Here’s a heart for any fate.
“Though the ocean roar around me,
It still shall bear me on;
Though a desert should surround me,
It has springs that may be won.”
Family Sorrows—Departure from England—The Carnatic—A Gale—The Spirit of the Storm—Sunsets—Peak of Teneriffe—The Trade Wind—A most Magnificent Comet—Phosphoric Lights—Visit of Neptune declined—Scarcity of Provisions—Spray Bows—Albatross caught—Arrival at the Cape of Good Hope.
1843.—I will pass over my wanderings in France, Belgium, and Germany without comment. My absence from India was prolonged far beyond the time originally allotted me, by the deep and numerous afflictions that fell upon me. One by one all those I loved had sunk into the grave: mental suffering, united to anxiety and bodily exertion, brought on severe illness, and that buoyancy of spirit which had hitherto supported me was gone. How can I express my gratitude to those dear friends who nursed me with such unwearied care and affection during a long and painful illness of nearly three months’ duration, with which I had to struggle; until, with health regained, my happy spirits began to resume their empire? It is a blessed dispensation of Providence, that, “with returning health returns that energy, without which the soul were given to us in vain; and which enables us calmly to face the evils of our being, and resolutely to fulfil its objects: there is but one philosophy (though there are a thousand schools), and its name is fortitude. To bear is to conquer our fate.”
On my recovery, contrary to the advice of my medical advisers, I determined to sail immediately for the Cape, and rejoin my husband, who had been compelled by illness to quit India, and proceed, for the benefit of his health, to Southern Africa. Having engaged the larboard stern cabin on the poop of the “Carnatic,” a vessel of Captain I⸺’s, for £110 to the Cape; and having secured the services of an ayha, to wait upon me during the voyage, I took leave of my friends, and went to Portsmouth, to await the arrival of the ship.
Feb. 8th.—Sailed from Portsmouth at noon; it was stormy, and blew hard, but the wind was fair; the thermometer 46°—most bitterly cold. I suffered greatly from mal de mer, and was most completely wretched, so miserably cold and uncomfortable.
10th.—In the Bay of Biscay we encountered a confusion of seas, all huddled and jostling together; a strong following wind sent the vessel swiftly along, the waves roaring after her, whilst, every now and then, a sea struck her fearfully. I was too ill to quit my couch.