CHAPTER III

ON THE HIGH SEAS

After we passed out of the Golden Gate and headed seaward on our voyage, there followed twenty-seven days that are almost beyond description. One cannot describe them by comparing them with anything else, for probably since the world began there has never been anything quite like them. Suffice it to say that these twenty-seven days were the most wild and chaotic that human beings ever experienced.

We headed south, hoping to pick up with the northeast trades. The port for which we were making lay approximately twenty-one hundred miles away, in a straight line. But while we ignored the straight line, and were in no particular hurry, we nevertheless fairly raced over the water. We couldn't help ourselves. The _Snark_ tore along before the wind despite all handicaps.

"I wish some of the crack sailors of the Bohemian Club could see us now!" Jack exclaimed, exultantly. "They said the _Snark_ could not run--that her lines wouldn't permit it. Well, here's something to make them sit up and revise their criticism--but unfortunately they can't see!"

The water began to get rough. A queer sensation kept asserting itself right in the region of my stomach, and I knew only too well what it portended. As the moments went by, this feeling recurred more frequently, each attack a little more aggravated than the one before it. The sea grew boisterous. It began to lash itself into crested waves.

The galley or kitchen of the _Snark_ was tucked away to one side, and was not large enough for two small men to enter, close the door, and then turn around. As a matter of fact, if I was handling a dish of any size, I had to back out of the door to turn around, myself. For the first meal, I decided that I would try some fried onions, a nice roast with dressing, some vegetables, and some pudding; so I got out about a half-peck of onions, and by the time I had finished peeling those onions in that little galley, I decided that onions were all that was needed for that meal. Did you ever peel onions in a kitchen cupboard? That is practically what I was doing. My eyes were watering so that I couldn't see, and my nostrils and throat were burning so that I couldn't talk. The entire crew was kind enough to say that they liked onions, anyway.

Tochigi served the dinner, and we all ate. Then I made for my bunk, feeling, as Captain Eames put it, "rather white around the gills." As soon as Tochigi had served the dinner, he got out his flute, played the most mournful piece I have ever heard, and as the last note died away, rushed precipitately up on deck and relieved his deathly sickness at the rail. Mrs. London speedily joined him. But Jack and Bert and Captain Eames were as yet unaffected.

The boat was leaking like a sieve. Yes, the _Snark_, the famous _Snark_, that had cost thirty thousand dollars, that had been built by expert shipbuilders, and that was declared to be the tightest craft afloat, leaked! The sides leaked, the bottom leaked; we were flooded. Even the self-bailing cockpit quickly filled with water that could find no outlet. Our gasolene, stored in non-leakable tanks and sealed behind an air-tight bulkhead, began to filter out, so that we hardly dared to strike a match. The air was full of the smell of it. I got up from my bunk, staggering sick. Bert started the five-horse-power engine, which controlled the pumps, and by this means managed to get some of the sea out of our quarters below.

At intervals, I was obliged to spend some necessary moments at the rail. The rail was only a foot high; one was obliged to crouch down on deck, clinging tightly, and lean far out, confronted ever by the stern face of the waves. The unutterable, blind sickness of such moments it is beyond the province of words to portray.

Never had I known anything like it! My head ached, my stomach ached, every muscle in my body ached. There were times when it seemed impossible that I should live. When the sickness was at its height, I was blind, deaf, and--need I say it?--dumb. All stabilities were shattered. The universe itself was rocking and plunging through the cold depths of space. And then, for a brief instant, the sickness would subside, and sight and speech and hearing return, and I knew I was on the _Snark_, the plaything of the waves, and that I, the most desperate of living creatures, was gurgling and babbling my troubles to the uncaring sea. Later, it was laughable, but ye gods! at the time laughter was a stranger to my soul.

It did not ease matters much to discover that the water pouring into the boat had ruined the tools in the engine room, and spoiled a good part of our three months' provisions in the galley. Our box of oranges had been frozen; our box of apples was mostly spoiled; the carrots tasted of kerosene; the turnips and beets were worthless; and last, but not least, our crate of cabbages was so far gone in decay that it had to be thrown overboard. As for our coal, it had been delivered in rotten potato-sacks, and in the swinging and thrashing of the ship had escaped, and was washing through the scuppers into the ocean. We found that the engine in the launch was out of order, and that our cherished life-boat leaked as badly as did the _Snark_. In one respect, however, I was especially marked out for discomfort. I had the misfortune to be somewhat taller than any of the rest; and so low was the ceiling of the galley and the staterooms downstairs that I could never stand upright, but was obliged to stoop. The only place where I could be really comfortable was on deck, and even here things were so tightly packed that there never was room for a promenade.

We didn't discover all our handicaps at once. It took about a week for us to see all there was to see, and to get acquainted with our little floating home. One of our greatest drawbacks was the fact that never for a moment could we let go of one hold unless we were assured of another. To have let go would have meant being jerked off our feet and thrown sprawling until we fetched up against something stout enough to check the fall. Circus gymnastics is as nothing compared with it. I have seen many acrobatic feats, but nothing resembling in mad abandon the double handspring Mrs. London turned one day when her hand missed its hold and she landed down the companionway in the middle of the table, on top of a dinner which I had just cooked, and which Tochigi was serving.

