A Disagreeable Scene—Scarcity of Oil—Lamps and Slush—An Albatross—Ill Manners of the Mate—Cold Weather—The Whiffletree Watch—Disagreeable Scene—Magellan Clouds and Southern Cross—An Act of Kindness—Turnovers and Sport—Tierra del Fuego and Staten Land—A Perilous Passage—Ducks and Cape Pigeons—A Squall—A Black Albatross—Cape Horn—Stormy Weather—A Gale—Accident at the Breakfast Table.

One of those disagreeable scenes, which are of too frequent occurrence among us, came off this morning. Captain J. without any ceremony or consultation with the passengers, ordered the cooks to supply us with but two meals a day. This would not have been very seriously objected to, had we been furnished with any decent food in place of the vile trash, upon which we have been forced to subsist. But after waiting till half past eight, the time appointed for breakfast under this new regulation, behold! a pan of scouse is placed before us! And this was to suffice until two or three in the afternoon. Some of us could not, and others would not, eat it, and after much "growling," as the captain terms our remonstrances, we succeeded in getting a dish of cold hasty pudding—the cooks refusing to warm it for us—and on this, with a dipper full of muddy coffee for those who could drink it, and of water for those who could not, we made our breakfast. We were in an excellent frame of mind to quarrel with the captain, and after a warm dispute we succeeded in having the former order of things restored. And bad enough it was at that.

A day or two since I applied to Capt. J. to sell or lend me a little oil for my own special use during the long nights we have just begun to encounter. This led to an examination of the ship's stock of oil, when it was ascertained that but a few gallons remained, which it was necessary to husband with the greatest care. To remedy the inconvenience of remaining in almost total darkness, the occupants of the main cabin have invented a variety of lamps, which they manufacture out of bottles and phials, cutting them off by means of strings, which they pass rapidly round them till they become heated by the friction, and then dipping them in water. These lamps they fill with "slush"—grease left by the cooks,—which, though a poor substitute for oil, they are happy to get.

June 11. A large white albatross flew round the ship to-day with other birds. I threw out a baited hook for him, while the mate stood by with an open knife, threatening to cut the line. I caught the bird several times by the bill, and drew him close under the stern, but he slipped from the hook, and thus saved the amiable mate the trouble of executing his threat.

The cold has increased to such a degree, that Captain J. has set up a stove in the ladies' cabin. The owners of the ship have also supplied a stove for our room, but the captain tells us there is not wood enough for it—though we are convinced he knows better—and therefore refuses to have it set up. So we must make up our minds for a cold passage round Cape Horn. The ladies are making some additional preparations for warding off the cold. Two of them have made themselves hoods, and after searching in vain among their stores for cotton to stuff them with, they have—by permission—attacked my comforter, and supplied themselves.

June 13. For a week past we have been drifting about within little more than a day's sail of the Falkland Islands, beating against head winds, encountering squalls of wind, accompanied by rain, hail and snow, almost every hour of the day, and making but very little progress. This state of things is very irksome to us, and we are not a little impatient. The days are very short, and the nights dark and dreary. Our situation is any thing but agreeable, and yet we often find some little thing to amuse us, and the veriest trifles will sometimes answer this purpose. One night during a squall, some of the passengers were out assisting the sailors in furling the sails, when a small spar gave way and broke. "There," exclaimed one of them, "that whiffletree has gone to the devil!" The idea of a whiffletree as one of the spars of a ship, amused the crew, and our volunteer sailors were thereafter denominated "the Whiffletree Watch."

June 14. Another disgraceful scene occurred in the ladies' cabin this morning, being a continuation of the quarrel that took place a week since between our worthy captain and Julia Spaulding. The altercation between them was very violent, a part of which I overheard. Captain J. was in great wrath, smote his fists together, and repeatedly called Julia a liar; told her he would have no more of her lies, charged her indirectly with having attempted to seduce him, and threatened to shut her up and feed her by herself. All this intermingled with much profane and other violent language towards a female is by no means calculated to remove the strong dislike, which the passengers entertain for Captain J. They also very naturally side with the woman, who, they think, tells quite as many truths as falsehoods in the matter.

