HOMEWARD BOUND.
We had bidden farewell to the wild spot that had been our home for
three months, but we did not lose sight of Trinidad for upwards of
thirty hours.
We had got under weigh at sunset on February 14. A slight draught from
the hills carried us a mile or so outside North Point, when we were
becalmed and made no progress at all for many hours; and when at last
the north-east breeze sprang up, it was so very light that at eight on
the following morning the island was not more than twelve miles astern
of us.
Throughout the day calms and light airs succeeded to each other, and
at sunset the high peaks were still visible. The same weather
continued during our second night at sea, and at daybreak on February
16, we could just distinguish one faint blue mountain summit behind
us, the rest of the islet being below the horizon. But the wind now
freshened and all signs of the land soon disappeared, and once again
there was nothing to be seen round us but ocean.
It was evident that we were not to be favoured with the smart voyage I
had anticipated. We had fair winds, it is true, and a fair current,
but it was rare that we had fresh breezes, while long spells of calm
were frequent, so that we did not double Cape St. Roque till February
22.
Our best day's run up to this point was on the 19th, when we made 182
miles in the twenty-four hours--nothing much to boast of, seeing that
the difference between our distance, according to our dead reckoning
and that calculated by observation of the sun, showed that we had a
two-knot current under us all the while.
At 9 a.m. on February 22, having passed between Cape St. Roque and the
Rocas islets--not sighting either--we altered our course from
north-by-east to north-west, so as to sail parallel to the mainland,
at a distance of about 120 miles from it, and thus benefit by the full
strength of the current. Having doubled the cape we encountered, as we
had expected, south-east wind, and were thus able to set our
spinnaker.
As we approached the Equator we experienced the usual unpleasant
weather of this region: the sky was almost always overcast, the calms
were only broken by heavy squalls, and no night passed without vivid
lightning; but, so far, there was little rain. It was very close in
our cabins, and even on deck the men were languid with the oppressive,
muggy heat.
We crossed the line on February 26. We now had a few days of drifting
over a calm sea, under a soft drizzling rain, and we were unable to
take any sights of the sun. On March 1, the wind veered round to the
north for a change, so that we were close-hauled on the starboard
tack. This wind, being in the opposite direction to the regular
trades, was caused by some local disturbance, and only lasted for
twelve hours. This was our sixteenth day out, and we were still nearly
1,200 miles from our destination, which we might have made by this
time had our luck been good.
If we only progressed at this rate, our water could not hold out to
Trinidad; and though this was no cause for anxiety, as we could easily
sail for one of the ports on the mainland--Cayenne or Surinam, for
instance--I was particularly anxious not to call anywhere on the way;
so the order was given that all hands should be put on rations of
water. Our usual rule was to allow the men to use as much water as
they pleased, without waste; though all washing had, of course to be
done with salt water.
This order brought us luck, for not an hour after it had been given
the whole sky was covered over with one vast cloud, so dense that,
though it was midday, it became as dark on the ocean as when dusk is
deepening into night. Then it began to rain. Hitherto there had only
been drizzle or short showers, which did not afford an opportunity for
collecting water; but now it was very different--it poured steadily
down as it only can in the tropics, so that, by merely collecting the
water in the hollow of the whale-boat cover, we soon filled up every
tank and breaker on board, and had a sufficient supply to have lasted
us to Southampton, had we been bound there. The order as to rations
was at once countermanded, and even washing with fresh water was
permitted on this extravagant day.
Delighted as we had been to get all this water, we soon wearied of
such excessively unpleasant weather, for not only did it rain in
torrents, but every now and again a violent squall would sweep over
the sea, so that 'Scandalise the mainsail, and down foresail' was a
frequent order.
'It looks like breakers ahead, sir,' sang out Ted in the afternoon,
and we quite suddenly entered into a tract of very disturbed water.
