The day on which we sailed was clear and serene, and we gently drifted with the tide down Belfast Lough into the Channel. Assured that I should not be able to see land on the following morning, I kept my eyes fixed upon the hills in the distance till darkness rendered them no longer visible. I never undertake a voyage or a journey without experiencing a vague feeling of melancholy—there is something so strangely depressing in the preliminaries of departure; the packing of boxes—the arrangement of books, clothes, and papers. Indeed the whole valedictory ceremony is throughout a series of preparations, every way calculated to excite sensations of sadness. I seldom visit a place, even for a few weeks, without meeting with some agreeable associates, whose company I feel loath to relinquish. But these ephemeral disquietudes form but a shadowy representation of the emotions that agitated my frame, when I was leaving the shores of Europe, with the prospect of a long, and perhaps, a final separation. These unpleasant sensations, however, were greatly alleviated, by considering that the presence of those whom I hold dearer than all other earthly treasures, was with me in the vessel; I mean my husband and my children.

The next morning, we found ourselves going at a rapid rate under the influence of a gale, far too brisk for personal comfort. Our vessel was rather small, but she was, what is termed by sailors “a good sea-boat;” and for that reason alone, on account of her pitching and rolling, was very unpleasant for passengers. The whole of the company in the cabin were distressingly affected with nausea, and so long as the gale lasted, we were quite in a passive and suffering condition.

This distressing concomitant of a long voyage affects individuals variously, according to their ages, constitutions, and previous habits of life. My personal sufferings which were very severe, were augmented by the care of an infant of six months. I had a servant on board, but she required as much attention from the steward as myself: and I now discovered to my great inconvenience, what I had frequently heard others affirm,—that very few female servants, whatever be their representations, are capable of performing their duties during the first week of a voyage.

The next day the gale increased to something like a storm, and for safety, I was recommended to retire to my birth. While lying there, helpless and almost in an inanimate state, a box which had escaped my notice containing a compass, fell from a small shelf just above my head, and struck me a violent blow with its sharp corner, upon my temples. From the weight of the box, it was supposed that, had my head reclined only one-fourth of an inch in another direction, the consequences must have been fatal: my infant also had a narrow escape, having been removed from my side only a few minutes before. I suffered much however, as it was; but I ought eternally to acknowledge, with lively feelings of gratitude, this merciful interposition of an over-ruling Providence in my favour.

During the continuance of this storm or gale, all the passengers on board without a single exception were laid aside—the assistance of a female could not be obtained either for love or for money. There we lay, helpless in our berths, and I think, I never partook of food for upwards of two days; nor was my case in this respect, by any means singular. I have performed long voyages both before and since, and have always been similarly affected.

I would earnestly recommend families going abroad, who are anxious to secure the advantage of a surgeon, to require a personal interview with the individual who is to act in that capacity; particularly if they sail from a foreign port. Such a precaution would often prevent much disappointment, as the person who is introduced as “the doctor,” not unfrequently turns out to be some vulgar fellow, redolent of rum, and dressed in shabby black; who enjoys the privilege of a free passage, and commonly earns the hearty contempt of all who are doomed to endure his society.

The cabin of a packet ship bound to a distant port, is a bazaar of character. Here are assembled individuals, the very antipodes of each other in religion, politics, employment, country, and language. Here, the gay and the grave, the religious and the profane, with their peculiar prejudices and partialities, meet upon one common plane of equality. Under no other circumstances can this take place. Boarding houses indeed, on the Continent and in America, have some resemblance; but there, an opportunity is afforded for selection; here, choice is impossible. The company, be its composition ever so heterogeneous, is confined within a circumscribed space from which there is no retreat; and all are obliged to spend the whole of their time together in that part of the vessel which they have selected.

Our cabin company however, was by no means numerous. Besides myself and my family, it consisted of the captain and his wife, both originally from Connecticut; a Mrs. Johnson, an English lady; an Irish lady from Antrim; an English manufacturer; a young American merchant; a young Irishman; and a youth of dubious origin, called James.

