We remained in the roads of Kronstadt till the 28th of July, when, after a painful parting from a beloved and affectionate wife, the wind proving favourable, I gave the order to weigh anchor.

The whole crew was in high spirits, and full of hope: the task of weighing anchor and setting sail was executed with alertness and rapidity; and as the ship began her course, cutting the foaming billows, the men joyfully embraced each other, and with loud huzzas expressed their hearty wishes for the success of our undertaking. To me this scene was highly gratifying. Such a disposition in a crew towards an enterprise from which toils and dangers must be anticipated, afforded a satisfactory presumption that their courage and spirits would not fail when they should be really called into exercise. With a good ship and a cheerful crew the success of a voyage is almost certain. We fired a salute of seven guns, in reply to the farewell from the fortress of Kronstadt, and, the wind blowing fresh, soon lost sight of its towers.

As far as Gothland all went well, and nothing disturbed the general cheerfulness; but here a sudden storm from the west attacked us so unexpectedly as scarcely to give time for the necessary precautions. Tossed to and fro by the swelling and boisterous waves, I was not, I must confess, altogether free from anxiety.

With a new and untried ship, and men somewhat out of practice, a first storm is naturally attended by many causes of disquiet not afterwards so seriously felt. In the present instance, however, these untoward circumstances were rather productive of the ludicrous than the terrific; and whatever might be my solicitude as commander, I experienced but little sympathy from my officers. The strength and extent of the motion to which we were about to be exposed had not been duly estimated, and the movable articles in the cabins were generally ill secured. This was particularly the case in the state-cabin, occupied by twenty persons: not a table or a chair would remain in its place; every thing rolling about in its own stupid way, in defiance of all rule and order. The frolicsome young officers were delighted with the confusion; and even our seasick men of science could not refrain from laughter when a well-fed pig, which, disturbed by the inconvenience, had taken refuge on the hatchway, ventured from thence to intrude itself among them by a spring through the open window, and looked around in pitiable amazement on finding that, amidst the general clamour, repose was no more attainable in a state-cabin than in its own humble abode. I was meanwhile occupied in narrowly observing the vessel that was to bear us through so many and long-enduring difficulties. Amidst the conflict of the elements, a commander becomes acquainted with his ship, as in the storms of life we learn duly to appreciate our friends. I weighed the defects of mine against its good qualities, and rejoiced that the latter had greatly the preponderance. She was a friend on whom I might rely in case of need. Such a conviction is necessary to the captain: through it alone can his actions acquire the decision and certainty so indispensable in time of danger, and so essential to success. In the course of four-and-twenty hours the storm abated; a favourable wind again swelled our sails, and we enjoyed it doubly after the little troubles we had undergone. At daybreak on the 8th of August we left the island of Bornholm, and found ourselves surrounded by a Russian fleet cruising under the command of Admiral Crown. This meeting with our countrymen was an agreeable surprise to us: they could carry to our beloved homes the assurance, that thus far at least our voyage had been prosperous. We saluted the Admiral with nine guns, received a similar number in return, and continued our course with full sails.

On the 10th of August we anchored opposite the friendly capital of Denmark, where we received on board the theodolite, which had been prepared for us at Munich by Reichenbach, and sent hither. Before the sun appeared above the horizon on the 12th, we were again under sail, with a good wind and a tranquil sea. The sail along the Danish coast was interesting from its beautiful prospects, and numerous buildings illumined by the morning sun.

We passed the Sound the same day, and entered the Categat. Here we were visited in the night by another violent storm. The sky, pealing with incessant thunder, hung heavy and black above us, and spread a fearful darkness over the sea, broken only by tremendous flashes of lightning. The electric fluid, in large masses of fire, threatened us momentarily with destruction; but thanks be to the strong attractive power of the sea, which forms so good a conductor for ships, without it we had been lost! In the North Sea our voyage was tedious, from the continuance of contrary winds; and in the English Channel dangerous, from the uninterrupted fog. We however reached Portsmouth roads in safety on the 25th of August.

Since it was my intention to double Cape Horn in the best season, namely January or February, it was necessary to lose no time in England. I therefore hastened to London, and resisting all the allurements offered by the magnificence of the capital, immediately procured my charts, chronometers, and astronomical instruments, and returned on board my ship on the 2nd of September, to be in waiting for the first fair wind. The wind however chose, as it often does, to put our patience to the proof. Its perverseness detained us in the roads till the 6th; and though a temporary change then enabled us to sail, we had scarcely reached Portland point when a strong gale again set in directly in our teeth.

