occasioned by the shifting of the old sails to the new, strong suit for
Cape Horn; as the captain said, “Now we’re gettin’ ready for business.”
It is the general idea that old sails, nearly worn out, are bent for
the bad weather, whereas the very newest of all are sent aloft, for old
canvas would melt like wet paper in a really hard squall. Therefore the
ship now glitters in a brand-new suit of clothes and presents quite a
fine appearance; a yachtsman, however, would contemplate with dismay
sundry streaks of mildew and tar-stains on the main-sail, though this
is the first time that it has ever been stretched on a yard. So long
are our topmasts that the big, upper main-topsail has a double row
of reef-points in it; all the uppers are three times as deep as the
lowers, which seem but strips of tape in comparison; when this vessel
has nothing set but the lower topsails, it must verily be a howling
gale. Latitude, 27° 50′ south; longitude, 44° 30′ west.
+June 22+
Good-by, sweet north wind! Farewell, bright, blue skies and balmy
weather! We turned out this morning to find the ship ploughing into a
short, severe sea, heading south-southeast, with nothing set above the
topsails and a strong wind whistling from southwest, or dead ahead.
The change came last evening in the second dog-watch; it was hard upon
eight o’clock, and the mate was telling me something about the fit
of the upper mizzentop-sail, when, looking ahead, he suddenly cried,
“By jimminy, look at that cloud; here comes the river Plate,” and ran
forward, bawling, “Let go the sky-sail-halliards!” Looking quickly
toward the southwest I beheld a very wonderful sight; for, extending
from west to east, about twenty degrees above the horizon, was a
strange, narrow band of black cloud which came rushing toward us at
headlong speed, with a gray bank of mist beneath it extending to the
horizon. This mass had apparently risen by the exercise of some magic,
for fifteen minutes previously there was not the least indication of
it in the sky. Even as we looked, another ribbon of sable cloud formed
at an angle of forty-five degrees to the first, and cornucopia-shaped
(though not vertical like a tornado), with the big end toward us, came
charging down upon us with all our kites aloft.
The mate’s yell brought the skipper on deck, who sang out instantly,
“Get the sky-sails and royals in as quick as you can, Mr. Goggins. Keep
her off there; hard up.” This last to the helmsman; for in an instant
our northerly breeze had been nipped off, and the wind was now from
the west; therefore, as the yards were squared, there was a great
thrashing about of new canvas. Nothing parted, though, and by 8.30 we
were pretty well straightened out, but were surprised an hour later to
see the wind let go a good deal, while the ship came up to her course
again, southwest. But the captain, glancing at a gray mist to windward,
muttered, “There’s dirt in that yet”; and sure enough, at five this
morning we had our first taste of nasty weather, and breakfasted in a
severe squall which played tenpins with the dishes. Once more it eased
up before dinner and we set the fore- and mizzentop-gallant-sails; but
while the skipper was enjoying his postprandial siesta, the second mate
came below and, poking first his head and then his shoulders into the
cabin in that peculiarly cautious manner of mates desiring to speak to
the old man, aroused him with, “There’s too much wind coming for the
t’-ga’nt-s’ls, sir”; to which the captain answered, “All right; tie
’em up,” jumping on deck, whither we followed him. It is remarkable
how quickly sailors rouse themselves from insensibility to alert
action; only a moment previously the captain was breathing heavily in
a deep sleep, yet no sooner did Mr. Rarx touch him and make the above
observation than the answer came instantly, as though the skipper were
talking in his sleep.
The wind when we reached the deck was rapidly increasing and had
knocked us off to south again, with a bad, greasy look to windward,
and it was raining heavily. The men were hauling on the lee
maintop-gallant-clew-line and buntlines, while Mr. Rarx was settling
away the halliards and swearing that never, since Noah took charge of
the ark, was there a slower gang on a ship’s deck, as he ordered four
hands aloft to put the gaskets on the sail, the wind blowing their
oil-skin jackets up over their heads as they trotted up the ratlines,
exposing them to a hard drenching in the pelting rain.
During the forenoon watch we sighted a sail, which was doubtless
the “Judas Dowes” again. It is astonishing how enormously a slight
elevation will add to the visibility of objects at sea. From the deck,
for instance, this vessel was sunk to her royals, and at the moment it
was utterly impossible to tell whether she was a ship or a bark; but by
mounting to the top of the wheel-house, only seven feet above the deck,
all three of her upper topsails were in plain sight.
