Chapter Twenty One.
Herschel Island.
“Maircy on us!” exclaimed Mr Macdougall, who at that moment was just gingerly passing down the standard compass to Jorrocks, the boatswain, standing up in the stern-sheets of the long-boat alongside, and stretching up his hands as carefully to receive the precious instrument; and the sudden blinding flash of the explosion and concussion of the air that it caused, almost made him drop this in his fright. “Whateever on airth ees that noo?”
“Matter?” repeated the skipper after him coolly, taking in cause and effect at a glance. “Why, the gas generated by the heated coal in the hold has blown out the forepeak, that’s all! It is providential, though, that the wrench which the foremast gave to the deck-beams and bulkhead there when it carried away, so far weakened the ship forwards as to enable the gas to find vent in that direction, otherwise the entire deck would probably have been blown up—when it would have been a poor look-out for all of us here aft!”
“Gudeness greecious!” ejaculated the mate again, blinking bewilderedly, like an owl unexpectedly exposed to daylight; but Captain Billings did not waste time in any further explanations or unnecessary words.
“I hope nobody’s hurt! Run forwards, Leigh, and see,” he said to me.
Fortunately, however, all had escaped without a scratch, although fragments of the knees and other heavy portions of the vessel’s timbers had been hurled aloft and scattered in all directions, as if a mine had been sprung below—the woodwork descending afterwards in a regular hailstorm on our heads, blown into small pieces no bigger than matches, and mixed up with a shower of blazing sparks and coal-dust, making us all “as black as nayghurs,” as Pat Doolan said.
The stump of the foremast, in particular, described a graceful parabolic curve in the air, coming down into the water in close proximity to the bows of the long-boat—where, under the supervision of the boatswain, the steward and the carpenter were stowing provisions under the thwarts, making the two almost jump out of their skins. It descended into the sea with the same sort of “whish” which the stick of a signal rocket makes when, the propelling power that had enabled it previously to soar up so majestically into the air above being ultimately exhausted, it is forced to return by its own gravity to its proper level below, unable to sustain itself unaided by exterior help at the unaccustomed height to which it was temporarily exalted.
And in this respect, it may be observed here, although I do not believe the remark is altogether original, that a good many human rockets may be encountered in our daily life, which exhibit all the characteristic points and weaknesses of the ordinary material model that I have likened them to—composed of gunpowder and other explosive pyrotechnic substances, and familiar to all—for, they go up in the same brilliant and glorious fashion, and are veritable shining lights in the estimation of their friends and the fickle testimony of public opinion; only, alas, to descend to the ordinary level of every-day mortals, like the rocket-stick comes down in the end!
I need hardly say, though, that I had no thought of these reflections now; for, immediately after the explosion forwards, the flames which mounted aloft with it burst forth with full vigour, released from the confined space of the hold to which they had been previously limited, and the entire fore-part of the ship, from the waist to the knight-heads, became a mass of fire, the cavity disclosed by the riven deck adjacent to the fo’c’s’le being like a raging volcano, vomiting up clouds of thick yellow smoke from the glowing mass of ignited coal below, which almost suffocated us, as the ship went too slowly through the water for the vapour to trail off to leeward.
The mainmast was still standing, with the mainsail set before the southerly wind, that was blowing in towards the land, the force of the explosion not being vented much further aft than the windlass bitts; but, almost as we looked, tongues of flame began to creep up the main rigging, and the huge sail was presently crackling away like tissue paper to which a lighted match has been applied, large pieces of the burning material being whirled in the air.
The heat now became unbearable, and Captain Billings, much to his grief, saw that the time had come for him to abandon the ship.
“We must leave her, Leigh,” said he to me, with as much emotion as another person might have displayed when wishing a last farewell to some dearly-loved friend or relative. “There is no good in stopping by the old barquey any longer, for we can’t help her out of her trouble, and the boats may be stove in by the falling mainmast if they remain alongside much longer. Poor old ship! we’ve sailed many a mile together, she and I; and now, to think that, crippled by that gale and almost having completed her v’yage, she should be burnt like a log of firewood off Cape Horn!”
