Part 6

We made the entrance of the harbour, just as the sun was sinking into his watery bed, for the night; and it was in debate whether we could _fetch in_ before it grew dark, when it was suddenly decided against us, by the wind shifting and coming round _directly ahead_. This we learned was the land-breeze. In these regions the trade-wind blows from the sea, during the day; but this commonly subsides, as the sun goes down, and a contrary breeze sets in, from the land, which continues throughout the night.

Being prevented from coming to anchor, we stood off and on, at the harbour’s mouth, until daylight, when we discovered that we had no cause of regret in this additional delay; for all the beauties of Carlisle Bay were, now, exhibited to us, not only under the still light of the morning, but brightened by the golden rays of the rising sun. If we had gone in at night, we must have lost a most enchanting prospect; and the loss would have been irreparable, for, after the eye had been accustomed to the rich foliage, the houses, the towns, the fields, and all the peculiarity of tropical scenery, the impression which we now felt could never have been excited. The mind was, at this moment, in a state to enjoy them: the novelty was great, and every object striking. We had been long at sea, and the eye sought, eagerly, the shore. Land was anxiously desired: the view of it opened to us very favorably; and, from the various circumstances conspiring to its improvement, the prospect was rendered more delightful than it could have been at any other period.

The harbour is a fine open bay, the whole of which, with its varied shores, was before us: many ships were riding at anchor, and a multitude of boats and small vessels were sailing and rowing to and fro. The two points of land, at the entrance, serve as a defence, while they augment the beauty of the harbour. On one of them appears a formidable battery, together with an extensive barrack for troops: on the other is a fine grove of mountain-cabbage, and coco-nut trees. Through the shipping at the bottom of the bay, are seen numbers of neat cottages; among which are interspersed various tropical trees, affording the protecting shelter of their umbrageous summits. On the south-west shore stands Bridge-town, the capital of the island; and on the north-east, upon high ground, is a new and handsome quadrangle of stone barracks, with the military hospital and other buildings of St. Anne’s Hill. Nor is the prospect confined to these limits; for, in addition to the water, the shipping, and the numerous other objects, immediately before the eye, the land in the back-ground is seen above the houses, the trees, and the topmasts of the ships, rising to a great distance, clothed in all the richness of its tropical apparel. Verdant fields of sugar, of coffee, and of cotton; fine groves, dark with luxuriant foliage; country villas; clusters of negro huts, windmills, and sugar-works, all present themselves to diversify and enliven the picture. Such was the scene which appeared before us as we sailed into Carlisle Bay. You, whose idol is nature, in all her forms, will feel a friendship for the evening land-breeze which so happily lengthened a voyage, before too long.

Adieu.

LETTER XV.

Barbadoes, Feb.

Previous to our coming into harbour, from our late voyage, the ship’s company was busily occupied for several days, in cleaning, painting, and adorning the vessel; according to a prevailing custom of dressing the West India ships in a new jacket, during the steady sailing of _running down the trades_, in order that they may appear clean, and in the best condition, while remaining in the harbours of the islands. In this the sailors have a degree of pride, which excites a general spirit of emulation; every captain wishing to render his vessel the object of admiration and attraction. In consequence of this custom the West India harbours become like drawing-rooms of fine-dressed merchantmen. Here, each ship exhibits her best apparel, and vying with the others, holds out her lures to catch the eye of every beholder. The decoration is universal. From head to stern, not a plank, a mast, a yard, nor scarcely a rope escapes; each receives a full dress coat of paint, or is made new with a black varnish of tar. The more prominent parts of our ship being completed, the progress of cleaning and ornamenting was extended to such minutiæ as to become ridiculous. A decorating mania seemed to have seized the whole crew, and every one was up to his elbows in grease, tar, and oil. Not an iron ring, a bolt, or a nail was neglected—not even the cannon-balls escaped—and, that nothing should be omitted, the inner surface of the water-buckets, regardless of health, were dressed with their poisonous coating. Never was idle excess rendered more conspicuous. Not an inch, nor an atom, but appeared in Lord Sheffield’s livery; black and yellow prevailed from the highest point of the masts, down to the very water’s edge. Nothing can convey to you a stronger idea of the fine steady sailing, in a trade-wind, than to know that the outer part of the ship is painted at sea, by men hanging in ropes, at her sides, whilst she is proceeding with full canvass, on her passage.

