All this, however, was but anticipation.  We were still in fine weather in the North Pacific, running down the northeast trades, which we took on the second day after leaving San Diego.

Sunday, May 15th, one week out, we were in latitude 14 56’ N., lon. 116 14’ W., having gone, by reckoning, over thirteen hundred miles in seven days.  In fact, ever since leaving San Diego, we had had a fair wind, and as much as we wanted of it.  For seven days our lower and topmast studding-sails were set all the time, and our royals and top-gallant studding-sails whenever she could stagger under them.  Indeed, the captain had shown, from the moment we got to sea, that he was to have no boy’s play, but that the ship was to carry all she could, and that he was going to make up by ``cracking on’’ to her what she wanted in lightness.  In this way we frequently made three degrees of latitude, besides something in longitude, in the course of twenty-four hours.  Our days we spent in the usual ship’s work.  The rigging which had become slack from being long in port was to be set up; breast backstays got up; studding-sail booms rigged upon the main yard; and royal studding-sails got ready for the light trades; ring-tail set; and new rigging fitted, and sails made ready for Cape Horn.  For, with a ship’s gear, as well as a sailor’s wardrobe, fine weather must be improved to get ready for the bad to come.  Our forenoon watch below, as I have said, was given to our own work, and our night watches were spent in the usual manner,—­ a trick at the wheel, a lookout on the forecastle, a nap on a coil of rigging under the lee of the rail; a yarn round the windlass-end; or, as was generally my way, a solitary walk fore and aft, in the weather waist, between the windlass-end and the main tack.  Every wave that she threw aside brought us nearer home, and every day’s observation at noon showed a progress which, if it continued, would, in less than five months, take us into Boston Bay.  This is the pleasure of life at sea,—­ fine weather, day after day, without interruption,—­ fair wind, and a plenty of it,—­ and homeward bound.  Every one was in good humor; things went right; and all was done with a will.  At the dog watch, all hands came on deck, and stood round the weather side of the forecastle, or sat upon the windlass, and sung sea-songs and those ballads of pirates and highwaymen which sailors delight in.  Home, too, and what we should do when we got there, and when and how we should arrive, was no infrequent topic.  Every night, after the kids and pots were put away, and we had lighted our pipes and cigars at the galley, and gathered about the windlass, the first question was,—­

``Well, Dana, what was the latitude to-day?’’

``Why, fourteen, north; and she has been going seven knots ever since.’’

``Well, this will bring us to the line in five days.’’

``Yes, but these trades won’t last twenty-four hours longer,’’ says an old salt, pointing with the sharp of his hand to leeward; ``I know that by the look of the clouds.’’