Her father, Colonel Montague, had been ordered to Brazil upon confidential business; and, foreseeing that it would occupy him for an indefinite time, he carried his family along with him. They had remained in that country several years, when their domestic happiness was suddenly destroyed by his death; and the effect of the shock on his unfortunate widow was such, that she was wholly unable to undertake a voyage to England. She was, therefore, obliged to continue her residence at Rio; but her brother, who had always been tenderly attached to her, requested that she would permit her daughter Bertha to visit him; and, though a most painful separation, she consented, knowing how much it would be for her child’s advantage.
Bertha promised to keep a constant Journal, and to send it whenever an opportunity offered; and such parts of that Journal have been selected by the Editor, as it is hoped may be found useful or interesting.
BERTHA’S VISIT.
H.M.S. Phaeton, June 17th.
My Dear Mamma,
Though I wrote to you yesterday by the Blossom, which “we spoke,” I am tempted by the delightful smoothness of the sea to begin another letter, in order to tell you a little of what I have seen and thought;—but how different from being with you every day—from being your companion as well as your child! I will not, however, say another word about my sorrow at leaving you; I will try to show that I remember your last words: “affection is best preserved by not yielding to violent feelings.” Indeed, I believe I said too much in yesterday’s letter of the misery I felt. I now try to console myself with the hope that as your health has been so much better for the last two years, you will soon, perhaps, be able to follow your poor little daughter to England; and I repeat to myself all the good reasons that you were so kind as to give for the propriety of sending me to my native country.
I am determined to follow your advice in keeping my mind constantly occupied; and as you have often said that there is no place in which something interesting may not be observed, I shall at once begin the journal you desired me to keep. It shall be ready to fold up whenever an opportunity may occur; so that I shall have the pleasure of making you and my sister, dear Marianne, frequently share with me in all that I see, and all that I enjoy.
20th.—For a day or two after our last faint view of the woody heights of Cabo Frio, I was diverted by the number of pretty land-birds, and even butterflies, that came about the ship, and fluttered in the rigging; and as they gradually disappeared I amused myself, as long as I was able, in gazing on the sea, and in watching the little waves as they dashed against the ship’s side. That pleasure soon ceased, for they became so rough that I suffered very much from sickness: but this evening there has been scarcely any wind; the dark blue sea is almost as smooth as a mirror, and I can walk, and read, and write, as if I was on shore. The captain took me on deck to see the sun setting behind the western horizon; it was indeed a beautiful sight, and the broad red line of light reflected from the water added greatly to the grandeur of the scene.
22d.—Mrs. P—— is very kind, and tries to rouse my mind, and to make me see whatever is worth observing. Just like you, Mamma, she thinks active occupation is the best remedy for grief, and she has suggested several employments in which she will be my companion. Among other things, we are to learn together the names and uses of the principal parts of the vessel.
24th.—We were much delighted yesterday evening with the luminous appearance of the sea, and the captain has promised to show us some of the insects from which the light proceeds. Many of them are common in all seas, he says; but there are some which are seldom found outside the tropics.