The Complete Letters. Mark Twain

an almost invisible mark in the bright sky. Dead calm. So the ships have stood, all day long — have not moved 100 yards.

      Aug. 8 — The calm continues. Magnificent weather. The gentlemen have all turned boys. They play boyish games on the poop and quarterdeck. For instance: They lay a knife on the fife-rail of the mainmast — stand off three steps, shut one eye, walk up and strike at it with the forefinger; (seldom hit it;) also they lay a knife on the deck and walk seven or eight steps with eyes close shut, and try to find it. They kneel — place elbows against knees — extend hands in front along the deck — place knife against end of fingers — then clasp hands behind back and bend forward and try to pick up the knife with their teeth and rise up from knees without rolling over or losing their balance. They tie a string to the shrouds — stand with back against it walk three steps (eyes shut) — turn around three times and go and put finger on the string; only a military man can do it. If you want to know how perfectly ridiculous a grown man looks performing such absurdities in the presence of ladies, get one to try it.

      Afternoon — The calm is no more. There are three vessels in sight. It is so sociable to have them hovering about us on this broad waste of water. It is sunny and pleasant, but blowing hard. Every rag about the ship is spread to the breeze and she is speeding over the sea like a bird. There is a large brig right astern of us with all her canvas set and chasing us at her best. She came up fast while the winds were light, but now it is hard to tell whether she gains or not. We can see the people on the forecastle with the glass. The race is exciting. I am sorry to know that we shall soon have to quit the vessel and go ashore if she keeps up this speed.

      Friday, Aug. 10 — We have breezes and calms alternately. The brig is two miles to three astern, and just stays there. We sail directly east — this brings the brig, with all her canvas set, almost in the eye of the sun, when it sets — beautiful. She looks sharply cut and black as a coal, against a background of fire and in the midst of a sea of blood.

      San Francisco, Aug. 20. — We never saw the Comet again till the 13th, in the morning, three miles away. At three o’clock that afternoon, 25 days out from Honolulu, both ships entered the Golden Gate of San Francisco side by side, and 300 yards apart. There was a gale blowing, and both vessels clapped on every stitch of canvas and swept up through the channel and past the fortresses at a magnificent gait.

      I have been up to Sacramento and squared accounts with the Union. They paid me a great deal more than they promised me.

      Yrs aff SAM.

      VI. LETTERS 1866-67. THE LECTURER. SUCCESS ON THE COAST. IN NEW YORK. THE GREAT OCEAN EXCURSION.

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      It was August 13th when he reached San Francisco and wrote in his notebook, “Home again. No — not home again — in prison again, and all the wild sense of freedom gone. City seems so cramped and so dreary with toil and care and business anxieties. God help me, I wish I were at sea again!”