CHAPTER XIV.
Being advised, on the 3d of November, that the Jacob Bell had received her full cargo, and would sail in a few days, we hastened the few remaining preparations for our long voyage, and embarked on board of her. On Friday, the 7th of the month, our regretful adieus were made to the friends we were leaving, and the ship was towed from the anchorage down the river by the English steamer Fieloong, when she anchored for the night at Sharp Peak Island. The next morning, being again taken in tow, we were soon beyond all rocks and bars, when the steamer left us in charge of a pilot, who was also to leave us at the White Dogs. On reaching the neighborhood of these islands, however, we encountered a very short and heavy sea; and not being able to pass sufficiently near under the lee of the island to make it safe for the pilot-boat to come off for him, he was compelled to go down the sea with us. In such rough sailing it was impossible not to come somewhat under the influence of old Neptune, and poor Charlie suffered severely. We were, however, too good sailors to be long affected, and the next day all such disagreeables were forgotten.
Our accommodations were excellent; and although we were the only passengers, the fact that Captain Frisbie—the master of the vessel—had his wife on board was encouraging, and enabled me to look forward the more hopefully to the safe termination of the long voyage before us.
A strong northeast monsoon drove us down the channel of Formosa and the China Sea at the rate of eleven knots an hour, so that on Sunday we were passing Namoa Island, which lies not far from the entrance to the harbor of Swatow; and on Monday morning were sailing within forty miles of Hong Kong. After sighting Victoria Peak we fell in with a native pilot-boat, which enabling the captain to send his Fuh-chauan pilot to Hong Kong, we did not suffer the detention we had feared, in being obliged to go into port in order to land him.
On the 18th day of the month—when below the fourth degree of north latitude, and in the neighborhood of the Natura Islands—our fine breeze left us; but, under the influence of light winds, we sailed on slowly,—the mercury indicating a heat of from eighty to ninety degrees. The weather soon became so oppressive that, on the 21st of the month, one of the sailors had a coup de soleil, and fell while at the wheel. Happily it did not prove a fatal case, and after a few days of care the man was again performing his duties. While near the Natura Islands we had several ships in sight, and speaking two of them, learned that they were bound to London. During the night of the 21st we had severe squalls of wind and rain, and in a few hours “boxed the compass” seven times. Calms succeeded these squalls, but when off the island of Borneo strong southerly currents floated us gently onward, and at noon on the 23d of November we crossed the equator.
When about two miles south of the equinoctial line we were suddenly greeted with the cry of “A sea-serpent, a sea-serpent!” and at the same time Master Charlie came rushing into the cabin, and begged me to go up on deck and see the monster. With the Nahant sea-serpent, however, in mind, and stout incredulity in my heart, I followed my young friend. The serpent—or whatever it might have been—was on our larboard side, and floating with the current at a distance of what seemed to be not more than two or three times the length of the ship from us. On ascending to the deck I found the captain and his crew watching the movements of the creature, which was then quietly floating opposite the vessel. There was not a ripple to be seen upon the mirror-like surface of the ocean. In a few moments, however, the object moved in a very slow manner, and raising what was pronounced to be his head, made some disagreeably sinuous motions with his body, after which he again relapsed into a state of quietude. This continued but for a short time, when there was another general movement, which was more decidedly animated and serpent-like than at the first; and this time the so-called head appeared to be raised nearly above the water. This demonstration was too terribly frightful; and, having a great horror of anything so suggestive of a reptile, I fled directly to the cabin. Nor did I regret our having passed this nondescript creature, which appeared to us very like a huge snake floating along while basking in the fiercest heat of the torrid zone. Many parts of the China Sea are infested with snakes, which are often seen swimming near the surface of the water; and the captain of the Jacob Bell declared that he had seen them ten feet long. This creature, however,—which he and all his crew persisted in calling a sea-serpent,—was pronounced by him to be forty feet in length, and one old sailor went so far as to say that it was as long as the mainyard. It was of a dark snuff-color, and was said to be covered with barnacles.
I do not relate this exciting incident with any intention of proclaiming that we saw a veritable sea-serpent; nor do I say that it was a living monster of any kind, but merely state the case in accordance with appearances. Furthermore, I do not acknowledge to any belief about it; but leave the decision that it was a sea-serpent—which was made by the captain and crew of the Bell—to be sustained or reversed by the citizens of Nahant, whose superior wisdom and vast experience in such matters is universally acknowledged and always deferred to.
