Two Years Before the Mast
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Title: Two Years Before the Mast
Author: Richard Henry Dana
Author of introduction, etc.: Homer Eaton Keyes
Release date: February 1, 2000 [eBook #2055]
Most recently updated: December 31, 2020
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2055
Credits: Produced by Robert E. Brewer. HTML version by Al Haines.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST ***
Produced by Robert E. Brewer. HTML version by Al Haines.
TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST
A Personal Narrative of Life at Sea
By
Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
With an introduction and notes by
Homer Eaton Keyes, B.L.
Assistant Professor of Art in Dartmouth College
----Crowded in the rank and narrow ship,--
Housed on the wild sea with wild usages,--
Whate'er in the inland dales the land conceals
Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing,
Do we behold of that in our rude voyage.
Coleridge's Wallenstein.
CONTENTS
Introduction
Biographical Note
California and her Missions
Bibliographical References
Diagram of Ships
Explanation of Diagram
Two Years Before the Mast
Twenty-Four Years After
INTRODUCTION
Biographical Note
Two years before the mast were but an episode in the life of Richard
Henry Dana, Jr.; yet the narrative in which he details the experiences
of that period is, perhaps, his chief claim to a wide remembrance. His
services in other than literary fields occupied the greater part of his
life, but they brought him comparatively small recognition and many
disappointments. His happiest associations were literary, his
pleasantest acquaintanceships those which arose through his fame as the
author of one book. The story of his life is one of honest and
competent effort, of sincere purpose, of many thwarted hopes. The
traditions of his family forced him into a profession for which he was
intellectually but not temperamentally fitted: he should have been a
scholar, teacher, and author; instead he became a lawyer.
Born in Cambridge, Mass., August 1, 1815, Richard Henry Dana, Jr., came
of a line of Colonial ancestors whose legal understanding and patriotic
zeal had won them distinction. His father, if possessed of less vigor
than his predecessors, was yet a man of culture and ability. He was
widely known as poet, critic, and lecturer; and endowed his son with
native qualities of intelligence, good breeding, and honesty.
After somewhat varied and troublous school days, young Dana entered
Harvard University, where he took high rank in his classes and bid fair
to make a reputation as a scholar. But at the beginning of his third
year of college a severe attack of measles interrupted his course, and
so affected his eyes as to preclude, for a time at least, all idea of
study. The state of the family finances was not such as to permit of
foreign travel in search of health. Accordingly, prompted by necessity
and by a youthful love of adventure, he shipped as a common sailor in
the brig, Pilgrim, bound for the California coast. His term of service
lasted a trifle over two years--from August, 1834, to September, 1836.
The undertaking was one calculated to kill or cure. Fortunately it had
the latter effect; and, upon returning to his native place, physically
vigorous but intellectually starved, he reentered Harvard and worked
with such enthusiasm as to graduate in six months with honor.
Then came the question of his life work. Though intensely religious,
he did not feel called to the ministry; business made no appeal; his
ancestors had been lawyers; it seemed best that he should follow where
they had led. Had conditions been those of to-day, he would naturally
have drifted into some field of scholarly research,--political science
or history. As it was, he entered law school, which, in 1840, he left
to take up the practice of his profession. But Dana had not the tact,
the personal magnetism, or the business sagacity to make a brilliant
success before the bar. Despite the fact that he had become a master
of legal theory, an authority upon international questions, and a
counsellor of unimpeachable integrity, his progress was painfully slow
and toilsome. Involved with his lack of tact and magnetism there was,
too, an admirable quality of sturdy obstinacy that often worked him
injury. Though far from sharing the radical ideas of the
Abolitionists, he was ardent in his anti-slavery ideas and did not
hesitate to espouse the unpopular doctrines of the Free-Soil party of
1848, or to labor for the freedom of those Boston negroes, who, under
the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850, were in danger of deportation to the
South.
His activity in the latter direction resulted in pecuniary loss, social
ostracism and worse; for upon one occasion he was set upon and nearly
killed by a pair of thugs. But Dana was not a man to be swerved from
his purpose by considerations of policy or of personal safety. He met
his problems as they came to him, took the course which he believed to
be right and then stuck to it with indomitable tenacity. Yet,
curiously enough, with none of the characteristics of the politician,
he longed for political preferment. At the hands of the people this
came to him in smallest measure only. Though at one time a member of
the Massachusetts Legislature, he was defeated as candidate for the
lower house of Congress, and in 1876 suffered the bitterest
disappointment of his life, when the libellous attacks of enemies
prevented the ratification of his nomination as Minister to England.
Previous to this he had served his country as United States District
Attorney during the Civil War, a time when the office demanded the
highest type of ability and uprightness. That the government
appreciated this was shown in 1867 by its choice of Dana as one of its
counsel in the prosecution of Jefferson Davis for treason. The
position of legal representative before the Halifax tribunal of 1877,
which met to discuss fishery questions at issue between the United
States and Canada, was given him no doubt in part because of his
eminent fitness, in part as balm for the wound of the preceding year.
But whatever satisfaction he may have found in such honors as time and
ripening years brought to him, his chief joy and relaxation lay in
travel. When worry and overwork began to tell upon him, he would betake
himself to shore or mountains. Upon several occasions he visited
Europe, and in 1859 made a tour of the world. At length, in 1876, he
gave up active life and took residence abroad, with the idea of finding
leisure for the preparation of a treatise on international law. He was
still engaged in collecting his material when, on January 6, 1882,
death overtook him. He was buried in Rome in the Protestant Cemetery,
whose cypresses cast their long shadows over the graves of many
distinguished foreigners who have sought a last refuge of health and
peace under the skies of Italy.
Such a career as his would seem far enough from being a failure. Yet,
in retirement, Dana looked back upon it not without regret. As a
lawyer, he had felt a justifiable desire to see his labors crowned by
his elevation to the bench; as an active participant in public affairs,
he had felt that his services and talents rendered him deserving of a
seat in Congress. Lacking these things, he might have hoped that the
practice of his profession would yield him a fortune. Here again he
was disappointed. In seeking the fulfillment of his ambitions, he was
always on the high road to success; he never quite arrived.
It is remarkable that, having written one successful book, Dana did not
seek further reward as a man of letters. Two Years before the Mast
appeared in 1840, while its author was still a law student. Though at
the time it created no great stir in the United States, it was most
favorably received in England, where it paved the way for many pleasant
and valuable acquaintanceships. The following year, Dana produced a
small volume on seamanship, entitled The Seaman's Friend. This, and a
short account of a trip to Cuba in 1859, constitute the sole additions
to his early venture. He was a copious letter-writer and kept full
journals of his various travels; but he never elaborated them for
publication. Yet, long before his death, he had seen the narrative of
his sailor days recognized as an American classic. Time has not
diminished its reputation. We read it to-day not merely for its
simple, unpretentious style; but for its clear picture of sea life
previous to the era of steam navigation, and for its graphic
description of conditions in California before visions of gold sent the
long lines of "prairie schooners" drifting across the plains to unfold
the hidden destiny of the West.
California and her Missions
It is not easy to realize that, during the stirring days when the
eastern coast-line of North America was experiencing the ferment of
revolution, the Pacific seaboard was almost totally unexplored, its
population largely a savage one. But Spain, long established in
Mexico, was slowly pushing northward along the California coast. Her
emissaries were the Franciscan friars; her method the founding of
Indian missions round which, in due course, should arise towns intended
to afford harbor for Spanish ships and to serve as outposts against the
steady encroachments of Russia, who, from Alaska, was reaching out
toward San Francisco Bay.
Thus began the white settlement of California. San Diego Mission was
founded in 1769; San Carlos, at Monterey, in 1770; San Francisco, in
1776; Santa Barbara, in 1786. For the general guardianship of these
missions a garrison, or presidio, was in each case provided. It was
responsible not only for the protection of the town thus created, but
for all the missions in the district. The presidio of San Diego, for
example, was in charge of the missions of San Diego, San Gabriel, San
Juan Capistrano, and San Luis Rey. So, likewise, there were garrisons
with extensive jurisdiction at Santa Barbara, Monterey, and San
Francisco.
The Indians in the immediate vicinity of a mission were attached
thereto by a sort of gentle enslavement. They were provided special
quarters, were carefully looked after by the priests, their religious
education fostered, and their innate laziness conquered by specific
requirements of labor in agriculture, cattle raising, and simple
handicrafts. It was an arrangement which worked well for both parties
concerned. The slavery of the Indians was not unlike the obligation of
children to their parents; they were comfortable, well behaved, and for
the most part contented with the rule of the friars, who, on their
side, began to accumulate considerable wealth from the well-directed
efforts of their charges.
The supposition was that in the course of years the Indians might
become so habituated to thrift and industry as to be released from
supervision and safely left to their own devices. But that happy
consummation had not occurred when, in 1826, Mexico succeeded in
separating herself from the mother country and began her career as an
independent republic, of which California was a part. Nevertheless,
the greed of politicians suddenly wrought the change which was to have
come as the slow development of years. By governmental decree, the
Indians were declared free of obligation to the friars; the latter were
stripped of their temporal powers, their funds seized under the guise
of a loan, and their establishments often subjected to what was little
short of pillage. This state of affairs had scarcely begun at the time
of the author's visit to California; still, as he points out in Chapter
XXI, the decline of the missions had already set in.
The final blow to their power and usefulness came, however, with the
upheaval accompanying the Mexican war and the acquisition of California
by the United States. Although this country returned all mission
buildings to the control of the Church, their reason for being had
vanished; they were sold, or destroyed, or feebly maintained on funds
insufficient to forestall dilapidation. Fortunately the Franciscan
friars had built for beauty as well as for use; the architecture which
they devised in skillful adaptation of their native Spanish type
displayed originality and picturesque charm. Hence, of late years,
Californians have come to feel a worthy pride in the monuments of the
early history of their state, and have taken steps to preserve such of
them as survive. No less than twenty-one are today the goal of the
traveller.
The reader who is interested in pursuing the subject thus outlined will
find its satisfactory treatment in George Wharton James's _In and out
of the old Missions of California,_ a book that combines agreeable
reading with excellent illustrations.
References
The author's life is fully and sympathetically treated in Charles
Francis Adams's Richard Henry Dana. Boston, 1890.
The most exhaustive history of California and the Pacific coast in
general is H. H. Bancroft's History of the Pacific States of North
America. San Francisco, 1882-1888. A briefer work is Josiah Royce's
California. Boston, 1886. Though this book considers mainly the
transition period, 1846-1856, its introduction gives an excellent
survey of earlier years. F. J. Turner's Rise of the New West, which is
volume XIV of the American Nation, New York, 1907, tells the story of
the development of the whole territory west of the Mississippi.
Those who are curious to search out all the items of ship construction
will find them adequately illustrated, under the caption, "ship," in
both Standard and Century dictionaries.
Explanation of Diagram
The following diagram, from which many details have been omitted,
presents sufficient data for an understanding of the more important
nautical terms which occur in the text. A number of other such terms
have been explained in the notes. In omitting reference to many more,
the editor has felt that ovarannotation would turn a straightforward
and interesting narrative into a mere excuse for a nautical dictionary,
and quite defeat the purpose of the book. The author's technical
vocabulary, even when most bewildering, serves to give force and the
vividness of local color to his descriptions. To pause in the midst of
a storm at sea for comment and definition would result merely in
checking the movement of the story and putting a damper upon the
imagination.
Two Years before the Mast affords the teacher a somewhat unusual
opportunity. Few literary works are better calculated to stimulate
inquiry into the remarkable changes which three-quarters of a century
have wrought in the United States. Much profitable class employment in
the drawing of maps and the writing of brief themes dealing with
various phases of the romantic history of California will suggest
itself. The numerous geographical allusions should be traced with the
aid of an atlas.
| --+--
--+-- | |j|
/| | --+--
/ |f| | |i|
/ +-- ---+---
/ /|e| | | |
/ / +--- | | h|
/ / | | ----+----
/a / |d | | | |
/__/ b +---- | | g |
/ /_____|c | \__|____\
/__/ |___| |
\------+----------+-------
\_______________________/
a. Flying jib.
b. Jib.
c. Foresail.
d. Foretopsail.
e. Foretopgallantsail.
f. Foreroyal.
g. Mainsail.
h. Maintopsail.
i. Maintopgallantsail.
j. Mainroyal.
|
|B2
| | |C2
|A2 6--+-- |
3--+-- | 9--+--
| || |
|| | ||
| 5--+-- |
2---+--- |B1 |C1
E --__ |A1 || 8---+---
--__ || | |
--| 4----+---- ||
1----+---- | 7----+---- G __--
| | | __-- /
|A |B |C F __-- \ /
D | | | __-- H\/
------______|________|________|________---------
\_______________________________/
A. Mizzenmast.
A1. Mizzentopmast.
A2. Mizzentopgallant and royalmast.
B. Mainmast.
B1. Maintopmast.
B2. Maintopgallant and royalmast.
C. Foremast.
C1. Foretopmast.
C2. Foretopgallant and royalmast.
D. Spanker boom.
E. Spanker gaff.
F. Bowsprit.
G. Jib boom and flying jib boom.
H. Martingale boom.
1. Crossjack yard.
2. Mizzentopsail yard.
3. Mizzentopgallant yard.
4. Main yard.
5. Maintopsail yard.
6. Maintopgallant yard.
7. Fore yard.
8. Foretopsail yard.
9. Foretopgallant yard.
[Editor: Many more numbered lifts, stays, and braces were left out of
these simplified diagrams. They are intended to be viewed using a
fixed-width font.]
Each mast section is joined to the lower one in two places:
| |
| |
___|_|_
\_____/ Mast cap.
| | |
| | |
| | |
_|_|_|_
\_____/ Trestletree.
| |
| |
Each mast also sports net-like rigging from the lowest trestletree to
the deck. These are called "shrouds".
TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST
CONTENTS
I DEPARTURE
II FIRST IMPRESSIONS--"SAIL HO!"
III SHIP'S DUTIES--TROPICS
IV A ROGUE--TROUBLE ON BOARD--"LAND HO!"--POMPERO--CAPE HORN
V CAPE HORN--A VISIT
VI LOSS OF A MAN--SUPERSTITION
VII JUAN FERNANDEZ--THE PACIFIC
VIII "TARRING DOWN"--DAILY LIFE--"GOING AFT"--CALIFORNIA
IX CALIFORNIA--A SOUTH-EASTER
X A SOUTH-EASTER--PASSAGE UP THE COAST
XI PASSAGE UP THE COAST--MONTEREY
XII LIFE AT MONTEREY
XIII TRADING--A BRITISH SAILOR
XIV SANTA BARBARA--HIDE-DROGHING--HARBOR DUTIES--DISCONTENT--SAN
PEDRO
XV A FLOGGING--A NIGHT ON SHORE--THE STATE OF THINGS ON
BOARD--SAN DIEGO
XVI LIBERTY-DAY ON SHORE
XVII SAN DIEGO--A DESERTION--SAN PEDRO AGAIN--BEATING THE COAST
XVIII EASTER SUNDAY--"SAIL HO!"--WHALES--SAN JUAN--ROMANCE OF
HIDE-DROGHING--SAN DIEGO AGAIN
XIX THE SANDWICH ISLANDERS--HIDE-CURING--WOOD-CUTTING--RATTLE-
SNAKES--NEW-COMERS
XX LEISURE--NEWS FROM HOME--"BURNING THE WATER"
XXI CALIFORNIA AND ITS INHABITANTS
XXII LIFE ON SHORE--THE ALERT
XXIII NEW SHIP AND SHIPMATES--MY WATCHMATE
XXIV SAN DIEGO AGAIN--A DESCENT--HURRIED DEPARTURE--A NEW SHIPMATE
XXV RUMORS OF WAR--A SPOUTER--SLIPPING FOR A SOUTH-EASTER--A GALE
XXVI SAN FRANCISCO--MONTEREY
XXVII THE SUNDAY WASH-UP--ON SHORE--A SET-TO--A GRANDEE--"SAIL
HO!"--A FANDANGO
XXVIII AN OLD FRIEND--A VICTIM--CALIFORNIA RANGERS--NEWS FROM
XXIX LOADING FOR HOME--A SURPRISE--LAST OF AN OLD FRIEND--THE LAST
HIDE--A HARD CASE--UP ANCHOR, FOR HOME!--HOMEWARD BOUND
XXX BEGINNING THE LONG RETURN VOYAGE--A SCARE
XXXI BAD PROSPECTS--FIRST TOUCH OF CAPE HORN--ICEBERGS--TEMPERANCE
SHIPS--LYING-UP--ICE--DIFFICULTY ON BOARD--CHANGE OF
COURSE--STRAITS OF MAGELLAN
XXXII ICE AGAIN--A BEAUTIFUL AFTERNOON--CAPE HORN--"LAND
HO!"--HEADING FOR HOME
XXXIII CRACKING ON--PROGRESS HOMEWARD--A PLEASANT SUNDAY--A FINE
SIGHT--BY-PLAY
XXXIV NARROW ESCAPES--THE EQUATOR--TROPICAL SQUALLS--A THUNDER STORM
XXXV A DOUBLE-REEF-TOP-SAIL BREEZE--SCURVY--A FRIEND IN
NEED--PREPARING FOR PORT--THE GULF STREAM
XXXVI SOUNDINGS--SIGHTS FROM HOME--BOSTON HARBOR--LEAVING THE SHIP
CONCLUDING CHAPTER
PREFACE
I am unwilling to present this narrative to the public without a few
words in explanation of my reasons for publishing it. Since Mr.
Cooper's Pilot and Red Rover, there have been so many stories of
sea-life written, that I should really think it unjustifiable in me to
add one to the number without being able to give reasons in some
measure warranting me in so doing.
With the single exception, as I am quite confident, of Mr. Ames's
entertaining, but hasty and desultory work, called "Mariner's
Sketches," all the books professing to give life at sea have been
written by persons who have gained their experience as naval officers,
or passengers, and of these, there are very few which are intended to
be taken as narratives of facts.
Now, in the first place, the whole course of life, and daily duties,
the discipline, habits and customs of a man-of-war are very different
from those of the merchant service; and in the next place, however
entertaining and well written these books may be, and however
accurately they may give sea-life as it appears to their authors, it
must still be plain to every one that a naval officer, who goes to sea
as a gentleman, "with his gloves on," (as the phrase is,) and who
associated only with his fellow-officers, and hardly speaks to a sailor
except through a boatswain's mate, must take a very different view of
the whole matter from that which would be taken by a common sailor.
Besides the interest which every one must feel in exhibitions of life
in those forms in which he himself has never experienced it; there has
been, of late years, a great deal of attention directed toward common
seamen, and a strong sympathy awakened in their behalf. Yet I believe
that, with the single exception which I have mentioned, there has not
been a book written, professing to give their life and experiences, by
one who has been of them, and can know what their life really is. A
voice from the forecastle has hardly yet been heard.
In the following pages I design to give an accurate and authentic
narrative of a little more than two years spent as a common sailor,
before the mast, in the American merchant service. It is written out
from a journal which I kept at the time, and from notes which I made of
most of the events as they happened; and in it I have adhered closely
to fact in every particular, and endeavored to give each thing its true
character. In so doing, I have been obliged occasionally to use strong
and coarse expressions, and in some instances to give scenes which may
be painful to nice feelings; but I have very carefully avoided doing
so, whenever I have not felt them essential to giving the true
character of a scene. My design is, and it is this which has induced me
to publish the book, to present the life of a common sailor at sea as
it really is,--the light and the dark together.
There may be in some parts a good deal that is unintelligible to the
general reader; but I have found from my own experience, and from what
I have heard from others, that plain matters of fact in relation to
customs and habits of life new to us, and descriptions of life under
new aspects, act upon the inexperienced through the imagination, so
that we are hardly aware of our want of technical knowledge. Thousands
read the escape of the American frigate through the British channel,
and the chase and wreck of the Bristol trader in the Red Rover, and
follow the minute nautical manoeuvres with breathless interest, who do
not know the name of a rope in the ship; and perhaps with none the less
admiration and enthusiasm for their want of acquaintance with the
professional detail.
In preparing this narrative I have carefully avoided incorporating into
it any impressions but those made upon me by the events as they
occurred, leaving to my concluding chapter, to which I shall
respectfully call the reader's attention, those views which have been
suggested to me by subsequent reflection.
