RUNNING DOWN THE TRADES.
At four in the afternoon we hoisted the sails and weighed the anchor.
I was at the helm at the time, and was very surprised at the
extraordinary manner in which the vessel now behaved. She seemed
bewitched; a nice breeze was blowing, her sails were full, and yet she
gathered no way on her, forged not a foot ahead, but remained where
she was, tumbling about uneasily on the long ground-swell.
She was acting for all the world like an obstinate buckjumping horse.
Never before had the amiable old yawl evinced any signs of temper, and
this display grieved me very much, for I had thought better of her.
This strange behaviour went on for quite a minute, when suddenly she
seemed to come to her senses, gave herself a shake, and with a quick
leap darted ahead and was rushing through the water in her usual
steady style.
One of the crew now happened to look over the side, and called the
attention of the others to something that he saw dangling there. There
was a roar of laughter. The good old vessel had been cruelly wronged
by our suspicions; she was entirely innocent of obstinacy or temper of
any sort. Our purser alone was to blame for what had occurred. He was
a most energetic but unsuccessful fisherman, and had come on board at
Southampton well provided with fishing tackle of all descriptions; he
was prepared for every inhabitant of the deep, from the narwhal and
the whale to whelks and whitebait. So on this afternoon, while we were
getting ready for sea, he had been vainly attempting to catch sharks
with a bit of our condemned beef as bait, and had forgotten to take
his line on board when we got under weigh. The stout shark hook had
got hold of the rocks at the bottom and had securely anchored us by
the stern. The strong line held well, but something had to give way
before the increasing straining of the vessel as the wind filled her
sails; on hauling in the line we found that one arm of the hook had
broken off and so released us.
At sunset the desert islets faded out of sight, and we sailed on
through the night across a smooth sea with a light westerly breeze on
our beam.
That we failed to discover the treasure on the Salvages did not
dishearten my companions in the least. It is true that all had
realised beforehand how remote were our chances of success; still, it
was very encouraging to find that there was no grumbling or expression
of disappointment after those four days of hard digging in vain under
a hot sun: it argued well for the way in which these men would face
the far greater difficulties of Trinidad.
On the following morning, September 18, we caught sight of the Peak of
Teneriffe, about twenty miles distant. We sailed past the north point
of the island, coasted by the volcanic mountains that, with their
barren inhospitable crags, give so little indication of the fertile
vales within, and came to an anchor at 2 p.m. off Santa Cruz.
The Port doctor immediately came off to us, and was quite satisfied
with my bill of health for Sydney, and my explanation that we had
called here for provisions and water; so he gave us pratique without
demur.
Then land-clothes were donned, and some of my companions went on shore
to enjoy the luxuries of civilisation once again.
Santa Cruz is a pleasant little place, and seemed to me to have
improved a good deal since my last visit. The hotels at any rate are
far better than they were; I remember that it was once impossible to
get a decent meal in the town, but we were now quite satisfied with
the International Hotel in the Plaza. It is under English management,
and several of our countrymen and countrywomen were passing the winter
there. Some of my companions dined at this hotel every night during
our stay, and expressed themselves well contented with the table; like
all pirates, they were, of course, great gourmets while on shore and
knew the difference between good and bad.
We remained a week at Santa Cruz, being delayed by a variety of
causes, so some of the party were enabled to travel over the island on
donkeys and see its peculiar scenery.
A very sharp little ragged boy took a great fancy to the 'Alerte'
crew. He insisted on protecting the innocent foreigners and acting as
their cicerone when they walked about the town. He drove all other
beggars and loafers away from them, and even bullied the sentries when
they raised objections to a couple of my men trespassing on the
forbidden precincts of the citadel. This urchin was afraid of no one,
and was very intelligent; as few of us understood his Spanish, he
communicated all that he had to say by means of a most expressive
pantomime. It was grand to observe his apologetic manner when he took
us into the cathedral and showed us the flags that had been captured
from Nelson during his disastrous attack on Teneriffe in 1797. He
looked up into our faces with a solemn and sympathetic look. He would
not hurt our feelings for worlds.
The ragged urchins of Santa Cruz are as like each other as so many
John Chinamen; so, when our own particular boy was not by, some other
would come to us with a welcoming smile and attempt to impersonate
him. Therefore, in order to distinguish our own from his pretenders,
we decorated him with an old brass button, which he wore proudly on
his breast.
I will not attempt here a description of this so often described
island. In my opinion it must be a far pleasanter winter resort than
that somewhat melancholy island Madeira, where there is a depressing
sense of being imprisoned by the steep mountains. The mountains of
Teneriffe are still higher, but there are broad and beautiful plains
beneath them that give an idea of freedom and breathing-room. There
are excellent hotels in other portions of Teneriffe, and in the
neighbourhood of Santa Cruz there are many beautifully situated villas
and chateaux belonging to the native gentry that can be hired at very
moderate rates indeed, while provisions are good and cheap.
