Around Cape Horn
The rain was lashing against the glass panes of the windows. It sounded just as if some giant hand was picking up pebbles and throwing them at the house. The wind howled and whistled through the wires of the overhead cables that carried the electricity to our house and to those of our neighbours.
In those days, all electricity cables were above ground. They were well above the height of even the tallest vehicles such as buses and furniture vans. This kept them well out of the way of us humans, but they were vulnerable to weather damage and were frequently breaking, thus causing power cuts. These were a great inconvenience to us, as it often took the repair crews a long time to find the break and fix it. As these breakdowns usually occurred during the worst weather conditions, the men of the repair crews, known as linesmen, were the unsung heroes of our time.
Intermittently, the windows would light up from the glow of flashes of lightning, accompanied by the loud crash and rumble of thunder. This could be heard over and above the noise of the wind in the wires,
Suddenly, the light in our room dimmed and then went out altogether. The radio programme we were listening to stopped without anyone switching off the set. The light from the valves in the radio quickly died away and momentarily the only light in the room was that from the fire in front of which we were huddled. The overhead wires must have broken somewhere causing a blackout, a much more common event then than nowadays.
Transistor radios had not yet been invented. As television was not yet readily available to any but the rich, valve radios, powered by mains electricity, was the main entertainment of the time. The valves in the radios had to warm up when switched on and glowed until switched off. The glow continued until the valves had cooled down again.
"Where are the candles, Glad?" dad asked of my mum. (Mum's name was Gladys, but dad always shortened it to 'Glad'. Dad's name was Cecil and that is what mum usually called him. Uncle Billy and dad's mates however tended to call him by a nickname, that being 'Swees'.)
"In the top drawer of the kitchen dresser," mum replied.
Dad opened the living room door. He then struck a match from a box he carried in his pocket. He used this light to negotiate his way into the kitchen and find the drawer containing the candles.
We heard him strike another match and then saw a steadier light appear as he came back in, carrying one lit candle and five others that he then lit from it one by one. There were two candleholders on the mantelpiece and into these, dad fixed two of the longest candles. The other four were placed on saucers which he had also collected from the kitchen. A little hot wax was allowed to drip into a saucer and then the bottom of a candle was pressed into this soft wax. The wax quickly hardened sufficiently to hold the candle firmly in place. These, dad then placed at various strategic points around the room where they were unlikely to be knocked over by any of the family, including the cat.
Fortunately for us, although we had electricity, we were also supplied by gas. This powered our cooker and oven. Consequently, despite the interruption to the electric power, mum was still able to boil the water in the kettle on one of the gas rings and make a pot of tea. She took one of the lit candles on a saucer to light her way to and in the kitchen. While she was waiting for the kettle to boil, she cut a cottage loaf into thick slices and brought them into the living room.
"Here you are boys," she said, presenting my brother and myself with a long-handled brass toasting fork each, "Toast some bread for us all."
Dad poked the coals in the fire so that they glowed bright red rather than burning with yellow flames. We each held a piece of bread close to the glowing coals with the toasting forks. As soon as one side of the bread turned brown, we removed it, affixed the toasting fork to the other side and held the untoasted side to the glowing coals until it too was toasted. Dad then spread generous pats of butter onto the freshly made toast and we tucked in with relish.
Mmm, there is nothing quite as good as buttered toast made in this way!
"Were you ever at sea in a storm as bad as this, Uncle Billy?" Rod asked, winking at me with a grin on his face.
(We knew from other stories he had told us that Uncle Billy had been in many storms and the howling wind blowing outside was really no more than a severe gale, not really a storm.)
"As bad as this?" he laughed. "Why, this is only a breeze compared to some of the storms I've been through!
Cape Horn! Now there's a place for storms. Real storms!
Yes, I well remember the first time I sailed round The Horn."
"I was sixteen at the time. Although I had been at sea for more than two years by then, I had never before crossed the Atlantic Ocean, let alone gone round The Horn to the Pacific Ocean.
We had taken a cargo of wool and textiles from Liverpool to Boston, Massachusetts in the United States of America. There we picked up a cargo of mining equipment, machinery and tools all of which we were to deliver to Valparaiso in Chile."
At this point of the story, Uncle Billy asked mum to fetch him an encyclopaedia with a map of the world in it. On getting it, he showed us on the map the places about which he was talking.
" I thought you could not read," said Rod in surprise.
"That is true to some extent," he explained, "for I could not read at all when I was young, but now I can read most of the names on the map. You see, I know where the places are in the world, having visited them on many occasions. Over the years, I saw many maps and was shown the places on them by captains and officers on the ships on which I served."
"Now although work had been underway for a number of years on the Panama Canal, it was a long way from being completed. In fact, it was not opened until 1914, but that is another story and not one of mine, so if you want to know more about it, look it up yourselves. The only way to get from Boston to Valparaiso by sea was to sail down the East coast of South America, round cape Horn into the Pacific Ocean and then up the West coast to Chile. That was a journey of more than twelve thousand miles calling in at various ports on the way for water and provisions.
