STORM-CLOUDS.
After blowing another hurricane all night there is this morning a
decided improvement in the weather. The wind has gone down nearly as
suddenly as it rose, though the sea is still running very high.
Some of the old wooden houses towards the outskirts of the town,
where they were more exposed to the violence of the storm, have
suffered considerable damage, and two have literally been blown
down. Happily, the inhabitants were able to escape in time, and no
lives have been lost.
As I was anxious to make some sketches before being prevented by
our own departure, or by some of the prettiest houses tumbling into
ruins, we went early on shore on a drawing expedition; but amongst
so many picturesque spots, it was quite an embarras de richesses
to know where to begin. At last I set to work upon a narrow street
with dark-brown houses, whose overhanging eaves almost touched their
opposite neighbours.
How I longed to have the skill of a really good artist, especially
to draw one low projecting window which the leafy branches of a vine
had formed into a little arch. A stray sunbeam was gleaming brightly
on two fair young faces as they peeped shyly at the strangers through
the framework of the tender green leaves. It was difficult to decide
which shone brightest in the dark street, the bright eyes or the
bright sunshine.
With this charming exception the place had seemed deserted when the
sketch began, but after a few strokes had been made sundry little
groups appeared at the doors, and emboldened by our pretending to
take no notice, they gradually approached. Some of the older women
ventured at last to look over my shoulder to see what I was about,
and, when house after house appeared on the paper, their delight
could no longer be controlled, and they eagerly called the owners to
see the wonderful production.
Having accomplished the houses as well as I could, I wanted some
figures to complete the little picture, and tried to sketch in as
rapidly as possible a group of pretty girls who stood near. But this
was going too far, and was too great a tax on their courage. They fled
instantly; for so great is their dread of the evil eye that they,
no doubt, felt persuaded that, were they to allow their likeness to
be taken by a stranger, it would entail certain misery upon them. In
southern countries one must carefully avoid noticing young people
too much, and must especially beware of praising little children. A
mother would think it most cruel kindness, as it would be directly
casting the jettatura upon her child.
In many parts of Calabria (the stronghold of this superstition)
it does not do for a friend, if a foreigner, to say a word even in
favour of that generally-praised member of the family, the baby. Like
the women of a Turkish harem, the children of a Christian household
are too sacred to be mentioned.
Although they ran away, I was glad to find my Sinope friends were not
irrevocably offended, for they turned up again when I began the next
sketch. They gathered close round, evidently much interested in me
and my doings, but though there was so much interest, there was not
the least rudeness. It is to be feared that a strange artist, in a
foreign costume, would not meet with such good-natured forbearance
in an English village.
I was examined critically, however, and I could understand enough
of what they were saying to know they were remarking upon my nose,
eyes, mouth, hair, dress, &c. They were evidently much puzzled as
to the use of the little hood belonging to my cloak, lifting it up,
and making numerous interrogative signs; at last they arrived, I am
certain, at the conclusion that it served to carry bread or babies in.
When the drawing was finished, a nice, fresh-looking old woman,
a greater person probably than all the rest, as she wore some very
large coins round her neck, came out of the crowd, seized my hand,
kissed it several times, and then, tucking it tightly under her arm
and pointing to the public baths close by, tried to pull me towards
them. Whether she wished me to sketch them, or whether, in the excess
of her good-will, she wished to present me to the rest of "the world
of Sinope" (for in these parts the bath is the women's club, where
they meet to drink coffee and sherbet, and talk over each other's
affairs), must for ever remain a mystery, for though we both talked,
we neither understood. She bowed persuasively, I bowed negatively,
and clung tightly to my companion, for I was really afraid, from the
excess of kind friendship, of being carried off against my will. At
length, finding I was not to be moved either morally or physically,
she again repeatedly kissed my hand, and with many smiles and friendly
looks we parted.
We then strolled on as far as the Turkish burial-ground, enjoying the
bright sunshine and the fresh air, for though so rough and stormy
at sea, on shore it was very pleasant. Beyond the cemetery is an
open common that extends to the edge of the cliffs that line the bay
opposite to that where the yacht is lying.
