Title: Two Years Before the Mast
Author: Dana, Richard Henry
Language: English
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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 almost to rest upon the
roofs of the houses. We made sail, slipped our cable, cleared the
point, and beat about for four days in the offing, under close
sail, with continual rain and high seas and winds. No wonder,
thought we, they have no rain in the other seasons, for enough
seemed to have fallen in those four days to last through a common
summer. On the fifth day it cleared up, after a few hours, as is
usual, of rain coming down like a four hours' shower-bath, and we
found ourselves drifted nearly ten leagues from the anchorage;
and, having light head winds, we did not return until the sixth
day. Having recovered our anchor, we made preparations for getting
under way to go down to leeward. We had hoped to go directly to
San Diego, and thus fall in with the California before she sailed
for Boston; but our orders were to stop at an intermediate port
called San Pedro; and, as we were to lie there a week or two, and
the California was to sail in a few days, we lost the opportunity.
Just before sailing, the captain took on board a short,
red-haired, round-shouldered, vulgar-looking fellow, who had lost
one eye and squinted with the other, and, introducing him as Mr.
Russell, told us that he was an officer on board. This was too
bad. We had lost overboard, on the passage, one of the best of our
number, another had been taken from us and appointed clerk, and
thus weakened and reduced, instead of shipping some hands to make
our work easier, he had put another officer over us, to watch and
drive us. We had now four officers, and only six in the
forecastle. This was bringing her too much down by the stern for
our comfort.

Leaving Santa Barbara, we coasted along down, the country
appearing level or moderately uneven, and, for the most part,
sandy and treeless; until, doubling a high sandy point, we let go
our anchor at a distance of three or three and a half miles from
shore. It was like a vessel bound to St. John's, Newfoundland,
coming to anchor on the Grand Banks; for the shore, being low,
appeared to be at a greater distance than it actually was, and we
thought we might as well have stayed at Santa Barbara, and sent
our boat down for the hides. The land was of a clayey quality,
and, as far as the eye could reach, entirely bare of trees and
even shrubs; and there was no sign of a town,-- not even a house
to be seen. What brought us into such a place, we could not
conceive. No sooner had we come to anchor, than the slip-rope, and
the other preparations for southeasters, were got ready; and there
was reason enough for it, for we lay exposed to every wind that
could blow, except the northerly winds, and they came over a flat
country with a rake of more than a league of water. As soon as
everything was snug on board, the boat was lowered, and we pulled
ashore, our new officer, who had been several times in the port
before, taking the place of steersman. As we drew in, we found the
tide low, and the rocks and stones, covered with kelp and seaweed,
lying bare for the distance of nearly an eighth of a mile. Leaving
the boat, and picking our way barefooted over these, we came to
what is called the landing-place, at high-water mark. The soil
was, at it appeared at first, loose and clayey, and, except the
stalks of the mustard plant, there was no vegetation. Just in
front of the landing, and immediately over it, was a small hill,
which, from its being not more than thirty or forty feet high, we
had not perceived from our anchorage. Over this hill we saw three
men coming down, dressed partly like sailors and partly like
Californians; one of them having on a pair of untanned leather
trousers and a red baize shirt. When they reached us, we found
that they were Englishmen. They told us that they had belonged to
a small Mexican brig which had been driven ashore here in a
southeaster, and now lived in a small house just over the hill.
Going up this hill with them, we saw, close behind it, a small,
low building, with one room, containing a fireplace,
cooking-apparatus, &c., and the rest of it unfinished, and used as
a place to store hides and goods. This, they told us, was built by
some traders in the Pueblo (a town about thirty miles in the
interior, to which this was the port), and used by them as a
storehouse, and also as a lodging-place when they came down to
trade with the vessels. These three men were employed by them to
keep the house in order, and to look out for the things stored in
it. They said that they had been there nearly a year; had nothing
to do most of the time, living upon beef, hard bread, and
fríjoles, a peculiar kind of bean, very abundant in California.
The nearest house, they told us, was a Rancho, or cattle-farm,
about three miles off; and one of them went there, at the request
of our officer, to order a horse to be sent down, with which the
agent, who was on board, might go up to the Pueblo. From one of
them, who was an intelligent English sailor, I learned a good
deal, in a few minutes' conversation, about the place, its trade,
and the news from the southern ports. San Diego, he said, was
about eighty miles to the leeward of San Pedro; that they had
heard from there, by a Mexican who came up on horseback, that the
California had sailed for Boston, and that the Lagoda, which had
been in San Pedro only a few weeks before, was taking in her cargo
for Boston. The Ayacucho was also there, loading for Callao; and
the little Loriotte, which had run directly down from Monterey,
where we left her. San Diego, he told me, was a small, snug place,
having very little trade, but decidedly the best harbor on the
coast, being completely land-locked, and the water as smooth as a
duck-pond. This was the depot for all the vessels engaged in the
trade; each one having a large house there, built of rough boards,
in which they stowed their hides as fast as they collected them in
their trips up and down the coast, and when they had procured a
full cargo, spent a few weeks there taking it in, smoking ship,
laying in wood and water, and making other preparations for the
voyage home. The Lagoda was now about this business. When we
should be about it was more than I could tell,-- two years, at
least, I thought to myself.

I also learned, to my surprise, that the desolate-looking place we
were in furnished more hides than any port on the coast. It was
the only port for a distance of eighty miles, and about thirty
miles in the interior was a fine plane country, filled with herds
of cattle, in the centre of which was the Pueblo de los Angeles,--
the largest town in California,-- and several of the wealthiest
missions; to all of which San Pedro was the seaport.

Having made arrangements for a horse to take the agent to the
Pueblo the next day, we picked our way again over the green,
slippery rocks, and pulled toward the brig, which was so far off
that we could hardly see her, in the increasing darkness; and when
we got on board the boats were hoisted up, and the crew at supper.
Going down into the forecastle, eating our supper, and lighting
our cigars and pipes, we had, as usual, to tell what we had seen
or heard ashore. We all agreed that it was the worst place we had
seen yet, especially for getting off hides, and our lying off at
so great a distance looked as though it was bad for southeasters.
After a few disputes as to whether we should have to carry our
goods up the hill, or not, we talked of San Diego, the probability
of seeing the Lagoda before she sailed, &c., &c.

The next day we pulled the agent ashore, and he went up to visit
the Pueblo and the neighboring missions; and in a few days, as the
result of his labors, large ox-carts, and droves of mules, loaded
with hides, were seen coming over the flat country. We loaded our
long-boat with goods of all kinds, light and heavy, and pulled
ashore. After landing and rolling them over the stones upon the
beach, we stopped, waiting for the carts to come down the hill and
take them; but the captain soon settled the matter by ordering us
to carry them all up to the top, saying that that was ``California
fashion.'' So, what the oxen would not do, we were obliged to do.
The hill was low, but steep, and the earth, being clayey and wet
with the recent rains, was but bad holding ground for our feet.
The heavy barrels and casks we rolled up with some difficulty,
getting behind and putting our shoulders to them; now and then our
feet, slipping, added to the danger of the casks rolling back upon
us. But the greatest trouble was with the large boxes of sugar.
These we had to place upon oars, and, lifting them up, rest the
oars upon our shoulders, and creep slowly up the hill with the
gait of a funeral procession. After an hour or two of hard work,
we got them all up, and found the carts standing full of hides,
which we had to unload, and to load the carts again with our own
goods; the lazy Indians, who came down with them, squatting on
their hams, looking on, doing nothing, and when we asked them to
help us, only shaking their heads, or drawling out ``no quiero.''

Having loaded the carts, we started up the Indians, who went off,
one on each side of the oxen, with long sticks, sharpened at the
end, to punch them with. This is one of the means of saving labor
in California,-- two Indians to two oxen. Now, the hides were to
be got down; and for this purpose we brought the boat round to a
place where the hill was steeper, and threw them off, letting them
slide over the slope. Many of them lodged, and we had to let
ourselves down and set them a-going again, and in this way became
covered with dust, and our clothes torn. After we had the hides
all down, we were obliged to take them on our heads, and walk over
the stones, and through the water, to the boat. The water and the
stones together would wear out a pair of shoes a day, and as shoes
were very scarce and very dear, we were compelled to go
barefooted. At night we went on board, having had the hardest and
most disagreeable day's work that we had yet experienced. For
several days we were employed in this manner, until we had landed
forty or fifty tons of goods, and brought on board about two
thousand hides, when the trade began to slacken, and we were kept
at work on board during the latter part of the week, either in the
hold or upon the rigging. On Thursday night there was a violent
blow from the northward; but as this was off-shore, we had only to
let go our other anchor and hold on. We were called up at night to
send down the royal-yards. It was as dark as a pocket, and the
vessel pitching at her anchors. I went up to the fore, and Stimson
to the main, and we soon had them down ``ship-shape and Bristol
fashion''; for, as we had now become used to our duty aloft,
everything above the cross-trees was left to us, who were the
youngest of the crew, except one boy.

CHAPTER XV

For several days the captain seemed very much out of humor.
Nothing went right, or fast enough for him. He quarrelled with the
cook, and threatened to flog him for throwing wood on deck, and
had a dispute with the mate about reeving a Spanish burton; the
mate saying that he was right, and had been taught how to do it by
a man who was a sailor! This the captain took in dudgeon, and they
were at swords' points at once. But his displeasure was chiefly
turned against a large, heavy-moulded fellow from the Middle
States, who was called Sam. This man hesitated in his speech, was
rather slow in his motions, and was only a tolerably good sailor,
but usually seemed to do his best; yet the captain took a dislike
to him, thought he was surly and lazy, and ``if you once give a
dog a bad name,''-- as the sailor-phrase is,-- ``he may as well
jump overboard.'' The captain found fault with everything this man
did, and hazed him for dropping a marline-spike from the
main-yard, where he was at work. This, of course, was an accident,
but it was set down against him. The captain was on board all day
Friday, and everything went on hard and disagreeably. ``The more
you drive a man, the less he will do,'' was as true with us as
with any other people. We worked late Friday night, and were
turned-to early Saturday morning. About ten o'clock the captain
ordered our new officer, Russell, who by this time had become
thoroughly disliked by all the crew, to get the gig ready to take
him ashore. John, the Swede, was sitting in the boat alongside,
and Mr. Russell and I were standing by the main hatchway, waiting
for the captain, who was down in the hold, where the crew were at
work, when we heard his voice raised in violent dispute with
somebody, whether it was with the mate or one of the crew I could
not tell, and then came blows and scuffling. I ran to the side and
beckoned to John, who came aboard, and we leaned down the
hatchway, and though we could see no one, yet we knew that the
captain had the advantage, for his voice was loud and clear:--

``You see your condition! You see your condition! Will you ever
give me any more of your jaw?'' No answer; and then came wrestling
and heaving, as though the man was trying to turn him. ``You may
as well keep still, for I have got you,'' said the captain. Then
came the question, ``Will you ever give me any more of your jaw?''

``I never gave you any, sir,'' said Sam; for it was his voice that
we heard, though low and half choked.

``That's not what I ask you. Will you ever be impudent to me
again?''

``I never have been, sir,'' said Sam.

``Answer my question, or I'll make a spread eagle of you! I'll
flog you, by G---d.''

``I'm no negro slave,'' said Sam.

``Then I'll make you one,'' said the captain; and he came to the
hatchway, and sprang on deck, threw off his coat, and, rolling up
his sleeves, called out to the mate: ``Seize that man up, Mr.
Amerzene! Seize him up! Make a spread eagle of him! I'll teach you
all who is master aboard!''

The crew and officers followed the captain up the hatchway; but it
was not until after repeated orders that the mate laid hold of
Sam, who made no resistance, and carried him to the gangway.

``What are you going to flog that man for, sir?'' said John, the
Swede, to the captain.

Upon hearing this, the captain turned upon John; but, knowing him
to be quick and resolute, he ordered the steward to bring the
irons, and, calling upon Russell to help him, went up to John.

``Let me alone,'' said John. ``I'm willing to be put in irons. You
need not use any force''; and, putting out his hands, the captain
slipped the irons on, and sent him aft to the quarter-deck. Sam,
by this time, was seized up, as it is called, that is, placed
against the shrouds, with his wrists made fast to them, his jacket
off, and his back exposed. The captain stood on the break of the
deck, a few feet from him, and a little raised, so as to have a
good swing at him, and held in his hand the end of a thick, strong
rope. The officers stood round, and the crew grouped together in
the waist. All these preparations made me feel sick and almost
faint, angry and excited as I was. A man-- a human being, made in
God's likeness-- fastened up and flogged like a beast! A man, too,
whom I had lived with, eaten with, and stood watch with for
months, and knew so well! If a thought of resistance crossed the
minds of any of the men, what was to be done? Their time for it
had gone by. Two men were fast, and there were left only two men
besides Stimson and myself, and a small boy of ten or twelve years
of age; and Stimson and I would not have joined the men in a
mutiny, as they knew. And then, on the other side, there were
(beside the captain) three officers, steward, agent, and clerk,
and the cabin supplied with weapons. But beside the numbers, what
is there for sailors to do? If they resist, it is mutiny; and if
they succeed, and take the vessel, it is piracy. If they ever
yield again, their punishment must come; and if they do not yield,
what are they to be for the rest of their lives? If a sailor
resist his commander, he resists the law, and piracy or submission
is his only alternative. Bad as it was, they saw it must be borne.
It is what a sailor ships for. Swinging the rope over his head,
and bending his body so as to give it full force, the captain
brought it down upon the poor fellow's back. Once, twice,-- six
times. ``Will you ever give me any more of your jaw?'' The man
writhed with pain, but said not a word. Three times more. This was
too much, and he muttered something which I could not hear; this
brought as many more as the man could stand, when the captain
ordered him to be cut down, and to go forward.

``Now for you,'' said the captain, making up to John, and taking
his irons off. As soon as John was loose, he ran forward to the
forecastle. ``Bring that man aft!'' shouted the captain. The
second mate, who had been in the forecastle with these men the
early part of the voyage, stood still in the waist, and the mate
walked slowly forward; but our third officer, anxious to show his
zeal, sprang forward over the windlass, and laid hold of John; but
John soon threw him from him. The captain stood on the
quarter-deck, bareheaded, his eyes flashing with rage, and his
face as red as blood, swinging the rope, and calling out to his
officers: ``Drag him aft!-- Lay hold of him! I'll sweeten him!''
&c., &c. The mate now went forward, and told John quietly to go
aft; and he, seeing resistance vain, threw the blackguard third
mate from him, said he would go aft of himself, that they should
not drag him, and went up to the gangway and held out his hands;
but as soon as the captain began to make him fast, the indignity
was too much, and he struggled; but, the mate and Russell holding
him, he was soon seized up. When he was made fast, he turned to
the captain, who stood rolling up his sleeves and getting ready
for the blow, and asked him what he was to be flogged for. ``Have
I ever refused my duty, sir? Have you ever known me to hang back,
or to be insolent, or not to know my work?''

``No,'' said the captain, ``it is not that that I flog you for; I
flog you for your interference, for asking questions.''

``Can't a man ask a question here without being flogged?''

``No,'' shouted the captain; ``nobody shall open his mouth aboard
this vessel but myself,'' and began laying the blows upon his
back, swinging half round between each blow, to give it full
effect. As he went on, his passion increased, and he danced about
the deck, calling out, as he swung the rope: ``If you want to know
what I flog you for, I'll tell you. It's because I like to do it!--
because I like to do it!-- It suits me! That's what I do it for!''

The man writhed under the pain until he could endure it no longer,
when he called out, with an exclamation more common among
foreigners than with us: ``O Jesus Christ! O Jesus Christ!''

``Don't call on Jesus Christ,'' shouted the captain; ``he can't
help you. Call on Frank Thompson! He's the man! He can help you!
Jesus Christ can't help you now!''

At these words, which I never shall forget, my blood ran cold. I
could look on no longer. Disgusted, sick, I turned away, and
leaned over the rail, and looked down into the water. A few rapid
thoughts, I don't know what,-- our situation, a resolution to see
the captain punished when we got home,-- crossed my mind; but the
falling of the blows and the cries of the man called me back once
more. At length they ceased, and, turning round, I found that the
mate, at a signal from the captain, had cast him loose. Almost
doubled up with pain, the man walked slowly forward, and went down
into the forecastle. Every one else stood still at his post, while
the captain, swelling with rage, and with the importance of his
achievement, walked the quarter-deck, and at each turn, as he came
forward, calling out to us: ``You see your condition! You see
where I've got you all, and you know what to expect!''-- ``You've
been mistaken in me; you didn't know what I was! Now you know what
I am!''-- ``I'll make you toe the mark, every soul of you, or I'll
flog you all, fore and aft, from the boy up!''-- ``You've got a
driver over you! Yes, a slave-driver,-- a nigger-driver! I'll see
who'll tell me he isn't a NIGGER slave!'' With this and the like
matter, equally calculated to quiet us, and to allay any
apprehensions of future trouble, he entertained us for about ten
minutes, when he went below. Soon after, John came aft, with his
bare back covered with stripes and wales in every direction, and
dreadfully swollen, and asked the steward to ask the captain to
let him have some salve, or balsam, to put upon it. ``No,'' said
the captain, who heard him from below; ``tell him to put his shirt
on; that's the best thing for him, and pull me ashore in the boat.
Nobody is going to lay-up on board this vessel.'' He then called
to Mr. Russell to take those two men and two others in the boat,
and pull him ashore. I went for one. The two men could hardly bend
their backs, and the captain called to them to ``give way,''
``give way!'' but, finding they did their best, he let them alone.
The agent was in the stern sheets, but during the whole pull-- a
league or more-- not a word was spoken. We landed; the captain,
agent, and officer went up to the house, and left us with the
boat. I, and the man with me, stayed near the boat, while John and
Sam walked slowly away, and sat down on the rocks. They talked
some time together, but at length separated, each sitting alone. I
had some fears of John. He was a foreigner, and violently
tempered, and under suffering; and he had his knife with him, and
the captain was to come down alone to the boat. But nothing
happened; and we went quietly on board. The captain was probably
armed, and if either of them had lifted a hand against him, they
would have had nothing before them but flight, and starvation in
the woods of California, or capture by the soldiers and Indians,
whom the offer of twenty dollars would have set upon them.

After the day's work was done, we went down into the forecastle,
and ate our plain supper; but not a word was spoken. It was
Saturday night; but there was no song,-- no ``sweethearts and
wives.'' A gloom was over everything. The two men lay in their
berths, groaning with pain, and we all turned in, but, for myself,
not to sleep. A sound coming now and then from the berths of the
two men showed that they were awake, as awake they must have been,
for they could hardly lie in one posture long; the dim, swinging
lamp shed its light over the dark hole in which we lived, and many
and various reflections and purposes coursed through my mind. I
had no apprehension that the captain would try to lay a hand on
me; but our situation, living under a tyranny, with an ungoverned,
swaggering fellow administering it; of the character of the
country we were in; the length of the voyage; the uncertainty
attending our return to America; and then, if we should return,
the prospect of obtaining justice and satisfaction for these poor
men; and I 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 had so long
been cast.

The next day was Sunday. We worked, as usual, washing decks, &c.,
until breakfast-time. After breakfast we pulled the captain
ashore, and, finding some hides there which had been brought down
the night before, he ordered me to stay ashore and watch them,
saying that the boat would come again before night. They left me,
and I spent a quiet day on the hill, eating dinner with the three
men at the little house. Unfortunately they had no books; and,
after talking with them, and walking about, I began to grow tired
of doing nothing. The little brig, the home of so much hardship
and suffering, lay in the offing, almost as far as one could see;
and the only other thing which broke the surface of the great bay
was a small, dreary-looking island, steep and conical, of a clayey
soil, and without the sign of vegetable life upon it, yet which
had a peculiar and melancholy interest, for on the top of it were
buried the remains of an Englishman, the commander of a small
merchant brig, who died while lying in this port. It was always a
solemn and affecting spot to me. There it stood, desolate, and in
the midst of desolation; and there were the remains of one who
died and was buried alone and friendless. Had it been a common
burying-place, it would have been nothing. The single body
corresponded well with the solitary character of everything
around. It was the only spot in California that impressed me with
anything like poetic interest. Then, too, the man died far from
home, without a friend near him,-- by poison, it was suspected,
and no one to inquire into it,-- and without proper funeral rites;
the mate (as I was told), glad to have him out of the way,
hurrying him up the hill and into the ground, without a word or a
prayer.

I looked anxiously for a boat, during the latter part of the
afternoon, but none came; until toward sundown, when I saw a speck
on the water, and as it drew near I found it was the gig, with the
captain. The hides, then, were not to go off. The captain came up
the hill, with a man, bringing my monkey jacket and a blanket. He
looked pretty black, but inquired whether I had enough to eat;
told me to make a house out of the hides, and keep myself warm, as
I should have to sleep there among them, and to keep good watch
over them. I got a moment to speak to the man who brought my
jacket.

``How do things go aboard?'' said I.

``Bad enough,'' said he; ``hard work and not a kind word spoken.''

``What!'' said I, ``have you been at work all day?''

``Yes! no more Sunday for us. Everything has been moved in the
hold, from stem to stern, and from the water-ways to the
keelson.''

I went up to the house to supper. We had fríjoles (the perpetual
food of the Californians, but which, when well cooked, are the
best bean in the world), coffee made of burnt wheat, and hard
bread. After our meal, the three men sat down by the light of a
tallow candle, with a pack of greasy Spanish cards, to the
favorite game of ``treinte uno,'' a sort of Spanish
``everlasting.'' I left them and went out to take up my bivouac
among the hides. It was now dark; the vessel was hidden from
sight, and except the three men in the house there was not a
living soul within a league. The coyotes (a wild animal of a
nature and appearance between that of the fox and the wolf) set up
their sharp, quick bark, and two owls, at the end of two distant
points running out into the bay, on different sides of the hill
where I lay, kept up their alternate dismal notes. I had heard
the sound before at night, but did not know what it was, until
one of the men, who came down to look at my quarters, told me it
was the owl. Mellowed by the distance, and heard alone, at night,
it was a most melancholy and boding sound. Through nearly all the
night they kept it up, answering one another slowly at regular
intervals. This was relieved by the noisy coyotes, some of which
came quite near to my quarters, and were not very pleasant
neighbors. The next morning, before sunrise, the long-boat came
ashore, and the hides were taken off.

We lay at San Pedro about a week, engaged in taking off hides and
in other labors, which had now become our regular duties. I spent
one more day on the hill, watching a quantity of hides and goods,
and this time succeeded in finding a part of a volume of Scott's
Pirate in a corner of the house; but it failed me at a most
interesting moment, and I betook myself to my acquaintances on
shore, and from them learned a good deal about the customs of the
country, the harbors, &c. This, they told me, was a worse harbor
than Santa Barbara for southeasters, the bearing of the headland
being a point and a half more to windward, and it being so shallow
that the sea broke often as far out as where we lay at anchor. The
gale for which we slipped at Santa Barbara had been so bad a one
here, that the whole bay, for a league out, was filled with the
foam of the breakers, and seas actually broke over the Dead Man's
Island. The Lagoda was lying there, and slipped at the first
alarm, and in such haste that she was obliged to leave her launch
behind her at anchor. The little boat rode it out for several
hours, pitching at her anchor, and standing with her stern up
almost perpendicularly. The men told me that they watched her till
towards night, when she snapped her cable and drove up over the
breakers high and dry upon the beach.

On board the Pilgrim everything went on regularly, each one trying
to get along as smoothly as possible; but the comfort of the
voyage was evidently at an end. ``That is a long lane which has no
turning,'' ``Every dog must have his day, and mine will come by
and by,'' and the like proverbs, were occasionally quoted; but no
one spoke of any probable end to the voyage, or of Boston, or
anything of the kind; or, if he did, it was only to draw out the
perpetual surly reply from his shipmate: ``Boston, is it? You may
thank your stars if you ever see that place. You had better have
your back sheathed, and your head coppered, and your feet shod,
and make out your log for California for life!'' or else something
of this kind: ``Before you get to Boston, the hides will wear all
the hair off your head, and you'll take up all your wages in
clothes, and won't have enough left to buy a wig with!''

The flogging was seldom, if ever, alluded to by us in the
forecastle. If any one was inclined to talk about it, the others,
with a delicacy which I hardly expected to find among them, always
stopped him, or turned the subject. But the behavior of the two
men who were flogged toward one another showed a consideration
which would have been worthy of admiration in the highest walks of
life. Sam knew John had suffered solely on his account; and in all
his complaints he said that, if he alone had been flogged, it
would have been nothing; but he never could see him without
thinking that he had been the means of bringing this disgrace upon
him; and John never, by word or deed, let anything escape him to
remind the other that it was by interfering to save his shipmate
that he had suffered. Neither made it a secret that they thought
the Dutchman Bill and Foster might have helped them; but they did
not expect it of Stimson or me. While we showed our sympathy for
their suffering, and our indignation at the captain's violence, we
did not feel sure that there was only one side to the beginning of
the difficulty, and we kept clear of any engagement with them,
except our promise to help them when they got home.[1]

Having got all our spare room filled with hides, we hove up our
anchor, and made sail for San Diego. In no operation can the
disposition of a crew be better discovered than in getting under
way. Where things are done ``with a will,'' every one is like a
cat aloft; sails are loosed in an instant; each one lays out his
strength on his handspike, and the windlass goes briskly round
with the loud cry of ``Yo heave ho! Heave and pawl! Heave hearty,
ho!'' and the chorus of ``Cheerly, men!'' cats the anchor. But
with us, at this time, it was all dragging work. No one went aloft
beyond his ordinary gait, and the chain came slowly in over the
windlass. The mate, between the knight-heads, exhausted all his
official rhetoric in calls of ``Heave with a will!''-- ``Heave
hearty, men!-- heave hearty!''-- ``Heave, and raise the dead!''--
``Heave, and away!'' &c., &c.; but it would not do. Nobody broke
his back or his handspike by his efforts. And when the
cat-tackle-fall was strung along, and all hands-- cook, steward,
and all-- laid hold, to cat the anchor, instead of the lively song
of ``Cheerly, men!'' in which all hands join in the chorus, we
pulled a long, heavy, silent pull, and, as sailors say a song is
as good as ten men, the anchor came to the cat-head pretty slowly.
``Give us `Cheerly!''' said the mate; but there was no ``cheerly''
for us, and we did without it. The captain walked the
quarter-deck, and said not a word. He must have seen the change,
but there was nothing which he could notice officially.

We sailed leisurely down the coast before a light, fair wind,
keeping the land well aboard, and saw two other missions, looking
like blocks of white plaster, shining in the distance; one of
which, situated on the top of a high hill, was San Juan
Capistrano, under which vessels sometimes come to anchor, in the
summer season, and take off hides. At sunset on the second day we
had a large and well-wooded headland directly before us, behind
which lay the little harbor of San Diego. We were becalmed off
this point all night, but the next morning, which was Saturday,
the 14th of March, having a good breeze, we stood round the point,
and, hauling our wind, brought the little harbor, which is rather
the outlet of a small river, right before us. Every one was
desirous to get a view of the new place. A chain of high hills,
beginning at the point (which was on our larboard hand coming in),
protected the harbor on the north and west, and ran off into the
interior, as far as the eye could reach. On the other sides the
land was low and green, but without trees. The entrance is so
narrow as to admit but one vessel at a time, the current swift,
and the channel runs so near to a low, stony point that the ship's
sides appeared almost to touch it. There was no town in sight, but
on the smooth sand beach, abreast, and within a cable's length of
which three vessels lay moored, were four large houses, built of
rough boards, and looking like the great barns in which ice is
stored on the borders of the large ponds near Boston, with piles
of hides standing round them, and men in red shirts and large
straw hats walking in and out of the doors. These were the Hide
Houses. Of the vessels: one, a short, clumsy little hermaphrodite
brig, we recognized as our old acquaintance, the Loriotte;
another, with sharp bows and raking masts, newly painted and
tarred, and glittering in the morning sun, with the blood-red
banner and cross of St. George at her peak, was the handsome
Ayacucho. The third was a large ship, with top-gallant-masts
housed and sails unbent, and looking as rusty and worn as two
years' ``hide droghing'' could make her. This was the Lagoda. As
we drew near, carried rapidly along by the current, we overhauled
our chain, and clewed up the topsails. ``Let go the anchor!'' said
the captain; but either there was not chain enough forward of the
windlass, or the anchor went down foul, or we had too much headway
on, for it did not bring us up. ``Pay out chain!'' shouted the
captain; and we gave it to her; but it would not do. Before the
other anchor could be let go, we drifted down, broadside on, and
went smash into the Lagoda. Her crew were at breakfast in the
forecastle, and her cook, seeing us coming, rushed out of his
galley, and called up the officers and men.

Fortunately, no great harm was done. Her jib-boom passed between
our fore and main masts, carrying away some of our rigging, and
breaking down the rail. She lost her martingale. This brought us
up, and, as they paid out chain, we swung clear of them, and let
go the other anchor; but this had as bad luck as the first, for,
before any one perceived it, we were drifting down upon the
Loriotte. The captain now gave out his orders rapidly and
fiercely, sheeting home the topsails, and backing and filling the
sails, in hope of starting or clearing the anchors; but it was all
in vain, and he sat down on the rail, taking it very leisurely,
and calling out to Captain Nye that he was coming to pay him a
visit. We drifted fairly into the Loriotte, her larboard bow into
our starboard quarter, carrying away a part of our starboard
quarter railing, and breaking off her larboard bumpkin, and one or
two stanchions above the deck. We saw our handsome sailor,
Jackson, on the forecastle, with the Sandwich-Islanders, working
away to get us clear. After paying out chain, we swung clear, but
our anchors were, no doubt, afoul of hers. We manned the windlass,
and hove, and hove away, but to no purpose. Sometimes we got a
little upon the cable, but a good surge would take it all back
again. We now began to drift down toward the Ayacucho; when her
boat put off, and brought her commander, Captain Wilson, on board.
He was a short, active, well-built man, about fifty years of age;
and being some twenty years older than our captain, and a thorough
seaman, he did not hesitate to give his advice, and, from giving
advice, he gradually came to taking the command; ordering us when
to heave and when to pawl, and backing and filling the topsails,
setting and taking in jib and trysail, whenever he thought best.
Our captain gave a few orders, but as Wilson generally
countermanded them, saying, in an easy, fatherly kind of way, ``O
no! Captain Thompson, you don't want the jib on her,'' or ``It
isn't time yet to heave!'' he soon gave it up. We had no
objections to this state of things, for Wilson was a kind man, and
had an encouraging and pleasant way of speaking to us, which made
everything go easily. After two or three hours of constant labor
at the windlass, heaving and yo-ho-ing with all our might, we
brought up an anchor, with the Loriotte's small bower fast to it.
Having cleared this, and let it go, and cleared our hawse, we got
our other anchor, which had dragged half over the harbor. ``Now,''
said Wilson, ``I'll find you a good berth''; and, setting both the
topsails, he carried us down, and brought us to anchor, in
handsome style, directly abreast of the hide-house which we were
to use. Having done this, he took his leave, while we furled the
sails, and got our breakfast, which was welcome to us, for we had
worked hard, and eaten nothing since yesterday afternoon, and it
was nearly twelve o'clock. After breakfast, and until night, we
were employed in getting out the boats and mooring ship.

After supper, two of us took the captain on board the Lagoda. As
he came alongside, he gave his name, and the mate, in the gangway,
called out to Captain Bradshaw, down the companion-way, ``Captain
Thompson has come aboard, sir!'' ``Has he brought his brig with
him?'' asked the rough old fellow, in a tone which made itself
heard fore and aft. This mortified our captain not a little, and
it became a standing joke among us, and, indeed, over the coast,
for the rest of the voyage. The captain went down into the cabin,
and we walked forward and put our heads down the forecastle, where
we found the men at supper. ``Come down, shipmates![2] come down!''
said they, as soon as they saw us; and we went down, and found a
large, high forecastle, well lighted, and a crew of twelve or
fourteen men eating out of their kids and pans, and drinking their
tea, and talking and laughing, all as independent and easy as so
many ``woodsawyer's clerks.'' This looked like comfort and
enjoyment, compared with the dark little forecastle, and scanty,
discontented crew of the brig. It was Saturday night; they had got
through their work for the week, and, being snugly moored, had
nothing to do until Monday again. After two years' hard service,
they had seen the worst, and all, of California; had got their
cargo nearly stowed, and expected to sail, in a week or two, for
Boston.

We spent an hour or more with them, talking over California
matters, until the word was passed,-- ``Pilgrims, away!'' and we
went back to our brig. The Lagodas were a hardy, intelligent set,
a little roughened, and their clothes patched and old, from
California wear; all able seamen, and between the ages of twenty
and thirty-five or forty. They inquired about our vessel, the
usage on board, &c., and were not a little surprised at the story
of the flogging. They said there were often difficulties in
vessels on the coast, and sometimes knock-downs and fightings, but
they had never heard before of a regular seizing-up and flogging.
``Spread eagles'' were a new kind of bird in California.

Sunday, they said, was always given in San Diego, both at the
hide-houses and on board the vessels, a large number usually going
up to the town, on liberty. We learned a good deal from them about
the curing and stowing of hides, &c., and they were desirous to
have the latest news (seven months old) from Boston. One of their
first inquiries was for Father Taylor, the seamen's preacher in
Boston. Then followed the usual strain of conversation, inquiries,
stories, and jokes, which one must always hear in a ship's
forecastle, but which are, perhaps, after all, no worse, though
more gross and coarse, than those one may chance to hear from some
well dressed gentlemen around their tables.

[1] Owing to the change of vessels that afterwards took place,
Captain Thompson arrived in Boston nearly a year before the
Pilgrim, and was off on another voyage, and beyond the reach of
these men. Soon after the publication of the first edition of this
book, in 1841, I received a letter from Stimson, dated at Detroit,
Michigan, where he had reentered mercantile life, from which I
make this extract: ``As to your account of the flogging scene, I
think you have given a fair history of it, and, if anything, been
too lenient towards Captain Thompson for his brutal, cowardly
treatment of those men. As I was in the hold at the time the
affray commenced, I will give you a short history of it as near as
I can recollect. We were breaking out goods in the fore hold, and,
in order to get at them, we had to shift our hides from forward to
aft. After having removed part of them, we came to the boxes, and
attempted to get them out without moving any more of the hides.
While doing so, Sam accidentally hurt his hand, and, as usual,
began swearing about it, and was not sparing of his oaths,
although I think he was not aware that Captain Thompson was so
near him at the time. Captain Thompson asked him, in no moderate
way, what was the matter with him. Sam, on account of the
impediment in his speech, could not answer immediately, although
he endeavored to, but as soon as possible answered in a manner
that almost any one would, under the like circumstances, yet, I
believe, not with the intention of giving a short answer; but
being provoked, and suffering pain from the injured hand, he
perhaps answered rather short, or sullenly. Thus commenced the
scene you have so vividly described, and which seems to me exactly
the history of the whole affair without any exaggeration.''

[2] ``Shipmate'' is the term by which sailors address one another
when not acquainted.


CHAPTER XVI

The next day being Sunday, after washing and clearing decks, and
getting breakfast, the mate came forward with leave for one watch
to go ashore, on liberty. We drew lots, and it fell to the
larboard, which I was in. Instantly all was preparation. Buckets
of fresh water (which we were allowed in port), and soap, were put
in use; go-ashore jackets and trousers got out and brushed; pumps,
neckerchiefs, and hats overhauled, one lending to another; so that
among the whole each got a good fit-out. A boat was called to pull
the ``liberty-men'' ashore, and we sat down in the stern sheets,
``as big as pay-passengers,'' and, jumping ashore, set out on our
walk for the town, which was nearly three miles off.

It is a pity that some other arrangement is not made in merchant
vessels with regard to the liberty-day. When in port, the crews
are kept at work all the week, and the only day they are allowed
for rest or pleasure is Sunday; and unless they go ashore on that
day, they cannot go at all. I have heard of a religious captain
who gave his crew liberty on Saturdays, after twelve o'clock. This
would be a good plan, if shipmasters would bring themselves to
give their crews so much time. For young sailors especially, many
of whom have been brought up with a regard for the sacredness of
the day, this strong temptation to break it is exceedingly
injurious. As it is, it can hardly be expected that a crew, on a
long and hard voyage, will refuse a few hours of freedom from toil
and the restraints of a vessel, and an opportunity to tread the
ground and see the sights of society and humanity, because it is a
Sunday. They feel no objection to being drawn out of a pit on the
Sabbath day.

I shall never forget the delightful sensation of being in the open
air, with the birds singing around me, and escaped from the
confinement, labor, and strict rule of a vessel,-- of being once
more in my life, though only for a day, my own master. A sailor's
liberty is but for a day; yet while it lasts it is entire. He is
under no one's eye, and can do whatever, and go wherever, he
pleases. This day, for the first time, I may truly say, in my
whole life, I felt the meaning of a term which I had often heard,--
the sweets of liberty. Stimson was with me, and, turning our
backs upon the vessels, we walked slowly along, talking of the
pleasure of being our own masters, of the times past, when we were
free and in the midst of friends, in America, and of the prospect
of our return; and planning where we would go, and what we would
do, when we reached home. It was wonderful how the prospect
brightened, and how short and tolerable the voyage appeared, when
viewed in this new light. Things looked differently from what they
did when we talked them over in the little dark forecastle, the
night after the flogging, at San Pedro. It is not the least of the
advantages of allowing sailors occasionally a day of liberty, that
it gives them a spring, and makes them feel cheerful and
independent, and leads them insensibly to look on the bright side
of everything for some time after.

Stimson and I determined to keep as much together as possible,
though we knew that it would not do to cut our shipmates; for,
knowing our birth and education, they were a little suspicious
that we would try to put on the gentleman when we got ashore, and
would be ashamed of their company; and this won't do with Jack.
When the voyage is at an end, you do as you please; but so long as
you belong to the same vessel, you must be a shipmate to him on
shore, or he will not be a shipmate to you on board. Being
forewarned of this before I went to sea, I took no ``long togs''
with me; and being dressed like the rest, in white duck trousers,
blue jacket, and straw hat, which would prevent my going into
better company, and showing no disposition to avoid them, I set
all suspicion at rest. Our crew fell in with some who belonged to
the other vessels, and, sailor-like, steered for the first
grog-shop. This was a small adobe building, of only one room, in
which were liquors, ``dry-goods,'' West India goods, shoes, bread,
fruits, and everything which is vendible in California. It was
kept by a Yankee, a one-eyed man, who belonged formerly to Fall
River, came out to the Pacific in a whale-ship, left her at the
Sandwich Islands, and came to California and set up a pulpería.
Stimson and I followed in our shipmates' wake, knowing that to
refuse to drink with them would be the highest affront, but
determining to slip away at the first opportunity. It is the
universal custom with sailors for each one, in his turn, to treat
the whole, calling for a glass all round, and obliging every one
who is present, even to the keeper of the shop, to take a glass
with him. When we first came in, there was some dispute between
our crew and the others, whether the newcomers or the old
California rangers should treat first; but it being settled in
favor of the latter, each of the crews of the other vessels
treated all round in their turn, and as there were a good many
present (including some ``loafers'' who had dropped in, knowing
what was going on, to take advantage of Jack's hospitality), and
the liquor was a real (12 1/2 cents) a glass, it made somewhat of a
hole in their lockers. It was now our ship's turn, and Stimson and
I, desirous to get away, stepped up to call for glasses; but we
soon found that we must go in order,-- the oldest first, for the
old sailors did not choose to be preceded by a couple of
youngsters; and bon gré, mal gré, we had to wait our turn, with
the twofold apprehension of being too late for our horses, and of
getting too much; for drink you must, every time; and if you drink
with one, and not with another, it is always taken as an insult.

Having at length gone through our turns and acquitted ourselves of
all obligations, we slipped out, and went about among the houses,
endeavoring to find horses for the day, so that we might ride
round and see the country. At first we had but little success, all
that we could get out of the lazy fellows, in reply to our
questions, being the eternal drawling Quien sabe? (``Who knows?'')
which is an answer to all questions. After several efforts, we at
length fell in with a little Sandwich Island boy, who belonged to
Captain Wilson, of the Ayacucho, and was well acquainted in the
place; and he, knowing where to go, soon procured us two horses,
ready saddled and bridled, each with a lasso coiled over the
pommel. These we were to have all day, with the privilege of
riding them down to the beach at night, for a dollar, which we had
to pay in advance. Horses are the cheapest thing in California;
very fair ones not being worth more than ten dollars apiece, and
the poorer being often sold for three and four. In taking a day's
ride, you pay for the use of the saddle, and for the labor and
trouble of catching the horses. If you bring the saddle back safe,
they care but little what becomes of the horse. Mounted on our
horses, which were spirited beasts (and which, by the way, in this
country, are always steered in the cavalry fashion, by pressing
the contrary rein against the neck, and not by pulling on the
bit), we started off on a fine run over the country. The first
place we went to was the old ruinous presidio, which stands on a
rising ground near the village, which it overlooks. It is built in
the form of an open square, like all the other presidios, and was
in a most ruinous state, with the exception of one side, in which
the commandant lived, with his family. There were only two guns,
one of which was spiked, and the other had no carriage. Twelve
half-clothed and half-starved looking fellows composed the
garrison; and they, it was said, had not a musket apiece. The
small settlement lay directly below the fort, composed of about
forty dark brown looking huts, or houses, and three or four larger
ones, whitewashed, which belonged to the ``gente de razon.'' This
town is not more than half as large as Monterey, or Santa Barbara,
and has little or no business. From the presidio, we rode off in
the direction of the Mission, which we were told was three miles
distant. The country was rather sandy, and there was nothing for
miles which could be called a tree, but the grass grew green and
rank, there were many bushes and thickets, and the soil is said to
be good. After a pleasant ride of a couple of miles, we saw the
white walls of the Mission, and, fording a small stream, we came
directly before it. The Mission is built of adobe and plastered.
There was something decidedly striking in its appearance: a number
of irregular buildings, connected with one another, and, disposed
in the form of a hollow square, with a church at one end, rising
above the rest, with a tower containing five belfries, in each of
which hung a large bell, and with very large rusty iron crosses at
the tops. Just outside of the buildings, and under the walls,
stood twenty or thirty small huts, built of straw and of the
branches of trees, grouped together, in which a few Indians lived,
under the protection and in the service of the Mission.

