The fable of the Flying Dutchman is well known––the Demon ship is still supposed to traverse his unwearied but unprofitable course in the neighborhood of the Cape. The weather is stormy almost throughout the year, the skies ever dark and cloudy, but while other ships, scarcely able to keep themselves steadily afloat, dare show but one or two storm sails, the phantom ship is scudding before the gale under a 180 full press of canvass. Our captain assured us with an expression of countenance which showed that he himself believed what he asserted, that he had once seen the Dutchman under crowded sail in Table Bay hardly two English miles distant; that he had altered his course in order to come up with him, but all at once he vanished, and although he steered a long time in the same direction, he found no trace of him. The thing easily explains itself when one considers that the sky is always dark and foggy, the sea rough and tempestuous, and not seldom sudden storms of hail and snow prevent the voyager from seeing a quarter of a mile before him; how easy then to lose sight of a vessel in an instant.
Much more dangerous than the Flying Dutchman are the floating bodies of ice, found also in these latitudes; and which often cause great damage to ships, for owing to the thickness of the atmosphere they are not seen, until they are driven against them. A few years ago an English frigate in doubling the Cape, ran foul of an iceberg with such force that she sprung a leak, and broke the rudder in splinters. Luckily a puff of wind that streamed from a cleft in the ice and threw back the sails, freed the ship from her perilous condition since another stroke upon the iceberg would have dashed her to pieces.
There is no climate where gurnets are found in such numbers as in the neighborhood of the Cape. In stormy or cloudy nights the sparkle of these beautiful sea-fish is the brightest. The troubled waves as they dash their foam-crested waters against the ship, glitter as though thousands of brilliant stars were seen among them, and as 181 the rushing keel divides them in her course, the effect is indescribable, and recalls to the mind of the spectator tales of fairies and sea-nymphs that come up from their ocean caves to gaze with bright and curious eyes on the daring mortals that invade their realm.
After doubling the Cape, we had sailed a whole week with a steady and favorable wind towards the Isle of Bourbon, when on one clear day whilst all were assembled on the deck, we were startled by a cannon shot fired at no great distance, and came booming over the waters like the voice of thunder. The captain was hastily summoned from his cabin, but ere he made his appearance a second report broke upon the deep stillness that succeeded the first. At the same moment a sailor on the lookout called out from above, that he “saw a light over the bows of the ship, but could not make out what it was.” “Is it a ship,” inquired the captain, as he began hastily to ascend the mainmast. “No, sir!” was the answer, “the light is too large to come from a ship’s lantern, and it cannot be the Isle of Bourbon.” “It must be a vessel on fire,” exclaimed the captain, as many cannon shots broke upon the silent air, “Bourbon lies much farther to the north. Aloft there! crowd on sail––in order to carry help to those unfortunates before it is too late!”
Whilst the sailors were busy in executing the captain’s orders, he bade the gunners fire the cannon so that the crew of the burning ship might know that help was near. In half an hour from the first alarm, we could plainly discern the blazing vessel with the naked eye, and soon after distinguished the whirling columns of flame as they towered 182 above the masts. The night, too, had come on, and the impression made by the lurid light that shone far over the quiet waters, and the booming sound of cannon that from time to time burst on its stillness, was one too awful to be soon forgotten. “If we only do not reach them too late!” cried one of the passengers who, like the sailors, never even turned their eyes away from the burning spectacle. “I hope the crew have taken to their boats before this,” said the captain, who with his nightglass to his eye was steadfastly regarding the unfortunate ship.
The breeze springing up more freshly, we sailed with increased speed towards the distressed vessel, the forepart of which was now one sheet of flame; we saw the angry fiery element enveloping the foremast from top to bottom as in a garment, now sweep over to the mainmast, the sails of which were instantly on fire. How far the conflagration had proceeded inside we could not ascertain; but we were very certain the crew had left her and taken to the boats, for our continued cannon shots were answered by muskets fired from the barge and jolly boat.
As we approached carefully so as to avoid danger to ourselves from the collision with the burning ship, a wild cry arose from the foredeck of the latter––piercing yet mournful, and while pained and astonished we looked about to discover what it meant, a spectacle singular as fearful met our eyes. The ship had a number of animals on board which were being taken to England for a menagerie. In their haste to leave, the crew had either forgotten to unloose them, or feared that by liberating them, they might meet in their rage a worse enemy than even the fire. In 183 wild and unavailing efforts, they dashed furiously against the iron bars that inclosed them, and their fearful cries almost drowned the hissing and crackling sound of the flames. At length they reached the mizzenmast, and the falling yards loosened a plank or two of one of the cages––a noble lion with flowing mane and glaring eyes burst forth and sprung overboard. At the same instant an elephant had freed himself from the rope which fettered his hind legs. Flourishing his long proboscis he rushed into the midst of the fire, but soon driven back by the heat he retreated to a portion of the foredeck which had not yet ignited, and his death-cry echoed loud and mournfully over the dusky ocean.
The falling of the mainmast ended the sad catastrophe. The cages of the other animals had taken fire, and their wild occupants bursting through the half burned planks, showed their dark forms here and there on the deck, and maddened with pain, shrieked aloud in agony as they plunged into the sea. The elephant drew himself up as for a last effort, and was about to spring overboard, as one bright, blinding glare shot athwart our eyes, and the next moment, vessel, animals, all had vanished as if by magic. The explosion that followed instantly––the sparkling brands that were hurled in all directions, explained that the flames had reached the magazine and thus blown up the luckless ship.
By this time, we had come up close to the boats, when a strange sound of snorting and moaning caused us to turn our eyes once more to the spot where the ship disappeared. We saw the huge form of the lion contending with the 184 waves; attracted by the voices of men he was making every effort to reach the jolly boat. With consternation, the crew of the frail craft observed the advance of this dangerous messmate, for if he laid but one of his paws upon the side, overladen as she was already, she must inevitably sink by the increased weight. The sailors plied their oars with renewed force––the little boat shot over the waters like an arrow, and the poor animal was left far behind. For a long time, panting and toiling, he continued the pursuit, battling vigorously with wind and waves; but at last his strokes grew weaker, his breathing shorter, and we saw him finally yield quietly to the waves that settled over him even as they had closed above the devoted ship.
The captain now called the sailors, who silent and motionless were standing about, regarding the singular and impressive spectacle, to their several duties. The sails were taken in, ropes were thrown to the boats, and such a number of dark figures clambered up the deck that we began to be uneasy, and rather doubtful of the character of the rescued. We soon, however, became convinced that we had to do with honorable people, and who, singular as they looked to us in their oriental garb, took all possible pains to show their gratitude for our timely succor. From the few Europeans on board, we learned that the ship was from Sumatra bound to London; we therefore landed them on the Isle of Bourbon whose port we entered two days after.