I hoped to have heard from you before I left, but no letter has reached me.
God bless you and the little ones.
Yours affectionately,
Isaac.
My dearest Wife,—It is now January 27, and the eighth day of our being at sea. I wrote you a brief note on the day I sailed, Tuesday, January 19. We left the wharf at three P.M., with a strong westerly wind, which drove our bark through the water at the rate of eight knots per hour. The weather was very cold, but with my cloak around me, I remained on deck several hours. Soon Boston and its suburbs vanished in the distance, and we were fairly embarked on our journey’s way. As I think it will interest you, I will jot down the occurrences of each day since our departure. And first of all, my ocean home is in a beautifully modeled and fast-sailing bark of about two hundred tons, called the Prompt. There are twelve souls on board: Captain Wellman, first officer Gallicer, second officer Stebbins, six men before the mast, one man acting as cook and steward, my servant, a nice Irish lad, Owen Clarke, nineteen years of age, and your humble servant. The officers of the bark are a fine set of fellows, and the crew perfectly cheerful and attentive to their duty. Tuesday evening I was not much troubled with sea-sickness, and I enjoyed a good night’s rest; but Wednesday, January 20, was a hard day, nothing but sea-sickness. In pursuance of the advice of Captain Wellman, I remained on deck as much of the time as possible. The weather was somewhat cold, but the wind moderate. We drifted along the greater portion of the day, not faster than two or three knots an hour. After suffering from sea-sickness till noon, I went to my berth. There is an inexpressible lassitude accompanying sea-sickness, that is worse than anything else. It requires an effort to make the least exertion.
Thursday, January 21. This day we had snow all the time. I remained on deck twelve hours, and towards evening felt vigorous and well. The weather begins to grow milder. I begin to relish food and to enjoy sea fare. Our steward has been sick ever since we left port, and we are in consequence obliged to do the best we can without a cook. It is now evening, the breeze freshens, the bark dances along merrily, and there are signs of a gale of wind. I remained up till eight o’clock, and then retired for the night. As I awoke from time to time, I could observe from the working of our vessel that it went hard on deck. I took things quietly and remained in my berth, and about sunrise of
Friday, January 22, I went on deck. The scene was wild and exciting. The ocean tossed in wild confusion, and our brave bark riding the crests of the waves like a sea-bird. The gale had been a severe one, and the captain told me that at one time he expected he should be obliged to lay to under bare poles. We pursued our way before the wind, making nine and ten knots per hour.
Saturday, January 23. The sea has become much smoother and the weather milder. Yesterday we were in the midst of the Gulf Stream, and to-day we have passed it.
Sunday, January 24, was a beautiful day. The weather mild and lazy. I was on deck all day,—part of the time reading, and part dozing and sleeping. It is comfortable on deck without a coat. We are getting rapidly into southern latitudes.
Monday, Tuesday, January 25, 26. Head wind and slow progress. Monday we saw several sail. The weather exceedingly mild and soft. I never enjoyed existence more than on these two days,—that is, mere existence. I dreamed away many hours, and built and pulled down air castles. The thought of home was uppermost. What a change in outward things in six days. In Bucksport you wrap your cloaks and comforters around you; at sea we pull off our coats. My health is perfect; everything like sea-sickness has left me.
Wednesday, January 27. This is likewise a mild, soft, somewhat damp day. We make exceedingly slow progress; the wind is dead ahead. I fear we shall be a month reaching the Brazos. Shall I hear from you there, and how many letters will await me? I trust I shall be with you again in the course of the summer. I dwell much on my probable duties in Mexico. In case the contest should be of short duration, I shall certainly return in the course of the year. I fear that you will take things hard in my absence. When I reach the Brazos, I may be able to speak with some certainty of my duties in Mexico.