The captain was a polite and kind man, and the mates and sailors
were also civil and obliging. In fact, as a general rule, in every
ship that I embarked in, I was far from finding seamen so rough and
uncivil as travellers often represent them to be. Their manners are
certainly not the most polished in the world, neither are they
extraordinarily attentive or delicate, but their hearts and
dispositions are mostly good.
After three days' sailing, we saw, on the 21st March, the island of
St. Felix, and on the morning following, St. Ambrosio. They both
consist of naked, inhospitable masses of rock, and serve at most as
resting places for a few gulls.
We were now within the tropics, but found the heat greatly moderated
by the trade wind, and only unbearable in the cabin.
For nearly a month did we now sail on, without the slightest
interruption, free from storms, with the same monotonous prospect of
sky and water before us, until, on the 19th of April, we reached the
Archipelago of the Society Islands. This Archipelago, stretching
from 130 to 140 degrees longitude, is very dangerous, as most of the
islands composing it scarcely rise above the surface of the water;
in fact, to make out David Clark's Island, which was only twelve
miles distant, the captain was obliged to mount to the shrouds.
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