We dine with the Portuguese governor to-day, and to-morrow have company at home, go on board after dinner, and get under weigh at one in the morning; and in about eleven days I shall be thrown overboard, for I am nearly transparent now with thinness, and never shall stand more than another ten days.
Keep writing, for mercy’s sake.
Your ever affectionate
E. E.
October 28, 1835. At sea (nowhere particular).
But I know we are within ten degrees of the line, and that the thermometer is at 80° the coolest part of the twenty-four hours, and that though they say we have been only twenty-four days on board, I am quite sure it must be nearly a year.
This is to be the beginning of a letter to you, and if the ship does not roll always, I will try to turn it into a journal, and you must keep it, as I cannot write another for myself, and should like to know in after-days how much I endured on board this monster. I shall never believe it when I read it.