We were now very near the Equator, and, like all other travellers, wished very much to see the celebrated constellations of the south.  I myself was most interested in the Southern Cross; and, as I could not find it among the stars, I begged the captain to point it out to me.  Both he and the first mate, however, said that they had never heard of it, and the second mate was the only one to whom it did not appear entirely unknown.  With his help, we really did discover in the spangled firmament four stars, which had something of the form of a somewhat crooked cross, but were certainly not remarkable in themselves, nor did they excite the least enthusiasm amongst us.  A most magnificent spectacle was, on the contrary, formed by Orion, Jupiter, and Venus; the latter, indeed, shone so brilliantly that her gleams formed a silver furrow across the waves.

The great frequency of falling stars is another fact that I cannot corroborate.  They are, perhaps, more frequent than in cold climates, but are far from being as common as is said:  and as for their size, I saw only one which surpassed ours; and this appeared about three times as large as an ordinary star.

For some days also we had now seen the Cape, or Magellan’s Clouds, and also the so-called Black Cloud.  The first are bright, and, like the Milky Way, are formed of numberless small stars, invisible to the naked eye; the latter presents a black appearance, and is said to be produced by the absence of all stars whatever from this part of the heavens.

All these different signs prepared us for the most interesting moment of our voyage—­namely, passing the line.

On the 29th of August, at 10 o’clock P.M., we saluted the southern hemisphere for the first time.  A feeling nearly allied to pride excited every one, but more especially those who crossed the line for the first time.  We shook each other by the hand, and congratulated one another mutually, as if we had done some great and heroic deed.  One of the passengers had brought with him a bottle or two of champagne to celebrate the event:  the corks sprang gaily in the air, and with a joyful “huzza,” the health of the new hemisphere was drunk.

No festivities took place among the crew.  This is at present the case in most vessels, as such amusements seldom end without drunkenness and disorder.  The sailors, however, could not let the cabin-boy, who passed the line for the first time, go quite scot-free; so he was well christened in a few buckets of salt water.

Long before passing the line, we passengers had frequently spoken of all the sufferings and tortures we should be subjected to at the Equator.  Every one had read or heard something exceedingly horrible, which he duly communicated to all the rest.  One expected headache or colic; a second had pictured to himself the sailors falling down from exhaustion; a third dreaded such a fearful degree of heat, that it would not only melt the pitch, {11} but would so dry up the ship, that nothing but continual throwing water over it could prevent its catching fire; while a fourth feared that all the provisions would be spoilt, and ourselves nearly starved to death.