"They sailed from New York for San Francisco in a year that is likewise immaterial, and had a long and tedious passage round the Horn. It was one of those unlucky and exasperating voyages, you know—calms, and even trade winds, and unseasonable storms; so that when they finally got headed north in the Pacific, they were a disheartened ship’s company. The southeast trades in the Pacific failed them completely; whatever wind they found, from 20 south up to the line, came from the east and north; and with the best course they could make, the ship was crowded over far to the westward of the regular track. Then, as they approached the line, the northeast breeze settled down in earnest, and nothing for it but to hold her on a N.N.W. course, as close to the wind as possible on the starboard tack. They managed to weather the fringe of the South Sea Islands by a few hundred miles, and drifted across the line somewhere in the neighbourhood of 135° west longitude. Provisions and water were holding out well, though one hundred and seventy-five days had passed since they’d lost sight of Sandy Hook. "One evening in the early dog-watch, they noticed a few land birds flying about the ship. Devereux told me they were quite excited over the incident for an hour or two, with the quick sympathy of sailors for an unusual manifestation of life-forces. The nearest land at that time was the Marquesas, five hundred miles away to the southward. Some of the men tried to entice the birds to alight on deck or in the rigging, but they didn’t seem at all weary, and scorned the blandishments of food. "’Wonderful creatures—birds’ said the captain, as they were discussing the occurrence on the quarter-deck ’Five hundred miles isn’t a drop in the bucket to them. All the bob-o’-links at home go to Brazil and back every winter’ "’They’ve probably run over from the Marquesas since supper’ chimed in the second mate ’Half an hour from now they’ll be back there, perching on some tree above an island beauty. God, I’d like to be a bird!’ "But Devereux demurred to their conclusion—he knew something of the habits of birds. ’That’s all right in the migrating season, but these birds don’t migrate’ said he ’You can see that they aren’t bound anywhere in particular. And land birds don’t fly five hundred miles to sea for the fun of going back again. They do get tuckered, too. I think it’s mighty strange’