“Boatswain!”
“Here, master: what cheer?”
“Good: speak to the mariners; fall to 't
Yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.”
_Tempest._
As Captain Williams wished to show me some favour for the manner in
which I had taken care of the brig, he allowed me as much time ashore
as I asked for. I might never see London again; and, understanding I
had fallen into good company, he threw no obstacle in the way of
my profiting by it. So careful was he, indeed, as to get one of the
consul's clerks to ascertain who the Mertons were, lest I should become
the dupe of the thousands of specious rogues with which London abounds.
The report was favourable, giving us to understand that the Major had
been much employed in the West Indies, where he still held a moderately
lucrative, semi-military appointment, being then in England to settle
certain long and vexatious accounts, as well as to take Emily, his only
child, from school. He was expected to return to the old, or some other
post, in the course of a few months. A portion of this I gleaned from
Emily herself, and it was all very fairly corroborated by the account of
the consul's clerk. There was no doubt that the Mertons were persons of
respectable position; without having any claims, however, to be placed
very high. From the Major, moreover, I learned he had some American
connexions, his father having married in Boston.
For my part, I had quite as much reason to rejoice at the chance which
threw me in the way of the Mertons, as they had. If I was instrumental
in saving their lives, as was undeniably the case, they taught me more
of the world, in the ordinary social sense of the phrase, than I had
learned in all my previous life. I make no pretensions to having seen
London society; that lay far beyond the reach of Major Merton himself,
who was born the son of a merchant, when merchants occupied a much lower
position in the English social scale than they do to-day, and had
to look to a patron for most of his own advancement. But, he was a
gentleman; maintained the notions, sentiments, and habits of the caste;
and was properly conscious of my having saved his life when it was in
great jeopardy. As for Emily Merton, she got to converse with me
with the freedom of a friend; and very pleasant it was to hear pretty
thoughts expressed in pretty language, and from pretty lips. I could
perceive that she thought me a little rustic and provincial; but I had
not been all the way to Canton to be brow-beaten by a cockney girl,
however clever and handsome. On the whole--and I say it without vanity,
at this late day--I think the impression left behind me, among these
good people, was favourable. Perhaps Clawbonny was not without its
influence; but, when I paid my last visit, even Emily looked sorrowful,
and her mother was pleased to say they should all miss me much. The
Major made me promise to hunt him up, should I ever be in Jamaica, or
Bombay; for one of which places he expected to sail himself, with his
wife and daughter, in the course of a few months. I knew he had had
one appointment, thought he might receive another, and hoped everything
would turn out for the best.
The Crisis sailed on her day; and she went to sea from the Downs, a week
later, with a smacking southerly wind. Our Philadelphians turned out
a noble set of fellows; and we had the happiness of beating an English
sloop-of-war, just as we got clear of the channel, in a fair trial of
speed. To lessen our pride a little, a two-decker that was going to the
Mediterranean, treated us exactly in the same manner, only three days
later. What made this last affair more mortifying, was the fact that
Marble had just satisfied himself, and all hands, that, a sloop-of-war
being the fastest description of vessel, and we having got the better
of one of them, it might be fairly inferred we could outsail the whole
British navy. I endeavoured to console him, by reminding him that
“the race was not always to the swift.” He growled out some sort of an
answer, denouncing all sayings, and desiring to know out of what book I
had picked up that nonsense.
I have no intention of dwelling on every little incident that occurred
on the long road we were now travelling. We touched at Madeira, and
landed an English family that went there for the benefit of an invalid;
got some fruit, fresh meat and vegetables, and sailed again. Our next
stopping-place was Rio, whither we went for letters from home, the
captain being taught to expect them. The ship's letters were received,
and they were filled with eulogiums on our good conduct, having been
written after the arrival of _la Dame de Nantes;_ but great was my
disappointment on finding there was not even a scrawl for myself.
