University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

Tempest.

The letter of Roswell Gardiner last received, bore the
date of December 10th, 1819, or just a fortnight after he
had sailed from Rio de Janeiro. We shall next present the
schooner of Deacon Pratt to the reader on the 18th of that
month, or three weeks and one day after she had sailed
from the capital of Brazil. Early in the morning of the
day last mentioned, the Sea Lion of Oyster Pond was visible,
standing to the northward, with the wind light but
freshening from the westward, and in smooth water. Land
was not only in sight, but was quite near, less than a league
distant. Towards this land the head of the schooner had
been laid, and she was approaching it at the rate of some
four or five knots. The land was broken, high, of a most
sterile aspect where it was actually to be seen, and nearly
all covered with a light but melting snow, though the season
was advanced to the middle of the first month in summer.
The weather was not very cold, however, and there

was a feeling about it that promised it would become still
milder. The aspect of the neighbouring land, so barren,
rugged and inhospitable, chilled the feelings, and gave to
the scene a sombre hue which the weather itself might not
have imparted. Directly ahead of the schooner rose a sort
of pyramid of broken rocks, which, occupying a small
island, stood isolated in a measure, and some distance in
advance of other and equally ragged ranges of mountains,
which belonged also to islands detached from the main
land thousands of years before, under some violent convulsions
of nature.

It was quite apparent that all on board the schooner regarded
that ragged pyramid with lively interest. Most of
the crew was collected on the forecastle, including the
officers, and all eyes were fastened on the ragged pyramid
which they were diagonally approaching. The principal
spokesman was Stimson, the oldest mariner on board, and
one who had oftener visited those seas than any other of
the crew.

“You know the spot, do you, Stephen?” demanded
Roswell Gardiner, with interest.

“Yes, sir, there's no mistake. That's the Horn. Eleven
times have I doubled it, and this is the third time that I've
been so close in as to get a fair sight of it. Once I went
inside, as I've told you, sir.”

“I have doubled it six times myself,” said Gardiner,
“but never saw it before. Most navigators give it a wide
berth. 'Tis said to be the stormiest spot on the known
earth!”

“That's a mistake, you may depend on't, sir. The
sow-westers blow great guns here-abouts, it is true enough;
and when they do, sich a sea comes tumbling in on that
rock as man never seed anywhere else, perhaps; but, on
the whull, I'd rather be close in here, than two hundred
miles further to the southward. With the wind at sow-west,
and heavy, a better slant might be made from the
southern position; but here I know where I am, and I'd
go in and anchor, and wait for the gale to blow itself
out.”

“Talking of seas, Captain Gar'ner,” observed Hazard,
“don't you think, sir, we begin to feel the swell of the

Pacific. Smooth as the surface of the water is, here is a
ground-swell rolling in that must be twelve or fifteen feet
in height.”

“There's no doubt of that. We have felt the swell of the
Pacific these two hours; no man can mistake that. The
Atlantic has no such waves. This is an ocean in reality,
and this is its stormiest part. The wind freshens and hauls,
and I'm afraid we are about to be caught close in here,
with a regular sow-west gale.”

“Let it come, sir, let it come,” put in Stimson, again;
“if it does, we've only to run in and anchor. I can stand
pilot, and I promise to carry the schooner where twenty
sow-westers will do her no harm. What I've seen done
once, I know can be done again. The time will come when
the Horn will be a reg'lar harbour.”

Roswell left the forecastle, and walked aft, pondering on
what had just been said. His situation was delicate, and
demanded decision, as well as prudence. The manner in
which Daggett had stuck by him, ever since the two vessels
took their departure from Block Island, is known to the
reader. The Sea Lions had sailed from Rio in company,
and they had actually made Staten Land together, the day
preceding that on which we now bring the Oyster Pond
craft once more upon the scene, and had closed so near as
to admit of a conversation between the two masters. It
would seem that Daggett was exceedingly averse to passing
through the Straits of le Maire. An uncle of his had been
wrecked there, and had reported the passage as the most
dangerous one he had ever encountered. It has its difficulties,
no doubt, in certain states of the wind and tide;
but Roswell had received good accounts of the place from
Stimson, who had been through several times. The wind
was rather scant to go through, and the weather threatened
to be thick. As Daggett urged his reasons for keeping off
and passing outside of Staten Land, a circuit of considerable
extent, besides bringing a vessel far to leeward with the
prevalent winds of that region, which usually blow from
northwest round to southwest, Roswell was reflecting on
the opportunity the circumstances afforded of giving his
consort the slip. After discussing the matter for some
time, he desired Daggett to lead on, and he would follow.

