A Desperate Voyage

by E. F. Knight

So going forward the mate saw that an anchor was got over the bows and that a sufficient length of cable was ranged in front of the windlass.

The vessel sailed slowly towards the island until midday, when the expected calm fell upon the sea. However, as the current was setting straight on shore, the barque drifted on till four o'clock in the afternoon, when she was about half a mile from the breakers, and the anchor was let go in twenty fathoms of water.

The scene that lay before them as they approached was appalling in its grandeur. They could perceive no vegetation of any description on the lofty mountains, which rose almost perpendicularly from the sea-foam into a bank of dark clouds that had now gathered on the summit of the island. The fire-consumed crags were often of strange metallic colours,—red and green and coppery yellow,—which gave the scenery an unearthly appearance, but most of the island was of a dismal coal-black.

Some of the mountains seemed to have been shaken to pieces by the fires and earthquakes of volcanic action; for they sloped to the sea in huge landslips of black stones. Gigantic basaltic columns many hundreds of feet in height descended into the waves along a considerable portion of this savage coast, a formidable wall that defied the mariner to land. In a few places only a narrow margin of shore divided the sea from the inaccessible cliffs, and this was encumbered with sharp coral and great boulders that had fallen from above.

The barque was anchored off the entrance of a profound and most gloomy ravine, from which a stream of water fell as a cascade into the sea. The head of this ravine, high above, was lost in dense clouds. It looked like the road to some mysterious and unknown world.

Not only were the sights of this coast such as to terrify the imagination, but so likewise were the sounds. Though this was the lee side of the island, and was protected from the high swell which, raised by the south-east trade wind, breaks so furiously on the back of Trinidad, yet the sea rolled in very heavily with a stupendous roar that was echoed with dismal, hollow reverberations among the rocky ravines. After the breaking of a higher wave than usual, great masses of water would be dashed up the sides of a cliff to a great height. Deep fiords opened out in places; but even these afforded no shelter. Within them the sea raged as furiously as it did outside.

This remote and rarely visited island was evidently a favourite breeding-place for several varieties of sea-birds. Vast numbers flew through the rigging of the vessel, uttering savage cries. So unaccustomed were they to the sight of man that they showed no timidity, but rather indignation, at his invasion, and a disposition to drive him off again. Many of them wheeled round the heads of the sailors with angry shrieks, approaching so near that they could easily have been caught with the hand.

"I don't at all like the look of the island of Trinidad," said Baptiste. "It is the most inhospitable place I have ever seen. I am not surprised that no one cares to live here. How large is it?"

"It is about fifteen miles round," Carew replied. "The Portuguese tried centuries ago to establish a settlement here, but they soon abandoned it. It is very barren, and so dangerous a surge breaks continually round every part of it that it is often impossible to effect a landing for weeks at a time."