Our stay at Rio was short, and we left port with a favourable slant of
wind, running as far north as 50°, in a very short time. As we drew near
to the southern extremity of the American continent, however, we
met with heavy weather and foul winds. We were now in the month that
corresponds to November in the northern hemisphere, and had to double
The Horn at that unpropitious season of the year, going westward. There
is no part of the world of which navigators have given accounts so
conflicting, as of this celebrated passage. Each man appears to have
described it as he found it, himself, while no two seem to have found
it exactly alike. I do not remember to have ever heard of calms off
Cape Horn; but light winds are by no means uncommon, though tempests are
undoubtedly the predominant characteristic. Our captain had already
been round four times, and he held the opinion that the season made no
difference, and that it was better to keep near the land. We shaped
our course accordingly for Staten Land, intending to pass through the
Straits of Le Maire and hug the Horn, as close as possible, in doubling
it. We made the Falkland Islands, or West Falkland rather, just as the
sun rose, one morning, bearing a little on our weather-quarter, with the
wind blowing heavily at the eastward. The weather was thick, and, what
was still worse, there was so little day, and no moon, that it was
getting to be ticklish work to be standing for a passage as narrow
as that we aimed at. Marble and I talked the matter over, between
ourselves, and wished the captain could be persuaded to haul up, and
try to go to the eastward of the island, as was still possible, with the
wind where it was. Still, neither of us dared propose it; I, on account
of my youth, and the chief-mate, as he said, on account of “the old
fellow's obstinacy.” “He likes to be poking about in such places,”
Marble added, “and is never so happy as when he is running round the
ocean in places where it is full of unknown islands, looking for sandal
wood, and bêche-la-mar! I'll warrant you, he'll give us a famous time of
it, if he ever get us up on the North-West Coast.” Here the consultation
terminated, we mates believing it wiser to let things take their course.
I confess to having seen the mountains on our weather-quarter disappear,
with melancholy forebodings. There was little hope of getting any
observation that day; and to render matters worse, about noon, the
wind began to haul more to the southward. As it hauled, it increased in
violence, until, at midnight, it blew a gale; the commencement of such a
tempest as I had never witnessed in any of my previous passages at sea.
As a matter of course, sail was reduced as fast as it became necessary,
until we had brought the ship down to a close-reefed main-top-sail, the
fore-top-mast staysail, the fore-course, and the mizen-staysail. This
was old fashioned Canvass; the more recent spencer being then unknown.
Our situation was now far from pleasant. The tides and currents, in that
high latitude, run with great velocity; and, then, at a moment when it
was of the greatest importance to know precisely where the ship was, we
were left to the painful uncertainty of conjecture, and theories
that might be very wide of the truth. The captain had nerve enough,
notwithstanding, to keep on the larboard tack until daylight, in the
hope of getting in sight of the mountains of Terra del Fuego. No one,
now, expected we should be able to fetch through the Straits; but it
would be a great relief to obtain a sight of the land, as it would
enable us to get some tolerably accurate notions of our position.
Daylight came at length, but it brought no certainty. The weather was
so thick, between a drizzling rain, sea-mist and the spray, that it was
seldom we could see a league around us, and frequently not half a mile.
Fortunately, the general direction of the eastern coast of Terra del
Fuego, is from north-west to south-east, always giving us room to ware
off shore, provided we did not unexpectedly get embarrassed in some one
of the many deep indentations of that wild and inhospitable shore.
Captain Williams showed great steadiness in the trying circumstances in
which we were placed. The ship was just far enough south to render it
probable she could weather Falkland Islands, on the other tack, could we
rely upon the currents; but it would be ticklish work to undertake such
a thing, in the long, intensely dark nights we had, and thus run the
risk of finding ourselves on a lee shore. He determined, therefore, to
hold on as long as possible, on the tack we were on, expecting to get
through another night, without coming upon the land, every hour now
giving us the hope that we were drawing near to the termination of the
gale. I presume he felt more emboldened to pursue this course by the
circumstance that the wind evidently inclined to haul little by little,
more to the southward, which was not only increasing our chances of
laying past the islands, but lessened the danger from Terra del Fuego.
Marble was exceedingly uneasy during that second night. He remained on
deck with me the whole of the morning watch; not that he distrusted
my discretion in the least, but because he distrusted the wind and the
land. I never saw him in so much concern before, for it was his habit to
consider himself a timber of the ship, that was to sink or swim with the
craft.
“Miles,” said he, “you and I know something of these 'bloody currents,'
and we know they take a ship one way, while she looks as fiercely the
other as a pig that is dragged aft by the tail. If we had run down the
50th degree of longitude, now, we might have had plenty of sea-room, and
been laying past the Cape, with this very wind; but, no, the old fellow
would have had no islands in that case, and he never could be happy
without half-a-dozen islands to bother him.”
“Had we run down the 50th degree of longitude,” I answered, “we should
have had twenty degrees to make to get round the Horn; whereas, could
we only lay through the Straits of Le Maire, six or eight of those very
same degrees would carry us clear of everything.”
“Only lay through the Straits of Le Maire, on the 10th November, or what
is the same thing in this quarter of the world, of May, and with
less than nine hours of day-light! And such day-light, too! Why, our
Newfoundland fogs, such stuff as I used to eat when a youngster and
a fisherman, are high noon to it! Soundings are out of the question
hereabouts; and, before one has hauled in the deep-sea, with all its
line out, his cut-water may be on a rock. This ship is so weatherly and
drags ahead so fast, that we shall see _terra firma_ before any one has
a notion of it. The old man fancies, because the coast of Fuego trends
to the north-west, that the land will fall away from us, as fast as we
draw towards it. I hope he may live long enough to persuade all hands
that he is right!”
Marble and I were conversing on the forecastle at the time, our eyes
turned to the westward, for it was scarcely possible for him to look in
any other direction, when he interrupted himself, by shouting
out--“hard up with the helm--spring to the after-braces, my lads--man
mizen-staysail downhaul!” This set everybody in motion, and the captain
and third-mate were on deck in a minute. The ship fell off, as soon as
we got the mizen-staysail in, and the main-topsail touching. Gathering
way fast, as she got the wind more aft, her helm threw her stern up,
and away she went like a top. The fore-topmast staysail-sheet was
tended with care, and yet the cloth emitted a sound like the report of
a swivel, when the sail first filled on the other tack. We got the
starboard fore-tack forward, and the larboard sheet aft, by two
tremendously severe drags, the blocks and bolts seeming fairly to
quiver, as they felt the strains. Everything succeeded, however, and
the Crisis began to drag off from the coast of Terra del Fuego, of a
certainty; but to go whither, no one could precisely tell. She headed
up nearly east, the wind playing about between south-and-by-east, and
south-east-and-by-south. On that course, I own I had now great doubt
whether she could lay past the Falkland Islands, though I felt persuaded
we must be a long distance from them. There was plenty of time before us
to take the chances of a change.
As soon as the ship was round, and trimmed by the wind on the other
tack, Captain Williams had a grave conversation with the chief-mate, on
the subject of his reason for what he had done. Marble maintained he had
caught a glimpse of the land ahead--“Just as you know I did of la Dame
de Nantes, Captain Williams,” he continued, “and seeing there was no
time to be lost, I ordered the helm hard up, to ware off shore.” I
distrusted this account, even while it was in the very process of coming
out of the chief mate's mouth, and Marble afterwards admitted to me,
quite justly; but the captain either was satisfied, or thought it
prudent to seem so. By the best calculations I afterwards made, I
suppose we must have been from fifteen to twenty leagues from the
land when we wore ship; but, as Marble said, when he made his private
confessions, “Madagascar was quite enough for me, Miles, without
breaking our nose on this sea-gull coast; and there may be 'bloody
currents' on this side of the Cape of Good Hope, as well as on the
other. We've got just so much of a gale and a foul wind to weather, and
the ship will do both quite as well with her head to the eastward, as
with her head to the westward.”
All that day the Crisis stood on the starboard tack, dragging through
the raging waters as it might be by violence; and just as night shut in
again, she wore round, once more, with her head to the westward. So
far from abating, the wind increased, and towards evening we found it
necessary to furl our topsail and fore-course. Mere rag of a sail as the
former had been reduced to, with its four reefs in, it was a delicate
job to roll it up. Neb and I stood together in the bunt, and never did
I exert myself more than on that occasion. The foresail, too, was a
serious matter, but we got both sails in without losing either. Just as
the sun set, or as night came to increase the darkness of that gloomy
day, the fore-topmast-staysail went out of the bolt-rope, with a report
that was heard all over the ship; disappearing in the mist, like a cloud
driving in the heavens. A few minutes later, the mizen-staysail was
hauled down in order to prevent it from travelling the same road. The
jerks even this low canvass occasionally gave the ship, made her tremble
from her keel to her trucks.
