OUR FIRST VOYAGE.
Our preparations were hurried on at Southampton, and I was never left
in peace, but was in a condition of perpetual work and travel, my sole
relaxation being the frequent farewell dinners given to myself and my
companions by our friends and sympathisers; and very jolly as these
dinners were, they were relaxations in the other sense of the term
rather than reposeful amusements for a weary man. Some of them were
arduous undertakings.
Our expedition interested the Southampton people a good deal, and all
wished us well; but I do not think many thought that we should be
successful in realizing our fortunes on Trinidad.
At last all was ready for our departure, when to my considerable
disgust, just as we were about to put to sea, two of the volunteers
suddenly found themselves prevented from going with us.
I forthwith telegraphed to others on my list of applicants, and at the
very last moment received telegrams from two gentlemen who were
willing to join at this short notice. When their messages arrived, all
my crew and other companions were on board, comfortably settled down,
having bidden their farewells and done with the shore; so I thought it
prudent to send them away from Southampton, where the 'Alerte' was
perpetually surrounded by boatfuls of visitors, to the seclusion of
the little bay under Calshot Castle at the mouth of Southampton Water.
Here they would be out of the way of temptation, as there are no
buildings save the coastguard station.
Therefore, on the evening of August 28, 1889, the 'Alerte' sailed
slowly down to Calshot, and came to an anchor there, while I waited at
Southampton until the following morning, with the object of securing
my new volunteers as soon as they should arrive, and carrying them
down to the yacht.
The said volunteers turned up early on August 29. Then, with a party
of some of my old Southampton friends, we steamed down the river on a
launch which had been very kindly placed at our disposal for the
purpose by the Isle of Wight Steamboat Company. Mr. Picket, of course,
would have nothing to do with work in his yard on that day; he took a
holiday and came down to see the last of us.
We were now all on board; but, finding that some of the fresh stores,
such as vegetables and bread, had not yet arrived, we postponed our
departure until the following day. In the meanwhile we were not idle;
we sent a boat to the Hamble River to fill up those breakers that had
been emptied, we got our whale-boat on deck and secured it, and, in
short, made all ready for sea.
On the following day the Isle of Wight boat, while passing, left the
missing stores with us; then Mr. Picket's sloop sailed down with some
friends who had determined to bid us even yet another last farewell;
and, after dinner, we weighed anchor and were off, while the friends
on the sloop and the crew of a yacht which was brought up near us gave
us a hearty good-bye in British cheers.
But our anchor had not yet had its last hold of English mud, and we
were not to lose sight of the Solent that day; for, in consequence of
some clumsiness, or possibly too much zeal on the part of those who
were catting the anchor, the bowsprit whisker on the starboard side
was doubled up; so we had to proceed to Cowes, and bring up there
while we sent the iron on shore to be put in the fire and straightened
again. However, this did not delay us much, for it fell a flat calm,
which lasted through the night; we were better off sleeping
comfortably at anchor than we should have been drifting helplessly up
and down with the tides.
At 11 a.m. the next morning, it being high-water, we weighed anchor,
and were really off at last, the weather glorious and hot, but the
wind light and variable.
For weeks, while we had been lying off Southampton, the weather had
been detestable--blusterous north-west winds, accompanied by heavy
rains, prevailing. But now, very opportunely for us, a complete change
set in just as we started, and it was evident that we were at the
commencement of a long spell of settled fine weather. I had
anticipated this luck; for I knew by experience that the last weeks of
August and the first weeks in September are the most favourable for a
voyage south across the bay, for then there generally comes a period
of moderate easterly winds and warm weather, which precedes the stormy
season of the equinox. Thus, when I sailed in the 'Falcon' at this
very time of the year, I was fortunate enough to carry a north-east
wind all the way from Southampton into the north-east trades, and I
was confident that we were destined to do something of the sort now;
nor was I disappointed.
We got outside the Needles, and, the wind being light from west to
south-west, we tacked very slowly down Channel, always in sight of the
English coast, until nightfall, when the wind dropped altogether, and
we lay becalmed in sight of Portland lights. It was our first Saturday
night at sea (August 31), so we kept up the good old fashion of
drinking to our wives and sweethearts at eight o'clock. We never
neglected this sacred duty on any Saturday night during the whole
cruise. A light air from the east sprang up at night, but, though we
now had racing spinnaker and topsail on the vessel, we made little
progress, and it seemed as if we could not lose sight of the lights of
Portland.
