Our captain had been married only a few weeks before he left Boston;
and, after an absence of over two years, it may be supposed he was not
slow in carrying sail. The mate, too, was not to be beaten by anybody;
and the second mate, though he was afraid to press sail, was afraid as
death of the captain, and being between two fears, sometimes carried
on longer than any of them. We snapped off three flying-jib booms in
twenty-four hours, as fast as they could be fitted and rigged out;
sprung the spritsail yard; and made nothing of studding-sail booms.
Beside the natural desire to get home, we had another reason for
urging the ship on. The scurvy had begun to show itself on board.
One man had it so badly as to be disabled and off duty, and the
English lad, Ben, was in a dreadful state, and was daily growing
worse. His legs swelled and pained him so that he could not walk;
his flesh lost its elasticity, so that if it was pressed in, it
would not return to its shape; and his gums swelled until he could not
open his mouth. His breath, too, became very offensive; he lost all
strength and spirit; could eat nothing; grew worse every day; and,
in fact, unless something was done for him, would be a dead man in a
week, at the rate at which he was sinking.
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