We lay at the Nore for several days with our bows pitching into the sea
and the spray flying over us, and after all, having lost both
anchor-stocks, and received other damage, we were obliged to return to
Gravesend to get them repaired. This done, we again sailed.
Light winds prevailing, we were some time getting clear of the river.
We thought that we should at once stand down channel, but as we rounded
the North Foreland the weather looked more threatening than ever, and we
found that we were to bring up in the Downs. I by this time had not
only got my sea legs, but was pretty handy aloft. The winds being
contrary we had to tack ship very frequently. I saw the first mate
looking up, when just then he sang out to me, "Away there, Jack, and
clear that rope from the lee fore-yard arm." I knew what he wanted me
to do, so running up the rigging, lay out on the yard, and quickly
performed the duty required of me. Instead, however, of returning at
once on deck, I sat watching several other ships beating up to an
anchorage, as we were, while I did not hear "Old More Yet," the pilot,
give the order "about ship." Suddenly I felt the yard beginning to
swing round. In another instant I should have been hurled off as from a
catapult into the seething ocean, or been dashed on the deck.
There was but one thing to do. Retaining my presence of mind, I made a
desperate spring and caught hold of the topmast backstay, down which I
was sliding to the rail, when I saw the first mate rushing forward to
try and catch me as I fell, he having just recollected that he had sent
me aloft. His countenance expressed the greatest alarm, for he was a
kind-hearted man, and fully believed that I should have been killed or
terribly injured. When he saw that I was safe he rated me soundly for
my carelessness, and told me never to play the same trick again. I saw,
however, that he was not really angry, and I fancy that I gained some
credit with him by the way I had sprung on to the backstay. Had I
missed it I should have been dashed to pieces.
At length we brought up in the Downs, with two anchors down, the wind
blowing a heavy gale at south-west. The sea was the colour of pea-soup,
tumbling and foaming and hissing, the wind roared and whistled through
the rigging, and ships were driving in all directions--some threatening
to come down upon us. To be ready for any emergency the hands were kept
on deck, and "Old More Yet" stood with his keen eyes watching them,
prepared to give the order to veer away the cables should it be
necessary. We escaped all accidents, however, and the weather began to
moderate.
The captain or the mates found employment for me from morning till
night. I was indeed, as the youngest on board, at every one's beck and
call; but I did not complain. I had come to sea to do my duty, and I
knew that that was to obey those over me in all things lawful. One of
my tasks was to keep the captain's cabin in order. I was one day
engaged in sweeping it when I heard outside a voice I knew. It was my
father's. He looked somewhat surprised at finding me thus employed, but
at once saw that I took it as a matter of course, and was in good heart.
My younger brother Dick was with him. I was very glad to see them, and
having finished my job I asked them to come down on the half-deck,
where, while they were seated on Medley's and my chests, I regaled them
with bread and cheese.
"Won't you give it up and come on shore with us?" asked Dick, thinking
that I must be leading a very hard life.
"No, thank you," I answered. "Matters are improving. I got a thrashing
the first day and have never had one since. It has been blowing pretty
hard till now, but we shall have fine weather in time, and I shall like
the life very well. It is better to begin with the rough and to end
with the smooth than the other way."
"Rightly said, Jack," observed my father, well pleased to see me so
contented.
I sent many loving messages to my mother and sisters, not forgetting
Mary and Captain Bland, and after he had had a short conversation with
Medley and another with the captain he returned on shore. I felt
somewhat sad while I watched him and Dick as they pulled away, and had I
then been asked to go with them I should have said yes; however, the
feeling soon wore off and I went on with my ordinary duties as if home
and all I held dear were not almost in sight.
