Sea-life is conducive to idleness, and the saline atmosphere is narcotic. Lying in his berth the voyager gazes listlessly at the yellow iron-mould on the towels, the greasy moreen curtains, the restless hanging-lamp, and the damp, begrimed carpet, while he inhales the unpleasant bilge-scented atmosphere which penetrates everything. The jerking motion of the ship shaken incessantly by the propeller, causes the letters of the printed regulations tacked upon the door to run together in unintelligible lines, until at last he grows dizzy with the ceaseless motion imparted to everything. Finally, with a sudden burst of energy the deck is reached, where there is pretty sure to be something suggestive to occupy the mind and vary the wearisome monotony. The wonderful blue of the sea by day, and its fire-like phosphorescence by night, are always interesting. The Mediterranean between Malta and Gibraltar is proverbially blue, but the Pacific seemed to us more so. At times it lay as if in a trance, a perfect calm, the ship's keel gliding as it were over a burnished metallic field, or a flood of molten sapphire. The familiar jelly-fish often appeared above the liquid depths, contracting and expanding its soft, flat body, and thus progressing through the still waters, its half-transparent form emitting opaline colors under the warm rays of the sun. The many-armed, vaulting cuttle-fish was seen now and again leaping out of the water as though pursued by some aquatic enemy, though its general habit is not to frequent the surface by daylight. Specimens of the deep-sea star-fish with its five arms of equal length were abundant. Those which we met here were of a reddish and purple color combined, but we have seen them in shallower waters of a bright orange-yellow. While exhibiting but little apparent life, the star-fish can yet be quite aggressive when pressed by hunger and in search of food, having, as naturalists tell us, a mysterious way of causing the oyster to open its shell, whereupon the star-fish proceeds gradually to consume the body of the bivalve.
One frail, small rover of the quiet surface of the sea always interested us—the tiny nautilus, with a transparent shell almost as frail as writing-paper. It was to be seen only in calm weather. If disturbed, it drew itself within its sheltering cover and sank slowly from sight. No wonder the ancient Greeks saw in its beautifully corrugated shell the graceful model of a galleon; and hence its name, derived from the Greek word which signifies a ship.
Every amusing suggestion, however trivial, is welcome, if it only serves to break the depressing monotony of the sea—a sail, a shark, a new ocean bird, a school of porpoises. Two or three of our passengers had supplied themselves with microscopes, and they often dropped a gauze scoop-net over the ship's side, where it was permitted to trail for a few moments; then drawing it on board they amused themselves by subjecting the contents to a microscopic examination. The results were often very curious. On one occasion a short bit of floating sea-weed was thus obtained, upon which was securely woven a cluster of what looked like tiny quinces in shape, though the color was jet black. They were called sea-grapes by the sailors, but we knew them to be a cluster of fishes' eggs. They proved to be those of the cuttle-fish, and were eighteen or twenty in number.
Amiable persons exhibit their natural traits of disposition at sea in strong contrast to those who are actuated by opposite qualities—the latter, we are sorry to say, being nearly always in the majority. Enmities and friendships are formed with equal promptness and facility; but however desirable it may be, there is no escaping the forced companionship incident to life on shipboard, where ceremony is for the time being mostly banished. Customs become established which would be considered rather outré upon land. Ennui has made more persons reckless than has despair. Those individuals are comparatively few on such occasions who have sufficient mental resource profitably to occupy their minds, and those who have nothing to do quickly tire of themselves and of all about them. If it were not for the decided breaks in the routine of each day and evening afforded by the several meals, surely suicides at sea would be frequent. One inevitable conclusion is sure to be arrived at; namely, that a long sea-voyage is an infallible remedy for over-fastidiousness and sickly sentimentality.
When we had been at sea about a week there was observed floating upon the water a pale-gray, amber-like substance; it was not abundant, but to the watchful eye seemed peculiar, and was several times apparent. This our captain declared to be ambergris—a substance originally found in the intestines of the sperm whale, and believed to be produced there only. Science declares it to be a diseased secretion of the animal, probably induced by indigestion—just as the pearl is a diseased secretion of the Australian and Penang oysters. Ambergris is often found floating about the shores of the Coral Sea and throughout the region known as Australasia, having been ejected by the many whales frequenting these latitudes. On the west coast of New Zealand the natives may frequently be seen searching along the shore after a heavy gale, eagerly securing more or less of the article. The "Zealandia," on her previous voyage to that of which we are now writing, brought from Auckland to San Francisco three boxes of ambergris weighing about one hundred pounds each, the three boxes being invoiced at a valuation of thirty thousand dollars. It is rarely that so much is imported into this country in a twelvemonth. When first taken from the whale it is of a soft texture, and is quite offensive to the smell; but after a brief exposure to the air it rapidly hardens, and then emits a sweet, earthy odor, and is used for the manufacture of the choicest perfumery, being nearly as important for that purpose as the more costly musk.
The peculiar currents of the sea in these special regions, its vast extent and fabulous depths, the huge monsters and the tiny creatures occupying it, the speed of the ship, her exact tonnage and the trade in which she had been engaged since she was launched on the Clyde—all these items became of vital importance to the voyagers, but their detail would seem prosy to the general reader. It was really surprising to see how earnest intelligent people become over matters which under ordinary circumstances and on shore would not have received a moment's consideration.
The distance which we expected to accomplish was referred to daily, and was thus formulated: From San Francisco to Honolulu is twenty-one hundred miles; from Honolulu to Auckland is thirty-eight hundred miles; from Auckland to Sydney is twelve hundred and eighty miles. The ship's run was daily recorded and posted up for the general satisfaction, the result being promptly deducted from the aggregated figures as above.
It was on the eighth day of the voyage that we made the Sandwich Islands. A glance at the map will show the reader that these volcanic upheavals lie on the bosom of the North Pacific, in a slight curve, and number thirteen in all. The total area combined does not exceed sixty-five hundred square miles, seven of them being mere islets, and six only are inhabited. The largest of the group is Hawaii, situated the farthest south, being in round numbers a hundred miles long by eighty broad, and with the natives gives its name to the whole group, as they are here officially called the Hawaiian Islands—though Captain Cook, on their first being discovered, about a hundred years ago, gave them the name of the Sandwich Islands, after the then first Lord of the English Admiralty, and by this latter name they are generally known on the maps and in geographies.
The chain of islands which form the group are but a series of volcanic peaks rising abruptly from a depth of three miles below the sea-level to as great a height above it, being, so to speak, natural chimneys from the tops of which vast internal fires in former ages have found vent.
We made the island of Oahu, passing along the windward shores of Maui and Molokai in the early gray of a soft June morning, and doubling the lofty promontory known as Diamond Head, which rears its precipitous front seven hundred feet above the sea. We ran along the coast while the sun rose and beautified the mountain-tops, the green slopes, gulches, and fern-clad hills sparkling with streamlets. The dawn was lovely in its aspect, fresh and sweet. A gentle land-breeze brought us the dewy fragrance of the flowers which had been distilled from a wilderness of bloom during the tropical night. The uncertain light melted slowly away as a dainty flush appeared in the east. A few transparent clouds hung over the verdant isle, clouds so fleecy and ermine-like that they might have been the mantles of angels. It was entrancing thus to be gliding noiselessly over a perfectly calm sea, with so many attendant elements of beauty. We stood quite alone in the bow of the ship, wondering