VI
ROUNDING THE HORN
Rounding Cape Horn from the eastward, setting to the teeth of the greatwest wind, to the shock and onset of towering seas; furious combinationof the elements that sweep unchecked around the globe!
Days passed, and we fared no farther on. North we would go with theyards hard on the back-stays; to wear ship, and steer again south overthe same track. Hopeless work it was, and only the prospect of aslant--a shift of wind that would let us to our journey--kept ushammering 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 itwas nominally summer time in low latitudes. Days of gloomy calm,presage of a fiercer blow, when the Old Man (Orcadian philosopher thathe was) caught and skilfully stuffed the great-winged albatross thatflounders helplessly when the wind fails. Days of strong breezes, whenwe tried to beat to windward under a straining main-to'gal'nsail; evera west wind to thwart our best endeavours, and week-long gales, that werode out, hove-to in the trough of overwhelming seas, lurching toleeward under low canvas.
We had become sailors in earnest. We had forgotten the way of steadytrades and flying-fish weather, and, when the wind howled a whole gale,we slapped our oilskin-clad thighs and lied cheerfully to each other ofgreater gales we had been in. Even Wee Laughlin and M'Innes wereturned to some account and talked of sail and spars as if they hadnever known the reek of steamer smoke. In the half-deck we had littlecomfort during watch below. At every lurch of the staggering barque, aflood of water poured through the crazy planking, and often we werewashed out by an untimely opening of the door. Though at heart wewould rather have been porters at a country railway station, we put abold front to the hard times and slept with our wet clothes under usthat they might be the less chilly for putting on at eight bells. Wehad seldom a stitch of dry clothing, and the galley looked like acorner of Paddy's market whenever McEwan, the 'gallus' cook, took pityon our sodden misery.
In the forecastle the men were better off. Collins had rigged anaffair of pipes to draw the smoke away, and it was possible, in all butthe worst of weather, to keep the bogie-stove alight. We would gladlyhave shifted to these warmer quarters, but our parents had paid apremium for _privileged berthing_, and the Old Man would not hear ofour flitting. Happily, we had little darkness to add to the misery ofour passage, for the sun was far south, and we had only three hours ofnight. Yet, when the black squalls of snow and sleet rolled up fromthe westward, there was darkness enough. At times a flaw in thewind--a brief veering to the south--would let us keep the shiptravelling to the westward. All hands would be in high spirits; wewould go below at the end of our watches, making light of soddenbedclothes, heartened that at last our 'slant' had come. Alas for ourhopes! Before our watch was due we would be rudely wakened. "_Allhands wear ship_"--the dreaded call, and the Mate thundering at thehalf-deck door, shouting orders in a threatening tone that called forinstant spur. Then, at the braces, hanging to the ropes in a swirl oficy water, facing up to the driving sleet and bitter spray, that cutand stung like a whiplash. And when at last the yards were laid to thewind, and the order '_down helm_' was given, we would spring to therigging for safety, and, clinging desperately, watch the furious sweepof a towering 'greybeard' over the barque, as she came to the wind andlay-to.
Wild, heart-breaking work! Only the old hands, 'hard cases' likeMartin and Welsh John and the bo'sun, were the stoics, and there wassome small comfort in their "Whoo! This ain't nuthin'! Ye sh'd a' binshipmates with me in the ol' _Boryallus_!" (Or some such ancientcraft.) "_Them_ wos 'ard times!"
Twice we saw Diego Ramirez and the Iledefonsos, with an interval of afortnight between the sightings--a cluster of bleak rocks, standing outof surf and broken water, taking the relentless battery of huge seasthat swept them from base to summit. Once, in clear weather, we markeda blue ridge of land far to the norrard, and Old Martin and Vootgertnearly 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 mazeof lines and figures) we won our way to 70 deg. W., and there, in thehardest gale of the passage, we were called on for tribute, for onemore 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, thewind and sea had increased hourly in violence. At dusk we hadshortened sail to topsails and reefed foresail. But the Old Man hungon to his canvas as the southing wind allowed us to go 'full and by' tothe nor'-west. Hurtling seas swept the decks, tearing stout fittingsfrom their lashings. The crazy old half-deck seemed about to fetchloose with every sea that crashed aboard. From stem to stern there wasno shelter from the growing fury of the gale; but still the Old Manheld to his course to make the most of the only proper 'slant' in sixweary weeks.
At midnight the wind was howling slaughter, and stout Old Jock,dismayed at last at the furious sea upreared against him, was at lastforced to lay her to. In a piping squall of snow and sleet we set tohaul up the foresail. Even the nigger could not find heart to rousemore than a mournful _i--o--ho_ at the buntlines, as we slowly draggedthe heavy slatting canvas to the yard. Intent on the work, we had noeye to the weather, and only the Captain and steersman saw the sweep ofa 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 herlift to the heaving sea. Then out of the blackness to windward a swifttowering crest reared up--a high wall of moving water, winged withleagues of tempest at its back. It struck us sheer on the broadside,and shattered its bulk aboard in a whelming torrent, brimming the deckswith a weight that left no life in the labouring barque. We were sweptto leeward at the first shock, a huddled mass of writhing figures, anddashed to and fro with the sweep of the sea. Gradually, as the watercleared, we came by foothold again, sorely bruised and battered.