Entering a gateway, we drove into the open square, in which the
stillness of death reigned. On one side was the church; on
another, a range of high buildings with grated windows; a third
was a range of smaller buildings, or offices, and the fourth
seemed to be little more than a high connecting wall. Not a living
creature could we see. We rode twice round the square, in the hope
of waking up some one; and in one circuit saw a tall monk, with
shaven head, sandals, and the dress of the Gray Friars, pass
rapidly through a gallery, but he disappeared without noticing us.
After two circuits, we stopped our horses, and at last a man
showed himself in front of one of the small buildings. We rode up
to him, and found him dressed in the common dress of the country,
with a silver chain round his neck, supporting a large bunch of
keys. From this, we took him to be the steward of the Mission,
and, addressing him as ``Mayor-domo,'' received a low bow and an
invitation to walk into his room. Making our horses fast, we went
in. It was a plain room, containing a table, three or four chairs,
a small picture or two of some saint, or miracle, or martyrdom,
and a few dishes and glasses. ``Hay alguna cosa de comer?'' said
I, from my grammar. ``Si, Señor!'' said he. ``Que gusta usted?''
Mentioning fríjoles, which I knew they must have if they had
nothing else, and beef and bread, with a hint for wine, if they
had any, he went off to another building across the court, and
returned in a few minutes with a couple of Indian boys bearing
dishes and a decanter of wine. The dishes contained baked meats,
fríjoles stewed with peppers and onions, boiled eggs, and
California flour baked into a kind of macaroni. These, together
with the wine, made the most sumptuous meal we had eaten since we
left Boston; and, compared with the fare we had lived upon for
seven months, it was a regal banquet. After despatching it, we
took out some money and asked him how much we were to pay. He
shook his head, and crossed himself, saying that it was charity,--
that the Lord gave it to us. Knowing the amount of this to be that
he did not sell, but was willing to receive a present, we gave him
ten or twelve reals, which he pocketed with admirable nonchalance,
saying, ``Dios se lo pague.'' Taking leave of him, we rode out to
the Indians' huts. The little children were running about among
the huts, stark naked, and the men were not much more; but the
women had generally coarse gowns of a sort of tow cloth. The men
are employed, most of the time, in tending the cattle of the
Mission, and in working in the garden, which is a very large one,
including several acres, and filled, it is said, with the best
fruits of the climate. The language of these people, which is
spoken by all the Indians of California, is the most brutish,
without any exception, that I ever heard, or that could well be
conceived of. It is a complete slabber. The words fall off of the
ends of their tongues, and a continual slabbering sound is made in
the cheeks, outside of the teeth. It cannot have been the language
of Montezuma and the independent Mexicans.

Here, among the huts, we saw the oldest man that I had ever met
with; and, indeed, I never supposed that a person could retain
life and exhibit such marks of age. He was sitting out in the sun,
leaning against the side of a hut; and his legs and arms, which
were bare, were of a dark red color, the skin withered and shrunk
up like burnt leather, and the limbs not larger round than those
of a boy of five years. He had a few gray hairs, which were tied
together at the back of his head, and he was so feeble that, when
we came up to him, he raised his hands slowly to his face, and,
taking hold of his lids with his fingers, lifted them up to look
at us; and, being satisfied, let them drop again. All command over
the lids seemed to have gone. I asked his age, but could get no
answer but ``Quien sabe?'' and they probably did not know it.

Leaving the Mission, we returned to the village, going nearly all
the way on a full run. The California horses have no medium gait,
which is pleasant, between walking and running; for as there are
no streets and parades, they have no need of the genteel trot, and
their riders usually keep them at the top of their speed until
they are tired, and then let them rest themselves by walking. The
fine air of the afternoon, the rapid gait of the animals, who
seemed almost to fly over the ground, and the excitement and
novelty of the motion to us, who had been so long confined on
shipboard, were exhilarating beyond expression, and we felt
willing to ride all day long. Coming into the village, we found
things looking very lively. The Indians, who always have a holiday
on Sunday, were engaged at playing a kind of running game of ball,
on a level piece of ground, near the houses. The old ones sat down
in a ring, looking on, while the young ones-- men, boys, and girls--
were chasing the ball, and throwing it with all their might.
Some of the girls ran like greyhounds. At every accident, or
remarkable feat, the old people set up a deafening screaming and
clapping of hands. Several blue jackets were reeling about among
the houses, which showed that the pulperías had been well
patronized. One or two of the sailors had got on horseback, but
being rather indifferent horsemen, and the Mexicans having given
them vicious beasts, they were soon thrown, much to the amusement
of the people. A half-dozen Sandwich-Islanders, from the
hide-houses and the two brigs, bold riders, were dashing about on
the full gallop, hallooing and laughing like so many wild men.

It was now nearly sundown, and Stimson and I went into a house and
sat quietly down to rest ourselves before going to the beach.
Several people soon collected to see ``los marineros ingleses,''
and one of them, a young woman, took a great fancy to my
pocket-handkerchief, which was a large silk one that I had before
going to sea, and a handsomer one than they had been in the habit
of seeing. Of course, I gave it to her, which brought me into high
favor; and we had a present of some pears and other fruits, which
we took down to the beach with us. When we came to leave the
house, we found that our horses, which we had tied at the door,
were both gone. We had paid for them to ride down to the beach,
but they were not to be found. We went to the man of whom we hired
them, but he only shrugged his shoulders, and to our question,
``Where are the horses?'' only answered, ``Quien sabe?'' but as he
was very easy, and made no inquiries for the saddles, we saw that
he knew very well where they were. After a little trouble,
determined not to walk to the beach,-- a distance of three miles,--
we procured two, at four reals more apiece, with two Indian boys
to run behind and bring them back. Determined to have ``the go''
out of the horses, for our trouble, we went down at full speed,
and were on the beach in a few minutes. Wishing to make our
liberty last as long as possible, we rode up and down among the
hide-houses, amusing ourselves with seeing the men as they arrived
(it was now dusk), some on horseback and others on foot. The
Sandwich-Islanders rode down, and were in ``high snuff.'' We
inquired for our shipmates, and were told that two of them had
started on horseback, and been thrown, or had fallen off, and were
seen heading for the beach, but steering pretty wild, and, by the
looks of things, would not be down much before midnight.

The Indian boys having arrived, we gave them our horses, and,
having seen them safely off, hailed for a boat, and went aboard.
Thus ended our first liberty-day on shore. We were well tired, but
had had a good time, and were more willing to go back to our old
duties. About midnight we were waked up by our two watch-mates,
who had come aboard in high dispute. It seems they had started to
come down on the same horse, double-backed; and each was accusing
the other of being the cause of his fall. They soon, however,
turned-in and fell asleep, and probably forgot all about it, for
the next morning the dispute was not renewed.

CHAPTER XVII

The next sound that we heard was ``All hands ahoy!'' and, looking
up the scuttle, saw that it was just daylight. Our liberty had now
truly taken flight, and with it we laid away our pumps, stockings,
blue jackets, neckerchiefs, and other go-ashore paraphernalia, and
putting on old duck trousers, red shirts, and Scotch caps, began
taking out and landing our hides. For three days we were hard at
work in this duty, from the gray of the morning until starlight,
with the exception of a short time allowed for meals. For landing
and taking on board hides, San Diego is decidedly the best place
in California. The harbor is small and land-locked; there is no
surf; the vessels lie within a cable's length of the beach, and
the beach itself is smooth, hard sand, without rocks or stones.
For these reasons, it is used by all the vessels in the trade as a
depot; and, indeed, it would be impossible, when loading with the
cured hides for the passage home, to take them on board at any of
the open ports, without getting them wet in the surf, which would
spoil them. We took possession of one of the hide-houses, which
belonged to our firm, and had been used by the California. It was
built to hold forty thousand hides, and we had the pleasing
prospect of filling it before we could leave the coast; and toward
this our thirty-five hundred, which we brought down with us, would
do but little. There was scarce a man on board who did not go
often into the house, looking round, reflecting, and making some
calculation of the time it would require.

The hides, as they come rough and uncured from the vessels, are
piled up outside of the houses, whence they are taken and carried
through a regular process of pickling, drying, and cleaning, and
stowed away in the house, ready to be put on board. This process
is necessary in order that they may keep during a long voyage and
in warm latitudes. For the purpose of curing and taking care of
them, an officer and a part of the crew of each vessel are usually
left ashore; and it was for this business, we found, that our new
officer had joined us. As soon as the hides were landed, he took
charge of the house, and the captain intended to leave two or
three of us with him, hiring Sandwich-Islanders in our places on
board; but he could not get any Sandwich-Islanders to go, although
he offered them fifteen dollars a month; for the report of the
flogging had got among them, and he was called ``aole maikai'' (no
good); and that was an end of the business. They were, however,
willing to work on shore, and four of them were hired and put with
Mr. Russell to cure the hides.

After landing our hides, we next sent ashore our spare spars and
rigging, all the stores which we did not need in the course of one
trip to windward, and, in fact, everything which we could spare,
so as to make room on board for hides; among other things, the
pigsty, and with it ``old Bess.'' This was an old sow that we had
brought from Boston, and who lived to get round Cape Horn, where
all the other pigs died from cold and wet. Report said that she
had been a Canton voyage before. She had been the pet of the cook
during the whole passage, and he had fed her with the best of
everything, and taught her to know his voice, and to do a number
of strange tricks for his amusement. Tom Cringle says that no one
can fathom a negro's affection for a pig; and I believe he is
right, for it almost broke our poor darky's heart when he heard
that Bess was to be taken ashore, and that he was to have the care
of her no more. He had depended upon her as a solace, during the
long trips up and down the coast. ``Obey orders, if you break
owners!'' said he,-- ``break hearts,'' he might have said,-- and
lent a hand to get her over the side, trying to make it as easy
for her as possible. We got a whip on the main-yard, and, hooking
it to a strap round her body, swayed away, and, giving a wink to
one another, ran her chock up to the yard-arm. ``'Vast there!
'vast!'' said the mate; ``none of your skylarking! Lower away!''
But he evidently enjoyed the joke. The pig squealed like the
``crack of doom,'' and tears stood in the poor darky's eyes; and
he muttered something about having no pity on a dumb beast. ``Dumb
beast!'' said Jack, ``if she's what you call a dumb beast, then my
eyes a'n't mates.'' This produced a laugh from all but the cook.
He was too intent upon seeing her safe in the boat. He watched her
all the way ashore, where, upon her landing, she was received by a
whole troop of her kind, who had been set ashore from the other
vessels, and had multiplied and formed a large commonwealth. From
the door of his galley the cook used to watch them in their
manoeuvres, setting up a shout and clapping his hands whenever
Bess came off victorious in the struggles for pieces of raw hide
and half-picked bones which were lying about the beach. During the
day, he saved all the nice things, and made a bucket of swill, and
asked us to take it ashore in the gig, and looked quite
disconcerted when the mate told him that he would pitch the swill
overboard, and him after it, if he saw any of it go into the
boats. We told him that he thought more about the pig than he did
about his wife, who lived down in Robinson's Alley; and, indeed,
he could hardly have been more attentive, for he actually, on
several nights, after dark, when he thought he would not be seen,
sculled himself ashore in a boat, with a bucket of nice swill, and
returned like Leander from crossing the Hellespont.

The next Sunday the other half of our crew went ashore on liberty,
and left us on board, to enjoy the first quiet Sunday we had had
upon the coast. Here were no hides to come off, and no
southeasters to fear. We washed and mended our clothes in the
morning, and spent the rest of the day in reading and writing.
Several of us wrote letters to send home by the Lagoda. At twelve
o'clock, the Ayacucho dropped her fore topsail, which was a signal
for her sailing. She unmoored and warped down into the bight, from
which she got under way. During this operation her crew were a
long time heaving at the windlass, and I listened to the musical
notes of a Sandwich-Islander named Mahanna, who ``sang out'' for
them. Sailors, when heaving at a windlass, in order that they may
heave together, always have one to sing out, which is done in high
and long-drawn notes, varying with the motion of the windlass.
This requires a clear voice, strong lungs, and much practice, to
be done well. This fellow had a very peculiar, wild sort of note,
breaking occasionally into a falsetto. The sailors thought that it
was too high, and not enough of the boatswain hoarseness about it;
but to me it had a great charm. The harbor was perfectly still,
and his voice rang among the hills as though it could have been
heard for miles. Toward sundown, a good breeze having sprung up,
the Ayacucho got under way, and with her long, sharp head cutting
elegantly through the water on a taut bowline, she stood directly
out of the harbor, and bore away to the southward. She was bound
to Callao, and thence to the Sandwich Islands, and expected to be
on the coast again in eight or ten months.

At the close of the week we were ready to sail, but were delayed a
day or two by the running away of Foster, the man who had been our
second mate and was turned forward. From the time that he was
``broken,'' he had had a dog's berth on board the vessel, and
determined to run away at the first opportunity. Having shipped
for an officer when he was not half a seaman, he found little pity
with the crew, and was not man enough to hold his ground among
them. The captain called him a ``soger,''[1] and promised to ``ride
him down as he would the main tack''; and when officers are once
determined to ``ride a man down,'' it is a gone case with him. He
had had several difficulties with the captain, and asked leave to
go home in the Lagoda; but this was refused him. One night he was
insolent to an officer on the beach, and refused to come aboard in
the boat. He was reported to the captain; and, as he came aboard,--
it being past the proper hour-- he was called aft, and told that
he was to have a flogging. Immediately he fell down on deck,
calling out, ``Don't flog me, Captain Thompson, don't flog me!''
and the captain, angry and disgusted with him, gave him a few
blows over the back with a rope's end, and sent him forward. He
was not much hurt, but a good deal frightened, and made up his
mind to run away that night. This was managed better than anything
he ever did in his life, and seemed really to show some spirit and
forethought. He gave his bedding and mattress to one of the
Lagoda's crew, who promised to keep it for him, and took it aboard
his ship as something which he had bought. He then unpacked his
chest, putting all his valuable clothes into a large canvas bag,
and told one of us who had the watch to call him at midnight.
Coming on deck at midnight, and finding no officer on deck, and
all still aft, he lowered his bag into a boat, got softly down
into it, cast off the painter, and let it drop down silently with
the tide until he was out of hearing, when he sculled ashore.

The next morning, when all hands were mustered, there was a great
stir to find Foster. Of course, we would tell nothing, and all
they could discover was that he had left an empty chest behind
him, and that he went off in a boat; for they saw the boat lying
high and dry on the beach. After breakfast, the captain went up to
the town, and offered a reward of twenty dollars for him; and for
a couple of days the soldiers, Indians, and all others who had
nothing to do, were scouring the country for him, on horseback,
but without effect; for he was safely concealed, all the time,
within fifty rods of the hide-houses. As soon as he had landed, he
went directly to the Lagoda's hide-house, and a part of her crew,
who were living there on shore, promised to conceal him and his
traps until the Pilgrim should sail, and then to intercede with
Captain Bradshaw to take him on board his ship. Just behind the
hide-houses, among the thickets and underwood, was a small cave,
the entrance to which was known only to two men on the beach, and
which was so well concealed that though, when I afterwards came to
live on shore, it was shown to me two or three times, I was never
able to find it alone. To this cave he was carried before daybreak
in the morning, and supplied with bread and water, and there
remained until he saw us under way and well round the point.

Friday, March 27th. The captain having given up all hope of
finding Foster, and being unwilling to delay any longer, gave
orders for unmooring ship, and we made sail, dropping slowly down
with the tide and light wind. We left letters with Captain
Bradshaw to take to Boston, and were made miserable by hearing him
say that he should be back again before we left the coast. The
wind, which was very light, died away soon after we doubled the
point, and we lay becalmed for two days, not moving three miles
the whole time, and a part of the second day were almost within
sight of the vessels. On the third day, about noon, a cool
sea-breeze came rippling and darkening the surface of the water,
and by sundown we were off San Juan, which is about forty miles
from San Diego, and is called half-way to San Pedro, where we were
bound. Our crew was now considerably weakened. One man we had lost
overboard, another had been taken aft as clerk, and a third had
run away; so that, beside Stimson and myself, there were only
three able seamen and one boy of twelve years of age. With this
diminished and discontented crew, and in a small vessel, we were
now to battle the watch through a couple of years of hard service;
yet there was not one who was not glad that Foster had escaped;
for, shiftless and good for nothing as he was, no one could wish
to see him dragging on a miserable life, cowed down and
disheartened; and we were all rejoiced to hear, upon our return to
San Diego, about two months afterwards, that he had been
immediately taken aboard the Lagoda, and had gone home in her, on
regular seaman's wages.

After a slow passage of five days, we arrived on Wednesday, the
first of April, at our old anchoring-ground at San Pedro. The bay
was as deserted and looked as dreary as before, and formed no
pleasing contrast with the security and snugness of San Diego, and
the activity and interest which the loading and unloading of four
vessels gave to that scene. In a few days the hides began to come
slowly down, and we got into the old business of rolling goods up
the hill, pitching hides down, and pulling our long league off and
on. Nothing of note occurred while we were lying here, except that
an attempt was made to repair the small Mexican brig which had
been cast away in a southeaster, and which now lay up, high and
dry, over one reef of rocks and two sand-banks. Our carpenter
surveyed her, and pronounced her capable of being refitted, and in
a few days the owners came down from the Pueblo, and having waited
for the high spring tides, with the help of our cables, kedges,
and crew, hauled her off after several trials. The three men at
the house on shore, who had formerly been a part of her crew, now
joined her, and seemed glad enough at the prospect of getting off
the coast.

On board our own vessel, things went on in the common monotonous
way. The excitement which immediately followed the flogging scene
had passed off, but the effect of it upon the crew, and especially
upon the two men themselves, remained. The different manner in
which these men were affected, corresponding to their different
characters, was not a little remarkable. John was a foreigner and
high-tempered, and though mortified, as any one would be at having
had the worst of an encounter, yet his chief feeling seemed to be
anger; and he talked much of satisfaction and revenge, if he ever
got back to Boston. But with the other it was very different. He
was an American, and had had some education; and this thing coming
upon him seemed completely to break him down. He had a feeling of
the degradation that had been inflicted upon him, which the other
man was incapable of. Before that, he had a good deal of fun in
him, and amused us often with queer negro stories (he was from a
Slave State); but afterwards he seldom smiled, seemed to lose all
life and elasticity, and appeared to have but one wish, and that
was for the voyage to be at an end. I have often known him to draw
a long sigh when he was alone, and he took but little part or
interest in John's plans of satisfaction and retaliation.

After a stay of about a fortnight, during which we slipped for one
southeaster, and were at sea two days, we got under way for Santa
Barbara. It was now the middle of April, the southeaster season
was nearly over, and the light, regular winds, which blow down the
coast, began to set steadily in, during the latter part of each
day. Against these we beat slowly up to Santa Barbara-- a distance
of about ninety miles-- in three days. There we found, lying at
anchor, the large Genoese ship which we saw in the same place on
the first day of our coming upon the coast. She had been up to San
Francisco, or, as it is called, ``chock up to windward,'' had
stopped at Monterey on her way down, and was shortly to proceed to
San Pedro and San Diego, and thence, taking in her cargo, to sail
for Valparaiso and Cadiz. She was a large, clumsy ship, and, with
her topmasts stayed forward, and high poop-deck, looked like an
old woman with a crippled back. It was now the close of Lent, and
on Good Friday she had all her yards a'-cock-bill, which is
customary among Catholic vessels. Some also have an effigy of
Judas, which the crew amuse themselves with keel-hauling and
hanging by the neck from the yard-arms.

[1] Soger (soldier) is the worst term of reproach that can be
applied to a sailor. It signifies a skulk, a shirk,-- one who is
always trying to get clear of work, and is out of the way, or
hanging back, when duty is to be done. ``Marine'' is the term
applied more particularly to a man who is ignorant and clumsy
about seaman's work,-- a greenhorn, a land-lubber. To make a
sailor shoulder a handspike, and walk fore and aft the deck, like
a sentry, is as ignominious a punishment as can be put upon him.
Such a punishment inflicted upon an able seaman in a vessel of war
might break down his spirit more than a flogging.

CHAPTER XVIII

The next Sunday was Easter, and as there had been no liberty at
San Pedro, it was our turn to go ashore and misspend another
Sunday. Soon after breakfast, a large boat, filled with men in
blue jackets, scarlet caps, and various-colored under-clothes,
bound ashore on liberty, left the Italian ship, and passed under
our stern, the men singing beautiful Italian boat-songs all the
way, in fine, full chorus. Among the songs I recognized the
favorite, ``O Pescator dell' onda.'' It brought back to my mind
piano-fortes, drawing-rooms, young ladies singing, and a thousand
other things which as little befitted me, in my situation, to be
thinking upon. Supposing that the whole day would be too long a
time to spend ashore, as there was no place to which we could take
a ride, we remained quietly on board until after dinner. We were
then pulled ashore in the stern of the boat,-- for it is a point
with liberty-men to be pulled off and back as passengers by their
shipmates,-- and, with orders to be on the beach at sundown, we
took our way for the town. There, everything wore the appearance
of a holiday. The people were dressed in their best; the men
riding about among the houses, and the women sitting on carpets
before the doors. Under the piazza of a pulpería two men were
seated, decked out with knots of ribbons and bouquets, and playing
the violin and the Spanish guitar. These are the only instruments,
with the exception of the drums and trumpets at Monterey, that I
ever heard in California; and I suspect they play upon no others,
for at a great fandango at which I was afterwards present, and
where they mustered all the music they could find, there were
three violins and two guitars, and no other instruments. As it was
now too near the middle of the day to see any dancing, and hearing
that a bull was expected down from the country, to be baited in
the presidio square, in the course of an hour or two, we took a
stroll among the houses. Inquiring for an American who, we had
been told, had married in the place, and kept a shop, we were
directed to a long, low building, at the end of which was a door,
with a sign over it, in Spanish. Entering the shop, we found no
one in it, and the whole had an empty, deserted air. In a few
minutes the man made his appearance, and apologized for having
nothing to entertain us with, saying that he had had a fandango at
his house the night before, and the people had eaten and drunk up
everything.

``O yes!'' said I, ``Easter holidays!''

``No!'' said he, with a singular expression on his face; ``I had a
little daughter die the other day, and that's the custom of the
country.''

At this I felt somewhat awkwardly, not knowing what to say, and
whether to offer consolation or not, and was beginning to retire,
when he opened a side-door and told us to walk in. Here I was no
less astonished; for I found a large room, filled with young
girls, from three or four years of age up to fifteen and sixteen,
dressed all in white, with wreaths of flowers on their heads, and
bouquets in their hands. Following our conductor among these
girls, who were playing about in high spirits, we came to a table,
at the end of the room, covered with a white cloth, on which lay a
coffin, about three feet long, with the body of his child. The
coffin was covered with white cloth, and lined with white satin,
and was strewn with flowers. Through an open door, we saw, in
another room, a few elderly people in common dresses; while the
benches and tables thrown up in a corner, and the stained walls,
gave evident signs of the last night's ``high go.'' Feeling, like
Garrick, between Tragedy and Comedy, an uncertainty of purpose, I
asked the man when the funeral would take place, and being told
that it would move toward the Mission in about an hour, took my
leave.

To pass away the time, we hired horses and rode to the beach, and
there saw three or four Italian sailors, mounted, and riding up
and down on the hard sand at a furious rate. We joined them, and
found it fine sport. The beach gave us a stretch of a mile or
more, and the horses flew over the smooth, hard sand, apparently
invigorated and excited by the salt sea-breeze, and by the
continual roar and dashing of the breakers. From the beach we
returned to the town, and, finding that the funeral procession had
moved, rode on and overtook it, about half-way to the Mission.
Here was as peculiar a sight as we had seen before in the house,
the one looking as much like a funeral procession as the other did
like a house of mourning. The little coffin was borne by eight
girls, who were continually relieved by others running forward
from the procession and taking their places. Behind it came a
straggling company of girls, dressed, as before, in white and
flowers, and including, I should suppose by their numbers, nearly
all the girls between five and fifteen in the place. They played
along on the way, frequently stopping and running all together to
talk to some one, or to pick up a flower, and then running on
again to overtake the coffin. There were a few elderly women in
common colors; and a herd of young men and boys, some on foot and
others mounted, followed them, or walked or rode by their side,
frequently interrupting them by jokes and questions. But the most
singular thing of all was, that two men walked, one on each side
of the coffin, carrying muskets in their hands, which they
continually loaded, and fired into the air. Whether this was to
keep off the evil spirits or not, I do not know. It was the only
interpretation that I could put upon it.

As we drew near the Mission, we saw the great gate thrown open,
and the padre standing on the steps, with a crucifix in his hand.
The Mission is a large and deserted-looking place, the
out-buildings going to ruin, and everything giving one the
impression of decayed grandeur. A large stone fountain threw out
pure water, from four mouths, into a basin, before the church
door; and we were on the point of riding up to let our horses
drink, when it occurred to us that it might be consecrated, and we
forebore. Just at this moment, the bells set up their harsh,
discordant clangor, and the procession moved into the court. I
wished to follow, and see the ceremony, but the horse of one of my
companions had become frightened, and was tearing off toward the
town; and, having thrown his rider, and got one of his hoofs
caught in the tackling of the saddle, which had slipped, was fast
dragging and ripping it to pieces. Knowing that my shipmate could
not speak a word of Spanish, and fearing that he would get into
difficulty, I was obliged to leave the ceremony and ride after
him. I soon overtook him, trudging along, swearing at the horse,
and carrying the remains of the saddle, which he had picked up on
the road. Going to the owner of the horse, we made a settlement
with him, and found him surprisingly liberal. All parts of the
saddle were brought back, and, being capable of repair, he was
satisfied with six reals. We thought it would have been a few
dollars. We pointed to the horse, which was now half-way up one of
the mountains; but he shook his head, saying, ``No importa!'' and
giving us to understand that he had plenty more.

Having returned to the town, we saw a crowd collected in the
square before the principal pulpería, and, riding up, found that
all these people-- men, women, and children-- had been drawn
together by a couple of bantam cocks. The cocks were in full tilt,
springing into one another, and the people were as eager, laughing
and shouting, as though the combatants had been men. There had
been a disappointment about the bull; he had broken his bail, and
taken himself off, and it was too late to get another, so the
people were obliged to put up with a cock-fight. One of the
bantams having been knocked in the head, and having an eye put
out, gave in, and two monstrous prize-cocks were brought on. These
were the object of the whole affair; the bantams having been
merely served up as a first course, to collect the people
together. Two fellows came into the ring holding the cocks in
their arms, and stroking them, and running about on all-fours,
encouraging and setting them on. Bets ran high, and, like most
other contests, it remained for some time undecided. Both cocks
showed great pluck, and fought probably better and longer than
their masters would have done. Whether, in the end, it was the
white or the red that beat, I do not recollect, but whichever it
was, he strutted off with the true veni-vidi-vici look, leaving
the other lying panting on his beam-ends.

This matter having been settled, we heard some talk about
``caballos'' and ``carrera,'' and seeing the people streaming off
in one direction, we followed, and came upon a level piece of
ground, just out of the town, which was used as a race-course.
Here the crowd soon became thick again, the ground was marked off,
the judges stationed, and the horses led up to one end. Two
fine-looking old gentlemen-- Don Carlos and Don Domingo, so called--
held the stakes, and all was now ready. We waited some time,
during which we could just see the horses twisting round and
turning, until, at length, there was a shout along the lines, and
on they came, heads stretched out and eyes starting,-- working all
over, both man and beast. The steeds came by us like a couple of
chain shot,-- neck and neck; and now we could see nothing but
their backs and their hind hoofs flying in the air. As fast as the
horses passed, the crowd broke up behind them, and ran to the
goal. When we got there, we found the horses returning on a slow
walk, having run far beyond the mark, and heard that the long,
bony one had come in head and shoulders before the other. The
riders were light-built men, had handkerchiefs tied round their
heads, and were bare-armed and bare-legged. The horses were
noble-looking beasts, not so sleek and combed as our Boston stable
horses, but with fine limbs and spirited eyes. After this had been
settled, and fully talked over, the crowd scattered again, and
flocked back to the town.

Returning to the large pulpería, we heard the violin and guitar
screaming and twanging away under the piazza, where they had been
all day. As it was now sundown, there began to be some dancing.
The Italian sailors danced, and one of our crew exhibited himself
in a sort of West India shuffle, much to the amusement of the
bystanders, who cried out, ``Bravo!'' ``Otra vez!'' and ``Vivan
los marineros!'' but the dancing did not become general, as the
women and the ``gente de razon'' had not yet made their
appearance. We wished very much to stay and see the style of
dancing; but, although we had had our own way during the day, yet
we were, after all, but 'fore-mast Jacks; and, having been ordered
to be on the beach by sunset, did not venture to be more than an
hour behind the time, so we took our way down. We found the boat
just pulling ashore through the breakers, which were running high,
there having been a heavy fog outside, which, from some cause or
other, always brings on, or precedes, a heavy sea. Liberty-men are
privileged from the time they leave the vessel until they step on
board again; so we took our places in the stern sheets, and were
congratulating ourselves upon getting off dry, when a great comber
broke fore and aft the boat, and wet us through and through,
filling the boat half full of water. Having lost her buoyancy by
the weight of the water, she dropped heavily into every sea that
struck her, and by the time we had pulled out of the surf into
deep water, she was but just afloat, and we were up to our knees.
By the help of a small bucket and our hats, we bailed her out, got
on board, hoisted the boats, eat our supper, changed our clothes,
gave (as is usual) the whole history of our day's adventures to
those who had stayed on board, and, having taken a night-smoke,
turned in. Thus ended our second day's liberty on shore.

On Monday morning, as an offset to our day's sport, we were all
set to work ``tarring down'' the rigging. Some got girt-lines up
for riding down the stays and back-stays, and others tarred the
shrouds, lifts, &c., laying out on the yards, and coming down the
rigging. We overhauled our bags, and took out our old tarry
trousers and frocks, which we had used when we tarred down before,
and were all at work in the rigging by sunrise. After breakfast,
we had the satisfaction of seeing the Italian ship's boat go
ashore, filled with men, gayly dressed, as on the day before, and
singing their barcarollas. The Easter holidays are kept up on
shore for three days; and, being a Catholic vessel, her crew had
the advantage of them. For two successive days, while perched up
in the rigging, covered with tar and engaged in our disagreeable
work, we saw these fellows going ashore in the morning, and coming
off again at night, in high spirits. So much for being
Protestants. There's no danger of Catholicism's spreading in New
England, unless the Church cuts down her holidays; Yankees can't
afford the time. American shipmasters get nearly three weeks' more
labor out of their crews, in the course of a year, than the
masters of vessels from Catholic countries. As Yankees don't
usually keep Christmas, and shipmasters at sea never know when
Thanksgiving comes, Jack has no festival at all.

About noon, a man aloft called out ``Sail ho!'' and, looking off,
we saw the head sails of a vessel coming round the point. As she
drew round, she showed the broadside of a full-rigged brig, with
the Yankee ensign at her peak. We ran up our stars and stripes,
and, knowing that there was no American brig on the coast but
ours, expected to have news from home. She rounded-to and let go
her anchor; but the dark faces on her yards, when they furled the
sails, and the Babel on deck, soon made known that she was from
the Islands. Immediately afterwards, a boat's crew came aboard,
bringing her skipper, and from them we learned that she was from
Oahu, and was engaged in the same trade with the Ayacucho and
Loriotte, between the coast, the Sandwich Islands, and the leeward
coast of Peru and Chili. Her captain and officers were Americans,
and also a part of her crew; the rest were Islanders. She was
called the Catalina, and, like the vessels in that trade, except
the Ayacucho, her papers and colors were from Uncle Sam. They, of
course, brought us no news, and we were doubly disappointed, for
we had thought, at first, it might be the ship which we were
expecting from Boston.

After lying here about a fortnight, and collecting all the hides
the place afforded, we set sail again for San Pedro. There we
found the brig which we had assisted in getting off lying at
anchor, with a mixed crew of Americans, English,
Sandwich-Islanders, Spaniards, and Spanish Indians; and though
much smaller than we, yet she had three times the number of men;
and she needed them, for her officers were Californians. No
vessels in the world go so sparingly manned as American and
English; and none do so well. A Yankee brig of that size would
have had a crew of four men, and would have worked round and round
her. The Italian ship had a crew of thirty men, nearly three times
as many as the Alert, which was afterwards on the coast, and was
of the same size; yet the Alert would get under way and come-to in
half the time, and get two anchors, while they were all talking at
once,-- jabbering like a parcel of ``Yahoos,'' and running about
decks to find their cat-block.

There was only one point in which they had the advantage over us,
and that was in lightening their labors in the boats by their
songs. The Americans are a time and money saving people, but have
not yet, as a nation, learned that music may be ``turned to
account.'' We pulled the long distances to and from the shore,
with our loaded boats, without a word spoken, and with
discontented looks, while they not only lightened the labor of
rowing, but actually made it pleasant and cheerful, by their
music. So true is it, that:--

   ``For the tired slave, song lifts the languid oar,
        And bids it aptly fall, with chime
     That beautifies the fairest shore,
        And mitigates the harshest clime.''

After lying about a week in San Pedro, we got under way for San
Diego, intending to stop at San Juan, as the southeaster season
was nearly over, and there was little or no danger.

This being the spring season, San Pedro, as well as all the other
open ports upon the coast, was filled with whales, that had come
in to make their annual visit upon soundings. For the first few
days that we were here and at Santa Barbara, we watched them with
great interest, calling out ``There she blows!'' every time we saw
the spout of one breaking the surface of the water; but they soon
became so common that we took little notice of them. They often
``broke'' very near us, and one thick, foggy night, during a dead
calm, while I was standing anchor-watch, one of them rose so near
that he struck our cable, and made all surge again. He did not
seem to like the encounter much himself, for he sheered off, and
spouted at a good distance. We once came very near running one
down in the gig, and should probably have been knocked to pieces
or thrown sky-high. We had been on board the little Spanish brig,
and were returning, stretching out well at our oars, the little
boat going like a swallow; our faces were turned aft (as is always
the case in pulling), and the captain, who was steering, was not
looking out when, all at once, we heard the spout of a whale
directly ahead. ``Back water! back water, for your lives!''
shouted the captain; and we backed our blades in the water, and
brought the boat to in a smother of foam. Turning our heads, we
saw a great, rough, hump-backed whale slowly crossing our fore
foot, within three or four yards of the boat's stem. Had we not
backed water just as we did, we should inevitably have gone smash
upon him, striking him with our stem just about amidships. He took
no notice of us, but passed slowly on, and dived a few yards
beyond us, throwing his tail high in the air. He was so near that
we had a perfect view of him, and, as may be supposed, had no
desire to see him nearer. He was a disgusting creature, with a
skin rough, hairy, and of an iron-gray color. This kind differs
much from the sperm, in color and skin, and is said to be fiercer.
We saw a few sperm whales; but most of the whales that come upon
the coast are fin-backs and hump-backs, which are more difficult
to take, and are said not to give oil enough to pay for the
trouble. For this reason, whale-ships do not come upon the coast
after them. Our captain, together with Captain Nye of the
Loriotte, who had been in a whale-ship, thought of making an
attempt upon one of them with two boats' crews; but as we had only
two harpoons, and no proper lines, they gave it up.

During the months of March, April, and May, these whales appear in
great numbers in the open ports of Santa Barbara, San Pedro, &c.,
and hover off the coast, while a few find their way into the close
harbors of San Diego and Monterey. They are all off again before
midsummer, and make their appearance on the ``off-shore ground.''
We saw some fine ``schools'' of sperm whales, which are easily
distinguished by their spout, blowing away, a few miles to
windward, on our passage to San Juan.

Coasting along on the quiet shore of the Pacific, we came to
anchor in twenty fathoms' water, almost out at sea, as it were,
and directly abreast of a steep hill which overhung the water, and
was twice as high as our royal-mast-head. We had heard much of
this place from the Lagoda's crew, who said it was the worst place
in California. The shore is rocky, and directly exposed to the
southeast, so that vessels are obliged to slip and run for their
lives on the first sign of a gale; and late as it was in the
season, we got up our slip-rope and gear, though we meant to stay
only twenty-four hours. We pulled the agent ashore, and were
ordered to wait for him, while he took a circuitous way round the
hill to the Mission, which was hidden behind it. We were glad of
the opportunity to examine this singular place, and hauling the
boat up, and making her well fast, took different directions up
and down the beach, to explore it.

San Juan is the only romantic spot on the coast. The country here
for several miles is high table-land, running boldly to the shore,
and breaking off in a steep cliff, at the foot of which the waters
of the Pacific are constantly dashing. For several miles the water
washes the very base of the hill, or breaks upon ledges and
fragments of rocks which run out into the sea. Just where we
landed was a small cove, or bight, which gave us, at high tide, a
few square feet of sand-beach between the sea and the bottom of
the hill. This was the only landing-place. Directly before us rose
the perpendicular height of four or five hundred feet. How we were
to get hides down, or goods up, upon the table-land on which the
Mission was situated, was more than we could tell. The agent had
taken a long circuit, and yet had frequently to jump over breaks,
and climb steep places, in the ascent. No animal but a man or a
monkey could get up it. However, that was not our lookout; and,
knowing that the agent would be gone an hour or more, we strolled
about, picking up shells, and following the sea where it tumbled
in, roaring and spouting, among the crevices of the great rocks.
What a sight, thought I, must this be in a southeaster! The rocks
were as large as those of Nahant or Newport, but, to my eye, more
grand and broken. Beside, there was a grandeur in everything
around, which gave a solemnity to the scene, a silence and
solitariness which affected every part! Not a human being but
ourselves for miles, and no sound heard but the pulsations of the
great Pacific! and the great steep hill rising like a wall, and
cutting us off from all the world, but the ``world of waters'' !
I separated myself from the rest, and sat down on a rock, just
where the sea ran in and formed a fine spouting horn. Compared
with the plain, dull sand-beach of the rest of the coast, this
grandeur was as refreshing as a great rock in a weary land. It was
almost the first time that I had been positively alone-- free from
the sense that human beings were at my elbow, if not talking with
me-- since I had left home. My better nature returned strong upon
me. Everything was in accordance with my state of feeling, and I
experienced a glow of pleasure at finding that what of poetry and
romance I ever had in me had not been entirely deadened by the
laborious life, with its paltry, vulgar associations, which I had
been leading. Nearly an hour did I sit, almost lost in the luxury
of this entire new scene of the play in which I had been so long
acting, when I was aroused by the distant shouts of my companions,
and saw that they were collecting together, as the agent had made
his appearance, on his way back to our boat.

We pulled aboard, and found the long-boat hoisted out, and nearly
laden with goods; and, after dinner, we all went on shore in the
quarter-boat, with the long-boat in tow. As we drew in, we
descried an ox-cart and a couple of men standing directly on the
brow of the hill; and having landed, the captain took his way
round the hill, ordering me and one other to follow him. We
followed, picking our way out, and jumping and scrambling up,
walking over briers and prickly pears, until we came to the top.
Here the country stretched out for miles, as far as the eye could
reach, on a level, table surface, and the only habitation in sight
was the small white mission of San Juan Capistrano, with a few
Indian huts about it, standing in a small hollow, about a mile
from where we were. Reaching the brow of the hill, where the cart
stood, we found several piles of hides, and Indians sitting round
them. One or two other carts were coming slowly on from the
Mission, and the captain told us to begin and throw the hides
down. This, then, was the way they were to be got down,-- thrown
down, one at a time, a distance of four hundred feet! This was
doing the business on a great scale. Standing on the edge of the
hill, and looking down the perpendicular height, the sailors

              ``That walked upon the beach
     Appeared like mice; and our tall anchoring bark
     Diminished to her cock; her cock a buoy
     Almost too small for sight.''

Down this height we pitched the hides, throwing them as far out
into the air as we could; and as they were all large, stiff, and
doubled, like the cover of a book, the wind took them, and they
swayed and eddied about, plunging and rising in the air, like a
kite when it has broken its string. As it was now low tide, there
was no danger of their falling into the water; and, as fast as
they came to ground, the men below picked them up, and, taking
them on their heads, walked off with them to the boat. It was
really a picturesque sight: the great height, the scaling of the
hides, and the continual walking to and fro of the men, who looked
like mites, on the beach. This was the romance of hide droghing!

Some of the hides lodged in cavities under the bank and out of our
sight, being directly under us; but by pitching other hides in the
same direction, we succeeded in dislodging them. Had they remained
there, the captain said he should have sent on board for a couple
of pairs of long halyards, and got some one to go down for them.
It was said that one of the crew of an English brig went down in
the same way, a few years before. We looked over, and thought it
would not be a welcome task, especially for a few paltry hides;
but no one knows what he will do until he is called upon; for, six
months afterwards, I descended the same place by a pair of
top-gallant studding-sail halyards, to save half a dozen hides
which had lodged there.

Having thrown them all over, we took our way back again, and found
the boat loaded and ready to start. We pulled off, took the hides
all aboard, hoisted in the boats, hove up our anchor, made sail,
and before sundown were on our way to San Diego.

