These islands have lately been so fully described in many different journals, that I shall not burden the reader with any twice-told tales about them, but merely chronicle the fact that for a week we lay at anchor off one of the outlying cays, toiling continuously to get the vessel again in fighting trim.
At last the overworked carpenter and his crew got through their heavy task, and the order was given to "man the windlass." Up came the anchor, and away we went again towards what used to be a noted haunt of the sperm whale, the Seychelle Archipelego.
Before the French, whose flag flies over these islands, had with their usual short-sighted policy, clapped on prohibitive port charges, Mahe was a specially favoured place of call for the whalers.But when whale-ships find that it does not pay to visit a place, being under no compulsion as regards time, they soon find other harbours that serve their turn.We, of course, had no need to visit any port for some time to come, having made such good use of our opportunities at the Cocos.
We found whales scarce and small, so, although we cruised in this vicinity for nearly two months, six small cow cachalots were all we were able to add to our stock, representing less then two hundred barrels of oil.This was hardly good enough for Captain Slocum.Therefore, we gradually drew away from this beautiful cluster of islands, and crept across the Indian Ocean towards the Straits of Malacca.On the way, we one night encountered that strange phenomenon, a "milk" sea.It was a lovely night, with scarcely any wind, the stars trying to make up for the absence of the moon by shining with intense brightness.The water had been more phosphorescent than usual, so that every little fish left a track of light behind him, greatly disproportionate to his size.
As the night wore on, the sea grew brighter and brighter, until by midnight we appeared to be sailing on an ocean of lambent flames.Every little wave that broke against the ship's side sent up a shower of diamond-like spray, wonderfully beautiful to see, while a passing school of porpoises fairly set the sea blazing as they leaped and gambolled in its glowing waters.
Looking up from sea to sky, the latter seemed quite black instead of blue, and the lustre of the stars was diminished till they only looked like points of polished steel, having quite lost for the time their radiant sparkle.In that shining flood the blackness of the ship stood out in startling contrast, and when we looked over the side our faces were strangely lit up by the brilliant glow.
For several hours this beautiful appearance persisted, fading away at last as gradually as it came.No satisfactory explanation of this curious phenomenon has ever been given, nor does it appear to portend any change of weather.It cannot be called a rare occurrence, although I have only seen it thrice myself--once in the Bay of Cavite, in the Philippine Islands; once in the Pacific, near the Solomon Islands; and on this occasion of which I now write.But no one who had ever witnessed it could forget so wonderful a sight.
One morning, a week after are had taken our departure from the Seychelles, the officer at the main crow's-nest reported a vessel of some sort about five miles to the windward.Something strange in her appearance made the skipper haul up to intercept her.As we drew nearer, we made her out to be a Malay "prahu;" but, by the look of her, she was deserted.The big three-cornered sail that had been set, hung in tattered festoons from the long, slender yard, which, without any gear to steady it, swung heavily to and fro as the vessel rolled to the long swell.We drew closer and closer, but no sign of life was visible on board, so the captain ordered a boat to go and investigate.
In two minutes we were speeding away towards her, and, making a sweep round her stern, prepared to board her.But we were met by a stench so awful that Mr.Count would not proceed, and at once returned to the ship.The boat was quickly hoisted again, and the ship manoeuvred to pass close to windward of the derelict.
Then, from our mast-head, a horrible sight became visible.Lying about the weather-beaten deck, in various postures, were thirteen corpses, all far advanced in decay, which horrible fact fully accounted for the intolerable stench that had driven us away.It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to say that we promptly hauled our wind, and placed a good distance between us and that awful load of death as soon as possible.Poor wretches! What terrible calamity had befallen them, we could not guess; whatever it was, it had been complete; nor would any sane man falling across them run the risk of closer examination into details than we had done.
It was a great pity that we were not able to sink the prahu with her ghastly cargo, and so free the air from that poisonous foetor that was a deadly danger to any vessel getting under her lee.
Next day, and for a whole week after, we had a stark calm such a calm as one realizes who reads sympathetically that magical piece of work, the "Ancient Mariner." What an amazing instance of the triumph of the human imagination! For Coleridge certainly never witnessed such a scene as he there describes with an accuracy of detail that is astounding.Very few sailors have noticed the sickening condition of the ocean when the life-giving breeze totally fails for any length of time, or, if they have, they have said but little about it.Of course, some parts of the sea show the evil effects of stagnation much sooner than others; but, generally speaking, want of wind at sea, if long continued, produces a condition of things dangerous to the health of any land near by.Whale-ships, penetrating as they do to parts carefully avoided by ordinary trading vessels, often afford their crews an opportunity of seeing things mostly hidden from the sight of man, when, actuated by some mysterious impulse, the uncanny denizens of the middle depths of the ocean rise to higher levels, and show their weird shapes to the sun.
