""Fifty-nine, forty, south," says th" Mate. "Antarctic b.l.o.o.d.y exploration, I call this!" ... "E was frappin" "is "an"s like a Fenchurch cabby.... "It"s "bout time ye wos goin" round, Capt"n!
She"d fetch round "Cape Stiff" with a true west wind! She"ll be in among th" ice soon, if ye don"t alter th" course! Time we was gettin"
out o" this," says he, "with two of th" han"s frost-bit an" th" rest of us "bout perishin"!"
""Oh no," says old Lewis. "No, indeed! Don"t you make any mistike, Mister! South"s th" course, ... south till I sells them fine blankits an" warm shirts!""
VI
ROUNDING THE HORN
Rounding Cape Horn from the eastward, setting to the teeth of the great west wind, to the shock and onset of towering seas; furious combination of the elements that sweep unchecked around the globe!
Days pa.s.sed, and we fared no farther on. North we would go with the yards hard on the back-stays; to wear ship, and steer again south over the same track. Hopeless work it was, and only the prospect of a slant--a shift of wind that would let us to our journey--kept us hammering doggedly at the task.
Day after day of huge sea and swell, mountainous in calm or storm.
Leaden-grey skies, with a brief glint of sunshine now and then--for it was nominally summer time in low lat.i.tudes. Days of gloomy calm, presage of a fiercer blow, when the Old Man (Orcadian philosopher that he was) caught and skilfully stuffed the great-winged albatross that flounders helplessly when the wind fails. Days of strong breezes, when we tried to beat to windward under a straining main-to"gal"nsail; ever a west wind to thwart our best endeavours, and week-long gales, that we rode out, hove-to in the trough of overwhelming seas, lurching to leeward under low canvas.
We had become sailors in earnest. We had forgotten the way of steady trades and flying-fish weather, and, when the wind howled a whole gale, we slapped our oilskin-clad thighs and lied cheerfully to each other of greater gales we had been in. Even Wee Laughlin and M"Innes were turned to some account and talked of sail and spars as if they had never known the reek of steamer smoke. In the half-deck we had little comfort during watch below. At every lurch of the staggering barque, a flood of water poured through the crazy planking, and often we were washed out by an untimely opening of the door. Though at heart we would rather have been porters at a country railway station, we put a bold front to the hard times and slept with our wet clothes under us that they might be the less chilly for putting on at eight bells. We had seldom a st.i.tch of dry clothing, and the galley looked like a corner of Paddy"s market whenever McEwan, the "gallus" cook, took pity on our sodden misery.
In the forecastle the men were better off. Collins had rigged an affair of pipes to draw the smoke away, and it was possible, in all but the worst of weather, to keep the bogie-stove alight. We would gladly have shifted to these warmer quarters, but our parents had paid a premium for _privileged berthing_, and the Old Man would not hear of our flitting. Happily, we had little darkness to add to the misery of our pa.s.sage, for the sun was far south, and we had only three hours of night. Yet, when the black squalls of snow and sleet rolled up from the westward, there was darkness enough. At times a flaw in the wind--a brief veering to the south--would let us keep the ship travelling to the westward. All hands would be in high spirits; we would go below at the end of our watches, making light of sodden bedclothes, heartened that at last our "slant" had come. Alas for our hopes! Before our watch was due we would be rudely wakened. "_All hands wear ship_"--the dreaded call, and the Mate thundering at the half-deck door, shouting orders in a threatening tone that called for instant spur. Then, at the braces, hanging to the ropes in a swirl of icy water, facing up to the driving sleet and bitter spray, that cut and stung like a whiplash. And when at last the yards were laid to the wind, and the order "_down helm_" was given, we would spring to the rigging for safety, and, clinging desperately, watch the furious sweep of a towering "greybeard" over the barque, as she came to the wind and lay-to.
Wild, heart-breaking work! Only the old hands, "hard cases" like Martin and Welsh John and the bo"sun, were the stoics, and there was some small comfort in their "Whoo! This ain"t nuthin"! Ye sh"d a" bin shipmates with me in the ol" _Boryallus_!" (Or some such ancient craft.) "_Them_ wos "ard times!"
Twice we saw Diego Ramirez and the Iledefonsos, with an interval of a fortnight between the sightings--a cl.u.s.ter of bleak rocks, standing out of surf and broken water, taking the relentless battery of huge seas that swept them from base to summit. Once, in clear weather, we marked a blue ridge of land far to the norrard, and Old Martin and Vootgert nearly came to blows as to whether it was Cape Horn or the False Cape.
