But on the whole, much as there was to lament in the matter of ruffled tempers and petty ways, the outward-bound vessel represented a perfect paradise during the four months’ voyage, compared with the ordeal of a similar period aboard a homeward-bound Indiaman. To give even a faint idea of the angry conflagration of passions by which the passengers in the latter were wont to distinguish themselves, one would have to borrow from the “Inferno” of Dante, and conjecture what must be going on in Pandemonium, where the evil spirits meet in council!
The living freight was of the most volatile and combustible nature, while the perpetual friction of its conflicting elements—swarms of noisy children, and touchy old men with disordered livers—kept the ship in perpetual danger of destruction. But a merciful Providence has tempered the wind to the Anglo-Indian by pointing out an overland route, and consigning the homeward-bound Indiaman, in so far as passengers are concerned, to the pages of history; so that the danger of spontaneous combustion is now confined to the cargo.
To resume our outward voyage. By the time we had finished taking stock of each other, conjecturing why So-and-so was going out to the East, the beautiful island of Madeira hove in sight; but to our united earnest entreaties to be allowed to land for a few hours at Funchal the captain turned a deaf ear, expecting the wind to change at any moment to a more favourable quarter. For some time, however, it continued dead against us, and the repeated tacking enabled us to obtain different views of the peaceful isle, so near and yet so far, with the land sloping up from the sea to some 6000 feet, and patches of cultivation appearing here and there amid the thick woods.
With all the selfishness of youth, I fervently hoped to remain weather-bound in such a paradise for an indefinite period; but my hopes were literally blown away by the wind itself, which “chopped” round, and Madeira faded from view.
The beautiful is said to be a joy only as long as it lasts; but my recollections of this island on which nature has been so lavish have outlived so evanescent a period, and I have often dreamt of it in later days. Had it only fallen in with the eternal fitness of things to have made it a part of the outlying British Empire, English capital and enterprise would have developed its resources, seconding the efforts of Nature’s prodigality, instead of counteracting them. We may possibly have already acquired more than our share in all _five_ quarters of the globe without casting longing eyes on Naboth’s vineyard; our possessions may reasonably excite the jealousy of other powers, but no one can deny that we are specially adapted, both physically and mentally, for colonization far above any other nation; and that Madeira would have shone with especial brilliancy in the British Crown is a foregone conclusion.