Next day was a most lovely one, but a heavy rolling sea was sufficient to prevent our visitors of yesterday joining us. Nevertheless, we thoroughly enjoyed the day ourselves, for the whole ship’s company—passengers, crew, men, women, and children—held high carnival on the promenade deck. It was pretty to see the children of the second class who, owing to the high bulwarks, were rarely able to see over the ship’s side, rush first of all to look over the rail at the heaving sea.
The first officer was dressed as a showman, and presided over the Fine Art Exhibition, his face being painted a fine terra-cotta tint. The crew and stewards were variously costumed as nigger minstrels, etc. The stalls were presided over by the ladies, who, as usual, were very successful in disposing of the various articles, which, by the way, were for the most part made up by the ladies themselves during the voyage. Much curiosity was excited by the announcement of a dramatic performance, entitled “The White Squall,” which was to take place in the Theatre Royal. The corps dramatique evinced great anxiety to secure the attendance of the whole ship’s company, and were fairly successful. The performance did not take long, for as soon as the audience were seated cries of “Let go” were heard from the actors, upon which the air was filled with a veritable “White Squall,” consisting of clouds of flour, causing a general stampede.
Next day we found our companion of yesterday lying at some distance ahead, while a stranger lay on the port quarter. A curious instance of cross-signalling ensued. The stranger asks our companion, the St. Vincent, for latitude and longitude. The St. Vincent missing this, and intent on their investment in yesterday’s lottery, puts up, “What have we won?” The reply, “Nothing.” The stranger runs up, “Don’t understand. Repeat, please.” Then St. Vincent replies, “Very sorry,” upon which our Captain signals the stranger, and removes all further doubt.
We passed close to the Island of Tristan d’Acunha, which lies in the South Atlantic, lat. 37° 6′ S., long. 12° 7′ W. As a curious little history attaches to the island, I make the following extract from our ship’s newspaper:
“Tristan d’Acunha is a volcanic peak of very considerable altitude, so considerable indeed that its summit is covered almost perpetually with snow. It rises sheer out of the water, and there is only a single landing-place on the whole island. Previous to the downfall of Bonaparte it was uninhabited; but when that scourge was despatched to St. Helena, the British Government deemed it advisable to secure this isolated rock, and so prevent the French using it as a base of operations against the place of Napoleon’s internment. A small company of soldiers, in charge of a corporal, was therefore despatched, and left in possession.
“In 1821 Napoleon died, and the necessity for maintaining the garrison at Tristan existed no longer. A man-of-war was accordingly sent to bring away the corporal and his little army. But he and they had by this time comfortably settled down, tilled the—rock we were about to say—and produced excellent potatoes and other vegetables; raised pigs and goats, and having in some mysterious way obtained wives, had raised families too. They were therefore extremely reluctant to leave the scene of their successful labours; and the English Government, nothing loth to encourage colonisation, at once gave the necessary permission to remain, and with it a small pension or annuity.
“They have gone on flourishing and increasing, forming a useful and peaceable community in the very centre of the South Atlantic; useful because whalers and other vessels, by putting in there, are able to obtain fresh potatoes, vegetables, and pigs. Little money is used, barter affording sufficient facility for interchange.
“Crime is almost unknown. We had as well said absolutely unknown, for it is doubtful whether the one case of dishonesty on record as such was not rather an ill-fared joke. It seems that when a marriage takes place a pig is killed by the bride’s father, and dressed the night before the nuptials. On the occasion referred to the pig disappeared before morning, and was traced to the house of a notorious wag, as to whose fate history is silent. It is only fair to add that he admitted taking the pig, but protested that it had been done by way of a practical joke. At one time a missionary existed in the midst of this innocent community, but he eventually disappeared—either died or was removed. His place was never refilled, and the consequences have been rather trying to the budding men and women of Tristan, for whereas in the missionary’s days loving couples could be, to use a nautical phrase, “spliced,” when they had made up their minds, now they must wait until a chance man-o’-war, with a chaplain on board, puts in, and as their visits are nearly as rare as those of the angels, the patience of these Tristan lovers must unquestionably be sorely strained. When, however, like some comet of very eccentric orbit, the parson does at length turn up, he finds plenty of ripe pairs ready—nay, eager—for him.
“What a popular man that parson must be! Last and most interesting fact. When the ‘Sobraon’ put in at Tristan in 1879 the corporal was still living, a venerable patriarch of ninety years.”
After leaving Tristan we soon get “into the forties,” or as the sailors are wont to say, “the rolling forties,” where the westerly winds steadily prevail, and continue right on until we make Cape Leeuwin. These winds cause the magnificent waves, or “rollers,” which tower up over the stern of the vessel, threatening, apparently, to overwhelm it. In a gale of wind, and when the “following seas” are running at a high speed, it becomes necessary for some vessels to “lie to” in order to avoid this catastrophe. We had an opportunity of seeing this operation. Soon after passing the Cape we were overtaken by a heavy gale, and a high following sea. Our vessel being a sailing ship of the old type, with broad bluff bows, necessitated our adopting that course. Our stern was turned in the teeth of the wind and sea, and, with the exception of a top-sail and jib-sail, all our canvas was closely taken in. She lay so all night labouring heavily, and the sea breaking over her decks.