Richard H. Dana, Jr., 1815-1882, was the son of Richard H. Dana, the poet.  He was born in Cambridge, Mass.  In his boyhood be had a strong desire to be a sailor, but by his father’s advice chose a student’s life, and entered Harvard University.  At the age of nineteen an affection of the eyes compelled him to suspend his studies.  He now made a voyage to California as a common sailor, and was gone two years.  On his return, he resumed his studies and graduated in 1837.  He afterwards studied law, and entered upon an active and successful practice.  Most of his life was spent in law and politics, although he won distinction in literature.

The following extract is from his “Two Years before the Mast,” a book published in 1840, giving an account of his voyage to California.  This book details, in a most clear and entertaining manner, the everyday life of a common sailor on shipboard, and is the best known of all Mr. Dana’s works. ###

It is usual, in voyages round the Cape from the Pacific, to keep to the eastward of the Falkland Islands; but, as there had now set in a strong, steady, and clear southwester, with every prospect of its lasting, and we had had enough of high latitudes, the captain determined to stand immediately to the northward, running inside the Falkland Islands.  Accordingly, when the wheel was relieved at eight o’clock, the order was given to keep her due north, and all hands were turned up to square away the yards and make sail.

In a moment the news ran through the ship that the captain was keeping her off, with her nose straight for Boston, and Cape Horn over her taffrail.  It was a moment of enthusiasm.  Everyone was on the alert, and even the two sick men turned out to lend a hand at the halyards.  The wind was now due southwest, and blowing a gale to which a vessel close-hauled could have shown no more than a single close-reefed sail; but as we were going before it, we could carry on.  Accordingly, hands were sent aloft and a reef shaken out of the topsails, and the reefed foresail set.  When we came to masthead the topsail yards, with all hands at the halyards, we struck up, “Cheerly, men,” with a chorus which might have been heard halfway to Staten Island.

Under her increased sail, the ship drove on through the water.  Yet she could bear it well; and the captain sang out from the quarter-deck—­ “Another reef out of that fore topsail, and give it to her.”  Two hands sprang aloft; the frozen reef points and earings were cast adrift, the halyards manned, and the sail gave out her increased canvas to the gale.  All hands were kept on deck to watch the effect of the change.  It was as much as she could well carry, and with a heavy sea astern, it took two men at the wheel to steer her.