A First Year in Canterbury Settlement | Page 8

the N.E. trades. The sun keeps the air deliciously warm, the breeze
deliciously fresh. The vessel sits bolt upright, steering a S.S.W. course,
with the wind nearly aft: she glides along with scarcely any perceptible
motion; sometimes, in the cabin, one would fancy one must be on dry
land. The sky is of a greyish blue, and the sea silver grey, with a very
slight haze round the horizon. The water is very smooth, even with a

wind which would elsewhere raise a considerable sea. In latitude 19
degrees, longitude 25 degrees, we first fell in with flying fish. These are
usually in flocks, and are seen in greatest abundance in the morning;
they fly a great way and very well, not with the kind of jump which a
fish takes when springing out of the water, but with a bona fide flight,
sometimes close to the water, sometimes some feet above it. One flew
on board, and measured roughly eighteen inches between the tips of its
wings. On Saturday, November 5, the trades left us suddenly after a
thunder-storm, which gave us an opportunity of seeing chain lightning,
which I only remember to have seen once in England. As soon as the
storm was over, we perceived that the wind was gone, and knew that
we had entered that unhappy region of calms which extends over a belt
of some five degrees rather to the north of the line.
We knew that the weather about the line was often calm, but had
pictured to ourselves a gorgeous sun, golden sunsets, cloudless sky, and
sea of the deepest blue. On the contrary, such weather is never known
there, or only by mistake. It is a gloomy region. Sombre sky and
sombre sea. Large cauliflower-headed masses of dazzling cumulus
tower in front of a background of lavender-coloured satin. There are
clouds of every shape and size. The sails idly flap as the sea rises and
falls with a heavy regular but windless swell. Creaking yards and
groaning rudder seem to lament that they cannot get on. The horizon is
hard and black, save when blent softly into the sky upon one quarter or
another by a rapidly approaching squall. A puff of wind--"Square the
yards!"--the ship steers again; another--she moves slowly onward; it
blows--she slips through the water; it blows hard--she runs very
hard--she flies; a drop of rain--the wind lulls; three or four more of the
size of half a crown- -it falls very light; it rains hard, and then the wind
is dead--whereon the rain comes down in a torrent which those must
see who would believe. The air is so highly charged with moisture that
any damp thing remains damp and any dry thing dampens: the decks
are always wet. Mould springs up anywhere, even on the very boots
which one is wearing; the atmosphere is like that of a vapour bath, and
the dense clouds seem to ward off the light, but not the heat, of the sun.
The dreary monotony of such weather affects the spirits of all, and even
the health of some. One poor girl who had long been consumptive, but
who apparently had rallied much during the voyage, seemed to give

way suddenly as soon as we had been a day in this belt of calms, and
four days after, we lowered her over the ship's side into the deep.
One day we had a little excitement in capturing a shark, whose
triangular black fin had been veering about above water for some time
at a little distance from the ship. I will not detail a process that has so
often been described, but will content myself with saying that he did
not die unavenged, inasmuch as he administered a series of cuffs and
blows to anyone that was near him which would have done credit to a
prize-fighter, and several of the men got severe handling or, I should
rather say, "tailing" from him. He was accompanied by two beautifully
striped pilot fish--the never-failing attendants of the shark.
One day during this calm we fell in with a current, when the aspect of
the sea was completely changed. It resembled a furiously rushing river,
and had the sound belonging to a strong stream, only much intensified;
the waves, too, tossed up their heads perpendicularly into the air; whilst
the empty flour-casks drifted ahead of us and to one side. It was
impossible to look at the sea without noticing its very singular
appearance. Soon a wind springing up raised the waves and obliterated
the more manifest features of the current, but for two or three days
afterwards we could perceive it more or less. There is always at this
time of year a strong westerly set here. The wind was the
commencement of the