He was a little more than fourteen feet across the tips of his outspread wings, more than two fathoms, and his white breast, full and rounded, was as broad as that of the man who stood at the wheel and watched him go soaring past. The very tips of his huge wings were black as jet, showing in marked contrast to the unbroken whiteness of the rest of his feathers, and the only other dark spot upon his snowy form was his eye. This was as black and shiny as the lanyards in the rigging. It was large and held a steady gaze, fearless yet curious, so that when the man at the wheel looked up the bird tilted his head to one side to get a better view of him. The giant beak, nearly a foot in length and of heavy bone, had a strangely hooked end, which swelled a little in size from the middle portion. It was a serviceable pair of shears which could cut a five-pound fish in two at a bite. The two webbed feet, as large again as those of a swan, were held close in to the short tail feathers so as not to offer resistance to the air, through which the bird went at the speed of an express train. Silent and otherwise motionless, save for that turn of the head, the great creature swept past. Not a movement of leg or pinion, not a feather disturbed in that headlong rush. With the great wings stretched far out and slightly bowed, he held his way and tore past the fast-running ship as though she were at anchor, instead of plowing through the southern ocean at the rate of ten knots an hour with the wind behind her. Then, as she was left far astern, he tilted himself a little, and off into the curve of a tremendous circle he swerved, swinging with the speed of the wind over the rolling wave-tops until he had covered at least three miles upon the arc and was heading swiftly back again to repeat the maneuver. All the time that large black and shining pair of eyes watched the surface of the sea. Not a morsel of anything went overboard unobserved. From a distance of a mile or more the huge bird would note the smallest bits of food or grease which the cook would toss over the side when cleaning his coppers for a new mess of salt junk. Sailing over the bits of floating stuff he would hover a moment to see if they were really worth tasting. If so, he would soar in smaller and smaller circles until he would breast a sea. Then, dropping his legs and bracing his feet to retard the slowing flight, he would sink into the water and check himself with both feet and wings until his body finally rested gracefully upon surface. Folding his pinions slowly and a little stiffly, he would propel himself like a huge goose toward the floating prize and make a pass at it with his beak. Salt-pork rind, gristle, anything that had grease or taste to it, was chopped by the bony shears and quickly bolted. It mattered little just what it was as long as it had some grease or taste to it. His appetite was not squeamish.

When nothing remained he would slowly and stiffly again stretch out those wings and face to windward. Then he would propel himself along into the breeze until he rose upon a sea. A quick couple of strokes with the pinions and a sudden push with both feet generally lifted the great body clear of the water before it began to sink down the slope of the succeeding sea. After that it was but a detail to rise higher and higher into the clear air without perceptible motion save of rushing ahead and circling in spiral curves, which no mathematician might describe or define as a means of ascending.

The ship was something over six hundred miles off shore. She was heading for the last corner of the world, Cape Horn, to turn it and then go northward up the South Pacific. She would head up the middle of the great ocean and at times she would not be within a thousand miles of any land whatever. For more than two weeks the albatross had followed in the wake, his tireless pinions showing no signs of weakening by the continuous flight. Steadily night and day he had followed, and the men aboard had watched him with the awe all deep-water men feel for the giant birds, which seem to be able to soar through space for a lifetime without tiring. Sometimes when he came up astern he slackened his pace by some method and remained for a short moment poised a few fathoms above the man at the wheel. Then his steady look as he slanted his head sideways made the man have a queer feeling, as though he were almost in communication with a stranger from the realms of space. When the captain happened on deck he paid considerable attention to the follower, but he never thought to harm him. The Winchester, which he often used to take snap-shots at blackfish, was always laid aside at his approach.

The great bird noted this. He was not afraid of the rifle, for although he saw the effects of the shot, he knew nothing of its power. The man was a creature of the earth like himself, and he had no reason to suspect him of harmful purposes simply on that account. He was interested in him, and a not unfriendly feeling came within his breast.

In the latitude of the “roaring forties” the weather is uncertain. Sometimes it blows high and sometimes low, which latter means it is dead calm for a spell. Under these conditions a sailing ship naturally comes to a sudden stop, and, with clewed-up courses, rolls and switches away often for days without making more than a degree of southing.

It was during one of these calm spells that the captain began to formulate a plan which would bring him in closer contact with the great bird which still soared and circled about the ship. He rigged a trolling line with a bit of wood for a float near the hook. Then he baited it with a piece of salt beef and tossed it over the side.

The ship was barely moving, but still had headway enough to get away from the bait. When it was fifty fathoms astern the captain held the line and waited.

