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Two Years Before the Mast

by Richard Henry Dana · English · Gutenberg #4277 · 927,328 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Two Years Before the Mast

Author: Richard Henry Dana


        
Release date: July 1, 2003 [eBook #4277]
                Most recently updated: December 27, 2020

Language: English

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Gutenberg submission by: David P. Steelman (dsteelma@eastern.edu).

Two Years Before the Mast
Richard H. Dana, Jr.

INTRODUCTION

In 1869, my father, the late Richard Henry Dana, Jr., prepared a
new edition of his ``Two Years Before the Mast'' with this
preface:

``After twenty-eight years, the copyright of this book has
reverted to me. In presenting the first `author's edition' to the
public, I have been encouraged to add an account of a visit to the
old scenes, made twenty-four years after, together with notices of
the subsequent story and fate of the vessels, and of some of the
persons with whom the reader is made acquainted.''

The popularity of this book has been so great and continued that
it is now proposed to make an illustrated edition with new
material. I have prepared a concluding chapter to continue my
father's ``Twenty-four Years After.'' This will give all that we
have since learned of the fate of crew and vessels, and a brief
account of Mr. Dana himself and his important lifework, which
appears more fully in his published biography[1] and printed
speeches and letters.[2] This concluding chapter will take the place
of the biographic sketch prefixed to the last authorized edition.
There is also added an appendix with a list of the crews of the
two vessels in which Mr. Dana sailed, extracts from a log, and
also plates of spars, rigging and sails, with names, to aid the
reader.

In the winter of 1879-80 I sailed round Cape Horn in a full-rigged
ship from New York to California. At the latter place I visited
the scenes of ``Two Years Before the Mast.'' At the old town of
San Diego I met Jack Stewart, my father's old shipmate, and as we
were looking at the dreary landscape and the forlorn adobe houses
and talking of California of the thirties, he burst out into an
encomium of the accuracy and fidelity to details of my father's
book. He said, ``I have read it again and again. It all comes back
to me, everything just as it happened. The seamanship is
perfect.'' And then as if to emphasize it all, with the exception
that proves the rule, he detailed one slight case where he thought
my father was at fault,---a detail so slight that I now forget
what it is. In reading the Log kept by the discharged mate,
Amerzeen, on the return trip in the Alert, I find that every
incident there recorded, from running aground at the start at San
Diego Harbor, through the perilous icebergs round the Horn, the
St. Elmo's fire, the scurvy of the crew and the small matters like
the painting of the vessel, to the final sail up Boston Harbor,
confirms my father's record. His former shipmate, the late B. G.
Stimson, a distinguished citizen of Detroit, said the account of
the flogging was far from an exaggeration, and Captain Faucon of
the Alert also during his lifetime frequently confirmed all that
came under his observation. Such truth in the author demands truth
in illustration, and I have cooperated with the publishers in
securing a painting of the Alert under full sail and other
illustrations, both colored and in pen and ink, faithful to the
text in every detail.

Accuracy, however, is not the secret of the success of this book.
Its flowing style, the use of short Anglo-Saxon words,[3] its
picturesqueness, the power of description, the philosophic
arrangement all contribute to it, but chiefly, I believe, the
enthusiasm of the young Dana, his sympathy for his fellows and
interest in new scenes and strange peoples, and with it all, the
real poetry that runs through the whole. As to its poetry, I will
quote from Mrs. Bancroft's ``Letters from England,'' giving the
opinion of the poet Samuel Rogers:

``London, June 20, 1847.

``The 19th, Sat. we breakfasted with Lady Byron and my friend Miss
Murray, at Mr. Rogers'. . . . After breakfast he had been
repeating some lines of poetry which he thought fine, when he
suddenly exclaimed, `But there is a bit of American prose, which,
I think, has more poetry in it, than almost any modern verse.' He
then repeated, I should think, more than a page from Dana's `Two
Years Before the Mast' describing the falling overboard of one of
the crew, and the effect it produced, not only at the moment, but
for some time afterward. I wondered at his memory, which enabled
him to recite so beautifully a long prose passage, so much more
difficult than verse. Several of those present, with whom the book
was a favorite, were so glad to hear from me that it was as true
as interesting, for they had regarded it as partly a work of
imagination.''

In writing the book Mr. Dana had a motive which inspired him to
put into it his very best. The night after the flogging of his two
fellow-sailors off San Pedro, California, Mr. Dana, lying in his
berth, ``vowed that, if God should ever give me the means, I would
do something to redress the grievances and relieve the sufferings
of that class of beings with whom my lot has been so long cast.''
This vow he carried out in no visionary scheme of mutiny or
foolish ``paying back'' to the captain, but by awakening a
``strong sympathy'' for the sailors ``by a voice from the
forecastle,'' in his ``Two Years Before the Mast.''

While at sea he made entries almost daily in a pocket notebook and
at leisure hours wrote these out fully. This full account of his
voyage was lost with his trunk containing sailors' clothes and all
souvenirs and presents for family and friends by the carelessness
of a relative who took charge of his things at the wharf when he
landed in Boston in 1836. Later, while in the Law School, Mr. Dana
re-wrote this account from the notebook, which, fortunately, he
had not entrusted to the lost trunk. This account he read to his
father and Washington Allston, artist and poet, his uncle by
marriage. Both advised its publication and the manuscript was sent
to William Cullen Bryant, who had then moved to New York. Mr.
Bryant, after looking it over, took it to a prominent publisher of
his city, as the publishers at that time most able to give the
book a large sale. They offered to buy the book outright but
refused the author any share in the profits. The firm had
submitted the manuscript to Alonzo Potter, afterwards Bishop of
Pennsylvania, then acting as one of their readers. Bishop Potter,
meeting Dana in England years later, told him most emphatically
that he had advised the purchase at any price necessary to secure
it. The most, however, that the elder Dana and Bryant were able to
get from the publishers was $250, so that modest sum with two
dozen printed copies was all the author received at that time for
this most successful book. Incidentally, however, the publication
brought Mr. Dana law practice, especially among sailors, and was
an introduction to him not only in this country but in England.
Editions were published in Great Britain and France. Moxon, the
London publisher, sent Mr. Dana not only presentation copies but
as a voluntary honorarium, there being no international copyright
law at that time, a sum of money larger than the publisher gave
him for the manuscript. He also received kindly words of
appreciation from Rogers, Brougham, Moore, Bulwer, Dickens and
others, and fifteen years later his reputation secured him a large
social and literary reception in England in 1856. At last, in
1868, the original copyright expired and my father brought out the
``author's edition'' thoroughly revised and with many important
additions to the text including the ``Twenty-four Years After''
under a fair arrangement for percentage of sales with Fields,
Osgood and Co., the predecessors of the present publishers.

