Chapter Eight.
Once more I was on the deck of the Governor Harcourt, her bows turned towards the south, ploughing up the waters of the Atlantic. It was the last voyage Captain Willis intended to make, as he had now realised a handsome competency, and hoped to be able to retire and enjoy it with his family in the country of his birth. We had very different people going out to those who were on board on our homeward voyage—or rather, they were the same sort of people at a different period of their lives. There were a few civil and military officers, and ladies, who had before been to India; but the greater number were young men just emancipated from school or college—griffins, as they are called—who knew nothing of the world or its ways, though they fancied that they knew a great deal, the most ignorant generally appearing the most conceited. There was also a number of young ladies, going out to their relations and friends in India. As Captain Willis was well-known for the excellent care he took of his lady passengers, they had been committed to his especial charge.
For some time nothing of importance occurred, nor did we see any land to distract our attention from the varying line of sky and sea. At last, one morning, at an early hour, when Captain Willis said we were near the island of Madeira, the cry of “Land ahead!” was raised, and in a short time we were passing between that beautiful place and a group of rocks called the Desertas. They are about ten miles from the mainland, and extend for almost fifteen miles from north-west to south-east. Some of the seamen told me that they are called the Desertas, because they have deserted from the mainland to stick out in the ocean by themselves; but the true origin of their name is, that they are desert or barren rocks.
The island, when first seen, looked dusky and gloomy; but, as the sun rose, his rays dispersed the mist, and the mountains, and hills, and valleys, and orange groves, and picturesque shore, and the plantations, and neat white villas and small villages, burst forth in all their beauty. As we rounded the southern side, the town of Funchal, the capital, opened to our view, backed by an amphitheatre of hills, covered with the variegated tints of a luxuriant vegetation, the whole forming a lovely scene which we longed to visit.
As we did not require fresh provisions, Captain Willis wished to proceed. Madeira belongs to Portugal, and is inhabited by Portuguese. Their costume is different, and they are generally inferior to the inhabitants of the parent state.
I have heard people say that they cannot find amusement on board ship. I can reply that I have found abundant matter of interest for many a long voyage, both under the sea and on the sea. I remember, on one calm day, when the ship was scarcely moving through the water, a boat was lowered to enable us to capture some of the Physalia, or Portuguese men-of-war, which were seen in unusual numbers gliding over the surface of the deep. Several of the passengers, among whom were three of the cadets, formed the party intent on scientific discovery. One, whose name was Jellico, but who was more generally called by his companions Jellybag, was among them.
Some of my readers may wonder what is meant by a “Portuguese man-of-war,” and think that, notwithstanding the daring of British seamen, we were bound on rather a hazardous expedition, in attempting to attack one in a jolly-boat. The truth is, that it is the name given to a beautiful molluscous animal, which by means of a sort of sail, the wind blows along as if it were a real boat. It consists of a bladder, tinted with various hues, and this keeps it afloat; while long tentaculae, of a deep purple colour, extend beneath, some of them several feet in length, with which it captures its prey. This animal must not be confounded with the Nautilus, from which it is totally different, though one is often mistaken for the other.
Our friend Jellybag did not exactly know what he was to see, but he expected to find something uncommon. We had not rowed many strokes before one of the Physalia was observed floating by, its back ornamented with a fringe tinted with light-blue, delicate sea-green, and crimson.
“I’ll have it,” exclaimed Jellybag, leaning over the bows and grasping hold of it, regardless of the injury he was inflicting.
Scarcely had he got it on board, then he flung it down at the bottom of the boat, with a loud cry, exclaiming, “The horrid beast has stung me, as if it were a great nettle!” So it was, for it had thrown round his fingers its long tentaculae, discharging, at the same time, an acrid fluid from them, which caused the pain he felt. We all laughed at him at first very much; but he suffered so considerably during the day from the effects of the sting, that the more humane really pitied him, in spite of the ridiculous complaints he made.