The ship’s company have another, and yet stronger pride, which respects the swiftness of their vessel: like every man’s horse, every sailor’s ship is _the best in the world_; every captain commands the quickest vessel of the fleet! _He_ would cease to merit the honor of a jacket, who could be brought to acknowledge, however true it might be, that his ship was a sluggish sailer: for, however manifest this shall appear, an excuse is never wanting. She is in bad trim—she is too much by the stern—too much by the head—is too deep—too light—the breeze is not from her quarter—she sails best upon a wind—before the wind—she makes best way in a gale—in a light breeze: so that be the weather, and the attendant circumstances whatever they may, here is a _side-wind_ for each of them; and a son of the ocean is always expert enough to appropriate them in favor of his vessel, so as to guard her, at every point, against the imputation of being a dull sailer. Our ship was found not to advance in proportion to the breeze; it was, therefore, deemed expedient to give her a new main-top-gallant mast; and this was put up, in the night-time, with as much secrecy as if the failure of the expedition had hung upon its disclosure. We, afterwards, discovered that it was done, in the dark, not to conceal it from the passengers, only, but from the ship’s company of a vessel, which happened, then, to be sailing near us; and with which the Lord Sheffield was, secretly, vying in her progress.

A day or two after we had entered into the latitude of the trade-wind, we had to cross the tropic; which was an occasion of great mirth and festivity. The usual ceremonies were performed—the usual honors paid to old Neptune, and all was holiday. The great deity of the ocean, accompanied by his queen, ascended from the deep, in order to welcome us to his tropical abode, and to witness _the baptism_ of all his children who had not, before, done homage at his font. This is a ceremony which is, commonly, thought to be ludicrous: but, in the way it is conducted by the rough tars, it becomes a very dirty and severe process. It is extended to every person on board, who has not been already within the tropics, varying only in its mode of application, and in its severities.

The old sailors are careful to discover, in the course of the passage, which of their messmates have not undergone the discipline of this tropical baptism; and on this day, all who are marked for the ceremony, are led upon deck, one by one, blindfolded. In this state the young sailor is made to seat himself upon a small narrow plank, laid across a large tub of salt water, or upon the edge of the tub itself, and, in this perilous situation, they administer to him a long and ridiculous oath: then offer him a glass of gin, by way of cordial, which he is compelled to drink, and finds it to be only a glass of salt water. They, then, smear his face with a nasty compound of grease, tar, and stinking oil, taking care in the operation, to force some of it into his mouth. The next step is to shave this off, and the razor employed, for the purpose, is commonly a piece of an old iron hoop, beat full of notches. The filth being in part scraped from his chin, with this rough instrument, the baptismal process is completed by the plank, upon which he is seated, being suddenly withdrawn, and the young initiated plunged head and ears into the tub of water; where he is made to lie kicking and sprawling for a considerable time; after which he is permitted to rise from his briny birth; when his eyes are unveiled, he washes his countenance, and issues forth a privileged son of old Neptune—_free_ to range in the tropical seas. If he contend, or offer any resistance, he is treated with three or four dippings, instead of one; he finds it best, therefore, not to be refractory, and smothers his wrath in the secret pleasure of witnessing a similar process imposed upon the rest of his messmates. Every one, whether sailor or landsman, is called upon to undergo this christening ceremony!

As passengers we were honored with a visit from father Neptune and his spouse, to welcome us to their tropical dwelling, and to announce the propriety and necessity of the baptismal vow: but we compromised the discipline of dipping and shaving, by offering the tribute of a few gallons of rum! Nevertheless, we were taught that it would be prudent to remain, quietly, in the cabin, during this briny christening of the sailors.

The servants were led by curiosity to visit the deck, hoping to witness the ceremony without becoming, themselves, the objects of it: but they were speedily presented with a complete washing of sea-water, and obliged to beat a hasty retreat, in order to escape the shaving: one of them, who was a great coxcomb in his dress, grew sadly enraged, and felt highly indignant that the sailors should dare to wet and spoil his clothes: in his anger he ran down below to arm himself with a sword, then returning upon deck, declared that he would run any man through the body, who should throw water upon him, again: but scarcely had he said the words, and brandished his sabre, before several bucketsful of water were dashed upon his head and shoulders, by some sailors who had placed themselves in the main-top. The poor man stormed violently, swore, stamped, and raved. The sailors, laughing at his impotent rage, continued to pour down bucketful after bucketful. He was unable to climb up the shrouds; and they diverted themselves at his wrath, until, at length, seeing that they defied all his threats, he again returned to the cabin, loudly denouncing vengeance, unmindful that his best remedy was to change his clothes, wipe himself dry, and let his choler subside. Custom is absolute, and, in the hands of such hardy ministers, it were folly to oppose its despotic government.

