A YEAR IN BRAZIL. 



Our party has some of the best berths in the ship, most 

 of them just in front of the engines, where there is hardly 

 any motion, and scarcely any noise or smell from the 

 machinery or pumps, etc. All our men, with one or two 

 exceptions (including myself), have travelled much. Some 

 think we may be home by Christmas, but it is rather early 

 to talk about that. 



I have begun to study Portuguese, and those who know 

 it thoroughly are giving me every assistance. I like it 

 pretty well, and hope to pick up a good deal before we 

 reach Rio. 



We have had splendid weather so far, though a bank of 

 mist off the Land's End caused us to slow down and blow 

 the steam-whistle as a fog signal every half minute. It 

 makes a noise loud enough to waken the dead, and pro- 

 duces an uncomfortable feeling as of something weird and 

 unearthly. We also sounded with the lead (having a piece 

 of tallow at the bottom), and brought up sand and shells 

 from a depth of fifty fathoms, though the length of line 

 paid out was seventy fathoms for twenty fathoms were 

 slack rope. It is interesting to note the method of ascer- 

 taining the exact depth of the water At the end of the 

 line, just above the lead, is a brass tube, with an indicating 

 needle fixed to a piston which works inside. The tube is 

 full of air, but as the lead descends, the weight of superin- 

 cumbent water causes a certain amount of it to enter the 

 tube from the bottom ; this forces up the piston, and the 

 needle marks on a graduated scale the depth in fathoms. 



By midday we were in the Atlantic. There was a good 

 deal of rolling and some pitching, and the number of 

 passengers on deck diminished. At midday we had made 

 284 miles from Liverpool (in 231 hours), and were 362 miles 

 off Pauillac. 