Again we were under weigh, but it came on to blow as hard as ever from
the old quarter. Still we kept at it, beating down channel with the
seas breaking over our bows. I was just going along the deck with some
of the cabin dinner when, the ship diving into a heavier sea than usual,
I found myself washed clean over the windlass, a piece of boiled beef
flying in one direction, a dumpling in another, and potatoes and turnips
scattered on every side. I rushed here and there to save as many as I
could, and, helped by the cook and Medley, I collected the greater
portion, but the captain looked very blue when I placed the food all
cold and sodden on the table. It spoke well for him that he did not
blow me up; but he knew that it was not from my fault that his dinner
was spoilt, and I dare say that the same thing had occurred to him when
he was a youngster.
I had just returned on deck, where the first mate, shouting "Helm's
alee!" was in the act of putting the ship about, when, as I was going
forward, I saw Medley with two other men, one of whom was John Major, an
ordinary seaman, standing a short distance from me. Suddenly I heard a
dull thud as if a heavy blow had been struck, followed by a piercing
shriek. The clew of the mainsail was lashing about wildly in the gale.
I saw a body lifted from the deck and carried over the bulwarks. It was
but a momentary glimpse. I could scarcely have told whether or not it
was a human being I had seen till I looked towards where the three
persons had been standing. One was gone. The mate instantly hove the
ship up into the wind, a grating and some spars were thrown overboard,
and the captain, rushing on deck, ordered a boat to be lowered.
Notwithstanding the dangerously heavy sea running, a willing crew, with
the second mate, jumped into her. Not seeing Medley I ran to the side,
fearing that he was the victim. I saw the grating and spars, but could
nowhere perceive a man's head amid the foaming billows. I expected
every moment as I watched the boat tumbling and tossing about that she
would be swamped. The captain and first mate were looking anxiously
towards the place where the poor fellow must have fallen, but their
countenances showed that they did not see him.
"He's lost, I fear," said a voice near me. I turned and saw Medley by
my side. I was greatly relieved.
"Who has gone?" I asked.
"John Major," he answered. "He was speaking to me at the moment."
"Very awful," I remarked, "so suddenly to be called out of the world."
"Remember, Jack, that either you or I may be as suddenly summoned to
meet our God. We must so live as to be prepared," he answered solemnly.
The boat, the search in vain, now coming alongside was hoisted up, and
the ship kept on her course. Scarcely, however, had the yards been
braced round than down came the gale upon us with far greater force than
before. There was no use longer contending against it. The helm was
put up and we ran--tearing through the water--back again into the Downs.
Here we lay day after day waiting for a fair wind. It was much the
same to me, but a severe trial of temper to the captain and most of the
ship's company, who wanted to be in the Pacific catching whales.
I have not yet described the crew of the "Eagle." There was the
captain, three mates, the carpenter and his mate, the cooper and his
mate, the armourer, steward and cook, four boat-steerers, four able
seamen, eight ordinary seamen, the doctor, and two apprentices--namely,
Medley and I. The ship was thus strongly manned for her size, but in
the whaling service, when sometimes four boats are away at a time, a
large number of hands are required.
By the time we had been a week in the Downs a fleet of some hundred
merchantmen were collected there, driven in by the long continuing
south-westerly gales. We had very little communication with the shore,
though I managed to send a letter home, and Medley wrote to his friends.
"Never miss an opportunity of writing home, Jack," he said to me; "I
know the pleasure it gives to those who love us to receive a letter, and
the anxiety they suffer when they have to go long without hearing from
us."
I followed his advice, and wrote by every homeward bound ship we fell in
with, though many of my letters did not reach their destination. We
also got a man, Eben Dredge, in place of poor John Major lost overboard.
Still the south-wester blustered and roared. Some of the men declared
that it had set in for good, and that there never would be any other
wind as long as the world lasted.
At length one morning when Medley and I were below, we heard the first
mate shouting, "All hands up anchor! Fair wind, boys! Be smart there,
all of you." We sprang on deck. The watch below came tumbling up with
eager looks. The wind had suddenly veered round to the east-north-east.
Every man, including the cook and steward, set to work with a will;
while some with a cheery song hove round the windlass, others flew aloft
to loose sails. Hundreds of ships were setting sail at the same time,
their white canvas rapidly expanding to the breeze.
