cap’n, a fat, short, little man in blue and brass buttons wi’ podges on his shoulders, as vain as a turkey, but a good seaman, was talkin’ to a couple o’ first-class passengers when this lassie was led aft, and he turned with a frown to size her up like. ‘Well, mutton-face, who’re ye lookin’ at?’ says she; and then, without givin’ him time for a word, she bawled at him, ‘D’ye know what I think o’ you? You’re no more good than a hoot down a dumb-waiter shaft.’ She said she was no bloomin’ sailor, and she’d have the run o’ the ship if she liked; and, will you believe it, they had to put the irons on her, she got that bad. We used to have great singin’ in the dog-watches. Man, ’twould ha’ done yer heart good to see us sailors a-sittin’ on the forecastle-head, thirty of us, and pretty soon we’d start a chanty and keep it up for ten minutes; and no sooner would we stop than a score of emigrants amidships would take it up, the women’s and men’s voices soundin’ fine together, till it was most as good as a concert. You’d better believe it, though, that it takes strict discipline to keep a hundred and fifty people in order for three months.” “See here, MacFoy,” said I, when he had finished. “I want you to answer me a straight question; is this a hard ship on the men?” “Why, no, of course it’s not,” he answered. “Well, Mr. Rarx told me that once, but I didn’t know whether to believe him or not,” said I. “I can just tell you, she’s the quietest Yankee ship _I_ ever sailed in,” observed David; “why, there’s been no blood flyin’ at all to amount to much. The men can’t make it out; there hasn’t one o’ them been clouted now goin’ on three weeks. But I can tell you why it is; it’s all on account o’ you and your wife. The old man won’t let out before ye, but I’ve often seen him hold on tight to himself and just swear instead o’ knockin’ the feller end-wise. Yes, Mr. Rarx was right when he told ye this was an easy ship.” Latitude, 37° 18′ north; longitude, 139° 50′ west. +September 12+ Hurrah for California! Hurrah for the north wind! Our bowsprit is at last pointing towards the brown crags of the Golden Gate. At the change of the watch at midnight we heard the captain sing out, “All hands on deck; tack ship.” A few moments later came “Put your hellum down”; and a moment afterward he called out “Hellum’s a-lee”; yet another minute or two and “Maintop-sail haul” split the air. A dead silence followed as the men cast off the braces, and then the heavy yards clattered noisily around, followed by the agreeable sound of ropes running over patent sheaves (always pronounced shivs); and finally, “Let go and haul” went ringing forward, the head-yards swung round, and in ten minutes more the ship was braced up on the port tack, heading somewhat to the northward of east. All continued to go well, and we are now doing seven knots.