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- 4548
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.270Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
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- 4485
- text
- CHAPTER XXVIII.
EDGING AWAY.
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 ease 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, everything 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 clay, 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.
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