Sunday, August 7th. Lat. 25° 59’ S., lon. 27° 0’ W. Spoke10 the English bark Mary Catherine, from Bahia, bound to Calcutta. This was the first sail we had fallen in with, and the first time we had seen a human form or heard the human voice, except of our own number, for nearly a hundred days. The very yo-hoing of the sailors at the ropes sounded sociably11 upon the ear. She was an old, damaged-looking craft, with a high poop and top-gallant forecastle, and sawed off square, stem and stern, like a true English “tea-wagon,” and with a run like a sugar-box. She had studding-sails out alow and aloft, with a light but steady breeze, and her captain said he could not get more than four knots out of her, and thought he should have a long passage. We were going six on an easy bowline.
The next day, about three P.M., passed a large corvette-built ship, close upon the wind, with royals and skysails set fore and aft, under English colors. She was standing south-by-east, probably bound round Cape Horn. She had men in her tops, and black mast-heads; heavily sparred, with sails cut to a t, and other marks of a man-of-war. She sailed well, and presented a fine appearance; the proud, feudal-looking banner of St. George — the cross in a blood-red field — waving from the mizzen. We probably were nearly as fine a sight, with our studding-sails spread far out beyond the ship on either side, and rising in a pyramid to royal studding-sails and skysails, burying the hull13 in canvas and looking like what the whalemen on the Banks, under their stump14 top-gallant-masts, call “a Cape Horn-er under a cloud of sail.”
Friday, August 12th. At daylight made the island of Trinidad, situated15 in lat. 20° 28’ S., lon. 29° 08’ W. At twelve M., it bore N.W. 1/2 N., distant twenty-seven miles. It was a beautiful day, the sea hardly ruffled16 by the light trades, and the island looking like a small blue mound17 rising from a field of glass. Such a fair and peaceful-looking spot is said to have been, for a long time, the resort of a band of pirates, who ravaged18 the tropical seas.
Thursday, August 18th. At three P.M., made the island of Fernando Naronha, lying in lat. 3° 55’ S., lon. 32° 35’ W.; and between twelve o’clock Friday night and one o’clock Saturday morning crossed the equator, for the fourth time since leaving Boston, in lon. 35° W.; having been twenty-seven days from Staten Land — a distance, by the courses we had made, of more than four thousand miles.
We were now to the northward19 of the line, and every day added to our latitude20. The Magellan Clouds, the last sign of south latitude, had long been sunk, and the North Star, the Great Bear, and the familiar signs of northern latitudes21, were rising in the heavens. Next to seeing land, there is no sight which makes one realize more that he is drawing near home, than to see the same heavens, under which he was born, shining at night over his head. The weather was extremely hot, with the usual tropical alternations of a scorching22 sun and squalls of rain; yet not a word was said in complaint of the heat, for we all remembered that only three or four weeks before we would have given our all to be where we now were. We had a plenty of water, too, which we caught by spreading an awning23, with shot thrown in to make hollows. These rain squalls came up in the manner usual between the tropics. A clear sky; burning, vertical24 sun; work going lazily on, and men about decks with nothing but duck trousers, checked shirts, and straw hats; the ship moving as lazily through the water; the man at the helm resting against the wheel, with his hat drawn25 over his eyes; the captain below, taking an afternoon nap; the passenger leaning over the taffrail, watching a dolphin following slowly in our wake; the sailmaker mending an old topsail on the lee side of the quarter-deck; the carpenter working at his bench, in the waist; the boys making sinnet; the spun-yarn winch whizzing round and round, and the men walking slowly fore and aft with the yarns. A cloud rises to windward, looking a little black; the skysails are brailed down; the captain puts his head out of the companion-way, looks at the cloud, comes up, and begins to walk the deck. The cloud spreads and comes on; the tub of yarns, the sail, and other matters, are thrown below, and the sky-light and booby-hatch put on, and the slide drawn over the forecastle. “Stand by the royal halyards”; and the man at the wheel keeps a good weather helm, so as not to be taken aback. The squall strikes her. If it is light, the royal yards are clewed down, and the ship keeps on her way; but if the squall takes strong hold, the royals are clewed up, fore and aft; light hands lay aloft and furl them; top-gallant yards are clewed down, flying-jib hauled down, and the ship kept off before it — the man at the helm laying out his strength to heave the wheel up to windward. At the same time a drenching26 rain, which soaks one through in an instant. Yet no one puts on a jacket or cap; for if it is only warm, a sailor does not mind a ducking; and the sun will soon be out again. As soon as the force of the squall has passed, though to a common eye the ship would seem to be in the midst of it — “Keep her up to her course again!”— “Keep her up, sir,” (answer.)1— “Hoist away the top-gallant yards!”— “Run up the flying-jib!”— “Lay aloft, you boys, and loose the royals!” and all sail is on her again before she is fairly out of the squall; and she is going on in her course. The sun comes out once more, hotter than ever, dries up the decks and the sailors’ clothes; the hatches are taken off; the sail got up and spread on the quarter-deck; spun-yarn winch set a whirling again; rigging coiled up; captain goes below; and every sign of an interruption disappears.