Friday, May 8th, 1835. Arrived at San Diego. We found the little
harbor deserted. The Lagoda, Ayacucho, Loriotte, all had sailed
from the coast, and we were left alone. All the hide-houses on the
beach but ours were shut up, and the Sandwich-Islanders, a dozen
or twenty in number, who had worked for the other vessels, and
been paid off when they sailed, were living on the beach, keeping
up a grand carnival. There was a large oven on the beach, which,
it seems, had been built by a Russian discovery-ship, that had
been on the coast a few years ago, for baking her bread. This the
Sandwich-Islanders took possession of, and had kept ever since,
undisturbed. It was big enough to hold eight or ten men, and had a
door at the side, and a vent-hole at top. They covered the floor
with Oahu mats for a carpet, stopped up the vent-hole in bad
weather, and made it their head-quarters. It was now inhabited by
as many as a dozen or twenty men, crowded together, who lived
there in complete idleness,-- drinking, playing cards, and
carousing in every way. They bought a bullock once a week, which
kept them in meat, and one of them went up to the town every day
to get fruit, liquor, and provisions. Besides this, they had
bought a cask of ship-bread, and a barrel of flour from the
Lagoda, before she sailed. There they lived, having a grand time,
and caring for nobody. Captain Thompson wished to get three or
four of them to come on board the Pilgrim, as we were so much
diminished in numbers, and went up to the oven, and spent an hour
or two trying to negotiate with them. One of them,-- a finely
built, active, strong, and intelligent fellow,-- who was a sort of
king among them, acted as spokesman. He was called Mannini,-- or
rather, out of compliment to his known importance and influence,
Mr. Mannini,-- and was known all over California. Through him, the
captain offered them fifteen dollars a month, and one month's pay
in advance; but it was like throwing pearls before swine, or,
rather, carrying coals to Newcastle. So long as they had money,
they would not work for fifty dollars a month, and when their
money was gone, they would work for ten.

``What do you do here, Mr. Mannini?''[1] said the captain.

``Oh! we play cards, get drunk, smoke,-- do anything we're a mind
to.''

``Don't you want to come aboard and work?''

``Aole! aole make make makou i ka hana. Now, got plenty money; no
good, work. Mamule, money pau-- all gone. Ah! very good, work!--
maikai, hana hana nui!''

``But you'll spend all your money in this way,'' said the captain.

``Aye! me know that. By-'em-by money pau-- all gone; then Kanaka
work plenty.''

This was a hopeless case, and the captain left them, to wait
patiently until their money was gone.

We discharged our hides and tallow, and in about a week were ready
to set sail again for the windward. We unmoored, and got
everything ready, when the captain made another attempt upon the
oven. This time he had more regard to the ``mollia tempora
fandi,'' and succeeded very well. He won over Mr. Mannini to his
interest, and as the shot was getting low in the locker at the
oven, prevailed upon him and three others to come on board with
their chests and baggage, and sent a hasty summons to me and the
boy to come ashore with our things, and join the gang at the
hide-house. This was unexpected to me; but anything in the way of
variety I liked; so we made ready, and were pulled ashore. I stood
on the beach while the brig got under way, and watched her until
she rounded the point, and then went to the hide-house to take up
my quarters for a few months.

[1] The vowels in the Sandwich Island language have the sound of
those in the languages of Continental Europe.

CHAPTER XIX

Here was a change in my life as complete as it had been sudden. In
the twinkling of an eye I was transformed from a sailor into a
``beach-comber'' and a hide-curer; yet the novelty and the
comparative independence of the life were not unpleasant. Our
hide-house was a large building, made of rough boards, and
intended to hold forty thousand hides. In one corner of it a small
room was parted off, in which four berths were made, where we were
to live, with mother earth for our floor. It contained a table, a
small locker for pots, spoons, plates, &c., and a small hole cut
to let in the light. Here we put our chests, threw our bedding
into the berths, and took up our quarters. Over our heads was
another small room, in which Mr. Russell lived, who had charge of
the hide-house, the same man who was for a time an officer of the
Pilgrim. There he lived in solitary grandeur, eating and sleeping
alone (and these were his principal occupations), and communing
with his own dignity. The boy, a Marblehead hopeful, whose name
was Sam, was to act as cook; while I, a giant of a Frenchman named
Nicholas, and four Sandwich-Islanders were to cure the hides. Sam,
Nicholas, and I lived together in the room, and the four
Sandwich-Islanders worked and ate with us, but generally slept at
the oven. My new messmate, Nicholas, was the most immense man that
I had ever seen. He came on the coast in a vessel which was
afterwards wrecked, and now let himself out to the different
houses to cure hides. He was considerably over six feet, and of a
frame so large that he might have been shown for a curiosity. But
the most remarkable thing about him was his feet. They were so
large that he could not find a pair of shoes in California to fit
him, and was obliged to send to Oahu for a pair; and when he got
them, he was compelled to wear them down at the heel. He told me
once that he was wrecked in an American brig on the Goodwin Sands,
and was sent up to London, to the charge of the American consul,
with scant clothing to his back and no shoes to his feet, and was
obliged to go about London streets in his stocking-feet three or
four days, in the month of January, until the consul could have a
pair of shoes made for him. His strength was in proportion to his
size, and his ignorance to his strength,-- ``strong as an ox, and
ignorant as strong.'' He knew how neither to read nor to write. He
had been to sea from a boy, had seen all kinds of service, and
been in all sorts of vessels,-- merchantmen, men-of-war,
privateers, and slavers; and from what I could gather from his
accounts of himself, and from what he once told me, in confidence,
after we had become better acquainted, he had been in even worse
business than slave-trading. He was once tried for his life in
Charleston, South Carolina, and, though acquitted, was so
frightened that he never would show himself in the United States
again. I was not able to persuade him that he could not be tried a
second time for the same offence. He said he had got safe off from
the breakers, and was too good a sailor to risk his timbers again.

Though I knew what his life had been, yet I never had the
slightest fear of him. We always got along very well together,
and, though so much older, stronger, and larger than I, he showed
a marked respect for me, on account of my education, and of what
he had heard of my situation before coming to sea, such as may be
expected from a European of the humble class. ``I'll be good
friends with you,'' he used to say, ``for by and by you'll come
out here captain, and then you'll haze me well!'' By holding
together, we kept the officer in good order, for he was evidently
afraid of Nicholas, and never interfered with us, except when
employed upon the hides. My other companions, the
Sandwich-Islanders, deserve particular notice.

A considerable trade has been carried on for several years between
California and the Sandwich Islands, and most of the vessels are
manned with Islanders, who, as they for the most part sign no
articles, leave whenever they chose, and let themselves out to
cure hides at San Diego, and to supply the places of the men left
ashore from the American vessels while on the coast. In this way a
little colony of them had become settled at San Diego, as their
head-quarters. Some of these had recently gone off in the Ayacucho
and Loriotte, and the Pilgrim had taken Mr. Mannini and three
others, so that there were not more than twenty left. Of these,
four were on pay at the Ayacucho's house, four more working with
us, and the rest were living at the oven in a quiet way; for their
money was nearly gone, and they must make it last until some other
vessel came down to employ them.

During the four months that I lived here, I got well acquainted
with all of them, and took the greatest pains to become familiar
with their language, habits, and characters. Their language I
could only learn orally, for they had not any books among them,
though many of them had been taught to read and write by the
missionaries at home. They spoke a little English, and, by a sort
of compromise, a mixed language was used on the beach, which could
be understood by all. The long name of Sandwich-Islanders is
dropped, and they are called by the whites, all over the Pacific
Ocean, ``Kanakas,'' from a word in their own language,--
signifying, I believe, man, human being,-- which they apply to
themselves, and to all South-Sea-Islanders, in distinction from
whites, whom they call ``Haole.'' This name, ``Kanaka,'' they
answer to, both collectively and individually. Their proper names
in their own language being difficult to pronounce and remember,
they are called by any names which the captains or crews may
choose to give them. Some are called after the vessel they are in;
others by our proper names, as Jack, Tom, Bill; and some have
fancy names, as Ban-yan, Fore-top, Rope-yarn, Pelican, &c., &c. Of
the four who worked at our house, one was named ``Mr. Bingham,''
after the missionary at Oahu; another, Hope, after a vessel that
he had been in; a third, Tom Davis, the name of his first captain;
and the fourth, Pelican, from his fancied resemblance to that
bird. Then there was Lagoda-Jack, California-Bill, &c., &c. But by
whatever names they might be called, they were the most
interesting, intelligent, and kind-hearted people that I ever fell
in with. I felt a positive attachment for almost all of them; and
many of them I have, to this day, a feeling for, which would lead
me to go a great way for the pleasure of seeing them, and which
will always make me feel a strong interest in the mere name of a
Sandwich-Islander.

Tom Davis knew how to read, write, and cipher in common
arithmetic; had been to the United States, and spoke English quite
well. His education was as good as that of three quarters of the
Yankees in California, and his manners and principles a good deal
better; and he was so quick of apprehension that he might have
been taught navigation, and the elements of many of the sciences,
with ease. Old ``Mr. Bingham'' spoke very little English,-- almost
none, and could neither read nor write; but he was the
best-hearted old fellow in the world. He must have been over fifty
years of age. He had two of his front teeth knocked out, which was
done by his parents as a sign of grief at the death of Kamehameha,
the great king of the Sandwich Islands. We used to tell him that
he ate Captain Cook, and lost his teeth in that way. That was the
only thing that ever made him angry. He would always be quite
excited at that, and say: ``Aole!'' (No.) ``Me no eatee Cap'nee
Cook! Me pickaninny-- small-- so high-- no more! My fader see
Cap'nee Cook! Me-- no!'' None of them liked to have anything said
about Captain Cook, for the sailors all believe that he was eaten,
and that they cannot endure to be taunted with. ``New Zealand
Kanaka eatee white man; Sandwich Island Kanaka,-- no. Sandwich
Island Kanaka ua like pu na haole,-- all 'e same a' you!''

Mr. Bingham was a sort of patriarch among them, and was treated
with great respect, though he had not the education and energy
which gave Mr. Mannini his power over them. I have spent hours in
talking with this old fellow about Kamehameha, the Charlemagne of
the Sandwich Islands; his son and successor, Riho Riho, who died
in England, and was brought to Oahu in the frigate Blonde, Captain
Lord Byron, and whose funeral he remembered perfectly; and also
about the customs of his boyhood, and the changes which had been
made by the missionaries. He never would allow that human beings
had been eaten there; and, indeed, it always seemed an insult to
tell so affectionate, intelligent, and civilized a class of men
that such barbarities had been practised in their own country
within the recollection of many of them. Certainly, the history of
no people on the globe can show anything like so rapid an advance
from barbarism. I would have trusted my life and all I had in the
hands of any one of these people; and certainly, had I wished for
a favor or act of sacrifice, I would have gone to them all, in
turn, before I should have applied to one of my own countrymen on
the coast, and should have expected to see it done, before my own
countrymen had got half through counting the cost. Their customs,
and manner of treating one another, show a simple, primitive
generosity which is truly delightful, and which is often a
reproach to our own people. Whatever one has they all have. Money,
food, clothes, they share with one another, even to the last piece
of tobacco to put in their pipes. I once heard old Mr. Bingham
say, with the highest indignation, to a Yankee trader who was
trying to persuade him to keep his money to himself, ``No! we no
all 'e same a' you!-- Suppose one got money, all got money. You,--
suppose one got money-- lock him up in chest.--  No good!''--
``Kanaka all 'e same a' one!'' This principle they carry so far
that none of them will eat anything in sight of others without
offering it all round. I have seen one of them break a biscuit,
which had been given him, into five parts, at a time when I knew
he was on a very short allowance, as there was but little to eat
on the beach.

My favorite among all of them, and one who was liked by both
officers and men, and by whomever he had anything to do with, was
Hope. He was an intelligent, kind-hearted little fellow, and I
never saw him angry, though I knew him for more than a year, and
have seen him imposed upon by white people, and abused by insolent
mates of vessels. He was always civil, and always ready, and never
forgot a benefit. I once took care of him when he was ill, getting
medicines from the ship's chests, when no captain or officer would
do anything for him, and he never forgot it. Every Kanaka has one
particular friend, whom he considers himself bound to do
everything for, and with whom he has a sort of contract,-- an
alliance offensive and defensive,-- and for whom he will often
make the greatest sacrifices. This friend they call aikane; and
for such did Hope adopt me. I do not believe I could have wanted
anything which he had, that he would not have given me. In return
for this, I was his friend among the Americans, and used to teach
him letters and numbers; for he left home before he had learned
how to read. He was very curious respecting Boston (as they called
the United States), asking many questions about the houses, the
people, &c., and always wished to have the pictures in books
explained to him. They were all astonishingly quick in catching at
explanations, and many things which I had thought it utterly
impossible to make them understand they often seized in an
instant, and asked questions which showed that they knew enough to
make them wish to go farther. The pictures of steamboats and
railroad cars, in the columns of some newspapers which I had, gave
me great difficulty to explain. The grading of the road, the
rails, the construction of the carriages, they could easily
understand, but the motion produced by steam was a little too
refined for them. I attempted to show it to them once by an
experiment upon the cook's coppers, but failed,-- probably as much
from my own ignorance as from their want of apprehension, and, I
have no doubt, left them with about as clear an idea of the
principle as I had myself. This difficulty, of course, existed in
the same force with respect to the steamboats; and all I could do
was to give them some account of the results, in the shape of
speed; for, failing in the reason, I had to fall back upon the
fact. In my account of the speed, I was supported by Tom, who had
been to Nantucket, and seen a little steamboat which ran over to
New Bedford. And, by the way, it was strange to hear Tom speak of
America, when the poor fellow had been all the way round Cape Horn
and back, and had seen nothing but Nantucket.

A map of the world, which I once showed them, kept their attention
for hours; those who knew how to read pointing out the places and
referring to me for the distances. I remember being much amused
with a question which Hope asked me. Pointing to the large,
irregular place which is always left blank round the poles, to
denote that it is undiscovered, he looked up and asked, ``Pau?''
(Done? ended?)

The system of naming the streets and numbering the houses they
easily understood, and the utility of it. They had a great desire
to see America, but were afraid of doubling Cape Horn, for they
suffer much in cold weather, and had heard dreadful accounts of
the Cape from those of their number who had been round it.

They smoke a great deal, though not much at a time, using pipes
with large bowls, and very short stems, or no stems at all. These
they light, and, putting them to their mouths, take a long
draught, getting their mouths as full as they can hold of smoke,
and their cheeks distended, and then let it slowly out through
their mouths and nostrils. The pipe is then passed to others, who
draw in the same manner,-- one pipe-full serving for half a dozen.
They never take short, continuous draughts, like Europeans, but
one of these ``Oahu puffs,'' as the sailors call them, serves for
an hour or two, until some one else lights his pipe, and it is
passed round in the same manner. Each Kanaka on the beach had a
pipe, flint, steel, tinder, a hand of tobacco, and a jack-knife,
which he always carried about with him.[1]

That which strikes a stranger most peculiarly is their style of
singing. They run on, in a low, guttural, monotonous sort of
chant, their lips and tongues seeming hardly to move, and the
sounds apparently modulated solely in the throat. There is very
little tune to it, and the words, so far as I could learn, are
extempore. They sing about persons and things which are around
them, and adopt this method when they do not wish to be understood
by any but themselves; and it is very effectual, for with the most
careful attention I never could detect a word that I knew. I have
often heard Mr. Mannini, who was the most noted improvisatore
among them, sing for an hour together, when at work in the midst
of Americans and Englishmen; and, by the occasional shouts and
laughter of the Kanakas, who were at a distance, it was evident
that he was singing about the different men that he was at work
with. They have great powers of ridicule, and are excellent
mimics, many of them discovering and imitating the peculiarities
of our own people before we had observed them ourselves.

These were the people with whom I was to spend a few months, and
who, with the exception of the officer, Nicholas, the Frenchman,
and the boy, made the whole population of the beach. I ought,
perhaps, to except the dogs, for they were an important part of
our settlement. Some of the first vessels brought dogs out with
them, who, for convenience, were left ashore, and there
multiplied, until they came to be a great people. While I was on
the beach, the average number was about forty, and probably an
equal, or greater, number are drowned, or killed in some other
way, every year. They are very useful in guarding the beach, the
Indians being afraid to come down at night; for it was impossible
for any one to get within half a mile of the hide-houses without a
general alarm. The father of the colony, old Sachem, so called
from the ship in which he was brought out, died while I was there,
full of years, and was honorably buried. Hogs and a few chickens
were the rest of the animal tribe, and formed, like the dogs, a
common company, though they were all known, and usually fed at the
houses to which they belonged.

I had been but a few hours on the beach, and the Pilgrim was
hardly out of sight, when the cry of ``Sail ho!'' was raised, and
a small hermaphrodite brig rounded the point, bore up into the
harbor, and came to anchor. It was the Mexican brig Fazio, which
we had left at San Pedro, and which had come down to land her
tallow, try it all over, and make new bags, and then take it in
and leave the coast. They moored ship, erected their try-works on
shore, put up a small tent, in which they all lived, and commenced
operations. This addition gave a change and variety to our
society, and we spent many evenings in their tent, where, amid the
Babel of English, Spanish, French, Indian, and Kanaka, we found
some words that we could understand in common.

The morning after my landing, I began the duties of hide-curing.
In order to understand these, it will be necessary to give the
whole history of a hide, from the time it is taken from a bullock
until it is put on board the vessel to be carried to Boston. When
the hide is taken from the bullock, holes are cut round it, near
the edge, by which it is staked out to dry. In this manner it
dries without shrinking. After the hides are thus dried in the
sun, and doubled with the skin out, they are received by the
vessels at the different ports on the coast, and brought down to
the depot at San Diego. The vessels land them, and leave them in
large piles near the houses. Then begins the hide-curer's duty.

The first thing is to put them in soak. This is done by carrying
them down at low tide, and making them fast, in small piles, by
ropes, and letting the tide come up and cover them. Every day we
put in soak twenty-five for each man, which, with us, made a
hundred and fifty. There they lie forty-eight hours, when they are
taken out, and rolled up, in wheelbarrows, and thrown into the
vats. These vats contain brine, made very strong,-- being
sea-water, with great quantities of salt thrown in. This pickles
the hides, and in this they lie forty-eight hours; the use of the
sea-water, into which they are first put, being merely to soften
and clean them. From these vats they are taken, and lie on a
platform for twenty-four hours, and then are spread upon the
ground, and carefully stretched and staked out, with the skin up,
that they may dry smooth. After they had been staked, and while
yet wet and soft, we used to go upon them with our knives, and
carefully cut off all the bad parts,-- the pieces of meat and fat,
which would corrupt and infect the whole if stowed away in a
vessel for many months, the large flippers, the ears, and all
other parts which would prevent close stowage. This was the most
difficult part of our duty, as it required much skill to take off
everything that ought to come off, and not to cut or injure the
hide. It was also a long process, as six of us had to clean a
hundred and fifty, most of which required a great deal to be done
to them, as the Spaniards are very careless in skinning their
cattle. Then, too, as we cleaned them while they were staked out,
we were obliged to kneel down upon them, which always gives
beginners the back-ache. The first day I was so slow and awkward
that I cleaned only eight; at the end of a few days I doubled my
number; and, in a fortnight or three weeks, could keep up with the
others, and clean my twenty-five.

This cleaning must be got through with before noon, for by that
time the hides get too dry. After the sun has been upon them a few
hours, they are carefully gone over with scrapers, to get off all
the grease which the sun brings out. This being done, the stakes
are pulled up, and the hides carefully doubled, with the hair side
out, and left to dry. About the middle of the afternoon they are
turned over, for the other side to dry, and at sundown piled up
and covered over. The next day they are spread out and opened
again, and at night, if fully dry, are thrown upon a long,
horizontal pole, five at a time, and beaten with flails. This
takes all the dust from them. Then, having been salted, scraped,
cleaned, dried, and beaten, they are stowed away in the house.
Here ends their history, except that they are taken out again when
the vessel is ready to go home, beaten, stowed away on board,
carried to Boston, tanned, made into shoes and other articles for
which leather is used, and many of them, very probably, in the
end, brought back again to California in the shape of shoes, and
worn out in pursuit of other bullocks, or in the curing of other
hides.

By putting a hundred and fifty in soak every day, we had the same
number at each stage of curing on each day; so that we had, every
day, the same work to do upon the same number,-- a hundred and
fifty to put in soak, a hundred and fifty to wash out and put in
the vat, the same number to haul from the vat and put on the
platform to drain, the same number to spread, and stake out, and
clean, and the same number to beat and stow away in the house. I
ought to except Sunday; for, by a prescription which no captain or
agent has yet ventured to break in upon, Sunday has been a day of
leisure on the beach for years. On Saturday night, the hides, in
every stage of progress, are carefully covered up, and not
uncovered until Monday morning. On Sundays we had absolutely no
work to do, unless it might be to kill a bullock, which was sent
down for our use about once a week, and sometimes came on Sunday.
Another advantage of the hide-curing life was, that we had just so
much work to do, and when that was through, the time was our own.
Knowing this, we worked hard, and needed no driving. We ``turned
out'' every morning with the first signs of daylight, and allowing
a short time, at about eight o'clock, for breakfast, generally got
through our labor between one and two o'clock, when we dined, and
had the rest of the time to ourselves, until just before sundown,
when we beat the dry hides and put them in the house, and covered
over all the others. By this means we had about three hours to
ourselves every afternoon, and at sundown we had our supper, and
our work was done for the day. There was no watch to stand, and no
topsails to reef. The evenings we generally spent at one another's
houses, and I often went up and spent an hour or so at the oven,
which was called the ``Kanaka Hotel,'' and the ``Oahu
Coffeehouse.'' Immediately after dinner we usually took a short
siesta, to make up for our early rising, and spent the rest of the
afternoon according to our own fancies. I generally read, wrote,
and made or mended clothes; for necessity, the mother of
invention, had taught me these two latter arts. The Kanakas went
up to the oven, and spent the time in sleeping, talking, and
smoking, and my messmate, Nicholas, who neither knew how to read
nor write, passed away the time by a long siesta, two or three
smokes with his pipe, and a paseo to the other houses. This
leisure time is never interfered with, for the captains know that
the men earn it by working hard and fast, and that, if they
interfered with it, the men could easily make their twenty-five
hides apiece last through the day. We were pretty independent,
too, for the master of the house-- ``capitan de la casa''-- had
nothing to say to us, except when we were at work on the hides;
and although we could not go up to the town without his
permission, this was seldom or never refused.

The great weight of the wet hides, which we were obliged to roll
about in wheelbarrows; the continual stooping upon those which
were pegged out to be cleaned; and the smell of the nasty vats,
into which we were often obliged to wade, knee-deep, to press down
the hides,-- all made the work disagreeable and fatiguing; but we
soon became hardened to it, and the comparative independence of
our life reconciled us to it, for there was nobody to haze us and
find fault; and when we were through for the day, we had only to
wash and change our clothes, and our time was our own. There was,
however, one exception to the time's being our own, which was,
that on two afternoons of every week we were obliged to go off for
wood for the cook to use in the galley. Wood is very scarce in the
vicinity of San Diego, there being no trees of any size for miles.
In the town, the inhabitants burn the small wood which grows in
thickets, and for which they send out Indians, in large numbers,
every few days. Fortunately, the climate is so fine that they have
no need of a fire in their houses, and only use it for cooking.
With us, the getting of wood was a great trouble; for all that in
the vicinity of the houses had been cut down, and we were obliged
to go off a mile or two, and to carry it some distance on our
backs, as we could not get the hand-cart up the hills and over the
uneven places. Two afternoons in the week, generally Monday and
Thursday, as soon as we were through dinner, we started off for
the bush, each of us furnished with a hatchet and a long piece of
rope, and dragging the hand-cart behind us, and followed by the
whole colony of dogs, who were always ready for the bush, and were
half mad whenever they saw our preparations. We went with the
hand-cart as far as we could conveniently drag it, and, leaving it
in an open, conspicuous place, separated ourselves, each taking
his own course, and looking about for some good place to begin
upon. Frequently, we had to go nearly a mile from the hand-cart
before we could find any fit place. Having lighted upon a good
thicket, the next thing was to clear away the underbrush, and have
fair play at the trees. These trees are seldom more than five or
six feet high, and the highest that I ever saw in these
expeditions could not have been more than twelve, so that, with
lopping off the branches and clearing away the underwood, we had a
good deal of cutting to do for a very little wood. Having cut
enough for a ``back-load,'' the next thing was to make it well
fast with the rope, and heaving the bundle upon our backs, and
taking the hatchet in hand, to walk off, up hill and down dale, to
the hand-cart. Two good back-loads apiece filled the hand-cart,
and that was each one's proportion. When each had brought down his
second load, we filled the hand-cart, and took our way again
slowly back to the beach. It was generally sundown when we got
back; and unloading, covering the hides for the night, and,
getting our supper, finished the day's work.

These wooding excursions had always a mixture of something rather
pleasant in them. Roaming about in the woods with hatchet in hand,
like a backwoodsman, followed by a troop of dogs, starting up
birds, snakes, hares, and foxes, and examining the various kinds
of trees, flowers, and birds'-nests, was, at least, a change from
the monotonous drag and pull on shipboard. Frequently, too, we had
some amusement and adventure. The coyotes, of which I have before
spoken,-- a sort of mixture of the fox and wolf breeds,-- fierce
little animals, with bushy tails and large heads, and a quick,
sharp bark, abound here, as in all other parts of California.
These the dogs were very watchful for, and, whenever they saw
them, started off in full run after them. We had many fine chases;
yet, although our dogs ran fast, the rascals generally escaped.
They are a match for the dog,-- one to one,-- but as the dogs
generally went in squads, there was seldom a fair fight. A smaller
dog, belonging to us, once attacked a coyote single, and was
considerably worsted, and might, perhaps, have been killed, had we
not come to his assistance. We had, however, one dog which gave
them a good deal of trouble and many hard runs. He was a fine,
tall fellow, and united strength and agility better than any dog
that I have ever seen. He was born at the Islands, his father
being an English mastiff and his mother a greyhound. He had the
high head, long legs, narrow body, and springing gait of the
latter, and the heavy jaw, thick jowls, and strong fore-quarters
of the mastiff. When he was brought to San Diego, an English
sailor said that he looked, about the face, like the Duke of
Wellington, whom he had once seen at the Tower; and, indeed, there
was something about him which resembled the portraits of the Duke.
From this time he was christened ``Welly,'' and became the
favorite and bully of the beach. He always led the dogs by several
yards in the chase, and had killed two coyotes at different times
in single combats. We often had fine sport with these fellows. A
quick, sharp bark from a coyote, and in an instant every dog was
at the height of his speed. A few minutes made up for an unfair
start, and gave each dog his right place. Welly, at the head,
seemed almost to skim over the bushes, and after him came Fanny,
Feliciana, Childers, and the other fleet ones,-- the spaniels and
terriers; and then, behind, followed the heavy corps,-- bull-dogs,
&c., for we had every breed. Pursuit by us was in vain, and in
about half an hour the dogs would begin to come panting and
straggling back.

Beside the coyotes, the dogs sometimes made prizes of rabbits and
hares, which are plentiful here, and numbers of which we often
shot for our dinners. Among the other animals there was a reptile
I was not so much disposed to find amusement from, the
rattlesnake. These snakes are very abundant here, especially
during the spring of the year. The latter part of the time that I
was on shore, I did not meet with so many, but for the first two
months we seldom went into ``the bush'' without one of our number
starting some of them. I remember perfectly well the first one
that I ever saw. I had left my companions, and was beginning to
clear away a fine clump of trees, when, just in the midst of the
thicket, but a few yards from me, one of these fellows set up his
hiss. It is a sharp, continuous sound, and resembles very much the
letting off of the steam from the small pipe of a steamboat,
except that it is on a smaller scale. I knew, by the sound of an
axe, that one of my companions was near, and called out to him, to
let him know what I had fallen upon. He took it very lightly, and
as he seemed inclined to laugh at me for being afraid, I
determined to keep my place. I knew that so long as I could hear
the rattle I was safe, for these snakes never make a noise when
they are in motion. Accordingly I continued my work, and the noise
which I made with cutting and breaking the trees kept him in
alarm; so that I had the rattle to show me his whereabouts. Once
or twice the noise stopped for a short time, which gave me a
little uneasiness, and, retreating a few steps, I threw something
into the bush, at which he would set his rattle agoing, and,
finding that he had not moved from his first place, I was easy
again. In this way I continued at my work until I had cut a full
load, never suffering him to be quiet for a moment. Having cut my
load, I strapped it together, and got everything ready for
starting. I felt that I could now call the others without the
imputation of being afraid, and went in search of them. In a few
minutes we were all collected, and began an attack upon the bush.
The big Frenchman, who was the one that I had called to at first,
I found as little inclined to approach the snake as I had been.
The dogs, too, seemed afraid of the rattle, and kept up a barking
at a safe distance; but the Kanakas showed no fear, and, getting
long sticks, went into the bush, and, keeping a bright lookout,
stood within a few feet of him. One or two blows struck near him,
and a few stones thrown started him, and we lost his track, and
had the pleasant consciousness that he might be directly under our
feet. By throwing stones and chips in different directions, we
made him spring his rattle again, and began another attack. This
time we drove him into the clear ground, and saw him gliding off,
with head and tail erect, when a stone, well aimed, knocked him
over the bank, down a declivity of fifteen or twenty feet, and
stretched him at his length. Having made sure of him by a few more
stones, we went down, and one of the Kanakas cut off his rattle.
These rattles vary in number, it is said, according to the age of
the snake; though the Indians think they indicate the number of
creatures they have killed. We always preserved them as trophies,
and at the end of the summer had a considerable collection. None
of our people were bitten by them, but one of our dogs died of a
bite, and another was supposed to have been bitten, but recovered.
We had no remedy for the bite, though it was said that the Indians
of the country had, and the Kanakas professed to have an herb
which would cure it, but it was fortunately never brought to the
test.

Hares and rabbits, as I said before, were abundant, and, during
the winter months, the waters are covered with wild ducks and
geese. Crows, too, abounded, and frequently alighted in great
numbers upon our hides, picking at the pieces of dried meat and
fat. Bears and wolves are numerous in the upper parts of the
coast, and in the interior (and, indeed, a man was killed by a
bear within a few miles of San Pedro, while we were there), but
there were none in our immediate neighborhood. The only other
animals were horses. More than a dozen of these were owned by men
on the beach, and were allowed to run loose among the hills, with
a long lasso attached to them, to pick up feed wherever they could
find it. We were sure of seeing them once a day, for there was no
water among the hills, and they were obliged to come down to the
well which had been dug upon the beach. These horses were bought
at from two to six and eight dollars apiece, and were held very
much as common property. We generally kept one fast to one of the
houses, so that we could mount him and catch any of the others.
Some of them were really fine animals, and gave us many good runs
up to the presidio and over the country.

[1] Matches had not come into use then. I think there were none on
board any vessel on the coast. We used the tinder box in our
forecastle.

CHAPTER XX

After we had been a few weeks on shore, and had begun to feel
broken into the regularity of our life, its monotony was
interrupted by the arrival of two vessels from the windward. We
were sitting at dinner in our little room, when we heard the cry
of ``Sail ho!'' This, we had learned, did not always signify a
vessel, but was raised whenever a woman was seen coming down from
the town, or an ox-cart, or anything unusual, hove in sight upon
the road; so we took no notice of it. But it soon became so loud
and general from all parts of the beach that we were led to go to
the door; and there, sure enough, were two sails coming round the
point, and leaning over from the strong northwest wind, which
blows down the coast every afternoon. The headmost was a ship, and
the other a brig. Everybody was alive on the beach, and all manner
of conjectures were abroad. Some said it was the Pilgrim, with the
Boston ship, which we were expecting; but we soon saw that the
brig was not the Pilgrim, and the ship, with her stump
top-gallant-masts and rusty sides, could not be a dandy Boston
Indiaman. As they drew nearer, we discovered the high poop, and
top-gallant forecastle, and other marks of the Italian ship Rosa,
and the brig proved to be the Catalina, which we saw at Santa
Barbara, just arrived from Valparaiso. They came to anchor, moored
ship, and began discharging hides and tallow. The Rosa had
purchased the house occupied by the Lagoda, and the Catalina took
the other spare one between ours and the Ayacucho's, so that now
each house was occupied, and the beach, for several days, was all
animation. The Catalina had several Kanakas on board, who were
immediately laid hold of by the others, and carried up to the
oven, where they had a long pow-wow and a smoke. Two Frenchmen,
who belonged to the Rosa's crew, came in every evening to see
Nicholas; and from them we learned that the Pilgrim was at San
Pedro, and was the only vessel from the United States now on the
coast. Several of the Italians slept on shore at their hide-house;
and there, and at the tent in which the Fazio's crew lived, we had
some singing almost every evening. The Italians sang a variety of
songs,-- barcarollas, provincial airs, &c.; in several of which I
recognized parts of our favorite operas and sentimental songs.
They often joined in a song, taking the different parts, which
produced a fine effect, as many of them had good voices, and all
sang with spirit. One young man, in particular, had a falsetto as
clear as a clarionet.

The greater part of the crews of the vessels came ashore every
evening, and we passed the time in going about from one house to
another, and listening to all manner of languages. The Spanish was
the common ground upon which we all met; for every one knew more
or less of that. We had now, out of forty or fifty,
representatives from almost every nation under the sun,-- two
Englishmen, three Yankees, two Scotchmen, two Welshmen, one
Irishman, three Frenchmen (two of whom were Normans, and the third
from Gascony), one Dutchman, one Austrian, two or three Spaniards
(from old Spain), half a dozen Spanish-Americans and half-breeds,
two native Indians from Chili and the Island of Chiloe, one negro,
one mulatto, about twenty Italians, from all parts of Italy, as
many more Sandwich-Islanders, one Tahitian, and one Kanaka from
the Marquesas Islands.

The night before the vessels were ready to sail, all the Europeans
united and had an entertainment at the Rosa's hide-house, and we
had songs of every nation and tongue. A German gave us ``Ach! mein
lieber Augustin!'' the three Frenchmen roared through the
Marseilles Hymn; the English and Scotchmen gave us ``Rule
Britannia,'' and ``Wha'll be King but Charlie?'' the Italians and
Spaniards screamed through some national affairs, for which I was
none the wiser; and we three Yankees made an attempt at the
``Star-spangled Banner.'' After these national tributes had been
paid, the Austrian gave us a pretty little love-song, and the
Frenchmen sang a spirited thing,-- ``Sentinelle! O prenez garde à
vous!''-- and then followed the mélange which might have been
expected. When I left them, the aguardiente and annisou were
pretty well in their heads, they were all singing and talking at
once, and their peculiar national oaths were getting as plenty as
pronouns.

The next day, the two vessels got under way for the windward, and
left us in quiet possession of the beach. Our numbers were
somewhat enlarged by the opening of the new houses, and the
society of the beach was a little changed. In charge of the
Catalina's house was an old Scotchman, Robert, who, like most of
his countrymen, had some education, and, like many of them, was
rather pragmatical, and had a ludicrously solemn conceit of
himself. He employed his time in taking care of his pigs,
chickens, turkeys, dogs, &c., and in smoking his long pipe.
Everything was as neat as a pin in the house, and he was as
regular in his hours as a chronometer, but, as he kept very much
by himself, was not a great addition to our society. He hardly
spent a cent all the time he was on the beach, and the others said
he was no shipmate. He had been a petty officer on board the
British frigate Dublin, Captain Lord James Townshend, and had
great ideas of his own importance. The man in charge of the Rosa's
house, Schmidt, was an Austrian, but spoke, read, and wrote four
languages with ease and correctness. German was his native tongue,
but being born near the borders of Italy, and having sailed out of
Genoa, the Italian was almost as familiar to him as his own
language. He was six years on board of an English man-of-war,
where he learned to speak our language easily, and also to read
and write it. He had been several years in Spanish vessels, and
had acquired that language so well that he could read books in it.
He was between forty and fifty years of age, and was a singular
mixture of the man-of-war's-man and Puritan. He talked a great
deal about propriety and steadiness, and gave good advice to the
youngsters and Kanakas, but seldom went up to the town without
coming down ``three sheets in the wind.'' One holiday, he and old
Robert (the Scotchman from the Catalina) went up to the town, and
got so cosey, talking over old stories and giving each other good
advice, that they came down, double-backed, on a horse, and both
rolled off into the sand as soon as the horse stopped. This put an
end to their pretensions, and they never heard the last of it from
the rest of the men. On the night of the entertainment at the
Rosa's house, I saw old Schmidt (that was the Austrian's name)
standing up by a hogshead, holding on by both hands, and calling
out to himself: ``Hold on, Schmidt! hold on, my good fellow, or
you'll be on your back!'' Still, he was an intelligent,
good-natured old fellow, and had a chest full of books, which he
willingly lent me to read. In the same house with him were a
Frenchman and an Englishman, the latter a regular-built
``man-o'-war Jack,'' a thorough seaman, a hearty, generous fellow,
and, at the same time, a drunken, dissolute dog. He made it a
point to get drunk every time he went to the presidio, when he
always managed to sleep on the road, and have his money stolen
from him. These, with a Chilian and half a dozen Kanakas, formed
the addition to our company.

In about six weeks from the time when the Pilgrim sailed, we had
all the hides which she left us cured and stowed away; and having
cleared up the ground and emptied the vats, and set everything in
order, had nothing more to do, until she should come down again,
but to supply ourselves with wood. Instead of going twice a week
for this purpose, we determined to give one whole week to getting
wood, and then we should have enough to last us half through the
summer. Accordingly we started off every morning, after an early
breakfast, with our hatchets in hand, and cut wood until the sun
was over the point,-- which was our mark for noon, as there was
not a watch on the beach,-- and then came back to dinner, and
after dinner started off again with our hand-cart and ropes, and
carted and ``backed'' it down until sunset. This we kept up for a
week, until we had collected several cords,-- enough to last us
for six or eight weeks,-- when we ``knocked off'' altogether, much
to my joy; for, though I liked straying in the woods, and cutting,
very well, yet the backing the wood for so great a distance, over
an uneven country, was, without exception, the hardest work I had
ever done. I usually had to kneel down, and contrive to heave the
load, which was well strapped together, upon my back, and then
rise up and start off with it, up the hills and down the vales,
sometimes through thickets,-- the rough points sticking into the
skin and tearing the clothes, so that, at the end of the week I
had hardly a whole shirt to my back.

We were now through all our work, and had nothing more to do until
the Pilgrim should come down again. We had nearly got through our
provisions too, as well as our work; for our officer had been very
wasteful of them, and the tea, flour, sugar, and molasses were all
gone. We suspected him of sending them up to the town; and he
always treated the squaws with molasses when they came down to the
beach. Finding wheat-coffee and dry bread rather poor living, we
clubbed together, and I went to the town on horseback, with a
great salt-bag behind the saddle, and a few reals in my pocket,
and brought back the bag full of onions, beans, pears,
watermelons, and other fruits; for the young woman who tended the
garden, finding that I belonged to the American ship, and that we
were short of provisions, put in a larger portion. With these we
lived like fighting-cocks for a week or two, and had, besides,
what the sailors call a ``blow-out on sleep,'' not turning out in
the morning until breakfast was ready. I employed several days in
overhauling my chest, and mending up all my old clothes, until I
had put everything in order,-- ``patch upon patch, like a
sand-barge's mainsail.'' Then I took hold of Bowditch's Navigator,
which I had always with me. I had been through the greater part of
it, and now went carefully over it from beginning to end, working
out most of the examples. That done, and there being no signs of
the Pilgrim, I made a descent upon old Schmidt, and borrowed and
read all the books there were upon the beach. Such a dearth was
there of these latter articles, that anything, even a little
child's story-book, or the half of a shipping calendar, seemed a
treasure. I actually read a jest-book through, from beginning to
end, in one day, as I should a novel, and enjoyed it much. At
last, when I thought that there were no more to be had, I found at
the bottom of old Schmidt's chest, ``Mandeville, a Romance, by
Godwin, in five volumes.'' This I had never read, but Godwin's
name was enough, and, after the wretched trash I had devoured,
anything bearing the name of an intellectual man was a prize
indeed. I bore it off, and for two days I was up early and late,
reading with all my might, and actually drinking in delight. It is
no extravagance to say that it was like a spring in a desert land.

From the sublime to the ridiculous-- so, with me, from Mandeville
to hide-curing-- was but a step; for--

Wednesday, July 18th, brought us the brig Pilgrim from the
windward. As she came in, we found that she was a good deal
altered in her appearance. Her short top-gallant-masts were up,
her bowlines all unrove (except to the courses), the quarter
boom-irons off her lower yards, her jack-cross-trees sent down,
several blocks got rid of, running rigging rove in new places, and
numberless other changes of the same character. Then, too, there
was a new voice giving orders, and a new face on the quarter-deck,--
a short, dark-complexioned man, in a green jacket and a high
leather cap. These changes, of course, set the whole beach on the
qui-vive, and we were all waiting for the boat to come ashore,
that we might have things explained. At length, after the sails
were furled and the anchor carried out, her boat pulled ashore,
and the news soon flew that the expected ship had arrived at Santa
Barbara, and that Captain Thompson had taken command of her, and
her captain, Faucon, had taken the Pilgrim, and was the
green-jacketed man on the quarter-deck. The boat put directly off
again, without giving us time to ask any more questions, and we
were obliged to wait till night, when we took a little skiff, that
lay on the beach, and paddled off. When I stepped aboard, the
second mate called me aft, and gave me a large bundle, directed to
me, and marked ``Ship Alert.'' This was what I had longed for, yet
I refrained from opening it until I went ashore. Diving down into
the forecastle, I found the same old crew, and was really glad to
see them again. Numerous inquiries passed as to the new ship, the
latest news from Boston, &c., &c. Stimson had received letters
from home, and nothing remarkable had happened. The Alert was
agreed on all hands to be a fine ship, and a large one: ``Larger
than the Rosa,''-- ``Big enough to carry off all the hides in
California,''-- ``Rail as high as a man's head,''-- ``A crack
ship,''-- ``A regular dandy,'' &c., &c. Captain Thompson took
command of her, and she went directly up to Monterey; thence she
was to go to San Francisco, and probably would not be in San Diego
under two or three months. Some of the Pilgrim's crew found old
shipmates aboard of her, and spent an hour or two in her
forecastle the evening before she sailed. They said her decks were
as white as snow,-- holystoned every morning, like a man-of-war's;
everything on board ``ship-shape and Bristol fashion''; a fine
crew, three mates, a sailmaker and carpenter, and all complete.
``They've got a man for mate of that ship, and not a bloody sheep
about decks!''-- ``A mate that knows his duty, and makes everybody
do theirs, and won't be imposed upon by either captain or crew.''
After collecting all the information we could get on this point,
we asked something about their new captain. He had hardly been on
board long enough for them to know much about him, but he had
taken hold strong, as soon as he took command,-- shifting the
top-gallant-masts, and unreeving all the studding-sail gear and
half the running rigging, the very first day.