These reasons, and the advice of a few friends, have led me to give
this narrative to the press. If it shall interest the general reader,
and call more attention to the welfare of seamen, or give any
information as to their real condition, which may serve to raise them
in the rank of beings, and to promote in any measure their religious
and moral improvement, and diminish the hardships of their daily life,
the end of its publication will be answered.
R.H.D., Jr.
Boston, July, 1840.
CHAPTER I
DEPARTURE
The fourteenth of August was the day fixed upon for the sailing of the
brig Pilgrim on her voyage from Boston round Cape Horn to the western
coast of North America. As she was to get under weigh early in the
afternoon, I made my appearance on board at twelve o'clock, in full
sea-rig, and with my chest, containing an outfit for a two or three
year voyage, which I had undertaken from a determination to cure, if
possible, by an entire change of life, and by a long absence from books
and study, a weakness of the eyes, which had obliged me to give up my
pursuits, and which no medical aid seemed likely to cure.
The change from the tight dress coat, silk cap, and kid gloves of an
undergraduate at Cambridge, to the loose duck trowsers, checked shirt
and tarpaulin hat of a sailor, though somewhat of a transformation, was
soon made, and I supposed that I should pass very well for a jack tar.
But it is impossible to deceive the practised eye in these matters; and
while I supposed myself to be looking as salt as Neptune himself, I
was, no doubt, known for a landsman by every one on board as soon as I
hove in sight. A sailor has a peculiar cut to his clothes, and a way
of wearing them which a green hand can never get. The trowsers, tight
round the hips, and thence hanging long and loose round the feet, a
superabundance of checked shirt, a low-crowned, well varnished black
hat, worn on the back of the head, with half a fathom of black ribbon
hanging over the left eye, and a peculiar tie to the black silk
neckerchief, with sundry other minutiae, are signs, the want of which
betray the beginner at once. Beside the points in my dress which were
out of the way, doubtless my complexion and hands were enough to
distinguish me from the regular salt, who, with a sun-burnt cheek, wide
step, and rolling gait, swings his bronzed and toughened hands
athwart-ships, half open, as though just ready to grasp a rope.
"With all my imperfections on my head," I joined the crew, and we
hauled out into the stream, and came to anchor for the night. The next
day we were employed in preparations for sea, reeving studding-sail
gear, crossing royal yards, putting on chafing gear, and taking on
board our powder. On the following night, I stood my first watch. I
remained awake nearly all the first part of the night from fear that I
might not hear when I was called; and when I went on deck, so great
were my ideas of the importance of my trust, that I walked regularly
fore and aft the whole length of the vessel, looking out over the bows
and taffrail at each turn, and was not a little surprised at the
coolness of the old salt whom I called to take my place, in stowing
himself snugly away under the long boat, for a nap. That was
sufficient lookout, he thought, for a fine night, at anchor in a safe
harbor.
The next morning was Saturday, and a breeze having sprung up from the
southward, we took a pilot on board, hove up our anchor, and began
beating down the bay. I took leave of those of my friends who came to
see me off, and had barely opportunity to take a last look at the city,
and well-known objects, as no time is allowed on board ship for
sentiment. As we drew down into the lower harbor, we found the wind
ahead in the bay, and were obliged to come to anchor in the roads. We
remained there through the day and a part of the night. My watch began
at eleven o'clock at night, and I received orders to call the captain
if the wind came out from the westward. About midnight the wind became
fair, and having called the captain, I was ordered to call all hands.
How I accomplished this I do not know, but I am quite sure I did not
give the true hoarse, boatswain call of "A-a-ll ha-a-a-nds! up anchor,
a-ho-oy!" In a short time every one was in motion, the sails loosed,
the yards braced, and we began to heave up the anchor, which was our
last hold upon Yankee land. I could take but little part in all these
preparations. My little knowledge of a vessel was all at fault.
Unintelligible orders were so rapidly given and so immediately
executed; there was such a hurrying about, and such an intermingling of
strange cries and stranger actions, that I was completely bewildered.
There is not so helpless and pitiable an object in the world as a
landsman beginning a sailor's life. At length those peculiar,
long-drawn sounds, which denote that the crew are heaving the windlass,
began, and in a few moments we were under weigh. The noise of the
water thrown from the bows began to be heard, the vessel leaned over
from the damp night breeze, and rolled with the heavy ground swell, and
we had actually begun our long, long journey. This was literally
bidding "good night" to my native land.
CHAPTER II
FIRST IMPRESSIONS--"SAIL HO!"
The first day we passed at sea was the Sabbath. As we were just from
port, and there was a great deal to be done on board, we were kept at
work all day, and at night the watches were set, and everything put
into sea order. When we were called aft to be divided into watches, I
had a good specimen of the manner of a sea captain. After the division
had been made, he gave a short characteristic speech, walking the
quarter deck with a cigar in his mouth, and dropping the words out
between the puffs.
"Now, my men, we have begun a long voyage. If we get along well
together, we shall have a comfortable time; if we don't, we shall have
hell afloat.--All you've got to do is to obey your orders and do your
duty like men,--then you'll fare well enough;--if you don't, you'll
fare hard enough,--I can tell you. If we pull together, you'll find me
a clever fellow; if we don't, you'll find me a bloody rascal.--That's
all I've got to say.--Go below, the larboard watch!"
I being in the starboard or second mate's watch, had the opportunity of
keeping the first watch at sea. S----, a young man, making, like
myself, his first voyage, was in the same watch, and as he was the son
of a professional man, and had been in a counting-room in Boston, we
found that we had many friends and topics in common. We talked these
matters over,--Boston, what our friends were probably doing, our
voyage, etc., until he went to take his turn at the look-out, and left
me to myself. I had now a fine time for reflection. I felt for the
first time the perfect silence of the sea. The officer was walking the
quarter deck, where I had no right to go, one or two men were talking
on the forecastle, whom I had little inclination to join, so that I was
left open to the full impression of everything about me. However much I
was affected by the beauty of the sea, the bright stars, and the clouds
driven swiftly over them, I could not but remember that I was
separating myself from all the social and intellectual enjoyments of
life. Yet, strange as it may seem, I did then and afterwards take
pleasure in these reflections, hoping by them to prevent my becoming
insensible to the value of what I was leaving.
But all my dreams were soon put to flight by an order from the officer
to trim the yards, as the wind was getting ahead; and I could plainly
see by the looks the sailors occasionally cast to windward, and by the
dark clouds that were fast coming up, that we had bad weather to
prepare for, and had heard the captain say that he expected to be in
the Gulf Stream by twelve o'clock. In a few minutes eight bells were
struck, the watch called, and we went below. I now began to feel the
first discomforts of a sailor's life. The steerage in which I lived was
filled with coils of rigging, spare sails, old junk and ship stores,
which had not been stowed away. Moreover, there had been no berths
built for us to sleep in, and we were not allowed to drive nails to
hang our clothes upon. The sea, too, had risen, the vessel was rolling
heavily, and everything was pitched about in grand confusion. There
was a complete "hurrah's nest," as the sailors say, "everything on top
and nothing at hand." A large hawser had been coiled away upon my
chest; my hats, boots, mattress and blankets had all fetched away and
gone over to leeward, and were jammed and broken under the boxes and
coils of rigging. To crown all, we were allowed no light to find
anything with, and I was just beginning to feel strong symptoms of
sea-sickness, and that listlessness and inactivity which accompany it.
Giving up all attempts to collect my things together, I lay down upon
the sails, expecting every moment to hear the cry of "all hands, ahoy,"
which the approaching storm would soon make necessary. I shortly heard
the rain-drops falling on deck, thick and fast, and the watch evidently
had their hands full of work, for I could hear the loud and repeated
orders of the mate, the trampling of feet, the creaking of blocks, and
all the accompaniments of a coming storm. In a few minutes the slide
of the hatch was thrown back, which let down the noise and tumult of
the deck still louder, the loud cry of "All hands, ahoy! tumble up here
and take in sail," saluted our ears, and the hatch was quickly shut
again. When I got upon deck, a new scene and a new experience were
before me. The little brig was close hauled upon the wind, and lying
over, as it then seemed to me, nearly upon her beam ends. The heavy
head sea was beating against her bows with the noise and force almost
of a sledge-hammer, and flying over the deck, drenching us completely
through. The topsail halyards had been let go, and the great sails
filling out and backing against the masts with a noise like thunder.
The wind was whistling through the rigging, loose ropes flying about;
loud and, to me, unintelligible orders constantly given and rapidly
executed, and the sailors "singing out" at the ropes in their hoarse
and peculiar strains. In addition to all this, I had not got my "sea
legs on," was dreadfully sick, with hardly strength enough to hold on
to anything, and it was "pitch dark." This was my state when I was
ordered aloft, for the first time, to reef topsails.
How I got along, I cannot now remember. I "laid out" on the yards and
held on with all my strength. I could not have been of much service,
for I remember having been sick several times before I left the topsail
yard. Soon all was snug aloft, and we were again allowed to go below.
This I did not consider much of a favor, for the confusion of
everything below, and that inexpressible sickening smell, caused by the
shaking up of the bilge-water in the hold, made the steerage but an
indifferent refuge from the cold, wet decks. I had often read of the
nautical experiences of others, but I felt as though there could be
none worse than mine; for in addition to every other evil, I could not
but remember that this was only the first night of a two years' voyage.
When we were on deck we were not much better off, for we were
continually ordered about by the officer, who said that it was good for
us to be in motion. Yet anything was better than the horrible state of
things below. I remember very well going to the hatchway and putting my
head down, when I was oppressed by nausea, and always being relieved
immediately. It was as good as an emetic.
This state of things continued for two days.
Wednesday, Aug. 20th. We had the watch on deck from four till eight,
this morning. When we came on deck at four o'clock, we found things
much changed for the better. The sea and wind had gone down, and the
stars were out bright. I experienced a corresponding change in my
feelings; yet continued extremely weak from my sickness. I stood in
the waist on the weather side, watching the gradual breaking of the
day, and the first streaks of the early light. Much has been said of
the sun-rise at sea; but it will not compare with the sun-rise on
shore. It wants the accompaniments of the songs of birds, the awakening
hum of men, and the glancing of the first beams upon trees, hills,
spires, and house-tops, to give it life and spirit. But though the
actual rise of the sun at sea is not so beautiful, yet nothing will
compare with the early breaking of day upon the wide ocean.
There is something in the first grey streaks stretching along the
eastern horizon and throwing an indistinct light upon the face of the
deep, which combines with the boundlessness and unknown depth of the
sea around you, and gives one a feeling of loneliness, of dread, and of
melancholy foreboding, which nothing else in nature can give. This
gradually passes away as the light grows brighter, and when the sun
comes up, the ordinary monotonous sea day begins.
From such reflections as these, I was aroused by the order from the
officer, "Forward there! rig the head-pump!" I found that no time was
allowed for day-dreaming, but that we must "turn-to" at the first
light. Having called up the "idlers," namely carpenter, cook, steward,
etc., and rigged the pump, we commenced washing down the decks. This
operation, which is performed every morning at sea, takes nearly two
hours; and I had hardly strength enough to get through it. After we
had finished, swabbed down, and coiled up the rigging, I sat down on
the spars, waiting for seven bells, which was the sign for breakfast.
The officer, seeing my lazy posture, ordered me to slush the main-mast,
from the royal-mast-head, down. The vessel was then rolling a little,
and I had taken no sustenance for three days, so that I felt tempted to
tell him that I had rather wait till after breakfast; but I knew that I
must "take the bull by the horns," and that if I showed any sign of
want of spirit or of backwardness, that I should be ruined at once. So
I took my bucket of grease and climbed up to the royal-mast-head. Here
the rocking of the vessel, which increases the higher you go from the
foot of the mast, which is the fulcrum of the lever, and the smell of
the grease, which offended my fastidious senses, upset my stomach
again, and I was not a little rejoiced when I got upon the comparative
terra firma of the deck. In a few minutes seven bells were struck, the
log hove, the watch called, and we went to breakfast. Here I cannot but
remember the advice of the cook, a simple-hearted African. "Now," says
he, "my lad, you are well cleaned out; you haven't got a drop of your
'long-shore swash aboard of you. You must begin on a new tack,--pitch
all your sweetmeats overboard, and turn-to upon good hearty salt beef
and sea bread, and I'll promise you, you'll have your ribs well
sheathed, and be as hearty as any of 'em, afore you are up to the
Horn." This would be good advice to give to passengers, when they
speak of the little niceties which they have laid in, in case of
sea-sickness.
I cannot describe the change which half a pound of cold salt beef and a
biscuit or two produced in me. I was a new being. We had a watch
below until noon, so that I had some time to myself; and getting a huge
piece of strong, cold, salt beef from the cook, I kept gnawing upon it
until twelve o'clock. When we went on deck I felt somewhat like a man,
and could begin to learn my sea duty with considerable spirit. At
about two o'clock we heard the loud cry of "sail ho!" from aloft, and
soon saw two sails to windward, going directly athwart our hawse. This
was the first time that I had seen a sail at sea. I thought then, and
always have since, that it exceeds every other sight in interest and
beauty. They passed to leeward of us, and out of hailing distance; but
the captain could read the names on their sterns with the glass. They
were the ship Helen Mar, of New York, and the brig Mermaid, of Boston.
They were both steering westward, and were bound in for our "dear
native land."
Thursday, Aug. 21st. This day the sun rose clear, we had a fine wind,
and everything was bright and cheerful. I had now got my sea legs on,
and was beginning to enter upon the regular duties of a sea-life.
About six bells, that is, three o'clock, P.M., we saw a sail on our
larboard bow. I was very anxious, like every new sailor, to speak her.
She came down to us, backed her main-top-sail, and the two vessels
stood "head on," bowing and curvetting at each other like a couple of
war-horses reined in by their riders. It was the first vessel that I
had seen near, and I was surprised to find how much she rolled and
pitched in so quiet a sea. She lunged her head into the sea, and then,
her stern settling gradually down, her huge bows rose up, showing the
bright copper, and her stern, and bresthooks dripping, like old
Neptune's locks, with the brine. Her decks were filled with passengers
who had come up at the cry of "sail ho," and who by their dress and
features appeared to be Swiss and French emigrants. She hailed us at
first in French, but receiving no answer, she tried us in English. She
was the ship La Carolina, from Havre, for New York. We desired her to
report the brig Pilgrim, from Boston, for the north-west coast of
America, five days out. She then filled away and left us to plough on
through our waste of waters. This day ended pleasantly; we had got
into regular and comfortable weather, and into that routine of sea-life
which is only broken by a storm, a sail, or the sight of land.
CHAPTER III
SHIP'S DUTIES--TROPICS
As we had now a long "spell" of fine weather, without any incident to
break the monotony of our lives, there can be no better place to
describe the duties, regulations, and customs of an American
merchantman, of which ours was a fair specimen.
The captain, in the first place, is lord paramount. He stands no
watch, comes and goes when he pleases, and is accountable to no one,
and must be obeyed in everything, without a question, even from his
chief officer. He has the power to turn his officers off duty, and even
to break them and make them do duty as sailors in the forecastle. When
there are no passengers and no supercargo, as in our vessel, he has no
companion but his own dignity, and no pleasures, unless he differs from
most of his kind, but the consciousness of possessing supreme power,
and, occasionally, the exercise of it.
The prime minister, the official organ, and the active and
superintending officer, is the chief mate. He is first lieutenant,
boatswain, sailing-master, and quarter-master. The captain tells him
what he wishes to have done, and leaves to him the care of overseeing,
of allotting the work, and also the responsibility of its being well
done. The mate (as he is always called, par excellence) also keeps the
log-book, for which he is responsible to the owners and insurers, and
has the charge of the stowage, safe keeping, and delivery of the cargo.
He is also, ex-officio, the wit of the crew; for the captain does not
condescend to joke with the men, and the second mate no one cares for;
so that when "the mate" thinks fit to entertain "the people" with a
coarse joke or a little practical wit, every one feels bound to laugh.
The second mate's is proverbially a dog's berth. He is neither officer
nor man. The men do not respect him as an officer, and he is obliged
to go aloft to reef and furl the topsails, and to put his hands into
the tar and slush, with the rest. The crew call him the "sailor's
waiter," as he has to furnish them with spun-yarn, marline, and all
other stuffs that they need in their work, and has charge of the
boatswain's locker, which includes serving-boards, marline-spikes, etc.
He is expected by the captain to maintain his dignity and to enforce
obedience, and still is kept at a great distance from the mate, and
obliged to work with the crew. He is one to whom little is given and
of whom much is required. His wages are usually double those of a
common sailor, and he eats and sleeps in the cabin; but he is obliged
to be on deck nearly all the time, and eats at the second table, that
is, makes a meal out of what the captain and chief mate leave.
The steward is the captain's servant, and has charge of the pantry,
from which every one, even the mate himself, is excluded. These
distinctions usually find him an enemy in the mate, who does not like
to have any one on board who is not entirely under his control; the
crew do not consider him as one of their number, so he is left to the
mercy of the captain.
The cook is the patron of the crew, and those who are in his favor can
get their wet mittens and stockings dried, or light their pipes at the
galley on the night watch. These two worthies, together with the
carpenter and sailmaker, if there be one, stand no watch, but, being
employed all day, are allowed to "sleep in" at night, unless all hands
are called.
The crew are divided into two divisions, as equally as may be, called
the watches. Of these the chief mate commands the larboard, and the
second mate the starboard. They divide the time between them, being on
and off duty, or, as it is called, on deck and below, every other four
hours. If, for instance, the chief mate with the larboard watch have
the first night-watch from eight to twelve; at the end of the four
hours, the starboard watch is called, and the second mate takes the
deck, while the larboard watch and the first mate go below until four
in the morning, when they come on deck again and remain until eight;
having what is called the morning watch. As they will have been on
deck eight hours out of the twelve, while those who had the middle
watch--from twelve to four, will only have been up four hours, they
have what is called a "forenoon watch below," that is, from eight,
A.M., till twelve, M. In a man-of-war, and in some merchantmen, this
alteration of watches is kept up throughout the twenty-four hours; but
our ship, like most merchantmen, had "all hands" from twelve o'clock
till dark, except in bad weather, when we had "watch and watch."
An explanation of the "dog watches" may, perhaps, be of use to one who
has never been at sea. They are to shift the watches each night, so
that the same watch need not be on deck at the same hours. In order to
effect this, the watch from four to eight, P.M., is divided into two
half, or dog watches, one from four to six, and the other from six to
eight. By this means they divide the twenty-four hours into seven
watches instead of six, and thus shift the hours every night. As the
dog watches come during twilight, after the day's work is done, and
before the night watch is set, they are the watches in which everybody
is on deck. The captain is up, walking on the weather side of the
quarter-deck, the chief mate is on the lee side, and the second mate
about the weather gangway. The steward has finished his work in the
cabin, and has come up to smoke his pipe with the cook in the galley.
The crew are sitting on the windlass or lying on the forecastle,
smoking, singing, or telling long yarns. At eight o'clock, eight bells
are struck, the log is hove, the watch set, the wheel relieved, the
galley shut up, and the other watch goes below.
The morning commences with the watch on deck's "turning-to" at
day-break and washing down, scrubbing, and swabbing the decks. This,
together with filling the "scuttled butt" with fresh water, and coiling
up the rigging, usually occupies the time until seven bells, (half
after seven,) when all hands get breakfast. At eight, the day's work
begins, and lasts until sun-down, with the exception of an hour for
dinner.
Before I end my explanations, it may be well to define a day's work,
and to correct a mistake prevalent among landsmen about a sailor's
life. Nothing is more common than to hear people say--"Are not sailors
very idle at sea?--what can they find to do?" This is a very natural
mistake, and being very frequently made, it is one which every sailor
feels interested in having corrected. In the first place, then, the
discipline of the ship requires every man to be at work upon something
when he is on deck, except at night and on Sundays. Except at these
times, you will never see a man, on board a well-ordered vessel,
standing idle on deck, sitting down, or leaning over the side. It is
the officers' duty to keep every one at work, even if there is nothing
to be done but to scrape the rust from the chain cables. In no state
prison are the convicts more regularly set to work, and more closely
watched. No conversation is allowed among the crew at their duty, and
though they frequently do talk when aloft, or when near one another,
yet they always stop when an officer is nigh.
