Wednesday, May 18th. Lat. 9° 54′ N., long. 113° 17′ W. The northeast trades had now left us, and we had the usual variable winds, which prevail near the line, together with some rain. So long as we were in these latitudes, we had but little rest in our watch on deck at night, for, as the winds were light and variable, and we could not lose a breath, we were all the watch bracing the yards, and taking in and making sail, and “humbugging” with our flying kites.250 A little puff of wind on the larboard quarter, and then—“larboard fore braces!” and studding-booms were rigged out, studding sails set alow and aloft, the yards trimmed, and jibs and spanker in; when it would come as calm as a duck pond, and the man at the wheel stand with the palm of his hand up, feeling for the wind. “Keep her off a little!” “All aback forward, sir!” cries a man from the forecastle. Down go the braces again; in come the studding sails, all in a mess, which half an hour won’t set right; yards braced sharp up; and she’s on the starboard tack, close hauled.
The studding sails must now be cleared away, and set up in the tops, and on the booms. By the time this is done, and you are looking out for a soft plank for a nap—“Lay aft here, and square in the head yards!” and the studding sails are all set again on the starboard side. So it goes until it is eight bells—call the watch—heave the log—relieve the wheel, and go below the larboard watch.
Sunday, May 22nd. Lat. 5° 14′ N., long. 116° 45′ W. We were now a fortnight out, and within five degrees of the line, to which two days of good breeze would take us; but we had, for the most part, what sailors call “an Irishman’s hurricane—right up and down.”
This day it rained nearly all day, and being Sunday, and nothing to do, we stopped up the scuppers and filled the decks with rain water, and bringing all our clothes on deck, had a grand wash, fore and aft. When this was through, we stripped to our drawers, and taking pieces of soap and strips of canvas for towels, we turned to and soaped, washed, and scrubbed one another down, to get off, as we said, the California dust; for the common wash in salt water, which is all Jack can get, being on an allowance of fresh, had little efficacy, and was more for taste than utility. The captain was below all the afternoon, and we had something nearer to a Saturnalia251 than anything we had yet seen; for the mate came into the scuppers, with a couple of boys to scrub him, and got into a battle with them in heaving water. By unplugging the holes, we let the soapsuds off the decks, and in a short time had a new supply of rain water, in which we had a grand rinsing. It was surprising to see how much soap and fresh water did for the complexions of many of us; how much of what we supposed to be tan and sea-blacking, we got rid of. The next day, the sun rising clear, the ship was covered, fore and aft, with clothes of all sorts, hanging out to dry.
As we approached the line, the wind became more easterly, and the weather clearer, and in twenty days from San Diego—
Saturday, May 28th, at about three p.m., with a fine breeze from the east-southeast, we crossed the equator. In twenty-four hours after crossing the line, which was very unusual, we took the regular southeast trades. These winds come a little from the eastward of southeast, and, with us, they blew directly from the east-southeast, which was fortunate for us, for our course was south-by-west, and we could thus go one point free. The yards were braced so that every sail drew, from the spanker to the flying jib; and the upper yards being squared in a little, the fore and main topgallant studding sails were set, and just drew handsomely. For twelve days this breeze blew steadily, not varying a point, and just so fresh that we could carry our royals; and, during the whole time, we hardly started a brace. Such progress did we make, that at the end of seven days from the time we took the breeze, on
Sunday, June 5th, we were in lat. 19° 29′ S., and long. 118° 01′W., having made twelve hundred miles in seven days, very nearly upon a taut bowline. Our good ship was getting to be herself again, had increased her rate of sailing more than one-third since leaving San Diego. The crew ceased complaining of her, and the officers hove the log every two hours with evident satisfaction. This was glorious sailing. A steady breeze; the light trade wind clouds over our heads; the incomparable temperature of the Pacific—neither hot nor cold; a clear sun every day, and clear moon and stars each night; and new constellations rising in the south, and the familiar ones sinking in the north, as we went on
