We are sometimes amused in the evening, when upon deck, by a little
drummer, who invariably collects all the sailors round him, and spins them
long, endless stories of his own invention, to which they listen with
intense interest. On he goes, without a moment's hesitation, inventing
everything most improbable and wonderful; of knights and giants and
beautiful princesses, and imprisoned damsels, and poor peasants becoming
great kings. He is a little ugly, active fellow, with a turned-up nose, a
merry eye, and a laughing mouth. Amongst his axioms is the following verse,
which he sings with great expression.

Hasta los palos del monte
Tienen su destinacion
Unos nacen para santos
Y otros para hacer carbon.

which may be translated so:

Even the mountain-trees
Have their allotted goal,
For some are born for saints
Whilst others serve for coal.

29th.--Beautiful day, fair wind, great heat, and more fishing. At least
thirty large fish were caught this morning, also an infant shark, a
grandchild who had wandered forth to nibble, and met an untimely grave. We
have seen several alacrans or scorpions on board, but these are said not to
be poisonous. The ship is the perfection of cleanness. No disagreeable
odour affects the olfactory nerves, in which it has a singular advantage
over all packets. This, and having it all to ourselves, and the officers