The ship's complement was diminished by two at Santa Cruz, the
boatswain and one of the volunteers leaving us.
Before sailing we took on board a large quantity of stores, including
barrels of salt beef which proved to be of a very inferior quality to
that we had brought from Southampton, but this was ancient, and,
having arrived at a certain stage of nastiness, was not likely to get
any worse. The paid hands quite approved of it, for it was at any rate
better than that served out on the majority of merchant vessels. We
also procured some very fair native wine, like a rough port, which,
mixed with water, formed a wholesome drink for the tropics. The high
temperature we experienced while crossing the equator nearly spoiled
this, so that we had to fortify it further with rum in order to
preserve it. On the last day of our stay we went to the excellent
fruit market, and laid in a good supply of grapes, bananas, and other
fruits and vegetables. We also purchased a quantity of the cheap
native cigars; so for a while we lived luxuriously on board ship.
I would have sailed from here direct for Bahia, at which port--as
being the nearest to Trinidad--it was my intention to fill up with
water and other necessaries before commencing our chief operations;
but as letters were awaiting many of us at St. Vincent in the Cape
Verdes I decided to call at that island on the way.
At 9 a.m., September 25, we weighed anchor and sailed to St. Vincent.
The distance is a little under 900 miles, which we accomplished in
seven days.
For the first three days we encountered south to south-east winds,
with fine weather. On September 28 the wind veered to the north-east,
being thus right aft. As the boom of our racing spinnaker was a very
heavy spar and formed a considerable top weight while standing along
the mainmast in the usual way, we unshipped it from its gooseneck and
laid it on deck.
We had now come into a region of strong trades. The wind was fresh and
squally and we ran through the night with the tack of our mainsail
triced well up and our mizzen stowed.
On the following day, September 29, the glass was still falling, and
the sea running up astern of us was occasionally high and steep. There
were signs of worse weather coming, so we prepared for it by striking
the topmast, lowering our mainsail, and setting our trysail. The day's
run was 174 miles.
The glass had given us a false alarm after all; for on the following
day the wind moderated, and we were enabled to hoist our large balloon
foresail; but a heavy sea was still rolling up from the north-east. It
was evident that a gale had been recently blowing over the disturbed
tract of ocean which we were now crossing.
The Cape Verde islands are frequently enveloped in clouds, so that
they cannot be distinguished until one is quite close to them. This
had been my former experience and the same thing occurred now. In the
night of October 1, we knew that we were in the vicinity of the island
of St. Antonio, the northernmost of the archipelago, but right ahead
of us there stretched a great bank of cloud, concealing everything
behind. At last, however, a squall partly cleared the rolling vapour
and we perceived, a few miles distant, the black mountainous mass of
the island, whose volcanic peaks rise to a height of upwards of 7,000
feet above the sea. Then the bright flash from the light-house on Bull
Point became visible.
The islands of St. Vincent and St. Antonio are separated from each
other by a channel two leagues broad, so I decided to heave to in
sight of the St. Antonio light until daybreak.
We got under weigh again at dawn, October 2, and in a few hours were
lying at anchor in Porto Grande Bay, St. Vincent. This desolate
island, which is an important coaling station and nothing else,
inhabited by a robust but ruffianly race of negroes, has been often
described; a mere cinder-heap, arid, bare of verdure, almost destitute
of water, it is the most dreary, inhospitable-looking place I know,
and the volcanic soil seems to soak in the rays of the tropical sun
and convert it into a veritable oven at times. But the dismalness of
nature is atoned for by the cheeriness and hospitality of one section
of the population. For the white community here is almost entirely
composed of Englishmen, the staff of the Anglo-Brazilian Telegraph
Company--of which this is a very important station--and the employes
of the two British coal-kings of the island. Though there had sprung
up a new generation of these young fellows since I had visited the
island in the 'Falcon,' yet I met several old friends whose
acquaintance I had then made.
Porto Grande, miserable place as it still is, had improved a good deal
since I had seen it last. There are hotels here now of a sort, and at
one of these on the beach, kept by a pleasant Italian and his
Provencal wife, we found it possible to lunch and dine very decently.
I notice that I have a tendency in this book to speak of little else
save the gastronomic possibilities of the ports I called at in the
course of the voyage. But I had visited and described all these places
before, and that is some excuse, for the sights were not new to me,
whereas a good dinner seems always to have the freshness of novelty.
