Glimpses of the bottom of the Sea—The Gar-Fish—The Booby and the Mullet—Improvement of Liberia—Its Prospects—Higher social position of its Inhabitants—Intercourse between the White and Colored Races—A Night on Shore—Farewell to Liberia.—Reminiscence of Robinson Crusoe.

September 1.—At Porto Grande.

To-day, as for many previous days, the water has been beautifully clear. The massive anchor and the links of the chain-cable, which lay along the bottom, were distinctly visible upon the sand, full fifty feet below. Hundreds of fish—the grouper, the red snapper, the noble baracouta, the mullet, and many others, unknown to northern seas—played round the ship, occasionally rising to seize some floating food, that perchance had been thrown overboard. With my waking eye, I beheld the bottom of the sea as plainly as Clarence saw it in his dream; although, indeed, here were few of the splendid and terrible images that were revealed to him:—

Nevertheless, it was a sight that seemed to admit me deeper into the liquid element than I had ever been before. Now and then came the long, slender gar-fish, and, with his sword-like beak, struck some unhappy fish which tempted his voracity. I watched the manoeuvres of the destroyer and his victims, with no little interest. The fish (which, in the two instances particularly observed, was the mullet) came instantly to the surface, on being struck, and sprang far out of water. He swam on his side with a circular motion, keeping his head above the surface. From time to time he leaped into the air, spasmodically, and in a fit of painful agony; for it could not be from alarm, as the foe was nowhere visible. Gradually, his strength failed, and his efforts became feebler, and still more feeble.

The fates of the two mullets were different. One received a second blow from the inexorable gar-fish, which, for a moment, increased his agony and his exertions. He then lay motionless upon the surface, at rest from all trouble. The conqueror came a third time, seized his prey, and swam swiftly out of sight.

The other mullet, which rose half an hour afterwards, swam closer to the ship than his predecessor, and received no second blow. While the poor fellow was yet in the death-struggle, came two great sable birds, with bills, wings, and legs, like those of the heron. Flapping their dark wings in the air, they circled round, and repeatedly swooped almost upon the dying fish. But he was not doomed to be their victim. Presently, with his brown back, white breast, and pink bill, came flapping along a booby, and, without a moment's hesitation, stooped upon the mullet, and appeared to swallow him in the twinkling of an eye. The fish was at least six inches in length, and the bird not twice as much. How so liberal a morsel could be so quickly disposed of, was a marvel to a dozen idlers, who had been curiously observing this game of life and death to one party, and a dinner to the other. Certainly, the booby carried off the fish. Borne down by the weight of his spoil, the feathered gormandizer alighted on the water—rested himself for a moment—rose again, and re-alighted—and in this manner, with many such intervals of repose, made his way to the shore.

25.—At 1 P.M., sailed for the Coast, in company with the Truxton.

26.—Anchored off Cape Mesurado.

It is now fourteen months since our ship first visited Monrovia. Within that period there has been a very perceptible improvement in its condition. The houses are in better repair; the gardens under superior cultivation. There is an abundant supply of cattle, which have been purchased from the natives. More merchant-vessels now make this their port, bringing goods hither, and creating a market for the commodities, live stock, and vegetables, of the colonists. An increased amount of money is in circulation; and the inhabitants find that they can dispose of the products of their industry for something better than the cloth and tobacco, which they were formerly obliged to take in payment. The squadron of United States men-of-war, if it do no other good, will at least have an essential share in promoting the prosperity of Liberia.

After having seen much, and reflected upon the subject even to weariness, I write down my opinion, that Liberia is firmly planted, and is destined to increase and prosper. This it will do, though all further support from the United States be discontinued. A large part of the present population, it is true, are ignorant, and incompetent to place a just estimate on freedom, or even to comprehend what freedom really is. But they are generally improving in this respect; and there is already a sufficient intermixture of intelligent, enterprising and sagacious men, to give the proper tone to the colony, and insure its ultimate success. The great hope, however, is in the generation that will follow these original emigrants. Education is universally diffused among the children; and its advantages, now beginning to be very manifest, will, in a few years, place the destinies of this great enterprise in the hands of men born and bred in Africa. Then, and not till then, will the experiment of African colonization, and of the ability of the colonists for self-support and self-government, have been fairly tried. My belief is firm in a favorable result.

Meantime, it would be wiser in the Colonization Society, and its more zealous members, to moderate their tone, and speak less strongly as to the advantages held out by Liberia. Unquestionably, it is a better country than America, for the colored race. But they will find it very far from a paradise. Men, who expect to become independent and respectable, can only achieve their object here on the same terms as everywhere else. They must cultivate their minds, be willing to exert themselves, and not look for a too easy or too rapid rise of fortune. One thing is certain. People of color have here their fair position in the comparative scale of mankind. The white man, who visits Liberia, be he of what rank he may, and however imbued with the prejudice of hue, associates with the colonists on terms of equality. This would be impossible (speaking not of individuals, but of the general intercourse between the two races) in the United States. The colonist feels his advantage in this respect, and reckons it of greater weight in the balance than all the hardships to which he is obliged to submit, in an unwonted climate and a strange country. He is redeemed from ages of degradation, and rises to the erect stature of humanity. On this soil, sun-parched though it be, he gives the laws; and the white man must obey them. In this point of view—as restoring to him his long-lost birthright of equality—Liberia may indeed be called the black man's paradise.

