LONDON,
January 30th, 1862.
My last, or rather my first, letter to you was so very short and unsatisfactory, that I owe an apology to you and your readers for its defects; but writing at sea is a difficult matter at the best of times, and for a fresh water sailor as I am, and always expect to be, it was especially hard. Left you, I believe, just as our ship came in sight of land on Sunday morning. The mail agent was in such a hurry to have the mail assorted and closed, that I had to coak off very abruptly and conclude. The weather at the time was somewhat hazy, and the coast very indistinct, although not over two miles distant. It was quite early in the morning, however, and we waited with great patience till the sun, foggy and damp as an Irish sun in winter always is, came out of the clouds, at least partially, and let the little of his warmth fall alike over the ship and shore. The coast of Ireland is bold, rocky, and picturesque, and far more interesting than I had thought it would be. The two hours sail from Cape Clear to the entrance to the Cove of Cork was most agreeably passed in scanning the distant hills, and watching through our perspective glasses the villages and hamlets on their slopes. The soil appeared to be barren and scantily wooded, but the population is large. Huts built of mud, which we are told exist in Ireland, we did not see, but rough stone cots abound, here and there a church, or on the brow of some promontory a tower jutted out from the rocks, varying the scene.
The towers were quite numerous along the coast. It is said they were built during the time of the Napoleon wars to watch for his gun-boats with the frightened inhabitants expected every hour to see looming up in the Southern horizon bound to their peaceful shores-for, say what they will, it can scarcely be denied that the British were thoroughly frightened by these formidable preparations which the great Emperor was carrying on at Boulogne. A ruined castle we would occasionally see,-at least we called them castles, but whether they were so or not I cannot say-then a police station with its white walls in striking contrast to the rocky scenery. We passed the three heads by the little cove of Baltimore, and then looming up grandly through the fog, which had by this time somewhat dispersed, we saw the old head of Kinsail, with the fort and light, the latter said to be the best on the Irish coast, and then we were heading up the bay towards the entrance to the harbor of Queenstown, the port of Cork. This sail was especially interesting, perhaps rendered more so by our having been so long deprived of the sight of land. We came very near the shore soon after taking our pilot, who came on board just off the bar. There are two large fortifications at this point which command the channel and town of Queenstown; also two light-houses at the entrance of this harbor, which is well known as a great naval station. Here is located a naval hospital which is plainly visible from the sea, also a prison for convicts which is situated on an Island just within the cove. We did not delay long; a tender came alongside the instant we came to a stand, the mails and passengers were taken off, and we again headed out to sea.
A strong southwesterly wind was blowing at the time, so as a matter of precaution we took our pilot on with us to Liverpool. The Cunard Company cannot be accused of negligence in providing for the safety of passengers. A pilot is kept on board all along the Irish and Welsh coasts, that he may be of use in case there should be any difficulty about the machinery and a gale blowing at the time sufficiently strong to render sails useless. We could beach the ship at some point of the lea coast where the landing would be less perilous; but fortunately no such necessity occured, and after a quiet night we woke up at 6 o'clock to find our vessel steaming through the Irish Sea within twenty miles of Liverpool. There was nothing to see but a few brigs, and a tug or two steaming about the harbor in search of ships to tow in, or the gulls which seemed to have followed us from the coast of Newfoundland. Several rockets were thrown up for a pilot, and in the course of a few minutes a boat emerged from the fog which rested over the water, in the direction in which we supposed land to lie. The pilot came on board, and we steamed slowly up to the wharf of the City.