This may sound disgustingly greedy to a sedentary and dyspeptic
person; but may I ask whether every sound Britisher does not look upon
the quality of his food as one of his most important considerations
during his travels abroad. How natural, then, was it that seafarers
like ourselves, who were seldom in port and whose diet for months
consisted chiefly of tough salt junk and weevily biscuit, should be
more vividly impressed by a luxurious meal on shore than by all the
lions of these foreign lands.
Here one of the volunteers, our poor old purser, generally known on
board as the bellman, left us, and returned to England. The state of
his health rendered it unwise for him to proceed further on a voyage
of this description.
Suspecting that I might lose others of my crew, I looked round Porto
Grande for two fresh paid hands. This is a very bad place to pick up
sailors in, but I was lucky in my search. I shipped two young coloured
men from the West Indies--one a native of St. Kitt's and, therefore,
an English subject, and the other a Dutchman, hailing from St.
Eustatius. These two negroes, whose names were respectively John
Joseph Marshall and George Theodosius Spanner, had been loafing about
Porto Grande for some time in search of a vessel. The poor fellows had
been jumped from a Yankee whaler that had called here.
'Jumping,' I may explain, for the benefit of those who do not know the
term, is the process by which an unprincipled skipper obtains a crew
for nothing. It is done in this way. Hands are shipped, say for a
whaling voyage. In time, long arrears of pay are due to the men, as
also are their shares in the results of the fishery. But the period
for which they have signed articles has not yet been completed, and so
they are at the captain's mercy for some time to come. This tyrant,
therefore, proceeds to ill-treat them to such an extent that, as soon
as a port is reached, they escape on shore and desert the vessel,
thereby forfeiting all claim to the money due to them. Thereupon the
skipper pockets the earnings of his men, and sails away with a fresh
crew, with whom he repeats the process. Some whaling captains are
great adepts at jumping, and will even sometimes bully the entire crew
into desertion. But those who are not masters of the art dare not risk
this, but content themselves with selecting a few hands only,
generally those who are weak or unpopular in the forecastle, as
victims for their brutality.
John Joseph and Theodosius, as being innocent West Indian blacks, had
been the victims of this particular skipper, and nine months' pay was
due to them when they deserted. John Joseph shipped with us as cook,
Wright being now rated as A.B., while Theodosius served before the
mast. They both proved to be excellent fellows.
We found fresh provisions very scarce and dear at Porto Grande. As a
rule, tropical fruits and vegetables are plentiful and cheap here, for
though St. Vincent is barren, the inner valleys of the neighbouring
island of St. Antonio are extremely fertile, and provisions of all
sorts, and even fresh water, are brought over from it in the native
boats. But small-pox happened now to be very prevalent among the negro
population of St. Antonio, so that the island was strictly
quarantined, and St. Vincent was cut off from its usual source of
supplies.
Our racing spinnaker and its boom had proved to be rather large and
unmanageable for the purposes of an ocean voyage; but our balloon
foresail was of about the right size for a cruising spinnaker. I
accordingly had a small boom made for it here, and it was invariably
used for the future in place of the unwieldy racing sail.
From St. Vincent we sailed across the Atlantic to Bahia in Brazil. I
had followed exactly the same route with the 'Falcon,' and found the
voyage a tedious one; for, on leaving the region of the north-east
trades, a vessel encounters the squally and rainy south-west African
monsoons, blowing right in her teeth; and, when these are passed,
there lies before one the broad belt of the equatorial doldrums, a
region of steaming, debilitating calms, that divides the north-east
from the south-east trades.
Under the impression that the log of a small vessel that had made this
uncomfortable passage might be of interest to yachting men, I
described this portion of the 'Falcon's' voyage in my book with more
minuteness than usual, with the result that one reviewer characterised
the perusal of that particular chapter as being 'like eating sawdust.'
I will profit by this warning, and spare my readers too much log of
calms and squalls, doldrums and monsoons, and treat them to as little
sawdust as possible.
With the 'Falcon' we accomplished the voyage from St. Vincent to Bahia
in twenty-two days; but with the 'Alerte' we were twenty-six days
doing this, for we were not so lucky in our weather, and were delayed
by a much longer spell of calms on the line than we had experienced in
the 'Falcon.'
We weighed anchor in the afternoon of October 9, and got out of the
harbour under all plain sail. For the first four days we did very
well; the wind was south-east and the sea moderate, so that at midday
of October 13 we were well on our way, being in latitude 2 deg. 25' north
and longitude 28 deg. 52' west.
