Twenty years before the mast/Chapter VIII
CHAPTER VIII.
The following will be read, I am sure, with much interest by every American. It is the address of the President of the Geographical Society of London.
Gentlemen: You have just heard the announcement that the council has awarded the Founder’s medal to Captain Wilkes of the United States Navy, for the zeal and intelligence with which he carried out the Scientific Exploring Expedition intrusted to him by the Government of the United States in the years 1838 and 1842, and for the volumes which he has published, detailing the narrative of that expedition. It therefore becomes my duty to endeavor to give you some account of the performances of the gallant officer, and of the services which he has rendered to the progress of geography. It must be remembered that this was the first expedition ever fitted out by the Government of the United States for scientific purposes. Greater difficulties must therefore be supposed to have attended its organization than would have been the case with more experience. On the other hand, merit of the success is proportionately increased.
The expedition left Hampton Roads on the 17th of August, 1838, and its first scientific operation was the establishment of an observatory at Orange Harbor, in Terra del Fuego. Here some of the vessels remained, while others detached to the westward, and Captain Wilkes himself proceeded, on the 25th of February, to the south, for the purpose of exploring the southeast side of Palmer’s Land. After reaching latitude 63° 25’ south, finding the season too far advanced to make any progress against the ice, he turned his ship’s head to the north, and the whole squadron was soon collected at Valparaiso. Here another observatory was established. A scientific party visited the bank of snow from which the city is supplied with water, on one of the outlying ranges of the Cordilleras, the principal heights of which rose nearly four thousand feet above them. Others visited the mines of Chili. They then proceeded to the coasts of Peru, and thence, after a visit to the interior and to the ruins of Pachacamac, commenced their explorations in the Pacific.
On the 26th of December, 1839, they left Sydney, and first fell in with the ice on the 10th of January, 1840, in latitude 61° 8' south, and longitude 163° 32′ east; and on the 11th some of the officers were confident they saw indications of land. Captain Wilkes does not rely much on this, but on the 16th those evidences became more positive, and on the 19th they distinctly saw land in longitude 154° 30′ east, and latitude 66° 20′ south. Captain Wilkes, however, only dates the discovery which he claims for his expedition, from the land seen on the 16th. I mention this the more anxiously on this occasion on account of the controversy which has arisen between him and Sir James Ross, who sailed over the spot where land was supposed to have been seen on the 11th. To this, however, I wish to allude as lightly as possible, convinced as I am that both these gallant officers have only been anxious to establish the truth, and to advance the cause of science. Undoubtedly, on the tracing which Captain Wilkes furnished to Sir James Ross the land supposed to have been seen on the 11th is sketched in, and, as a measure of precaution, it was, perhaps, prudent in Captain Wilkes so to do. It would have been more satisfactory if he could have stated to Sir James Ross, as he had done in his published account, on what slight and imperfect evidence its existence in that position was laid down.
After continuing his explorations of the Antarctic Continent as far to the westward as longitude 97° east, Captain Wilkes, finding his provisions short and the season far advanced, turned his ship’s head to the north and quitted those frozen latitudes.
I regret that it is impossible, within the limits of this address, to do justice to the contents of the five volumes in which Captain Wilkes has described the progress of the expedition; but I trust I have done enough now to show that the exertions of Captain Wilkes, and the results of the expedition intrusted to him, have, in every respect, been such as to entitle him to the highest mark of distinction which it is in the power of this society to bestow.
The following lines from Coleridge’s poem, "The Ancient Mariner," describe the albatross searching for food:
"The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and glowed, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound.
THE ALBATROSS IN THE HOLLOW OF A WAVE.
"At length did cross an albatross:
Through the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God’s name.
"It ate the food it ne’er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!
"And a good south wind sprung up behind,
The albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Come to the mariner’s hollo!
"In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
While all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine."
We left the Vincennes on the 21st of February, standing north. The 22d being Washington’s birthday, the old commodore showed his patriotism by having all hands called to splice the mainbrace. We were now short of water and were put on half-allowance.
