I never sailed on a more active ship than the Wright. In ordinary
seas, walking was a matter of difficulty, and when the wind freshened
to a gale locomotion ceased to be a pastime. Frequently I wedged
myself into my berth with books and cigar boxes. On the first day out,
my dog (for I traveled with a dog) was utterly bewildered, and
evidently thought himself where he did not belong. After falling a
dozen times upon his side, he succeeded in learning to keep his feet.
The carpenter gave him a box for a sleeping room, but the space was so
large that, his body did not fill it. On the second day from port he
took the bit of carpet that formed his bed and used it as a wedge to
keep him in position. From, that time he had no trouble, though he was
not fairly on his sea legs for nearly a week.

Sometimes at dinner our soup poured into our laps and seemed engaged
in reconstructing the laws of gravitation. The table furniture was
very uneasy, and it was no uncommon occurrence for a tea cup or a
tumbler to jump from its proper place and turn a somersault before
stopping. We had no severe storm on the voyage, though constantly in
expectation of one.

In 1865 the Wright experienced heavy gales with little interruption
for twelve days. She lost her chimney with part of her sails, and lay
for sixteen hours in the trough of the sea. The waves broke over her
without hindrance and drenched every part of the ship. Covert gave an
amusing account of the breaking of a box of soap one night during the
storm. In the morning the cabin, with all it contained, was thoroughly
lathered, as if preparing for a colossal shave.

Half way across the ocean we were followed by sea-birds that,