28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
Right before the wind! Ay, blow, blow, ye breezes; so
long as ye stay fair, and we are homeward bound, what care
the jolly crew?
It is worth mentioning here that, in nineteen cases out of
twenty, a passage from the Pacific round the Cape is almost
sure to be much shorter, and attended with less hardship, than
a passage undertaken from the Atlantic. The reason is, that
the gales are mostly from the westward, also the currents.
But, after all, going before the wind in a frigate, in such a
tempest, has its annoyances and drawbacks, as well as many
other blessings. The disproportionate weight of metal upon
the spar and gun decks induces a violent rolling, unknown to
merchant ships. We rolled and rolled on our way, like the
world in its orbit, shipping green seas on both sides, until the
old frigate dipped and went into it like a diving-bell.
The hatchways of some armed vessels are but poorly secured
in bad weather. This was peculiarly the case with those
of the Neversink. They were merely spread over with an old
tarpaulin, cracked and rent in every direction.
In fair weather, the ship's company messed on the gun-deck;
but as this was now flooded almost continually, we
were obliged to take our meals upon the berth-deck, the next
one below. One day, the messes of the starboard-watch were
seated here at dinner; forming little groups, twelve or fifteen
men in each, reclining about the beef-kids and their pots and
pans; when all of a sudden the ship was seized with such a
paroxysm of rolling that, in a single instant, every thing on
the berth-deck—pots, kids, sailors, pieces of beef, bread-bags,
clothes-bags, and barges—were tossed indiscriminately from
side to side. It was impossible to stay one's self; there was
nothing but the bare deck to cling to, which was slippery with
the contents of the kids, and heaving under us as if there were
a volcano in the frigate's hold. While we were yet sliding
in uproarious crowds—all seated—the windows of the deck
opened, and floods of brine descended, simultaneously with a
violent lee-roll. The shower was hailed by the reckless tars
with a hurricane of yells; although, for an instant, I really
imagined we were about being swamped in the sea, such volumes
of water came cascading down.
A day or two after, we had made sufficient Easting to stand
to the northward, which we did, with the wind astern; thus
fairly turning the corner without abating our rate of progress.
Though we had seen no land since leaving Callao, Cape Horn
was said to be somewhere to the West of us; and though
there was no positive evidence of the fact, the weather encountered
might be accounted pretty good presumptive proof.
The land near Cape Horn, however, is well worth seeing,
especially Staten Land. Upon one occasion, the ship in which
I then happened to be sailing drew near this place from the
northward, with a fair, free wind, blowing steadily, through
a bright translucent day, whose air was almost musical with
the clear, glittering cold. On our starboard beam, like a pile
of glaciers in Switzerland, lay this Staten Land, gleaming in
snow-white barrenness and solitude. Unnumbered white albatross
were skimming the sea near by, and clouds of smaller
white wings fell through the air like snow-flakes. High, towering
in their own turbaned snows, the far-inland pinnacles
loomed up, like the border of some other world. Flashing
walls and crystal battlements, like the diamond watch-towers
along heaven's furthest frontier.
After leaving the latitude of the Cape, we had several
storms of snow; one night a considerable quantity laid upon
the decks, and some of the sailors enjoyed the juvenile diversion
of snow-balling. Woe unto the “middy” who that night
went forward of the booms. Such a target for snow-balls!
The throwers could never be known. By some curious sleight
in hurling the missiles, they seemed to be thrown on board by
some hoydenish sea-nymphs outside the frigate.
At daybreak Midshipman Pert went below to the surgeon
with an alarming wound, gallantly received in discharging his
perilous duty on the forecastle. The officer of the deck had
sent him on an errand, to tell the boatswain that he was
wanted in the captain's cabin. While in the very act of performing
the exploit of delivering the message, Mr. Pert was
struck on the nose with a snow-ball of wondrous compactness.
Upon being informed of the disaster, the rogues expressed the
liveliest sympathy. Pert was no favorite.
After one of these storms, it was a curious sight to see the
men relieving the uppermost deck of its load of snow. It
became the duty of the captain of each gun to keep his own
station clean; accordingly, with an old broom, or “squilgee,”
he proceeded to business, often quarreling with his next-door
neighbors about their scraping their snow on his premises.
It was like Broadway in winter, the morning after a storm,
when rival shop-boys are at work cleaning the sidewalk.
Now and then, by way of variety, we had a fall of hail-stones,
so big that sometimes we found ourselves dodging
them.
The Commodore had a Polynesian servant on board, whose
services he had engaged at the Society Islands. Unlike his
countrymen, Wooloo was of a sedate, earnest, and philosophic
temperament. Having never been outside of the tropics before,
he found many phenomena off Cape Horn, which absorbed
his attention, and set him, like other philosophers, to
feign theories corresponding to the marvels he beheld. At
the first snow, when he saw the deck covered all over with
a white powder, as it were, he expanded his eyes into stew-pans;
but upon examining the strange substance, he decided
that this must be a species of superfine flour, such as was
compounded into his master's “duffs,” and other dainties.
In vain did an experienced natural philosopher belonging to
the fore-top maintain before his face, that in this hypothesis
Wooloo was mistaken; Wooloo's opinion remained unchanged
for some time.
As for the hailstones, they transported him; he went about
with a bucket, making collections, and receiving contributions,
for the purpose of carrying them home to his sweet-hearts for
glass beads; but having put his bucket away, and returning
to it again, and finding nothing but a little water, he accused
the by-standers of stealing his precious stones.
This suggests another story concerning him. The first
time he was given a piece of “duff” to eat, he was observed
to pick out very carefully every raisin, and throw it away,
with a gesture indicative of the highest disgust. It turned
out that he had taken the raisins for bugs.
In our man-of-war, this semi-savage, wandering about the
gun-deck in his barbaric robe, seemed a being from some
other sphere. His tastes were our abominations: ours his.
Our creed he rejected: his we. We thought him a loon:
he fancied us fools. Had the case been reversed; had we
been Polynesians and he an American, our mutual opinion of
each other would still have remained the same. A fact
proving that neither was wrong, but both right.