Out at sea everything looked wild and desolate. Great leaden-coloured
waves were beating in angry foam against the rocks; not a sail was to
be seen; a few gulls were slowly flapping across the dreary waste of
water, their hoarse cries sounding as if they too were uttering harsh
warnings of coming disasters and death. But what a curious contrast
as we turned from so eerie a scene and looked towards the town! On
this side the sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing in
the bushes close by, whilst several groups of Turkish women, seated
under the cypress trees near the cemetery, made the scene gay with
their many-coloured ferighies.
Turning inland, the day was so warm that we were glad to sit down on an
old wall under the shade of a leafy fig-tree, though, when facing the
sea, the keen, sharp wind had made us draw our cloaks closely round
us. Such is essentially the climate of Sinope, summer and winter at
the same time. No wonder, therefore, that the scourge of the place
is consumption. The consul tells us that spring and autumn are nearly
nominal seasons. The hot days of summer send the snow away, and when
they again begin to decline rain and winter come together. The sun
rules the temperature completely; when he shines the days are hot,
even in mid-winter, and again in summer, should he withdraw his rays,
and leave the sky gloomy and cloud-covered, there is a sudden chill
in the air that is far more injurious to health than the actual cold
of winter.
It was not until the 2nd of October that the weather cleared
sufficiently to enable us to leave Sinope. Then, however, all promised
well for a prosperous voyage. With a clear, blue sky, calm sea,
and a fairly favourable breeze we set sail for the Bosphorus. For
twenty-four hours the yacht dashed gaily along; and we were all merry
with the anticipation of being speedily with our friends at Therapia,
when a sudden change came over the sunny prospect. A little cloud,
no bigger than a man's hand, was seen to windward. Though the sky
was still blue, the sea calm, and the sun shining brightly, the
glass went down with alarming rapidity. Suddenly the wind began to
moan with a wild melancholy wail, a great darkness rapidly spread
over sea and sky, except along the horizon; there a pallid streak of
light showed where the storm was stalking on, lashing the sea into a
perfect whirl of foam as it tore its way over the water. On came the
squall with wondrous quickness. There was nothing to be done but to
make the best of our way back to Sinope Bay, as it was evident that
ugly weather was again threatening.
In less than an hour from the time when the little cloud had been first
perceived the yacht was running before a heavy sea with scarcely a
bit of canvas on her, but before night we rounded the promontory off
Sinope, and were at once in smooth water.
Instead of returning, however, to our old anchorage, we put in to
Ghirgeh, a little town on the other side of the bay, where, it was
said, excellent shooting and good provisions were to be had. Unluckily,
landing is a work of difficulty should there be any sea, or even
swell, for there is a reef of rocks close to the shore that can only
be crossed in tolerably smooth water.
The storm was not of long duration, though it was fierce while it
lasted. It raged all night with much violence, but the following
morning all things again looked propitious.
The breeze, though it blew rather fresh, was fair for the Bosphorus;
we were getting impatient at so much delay. We might have remained
days at Ghirgeh without being able to land, for with the wind from
this quarter the surf beat heavily on the reef, and the boat that had
been sent on shore in search of provisions had returned half full of
water, with the men drenched to the skin.
Game and meat were also found to be "myths," and as the people on
shore declared the gale was now well over, once again we set sail
for Constantinople.
"Those who go down to the sea in ships, these men see the works of
The Lord, and His wonders in the great deep."
We thank Him who stills the raging sea, that in His mercy He has
guarded us through so fearful a tempest.
We had left Ghirgeh on Tuesday. Late on Wednesday afternoon once more
the warning glass fell rapidly, and the breeze that had been fresh
and steady suddenly dropped. Towards evening we were almost becalmed,
little puffs of hot air only occasionally fanning us as the yacht
rose slowly on the heaving sea. But about one o'clock that night,
the gale came upon us with all its force, preceded by an icy wind
that seemed to freeze the ropes into bits of iron.
