At the back of the world

by George Pugh; Jennie Pugh

“Loose the foresail,” sang out the captain at the wheel.

“Aye, aye, sir,” answered George the Greek, and the big Frenchman together, springing up and casting off the lashing. The sail was set, and the storm-battered “Stormy Petrel” bounded on her way.

“All hands lay aft!” called out the mate.

When the men got aft to the poop the roll was called, and it was found that three of the men were missing. The Manilla man, Antonio Lopez, was washed overboard from the wheel, two of the Turks, Enrico Hermos and Suleman Sulemore were killed and washed overboard with the cookhouse. We were indeed in a sad plight, but we did not stand long idle, the boats were gone, the cookhouse had gone, and we had lost nearly all our clothes, but we all set to with a will and made the best of it.

The weather moderated a bit, and we turned to unbending the old sails, and getting up the new ones, for a ship, unlike people on shore puts on her best clothes in bad weather, and we were soon on our way before a favourable wind. Captain Glasson had also given us a stock of clothes out of the slop chest onboard.

Next the carpenter put up a temporary cookhouse, and we made some cooking utensils out of some empty paint and oil drums. It is said that necessity is the mother of invention, that was so, for in this case we made some wonderful and useful cooking pots.

We had a good spell of fine weather that carried us up to abreast of Valparaiso, and on the Sunday, there being no work done, all hands turned to and cleared up the forecastle. The wet and soiled clothes were brought out on deck, the chests moved, brooms, buckets of water, swabs, scrubbing brushes and scrapers were carried down and used with a right good will until the floor was once more as white as chalk, and everything neat and in order. The bedding from the berths was spread on deck to dry and air, the deck tub filled with water, and a grand washing began of all the clothes brought out. Shirts, drawers, trousers, jackets, stockings of every shape and colour, wet, dirty, and many of them mouldy from having been left in a wet foul corner since the storm, all were well scrubbed and washed and then made fast to the rigging to dry. Wet boots and shoes were put in sunny places on deck to dry and the ship looked like a floating laundry. Then we had what sailors call a freshwater wash, which means each one gives a little of his allowance of fresh water, this is all put into buckets and one after the other uses the same water to loosen the grime and dirt off the skin, and finishes off with buckets of salt water being thrown over each other, then, having shaved and combed and put on clean dry shirts and trousers, we sat down in the clean forecastle, which, with us, looked several degrees lighter for its clean up. We spent the rest of the day reading, talking and sewing at our ease. At sunset all the clothes, boots, bedding, etc., were taken in, and we felt we had got back to the pleasant part of a sailor’s life and hoped it would continue. But, alas for these hopes—the very next day we got a nasty set back, the wind suddenly died away, and after a few hours calm, it sprang up from the north-west, and in a couple of hours was blowing a perfect hurricane. The sea rose just as quickly, and the “Stormy Petrel” was soon reaching on the starboard tack, and burying herself in the sea. When midnight came the sea was running mountains high again, threatening all that came in its path with destruction.

Just as the watch was being relieved, the lookout reported a ship on the weather beam, and directly afterwards another on the starboard or weather bow. Both ships seemed to be running before the gale, the one on the bow was under topsails and foresails, the ship abeam had her topgallant sail set and seemed to be coming straight for us. All hands stood watching to see them pass.

When the weather ship, which appeared to be light, got within a couple of miles of us she appeared to haul to the eastward to pass astern of us, but when she came within a mile of us, those on board seemed to change their minds and she shewed us her red light only. The next moment, to the surprise and horror of all on board, the ship broached to and as the enormous pressure of wind and sea was brought to bear on her side, she capsized and sank at once with all on board. There was not a moment to get a boat out; they were all launched into eternity without a moment’s warning. We were powerless to help, having lost our boats, and if we had had the best boats in the world, they could not have lived in such a sea. What caused that terrible accident will never be known, there are so many causes to bring about such a disaster—bad and careless steering, broken steering gear, the helmsman may have been thrown over the wheel and hurt, as so very often happens, but whatever the cause, it was a terrible sight to see, and at the same time to be unable to render any assistance. It cast a gloom over our crew, and brought back to our memory the very narrow escape we had had, when in just such a storm we had lost three of our shipmates off Cape Horn.

The following day the wind veered into the south-west, and again we stood on our course. Soon we had all sail set, and were making a good ten knots per hour. We passed close to the island of Juan Fernandez, made famous by Defoe as the island home of Robinson Crusoe, or, as his real name was, Alexander Selkirk, and his man Friday. The island is so situated as to make a splendid setting to that most interesting story, standing as it does in the South Pacific, about 400 miles from the coast of Chili, and about twenty-five miles long and about four in breadth. The land is very high, rising in rugged peaks. One of them, called Yunque, being 3,500 feet above the level of the sea. The peaks are generally overhung with clouds, and the valleys are very fertile, the grass growing to a height of six and eight feet. The most delicious fruits grow in abundance, and in their season the trees are loaded with figs, peaches, and cherries, the valleys and hillside being crowded with trees. An immense number of goats run wild on the island, and an abundance of fish is taken on every coast, while the water is obtained from the never failing rivulets that trickle down the rugged rocks like threads of silver from the cloud-capped mountains. All things considered, Robinson Crusoe must have had a good time during his stay there.