Letters From High Latitudes | Page 8

was running before the gale, the man at the wheel--startled
at a sea which he thought was going to poop her--let go the helm; the
vessel broached to, and tons of water tumbled in on the top of the deck.
As soon as the confusion of the moment had subsided, it became
evident that the shock had broken some of the iron plates, and that the
ship was in a fair way of foundering. So frightened were the crew, that,
after consultation with each other, they determined to take to the boats,
and all hands came aft, to know whether there was anything the skipper
would wish to carry off with him. Comprehending the madness of
attempting to reach land in open boats at the distance of a thousand
miles from any shore, Wyse pretended to go into the cabin to get his
compass, chronometer, etc., but returning immediately with a revolver
in each hand, swore he would shoot the first man who attempted to
touch the boats. This timely exhibition of spirit saved their lives: soon
after the weather moderated; by undergirding the ship with chains, St.
Paul fashion, the leaks were partially stopped, the steamer reached her
destination, and was sold for 7,000 pounds a few days after her arrival.
In token of their gratitude for the good service he had done them, the
Company presented Mr. Wyse on his return with a gold watch, and the
chain he wears so gloriously outside the silk tartan waistcoat.
And now, good-bye. I hear the click-click of the chain as they heave the
anchor; I am rather tired and exhausted with all the worry of the last

two months, and shall be heartily glad to get to sea, where fresh air will
set me up again, I hope, in a few days. My next letter will be from
Iceland; and, please God, before I see English land again, I hope to
have many a story to tell you of the islands that are washed by the chill
waters of the Arctic Sea.
LETTER V.
THE NORTH ATLANTIC--SPANISH WAVES--OUR CABIN IN A
GALE-- SEA-SICKNESS FROM A SCIENTIFIC POINT OF
VIEW--WILSON--A PASSENGER COMMITS SUICIDE--FIRST
SIGHT OF ICELAND--FLOKI OF THE RAVENS--THE NORSE
MAYFLOWER--FAXA FIORD--WE LAND IN THULE
Reykjavik, Iceland, June 21, 1856.
We have landed in Thule! When, in parting, you moaned so at the
thought of not being able to hear of our safe arrival, I knew there would
be an opportunity of writing to you almost immediately after reaching
Iceland; but I said nothing about it at the time, lest something should
delay this letter, and you be left to imagine all kinds of doleful reasons
for its non-appearance. We anchored in Reykjavik harbour this
afternoon (Saturday). H.M.S. "Coquette" sails for England on Monday;
so that within a week you will get this.
For the last ten days we have been leading the life of the "Flying
Dutchman." Never do I remember to have had such a dusting: foul
winds, gales, and calms--or rather breathing spaces, which the gale took
occasionally to muster up fresh energies for a blow--with a heavy head
sea, that prevented our sailing even when we got aslant. On the
afternoon of the day we quitted Stornaway, I got a notion how it was
going to be; the sun went angrily down behind a bank of solid grey
cloud, and by the time we were up with the Butt of Lewis, the whole
sky was in tatters, and the mercury nowhere, with a heavy swell from
the north-west.
As, two years before, I had spent a week in trying to beat through the
Roost of Sumburgh under double-reefed trysails, I was at home in the

weather; and guessing we were in for it, sent down the topmasts,
stowed the boats on board, handed the foresail, rove the ridge-ropes,
and reefed all down. By midnight it blew a gale, which continued
without intermission until the day we sighted Iceland; sometimes
increasing to a hurricane, but broken now and then by sudden lulls,
which used to leave us for a couple of hours at a time tumbling about
on the top of the great Atlantic rollers--or Spanish waves, as they are
called--until I thought the ship would roll the masts out of her. Why
they should be called Spanish waves, no one seems to know; but I had
always heard the seas were heavier here than in any other part of the
world, and certainly they did not belie their character. The little ship
behaved beautifully, and many a vessel twice her size would have been
less comfortable. Indeed, few people can have any notion of the
cosiness of a yacht's cabin under such circumstances. After having
remained for several hours on deck, in the presence of the tempest,--
peering through