“What do we care?” answered Wilbur, with a laugh. “We are in a world of our own, and as for me, I don’t bother about what is going on in the United States. It seems as if I had always lived on this ship, and my whole past life appears a vague dream. What I would like to know is, whether the Arabia and Iroquois are ahead of us or not. It will be too bad if they beat us to San Francisco.”
“No danger of that if we keep up this rate of speed. George! but we’re traveling. Let’s take a look at the log.”
Captain Meade, a fine-looking man of fifty, joined the passengers, remarking as he rubbed his hands in a satisfied fashion, “Well, gentlemen, this is a good start around the Horn. We were 50° 45’ south this noon, and if this wind would only draw into the north a trifle and then hold, we might be across 50 in the Pacific a week from to-day. I made it in six days once, but never expect to again.”
When a seaman speaks of rounding Cape Horn he does not mean simply passing the Cape itself, as one might Cape Cod or Cape Flattery. Looking at a map of South America, we find that the Horn is situated in 56° south latitude; but from the moment a ship crosses the fiftieth parallel in the South Atlantic until she has passed down around the stormy Cape and up in the Pacific to the fiftieth parallel in that ocean,—a distance approaching a thousand miles, she is said to be “rounding Cape Horn.” Until she is across 50 in the Pacific, the vessel is never safe from being blown clear back to the Cape by the furious western gales and hurricanes that rage almost continuously in this region. Thus the Sagamore had already started to round the Horn, although she was yet several hundred miles from the place itself.
The wind had increased to nearly a gale, and the ship was beginning to take some good-sized seas on board. The big surges struck the vessel’s sides with a shock that made her tremble as she sped on, and the mate soon bawled out, “Clew up the mizzen to’-gallant s’il!” The work of stripping the ship continued until nothing remained but a few storm-sails. All hands had been called, and it was indeed a sight to see the men aloft on the yards in the gathering darkness, as they tugged at the flapping canvas, trying to lay it on the yard so as to pass the gaskets round; while the wind howled through the rigging like mad, and the Sagamore, as she plunged on, began to roll at a lively rate under the influence of the big sea which was being kicked up.
“I’m glad I’m not a sailor,” said Wilbur, preparing to go below. Just then a comber broke against the stern, and a good-sized lump of water plumped down on his back, drenching him thoroughly. Hartley laughed; so did the bo’s’un, who passed at that moment, and the passengers quickly descended the companion-way to the cabin, whose warmth and security were in sharp contrast to the bellowing gale and streaming decks without.
An exquisitely wrought lamp of Benares brass—it had once graced a viceroy’s mansion in Calcutta—shed its soft light on the marble-topped center table. The captain’s compass affixed to the ceiling silently indicated the vessel’s course, and a number of fine geraniums which ornamented the wheel-house windows in warm weather now occupied a rack about the inside of the skylight. The ends of the room were occupied by two cozy sofas, with lockers underneath; one containing old copies of “Harper’s” and “Scribner’s,” while a liberal supply of ale, beer, and similar comforts filled the other. Upon the walls, handsomely finished in panels of natural woods, were a brace of revolvers and several glittering swords and cutlasses belonging to the captain,—excellent weapons to have on a ship far removed from all civil law for months at a time. The floor was of Oregon pine, beautifully oiled and polished. Contrary to custom, it was on this voyage covered by a carpet that the steward had put down soon after leaving port, “so as the passengers wouldn’t break their necks when she got to rolling off Cape Horn.” Nearly all the way from New York to the Falklands the weather had been glorious, and the ship stood up like a church in the few squalls that were encountered; but now the young men began to think the steward had known what he was about when that carpet was laid. Walking or even sitting still had become an accomplishment, so Hartley brought out the fifth volume of “Les Miserables,” while Wilbur produced one of the numerous books he had provided. With chair-backs to the table, and feet braced against the sofas, they defied the elements temporarily and read on—to the accompaniment of groaning timbers, an occasional crash from the steward’s pantry, and the muffled roaring of the gale without.
The storm gained strength as the night advanced. While the mizzen topsail was being furled, bo’s’un Merrell went forward under the forecastle deck to put additional lashings on several casks of provisions stowed in the vicinity. He was assisted by two foremast hands, and the trio had just secured a barrel of flour when the ship was struck by a heavy sea, and gave a vicious roll that threw all three men against a water-butt standing near. The sailors gained their feet uninjured, but before the stunned bo’s’un could recover himself, a half-filled cask of beef broke loose and was hurled through space as though shot from a cannon. With a cry of warning, the two seamen stumbled out of the way, but before Merrell could escape he was felled like an ox, and his lantern smashed to fragments. The motion in that extreme forward part of the ship was very great, and the cask soon took another dive in a different direction; when the men, guided by the groans of the injured bo’s’un, groped their way to where he lay and contrived to drag him behind the hatch-coaming. He was able to sit up, and gasped out “Call the mate, Jack; I’ve got a bad hurt.”
It was about two o’clock in the morning. Captain Meade had been on deck most of the night, and went forward upon hearing of the accident. The suffering man was borne into his little room near the galley, where he underwent an examination which resulted in the discovery that the left leg was broken midway between knee and ankle.
Few men have commanded deep-water ships for twenty years without having had to deal with broken limbs occasionally, and the master of the Sagamore was no exception. Twice before had he successfully met a similar emergency, and in the present case there was a valuable assistant at hand in the person of Mr. Hartley, who had just completed a course of study at a New York medical college, and was now en route to the Pacific Coast to practice.