"But who cares? who cares?
We are homeward bound, we are homeward bound,
And only fifteen thousand miles away!
But who cares? who cares?
We are homeward bound, we are homeward bound."
All was life and gayety on board, and bright visions of home were before us. The weather was fine, the wind fair, and our gallant ship had all the sail on her that she could possibly carry. She made thirteen and a half knots per hour for five days in succession. We did not raise, tack, or sheet, or take a pull at the brace, only the "mainbrace," and that we "spliced."
March 2. This morning our old shipmate, George Porter, the man who came very near being hung while we were off the Carney Islands, breathed his last. He belonged in Bangor, Maine, and how eagerly he looked forward to going home and seeing all the loved ones there! Poor George! He was a jolly good fellow, an excellent sailor, and a worthy shipmate. It made us feel very sad to commit his body to the depths of the hungry, restless ocean, there to lie until the sea is summoned to give up its dead.
The weather continued fine and the breezes light until the 20th, when we encountered bad weather, with a very rough, chopped sea, which caused the ship to pitch deeply.
On the 23d Benjamin Vanderford, our trading master and South Sea pilot, died. He had formerly commanded several South Sea trading vessels from Salem. He could converse in the Fiji language, and was well versed in their manners and customs. A strong attach-
