The evening of Friday, December the 12th, saw the repairs of the machinery of the vessel completed, the Alabama being at, nightfall about opposite to the little town of St. Anne’s.  That evening the crew were exercised at quarters; and the next day, after a thorough cleaning of the decks, &c., the vessel ran away to the westward of the Island of Jamaica, en route for another point of rendezvous, at which to take in fresh coal, and other needful supplies.

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Saturday, December 13th.—...  Nothing in sight, and I intend to see nothing—­unless it be a homeward-bound Californian steamer—­at present, as it is important I should make the run I contemplate without being traced.  I should have much liked to touch at the Caymans for fruit and vegetables for the crew, but forbear on this account.

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Monday, December 15th.—­Fresh trade, ship rolling along under topsails.  This running down, down, the ever-constant trade wind—­to run up against it, by and by, under steam—­is not very pleasant.  Still, God willing, I hope to strike a blow of some importance, and make my way safely out of the Gulf.

Wednesday, December 17th.—­The wind blew quite fresh during the night from about N.E. by N. To-day it is blowing a moderate gale from about N.N.E.  This is probably a norther from the American coast, modified by its contact with the N.E. trade wind.  The clouds look hard and wintry.  Close-reefed at nightfall....  The gale has continued all day, with a rough sea, in which the ship is rolling and tumbling about.  Weather cloudy and gloomy-looking, and the wind moaning and whistling through the rigging—­enough to give one the blues.  These are some of the comforts of sea-going, and we have had our share of them in the Alabama.

Thursday, December 18th.—­The gale continues, with dense clouds in every direction obscuring the heavens so that we get no meridian altitude.  I got a glimpse of the sun at about nine minutes past noon.  When one’s ship is in a doubtful position, how eagerly and nervously one watches the shifting clouds near noon, and how remorsely they sometimes close up their dense masses just at the critical moment, shutting out from us the narrowly-watched face of the sun!  One is foolish enough sometimes almost to feel a momentary resentment against inanimate nature—­weak mortals that we are!

The gale has drifted us so far to leeward that the wind from its present quarter will no longer permit us to “lay through” the Yucatan passage, so at 2 P.M. we tacked to the southward and eastward.  Weather still thick in the afternoon, with light rain at intervals.  We had a very ugly sea lashing us this morning—­the ship rolling so heavily as to awaken me frequently, though I sleep in a swinging cot; and the water swashing over the decks, and rushing by bucketsful down the companion-way, which we are obliged to keep open to avoid being smothered.