SKETCHES AT SEA.
“The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were brutish and irrational;
But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues,
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.”
The “Essex”—The “James and Mary”—Steering a Ship at Anchor—A
Waterspout—The Andamans—Acheen Point—A squally Trade
Wind—Rodorigos—A Gale—The Whirlwind—The Stormy Petrel—A Day of
Repose—A Remarkable Sunrise.
_Sept. 1st._—At 8 A.M., while we were in tow of the steamer, the “Essex”
ran upon a sandbank; she fell over very disagreeably on her side, was
thus carried by the violence of the tide over the obstacle, and righted
in deep water; the accident broke the hawsers that united the two
vessels. After some little difficulty and much delay we proceeded on our
voyage. The pilot was much surprised, as a fortnight before that part
of the river was all clear; he said we had run upon the end of the tail
of the “James and Mary” sandbank, which had become lengthened, and he
despatched a notice thereof to Calcutta. Where the Hoogly is joined by
the Roopnarrain at Hoogly Point, a very large sheet of water is formed,
but it has many shoals; and as it directly faces the approach from the
sea, while the Hoogly turns to the right, it occasions the loss of many
vessels, which are carried up the Roopnarrain by the force of the tide.
The eddy caused by the bend of the Hoogly has, at this place, formed a
most dangerous sand, named the “James and Mary,” around which the channel
is never the same for a week together, requiring frequent surveys. The
Bore commences at Hoogly Point. The musquitoes were very troublesome; we
found it cooler than on shore, but nevertheless very hot.
_2nd._—Passed Mud Point, and felt rather nervous on the occasion; the
heat was intense, and there was not a breath of air. Employed myself
writing farewell letters to friends in India, which were sent to Calcutta
by the Saugor dāk boat. This evening the tide ran with such violence that
after the vessel had anchored, it was necessary for a man to remain at
the helm. This steering an anchored vessel had a curious and novel effect.
_3rd._—The pilot quitted us at the Sandheads, and took my husband’s
official letters with him. A calm came on, and we were just preparing to
anchor again, when a breeze sprang up and carried us out to sea.
_4th._—A number of native sailors (_khalāsīs_) came down the river with
us to assist the men on board the “Essex.” Seven of the English sailors
are ill from fever; no marvel with extra grog and hard work under such a
terrific sun: the musquitoes and prickly heat alone, are enough with such
intense heat to bring on fever.
I saw a waterspout—it commenced like a great funnel hanging from a dark
cloud that was the basis of a fine white one: the point of the funnel
having descended about half way attracted the sea-water, which bubbled
and rose up in a point until it united with the end of the spout; having
accomplished this union, the spout thickened, and became of the same
size from the top to the bottom. After a time it appeared to become
lighter, for it bent with the wind and formed a slight curve. The spout
became still less and less, and eventually so thin that the wind carried
it along almost horizontally. It appeared to sever from the sea, and
having become as thin as a ribbon, disappeared. It was of a dull rainy
colour—some bright blue sky was above the white cloud formerly mentioned,
and the whole had a vapoury appearance.
_8th._—The weather cooler; for the last few days we have had heavy
squalls, accompanied with thunder, lightning, and rain in torrents. Ill
from _mal de mer_: I know not when I have suffered so severely; the ship
has a cargo of sugar, which is packed in hides: the rain has fallen in
torrents, in sheets of water, as rain only falls, I think, in the bay of
Bengal, a perfect deluge:—the hatches having been closed in consequence,
a horrible effluvium has ascended to the cuddy: how people can live
below deck is a miracle, in the heat and steam of those sweating hides!
fortunately, no passengers are below, and sailors, poor fellows, endure
and shrink not. An huppoo was seen to-day making its way to the ship, but
weary from its long flight, and overpowered by the strong squall, it sank
in the waters screaming. A flying-fish came on board, and one of the most
elegantly-formed birds I ever saw, which they called a whale-bird, was
caught in the rigging; its head beautifully marked, the body slight, its
slender and powerful wings very long.
_11th._—Off Madras.
_13th._—Opposite Centinel Island in the Andamans,—very little wind. It is
remarkable, with the exception of a few squalls, how calmly we have come
down the Bay; at this time of the year we expected to encounter fierce
weather. The weather still hot, although very different from what it was
before,—nevertheless it renders any exertion a great toil.
_14th._—The moonlight evenings on the poop are beautiful. A fine breeze,
with a steady ship; she is deeply laden, goes on quietly and steadily,
and seldom rolls at all. What a contrast to that wretched “Carnatic!”
_Apropos_, I am told she was condemned in Calcutta as not sea-worthy;
therefore I had a good escape in her.
