“You have both been wishing for a genuine hurricane ever since leaving New York, and now that wish has been gratified,” replied the captain. “In my twenty-six voyages around the Horn I have never seen such weather, though some ships catch it even worse; but with theSagamoreunder my feet, and plenty of sea-room, I fear nothing.”
The captain turned in early that night, for his clothes had not been removed for seventy-two hours past, during which trying interval he had had no rest but a few short naps. The passengers were thinking of retiring also, when they heard a call from the steward, who requested them to come into the dining room a moment.
“I want to show you a fine sight,” said he, standing by the door leading onto the main deck, which he cautiously opened part way as Hartley and Wilbur approached.
The hurricane had spent its force, and the young men looked out upon a nightscene of rare beauty. Every cloud in the sky had vanished as if by magic, and the blue vault of the firmament was brilliant with countless myriads of stars. Some were large, some small; and to the admiring gaze of the watchers it seemed as if they had never seen so grand a sight, even in the Southern Hemisphere, where the numerous planets, constellations, and single stars illumine the night sky with a splendor surpassing anything of the kind to be seen in the North. But among all those stars, and groups of stars, none could compare with that blazing constellation that had now nearly reached the zenith—the Southern Cross. It is first seen just before crossing the equator, but is then dim and very low in the horizon, and visible but a short time each evening. Gradually, as Cape Horn is approached, it rises higher and higher, its appearance each night being foretold by its two flashing “pointer” stars, which, like heralds announcing the coming of their sovereign, are visible above the horizon a short time before the Cross itself appears. In the vicinity of the Horn this matchless constellation may be seen high in the heavens, in all its glory—the stars composing it not larger than several others in the sky, but as completelyeclipsing them in brilliancy as diamonds do pieces of glass. Now, after three days and nights of warring winds and waters, that Cross looked down upon theSagamore’snaked masts and flooded decks like an emblem of promise and of peace. Not a great way off were the two curious patches of luminous film known as the Magellan Clouds, looking strange and mysterious as they floated among that sea of stars.
The foam-covered water washed about the deck as the ship rolled, and a heavy sea tumbling aboard caused the steward to close the door in a hurry. Then the passengers took a gin-fizz as a night-cap, and turned in.
Becalmed off Cape Horn!
This may sound paradoxical, but calms do occur, though they are not common. But for indescribable grandeur, and as a manifestation of the powers of nature, there are few things that will compare with a calm in this region.
One degree south of the Horn, on the 57th parallel, there is no land around the whole earth’s surface—not even an island; and this is the primary reason why the largest waves to be found anywhere aremet with in this locality. Here, unchecked and unconfined, they sweep entirely around the globe; gathering strength and size as they move on, with nothing to bar their resistless march or to make them swerve aside even a hair’s breadth. Lashed into fury by a gale, these waves are sufficiently remarkable, but they are then in such a state of turmoil as to destroy all regularity, making it impossible to tell where one begins and another ends. So, strangely enough, it is in a dead calm that one is more nearly able to conceive of their vast proportions. These periods generally follow a hard westerly gale, and then it is a sight no words can depict, to stand upon a vessel’s deck and watch the approach of those vast walls of water; each one sharply defined, and wonderfully regular in form. From the base of one to the base of the next following is frequently a space of one thousand feet—a great valley, which, contrasted with the long hills on either side, gives one some idea of the magnitude of these waves.
Such a condition of things prevailed on the day after the equinoctial hurricane. TheSagamorehad not even steerage way, and lay broadside on to the heavy swell, rolling as only a vessel can roll in aCape Horn calm. The great blue hills came on slowly but regularly; and each one, as it came beneath the ship, lifted her up on its crest as though she had been a feather, instead of a vessel three hundred feet long, drawing twenty-six feet of water, and with four thousand tons of railroad iron and other heavy stuff in her hold. Then, as it passed on, there was a rattling of blocks and the heavy reports of canvas banged against the rigging, as theSagamoreslid down the side of the hill with her decks at an angle of fifty degrees.
