Tuesday, November 12th, 1867

Another change in the weather. Last night our room felt like an oven. At 4 a.m. I was glad to draw the bedclothes over me, windows all shut and raining. At 9 a.m. had a conversation with a Brig called the Wanderer from Virginia, bound to Rio Janeiro, fifty days out – so he is worse off than us. We see plenty of vessels in this part of the ocean but none except ourselves bound to Cal. Another vessel on the lee side hoisting his flags to us but he is too far off for us to distinguish them.