The happiest man on board our ship was John Sac, a New Zealand chief. His native name was Puatti. He left his home on the island, about ten years previous to our visit there, in an American whaler. During this time he had made two whaling voyages from New Bedford: one to the coast of Japan, the other to the Arctic seas. He had also made one voyage to Cronstadt, one to Havre, and two to Liverpool. John was every inch a man, an excellent sailor, and a jolly good fellow. His form was manly and robust, and his face, like many of the natives, was elaborately tattooed. In the estimation of his countrymen he presented quite a noble appearance. He was very fond of his home, and enthusiastic in praise of his country and people, and longed to return to his wigwam. "New Zealand, New Zealand, no place like New Zealand! "
At night we had another very grand display of the aurora australis. It first appeared in the southern heavens, and was more brilliant than any we had ever witnessed. Its beautifully-tinted orange-colored waves would flash across one another in quick succession, and anon seem to fold, one within another, like a fan.
February 23. A strong gale blowing from the southwest, with much sleet, hail, and snow.
INCLINED ICEBERG.
February 24, 25, 26. The gale still continued. It was very severe. We passed many icebergs, and had many narrow escapes from disaster. We left the last iceberg 53° south; at noon, by observation, 50° south. In taking a cast of the lead, we lost it with eight hundred fathoms of wire line. The sea was of such a clear, deep blue that a white object could be seen at the depth of fifteen fathoms.
March 1. Made a sail two points on the weather bow, the first we had seen for sixty days, which made us think we were in an inhabited quarter of the globe.
March 2. Thick, misty weather.
March 5. The wind prevented our continuing our course for New Zealand. We gave the ship all the sail she could possibly carry, and headed for Sydney. Our convict shipmates seemed very sad, and had grown thin and pale. They had the sympathy of all the crew.
March 11. At noon we passed the head of Port Jackson and took a pilot. Shortly after, dropped anchor in Farm Cove, abreast Fort McQuire, after an absence of three months. All hands well and hearty, including those frozen aloft on the 21st of January. We found the country looking quite green and beautiful, and the air deliciously sweet.
The authorities were notified of the three stowaways we had on board. When the sergeant of the 56th regiment, and others in authority, came on board and looked over the crew, the sergeant claimed the youngest one, who had been a drummer-boy in his regiment. He was court-martialed, and sentenced to receive one hundred and five lashes. It was stated that he received ninety- three; five of them applied after the breath had left his body. As the lad was a young London prig, he was nicknamed Oliver Twist. He was slenderly built, very intelligent looking, seemingly of good morals, and was becoming a favorite with all on board. He used to tell me about the old Jew Fagins in London, and about his mother and sister, and what he was going to do when he got back home. We all regretted his sad fate. May he rest in peace.
The Peacock arrived here on the 22d of February in a sinking condition, her cut-water, as well as her rudder and part of her bulwarks, having been carried away. H. B. M. transport ship Buffalo arrived the same day with the Canadian convicts on board. The Sydney people seemed much delighted at our return. While here we heard of the arrival at Hobart Town of the two ships belonging to the French expedition under command of Commodore d’Urville. He afterwards published in the papers a report of his discoveries while in the Antarctic seas. He had been quite unfortunate in losing four of his officers and twenty-seven of his crew. In overhauling our ship, we found our fore and maintop masts both sprung, a part of our cut-water carried away, and our ship’s hull considerably bruised. When viewing her from the shore she looked more like an old Dutch galiot whaler than a trim Yankee sloop-of-war. Having refitted, provisioned, and watered ship, and bidden our English friends a final adieu, on the 16th of March we weighed anchor and stood out to sea.
On the 23d spoke the French ship Ville de Bordeaux, which we supplied with provisions. She had been out three years, and had on board four thousand barrels of oil. The crew were on a short allowance of bread and water. We rendered them medical assistance by sending our surgeons on board, and supplied them with a barrel of beef, one of pork, one of flour, some small stores, and some preserved soup for their sick, after which we parted company.
I still practice my writing lessons, and Mr. Stuart and Mr. Green both tell me I can write "mother" first-rate; yes, and I can just write the words, "home," "sisters," "brothers," "Roxbury," "Boston," "Big Dick," "Torrent 6," and "Hurrah for Jackson, all nations!"
March 25. A light wind from the nor’east.
March 26. Fair, with a light breeze from the north.
March 27. Wind hauled to the sou’-sou’east, and blew a stiff breeze.
March 28. Weather fair, wind from the south.
March 29. Made North Cape of New Zealand.
