HOVE TO.
It was blowing hard on the day of our departure from Bahia, and we
sailed down the bay under mizzen and head sails, so as to see what it
was like outside before hoisting our mainsail.
A high sea was running on the bar, and while the yacht was tumbling
about in the broken water, an accident happened to Wright. He was
preparing our tea, when a lurch of the vessel capsized a kettle of
boiling water, the whole contents of which poured over his hands and
wrists, scalding them severely, and causing intense pain; so that we
had to administer a strong sleeping draught to the poor fellow, after
the usual remedies had been applied to the scalded parts. He was on
the sick list for a long time, and was, of course, incapable of doing
work of any description during this voyage; though, as soon as he got
a bit better, it worried him to think that he was of no use, and he
insisted, though his hands were bandaged up, in trying to steer with
his arms.
This accident made us still more short-handed. There were but three of
us left to work the vessel. Luckily, I had one good man with me, in
the person of Ted Milner, who not only did the cooking, but worked
hard on deck during my watch as well as on the other, and was very
cheery over it all the while, too.
When we were outside, we took two reefs down in the mainsail before
hoisting it, and close-reefed the foresail, for it was evident that we
were in for a spell of squally weather.
We had better luck now than during our previous attempt at reaching
Trinidad, for the wind, instead of being right ahead from the
south-east, kept shifting backwards and forwards between north and
east, so that we could always lay our course on the port tack, and
could often do so with our sheets well off. But the wind was squally
and uncertain, and for much of the time the sea was rough, so that we
were eight days in reaching the island.
At dawn on January 29, we sighted Trinidad, right ahead, and in the
afternoon we were about two miles off, opposite to the Ninepin rock.
It was blowing hard from the eastward, and the sea was, I think,
running higher than on any occasion since we left Southampton. The
surf on the island was far heavier than we had ever seen it before,
and was breaking on every portion of the coast with great fury.
We now ran before the wind towards South-west Bay, and the squalls
that occasionally swept down the ravines were so fierce that we sailed
with foresail down and the tack of our reefed mainsail triced well up.
We saw that the seas were dashing completely over the pier, and
sending great fountains of spray high into the air. When we opened out
South-west Bay the scene before us was terribly grand. Huge green
rollers, with plumes of snowy spray, were breaking on the sandy beach;
and the waves were dashing up the sides of Noah's Ark, and the
Sugarloaf to an immense height, the cliffs being wet with spray quite
200 feet up. The loud roaring of the seas was echoed by the mountains,
and the frequent squalls whistled and howled frightfully among the
crags, so that even the wild sea-birds were alarmed at the commotion
of the elements: for they had risen in multitudes from all the rocks
around the bay, and were flying hither and thither in a scared
fashion, while their melancholy cries added to the weirdness of the
general effect.
And once more we saw before us, high above the sea-foam, our little
camp, with its three tents, and the whale-boat hauled up on the sands
not far off, with its white canvas cover stretched over it; but we
were surprised to see no men about: the camp appeared to be deserted.
It was, obviously, impossible for the shore-party to launch the boat
with so high a sea running, neither could we approach within
signalling distance of the beach; so that there was no chance of our
being able to communicate with our friends for the present. I also saw
that it would be highly imprudent, if not impossible, to come to an
anchor off the cascade with the yacht. There was to be no harbour for
us just yet, and the only thing to be done was to put to sea and heave
to until the weather improved.
We did not anticipate that we should have to wait long for this
improvement; but, as it turned out, we had to remain hove to for eight
days, before the state of the sea permitted the boat to come off to
us, during which time the bananas, pumpkins, and other luxuries of the
sort, which we had brought from Bahia for the working-party, began to
spoil, and we had to eat them ourselves to save them; so that, when at
last the men boarded us, we had but little left for them of the fresh
fruit and vegetables which were so grateful to them, though of oatmeal
and other provisions there was an ample store.
We soon discovered that it was much better in every way for the yacht
to be hove to than to be lying at anchor off Trinidad. To strain at
her chain in an ocean swell must be injurious even to such a strong
vessel as the 'Alerte' is; and, as I have said, we did pull one
hawse-pipe nearly out of her on the occasion that the chain got foul
of the rocks at the bottom, thus giving her a short nip. Even in fine
weather we experienced a lot of wear and tear; for the yacht used to
swing first in one direction, then in another, as the various flaws of
wind struck her, so that the chain was constantly getting round her
stem, and we found that a large piece of her copper had been worn away
in this manner, just below the water-line.
