Mrs. Carr being denied the companionship of women, found what relief from the monotony she might, in writing letters, and especially in writing in her commonplace-book many quotations from the poets. She beguiled the time, also, in composing poetry which deals rather with themes of home, than with those of distant scenes. The ship was wafted toward South Africa, but it did not weigh anchor. "The only view we had of South Africa consisted of some monkeys in the trees." When the Cape Verde Islands were sighted, Captain Myles was anxious to exhibit his skill by passing within a stone's throw of one on either side. Mrs. Carr, rejoicing at the sight of something more human and picturesque than monkeys in trees, took extensive notes:
"June 18. The Captain caught a large dolphin—change of color in dying. Breakfasted on flying fish.
"June 19. Sighted Antonio and St. Vincent islands—passing between them. Cape de Verde Islands, possessions of Portugese. Antonio with its innumerable rocky points, some losing themselves far above the clouds. The white haze peeping behind, lights up the acute angles of the points—the heights are dark, frowning and barren, with white bowlders at the feet. The gray terraces in the distance look like leaping waters, rushing onward to the ocean, to kiss the breakers. The shores are dotted with little villages whose houses are small and white, with red tiled roofs. Around these villages are spreading greens along the shore, and extending up the heights that, through the glass, are seemingly inaccessible. Yet these heights are laid out, far up, with hedges into green fields and waving orchards. The shore is indented with innumerable little bays, and the magnificent ravines to which they point, fill the soul with awe.
"St. Vincent is inhabited by the Portugese, yet there is not a spring, or well of fresh water, or a blade of grass in the whole island. There are the signs, far up the island, of the washing of the waves. What a glorious sight they would present in a storm! Here and there, far up the heights are solitary rocks and vast strata left bare by the washing of rains and waves, and blackened by the elements. Signals are hoisted opposite Porte Grande in order that the Oriental may be reported in Liverpool in 12 days. Two sailing ships are in the harbor. The Oriental passed between St. Vincent and Shell Island."
One day the discovery was made that there was a stowaway on board; it was a young man with a crippled arm, who had slipped into a hiding-place as the Oriental lay at the Liverpool dock. Captain Myles was all the more furious because he found himself helpless to rid himself of the unfortunate youth. He compelled the stowaway to do the meanest labor, and the hardest his crippled state would allow. When the sailors encountered him, they greeted him with oaths, if they greeted him at all. He was set to scour the decks, and it was a task that had no ending.
The Oriental drifted at last into the arms of the Trade Winds which sent it whirling around the Cape of Good Hope. A furious storm came on. The sea was lashed into mountain-peaks and was hurled in rushing torrents over the decks. Those sailors who were obliged to remain above, walked waist-deep in water. The man at the wheel was tied to his post—the Captain was up all night; but not, now, at cards and drink. The rumor spread among the passengers that the crew expressed their doubts of weathering the gale. The rumor was founded upon truth; the outcome was extremely doubtful. There was the usual scene preceding a probable capsizing; curses and prayers, the sudden scream of agonized fear, or of desperate appeal. "But we committed ourselves to the care of the All-wise and Almighty, and went to sleep."
Morning came to show under its dim light a battered ship, doors broken open, cabins inundated from the seas that had poured down the hatchways, and spars swept away. But suddenly the ocean grew calm, the wind became fair, and the vessel headed straight for Australia.
They were at table when the cry arose above, "Man overboard!" Captain Myers started up with an oath and went growling and storming to see into the matter. It was the stowaway, who had been cast dizzily from the life-boat he was trying to paint by a sudden lurch of the vessel. The Captain himself threw him a life-preserver and shouted, "Stop for him, he's too crippled to swim to it. Ship about! Man the life-boat!" In that boat brave sailors went down out of sight in the angry sea, then like a bird sat on the crest. Our ship "across sea" rolled fearfully and the Captain commanded the passengers to leave the deck. The sailors in the boat returned, but the poor crippled boy could not be found. And so the fair wind bore them on their way and the youth who had come from the unknown into our story, dropped back again into the unknown. Was there any one to care?[7]
One hundred and four days on the deep, during which period, land had been sighted only three times. Mrs. Carr continued to remember, and to write poetry. We find this, "Written on board the Oriental, South Atlantic, August, 1868: