On the evening of Wednesday, August 8th, 18--, having wished all our
friends good-bye, and pressed my last kiss upon the lips of my sobbing
sister, I ran hastily down the flight of stone steps before my aunt's
front door, crossed the road, and walked briskly down the Esplanade
until I overtook Bob, who had gone on before me; we then proceeded
together to the New Quay end, found the man of whom we had hired our
punt, paid him his money, and got him to row us on board the _Water
Lily_.
We had arranged to start at daybreak on the following morning; but as we
pulled off to the cutter we remarked that there was a nice little breeze
blowing from the westward, and as the evening was beautifully fine and
clear, with the promise of a brilliant starlight when the night should
have fully set in, the idea occurred to us both that we might just as
well be getting on down Channel at once, as be lying at anchor all
night.
Accordingly, as soon as we got on board, we loosed and set our canvas,
hove up our anchor, and in half an hour afterwards were slipping through
the opening in the Portland Breakwater.
In little more than half an hour after that we were clear of the dreaded
Bill, when, noticing that a small drain of flood-tide was still making,
we hauled our wind on the port tack, and stood in towards Bridport for
an hour; then tacked again, and stood out towards mid-Channel, so as to
obtain the full benefit of the ebb-tide, which by this time had begun to
make.
By "six bells," or seven o'clock, on the following morning we were
abreast the Start, about six miles distant. We stood on until eight
o'clock, when we tacked again towards the land, having now a flood-tide
against us, and had breakfast.
By noon we were _in_ Plymouth Sound, when we made a short leg to the
southward until we could weather Rame Head; then went about once more,
stretched across Whitesand Bay until the ebb-tide began to make again,
and then again hove about and stood to the southward and westward, on
the starboard tack.
At six o'clock that evening we passed the Lizard lighthouse, distant two
and a half miles, and here we _took our departure_.
For the benefit of those who may be ignorant of the meaning of this
expression, I may as well explain that the commander of a vessel _takes
his_ _departure_ from the last _well-known_ point of land he expects to
see before launching into mid-ocean, by noting, as accurately as he
possibly can, its compass-bearing and distance from his ship at a
particular hour.
With these data he is enabled to lay down upon his chart the exact
position of his ship at that hour, and from this spot the _ship's
reckoning_ commences. The courses she steers, and the number of _knots_
or nautical miles (sixty of which are equal to sixty-nine and a half
English miles) she sails every hour, together with certain other items
of information, such as the direction of the wind, the direction and
speed of the currents, if any, which she passes through, and the state
of the weather, the _lee-way_ the ship makes, etcetera, etcetera, are
all entered in the log-book; and at noon every day, by means of certain
simple calculations, the ship's position is ascertained from these
particulars.
The entering of all these particulars in the log-book is termed _keeping
the dead reckoning_, and the working out of the calculations just
referred to is called _working up the days work_.
This, however, only gives the ship's position _approximately_, because
it is difficult to judge _accurately_ of the amount of lee-way which a
ship makes, and it is not at all times easy to detect the presence of
currents, both of which produce a certain amount of deviation from the
apparent course of the ship.
To correct, therefore, all errors of this kind, which are otherwise
impossible to detect when the ship is out of sight of land, various
observations of the sun, moon, or stars are taken, whereby the _exact_
latitude or longitude (or sometimes both together) of the ship at the
moment of observation is ascertained.
This short lesson in navigation over, we will now rejoin the _Water
Lily_, which we left at six p.m. off the Lizard, on the starboard tack.
It was my "eight hours out" that night, and when I took the tiller at
eight o'clock we were dashing along a good honest eight knots, under
whole canvas and a jib-headed gaff-topsail. The night was as fine as
the previous one, but with a little more wind, and we were just
beginning to get within the influence of the Atlantic swell. There was
no sea on, but the long, majestic, heaving swell was sweeping with
stately motion towards the Channel, rising like low hills on either side
of us as our little barkie sank between them, and gleaming coldly, like
polished steel, where the moon's rays fell upon their crests. But the
little _Lily_ sprang gaily onward upon her course, mounting the watery
ridges and gliding down into the liquid valleys with the ease and grace
of a seabird, and without throwing so much as a drop of water upon her
deck.
