THE DREAM SHIP 



supply of vino tinto, and set sail for the 

 West Indies. 



THE GREAT ADVENTURE REALLY BEGINS 



The great adventure had now begun in 

 earnest. 



Three thousand miles of Atlantic 

 Ocean lay ahead of us — a waste of waters 

 holding we knew not what of new ex- 

 perience. For the first time since setting 

 sail, our undertaking imbued us with a 

 certain amount of awe. 



At night, alone at the tiller, one began 

 to think : Would the drinking water hold 

 out? What if the chronometer broke 

 down? Supposing — It was necessary 

 to think of other things, but what? 



Staring into the lighted binnacle, with 

 its swaying compass card, or down at the 

 phosphorescent water, swirling and hiss- 

 ing past the ship's stern, the helmsman 

 became as one hypnotized. It seemed 

 that he was not of this world, but an 

 atom hurtling through space. The temp- 

 tation was to surrender himself to the 

 sensuous joy of it — a temptation only 

 resisted by an almost painful effort and 

 a knowledge that the lives of all aboard 

 depend on his keeping his leaden eyelids 

 from closing down. 



A four hours' watch is too long. They 

 do not allow it in the mercantile marine. 

 But what were we to do ? We kept a 

 marlinspike handy, and when oblivion 

 threatened we used it ; that was all. 



It will be seen that a dream ship is not 

 all dream. If it were, such is the per- 

 versity of human nature, the dreamer 

 would' probably be tired of it inside of a 

 month. 



"I can promise you the northeast 

 'trades' the whole way across," said the 

 skipper of a fine, six-masted schooner at 

 Las Palmas. turning the pages of his log. 

 and that may account for the fact that 

 not for one day of the Atlantic passage 

 did we encounter a northeast wind. We 

 could have crossed in an open boat, for 

 all of the weather, and three becalmed 

 days in mid-ocean we occupied in swim- 

 ming around the ship or diving down to 

 scrape the barnacles off her copper. 



Yet we made Barbados, West Indies, 

 in thirty days, and gladly surrendered 

 ourselves to the tender mercies of the 

 most charming, hospitable people one 

 could wish to meet. 



My recollections of our two weeks' so- 

 journ are a trifle vague, owing to the 

 rapidity with which one pleasure suc- 

 ceeded another. I remember lying at 

 anchor, with awnings up, in the most 

 beautiful bay it is possible to conceive, 

 and sleeping twenty-four hours on end. 



From then onward life consisted in 

 "swizzles," car rides over a fairy island, 

 and more "swizzles," pony races to the 

 accompaniment of "swizzles," surf bath- 

 ing followed by "swizzles," and evenings 

 at the Savannah Club, where conversation 

 was punctuated and sometimes drowned 

 by the concoction of yet more "swizzles" 

 by a hard-worked army of colored folk 

 behind a gleaming mahogany bar. 



There is no escaping the "swizzle" in 

 Barbados, even if one wished to, which 

 personally I did not. They are a delight- 

 ful, healthful drink composed of the very 

 best rum, Angostura bitters, syrup, fresh 

 lime, nutmeg, and ice, the whole swizzled 

 to the creamy consistency of — But I 

 forget that I am addressing a country in 

 the throes of total abstinence, and, what- 

 ever my faults, I have never been ac- 

 cused of making a man's mouth water 

 without supplying the deficiency. 



Hot-foot from a ball at one of the 

 hotels, we literally fled aboard ship and 

 sailed by stealth, otherwise I am con- 

 vinced that we should be at Barbados 

 still, imbibing "sw — ." 



UNDAUNTED BY WEATHER PROPHETS 



"Look out for the Caribbean Sea to- 

 ward December," was another axiom of 

 our six-masted-schooner friend at Las 

 Palmas ; but he proved no less fallible 

 over the passage from Barbados to Colon 

 than he had concerning the Atlantic. In 

 fact, I am thinking of, in the future, ask- 

 ing advice of weather prophets and ex- 

 pecting the reverse. 



A spanking, following wind, with main- 

 sail and squaresail set, brought us within 

 sight of land in seven days, a distance of 

 twelve hundred miles. But what land ? 

 For a time we were at a loss. Compar- 

 ing it with the chart and descriptions in 

 "sailing directions" revealed nothing. 



It was a low-lying, mist-enshrouded, 

 sinister-looking land, and we sailed along 

 its coast for a day and a night before we 

 could tell whether we had passed Colon 

 or hit the coast to the eastward. 



