hly prized sailors' luxury. Through
meeting at Juan Fernandez the Yankee Portuguese named Manuel Carroza,
who nearly traded me out of my boots, I ran out of potatoes in
mid-ocean, and was wretched thereafter. I prided myself on being
something of a trader; but this Portuguese from the Azores by way of
New Bedford, who gave me new potatoes for the older ones I had got
from the _Colombia_, a bushel or more of the best, left me no ground
for boasting. He wanted mine, he said, "for changee the seed." When I
got to sea I found that his tubers were rank and unedible, and full of
fine yellow streaks of repulsive appearance. I tied the sack up and
returned to the few left of my old stock, thinking that maybe when I
got right hungry the island potatoes would improve in flavor. Three
weeks later I opened the bag again, and out flew millions of winged
insects! Manuel's potatoes had all turned to moths. I tied them up
quickly and threw all into the sea.

Manuel had a large crop of potatoes on hand, and as a hint to
whalemen, who are always eager to buy vegetables, he wished me to
report whales off the island of Juan Fernandez, which I have already
done, and big ones at that, but they were a long way off.

Taking things by and large, as sailors say, I got on fairly well in
the matter of provisions even on the long voyage across the Pacific. I
found always some small stores to help the fare of luxuries; what I
lacked of fresh meat was made up in fresh fish, at least while in the
trade-winds, where flying-fish crossing on the wing at night would hit
the sails and fall on deck, sometimes two or three of them, sometimes
a dozen. Every morning except when the moon was large I got a
bountiful supply by merely picking them up from the lee scuppers. All
tinned meats went begging.

On the 16th of July, after considerable care and some skill and hard
work, the _Spray_ cast anchor at Apia, in the kingdom of Samoa, about
noon. My vessel being moored, I spread an awning, and instead of going
at once on shore I sat under it till late in the evening, listening
with delight to the musical voices of the Samoan men and women.

A canoe coming down the harbor, with three young women in it, rested
her paddles abreast the sloop. One of the fair crew, hailing with the
naive salutation, "Talofa lee" ("Love to you, chief"), asked:

"Schoon come Melike?"

"Love to you," I answered, and said, "Yes."

"You man come 'lone?"

Again I answered, "Yes."