Читать книгу Life and Adventure in the South Pacific - John D. Jones - Страница 11

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We now commenced making preparations for that much-dreaded place, Cape Horn. Took the anchors in on deck, and lashed them solid; also the boats from off the cranes, and secured every thing generally. We were now sailing along with fine breezes from the northward, but the coolness of the air reminded us that we were approaching the southernmost point of land. On the 13th of January the wind veered round to the south, and increased to a heavy gale. We reduced the sail to a close-reefed main-topsail, sent down top gallant yards, and prepared for a regular “Cape Horner.” At midnight, however, the wind abated, and sea went down; next morning it was pleasant, with fine northerly breezes; but at night the wind again hauled to the southward, blowing heavy, with rain, which obliged us to heave to. Thus the wind often changes in the Atlantic in this latitude; sometimes ships are kept here for weeks by head winds.

On the 25th we were off Staten Land. This island presents a bleak, rocky appearance. Saw a ship trying out, which assures us that sperm whales have been taken here lately.

On Saturday, the 26th, we were off the island of Cape Horn. This island is said to have received its name from its conical shape. We here saw quite a fleet of merchantmen and whalemen bound round the Horn, no less than twenty-two ships being in sight from masthead. About nine o’clock this morning, while sailing along with a fair, pleasant wind, carrying studding-sails, all hands were suddenly called to take in sail, and, before the ship was under snug canvas, the gale broke upon us in all its fury, coming, as seamen say, “butt-end first.” However, we soon had every thing snug, and then “let the winds pipe.” With a good ship and plenty of sea-room, we felt no danger. The next day great numbers of porpoises were seen, going through the water like race-horses. Plenty of albatross and Cape pigeons were in sight also. We caught an albatross, a beautiful large bird, perfectly white, measuring sixteen feet from tip to tip of its wings. They are called by seamen “Goneys,” for what reason we know not. We also saw large numbers of “Mother Carey’s Chickens,” that beautiful little bird so well known to all. They were flying in the wake of the ship, skimming along its surface, apparently happy and contented. As we sat watching them and the noble albatross, as he went wheeling and circling in the air, we could not but think of that great Creator who endowed them with the instinct which they possess—an instinct that guides them over the trackless waste of waters hundreds and thousands of miles from land, and then to land again, day after day, and week after week. No place in the world presents so many evidences of a great and a good God as the vast and mighty ocean.

Spoke the ship “Henry,” of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, bound for California. The heavy gales of wind still continued, with rain, hail, snow, and sleet at intervals, until Friday, the 8th of February, when we found we had passed the Horn, and were fairly in the Pacific.

About this time an occurrence transpired which shows a seaman’s love of a good joke, even at the expense of an officer. It appears our third mate, Mr. K., whom we have before spoken of as a very pompous, great-I-and-little-you sort of a man, was much opposed to the men enjoying themselves in any manner if he could prevent it, and, for this reason, they were continually devising some plan to torment him. He had given express orders that no one of the watch should go below during their watch on deck. Mackey, who much preferred the warm forecastle to the cold deck, would skulk below every opportunity he could get. Mr. K. went forward on this occasion, and, as usual, Mackey was enjoying a fine nap on a chest. Mr. K. ordered him on deck, telling him “if he caught him in the forecastle again that night he would break his head,” and then strutted aft. It was not long after this before one of the watch sang out, in a voice just loud enough to be heard aft, “Mackey, you had better come up on deck; if Mr. K. catches you down in the forecastle, he will surely kill you.”

Then another sings out, “Mackey, come up out of that; the third mate is coming.”

Mr. K., who had been listening, rushes forward with a determined air; “he would show that Mackey that he had got to walk chalk, or he would break his head.” Arriving at the forecastle scuttle, he cried out, in a voice of thunder, “Come up here, you blackguard, and bear a hand, too.” No answer.

“Do you hear me? If I come down there, I’ll kill you deader than the d—l.” No answer yet. Mr. K., now fairly boiling with rage, cries out, “I’ll fetch you out of that; I’ll show you a trick or two;” and, on turning to go down, espied some one dodging around the foremast that bore a striking resemblance to the missing Mackey. Quickly coming up again, he saw that it was really Mackey, who had not left the deck. He then turned to the men, quite chopfallen, telling them he “never wanted to hear any more such stuff,” and, cursing them until he was satisfied, he turned and went aft, leaving the watch convulsed with laughter.

As we were now fairly in the Pacific, with pleasant weather and fine breezes, steering to the northward, we put the boats upon the cranes, the anchors on the bows, and cleared up generally, all hands rejoicing that the stormy Cape had been at length passed.

On the 13th of February we saw our first sperm whale in the Pacific. It was not long after our boats were down and pursuing him before the starboard boat fastened, and the old man brought the “claret” the first lance. Soon we had him alongside, his coat on deck, tried out, and down in the hold. We were now about four months out, with one hundred and eighty barrels of oil, which was a good foundation for a first-rate voyage.

On the 1st day of March, 18—, the welcome news came from aft, “All hands to bend cables,” and soon the massive chains were dragged from their resting-places below, and fastened to the huge anchors, which were got ready for “letting go” in the harbor of Talcahuana, Chili. But there is “many a slip,” etc., and we experienced it here, as we were beating about for nine days, unable to enter port on account of boisterous head winds. At length, however, on the 9th, we got a fair wind, and entered the harbor with every thing set, and “let go” our anchor—the old ship at rest for the first time in four and a half months.