The albatross soon sighted the piece of beef and circled slowly toward it. Then as it floated in clear view he settled upon the surface of the sea and paddled up to it and gave it a chop. He cut away half the beef, but missed the hook, and the captain’s jerk upon the line merely pulled it from him. He made another grab, and as he did so the line tautened and the barb of the hook caught under his beak.

Hand over hand the captain hauled him in. He spread forth his wings and backed water hard with his feet, but the seaman kept a steady strain upon the line and prevented the hook from slipping clear. Soon he was directly under the ship’s counter, and as she squatted down into the hollow of a swell the captain quickly hauled the bird over the rail to the deck.

Inside the poop-rail it was impossible for the albatross to get headway enough to rise into the air, the wind was so unfavorable in the shelter. While he might waddle about upon the white planks it was as impossible for him to get away as though he had been chained by the leg. It was most provoking to be in such an absurd position. The man at the wheel grinned at him, and the mate came up to take a better look at close quarters. He stretched forth his wings and tried to rise by a series of powerful strokes, but it was in vain. He only managed to go plunging into the rail before he got his feet clear of the planks. This made him angry and he snapped at the mate, making a savage chop with his great beak, which came together with a loud clap. But the seaman jumped aside, and the captain admonished him to keep away.

Gradually the feeling of being upon a floating thing with other creatures seemed less strange. It was remarkable how different the ship was now that he was on board it from what it appeared while he was a few fathoms in the air. Yet he had followed it so long that he had become accustomed to it, and the unpleasant sensation of becoming suddenly a prisoner aboard gave place to that of curiosity. The captain brought some choice fat and ordered the steward to keep the slush from the coppers as clean as possible and give the stranger as much as he wished. After eating several pounds he lost for the time all desire to get away and waddled about the quarter-deck perfectly satisfied with the sudden change in his condition.

The ship’s dog rushed up and made a savage attack, and for a few minutes the great bird was frightened, for the noise was distracting and a sudden bite gave him pain. Then the captain dragged the animal away and gave the newcomer a choice piece of salt pork to make up for the lack of courtesy shown by the dog.

There was much of the dog’s spirit aboard the ship, although it was not manifest to the albatross. Among the men forward were several who had much the same feeling for their fellows. Under the cover of bluff and honest exteriors they concealed dispositions like that of the dog. They were a type of what is known as “sea lawyer,” and were always dwelling upon the grievances of sailors and the rascality of mates and masters. Close and intelligent observers would have noticed at once that the faults their leader saw in others were the ones rising to the surface in himself and which he was trying to conceal. He was saturnine, and his ugly little eyes held an unpleasant look every time he came in the vicinity of either the mate or captain. The second officer was in the other watch and therefore not often about to give him orders.

As the vessel gradually made her way southward and the hardships became more trying with the colder weather, the feeling aboard among the men who listened to the grumbler became more sinister. The captain was not such a man as to let things go unnoticed, but as long as there was no direct disobedience of orders he took no action and let the mate warm up the discontented men with extra work, for it is well known that hard work will do more for an ugly crew than any medicine.

The captain spent much time on deck and made a pet of the bird he had captured. He was a generous man and lonesome among the rough fellows who made up the crew, for his position forbade any intercourse whatever with anyone except his first officer. Even this seaman, able and intelligent as he was, could not be made more of than a slight acquaintance. Such is the rule aboard deep-water ships, for discipline must be enforced if safety is to be considered.

During many lonely hours the master tried to reconcile the dog to the newcomer. The old wolf spirit bred through thousands of generations of the land animal was not easy to pacify. It was the old spirit of suspicion for strangers based upon the experience of hundreds of ancestors, who had perhaps trusted not wisely but too well in the days when all living things were at war with each other and only the strongest and most cunning might survive. It was as evident in the dog as in the men of the forecastle, and the master studied carefully and comprehensively to subdue it, or at least pacify it to an extent that strife might be averted. Kindness and unselfishness were the two antidotes he would employ.

The great bird was not slow to notice his friendship. After a day or two he was on the lookout for the master, who appeared regularly to take his morning observation for longitude, and he walked laboriously up to him in spite of the dog’s yelping. There was something in the man’s behavior that made him instinctively his friend. Finally even the dog’s suspicions were allayed, and instead of seizing the bird’s feathers in the rear to jerk them and then dodge the snap of the beak, he met the bird face to face and refrained from either a bite or bark. The two became reconciled.

