Chapter 19

In the isle of Napoleon's exile—Two lectures—A guest in the ghost-room at Plantation House—An excursion to historic Longwood—Coffee in the husk, and a goat to shell it—The Spray's ill luck with animals—A prejudice against small dogs—A rat, the Boston spider, and the cannibal cricket—Ascension Island.

On the island of Napoleon's exile. Two lectures. A guest in the ghost room at Plantation House. A trip to historic Longwood. Coffee in its husk, and a goat to shell it. The Spray's bad luck with animals. A dislike of small dogs. A rat, the Boston spider, and the cannibal cricket. Ascension Island.

It was about noon when the Spray came to anchor off Jamestown, and "all hands" at once went ashore to pay respects to his Excellency the governor of the island, Sir R. A. Sterndale. His Excellency, when I landed, remarked that it was not often, nowadays, that a circumnavigator came his way, and he cordially welcomed me, and arranged that I should tell about the voyage, first at Garden Hall to the people of Jamestown, and then at Plantation House—the governor's residence, which is in the hills a mile or two back—to his Excellency and the officers of the garrison and their friends. Mr. Poole, our worthy consul, introduced me at the castle, and in the course of his remarks asserted that the sea-serpent was a Yankee.

It was about noon when the Spray anchored off Jamestown. "All hands" immediately went ashore to pay respects to the island's governor, Sir R. A. Sterndale. When I landed, he remarked that a circumnavigator did not often come his way nowadays. He gave me a warm welcome and arranged for me to tell people about the voyage. First, I would speak to the people of Jamestown at Garden Hall. Then I would speak to the governor, the garrison officers, and their friends at Plantation House. Plantation House was the governor's residence, in the hills a mile or two back. Mr. Poole, our worthy consul, introduced me at the castle. During his remarks, he declared that the sea-serpent was a Yankee.

Most royally was the crew of the Spray entertained by the governor. I remained at Plantation House a couple of days, and one of the rooms in the mansion, called the "west room," being haunted, the butler, by command of his Excellency, put me up in that—like a prince. Indeed, to make sure that no mistake had been made, his Excellency came later to see that I was in the right room, and to tell me all about the ghosts he had seen or heard of. He had discovered all but one, and wishing me pleasant dreams, he hoped I might have the honor of a visit from the unknown one of the west room. For the rest of the chilly night I kept the candle burning, and often looked from under the blankets, thinking that maybe I should meet the great Napoleon face to face; but I saw only furniture, and the horseshoe that was nailed over the door opposite my bed.

The governor treated the crew of the Spray like royalty. I stayed at Plantation House for a couple of days. One room in the mansion, called the "west room," was haunted. By order of his Excellency, the butler put me up in that room, like a prince. Indeed, his Excellency came later to make sure I was in the right room. He also told me about all the ghosts he had seen or heard about. He had discovered all but one. Wishing me pleasant dreams, he hoped I might have the honor of a visit from the unknown ghost of the west room. For the rest of the chilly night, I kept the candle burning. I often looked out from under the blankets, thinking I might meet the great Napoleon face to face. But I saw only furniture and the horseshoe nailed over the door opposite my bed.

St. Helena has been an island of tragedies—tragedies that have been lost sight of in wailing over the Corsican. On the second day of my visit the governor took me by carriage-road through the turns over the island. At one point of our journey the road, in winding around spurs and ravines, formed a perfect W within the distance of a few rods. The roads, though tortuous and steep, were fairly good, and I was struck with the amount of labor it must have cost to build them. The air on the heights was cool and bracing. It is said that, since hanging for trivial offenses went out of fashion, no one has died there, except from falling over the cliffs in old age, or from being crushed by stones rolling on them from the steep mountains! Witches at one time were persistent at St. Helena, as with us in America in the days of Cotton Mather. At the present day crime is rare in the island. While I was there, Governor Sterndale, in token of the fact that not one criminal case had come to court within the year, was presented with a pair of white gloves by the officers of justice.

St. Helena has been an island of tragedies. They have been forgotten amid the mourning for the Corsican. On the second day of my visit, the governor took me along the winding roads across the island. At one point, the road wound around ridges and ravines, forming a perfect W within a few rods. Though winding and steep, the roads were fairly good. I was struck by how much work it must have taken to build them. The air on the heights was cool and refreshing. It is said that, since hanging people for minor offenses went out of fashion, no one has died there. The only exceptions are those who fall over the cliffs in old age or are crushed by stones rolling down the steep mountains! Witches were once a persistent presence on St. Helena, as they were in America in Cotton Mather’s day. Today, crime is rare on the island. While I was there, the officers of justice presented Governor Sterndale with a pair of white gloves. The gift marked the fact that not one criminal case had come to court during the year.

