Chapter Nine.
The Cape of Storms.
The steady nor’-east wind that was driving the good ship so gallantly on her way when Captain Dinks put her about in order to rescue the Norwegian sailor, continued for days, accompanied by such magnificent weather, that the Nancy Bell was enabled to make very rapid progress down to those lower parallels it was necessary for her to reach before she could stretch forward, in a straight line eastward towards her port of destination.
“I guess, Cap,” said Mr Zachariah Lathrope, noticing the quick change of temperature in the air, day by day, as they left the tropics behind—the mornings and evenings becoming gradually colder—“she air making as straight tracks fur the south as them northern carpet-baggers did after our little onpleasantness, what you folks called the civil war in the States; when they used to rush down from Washington arter postmasterships and other sich like offices, which wer to be hed, they kinder thought, fur the asking! She air goin’ slick, and that’s a fact!”
“Yes,” replied the worthy captain, whose face beamed with good humour and satisfaction at the splendid run the vessel was making; “we are going ahead, working down our southing, and will soon be able to steer for New Zealand. She does walk along, and no mistake!” And then he would look aloft, perhaps, and give an order for a brace to be tautened here, or a sheet slackened there—the hours thus flying by in halcyon moments, as far as the wind and sea, and the course of the ship, and all on board were concerned—collectively and individually.
The nights in these southern latitudes were simply beautiful beyond compare.
The moon had no sooner died out than she revived again, as if gifted with perpetual youth—not an evening passing without her presence, sooner or later, on the scene—and appeared, too, to have more dignity of position and greater size than in the frigid north, ascending right up to the very zenith, instead of merely skirting the heavens, as she sometimes does here, and shining down from thence like a midnight sun in radiant splendour. The Scorpion, also, amongst the various constellations, was similarly promoted, occupying a place nearer the centre of the firmament; while the Southern Cross, quite a new acquaintance, followed by Castor and Pollux, began to descend towards the sea, becoming more diagonal as the days drew on than when originally observed, and finally vanishing from view head foremost.
As for the North Star, it had long since entirely disappeared; and only the horses in Charles’ Wain yet remained above the horizon towards that point of the compass.
To Kate Meldrum’s eyes, the sunsets were especially grand; for, as soon as the time came for the glorious orb of day to sink to rest in the golden west, a series of light amber-tinted clouds would arrange themselves all round the horizon, as if with a studied pictorial effect, like the stage grouping in what theatrical people term “a set piece;” and then, by degrees, these clouds would become tinged with the loveliest kaleidoscopic colours, all vividly bright—while the far-off heaven that lay between them was of the purest palest rose-hued gold, and the sky immediately above of a faint, ethereal, blueish, transparent green.
In the daytime, especially as the ship drew nearer to the meridian of the Cape, there was more life in, on, and about the ocean; and on passing the Island of Tristan da Cunha, which the Nancy Bell sailed by some three hundred miles to the northward, Master Maurice Negus was greeted with the sight of a sperm-whale.
This fellow was much smaller than the black-fish which had come to such an untimely end when assailed by the thresher, being scarcely longer than thirty-two feet. Maurice was especially credited with the cetacean’s discovery, because, when he noticed the spout of spray the animal threw up from his blow-holes in the distance, he surprised everybody by calling out that he could see one of the Crystal Palace fountains—getting much laughed at, as might have been expected, for the naïve announcement.
As those on board watched, they could see the whale every now and then heave himself out of the water, half the length of his long dark body, and fall “flop” down again, with a concussion that sent up the water around him in white surf, like breakers. After this little diversion, he amused himself with swimming backwards and forwards past the ship, as if just showing what he could do, at a great rate; exposing only a thin streak of his back and the fin and tail, but making the sea boil up as if a plough were going through it, and leaving a wake behind him like that of a paddle-wheel steamer—finally starting off suddenly due north, as if he had all at once recollected an appointment in that direction, when he soon disappeared from sight.
The flying-fish and dolphins, bonetas and sharks, like the “Portuguese men-of-war,” were long since all left behind; but their places were taken by the albatross, the Cape pigeon, the shearwater, and a sea-bird called the “parson,” dozens of which flew about the ship every day.
The shearwater was a larger species of tern, or sea-swallow; the “parson,” so called for his sombre appearance and sedate manner, was a kind of sable gull about the size of an English crow. His colour, however, was not black, but a dusky brownish black, as if the reverend gentleman’s coat had got rusty from wear. These birds had a very odd, “undertakerish” air about them, which amused Maurice and Florry very much, and some having venerable white heads, which appeared as if powdered with flour, like a footman’s for a party, were so much more eccentric looking, that even the grave Mrs Major Negus could not help smiling at their appearance and queer ways.
