November 12th, lat. 48° S., long. 51° W., we fell in with the ship Mary, of Boston, Capt. Trescott, bound to the Northwest Coast of America, and I agreed to keep company with him until we had doubled the Cape. This arrangement could be no impediment to our progress, as our vessels were nearly equal sailors.—November 15th, we saw the Falkland Islands bearing from southeast to southwest, fifteen miles distant. From our longitude we judged ourselves to be nearer the western extremity, but the wind inclining westward compelled us to pass to the eastward of them.—November 19th, the wind from the westward increased to a gale, with a heavy swell, which brought both ships under short sail. At eight, P. M., the Mary bore upon our weather quarter, about two miles distant. At ten, the wind continuing the same, I left the deck, charging the officer of the watch to be careful that we did not approach each other too near. At daylight it was perceived that she had approached us considerably, though she still held a position on the weather quarter at a sufficient distance to be out of danger. But through inattention of the officer on board the Mary to the steering, she was brought under our lee within hail; of this I was not informed by the mate in command on the deck. The Juno was making but slow progress through the water, being under short sail, with a heavy sea running, and obliged to keep close to the wind in order to avoid a collision. In this way, the ship’s headway would be so checked that she would fall off two or three points, regardless of the helm. While thus situated, the Mary was in the act of coming to, and the Juno falling off, when, before either ship had gained sufficient headway to be under quick command of the helm, our whole broadsides came into contact with a crash that made every timber quake. I immediately rushed on deck, and beheld with amazement our perilous situation. In which, spite of all our efforts to get clear, we remained nearly fifteen minutes, cutting and tearing our bulwarks, channels, and plank-sheer, and making sad work with our rigging. Finally we separated, and without apparently sustaining any injury below our plank-sheer.
This may be an uninteresting matter for record to many, but it is one of those casualties which not infrequently occur from a reckless neglect, or a want of ordinary judgment, and yet where no one is willing to acknowledge himself at fault. They show that caution is to be regarded as a cardinal point of practical navigation. I am bold to say, that, if I had been apprised of our proximity, the collision would never have taken place.
When endeavoring to extricate the two ships, Mr. Stetson, first mate of the Mary, while on a poise upon her railing, to save himself from falling overboard, made a leap for the Juno, and landed on her deck. In the course of the day the weather became more moderate, and we put him aboard his own ship and continued our course without attempting to keep company with her. We were favored with mild weather until the 24th, which brought us into lat. 56° S. Here commenced a series of very severe gales from the westward, which continued with unabated violence for ten days. On the 5th of December the wind veered to the southward, which enabled us to make some progress, so that on the 10th I judged myself fairly to the north and west of the Cape, and a fine southwest wind was carrying us fast from it. On the 13th, as luck would have it, we fell in again with our old consort, the Mary, and sailed along with her until the 29th. Being then in lat. 44° S. and long. 85° W., I deemed it expedient to hold a consultation with my officers on the propriety of touching upon the coast of Chili, in preference to the Sandwich Islands, which was our previous intention. This was thought advisable on account of the damage sustained during our boisterous passage of one hundred and thirty-eight days. The copper on the ship’s bottom, which had been worn as thin as paper during a previous long voyage of three years, had now become full of holes, and was torn off in many places by whole sheets. This and other injuries which could not be repaired at sea, in addition to the fact that all our fuel was consumed except that stowed under the cargo, and on this account we had for some time been obliged to dispense with cooking oftener than once a week, induced us to part company again with the Mary, and shape our course for Concepcion. I was well aware of the natural and deep-rooted jealousy of the Spaniards; but while I apprehended trouble on this score, I was determined to find admittance to some port, after having relinquished my original scheme of visiting the Sandwich Islands.
On the 1st of January, 1805, at 2 P. M., we saw land bearing from southeast to northeast, fifteen miles distant, and shortly after the island of St. Maria. At the same time we saw a ship standing out from the shore, which we spoke. She was a whaler from New Bedford. The wind was blowing so hard that we could learn nothing further. At sunset it had died away, and left us still four or five miles off Concepcion. As it was not practicable to make the harbor in the night-time, we tacked ship and stood out from the coast, with a view to holding our situation to the windward until morning, and at midnight we tacked and stood in again. At daybreak, however, we found the current had set us a considerable distance north of our port. I accordingly resolved to make sail for Valparaiso; since that was the principal port in Chili, we had reason to anticipate a better reception than at any place of less note, where our presence might have excited unjust suspicions of unlawful trade. Our sole object was to repair our vessel and obtain supplies for our voyage, and these by the laws of humanity they could not in justice refuse us.
