V.

A calm--A breeze on the water--The land of flowers--Juan

Ponce de Leon--The fountain of perpetual youth--An

irremediable loss to single gentlemen--Gulf Stream--New-

Providence--Cuba--Pan of Matanzas--Blue hills of Cuba--An

armed cruiser--Cape St. Antonio--Pirates--Enter the Mexican

Gulf--Mobile--A southern winter--A farewell to the North and

a welcome to the South--The close of the voyage--Balize--

Fleet--West Indiaman--Portuguese polacre--Land ho!--The land

--Its formation--Pilot or "little brief authority"--Light-

house--Revenue cutter--Newspapers--"The meeting of the

waters"--A singular appearance--A morning off the Balize--

The tow-boat.

During the period we lay becalmed under a burning sun, which, though

entering its winter solstice retained the fervour of summer fire, we

passed the most of our time in the little cockle-shell of a yawl, (as

though the limits of our ship were not confined enough) riding

listlessly upon the long billows or rowing far out from the ship, which,

with all her light sails furled, rolled heavily upon the crestless

billows, suggesting the anomalous idea of power in a state of

helplessness.

An hour before sunset our long-idle sails were once more filled by a

fine breeze, which, ruffling the surface of the ocean more than a league

distant, we had discerned coming from the Florida shore, some time

before it reached us; and as it came slowly onward over the sea, we

watched with no little anxiety the agitated line of waves which danced

merrily before it, marking its approach.

A faintly delineated gray bank lining the western horizon, marked the

"land of flowers" of the romantic Ponce de Leon. Can that be Florida!

the _Pasqua de Flores_ of the Spaniards--the country of blossoms and

living fountains, welling with perpetual youth! were our reflections as

we gazed upon the low marshy shore. Yet here the avaricious Spaniard

sought for a mine more precious than the diamonds and gold of the Incas!

a fountain whose waters were represented to have the wonderful property

of rejuvenating old age and perpetuating youth! Here every wrinkled

Castilian Iolas expected to find a Hebe to restore him to the bloom and

vigour of Adonis! But alas, for the bachelors of modern days, the seeker

for fountains of eternal youth wandered only through inhospitable wilds,

and encountered the warlike Seminoles, who, unlike the timorous natives

of the newly discovered Indies, met his little band with bold and

determined resolution. After a long and fruitless search, he returned to

Porto Rico, wearied, disappointed, and no doubt with his brow more

deeply furrowed than when he set out upon his singularly romantic

expedition.

While we glided along the Florida shore, which was fast receding from

the eye, a sudden boiling and commotion of the sea, which we had

remarked some time before we were involved in it, assured us that we had

again entered the Gulf Stream, where it rushes from the Mexican Sea,

after having made a broad sweep of eighteen hundred miles, and in twenty

days after emerging from it in higher latitudes. Our course was now very

sensibly retarded by the strong current against which we sailed, though

impelled by a breeze which would have wafted us, over a currentless sea,

nine or ten miles an hour. In the afternoon the blue hills of Cuba,

elevated above the undulating surface of the island, and stretching

along its back like a serrated spine, reared themselves from the sea far

to the south; and at sunset the twin hills of Matanzas, for which

sailors' imaginations have conjured up not the most pleasing

appellation--could be just distinguished from the blue waves on the

verge of the ocean; and receding from the sea, with an uneven surface,

the vast island rose along the whole southern horizon, not more than

four or five leagues distant. The Florida shore had long before

disappeared, though several vessels were standing toward it, bound

apparently into Key West, between which and Havana we had seen an armed

schooner, under American colours, hovering during the whole afternoon.

Cape St. Antonio, the notorious rendezvous of that daring band of

pirates, which, possessing the marauding without the chivalrous spirit

of the old buccaneers, long infested these seas, just protruded above

the rim of the horizon far to the south-east. We soon lost sight of it,

and in the evening, altering our course a little to avoid the shoals

which are scattered thickly off the southern and western extremity of

Florida, ran rapidly and safely past the Tortugas--the Scylla and

Charybdis of this southern latitude.

We already begin to appreciate the genial influence of a southern

climate. The sun, tempered by a pleasant wind, beams down upon us warm

and cheerily--the air is balmy and laden with grateful fragrance from

the unseen land--and though near the first of December, at which time

you dwellers under the wintry skies of the north, are shivering over

your grates, we have worn our summer garments and palm-leaf hats for

some days past. If this is a specimen of a southern winter, where

quietly to inhale the mellow air is an elysian enjoyment--henceforth

sleighing and skating will have less charms for me.

We are at last at the termination of our voyage upon the _sea_. In three

days at the farthest we expect to land in New-Orleans. But three days

upon the waveless Mississippi to those who have been riding a month upon

the ocean, is but a trifle. After an uncommonly long, but unusually

pleasant passage of thirty-one days, we anchored off the Balize[1] last

evening at sun set.

The tedious monotony of our passage since leaving Cuba, was more than

cancelled by the scenes and variety of yesterday. We had not seen a sail

for four or five days, when, on ascending to the deck at sunrise

yesterday morning, judge of my surprise and pleasure at beholding a

fleet of nearly fifty vessels surrounding us on every side, all standing

to one common centre; in the midst of which our own gallant ship dashed

proudly on, like a high mettled courser contending for the victory. To

one imprisoned in a companionless ship on the broad and lonely ocean so

many days, this was a scene, from its vivid contrast, calculated to

awaken in the bosom emotions of the liveliest gratification and

pleasure.

