No vessels in the world go so sparingly manned as American and English; and none do so well.  A Yankee brig of that size would have had a crew of four men, and would have worked round and round her.  The Italian ship had a crew of thirty men, nearly three times as many as the Alert, which was afterwards on the coast, and was of the same size; yet the Alert would get under way and come-to in half the time, and get two anchors, while they were all talking at once,—­ jabbering like a parcel of ``Yahoos,’’ and running about decks to find their cat-block.

There was only one point in which they had the advantage over us, and that was in lightening their labors in the boats by their songs.  The Americans are a time and money saving people, but have not yet, as a nation, learned that music may be ``turned to account.’’ We pulled the long distances to and from the shore, with our loaded boats, without a word spoken, and with discontented looks, while they not only lightened the labor of rowing, but actually made it pleasant and cheerful, by their music.  So true is it, that:—­

   ``For the tired slave, song lifts the languid oar,
        And bids it aptly fall, with chime
     That beautifies the fairest shore,
        And mitigates the harshest clime.’’

After lying about a week in San Pedro, we got under way for San Diego, intending to stop at San Juan, as the southeaster season was nearly over, and there was little or no danger.

This being the spring season, San Pedro, as well as all the other open ports upon the coast, was filled with whales, that had come in to make their annual visit upon soundings.  For the first few days that we were here and at Santa Barbara, we watched them with great interest, calling out ``There she blows!’’ every time we saw the spout of one breaking the surface of the water; but they soon became so common that we took little notice of them.  They often ``broke’’ very near us, and one thick, foggy night, during a dead calm, while I was standing anchor-watch, one of them rose so near that he struck our cable, and made all surge again.  He did not seem to like the encounter much himself, for he sheered off, and spouted at a good distance.  We once came very near running one down in the gig, and should probably have been knocked to pieces or thrown sky-high.  We had been on board the little Spanish brig, and were returning, stretching out well at our oars, the little boat going like a swallow; our faces were turned aft (as is always the case in pulling), and the captain, who was steering, was not looking out when, all at once, we heard the spout of a whale directly ahead. ``Back water! back water, for your lives!’’ shouted the captain; and we backed our blades in the water, and brought the boat to in a smother of foam.  Turning our heads, we saw a great, rough, hump-backed whale slowly crossing our fore foot, within three or four yards of the boat’s stem.  Had we not backed water