Having got all the news we could, we pulled ashore; and as soon as
we reached the house, I, as might be supposed, fell directly to
opening my bundle, and found a reasonable supply of duck, flannel
shirts, shoes, &c., and, what was still more valuable, a packet of
eleven letters. These I sat up nearly all night reading, and put
them carefully away, to be re-read again and again at my leisure.
Then came half a dozen newspapers, the last of which gave notice
of Thanksgiving, and of the clearance of ``ship Alert, Edward H.
Faucon, master, for Callao and California, by Bryant, Sturgis, &
Co.'' Only those who have been on distant voyages, and after a
long absence received a newspaper from home, can understand the
delight that they give one. I read every part of them,-- the
houses to let, things lost or stolen, auction sales, and all.
Nothing carries you so entirely to a place, and makes you feel so
perfectly at home, as a newspaper. The very name of ``Boston Daily
Advertiser'' ``sounded hospitably upon the ear.''

The Pilgrim discharged her hides, which set us at work again, and
in a few days we were in the old routine of dry hides, wet hides,
cleaning, beating, &c. Captain Faucon came quietly up to me, as I
was sitting upon a stretched hide, cutting the meat from it with
my knife, and asked me how I liked California, and repeated,--

   ``Tityre, tu patulae recubans subtegmine fagi.''

Very apropos, thought I, and, at the same time, shows that you
have studied Latin. However, it was kind of him, and an attention
from a captain is a thing not to be slighted. Thompson's majesty
could not have bent to it, in the sight of so many mates and men;
but Faucon was a man of education, literary habits, and good
social position, and held things at their right value.

Saturday, July 11th. The Pilgrim set sail for the windward, and
left us to go on in our old way. Having laid in such a supply of
wood, and the days being now long, and invariably pleasant, we had
a good deal of time to ourselves. The duck I received from home I
soon made up into trousers and frocks, and, having formed the
remnants of the duck into a cap, I displayed myself, every Sunday,
in a complete suit of my own make, from head to foot. Reading,
mending, sleeping, with occasional excursions into the bush, with
the dogs, in search of coyotes, hares, and rabbits, or to
encounter a rattlesnake, and now and then a visit to the presidio,
filled up our spare time after hide-curing was over for the day.
Another amusement which we sometimes indulged in was ``burning the
water'' for craw-fish. For this purpose we procured a pair of
grains, with a long staff like a harpoon, and, making torches with
tarred rope twisted round a long pine stick, took the only boat on
the beach, a small skiff, and with a torch-bearer in the bow, a
steersman in the stern, and one man on each side with the grains,
went off, on dark nights, to burn the water. This is fine sport.
Keeping within a few rods of the shore, where the water is not
more than three or four feet deep, with a clear, sandy bottom, the
torches light everything up so that one could almost have seen a
pin among the grains of sand. The craw-fish are an easy prey, and
we used soon to get a load of them. The other fish were more
difficult to catch, yet we frequently speared a number of them, of
various kinds and sizes. The Pilgrim brought us a supply of
fish-hooks, which we had never had before on the beach, and for
several days we went down to the Point, and caught a quantity of
cod and mackerel. On one of these expeditions, we saw a battle
between two Sandwich-Islanders and a shark. ``Johnny'' had been
playing about our boat for some time, driving away the fish, and
showing his teeth at our bait, when we missed him, and in a few
minutes heard a great shouting between two Kanakas who were
fishing on the rock opposite to us: ``E hana hana make i ka ia
nui!'' ``E pii mai Aikane!'' &c., &c.; and saw them pulling away
on a stout line, and ``Johnny Shark'' floundering at the other
end. The line soon broke; but the Kanakas would not let him off so
easily, and sprang directly into the water after him. Now came the
tug of war. Before he could get into deep water, one of them
seized him by the tail, and ran up with him upon the beach; but
Johnny twisted round, and turning his head under his body, and
showing his teeth in the vicinity of the Kanaka's hand, made him
let go and spring out of the way. The shark now turned tail and
made the best of his way, by flapping and floundering, toward deep
water; but here again, before he was fairly off, the other Kanaka
seized him by the tail, and made a spring toward the beach, his
companion at the same time paying away upon him with stones and a
large stick. As soon, however, as the shark could turn, the man
was obliged to let go his hold; but the instant he made toward
deep water, they were both behind him, watching their chance to
seize him. In this way the battle went on for some time, the
shark, in a rage, splashing and twisting about, and the Kanakas,
in high excitement, yelling at the top of their voices. But the
shark at last got off, carrying away a hook and line, and not a
few severe bruises.

CHAPTER XXI

We kept up a constant connection with the presidio, and by the
close of the summer I had added much to my vocabulary, beside
having made the acquaintance of nearly everybody in the place, and
acquired some knowledge of the character and habits of the people,
as well as of the institutions under which they live.

California was discovered in 1534 by Ximenes, or in 1536 by
Cortes, I cannot settle which, and was subsequently visited by
many other adventurers, as well as commissioned voyagers of the
Spanish crown. It was found to be inhabited by numerous tribes of
Indians, and to be in many parts extremely fertile; to which, of
course, were added rumors of gold mines, pearl fishery, &c. No
sooner was the importance of the country known, than the Jesuits
obtained leave to establish themselves in it, to Christianize and
enlighten the Indians. They established missions in various parts
of the country toward the close of the seventeenth century, and
collected the natives about them, baptizing them into the Church,
and teaching them the arts of civilized life. To protect the
Jesuits in their missions, and at the same time to support the
power of the crown over the civilized Indians, two forts were
erected and garrisoned,-- one at San Diego, and the other at
Monterey. These were called presidios, and divided the command of
the whole country between them. Presidios have since been
established at Santa Barbara, San Francisco, and other places,
dividing the country into large districts, each with its presidio,
and governed by a commandante. The soldiers, for the most part,
married civilized Indians; and thus, in the vicinity of each
presidio, sprung up, gradually, small towns. In the course of
time, vessels began to come into the ports to trade with the
missions and received hides in return; and thus began the great
trade of California. Nearly all the cattle in the country belonged
to the missions, and they employed their Indians, who became, in
fact, their serfs, in tending their vast herds. In the year 1793,
when Vancouver visited San Diego, the missions had obtained great
wealth and power, and are accused of having depreciated the
country with the sovereign, that they might be allowed to retain
their possessions. On the expulsion of the Jesuits from the
Spanish dominions, the missions passed into the hands of the
Franciscans, though without any essential change in their
management. Ever since the independence of Mexico, the missions
had been going down; until, at last, a law was passed, stripping
them of all their possessions, and confining the priests to their
spiritual duties, at the same time declaring all the Indians free
and independent Rancheros. The change in the condition of the
Indians was, as may be supposed, only nominal; they are virtually
serfs, as much as they ever were. But in the missions the change
was complete. The priests have now no power, except in their
religious character, and the great possessions of the missions are
given over to be preyed upon by the harpies of the civil power,
who are sent there in the capacity of administradores, to settle
up the concerns; and who usually end, in a few years, by making
themselves fortunes, and leaving their stewardships worse than
they found them. The dynasty of the priests was much more
acceptable to the people of the country, and, indeed, to every one
concerned with the country, by trade or otherwise, than that of
the administradores. The priests were connected permanently to one
mission, and felt the necessity of keeping up its credit.
Accordingly the debts of the missions were regularly paid, and the
people were, in the main, well treated, and attached to those who
had spent their whole lives among them. But the administradores
are strangers sent from Mexico, having no interest in the country;
not identified in any way with their charge, and, for the most
part, men of desperate fortunes,-- broken-down politicians and
soldiers,-- whose only object is to retrieve their condition in as
short a time as possible. The change had been made but a few years
before our arrival upon the coast, yet, in that short time, the
trade was much diminished, credit impaired, and the venerable
missions were going rapidly to decay.

The external political arrangements remain the same. There are
four or more presidios, having under their protection the various
missions, and the pueblos, which are towns formed by the civil
power and containing no mission or presidio. The most northerly
presidio is San Francisco, the next Monterey, the next Santa
Barbara, including the mission of the same, San Luis Obispo, and
Santa Buenaventura, which is said to be the best mission in the
whole country, having fertile soil and rich vineyards. The last,
and most southerly, is San Diego, including the mission of the
same, San Juan Capistrano, the Pueblo de los Angeles, the largest
town in California, with the neighboring mission of San Gabriel.
The priests, in spiritual matters, are subject to the Archbishop
of Mexico, and in temporal matters to the governor-general, who is
the great civil and military head of the country.

The government of the country is an arbitrary democracy, having no
common law, and nothing that we should call a judiciary. Their
only laws are made and unmade at the caprice of the legislature,
and are as variable as the legislature itself. They pass through
the form of sending representatives to the congress at Mexico, but
as it takes several months to go and return, and there is very
little communication between the capital and this distant
province, a member usually stays there as permanent member,
knowing very well that there will be revolutions at home before he
can write and receive an answer; and if another member should be
sent, he has only to challenge him, and decide the contested
election in that way.

Revolutions are matters of frequent occurrence in California. They
are got up by men who are at the foot of the ladder and in
desperate circumstances, just as a new political organization may
be started by such men in our own country. The only object, of
course, is the loaves and fishes; and instead of caucusing,
paragraphing, libelling, feasting, promising, and lying, they take
muskets and bayonets, and, seizing upon the presidio and
custom-house, divide the spoils, and declare a new dynasty. As for
justice, they know little law but will and fear. A Yankee, who had
been naturalized, and become a Catholic, and had married in the
country, was sitting in his house at the Pueblo de los Angeles,
with his wife and children, when a Mexican, with whom he had had a
difficulty, entered the house, and stabbed him to the heart before
them all. The murderer was seized by some Yankees who had settled
there, and kept in confinement until a statement of the whole
affair could be sent to the governor-general. The governor-general
refused to do anything about it, and the countrymen of the
murdered man, seeing no prospect of justice being administered,
gave notice that, if nothing was done, they should try the man
themselves. It chanced that, at this time, there was a company of
some thirty or forty trappers and hunters from the Western States,
with their rifles, who had made their head-quarters at the Pueblo;
and these, together with the Americans and Englishmen in the
place, who were between twenty and thirty in number, took
possession of the town, and, waiting a reasonable time, proceeded
to try the man according to the forms in their own country. A
judge and jury were appointed, and he was tried, convicted,
sentenced to be shot, and carried out before the town blindfolded.
The names of all the men were then put into a hat, and each one
pledging himself to perform his duty, twelve names were drawn out,
and the men took their stations with their rifles, and, firing at
the word, laid him dead. He was decently buried, and the place was
restored quietly to the proper authorities. A general, with titles
enough for an hidalgo, was at San Gabriel, and issued a
proclamation as long as the fore-top-bowline, threatening
destruction to the rebels, but never stirred from his fort; for
forty Kentucky hunters, with their rifles, and a dozen of Yankees
and Englishmen, were a match for a whole regiment of hungry,
drawling, lazy half-breeds. This affair happened while we were at
San Pedro (the port of the Pueblo), and we had the particulars
from those who were on the spot. A few months afterwards, another
man was murdered on the high-road between the Pueblo and San Luis
Rey by his own wife and a man with whom she ran off. The
foreigners pursued and shot them both, according to one story.
According to another version, nothing was done about it, as the
parties were natives, and a man whom I frequently saw in San Diego
was pointed out as the murderer. Perhaps they were two cases, that
had got mixed.

When a crime has been committed by Indians, justice, or rather
vengeance, is not so tardy. One Sunday afternoon, while I was at
San Diego, an Indian was sitting on his horse, when another, with
whom he had had some difficulty, came up to him, drew a long
knife, and plunged it directly into the horse's heart. The Indian
sprang from his falling horse, drew out the knife, and plunged it
into the other Indian's breast, over his shoulder, and laid him
dead. The fellow was seized at once, clapped into the calabozo,
and kept there until an answer could be received from Monterey. A
few weeks afterwards I saw the poor wretch, sitting on the bare
ground, in front of the calabozo, with his feet chained to a
stake, and handcuffs about his wrists. I knew there was very
little hope for him. Although the deed was done in hot blood, the
horse on which he was sitting being his own, and a favorite with
him, yet he was an Indian, and that was enough. In about a week
after I saw him, I heard that he had been shot. These few
instances will serve to give one a notion of the distribution of
justice in California.

In their domestic relations, these people are not better than in
their public. The men are thriftless, proud, extravagant, and very
much given to gaming; and the women have but little education, and
a good deal of beauty, and their morality, of course, is none of
the best; yet the instances of infidelity are much less frequent
than one would at first suppose. In fact, one vice is set over
against another; and thus something like a balance is obtained. If
the women have but little virtue, the jealousy of their husbands
is extreme, and their revenge deadly and almost certain. A few
inches of cold steel has been the punishment of many an unwary
man, who has been guilty, perhaps, of nothing more than
indiscretion. The difficulties of the attempt are numerous, and
the consequences of discovery fatal, in the better classes. With
the unmarried women, too, great watchfulness is used. The main
object of the parents is to marry their daughters well, and to
this a fair name is necessary. The sharp eyes of a dueña, and the
ready weapons of a father or brother, are a protection which the
characters of most of them-- men and women-- render by no means
useless; for the very men who would lay down their lives to avenge
the dishonor of their own family would risk the same lives to
complete the dishonor of another.

Of the poor Indians very little care is taken. The priests,
indeed, at the missions, are said to keep them very strictly, and
some rules are usually made by the alcaldes to punish their
misconduct; yet it all amounts to but little. Indeed, to show the
entire want of any sense of morality or domestic duty among them,
I have frequently known an Indian to bring his wife, to whom he
was lawfully married in the church, down to the beach, and carry
her back again, dividing with her the money which she had got from
the sailors. If any of the girls were discovered by the alcalde to
be open evil livers, they were whipped, and kept at work sweeping
the square of the presidio, and carrying mud and bricks for the
buildings; yet a few reals would generally buy them off.
Intemperance, too, is a common vice among the Indians. The
Mexicans, on the contrary, are abstemious, and I do not remember
ever having seen a Mexican intoxicated.

Such are the people who inhabit a country embracing four or five
hundred miles of sea-coast, with several good harbors; with fine
forests in the north; the waters filled with fish, and the plains
covered with thousands of herds of cattle; blessed with a climate
than which there can be no better in the world; free from all
manner of diseases, whether epidemic or endemic; and with a soil
in which corn yields from seventy to eighty fold. In the hands of
an enterprising people, what a country this might be! we are ready
to say. Yet how long would a people remain so, in such a country?
The Americans (as those from the United States are called) and
Englishmen, who are fast filling up the principal towns, and
getting the trade into their hands, are indeed more industrious
and effective than the Mexicans; yet their children are brought up
Mexicans in most respects, and if the ``California fever''
(laziness) spares the first generation, it is likely to attack the
second.

CHAPTER XXII

Saturday, July 18th. This day sailed the Mexican hermaphrodite
brig Fazio, for San Blas and Mazatlan. This was the brig which was
driven ashore at San Pedro in a southeaster, and had been lying at
San Diego to repair and take in her cargo. The owner of her had
had a good deal of difficulty with the government about the
duties, &c., and her sailing had been delayed for several weeks;
but everything having been arranged, she got under way with a
light breeze, and was floating out of the harbor, when two
horsemen came dashing down to the beach at full speed, and tried
to find a boat to put off after her; but there being none then at
hand, they offered a handful of silver to any Kanaka who would
swim off and take a letter on board. One of the Kanakas, an
active, well-made young fellow, instantly threw off everything but
his duck trousers, and, putting the letter into his hat, swam off,
after the vessel. Fortunately the wind was very light, and the
vessel was going slowly, so that, although she was nearly a mile
off when he started, he gained on her rapidly. He went through the
water leaving a wake like a small steamboat. I certainly never saw
such swimming before. They saw him coming from the deck, but did
not heave-to, suspecting the nature of his errand; yet, the wind
continuing light, he swam alongside, and got on board, and
delivered his letter. The captain read the letter, told the Kanaka
there was no answer, and, giving him a glass of brandy, left him
to jump overboard and find the best of his way to the shore. The
Kanaka swam in for the nearest point of land, and in about an hour
made his appearance at the hide-house. He did not seem at all
fatigued, had made three or four dollars, got a glass of brandy,
and was in high spirits. The brig kept on her course, and the
government officers, who had come down to forbid her sailing, went
back, each with something very like a flea in his ear, having
depended upon extorting a little more money from the owner.

It was now nearly three months since the Alert arrived at Santa
Barbara, and we began to expect her daily. About half a mile
behind the hide-house was a high hill, and every afternoon, as
soon as we had done our work, some one of us walked up to see if
there was a sail in sight, coming down before the regular trades.
Day after day we went up the hill, and came back disappointed. I
was anxious for her arrival, for I had been told by letter, that
the owners in Boston, at the request of my friends, had written to
Captain Thompson to take me on board the Alert, in case she
returned to the United States before the Pilgrim; and I, of
course, wished to know whether the order had been received, and
what was the destination of the ship. One year, more or less,
might be of small consequence to others, but it was everything to
me. It was now just a year since we sailed from Boston, and, at
the shortest, no vessel could expect to get away under eight or
nine months, which would make our absence two years in all. This
would be pretty long, but would not be fatal. It would not
necessarily be decisive of my future life. But one year more might
settle the matter. I might be a sailor for life; and although I
had pretty well made up my mind to it before I had my letters from
home, yet, as soon as an opportunity was held out to me of
returning, and the prospect of another kind of life was opened to
me, my anxiety to return, and, at least, to have the chance of
deciding upon my course for myself, was beyond measure. Beside
that, I wished to be ``equal to either fortune,'' and to qualify
myself for an officer's berth, and a hide-house was no place to
learn seamanship in. I had become experienced in hide-curing, and
everything went on smoothly, and I had many opportunities of
becoming acquainted with the people, and much leisure for reading
and studying navigation; yet practical seamanship could only be
got on board ship, therefore I determined to ask to be taken on
board the ship when she arrived. By the first of August we
finished curing all our hides, stored them away, cleaned out our
vats (in which latter work we spent two days, up to our knees in
mud and the sediments of six months' hide-curing, in a stench
which would drive a donkey from his breakfast), and got all in
readiness for the arrival of the ship, and had another leisure
interval of three or four weeks. I spent these, as usual, in
reading, writing, studying, making and mending my clothes, and
getting my wardrobe in complete readiness in case I should go on
board the ship; and in fishing, ranging the woods with the dogs,
and in occasional visits to the presidio and mission. A good deal
of my time was passed in taking care of a little puppy, which I
had selected from thirty-six that were born within three days of
one another at our house. He was a fine, promising pup, with four
white paws, and all the rest of his body of a dark brown. I built
a little kennel for him, and kept him fastened there, away from
the other dogs, feeding and disciplining him myself. In a few
weeks I brought him into complete subjection, and he grew nicely,
was much attached to me, and bade fair to be one of the leading
dogs on the beach. I called him Bravo, and all I regretted at the
thought of leaving the beach was parting from him and the Kanakas.

Day after day we went up the hill, but no ship was to be seen, and
we began to form all sorts of conjectures as to her whereabouts;
and the theme of every evening's conversation at the different
houses, and in our afternoon's paseo upon the beach, was the ship,--
where she could be, had she been to San Francisco, how many
hides she would bring, &c., &c.

Tuesday, August 25th. This morning the officer in charge of our
house went off beyond the point a-fishing, in a small canoe, with
two Kanakas; and we were sitting quietly in our room at the
hide-house, when, just before noon, we heard a complete yell of
``Sail ho!'' breaking out from all parts of the beach at once,--
from the Kanakas' oven to the Rosa's hide-house. In an instant
every one was out of his house, and there was a tall, gallant
ship, with royals and skysails set, bending over before the strong
afternoon breeze, and coming rapidly round the point. Her yards
were braced sharp up; every sail was set, and drew well; the stars
and stripes were flying from her mizzen-peak, and, having the tide
in her favor, she came up like a race-horse. It was nearly six
months since a new vessel had entered San Diego, and, of course,
every one was wide awake. She certainly made a fine appearance.
Her light sails were taken in, as she passed the low, sandy tongue
of land, and clewing up her head sails, she rounded handsomely to
under her mizzen topsail, and let go her anchor at about a cable's
length from the shore. In a few minutes the topsail yards were
manned, and all three of the topsails furled at once. From the
fore top-gallant yard, the men slid down the stay to furl the jib,
and from the mizzen top-gallant yard, by the stay, into the
main-top, and thence to the yard; and the men on the topsail yards
came down the lifts to the yard-arms of the courses. The sails
were furled with great care, the bunts triced up by jiggers, and
the jibs stowed in cloth. The royal-yards were then struck,
tackles got upon the yard-arms and the stay, the long-boat hoisted
out, a large anchor carried astern, and the ship moored. This was
the Alert.

The gig was lowered away from the quarter, and a boat's crew of
fine lads, between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, pulled the
captain ashore. The gig was a light whale-boat, handsomely
painted, and fitted up with cushions and tiller-ropes in the stern
sheets. We immediately attacked the boat's crew, and got very
thick with them in a few minutes. We had much to ask about Boston,
their passage out, &c., and they were very curious to know about
the kind of life we were leading upon the beach. One of them
offered to exchange with me, which was just what I wanted, and we
had only to get the permission of the captain.

After dinner the crew began discharging their hides, and, as we
had nothing to do at the hide-houses, we were ordered aboard to
help them. I had now my first opportunity of seeing the ship which
I hoped was to be my home for the next year. She looked as well on
board as she did from without. Her decks were wide and roomy
(there being no poop, or house on deck, which disfigures the after
part of most of our vessels), flush fore and aft, and as white as
flax, which the crew told us was from constant use of holystones.
There was no foolish gilding and gingerbread work, to take the eye
of landsmen and passengers, but everything was ``ship-shape.''
There was no rust, no dirt, no rigging hanging slack, no fag-ends
of ropes and ``Irish pendants'' aloft, and the yards were squared
``to a t'' by lifts and braces. The mate was a hearty fellow, with
a roaring voice, and always wide awake. He was ``a man, every inch
of him,'' as the sailors said; and though ``a bit of a horse,''
and ``a hard customer,'' yet he was generally liked by the crew.
There was also a second and third mate, a carpenter, sailmaker,
steward, and cook, and twelve hands before the mast. She had on
board seven thousand hides, which she had collected at the
windward, and also horns and tallow. All these we began
discharging from both gangways at once into the two boats, the
second mate having charge of the launch, and the third mate of the
pinnace. For several days we were employed in this way, until all
the hides were taken out, when the crew began taking in ballast,
and we returned to our old work, hide-curing.

Saturday, August 29th. Arrived, brig Catalina, from the windward.

Sunday, August 30th. This was the first Sunday that the Alert's
crew had been in San Diego, and of course they were all for going
up to see the town. The Indians came down early, with horses to
let for the day, and those of the crew who could obtain liberty
went off to the Presidio and Mission, and did not return until
night. I had seen enough of San Diego, and went on board and spent
the day with some of the crew, whom I found quietly at work in the
forecastle, either mending and washing their clothes, or reading
and writing. They told me that the ship stopped at Callao on the
passage out, and lay there three weeks. She had a passage of a
little over eighty days from Boston to Callao, which is one of the
shortest on record. There they left the Brandywine frigate, and
some smaller American ships of war, and the English frigate
Blonde, and a French seventy-four. From Callao they came directly
to California, and had visited every port on the coast, including
San Francisco. The forecastle in which they lived was large,
tolerably well lighted by bull's-eyes, and, being kept perfectly
clean, had quite a comfortable appearance; at least, it was far
better than the little, black, dirty hole in which I had lived so
many months on board the Pilgrim. By the regulations of the ship,
the forecastle was cleaned out every morning; and the crew, being
very neat, kept it clean by some regulations of their own, such as
having a large spit-box always under the steps and between the
bits, and obliging every man to hang up his wet clothes, &c. In
addition to this, it was holystoned every Saturday morning. In the
after part of the ship was a handsome cabin, a dining-room, and a
trade-room, fitted out with shelves, and furnished with all sorts
of goods. Between these and the forecastle was the
``between-decks,'' as high as the gun-deck of a frigate, being six
feet and a half, under the beams. These between-decks were
holystoned regularly, and kept in the most perfect order; the
carpenter's bench and tools being in one part, the sailmaker's in
another, and boatswain's locker, with the spare rigging, in a
third. A part of the crew slept here, in hammocks swung fore and
aft from the beams, and triced up every morning. The sides of the
between-decks were clapboarded, the knees and stanchions of iron,
and the latter made to unship. The crew said she was as tight as a
drum, and a fine sea boat, her only fault being-- that of most
fast ships-- that she was wet forward. When she was going, as she
sometimes would, eight or nine knots on a wind, there would not be
a dry spot forward of the gangway. The men told great stories of
her sailing, and had entire confidence in her as a ``lucky ship.''
She was seven years old, had always been in the Canton trade, had
never met with an accident of any consequence, nor made a passage
that was not shorter than the average. The third mate, a young man
about eighteen years of age, nephew of one of the owners, had been
in the ship from a small boy, and ``believed in the ship''; and
the chief mate thought as much of her as he would of a wife and
family.

The ship lay about a week longer in port, when, having discharged
her cargo and taken in ballast, she prepared to get under way. I
now made my application to the captain to go on board. He told me
that I could go home in the ship when she sailed (which I knew
before); and, finding that I wished to be on board while she was
on the coast, said he had no objection, if I could find one of my
own age to exchange with me for the time. This I easily
accomplished, for they were glad to change the scene by a few
months on shore, and, moreover, escape the winter and the
southeasters; and I went on board the next day, with my chest and
hammock, and found myself once more afloat.

CHAPTER XXIII

Tuesday, September 8th, 1835. This was my first day's duty on
board the ship; and though a sailor's life is a sailor's life
wherever it may be, yet I found everything very different here
from the customs of the brig Pilgrim. After all hands were called
at daybreak, three minutes and a half were allowed for the men to
dress and come on deck, and if any were longer than that, they
were sure to be overhauled by the mate, who was always on deck,
and making himself heard all over the ship. The head-pump was then
rigged, and the decks washed down by the second and third mates;
the chief mate walking the quarter-deck, and keeping a general
supervision, but not deigning to touch a bucket or a brush. Inside
and out, fore and aft, upper deck and between-decks, steerage and
forecastle, rail, bulwarks, and water-ways, were washed, scrubbed,
and scraped with brooms and canvas, and the decks were wet and
sanded all over, and then holystoned. The holystone is a large,
soft stone, smooth on the bottom, with long ropes attached to each
end, by which the crew keep it sliding fore and aft over the wet
sanded decks. Smaller hand-stones, which the sailors call
``prayer-books,'' are used to scrub in among the crevices and
narrow places, where the large holystone will not go. An hour or
two we were kept at this work, when the head-pump was manned, and
all the sand washed off the decks and sides. Then came swabs and
squilgees; and, after the decks were dry, each one went to his
particular morning job. There were five boats belonging to the
ship,-- launch, pinnace, jolly-boat, larboard quarter-boat, and
gig,-- each of which had a coxswain, who had charge of it, and was
answerable for the order and cleanness of it. The rest of the
cleaning was divided among the crew; one having the brass and
composition work about the capstan; another the bell, which was of
brass, and kept as bright as a gilt button; a third, the
harness-cask; another, the man-rope stanchions; others, the steps
of the forecastle and hatchways, which were hauled up and
holystoned. Each of these jobs must be finished before breakfast;
and in the mean time the rest of the crew filled the
scuttled-butt, and the cook scraped his kids (wooden tubs out of
which sailors eat), and polished the hoops, and placed them before
the galley to await inspection. When the decks were dry, the lord
paramount made his appearance on the quarter-deck, and took a few
turns, eight bells were struck, and all hands went to breakfast.
Half an hour was allowed for breakfast, when all hands were called
again; the kids, pots, bread-bags, &c., stowed away; and, this
morning, preparations were made for getting under way. We paid out
on the chain by which we swung, hove in on the other, catted the
anchor, and hove short on the first. This work was done in shorter
time than was usual on board the brig; for though everything was
more than twice as large and heavy, the cat-block being as much as
a man could lift, and the chain as large as three of the
Pilgrim's, yet there was a plenty of room to move about in, more
discipline and system, more men, and more good-will. Each seemed
ambitious to do his best. Officers and men knew their duty, and
all went well. As soon as she was hove short, the mate, on the
forecastle, gave the order to loose the sails! and, in an instant
all sprung into the rigging, up the shrouds, and out on the yards,
scrambling by one another,-- the first up, the best fellow,-- cast
off the yard-arm gaskets and bunt gaskets, and one man remained on
each yard, holding the bunt jigger with a turn round the tye, all
ready to let go, while the rest laid down to man the sheets and
halyards. The mate then hailed the yards,-- ``All ready forward?''--
``All ready the cross-jack yards?'' &c., &c.; and ``Aye, aye,
sir!'' being returned from each, the word was given to let go;
and, in the twinkling of an eye, the ship, which had shown nothing
but her bare yards, was covered with her loose canvas, from the
royal-mast-heads to the decks. All then came down, except one man
in each top, to overhaul the rigging, and the topsails were
hoisted and sheeted home, the three yards going to the mast-head
at once, the larboard watch hoisting the fore, the starboard watch
the main, and five light hands (of whom I was one), picked from
the two watches, the mizzen. The yards were then trimmed, the
anchor weighed, the cat-block hooked on, the fall stretched out,
manned by ``all hands and the cook,'' and the anchor brought to
the head with ``cheerly, men!'' in full chorus. The ship being now
under way, the light sails were set, one after another, and she
was under full sail before she had passed the sandy point. The
fore royal, which fell to my lot (as I was in the mate's watch),
was more than twice as large as that of the Pilgrim, and, though I
could handle the brig's easily, I found my hands full with this,
especially as there were no jacks to the ship, everything being
for neatness, and nothing left for Jack to hold on by but his
``eyelids.''

As soon as we were beyond the point, and all sail out, the order
was given, ``Go below, the watch!'' and the crew said that, ever
since they had been on the coast, they had had ``watch and watch''
while going from port to port; and, in fact, all things showed
that, though strict discipline was kept, and the utmost was
required of every man in the way of his duty, yet, on the whole,
there was good usage on board. Each one knew that he must be a
man, and show himself such when at his duty, yet all were
satisfied with the treatment; and a contented crew, agreeing with
one another, and finding no fault, was a contrast indeed with the
small, hard-used, dissatisfied, grumbling, desponding crew of the
Pilgrim.

It being the turn of our watch to go below, the men set themselves
to work, mending their clothes, and doing other little things for
themselves; and I, having got my wardrobe in complete order at San
Diego, had nothing to do but to read. I accordingly overhauled the
chests of the crew, but found nothing that suited me exactly,
until one of the men said he had a book which ``told all about a
great highwayman,'' at the bottom of his chest, and, producing it,
I found, to my surprise and joy, that it was nothing else than
Bulwer's Paul Clifford. I seized it immediately, and, going to my
hammock, lay there, swinging and reading, until the watch below
was out. The between-decks clear, the hatchways open, a cool
breeze blowing through them, the ship under easy way,-- everything
was comfortable. I had just got well into the story when eight
bells were struck, and we were all ordered to dinner. After dinner
came our watch on deck for four hours, and at four o'clock I went
below again, turned into my hammock and read until the dog watch.
As lights were not allowed after eight o'clock, there was no
reading in the night watch. Having light winds and calms, we were
three days on the passage, and each watch below, during the
daytime, I spent in the same manner, until I had finished my book.
I shall never forget the enjoyment I derived from it. To come
across anything with the slightest claims to literary merit was so
unusual that this was a feast to me. The brilliancy of the book,
the succession of capital hits, and the lively and characteristic
sketches, kept me in a constant state of pleasing sensations. It
was far too good for a sailor. I could not expect such fine times
to last long.

While on deck, the regular work of the ship went on. The sailmaker
and carpenter worked between decks, and the crew had their work to
do upon the rigging, drawing yarns, making spun-yarn, &c., as
usual in merchantmen. The night watches were much more pleasant
than on board the Pilgrim. There, there were so few in a watch,
that, one being at the wheel and another on the lookout, there was
no one left to talk with; but here we had seven in a watch, so
that we had long yarns in abundance. After two or three night
watches, I became well acquainted with the larboard watch. The
sailmaker was the head man of the watch, and was generally
considered the most experienced seaman on board. He was a
thorough-bred old man-of-war's-man, had been at sea twenty-two
years, in all kinds of vessels,-- men-of-war, privateers, slavers,
and merchantmen,-- everything except whalers, which a thorough
man-of-war or merchant seaman looks down upon, and will always
steer clear of if he can. He had, of course, been in most parts of
the world, and was remarkable for drawing a long bow. His yarns
frequently stretched through a watch, and kept all hands awake.
They were amusing from their improbability, and, indeed, he never
expected to be believed, but spun them merely for amusement; and
as he had some humor and a good supply of man-of-war slang and
sailor's salt phrases, he always made fun. Next to him in age and
experience, and, of course, in standing in the watch, was an
Englishman named Harris, of whom I shall have more to say
hereafter. Then came two or three Americans, who had been the
common run of European and South American voyages, and one who had
been in a ``spouter,'' and, of course, had all the whaling stories
to himself. Last of all was a broad-backed, thick-headed, Cape
Cod[1] boy, who had been in mackerel schooners, and was making his
first voyage in a square-rigged vessel. He was born in Hingham,
and of course was called ``Bucket-maker.'' The other watch was
composed of about the same number. A tall, fine-looking Frenchman,
with coal-black whiskers and curly hair, a first-rate seaman,
named John (one name is enough for a sailor), was the head man of
the watch. Then came two Americans (one of whom had been a
dissipated young man of some property and respectable connections,
and was reduced to duck trousers and monthly wages), a German, an
English lad, named Ben, who belonged on the mizzen-topsail yard
with me, and was a good sailor for his years, and two Boston boys
just from the public schools. The carpenter sometimes mustered in
the starboard watch, and was an old sea-dog, a Swede by birth, and
accounted the best helmsman in the ship. This was our ship's
company, beside cook and steward, who were blacks, three mates,
and the captain.

The second day out, the wind drew ahead, and we had to beat up the
coast; so that, in tacking ship, I could see the regulations of
the vessel. Instead of going wherever was most convenient, and
running from place to place, wherever work was to be done, each
man had his station. A regular tacking and wearing bill was made
out. The chief mate commanded on the forecastle, and had charge of
the head sails and the forward part of the ship. Two of the best
men in the ship, the sailmaker from our watch, and John, the
Frenchman, from the other, worked the forecastle. The third mate
commanded in the waist, and, with the carpenter and one man,
worked the main tack and bowline; the cook, ex officio, the fore
sheet, and the steward the main. The second mate had charge of the
after yards, and let go the lee fore and main braces. I was
stationed at the weather cross-jack braces; three other light
hands at the lee; one boy at the spanker-sheet and guy; a man and
a boy at the main topsail, top-gallant, and royal braces; and all
the rest of the crew-- men and boys-- tallied on to the main
brace. Every one here knew his station, must be there when all
hands were called to put the ship about, and was answerable for
the ropes committed to him. Each man's rope must be let go and
hauled in at the order, properly made fast, and neatly coiled away
when the ship was about. As soon as all hands are at their
stations, the captain, who stands on the weather side of the
quarter-deck, makes a sign to the man at the wheel to put it down,
and calls out ``Helm's a lee'!'' ``Helm's a lee'!'' answers the
mate on the forecastle, and the head sheets are let go. ``Raise
tacks and sheets!'' says the captain; ``tacks and sheets!'' is
passed forward, and the fore tack and main sheet are let go. The
next thing is to haul taut for a swing. The weather cross-jack
braces and the lee main braces are belayed together upon two pins,
and ready to be let go, and the opposite braces hauled taut.
``Main topsail haul!'' shouts the captain; the braces are let go;
and if he has chosen his time well, the yards swing round like a
top; but if he is too late, or too soon, it is like drawing teeth.
The after yards are then braced up and belayed, the main sheet
hauled aft, the spanker eased over to leeward, and the men from
the braces stand by the head yards. ``Let go and haul!'' says the
captain; the second mate lets go the weather fore braces, and the
men haul in to leeward. The mate, on the forecastle, looks out for
the head yards. ``Well the fore topsail yard!'' ``Top-gallant
yard's well!'' ``Royal yard too much! Haul in to windward! So!
well that!'' ``Well all!'' Then the starboard watch board the main
tack, and the larboard watch lay forward and board the fore tack
and haul down the jib sheet, clapping a tackle upon it if it blows
very fresh. The after yards are then trimmed, the captain
generally looking out for them himself. ``Well the cross-jack[2]
yard!'' ``Small pull the main top-gallant yard!'' ``Well that!''
``Well the mizzen topsail yard!'' ``Cross-jack yards all well!''
``Well all aft!'' ``Haul taut to windward!'' Everything being now
trimmed and in order, each man coils up the rigging at his own
station, and the order is given, ``Go below the watch!''

During the last twenty-four hours of the passage, we beat off and
on the land, making a tack about once in four hours, so that I had
sufficient opportunity to observe the working of the ship; and
certainly it took no more men to brace about this ship's lower
yards, which were more than fifty feet square, than it did those
of the Pilgrim, which were not much more than half the size; so
much depends upon the manner in which the braces run, and the
state of the blocks; and Captain Wilson, of the Ayacucho, who was
afterwards a passenger with us, upon a trip to windward, said he
had no doubt that our ship worked two men lighter than his brig.
This light working of the ship was owing to the attention and
seamanship of Captain Faucon. He had reeved anew nearly all the
running rigging of the ship, getting rid of useless blocks,
putting single blocks for double wherever he could, using pendent
blocks, and adjusting the purchases scientifically.

Friday, September 11th. This morning, at four o'clock, went below,
San Pedro point being about two leagues ahead, and the ship going
on under studding-sails. In about an hour we were waked up by the
hauling of the chain about decks, and in a few minutes ``All hands
ahoy!'' was called; and we were all at work, hauling in and making
up the studding-sails, overhauling the chain forward, and getting
the anchors ready. ``The Pilgrim is there at anchor,'' said some
one, as we were running about decks; and, taking a moment's look
over the rail, I saw my old friend, deeply laden, lying at anchor
inside of the kelp. In coming to anchor, as well as in tacking
ship, each one had his station and duty. The light sails were
clewed up and furled, the courses hauled up, and the jibs down;
then came the topsails in the buntlines, and the anchor let go. As
soon as she was well at anchor, all hands lay aloft to furl the
topsails; and this, I soon found, was a great matter on board this
ship; for every sailor knows that a vessel is judged of, a good
deal, by the furl of her sails. The third mate, sailmaker, and the
larboard watch, went upon the fore topsail yard; the second mate,
carpenter, and the starboard watch, upon the main; and I, and the
English lad, and the two Boston boys, and the young Cape Cod man,
furled the mizzen topsail. This sail belonged to us altogether to
reef and to furl, and not a man was allowed to come upon our yard.
The mate took us under his special care, frequently making us furl
the sail over three or four times, until we got the bunt up to a
perfect cone, and the whole sail without a wrinkle. As soon as
each sail was hauled up and the bunt made, the jigger was bent on
to the slack of the buntlines, and the bunt triced up, on deck.
The mate then took his place between the knight-heads to ``twig''
the fore, on the windlass to twig the main, and at the foot of the
mainmast for the mizzen; and if anything was wrong,-- too much
bunt on one side, clews too taut or too slack, or any sail abaft
the yard,-- the whole must be dropped again. When all was right,
the bunts were triced well up, the yard-arm gaskets passed, so as
not to leave a wrinkle forward of the yard-- short gaskets, with
turns close together.

From the moment of letting go the anchor, when the captain ceases
his care of things, the chief mate is the great man. With a voice
like a young lion, he was hallooing in all directions, making
everything fly, and, at the same time, doing everything well. He
was quite a contrast to the worthy, quiet, unobtrusive mate of the
Pilgrim, not a more estimable man, perhaps, but a far better mate
of a vessel; and the entire change in Captain Thompson's conduct,
since he took command of the ship, was owing, no doubt, in a great
measure, to this fact. If the chief officer wants force,
discipline slackens, everything gets out of joint, and the captain
interferes continually; that makes a difficulty between them,
which encourages the crew, and the whole ends in a three-sided
quarrel. But Mr. Brown (a Marblehead man) wanted no help from
anybody, took everything into his own hands, and was more likely
to encroach upon the authority of the master than to need any
spurring. Captain Thompson gave his directions to the mate in
private, and, except in coming to anchor, getting under way,
tacking, reefing topsails, and other ``all-hands-work,'' seldom
appeared in person. This is the proper state of things; and while
this lasts, and there is a good understanding aft, everything will
go on well.