On the 30th came to anchor in Kawa Kawa River, Bay of Islands. Here we found, quietly lying at anchor, the "Daughter of the Squadron," the Flying Fish, also the brig Porpoise and a number of English and American whale-ships. All the officers were made happy by receiving letters from home. Billy Roberts and others of the crew were sadly disappointed at not receiving any. We had parted with our tender, the Flying Fish, in a terrific gale in the Antarctic seas, and all sorts of yams had been spun about the distress she was in when last seen. All hands were not slow in assigning to her the same fate that befell her unfortunate mate, the Sea Gull, off Cape Horn. Sailors are superstitious, and prone to anticipate evil; and on this occasion they were full of all kinds of surmises imaginable. So it cheered our hearts to have her once more in our company.
The following is by J. C. Palmer, surgeon on board the Flying Fish:
The Antarctic Mariner’s Song.
Sweetly, from the land of roses,
Sighing, comes the northern breeze;
And the smile of dawn reposes,
All in blushes, on the seas.
Now, within the sleeping sail,
Murmurs soft the gentle gale.
Ease the sheet, and keep away:
Glory guides us south to-day.
Yonder, see! the icy portal
Opens for us to the Pole;
And where never entered mortal,
Thither speed we to the goal.
Hopes before, and doubts behind,
On we fly before the wind.
Steady, — so — now let it blow!
Glory guides, and south we go.
Vainly do these gloomy borders
All their frightful forms oppose;
Vainly frown these frozen warders,
Mailed in sleet, and helmed in snows.
Though, beneath the ghastly skies,
Curdled, all the ocean lies,
Lash we up its foam anew —
Dash we all its terrors through!
Circled by these columns hoary,
All the field of fame is ours:
Here to carve a name in story,
Or a tomb beneath these towers.
Southward still our way we trace,
Winding through an icy maze.
Luff her to — there she goes through!
Glory leads, and we pursue.
Undaunted, though, despite their mirth,
Still by a certain awe subdued,
They reach the last retreat on earth
Where Nature hoped for solitude.
Between two icebergs gaunt and pale,
Like giant sentinels on post,
Without a welcome or a hail,
Intrude they on the realm of Frost.
Cold, cold as death! the sky so bleak
That even daylight seems to shiver;
And, starting back from icy peak,
The blinking sunbeams quail and quiver.
They smile, those lonely, patient men,
Though gladness mocks that scene so drear;
They speak — yet words are spent in vain
Which seem to freeze upon the ear.
Mountains on hoary mountains high,
O’ertop the sea-bird’s loftiest flight;
All bleak the air — all bleached the sky —
The pent-up, stiffened sea, all white.
Amid the fearful stillness round,
Scarce broken by the wind’s faint breezing,
Hist! heard ye not that crackling sound?
That death-watch click — the sea is freezing.
They breathe not — speak not — murmur not;
But in each other’s face they gaze,
While memory, fancy, tender thought,
Turn sadly back to other days.
Long years roll by in that wild dream —
Long years of mingled joy and pain;
But like a meteor’s erring gleam,
’Tis gone — there stands the ice again.
The ice, the piles of ice, arrayed
In forms of awful grandeur still;
But all their terrors, how they fade
Before proud man’s sublimer will!
With straining oars and bending spars,
They dash their icy chains asunder;
Force frozen doors — burst crystal bars —
And drive the sparkling fragments under.
On, little bark! On, yet awhile!
Across the frozen desert flee;
For yonder, with its welcome smile,
Now sparkles bright thine own blue sea.
The baffled monsters fall behind,
Nor longer urge pursuit so vain;
One moment more, and rest we find —
’Tis past; she’s safe, she’s safe again!
With drooping peak now lying to,
Where sea-fowl brood she checks her motion,
Like them to plume herself anew
In the bright mirror of the ocean.
All signs of strife soon wiped away,
They northward turn — God speed them on!
To climes beneath whose genial ray
Repose is sweet when toil is done.
We learned that the brig Porpoise, after having been deserted by the two French ships, had cruised along the icy barriers to longitude 100° east, latitude 64° south. On March 5th she had made Lord Auckland’s Isles. The 27th she anchored in the harbor of Sarah’s Bosom, in twelve fathoms of water. These islands were resorted to by whalers and sealers, to overhaul, refit, wood, and water ships.
March 17. They spoke the whale-ships Mary and Martha. Captain Coffin informed them that there were at least one hundred whale-ships cruising in these seas, several of them being in sight. This will give some idea of the number of ships employed in the whale and seal fisheries in this quarter of the globe.