There are so many running to and fro, and knowledge is thereby so
increased, that I doubted, at first, if my friends did well to ask me
to write for publication an account of my voyage. But I considered that
impressions made on every new observer add something to the already
large information of intelligent readers, besides reviving agreeable
recollections. The thought that I may suggest to some friend in need of
long rest one means of finding it, or encourage him to adopt it, leads
me to give, as requested, the following narrative.
The writer, having been ill in the early part of 1869, was advised by
physicians and friends to try the effect of foreign travel; but in
what direction it was difficult to decide. With every suggestion of
experienced friends there would arise some association of fatigue in
sight-seeing, of monotony in resting long in one place. Pleasant as it
would be to nestle in some quiet nook in Switzerland, or to take up
an abode in one of the Channel Islands,--Alderney, for example, where
there would be much to gratify curiosity, and where the distance from
the centres of information would not be great,--the thought of being
confined to one place or even district of country, or of being tempted
to visit interesting scenes, and especially to make the acquaintance of
interesting men, awakened such anticipations of labor as to forbid any
hope of restoration from that source.
A son of the writer was compelled in youth, by ill-health, to leave
his studies and go to sea. In the fall of 1869 he received command of
a commodious ship, the “Golden Fleece,” which sailed in October of
that year for San Francisco, Hong Kong, and Manila. By the kindness of
Messrs. William F. Weld & Co., the writer and two members of his family
accompanied him as passengers.
Many were the questions to which these passengers required answers
previous to their embarkation on so long a voyage. The gale of
September, 1869, which levelled our Boston Coliseum, and damaged so
many steeples, and made such havoc among poplars and other trees whose
roots run near the surface, led to the inquiry, What were the ordinary
chances of such gales at sea? This question was answered by producing
the log-book of a recent voyage from Mexico, in which it appeared
that the weather, day after day, was so free from any cause for fear
that the impression was allowed to gain strength that storms were an
exception in sea-faring life. As to the gale just mentioned, it seemed
safer to be at sea at such a time, with sea-room, than under roofs and
chimneys, or in streets.
October 28, 1869, the ship Golden Fleece left Pier No. 12, East River,
New York, in charge of a tug, and dropped anchor in the stream until
the next morning. Members of our family circle went with us till we
came to anchor, when they went over the side into the tug, where one of
them took a sketch of us with her pencil, completing a sketch already
taken of our cabin and staterooms for friends at home. We finally saw
them reach the wharf, when we ceased waving our adieus and repaired to
the cabin to put ourselves in sea trim.
The sailors were in good condition. The Shipping Master who brought
them on board, had told them that the Golden Fleece was a religious
ship; no swearing or fighting is allowed; a minister is among the
passengers; the captain is kind and would treat them well. He had
collected a good set of men; and when they stood on the lower deck and
the shipping master called their names and checked them on the capstan,
it seemed to me that I had never seen so many good faces among so many
sailors. None came on board intoxicated, but this was not strange
seeing it was but the third hour of the day.
We weighed anchor at six o’clock the next morning. The pilot had charge
and took us down to Sandy Hook. We heard bells on shore at Staten
Island and supposed that they were ringing for church.
We saw the pilot boat coming for the pilot at noon. It took him from
us, and we began our voyage. The hills of Neversink alone remained to
remind us for a short time of home and country. Twenty or thirty sail
started with us, but our good ship took the lead and kept it.
After dinner the two mates gathered the men on the main deck to divide
them into watches. They were unknown to the mates by name, but as
each chose a man he pointed to him. Being divided, they repaired to
their bunks and changed from one side of the forecastle to the other
according as they found themselves in either watch. It was touching
to see them, each with all his worldly goods in his arms passing each
other to their respective berths.
In two days after leaving New York we were in the Gulf Stream. We
sailed through leagues of herbage which was borne from the shores by
the Stream, and like us was going to sea. The ship rolled; and soon
the wind freshened and we were in a gale. We had our first sight of
“mountain waves,” so called; but they needed some imagination and a
little fear to make them mountainous. They were enough however to make
us uncomfortable. The gale lasted two days. We took the impression that
such was to be the ordinary experience in the voyage,--discomfort and
tediousness. But we were happy to find that it was not so; for, during
the whole voyage, there were very few such experiences,--so infrequent,
indeed, as to excite surprise when they came. The morning after
the gale the weather was fine. Going on deck, we found that we had
exchanged the sharp air of the latter part of October in New England
for the temperature of the early part of June.
Soon we were in the Tropic of Cancer. It seemed like a new world. Never
before had we looked upon such a sky. There was no stratification in
the clouds, and nothing of the cumulus formation; but the surface
of the sky was composed of innumerable fleecy things moving in the
gentlest manner, as though they feared to disturb slumber. The gentle
motion was just the thing to induce sleep. As we thought of the
turbulent state of the elements the day before, the sky now looked
like an army which had been dismissed. It seemed as though there was
not wind enough to form a large cloud. The hammock was made fast, one
end of it to an iron belaying-pin in the saddle of the mizzen mast,
in the shade of the spanker, and the other end to the rail. A hammock
meets you at every point with the needed support. It brought strange
sensations of rest to lie and listen to the plashing of the water
against the sides of the ship. The measured roll of the vessel now
was pleasurable. There was an easy swing to the hammock, as though a
considerate hand were keeping it moving. How much better this rest and
peace than travelling in Switzerland, or being pent up in the Azores,
or wandering through Italy, if one needs rest and at the same time
change of place! To an overworked brain here is seclusion indeed. There
is here no post-office, with its delivery three times a day, so welcome
on shore; no newspapers; no door bell; no agents soliciting attention
to new works, and begging you to put your name down and accept a copy,
as though you had subscribed; no succession of engagements;
“No cares to break the long repose;”
no crowd of passengers, nor daily calculation as to the day of
arrival; nor jar of machinery, as in a steamboat, making you feel, day
and night, that somebody is laboriously at work; and, to crown all,
seemingly no end to your vacation.
But those clouds in the tropics! You had thought, perhaps, heretofore,
that only at night the heavens declare the glory of God. Perhaps you
find that the book which you brought on deck to read, but which you
have no desire to open, may have in it a fly-leaf, on which, as you
lie in the hammock, with one knee raised for a writing-table, you may
indite these dreamy lines:--