She had the usual nondescript crew found on deep-water ships, and after hearing some of them talk, one might well agree with Mr. Marsh “That the captain or mate who goes to sea now-a-days, should understand Chinese, Greek, Hindostanee, Russian-Finn, and a dozen other tongues, besides having the patience of Job.” It being Sunday, no one was required to do any work but what was necessary in navigating the ship, and the men improved their leisure time in various ways. A few spruced up a bit; among them, Gene, the Frenchman, who was far above the rest in intelligence and ability. After arraying himself in a scarlet woolen shirt, new trousers and shoes, he lay down in hisbunk to read, unmindful of the turmoil about him. Several produced sewing materials and mended their clothes, keeping time with their feet while an agile young fellow danced; others sang coarse songs, or told stories. Jack, a tow-headed Scandinavian, devoured “Demon Dick, the Dare-devil.” He had purchased a number of these hair-raising effusions, and read them in preference to the tracts and pious books furnished by the Sailors’ Aid Society, only one of which had been opened, and that was being used up for cigarette papers. Some played gambling games, using plugs of tobacco for stakes, while Jumbo, the smallest man on board (formerly a trapeze performer), gave an exhibition on a tight rope which won applause. One group discussed the subject of provisions, and though all agreed that the “grub” on theSagamorewas satisfactory, some found great fault with the cookery. Then they abused the mates, decided that Captain Meade was afraid to carry sail enough, and speculated as to how much Hartley and Wilbur were worth—for whenever there are passengers on merchant ships the crew seem to consider them millionaires.
But the great “character” in the forecastle was Andrew,—usually called San Quentin, from the fact of his having “done time” in the California penitentiary of that name. He was a hoary-headed old sinner, whose three-score odd years would have rendered him of little account before the mast had he not belonged to that past age when merchant sailors had to know their business, and were able seamen in something besides name. Andrew was a voluble talker, and frequently related with gusto how he had once “knifed” a fellow sailor who had roused his ire.
“A man ought to die when he gets to be fifty,” he remarked, rubbing a rheumatic joint.
“Better jump overboard, then,” answered a voice.
“I’m gettin’ too old for this work,” Andrew continued, “and if the cap’n says a good word for me, I’ll try and get in the Sailors’ Snug Harbor when we comes back to New York. Sure, I’ve been goin’ to sea forty-six year, and I’m no better off now nor I was when I began. They teached me tailorin’ when I was in the pen, but I’d ship on twenty more voyages afore I’d shut myself up in a little shop on shore where they ain’t room to breathe.But I’m a lucky old cuss” (with a laugh), “for I ain’t never been wrecked in all my time at sea,—no, nor ever seed a wreck.”
“Andrew’s going to turn into a tough old albatross when he slips his cable,” put in Gene, a smile on his clear-cut features.
“Be careful ye don’t turn into a molly-hawk yourself, ye French devil,” retorted San Quentin, hurling his sheath-knife in the air, and dexterously catching the descending point on the tip of his little finger.
“Tumble out, mates,” called a sailor, poking his head through the door. “There’s somethin’ up. All hands aft is squintin’ through the glass at what the matey says is a boat.”
This news brought everyone out on deck in a hurry. Quite a distance from the ship, a small object floated on the swell,—now lifted high on a sea, then disappearing from view in the trough. The officers had been examining it through the telescope for some time, Mr. Marsh finally declaring it to be a boat. The sight of a solitary boat in such a place gave rise to much speculation, and when the calm was replaced by a gentle breeze, the course was changed so as to bring the waif alongside.
Within an hour the tiny craft was close by, and a melancholy spectacle she presented. Bottom upward, with jagged splinters projecting from her shattered sides, she floated by on the sportive waves—an eloquent symbol of recent disaster. How had she come there? Where were her late occupants? None could tell but old ocean, glittering in the frosty sunshine. Upon her stern were the words “Dundee, of Liverpool.” The captain was about to go below in order to look up theDundeein the shipping register, when a sailor hailed the deck from aloft. A vessel was visible far to the south!
The mate ascended the rigging, followed by the passengers; and sure enough, the naked eye beheld a shadowy ship on the horizon which the glass magnified into a wreck. All was excitement; the course was again changed, and the ship bore down for the distant vessel. She was nearly twenty miles away; the breeze was provokingly light, and it seemed an age before theSagamoredrew near the stranger.
Distress signals were flying from her foremast—the only spar left standing. The others hung over the side, their weight helping to careen the vessel at adangerous angle, besides pounding against her like battering-rams every time she rolled. Six men could be seen, one of whom stood apart waving a flag, while most of the others ran about in the most frantic transports; now falling upon their knees, then rising and extending their arms toward theSagamore. The wreck was apparently full of water, so there was no time to be lost.
Nothing short of a case like this could have induced Captain Meade to launch a boat off Cape Horn, for the huge waves and the liability to sudden squalls make it a perilous proceeding at all times. Mr. Marsh took command of the gig with a carefully selected crew, but it required half an hours’ maneuvering to launch her. At length a successful start was made, and the gig went racing up the side of a big sea, was poised giddily on its crest, and then darted down the incline as though bound for the bottom. On she went, her crew rowing like demons, while two men bailed out the water that constantly threatened to swamp her.
As the rescuers neared the sinking vessel, the mate bawled “Wreck ahoy! what bark is that?”
“The Dundee, of Liverpool, bound from Buenos Ayres to Valparaiso. We are foundering.”
“We are the American shipSagamore, from New York for San Francisco. Heave us a rope and we’re ready for you.”
The gig was now on the lee side of the bark, and as near the stern as prudence would allow; so the men rested on their oars while Mr. Marsh deftly caught the rope flung from the wreck by her captain. In order to enter the boat it was necessary for those on theDundeeto slide down the rope, and then be hauled aboard when the end was reached. The steward and three seamen constituted the first load; descending in safety, one by one, though most of them were submerged twice before they were at length pulled into the boat. Two seamen, an apprentice and the captain remained on the wreck, the latter declaring his intention of standing by his craft to the last, though he well knew she was about to take the final plunge. Already that uncanny moaning sound heard only on a foundering vessel was ascending from the black depths of the hold, as the rising waters forced out the sustaining air through every crevice.
It was a hard pull back to theSagamore,—against the wind all the way,—and while the mate steered the heavily-laden gig, the steward narrated the story of the catastrophe. TheDundee, commanded by Captain Murray, had sailed from Buenos Ayres without a cargo, taking aboard for ballast eight hundred tons of dirt scooped from the river bottom; and to this improper ballast the disaster was due. She labored heavily during the first day of the hurricane, and sprang a leak in several places. The incoming water soon converted the ballast into a liquid mass, which surged about in the hold, finally hurling her upon her side, and rendering her unmanageable. While in this position, great seas swept over her, smashing all the boats and loosening heavy spars, which washed about the decks, knocking down the crew. Two sailors and the carpenter received broken limbs in this manner, and before they could be rescued, all three were washed into the sea and drowned before the eyes of their shipmates. The mate was killed the following night by the falling main mast, and to complete the horror of the situation, the pumps became choked with mud, rendering them useless. With water pouringinto every open seam, those aboard the settling bark had resigned all hope, and were passively waiting for death when theSagamorehove in sight.
The ship’s side having been safely reached, the rescued men were quickly drawn up to the deck, and the boat again started for theDundee. It was a desperate chance whether she remained above water until the gig could reach her; and each time the little craft was lifted upon a wave the mate looked anxiously towards the wreck, half expecting her to have vanished while his boat was in the trough. What kept the bark afloat during this interval was a mystery, but float she did, though suspended as it were by a single hair above the fathomless depths.
When the gig brought up under her stern, the rope was again placed in position, and the apprentice told to descend. The youth was half way to the boat when he became panic-stricken at sight of a great sea coming on him, and cried for help. The wreck rolled heavily towards the boat, slackening the rope still further; the wave rolled over the apprentice, and when it passed, there was the rope all on the surface, but the hands that had grasped it a moment before were gone. The bark’scaptain ran to the rail with a coil of rope ready to fling to the youth the instant he should appear, but he was not seen, and hope of his rescue had about gone, when Gene, with a sudden exclamation, reached over the boat’s side. He had the drowning man by the hair! After a struggle which nearly capsized the gig, the apprentice was dragged into it, more dead than alive. Then the two remaining seamen made the trip without accident, and the captain was ready—the last man to leave.
He paused an instant, his eyes slowly taking in every detail of the familiar scene. For fourteen years had he been master of that bark, and even his unsympathetic nature was stirred to its very depths at the moment of leaving her forever. Now, in these last seconds of their long association, a hundred past events were kindled into life again, and flashed through his brain like the successive views of a panorama.
Hastily turning away, he tossed into the boat a package containing his sextant, a favorite chronometer, and the bark’s papers. He grasped the rope,—was soon in the water,—at the boat’s side,—and then safely on board. At a signal from the mate, Gene severed the line with hissheath-knife, and theDundeewas abandoned to her fate.
“Now then,” cried Mr. Marsh, “give way with a will—look out! she’s going. Row, row for your lives!”
The wreck gave a sudden lurch and then recovered herself with a staggering motion just at the moment when those in the boat so dangerously near expected to see her founder. The oars were plied vigorously, and the gig was more than half way to the ship when Jumbo exclaimed, “Look at her now!”
The bark’s last moment had come. Her bows rose gradually out of the water, and she rolled slowly over, disappearing stern foremost, as easily as though she were being launched into that element which she had sailed so many years, and which was now ending her existence. The fore mast, with the distress signals fluttering in the breeze, was the last thing to vanish; and as it sunk beneath the whirling vortex a groan escaped Captain Murray. As chief owner of theDundee, his financial loss would be considerable, but there was another stronger feeling. In the vessel which had just descended to unknown depths he had traversed all the waterways of the globe; she had been his only homefor many years, and seemed almost a part of himself. Kindred he had none, and the old bark had absorbed whatever of latent affection there was in his cold nature. Now she was gone as completely as if she had never existed; a few spars, an empty cask, and the torn British ensign, alone remaining to show where she had last been seen.
There was a dead silence in that little boat (save for the sound of the oars) for many minutes after the final scene. All seemed awed, and when at length the ship’s side was reached, Captain Murray raised his head for the first time since he had looked on his lost vessel. His eyes were moist with the only tears that they had known since childhood. As he climbed over the bulwarks, Captain Meade came forward—the American warmly grasped the Englishman’s hand. With rare tact, he spoke no word, but led his guest down the companion-way and into the privacy of his own room, leaving Mr. Marsh to attend to the proper disposition of the remainder of the rescued.
There are few sights more thrilling than that of a vessel foundering at sea; andfor several weeks theSagamore’speople thought of little but the lost bark and her crew. TheDundee’ssteward was set to work in the galley, and the able seamen were divided between the two watches, where each day’s numerous duties soon made them forget their recent hardships. Captain Murray took the loss of his vessel much to heart, and was greatly depressed for some days; but to distract his attention, he voluntarily assumed the bo’s’un’s duties, and became less despondent as time passed.
During the week following the rescue, theSagamore, with streaming decks, slowly but surely beat her way to the westward against contrary winds. Sometimes it was useless to attempt to proceed against the tremendous head sea, and she was hove to for a time. Then a gale would swoop down, sails would be furled or reefed; and after it was over, a few hours of what Captain Meade facetiously called “pleasant weather” would intervene. Then, if it happened to be day, old Sol shed his kindly warmth upon the ship, and the leaden sky was changed to an alluring blue. If night, the same glorious harvest moon that shone on fields and vineyards far away, here flooded the angry oceanwith her soft, mysterious light. At such times, when it was possible to set a few sails, the merry clank, clunk, clank, of the capstan was heard as the heavy yards were hoisted, to the wild accompaniment of a sailors’ chorus. Every day it was “Tack ship” or “All hands reef sail,” until officers and crew were well-nigh fagged out. Most of those on board had been through the same experience many times, and knew that until it ended, all they could do was to bear their trials as best they could.
But one day there were indications of a change for the better. The ship was so far to the west, that a fair wind would enable her to steer north, cross the 50th. parallel, and leave Cape Horn behind. The state of the barometer, combined with other well known signs, led Captain Meade to predict “a regular old ripper from the southeast,” which was just what was wanted.
A violent snow-storm struck theSagamorethat evening, soon covering the decks with a mantle of white. After it ceased the wind nearly failed, and it was decided to put the ship on the other tack, so as to be in readiness to receive the south-easter which was felt to be at hand. When thepassengers came on deck after supper, the whole southern horizon was black as pitch, sea and sky blending together in one dark, lowering mass. All hands were called to strip the ship; halyards were let go, sheets slackened, buntlines hauled in, and then the men, in rubber boots and oilers, climbed the rigging and went out upon the swaying yards. The gale struck her before the work was concluded; the icy polar wind was soon screeching through the rigging, to the accompaniment of whirling snow-flakes and flying spray; hail-stones pattered on the deck; and amidst all this, the port watch had to work an hour overtime before it was possible to go below and get supper. It is not an enviable task,—furling stiff, wet sails, one after another, while a bitter wind blows with a force that makes it necessary to hold on with one hand, to avoid being blown into the sea, while you work with the other—and all this at an elevation of sixty or seventy feet above the deck. The wind kept getting into the belly of the half-frozen sails, making them slippery as inflated balloons, and causing the men ten times the usual work to get them laid on the yards; while the pelting snow and hail, combined with the wild plunges of the ship,made it difficult to retain their precarious footing. But the job was finished at last, and grog served out.
