July 1st.—Porto Santo looked beautiful, its head enveloped in clouds. The rocky island rises boldly out of the sea; its mountains are very picturesque. The sight of land and white châteaux was quite charming.
I now began to recover from the maladie de mer, and to regain my usual good spirits. Creatures of habit, we soon grew accustomed to the small space. The stem cabin, twelve feet by ten, at first sight appeared most extremely inconvenient; but now it seemed to have enlarged itself, and we were more comfortable. Still sleep would scarcely visit me, until a swinging cot was procured. From that time I slept calmly and quietly, whatever pranks the old ‘Ely’ might choose to play.
The comfort or discomfort of a voyage greatly depends upon your fellow-passengers. In this respect we were most fortunate; one-half the officers of the 16th Lancers were in the ‘Ely.’ The old 16th to me were friends; my father, who had been many years in the regiment, was forced to quit it, in consequence of a severe wound he received in action in the Pays Bas, under the command of the Duke of York. My uncle had commanded the gallant regiment in Spain, and other relatives had also been many years with the regiment. Chance had thrown us amongst friends.
Perhaps no friendships are stronger than those formed on board ship, where the tempers and dispositions are so much set forth in their true colours.
July 4th.—We passed the Isle of Palma; it looked beautiful, rising abruptly from the sea; the trees appeared fine and numerous. We are in the trade winds, going generally about eight knots an hour; the evenings are delicious; little or no dew falls so far from land; in the evening we sit on deck, and enjoy the breeze. The moon is reflected so beautifully on the waves, the nights are so warm, the air so pure, the climate so agreeable, I could willingly turn canary bird, and take up my residence in this latitude.
Sometimes quadrilles are danced by the light of the moon; sometimes by the glare of half-a-dozen lanterns. There is little or no motion in the vessel; no events occur; yes—let me not forget—a little boy fell into the pea-soup and got a ducking; luckily for him, it was nearly cold. “The misfortunes of the stable fall on the head of the monkey[8].” The deck presents a curious assemblage: Lancers at extension exercise, women working, sailors hauling, children at school, ladies reading or talking in groups—altogether an amusing scene.
On Sundays Divine service is performed; the psalms are sung in very good style, accompanied by the Lancer band. The weather is hot; the thermometer 79° in our cabin, 81° in the cuddy, which at dinner-time contains six-and-thirty people. To-day a shark was caught; it was attended by three pilot fish, which, they say, guide the shark to its prey. These small fish are very pretty, and striped like zebras. The shark was hooked and dragged up by the stern windows; he struggled manfully, but was soon despatched.
A little flying-fish flew into one of the ports to escape the pursuit of a larger fish; it was small and curious, but not so pretty as one would imagine. Two large fins spread out on its sides, like wings. It was a novelty to most of the passengers.
July 22nd.—What a strange, bustling life! This is baggage-day; all the trunks are on deck—such a confusion! I am suffering from maladie de mer; the wind is contrary; we tack and veer most tiresomely; the ship pitches; we cling about like cats, and are at our wits’ end, striving to endure our miseries with patience.