When we came up on
deck this evening, after dinner, we all gazed on the lighthouse on the
still distant shore as if we had never beheld such a thing in our
lives before. The colour and temperature of the water had perceptibly
changed, the former from a beautiful, clear, dark ultramarine to a
muddy green; innumerable small birds, moths, locusts, and grasshoppers
came on board; and, having given special orders that we were to be
called early the next morning, we went to bed in the fond hope that we
should be able to enter Rio harbour at daybreak.
_Thursday, August 17th_.--'L'homme propose; Dieu dispose.' Steam was
up at midnight, but by that time it was blowing half a gale of wind
from the south-west, with such a steep short sea that the screw was
scarcely ever properly immersed, but went racing round and round in
the air with tremendous velocity, as we pitched and rolled about. Our
progress was therefore at the rate of something rather under a mile
an hour, and at daybreak, instead of entering the harbour of Rio, as
we had hoped to do, we found ourselves close to Cape Frio.
About 8 a.m. matters mended, the wind moderating and changing its
direction slightly; so that, under steam and sail, we were soon going
along the coast at the rate of four or five miles an hour.
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