June 15. I lay this morning looking from the single remaining pane of glass in my window upon a bright sky, which I have not often had an opportunity to observe in this region of clouds and storms, and looking for the first time upon the Magellan Clouds, and contemplating the brilliant constellations in the heavens, among which the Southern Cross shone conspicuously. The Cross has been in view for several weeks; but though I have seen it several times, I have not until recently been certain of its identity, and our intelligent officers could give me no information concerning it.

"The Magellan Clouds consist of three small nebulÆ in the southern part of the heavens—two bright, like the milky way, and one dark. These are first seen above the horizon soon after crossing the southern tropic. When off Cape Horn they are nearly overhead. The Cross is composed of four stars in that form, and is said to be the brightest constellation in the heavens."[A]

I received a little act of kindness in the evening, which I cannot deny myself the pleasure of recording. Soon after supper as I was standing in our cabin, I remarked to a passenger that I had eaten but one biscuit during the day, and that I was really hungry. To his question "why do you not eat some ship-bread?" I replied that I had taken a distaste to it during my seasickness, and the very sight of it had become loathsome to me. It was the same with the beans we had to-day,—boiled beans and pork, which had been served up to us three or four times a week during the voyage. The wife of the chief steward—Mrs. Grant—was present and heard the conversation. She immediately left the cabin and passed to the cooks' galley. In a few minutes she returned, and as she passed by me she cautioned me to be silent, while she slipped a large turnover or fried mince-pie into my coat-pocket. The cooks had made a quantity of them for the captain and ladies, and she had begged this for me. Many such kindnesses have I received from her and other women during the voyage. They derive their value, not from the greatness of the gift bestowed, but from the circumstances in which both the giver and the receiver are placed, and to me, sick, hungry and thirsty as I often have been, I have felt such favors to be of "greater value than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags."

The passengers in the main cabin have made these turnovers and the other varieties, which are got up for the inmates of the ladies' cabin, a subject of some pleasantry. They feel that they are equally entitled to these dainties with the other passengers. It was stipulated by the owners of the vessel, that all the passengers should fare alike, and they are naturally sensitive at the distinction which is constantly made to their prejudice; and the more so as the captain and two other men besides Mr. Johnson, have domiciled themselves in the ladies' cabin, where they partake of the best the ship affords, while the majority starve on scouse and boiled beans.

There was a large gathering near the captain's state-room soon after supper to-night, where they continued some time shouting vociferously, and singing a parody on a fine old song, of which I never heard but these two lines:

The parody ran thus:

The captain listened to the music, which was fully equal to the poetry, but with a greater degree of prudence than he sometimes exercises, he controlled his temper and pocketed the insult.

June 16. A fine gale sprung up last night, and continues blowing to-day, bearing us on our course, westward of the Falkland Islands, towards the Strait of Le Maire, through which we hope to pass to-morrow.

June 17. A cloudless, golden sky in the morning, a pleasant breeze, a calm sea, a cool air, but not freezing, and a soft, hazy atmosphere, like one of our northern summer mornings. Tierra del Fuego lay before us on the right, and Staten Land on the left, their valleys and heights covered with snow. I promised myself the great gratification of a near view of both of these desolate regions; but in this I was doomed to disappointment.

Before ten o'clock the sky became filled with clouds, and the brilliancy of the morning gave place to darkness and gloom. An eclipse of the sun occurred during the day, which increased the darkness. The wind gradually died away, and we passed several hours at the entrance to the Strait of Le Maire, where we encountered a strong current till night, when we perceived the ship to be drifting astern. At about four p.m. the tide turned, and swept us back into the Strait again. It was now dark, and but little could be seen around us. The current carried us towards Staten Land, whose coasts were very bold and dangerous to approach, and were rendered doubly so at this time by the exceeding darkness of the night. Our sails were flapping uselessly against the masts, we had no control over the vessel, which was drifting at the rate of four knots an hour, and our situation was becoming perilous in the extreme. Captain J. was exceedingly anxious. He ordered the mate to have the boats in readiness, for we might soon want them. We were now only three miles distant from the coast as the captain conjectured. A heavy swell added to our danger and increased our difficulties; and there seemed scarcely a hope of our escaping shipwreck, on one of the most desolate and forlorn coasts of which the imagination can conceive. But just at this juncture, when a few minutes more would have sent the ship on to the rocks, a favorable wind providentially sprung up, the sails filled, the ship began to feel her helm, and we bade adieu to Staten Land.

