200 MULE-HUNTING EXPEDITION. 



the steamer ' Panama, '--my destination San 

 Francisco, my mission to purchase mules. The 

 island is still in its winter garb ; not a bud has 

 burst into leaf, and very few migratory birds 

 have made their appearance. At 10.30 a.m. we 

 are steaming out of the harbour ; no wind, water 

 smooth as a lake ; run pleasantly down the Straits 

 of Juan de Fuca, and pass Cape Flattery about 

 4 p.m. Wind blowing unpleasantly fresh, and a 

 heavy tumbling swell makes the 'Panama' dis- 

 agreeably lively. Passengers rapidly disappear ; 

 various gulping sounds, heavy sighs, and im- 

 patient calls for the steward, tell clearly enough 

 that the most terrible leveller next to death, sea- 

 sickness, has begun its work below. 



March 1st. A bleak misty morning, a heavy 

 sea, wind dead ahead, and cold driving hail- 

 showers. The ship, rolling from side to side, 

 renders it difficult for even practised hands to 

 guide anything spillable to the mouth ; and walk- 

 ing, save to a sailor or a housefly, is an impos- 

 sible performance. 



March 2nd. Managed to scramble on deck 

 about 7 a.m., by going through a series of acro- 

 batic performances, that came near to dislocating 

 all my joints; wind moderated, but a heavy sea 

 still rocked us very rudely. We are close in- 