This was done, though neither schooner was kept off until
Roswell got a good view of Cape St. Diego, on Tierra del
Fuego, thereby enabling him to judge of the positions of
the principal land-marks. Without committing himself
by any promise, therefore, he told Daggett to lead on, and
for some time he followed, the course being one that did
not take him much out of the way. The weather was
misty, and at times the wind blew in squalls. The last
increased as the schooners drew nearer to Staten Land.
Daggett, being about half a mile ahead, felt the full power
of one particular squall that came out of the ravines with
greater force than common, and he kept away to increase
his distance from the land. At the same time, the mist
shut in the vessels from each other. It was also past sunset,
and a dark and dreary night was approaching. This
latter fact had been one of Daggett's arguments for going
outside. Profiting by all these circumstances, Roswell
tacked, and stood over towards Tierra del Fuego. He
knew from the smoothness of the water that an ebb-tide
was running, and trusted to its force to carry him through
the Straits. He saw no more of the Sea Lion of the Vineyard.
She continued shut in by the mist until night closed
around both vessels. When he got about mid-channel,
Roswell tacked again. By this time the current had sucked
him fairly into the passage, and no sooner did he go about
than his movement to the southward was very rapid. The
squalls gave some trouble, but, on the whole, he did very
well. Next morning he was off Cape Horn, as described.
By this expression, it is generally understood that a vessel is
somewhere near the longitude of that world-renowned cape,
but not necessarily in sight of it. Few navigators actually
see the extremity of the American continent, though they
double the cape, it being usually deemed the safest to pass
well to the southward. Such was Daggett's position; who,
in consequence of having gone outside of Staten Land, was
now necessarily a long distance to leeward, and who could
not hope to beat up abreast of the Hermits, even did the
wind and sea favour him, in less than twenty-four hours.
A great advantage was obtained by coming through the
Straits of Le Maire, and Roswell felt very certain that he
should not see his late consort again that day, even did he
heave-to for him. But our hero had no idea of doing anything
of the sort. Having shaken off his leech, he had no
wish to suffer it to fasten to him again. It was solely with
the intention of making sure of this object that he thought
of making a harbour.

In order that the reader may better understand those incidents
of our narrative which we are about to relate, it
may be well to say a word of the geographical features of
the region to which he has been transported, in fiction, if
not in fact. At the southern extremity of the American continent
is a cluster of islands, which are dark, sterile, rocky,
and most of the year covered with snow. Evergreens relieve
the aspect of sterility, in places that are a little sheltered,
and there is a meagre vegetation in spots that serve
to sustain animal life. The first strait which separates
this cluster of islands from the main, is that of Magellan,
through which vessels occasionally pass, in preference to
going farther south. Then comes Tierra del Fuego, which
is much the largest of all the islands. To the southward
of Tierra del Fuego lies a cluster of many small islands,
which bear different names; though the group farthest
south of all, and which it is usual to consider as the southern
termination of our noble continent, but which is not on a
continent at all, is known by the appropriate appellation
of the Hermits. If solitude, and desolation, and want, and
a contemplation of some of the sublimest features of this
earth, can render a spot fit for a hermitage, these islands
are very judiciously named. The one that is farthest south
contains the cape itself, which is marked by the ragged
pyramid of rock already mentioned; placed there by nature;
a never-tiring sentinel of the war of the elements.
Behind this cluster of the Hermits it was that Stimson advised
his officer to take refuge against the approaching
gale, of which the signs were now becoming obvious and
certain. Roswell's motive, however, for listening to such
advice, was less to find a shelter for his schooner than to
get rid of Daggett. For the gale he cared but little, since
he was a long way from the ice, and could stretch off the
land to the southward into a waste of waters that seems interminable.
There are islands to the southward of Cape
Horn, and a good many of them too, though none very

near. It is now known, also, by means of the toils and
courage of various seamen, including those of the persevering
and laborious Wilkes, the most industrious and the
least rewarded of all the navigators who have ever worked
for the human race in this dangerous and exhausting occupation,
that a continent is there also; but, at the period of
which we are writing, the existence of the Shetlands and
Palmer's Land was the extent of the later discoveries in
that part of the ocean. After pacing the quarter-deck a few
minutes, when he quitted the forecastle as mentioned, Roswell
Gardiner again went forward among the men.