For the first time, I now witnessed a tempest at sea. Gales, and pretty
hard ones, I had often seen; but the force of the wind on this occasion,
as much exceeded that in ordinary gales of wind, as the force of these
had exceeded that of a whole-sail breeze. The seas seemed crushed, the
pressure of the swooping atmosphere, as the currents of the air went
howling over the surface of the ocean, fairly preventing them from
rising; or, where a mound of water did appear, it was scooped up and
borne off in spray, as the axe dubs inequalities from the log. In less
than an hour after it began to blow the hardest, there was no very
apparent swell--the deep breathing of the ocean is never entirely
stilled--and the ship was as steady as if hove half out, her lower
yard-arms nearly touching the water, an inclination at which they
remained as steadily as if kept there by purchases. A few of us were
compelled to go as high as the futtock-shrouds to secure the sails, but
higher it was impossible to get. I observed that when I thrust out a
hand to clutch anything, it was necessary to make the movement in such
a direction as to allow for lee-way, precisely as a boat quarters the
stream in crossing against a current. In ascending it was difficult to
keep the feet on the ratlins, and in descending, it required a strong
effort to force the body down towards the centre of gravity. I make no
doubt, had I groped my way up to the cross-trees, and leaped overboard
my body would have struck the water, thirty or forty yards from the
ship. A marlin-spike falling from either top, would have endangered no
one on deck.
When the day returned, a species of lurid, sombre light was diffused
over the watery waste, though nothing was visible but the ocean and the
ship. Even the sea-birds seemed to have taken refuge in the caverns of
the adjacent coast, none re-appearing with the dawn. The air was full
of spray, and it was with difficulty that the eye could penetrate as far
into the humid atmosphere as half a mile. All hands mustered on deck, as
a matter of course, no one wishing to sleep at a time like that. As for
us officers, we collected on the forecastle, the spot where danger would
first make itself apparent, did it come from the side of the land. It
is not easy to make a landsman understand the embarrassments of our
situation. We had had no observations for several days, and had been
moving about by dead reckoning, in a part of the ocean where the tides
run like a mill-tail, with the wind blowing a little hurricane. Even
now, when her bows were half submerged, and without a stitch of canvass
exposed, the Crisis drove ahead at the rate of three or four knots,
luffing as close to the wind as if she carried after-sail. It was
Marble's opinion that, in such smooth water, do all we could, the vessel
would drive towards the much-dreaded land again, between sun and sun of
that short day, a distance of from thirty to forty miles. “Nor is this
all, Miles,” he added to me, in an aside, “I no more like this 'bloody
current,' than that we had over on the other side of the pond, when we
broke our back on the rocks of Madagascar. You never see as smooth water
as this, unless when the wind and current are travelling in the same
direction.” I made no reply, but there all four of us, the captain and
his three mates, stood looking anxiously into the vacant mist on our
lee-bow, as if we expected every moment to behold our homes. A silence
of ten minutes succeeded, and I was still gazing in the same direction,
when by a sort of mystic rising of the curtain, I fancied I saw a
beach of long extent, with a dark-looking waste of low bottom extending
inland, for a considerable distance. The beach did not appear to
be distant half a knot, while the ship seemed to glide along it, as
compared with visible objects on shore, at a rate of six or eight miles
the hour. It extended, almost in a parallel line with our course, too,
as far as could be seen, both astern and ahead.
“What a strange delusion is this!” I thought to myself, and turned to
look at my companions, when I found all looking, one at the other, as if
to ask a common explanation.
“There is no mistake here,” said captain Williams, quietly. “That is
_land_, gentlemen.”
“As true as the gospel,” answered Marble, with the sort of steadiness
despair sometimes gives. “What is to be done, sir?”
“What _can_ be done, Mr. Marble?--We have not room to ware, and, of
the two, there seems, so far as I can judge more sea-room ahead than
astern.”
This was so apparent, there was no disputing it. We could still see the
land, looking low, chill, and of the hue of November; and we could
also perceive that ahead, if anything, it fell off a little towards the
northward, while astern it seemingly stretched in a due line with our
course. That we passed it with great velocity, too, was a circumstance
that our eyes showed us too plainly to admit of any mistake. As the ship
was still without a rag of sail, borne down by the wind as she had been
for hours, and burying to her hawse-holes forward, it was only to a
racing tide, or current of some sort, that we could be indebted for our
speed. We tried the lead, and got bottom in six fathoms!
