Tuesday, July 7. We have sailed since we left Callao about eight thousand miles without falling in with a single vessel, though the Pacific is said to be sprinkled with whalers and merchantmen. The former pursue their vocation without any reference to the customary tracks of other vessels; they set up their chase wherever the whale sweeps, be it to the Pole or the Line, and yet we have not encountered one of them. Out of the thousand, not one has come within the range of our vision. This gives one some idea of the immensity of the Pacific. A ship in it is like a meteor in the unconfined realms of space.
Wednesday, July 8. We have had general quarters, with the exercise of the crew at the guns, almost every day since we left Honolulu. Mexican papers were received there, the day before our departure, stating that hostilities had commenced between that country and the United States, on the Texan line. We doubted the correctness of the information, but put to sea at once, that we might be off Monterey in season for any service which the possible exigency might require.
To-day we have been practising at target firing. This fictitious foe made his appearance on a platform buoyed up by eight empty casks at a distance, varying with the action of the sea and wind, of from one to two miles. The firing commenced on the larboard side, and was restricted to one round from each gun. It was found that the shot, though the guns had been elevated one degree, struck the water short of the mark. An order was therefore given to elevate the guns two degrees, and to be careful to fire on an even keel. This brought the target within a point-blank range; and the shot whistled past it, grazing this side and that.
We now tacked ship, and gave the starboard lads a chance. Their shot struck with sufficient accuracy for all practical purposes in a naval engagement, and the target, though bobbing up and down on the sea as a frightened thing of life, very narrowly escaped. The whistling, whizzing sound made by a huge ball in its passage through the air, is like nothing else that I have ever heard. It seems to carry in its very tone an import of the destructive errand upon which it is sent. This ominous voice, however, in the excitement and thunders of an engagement, is never heard. The warning and the havoc come together, twins in life and death!
Thursday, July 9. We have made, for the last three days, but very little progress towards our port. The wind has been extremely light and baffling, breathing and dying away at all points of the compass. The atmosphere has had that peculiar property which magnifies every object of vision. The moon hung on the horizon this evening with a breadth of circle which attracted the attention of all on board; the stars seemed to have extended their glowing verge, the sea-bird to have enlarged its dusky form as it floated dimly in the pale light, while the wing of the cloud threw its vast shadow on the sleeping surface of the sea. We heard
“Not a sound, save the surge of the ship
As she lazily rolls to and fro,
And the sails as they listlessly flap,
And the creak of the rudder below.”
Friday, July 10. We have had to-day a light but steady breeze on our starboard quarter. Our studding-sails have been set for the first time since we left Honolulu. We are now within nine hundred miles of our port. All are engaged, some in ship’s duty, some in acquiring Spanish, some in writing letters home; while the crew, as they come off watch, occupy their time with books from the library. Sailors will read if you furnish them with books suited to their tastes and habits. Give them narratives, history, biography, and incidents of travel. In these sketches virtues may be shadowed forth that will win reverence and love, and the results of vice unfolded with repelling power. But all this requires care in the selection; this duty properly devolves on the chaplain; it is for him to elevate and mould the moral sentiments of those around him. If he is not equal to this, he should not put his foot on the decks of a man-of-war.