ADVERTISEMENT.

These little volumes consist of extracts from the Journal of a young person, who, having passed her childhood at Rio Janeiro, was sent, at the close of that period, on a visit to her English friends.

Her father, Colonel Montague, had been ordered to Brazil upon confidential business; and, foreseeing that it would occupy him for an indefinite time, he carried his family along with him. They had remained in that country several years, when their domestic happiness was suddenly destroyed by his death; and the effect of the shock on his unfortunate widow was such, that she was wholly unable to undertake a voyage to England. She was, therefore, obliged to continue her residence {iv}at Rio; but her brother, who had always been tenderly attached to her, requested that she would permit her daughter Bertha to visit him; and, though a most painful separation, she consented, knowing how much it would be for her child’s advantage.

Bertha promised to keep a constant Journal, and to send it whenever an opportunity offered; and such parts of that Journal have been selected by the Editor, as it is hoped may be found useful or interesting.{1}

BERTHA’S VISIT.

H.M.S. Phaeton, June 17th.

My Dear Mamma,

Though I wrote to you yesterday by the Blossom, which “we spoke,” I am tempted by the delightful smoothness of the sea to begin another letter, in order to tell you a little of what I have seen and thought;—but how different from being with you every day—from being your companion as well as your child! I will not, however, say another word about my sorrow at leaving you; I will try to show that I remember your last words: “affection is best preserved by not yielding to violent feelings.” Indeed, I believe I said too much in yesterday’s letter of the misery I felt. I now try to console myself with the hope that as your health has been so much better for the last two years, you will soon, perhaps, be able to follow your poor little daughter to England; and I repeat to myself all the good reasons that you were so kind as to give{2} for the propriety of sending me to my native country.

I am determined to follow your advice in keeping my mind constantly occupied; and as you have often said that there is no place in which something interesting may not be observed, I shall at once begin the journal you desired me to keep. It shall be ready to fold up whenever an opportunity may occur; so that I shall have the pleasure of making you and my sister, dear Marianne, frequently share with me in all that I see, and all that I enjoy.

20th.—For a day or two after our last faint view of the woody heights of Cabo Frio, I was diverted by the number of pretty land-birds, and even butterflies, that came about the ship, and fluttered in the rigging; and as they gradually disappeared I amused myself, as long as I was able, in gazing on the sea, and in watching the little waves as they dashed against the ship’s side. That pleasure soon ceased, for they became so rough that I suffered very much from sickness: but this evening there has been scarcely any wind; the dark blue sea is almost as smooth as a mirror, and I can walk, and read, and write, as if I was on shore. The captain took me on deck to see the sun setting behind the western horizon; it was indeed a beautiful sight, and the broad red line of light reflected from the{3} water added greatly to the grandeur of the scene.

22d.—Mrs. P—— is very kind, and tries to rouse my mind, and to make me see whatever is worth observing. Just like you, Mamma, she thinks active occupation is the best remedy for grief, and she has suggested several employments in which she will be my companion. Among other things, we are to learn together the names and uses of the principal parts of the vessel.

24th.—We were much delighted yesterday evening with the luminous appearance of the sea, and the captain has promised to show us some of the insects from which the light proceeds. Many of them are common in all seas, he says; but there are some which are seldom found outside the tropics.

Just as I had written so far, Captain M. invited us to go on deck to look at some birds that were hovering about the vessel. One of them was a phaeton, or tropic-bird, of which there are many varieties;—that which I have seen to-day had a red bill, and very long white wings, tipped with black; the legs and feet bright red: the tail consists of only two straight feathers, almost two feet long, which they drop every year. These are worn in the caps of the Sandwich{4} islanders, and in the mourning dress of the Otaheitans.

25th.—Last night we had the good fortune to procure one of the luminous creatures that make the sea so brilliant. After many fruitless attempts, a bucket of water brought up a fine specimen, about two inches long, and as thick as my finger; somewhat cylindrical and transparent. On its surface are numerous little tubercles; and as there seems to be a cavity all through the body, it might at first be thought one individual, but the captain showed me that it is an assemblage of animals united together. He examined the specimen very minutely, and then put it into a phial of spirits of wine to preserve it. He seems to be very fond of natural history, and told us that the sparkling appearance of the sea, which may be observed in all parts of the world, is produced by animalculæ, or little creatures that can only be discerned by a microscope.