Toward evening of the first day, we passed a steamer, but could not make her out. The air grew chilly as night set in, and the flying spray in the air made it worse. Our dynamo would not work, so we had nothing but the kerosene lamps to depend on for light. After considerable difficulty, we got the mizzen mainstay and jibsails set, and such of us as were not on watch turned in. Mrs. London's watch was from eight till ten; then I relieved her from ten till twelve, and was in turn relieved by Tochigi.

Bert and Tochigi and I occupied one cabin. Mine was an upper bunk; Tochigi's bunk was beneath mine, and Bert slept across the room. Captain Eames had a room of his own, but just now he was unable to sleep in it, for the water and gasolene drove him out. (Captain Eames waxed facetious, and always referred to his room as "the gasolene chamber.") Each bunk had upholstered springs and mattresses and was fitted with an electric light globe and a fan. Such of the crew as were sleeping had to be packed tight in their bunks with pillows to prevent their being tossed across the room.

On the morning of the second day, Jack awoke me at six-thirty, and I got breakfast. He was the only one who could eat. Not much wind was stirring, but a big swell was running. The _Snark_ was still racing.

"I gave no thought to speed in building the _Snark_," Jack said that morning. "Only safety and comfort were considered. But if the _Snark_ has fallen below our expectations in some things, she has certainly exceeded them in that."

I hazarded a guess. "At this rate, we will compress seven years' travelling into a few months."

"Oh, we'll find a means to stop her," he was confident, and went upstairs to the wheel.

And now occurred another remarkable thing. Jack started to heave-to, in other words, to place the _Snark_ bow-on to the wind. The first gust of a gale had started, and the _Snark_, with flying-jib, jib and mizzen taken in, and reefs in the big mainsail and the fore-staysail, was rolling in the trough, the most dangerous position in which a ship can be placed. As Jack put the wheel down to heave-to, the flying jib-boom poked its nose into the water, and broke clean off. Jack put the wheel hard down, and the _Snark_ never responded, but remained in the trough. The ship alternately buried her rails in the stiff sea. The mainsail was flattened down, but without avail. Then Bert tried slacking it off, but that had no effect whatever. Hoping to bring her bow up to the wind, they took in all canvas but the storm trysail on the mizzen, but still the _Snark_ rolled in the trough. Jack declared he had never heard of such a thing before.

"And we must even lose faith in the _Snark's_ wonderful bow," he said, regretfully. "It won't heave-to."

Meanwhile, I had gone back to my bunk, sicker than ever. Tochigi lay prostrate, seeing and hearing nothing. He had not moved since yesterday. Mrs. London and Bert and Captain Eames were able to stay on deck, but even they had occasional tremors and sudden rushes of sickness. Once, in the afternoon, I tried to fool my stomach by eating a cracker, but it was no go. By this time, the floors of stateroom and galley were slushy with water, and all the time more was seeping in. Bert had pumped it out yesterday, but already it was up to our knees. My sickness increased whenever I heard it swashing around on the floor.

Night was coming on, a night of storm and wind. The _Snark_ was creaking and groaning, and still in that most dangerous of all positions, the trough. Jack got out his patent sea-anchor, warranted not to dive, and trailed it out a few yards into the sea, then made fast. Almost the minute the line drew taut, the anchor dived. The _Snark_ still raced. Then Jack drew the anchor in, and tied a big timber to it. This time it floated, but it had no deterrent effect at all. The _Snark_ continued to race. Do what they would, the little boat went right ahead, and remained in the trough of the sea, all the while pitching like a cork.

On Thursday, I prepared only two meals. Bert and Captain Eames and Jack ate. Tochigi lay motionless in his bunk, looking like one dead, and I made for my bunk at the first opportunity. Mrs. London was taken desperately sick, and we saw little of her that day. We were still heading south. Before leaving the Golden Gate, Jack had told us of the flying fish that we were sure to pick up with as soon as we got out to sea, and of the dolphin and porpoises and bonita, to say nothing of sharks. But despite his prediction, we saw nothing at all. The _Snark_ headed farther and farther south, the days grew warmer and warmer, but never a shark nor porpoise nor even a flying fish showed up. On Sunday, April 28, we made one hundred and ten miles. The galley floor burst from the pressure of water, and we had a hard time repairing it. For days I wore thigh-boots in cooking, and we kept the five-horse-power engine busy with the pumps. On April 30, one week after leaving Frisco, things looked worse than ever, and we were still sick. There were times when only Jack or Captain Eames could eat anything.

We all tried to keep one another cheered up as much as possible. Anyone who has been seasick can in some measure appreciate our predicament. There is something amusing about seasickness--when somebody else is afflicted. At first, you fear you will die; then, after it has a good hold on you, you fear you won't die; and you feel that you are all stomach, and that that stomach is emptying itself faster than it could possibly be filled. The person who is not actually in the throes of seasickness can have no sympathy with the person who is so afflicted. I used to go up to Mrs. London when she was at the wheel, and ask her if I should not prepare for her dinner a nice piece of fat pork with a string tied to it. The effect was magical. Immediately, she would clap her hands over her mouth and make for the rail. There is something infectious about seasickness. I would have to go join her myself, and sometimes Jack would come with us.

On one occasion, I almost gave up, and expressed to Jack the wish that I could see land. He replied: "Never mind, Martin, we are not over two miles from land now;" and when I asked him which way, he said: "Straight down, Martin, straight down."