Mr. Marsh came below cold and wet, in spite of his oilers, and his eyes heavy from loss of sleep.
“Isn’t this as bad a gale as you were ever in?” asked Hartley. “They were stretching life-lines on the quarter-deck when we came below, which is certainly unusual.”
The mate looked at him a minute, and then burst out irrelevantly, “I’d give a month’s pay to have the son of a sea-cook here who wrote ‘A life on the ocean wave.’ Hang me if I wouldn’t heave him overboard!” And he proceeded to spread a blanket on the floor before the stove, brought a pillow from his room, and threw himself down in his clothes without more words.
The passengers spent the evening at the cabin windows, watching the booming seas roll on board. Both knew they were in for a night of it, and upon retiring, took the precaution to place the “weatherboards” in the front side of their berths, that they might not be pitched out before morning.
Under two topsails and a staysail, the ship tore through the water like a race horse; plunging madly forward, while the big seas astern chased her as a pack of wolves might pursue their prey. The distinctive feature of this gale was that it came from the southeast, instead of from the west, as all the previous ones had done, and was, therefore, a fair wind. The one danger now was, lest it should increase to such a degree that the ship would be unable longer to run before it, thus losing the benefit of a gale which, had it blown with less fury, would have carried her flying across the 50th parallel in twenty-four hours.
Captain Meade was up all night, anxiously noting the behavior of the ship, and calculating over and over the chances of being able to keep on before the gale. Two of the three remaining sails had been furled when the watches were changed at midnight, yet still that six thousand tons of hull and cargo was driven through the water at a rate almost beyond belief. Fast though she went, the seas behind were beginning to travel more swiftly still, and already two had broken over the stern. Anxious as the captain was to go on, he was too good a seaman to disregard thesewarnings. In another hour theSagamoremight be “pooped” at the rate the sea was running, and so, after consulting with Mr. Marsh, he decided that the ship must be hove to. He did not come to this conclusion without great reluctance and some foreboding, for with the great sea which was now on, the mere act of turning the ship around was attended with great risk. In fact, when the mate was asked for his opinion, he did not hesitate to say that he considered running before the gale preferable to attempting to heave the ship to. Better to stand the chance of being swamped, he contended, than to try an operation which might result in throwing theSagamoreupon her beam ends in the trough of that mountainous sea. This contingency was what Captain Meade also feared, but he decided that of the two dangers, going about was the least.
Accordingly, soon after daybreak, Mr. Marsh bawled, “Wear ship,” following this order with “Port fore brace!”
The mate was clinging to the ladder on the lee side of the forward house when he gave these orders, and before his watch started to execute them, he spoke a few words of warning. “Now, men, you all know there’s an ugly sea running, so lookout for yourselves, and don’t shift about without holding fast to the life-lines. Port fore brace! Andrew, you stand by the starboard brace ready to slack away.”
Jack and Montana were at the wheel, and Jumbo was at the lookout. All the others save Andrew, pulled on the brace until the mate shouted “Belay! Now haul in your slack to starboard.” They started to cross the swimming deck, the sea being then on the beam. Some had reached the starboard brace, others were in the middle of the deck; while Gene, who had stopped to make the port brace fast, was not a third of the distance across. At this moment the ship gave a wild roll, and the next, when her starboard bulwarks were far down, an immense “green sea”—a solid wall of water—broke on board.
What followed baffles description. Those who had hold of the starboard brace escaped by clinging tightly to it and ducking beneath the bulwarks, where they were buried under several feet of water, but the others fared worse, being exposed to the full force of the sea. Whether Norris, Smith, and Harry grasped the life-lines or not, they never could clearly tell, but when the ship rolled to port, the great sea swept them before it like flies.All three, by a providential circumstance, were knocked down and jammed in between the iron stanchions and a spare spar lashed to the bulwarks,—all that saved them from going overboard.