Returning from the governor's house to Jamestown, I drove with Mr. Clark, a countryman of mine, to "Longwood," the home of Napoleon. M. Morilleau, French consular agent in charge, keeps the place respectable and the buildings in good repair. His family at Longwood, consisting of wife and grown daughters, are natives of courtly and refined manners, and spend here days, months, and years of contentment, though they have never seen the world beyond the horizon of St. Helena.

On my way back from the governor's house to Jamestown, I drove with Mr. Clark, a fellow countryman, to "Longwood," Napoleon's home. M. Morilleau, the French consular agent in charge, keeps the place respectable and the buildings in good repair. His wife and grown daughters live with him at Longwood. They are local women with courteous, refined manners. They spend their days, months, and years here contentedly, though they have never seen the world beyond the horizon of St. Helena.

On the 20th of April the Spray was again ready for sea. Before going on board I took luncheon with the governor and his family at the castle. Lady Sterndale had sent a large fruit-cake, early in the morning, from Plantation House, to be taken along on the voyage. It was a great high-decker, and I ate sparingly of it, as I thought, but it did not keep as I had hoped it would. I ate the last of it along with my first cup of coffee at Antigua, West Indies, which, after all, was quite a record. The one my own sister made me at the little island in the Bay of Fundy, at the first of the voyage, kept about the same length of time, namely, forty-two days.

On April 20, the Spray was ready for sea again. Before going aboard, I had lunch with the governor and his family at the castle. Early that morning, Lady Sterndale had sent a large fruitcake from Plantation House for me to take on the voyage. It was a great tall cake, and I thought I ate it sparingly, but it did not last as long as I had hoped. I ate the last of it with my first cup of coffee at Antigua, West Indies. That was quite a record, after all. The cake my own sister made me on the little island in the Bay of Fundy, at the start of the voyage, lasted about the same length of time: forty-two days.

After luncheon a royal mail was made up for Ascension, the island next on my way. Then Mr. Poole and his daughter paid the Spray a farewell visit, bringing me a basket of fruit. It was late in the evening before the anchor was up, and I bore off for the west, loath to leave my new friends. But fresh winds filled the sloop's sails once more, and I watched the beacon-light at Plantation House, the governor's parting signal for the Spray, till the island faded in the darkness astern and became one with the night, and by midnight the light itself had disappeared below the horizon.

After lunch, a royal mail bag was prepared for Ascension, the next island on my route. Then Mr. Poole and his daughter came to say goodbye aboard the Spray, bringing me a basket of fruit. It was late in the evening before I raised anchor and headed west, reluctant to leave my new friends. But fresh winds filled the sloop's sails once more. I watched the beacon at Plantation House, the governor's farewell signal to the Spray. The island faded into the darkness behind me and became one with the night. By midnight, the light itself had disappeared below the horizon.

When morning came there was no land in sight, but the day went on the same as days before, save for one small incident. Governor Sterndale had given me a bag of coffee in the husk, and Clark, the American, in an evil moment, had put a goat on board, "to butt the sack and hustle the coffee-beans out of the pods." He urged that the animal, besides being useful, would be as companionable as a dog. I soon found that my sailing-companion, this sort of dog with horns, had to be tied up entirely. The mistake I made was that I did not chain him to the mast instead of tying him with grass ropes less securely, and this I learned to my cost. Except for the first day, before the beast got his sea-legs on, I had no peace of mind. After that, actuated by a spirit born, maybe, of his pasturage, this incarnation of evil threatened to devour everything from flying-jib to stern-davits. He was the worst pirate I met on the whole voyage. He began depredations by eating my chart of the West Indies, in the cabin, one day, while I was about my work for'ard, thinking that the critter was securely tied on deck by the pumps. Alas! there was not a rope in the sloop proof against that goat's awful teeth!