One whole day I slept, or tried to sleep, in the life-boat. But the life-boat was a joke. By this time we realised that if a really severe storm should strike us, the life-boat would be the first thing to go, and our only resource in case of foundering would be the launch, which is to say, that had the _Snark_ gone down, we would have gone down with it. So our only hope was in fair weather and the pumps.

The bath-room had long since gone out of commission. The first day out, the big iron levers that controlled the sea-valves and the bath-pumps broke into splinters. Jack's heart was sore at this, for he had planned that bath-room carefully, and had been to much expense in fitting it up. Another thing that would have dashed most skippers' spirits was the fact that the specially ordered planking from Puget Sound, warranted to have no butts, was literally crowded with butts. But Jack did not let any of these things trouble him much; he merely commented on them, and then set himself to make the best of the voyage. Luckily, we were not becalmed. Had this misfortune been added to the rest, it might have taken us sixty days or more to reach Honolulu.

A little over a week out, a gale struck us, and carried away the jib and staysail. Everybody worked; the boat was creaking and groaning, water spouting in everywhere, and the cockpit filled with water. The engine wouldn't work, and nothing else worked. This gale was a wonderful experience for me. The little boat would go down in the trough of the wave, and I would gaze up and see the water coming in a massive cone, a million tons of water, looking a hundred feet high. It seemed to overtop our mainmast several times and more. I felt absolutely certain that when that mass of water hit us, we would be gone; but each time our stout little craft would climb the side of the wave until we reached the top, and then would start down the opposite side so rapidly that it produced that peculiar feeling one experiences when going down a Shoot-the-Chutes or the steep incline of a Roller-Coaster. In fact, seasickness is nothing more than this sensation aggravated to a point where it is painful. We were pitched around with great violence--sometimes we would be away over on one side until the water came pouring in the scuppers; and again, the boat would rush downward at such a rate of speed that I just knew we were making for that bottom Mr. London had spoken of; then we would go up again, each time to my surprise, because I was satisfied that we were as good as dead at least twice to each wave we rode. During this storm, the thought came to me that just a year before, on May 1, I was on a big cattle-steamer, going east on the Atlantic; and here I was, a year later, on a fish-bobber, in the middle of the Pacific, going--where? But the sea was not in existence that could swamp us. When the storm broke away the next day, and the sun arose bright and clear, everyone seemed to feel better and to take renewed interest in life.

We had not been long out of port before we became convinced that we had no navigator aboard. Captain Eames was supposed to be the navigator, but the navigation of a small boat is difficult and Jack had to assist him in the work. On certain days we made splendid headway and seemed to have covered considerable distance but our observations and markings on the chart showed that we had not done nearly as well as we supposed. On the other hand, there were days when it had been practically calm, and our records would show that we had fairly whirled over the water. The principles of navigation are fairly simple--and misunderstood by most people. Before we had reached Honolulu, everyone in the boat was navigating, except Tochigi. Of course, most of our mistakes had their roots in the fact that the boat's tossing threw our observations out of line, and our eyes were rather too near to the water. Of course, too, our record of time on board was sadly perturbed, despite our turning the ship's clock back about ten minutes each day.

And still we saw no fish of any sort. Jack could not understand it. He had been in these latitudes before, and always had seen porpoises and dolphins and flying fish, as well as sharks and bonita. But the ocean was absolutely bare in every direction. We were in a watery desert. It was not until we got to latitude 19° that we saw the first flying fish, and he was all by himself.

On Thursday, May 2, we felt that we were certainly in the trade winds. We went dead ahead of the breeze, with all the sails set except the mizzen, and doing what old sailors, men of forty years on the sea, declare cannot be done--racing along with no one at the wheel. We simply set the wheel over to suit the wind, without even lashing it; and then all went below to supper, and to play cribbage. By this time I had learned a number of new dishes. Tochigi showed me the Japanese way of preparing rice, and it beat anything I had yet cooked. All were feeling in high spirits. The sickness had left us, and the boat looked tidier than at any time since leaving Frisco, for we had spent the day in scrubbing the floors, and generally cleaning things up.

When it came to the actual test, we found that the provisions of the _Snark_ were not exactly adapted to that kind of trip. The duty of provisioning the boat had been left to Mrs. London and myself, and I fear that in the buying we lost all sense of proportion. We had bought an enormous crate of cabbages (which, as I have said, speedily found its way into the sea), and a whole case of lemons; and I had made out the list of spices and seasonings, all of which were purchased, enough to run the Delmonico for a year. The amount of pepper we had aboard would last a good-sized family through several lifetimes. When we completed the voyage, we had pepper to throw overboard, and I'll bet the fish in that vicinity have been coughing and sneezing ever since.

But the cooking was a reasonably easy proposition, because most of the time over half the crew didn't care for anything to eat, and the others were kind enough to say that they particularly liked my method of preparing only one dish at a meal, and depending on the can-opener for the rest. And observe the security of my position--they could not fire me and hire a new cook, so they had to like it or do without eating.

