LETTER XII.
At length we are at sea! the convoy sailed from Spithead and St. Helens, the day after I sent my last letter, and I now lift my pen to you upon the bosom of the wide Atlantic. From the time of the ever-memorable attempt of the fleet to proceed upon the voyage, in the month of November, the adverse winds, which had driven it back, in so shattered and disastrous a condition, detained it, in harbour, until the 9th instant; when it again put to sea under a serene sky, and propitious breezes; but, notwithstanding these favorable appearances, we have, since, had a most perilous succession of storms, one having, scarcely, subsided before it has been followed by another; and I have now so lost my confidence in the weather, that, although I am sitting in tolerable quietness to write to you, at this moment, I dare scarcely hope to finish my letter before I shall be tossed from my chair by a renewal of the gale.
This is the last day of the old year, and, whichsoever way I look, my eye surveys only an unbounded ocean. When we may again see land, it were difficult to conjecture, but my pen shall prepare for you some notes of our proceedings, occasionally, when the sea will permit me to guide it; and I will send them by any vessel we may chance to meet on the passage, or by the earliest packet, after we reach the West Indies.
On the first morning of our being at sea, the weather was clear and mild, and the whole fleet, consisting of nearly three hundred vessels, of various magnitude, was assembled in compact form, occupying a certain circle of the ocean’s surface, and gliding smoothly on its passage. It formed one of the grandest spectacles ever beheld. Never shall I forget climbing up the shrowds, as high as the main top, to enjoy it in all its perfection. The sun shone; the sea was smooth and undisturbed; the air serene. All sails were set, and the vessels being near to each other, the white canvass seemed spread, in crowded continuation, throughout the wide space covered by the fleet. Looking down upon the multitude of ships, it created the idea of an entire nation moving upon the waters. It was an emblem of Britain’s glory. We appeared to command the whole empire of the main; and the prospect, being calculated to excite flattering hopes of victory and success, could not fail to be viewed, by every Briton, with delight. But, alas! how delusive were these auspicious dawnings! We had advanced very little on our passage, before a dire reverse succeeded. The sun was now obscured; a thick fog overspread the ocean; and all the fleet was shut from our sight. Clouds gathered around; and the heavens scowled in terrific blackness. At length burst forth a roaring storm! the waters broke into huge billows; and the ships, struggling against the wild and furious waves, were, at one moment, tossed on a pinnacle, and, the next, plunged into a gloomy deep, surrounded by disordered mountains. In an instant they were again amidst the clouds, and again as suddenly sunk in the dark valley of liquid hills: thus, alternately, threatening us with the danger of being hurled from a summit, or swallowed up in a frightful gulf of the unfathomable ocean. Nor had we, barely, to encounter the common dangers of the sea, but, from being amidst a crowded fleet, were, every instant, liable to the additional peril of running aboard some neighbouring ship, and being dashed in pieces, or driven suddenly to the bottom: to this we were likewise exposed by the darkness of night, or by a heavy fog. The terror of these critical moments is necessarily augmented by the lively apprehensions of those who are but little accustomed to the sea: nor is this wonderful, for, where every motion, and every sound is calculated to excite alarm, he must be more than a philosopher, he must be a sailor, who can regard even the less imminent perils with unconcern.
During a storm, the deep rollings of the ship, her deeper lurches, the thundering concussion of heavy seas against her sides, the hollow dreary sound of the wind howling in her sails and rigging, the hurry and clamour of the ship’s company, and the dismal creakings of the masts, bulkheads, and other parts of the vessel, all conspire to create tumult and confusion, and to keep alive the most trembling apprehensions. At one moment the ship is upset, the next you feel her strike upon a rock: suddenly she is shattered to atoms; or, foundering, sinks to the bottom; and, while you are absorbed in these sensations, a sea, or heavy spray breaks over the deck, a threatening wave beats in the quarter gallery, or a rolling mountain dashes the stern windows into the cabin. The water now pouring upon you from every opening, your fears are confirmed, and you feel that the vessel is positively sinking. Quickly, the accident is repaired, and, in the moment of despair you are greeted with tidings of safety.
Often, in the midst of alarming appearances, and manifold disquietudes, you are visited by the carpenter, with the “dead-lights,” who, fixing them in the stern windows, nails you up in darkness, as in a coffin, and with as much sang froid as men of his calling screw up the bodies of those who are actually dead: replying, at the same time, to your anxious and fearful inquiries regarding the necessity for that step being taken, that it is “only to keep the spray from breaking the windows!” But I am fatiguing you with a detail of what every one knows; and most who have been at sea, have felt: let me, therefore, return to our voyage.