It was early spring when we left Boston and the journey was pleasant and uneventful as we passed by the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea and continued south towards the Equator. Of course, it took us many weeks to get to the Equator as we were only powered by the wind in our sails and while we might be able to get up to possibly ten to twelve knots, mostly we only averaged eight to ten. Naturally, it was fine weather and very warm near the Equator and further south, but as we approached the southern tip of the continent, the weather deteriorated. While it was still summer in the northern hemisphere, here near the dreaded Cape Horn it was winter and we were being hit more frequently by squalls and sleety showers of increasing ferocity.
One morning, as I came up on deck to take my turn on watch, the ship’s bosun called to me:
“Billy! Take a turn up aloft in the crow’s nest!”
The crow’s nest was a platform set high up on the mainmast surrounded by planks of wood which made it look rather like a barrel stuck up on the mast. It was manned by a lookout whose job it was to look for danger ahead of the ship and to report it through a trumpet-like loudhailer to the officer on duty below.
To climb up to the crow’s nest was no easy task, especially in rough weather. Firstly, you had to climb the rigging, known as ratlines. These were attached from the sides of the ship to points high up on the masts where the yardarms carried the sails. Then, standing on top of the highest yardarm, you dragged yourself up through a hole in the floor of the platform into the crow’s nest itself. I had climbed the rigging on many occasions, but this was the first time I had been as high as the crow’s nest and on a stormy day such as this, I felt it was almost impossible for me to do.
“What’s the matter with you?” shouted the bosun, seeing me hesitate.
“I can’t climb up there in this rough weather!” I replied uncertainly.
“Rough? This isn’t rough!” the bosun chuckled. “D’ you see the button on top of the mast above the nest?” he asked.
I craned my head back to look up to where he was pointing and nodded. On the very top of the mast, there was a round block of wood, called ‘the button’, which reminded me of the head of a pin, for that was what it looked like from this distance below it.
“When that touches the water, then it’s rough!”
He grinned at me to show that he was only joking. Then he continued,
“Now, if you don’t want to feel the sting of my lash on your backside, get up there and relieve Tomkins. He will tell you what to do before he comes down.”
With that, he applied his boot to my backside, just to encourage me to start climbing.
I was wearing oilskin trousers and cape, with a sou’wester hat on my head. This was all intended to keep me as dry as possible in the lashing rain. However, they were cumbersome to wear and made climbing even harder than normal. Added to this difficulty was the wind, which seemed to be trying to rip me off the ratlines. In addition, in the driving wind, the rain seemed to be coming straight at my face, making the sou’wester useless.
At last, I reached the top of the highest yardarm and clung tightly to the mast as I paused to get my breath back and to assess how I was doing.
Looking straight down to the deck, I got quite a shock. Instead of the deck, I was looking at the white-capped waves of the frothing sea directly below me!
I closed my eyes in terror, but then opened them a slit to make sure I was not hallucinating. Momentarily, to my relief, I saw the deck exactly where it should have been, directly below me.
I opened my eyes fully with a sigh of relief. As I did so, however, the view below me changed again. I was once again looking straight down at the raging sea! This time though, I kept my eyes open and looked down the mast itself. Instead of going straight down, it seemed to be at an angle of about 30 degrees from the vertical.
Now I understood why it was that the sea appeared to be below me instead of the deck. The rolling motion of the ship was greatly exaggerated that high u near the top of the mast and I was being whipped through an arc of a circle perhaps as much as 40 degrees either side of the vertical. I looked up at the hole in the floor of the platform and concentrated on that for a few minutes while I plucked up the courage to continue the climb. Even though I knew that the mast was swinging so much, the hole appeared quite steady above me. I managed somehow to drag myself up to it and get my head and shoulders through. Then I felt two hands grip me under the arms. Tomkins, a man who originated from a small village called Skeffling near the port of Hull in Yorkshire, helped me through and onto the platform.
“First time in t’ nest, eh lad?” he said in his broad Yorkshire accent.
I nodded agreement as I was still trying to catch my breath after the strenuous and terrifying climb.
“Don’t worry! Thee ‘ave got ‘ere safely. T’ first time is always t’ worst! Thee wain’t fall out, even though thee do get thrown about a bit up ‘ere. Still, just to be doubly sure, tie this line around t’ waist.”
With these words, Tomkins untied a strong line that was attached round his own waist and handed it to me. I did as he said and tied it round my own waist. The other end of the line was attached to a metal ring that in turn was looped on to a strong line tied round the mast. This arrangement allowed you to move around the mast without tangling the safety line attached to your waist.
Having done this I asked Tomkins,
“What do I have to do now? Bosun said you’d tell me.”
“Keep th’ eyes peeled all around us, but in particular, straight ahead. If thee sight anything unusual, use t’ loudhailer to inform th’ officer on watch.”
“What do you mean by unusual?” I asked, even though I felt I already knew the answer. Still I wanted it confirming.
“Other ships; waves breaking on rocks or other signs of land; growlers……”
“What are growlers?” I asked curiously.
“Growlers are small icebergs, he replied.
“Do icebergs get this far south?” I interrupted. “I thought they only occurred in the Arctic regions round the North Pole..”