In reading the story of this Harvard College undergraduate's
experience, one should bear in mind, to appreciate the dangers of
his rounding the Cape, that the brig Pilgrim was only one hundred
and eighty tons burden and eighty-six feet and six inches long,
shorter on the water line than many of our summer-sailing sloop
and schooner yachts.

Richard Henry Dana.

[1] ``Richard Henry Dana, Jr.'' A Biography. By Charles Francis Adams.
In two volumes. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company.

[2] ``Speeches in Stirring Times and Letters to a Son.'' Richard Henry
Dana, Jr., with introduction and notes by Richard Henry Dana, 3rd.
In one volume. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company.

[3] Extracts from this book were chosen by the oculists of the
United States for use in testing eyes on account of its clearness
in style and freedom from long words.

CHAPTER I

The fourteenth of August[1] 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 way
early in the afternoon, I made my appearance on board at twelve
o'clock, in full sea-rig, with my chest, containing an outfit for
a two or three years' 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, with a plenty of hard work,
plain food, and open air, a weakness of the eyes, which had
obliged me to give up my studies, and which no medical aid seemed
likely to remedy.

The change from the tight frock-coat, silk cap, and kid gloves of
an undergraduate at Harvard, to the loose duck trousers, 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 thought 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 trousers, 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 slip-tie to the
black silk neckerchief, with sundry other minutiae, are signs, the
want of which betrays the beginner at once. Besides the points in
my dress which were out of the way, doubtless my complexion and
hands were quite enough to distinguish me from the regular salt
who, with a sunburnt cheek, wide step, and rolling gait, swings
his bronzed and toughened hands athwart-ships, half opened, 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 preparation 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 seaman
whom I called to take my place, in stowing himself snugly away
under the long-boat for a nap. That was a 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 for 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
summoned the captain, I was ordered to call all hands. How I
accomplished this, I do not know, but I am quite sure that 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
small part in 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 at the windlass began, and in a few minutes we
were under way. The noise of the water thrown from the bows was
heard, the vessel leaned over from the damp night-breeze, and
rolled with the heavy groundswell, and we had actually begun our
long, long journey. This was literally bidding good night to my
native land.

[1] [In the year 1834.]

CHAPTER II

The first day we passed at sea was Sunday. 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
was 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 have got to do is to obey your orders,
and do your duty like men,-- then you will fare well enough; if
you don't, you will fare hard enough,-- I can tell you. If we pull
together, you will find me a clever fellow; if we don't, you will
find me a bloody rescal. That's all I've got to say. Go below, the
larboard[1] watch!''

I, being in the starboard or second mate's watch, had the
opportunity of keeping the first watch at sea. Stimson, 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
merchant's counting-room in Boston, we found that we had some
acquaintances and topics in common. We talked these matters over--
Boston, what our friends were probably doing, our voyage, &c.--
until he went to take his turn at the lookout, and left me to
myself. I had now a good opportunity 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 losing.

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 I 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 put up 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 on 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 on the sails, expecting every
moment to hear the cry, ``All hands ahoy!'' which the approaching
storm would make necessary. I shortly heard the raindrops 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, trampling of feet, creaking of the 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 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
was 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 sledgehammer, and flying over the deck, drenching us
completely through. The topsail halyards had been let go, and the
great sails were filling out and backing against the masts with a
noise like thunder; the wind was whistling through the rigging;
loose ropes were 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 sea-sick, with hardly strength enough to hold on to
anything, and it was ``pitch dark.'' This was my condition 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, making wild vomits into the black night,
to leeward. 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 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 an effectual emetic.

This state of things continued for two days.

Wednesday, August 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 sunrise at sea; but it
will not compare with the sunrise on shore. It lacks the
accompaniments of the songs of birds, the awakening hum of
humanity, and the glancing of the first beams upon trees, hills,
spires, and house-tops, to give it life and spirit. There is no
scenery. But, although the actual rise of the sun at sea is not so
beautiful, yet nothing will compare for melancholy and dreariness
with the early breaking of day upon ``Old Ocean's gray and
melancholy waste.''

There is something in the first gray 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, and gives one a feeling of loneliness, of
dread, and of melancholy foreboding, which nothing else in nature
can. 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 headpump!'' I found that no
time was allowed for daydreaming, but that we must ``turn to'' at
the first light. Having called up the ``idlers,'' namely,
carpenter, cook, and steward, and rigged the pump, we began
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
decks, and coiled up the rigging, I sat on the spars, waiting for
seven bells, which was the signal for breakfast. The officer,
seeing my lazy posture, ordered me to slush the mainmast, from the
royal-mast-head down. The vessel was then rolling a little, and I
had taken no food 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 backwardness, 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 had
finished my job and 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 ship 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 set their hearts on 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. Having a
watch below until noon, so that I had some time to myself, I got a
huge piece of strong, cold salt beef from the cook, and 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 have always since,
that no sight exceeds it in interest, and few in 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, August 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 desirous, 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 curveting 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 plunged her head into
the sea, and then, her stern settling gradually down, her huge bows
rose up, showing the bright copper, and her stem and breasthooks
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 northwest coast of America, five days out. She then filled
away and left us to plough on through our waste of waters.

There is a settled routine for hailing ships at sea: ``Ship
a-hoy!'' Answer, ``Hulloa!'' ``What ship is that, pray?'' ``The
ship Carolina, from Havre, bound to New York. Where are you
from?'' ``The brig Pilgrim, from Boston, bound to the coast of
California, five days out.'' Unless there is leisure, or something
special to say, this form is not much varied from.

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.

[1] Of late years, the British and American marine, naval and
mercantile, have adopted the word ``port'' instead of larboard, in
all cases on board ship, to avoid mistake from similarity of
sound. At this time ``port'' was used only at the helm.


