“Come on deck if you want to see Cape Horn!” called out Captain Meade to
the passengers in the cabin, who instantly hurried on deck, for one can’t
see the famous Cape every day.
The captain silently pointed his finger, and there, looming up out of the
morning mist, the passengers saw Cape Horn. It was nearly twenty miles
off, but so deceptive are distances at sea that it seemed not half that
distance away. Who can behold without a feeling of awe, that black and
naked rock, rising precipitously from a low islet to a height of five
hundred feet! Like some grim and frowning sentinel, it stands guard
where the waters of the two great oceans meet; tyrannizing over and
sorely harassing the staunch ships which even its power is rarely able to
destroy; drawing on, but to beat roughly back; and occasionally
permitting one of them to fly past without even a protest, as if to say,
“I can be gracious when the mood’s upon me.”
It was a sharp, bracing morning. Everything wore a peaceful aspect, in
spite of the peculiar moaning and whistling sound in the rigging which is
always heard here. To the south, a vast ice-floe glittered in the
brilliant sunlight; to leeward, two thin columns of smoke-like mist
rising from the water showed where a couple of whales were blowing; while
much nearer the ship, five splendid albatross sat gracefully upon the
heavy swell—their black wings in striking contrast to their snow-white
backs and necks. This grand looking creature is to the birds of the
ocean what the eagle is to the birds of the land, and the martial look in
its piercing black eye suggests a prince in disguise from some fairy
tale.
The cabin breakfast had just been concluded, and the Cape pigeons were
swarming around the ship, or swimming in the water alongside. The
cunning horde knew the hours meals were served as well as they did day
from night, and at such times all were on hand, waiting for the scraps
which they knew would be thrown overboard by the cook and steward. They
are pretty creatures, uniting the eyes and feet of a duck with the head,
bill, and other characteristics of the domestic pigeon. The breast is
white, the head and back a bluish black, while the wings are dappled
black and white. Beneath the feathers, the bird is covered with a
wonderfully thick, soft down, which is so dense that not a drop of the
icy water in which the creatures delight to swim and dive, can ever
penetrate to the skin. Soon after a ship has passed the latitude of Rio
de Janeiro, the pigeons begin to make their appearance, and they follow
that vessel for weeks and weeks, until she has passed around the Horn,
and far up into the Pacific. Then they disappear gradually as the warm
latitudes are reached, transferring their allegiance to some craft bound
back in the opposite direction. How they obtain sleep and rest is a
mystery, for one never lights on a ship; but no matter how fast a vessel
may go, or how severe a gale may rage, the whole tribe is in attendance
every morning, like an army following its general.
The cook threw overboard a quantity of table scraps, and instantly every
pigeon flew to the spot; all keeping up a discordant scolding and
chattering, as each tried to keep the others from getting a bite, at the
same time gulping down anything it could get hold of. Several dived far
down after sinking morsels. The passengers deciding to catch some of the
birds, a line, with a small baited hook, was trailed out astern, and
seven pigeons were soon hauled aboard, being caught in the mouth
precisely as a fish is.
The first thing any ocean bird does upon being put on the deck of a ship,
is to become sea-sick; and the prisoners unanimously followed this
program. After parting with their breakfasts, they felt better, and one
could not help laughing at the ludicrous expression of astonishment in
the creatures’ eyes as they surveyed their novel surroundings. In the
air or in the water, they were the personification of grace; but now they
seemed to be all legs, and fell down, or plumped into something, after
waddling a few yards. Then they ran along flapping their wings, as they
tried to get sufficient start to enable them to soar, but only one
succeeded in clearing the bulwarks. An old necktie was torn into strips,
one being fastened around the neck of each bird. Thus ornamented, the
captives were tossed up into the air, and off they went to tell their
companions amongst what strange barbarians they had fallen.
The barometer had been falling for some days, and in spite of the fine
morning, there were strong indications of an equinoctial hurricane. A
heavy snowstorm hid Cape Horn from view that afternoon, a contrary wind
sprang up, and the ship was driven entirely off her course, being
compelled to head for the South Pole. The passengers arrayed themselves
in oilers, not forgetting to tie strands of rope about their boot-tops to
keep the water out, and paced the quarter-deck, where George Marsh, the
mate, entertained them with tales of torrid Singapore.
But spray was flying over the _Sagamore_, the gale’s roaring made
conversation difficult, and though the speed was exhilarating, the young
men were soon driven below, leaving the mate to his lonely vigil.
He paced the deck with no companion but his own gloomy and bitter
thoughts, for his life had been a hard one. Confined to a seamen’s
hospital for many weary months by a terrible accident, he had thus lost
command of a fine bark; and when at last he left the sick room, it was
only to receive the crushing intelligence that all his earthly
possessions had been destroyed by fire. Though a splendid seaman, he had
since been unable to obtain a master’s berth, and now as a subordinate,
trod the deck of a ship which he was in every way fitted to command.