When morning came, there was no land in sight. The day passed like the days before, except for one small incident. Governor Sterndale had given me a bag of coffee still in its husks. And Clark, the American, had put a goat on board in an evil moment, "to butt the sack and hustle the coffee-beans out of the pods." He said the animal would be useful and as good a companion as a dog. I soon found that this sailing companion, this sort of dog with horns, had to be kept tied up. My mistake was tying him less securely with grass ropes instead of chaining him to the mast. I learned that to my cost. Except for the first day, before the beast got his sea legs, I had no peace of mind. After that, driven by a spirit perhaps born of his grazing days, this embodiment of evil threatened to eat everything from the flying jib to the stern davits. He was the worst pirate I met on the whole voyage. He began his raids one day by eating my chart of the West Indies in the cabin. I was working forward, thinking the critter was securely tied on deck by the pumps. Alas! There was not a rope in the sloop that could resist that goat's awful teeth!

It was clear from the very first that I was having no luck with animals on board. There was the tree-crab from the Keeling Islands. No sooner had it got a claw through its prison-box than my sea-jacket, hanging within reach, was torn to ribbons. Encouraged by this success, it smashed the box open and escaped into my cabin, tearing up things generally, and finally threatening my life in the dark. I had hoped to bring the creature home alive, but this did not prove feasible. Next the goat devoured my straw hat, and so when I arrived in port I had nothing to wear ashore on my head. This last unkind stroke decided his fate. On the 27th of April the Spray arrived at Ascension, which is garrisoned by a man-of-war crew, and the boatswain of the island came on board. As he stepped out of his boat the mutinous goat climbed into it, and defied boatswain and crew. I hired them to land the wretch at once, which they were only too willing to do, and there he fell into the hands of a most excellent Scotchman, with the chances that he would never get away. I was destined to sail once more into the depths of solitude, but these experiences had no bad effect upon me; on the contrary, a spirit of charity and even benevolence grew stronger in my nature through the meditations of these supreme hours on the sea.

It was clear from the start that I had no luck with animals on board. There was the tree-crab from the Keeling Islands. As soon as it got a claw through its box, it tore my sea-jacket to ribbons. The jacket was hanging within reach. Encouraged by this success, the crab smashed the box open and escaped into my cabin. It tore up things all over the cabin and finally threatened my life in the dark. I had hoped to bring the creature home alive, but that proved impossible. Next, the goat ate my straw hat, so when I reached port, I had no hat to wear ashore. This last unkind act decided his fate. On April 27, the Spray arrived at Ascension, which was garrisoned by the crew of a warship. The island's boatswain came on board. As he stepped out of his boat, the mutinous goat climbed in and defied the boatswain and crew. I hired them to take the wretch ashore at once, and they were only too willing to do so. There he fell into the hands of a most excellent Scotchman, and he would probably never get away. I was destined to sail once more into the depths of solitude, but these experiences had no bad effect on me. On the contrary, as I reflected during those supreme hours at sea, a spirit of charity and even goodwill grew stronger in me.

In the loneliness of the dreary country about Cape Horn I found myself in no mood to make one life less in the world, except in self-defense, and as I sailed this trait of the hermit character grew till the mention of killing food-animals was revolting to me. However well I may have enjoyed a chicken stew afterward at Samoa, a new self rebelled at the thought suggested there of carrying chickens to be slain for my table on the voyage, and Mrs. Stevenson, hearing my protest, agreed with me that to kill the companions of my voyage and eat them would be indeed next to murder and cannibalism.

In the lonely, dreary country around Cape Horn, I had no desire to take a life, except in self-defense. As I sailed on, this hermit’s feeling grew until even the mention of killing animals for food disgusted me. However much I may have enjoyed a chicken stew later in Samoa, a new self rebelled at a suggestion made there. Someone suggested I take chickens along to be killed for my meals during the voyage. When Mrs. Stevenson heard my protest, she agreed with me. To kill my companions on the voyage and eat them would be almost like murder and cannibalism.

As to pet animals, there was no room for a noble large dog on the Spray on so long a voyage, and a small cur was for many years associated in my mind with hydrophobia. I witnessed once the death of a sterling young German from that dreadful disease, and about the same time heard of the death, also by hydrophobia, of the young gentleman who had just written a line of insurance in his company's books for me. I have seen the whole crew of a ship scamper up the rigging to avoid a dog racing about the decks in a fit. It would never do, I thought, for the crew of the Spray to take a canine risk, and with these just prejudices indelibly stamped on my mind, I have, I am afraid, answered impatiently too often the query, "Didn't you have a dog!" with, "I and the dog wouldn't have been very long in the same boat, in any sense." A cat would have been a harmless animal, I dare say, but there was nothing for puss to do on board, and she is an unsociable animal at best. True, a rat got into my vessel at the Keeling Cocos Islands, and another at Rodriguez, along with a centiped stowed away in the hold; but one of them I drove out of the ship, and the other I caught. This is how it was: for the first one with infinite pains I made a trap, looking to its capture and destruction; but the wily rodent, not to be deluded, took the hint and got ashore the day the thing was completed.