CHAPTER III

As we have now had a long ``spell'' of fine weather, without any
incident to break the monotony of our lives, I may have no better
place for a description of 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, 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.[1] Where there are no passengers and no supercargo, as
in our vessel, he has no companion but his own dignity, and few
pleasures, unless he differs from most of his kind, beyond 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 quartermaster. 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 is proverbially a dog's berth. He is neither
officer nor man. 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, and the men do not much respect him as an officer. 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, &c., &c. 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 his 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, whose title is ``Doctor,'' 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 in 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. The three night-watches are
called the first, the middle, and the morning watch. If, for
instance, the chief mate with the larboard watch have the first
night-watch from eight to twelve, at that hour the starboard watch
and the second mate take 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. As the larboard watch will
have been on deck eight hours out of the twelve, while the
starboard watch will have been up only four hours, the former 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
alternation of watches is kept up throughout the twenty-four
hours, which is called having ``watch and watch''; but our ship,
like most merchantmen, had ``all hands'' from twelve o'clock till
dark, except in very bad weather, when we were allowed ``watch and
watch.''

An explanation of the ``dog-watches'' may, perhaps, be necessary
to one who has never been at sea. Their purpose is to shift the
watches each night, so that the same watch shall not be on deck at
the same hours throughout a voyage. In order to effect this, the
watch from four to eight P.M. is divided into two half-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 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 watch off duty
goes below.

The morning begins with the watch on deck's ``turning to'' at
daybreak 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 sundown, 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 natural mistake, and, being frequently made, 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. At all other 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 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 to 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,--
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 a man or two 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, &c., &c.-- are made on board. The owners of a
vessel buy up incredible quantities of ``old junk,'' which the
sailors unlay, and, 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 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 be 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 requiring
a change in another. You cannot stay a mast aft by the back stays,
without slacking up the head stays, &c., &c. 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 furs dry,''--

the merchants and captains think that the sailors 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, at the start, 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 constantly employed, during good weather,
on board vessels which are in what is called perfect sea order.

CHAPTER IV

After speaking the Carolina, on the 21st of 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, broad 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, September 7th. Fell in with the northeast 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 Sundays 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 trousers, 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 trousers again, and prepare for six days of
labor.

To enhance the value of Sunday 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 up with his crew,
for hard usage, by allowing them duff twice a week on the passage
home.

On board some vessels Sunday 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 northeast 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 extra 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 fire-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 on board
and altering our course four points, we hoped to get out of her
reach. We removed the light in the binnacle, and 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 lon. 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 Foster, 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. Foster (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 sailors of.'' He used to hold long
yarns with the crew, and talk against 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 his sleeping on
deck, 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. Foster, who commanded our watch, to keep a bright
lookout. 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 softly 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 this
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 Foster was no longer an officer on board, and that we might
choose one of our own number for second mate. It is not uncommon
for the captain to make this offer, and it is 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 on the banks of the
Kennebec, 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.'' Foster 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 on 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 25° 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 stood out to sea, leaving the land
on our quarter, and at sundown 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, the men
sitting with their feet in 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
southwest, called Pamperos, 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 lookout, and if they saw lightning at the southwest,
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
southwest, and in about ten minutes we saw a distinct flash. The
wind, which had been southeast, 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 portion 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 jib, set the
fore-topmast 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 I had met, 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 southwesters. Towards sundown the gale
moderated a little, and it began to clear off in the southwest. 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 the necessary preparations.

Tuesday, November 4th. At daybreak, 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 northeast. These were the Falkland Islands. We had run between
them and the main land of Patagonia. At sunset, the second mate,
who was at the mast-head, 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, topmast 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!'' &c., 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
forward!'' ``Lay yourselves aft!'' &c. At all events, lay is an
active verb at sea, and means go.

CHAPTER V

Wednesday, November 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. They are first seen, just above the
horizon, soon after crossing the southern tropic. The Southern
Cross begins to be seen at 18° N., and, when off Cape Horn, is
nearly overhead. It is composed of four stars in that form, and is
one of the brightest constellations 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 sundown, 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 southwest, and darkening the whole heavens. ``Here
comes 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 minutes a
heavier sea was raised than I had ever seen, 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-holes 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
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 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 upon the vessel,-- the wind continuing 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 sunrise,
and, the wind becoming more fair, we again made sail and stood
nearly up to our course.

Thursday, November 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 topsails,
balance-reefed trysail, and fore top-mast staysail. 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 Stimson nor I 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 take a mast out of her.

Friday, November 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 here there is generally so high a sea
running, with periods of calm 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 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, enclosed in 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 under 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
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 quiet, so that there was nothing to
break the illusion, and I stood leaning over the bulwarks,
listening to the slow breathings 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 own 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 sundown
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 fore spenser. 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, November 8th. This day began with calm and thick fog,
and ended with hail, snow, a violent wind, and close-reefed
topsails.

Sunday, November 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[1] 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 southwest; 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 almost to 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.
John, a Swede (the best sailor on board), who belonged on the
forecastle, sprang out upon the bowsprit. Another one must go. It
was a clear case of holding back. I was near the mate, but sprang
past several, threw the downhaul 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 John and I 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 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, the boom lifting us up dripping from the water, we were
raised high into the air and then plunged below again. John
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. John
admitted that it had been a post of danger, which good sailors
seldom do when the thing is over. The weather continued nearly the
same through the night.

Monday, November 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, November 11th. The same.

Wednesday. The same.

Thursday. 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 to steer and to stand our watch. Our clothes
were all wet through, and the only change was from wet to more
wet. There is no fire in the forecastle, and we cannot dry clothes
at the galley. 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
our wet clothes, hang them up to chafe against the bulkheads, and
turn in and sleep as soundly as we could, until our watch was
called again. A sailor can sleep anywhere,-- no sound of wind,
water, canvas, rope, 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 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 the life of the crew-- whom we afterwards lost
overboard-- standing for nearly ten minutes at the galley, with
his 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 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 the others
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 going down the steps, when a heavy sea,
lifting the stern out of water, and, passing forward, dropping it
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 treat it as a serious matter.

Friday, November 14th. We were now well to the westward of the
Cape, and were changing our course to northward as much as we
dared, since the strong southwest winds, which prevailed then,
carried us in towards 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 royals 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 trousers, and, except a sunburnt
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 aboard, which lasted, with but little
intermission, for four hours. It was all about himself, and the
Peruvian government, and the Dublin frigate, and her captain, 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 pigsty, and said he wished he was back again
tending his father's pigs.