The English Channel, on account of its numerous shallows and strong irregular currents, is at all times dangerous: vessels overtaken there by storms during the night are in imminent peril of wreck, and thus every year are great numbers lost.

I myself, on my former voyage in the Rurik, should have infallibly suffered this fate, had the day dawned only half an hour later. Warned therefore by experience, I resolved not to trust to the chance of the night; and fortunately our English pilot, from whom we had not yet parted, was of the same opinion. This man, who had grown grey in his employment, and was perfectly acquainted with these waters, advised our immediate return to Portsmouth, and that every effort should be made to reach it before sunset. I therefore had the ship put about, and setting as much sail as the violence of the wind would allow, we fled towards our place of refuge, the storm continually increasing. Although we ran pretty quick, we had scarcely got half-way back, before it became so foggy and dark, that the land, which had hitherto been our guide, was no longer discernible. We could not see three hundred fathoms from the ship. The change in our pilot’s countenance showed that our situation had become critical. The little, stout, and hitherto phlegmatic fellow became suddenly animated by a new spirit. His black eyes lightened; he uttered several times the well-known English oath which Figaro declares to be “lé fond de la langue,” rubbed his bands violently together, and at length exclaimed, “Captain! I should like a glass of grog Devil take me if I don’t bring you safe into Portsmouth yet!” His wish was of course instantly complied with. Strengthened and full of courage, he seized the helm, and our destiny depended on his skill.

It was now barely possible to reach Portsmouth with daylight by taking the shortest way through the Needles, a narrow strait between the Isle of Wight and the mainland, full of shallows, where even in clear weather a good pilot is necessary. The sun was already near setting, when an anxious cry from the watch announced the neighbourhood of land, and in the same instant we all perceived, at about a hundred fathoms’ distance, a high fog-enveloped rock, against which the breakers raged furiously.

Our pilot recognised it for the western point of the Isle of Wight at the entrance of the Needles, and the danger we were in only animated his spirits. He seized the helm with both hands, and guiding it with admirable dexterity, the ship flew, amidst the storm, through the narrow and winding channels to which the shallows confined it, often so close upon the impending rocks, that it seemed scarcely possible to pass them without a fatal collision.

A small vessel that had sailed with us for some time at this moment struck, and was instantly swallowed by the waves without a possibility of saving her. This terrible sight, and the consciousness that the next moment might involve us in a similar fate, made every one on board gaze in silent anxiety on the direction we were taking: even the pilot said not a word.

The twilight had nearly given way to total darkness when we reached Portsmouth roads; the joy with which we hailed this haven of safety, and our mutual congratulations on our preservation, may be easily imagined: our pilot now fell back into his former phlegm, and seating himself with a glass of grog by the fireside, received our thanks and praises with equal indifference.

This equinoctial storm raged itself out during the night, and the first rays of the sun again brought us fine weather and a fair wind, which enabled us once more to quit the English harbour. In no situation are the vicissitudes so striking as those experienced at sea. The wind, which had so lately attacked us with irresistible fierceness, was now become too gentle, and we were detained nine days in the Channel by calms, before we could reach the Atlantic Ocean.

Here a fresh north wind occasioned near our track the appearance called a water-spout; which consists of a three-cornered mass of foaming water, with the point towards the sea, and the broad upper surface covered with a black cloud. We now held a southerly course, and after encountering much rough weather, on the 22nd of September reached the parallel of Lisbon, where we enjoyed the warmer temperature, and congratulated ourselves on having left behind us the region of storms. We steered straight for the island of Teneriffe, where we intended providing ourselves with wine. A fresh trade-wind carried us rapidly and smoothly forward; the whole crew was in fine health and cheered by one of the most beautiful mornings of this climate, when our pleasure in the near prospect of a residence on this charming island was most painfully interrupted by the accident of a sailor falling overboard. The rapidity with which we were driving before the wind frustrated all our efforts to save him, and the poor fellow met his death in the waves. Our cheerfulness was now perfectly destroyed; and my regret for the accident was increased by the fear of the evil impression it might make on the minds of the other men. Sailors are seldom free from superstition, and if mine should consider this misfortune as a bad omen, it might become such in reality by casting down the spirits so essential in a long and perhaps dangerous voyage. A crew tormenting itself with idle fears will never lend that ready obedience to a commander which is necessary for its own preservation. The messmates of the unfortunate man continued to gaze mournfully towards the spot where he had sunk, till the sight of land, as we sailed about noon past the small rocky island of Salvages, seemed to divert their thoughts from the occurrence; their former cheerfulness gradually returned, and my apprehensions subsided.

