“At daylight I swam to the mainland of Mitylene, and made my way to the town of Gavatha on the north side of the island, and reported the loss of the vessel. I was at once put into some dry clothes and a good meal put before me, and a party was despatched to the scene of the wreck to see if any more of the crew had escaped. But there were none left to tell the tale but me. I did not mention the passenger, or what had taken place before the wreck. I was too afraid, I did not know what to do, for they might not believe my story. I felt I could never go home again, never look into my dear mother’s face again, or hear the dear old Padre’s blessing, or feel his hand upon my head. The next day I was very ill, and one of the fishermen put me to bed in his cottage and bade me sleep and rest.
“In a few days I was better, and the good folk asked me where I lived and the name of the lost vessel, and offered to keep me there until my people were communicated with. I agreed to that and thanked them heartily, but made up my mind not to go home.
“I found a vessel loading there for Liverpool, and went on board with the labourers the day before she sailed, and when an opportunity offered I stowed away in the hold. The vessel sailed next day, and a few hours after leaving port I was discovered, but the officers did not touch me, they seemed sorry for me. So I worked my way round to Liverpool, and got a ship there bound for California. The day before we sailed from Liverpool I saw a Greek sailor that I had known in Smyrna, but I hid myself and got clear away.
“For forty-five years I have roamed about the world, but from that day to this I have never heard one word from home or parents.”
CHAPTER X
Rounding Cape Horn
Just as George the Greek had finished his story we heard the mate calling to shorten sail. All hands sprang up in a minute. For us Christmas was over—the wind had increased rapidly and the sky had assumed a very threatening appearance. The sea soon rises off Cape Horn, and in a very short time it was rolling mountains high, and breaking on board with terrific effect. The barque was at once reduced to lower topsails and foresail. The captain had been steering to pass through the Straits of Le Maire, but the wind chopping into the south-west, made him alter his mind and pass to the eastward of Staten Island.
So far we had been sheltered while to leeward of the island, but as soon as we opened out into the Pacific we got a most terrible dressing down. The sea rolled down like mountains. In no part of the world do you meet with such gigantic rollers as off Cape Horn, and it looked as though every sea that came along must engulf the “Stormy Petrel.” The crew were kept employed re-fastening and re-lashing things about the deck, everything moveable was put into a place of safety and thoroughly secured. The sea was making clean sweeps over her. Then the wind backed into the west-northwest and blew a perfect hurricane. There was no comfort for anyone on board, the sky was clear as a bell, and the immense rollers were a sight to see. The gale continued with unabated fury, the water falling on the deck in huge green seas, sometimes it seemed as if she had settled down, then she rolled and rose gradually; the water washing from side to side like cataracts until about a foot of water was on the deck. Day after day and week after week were we striving to get round that terrible Cape, but like “Vanderdecken,” in the old legend of the flying Dutchman, who swore that no power in heaven or hell should hinder him from entering Table Bay off the Cape of Good Hope, and for this oath was condemned for ever to beat about the entrance, but was never able to enter, so for six long weary weeks we were plodding at it, heartsore and limbsore with not a ray to comfort or cheer us.
One morning, just as we were about to wear ship, a gigantic sea struck her on the side between the for and main mast, the top of it going clean over the ship and the spray actually going over the upper topsail yard.
On Sunday, the first day of the seventh week since we passed Staten Island, the wind suddenly shifted into the south, and began to blow just as hard as ever. This caused a terrible cross sea, which was very nearly fatal to the “Stormy Petrel” as well as to some of our crew. We had just wore ship, and were about to set the upper topsails, when I saw a terrific sea rolling up on the weather quarter. I sang out for all I was worth to everybody on deck to hold tight—the words were hardly out of my lips when the sea broke over the stern. I just managed to spring into the rigging out of the way. First the sea engulfed the man at the wheel, tearing him from it, and washing him overboard, then it swept the cabin skylight off in pieces, smashed the raised part of the cabin flat on the deck and flooded the deck fore and aft. When the helmsman was killed and washed overboard, the ship’s head swung round to the westward and brought the terrible cross sea abeam, and almost before we realized our position another sea broke on board, just abaft the fore rigging, striking the cookhouse fairly on the side, smashing it up like so much matchwood and crushing to death two men who had taken shelter there. In the meantime the captain had sprung to the wheel, I dropped from the rigging and went to his assistance. By God’s mercy there was a lull for a minute, and the gallant little vessel swung off to her course, but for a few moments it looked doubtful if she could clear herself of the water on her deck, but a great headless sea came rolling along under the weather quarter almost throwing her on her beam ends and emptying the water off her. I looked along the deck and everything forward of the mainmast was swept clean. The cookhouse, the pigstye, the hencoop, a sheep-pen that had been built on the fore-hatch, all were gone, leaving not a stick to show even where they had stood. The forecastle also had been gutted by the sea and most of the sailors’ effects washed overboard.