Throughout the following day--September 1--the same far too fine
weather continued, with light airs from various directions,
alternating with calms. But we did at last contrive to get out of
sight of land this day; Portland, to our delight, became invisible,
and we saw no more of the English coast.
This calm weather was trying to the patience; but it was perhaps well
for us to have this experience at the commencement of the voyage; for
it enabled the raw hands to settle down to their work quickly, and
there was but little sea-sickness on board.
At midday, September 2, we were off the chops of the Channel, a fresh
easterly wind that lasted some hours having carried us so far. Then
the wind fell again, and we sailed on in a very leisurely fashion
until the morning of September 5, when, being well in the middle of
the Bay of Biscay, the wind, which was from the south-east, began
gradually to freshen. First we were going five knots through the
water, then seven, and by midday we were travelling between eight and
nine. In the afternoon the wind increased to the force of a moderate
gale and the sea began to rise. During the night some rather high seas
rolled up after us occasionally, so that we had to bear away and run
before them, and only the old hands could be entrusted with the
tiller. We passed Finisterre on this night, but were too far off to
see the lights; and now we had done with the Bay of Biscay, which had
certainly treated the 'Alerte' with great consideration, and not shown
us any of its proverbial bad temper. The wind had gone down by midday
on the 6th, and the run for the previous twenty-four hours was found
to have been 158 miles.
From this date we kept up a fair average speed; though our voyage
could not be termed a smart one, for there was scarcely a day on which
we were not retarded by several hours of calm.
While going down Channel we had kept watch and watch in the usual sea
fashion, the first mate taking one watch and myself the other. But now
that we were out at sea, clear of all danger, it became unnecessary to
continue this somewhat wearisome four hours up and four hours down
system; so we divided ourselves into three watches, the second mate
taking the third watch. This gave the men an eight hours' rest below
at a stretch, instead of only four. As we had three paid hands in
addition to the cook, one of these was allotted to each watch. But
before reaching the South American coast the second mate resigned his
post, and we reverted to the watch-and-watch system again, which was
observed until the termination of the cruise.
A good deal of useless form was kept up at this early stage of the
voyage. A log-slate was suspended in the saloon, and each officer as
he came below would write up a full account of all that had occurred
in his watch. The most uninteresting details were minutely
chronicled--only to be rubbed off the slate each midday, and I think
there was a little disappointment expressed because I would not copy
all these down in my log-book. Had I done so that log-book would have
been a dreadful volume to peruse.
To us, however, the log-slate was a source of great amusement on
account of its utter fallaciousness. The patent log was, of course,
put overboard when we were making the land, but when we were out on
the ocean and no land was near us we naturally did not take the
trouble to do this, neither did we make use of the common log-ship or
keep a strict dead reckoning. But, despite this, the officer of a
watch would religiously jot down the exact number of knots and
furlongs he professed to have sailed during each of his four hours on
duty; he did not even try to guess the distance to the best of his
ability; he was fired with an ambition to show the best record for his
watch; so he would first scan the slate to see how many knots the
officer just relieved boasted to have accomplished, and then he would
unblushingly write down a slightly greater number of miles as the
result of his own watch, quite regardless of any fall in the wind or
other retarding cause.
Thus: if five knots an hour had been made in one watch, five and a
quarter would probably be logged for the next, and five and a half for
the next. Sometimes there was a flat calm throughout a watch, and then
the ingenious officer, though he could not help himself and was
compelled to write himself down a zero before three of the hours,
would compensate for this by putting down a big number in front of
that hour during which he imagined that all the individuals of his
rival watches were fast asleep below, and would boldly assert in
explanation that just then he had been favoured with a strong squall
to help him along.
No one put any confidence in this mendacious slate, which soon became
known on board as the 'Competition Log,' and inspired our wits with
many merry quips. The distance made in each twenty-four hours as
recorded by the Competition Log was about fifty per cent. greater than
that calculated from the observations of the sun.
At last, on the morning of September 13, having been fourteen days at
sea, and having accomplished a voyage of something under fifteen
hundred miles, we knew that we were in the close vicinity of the
Salvages, and a sharp look-out for land was accordingly kept. We had
seen nothing but water round us since leaving Portland Bill, and all
on board were excited at the prospect of so soon discovering what
manner of place was this desert treasure-island of which we had been
talking so much.
