Ledyard, you would have thought, would be gripping reading. He was born in Conneticut, and went to college at Dartmouth for one year, but then built a dug-out Indian-style canoe, and took off down river towards the sea. He sailed as Corporal of marines on Cook's voyage of discovery. The first American to be tattooed in Hawaii. Wrote an eye witness account of Cook's death. Tried to cross Russia overland, but was arrested as a spy by the secret police of the Empress, Catherine the Great, and deported. A busy man. Died in Cairo aged 37 "of dysentery and impatience" we are told.

And yet I had been forewarned that this book would be dull by no less an authority than Hermann Melville himself. Melville, at the very beginning of Moby Dick, has the narrator go into a tavern, looking for a ship to sign on to. He encounters some old salts and listens to yarns of adventures on the high seas over a pot of ale or two. And he comments that sea-faring seems to make men great raconteurs.... then he starts to catalogue those who have been to the sea in ships and written about their adventures. The list starts with Jonah and Ulysses if memory serves, and covers several others from Sinbad to Columbus and beyond, until finally he says "with the notable except of John Ledyard, who presumably lost the use of those parlour skills during the 3 years he stood behind a dog-team."....or something to that effect.

Well, I gave Ledyard the benefit of the doubt and gave the book a try. Dry as dust. Hard to read, and mostly boring. Melville was right. Don't bother to buy it.