Having furled all the sails, the royal yards were next to be sent
down. The English lad and myself sent down the main, which was
larger than the Pilgrim's main top-gallant yard; two more light
hands the fore, and one boy the mizzen. This order we kept while
on the coast, sending them up and down every time we came in and
went out of port. They were all tripped and lowered together, the
main on the starboard side, and the fore and mizzen to port. No
sooner was she all snug, than tackles were got up on the yards and
stays, and the long-boat and pinnace hove out. The swinging booms
were then guyed out, and the boats made fast by geswarps, and
everything in harbor style. After breakfast, the hatches were
taken off, and everything got ready to receive hides from the
Pilgrim. All day, boats were passing and repassing, until we had
taken her hides from her, and left her in ballast trim. These
hides made but little show in our hold, though they had loaded the
Pilgrim down to the water's edge. This changing of the hides
settled the question of the destination of the two vessels, which
had been one of some speculation with us. We were to remain in the
leeward ports, while the Pilgrim was to sail, the next morning,
for San Francisco. After we had knocked off work, and cleared up
decks for the night, my friend Stimson came on board, and spent an
hour with me in our berth between decks. The Pilgrim's crew envied
me my place on board the ship, and seemed to think that I had got
a little to windward of them, especially in the matter of going
home first. Stimson was determined to go home in the Alert, by
begging or buying. If Captain Thompson would not let him come on
other terms, he would purchase an exchange with some one of the
crew. The prospect of another year after the Alert should sail was
rather ``too much of the monkey.'' About seven o'clock the mate
came down into the steerage in fine trim for fun, roused the boys
out of the berth, turned up the carpenter with his fiddle, sent
the steward with lights to put in the between-decks, and set all
hands to dancing. The between-decks were high enough to allow of
jumping, and being clear, and white, from holystoning, made a good
dancing-hall. Some of the Pilgrim's crew were in the forecastle,
and they all turned-to and had a regular sailor's shuffle till
eight bells. The Cape Cod boy could dance the true fisherman's
jig, barefooted, knocking with his heels, and slapping the decks
with his bare feet, in time with the music. This was a favorite
amusement of the mate's, who used to stand at the steerage door,
looking on, and if the boys would not dance, hazed them round with
a rope's end, much to the entertainment of the men.

The next morning, according to the orders of the agent, the
Pilgrim set sail for the windward, to be gone three or four
months. She got under way with no fuss, and came so near us as to
throw a letter on board, Captain Faucon standing at the tiller
himself, and steering her as he would a mackerel smack. When
Captain Thompson was in command of the Pilgrim, there was as much
preparation and ceremony as there would be in getting a
seventy-four under way. Captain Faucon was a sailor, every inch of
him. He knew what a ship was, and was as much at home in one as a
cobbler in his stall. I wanted no better proof of this than the
opinion of the ship's crew, for they had been six months under his
command, and knew him thoroughly, and if sailors allow their
captain to be a good seaman, you may be sure he is one, for that
is a thing they are not usually ready to admit. To find fault with
the seamanship of the captain is a crew's reserved store for
grumbling.

After the Pilgrim left us, we lay three weeks at San Pedro, from
the 11th of September until the 2d of October, engaged in the
usual port duties of landing cargo, taking off hides, &c., &c.
These duties were much easier, and went on much more agreeably,
than on board the Pilgrim. ``The more the merrier'' is the
sailor's maxim, and, by a division of labor, a boat's crew of a
dozen could take off all the hides brought down in a day without
much trouble; and on shore, as well as on board, a good-will, and
no discontent or grumbling, make everything go well. The officer,
too, who usually went with us, the third mate, was a pleasant
young fellow, and made no unnecessary trouble; so that we
generally had a sociable time, and were glad to be relieved from
the restraint of the ship. While here, I often thought of the
miserable, gloomy weeks we had spent in this dull place, in the
brig; discontent and hard usage on board, and four hands to do all
the work on shore. Give me a big ship. There is more room, better
outfit, better regulation, more life, and more company. Another
thing was better arranged here: we had a regular gig's crew. A
light whale-boat, handsomely painted, and fitted out with stern
seats, yoke and tiller-ropes, hung on the starboard quarter, and
was used as the gig. The youngest lad in the ship, a Boston boy
about fourteen years old, was coxswain of this boat, and had the
entire charge of her, to keep her clean and have her in readiness
to go and come at any hour. Four light hands, of about the same
size and age, of whom I was one, formed her crew. Each had his oar
and seat numbered, and we were obliged to be in our places, have
our oars scraped white, our tholepins in, and the fenders over the
side. The bowman had charge of the boat-hook and painter, and the
coxswain of the rudder, yoke, and stern-sheets. Our duty was to
carry the captain and agent about, and passengers off and on,
which last was no trifling duty, as the people on shore have no
boats, and every purchaser, from the boy who buys his pair of
shoes, to the trader who buys his casks and bales, was to be
brought off and taken ashore in our boat. Some days, when people
were coming and going fast, we were in the boat, pulling off and
on, all day long, with hardly time for our meals, making, as we
lay nearly three miles off shore, from thirty to forty miles'
rowing in a day. Still, we thought it the best berth in the ship;
for when the gig was employed, we had nothing to do with the
cargo, except with small bundles which the passengers took with
them, and no hides to carry. Besides, we had the opportunity of
seeing everybody, making acquaintances, and hearing the news.
Unless the captain or agent was in the boat, we had no officer
with us, and often had fine times with the passengers, who were
always willing to talk and joke with us. Frequently, too, we were
obliged to wait several hours on shore, when we would haul the
boat up on the beach, and, leaving one to watch her, go to the
nearest house, or spend the time in strolling about the beach,
picking up shells, or playing hop-scotch, and other games, on the
hard sand. The others of the crew never left the ship, except for
bringing heavy goods and taking off hides; and though we were
always in the water, the surf hardly leaving us a dry thread from
morning till night, yet we were young, and the climate was good,
and we thought it much better than the quiet, humdrum drag and
pull on board ship. We made the acquaintance of nearly half
California; for, besides carrying everybody in our boat,-- men,
women, and children,-- all the messages, letters, and light
packages went by us, and, being known by our dress, we found a
ready reception everywhere.

At San Pedro, we had none of this amusement, for, there being but
one house in the place, there was nothing to see and no company.
All the variety that I had was riding, once a week, to the nearest
rancho,[3] to order a bullock down to the ship.

The brig Catalina came in from San Diego, and, being bound to
windward, we both got under way at the same time, for a trial of
speed up to Santa Barbara, a distance of about eighty miles. We
hove up and got under sail about eleven o'clock at night, with a
light land-breeze, which died away toward morning, leaving us
becalmed only a few miles from our anchoring-place. The Catalina,
being a small vessel, of less than half our size, put out sweeps
and got a boat ahead, and pulled out to sea during the night, so
that she had the sea-breeze earlier and stronger than we did, and
we had the mortification of seeing her standing up the coast with
a fine breeze, the sea all ruffled about her, while we were
becalmed in-shore. When the sea-breeze died away, she was nearly
out of sight; and, toward the latter part of the afternoon, the
regular northwest wind setting in fresh, we braced sharp upon it,
took a pull at every sheet, tack, and halyard, and stood after her
in fine style, our ship being very good upon a taut bowline. We
had nearly five hours of splendid sailing, beating up to windward
by long stretches in and off shore, and evidently gaining upon the
Catalina at every tack. When this breeze left us, we were so near
as to count the painted ports on her side. Fortunately, the wind
died away when we were on our inward tack, and she on her outward,
so we were in-shore, and caught the land-breeze first, which came
off upon our quarter, about the middle of the first watch. All
hands were turned up, and we set all sail, to the skysails and the
royal studding-sails; and with these, we glided quietly through
the water, leaving the Catalina, which could not spread so much
canvas as we, gradually astern, and, by daylight, were off Santa
Buenaventura, and our competitor nearly out of sight. The
sea-breeze, however, favored her again, while we were becalmed
under the headland, and laboring slowly along, and she was abreast
of us by noon. Thus we continued, ahead, astern, and abreast of
each other, alternately; now far out at sea, and again close in
under the shore. On the third morning we came into the great bay
of Santa Barbara two hours behind the brig, and thus lost the bet;
though if the race had been to the point, we should have beaten
her by five or six hours. This, however, settled the relative
sailing of the vessels, for it was admitted that although she,
being small and light, could gain upon us in very light winds, yet
whenever there was breeze enough to set us agoing, we walked away
from her like hauling in a line; and, in beating to windward,
which is the best trial of a vessel, had much the advantage.

Sunday, October 4th. This was the day of our arrival; and, somehow
or other, our captain seemed to manage, not only to sail, but to
come into port, on a Sunday. The main reason for sailing on Sunday
is not, as many people suppose, because it is thought a lucky day
but because it is a leisure day. During the six days the crew are
employed upon the cargo and other ship's works, and, Sunday being
their only day of rest, whatever additional work can be thrown
into it is so much gain to the owners. This is the reason of our
coasters and packets generally sailing on Sunday. Thus it was with
us nearly all the time we were on the coast, and many of our
Sundays were lost entirely to us. The Catholics on shore do not,
as a general thing, do regular trading or make journeys on Sunday,
but the American has no national religion, and likes to show his
independence of priestcraft by doing as he chooses on the Lord's
Day.

Santa Barbara looked very much as it did when I left it five
months before: the long sand beach, with the heavy rollers,
breaking upon it in a continual roar, and the little town,
embedded on the plain, girt by its amphitheatre of mountains. Day
after day the sun shone clear and bright upon the wide bay and the
red roofs of the houses, everything being as still as death, the
people hardly seeming to earn their sunlight. Daylight was thrown
away upon them. We had a few visitors, and collected about a
hundred hides, and every night, at sundown, the gig was sent
ashore to wait for the captain, who spent his evenings in the
town. We always took our monkey-jackets with us, and flint and
steel, and made a fire on the beach with the driftwood and the
bushes which we pulled from the neighboring thickets, and lay down
by it, on the sand. Sometimes we would stray up to the town, if
the captain was likely to stay late, and pass the time at some of
the houses, in which we were almost always well received by the
inhabitants. Sometimes earlier and sometimes later, the captain
came down; when, after a good drenching in the surf, we went
aboard, changed our clothes, and turned-in for the night,-- yet
not for all the night, for there was the anchor watch to stand.

This leads me to speak of my watchmate for nine months,-- and,
taking him all in all, the most remarkable man I had ever seen,--
Tom Harris. An hour, every night, while lying in port, Harris and
I had the deck to ourselves, and walking fore and aft, night after
night, for months, I learned his character and history, and more
about foreign nations, the habits of different people, and
especially the secrets of sailors' lives and hardships, and also
of practical seamanship (in which he was abundantly capable of
instructing me), than I could ever have learned elsewhere. His
memory was perfect, seeming to form a regular chain, reaching from
his earliest childhood up to the time I knew him, without a link
wanting. His power of calculation, too, was extraordinary. I
called myself pretty quick at figures, and had been through a
course of mathematical studies; but, working by my head, I was
unable to keep within sight of this man, who had never been beyond
his arithmetic. He carried in his head, not only a log-book of the
voyage, which was complete and accurate, and from which no one
thought of appealing, but also an accurate registry of the cargo,
knowing where each thing was stowed, and how many hides we took in
at each port.

One night he made a rough calculation of the number of hides that
could be stowed in the lower hold, between the fore and main
masts, taking the depth of hold and breadth of beam (for he knew
the dimensions of every part of a ship before he had been long on
board), and the average area and thickness of a hide; and he came
surprisingly near the number, as it afterwards turned out. The
mate frequently came to him to know the capacity of different
parts of the vessel, and he could tell the sailmaker very nearly
the amount of canvas he would want for each sail in the ship; for
he knew the hoist of every mast, and spread of each sail, on the
head and foot, in feet and inches. When we were at sea, he kept a
running account, in his head, of the ship's way,-- the number of
knots and the courses; and, if the courses did not vary much
during the twenty-four hours, by taking the whole progress and
allowing so many eights southing or northing, to so many easting
or westing, he would make up his reckoning just before the captain
took the sun at noon, and often came very near the mark. He had,
in his chest, several volumes giving accounts of inventions in
mechanics, which he read with great pleasure, and made himself
master of. I doubt if he forgot anything that he read. The only
thing in the way of poetry that he ever read was Falconer's
Shipwreck, which he was charmed with, and pages of which he could
repeat. He said he could recall the name of every sailor that had
ever been his shipmate, and also of every vessel, captain, and
officer, and the principal dates of each voyage; and a sailor whom
we afterwards fell in with, who had been in a ship with Harris
nearly twelve years before, was much surprised at having Harris
tell him things about himself which he had entirely forgotten. His
facts, whether dates or events, no one thought of disputing; and
his opinions few of the sailors dared to oppose, for, right or
wrong, he always had the best of the argument with them. His
reasoning powers were striking. I have had harder work maintaining
an argument with him in a watch, even when I knew myself to be
right, and he was only doubting, than I ever had before, not from
his obstinacy, but from his acuteness. Give him only a little
knowledge of his subject, and, among all the young men of my
acquaintance at college, there is not one whom I had not rather
meet in an argument than this man. I never answered a question
from him, or advanced an opinion to him, without thinking more
than once. With an iron memory, he seemed to have your whole past
conversation at command, and if you said a thing now which ill
agreed with something you had said months before, he was sure to
have you on the hip. In fact, I felt, when with him, that I was
with no common man. I had a positive respect for his powers of
mind, and thought, often, that if half the pains had been spent
upon his education which are thrown away yearly, in our colleges,
he would have made his mark. Like many self-taught men of real
merit, he overrated the value of a regular education; and this I
often told him, though I had profited by his error; for he always
treated me with respect, and often unnecessarily gave way to me,
from an overestimate of my knowledge. For the intellectual
capacities of all the rest of the crew,-- captain and all,-- he
had a sovereign contempt. He was a far better sailor, and probably
a better navigator, than the captain, and had more brains than all
the after part of the ship put together. The sailors said, ``Tom's
got a head as long as the bowsprit,'' and if any one fell into an
argument with him, they would call out: ``Ah, Jack! you had better
drop that as you would a hot potato, for Tom will turn you inside
out before you know it!''

I recollect his posing me once on the subject of the Corn Laws. I
was called to stand my watch, and, coming on deck, found him there
before me; and we began, as usual, to walk fore and aft, in the
waist. He talked about the Corn Laws; asked me my opinion about
them, which I gave him, and my reasons, my small stock of which I
set forth to the best advantage, supposing his knowledge on the
subject must be less than mine, if, indeed, he had any at all.
When I had got through, he took the liberty of differing from me,
and brought arguments and facts which were new to me, and to which
I was unable to reply. I confessed that I knew almost nothing of
the subject, and expressed my surprise at the extent of his
information. He said that, a number of years before, while at a
boarding-house in Liverpool, he had fallen in with a pamphlet on
the subject, and, as it contained calculations, had read it very
carefully, and had ever since wished to find some one who could
add to his stock of knowledge on the question. Although it was
many years since he had seen the book, and it was a subject with
which he had had no previous acquaintance, yet he had the chain of
reasoning, founded upon principles of political economy, fully in
his memory; and his facts, so far as I could judge, were correct;
at least, he stated them with precision. The principles of the
steam-engine, too, he was familiar with, having been several
months on board a steamboat, and made himself master of its
secrets. He knew every lunar star in both hemispheres, and was a
master of the quadrant and sextant. The men said he could take a
meridian altitude of the sun from a tar bucket. Such was the man,
who, at forty, was still a dog before the mast, at twelve dollars
a month. The reason of this was to be found in his past life, as I
had it, at different times, from himself.

He was an Englishman, a native of Ilfracomb, in Devonshire. His
father was skipper of a small coaster from Bristol, and, dying,
left him, when quite young, to the care of his mother, by whose
exertions he received a common-school education, passing his
winters at school and his summers in the coasting trade until his
seventeenth year, when he left home to go upon foreign voyages. Of
this mother he spoke with the greatest respect, and said that she
was a woman of a strong mind, and had an excellent system of
education, which had made respectable men of his three brothers,
and failed in him only from his own indomitable obstinacy. One
thing he mentioned, in which he said his mother differed from all
other mothers that he had ever seen disciplining their children;
that was, that when he was out of humor and refused to eat,
instead of putting his plate away, saying that his hunger would
bring him to it in time, she would stand over him and oblige him
to eat it,-- every mouthful of it. It was no fault of hers that he
was what I saw him; and so great was his sense of gratitude for
her efforts, though unsuccessful, that he determined, when the
voyage should end, to embark for home with all the wages he should
get, to spend with and for his mother, if perchance he should find
her alive.

After leaving home, he had spent nearly twenty years sailing upon
all sorts of voyages, generally out of the ports of New York and
Boston. Twenty years of vice! Every sin that a sailor knows, he
had gone to the bottom of. Several times he had been hauled up in
the hospitals, and as often the great strength of his constitution
had brought him out again in health. Several times, too, from his
acknowledged capacity, he had been promoted to the office of chief
mate, and as often his conduct when in port, especially his
drunkenness, which neither fear nor ambition could induce him to
abandon, put him back into the forecastle. One night, when giving
me an account of his life, and lamenting the years of manhood he
had thrown away, ``There,'' said he, ``in the forecastle, at the
foot of those steps, a chest of old clothes, is the result of
twenty-two years of hard labor and exposure-- worked like a horse,
and treated like a dog.'' As he had grown older, he began to feel
the necessity of some provision for his later years, and came
gradually to the conviction that rum had been his worst enemy. One
night, in Havana, a young shipmate of his was brought aboard
drunk, with a dangerous gash in his head, and his money and new
clothes stripped from him. Harris had been in hundreds of such
scenes as these, but in his then state of mind it fixed his
determination, and he resolved never to taste a drop of strong
drink of any kind. He signed no pledge, and made no vow, but
relied on his own strength of purpose. The first thing with him
was a reason, and then a resolution, and the thing was done. The
date of his resolution he knew, of course, to the very hour. It
was three years before I became acquainted with him, and during
all that time nothing stronger than cider or coffee had passed his
lips. The sailors never thought of enticing Tom to take a glass,
any more than they would of talking to the ship's compass. He was
now a temperate man for life, and capable of filling any berth in
a ship, and many a high station there is on shore which is held by
a meaner man.

He understood the management of a ship upon scientific principles,
and could give the reason for hauling every rope; and a long
experience, added to careful observation at the time, gave him a
knowledge of the expedients and resorts for times of hazard, for
which I became much indebted to him, as he took the greatest
pleasure in opening his stores of information to me, in return for
what I was enabled to do for him. Stories of tyranny and hardship
which had driven men to piracy; of the incredible ignorance of
masters and mates, and of horrid brutality to the sick, dead, and
dying; as well as of the secret knavery and impositions practised
upon seamen by connivance of the owners, landlords, and officers,--
all these he had, and I could not but believe them; for he made
the impression of an exact man, to whom exaggeration was
falsehood; and his statements were always credited. I remember,
among other things, his speaking of a captain whom I had known by
report, who never handed a thing to a sailor, but put it on deck
and kicked it to him; and of another, who was highly connected in
Boston, who absolutely murdered a lad from Boston who went out
with him before the mast to Sumatra, by keeping him hard at work
while ill of the coast fever, and obliging him to sleep in the
close steerage. (The same captain has since died of the same fever
on the same coast.)

In fact, taking together all that I learned from him of
seamanship, of the history of sailors' lives, of practical wisdom,
and of human nature under new circumstances and strange forms of
life,-- a great history from which many are shut out,-- I would
not part with the hours I spent in the watch with that man for the
gift of many hours to be passed in study and intercourse with even
the best of society.

[1] Sailors call men from any part of the coast of Massachusetts
south of Boston Cape Cod men.

[2] Pronounced croj-ac.

[3] This was Sepulveda's rancho, where there was a fight, during our
war with Mexico in 1846, between some United States troops and the
Mexicans, under Don Andréas Pico.

CHAPTER XXIV

Sunday, October 11th. Set sail this morning for the leeward;
passed within sight of San Pedro, and, to our great joy, did not
come to anchor, but kept directly on to San Diego, where we
arrived and moored ship on--

Thursday, October 15th. Found here the Italian ship La Rosa, from
the windward, which reported the brig Pilgrim at San Francisco,
all well. Everything was as quiet here as usual. We discharged our
hides, horns, and tallow, and were ready to sail again on the
following Sunday. I went ashore to my old quarters, and found the
gang at the hide-house going on in the even tenor of their way,
and spent an hour or two, after dark, at the oven, taking a whiff
with my old Kanaka friends, who really seemed glad to see me
again, and saluted me as the Aikane of the Kanakas. I was grieved
to find that my poor dog Bravo was dead. He had sickened and died
suddenly the very day after I sailed in the Alert.

Sunday was again, as usual, our sailing day, and we got under way
with a stiff breeze, which reminded us that it was the latter part
of the autumn, and time to expect southeasters once more. We beat
up against a strong head wind, under reefed topsails, as far as
San Juan, where we came to anchor nearly three miles from the
shore, with slip-ropes on our cables, in the old southeaster style
of last winter. On the passage up, we had an old sea-captain on
board, who had married and settled in California, and had not been
on salt water for more than fifteen years. He was surprised at the
changes and improvements that had been made in ships, and still
more at the manner in which we carried sail; for he was really a
little frightened, and said that while we had top-gallant-sails
on, he should have been under reefed topsails. The working of the
ship, and her progress to windward, seemed to delight him, for he
said she went to windward as though she were kedging.

Tuesday, October 20th. Having got everything ready, we set the
agent ashore, who went up to the Mission to hurry down the hides
for the next morning. This night we had the strictest orders to
look out for southeasters; and the long, low clouds seemed rather
threatening. But the night passed over without any trouble, and
early the next morning we hove out the long-boat and pinnace,
lowered away the quarter-boats, and went ashore to bring off our
hides. Here we were again, in this romantic spot,-- a
perpendicular hill, twice the height of the ship's mast-head, with
a single circuitous path to the top, and long sand-beach at its
base, with the swell of the whole Pacific breaking high upon it,
and our hides ranged in piles on the overhanging summit. The
captain sent me, who was the only one of the crew that had ever
been there before, to the top to count the hides and pitch them
down. There I stood again, as six months before, throwing off the
hides, and watching them, pitching and scaling, to the bottom,
while the men, dwarfed by the distance, were walking to and fro on
the beach, carrying the hides, as they picked them up, to the
distant boats, upon the tops of their heads. Two or three
boat-loads were sent off, until at last all were thrown down, and
the boats nearly loaded again, when we were delayed by a dozen or
twenty hides which had lodged in the recesses of the bank, and
which we could not reach by any missiles, as the general line of
the side was exactly perpendicular, and these places were caved
in, and could not be seen or reached from the top. As hides are
worth in Boston twelve and a half cents a pound, and the captain's
commission was one per cent, he determined not to give them up,
and sent on board for a pair of top-gallant studding-sail
halyards, and requested some one of the crew to go to the top and
come down by the halyards. The older sailors said the boys, who
were light and active, ought to go; while the boys thought that
strength and experience were necessary. Seeing the dilemma, and
feeling myself to be near the medium of these requisites, I
offered my services, and went up, with one man to tend the rope,
and prepared for the descent.

We found a stake fastened strongly into the ground, and apparently
capable of holding my weight, to which we made one end of the
halyard well fast, and, taking the coil, threw it over the brink.
The end, we saw, just reached to a landing-place, from which the
descent to the beach was easy. Having nothing on but shirt,
trousers, and hat, the common sea rig of warm weather, I had no
stripping to do, and began my descent by taking hold of the rope
with both hands, and slipping down, sometimes with hands and feet
round the rope, and sometimes breasting off with one hand and foot
against the precipice, and holding on to the rope with the other.
In this way I descended until I came to a place which shelved in,
and in which the hides were lodged. Keeping hold of the rope with
one hand, I scrambled in, and by aid of my feet and the other hand
succeeded in dislodging all the hides, and continued on my way.
Just below this place, the precipice projected again, and, going
over the projection, I could see nothing below me but the sea and
the rocks upon which it broke, and a few gulls flying in mid-air.
I got down in safety, pretty well covered with dirt; and for my
pains was told, ``What a d---d fool you were to risk your life for
half a dozen hides!''

While we were carrying the hides to the boat, I perceived, what I
had been too busy to observe before, that heavy black clouds were
rolling up from seaward, a strong swell heaving in, and every sign
of a southeaster. The captain hurried everything. The hides were
pitched into the boats, and, with some difficulty, and by wading
nearly up to our armpits, we got the boats through the surf, and
began pulling aboard. Our gig's crew towed the pinnace astern of
the gig, and the launch was towed by six men in the jolly-boat.
The ship was lying three miles off, pitching at her anchor, and
the farther we pulled, the heavier grew the swell. Our boat stood
nearly up and down several times; the pinnace parted her tow-line,
and we expected every moment to see the launch swamped. At length
we got alongside, our boats half full of water; and now came the
greatest trouble of all,-- unloading the boats in a heavy sea,
which pitched them about so that it was almost impossible to stand
in them, raising them sometimes even with the rail, and again
dropping them below the bends. With great difficulty we got all
the hides aboard and stowed under hatches, the yard and stay
tackles hooked on, and the launch and pinnace hoisted, chocked,
and griped. The quarter-boats were then hoisted up, and we began
heaving in on the chain. Getting the anchor was no easy work in
such a sea, but as we were not coming back to this port, the
captain determined not to slip. The ship's head pitched into the
sea, and the water rushed through the hawse-holes, and the chain
surged so as almost to unship the barrel of the windlass. ``Hove
short, sir!''  said the mate. ``Aye, aye! Weather-bit your chain
and loose the topsails! Make sail on her, men,-- with a will!'' A
few moments served to loose the topsails, which were furled with
reefs, to sheet them home, and hoist them up. ``Bear a hand!'' was
the order of the day; and every one saw the necessity of it, for
the gale was already upon us. The ship broke out her own anchor,
which we catted and fished, after a fashion, and were soon
close-hauled, under reefed sails, standing off from the lee shore
and rocks against a heavy head sea. The fore course was given to
her, which helped her a little; but as she hardly held her own
against the sea, which was setting her to leeward-- ``Board the
main tack!'' shouted the captain, when the tack was carried
forward and taken to the windlass, and all hands called to the
handspikes. The great sail bellied out horizontally, as though it
would lift up the main stay; the blocks rattled and flew about;
but the force of machinery was too much for her. ``Heave ho! Heave
and pawl! Yo, heave, hearty, ho!'' and, in time with the song, by
the force of twenty strong arms, the windlass came slowly round,
pawl after pawl, and the weather clew of the sail was brought down
to the water-ways. The starboard watch hauled aft the sheet, and
the ship tore through the water like a mad horse, quivering and
shaking at every joint, and dashing from her head the foam, which
flew off at each blow, yards and yards to leeward. A half-hour of
such sailing served our turn, when the clews of the sail were
hauled up, the sail furled, and the ship, eased of her press, went
more quietly on her way. Soon after, the foresail was reefed, and
we mizzen-top men were sent up to take another reef in the mizzen
topsail. This was the first time I had taken a weather earing, and
I felt not a little proud to sit astride of the weather yard-arm,
pass the earing, and sing out, ``Haul out to leeward!'' From this
time until we got to Boston the mate never suffered any one but
our own gang to go upon the mizzen topsail yard, either for
reefing or furling, and the young English lad and I generally took
the earings between us.

Having cleared the point and got well out to sea, we squared away
the yards, made more sail, and stood on, nearly before the wind,
for San Pedro. It blew strong, with some rain, nearly all night,
but fell calm toward morning, and the gale having blown itself
out, we came-to,--

Thursday, October 22d, at San Pedro, in the old southeaster berth,
a league from shore, with a slip-rope on the cable, reefs in the
topsails, and rope-yarns for gaskets. Here we lay ten days, with
the usual boating, hide-carrying, rolling of cargo up the steep
hill, walking barefooted over stones, and getting drenched in salt
water.

The third day after our arrival, the Rosa came in from San Juan,
where she went the day after the southeaster. Her crew said it was
as smooth as a mill-pond after the gale, and she took off nearly a
thousand hides, which had been brought down for us, and which we
lost in consequence of the southeaster. This mortified us: not
only that an Italian ship should have got to windward of us in the
trade, but because every thousand hides went towards completing
the forty thousand which we were to collect before we could say
good by to California.

While lying here, we shipped one new hand, an Englishman, of about
six-and-twenty years, who was an acquisition, as he proved to be a
good sailor, could sing tolerably, and, what was of more
importance to me, had a good education and a somewhat remarkable
history. He called himself George P. Marsh; professed to have been
at sea from a small boy, and to have served his time in the
smuggling trade between Germany and the coasts of France and
England. Thus he accounted for his knowledge of the French
language, which he spoke and read as well as he did English; but
his cutter education would not account for his English, which was
far too good to have been learned in a smuggler; for he wrote an
uncommonly handsome hand, spoke with great correctness, and
frequently, when in private talk with me, quoted from books, and
showed a knowledge of the customs of society, and particularly of
the formalities of the various English courts of law and of
Parliament, which surprised me. Still he would give no other
account of himself than that he was educated in a smuggler. A man
whom we afterwards fell in with, who had been a shipmate of
George's a few years before, said that he heard, at the
boarding-house from which they shipped, that George had been at a
college (probably a naval one, as he knew no Latin or Greek),
where he learned French and mathematics. He was not the man by
nature that Harris was. Harris had made everything of his mind and
character in spite of obstacles; while this man had evidently been
born in a different rank, and educated early in life accordingly,
but had been a vagabond, and done nothing for himself since.
Neither had George the character, strength of mind, or memory of
Harris; yet there was about him the remains of a pretty good
education, which enabled him to talk quite up to his brains, and a
high spirit and amenability to the point of honor which years of a
dog's life had not broken. After he had been a little while on
board, we learned from him his adventures of the last two years,
which we afterwards heard confirmed in such a manner as put the
truth of them beyond a doubt.

He sailed from New York in the year 1833, if I mistake not, before
the mast, in the brig Lascar, for Canton. She was sold in the East
Indies, and he shipped at Manilla, in a small schooner, bound on a
trading voyage among the Ladrone and Pelew Islands. On one of the
latter islands their schooner was wrecked on a reef, and they were
attacked by the natives, and, after a desperate resistance, in
which all their number, except the captain, George, and a boy,
were killed or drowned, they surrendered, and were carried bound,
in a canoe, to a neighboring island. In about a month after this,
an opportunity occurred by which one of their number might get
away. I have forgotten the circumstances, but only one could go,
and they gave way to the captain, upon his promising to send them
aid if he escaped. He was successful in his attempt; got on board
an American vessel, went back to Manilla, and thence to America,
without making any effort for their rescue, or, indeed, as George
afterwards discovered, without even mentioning their case to any
one in Manilla. The boy that was with George died, and he being
alone, and there being no chance for his escape, the natives soon
treated him with kindness, and even with attention. They painted
him, tattooed his body (for he would never consent to be marked in
the face or hands), gave him two or three wives, and, in fact,
made a pet of him. In this way he lived for thirteen months, in a
delicious climate, with plenty to eat, half naked, and nothing to
do. He soon, however, became tired, and went round the island, on
different pretences, to look out for a sail. One day he was out
fishing in a small canoe with another man, when he saw a large
sail to windward, about a league and a half off, passing abreast
of the island and standing westward. With some difficulty, he
persuaded the islander to go off with him to the ship, promising
to return with a good supply of rum and tobacco. These articles,
which the islanders had got a taste of from American traders, were
too strong a temptation for the fellow, and he consented. They
paddled off in the track in which the ship was bound, and lay-to
until she came down to them. George stepped on board the ship,
nearly naked, painted from head to foot, and in no way
distinguishable from his companion until he began to speak. Upon
this the people on board were not a little astonished, and, having
learned his story, the captain had him washed and clothed, and,
sending away the poor astonished native with a knife or two and
some tobacco and calico, took George with him on the voyage. This
was the ship Cabot, of New York, Captain Low. She was bound to
Manilla, from across the Pacific; and George did seaman's duty in
her until her arrival in Manilla, when he left her, and shipped in
a brig bound to the Sandwich Islands. From Oahu, he came, in the
British brig Clementine, to Monterey, as second officer, where,
having some difficulty with the captain, he left her, and, coming
down the coast, joined us at San Pedro. Nearly six months after
this, among some papers we received by an arrival from Boston, we
found a letter from Captain Low, of the Cabot, published
immediately upon his arrival at New York, giving all the
particulars just as we had them from George. The letter was
published for the information of the friends of George, and
Captain Low added that he left him at Manilla to go to Oahu, and
he had heard nothing of him since.

George had an interesting journal of his adventures in the Pelew
Islands, which he had written out at length, in a handsome hand,
and in correct English.[1]

[1] In the spring of 1841, a sea-faring man called at my rooms, in
Boston and said he wished to see me, as he knew something about a
man I had spoken of in my book. He then told me that he was second
mate of the bark Mary Frazer, which sailed from Batavia in company
with the Cabot, bound to Manilla, that when off the Pelew Islands
they fell in with a canoe with two natives on board, who told them
that there was an American ship ahead, out of sight, and that they
had put a white man on board of her. The bark gave the canoe a tow
for a short distance. When the Mary Frazer arrived at Manilla, they
found the Cabot there; and my informant said that George came on
board several times, and told the same story that I had given of
him in this book. He said the name of George's schooner was the
Dash, and that she was wrecked, and attacked by the natives, as
George had told me.

This man, whose name was Beauchamp, was second mate of the Mary
Frazer when she took the missionaries to Oahu. He became religious
during the passage, and joined the mission church at Oahu upon his
arrival. When I saw him, he was master of a bark.

CHAPTER XXV

Sunday, November 1st. Sailed this day (Sunday again) for Santa
Barbara, where we arrived on the 5th. Coming round Santa
Buenaventura, and nearing the anchorage, we saw two vessels in
port, a large full-rigged, and a small, hermaphrodite brig. The
former, the crew said, must be the Pilgrim; but I had been too
long in the Pilgrim to be mistaken in her, and I was right in
differing from them, for, upon nearer approach, her long, low,
shear, sharp bows, and raking masts, told quite another story.
``Man-of-war brig,'' said some of them; ``Baltimore clipper,''
said others; the Ayacucho, thought I; and soon the broad folds of
the beautiful banner of St. George-- white field with blood-red
border and cross-- were displayed from her peak. A few minutes put
it beyond a doubt, and we were lying by the side of the Ayacucho,
which had sailed from San Diego about nine months before, while we
were lying there in the Pilgrim. She had since been to Valparaiso,
Callao, and the Sandwich Islands, and had just come upon the
coast. Her boat came on board, bringing Captain Wilson; and in
half an hour the news was all over the ship that there was a war
between the United States and France. Exaggerated accounts reached
the forecastle. Battles had been fought, a large French fleet was
in the Pacific, &c., &c.; and one of the boat's crew of the
Ayacucho said that, when they left Callao, a large French frigate
and the American frigate Brandywine, which were lying there, were
going outside to have a battle, and that the English frigate
Blonde was to be umpire, and see fair play. Here was important
news for us. Alone, on an unprotected coast, without an American
man-of-war within some thousands of miles, and the prospect of a
voyage home through the whole length of the Pacific and Atlantic
Oceans! A French prison seemed a much more probable place of
destination than the good port of Boston. However, we were too
salt to believe every yarn that comes into the forecastle, and
waited to hear the truth of the matter from higher authority. By
means of the supercargo's clerk I got the amount of the matter,
which was, that the governments had had a difficulty about the
payment of a debt; that war had been threatened and prepared for,
but not actually declared, although it was pretty generally
anticipated. This was not quite so bad, yet was no small cause of
anxiety. But we cared very little about the matter ourselves.
``Happy go lucky'' with Jack! We did not believe that a French
prison would be much worse than ``hide droghing'' on the coast of
California; and no one who has not been a long, dull voyage, shut
up in one ship, can conceive of the effect of monotony upon one's
thoughts and wishes. The prospect of a change is a green spot in
the desert, and the probability of great events and exciting
scenes creates a feeling of delight, and sets life in motion, so
as to give a pleasure which any one not in the same state would be
unable to explain. In fact, a more jovial night we had not passed
in the forecastle for months. All seemed in unaccountably high
spirits. An undefined anticipation of radical changes, of new
scenes and great doings, seemed to have possessed every one, and
the common drudgery of the vessel appeared contemptible. Here was
a new vein opened,-- a grand theme of conversation and a topic for
all sorts of discussions. National feeling was wrought up. Jokes
were cracked upon the only Frenchman in the ship, and comparisons
made between ``old horse'' and ``soup meagre,'' &c., &c.

We remained in uncertainty as to this war for more than two
months, when an arrival from the Sandwich Islands brought us the
news of an amicable arrangement of the difficulties.

The other vessel which we found in port was the hermaphrodite brig
Avon, from the Sandwich Islands. She was fitted up in handsome
style; fired a gun, and ran her ensign up and down at sunrise and
sunset; had a band of four or five pieces of music on board, and
appeared rather like a pleasure yacht than a trader; yet, in
connection with the Loriotte, Clementine, Bolivar, Convoy, and
other small vessels, belonging to sundry Americans at Oahu, she
carried on a considerable trade,-- legal and illegal, in
otter-skins, silks, teas, &c., as well as hides and tallow.

The second day after our arrival, a full-rigged brig came round
the point from the northward, sailed leisurely through the bay,
and stood off again for the southeast in the direction of the
large island of Catalina. The next day the Avon got under way, and
stood in the same direction, bound for San Pedro. This might do
for marines and Californians, but we knew the ropes too well. The
brig was never again seen on the coast, and the Avon went into San
Pedro in about a week with a replenished cargo of Canton and
American goods.

This was one of the means of escaping the heavy duties the
Mexicans lay upon all imports. A vessel comes on the coast, enters
a moderate cargo at Monterey, which is the only custom-house, and
commences trading. In a month or more, having sold a large part of
her cargo, she stretches over to Catalina, or other of the large,
uninhabited islands which lie off the coast, in a trip from port
to port, and supplies herself with choice goods from a vessel from
Oahu, which has been lying off and on the islands, waiting for
her. Two days after the sailing of the Avon, the Loriotte came in
from the leeward, and without doubt had also a snatch at the
brig's cargo.

Tuesday, November 10th. Going ashore, as usual, in the gig, just
before sundown, to bring off the captain, we found, upon taking in
the captain and pulling off again, that our ship, which lay the
farthest out, had run up her ensign. This meant ``Sail ho!'' of
course, but as we were within the point we could see nothing.
``Give way, boys! Give way! Lay out on your oars, and long
stroke!'' said the captain; and stretching to the whole length of
our arms, bending back again so that our backs touched the
thwarts, we sent her through the water like a rocket. A few
minutes of such pulling opened the islands, one after another, in
range of the point, and gave us a view of the Canal, where was a
ship, under top-gallant-sails, standing in, with a light breeze,
for the anchorage. Putting the boat's head in the direction of the
ship, the captain told us to lay out again; and we needed no
spurring, for the prospect of boarding a new ship, perhaps from
home, hearing the news, and having something to tell of when we
got back, was excitement enough for us, and we gave way with a
will. Captain Nye, of the Loriotte, who had been an old whaleman,
was in the stern-sheets, and fell mightily into the spirit of it.
``Bend your backs, and break your oars!'' said he. ``Lay me on,
Captain Bunker!'' ``There she flukes!'' and other exclamations
current among whalemen. In the mean time it fell flat calm, and,
being within a couple of miles of the ship, we expected to board
her in a few minutes, when a breeze sprung up, dead ahead for the
ship, and she braced up and stood off toward the islands, sharp on
the larboard tack, making good way through the water. This, of
course, brought us up, and we had only to ``ease larboard oars,
pull round starboard!'' and go aboard the Alert, with something
very like a flea in the ear. There was a light land-breeze all
night, and the ship did not come to anchor until the next morning.

As soon as her anchor was down we went aboard, and found her to be
the whale-ship Wilmington and Liverpool Packet, of New Bedford,
last from the ``off-shore ground,'' with nineteen hundred barrels
of oil. A ``spouter'' we knew her to be, as soon as we saw her, by
her cranes and boats, and by her stump top-gallant-masts, and a
certain slovenly look to the sails, rigging, spars, and hull; and
when we got on board, we found everything to correspond,-- spouter
fashion. She had a false deck, which was rough and oily, and cut
up in every direction by the chines of oil casks; her rigging was
slack, and turning white, paint worn off the spars and blocks,
clumsy seizings, straps without covers, and ``homeward-bound
splices'' in every direction. Her crew, too, were not in much
better order. Her captain was a slab-sided Quaker, in a suit of
brown, with a broad-brimmed hat, bending his long legs as he moved
about decks, with his head down, like a sheep, and the men looked
more like fishermen and farmers than they did like sailors.

