792 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 25, 1911. 
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a sound of singing. We were making spun 
yarn. Between twisting the hook at my belt 
to which the yarns were tethered I stole 
glances at the island and its hills. It was a 
South Sea island. It was something I would 
remember all my days. For me it was the 
kingdom of romance. It is still. 
“We sailed directly into cold weather off 
Valparaiso and lower in the horse latitudes. 
We were ’way off our course, in the path of 
ships bound for Australia; there was specula¬ 
tion in the foc’sle; it was delivered that we 
might as well go to England round Good Hope 
as the Horn. The weather grew frosty in a 
few hours. I was doubled up with cramps. 
“Now the Wayfarer was plunging into head 
seas; sails must be set and taken in every hour; 
there was no rest on deck, there was no peace 
below. It was abominably cold, and our blood 
was thin from the tropics. We shivered as if 
we had been shaken; I suffered terrible tortures 
from cramps. 
“I got no rest in which to recover from 
them. Without regard to the Board of Trade 
law I was made to do all the lookouts for my 
watch. The captain had a charitable idea of 
saving me from the necessity of going aloft 
on these dark, cold, stormy nights. It was a 
good idea, but the application of it threw me 
into unconquerable despair. 
“There I had to stand six hours’ watch a 
night on the foc’sle head, four hours at a 
stretch for two weeks. Then the time was 
shortened to four hours and I did two two 
hour tricks a night for weeks and weeks. The 
cramps lingered. It seemed as if I could not 
keep my feet. Yet I had to turn out, I had 
to keep my footing on the foc’sle head when 
the able old ship was rolling in the winter seas. 
It was then September, barely spring in the 
Antarctic, which we were nearing every day. 
“Unforgettable those nights on lookout on 
the foc’sle head. There was nothing to do 
but to balance to the roll of the prow, to walk, 
stagger, continuously to and fro to keep less 
cold, to sing to myself, to watch from wrinkled 
eyes the black horizons, port, starboard and 
dead ahead. 
“Oh, those days and days and weeks with¬ 
out respite off Cape Horn, in a sea cold and 
swept by gales, with albatross riding on the 
waters, with Cape pigeons fluttering in the 
wake, with black, monstrous necked birds 
screaming in the combers! Yet those days of 
utter discouragement, of physical hardship, of 
mental ebb helped to form the man in me. 
“A fair wind swept us through the Channel 
and into the North Sea. We had sighted the 
Longstone Island light and had raised St. 
Abb's Head off the mouth of the Firth of 
Forth, our destination, when the worst storm 
of all smote us and drove us out of sight of 
land. 
“The storm lasted twenty-four hours. It was 
the final test. The wind was not to be faced 
unsupported, you clung to something at every 
cautious step, your face was flogged by the 
ribbons of the gale to a pulpiness; the ship no 
longer rolled to the seas, she lay in the trough, 
and terrific waves smashed at her hatches and 
ground about her bulwarks, which tried to 
clinch them as if it had been a boxing match 
and the ship must stop the hammering or die. 
“As it was twenty-four hours more would 
have sunk us, and when the gale ended we were 
eighty miles off our course, surrounded by 
Dutch trawlers with their red stained sails, out 
of sight of land, soggy, freezing—it was De¬ 
cember—and almost ready to give up hope. 
We would have given up hope had it been the 
Horn and not the North Sea. 
“It took us a week to make up what we 
had lost beating against head winds back to 
where St. Abb’s Head lighthouse sent forth its 
friendly beams. And then on a breezy day with 
the wind just fair enough to let us shape our 
course we came ploughing up to the Firth of 
Forth to where we could see the hills of Scot¬ 
land. 
“And at length we lay in the roads at anchor 
and along the shore innumerable lights shone 
massed together at the habitations of men, 
spaced along the streets that men had made, 
arranged in orderly ranks about the piers and 
docks" that men had built, showing white, red, 
green on the stone jetties but chiefly a warm, 
yellow, golden glow of homes. 
“And I asked myself again: What was this 
life of the sea that I _ had essayed? And I 
found the answer not in its disillusion, not in 
its hardship, not in its brutality, but solely, 
gloriously in its truth. It was a true life; there 
were no evasions or softenings about it; there 
were no palliations, no disguises, no decep¬ 
tions. I had lived those five months, and al¬ 
ready over the horror of them, the discomfort, 
the pain, there was spreading the rosy veiling 
of romance.”—The Sun. 
THE GUN TRADE. 
Consul William H. Hunt says of the dis¬ 
trict of St. Etienne, France: 
The year 1910 will be numbered among the 
worst recorded for a long while in France for 
the gun trade. The bad weather, the inunda¬ 
tions which destroyed a great deal of game, and 
the bad state of the crops in all parts of the 
country diminished the resources of many 
people who might have purchased guns. 
It is not surprising that the gunmakers were 
seriously affected by this condition of affairs and 
that the trade in arms and ammunitions was very 
slow all over France. Statistics of the opera¬ 
tions at the Government testing plant for 1910 
show a difference in favor of 1909. In 1910, of 
75.075 barrels inspected, 73,509 were passed, of 
which number 70,942 were accepted and 2,567 
refused. The barrels accepted included 254 
double-barreled muzzle-loading guns, 58.132 
