a bleating goat of Owhyhee supplies me with milk; and in the morning, the shrill clarion of Canton cocks, the cackling {20} of geese, and the grunting of swine, early rouse me from my warm and downy bed; and, all together, make me fancy I am in my farm-yard, although 4,000 miles distant.
22nd.—Lat. 27°, long. 61º. Now about 11 days sail from Boston. The captain this morning turning out first, cast a cup of cold water into the bosom of his clerk, who was yet in bed, and promised him a pailful if necessary. The clerk is a pleasant young man of about 25, and only said, "Captain, if you expect perfection of me you will be disappointed; I am not perfect." Republicans seem uncommonly tyrannical, and sometimes aristocratical. We sail swiftly, and sometimes 228 miles in a day.
I now sleep in high style every night, having under my pillow a bottle of madeira and a basket of China sweet-*meats; at my side nine muskets and a huge broad-sword; and underneath me a magazine of gunpowder and balls.
24th.—Warm day, wind S. W. almost a calm, lat. 30°, long. 65°, now opposite to and distant 40 miles from Bermuda, and 720 from Boston, our destined haven. In this port (says our captain) there is an old hump-*backed pilot now living, to whom some British officers once waggishly said, "What's that on your back?" He answered, "What do you think? Bunker's hill, to be sure!" a reply which silenced the facetious inquirers.
{21} 26th—Lat. 32°, long. 66°, sailing all day 7, and at night 10 knots an hour. The old Southern goat, kid, Canton cocks, geese, hogs, and turtles, begin to quake with northern cold. In the winter of 1817-18, the fish generally experienced a vast mortality; the shores and water, quite out at sea, were literally covered with count-
