Читать книгу Titanic and Other Ships - Charles Herbert Lightoller - Страница 6

We crossed the Line, with the usual formalities, into the S.E. Trades, and a long leg down to the Horn. Here a westerly gale drove us South and further South; colder and colder it grew until we fetched in amongst the Antarctic ice. I've seen plenty of it since, both down there and up on the Banks, but one's first sight is always the most impressive. That long ghostly outline of white, in places blue, and, of every conceivable shape and size.

By this time we had bogies going--when the sea did not put them out.

Despite all our efforts we were steadily driven down south until we eventually fetched the sixty-fifth parallel. The month was June, in other words, mid-winter. The conditions men had to endure almost beggar description. Ropes and blocks frozen up, and solid with ice. Sails iron hard with frozen rain and spray, often ice an inch thick, requiring belaying pins to break it. I have seen all hands on the topsail yard for hours on end of a bitter night, blowing a living gale, fighting with canvas like cast-iron, finger nails turned back and knuckles raw, battling to get it gathered in and a gasket round. It is difficult to realise how any human being could survive the days and weeks with never a dry stitch. Don't think this applied merely to the clothes we wore; it included both blankets and bedding.

Long before one reaches the latitude of the Horn all maindeck doors are as near hermetically sealed as is possible. Usually with the close application of a sheath knife and quantities of rag and paper. One gains access to the different living quarters, to galley and so forth, by means of a a skylight; watching one's chance, opening the skylight, dropping down and closing it again. A breath of the atmosphere in these close quarters becomes almost as good as a meal. Huge seas, scores of tons in weight, come thundering on board over the bulwarks, sweeping anything movable before them. It is often a case of days without a hot meal.

Added to all this, there is always the intense anxiety as to whether one is going to happen across an iceberg during the night. The only means of detecting them, when there is no moon, is from the white foam at the base of the berg. If there is a moon one can sometimes get a glint or glimpse of what is called "ice blink." Ice down in these latitudes becomes more in the nature of ice-fields, and may extend for miles, and become a veritable island. There is one well-known case of a sailing ship running into a huge bay with a fair wind, and, finding herself unable to beat out. Back and forth she thrashed, trying to work her way clear, till finally she missed stays and crashed on the ice, to be battered to pieces and all hands lost. Boats are of little or no use in these conditions, for men can hardly survive on board ship, let alone in an open boat.

After six weeks battling with Cape Horn Greybeards, as those huge rollers are called, at last we got our slant. With the wind backing well to the south-west we crammed on every stitch she would carry in our endeavour to get up to the north-west and weather that dreaded old Cape Stiff. There was every indication that we should make it, and be able to stretch away for fine weather. Lower t'gallant sails and t'gallant staysails set. Steering full-and-by, with all sails drawing strong, her nose pointing well up to windward, everyone's spirits rose with every mile reeled off. Every man and boy counted the hours to when he would be able to hang out his dunnage and have some dry clothing, though it was still a bit too soon to be looking forward to real warmth, but that would come later. All we longed for from the bottom of our hearts was that the wind would hold and not head us off by hauling any more to the westward. The very first question asked each time the watch was called was "How's the wind?" and it was a cheery crowd that answered to the names called over at each relief. Now another forty-eight or sixty hours at the most would see us with old Stiff astern, and we would be safe.

That night we were still snoring along, dark as pitch but with every stitch on her that she could possibly bear. There was the risk of hitting an iceberg, yes, but one that we were all willing to take. Still, with the sea that was running, there was every chance of seeing it before hitting and in good time to either go about, or run her away. However, it was not to be. Our luck was out, and a long way out. Soon after the watch had been relieved at midnight, the wind to our great disappointment started to fall light. Nothing too bad in that, so long as it did not head us. Better much, than in blowing up one of those seemingly eternal gales with which we were absolutely fed-up.

Lighter and lighter the wind fell, and to an extraordinary degree baffling, a thing most uncommon in those latitutes. You expect, and do get, baffling winds in the tropics but not down in the sixties. The cold became intense, in fact piercing. Not a great deal of difference from what we had had, yet somehow it was a distinctive cold and it seemed to have a dry penetrating drive with it. We certainly connected the cold with ice, but not seriously. It was the vagaries of the wind we couldn't understand, and no wonder.

