We laid in a stock of fresh provisions, and got off our mail, and found some mail for the ship, but there was nothing for me. The captain attended to some other business, but I do not know what. He did not ship a man to take the vacant place, and we had two vacant places when we left in the afternoon of the second day, for a green hand, a Portuguese named Silvia from Mr. Macy’s boat, turned up missing. Mr. Tilton made a brief search for him, but did not find him, and we could not wait. Most of the other men were rounded up drunk, or just recovering from that happy state, and really not responsible. Mr. Snow, our fourth mate since the promotions after Mr. Wallet’s defection, a nervous, irascible little man, became very much enraged at one of the men from his own boat. The man’s name was Silver—perhaps unfortunately resembling Silvia, the name of the man who was missing. He was a green hand too, if a man is still green after eight months at sea. Mr. Snow addressed a sarcastic remark to Silver—or Silva—bearing upon that resemblance of names, and Silver, as might have been expected, answered him in a surly manner, calling him a fussy little busybody, or less agreeable words to the same effect. Of {209} course it was no fault of Silver’s that his name was like Silvia’s, or that Silvia was not to be found, but he would not have answered Mr. Snow as he did if he had been feeling like himself, or if he had been to sea long enough to know the unwisdom of it. Mr. Snow hesitated and sputtered and got red in the face, but said nothing after all, and fumed off aft. The rest of the men rather expected that Silver might be put in irons, but nothing came of the matter then, except that Silver had the permanent ill-will of his boatheader. That is not a state of affairs generally cultivated. We stood around the Cape, keeping well out to sea to avoid the current which sets to the southwest and west along the shore of the African continent and for about a hundred and fifty miles from it, more or less. The surface currents all through the Indian Ocean are strong and tricky. Off Durban or Port Natal the current runs southwesterly at very nearly three or four knots at this season, and it was worth while not to get into it, especially for a ship like the Clearchus, which could not be depended upon to sail faster than five or six knots. By keeping a couple of hundred miles to the southward we got into the easterly drift and the west wind, and we held that course to about 35° east longitude, gradually turning to the north for the Mozambique Channel. The mastheads were kept manned all this time, but it was hardly expected that we would sight any whales, and I suspect that there was little desire to see any. The wind held generally strong from the westward until we were on our way north. We sighted the southwest coast of Madagascar, but it got no nearer than a low-lying purple line, and we swung away to the northwest until we sunk it.