Fighting hard for every inch of our laboured progress, doubling back, crossing, recrossing (our track on the old blue-back chart was a maze of lines and figures) we won our way to 70 W., and there, in the hardest gale of the pa.s.sage, we were called on for tribute, for one more to the toll of sailor lives claimed by the rugged southern gateman.
All day the black ragged clouds had swept up from the south-west, the wind and sea had increased hourly in violence. At dusk we had shortened sail to topsails and reefed foresail. But the Old Man hung on to his canvas as the southing wind allowed us to go "full and by" to the nor"-west. Hurtling seas swept the decks, tearing stout fittings from their lashings. The crazy old half-deck seemed about to fetch loose with every sea that crashed aboard. From stem to stern there was no shelter from the growing fury of the gale; but still the Old Man held to his course to make the most of the only proper "slant" in six weary weeks.
At midnight the wind was howling slaughter, and stout Old Jock, dismayed at last at the furious sea upreared against him, was at last forced to lay her to. In a piping squall of snow and sleet we set to haul up the foresail. Even the n.i.g.g.e.r could not find heart to rouse more than a mournful _i--o--ho_ at the buntlines, as we slowly dragged the heavy slatting canvas to the yard. Intent on the work, we had no eye to the weather, and only the Captain and steersman saw the sweep of a monster sea that bore down on us, white-crested and curling.
"Stand by," yelled the Old Man. "Hang on, for your lives, men!
Christ! Hold hard there!"
Underfoot we felt the ship falter in swing--an ominous check in her lift to the heaving sea. Then out of the blackness to windward a swift towering crest reared up--a high wall of moving water, winged with leagues of tempest at its back. It struck us sheer on the broadside, and shattered its bulk aboard in a whelming torrent, br.i.m.m.i.n.g the decks with a weight that left no life in the labouring barque. We were swept to leeward at the first shock, a huddled ma.s.s of writhing figures, and dashed to and fro with the sweep of the sea. Gradually, as the water cleared, we came by foothold again, sorely bruised and battered.
"Haul away again, men!" The Mate, clearing the blood of a head wound from his eyes, was again at the foretack giving slack. "h.e.l.l! what ye standing at? Haul away, blast ye! Haul an" rouse her up!"
Half-handed, we strained to raise the thundering canvas; the rest, with the Second Mate, were labouring at the spare spar, under which Houston, an ordinary seaman, lay jammed with his thigh broken. Pinching with handspikes, they got him out and carried aft, and joined us at the gear; and at last the sail was hauled up. "_Aloft and furl_," was the next order, and we sprang to the rigging in time to escape a second thundering "grey-beard."
It was dark, with a black squall making up to windward, as we laid out on the yard and grappled with the wet and heavy canvas. Once we had the sail up, but the wind that burst on us tore it from our stiffened fingers. Near me a grown man cried with the pain of a finger-nail torn from the flesh. We rested a moment before bending anew to the task.
"Handy now, laads!" the Second Mate at the bunt was roaring down the wind. "Stick t it, ma herts, ... hold aal, now! ... d.a.m.n ye, hold it, you. Ye haandless sojer! ... Up, m" sons; up an" hold aal."
Cursing the stubborn folds, swaying dizzily on the slippery footropes, shouting for hold and gasket, we fought the struggling wind-possessed monster, and again the leach was pa.s.sed along the yard. A turn of the gasket would have held it, but even the leading hands at the bunt were as weak and breathless as ourselves. The squall caught at an open lug, and again the sail bellied out, thrashing fiendishly over the yard.
There was a low but distinct cry, "Oh, Christ!" from the quarter, and M"Innes, clutching wildly, pa.s.sed into the blackness below. For a moment all hands clung desperately to the jackstay, fending the thrashing sail with bent heads; then some of the bolder spirits made to come off the yard.... "The starboard boat .... Who? ... Duncan ...
It"s Duncan gone.... Quick there, the star ... the lashings!"
The Second Mate checked their movement.
"No! No! Back, ye fools! Back, I say! Man canna" help Duncan now!"
He stood on the truss of the yard, grasping the stay, and swung his heavy sea-boot menacingly.
"Back, I say! Back, an" furl the sail, ... if ye wouldna" follow Duncan!"
