Plymouth to Madeira and the Streight of Magellan
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At noon, this day, we were abreast of Cape Pillar, when, a gale springing up at S.W. we were obliged to take down our small sails, reef our top-sails, and haul close to the wind: soon after it freshened to the W.S.W. blowing right in from the sea, and after making two boards, we had the mortification to find that we could not weather the land on either tack. It was now almost dark, the gale increased driving before it a hollow swell, and a fog came on, with violent rain; we therefore got close under the south shore and sent our boat a-head to find out Tuesday's Bay, which is said by Sir John Narborough to lie about four leagues within the Streight, or to find out any other place in which we might come to an anchor. At five o'clock, we could not see the land, notwithstanding its extream height, though we were within less than half a mile of it, and at six, the thickness of the weather having rendered the night so dark that we could not see half the ship's length, I brought to for the boat, and was indeed, with good reason, under great concern for her safety: we hoisted lights, and every now and then made a false fire, but still doubting whether they could be seen through the fog and rain, I fired a gun every half hour, and at last had the satisfaction to take her on board, though she had made no discovery either of Tuesday's Bay, or any other anchoring-place. We made sail the rest of the night, endeavouring to keep near the south shore, and our ground to the westward as much as possible; and as soon as it was light the next morning, I sent the Master again out in the cutter, in search of anchorage on the south shore. I waited in a state of the most painful suspense for her return, till five o'clock in the afternoon, fearing that we should be obliged to keep out in this dangerous pass another night, but I then saw her sounding a bay, and immediately stood in after her: in a short time the Master came on board, and to our unspeakable comfort, reported that we might here come safely to an anchor; this, with the help of our boat, was effected about six o'clock, and I went down into my cabbin to take some rest: I had, however, scarcely lain down, before I was alarmed with a universal shout and tumult among the people, all that were below running hastily upon the deck, and joining the clamour of those above: I instantly started up, imagining that a gust had forced the ship from her anchor, and that she was driving out of the bay, but when I came upon the deck, I heard the people cry out, the Dolphin! the Dolphin! in a transport of surprize and joy which appeared to be little short of distraction: a few minutes, however, convinced us that what had been taken for a sail was nothing more than the water which had been forced up, and whirled about in the air, by one of the violent gusts that were continually coming off the high land, and which, through the haze, had a most deceitful appearance. The people were for a few minutes somewhat dejected by their disappointment, but before I went down, I had the pleasure to see their usual fortitude and cheerfulness return.
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Voyaging Accounts |  |
© Derived from Volume I of the London 1773 Edition: National Library of Australia call no. FERG 7243, page 532, 2004
Published by kind permission of the Library
To cite this page use: https://paulturnbull.org/project/southseas/journals/hv01/532.html