What shall I say to you of our armada—our unfortunate fleet! Ere this can meet your hand, you will have had many, alas! too many melancholy proofs of the disasters which have befallen it. Did ever the seas: did the heavens ever fight so cruelly against an expedition! were ever the elements so decidedly hostile to the great and flattering efforts of man!
After the violence of the first gale, most of our scattered fleet, owing to the attention and exertions of Admiral Christian and his officers, was again assembled, and we felicitated ourselves in the hope of proceeding to our place of destination without further interruption: but the turbulent mountains of a disordered sea were scarcely reduced to a more tranquil surface, before the storm was renewed with additional violence. Quickly we were more scattered than before. Many of the ships, unable to resist this second shock, were, now, much injured, and obliged to put back into port. Some, we suppose, again joined the admiral, and others wholly lost the convoy. We were among the latter, but, when the weather cleared, we fell in with a small division of the fleet, with which we sailed in company, for several days. Further repetitions of the storm again separated us, and we were tossed about, seeing no more than three, sometimes but two, and often only a single ship, until, at length, we found ourselves quite alone upon the broad ocean.
Previous to our final separation we witnessed a scene of a most melancholy nature; having observed a neighbouring ship in the utmost danger of being lost, without possessing the power of affording her any relief. She hoisted a flag, and fired guns of distress; but the gale was so strong, and the sea running so frightfully high, that it was impossible to give her assistance. We stood towards her, and anxiously kept her in view, in the hope of administering aid, if she should be supported upon the surface until the weather became moderate. Unhappily the tempest continued increasing rather than diminishing in violence. We looked fearfully on the ship, expecting every instant to see her go to the bottom. She repeated signals of distress. We heard them, and saw them, but were unable to obey them. It was a most awful crisis. We regarded her with dismal forebodings, examining her, both with the eye and the telescope, again and again. Her masts were standing; her sails entire; and the rigging, apparently, perfect; but these circumstances, which to landsmen would have seemed favorable, we discovered to be the very reverse; for, hence it was that our best sailors formed the fatal conclusion that her situation was hopeless, and that she must have sprung a leak!
We watched the heavens, and the waters in painful solicitude, but saw no relaxation of the storm. Tremendous mountains at one moment concealed the wretched ship from our view: at another we appeared to be enveloped, together, in the same frightful gulf. You will conceive our sensations upon feeling that, in one instant more, this deep pit of the ocean might be the grave of every soul on board. Signals, denoting the extreme of danger, were repeated: the sea rolled in terrific disorder: we bent our eyes in vain towards the vessel, deploring her threatened fate, and our own inability to prevent it! Night came on. We lost her in darkness, and—beheld her no more!
Heaven grant that she may be in safety! But we all fear she cannot have withstood the violence of the gale, which continued until morning, and throughout the whole of the following day, with unremitted fury. Our anxiety was also much augmented, from having seen masts, spars, and other pieces of wreck, float by the side of our ship, when the storm abated. Until now I had regarded the sailing in company with a fleet as a kind of social protection; but henceforth I shall feel no desire to move in crowded society on the ocean. Being alone, we are exposed to the risk of falling into the hands of the enemy; but, compared to our late suffering, even the vilest of French prisons loses its horrors; for, what can be so truly afflicting as to see a number of our fellow-creatures plunged into the deepest distress, and to feel withheld from tendering them relief! Our solitary situation must prevent a repetition of such a scene: it also removes the peril of our being injured or destroyed, by other ships; of which we had much dread, while we were amidst the fleet.
It is not only during a storm that there is danger of one ship running foul of another: it is equally, perhaps more likely to happen when the wind abates, particularly if this occur suddenly, for then the ship, not being supported by the resistance of the gale, gives way to the heavy seas, and, from disobeying the helm, is liable to be driven aboard other vessels. Often, at this moment, as well as during the storm, the ships appear to have no weight, nor depth of purchase in the water, but they toss and roll about at the mercy of the waves, like empty barrels floating upon the surface.
At the period of separating from the fleet we knew not our place of destination: it became expedient therefore to open the sealed instructions; from which we discovered that Carlisle Bay, in Barbadoes, was fixed as the general rendezvous of the fleet. Here, therefore, all our attractions lie, and to this port we are endeavouring to steer; but adverse winds and violent tempests perpetually oppose our progress. It is now more than three weeks from the date of our departure, and we are yet beating about much nearer to you than you imagine, having, hitherto, advanced, on our passage, only twelve degrees of longitude, and three of latitude. But in whatever latitude or longitude, amidst whatever storms or dangers, I am always