And left to those who worked the wires
The loaves and fishes.
The flowing waves will softly wreath
A chaplet on his breast,
The sighing winds a requiem breathe
Above his rest.
We are to-day nearly past the broad mouth of the Plata. The wind for the last twenty-four hours has been extremely light, but we have made about a hundred miles on our course. At this rate we shall soon be beyond the reach of the pampero. This wind gives no admonition; it springs upon you like a serpent from the brake, striking with its fang before it springs its rattle. This is foul play, but we must put up with it, or make ourselves ridiculous over a wayward element.
Thursday, Jan. 22d. We caught our first shark this morning. The rogue had been following in the wake of our ship for some hours. The sailors baited a large hook with a piece of pork, and let it trail by a long line from the stern. The shark nabbed it, and finding himself caught, attempted to break the line by his vigorous plunge, but it was too strong for him. He was soon brought on deck, cut up, and on the fire broiling for dinner. The sailors ate him with that savage glee which often attends an act of retributive justice. But for eating him, they felt quite sure he would in the end eat some of them. The way to finish an adversary is to eat him up. He will then give you no further trouble save in the digestion. Anthropophagy is greatly abused. It is much more innocent to devour a man’s body than his character; yet the latter is done every day; while even a vague rumor of the former will fill a whole community with consternation. But what has this to do with getting to Cape Horn?
Friday, Jan. 23d. Fresh meat at this rate will soon cease to be a dainty with us. One of our crew harpooned a huge porpoise this morning. He shared the fate of the shark, on coals and the gridiron. He makes very good eating; rather dry, as the Irishman said—picking the bones of an owl, which he had shot for a grouse.
We went to general quarters this afternoon; all fire and lights having been first extinguished. The crew went through with the evolutions of an engagement with an enthusiasm that would not dishonor the reality. On these exercises depends in a great measure the efficiency of a ship when the crisis comes. But there is one feature of the arrangement not quite to my liking. I am stationed at the capstan to take notes of the action; very cool business when balls are flying around you like hail! If there is any fighting to be done I wish to do my part of it, but not with a goose-quill. That weapon does very well when there are no cutlasses, powder, and shot about, but it is not quite the thing with which to protect your own deck or board the enemy. It is said the chaplain of the Chesapeake, who wielded a cutlass instead of a goose-quill, gave the commander of the Shannon, as he attempted to board, the wound of which he ultimately died: so much