A SEA OF FIRE.
We sailed from Barbadoes about sunrise on the morning of the 3rd of
March, and sternly I rejoiced that the distance between us and the
land of our conquest and, as I hoped, of retribution, was so short.
All were now on board again, and as we left Carlisle Bay and gained
the open sea, the cheers we exchanged rang merrily from ship to ship.
Bridgetown, with its little spires, the windmills, the mole and
forts, disappeared, as the bay seemed to close its arms, and the
undulating line of coast diminished to a low dark streak, when
evening found us again ploughing the sea of gold and azure, with the
bright-hued dolphin dashing through the brine, and the silver-scaled
flying-fish springing like a work of enchantment, from wave to wave:--
A feeble thing,
With brine still dropping from its wing,
Just sparkling in the solar glow,
To plunge again in depths below.
We had a fair wind, and by lying well to the westward, saw the fading
rays of the setting sun gild the two high and conical hills of St.
Lucia--the Pitons--which are covered from the beach to their summits
with the greenest foliage; but these darkened and seemed to melt away
as the cloudless sun went down beyond the burning sea, while afar off
on our larboard quarter a crimson gleam shot at times across the
horizon. It came from the flaming crater of La Soufrière in St.
Lucia, where clouds of burning alum, sulphur, and cinders are hourly
spouted to the sky.
I was detailed for the middle watch, and, apart from all, trod to and
fro on the lee-side of the main-deck, full of my own thoughts; for at
such a solitary time they came thick and fast upon me--memories of
the lost Eulalie--of my mother's quiet home, and fancies of the
dangers that were now before me, and which every day became more
imminent.
St. Lucia had faded into the sea astern.
It was not without emotions of strange and undefinable interest, that
I gazed upon those isles and the ocean that washed their burning
shores. My memory was filled with stories of Raleigh; of Vasco de
Gama, who doubled the haunted Cape of Storms; of Nunez de Balboa,
who, clad in his armour, toiled in search of the long fabulous
Southern Sea; of Kidd, the daring pirate, of the early navigators, of
the old buccaneers, of marooned men and the savage Caribs, who
roasted and devoured their prisoners. For these isles of modern
wealth and slavery were the ancient arena of battle, storm, and wild
adventure, where sunken wrecks laden with golden doubloons and silver
dollars, were lying in many a bight and bay; where fables said that
treasures buried in the sand were guarded by the spirits of murdered
men; where olive-coloured mermaids whilom sat upon the rocks and
sandy keys, luring mariners to destruction, even as the syrens did in
the classic days of old. Such scenes and stories were always
associated in my mind with memories of Selkirk and Robinson Crusoe,
who, in my boyish dreams, I was wont to consider a very happy fellow
indeed in having, as some one says, "a whole island all to himself;"
but of this kind of happiness the reader will hear more at a future
time.
I remember we passed a lonely little isle, whereon a Spanish hermit
had dwelt for years, subsisting on fruit, fish, and tortoises. His
dwelling was constructed with the bones of a stranded whale; and a
large wooden cross, which he had toiled to erect as a landmark from
the sea, could still be discerned through our telescopes. But to
resume.
The night was soft, and the atmosphere, even at that distance from
the land, possessed the warmth and perfume peculiar to the tropics
and to the isles of the Antilles. The heat of the air was tempered
by the breeze that swept over the rolling waves from shores laden
with the fragrance of fruit and spices, that had basked the livelong
day under the sun of a cloudless sky.
The watch on deck was numerous; but in a large frigate it was easy to
seclude oneself and give way to reverie. In the clear light of the
stars, her cloud of snowy canvas swelled out upon the breeze, and as
she rolled slightly on each successive billow, the reef-points on the
full white bosom of every shadowy sail waved slowly to and fro like
silken fringes.
To windward lay the long line of the fleet--each ship following the
other in silence, like white and noiseless spectres of vast stature,
gliding over the solemn sea; and no light was visible now, save the
red spark of a lantern at the mainmast-head of the admiral's stately
three-decker.
As we proceeded, the sea began gradually to assume a very remarkable
appearance.
Gradually, the wake of every ship--that long white path of boiling
foam which seems to run astern, became a line of apparent
fire--alternately brilliant and lurid, then pale and ashy in hue.
This increased rapidly, till every ridge of water became a dancing
line of red light--every wave a crimson cone, based with emerald
green, till gradually the whole sea around the ship became a sheet of
seeming fire. Amid this, gigantic monsters, wavering and misshapen
in form, gleamed terribly as they shot past in pursuit of each other.
These were merely _fishes_ and animalculæ which were thus magnified
by the effect of this wonderful phenomenon. Every rope that trailed
overboard was covered with flaming light. Flames seemed also to
adhere to the ships' sides, and the spray that flew over their bows
and cat-heads, seemed sparks of living fire.
The wonder and beauty of this terrible scene drew exclamations of
astonishment from all who were on deck; but after we had sailed a few
knots further, the sea of light gradually faded away, and long ere
the night-watch were piped down, the waves that rolled around our
armament, seemed by contrast darker than ever.
This afforded great matter for speculation among the seamen and
Fusiliers of the middle watch; and it was in vain that I endeavoured
to explain the theories of the phosphorescent or luminous sea, by
describing the light-emitting faculties of the myriads of animalculæ,
fish, and slimy substances that float in its depths; for an old tar,
who was a great authority on all matters pertaining to salt water, in
H.M.S. _Adder_, asserted on his "solemn davy 'twarnt no such
thing--but was a spell laid on the water in these here parts in the
old times by some buccaneer, whose ship had been burned after
plundering a church in St. Lucia, and had gone down with all hands on
board, and in flames of fire to the bottom of the sea, where she
would continue to burn till the day of judgment, when we would all be
piped out of our graves on deck."