26th.—We have seen more birds to-day. Some of them were petrels; they remained a long time skimming about the ship, and though they greedily devoured any fat substance thrown into the sea, all our endeavours to procure one failed. One species was the stormy petrel, which they say is seen all over the Atlantic Ocean. Some chopped straw being thrown overboard, we saw{5} them stand on it with expanded wings; but these birds never settle or swim in the water. They skim along with incredible rapidity in the hollows of the waves. It is to the stormy petrel that these two lines allude—

28th.—The captain was so good as to explain to us this morning the manner in which the rigging supports the masts, and how the yards are raised, and lowered, and braced in different positions, in order to adapt them to the force and direction of the wind. He also walked round the gun-deck with us, and showed us the cannon and all their implements, which are kept in such a constant state of readiness, that in five minutes, night or day, the whole battery would be ready for fighting. But nothing pleased me so much as the lower-deck, where he took us while the crew were all at dinner on nice pea-soup and salt pork, and all sitting comfortably on their chests placed round the tables; of which there is a complete row along the foremost half of the deck. The other end of this deck contains the officers’ cabins, which, although not above six or seven feet either in length, or breadth, or height, are very nicely fitted up with a chest of drawers, a little book-case, a chair, and even a sofa; be{6}sides a cot, or bed, which is only hung up at night.

30th.—We have seen the man-of-war bird to-day. It has a membranaceous bag like that of a pelican, bright red—the plumage is brown. It is always on the wing, very seldom having been observed to settle on the masts of ships. Other sea-birds, when tired of flying, generally rest themselves on the surface of the water; but the very great length of the wing makes it impossible for this bird to do so, as it could not easily rise again.

When we were becalmed this morning, we had an opportunity of seeing a number of birds of various kinds, the albatross, among others;—and one of the dark-coloured variety was caught with a small fishing-line; it measured seven feet between the tips of the wings. Its face is very remarkable, for its flat head and crooked bill give it some resemblance to the owl, which is increased by its large prominent eyes. As we advance to the north this species will become scarce, Captain M. says, but we shall have the great albatross, which is by far the largest of all aquatic birds.

July 2d.—I have been delighted with the flying fish, of which we have seen numbers for some days. They ascend sparkling out of the{7} waves, sometimes singly, sometimes in great numbers, when pursued; but in avoiding one danger they are exposed to another, for it is said that the man-of-war bird has been seen to pounce upon them while in the air. Their flight is generally in a direction contrary to the wind, and seldom exceeds a hundred yards; nor do they rise high, though Captain M. says he has seen them fall on his deck. He showed me their enemies too, the bonito and the albacore, which, he says, are both of the mackarel tribe. They swim with great rapidity, and are so strong, that they sometimes, in the midst of the most rapid course, leap five or six feet perpendicularly above the surface, and plunge again head foremost into the waves.

4th.—I have been looking at Mother Carey’s chickens, the least of all the petrels, I believe; and the fulmar, which is certainly the most beautiful, for its plumage is of a snowy whiteness, and, as Mrs. P—— observed, seems unsoiled by the water, though constantly diving.

7th.—It seems a very long time since we have seen land, but I am not yet tired of a sea life. Much as I love all the works of nature, I never felt such admiration for any thing as I do for the sea. Its extent, its depth, and the grand and almost terrific sound of its waves—it fills on{8}e’s mind with awe; and it is wonderful to think that, powerful and uncontrollable as it appears, man should be able to pass over it to the most distant regions, and to guide his ships through its stormy and turbulent waves.

