Louis Jacquin is indisputably the best sailor in the forecastle, though young Broadhead, the New Yorker, is by no means a bad second. Louis’s marlinspike seamanship is really beautiful; and it turns out, as I expected, that he has served a long period in the French navy. Strange how sailors shift back and forth from man-of-war to merchantman. This man has good principles, too; for when the little bosun Rumps began to blackguard the skipper the other day, saying, “I’d like to have a crack at you ashore,” looking up at the poop, the Frenchman said, “Zat ees not right”; nor was this intended for me to hear. Louis made a queer mistake the other day. He was telling Broadhead about the attractions of Paris, and finally asked him, “Have you evair seen Père la Chère?” “What’s that?” said Broadhead. “Père la Chère, zee cemetarie,” answered Jacquin. It was an odd mistake for a Frenchman to make. The captain is in fine feather now that we are doing well, but is annoyed that we do not meet more steamers. I never saw a skipper so anxious to be spoken and reported as Captain Scruggs; and last evening when a large steamer passed us bound south, probably to Rio, he almost wept because it was dark. One of our two cabin cats has vanished; it was the “coon-cat,” and after a long search to-day we were forced to the belief that it has fallen overboard. It is hard luck, and its companion, the Maltese, is inconsolable. The captain seems really cut up about it, for he has all a sailor’s fancy for animals. One of Mr. Goggins’s traits, however, is his cruelty to the poor, ugly alley-cat which belongs to him,--another illustration of the sort of creature that he is. Latitude, 22° 30′ south; longitude, 39° 25′ west. +June 20+