1832.] 
SLOW PROGRESS. 
327 
was so utterly motionless, and at the same time so clear and 
glassy, that it had the appearance of an immense circular mirror, 
or a huge girandole, bounded by the horizon. It reflected the 
rays of the sun with a fervour painfully intense ,to the eyes, when 
they chanced to encounter the angle of incidence. A number of 
sea-snakes were seen playing round the ship, arid pursuing their 
gambols, regardless of the mighty mass of spars and canvass 
which was towering above them. During four tedious days, the 
ship's headway did not average one knah, per hour. The heat 
was oppressive ; no variety to relieve the dull monotony ; the 
sick-list was large, and still increasing. The history of one day 
is a specimen of the rest. 
. From one to three A. M., calm ; the ship riding by her kedge- 
anchor. The day advances — the sun attains his meridian, and 
passes over — no intervening cloud to avert or intercept his direct 
and scorching rays — no curl, no ripple on the water — a wide- 
spreading, glassy surface appears to reflect back the heat — no part 
of the ship seems to ofi"er a cool retreat. The sick are swung in 
cots on the gundeck — the surgeon and his assistants constantly 
employed. At half past five, a light breeze springs up ; all hands 
are called to " up anchor /" — all sail is set to the dry and feeble 
breeze. At six, calm — let go the kedge, to hold our own, and 
prevent the current's cheating us of the little we had gained. At 
half past seven, light airs again from the northeast ; and again the 
boatswain calls, " all hands, up anchor /" Until three A. M., the 
Hght airs continue. At half past three, came too with the kedge 
— not a breath of air. At half past seven, the breeze sets in, 
when the oft-repeated call resounds through the ship — "All hands, 
ujj anchor ! and make sail .'" The lead constantly going in from 
seventeen to twenty-two fathoms, muddy bottom. 
Thus it continued, hour after hour, and day after day, while the 
gallant Potomac lingered near the equator, as if unwilling to re- 
enter the northern hemisphere on a meridian so far from that of 
her mountain home — her towering spars being antipodes to the 
Yirginia forests, in which they grew. She finally crossed the 
equinox, on Sunday, the twenty-second of April, in longitude 
107° 7' east. The same kind of weather continued until the first 
of May, when the Potomac was in latitude 6° 33' north, being 
seven hundred and sixty-two geographical miles north of Batavia, 