With regard to the work upon which the men are put, it is a matter
which probably would not be understood by one who has not been at sea.
When I first left port, and found that we were kept regularly employed
for a week or two, I supposed that we were getting the vessel into sea
trim, and that it would soon be over, and we should have nothing to do
but sail the ship; but I found that it continued so for two years, and
at the end of the two years there was as much to be done as ever. As
has often been said, a ship is like a lady's watch, always out of
repair. When first leaving port, studding-sail gear is to be rove, all
the running rigging to be examined, that which is unfit for use to be
got down, and new rigging rove in its place: then the standing rigging
is to be overhauled, replaced, and repaired, in a thousand different
ways; and wherever any of the numberless ropes or the yards are chafing
or wearing upon it, there "chafing gear," as it is called, must be put
on. This chafing gear consists of worming, parcelling, roundings,
battens, and service of all kinds--both rope-yarns, spun-yarn, marline
and seizing-stuffs. Taking off, putting on, and mending the chafing
gear alone, upon a vessel, would find constant employment for two or
three men, during working hours, for a whole voyage.
The next point to be considered is, that all the "small stuffs" which
are used on board a ship--such as spun-yarn, marline, seizing-stuff,
etc.--are made on board. The owners of a vessel buy up incredible
quantities of "old junk," which the sailors unlay, after drawing out
the yarns, knot them together, and roll them up in balls. These
"rope-yarns" are constantly used for various purposes, but the greater
part is manufactured into spun-yarn. For this purpose every vessel is
furnished with a "spun-yarn winch;" which is very simple, consisting of
a wheel and spindle. This may be heard constantly going on deck in
pleasant weather; and we had employment, during a great part of the
time, for three hands in drawing and knotting yarns, and making them
spun-yarn.
Another method of employing the crew is, "setting up" rigging. Whenever
any of the standing rigging becomes slack, (which is continually
happening), the seizings and coverings must be taken off, tackles got
up, and after the rigging is bowsed well taut, the seizings and
coverings replaced; which is a very nice piece of work. There is also
such a connection between different parts of a vessel, that one rope
can seldom be touched without altering another. You cannot stay a mast
aft by the back stays, without slacking up the head stays, etc. If we
add to this all the tarring, greasing, oiling, varnishing, painting,
scraping, and scrubbing which is required in the course of a long
voyage, and also remember this is all to be done in addition to
watching at night, steering, reefing, furling, bracing, making and
setting sail, and pulling, hauling, and climbing in every direction,
one will hardly ask, "What can a sailor find to do at sea?"
If, after all this labor--after exposing their lives and limbs in
storms, wet and cold,
"Wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch;
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their fur dry;--"
the merchants and captain think that they have not earned their twelve
dollars a month, (out of which they clothe themselves,) and their salt
beef and hard bread, they keep them picking oakum--ad infinitum. This
is the usual resource upon a rainy day, for then it will not do to work
upon rigging; and when it is pouring down in floods, instead of letting
the sailors stand about in sheltered places, and talk, and keep
themselves comfortable, they are separated to different parts of the
ship and kept at work picking oakum. I have seen oakum stuff placed
about in different parts of the ship, so that the sailors might not be
idle in the snatches between the frequent squalls upon crossing the
equator. Some officers have been so driven to find work for the crew
in a ship ready for sea, that they have set them to pounding the
anchors (often done) and scraping the chain cables. The "Philadelphia
Catechism" is,
"Six days shalt thou labor and do all thou art able,
And on the seventh--holystone the decks and scrape the cable."
This kind of work, of course, is not kept up off Cape Horn, Cape of
Good Hope, and in extreme north and south latitudes; but I have seen
the decks washed down and scrubbed, when the water would have frozen if
it had been fresh; and all hands kept at work upon the rigging, when we
had on our pea-jackets, and our hands so numb that we could hardly hold
our marline-spikes.
I have here gone out of my narrative course in order that any who read
this may form as correct an idea of a sailor's life and duty as
possible. I have done it in this place because, for some time, our
life was nothing but the unvarying repetition of these duties, which
can be better described together. Before leaving this description,
however, I would state, in order to show landsmen how little they know
of the nature of a ship, that a ship-carpenter is kept in constant
employ during good weather on board vessels which are in, what is
called, perfect sea order.
CHAPTER IV
A ROGUE--TROUBLE ON BOARD--"LAND HO!"--POMPERO--CAPE HORN
After speaking the Carolina, on the 21st August, nothing occurred to
break the monotony of our life until
Friday, September 5th, when we saw a sail on our weather (starboard)
beam. She proved to be a brig under English colors, and passing under
our stern, reported herself as forty-nine days from Buenos Ayres, bound
to Liverpool. Before she had passed us, "sail ho!" was cried again,
and we made another sail, far on our weather bow, and steering athwart
our hawse. She passed out of hail, but we made her out to be an
hermaphrodite brig, with Brazilian colors in her main rigging. By her
course, she must have been bound from Brazil to the south of Europe,
probably Portugal.
Sunday, Sept. 7th. Fell in with the north-east trade winds. This
morning we caught our first dolphin, which I was very eager to see. I
was disappointed in the colors of this fish when dying. They were
certainly very beautiful, but not equal to what has been said of them.
They are too indistinct. To do the fish justice, there is nothing more
beautiful than the dolphin when swimming a few feet below the surface,
on a bright day. It is the most elegantly formed, and also the
quickest fish, in salt water; and the rays of the sun striking upon it,
in its rapid and changing motions, reflected from the water, make it
look like a stray beam from a rainbow.
This day was spent like all pleasant Sabbaths at sea. The decks are
washed down, the rigging coiled up, and everything put in order; and
throughout the day, only one watch is kept on deck at a time. The men
are all dressed in their best white duck trowsers, and red or checked
shirts, and have nothing to do but to make the necessary changes in the
sails. They employ themselves in reading, talking, smoking, and
mending their clothes. If the weather is pleasant, they bring their
work and their books upon deck, and sit down upon the forecastle and
windlass. This is the only day on which these privileges are allowed
them. When Monday comes, they put on their tarry trowsers again, and
prepare for six days of labor.
To enhance the value of the Sabbath to the crew, they are allowed on
that day a pudding, or, as it is called, a "duff." This is nothing
more than flour boiled with water, and eaten with molasses. It is very
heavy, dark, and clammy, yet it is looked upon as a luxury, and really
forms an agreeable variety with salt beef and pork. Many a rascally
captain has made friends of his crew by allowing them duff twice a week
on the passage home.
On board some vessels this is made a day of instruction and of
religious exercises; but we had a crew of swearers, from the captain to
the smallest boy; and a day of rest, and of something like quiet,
social enjoyment, was all that we could expect.
We continued running large before the north-east trade winds for
several days, until Monday--
September 22d; when, upon coming on deck at seven bells in the morning,
we found the other watch aloft throwing water upon the sails; and
looking astern, we saw a small clipper-built brig with a black hull
heading directly after us. We went to work immediately, and put all
the canvas upon the brig which we could get upon her, rigging out oars
for studding-sail yards; and continued wetting down the sails by
buckets of water whipped up to the mast-head, until about nine o'clock,
when there came on a drizzling rain. The vessel continued in pursuit,
changing her course as we changed ours, to keep before the wind. The
captain, who watched her with his glass, said that she was armed, and
full of men, and showed no colors. We continued running dead before
the wind, knowing that we sailed better so, and that clippers are
fastest on the wind. We had also another advantage. The wind was
light, and we spread more canvas than she did, having royals and
sky-sails fore and aft, and ten studding-sails; while she, being an
hermaphrodite brig, had only a gaff topsail, aft. Early in the morning
she was overhauling us a little, but after the rain came on and the
wind grew lighter, we began to leave her astern. All hands remained on
deck throughout the day, and we got our arms in order; but we were too
few to have done anything with her, if she had proved to be what we
feared. Fortunately there was no moon, and the night which followed was
exceedingly dark, so that by putting out all the lights and altering
our course four points, we hoped to get out of her reach. We had no
light in the binnacle, but steered by the stars, and kept perfect
silence through the night. At daybreak there was no sign of anything
in the horizon, and we kept the vessel off to her course.
Wednesday, October 1st. Crossed the equator in long. 24° 24' W. I now,
for the first time, felt at liberty, according to the old usage, to
call myself a son of Neptune, and was very glad to be able to claim the
title without the disagreeable initiation which so many have to go
through. After once crossing the line you can never be subjected to
the process, but are considered as a son of Neptune, with full powers
to play tricks upon others. This ancient custom is now seldom allowed,
unless there are passengers on board, in which case there is always a
good deal of sport.
It had been obvious to all hands for some time that the second mate,
whose name was F----, was an idle, careless fellow, and not much of a
sailor, and that the captain was exceedingly dissatisfied with him. The
power of the captain in these cases was well known, and we all
anticipated a difficulty. F---- (called Mr. by virtue of his office)
was but half a sailor, having always been short voyages and remained at
home a long time between them. His father was a man of some property,
and intended to have given his son a liberal education; but he, being
idle and worthless, was sent off to sea, and succeeded no better there;
for, unlike many scamps, he had none of the qualities of a sailor--he
was "not of the stuff that they make sailor of." He was one of that
class of officers who are disliked by their captain and despised by the
crew. He used to hold long yarns with the crew, and talk about the
captain, and play with the boys, and relax discipline in every way.
This kind of conduct always makes the captain suspicious, and is never
pleasant, in the end, to the men; they preferring to have an officer
active, vigilant, and distant as may be, with kindness. Among other
bad practices, he frequently slept on his watch, and having been
discovered asleep by the captain, he was told that he would be turned
off duty if he did it again. To prevent it in every way possible, the
hen-coops were ordered to be knocked up, for the captain never sat down
on deck himself, and never permitted an officer to do so.
The second night after crossing the equator, we had the watch from
eight till twelve, and it was "my helm" for the last two hours. There
had been light squalls through the night, and the captain told Mr.
F----, who commanded our watch, to keep a bright look-out. Soon after I
came to the helm, I found that he was quite drowsy, and at last he
stretched himself on the companion and went fast asleep. Soon
afterwards, the captain came very quietly on deck, and stood by me for
some time looking at the compass. The officer at length became aware
of the captain's presence, but pretending not to know it, began humming
and whistling to himself, to show that he was not asleep, and went
forward, without looking behind him, and ordered the main royal to be
loosed. On turning round to come aft, he pretended surprise at seeing
the master on deck. This would not do. The captain was too "wide
awake" for him, and beginning upon him at once, gave him a grand
blow-up, in true nautical style--"You're a lazy, good-for-nothing
rascal; you're neither man, boy, soger, nor sailor! you're no more than
a thing aboard a vessel! you don't earn your salt! you're worse than a
Mahon soger!" and other still more choice extracts from the sailor's
vocabulary. After the poor fellow had taken the harangue, he was sent
into his state-room, and the captain stood the rest of the watch
himself.
At seven bells in the morning, all hands were called aft and told that
F---- was no longer an officer on board, and that we might choose one
of our own number for second mate. It is usual for the captain to make
this offer, and it is very good policy, for the crew think themselves
the choosers and are flattered by it, but have to obey, nevertheless.
Our crew, as is usual, refused to take the responsibility of choosing a
man of whom we would never be able to complain, and left it to the
captain. He picked out an active and intelligent young sailor, born
near the Kennebee, who had been several Canton voyages, and proclaimed
him in the following manner: "I choose Jim Hall--he's your second mate.
All you've got to do is, to obey him as you would me; and remember that
he is Mr. Hall." F---- went forward into the forecastle as a common
sailor, and lost the handle to his name, while young fore-mast Jim
became Mr. Hall, and took up his quarters in the land of knives and
forks and tea-cups.
Sunday, October 5th. It was our morning watch; when, soon after the
day began to break, a man on the forecastle called out, "Land ho!" I
had never heard the cry before, and did not know what it meant, (and
few would suspect what the words were, when hearing the strange sound
for the first time,) but I soon found, by the direction of all eyes,
that there was land stretching along our weather beam. We immediately
took in studding-sails and hauled our wind, running in for the land.
This was done to determine our longitude; for by the captain's
chronometer we were in 25º W., but by his observations we were much
farther, and he had been for some time in doubt whether it was his
chronometer or his sextant which was out of order. This land-fall
settled the matter, and the former instrument was condemned, and
becoming still worse, was never afterwards used.
As we ran in towards the coast, we found that we were directly off the
port of Pernambuco, and could see with the telescope the roofs of the
houses, and one large church, and the town of Olinda. We ran along by
the mouth of the harbor, and saw a full-rigged brig going in. At two,
P.M., we again kept off before the wind, leaving the land on our
quarter, and at sun-down, it was out of sight. It was here that I
first saw one of those singular things called catamarans. They are
composed of logs lashed together upon the water; have one large sail,
are quite fast, and, strange as it may seem, are trusted as good sea
boats. We saw several, with from one to three men in each, boldly
putting out to sea, after it had become almost dark. The Indians go out
in them after fish, and as the weather is regular in certain seasons,
they have no fear. After taking a new departure from Olinda, we kept
off on our way to Cape Horn.
We met with nothing remarkable until we were in the latitude of the
river La Plata. Here there are violent gales from the south-west,
called Pomperos, which are very destructive to the shipping in the
river, and are felt for many leagues at sea. They are usually preceded
by lightning. The captain told the mates to keep a bright look-out,
and if they saw lightning at the south-west, to take in sail at once.
We got the first touch of one during my watch on deck. I was walking in
the lee gangway, and thought that I saw lightning on the lee bow. I
told the second mate, who came over and looked out for some time. It
was very black in the south-west, and in about ten minutes we saw a
distinct flash. The wind, which had been south-east, had now left us,
and it was dead calm. We sprang aloft immediately and furled the
royals and top-gallant-sails, and took in the flying jib, hauled up the
mainsail and trysail, squared the after yards, and awaited the attack.
A huge mist capped with black clouds came driving towards us, extending
over that quarter of the horizon, and covering the stars, which shone
brightly in the other part of the heavens. It came upon us at once
with a blast, and a shower of hail and rain, which almost took our
breath from us. The hardiest was obliged to turn his back. We let the
halyards run, and fortunately were not taken aback. The little vessel
"paid off" from the wind, and ran on for some time directly before it,
tearing through the water with everything flying. Having called all
hands, we close-reefed the topsails and trysail, furled the courses and
job, set the fore-top-mast staysail, and brought her up nearly to her
course, with the weather braces hauled in a little, to ease her.
This was the first blow, that I had seen, which could really be called
a gale. We had reefed our topsails in the Gulf Stream, and I thought
it something serious, but an older sailor would have thought nothing of
it. As I had now become used to the vessel and to my duty, I was of
some service on a yard, and could knot my reef-point as well as
anybody. I obeyed the order to lay[1] aloft with the rest, and found
the reefing a very exciting scene; for one watch reefed the
fore-topsail, and the other the main, and every one did his utmost to
get his topsail hoisted first. We had a great advantage over the
larboard watch, because the chief mate never goes aloft, while our new
second mate used to jump into the rigging as soon as we began to haul
out the reef-tackle, and have the weather earing passed before there
was a man upon the yard. In this way we were almost always able to
raise the cry of "Haul out to leeward" before them, and having knotted
our points, would slide down the shrouds and back-stays, and sing out
at the topsail halyards to let it be known that we were ahead of them.
Reefing is the most exciting part of a sailor's duty. All hands are
engaged upon it, and after the halyards are let go, there is no time to
be lost--no "sogering," or hanging back, then. If one is not quick
enough, another runs over him. The first on the yard goes to the
weather earing, the second to the lee, and the next two to the "dog's
ears;" while the others lay along into the bunt, just giving each other
elbow-room. In reefing, the yard-arms (the extremes of the yards) are
the posts of honor; but in furling, the strongest and most experienced
stand in the slings, (or, middle of the yard,) to make up the bunt. If
the second mate is a smart fellow, he will never let any one take
either of these posts from him; but if he is wanting either in
seamanship, strength, or activity, some better man will get the bunt
and earings from him; which immediately brings him into disrepute.
We remained for the rest of the night, and throughout the next day,
under the same close sail, for it continued to blow very fresh; and
though we had no more hail, yet there was a soaking rain, and it was
quite cold and uncomfortable; the more so, because we were not prepared
for cold weather, but had on our thin clothes. We were glad to get a
watch below, and put on our thick clothing, boots, and south-westers.
Towards sun-down the gale moderated a little, and it began to clear off
in the south-west. We shook our reefs out, one by one, and before
midnight had top-gallant sails upon her.
We had now made up our minds for Cape Horn and cold weather, and
entered upon every necessary preparation.
Tuesday, Nov. 4th. At day-break, saw land upon our larboard quarter.
There were two islands, of different size but of the same shape; rather
high, beginning low at the water's edge, and running with a curved
ascent to the middle. They were so far off as to be of a deep blue
color, and in a few hours we sank them in the north-east. These were
the Falkland Islands. We had run between them and the main land of
Patagonia. At sun-set the second mate, who was at the masthead, said
that he saw land on the starboard bow. This must have been the island
of Staten Land; and we were now in the region of Cape Horn, with a fine
breeze from the northward, top-mast and top-gallant studding-sails set,
and every prospect of a speedy and pleasant passage round.
[1] This word "lay," which is in such general use on board ship, being
used in giving orders instead of "go"; as "Lay forward!" "Lay aft!"
"Lay aloft!" etc., I do not understand to be the neuter verb, lie,
mispronounced, but to be the active verb lay, with the objective case
understood; as "Lay yourselves forwards!" "Lay yourselves aft!" etc.
CHAPTER V
CAPE HORN--A VISIT
Wednesday, Nov. 5th. The weather was fine during the previous night,
and we had a clear view of the Magellan Clouds, and of the Southern
Cross. The Magellan Clouds consist of three small nebulae in the
southern part of the heavens,--two bright, like the milky-way, and one
dark. These are first seen, just above the horizon, soon after crossing
the southern tropic. When off Cape Horn, they are nearly overhead. The
cross is composed of four stars in that form, and is said to be the
brightest constellation in the heavens.
During the first part of this day (Wednesday) the wind was light, but
after noon it came on fresh, and we furled the royals. We still kept
the studding-sails out, and the captain said he should go round with
them, if he could. Just before eight o'clock, (then about sun-down, in
that latitude,) the cry of "All hands ahoy!" was sounded down the fore
scuttle and the after hatchway, and hurrying upon deck, we found a
large black cloud rolling on toward us from the south-west, and
blackening the whole heavens. "Here comes the Cape Horn!" said the
chief mate; and we had hardly time to haul down and clew up, before it
was upon us. In a few moments, a heavier sea was raised than I had
ever seen before, and as it was directly ahead, the little brig, which
was no better than a bathing machine, plunged into it, and all the
forward part of her was under water; the sea pouring in through the
bow-ports and hawse-hole and over the knight-heads, threatening to wash
everything overboard. In the lee scuppers it was up to a man's waist.
We sprang aloft and double reefed the topsails, and furled all the
other sails, and made all snug. But this would not do; the brig was
laboring and straining against the head sea, and the gale was growing
worse and worse. At the same time the sleet and hail were driving with
all fury against us. We clewed down, and hauled out the reef-tackles
again, and close-reefed the fore-topsail, and furled the main, and hove
her to on the starboard tack. Here was an end to our fine prospects.
We made up our minds to head winds and cold weather; sent down the
royal yards, and unrove the gear, but all the rest of the top hamper
remained aloft, even to the sky-sail masts and studding-sail booms.
Throughout the night it stormed violently--rain, hail, snow, and sleet
beating down upon the vessel--the wind continuing to break ahead, and
the sea running high. At daybreak (about three, A.M.) the deck was
covered with snow. The captain sent up the steward with a glass of
grog to each of the watch; and all the time that we were off the Cape,
grog was given to the morning watch, and to all hands whenever we
reefed topsails. The clouds cleared away at sun-rise, and the wind
becoming more fair, we again made sail and stood nearly up to our
course.
