LITMIR.BIZ

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were nearer to the coast of England, whose majestic chalky cliffs were tinged rose-color by the morning sun. In the evening we passed the Isle of Wight, and the wind changing, we did not clear the Channel till the 27th May.

      We were now on the broad ocean; a number of fishing-boats enlivened the prospect with their many-colored sails, sometimes white, sometimes yellow, red, and even black. The sea was green, and the color especially beautiful under the bows and stern; the picture was further animated by a number of porpoises and albicores leaping from wave to wave. I saw several strange substances floating on the sea, which I could not observe more closely, for want of a net to catch them: I decided on making one.

      All went well for several days; the weather improved, sea-sickness disappeared, and the fair sex began to show themselves on deck. I had made a net, fastened it to a staff, and kept it in readiness for any thing remarkable floating past; indeed, for me, every thing that floated by was remarkable, or at least worth examination. I caught a number of jelly-like creatures, which had the power of rising or sinking in the water, and also that of motion; one kind being about five or six inches long, and one and a half or two broad, hollow, and provided with a sort of stomach marked by a dark spot, the only compact part of the animal. If left on a dry board for a couple of hours, it resolved itself into water, excepting the stomach and a slimy opaque mass with a very thin fine skin. Sometimes we saw numbers of them linked together, and always with the dark spot on one side. Some snails were caught resembling land snails: their shells contained a blue liquid, which seemed adapted to give a beautiful dye. I wrote a few lines with this dye to see how the color lasted, and found that it did not change in the least. The most beautiful of all this species is unquestionably the “Nautilus,” or, as the English call it, “Portuguese man-of-war.” It can raise itself about three inches above the surface, and steer its own course, but disappears in a storm; numerous feelers of two, three, and four feet, serve to provide nourishment. I caught one in my net, and happening to touch it with the back of my hand, it made it smart as if stung by a nettle. At night they give out a phosphoric light.

      Now we were flying along with a fair wind and fine weather to our new home; the ocean had that deep transparent blue which almost enticed one to leap into it, to sleep in peace within its depths. My contemplations were interrupted by a sight that made the peaceful sleep rather doubtful—the dorsal fin of a shark peering above the surface as the ship glided by. The idea of coming between the triple row of teeth of such a monster was any thing but poetical. My attention was soon drawn to another object, to which we came nearer and nearer, lying dark on the water: at first I thought it must be a rock, and asked the mate, but he said there was no rock in that direction, and that it must be something floating—and so it was; as we passed it, it turned out to be a wreck. Nothing is more adapted to damp the spirits on board a ship than the sudden appearance of such a “memento mori,” to remind one of that journey which awaits us all, in which a wreck may be our starting-point, and a shark the first station.

      On the 30th the wind was unfavorable, with a hollow sea; those good people who had nothing to do, became, as usual, sea-sick; the others managed better. Suddenly our messmate the doctor came with a pale and alarmed countenance, to tell us that the smallpox had broken out on board; a little girl had it very violently, and of a bad kind. The carpenter had hastily to fit up a place used as a store-room for ropes; she was removed thither, away from the other passengers, and the general apprehension was somewhat allayed.

      While standing quietly on deck, I heard a tremendous uproar in the steerage; men swearing, women screaming, children crying, made a chorus enough to split one’s ears. I jumped down for fear of missing some fun, and was greeted by the most comical sight: every one had taken refuge on the highest sleeping places, on the tops of chests, boxes, or any other elevations, to be clear of the floor, which was taken possession of by a little white spaniel, which snarled, and snapped, and foamed at the mouth. All cried out as I came down the ladder, “A mad dog! a mad dog!” The poor beast seemed to me more sick than mad; it ran forward a couple of paces, and got jammed between two chests, and before it could free itself I had seized it by the back of the neck, while it snapped and struggled in vain. I shall long remember the shrieks of the women, who had mounted into the sleeping places, as I raised the dog, and thereby brought it nearer to them than they thought consistent with their safety. I kept fast hold of the poor thing, carried him up the ladder, and threw him overboard. It was the only dog on board, and belonged to poor William, who came in for the shower-bath of tar on board the lighter. He took the affair very coolly, and said, “he was glad the beast was gone, as he was always putting his paws into his food.” He and his father had remained a long time on deck, and at last, when they had descended, they did not meet with a very friendly reception from the old lady, who was lying sick in her bed-place. “William—you—and—your—father—are—very—stupid—to—leave—me—a—poor—sick—woman—all—a—lone—while—you—are—a—mu—sing—your—selves—on—deck.” William defended himself earnestly in Low Dutch, and thoughtlessly seating himself on his mother’s cap-box, the lid gave way under his weight; his ears were well boxed in consequence.

      June 4th.—A calm, with the sea as smooth as a mirror, except occasionally when a long swell disturbed the surface; the ship was motionless. I felt a great inclination to bathe, but the captain had forbidden it, on account of the sharks. Early in the morning, however, H. and I sprang overboard before he was up, and felt as light as feathers in the warm sea; I was much more fatigued than ever I had been in river bathing, and I had swallowed no slight quantity of salt water.

      I went to sleep after dinner, and as I came on deck again about two o’clock, I found dancing going on. The ship was not motionless, though without headway; the swell made her roll heavily at times, and occasionally a party of dancers, five or six couple, would be carried from one side to the other, and thereafter, for a moment attempting to maintain the perpendicular, yield at last to the laws of gravity, and fall together in a heap. Towards dark, dancing ceased; a light breeze sprang up at sunset, driving us gently before it, the sea looking still more beautiful with its little light foam-crested waves. At night it appeared to be sown with myriads of stars and sparks, particularly where the ship dashed through the waters, throwing off the spray: it shone as if a fire was under the water—every wave that broke against the bows, gave light enough to exhibit the letters in a book. Although it was against rules for steerage passengers to pass abaft the capstan, our kind-hearted captain was not very strict in enforcing this order, and for hours together I have watched the sparkling foam under the stern. Once while so occupied I was startled by a rushing, snorting noise, and looking up, saw the dark form of a grampus from about eighteen to twenty feet in length, rushing through the flashing waters as if swimming in liquid fire; he disappeared close under the stern.

      On the following day we fell in with another ship: on our hoisting our Bremen colors, she showed an American ensign; we passed about fifty yards from her. The captains exchanged their latitude and longitude, and gave the name of the ports they came from and were bound to: her destination was Oporto. A singular feeling is awakened by thus meeting another ship on the immense ocean; to see another little world appear, pass within hail, then diminish to a white point, and disappear, leaving the poor emigrant more deserted than before on the waste of waters.

      On the 7th June, we were running eleven knots an hour; there was not much sea, so that very few were sea-sick, and most had appeared on deck and collected into picturesque groups—here a couple playing cards, there one with a prayer-book, a couple of girls knitting and reading together, and some with wrinkled brows, strange contortions of the mouth, and uncouth sounds, industriously studying, and endeavoring to pronounce, English. These quiet pleasant days were named by us fine fricandeau days, for the following reason. We could not eat all the salt meat and bacon that was served out, so we mixed the remains, after mincing it small, with bread crumbs and yolks of eggs, kneaded it together, and fried it in butter; hence the name, for in bad weather we could do nothing of the sort.

      With so much fine weather I began to fear that we should miss seeing a storm, and so lose the real delight of a sea voyage; but on the 16th it began to blow, the sea got heavier and heavier, the faces longer and longer—and by midnight old Boreas was in full bluster, the ship dashing nobly through the brilliantly illuminated sea. I was delighted with the war of the elements, and leaning over the side, watched

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