Had I fully realised before the great advantages of heaving to, I do
not think I should have ever let go my anchor at all here; but, in
that case, I should have been compelled to remain on board all the
while, and would not have had my fortnight's stay in camp. To remain
hove to off this lee side of the island is a very easy matter. Our
method was to sail out to sea from South-west Bay until we had got out
of the baffling local squalls into the steady breeze, and then we hove
to under reefed mainsail, small jib with sheet to windward, and helm
lashed. The yacht then looked after herself; and, as the wind was
always more or less off shore and the current was setting to the
south, she would drift away about twelve miles in the night towards
the open sea, always remaining right opposite our bay, so that those
on shore could see us at daybreak. We divided ourselves into three
watches at night, one man being sufficient for a watch, for he never
had anything to do but look-out for the passing vessels. Hove to as we
were under such short canvas the fiercest squall we ever encountered
had no effect on the vessel, and she was in every way very
comfortable.
In the morning we would hoist the foresail and tack towards South-west
Bay, so as to attempt communication with the shore; if that were
impossible, we hove to once more, to drift slowly seawards; and we
repeated this process several times in the course of a day, before we
finally sailed out for our night's rest on the bosom of the ocean.
We could sail into South-west Bay until we were abreast of the
Sugarloaf, but no further; we were then at least a mile and a quarter
from the camp, and it was difficult to read the signals of the
shore-party at that distance, as the flags they had with them were of
a small size.
To have approached nearer than this would have been a very risky
proceeding; for, though we might have succeeded in getting some way
further in, and out again, with safety, time after time, the day would
most assuredly have come when a serious accident would have happened.
For, as soon as the yacht had sailed across the line connecting the
two extreme points of the bay, the high cliffs diverted the wind so
that it was only felt occasionally, and then in short squalls, from
various directions; and between those baffling squalls were long
spells of calm, during which the vessel would drift helplessly before
the swell towards the surf under the cliffs, or would be carried by
the southerly current towards the lava reefs off South Point, in both
cases at imminent risk of destruction. And even when the squalls did
come down to render assistance, they shifted so suddenly that the
sails were taken aback two or three times in as many minutes, so that
all way was lost, or even stern way was got on the vessel, and one
lost control over her at a critical moment.
The 'Alerte' sailed into that bay a great many times without mishap;
but there were anxious moments now and then, and I was always glad to
escape out of this treacherous trap to the open sea, clear of the
rocks and squalls, with deep water round, and a comparatively steady
wind to help me.
We remained thus, standing off and on, and hove to, during the rest of
our stay at Trinidad. Our anchor was never let go here again. We had
been lucky with our weather when we first arrived at the island, and
had successively landed our working-party and stores, and our
whale-boat had been beached in South-west Bay a good many times,
without serious accident, though very seldom without risk. But now all
this was changed. High seas and squally weather were the rule during
the eighteen days we remained hove to: for the first eight days, as I
have said, we were unable to hold communication with the shore; and,
after that, there were but few occasions on which we could beach the
boat, and then this feat was generally attended with a capsize, loss
of property, and risk of life. But, fortunately, as will be seen, the
two days preceding our final departure from the islet were fine, and
we were thus enabled to carry off our tents and other stores. Had it
not been for this short spell of calm, we should have probably been
compelled to leave behind everything we possessed.
The fine season here is in the southern summer--our winter. In
winter--especially in the months of June, July, and August--landing on
Trinidad is almost always impossible. Strong winds and heavy rains
then prevail, while the seas run high. It is possible that the fine
weather was now beginning to break up, and that when we sailed from
the island--February 15--the stormy autumn season was setting in.
The ship's log for this period presents a monotonous repetition of
vain attempts at boating, as the following short record of our
proceedings for the first eight days will show. It will be remembered
that we arrived off the island and hove to on the evening of January
29.
_January 30._--Sailed into South-west Bay after breakfast. Though
we saw the camp standing as we had left it, could not perceive any
men, neither had we done so on the previous day. Wonder if, for some
reason or other, the shore-party have left the island, and been
carried away by a passing vessel? Drift out of bay and heave to. In
afternoon sail into bay again. This time are glad to see all the men
walking down to the beach. We signal for news. They reply, 'All well,'
and 'Too rough for boating.' We signal, that we have brought them some
letters from Bahia. When outside bay heave to for night.
_January 31._--At dawn ten miles off island. Tack towards island.
