Saturday May 13th At Sea Off Fayal.
A ghastly night, beating against head winds. The sea "lumpy" as the Cap't said. I had an attack of indigestion and horrible dreams in consequence. At intervals I would wake from them to hear groans from different berths and different articles of furniture rolling around in general confusion. The Portuguese on the sofa [?] vigorously and the cracking of cordage and lines of the sail made everything gloomy enough. At 4 o'c we tacked and then all the men worn out with the night got up. We could hear them reporting their respective catastrophes. Bicknells shelf of books had come down on his head, Kent's ditto. The Portuguese & Philliips had fallen off their sleeping places. A brandy bottle, two glasses, mug of jelly and cold cream were floating around our room. Milly Smith got drenched through & through on the tack. The she became ill for variety, and Grace in the meantime called through the partition that she had not slept a wink. The day has been horrid too for we came in sight of Fayal early, saw the Veronica go in to port and we, tacking all day long could not get in. The island on the Fayal side is very pretty. Pico opposite is covered with vineyards and there are a group of picturesque rocks called the La Maddalena opposite the village of Pico. Fayal has a lovely natural harbor. We could see that the town lies on a side hill - some fine large buildings, orange groves back of it. On Pico which is as it's name indicates a mountain peak, 7680 ft rising gradually from the sea there are innumerable craters on its sides. We could see a little two sailed ferry boat crossing from there to Fayal. The island of Fayal, the hill tops are covered with wind mills.
Still beating against the wind, the men are betting as to when we can get in.