The Strife of the Sea

by T. Jenkins Hains

Rising upon the roll of the crest, he just managed to keep from striking until the weight and speed of the breaker had been exhausted. Then by chance and the aid of the buoy he managed to float into a crevice between the rocks and cling there until the back-wash had left him almost high and dry. With the last remaining energy left he hauled his body clear of the tide and lost consciousness.

When he regained his senses the sun was well up on the northwestern horizon. The wind had gone down considerably, and heavy, oily-looking clouds were hurrying past overhead, with breaks between them. He felt the sting of sleet upon his face and the chill from his wet clothes almost paralyzed him. He staggered to his feet and gazed about him. Then he crawled higher up the rocks.

There was no doubt about it, he was upon the rocks of Cape Horn. He was clear in his mind now and remembered his struggles, and he had seen the ragged hump too often not to recognize it at once. How his ship had been driven in so close was hard to guess, but he knew the treacherous currents of the Drift and remembered that a careless helmsman might very easily nurse the vessel off her course with the help of an unknown set to the northward.

While he looked about him he became aware that he needed nourishment very badly. He was faint with the long swim and continued exposure to the cold water and he must have remained unconscious for many hours after coming ashore. There was nothing to eat upon the ledge. Tufts of the great tussac-grass shot up here and there upon the heights above him, but there was nothing that looked as if it might be used to prolong his life.

But a seaman is never beaten until he dies. The master would not despair. He sat a moment and studied the question. Then he arose again and clambered painfully up the crags, hoping that he might find some Cape pigeon eggs upon the higher terraces. There was not a sign of anything except a great rock-hopper, or penguin, who skipped nimbly down and plunged into the sea with a loud cry before the sailor could reach him. Some thirty feet above the ledge upon which he landed he discovered a pool of half-stagnant water, but it was not salty and came from the melted snow and sleet. He drank some and felt better, although it made him colder. He felt through his clothes for a match, but found the metal case in which he carried them had failed to keep out the sea water. His numb fingers could scarcely open the case, but he finally placed the little sticks in a lee, where he hoped they would dry enough to light. Then he sat down and waited, and before he knew it he had fallen asleep.

The sun had swung up again in the northeast when he opened his eyes and the weather was less ugly. He tried his matches. First one was scratched carefully upon a dry piece of stone. The head crumbled slowly away. A bit of smoke seemed to start from it and the seaman’s heart beat rapidly. Then the head fell away, leaving the bare stick. It was worthless. He tried another of his scanty store. He grasped the little stick close to its head of composition and drew it very carefully upon the rock. A bunch of finely shredded grass, perfectly dry, was rolled into a ball to catch the first spurt of flame. The match cracked softly and at each noise the sailor’s heart seemed to stop. His hand shook violently. Then the head of the match crumbled again, and his spirits sank within him. It was life or death, for he must have warmth soon or perish. He had only three more fuses and he stopped a little to think of some way he might make them burn. He gazed steadily at them for a long time and then took up one. It failed.

Hope died away as he took up the other two. He struck them carefully as before, but they were spoiled. Then he cast the grass from him and looked out to sea.

He had been gazing for a long time before he was aware of a form which appeared circling over the ocean beyond the lift of the breakers. It was that of a huge albatross, which had come in from the sea and was apparently looking for a sheltered place upon the Horn to rest. The master gazed at the great white form skimming along over the wave-tops and remembered his pet. The bird appeared larger than the one he had caught, but all of the great Cape albatrosses were so much alike that he could not distinguish between them. He watched the bird circle about him and finally noticed that he had been discovered, for the creature came nearer and nearer at each sweep until he caught the look of its eye as it bent its head a little in order to observe him better. The albatross was evidently hungry and it might take very little indeed to invite an attack. The bird was practically carnivorous, for it ate anything in the way of flesh it could capture. It was very powerful and could get the best of a man without much trouble, provided the man was incapable of vigorous defense. The thought made him alert and brought to his own hungry self the idea of capture. He might do worse than eat a thirty-pound bird during his stay ashore. He could not cook the creature, but that would be of but small consequence in his present state. The food was the main thing and it was necessary to get something at once.

The bird came closer and closer until finally with outstretched wings and projecting feet it backed against its own headway and settled upon the ledge not twenty feet distant.

The captain’s heart beat high with expectation. He lay perfectly still watching it, hoping that it would come near enough for him to grasp it. If it was strong enough to conquer, it was well; he would soon be dead anyway without food. If he could master it by gripping its throat, he might live for many days.