But poor Gene! He was caught up like a bit of chaff, and whirled away over the submerged port bulwarks. Everyone near by, including the mate, had all he could do to save his own life, and none of them knew for a few moments what had happened. Captain Meade, from the quarter-deck, saw the awful accident, and his cry of “Man overboard!” and Gene’s despairing shriek mingled together. The captain was a cool man, and he desperately hurled a coil of rope in less time than it takes to tell it, but even had the lost man been able to grasp it, he could no more have held on at the rate the ship was going than he could have seized a flash of lightning. Before the words “Man overboard” were well out of the speaker’s mouth, the poor fellow was disappearing astern; his white face and yellow sou’-wester being plainly visible for several minutes.
It is frightful to see a fellow creature perish before one’s eyes, and at the same time know that one is powerless to render the least assistance—for beforetheSagamorecould have been brought to a stand, Gene would have been a mile or more astern. But even had he then been in plain sight, no life boat ever constructed could have lived five seconds in that boiling cauldron. The instant it touched the water, it would have capsized or been crushed like an egg shell against the vessel’s side. Death is repulsive at best to the young, even when the path leading to it is smoothed over and made easier by loving friends and relatives, or by the consolations of religious faith. But to be alive and well one second, and then, before sixty seconds have told a minute, to be swept from a vessel’s deck and left to drown—this is horrible beyond conception. What mental tortures must that poor fellow have suffered before losing consciousness, to see the ship, his only hope, vanishing in the distance; and to know that there was not even one chance in a thousand for his rescue. Thus was Gene lost off Cape Horn.
Meanwhile, others might share the same fate unless prompt action was taken, and the wonder was that the mate and his whole watch had not perished with Gene. When the ship freed herself from that sea, Harry and Smith managed to rise unassisted, butNorris lay as one dead, with blood trickling from a wound on the forehead, where he had been thrown against the iron stanchion. Mr. Marsh ran to where he lay, and dragged the unconscious sailor from his perilous position, into the forecastle. Here he had to be left until the job of wearing ship was over, for theSagamorewas in more peril during those few minutes than at any time during the voyage.
She came around without accident, though it was a close shave, and one roll in particular, threw her over until the masts were almost parallel with the ocean. She lay to, well, shipping comparatively little water, and the mate at once investigated the injuries of Norris. He had regained his senses, but felt badly, having received a hard blow on the knee, besides an internal hurt which caused him much pain. The wound on the head proved not to be serious, and after his external injuries had received attention, he was helped to his bunk and relieved from duty until complete rest should have restored him.
The gale blew itself out in twelve hours, and broke shortly after breakfast, a fine day succeeding a night of storm, anxiety, and death. But an atmosphere of gloom pervaded the ship. There was one emptybunk in the forecastle; one man less to stand his trick at the wheel or on the lookout; one hand less to sing out as the watch hauled on the braces; and that one was the merriest and most light-hearted of all. His intelligence and ready ability were in marked contrast to the ignorance and stupidity which characterized most of the crew, and he was a pronounced favorite with all on board;—most of all with Mr. Marsh, who was difficult to please. The mate felt very badly over the matter, and would not discuss it, even with the passengers. Captain Meade deplored the calamity also, and said that during his score of years as master, he had never before lost a man overboard from the deck, though three had been killed at various times by falling from the yards.
The fatality was the subject of much discussion among the crew.
“If he’d of held onto the lines when he was a-crossin’ of the deck, he’d been here now,” said one.
“That’s right,” said another. “I wonder when the captain’ll auction off his clothes?”
“Not for a month, mebbe. He had some good togs, but I’d be afeerd to wear ’em.”
“I never seen such an awful sea; it looked half way up to the fore yard. Seems like Gene was too slick a bird not to hold on to somethin’, though. I’ll warrant he jumped for the main riggin’, and missed it. Only yesterday he was a-tellin’ of me how glad he would be when the ship got into warmer latitudes.”
