Just before daybreak, the thrilling cry of “Ice dead ahead!” came from the lookout, and there was hardly time to give the wheel a few turns before a great gray mass loomed up on the port bow. A moment more, and one of the gigantic ice mountains so dreaded in these southern seas came into plain view. It towered far above the mast-heads, culminating in a circle of fantastic pinnacles which resembled the turrets of a castle. The waves, breaking against its base with a noise like thunder, hurled themselves far up its steep sides, soon to descend in the form of foaming cataracts and water falls. High up on the near side, overhanging the water, was a threatening mass of ice that seemed ready to fall on the ship, and blot her out of existence. So perilously close to the great berg was the Sagamore, that its freezing breath chilled all on deck to the marrow, and the ship’s red port light, as she swept by, shone weirdly on the frozen mass, revealing gruesome caverns that penetrated far inward. Everyone breathed easier when the monster was passed, and several recalled the names of missing ships that mysteriously disappeared in the South Atlantic.
The first streaks of dawn revealed five more bergs, which formed an icy barrier through which it was perilous to attempt a passage; while the dangerous group of rocks known as the Diego Ramirez effectually blocked the way to the north. At any moment the flying ship might crash into one of the bergs, so it was decided to heave to, thus lessening the danger of collision.
Tacking a large square-rigged vessel is considerable of a job at any time, but at night, and in a hurricane, it is an arduous task. The stiffened braces, wet with icy salt water, got tangled up, and occasionally a man would make a mistake amid the maze of ropes, thus adding to the confusion. But at last the work was finished, and the ship brought to a standstill. Several times she went over so far that captain and mates hardly dared to breathe for fear she was on her side and would never right. But after remaining in that precarious position for a moment, the ship would keel over with a sickening velocity from one side to the other; the mast-heads reeling dizzily against the sky, until she brought up with a jerk, as a sea pounded against her side. At each roll, the bulwarks went far under, allowing a flood to come roaring and tumbling aboard; washing about the main deck, tangling up ropes, and knocking men off their feet. Several seamen were kept busy attending to the oil-bags, whose contents were poured upon the waters in large quantities, but without the usual effect. The exposed position of the forward house subjected it to the full fury of the hurricane. The helpless bo’s’un lay in his bunk listening to the roaring and screeching outside, and once when an unusually big sea descended on the roof overhead, making the oak beams crack ominously, he set his teeth and thought of the calamity that had recently befallen an American ship, when the whole forward house with its sleeping inmates was carried overboard, and half the ship’s company annihilated at one fell blow.
Pandemonium reigned in the cabin. A sea stove in the companion door, the water pouring down stairs and flooding everything. Several pieces of furniture broke loose, and were banged against the partitions half the night. Everything was upside down; oatmeal covered the floor of the steward’s pantry, and the bathroom was littered with broken glass. Both passengers were thankful when daylight dispelled the most anxious night either had ever passed.
For a long time, the steward could not get forward, nor was the cook able to get aft. Consequently, there was no cabin breakfast until nearly nine o’clock. Such a meal! It was eaten by lamplight, for great seas were thundering down on the poop overhead and the storm shutters to the windows could not be taken off. It had been found almost impossible to keep anything on the galley stove, but the cook and steward between them managed to prepare some coffee, biscuits, ham and potatoes. The biscuits were lost when the steward fell on the deck as he conveyed the breakfast aft, but those who gathered about the table were satisfied, as they had their hands too full to eat anything at all, and Wilbur kept thinking of the line, “Some ha’ meat, and canna eat.”
All that day and night the hurricane lasted. The following afternoon, the barometer, after falling for a week, came to a stand at 28:20, and the climax had been reached.
“I thought I had seen storms before,” said Wilbur, “but this equinoctial has opened my eyes. It passes my comprehension how any ship can stand such a pounding and wrenching as this one has endured for three days and nights.”
“You have both been wishing for a genuine hurricane ever since leaving New York, and now that wish has been gratified,” replied the captain. “In my twenty-six voyages around the Horn I have never seen such weather, though some ships catch it even worse; but with the Sagamore under my feet, and plenty of sea-room, I fear nothing.”
The captain turned in early that night, for his clothes had not been removed for seventy-two hours past, during which trying interval he had had no rest but a few short naps. The passengers were thinking of retiring also, when they heard a call from the steward, who requested them to come into the dining room a moment.