The swell was unaccountably high, and the seas were curling over each
other and breaking all round us just as if we were in a tide-race or
overfall. The water, too, which had up till now been of the usual dark
deep ocean tint, became yellowish brown, and, when a bucket of it was
brought up on deck, it was found to be full of a fine powder, like the
seed of some grass. As we had not been able to take any sights for
some days, I thought we might be somewhat nearer the shoals on the
coast than I supposed; so hove to and took soundings, but found no
bottom. On tasting the water, it was quite salty, so that these
phenomena could scarcely have been caused by the violent stream of the
Amazon, which often makes itself felt and sweetens the water far out
to sea. It is possible that all this commotion was produced by some
volcanic eruption at the bottom of the ocean far beneath us--not an
uncommon event in this portion of the South Atlantic. As we sailed
through this confused water we found that the vessel steered wildly,
as if eddies and contrary currents were driving her first in one
direction then in another, while the tops of the steep waves kept
tumbling down upon our decks, compelling us to keep all skylights
closed; this made still more objectionable the atmosphere of our
already unpleasantly reeking cabins, where the wet clothes which we
had no means of drying had been accumulating for days. The oppressive
closeness of this equatorial climate is spoken of with horror even by
those who go to sea on big ships; but it is far worse on a little
fore-and-after.
Another peculiarity of this tract of broken water--out of which we
soon emerged as quickly as we had got into it--was that it swarmed
with fish and other forms of life. Shoals of small fish were dashing
about merrily in the spray, while fleets of large pink Portuguese
men-of-war--as the sailors call the Nautilus--were floating on the
surface. Until we had got into this curious portion of the ocean we
had seen very few fish.
After some days of similar uncomfortable weather, we drifted or
sailed--when the squalls allowed--into a respectable climate again,
and ran before the trade-wind at a fair pace. Our best day's run was
on March 6, when we made 192 miles. On this day we got into soundings,
the colour of the deep ocean changing to the dark green of
comparatively shallow water; for we were nearing the coast, so as to
make the entrance of the Gulf of Paria. We sighted the mountains of
Trinidad right ahead of us at daybreak of March 8, about two leagues
distant. We ran, before a light wind, between Galeota Point and Baja
Point. The sun now blazed down out of a cloudless sky, the morning
mists lifted and disclosed the scenery around us, which was of a very
different nature from that we had left on the desert Trinidad.
We were no longer tumbling about on the great transparent green
rollers that perpetually break upon the coasts of our Treasure Island,
but sailing on the smooth, muddy water of a shallow inland sea. On our
left were the low shores of Venezuela--a long line of dreary mangrove
swamps that form the delta of the Orinoco; the peculiar, and, I should
say, somewhat malarious, odour of the steaming mud being plainly
perceptible for leagues out to sea.
On our right were the shores of Trinidad--one of the fairest islands
of the Caribbean Sea. The sandy beaches were fringed with cocoanut
palms, and behind rose gently swelling mountains, covered with fine
forests, the lordly palmistes towering above all the lesser
foliage--forests in which the trees were of various forms and tints,
presenting a beautiful appearance, the feathery bamboos and the
scarlet and purple blossoms of bougainvillea and other flowering trees
relieving the dark green slopes of dense vegetation. On the plains
that lay under the mountains, and in the broad valleys that clove
them, could be seen the pale green spreads of the sugar-cane
plantations, with the tall chimneys of the boiling-houses rising above
them, and the darker clumps of the cacao groves.
When we were near Point Icacos we saw a school of whales, but, not
having the whale-boat or gun ready, we did not go in chase.
We passed through the narrow Serpent's Mouth, and were inside the Gulf
of Paria; from here we coasted along the shores of Trinidad by many a
landmark familiar to myself, and still more so to our two coloured
men, who became quite excited when they once more beheld their native
islands after an absence of two years and more. We sailed by Cedros
Point; by the curious row of rocks that are known as the Serpent's
Teeth; by the village of Brea, off which several vessels were lying at
anchor, loading with the bitumen that is dug out of the famous Pitch
Lake about a mile in shore.
We did not reach Port of Spain this day, for the wind fell away, and
we had to come to an anchor off St. Fernando for the night; but on the
following day, March 9, we completed our voyage, and let go our anchor
off Port of Spain early in the afternoon, having been twenty-two days
out from our desert island.
We were anchored at about two-thirds of a mile from the jetty, and
there was only eight feet of water under us at low tide. As the
draught of the 'Alerte' is ten feet, she then sank two feet into the
mud. This is quite the proper way to do things at Port of Spain.
Sailing-vessels bound here with timber are in the habit of running as
high up as they can into the mud, knowing that when they have
discharged their cargo they will easily float off again. The mud
deposited in the Gulf of Paria by the outflow of the Orinoco and its
tributaries is the softest possible, and is very deep, so that a
vessel can suffer no injury by lying in it, even when the sea is
rough. So shallow is the water in this roadstead that at a mile and a
half from the shore the depth is only three fathoms, while a ship's
boat cannot approach the end of the jetty at low water.
