We awaited here the arrival of the Commodore, whom we had heard was to bring us our release, and send us home immediately upon his reaching the station. Had not a full view of the part of the horizon from which the flagship might be expected to emerge, but many were the glasses directed to the mouth of the Typa, from which a glimpse of the ocean could be gained, and the quarter-masters of each watch were repeatedly ordered to keep a good look-out. The fact was, we were getting tired of China, and despite all the kind favors showered upon us, longed for home:
"Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said:
This is my own—my native land!"
And thoughts of home and dear ones there, would intrude, and strong desires once more to tread the soil of that loved native land, and to press the hands of early and long-tried friends, could not be entirely repressed, although not altogether just to "those we had here."
But we had been now nearly two years absent. Two years on shipboard is a long, a very long time—try it if you doubt—and had seen nearly all that was worthy of observation within our reach. Seas of immense extent rolled between us and our homes, and the circumference of the globe had to be traversed ere we could expect to meet our friends. No wonder then that we so ardently desired to be allowed to point our prow towards the West, or watching the retiring beams of the setting sun, envied that orb the privilege that action gave, of kissing eyelids and gazing into eyes, on which we were wont to gaze "lang syne," nor under the influence of such thoughts that we should give them vent in this manner:
"Farewell, my love, the evening gun
Has boomed in echo o'er the sea;
My soul goes with that sinking sun,
Which sheds its rising beams on thee.
"May it bring to thee peace and joy,
Tho' here, it care and darkness leaves;
For gloomy thoughts my soul employ,
Which now no light from thine receives.
"Oh, for one old accustomed smile!
That dark eye's glance of lustrous light;
But these are distant many a mile,
And I can only sigh—Good Night!
[164] "Good night, my love, whilst darkness lowers
Around our lone and silent bark,
Morning smiles sweetly on thy bowers,
And greeting, upwards flies the lark.
"Thou art the sun that glads my way,
Thine eye the beam of life to me,
Thy smile can turn my night to day,
As upwards speeds my soul to thee."
I have before explained the causes which operated upon me to produce such effects as above, and hope the reader, if ever he or she should have been afflicted in either of the ways I have mentioned, will at least tolerate the method of alleviation.