So the day passes over, full of interest, if man will only take the trouble to secure it; and the sun that here regularly measures his diurnal course in twelve hours, is declining to his setting. Again the attendant clouds, that at times assume the appearance of burning volcanoes, gather around him, as though to curtain him as he sinks to rest, but as his glancing rays reflected on the smooth water are refracted in gushing vapors, thousands of fireballs seemed to rise as from a crater, and streams of burning lava to flow into the ocean. At length the sun is hidden beneath the waves; for a few minutes the western horizon is like a sea of glowing purple, and then night comes, shrouding all in her darksome veil. But there is no gloom; thousands of stars far brighter than those of northern lands glitter in the firmament, and are mirrored in the chrystal waters; fiery meteors dart through the heavens, and the whole surface of the ocean is covered with luminous insects.
Pleasant as is life on shipboard, even in a slow voyage, when with sufficient wind, which is mostly the case in this latitude, to keep the vessel moving, bringing refreshing coolness to the sailor, and spreading life and healthful motion over the sea; not less uncomfortable is the condition of a vessel when becalmed, as is not seldom the case for many weeks together. With heavy heart the mariner sees the breeze that so lately rippled the waves, gradually die away, and leave the bosom of the ocean calm as a slumbering lake. The sails hang flapping from the yards, the sea is motionless, presenting a dull expanse of water as far as the eye can reach, and no zephyrs float through the atmosphere to give relief from the burning rays of the sun. The ship lies like a log on the water, the discontent and murmurs of the crew increase every day, and in vain do they try to drive the tedium away by practising all sorts of diversion. But the night brings some relief, not only in her calm beauty, but cooling dews refresh the heated atmosphere, and the moon and stars shine forth in unsurpassable glory in the cloudless heavens.
On the first of October, we passed the equator. Neptune, as is his custom with all ships, honored us with a visit. With the early twilight, we heard a deep bass voice that seemed to rise up out of the waves, hail the ship in true nautical style. The helmsman answered through his speaking trumpet, to the usual questions of where we were bound, and from whence we had sailed. Two of the ship boys were listening with all their ears, and peering curiously but vainly over the bulwarks in order to get a sight of old Neptune. At length the voice from the bowsprit made itself more audible, and in the following manner. "I see that there are a few on board that have never before been in my territory, and must submit to the regulations I demand, as it becomes them to do." As the last words were uttered a gigantic figure, his head covered with a periwig of knotted sea-grass, with a false nose, and his face painted in various colors, now ascended the ship's side, and clambered on deck. He carried a speaking trumpet of three feet long in his right hand, under his left arm was a few thick books, and from the leg of his boot a huge wooden compass protruded itself. A masculine woman in whose soot-begrimed lineaments I, with some trouble, recognized those of our boatswain, personating Amphitrite, followed the god of the sea, carrying a long lubberly boy in her arms, wrapped up in an old sail. They were introduced to us by Neptune as his wife and son. Having advanced to the after deck, where the sailors were assembled, he opened one of his colossal books and spread an old sea chart out upon the deck. "Hallo, helmsman," he inquired, "what is your latitude and longitude?" The answer being given, he grumbled something as he pulled his huge compass from his boot, and having carefully measured his old chart, at last struck a hole in it, as he exclaimed, "Here you are--all right--what course are you steering?" "South, south-east!" "You must go four degrees to westward--you will have a better wind," growled Neptune, and therewith he doubled up the chart, and stuck the compass in his boot again. "I must see after my new circumnavigators," he added in the same gruff tone as he turned his eyes on the two before-mentioned boys and one old sailor who, although he had followed the sea for twelve years, had never, until now, crossed the equator; "we must make a nearer acquaintance."