But another danger awaited us. In getting clear of Staten Land we approached too near the coast of Tierra del Fuego, and came very near running upon a large rock that lies off that coast; but happily the sailor at the watch discovered it in season to wear ship, and sail by it. At length all the dangers of this hazardous passage were cleared, and before morning we had passed into the open ocean again.

We saw but few signs of vegetation on Staten Land. It was thrown up into mountains and precipices of the most rugged and barren character, and presented an aspect of dreary desolation. There were patches of low shrubs in sight on Tierra del Fuego, but no trees. The hills at the entrance to the Strait were less precipitous than those on Staten Land. But the whole scene, so far as the early darkness permitted us to view it, was as forbidding as it could well be. Immense flocks of ducks flew across the Strait towards Staten Land in the afternoon. There was also a flock of Cape Pigeons, perhaps a hundred in number, flying round the ship, and the passengers fed them with scraps of pork and with pot skimmings. As I watched this amusement, I could not suppress the thought that this was an inexcusable waste of those precious dainties, which should have been preserved for the manufacture of—scouse.

The width of the Strait of Le Maire is about twenty miles. The length of Staten Land is seventy miles.

June 19. We beat against a head wind yesterday, and made but little progress. To-day we had a specimen of Cape Horn weather. A squall arose in the morning, the most violent we have yet encountered; and the sailors were sent in good haste to shorten sail. Assisted by the passengers, they soon reduced the canvass to the proper quantity, and our vessel rode out the storm in fine style, and without any damage. But the captain and two of the passengers lost each a hat. The wind abated in the afternoon.

While the gale was at its height, one of the passengers caught a beautiful black albatross for me. But while the company were looking at it, the captain and mate watched the bird, determined that it should not be killed. I believe they really felt that the safety of the ship depended on the life of the bird. It was a magnificent specimen of this species of albatross, in fact, the only one I ever saw, and would have been a valuable acquisition to me. But I left it for a moment in charge of a friend, when the captain ordered the second mate to bring it to him, and he threw it overboard. Such is the influence of superstition on an ignorant seaman.

June 20. The gale of yesterday subsided at night to a light breeze, which continued during the night, and this morning we had the great gratification of beholding Cape Horn. It lay but a few miles distant, and in full view before us. I felt a slight degree of enthusiasm as I looked upon it, and recalled the descriptions I had read of it in my boyhood, and the tales of terror I had gathered from the narratives of voyages round this far-famed point. We were sailing past the Cape in a south-west direction, with a breeze that was fast increasing in strength, and we hoped that the next tack of our ship would carry us safely beyond the much dreaded barrier. But we soon found that this was not to be so speedily accomplished. The wind rose to a gale, and we were obliged to reduce our canvass to a few sails, and at last to lay to under the foretop-mast-stay sail, main-stay sail and spanker.

Cape Horn is a naked promontory at the extremity of a little island about twelve miles long, called Horn Island. Many other islands and rocks lie in the neighborhood, but Cape Horn is readily distinguished from them all by its greater height and the steepness of its south-western side. It is ninety miles distant from the Strait of Le Maire. Its latitude is 55° 59' south, and its longitude, 67° 16' west.

June 21. We are still encountering head winds, still laying to and drifting to leeward. The wind blows in tempestuous gusts, and the seas are running higher than I have ever before seen them. The sky is covered with clouds, from which we receive frequent showers of rain, accompanied in a single instance, with thunder and lightning. Now and then the sun breaks forth for a moment, but soon disappears again. It is a season of anxiety to many of us, but the bark proves a good sea-boat, and we have considerable confidence in the skill of our captain.

June 22. The gale became furious last night, and seemed increasing in force this morning. We had no little difficulty in eating our breakfast. A pan of fried pork and boiled beef, another pan of hard-bread, and a pot of coffee were set on the table, but how to keep them there required a greater degree of skill than we possessed. We could not sit, and we were in danger every moment of being pitched over the table, and across the cabin. To avoid such a catastrophe we were obliged to hold by the berths with both hands. We made an effort, however, to eat, but had hardly made a beginning when a violent lurch of the ship sent our pork, bread, coffee, and all, in an instant upon the floor and into a neighboring berth. The scene was rather ludicrous, and we managed to extract a laugh out of it as we picked up the fragments, sent for a pot of fresh coffee, and finished our breakfast.