"Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on the wide, wide sea."
And yet, we are not quite alone. A small number of my friends, the birds, still hover around us, and accompany us in our wanderings over the deep, even at this great distance from the land. A few days since an albatross was seen flying near us. I watched it and soon saw that it was the Dusky Albatross, (Diomedia fusca,) figured by Audubon from a specimen obtained by Dr. Townsend on the coast of Oregon. It was soon joined by another and another, and to-day, six or eight of them are following us.
We suffer much weariness, lassitude, and drowsiness, consequent on our long voyage and almost total inactivity. One circumstance has operated very favorably for our comfort. After less than a week of the hot weather of which I have spoken, there came a sudden and most agreeable change. The sky became obscured with clouds, and has remained so the greater part of the time since, and the air grew cooler, so much so that our overcoats became necessary, and the passengers, who had been driven from the main cabin, were enabled to return to their berths again.
August 27. Our first inquiry this morning was the same we have often and anxiously made of late, "How does she head?" And the same answer we have received for the last fortnight was given, "About north-west." The wind, however, was light, and we were not quite hopeless of a change. An hour or two was passed in watching the signs, for the weather had become very unsteady—when we heard from the captain, who had taken the helm, the order, "Ready, 'bout." The sound was most cheering. We had been standing on one course for a long time without making any approach towards our destined port, but rather going farther from it, and striving the while to gain a position, or rather, a wind, that would carry us in. And this intention of tacking ship was an indication of the captain's opinion, that the favorable moment had arrived. The sailors stationed themselves at the proper ropes, and the mate responded, "All ready, sir." "Hard a-lee!" sung out the captain, as he put down the helm, and brought the ship into the wind, the sails shivering and flapping with considerable violence. Presently they began to fill on the other side, when he gave the order, "Maintop sail haul," and instantly the ropes rattled through the blocks, and the main sail, maintop sail and maintop-gallant sail swung steadily and at once round the masts to the other side of the ship. Soon the order, "Let go and haul," was given, when the foresails were swung into their proper positions, and we were sailing on our course for San Francisco.
Tacking ship is a beautiful evolution, and it is for that reason that I have described it, using in this instance the necessary nautical terms, though I have generally endeavored to avoid them. It is also a performance requiring some little skill and practice. Our mate on one occasion made three attempts to tack, and failed, and was obliged at last to "wear ship," that is, to turn the ship round with the wind, thereby losing considerable ground. This is considered an unseamanlike maneuver, and it subjected our mate to some ridicule among the sailors.
The indications of a favorable wind did not continue long, and in less than half an hour we were obliged to put about again, and stand on our old course. In this manner it continued for several days, veering from point to point, between north-east and south-west, and forcing us continually to change the course of the ship, while we made very little progress towards port.
The Dusky Albatrosses became very familiar, and Sherman drew one of them on deck, but the captain followed it closely round the ship, and at last ordered it to be thrown overboard.
For the information of those who are not familiar with the science of ornithology, and who may be curious to know how we could draw large birds into the ship with a hook and line without injuring them, I will say, that the upper mandible of many of these birds is recurved or bent downwards beyond the lower mandible, forming a hook sufficiently strong to hold the weight of the bird, and the fish-hook catches it by this curved beak as it seizes the bait. The hook does not penetrate the beak, but its sharp point prevents it slipping off so long as the bird holds back.
Our mate amuses himself with drawing coarse caricatures of the passengers; and they in turn retaliate by writing doggerel verses on the mate. This leads me to say that one of our sailors has turned out to be a poet, and if there is any thing in a name that entitles a man to this honor, his claim is certainly good. His name is James Montgomery. His verses, though not quite equal to those by the author of the "Wanderer of Switzerland," are not altogether destitute of poetic merit; and had he an opportunity to cultivate his talent, he would probably learn to write poetry. The mate, unable to write himself, offered Montgomery a dollar to write a lampoon on one of the passengers. But he scorned to do so dirty a job for such a paltry bribe, or for so low a fellow.
September 1. We have at last got a fair wind, and during the whole day sailed directly on our course without tacking. Our spirits begin to revive, and we are not quite hopeless of reaching port.