sighted, and there was some excitement as to what ship she was, as it was evident, as she was heading our course, that she is one of the San Francisco Cape Horn fleet.

She turned out to be the smart French barque which had passed us the first day out, and so everyone was in great spirits at our being ahead of her, especially the old man.

A superb night again, with the breeze freshening up.

The second mate is very keen for me to take him up to the Klondyke. If I did ever think of going there again, I could not wish for a better partner for the job.

Wednesday, 13th September.—All hands disgusted to find the Frenchy out on our weather beam at daybreak this morning. The old man is very angry about it, and bent and set a topgallant jigger-staysail and a “save-all,” or “jimmy green,” consisting of a spare topsail under the mainsail.

Of course, stunsails are hardly known at sea now, and very seldom met with, though I believe the American clippers Judas Dowes, Indiana, and Paul Revere, still carry them.

A fine breeze, and lovely day.

We can only head S.S.W. by the wind, and shall cross the line to-night, as at noon to-day our lat. was 1°.25 N. only.