Though it was by no means cold weather (we having on only our red
shirts and duck trousers), they all had on woollen trousers,-- not
blue and ship-shape, but of all colors,-- brown, drab, gray, aye,
and green,-- with suspenders over their shoulders, and pockets to
put their hands in. This, added to Guernsey frocks, striped
comforters about the neck, thick cowhide boots, woollen caps, and
a strong, oily smell, and a decidedly green look, will complete
the description. Eight or ten were on the fore topsail yard, and
as many more in the main, furling the topsails, while eight or ten
were hanging about the forecastle, doing nothing. This was a
strange sight for a vessel coming to anchor; so we went up to
them, to see what was the matter. One of them, a stout,
hearty-looking fellow, held out his leg and said he had the
scurvy; another had cut his hand; and others had got nearly well,
but said that there were plenty aloft to furl the sails, so they
were sogering on the forecastle. There was only one ``splicer'' on
board, a fine-looking old tar, who was in the bunt of the fore
topsail. He was probably the only thorough marline-spike seaman in
the ship, before the mast. The mates, of course, and the
boat-steerers, and also two or three of the crew, had been to sea
before, but only on whaling voyages; and the greater part of the
crew were raw hands, just from the bush, and had not yet got the
hay-seed out of their hair. The mizzen topsail hung in the
buntlines until everything was furled forward. Thus a crew of
thirty men were half an hour in doing what would have been done in
the Alert, with eighteen hands to go aloft, in fifteen or twenty
minutes.[1]

We found they had been at sea six or eight months, and had no news
to tell us, so we left them, and promised to get liberty to come
on board in the evening for some curiosities. Accordingly, as soon
as we were knocked off in the evening and were through supper, we
obtained leave, took a boat, and went aboard and spent an hour or
two. They gave us pieces of whalebone, and the teeth and other
parts of curious sea animals, and we exchanged books with them,--
a practice very common among ships in foreign ports, by which you
get rid of the books you have read and re-read, and a supply of
new ones in their stead, and Jack is not very nice as to their
comparative value.[2]

Thursday, November 12th. This day was quite cool in the early
part, and there were black clouds about; but as it was often so in
the morning, nothing was apprehended, and all the captains went
ashore together to spend the day. Towards noon the clouds hung
heavily over the mountains, coming half-way down the hills that
encircle the town of Santa Barbara, and a heavy swell rolled in
from the southeast. The mate immediately ordered the gig's crew
away, and, at the same time, we saw boats pulling ashore from the
other vessels. Here was a grand chance for a rowing-match, and
every one did his best. We passed the boats of the Ayacucho and
Loriotte, but could not hold our own with the long six-oared boat
of the whale-ship. They reached the breakers before us; but here
we had the advantage of them, for, not being used to the surf,
they were obliged to wait to see us beach our boat, just as, in
the same place, nearly a year before, we, in the Pilgrim, were
glad to be taught by a boat's crew of Kanakas.

We had hardly got the boats beached, and their heads pointed out
to sea, before our old friend, Bill Jackson, the handsome English
sailor, who steered the Loriotte's boat, called out that his brig
was adrift; and, sure enough, she was dragging her anchors, and
drifting down into the bight of the bay. Without waiting for the
captain (for there was no one on board the brig but the mate and
steward), he sprung into the boat, called the Kanakas together,
and tried to put off. But the Kanakas, though capital water-dogs,
were frightened by their vessel's being adrift, and by the
emergency of the case, and seemed to lose their faculties. Twice
their boat filled, and came broadside upon the beach. Jackson
swore at them for a parcel of savages, and promised to flog every
one of them. This made the matter no better; when we came forward,
told the Kanakas to take their seats in the boat, and, going two
on each side, walked out with her till it was up to our shoulders,
and gave them a shove, when, giving way with their oars, they got
her safely into the long, regular swell. In the mean time, boats
had put off to the Loriotte from our ship and the whaler, and,
coming all on board the brig together, they let go the other
anchor, paid out chain, braced the yards to the wind, and brought
the vessel up.

In a few minutes, the captains came hurrying down, on the run; and
there was no time to be lost, for the gale promised to be a severe
one, and the surf was breaking upon the beach, three deep, higher
and higher every instant. The Ayacucho's boat, pulled by four
Kanakas, put off first, and as they had no rudder or steering-oar,
would probably never have got off, had we not waded out with them
as far as the surf would permit. The next that made the attempt
was the whale-boat, for we, being the most experienced
``beach-combers,'' needed no help, and stayed till the last.
Whalemen make the best boats' crews in the world for a long pull,
but this landing was new to them, and, notwithstanding the
examples they had had, they slewed round and were hove up-- boat,
oars, and men-- all together, high and dry upon the sand. The
second time they filled, and had to turn their boat over, and set
her off again. We could be of no help to them, for they were so
many as to be in one another's way, without the addition of our
numbers. The third time they got off, though not without shipping
a sea which drenched them all, and half filled their boat, keeping
them baling until they reached their ship. We now got ready to go
off, putting the boat's head out; English Ben and I, who were the
largest, standing on each side of the bows to keep her head out to
the sea, two more shipping and manning the two after oars, and the
captain taking the steering oar. Two or three Mexicans, who stood
upon the beach looking at us, wrapped their cloaks about them,
shook their heads, and muttered ``Caramba!'' They had no taste for
such doings; in fact, the hydrophobia is a national malady, and
shows itself in their persons as well as their actions.

Watching for a ``smooth chance,'' we determined to show the other
boats the way it should be done, and, as soon as ours floated, ran
out with her, keeping her head out, with all our strength, and the
help of the captain's oar, and the two after oarsmen giving way
regularly and strongly, until our feet were off the ground, we
tumbled into the bows, keeping perfectly still, from fear of
hindering the others. For some time it was doubtful how it would
go. The boat stood nearly up and down in the water, and the sea,
rolling from under her, let her fall upon the water with a force
which seemed almost to stave her bottom in. By quietly sliding two
oars forward, along the thwarts, without impeding the rowers, we
shipped two bow oars, and thus, by the help of four oars and the
captain's strong arm, we got safely off, though we shipped several
seas, which left us half full of water. We pulled alongside of the
Loriotte, put her skipper on board, and found her making
preparations for slipping, and then pulled aboard our own ship.
Here Mr. Brown, always ``on hand,'' had got everything ready, so
that we had only to hook on the gig and hoist it up, when the
order was given to loose the sails. While we were on the yards, we
saw the Loriotte under way, and, before our yards were
mast-headed, the Ayacucho had spread her wings, and, with yards
braced sharp up, was standing athwart our hawse. There is no
prettier sight in the world than a full-rigged, clipper-built
brig, sailing sharp on the wind. In a minute more our slip-rope
was gone, the head-yards filled away, and we were off. Next came
the whaler; and in half an hour from the time when four vessels
were lying quietly at anchor, without a rag out, or a sign of
motion, the bay was deserted, and four white clouds were moving
over the water to seaward. Being sure of clearing the point, we
stood off with our yards a little braced in, while the Ayacucho
went off with a taut bowline, which brought her to windward of us.
During all this day, and the greater part of the night, we had the
usual southeaster entertainment, a gale of wind, with occasional
rain, and finally topped off with a drenching rain of three or
four hours. At daybreak the clouds thinned off and rolled away,
and the sun came up clear. The wind, instead of coming out from
the northward, as is usual, blew steadily and freshly from the
anchoring-ground. This was bad for us, for, being ``flying
light,'' with little more than ballast trim, we were in no
condition for showing off on a taut bowline, and had depended upon
a fair wind, with which, by the help of our light sails and
studding-sails, we meant to have been the first at the
anchoring-ground; but the Ayacucho was a good league to windward
of us, and was standing in in fine style. The whaler, however, was
as far to leeward of us, and the Loriotte was nearly out of sight,
among the islands, up the Canal. By hauling every brace and
bowline, and clapping watch-tackles upon all the sheets and
halyards, we managed to hold our own, and drop the leeward vessels
a little in every tack. When we reached the anchoring-ground, the
Ayacucho had got her anchor, furled her sails, squared her yards,
and was lying as quietly as if nothing had happened.

We had our usual good luck in getting our anchor without letting
go another, and were all snug, with our boats at the boom-ends, in
half an hour. In about two hours more the whaler came in, and made
a clumsy piece of work in getting her anchor, being obliged to let
go her best bower, and, finally, to get out a kedge and a hawser.
They were heave-ho-ing, stopping and unstopping, pawling, catting,
and fishing for three hours; and the sails hung from the yards all
the afternoon, and were not furled until sundown. The Loriotte
came in just after dark, and let go her anchor, making no attempt
to pick up the other until the next day.

This affair led to a dispute as to the sailing of our ship and the
Ayacucho. Bets were made between the captains, and the crews took
it up in their own way; but as she was bound to leeward and we to
windward, and merchant captains cannot deviate, a trial never took
place; and perhaps it was well for us that it did not, for the
Ayacucho had been eight years in the Pacific, in every part of it,--
Valparaiso, Sandwich Islands, Canton, California, and all,-- and
was called the fastest merchant-man that traded in the Pacific,
unless it was the brig John Gilpin, and perhaps the ship Ann
McKim, of Baltimore.

Saturday, November 14th. This day we got under way, with the agent
and several Mexicans of note, as passengers, bound up to Monterey.
We went ashore in the gig to bring them off with their baggage,
and found them waiting on the beach, and a little afraid about
going off, as the surf was running very high. This was nuts to us,
for we liked to have a Mexican wet with salt water; and then the
agent was very much disliked by the crew, one and all; and we
hoped, as there was no officer in the boat, to have a chance to
duck them, for we knew that they were such ``marines'' that they
would not know whether it was our fault or not. Accordingly, we
kept the boat so far from shore as to oblige them to wet their
feet in getting into her; and then waited for a good high comber,
and, letting the head slue a little round, sent the whole force of
the sea into the stern-sheets, drenching them from head to feet.
The Mexicans sprang out of the boat, swore, and shook themselves,
and protested against trying it again; and it was with the
greatest difficulty that the agent could prevail upon them to make
another attempt. The next time we took care, and went off easily
enough, and pulled aboard. The crew came to the side to hoist in
their baggage, and heartily enjoyed the half-drowned looks of the
company.

Everything being now ready, and the passengers aboard, we ran up
the ensign and broad pennant (for there was no man-of-war, and we
were the largest vessel on the coast), and the other vessels ran
up their ensigns. Having hove short, cast off the gaskets, and
made the bunt of each sail fast by the jigger, with a man on each
yard, at the word the whole canvas of the ship was loosed, and
with the greatest rapidity possible everything was sheeted home
and hoisted up, the anchor tripped and cat-headed, and the ship
under headway. We were determined to show the ``spouter'' how
things could be done in a smart ship, with a good crew, though not
more than half his numbers. The royal yards were all crossed at
once, and royals and sky-sails set, and, as we had the wind free,
the booms were run out, and all were aloft, active as cats, laying
out on the yards and booms, reeving the studding-sail gear; and
sail after sail the captain piled upon her, until she was covered
with canvas, her sails looking like a great white cloud resting
upon a black speck. Before we doubled the point, we were going at
a dashing rate, and leaving the shipping far astern. We had a fine
breeze to take us through the Canal, as they call this bay of
forty miles long by ten wide. The breeze died away at night, and
we were becalmed all day on Sunday, about half-way between Santa
Barbara and Point Conception. Sunday night we had a light, fair
wind, which set us up again; and having a fine sea-breeze on the
first part of Monday we had the prospect of passing, without any
trouble, Point Conception,-- the Cape Horn of California, where,
the sailors say, it begins to blow the first of January, and blows
until the last of December. Toward the latter part of the
afternoon, however, the regular northwest wind, as usual, set in,
which brought in our studding-sails, and gave us the chance of
beating round the Point, which we were now just abreast of, and
which stretched off into the Pacific, high, rocky, and barren,
forming the central point of the coast for hundreds of miles north
and south. A cap-full of wind will be a bag-full here, and before
night our royals were furled, and the ship was laboring hard under
her top-gallant-sails. At eight bells our watch went below,
leaving her with as much sail as she could stagger under, the
water flying over the forecastle at every plunge. It was evidently
blowing harder, but then there was not a cloud in the sky, and the
sun had gone down bright.

We had been below but a short time, before we had the usual
premonitions of a coming gale,-- seas washing over the whole
forward part of the vessel, and her bows beating against them with
a force and sound like the driving of piles. The watch, too,
seemed very busy trampling about decks, and singing out at the
ropes. A sailor can tell, by the sound, what sail is coming in;
and, in a short time, we heard the top-gallant-sails come in, one
after another, and then the flying jib. This seemed to ease her a
good deal, and we were fast going off to the land of Nod, when--
bang, bang, bang-- on the scuttle, and ``All hands, reef topsails,
ahoy!'' started us out of our berths; and, it not being very cold
weather, we had nothing extra to put on, and were soon on deck. I
shall never forget the fineness of the sight. It was a clear, and
rather a chilly night; the stars were twinkling with an intense
brightness, and as far as the eye could reach there was not a
cloud to be seen. The horizon met the sea in a defined line. A
painter could not have painted so clear a sky. There was not a
speck upon it. Yet it was blowing great guns from the northwest.
When you can see a cloud to windward, you feel that there is a
place for the wind to come from; but here it seemed to come from
nowhere. No person could have told from the heavens, by their
eyesight alone, that it was not a still summer's night. One reef
after another we took in the topsails, and before we could get
them hoisted up we heard a sound like a short, quick rattling of
thunder, and the jib was blown to atoms out of the bolt-rope. We
got the topsails set, and the fragments of the jib stowed away,
and the fore topmast staysail set in its place, when the great
mainsail gaped open, and the sail ripped from head to foot. ``Lay
up on that main yard and furl the sail, before it blows to
tatters!'' shouted the captain; and in a moment we were up,
gathering the remains of it upon the yard. We got it wrapped round
the yard, and passed gaskets over it as snugly as possible, and
were just on deck again, when, with another loud rent, which was
heard throughout the ship, the fore topsail, which had been
double-reefed, split in two athwartships, just below the
reef-band, from earing to earing. Here again it was-- down yard,
haul out reef-tackles, and lay out upon the yard for reefing. By
hauling the reef-tackles chock-a-block we took the strain from the
other earings, and passing the close-reef earing, and knotting the
points carefully, we succeeded in setting the sail, close reefed.

We had but just got the rigging coiled up, and were waiting to
hear ``Go below the watch!'' when the main royal worked loose from
the gaskets, and blew directly out to leeward, flapping, and
shaking the mast like a wand. Here was a job for somebody. The
royal must come in or be cut adrift, or the mast would be snapped
short off. All the light hands in the starboard watch were sent up
one after another, but they could do nothing with it. At length,
John, the tall Frenchman, the head of the starboard watch (and a
better sailor never stepped upon a deck), sprang aloft, and, by
the help of his long arms and legs, succeeded, after a hard
struggle,-- the sail blowing over the yard-arm to leeward, and the
skysail adrift directly over his head,-- in smothering it and
frapping it with long pieces of sinnet. He came very near being
blown or shaken from the yard several times, but he was a true
sailor, every finger a fish-hook. Having made the sail snug, he
prepared to send the yard down, which was a long and difficult
job; for, frequently, he was obliged to stop, and hold on with all
his might for several minutes, the ship pitching so as to make it
impossible to do anything else at that height. The yard at length
came down safe, and, after it, the fore and mizzen royal yards
were sent down. All hands were then sent aloft, and for an hour or
two we were hard at work, making the booms well fast, unreeving
the studding-sail and royal and skysail gear, getting
rolling-ropes on the yard, setting up the weather
breast-backstays, and making other preparations for a storm. It
was a fine night for a gale; just cool and bracing enough for
quick work, without being cold, and as bright as day. It was sport
to have a gale in such weather as this. Yet it blew like a
hurricane. The wind seemed to come with a spite, an edge to it,
which threatened to scrape us off the yards. The force of the wind
was greater than I had ever felt it before; but darkness, cold,
and wet are the worst parts of a storm, to a sailor.

Having got on deck again, we looked round to see what time of
night it was, and whose watch. In a few minutes the man at the
wheel struck four bells, and we found that the other watch was
out, and our own half out. Accordingly, the starboard watch went
below, and left the ship to us for a couple of hours, yet with
orders to stand by for a call.

Hardly had they got below, before away went the fore topmast
staysail, blown to ribands. This was a small sail, which we could
manage in the watch, so that we were not obliged to call up the
other watch. We laid out upon the bowsprit, where we were under
water half the time, and took in the fragments of the sail, and,
as she must have some head sail on her, prepared to bend another
staysail. We got the new one out into the nettings; seized on the
tack, sheets, and halyards, and the hanks; manned the halyards,
cut adrift the frapping-lines, and hoisted away; but before it was
half-way up the stay it was blown all to pieces. When we belayed
the halyards, there was nothing left but the bolt-rope. Now large
eyes began to show themselves in the foresail, and, knowing that
it must soon go, the mate ordered us upon the yard to furl it.
Being unwilling to call up the watch who had been on deck all
night, he roused out the carpenter, sailmaker, cook, and steward,
and with their help we manned the fore yard, and, after nearly
half an hour's struggle, mastered the sail, and got it well furled
round the yard. The force of the wind had never been greater than
at this moment. In going up the rigging, it seemed absolutely to
pin us down to the shrouds; and, on the yard, there was no such
thing as turning a face to windward. Yet here was no driving
sleet, and darkness, and wet, and cold, as off Cape Horn; and
instead of stiff oil-cloth suits, southwester caps, and thick
boots, we had on hats, round jackets, duck trousers, light shoes,
and everything light and easy. These things make a great
difference to a sailor. When we got on deck, the man at the wheel
struck eight bells (four o'clock in the morning), and ``All
Starbowlines, ahoy!'' brought the other watch up, but there was no
going below for us. The gale was now at its height, ``blowing like
scissors and thumb-screws''; the captain was on deck; the ship,
which was light, rolling and pitching as though she would shake
the long sticks out of her, and the sails were gaping open and
splitting in every direction. The mizzen topsail, which was a
comparatively new sail, and close reefed, split from head to foot,
in the bunt; the fore topsail went, in one rent, from clew to
earing, and was blowing to tatters; one of the chain bobstays
parted; the spritsail yard sprung in the slings; the martingale
had slued away off to leeward; and, owing to the long dry weather,
the lee rigging hung in large bights at every lurch. One of the
main top-gallant shrouds had parted; and, to crown all, the galley
had got adrift, and gone over to leeward, and the anchor on the
lee bow had worked loose, and was thumping the side. Here was work
enough for all hands for half a day. Our gang laid out on the
mizzen topsail yard, and after more than half an hour's hard work,
furled the sail, though it bellied out over our heads, and again,
by a slat of the wind, blew in under the yard with a fearful jerk,
and almost threw us off from the foot-ropes.

Double gaskets were passed round the yards, rolling tackles and
other gear bowsed taut, and everything made as secure as it could
be. Coming down, we found the rest of the crew just coming down
the fore rigging, having furled the tattered topsail, or, rather,
swathed it round the yard, which looked like a broken limb,
bandaged. There was no sail now on the ship, but the spanker and
the close-reefed main topsail, which still held good. But this was
too much after sail, and order was given to furl the spanker. The
brails were hauled up, and all the light hands in the starboard
watch sent out on the gaff to pass the gaskets; but they could do
nothing with it. The second mate swore at them for a parcel of
``sogers,'' and sent up a couple of the best men; but they could
do no better, and the gaff was lowered down. All hands were now
employed in setting up the lee rigging, fishing the spritsail
yard, lashing the galley, and getting tackles upon the martingale,
to bowse it to windward. Being in the larboard watch, my duty was
forward, to assist in setting up the martingale. Three of us were
out on the martingale guys and back-ropes for more than half an
hour, carrying out, hooking and unhooking the tackles, several
times buried in the seas, until the mate ordered us in, from fear
of our being washed off. The anchors were then to be taken up on
the rail, which kept all hands on the forecastle for an hour,
though every now and then the seas broke over it, washing the
rigging off to leeward, filling the lee scuppers breast-high, and
washing chock aft to the taffrail.

Having got everything secure again, we were promising ourselves
some breakfast, for it was now nearly nine o'clock in the
forenoon, when the main topsail showed evident signs of giving
way. Some sail must be kept on the ship, and the captain ordered
the fore and main spencer gaffs to be lowered down, and the two
spencers (which were storm sails, bran-new, small, and made of the
strongest canvas) to be got up and bent; leaving the main topsail
to blow away, with a blessing on it, if it would only last until
we could set the spencers. These we bent on very carefully, with
strong robands and seizings, and, making tackles fast to the
clews, bowsed them down to the water-ways. By this time the main
topsail was among the things that have been, and we went aloft to
stow away the remnant of the last sail of all those which were on
the ship twenty-four hours before. The spencers were now the only
whole sails on the ship, and, being strong and small, and near the
deck, presenting but little surface to the wind above the rail,
promised to hold out well. Hove-to under these, and eased by
having no sail above the tops, the ship rose and fell, and drifted
off to leeward like a line-of-battle ship.

It was now eleven o'clock, and the watch was sent below to get
breakfast, and at eight bells (noon), as everything was snug,
although the gale had not in the least abated, the watch was set,
and the other watch and idlers sent below. For three days and
three nights the gale continued with unabated fury, and with
singular regularity. There were no lulls, and very little
variation in its fierceness. Our ship, being light, rolled so as
almost to send the fore yard-arm under water, and drifted off
bodily to leeward. All this time there was not a cloud to be seen
in the sky, day or night; no, not so large as a man's hand. Every
morning the sun rose cloudless from the sea, and set again at
night in the sea, in a flood of light. The stars, too, came out of
the blue one after another, night after night, unobscured, and
twinkled as clear as on a still, frosty night at home, until the
day came upon them. All this time the sea was rolling in immense
surges, white with foam, as far as the eye could reach, on every
side, for we were now leagues and leagues from shore.

The between-decks being empty, several of us slept there in
hammocks, which are the best things in the world to sleep in
during a storm; it not being true of them, as it is of another
kind of bed, ``when the wind blows the cradle will rock''; for it
is the ship that rocks, while they hang vertically from the beams.
During these seventy-two hours we had nothing to do but to turn in
and out, four hours on deck, and four below, eat, sleep, and keep
watch. The watches were only varied by taking the helm in turn,
and now and then by one of the sails, which were furled, blowing
out of the gaskets, and getting adrift, which sent us up on the
yards, and by getting tackles on different parts of the rigging,
which were slack. Once the wheel-rope parted, which might have
been fatal to us, had not the chief mate sprung instantly with a
relieving tackle to windward, and kept the tiller up, till a new
rope could be rove. On the morning of the twentieth, at daybreak,
the gale had evidently done its worst, and had somewhat abated; so
much so that all hands were called to bend new sails, although it
was still blowing as hard as two common gales. One at a time, and
with great difficulty and labor, the old sails were unbent and
sent down by the buntlines, and three new topsails, made for the
homeward passage round Cape Horn, which had never been bent, were
got up from the sail-room, and, under the care of the sailmaker,
were fitted for bending, and sent up by the halyards into the
tops, and, with stops and frapping-lines, were bent to the yards,
close-reefed, sheeted home, and hoisted. These were bent one at a
time, and with the greatest care and difficulty. Two spare courses
were then got up and bent in the same manner and furled, and a
storm-jib, with the bonnet off, bent and furled to the boom. It
was twelve o'clock before we got through, and five hours of more
exhausting labor I never experienced; and no one of that ship's
crew, I will venture to say, will ever desire again to unbend and
bend five large sails in the teeth of a tremendous northwester.
Towards night a few clouds appeared in the horizon, and, as the
gale moderated, the usual appearance of driving clouds relieved
the face of the sky. The fifth day after the commencement of the
storm, we shook a reef out of each topsail, and set the reefed
foresail, jib, and spanker, but it was not until after eight days
of reefed topsails that we had a whole sail on the ship, and then
it was quite soon enough, for the captain was anxious to make up
for leeway, the gale having blown us half the distance to the
Sandwich Islands.

Inch by inch, as fast as the gale would permit, we made sail on
the ship, for the wind still continued ahead, and we had many
days' sailing to get back to the longitude we were in when the
storm took us. For eight days more we beat to windward under a
stiff top-gallant breeze, when the wind shifted and became
variable. A light southeaster, to which we could carry a reefed
topmast studding-sail, did wonders for our dead reckoning.

Friday, December 4th. After a passage of twenty days, we arrived
at the mouth of the Bay of San Francisco.

[1] I have been told that this description of a whaleman has given
offence to the whale-trading people of Nantucket, New Bedford, and
the Vineyard. It is not exaggerated; and the appearance of such a
ship and crew might well impress a young man trained in the ways
of a ship of the style of the Alert. Long observation has
satisfied me that there are no better seamen, so far as handling a
ship is concerned, and none so venturous and skilful navigators,
as the masters and officers of our whalemen. But never, either on
this voyage, or in a subsequent visit to the Pacific and its
islands, was it my fortune to fall in with a whaleship whose
appearance, and the appearance of whose crew, gave signs of
strictness of discipline and seaman-like neatness. Probably these
things are impossibilities, from the nature of the business, and I
may have made too much of them.

[2] This visiting between the crews of ships at sea is called, among
whalemen, ``gamming.''

CHAPTER XXVI

Our place of destination had been Monterey, but as we were to the
northward of it when the wind hauled ahead, we made a fair wind for
San Francisco. This large bay, which lies in latitude 37° 58', was
discovered by Sir Francis Drake, and by him represented to be (as
indeed it is) a magnificent bay, containing several good harbors,
great depth of water, and surrounded by a fertile and finely wooded
country. About thirty miles from the mouth of the bay, and on the
southeast side, is a high point, upon which the Presidio is built.
Behind this point is the little harbor, or bight, called Yerba
Buena, in which trading-vessels anchor, and, near it, the Mission
of Dolores. There was no other habitation on this side of the Bay,
except a shanty of rough boards put up by a man named Richardson,
who was doing a little trading between the vessels and the
Indians.[1] Here, at anchor, and the only vessel, was a brig under
Russian colors, from Sitka, in Russian America, which had come down
to winter, and to take in a supply of tallow and grain, great
quantities of which latter article are raised in the Missions at
the head of the bay. The second day after our arrival we went on
board the brig, it being Sunday, as a matter of curiosity; and
there was enough there to gratify it. Though no larger than the
Pilgrim, she had five or six officers, and a crew of between twenty
and thirty; and such a stupid and greasy-looking set, I never saw
before. Although it was quite comfortable weather and we had nothing
on but straw hats, shirts, and duck trousers, and were barefooted,
they had, every man of them, doubled-soled boots, coming up to the
knees, and well greased; thick woollen trousers, frocks,
waistcoats, pea-jackets, woollen caps, and everything in true Nova
Zembla rig; and in the warmest days they made no change. The
clothing of one of these men would weigh nearly as much as that
of half our crew. They had brutish faces, looked like the antipodes
of sailors, and apparently dealt in nothing but grease. They lived
upon grease; eat it, drank it, slept in the midst of it, and their
clothes were covered with it. To a Russian, grease is the greatest
luxury. They looked with greedy eyes upon the tallow-bags as they
were taken into the vessel, and, no doubt, would have eaten one up
whole, had not the officer kept watch over it. The grease appeared
to fill their pores, and to come out in their hair and on their
faces. It seems as if it were this saturation which makes them
stand cold and rain so well. If they were to go into a warm climate,
they would melt and die of the scurvy.

The vessel was no better than the crew. Everything was in the
oldest and most inconvenient fashion possible: running trusses and
lifts on the yards, and large hawser cables, coiled all over the
decks, and served and parcelled in all directions. The topmasts,
top-gallant-masts, and studding-sail booms were nearly black for
want of scraping, and the decks would have turned the stomach of a
man-of-war's-man. The galley was down in the forecastle; and there
the crew lived, in the midst of the steam and grease of the
cooking, in a place as hot as an oven, and apparently never
cleaned out. Five minutes in the forecastle was enough for us, and
we were glad to get into the open air. We made some trade with
them, buying Indian curiosities, of which they had a great number;
such as bead-work, feathers of birds, fur moccasons, &c. I
purchased a large robe, made of the skins of some animal, dried
and sewed nicely together, and covered all over on the outside
with thick downy feathers, taken from the breasts of various
birds, and arranged with their different colors so as to make a
brilliant show.

A few days after our arrival the rainy season set in, and for
three weeks it rained almost every hour, without cessation. This
was bad for our trade, for the collecting of hides is managed
differently in this port from what it is in any other on the
coast. The Mission of Dolores, near the anchorage, has no trade at
all; but those of San José, Santa Clara, and others situated on
the large creeks or rivers which run into the bay, and distant
between fifteen and forty miles from the anchorage, do a greater
business in hides than any in California. Large boats, or
launches, manned by Indians, and capable of carrying from five to
six hundred hides apiece, are attached to the Missions, and sent
down to the vessels with hides, to bring away goods in return.
Some of the crews of the vessels are obliged to go and come in the
boats, to look out for the hides and goods. These are favorite
expeditions with the sailors in fine weather; but now, to be gone
three or four days, in open boats, in constant rain, without any
shelter, and with cold food, was hard service. Two of our men went
up to Santa Clara in one of these boats, and were gone three days,
during all which time they had a constant rain, and did not sleep
a wink, but passed three long nights walking fore and aft the
boat, in the open air. When they got on board they were completely
exhausted, and took a watch below of twelve hours. All the hides,
too, that came down in the boats were soaked with water, and unfit
to put below, so that we were obliged to trice them up to dry, in
the intervals of sunshine or wind, upon all parts of the vessel.
We got up tricing-lines from the jib-boom-end to each arm of the
fore yard, and thence to the main and cross-jack yard-arms.
Between the tops, too, and the mast-heads, from the fore to the
main swifters, and thence to the mizzen rigging, and in all
directions athwartships, tricing-lines were run, and strung with
hides. The head stays and guys, and the spritsail yard were lined,
and, having still more, we got out the swinging-booms, and strung
them and the forward and after guys with hides. The rail, fore and
aft, the windlass, capstan, the sides of the ship, and every
vacant place on deck, were covered with wet hides, on the least
sign of an interval for drying. Our ship was nothing but a mass of
hides, from the cat-harpins to the water's edge, and from the
jib-boom-end to the taffrail.

One cold, rainy evening, about eight o'clock, I received orders to
get ready to start for San José at four the next morning, in one
of these Indian boats, with four days' provisions. I got my
oil-cloth clothes, southwester, and thick boots ready, and turned
into my hammock early, determined to get some sleep in advance, as
the boat was to be alongside before daybreak. I slept on till all
hands were called in the morning; for, fortunately for me, the
Indians, intentionally, or from mistaking their orders, had gone
off alone in the night, and were far out of sight. Thus I escaped
three or four days of very uncomfortable service.

Four of our men, a few days afterwards, went up in one of the
quarter-boats to Santa Clara, to carry the agent, and remained out
all night in a drenching rain, in the small boat, in which there
was not room for them to turn round; the agent having gone up to
the Mission and left the men to their fate, making no provision
for their accommodation, and not even sending them anything to
eat. After this they had to pull thirty miles, and when they got
on board were so stiff that they could not come up the gangway
ladder. This filled up the measure of the agent's unpopularity,
and never after this could he get anything done for him by the
crew; and many a delay and vexation, and many a good ducking in
the surf, did he get to pay up old scores, or ``square the yards
with the bloody quill-driver.''

Having collected nearly all the hides that were to be procured, we
began our preparations for taking in a supply of wood and water,
for both of which San Francisco is the best place on the coast. A
small island, about two leagues from the anchorage, called by us
``Wood Island,'' and by the Mexicans ``Isla de los Angeles,'' was
covered with trees to the water's edge; and to this two of our
crew, who were Kennebec men, and could handle an axe like a
plaything, were sent every morning to cut wood, with two boys to
pile it up for them. In about a week they had cut enough to last
us a year, and the third mate, with myself and three others, were
sent over in a large, schooner-rigged, open launch, which we had
hired of the Mission, to take in the wood, and bring it to the
ship. We left the ship about noon, but owing to a strong head
wind, and a tide which here runs four or five knots, did not get
into the harbor, formed by two points of the island, where the
boats lie, until sundown. No sooner had we come-to, than a strong
southeaster, which had been threatening us all day, set in, with
heavy rain and a chilly air. We were in rather a bad situation: an
open boat, a heavy rain, and a long night; for in winter, in this
latitude, it was dark nearly fifteen hours. Taking a small skiff
which we had brought with us, we went ashore, but discovered no
shelter, for everything was open to the rain; and, collecting a
little wood, which we found by lifting up the leaves and brush,
and a few mussels, we put aboard again, and made the best
preparations in our power for passing the night. We unbent the
mainsail, and formed an awning with it over the after part of the
boat, made a bed of wet logs of wood, and, with our jackets on,
lay down, about six o'clock, to sleep. Finding the rain running
down upon us, and our jackets getting wet through, and the rough,
knotty logs rather indifferent couches, we turned out; and, taking
an iron pan which we brought with us, we wiped it out dry, put
some stones around it, cut the wet bark from some sticks, and,
striking a light, made a small fire in the pan. Keeping some
sticks near to dry, and covering the whole over with a roof of
boards, we kept up a small fire, by which we cooked our mussels,
and ate them, rather for an occupation than from hunger. Still it
was not ten o'clock, and the night was long before us, when one of
the party produced an old pack of Spanish cards from his
monkey-jacket pocket, which we hailed as a great windfall; and,
keeping a dim, flickering light by our fagots, we played game
after game, till one or two o'clock, when, becoming really tired,
we went to our logs again, one sitting up at a time, in turn, to
keep watch over the fire. Toward morning the rain ceased, and the
air became sensibly colder, so that we found sleep impossible, and
sat up, watching for daybreak. No sooner was it light than we went
ashore, and began our preparations for loading our vessel. We were
not mistaken in the coldness of the weather, for a white frost was
on the ground, and-- a thing we had never seen before in
California-- one or two little puddles of fresh water were skimmed
over with a thin coat of ice. In this state of the weather, and
before sunrise, in the gray of the morning, we had to wade off,
nearly up to our hips in water, to load the skiff with the wood by
armfuls. The third mate remained on board the launch, two more men
stayed in the skiff to load and manage it, and all the water-work,
as usual, fell upon the two youngest of us; and there we were with
frost on the ground, wading forward and back, from the beach to
the boat, with armfuls of wood, barefooted, and our trousers
rolled up. When the skiff went off with her load, we could only
keep our feet from freezing by racing up and down the beach on the
hard sand, as fast as we could go. We were all day at this work,
and toward sundown, having loaded the vessel as deep as she would
bear, we hove up our anchor and made sail, beating out of the bay.
No sooner had we got into the large bay than we found a strong
tide setting us out to seaward, a thick fog which prevented our
seeing the ship, and a breeze too light to set us against the
tide, for we were as deep as a sand-barge. By the utmost
exertions, we saved ourselves from being carried out to sea, and
were glad to reach the leewardmost point of the island, where we
came-to, and prepared to pass another night more uncomfortable
than the first, for we were loaded up to the gunwale, and had only
a choice among logs and sticks for a resting-place. The next
morning we made sail at slack water, with a fair wind, and got on
board by eleven o'clock, when all hands were turned-to to unload
and stow away the wood, which took till night.

Having now taken in all our wood, the next morning a water-party
was ordered off with all the casks. From this we escaped, having
had a pretty good siege with the wooding. The water-party were
gone three days, during which time they narrowly escaped being
carried out to sea, and passed one day on an island, where one of
them shot a deer, great numbers of which overrun the islands and
hills of San Francisco Bay.

While not off on these wood and water parties, or up the rivers to
the Missions, we had easy times on board the ship. We were moored,
stem and stern, within a cable's length of the shore, safe from
southeasters, and with little boating to do; and, as it rained
nearly all the time, awnings were put over the hatchways, and all
hands sent down between decks, where we were at work, day after
day, picking oakum, until we got enough to calk the ship all over,
and to last the whole voyage. Then we made a whole suit of gaskets
for the voyage home, a pair of wheel-ropes from strips of green
hide, great quantities of spun-yarn, and everything else that
could be made between decks. It being now midwinter and in high
latitude, the nights were very long, so that we were not turned-to
until seven in the morning, and were obliged to knock off at five
in the evening, when we got supper; which gave us nearly three
hours before eight bells, at which time the watch was set.

As we had now been about a year on the coast, it was time to think
of the voyage home; and, knowing that the last two or three months
of our stay would be very busy ones, and that we should never have
so good an opportunity to work for ourselves as the present, we
all employed our evenings in making clothes for the passage home,
and more especially for Cape Horn. As soon as supper was over and
the kids cleared away, and each man had taken his smoke, we seated
ourselves on our chests round the lamp, which swung from a beam,
and went to work each in his own way, some making hats, others
trousers, others jackets, &c., &c., and no one was idle. The boys
who could not sew well enough to make their own clothes laid up
grass into sinnet for the men, who sewed for them in return.
Several of us clubbed together and bought a large piece of twilled
cotton, which we made into trousers and jackets, and, giving them
several coats of linseed oil, laid them by for Cape Horn. I also
sewed and covered a tarpaulin hat, thick and strong enough to sit
upon, and made myself a complete suit of flannel underclothing for
bad weather. Those who had no southwester caps made them; and
several of the crew got up for themselves tarpaulin jackets and
trousers, lined on the inside with flannel. Industry was the order
of the day, and every one did something for himself; for we knew
that as the season advanced, and we went further south, we should
have no evenings to work in.

Friday, December 25th. This day was Christmas; and, as it rained
all day long, and there were no hides to take in, and nothing
especial to do, the captain gave us a holiday (the first we had
had, except Sundays, since leaving Boston), and plum-duff for
dinner. The Russian brig, following the Old Style, had celebrated
their Christmas eleven days before, when they had a grand blow-out,
and (as our men said) drank, in the forecastle, a barrel of gin,
ate up a bag of tallow, and made a soup of the skin.

Sunday, December 27th. We had now finished all our business at
this port, and, it being Sunday, we unmoored ship and got under
way, firing a salute to the Russian brig, and another to the
presidio, which were both answered. The commandante of the
presidio, Don Guadalupe Vallejo, a young man, and the most
popular, among the Americans and English, of any man in
California, was on board when we got under way. He spoke English
very well, and was suspected of being favorably inclined to
foreigners.

We sailed down this magnificent bay with a light wind, the tide,
which was running out, carrying us at the rate of four or five
knots. It was a fine day; the first of entire sunshine we had had
for more than a month. We passed directly under the high cliff on
which the presidio is built, and stood into the middle of the bay,
from whence we could see small bays making up into the interior,
large and beautifully wooded islands, and the mouths of several
small rivers. If California ever becomes a prosperous country,
this bay will be the centre of its prosperity. The abundance of
wood and water; the extreme fertility of its shores; the
excellence of its climate, which is as near to being perfect as
any in the world; and its facilities for navigation, affording the
best anchoring-grounds in the whole western coast of America,--
all fit it for a place of great importance.

The tide leaving us, we came to anchor near the mouth of the bay,
under a high and beautifully sloping hill, upon which herds of
hundreds and hundreds of red deer, and the stag, with his high
branching antlers, were bounding about, looking at us for a
moment, and then starting off, affrighted at the noises which we
made for the purpose of seeing the variety of their beautiful
attitudes and motions.

At midnight, the tide having turned, we hove up our anchor and
stood out of the bay, with a fine starry heaven above us,-- the
first we had seen for many weeks. Before the light northerly
winds, which blow here with the regularity of trades, we worked
slowly along, and made Point Año Nuevo, the northerly point of the
Bay of Monterey, on Monday afternoon. We spoke, going in, the brig
Diana, of the Sandwich Islands, from the Northwest Coast, last
from Sitka. She was off the point at the same time with us, but
did not get in to the anchoring-ground until an hour or two after
us. It was ten o'clock on Tuesday morning when we came to anchor.
Monterey looked just as it did when I saw it last, which was
eleven months before, in the brig Pilgrim. The pretty lawn on
which it stands, as green as sun and rain could make it; the pine
wood on the south; the small river on the north side; the adobe
houses, with their white walls and red-tiled roofs, dotted about
on the green; the low, white presidio, with its soiled tri-colored
flag flying, and the discordant din of drums and trumpets of the
noon parade,-- all brought up the scene we had witnessed here with
so much pleasure nearly a year before, when coming from a long
voyage, and from our unprepossessing reception at Santa Barbara.
It seemed almost like coming to a home.

[1] The next year Richardson built a one-story adobe house on the
same spot, which was long afterwards known as the oldest house in
the great city of San Francisco.

CHAPTER XXVII

The only other vessel in the port was a Russian government bark
from Sitka, mounting eight guns (four of which we found to be
quakers), and having on board the ex-governor, who was going in
her to Mazatlan, and thence overland to Vera Cruz. He offered to
take letters, and deliver them to the American consul at Vera
Cruz, whence they could be easily forwarded to the United States.
We accordingly made up a packet of letters, almost every one
writing, and dating them ``January 1st, 1836.'' The governor was
true to his promise, and they all reached Boston before the middle
of March; the shortest communication ever yet made across the
country.

The brig Pilgrim had been lying in Monterey through the latter
part of November, according to orders, waiting for us. Day after
day Captain Faucon went up to the hill to look out for us, and at
last gave us up, thinking we must have gone down in the gale which
we experienced off Point Conception, and which had blown with
great fury over the whole coast, driving ashore several vessels in
the snuggest ports. An English brig, which had put into San
Francisco, lost both her anchors, the Rosa was driven upon a mud
bank in San Diego, and the Pilgrim, with great difficulty, rode
out the gale in Monterey, with three anchors ahead. She sailed
early in December for San Diego and intermedios.

As we were to be here over Sunday, and Monterey was the best place
to go ashore on the whole coast, and we had had no liberty-day for
nearly three months, every one was for going ashore. On Sunday
morning as soon as the decks were washed, and we were through
breakfast, those who had obtained liberty began to clean
themselves, as it is called, to go ashore. Buckets of fresh water,
cakes of soap, large coarse towels, and we went to work scrubbing
one another, on the forecastle. Having gone through this, the next
thing was to step into the head,-- one on each side,-- with a
bucket apiece, and duck one another, by drawing up water and
heaving over each other, while we were stripped to a pair of
trousers. Then came the rigging up. The usual outfit of pumps,
white stockings, loose white duck trousers, blue jackets, clean
checked shirts, black kerchiefs, hats well varnished, with a
fathom of black ribbon over the left eye, a silk handkerchief
flying from the outside jacket pocket, and four or five dollars
tied up in the back of the neckerchief, and we were ``all right.''
One of the quarter-boats pulled us ashore, and we streamed up to
the town. I tried to find the church, in order to see the worship,
but was told that there was no service, except a mass early in the
morning; so we went about the town, visiting the Americans and
English, and the Mexicans whom we had known when we were here
before. Toward noon we procured horses, and rode out to the Carmel
Mission, which is about a league from the town, where we got
something in the way of a dinner-- beef, eggs, fríjoles,
tortillas, and some middling wine-- from the mayor-domo, who, of
course, refused to make any charge, as it was the Lord's gift, yet
received our present, as a gratuity, with a low bow, a touch of
the hat, and ``Dios se lo pague!''