The captain and his lady were, in point of disposition, the most unlovely specimen of Americans I ever met with, either before or since; and were every way calculated to give us a most unfavourable opinion of the state of society in their own country. Ever since his first voyage to Europe, the captain had entertained a disrelish for the company of Englishmen. This arose from two circumstances, that none but a person of his cast of mind would adduce as distinguishing marks of the English character. I remember, one of these grievances was, that some person on the quay at Liverpool had applied to him the unpalatable term of “transported Yankee,” garnished with some accompaniments by no means complimentary. For this, and something else equally important, he seemed to consider himself justifiable in insulting every Englishman with whom he came in contact, and lost no opportunity of indulging himself in every unamiable species of retaliation that he found conveniently practicable. Morose, and remarkably ignorant, he was eternally smoking cigars; but fortunately for our comfort, possessed the negative virtue of sobriety. Out of his profession, he was nobody, but we had just reason to believe that his nautical talents were of the highest order; and to us, this was certainly a matter of the first importance.

Our private cabins, in which were our berths, were so constructed, that every word might be distinctly heard in the public cabin. I remember that, on the first day of our embarkation, while I was alone in mine, changing my dress, the cabin was at that time occupied by the captain and a few of his personal friends, who had accompanied him on the voyage, with a view of returning in the Pilot boat. Their conversation was about the passengers on board, all of whom, excepting myself, were on deck at that time: I then heard the captain affirm, after alluding to his English passengers, “that if an Englishman were to fall over board he would not throw out a rope to save him.” I distinctly heard him make this assertion, and shall never forget the sensations it produced—I heard also his wife’s amiable applaudissement of this fiend-like expression! This last did not surprise me, as it was in exact accordance with the judgement I had formed of her character, from the first glance of her physiognomy. By cautioning them for the future, to be more guarded in their private communications, I let them know I was in possession of their sentiments; and I thought proper to point out the way in which I obtained my information, in order to convince them that I was above the meanness of listening.

The captain used to commence the day with doing the formidable among the sailors. Having discharged upon these poor fellows, all the steam of ill humour that had accumulated during the previous night, he would descend into the cabin and take breakfast. We had frequently remarked, that during this repast he invariably attempted to make some one of us miserable, by indulging in some insulting remarks, artfully delivered in the form of opinions; so, in order to defeat his amiable intentions, we agreed to preserve a dead silence, or only to speak in the most laconic manner possible; concluding that he could not long amuse himself with a monologue. His advent was agreed upon to be the signal for us to prepare to carry our designs into execution. There we sat—with nun like gravity, quaffing our coffee in silence, as toasts are drank to the memory of the departed!

This negative species of defence had its desired effect. Annoyed by our taciturnity, which necessarily imposed a similar penance on himself, he would turn in despair to his wife. Here he was either entirely unsuccessful, or otherwise amused with an inceptive taste of matrimonial infelicity.

This was the second month of their marriage. His wife was the daughter of a Connecticut farmer, she was about twenty-five years of age, and somewhat diminutive in person. Her countenance on all occasions, preserved the rigidity of a statue, except when excited to dart a look of malevolence; or when she endeavoured to assume an air of authority: on this latter occasion it presented the funniest appearance imaginable. Transplanted from the domestic employment of a small farm, to do the honours of the cabin table, she evidently felt herself greatly exalted, and bore her elevation with the worst possible grace. Of a mean and suspicious cast of mind, and conscious of being alike destitute of outward attractions and internal excellencies, she was in consequence, jealous in the extreme, and always interpreted any little attention paid to another, in her presence, as a direct insult offered to herself. Her conduct to the poor black steward was marked with haughtiness and cruelty; and if it be true what I have often heard affirmed—that vulgar pride is found united with meanness and tyranny; certainly in this instance, the unity of this triune cluster of graces is strictly preserved.

The English lady, Mr. Johnson, was an amiable personage. She was, in my judgement, as correct a personification of virtue as any with whom I have ever met. Devout without superstition—cheerful without levity—refined without affectation—and well informed, without literary pretension, she might pass for a model.

The Antrim lady was a very good natured creature. She stood on equal ground with the captain’s wife in point of educational advantages, or rather disadvantages; but was her opposite in every thing else. She was remarkably agreeable, and possessed that truly Christian qualification I so much admire—an earnest desire to make every one happy. Her foibles were the result of her unfortunately limited education. But I found in her case, as in some others, that a redundant flow of animal spirits is no certain evidence of weak intellects or shallow feelings.

