SATURDAY. Course—straight ahead. Weather—rain. Wind—tempered. Sea—none. Ship’s Run—none. Stopped for repairs.
Remarks:
Rained pitchforks all day.—Put an extra officer on deck to watch for pirates. The high seas are dangerous in these prehistoric days.—Ham won’t let his wife tend the whales. He says her clothes smell fishy. I’ll never go through another flood so short-handed.—Shem tells me I ought to put the latitude and longitude in the log. I didn’t like to show my ignorance so I said I would, but I won’t.—This damp weather has a depressing effect on the officers and the family. It also is making the canary seed sprout, and putting mould on the hay.—Guess all the mines are flooded by this time. I had stock in several—guaranteed to pay 200 per cent. Hope they are waterproof. Wish it were the fortieth.—Bath.
SUNDAY.
Remarks:
Services this a.m. We are saving the collection until we get ashore.—I’m 600 years old today. I’ll be grey soon. The family got tired pounding me. Tonight the officers and their wives gave me a surprise party. Mrs. Shem baked a cake, but you couldn’t see it for candles. Mrs. Japheth gave me some records for the talking machine. Shem gave me a red tie. Ham gave me—no, he didn’t give me anything. He wished me many happy returns of the day. His wife presented me with a pair of dancing sandals. Japheth donated a bottle of hair tonic. Mrs. Noah knitted me some socks and a nightcap.
I’m getting along in years, but, still, grandpa was something like 1000 before they made a mummy out of him. I want to get away with this trip. It will be a good thing for my reputation. Perhaps it will make me famous. I want my posterity to have a fine opinion of me. It’s a good thing for them I was born. I’d like to live a few hundred years more to see some of my descendants, but it isn’t a good thing to have too much to do with one’s relations. I wonder where I’ll be when I am 700? Mrs. Noah did not abuse me once today.—No pirates yet.
MONDAY. Course—straight ahead. Weather—rain. Wind—variable. Sea—full of seaweed. Ship’s Run—2.
Remarks:
The welsh rarebit we had at my party last night kept me awake.—I wonder what that latitude and longitude is? I ought to have taken a course in navigation before I undertook this trip.—We are using the flint and steel again. The matches are too damp.—Mrs. Ham complains about the butter. She says it is rancid. She can’t expect a Ritz-Carlton aboard. It was guaranteed for a year. If I ever find the manufacturer I’ll make him live up to his agreement.—My umbrella needs re-covering. This weather is certainly monotonous.—No pirates yet.
TUESDAY. Course—straight ahead. Weather—rain. Wind—invariable. Sea—middling. Ship’s Run—2.
Remarks:
I was nearly scared to death last night. The dogs awakened me. The Irish setters barked with a pronounced brogue. At first I thought someone was breaking into the chicken coop—then I thought of the pirates! Put on my nightcap, took a candle, and went below. Someone hollered, “Who?” I said, “I’m Noah, and who are you or I’ll fire?” I was scared stiff. No answer. I couldn’t find anybody except the two birds that sleep all day. They kept winking and blinking at me. Didn’t find any pirates, but I went back to bed and dreamed about them. Ham says that’s what I get for reading ten shekel novels.