Product Description

In 1838, Joseph and Henry Bullar set out on a voyage from England to spend seven months in the Azores. This extraordinary journey led them to the islands of São Miguel, Faial, Pico, São Jorge, Flores, and Corvo. Wittily written, the narrative account of these travels is most endearing to modern readers, giving accurate descriptions of the customs, religion, education, trade, and agriculture of the bygone Azorean society.

Contemplating the future while enjoying the thermal baths at Furnas, the Bullars wonder if one day "this quiet and healthful place should by means of transatlantic steamers and other consumptive luxuries be transformed into a second Madeira or rather into another Baden-Baden, and blow its pleasant bubbles like those from the Brunnens of Nassau."

"Islands of great external beauty, rising abruptly out of the water to the height of several thousand feet, and clothed with green to their topmost acclivities; -- what spot on the earth with such circumstances of enjoyment could be found in so large a measure, and with so few drawbacks?"

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #1159159 in Books
• Published on: 2007-11-22
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 520 pages

Excerpted from A Winter in the Azores - and a Summer at the Baths of the Furnas by Joseph Bullar, Henry Bullar. Copyright © 2007. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
NOVEMBER 16. -- We were towed out of Cowes' harbour in the teeth of a sharp north-easterly breeze, lay to in the roads for our captain and pilot, and at four o'clock in the afternoon of last Monday, the 12th, were foaming and frothing along towards the Needles at the exhilarating rate of ten knots an hour. We threaded the Needles at nightfall, -- saw the flickering light on the white cliffs, -- just heard the hum of waves among the rocks, -- despatched our pilot, felt cold and damp with the salt spray, and turned into bed.
We are now four hundred miles from the Lizard in dark indigo water, of so massive a look that one can readily believe it to be unfathomable; our north-easter has forsaken us, the sun is hazy and "looks sick," and a gale which was foretold is now coming on.
Our vessel is a fast-sailing schooner of 130 tons, built expressly for the orange trade by White of Cowes; has excellent accommodations for two passengers; is quite new, and on her first voyage to St. Michael's. Not so her captain, who is now traversing for the fiftieth time the same
"long unvarying course, the track
Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind."
November 17. -- The processes of eating on board a St. Michael's fruiterer in stormy weather, would sadly discompose disciples of the silver-fork school. The one phrase for breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper is "getting your victuals;" a periphrasis accurately descriptive of the ceremonies. The cabin in which this duty is performed is large enough for four to dine in, and has, by way of table, a square chest of drawers, furnished with flaps. Owing to the squally weather which has set in, it is necessary before laying this table to "poultice" it (as the captain terms it), that is, to twist into a long roll any stray garment that may be found in the cabin; a Mackintosh, or camlet cloak, for instance; then to curl it over the table in a zig-zag course, covering the roll with the fragment of a sail by way of table-cloth, and leaving a large lump to leeward, to save the dishes in case of heavy lurches; and last of all, to secure the "poultice" in its right place by a piece of rope-yarn laced over the table from the knobs of the drawers.
The steward (for thus is ambitiously termed a greasy, sooty, good-humoured lad), then prepares the breakfast, by thrusting cups, saucers, and basins into the irregularities of the "poultice," so as to secure them from a fall; he fills the bread-basket with biscuit, sets it down in the middle of the table, supports it by a tea-pot and stale loaf; and then wedges into their appointed places a pot of Cork butter, a lump of salt junk, a basin of brown sugar, crested with a few lumps of white, dashes down a bunch of pewter spoons, and a bundle of new and blunt knives and forks, and then makes his exit to prepare the kettle.
Supposing the tea to be made, and the teapot stowed with its spout to windward; just as the sooty lad again appears with a saucepan of eggs, there comes a heavy sea on board; -- away goes the vessel to leeward, -- and as we balance our cups in our saucers and "hold on;" an indescribable chaos among all the elements of breakfast follows; the tea-pot has poured its weak stream into the pot of butter; the milk is overturned; the loaf is sopped; and the "companion" having been left open, two or three buckets-full of water from the tremendous sea wash over us. The captain swears; the steward sets down his eggs and retreats for a bucket and mop; we hold up our feet to keep clear of the sea water that has soaked the stools, the boots, and the ends of our cloaks, and still slushes and gurgles backwards and forwards on the cabin floor; and the steersman growls out a surly "Yes, sir," to the captain's still surlier "Keep her steady!"
At dinner, the arrangements were about the same as at breakfast. Our captain was no Aristologist. The salt junk was brought to the cabin door in a wooden tub; there it was cut in halves, and while one part was handed up the companion in the original tub for the crew, the other was laid in a deep pie-dish for the cabin table. The never-failing sea dish of greasy cabbages, bright carrots, and brown-coated potatoes followed; and everything eatable having been laid on the table, search was made for the captain. When he came, which he did as the hot steam from every dish began to disappear, it was found that there were no knives and forks, and that the mustard was not made. Then the corkscrew was in the table-drawer, and the "poultice" must be unlaced, and the table discomposed and rearranged.
When the cork was drawn the tumblers were in the cupboard, with the brown ends of the day before dried on their bottoms. "Steward! Steward!" and the glasses were handed up the companion with the admonition "not in fresh water now," a charge which the strong salt taste on the edge proved to have been most faithfully attended to. The supper was a breakfast repeated by candle-light.