The airy child of vapor and the sun,
Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion,
Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun.”
Sunday, Feb. 22. Though the sea is rough, and the roll of the ship deep, we have had divine service. Even a brief service is much better than none. It is a recognition of the sanctity of the Sabbath, and of our obligations to that Being whose guardian care is our defence.
If dependence can awaken the voice of supplication, the sailor, of all men, should be the most devout. His poor frail bark floats between life and death. A sudden tempest, a latent rock, or a spark of fire, and he sinks into a strangling grave. He may emerge, but it is only to strike his strong arms in wild despair. No drifting plank floats between him and the “pale bourne.” Prepared or unprepared, he must appear at once before the dread tribunal and answer for the deeds of his erring life. He should live with these awful realities ever present to his thoughts. Like the bird of the stormy peak, his pinion should be ever ready to unfurl itself. But from his flight there is no return; he is off into the boundless unknown.
This is the anniversary of the birthday of Washington. Its sacredness is in harmony with his serene virtues. Too pure for corruption, too disinterested for ambition, he lived for his country and his God. The entire energies of his being were surrendered to those great interests which will quicken the hopes of man when the marble that guards his dust has crumbled. He has left an example which throws its steady light on the fetters of captive nations and into the pale recesses of kings. Millions who sit in darkness will yet hail its auroral splendors.
Monday, Feb. 23. To save ourselves from being carried back among the Patagonians, we have tacked ship and are standing southwest by west. This, with two points variation, and the current in our favor, will enable us to make a nearly west course. With the first material variation in the wind we shall be able to go upon our larboard tack and make a stretch up the coast.
The high sea and heavy roll of our ship made the use of the razor this morning a delicate operation. I had strapped the instrument and laid it on my bureau, when away it went into the wash-bowl. Having fished it up and made it secure, I got out my china box of shaving-soap, but laying it down for a moment to find the brush, crash it went on the floor. Picking up the fragments, I managed to raise suds enough for the present occasion; when looking around for my razor, to my astonishment, it could nowhere be found. It had fetched away again, and brought up in one of my boots. But I had no sooner recovered it, than my candle, having caught the moving infection, rushed into my cot and scorched my pillow-case. All things being righted again, and a little fresh suds applied where the old had evaporated, I took the razor, and watching for the ship to get on an even keel, gave a clip; but it so happened the ship plunged instead of rolling, and this brought the point of the razor in contact with the extremity of the nose, where a severe cut proclaimed itself in a gush of blood. But stanching the wound, I managed at length, by a clip here, and another there, to disencumber the chin of its stubble. Such are some of the advantages for shaving at sea. Man was made perfect, but has sought out many inventions, and this of shaving at all is one of them.
Tuesday, Feb. 24. Lat. 53° 35′ S., long. 78° 56′ W.
“It comes resistless, and with foaming sweep,