NARRATIVE OF THE CRUISE 1 25 



marked departure from the usual curve; but all the same it was a 

 close call for us. 



A night or two later a steamer passed us. This had been our 

 first sight of human life for seven weeks, with the exception of 

 some distant lights on a ship near the Grand Banks. We rigged 

 up a signal-light on deck and attempted to communicate. Un- 

 fortunately, we spent so long in figuring out what language they 

 were using that the vessel was out of sight when we wanted to 

 say something. The best guess had it that she was a Portuguese 

 ship bound for Brazil. This incident emphasizes the advantage 

 of having some universal language outside of the marine code. 



However, we had no reason to complain. Jones kept us in 

 constant communication with shore through amateur radio fans. 

 Messages were exchanged with families and friends almost daily, 

 and if any item of real interest was picked up from news-broad- 

 casts, it was posted on the chart-room wall. The absurdity of 

 what is commonly regarded as front-page news in American cities 

 is never so apparent as on a ship like ours. For a time, Jones 

 copied out broadcasts from the most distinguished New York 

 papers: a murder in Cicero; a divorce in Hollywood; a sharp drop 

 in utility-stocks ; a blackmail letter to scion of wealthy New Jersey 

 family; another murder somewhere — this was the fare we were 

 offered from shore. We laughed so heartily at the incongruity 

 of all this and our placid existence, that Jones became discouraged 

 and very properly ceased to take it down. 



By this time our procedure at an oceanographic station had 

 become somewhat standardized, and it might be of interest to 

 describe just what takes place. On the morning of September 

 15, we are about two hundred miles from Barbados. At eight 

 bells the new watch comes on deck and finds everything in readi- 

 ness for heaving to. The winch is uncovered, the wires are threaded 

 through blocks to the davits, outboard-platforms are in place, and 

 running-gear is laid out on deck ready for shortening sail. With 

 the sound of the ship's bell still in our ears, the men dash to the 

 tackle, blocks rattle and yards creak as the squaresails are taken 

 in. The lower topsail alone is not furled, and is set aback to 

 check our headway. Then one after another the fore-and-aft 



