. . . I well now refer back to my sea voyage, according to promise made at Boston. Besides the short note from Boston, I wrote to you by the pilot, which last letter I have seen in the "Star"[MEANING THE MILLENNIAL STAR], since coming here. By the bye, I have had quite a treat in perusing "Stars", "Deseret News", and "Mormons", since my arrival here. I have read the "Stars" up to Number 27, excepting Number 24. It did me good to see these old acquaintances, for not a newspaper of any kind reaches the camp at Iowa City. The route to there must be fatal to them. But about the voyage. The letter form the Presidency of the company has, ere this, given you an account of the principal events that occurred on board. I shall, therefore, give you a few of my thoughts upon things pertaining to our voyage, and sea voyages in general.

You may probably wish to know how I like the sea. Well, I like the beginning and end of a sea voyage better than any other part of it. Some sing,"A life on the ocean wave,A home on the rolling deep."

If I had been brought up to the sea, perhaps I might have joined in chorus. But, as it is, ship life is to me dull and fusty life. It wants the charming variety and freedom, and the exquisite freshness and sweetness of life among the fields, and woods, and hills, in which I ever took so much delight. I like sailing on such a river as the great "Father of Waters," a vast deal more than on the ocean. River sailing, I say, for me, for I can then enjoy both land and water. But, after all, there is nothing like old, firm, solid, glorious terra firma. Sea-sailing is very pleasant at times. I could sit for hours on the forecastle, and watch our noble vessel dashing through the briny waves, and lashing them into an innumerable variety of fantastic forms of spray and foam. But then, who can possibly like to be continually rocked about, as though he were having a child's ride in an English swing boat? Who has any taste for a dizzy head at every breeze? Who wishes to be forced into a gait as unsteady, staggering, and uncertain as the drunkard's? Who admires treading on a platform that seems the plaything of an everlasting earthquake? I have no great taste for these things. I can make myself, with a little exertion, tolerably comfortable at sea, whenever it is advisable for me to go there, but when I have the privilege of choosing, I like to be where I can enjoy myself more naturally and more fully, and with less effort than I can on a long sea voyage.

While at sea, it often struck me that sailing vessels were certainly behind the times. The idea of waiting, day after day, on the idle wind is bad enough, but the reality is much worse. It makes one feel like getting out and pushing behind. Then the wind comes with a bit of a vengeance, as if to make up for lost time, just as people hurry when they have been loitering on the way. Then the willing ship dashes through the waters like a mad thing, at the rate of a dozen miles or more an hour. We tack to the right and tack to the left, and, after sailing so heartily for 200 or 300 miles, the captain takes an observation and finds that we are 20 miles worse for all our trouble, or perhaps we are in about the same place as when becalmed, or, if we have had a little better luck, we may have made a score miles. I often wondered how it was that the power of steam was not more used in navigating the ocean; and I certainly think that the time is not far distant when steam will be applied more commonly to freight and emigrant ships, if not as a principal motive power, at least as an auxiliary.

I have often heard of the waves running "mountains high," but I have not seen them do it. I have seen them assume the appearance of a vast, ever changing, miniature mountain system, with countless summits of spray and foam. There is another peculiarity pertaining to old ocean, and that is, it appears to be up-hill all around the ship, look which way you will. Thus every morning when I got up on deck, while at sea, the vessel seemed fixed in the same old hole, which, especially when combined with a calm, had a certain wearying effect on my patience, and I suppose others felt the same.

