In A Sea of Shadows

15th February 1831

To my eldest and dearest sister,

At last my feet stand on ground that does not sway, and for that I am indubitably grateful. Of course I should not mean to alarm you, for I am safe and dry and seated this moment beside a fire and my gut is full of good food, but I must tell you of the hellish journey I have endured these past months.

To think the seas are revered as a thing of beauty, a wonder to be admired and adored—I have witnessed nothing but misery upon these torturous waves. Almost immediately after Certissimus left Portsmouth, the first of our 110-strong passengers succumbed to this beastly ocean. He hanged himself quite by accident among the rigging of the mizzenmast, and his body had to be retrieved and thrown into the Solent. As far as omens go for a journey as great as the one on which I embarked, you could forgive me for entertaining some anxieties.

Within the next month, we lost seventeen souls to a fever that ripped through the cabins, and a great many more fell ill, including the crew. Several passengers, including myself, took orders from the bos'n and had control of the ship for nigh on a week. When at last I returned to the passengers' quarters, now less crowded and infinitely fouler, I slept a solid thirty hours.

I must admit, however, to the single thing that lifted my heart whilst we traversed the salten abyss. When at last Certissimus, twice struck with storms and innumerously repaired, reached the Pacific Ocean, I saw a most wondrous sight that brought a tear to your dear brother's eye. I heard them before I saw them, their drifting melodies swelling from below the surface and igniting the cool evening air. We in number rose from our bunks and staggered to the gunwale, leant over and watched for the angels that could emit such a blessed sound.

We have seen some strange sights during our summers in Porthleven, but nothing can compare to the majesty these creatures commanded as they rose from the water, rolling and lifting great fins of grey and ivory heavenward.

'They be humpback whales,' said an old seadog by the name of Higgins, who had graciously befriended me. I expressed my awe for these whales, and he nodded knowingly, as though he had seen an expression like mine on the faces of many other young sailors throughout his long life. 'Worry not,' said he; 'you'll not be hunting these. The whales what have the most value to shore whalers in New Zealand are right whales.'

Oh, Aggie, I had quite forgot until that time the intent of this dastardly journey across the seas. The very letter from Uncle Cyrus inviting me to join him at his new whaling station—'to harvest the gold of the ocean', claimed he—indeed has remained on my desk at home in Truro, for I departed in such haste and excitement that I left it behind. And after seeing these beautiful whales, I wonder if I too abandoned my compassion.

We disembarked at night, so I have not yet seen the land I now inhabit, and the candle burns low, so I shall try to rest for now and pick up with this letter tomorrow. A strange bird is calling out into the night; I do hope he will let me sleep.