“Well, actually, they don’t get this far south as much as get this far north! You see, these come from t’ Antarctic, not t’ Arctic. By that I mean th’ area around t’ South Pole. We’re probably a bit too far north for ’em yet, but ’tis very important if thee ever do see one, to give plenty of warning so ‘t ship’s course can be altered to gi’ it a really wide berth.”
“Why is that?” I asked naively .
“T’ part of an iceberg thee can see above t’ water is only a small portion of the entire thing. Under t’ water, it may be as much as eight times t’ size of t’ part thee can see. That in itself can be up to three hundred foot high and two hundred to three hundred foot across. That means that under t’ water, there could be a mile of ice we cannot see! If we were unfortunate enough to ‘it that, t’ would rip out t’ bottom of t’ whip and we would be food for t’ fish. So we gi’ icebergs a wide berth!”
“Did you see any growlers uncle?” I asked, picturing the frightened young sailor on lookout.
“Not on that occasion,” he replied, “but I did see some at other times. Fortunately though, always at a great distance, never close up.
I am not sure why, but this answer rather disappointed me.
“Why are they called growlers?” Rod asked.
“I believe it has something to do with the sound they make when they first break away from the ice of the Arctic or Antarctic,” Uncle Billy replied.
There was something else I wanted to know.
“Did you ever see the button on the top of the mast touch the water like the bosun said?”
“Truthfully and thankfully, that I never did see,” he chuckled. “If I had, then I would have been observing the ship capsizing and I might not have been here to tell you the tale of it!”
“Anyway, a few weeks after this occasion, I was again on lookout in the crows nest in another severe storm. The ship heeled over so far that I felt I could almost reach out my hand and touch the top of the waves. I couldn’t really, but the spray being whipped off the waves by the wind was hitting me in the face even in the crow’s nest!
Yes, around Cape Horn, you really know what a storm is. This little blow outside tonight is but a breeze compared to a Cape Horn storm.”
Just as Uncle Billy said this, the light came on again and a few seconds later, having warmed up sufficiently, the radio too came back on.
Uncle Billy had another dup of tea and gazing into the red coals of the fire, was lost in memory for a few moments.
“There’s a capstan shanty which always reminds me of that trip,” he said a few minutes later. He picked up his guitar and began to strum on it. “It’s called ‘Paddy Lay Back’,” he continued, “and would have been sung to help the crew keep time with each other when pulling up the anchor using a capstan. The capstan was a device a bit like a very large cotton reel with holes cut into it at equal intervals. Into these holes were slotted long solid bars of timber on which two or three men heaved to turn the capstan round thus pulling up a cable or chain attached to it by winding it round the capstan like cotton round a cotton reel. To stop the weight of the cable or anchor chain from spinning the capstan round the wrong way, there would be a ratchet which was a toothed device with a locking bar called a pawl. This pawl would engage behind each tooth of the ratchet as the capstan made one turn. It could be knocked out of place when the cable or anchor chain was to be dropped at a future time, allowing the capstan to turn freely in the opposite direction.
Mum switched off the radio so that we could listen and join in with the amusing, bouncy song.
‘Twas a cold and dreary morning in December,
And all of my money it was spent!
Where it went to, Lord! I can’t remember,
So down to the shipping office I went.
Paddy lay back, take in the slack!
Take a turn around the capstan, heave a pawl!
To your station sailor boys be handy,
For we’re bound for Valaparaiso# round The Horn.
That day there was a great demand for sailors,
For the Colonies and for ‘Frisco and for France.
So I shipped upon a Limey barque, ‘The Hotspur’,
And got paralytic drunk on my advance.
Paddy lay back, take in the slack!
Take a turn around the capstan, heave a pawl!
To your station sailor boys be handy,
For we’re bound for Valaparaiso round The Horn.
I woke up in the morning sick and so-er,
I knew that I was outward bound again,
When I heard a voice a-bawling at the do-or,
“Lay aloft men and answer to your name!”
Paddy lay back, take in the slack!
Take a turn around the capstan, heave a pawl!
To your station sailor boys be handy,
For we’re bound for Valaparaiso round The Horn.
Well I wished that I was in the ‘Jolly Sailor’,
Along with Irish Kate a-drinking beer.
And I thought to meself, “What jolly chaps are sailors.”
And with me flipper I wiped away a tear.
Paddy lay back, take in the slack!
Take a turn around the capstan, heave a pawl!
To your station sailor boys be handy,
For we’re bound for Valaparaiso round The Horn.
Up aloft in the crow’s nest I was stationed,
A-looking our for dangers up ahead.
While behind lay the fading hills of Eng-er-land,
And I wished that I was far back there instead.
Paddy lay back, take in the slack!
Take a turn around the capstan, heave aboard!
To your station sailor boys be handy,
For we’re bound for Valaparaiso round The Horn.#
When the song had finished, Rod and I went to bed. The howling wind and the rain lashing against the window held no fears for us now, for after all, it was but a little blow! We drifted off to sleep and I dreamed of being at sea on a sailing ship.
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