This sight we beheld.  Had old Wouvermans, who once painted a bull bait, been along with us, a rare chance, that, for his pencil.  And Gudin or Isabey might have thrown the blue rolling sea into the picture.  Lastly, one of Claude’s setting summer suns would have glorified the whole.  Oh, believe me, God’s creatures fighting, fin for fin, a thousand miles from land, and with the round horizon for an arena; is no ignoble subject for a masterpiece.

Such are a few of the sights of the great South Sea.  But there is no telling all.  The Pacific is populous as China.

CHAPTER XIV Jarl’s Misgivings

About this time an event took place.  My good Viking opened his mouth, and spoke.  The prodigy occurred, as, jacknife in hand, he was bending over the midship oar; on the loom, or handle, of which he kept our almanac; making a notch for every set sun.  For some forty-eight hours past, the wind had been light and variable.  It was more than suspected that a current was sweeping us northward.

Now, marking these things, Jarl threw out the thought, that the more wind, and the less current, the better; and if a long calm came on, of which there was some prospect, we had better take to our oars.

Take to our oars! as if we were crossing a ferry, and no ocean leagues to traverse.  The idea indirectly suggested all possible horrors.  To be rid of them forthwith, I proceeded to dole out our morning meal.  For to make away with such things, there is nothing better than bolting something down on top of them; albeit, oft repeated, the plan is very apt to beget dyspepsia; and the dyspepsia the blues.

But what of our store of provisions?  So far as enough to eat was concerned, we felt not the slightest apprehension; our supplies proving more abundant than we had anticipated.  But, curious to tell, we felt but little inclination for food.  It was water, bright water, cool, sparkling water, alone, that we craved.  And of this, also, our store at first seemed ample.  But as our voyage lengthened, and breezes blew faint, and calms fell fast, the idea of being deprived of the precious fluid grew into something little short of a mono-mania; especially with Jarl.

Every hour or two with the hammer and chisel belonging to the tinder box keg, he tinkered away at the invaluable breaker; driving down the hoops, till in his over solicitude, I thought he would burst them outright.

Now the breaker lay on its bilge, in the middle of the boat, where more or less sea-water always collected.  And ever and anon, dipping his finger therein, my Viking was troubled with the thought, that this sea-water tasted less brackish than that alongside.  Of course the breaker must be leaking.  So, he would turn it over, till its wet side came uppermost; when it would quickly become dry as a bone.  But now, with his knife, he would gently probe the joints of the staves; shake his head; look up; look down; taste