“You are quite sure that this high peak is the Horn,
Stimson?” he observed, inquiringly.

“Sartain of it, sir. There's no mistaking sich a place,
which, once seen, is never forgotten.”

“It agrees with the charts and our reckoning, and I may
say it agrees with our eyes also. Here is the Pacific Ocean,
plain enough, Mr. Hazard.”

“So I think, sir. We are at the end of Ameriky, if it
has an end anywhere. This heavy long swell is an old acquaintance,
though I never was in close enough to see the
land, hereabouts, before.”

“It is fortunate we have one trusty hand on board who
can stand pilot. Stimson, I intend to go in and anchor,
and I shall trust to you to carry me into a snug berth.”

“I'll do it, Captain Gar'ner, if the weather will permit
it,” returned the seaman, with an unpretending sort of
confidence that spoke well for his ability.

Preparations were now commenced in earnest, to come
to. It was time that some steady course should be adopted,
as the wind was getting up, and the schooner was rapidly
approaching the land. In half an hour the Sea Lion was
bending to a little gale, with her canvass reduced to close-reefed
mainsail and foresail, and the bonnet off her jib.
The sea was fast getting up, though it came in long, and
mountain-like. Roswell dreaded the mist. Could he pass
through the narrow channels that Stimson had described to
him, with a clear sky, one half of his causes of anxiety
would be removed. But the wind was not a clear one, and
he felt that no time was to be lost.

It required great nerve to approach a coast like that of

Cape Horn in such weather. As the schooner got nearer
to the real cape, the sight of the seas tumbling in and
breaking on its ragged rock, and the hollow roaring sound
they made, actually became terrifie. To add to the awe
inspired in the breast of even the most callous-minded man
on board, came a doubt whether the schooner could weather
a certain point of rock, the western extremity of the
island, after she had got so far into a bight as to render
waring questionable, if not impossible. Every one now
looked grave and anxious. Should the schooner go ashore
in such a place, a single minute would suffice to break her
to pieces, and not a soul could expect to be saved. Roswell
was exceedingly anxious, though he remained cool.

“The tides and eddies about these rocks, and in so high
a latitude, sweep a vessel like chips,” he said to his chief
mate. “We have been set in here by an eddy, and a terrible
place it is.”

“All depends on our gears holding on, sir,” was the answer,
“with a little on Providence. Just watch the point
ahead, Captain Gar'ner; though we are not actually to
leeward of it, see with what a drift we have drawn upon it!
The manner in which these seas roll in from the sow-west
is terrific! No craft can go to windward against them.”

This remark of Hazard's was very just. The seas that
came down upon the cape resembled a rolling prairie in
their outline. A single wave would extend a quarter of a
mile from trough to trough, and as it passed beneath the
schooner, lifting her high in the air, it really seemed as if
the glancing water would sweep her away in its force. But
human art had found the means to counteract even this
imposing display of the power of nature. The little schooner
rode over the billows like a duck, and when she sank between
two of them, it was merely to rise again on a new
summit, and breast the gale gallantly. It was the current
that menaced the greatest danger; for that, unseen except
in its fruits, was clearly setting the little craft to leeward,
and bodily towards the rocks. By this time our adventurers
were so near the land that they almost gave up hope itself.
Cape Hatteras and its much-talked-of dangers, seemed a
place of refuge compared to that in which our navigators
now found themselves. Could the deepest bellowings of

ten thousand bulls be united in a common roar, the noise
would not have equalled that of the hollow sound which
issued from a sea as it went into some cavern of the rocks.
Then, the spray filled the air like driving rain, and there
were minutes when the cape, though so frightfully near,
was hid from view by the vapour.