A curious case of dignity occurred here. It seems that in a
whale-ship there is an intermediate class, called boat-steerers.
One of them came in Captain Terry's boat, but we thought he was
cockswain of the boat, and a cockswain is only a sailor. In the
whaler, the boat-steerers are between the officers and crew, a
sort of petty officers; keep by themselves in the waist, sleep
amidships, and eat by themselves, either at a separate table, or
at the cabin table, after the captain and mates are done. Of all
this hierarchy we were entirely ignorant, so the poor boat-steerer
was left to himself. The second mate would not notice him, and
seemed surprised at his keeping amidships, but his pride of office
would not allow him to go forward. With dinner-time came the
experimentum crucis. What would he do? The second mate went to the
second table without asking him. There was nothing for him but
famine or humiliation. We asked him into the forecastle, but he
faintly declined. The whale-boat's crew explained it to us, and we
asked him again. Hunger got the victory over pride of rank, and
his boat-steering majesty had to take his grub out of our kid, and
eat with his jack-knife. Yet the man was ill at ease all the time,
was sparing of his conversation, and kept up the notion of a
condescension under stress of circumstances. One would say that,
instead of a tendency to equality in human beings, the tendency is
to make the most of inequalities, natural or artificial.

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, and Coleridge's poem,
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 one of the
big billows, 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.

[1] It is the fashion to call the respective watches Starbowlines
and Larbowlines.

CHAPTER VI

Monday, November 17th. 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 leaving it to throw something overboard, 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 fling 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, the young English sailor, whom I have
before spoken of as the life of the crew. He was prized by the
officers as an active and willing seaman, and by the men as a
lively, hearty fellow, and a good shipmate. He was going aloft to
fit a strap round the main topmasthead, 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 an idea
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 brig.

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, in their way;
though 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 be passed to their credit
in the books of the Great Captain 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
the Lord's Days 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.

Not long after we had returned on board with our sad report, an
auction was held of the poor man's effects. 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 the brig 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 custom, established for convenience, that the captain
should soon 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 trousers in which we had seen him dressed
so lately 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 of unusual behavior of men before death. From this
he went on to other superstitions, the Flying Dutchman, &c., 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 to the Sandwich Islands
in a vessel 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, no!'' said he; ``I've seen too much o' dem men to want to
see 'em 'board a ship. If dey can't have dare 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, with whom he had had same hard words 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. The Fin would
not give in, and the captain 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.

``Dar,'' said the cook, ``what you tink 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.

``O,'' says he, ``go 'way! You tink, 'cause you been to college,
you know better dan anybody. You know better dan dem as 'as seen
it wid der own eyes. You wait till you've been to sea as long as I
have, and den you'll know.''

CHAPTER VII

We continued sailing along with a fair wind and fine weather until--

Tuesday, November 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 sundown, 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 different points 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 ship were continually bracing
the yards about for every puff that struck us, until about twelve
o'clock, when we came to in forty 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 of them 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 Chilian soldiers, who were stationed
over some convicts confined in caves nearly half-way 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, &c., 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, 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 a hundred in
number, the best of them built of mud or unburnt clay, and
whitewashed, but the greater part Robinson Crusoe like,-- only 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 here forget how Stimson and I got the laugh of the crew
upon us by our eagerness to get on shore. The captain having
ordered the quarter-boat to be lowered, we both, thinking it was
going ashore, 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 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 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 abound 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 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, fruit, &c. Knives were also
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 penal colony for nearly two years; and the
governor,-- an Englishman who had entered the Chilian navy,-- with
a priest, half a dozen taskmasters, 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 half-way up, with
mule-tracks leading to them, whence they were taken by day and set
to work under taskmasters 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 driven about, at a
rapid trot, in single file, with burdens on their shoulders, and
followed up by their taskmasters, with long rods in their hands,
and broad-brimmed 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, for I
was a sailor ashore as well as on board.

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 gray 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 regretted that I did not bring away other specimens;
but what I had-- the piece of sandalwood, 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 volume of Cowper's
Letters-- were lost, with my chest and its contents, by another's
negligence, on our arrival home.

About an hour before sundown, having stowed our water-casks, we
began getting under way, and were not a little while about it; for
we were in thirty fathoms water, and in one of the gusts which
came from 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 tripped 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 bade 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 together 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 his 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 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 33° 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 harbor, 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 southwest, on which side are the highest mountains, it is
considered 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 short time 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, bream,
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 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 of mortals; 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 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 in 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 favorable 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 southwesterly 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 unpractised 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, November 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

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 doings on board. We caught the southeast
trades, and ran 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 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. It was my first
essay at the latter business, and I had enough of it; for nearly
all of it came upon my friend Stimson and myself. The men were
needed at the other work, and Henry Mellus, the other young man
who came out with us before the mast, was laid up with the
rheumatism in his feet, and the boy Sam 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 we had
quite as much as we wished of it. We put on short duck frocks,
and, taking a small bucket of tar and a bunch of oakum in our
hands, 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, as I have said, came upon
two of us, and we were new at the business, it took several days.
In this operation they always begin at the mast-head, and work
down, tarring the shrouds, backstays, standing parts of the lifts,
the ties, runners, &c., 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 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 ``swings 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 only thinks of leaving no holidays (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 eyelids'' 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 trousers 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 began 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 a shark, swimming alongside of us. The
captain was leaning over the rail watching him, and we went
quietly on with our work. In the midst of our painting, on--

Friday, December 19th, we crossed the equator for the second time.
I had the sense of incongruity 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.

Thursday, December 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 that 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 many 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 condition 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 the midst of this state of things, my messmate Stimson and I
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,-- a 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, 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'' (nauticé), and are a sailor. You hear
sailors' 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, &c., 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, and eaten from the common kid. 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
the art myself, 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 John, the
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 elocution 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 the d---l
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 it was
that which made us find fault. This provoked us, and we began to
give word for word. This would never answer. He clinched his fist,
stamped and swore, and ordered 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! If you a' n't careful I'll make a hell of
heaven! . . . . You've mistaken your man! I'm Frank Thompson, 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, when
it's hot, d---d good, but when it's cold, d---d sour and
indigestible;-- and you'll find me so!'' The latter part of this
harangue made a strong impression, and the ``down-east
johnny-cake'' became a byword for the rest of the voyage, and on
the coast of California, after our arrival. One of his nicknames
in all the ports was ``The Down-east Johnny-cake.'' 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 discomfited. 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
northeast 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 lighthouses
and but indifferent charts, and at daybreak on the morning of--

Tuesday, January 13th, 1835, we made the land at Point Conception,
lat. 34° 32' N., lon. 120° 06' W. The port of Santa Barbara, to
which we were bound, lying about fifty miles to the southward of
this point, we continued sailing down the coast during the day and
following night, and on the next morning,

January 14th, we came to anchor in the spacious bay of Santa Barbara,
after a voyage of one hundred and fifty days from Boston.