The young Irishman was a warm hearted being. His constant amusement was humming tunes and writing poetry. For the latter he had an unconquerable passion. He expressed himself as being confidently assured, that he possessed the true spirit of poetry; and that, at some time not far distant, he should distinguish himself above the herd of mankind. He was greatly encouraged to devote his time to the muses, by having heard it repeatedly said in his family, that his great grandfather was a poet—that is, that he had written something that had pleased somebody. From this, it appears, that the poor young man, supposing poetry to be like the gout, hereditary, and like that distemper, would sleep in the blood for generations, and descending from father to son, would break out after the lapse of a century—concluded hypothetically, that the fire of poetry would some day blaze out from him, and astonish the world.

Poets, like other authors, and some say authoresses, are reported as never being satisfied without large draughts of unqualified praise. From his teasing the gentlemen with his verses, it seems he possessed this unfortunate propension; and I must admit, that if his poetry deserved as much praise as it produced merriment, it was excellent!

The American merchant was a gentleman of a quiet disposition, and rather reserved. Although both countrymen, the captain and he appeared most cordially to detest each other.

There was a youth on board, about twenty years of age, whom the captain called “James,” and who described himself as an Englishman. He was ostensibly under the protection of the captain, who appeared to be somewhat ashamed of his charge. He surpassed all, of whom I have ever heard or read, in the vicious practice of telling falsehoods. For the first few days he led us all into a labyrinth of misunderstandings. His tales were so perplexingly mischievous, and their fallacy at the same time so easy of detection, that it was truly astonishing for what purpose he gave them utterance. The gentlemen appeared determined to convince him by forcible arguments, that such conduct would not be tolerated with impunity. On a particular occasion, his presence of mind happily suggested absence of body, as the best means to avoid the result of a discovery likely to prove unpleasant to his feelings: and, as fear drove him to the forward part of the vessel, shame kept him there—a place, no doubt far better suited to his taste than the one he had evacuated. How the captain would account for this to his friends, I cannot imagine; but they must know the propensity of this James too well to believe his assertions, even if called forth by a dispute respecting the certainty of his own existence! He said he was an Englishman, and that we considered conclusive evidence that he was not.

After we had been a few hours under weigh, one of the crew jumped over board, under the influence of intoxication; a boat was immediately lowered, and the poor foolish fellow was rescued from a watery grave. The passengers, from a mistaken notion of good nature, had furnished this man with what might have proved his destruction. On this occasion, the captain exerted his prerogative in a judicious manner, by compelling all on board to surrender their stores of spirits, &c. and not a single glass was allowed to either officers or men during the whole of the voyage. This caused some murmuring, particularly among the passengers, but they soon became reconciled to what was unavoidable; and although several declared they should perish if deprived of their daily drops, yet incredible as it may appear, there was not a single death registered on the ship’s books from such a cause!

The steerage of the vessel was occupied by upwards of a hundred passengers, almost the whole of whom were Irish: they behaved exceedingly well. Perhaps the absence of the circulating medium of friendship (whiskey) was the principal cause of their good conduct. The following circumstance, which fell under my immediate notice, I confess, inclines me to adopt this opinion. Shortly after we arrived at New York, a vessel, freighted in a similar manner to this in which we were, discharged its living cargo on the north side of the city. The passengers leaped joyfully on shore, vociferating cheers for the Land of Liberty, and rushed into the neighbouring spirit stores to regale themselves. The liquor they imbibed so effectually blinded their minds to all distinction of meum and tuum, that they proceeded to select shillaleighs from a cargo of hickory wood just landed, that was sawn into lengths of four feet, and of various degrees of thickness. With these they furiously assailed each other—the police were ordered out—and nearly all of them were allowed, for the space of a month (I think,) to sing praises to the “land of liberty” within the walls of a prison. Disorderly characters are much more severely punished in the United States than here. With us, misconduct, proceeding from intoxication, is too frequently treated as a joke—there, it is no joke.