After this repast we had a fine run, scouring the country on our
fleet horses, and came into town soon after sundown. Here we found
our companions, who had refused to go to ride with us, thinking
that a sailor has no more business with a horse than a fish has
with a balloon. They were moored, stem and stern, in a grog-shop,
making a great noise, with a crowd of Indians and hungry
half-breeds about them, and with a fair prospect of being stripped
and dirked, or left to pass the night in the calabozo. With a
great deal of trouble we managed to get them down to the boats,
though not without many angry looks and interferences from the
Mexicans, who had marked them out for their prey. The Diana's crew--
a set of worthless outcasts who had been picked up at the
islands from the refuse of whale-ships-- were all as drunk as
beasts, and had a set-to on the beach with their captain, who was
in no better state than themselves. They swore they would not go
aboard, and went back to the town, were robbed and beaten, and
lodged in the calabozo, until the next day, when the captain
brought them out. Our forecastle, as usual after a liberty-day,
was a scene of tumult all night long, from the drunken ones. They
had just got to sleep toward morning, when they were turned-up
with the rest, and kept at work all day in the water, carrying
hides, their heads aching so that they could hardly stand. This is
sailor's pleasure.

Nothing worthy of remark happened while we were here, except a
little boxing-match on board our own ship, which gave us something
to talk about. Our broad-backed, big-headed Cape Cod boy, about
sixteen years old, had been playing the bully, for the whole
voyage, over a slender, delicate-looking boy from one of the
Boston schools, and over whom he had much the advantage in
strength, age, and experience in the ship's duty, for this was the
first time the Boston boy had been on salt water. The latter,
however, had ``picked up his crumbs,'' was learning his duty, and
getting strength and confidence daily, and began to assert his
rights against his oppressor. Still, the other was his master,
and, by his superior strength, always tackled with him and threw
him down. One afternoon, before we were turned-to, these boys got
into a violent squabble in the between-decks, when George (the
Boston boy) said he would fight Nat if he could have fair play.
The chief mate heard the noise, dove down the hatchway, hauled
them both up on deck, and told them to shake hands and have no
more trouble for the voyage, or else they should fight till one
gave in for beaten. Finding neither willing to make an offer of
reconciliation, he called all hands up (for the captain was
ashore, and he could do as he chose aboard), ranged the crew in
the waist, marked a line on the deck, brought the two boys up to
it, making them ``toe the mark''; then made the bight of a rope
fast to a belaying-pin, and stretched it across the deck, bringing
it just above their waists. ``No striking below the rope!'' And
there they stood, one on each side of it, face to face, and went
at it like two game-cocks. The Cape Cod boy, Nat, put in his
double-fisters, starting the blood, and bringing the
black-and-blue spots all over the face and arms of the other, whom
we expected to see give in every moment; but, the more he was
hurt, the better he fought. Again and again he was knocked nearly
down, but up he came again and faced the mark, as bold as a lion,
again to take the heavy blows, which sounded so as to make one's
heart turn with pity for him. At length he came up to the mark the
last time, his shirt torn from his body, his face covered with
blood and bruises, and his eyes flashing fire, and swore he would
stand there until one or the other was killed, and set-to like a
young fury. ``Hurrah in the bow!'' said the men, cheering him on.
``Never say die, while there's a shot in the locker!'' Nat tried
to close with him, knowing his advantage, but the mate stopped
that, saying there should be fair play, and no fingering. Nat then
came up to the mark, but looked white about the mouth, and his
blows were not given with half the spirit of his first. Something
was the matter. I was not sure whether he was cowed, or, being
good-natured, he did not care to beat the boy any more. At all
events he faltered. He had always been master, and had nothing to
gain and everything to lose; while the other fought for honor and
freedom, and under a sense of wrong. It was soon over. Nat gave
in,-- apparently not much hurt,-- and never afterwards tried to
act the bully over the boy. We took George forward, washed him in
the deck-tub, complimented his pluck, and from this time he became
somebody on board, having fought himself into notice. Mr. Brown's
plan had a good effect, for there was no more quarrelling among
the boys for the rest of the voyage.

Wednesday, January 6th, 1836. Set sail from Monterey, with a
number of Mexicans as passengers, and shaped our course for Santa
Barbara. The Diana went out of the bay in company with us, but
parted from us off Point Pinos, being bound to the Sandwich
Islands. We had a smacking breeze for several hours, and went
along at a great rate until night, when it died away, as usual,
and the land-breeze set in, which brought us upon a taut bowline.
Among our passengers was a young man who was a good representation
of a decayed gentleman. He reminded me much of some of the
characters in Gil Blas. He was of the aristocracy of the country,
his family being of pure Spanish blood, and once of considerable
importance in Mexico. His father had been governor of the
province, and, having amassed a large property, settled at San
Diego, where he built a large house with a court-yard in front,
kept a retinue of Indians, and set up for the grandee of that part
of the country. His son was sent to Mexico, where he received an
education, and went into the first society of the capital.
Misfortune, extravagance, and the want of any manner of getting
interest on money, soon ate the estate up, and Don Juan Bandini
returned from Mexico accomplished, poor, and proud, and without
any office or occupation, to lead the life of most young men of
the better families,-- dissipated and extravagant when the means
are at hand; ambitious at heart, and impotent in act; often
pinched for bread; keeping up an appearance of style, when their
poverty is known to each half-naked Indian boy in the street, and
standing in dread of every small trader and shopkeeper in the
place. He had a slight and elegant figure, moved gracefully,
danced and waltzed beautifully, spoke good Castilian, with a
pleasant and refined voice and accent, and had, throughout, the
bearing of a man of birth and figure. Yet here he was, with his
passage given him (as I afterwards learned), for he had not the
means of paying for it, and living upon the charity of our agent.
He was polite to every one, spoke to the sailors, and gave four
reals-- I dare say the last he had in his pocket-- to the steward,
who waited upon him. I could not but feel a pity for him,
especially when I saw him by the side of his fellow-passenger and
townsman, a fat, coarse, vulgar, pretentious fellow of a Yankee
trader, who had made money in San Diego, and was eating out the
vitals of the Bandinis, fattening upon their extravagance,
grinding them in their poverty; having mortgages on their lands,
forestalling their cattle, and already making an inroad upon their
jewels, which were their last hope.

Don Juan had with him a retainer, who was as much like many of the
characters in Gil Blas as his master. He called himself a private
secretary, though there was no writing for him to do, and he lived
in the steerage with the carpenter and sailmaker. He was certainly
a character; could read and write well; spoke good Spanish; had
been over the greater part of Spanish America, and lived in every
possible situation, and served in every conceivable capacity,
though generally in that of confidential servant to some man of
figure. I cultivated this man's acquaintance, and during the five
weeks that he was with us,-- for he remained on board until we
arrived at San Diego,-- I gained a greater knowledge of the state
of political parties in Mexico, and the habits and affairs of the
different classes of society, than I could have learned from
almost any one else. He took great pains in correcting my Spanish,
and supplying me with colloquial phrases, and common terms and
exclamations, in speaking. He lent me a file of late newspapers
from the city of Mexico, which were full of the triumphal
reception of Santa Ana, who had just returned from Tampico after a
victory, and with the preparations for his expedition against the
Texans. ``Viva Santa Ana!'' was the byword everywhere, and it had
even reached California, though there were still many here, among
whom was Don Juan Bandini, who were opposed to his government, and
intriguing to bring in Bustamente. Santa Ana, they said, was for
breaking down the Missions; or, as they termed it, ``Santa Ana no
quiere religion.'' Yet I had no doubt that the office of
administrador of San Diego would reconcile Don Juan to any
dynasty, and any state of the church. In these papers, too, I
found scraps of American and English news; but which was so
unconnected, and I was so ignorant of everything preceding them
for eighteen months past, that they only awakened a curiosity
which they could not satisfy. One article spoke of Taney as
Justicia Mayor de los Estados Unidos, (what had become of
Marshall? was he dead, or banished?) and another made known, by
news received from Vera Cruz, that ``El Vizconde Melbourne'' had
returned to the office of ``primer ministro,'' in place of Sir
Roberto Peel. (Sir Robert Peel had been minister, then? and where
were Earl Grey and the Duke of Wellington?) Here were the outlines
of grand political overturns, the filling up of which I was left
to imagine at my leisure.

The second morning after leaving Monterey, we were off Point
Conception. It was a bright, sunny day, and the wind, though
strong, was fair; and everything was in striking contrast with our
experience in the same place two months before, when we were
drifting off from a northwester under a fore and main spencer.
``Sail ho!'' cried a man who was rigging out a top-gallant
studding-sail boom.-- ``Where away?''-- ``Weather beam, sir!'' and
in a few minutes a full-rigged brig was seen standing out from
under Point Conception. The studding-sail halyards were let go,
and the yards boom-ended, the after yards braced aback, and we
waited her coming down. She rounded to, backed her main topsail,
and showed her decks full of men, four guns on a side, hammock
nettings, and everything man-of-war fashion, except that there was
no boatswain's whistle, and no uniforms on the quarter-deck. A
short, square-built man, in a rough gray jacket, with a
speaking-trumpet in hand, stood in the weather hammock nettings.
``Ship ahoy!''-- ``Hallo!''-- ``What ship is that, pray?''--
``Alert.''-- ``Where are you from, pray?'' &c., &c. She proved to
be the brig Convoy, from the Sandwich Islands, engaged in
otter-hunting among the islands which lie along the coast. Her
armament was because of her being a contrabandista. The otter are
very numerous among these islands, and, being of great value, the
government require a heavy sum for a license to hunt them, and lay
a high duty upon every one shot or carried out of the country.
This vessel had no license, and paid no duty, besides being
engaged in smuggling goods on board other vessels trading on the
coast, and belonging to the same owners in Oahu. Our captain told
him to look out for the Mexicans, but he said that they had not an
armed vessel of his size in the whole Pacific. This was without
doubt the same vessel that showed herself off Santa Barbara a few
months before. These vessels frequently remain on the coast for
years, without making port, except at the islands for wood and
water, and an occasional visit to Oahu for a new outfit.

Sunday, January 10th. Arrived at Santa Barbara, and on the
following Wednesday slipped our cable and went to sea, on account
of a southeaster. Returned to our anchorage the next day. We were
the only vessel in the port. The Pilgrim had passed through the
Canal and hove-to off the town, nearly six weeks before, on her
passage down from Monterey, and was now at the leeward. She heard
here of our safe arrival at San Francisco.

Great preparations were making on shore for the marriage of our
agent, who was to marry Doña Anita de la Guerra de Noriego y
Corillo, youngest daughter of Don Antonio Noriego, the grandee of
the place, and the head of the first family in California. Our
steward was ashore three days, making pastry and cake, and some of
the best of our stores were sent off with him. On the day
appointed for the wedding, we took the captain ashore in the gig,
and had orders to come for him at night, with leave to go up to
the house and see the fandango. Returning on board, we found
preparations making for a salute. Our guns were loaded and run
out, men appointed to each, cartridges served out, matches
lighted, and all the flags ready to be run up. I took my place at
the starboard after gun, and we all waited for the signal from on
shore. At ten o'clock the bride went up with her sister to the
confessional, dressed in deep black. Nearly an hour intervened,
when the great doors of the Mission church opened, the bells rang
out a loud, discordant peal, the private signal for us was run up
by the captain ashore, the bride, dressed in complete white, came
out of the church with the bridegroom, followed by a long
procession. Just as she stepped from the church door, a small
white cloud issued from the bows of our ship, which was full in
sight, the loud report echoed among the surrounding hills and over
the bay, and instantly the ship was dressed in flags and pennants
from stem to stern. Twenty-three guns followed in regular
succession, with an interval of fifteen seconds between each, when
the cloud blew off, and our ship lay dressed in her colors all
day. At sundown another salute of the same number of guns was
fired, and all the flags run down. This we thought was pretty well--
a gun every fifteen seconds-- for a merchantman with only four
guns and a dozen or twenty men.

After supper, the gig's crew were called, and we rowed ashore,
dressed in our uniform, beached the boat, and went up to the
fandango. The bride's father's house was the principal one in the
place, with a large court in front, upon which a tent was built,
capable of containing several hundred people. As we drew near, we
heard the accustomed sound of violins and guitars, and saw a great
motion of the people within. Going in, we found nearly all the
people of the town-- men, women, and children-- collected and
crowded together, leaving barely room for the dancers; for on
these occasions no invitations are given, but every one is
expected to come, though there is always a private entertainment
within the house for particular friends. The old women sat down in
rows, clapping their hands to the music, and applauding the young
ones. The music was lively, and among the tunes we recognized
several of our popular airs, which we, without doubt, have taken
from the Spanish. In the dancing I was much disappointed. The
women stood upright, with their hands down by their sides, their
eyes fixed upon the ground before them, and slided about without
any perceptible means of motion; for their feet were invisible,
the hem of their dresses forming a circle about them, reaching to
the ground. They looked as grave as though they were going through
some religious ceremony, their faces as little excited as their
limbs; and on the whole, instead of the spirited, fascinating
Spanish dances which I had expected, I found the Californian
fandango, on the part of the women at least, a lifeless affair.
The men did better. They danced with grace and spirit, moving in
circles round their nearly stationary partners, and showing their
figures to advantage.

A great deal was said about our friend Don Juan Bandini, and when
he did appear, which was toward the close of the evening, he
certainly gave us the most graceful dancing that I had ever seen.
He was dressed in white pantaloons, neatly made, a short jacket of
dark silk, gayly figured, white stockings and thin morocco
slippers upon his very small feet. His slight and graceful figure
was well adapted to dancing, and he moved about with the grace and
daintiness of a young fawn. An occasional touch of the toe to the
ground seemed all that was necessary to give him a long interval
of motion in the air. At the same time he was not fantastic or
flourishing, but appeared to be rather repressing a strong
tendency to motion. He was loudly applauded, and danced frequently
toward the close of the evening. After the supper, the waltzing
began, which was confined to a very few of the ``gente de razon,''
and was considered a high accomplishment, and a mark of
aristocracy. Here, too, Don Juan figured greatly, waltzing with
the sister of the bride (Doña Angustias, a handsome woman and a
general favorite) in a variety of beautiful figures, which lasted
as much as half an hour, no one else taking the floor. They were
repeatedly and loudly applauded, the old men and women jumping out
of their seats in admiration, and the young people waving their
hats and handkerchiefs. The great amusement of the evening-- owing
to its being the Carnival-- was the breaking of eggs filled with
cologne, or other essences, upon the heads of the company. The
women bring a great number of these secretly about them, and the
amusement is to break one upon the head of a gentleman when his
back is turned. He is bound in gallantry to find out the lady and
return the compliment, though it must not be done if the person
sees you. A tall, stately Don, with immense gray whiskers, and a
look of great importance, was standing before me, when I felt a
light hand on my shoulder, and, turning round, saw Doña Angustias
(whom we all knew, as she had been up to Monterey, and down again,
in the Alert), with her finger upon her lip, motioning me gently
aside. I stepped back a little, when she went up behind the Don,
and with one hand knocked off his huge sombrero, and at the same
instant, with the other, broke the egg upon his head, and,
springing behind me, was out of sight in a moment. The Don turned
slowly round, the cologne running down his face and over his
clothes, and a loud laugh breaking out from every quarter. He
looked round in vain for some time, until the direction of so many
laughing eyes showed him the fair offender. She was his niece, and
a great favorite with him, so old Don Domingo had to join in the
laugh. A great many such tricks were played, and many a war of
sharp manoeuvring was carried on between couples of the younger
people, and at every successful exploit a general laugh was
raised.

Another of their games I was for some time at a loss about. A
pretty young girl was dancing, named-- after what would appear to
us an almost sacrilegious custom of the country-- Espíritu Santo,
when a young man went behind her and placed his hat directly upon
her head, letting it fall down over her eyes, and sprang back
among the crowd. She danced for some time with the hat on, when
she threw it off, which called forth a general shout, and the
young man was obliged to go out upon the floor and pick it up.
Some of the ladies, upon whose heads hats had been placed, threw
them off at once, and a few kept them on throughout the dance, and
took them off at the end, and held them out in their hands, when
the owner stepped out, bowed, and took it from them. I soon began
to suspect the meaning of the thing, and was afterwards told that
it was a compliment, and an offer to become the lady's gallant for
the rest of the evening, and to wait upon her home. If the hat was
thrown off, the offer was refused, and the gentleman was obliged
to pick up his hat amid a general laugh. Much amusement was caused
sometimes by gentlemen putting hats on the ladies' heads, without
permitting them to see whom it was done by. This obliged them to
throw them off, or keep them on at a venture, and when they came
to discover the owner the laugh was turned upon one or the other.

The captain sent for us about ten o'clock, and we went aboard in
high spirits, having enjoyed the new scene much, and were of great
importance among the crew, from having so much to tell, and from
the prospect of going every night until it was over; for these
fandangos generally last three days. The next day, two of us were
sent up to the town, and took care to come back by way of Señor
Noriego's, and take a look into the booth. The musicians were
again there, upon their platform, scraping and twanging away, and
a few people, apparently of the lower classes, were dancing. The
dancing is kept up, at intervals, throughout the day, but the
crowd, the spirit, and the élite come in at night. The next night,
which was the last, we went ashore in the same manner, until we
got almost tired of the monotonous twang of the instruments, the
drawling sounds which the women kept up, as an accompaniment, and
the slapping of the hands in time with the music, in place of
castanets. We found ourselves as great objects of attention as any
persons or anything at the place. Our sailor dresses-- and we took
great pains to have them neat and ship-shape-- were much admired,
and we were invited, from every quarter, to give them an American
dance; but after the ridiculous figure some of our countrymen cut
in dancing after the Mexicans, we thought it best to leave it to
their imaginations. Our agent, with a tight, black, swallow-tailed
coat just imported from Boston, a high stiff cravat, looking as if
he had been pinned and skewered, with only his feet and hands left
free, took the floor just after Bandini, and we thought they had
had enough of Yankee grace.

The last night they kept it up in great style, and were getting
into a high-go, when the captain called us off to go aboard, for,
it being southeaster season, he was afraid to remain on shore
long; and it was well he did not, for that night we slipped our
cables, as a crowner to our fun ashore, and stood off before a
southeaster, which lasted twelve hours, and returned to our
anchorage the next day.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Monday, February, 1st. After having been in port twenty-one days,
we sailed for San Pedro, where we arrived on the following day,
having gone ``all fluking,'' with the weather clew of the mainsail
hauled up, the yards braced in a little, and the lower
studding-sail just drawing; the wind hardly shifting a point
during the passage. Here we found the Ayacucho and the Pilgrim,
which last we had not seen since the 11th of September,-- nearly
five months; and I really felt something like an affection for the
old brig which had been my first home, and in which I had spent
nearly a year, and got the first rough and tumble of a sea life.
She, too, was associated in my mind with Boston, the wharf from
which we sailed, anchorage in the stream, leave-taking, and all
such matters, which were now to me like small links connecting me
with another world, which I had once been in, and which, please
God, I might yet see again. I went on board the first night, after
supper; found the old cook in the galley, playing upon the fife
which I had given him as a parting present; had a hearty shake of
the hand from him; and dove down into the forecastle, where were
my old shipmates, the same as ever, glad to see me; for they had
nearly given us up as lost, especially when they did not find us
in Santa Barbara. They had been at San Diego last, had been lying
at San Pedro nearly a month, and had received three thousand hides
from the pueblo. But--

                    ``Sic vos non vobis''

these we took from her the next day, which filled us up, and we
both got under way on the 4th, she bound to San Francisco again,
and we to San Diego, where we arrived on the 6th.

We were always glad to see San Diego; it being the depot, and a
snug little place, and seeming quite like home, especially to me,
who had spent a summer there. There was no vessel in port, the
Rosa having sailed for Valparaiso and Cadiz, and the Catalina for
Callao, nearly a month before. We discharged our hides, and in
four days were ready to sail again for the windward; and, to our
great joy-- for the last time! Over thirty thousand hides had been
already collected, cured, and stowed away in the house, which,
together with what we should collect, and the Pilgrim would bring
down from San Francisco, would make out our cargo. The thought
that we were actually going up for the last time, and that the
next time we went round San Diego point it would be ``homeward
bound,'' brought things so near a close that we felt as though we
were just there, though it must still be the greater part of a
year before we could see Boston.

I spent one evening, as had been my custom, at the oven with the
Sandwich-Islanders; but it was far from being the usual noisy,
laughing time. It has been said that the greatest curse to each of
the South Sea Islands was the first man who discovered it; and
every one who knows anything of the history of our commerce in
those parts knows how much truth there is in this; and that the
white men, with their vices, have brought in diseases before
unknown to the islanders, which are now sweeping off the native
population of the Sandwich Islands at the rate of one fortieth of
the entire population annually. They seem to be a doomed people.
The curse of a people calling themselves Christians seems to
follow them everywhere; and even here, in this obscure place, lay
two young islanders, whom I had left strong, active young men, in
the vigor of health, wasting away under a disease which they would
never have known but for their intercourse with people from
Christian America and Europe. One of them was not so ill, and was
moving about, smoking his pipe, and talking, and trying to keep up
his spirits; but the other, who was my friend and aikane, Hope,
was the most dreadful object I had ever seen in my life,-- his
eyes sunken and dead, his cheeks fallen in against his teeth, his
hands looking like claws; a dreadful cough, which seemed to rack
his whole shattered system, a hollow, whispering voice, and an
entire inability to move himself. There he lay, upon a mat, on the
ground, which was the only floor of the oven, with no medicine, no
comforts, and no one to care for or help him but a few Kanakas,
who were willing enough, but could do nothing. The sight of him
made me sick and faint. Poor fellow! During the four months that I
lived upon the beach, we were continually together, in work, and
in our excursions in the woods and upon the water. I felt a strong
affection for him, and preferred him to any of my own countrymen
there; and I believe there was nothing which he would not have
done for me. When I came into the oven he looked at me, held out
his hand, and said, in a low voice, but with a delightful smile,
``Aloha, Aikane! Aloha nui!'' I comforted him as well as I could,
and promised to ask the captain to help him from the
medicine-chest, and told him I had no doubt the captain would do
what he could for him, as he had worked in our employ for several
years, both on shore and aboard our vessels on the coast. I went
aboard and turned into my hammock, but I could not sleep.

Thinking, from my education, that I must have some knowledge of
medicine, the Kanakas had insisted upon my examining him
carefully; and it was not a sight to be forgotten. One of our
crew, an old man-of-war's-man of twenty years' standing, who had
seen sin and suffering in every shape, and whom I afterwards took
to see Hope, said it was dreadfully worse than anything he had
ever seen, or even dreamed of. He was horror-struck, as his
countenance showed; yet he had been among the worst cases in our
naval hospitals. I could not get the thought of the poor fellow
out of my head all night,-- his dreadful suffering, and his
apparently inevitable horrible end.

The next day I told Captain Thompson of Hope's state, and asked
him if he would be so kind as to go and see him.

``What? a d---d Kanaka?''

``Yes, sir,'' said I; ``but he has worked four years for our
vessels, and has been in the employ of our owners, both on shore
and aboard.''

``Oh! he be d---d!'' said the captain, and walked off.

This man died afterwards of a fever on the deadly coast of
Sumatra; and God grant he had better care taken of him in his
sufferings than he ever gave to any one else.

Finding nothing was to be got from the captain, I consulted an old
shipmate, who had much experience in these matters, and got a
recipe from him, which he kept by him. With this I went to the
mate, and told him the case. Mr. Brown had been intrusted with the
general care of the medicine-chest, and although a driving fellow,
and a taut hand in a watch, he had good feelings, and was inclined
to be kind to the sick. He said that Hope was not strictly one of
the crew, but, as he was in our employ when taken sick, he should
have the medicines; and he got them and gave them to me, with
leave to go ashore at night. Nothing could exceed the delight of
the Kanakas, when I came, bringing the medicines. All their terms
of affection and gratitude were spent upon me, and in a sense
wasted (for I could not understand half of them), yet they made
all known by their manner. Poor Hope was so much revived at the
bare thought of anything being done for him that he seemed already
stronger and better. I knew he must die as he was, and he could
but die under the medicines, and any chance was worth running. An
oven exposed to every wind and change of weather is no place to
take calomel; but nothing else would do, and strong remedies must
be used, or he was gone. The applications, internal and external,
were powerful, and I gave him strict directions to keep warm and
sheltered, telling him it was his only chance for life. Twice
after this, I visited him, having only time to run up, while
waiting in the boat. He promised to take his medicines regularly
while we were up the coast, until we returned, and insisted upon
it that he was doing better.

We got under way on the 10th, bound up to San Pedro, and had three
days of calm and head winds, making but little progress. On the
fourth, we took a stiff southeaster, which obliged us to reef our
topsails. While on the yard, we saw a sail on the weather bow, and
in about half an hour passed the Ayacucho, under double-reefed
topsails, beating down to San Diego. Arrived at San Pedro on the
fourth day, and came-to in the old place, a league from shore,
with no other vessel in port, and the prospect of three weeks or
more of dull life, rolling goods up a slippery hill, carrying
hides on our heads over sharp stones, and, perhaps, slipping for a
southeaster.

There was but one man in the only house here, and him I shall
always remember as a good specimen of a California ranger. He had
been a tailor in Philadelphia, and, getting intemperate and in
debt, joined a trapping party, and went to the Columbia River, and
thence down to Monterey, where he spent everything, left his
party, and came to the Pueblo de los Angeles to work at his trade.
Here he went dead to leeward among the pulperías, gambling-rooms,
&c., and came down to San Pedro to be moral by being out of
temptation. He had been in the house several weeks, working hard
at his trade, upon orders which he had brought with him, and
talked much of his resolution, and opened his heart to us about
his past life. After we had been here some time, he started off
one morning, in fine spirits, well dressed, to carry the clothes
which he had been making to the pueblo, and saying that he would
bring back his money and some fresh orders the next day. The next
day came, and a week passed, and nearly a fortnight, when one day,
going ashore, we saw a tall man, who looked like our friend the
tailor, getting out of the back of an Indian's cart, which had
just come down from the pueblo. He stood for the house, but we
bore up after him; when, finding that we were overhauling him, he
hove-to and spoke us. Such a sight! Barefooted, with an old pair
of trousers tied round his waist by a piece of green hide, a
soiled cotton shirt, and a torn Indian hat; ``cleaned out'' to the
last real, and completely ``used up.'' He confessed the whole
matter; acknowledged that he was on his back; and now he had a
prospect of a fit of the horrors for a week, and of being worse
than useless for months. This is a specimen of the life of half of
the Americans and English who are adrift along the coasts of the
Pacific and its islands,-- commonly called ``beach-combers.'' One
of the same stamp was Russell, who was master of the hide-house at
San Diego while I was there, but had been afterwards dismissed for
his misconduct. He spent his own money, and nearly all the stores
among the half-bloods upon the beach, and went up to the presidio,
where he lived the life of a desperate ``loafer,'' until some
rascally deed sent him off ``between two days,'' with men on
horseback, dogs, and Indians in full cry after him, among the
hills. One night he burst into our room at the hide-house,
breathless, pale as a ghost, covered with mud, and torn by thorns
and briers, nearly naked, and begged for a crust of bread, saying
he had neither eaten nor slept for three days. Here was the great
Mr. Russell, who a month before was ``Don Tomas,'' ``Capitan de la
playa,'' ``Maestro de la casa,'' &c., &c., begging food and
shelter of Kanakas and sailors. He stayed with us till he had
given himself up, and was dragged off to the calabozo.

Another, and a more amusing, specimen was one whom we saw at San
Francisco. He had been a lad on board the ship California, in one
of her first voyages, and ran away and commenced Ranchero,
gambling, stealing horses, &c. He worked along up to San
Francisco, and was living on a rancho near there while we were in
port. One morning, when we went ashore in the boat, we found him
at the landing-place, dressed in California style,-- a wide hat,
faded velveteen trousers, and a blanket thrown over his shoulders,--
and wishing to go off in the boat, saying he was going to pasear
with our captain a little. We had many doubts of the reception he
would meet with; but he seemed to think himself company for any
one. We took him aboard, landed him at the gangway, and went about
our work, keeping an eye upon the quarter-deck, where the captain
was walking. The lad went up to him with complete assurance, and,
raising his hat, wished him a good afternoon. Captain Thompson
turned round, looked at him from head to foot, and, saying coolly,
``Hallo! who the hell are you?'' kept on his walk. This was a
rebuff not to be mistaken, and the joke passed about among the
crew by winks and signs at different parts of the ship. Finding
himself disappointed at head-quarters, he edged along forward to
the mate, who was overseeing some work upon the forecastle, and
tried to begin a yarn; but it would not do. The mate had seen the
reception he had met with aft, and would have no cast-off company.
The second mate was aloft, and the third mate and myself were
painting the quarter-boat, which hung by the davits, so he betook
himself to us; but we looked at each other, and the officer was
too busy to say a word. From us, he went to one and another of the
crew, but the joke had got before him, and he found everybody busy
and silent. Looking over the rail a few moments afterward, we saw
him at the galley-door talking with the cook. This was indeed a
come-down, from the highest seat in the synagogue to a seat in the
galley with the black cook. At night, too, when supper was called,
he stood in the waist for some time, hoping to be asked down with
the officers, but they went below, one after another, and left
him. His next chance was with the carpenter and sailmaker, and he
lounged round the after hatchway until the last had gone down. We
had now had fun enough out of him, and, taking pity on him,
offered him a pot of tea, and a cut at the kid, with the rest, in
the forecastle. He was hungry, and it was growing dark, and he
began to see that there was no use in playing the caballero any
longer, and came down into the forecastle, put into the ``grub''
in sailor's style, threw off all his airs, and enjoyed the joke as
much as any one; for a man must take a joke among sailors. He gave
us an account of his adventures in the country,-- roguery and all,--
and was very entertaining. He was a smart, unprincipled fellow,
was in many of the rascally doings of the country, and gave us a
great deal of interesting information as to the ways of the world
we were in.

Saturday, February 13th. Were called up at midnight to slip for a
violent northeaster; for this miserable hole of San Pedro is
thought unsafe in almost every wind. We went off with a flowing
sheet, and hove-to under the lee of Catalina Island, where we lay
three days, and then returned to our anchorage.

Tuesday, February 23d. This afternoon a signal was made from the
shore, and we went off in the gig, and found the agent's clerk,
who had been up to the pueblo, waiting at the landing-place, with
a package under his arm, covered with brown paper and tied
carefully with twine. No sooner had we shoved off than he told us
there was good news from Santa Barbara. ``What's that?'' said one
of the crew; ``has the bloody agent slipped off the hooks? Has the
old bundle of bones got him at last?''-- ``No; better than that.
The California has arrived.'' Letters, papers, news, and, perhaps,--
friends, on board! Our hearts were all up in our mouths, and we
pulled away like good fellows, for the precious packet could not
be opened except by the captain. As we pulled under the stern, the
clerk held up the package, and called out to the mate, who was
leaning over the taffrail; that the California had arrived.

``Hurrah!'' said the mate, so as to be heard fore and aft;
``California come, and news from Boston!''

Instantly there was a confusion on board which no one would
understand who had not been in the same situation. All discipline
seemed for a moment relaxed.

``What's that, Mr. Brown?'' said the cook, putting his head out of
the galley; ``California come?''

``Aye, aye! you angel of darkness, and there's a letter for you
from Bullknop 'treet, number two-two-five,-- green door and brass
knocker!''

The packet was sent down into the cabin, and every one waited to
hear of the result. As nothing came up, the officers began to feel
that they were acting rather a child's part, and turned the crew
to again; and the same strict discipline was restored, which
prohibits speech between man and man while at work on deck; so
that, when the steward came forward with letters for the crew,
each man took his letters, carried them below to his chest, and
came up again immediately, and not a letter was read until we had
cleared up decks for the night.

An overstrained sense of manliness is the characteristic of
sea-faring men. This often gives an appearance of want of feeling,
and even of cruelty. From this, if a man comes within an ace of
breaking his neck and escapes, it is made a joke of; and no notice
must be taken of a bruise or a cut; and any expression of pity, or
any show of attention, would look sisterly, and unbecoming a man
who has to face the rough and tumble of such a life. From this
cause, too, the sick are neglected at sea, and, whatever sailors
may be ashore, a sick man finds little sympathy or attention,
forward or aft. A man, too, can have nothing peculiar or sacred on
board ship; for all the nicer feelings they take pride in
disregarding, both in themselves and others. A thin-skinned man
could hardly live on shipboard. One would be torn raw unless he
had the hide of an ox. A moment of natural feeling for home and
friends, and then the frigid routine of sea life returned. Jokes
were made upon those who showed any interest in the expected news,
and everything near and dear was made common stock for rude jokes
and unfeeling coarseness, to which no exception could be taken by
any one.

Supper, too, must be eaten before the letters were read; and when,
at last, they were brought out, they all got round any one who had
a letter, and expected to hear it read aloud, and have it all in
common. If any one went by himself to read, it was-- ``Fair play,
there, and no skulking!'' I took mine and went into the
sailmaker's berth where I could read it without interruption. It
was dated August, just a year from the time I had sailed from
home, and every one was well, and no great change had taken place.
Thus, for one year, my mind was set at ease, yet it was already
six months from the date of the letter, and what another year
would bring to pass who could tell? Every one away from home
thinks that some great thing must have happened, while to those at
home there seems to be a continued monotony and lack of incident.

As much as my feelings were taken up by my own news from home, I
could not but be amused by a scene in the steerage. The carpenter
had been married just before leaving Boston, and during the voyage
had talked much about his wife, and had to bear and forbear, as
every man, known to be married, must, aboard ship; yet the
certainty of hearing from his wife by the first ship seemed to
keep up his spirits. The California came, the packet was brought
on board, no one was in higher spirits than he; but when the
letters came forward, there was none for him. The captain looked
again, but there was no mistake. Poor ``Chips'' could eat no
supper. He was completely down in the mouth. ``Sails'' (the
sailmaker) tried to comfort him, and told him he was a bloody fool
to give up his grub for any woman's daughter, and reminded him
that he had told him a dozen times that he'd never see or hear
from his wife again.

``Ah!'' said Chips, ``you don't know what it is to have a wife,
and-- ''

``Don't I?'' said Sails; and then came, for the hundredth time,
the story of his coming ashore at New York, from the Constellation
frigate, after a cruise of four years round the Horn,-- being paid
off with over five hundred dollars,-- marrying, and taking a
couple of rooms in a four-story house,-- furnishing the rooms
(with a particular account of the furniture, including a dozen
flag-bottomed chairs, which he always dilated upon whenever the
subject of furniture was alluded to),-- going off to sea again,
leaving his wife half-pay like a fool,-- coming home and finding
her ``off, like Bob's horse, with nobody to pay the reckoning'';
furniture gone, flag-bottomed chairs and all,-- and with it his
``long togs,'' the half-pay, his beaver hat, and white linen
shirts. His wife he never saw or heard of from that day to this,
and never wished to. Then followed a sweeping assertion, not much
to the credit of the sex, in which he has Pope to back him.
``Come, Chips, cheer up like a man, and take some hot grub! Don't
be made a fool of by anything in petticoats! As for your wife,
you'll never see her again; she was `up keeleg and off' before you
were outside of Cape Cod. You've hove your money away like a fool;
but every man must learn once, just as I did; so you'd better
square the yards with her, and make the best of it.''

This was the best consolation ``Sails'' had to offer, but it did
not seem to be just the thing the carpenter wanted; for, during
several days, he was very much dejected, and bore with difficulty
the jokes of the sailors, and with still more difficulty their
attempts at advice and consolation, of most of which the sailmaker's
was a good specimen.

Thursday, February 25th. Set sail for Santa Barbara, where we
arrived on Sunday, the 28th. We just missed seeing the California,
for she had sailed three days before, bound to Monterey, to enter
her cargo and procure her license, and thence to San Francisco,
&c. Captain Arthur left files of Boston papers for Captain
Thompson, which, after they had been read and talked over in the
cabin, I procured from my friend the third mate. One file was of
all the Boston Transcripts for the month of August, 1835, and the
rest were about a dozen Daily Advertisers and Couriers of
different dates. After all, there is nothing in a strange land
like a newspaper from home. Even a letter, in many respects, is
nothing in comparison with it. It carries you back to the spot
better than anything else. It is almost equal to clairvoyance. The
names of the streets, with the things advertised, are almost as
good as seeing the signs; and while reading ``Boy lost!'' one can
almost hear the bell and well-known voice of ``Old Wilson,''
crying the boy as ``strayed, stolen, or mislaid!'' Then there was
the Commencement at Cambridge, and the full account of the
exercises at the graduating of my own class. A list of all those
familiar names (beginning as usual with Abbot, and ending with W),
which, as I read them over, one by one, brought up their faces and
characters as I had known them in the various scenes of college
life. Then I imagined them upon the stage, speaking their
orations, dissertations, colloquies, &c., with the familiar
gestures and tones of each, and tried to fancy the manner in which
each would handle his subject. ----, handsome, showy, and
superficial;  ----, with his strong head, clear brain, cool
self-possession; ----, modest, sensitive, and underrated; ----, the
mouth-piece of the debating clubs, noisy, vaporous, and
democratic; and, so, following. Then I could see them receiving
their A.B.'s from the dignified, feudal-looking President, with
his ``auctoritate mihi commissâ,'' and walking off the stage with
their diplomas in their hands; while upon the same day their
classmate was walking up and down California beach with a hide
upon his head.

Every watch below, for a week, I pored over these papers, until I
was sure there could be nothing in them that had escaped my
attention, and was ashamed to keep them any longer.

Saturday, March 5th. This was an important day in our almanac, for
it was on this day that we were first assured that our voyage was
really drawing to a close. The captain gave orders to have the
ship ready for getting under way; and observed that there was a
good breeze to take us down to San Pedro. Then we were not going
up to windward. Thus much was certain, and was soon known fore and
aft; and when we went in the gig to take him off, he shook hands
with the people on the beach, and said that he did not expect to
see Santa Barbara again. This settled the matter, and sent a
thrill of pleasure through the heart of every one in the boat. We
pulled off with a will, saying to ourselves (I can speak for
myself at least), ``Good by, Santa Barbara! This is the last pull
here! No more duckings in your breakers, and slipping from your
cursed southeasters!'' The news was soon known aboard, and put
life into everything when we were getting under way. Each one was
taking his last look at the Mission, the town, the breakers on the
beach, and swearing that no money would make him ship to see them
again; and when all hands tallied on to the cat-fall, the chorus
of ``Time for us to go!'' was raised for the first time, and
joined in, with full swing, by everybody. One would have thought
we were on our voyage home, so near did it seem to us, though
there were yet three months for us on the coast.

We left here the young Englishman, George Marsh, of whom I have
before spoken, who was wrecked upon the Pelew Islands. He left us
to take the berth of second mate on board the Ayacucho, which was
lying in port. He was well qualified for this post, and his
education would enable him to rise to any situation on board ship.
I felt really sorry to part from him. There was something about
him which excited my curiosity; for I could not, for a moment,
doubt that he was well born, and, in early life, well bred. There
was the latent gentleman about him, and the sense of honor, and no
little of the pride, of a young man of good family. The situation
was offered him only a few hours before we sailed; and though he
must give up returning to America, yet I have no doubt that the
change from a dog's berth to an officer's was too agreeable to his
feelings to be declined. We pulled him on board the Ayacucho, and
when he left the boat he gave each of its crew a piece of money
except myself, and shook hands with me, nodding his head, as much
as to say ``We understand each other,'' and sprang on board. Had I
known, an hour sooner, that he was to leave us, I would have made
an effort to get from him the true history of his birth and early
life. He knew that I had no faith in the story which he told the
crew about them, and perhaps, in the moment of parting from me,
probably forever, he would have given me the true account. Whether
I shall ever meet him again, or whether his manuscript narrative
of his adventures in the Pelew Islands, which would be creditable
to him and interesting to the world, will ever see the light, I
cannot tell. His is one of those cases which are more numerous
than those suppose who have never lived anywhere but in their own
homes, and never walked but in one line from their cradles to
their graves. We must come down from our heights, and leave our
straight paths for the by-ways and low places of life, if we would
learn truths by strong contrasts; and in hovels, in forecastles,
and among our own outcasts in foreign lands, see what has been
wrought among our fellow-creatures by accident, hardship, or vice.

Two days brought us to San Pedro, and two days more (to our no
small joy) gave us our last view of that place, which was
universally called the hell of California, and seemed designed in
every way for the wear and tear of sailors. Not even the last view
could bring out one feeling of regret. No thanks, thought I, as we
left the hated shores in the distance, for the hours I have walked
over your stones barefooted, with hides on my head,-- for the
burdens I have carried up your steep, muddy hill,-- for the
duckings in your surf; and for the long days and longer nights
passed on your desolate hill, watching piles of hides, hearing the
sharp bark of your eternal coyotes, and the dismal hooting of your
owls.

As I bade good by to each successive place, I felt as though one
link after another were struck from the chain of my servitude.
Having kept close in shore for the land-breeze, we passed the
Mission of San Juan Capistrano the same night, and saw distinctly,
by the bright moonlight, the cliff which I had gone down by a pair
of halyards in search of a few paltry hides.