These scenes, with occasional dead calms, lasting27 for hours, and sometimes for days, are fair specimens29 of the Atlantic tropics. The nights were fine; and as we had all hands all day, the watch were allowed to sleep on deck at night, except the man at the wheel, and one lookout30 on the forecastle. This was not so much expressly allowed as winked31 at. We could do it if we did not ask leave. If the lookout was caught napping, the whole watch was kept awake. We made the most of this permission, and stowed ourselves away upon the rigging, under the weather rail, on the spars, under the windlass, and in all the snug32 corners; and frequently slept out the watch, unless we had a wheel or a lookout. And we were glad enough to get this rest; for under the “all-hands” system, out of every other thirty-six hours we had only four below; and even an hour’s sleep was a gain not to be neglected. One would have thought so to have seen our watch some nights, sleeping through a heavy rain. And often have we come on deck, and, finding a dead calm and a light, steady rain, and determined33 not to lose our sleep, have laid a coil of rigging down so as to keep us out of the water which was washing about decks, and stowed ourselves away upon it, covering a jacket over us, and slept as soundly as a Dutchman between two feather-beds.
For a week or ten days after crossing the line, we had the usual variety of calms, squalls, head winds, and fair winds — at one time braced35 sharp upon the wind, with a taut36 bowline, and in an hour after slipping quietly along, with a light breeze over the taffrail, and studding-sails set out on both sides — until we fell in with the northeast trade-winds; which we did on the afternoon of —
Sunday, August 28th, in lat. 12° N. The trade-wind clouds had been in sight for a day or two previously37, and we expected to take the trades every hour. The light southerly breeze, which had been breathing languidly during the first part of the day, died away toward noon, and in its place came puffs38 from the northeast, which caused us to take in our studding-sails and brace34 up; and, in a couple of hours more, we were bowling39 gloriously along, dashing the spray far ahead and to leeward40, with the cool, steady northeast trades freshening up the sea, and giving us as much as we could carry our royals to. These winds blew strong and steady, keeping us generally upon a bowline, as our course was about north-northwest; and, sometimes, as they veered41 a little to the eastward42, giving us a chance at a main top-gallant studding-sail, and sending us well to the northward, until —
Sunday, September 4th, when they left us in lat. 22° N., lon. 51° W., directly under the tropic of Cancer.
For several days we lay “humbugging about” in the Horse latitudes, with all sorts of winds and weather, and occasionally, as we were in the latitude of the West Indies — a thunder-storm. It was hurricane month, too, and we were just in the track of the tremendous hurricane of 1830, which swept the North Atlantic, destroying almost everything before it.
