Esdale tried to comfort me, and advised me to have one written ready to send should another opportunity occur.
The first land we made soon after this was Madeira. Except the coast of Norway, I had seen no foreign country, and as we passed it within a quarter of a mile, it struck me as very beautiful and fertile.
The wind being light we tarred down the rigging, and a few days afterwards, when we were about eight hundred miles from the land, one morning, on coming on deck, I noticed that the shrouds and every freshly-tarred rope looked as red as if they had been just painted. I asked the doctor, who allowed me to speak to him in a familiar way, what had caused this, and he told me that it was the red sand blown off the coast of Africa, and that it was a common occurrence in these latitudes.
We passed in sight of the Cape de Verde islands, one of which, called Fogo, seemed of a prodigious height. The first place we touched at was the island of Brava, into which the captain put to obtain fresh provisions.
“Now is my time,” I thought. “If I can go on shore here, I shall be able to get back by the next homeward-bound vessel which calls at the place.”
Jim proposed that we should smuggle ourselves on board some shore-boat, but to this I would not agree.
“We will go with the captain’s leave,” I answered, “and he surely will not refuse it now that he has no excuse for doing so.”
I therefore went up to him as soon as he came on deck.
“Captain Hawkins,” I said, in as firm a voice as I could command, “again I ask you will you allow Jim Pulley and me to leave your ship and wait on shore until we can get a passage home?”
“Peter Trawl, if that’s your name, I shall do no such thing,” he answered. “If I find you attempting to go on shore I shall put you in irons.”