In speaking of the sea, Captain M. remarked how admirably the consistence of water, or as he calls it the viscidity, is adapted to its various purposes, and to the support of floating bodies. “How little,” said he, “do we observe the objects which are always before our eyes: we see without surprise masses of dust raised by the wind, and carried to a great distance; and we see also that water, though much lighter than dust, is not carried off by the winds in the same manner. If it were, every strong breeze from the ocean towards the land would bring an inundation; navigation would be impossible, and the banks of rivers and seas would be uninhabitable. The adhesion of the particles of water to each other is the cause of its preservation in masses; it would otherwise evaporate like æther, or be dispersed like dust. Such is the simplicity employed by Nature in all her works.”

8th.—We have twice seen the stormy petrel, but as yet it has not been the forerunner of storms;—it is black, with a very little white near the tail. One of the officers told me it is called petrel, after St. Peter, from his having walked on the sea.{9}

9th.—We have been looking at a grampus, or a small kind of whale, and at a shoal of porpoises, that passed close alongside of the ship. The grampus was blowing water up in the air, in the most amusing manner, making beautiful jets d’eau that sparkled in the sun. The captain told me that in sucking in their food the whale tribe draw in a great deal of water, which they have the power of spouting out through a hole in the head.

13th.—Yesterday we crossed the tropic of Cancer. There is already a great change in the sea, which was so beautifully smooth while we were in the torrid zone, that we danced almost every evening; but now it is rough and disturbed, and at times the waves break so violently that I see nothing but foam. I like very much to look at them in that state.

15th.—Mrs. P—— and I have seen several dolphins; one of them was struck with the harpoon, and, while hanging upon deck, it was continually changing into an endless variety of colours. The back was blue, then green; its breast a brilliant orange or yellow, spotted with blue and lilac; and its fins were just like a peacock’s neck. Indeed, the captain called it the “peacock of fishes.”

The sea is now quite rough; the tranquil water we had while near the line is gone; and I some{10}times find my head too unsteady to be able to write.

16th.—We have seen a great deal of sea-weed for some days; they suppose it to be drifted here by the Gulf-stream. I asked the captain to explain to me what the Gulf-stream is; and he told me that the trade-wind, which constantly blows across the Atlantic ocean from the eastward, forces the sea into the Gulf of Mexico, and makes it rise there above its natural level. From the Gulf it escapes by the narrow channel between the West India islands and Florida, and takes a north-easterly direction along the coast of North America, as far as the island of Newfoundland. It is there turned off to the south-east, and runs to the Azores, or perhaps to the coasts of Europe and Africa, before it spreads out and entirely loses itself in the surrounding ocean. The first accurate account of this great current was published by Dr. Franklin, who had discovered that, after being heated in the torrid zone, it cools so gradually that its temperature continues always higher than that of the ocean through which it flows—so much so, that ships

can tell when they enter it or leave it, by dipping a thermometer into the sea. Its velocity is very great, as it is said to run at the rate of four or five miles an hour, when it first leaves the Gulf.{11}

A good deal of the sea-weed was hauled up for Mrs. P—— to examine. It seems to be all of one species—the floating fucus, she calls it; it is curious what quantities of it are matted together, like a tangle of ropes, and what a number of very small crabs take up their abode in it.

18th.—More sea-weed, but of different kinds. This day the captain shewed us some of the vine-leaved fucus, which is one of the most curious species. He says it is sometimes brought up, by the sounding lead, from the bottom of the ocean, where, even at the depth of one hundred and ninety-two feet, its leaves are as green as grass. He says this is considered as one of the few instances of plants vegetating in obscurity, without becoming white; for, though light is transmitted through the sea, yet it is much weakened by passing through such a depth. We have also seen the giant fucus, and one of the officers said he had once measured a piece that was eight hundred feet long.

The captain says, that the reason why we find such an extraordinary quantity of sea-weed in this part of the ocean, is, that the Gulf-stream finally expends its force about here; and therefore the weed which it conveys must accumulate, and remain till it perishes, or till it sinks; and he shewed us several specimens in different {12}states of decay. “Yes,” said Mrs. P——, “its decay is very evident; but what can make it sink?”