_15th._—We are anxious to get to the western side of the Bay, but the
winds force us in a contrary direction; we are near the Nicobars, running
down the side of the islands. I should like to go on shore to see
Lancour, and the rest of my friends, the Carnicobar-barians, once more.
_16th._—To-day we are only fifty miles from the great Nicobar, and
shall soon get away from the islands, which will be pleasant; should a
squall come on their vicinity is to be avoided. The “Essex” has been
very unfortunate this voyage: in coming out she lost her captain at the
Cape; in Calcutta she lost her third mate, the cook, and six seamen. The
property of the deceased seamen will be sold by auction on deck this
evening.
_17th._—We have passed the Great Nicobar, and are on a level with Acheen
Point. The vessel is going steadily through the water about six knots an
hour.
_18th._—A squall came on during the night, and snapped the flying
jib-boom right in halves: my slumber was broken by being nearly pitched
out of my sea sofa. This being an unfavourable time of the year for a
voyage to England, we have only two passengers besides ourselves on
board,—fortunately they are most agreeable people. We have now two cabins
on the poop, the larboard stern cabin, and the one next to it, and are
therefore very comfortable.
_19th._—We are creeping away to the south; there is a swell, and we are
looking out for the trade wind.
_20th._—Rain and calm,—what an annoyance! Oh! for a gale to carry us with
double-reefed topsails over the Line, as we had in the “Madagascar!” Any
thing would be better than this vile calm. What does it matter if a few
spars are snapped, and a few more sails split asunder, if we do but make
way! We must now be exactly upon the Line: the musquitoes have not yet
quitted my cabin, they plague me greatly. As if in accordance with my
wish, at 4 P.M. a squall came on, and carried us over the Line.
_21st._—A fine favourable breeze,—we flatter ourselves it may be the
trade.
_24th._—Squalls and calms.
_26th._—A heavy squall, which continued with lightning and rain in
torrents from noon throughout the night: we are quite dispirited.
_28th._—With joy this morning I saw the stunsails were set, and a fine
sun was drying the deck: now I really believe we have fallen in with the
trade.
_Oct. 3rd._—Never was there so unpleasant a wind as this south-east
trade. It is very strong and constant, but is a succession of squalls,
both night and day. The ship lies over very much, and the waves burst
upon her in a very disagreeable fashion; we have made 200 or 225 miles
for some days, but these constant squalls are detestable. There comes the
water rushing into the cuddy at this minute!—we are now about 400 miles
from Madagascar.
_5th._—I do not mention that Divine service was always performed on
Sundays,—that took place, of course, unless prevented by a gale. During
the night, passed the Island of Rodorigos, to the north; I did not see
the land, distant only seven miles, my port being shut, on account of
having shipped a sea, which rendered the cabin cold and wet.
Horsburgh remarks, “Hurricanes are liable to happen here from the
beginning of November till the end of March; in some years there
are two, but generally only one, and sometimes none. They blow with
great violence, commencing from southward, and veering round to east,
north-east, and north-west, where they gradually decrease, after
continuing about thirty-six hours. The fish caught here in deep water
with hook and line are poisonous; whereas, those got by the net in shore
are good and wholesome.” The land is high and uneven, reefs and shoals
encompass it; the harbour is called Maturin’s Bay. The remarkable peak
answers as a guide.
_8th._—Passed the Mauritius, and were opposite Bourbon, about two hundred
miles south.
_9th._—Crossed the Tropic.
_10th._—Off Madagascar we were caught about noon in the tail of a
whirlwind; fortunately it was only the tail,—the sailors said, had
we fallen into the centre of it, and the vessel had been unprepared,
it would have carried the masts overboard. Rain fell in torrents; a
waterspout was seen for a short time,—and the wind, hitherto fair, became
completely contrary.
_15th._—This has proved a most uninteresting voyage as far as it has
gone, nothing to be seen; one solitary albatross appears now and then,
and a few Cape pigeons. The other day I saw a sperm whale blowing at
a distance. There is nothing to look at but the boundless ocean; even
the sunsets and sunrises have not been remarkably fine,—no groups of
glorious tints such as I beheld from the “Carnatic” on the other side the
Line.
_22nd._—Cold and dreary. Saw a fin-back whale close astern; two fine
albatross and four Cape pigeons were floating on the waters; some stormy
petrels were cutting about, and dipping their wings in the waves every
moment; and there were also two black Cape hens. The flight of the
Cape pigeon is very elegant, and the albatross skims along in the most
dignified style.