This evening the island of Teneriffe became perceptible amidst the mist and clouds which veiled its heights. During the night we reached the high black rocks of lava which form its northern points; and at break of day I determined to tack, in order to run into Santa Cruz, the only place in the island where ships can lie at anchor.

The night was stormy, and the high land occasioned violent gusts of wind from various directions. Towards morning the weather improved, but we found that the current had carried us twenty miles to the south-east. These strong currents are common here in all seasons, and, to vessels not aware of them, may in dark nights produce injurious consequences. Having now passed the northern promontory, we steered southward for the roads of Santa Cruz. The shore here, consisting of high, steep masses of lava, presents a picturesque but desolate and sterile landscape, amidst which the eye seeks in vain for some spot capable of producing the rich wine of Teneriffe. Upon a point of rock about a thousand feet above the level of the sea, we saw a telegraph in full activity, probably announcing our arrival. The town next came in sight, and with its numerous churches, convents, and handsome houses, rising in an amphitheatre up the side of a mountain, would have offered a noble and pleasing prospect to eyes accustomed to the monotony of a sea view, but that the majestic Peak, that giant among mountains, rearing in the background its snow-crowned head 13,278 feet above the level of the sea, now stood clear and cloudless before us, enchaining all our faculties, the effect of its appearance rendered still more striking by the sudden parting of the clouds which had previously concealed it from us. This prodigious conical volcano is from its steepness difficult of access, and the small crater on the summit is so closely surrounded by a wall of lava, that in some places there is scarcely room to stand. He who is bold enough to climb it, however, will find himself rewarded with one of the finest prospects in the world. Immediately beneath him, stretches the entire extent of the Teneriffe, with all its lovely scenery; round it the other nineteen Canary Islands; the eye then glances over an immense expanse of waters, beyond which may be descried in the distance the dark forests of the African coast, and even the yellow stripe which marks the verge of the great Desert. With thoughts full of the enjoyments which awaited us, we approached the town. We planned parties to see the country and climb the Peak; and our scientific associates, holding themselves in readiness to land as soon as the boat could be lowered, already rejoiced over the new treasures of mineralogy and botany of which the island seemed to promise so ample a store: meanwhile we had made the usual signal for a pilot; but having in vain waited his appearance, I resolved, as the road was not altogether unknown to me, to cast anchor without him; when, just as we had made our preparations, a ball from the fortress struck the water not far from the ship. At the same time we perceived that all was bustle on the walls; the cannons were pointed, the matches lighted, and plenty of Spanish balls were ready for our reception. Our government being at peace with Spain, this hostile conduct was quite unintelligible to us; but as I had no desire for a battle, I contented myself with drawing off the ship, and lying to beyond the reach of cannon shot, in the hope that a boat would be sent to us with some explanation of it. After, however, waiting a considerable time in vain, perceiving the continuance of warlike preparations on the walls, we were reluctantly obliged to renounce all hopes of visiting the island or the Peak, and to continue our voyage to Brazil, where we might reckon upon a kinder welcome.

Here, then, was an end to all our promised pleasures. The enrichment of our museum, the merry parties and the choice wine all forfeited to a simple misunderstanding! Whatever might be their motive, it was an inconsiderate action in the Spaniards wantonly to insult the Russian flag; and even if they mistook us for enemies, it was silly to be afraid of a single ship, considering that the renowned Nelson, with an English fleet, had found the fortifications impregnable.

After a few miles’ sail we perceived a large three-masted ship endeavouring, with the wind against her, to reach the roads of Santa Cruz. We steered towards her, in hopes that we might obtain some information that should explain the riddle of the treatment we had received. But the ship seemed as much afraid of us as the fortress; and, as soon as she perceived our intention, made all possible haste to avoid us.