I had visited Trinidad before, and had many friends here, so was at
once at home on shore, as, too, were, very soon, my companions. We
were made honorary members of the pleasant Port of Spain Club, and
were treated everywhere with that hearty hospitality for which the
West Indies have always been noted.
Our voyage was now over, and though most of my companions were anxious
to sail away with me in search of any other treasure we might hear of
on West Indian cays--or to turn our vessel's head southward again, and
make for Demerara, to travel inland to the gold districts of Upper
Guiana on the Venezuelan frontier--or, in short, set sail for any part
of the world that promised adventure and possible profit (I believe
they would have turned filibusters if the chance had presented
itself)--and though I had four paid hands on board also willing to
have gone anywhere we should choose to lead them--still, I could not
see my way to extending the voyage any further for the present, and
decided to lay up the 'Alerte' at Port of Spain.
It was with reluctance that I made up my mind to do this; for the men
we did not want had been weeded out, and I had round me a compact crew
of seven, tested and trained by their seven months' travels and
hardships, and I also had the right vessel for any adventure. I had
several reasons for laying up the yacht in the West Indies, instead of
sailing her home. I had no use for her in England, and should I
undertake another voyage similar to the last, Port of Spain would be a
most convenient place to start from; besides, stores are cheap there,
and an excellent coloured crew, well adapted for work in the unhealthy
tropics, can be readily procured. Moreover, if I decided to sell the
yacht, I was certain to get a better price for her in the West Indies,
or on the Spanish Main, where there is a demand for this sort of
craft, than at home, where the market is glutted with second-hand
yachts.
Before leaving Trinidad--that cosmopolitan island of Britons,
Frenchmen, Spaniards, East Indiamen, Chinamen, and negroes--we
undertook several pleasant little voyages with the yacht in the
neighbourhood of Port of Spain, taking with us several friends from
the shore. One of these voyages took place in the Easter holidays,
which are properly observed on this island. We had a merry party on
board, and visited several of the beautiful bays on the islands that
divide the Bocas, or northern entrances to the Gulf of Paria. Our crew
had by that time been reduced to myself, Mr. Pursell, and John Wright:
for my companions took opportunities of returning home as they
occurred.
When the old vessel was dismantled and laid up, we last remaining
three took passage on the Royal Mail Steamer 'Dee,' which, being an
extra-cargo boat, was bound on a sort of roving commission round the
West Indies, in search of bags of cacao to complete her cargo. This
was a most enjoyable voyage, thanks to the officers of the 'Dee.'
Pursell and myself were the only passengers. We visited several of the
Windward Islands--old friends of mine, most of them--before sailing
across the Atlantic to Havre, and thence to London Docks.
Thus ended our treasure-hunting expedition--a vain search; but, as I
have already said, my companions bore their disappointment well. It
was amusing to hear them argue, like the grape-loving fox in the
fable, but in a more good-natured way, that we were far better off
without the treasure. I remember one favourite argument to this
effect. It had been decided that, if the treasure was found, we should
not return to England in the yacht, but insure our wealth and go home
in the biggest mail steamer we could find. That was our great
difficulty--how to find a suitable vessel. As we were now, we cared
not much what sort of a craft we sailed in; but, once wealthy, how
terribly valuable would our lives become! In anticipation even of it
we became nervous. Would any vessel be large and safe enough for us
then that we were millionaires? Well, indeed, was it for us that we
had not found the pirates' gold; for we seemed happy enough as we
were, and if possessed of this hoard our lives would of a certainty
have become a burden to us. We should be too precious to be
comfortable. We should degenerate into miserable, fearsome
hypochondriacs, careful of our means of transit, dreadfully anxious
about what we ate or drank, miserably cautious about everything,
'Better far, no doubt,' exclaimed these cheerful philosophers, 'to
remain the careless, happy paupers that we are.'
'Do you still believe in the existence of the treasure?' is a question
that has been often put to me since my return. Knowing all I do, I
have very little doubt that the story of the Russian Finn is
substantially true--that the treasures of Lima were hidden on
Trinidad; but whether they have been taken away, or whether they are
still there and we failed to find them because we were not in
possession of one link in the directions, I am unable to say.
THE END.
ESTABLISHED 1798
T. NELSON
AND SONS
PRINTERS AND
PUBLISHERS
FAMOUS MODERN BATTLES. Captain Atteridge.