The galley had a Primus kerosene stove, which burned without odour. On the galley shelves were all sorts of pots and pans, bottles, tins, and utensils. For each and every separate thing, a hole had been made in the shelves, of just the right size and shape, so that nothing could topple out. On the stove, there were racks to hold the skillets and pots and pans while I cooked; but the pots and pans had a trick of jumping out of their racks and banging down into the bilge-water on the floor. And what didn't leap off the stove slopped and splashed all over the galley and the cook. As for myself, I was flung back and forth from one side of the galley to the other, until my back was a mass of bruises from bumping against the bulkhead.

A few extracts from the diary I kept during this cruise to Hawaii will throw an interesting light on how we lived aboard the _Snark_. The entries in this diary reflect my feelings better than I could recollect them after the lapse of several years.

_May 2, 1907._--I feel much better to-day. Am trying to clean up galley. It is getting warmer. No wind scarcely--making about two knots. I've changed watches with Bert, so now I have from four to six in the morning. Mrs. London is certainly a brick--weighs only one hundred and ten pounds, but bears up wonderfully, and is everywhere at once. The last few days I've cooked with my boots on. Mrs. L. helps. Floor of galley only about two feet above inside bottom of _Snark_. Down below, water moves freely from one air-tight compartment to the other. Will we ever reach Honolulu alive?

Evening.--I feel fine. So do all. Even Tochigi is smiling again, and that's nuff said. It's the prettiest evening I've seen in a long time. Bert, who is engineer, finds the dynamo won't work, so he is filling the oil lamps again. Just think of it--we have 19 big electric lights on the boat, and a searchlight, and not one of them working! Jack and Mrs. London are playing cribbage in the cockpit. Tochigi washing clothes over the rail. Ocean calm, except for the swell that is always felt. We had a fine time at supper, telling stories, and joking with one another. Well, I'm going to turn in. My bunk is five feet five inches long, two feet wide, and one foot six inches from the ceiling, but I feel as good in it as on feathers.

Queer that we have seen no fish. Jack can't account for it. Mr. Eames has gone back to his room--he was run out a few days ago by gasolene leaking under his bunk. Water still spouting in. Pumps needed. Many of Tochigi's books are ruined by being water-soaked. Mrs. London has bad headache, and so have I, but a little sleep will cure that. So here's for the bunk.

_Friday, May 3, 1907._--Big sea to-day. Tochigi again seasick. I'm not feeling so well; neither is Mrs. London. At dinner no one could stay at the table, the boat rocked so. Jack and Mrs. London were thrown clear across the cabin. All my dishes swimming around the floor--nothing will stay on the stove. I just slid across cabin and ran into Mrs. London coming head-first down companionway. Not badly hurt. We are averaging 5-1/2 knots.

_Saturday, May 4, 1907._--Last night we had some hard luck; at five o'clock the gooseneck, the piece of iron that holds the main gaff to the barrel on the main boom, broke, and let down the gaff. We took the gooseneck off the gaff of the storm trysail and replaced the one that had broken; and went below to supper. Just as we sat down the blamed thing came crashing down again, so we had to lash it with ropes, and let it go until we reach Honolulu--if we ever get there. But these goosenecks breaking looks bad. Both were of wrought iron; on the second one we would have depended in time of storm. Jack says it is just like macaroni, the way it snapped. Wind pretty stiff, and a suggestion of rain in the air. Feeling rather sick.

_Sunday, May 5, 1907._--Fine day, and everybody feeling well. I've just now begun to enjoy this trip. Wonder what's going on in the world, anyway! I've come to the point where I've forgotten what the world was like. The past is all like some dream. Our world is a big, blue expanse of water, reaching in an eternal circle to the horizon; a blue, clear-looking sky overhead, in which journeys the hot, glowing sun; and a tiny boat, a speck in the immensity of things, pursuing its solitary way across the deep. Loafed on deck most of to-day. We are far south of the regular track of steamers. Bert and Tochigi and I are all writing on our diaries this evening. The Londons have retired. Captain Eames is at the wheel, singing some sea-song--seems to be happy. Course south by west.

_Monday, May 6, 1907._--Baked bread and made biscuits to-day; had fine success. Fourteen days out of Frisco. Bert and Captain Eames took a bath in the ocean to-day--got clear down on the stays, and let the motion of the boat do the rest. Bert keeps declaring that he will let go and have a decent swim, but Jack warns him that if he does the sharks will get him. But Bert says the sharks are all with the dolphins and porpoises and bonita--in other words, that there aren't any. Changed our course to southwest by west. I think we are a little over half-way. To-night, we are going to start a game of whist and play it up until the moment we land. Everybody is making fun of my whiskers. Of course, I haven't shaved since we left, and I have an awful growth of beard, which I shan't scrape off until we reach port. Bert is the same way; there are times when he looks like a pirate. A queer bird hove in sight to-day. It's circling around us. It's white, with a long tail, sharp as a needle, and a long bill. Jack says he never heard of any like it before. I have my washing out. We just tie ropes on our clothes and tow them overboard all night, and in the morning they are clean; all we have to do is hang them up to dry. We crossed the line last night and are now in the tropics, or torrid zone. Have not seen a ship for over a week. Well, Jack's idea was to get away from the crowd, and certainly he has nothing to complain of in that respect. No mail, no telephones, no telegraph messengers, no cranks, nothing at all to bother him. He writes every day, and then does his trick at the wheel, or helps with the sailorising. Tochigi is at the wheel, reading a Japanese novel up-side down and from the back--or so it looks. Last night at supper he took the wheel, and played some weird music on his bamboo flute. We all stopped eating to listen. It is hard to realise that it is over a thousand miles to land in any direction.

