The Cruise of the Cachalot [157]
to heave-to in good time, if safety is at all cared for.
To my great astonishment and delight, however, our grand old vessel nobly sustained her character, running on without shipping any heavy water, although sometimes hedged in on either side by gigantic waves that seemed to tower as high as her lowermast heads. Again and again we were caught up and passed by the splendid homeward-bound colonial packets, some of them carrying an appalling press of canvas, under which the long, snaky hulls, often overwhelmed by the foaming seas, were hardly visible, so insignificant did they appear by comparison with the snowy mountain of swelling sail above.
So we fared eastward and ever southward, until in due time up rose the gloomy, storm-scarred crags of the Diego Ramirez rocks, grim outposts of the New World. To us, though, they bore no terrific aspect; for were they not the turning-point from which we could steer north, our head pointed for home? Immediately upon rounding them we hauled up four points, and, with daily improving weather climbed the southern slopes towards the line.
Very humdrum and quiet the life appeared to all of us, and had it not been for the saving routine of work by day, and watch by night, kept up with all our old discipline, the tedium would have been insupportable after the incessant excitement of expectation to which we had so long been accustomed. Still, our passage was by no means a bad one for a slow ship, being favoured by more than ordinarily steadfast winds until we reached the zone of the south-east trades again, where the usual mild, settled wind and lovely weather awaited us. On and on, unhasting but unresting, we stolidly jogged, by great good fortune slipping across the "doldrums"--that hateful belt of calms about the line so much detested by all sailor-men--without losing the south-east wind.
Not one day of calm delayed us, the north-east trades meeting us like a friend sent to extend a welcoming hand and lend us his assistance on our homeward way. They hung so far to the eastward, too--sometimes actually at east-by-north-that we were able to steer north on the starboard tack--a slice of luck not usually met with. This "slant" put all hands in the best of humours, and already the date of our arrival was settled by the more sanguine ones, as well as excellent plans made for spending the long voyage's earnings.
For my part, having been, in spite of my youth, accustomed to so many cruel disappointments and slips between the cup and lip, I was afraid to dwell too hopefully upon the pleasures (?) of getting ashore. And after the incident which I have now to record occurred, I felt more nervous distrust than I had ever felt before at sea since first I began to experience the many vicissitudes of a sailor's life.
We had reached the northern verge of the tropics in a very short time, owing to the favourable cant in the usual direction of the north-east trades before noted, and had been met with north- westerly winds and thick, dirty weather, which was somewhat unusual in so low a latitude. Our look-outs redoubled their vigilance, one being posted on each bow always at night, and relieved every hour, as we were so well manned. We were now on the port tack, of course, heading about north-east-by-north, and right in the track of outward-hound vessels from both the United Kingdom and the States. One morning, about three a.m.--that fateful time in the middle watch when more collisions occur than at any other--suddenly out of the darkness a huge ship seemed to leap right at us. She must have come up in a squall, of which there were many about, at the rate of some twelve knots an hour, having a fair wind, and every rag of sail set. Not a gleam of light was visible anywhere on board of her, and, to judge from all appearances, the only man awake on board was the helmsman.
We, being "on the wind, close-hauled," were bound by the "rule of the road at sea" to keep our course when meeting a ship running free. The penalty for doing ANYTHING under such circumstances is a severe one.
To my great astonishment and delight, however, our grand old vessel nobly sustained her character, running on without shipping any heavy water, although sometimes hedged in on either side by gigantic waves that seemed to tower as high as her lowermast heads. Again and again we were caught up and passed by the splendid homeward-bound colonial packets, some of them carrying an appalling press of canvas, under which the long, snaky hulls, often overwhelmed by the foaming seas, were hardly visible, so insignificant did they appear by comparison with the snowy mountain of swelling sail above.
So we fared eastward and ever southward, until in due time up rose the gloomy, storm-scarred crags of the Diego Ramirez rocks, grim outposts of the New World. To us, though, they bore no terrific aspect; for were they not the turning-point from which we could steer north, our head pointed for home? Immediately upon rounding them we hauled up four points, and, with daily improving weather climbed the southern slopes towards the line.
Very humdrum and quiet the life appeared to all of us, and had it not been for the saving routine of work by day, and watch by night, kept up with all our old discipline, the tedium would have been insupportable after the incessant excitement of expectation to which we had so long been accustomed. Still, our passage was by no means a bad one for a slow ship, being favoured by more than ordinarily steadfast winds until we reached the zone of the south-east trades again, where the usual mild, settled wind and lovely weather awaited us. On and on, unhasting but unresting, we stolidly jogged, by great good fortune slipping across the "doldrums"--that hateful belt of calms about the line so much detested by all sailor-men--without losing the south-east wind.
Not one day of calm delayed us, the north-east trades meeting us like a friend sent to extend a welcoming hand and lend us his assistance on our homeward way. They hung so far to the eastward, too--sometimes actually at east-by-north-that we were able to steer north on the starboard tack--a slice of luck not usually met with. This "slant" put all hands in the best of humours, and already the date of our arrival was settled by the more sanguine ones, as well as excellent plans made for spending the long voyage's earnings.
For my part, having been, in spite of my youth, accustomed to so many cruel disappointments and slips between the cup and lip, I was afraid to dwell too hopefully upon the pleasures (?) of getting ashore. And after the incident which I have now to record occurred, I felt more nervous distrust than I had ever felt before at sea since first I began to experience the many vicissitudes of a sailor's life.
We had reached the northern verge of the tropics in a very short time, owing to the favourable cant in the usual direction of the north-east trades before noted, and had been met with north- westerly winds and thick, dirty weather, which was somewhat unusual in so low a latitude. Our look-outs redoubled their vigilance, one being posted on each bow always at night, and relieved every hour, as we were so well manned. We were now on the port tack, of course, heading about north-east-by-north, and right in the track of outward-hound vessels from both the United Kingdom and the States. One morning, about three a.m.--that fateful time in the middle watch when more collisions occur than at any other--suddenly out of the darkness a huge ship seemed to leap right at us. She must have come up in a squall, of which there were many about, at the rate of some twelve knots an hour, having a fair wind, and every rag of sail set. Not a gleam of light was visible anywhere on board of her, and, to judge from all appearances, the only man awake on board was the helmsman.
We, being "on the wind, close-hauled," were bound by the "rule of the road at sea" to keep our course when meeting a ship running free. The penalty for doing ANYTHING under such circumstances is a severe one.