What a splendid fellow this Gaul is! What a back and legs! and his wrists are as large as some men’s ankles. He has a really engaging smile, too, in spite of his bulldog jaws and shaggy brows. Opposite to me to-day pumped Jimmie Rumps. Curiously enough, he is the only sailor whom I have ever heard swear in joking among themselves, however they may talk alone in the forecastle, and he does so because he thinks that it is big. “There’s a fellow I’d like to see on the pumps,” he remarked, quite an ugly look coming into his face; and, glancing astern, I saw the skipper descending the weather-poop ladder. Though many of the men were evidently of this opinion, not a word was said by any of them; for might I not repeat their sentiments aft in the cabin for aught that they knew? Therefore the observation was received with scowls and a dead silence, which continued until Rumps again broke in with, “Last voyage I was in the American ship ‘Ivanhoe,’ and I was nearly starved to death!” “Eh?” said Louis, sharply. “I said I was starved in the ‘Ivanhoe,’” repeated Jimmie. “Oh,” replied the Frenchman; “I t’ought you meant zees sheep; you’ll find no bettair food anywhere zan here.” It is not often that a sailor will acknowledge this, and it speaks very well for Louis. “Say,” Jimmie went on, “I’ve had enough of the sea, and if I can, I’m going home to Brooklyn on eight wheels [_i.e._, railway car]; and lemme give you a tip on San Francisco; don’t you miss the baths, though it’ll cost you ten cents, and a quarter for a fresh-water swim. And, say, you go over and see Oakland; but I dunno if they’ve got the fare down to five yet.” It is rather surprising that Captain Scruggs doesn’t take an interest in keeping track of his various voyages, plotted off on the different charts, as Captain Kingdon did. The latter used some which had sixteen voyages pricked off on them as plain as ink could make it, forming a very useful aid for future work, as he could select the average from them all, for each voyage as it progressed. Our skipper, however, takes no such pains, and so far hasn’t even looked at an ordinary chart. To-day my wife asked him to show her where we were, at noon, and he hauled out from under the sofa an old, ragged, hydrographic wind-chart, and after much stertorous breathing he managed to stab the position on the paper with the dividers, being so palsied from last night’s potations that he had to steady one hand with the other before he could hit the chart within several degrees of where we were. Latitude, 8° 24′ north; longitude, 31° 40′ west. +May 29+