No sooner was the roar of the mighty tempest heard across the waters
than the sea, lashed into madness by the tremendous force of the wind,
turned into a seething cauldron. In an instant the great waves rose up
foaming, and tossed and dashed against the poor little vessel as if
resolved on its destruction. As the storm raged across her the dear
Claymore heeled over, and quivered as if she had received a blow,
but righting herself immediately, she gallantly faced her foe and
prepared for another shock. Speedily it came--and again another,
and another. More and more furious became the wind, and though the
foresail had been reefed, and we had only the storm-jib, it was
necessary to furl them both and take in the jib-boom; but in vain
the men pulled and strained, the ropes were frozen. Servants, cooks,
every man on board was summoned, Mr. Harvey, Captain Martini, and
Charlie cheering on the men, as they too sprang forward to the ropes;
but crash after crash came the great waves, as they raged against
the yacht with a fury that it seemed almost impossible anything of
wood and iron could long withstand.
At length Charlie and another man, with their knives between their
teeth, crawled on to the bowsprit, though every plunge buried them
deep in the waves, and succeeded in severing the ropes that held
the sail. Relieved from the too great pressure, the little vessel
rose more easily, and we heard a voice say cheerfully, "We shall
do now." It was of course impossible to be on deck, but my sister,
Mademoiselle G., and I remained crouched on the staircase listening
in intense anxiety to the turmoil. When the sail was at last taken
in I went down to the children, fearing they would be frightened,
but the little creatures had gone to sleep before the gale began,
and neither storm nor wind awakened them. It was difficult to stay
by them. Exaggerating probably the danger we were in, their lovely,
quiet sleep quite unnerved one; so, as it was better to do rather than
to think, we busied ourselves as much as possible in making hot tea for
those on deck, though even this little task was a work of difficulty,
so violently were we thrown from side to side. Occasionally during the
night one of us crept up the companion and ventured a hurried look-out.
People have written much about the majestic beauty of a storm. To
me it was simply horrible. In the distracting rush and confusion,
it seemed as if the elements, seized with hideous rage, were tearing
and rending each other like infuriated animals. I looked on with the
shuddering horror one would feel if standing between wild beasts who
were preparing to spring at each other's throats. When holding fast
by the sides of the companion I ventured a hurried glance upwards. My
heart seemed for a moment to stand still, as I saw a huge black mass,
rather than a wave of water, towering high above us. So monstrous,
so steep did it seem, that until one felt the vessel rising, it seemed
impossible that anything framed by man could surmount so precipitous
a wall. Piles of foam rose still higher in the air, which was filled
with a pale, ghastly light when the moon showed herself occasionally
between the great heavy banks of clouds, as if afraid to look fully
forth on such a weird scene of chaos and confusion. But worse even
than the sight was the overpowering noise--the uproar. Instead of
diminishing as day began to dawn the rush and the roar deepened,
until the senses seemed carried away by the mighty clamour, and the
brain seemed to whirl, as if it also was the sport of the tremendous
wind. Everything was crashing, first on one side, then on the other.
In the midst of this wild turmoil a deep unearthly sound rang through
the vessel--the slow, heavy toll of a bell that seemed to come from
beneath the sea. For a moment our crew, all Italians, but as brave a
set of men as ever trod a deck, seemed paralyzed. Again the warning
sound pealed forth; several fell on their knees on receiving as they
believed so direct an intimation of our fate.
Mr. Harvey and the captain rushed below, for it was absolutely
necessary to ascertain the cause. Happily in their anxious search the
ominous sound was again heard as they passed through the galley. Two
very large copper pans had got loose, and when the vessel rolled
heavily one way, they struck against each other, and the blow produced
the solemn clang that had appeared so terrific. Fortunately, therefore,
the dark omen became a cause of merriment to our superstitious but
light-hearted sailors.
Many a ghost-story, probably, has quite as prosaic an origin.
Before the gale began the evening had been oppressively warm; my window
on deck had, therefore, been opened. In the hurry and confusion that
ensued when the squall came on, it had been closed, but not securely
fastened, and I was suddenly and most disagreeably reminded of the
omission. Quite worn out with fatigue and anxiety, I had gone to my
cabin to lie down for half an hour, when the yacht made an unusually
heavy plunge, and the window burst open, just as a cataract of spray
and water poured over the deck. Down came a torrent into my cabin,
destroying in a minute all the freshness and coquetry of the pretty
lace curtains and pink ribbons, and giving me and all my belongings a
thorough bath. A more unpleasant sensation can scarcely be imagined,
though a few months' yachting gives one a miserable equanimity about
spoiling clothes. Sometimes when a very favourite garment is found
covered with a verdant coating of green mould, a few indignant remarks
are made upon sea-damp; but, generally speaking, any little spirit
on the subject, any little vanity is early crushed, and one remains
calm in mind and shabby in person to the end of the voyage.
