The same day, I met with one of those narrow escapes which are so
often happening in a sailor's life. I had been aloft nearly all
the afternoon, at work, standing for as much as an hour on the
fore top-gallant yard, which was hoisted up, and hung only by the
tie; when, having got through my work, I balled up my yarns, took
my serving-board in my hand, laid hold deliberately of the
top-gallant rigging, took one foot from the yard, and was just
lifting the other, when the tie parted, and down the yard fell. I
was safe, by my hold upon the rigging, but it made my heart beat
quick. Had the tie parted one instant sooner, or had I stood an
instant longer on the yard, I should inevitably have been thrown
violently from the height of ninety or a hundred feet, overboard;
or, what is worse, upon the deck. However, ``a miss is as good as
a mile''; a saying which sailors very often have occasion to use.
An escape is always a joke on board ship. A man would be ridiculed
who should make a serious matter of it. A sailor knows too well
that his life hangs upon a thread, to wish to be often reminded of
it; so, if a man has an escape, he keeps it to himself, or makes a
joke of it. I have often known a man's life to be saved by an
instant of time, or by the merest chance,-- the swinging of a
rope,-- and no notice taken of it. One of our boys, off Cape Horn,
reefing topsails of a dark night when there were no boats to be
lowered away, and where, if a man fell overboard, he must be left
behind, lost his hold of the reef-point, slipped from the
foot-rope, and would have been in the water in a moment, when the
man who was next to him on the yard, French John, caught him by
the collar of his jacket, and hauled him up upon the yard, with,
``Hold on, another time, you young monkey, and be d---d to you!''--
and that was all that was heard about it.
Sunday, August 7th. Lat. 25° 59' S., lon. 27° 0' W. Spoke the
English bark Mary Catherine, from Bahia, bound to Calcutta. This
was the first sail we had fallen in with, and the first time we
had seen a human form or heard the human voice, except of our own
number, for nearly a hundred days. The very yo-ho-ing of the sailors
at the ropes sounded sociably upon the ear. She was an old,
damaged-looking craft, with a high poop and top-gallant forecastle,
and sawed off square, stem and stern, like a true English
``tea-wagon,'' and with a run like a sugar-box. She had
studding-sails out alow and aloft, with a light but steady breeze,
and her captain said he could not get more than four knots out of
her, and thought he should have a long passage. We were going six
on an easy bowline.
The next day, about three P.M., passed a large corvette-built
ship, close upon the wind, with royals and skysails set fore and
aft, under English colors. She was standing south-by-east,
probably bound round Cape Horn. She had men in her tops, and black
mast-heads; heavily sparred, with sails cut to a t, and other
marks of a man-of-war. She sailed well, and presented a fine
appearance; the proud, feudal-looking banner of St. George-- the
cross in a blood-red field-- waving from the mizzen. We probably
were nearly as fine a sight, with our studding-sails spread far
out beyond the ship on either side, and rising in a pyramid to
royal studding-sails and skysails, burying the hull in canvas and
looking like what the whalemen on the Banks, under their stump
top-gallant-masts, call ``a Cape Horn-er under a cloud of sail.''
Friday, August 12th. At daylight made the island of Trinidad,
situated in lat. 20° 28' S., lon. 29° 08' W. At twelve M., it
bore N.W. 1/2 N., distant twenty-seven miles. It was a beautiful
day, the sea hardly ruffled by the light trades, and the island
looking like a small blue mound rising from a field of glass.
Such a fair and peaceful-looking spot is said to have been, for
a long time, the resort of a band of pirates, who ravaged the
tropical seas.
Thursday, August 18th. At three P.M., made the island of Fernando
Naronha, lying in lat. 3° 55' S., lon. 32° 35' W.; and between
twelve o'clock Friday night and one o'clock Saturday morning
crossed the equator, for the fourth time since leaving Boston,
in lon. 35° W.; having been twenty-seven days from Staten Land,--
a distance, by the courses we had made, of more than four thousand
miles.
We were now to the northward of the line, and every day added to
our latitude. The Magellan Clouds, the last sign of south
latitude, had long been sunk, and the North Star, the Great Bear,
and the familiar signs of northern latitudes, were rising in the
heavens. Next to seeing land, there is no sight which makes one
realize more that he is drawing near home, than to see the same
heavens, under which he was born, shining at night over his head.