San Quentin had so far said nothing, but now the old man gave his opinion in a loud and authoritative voice that silenced the discussion. “There ain’t no use of explainin’ how he was carried overboard, nor sayin’ he’d be here now ‘if’ somethin’ hadn’t happened. His time had come, and he had to go, and that’s all there is about it. I’m more’n twice as old as he was, but my time ain’t come, nor it won’t for ten years yet.” With which prophecy the subject was dismissed.
When the mate wrote up the ship’s log that afternoon, he entered: “Sept. 29th—88 days out—Long. 78° 10′ W., Lat. 52° 22′ S.—barometer 28:65; slowly rising—very severe gale from S. E., with heavy sea. Ran before it till daylight, then hove to—Pumps carefully attended.”
He though a moment, and added: “Eugene Escarras, able seaman, aged 25, anative of Algiers, was washed overboard from the main deck, and drowned.”
That was Gene’s epitaph.
The third day after the south-easter, both sea and sky wore a different aspect than either had presented for many weeks past, and the air reminded one of the first balmy spring day after a long winter. Even the moaning, whistling sound in the rigging was gone, and the Cape pigeons and albatross circled through the air with a seemingly new significance, which was doubtless imaginary, as these Antarctic birds revel in storm and cold. A gentle wind had come with the rising sun, and that morning, for the first time in six weeks, theSagamorepresented nearly her whole spread of canvas to the breeze; everything, in fact, but skysails.
The bo’s’un’s leg was mending finely, and surgeon Hartley announced that he would soon be able to leave his bunk. The two mates, ill-tempered from overwork, and worn out from loss of sleep, knew their trials were nearly over, and looked forward to the coming weeks of fair and pleasant weather on the glorious Pacific. The various members of the crew congratulated each other that their daysof toil were about over. Soon there would be no further use for mittens, rubber boots and oil-skins, and on Sundays they could lie around the warm dry decks or fish from the bows for hours. San Quentin and Jumbo made a wager as to how soon they could go barefooted, and everyone on board was in fine spirits.
When Captain Meade worked out his sights that noon, he announced to the passengers that the 50th parallel had been crossed during the forenoon watch, on the 79th meridian of west longitude!
After twenty-six days, the ship was around Cape Horn.
The two captains and the passengers stood about the cabin table with the chart spread out before them, and Captain Meade said, as they clinked glasses, “Gentlemen, let us wish theSagamorea fifty days’ run from here to San Francisco.”
[17a]A smooth piece of wood painted black and varnished. On one side are directions in English telling those on a wreck where and how to secure the hawser and tail-block. On the reverse side the same directions are printed in French.
[17b]A running block, in which the breeches buoy travels upon the hawser between the wreck and the shore.
[31]An expression often heard at sea, which means that there is not sufficient room inside the galley to turn a pan-cake. It is a joke, of course, but gives a fair idea of the exceeding smallness of the cook’s domain on many brigs and schooners of light tonnage.
[79]This frail species of craft, which is much used in South American coast waters, is usually formed by lashing several planks together, in the form of a raft, the middle one being longer than the others, and slightly turned up at the forward end so as to form a rude bow. Empty casks are often lashed around the sides to lend buoyancy, and a single sail completes the outfit. The Brazilian government will not allow any other form of vessel at Fernando de Noronha—not even one for the Governor’s use—lest the convicts should escape.
[101]When a seafaring man invites you to splice the main brace, he asks you to join him in taking some liquid refreshment.
[132]Thick cones of clouded glass let into the quarter-deck. The lazarette beneath obtains all its illumination from these deadlights, which focus the rays of light powerfully.
[175]Many readers may fancy this an exaggeration, and marvel that such a man should be accepted. The author recently left port on a large American ship bound on a long voyage, and next day it was discovered that there were four “able seamen” in the forecastle who knew no more of steering by compass than does an infant, and could not even name the yards and sails correctly. Like the rest of the crew, they had been signed and placed on board by a U.S. Shipping Commissioner, who had taken the usual precaution of first getting them drunk. The captain has the privilege of rejecting any incompetent seamen, but in this case the test questions were of no use because of the men being intoxicated. One of them looked quite intelligent, but next day when they became sober, their defects were discovered. It was then too late to get rid of them, and for several months the officers had to put up with stupidity and incapacity of the grossest character. Such cases are not rare, as shipping commissioners can usually mulct “greenhorns” of at least $10 as the price of getting them a ship.
[183]The common nautical contraction of “hermaphrodite.”