Having got through the ship’s duty, and washed and changed our clothes, we went below, and had a fine time overhauling our chests, laying aside the clothes we meant to go ashore in, and throwing overboard all that were worn out and good for nothing.  Away went the woollen caps in which we had carried hides upon our heads, for sixteen months, on the coast of California; the duck frocks for tarring down rigging; and the worn-out and darned mittens and patched woollen trousers which had stood the tug of Cape Horn.  We hove them overboard with a good will; for there is nothing like being quit of the very last appendages, remnants, and mementos of our hard fortune.  We got our chests all ready for going ashore; ate the last ``duff’’ we expected to have on board the ship Alert; and talked as confidently about matters on shore as though our anchor were on the bottom.

``Who’ll go to church with me a week from to-day?’’

``I will,’’ says Jack; who said aye to everything.

``Go away, salt water!’’ says Tom. ``As soon as I get both legs ashore, I’m going to shoe my heels, and button my ears behind me, and start off into the bush, a straight course, and not stop till I’m out of the sight of salt water!’’

``Oh! belay that!  If you get once moored, stem and stern, in old Barnes’s grog-shop, with a coal fire ahead and the bar under your lee, you won’t see daylight for three weeks!’’

``No!’’ says Tom, ``I’m going to knock off grog and go and board at the Home, and see if they won’t ship me for a deacon!’’

``And I,’’ says Bill, ``am going to buy a quadrant and ship for navigator of a Hingham packet!’’

Harry White swore he would take rooms at the Tremont House and set up for a gentleman; he knew his wages would hold out for two weeks or so.

These and the like served to pass the time while we were lying waiting for a breeze to clear up the fog and send us on our way.

Toward night a moderate breeze sprang up; the fog, however, continuing as thick as before; and we kept on to the eastward.  About the middle of the first watch, a man on the forecastle sang out, in a tone which showed that there was not a moment to be lost,—­ ``Hard up the helm!’’ and a great ship loomed up out of the fog, coming directly down upon us.  She luffed at the same moment, and we just passed each other, our spanker boom grazing over her quarter.  The officer of the deck had only time to hail, and she answered, as she went into the fog again, something about Bristol.  Probably a whaleman from Bristol, Rhode Island, bound out.  The fog continued through the night, with a very light breeze, before which we ran to the eastward, literally feeling our way along.  The lead was heaved every two hours, and the gradual change from black mud to sand showed that we were approaching Nantucket South Shoals.  On Monday morning, the increased depth and dark-blue color of the water, and the mixture of shells and white