Saturday, September 14th

(Extract from the log): 'Lat. 40.40 (nearly off Lisbon), nearly calm, a heavy swell from the West. Course S.W. by W. ½ W.' The single man who refused to work yesterday has been 'ordered aft', and stands behind the wheel, a melancholy example of disobedience. Andy says 'there will be bad work yet', the single men will not do all that is required of them and the crew are discontented at being allowed no grog. Told Andy to keep up the credit of the place we came from by obedience and good example. Another instance of mutiny grieves me more. Margaret^* reports that Margaret Ferguson has struck work and when asked to hold the children and make herself useful, tells her that she is not her servant and won't do it. This, after all the trouble Margaret has been at for her, and Robert Wilson too, to take her out of poverty and destitution in Ireland, is the blackest and basest ingratitude. The people are looking today more cheerful, having a little employ ment. Willy McCormick is made happy by having the cow consigned to his care, and he scrubs and handles her as if it had been 'Shusan' at Killinchy. Bob, too, comes in for a little more attention than he used to have when rated among the 'stock' and tended by an indifferent person. Mrs McCormick page 25and Margaret are hemming rubbers with all their might, and Robert Wilson is knitting away cheerily. Andy has had a job in fixing the lock of our cabin door and has done it con amore. Mutton chops at breakfast. Biscuit generally preferred to bread, which latter is getting sour—the cook says because of the water. Pillow cases found after a rummage in the chest, on the top of the trays. I knew Mamma would not have left them out so carelessly as we gave her hasty credit for. In the evening a trial of the French cafetiere which, after an expenditure of about half a pint of spirits of wine, produced a cup of most indifferent coffee in an hour and a half. Mrs Mountfort and her husband took tea in my cabin—combining our stores we made a respectable show upon the sideboard (the washing stand) of plum cake, biscuits and butter, honey, gooseberry jam and marmalade, and the evening passed merrily enough—hysterical merriment, too, for the chief cause of mirth was the battalions of cockroaches, careering about, prying from every corner into every corner, deploying over the tea tray, countermarching upon the slices of cake, enfilading the butter and scaling the jam-pot. Some hoary generals were there—admirals, perhaps, were their better rank, from having made many voyages. They are certainly a great nuisance to look at, but at present have really done nothing disagreeable. After tea a noisy evening on deck. FitzGerald and Wortley fighting a main of cocks (themselves!), Wortley winning by two falls. Laughter most uproarious but hysteric. To bed at four bells.