“Never mind, sir,” said I, sympathisingly. “It has not happened through any fault of yours.”
“No, my lad, I don’t believe it has, for a cargo o’ coal is a ticklish thing to take half round the world; as more vessels are lost in carrying it than folks suppose! However, this is the last we’ll ever see of the old Esmeralda, so far as standing on her deck goes; still, I tell you what, Leigh, you may possibly live to be a much older man than I am, but you’ll never come across a ship easier to handle in a gale, or one that would go better on a bowline!”
“No, sir, I don’t think I shall,” I replied to this panegyric on the doomed vessel, quite appreciating all the skipper’s feelings of regret at her destruction; but just then the flames with a roar rushed up the main hatch, approaching towards the poop every moment nearer and nearer.
This at once recalled Captain Billings from the past to the present.
“Have you got everything aboard the boats?” he sang out in his customary voice to Mr Macdougall, his tones as firm and clear as if he had not been a moment before almost on the point of crying. “Are all the provisions and water in?”
“Aye, aye, an’ stoowed awa’, too, Cap’en,” answered the mate, to whom had been entrusted the execution of all the necessary details. “A very thin’s aboord, and naething forgot, I reecken.”
“Then it’s time we were aboard, too,” said the skipper. “Boatswain, muster the hands!”
Jorrocks didn’t have to tap on the deck with a marlinspike now to call them, in the way he used to summon the watch below to reef topsails in the stormy weather we had off Madeira and elsewhere; for the men were all standing round, ready to start over the side as soon as the skipper gave the word of command to go.
Captain Billings then called over the list of the crew from the muster roll, which he held in his hand along with the rest of the “ship’s papers”—such as the Esmeralda’s certificate of registry, the manifest of the cargo, and her clearance from the custom-house officers at Cardiff; when, all having answered to their names, with the exception of the two invalids, Mr Ohlsen, and Harmer, the seaman, both of whom were already in the long-boat, the skipper gave the word to pass down the gangway, apportioning seven hands in all to the jolly-boat, under charge of Mr Macdougall, and the remainder of our complement to the long-boat, under his own care.
Including the invalids, we were seven-and-twenty souls in all—now compelled to abandon our good ship, and trust to those two frail boats to take us to the distant coast of Tierra del Fuego, of which we were not yet even in sight; and it was with sad hearts that we went down the side of this poor Esmeralda for the last time, quitting what had been our floating home for the two months that had elapsed since we left England, for the perils we had encountered in her had only endeared her the more to us!
Captain Billings was the last to abandon the ship; lingering not merely until we had descended to the boats, seven in one and nineteen as yet only in the other without him, but waiting while we settled ourselves along the thwarts; when, turning round, he put his feet on the cleats of the side ladder and came down slowly, looking up still at the old vessel, as if loth to leave her in such an extremity.
The jolly-boat had been already veered astern on receiving her allotted number, the long-boat only waiting alongside for the skipper, with a man in the bows and another amidships, fending her off from the ship’s side with a couple of boat-hooks, so that the little barque should not dash against the hull of the bigger one, now she was so loaded up—a collision would have insured destruction to all in her, the huge billows of the Southern Ocean rolling in at intervals, and raising her so high aloft as to overtop the ship sometimes, and again carrying her down right under the Esmeralda’s counter, thus making her run the risk of being stove in every instant.
It was too perilous a proximity; so, as soon as Captain Billings had got down into the stern-sheets, he gave the order to shove off.
“Easy her away gently, men,” he said, as he took up the tiller lines, watching with a critical eye the movements of the men amidships and in the bow, as they poled the boat along the side of the ship until it passed clear of her by the stern. “Be ready there with your oars, sharp!”
In another moment the boat was tossing about in the open sea, the height and force of the waves becoming all the more apparent now that we had lost the protection of the Esmeralda’s lee. The flames just then, as if angry at our having escaped them, darted up the mizzen rigging, and presently enveloped the poop in their blaze, so that the whole ship was now one mass of fire fore and aft, blazing like a tar-barrel.