_23rd._—Lat. S. 33° 56′, Long. E. 29° 6′. A most stormy sunset: the
sun, of a burning gold colour, descended behind a heavy bank of dark
clouds,—its rays were fiercely bright: shortly afterwards a few spaces
of deep fiery red alone remained visible, surrounded by heavy black
clouds; on every side the grey clouds rose thick and foggy from the
horizon, without any break,—dull and ominous. We were off Cape Hood,
Cape of Good Hope. A strong gale arose, accompanied by sharp squalls;
there was an immense swell upon the sea, the heavy waves rolled up with
great violence, their heads covered with foam, breaking and roaring as
they dashed against the ship, and the wind blew in furious gusts. The
“Essex” was about two hundred miles from the land when the gale began,—it
continued all night without intermission; the dead-lights were put into
the poop stern windows, and into all the ports. Early in the morning
I saw that my husband had quitted his couch in the stern cabin, and
was sitting in a chair, apparently unable to cross the cabin, from the
violence of the pitching; he had left his couch because it had become
unsafe, the lashings and the cleets having given way. I assisted him into
my cabin, and he lay down on the sofa; he was quite ill,—so cold and
wretched, from exposure during the night. His kindness and consideration
had prevented his calling me, being unwilling to awake me, imagining I
was asleep, and unconscious of the heavy gale that was raging around us.
My ayha, who usually got up before daybreak, to smoke her hooqŭ in the
galley, made an effort to quit the cabin; I desired her not to attempt
to move, or she would be thrown down from the pitching and rolling of
the vessel; but the moment my eye was off her away she went: she met
another ayha in the passage, who said, “Are you mad, that you want to go
and smoke in such a gale as this?” My ayha, who would sell her soul for
half a dozen whiffs of tobacco, persisted in going; she had not got half
way through the cuddy when she fell, and I heard a violent scream. The
cuddy servants ran to her assistance, and found she had broken her leg
just above the ankle; the bone was through the flesh, and the wound bled
very much. The medical man set her leg, and with great difficulty we had
her removed into the stern cabin, where we secured her as well as we were
able, but not until some time had passed, as the large heavy toon-wood
couch in the stern cabin had started from its moorings, and, turning over
topsy-turvy, had dashed across the cabin, breaking and throwing down
the table, and carrying away the trunks. Never was there such confusion
as the furniture made in the cabin, pitching from side to side with the
roll of the vessel. At length the carpenter secured the frisky couch,
bound up the wounds of the table, and relashed them all. By this time
the sea was breaking over the stern windows, and dashing into the cabin,
in spite of the dead-lights, and into the quarter-gallery; much damage
was done on the poop. The medical man, knowing that leeches sold at the
Cape for half-a-crown apiece, on account of there being none but those
that are imported, on which a heavy duty is paid, took 10,000 of them
from Calcutta, secured in large earthen pots (_gharās_) full of soft
mud, which were all placed on the poop, in a small boat called “Little
Poppet.” The water cistern gave way, and dashing against “Little Poppet,”
upset her, broke all the gharās, and the sea-water killed the leeches.
The cutter that hung over the quarter was turned up on one side by the
force of the wind, dashed against the side of the “Essex,” was greatly
injured, and rendered utterly useless; three of her oars fell into the
sea, and were borne away, but the sailors secured the boat.
By noon on the 24th (Lat. S. 33° 45′, Long. E. 28°), the current had
carried the vessel one hundred and twenty miles nearer the land, which
was now only eighty miles distant; we were driving almost under bare
poles, the violence of the wind not allowing any sail but one small one;
another, which they wished to set, was twice blown to pieces, and could
not be carried. The waves were striking the vessel in the most frightful
manner, roaring in concert with the gale, and jostling and rolling
against the ship as if they were ready to engulf her. Nevertheless the
“Essex” bore bravely on; her captain put her about, and we ran down the
side of the land for some distance. To sleep—to rest, with so furious a
gale blowing, was impossible; and how the time passed I hardly remember,
for day and night it was the same—pitch, pitch, roll, roll,—and the
same roar: all night long two seamen were baling out the water from our
cabins,—the waves poured constantly into the cuddy ports on one side,
and rolled out on the other. We sat down to dinner, a plate of food was
brought to each person, and we held on and ate as we could; every now and
then an officer came down for ten minutes, took his food as hastily as
possible, and returned instantly to the poop,—it was an anxious time.
“But where of ye, O tempests, is the goal?
Are ye like those within the human breast?
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?”