The Salvages lie between Madeira and the Canaries, being 160 miles
from the former and about 85 from Teneriffe. Vessels avoid their
vicinity, especially at night, on account of the dangerous shoals that
surround them. The description of the group in the 'North Atlantic
Memoir' is as follows:--
'The Salvages consist of an island named the Ilha Grande, or the Great
Salvage, a larger island named Great Piton, and a smaller one called
the Little Piton, together with several rocks. The Great Salvage lies
in lat. 30 deg. 8', long. 15 deg. 55'. It is of very irregular shape, and has
a number of rocks about it within the distance of a mile. It is much
intersected, and has several deep inlets, the most accessible of which
is on the east side. It is covered with bushes, amongst which the
thousands of sea-fowl make their nests. It is surrounded on all sides
with dangers, most of which show, but many require all caution in
approaching.
'The Great Piton lies at the distance of 8-1/4 miles W.S.W. 3/4 W.
from Ilha Grande. This islet is 2-3/8 miles long, and has a hill or
peak near its centre. The Little Piton lies at a mile from the western
side of the former, and is three-quarters of a mile long; both are
comparatively narrow. These isles are seated upon and surrounded by
one dangerous rocky bank, which extends from the western side of the
little isle half a league to the westward.'... 'The southern part of
the Great Piton appears green, its northern part barren. It may be
seen 5 or 6 leagues off. The Little Piton is very flat, and is
connected to the south point of the greater one by a continued ledge
of rocks. The whole of the eastern side of the Great Piton is rocky
and dangerous.'
A light north-east trade-wind was blowing, and we were running before
it at a fair rate through the smooth water, with topsail and racing
spinnaker set. It was a glorious morning, with but few clouds in the
sky, and those were of that fleecy, broken appearance that
characterises the regions of the trade-winds.
At 8.30 a.m. the man on the look-out at the cross-trees sang
out:--'Land right ahead, sir!' Yes--no doubt about it--there it was,
still several leagues off, a faint blue hill of rugged form on the
horizon; we had made an excellent land-fall. While we were straining
our eyes to make out the features of our desert island, our attention
was attracted to a still nearer object which suddenly gleamed out
snowy white as the sun's rays fell on it, triangular in form and
appearing like a small chalk rock, but too far off to be clearly
distinguished. Gradually we approached this, and, after a little
doubt, it proved to be no rock, but a sailing vessel of some kind.
Then with the aid of the binoculars we made her out; she was a small
schooner of foreign rig, evidently hailing from the Canaries or
Madeiras, and she was sailing as we were, shaping a course direct for
the island.
We had seen no vessel for several days, and the appearance of this
suspicious-looking craft caused some excitement on the 'Alerte.' We
called to mind the foreign fishermen who, according to rumour,
occasionally visit this uninhabited archipelago. Was this one of their
vessels? If so, there might be trouble ahead for us.
We rapidly gained on the enemy, though we were engaged in a stern
chase. This adventure put my crew in lively spirits, and I think that
some of them began half to imagine themselves to be bold privateers of
the olden days, after a Spaniard or a Frenchman.
Gradually we approached the Great Salvage, which, lying between us and
the Pitons, concealed the latter from our view. Its appearance was
very different from what we had expected. We had come to the
conclusion, I know not for what reason, that we should find an island
consisting for the most part of great sand-hills; but there was not
the smallest patch of sandy beach to be seen anywhere. Sheer from the
sea rose great rocks of volcanic formation, dark and rugged; and,
though we were still several miles off, we could perceive that the sea
was breaking heavily on every part of the weather coast, for we could
hear the booming of the rollers and see the frequent white flash of
the foam against the black cliff-sides. But above these precipices
towards the centre of the island there was a plateau, or rather an
undulating green down, with one steep green dome dominating all,
looking very fresh and pleasant to eyes that for two weeks had only
gazed at the monotonous plains of the sea.
As I have already explained, my informant from Exeter was of opinion
that the 'Prometheus' people were wrong in digging on the shores of
the Great Salvage, and that the treasure had been concealed on the
Great Piton or middle island. We decided in the first place to come to
an anchor off the Great Salvage, and after having explored that
island, to sail for the Great Piton.
According to the Admiralty charts there are two anchorages off the
Great Salvage, one in the East Bay and one in the South Bay. We
accordingly steered so as to coast down the east side of the island,
and thus open out both of these inlets.
At midday we were not quite a league astern of the schooner. She was
close under the north point of the island, when suddenly she hauled
her wind and steered in a westerly direction, seemingly for the open
sea; so we came to the conclusion that our excitement had been
groundless, and that in all probability we should not be troubled by
inquisitive foreigners during our exploration of the Salvages.