The skipper would have liked to have lain by and seen the last of the vessel, but there was too much sea on, and the wind seemed getting up again; so, knowing how treacherous the weather was in the vicinity of the Cape of Storms, he determined, for the safety of those under his charge, to make for the land as speedily as possible—an open boat not being the best craft in the world to be in, out on the ocean, when a gale is about!
As Captain Billings could see, the wind was blowing on shore, in the very direction for us to go; and, as the rollers were racing towards the same goal, the only way for us to avoid being swamped by them was to travel at a greater rate forwards than they did, or else we would broach-to in the troughs of the waves, when a boat is apt to get for the moment becalmed, from the intervening wall of water on either side stopping the current of air, and taking the breeze out of her sails.
The long-boat was fitted with a couple of masts, carrying a large mainsail and a mizzen, both of which the skipper now ordered to be set, the former close-reefed to half its size. A bit of a staysail was also hoisted forwards in place of the jib, which was too large for the wind that was on; and then, it was wonderful to see the way the long-boat began to go through the water when the sail was put on her! She fairly raced along, dragging astern the jolly-boat, which we had taken in tow, the little craft leaving a curly wave in front of her cutwater, higher than her bows, and looking as if it were on the point of pouring over on top of those in her.
It was now late in the afternoon of this, our sixty-third day out of port; and, as the sun sank to rest in the west, away in the east, according to our position in the boat, there was another illumination on the horizon.
It was that caused by the burning ship. But it did not last so long: the fire of coals and wood could not vie with that of the celestial orb.
We could still see the blazing hull, as we rose every now and then on the crest of the rollers; while, when we could not perceive it from the subsidence of the waves under the boat’s keel, making us sink down, a pillar of smoke, floating in the air high above the Esmeralda in a long fan-like trail, and stretching out to where sky and sea met in the extreme distance, told us where she was without any fear of mistake.
Soon after we had quitted the vessel the mainmast, when half consumed, tumbled over the side; and, presently, the burning mizzen, which had been standing up for some time like a tall fiery pole, disappeared in a shower of sparks.
The end was not far off now.
As we rose on the send of the next sea, Captain Billings, by whose side I was sitting in the stern-sheets of the long-boat, grasped my arm.
“Look!” he said, half turning round and pointing to where the burning ship had last been seen.
She was gone!
The smoke still hung in the air in the distance, like a funeral pall; but the wind was now rapidly dispersing it to leeward, there being no further supply of the columns of cloud-like vapour that had originally composed it.
Soon, too, the smoke had completely disappeared, and the horizon was a blank.
“All’s over!” cried the skipper, with a heavy sigh.
All was over, indeed; for, whatever fragments of the ill-fated Esmeralda the remorseless fire may have spared, were now, without doubt, making their way down to the bottom of that wild ocean on which we poor shipwrecked mariners were tossing in a couple of frail boats—uncertain whether we should ever reach land in safety, or be doomed to follow our vessel’s bones down into the depths of the sea!
Night fell soon after this; but the long-boat still held her way, running before the wind, and steering a nor’-nor’-west course by compass. We had now been going in that direction some two hours or more, and the skipper calculated that we were some thirty miles off the Wollaston Islands, which we ought to fetch by daylight next morning.
Fortunately, it was a bright clear night, although there was no moon, only the stars twinkling aloft in the cloudless azure sky; and, thus, we were able to watch the waves so as to prevent them pooping us when two seas ran foul of each other, which they frequently did, racing against the wind, and eager, apparently, to outstrip it. Still, the most careful steering was necessary, and Jorrocks had to have out an oar astern, in order to aid the skipper’s control of the tiller, when he put the helm up or down suddenly so as to get out of the wash of the breakers.
The jolly-boat, too, occasioned us much uneasiness; for when the tow-rope slackened at these moments of peril, she ran the chance of slewing round broadside on to the sea. However, thanks to the interposing aid of Providence, we got through the dangers of the night, and day dawned at last.
