XXIII.


... Night: steaming for British Guiana;--we shall touch at no
port before reaching Demerara.... A strong warm gale, that
compels the taking in of every awning and wind-sail. Driving
tepid rain; and an intense darkness, broken only by the
phosphorescence of the sea, which to-night displays extraordinary
radiance.

[Illustration: TRAFALGAR SQUARE, BRIDGETOWN, BARBADOES.]

The steamer's wake is a great broad, seething river of fire,--
white like strong moonshine: the glow is bright enough to read
by. At its centre the trail is brightest;--towards either edge
it pales off cloudily,--curling like smoke of phosphorus. Great
sharp lights burst up momentarily through it like meteors.
Weirder than this strange wake are the long slow fires that keep
burning at a distance, out in the dark. Nebulous incandescences mount
up from the depths, change form, and pass;--serpentine flames
wriggle by;--there are long billowing crests of fire. These seem
to be formed of millions of tiny sparks, that light up all at the
same time, glow for a while, disappear, reappear, and swirl away
in a prolonged smouldering.

There are warm gales and heavy rain each night,--it is the
hurricane season;--and it seems these become more violent the
farther south we sail. But we are nearing those equinoctial