This book may be taken as an appendix to Creasy's "Decisive Battles of
the World." Captain Atteridge describes those battles which have most
materially shaped the destiny of the nations of to-day, such as the
Alma, Solferino, Gettysburg, Gravelotte, Omdurman, and the recent
fights in the Balkan war. The book is fully provided with excellent
maps.
POPULAR ASTRONOMY. Camille Flammarion.
This is an authorized translation of the most popular book on
astronomy ever written. The name of Camille Flammarion stands high
among modern scientists, and in addition to wide knowledge he has the
power of attractive exposition. The book is a delightful introduction
to a fascinating study.
BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD. Mrs. Wilkins.
This is the record of the adventurous journey of two ladies from
Constantinople through Asia Minor and Kurdistan to Baghdad. The tale
is full of incidents and colour, and the style is as vivacious as the
adventures.
FROM PARIS TO NEW YORK BY LAND. Harry de Windt.
In this book Mr. de Windt recounts an adventurous journey through
Europe, across Siberia, and then _via_ Alaska to New York. He
covered a good deal of unexplored country, and travelled at a pace
which few explorers have ever approached. It is a fascinating
narrative of adventure in little-known countries.
NELSON LIBRARY OF NOTABLE BOOKS
CONDENSED LIST.
Scrambles Amongst the Alps.
Collections and Recollections.
The Great Boer War.
Life of John Nicholson.
Dean Hole's "Memories."
Life of Gladstone.
Psalms in Human Life.
Wild Life in a Southern County.
The Forest.
The Golden Age.
Sir Henry Hawkins's Reminiscenses.
Selected Essays.
Life of Lord Russell of Killowen.
Making of Modern Egypt.
From the Cape to Cairo.
Life of Alexander Hamilton.
A Book about the Garden.
Culture and Anarchy.
Collections and Recollections, 2nd Series.
Life of Frank Buckland.
A Modern Utopia.
With Kitchener to Khartum.
Unveiling of Lhasa.
Life of Lord Dufferin.
Life of Dean Stanley.
Popular Astronomy.
Round the World on a Wheel.
Dream Days.
Path to Rome.
The Life of Canon Ainger.
Reminiscences of Lady Dorothy Nevill.
A Social Departure.
Letters and Recollections of Sir Walter Scott.
Literature and Dogma.
Sermons by the Rev. C. H. Spurgeon.
My Confidences.
Sir Frank Lockwood.
The Making of a Frontier.
Life of General Gordon.
Collected Poems of Henry Newbolt.
Pot-Pourri from a Surrey Garden.
The Ring and the Book.
The Alps from End to End.
The English Constitution.
The Life of Cobden.
In India.
Life of Parnell.
Havelock's March.
Up from Slavery.
Where Black Rules White.
Historical Mysteries.
Recollections of the Rt. Hon. Sir Algernon West.
Great Englishmen of the Sixteenth Century.
The Strenuous Life.
Memories Grave and Gay.
Life of Tolstoy.
Life of Danton.
A Pocketful of Sixpences.
The Romance of a Proconsul.
A Book about Roses.
Random Reminiscences.
The London Police Courts.
The Amateur Poacher.
The Bancrofts.
At the Works.
Mexico as I Saw It.
Eighteenth Century Vignettes.
The Great Andes of the Equator.
The Early History of C. J. Fox.
Through the Heart of Patagonia.
Browning as a Religious Teacher.
Paris to New York.
Life of Lewis Carroll.
A Naturalist in the Guianas.
The Mantle of the East.
Letters of Dr. John Brown.
Jubilee Book of Cricket.
By Desert Ways to Baghdad.
Some Old Love Stories.
Fields, Factories, and Workshops.
Life of Lord Lawrence.
Problems of Poverty.
The Burden of the Balkans.
Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay--I. and II.
What I Saw in Russia.
Wild England of To-day.
Leaves from an Inspector's Logbook.
Through Finland in Carts.
Voyage of the "Discovery."--I. & II.
Felicity in France.
My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus.
John Bright.
Poverty.
Sea Wolves of the Mediterranean.
Famous Modern Battles.
The Cruise of the "Falcon."
A. K. H. B. (A Volume of Selections.)
The People of the Abyss.
Grain or Chaff?
Life at the Zoo.
The Four Men.
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Cruise of the 'Alerte', by E. F. Knight