He replied, by shewing us several little shell-fish adhering to the under side of a bit of weed. “These,” said he, “must have been deposited there before it was torn from its native rocks by the current; in the course of their long voyage they grow; and their increased size and weight gradually sink the weed. My attention was first turned to this curious circumstance from having observed some of the weed lying edgewise in the water; I had it taken up, and found some heavy limpets attached to the lower edge.”

Mrs. P—— acknowledged this was quite a new fact to her.

20th.—The captain amused us to-day by shewing a very simple method of ascertaining the saltness of the sea, which any person can try. He dried a towel in the sun, weighed it carefully, and I noted its weight. It was then dipped in sea-water, and being wrung sufficiently to prevent it from dripping, it was again weighed, the increase of weight being that of the water imbibed by the cloth. It was now thoroughly dried, and once more weighed, and the excess of this weight, above the original weight of the cloth, shows the quantity of the salt retained by it; then, by comparing the weight of this salt with that of the sea-water imbibed by the cloth,{13} we found what proportion of salt was contained in the water.

22d.—This morning a little land bird flew on board; I begged to have it, and I keep it in the cabin, and feed it. I asked how they knew it was from the land, and a sailor answered, “No sea birds, Miss, except boobies[1], ever rest upon the ships they follow; this poor fellow has been blown off shore by some long north-easter.”

Our captain was laughing to-day at the mistakes that authors, who have never been at sea, make in some of their fine poetical descriptions. He mentioned the albatross, as an instance, which some one has described as rising off the deck. He says it never alights on the deck, and if it were there, it could not rise again. It finds great difficulty in rising even from the sea, and scrambles along the waves to a great distance before it can fairly use its wings. They have five joints to spread out, and appear to have no motion except at the moment the bird first raises itself into the air; when, at the same time, it makes several strokes against the water with its webbed feet. This impulse once given it seems to have no longer occasion to flap its wings; it holds them widely expanded while it glides along, balancing its body from right to left, and sweeping majestically over the surface of the sea.{14}

24th.—We have passed two of the Azores or Western islands,—Flores looked very green; but the other, Corvo, seems little better than a lofty, naked rock.

25th.—We have had a very hot south-easterly wind this morning, which the captain says comes from Africa. He showed us that the sails and ropes were tinged with the reddish sand that these winds generally carry with them. It was quite impalpable to the touch; and he was for a long time trying to obtain some of it, by washing and roasting, for his microscope.

26th.—I am growing a little tired, dear Mamma, of this long voyage, though Mrs. P—— finds continual objects of amusement for me. Sometimes, when there is a heavy swell of the sea, and that the wind blows freshly, we divert ourselves watching the waves: it is curious to see the head of a large wave, just as it rises and meets the wind, dashed off, and changed into foam; and showing, when we can place ourselves between it and the sun, innumerable little rainbows.

I happened to say at dinner that I wondered how this constantly moving ocean should ever become frozen into one field of ice; but the captain told me that the deep ocean never freezes permanently. Any ice that may have{15} been formed on it in winter is broken up by gales of wind, and is drifted about till it becomes fixed to the shores.

The great icebergs that are sometimes seen floating on the sea are formed by the accumulation of ages on high precipitous shores, and are afterwards broken off by their increasing weight.

How extraordinary every thing relating to the freezing of the sea is; and how strange that plants should grow on ice islands. How do they get there, or the earth in which they vegetate?

28th.—There was a sudden change of wind to-day; it drove the sea furiously before it, and the meeting of the new wind with the old waves made them break as high as the ship, and like the surf on a reef of rocks: it was most beautiful, but very terrific indeed.

29th.—I suppose that such a sudden change of wind is the forerunner of a storm, for last night there was a dreadful one for some hours. Mrs. P—— and I were a little frightened; but the vessel was not in any danger, Captain M—— says. Towards morning the wind subsided, the raging sea became less boisterous, and she and I read together the service for thanksgiving after a storm. Our hearts, indeed, felt what is expressed there. How beautiful are the psalms{16} selected for it—particularly “O come! let us give thanks unto the Lord, for he is gracious.”