We soon found that it was necessary to exercise considerable caution
while approaching this island. Nearly two miles away from it there was
a shoal over which the sea was breaking heavily; we passed between
this and the island as directed by the chart, and kept close under the
shore, where the dark violet of the deep sea was changed for the
transparent green of comparatively shallow water. Here again we had to
pick our way through outlying rocks and shoals. One of these shoals is
particularly dangerous, for, as there is some depth of water over it,
the sea only occasionally breaks, and for a quarter of an hour at a
time there is nothing to indicate the danger, so that a vessel might,
through inadvertence, be taken right on to it.
When we were close to it the sea happened to break, and the sight was
a lovely, yet a terrible one. A huge green roller, very high and
steep, suddenly rose as if by magic from the deep; then swept over the
shoal, and, when it reached the shallowest part, its crest hung over,
forming a cavern underneath, through whose transparent roof the sun
shone with a beautiful green light; and lastly, the mass overtopping
itself fell with a great hollow sound, and was dashed to pieces in a
whirl of hissing foam. Had the old 'Alerte' been there at that moment
her end would have come swiftly, and perhaps ours too.
The chart seems to mark these rocks and breakers very correctly, and
there is small danger of falling a victim to them if proper
precautions are observed. Besides which, the water is so clear that
one can see through it many fathoms down, and a man in the cross-trees
with an eye experienced to the work could always detect a danger in
good time.
We rounded the north-east point and opened East Bay. We did not like
the look of the anchorage here, which is in ten fathoms, and could see
no good landing nor any signs of a sandy beach; so we sailed on and
doubled the south-east point and the shoals that extend some way from
it, suddenly opening out South Bay, the one in which it seems that the
'Prometheus' came to an anchor.
And then, to our astonishment, we beheld a very unexpected sight.
Rolling easily on the green ocean swell, at some three cables' length
from the shore, lay a small schooner at anchor; her crew--a
half-naked, bronzed, and savage-looking lot--were engaged in stowing
her mainsail. She was evidently the same schooner we had seen outside.
While we had been coasting round the east side of the island, she had
followed the west side, and here we had met again. But she was not the
only surprise in store for us. There were no sandy dunes in this bay;
its shores were steep and rocky, and on either side reefs, on which
the sea broke, protected the anchorage to some extent. At the head of
one picturesque cove, wherein was evidently the best landing-place,
were two small huts, put together of rough stones from the beach, and
from these a footpath wound up the bare volcanic cliffs to the green
plateau some four hundred feet above. A quantity of barrels were being
quickly landed here from one of the schooner's boats, and several
other wild-looking men were carrying these up to a cavern a little way
up the rocks behind the huts. The whole formed a wild and fantastic
picture. It was just such a scene as Salvator Rosa would have
delighted to paint, it would have suited the savage austerity of his
style. The rugged cove might well have been the haunt of smugglers or
pirates. And who, we wondered, were these people, and what were they
doing; these were mysterious proceedings for a desert island! The
evident labour of the men while carrying the barrels proved to us that
they were very heavy. 'Perhaps,' suggested one of us--'perhaps we have
just arrived at the right moment to interrupt another band of pirates
in the act of hiding another immense treasure.'
This would have been almost too great a stroke for my band of
adventurers. It would have been very pleasant to have saved ourselves
all the trouble of digging, and to have simply carried off the
evilly-earned hoard of these wicked men and divided it among our
virtuous selves. We had sanguine men on board whom no failure
disheartened, despite their invariable habit of counting their
chickens before they were hatched; so I was not surprised to be now
asked by the sportsman of our party how long I thought it would
take us to get back to England. When I had replied, he evinced
great satisfaction. 'Oh, that is all right then!' he said. 'We can
get this stuff on board and be back home just in time for the
pheasant-shooting; and, after that, we can fit out again and fetch
our other treasures.'
We came to an anchor in seven fathoms of water a short distance
outside the schooner. It was not the sort of roadstead I should like
to remain long in; for an iron-bound shore was before us, and around
were numerous shoals on which the rollers kept up a perpetual
hulla-balloo--a nasty trap to be caught in should the wind suddenly
veer to the southward.
It was after one o'clock when we brought up, so we decided to go below
and dine before doing anything else, and the conversation at table
became more piratical in its tone than ever. After the details of how
we were to enrich ourselves despite all obstacles had been thoroughly
discussed, each of the adventurers explained in what way he would
spend his share of the booty; how it should be invested was, of
course, far too prosaic a matter for his consideration.