Under more favourable circumstances, we might possibly have seen Teneriffe from the Volage, for our distance was not above a hundred miles.  This, however, it must be owned, is a long way to see the land, unless it form a continuous ridge of great elevation, like the Andes; and even then, to be distinguished well, it requires to be interposed between a bright sky and the ship.  At day-break, and for about half an hour before sunrise, if the weather be clear, even sharp peaks, like the cone of Teneriffe, may be seen with a degree of distinctness which is very remarkable, when viewed from the distance of a hundred miles and upwards, as I have several times experienced when navigating in the Pacific.  But when the full splendour of the sun’s light begins to fill the air, these gigantic forms gradually fade away amongst the clouds, or melt into the sky, even when no clouds are visible.  I have likewise been told, that, in sailing directly away from Teneriffe (or other high insulated peaks), and keeping the eye pretty constantly fixed in the proper direction, it may be retained in sight at much greater distance than it can be discovered on approaching.  I am disposed to consider this very probable, but have never had a good opportunity of trying the experiment.

It was late in April, as we were stealing slowly past these distant Canary Islands, when the first real puff of the Trade-wind caught our sleeping sails, and made the braces, haulyards, and all the other ropes connected with the yards, crack again.  This breeze served more effectually to detach our thoughts from European interests than anything which had occurred since our leaving England.  At the very moment, however, when we were chuckling at this disentanglement of our feelings from domestic anxieties, and all the varied agitation of home concerns, we observed a ship crossing our path at some distance.  Signal being made to chase, we instantly darted off from the convoy to examine the stranger, which proved to be an English ship from Lisbon.  We hailed, and asked, “What news?”

“Badajoz has fallen,” replied the other, “after a terrible siege.”

This was received with a general buzz of joyous congratulation along the decks.  In answer to further questions, we were told of some three or four thousand men killed and wounded in the trenches and breach.  Then, indeed, the glorious intelligence was greeted by three jolly huzzas from every ship in the convoy!

Nothing so startling as this occurred to us again; but the serenity of our thoughts was in some degree interrupted, a few days afterwards, by the north-easterly Trade-wind dying away, and a gentle south-wester springing up in its place.  This occurred in latitude 25-1/2 deg.  N., where, according to our inexperienced conception of these singular winds, we ought to have found a regular breeze from the very opposite quarter!  Nor was it till long afterwards that I learned how much the force and direction of the Trade-winds are