There was a certain amount of confusion in getting clear, and to make matters more complex we heard a great riot going on in the cabin, and clouds of steam were arising therefrom. It seems that as we came to the wind, the cabin stove fetched way to leeward and capsized, scattering the lighted coals. The crash brought the parson out of his cabin and he promptly made use of all the liquids he could lay hands upon, thus creating a condition combining safety with a filthy smell. The skipper was good enough to say that we kept a very good look-out in my watch, even if the proverbial second mate’s slackness was apparent in other matters, but looking back at this little episode after the lapse of years, it seems to me there was no excuse for not warning the officer of the watch that there was a possibility of the ship making a bad course. I trust that a different order of things now exists, but in that ship it would have been little short of sacrilege to ask to see a chart, or to inquire as to the ship’s position. I should have been informed with biting sarcasm, “When I want you to navigate the ship, Mr. So-and-So, I will let you know, meantime, _I_ am quite capable.” We had great luck down the China Sea, through the straits and as far as St. Helena, which we made in sixty days from Shanghai. But when we reached the line our troubles began. There we ran into a stark calm that lasted for three weeks, and tried the patience of all. More especially did it affect the captain, as was but natural, and his extravagances were at times very comical. On the first part of the trip, when all had gone well, no one concerned themselves about the proverbial ill-luck which attends the carriage of parsons by sea, but it now seemed to have improved by keeping. It had been the custom of the skipper to make up a dummy whist party with the parson and his wife, but this was now discontinued, and the old man’s text as he tramped the poop was loudly spoken and often. “Oh, if the Lord will only forgive me this once for carrying a parson I’ll never do it any more.” One night he solemnly brought up a pack of cards and consigned them with many varied and choice imprecations to the deep. I cannot, however, consider that he was an artist in the use of language--there was too much sameness and repetition about it.