Thursday, Nov. 6th. It continued more pleasant through the first part
of the day, but at night we had the same scene over again. This time,
we did not heave to, as on the night before, but endeavored to beat to
windward under close-reefed top-sails, balance-reefed trysail, and fore
top-mast stay-sail. This night it was my turn to steer, or, as the
sailors say, my trick at the helm, for two hours. Inexperienced as I
was, I made out to steer to the satisfaction of the officer, and
neither S---- nor myself gave up our tricks, all the time that we were
off the Cape. This was something to boast of, for it requires a good
deal of skill and watchfulness to steer a vessel close hauled, in a
gale of wind, against a heavy head sea. "Ease her when she pitches,"
is the word; and a little carelessness in letting her ship a heavy sea,
might sweep the decks, or knock masts out of her.
Friday, Nov. 7th. Towards morning the wind went down, and during the
whole forenoon we lay tossing about in a dead calm, and in the midst of
a thick fog. The calms here are unlike those in most parts of the
world, for there is always such a high sea running, and the periods of
calm are so short, that it has no time to go down; and vessels, being
under no command of sails or rudder, lie like logs upon the water. We
were obliged to steady the booms and yards by guys and braces, and to
lash everything well below. We now found our top hamper of some use,
for though it is liable to be carried away or sprung by the sudden
"bringing up" of a vessel when pitching in a chopping sea, yet it is a
great help in steadying a vessel when rolling in a long swell; giving
it more slowness, ease, and regularity to the motion.
The calm of the morning reminds me of a scene which I forgot to
describe at the time of its occurrence, but which I remember from its
being the first time that I had heard the near breathing of whales. It
was on the night that we passed between the Falkland Islands and Staten
Land. We had the watch from twelve to four, and coming upon deck,
found the little brig lying perfectly still, surrounded by a thick fog,
and the sea as smooth as though oil had been poured upon it; yet now
and then a long, low swell rolling over its surface, slightly lifting
the vessel, but without breaking the glassy smoothness of the water. We
were surrounded far and near by shoals of sluggish whales and
grampuses; which the fog prevented our seeing, rising slowly to the
surface, or perhaps lying out at length, heaving out those peculiar
lazy, deep, and long-drawn breathings which give such an impression of
supineness and strength. Some of the watch were asleep, and the others
were perfectly still, so that there was nothing to break the illusion,
and I stood leaning over the bulwarks, listening to the slow breathing
of the mighty creatures--now one breaking the water just alongside,
whose black body I almost fancied that I could see through the fog; and
again another, which I could just hear in the distance--until the low
and regular swell seemed like the heaving of the ocean's mighty bosom
to the sound of its heavy and long-drawn respirations.
Towards the evening of this day, (Friday 7th,) the fog cleared off, and
we had every appearance of a cold blow; and soon after sun-down it came
on. Again it was clew up and haul down, reef and furl, until we had
got her down to close-reefed topsails, double-reefed trysail, and
reefed forespenser. Snow, hail, and sleet were driving upon us most of
the night, and the sea was breaking over the bows and covering the
forward part of the little vessel; but as she would lay her course the
captain refused to heave her to.
Saturday, Nov. 8th. This day commenced with calm and thick fog, and
ended with hail, snow, a violent wind, and close-reefed topsails.
Sunday, Nov. 9th. To-day the sun rose clear and continued so until
twelve o'clock, when the captain got an observation. This was very
well for Cape Horn, and we thought it a little remarkable that, as we
had not had one unpleasant Sunday during the whole voyage, the only
tolerable day here should be a Sunday. We got time to clear up the
steerage and forecastle, and set things to rights, and to overhaul our
wet clothes a little. But this did not last very long. Between five
and six--the sun was then nearly three hours high--the cry of "All
starbowlines ahoy!" summoned our watch on deck; and immediately all
hands were called. A true specimen of Cape Horn was coming upon us. A
great cloud of a dark slate-color was driving on us from the
south-west; and we did our best to take in sail, (for the light sails
had been set during the first part of the day,) before we were in the
midst of it. We had got the light sails furled, the courses hauled up,
and the topsail reef-tackles hauled out, and were just mounting the
fore-rigging, when the storm struck us. In an instant the sea, which
had been comparatively quiet, was running higher and higher; and it
became almost as dark as night. The hail and sleet were harder than I
had yet felt them; seeming to almost pin us down to the rigging. We
were longer taking in sail than ever before; for the sails were stiff
and wet, the ropes and rigging covered with snow and sleet, and we
ourselves cold and nearly blinded with the violence of the storm. By
the time we had got down upon deck again, the little brig was plunging
madly into a tremendous head sea, which at every drive rushed in
through the bow-ports and over the bows, and buried all the forward
part of the vessel. At this instant the chief mate, who was standing
on the top of the windlass, at the foot of the spenser mast, called
out, "Lay out there and furl the jib!" This was no agreeable or safe
duty, yet it must be done. An old Swede, (the best sailor on board,)
who belonged on the forecastle, sprang out upon the bowsprit. Another
one must go: I was near the mate, and sprang forward, threw the
down-haul over the windlass, and jumped between the knight-heads out
upon the bowsprit. The crew stood abaft the windlass and hauled the
jib down, while we got out upon the weather side of the jib-boom, our
feet on the foot ropes, holding on by the spar, the great jib flying
off to leeward and slatting so as almost to throw us off of the boom.
For some time we could do nothing but hold on, and the vessel diving
into two huge seas, one after the other, plunged us twice into the
water up to our chins. We hardly knew whether we were on or off; when
coming up, dripping from the water, we were raised high into the air.
John (that was the sailor's name) thought the boom would go, every
moment, and called out to the mate to keep the vessel off, and haul
down the staysail; but the fury of the wind and the breaking of the
seas against the bows defied every attempt to make ourselves heard, and
we were obliged to do the best we could in our situation. Fortunately,
no other seas so heavy struck her, and we succeeded in furling the jib
"after a fashion"; and, coming in over the staysail nettings, were not
a little pleased to find that all was snug, and the watch gone below;
for we were soaked through, and it was very cold. The weather
continued nearly the same through the night.
Monday, Nov. 10th. During a part of this day we were hove to, but the
rest of the time were driving on, under close-reefed sails, with a
heavy sea, a strong gale, and frequent squalls of hail and snow.
Tuesday, Nov. 11th. The same.
Wednesday, Nov. 12th. The same.
Thursday, Nov. 13th. The same.
We had now got hardened to Cape weather, the vessel was under reduced
sail, and everything secured on deck and below, so that we had little
to do but steer and to stand our watch. Our clothes were all wet
through, and the only change was from wet to more wet. It was in vain
to think of reading or working below, for we were too tired, the
hatchways were closed down, and everything was wet and uncomfortable,
black and dirty, heaving and pitching. We had only to come below when
the watch was out, wring out our wet clothes, hang them up, and turn in
and sleep as soundly as we could, until the watch was called again. A
sailor can sleep anywhere--no sound of wind, water, wood or iron can
keep him awake--and we were always fast asleep when three blows on the
hatchway, and the unwelcome cry of "All starbowlines ahoy! eight bells
there below! do you hear the news?" (the usual formula of calling the
watch), roused us up from our berths upon the cold, wet decks. The
only time when we could be said to take any pleasure was at night and
morning, when we were allowed a tin pot full of hot tea, (or, as the
sailors significantly call it, "water bewitched,") sweetened with
molasses. This, bad as it was, was still warm and comforting, and,
together with our sea biscuit and cold salt beef, made quite a meal.
Yet even this meal was attended with some uncertainty. We had to go
ourselves to the galley and take our kid of beef and tin pots of tea,
and run the risk of losing them before we could get below. Many a kid
of beef have I seen rolling in the scuppers, and the bearer lying at
his length on the decks. I remember an English lad who was always the
life of the crew, but whom we afterwards lost overboard, standing for
nearly ten minutes at the galley, with this pot of tea in his hand,
waiting for a chance to get down into the forecastle; and seeing what
he thought was a "smooth spell," started to go forward. He had just
got to the end of the windlass, when a great sea broke over the bows,
and for a moment I saw nothing of him but his head and shoulders; and
at the next instant, being taken off of his legs, he was carried aft
with the sea, until her stern lifting up and sending the water forward,
he was left high and dry at the side of the long-boat, still holding on
to his tin pot, which had now nothing in it but salt water. But
nothing could ever daunt him, or overcome, for a moment, his habitual
good humor. Regaining his legs, and shaking his fist at the man at the
wheel, he rolled below, saying, as he passed, "A man's no sailor, if he
can't take a joke." The ducking was not the worst of such an affair,
for, as there was an allowance of tea, you could get no more from the
galley; and though sailors would never suffer a man to go without, but
would always turn in a little from their own pots to fill up his, yet
this was at best but dividing the loss among all hands.
Something of the same kind befell me a few days after. The cook had
just made for us a mess of hot "scouse"--that is, biscuit pounded fine,
salt beef cut into small pieces, and a few potatoes, boiled up together
and seasoned with pepper. This was a rare treat, and I, being the last
at the galley, had it put in my charge to carry down for the mess. I
got along very well as far as the hatchway, and was just getting down
the steps, when a heavy sea, lifting the stern out of water, and
passing forward, dropping it down again, threw the steps from their
place, and I came down into the steerage a little faster than I meant
to, with the kid on top of me, and the whole precious mess scattered
over the floor. Whatever your feelings may be, you must make a joke of
everything at sea; and if you were to fall from aloft and be caught in
the belly of a sail, and thus saved from instant death, it would not do
to look at all disturbed, or to make a serious matter of it.
Friday, Nov. 14th. We were now well to the westward of the Cape and
were changing our course to the northward as much as we dared, since
the strong south-west winds, which prevailed then, carried us in toward
Patagonia. At two, P.M., we saw a sail on our larboard beam, and at
four we made it out to be a large ship, steering our course, under
single-reefed topsails. We at that time had shaken the reefs out of
our topsails, as the wind was lighter, and set the main top-gallant
sail. As soon as our captain saw what sail she was under, he set the
fore top-gallant sail and flying jib; and the old whaler--for such, his
boats and short sail showed him to be--felt a little ashamed, and shook
the reefs out of his topsails, but could do no more, for he had sent
down his top-gallant masts off the Cape. He ran down for us, and
answered our hail as the whale-ship, New England, of Poughkeepsie, one
hundred and twenty days from New York. Our captain gave our name, and
added, ninety-two days from Boston. They then had a little conversation
about longitude, in which they found that they could not agree. The
ship fell astern, and continued in sight during the night. Toward
morning, the wind having become light, we crossed our royal and skysail
yards, and at daylight we were seen under a cloud of sail, having royal
and skysails fore and aft. The "spouter," as the sailors call a
whaleman, had sent up his main top-gallant mast and set the sail, and
made signal for us to heave to. About half-past seven their whale-boat
came alongside, and Captain Job Terry sprang on board, a man known in
every port and by every vessel in the Pacific ocean. "Don't you know
Job Terry? I thought everybody knew Job Terry," said a green-hand, who
came in the boat, to me, when I asked him about his captain. He was
indeed a singular man. He was six feet high, wore thick, cowhide
boots, and brown coat and trowsers, and, except a sun-burnt complexion,
had not the slightest appearance of a sailor; yet he had been forty
years in the whale trade, and, as he said himself, had owned ships,
built ships, and sailed ships. His boat's crew were a pretty raw set,
just out of the bush, and as the sailor's phrase is, "hadn't got the
hayseed out of their hair." Captain Terry convinced our captain that
our reckoning was a little out, and, having spent the day on board, put
off in his boat at sunset for his ship, which was now six or eight
miles astern. He began a "yarn" when he came on board, which lasted,
with but little intermission, for four hours. It was all about himself,
and the Peruvian government, and the Dublin frigate, and Lord James
Townshend, and President Jackson, and the ship Ann M'Kim of Baltimore.
It would probably never have come to an end, had not a good breeze
sprung up, which sent him off to his own vessel. One of the lads who
came in his boat, a thoroughly countrified-looking fellow, seemed to
care very little about the vessel, rigging, or anything else, but went
round looking at the live stock, and leaned over the pig-sty, and said
he wished he was back again tending his father's pigs.
At eight o'clock we altered our course to the northward, bound for Juan
Fernandez.
This day we saw the last of the albatrosses, which had been our
companions a great part of the time off the Cape. I had been
interested in the bird from descriptions which I had read of it, and
was not at all disappointed. We caught one or two with a baited hook
which we floated astern upon a shingle. Their long, flapping wings,
long legs, and large, staring eyes, give them a very peculiar
appearance. They look well on the wing; but one of the finest sights
that I have ever seen, was an albatross asleep upon the water, during a
calm, off Cape Horn, when a heavy sea was running. There being no
breeze, the surface of the water was unbroken, but a long, heavy swell
was rolling, and we saw the fellow, all white, directly ahead of us,
asleep upon the waves, with his head under his wing; now rising on the
top of a huge billow, and then falling slowly until he was lost in the
hollow between. He was undisturbed for some time, until the noise of
our bows, gradually approaching, roused him, when, lifting his head, he
stared upon us for a moment, and then spread his wide wings and took
his flight.
CHAPTER VI
LOSS OF A MAN--SUPERSTITION
Monday, Nov. 19th. This was a black day in our calendar. At seven
o'clock in the morning, it being our watch below, we were aroused from
a sound sleep by the cry of "All hands ahoy! a man overboard!" This
unwonted cry sent a thrill through the heart of every one, and hurrying
on deck we found the vessel hove flat aback, with all her
studding-sails set; for the boy who was at the helm left it to throw
something overboard, and the carpenter, who was an old sailor, knowing
that the wind was light, put the helm down and hove her aback. The
watch on deck were lowering away the quarter-boat, and I got on deck
just in time to heave myself into her as she was leaving the side; but
it was not until out upon the wide Pacific, in our little boat, that I
knew whom we had lost. It was George Ballmer, a young English sailor,
who was prized by the officers as an active lad and willing seaman, and
by the crew as a lively, hearty fellow, and a good shipmate. He was
going aloft to fit a strap round the main top-mast-head, for ringtail
halyards, and had the strap and block, a coil of halyards and a
marline-spike about his neck. He fell from the starboard futtock
shrouds, and not knowing how to swim, and being heavily dressed, with
all those things round his neck, he probably sank immediately. We
pulled astern, in the direction in which he fell, and though we knew
that there was no hope of saving him, yet no one wished to speak of
returning, and we rowed about for nearly an hour, without the hope of
doing anything, but unwilling to acknowledge to ourselves that we must
give him up. At length we turned the boat's head and made towards the
vessel.
Death is at all times solemn, but never so much so as at sea. A man
dies on shore; his body remains with his friends, and "the mourners go
about the streets;" but when a man falls overboard at sea and is lost,
there is a suddenness in the event, and a difficulty in realizing it,
which give to it an air of awful mystery. A man dies on shore--you
follow his body to the grave, and a stone marks the spot. You are
often prepared for the event. There is always something which helps
you to realize it when it happens, and to recall it when it has passed.
A man is shot down by your side in battle, and the mangled body remains
an object, and a real evidence; but at sea, the man is near you--at
your side--you hear his voice, and in an instant he is gone, and
nothing but a vacancy shows his loss. Then, too, at sea--to use a
homely but expressive phrase--you miss a man so much. A dozen men are
shut up together in a little bark, upon the wide, wide sea, and for
months and months see no forms and hear no voices but their own, and
one is taken suddenly from among them, and they miss him at every turn.
It is like losing a limb. There are no new faces or new scenes to fill
up the gap. There is always an empty berth in the forecastle, and one
man wanting when the small night watch is mustered. There is one less
to take the wheel, and one less to lay out with you upon the yard. You
miss his form, and the sound of his voice, for habit had made them
almost necessary to you, and each of your senses feels the loss.
All these things make such a death peculiarly solemn, and the effect of
it remains upon the crew for some time. There is more kindness shown
by the officers to the crew, and by the crew to one another. There is
more quietness and seriousness. The oath and the loud laugh are gone.
The officers are more watchful, and the crew go more carefully aloft.
The lost man is seldom mentioned, or is dismissed with a sailor's rude
eulogy--"Well, poor George is gone! His cruise is up soon! He knew his
work, and did his duty, and was a good shipmate." Then usually follows
some allusion to another world, for sailors are almost all believers;
but their notions and opinions are unfixed and at loose ends. They
say,--"God won't be hard upon the poor fellow," and seldom get beyond
the common phrase which seems to imply that their sufferings and hard
treatment here will excuse them hereafter,--"To work hard, live hard,
die hard, and go to hell after all, would be hard indeed!" Our cook, a
simple-hearted old African, who had been through a good deal in his
day, and was rather seriously inclined, always going to church twice a
day when on shore, and reading his Bible on a Sunday in the galley,
talked to the crew about spending their Sabbaths badly, and told them
that they might go as suddenly as George had, and be as little prepared.
Yet a sailor's life is at best, but a mixture of a little good with
much evil, and a little pleasure with much pain. The beautiful is
linked with the revolting, the sublime with the commonplace, and the
solemn with the ludicrous.
We had hardly returned on board with our sad report, before an auction
was held of the poor man's clothes. The captain had first, however,
called all hands aft and asked them if they were satisfied that
everything had been done to save the man, and if they thought there was
any use in remaining there longer. The crew all said that it was in
vain, for the man did not know how to swim, and was very heavily
dressed. So we then filled away and kept her off to her course.
The laws regulating navigation make the captain answerable for the
effects of a sailor who dies during the voyage, and it is either a law
or a universal custom, established for convenience, that the captain
should immediately hold an auction of his things, in which they are bid
off by the sailors, and the sums which they give are deducted from
their wages at the end of the voyage. In this way the trouble and risk
of keeping his things through the voyage are avoided, and the clothes
are usually sold for more than they would be worth on shore.
Accordingly, we had no sooner got the ship before the wind, than his
chest was brought up upon the forecastle, and the sale began. The
jackets and trowsers in which we had seen him dressed but a few days
before, were exposed and bid off while the life was hardly out of his
body, and his chest was taken aft and used as a store-chest, so that
there was nothing left which could be called his. Sailors have an
unwillingness to wear a dead man's clothes during the same voyage, and
they seldom do so unless they are in absolute want.
As is usual after a death, many stories were told about George. Some
had heard him say that he repented never having learned to swim, and
that he knew that he should meet his death by drowning. Another said
that he never knew any good to come of a voyage made against the will,
and the deceased man shipped and spent his advance and was afterwards
very unwilling to go, but not being able to refund, was obliged to sail
with us. A boy, too, who had become quite attached to him, said that
George talked to him during most of the watch on the night before,
about his mother and family at home, and this was the first time that
he had mentioned the subject during the voyage.
The night after this event, when I went to the galley to get a light, I
found the cook inclined to be talkative, so I sat down on the spars,
and gave him an opportunity to hold a yarn. I was the more inclined to
do so, as I found that he was full of the superstitions once more
common among seamen, and which the recent death had waked up in his
mind. He talked about George's having spoken of his friends, and said
he believed few men died without having a warning of it, which he
supported by a great many stories of dreams, and the unusual behavior
of men before death. From this he went on to other superstitions, the
Flying Dutchman, etc., and talked rather mysteriously, having something
evidently on his mind.
At length he put his head out of the galley and looked carefully about
to see if any one was within hearing, and being satisfied on that
point, asked me in a low tone--
"I say! you know what countryman 'e carpenter be?"
"Yes," said I; "he's a German."
"What kind of a German?" said the cook.
"He belongs to Bremen," said I.
"Are you sure o' dat?" said he.
I satisfied him on that point by saying that he could speak no language
but the German and English.
"I'm plaguy glad o' dat," said the cook. "I was mighty 'fraid he was a
Fin. I tell you what, I been plaguy civil to that man all the voyage."
I asked him the reason of this, and found that he was fully possessed
with the notion that Fins are wizards, and especially have power over
winds and storms. I tried to reason with him about it, but he had the
best of all arguments, that from experience, at hand, and was not to be
moved. He had been in a vessel at the Sandwich Islands, in which the
sail-maker was a Fin, and could do anything he was of a mind to. This
sail-maker kept a junk bottle in his berth, which was always just half
full of rum, though he got drunk upon it nearly every day. He had seen
him sit for hours together, talking to this bottle, which he stood up
before him on the table. The same man cut his throat in his berth, and
everybody said he was possessed.
He had heard of ships, too, beating up the gulf of Finland against a
head wind, and having a ship heave in sight astern, overhaul and pass
them, with as fair a wind as could blow, and all studding-sails out,
and find she was from Finland.
"Oh ho!" said he; "I've seen too much of them men to want to see 'em
'board a ship. If they can't have their own way, they'll play the
d---l with you."