About 4 P.M. on the second day, the thunder rolled heavily, the lightning
was very vivid, and hail fell in heavy showers. The chief officer,
having caught up a handful of the large hail, gave it to me in a plate
at the cuddy door, where I amused myself with eating it, and watching
the scene. About this time the situation of the vessel became critical:
the first officer desired the captain to observe what was coming down on
the weather side; he could not tell what it was, never having seen any
thing of the kind before. The foam of the sea was caught up by the wind,
and whirled round and round in thick masses like smoke; it blew heavily,
and the spray beat with such violence into the faces of the officers,
that at times they could not see. Not a minute elapsed ere the whirlwind
struck the vessel on her weather side, and the blast was perfectly _hot_!
The captain called to the men to hold on; they were prepared,—and well
for them they were so: with a tremendous roll the vessel was pitched
over almost on her beam-ends; the thing was so sudden, and the officers
were so blinded by the spray and wind, that they could not tell whether
the whirlwind passed by the stern or the head of the vessel. Almost as
quickly as the wind struck her on the weather side it was round to the
other, and the ship was taken aback, or brought by the lee.
The mountainous waves were foaming, breaking, and dashing against her;
one great sea broke off the knees of the vessel, drew out two or three of
the long iron bolts, and loosened the cutwater. The thunder rolled, the
lightning flashed, and every five minutes the hail beat on the decks like
the pitching down of myriads of marbles. At length the horizon cleared,
and the gallant ship, rising over the surge, went on her way rejoicing.
Still the original gale continued with unabated violence, and the heavy
swelling sea was a glorious although an appalling sight. A lesson of
composure might have been read from a trifling circumstance: during the
time that the wind was blowing furiously, and the waves were mountains
crested with foam, on the lee side of the vessel I saw a stormy petrel,
ever such a little wee bird, floating on the billows, rising and falling
with them so quietly, calmly, and composedly, it appeared wonderful that
the wind did not tear it off the wave and sink it in the waters; but
there the little bird floated and floated, and rose and sank, and was too
wise to unfold her wings for a second, or to attempt to fly.
_25th._—We beat out to sea in the face of the north-wester; it was
trying work both for the ship and the men; they succeeded in getting a
proper distance from the land, and we tacked opposite Algoa Bay. The
wind moderated, the sea went down, merely a long swell continued,—the
palpitation of the bosom of the ocean after the rage into which she had
been pleased to throw herself[55].
Unless in mountains like the Himalaya there is nothing in nature so
beautifully grand as a storm at sea.
How much delight may be experienced during a storm! How animating, how
beautiful is the scene! Who can gaze on swiftly flying clouds, or on
rushing waves crested with foam, without emotions of pleasure? Who can
breathe the pure and bracing air of a stiff gale, and not feel their
spirits rise within them? All those feelings, commonly ridiculed as
romantic, which, shrinking from the eye of the world, hide themselves in
the depths of the heart, are called forth during such a scene. The memory
presents all that is charming in poetry, all that delights in song, all
that best suits with the wild weather: the spirits rise, and there is
perhaps nothing in this world that can be more fully enjoyed than a storm
at sea.
The confidence sailors have in their own skill and resources, their
patience, good spirits, and good humour in days of trial, impart a
portion of their own spirit to those in their society. I felt more
inclined to enjoy the gale than to fear it when on deck with the
officers, but when at night, in the darkness of my own cabin, with the
water dashing in, and the wax-light dimly burning, I must acknowledge
I thought what a wretched sensation the first dash into one of those
roaring waves would give me, the cold plunge, and the jaw of the shark!
We were in His hands who stilleth the raging of the waves; I thought
of the composure of the little bird, and never allowed any expression
of fear to find its way to my lips, or to appear on my countenance.
The officers were now able to get a little rest; they must have been
exhausted, as they had scarcely quitted the poop for a moment night
or day; their eyes were red and starting,—how they must have slept
when they were able to turn in! I could have enjoyed the storm, but
that my unfortunate ayha distressed me,—with her broken leg, it was a
fearful thing to be tossed about in such a gale, although every care and
attention was given her. I did not suffer from _mal-de-mer_, and was
moving about all day and night.
_26th._—This was a day of calm, and of repose for the wearied; also a day
for the repair of the damage done by the gale. And deep I believe was the
gratitude felt by all on board for the protection afforded us during the
storm.
_27th._—Our course regained, the “Essex” sailed quietly on.
_28th._—At sunrise I was summoned in haste to the poop, to see a
remarkable effect in the sky. Just above the spot where the sun was
struggling to appear from behind a bank of reddish grey clouds, there was
thrown across the bright blue sky a long white cloud, exactly in shape
and twist like an Archimedes screw; I added it, with the sunset of the
night before the gale, to my collection of “Sketches at Sea.” Should I
ever live to be old—or rather, older, how pleasantly these sketches will
recall the memory of the past!