_Tuesday, May 7, 1907._--Played whist last night, and had a fine time. Jack and Mrs. London won both games. Captain Eames looked on until a lamp fell on his head, and after that he seemed to lose interest. Tochigi had the wheel. When I am feeling sick, my early-morning watch seems terribly long; but if I am well, it is really enjoyable. We are taking a good many pictures now-a-days. I develop and print my own pictures, and all the others'. Jack requires a good many as illustrations to his magazine articles. To-day, Bert and Captain Eames set the spinnaker sail. Bert went out on the boom and got a good ducking, but the water is fine and warm, so it wasn't disagreeable. As I write, I have to hold on to the companionway with one hand. Lat. 22°--44′--24″, Long. 136°--4′. We figure that another ten days will put us in Honolulu. Captain has just hung the map with our course, and it's the most zigzagged route I ever saw. Yesterday we actually went out of our way fourteen miles. Everyone is feeling good, even if we are rolling some. I realise now, that, joking aside, this is as perilous a voyage as ever human beings voluntarily ventured on. We could never weather a hard storm. For the boat won't heave-to. And no one aboard knows how to make her heave-to. A fine warm evening, and the most beautiful sunset. It's queer we see no fish, for by all the books we have on fish, this is where they should be found. Jack throws out his trolling line every day, but catches nothing. Our course to-night is west-southwest.

_Wednesday, May 8, 1907._--My pay-day--but what's the use? I can't spend any money here. It may be two weeks before we reach Honolulu. Had fair wind to-day--changed course to south by west. At meals, Mr. and Mrs. London and Mr. Eames eat, Tochigi waits table, and Bert takes wheel; then we three eat. We are having lots of Portuguese men-of-war these days; they are a kind of jelly-fish that move in schools and have a sail in the middle of their backs. Jack and Mrs. London are playing pedro, and Bert is putting out the sidelights. It is getting awfully monotonous, always swaying up and down on these big waves--now away in the valley formed by two big swells, then on top of one of them. We are all over our seasickness, and feeling pretty good. Bert is certainly just right for this trip. He is robust and strong--a young Hercules. We are all discarding our shirts and wearing white trousers and canvas shoes. Fortunately, the breeze keeps the air from getting oppressively warm. Bert takes his daily bath from the stays.

_Thursday, May 9, 1907._--Jack and Mrs. London swear they saw three flying fish to-day; we think they are mistaken. Jack has had a spoon-hook out ever since we left, but has not even had a nibble. Tochigi washed out some clothing to-day--I made a picture of him at it. Lat. 21°--42′--14″, Long. 139°--22′--15″. If only I could get some sleep! But the sea is so rough that I just roll from one side of the bunk to the other. We have all kinds of music. Jack has a big talking-machine, with over five hundred records; some of them are of the finest opera music, vocal and instrumental. How strange it would be, if one could stand off a hundred yards and watch the little _Snark_ go by on the crested waves, while the voice of Caruso, say, sang from our companionway. I think one would rub his eyes, and think it something visionary, unreal. We have awnings on deck which help to keep off the heat of the sun. And oh, yes, besides the talking-machine and the musical records, we have an Edison language-machine, with Italian, German, Spanish, and French records, and a text-book for each language.

_Friday, May 10, 1907._--Sea rough to-day. Everybody needing sleep. Saw some flying fish, but couldn't catch any. Been threatening rain; wind from northeast, course southwest. It's mighty hard to cook, for nothing will stay on the stove. What does slops out. I am thrown around all the time. Water still sopping around in galley. It is a good thing we are prepared for the wet--we have rubber hip-boots, oilskin coats, rubber sou'-westers. Then, for work, there are blue flannel shirts, blue calico shirts; and for dress, silk shirts. We have also brought pajamas, for use in very warm weather. How the boat rocks and pitches! What wouldn't I give to stand still for only a minute? Tochigi is relapsing into seasickness again.

* * * * *

The next day found us in a fierce sea. We were all soaked with water. Indeed, it was impossible to step on deck without getting wet. Great waves, many times higher than the _Snark_, kept sweeping down as if to swamp us, but always we slid along the top of them, seeing for miles around; then would come the dive down into the slough, where everything was blotted from view but a wild swirl of waters. It was next to impossible to cook. Dishes defied all laws of gravitation, and skimmed like birds through the air; and the stove was a sight, what of the things that slopped over it. We were covered with bruises from being thrown up against the vessel. Mrs. London made another aerial descent of the companionway that night, but was only slightly bruised. Captain Eames scraped the skin off his head in the course of one tumble. I got my punishment in burns from the stove. Far above, in the tropic sky, the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled. Lightning had an awful significance to the crew of the _Snark_. We were far out at sea; the copper and other metals would tend to draw the current, and had a spark ever reached us, and ignited the eleven hundred gallons of gasolene on board, there wouldn't have been a splinter left to tell the tale.