As I still doubted, he said he would leave it to John, who was the
oldest seaman aboard, and would know, if anybody did. John, to be
sure, was the oldest, and at the same time the most ignorant, man in
the ship; but I consented to have him called. The cook stated the
matter to him, and John, as I anticipated, sided with the cook, and
said that he himself had been in a ship where they had a head wind for
a fortnight, and the captain found out at last that one of the men,
whom he had had some hard words with a short time before, was a Fin,
and immediately told him if he didn't stop the head wind he would shut
him down in the fore peak, and would not give him anything to eat. The
Fin held out for a day and a half, when he could not stand it any
longer, and did something or other which brought the wind round again,
and they let him up.
"There," said the cook, "what do you think o' dat?"
I told him I had no doubt it was true, and that it would have been odd
if the wind had not changed in fifteen days, Fin or no Fin.
"Oh," says he, "go 'way! You think, 'cause you been to college, you
know better than anybody. You know better than them as 'as seen it
with their own eyes. You wait till you've been to sea as long as I
have, and you'll know."
CHAPTER VII
JUAN FERNANDEZ--THE PACIFIC
We continued sailing along with a fair wind and fine weather until
Tuesday, Nov. 25th, when at daylight we saw the island of Juan
Fernandez, directly ahead, rising like a deep blue cloud out of the
sea. We were then probably nearly seventy miles from it; and so high
and so blue did it appear, that I mistook it for a cloud, resting over
the island, and looked for the island under it, until it gradually
turned to a deader and greener color, and I could mark the inequalities
upon its surface. At length we could distinguish trees and rocks; and
by the afternoon, this beautiful island lay fairly before us, and we
directed our course to the only harbor. Arriving at the entrance soon
after sun-down, we found a Chilian man-of-war brig, the only vessel,
coming out. She hailed us, and an officer on board, whom we supposed
to be an American, advised us to run in before night, and said that
they were bound to Valparaiso. We ran immediately for the anchorage,
but, owing to the winds which drew about the mountains and came to us
in flaws from every point of the compass, we did not come to an anchor
until nearly midnight. We had a boat ahead all the time that we were
working in, and those aboard were continually bracing the yards about
for every puff that struck us, until about 12 o'clock, when we came-to
in 40 fathoms water, and our anchor struck bottom for the first time
since we left Boston--one hundred and three days. We were then divided
into three watches, and thus stood out the remainder of the night.
I was called on deck to stand my watch at about three in the morning,
and I shall never forget the peculiar sensation which I experienced on
finding myself once more surrounded by land, feeling the night breeze
coming from off shore, and hearing the frogs and crickets. The
mountains seemed almost to hang over us, and apparently from the very
heart there came out, at regular intervals, a loud echoing sound, which
affected me as hardly human. We saw no lights, and could hardly
account for the sound, until the mate, who had been there before, told
us that it was the "Alerta" of the Spanish soldiers, who were stationed
over some convicts confined in caves nearly halfway up the mountain. At
the expiration of my watch I went below, feeling not a little anxious
for the day, that I might see more nearly, and perhaps tread upon, this
romantic, I may almost say, classic island.
When all hands were called it was nearly sunrise, and between that time
and breakfast, although quite busy on board in getting up water-casks,
etc., I had a good view of the objects about me. The harbor was nearly
land-locked, and at the head of it was a landing-place, protected by a
small breakwater of stones, upon which two large boats were hauled up,
with a sentry standing over them. Near this was a variety of huts or
cottages, nearly an hundred in number, the best of them built of mud
and white washed, but the greater part only Robinson Crusoe like--of
posts and branches of trees. The governor's house, as it is called,
was the most conspicuous, being large, with grated windows, plastered
walls, and roof of red tiles; yet, like all the rest, only of one
story. Near it was a small chapel, distinguished by a cross; and a
long, low brown-looking building, surrounded by something like a
palisade, from which an old and dingy-looking Chilian flag was flying.
This, of course, was dignified by the title of Presidio. A sentinel
was stationed at the chapel, another at the governor's house, and a few
soldiers armed with bayonets, looking rather ragged, with shoes out at
the toes, were strolling about among the houses, or waiting at the
landing-place for our boat to come ashore.
The mountains were high, but not so overhanging as they appeared to be
by starlight. They seemed to bear off towards the centre of the
island, and were green and well wooded, with some large, and, I am
told, exceedingly fertile valleys, with mule-tracks leading to
different parts of the island.
I cannot forget how my friend S---- and myself got the laugh of the
crew upon us for our eagerness to get on shore. The captain having
ordered the quarter-boat to be lowered, we both sprang down into the
forecastle, filled our jacket pockets with tobacco to barter with the
people ashore, and when the officer called for "four hands in the
boat," nearly broke our necks in our haste to be first over the side,
and had the pleasure of pulling ahead of the brig with a tow-line for a
half an hour, and coming on board again to be laughed at by the crew,
who had seen our manoeuvre.
After breakfast the second mate was ordered ashore with five hands to
fill the water-casks, and to my joy I was among the number. We pulled
ashore with the empty casks; and here again fortune favored me, for the
water was too thick and muddy to be put into the casks, and the
governor had sent men up to the head of the stream to clear it out for
us, which gave us nearly two hours of leisure. This leisure we
employed in wandering about among the houses, and eating a little fruit
which was offered to us. Ground apples, melons, grapes, strawberries of
an enormous size, and cherries, abounded here. The latter are said to
have been planted by Lord Anson. The soldiers were miserably clad, and
asked with some interest whether we had any shoes to sell on board. I
doubt very much if they had the means of buying them. They were very
eager to get tobacco, for which they gave shells, fruits, etc. Knives
also were in demand, but we were forbidden by the governor to let any
one have them, as he told us that all the people there, except the
soldiers and a few officers, were convicts sent from Valparaiso, and
that it was necessary to keep all weapons from their hands. The
island, it seems, belongs to Chili, and had been used by the government
as a sort of Botany Bay for nearly two years; and the governor--an
Englishman who had entered the Chilian navy--with a priest, half a
dozen task-masters, and a body of soldiers, were stationed there to
keep them in order. This was no easy task; and only a few months
before our arrival, a few of them had stolen a boat at night, boarded a
brig lying in the harbor, sent the captain and crew ashore in their
boat, and gone off to sea. We were informed of this, and loaded our
arms and kept strict watch on board through the night, and were careful
not to let the convicts get our knives from us when on shore. The
worst part of the convicts, I found, were locked up under sentry in
caves dug into the side of the mountain, nearly halfway up, with
mule-tracks leading to them, whence they were taken by day and set to
work under task-masters upon building an aqueduct, a wharf, and other
public works; while the rest lived in the houses which they put up for
themselves, had their families with them, and seemed to me to be the
laziest people on the face of the earth. They did nothing but take a
paseo into the woods, a paseo among the houses, a paseo at the
landing-place, looking at us and our vessel, and too lazy to speak
fast; while the others were driving--or rather, driven--about, at a
rapid trot, in single file, with burdens on their shoulders, and
followed up by their task-masters, with long rods in their hands, and
broadbrimmed straw hats upon their heads. Upon what precise grounds
this great distinction was made, I do not know, and I could not very
well know, for the governor was the only man who spoke English upon the
island, and he was out of my walk.
Having filled our casks, we returned on board, and soon after, the
governor, dressed in a uniform like that of an American militia
officer, the Padre, in the dress of the grey friars, with hood and all
complete, and the Capitan, with big whiskers and dirty regimentals,
came on board to dine. While at dinner, a large ship appeared in the
offing, and soon afterwards we saw a light whale-boat pulling into the
harbor. The ship lay off and on, and a boat came alongside of us, and
put on board the captain, a plain young Quaker, dressed all in brown.
The ship was the Cortes, whaleman, of New Bedford, and had put in to
see if there were any vessels from round the Horn, and to hear the
latest news from America. They remained aboard a short time and had a
little talk with the crew, when they left us and pulled off to their
ship, which, having filled away, was soon out of sight.
A small boat which came from the shore to take away the governor and
suite--as they styled themselves--brought, as a present to the crew, a
large pail of milk, a few shells, and a block of sandal wood. The milk,
which was the first we had tasted since leaving Boston, we soon
despatched; a piece of the sandal wood I obtained, and learned that it
grew on the hills in the centre of the island. I have always regretted
that I did not bring away other specimens of the products of the
island, having afterwards lost all that I had with me--the piece of
sandal wood, and a small flower which I plucked and brought on board in
the crown of my tarpaulin, and carefully pressed between the leaves of
a book.
About an hour before sun-down, having stowed our water casks, we
commenced getting under weigh, and were not a little while about it;
for we were in thirty fathoms water, and in one of the gusts which came
off shore had let go our other bow anchor; and as the southerly wind
draws round the mountains and comes off in uncertain flaws, we were
continually swinging round, and had thus got a very foul hawse. We hove
in upon our chain, and after stoppering and unshackling it again and
again, and hoisting and hauling down sail, we at length tipped our
anchor and stood out to sea. It was bright starlight when we were
clear of the bay, and the lofty island lay behind us, in its still
beauty, and I gave a parting look, and bid farewell, to the most
romantic spot of earth that my eyes had ever seen. I did then, and have
ever since, felt an attachment for that island, altogether peculiar.
It was partly, no doubt, from its having been the first land that I had
seen since leaving home, and still more from the associations which
every one has connected with it in their childhood from reading
Robinson Crusoe. To this I may add the height and romantic outline of
its mountains, the beauty and freshness of its verdure, and the extreme
fertility of its soil, and its solitary position in the midst of the
wide expanse of the South Pacific, as all concurring to give it its
peculiar charm.
When thoughts of this place have occurred to me at different times, I
have endeavored to recall more particulars with regard to it. It is
situated in about 33º 30' S., and is distant a little more than three
hundred miles from Valparaiso, on the coast of Chili, which is in the
same latitude. It is about fifteen miles in length and five in
breadth. The harbor in which we anchored (called by Lord Anson,
Cumberland bay) is the only one in the island; two small bights of land
on each side of the main bay (sometimes dignified by the name of bays)
being little more than landing-places for boats. The best anchorage is
at the western side of the bay, where we lay at about three cables'
lengths from the shore, in a little more than thirty fathoms water.
This harbor is open to the N.N.E., and in fact nearly from N. to E.,
but the only dangerous winds being the south-west, on which side are
the highest mountains, it is considered very safe. The most remarkable
thing perhaps about it is the fish with which it abounds. Two of our
crew, who remained on board, caught in a few minutes enough to last us
for several days, and one of the men, who was a Marblehead man, said
that he never saw or heard of such an abundance. There were cod,
breams, silver-fish, and other kinds whose names they did not know, or
which I have forgotten.
There is an abundance of the best of water upon the island, small
streams running through every valley, and leaping down from the sides
of the hills. One stream of considerable size flows through the centre
of the lawn upon which the houses are built, and furnishes an easy and
abundant supply to the inhabitants. This, by means of a short wooden
aqueduct, was brought quite down to our boats. The convicts had also
built something in the way of a breakwater, and were to build a
landing-place for boats and goods, after which the Chilian government
intended to lay port charges.
Of the wood I can only say, that it appeared to be abundant; the island
in the month of November, when we were there, being in all the
freshness and beauty of spring, appeared covered with trees. These were
chiefly aromatic, and the largest was the myrtle. The soil is very
loose and rich, and wherever it is broken up, there spring up
immediately radishes, turnips, ground apples, and other garden fruits.
Goats, we were told, were not abundant, and we saw none, though it was
said we might, if we had gone into the interior. We saw a few bullocks
winding about in the narrow tracks upon the sides of the mountains, and
the settlement was completely overrun with dogs of every nation,
kindred, and degree. Hens and chickens were also abundant, and seemed
to be taken good care of by the women. The men appeared to be the
laziest people upon the face of the earth; and indeed, as far as my
observation goes, there are no people to whom the newly-invented Yankee
word of "loafer" is more applicable than to the Spanish Americans.
These men stood about doing nothing, with their cloaks, little better
in texture than an Indian's blanket, but of rich colors, thrown over
their shoulders with an air which it is said that a Spanish beggar can
always give to his rags; and with great politeness and courtesy in
their address, though with holes in their shoes and without a sou in
their pockets. The only interruption to the monotony of their day
seemed to be when a gust of wind drew round between the mountains and
blew off the boughs which they had placed for roofs to their houses,
and gave them a few minutes' occupation in running about after them.
One of these gusts occurred while we were ashore, and afforded us no
little amusement at seeing the men look round, and if they found that
their roofs had stood, conclude that they might stand too, while those
who saw theirs blown off, after uttering a few Spanish oaths, gathered
their cloaks over their shoulders, and started off after them.
However, they were not gone long, but soon returned to their habitual
occupation of doing nothing.
It is perhaps needless to say that we saw nothing of the interior; but
all who have seen it, give very glowing accounts of it. Our captain
went with the governor and a few servants upon mules over the
mountains, and upon their return, I heard the governor request him to
stop at the island on his passage home, and offer him a handsome sum to
bring a few deer with him from California, for he said that there were
none upon the island, and he was very desirous of having it stocked.
A steady, though light south-westerly wind carried us well off from the
island, and when I came on deck for the middle watch I could just
distinguish it from its hiding a few low stars in the southern horizon,
though my unpracticed eyes would hardly have known it for land. At the
close of the watch a few trade-wind clouds which had arisen, though we
were hardly yet in their latitude, shut it out from our view, and the
next day,
Thursday, Nov. 27th, upon coming on deck in the morning, we were again
upon the wide Pacific, and saw no more land until we arrived upon the
western coast of the great continent of America.
CHAPTER VIII
"TARRING DOWN"--DAILY LIFE--"GOING AFT"--CALIFORNIA
As we saw neither land nor sail from the time of leaving Juan Fernandez
until our arrival in California, nothing of interest occurred except
our own doing on board. We caught the south-east trades, and run
before them for nearly three weeks, without so much as altering a sail
or bracing a yard. The captain took advantage of this fine weather to
get the vessel in order for coming upon the coast. The carpenter was
employed in fitting up a part of the steerage into a trade-room; for
our cargo, we now learned, was not to be landed, but to be sold by
retail from on board; and this trade-room was built for the samples and
the lighter goods to be kept in, and as a place for the general
business. In the mean time we were employed in working upon the
rigging. Everything was set up taut, the lower rigging rattled down,
or rather rattled up, (according to the modern fashion,) an abundance
of spun-yarn and seizing-stuff made, and finally, the whole
standing-rigging, fore and aft, was tarred down. This was my first
essay at this latter business, and I had enough of it; for nearly all
of it came upon my friend S---- and myself. The men were needed at the
other work, and M----, the other young man who came out with us, was
laid up with the rheumatism in his feet, and the boy was rather too
young and small for the business; and as the winds were light and
regular, he was kept during most of the daytime at the helm; so that
nearly all the tarring came upon us. We put on short duck frocks, and
taking a small bucket of tar and a bunch of oakum in our hands we went
aloft, one at the main royal-mast-head and the other at the fore, and
began tarring down. This is an important operation, and is usually
done about once in six months in vessels upon a long voyage. It was
done in our vessel several times afterwards, but by the whole crew at
once, and finished off in a day; but at this time, as most of it came
upon two of us, and we were new at the business, it took us several
days. In this operation they always begin at the mast-head and work
down, tarring the shrouds, back-stays, standing parts of the lifts, the
ties, runners, etc., and go out to the yard-arms, and come in, tarring,
as they come, the lifts and foot-ropes. Tarring the stays is more
difficult, and is done by an operation which the sailors call "riding
down." A long piece of rope--top-gallant-studding-sail halyards, or
something of the kind--is taken up to the mast-head from which the stay
leads, and rove through a block for a girt-line, or, as the sailors
usually call it, a gant-line; with the end of this a bowline is taken
round the stay, into which the man gets with his bucket of tar and a
bunch of oakum, and the other end being fast on deck, with some one to
tend it, he is lowered down gradually, and tars the stay carefully as
he goes. There he "sings aloft 'twixt heaven and earth," and if the
rope slips, breaks, or is let go, or if the bowline slips, he falls
overboard or breaks his neck. This, however, is a thing which never
enters into a sailor's calculation. He thinks only of leaving no
holydays, (places not tarred,) for in case he should, he would have to
go over the whole again; or of dropping no tar upon deck, for then
there would be a soft word in his ear from the mate. In this manner I
tarred down all the head-stays, but found the rigging about the
jib-booms, martingale, and spritsail yard, upon which I was afterwards
put, the hardest. Here you have to hang on with your eye-lids and tar
with your hands.
This dirty work could not last forever, and on Saturday night we
finished it, scraped all the spots from the deck and rails, and, what
was of more importance to us, cleaned ourselves thoroughly, rolled up
our tarry frocks and trowsers and laid them away for the next occasion,
and put on our clean duck clothes, and had a good comfortable sailor's
Saturday night. The next day was pleasant, and indeed we had but one
unpleasant Sunday during the whole voyage, and that was off Cape Horn,
where we could expect nothing better. On Monday we commenced painting,
and getting the vessel ready for port. This work, too, is done by the
crew, and every sailor who has been long voyages is a little of a
painter, in addition to his other accomplishments. We painted her,
both inside and out, from the truck to the water's edge. The outside
is painted by lowering stages over the side by ropes, and on those we
sat, with our brushes and paint-pots by us, and our feet half the time
in the water. This must be done, of course, on a smooth day, when the
vessel does not roll much. I remember very well being over the side
painting in this way, one fine afternoon, our vessel going quietly
along at the rate of four or five knots, and a pilot-fish, the sure
precursor of the shark, swimming alongside of us. The captain was
leaning over the rail watching him, and we quietly went on with our
work. In the midst of our painting, on
Friday, Dec. 19th, we crossed the equator for the second time. I had
the feeling which all have when, for the first time, they find
themselves living under an entire change of seasons; as, crossing the
line under a burning sun in the midst of December, and, as I afterwards
was, beating about among ice and snow on the fourth of July.
Thursday, Dec. 25th. This day was Christmas, but it brought us no
holiday. The only change was that we had a "plum duff" for dinner, and
the crew quarrelled with the steward because he did not give us our
usual allowance of molasses to eat with it. He thought the plums would
be a substitute for the molasses, but we were not to be cheated out of
our rights in this way.
Such are the trifles which produce quarrels on shipboard. In fact, we
had been too long from port. We were getting tired of one another, and
were in an irritable state, both forward and aft. Our fresh provisions
were, of course, gone, and the captain had stopped our rice, so that we
had nothing but salt beef and salt pork throughout the week, with the
exception of a very small duff on Sunday. This added to the
discontent; and a thousand little things, daily and almost hourly
occurring, which no one who has not himself been on a long and tedious
voyage can conceive of or properly appreciate,--little wars and rumors
of wars,--reports of things said in the cabin,--misunderstanding of
words and looks,--apparent abuses,--brought us into a state in which
everything seemed to go wrong. Every encroachment upon the time
allowed for rest, appeared unnecessary. Every shifting of the
studding-sails was only to "haze"[1] the crew.
In this midst of this state of things, my messmate S---- and myself
petitioned the captain for leave to shift our berths from the steerage,
where we had previously lived, into the forecastle. This, to our
delight, was granted, and we turned in to bunk and mess with the crew
forward. We now began to feel like sailors, which we never fully did
when we were in the steerage. While there, however useful and active
you may be, you are but a mongrel,--and sort of afterguard and "ship's
cousin." You are immediately under the eye of the officers, cannot
dance, sing, play, smoke, make a noise, or growl, (i.e. complain,) or
take any other sailor's pleasure; and you live with the steward, who is
usually a go-between; and the crew never feel as though you were one of
them. But if you live in the forecastle, you are "as independent as a
wood-sawyer's clerk," (nautice',) and are a sailor. You hear sailor's
talk, learn their ways, their peculiarities of feeling as well as
speaking and acting; and moreover pick up a great deal of curious and
useful information in seamanship, ship's customs, foreign countries,
etc., from their long yarns and equally long disputes. No man can be a
sailor, or know what sailors are, unless he has lived in the forecastle
with them--turned in and out with them, eaten of their dish and drank
of their cup. After I had been a week there, nothing would have
tempted me to go back to my old berth, and never afterwards, even in
the worst of weather, when in a close and leaking forecastle off Cape
Horn, did I for a moment wish myself in the steerage. Another thing
which you learn better in the forecastle than you can anywhere else,
is, to make and mend clothes, and this is indispensable to sailors. A
large part of their watches below they spend at this work, and here I
learned that art which stood me in so good stead afterwards.