We were among the first to get under weigh, and running past numerous
ships we took the lead and kept it, closely pressed, however, by another
whaler, the "Fair Rosamond," but we lost sight of her off the Isle of
Wight. As if the "Eagle" was eager to make up for lost time she ran
under every stitch of canvas she could carry at the rate of nearly
twelve knots an hour to the Lizard, when the wind fell; but it breezed
up again when we were in the Bay of Biscay, and blew great guns and
small arms, as sailors say, or in other words, very nearly a hurricane.
I own that I did not like it. Our stout ship looked like a mere
cockle-shell amid the mighty billows, which in huge watery walls rose
half-way up the masts, threatening every instant to overwhelm her.
Though I tried to conceal my fears Medley detected them, but he did not
laugh at me.
"I once should have felt as you do, Jack, but I know that we are as safe
here in God's hands as on shore," he observed. "Our ship is well-built,
well found, and well manned, and I trust that we shall weather this
gale, and any others we may have to encounter."
We did weather it without carrying away a rope-yarn, and having sighted
Madeira steered for the Cape de Verde Islands, at one of which, Brava,
we called to obtain fresh provisions and to ship several tall Kroomen to
pull the midship oars in the whale boats. Very fine fellows they were,
with gentle, happy dispositions, never grumbling or complaining, and
they were consequently much liked by the officers and all the best men
of the crew.
After crossing the line "Sail ho!" was shouted from the masthead. We
steered towards her. The stranger proved to be an English brig bound
from Brazil to Liverpool. The wind being light our captains exchanged
visits, and Medley, I, and others wrote home by her. When in the
latitude of the River Plate preparations were made for bad weather, as
the winter of that region was approaching. The long royal-masts were
sent down and replaced by stump topgallant masts, the flying jib-boom,
and the studding-sail booms were also sent down, and all the boats,
except one, were got in and secured, and the hatches were battened down,
and everything else was done to make the ship light aloft. Some of the
men thought the captain over careful, but it was soon shown that he was
right.
"We shall have it before long, thick and strong," I heard him remark to
the first mate, though at the time there was scarcely a breath of wind.
"We'll stow the mainsail, and close reef the topsails."
"Ay, ay, sir," answered the mate, and the hands were sent aloft to
perform the operation. Still an hour or more passed away, and we
continued on our course.
"The old man is croaking again," growled out Dan Hogan.
"Belay the slack there, mate. The captain keeps his weather eye open,
which is more than some aboard this ship do," said Eben Dredge. "What
do you think of those black clouds out there?"
"Maybe there's a little wind in them," answered Hogan.
"A little do you say!" exclaimed Dredge. "See, here it comes to show us
whether there's a little or not."
As he spoke the wind struck the ship like the blow of a mighty hammer
right ahead. She gathered stern way and some of the after dead-lights
being open the cabin was half filled with water. Had we been under more
sail, the ship might possibly have gone down or her masts would have
been carried away. I rushed forward to call the carpenter and his mate,
and we soon had the dead-lights closed. While I was afterwards engaged
with the steward in swabbing up the cabin and putting things to rights
we felt the ship give some tremendous rolls.
"Hillo! what for come ober her now?" exclaimed Domingo, my companion,
who was a black.
On going on deck I found that she had fallen off into the trough of the
sea, and was being sent from side to side in away which seemed
sufficient to jerk the masts out of her. The rigging was well set up,
or they would have gone to a certainty. We had not seen the worst of
it. The gale blew harder and harder, and presently down came the rain
in a way I had never seen it fall before, in regular torrents, as if
some huge reservoirs had been emptied out on us in a moment, flooding
the decks, and wetting us through our pea-coats to the skin.
Though several accidents happened we weathered this our first real gale,
and I found that the one we had encountered in the Bay of Biscay was
scarcely worthy of the name of a gale. Sail being again made, we stood
southward, till at the end of April we sighted Cape Horn, and the hopes
of all were raised that we should soon be round it; but not half an hour
afterwards, the wind shifting to the west and blowing with tremendous
force, a mountainous sea getting up drove us back into the South
Atlantic.