Like all sailors, we did not love the sea. It was the eternal menace. Looking upon its placid surface in moments of calm, we could almost forget that it was forever yawning, and that into its maw had gone many a brave ship, of greater tonnage than ours. But in raging storms, with the lightning shooting in fiery lines across the sky, and the artillery of heaven rumbling and banging overhead and echoing on the storm-lashed waves, we came to appreciate the true meaning of things, and to assign to earth and sky and sea the proper values. At such moments, I repeat, we did not love the sea; but we did love the _Snark_. Its ten tons of wood and metal stood between us and destruction. It made life possible to us. It was in such reflections as these, miles and miles from any land, that the words of Jack London rang again in my ears: "Life that lives is life successful. The achievement of a difficult feat is successful adjustment to a sternly exacting environment." Well, we strove to accomplish, and our environment was savage. Supreme courage and unwavering vigilance alone could enable us to adjust ourselves, and come alive out of the welter of foam and frothing waves that assailed the little _Snark_ the greater part of her perilous voyage to Hawaii.

Even out in the ocean, several kinds of birds follow in the wake of ships to pick up the leavings. With a piece of meat tied on a string, we succeeded in catching a guny. These gunys are a species of albatross, and they live, sleep, and find their food entirely on the face of the great deep. When these birds are swimming on the surface of the water and wish to rise into the air, they cannot make the ascent as most birds do, simply by flapping their wings. They must start swimming rapidly, with wings extended, until their speed becomes sufficient to enable them gradually to rise into the air. Before they start to fly, they are literally walking on the water. The meat of the guny is not palatable, and looks something like the meat of an ordinary crow.

Every day, Jack wrote two hours. Just two hours, no more, no less. He would get up in the morning and take his trick at the wheel, have breakfast, and then shut himself in his stateroom for just two hours and write. He always laughed at what he called the tomfoolery of waiting for inspiration to come. He doesn't believe there is any such thing as inspiration--he himself can write just as well at one time as at another. It is plain work, he says, and the only way he can do it is to go ahead and do it. Incidentally, I may mention that Jack London never rewrites a story. He writes it just once, and never goes over it to change it. He writes with a fountain pen, and nobody can read his writing but Mrs. London. He turns his manuscript over to her, and she types it and gets it ready for the publishers.

In addition to their writing and typing, both the Londons did their trick at the wheel, and even helped Bert at the sailorising. When the weather was calm and we had gotten over our sickness, we would all gather on deck and talk, and tell each other of our experiences before chance grouped us together on the _Snark_. Of course, Jack had lived more of life than any of us. He spent hours recounting to us tales of the Klondike, and other faraway places he had visited. One of the most interesting things he told us was of how he came to write. Since his days in the grade schools of Oakland, he had nursed the secret wish to become a writer. He spent long hours poring over books of history, travel, and fiction. But everything seemed against him. His father, a veteran of the Civil War, was slowly dying, and it became necessary for Jack to turn to and help support the family. He worked at everything and anything. Now he was a sailor, now a San Francisco Bay oyster-pirate, now a member of the Bay Fish Patrol. He mowed lawns and washed windows, and cleaned carpets, and worked in canneries and other factories. Through all this experience, his Socialistic tendencies were strengthened, and he ardently espoused the cause of revolution, and clings to it still. He wrote evenings after he came home from work, but all his manuscripts were returned to him. At last, however, came the day. He had been to the Klondike, and had returned penniless and stricken with scurvy. He could do little work. Between odd jobs, he wrote. One night, coming home, he conceived the idea of turning some of his Arctic experiences into stories. That evening he sat down and produced the great story that made him famous, and that has been read round the world, "The White Silence." It was written from things he knew. It was a bit of life, "cut from the raw, and woven round with words." A big western magazine promptly published it, paying him the scanty sum of five dollars. But his next story, published in an eastern short-story magazine, brought him better monetary return, so that he was enabled to go ahead and write. And we all know that he succeeded.

Another rather amusing thing Jack told us was of an experience in Manchuria, during the Russo-Japanese War. He had been sent as war correspondent by a big American newspaper syndicate, and besides his scratch-pad, he was provided with a camera. One day he started to take some pictures, and was promptly arrested and haled before the military authorities. A fat and rather deaf old Jap officer began to question him.

"Why do you take pictures?"

"Because I wish to."

"And why do you wish to?"

"Because I desire to."

And so it went for half an hour, question and answer, attack and rebuff. Other correspondents who had been rounded up with cameras in their possession followed the same plan. At last, the Jap officer gave up in disgust, and allowed them all to depart, though warning them of what might happen to them in time of war.

During this period, there was strict censorship of all letters and telegrams, both coming and going. The war correspondents were in a quandary. They desired to keep their papers posted on the latest developments, but were unable to get a line of information beyond the frontier. They tried cipher-codes and various freak methods of writing, but without avail. These messages were destroyed as being of a suspicious character. At last, however, one of the enterprising correspondents hit upon a plan. He wrote plain English to his paper. Just at the time, an important military manœuvre was in progress. By building a bridge over a certain river, the Japs would be enabled to transport their supplies, and to gain control of an important position. So the war correspondent wrote to his paper a rather rambling personal letter, of no consequence whatever, but at the end casually mentioned that the Japanese troops were on the bank of the river, with timber and big wooden beams and posts. "I'm not allowed to tell you what they're doing, but you can bet they're not digging a well." Fortunately, the editor was a man of acumen; out of all the chaff he sifted the grain of wheat, and his paper had an enviable beat, that great delight of the editorial heart.

