Soon after the Porpoise was saved, we found ourselves likewise in equal peril. The breakers began to whiten about the ship. The wind was not violent, but the swell was terrible; and the long rollers filled the bay, breaking in forty feet of water, and covering the sea with foam. Our anchors held tolerably well; but we dragged slowly, until, from seven fathoms, we had shoaled our water to four and a half. A council of the officers being called, it was determined to get under way. A hawser and stream-anchor being sent out, in order to bring the ship's head in the proper direction for making sail, the cables were slipped. It was a moment of intense interest; for, had the rollers or the wind inclined the ship from her proper course, we must inevitably have been lost; but she stood out beautifully, and soon left all peril astern.
There were still three merchant-vessels at anchor; the American barque Reaper, a Bremen brig, and a Hamburg schooner. While we had our own danger to encounter, we thought the less of our fellow-sufferers; but, after our escape, it was painful to think of leaving them in jeopardy. To the American barque (which lay inshore of us, with her colors union down) we sent a boat, with sixteen Kroomen, by whose assistance she was saved. The Bremen brig had her colors at half-mast, appealing to us for aid. She was nearer to the shore than the other vessels, and lay in the midst of the breakers, which frequently covered her from stem to stern. Her escape seemed impossible; and her cargo, valued at thirty thousand dollars, would have been considered a dear purchase at a thirtieth of that sum. We gave her all the help in our power, and not without effect; but her salvation, under Providence, was owing to a strong tide, which was setting out of the river, and counteracted the influence of wind and swell. Finally, we had the satisfaction to see all the vessels, one after another, come off safe.
During this scene, there was great commotion on shore, the people evidently expecting one or all of us to be lost. When the Porpoise got off, the Kroomen on the beach raised a great shout of joy.
29.—There is a very heavy sea this morning, with no prospect of its immediately subsiding. The Kroomen say that it will last four days from its commencement. It must have been terrific in the bay, last night. All the vessels are in sight, keeping off till the swell abates. We have left two boats behind us, and two anchors, besides the stream-anchor. There has been nothing like this storm, since our arrival on the coast.
July 2.—Again at anchor.
As we shall soon have done with Liberia, I must not forget to insert, among the motley records of this journal, some account of its ants. The immense number of these insects, which infest every part of the land, is a remarkable provision in the economy of Africa, as well as of other tropical countries. Though very destructive to houses, fences, and other articles of value, their ravages are far more than repaid by the benefits bestowed; for they act as scavengers in removing the great quantity of decaying vegetable matter, which would otherwise make the atmosphere intolerable. They perform their office both within doors and without. Frequently, the "drivers," as they are called, enter houses in myriads, and, penetrating to the minutest recesses, destroy everything that their omnivorous appetite can render eatable. Whatever has the principle of decay in it, is got rid of at once. All vermin meet their fate from these destroyers. Food, clothing, necessaries, superfluities, mere trash, and valuable property, are alike in their regard, and equally acceptable to their digestive powers. They would devour this journal with as little compunction as so much blank paper—and a sermon as readily as the journal—nor would either meal lie heavy on their stomachs. They float on your coffee, and crawl about your plate, and accompany the victuals to your mouth.
The ants have a Queen, whom the colonists call Bugga-Bug. Her subjects are divided into three classes; the Laborers, who do nothing but work—the Soldiers, who do nothing but fight—and the Gentry, who neither work nor fight, but spend their lives in the pleasant duty of continuing their species. The habitations of these insects, as specimens of mechanical ingenuity, are far superior to the houses of the natives, and are really the finest works of architecture to be met with on the African coast. In height, these edifices vary from four to fifteen or twenty feet, and are sometimes ten or twelve feet in diameter at the base. They contain apartments for magazines, for nurseries, and for all other domestic, social, and public purposes, communicating with one another, and with the exterior, by innumerable galleries and passages. The clay, which forms the material of the buildings, is rendered very compact, by a glutinous matter, mixed with earth; and all the passages, many of which extend great distances under ground, are plastered with the same kind of stucco. Captain Tuckey, in his expedition to the river Zaire, discovered ant-hills composed of similar materials to the above, but which, in shape, precisely resembled gigantic toad-stools, as high as a one-story house. In this part of Africa, they have the form of a mound. At the present day, when the community-principle is attracting so much attention, it would seem to be seriously worth while for the Fourierites to observe both the social economy and the modes of architecture of these African ants. Providence may, if it see fit, make the instincts of the lower orders of creation a medium of divine revelations to the human race: and, at all events, the aforesaid Fourierites might stumble upon hints, in an ant-hill, for the convenient arrangement of those edifices, which, if I mistake not, they have christened Phalanxteries.
8.—At 11 A.M., got under way for the Cape de Verds.
10.—Calm in the morning, and predictions of a long passage. At noon, sprung up a ten-knot breeze; and are sanguine of making a short run. In the evening, at the tea-table, we were talking of the delights of Saratoga, at this season, and contrasting the condition of the fortunate visitors to that fashionable resort, with that of the sallow, debilitated, discontented cruisers on the African station. In the midst of the conversation, the cry of "man overboard," brought us all on deck with a rush. There was not much sea, though we were going seven knots. The man kept his head well above water, and swam steadily toward the life-buoy, which floated at a short distance from him—his only hope—while the wide Atlantic was yawning around him, eager for his destruction. We watched him anxiously, until he seized it, and then thought of sharks. We were too far at sea, however, for many of these monsters to be in attendance. In a few moments a boat picked up man and buoy, and the ship was on her course again.
21.—Anchored at Porto Praya.