We saw Louis Jacquin fly into a regular Frenchman’s passion yesterday
afternoon while shifting the sails. He was at the lee upper
mizzen-topsail yard-arm, putting the finishing touches on some gear,
when the second mate shouted up to him, “All ready to sheet home?” To
which he answered, “All ready, sair”; evidently misunderstanding the
question; for no sooner did those below man the sheet on which Louis
was seated than crack! went that individual’s black head against the
under side of the yard, and he was then thrown off to leeward, only
preventing himself from going over for good by a piece of wonderful
agility. Oh, what a rage he was in! He thought that Mr. Rarx did it
intentionally, and the atmosphere smoked with foreign imprecations;
and even at that distance we could see his angry blue eyes (he has
china-blue eyes and raven hair) snapping and popping away as he roared
down, “Eh! well, sair; what is zee mattair below? Do you want to heave
me ovair side wiz your sheet?” and it was several hours until he
recovered his composure.
Our new maintop-gallant-yard is all but finished and has been secured
under the starboard rail till needed. A little remains still to be
done to it, and these finishing touches the goblin carpenter insists
on bestowing upon it in spite of the showers of spray; and it is
an amusing sight to watch him pop out of his shop, snip off a few
shavings, working like a demon for thirty or forty seconds, and
then pop into his den again to avoid a sea. By reason of all this
spray flying and damp weather, I have donned my Cape Horn red-leather
slippers purchased from the slop-chest and said to be impervious to
water. But they defy comfort equally well, being as inflexible as Cape
Horn itself, and are spangled inside with perfect little galaxies of
wooden pegs, so that I fain would have boiled them as the pilgrim
did his pease. If man were provided with hoofs instead of feet, it
is conceivable that he might contrive to become accustomed to these
slippers; as it is, I cannot understand it.
Having crossed the thirtieth parallel, we are now “off” the river Plate
in the sailor’s sense, who always speaks of being off the Plate when
between 30° and 40° south. At least one gale is usually experienced
before these ten degrees of latitude have been crossed, though ships
generally reach the thirty-fifth degree before anything happens.
Latitude, 30° 25′ south; longitude, 45° 33′ west.
+June 23+
A pampero! By heaven’s thunder, we are battling in the vortex of one
of these river Plate howlers, with a high, confused sea, and the ship
plunging heavily into it, almost denuded of canvas! Yesterday at 4.30
a reef was tied in the foretop-sail, as the wind showed signs of
rapidly freshening; but there was a lull from five until midnight,
when it began to breeze up again, and when we went on deck at 7.30
this morning, behold! a strong gale coming out of the west-southwest
and the ship, under a reefed maintop-sail and foresail, was pounding
considerably in a very ugly sea, but not taking much green water
aboard. By the way, when a ship is under an upper maintop-sail, it is,
of course, to be understood that all three lower topsails are set as
well; and a “reefed fore- and maintop-sails” means only the uppers, as
the lowers are too narrow for reef-points.
Wonderful to relate, there astern of us at daybreak was the redoubtable
“Judas Dowes,” with the same canvas set as ourselves. We knew her
by her stunsail-boom, and she was apparently gaining on us and was
making better weather of it than we were. I never heard the wind so
shriek and roar in a ship’s rigging as it did this morning, and it
whipped the tops off the seas and sent them flying aboard in storms
of whistling spray, which seemed to cut the face like powdered glass.