When we all got to navigating in good shape, we found that we were able to produce a widely different set of figures. Of course, each could prove the correctness of his points. I well remember the day that my figures showed we were in the Atlantic Ocean instead of the Pacific. As I think back, I wonder more and more that we ever got anywhere, what of our brilliant navigation. But luck was with us. We did eventually get to port, though not without stress and storm.

_Monday, May 13, 1907._--We have had all kinds of excitement to-day. This morning, about eleven, I lay asleep in the bow, when Tochigi awoke me and pointed just ahead on our port side, and there were thirty or forty whales; not very big, but they certainly looked big. I guess they would average twenty or twenty-five feet, and had an enormous fin in the centre of their backs. They were playing, now darting our way, now the other way. They looked very lazy floating on the waves. In half an hour they had disappeared. Jack calls them fin-backs, and says they are very rare. While they were here, the air and water seemed alive with flying fish. These flying fish are of the four-winged kind, about a foot long. Bert and I have been sitting on the deck practising different kinds of knots. It's getting awfully hot. We are all discarding as much clothing as we can. Captain Eames says we will sight Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa next Friday morning, and make Pearl Harbor, on the island of Oahu, Sunday. I hope so, but I'm sceptical. Don't think anyone knows our bearings within a hundred miles or so. Bert and I went in bathing to-day. Got out on the bobstay, under the bowsprit, and every time the boat would dip we would go under, and the speed of the boat made it hard for us to hang on. If ever we let go, it would be all up with us. It's dangerous, anyway, for sharks are supposed to be thick here. Getting hotter every day. Now registers 90°; we are not making much speed at present. My bread was a failure to-day, so I've got to do it again or we'll starve. Great excitement just now: Mrs. London has discovered the Southern Cross, a cluster of stars that sailors use for reckoning after they get too far south to use the North Star. It's directly south, and never changes position. Bert and I shaved to-day, and put on our lightest clothes.

_Wednesday, May 15, 1907._--We are making fine time. Best yet--and all sails drawing. Weather perfect. At noon, registered 88°, but since then about 80°. We have things closely packed aboard the _Snark_. Not an inch of wall-or ceiling-space but is utilised. Even the "leaves" of the dining-table close down over a chest-of-drawers that contains all the table-linen. In the two little staterooms forward, devoted to Jack and Mrs. London, there are all sorts of cubbyholes. Closets, large and small, honeycomb the sides and ceilings. Mrs. London can hang her dresses full length, and she has even a hat-box. Then, too, Jack has his tobacco-stores--plenty of tobacco. This evening, the new moon and the stars are brighter than I ever saw them, and there are many new stars, unfamiliar to me. We expect to sight Hawaii to-morrow, that is, if, as Bert says, "we are where we are." Bert has been telling me about his father, who was shot by a desperate leper in these islands. He was sheriff, and was trying to take the leper to Molokai, the Leper Island. I made some good pictures of Mrs. London to-day--she dresses simply these days, bare-headed, blue sailor waist, plain short skirt. Only a few more dog-watches, and then I'll get a good long sleep. This getting up at four in the morning, and steering till six, is no joke. During that time I have to put out the sidelights and binnacles, and stow the sidelights in the bos'ns locker, then call Jack. We turn the clock back about ten minutes each day.

_Thursday, May 16, 1907._--This morning at four it was raining when I went on watch, so I put on my oilskins. The wind died out in a little while, and I don't think we have moved over ten knots all day. The surface of the ocean is as calm as San Francisco Bay. Very warm. It is fine these nights, to lie in one's bunk without any bedclothes, and with no flies or mosquitoes to bother. Jack and Bert and I went in bathing on the bowsprit in the afternoon, and Bert let go and swam with the ship. If a shark had put in an appearance, or if a puff of wind had sent the boat ahead, it would have been all up with him. We dressed, and then took pictures of each other. Captain Eames and Mrs. London were at the cockpit, and Tochigi was below making candy. Suddenly Bert yelled, "Look at that fin," and we were all excitement at once. We ran to the stern, and there was a real, live shark, about seven feet long. Jack threw over a shark-hook, attached to a ninethread. The hook was a big thing, weighing over a pound, and a foot long; and the ninethread is a little thicker than one's finger. We baited the hook with a piece of fat pork, and the shark made a dive for it, but did not swallow it. However, we coaxed him up within a few feet of the boat, where we could get a good look at him. He was about the shape and colour of an enormous cat-fish, except that he was of slimmer build and his fin and gills were larger. The ugliest head, with little, mean-looking eyes! Just ahead of his fin was the pilot fish, occasionally darting ahead to inspect the boat, or so it seemed. The pilot was a pretty fish, ten inches long, and striped like a zebra. They stayed with us all of two hours. Now and again, the shark would turn over, belly upward, and make a rush for the hook, but never did he get it. The water was so clear that we could see him easily. I brought up a cold lunch, and we never took our eyes off the fish. Tochigi could hardly break away long enough to take the dishes below. About six o'clock we saw the pilot fish take its position back of the shark's head. They swam up close to the side of the boat, then glided off to the north and disappeared. We are moving scarcely at all now. No motion to the boat. With about twenty hours of fair wind, we could sight the islands.