The serenity and beauty of the night, the brilliancy of the stars which
studded the deep purple vault above me, and the gentle murmur of the
wind through the cutter's rigging, combined to produce a sensation of
solemnity almost amounting to melancholy within me, and my thoughts flew
back to the beloved sister I had so recently parted with, wondering
whether she was at that moment thinking of me, or whether we should ever
meet again, and, if so, how long hence and under what circumstances; and
so on, and so on, until I was recalled to myself by a sprinkling of
spray upon my cheek, whereupon I awoke, in the first place, to the fact
that the breeze had so far freshened that the _Lily_ was flying through
the water with her lee gunwale pretty well under; and, in the second, to
the knowledge that I had outstayed my watch a good half-hour.
I lost no time in calling Bob, and as soon as he came upon deck we got
our gaff-topsail down and our topmast housed.
I then went below and turned in; but I had time, before leaving the
deck, to notice that we went through the water quite as fast (if not a
trifle faster), now that our lee gunwale was just awash, as we did when
it was buried a couple of planks up the deck in water.
When Bob called me at the expiration of his watch, I found, on going on
deck, that the wind had continued to freshen all through the four hours
I had been below, and it was now blowing quite a strong breeze. It had
gradually hauled round to about north-west, too, which brought it well
upon our starboard quarter, and we were flying along at a tremendous
pace, with all our sheets eased well off.
But although by this change we were running _off_ the wind, and
consequently did not feel its full force, I decided to take down a
single reef in the mainsail, and shift the jib; for there was a windy
look in the sky that seemed to promise a very strong blow shortly. I
did not wish to disturb Bob when perhaps about half-way through his four
hours' sleep, so I got him to assist me in making my preparations before
he left the deck. And the promise was amply fulfilled as the sun rose
higher in the sky, the wind freshening rapidly, but hauling still
farther round from the northward as it did so.
By the time that Bob came on deck again, at seven-bells, to prepare
breakfast, I had my hands full. The sea was fast getting up, and I
began to tremble for my spars and gear. The glass had fallen rather
suddenly, and altogether there seemed to be every prospect of a regular
summer gale.
Bob was of the same opinion as myself in this respect, so we decided to
get everything snug and in readiness for the blow before thinking of
breakfast.
This was rather a ticklish job, for it was now blowing far too strong to
round-to and shorten sail, and it required something more than
freshwater seamanship to get our big mainsail in without getting into
trouble. But Bob seemed perfectly at home. He set the weather-topping-
lift up hand-taut, and took a turn with the lee one; then dropped the
peak of the mainsail until the end of the gaff was pressing against the
lee-lift; triced the tack right up to the throat; then let run the
throat-halliards, and hauled down the throat of the sail by the tack
tripping-line; whilst I rounded in upon the main-sheet. Then, by
lowering away the peak, and carefully gathering in the canvas as it came
down, we got our big sail snugly down without any trouble. This we
carefully stowed and covered up with its coat.
Next, Bob got the jib in, close-reefed the bowsprit, and set the
smallest or _storm_ jib, with its sheet eased well off. I hauled in the
weather fore-sheet until it was just in the wake of the mast, and our
little barkie was then left to take care of herself whilst we got the
trysail bent and set.
This done, we filled away again upon our course, with reduced speed, it
is true, but very comfortably indeed.
It was well we took these precautions when we did, for by noon that day
it had hardened down into a regular summer gale, with a really
formidable sea for so small a craft. Still, we continued to run away
very nearly dead before it, and that too without deviating from our
proper course.
I managed, with the utmost difficulty, in consequence of the violent
motion of the boat, to get an observation at noon, by which I found that
we had run, since six o'clock on the previous evening, a distance of no
less than one hundred and sixty-four miles. This placed us at about the
entrance to the Bay of Biscay, which we were thus running into in a gale
of wind. Still, I did not experience the slightest degree of alarm: our
little craft was behaving beautifully--_angelically_. Bob termed it,
and really it almost merited the expression. As she fell away into the
trough of the sea, our low sails would become almost becalmed under the
lee of the following wave; but as she lifted with it, the wind would
again fill them out, and she would dart away again just in time to
escape the mishap of being _pooped_ by its breaking and hissing crest.
