Another Sunday at sea, I wonder how many more. I fancy not many if we could insure as good luck the rest of the way as we have had the last week. The best week’s run since we left N.Y., one thousand and ninety nine miles. Today we are three thousand seven hundred and seventy miles from S.F. We have just dined off roast lamb, green peas, etc. etc., plum pudding of course, all very good indeed.

The commodore has been quite sick all week, but I am pleased to say much better and ate a hearty dinner. He looks well notwithstanding his sickness. On the whole I suppose we have not taken much harm on our long voyage although we have had many weary days and nights to encounter. But this is past now and we are so far on our way in safety with my humble thanks to an all wise Providence for his kind protection.

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