On the morning of the 21st of October, at about five o’clock, we crossed the tropic of Capricorn, on the 100th meridian of east longitude. We still held on to our west winds, though they had now become light. We took the trade-wind from about S. S. E. almost immediately after crossing the tropic. We thus had the good fortune, a second time, to cross the tropic without finding a calm-belt; the two counter-winds blowing almost side by side with each other. We had been twenty-four days and three quarters from the Cape of Good Hope, and in that time had run, under sail alone—occasionally lying to, in bad weather—4410 miles; the average run, per day, being 178 miles. We had brought the easterly current with us, too, all the way. It had set us twenty miles to the north-east, on the day we reached the tropic. In all this lengthened run, we had sighted only two or three sails. One of these was a steamer, which we overhauled, and boarded, but which proved to be English. For nineteen days we did not see a sail; and still we were on the great highway to India. There must have been numerous travellers on this highway, before and behind us, but each was bowling along at a rapid, and nearly equal pace, before the “brave west winds,” enveloped in his own circle, and shut out from the view of his neighbor by the mantle of black rain-clouds in which he was wrapped. Our mysterious friends, the Cape-pigeons, disappeared, as we approached the tropics.
We now ran rapidly through the south-east trades, with fine weather, until we reached the 12th parallel of south latitude, when we passed suddenly into the monsoon region. The monsoons were undergoing a change. The east monsoon was dying out, and the west monsoon was about to take its place. The struggle between the outgoing, and the incoming wind would occupy several weeks, and during all this time I might expect sudden shifts and squalls of wind and rain, with densely overcast skies, and much thunder and lightning. My intention was to make for the Strait of Sunda, that well-known passage into, and out of the China seas, between the islands of Java and Sumatra, cruise off it some days, and then run into the China seas. On the evening of the 26th we spoke an English bark, just out of the Strait, which informed us that the United States steamer Wyoming was cruising in the Strait, in company with a three-masted schooner, which she had fitted up as a tender, and that she anchored nearly every evening under the island of Krakatoa. Two days afterward, we boarded a Dutch ship, from Batavia to Amsterdam, which informed us, that a boat from the Wyoming had boarded her, off the town of Anger in the Strait. There seemed, therefore, to be little doubt, that if we attempted the Strait, we should find an enemy barring our passage.
As we drew near the Strait, we began to fall in with ships in considerable numbers. On the 31st of October, no less than six were cried from aloft, at the same time, all standing to the south-west, showing that they were just out of the famous passage. The wind being light and baffling, we got up steam, and chased and boarded four of them—three English, and one Dutch. By this time, the others were out of sight—reported, by those we had overhauled, to be neutral—and the night was setting in dark and rainy. The Dutch ship, like the last one we had boarded, was from Batavia, and corroborated the report of the presence of the Wyoming in these waters. She had left her at Batavia, which is a short distance only from the Strait of Sunda. The weather had now become exceedingly oppressive. Notwithstanding the almost constant rains, the heat was intense. On the morning of the 6th of November, we boarded an English ship, from Foo Chow for London, which informed us, that an American ship, called the Winged Racer, had come out of the Strait, in company with her. In the afternoon, two ships having been cried from aloft, we got up steam, and chased, hoping that one of them might prove to be the American ship reported. They were both English; but whilst we were chasing these two English ships, a third ship hove in sight, farther to windward, to which we gave chase in turn.
This last ship was to be our first prize in East-Indian waters. A gun brought the welcome stars and stripes to her peak, and upon being boarded, she proved to be the bark Amanda, of Boston, from Manilla bound to Queenstown for orders. The Amanda was a fine, rakish-looking ship, and had a cargo of hemp, and sugar. She was under charter-party to proceed first to Queenstown, and thence to the United States, for a market, if it should be deemed advisable. On the face of each of the three bills of lading found among her papers, was the following certificate from the British Consul at Manilla:—“I hereby certify that Messrs. Ker & Co., the shippers of the merchandise specified in this bill of lading, are British subjects established in Manilla, and that according to invoices produced, the said merchandise is shipped by order, and for account of Messrs. Holliday, Fox & Co., British subjects, of London, in Great Britain.” As nobody swore to anything, before the Consul, his certificate was valueless to protect the property, and the ship and cargo were both condemned. The night set in very dark and squally, whilst we were yet alongside of this ship. We got on board from her some articles of provisions, and some sails and cordage to replace the wear and tear of the late gales we had passed through, and made a brilliant bonfire of her at about ten P. M. The conflagration lighted up the sea for many miles around, and threw its grim and ominous glare to the very mouth of the Strait.
The next day we ran in and anchored under Flat Point, on the north side of the Strait, in seventeen fathoms water, about a mile from the coast of Sumatra. My object was to procure some fruits and vegetables for my crew, who had been now a long time on salt diet.
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE ALABAMA PASSES THROUGH THE STRAIT OF SUNDA, SEEING NOTHING OF THE WYOMING—BURNS THE WINGED RACER JUST INSIDE THE STRAIT—THE MALAY BOATMEN AND THEIR ALARM—ALABAMA MAKES FOR THE GASPAR STRAIT, AND BURNS THE CONTEST, AFTER AN EXCITING CHASE—PASSES THROUGH THE CARIMATA PASSAGE—DISCHARGES HER PRISONERS INTO AN ENGLISH SHIP—MINIATURE SEA-SERPENTS—THE CURRENTS—PULO CONDORE—ARRIVAL AT SINGAPORE.
Soon after anchoring as described in the last chapter, we had a false alarm. It was reported that a bark some distance off had suddenly taken in all sail, and turned her head in our direction, as though she were a steamer coming in chase. Orders were given to get up steam, to be ready for any emergency, but countermanded in a few minutes, when upon a partial lifting of the rain-clouds, it was ascertained that the strange sail was a merchant-ship and had only taken in her top-gallant sails to a squall, and clewed down her topsails, to reef. She was indeed coming in our direction, but it was only to take shelter for the night. She was a Dutch bark from Batavia, for the west coast of Sumatra.