concile me to the food and drink which, to sustain
life, I was compelled to swallow on board the John.

The water, owing to causes to which I have already alluded, was
exceedingly offensive to the palate and the olfactories. It was also
slimy and ropy; and was drank only as a means and a wretched one of
prolonging life. For the inmates of the cabin the water was boiled or
diluted with brandy, which, in a slight degree, lessened its disgusting
flavor. But this was a luxury that was denied the seamen, who had to
quaff it in all its richness.

Our beef, in quality, was on a par with the water. It was Irish beef,
so called, wretchedly poor when packed; but having been stored in a hot
climate, probably for years, it had lost what little excellence it
once possessed, and acquired other qualities of which the packer never
dreamed. The effluvia arising from a barrel of this beef, when opened,
was intolerable. When boiled in clean salt water the strong flavor was
somewhat modified, and it was reduced by shrinkage at least one half.
The palate could not become reconciled to it; and the longer we lived
upon it the less we liked it.

But our bread! What shall I say of our bread? I have already spoken of
it as mouldy and ANIMATED. On several occasions, in the course of my
adventures, I have seen ship bread which could boast of those abominable
attributes, remnants of former voyages put on board ships by unfeeling
skinflints, to be "used up" before the new provisions were broached,
but I never met with any which possessed those attributes to the extent
which was the case on board the schooner John. Although many years have
passed since I was supported and invigorated by that "staff of life," I
cannot even now think of it without a shudder of disgust! On placing a
biscuit by my side when seated upon deck, it would actually be put in
motion by some invisible machinery, and if thrown on the hot coals in
order to destroy the living works within, and prevent the biscuit from
walking off, it would make an angry sputtering wondrous to hear!

Such was the character of our food and drink on our passage to the
United States. It initiated me, even at the beginning of my sea-going
career, into the most repulsive mysteries of a seaman's life. And
whenever, in subsequent voyages, I have been put upon poor diet, I
mentally contrasted it with the wretched fare during my second voyage to
sea, smacked my lips, and called it luxury.

Steering to t