_Friday, May 17, 1907._--Great excitement again. We think we've sighted land. If our conjectures are correct, the island of Hawaii is to our port bow, and Maui dead ahead. They were discovered by Mr. and Mrs. London, while they were playing cribbage in the cockpit and watching one of these perfect tropical sunsets. Both spots of land loom up like high mountains, and look about fifty or sixty miles distant. Jack has given orders that all on watch to-night go forward every five minutes and take a lookout. It got dark so early, or rather we sighted the supposed land so late, that we got only about a half-hour's light to watch them; but on my watch in the morning I ought to get a good look at them, or at least at Maui, for we have changed our course to west-northwest, and will draw off from Hawaii by morning if the wind does not die down. It is now only about two knots strong. Previous to our discovery, we had been in low spirits, for Bert discovered that out of three observations, none agreed, and all varied about sixty miles. We suspected that our chronometer had gone wrong; and we feared that we might flounder around for weeks and never find the islands. Jack had given orders to be saving on food and water, and to wash in salt water, but he has countermanded that order now. Jack is poring over his maps, on the cabin table.

_Saturday, May 18, 1907._--Marvel of marvels! We have really found the islands. They are in exactly the place the reckonings put us, but it seems strange to be coming in from the south. This morning on my watch the clouds were so dense on the horizon that I could not make out land. Jack came on deck at five o'clock, and we searched the horizon for an hour, and finally gave up and decided that it was clouds we saw last night. But just then Mrs. London came on deck and cried, "Oh!" and then, "Isn't that lovely!" and sure enough, the clouds had parted, and disclosed the snow-peaked active volcano of Mauna Loa on the island of Hawaii, only about twenty miles to port. It was a fine sight--Mauna Loa, over thirteen thousand feet high, the largest active volcano in the world! Well, we kept off her until noon, when we sighted Maui, reaching over ten thousand feet into the air. This evening Molokai is off our port bow, Molokai, the island where hundreds of poor wretches afflicted with leprosy are isolated. We are headed direct for her, and will round her in the morning and sight Oahu. Expect to be in Pearl Harbor to-morrow night. We have a fine breeze; making almost six knots. To-night the watches will be doubled--one person forward and one at the wheel: Mrs. London and Tochigi from eight till twelve, Mr. Eames and Bert until four, and Jack and I until eight. To-day, Tochigi found a flying fish on deck, that had flown aboard and fallen helpless.

_Sunday, May 19, 1907._--This morning Jack took the lookout, and I took the wheel. Until daylight we could not make out our position. Molokai gradually came in view to our port, and as the light grew stronger we could make out the rocks that the steamer _Manchuria_ ran into on Oahu. About that time, the wind played out, and all day we have remained in almost the same spot. It's awfully exasperating to be within sight of Honolulu, or nearly so, and not be able to get there. It is a fine day. This evening the wind freshened a bit, so that we got about twenty-five miles closer--that is, within twenty-five miles of Honolulu--but the wind didn't last long. I can hear the sails jibbing back and forth, and the booms are cracking around in a way I don't like. A calm is often far more dangerous to the rigging of a small vessel than is a storm. Worst of all, the currents are carrying us toward Molokai; and if we are wrecked on its rocky coast, we will never be allowed to leave. But we will surely make Pearl Harbor in the morning. This afternoon we baited a hook with pork and caught a guny. He was a large one--measured over six feet from tip of one wing to tip of other wing. They are said to get seasick when caught, but this one didn't. When we let him overboard, he gave one disgusted look at us, and swam away. He tried to fly, but think his wings were too full of water from struggling to get free. The ocean is now alive with life. Flying fish are everywhere. There are fish of every sort, and schools of porpoises. Late this evening, we sighted a steamer, and a couple of sloops are away off on our port horizon.

* * * * *

The next morning, twenty-seven days out of Frisco, we were near to Honolulu. We were met by the customs tug, from the deck of which papers were thrown to us. One of the papers had pictures of the _Snark_, and a long story, telling that, considering the twenty-seven days out of San Francisco, all hope had been given up of the _Snark's_ ever reaching port--that she had evidently gone down with all hands. When the customs tug volunteered to tow us into Pearl Harbor, eighteen miles from Honolulu, Jack jumped at the chance. The _Kamehameha_ and the _Kalaohkun_, of the Hawaiian Yacht Club, came out to meet us, and escorted us into Pearl Harbor. We passed several Japanese _sampans_, the first I had ever seen, queer little flat boats used by the Jap fishermen. Once a monstrous turtle, said to be the largest ever seen in these parts, swam near us, and lifted his ungainly head to gaze at us. We took his presence as an omen of good luck.

Pearl Harbor has a small mouth like a river, which is called Pearl Locks. Inside, the harbour is deep and large. It was then being fitted up as a base of supplies and repairs for the American navy, by Captain Curtis Otwell, who was in charge of the entire construction work. A little later, we dropped anchor in Pearl Harbor, and furled the sails. I cannot begin to tell how good it was to be on solid ground again, after twenty-seven days of pitching and rolling on the sea. It seemed too good to be true. We called the harbour "Dream Harbour." It seemed to suit better than any other name--for was this not all a dream? We were met by a throng of reporters, camera fiends, Kanakas, and a general mixture of nationalities, and one and all gave us a hearty welcome to their island.