On June 9, '08 at 4 o'clock in the morning I was awakened by a knock on my door + the words, "It's former school mate Sign. The "Ocean" is ready to start simply go." I jumped on my rubber boots and did oilskins and was soon out on the wharf where a small boat was waiting to take me -- to the steamer. It was a beautiful morning, and as we sailed down the Sound toward the open sea, there were great patches over the far-away sun-capped mount- ains, drove long plating paths through the fog which hung low over the water ahead. There miles of steaming among the little wooded islets of [illegible] brought us to Cape Horn while gaining the entrance to the Straits of Magellan, and we were soon riding the long swell of the open Pacific. Ahead of us the fog hung like a great white blanket, but the wind which soon began to wash the top of the waves into white-caps gave promise of a clearing away this mist ere the morning was far advanced. Mile after mile was registered by the whirling log which rolled in the water behind us,