IN THE RIVER PLATA.
At length the day for making preparations for nearing land arrived.
One fine afternoon the order was given to have everything ready
for entering the river. All hands were kept on deck, and every one
manifested an unusual readiness to work. The lashings were cut adrift
from the anchors; the chain drawn out of the locker, and overhauled
upon the deck; and the other matters attended to, which are not to be
neglected on a ship about coming to an anchorage. Towards night, the
changing color of the water, which in the deep ocean is of a dark blue,
but which had now become of a greenish tinge, told us of the proximity
of land.
At sunrise of the next morning, the cry of, “Land on the starboard
bow!” awoke me from a sound slumber. Hurrying on deck, I was able to
discover a faint streak of red in the distant horizon, which a sailor
declared to be “the loom of the land;” and by eight o’clock the low
shores of the Uruguayan republic were distinctly visible from our deck,
and the monotony of our sea life was at an end.
As it was necessary to take a pilot on board, we were obliged to first
make Montevideo, the great seaport of the Banda Oriental, or Uruguayan
republic, which country, as most of my readers are doubtless aware,
was formerly a constant bone of contention between Buenos Ayres and
Brazil, but is now independent of both, and according to all accounts
promises to become the greatest producer of wool of the South American
republics.
A light breeze wafted us past the rocky isle of Flores to Montevideo,
where, about dusk, we dropped anchor at a distance of three miles from
the shore.
While aloft, I had time to observe that a conical mountain, with smooth
sides, and crowned by an old fort, was connected with the main land by
a peninsula, in such a manner that a fine bay was formed, where a large
fleet of vessels were lying at anchor. The fort on the mount showed a
light, four hundred and seventy-five feet above the level of the sea.
The town lies on the opposite side of the bay, to the eastward of the
mountain, from which fact it derives its name.
By the time the sails were furled, and several additional ranges of
chain overhauled, night came on, and the anchor watch was set, with
orders to call the mate if it lightened in the south-west, the region
of _pamperos_.
My watch was from nine to ten: when I was relieved, I went below with a
light heart, and “turned in” to my bunk, with the prospect of unbroken
rest. It was perhaps an hour later that I was awakened by the confused
sounds on deck, caused by the “letting go” the second anchor, and the
loud calling down the companion-way for “all hands on deck.” Hurrying
above, we found that a _pampero_ had struck the vessel, which was
moving through the water at the rate of at least four miles an hour
before the force of the hurricane. When the second anchor became fast,
however, the vessel’s course was checked, she swung around, broadside
to the wind, and held her ground. The force of the wind striking our
backs was so great that we were obliged to take shelter beneath the
bulwarks to recover our breath.
The darkness was intense, save when flashes of lightning illumined
every headland along the coast, and threw out in bold relief the
mountain and its castle. But duty called us from the protection of
the bulwarks to the chain lockers. Vainly, however, did the officers
vociferate their commands; not a word could we understand; but we
instinctively laid hold of the chain, and, guided by flashes of
lightning, paid out many fathoms. Hardly had we accomplished our object
in giving scope to the cable, when a noise like thunder announced
that one of the sails, the main spencer, had broken adrift, and in an
instant it beat and clattered across the quarter-deck. From side to
side it tore, cutting the rigging to pieces, with the block at its
clew. Half an hour’s labor was ineffectual in securing the sail, though
ends of braces were strongly passed around it; it continually broke
loose, tumbling upon the deck all the men who were clinging to it, and
we might have labored much longer, had not Manuel crawled aloft, and
cut the sail adrift, by coming down the jack-stay, knife in hand.
The spencer had not been securely fastened before from between the
harness-casks, the mizzen staysail, which had been carefully furled,
seemed endowed with life, for in an instant it ran up its stay like a
bird, and was at once torn to shreds.
At this point the prospect was fair for a wreck. The captain brought
an axe on deck to prepare for the last resort. But such a fierce wind
fortunately could not last long; its own force must prove exhaustive:
it soon came only in gusts, and two hours later it had greatly subsided.
The scene now around us challenged our attention; and, until morning,
I leaned across the rail, completely engrossed with the many curious
phenomena before me.
The air was filled with electrical flashes, which at times rendered the
tall mount plainly visible, and brought out the spars of the fleet in
the bay in weird-like prominence against the gloomy background.
The fort on the height seemed clothed with flame, while the short,
quick waves around the vessel gleamed with phosphorescent light. The
_pampero_ had struck the vessel during the watch succeeding mine, and
the man on duty became so frightened that he did not call the mate.
Luckily, that officer discovered the true state of affairs in time to
prevent a serious disaster.
The dawn of the following morning revealed a sight such as might be
expected after so violent a hurricane. In one part of the harbor were
two vessels, whose crews were hard at work in clearing them from the
entanglement of their rigging, which was completely wrecked.
Close by lay two others, with their topmasts gone, and in the distance
were many others in a similar condition; while from the town came
floating logs, boxes, barrels, and other lumber in great quantities,
telling of the havoc of the _pampero_.
The effect of the wind was even felt to a greater extent farther up the
river, where some fifteen or twenty small vessels were capsized, and
many of the crews drowned.
A new and beautiful English bark, that had left her anchorage for
Buenos Ayres the night before, we saw two days afterwards; but she was
nothing but a dismantled hulk, with only the stump of her mizzenmast
left: every spar had been blown away, and one of her men killed by a
falling mast.
Though the _pampero_ season generally lasts from March to September,
this wind is likely to blow at any time; and a careful captain will
always be prepared for it. The state of the mercury in his barometer,
together with the appearance of the heavens in the south-west, must
be carefully watched. These winds, coming from the cold summits of
the Andes, sweep first across an undulating, then a flat country;
and, meeting no obstacle to break their force, do great damage to the
settlements about Buenos Ayres, as well as to the shipping in the River
Plata, and are felt many miles out to sea.
The River Plata, at its entrance, between Cape St. Mary on the north
coast, and Cape St. Antonio on the south, is one hundred and seventy
miles; and we can see that the _pampero_, in traversing this broad
channel, has a most unobstructed course.
At noon a pilot came aboard, bearing a letter from the owner’s agent;
and at about eleven o’clock the following night we hove up both
anchors, and, with a fine breeze, sailed up the river. Thirty-six hours
later, we dropped anchor in the outer roads of Buenos Ayres, seven
or eight miles from the city, whose plastered dwellings and lofty
cathedral were plainly seen from the decks of our vessel.