Needless, perhaps, to say, our look-out was of the best, for all hands had a double interest in the safety of the ship.Perhaps it may be thought that any man would have so much regard for the safety of his life that he would not think of sleeping on his look-out; but I can assure my readers that, strange as it may seem, such is not the case, I have known men who could never be trusted not to go to sleep, no matter how great the danger.This is so well recognized in merchant ships that nearly every officer acts as if there was no look-out at all forward, in case his supposed watchman should be having a surreptitious doze.
Stronger and stronger blew the brave west wind; dirtier, gloomier, and colder grew the weather, until, reduced to two topsails and a reefed foresail, we were scudding dead before the gale for all we were worth.This was a novel experience for us in the CACHALOT, and I was curious to see how she would behave.To my mind, the supreme test of a ship's sea-kindliness is the length of time she will scud before a gale without "pooping" a sea, or taking such heavy water on board over her sides as to do serious damage.Some ships are very dangerous to run at all.
Endeavouring to make the best use of the gale which is blowing in the right direction, the captain "hangs on" to all the sail he can carry, until she ships a mighty mass of water over all, so that the decks are filled with wreckage, or, worse still, "poops"a sea.The latter experience is a terrible one, even to a trained seaman.You are running before the wind and waves, sometimes deep in the valley between two liquid mountains, sometimes high on the rolling ridge of one.You watch anxiously the speed of the sea, trying to decide whether it or you are going the faster, when suddenly there seems to be a hush, almost a lull, in the uproar.You look astern, and see a wall of water rising majestically higher and higher, at the same time drawing nearer and nearer.Instinctively you clutch at something firm, and hold your breath.Then that mighty green barrier leans forward, the ship's stern seems to settle at the same time, and, with a thundering noise as of an avalanche descending, it overwhelms you.Of course the ship's way is deadened; she seems like a living thing overburdened, yet struggling to be free; and well it is for all hands if the helmsman be able to keep his post and his wits about him.For if he be hurt, or have fled from the terrible wave, it is an even chance that she "broaches to;" that is to say, swings round broadside on to the next great wave that follows relentlessly its predecessor.Then, helpless and vulnerable, she will most probably be smashed up and founder.
Many a good ship has gone with all hands to the bottom just as simply as that.
In order to avoid such a catastrophe, the proper procedure is to "heave-to" before the sea has attained so dangerous a height; but even a landsman can understand bow reluctant a shipmaster may be to lie like a log just drifting, while a more seaworthy ship is flying along at the rate of, perhaps, three hundred miles a day in the desired direction.Ships of the CACHALOT's bluff build are peculiarly liable to delays of this kind from their slowness, which, if allied to want of buoyancy, makes it necessary to heave-to in good time, if safety is at all cared for.
To my great astonishment and delight, however, our grand old vessel nobly sustained her character, running on without shipping any heavy water, although sometimes hedged in on either side by gigantic waves that seemed to tower as high as her lowermast heads.Again and again we were caught up and passed by the splendid homeward-bound colonial packets, some of them carrying an appalling press of canvas, under which the long, snaky hulls, often overwhelmed by the foaming seas, were hardly visible, so insignificant did they appear by comparison with the snowy mountain of swelling sail above.
So we fared eastward and ever southward, until in due time up rose the gloomy, storm-scarred crags of the Diego Ramirez rocks, grim outposts of the New World.To us, though, they bore no terrific aspect; for were they not the turning-point from which we could steer north, our head pointed for home? Immediately upon rounding them we hauled up four points, and, with daily improving weather climbed the southern slopes towards the line.
Very humdrum and quiet the life appeared to all of us, and had it not been for the saving routine of work by day, and watch by night, kept up with all our old discipline, the tedium would have been insupportable after the incessant excitement of expectation to which we had so long been accustomed.Still, our passage was by no means a bad one for a slow ship, being favoured by more than ordinarily steadfast winds until we reached the zone of the south-east trades again, where the usual mild, settled wind and lovely weather awaited us.On and on, unhasting but unresting, we stolidly jogged, by great good fortune slipping across the "doldrums"--that hateful belt of calms about the line so much detested by all sailor-men--without losing the south-east wind.
