​

If you have never sailed around Cape Horn during the winter months in a small ship. My advice to you is “don’t”

 

As a veteran at sea during World War 2, I sailed the world for free.
One of life’s lessons tell us however that most things that come free are followed by some form of payback.
During wartime when the enemy visited, and the frightening pandemonium started, that was when you paid in full.
 

We left England for our destination in the Pacific, calling at New York, the US naval base at Norfolk Virginia, and then through the Panama Canal to Hawaii.

Based in Honolulu my ship had been under contract with the US military for service in the Pacific, but due to a collision with another ship, which required repairs below the waterline we sailed to a dry dock in Port Chalmers, South Island, New Zealand.

 

With the job completed we sailed on to the port of Bluff to stock up for our journey back to England.
We were under the impression that we would be returning home across the Pacific and via the Panama canal. On the day of sailing however we were told that the ship had been re-routed via the dreaded Cape Horn.

With all the horror stories about this part of the world our anxieties grew. They were not unfounded.
 

In the 1940’s you could not tap into a satellite to get the weather forecast.
There was another ship sailing a day ahead of us. We would radio them each day to find out what weather they were encountering, and thereby forecast what we could expect.
 

On this particular day we could not make contact. This was not uncommon because radio operators would occasionally shut down their rigs for maintenance, so assuming that this was  the case we carried on with our normal routines that day.

 

I retired to my cabin to get ready hopefully for a good nights sleep.
It was a two berth cabin, the other occupant the Pastry cook.
Because he had to be up very early to go to the Galley he had the lower bunk to prevent disturbing me.
 

Around my midriff area on the upper bunk was a porthole. By raising myself up on one elbow I could look out onto a narrow deck and see the ships railing.
We were approaching Cape Horn and the weather conditions had deteriorated to the point where everything had to be battened down, and no one was allowed out on deck.
 

Settling down for yet another night of troubled sleep I listened to the howling of the wind, and the creaking noises of the ship as it negotiated the heavy seas, interrupted by the occasional clatter of objects, breaking loose from the cupboards.
Instead of the constant subdued throb of the engines, the violent variations of the propeller blades as they left the water when the ship pitched, were resounding throughout the superstructure, serving only to emphasize the strain that the ship was under. They were frightening sounds and I began thinking of the early mariners in sailing ships, negotiating this part of the world. It was no wonder that many were lost, never to be heard of again. Just engulfed by the sheer anger of the sea.

 

It was 1 a.m. in the morning and I thought I was dreaming, but in seconds I was wide-awake.
We were now about to find out why we had lost communication with the ship ahead of us.
 

The enormous sound of the sea striking the ship, was deafening. Resonating throughout the ship. It could have been likened to a cannon being fired inside the cabin, resulting in an immense shuddering vibration, that pushed the ship over on to its side. The wall and porthole, to which my bunk was attached had now become the floor and I was kneeling looking down through the porthole, which was now under water, and I could hear the pastry cook calling out in the darkness, from his bunk below me, “Please God don’t let us sink!”
 

As the seconds ticked by I braced myself for the ship to go under. My mind was racing, searching for a solution from the predicament, but realized that it was futile. The pastry cook was still praying out loud when a distinct creaking sound appeared above the other noises. “She’s lifting!” he shouted out, his voice frightened, but excited.
 

I gripped the bunk rail as the ship began to right itself. We started to cheer, our voices in unison, but our relief was short lived. Gaining momentum, the ship rolled violently over on to its other side throwing us on to the other wall of the cabin, followed by our mattresses and  other loose items. The pastry cook prayed again as events repeated themselves  with each successive rolling, accompanied by prayers and cheering, Eventually we realized that the ship was slowly beginning to right herself, and began to count the excursions of each roll, shouting the numbers out loud, interposed by periods of silence, until the ship was reacting normally to the run of the sea.

 

Loud voices could be heard coming from the alleyway outside the cabin. I recognized the voice of the cook, “everybody to the galley!” he was shouting, over and over again.
 

The scene outside was absolute chaos. Men, not able to stand were lying or kneeling on the floor, and being buffeted against the walls by the violent movement of the ship. Making my way aft I could see three men pushing on the heavy, steel galley door to try and open it, but as the ship rolled the door opened by its own sheer weight, depositing the men in a heap inside on the galley floor.
Every cooking utensil imaginable – pots, pans, ladles, etc. were rolling and sliding across the floor amidst broken plates, cups and saucers, all wrenched away from their usual secure attachment by the violence of this particular storm. It was slow going, trying to get the galley ship-shape and back into operation again.

When the gray light of dawn appeared, I looked out, the seas were mountainous, with the force of the wind the likeness of which I had never experienced before. As the ship sank into the trough of a wave it was virtually below the crests, and the power of the wind was blowing the water from the tops of the waves, on to the top of the ship, and at times, down the single funnel, then, as we were lifted to the top of the wave, I could only see the sky.
It was so frightening, it would be something I would never ever forget for the rest of my life. I had heard the term “The Devil’s Cauldron” to describe this part of the world’s ocean and now I was witnessing it first hand.
 

The episode during the early hours was apparently created by a gigantic wave, 40 feet high, hitting the ship on the starboard side and pushing it over.
After the violent rolling had stabilized, the captain, for safety reasons, turned the ship’s bow into wind and sea, but even at full speed ahead we were being driven backwards  by the ferocity of the storm.

 

After the storm abated  we approached landfall at Cape Horn, and experienced the ultimate irony. The wind had dropped to a mere breeze and the sea was like a sheet of glass. Hundreds of fish could be seen in shoals, leaping out of the water and Whales with their babies were swimming on the surface alongside the ship. The contrast was unbelievable! Everyone came out on deck to see the sight. 
 

Mother nature had decided to put on a show in an effort to make amends..

Memorable Moments fit into a variety of emotions. Joyful, frustrating, exhilarating, frightening, to name a few, but my Moments in the Devils Cauldron were terrifying.

​

​

​