It kept on breezing, too, and at 9.30 the old man ordered another
reef tied in the maintop-sail. Thus far the damage from wind or sea
was limited to the injury of one man, Louis Jacquin, who was thrown
across the forecastle-head against an anchor-fluke with great force,
badly lacerating his left leg, and incapacitating him from other work
than steering. And still the wind increased, and at half-past eleven
the skipper estimated its velocity at fifty-five nautical miles an
hour. At noon I started to go on deck to bring down a book which I had
left in the wheel-house; and, without stopping to put on oil-skins, I
got into a leather jacket and went up out of the companion door. The
captain was leaning against the lee side of the wheel-house, and I
was about to join him, when he called out, “Hey, don’t you see that
sea,--jump!” I looked over my shoulder and beheld a huge hill of water
rising higher and higher alongside, in that peculiar, lazy manner of
very large waves. Still, trusting to my own judgment, I did not think
that it would break aboard, when there was a crash like a broadside
of artillery, relieving me of any further suspense, and I was swept
completely off my feet (and this on the poop), only saving myself
from bringing to against the rail by a lucky clutch of the lazarette
hatch-house. Then swash came the water back again, and I was once more
half buried in the cold brine; but, watching a chance, the skipper
and I shot across to the companion door, opened it, and were assailed
with the cry, “The cabin’s flooded,” which rang out above the gale.
It was even so. The great sea had stove the forward skylight on the
cabin-house, and had deluged the dining-room with hundreds of gallons
of salt-water. It is impossible to conceive of such a wreck as we
encountered below. The poor little gentle Malay was leaning against
the table almost in tears, trying to keep his feet under him, while
Sammie was doing noble work with a bucket, baling out the water which
was swirling about with the rolling, to a clinking chorus of plates,
cruets, thick glass tumblers (as indestructible as granite), knives,
forks, and spoons, which had been swept off the table when the water
broke full upon it. Ten minutes later our dinner would have been
reposing on it; and fancy the calamity in that event! But it is too
dreary to contemplate. Indeed, the dinner was delayed nearly an hour,
and we had neither soup nor dessert,--the first occasion on which we
ever knew these courses to be omitted at sea; the weather must truly
be violent when it so happens. But we had plenty of good scorching hot
coffee; and, it might be asked, why is it that during the heaviest
weather at sea the coffee is always boiling, while in one’s private
house it is only after a protracted warfare with the cook that the
coffee comes in at a higher temperature than lukewarm?
Well, the wind kept on blowing still harder, and at two in the
afternoon had attained the fury of a full-grown pampero. And the sea!
Oh, how it boiled and seethed like frothy cream! And how the wind
screamed aloft in the squalls! Fortunately, they came at comparatively
long intervals, with sunshine between; but while one lasted it was
nearly impossible to catch sight of a square yard of dark water, for
the surface was as white as milk; and the crests of the tall seas were
fairly wrenched off and shot through the air with terrific force, the
atmosphere being full of flying spoondrift which the toughest skin
couldn’t face, while the horizon was everywhere filled with ponderous,
breaking seas. Our motion all day was very severe: first a heavy roll
which dipped the lee rail under, while the water boiled up to the lee
fore-dead-eyes; then the awkward weather roll down the windward side of
the sea; and finally a deep, headlong dive into the valley, with a wall
of water on either hand. The skipper thought that the average height
of the larger seas was about forty feet from crest to trough,--not so
large as the Cape Horn rollers; but it must be borne in mind that this
was a very quick, vicious sea, with not more than three hundred feet
between the crests, so that solid water was bound to come aboard even
on the poop.
Well, well, it was a magnificent sight; and as we are now accompanied
by a cheerful flock of Cape pigeons, everything has a true Southern
Ocean look. My wife was not in the least frightened during the day;
but she had such a good grounding on our first voyage that it is not
astonishing. We made no departure in the twenty-four hours but two
degrees of latitude, which was extremely good work, considering that we
were by the wind in a pampero. Latitude, 32° 25′ south; longitude, 45°
33′ west.
+June 24+
In the morning watch to-day the gale broke after blowing for
twenty-four hours, the main-sail being set at four o’clock, during
which process both mates were knocked down flat on the deck by an
unexpected sea while they were standing by the main-hatch. At eight
this morning the wind had moderated to a light, fitful breeze, and we
wallowed all the forenoon in a high, broken sea; indeed, throughout
the night we could get but little sleep owing to the severe rolling.
