Two Years Before The Mast - V

(Wiki) (movie - 1946) (Audiobook)

Two Years Before The Mast - III (Pages 29 - 34)

Sea Tales - Whales

The calm of the morning reminds me of a scene which I forgot to describe at the time of its occurrence, but which I remember from its being the first time that I had heard the near breathing of whales. It was on the night that we passed between the Falkland Islands and Staten Land. We had the watch from twelve to four, and, coming upon deck, found the little brig lying perfectly still, enclosed in a thick fog, and the sea as smooth as though oil had been poured upon it ; yet now and then a long, low swell rolling under its surface, slightly lifting the vessel, but without breaking the glassy smooth ness of the water. We were surrounded far and near by shoals of sluggish whales and grampuses, which the fog prevented our seeing, rising slowly to the surface, or perhaps lying out at length, heaving out those lazy, deep, and long-drawn breathings which give such an impression of supineness and strength.

Some of the watch were asleep, and the others were quiet, so that there was nothing to break the illusion, and I stood leaning over the bulwarks, listening to the slow breathings of the mighty creatures, — now one breaking the water just alongside, whose black body I almost fancied that I could see through the fog ; and again another, which I could just hear in the distance, — until the low and regular swell seemed like the heaving of the ocean's mighty bosom to the sound of its own heavy and long- drawn respirations.

Sea Tales - Heave To In Heavy Weather

Towards the evening of this day (Friday, 7th) the fog cleared off, and we had every appearance of a cold blow ; and soon after sundown it came on. Again it was clew up and haul down, reef and furl, until we had got her down to close-reefed topsails, double-reefed trysail, and reefed fore Spenser. Snow, hail, and sleet were driving upon us most of the night, and the sea was breaking over the bows and covering the forward part of the little vessel ; but, as she would lay her course, the captain refused to heave her to [see also Wiki].


Sea Tales - Heavy Weather at Sea
Sea Tales - Head Sea
Sea Tales - Calling The Watch

Between five and six — the sun was then nearly three hours high — the cry of " All Starbowlines * ahoy ! " summoned our watch on deck, (it being the fashion to call the respective watches Starbowlines and Larbowlines) and immediately all hands were called.

A true specimen of Cape Horn was coming upon us. A great cloud of a dark slate-color was driving on us from the southwest ; and we did our best to take in sail (for the light sails had been set during the first part of the day) before we were in the midst of it. We had got the light sails furled, the courses hauled up, and the topsail reef- tackles hauled out, and were just mounting the fore-rigging when the storm struck us. In an instant the sea, which had been comparatively quiet, was running higher and higher ; and it became almost as dark as night. The hail and sleet were harder than I had yet felt them ; seeming almost to pin us down to the rigging.

We were longer taking in sail than ever before ; for the sails were stiff and wet, the ropes and rigging covered with snow and sleet, and we ourselves cold and nearly blinded with the violence of the storm.

By the time we had got down upon deck again, the little brig was plunging madly into a tremendous head sea, which at every drive rushed in through the bow-ports and over the bows, and buried all the forward part of the vessel.

At this instant the chief mate, who was standing on the top of the windlass, at the foot of the spenser-mast, called out, " Lay out there and furl the jib ! " This was no agreeable or safe duty, yet it must be done. John, a Swede (the best sailor on board), who belonged on the forecastle, sprang out upon the bowsprit. Another one must go. It was a clear case of holding back. I was near the mate, but sprang past several, threw the downhaul over the windlass, and jumped between the knight-heads out upon the bowsprit.

The crew stood abaft [behind, toward's the stern relative to] the windlass and hauled the jib down, while John and I got out upon the weather side [the side of a ship exposed to the wind] of the jib-boom, our feet on the foot-ropes, holding on by the spar, the great jib flying off to leeward and slatting [flapping?] so as almost to throw us off the boom.

For some time we could do nothing but hold on, and the vessel, diving into two huge seas, one after the other, plunged us twice into the water up to our chins. We hardly knew whether we were on or off; when, the boom lifting us up dripping from the water, we were raised high into the air and then plunged below again. John thought the boom would go every moment, and called out to the mate to keep the vessel off, and haul down the staysail ; but the fury of the wind and the breaking of the seas against the bows defied every attempt to make ourselves heard, and we were obliged to do the best we could in our situation.

Fortunately no other seas so heavy struck her, and we succeeded in furling the jib " after a fashion " ; and, coming in over the staysail nettings, were not a little pleased to find that all was snug, and the watch gone below ; for we were soaked through, and it was very cold. John admitted that it had been a post of danger, which good sailors seldom do when the thing is over. The weather continued nearly the same through the night.

Monday, November 10th. During a part of this day we were hove to, but the rest of the time were driving on, under close-reefed sails, with a heavy sea, a strong gale, and frequent squalls of hail and snow.

Tuesday, November 11th. The same.

Wednesday. The same.

Thursday. The same.

We had now got hardened to Cape weather, the vessel was under reduced sail, and everything secured on deck and below, so that we had little to do but to steer and to stand our watch. Our clothes were all wet through, and the only change was from wet to more wet. There is no fire in the forecastle, and we cannot dry clothes at the galley. It was in vain to think of reading or working below, for we were too tired, the hatchways were closed down, and everything was wet and uncomfortable, black and dirty, heaving and pitching.

We had only to come below when the watch was out, wring our wet clothes, hang them up to chafe against the bulkheads, and turn in and sleep as soundly as we could, until our watch was called again. A sailor can sleep anywhere, — no sound of wind, water, canvas, rope, wood, or iron can keep him awake, — and we were always fast asleep when three blows on the hatchway, and the unwelcome cry of " All Starbowlines ahoy ! eight bells there below ! do you hear the news" (the usual formula of calling the watch) roused us up from our berths upon the cold, wet decks.