This was the first time that I had seen a sail at sea. I
thought then, and have always since, that it exceeds every other sight
in interest and beauty. They passed to leeward of us, and out of
hailing distance; but the captain could read the names on their sterns
with the glass. They were the ship Helen Mar, of New York, and the
brig Mermaid, of Boston. They were both steering westward, and were
bound in for our "dear native land."
Thursday, Aug. 21st. This day the sun rose clear, we had a fine
wind, and everything was bright and cheerful. I had now got my sea
legs on, and was beginning to enter upon the regular duties of a
sea-life. About six bells, that is, three o'clock P. M., we saw a sail
on our larboard bow. I was very anxious, like every new sailor, to
speak her. She came down to us, backed her main-topsail, and the two
vessels stood "head on," bowing and curvetting at each other like a
couple of war-horses reined in by their riders. It was the first
vessel that I had seen near, and I was surprised to find out how
much she rolled and pitched in so quiet a sea. She plunged her head
into the sea, and then, her stern settling gradually down, her huge
bows rose up, showing the bright copper, and her stern, and
breast-hooks dripping, like old Neptune's locks, with the brine.
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