Sunday, September 22nd

Woke to find ourselves in the tropics at last. A fresh breeze—or what landsmen would call a high wind—was blowing dead aft and making the vessel roll and pitch uncomfortably enough. But as it kept the deck cool and tempered the action of a tropical sun, we were to consider ourselves fortunate. Lat. 22.27. Service on deck at half past ten of the Liturgy without Communion Service, and a sermon by Mr Kingdon. The Psalms for the day very appropriate—'They that go down to the sea in ships', etc. On deck till two and read my Christian Year for the day and for page 31St Matthew's Day, also the 'Forms of Prayer to be used at Sea' Forgot yesterday to mention the appearance of the first number of the Cockroach, in a cover beautifully emblazoned with the cockroach 'proper' by FitzGerald in sepia. A good leading article by FitzGerald, a chapter on the Canary Islands and an effusion called the 'Cockroach's Meditations' by Cholmondeley were most admired. It gives hopeful promise by being free from personal allusion or witless gossip. Herewith:

The Meditation of a Cockroach
I am no less than a cockroach bold,
Creeping and crawling from deck to hold,
Hunting each cabin and hammock and bed
Under the pillow where rests your head,
Under the tablecloth, up the chair,
I run up your sleeves and I crawl through your hair;
Neither man nor child does the cockroach spare,
But most I visit the ladies fair;
And they all behold me with shudder and scream
And start from my presence as from an ill dream,
So ugly and black I can make myself seem.

This is surely a destiny great,
This is indeed a station
Worthy the wish of the subtle fate
Of the mighty chief of the noble state
Of the ancient Cockroach nation!

For I am the Prince of the Cockroaches all,
And they bow before me in bower and hall.
And the Captain owns me for what I am,
And takes off his cap with a low salaam.
And when I appear the sailors say
'Make room, my lads, without delay
For the King of the Cockroaches comes this way'.

Father Hesper! Father Hesper!
Hear my prayer I vow:
Hearken to my chirping whisper
Rising from below.
My religious fits come seldom,
So you'd better listen now.
For my lungs are feeble—smaller
Than the organs of a man,

page 32

I was never yet a bawler,
Hear me, therefore, while you can.
If I lie, I wish the cook may
Pop me in the pan.
By the pensive ray
Of Cynthia's gleams,
By the dawn of day
Flushed with rosy beams,
By the frolickings of Phosphor
On the broken sea,
I beseech ye—prosper
All who sail with me.
By the starry choir that lances
A pale nightly glance
On the bark that heaves and dances
As the billows dance,
Guide us—guide our ship and cargo
On the infinite expanse.

And may every jovial sailor, gentleman and lady fair
Treat the gentle cockroach kindly, mindful of his heartfelt prayer.
Thus sublimely, in the dreamy slumbers of the midnight bed
Rose the meditation; and I heard the words the being said.
And my soul was greatly shaken, and my limbs were cramped with dread.
For methought a mighty cockroach squatted close beside my head.
And I sought to clutch him, but the monster with the vision fled.

Today I saw the first flying fish and during the whole afternoon was amused by coveys of them flying across—or rather flitting across—the water. They rather disappointed me, as I imagined them to be larger and to fly higher. Very few at dinner, the gale having upset a good many of the invalids who had grown courageously well. The Doctor, as usual, the worst invalid in the ship. Several leaks appear in our cabin, and the drip from the ceiling is very uncomfortable, yet not much misfortune after all. The Captain says ten days of this breeze will take us to the line. Porpoises appeared at nightfall playing about the ship. A strong fair breeze carries us gaily on.