After reaching the latitude of the trade-wind we passed very little of our time in the cabin; nor, throughout the whole passage, did we neglect to take our exercise upon deck, whenever the weather would permit; occasionally also, in order to divert the sad indolence of our inactive life, we gave assistance at the capstan, or in working the pump, or pulling the ropes.

During our fine tropical sailing we were frequently amused in observing the immense shoals of porpoises, dolphins, and flying fish, which, from time to time, assembled about the ship. The frightful shark and spouting grampus also made us frequent visits.

Harpoons and other instruments, called gigs, or grains, were prepared for the purpose of taking these inhabitants of the ocean. They are formidable weapons of iron, made with barbed points. At the time of using them, a wooden handle, loaded with lead, is affixed to them, together with a long cord; and they are struck into the animal while he is swimming at the side of the ship. If they penetrate beyond the barb he is unable to free himself from the instrument, but is turned upon his back, by the weight of the lead in the handle, and consequently has no power to escape. Often the iron points are bent double without entering; or sometimes they are thrown out by his struggles, and he swims off with his wound. This we saw happen to a large porpoise while he was amidst a shoal of his species so numerous as to darken the sea; when, instantly, every individual of them abandoned the ship, not to protect or console their wounded brother, but, according to the unfriendly habit of these hideous and rapacious creatures, to pursue him as their prey.

The flying fish, the shark, and the dolphin, are all used by the sailors, as food. The shark is a most stupid animal—unlike other fishes, he disregards being seen. He shuns not people who appear before him, nor is intimidated at things falling near him, or even upon him in the water. Does this arise from a deficiency of nervous sensibility, or from a consciousness that he is armed against the objects he commonly meets? By throwing out to him occasionally a piece of fat pork, he may be induced to continue, at the side of the ship, whilst a rope, let down into the water, is passed over his head, and drawn tight round his body, in order to take him alive, and if it happen to slip off, he is torpid enough to remain until it be fixed a second time. We caught a very large one in this manner; and also, with the hook, took a smaller one, which the sailors consumed as delicate food.

The shoals of dolphins are often so crowded as to convert the sea into a kind of rich and dazzling mine, exhibiting many brilliant interchanges of colour.

The novelty of immense multitudes of fish darting from the sea and taking wing in the air, you will believe attracted our attention. To speak of fishes flying might seem to be a traveller’s tale; we were, therefore, led to a minute investigation of the fact. We watched them with a sceptical eye, and, at many different times, before we admitted even the evidence of our senses. It appeared possible that their short flight might be the effect of a single muscular effort, supported by the expansion of long membranous fins; and this opinion became strengthened from observing them, occasionally, touch the water, as if to gain new force from its resistance, and then rise again, and fly as far as before. But, upon regarding them with accuracy, we observed their wings employed, like those of birds, in fluttering motion as they flew. We saw them change their course, from a direct line; we perceived them rise and fall in their flight, to surmount the waves they met, and remarked that they often continued their progress to the distance of two or three hundred yards, without touching the water: at length some of them flew on board the ship, and, striking against the masts, fell dead upon the deck; thus affording us an opportunity of satisfying our doubts. After minutely examining their external form, we further assured ourselves, by carefully dissecting them; and we have now no hesitation in saying that fishes——_do fly_! The wings are very long: arising from behind the gills, they lie folded at the sides nearly the whole length of the fish, being formed of several fine cartilages, and a thin transparent membrane not unlike the wing of a bat. At the insertion, near the gills, they are narrow, but become considerably wider towards their extremities. When used in flying they are raised from the side, and expanded, by the cartilages separating from each other, and stretching out the membrane which covers them. They are not connected with the body by extensive muscular insertions; but are united by a ligamentous membrane. Two small muscles pass into each wing, terminating in strong ligaments. These serve to give them the command of the wing, but are not calculated to support long and powerful action. The fish is about the size of a herring. They are caught, in great numbers, near Barbadoes, where they are pickled, and salted, and used as a very common food.

The day before we made the land we met with shoals of flying fish of much smaller size than those we had commonly seen; not larger, indeed, than sprats. On rising out of the water, in large bodies at a time, they caused a sound like the splashing of rain, which being heard by the captain, he instantly exclaimed “_Ha! bravo! land, land! here are the little splashers, we cant be far from the land!_” This small race of flying fish, it seems, is never observed at any great distance from the shore, nor in the deeper parts of the Atlantic: wherefore their appearance is assumed as a sure indication of a speedy approach to the land.

