[CHAPTER VII.]
Severe Cold—Furious Storm—Diego Ramirez Islands—Land Ahead—Cape Horn Weather—Two Vessels—Length of Days and Nights—Disagreeable Brawl—Heading North—Patagonia—The Andes—Another Storm—Anxiety of Captain J.—A Rainbow—Another Gale—Bill of Fare—Filthy Cooks and Impure Water.
June 23. The wind, which continued to blow with great fury during the night, began to subside a little towards morning, and as it was now veering to a more favorable point, we unfurled the sails, and were in good spirits at the prospect of speedily weathering the Cape. But the wind soon changed again, and continued to blow in violent gusts during the day, bringing down flights of snow and sleet, which covered the decks, and froze the sails and rigging. The cold was severe, and our cabin very uncomfortable. By invitation from one of the ladies, I visited their cabin for the first time since we left Rio. I was glad of an opportunity to warm my feet and hands at their stove. We are in the habit of betaking ourselves to our berths for warmth, though I occasionally get into the cooks' galley when it is not occupied by other passengers or sailors.
During a temporary abatement of the gale at night, several of the ladies went out and amused themselves with snow-balling. The sport was lively but of short continuance.
June 24. A fresh wind was blowing in the morning when I arose, and a thick fall of snow nearly blinded me as I went out on deck. The cold had become intense, and it was a time of suffering for the poor sailors. But the wind was fair, and Captain J. determined to improve it by spreading more sail. But the men had scarcely got the fore and maintop sails set, when the storm came on again with a fury far exceeding any thing we had yet encountered, and they were again sent aloft to furl the sails. We now lay to under two stay sails, the ship rolling with great violence, and the seas breaking over the decks.
There is a beauty, a sublimity in this war of the winds and waters, that fill the mind of the beholder with emotions of mingled delight and awe, and not unfrequently, be it confessed, with fear. It presents a scene which is difficult to describe, and can be imagined only by him who has witnessed it. To the captain it was at this time a season of anxiety, and to the sailors one of severe hardship. It was also a time of much uneasiness with many of the passengers; and one of them, who went up to assist in furling a sail, came down with his hands badly frozen. The winds whistled, howled and shrieked through the rigging, the torn sails flapped, the strained masts creaked and groaned, the waves rolled up into immense billows covered with foam, and dashed against the sides of the ship and over the bulwarks, deluging every person and setting afloat every loose thing upon the decks. Borne about by the raging waters, the ship often staggered for a moment upon the crest of a great wave, as if fearful of the plunge she was about to take, but quickly sinking down into the moving chasm, as if she were attempting to dive to the bottom of the sea, until overtaken by another billow, she rose to its crest, though only to be sunk into another and another gulf. Sometimes pressed down upon her side by a more violent gust of wind until her yardarms dipped into the water, the interposition of a merciful Providence only could save us. But that Providence, which had watched over, and guarded and guided us through so many perils, did not desert us in this. The blast swept by, the ship slowly arose, and her freight of eighty-eight human beings escaped the threatened destruction.
Restless as the sea birds that still hovered around her, ever in motion, pitching, plunging, lurching and rolling, she was apparently driven about at the mercy of the winds and waves, that almost bade defiance to the men at the wheel, whose utmost skill and exertions could scarce enable them to direct her course.
Captain J. came into the after house during the storm to take a cup of coffee, with his clothes whitened with the snow and his face coated with ice. But he had scarcely been in a minute, when he was hastily sent for by the mate, for the gale had suddenly increased to such a degree of violence, that we were in great danger of being capsized. He went out again, and gave orders to reduce even the small patches of canvass that were still flying. His orders were answered promptly, and the ship lay to again. The storm raged with great fury till near noon, when it began to abate, and we were enabled to carry a little more sail. The wind continued favorable during the remainder of the day, but the snow squalls came on in terrible blasts until late at night.
A week had now elapsed since we passed through the Strait of Le Maire, and so beclouded had the sky been during that time, that Captain J. had had no opportunity to take an observation of the sun, and of course he was in painful uncertainty as to our situation. There was some danger to be apprehended from a cluster of small islands or rocks, called the Diego Ramirez Islands, lying fifty-five miles to the south-west of Cape Horn, and near which we expected to pass. And it behooved us to keep a good lookout for these rocks during the obscurity of the day, and the deep darkness of the night.