The captain and Marble now held a serious consultation; That the ship
was entering some sort of an estuary was certain, but of what depth, how
far favoured by a holding ground, or how far without any anchorage at
all, were facts that defied our inquiries. We knew that the land called
Terra del Fuego was, in truth, a cluster of islands, intersected
by various channels and passages, into which ships had occasionally
ventured, though their navigation had never led to any other results
than some immaterial discoveries in geography. That we were entering one
of these passages, and under favourable circumstances, though so purely
accidental, was the common belief; and it only remained to look out for
the best anchorage, while we had day-light. Fortunately, as we drove
into the bay, or passage, or what ever it was, the tempest lifted
less spray from the water, and, owing to this and other causes, the
atmosphere gradually grew clearer. By ten o'clock, we could see fully
a league, though I can hardly say that the wind blew less fiercely than
before. As for sea, there was none, or next to none; the water being as
smooth as in a river.
The day drew on, and we began to feel increased uneasiness at the
novelty of our situation. Our hope and expectation were to find some
anchorage; but to obtain this it was indispensable also to find a
lee. As the ship moved forward, we still kept the land in view, on our
starboard hand, but that was a lee, instead of a weather shore; the
last alone could give our ground-tackle any chance, whatever, in such
a tempest. We were drawing gradually away from this shore, too, which
trended more northerly, giving us additional sea-room. The fact that we
were in a powerful tide's way, puzzled us the most. There was but one
mode of accounting for the circumstance. Had we entered a bay, the
current must have been less, and it seemed necessary there should be
some outlet to such a swift accumulation of water. It was not the mere
rising of the water, swelling in an estuary, but an arrow-like glancing
of the element, as it shot through a pass. We had a proof of this last
fact, about eleven o'clock, that admitted of no dispute. Land was seen
directly ahead, at that hour, and great was the panic it created. A
second look, however, reassured us, the land proving to be merely a
rocky islet of some six or eight acres in extent. We gave it a berth,
of course, though we examined closely for an anchorage near it, as we
approached. The islet was too low and too small to make any lee, nor did
we like the looks of the holding-ground. The notion of anchoring there
was consequently abandoned; but we had now some means of noting our
progress. The ship was kept a little away, in order to give this island
a berth, and the gale drove her through the water at the rate of seven
or eight knots. This, however, was far from being our whole speed, the
tide sweeping us onward at a furious rate, in addition. Even Captain
Williams thought we must be passing that rock at the rate of fifteen
knots!
It was noon, and there was no abatement in the tempest, no change in
the current, no means of returning, no chance of stopping; away we
were driven, like events ruled by fate. The only change was the gradual
clearing up of the atmosphere, as we receded from the ocean, and got
farther removed from its mists and spray. Perhaps the power of the gale
had, in a small degree, abated, by two o'clock, and it would have been
possible to carry some short sail; but there being no sea to injure us,
it was unnecessary, and the ship continued to drive ahead, under bare
poles. Night was the time to dread.
There was, now, but one opinion among us, and that was this:--we thought
the ship had entered one of the passages that intersect Terra del Fuego,
and that there was the chance of soon finding a lee, as these channels
were known to be very irregular and winding. To run in the night seemed
impossible; nor was it desirable, as it was almost certain we should be
compelled to return by the way we had entered, to extricate ourselves
from the dangers of so intricate a navigation. Islands began to appear,
moreover, and we had indications that the main passage itself, was
beginning to diminish in width. Under the circumstances, therefore, it
was resolved to get everything ready, and to let go two anchors, as soon
as we could find a suitable spot. Between the hours of two and four, the
ship passed seventeen islets, some of them quite near; but they afforded
no shelter. At last, and it was time, the sun beginning to fall very
low, as we could see by the waning light, we saw an island of some
height and size ahead, and we hoped it might afford us a lee. The
tide had changed too, and that was in our favour. Turning to windward,
however, was out of the question, since we could carry no sail, and the
night was near. Anchor, then, we must, or continue to drive onward in
the darkness, sheered about in all directions by a powerful adverse
current. It is true, this current would have been a means of safety, by
enabling us to haul up from rocks and dangers ahead, could we carry any
canvass; but it still blew too violently for the last. To anchor, then,
it was determined.
