de again, and
was hauled on bort. Vell, sir--vat you dink?--the gott tarn skipper
vanted to lick me for not bringing der yard too!"

After making a latitude of 47 deg. South, the East winds departed, and
taking a gale from the opposite direction, we flew before it for eleven
days at ten miles the hour towards the Chilian coast. Oh! what a
"melancholy main" is this wide expanse of the Pacific! There is, may be,
in the feeling of being near continents or islands in less illimitable
seas, something a little pleasurable; but to be pursuing the same
wearisome, liquid track, for weeks and weeks, with nothing to relieve
the monotony of sky and water, is desolate, indeed!

In the long night-watches, when strong gusts of hail or rain were
whistling by our ears--the top-sails reefed down, though quivering and
struggling, like great birds with cramped pinions, to burst from the
stout cordage and fly away in flakes of snow--the gallant ship would,
like a mettled charger feeling the whip and spur, at times run lightly
and swiftly on the back of a mighty wave, almost as silently, too, as if
gliding on a lake--when, the instant after, heeling from side to side,
she would dash down impetuously amid the tumult of waters, cleaving a
wide road before her!

Mutter your last _ave_, Jack! if you leave the strong ship in nights
like these! Think of the keen-sighted albatross that will pick your eyes
out next morning, if the keener-scented shark has not already rasped
and grated your bones into white splinters within his merciless jaws!
Keep close under shelter of the solid bulwarks, Jack! Cling to your
life-lines! Feel a rope twice aloft before you swing your full weight
upon it! but hold on, Jack! Hold on!

Think of it, ye rich traders, when your big ships come gallantly into
port. Think of the hands that have strained and grasped upon those lofty
spars that now so motionless lift their taper heads, like needle-points,
to the sky. Think of the cold sleet and chilling rain--but above all,
think of poor Jack--take pity on his faults, and extend the helping hand
in his distress.

There was my old marine oracle, Harry Greenfield, muffled in his
pea-coat, braced firmly against the fife-rail, over the wheel, every now
and then slowly twisting his rosy face around the stern, taking a glance
through half-closed eyelids at the angry scud flying overhead, or during
a rapid succession of heavy lurches, when the high masts appeared to
describe thr