1843.—I will pass over my wanderings in France, Belgium, and Germany without comment. My absence from India was prolonged far beyond the time originally allotted me, by the deep and numerous afflictions that fell upon me. One by one all those I loved had sunk into the grave: mental suffering, united to anxiety and bodily exertion, brought on severe illness, and that buoyancy of spirit which had hitherto supported me was gone. How can I express my gratitude to those dear friends who nursed me with such unwearied care and affection during a long and painful illness of nearly three months’ duration, with which I had to struggle; until, with health regained, my happy spirits began to resume their empire? It is a blessed dispensation of Providence, that, “with returning health returns that energy, without which the soul were given to us in vain; and which enables us calmly to face the evils of our being, and resolutely to fulfil its objects: there is but one philosophy (though there are a thousand schools), and its name is fortitude. To bear is to conquer our fate.”

On my recovery, contrary to the advice of my medical advisers, I determined to sail immediately for the Cape, and rejoin my husband, who had been compelled by illness to quit India, and proceed, for the benefit of his health, to Southern Africa. Having engaged the larboard stern cabin on the poop of the “Carnatic,” a vessel of Captain I—’s, for £110 to the Cape; and having secured the services of an ayha, to wait upon me during the voyage, I took leave of my friends, and went to Portsmouth, to await the arrival of the ship.

Feb. 8th.—Sailed from Portsmouth at noon; it was stormy, and blew hard, but the wind was fair; the thermometer 46°—most bitterly cold. I suffered greatly from mal de mer, and was most completely wretched, so miserably cold and uncomfortable.

10th.—In the Bay of Biscay we encountered a confusion of seas, all huddled and jostling together; a strong following wind sent the vessel swiftly along, the waves roaring after her, whilst, every now and then, a sea struck her fearfully. I was too ill to quit my couch.

14th.—A heavy gale came on, and blew incessantly with frightful force for two days and nights! How the ship pitched and rolled! she groaned as if all her timbers were being wrenched asunder; this would continue ten minutes, and then came a pause—perfect silence for a few seconds, after which the groaning of the timbers recommenced, and the same dead silence at intervals; it gave me the idea that the vessel beneath me was crazy in every beam, not sea-worthy.

16th.—Foul wind and rain; even that was better than the state of the vessel during the gale, which abated a little this morning. The pitching and rolling, added to the groans of the timbers, allowed of no rest night or day; it was to me a life of great suffering, added to which, the ship was badly provisioned, and the cook a very bad one.

17th.—The captain of the vessel told me he was never out in such a gale before; the first officer asserted the same. His course lay outside Madeira, but the foul wind and heavy sea, in which the captain said the ship could not live, forced him to decide on taking the course within the islands.

18th.—A wild wind and heavy sea, the waves striking the ship, and pouring over her in fearful style; the galley was washed away, the live-stock under the large boat was nearly all destroyed, and seven of the pigs were killed. The deck presented a scene of marvellous confusion; the sailors, attempting to save the live-stock, were thrown down on the deck, and the steward, lying in the water that rushed over it, was holding on to a pig; the animal bit his hand, the steward let go, and the pig was washed overboard by the next roll of the ship. With the vessel in such a state the passengers were left to shift for themselves, and very badly off they were. At dinner-time I crept out to get some food, my ayha having been unable to procure any thing for me during the whole day from the steward; the captain apologised for the dinner on table, on account of the galley having been washed away: it consisted merely of one great cheese, and each person was supplied with a biscuit! Nineteen hungry cadets were there; how the boys ate!—the great cheese quickly disappeared. Every one was in good humour, and glad of biscuit and cheese; but the news of the loss of so much of the live-stock was far from agreeable.

21st.—From the time we quitted Portsmouth until this day I have been miserably ill with mal de mer, added to which, I have scarcely been able to sleep at night, the weather has been so constantly bad; as for the poor creatures below, they must be nearly stifled,—the waves, which are pouring in on the one side of the deck and out on the other, force them to keep the hatches closed.

The wind was strong and against us; in the evening I saw a beautiful meteor on the starboard bow, shooting down the sky. At night I was sitting Hindūstanī fashion on my sofa, playing on the guitar, and singing—

The sea was very heavy, it blew a little hurricane; the wind suddenly changed, and the “Carnatic” was taken aback; how she pitched and rolled! There was an uproar on deck, but I went on with my song,—it was useless to disturb myself for a storm; certainly the time of the music varied as the heavy pitching sent me backwards and forwards on the sofa.

The next morning the chief officer said, “I was astonished last night when the ship was taken aback, I heard you singing as quietly as possible all the time; I did not like it,—it sounded like the spirit of the storm.” This remark put me in mind of Long Tom Coffin, who, hearing a midshipman singing during a heavy gale, requested that the captain would call him from the gun on which he was seated, adding, “For I know, from having followed the seas my natural life, that singing in a gale is sure to bring the wind down upon a vessel the heavier; for He who rules the tempests is displeased that man’s voice shall be heard when He chooses to send His own breath on the water.”