After the distressing nausea had ceased to torment us, we found some few enjoyments of which we had entertained no previous expectation. Those who have not passed a moon-light evening at sea, are unacquainted with one of the principal pleasures of life. The solemn, yet placid moaning of the ocean—the rich variety of light and shade, produced by the falling of the moon-beams on the waves—the boundless expanse that lies open to the view—the peaceful grandeur that reigns, broken only by sounds that harmonize with the majesty of the scene—all unite to present an association of the peaceful, the splendid, and the sublime, of which the pencil can convey no adequate idea.

With the converse of a friend, on these delightful evenings, when the vessel was darting over the mighty waters with the celerity of a swallow, I seemed to enjoy more than fabled Elysian pleasures. Or when all was still, and the ship calmly reposing on the bosom of the ocean, I could send my thoughts eastward, over the surrounding world of waters, and indulge in a rapturous retrospect. At these seasons, the home of my youthful days appeared invested with its most captivating attractions. The village green—the grove, with the distant mill—the surrounding landscape—

These scenes of my childhood, as if abounding with the delights of Paradise, would excite emotions exquisitely sublime, yet slightly tinctured with a pleasing sadness. Wherever, through this wide world, my wandering feet may turn; my country, and particularly the place of my nativity, will never cease to attract my affections with a cord—fine, indeed, and tensile as the slightest gossamer, yet strong as the stoutest cable.

This may be called an ebullition of enthusiasm, the sole effect of feminine weakness—but the greatest characters on earth have confessed the power of early associations. Seneca, banished to Corsica, found his philosophy fail in a vain attempt to reconcile him to the island; and pathetically entreats the soil of the land of his banishment, to lie lightly on the ashes of the living. To Seneca, Corsica was a grave. But on the other hand, Napoleon, to whom the same island was a cradle, declared when in exile, that if once more permitted to see the place of his nativity, he should embrace the ground with rapture; and even if led blindfold, he could discover it by the very smell.

Our time hung heavily on our hands, during the day. The continual motion of the vessel prohibited us from doing exactly what we desired; but I fear, want of inclination prevented some of us from employing ourselves, where useful employment was really practicable. During these hours of idleness, the gentlemen amused themselves with shooting at stormy petrels; birds in some degree resembling the martins, and whose residence is confined to the main ocean: it is said they are never to be seen within two hundred miles of land. Shoot at them, they did indeed, about twenty times a day; but although the birds were seen in a state of quiescence, riding upon the summit of the huge waves, frequently within a few yards of the gun’s muzzle—not one was ever shot. From observation, I became so confident that they would hit something, that I removed my children from the deck for safety.

Some say that these birds, like the enemies of the Puritans, possess a charm against cold lead. This attribute is perhaps, as true as that of their eternal residence on the waves of the ocean; and is not entirely destitute of utility, if it serve to excuse the inexpertness of nautical sportsmen.

We had been perplexed for many days with light winds, and were driven far northward. After we had been about twenty days under sail, and had reached a very high latitude, the air, influenced by the neighbouring ice-bergs, became very cold. While in this position, one star-light night, about seven o’clock, we were surprised by the appearance of a phenomenon in the heavens, which we, at first conceived to be an aurora borealis; but it did not correspond, in every particular, with the descriptions we have read and heard of the aurora. I shall here attempt to describe it.

Let the reader imagine the arc of a circle, about 90° in length, with its concave side turned due north. From its convex side, divergent streams of light were seen about 30° in length, equal in all points, and distinctly shewing in brilliant display, all the colours of the rainbow. Without shooting or darting, they remained in all their splendour for a full hour. After that period, they gradually began to grow dim, but preserved their position till they became no longer visible: this was about two hours from their first appearance.

The number of porpoises that played around the ship, seemed to enjoy as much amusement as they imparted. The rapidity with which these unwieldly creatures move, is very surprising. From a rough calculation, made by a gentleman on board, taking the rate of the vessel for his datum, their speed was about thirty miles per hour. We saw some flying fish; they are elegant little things, and when seen in a certain position, resemble the pictorial representation of miniature angels.

A few sharks were seen darting through the water. They abound on the American coast, and render sea bathing very dangerous. Their usual practice is, to scour the shore with the incoming tide, in search of food; and for that reason, it is safe to bathe only when the tide is receding. From ignorance of this circumstance, accidents have occurred to Europeans, which in some instances, have been attended with fatal consequences.