At this precise moment, the Sea Lion was less than a
quarter of a mile to windward of the point she was
struggling to weather, and towards which she was driving
under a treble impetus; that of the wind, acting
on her sails, and pressing her ahead at the rate of fully
five knots, for the craft was kept a rap full; that of the
eddy, or current, and that of the rolling waters. No
man spoke, for each person felt that the crisis was one
in which silence was a sort of homage to the Deity.
Some prayed privately, and all gazed on the low rocky
point that it was indispensable to pass, to avoid destruction.
There was one favourable circumstance; the water was
known to be deep, quite close to the iron-bound coast, and
it was seldom that any danger existed, that it was not visible
to the eye. This, Roswell knew from Stimson's accounts,
as well as from those of other mariners, and he saw
that the fact was of the last importance to him. Should
he be able to weather the point ahead, that which terminated
at the mouth of the passage that led within the Hermits,
it was now certain it could be done only by going
fearfully near the rocks.

Roswell Gardiner took his station between the knight-heads,
beckoning to Stimson to come near him. At the
same time, Hazard himself went to the helm.

“Do you remember this place?” asked the young master
of the old seaman.

“This is the spot, sir; and if we can round the rocky
point ahead, I will take you to a safe anchorage. Our drift
is awful, or we are in an eddy tide here, sir!”

“It is the eddy,” answered Roswell, calmly, “though
our drift is not trifling. This is getting frightfully near to
that point!”

“Hold on, sir—it's our only chance;—hold on, and we
may rub and go.”

“If we rub, we are lost; that is certain enough. Should

we get by this first point, there is another, a short distance
beyond it, which must certainly fetch us up, I fear. See—
it opens more, as we draw ahead.”

Stimson saw the new danger, and fully appreciated it.
He did not speak, however; for, to own the truth, he now
abandoned all hope, and, being a piously inclined person,
he was privately addressing himself to God. Every man
on board was fully aware of the character of this new dander,
and all seemed to forget that of the nearest point of
rock, towards which they were now wading with portentous
speed. That point might be passed; there was a little hope
there; but as to the point a quarter of a mile beyond, with
the leeward set of the schooner, the most ignorant hand on
board saw how unlikely it was that they should get by it.

An imposing silence prevailed in the schooner, as she
came abreast of the first rock. It was about fifty fathoms
under the lee bow, and, as to that spot, all depended on the
distance outward that the dangers thrust themselves. This
it was impossible to see amid the chaos of waters produced
by the collision between the waves and the land. Roswell
fastened his eyes on objects ahead, to note the rate of his
leeward set, and, with a seaman's quickness, he noted the
first change.

“She feels the under-tow, Stephen,” he said, in a voice
so compressed as to seem to come out of the depths of his
chest, “and is breasted up to windward!”

“What means that sudden luff, sir? Mr. Hazard must
keep a good full, or we shall have no chance.”

Gardiner looked aft, and saw that the mate was bearing
the helm well up, as if he met with much resistance. The
truth then flashed upon him, and he shouted out—

“All's well, boys! God be praised, we have caught the
ebb-tide, under our lee-bow!”

These few words explained the reason of the change.
Instead of setting to leeward, the schooner was now meeting
a powerful tide of some four or five knots, which hawsed
her up to wind ward with irresistible force. As if conscious
of the danger she was in, the tight little craft receded from
the rocks as she shot ahead, and rounded that second point,
which, a minute before, had appeared to be placed there
purposely to destroy her. It was handsomely doubled, at

the safe distance of a hundred fathoms. Roswell believed
he might now beat his schooner off the land far enough to
double the cape altogether, could he but keep her in that
current. It doubtless expended itself, however, a short distance
in the offing, as its waters diffused themselves on the
breast of the ocean; and it was this diffusion of the element
that produced the eddy which had proved so nearly fatal.