CHAPTER IX

California extends along nearly the whole of the western coast of
Mexico, between the Gulf of California in the south and the Bay of
San Francisco 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.
32° 39', and the northernmost, San Francisco, situated in the large
bay discovered by Sir Francis Drake, in lat. 37° 58', and now known
as  the Bay of San Francisco, so named, I suppose, by Franciscan
missionaries. 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 begin its traffic. We were to
trade upon this coast exclusively, and therefore expected to go
first to Monterey, 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 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 Santa
Buenaventura on the south), which here bends in like a crescent,
and by three large islands opposite to it and at the distance of
some twenty miles. These points are 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 southeast and northwest winds, that it is little
better than an open roadstead; and the whole swell of the Pacific
Ocean rolls in here before a southeaster, and breaks with so heavy
a surf in the shallow waters, that it is highly dangerous to lie
near in to the shore during the southeaster season, that is,
between the months of November and April.

This wind (the southeaster) 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
southeaster season, we 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 seem a long time to be in sight and out of
reach of land. We spent the day on board in the usual duties; 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 pass a year or two of
our lives in.

It was a beautiful day, and so warm that we wore straw hats, duck
trousers, and all the summer gear. As this was midwinter, 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 southeasterly 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 groundswell broke into a heavy surf on the
beach. There was only one vessel in the port-- a long, sharp brig
of about three hundred 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 and other parts of
South America and California. She was a fast sailer, as we
frequently afterwards saw, 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 southeaster; the other is high, bold,
and well wooded, and has a mission upon it, called Santa
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 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 collection of buildings, in the centre
of which is a high tower, with a belfry of five bells. 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 sun-baked clay, or adobe, some of them
whitewashed, with red tiles on the roofs. I should judge that
there were about a 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 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 ago, and they had not yet grown
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 sundown, 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, came alongside of us, with a crew
of dusky Sandwich-Islanders, talking and hallooing 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 sterns of our boats nearly perpendicular, and again dropping
them 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 the boat touched the beach, they seized
hold of her by the gunwale, on each side, and ran her up high and
dry upon the sand. We saw, at once, how the thing was to be done,
and also the necessity of keeping the boat stern out to the sea;
for the instant the sea should strike upon her broadside or
quarter, she would be driven up broadside 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 gunwales, ready to spring out and seize her when she
struck, the officer using his utmost strength, with his
steering-oar, to keep her stern out. We were shot up upon the
beach, and, seizing the boat, ran her up high and dry, and,
picking up our oars, 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 child's long card house falls when a card is knocked
down 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 so far into the water that every large sea might
float her, and two of them, with their trousers 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, in which 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 woollen caps. ``Look
here, Bill, and see what you're coming to!'' said one of our men
to another who stood by the boat. ``Well, Dana,'' said the second
mate to me, ``this does not look much like Harvard College, does
it? But it is what I call `head work.''' To tell the truth, it did
not look very encouraging.

After they had got through with the hides, the Kanakas laid hold
of the bags of tallow (the bags are made of hide, and are about
the size of a common meal-bag), and lifted each upon the shoulders
of two men, one at each end, who walked off with them to the boat,
when all 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 two after oars sat upon their
benches, with their oars shipped, ready to strike out as soon as
she was afloat. The two men remained standing at the bows; and
when, at length, a large sea came in and floated her, seized hold
of the gunwales, and ran out with her till they were up to their
armpits, and then tumbled over the gunwales 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 a shipmaster is commonly called, to
come down. In a few minutes we heard something coming towards us.
It was a man on horseback. He came on the full gallop, reined up
near us, addressed a few words to us, and, receiving no answer,
wheeled round and galloped off again. He was nearly as dark as an
Indian, with a large Spanish hat, blanket cloak or serape, 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 John, ``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 neared it, 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, &c., &c., 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, all hands were to be called at daybreak, and
the word was passed to keep a bright lookout, and to call the mate
if it should come on to blow from the southeast. 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, &c., 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 bearing 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 the hide
and tallow 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 be relied 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 has neither of 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 chief
officer is too easy and familiar with the crew, he begins to
interfere in all the duties, and to draw the reins more taut, and
the crew have to suffer.

CHAPTER X

This night, after sundown, it looked black at the southward and
eastward, and we were told to keep a bright lookout. Expecting to
be called, 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 from the southeast, 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, prepared for an
instant summons. In a few minutes it came,-- three knocks on the
scuttle, and ``All hands ahoy! bear-a-hand[1] up and make sail.'' We
sprang for our clothes, and were about half 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 came down to man the sheets.
While sheeting home, we saw the Ayacucho standing athwart our
hawse, sharp upon the wind, cutting through the head seas like a
knife, with her raking masts, and her 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 our topsails had been sheeted home, the head yards braced
aback, the fore-topmast 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
timberheads. ``All ready forward?'' asked the captain. ``Aye, aye,
sir; all ready,'' answered the mate. ``Let go!'' ``All gone,
sir''; and the chain 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 way. 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 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 went aloft,
double-reefed each topsail, furled the foresail, and double-reefed
the trysail, and were soon under easy sail. In these cases of
slipping for southeasters 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 sometimes over in twelve hours; but the wind never
comes back to the southward until there has a good deal of rain
fallen. ``Go below the watch,'' said the mate; but here was a
dispute which watch it should be. The mate soon settled it by
sending his watch below, saying that we should have our turn the
next time we got under way. 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 southwester 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, with heavy rain. It was well that he did;
for in a few minutes it fell dead calm, the vessel lost her
steerage-way, 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 northwest, 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 eager 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 from 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 his own 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 to it. This picking up
your cables is a nice piece of work. It requires some seamanship
to do it, and to 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 capstan, 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, occasionally 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 sundown 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. Robinson, and some other
passengers, were going to Monterey with us, and that we were to
sail the same night. In a few minutes Captain Thompson, with two
gentlemen and a lady, 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 that
the lady was his wife. She was a delicate, dark-complexioned young
woman, of one of the respectable families of 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 way, and going with a
fair wind up the coast to Monterey. The Loriotte got under way 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.

[1] ``Bear-a-hand'' is to make haste.

