Cape St. Nicholas Mole, August.
Greetings, my friend! We have reached our place of destination, and, in
health and safety, I am, at last, enabled to offer you tidings from St.
Domingo!
Having obtained the promise of a passage with Mr. Donaldson, it was
announced to us on the 8th instant, that all would be ready for sailing
on the morrow; and we left Kingston, in order to sleep on board, that we
might proceed to sea with the morning tide; but after passing a very
comfortless night, we learned that the captain of the sloop had not
arrived; we made our escape therefore from the noise and stench of the
vessel, and went to take our breakfasts at Port-Royal, where we heard
that it was likely we should not sail before the morning of the 10th.
This we hailed as a piece of good fortune, since it offered us an
opportunity of seeing the town of Port-Royal, and the public hospital
there established, together with the dock-yard, forts, and batteries of
this disastrous, but important harbour.
Whilst we were rambling about this awfully-celebrated place, the weather
suddenly changed, and we were strikingly reminded of the melancholy
history of the spot on which we moved. A thick darkness was spread
around; it thundered and lightened; the tearing wind drove the sands and
sprays far into the air; the sea rolled in mountainous tumult; and the
waters rushed from the clouds in tropical torrents. At the same time the
shattered mast of the Thorn sloop of war, which had been lately struck
by lightning in a storm, was lying before us, heightening the effect of
a scene very singularly calculated to impress upon our minds the
disasters which had befallen this unhappy town from the hurricanes and
earthquakes of former days.
In the evening we returned to the sloop, and on the tenth I was apprized
of the morning dawn by the unpleasant motion of the vessel getting under
weigh. It was at an early hour, and the breeze had not set in at
Port-Royal; we were obliged, therefore, to pull out of the harbour, and
some distance up the coast, by means of the sweeps: but, after a short
time, our canvass gradually filled, when the oars were shipped, and we
sailed smoothly along, obtaining a most delightful view of the island.
I now felt myself again upon my long continued and often broken voyage
of voyages to St. Domingo, whither I had been bound from the time of my
quitting London two years ago, when it was expected I should reach this
destination, at the latest, in the course of two or three months.
At daybreak, on the eleventh, the east end of Jamaica appeared in view.
We weathered this point, standing on toward the little island of
Navessah, and the quarter of Jeremie; and the breeze remaining
favorable, we had the prospect of making a quick passage.
A fleet of six small vessels, bound for the port of Jeremie, some of
them well armed, sailed from Jamaica with the same tide as ourselves;
and as this part is commonly infested with swarms of privateers, we were
anxious to continue in company as far as possible; feeling it a security
in case any of the enemy’s vessels should attack us in concert—singly we
had nothing to apprehend from any of them, our sloop mounting twelve
guns, and being stoutly manned.
In the course of the night we were hailed by the Hannibal ship of war,
and the captain learning that Mr. Donaldson was with us, pressingly
solicited him to go on board to drink a glass of wine. He accepted the
invitation, but not without reluctance, on account of the delay it might
occasion. Upon Mr. Donaldson’s stepping into the boat, to make this
visit, I could not but contemplate the wide difference between sailing
in these seas and in the boisterous bay of Biscay; where, for many weeks
in succession, instead of making social excursions upon the ocean, in
open boats at midnight, it had been perilous even for any of the vessels
of the fleet to approach within hail of each other.
On the twelfth we were becalmed, and remained the whole day without
making any progress.
The calm continued on the thirteenth, and the weather became far more
sultry and oppressive, than I had before known it, during my residence
in the West Indies. The sheep, turkies, chickens, pigs, and every living
creature on board, exhibited marks of disquietude, from the excessive
heat, and the total absence of the breeze: even a parrot, a native of
these regions, breathed with open beak, and grew extremely restless in
search of air.
I do not remember ever to have passed a day of such distress. The
languor we suffered amounted almost to annihilation; and no possible
relief could be found.
The vessel was crowded, and the cabin small: below it was dreadfully
hot, close, and suffocating: upon deck the sun’s rays were scorching and
insupportable. No comfort could any where be obtained; whatever part of
the vessel we sought, wheresoever we stationed ourselves, still we felt
the most exhausting prostration; and it only remained to us to lie about
gasping for air, through the unvarying hours of this afflictive day.
The opportunity was peculiarly favorable for ascertaining the greatest
heat of the direct rays of a tropical sun, and at noon, by a
considerable effort, I roused myself from the languor which benumbed me,
and suspended the thermometer to the cordage of the sloop, distant from
the mast, and far above the deck, so placing it as to be fully exposed
to the sun. Thus circumstanced, and after half an hour’s exposure, the
mercury only rose to 96, which, as on many former occasions, I found to
be the greatest mid-day heat in these regions; but we often read of
climates where the thermometer is at 100, 110, or 120 in the shade! This
may possibly be the case in particular situations, such as upon the
burning sands of Egypt, or in the heated streets of a close city; but it
must depend upon locality, and all above must be the effect of condensed
or reflected heat, the direct and open rays never exceeding that degree.