The moment the wind abated we again made sail, and endeavoured to regain
our lost ground. It was trying work. The weather was bitterly cold--
the days little more than seven hours long--we scarcely ever had a dry
rag on our backs, for when the rain was not falling the sea was
continually breaking over us, knocking away our bulwarks, and
threatening to carry off those on deck to destruction. Scarcely had we
made good forty or fifty miles to the westward, than the wind increasing
we had again to heave-to under a close-reefed fore-topsail. Here we lay
day after day, drifting rapidly back from the point it had taken us so
long to gain. Each day, too, saw our bulwarks more and more shattered
by the furious seas constantly breaking on board.
During this time I was one forenoon in the pantry, just outside the
captain's cabin, when Domingo, handing me a wooden bowl containing the
ingredients for a plum pudding, said, "Here you, Jack, carry dis to de
galley, and tell de cook to boil him well."
I was bound to obey the steward, black though he was, and away I sped on
my errand. Just as I reached the deck the ship gave a lurch and sent me
down to leeward, when instead of, as I ought to have done, making my way
up to windward, to save the distance, I ran along on the lee side of the
deck. Before, however, my destination was reached I saw rising up right
ahead a high, dark, foam-crested sea. On it came. With a crash like
thunder it broke on board, and rushed roaring and hissing along the
deck. Letting go the bowl, I frantically clutched a handspike sticking
in the windlass, the nearest object to me. The fierce water surrounded
me, the handspike unshipped, and, still grasping it, I felt myself borne
away into the seething, hissing ocean. At that instant the ship gave
another lee-lurch--all hope was gone--every incident of my life passed
through my mind--when I caught a glimpse of the cook darting out of his
galley; seizing me by the collar he dragged me in, dripping wet and half
stunned. It was the work of a moment.
Directly afterwards the watch on the quarterdeck came hurrying forward
with the third mate, who sang out, in a tone of alarm, "Where is that
boy?" making sure that I had been carried overboard, he not having seen
the cook lift me into the galley. When he found me there--though I
fancied that I deserved commiseration, for my teeth chattered with cold
and fright, and I looked like a drowned rat--he rated me soundly for
having gone along the lee side. Medley, however, who had come with the
rest, took me down below and made me shift into a dry suit of his
clothing. He then persuaded Domingo to mix a fresh pudding, which he
took to the cook to boil, so that I was saved from the captain's anger,
which would have fallen on my head had it not been forthcoming at
dinner-time.
On his return to the half-deck, Medley said to me, "Now, Jack, let us
thank our merciful Father in heaven that you have been preserved from
the greatest danger you were ever in during your life. Had the cook not
been looking your way in another moment of time you would have been
overboard, and it would have been impossible to pick you up."
I was willing to do as he proposed, and no one being below we knelt down
by the side of our bunks, and I prayed more earnestly than I had ever
prayed before. We were just about to rise from our knees when I heard
Dan Hogan's voice exclaim, "Arrah now, you young psalm singers, what new
trick are you after?"
"Not a new trick, but an old custom, Dan," answered Medley, boldly
confronting him. "If your life had just been saved I hope that you
would thank God for it, otherwise I should say that you were a very
ungrateful fellow."
"I'm shut up," answered Hogan, and taking the article he had come for he
returned on deck.
I expected that he would tell the men how he had found us employed, but
I could not discover that he had spoken about it to any one, and after
that he appeared to treat Medley with more respect than heretofore.
When a person is doing a right thing the proper way is to confront his
opponent boldly.
All this time we were suffering from the bitter cold, the sleet and
snow, the long, long hours of darkness with seldom a gleam from the sun
during the short period he was above the horizon. At length, the
weather moderating, we again stood on our course to the westward.
About five weeks after we first sighted the Horn we managed to weather
it, and finally steering northward with a favourable breeze soon ran
into a more temperate atmosphere than we had enjoyed for many a day.