CHAPTER XI

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 an 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 skysails, but kept the weather
studding-sails on her, bracing the yards forward, so that the
swinging-boom nearly touched the spritsail yard. She now lay over
to it, the wind was freshening, and the captain was evidently
``dragging on to her.'' His brother and Mr. Robinson, looking a
little disturbed, said something to him, but he only answered that
he knew the vessel and what she would carry. He was evidently
showing off, 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 Mexican 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
spritsail 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
jumped 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, Dana, 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 mast lay over at a fearful angle with the topmast 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 out
to leeward, the lee leach was over the yard-arm, and the skysail
was all adrift and flying about 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 all
directions. 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 had lost her wits, the seas flying
over her, and the masts leaning over at a wide angle from the
vertical. At the other royal-mast-head was Stimson, 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 topsails 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 a 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 sea-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 in mid-ocean
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 on our voyage out);
and I will own there was a pleasant feeling of superiority in
being able to walk the deck, and eat, and go aloft, and compare
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 sea-sick; he is apt to be too conscious
of a comparison which seems favorable to his own manhood.

After a few days we made the land at Point Pinos, 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 fertile.

The bay of Monterey is 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
southeastern extremity, and from the points about eighteen miles,
which is 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 southeasters. 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 of whitewashed
adobe, which gives a much better effect than those of Santa
Barbara, which are mostly left of a mud color. The red tiles, too,
on the roofs, contrasted well with the white sides, and with the
extreme greenness of the lawn upon which the houses-- about a
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 nor fences (except that here
and there a small patch might be fenced in for a garden), so that
the houses are placed at random upon the green. This, 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 that 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 southeaster; landing in a high surf; with a little
dark-looking town, a mile from the beach; and not a sound to be
heard, nor anything to be seen, but Kanakas, 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. Besides, 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 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 here.

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 could do it, and
got him to ask the mate to send me up the first time the
royal-yards were struck. Accordingly, I was called upon, and went
aloft, repeating the operations over in my mind, taking care to
get each thing 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

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 holiday, 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
top-mast, which had been sprung, was to come down, and a new one
to go up, with top-gallant and royal masts, and the rigging to be
set. This was too bad. If there is anything that irritates
sailors, and makes them feel hardly used, it is being deprived of
their Sunday. Not that they would always, or indeed generally,
spend it improvingly, but it is their only day of rest. Then, too,
they are so 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, or, as the nautical
phrase is, ``humbugged,'' 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 for something he had left; 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
up-hill 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 work soon, we might have a boat in the afternoon and
go a-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 Foster (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 sundown, 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
examining the cargo, manifest, &c. The Mexican revenue laws are
very strict, and require the whole cargo to be landed, examined,
and taken on board again; but our agent had succeeded in
compounding for the last two vessels, and saving the trouble of
taking the cargo ashore. The officers were dressed in the costume
which we found prevailed through the country,-- broad-brimmed hat,
usually of a black or dark brown color, with a gilt or figured
band round the crown, and lined under the rim 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 open at the sides below the knee, laced with gilt,
usually of 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 poncho, or the
serapa, and you have the dress of the Californian. This last
garment is always a mark of the rank and wealth of the owner. The
gente de razon, or better sort of people, 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 a poncho, something like a large square
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 practically serfs,
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 pockets, and absolutely
suffering for something to eat.

CHAPTER XIII

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 Mellus, 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 this
business, having been clerk in a counting-house in Boston; but he
had been troubled for some time with 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, tin-ware,
cutlery, clothing of all kinds, boots and shoes from Lynn,
calicoes and cotton from Lowell, crapes, silks; also, shawls,
scarfs, necklaces, jewelry, and combs for the women; furniture;
and, in fact, everything that can be imagined, from Chinese
fireworks to English cart-wheels,-- of which we had a dozen pairs
with their iron tires on.

The Californians are an idle, thriftless people, and can make
nothing for themselves. The country abounds in grapes, yet they
buy, at a great price, bad wine made in Boston and brought round
by us, and retail it among themselves at a real (12 1/2 cents) by the
small wineglass. Their hides, too, which they value at two dollars
in money, they barter for something which costs seventy-five cents
in Boston; and buy shoes (as like as not made of their own hides,
which have been carried twice round Cape Horn) at three and four
dollars, and ``chicken-skin boots'' at fifteen dollars a pair.
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 an idea, 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.

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, &c.,-- made after the European
style, except that the sleeves were short, leaving the arm bare,
and that they were loose about the waist, corsets not being in
use. 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 the
amount of Spanish blood they can lay claim to, which also settles
their social rank. 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
terms of office, have settled here upon property they have
acquired; and others who have been banished for state offences.
These form the upper class, intermarrying, and keeping up an
exclusive system in every respect. They can be distinguished, not
only by their complexion, dress, and manners, but also by their
speech; for, calling themselves Castilians, they are very
ambitious of speaking the pure Castilian, while all Spanish 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 one from the position of a serf,
and entitle him to wear a suit of clothes,-- boots, hat, cloak,
spurs, long knife, all complete, though coarse and dirty as may
be,-- and to call himself Español, and to hold property, if he can
get any.

The fondness for dress among the women is excessive, and is
sometimes their ruin. A present of a fine mantle, or of a necklace
or pair of ear-rings, gains the favor of the greater part. Nothing
is more common than to see a woman living in a house of only two
rooms, with 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 vessel, examining the fine clothes and
ornaments, and frequently making 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 by
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 a royal 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 in
circulation. I never, in my life, saw so much silver at one time,
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. Besides silver, they have no circulating medium but
hides, which the sailors call ``California bank-notes.''
Everything that they buy they must pay for by one or the other of
these means. 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 or a hundred dollars and
half-dollars.

I had not studied Spanish 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 studied Latin and
French, I got the name of a great linguist, and was always sent by
the captain and officers for provisions, or to take letters and
messages to different parts of the town. I was often sent for
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 learned the word from him; and then, by signs, and by
giving a Latin or French word a twist at the end, 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 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 its chief officer, and has charge of the fort, and of all
transactions with foreigners and foreign vessels; while two or
three alcaldes and corregidores, elected by the inhabitants, are
the civil officers. Courts strictly of law, with a system of
jurisprudence, they have not. 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 the latter, upon personal inspection,
if near; or upon minutes sent him by the proper officers, if the
offender is at a distant place. No Protestant has any political
rights, nor can he hold property, or, indeed, remain more than a
few weeks on shore, unless he belong to a foreign vessel.
Consequently, Americans and English, who intend to reside here,
become Papists,-- 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 adobes, that is, 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 joined
together by a cement 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
whitewashed 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, and small daubs of
paintings enclosed in glass, representing some miracle or
martyrdom. They have no chimneys or fireplaces in the houses, the
climate being such as to make a fire unnecessary; and all their
cooking is done in a small kitchen, separated from the house. The
Indians, as I have said before, do all the hard work, two or three
being attached to the better 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 men,
and a coarse gown, without shoes or stockings, for the women.

