“Long, long be my heart with such memories filled.”
CHAPTER II.
On the afternoon of the 15th of December, all hands being on board, with coal dust, and wine for distinguished functionaries in the U. S. on our decks, an orange and banana smell over the ship, and six little Madeira bullocks, who, upon being hoisted in by the horns, no sooner reached the decks, than they indulged in a series of cavortings, to the no small amusement of the old shell-back denizens of the forecastle, we lifted anchor, and steamed away from Funchal, to the south. At nightfall Madeira’s lines of green, and basalt, and red soil, were lost to view.
We were now entering on the longest run we anticipated making during the cruise. On the second morning out at an early hour we made Palma, one of the westernmost of the Canary islands. When the sun came up from behind it, defining its sharp peaks and irradiating the whole outline of the island, I had the happy consciousness that it fully compensated me for the rupture of my matinal slumbers, necessary to get a glimpse of it. The celebrated peak of Teneriffe was wrapped in cloud when we passed, and I did not see it; though others with “optics sharp,” at one time, said they discerned it in the extreme distance. We subsequently passed in sight of the Cape de Verde islands. During the day we ran into what is termed the incipient northeast trades, and as our coal was not deemed sufficient for the run before us, the engines were stopped, twenty tons of water blown from the boilers, fires extinguished, sufficient number of the paddles removed from the wheels, which were lashed, the large smoke stack lowered on the hurricane deck, and the ship put under sail. Many of us thought if the Japanese could only get a sight of the funnel as it lay in its chocks like another huge “peace-maker” when we reached their country, they would prove quite accessible. The spars of the Mississippi being tall, she spread a great deal of canvass, but the wind continuing quite light we made but little progress for several days. A whale saluted us by tapping his head against our port guard. On the 18th we tacked ship, and on the 21st we got the trade-winds proper, and under studding-sails ran quite well. Life on the ocean, monotonous, nearly, at all times, was rendered more so to us, by the transition from a steamer to a sailing ship. To study on shipboard, or even to read with profit, as I had heard before, is next to impossible, unless it may be with an old sea-dog to whom for some forty years the “ocean has been a dwelling-place.” Try it, and you will find your eyes wandering from the type, and your thoughts bolting from the subject, like a refractory quarter-horse over a track railing. The weekly routine of the ship was comprised in going to quarters, morning and evening, for inspection; and once a week the whole ship’s company are beat to general quarters, when the magazines are open, the powder-boys busy in passing and repassing cartridge-boxes, the guns are cast loose and worked by their crews, boarders are called away, pikemen are posted to repel boarders, marines are stationed near them, &c.; the master gives his orders for sail-trimmers to put stoppers on such portions of the rigging, as an active imagination suggests must have been shot away, and all the evolutions of an actual engagement at sea are gone through; together with exercise at fire-quarters, when an alarm with the ship’s bell is rung, at which sentinels are placed at the falls of each boat, so that in an actual emergency there could be none of the inhuman desertion and infamous flight which marked the sad catastrophe of the “Arctic.” All of these exercises, which increase the discipline of a crew and the efficiency of a ship, are of course possessed of more interest to those officers who have military duties to perform on board, than others, who are too apt to experience the indifference of the Emerald isle native, who being informed that the house was on fire, replied it was nothing to him, he “was only a boarder.”
The weather we experienced in the trades was very pleasant, though it became hot with much suddenness. Pretty white clouds trooped across the sky like pilgrims in white, bound to Mecca. The regular waves as they came chasing one another from the horizon, rolled the whitest caps, and the sea was of the bluest, particularly as the lashed arms of our wheels divided the water in their passage, and the wheel-houses keeping off the direct rays of the sun, made it exquisitely transparent. Though the dews at night were so heavy that the moisture would run like rain off the awnings, yet the shadows of the big sails that had gone to sleep from the steadiness of the wind, made deeper by the bright moonlight and the illuminated image of the engine of our Savior’s agony—the “southern cross”—with its twinkling stars looking down from the sky, made one forget that the distance from the coast of Africa was not the greatest, and that the wearing of a thick coat at night, was a decided improvement on a thin one. Porpoises were almost in the daily practice of thrusting their swinish nozzles upon public attention, and innumerable graceful little flying-fish, disturbed by our passage through the water, or chased by the dolphin, flew continually across the waves ahead of us, like flocks of sparrows over briers. But then we had the smallpox on board, on the person of a Portuguese boy shipped at Funchal, and the possibility of contracting this loathsome disease, or the possession of an arm rather sore from vaccination, did not make the run more pleasurable.
The events of Christmas day were, that we were in 13° 23′ north latitude, and 23° 48′ west longitude; a very pleasant repast was spread by the ward-room, where “home with all its endearments” was drunk in Serchal; and a poor little bird very much resembling the partridge of our own country, was blown aboard. This little representative of Africa’s feathery race fell a victim to the taxidermist aboard. What he thought previous to his demise, of the day, I know not, but to me it was not Christmas; and no mental effort could “bring back the features that joy used to wear” when the mistletoe was hung, and the back log placed; nor could the defunct gobbler, who lately bestrode our coop, sole tenant, now lying in very brown state on a festive table, even provoke the pleasant memories.
The next day, promulgated by Commodore M. C. Perry, and signed by the then hiatus secretary of the navy, Mr. Swallow-Barn Kennedy, was read on the quarter-deck, General Order, No. 1, which, it is said, had a precedent in the expedition of Lieut. Wilkes, but which was as bad as its precedent, and equally unjust, being based upon the ridiculous premise that because a government may have claim upon your thews and sinews, or your mental aptitude in the line of your profession, that it likewise has property in the product of your brain, no matter in what other way, out of your calling, it may be exercised. This order was violated subsequently in China, in the grossest way, with the tacit consent of the commander-in-chief who first issued it; as if the prominent, in rule, or law, under our government were any more exempt from its provisions, than that the humblest are not beneath its control. I say in the grossest way, because he permitted, if he did not personally supervise, the preparation of an account of the movements of his squadron, for the colonial English newspapers at Hong-Kong, in preference to our own; papers too, whose columns at other times displayed the village squabbling, which marked the thunders, of the “Eatanswill Gazette” in Pickwick, in response to the shafts of “The Independent.”
The following is the order:—
“U. S. Steam Frigate, Mississippi,
“At Sea, December 21st, 1852.