As for pets, there was no room on the Spray for a fine large dog on such a long voyage. For many years, I had associated small dogs with rabies. I once saw a fine young German die of that dreadful disease. Around the same time, I heard of another death from rabies. The victim was the young gentleman who had just entered an insurance policy for me in his company’s books. I have seen a whole ship’s crew scramble up the rigging to escape a dog racing around the deck in a fit. I thought it would never do for the crew of the Spray to take a risk with a dog. These well-founded prejudices were firmly fixed in my mind. I am afraid I have too often answered the question, "Didn’t you have a dog!" impatiently: "The dog and I wouldn’t have been in the same boat for very long, in any sense." A cat would have been harmless, I dare say, but there was nothing for her to do on board. Besides, a cat is an unsociable animal at best. True, a rat got into my vessel at the Keeling Cocos Islands, and another at Rodriguez. A centipede also stowed away in the hold. But I drove one rat off the ship and caught the other. This is how it happened: I took great pains to make a trap to catch and kill the first rat. But the clever rodent was not fooled. It took the hint and went ashore the day I finished the trap.

It is, according to tradition, a most reassuring sign to find rats coming to a ship, and I had a mind to abide the knowing one of Rodriguez; but a breach of discipline decided the matter against him. While I slept one night, my ship sailing on, he undertook to walk over me, beginning at the crown of my head, concerning which I am always sensitive. I sleep lightly. Before his impertinence had got him even to my nose I cried "Rat!" had him by the tail, and threw him out of the companionway into the sea.

Tradition says it is a very reassuring sign when rats come aboard a ship. I was inclined to let the clever rat from Rodriguez stay, but a breach of discipline decided the matter against him. One night, while I slept and my ship sailed on, he started to walk over me, beginning at the crown of my head. I am always sensitive about that. I sleep lightly. Before the impudent rat had even reached my nose, I cried "Rat!" I caught him by the tail and threw him out through the companionway into the sea.

As for the centiped, I was not aware of its presence till the wretched insect, all feet and venom, beginning, like the rat, at my head, wakened me by a sharp bite on the scalp. This also was more than I could tolerate. After a few applications of kerosene the poisonous bite, painful at first, gave me no further inconvenience.

I didn’t know the centipede was there until the wretched insect, all feet and venom, woke me with a sharp bite on my scalp. Like the rat, it had started at my head. This, too, was more than I could tolerate. The poisonous bite was painful at first, but after a few applications of kerosene, it gave me no further trouble.

From this on for a time no living thing disturbed my solitude; no insect even was present in my vessel, except the spider and his wife, from Boston, now with a family of young spiders. Nothing, I say, till sailing down the last stretch of the Indian Ocean, where mosquitos came by hundreds from rain-water poured out of the heavens. Simply a barrel of rain-water stood on deck five days, I think, in the sun, then music began. I knew the sound at once; it was the same as heard from Alaska to New Orleans.

From then on, for a time, no living thing disturbed my solitude. There was not even an insect aboard, except the spider and his wife from Boston, who now had a family of young spiders. Nothing disturbed me until I sailed down the last stretch of the Indian Ocean. There, mosquitoes came by the hundreds from rainwater poured out of the heavens. A barrel of rainwater stood on deck in the sun for five days, I think. Then the music began. I knew the sound at once. It was the same sound heard from Alaska to New Orleans.

Again at Cape Town, while dining out one day, I was taken with the song of a cricket, and Mr. Branscombe, my host, volunteered to capture a pair of them for me. They were sent on board next day in a box labeled, "Pluto and Scamp." Stowing them away in the binnacle in their own snug box, I left them there without food till I got to sea—a few days. I had never heard of a cricket eating anything. It seems that Pluto was a cannibal, for only the wings of poor Scamp were visible when I opened the lid, and they lay broken on the floor of the prison-box. Even with Pluto it had gone hard, for he lay on his back stark and stiff, never to chirrup again.

