Consultations about Cape Verde Islands--Flying-fish--English
Steamer--Tropical Showers--Disappointment--Capture of a
Porpoise--May-Day at Sea--An English Bark--Letters for
Home--Another Bark--Nautical Ceremonies--An Aquatic Bird--Crossing
the Equator--Squalls--A Portuguese Brig--Captain J. engages
to stop at Rio Janeiro--Land Seen--Cape Frio--Approach to Rio
Janeiro--Beautiful Scenery--Disappointment.
I have had several consultations with the captain on the subject of
touching at the Cape Verde Islands; and as his chief objection, aside
from one or two days' loss of time, is the port charges, the passengers
have obviated that objection by subscribing an amount much greater than
will be necessary to pay those charges, besides engaging to assist
in getting some pure water on board, of which we are in great want.
I am very desirous of seeing something, however small, of a tropical
country, and of the trees, birds, and other productions of a tropical
climate; and this may be my only opportunity. Above all I long for a
short respite, if only for a day, from this confinement to the vessel,
and for a little exercise upon the land before we continue our long
voyage to the coast of South America.
_April 24._ Saw the flight of a school of flying-fish. They rush
through the air with great rapidity, and generally--those that I have
seen,--against the wind. They look very prettily as they skim over the
water a little above its surface, and follow the undulations of the
waves a distance varying from five to twenty rods. Towards night a
large English steamer with four masts and all sails set, was seen on
our starboard bow, and continued in sight nearly two hours.
This afternoon we had a slight specimen of a tropical shower. Some dark
clouds suddenly arose, and before the heavens were half covered, they
broke upon us in a heavy shower accompanied by thunder, that drove us
all under shelter. It passed away however as quickly as it arose.
We had this day been sailing with a fair breeze, and hoped by to-morrow
to be anchored in one of the harbors of the Cape Verde Islands. We
were much elated at the prospect, and it had been the chief topic of
conversation for two or three days. Judge then of my disappointment
when I learned at night that the captain had ordered the helmsman to
put the bark off to the south-west, the direction of the islands being
south. He had determined to avoid the islands, and we had no other
alternative but to submit. After sailing south-west about four hours in
order to give the islands a wide berth, our course was again changed
to the south. We turned into our berths with no very amiable feeling
towards Capt. J., who, we thought, manifested very little regard for
the welfare or comfort of his passengers.
_Sunday, April 25._ We are passing the Cape Verde Islands without
even the gratification of looking at them. But we have now got the
trade-wind in earnest, and are driving before it at the rate of ten
or eleven knots. We have seen several schools of flying-fish to-day,
and two of them have been picked up on the deck by the sailors. This
afternoon a large school of porpoises came playing round the ship,
and one of them was struck with the harpoon by Sherman, our sailor
passenger, and secured. It was about five feet long, and weighed,
probably, two hundred pounds.
_Monday, April 26._ Some portions of the porpoise killed yesterday
were served up to-day for dinner. The liver was said to be very good,
resembling that of a cow; but the flesh, though relished by some of the
passengers, was black, and had rather a strong flavor. I did not taste
of either of them.
_Saturday, May 1._ May-day at sea. We rose as usual this morning, took
our breakfast, and talked of May-day at home, and of the friends we had
left there, and seeing in fancy the youthful portion of them setting
out on a shivering ramble in pursuit of a few flowers or leaves through
the mud and snow, while we strove to shelter ourselves from the heat of
a tropical sun under an awning of a large sail, which we raised over
the after house, where we sat, lay or walked, and read, talked and
sung, during the day. Towards evening I sat for an hour--and it is an
indolent pleasure I often indulge in--observing the sky and the clouds,
and watching their slow and sometimes almost imperceptible changes
of shape and hue, and in comparing them with the sunset skies of our
northern climes, which, if wanting something of the ethereal softness
of this, are more glowing, more brilliant, and more decidedly beautiful.
_Sunday, May 2._ This morning a sail was seen on our larboard tack,
but the wind being light, we did not speak her till night. We watched
her till after sunset, when her mate boarded us, and reported her to
be an English bark bound for Liverpool. We had been writing letters
all day, hoping this vessel would prove to be an American homeward
bound. We were somewhat disappointed, but as we might not soon have an
opportunity of sending more directly, we decided to send our package,
containing forty-five letters, by the bark to England, thence to be
forwarded by steamer to America.
_Monday, May 3._ Spoke another bark, the Fanny Major, for which I had
prepared another letter, but she was found to be outward-bound, from
New-York to the same port with us, and having on board sixty-five
passengers. Our vessel proved to be the best sailor. We had been
sailing on different tacks, and she was half a mile astern of us, when
our captain backed sail and let her come up. Just at this time a squall
arose, and she soon ranged along-side, and in a few minutes passed by
us. The captains hailed each other through their speaking-trumpets,
asking what port they sailed from, where bound, how long out, what
ports they intended to touch at, what was the longitude by the
reckoning of each, &c. After the bark had passed us we set our sails,
and soon overhauled her. The captains had a few more words, when the
passengers and crew of the New-Yorker gave us three hearty cheers,
which we answered with an equal number, then three more from the
New-Yorker answered by one from us, and our military band, consisting
of a drum and a fife, set up a lively air, when we speedily shot by,
and left her to follow in our wake.
At night we had a visit from a large aquatic bird. After flying around
the ship for some time, she alighted on the jib-boom, and was captured
by Sherman. I was very desirous of preserving the skin of this bird,
which differed from any of those described by Audubon or Wilson, and
was probably not a visitor to the United States; but our captain, who
is a man of contracted views, and is deeply tinctured with a sailor's
whims and superstitions, ordered it to be set at liberty under the
pretense of sympathy.
_Tuesday, May 4._ We have for a week past been drifting,--I can hardly
say sailing, for the winds have been light, and we have made but
little progress,--towards the Equator, and to-day we have crossed that
important geographical line, and passed into another hemisphere. The
event has been celebrated with a good deal of hilarity and nonsense.
Old Neptune appeared on board rigged out with an immense wig of
Manilla cordage, a grotesque mask, red flannel drawers, and a buffalo
coat, and holding the captain's speaking-trumpet in his hand. He was
accompanied by his wife, personated by a thin, slender and active
fellow, arrayed in a long gown and a straw bonnet. They amused us with
a dance to the music of a fiddle, and in return they were treated with
some brandy, of which they partook with great gusto. Neptune enquired
into the affairs of the ship, cautioned the stewards and cooks to do
their duty, gave some wholesome advice to the officers, to whom he was
formally introduced, cracked a good many jokes upon the passengers,
and disappeared. The frolic went off with great good humor among all
parties.
_Wednesday, May 12._ We have had many squalls accompanied with rain for
several days past. Last night a pretty heavy one struck us, sending
down a torrent of rain, which leaked into our berths and houses. Many
of us got well drenched. Feeling rather uncomfortable from the wet,
I arose and stood up by the side of my berth, holding on to it for
support, while the ship rolled violently. But I soon grew tired of
this. So feeling over my bed in the dark, and finding a comparatively
dry place at the foot of it, I changed my pillow to that end, and
turned in again. Lulled to rest by the howling of the wind, the dashing
of the seas, the rushing of several pailfuls of water over the floor
of our room, the hoarse orders of the captain and the answers of the
sailors, I slept till morning.
_Friday, May 14._ Spoke a Portuguese brig bound to Rio Janeiro. Her
decks were crowded with men and women migrating to the New World. I
thought there must have been more than a hundred of them in a vessel
not more than two-thirds as large as ours.
_Saturday, May 15._ We are now distant about four hundred miles from
Rio Janeiro, and have strong hopes that we shall touch there, though
it was the original intention of Captain Jackson to stop at Saint
Catherine's, nearly three hundred miles further south. He is strongly
prejudiced against Rio, having lost a brother and three men, besides
being dangerously ill himself of yellow fever contracted there on a
former visit. Then the port charges are higher at Rio than at St.
Catherine's. This objection, however, the passengers propose to obviate
by paying fifty dollars; and so the captain engages to put in to Rio if
he can ascertain from outward-bound vessels that the place is free from
yellow fever. And none of us wish to go there if it is not, though our
eagerness to step on land once more would induce many of us to incur
some little risk. St. Catherine's is a small island, containing only a
few unimportant villages and towns; and it is said, that in consequence
of the riotous conduct of many Americans who have put in there, the
authorities prohibit a greater number than eight persons landing from
any vessel at one time. This would be an uncomfortable, not to say
insupportable, state of things for a company of eighty-eight men, women
and children, weary of the voyage, and crazy to set foot again on land.
_Wednesday, May 19._ This is the forty-sixth day of our voyage, during
forty-five of which we have not seen land. To-day the cry of land has
resounded through the ship, with not quite the joy and enthusiasm to
us, perhaps, that the same words gave to Columbus and his companions
on the discovery of America, but certainly with a good deal of
satisfaction. I have just seen it, two hills on Cape Frio, which we
are fast approaching. This cape is sixty miles from Rio, where we hope
to arrive early to-morrow, though we are still in great suspense and
uncertainty about stopping there at all.
_Thursday, May 20._ We passed Cape Frio in the night, and are now,
early in the morning, approaching the harbor of Rio. We are now but a
few miles distant from the entrance to the harbor. There it lies before
us. There lie the hills along the coast in almost every variety of
form, some with a gradual rise to their summits, others bold and almost
perpendicular; some smooth and rounded, others abrupt and jagged, and
still others conical, and sharply pointed. There, in the distance, are
the mountains, between which and us is the city, towards which all our
thoughts, wishes and desires so anxiously tend. There lies a beach,
upon which the surf is breaking in long, white swells; and there are
the trees upon the sides and summits of the hills. What a world of new
and curious objects we are about to behold! What a variety of trees and
other plants and flowers and fruits! What grand and beautiful scenery!
and what an endless variety of curiosities, natural and artificial, in
this, to us, new city in a new world!
But are we not to be disappointed at last? Even now, when we are almost
within view of the city, circumstances begin to wear a suspicious
aspect. No vessel is to be seen coming from the harbor, from which we
can obtain information with regard to the health of the city, and our
captain keeps a respectful distance from the coast, as though he feared
to meet one. True, he keeps up a show of going in, by keeping off and
on, but he begins to talk of losing his labor and time, and we perceive
that he has already dropped half a dozen miles to the leeward of the
harbor. We watch his every motion, and listen to every word with deep
anxiety. But he does not keep us long in suspense. A hurried breakfast,
of which I did not partake, is scarcely passed, when the order is
given, "square away the yards," and in an instant all our visions of
Rio Janeiro have vanished. We bid farewell to the city without seeing
it, and to the tropics, without setting foot on their lands, and with
but one indistinct glimpse of the beautiful scenery within their bounds.
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