I had never seen so much anxiety in Captain Williams's countenance,
as when he was approaching the island mentioned. There was still light
enough to observe its outlines and shores, the last appearing bold and
promising. As the island itself may have been a mile in circuit, it made
a tolerable lee, when close to it. This was then our object, and the
helm was put to starboard as we went slowly past, the tide checking our
speed. The ship sheered into a sort of roadstead--a very wild one it
was--as soon as she had room. It was ticklish work, for no one could
tell how soon we might hit a rock; but we went clear, luffing quite near
to the land, where we let go both bowers at the same instant. The ship's
way had been sufficiently deadened, by throwing her up as near the wind
as she could be got, and there was no difficulty in snubbing her. The
lead gave us seven fathoms, and this within pistol-shot of the shore. We
knew we were temporarily safe. The great point was to ascertain how
the vessel would tend, and with how much strain upon her cables. To
everybody's delight, it was found we were in a moderate eddy, that drew
the ship's stern from the island, and allowed her to tend to the wind,
which still had a fair range from her top-sail yards to the trucks.
Lower down, the tempest scuffled about, howling and eddying, and
whirling first to one side, and then to the other, in a way to prove how
much its headlong impetuosity was broken and checked by the land. It is
not easy to describe the relief we felt at these happy chances. It
was like giving foothold to some wretch who thought a descent of the
precipice was inevitable.
The ship was found to ride easily by one cable, and the hands were sent
to the windlass to heave up the other anchor, as our lead told us, we
had rocks beneath us, and the captain was afraid of the chafing. The
larboard-bower anchor was catted immediately, and there it was left
suspended, with a range of cable overhauled, in readiness to let go at a
moment's notice. After this, the people were told to get their suppers.
As for us officers, we had other things to think of. The Crisis
carried a small quarter-boat, and this was lowered into the water, the
third-mate and myself manned its oars, and away we went to carry the
captain round the ship, in order that he might ascertain the soundings,
should it be necessary to get under way in the night. The examination
was satisfactory, on all points but one; that of the holding-ground; and
we returned to the vessel, having taken good care to trust ourselves in
neither the wind nor the current. An anchor-watch was set, with a mate
on deck, four hours and four hours, and all hands turned in.
I had the morning watch. What occurred from seven o'clock (the captain
keeping the dog-watches himself,) until a few minutes before four, I
cannot tell in detail, though I understood generally, that the wind
continued to blow in the same quarter, though it gradually diminished in
violence, getting down to something like a mere gale, by midnight. The
ship rode more easily; but, when the flood came in, there was no longer
an eddy, the current sucking round each side of the island in a very
unusual manner. About ten minutes before the hour when it was my regular
watch on deck, all hands were called; I ran on deck, and found the ship
had struck adrift, the cable having parted. Marble had got the vessel's
head up to the wind, under bare poles as before, and we soon began to
heave in the cable. It was found that the mischief had been done by
the rocks, the strands being chafed two-thirds through. As soon as the
current took the vessel's hull with force, the cable parted. We lost our
anchor, of course, for there was no possible way of getting back to the
island at present, or until the ebb again made.
It wanted several hours of day, and the captain called a council. He
told us, he made no doubt that the ship had got into one of the Terra
del Fuego passages, guided by Providence; and, as he supposed we must
be almost as far south as Staten Land, he was of opinion we had made
an important discovery! Get back we could not, so long as the wind held
where it was, and he was disposed to make sail, and push the examination
of the channel, as far as circumstances would allow. Captain Williams
had a weakness on this point, that was amiable and respectable perhaps,
but which hardly comported with the objects and prudence of a
trading ship-master. We were not surprised, therefore, at hearing his
suggestion; and, in spite of the danger, curiosity added its impulses to
our other motives of acquiescing. We could not get back as the wind then
was, and we were disposed to move forward. As for the dangers of the
navigation, they seemed to be lessening as we advanced, fewer islands
appearing ahead, and the passage itself grew wider. Our course, however,
was more to the southward bringing the ship close up by the wind, once
more.
The morning promised to be lighter than we had found the weather for
several days, and we even experienced some benefit from the moon. The
wind, too, began to back round to the eastward again, as we approached
the dawn; and we got the three top-sails, close-reefed, the fore-course,
and a new fore-top-mast stay-sail, on the ship. At length day
appeared, and the sun was actually seen struggling among dark masses of
wild-looking, driving clouds. For the first time since we entered those
narrow waters, we now got a good look around us. The land could be seen
in all directions.