Back in Cape Town, I was dining out one day when a cricket’s song caught my attention. My host, Mr. Branscombe, offered to catch a pair of crickets for me. They were sent aboard the next day in a box labeled, "Pluto and Scamp." I tucked their snug box into the binnacle and left them there without food for a few days, until I went to sea. I had never heard of a cricket eating anything. It seems that Pluto was a cannibal. When I opened the lid, only poor Scamp’s wings were visible, broken on the floor of the box that held them prisoner. Even Pluto had fared badly. He lay on his back, stiff and lifeless, never to chirp again.

Ascension Island, where the goat was marooned, is called the Stone Frigate, R. N, and is rated "tender" to the South African Squadron. It lies in 7 degrees 35' south latitude and 14 degrees 25' west longitude, being in the very heart of the southeast trade-winds and about eight hundred and forty miles from the coast of Liberia. It is a mass of volcanic matter, thrown up from the bed of the ocean to the height of two thousand eight hundred and eighteen feet at the highest point above sea-level. It is a strategic point, and belonged to Great Britain before it got cold. In the limited but rich soil at the top of the island, among the clouds, vegetation has taken root, and a little scientific farming is carried on under the supervision of a gentleman from Canada. Also a few cattle and sheep are pastured there for the garrison mess. Water storage is made on a large scale. In a word, this heap of cinders and lava rock is stored and fortified, and would stand a siege.

Ascension Island, where the goat was stranded, is called the Stone Frigate, R. N. It is rated a "tender" to the South African Squadron. The island lies at 7 degrees 35' south latitude and 14 degrees 25' west longitude. It is right in the heart of the southeast trade winds, about eight hundred and forty miles from the coast of Liberia. The island is a mass of volcanic material, thrown up from the ocean floor. Its highest point is two thousand eight hundred and eighteen feet above sea level. It is a strategic point, and belonged to Great Britain before it got cold. At the top of the island, among the clouds, plants have taken root in the limited but rich soil. A little scientific farming is carried on there under the supervision of a gentleman from Canada. A few cattle and sheep also graze there to feed the garrison. Water is stored on a large scale. In short, this heap of cinders and lava rock is stocked and fortified, and could withstand a siege.

Very soon after the Spray arrived I received a note from Captain Blaxland, the commander of the island, conveying his thanks for the royal mail brought from St. Helena, and inviting me to luncheon with him and his wife and sister at headquarters, not far away. It is hardly necessary to say that I availed myself of the captain's hospitality at once. A carriage was waiting at the jetty when I landed, and a sailor, with a broad grin, led the horse carefully up the hill to the captain's house, as if I were a lord of the admiralty, and a governor besides; and he led it as carefully down again when I returned. On the following day I visited the summit among the clouds, the same team being provided, and the same old sailor leading the horse. There was probably not a man on the island at that moment better able to walk than I. The sailor knew that. I finally suggested that we change places. "Let me take the bridle," I said, "and keep the horse from bolting." "Great Stone Frigate!" he exclaimed, as he burst into a laugh, "this 'ere 'oss wouldn't bolt no faster nor a turtle. If I didn't tow 'im 'ard we'd never get into port." I walked most of the way over the steep grades, whereupon my guide, every inch a sailor, became my friend. Arriving at the summit of the island, I met Mr. Schank, the farmer from Canada, and his sister, living very cozily in a house among the rocks, as snug as conies, and as safe. He showed me over the farm, taking me through a tunnel which led from one field to the other, divided by an inaccessible spur of mountain. Mr. Schank said that he had lost many cows and bullocks, as well as sheep, from breakneck over the steep cliffs and precipices. One cow, he said, would sometimes hook another right over a precipice to destruction, and go on feeding unconcernedly. It seemed that the animals on the island farm, like mankind in the wide world, found it all too small.

