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Sunday July 1st

The head pump having become out of tune some four or five weeks since. The water for washing the Ship's Decks has to be drawn over the side in Buckets, which is done every morning by rigging a whip to the Main Yard during this operation which is often superintended by the Chief Mate, kind affectionate and accommodating soul as he is, not liking to be troubled with the passengers who would wash themselves mornings, had a Leather Bucket made and fastened to the rail, wherewith they might draw their own water. Now this notorious and familiar bucket disappeared one night, and next day a picture of the lost bucket was posted up in front of the Cabin, but our [[underlined]] philanthropic [[/underlined]] Mate would not let us suffer for water or the privilege of drawing it. Caused another to be made of canvass - and forthwith a picture of the successor was placed along side that of the lost one, but the old lost leather bucket could not be forgotten it was continually talked of and last night Whitt paid a tribute to its memory in verse, which he permits me to copy from his journal.    

The Old Leather Bucket 

How queer to each heart are the scenes of our Manhood Especially those of the old liquid blue,
The Cabin, the galley, the coal and the firewood
And every old tin pot which scarce eer was new.
The wide Spreading Sail wheneer you could spy it
The deck and the casks een the Ships Monkey Rail
The bunks of the Sailors, the forecastle nigh it
And een the Rude bucket that laid on the rail
The old leather bucket, that recent lost bucket that
Slab sided bucket that laid on the rail -

That old leather bucket we haild as a Treasure
For always at morn arousing from sleep
It gave us the feelings of joy and of pleasure
As down it descended far into the deep
How ardent wed seize it then overboard throwing
Twould fill with the liquid still onward wed sail
Then quickly while swelling the brim over flowing
With pride would we draw it een unto the rail