During several days the albatross waddled about the quarter-deck and was fed, until the captain, fearing that he would grow so fat he would be unable to fly, finally took him in his arms one day and placed him upon the rail. Then he tied a bit of fancy red cord about his leg so that he might distinguish him from other birds that would follow in the ship’s wake. The great bird had long ago learned to eat from the man’s hand and took care not to chop too close to the fingers with his powerful beak. The master would stroke the beautiful white head and smooth the snowy feathers until the petting became a thing looked forward to. It was a smooth day in the latitude of the Falklands when he determined to set the captive free, and the dark water seemed less attractive than usual under the gloom of the overcast sky. The lonely cry of a stray penguin broke now and again upon the ears of the listening seaman and had a depressing effect.

With a last caress he gave the pet a gentle push to start him. The great black eyes looked hard at the sailor, and then, with the giant wings outstretched, he swung off in a graceful swoop, curving upward as the falling body nearly touched the sea. He was gone.

That night it came on to blow hard from the westward. The ship, nearing the latitude of the Horn, was shortened down to her lower topsails, and with the wind snoring away under them and past each taut downhaul, clewline, and halyard, she was hove to. It was necessary to try to keep her from sagging off to the eastward, for in this latitude every mile counts.

During the morning watch the mate had reason to call the captain, for with a falling glass and shifting wind, he was on the lookout for a definite change.

The captain came on deck and took in the situation. It was still dark, but the growing light on the horizon told of the approaching day. He stood near the man at the wheel a moment and the mate went forward where the green seas sometimes rose above the topgallant rail and fell upon the deck as the staggering ship plunged into the trough. Through the dim, misty light of the early morning he saw the watch turning out to clew down the foretopsail, and as the foremost man took the ratlines he turned and walked to the binnacle to watch the shifting course.

The increasing gale and gloomy prospects had caused the grumbling element among the crew to be more careless than usual, in spite of the master’s efforts to pacify them. The leader of the malcontents came aft with two others to take a pull in the spanker sheet, for upon the boom had been bent the storm trysail to hold the vessel’s head up to the gale while hove to. The men hauled surlily upon the line, but it came in so slowly that the mate came aft and spoke to them to stir them up. Then they flattened it in, but the stout landsman, or ordinary seaman, who was taking in the slack upon the cleat, failed to catch a turn. A tremendous sea hove the ship to leeward almost upon her beam-ends. The struggling men were hove against the lee rail, and the sheet, whirling loose from the fellow’s hands, caught a turn about his body and in an instant he was flung over the side. The captain, who had just stepped out from the wheel-house, made a grab to seize him, and a turn of the now flying line caught him around the ankle and jerked him also over the rail into the sea. Then followed the dreaded cry of “man overboard” and the confusion of a crew of men without a leader.

The mate with ready knife cut away the lashings of the quarter-buoys and let them go overboard. Then he tried to fling a line, but the ship was moving too fast. She was forereaching heavily, but in that sea it was madness to think of trying to stop her by laying the yards aback, or losing control of her in any way. She must go on. They might shorten her down enough to stop her, but even if they could do so within half an hour she would be too far away to see a man in the water and the sea too heavy to think of lowering a small boat.

Daylight was breaking over the stormy ocean and the roar from aloft was sounding louder with the increasing gale. Many of the men forward had not seen the incident and the cries of those upon the foretopsail yard to those on deck could be heard. From a bunch at the weather clewline came a faint strain of a “chanty”:

The absurd chorus struck forcibly upon the ears of the master, who with both hands gripped the life-buoy and kept his head clear of the breaking seas. The mate, leaning over the taffrail, bawled something to him he could not understand, and then the ship drifted to leeward with the faint sound of singing still in his ears:

The words of a “chanty” are generally grotesque and meaningless, but it was this very absurdity that struck the listening master as fraught with meaning. It was significant of his ending. He would not come back again. The water was quite cold, and to make certain that he would not lose his hold upon the cork float he passed his head through the circular opening and made his body fast with the hand-line to the buoy at both sides, so that he would balance evenly. He would do all he could to live, and if he floated long enough they might pick him up after all. The minutes dragged into hours, and cold and exhaustion caused his mind to wander. He fancied he saw green fields again and was back in the land of his birth.

The suffering of passing was almost over and it held no terrors for him. He had tried to do what he could aboard the ship to make things less hard for his men. Perhaps if he had been more savage he would have done better, for there are some men who cannot be touched save through great bodily fear.

The dawn of the southern day had broken over the heaving ocean, and at times he would try instinctively to look for the ship. She had disappeared. Nothing but the great rolling seas as far as the eye could reach, and these turned now and again into grass-grown hills before his failing vision.

