We were three days sailing down the river. Just at night the pilot came
aboard, took us over the bar at the southwest pass, and we put out to
sea, with a strong fair wind from the northwest. The muddy waters of
the Mississippi are seen far out to sea, even after you lose sight of
the land. There was another passenger besides myself; and the violent
rolling of the vessel soon made us dreadfully seasick. This, with me,
lasted but three days; but the other passenger was sick during the
whole voyage, and suffered incalculable pain and distress.
There are many things disagreeable to a landsman in a voyage at sea.
And in the first place, the rolling of the vessel. This is always
disagreeable, but often it is so vehement that you cannot stand, walk
or sit without much caution and trouble. While food is eaten, you must
hold on to the plate with one hand, and wield the knife with the other,
and this is often done at the imminent hazard of "marring the corners"
of the mouth. Sometimes, in spite of all exertion, a sudden lurch will
throw you off the balance, and you get a bowl of hot coffee in your
lap. And then, at night, you are tossed to and fro in the berth, so
that you cannot soundly sleep, and arise in the morning more fatigued
than when you laid down.
And this motion of the vessel produces seasickness--an affliction
exceedingly grievous to be borne. I had been seasick ten or a dozen
times in my life, and this was the third time on my present tour; and I
tried all the precautionary means I had ever heard of, but without any
beneficial effect. Could any effectual remedy be discovered, it would
save a vast amount of human distress.
The shoreless ocean, seen day after day, affords but a dull and barren
prospect to a landsman. The only variety seems to be, when a storm
arises; and then it puts on such a terrific form, that the sublimity
of the scene cannot be fully enjoyed. We had a severe blow off the
coast of Florida; but the shivering of sails, and the mountains of foam
dashing over our frail bark, caused fear to predominate over every
other sensation.
The complete and rapid change of the scene at sea, is sometimes very
striking. We would be quietly sailing along with a gentle breeze, just
enough to fill the sails, and keep the vessel in motion on her course;
when all at once a violent squall arises, suddenly strikes the ship,
whizzes through the rigging, fills the sails to bursting, and drives
her rapidly on, through billows of foam. The captain stands upon the
quarter-deck, gives his orders through the speaking trumpet--the
sailors run aloft, cling to the yards and take in sail. The contrast
is indeed great. One moment, all is calm and quiet; the next, all is
uproar and confusion; and could one feel entirely at ease, it would be
a great source of amusement, during a long voyage.
But a sailor's life is one of care, hardship, watchfulness and anxiety.
Our captain would walk the deck for hours, anxiously watching the whole
circle of the horizon--the appearance of the clouds and the direction
of the wind. Of a sudden, he would stop short, call all hands, order
the light sails taken in, and close-reefed those that remained; when
to my unpractised eye, there was no cause of alarm, or appearance of a
change of weather. But the result would invariably show the correctness
of his opinion. In no one instance, did he prematurely take in sail,
nor did the squall ever come and "catch him napping."
The third day out, from the mouth of the river, we saw the highlands of
Cuba. On the fifth, the Sand Key lighthouse, on the Florida shore. We
saw no other land on the voyage, except a small island on the Little
Bahama Banks, until we came in full view of the village of Chatham,
fifty miles south of Boston. The wind became fair, the weather thick
and rainy. The next day, twenty miles out, the pilot came aboard, and
we run safely into Boston harbor. We had been just twenty-five days
from New-Orleans--a distance of twenty-five hundred miles. We had
experienced all the varieties of a sea voyage--light winds, calms,
strong breezes and storms--and now, with no small degree of pleasure, I
again set my foot on _terra firma_.
The following day, I took the stage and arrived home at Exeter; having
been absent about five months, and having travelled by land and
water the distance of eight thousand miles. I passed over the whole
route without arms, and at no time did I feel the need of any. I was
uniformly well treated; and often received kind attentions, and formed
many acquaintances whom I left with regret, and shall remember with
gratitude.
The weather had generally been mild and pleasant. The greatest
indication of cold weather I found on the whole trip, was a slight
frost. On returning at once to the region of severe cold weather, I
found it exceedingly oppressive. Our northern winters are indeed long,
severe and crabbed; and were the people as crabbed as the climate,
life would become altogether intolerable. But the southern and western
climate is far more bland and mild, and much more grateful to the
feelings, than ours; and this, together with the facility of obtaining
all the necessaries and conveniences of life, induces me to believe
that a much greater amount of comfort and happiness may there be
enjoyed.