In ten minutes after striking the tide, the schooner
opened the passage fairly, and was kept away to enter it.
Notwithstanding it blew so heavily, the rate of sailing, by
the land, did not exceed five knots. This was owing to the
great strength of the tide, which sometimes rises and falls
thirty feet, in high latitudes and narrow waters. Stimson
now showed he was a man to be relied on. Conning the
craft intelligently, he took her in behind the island on
which the cape stands, luffed her up into a tiny cove, and
made a cast of the lead. There were fifty fathoms of water,
with a bottom of mud. With the certainty that there was
enough of the element to keep him clear of the ground at
low water, and that his anchors would hold, Roswell made
a flying moor, and veered out enough cable to render his
vessel secure.

Here, then, was the Sea Lion of Oyster Pond, that craft
which the reader had seen lying at Deacon Pratt's wharf,
only three short months before, safely anchored in a nook
of the rocks behind Cape Horn. No navigator but a sealer
would have dreamed of carrying his vessel into such a place,
but it is a part of their calling to poke about in channels
and passages where no one else has ever been. It was in
this way that Stimson had learned to know where to find
his present anchorage. The berth of the schooner was
perfectly snug, and entirely land-locked. The tremendous
swell that was rolling in on the outside, caused the waters
to rise and fall a little within the passage, but there was no
strain upon the cables in consequence. Neither did the
rapid tides affect the craft, which lay in an eddy that merely
kept her steady. The gale came howling over the Hermits,
but was so much broken by the rocks as to do little more
than whistle through the cordage and spars aloft.

Three days, and as many nights, did the gale from the
south-west continue. The fourth day there was a change,

the wind coming from the eastward. Roswell would now
have gone out, had it not been for the apprehension of falling
in with Daggett again. Having at length gotten rid
of that pertinacious companion, it would have been an act
of great weakness to throw himself blindly in his way once
more. It was possible that Daggett might not suppose he
had been left intentionally, in which case, he would be very
apt to look for his lost consort in the vicinity of the cape.
As for the gale, it might, or it might not, have blown him
to leeward. A good deal would depend on the currents,
and his distance to the southward. Near the land, Gardidiner
believed the currents favoured a vessel doubling it,
going west; and if Daggett was also aware of this fact, it
might induce him to keep as near the spot as possible.

Time was very precious to our sealers, the season being
so short in the high latitudes. Still, they were a little in
advance of their calculations, having got off the Horn
fully ten days sooner than they had hoped to be there.
Nearly the whole summer was before them, and there was
the possibility of their even being too soon for the loosening
of the ice further south. The wind was the strongest inducement
to go out, for the point to which our adventurers
were bound lay a considerable distance to the westward,
and fair breezes were not to be neglected. Under all the
circumstances, however, it was decided to remain within
the passage one day longer, and this so much the more,
because Hazard had discovered some signs of sea-elephants
frequenting an island at no great distance. The boats were
lowered accordingly, and the mate went in one direction,
while the master pulled up to the rocks, and landed on the
Hermit, or the island which should bear that name, par
excellence, being that in which the group terminates.

Taking Stimson with him, to carry a glass, and armed
with an old lance as a pike-pole, to aid his efforts, Roswell
Gardiner now commenced the ascent of the pyramid already
mentioned. It was ragged, and offered a thousand obstacles,
but none that vigour and resolution could not overcome.
After a few minutes of violent exertion, and by helping
each other in difficult places, both Roswell and Stimson
succeeded in placing themselves on the summit of the elevation,
which was an irregular peak. The height was

considerable, and gave an extended view of the adjacent
islands, as well as of the gloomy and menacing ocean to
the southward. The earth, probably, does not contain a
more remarkable sentinel than this pyramid on which our
hero had now taken his station. There it stood, actually
the Ultima Thule of this vast continent, or, what was much
the same, so closely united to it as to seem a part of our
own moiety of the globe, looking out on the broad expanse
of waters. The eye saw, to the right, the Pacific; in front
was the Southern, or Antarctic Ocean; and to the left was
the great Atlantic. For several minutes, both Roswell and
Stephen sat mute, gazing on this grand spectacle. By
turning their faces north, they beheld the high lands of
Terra del Fuego, of which many of the highest peaks were
covered with snow. The pyramid on which they were,
however, was no longer white with the congealed rain, but
stood, stern and imposing, in its native brown. The outlines
of all the rocks, and the shores of the different islands,
had an appearance of volcanic origin, though the rocks
themselves told a somewhat different story. The last was
principally of trap formation. Cape pigeons, gulls petrels,
and albatross were wheeling about in the air, while the
rollers that still came in on this noble sea-wall were really
terrific. Distant thunder wants the hollow, bellowing sound
that these waves made when brought in contact with the
shores. Roswell fancied that it was like a groan of the
mighty Pacific, at finding its progress suddenly checked.
The spray continued to fly, and, much of the time, the air
below his elevated seat was filled with vapour.

