That was our last whale on these grounds, and we turned our nose again to the southwest, for the grounds off Patagonia. Nourishing the secret hope that we might land there, I carried the “Navigators” around in my pocket, and read over again and again the account of Magellan’s visit—all to no purpose, as it turned out. We saw nothing of the Battles; but she had a nasty habit of turning up when we thought we had lost her for good and least expected to see her. She had become as a thorn in the flesh to Captain Nelson and Mr. Baker, especially to Mr. Baker. I really think that at this time it would have given him pleasure, as exquisite as he was capable of feeling, actually to see her, with his own eyes, go down in deep water or batter to pieces on a rocky shore. I know that he had reported to Captain Nelson his controversy with her, his unsuccessful effort to see Captain Coffin, and Wallet’s message. Captain Nelson was angry for an instant, and his eyes darkened; then the whole thing seemed to strike his sense of humor, which he had in plenty. “Just as well,” he said, “you did n’t see Fred Coffin. I ’m going to see Fred sooner or later—the first chance I get. And that settles Wallet.” We had good weather to the Patagonia grounds, mostly westerly and northerly winds, and pretty strong, but nothing in the way of weather could scare me now, after the Hatteras hurricane—of which we had nothing more than a flirt from the skirt—and my taste of pampero. The old ship made good time, as time goes for a whaler of her type, and we arrived on the grounds to the north of the Falklands in about a week. I was disappointed that we did not go even within sight of the mainland of Patagonia. {190} Albatrosses were a fairly common sight, however, and made up to me somewhat for the lack of painted savages. In these latitudes there was almost always at least one of these great birds in sight, and although they were not always near the ship, they never failed to be on hand when the cook emptied his pail of scraps over the side. I never tired of watching their powerful, soaring flight. It seemed as if they played with the ship, like porpoises. They would keep along with us for a while, then suddenly shoot ahead or off to one side until they were almost out of sight, without a motion of the wings, so far as I could see. There must have been some slight motion of the wings to adjust themselves to the wind or to the vertical angle at which they were flying, but I could not detect it. There have been various explanations, none of which is quite satisfactory. One is that they make a long glide downward to get up speed; and, having speed enough, they change their angle, and gain height. How they can do this indefinitely without an occasional flap, I never could see. Their slight rolling motion may do the trick, first on one wing and then on the other. I do not pretend to knowledge of the matter, but I am content to let a beautiful mystery remain a mystery.