Naturalists have remarked that the shark turns on its side when in the act of seizing its prey; and that while he is changing his position, the object of his attack has time to escape. This cannot have been recorded from actual observation. The celerity with which the voracious creature cuts through the water, surpasses comprehension—the human eye can scarcely follow him. I have had frequent opportunities of observing him when seizing his prey or a bait, and witnessed experiments made in clear water for the purpose of attesting the truth of the above assertion; and all that I could discover, amounts to a possibility that he may perhaps, slightly swerve his body;—but, even if so, there is scarcely time given for an intent observer to notice the motion; and to escape when once within his reach, is absolutely impracticable.

In descending from the north we crossed the banks of Newfoundland. These banks are covered with water, varying in depth from twenty to sixty fathoms. Here, innumerable quantities of fish are nourished, by vegetable substances washed down in the Gulf Stream; and fishing smacks, from all parts of Europe and America, assemble here at certain seasons, to take in their cargoes. Were the whole world supplied with fish from this quarter, it is supposed no perceptible diminution would occur. The eagerness of the fish in taking a bait in salt water is really astonishing; and forms a striking contrast to the caution evinced, under similar circumstances, by the fresh water species.

A fog prevailed during our passage across the banks. This, I understood, is by no means an unusual occurrence. We found the water here to preserve a uniformity of appearance with that on soundings: in the main ocean it is many shades darker in colour.

Considering the immense traffic between Europe and the New World, I was surprised at the paucity of vessels that crossed the field of our view; during the whole passage, we only saw three! We spoke with two of these; one was a whaler, in search of those monsters of the deep, of which we had seen no less than nine.

After we had cleared the banks, we were favoured with an auspicious gale that carried us along at a rapid rate, till we were very near land; but, before we had the happiness to enjoy the sight of that desired object, we were surrounded by another dense fog. We continued, however, to scud along for several hours, till the captain judged it prudent to take in sail; observing, that according to his reckoning, we must be close upon land; and, that if the fog would permit him to discover a particular floating light, he would take in the vessel the same night without the assistance of a pilot. This, however, was not the case.

This evening, we of the cabin missed several things, on arranging our luggage for landing. To those whom such advice will benefit, I would say “Take from your main store, as few valuables as possible, that are conveniently portable; and furnish yourselves with common articles, if you wish to keep your superior ones.” The chief loss of my party was in books, spoons, and children’s forks. I had provided the two latter articles expressly for the occasion, in anticipation of what might occur; and those who “borrowed” them, no doubt have discovered ere this, that “it is not all gold that glitters”—nor yet silver.

The next morning’s sun shone bright to every eye on board.—The cry of “Land off the larboard bow” was hailed with rapturous cheers—there indeed it was, plain enough, and only about half a league from the vessel—and there was the floating light, dimly flickering from the head of an old hulk, moored at a similar distance on the starboard. When we considered the thousands of miles we had sailed—the extremes of latitude to which we were driven (from 40° to 65°)—the impracticability of taking an observation for the two preceding days on account of the weather—we were surprised at the judgement of the captain, who could, under such disadvantages, bring a vessel through a fog within a few cables’ length of land, and declare her position!

We sailed past Sandy Hook to the usual rendezvous of all vessels bound to the city of New York—the quarantine ground. This place is situated about seven miles from the city; it is a narrow channel, formed by the near approximation of Staten Island and Long Island.

Close by the water’s edge on Staten Island, stands an hospital, for the reception of invalids from all quarters of the world. It is chiefly supported by a capitation tax of two dollars, which is demanded from every foreigner before he lands; and in case of default, he is taken to prison! But more of this hereafter. We were boarded and examined by a surgeon, who found all to be in health, except one old woman, who, to our consternation, was discovered in the steerage dangerously ill. She was placed in a boat, and rowed to the shore with all expedition, and died just as she entered the hospital. Had the poor old creature departed ten minutes sooner, we should have been quarantined, I understand for twenty days. After remaining here for nearly twelve hours, we weighed anchor and floated with the tide to the city.