We are beginning to regard deep-water sailors as little short of heroes. Indeed, they seem to me far more valiant than the battalions of soldiery that are hurled nowadays against little bands of savages. From 50° to 50° they and the dark cavern in which they live are soaking wet; they have no time to change their clothes, and no dry garments to put on if they had, for often, no sooner have the watch below kicked off their boots, actually filled to the brim with salt-water, than comes the cry, “All hands reef the maintop-sail,” and when that is done, “Haul up the main-sail” rings out, and there are two hours gone from their watch below. There is no such thing as throwing off their coats or even oil-skins when they turn in; nor would it be advisable in a leaky forecastle like this, with half an inch of water on the floor shooting up in their faces. Yet look at these men as they haul on the braces in a gale of wind, hardly able to keep their feet. Never a word of complaint at the weather have I heard yet. Calm and unmoved in the storms of spray and snow, they sing out as heartily as ever, grin good-naturedly up at the poop where we are standing dry and comfortable, and face the crest of a sea that rattles against them as if it were a summer shower. The more we see of forecastle life the more difficult is it to understand why men ever ship before the mast for a Cape Horn voyage. It is pleasant to think that that wretched man Goggins was washing about in his room, too,--pleasant, because he continues to drive and haze the men down here when they are striving to do their utmost under such conditions. When he awoke last night in the middle watch he found several inches of water on the floor of his room, and he is wondering where it came from. Indeed, we had a shower-bath ourselves last night, for part of a sea fell on the poop, ran aft against the wheel-house when the bows rose and then recoiled into our after-window, which was open, drenching that portion of our room. Steam is kept up continuously in the donkey-boiler now, as the men are getting pretty well used up from exposure and the immense amount of making and shortening of sail that goes on continuously. Captain Scruggs believes in taking every single point of advantage in the wind, and shakes out a reef at the least indication of a lull, each time, of course, necessitating the mastheading of the yard; though eventually even he realized that the men were wearing out, and now the donkey does all the heavy hoisting. Many people think that the engine does all the trimming of yards, etc., during a voyage, but with the exception of the passage of the Horn, it is seldom ever in use at sea, and never for sail-trimming. The chief use to which a donkey is put is in loading and discharging when in port and heaving in the anchor.