It was really laughable enough, but it was also vexatious, that such peaceful people as we were should be considered so terrible. I sent a bullet after the ship, to induce her to stop; she then hoisted the English flag, but never slackened her speed; so that finding we could get no satisfaction, we thought it advisable to take advantage of the fresh trade-wind, to bear away from Teneriffe as quickly as possible. On the following morning we could still see the Peak, a hundred miles off, among the clouds; and we called to mind, as we gazed upon it, the mysterious accounts of its aborigines, of whom it was said, from the resemblance of their teeth to those of grazing animals, that they could only live on vegetables. They embalmed corpses in the manner of the ancient Egyptians, and preserved them in grottoes in the rocks, where they are still to be found. The Spaniards, the first discoverers and appropriators of the island, have described in high terms the state of civilization, methods of agriculture, and remarkably pure morality of these ancient inhabitants, who nevertheless were entirely exterminated by the tyranny and cruelty of their conquerors.

The trade-wind and continued fine weather brought us rapidly on our way towards Brazil. Dolphins, flying-fish, and the large and beautiful gold-fish, called by the Spaniards bonito, constantly surrounded the ship, and formed by day a relief from the tedium of gazing on the unvarying billows, as did during the darkness of the night the innumerable phosphorescent animals of the muscle kind, which, studding the black ocean with sparks of fire, produced a dazzling and living illumination. Our naturalist, Professor Eschscholz, has already communicated to the world his microscopical observations upon these marine curiosities.

On the first of October we doubled the Cape Verd Islands, without however seeing the land, which is almost always lost in mist, and steered direct for the Equator. Our progress was now impeded by calms, and the heat began to be oppressive; but care and precaution preserved the crew in perfect health, an effect which strict cleanliness, order, and wholesome diet, will seldom fail to produce, even in long voyages.

At five degrees North latitude, we took advantage of a calm to draw up water from a depth of five hundred fathoms, by means of a machine invented by the celebrated Russian academician Parrot. We found the temperature five degrees by Reaumur, while that of the water on the surface reached twenty-five degrees. To us it appeared ice-cold, and we felt ourselves much refreshed by washing our heads and faces with it. The machine weighed forty pounds, and might contain about a moderate pail-full; but the pressure of the column of water over it was such, that six sailors with a windlass were hardly able to draw it up. We made an attempt to sink it to a thousand fathoms’ depth, but the line broke, and we lost the machine; fortunately, however, we were provided with a second.

While we were still more than a hundred miles from land, a swallow alighted on the deck. It is wonderful how far these little animals can fly without resting. At first, it seemed weary, but soon recovered, and flew gaily about. When far out at sea, cut off from every other society than that of our shipmates, any guest from land, even a bird, is welcome. Ours soon became a general favourite, and was so tame, that it would hop on our hands and take the flies we offered him without any symptom of fear. He chose my cabin to sleep in at night; and at sunrise flew again upon deck, where he found every one willing to entertain him, and catch flies for his subsistence. But our hospitality proved fatal to him; he over-ate himself, and died of an indigestion, universally lamented.

On the 11th of October we crossed the Equator at twenty-five degrees W. longitude, reckoning from Greenwich. Having saluted the Southern hemisphere by the firing of guns, our crew proceeded to enact the usual ceremonies. A sailor, who took pride in having frequently passed the Line, directed the performance with much solemnity and decorum. He appeared as Neptune, attired in a manner that was meant to be terribly imposing, accompanied by his consort, seated on a gun-carriage instead of a shell, drawn by negroes, as substitutes for Tritons. In the evening, the sailors represented, amidst general applause, a comedy of their own composition. These sports, while they serve to keep up the spirits of the men, and make them forget the difficulties they have to go through, produce also the most beneficial influence upon their health; a cheerful man being much more capable of resisting a fit of sickness than a melancholy one. It is the duty of commanders to use every innocent means of maintaining this temper in their crews; for in long voyages, when they are several months together wandering on an element not destined by nature for the residence of man, without enjoying even occasionally the recreations of the land, the mind naturally tends to melancholy, which of itself lays the foundation of many diseases, and sometimes even of insanity. Diversion is often the best medicine, and, used as a preservative, seldom fails of its effect.

Below the Equator, we met with a fresh south-east wind, and having also fine weather, we soon reached the coast of Brazil.