But to return to the state of the crew. Upon our coming into the
forecastle, there was some difficulty about the uniting of the
allowances of bread, by which we thought we were to lose a few pounds.
This set us into a ferment. The captain would not condescend to
explain, and we went aft in a body, with a Swede, the oldest and best
sailor of the crew, for spokesman. The recollection of the scene that
followed always brings up a smile, especially the quarter-deck dignity
and eloquence of the captain. He was walking the weather side of the
quarter-deck, and seeing us coming aft, stopped short in his walk, and,
with a voice and look intended to annihilate us, called out, "Well,
what do you want now?" Whereupon we stated our grievances as
respectfully as we could, but he broke in upon us, saying that we were
getting fat and lazy, didn't have enough to do, and that made us find
fault. This provoked us, and we began to give word for word. This
would never answer. He clenched his fist, stamped and swore, and sent
us all forward, saying, with oaths enough interspersed to send the
words home,--"Away with you! go forward every one of you! I'll haze
you! I'll work you up! You don't have enough to do! You've mistaken
your man. I'm F---- T----, all the way from 'down east.' I've been
through the mill, ground, and bolted, and come out a regular-built
down-east johnny-cake, good when it's hot, but when it's cold, sour and
indigestible;--and you'll find me so!" The latter part of the harangue
I remember well, for it made a strong impression, and the "down-east
johnny-cake" became a by-word for the rest of the voyage. So much for
our petition for the redress of grievances. The matter was however set
right, for the mate, after allowing the captain due time to cool off,
explained it to him, and at night we were all called aft to hear
another harangue, in which, of course, the whole blame of the
misunderstanding was thrown upon us. We ventured to hint that he would
not give us time to explain; but it wouldn't do. We were driven back
discomforted. Thus the affair blew over, but the irritation caused by
it remained; and we never had peace or a good understanding again so
long as the captain and crew remained together.
We continued sailing along in the beautiful temperate climate of the
Pacific. The Pacific well deserves its name, for except in the
southern part, at Cape Horn, and in the western parts, near the China
and Indian oceans, it has few storms, and is never either extremely hot
or cold. Between the tropics there is a slight haziness, like a thin
gauze, drawn over the sun, which, without obstructing or obscuring the
light, tempers the heat which comes down with perpendicular fierceness
in the Atlantic and Indian tropics. We sailed well to the westward to
have the full advantage of the north-east trades, and when we had
reached the latitude of Point Conception, where it is usual to make the
land, we were several hundred miles to the westward of it. We
immediately changed our course due east, and sailed in that direction
for a number of days. At length we began to heave-to after dark, for
fear of making the land at night on a coast where there are no
light-houses and but indifferent charts, and at daybreak on the morning
of
Tuesday, Jan 13th, 1835, we made the land at Point Conception, lat 34º
32' N., long 120º 06' W. The port of Santa Barbara, to which we were
bound, lying about sixty miles to the southward of this point, we
continued sailing down the coast during the day and following night,
and on the next morning,
Jan. 14th, 1835, we came to anchor in the spacious bay of Santa
Barbara, after a voyage of one hundred and fifty days from Boston.
[1] Haze is a word of frequent use on board ship, and never, I believe,
used elsewhere. It is very expressive to a sailor, and means to punish
by hard work. Let an officer once say, "I'll haze you," and your fate
is fixed. You will be "worked up," if you are not a better man than he
is.
CHAPTER IX
CALIFORNIA--A SOUTH-EASTER
California extends along nearly the whole of the western coast of
Mexico, between the gulf of California in the south and the bay of Sir
Francis Drake on the north, or between the 22d and 38th degrees of
north latitude. It is subdivided into two provinces--Lower or Old
California, lying between the gulf and the 32d degree of latitude, or
near it; (the division line running, I believe, between the bay of
Todos Santos and the port of San Diego;) and New or Upper California,
the southernmost port of which is San Diego, in lat. 32º 39', and the
northernmost, San Francisco, situated in the large bay discovered by
Sir Francis Drake, in lat. 37º 58', and called after him by the
English, though the Mexicans call it Yerba Buena. Upper California has
the seat of its government at Monterey, where is also the custom-house,
the only one on the coast, and at which every vessel intending to trade
on the coast must enter its cargo before it can commence its traffic.
We were to trade upon this coast exclusively, and therefore expected to
go to Monterey at first; but the captain's orders from home were to put
in at Santa Barbara, which is the central port of the coast, and wait
there for the agent who lives there, and transacts all the business for
the firm to which our vessel belonged.
The bay, or, as it was commonly called, the canal of Santa Barbara, is
very large, being formed by the main land on one side, (between Point
Conception on the north and Point St. Buena Ventura on the south,)
which here bends in like a crescent, and three large islands opposite
to it and at the distance of twenty miles. This is just sufficient to
give it the name of a bay, while at the same time it is so large and so
much exposed to the south-east and north-west winds, that it is little
better than an open roadstead; and the whole swell of the Pacific ocean
rolls in here before a south-easter, and breaks with so heavy a surf in
the shallow waters, that it is highly dangerous to lie near to the
shore during the south-easter season; that is, between the months of
November and April.
This wind (the south-easter) is the bane of the coast of California.
Between the months of November and April, (including a part of each,)
which is the rainy season in this latitude, you are never safe from it,
and accordingly, in the ports which are open to it, vessels are
obliged, during these months, to lie at anchor at a distance of three
miles from the shore, with slip-ropes on their cables, ready to slip
and go to sea at a moment's warning. The only ports which are safe
from this wind are San Francisco and Monterey in the north, and San
Diego in the south.
As it was January when we arrived, and the middle of the south-easter
season, we accordingly came to anchor at the distance of three miles
from the shore, in eleven fathoms water, and bent a slip-rope and buoys
to our cables, cast off the yard-arm gaskets from the sails, and
stopped them all with rope-yarns. After we had done this, the boat
went ashore with the captain, and returned with orders to the mate to
send a boat ashore for him at sundown. I did not go in the first boat,
and was glad to find that there was another going before night; for
after so long a voyage as ours had been, a few hours is long to pass in
sight and out of reach of land. We spent the day on board in the usual
avocations; but as this was the first time we had been without the
captain, we felt a little more freedom, and looked about us to see what
sort of a country we had got into, and were to spend a year or two of
our lives in.
In the first place, it was a beautiful day, and so warm that we had on
straw hats, duck trowsers, and all the summer gear; and as this was
mid-winter, it spoke well for the climate; and we afterwards found that
the thermometer never fell to the freezing-point throughout the winter,
and that there was very little difference between the seasons, except
that during a long period of rainy and south-easterly weather, thick
clothes were not uncomfortable.
The large bay lay about us, nearly smooth, as there was hardly a breath
of wind stirring, though the boat's crew who went ashore told us that
the long ground swell broke into a heavy surf upon the beach. There was
only one vessel in the port--a long, sharp brig of about 300 tons, with
raking masts and very square yards, and English colors at her peak. We
afterwards learned that she was built at Guayaquil, and named the
Ayacucho, after the place where the battle was fought that gave Peru
her independence, and was now owned by a Scotchman named Wilson, who
commanded her, and was engaged in the trade between Callao, the
Sandwich Islands, and California. She was a fast sailer, as we
frequently afterwards perceived, and had a crew of Sandwich Islanders
on board. Beside this vessel there was no object to break the surface
of the bay. Two points ran out as the horns of the crescent, one of
which--the one to the westward--was low and sandy, and is that to which
vessels are obliged to give a wide berth when running out for a
south-easter; the other is high, bold, and well wooded, and, we were
told, has a mission upon it, called St. Buenaventura, from which the
point is named. In the middle of this crescent, directly opposite the
anchoring ground, lie the mission and town of Santa Barbara, on a low,
flat plain, but little above the level of the sea, covered with grass,
though entirely without trees, and surrounded on three sides by an
amphitheatre of mountains, which slant off to the distance of fifteen
or twenty miles. The mission stands a little back of the town, and is
a large building, or rather a collection of buildings, in the centre of
which is a high tower, with a belfry of five bells; and the whole,
being plastered, makes quite a show at a distance, and is the mark by
which vessels come to anchor. The town lies a little nearer to the
beach--about half a mile from it--and is composed of one-story houses
built of brown clay--some of them plastered--with red tiles on the
roofs. I should judge that there were about an hundred of them; and in
the midst of them stands the Presidio, or fort, built of the same
materials, and apparently but little stronger. The town is certainly
finely situated, with a bay in front, and an amphitheatre of hills
behind. The only thing which diminishes its beauty is, that the hills
have no large trees upon them, they having been all burnt by a great
fire which swept them off about a dozen years before, and they had not
yet grown up again. The fire was described to me by an inhabitant, as
having been a very terrible and magnificent sight. The air of the whole
valley was so heated that the people were obliged to leave the town and
take up their quarters for several days upon the beach.
Just before sun-down the mate ordered a boat's crew ashore, and I went
as one of the number. We passed under the stern of the English brig,
and had a long pull ashore. I shall never forget the impression which
our first landing on the beach of California made upon me. The sun had
just gone down; it was getting dusky; the damp night wind was beginning
to blow, and the heavy swell of the Pacific was setting in, and
breaking in loud and high "combers" upon the beach. We lay on our oars
in the swell, just outside of the surf, waiting for a good chance to
run in, when a boat, which had put off from the Ayacucho just after us,
came alongside of us, with a crew of dusky Sandwich Islanders, talking
and halooing in their outlandish tongue. They knew that we were
novices in this kind of boating, and waited to see us go in. The second
mate, however, who steered our boat, determined to have the advantage
of their experience, and would not go in first. Finding, at length, how
matters stood, they gave a shout, and taking advantage of a great
comber which came swelling in, rearing its head, and lifting up the
stern of our boat nearly perpendicular, and again dropping it in the
trough, they gave three or four long and strong pulls, and went in on
top of the great wave, throwing their oars overboard, and as far from
the boat as they could throw them, and jumping out the instant that the
boat touched the beach, and then seizing hold of her and running her up
high and dry upon the sand. We saw, at once, how it was to be done,
and also the necessity of keeping the boat "stern on" to the sea; for
the instant the sea should strike upon her broad-side or quarter, she
would be driven up broad-side-on, and capsized. We pulled strongly in,
and as soon as we felt that the sea had got hold of us and was carrying
us in with the speed of a race-horse, we threw the oars as far from the
boat as we could, and took hold of the gunwale, ready to spring out and
seize her when she struck, the officer using his utmost strength to
keep her stern on. We were shot up upon the beach like an arrow from a
bow, and seizing the boat, ran her up high and dry, and soon picked up
our oars, and stood by her, ready for the captain to come down.
Finding that the captain did not come immediately, we put our oars in
the boat, and leaving one to watch it, walked about the beach to see
what we could, of the place. The beach is nearly a mile in length
between the two points, and of smooth sand. We had taken the only good
landing-place, which is in the middle; it being more stony toward the
ends. It is about twenty yards in width from high-water mark to a
slight bank at which the soil begins, and so hard that it is a favorite
place for running horses. It was growing dark, so that we could just
distinguish the dim outlines of the two vessels in the offing; and the
great seas were rolling in, in regular lines, growing larger and larger
as they approached the shore, and hanging over the beach upon which
they were to break, when their tops would curl over and turn white with
foam, and, beginning at one extreme of the line, break rapidly to the
other, as a long card-house falls when the children knock down the
cards at one end. The Sandwich Islanders, in the mean time, had turned
their boat round, and ran her down into the water, and were loading her
with hides and tallow. As this was the work in which we were soon to
be engaged, we looked on with some curiosity. They ran the boat into
the water so far that every large sea might float her, and two of them,
with their trowsers rolled up, stood by the bows, one on each side,
keeping her in her right position. This was hard work; for beside the
force they had to use upon the boat, the large seas nearly took them
off their legs. The others were running from the boat to the bank,
upon which, out of the reach of the water, was a pile of dry bullocks'
hides, doubled lengthwise in the middle, and nearly as stiff as boards.
These they took upon their heads, one or two at a time, and carried
down to the boat, where one of their number stowed them away. They
were obliged to carry them on their heads, to keep them out of the
water, and we observed that they had on thick woolen caps. "Look here,
Bill, and see what you're coming to!" said one of our men to another
who stood by the boat. "Well, D----," said the second mate to me,
"this does not look much like Cambridge college, does it? This is what
I call 'head work.'" To tell the truth, it did not look very
encouraging.
After they had got through with the hides, they laid hold of the bags
of tallow, (the bags are made of hide, and are about the size of a
common meal bag,) and lifting each upon the shoulders of two men, one
at each end, walked off with them to the boat, and prepared to go
aboard. Here, too, was something for us to learn. The man who
steered, shipped his oar and stood up in the stern, and those that
pulled the after oars sat upon their benches, with their oars shipped,
ready to strike out as soon as she was afloat. The two men at the bows
kept their places; and when, at length, a large sea came in and floated
her, seized hold of the gunwale, and ran out with her till they were up
to their armpits, and then tumbled over the gunwale into the bows,
dripping with water. The men at the oars struck out, but it wouldn't
do; the sea swept back and left them nearly high and dry. The two
fellows jumped out again; and the next time they succeeded better, and,
with the help of a deal of outlandish hallooing and bawling, got her
well off. We watched them till they were out of the breakers, and saw
them steering for their vessel, which was now hidden in the darkness.
The sand of the beach began to be cold to our bare feet; the frogs set
up their croaking in the marshes, and one solitary owl, from the end of
the distant point, gave out his melancholy note, mellowed by the
distance, and we began to think that it was high time for "the old
man," as the captain is generally called, to come down. In a few
minutes we heard something coming towards us. It was a man on
horseback. He came up on the full gallop, reined up near us, addressed
a few words to us, and receiving no answer, wheeled around and galloped
off again. He was nearly as dark as an Indian, with a large Spanish
hat, blanket cloak or surreppa, and leather leggins, with a long knife
stuck in them. "This is the seventh city that ever I was in, and no
Christian one neither," said Bill Brown. "Stand by!" said Tom, "you
haven't seen the worst of it yet." In the midst of this conversation
the captain appeared; and we winded the boat round, shoved her down,
and prepared to go off. The captain, who had been on the coast before
and "knew the ropes," took the steering oar, and we went off in the
same way as the other boat. I, being the youngest, had the pleasure of
standing at the bow, and getting wet through. We went off well, though
the seas were high. Some of them lifted us up, and sliding from under
us, seemed to let us drop through the air like a flat plank upon the
body of the water. In a few minutes we were in the low, regular swell,
and pulled for a light, which, as we came up, we found had been run up
to our trysail gaff.
Coming aboard, we hoisted up all the boats, and diving down into the
forecastle, changed our wet clothes, and got our supper. After supper
the sailors lighted their pipes, (cigars, those of us who had them,)
and we had to tell all we had seen ashore. Then followed conjectures
about the people ashore, the length of the voyage, carrying hides,
etc., until eight bells, when all hands were called aft, and the
"anchor watch" set. We were to stand two in a watch, and as the nights
were pretty long, two hours were to make a watch. The second mate was
to keep the deck until eight o'clock, and all hands were to be called
at daybreak, and the word was passed to keep a bright look-out, and to
call the mate if it should come on to blow from the south-east. We had
also orders to strike the bells every half-hour through the night, as
at sea. My watchmate was John, the Swedish sailor, and we stood from
twelve to two, he walking the larboard side, and I the starboard. At
daylight all hands were called, and we went through the usual process
of washing down, swabbing, etc., and got breakfast at eight o'clock.
In the course of the forenoon, a boat went aboard of the Ayacucho and
brought off a quarter of beef, which made us a fresh bite for dinner.
This we were glad enough to have, and the mate told us that we should
live upon fresh beef while we were on the coast, as it was cheaper here
than the salt. While at dinner, the cook called, "Sail ho!" and coming
on deck, we saw two sails coming round the point. One was a large ship
under top-gallant sails, and the other a small hermaphrodite brig.
They both backed their topsails and sent boats aboard of us. The
ship's colors had puzzled us, and we found that she was from Genoa,
with an assorted cargo, and was trading on the coast. She filled away
again, and stood out; being bound up the coast to San Francisco. The
crew of the brig's boat were Sandwich Islanders, but one of them, who
spoke a little English, told us that she was the Loriotte, Captain Nye,
from Oahu, and was engaged in this trade. She was a lump of a
thing--what the sailors call a butter-box. This vessel, as well as the
Ayacucho, and others which we afterwards saw engaged in the same trade,
have English or Americans for officers, and two or three before the
mast to do the work upon the rigging, and to rely upon for seamanship,
while the rest of the crew are Sandwich Islanders, who are active, and
very useful in boating.
The three captains went ashore after dinner, and came off again at
night. When in port, everything is attended to by the chief mate; the
captain, unless he is also supercargo, has little to do, and is usually
ashore much of his time. This we thought would be pleasanter for us,
as the mate was a good-natured man and not very strict. So it was for a
time, but we were worse off in the end; for wherever the captain is a
severe, energetic man, and the mate is wanting in both these qualities,
there will always be trouble. And trouble we had already begun to
anticipate. The captain had several times found fault with the mate,
in presence of the crew; and hints had been dropped that all was not
right between them. When this is the case, and the captain suspects
that his officer is too easy and familiar with the crew, then he begins
to interfere in all the duties, and to draw the reins tauter, and the
crew have to suffer.
CHAPTER X
A SOUTH-EASTER--PASSAGE UP THE COAST
This night, after sundown, it looked black at the southward and
eastward, and we were told to keep a bright look-out. Expecting to be
called up, we turned in early. Waking up about midnight, I found a man
who had just come down from his watch, striking a light. He said that
it was beginning to puff up from the south-east, and that the sea was
rolling in, and he had called the captain; and as he threw himself down
on his chest with all his clothes on, I knew that he expected to be
called. I felt the vessel pitching at her anchor, and the chain
surging and snapping, and lay awake, expecting an instant summons. In
a few minutes it came--three knocks on the scuttle, and "All hands
ahoy! bear-a-hand up and make sail." We sprang up for our clothes, and
were about halfway dressed, when the mate called out, down the scuttle,
"Tumble up here, men! tumble up! before she drags her anchor." We were
on deck in an instant. "Lay aloft and loose the topsails!" shouted the
captain, as soon as the first man showed himself. Springing into the
rigging, I saw that the Ayacucho's topsails were loosed, and heard her
crew singing-out at the sheets as they were hauling them home. This
had probably started our captain; as "old Wilson" (the captain of the
Ayacucho) had been many years on the coast, and knew the signs of the
weather. We soon had the topsails loosed; and one hand remaining, as
usual, in each top, to overhaul the rigging and light the sail out, the
rest of us laid down to man the sheets. While sheeting home, we saw
the Ayacucho standing athwart our bows, sharp upon the wind, cutting
through the head sea like a knife, with her raking masts and sharp bows
running up like the head of a greyhound. It was a beautiful sight.
She was like a bird which had been frightened and had spread her wings
in flight. After the topsails had been sheeted home, the head yards
braced aback, the fore-top-mast staysail hoisted, and the buoys
streamed, and all ready forward, for slipping, we went aft and manned
the slip-rope which came through the stern port with a turn round the
timber-heads. "All ready forward?" asked the captain. "Aye, aye, sir;
all ready," answered the mate. "Let go!" "All gone, sir;" and the
iron cable grated over the windlass and through the hawse-hole, and the
little vessel's head swinging off from the wind under the force of her
backed head sails, brought the strain upon the slip-rope. "Let go
aft!" Instantly all was gone, and we were under weigh. As soon as she
was well off from the wind, we filled away the head yards, braced all
up sharp, set the foresail and trysail, and left our anchorage well
astern, giving the point a good berth. "Nye's off too," said the
captain to the mate; and looking astern, we could just see the little
hermaphrodite brig under sail standing after us.
