"Sur duro, Norte seguro."
"A south wind strong, The norther ere long."
This morning the sky is covered with watery clouds, yet we can see the
Cofre de Perote and the peak of Orizava, which are thirty leagues inland!
The latter, called by the Mexicans, Citlal Tepetl, or the mountain of the
star, from the fire which used to burn on its lofty summit, rises nineteen
thousand five hundred and fifty-one feet above the level of the sea.
Covered with perpetual snows, and rising far above clouds and tempests, it
is the first mountain which the navigator discovers as he approaches these
shores.
But the south wind continues and we are obliged to turn our back to the
coast. There is much impatience on board. A---- was taken ill, and declared
she had got the yellow fever. The doctor was sent for, who, very sick
himself, and holding by the table to keep himself from falling, told her,
without looking at her very particularly, that there was nothing the
matter, only to keep yourself "_quite quiet and still_;" and the ship
rolling at the same moment, he pitched head-foremost out of the cabin,
showing practically how much easier precept is than example. As we shall no
doubt have a norther after this, which may last three days, our promised
land is still at some distance.
5th.--The weather is charming, but the south-west wind holds most
implacably, and the barometer has fallen five or six degrees, which, added
to other signs of the times known to navigators, causes all hands to
prepare for the dreaded enemy.
6th.--Job never was on board a ship. A norther, not a very severe one, but
what they call a _Norte chocolatero_, that is, its shock tore a sail in
two, as I tear this sheet of paper. The most ingenious person I see is "the
master of the sails." He sews most excessively quick and well. Towards
evening the wind calmed, but the ship, tossed upon a horribly swelled sea,
became a mortal purgatory. Still the wind is lulled, though Humboldt and
others say a Norte must last forty-eight hours, and we have only had it for
twenty-four. We shall see.
7th.--A most horrible night! My hammock, which I had foolishly preferred to
a bed, not having room to swing in, threw me furiously against the wall,
till fearing a broken head, I jumped out and lay on the floor. To-day there
is a comparative calm, a faint continuation of the Norte, which is an air
with variations. Everything now seems melancholy and monotonous. We have
been tossed about during four days in sight of Vera Cruz, and are now
further from it than before. The officers begin to look miserable; even the
cook with difficulty preserves his equilibrium.
Sunday, 8th.--A Norte! The sky is watery, and covered with shapeless masses
of reddish clouds. This is a great day amongst all Spanish Catholics, _Le
Virgen de la Concepción_, the patroness of Spain and the Indies; but no
mass to-day; the padre sick and the Norte blowing. What a succession of
long faces--walking barometers!
9th.--Yesterday evening the wind held out false hopes, and every one
brightened up with caution, for the wind, though faintly, blew from the
right quarter. The rain ceased, the weather cleared, and "hope, the
charmer," smiled upon us. The greater was our disappointment when the
breeze died away, when the wind veered to the north, and when once more the
most horrible rolling seized the unfortunate Jason, as if it were possessed
by a demon. Finding it impossible to lie in my hammock, I stretched myself
on the floor; where, during a night that seemed interminable, we were
tossed up and down, knocked against the furniture, and otherwise
maltreated.
This morning there is little wind, but that little from the north, so that
the termination of our voyage appears as far off now as it did eight days
ago. The faces of all on board are calmly lugubrious. Little said. A few
Spanish shrugs interchanged with ominous significance.
10th.--As there is only one particular wind during which it is not
dangerous to approach the coast, namely, "_la brisa_," the breeze which
usually follows the norther, we may spend our Christmas here. The weather
is beautiful, though very sultry, especially during the calms which
intervene between the _nortes_. With books one might take patience, but I
read and re-read backwards and forwards everything I possess, or can
find--reviews, magazines, a volume of Humboldt, even an odd volume of the
"Barber of Paris"--"Turkish Letters," _purporting_ to be the translation of
a continuation of the Montesquieu's "Lettres Persanes," and in which the
hero, disguised as a gardener, brings the Visier's daughter a bouquet,
which she condescendingly receives, lying in bed _a l'Espagnole!_ I am now
reduced to a very serious Spanish work on the truth of Christianity.
This evening, to the joy of all on board, arose the long-desired breeze.
The ship went slowly and steadily on her course, at first four, then eight
knots an hour. The captain, however, looked doubtingly, and, indeed,
towards morning, the wind changed to the south, and our hopes died away.
11th.--Contrary wind. A south, expected to be followed by a "norte seguro."
But now, at eleven, A.M., it is quite calm, and very sultry, whilst to
increase, if possible, our weariness, a long range of lofty mountains
stretches along the horizon, from Punta Delgada to the Cofre de Perote, and
on till they seem to sink in the ocean. Behind the Cofre rises Orizava, now
like a white cloud, but this morning tinged with a rosy light by the rays
of the rising sun. The sea is tranquil and the horizon clear, nevertheless
the enemy is looked for. There are a few white and feathery clouds
flickering about in the sky, and there is an uneasy swell in the waves....
At three o'clock, out burst the norther, which, like the flaming sword,
guarding the issues of paradise,
"Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful faces throng'd and fiery arms,"
seems to warn off all vessels from approaching these iron-bound shores.
Eleven days within a few hours' distance of the coast!
16th.--Five days more passed with a continuation of contrary winds and
constant rolling. We are further from hope than we were fourteen days ago.
Captain, officers, sailors, all seem nearly disheartened. This morning they
caught the most beautiful fish I ever beheld, of the dolphin
species--the Cleopatra of the ocean, about four feet long, apparently
composed of gold, and studded with turquoises. It changed colour in dying.
There is a proverb, which the sailors are repeating to each other, not very
encouraging:
"Este es el viage del Orinoco.
Que él que no se murio, se volvió loco."
"This is the voyage of the Orinoco,
in which he who did not die, became crazy."
17th.--Spoke a goleta, who came close up by our vessel, and seemed to have
a miserable set on board, amongst others, a worthy pair from Havana, who
had just come out of prison, having been accused of murdering a negro. The
wind continues contrary. I shall fold up this sea-scrawl, and write no more
till we reach Vera Cruz.