"Haul away again, men!" The Mate, clearing the blood of a head woundfrom his eyes, was again at the foretack giving slack. "Hell! what yestanding at? Haul away, blast ye! Haul an' rouse her up!"
Half-handed, we strained to raise the thundering canvas; the rest, withthe Second Mate, were labouring at the spare spar, under which Houston,an ordinary seaman, lay jammed with his thigh broken. Pinching withhandspikes, they got him out and carried aft, and joined us at thegear; and at last the sail was hauled up. "_Aloft and furl_," was thenext order, and we sprang to the rigging in time to escape a secondthundering 'grey-beard.'
It was dark, with a black squall making up to windward, as we laid outon the yard and grappled with the wet and heavy canvas. Once we hadthe sail up, but the wind that burst on us tore it from our stiffenedfingers. Near me a grown man cried with the pain of a finger-nail tornfrom the flesh. We rested a moment before bending anew to the task.
"Handy now, laads!" the Second Mate at the bunt was roaring down thewind. "Stick t it, ma herts, ... hold aal, now! ... Damn 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-possessedmonster, and again the leach was passed along the yard. A turn of thegasket would have held it, but even the leading hands at the bunt wereas 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, andM'Innes, clutching wildly, passed into the blackness below. For amoment all hands clung desperately to the jackstay, fending thethrashing sail with bent heads; then some of the bolder spirits made tocome off the yard.... "The starboard boat .... Who? ... Duncan ...It's Duncan gone.... Quick there, the star ... the lashings!"
The Second Mat
e 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 hisheavy sea-boot menacingly.
"Back, I say! Back, an' furl the sail, ... if ye wouldna' followDuncan!"
Slowly we laid out the yard again, and set sullenly to master Duncan'smurderer.
A lull came. We clutched and pounded at the board-like cloths, dugwith hooked fingers to make a crease for handhold, and at last turnedthe 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 poop, staring intothe darkness astern--where Duncan was. Munro, utterly unmanned, wascrying hysterically. In his father's country manse, he had knownnothing more bitter than the death of a favourite collie. Now he wasat sea, and by his side a man muttered, "Dead?--My God, I hope he'sdead, ... 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 whenM'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'mmore-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 Mateordered the watch below.
So Duncan took his discharge, and a few days later, in clearingweather, his few belongings were sold at the mast. It was known thathe wasn't married, but Welsh John, who knew him best, said he hadspoken of his mother in Skye; and the Old Man kept a few letters andhis watch that he might have something besides his money to send toDuncan's relatives.
As if Duncan had paid our toll for rounding the storm-scarred Cape, theweather cleared and winds set fair to us after that last dread night ofstorm. Under a press of canvas we put her head to the norrard, andsoon left the Horn and the 'Roaring Forties' astern.
* * * * *
One night, in the middle watch, when we had nearly run out thesouth-east trades, I went forward, looking for someone to talk to, oranything to relieve the tedium of my two hours on the lee side of thepoop. I found Welsh John sitting on the main-hatch and disposed toyarn. He had been the most intimate with Duncan, harkening to hisqueer tales of the fairies in Knoidart when we others would scoff, andnaturally the talk came round to our lost shipmate.
It was bright moonlight, and the shadow of sails and rigging was castover the deck. Near us, in the lee of the house, some sleepers laystretched. The Mate stepped drowsily fore and aft the poop, now andthen squinting up at the royals.
"I wonder what brought Duncan to a windjammer," I said. "He was tooold to be starting the sea, an' there were plenty of jobs on the riverfor 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 botherhim. He told me he wass in a small steamboat that runs from Loch Fyneto the Clyde, an' the skipper was a man from Killigan or Kalligan, nearTuncan's place."
"Kyle-akin," I suggested.
"That iss it, Kyle-akin; an' he was very far in drink. They startedfrom Inverary for the river, and it wass plowin' strong from thesouth-east, an' the small boat wass makin' very bad weather, indeed.The skipper wass very trunk, an' Tuncan, who wass steerin', said theyshould put in to shelter for the night. But the skipper wassquarrelsome, an' called Tuncan a coward an' a nameless man from Skye,an' they came to plows. Tuncan let go the tiller, an' the small boatcame broadside on, and shipped a big sea, an' when Tuncan got to thetiller an' put it up, the skipper was gone. They never saw him, sothey came on to the Clyde, where Tuncan left the poat. An' they wereaskin' questions from him, an' Tuncan was afraid; but indeed togoodness he had no need to pe. So he shipped with us--a pier-head jumpit wass...."
A sleeper stirred uneasily, rolled over, and cursed us for a pair ofchatterin' lawyers.
We were both quiet for a moment or two; then the strident voice of theMate rang out, "Boy! Boy! Where the hell have you got to now? Layaft and trim the binnacle!"
I mounted the poop ladder, muttering the usual excuse about having beento see the side-lights. I trimmed the lamps, and as it was then aquarter to four, struck one bell and called the watch. As I waited onthe poop to strike the hour, the men were turning out forward, and Icould hear the voice of the eldest apprentice chiding the laggards inthe 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----"
_Cla--clang--Cla--clang--Cla--clang--Cla--clang._
The Mate, anxious to get his head on pillow, had flogged the clock andhad struck eight bells himself.
The Brassbounder: A Tale of the Sea Page 6