The frigate-hawk—a truly wonderful bird for its powers of flight—came often to pay us a visit, and changed the monotony of continually looking into the sea for beings endowed with life. I might have shot one or two, and had the head of my rifle more than once on their bodies, as they floated overhead without a quiver in their outspread wings; but such aerial life I did not like to see streaked with blood, so I left them alone in their boundless home, instead of sending them to a glass cage in the British Museum.
Of shark, bonito, and other scaly-looking denizens of the sea, there had been often exciting scenes of what some called sport, but I must say I never could see much fun in it. I certainly should have liked to have had a go-in with a vicious-looking shark on fair terms, but then I was most undeniably afraid of him in the water, and on the deck of our ship he was no match for me; so, before I had seen two such hooked monsters hauled on board and butchered with spears and knives, I used to feel rather disgusted than otherwise with such displays.
As for the huge, gaunt-looking albatross as they flapped their leather-looking wings like vampires around us, no one seemed particularly anxious to settle accounts with them: a superstitious awe influenced even the most reckless amongst us as they circled above our heads. Curiously enough, the only one who had the courage to pull a trigger at them was young K—— of the 74th, and he died soon after he landed.
We were now in latitudes where westerly gales are of frequent occurrence, and a rattling one caught us one night as we were running with studding-sails set. So sudden was its approach that there could be no question of our taking in sail; so, in a storm of wind and rain, we flew along as though Neptune on his foaming sea-horses was trying to catch us. The poor little Arethusa fairly staggered under the force of the gale, like a startled hare now swerving to the right, now to the left, twisting, cracking, and burying herself in the sea as deep as she could without absolutely giving up the struggle and going once for all to the bottom, until old blustering Boreas at last, in kind compassion, relieved us of some spars. Then, with the rags of our late flaunting sails, and with just as much more as was necessary to steady us on our course, we proceeded more safely if more humbly than before. The little ship rose buoyant to the seas as though no longer afraid of them, starting afresh from the top and sliding down the ribbed backs of the long-rolling billows, defying them as they crested their foaming heads in anger behind us.
It was very exciting. I thought of Sam Rowe and his little smack battling with such weather, and though I had more confidence in his skill than in that of our skipper, yet, like Tom Bowling, I preferred the Arethusa in the Bay of Biscay to the Mary Jane.
Good old Sam! I hope he won’t think me foolish as he reads these lines—for the old boy is hale and hearty yet, and, with spectacles on nose, and ‘Western Times’ in hand, can still discuss matters shrewdly.
On the 30th July the white cliffs of Brighton gladdened our eyes, and running up the coast, we hove to off Eastbourne and took a pilot on board. Some of us were so anxious to get ashore that we took passage in the boat that had brought out the pilot, and with a cheer from some of the more patient who had remained on deck, pulled away to the beach; but on our arrival there, we found that the boat was too deep in the water to get close in to the shore. This did not stop us. Young L—— and I jumped into the surf up to our waists and waded ashore. This ducking had in no wise cooled my excitement, for, in placing my foot once more on English soil, I threw myself on the ground and gave it a hearty kiss.
After this exhibition I felt rather taken aback by the astonished looks of some sight-seers who had come down to view our disembarkation. On rising to explain matters to the astonished natives I could not get a word out. They no doubt thought me to be choking with emotion, but it was otherwise. In the fervour of my embrace the sand had got into my mouth, and, as I had no tooth-brush at hand, I was obliged to make use of my finger to remove a lump of my fatherland from my mouth, as though it had been a quid.
Young L——, who jumped with me from the boat, had also gone through the same kissing ceremony; he, however, had not taken such a greedy mouthful, and after carefully wiping the salt water from his boots and trousers with his handkerchief, kindly offered to perform the same operation for me. To this I consented; but I thought he was paying rather too much solicitude to my appearance as he scrubbed away at my face; however, the task once over, we started for the Parade, to the laughing astonishment of all the bystanders. After proceeding a little distance L—— left me on some frivolous pretext, and I went on alone.
On reaching the Parade, among the first persons I met were Lady P—— and her daughters—intimate friends of my family. Without much hesitation I gave the old lady a kiss, and would have continued the salute all round if allowed, had not the expression, or rather impression, on her ladyship’s face made me hesitate. She had a marbled forehead, a black-spotted nose, and a comically shaped O round her lips. I saw that I must have blackened her face; and as I knew that it could not have been done by any African black imported from the Kaffirs, I recollected that it must have been by some of Day & Martin’s received from L——’s pocket-handkerchief as we made our hurried toilet on the beach. Lady P—— kindly accepted my excuses for this uncalled-for display of polished attention, and after a few words of explanation, left me spotless of any design to darken either her face or her fame.