The weather continued remarkably serene and pleasant, with light breezes and frequent calms; and as we coasted along within eight or ten miles of the shore, we had a most splendid view of the Andes, towering far above the clouds. On the morning of the 8th, we entered the bay of Valparaiso. Before we reached a safe anchorage, we were visited by an officer from the Governor, who requested to know who we were, whence we came, and the object of our visit,—all of which I explained to his apparent satisfaction. The boat then returned to the shore with a message to the Governor, while the officer remained on board, saying that he could not suffer us to anchor until he received orders. But before the boat returned, the ship had reached the anchorage ground, and we came to immediately, notwithstanding his remonstrances. The boat brought a peremptory command to leave the bay; but this was out of the question, and so I as peremptorily refused. I was summoned before the Governor to present my papers for examination, and account for my conduct. After examining my invoices and other documents, and listening to a candid explanation of the reasons which induced me to come into port, he was convinced that my destination was the Northwest Coast. I was accordingly permitted to remain until I received further orders from the Governor-General, at St. Jago, to whom a messenger was despatched. In the mean time I was allowed to take on board as much wood and water, and fresh provisions, as I chose. The harbor was too rough and exposed, to make the repairs we needed, and therefore we weighed anchor and sailed for Coquimbo, where we arrived on the 20th, and dropped anchor in six fathoms of water, on the west side of the bay, about eight miles from the town. Here we remained until the 28th, when, having completed our repairs as far as practicable, we put to sea with a fine breeze from the south.
When we reached 4° S. lat., we had series of calms, with pleasant weather, and a very smooth sea. In this neighborhood we saw great numbers of green turtle, and by capturing several we added a delicacy to our larder. February 20th, between 9 and 11 A. M., I obtained several distances of the sun and moon, the mean of which made the long. 108° W.; at meridian, I found we had crossed the equator into north latitude. The wind continued very light and variable until the 4th of March, when it inclined to the northeast. On the 16th, we crossed the Tropic of Cancer. At this point the winds again became variable and squally. On the 7th of April, we had strong gales and threatening sky, with rain at intervals. At 8 P. M. of that date I put the ship under short sail, and hauled upon the wind to the northward, deeming it imprudent to continue on our course through the night, because, by my calculations, we were in the vicinity of land. In the morning the weather moderated, and at 5 A. M. we saw land bearing from north-northeast to east, which proved to be the northern part of Vancouver’s Island. At 2 P. M. we saw Scott’s Island bearing north-northwest, sixteen miles distant. At nightfall the clouds wore an ugly look; so we hauled by the wind to the westward, under short sail. At midnight we had a heavy blow, but it died away by light, and we saw Scott’s Island again; at 9 A. M. it bore south, five miles. The wind beginning again to rise, I determined if possible to make a harbor before night. With this intention I shaped my course for Newettee.
Newettee was a small inlet in the northwestern promontory of Vancouver’s Island, and sheltered from the sea by a long island running nearly east and west. Between the two was a strait, through which we must enter to gain our port. As we drew near the entrance, the wind became very light, and at sunset we were still three miles from it. Being myself entirely unacquainted with the coast, I was inclined to lay off until morning; but my officers were all more or less familiar with it, and so positive of their knowledge that I concluded to proceed. At eight in the evening we crossed the bar at the mouth of the strait, and entered. The wind had fallen now to a dead calm, and left us exposed to a very strong current, which carried us toward an inlet in the island to the north of us; and at the same time it was evident that we were approaching the shore very fast. Nothing could surpass the terrific appearance of the scenery; perpendicular cliffs towered from the water’s edge to a lofty height, against which the sea beat with great violence. The ship getting no steerage-way from her sails, and being in fact entirely unmanageable, we hoisted out our boats to tow. The long-boat, which was of the most consequence, sunk alongside; the yawl and the whaleboat were both got ahead, but were so light that they had very little effect on the vessel. We were now within three rods of a high projecting point, and the soundings showed forty-five fathoms of water. We let go the kedge-anchor to keep the bow off, and it had the desired effect. By great exertions in the boats, assisted in the ship by the application of all the oars we had, we barely succeeded in keeping clear of the rocks, which could now be reached with an oar. As the tide swept us along, we were threatened with destruction by every sea which dashed against them. At length, by the aid of a light air which sprung up, we got out of the irregular current near the shore, and, slipping our cable and leaving our anchor, moved towards the harbor on the south side of the straits. When about two thirds of the way across, I despatched a boat with an officer to find the entrance. The boat not returning in due time, I discharged a musket as a signal. It was answered from a vessel lying within, and shortly after one of the officers came aboard her, and informed us that it was the ship Pearl of Boston, Capt. Ebbets.[25] He very politely offered to pilot us in, and by his assistance we were soon brought safely to anchor in fifteen fathoms of water. This was the 10th of April, 1805.
II.
Newettee and the Natives.—Kygarney.—Norfolk Sound.—Sell Part of my Cargo to the Russians.—Governor Baranoff.—Chatham Straits.—Newettee again.—Return to Chatham Straits.—Trade with the Indians.—On the Rocks.—Sail to Norfolk Sound for Repairs.—Arrival of Resanoff and Party.—The Juno sold to the Russians.—Departure of my Crew for Canton.