and see an imaginary whale, which he conjures up regularly before
breakfast, and which invariably disappears before we can get on deck,
as mysteriously as "Moby Dick." The whale, however, fails to draw
after a time, and he resorts to an equally mysterious and eccentric
sea-serpent, whose wonderful appearance he describes in comical broken
English with the vain hope that we will crawl out into the raw foggy
atmosphere to look at it. We never do. Bush opens his eyes, yawns, and
keeps a sleepy watch of the breakfast table, which is situated in the
captain's cabin forward. I cannot see it from my berth, so I watch
Bush. Presently we hear the humpbacked steward's footsteps on the deck
above our heads, and, with a quick succession of little bumps, half a
dozen boiled potatoes come rolling down the stairs of the companionway
into the cabin. They are the forerunners of breakfast. Bush watches
the table, and I watch Bush more and more intently as the steward
brings in the eatables; and by the expression of Bush's face, I judge
whether it be worth while to get up or not. If he groans and turns
over to the wall, I know that it is only hash, and I echo his groan
and follow his example; but if he smiles, and gets up, I do likewise,
with the full assurance of fresh mutton-chops or rice curry and
chicken. After breakfast the Major smokes a cigarette and looks
meditatively at the barometer, the captain gets his old accordion and
squeezes out the Russian National Hymn, while Bush and I go on deck
to inhale a few breaths of pure fresh fog, and chaff the second mate
about his sea-serpent. In reading, playing checkers, fencing, and
climbing about the rigging when the weather permits, we pass away the
day, as we have already passed away twenty and must pass twenty more
before we can hope to see land.

AT SEA, NEAR THE ALEUTIAN ISLANDS.
_August 6, 1865_.