Reaching Gasper Strait, and sailing through the Staltz Channel, we passed the islands and dangerous shoals in that vicinity with safety, and entered the Java Sea on the 26th of November. Ship supplies can always be procured at Anjer, which is a small port on the coast of Java, and just within the Strait of Sunda as it is entered from the Java Sea. When the wind is fair, vessels frequently stop there and take in their supplies while at anchor; when, however, the weather is unfavorable, boats loaded with the necessary articles go out and meet them.
Having calms and light winds we sailed very slowly; but finally, after passing the North Watchers and the Thousand Islands, on the afternoon of the 29th—when about fifty miles from the Strait of Sunda—two native boats, or prahus, were seen making vigorously for us. The little craft—which were manned by Malays—were from Anjer; and besides being loaded with fowls, fruits, and vegetables, had also on board some monkeys, and a pair of little moose deer of Java,[41] besides a few cages of Java sparrows. With the approach of the Malay boats we were visited with a breeze; and after purchasing the necessary supplies, our captain took the little vessels in tow, when we sailed on at the rate of eight knots an hour. During the night one of the boats parted her cable, and we left her, while the other continued with us until morning, when, coming alongside, our letters were given to the chief man on board, with instructions to deliver them into the hands of the Dutch governor at Anjer, when we parted. This was on Sunday morning, as we were nearing the islands of Java and Sumatra, with the dark peaks of the Radjah Bassa mountains and the entrance-way to the strait in full view. We, however, had a head-wind; and although our captain made every exertion, by constantly tacking ship, to enter the passage, he was finally obliged to come to, and anchor for the night near the coast of Sumatra, and under the lee of the Radjah Bassa range.
Besides taking a long sea-voyage, one must be a wakeful invalid, and also pass through a day of the disagreeable sailing and noise incident to the frequent tacking of ship, in order to appreciate the quiet and delicious sleep which I enjoyed that night. The next morning, being more successful in our efforts, we entered the narrow pass on the western side of Renjang, or Thwart-the-way Island, and, getting safely through, were soon sailing past the little settlement of Anjer.
Renjang, or Thwart-the-way Island—which, as its name indicates, lies athwart the mouth of the Strait—is jagged-looking, and of singular shape, having sundry acute angles, whose rocky points shoot directly out into the water. It is, however, covered with trees, shrubs, and vines, and with its tropical luxuriance, displayed, as we sailed near, some very exquisite bits of scenery. At one place, near the beach, the ground and rocks formed high arches, over which trailed vines of the richest foliage. We also observed a remarkable ravine, and an elevation which rose perpendicularly from the water’s edge to the height of five hundred feet.
On the 2d day of December we passed Cocketoo Island, and sailing on reached Princess Island, which lies near the entrance to the Indian Ocean, having a passage leading into it both upon its east and west side. Taking the western passage, we were in a short time out on the broad ocean; and as Java Head faded in the distance, not only felicitated ourselves in having escaped the dangers of the China Sea, but already began to look forward with much hopeful courage for the future.
Our fine breeze had again died away, but having gentle zephyrs we still moved slowly onward, and lost sight of Java Head before evening. During the night, however, we met with a heavy swell from the south, and our wind entirely failing us, we drifted so far back that in the morning Java Head was again plainly visible. In the afternoon, being again favored with a fair wind, we sailed on our course, when Java Head faded permanently from our view. Up to this time calms and adverse winds had prevailed to such a degree that for seventeen successive days we had only made, on an average, two and a half miles an hour.
While in the East I observed that meteors were of much more common occurrence than in our Western hemisphere. Indeed, when at Swatow, our evenings were usually passed, until a very late hour, in an open veranda; and I fail to remember a night in which we did not note one or two, which, passing athwart the heavens, made the blue vault, which sparkled with brilliant stars, if possible more splendidly glorious. From the deck of the Jacob Bell, however, on the evening of the 5th of December, I observed one which far exceeded in brilliancy, and in the length of time that it remained luminous, any I had ever seen. This appeared at first in the eastern portion of the heavens, and taking an oblique direction to the south passed over a great space, and then, for a few seconds, displayed a flame-colored tail,—while the nucleus assumed a rich golden hue,—when it exploded and vanished. The spotlessly white and ethereal-looking fleecy clouds—which are always seen when sailing on the Indian Ocean—seemed to be more numerous and beautiful than when on our voyage out; and when lighted up by the departing rays of the setting sun the scene was enchanting. I may, in time, forget our perils by sea, and the more painful perils that we were afterwards placed in by our treacherous countrymen, but I can never forget the sunset glories of the Indian Ocean. The Magellan clouds and lovely Southern Cross, attended by its brilliantly sparkling pointers, were also our nightly visitors; and, as on our outward voyage, the stars in the Cross, as well as those composing Orion, Taurus, and other southern constellations, appeared more brilliant than when seen in the Atlantic tropics.
