Wednesday, November 22nd.—Between 2 and 3 a.m. a nice breeze sprang up, and between 3 and 4.30 a.m. all the fore-and-aft sails were again set. It was deliciously cool on deck at that time; but the sun rose fierce and hot, and more or less killed the breeze as the day wore on.
Thursday, November 23rd.—Twenty-four days out. We had hoped to reach Tahiti to-day, and Tom begins to regret that he did not steam some distance out from Valparaiso, so as to pick up the trades sooner. Still it is satisfactory to know how well the 'Sunbeam' can and does sail against light contrary winds, and to have an opportunity of developing some of her good points, of which we were previously hardly aware. How she manages to slip along as she does, four or five knots an hour, with not sufficient wind to blow a candle out, is a marvel to every one on board. More than once, when the hand-log has shown that we were going five knots, I have carried a naked light from one end of the deck to the other without its being extinguished.
The sunrise was magnificent, and a splendid albatross, the largest we have yet seen, was at the same time visible in mid-air, floating against the rose-coloured clouds. He looked so grand, and calm, and majestic, that one could almost fancy him the bird of Jove himself, descending direct from the sun. Where do these birds rest? How far and how fast do they really fly? are questions for the naturalist. We have seen them many times at a distance of at least two thousand miles from the nearest land.
About nine o'clock there was a slight breeze, but it fell as the sun rose, and the day was intensely hot.
Friday, November 24th.—A fine breeze in the early morning, which, however, gradually died away. Having now quitted the regular track of the trade winds and got into the variables, we lighted fires at two o'clock. Then another light breeze sprang up for a few minutes, only to fall away again immediately, and at six o'clock we commenced to steam.
Saturday, November 25th.—A very wet morning, the sky clearing at about ten, but the weather remaining dull, heavy, hot, and oppressive, throughout the day. But we were making good progress under steam, which rendered the state of things more endurable than it would otherwise have been.
Whilst I was standing on deck at night a flying-fish flew against my throat and hung there, caught in the lace of my dress. He is a pretty specimen, but only his wings are to be preserved, for Muriel will have his body for breakfast to-morrow.
Sunday, November 26th.—Our fourth consecutive Sunday at sea, and out of sight of land. At 4 a.m. the sails were spread to a good breeze. At 7 we stopped steaming, but at 10 the wind again fell light. The Litany was read on deck this morning on account of the heat. The observations at noon showed that we were in lat. 15° 47' S., long. 135° 20' W., the distance accomplished during the last twenty-four hours being 181 miles. We have now made good 4,067 miles from Valparaiso, and are 815 miles distant from Tahiti. At 5 p.m. we had prayers and a sermon, also on deck. It was then almost calm, and at eight o'clock we again began steaming, in order to insure our making the island of Tatakotoroa, 200 miles off, before dark to-morrow.
Monday, November 27th.—I was on deck at 3.30 a.m. Everybody on board was more or less excited at the prospect of making land, after twenty-eight days at sea. It was a delicious morning, with a favourable breeze, and under steam and sail we progressed at the rate of from 10 to 11-1/2 knots an hour. Several birds flew on board, amongst whom were two boobies, who hovered round us and appeared to examine everything with great curiosity, especially the little wind-vanes at the extremity of the masts. At last they settled on the foretopmast, whereupon one of the sailors went up to try and catch them. They observed his movements closely, and appeared to be specially interested in his cap; but as he approached, first one and then the other flew away for a few yards, and then returned to his former position. At last the man, watching his opportunity, managed to seize one of them by his legs and bring him down in triumph, despite flapping wings and pecks from a sharp beak. He was shut up in the fowl-pen—now, alas, empty of its proper denizens—where we had an opportunity of examining him before he was killed. He was a fine, handsome, grey bird, with large blue eyes, and a wild hawk-like look.
At one o'clock we were almost sailing over the spot marked by Findlay as the situation of Tatakotopoto, or Anonymous Island; but there was nothing whatever visible in the shape of land, even from the masthead, where a man was stationed, and from which it was possible to see a distance of ten or fifteen miles. Tom went up himself several times and scanned the horizon carefully, but in vain. It is therefore evident either that the position of the island is incorrectly stated, or that it has become submerged. I believe that in these seas there are many islands marked that have no existence, and that several that do exist are not marked, which renders it necessary to keep a constant good look-out. What a charming task it would be thoroughly to survey these parts, and to correct the present charts where necessary, and how much I should like to be one of the officers appointed for the service!