Soon after the Spray arrived, I received a note from Captain Blaxland, the island's commander. He thanked me for bringing the royal mail from St. Helena. He also invited me to lunch with him, his wife, and his sister at headquarters, nearby. I hardly need say that I accepted the captain's hospitality at once. When I landed, a carriage was waiting at the jetty. A sailor with a broad grin carefully led the horse up the hill to the captain's house. He treated me as if I were a lord of the admiralty and a governor besides. He led the horse just as carefully down again when I returned. The next day I visited the summit among the clouds. The same horse and carriage were provided, with the same old sailor leading the horse. At that moment, probably no man on the island was better able to walk than I was. The sailor knew that. Finally, I suggested that we change places. "Let me take the bridle," I said, "and keep the horse from bolting." "Great Stone Frigate!" he exclaimed, bursting into laughter. "This horse wouldn't bolt any faster than a turtle. If I didn't tow him hard, we'd never get into port." I walked most of the way over the steep slopes. After that, my guide, a sailor through and through, became my friend. At the island's summit, I met Mr. Schank, the farmer from Canada, and his sister. They lived very comfortably in a house among the rocks, as snug and safe as rabbits. He showed me around the farm, taking me through a tunnel between two fields. An impassable mountain ridge separated the fields. Mr. Schank said he had lost many cows and bullocks, as well as sheep, to falls from the steep cliffs and precipices. Sometimes, he said, one cow would hook another right over a precipice to its death, then go on feeding unconcerned. It seemed that the animals on the island farm, like mankind in the wide world, found the place all too small.

On the 26th of April, while I was ashore, rollers came in which rendered launching a boat impossible. However, the sloop being securely moored to a buoy in deep water outside of all breakers, she was safe, while I, in the best of quarters, listened to well-told stories among the officers of the Stone Frigate. On the evening of the 29th, the sea having gone down, I went on board and made preparations to start again on my voyage early next day, the boatswain of the island and his crew giving me a hearty handshake as I embarked at the jetty.

On April 26, while I was ashore, large waves came in, making it impossible to launch a boat. But the sloop was safe, securely moored to a buoy in deep water beyond all the breakers. Meanwhile, I stayed in the best of quarters, listening to the officers of the Stone Frigate tell good stories. By the evening of April 29, the sea had calmed, so I went aboard and prepared to resume my voyage early the next day. As I embarked at the jetty, the island’s boatswain and his crew gave me a hearty handshake.

For reasons of scientific interest, I invited in mid-ocean the most thorough investigation concerning the crew-list of the Spray. Very few had challenged it, and perhaps few ever will do so henceforth; but for the benefit of the few that may, I wished to clench beyond doubt the fact that it was not at all necessary in the expedition of a sloop around the world to have more than one man for the crew, all told, and that the Spray sailed with only one person on board. And so, by appointment, Lieutenant Eagles, the executive officer, in the morning, just as I was ready to sail, fumigated the sloop, rendering it impossible for a person to live concealed below, and proving that only one person was on board when she arrived. A certificate to this effect, besides the official documents from the many consulates, health offices, and customhouses, will seem to many superfluous; but this story of the voyage may find its way into hands unfamiliar with the business of these offices and of their ways of seeing that a vessel's papers, and, above all, her bills of health, are in order.

For reasons of scientific interest, I invited a thorough investigation in mid-ocean into the Spray's crew list. Very few had challenged it, and perhaps few ever will again. But for those who might, I wanted to establish the facts beyond doubt. A sloop sailing around the world needed no more than one person in its entire crew, and the Spray sailed with only one person aboard. So, by arrangement, Lieutenant Eagles, the executive officer, fumigated the sloop that morning, just as I was ready to sail. This made it impossible for anyone to remain hidden below and proved that only one person was aboard when the sloop arrived. A certificate stating this, in addition to the official documents from the many consulates, health offices, and customhouses, will seem unnecessary to many. But this story of the voyage may reach readers unfamiliar with the work of these offices. They may not know how the offices ensure that a vessel's papers, and above all, her bills of health, are in order.

The lieutenant's certificate being made out, the Spray, nothing loath, now filled away clear of the sea-beaten rocks, and the trade-winds, comfortably cool and bracing, sent her flying along on her course. On May 8, 1898, she crossed the track, homeward bound, that she had made October 2, 1895, on the voyage out. She passed Fernando de Noronha at night, going some miles south of it, and so I did not see the island. I felt a contentment in knowing that the Spray had encircled the globe, and even as an adventure alone I was in no way discouraged as to its utility, and said to myself, "Let what will happen, the voyage is now on record." A period was made.

Once the lieutenant’s certificate was prepared, the Spray willingly sailed clear of the wave-battered rocks. The trade winds, comfortably cool and refreshing, sent her flying along her course. On May 8, 1898, heading home, she crossed her outward track from October 2, 1895. She passed several miles south of Fernando de Noronha at night, so I did not see the island. I felt content knowing that the Spray had circled the globe. Even as an adventure alone, I had no doubts about its usefulness. I said to myself, "Whatever happens, the voyage is now on record." A chapter had closed.