We observed upon the passage, that after the great heat of the day, the water of the Atlantic was somewhat warmer than the circumambient air. In latitude 14°, at 10 o’clock at night, the thermometer stood at 72¼, and upon being put into a bucket of fresh-drawn sea-water it rose to 73.

Like all young sailors we felt our attention strongly attracted by the phenomenon of the lights produced in the sea, at night, from the ship beating her way through the water. We often witnessed them in a very striking degree, and were, frequently, led to the forecastle to view them in their greatest splendour; for, there, the vessel appeared to be sailing through liquid flames. On every side the lights were vivid and beautiful, but at the head we saw the pitchings and plunges of the ship strike out wide flashes, resembling sheets of fire. At the stern these lights appear as if they poured from the vessel in bright streams of fire, extending to a considerable distance in her wake.

We drew up water in buckets, occasionally, to the deck, and found that by agitating it, either with the hand or a piece of wood, we could excite the same luminous appearance: but, after disturbing it for a short time, this effect ceased; and no degree of agitation was sufficient to renew it in the same water. You know the various theories and speculations which have been offered in explanation of this phenomenon; I need not, therefore, swell my letter by repeating them.

The beautiful appearance of the iris resting in small circles upon the surface of the ocean, was also a frequent subject of our notice. These were only seen near the ship, and it will occur to you that they proceeded from the minute particles of water, beaten off by the vessel, dividing the rays of light, and causing them to fall upon the sea in the form of rich and distinct rainbows. They are often extremely brilliant, and are observed, lying as it were, in numbers upon the water.

The very beautiful rising and setting of the sun and the moon were many times the admired objects of our contemplation. Viewed from a West India sea, the surface of these orbs does not appear as in Europe, like a mere plane fixed in the sky, but their convexity, and globular form are seen very distinctly. When rising they appear as detached globes protruding from the deep: at setting they resemble distinct spheres sinking, or rather dropping, divested of their rays, into the ocean.

The moon is brighter than in England, and reflects a clearer light. When only a few days old the whole orb is visible—not decked in uniform brightness, as when it is at the full, but with the great body in shade, while the horned edge, alone, is dressed in silver.

The appearance of the western sky was likewise an object of novelty to us. By day the whole canopy is one fine azure expanse, bright and unclouded; but, at evening, dark mountainous clouds accumulate into deep masses, and impend, in awful majesty of form, over the horizon.

LETTER XVI.

Carlisle Bay, Feb.

In pursuance of my promise I still direct my pen towards you, notwithstanding the uncertainty when I may be able to send away my letters.

The period is critical and important. News from each shore of the Atlantic, to its opposite, is sought with the most lively anxiety. While you are looking to us for tidings of ourselves, of our scattered fleet, and of endangered islands; we, unable to relieve your suspense, are looking to you, with no less anxiety for intelligence of England and of Europe. The avidity for news, which, here, displays itself, is vivid beyond all I can express. Our anchor was not dropped, indeed we had scarcely entered the harbour before a variety of people came out, in boats, to meet us, and, scrambling on board, asked the news in such hurried solicitude as scarcely to wait for a reply, before each question was followed by another. What news? what news? what news of the fleet? what news of England? what news from the Continent? were all uttered in such rapid succession, that the only answer we could properly make, served as a general reply—“None! we have been nine weeks at sea, and have every intelligence to seek—none to give.”

Our abrupt visitors were extremely disappointed, when, instead of being able to satisfy them, they found that we were equally solicitous to demand news of our convoy, of the Islands, and of the sailing of the packet for England. We could impart nothing satisfactory; and the information we acquired was not very gratifying. The following were the leading circumstances which we collected at the moment. Grenada, we were told, was, almost wholly, in possession of the brigands: St. Vincent in imminent danger from the Charibs: and Guadaloupe, if not St. Lucie, so strengthened by reinforcements from France as to bid us defiance.

Two French frigates, and numbers of privateers had been cruising, with too much success, against our scattered transports and merchantmen. The frigates had lately been daring enough to look into the harbour of Carlisle Bay, and the Charon of 44 guns armed _en flute_, one of the earliest arrivals of the Spithead fleet, had been sent out, with La Pique frigate, in pursuit of them.

The Leda frigate, employed to convoy a fleet of victuallers from Cork, had been upset in a gale, and, unhappily, sunk to the bottom with all hands on board, seven only excepted. These had since arrived in one of the victuallers, at Barbadoes; but several of the convoy, left unprotected by this fatal accident, had been captured by the enemy’s cruisers.

The commander in chief was still unheard of; nor was there any accurate intelligence of the fleet, although a few straggling vessels had arrived.