"Not a sound, save the surge of the ship As she lazily rolls to and fro, And the creak of the rudder below." FRIDAY, JULY 10. We have had to-day a light but steady breeze on our starboard quarter. Our studding-sails have been set for the first time since we left Honolulu. We are now within nine hundred miles of our port. All are engaged, some in ship's duty, some in acquiring Spanish, some in writing letters home; while the crew, as they come off watch, occupy their time with books from the library. Sailors will read if you furnish them with books suited to their tastes and habits. Give them narratives, history, biography, and incidents of travel. In these sketches virtues may be shadowed forth that will win reverence and love, and the results of vice unfolded with repelling power. But all this requires care in the selection; this duty properly devolves on the chaplain; it is for him to elevate and mould the moral sentiments of those around him. If he is not equal to this, he should not put his foot on the decks of a man-of-war. SATURDAY, JULY 11. Our light aft wind has left us, and we have in its stead a heavy sea, rolling in from the west. There must have been a tremendous blow in that quarter. Our ship rolled last night as she did off Cape Horn. Every thing in the wardroom and steerage which had not been secured, rushed about in crashing confusion. The candlesticks leaped from the sideboard, a tray of knives and forks followed, while a water-tank flew from one bulkhead to another, as if determined to dash in its own staves. The front board of my berth had been taken out to admit more air, and I had no sooner dropped asleep, than out I rolled on the floor; and well was it for me that I did, for I was no sooner out of my berth than my library tumbled in. What singular feelings, half vexatious and half ludicrous, one has gathering himself up from such a tumble! SUNDAY, JULY 12. The weather has been too stormy, and the roll of the ship too heavy, for religious service on deck. We have had a prayermeeting in the store-room. The attendance was voluntary, but the large apartment was filled. A good number of our sailors are earnestly seeking religion, and several hope they have found it. I meet them every evening from eight to nine o'clock. They speak in these meetings with much frankness of their previous evil courses, and of their resolution to abandon them and seek Christ. Those who have obtained light and comfort, encourage others, and pray for them with an earnestness which shows their heart is in the work. Every evening some two or three new ones join us. Among them are some of the first sailors we have. The effect of this on the discipline of the ship is too marked to escape observation. There is no disobedience and no punishment. Each performs with alacrity the duties of his station. It would seem as if we might throw every instrument of correction and coercion overboard; their requirement, for the present at least, has ceased. Give me the religious sentiment in a crew, and you may sink your handcuffs, cats, and colts in the depths of ocean. They who, under the hypocritical cry of church and state, would deprive our seamen of these influences, have steeled their hearts to the first instincts of humanity. Their religion, if they have any, is cruel as the grave. MONDAY, JULY 13. The following note, which I received last evening from one of our quarter-gunners, a stanch sailor, derives its interest from the fact that he followed it up with an attendance at our prayer-meeting. DEAR SIR: U. S. Frigate Congress, July 12, 1846. With feelings of sincere regret for the error I made on the night of the 11th, by using profane language in your hearing, I do humbly crave your pardon, and I do assure you, had I known you were present at the time, such language would never have been used by me. I am aware I can make no excuse for the crime of swearing: it is, as you have truly said, the force of habit, which should have been checked by me years ago. No man inside this ship is more indebted to an all-merciful God than I am, for I have been totally shipwrecked in the course of my sea-life four different times, and been preserved when some of my shipmates met a watery grave; and still I sin greatly, daily, hourly, in spite of all my resolutions to the contrary. Yours obediently. TUESDAY, JULY 14. We were tumbled out of our dead calm by a roaring northwester, and have been driven by it two hundred and thirty-five miles in the last twenty-four hours. We have six months' provisions, and four months' water, on board, and have been logging eleven and twelve knots. A ship that can do this under these circumstances, and closehauled, must be a good sailer. We are now within two hundred and twenty miles of our port; and if this wind continues, shall probably anchor under Monterey to-morrow. Whether it be for hostilities or for peace, we know not; but we are prepared for either. WEDNESDAY, JULY 15. The wind continued very fresh through the night. Not wishing to make the land till daylight, we furled our top-gallant sails, hauled up our courses, double-reefed our topsails, and still run eight knots. As day dawned, Point Pinos rose fifteen miles directly ahead of us. But as the first rays of the sun tipped its forest-tops with flame, a bank of fog rolled between. Not a vestige of the coast was seen for hours; and we wore ship, and stood out to sea. It was nearly noon before the fog lifted. We then made sail, and in two hours rounded Point Pinos, and entered the harbor of Monterey. We discovered at anchor the U. S. frigate Savannah, bearing the broad pennant of Commodore Sloat; the U. S. sloop-ofwar Cyane, Captain Mervin; and the U. S. sloop-ofwar Levant, Commander Page. We run up the red pennant, and saluted the blue of Commodore Sloat with thirteen guns, which were returned by the Savannah. As we rounded under her stern for our berth, her band struck up "Hail Columbia!" We came to anchor, in graceful style, outside the Cyane. |