At four p.m. I again succeeded in obtaining an observation, this lime
for the longitude. On working it up, we proved to be rather to leeward
of our proper track; so we hauled up a point or so, and at six o'clock
decided to try what she was like when hove-to.
Watching an opportunity, we brought her to the wind on the starboard
tack, first stowing our foresail, and found, to our great delight, that
she rode like a gull. Beyond an occasional shower of spray, she shipped
not a drop of water, although the gale was still increasing, and the sea
rising rapidly.
We took a reef in our trysail, afterwards hoisting the gaff as high as
it would go, so as to avoid, as much as possible, being becalmed in the
trough of the sea, and then we were snug for the night.
Bob was a veteran seaman, and I had been in many a heavy blow before
this--in gales, in fact, to which this was a mere nothing, comparatively
speaking; yet neither of us could help feeling impressed--and for myself
I may say somewhat awe-stricken--at the sublimity of the scene as the
evening closed in. Hitherto, our experiences of gales of wind had come
to us with a good, wholesome ship under our feet; but now we found
ourselves face to face with one in a mere _boat_, little more than a toy
craft. The sea, though nothing like as high as I had frequently seen it
before, now wore a more formidable aspect than I could ever have
believed possible. The hackneyed expression of "running mountains high"
seemed strictly applicable; and I fairly own to having experienced, for,
I believe, the first time in my life, a qualm or two of fear on that
night.
The liquid hills, their foaming ridges as high as the top of our lower-
mast, swept down upon us with an impetuous fury which seemed
irresistible; and the effect was further heightened, as darkness closed
around us, by the phosphorescent glare and gleam of their breaking
crests. But the _Lily_ rose lightly and buoyantly to each as it rushed
down upon her, surmounting its crest in a blinding shower of spray, and
then settling easily into the trough between it and the next one.
The roaring of the gale, too, and the angry hiss of the storm-lashed
waters, contributed their quota to the feeling of awe with which we
looked abroad from our pigmy ark.
But confidence returned after a while, as we watched the ease with which
the little craft overrode the seas; and when I at length turned into my
hammock, it was with a sense of security I could not have believed
possible a couple of hours before.
We hoisted a carefully-trimmed and brilliant lamp well up on our fore-
stay as soon as night closed in, for we were in the track of the
outward-bound ships going to the southward, and should one of these
gentlemen come booming down upon us before the gale during the night, it
would be rather difficult to avoid him.
It was well that we took this precaution, for no less than five passed
us in Bob's watch, and three more in mine, one of them coming near
enough to hail; but what he said it was impossible for me to hear, the
howling of the wind and the hissing of the water so close to me utterly
drowning the words.
I conjectured, however, that it was some inquiry as to whether we wanted
assistance of any kind, and on the strength of this supposition I roared
back at the top of my voice:
"All right; very comfortable."
A figure in the mizzen-rigging waved his hand, and the noble craft (she
looked like an Australian liner, and was carrying topmast and lower
stunsails) swept onward, and was soon afterwards swallowed up in the
darkness and mist.
The falling in with so tiny a craft so far at sea, and in a gale of
wind, and the announcement that she was "all right and very
comfortable," must have been rather a novel experience for them, I
imagine.
About noon next day the gale broke, and by four o'clock the wind had
gone down sufficiently to justify us in making sail and filling away
upon our course once more. This we did by setting our reefed mainsail,
foresail, and Number 2 jib. The wind had continued to haul round too,
and was now pretty steady at about north-east. This rapidly smoothed
the water down, so that we had a comparatively quiet night; and the wind
continuing to drop, we shook out our reefs next morning at eight bells,
and got the big jib and small gaff-topsail upon her.
The evening but one following we got a glimpse of Cape Finisterre about
six o'clock, and this enabled us to corroborate our position. From this
point we shaped a course for Madeira, and after a splendid run of seven
days from the Lizard and eight from Weymouth we arrived at Funchal at
half-past five o'clock on the Wednesday evening following that on which
I took leave of my dear sister.