It was late in the morning, after the daylight had become strong, that he fancied he heard a dull, thunderous noise. It had little effect upon him now, for he was too far gone to pay much attention. The noise grew louder and louder as the minutes passed and suddenly his dulled brain became alert again. He looked toward where the sound came from, and it was from the northward and behind him, and through the haze of the flying spume-drift he saw the dark gray shadows of rocks. He fancied his mind was at fault, and in spite of the heavy roar which now filled the air he paid little attention. Then he was hove nearer the ledge and felt the rush of the lifting sea.

It spurred him to recover. He dashed the salt water from his eyes and made a desperate effort to realize his position. Then a great, high rolling surge that had run for miles across the southern ocean picked him up on its crest and bore him shoreward with the speed of the wind. As it broke into a white smother of foam he saw clearly at last that he was being hurled upon the rocks. He struggled to keep his head out of the boiling rush and looked for a place where he would strike. To hit the ledge at the speed he was going meant instant death, and he tried to see if there was no slue or opening into which he might be hurled. The current of the Antarctic had caused an eddy within a few miles of the rocks of Hermite Isle, in which he had drifted, and it had carried him toward the land at a rapid rate.

Rising upon the roll of the crest, he just managed to keep from striking until the weight and speed of the breaker had been exhausted. Then by chance and the aid of the buoy he managed to float into a crevice between the rocks and cling there until the back-wash had left him almost high and dry. With the last remaining energy left he hauled his body clear of the tide and lost consciousness.

When he regained his senses the sun was well up on the northwestern horizon. The wind had gone down considerably, and heavy, oily-looking clouds were hurrying past overhead, with breaks between them. He felt the sting of sleet upon his face and the chill from his wet clothes almost paralyzed him. He staggered to his feet and gazed about him. Then he crawled higher up the rocks.

There was no doubt about it, he was upon the rocks of Cape Horn. He was clear in his mind now and remembered his struggles, and he had seen the ragged hump too often not to recognize it at once. How his ship had been driven in so close was hard to guess, but he knew the treacherous currents of the Drift and remembered that a careless helmsman might very easily nurse the vessel off her course with the help of an unknown set to the northward.

While he looked about him he became aware that he needed nourishment very badly. He was faint with the long swim and continued exposure to the cold water and he must have remained unconscious for many hours after coming ashore. There was nothing to eat upon the ledge. Tufts of the great tussac-grass shot up here and there upon the heights above him, but there was nothing that looked as if it might be used to prolong his life.

But a seaman is never beaten until he dies. The master would not despair. He sat a moment and studied the question. Then he arose again and clambered painfully up the crags, hoping that he might find some Cape pigeon eggs upon the higher terraces. There was not a sign of anything except a great rock-hopper, or penguin, who skipped nimbly down and plunged into the sea with a loud cry before the sailor could reach him. Some thirty feet above the ledge upon which he landed he discovered a pool of half-stagnant water, but it was not salty and came from the melted snow and sleet. He drank some and felt better, although it made him colder. He felt through his clothes for a match, but found the metal case in which he carried them had failed to keep out the sea water. His numb fingers could scarcely open the case, but he finally placed the little sticks in a lee, where he hoped they would dry enough to light. Then he sat down and waited, and before he knew it he had fallen asleep.

The sun had swung up again in the northeast when he opened his eyes and the weather was less ugly. He tried his matches. First one was scratched carefully upon a dry piece of stone. The head crumbled slowly away. A bit of smoke seemed to start from it and the seaman’s heart beat rapidly. Then the head fell away, leaving the bare stick. It was worthless. He tried another of his scanty store. He grasped the little stick close to its head of composition and drew it very carefully upon the rock. A bunch of finely shredded grass, perfectly dry, was rolled into a ball to catch the first spurt of flame. The match cracked softly and at each noise the sailor’s heart seemed to stop. His hand shook violently. Then the head of the match crumbled again, and his spirits sank within him. It was life or death, for he must have warmth soon or perish. He had only three more fuses and he stopped a little to think of some way he might make them burn. He gazed steadily at them for a long time and then took up one. It failed.

Hope died away as he took up the other two. He struck them carefully as before, but they were spoiled. Then he cast the grass from him and looked out to sea.