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 Roman 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 ships. 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 naturally
suspicious of foreigners, and they would not be allowed to remain,
were it not that they conform to the Church, and by marrying
natives, and bringing up their children as Roman 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 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 are put 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 mounting 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, &c.; but as we were
not ashore during any holiday, we saw nothing of it. Monterey is
also a great place for cock-fighting, gambling of all sorts,
fandangos, and various kinds 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 amusements and dissipation, until they have
wasted their opportunities and their money, and then go back,
stripped of everything.

Nothing but the character of the people prevents Monterey from
becoming a large 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 owing to 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 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 it is said to have
considerable 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, and 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 ready 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 of little use
in cold weather. In their dress, they are precisely like our
sailors. In addition to these Islanders, the Loriotte 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 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, 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
trousers 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 was 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. The printing 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 a crucifix, and on the other, the sign of the ``foul anchor.''

He was 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; yet so it is. Some persons 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 holiday. The people on shore dressed 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
former 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 the matter is settled. 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 Foster 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
Foster. He walked forward, jumped down 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 surprising manner.

CHAPTER XIV

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, standing 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 of 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 southeaster tacks aboard again,--
slip-ropes, buoy-ropes, sails furled with reefs in them, and
rope-yarns for gaskets. We lay at this place 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 bow of 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 brought down dry, or they will 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 hair side usually
in, and sent down upon mules or in carts, and piled above
high-water mark; and then we take them upon our heads, one at a
time, or two, if they are small, and wade out with them and throw
them into the boat, which, as there are no wharves, we usually
kept anchored by a small kedge, or keelek, just outside of the
surf. We all provided ourselves with thick Scotch caps, which
would be soft to the head, and at the same time protect it; for we
soon learned that, however it might look or feel at first, the
``head-work'' was the only system for California. For besides that
the seas, breaking high, often obliged us to carry the hides so,
in order to keep them dry, we found that, as they were very large
and heavy, and nearly as stiff as boards, it was the only way that
we could carry them with any convenience to ourselves. Some of the
crew tried other expedients, saying that that looked too much like
West India negroes; but they all came to it at last. The great art
is in getting them on the head. We had to take them from the
ground, and as they were often very heavy, and as wide as the arms
could stretch, and were easily taken by the wind, we used to have
some trouble with them. I have often been laughed at myself, and
joined in laughing at others, pitching ourselves down in the sand,
in trying to swing a large hide upon our heads, or nearly blown
over with one in a little gust of wind. The captain made it harder
for us, by telling us that it was ``California fashion'' to carry
two on the head at a time; and as he insisted upon it, and we did
not wish to be outdone by other vessels, we carried two for the
first few months; but after falling in with a few other ``hide
droghers,'' and finding that they carried only one at a time, we
``knocked off'' the extra one, and thus made our duty somewhat
easier.

After our heads had become used to the weight, and we had learned
the true California style of tossing a hide, we could carry off
two or three hundred in a short time, without much trouble; but it
was always wet work, and, if the beach was stony, bad for our
feet; for we, of course, went barefooted on this duty, as no shoes
could stand such constant wetting with salt water. And after this,
we had a pull of three miles, with a loaded boat, which often took
a couple of hours.

We had now got well settled down into our harbor duties, which, as
they are a good deal different from those at sea, it may be well
enough to describe. In the first place, all hands are called at
daylight, or rather-- especially if the days are short-- before
daylight, as soon as the first gray of the morning. The cook makes
his fire in the galley; the steward goes about his work in the
cabin; and the crew rig the head pump, and wash down the decks.
The chief mate is always on deck, but takes no active part, all
the duty coming upon the second mate, who has to roll up his
trousers and paddle about decks barefooted, like the rest of the
crew. The washing, swabbing, squilgeeing, &c. lasts, or is made to
last, until eight o'clock, when breakfast is ordered, fore and
aft. After breakfast, for which half an hour is allowed, the boats
are lowered down, and made fast astern, or out to the swinging
booms by geswarps, and the crew are turned-to upon their day's
work. This is various, and its character depends upon
circumstances. There is always more or less of boating, in small
boats; and if heavy goods are to be taken ashore, or hides are
brought down to the beach for us, then all hands are sent ashore
with an officer in the long-boat. Then there is a good deal to be
done in the hold,-- goods to be broken out, and cargo to be
shifted, to make room for hides, or to keep the trim of the
vessel. In addition to this, the usual work upon the rigging must
be going on. There is much of the latter kind of work which can
only be done when the vessel is in port. Everything, too, must be
kept taut and in good order,-- spun-yarn made, chafing gear
repaired, and all the other ordinary work. The great difference
between sea and harbor duty is in the division of time. Instead of
having a watch on deck and a watch below, as at sea, all hands are
at work together, except at mealtimes, from daylight till dark;
and at night an ``anchor watch'' is kept, which, with us,
consisted of only two at a time, all the crew taking turns. An
hour is allowed for dinner, and at dark the decks are cleared up,
the boats hoisted, supper ordered; and at eight the lights are put
out, except in the binnacle, where the glass stands; and the
anchor watch is set. Thus, when at anchor, the crew have more time
at night (standing watch only about two hours), but have no time
to themselves in the day; so that reading, mending clothes, &c.,
has to be put off until Sunday, which is usually given. Some
religious captains give their crews Saturday afternoons to do
their washing and mending in, so that they may have their Sundays
free. This is a good arrangement, and goes far to account for the
preference sailors usually show for vessels under such command. We
were well satisfied if we got even Sunday to ourselves; for, if
any hides came down on that day, as was often the case when they
were brought from a distance, we were obliged to take them off,
which usually occupied half a day; besides, as we now lived on
fresh beef, and ate one bullock a week, the animal was almost
always brought down on Sunday, and we had to go ashore, kill it,
dress it, and bring it aboard, which was another interruption.
Then, too, our common day's work was protracted and made more
fatiguing by hides coming down late in the afternoon, which
sometimes kept us at work in the surf by starlight, with the
prospect of pulling on board, and stowing them all away, before
supper.

