A sleek-faced gentleman turned up his eyes at us, and inquired: “You lub dis gal, Cap’en?”
“Thunder, no!” said the astonished American; “I don’t love anybody!” Which remark, I guess, was not very far from the truth.
The vessel which I am now on board of is a full-rigged, finely-finished English brig. Her sails are all set, the wind blows fresh, and she cuts the water like a sword-fish. The captain cleared $1,400 on his trip out, with a cargo of lumber from the States. How much will our friend Wm. Whipper make in a year running his craft up a Canadian creek? The tenacity with which our leading colored men embrace that short-sighted policy which teaches them to confine their enterprises to certain proscribed, prejudice-cursed districts, is not only extraordinary—it is marvellous.
The heavenly night comes on. The clouds in the sky look like ships on fire. The rising moon trembles upon the silver-sheeted waves in the east, while the receding sun burnishes the west, tinging the waters even to our very spray. And thus, in this sea of glory, do we skim along. This is the “poetry of sailing.”
“Thou glorious, shining, billowy sea,
With ecstasy I gaze on thee!
And as I gaze, thy billowy roll
Wakes the deep feelings of my soul.”
LETTER XV.
British Honduras.
THE ISLAND OF RUATAN—THE SAILOR’S LOVE STORY—THE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE BAY ISLANDS—ENGLISH VS. AMERICAN VIEW OF CENTRAL AMERICAN AFFAIRS.
Off Ruatan the New “Gibralter,” Flower of the
Bay Islands, and “Key to Spanish America."
