OUR FIRST EVENING AT SEA.
THURSDAY EVENING, _June 30_. At sea. I am now writing, for the first
time to-day, by the candles on our table in the main cabin of the
Integrity. We are sailing northward with a fair wind, but with fog and
rather rough water. But let me go back, and take the day from the
beginning, passing lightly over its labors and vexations.
The morning opened upon us brilliantly, and all were employed about
those many little things which only can be done at the last moment. Noon
came and an early dinner, before that all were in readiness and aboard.
And then, as if in retaliation for our delay during so many lovely
hours, the wind was not ready, and so we were obliged to be towed by the
Blue Jacket quite out into broad water, where she left us with our
colors quivering in the sunshine, and all our canvas swelling in a mild
southerly breeze. The coast scenery, and the iceberg of Torbay, and the
last gleams of sunset upon land and ocean, were the lions of the
afternoon.
We have taken our first tea, counting, with a lad in the charge of Mr.
Hutchinson, six around the table, and making, with the crew, eleven
souls, quite a little congregation, could all be spared to attend the
short morning and evening services. We are just beginning to feel the
effects of a small vessel with no lading beyond a light ballast. She
rolls excessively, rises with every swell, and pitches into the
succeeding hollow. This has already begun to disperse our company to
their berths, as the more comfortable place for the random conversation
which will close the day.