As soon as our young master had taken in the grander
features of this magnificent view, his eyes sought the Sea
Lion of Martha's Vineyard. There she was, sure enough,
at a distance of only a couple of leagues, and apparently
standing directly for the Cape. Could it be possible that
Daggett suspected his manœuvre, and was coming in search
of him, at the precise spot in which he had taken shelter?
As respects the vessel, there was no question as to her character.
From the elevation at which he was placed, Roswell,
aided by the glass, had no difficulty in making her
out, and in recognising her rig, form, and character. Stimson
also examined her, and knew her to be the schooner.

On that vast and desolate sea, she resembled a speck, but
the art of man had enabled those she held to guide her
safely through the tempest, and bring her up to her goal,
in a time that really seemed miraculous for the circumstances.

“If we had thought of it, Captain Gar'ner,” said Stephen,
“we might have brought up an ensign, and set it on these
rocks, by way of letting the Vineyarders know where we
are to be found. But we can always go out and meet them,
should this wind stand.”

“Which is just what I have no intention of doing, Stephen.
I came in here, on purpose to get rid of that schooner.”

“You surprise me, sir! A consort is no bad thing,
when a craft is a-sealin' in a high latitude. The ice makes
such ticklish times, that, for me, I'm always glad to know
there is such a chance for taking a fellow off, should there
happen to be a wrack.”

“All that is very true, but there are reasons which may
tell against it. I have heard of some islands where seals
abound, and a consort is not quite so necessary to take
them, as when one is wrecked.”

“That alters the case, Captain Gar'ner. Nobody is
obliged to tell of his sealing station. I was aboard one of
the very first craft that found out that the South Shetlands
was a famous place for seals, and no one among us thought
it necessary to tell it to all the world. Some men are weak
enough to put sich discoveries in the newspapers; but, for
my part, I think it quite enough to put them in the log.”

“That schooner must have the current with her, she
comes down so fast. She'll be abreast of the Horn in half
an hour longer, Stephen. We will wait, and see what she
would be at.”

Gardiner's prediction was true. In half an hour, the
Sea Lion of Holmes' Hole glided past the rocky pyramid
of the Horn, distant from it less than a mile. Had it been
the object of her commander to pass into the Pacific, he
might have done so with great apparent ease. Even with
a south-west wind, that which blows fully half the time in
those seas, it would have been in his power to lay past the
islands, and soon get before it. A north-east course, with

a little offing, will clear the islands, and when a vessel gets
as far north as the main land, it would take her off the
coast.

But Daggett had no intention of doing anything of the
sort. He was looking for his consort, which he had hoped
to find somewhere near the cape. Disappointed in this
expectation, after standing far enough west to make certain
nothing was in sight in that quarter, he hauled up on an
easy bowline, and stood to the southward. Roswell was
right glad to see this, inasmuch as it denoted ignorance of
the position of the islands he sought. They lay much farther
to the westward; and no sooner was he sure of the
course steered by the other schooner, than he hastened
down to the boat, in order to get his own vessel under way,
to profit by the breeze.

Two hours later, the Sea Lion of Oyster Pond glanced
through the passage which led into the ocean, on an ebb-tide.
By that time, the other vessel had disappeared in the
southern board; and Gardiner came out upon the open
waters again, boldly, and certain of his course. All sail
was set, and the little craft slipped away from the land with
the ease of an aquatic bird, that is plying its web-feet.
Studding-sails were set, and the pyramid of the Horn soon
began to lower in the distance, as the schooner receded.
When night closed over the rolling waters, it was no longer
visible, the vessel having fairly entered the Antarctic Ocean,
if anything north of the circle can properly so be termed.