The weather was extremely hot, with the usual tropical
alternations of a scorching sun and squalls of rain; yet not a
word was said in complaint of the heat, for we all remembered that
only three or four weeks before we would have given our all to be
where we now were. We had a plenty of water, too, which we caught
by spreading an awning, with shot thrown in to make hollows. These
rain squalls came up in the manner usual between the tropics. A
clear sky; burning, vertical sun; work going lazily on, and men
about decks with nothing but duck trousers, checked shirts, and
straw hats; the ship moving as lazily through the water; the man
at the helm resting against the wheel, with his hat drawn over his
eyes; the captain below, taking an afternoon nap; the passenger
leaning over the taffrail, watching a dolphin following slowly in
our wake; the sailmaker mending an old topsail on the lee side of
the quarter-deck; the carpenter working at his bench, in the
waist; the boys making sinnet; the spun-yarn winch whizzing round
and round, and the men walking slowly fore and aft with the yarns.
A cloud rises to windward, looking a little black; the skysails
are brailed down; the captain puts his head out of the
companion-way, looks at the cloud, comes up, and begins to walk
the deck. The cloud spreads and comes on; the tub of yarns, the
sail, and other matters, are thrown below, and the sky-light and
booby-hatch put on, and the slide drawn over the forecastle.
``Stand by the royal halyards''; and the man at the wheel keeps a
good weather helm, so as not to be taken aback. The squall strikes
her. If it is light, the royal yards are clewed down, and the ship
keeps on her way; but if the squall takes strong hold, the royals
are clewed up, fore and aft; light hands lay aloft and furl them;
top-gallant yards are clewed down, flying-jib hauled down, and the
ship kept off before it,-- the man at the helm laying out his
strength to heave the wheel up to windward. At the same time a
drenching rain, which soaks one through in an instant. Yet no one
puts on a jacket or cap; for if it is only warm, a sailor does not
mind a ducking; and the sun will soon be out again. As soon as the
force of the squall has passed, though to a common eye the ship
would seem to be in the midst of it,-- ``Keep her up to her course
again!''-- ``Keep her up, sir,'' (answer.)[1]-- ``Hoist away the
top-gallant yards!''-- ``Run up the flying-jib!''-- ``Lay aloft,
you boys, and loose the royals!'' and all sail is on her again
before she is fairly out of the squall; and she is going on in her
course. The sun comes out once more, hotter than ever, dries up
the decks and the sailors' clothes; the hatches are taken off; the
sail got up and spread on the quarter-deck; spun-yarn winch set a
whirling again; rigging coiled up; captain goes below; and every
sign of an interruption disappears.
These scenes, with occasional dead calms, lasting for hours, and
sometimes for days, are fair specimens of the Atlantic tropics.
The nights were fine; and as we had all hands all day, the watch
were allowed to sleep on deck at night, except the man at the
wheel, and one lookout on the forecastle. This was not so much
expressly allowed as winked at. We could do it if we did not ask
leave. If the lookout was caught napping, the whole watch was kept
awake. We made the most of this permission, and stowed ourselves
away upon the rigging, under the weather rail, on the spars, under
the windlass, and in all the snug corners; and frequently slept
out the watch, unless we had a wheel or a lookout. And we were
glad enough to get this rest; for under the ``all-hands'' system,
out of every other thirty-six hours we had only four below; and
even an hour's sleep was a gain not to be neglected. One would
have thought so to have seen our watch some nights, sleeping
through a heavy rain. And often have we come on deck, and, finding
a dead calm and a light, steady rain, and determined not to lose
our sleep, have laid a coil of rigging down so as to keep us out
of the water which was washing about decks, and stowed ourselves
away upon it, covering a jacket over us, and slept as soundly as a
Dutchman between two feather-beds.
For a week or ten days after crossing the line, we had the usual
variety of calms, squalls, head winds, and fair winds,-- at one
time braced sharp upon the wind, with a taut bowline, and in an
hour after slipping quietly along, with a light breeze over the
taffrail, and studding-sails set out on both sides,-- until we
fell in with the northeast trade-winds; which we did on the
afternoon of--
Sunday, August 28th, in lat. 12° N. The trade-wind clouds had been
in sight for a day or two previously, and we expected to take the
trades every hour. The light southerly breeze, which had been
breathing languidly during the first part of the day, died away
toward noon, and in its place came puffs from the northeast, which
caused us to take in our studding-sails and brace up; and, in a
couple of hours more, we were bowling gloriously along, dashing
the spray far ahead and to leeward, with the cool, steady
northeast trades freshening up the sea, and giving us as much as
we could carry our royals to. These winds blew strong and steady,
keeping us generally upon a bowline, as our course was about
north-northwest; and, sometimes, as they veered a little to the
eastward, giving us a chance at a main top-gallant studding-sail,
and sending us well to the northward, until--
Sunday, September 4th, when they left us in lat. 22° N., lon. 51°
W., directly under the tropic of Cancer.
For several days we lay ``humbugging about'' in the Horse
latitudes, with all sorts of winds and weather, and occasionally,
as we were in the latitude of the West Indies,-- a thunder-storm.