23rd.—A quiet day, a pleasant evening, and the first tranquil night since I have been on board in which I have been able to get the refreshment of a sound sleep; we are now within the shelter of the islands.

24th.—Another quiet day, a beautiful evening, and a quiet night;—what a luxury! A glorious sunset: the purple clouds stood up from the deep blue ocean like a wall, above were two brilliant streaks of vivid green, other streaks of crimson hue were surrounded by purple clouds, and above all a sky of mottled deep ultramarine blue clouds, of which the edges were of burnished molten gold, like the brilliant dyes on the back of the mackarel. A glorious sunset after such wild gales and drenching rains.

25th.—A nautilus and a tortoise seen. Another sunset, less wild than that of the evening before, but the finale was brilliant. The clouds drew back, and the sun—a perfect world of fire—sank in burning brilliancy into the deep blue sea, which did not appear to catch one tint from its vivid beams, but remained a deep, cold, clear blue, whilst every cloud around caught and returned the rays. In these latitudes, at sea, a sunset is indeed a glorious sight: and what, after the evening shades have fallen around, and the deck is quiet and nearly forsaken, can be more calm and refreshing than the star-light night, and the cool and delightful breeze?—luxurious hours of dreamy contemplation.

26th.—At 6 A.M. I saw the Peak of Teneriffe: when the sun came out in power the Peak became beautiful,—its snowy head ridged with furrows, and glistening like silver in the sun; deep shadows were over the island, the shape could be traced, but with an uncertain effect that gave it the appearance of fairy-land; while, above the shadows, contrasted with and relieved by the unclouded blue sky, the silvery Peak was a beautiful object. The sea was almost perfectly calm, and a number of the nautilus were around us.

27th.—A beautiful day, almost a calm,—Teneriffe and Palma appear to advantage. Several Portuguese men-of-war near the ship.

March 1st.—The trade-wind fine and steady, making us all happy and contented: thermometer 67°,—a most agreeable temperature. My cot came down by the run; the double-jointed brass screws on which it hung, having had too much work from the pitching and rolling of the vessel, broke short off; the old-fashioned common iron screws are far better, give less motion than the double-jointed brass ones, and will not break.

4th.—Lat. N. 17° 57′, long. W. 20° 47′.

A magnificent scene was presented when the sun had disappeared below the horizon; a most brilliant rose tint overspread both sea and sky; clouds of the deepest neutral tint were finely contrasted with others of burning crimson, and two vivid streaks of the brightest green mixed with the warm glow of sunset. While the waves were still bright with the rose tints, and two crimson clouds still lingered amidst those of the darkest hue, the crescent moon arose with the old moon in her arms, and a beautiful lunar bow was brightly visible, silver-tinted like the moon. The captain of the ship remarked it was an uncommon and curious circumstance; the bow remained visible some time. The horizon darkened, meteoric lights played around the ship, illuminating the waves with flashes of silver light, and sparkling stars, the glow-worms of the deep. The trade-wind was blowing, the night was fresh and pure, and most agreeable.

5th.—Lat. N. 15° 12′, long. W. 21° 5′.—Some beautiful flying fish were caught in the shrouds; the captain ruthlessly ordered them to be dressed for breakfast, the flavour was delicate and delicious. Divine service was performed for the first time. A shark seen, and the lunar bow was in the same position as the night before.

6th.—Lat. 12° 43′, long. 21° 8′.—The lunar bow visible at the same hour, brighter and of greater length; it has the appearance of an enormously lengthy comet. The trade-wind good.

7th.—Lat. 11° 8′, long. 20° 40′.—Light winds; the comet or lunar bow, whichever it may be, visible as usual.

8th.—Lat. 9° 21′, long. 20° 55′.—The comet-like appearance very decided, and with a telescope the star at the head was visible. The comet appeared at twenty minutes past six P.M.—disappeared at eight P.M. The light of the tail was of a brilliant silver colour, and it was very much expanded at the end. The crescent moon still brilliant, the sea calm.

9th.—Lat. 7° 46′, long. 20° 53′.—The comet is very distinct, and of enormous size; it appeared in full splendour this evening, was visible a little later than it was yesterday evening, and disappeared about the same time as before. It was a beautiful night, the moon, in her third quarter, was brilliant; Orion shone forth in the deep sky, Aldebaran, the Pleiades, and α Arietis were in full splendour, and Canopus was beautiful.

10th.—This morning two of the young men amused themselves with swimming by the ship’s side during the calm into which we have gradually fallen. The captain remonstrated with them; and a shark was caught, which will prevent such folly in future. Thermometer 85°—very warm. The comet appeared about six, and set about eight P.M.—not so bright this evening as usual. A waveless ocean.

