NOTEBOOK

day before yesterday when we first struck the cold
weather.

Friday night nth, 2 bells. P. Peterson has just died,
"dropsy"—the Highland light, the lightship and several
other lights at entrance to N. Y. harbor in full view.
This is the 8th death this voyage. Bury him ashore, as
we are now on soundings,

N. Y. Jan. 12. Arrived today, 275/2 days out.

There is no mention of quarantine at New
York, so we can only assume that there was
none. Imagine a "cholera ship" docking in New
York today! But then, of course, the last man
died of "dropsy."

That Whining Puppy

Scared at the storm that first night out from San Fran-
cisco—his little wife out observing the signs of the
weather.

He whined all the way down and was nursed by her.

He'd lay and whine on the lake boat and she sat up all
night and fanned him. The sofa in the social hall was
coolest place and she wanted it—he wouldn't give it up.
She tried the stateroom—too hot—came back and fanned
him all night. On the last boat on the San Juan she slept
in a grass hammock without blankets and he lay on the
deck on the blankets and whined as usual.

At Grey Town he went ashore and wouldn't let her go.

In the Gulf he was scared to death about the cholera—
she sat by his bedside and fanned him two whole days
and he whining with a headache which he feared was the
cholera—yet he went to his meals regularly.

Took y& share in the $40 worth of brandy at Key
West and has not paid his $5.

S3