Towards mid-day on Thursday the gale broke a little, that is to say,
there were longer intervals between the squalls, but it was an anxious
time, for we were off Cape Karempi, and the most dangerous part of
the Black Sea navigation lies between this point and Cape Aia on the
northern coast. Nearly half the wrecks take place near this cape. The
currents are numerous and very strong, and for more than a hundred
miles not a harbour nor place of refuge is to be found. Alas! for the
luckless vessel which may be driven too near these cruel rocks! Little
hope for her in a northerly gale, should this iron-bound coast,
with its miles of foaming breakers, come in sight.
Many were the anxious inquiries we made as to our position with
reference to this dreaded cape. Happily, we had every reason to
believe that we were well out to sea, and the vessel now lay-to,
without shipping a drop of water.
Although worn out with fatigue, it was impossible to sleep all Thursday
night, so tremendous was the rolling. We were quite black and blue
from the bruises we had in consequence of being so tossed from side
to side in our cots.
On Friday morning both sea and wind became more moderate, and for
many hours we slept the sound sleep of the tired. In the afternoon
we bethought ourselves of our unfortunate menagerie, and went to see
how the poor creatures had fared during the storm.
The unlucky geese had been the greatest sufferers. Little they thought
when they left the peaceful farmyard at Karani of what was in store
for them. The water had been so constantly over the fore part of the
vessel, and the cold had been so great, that the men had good-naturedly
taken the poor things to the forecastle.
One luckless goose, however, either from fright or from having
imprudently committed a slight excess in drinking half a bottle of
turpentine, had been seized with fits, and remained in an alarming
state for many hours. We were much grieved, thinking her last moment
had come, for she was lying on her back, feebly kicking in a deplorable
fashion, when, with a supreme effort, she dragged herself into the
coal-hole, and convulsively began to swallow some bits of coal.
We left in sadness, thinking this could only be the last expiring
struggle; but an hour later we received a bulletin to say the patient
was not only alive, but better, and in the evening she was pronounced
convalescent, her remedy having proved most effectual.
However, between the fits and the coals, our friend presents a
lamentable spectacle: the fits have caused her wings to twist inside
out, and the coals have given her such a sooty tinge, that not a
trace remains of her once beautiful snowy plumage.
We hear that many a candle has been vowed by the men to their favourite
shrines. They have behaved admirably; but few of them had ever been
in the Black Sea, and none had seen a storm there before.
Even the imperturbable Charlie says he has never known an "uglier"
gale. The crew's admiration of the behaviour of the Claymore is
quite unbounded; they cannot praise her enough. She has certainly
weathered the storm gallantly, and has come gloriously out of the
combat, without having sustained any injury to speak of--only a rope
or two gone and a block broken.
On Saturday morning we were safely anchored off the Water Gate in
Sevastopol harbour, and remained there a few days to recruit our
somewhat exhausted strength.
Each day brought sad accounts of the numerous wrecks that had taken
place in this storm, the most severe that has been known for years.
Amongst other catastrophes, it gave us a great shock to hear of
the total loss of the Persian emigrant steamer that we had seen at
Sinope. She went down very suddenly early on Thursday morning. A
mate and three seamen clung to a spar, were picked up, and brought
to Kamiesch. Every other soul on board perished. The men say the
vessel was leaky and overladen. It was frightful to think that all
those poor creatures we had seen only a few days ago had met with so
terrible an end.
The papers are full of the disasters that have taken place.
Before entering the Bosphorus we met the English man-of-war kindly sent
by our friends at Constantinople in search of us, for our lengthened
absence and the tremendous gale had alarmed them for our safety.
The next day we were at Therapia, perfectly happy, not only in the
rest of so charming a haven, but in being once more with most dear
and valued friends.
THE END.
BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
NOTE
[1] Apartments belonging to the men.