When At Sea We Had A Constant
Succession Of Gales, And The Current Was Against Us:
We
drifted to 57 degs.
23' south. On the 11th of January, 1833,
by carrying a press of sail, we fetched within a few miles of
the great rugged mountain of York Minster (so called by
Captain Cook, and the origin of the name of the elder Fuegian),
when a violent squall compelled us to shorten sail
and stand out to sea. The surf was breaking fearfully on
the coast, and the spray was carried over a cliff estimated
to 200 feet in height. On the 12th the gale was very heavy,
and we did not know exactly where we were: it was a most
unpleasant sound to hear constantly repeated, "keep a good
look-out to leeward." On the 13th the storm raged with its
full fury: our horizon was narrowly limited by the sheets
of spray borne by the wind. The sea looked ominous, like
a dreary waving plain with patches of drifted snow: whilst
the ship laboured heavily, the albatross glided with its
expanded wings right up the wind. At noon a great sea broke
over us, and filled one of the whale boats, which was
obliged to be instantly cut away. The poor Beagle trembled
at the shock, and for a few minutes would not obey her helm;
but soon, like a good ship that she was, she righted and came
up to the wind again. Had another sea followed the first,
our fate would have been decided soon, and for ever.
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