“Do look, papa!” exclaimed Kate—who during the voyage would at one time be in the highest spirits, and the next pensive, as if occupied by a world of thought—“I declare if that one isn’t the very image of Mr Trotter, our curate at Allington! He has the same little tuft of hair on top on his head; and, besides, he has the identical same way of popping it on one side when he used to speak, and staring at you with his little round eyes. Is he not like Mr Trotter, father?” and she pointed out one especially jaunty little “parson” to his notice.
“Well, there is a little resemblance, certainly,” said Mr Meldrum, joining in Florry’s laughter at the remark. “I don’t suppose, though, my dear, we’ll ever see poor Mr Trotter or Allington again.”
“Dear old Allington!” murmured Kate with a sigh; and, in a moment, her memory flew back to the past, with all its sad associations.
The Cape pigeons were the prettiest of all the birds that visited the ship, being very like the common wood pigeon in the shape of their head and bill, but having webbed feet to suit their aquatic habits. They were much plumper, too, than either the shearwaters or parsons—which latter, by the way, unlike the fat cleric of popular opinion, were of very slender and delicate proportions.
In the matter of plumage, the Cape pigeons were white and downy, with the head and wings striped with brown like butterflies, a large species of which they strongly resembled when flying away from the ship, with their pinions spread.
But, of all the birds they saw, the albatross was the most wonderful to observe. Not much larger than a goose in the size of its body, it had enormous thin-edged wings, that enabled it to float about in the air, at will apparently, without any perceptible motion, for hours at a stretch. It seemed to direct its course by the slightest possible turning of its body, so as to alter the inclination of its wings, which, extending out straight and firm, bore the bird up or down, or away many miles off in a second of time, in the most surprising manner.
The albatross floats, or skims along the air, but does not fly according to our ideas, although it has an extraordinary power of launching itself from enormous heights down to the level of the sea with the velocity of lightning.
“Just like a white-winged messenger of light,” as Kate Meldrum observed in the hearing of Captain Dinks, “sent out from the angelic host above on some divine mission to suffering humanity below!”
“Ah; that sounds very pretty, missy,” said the captain; “but the albatross’ mission happens to be fish; and I fancy that spoils the sentiment a bit!”
Eighteen days after passing the line, some seven weeks from her start, the Nancy Bell crossed the meridian of Greenwich, or longitude zero—at which precise time her position could not be said to be either east or west—in latitude 38 degrees south, a couple of degrees below the Cape; and the wind, which had kept steadily from the north-east and northward ever since the South American coast had been left astern, now got well round to the south-west, enabling every stitch of canvas to draw, from the spanker to the flying jib. Seeing this Captain Dinks caused the upper yards to be squared a bit and the main and fore top-gallant studding-sails set, thus helping the vessel on her way.
This sort of weather lasted for five days, the ship being steered east by south, meeting the sun and losing an hour a day by the chronometer and going twelve knots each hour out of the twenty-four; when on reaching the longitude of the Cape “a change came o’er the spirit” of the Nancy Bell’s “dream.”
The wind shifted suddenly from the south-west to the north-east; and the heavy rolling sea, peculiar to the Southern Ocean, set in, accompanied by showers of rain, and hail, and snow. Soon, sail had to be reduced, and the ship, with all her gay canvas stripped off her, had as much as she could do to stagger along under reefed topsails and foresail, the mizzen staysail being set to give her more power aft, her steering becoming very wild after a bit although two men were at the helm.
From merely looking squally, the clouds gathering on the horizon grew thicker and thicker, till they got as black as ink. The sea, also, darkened to a dark leaden hue, and the swell increased so rapidly in height that when the vessel sank down into the intermediate valley not a glimpse could be obtained of anything beyond the watery mountains on either side.
“I guess we’re going to have it pretty rough, Cap, eh,” said the American to Captain Dinks; “it looks all-powerful squally, it dew!”
“You’re right,” said the captain. “We’re now in the vicinity of the Cape of Storms, and we’ve got to look out.”
So saying, Captain Dinks showed his determination of “looking out,” by having all the lighter spars of the ship sent down from aloft, besides causing everything to be made secure on deck and below for the expected storm.
Not long after the Nancy Bell was made snug the tempest burst upon her. The high, smooth rolling waves were torn and wrenched asunder, as it were; and their summits wreathed into masses of foam, which curled over as they advanced against the wind, and, breaking away in fragments, blew off in masses of snowy whiteness to leeward. The ship was meeting this swell nearly head on; and as the rollers caught her fairly on the bows she struck them with a sound as heavy as that with which the weight falls in a pile-driving machine, taking in some of the sea over the forecastle and carrying it aft as far as the break of the poop—washing about everything in its course until the water finally found vent from the deck through the scuppers.
One of these waves—a regular mountain of a sea, the water all green, and standing up like a huge pellucid wall before it toppled over—coming in over the bows, made a clean sweep of all that was movable lying forward of the mainmast, carrying over the side all the hen-coops, sheep-pen, water casks, as well as spare spars that had been stowed along the deck, nothing being left to show that they had ever been there! Even Snowball’s galley was upset and rolled about in the waist to leeward, the sea having not been quite strong enough to carry it overboard, while its unhappy occupant, half drowned in the scuppers and not able to extricate himself from his perilous position, was loudly calling for aid.