Although we had a favorable trade-wind within a week after entering the Indian Ocean, it lasted only for a few days, and before the 21st of the month, as we neared the latitude of Mauritius, the heat greatly increased, and we were again visited with light winds and calms. For a week after leaving Fuh-chau it was pleasantly cool, but from that time the mercury had not fallen below eighty degrees, and sometimes it was as high as ninety and ninety-six degrees, which made an atmosphere that, without the sea-breeze, would have been almost unendurable. On Christmas Day we were passing the Isle of Bourbon; and at night, having severe squalls of wind, were made painfully aware that we were again in the hurricane latitudes at an inopportune season. These squalls, however, lasted but for a short time, and, leaving us with a fair breeze, we had passed the longitude of Madagascar and were sailing prosperously onward, when we were suddenly visited with a terrific squall from the northwest. This came on during the afternoon of January 1st, 1863, when we were about off Port Natal. As I had never before taken a voyage in a sailing vessel, and this being the most fearful wind we had encountered, the loud screaming tones of the captain, giving his orders, and the noise of the sailors as they hastened to furl the sails, together with the howling of the wind through the rigging, was appalling. It blew a gale during the night, nor did it abate so that we could make sail until the following afternoon; and yet this squall, and the few tempestuous hours that followed it, bore no comparison to the sharp southeaster we encountered three days afterwards.
We were then nearly off Great Fish River, with the prospect of soon rounding the Cape. The gale, which commenced on Saturday, reached its culminating point on Sunday, and we were obliged to lie to until Monday morning. For several hours, fastenings arranged with pulleys were attached to each side of the wheel, in order to keep the rudder steady; and for still greater safety, a man crouched upon deck was stationed to hold at each of the fastenings, while two men stood at the wheel, and carefully guided the ship. The gale had continued many hours before I could call sufficient courage into requisition to take a view of the scene of awful grandeur about us. Being assured, however, that our vessel was in no danger from the storm, I finally ascended to the quarter-deck, from whence the huge and extensive waves of the broad ocean presented a sublime though fearful spectacle. The ship, although tossed about by the waves like a frail canoe, at the same time rode them so easily that I soon learned to view the scene with less terror and more satisfaction than I ever expected to regard so fierce a tempest. We frequently shipped seas upon the main-deck; and occasionally a wave dashing over the cabin, swept also the quarter-deck. One of these waves, in fact, finally drove me below, where I was glad to remain.
This dreadful gale—which began to lull about twelve o’clock Sunday night—also left us with a fair breeze, which wafted us around the Cape of Storms; and on the 9th of January we were in the South Atlantic, with our prow pointing homeward, and beginning to indulge in the fancy that our long voyage was fast drawing near to an auspicious close. As we neared Cape Lagullas the air became bracing; and before we had reached the Atlantic Ocean the atmosphere was delightful.
While rounding the Cape we fell in company with several kinds of sea-birds; most of which, being new to us, were objects of much interest. The albatross, in particular,—whether on the wing, or floating with majestic grace upon the waves,—was always greeted with admiration.
The fair breeze with which we entered the Atlantic continued until we reached a favorable trade-wind; and—the latter accompanying us until the 15th of January—we were at that date but seven miles from the southern tropics. Here the weather becoming again very warm, the little vigor which I had gained while sailing within the bracing region of the Cape, was soon dissipated; and it seemed as though the long days and nights of prostration and suffering, experienced before our ship had reached and passed the equator, would never end. On the 2d of February, however, we were nearly one degree north of the equinoctial line, and beginning to feel, in a slight degree, the influence of the bracing wind from the north. On the 10th,—being nearly out of the tropics, and hoping to reach New York in ten or fifteen days,—with the assistance of my young friend and only protector, Master Charlie, I began to pack and make a few preparations in anticipation of that event.