Sea of Glory

continent, Ross believed that Antarctica was made up of a group of islands and attributed the Americans’ claims to their lack of experience with “the delusive appearances in these icy regions.” These were damaging, if not crippling, claims, especially coming from the acknowledged master of high-latitude exploration. But to have Aulick, an officer of the U.S. Navy, taking such obvious pleasure in undercutting the achievements of a fellow American was truly reprehensible.
    Wilkes had originally planned to sell the Flying Fish in Hawaii. But realizing that the schooner would aid in the survey of the reef-strewn Sulu Sea between the Philippines and Malaysia, he decided to retain her services—much to the distress of William Reynolds, who along with Samuel Knox had grown weary of sailing in the open sea in such a small craft. “[W]ith the sweet & calm resignation that has become our distinguished characteristic,” Reynolds sarcastically wrote, they began laying in stores for the more than five-thousand-mile voyage to Manila, where they were to meet up with the Vincennes. The two brigs, the Porpoise and the newly acquired replacement for the Peacock, the Oregon, were to investigate the currents to the east of Japan, then sail through the China Sea to Singapore at the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula. Once the entire squadron had rendezvoused at Singapore that winter, they would sail for home. Wilkes had solemnly pledged that they would arrive at the navy yard in New York no later than May 31, 1842.
    As far as Reynolds was concerned, the work of the Expedition was finished; all that remained was a long, dull sail home, and he had assured his family that they now had nothing to worry about when it came to his safety. But in January, just a few days from Manila, Reynolds came as close as he would ever come to perishing at sea.
    Knox, the schooner’s commanding officer, insisted that the current would slacken as they approached Manila, allowing them to steer directly for the port without fear of being swept ashore. Although Reynolds objected strongly to the proposal, Knox, the son of a Boston harbor pilot, insisted that he was right. At 11:30 that night, as both Reynolds and Knox slept in their bunks, leaving the watch to Passed Midshipman Joseph Sanford, the lookout saw breakers off the bow. Reynolds bounded to the deck in his nightshirt. “The sight was frightful,” he wrote, “and at the first glance, it seemed impossible we should be saved. The night was very dark, yet we could see the land & the horrible breakers, oh! so close. . . . The wind fairly howled in its violence, and the swell was enormously high, increased twofold by the shoalness of the water, for now, we were in the rollers & could see the bottom. It was do or die, and most likely would do and die.”
    If they were to drive the schooner through the waves, they needed more sail. Even though she was already staggering under the lone foresail, they raised the mainsail and jib. “The masts switched like willows,” Reynolds wrote, “and the water came over the bows, just as it falls over a mill dam, ashore, in torrents. . . . Had she not been the most glorious model of a sea boat that ever was built, she could not have borne this sail an instant, but she was true as gold.” Once they reached the safety of Manila, Reynolds realized that this incident had frightened him more than even the near-loss of the Peacock in Antarctica. “Roused out of a sleep, to be drowned in five minutes, without hope, is rather appalling to any man . . . ,” he reflected. “Death cannot be worse than the fright, for the abandonment of hope is death itself.” The incident off the Philippines so troubled him that it would be one of the few events of the Expedition that he could not bring himself to describe in a letter to his family.
    For Reynolds, Manila stood as the symbol of a fallen empire. A once-prosperous Spanish port, whose gold-laden galleons had annually voyaged across the Pacific to and from Acapulco, the Philippine capital had fallen into neglect with the waning of Spain’s global influence. The port’s decline, however, had done nothing to lessen the beauty of its women. Reynolds and his fellow officers could not help but gawk at the young ladies they saw passing on the streets. He found himself irresistibly edging toward a resolution: “I am almost tempted to make & record a vow, ‘never to wander again unless Mrs. Reynolds sails in company.