Ben Boltrope—who had been having a confab with the darkey, and probably a “drop of something hot,” his special failing, in the galley when the sea washed over the ship and fetched it away—was promptly at hand to help his sable friend; when the galley was reinstated in its proper place, and so tightly lashed down to the ring-bolts that a sea would have had to carry away the deck itself to have lifted it again. But, sad to relate, the sheep and the poultry had disappeared for ever from human ken, along with their pens and coops, and the saloon passengers would thenceforth have to fare without any such delicacies as roast mutton and boiled fowl—a terrible piece of news for Mr Lathrope when it was brought to his ears!
As the evening closed in and night came on, the force of the wind and sea both seemed to increase, and it appeared incredible that a fabric formed by human hands should have been capable of sustaining the rude shocks and ponderous blows which the ship received again and again as she battled with the waves; but the captain had in the end to let the vessel fall off her course and scud before the gale, going whither the elements listed.
“Oh, father,” said Kate to Mr Meldrum, the two remaining on deck long after the others had gone below, “what confidence sailors must have in the qualities of their ship, not to be overcome with dread at such a scene, especially if they direct a thought to the frail timbers that only separate them from the watery abyss!”
“Aye, my child,” replied he; “but, what greater confidence in God’s protecting power!”
“True, father,” said Kate, and after that she remained silent until Mr Meldrum declared it was time to go below. They did not retire, however, until it was as dark as pitch, when nothing could be seen beyond the wall of water on either side of the taffrail—the tumid mass looking like a black avalanche about to overwhelm them, while the roaring of the wind and rattling of blocks and creaking of cordage, in conjunction with the groaning of the ship’s timbers, and crashing sounds of the waves as they broke against the quarter, as if trying to beat the vessel’s sides in, made such a discord and concert altogether that it drowned conversation, even had either been inclined to talk in the presence of such a display of the mighty power of Him who rules the waves.
Down in the cuddy, the scene was certainly more cheerful; and, what with the bright light of the swinging lamps, and the well-spread table comfortably arranged for tea, with the cups and saucers placed between “fiddles” to prevent them from slipping adrift when the vessel pitched or rolled, it afforded a strong contrast to the barren bareness and gloomy discomfort of the deck, especially on such a cold night, with suspicions of hail, and sleet, and snow at intervals. But, still, here also everything was not quite so rose-coloured as might have at first appeared; for stormy weather at sea discounts what might be called the market value of the comforts and conveniences of everyday life to a most surprising extent!
The cups and saucers were all right, or so they seemed at first sight in their abnormal position; but, the moment those who sat down at the table began to use them, they took to flying about like shuttles in a carpet-loom. Bread-baskets and cake-dishes discharged their contents like catapults against the panelling of the cabin doors, while jugs of condensed milk—which was used not from any special liking for the article, but through default of there being a cow on board—were emptied most impartially on to the shirt-fronts and dresses of the gentlemen and ladies who unfortunately sat opposite to them.
“Durn my boots!” ejaculated the American once; “but if them air sheep hadn’t gone overboard to feed the fishes, I guess we’d hev hed capers enuff goin’ on down har to sarve for sass to the biled mutton!”
All put up, however, with these petty annoyances gleefully enough, only too glad to be able to joke and make capital out of them and pleased that their present calamities were not too serious for laughter; and when they separated at bedtime, it was with the cheerful wish that the weather might be a trifle brighter on the morrow. No one seemed to think for a moment of danger, or took heed of the bustle on deck, or of the quivering and shaking of everything in the saloon, which seemed suffering from what Mr Lathrope styled a “seaquake”—in contradistinction to earthquake.
But, hardly had six bells been struck in the first watch when the order “out lights” was given and the welcome gleam of the cuddy lamp disappeared summarily, plunging all in darkness—than a sudden stupendous shock assailed the ship startling the sleepers.
There came first a stunning blow, apparently from a wave, right amidships; and then, the vessel seemed to go down to the very water’s edge on one side, heeling over as rapidly immediately afterwards to the other.
Away went everything that was movable below, flung backwards and then forwards right across the ship—the thumping noise made by the heavy boxes falling in the cabins and state-rooms, combined with the crashing and smashing of glass and crockeryware in the cuddy, where the table and settle-seats had been carried away by the run, and the outcry of the sailors yelling and stamping above, not to speak of the grinding and groaning of the bulkheads and shuddering of the ship’s timbers between decks, all making up a babel of sound and confusion that was worse by a thousand fold than what had previously occurred during the first storm which the vessel, experienced in the Bay of Biscay.
Naturally, the majority of those below thought that all was over, and piercing cries of terror and appeal for help resounded through the ship.