A point or two abaft our beam, within pistol shot distance, slowly and

majestically moved a huge, British West Indiaman, her black gloomy hull

wholly unrelieved by brighter colours, with her red ensign heavily

unfolding to the breeze in recognition of the stars and stripes,

floating gracefully at our peak. Farther astern, a taunt-rigged, rakish

looking Portuguese polacca (polaque) carrying even in so light a breeze

a "bone in her teeth," glided swiftly along, every thing set from deck

to truck. We could distinctly see the red woollen caps and dark red

faces of her crew, peering over the bow, as they pointed to, and made

remarks upon our ship. Early in the morning, about a league ahead of

us, we had observed a heavy sailing Dutch ship, as indeed all Dutch

ships are; about eleven o'clock we came up with, and passed her, with

the same facility as if she had been at anchor. On all sides of us

vessels of nearly every maritime nation were in sight; and in

conjectures respecting them, and in admiring their variety of

construction and appearance, we passed most of the day, elated with the

prospect of a speedy termination to our voyage.

Before we had completed dinner, the cry of "Land ho!" was heard from the

main-top, and in the course of half an hour we saw from the deck, not

exactly _land_, but an apology for it, in the form and substance of an

immense marsh of tall, wild grass, which stretched along the horizon

from west to east _ad infinitum_. This soil, if you may term it such, is

formed by the accumulation and deposition of ochreous matter discharged

by the Mississippi, whose turbid waters are more or less charged with

terrene particles, so much so, that a glass filled with its water

appears to deposit in a short time a sediment nearly equal to

one-twelfth of its bulk. The matter discharged by the river, condensed

and strengthened by logs, trees, grass, and other gross substances, is

raised above the ordinary tide waters, upon which a soil is formed of

mingled sand and marl, capable of producing the long grass, which not

only lines the coast in the vicinity of this river, but extends many

miles into the interior, where it unites with the cypress swamps which

cover the greater part of the unreclaimed lowlands of Louisiana. We

coasted along this shore till about three in the afternoon, when the

light-house at the South-East passage, the chief _embouchure_ of the

Mississippi, appeared in sight but a few miles ahead; passing this, we

received a pilot from a fairy-like pilot-boat, which, on delivering him,

bounded away from us like a swift-winged albatross. About four o'clock

the light-house at the South-West passage lifted its solitary head above

the horizon. The breeze freshening, we approached it rapidly, under the

guidance of the pilot, who had taken command of our ship. When nearly

abreast of the light-house, a fierce little warlike-looking revenue

cutter ran alongside of us, and lowering her boat, sent her lieutenant

on board, to see that "all was straight." He cracked a bottle of wine

with the captain, and leaving some late New-Orleans papers, took his

departure. For the next half hour the quarter-deck appeared like a

school-room--buzz, buzz, buzz! till the papers were read and re-read,

advertisements and all, and all were satisfied. About six in the evening

we cast anchor at the mouth of the South-West pass, in company not only

with the fleet in which we had sailed during the day, but with a large

fleet already at anchor, waiting for tide, pilots, wind, or tow-boats.

In approaching the mouth of the river, we observed, to us, a novel and

remarkable appearance--the meeting of the milky, turbid waters of the

Mississippi, with the pale green of the ocean. The waters of the former,

being lighter than the latter, and not readily mingling with it, are

thrown upon the surface, floating like oil to the depth of only two or

three feet. A ship passing through this water, leaves a long, dark

wake, which is slowly covered by the uniting of the parted waters. The

line of demarkation between the yellowish-brown water of the river, and

the clear green water of the sea, is so distinctly defined, that a cane

could be laid along it. When we first discovered the long white line,

about two miles distant, it presented the appearance of a low sand

beach. As we reached it, I went aloft, and seating myself in the

top-gallant cross-trees, beheld one of the most singular appearances of

which I had ever formed any conception. When within a few fathoms of the

discoloured water, we appeared to be rushing on to certain destruction,

and when our sharp keel cut and turned up the sluggish surface, I

involuntarily shuddered; the next instant we seemed suspended between

two seas. Another moment, and we had passed the line of division,

ploughing the lazy and muddy waves, and leaving a dark transparent wake

far astern. We are hourly expecting our tow-boat--the Whale. When she

arrives we shall immediately, in the company of some other ships, move

up for New-Orleans. The morning is delightful, and we have the prospect

of a pleasant sail, or rather _tow_, up the river. A hundred snow-white

sails are reflecting the rays of the morning sun, while the rapid

dashing of the swift pilot-boats about us, and the slower movements of

ships getting under weigh to cross the bar, and work their own way up to

the city--together with the mingling sounds of stern commands, and the

sonorous "heave-ho-yeo!" of the labouring seamen, borne upon the breeze,

give an almost unparalleled charm and novelty to the scene. Our Whale

is now in sight, spouting, not _jets d'eau_, but volumes of dense black

smoke. We shall soon be under weigh, and every countenance is bright

with anticipation. Within an hour we shall be floating upon the great

artery of North America, "prisoners of hope" and of _steam_, on our way

to add our little number to the countless thousands who throng the

streets of the Key of the Great Valley through which it flows.