We parted company with our consorts with the understanding that we should rendezvous at Valparaiso. Off the Rio de la Plata we had a very heavy blow, but after that enjoyed unusually pleasant weather until we got into the latitude of Cape Horn, where, although it was December, which is summer at the antipodes, we encountered a succession of severe gales from the northwest, right in our teeth, which drove us far to the southward, and against which we could make no headway.
On Christmas Day we were in latitude 60° 05′ S. The cold was intense, it was blowing heavily, and we were plunging into a headbeat sea, close on the wind, under double reefs, when the thrilling cry, “Man overboard!” was heard. The ship was at once hove to, every one rushed on deck, and there, on the weather quarter, the figure of a man was seen rising and falling on the crest of the dark green waves. Fortunately as he passed astern some one had thrown an empty chicken coop overboard, which, drifting near him, he had managed to get hold of, and to this he was clinging for dear life.
Captain Arthur at once called for volunteers for the whaleboat, which swung on the port quarter, and a good crew was speedily selected. I was put in charge, and, watching a favorable opportunity, she was partially lowered, with us seated in her, and then the falls were let go by the run, so that as she struck the water they unreeved, for it would have been impossible in such a seaway to unhook the blocks.
We drifted clear of the quarter overhang, which was the great danger, and then, directed by signals from the ship, pulled in the direction of the unfortunate man, who more than half the time was out of sight to us in the boat, as he went down in the hollow of the great waves.
It was severe work forcing the boat through the rough water in the very teeth of the gale, for the ship had drifted well to leeward of the man before we got the boat lowered; but my men gave way with a hearty good will, and we at last had the satisfaction of reaching the man, who was almost exhausted, as well as frozen, and dragging him in, he fell prone in the bottom of the boat.
It was not so difficult to return to the ship, as we had the wind astern; but it was an exceedingly delicate and dangerous operation to hook on and hoist the boat in, and we were nearly swamped in doing it.
Loud cheers greeted us from more than three hundred throats as we came alongside, and the boat falls were stretched out and manned by all the men that could get hold of the ropes. The surgeon of the regiment was at hand, and poured nearly a gill of raw brandy down the man’s throat, and he was taken below, wrapped in a blanket, and thoroughly rubbed until the suspended circulation was once more restored. The next day he was up and about the decks again, very thankful for his escape from a great peril.
Within twenty-four hours the wind veered around to the southward, and we soon passed the Horn and ran up into the South Pacific, exchanging the Antarctic ice for the blue skies and summer weather of the tropics. In a couple of weeks we reached Valparaiso, where we remained until, a few days later, we were joined by our consorts, when profiting by our experience in Rio Janeiro, but a small number of men were permitted to go on shore each day.
We left Valparaiso January 15, 1847, and, after an uneventful run up the coast, sighted the Farallones, off the Bay of San Francisco, on the 5th of March.
Then all was excitement; for we had heard nothing of the condition of affairs in California since leaving New York six months before, and we did not know what reception we might encounter.