But now our troubles commenced. With a squall the wind shifted to the
south-west, and we knew that we had reached the dreaded monsoon
region. The log was now a record for days of what sailors call dusty
weather, and I fear that the reading of it would prove 'sawdusty' in
the extreme. The south-west monsoon is accompanied by violent
thunderstorms, rain, and squalls, and the sea in this portion of the
ocean is perpetually confused, so that a vessel turning to windward
can make but little progress. Then we came into the abominable region
of calms, where we rolled helplessly on the smooth, long swell, while
our ropes and sails chafed themselves away with idleness, suffering
more wear and tear than they would in a week of gales. Ours was indeed
a very unpleasant experience of the doldrums. For some days we made no
progress whatever, not even an occasional squall coming down to help
us along for a mile or so. In two weeks we only travelled 400 miles,
and we did not cross the equator until October 27.
We saw few vessels on this voyage. We spoke two: the French mail
steamer 'Parana,' homeward-bound, and the British ship 'Merioneth,' of
Liverpool, bound south.
We were not only unlucky with our winds but also with our fishing.
While crossing this sea on the 'Falcon' we had caught quantities of
dolphins, thrashers, and kingfish; but on this voyage we caught
nothing until we had sighted Fernando Noronha, when we did manage to
secure a barracouta and a kingfish.
While rolling about helplessly in the dreary doldrums in the
atmosphere of a Turkish bath, there was nothing to interest us save
the sunrises and sunsets over the monotonous, oily-looking sea. And
these for several days in succession were more magnificent than I
think I have ever seen before. Sometimes the whole heaven seemed
ablaze with flames, and at other times sharply-defined, black, opaque
masses of cloud stood out in strange contrast to a background of
brilliant and transparent colour, and behind the nearer atmosphere one
caught glimpses of vast spreads of the most delicate and tender tints,
pink, green, blue, and creamy white, looking like a glorious placid
ocean of light infinitely far away, studded with ever-changing fairy
islands. With the exercise of a very little imagination one could
distinguish on that wonderful equatorial sky oceans and continents,
mountains of snow and glowing volcanoes, and immense plains of
indescribable beauty.
One of the characteristics of the atmosphere of the doldrums is the
opaque appearance of the lower banks of clouds. At night they often
look like solid black walls close to one; so much so that I was twice
called up by our absurd second mate, who had been terrified by the
sudden discovery that a large, hitherto unknown island was just under
our lee.
We fell in with the south-east trades when we were but two degrees
north of the equator; but it was not until we had crossed the line
that we were able to record anything like a good run each midday. We
were then sailing full and by, on the port tack, and the trades were
so high that for three days we were under two reefed mainsail and
reefed foresail, the vessel occasionally plunging her bows into the
short seas.
At dawn on October 29 we sighted the island of Fernando Noronha on the
port bow, and at midday we were close under it. This island, which is
about six miles long, presents a beautiful appearance from the sea,
with its lofty pinnacles of bare rock towering above the dense green
vegetation that covers the hill-sides. Fernando Noronha is used as a
penal settlement by the Brazilians, and is commanded by a major who
has a hundred black troops under him. There are about 1,500 convicts
on the island, chiefly blacks and mulattoes; but there is or recently
was, one Englishman among them. It is almost impossible for a prisoner
to escape, for there are no boats on the island, and the regulations
about landing are very strict; indeed, I believe that no foreign
vessel is allowed to hold any communication with the shore, unless in
want of water, or other urgent necessity.
On the morning of October 31 we sighted the Brazilian coast near
Pernambuco--a long stretch of golden sands beaten by the surf, fringed
with waving cocoa-nuts, behind which, far inland, were swelling ranges
of forest-clad mountains.
It was a beautiful and very tropical-looking shore, familiar to me,
for I had sailed by it on several previous occasions.
We now followed the coast for upwards of 400 miles, observing a
distance of five miles off it, so as to be clear of the outlying coral
reefs. We passed many of the native fishing catamarans manned by naked
negroes, quaint rafts with triangular sails and decks that were under
water with every wave.
For three days we coasted along this beautiful land with a favouring
wind. On Saturday night, November 2, we opened out the entrance of the
Reconcavo or Gulf of Bahia, and, sailing up, we let go our anchor at
midnight off the city of Bahia, close under Fort la Mar, where I had
anchored in the 'Falcon.'
All my companions were amazed at the beautiful appearance of the city
as seen from the sea by night. The churches and houses of the upper
town gleaming like white marble in the moonlight, with lofty cabbage
palms and rank tropical vegetation growing between, the long lines of
well-lit streets extending for miles round the bay, gave them an idea
of the magnificence of Bahia that a walk through the dirty streets by
daylight on the morrow did much to modify. The old Portuguese city is
picturesque but scarcely magnificent.