Life in Mexico | Page 9

and died in its
birth. Mr. -----, the consul, has been giving me an account of the
agreeable society in the Sandwich Islands! A magnificent sunset, the
sight of which compensates for all the inconveniences of the voyage.
The sky was covered with black clouds lined with silver, and
surrounded by every variety of colour; deep blue, fleecy, rose, violet,
and orange. The heavens are now thickly studded with stars, numbers
shooting across the blue expanse like messengers of light, glancing and
disappearing as if extinguished.
It is well to read the History of Columbus at sea, but especially in these
waters, where he wandered in suspense, high-wrought expectation, and

firm faith; and to watch the signs which the noble mariner observed in
these latitudes; the soft serenity of the breezes, the clear blue of the
heavens, the brilliancy and number of the stars, the sea-weeds of the
gulf, which always drift in the direction of the wind, the little land-birds
that come like harbingers of good tidings, the frequency of the shooting
stars, and the multitude of flying-fish.
As the shades of evening close around, and the tropical sky glitters with
the light of innumerable stars, imagination transports us back to that
century which stands out in bold relief amidst other ages rolling by
comparatively undistinguished, and we see as in a vision the
Discoverer of a World, standing on the deck of his caravel, as it
bounded over the unknown and mysterious waste of waters, his vigilant
eyes fixed on the west, like a Persian intently watching the rising of his
god; though his star was to arise from whence the day-god sets. We see
him bending his gaze on the first dark line that separated the watery sea
from the blue of the heavens, striving to penetrate the gloom of night,
yet waiting with patient faith until the dawn of day should bring the
long-wished for shores in sight.
6th.--For three days, three very long and uncomfortable days, the wind,
with surprising constancy, has continued to blow dead ahead. In ancient
days, what altars might have smoked to Aeolus! Now, except in the
increased puffing of consolatory cigar-smoke, no propitiatory offerings
are made to unseen powers. There are indeed many mourning signs
amongst the passengers. Every one has tied up his head in an
angry-looking silken bandana, drawn over his nose with a dogged air.
Beards are unshaven, a black stubble covering the lemon-coloured
countenance, which occasionally bears a look of sulky defiance, as if its
owner were, like Juliet, "past hope, past cure, past help."
7th.--This morning the monotony of fine weather was relieved by a
hearty squall, accompanied by torrents of rain, much thunder, and
forked lightning. The ship reeled to and fro like a drunken man, and the
passengers, as usual in such cases, performed various involuntary
evolutions, cutting right angles, sliding, spinning round, and rolling
over, as if Oberon's magic horn were playing an occasional blast amidst
the roaring winds; whilst the stewards alone, like Horace's good man,
walked serene amidst the wreck of crockery and the fall of plates.
Driven from our stronghold on deck, indiscriminately crammed in

below like figs in a drum; "weltering," as Carlyle has it, "like an
Egyptian pitcher of tamed vipers," the cabin windows all shut in, we
tried to take it coolly, in spite of the suffocating heat.
There is a child on board who is certainly possessed, not by a witty
malicious demon, a diable boiteux, but by a teasing, stupid, wicked imp,
which inspires him with the desire of tormenting everything human that
comes within his reach. Should he escape being thrown overboard, it
will show a wonderful degree of forbearance on the part of the
passengers.
8th.--The weather is perfect, but the wind inexorable; and the
passengers, with their heads tied up, look more gloomy than ever.
Some sit dejected in corners, and some quarrel with their neighbours,
thus finding a safety-valve by which their wrath may escape.
9th.--There is no change in the wind, yet the gentlemen have all
brightened up, taken off their handkerchiefs and shaved, as if ashamed
of their six days' impatience, and making up their minds to a sea-life.
This morning we saw land; a long, low ridge of hills on the island of
Eleuthera, where they make salt, and where there are many negroes.
Neither salt nor negroes visible to the naked eye; nothing but the gray
outline of the hills, melting into the sea and sky; and having tacked
about all day, we found ourselves in the evening precisely opposite to
this same island. There are Job's comforters on board, who assure us
that they have been thirty-six days between New York and la "joya mas
preciosa de la corona de Espana."[1]
[Footnote 1: The most precious jewel