The first night after the trade-winds left us, while we were in the latitude of the island of Cuba, we had a specimen28 of a true tropical thunder-storm. A light breeze had been blowing from aft during the first part of the night, which gradually died away, and before midnight it was dead calm, and a heavy black cloud had shrouded43 the whole sky. When our watch came on deck at twelve o’clock, it was as black as Erebus; the studding-sails were all taken in, and the royals furled; not a breath was stirring; the sails hung heavy and motionless from the yards; and the stillness and the darkness, which was almost palpable, were truly appalling44. Not a word was spoken, but every one stood as though waiting for something to happen. In a few minutes the mate came forward, and in a low tone, which was almost a whisper, told us to haul down the jib. The fore and mizzen top-gallant sails were taken in in the same silent manner; and we lay motionless upon the water, with an uneasy expectation, which, from the long suspense45, became actually painful. We could hear the captain walking the deck, but it was too dark to see anything more than one’s hand before the face. Soon the mate came forward again, and gave an order, in a low tone, to clew up the main top-gallant-sail; and so infectious was the awe12 and silence that the clew-lines and buntlines were hauled up without any singing out at the ropes. An English lad and myself went up to furl it; and we had just got the bunt up, when the mate called out to us something, we did not hear what — but, supposing it to be an order to bear-a-hand, we hurried and made all fast, and came down, feeling our way among the rigging. When we got down we found all hands looking aloft, and there, directly over where we had been standing, upon the main top-gallant mast-head, was a ball of light, which the sailors call a corposant (corpus sancti), and which the mate had called out to us to look at. They were all watching it carefully, for sailors have a notion that if the corposant rises in the rigging it is a sign of fair weather, but if it comes lower down there will be a storm. Unfortunately, as an omen9, it came down, and showed itself on the top-gallant yard-arm. We were off the yard in good season, for it is held a fatal sign to have the pale light of the corposant thrown upon one’s face. As it was, the English lad did not feel comfortably at having had it so near him, and directly over his head. In a few minutes it disappeared, and showed itself again on the fore top-gallant yard; and, after playing about for some time, disappeared once more, when the man on the forecastle pointed46 to it upon the flying-jib-boom-end. But our attention was drawn from watching this, by the falling of some drops of rain, and by a perceptible increase of the darkness, which seemed suddenly to add a new shade of blackness to the night. In a few minutes, low, grumbling47 thunder was heard, and some random48 flashes of lightning came from the southwest. Every sail was taken in but the topsails; still, no squall appeared to be coming. A few puffs lifted the topsails, but they fell again to the mast, and all was as still as ever. A moment more, and a terrific flash and peal49 broke simultaneously50 upon us, and a cloud appeared to open directly over our heads, and let down the water in one body, like a falling ocean. We stood motionless, and almost stupefied; yet nothing had been struck. Peal after peal rattled51 over our heads, with a sound which seemed actually to stop the breath in the body, and the “speedy gleams” kept the whole ocean in a glare of light. The violent fall of rain lasted but a few minutes, and was followed by occasional drops and showers; but the lightning continued incessant52 for several hours, breaking the midnight darkness with irregular and blinding flashes. During all this time there was not a breath stirring, and we lay motionless, like a mark to be shot at, probably the only object on the surface of the ocean for miles and miles. We stood hour after hour, until our watch was out, and we were relieved, at four o’clock. During all this time hardly a word was spoken; no bells were struck, and the wheel was silently relieved. The rain fell at intervals53 in heavy showers, and we stood drenched54 through and blinded by the flashes, which broke the Egyptian darkness with a brightness that seemed almost malignant55; while the thunder rolled in peals56, the concussion57 of which appeared to shake the very ocean. A ship is not often injured by lightning, for the electricity is separated by the great number of points she presents, and the quantity of iron which she has scattered58 in various parts. The electric fluid ran over our anchors, topsail sheets and ties; yet no harm was done to us. We went below at four o’clock, leaving things in the same state. It is not easy to sleep when the very next flash may tear the ship in two, or set her on fire; or where the deathlike calm may be broken by the blast of a hurricane, taking the masts out of the ship. But a man is no sailor if he cannot sleep when he turns-in, and turn out when he’s called. And when, at seven bells, the customary “All the larboard watch, ahoy!” brought us on deck, it was a fine, clear, sunny morning, the ship going leisurely59 along, with a soft breeze and all sail set.
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1
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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sociably
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| adv.成群地 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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54
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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