He had been gazing for a long time before he was aware of a form which appeared circling over the ocean beyond the lift of the breakers. It was that of a huge albatross, which had come in from the sea and was apparently looking for a sheltered place upon the Horn to rest. The master gazed at the great white form skimming along over the wave-tops and remembered his pet. The bird appeared larger than the one he had caught, but all of the great Cape albatrosses were so much alike that he could not distinguish between them. He watched the bird circle about him and finally noticed that he had been discovered, for the creature came nearer and nearer at each sweep until he caught the look of its eye as it bent its head a little in order to observe him better. The albatross was evidently hungry and it might take very little indeed to invite an attack. The bird was practically carnivorous, for it ate anything in the way of flesh it could capture. It was very powerful and could get the best of a man without much trouble, provided the man was incapable of vigorous defense. The thought made him alert and brought to his own hungry self the idea of capture. He might do worse than eat a thirty-pound bird during his stay ashore. He could not cook the creature, but that would be of but small consequence in his present state. The food was the main thing and it was necessary to get something at once. The bird came closer and closer until finally with outstretched wings and projecting feet it backed against its own headway and settled upon the ledge not twenty feet distant.

The captain’s heart beat high with expectation. He lay perfectly still watching it, hoping that it would come near enough for him to grasp it. If it was strong enough to conquer, it was well; he would soon be dead anyway without food. If he could master it by gripping its throat, he might live for many days.

The bird came straight toward him. He was quiet as a cat waiting for a spring, his eyes glaring at it as it approached. Then something attracted his attention. Upon the foot of the bird was a bit of cord. Yes, there was no mistake, it was his pet, the bird he had captured. He started up with a cry, but the bird came steadily toward him without fear, and in an instant was poking his great beak into his hand for food.

The seaman’s heart was beating wildly. Here was food enough for a week right in his grasp. He had but to seize the bird’s neck quickly and with the little strength he had left he could strangle it. The thought called forth all the wild wolf spirit in his nature. He was trembling with the excitement. But, as he looked down upon the beautiful, smooth white neck of his former pet, he wavered. Something within him rose against a deed of violence. He stroked the soft feathers and looked at the creature, who was probably almost as hungry as himself. No, he would commit no horrid act. He would probably starve anyhow, and it would be better to die than to have such a conscience. Then all of the beast fell away from him and he felt better.

But while he sat and stroked the great bird his mind was active. The albatross would not remain there long. He would follow some vessel for the beef-fat from her coppers, and as the thought came to him he began a plan to attract attention.

He tore from his shirt a long piece of linen. This was a piece having his name written upon it in indelible ink which had stood the wash of the laundry. It would stand the wash of the sea. He made it fast to the bird’s leg, and the bight of it he brought up over the back beneath the wings, tying it loosely and leading the other end down so that it could be fastened to the other leg. The thin cloth lying loose would prevent the bird from cutting it with its beak, for the edges of that appendage, while very sharp, were not laid as close together as those of a pair of shears, and the thin cloth would work between them. Upon the top of the piece he wrote with his own blood, “Cape Horn, Hermite Isle, Help.” Underneath this he put the date, and let his laundry mark do for signature. Then he led the bird gently to the edge of the rock and pushed him over.

Afterward he settled down in his bed of tussac and waited for the end he now felt was at hand. He prayed to the God he had felt in the breath of the trade wind and roar of the storm, the power which was manifest in all nature. Then a feeling of peace came upon him and his sufferings were over; he had collapsed.

Two days later the Norwegian bark Eric was working to the westward past Cape St. John. Her captain had noticed a great albatross following his vessel all day, and saw the bird had something fast to its leg. Being of a very superstitious nature the master did everything he could to attract the bird’s attention and draw him close enough to observe the hanging cloth more thoroughly. He was astonished to find the bird quite tame, and had no difficulty in hauling it on deck with a baited hook. He took off the rag and read the inscription, which had luckily kept clear and dry, for the weather had been cold and the sleet squalls had not caused the writing to run.

Being in the neighborhood of the Horn, he did what no one but a very superstitious master would have done without great trepidation. He stood under all sail for Hermite Isle and hove his ship to not three miles from the rocks. The weather was better than usual and he had no difficulty in lowering a small boat and making a landing.

As the craft drew near the land the white life-buoy attracted the helmsman’s attention, lying high up on the rocks and showing out strongly against the background of black ledge. The boat was headed into a rift or slue, and two of the men managed to spring out of her, the rest keeping her clear of the rocks, which, although sheltered in the slue, felt the tremendous lift and back-wash of the heavy swell outside. The master was found unconscious in his bed of tussac-grass.

By care and skill they managed to get him into the small boat alive and started for the bark that was riding safely in the offing. They hurried back aboard and came alongside just as the Norwegian navigator set the great bird free again. The men rested upon their oars and watched the albatross as it stretched forth its wings and bore away to the southward. A man standing in the lee rigging held a line to throw to the bow oarsmen, but he hesitated and watched the majestic flight. The officer in the boat looked instinctively upward, and, as the huge creature soared away, he took off his cap and bowed his head.