I think, altogether, that we, on the Horizon, had as agreeable a voyage as most emigrants are favored with. We had an occasional rough breeze, that put us to the right about, and split a sail or two, but not a single storm did we experience from the time we left Liverpool till we sighted Boston. We had every variety of weather but storm--wet, dry, calm, light and strong breezes; foul winds often; fair very seldom; warm, a good deal [p.555] of cold; clear, and plenty of fog. Indeed, we all felt relieved when we escaped from the clammy, flabby regions of eternal fog, that is, from the banks of Newfoundland. The principal things we enjoyed in that raw clime were the sight of a few fishing boats, and a taste of fresh cod fish, which the captain obtained in exchange for a few nails. We would, for a time, sail hard with a strong breeze, till many of the people were sick, then we would have a slight breeze or a calm till the majority of them had recovered. And so we passed our voyage, the weaker of us alternately sick and well, according to the weather. There was one thing, however, which I did not anticipate and that was, the protracted debility sequent on the seasickness. I would scarcely have credited, had I been told before my embarkation, that, after being sick two days, I should not recover my wonted strength, during the remainder of the voyage. Yet such was the case. And the experience of many others was similar. Indeed, not once before landing did the company, as a whole, fully regain the heartiness and vigor manifested previously to the sick attack. I felt my spirits good and willing, but my body weak. Sometimes, after walking from the lower 'tween decks up the ladder to the main deck, it seemed imperative on me to sit down and rest, while to carry a saucepan, or boiler, or my child upon deck, was indeed a severe tax on my strength. To use a common expression, I was as "weak as a cat," and I was a king to many. I was considerably better at times, and, on the whole I gradually mended as we neared Boston. But terra firma and fresh provisions were the best doctor for me, and for the others too.

As regards our captain, I can speak nothing but good. He was ever easy of access, familiar, and communicative. Of our religion he was not particularly enamored, but he would not suffer it to be traduced in his presence. He acted like a man and a gentleman. As our captain, he felt that we had a right to civil and courteous treatment at his hands, more particularly so long as we paid proper respect to him and his officers and men. He repudiated, altogether, the system of treating emigrants like dogs, the more so, as he observed to me, because, for aught he knew, there might be among his passengers some who were far his superiors in intellect, understanding, and general information. More than once did I hear him remark on the superior morality, order, and cleanliness which our people exhibited, when compared with ordinary emigrants. I knew this before, but still it is pleasing to me to hear captains, as well as others, frankly acknowledge the truth about us. He was rather surprised that he had 850 people on board, and did not hear an oath from them. It was warm and trying work at the cooking galley very often, but he favorably contrasted our conduct there with that of other emigrants, especially Irish, instancing their numerous bloody quarrels, and stating that his favorite and most effectual arbitrator and peacemaker was the hose, whose services he frequently found himself under the necessity of applying for. I believe he had the universal good will of the company, as indeed he deserved.

The first mate was a very different man. He was a wiry Yankee, irritable, snappish, and as surly and unapproachable as any Englishman need be. He was a man who would make few friends, for it was a hard matter to feel at all disposed to get at him. His countenance was generally dark and forbidding, as though he had some deep and awful purpose pent up on his soul. He would go about the deck at times roaring like a bull of Bashan. He unscrewed himself a little during the latter part of the voyage. He was a good seaman, determined to keep his men in order, but a rather poor fist at governing himself. If he e'er be captain of a vessel again, I should be sorry to be one of a company of emigrant Saints on his ship. I believe he would protect his passengers from his men, or from others not belonging to his ship, but, not being able to govern himself, and being a thorough tyrant in his wrath, something unpleasant might be justly expected there. I heard him boast of once putting two refractory sailors in irons, and feeding them on bread and water the remainder of the voyage. He had, doubtless, discretionary power to confine them, but, I should think, not to diet them on bread and water.

The other officers and the sailors, like most of their class, could crack a joke and breathe on oath with apparently the same grace and satisfaction. Judging mates and men as seamen, and not as Saints, I am convinced that we were greatly [p.556] favored, and I thank the Lord for it.

While at the camp, I heard a little more about the captain and mate of the "John J. Boyd". They were truly bad, bad, bad! They would make nothing of knocking a sailor down with their fists, a cable, a handspike, or whatever first came to hand. And where they hit was no matter, whether on the face, or head, or anywhere else. I was told, by those who were passengers on board, that the captain actually ran the sailors about with a naked cutlass in his hand. The Saints fared, of course, a little better, but I believe they were not all wholly exempted from corporeal punishment, by those brutal fellows who had guidance of the ship.

Wednesday, July 23. Elders Smoot, Neilson, and others have started today in the "Edingurgh" for Florence. I am going to leave this afternoon.

No more at present.

Love to all in the office.

Yours in the gospel,

J. Jaques. [p.557]

BIB: Jaques, John, [Letter], Latter-day Saints' Millennial Star 18:35 (August 30, 1856) pp. 555-57. (CHL)
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