The breeze was blowing strong, a splendid northeast trade, and the smooth sea made our progress something very cheering. At two bells I was called aft and, with Brenden and Frenchy, helped heave the log chip under direction of Captain Nichols.
The log line, soaked with water, was wound on a large reel. Brenden stood on one side of the wheel house and held this over his head, each hand gripping a handle of the reel as he faced squarely aft. He was far enough forward from the taffrail so we could tend the line. The log chip, a small quadrant of wood weighted on its circular side to make it swim upright in the water, was attached to the line by a triple bridle, the two parts from the ends of the circle being seized to a small wooden plug that fitted snugly to a wooden socket seized to the part of the log line running from the apex of the chip. This arrangement holds the chip upright and perpendicular to the direction of the log line; when the line is given a sharp jerk, the plug disengages, the chip capsizes, and can be easily hauled aboard. It is really a sort of miniature sea anchor.
Captain Nichols stood by with the sand glass. Frenchy was told to cast the chip overboard, while I stood at the rail to see the line run clear. Twenty fathoms of the "stray line" went over first, the end being marked by a piece of red bunting. As this ran over the taffrail the skipper called out "Turn," at the same time turning the glass himself. He was greatly pleased with the whole proceeding and danced around much after the manner of a small boy with a new kite. The sand glass was a twenty-eight second one, and the captain had dried it out in the galley that morning and then compared it with his chronometer.
The line was tearing over the rail like wild and as the captain called, "Up!" Frenchy grabbed the line.
Examining the line we found we were making 10.2 knots.
At the time of shouting "Up!" Captain Nichols stepped over to the Bliss taffrail log trailing on the weather quarter and noted the dial. An hour later we again hove the old-fashioned log and checked our reading on the patent log. For the information of landsmen, it may be well to say that a knot on the log line—and here is where the term comes from—is a distance of forty-seven feet, four inches (for a 28-second glass), the same proportional part of a sea mile or "knot" of 6,080 feet that 28 seconds is of an hour. The different knots along the line are distinguished by fish line tucked into the strands and a knot cast for each mark away from the start. Tenths are estimated, the length between knots being divided by shreds of white bunting into five parts. If sailing fast, as we were, a short glass is sometimes used; this registers fourteen seconds and the readings on the log line must be doubled. In passing it may be well to mention that the old-fashioned log chip, where speeds are not over, say fifteen knots, is the most reliable method of measurement of rate of speed through the roster ever devised. Also, the fact that the sea mile or "knot" is six thousand and eighty feet, and not five thousand two hundred and eighty feet as ashore, is due to the fact that in navigating a ship over the sea it is necessary to have a standard of measurement bearing a simple relation to the size and shape of the earth. One sea mile is the length of one minute of arc measured on the meridian, 6,080 feet. This is the mean value, for, owing to the flattening at the poles, the minute of arc varies slightly from the poles to the equator.
Ten knots and over is fair going for any sailer, and extra fine for trade wind sailing. Our hopes for a quick passage were high. The water boiled past us in a smother of swishing foam, a cheerful chatter when homeward bound, while aloft every inch of sail was doing its full duty. Before noon we got the anchor scrubbed clean and at once unshackled the cables and sent them below, bowsing the jackasses into the hawse pipes, as on the passage out. Both bower anchors were then secured inboard and lashed to heavy ring bolts on the fo'c'sle head, the cat and fish falls were unrove, stopped up and stowed below.
We put in the afternoon rousing up this rope and that, tautening every stitch of canvas to its full extent. Our new second mate was given his first lessons in the handling of a watch at sea, and did well enough, considering the fact that Chief Mate Zerk kept the center of the stage, as was his habit whenever anything transpired on the deck. At four bells the starboard watch went below, and we stood the first dog watch. In the second dog watch we sat around yarning, still being too full of rational rest to seek our bunks. We watched Tommy handle things alone—but for all that Captain Nichols was always to be seen far aft, stumping the poop, and keeping a mighty watchful eye on the progress of events. During the night watches he was particularly in evidence. Tommy gained confidence faster than he did experience and assumed a certain air of superiority that was galling to his former watchmates. Old Smith was the one to carry things along by setting a correct example to the men. Often when Tom did not know just what to do, Old Smith would start things by jumping to the proper rope and the order would tally along afterward. On the other hand, things got so that when Tom gave the wrong orders the watch would disregard them and do what they thought was right. Old Smith, Hitchen, Axel and Charlie Horse knew as much about sailing as any second mate, and the result was not disastrous, although at times a trifle ragged.
The captain shaped a course due south, magnetic, running along the meridian of one hundred and fifty-eight degrees west from Greenwich. This carried us to the eastward of Karatoo Island and we then put more easting in the course and sailed past the Walker Islands, crossing the equator when five days out from Honolulu; a fair bit of travelling for a vessel of the latter sailing ship days. Here the trades failed us and again we were to wallow in the stagnant latitudes that try the spirit and vex the soul. But the ship's company forward were in excellent humor and anything but sea weary. We employed the time below, not given over to sleeping, in sewing our much worn clothing, in scrubbing clothes, an art in which we were expert, and in yarning about the times gone by.
As the days spread into weeks we thought more and more of the times to come, and of course discussed them at great length. Much of our mental intercourse had a hopeful, speculative trend. Being wholly human and with all the weaknesses that sailor flesh abounds in, it is not to be wondered at if the ambitions of that voyage never fully materialized; judging by my own, I can say they did not. I wanted to command another such ship as the Fuller, to stump to windward and set the course, to have all night in, and eat delicious viands at the cabin table. Stranger fate was to await me before I cast my anchor in the fair cove called home, with kids to crawl upon my knee and call me "Dadda," and a wife to remind me now and then that I am not captain here.