ploughboy.

I am disappointed in the tropics as to warmth. Our thermometer
stood at 82 degrees one day only, under the vertical sun, N. of the
Line; ON the Line at 74 degrees; and at sea it FEELS 10 degrees
colder than it is. I have never been hot, except for two days 4
degrees N. of the Line, and now it is very cold, but it is very
invigorating. All day long it looks and feels like early morning;
the sky is pale blue, with light broken clouds; the sea an
inconceivably pure opaque blue--lapis lazuli, but far brighter. I
saw a lovely dolphin three days ago; his body five feet long (some
said more) is of a FIERY blue-green, and his huge tail golden
bronze. I was glad he scorned the bait and escaped the hook; he
was so beautiful. This is the sea from which Venus rose in her
youthful glory. All is young, fresh, serene, beautiful, and
cheerful.

We have not seen a sail for weeks. But the life at sea makes
amends for anything, to my mind. I am never tired of the calms,
and I enjoy a stiff gale like a Mother Carey's chicken, so long as
I can be on deck or in the captain's cabin. Between decks it is
very close and suffocating in rough weather, as all is shut up. We
shall be still three weeks before we reach the Cape; and now the
sun sets with a sudden plunge before six, and the evenings are
growing too cold again for me to go on deck after dinner. As long
as I could, I spent fourteen hours out of the twenty-four in my
quiet corner by the wheel, basking in the tropical sun. Never
again will I believe in the tales of a burning sun; the vertical
sun just kept me warm--no more. In two days we shall be bitterly
cold again.