But all these little vexations and labors would have been nothing,--
they would have been passed by as the common evils of a sea
life, which every sailor, who is a man, will go through without
complaint,-- were it not for the uncertainty, or worse than
uncertainty, which hung over the nature and length of our voyage.
Here we were, in a little vessel, with a small crew, on a
half-civilized coast, at the ends of the earth, and with a
prospect of remaining an indefinite period,-- two or three years
at the least. When we left Boston, we supposed that ours was to be
a voyage of eighteen months, or two years, at most; but, upon
arriving on the coast, we learned something more of the trade, and
found that, in the scarcity of hides, which was yearly greater and
greater, it would take us a year, at least, to collect our own
cargo, beside the passage out and home; and that we were also to
collect a cargo for a large ship belonging to the same firm, which
was soon to come on the coast, and to which we were to act as
tender. We had heard rumors of such a ship to follow us, which had
leaked out from the captain and mate, but we passed them by as
mere ``yarns,'' till our arrival, when they were confirmed by the
letters which we brought from the owners to their agent. The ship
California, belonging to the same firm, had been nearly two years
on the coast getting a full cargo, and was now at San Diego, from
which port she was expected to sail in a few weeks for Boston; and
we were to collect all the hides we could, and deposit them at San
Diego, when the new ship, which would carry forty thousand, was to
be filled and sent home; and then we were to begin anew upon our
own cargo. Here was a gloomy prospect indeed. The Lagoda, a
smaller ship than the California, carrying only thirty-one or
thirty-two thousand, had been two years getting her cargo; and we
were to collect a cargo of forty thousand beside our own, which
would be twelve or fifteen thousand; and hides were said to be
growing scarcer. Then, too, this ship, which had been to us a
worse phantom than any flying Dutchman, was no phantom, or ideal
thing, but had been reduced to a certainty; so much so that a name
was given her, and it was said that she was to be the Alert, a
well-known Indiaman, which was expected in Boston in a few months,
when we sailed. There could be no doubt, and all looked black
enough. Hints were thrown out about three years and four years;
the older sailors said they never should see Boston again, but
should lay their bones in California; and a cloud seemed to hang
over the whole voyage. Besides, we were not provided for so long a
voyage, and clothes, and all sailors' necessaries, were
excessively dear,-- three or four hundred per cent advance upon
the Boston prices. This was bad enough for the crew; but still
worse was it for me, who did not mean to be a sailor for life,
having intended only to be gone eighteen months or two years.
Three or four years might make me a sailor in every respect, mind
and habits, as well as body, nolens volens, and would put all my
companions so far ahead of me that a college degree and a
profession would be in vain to think of; and I made up my mind
that, feel as I might, a sailor I might have to be, and to command
a merchant vessel might be the limit of my ambition.

Beside the length of the voyage, and the hard and exposed life, we
were in the remote parts of the earth, on an almost desert coast,
in a country where there is neither law nor gospel, and where
sailors are at their captain's mercy, there being no American
consul, or any one to whom a complaint could be made. We lost all
interest in the voyage, cared nothing about the cargo, which we
were only collecting for others, began to patch our clothes, and
felt as though our fate was fixed beyond all hope of change.

In addition to, and perhaps partly as a consequence of, this state
of things, there was trouble brewing on board the vessel. Our mate
(as the first mate is always called, par excellence) was a worthy
man.-- a more honest, upright, and kind-hearted man I never saw,--
but he was too easy and amiable for the mate of a merchantman. He
was not the man to call a sailor a ``son of a bitch,'' and knock
him down with a handspike. Perhaps he really lacked the energy and
spirit for such a voyage as ours, and for such a captain. Captain
Thompson was a vigorous, energetic fellow. As sailors say, ``he
hadn't a lazy bone in him.'' He was made of steel and whalebone.
He was a man to ``toe the mark,'' and to make every one else step
up to it. During all the time that I was with him, I never saw him
sit down on deck. He was always active and driving, severe in his
discipline, and expected the same of his officers. The mate not
being enough of a driver for him, he was dissatisfied with him,
became suspicious that discipline was getting relaxed, and began
to interfere in everything. He drew the reins tighter; and as, in
all quarrels between officers, the sailors side with the one who
treats them best, he became suspicious of the crew. He saw that
things went wrong,-- that nothing was done ``with a will''; and in
his attempt to remedy the difficulty by severity he made
everything worse. We were in all respects unfortunately situated,--
captain, officers, and crew, entirely unfitted for one another;
and every circumstance and event was like a two-edged sword, and
cut both ways. The length of the voyage, which made us
dissatisfied, made the captain, at the same time, see the
necessity of order and strict discipline; and the nature of the
country, which caused us to feel that we had nowhere to go for
redress, but were at the mercy of a hard master, made the captain
understand, on the other hand, that he must depend entirely upon
his own resources. Severity created discontent, and signs of
discontent provoked severity. Then, too, ill-treatment and
dissatisfaction are no ``linimenta laborum''; and many a time have
I heard the sailors say that they should not mind the length of
the voyage, and the hardships, if they were only kindly treated,
and if they could feel that something was done to make work
lighter and life easier. We felt as though our situation was a
call upon our superiors to give us occasional relaxations, and to
make our yoke easier. But the opposite policy was pursued. We were
kept at work all day when in port; which, together with a watch at
night, made us glad to turn-in as soon as we got below. Thus we
had no time for reading, or-- which was of more importance to us--
for washing and mending our clothes. And then, when we were at
sea, sailing from port to port, instead of giving us ``watch and
watch,'' as was the custom on board every other vessel on the
coast, we were all kept on deck and at work, rain or shine, making
spun-yarn and rope, and at other work in good weather, and picking
oakum, when it was too wet for anything else. All hands were
called to ``come up and see it rain,'' and kept on deck hour after
hour in a drenching rain, standing round the deck so far apart so
as to prevent our talking with one another, with our tarpaulins
and oil-cloth jackets on, picking old rope to pieces, or laying up
gaskets and robands. This was often done, too, when we were lying
in port with two anchors down, and no necessity for more than one
man on deck as a lookout. This is what is called ``hazing'' a
crew, and ``working their old iron up.''

While lying at Santa Barbara, we encountered another southeaster;
and, like the first, it came on in the night; the great black
clouds moving round from the southward, covering the mountain, and
hanging down over the town, appearing almo

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