Portsmouth, April 17, 1805.
My dearest Father—I can only say we are all going on board, and expect to sail to-morrow, certainly for the Mediterranean. Don’t write any more to this place. I am perfectly happy and comfortable. God bless you, and my mother, and Louisa.—Ever yours, my dearest Dad,
Chas. Boothby.
You must not expect to hear from me any more, but I will seize every opportunity.
From Journal Notes
Began to blow hard as we made the Scilly Isles, chops of Channel so rough, landsmen on beam ends. In Bay of Biscay, increased to squally gale. One entire day in cabin. Great confusion from violence of motion. Every day afterwards on deck.
April 26, 1805.—Delightful starlight night. Fleet in compact body with lights astern; silence only broken by mellowed sea noises. So happy a time for the feast of thought, that I could not leave deck till after midnight.
April 27.—Voyage ten days old. Wrote to my father.
Off the Coast of Spain,
Between Cape Finisterre and Ortegal,
Sunday, April 27, 1805.
Calm air, bright sun, and a cheerful prospect of land.
With much satisfaction, my ever dearest Father, I sit in the boat astern and turn my pen to a usual and most comfortable employment.