It is difficult to lay too great stress on the above consideration. When the white man sets his foot on the shore of Africa, he finds it necessary to throw off his former prejudices. For my own part, I have dined at the tables of many colored men in Liberia, have entertained them on shipboard, worshipped with them at church; walked, rode, and associated with them, as equal with equal, if not as friend with friend. Were I to meet those men in my own town, and among my own relatives, I would treat them kindly and hospitably, as they have treated me. My position would give me confidence to do so. But, in another city, where I might be known to few, should I follow the dictates of my head and heart, and there treat these colored men as brethren and equals, it would imply the exercise of greater moral courage than I have ever been conscious of possessing. This is sad; but it shows forcibly what the colored race have to struggle against in America, and how vast an advantage is gained by removing them to another soil.

10.—Yesterday, Governor Roberts gave our officers a farewell dinner. We left the table early, made our adieus, and were on our way down the river half an hour before sunset. The pilot and some of our friends endeavored to dissuade us from attempting the passage of the bar, pronouncing the surf too dangerous. Some Kroomen also discouraged us, saying that the bar was "too saucy." With the fever behind us, and the wild breakers and sharks before, it was matter of doubt what course to pursue. Anxiety to be on our way homeward settled the difficulty; and we left the wharf, to make, at least, a trial. A trial, and nothing more, it proved; for, as we neared the bar, it became evident that there would be great rashness in attempting to cross. The surf came in heavily, and with the noise of thunder, and the gigantic rollers broke into foam, across the whole width of the bar. Darkness had fallen around us, with the sudden transition of a tropical climate. There was no open space visible amid the foam; and, while the men lay on their oars, we looked anxiously for the clear water, which marks the channel to the sea. Many minutes were thus spent, looking with all our eyes.

A council of war was held between the captain and myself, in which we discussed the probabilities of being swamped and eaten. Having once fairly started, we did not like to turn back, especially as it would be necessary to go through the insipid ceremony of repeating our good-bye. Then, too, the image of fever rose behind us. By the prohibition of the Commodore, and the dictates of prudence, not an officer had slept on shore on any part of the mainland of the African coast, during the whole period of our cruise; and now, at the very last moment, to be compelled to incur the risk, was almost beyond patience. On the other hand, there was the foaming surf, and the ravenous sharks, in whose maws there was an imminent probability of our finding accommodation, should we venture onward. It is a fate proper enough for a sailor, but which he may be excused for avoiding as long as possible. Our council ended, therefore, with a determination to turn back, and trust to the tender mercies of the fever.

It was a splendid moonlight night; one of those nights on which the natives deem it impossible to catch fish, saying that the sky has too many eyes, and that the fish will shun the bait. The frogs kept up an incessant chorus, reminding me of the summer evening melodies of my native land, yet as distinct from those as are the human languages of the two countries. I have observed that the notes of frogs are different in different parts of the world. On the banks of the beautiful Arno, it is like the squalling of a cat. Here, it is an exact imitation of the complaining note of young turkeys. Unweariedly, these minstrels made music in our ears, until dawn gleamed in the East, and ushered in a bright and glorious morning. The birds now took the place of the frogs in nature's orchestra, and cooed, peeped, chattered, screamed, whistled, and sang, according to their various tastes and abilities. The trees were very green, and the dew-drops wonderfully brilliant; and, amid the cheerful influence of sun-rise, it was difficult to believe that we had incurred any deadly mischief, by our night's rest on the shore of Africa.

At a later period, I add, that no bad result ensued, either to the captain, myself, or the eight seamen, who were detained ashore on the above occasion. This good fortune may be attributable to the care with which we guarded ourselves from the night-air and the damps; and besides, we left the coast immediately, and, after a brief visit to Sierra Leone, pursued our homeward course to America. On another occasion, a lieutenant, a surgeon, and six men, belonging to our squadron, were detained on shore at Cape Mount, all night, after being capsized and wet. What were their precautions, I am unable to say; but, all the officers and men were attacked by fever, more or less severely, and in one instance fatally. [Footnote: While revising these sheets for the press, the writer hears of an example which may show the necessity of the health-regulations imposed on the American squadron. The U.S. ship Preble ascended the River Gambia to the English settlement of Bathurst, a distance of fifteen miles, to protect the European residents against an apprehended attack of the natives. Although the ship remained but one or two days, yet, in that brief space, about a hundred cases of fever occurred on board, proving fatal to the master, a midshipman, and seventeen of the crew.] And now we leave Liberia behind us, with our best wishes for its prosperity, but with no very anxious desire to breathe its fever-laden atmosphere again. There is enough of interest on the African station; but life blazes quickly away, beneath the glare of that torrid sun; and one year of that climate is equivalent to half a dozen of a more temperate one, in its effect upon the constitution. The voyager returns, with his sallow visage, and emaciated form, and enervated powers, to find his contemporaries younger than himself—to realize that he has taken two or three strides for their one, towards the irrevocable bourne; and has abridged, by so much, the season in which life is worth having for what may be accomplished, or for any zest that may be found in it.

Before quitting the coast, I must not forget that our cruising-ground has a classical claim upon the imagination, as being the very same over which Robinson Crusoe made two or three of his voyages. That famous navigator sailed all along the African shore, between Cape de Verd and the Equator, trading for ivory, for gold dust, and especially for slaves, with as little compunction as Pedro Blanco himself. It is remarkable that De Foe, a man of most severe and delicate conscience, should have made his hero a slave-dealer, and should display a perfect insensibility to anything culpable in the traffic. Morality has taken a great step in advance, since that day; or, at least, it has thrown a strong light on one spot, with perhaps a corresponding shadow on some other. The next age may shift the illumination, and show us sins as great as that of the slave-trade, but which now enter into the daily practice of men claiming to be just and wise.