“Come on deck if you want to see Cape Horn!” called out Captain Meade to the passengers in the cabin, who instantly hurried on deck, for one can’t see the famous Cape every day.
The captain silently pointed his finger, and there, looming up out of the morning mist, the passengers saw Cape Horn. It was nearly twenty miles off, but so deceptive are distances at sea that it seemed not half that distance away. Who can behold without a feeling of awe, that black and naked rock, rising precipitously from a low islet to a height of five hundred feet! Like some grim and frowning sentinel, it stands guard where the waters of the two great oceans meet; tyrannizing over and sorely harassing the staunch ships which even its power is rarely able to destroy; drawing on, but to beat roughly back; and occasionally permitting one of them to fly past without even a protest, as if to say, “I can be gracious when the mood’s upon me.”
It was a sharp, bracing morning. Everything wore a peaceful aspect, in spite of the peculiar moaning and whistling sound in the rigging which is always heard here. To the south, a vast ice-floe glittered in the brilliant sunlight; to leeward, two thin columns of smoke-like mist rising from the water showed where a couple of whales were blowing; while much nearer the ship, five splendid albatross sat gracefully upon the heavy swell—their black wings in striking contrast to their snow-white backs and necks. This grand looking creature is to the birds of the ocean what the eagle is to the birds of the land, and the martial look in its piercing black eye suggests a prince in disguise from some fairy tale.
The cabin breakfast had just been concluded, and the Cape pigeons were swarming around the ship, or swimming in the water alongside. The cunning horde knew the hours meals were served as well as they did day from night, and at such times all were on hand, waiting for the scraps which they knew would be thrown overboard by the cook and steward. They are pretty creatures, uniting the eyes and feet of a duck with the head, bill, and other characteristics of the domestic pigeon. The breast is white, the head and back a bluish black, while the wings are dappled black and white. Beneath the feathers, the bird is covered with a wonderfully thick, soft down, which is so dense that not a drop of the icy water in which the creatures delight to swim and dive, can ever penetrate to the skin. Soon after a ship has passed the latitude of Rio de Janeiro, the pigeons begin to make their appearance, and they follow that vessel for weeks and weeks, until she has passed around the Horn, and far up into the Pacific. Then they disappear gradually as the warm latitudes are reached, transferring their allegiance to some craft bound back in the opposite direction. How they obtain sleep and rest is a mystery, for one never lights on a ship; but no matter how fast a vessel may go, or how severe a gale may rage, the whole tribe is in attendance every morning, like an army following its general.
The cook threw overboard a quantity of table scraps, and instantly every pigeon flew to the spot; all keeping up a discordant scolding and chattering, as each tried to keep the others from getting a bite, at the same time gulping down anything it could get hold of. Several dived far down after sinking morsels. The passengers deciding to catch some of the birds, a line, with a small baited hook, was trailed out astern, and seven pigeons were soon hauled aboard, being caught in the mouth precisely as a fish is.
The first thing any ocean bird does upon being put on the deck of a ship, is to become sea-sick; and the prisoners unanimously followed this program. After parting with their breakfasts, they felt better, and one could not help laughing at the ludicrous expression of astonishment in the creatures’ eyes as they surveyed their novel surroundings. In the air or in the water, they were the personification of grace; but now they seemed to be all legs, and fell down, or plumped into something, after waddling a few yards. Then they ran along flapping their wings, as they tried to get sufficient start to enable them to soar, but only one succeeded in clearing the bulwarks. An old necktie was torn into strips, one being fastened around the neck of each bird. Thus ornamented, the captives were tossed up into the air, and off they went to tell their companions amongst what strange barbarians they had fallen.
The barometer had been falling for some days, and in spite of the fine morning, there were strong indications of an equinoctial hurricane. A heavy snowstorm hid Cape Horn from view that afternoon, a contrary wind sprang up, and the ship was driven entirely off her course, being compelled to head for the South Pole. The passengers arrayed themselves in oilers, not forgetting to tie strands of rope about their boot-tops to keep the water out, and paced the quarter-deck, where George Marsh, the mate, entertained them with tales of torrid Singapore.
But spray was flying over the Sagamore, the gale’s roaring made conversation difficult, and though the speed was exhilarating, the young men were soon driven below, leaving the mate to his lonely vigil.
He paced the deck with no companion but his own gloomy and bitter thoughts, for his life had been a hard one. Confined to a seamen’s hospital for many weary months by a terrible accident, he had thus lost command of a fine bark; and when at last he left the sick room, it was only to receive the crushing intelligence that all his earthly possessions had been destroyed by fire. Though a splendid seaman, he had since been unable to obtain a master’s berth, and now as a subordinate, trod the deck of a ship which he was in every way fitted to command.
By midnight the ship was rolling so frightfully that it was feared some of the masts would go. Great seas were coming aboard, the main deck resembled a lake, and the crew had hair-breadth escapes from going overboard. The bellowing of the hurricane was awful, and a constant succession of snow-squalls struck the ship, sending the white flakes driving through the air and upon the decks in a feathery cloud. The carpenter was proceeding to the pumps to sound the well when he fell upon the slippery deck, fetching up in the lee scuppers a moment later, where he was buried in foam and water. He had presence of mind enough to grasp a rope, and when the ship rolled in the opposite direction he emerged from his unceremonious bath as though nothing had happened. The hurricane continued to gather force; the decks were swept of everything movable, and the possible shifting of the cargo caused continual apprehension. But a more serious danger threatened the ship. When the temperature of the water was taken, the thermometer registered a sharp drop, indicating the proximity of a large body of ice. A sharp lookout was kept, but the blackness of the night and the fury of the hurricane made it impossible to see any distance from the ship.