Our route, as at present, arranged, will be viâ the Society, Friendly, and Sandwich Islands. Juan Fernandez (Robinson Crusoe's Island), which we at first thought of visiting, we have been obliged, I am sorry to say, to give up, not on account of its distance from Valparaiso, as it is only 270 miles off, but because it lies too far to the southward, and is consequently quite out of the track of the trade wind, which we ought to pick up, according to the charts and sailing directions, about 500 miles to the northward and westward of this place. I have been trying to persuade Tom to steam out five or six hundred miles, so that we may make a quick passage and economise our time as much as possible, but he is anxious to do the whole voyage under sail, and we are therefore taking very little coal on board, in order to be in the best trim. If we do not pick up a wind, however, there is no knowing how long we may lollop about. I suppose till we are short of water and fresh provisions, when the fires will be lighted and we shall steam away to the nearest island—uninhabited, we will hope, or at any rate peopled by friendly natives, which is rather the exception than the rule in the south-east corner of the Low Archipelago. There we shall fill up with fresh water, bananas, bread-fruit, and perhaps a wild hog or two, and resume our voyage to Tahiti. But this is the least favourable view of the matter, and we must hope to fall in with the trades soon, and that they will blow strong and true.
The island of Juan Fernandez now belongs to the Chilian government, but is let on a long lease to a man who, they say here, is somewhat of a robber. He was very desirous that we should give him a passage in the yacht, and another man wanted to come too, with some pointers, to show us the best spots for game, goats, turtle, crayfish, and sea-fish, with all of which the place abounds. Some cattle have also been introduced, and the island is much frequented by whalers, who go there for fresh provisions and water. There is nothing particular to be seen, however, and the scenery of the island is not remarkable; at least, so people who have been there tell us, and the photographs I have bought quite confirm their report. Admiral Simpson, who stayed there once for a fortnight, told us a good deal about the place, and strongly recommended us not to go there unless we had plenty of time to spare, as we should not be repaid for our trouble, which would probably only result in the dissipation of all our childish illusions.
Our first step on landing this morning was to go to the Consul's to post our letters. By the bye, I hope people in England will appreciate them, for they cost between nine and ten pounds to send home. For our outward letters, although prepaid in England, we had to pay over eight pounds before we were allowed to have them from the office. Twenty-nine cases of stores, provisions, wine, &c., which had also been sent out, all arrived safely, and cost comparatively little. There are very good French hair-dressers here, a tempting hat-shop, and a well-stocked book-shop; but everything, as I have said, is frightfully dear.
It was half-past three when the harbour-tug arrived to tow us out of the harbour and so save our getting up steam. There was not a breath of air stirring, but Tom hoped we should find more outside when the tug cast us off. As we dropped slowly out, we had a good view of the harbour and town; and we soon found ourselves once more fairly embarked on the bosom of the wide ocean.
VALPARAISO TO TAHITI.
The western sea was all aflame,
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright sun.
Tuesday, October 31st.—Throughout the night a flat calm prevailed. The morning was wet and foggy, or we might still have seen Valparaiso, and perhaps have had a peep at Aconcagua. There was a light contrary wind from the N.W. throughout the day. In the afternoon we saw two whales blowing in the distance.
Wednesday, November 1st.—An almost calm day, with a few light showers, and fitful but unfavourable breezes. Some thirty or forty little birds, which the sailors called Mother Carey's chickens, but which were smaller and more graceful than any I have seen of that name, followed closely in our wake. I was never tired of watching the dainty way in which they just touched the tips of the waves with their feet, and then started off afresh, like a little maiden skipping and hopping along, from sheer exuberance of spirit.