As Bob was busy below getting tea, and I was stowing the canvas, a steamer came in with a flag flying, which, on taking a look at it through the glass, I recognised as the distinguishing flag of the Cape mail-boats, so I left everything just as it was, dashed down below, and penned a few hasty lines home, giving a brief outline of our adventures so far, and taking care not to lay too much stress upon the gale, whilst I was equally careful to do full justice to the Water Lily’s sea-going qualities, that my sister’s apprehensions might be as much allayed as possible.
As soon as I had finished and sealed the epistle I joined Bob upon deck to assist him in putting our novel boat together, which done, we pulled on board the mail-boat, where we were very kindly received; and I gave my letter into the hands of the captain, who promised (and faithfully redeemed his promise too) to post it on his arrival home.
I afterwards found that he reported us also, so that the Water Lily duly appeared in the “shipping” columns of the various papers, and my yachting friends thus got an inkling of our success thus far.
I shall not attempt any description of Madeira, or indeed of any other of the well-known spots at which we touched. The places have been so often and so fully described in the many books of travel which have been written, that any further description, or at all events such description as I could give, is quite superfluous. It will suffice for me merely to say that Bob and I spent three days stretching our somewhat cramped limbs in this most lovely island, and discussing which route we should take to the Pacific.
We had often discussed this question before; but it was with a feeling of indifference which precluded our arriving at any definite and absolute decision upon the matter. It was now, however, time that this point was settled, as it would affect our course soon after leaving the island, or, at all events, when we came to the Cape de Verdes.
The eastern route would be much longer than the western; but I felt disposed to adopt it, in the belief that we should be favoured with much better weather. I entertained a very wholesome dread of the “Horn”—the notorious “Cape of Storms.” Bob, on the other hand, was all for the western route.
“I’m willin’ to allow,” observed he, “that a trip round the Horn ain’t like a day’s cruise in the Solent—all pleasuring; but I’ve knowed ships to come round under r’yal stunsails, and that more than once. The place is bad enough; but, like many another thing, not so black as it’s painted. It’s got a bad name, and that, we know, sticks to a place or to a body through thick and thin. I’ve been round five times, twice outward-bound and three times homeward, and we always had plenty of wind; but only once did I round it in a reg’lar gale, and then, had the Lily been there, I’ll lay my grog for the rest of the v’yage she’d have made better weather of it than the old barkie I was aboard of. It’s risky, I know; but so’s the whole trip for that matter, though, so far, by what I’ve seen of the little craft, I’d as lieve be aboard her in a gale of wind as I would be in ere a ship that ever was launched. She’s cramped for room, and when you’ve said that you’ve said all as any man can say ag’in her. Besides, see how ’twill shorten the v’yage. Once round the Horn and you’re there, as you may say, or next door to it. And then, there’s ‘Magellan;’ if, when we get down about there, things don’t look promising for a trip round outside of everything, ram her through the Straits. I’ve been through ’em once, and an ugly enough passage it was too, blowing a whole gale; but there’s thousands of places where the Lily would lie as snug as if she was in dock, but where a large ship dursen’t venture for her life.”
I yielded, as I generally did in such matters, to Bob’s judgment; and it was settled that the Water Lily should brave Cape Horn with all its perils. On the fourth day of our stay at Funchal we filled up our water-tank, made a few additions to our stores (among others, a small stock of the famous wine produced by the island); and towards evening stood out to sea again, with our main-boom well garnished with bunches of bananas and nets of various kinds of fruits; the wind at the time being light, from about east-south-east, with a fine settled look about the weather. This lasted us for four days, and ran us fairly into the “trades,” and on the third day following, just as the sun was dipping beneath the horizon, we sighted Saint Antonio, the westernmost of the Cape Verde Islands.
The “trades” were blowing very moderately as it happened, and the weather was as fine as heart could wish, with a nearly full moon into the bargain, so we were able to carry not only a jib-headed topsail, but also our spinnaker at the bowsprit-end; and under this canvas the little beauty made uncommonly short miles of it, tripping along like a rustic belle going to her first ball. We fell in with several homeward-bound ships, all of whom we requested to report us on their arrival as “all well.” So fine a run had we from the Cape de Verdes, that on the morning of the fifth day after sighting them we ran into the “doldrums” or region of calms and light variable airs which prevail about the line.
Here our light duck did us valuable service, for though the wind soon fell so light that it became imperceptible to us, and not a ripple disturbed the glassy surface of the water, by getting our enormous balloon gaff-topsail aloft we managed to catch enough wind from somewhere to fan us along at the rate of nearly three knots. True, the breeze was very variable, our boom being sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other, sometimes square out (at least as far as the little air of wind had power to project it), and sometimes hauled close in as the flaws headed us, and broke us off two or three points one side or the other of our course. But, in spite of the baffling airs, such good progress did we make, that by two o’clock that afternoon we were gliding slowly through a fleet of about forty sail of vessels which were so completely becalmed that they were heading in all directions, utterly without steerage-way.