Holyhead.
23rd.—Here we arrived this day at eleven; early to-morrow we are to sail, and in six hours we shall probably arrive in Ireland. What our immediate operations are to be in Dublin I do not yet know; but my journal shall be regularly kept for your satisfaction, my dear mamma, though probably not so much at length as at quiet, peaceful Fernhurst.
On the road from Mona, this morning, we were talking over our travels; and as we all agreed that they had been delightful, my aunt asked each of us what was the peculiar circumstance that had made this journey appear so very agreeable. One suggested that it was the uninterrupted fine weather; another, the gaiety and good humour of the whole party; a third said it was the kindness and indulgence of my uncle and aunt; but Wentworth was decidedly of opinion that it was because “we had not pushed on in a desperate hurry.”
My aunt agreed that all those circumstances had concurred in promoting the general cheerfulness; but she thought that some others might be also mentioned. For instance, there had been no indecision in our plans; the whole route, and the objects to be seen, had been previously discussed; the wishes of all had been consulted; and with that happy mixture of candour and of consideration for others, which constitutes good breeding, they had been expressed, adopted, or waived, as appeared most suitable to the general taste. The punctuality of every body had been another source of satisfaction; as well as the mutual pains to share with each other every little discovery; and she placed above all, the disposition to be pleased. “Even here,” she added, “where to most people the ennui of such a place as Holyhead is only varied by dwelling on the expected miseries of a voyage, the same happy habits will produce the same results; out of doors you will, I am sure, find sufficient objects of interest, and within, we can double the pleasure of our journey by recalling the principal occurrences; Bertha, indeed, will have the additional resource of her journal, the scribbling of which has been her daily, and I fear, her nightly occupation for the past twelvemonth.”
We soon after walked to the beautiful new pier and light-house, which have both rendered the harbour so much more safe and convenient than it was formerly; and then my uncle, Wentworth, and Frederick, proposed going to the Stack light-house, on the other side of Holyhead Island. Caroline and I begged very hard to be allowed to accompany them, and at last my uncle consented, though he thought the walk would be too fatiguing for us.
We scrambled up the high bare mountain, which rises behind the town; and certainly no place ever looked more bleak and comfortless. At last the path unexpectedly led us to an abrupt precipice, at the bottom of which the sea beat in among the rocks with terrible violence. Indeed I could scarcely bring myself to look down. We found here a flight of steps, four hundred, I believe, which are cut in the rock, and which wind along its face to a sort of platform. We descended very carefully, keeping, as you may suppose, close to the rock, for the wind was rather high, the steps narrow, and we were often startled by the flocks of sea-birds that suddenly bounced up from the cliffs.
From this platform a sort of bridge of ropes extends to the Stack-rock, on which the light-house stands; the bridge is a hundred feet long; the sides are of net-work, and a few boards are loosely laid to walk on. It all moves so much, that I could not help feeling a little afraid; and once the wind having blown my light gown into the openings of the net work, I fancied that the guide, who was walking close behind, was pulling me back; I stopped, and he scolded me for stopping; but my uncle fortunately heard us, and smiling at my nonsense, he explained the cause of my alarm.
The poor light-house men are looking forward with great satisfaction to a new chain bridge which is preparing for this place. It will not only be more safe and convenient for them in stormy weather and dark nights, but, by inducing more travellers to visit them, it will help to cheer their loneliness; and as there is a something in such very wild and dreary scenes, that touches a stranger’s sympathy, they will no doubt frequently obtain little presents, which will enable them to indulge in a few more comforts than they can now afford. In truth this light-house must be a melancholy abode; the wind always howling above, and the sea continually roaring below, and sometimes even throwing its spray over the windows. It was, however, very nice and clean, and as comfortable as such a place can be: my uncle took us up into what is called the lantern, and explained the use of the concave metallic reflectors which are placed behind the lamps for the purpose of increasing the brilliancy of their light by reflection. He also shewed us the contrivance by which the light is made to disappear every two minutes, in order that sailors should be able to distinguish it from all other light-houses in the Irish channel.
In returning, we observed that the tide had ebbed in the harbour, which had been so full when we first arrived, that the water came up almost to the door of the inn. It was now nearly empty; great mud-banks extending from each side, and leaving only a little winding stream in the middle. This led to some questions about the cause of the tides, and my uncle promised that to-morrow, when we are quietly seated on the deck—as neither of us intend to be seasick—he will endeavour to make me comprehend the manner in which the moon acts upon the ocean, so as to raise the waters in one part of the globe while they are depressed in another.
He then joined in a conversation that had been going on between Wentworth and Caroline, about the bottom of the sea. He said they were both greatly mistaken, if they supposed it to be everywhere a flat, even surface; on the contrary, like all other parts of the crust which surrounds the globe, it consists of sloping hills and plains, rocks and mountains. When these approach nearly to the surface of the water, they are called shoals and banks; and when their summits rise above it, they become islands. The different strata that compose the coast, may be often traced to some island at a considerable distance; the shores of France and England exactly correspond in some places; and to shew the continuity of the strata, he says it is well known that many springs of fresh water, which must proceed from the land, rise through the sea from its bottom. He gave several instances of this, but I recollect only Bridlington Bay in Yorkshire; and the gulf of Naples, where there is a spring of hot-water, that bubbles as it comes to the surface. Bituminous and mineral waters are also found rising through the sea; and near Cumana, in South America, there is a spring of naphtha, which spreads itself on the waves, and frequently inflames.