We sailed in the brig Swift, bound to Malta. We carried a cargo of logwood, coffee, sugar, beeswax, raw hides, tobacco, cotton, and staves. These articles generally compose the cargo of vessels bound to the Italian ports. The logwood, coffee, sugar, tobacco, and cotton, are productions not raised in those countries. Hides and staves are much cheaper, and more abundant, in our country than in theirs. They have no great pastures and tracts of wild country filled with droves of cattle, as you will find in many parts of America. Forests of large trees are so scarce with them, that wood of every kind bears a high price. Beeswax is an article which they use to a great extent, as their custom is to burn enormously long wax candles in their churches and religious processions.
It was about the middle of December when we set sail. This is considered the best season for a voyage such as we were bound upon. The oranges are ripe in January and February, so that when the vessel arrives out, the fruit is all freshly gathered and ready for shipping. A great deal of care is necessary in the importation of this sort of fruit; for if the weather be too warm, or the oranges have been too long taken from the trees, they will be spoiled on the passage. It very often happens that a vessel arrives at Boston from Sicily in the summer with a load of oranges and lemons, and having had a long passage, the whole cargo is found to be spoiled, and must be thrown away. This most commonly happens in the Italian vessels, which do not sail so fast as the Americans’, and have not crews so expert in navigation.
Well, I was now fairly on board. We hoisted sail; the wind blew fresh from the northwest; we scudded by the castle, we were soon outside of Boston lighthouse. The pilot jumped into his boat and bade us good-by. I looked after him as his little wherry kept bobbing up and down between the waves, till he was too far off to be seen any longer. The steeples of Boston and the neighboring hills gradually sunk in the horizon; night came on, and I could see no more of my native land. We carried all sail through the night, in order to get well off the coast while the wind was fair, as the weather is very variable near the land, and it is highly dangerous to be near the coast in winter. By-and-by we had furious squalls of wind, which tore our sails, and put us in great danger. In a day or two more we crossed the Gulf Stream, which is a long and wide current of water running through the Atlantic, from the Gulf of Mexico nearly across the ocean. I was astonished to find the water in this current blood-warm, although it was the middle of winter; but Captain Scudder informed me that this is always the case, as the water comes from a warm climate. Dreadful thunder-storms also happen here, and a great many ships have been struck and burnt up by lightning in the Gulf Stream.
We were all very glad when we had crossed this remarkable current, for we had nothing but squalls of wind and showers of rain while we were in it. At length we got fairly out into blue water, the sky grew clear, we had a bright sun and a fair wind, and although the sea continued to roll and dash pretty turbulently, yet it was a pleasure to stand on the deck and look at the glorious broad ocean, with its blue waves, crested with white foam, sparkling in the sun. Two or three ships had kept us company off the coast, and for some days we could discern their white sails on the verge of the horizon; but they presently sunk out of sight, and we found ourselves with nothing but sea around and sky above us.
One day, as I was walking on the deck and looking out for a sail, I was surprised to see a stream of water rise up out of the sea at some distance. I pointed it out to the man who was steering at the helm, and was told by him that it was a whale, spouting. I had never seen a whale before, and was anxious to get a nearer view of so wonderful a creature. My wish was soon gratified. Presently he directed his course towards our vessel, and passed by us, spouting up streams of water from his nose in a manner that excited my astonishment. When I contemplated the monstrous bulk of this creature, and the amazing swiftness with which he dashed through the water, I could not repress a feeling of terror. Yet it is well known that men are courageous enough to go out to sea in little boats for the purpose of catching such enormous monsters. The description of the whale fishery is one of the most interesting items in the history of human courage and skill, and shows how the ingenuity of man can triumph over the strength of the mightiest of all the brute creation. The whale is attacked, pursued for miles across his own element, and finally killed and taken by six or eight men in a boat, so small that, if he had but the sense to open his mouth, he might swallow the boat and its crew.
I had another amusement at sea in witnessing the gambols of the shoals of porpoises which now and then came tumbling around us. These fish generally move in single file through the water, and when they meet a ship at sea, they shoot right before her bows, so as almost to strike the vessel; but as they dart with great velocity, they always manage to steer clear. At such times it is highly interesting to watch their movements, as they glance through the water just below the surface. When the sun shines, they glisten in the waves with all the hues of the rainbow, and one would almost imagine they were proud of showing their gaudy colors, for they dart along the ship’s side, as if on purpose to be seen. This diversion is often fatal to them, for the sailors contrive to catch them with harpoons. They are very fat, and yield a large quantity of oil. Their flesh is black, and tastes a good deal like pork; it is much relished by crews that have been long deprived of fresh provisions.
In the course of our voyage, as I was looking over the vessel’s side one bright, sunshiny day, I saw something sailing along on the top of the waves that looked exactly like one of the chip boats which the boys sail in the Frog Pond. The sailors told me it was a fish called the Portuguese man-of-war. I looked upon it with admiration. It was a most curious sort of shell-fish, with a thin white membrane or wing spread in the air for a sail. By the help of this it steered before the wind just like a ship, and kept company with us for two or three miles. When I was looking at it with a spy-glass, it suddenly struck its sail, dove under water, and was out of sight in an instant.
(To be continued.)
Story of Philip Brusque.
(Continued from page 21.)