It was hurricane month, too, and we were just in the track of the
tremendous hurricane of 1830, which swept the North Atlantic,
destroying almost everything before it.
The first night after the trade-winds left us, while we were in
the latitude of the island of Cuba, we had a specimen of a true
tropical thunder-storm. A light breeze had been blowing from aft
during the first part of the night, which gradually died away, and
before midnight it was dead calm, and a heavy black cloud had
shrouded the whole sky. When our watch came on deck at twelve
o'clock, it was as black as Erebus; the studding-sails were all
taken in, and the royals furled; not a breath was stirring; the
sails hung heavy and motionless from the yards; and the stillness
and the darkness, which was almost palpable, were truly appalling.
Not a word was spoken, but every one stood as though waiting for
something to happen. In a few minutes the mate came forward, and
in a low tone, which was almost a whisper, told us to haul down
the jib. The fore and mizzen top-gallant sails were taken in in
the same silent manner; and we lay motionless upon the water, with
an uneasy expectation, which, from the long suspense, became
actually painful. We could hear the captain walking the deck, but
it was too dark to see anything more than one's hand before the
face. Soon the mate came forward again, and gave an order, in a
low tone, to clew up the main top-gallant-sail; and so infectious
was the awe and silence that the clew-lines and buntlines were
hauled up without any singing out at the ropes. An English lad and
myself went up to furl it; and we had just got the bunt up, when
the mate called out to us something, we did not hear what,-- but,
supposing it to be an order to bear-a-hand, we hurried and made
all fast, and came down, feeling our way among the rigging. When
we got down we found all hands looking aloft, and there, directly
over where we had been standing, upon the main top-gallant
mast-head, was a ball of light, which the sailors call a corposant
(corpus sancti), and which the mate had called out to us to look
at. They were all watching it carefully, for sailors have a notion
that if the corposant rises in the rigging it is a sign of fair
weather, but if it comes lower down there will be a storm.
Unfortunately, as an omen, it came down, and showed itself on the
top-gallant yard-arm. We were off the yard in good season, for it
is held a fatal sign to have the pale light of the corposant
thrown upon one's face. As it was, the English lad did not feel
comfortably at having had it so near him, and directly over his
head. In a few minutes it disappeared, and showed itself again on
the fore top-gallant yard; and, after playing about for some time,
disappeared once more, when the man on the forecastle pointed to
it upon the flying-jib-boom-end. But our attention was drawn from
watching this, by the falling of some drops of rain, and by a
perceptible increase of the darkness, which seemed suddenly to add
a new shade of blackness to the night. In a few minutes, low,
grumbling thunder was heard, and some random flashes of lightning
came from the southwest. Every sail was taken in but the topsails;
still, no squall appeared to be coming. A few puffs lifted the
topsails, but they fell again to the mast, and all was as still as
ever. A moment more, and a terrific flash and peal broke
simultaneously upon us, and a cloud appeared to open directly over
our heads, and let down the water in one body, like a falling
ocean. We stood motionless, and almost stupefied; yet nothing had
been struck. Peal after peal rattled over our heads, with a sound
which seemed actually to stop the breath in the body, and the
``speedy gleams'' kept the whole ocean in a glare of light. The
violent fall of rain lasted but a few minutes, and was followed by
occasional drops and showers; but the lightning continued
incessant for several hours, breaking the midnight darkness with
irregular and blinding flashes. During all this time there was not
a breath stirring, and we lay motionless, like a mark to be shot
at, probably the only object on the surface of the ocean for miles
and miles. We stood hour after hour, until our watch was out, and
we were relieved, at four o'clock. During all this time hardly a
word was spoken; no bells were struck, and the wheel was silently
relieved. The rain fell at intervals in heavy showers, and we
stood drenched through and blinded by the flashes, which broke the
Egyptian darkness with a brightness that seemed almost malignant;
while the thunder rolled in peals, the concussion of which
appeared to shake the very ocean. A ship is not often injured by
lightning, for the electricity is separated by the great number of
points she presents, and the quantity of iron which she has
scattered in various parts. The electric fluid ran over our
anchors, topsail sheets and ties; yet no harm was done to us. We
went below at four o'clock, leaving things in the same state. It
is not easy to sleep when the very next flash may tear the ship in
two, or set her on fire; or where the deathlike calm may be broken
by the blast of a hurricane, taking the masts out of the ship. But
a man is no sailor if he cannot sleep when he turns-in, and turn
out when he's called. And when, at seven bells, the customary
``All the larboard watch, ahoy!'' brought us on deck, it was a
fine, clear, sunny morning, the ship going leisurely along, with a
soft breeze and all sail set.
[1] A man at the wheel is required to repeat every order given him.
A simple ``Aye, aye, sir,'' is not enough there.