By midnight the ship was rolling so frightfully that it was feared some
of the masts would go. Great seas were coming aboard, the main deck
resembled a lake, and the crew had hair-breadth escapes from going
overboard. The bellowing of the hurricane was awful, and a constant
succession of snow-squalls struck the ship, sending the white flakes
driving through the air and upon the decks in a feathery cloud. The
carpenter was proceeding to the pumps to sound the well when he fell upon
the slippery deck, fetching up in the lee scuppers a moment later, where
he was buried in foam and water. He had presence of mind enough to grasp
a rope, and when the ship rolled in the opposite direction he emerged
from his unceremonious bath as though nothing had happened. The
hurricane continued to gather force; the decks were swept of everything
movable, and the possible shifting of the cargo caused continual
apprehension. But a more serious danger threatened the ship. When the
temperature of the water was taken, the thermometer registered a sharp
drop, indicating the proximity of a large body of ice. A sharp lookout
was kept, but the blackness of the night and the fury of the hurricane
made it impossible to see any distance from the ship.
[Picture: Among the Icebergs]
Just before daybreak, the thrilling cry of “Ice dead ahead!” came from
the lookout, and there was hardly time to give the wheel a few turns
before a great gray mass loomed up on the port bow. A moment more, and
one of the gigantic ice mountains so dreaded in these southern seas came
into plain view. It towered far above the mast-heads, culminating in a
circle of fantastic pinnacles which resembled the turrets of a castle.
The waves, breaking against its base with a noise like thunder, hurled
themselves far up its steep sides, soon to descend in the form of foaming
cataracts and water falls. High up on the near side, overhanging the
water, was a threatening mass of ice that seemed ready to fall on the
ship, and blot her out of existence. So perilously close to the great
berg was the _Sagamore_, that its freezing breath chilled all on deck to
the marrow, and the ship’s red port light, as she swept by, shone weirdly
on the frozen mass, revealing gruesome caverns that penetrated far
inward. Everyone breathed easier when the monster was passed, and
several recalled the names of missing ships that mysteriously disappeared
in the South Atlantic.
The first streaks of dawn revealed five more bergs, which formed an icy
barrier through which it was perilous to attempt a passage; while the
dangerous group of rocks known as the Diego Ramirez effectually blocked
the way to the north. At any moment the flying ship might crash into one
of the bergs, so it was decided to heave to, thus lessening the danger of
collision.
Tacking a large square-rigged vessel is considerable of a job at any
time, but at night, and in a hurricane, it is an arduous task. The
stiffened braces, wet with icy salt water, got tangled up, and
occasionally a man would make a mistake amid the maze of ropes, thus
adding to the confusion. But at last the work was finished, and the ship
brought to a standstill. Several times she went over so far that captain
and mates hardly dared to breathe for fear she was on her side and would
never right. But after remaining in that precarious position for a
moment, the ship would keel over with a sickening velocity from one side
to the other; the mast-heads reeling dizzily against the sky, until she
brought up with a jerk, as a sea pounded against her side. At each roll,
the bulwarks went far under, allowing a flood to come roaring and
tumbling aboard; washing about the main deck, tangling up ropes, and
knocking men off their feet. Several seamen were kept busy attending to
the oil-bags, whose contents were poured upon the waters in large
quantities, but without the usual effect. The exposed position of the
forward house subjected it to the full fury of the hurricane. The
helpless bo’s’un lay in his bunk listening to the roaring and screeching
outside, and once when an unusually big sea descended on the roof
overhead, making the oak beams crack ominously, he set his teeth and
thought of the calamity that had recently befallen an American ship, when
the whole forward house with its sleeping inmates was carried overboard,
and half the ship’s company annihilated at one fell blow.
Pandemonium reigned in the cabin. A sea stove in the companion door, the
water pouring down stairs and flooding everything. Several pieces of
furniture broke loose, and were banged against the partitions half the
night. Everything was upside down; oatmeal covered the floor of the
steward’s pantry, and the bathroom was littered with broken glass. Both
passengers were thankful when daylight dispelled the most anxious night
either had ever passed.
For a long time, the steward could not get forward, nor was the cook able
to get aft. Consequently, there was no cabin breakfast until nearly nine
o’clock. Such a meal! It was eaten by lamplight, for great seas were
thundering down on the poop overhead and the storm shutters to the
windows could not be taken off. It had been found almost impossible to
keep anything on the galley stove, but the cook and steward between them
managed to prepare some coffee, biscuits, ham and potatoes. The biscuits
were lost when the steward fell on the deck as he conveyed the breakfast
aft, but those who gathered about the table were satisfied, as they had
their hands too full to eat anything at all, and Wilbur kept thinking of
the line, “Some ha’ meat, and canna eat.”
All that day and night the hurricane lasted. The following afternoon,
the barometer, after falling for a week, came to a stand at 28:20, and
the climax had been reached.
“I thought I had seen storms before,” said Wilbur, “but this equinoctial
has opened my eyes. It passes my comprehension how any ship can stand
such a pounding and wrenching as this one has endured for three days and
nights.”
“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 the _Sagamore_ under 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
night scene 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 completely eclipsing 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 the _Sagamore’s_ naked
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.