We had a splendid opportunity to study the waves, and it was with a never-failing fascination that I always looked for the occasional grouping of three or four large rollers, rising above the rest, due to a piling up because of differences in rate of progress. On the ships of an earlier day, the fear of being "pooped" was always uppermost in the minds of timid helmsmen, but on the _Fuller_ we were protected in a measure by the wheelhouse. This structure, right aft against the taffrail, served as a shelter, and at the same time housed the tiller, the tiller shackles, and the relieving tackles. The fore part was given over to the wheel and was quite fancy, immaculate white gratings under foot, bright wood panelling inside and brass fittings wherever possible. A sliding shutter overhead was thrown back, when on the wind, to allow the helmsman a sight of the weather cloth of the mizzen skysail. Just forward of the binnacle, and taking in the whole front of the wheelhouse, was a window fitted with sliding shutters. At least one of these was always open, for the officer of the deck never came into the wheelhouse when on duty, merely shouting his orders to the man at the helm. The good sense that finally provided wheelhouses on sailers was amply justified. Comparative warmth and protection from wind and sea helped just that much in steering, and a far better course was held through the long, strenuous watches of heavy weather. The wheelhouse was always one of the most comfortable spots aboard ship.
To my mind, steering was a lot of fun. This was specially so in good lively weather. The direct pull of the rudder, the "kick" and the "feel" of the ship never failed to thrill me with a sense of power. Just as handling "the stick" on a good able boat in fine brisk weather is a sport of never-ending delight, so the trick at the wheel aboard the _Fuller_ always made me feel that I was the man who sailed the ship.
The pointer by old Bo'sun Dreilick, of the _St. Mary's_, and now of the _Newport_, that ancient mariner of many, many voyages, filled with the accumulated wisdom of the seven seas, stood me in good stead. "When at the wheel, work the ship in your mind as if you had charge of the watch," was his advice. Doing this aboard the _Fuller_ with such a consummate sailor as Mr. Zerk in charge was an instructive exercise. During daytime tricks I could see where sails needed trimming, or where a shift of canvas would help her, and would often have everything settled in my mind before the mate would notice things. At night it was different. The least shift of wind or the slightest change of weather always found him on the alert. To an ambitious lad, anxious to master the hoary art of conducting a ship across the surface--decidedly, surface--of the many wrinkled ocean, this practice can be recommended; the only trouble is that such ambitious lads are now scarce, and the ships are scarcer still.