It was a terribly anxious watch, though, for all hands—especially for the skipper and Jorrocks, and the men told off to hold the sheets of the sails; for these latter couldn’t be belayed, having to be hauled taut or let go at a moment’s notice.
With the advent of day came renewed hope, in spite of our not being able yet to see land—nothing being in sight ahead or astern, to the right or the left, but the same eternal sea and sky, sky and sea, which the rising sun, although it lent a ray of radiance to the scene, only made infinitely more dreary and illimitable.
Towards noon, however, away on the port bow, the peak of a snow-topped mountain was perceived just above the horizon.
“Hurrah!” cried Captain Billings. “There’s our old friend Cape Horn! Another couple of hours straight ahead, and we ought to rise those islands I was speaking of. Do you see the Cape?” he shouted out across the little intervening space of water to Mr Macdougall in the jolly-boat.
“Aye, aye—and it’s a glad seeght!” replied the mate, to which statement all hands cheered. Some provisions, which, through the thoughtful precaution of the skipper and the assistance of Pat Doolan, had been cooked before being placed on board, were now served out around—the long-boat the while steadily progressing on her course, now hauled a bit more to the westwards of north.
About three o’clock in the afternoon another cheery hail broke the stillness that reigned amongst us; for we were all too anxious to talk, and those of the crew who were not attending to the sheets of the sails had composed themselves to sleep, under the thwarts amidships and on the gratings aft.
“Land, ho!”
The cry came from a man on the look-out in the bows; and the announcement was received with a ringing shout, for the heavens were beginning to get overcast, and the wind was rising, promising that, should we be compelled to remain afloat another night, we should not find it quite so pleasant as our experiences of the past one, in spite of what we then thought the dangerous character of the following waves; and, if it came on to blow in addition, the heavy running sea which we had then to contend with would be mere child’s play in comparison with what we might expect would get up in an hour or two.
But, the nearness of the land led us to hope that we should not experience any further risk of being swamped. Long before sunset we approached it close enough to see where we were going.
The nearest shore was that of an island, with high mountain peaks, but of little apparent extent, looking, as we saw it, barely a mile long. Near this were three or four other islands, although further to the northwards; while on the extreme left, some miles to the westwards, was the high snow-white peak which the skipper had said was Cape Horn, standing on a little island of its own that stretched out into the sea to a more southerly point than any of the other islets composing the archipelago.
“Why, sir,” said I to Captain Billings, “I always thought that Cape Horn was part of the mainland, jutting out from the end of Tierra del Fuego—that’s what my school geography taught, at all events!”
“Oh, no,” he replied. “It is on an island, sure enough, as all mariners know, although these chaps that write books for schools may not think it island enough to mention the fact. Where it stands is called Horn Island, and the next large one beyond it Wollaston Island; but I’m going to make for that little one ahead, as it is the nearest.”
“And what is that called?” I asked.
“Herschel Island, after the great astronomer,” answered the skipper. “I’ve been here before, my lad, and recognise the whole lot of them, and that is how I come to know about ’em.”
“Are any people living there?” said I, presently, the boat nearing the island so quickly that we could see a line of white beach, with the waves breaking on it, lying below the chain of mountain ridges that ran across it “fore and aft,” as a sailor would describe it.
“Only cannibals,” replied the skipper, placidly.
“Cannibals on Herschel Island, and we going there!” I exclaimed, half astonished, half frightened.
“Aye, they are there or thereabouts; but, at all events, we’re going to land on Herschel Island, as it’s a case with us of any port in a storm! Look out there, forwards!” he called out a moment or two after to the men. “Be ready to down the mainsail when I give the word. Steady with the sheets. Now!”
And, with a grating noise, the boat’s keel struck the shore, carried forwards on the top of a huge wave, whose backwash, however, dragged us back into the deep the next second, slewing the head of the boat round at the same time, so that she hung broadside on.
“Out oars, men—out oars for your life!” shouted the skipper, seeing the terrible danger that now threatened us in the very moment of safety; but, before the order could be executed, the long-boat was upset, and we were all tumbling about in the surf!