As Bob was busy below getting tea, and I was stowing the canvas, a
steamer came in with a flag flying, which, on taking a look at it
through the glass, I recognised as the distinguishing flag of the Cape
mail-boats, _so_ I left everything just as it was, dashed down below,
and penned a few hasty lines home, giving a brief outline of our
adventures so far, and taking care not to lay too much stress upon the
gale, whilst I was equally careful to do full justice to the _Water
Lily's_ sea-going qualities, that my sister's apprehensions might be as
much allayed as possible.
As soon as I had finished and sealed the epistle, I joined Bob upon deck
to assist him in putting our novel boat together, which done, we pulled
on board the mail-boat, where we were very kindly received; and I gave
my letter into the hands of the captain, who promised (and faithfully
redeemed his promise too) to post it on his arrival home.
I afterwards found that he reported us also, so that the _Water Lily_
duly appeared in the "shipping" columns of the various papers, and my
yachting friends thus got an inkling of our success so far.
I shall not attempt any description of Madeira, or indeed of any other
of the well-known spots at which we touched. The places have been so
often and so fully described in the many books of travel which have been
written, that any further description, or at all events such description
as I could give, is quite superfluous. It will suffice for me merely to
say that Bob and I spent three days stretching our somewhat cramped
limbs in this most lovely island, and discussing which route we should
take to the Pacific.
We had often discussed this question before; but it was with a feeling
of indifference which precluded our arriving at any definite and
absolute decision upon the matter. It was now, however, time that this
point was settled, as it would affect our course soon after leaving the
island, or, at all events, when we came to the Cape de Verdes.
The eastern route would be much longer than the western; but I felt
disposed to adopt it, in the belief that we should be favoured with much
better weather. I entertained a very wholesome dread of the "Horn"--the
notorious "Cape of Storms." Bob, on the other hand, was all for the
western route.
"I'm willin' to allow," observed he, "that a trip round the Horn ain't
like a day's cruise in the Solent--all pleasuring; but I've knowed ships
to come round under r'yal stunsails, and that more than once. The place
is bad enough; but, like many another thing, not so black as it's
painted. It's got a bad name, and that, we know, sticks to a place or
to a body through thick and thin. I've been round five times, twice
outward-bound and three times homeward, and we always had plenty of
wind; but only once did I round it in a reg'lar gale, and then, had the
_Lily_ been there, I'll lay my grog for the rest of the v'yage she'd
have made better weather of it than the old barkie I was aboard of.
It's risky, I know; but so's the whole trip, for that matter, though, so
far, by what I've seen of the little craft, I'd as lieve be aboard _her_
in a gale of wind as I would be in e'er a ship that ever was launched.
She's cramped for room, and when you've said that you've said all as any
man can say ag'in her. Besides, see how 'twill shorten the v'yage.
Once round the Horn and you're there, as you may say, or next door to
it. And then, there's `Magellan;' if, when we get down about there,
things don't look promising for a trip round outside of everything, ram
her through the Straits. I've been through 'em once, and an ugly enough
passage it was too, blowing a whole gale; but there's _thousands_ of
places where the _Lily_ would lie as snug as if she was in dock, but
where a large ship dursen't venture for her life."
I yielded, as I generally did in such matters, to Bob's judgment; and it
was settled that the _Water Lily_ should brave Cape Horn with all its
perils. On the fourth day of our stay at Funchal we filled up our
water-tank, made a few additions to our stores (among others, a small
stock of the famous wine produced by the island); and towards evening
stood out to sea again, with our main-boom well garnished with bunches
of bananas and nets of various kinds of fruits; the wind at the time
being light, from about east-south-east, with a fine settled look about
the weather. This lasted us for four days, and ran us fairly into the
"trades," and on the third day following, just as the sun was dipping
beneath the horizon, we sighted Saint Antonio, the westernmost of the
Cape Verde Islands.