Glancing to leeward as soon as we appeared on deck, there was our old
friend the “Dowes” on our beam, distant a little more than a mile,
bobbing about under her top-gallant-sails as we were, though she
carried her cross-jack and we the spanker. She made, indeed, a fine
picture as she forged sullenly ahead, showing a glistening sheath of
copper as she divided the slopes of the larger seas, with a glint
of brass from the poop when the sun peered out from between light
showers. At nine o’clock we perceived several agitated figures close
to her wheel, and presently a string of flags blew out and were run
up to her gaff-end, and quite a little conversation ensued. The first
signal which Platt made was DWV, signifying “How are you?” This we
answered with BRC, which is to say, “All well.” Then followed in rapid
succession, “When did you sail?” “When did you pass the equator?” “A
pleasant voyage,” to all of which we replied with the various flag
combinations which spelled the words; each then dipped the ensign
three times, and the interview was brought to a close. It was very
interesting thus conversing with the sly wretch, and it is singular
how much interest foremast hands always take in such proceedings,
carefully following every shift of flag, some of the older sailors
always professing to be able to read the signals, often telling their
messmates the most absurd things, which they implicitly believe.
I never saw so great a change in any one as came over Captain Scruggs
yesterday during the gale. He was as quiet and retiring as the most
bashful of individuals, and in fact exhibited an amount of anxiety
surprising in so aggresive and domineering a person. Nearly all
masters of sailing ships, as noted before, are nervous in bad weather;
and in truth, a gale of wind at sea is something to make one quiet
and mindful of man’s trivial strength when measured against the
mighty powers of nature. But the captain was unnaturally reserved and
almost crushed, and asked me half a dozen times what I thought of
it; while at 2.30 in the afternoon, standing on the weather side of
the wheel-house, he put his face close to my ear and shouted, “It’s
blowing harder than ever,” with a rising inflection, as though awaiting
my inexperienced opinion. This morning, however, he was his same old
self again, drenching Sammie with heavy showers of profanity on the
least provocation. In spite of his depression yesterday, the skipper
gave vent to one of his quaint sayings. At the time he had on a cap,
which, though not tied under his chin, resisted the utmost violence of
the squalls; on commenting upon this to him, he cried, “They’re great
things; you ought to have one; ’twould stop on as long as your pants.”
Some of the sailors are beginning to grumble even so soon as this. I
had a talk with old Kelly this afternoon at the pumps and in a low
voice he let fall his opinions on various subjects. Now, this man
has been well educated and talks evenly, without effort, and the
inflections and tone of his voice indicate that by birth his natural
sphere in life is a good deal higher than that of a common sailor.
“Well,” he remarked. “I’ve been in square-riggers for thirty-three
years now, but I never did see one like this for yelling and cursing;
why, they knock all the sense out of a man’s head the way they shout.
And work, you talk about galleys, but there never was a gang of slaves
driven as we are.” This must be taken with the usual amount of salt,
which should always be liberally sprinkled over the conversation of the
average sailor; still, when a second mate acknowledges that the men
are hard pushed, there is not much doubt about its being true. Kelly is
right, though, about the shouting of Captain Scruggs; if there wasn’t
so much sea-room I believe that we would all be deafened by this time;
and the worst part of it is that this sort of thing is absolutely
useless. I have frequently known the skipper to work the men into such
a state that they were paralyzed and unable to execute the simplest
order.
At the present moment, sitting in the cabin, we can hear the wind
beginning to sing again in the rigging, and a second gale would not
surprise us in the least, for there is, in addition, a heavy swell
rolling up from the southwest, all of which cannot be the result of our
late gale.
This roaring of the wind aloft when it is blowing very hard is
resolvable into several different tones: the heavy shrouds taking
the base, the somewhat lighter backstays resembling the barytone,
the halliards and braces standing for the tenor, while the buntlines
and clew-lines take the part of a piercing falsetto, as shrill as
a thousand piccolos; the whole blending into a resonant chorus of
orchestral power, with grand, majestic crescendi like the double open
diapason of a cathedral organ. Latitude 32° 35′ south; longitude, 44°
50′ west.
+June 25+
The question which agitates us at this moment is, are we going to
have another pampero? for it is breezing up fast from west-southwest,
the same old quarter. We didn’t have much wind this forenoon, but by
dinner-time it freshened so that at one o’clock the skipper said to
the mate in tones of despair, “Get that upper mizzentop-sail in, Mr.
Goggins”; and no sooner were the men down on deck again than came
the order, “Reef the foretop-sail.” All hands were on deck, and the
foreshrouds were instantly filled with the yellow figures scurrying
aloft, and in half an hour the ship was once more under snug canvas.
