birds of all kinds and colors. Sandy pointed out one large albatross with a yellow head and told me that a legend claimed that these birds were the souls of drowned sailors.
Looking more closely at this big beaked bird as it soared, glided, and fished so close to the ship, I thought Sandy just might be right. There is something about stories of the sea and the men who give their lives so freely that always seemed to ring true, like the ship’s bell.
In due course, the two vessels spotted West Falkland Island. The destination of the ships was to be Port Egmont on Saunders Island, just northwest of West Falkland Island. But upon entering a narrow channel that led to the port, the Commodore was confronted with strong headwinds and an adverse tide. He therefore bore away and set sail for Brett’s Harbor, a protected anchorage on the same tongue of land as the port but on the opposite side of the island.
Here, with no other ships in sight, the vessels dropped anchor. Our passage from Port Praya had taken fifty-seven days.
After dropping the bowers, Captain Gray went ashore with the Commodore in search of fresh water. Upon their return, they reported finding many springs and of observing large flocks of duck and geese.
The next day, work parties were dispatched to fill the water casks and to hunt for game. The air was chilly when I went ashore with musket in hand as part of a hunting detail.
A heavy, gray layer of clouds hung over the rocky landscape that looked sparse and barren. There were a few small groves of trees and long, golden sea grass on the hillsides. How humans could survive on this wasteland, I did not know. One thing was certain: whatever game was on this bleak island would have to be searched out. We hunted all that afternoon and returned to the ship weary but with large bags of gutted and plucked game-birds, ready for the cook’s pot. That same afternoon, other parties returned with firewood and with grass for the livestock.
The following day, Captain Gray set about preparing for the Orphan to round Cape Horn. He instructed me to set up a small forge on the deck to repair some of the ship’s iron strapping that had been damaged during the passage.
As I worked the hammer and anvil, other crewmembers caulked the hull planking above the water line. Some timbers were replaced or repaired by the ship’s carpenter while other sailors worked in the rigging, setting in heavy new canvas sails. For three long days, all the ship’s activities were focused on making the sloop ready for its dangerous crossing to the Pacific. Finally, with deck planks fully sealed and the Captain’s final inspection passed, the sloop was ready to sail.
Just as we completed our work, however, we learned that the Commodore was having misgivings about making the southern passage so late in the season. His idea was to winter in the Falklands and begin the passage in eight months.
Staying in this desolate harbor for eight months was not well liked by the officers or by crew. Captain Gray warned the Commodore that it was a bad idea and that some of the men might take “French leave” – jump ship. He even asked permission for us to proceed alone in the Orphan, but his request was rejected. Captain Kendrick vacillated for days, and all the while the weather worsened in the southern seas.
One day, I asked Sandy why we couldn’t sail to Argentina and winter there.
“It’s the Spaniards, lad. They rule with an iron fist from Madrid. If we sailed into one of their ports, they might confiscate our ships, and we could be marooned for years.”
As the days dragged on and we were running out of time, I knew that something had to happen. And then it did. On our ninth day at anchor, we learned that Mr. Haswell, the former second Mate of the flagship, had gone ashore with a hunting party and failed to return. A search detail was sent out, but at dark they returned alone. By now, most of the crew guessed that the Second Mate had walked the five miles across the island to Port Egmont, where he could simply sign on with another ship.
The next morning, when he still had not returned, the Commodore ordered his brig lowered, intending to sail to Port Egmont and retrieve the deserter. But just as the boat was ready to get underway, Mr. Haswell was spotted on the beach, waving his hands. Later, we learned that he had indeed walked the five miles, only to find a crumbling town with no souls and no ships. The British settlement of Port Egmont had been abandon a few years before.
With Mr. Haswell aboard the flagship again, Captain Gray rowed over to confront the Commodore. Reminding him that others would likely desert if there were further delays, he convinced Captain Kendrick to get underway. Then he asked that Mr. Haswell be assigned to the Orphan as the sloop’s much-needed Second Mate.
The Commodore hesitated, then relented reluctantly.
When the skipper was rowed back to the Orphan, he brought with him both the longed awaited sailing orders and a new Second Mate.
With the crew happy and singing jovially, we pulled together in preparing the ship to get underway. The two vessels sailed for the Pacific Ocean via the Drake Passage at daybreak on February 28, 1788.
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