Slowly we laid out the yard again, and set sullenly to master Duncan"s murderer.
A lull came. We clutched and pounded at the board-like cloths, dug with hooked fingers to make a crease for handhold, and at last turned the sail to the yard, though lubberly and ill-furled.
One by one, as our bit was secured, we straggled down the rigging.
Some of the hands were aft on the lee side of the p.o.o.p, staring into the darkness astern--where Duncan was. Munro, utterly unmanned, was crying hysterically. In his father"s country manse, he had known nothing more bitter than the death of a favourite collie. Now he was at sea, and by his side a man muttered, "Dead?--My G.o.d, I hope he"s dead, ... out there!"
The Old Man crossed over from the weather side, and addressing the men, said: "The Second Mate tells me ye wanted t" get t" th" boat when M"Innes .... went.... I"m pleased that ye"ve that much guts in ye, but I could risk no boat"s crew in a sea like this.... Besides, I"m more-ally certain that M"Innes was dead before he took the water. Eh, Mister?"
"Aye ... dead," said the Mate. "I saw him strike the to"gal"nt rail, and no man could live after a blow like that. Dead, sure!"
Old Jock returned to his post under the weather-cloth, and the Mate ordered the watch below.
So Duncan took his discharge, and a few days later, in clearing weather, his few belongings were sold at the mast. It was known that he wasn"t married, but Welsh John, who knew him best, said he had spoken of his mother in Skye; and the Old Man kept a few letters and his watch that he might have something besides his money to send to Duncan"s relatives.
As if Duncan had paid our toll for rounding the storm-scarred Cape, the weather cleared and winds set fair to us after that last dread night of storm. Under a press of canvas we put her head to the norrard, and soon left the Horn and the "Roaring Forties" astern.
One night, in the middle watch, when we had nearly run out the south-east trades, I went forward, looking for someone to talk to, or anything to relieve the tedium of my two hours on the lee side of the p.o.o.p. I found Welsh John sitting on the main-hatch and disposed to yarn. He had been the most intimate with Duncan, harkening to his queer tales of the fairies in Knoidart when we others would scoff, and naturally the talk came round to our lost shipmate.
It was bright moonlight, and the shadow of sails and rigging was cast over the deck. Near us, in the lee of the house, some sleepers lay stretched. The Mate stepped drowsily fore and aft the p.o.o.p, now and then squinting up at the royals.
"I wonder what brought Duncan to a windjammer," I said. "He was too old to be starting the sea, an" there were plenty of jobs on the river for a well-doin" man like him."
Welsh John spat carefully on the deck, and, after looking round, said, "Tuncan was here, indeed, because he thought the police would bother him. He told me he wa.s.s in a small steamboat that runs from Loch Fyne to the Clyde, an" the skipper was a man from Killigan or Kalligan, near Tuncan"s place."
"Kyle-akin," I suggested.
"That iss it, Kyle-akin; an" he was very far in drink. They started from Inverary for the river, and it wa.s.s plowin" strong from the south-east, an" the small boat wa.s.s makin" very bad weather, indeed.
The skipper wa.s.s very trunk, an" Tuncan, who wa.s.s steerin", said they should put in to shelter for the night. But the skipper wa.s.s quarrelsome, an" called Tuncan a coward an" a nameless man from Skye, an" they came to plows. Tuncan let go the tiller, an" the small boat came broadside on, and shipped a big sea, an" when Tuncan got to the tiller an" put it up, the skipper was gone. They never saw him, so they came on to the Clyde, where Tuncan left the poat. An" they were askin" questions from him, an" Tuncan was afraid; but indeed to goodness he had no need to pe. So he shipped with us--a pier-head jump it wa.s.s...."
A sleeper stirred uneasily, rolled over, and cursed us for a pair of chatterin" lawyers.
We were both quiet for a moment or two; then the strident voice of the Mate rang out, "Boy! Boy! Where the h.e.l.l have you got to now? Lay aft and trim the binnacle!"
I mounted the p.o.o.p ladder, muttering the usual excuse about having been to see the side-lights. I trimmed the lamps, and as it was then a quarter to four, struck one bell and called the watch. As I waited on the p.o.o.p to strike the hour, the men were turning out forward, and I could hear the voice of the eldest apprentice chiding the laggards in the half-deck. I thought of Duncan, and of what Welsh John had told me.
"Aye, aye, that was Duncan. That was the way of it. I always wond----"