_Revs_.--I don't know, but the propellers swirl faithfully and
unceasingly.

_Wind_.--W. by E. Bearing a message across the vast Atlantic of hope
and present succour from our new great Ally, the mighty Republic of
the West. America, ah America! But we of the sea are men of few words,
and this is not the place.

_Force_.--3. A balmy zephyr, yet with the sharp salt tang of the sea
that a sailor loves.

_Sea_.--2. Softly undulating is the swell, scarce perceptible to
inexperienced eyes, such as those of the land-lubbers on the towering
decks of the great liners; gleaming dead copper and blue in the
morning sun, flecked with spectral white in the distance--the easy
roll of untrammelled waters!

_Weather_.--C. Detached clouds. Almost had I written "B," seeing the
perfect filmy blue all around the horizon; but a seaman's scrutiny
showed me faint fluffy wisps o'erhead, luminous and marged with
palest gold; and ever must a sailor be suspicious of the treacherous
weather-god.

_Thermometer_.--42°. Not yet is Winter here, but its threat
approaches.

_Barometer_.--30·01. Will it stay there?

_Remarks_.--Once more we set out on our ceaseless vigil, our
* * * * *