In many houses, and in some towns, the heat is conveyed to a thermometer
from all quarters, as if it were placed in a furnace; and, in such
situations, the mercury will necessarily rise very high; but to give
this as the heat of the climate would be very like stating the heat of a
town from a thermometer put into a baker’s oven.
During great part of the hot and sultry day, of which I am speaking, the
mercury stood at 90 in the shade.
In the evening we felt, as it were, new life, upon a gentle breeze
succeeding to the retiring sun; at night the wind freshened, and our
associate fleet bearing away for the port of Jeremie, we passed that
point of the island, and were left to make the remainder of the passage
alone.
Upon quitting our births on the fourteenth, we learned that there had
been some wind during the night, and that we were standing on, under a
moderate breeze, for the Mole. The morning was beautifully fine, a
milder sun smiled upon our sloop, and she was the only vessel observed
upon the wide circle of the ocean. But before we sat down to breakfast,
we were called from our tranquil prospect, to engage in a hurried and
threatening scene. A strange sail was descried astern, which, upon her
nearer approach, was discovered to be a privateer schooner in full chase
of us.
In the expectation that we might be thus interrupted, Mr. Donaldson,
having been thrice, already, exposed to the miseries of a French prison,
had manned his vessel with a select crew, and was resolved to fight as
long as there was the least hope of saving her.
When all was prepared for action, an appeal was made to the sloop’s
company in a short harangue, and we had the satisfaction to find that
all the men were brave, declaring themselves eager for battle, and
determined to resist to the last extremity.
The enemy’s vessel appearing to be nearly of the same rate as our own,
we expected a warm engagement, but from the spirit displayed by our
crew, we had no apprehension respecting the result. The privateer
outsailed us, and, as she approached nearer and nearer, every one was
anxiously looking out to discover upon which side she would begin the
attack; but, very unexpectedly, when she had reached almost within
gunshot, she suddenly tacked about, and stood away to windward, leaving
us to pursue our course unmolested.
We watched her manœuvres for some time, and seeing that she dropped
astern, as rapidly as she had before gained upon us, all hands went
quietly to breakfast, the sailors muttering their disappointment, at not
having an opportunity of “exchanging a few broadsides!” It was
conjectured, that, upon seeing our preparations, and the number of hands
on board, the privateer had deemed it prudent not to risk an action.
The breeze now grew stronger, and quickly ours was again the only vessel
upon the broad expanse around us. Some points of the island of Cuba soon
opened to our view; but we did not make the Mole so early as the
improving breeze had led us to expect.
In the evening the wind increased to a strong gale; the night became
black and dismal; it was the very midst of the hurricane season; and we
seemed destined to experience all the varieties of calm and tempest.
Loud thunder rolled almost without ceasing, and the broad flashes of
lightning were repeated in such rapid succession, as to produce nearly
the continued brightness of day. The rain afterwards poured down in
torrents, and from our not being able to carry sail, the tearing gusts
of wind tossed our little bark over the broken surface of the ocean,
like an empty cask. Augmented perils now beset us, and the danger of
hurricane was infinitely greater than any we could apprehend from a
hostile vessel. To sleep was impossible, and the hours seemed dreadfully
tedious until morning; when, escaping from the horrors of this gloomy
night, we found ourselves again becalmed, with the mountains of the Mole
in sight on one hand, and the island of Cuba on the other.
The whole day (on the fifteenth) was passed in looking at our place of
destination, without being able to make the slightest approach to it;
our vessel lying like a log upon the still surface of the water. A
breeze sprang up, as usual, in the evening, and we again stood on our
passage, filled with the hope of being at anchor off the Mole by
daylight. On the morning of the sixteenth we found we were still more
distant from the land than we had appeared to be the day before, with
the additional mortification of being again becalmed, and our sails
hanging loose against the mast. Tantalus could scarcely have been more
tormented.
Mr. Donaldson now proposed to me to accompany him on shore in the boat;
and being heartily tired of calms and gales, the sloop and the sea, I
very cordially consented. Four sailors, with the mate and the cockswain,
were accordingly ordered into the boat, and we felt assured of being
quickly at the Mole: but again we were disappointed, having been greatly
deceived in respect to the distance, which, instead of being only three
miles (as it had appeared from the vessel), proved to be more than as
many leagues. When we had advanced beyond the protection of the sloop,
we found that we were far from the batteries of the Mole; and,
consequently, exposed to the danger of being cut off by the boats of the
brigands, which infested this quarter, often venturing to the very mouth
of the harbour.
It was excessively sultry from the absence of the breeze, and we were
scorching under the direct and burning rays of the sun. The sailors were
most cruelly fatigued. One of them became so exhausted, as to let fall
his oar, and if the mate had not promptly taken it up, and encouraged
the other men, by assisting to row us into the harbour, we should have
been reduced to the peril of lying at the mercy of the enemy’s cruisers
until the sloop had overtaken us.
It was between two and three o’clock in the afternoon when we stepped on
shore at the Mole, and, upon the arrival of those we had left, we found
that we had been forwarded only an hour and a half by our hazardous
excursion in the boat; but to me every hour at sea was an age; I
therefore felt the time we had gained a full compensation for all the
toil and danger.