Sea high; squally. Sail into bay. No signals from shore. We conclude
it is too rough for boating, and that the men are at work in the
ravine. In afternoon sail again into bay. No signals. Heave to for
night, as before.
_February 1._--Sail into bay in morning. See the men on shore
taking the cover off the whale-boat, as if with the intention of
coming off. They drag her down to the edge of the sea. We cannot now
distinguish them, so cannot tell whether they have launched the boat
or not, or whether they have capsized, or what may have happened. All
is hidden from us for some time; then we see them hauling the boat up
the beach again. They have evidently abandoned the attempt as too
dangerous. Very squally. While hove to, drive a long way from island.
In evening, sail towards the bay again and heave to for night.
_February 2._--Heavy showers of rain obscuring island from our
view. Enter bay in morning. It being Sunday no work is done in the
ravine, but the shore-party make many fruitless attempts at launching
the boat during the day. We stand in and out of the bay all day,
watching the proceedings of those on shore through our glasses. On
several occasions the men draw the boat down to the edge of the sea,
disappear from our sight for a time, and at last reappear hauling the
boat up again. They persevere despite repeated failures. Think they
have capsized once at least, as they are baling the boat out on the
beach. At last, at 4 p.m., they give up the attempt as hopeless, and
hoist the signal: 'Impossible to launch lifeboat.' We exchange several
signals, but find it difficult to distinguish their small flags from
the yacht. At sunset we sail out to sea and heave to. Choppy sea.
Tumble about a good deal. Stormy-looking sky.
_February 3._--This morning very clear; so see distinctly for
first time the three rocky islets of Martin Vas, distant about
twenty-five miles from Trinidad, bearing east. Sail into bay. Again
several vain attempts to launch boat. Heave to. Drift this night
upwards of fifteen miles from island.
_February 4._--Sail into bay. Still high surf. A signal flying on
shore which we cannot distinguish, so sail somewhat nearer in. Are
becalmed under Sugarloaf. Then a squall--then taken aback by another
squall--then calm again. We drift towards Noah's Ark, up whose face
the sea is breaking fifty or sixty feet high. Another squall; wear
vessel and clear out of bay. A very squally day, with baffling winds
making it more than usually dangerous to enter the bay.
* * * * *
At last, on February 5, after having made three vain attempts to cross
the barrier of tumbling surf, the whale-boat was successfully
launched, and we saw her come out safely from the line of breakers at
the end of the bay; then the men pulled away towards us, visible one
moment as the boat rose to the top of the swell, and hidden the next
moment from our sight by the rollers as she sank into the valleys
between them.
We sailed into the bay to meet her, and hove to abreast of the
Sugarloaf. The boat came nearer, and we saw that the doctor, Powell,
Pursell, and the two black men, were in her. It was now thirty-eight
days since we had last seen our companions. They all looked gaunt and
haggard, and were clad in flannel shirts and trousers, ragged and
earth-stained from the work in the ravine.
But they were the same cheery boys as ever, as I discovered by the
jovial manner of their greeting as soon as they were within hail.
'Hullo!' sang out the doctor, 'what vessel's that, and where do you
come from? I am the doctor of the port here. Hand over your bill of
health, that I may see whether you can have pratique.'
'And I am the governor of this island of Trinidad,' cried Powell, with
affable pompousness from under an extraordinary hat that had been
manufactured by himself, apparently out of the remains of old hampers
and bird's-nests; 'will you do me the honour of dining with me at
Government House to-night? I shall be glad to learn from you how the
revolution is progressing in our neighbouring State of Brazil. I was
just on the point of sending out my squadron here'--patting the
whale-boat on the side--'to Bahia, to look after the interests of any
of our subjects who may be there.'
It was startling for us to find that these dwellers on a desert island
had already heard of the Brazilian revolution, and we were still more
amazed when they proved to us that they were well informed as to all
that had been going on in the outer world. We had been looking forward
to imparting the latest news to them, but lo! all that we had to tell
was stale to them. They kept us in a state of mystification for some
time before they revealed the source of this marvellous knowledge, and
the only information that Powell would vouchsafe us on the subject was
to the effect that:--'We found it slow here without the newspapers at
breakfast, and have established telegraphic communication with
England. All the latest racing intelligence comes through the tape in
the doctor's tent.' But, before asking any questions, we greeted our
long-absent friends. They came on board and had a good square meal,
such as they had not enjoyed for a long time, with red wine, cigars,
and other luxuries, and after this we sat down to a long yarn and an
exchange of news.