It now began to blow fresh; the rain fell fast, and it grew very black;
but the captain would not take in sail until we were well clear of the
point. As soon as we left this on our quarter, and were standing out
to sea, the order was given, and we sprang aloft, double reefed each
topsail, furled the foresail, and double reefed the trysail, and were
soon under easy sail. In those cases of slipping for south-easters,
there is nothing to be done, after you have got clear of the coast, but
to lie-to under easy sail, and wait for the gale to be over, which
seldom lasts more than two days, and is often over in twelve hours; but
the wind never comes back to the southward until there has been a good
deal of rain fallen. "Go below the watch," said the mate; but here was
a dispute which watch it should be, which the mate soon however settled
by sending his watch below, saying that we should have our turn the
next time we got under weigh. We remained on deck till the expiration
of the watch, the wind blowing very fresh and the rain coming down in
torrents. When the watch came up, we wore ship, and stood on the other
tack, in towards land. When we came up again, which was at four in the
morning, it was very dark, and there was not much wind, but it was
raining as I thought I had never seen it rain before. We had on
oil-cloth suits and south-wester caps, and had nothing to do but to
stand bolt upright and let it pour down upon us. There are no
umbrellas, and no sheds to go under, at sea.
While we were standing about on deck, we saw the little brig drifting
by us, hove to under her fore topsail double reefed; and she glided by
like a phantom. Not a word was spoken, and we saw no one on deck but
the man at the wheel. Toward morning the captain put his head out of
the companion-way and told the second mate, who commanded our watch, to
look out for a change of wind, which usually followed a calm and heavy
rain; and it was well that he did; for in a few minutes it fell dead
calm, the vessel lost her steerage-way, and the rain ceased. We hauled
up the trysail and courses, squared the after yards, and waited for the
change, which came in a few minutes, with a vengeance, from the
north-west, the opposite point of the compass. Owing to our
precautions, we were not taken aback, but ran before the wind with
square yards. The captain coming on deck, we braced up a little and
stood back for our anchorage. With the change of wind came a change of
weather, and in two hours the wind moderated into the light steady
breeze, which blows down the coast the greater part of the year, and,
from its regularity, might be called a trade-wind. The sun came up
bright, and we set royals, skysails, and studding-sails, and were under
fair way for Santa Barbara. The little Loriotte was astern of us,
nearly out of sight; but we saw nothing of the Ayacucho. In a short
time she appeared, standing out from Santa Rosa Island, under the lee
of which she had been hove to, all night. Our captain was anxious to
get in before her, for it would be a great credit to us, on the coast,
to beat the Ayacucho, which had been called the best sailer in the
North Pacific, in which she had been known as a trader for six years or
more. We had an advantage over her in light winds, from our royals and
skysails which we carried both at the fore and main, and also in our
studding-sails; for Captain Wilson carried nothing above
top-gallant-sails, and always unbent his studding-sails when on the
coast. As the wind was light and fair, we held our own, for some time,
when we were both obliged to brace up and come upon a taut bowline,
after rounding the point; and here he had us on fair ground, and walked
away from us, as you would haul in a line. He afterwards said that we
sailed well enough with the wind free, but that give him a taut
bowline, and he would beat us, if we had all the canvas of the Royal
George.
The Ayacucho got to the anchoring ground about half an hour before us,
and was furling her sails when we came up to it. This picking up your
cables is a very nice piece of work. It requires some seamanship to do
it, and come to at your former moorings, without letting go another
anchor. Captain Wilson was remarkable, among the sailors on the coast,
for his skill in doing this; and our captain never let go a second
anchor during all the time that I was with him. Coming a little to
windward of our buoy, we clewed up the light sails, backed our main
topsail, and lowered a boat, which pulled off, and made fast a spare
hawser to the buoy on the end of the slip-rope. We brought the other
end to the captain, and hove in upon it until we came to the slip-rope,
which we took to the windlass, and walked her up to her chain, the
captain helping her by backing and filling the sails. The chain is
then passed through the hawse-hole and round the windlass, and bitted,
the slip-rope taken round outside and brought into the stern port, and
she is safe in her old berth. After we had got through, the mate told
us that this was a small touch of California, the like of which we must
expect to have through the winter.
After we had furled the sails and got dinner, we saw the Loriotte
nearing, and she had her anchor before night. At sun-down we went
ashore again, and found the Loriotte's boat waiting on the beach. The
Sandwich Islander who could speak English, told us that he had been up
to the town; that our agent, Mr. R----, and some other passengers, were
going to Monterey with us, and that we were to sail the same night. In
a few minutes Captain T----, with two gentlemen and one female, came
down, and we got ready to go off. They had a good deal of baggage,
which we put into the bows of the boat, and then two of us took the
señora in our arms, and waded with her through the water, and put her
down safely in the stern. She appeared much amused with the
transaction, and her husband was perfectly satisfied, thinking any
arrangement good which saved his wetting his feet. I pulled the after
oar, so that I heard the conversation, and learned that one of the men,
who, as well as I could see in the darkness, was a young-looking man,
in the European dress, and covered up in a large cloak, was the agent
of the firm to which our vessel belonged; and the other, who was
dressed in the Spanish dress of the country, was a brother of our
captain, who had been many years a trader on the coast, and had married
the lady who was in the boat. She was a delicate, dark-complexioned
young woman, and of one of the best families in California. I also
found that we were to sail the same night. As soon as we got on board,
the boats were hoisted up, the sails loosed, the windlass manned, the
slip-ropes and gear cast off; and after about twenty minutes of heaving
at the windlass, making sail, and bracing yards, we were well under
weigh, and going with a fair wind up the coast to Monterey. The
Loriotte got under weigh at the same time, and was also bound up to
Monterey, but as she took a different course from us, keeping the land
aboard, while we kept well out to sea, we soon lost sight of her. We
had a fair wind, which is something unusual when going up, as the
prevailing wind is the north, which blows directly down the coast;
whence the northern are called the windward, and the southern the
leeward ports.
CHAPTER XI
PASSAGE UP THE COAST--MONTEREY
We got clear of the islands before sunrise the next morning, and by
twelve o'clock were out of the canal, and off Point Conception, the
place where we first made the land upon our arrival. This is the
largest point on the coast, and is uninhabited headland, stretching out
into the Pacific, and has the reputation of being very windy. Any
vessel does well which gets by it without a gale, especially in the
winter season. We were going along with studding-sails set on both
sides, when, as we came round the point, we had to haul our wind, and
take in the lee studding-sails. As the brig came more upon the wind,
she felt it more, and we doused the sky-sails, but kept the weather
studding-sails on her, bracing the yards forward so that the
swinging-boom nearly touched the sprit-sail yard. She now lay over to
it, the wind was freshening, and the captain was evidently "dragging on
to her." His brother and Mr. R----, looking a little squally, said
something to him, but he only answered that he knew the vessel and what
she would carry. He was evidently showing off his vessel, and letting
them know how he could carry sail. He stood up to windward, holding on
by the backstays, and looking up at the sticks, to see how much they
would bear; when a puff came which settled the matter. Then it was
"haul down," and "clew up," royals, flying-jib, and studding-sails, all
at once. There was what the sailors call a "mess"--everything let go,
nothing hauled in, and everything flying. The poor Spanish woman came
to the companion-way, looking as pale as a ghost, and nearly frightened
to death. The mate and some men forward were trying to haul in the
lower studding-sail, which had blown over the sprit-sail yard-arm and
round the guys; while the topmast-studding-sail boom, after buckling up
and springing out again like a piece of whalebone, broke off at the
boom-iron. I sprang aloft to take in the main top-gallant
studding-sail, but before I got into the top, the tack parted, and away
went the sail, swinging forward of the top-gallant-sail, and tearing
and slatting itself to pieces. The halyards were at this moment let go
by the run; and such a piece of work I never had before, in taking in a
sail. After great exertions I got it, or the remains of it, into the
top, and was making it fast, when the captain, looking up, called out
to me, "Lay aloft there, D----, and furl that main royal." Leaving the
studding-sail, I went up to the cross trees; and here it looked rather
squally. The foot of the top-gallant-mast was working between the
cross and trussel trees, and the royal-mast lay over at a fearful angle
with the mast below, while everything was working, and cracking,
strained to the utmost.
There's nothing for Jack to do but to obey orders, and I went up upon
the yard; and there was a worse "mess," if possible, than I had left
below. The braces had been let go, and the yard was swinging about
like a turnpike-gate, and the whole sail having blown over to leeward,
the lee leach was over the yard-arm, and the sky-sail was all adrift
and flying over my head. I looked down, but it was in vain to attempt
to make myself heard, for every one was busy below, and the wind
roared, and sails were flapping in every direction. Fortunately, it was
noon and broad daylight, and the man at the wheel, who had his eyes
aloft, soon saw my difficulty, and after numberless signs and gestures,
got some one to haul the necessary ropes taut. During this interval I
took a look below. Everything was in confusion on deck; the little
vessel was tearing through the water as if she were mad, the seas
flying over her, and the masts leaning over at an angle of forty-five
degrees from the vertical. At the other royal-mast-head was S----,
working away at the sail, which was blowing from him as fast as he
could gather it in. The top-gallant-sail below me was soon clewed up,
which relieved the mast, and in a short time I got my sail furled, and
went below; but I lost overboard a new tarpaulin hat, which troubled me
more than anything else. We worked for about half an hour with might
and main; and in an hour from the time the squall struck us, from
having all our flying kites abroad, we came down to double-reefed
top-sails and the storm-sails.
The wind had hauled ahead during the squall, and we were standing
directly in for the point. So, as soon as we had got all snug, we wore
round and stood off again, and had the pleasant prospect of beating up
to Monterey, a distance of an hundred miles, against a violent head
wind. Before night it began to rain; and we had five days of rainy,
stormy weather, under close sail all the time, and were blown several
hundred miles off the coast. In the midst of this, we discovered that
our fore topmast was sprung, (which no doubt happened in the squall,)
and were obliged to send down the fore top-gallant-mast and carry as
little sail as possible forward. Our four passengers were dreadfully
sick, so that we saw little or nothing of them during the five days.
On the sixth day it cleared off, and the sun came out bright, but the
wind and sea were still very high. It was quite like being at sea
again: no land for hundreds of miles, and the captain taking the sun
every day at noon. Our passengers now made their appearance, and I had
for the first time the opportunity of seeing what a miserable and
forlorn creature a sea-sick passenger is. Since I had got over my own
sickness, the third day from Boston, I had seen nothing but hale,
hearty men, with their sea legs on, and able to go anywhere, (for we
had no passengers;) and I will own there was a pleasant feeling of
superiority in being able to walk the deck, and eat, and go about, and
comparing one's self with two poor, miserable, pale creatures,
staggering and shuffling about decks, or holding on and looking up with
giddy heads, to see us climbing to the mast-heads, or sitting quietly
at work on the ends of the lofty yards. A well man at sea has little
sympathy with one who is seasick; he is too apt to be conscious of a
comparison favorable to his own manhood. After a few days we made the
land at Point Pinos, (pines,) which is the headland at the entrance of
the bay of Monterey. As we drew in, and ran down the shore, we could
distinguish well the face of the country, and found it better wooded
than that to the southward of Point Conception. In fact, as I
afterwards discovered, Point Conception may be made the dividing line
between two different faces of the country. As you go to the northward
of the point, the country becomes more wooded, has a richer appearance,
and is better supplied with water. This is the case with Monterey, and
still more so with San Francisco; while to the southward of the point,
as at Santa Barbara, San Pedro, and particularly San Diego, there is
very little wood, and the country has a naked, level appearance, though
it is still very fertile.
The bay of Monterey is very wide at the entrance, being about
twenty-four miles between the two points, Año Nuevo at the north, and
Pinos at the south, but narrows gradually as you approach the town,
which is situated in a bend, or large cove, at the south-eastern
extremity, and about eighteen miles from the points, which makes the
whole depth of the bay. The shores are extremely well wooded, (the
pine abounding upon them,) and as it was now the rainy season,
everything was as green as nature could make it,--the grass, the
leaves, and all; the birds were singing in the woods, and great numbers
of wild-fowl were flying over our heads. Here we could lie safe from
the south-easters. We came to anchor within two cable lengths of the
shore, and the town lay directly before us, making a very pretty
appearance; its houses being plastered, which gives a much better
effect than those of Santa Barbara, which are of a mud-color. The red
tiles, too, on the roofs, contrasted well with the white plastered
sides and with the extreme greenness of the lawn upon which the
houses--about an hundred in number--were dotted about, here and there,
irregularly. There are in this place, and in every other town which I
saw in California, no streets, or fences, (except here and there a
small patch was fenced in for a garden,) so that the houses are placed
at random upon the green, which, as they are of one story and of the
cottage form, gives them a pretty effect when seen from a little
distance.
It was a fine Saturday afternoon when we came to anchor, the sun about
an hour high, and everything looking pleasantly. The Mexican flag was
flying from the little square Presidio, and the drums and trumpets of
the soldiers, who were out on parade, sounded over the water, and gave
great life to the scene. Every one was delighted with the appearance
of things. We felt as though we had got into a Christian (which in the
sailor's vocabulary means civilized) country. The first impression
which California had made upon us was very disagreeable:--the open
roadstead of Santa Barbara; anchoring three miles from the shore;
running out to sea before every south-easter; landing in a high surf;
with a little dark-looking town, a mile from the beach; and not a sound
to be heard, or anything to be seen, but Sandwich Islanders, hides, and
tallow-bags. Add to this the gale off Point Conception, and no one can
be at a loss to account for our agreeable disappointment in Monterey.
Beside all this, we soon learned, which was of no small importance to
us, that there was little or no surf here, and this afternoon the beach
was as smooth as a duck-pond.
We landed the agent and passengers, and found several persons waiting
for them on the beach, among whom were some, who, though dressed in the
costume of the country, spoke English; and who, we afterwards learned,
were English and Americans who had married and settled in the country.
I also connected with our arrival here another circumstance which more
nearly concerns myself; viz, my first act of what the sailors will
allow to be seamanship--sending down a royal-yard. I had seen it done
once or twice at sea, and an old sailor, whose favor I had taken some
pains to gain, had taught me carefully everything which was necessary
to be done, and in its proper order, and advised me to take the first
opportunity when we were in port, and try it. I told the second mate,
with whom I had been pretty thick when he was before the mast, that I
would do it, and got him to ask the mate to send me up the first time
they were struck. Accordingly I was called upon, and went up,
repeating the operations over in my mind, taking care to get everything
in its order, for the slightest mistake spoils the whole. Fortunately,
I got through without any word from the officer, and heard the "well
done" of the mate, when the yard reached the deck, with as much
satisfaction as I ever felt at Cambridge on seeing a "bene" at the foot
of a Latin exercise.
CHAPTER XII
LIFE AT MONTEREY
The next day being Sunday, which is the liberty-day among merchantmen,
when it is usual to let a part of the crew go ashore, the sailors had
depended upon a day on land, and were already disputing who should ask
to go, when, upon being called in the morning, we were turned-to upon
the rigging, and found that the topmast, which had been sprung, was to
come down, and a new one to go up, and top-gallant and royal-masts, and
the rigging to be set up. This was too bad. If there is anything that
irritates sailors and makes them feel hardly used, it is being deprived
of their Sabbath. Not that they would always, or indeed generally,
spend it religiously, but it is their only day of rest. Then, too,
they are often necessarily deprived of it by storms, and unavoidable
duties of all kinds, that to take it from them when lying quietly and
safely in port, without any urgent reason, bears the more hardly. The
only reason in this case was, that the captain had determined to have
the custom-house officers on board on Monday, and wished to have his
brig in order. Jack is a slave aboard ship; but still he has many
opportunities of thwarting and balking his master. When there is
danger, or necessity, or when he is well used, no one can work faster
than he; but the instant he feels that he is kept at work for nothing,
no sloth could make less headway. He must not refuse his duty, or be
in any way disobedient, but all the work that an officer gets out of
him, he may be welcome to. Every man who has been three months at sea
knows how to "work Tom Cox's traverse"--"three turns round the
long-boat, and a pull at the scuttled-butt." This morning everything
went in this way. "Sogering" was the order of the day. Send a man
below to get a block, and he would capsize everything before finding
it, then not bring it up till an officer had called him twice, and take
as much time to put things in order again. Marline-spikes were not to
be found; knives wanted a prodigious deal of sharpening, and,
generally, three or four were waiting round the grindstone at a time.
When a man got to the mast-head, he would come slowly down again to get
something which he had forgotten; and after the tackles were got up,
six men would pull less than three who pulled "with a will." When the
mate was out of sight, nothing was done. It was all uphill work; and
at eight o'clock, when we went to breakfast, things were nearly where
they were when we began.
During our short meal, the matter was discussed. One proposed refusing
to work; but that was mutiny, and of course was rejected at once. I
remember, too, that one of the men quoted "Father Taylor," (as they
call the seamen's preacher at Boston,) who told them that if they were
ordered to work on Sunday, they must not refuse their duty, and the
blame would not come upon them. After breakfast, it leaked out,
through the officers, that if we would get through our work soon, we
might have a boat in the afternoon and go fishing. This bait was well
thrown, and took with several who were fond of fishing; and all began
to find that as we had one thing to do, and were not to be kept at work
for the day, the sooner we did it, the better.
Accordingly, things took a new aspect; and before two o'clock this
work, which was in a fair way to last two days, was done; and five of
us went a fishing in the jolly-boat, in the direction of Point Pinos;
but leave to go ashore was refused. Here we saw the Loriotte, which
sailed with us from Santa Barbara, coming slowly in with a light
sea-breeze, which sets in towards afternoon, having been becalmed off
the point all the first part of the day. We took several fish of
various kinds, among which cod and perch abounded, and F----, (the
ci-devant second mate,) who was of our number, brought up with his hook
a large and beautiful pearl-oyster shell. We afterwards learned that
this place was celebrated for shells, and that a small schooner had
made a good voyage, by carrying a cargo of them to the United States.
We returned by sun-down, and found the Loriotte at anchor, within a
cable's length of the Pilgrim. The next day we were "turned-to" early,
and began taking off the hatches, overhauling the cargo, and getting
everything ready for inspection. At eight, the officers of the
customs, five in number, came on board, and began overhauling the
cargo, manifest, etc.
The Mexican revenue laws are very strict, and require the whole cargo
to be landed, examined, and taken on board again; but our agent, Mr.
R----, had succeeded in compounding with them for the two last vessels,
and saving the trouble of taking the cargo ashore. The officers were
dressed in the costume which we found prevailed through the country. A
broad-brimmed hat, usually of a black or dark-brown color, with a gilt
or figured band round the crown, and lined inside with silk; a short
jacket of silk or figured calico, (the European skirted body-coat is
never worn;) the shirt open in the neck; rich waistcoat, if any;
pantaloons wide, straight, and long, usually of velvet, velveteen, or
broadcloth; or else short breeches and white stockings. They wear the
deer-skin shoe, which is of a dark-brown color, and, (being made by
Indians,) usually a good deal ornamented. They have no suspenders, but
always wear a sash round the waist, which is generally red, and varying
in quality with the means of the wearer. Add to this the never-failing
cloak, and you have the dress of the Californian. This last garment,
the cloak, is always a mark of the rank and wealth of the owner. The
"gente de razón," or aristocracy, wear cloaks of black or dark blue
broadcloth, with as much velvet and trimmings as may be; and from this
they go down to the blanket of the Indian; the middle classes wearing
something like a large table-cloth, with a hole in the middle for the
head to go through. This is often as coarse as a blanket, but being
beautifully woven with various colors, is quite showy at a distance.
Among the Mexicans there is no working class; (the Indians being slaves
and doing all the hard work;) and every rich man looks like a grandee,
and every poor scamp like a broken-down gentleman. I have often seen a
man with a fine figure, and courteous manners, dressed in broadcloth
and velvet, with a noble horse completely covered with trappings;
without a real in his pocket, and absolutely suffering for something to
eat.
CHAPTER XIII
TRADING--A BRITISH SAILOR
The next day, the cargo having been entered in due form, we began
trading. The trade-room was fitted up in the steerage, and furnished
out with the lighter goods, and with specimens of the rest of the
cargo; and M----, a young man who came out from Boston with us, before
the mast, was taken out of the forecastle, and made supercargo's clerk.
He was well qualified for the business, having been clerk in a
counting-house in Boston. He had been troubled for some time with the
rheumatism, which unfitted him for the wet and exposed duty of a sailor
on the coast. For a week or ten days all was life on board. The people
came off to look and to buy--men, women, and children; and we were
continually going in the boats, carrying goods and passengers,--for
they have no boats of their own. Everything must dress itself and come
aboard and see the new vessel, if it were only to buy a paper of pins.
