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Thursday, March 23, 1911
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Mild excitement this morning. We sighted something ahead of us on the horizon, which steamed back and forth across our bows, evidently waiting for us to come up. A little, and we found she was a Portuguese man-o'-war. She continued the same sort of game, and made us change course to keep clear of her. When we did get abreast of her she tried to give us a bit of a run for our money, but we soon left her behind. They were just playing the bloody fool, and trying to show us how smart they were, said the Cap'n. 

My prognostication (Feb. 1st) was krect. Polaris was there, though indis- [[continued on opposite page]] 23rd (continued)
tinct in the mist. 

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Friday, March 24, 1911
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The morning of the ninth day. Brite and fair. But damned windy and ditto cold. 

We have unearthed - or rather Dowling, that young hope of the Emerald Isle, did,- the national hanthem of this here ship, to wit, "Harrigan". By that immortal poet and musician Georgemcohan, It's a regular institution after tea, each day. 

Cameron, the other 'Murrican, is slowly gettin' me offen the broad "a". I hope to be entirely repatriated by the time we get to Sandy Hook.

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