The passage in which we found the Crisis, at sunrise on the morning of
the second of these adventurous days, was of several leagues in width;
and bounded, especially on the north, by high, precipitous mountains,
many of which were covered with snow. The channel was unobstructed;
and not an island, islet, or rock, was visible. No impediment to our
proceeding offered, and we were still more encouraged to push on. The
course we were steering was about south-south-west, and the captain
predicted we should come out into the ocean to the _westward_ of the
Straits of Le Maire, and somewhere near the Cape itself. We should
unquestionably make a great discovery! The wind continued to back round,
and soon got to be abaft the beam. We now shook our reefs out, one after
another, and we had whole topsails on the vessel by nine o'clock. This
was carrying hard, it must be owned; but the skipper was determined to
make hay while the sun shone. There were a few hours, when I think
the ship went fifteen knots by the land, being so much favoured by
the current. Little did we know the difficulties towards which we were
rushing!
Quite early in the day, land appeared ahead, and Marble began to predict
that our rope was nearly run out. We were coming to the bottom of a
deep bay. Captain Williams thought differently; and when he discovered
a narrow passage between two promontories, he triumphantly predicted our
near approach to the Cape. He had seen some such shape to the mountains
inland, in doubling the Horn, and the hill-tops looked like old
acquaintances. Unfortunately we could not see the sun at meridian,
and got no observation. For several hours we ran south-westerly, in a
passage of no great width, when we came to a sudden bend in our course,
which led us away to the north-west. Here we still had the tide with us,
and we then all felt certain that we had reached a point where the ebb
must flow in a direction contrary to that in which we had found it, in
the other parts of the passage. It followed, that we were now halfway
through to the ocean, though the course we were steering predicted a
sinuous channel. We were certainly not going now towards Cape Horn.
Notwithstanding the difficulties and doubts which beset us, Captain
Williams packed on the ship, determined to get ahead as fast as he
could, while there was light. It no longer blew a gale, and the wind was
hauling more to the southward again. It soon got to be right aft, and
before sunset it had a little westing in it. Fortunately, it moderated,
and we set our main-sail and top-gallant-sails. We had carried a lower
and top-mast studding-sails nearly all day. The worst feature in our
situation, now, was the vast number of islands, or islets, we met. The
shore on each side was mountainous and rude, and deep indentations were
constantly tempting us to turn aside. But, rightly judging that the set
of the tide was a lair index to the true course, the captain stood on.
The night that followed was one of the most anxious I ever passed. We
were tempted to anchor a dozen times, in some of the different bays, of
which we passed twenty; but could not make up our minds to risk another
cable. We met the flood a little after sunset, and got rid of it before
morning. But the wind kept hauling, and at last it brought us fairly on
a taut bow-line; under top-gallant-sails, however. We had come too far
to recede, or now would have been the time to turn round, and retrace
our steps. But we hoped every moment to reach some inclination south,
again, that would carry us into the open sea. We ran a vast many chances
of shipwreck, passing frightfully near several reefs; but the same good
Providence which had so far protected us, carried us clear. Never was I
so rejoiced as when I saw day returning.
We had the young ebb, and a scant wind, when the sun rose next day. It
was a brilliant morning, however, and everybody predicted an observation
at noon. The channel was full of islands, still, and other dangers
were not wanting; but, as we could see our way, we got through them all
safely. At length our course became embarrassed, so many large islands,
with passages between them, offering on different sides. One headland,
however, lay before us; and, the ship promising to weather it, we held
on our way. It was just ten o'clock as we approached this cape, and we
found a passage westward that actually led into the ocean! All hands
gave three cheers as we became certain of this fact, the ship tacking as
soon as far enough ahead, and setting seaward famously with the tide.
Captain Williams now told us to get our quadrants, for the heavens were
cloudless, and we should have a horizon in time for the sun. He was
anxious to get the latitude of our discovery. Sure enough, it so fell
out, and we prepared to observe; some predicting one parallel, some
another. As for the skipper himself, he said he thought we were still to
the eastward of the Cape; but he felt confident that we had come out to
the westward of Le Maire. Marble was silent; but he had observed, and
made his calculations, before either of the others had commenced the
last. I saw him scratch his head, and go to the chart which lay on the
companionway. Then I heard him shout--
“In the Pacific, by St. Kennebunk!”--he always swore by this pious
individual when excited--“We have come through the Straits of Magellan
without knowing it!”