The general view around us is more homelike than any thing seen by us since leaving the United States. The growth is no longer tropical. The sky, the temperature of the air, the tinting of the clouds at sunrise and sunset are all those of the Northern States. Yesterday, the Sabbath, was altogether like a fine, bright, fresh and transparent day in October on the Hudson; though, while October there is the gradual freshening of autumn into winter, here it is the softening of spring into summer. The mercury in Fahrenheit has not yet fallen below 50°; still the change from the heat of Rio was felt so sensibly, on reaching the latitude of the river, that flannels, cloth clothes, and overcoats were found comfortable, if not absolutely necessary. The region of the La Plata is famed for the transparency of its atmosphere in fine weather. To this probably is to be attributed, in part at least, the great beauty of the sunsets at this place. We have been delighted by two already gazed on; the one remarkable for the exquisite delicacy of its tints in blue and gold, amber, pink and pearl, and the other, equally soft and beautiful at first, but afterwards gorgeous to sublimity, from the reflections in crimson and gold of a canopy of fleecy clouds spread widely over the heavens.
At Sea.
October 12th.—We made an attempt to leave Montevideo on the 2d inst., but succeeded in making a small change only in our anchorage. At the end of three days, we had scarcely passed the island of Flores, fifteen miles from the city, though we had weighed anchor not less than three times each day in the hope of taking a final departure. The difficulty was caused by a succession of calms, thick fogs, head winds and adverse tides characteristic of the season here. It was not till the 6th that we again passed Lobos and were fairly outside.
Since clearing Cape St. Mary, we have been experiencing all the vicissitudes of the sea: first in a long stretch, off our course, far to the south-east, close hauled upon a head wind; and, since the 9th inst., when this changed in our favor, in a rapid but boisterous run of more than half the distance to Rio de Janeiro. While thus careering on our way, in addition to the ever-varying rush and roar—the cresting, breaking and foaming of the billows behind and around us, we have found an interesting relaxation on deck in watching the sportings and unwearied movements of unnumbered sea-birds, following closely in the broad and troubled wake of our ship, in pursuit of the fragments of food thrown overboard from the different messes at all hours of the day. It is not often that so rich a windfall as the waste of such a ship falls to their lot. To this fact they seem fully alive, and were indefatigable in making the best of their good fortune. Amidst flocks of beautiful Cape pigeons, outrivalling in numbers the crows of Crum Elbow[[2]] in an autumnal evening, were to be seen the gigantic albatross, sweeping round on wide-expanded and motionless wing; the sea-mew and man-of-war bird, black as ravens; the booby, and any quantity of the stormy petrel, treading the water more confidently and more securely than did the unbelieving Peter.
[2]. A well known point on the Hudson River, overhung by precipitous cliffs, a favorite resort of crows.
The Cape pigeon—Procellaria Capensis—is beautiful on the wing or as seen tossing gracefully on the water. Its size is that of a large dove. Its breast is snow-white, with back, wings and tail of slate color, thickly set with oval spots of white, having much the effect on the eye of a tasteful dress in second mourning. Several were taken with hook and line, baited with pork, and one by the mere entanglement of its wings in a line. They are not so pretty or symmetrically formed, on close inspection as at a distance; and in place of the gentleness of the dove, which they at first so much resemble, are as snappish and resentful in spirit against their captors as the most carnivorous of their species.
The albatross—Diomedia Exulans—is white, with wings and back varying in different birds from black to a light brown. It is an ugly-looking bird, about the size of a domestic goose, with large head and great goggle eyes. The wings are very long—from eleven to fourteen feet from tip to tip. This interferes much with the facility of rising when seated on the water. It is only with evident effort and an awkward floundering that they mount again after having alighted; but then, it is a wonder to observe the ease and rapidity of their flight, and their ability, with seemingly motionless wing, to sweep in wide circuit round and round the ship, and still keep up with her in her swiftest career; and this day after day, without apparent exhaustion or fatigue, though sailing at the rate of two hundred miles and more in the twenty-four hours. The fiercer the winds and the more tumultuous the towering and thundering of the waves, the more joyous are their sportings, and the more triumphant their mastery of the elements.
The booby—Sula Bassana—is somewhat like the albatross in general appearance, but less clumsy, smaller, more angular in outline and pinion, and less majestic in flight. The man-of-war bird—Fregata Pelicana—is less adventurous in its wanderings over the sea. Its form is more that of the eagle—hence one of its names, Tachypetes Aquilas—with long feathers on the wings and tail, and its color a jetty black. It owes its English name to a supposition of the ignorant, that in returning to the land it heralds the approach of a ship; but, only from the fact that, like the ship it seeks the shelter of the port on the approach of a storm, and makes an earlier and surer arrival.