The "trades" were blowing very moderately as it happened, and the
weather was as fine as heart could wish, with a nearly full moon into
the bargain, so we were able to carry not only a jib-headed topsail, but
also our spinnaker at the bowsprit-end; and under this canvas the little
beauty made uncommonly short miles of it, tripping along like a rustic
belle going to her first ball. We fell in with several homeward-bound
ships, all of whom we requested to report us on their arrival as "all
well." So fine a run had we from the Cape de Verdes, that on the
morning of the fifth day after sighting them we ran into the "doldrums,"
or region of calms and light variable airs which prevail about the line.
Here our light duck did us valuable service, for though the wind soon
fell so light that it became imperceptible to us, and not a ripple
disturbed the glassy surface of the water, by getting our enormous
balloon gaff-topsail aloft we managed to catch enough wind from
_somewhere_ to fan us along at the rate of nearly three knots. True,
the breeze was very variable, our boom being sometimes on one side and
sometimes on the other, sometimes square out (at least as far as the
little air of wind had power to project it), and sometimes hauled close
in as the flaws headed us, and broke us off two or three points one side
or the other of our course. But, in spite of the baffling airs, such
good progress did we make, that by two o'clock that afternoon we were
gliding slowly through a fleet of about forty sail of vessels which were
so completely becalmed that they were heading in all directions, utterly
without steerage-way.
We reported ourselves to such as we passed within hail of, and finally,
about four o'clock, ranged up alongside of and boarded a beautiful
little barque of about three hundred and fifty tons, whose monkey-poop
we saw full of passengers (some of whom were ladies), regarding us with
the utmost curiosity as we approached. She turned out to be from Natal,
bound to London; and her captain (a perfect gentleman both in appearance
and manner) not only promised to report us, but gave us a hearty welcome
on board, and so cordial an invitation to dinner that there was no
resisting it.
Our story, or at least as much of it as we chose to tell (which was
simply that we were taking the cruise partly as an adventure, and partly
with the object of seeking intelligence of my father), was of course
soon drawn out of us; and, naturally enough, it excited the liveliest
astonishment in the minds of our hearers, and soon got all over the
ship. We excited some curiosity on board the other ships too, for no
less than four captains lowered their boats and pulled alongside to
learn where the pigmy cutter had sprung from.
The little craft was regarded with the greatest curiosity and
admiration, especially by the ladies (who are of course good judges of
the model of a vessel), some of them declaring that they would be
_delighted_ (with strong emphasis) to make a voyage in such a little
_darling_ of a yacht.
We mustered quite a strong party at the dinner-table, what with the
regular party, the four visiting captains (who were also pressed to
stay), and our two selves, and a very merry one withal. _We_
contributed to the dessert from our stock on the main-boom; and they
only who have enjoyed it can say what a luxury is fresh fruit on the
line, especially when one has been a long time on board a ship.
The skipper produced unlimited champagne (of which, for a wonder, he
still had a very fair stock) in honour of the occasion, and "a
prosperous voyage, and success to the _Water Lily_" was drunk over and
over again that evening. We kept it up until nearly midnight, the poop
being converted into a ball-room by merely hanging a few lamps in the
mizzen-rigging; the orchestra consisting of one of the seamen, who
played the concertina better than I ever heard it played before or
since.
The weather being as I have described it, without any signs of a change,
such a departure from the ordinary routine of the ship was permissible,
and I have no doubt everybody on board was glad enough of an occurrence
which gave such an excuse for breaking in upon the monotony of the
voyage.
Tedious enough they must have found it, for it appeared that they had
already been becalmed five days, and had not altered their position as
many miles; and there seemed every prospect of their being becalmed five
days more, for the glass was as steady as if the mercury had been solid.
At last we visitors made signs of moving. The captains of the other
vessels ordered their crews into their boats, and I was just about going
over the side on my way to our small cabin to write a hasty line to Ada
(our kind host having promised to post my letter for me immediately on
his arrival), when a seaman stepped up to me, and with the usual
nautical scrape of the foot and a respectful "Beg pardon, sir,"
intimated a desire to speak to me.
"There's a strange yarn going the rounds of this here craft's fo'c'sle,"
said he, "about your bein' on a sort of v'yage of discovery a'ter your
father, sir."