The agent and his clerk managed the sales, while we were busy in the
hold or in the boats. Our cargo was an assorted one; that is, it
consisted of everything under the sun. We had spirits of all kinds,
(sold by the cask,) teas, coffee, sugars, spices, raisins, molasses,
hardware, crockery-ware, tinware, cutlery, clothing of all kinds, boots
and shoes from Lynn, calicoes and cottons from Lowell, crepes, silks;
also shawls, scarfs, necklaces, jewelry, and combs for the ladies;
furniture; and in fact, everything that can be imagined, from Chinese
fire-works to English cart-wheels--of which we had a dozen pairs with
their iron rims on.
The Californians are an idle, thriftless people, and can make nothing
for themselves. The country abounds in grapes, yet they buy bad wines
made in Boston and brought round by us, at an immense price, and retail
it among themselves at a real (12½ cents) by the small wine-glass.
Their hides, too, which they value at two dollars in money, they give
for something which costs seventy-five cents in Boston; and buy shoes
(like as not, made of their own hides, and which have been carried
twice around Cape Horn) at three or four dollars, and "chicken-skin"
boots at fifteen dollars apiece. Things sell, on an average, at an
advance of nearly three hundred per cent upon the Boston prices. This
is partly owing to the heavy duties which the government, in their
wisdom, with the intent, no doubt, of keeping the silver in the
country, has laid upon imports. These duties, and the enormous expenses
of so long a voyage, keep all merchants, but those of heavy capital,
from engaging in the trade. Nearly two-thirds of all the articles
imported into the country from round Cape Horn, for the last six years,
have been by the single house of Bryant, Sturgis & Co., to whom our
vessel belonged, and who have a permanent agent on the coast.
This kind of business was new to us, and we liked it very well for a
few days, though we were hard at work every minute from daylight to
dark; and sometimes even later.
By being thus continually engaged in transporting passengers with their
goods, to and fro, we gained considerable knowledge of the character,
dress, and language of the people. The dress of the men was as I have
before described it. The women wore gowns of various texture--silks,
crape, calicoes, etc.,--made after the European style, except that the
sleeves were short, leaving the arm bare, and that they were loose
about the waist, having no corsets. They wore shoes of kid, or satin;
sashes or belts of bright colors; and almost always a necklace and
ear-rings. Bonnets they had none. I only saw one on the coast, and
that belonged to the wife of an American sea-captain who had settled in
San Diego, and had imported the chaotic mass of straw and ribbon, as a
choice present to his new wife. They wear their hair (which is almost
invariably black, or a very dark brown) long in their necks, sometimes
loose, and sometimes in long braids; though the married women often do
it up on a high comb. Their only protection against the sun and
weather is a large mantle which they put over their heads, drawing it
close round their faces, when they go out of doors, which is generally
only in pleasant weather. When in the house, or sitting out in front
of it, which they often do in fine weather, they usually wear a small
scarf or neckerchief of a rich pattern. A band, also, about the top of
the head, with a cross, star, or other ornament in front, is common.
Their complexions are various, depending--as well as their dress and
manner--upon their rank; or, in other words, upon the amount of Spanish
blood they can lay claim to. Those who are of pure Spanish blood,
having never intermarried with the aborigines, have clear brunette
complexions, and sometimes, even as fair as those of English women.
There are but few of these families in California; being mostly those
in official stations, or who, on the expiration of their offices, have
settled here upon property which they have acquired; and others who
have been banished for state offences. These form the aristocracy;
inter-marrying, and keeping up an exclusive system in every respect.
They can be told by their complexions, dress, manner, and also by their
speech; for, calling themselves Castilians, they are very ambitious of
speaking the pure Castilian language, which is spoken in a somewhat
corrupted dialect by the lower classes. From this upper class, they go
down by regular shades, growing more and more dark and muddy, until you
come to the pure Indian, who runs about with nothing upon him but a
small piece of cloth, kept up by a wide leather strap drawn round his
waist. Generally speaking, each person's caste is decided by the
quality of the blood, which shows itself, too plainly to be concealed,
at first sight. Yet the least drop of Spanish blood, if it be only of
quadroon or octoroon, is sufficient to raise them from the rank of
slaves, and entitle them to a suit of clothes--boots, hat, cloak,
spurs, long knife, and all complete, though coarse and dirty as may
be,--and to call themselves Españolos, and to hold property, if they
can get any.
The fondness for dress among the women is excessive, and is often the
ruin of many of them. A present of a fine mantle, or of a necklace or
pair of ear-rings, gains the favor of the greater part of them.
Nothing is more common than to see a woman living in a house of only
two rooms, and the ground for a floor, dressed in spangled satin shoes,
silk gown, high comb, and gilt, if not gold, ear-rings and necklace.
If their husbands do not dress them well enough, they will soon receive
presents from others. They used to spend whole days on board our
vessels, examining the fine clothes and ornaments, and frequently made
purchases at a rate which would have made a seamstress or waiting-maid
in Boston open her eyes.
Next to the love of dress, I was most struck with the fineness of the
voices and beauty of the intonations of both sexes. Every common
ruffian-looking fellow, with a slouched hat, blanket cloak, dirty
under-dress, and soiled leather leggins, appeared to me to be speaking
elegant Spanish. It was a pleasure, simply to listen to the sound of
the language, before I could attach any meaning to it. They have a good
deal of the Creole drawl, but it is varied with an occasional extreme
rapidity of utterance, in which they seem to skip from consonant to
consonant, until, lighting upon a broad, open vowel, they rest upon
that to restore the balance of sound. The women carry this peculiarity
of speaking to a much greater extreme than the men, who have more
evenness and stateliness of utterance. A common bullock-driver, on
horseback, delivering a message, seemed to speak like an ambassador at
an audience. In fact, they sometimes appeared to me to be a people on
whom a curse had fallen, and stripped them of everything but their
pride, their manners, and their voices.
Another thing that surprised me was the quantity of silver that was in
circulation. I certainly never saw so much silver at one time in my
life, as during the week that we were at Monterey. The truth is, they
have no credit system, no banks, and no way of investing money but in
cattle. They have no circulating medium but silver and hides--which
the sailors call "California bank notes." Everything that they buy they
must pay for in one or the other of these things. The hides they bring
down dried and doubled, in clumsy ox-carts, or upon mules' backs, and
the money they carry tied up in a handkerchief;--fifty, eighty, or an
hundred dollars and half dollars.
I had never studied Spanish while at college, and could not speak a
word, when at Juan Fernandez; but during the latter part of the passage
out, I borrowed a grammar and dictionary from the cabin, and by a
continual use of these, and a careful attention to every word that I
heard spoken, I soon got a vocabulary together, and began talking for
myself. As I soon knew more Spanish than any of the crew, (who indeed
knew none at all,) and had been at college and knew Latin, I got the
name of a great linguist, and was always sent for by the captain and
officers to get provisions, or to carry letters and messages to
different parts of the town. I was often sent to get something which I
could not tell the name of to save my life; but I liked the business,
and accordingly never pleaded ignorance. Sometimes I managed to jump
below and take a look at my dictionary before going ashore; or else I
overhauled some English resident on my way, and got the word from him;
and then, by signs, and the help of my Latin and French, contrived to
get along. This was a good exercise for me, and no doubt taught me
more than I should have learned by months of study and reading; it also
gave me opportunities of seeing the customs, characters, and domestic
arrangements of the people; beside being a great relief from the
monotony of a day spent on board ship.
Monterey, as far as my observation goes, is decidedly the pleasantest
and most civilized-looking place in California. In the centre of it is
an open square, surrounded by four lines of one-story plastered
buildings, with half a dozen cannon in the centre; some mounted, and
others not. This is the "Presidio," or fort. Every town has a
presidio in its centre; or rather, every presidio has a town built
around it; for the forts were first built by the Mexican government,
and then the people built near them for protection. The presidio here
was entirely open and unfortified. There were several officers with
long titles, and about eighty soldiers, but they were poorly paid, fed,
clothed, and disciplined. The governor-general, or, as he is commonly
called, the "general," lives here; which makes it the seat of
government. He is appointed by the central government at Mexico, and
is the chief civil and military officer. In addition to him, each town
has a commandant, who is the chief military officer, and has charge of
the fort, and of all transactions with foreigners and foreign vessels;
and two or three alcaldes and corregidores, elected by the inhabitants,
who are the civil officers. Courts and jurisprudence they have no
knowledge of. Small municipal matters are regulated by the alcaldes
and corregidores; and everything relating to the general government, to
the military, and to foreigners, by the commandants, acting under the
governor-general. Capital cases are decided by him, upon personal
inspection, if he is near; or upon minutes sent by the proper officers,
if the offender is at a distant place. No Protestant has any civil
rights, nor can he hold any property, or, indeed, remain more than a
few weeks on shore, unless he belong to some vessel. Consequently, the
Americans and English who intend to remain here become Catholics, to a
man; the current phrase among them being,--"A man must leave his
conscience at Cape Horn."
But to return to Monterey. The houses here, as everywhere else in
California, are of one story, built of clay made into large bricks,
about a foot and a half square and three or four inches thick, and
hardened in the sun. These are cemented together by mortar of the same
material, and the whole are of a common dirt-color. The floors are
generally of earth, the windows grated and without glass; and the
doors, which are seldom shut, open directly into the common room; there
being no entries. Some of the more wealthy inhabitants have glass to
their windows and board floors; and in Monterey nearly all the houses
are plastered on the outside. The better houses, too, have red tiles
upon the roofs. The common ones have two or three rooms which open
into each other, and are furnished with a bed or two, a few chairs and
tables, a looking-glass, a crucifix of some material or other, and
small daubs of paintings enclosed in glass, and representing some
miracle or martyrdom. They have no chimneys or fire-places in the
houses, the climate being such as to make a fire unnecessary; and all
their cooking is done in a small cook-house, separated from the house.
The Indians, as I have said before, do all the hard work, two or three
being attached to each house; and the poorest persons are able to keep
one, at least, for they have only to feed them and give them a small
piece of coarse cloth and a belt, for the males; and a coarse gown,
without shoes or stockings, for the females.
In Monterey there are a number of English and Americans (English or
"Ingles" all are called who speak the English language) who have
married Californians, become united to the Catholic church, and
acquired considerable property. Having more industry, frugality, and
enterprise than the natives, they soon get nearly all the trade into
their hands. They usually keep shops, in which they retail the goods
purchased in larger quantities from our vessels, and also send a good
deal into the interior, taking hides in pay, which they again barter
with our vessels. In every town on the coast there are foreigners
engaged in this kind of trade, while I recollect but two shops kept by
natives. The people are generally suspicious of foreigners, and they
would not be allowed to remain, were it not that they become good
Catholics, and by marrying natives, and bringing up their children as
Catholics and Mexicans, and not teaching them the English language,
they quiet suspicion, and even become popular and leading men. The
chief alcaldes in Monterey and Santa Barbara were both Yankees by birth.
The men in Monterey appeared to me to be always on horseback. Horses
are as abundant here as dogs and chickens were in Juan Fernandez. There
are no stables to keep them in, but they are allowed to run wild and
graze wherever they please, being branded, and having long leather
ropes, called "lassos," attached to their necks and dragging along
behind them, by which they can be easily taken. The men usually catch
one in the morning, throw a saddle and bridle upon him, and use him for
the day, and let him go at night, catching another the next day. When
they go on long journeys, they ride one horse down, and catch another,
throw the saddle and bridle upon him, and after riding him down, take a
third, and so on to the end of the journey. There are probably no
better riders in the world. They get upon a horse when only four or
five years old, their little legs not long enough to come half way over
his sides; and may almost be said to keep on him until they have grown
to him. The stirrups are covered or boxed up in front, to prevent
their catching when riding through the woods; and the saddles are large
and heavy, strapped very tight upon the horse, and have large pommels,
or loggerheads, in front, round which the "lasso" is coiled when not in
use. They can hardly go from one house to another without getting on a
horse, there being generally several standing tied to the door-posts of
the little cottages. When they wish to show their activity, they make
no use of their stirrups in mounting, but striking the horse, spring
into the saddle as he starts, and sticking their long spurs into him,
go off on the full run. Their spurs are cruel things, having four or
five rowels, each an inch in length, dull and rusty. The flanks of the
horses are often sore from them, and I have seen men come in from
chasing bullocks with their horses' hind legs and quarters covered with
blood. They frequently give exhibitions of their horsemanship, in
races, bull-baitings, etc.; but as we were not ashore during any
holyday, we saw nothing of it. Monterey is also a great place for
cock-fighting, gambling of all sorts, fandangos, and every kind of
amusement and knavery. Trappers and hunters, who occasionally arrive
here from over the Rocky mountains, with their valuable skins and furs,
are often entertained with every sort of amusement and dissipation,
until they have wasted their time and their money, and go back,
stripped of everything.
Nothing but the character of the people prevents Monterey from becoming
a great town. The soil is as rich as man could wish; climate as good
as any in the world; water abundant, and situation extremely beautiful.
The harbor, too, is a good one, being subject only to one bad wind, the
north; and though the holding-ground is not the best, yet I heard of
but one vessel's being driven ashore here. That was a Mexican brig,
which went ashore a few months before our arrival, and was a total
wreck, all the crew but one being drowned. Yet this was from the
carelessness or ignorance of the captain, who paid out all his small
cable before he let go his other anchor. The ship Lagoda, of Boston,
was there at the time, and rode out the gale in safety, without
dragging at all, or finding it necessary to strike her top-gallant
masts.
The only vessel in port with us was the little Loriotte. I frequently
went on board her, and became very well acquainted with her Sandwich
Island crew. One of them could speak a little English, and from him I
learned a good deal about them. They were well formed and active, with
black eyes, intelligent countenances, dark-olive, or, I should rather
say, copper complexions and coarse black hair, but not woolly like the
negroes. They appeared to be talking continually. In the forecastle
there was a complete Babel. Their language is extremely guttural, and
not pleasant at first, but improves as you hear it more, and is said to
have great capacity. They use a good deal of gesticulation, and are
exceedingly animated, saying with their might what their tongues find
to say. They are complete water-dogs, therefore very good in boating.
It is for this reason that there are so many of them on the coast of
California; they being very good hands in the surf. They are also
quick and active in the rigging, and good hands in warm weather; but
those who have been with them round Cape Horn, and in high latitudes,
say that they are useless in cold weather. In their dress they are
precisely like our sailors. In addition to these Islanders, the vessel
had two English sailors, who acted as boatswains over the Islanders,
and took care of the rigging. One of them I shall always remember as
the best specimen of the thoroughbred English sailor that I ever saw.
He had been to sea from a boy, having served a regular apprenticeship
of seven years, as all English sailors are obliged to do, and was then
about four or five and twenty. He was tall; but you only perceived it
when he was standing by the side of others, for the great breadth of
his shoulders and chest made him appear but little above the middle
height. His chest was as deep as it was wide; his arm like that of
Hercules; and his hand "the fist of a tar--every hair a rope-yarn."
With all this he had one of the pleasantest smiles I ever saw. His
cheeks were of a handsome brown; his teeth brilliantly white; and his
hair, of a raven black, waved in loose curls all over his head, and
fine, open forehead; and his eyes he might have sold to a duchess at
the price of diamonds, for their brilliancy. As for their color, they
were like the Irishman's pig, which would not stay to be counted, every
change of position and light seemed to give them a new hue; but their
prevailing color was black, or nearly so. Take him with his
well-varnished black tarpaulin stuck upon the back of his head; his
long locks coming down almost into his eyes; his white duck trowsers
and shirt; blue jacket; and black kerchief, tied loosely round his
neck; and he was a fine specimen of manly beauty. On his broad chest
he had stamped with India ink "Parting moments;"--a ship ready to sail;
a boat on the beach; and a girl and her sailor lover taking their
farewell. Underneath were printed the initials of his own name, and two
other letters, standing for some name which he knew better than I did.
This was very well done, having been executed by a man who made it his
business to print with India ink, for sailors, at Havre. On one of his
broad arms, he had the crucifixion, and on the other the sign of the
"foul anchor."
He was very fond of reading, and we lent him most of the books which we
had in the forecastle, which he read and returned to us the next time
we fell in with him. He had a good deal of information, and his
captain said he was a perfect seaman, and worth his weight in gold on
board a vessel, in fair weather and in foul. His strength must have
been great, and he had the sight of a vulture. It is strange that one
should be so minute in the description of an unknown, outcast sailor,
whom one may never see again, and whom no one may care to hear about;
but so it is. Some people we see under no remarkable circumstances, but
whom, for some reason or other, we never forget. He called himself
Bill Jackson; and I know no one of all my accidental acquaintances to
whom I would more gladly give a shake of the hand than to him. Whoever
falls in with him will find a handsome, hearty fellow, and a good
shipmate.
Sunday came again while we were at Monterey, but as before, it brought
us no holyday. The people on shore dressed themselves and came off in
greater numbers than ever, and we were employed all day in boating and
breaking out cargo, so that we had hardly time to eat. Our cidevant
second mate, who was determined to get liberty if it was to be had,
dressed himself in a long coat and black hat, and polished his shoes,
and went aft and asked to go ashore. He could not have done a more
imprudent thing; for he knew that no liberty would be given; and
besides, sailors, however sure they may be of having liberty granted
them always go aft in their working clothes, to appear as though they
had no reason to expect anything, and then wash, dress, and shave,
after they get their liberty. But this poor fellow was always getting
into hot water, and if there was a wrong way of doing a thing, was sure
to hit upon it. We looked to see him go aft, knowing pretty well what
his reception would be. The captain was walking the quarter-deck,
smoking his morning cigar, and F---- went as far as the break of the
deck, and there waited for him to notice him. The captain took two or
three turns, and then walking directly up to him, surveyed him from
head to foot, and lifting up his forefinger, said a word or two, in a
tone too low for us to hear, but which had a magical effect upon poor
F----. He walked forward, sprang into the forecastle, and in a moment
more made his appearance in his common clothes, and went quietly to
work again. What the captain said to him, we never could get him to
tell, but it certainly changed him outwardly and inwardly in a most
surprising manner.
CHAPTER XIV
SANTA BARBARA--HIDE-DROGHING--HARBOR DUTIES--DISCONTENT--SAN PEDRO
After a few days, finding the trade beginning to slacken, we hove our
anchor up, set our topsails, ran the stars and stripes up to the peak,
fired a gun, which was returned from the Presidio, and left the little
town astern, running out of the bay, and bearing down the coast again,
for Santa Barbara. As we were now going to leeward, we had a fair wind
and a plenty of it. After doubling Point Pinos, we bore up, set
studding-sails alow and aloft, and were walking off at the rate of
eight or nine knots, promising to traverse in twenty-four hours the
distance which we were nearly three weeks in traversing on the passage
up. We passed Point Conception at a flying rate, the wind blowing so
that it would have seemed half a gale to us, if we had been going the
other way and close hauled. As we drew near the islands off Santa
Barbara, it died away a little but we came-to at our old
anchoring-ground in less than thirty hours from the time of leaving
Monterey.
Here everything was pretty much as we left it--the large bay without a
vessel in it; the surf roaring and rolling in upon the beach; the white
mission; the dark town and the high, treeless mountains. Here, too, we
had our south-easter tacks aboard again,--slip-ropes, buoy-ropes, sails
furled with reefs in them, and rope-yarns for gaskets. We lay here
about a fortnight, employed in landing goods and taking off hides,
occasionally, when the surf was not high; but there did not appear to
be one-half the business doing here that there was in Monterey. In
fact, so far as we were concerned, the town might almost as well have
been in the middle of the Cordilleras. We lay at a distance of three
miles from the beach, and the town was nearly a mile farther; so that
we saw little or nothing of it. Occasionally we landed a few goods,
which were taken away by Indians in large, clumsy ox-carts, with the
yoke on the ox's neck instead of under it, and with small solid wheels.
A few hides were brought down, which we carried off in the California
style. This we had now got pretty well accustomed to; and hardened to
also; for it does require a little hardening even to the toughest.
The hides are always brought down dry, or they would not be received.
When they are taken from the animal, they have holes cut in the ends,
and are staked out, and thus dried in the sun without shrinking. They
are then doubled once, lengthwise, with the ha
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