Journal of a Voyage

Sunday, January 27

As the crowd that came to the pier looked on, I climbed aboard the tender with the Captain, two sailors, and José María, and as soon as we boarded the ship, we carried out the preparations for setting sail. At three-thirty in the afternoon, with a northwest breeze and sails unfurled, our small ship sailed away as fast as a steamship. At that time I said goodbye to my friends by waving my handkerchief and they reciprocated with 20 handkerchiefs. My emotions were mixed, bringing tears to my eyes and practically blurring my vision. The Captain opened a bottle and we toasted the occasion. In a few minutes we had left port and rounded Crestón,¹ heading west out of Mazatlán. We passed close to the Venados islands² so that Sr. Patte³ could see us from the window [of his house], and we began to head west toward the high seas. Until then I didn't know what seasickness was like. When I started feeling nauseated, I thought it would be wise to flop down on my bed before I vomited. My sickness was caused by the rapid [pitching] motion of the small ship. José María and the cook were practically at death's door; they could not move without throwing up.

I will now mention the names of the men who are on board:

• Marec: From Belle-Île-en-Mer (France)

• Michel: Captain of the ship⁴

• Jourdan: English sailor and carpenter

• Ypolite: French sailor

• Joseph: French sailor

• Pigeon: French cook José

• María: Steward A ship's dog called Misère⁵

Monday, January 28

An adverse northwest wind blew all night long as we headed toward Guaymas. This morning the Captain said that we were in front of Piasta⁶ because he says he recognizes the mountains there. Our boat has an escort of six or eight birds that are always ready to pick up anything that falls. I threw them some pieces of bread and they squabbled over the loot. This seasickness without vomit persists.

Tuesday, January 29

Early this morning, the Captain told me that the mountains we're seeing on the mainland are those [behind] Altata,⁷ and that we are almost at their latitude. The Captain's plan is to take advantage of the northwest wind and head toward Baja California, where he wants to stop to make some small repairs to the ship. It is not damaged, but [some repairs] were left incomplete so that we could leave early from Mazatlán. We finally headed away from the mountains of Altata, and the wind died down.

At 12 noon, I measured the meridian altitude⁸ and remarked to the Captain that instead of progressing we were losing ground and returning southward. He was surprised, and at first he did not want to believe me. However, he was convinced by a small ridge we could still see on the mainland, and he angrily blamed the southerly currents in the middle of the Gulf. That is a possibility and I was inclined to believe him, but at the same time I can see that these captains, who rely on their practical experience, sometimes travel farther than they would have to if they knew more about nautical and navigational science. He pointed the bow northward and the day continued with a gentle breeze. As a result, my stomach is beginning to feel better and I am able to have lunch and write these memoirs. Around four in the afternoon we saw lots of soufleur⁹ that spout water out of their heads like whales. I saw them breaching around us with their huge tails coming out of the water. As the sun was setting, we caught a faint glimpse of land on Baja California.

Wednesday, January 30

At dawn, we again saw the coast of the mainland but without knowing exactly where we were. The Gulf is so narrow that you can always see land, first on one side and then...