At four bells as the wheel and look-out was being relieved, the two look-out men stood for a few minutes talking and discussing the rotten luck in losing the wind. The man relieving was a real old-timer, and presently he walked up to the weather rail of the foc's'tlehead, and sort of stuck his nose up into the wind. Suddenly he whipped round and bellowed out, "Ice right ahead sir." Instinctively the Second Mate, aft on the poop, gave the order, "Put your helm down and shake her up," with the idea of taking the wind out of the sails and the way off the ship until he could get a clear grasp of the situation.

The vital question was, in what direction did the ice extend. Were we to windward, or to leeward of the main body? As she ran up into the wind, both lookout men saw the ice still coming into sight ahead, and on the weather bow. Old Heron, with his vast experience, and knowing that everything right ahead and to some distance on the bow was completely blotted out by the sails from the Second Mate on the poop, now roared out, "Put your helm up, sir. The ice is to windward."

On a sailing ship you get to know your man to the very fibre of his being, and the Second Mate knew Heron and ordered the helm "Hard up." It was a big risk to take, for if once she filled again and got way on her, and the ice should chance to be leeward as well as windward then, we should undoubtedly strike and sink. There being little wind, however, she payed off slowly.

The Captain was now on deck and quickly rapped out his orders. "All hands on deck. Stand by the braces." Sure enough, old Heron was right, and by now we could all see the ghostly and threatening outline of a massive berg extending as far as the eye could see. Furthermore, it was this monstrous berg that had been taking the wind out of our sails. This we realised and with the realisation the knowledge that it must be the father of all bergs, if it was responsible for the extraordinary baffling of the wind, which we had now experienced for over four hours, and during which time we must, in the darkness have been sailing parallel along this block of Antartic. (sic)

Quickly we rounded in the weather braces in the hopes of filling on her and making an offing. We must take the chance as to whether we had run into an ice bay in the dark, for it must be remembered we could not see more than quarter of a mile, and the ice was less than half that distance from us. At one time just before she commenced to gather way and draw off we were no more than a hunded yards from that towering cliff of ice which looked as if our yardarms were going to touch. Being right under the lee, the wind was utterly unreliable, and kept catching her aback and drifting her nearer and nearer those threatening white walls of ice.

An added anxiety in our minds as to whether there were any protruding ledges below the water which might hold us below the water line and sink us. Goodness knows what the temperature was at this time. Fortunately our anxiety blotted out all sense of the cold, except when we tried to use our hands. Everything that carried or showed the slightest moisture, was all just solid ice, clothing included.

Steadily, inch by inch, we clawed off and, at last gained sea room; then we hove-to till daylight broke and we should be able to see where the ice extended and what was the best hope of saving the ship. With the first streak of dawn it was easy to see what a narrow shave it had been, and, with the increasing daylight, the cliffs of ice just extended and extended. As the light became better and better till with the full day there was revealed an impenetrable wall of ice for close on fifteen miles astern, and more than double that distance ahead. As it turned out, we sailed the best part of two solid days before we could safely round the end of that island of ice. But, what was worse, we were all the time slowly but surely being forced off our course, and away to the eastward; for ever lessening our chances of rounding the Horn on this leg.

A magnificent sight , cruising slowly along those blue-black cliffs. Pinnacles, bays, chasms and cathedral like structures, huge ravines and bridges, bridges of ice, looking for all the world as if they had built by some clever engineers, and would have done credit to them at that. Unfortunately we were in no mood at that moment to appreciate these beauties. Curses, deep, sincere, and universal were hurled at this one insurmountable bar, which prevented us from stretching away with a fair wind to fine weather.

At long last when we did finally get round the ice, it was too light to weather the old Cape, we once again, we heard that well-known order, "All hands wear ship," and commenced another long leg to the southward.

It might be proverbial amongst sailing-ship men of those days that one was not entitled to the name of sailor until the Horn had been rounded at least three or four times. I know I felt all of a sailor after rounding it once. Six weeks to the day, from the time we first made the Horn bound south, till we again brought it abeam bound north.

A good clean run up through Trades and Tropics soon removed all traces of our trials down south, whilst with all the goodwill in the world we said good-bye to those harbingers of high latitudes, albatrosses, Cape pigeons, Molly hawks and Mother Carey's chickens.

Heavy weather-sails were sent down and fine weather canvas bent in place. Running gear re-rove, and heavy weather spare spar-lashings removed. All dunnage (Anglice, clothing and bedding) out on deck drying and airing. Everyone revelling in the sun and even welcoming the bubbling pitch, though it should stick to our toes.

The very ship herself seemed to spring into greater life as the flying kites were once again hoisted and set; each adding the urge and drive which a few weeks later carried us through the Golden Gates of San Francisco, on to the broad, smooth waters of the Sacramento.