At four yesterday afternoon, chancing to look under the foot of
the main-sail, my wife and I saw a large four-masted bark under
top-gallant-sails bound north and steering in such a way as to pass
within easy signalling distance; and the skipper lost no time in
appearing on deck in answer to a summons, at once ordering the ship’s
number to be made. On came the stranger, and in a few minutes we could
see that she had lost her mizzen-royal, yard, mast, and everything.
She was a very ugly vessel, narrow and dingy, built of wood, with
a curious stern like nothing we had ever seen before, and no more
apparent sheer than a billiard-table. Very soon she was abreast of us,
but no answering flags fluttered from her gaff, and we wondered what
manner of ship this was thus to ignore signals. We thought that she was
going to pass us by completely unnoticed, when there crawled feebly
to her spanker-gaff the green, white, and red banner of Italy. The
meaning of this manœuvre was that this ill-starred old ship, which was
evidently an ancient steamer, was totally destitute of flags bar her
national ensign; and, having no signals, she would, of course, possess
no code-book, and therefore our number, standing out stiffly a hundred
feet from the deck, would be quite unintelligible to her.
No sooner was this ship hull down astern than another one arose
ahead. We were below at the time, and when we reached the deck we
were almost abreast of each other. Our name was still flying from the
signal-halliards, while the other had hoisted FGH, meaning “What is
your longitude?” We gratified her wish and she doubtless got our name
all right, but refused to tell us hers; but, dipping her ensign, went
surging heavily along on her homeward-bound course. A long time passed
before we could make out what her ensign was, for it was a flag seldom
seen on the ocean highways, and the mate had the honor of being the
first to distinguish it. It was the flag of Chile: a broad horizontal
band of red below, the upper half being divided into two squares, white
and blue, with a large white star in the upper left-hand corner. She,
too, was a wooden ship, but not so villanous-looking as the Italian,
and carried double top-gallant-sails on the fore and main. We all hope
that she’ll report us, for we have sailed through thirty-six degrees
of latitude without having sighted any vessel which would be likely to
report us on arrival. How happy our relatives and friends will be when
they see our report in the ship-news columns by that steamer just north
of the line, “Spoken, ship ‘Hosea Higgins.’ Scruggs, New York for San
Francisco, June 6. Latitude, 2° north; longitude, 28° west!”
To-day at noon we were almost exactly in the latitude of Cape Agulhas,
so that the Horn is thirteen hundred miles south of the southernmost
extremity of the Eastern Hemisphere, a difference of latitude greater
than that which separates Halifax and Key West, or New York and Havana.
Latitude, 34° 46′ south; longitude, 45° 20′ west.
+June 26+
At quarter to five yesterday the skipper, thinking that we would do
better on the other tack, wore ship at that hour in half a gale of
wind. There was a deal of excitement and bad language on the captain’s
part, which so rattled the helmsman that we were thirty-five minutes
in wearing, about eighteen or twenty minutes being our average. There
was a heavy sea running at the time, too, and in spite of cautions my
wife insisted upon sitting on top of the after-cabin skylight during
the process of wearing, and when we began to roll heavily when before
the wind and sea, the expected happened; for my wife fetched away
and would have had a very severe fall if the captain hadn’t grasped
her tightly and held on. I tried to reach her in time, but lost my
foothold, sat down vehemently, shot straightaway across the smooth
deck-house with incredible speed, and brought to with a smash against
the deck-house monkey-rail. I kept astonishingly cool in the flight
across, and even selected where to put my feet when I should reach the
rail; indeed, it was an illustration of the theory that if a man is
not paralyzed with horror at some frightful spectacle the presence of
danger sharpens his wits, and his mind becomes clear and calculating.
Immediately after wearing, the captain ordered the main-sail reefed,
and at eight in the evening a single reef was tied in the maintop-sail,
the weather being very squally, with much rain and hail.
To-day dawned with a light west-southwest wind and a clear sky, with
a long, southerly swell which made us roll dreadfully all night. At
nine o’clock we broke off to the southward of northwest; so the captain
wore round once more, and now we are making south by west half west,
Skippers have an odd way sometimes of saying south _by_ west,
accenting strongly the “by” as a precaution against mistaking the
course for south-southwest, if slurred over quickly.