11th.—A deep calm—the sunrise very beautiful, foreboding a very warm day. In the evening the comet, although visible, was obscured by clouds—a squall, and fresh gale at night.

12th.—Lat. 4° 28′, long. 20° 10′.—At break of day this morning, on looking out of the port, the glory of the scene spread before me rendered me speechless with admiration. Who can describe the grandeur, the glorious colours of that sunrise? The burning crimson clouds deeply streaked with the darkest and fullest neutral tints, spread above deep fantastically shaped clouds that rose like mountains from the sea. Above the burnished crimson was a bright gleam of greenish blue sky, and above that was a profusion of clouds, in tones of still deeper and more burning crimson, mixed with the darkest neutral ones, spread upon a sky of the most vivid and deep ultramarine colour—the purple waves rose and swelled glowing with the richest rose tints. On the left, also, deep neutral clouds stood up from the sea like a dark mountain, with streams of crimson light thrown upon its head, in front of which the softest, fullest, and most brilliantly white clouds contrasted with the dark blue sea, on which they appeared to rest. The man who dedicated the dim religious gloom and the crimson-tinted lights of a cathedral to the service of the Almighty must have taken the idea from the feelings inspired by such a scene, where a gorgeous profusion of solemn tints bows the soul to Him who hath “spread His glory in the heavens.”

This sunrise has repaid the toil and trouble of the voyage: the sunsets are magnificent; but who shall describe the glory of the rising sun, the depth of shade, the burning light;—a scene that can never be forgotten, a glory that can never pass from the memory, even to the last. Heavy rain in the evening, the clouds numerous, the comet invisible.

14th.—Rainy and uncomfortable. At night under the stern of the vessel the phosphoric light was beautiful: wishing to see what produced it, I desired the steward to throw out the bucket: he brought up a curious white jelly-like substance, two inches and a quarter in length, and three-quarters of an inch in width, at the thickest end, and shaped somewhat like a finger, covered with rings of small globules emitting a phosphoric light of a brilliantly transparent emerald colour. It extinguishes and resumes the light at pleasure. I put it into a tumbler-full of sea-water: any agitation of the water brought forth a powerful light. By daylight the next morning it had somewhat the appearance of a thinly haired dirty-white caterpillar, and its rounded form had become flat; in this state it weighed one dram one scruple; it was innocuous to the touch, it emitted no light, and was dead.

18th.—Neptune wished to come on board, but his company not being considered agreeable, the visit was declined, and a present promised to him at the end of the voyage.

19th.—The stars very bright—a lovely night in the trade winds—the comet very high, much more vertical; the end of the tail appeared some distance beyond Rigel in Orion—the stars hid their diminished heads as it passed over them—it set at a quarter past 9 P.M.; its enormous magnitude was astonishing.

22nd.—The calm continued—the weather very warm—eight vessels around us wind-bound, as well as ourselves. To amuse the younger passengers, and pass away the time, which hung wearily on their hands, theatricals were commenced, concerts were given, and a newspaper was established and continued weekly, entitled “The Comet.”

23rd.—The Magellan clouds visible—the southern cross, with its pointers very brilliant—the whole sky gemmed with stars—the moon, Vesta, and Mars, remarkably beautiful.

April 1st.—A glorious sunset over Trinidada and Martin Vas rocks.

4th.—Lat. S. 24° 39′, long. W. 29° 24′. The comet, which has been gradually diminishing in brightness, was invisible this evening, and we never beheld it again. The stock of water is very low; of the live-stock very little remains, and there appears small chance of getting on more quickly with the voyage.

9th.—Another calm: are we ever to arrive at the Cape? The water is nearly expended; of the live-stock alone remain three sheep, two pigs, four fowls, and one goose. The captain talks of watering the vessel at Tristan d’Acunha. The stock is in a melancholy condition, and the solitary lean goose has fallen a victim to the rapacious jaws of nineteen hungry cadets.

14th.—A heavy sea; shipping water in large quantities, rolling and pitching heavily; a sharp wind and strong breeze. On the high foaming waves astern, the spray bows, as they call them, are most remarkably beautiful,—like small rainbows on the waves, four or five sometimes visible at the same time; I watched them with great pleasure from the stern-windows.

15th.—The sea calmer; eight albatross and numerous small birds astern; in the evening they collected close to the vessel, following it, and picking the bait off the hooks thrown out to catch them.

16th.—Three albatross caught: the smaller one measured nine feet from tip to tip of its wings. A gentleman had the kindness to prepare it for me with arsenical soap, and I brought it to England.

26th.—Anchored at 10 A.M. in Table Bay, after a voyage of seventy-eight days from Portsmouth, and eighty-nine from the Docks.

My arrival was unexpected, and therefore, I trust, only the more welcome.