                  ``Forsan et haec olim,''

thought I, and took my last look of that place too. And on the
next morning we were under the high point of San Diego. The flood
tide took us swiftly in, and we came-to opposite our hide-house,
and prepared to get everything in trim for a long stay. This was
our last port. Here we were to discharge everything from the ship,
clean her out, smoke her, take in our hides, wood, and water, and
set sail for Boston. While all this was doing, we were to lie
still in one place, the port a safe one, and no fear of
southeasters. Accordingly, having picked out a good berth in the
stream, with a smooth beach opposite for a landing-place, and
within two cables' length of our hide-house, we moored ship,
unbent the sails, sent down the top-gallant-yards and the
studding-sail booms, and housed the top-gallant-masts. The boats
were then hove out and all the sails, the spare spars, the stores,
the rigging not rove, and, in fact, everything which was not in
daily use, sent ashore, and stowed away in the house. Then went
our hides and horns, and we left hardly anything in the ship but
her ballast, and this we made preparations to heave out the next
day. At night, after we had knocked off, and were sitting round in
the forecastle, smoking and talking, and taking sailor's pleasure,
we congratulated ourselves upon being in that situation in which
we had wished ourselves every time we had come into San Diego.
``If we were only here for the last time,'' we had often said,
``with our top-gallant-masts housed and our sails unbent!''-- and
now we had our wish. Six weeks, or two months, of the hardest work
we had yet seen, but not the most disagreeable or trying, was
before us, and then-- ``Good by to California!''

CHAPTER XXIX

We turned-in early, knowing that we might expect an early call;
and sure enough, before the stars had quite faded, ``All hands
ahoy!'' and we were turned-to, heaving out ballast. A regulation
of the port forbids any ballast to be thrown overboard;
accordingly, our long-boat was lined inside with rough boards and
brought alongside the gangway, but where one tubful went into the
boat twenty went overboard. This is done by every vessel, as it
saves more than a week of labor, which would be spent in loading
the boats, rowing them to the point, and unloading them. When any
people from the presidio were on board, the boat was hauled up and
the ballast thrown in; but when the coast was clear, she was
dropped astern again, and the ballast fell overboard. This is one
of those petty frauds which many vessels practise in ports of
inferior foreign nations, and which are lost sight of among the
deeds of greater weight which are hardly less common. Fortunately,
a sailor, not being a free agent in work aboard ship, is not
accountable; yet the fact of being constantly employed, without
thought, in such things, begets an indifference to the rights of
others.

Friday, and a part of Saturday, we were engaged in this work,
until we had thrown out all but what we wanted under our cargo on
the passage home; when, as the next day was Sunday, and a good day
for smoking ship, we cleared everything out of the cabin and
forecastle, made a slow fire of charcoal, birch bark, brimstone,
and other matters, on the ballast in the bottom of the hold,
calked up the hatches and every open seam, and pasted over the
cracks of the windows, and the slides of the scuttles and
companion-way. Wherever smoke was seen coming out, we calked and
pasted and, so far as we could, made the ship smoke tight. The
captain and officers slept under the awning which was spread over
the quarter-deck; and we stowed ourselves away under an old
studding-sail, which we drew over one side of the forecastle. The
next day, from fear that something might happen in the way of
fire, orders were given for no one to leave the ship, and, as the
decks were lumbered up, we could not wash them down, so we had
nothing to do all day long. Unfortunately, our books were where we
could not get at them, and we were turning about for something to
do, when one man recollected a book he had left in the galley. He
went after it, and it proved to be Woodstock. This was a great
windfall, and as all could not read it at once, I, being the
scholar of the company, was appointed reader. I got a knot of six
or eight about me, and no one could have had a more attentive
audience. Some laughed at the ``scholars,'' and went over the
other side of the forecastle to work and spin their yarns; but I
carried the day, and had the cream of the crew for my hearers.
Many of the reflections, and the political parts, I omitted, but
all the narrative they were delighted with; especially the
descriptions of the Puritans, and the sermons and harangues of the
Round-head soldiers. The gallantry of Charles, Dr. Radcliffe's
plots, the knavery of ``trusty Tompkins,''-- in fact, every part
seemed to chain their attention. Many things which, while I was
reading, I had a misgiving about, thinking them above their
tastes, I was surprised to find them enter into completely.

I read nearly all day, until sundown; when, as soon as supper was
over, as I had nearly finished, they got a light from the galley;
and, by skipping what was less interesting, I carried them through
to the marriage of Everard, and the restoration of Charles the
Second, before eight o'clock.

The next morning, we took the battens from the hatches, and opened
the ship. A few stifled rats were found; and what bugs,
cockroaches, fleas, and other vermin there might have been on
board must have unrove their life-lines before the hatches were
opened. The ship being now ready, we covered the bottom of the
hold over, fore and aft, with dried brush for dunnage, and, having
levelled everything away, we were ready to take in our cargo. All
the hides that had been collected since the California left the
coast (a little more than two years), amounting to about forty
thousand, had been cured, dried, and stowed away in the house,
waiting for our good ship to take them to Boston.

Now began the operation of taking in our cargo, which kept us hard
at work, from the gray of the morning till starlight, for six
weeks, with the exception of Sundays, and of just time to swallow
our meals. To carry the work on quicker, a division of labor was
made. Two men threw the hides down from the piles in the house,
two more picked them up and put them on a long horizontal pole,
raised a few feet from the ground, where they were beaten by two
more with flails, somewhat like those used in threshing wheat.
When beaten, they were taken from this pole by two more, and
placed upon a platform of boards; and ten or a dozen men, with
their trousers rolled up, and hides upon their heads, were
constantly going back and forth from the platform to the boat,
which was kept off where she would just float. The throwing the
hides upon the pole was the most difficult work, and required a
sleight of hand which was only to be got by long practice. As I
was known for a hide-curer, this post was assigned to me, and I
continued at it for six or eight days, tossing, in that time, from
eight to ten thousand hides, until my wrists became so lame that I
gave in, and was transferred to the gang that was employed in
filling the boats, where I remained for the rest of the time. As
we were obliged to carry the hides on our heads from fear of their
getting wet, we each had a piece of sheepskin sewed into the
inside of our hats, with the wool next our heads, and thus were
able to bear the weight, day after day, which might otherwise have
worn off our hair, and borne hard upon our skulls. Upon the whole
ours was the best berth, for though the water was nipping cold,
early in the morning and late at night, and being so continually
wet was rather an exposure, yet we got rid of the constant dust
and dirt from the beating of the hides, and, being all of us young
and hearty, did not mind the exposure. The older men of the crew,
whom it would have been imprudent to keep in the water, remained
on board with the mate, to stow the hides away, as fast as they
were brought off by the boats.

We continued at work in this manner until the lower hold was
filled to within four feet of the beams, when all hands were
called aboard to begin steeving. As this is a peculiar operation,
it will require a minute description.

Before stowing the hides, as I have said, the ballast is levelled
off, just above the keelson, and then loose dunnage is placed upon
it, on which the hides rest. The greatest care is used in stowing,
to make the ship hold as many hides as possible. It is no mean
art, and a man skilled in it is an important character in
California. Many a dispute have I heard raging high between
professed ``beach-combers,'' as to whether the hides should be
stowed ``shingling,'' or ``back-to-back and flipper-to-flipper'';
upon which point there was an entire and bitter division of
sentiment among the savans. We adopted each method at different
periods of the stowing, and parties ran high in the forecastle,
some siding with ``old Bill'' in favor of the former, and others
scouting him and relying upon ``English Bob'' of the Ayacucho, who
had been eight years in California, and was willing to risk his
life and limb for the latter method. At length a compromise was
effected, and a middle course of shifting the ends and backs at
every lay was adopted, which worked well, and which each party
granted was better than that of the other, though inferior to its
own.

Having filled the ship up, in this way, to within four feet of her
beams, the process of steeving began, by which a hundred hides are
got into a place where scarce one could be forced by hand, and
which presses the hides to the utmost, sometimes starting the
beams of the ship,-- resembling in its effects the jack-screws
which are used in stowing cotton. Each morning we went ashore, and
beat and brought off as many hides as we could steeve in a day,
and, after breakfast, went down into the hold, where we remained
at work until night, except a short spell for dinner. The length
of the hold, from stem to stern, was floored off level; and we
began with raising a pile in the after part, hard against the
bulkhead of the run, and filling it up to the beams, crowding in
as many as we could by hand and pushing in with oars, when a large
``book'' was made of from twenty-five to fifty hides, doubled at
the backs, and placed one within another, so as to leave but one
outside hide for the book. An opening was then made between two
hides in the pile, and the back of the outside hide of the book
inserted. Above and below this book were placed smooth strips of
wood, well greased, called ``ways,'' to facilitate the sliding in
of the book. Two long, heavy spars, called steeves, made of the
strongest wood, and sharpened off like a wedge at one end, were
placed with their wedge ends into the inside of the hide which was
the centre of the book, and to the other end of each straps were
fitted, into which large tackles[1] were hooked, composed each of
two huge purchase blocks, one hooked to the strap on the end of
the steeve, and the other into a dog, fastened into one of the
beams, as far aft as it could be got. When this was arranged, and
the ways greased upon which the book was to slide, the falls of
the tackles were stretched forward, and all hands tallied on, and
bowsed away upon them until the book was well entered, when these
tackles were nippered, straps and toggles clapped upon the falls,
and two more luff tackles hooked on, with dogs, in the same
manner; and thus, by luff upon luff, the power was multiplied,
until into a pile in which one hide more could not be crowded by
hand a hundred or a hundred and fifty were often driven by this
complication of purchases. When the last luff was hooked on, all
hands were called to the rope,-- cook, steward, and all,-- and
ranging ourselves at the falls, one behind the other, sitting down
on the hides, with our heads just even with the beams, we set taut
upon the tackles, and striking up a song, and all lying back at
the chorus, we bowsed the tackles home, and drove the large books
chock in out of sight.

The sailors' songs for capstans and falls are of a peculiar kind,
having a chorus at the end of each line. The burden is usually
sung by one alone, and, at the chorus, all hands join in,-- and,
the louder the noise, the better. With us, the chorus seemed
almost to raise the decks of the ship, and might be heard at a
great distance ashore. A song is as necessary to sailors as the
drum and fife to a soldier. They must pull together as soldiers
must step in time, and they can't pull in time, or pull with a
will, without it. Many a time, when a thing goes heavy, with one
fellow yo-ho-ing, a lively song, like ``Heave, to the girls!''
``Nancy O!'' ``Jack Crosstree,'' ``Cheerly, men,'' &c., has put
life and strength into every arm. We found a great difference in
the effect of the various songs in driving in the hides. Two or
three songs would be tried, one after the other, with no effect,--
not an inch could be got upon the tackles; when a new song, struck
up, seemed to hit the humor of the moment, and drove the tackles
``two blocks'' at once. ``Heave round hearty!'' ``Captain gone
ashore!'' ``Dandy ship and a dandy crew,'' and the like, might do
for common pulls, but on an emergency, when we wanted a heavy,
``raise-the-dead pull,'' which should start the beams of the ship,
there was nothing like ``Time for us to go!'' ``Round the
corner,'' ``Tally high ho! you know,'' or ``Hurrah! hurrah! my
hearty bullies!''

This was the most lively part of our work. A little boating and
beach work in the morning; then twenty or thirty men down in a
close hold, where we were obliged to sit down and slide about,
passing hides, and rowsing about the great steeves, tackles, and
dogs, singing out at the falls, and seeing the ship filling up
every day. The work was as hard as it could well be. There was not
a moment's cessation from Monday morning till Saturday night, when
we were generally beaten out, and glad to have a full night's
rest, a wash and shift of clothes, and a quiet Sunday. During all
this time-- which would have startled Dr. Graham-- we lived upon
almost nothing but fresh beef; fried beefsteaks, three times a
day,-- morning, noon, and night. At morning and night we had a
quart of tea to each man, and an allowance of about a pound of
hard bread a day; but our chief article of food was beef. A mess,
consisting of six men, had a large wooden kid piled up with
beefsteaks, cut thick, and fried in fat, with the grease poured
over them. Round this we sat, attacking it with our jack-knives
and teeth, and with the appetite of young lions, and sent back an
empty kid to the galley. This was done three times a day. How many
pounds each man ate in a day I will not attempt to compute. A
whole bullock (we ate liver and all) lasted us but four days. Such
devouring of flesh, I will venture to say, is not often seen. What
one man ate in a day, over a hearty man's allowance, would make an
English peasant's heart leap into his mouth. Indeed, during all
the time we were upon the coast, our principal food was fresh
beef, and every man had perfect health; but this was a time of
especial devouring, and what we should have done without meat I
cannot tell. Once or twice, when our bullocks failed, and we were
obliged to make a meal upon dry bread and water, it seemed like
feeding upon shavings. Light and dry, feeling unsatisfied, and, at
the same time, full, we were glad to see four quarters of a
bullock, just killed, swinging from the fore-top. Whatever
theories may be started by sedentary men, certainly no men could
have gone through more hard work and exposure for sixteen months
in more perfect health, and without ailings and failings, than our
ship's crew, let them have lived upon Hygeia's own baking and
dressing.

Friday, April 15th. Arrived, brig Pilgrim, from the windward. It
was a sad sight for her crew to see us getting ready to go off the
coast, while they, who had been longer on the coast than the
Alert, were condemned to another year's hard service. I spent an
evening on board, and found them making the best of the matter,
and determined to rough it out as they might. But Stimson, after
considerable negotiating and working, had succeeded in persuading
my English friend, Tom Harris,-- my companion in the anchor watch,--
for thirty dollars, some clothes, and an intimation from Captain
Faucon that he should want a second mate before the voyage was
over, to take his place in the brig as soon as she was ready to go
up to windward.

The first opportunity I could get to speak to Captain Faucon, I
asked him to step up to the oven and look at Hope, whom he knew
well, having had him on board his vessel. He went to see him at
once, and said that he was doing pretty well, but there was so
little medicine on board the brig, and she would be so long on the
coast, that he could spare none for him, but that Captain Arthur
would take care of him when he came down in the California, which
would be in a week or more. I had been to see Hope the first night
after we got into San Diego this last time, and had frequently
since spent the early part of a night in the oven. I hardly
expected, when I left him to go to windward, to find him alive
upon my return. He was certainly as low as he could well be when I
left him, and what would be the effect of the medicines that I
gave him I hardly then dared to conjecture. Yet I knew that he
must die without them. I was not a little rejoiced, therefore, and
relieved, upon our return, to see him decidedly better. The
medicines were strong, and took hold and gave a check to the
disorder which was destroying him; and, more than that, they had
begun the work of exterminating it. I shall never forget the
gratitude that he expressed. All the Kanakas attributed his escape
solely to my knowledge, and would not be persuaded that I had not
all the secrets of the physical system open to me and under my
control. My medicines, however, were gone, and no more could be
got from the ship, so that his life was left to hang upon the
arrival of the California.

Sunday, April 24th. We had now been nearly seven weeks in San
Diego, and had taken in the greater part of our cargo, and were
looking out every day for the arrival of the California, which had
our agent on board; when, this afternoon, some Kanakas, who had
been over the hill for rabbits and to fight rattlesnakes, came
running down the path, singing out ``Kail ho!'' with all their
might. Mr. Hatch, our third mate, was ashore, and, asking them
particularly about the size of the sail, &c., and learning that it
was ``Moku-- Nui Moku,'' hailed our ship, and said that the
California was on the other side of the point. Instantly, all
hands were turned up, the bow guns run out and loaded, the ensign
and broad pennant set, the yards squared by lifts and braces, and
everything got ready to make a fair appearance. The instant she
showed her nose round the point we began our salute. She came in
under top-gallant-sails, clewed up and furled her sails in good
order, and came-to within swinging distance of us. It being
Sunday, and nothing to do, all hands were on the forecastle,
criticising the new comer. She was a good, substantial ship, not
quite so long as the Alert, wall-sided and kettle-bottomed, after
the latest fashion of south-shore cotton and sugar wagons; strong,
too, and tight, and a good average sailer, but with no pretensions
to beauty, and nothing in the style of a ``crack ship.'' Upon the
whole, we were perfectly satisfied that the Alert might hold up
her head with a ship twice as smart as she.

At night some of us got a boat and went on board, and found a
large, roomy forecastle (for she was squarer forward than the
Alert), and a crew of a dozen or fifteen men and boys sitting
around on their chests, smoking and talking, and ready to give a
welcome to any of our ship's company. It was just seven months
since they left Boston, which seemed but yesterday to us.
Accordingly, we had much to ask; for though we had seen the
newspapers which she had brought, yet these were the very men who
had been in Boston, and seen everything with their own eyes. One
of the green hands was a Boston boy, from one of the public
schools, and, of course, knew many things which we wished to ask
about, and, on inquiring the names of our two Boston boys, found
that they had been school-mates of his. Our men had hundreds of
questions to ask about Ann Street, the boarding-houses, the ships
in port, the rate of wages, and other matters.

Among her crew were two English man-of-war's-men, so that, of
course, we soon had music. They sang in the true sailor's style,
and the rest of the crew, which was a remarkably musical one,
joined in the choruses. They had many of the latest sailor songs,
which had not yet got about among our merchantmen, and which they
were very choice of. They began soon after we came on board, and
kept it up until after two bells, when the second mate came
forward and called ``the Alerts away!'' Battle-songs,
drinking-songs, boat-songs, love-songs, and everything else, they
seemed to have a complete assortment of, and I was glad to find
that ``All in the Downs,'' ``Poor Tom Bowline,'' ``The Bay of
Biscay,'' ``List, ye Landsmen!'' and other classical songs of the
sea, still held their places. In addition to these, they had
picked up at the theatres and other places a few songs of a little
more genteel cast, which they were very proud of; and I shall
never forget hearing an old salt, who had broken his voice by hard
drinking on shore, and bellowing from the mast-head in a hundred
northwesters, singing-- with all manner of ungovernable trills and
quavers, in the high notes breaking into a rough falsetto, and in
the low ones growling along like the dying away of the boatswain's
``All hands ahoy!'' down the hatchway-- ``O no, we never mention
him.''

   ``Perhaps, like me, he struggles with
     Each feeling of regret;
     But if he's loved as I have loved,
     He never can forget!''

The last line he roared out at the top of his voice, breaking each
word into half a dozen syllables. This was very popular, and Jack
was called upon every night to give them his ``sentimental song.''
No one called for it more loudly than I, for the complete
absurdity of the execution, and the sailors' perfect satisfaction
in it, were ludicrous beyond measure.

The next day the California began unloading her cargo; and her
boats' crews, in coming and going, sang their boat-songs, keeping
time with their oars. This they did all day long for several days,
until their hides were all discharged, when a gang of them were
sent on board the Alert to help us steeve our hides. This was a
windfall for us, for they had a set of new songs for the capstan
and fall, and ours had got nearly worn out by six weeks' constant
use. I have no doubt that this timely re-enforcement of songs
hastened our work several days.

Our cargo was now nearly all taken in, and my old friend, the
Pilgrim, having completed her discharge, unmoored, to set sail the
next morning on another long trip to windward. I was just thinking
of her hard lot, and congratulating myself upon my escape from
her, when I received a summons into the cabin. I went aft, and
there found, seated round the cabin table, my own captain, Captain
Faucon of the Pilgrim, and Mr. Robinson, the agent. Captain
Thompson turned to me and asked abruptly,--

``Dana, do you want to go home in the ship?''

``Certainly, sir,'' said I; ``I expect to go home in the ship.''

``Then,'' said he, ``you must get some one to go in your place on
board the Pilgrim.''

I was so completely ``taken aback'' by this sudden intimation that
for a moment I could make no reply. I thought it would be hopeless
to attempt to prevail upon any of the ship's crew to take twelve
months more upon California in the brig. I knew, too, that Captain
Thompson had received orders to bring me home in the Alert, and he
had told me, when I was at the hide-house, that I was to go home
in her; and even if this had not been so, it was cruel to give me
no notice of the step they were going to take, until a few hours
before the brig would sail. As soon as I had got my wits about me,
I put on a bold front, and told him plainly that I had a letter in
my chest informing me that he had been written to by the owners in
Boston to bring me home in the ship; and, moreover, that he had
told me that he had such instructions, and that I was to return in
the ship.

To have this told him, and to be opposed in such a manner, was
more than my lord paramount had been used to. He turned fiercely
upon me, and tried to look me down, and face me out of my
statement; but finding that that wouldn't do, and that I was
entering upon my defence in such a way as would show to the other
two that he was in the wrong, he changed his ground, and pointed
to the shipping-papers of the Pilgrim, from which my name had
never been erased, and said that there was my name,-- that I
belonged to her,-- that he had an absolute discretionary power,--
and, in short, that I must be on board the Pilgrim by the next
morning with my chest and hammock, or have some one ready to go in
my place, and that he would not hear another word from me. No
court of star chamber could proceed more summarily with a poor
devil than this trio was about to do with me; condemning me to a
punishment worse than a Botany Bay exile, and to a fate which
might alter the whole current of my future life; for two years
more in California might have made me a sailor for the rest of my
days. I felt all this, and saw the necessity of being determined.
I repeated what I had said, and insisted upon my right to return
in the ship.

   ``I raised my arm, and tauld my crack,
     Before them a'.''

But it would have all availed me nothing had I been ``some poor
body'' before this absolute, domineering tribunal. But they saw
that I would not go, unless ``vi et armis,'' and they knew that I
had friends and interest enough at home to make them suffer for
any injustice they might do me. It was probably this that turned
the scale; for the captain changed his tone entirely, and asked me
if, in case any one went in my place, I would give him the same
sum that Stimson gave Harris to exchange with him. I told them
that if any one was sent on board the brig I should pity him, and
be willing to help him to that, or almost any amount; but would
not speak of it as an exchange.

``Very well,'' said he. ``Go forward about your business, and send
English Ben here to me!''

I went forward with a light heart, but feeling as much anger and
contempt as I could well contain between my teeth. English Ben was
sent aft, and in a few moments came forward, looking as though he
had received his sentence to be hanged. The captain had told him
to get his things ready to go on board the brig next morning; and
that I would give him thirty dollars and a suit of clothes. The
hands had ``knocked off'' for dinner, and were standing about the
forecastle, when Ben came forward and told his story. I could see
plainly that it made a great excitement, and that, unless I
explained the matter to them, the feeling would be turned against
me. Ben was a poor English boy, a stranger in Boston, and without
friends or money; and, being an active, willing lad, and a good
sailor for his years, was a general favorite. ``O yes!'' said the
crew; ``the captain has let you off because you are a gentleman's
son, and taken Ben because he is poor, and has got nobody to say a
word for him.'' I knew that this was too true to be answered, but
I excused myself from any blame, and told them that I had a right
to go home, at all events. This pacified them a little, but Jack
had got a notion that a poor lad was to be imposed upon, and did
not distinguish very clearly; and though I knew that I was in no
fault, and, in fact, had barely escaped the grossest injustice,
yet I felt that my berth was getting to be a disagreeable one. The
notion that I was not ``one of them,'' which, by a participation
in all their labor and hardships, and having no favor shown me,
and never asserting myself among them, had been laid asleep, was
beginning to revive. But far stronger than any feeling for myself
was the pity I felt for the poor lad. He had depended upon going
home in the ship; and from Boston was going immediately to
Liverpool, to see his friends. Besides this, having begun the
voyage with very few clothes, he had taken up the greater part of
his wages in the slop-chest, and it was every day a losing concern
to him; and, like all the rest of the crew, he had a hearty hatred
of California, and the prospect of eighteen months or two years
more of hide droghing seemed completely to break down his spirit.
I had determined not to go myself, happen what would, and I knew
that the captain would not dare to attempt to force me. I knew,
too, that the two captains had agreed together to get some one,
and that unless I could prevail upon somebody to go voluntarily,
there would be no help for Ben. From this consideration, though I
had said that I would have nothing to do with an exchange, I did
my best to get some one to go voluntarily. I offered to give an
order upon the owners in Boston for six months' wages, and also
all the clothes, books, and other matters which I should not want
upon the voyage home. When this offer was published in the ship,
and the case of poor Ben set forth in strong colors, several, who
would not dream of going themselves, were busy in talking it up to
others, who, they thought, might be tempted to accept it; and, at
length, a Boston boy, a harum-scarum lad, a great favorite, Harry
May, whom we called Harry Bluff, and who did not care what country
or ship he was in, if he had clothes enough and money enough,--
partly from pity for Ben, and partly from the thought he should
have ``cruising money'' for the rest of his stay,-- came forward,
and offered to go and ``sling his hammock in the bloody hooker.''
Lest his purpose should cool, I signed an order for the sum upon
the owners in Boston, gave him all the clothes I could spare, and
sent him aft to the captain, to let him know what had been done.
The skipper accepted the exchange, and was, doubtless, glad to
have it pass off so easily. At the same time he cashed the order,
which was indorsed to him,[2] and the next morning the lad went
aboard the brig, apparently in good spirits, having shaken hands
with each of us and wished us a pleasant passage home, jingling
the money in his pockets, and calling out ``Never say die, while
there's a shot in the locker.'' The same boat carried off Harris,
my old watchmate, who had previously made an exchange with my
friend Stimson.

I was sorry to part with Harris. Nearly two hundred hours (as we
had calculated it) had we walked the ship's deck together, at
anchor watch, when all hands were below, and talked over and over
every subject which came within the ken of either of us. He gave
me a strong gripe with his hand; and I told him, if he came to
Boston, not to fail to find me out, and let me see my old
watchmate. The same boat brought on board Stimson, who had begun
the voyage with me from Boston, and, like me, was going back to
his family and to the society in which he had been born and
brought up. We congratulated each other upon finding what we had
long talked over and wished for thus brought about; and none on
board the ship were more glad than ourselves to see the old brig
standing round the point, under full sail. As she passed abreast
of us, we all collected in the waist, and gave her three loud,
hearty cheers, waving our hats in the air. Her crew sprang into
the rigging and chains, and answered us with three as loud, to
which we, after the nautical custom, gave one in return. I took my
last look of their familiar faces as they passed over the rail,
and saw the old black cook put his head out of the galley, and
wave his cap over his head. Her crew flew aloft to loose the
top-gallant-sails and royals; the two captains waved their hands
to each other; and, in ten minutes, we saw the last inch of her
white canvas, as she rounded the point.

Relieved as I was to see her well off (and I felt like one who had
just sprung from an iron trap which was closing upon him), I had
yet a feeling of regret at taking the last look at the old craft
in which I had spent a year, and the first year, of my sailor's
life, which had been my first home in the new world into which I
had entered, and with which I had associated so many events,-- my
first leaving home, my first crossing the equator, Cape Horn, Juan
Fernandez, death at sea, and other things, serious and common.
Yet, with all this, and the sentiment I had for my old shipmates
condemned to another term of California life, the thought that we
were done with it, and that one week more would see us on our way
to Boston, was a cure for everything.

Friday, May 6th, completed the getting in of our cargo, and was a
memorable day in our calendar. The time when we were to take in
our last hide we had looked forward to, for sixteen months, as the
first bright spot. When the last hide was stowed away, the hatches
calked down, the tarpaulins battened on to them, the long-boat
hoisted in and secured, and the decks swept down for the night,--
the chief mate sprang upon the top of the long-boat, called all
hands into the waist, and, giving us a signal by swinging his cap
over his head, we gave three long, loud cheers, which came from
the bottom of our hearts, and made the hills and valleys ring
again. In a moment we heard three in answer from the California's
crew, who had seen us taking in our long-boat; ``the cry they
heard,-- its meaning knew.''

The last week we had been occupied in taking in a supply of wood
and water for the passage home, and in bringing on board the spare
spars, sails, &c. I was sent off with a party of Indians to fill
the water-casks, at a spring about three miles from the shipping
and near the town, and was absent three days, living at the town,
and spending the daytime in filling the casks and transporting
them on ox-carts to the landing-place, whence they were taken on
board by the crew with boats. This being all done with, we gave
one day to bending our sails, and at night every sail, from the
courses to the skysails, was bent, and every studding-sail ready
for setting.

Before our sailing an unsuccessful attempt was made by one of the
crew of the California to effect an exchange with one of our
number. It was a lad, between fifteen and sixteen years of age,
who went by the name of the ``reefer,'' having been a midshipman
in an East India Company's ship. His singular character and story
had excited our interest ever since the ship came into the port.
He was a delicate, slender little fellow, with a beautiful pearly
complexion, regular features; forehead as white as marble, black
hair curling beautifully round it; tapering, delicate fingers;
small feet, soft voice, gentle manners, and, in fact, every sign
of having been well born and bred. At the same time there was
something in his expression which showed a slight deficiency of
intellect. How great the deficiency was, or what it resulted from;
whether he was born so; whether it was the result of disease or
accident; or whether, as some said, it was brought on by his
distress of mind during the voyage,-- I cannot say. From his
account of himself, and from many circumstances which were known
in connection with his story, he must have been the son of a man
of wealth. His mother was an Italian. He was probably a natural
son, for in scarcely any other way could the incidents of his
early life be accounted for. He said that his parents did not live
together, and he seemed to have been ill treated by his father.
Though he had been delicately brought up, and indulged in every
way (and he had then with him trinkets which had been given him at
home), yet his education had been sadly neglected; and when only
twelve years old, he was sent as midshipman in the Company's
service. His own story was, that he afterwards ran away from home,
upon a difficulty which he had with his father, and went to
Liverpool, whence he sailed in the ship Rialto, Captain Holmes,
for Boston. Captain Holmes endeavored to get him a passage back,
but, there being no vessel to sail for some time, the boy left
him, and went to board at a common sailor's boarding-house in Ann
Street, where he supported himself for a few weeks by selling some
of his valuables. At length, according to his own account, being
desirous of returning home, he went to a shipping-office, where
the shipping articles of the California were open. Upon asking
where the ship was going, he was told by the shipping-master that
she was bound to California. Not knowing where that was, he told
him that he wanted to go to Europe, and asked if California was in
Europe. The shipping-master answered him in a way which the boy
did not understand, and advised him to ship. The boy signed the
articles, received his advance, laid out a little of it in
clothes, and spent the rest, and was ready to go on board, when,
upon the morning of sailing, he heard that the ship was bound upon
the Northwest Coast, on a two or three years' voyage, and was not
going to Europe. Frightened at this prospect, he slipped away when
the crew were going aboard, wandered up into another part of the
town, and spent all the forenoon in straying about the Common, and
the neighboring streets. Having no money, and all his clothes and
other things being in his chest on board, and being a stranger, he
became tired and hungry, and ventured down toward the shipping, to
see if the vessel had sailed. He was just turning the corner of a
street, when the shipping-master, who had been in search of him,
popped upon him, seized him, and carried him on board. He cried
and struggled, and said he did not wish to go in the ship; but the
topsails were at the mast-head, the fasts just ready to be cast
off, and everything in the hurry and confusion of departure, so
that he was hardly noticed; and the few who did inquire about the
matter were told that it was merely a boy who had spent his
advance and tried to run away. Had the owners of the vessel known
anything of the matter, they would doubtless have interfered; but
they either knew nothing of it, or heard, like the rest, that it
was only an unruly boy who was sick of his bargain. As soon as the
boy found himself actually at sea, and upon a voyage of two or
three years in length, his spirits failed him; he refused to work,
and became so miserable that Captain Arthur took him into the
cabin, where he assisted the steward, and occasionally pulled and
hauled about decks. He was in this capacity when we saw him; and
though it was much better for him than the life in a forecastle,
and the hard work, watching, and exposure, which his delicate
frame could not have borne, yet, to be joined with a black fellow
in waiting upon a man whom he probably looked upon as but little,
in point of education and manners, above one of his father's
servants, was almost too much for his spirit to bear. Had he
entered upon this situation of his own free will, he could have
endured it; but to have been deceived, and, in addition to that,
forced into it, was intolerable. He made every effort to go home
in our ship, but his captain refused to part with him except in
the way of exchange, and that he could not effect. If this account
of the whole matter, which we had from the boy, and which was
confirmed by the crew, be correct, I cannot understand why Captain
Arthur should have refused to let him go, especially as he had the
name, not only with that crew, but with all he had ever commanded,
of an unusually kind-hearted man. The truth is, the unlimited
power which merchant captains have upon long voyages on strange
coasts takes away the sense of responsibility, and too often, even
in men otherwise well disposed, gives growth to a disregard for
the rights and feelings of others. The lad was sent on shore to
join the gang at the hide-house, from whence, I was afterwards
rejoiced to hear, he effected his escape, and went down to Callao
in a small Spanish schooner; and from Callao he probably returned
to England.

Soon after the arrival of the California, I spoke to Captain
Arthur about Hope, the Kanaka; and as he had known him on the
voyage before, and liked him, he immediately went to see him, gave
him proper medicines, and, under such care, he began rapidly to
recover. The Saturday night before our sailing I spent an hour in
the oven, and took leave of my Kanaka friends; and, really, this
was the only thing connected with leaving California which was in
any way unpleasant. I felt an interest and affection for many of
these simple, true-hearted men, such as I never felt before but
for a near relation. Hope shook me by the hand; said he should
soon be well again, and ready to work for me when I came upon the
coast, next voyage, as officer of the ship; and told me not to
forget, when I became captain, how to be kind to the sick. Old
``Mr. Bingham'' and ``King Mannini'' went down to the boat with
me, shook me heartily by the hand, wished us a good voyage, and
went back to the oven, chanting one of their deep, monotonous,
improvised songs, the burden of which I gathered to be about us
and our voyage.

Sunday, May 8th, 1836. This promised to be our last day in
California. Our forty thousand hides and thirty thousand horns,
besides several barrels of otter and beaver skins, were all stowed
below, and the hatches calked down.[3] All our spare spars were
taken on board and lashed, our water-casks secured, and our live
stock, consisting of four bullocks, a dozen sheep, a dozen or more
pigs, and three or four dozens of poultry, were all stowed away in
their different quarters; the bullocks in the long-boat, the sheep
in a pen on the fore hatch, the pigs in a sty under the bows of
the long-boat, and the poultry in their proper coop, and the
jolly-boat was full of hay for the sheep and bullocks. Our
unusually large cargo, together with the stores for a five months'
voyage, brought the ship channels down into the water. In addition
to this, she had been steeved so thoroughly, and was so bound by
the compression of her cargo, forced into her by machinery so
powerful, that she was like a man in a strait-jacket, and would be
but a dull sailer until she had worked herself loose.

The California had finished discharging her cargo, and was to get
under way at the same time with us. Having washed down decks and
got breakfast, the two vessels lay side by side, in complete
readiness for sea, our ensigns hanging from the peaks, and our
tall spars reflected from the glassy surface of the river, which,
since sunrise, had been unbroken by a ripple. At length a few
whiffs came across the water, and, by eleven o'clock the regular
northwest wind set steadily in. There was no need of calling all
hands, for we had all been hanging about the forecastle the whole
forenoon, and were ready for a start upon the first sign of a
breeze. Often we turned our eyes aft upon the captain, who was
walking the deck, with every now and then a look to windward. He
made a sign to the mate, who came forward, took his station
deliberately between the knight-heads, cast a glance aloft, and
called out ``All hands, lay aloft and loose the sails!'' We were
half in the rigging before the order came, and never since we left
Boston were the gaskets off the yards, and the rigging overhauled,
in a shorter time. ``All ready forward, sir!''-- ``All ready the
main!''-- ``Cross-jack yards all ready, sir!''-- ``Lay down, all
hands but one on each yard!'' The yard-arm and bunt gaskets were
cast off; and each sail hung by the jigger, with one man standing
by the tie to let it go. At the same moment that we sprang aloft,
a dozen hands sprang into the rigging of the California, and in an
instant were all over her yards; and her sails, too, were ready to
be dropped at the word. In the mean time our bow gun had been
loaded and run out, and its discharge was to be the signal for
dropping the sails. A cloud of smoke came out of our bows; the
echoes of the gun rattled our farewell among the hills of
California, and the two ships were covered, from head to foot,
with their white canvas. For a few minutes all was uproar and
apparent confusion; men jumping about like monkeys in the rigging;
ropes and blocks flying, orders given and answered amid the
confused noises of men singing out at the ropes. The topsails came
to the mast-heads with ``Cheerly, men!'' and, in a few minutes,
every sail was set, for the wind was light. The head sails were
backed, the windlass came round ``slip-- slap'' to the cry of the
sailors;-- ``Hove short, sir,'' said the mate;-- ``Up with him!''--
``Aye, aye, sir.'' A few hearty and long heaves, and the anchor
showed its head. ``Hook cat!'' The fall was stretched along the
decks; all hands laid hold;-- ``Hurrah, for the last time,'' said
the mate; and the anchor came to the cat-head to the tune of
``Time for us to go,'' with a rollicking chorus. Everything was
done quick, as though it was for the last time. The head yards
were filled away, and our ship began to move through the water on
her homeward-bound course.

The California had got under way at the same moment, and we sailed
down the narrow bay abreast, and were just off the mouth, and,
gradually drawing ahead of her, were on the point of giving her
three parting cheers, when suddenly we found ourselves stopped
short, and the California ranging fast ahead of us. A bar
stretches across the mouth of the harbor, with water enough to
float common vessels, but, being low in the water, and having kept
well to leeward, as we were bound to the southward, we had stuck
fast, while the California, being light, had floated over.

We kept all sail on, in the hope of forcing over, but, failing in
this, we hove aback, and lay waiting for the tide, which was on
the flood, to take us back into the channel. This was something of
a damper to us, and the captain looked not a little mortified and
vexed. ``This is the same place where the Rosa got ashore, sir,''
observed our red-headed second mate, most malàpropos. A
malediction on the Rosa, and him too, was all the answer he got,
and he slunk off to leeward. In a few minutes the force of the
wind and the rising of the tide backed us into the stream, and we
were on our way to our old anchoring-place, the tide setting
swiftly up, and the ship barely manageable in the light breeze. We
came-to in our old berth opposite the hide-house, whose inmates
were not a little surprised to see us return. We felt as though we
were tied to California; and some of the crew swore that they
never should get clear of the bloody[4] coast.

In about half an hour, which was near high water, the order was
given to man the windlass, and again the anchor was catted; but
there was no song, and not a word was said about the last time.
The California had come back on finding that we had returned, and
was hove-to, waiting for us, off the point. This time we passed
the bar safely, and were soon up with the California, who filled
away, and kept us company. She seemed desirous of a trial of
speed, and our captain accepted the challenge, although we were
loaded down to the bolts of our chain-plates, as deep as a
sand-barge, and bound so taut with our cargo that we were no more
fit for a race than a man in fetters; while our antagonist was in
her best trim. Being clear of the point, the breeze became stiff,
and the royal-masts bent under our sails, but we would not take
them in until we saw three boys spring aloft into the rigging of
the California; when they were all furled at once, but with orders
to our boys to stay aloft at the top-gallant mast-heads and loose
them again at the word. It was my duty to furl the fore royal;
and, while standing by to loose it again, I had a fine view of the
scene. From where I stood, the two vessels seemed nothing but
spars and sails, while their narrow decks, far below, slanting
over by the force of the wind aloft, appeared hardly capable of
supporting the great fabrics raised upon them. The California was
to windward of us, and had every advantage; yet, while the breeze
was stiff, we held our own. As soon as it began to slacken, she
ranged a little ahead, and the order was given to loose the
royals. In an instant the gaskets were off and the bunt dropped.
``Sheet home the fore royal!-- Weather sheet's home!''-- ``Lee
sheet's home!''-- ``Hoist away, sir!'' is bawled from aloft.
``Overhaul your clew-lines!'' shouts the mate. ``Aye, aye, sir!
all clear!''-- ``Taut leech! belay! Well the lee brace; haul taut
to windward,''-- and the royals are set. These brought us up
again; but, the wind continuing light, the California set hers,
and it was soon evident that she was walking away from us. Our
captain then hailed, and said that he should keep off to his
course; adding, ``She isn't the Alert now. If I had her in your
trim she would have been out of sight by this time.'' This was
good-naturedly answered from the California, and she braced sharp
up, and stood close upon the wind up the coast; while we squared
away our yards, and stood before the wind to the south-southwest.
The California's crew manned her weather rigging, waved their hats
in the air, and gave us three hearty cheers, which we answered as
heartily, and the customary single cheer came back to us from over
the water. She stood on her way, doomed to eighteen months' or two
years' hard service upon that hated coast, while we were making
our way to our home, to which every hour and every mile was
bringing us nearer.

As soon as we parted company with the California, all hands were
sent aloft to set the studding-sails. Booms were rigged out, tacks
and halyards rove, sail after sail packed upon her, until every
available inch of canvas was spread, that we might not lose a
breath of the fair wind. We could now see how much she was cramped
and deadened by her cargo; for with a good breeze on her quarter,
and every stitch of canvas spread, we could not get more than six
knots out of her. She had no more life in her than if she were
water-logged. The log was hove several times; but she was doing
her best. We had hardly patience with her, but the older sailors
said, ``Stand by! you'll see her work herself loose in a week or
two, and then she'll walk up to Cape Horn like a race-horse.''

When all sail had been set, and the decks cleared up, the
California was a speck in the horizon, and the coast lay like a
low cloud along the northeast. At sunset they were both out of
sight, and we were once more upon the ocean, where sky and water
meet.

[1] This word, when used to signify a pulley or purchase formed by
blocks and a rope, is always by seamen pronounced ta-kl.

[2] When our crew were paid off in Boston, the owners answered the
orders of Stimson and me, but refused to deduct the amount from the
pay-roll, saying that the exchanges were made under compulsion.

[3] We had also a small quantity of gold dust, which Mexicans or
Indians had brought down to us from the interior. It was not
uncommon for our ships to bring a little, as I have since learned
from the owners. I heard rumors of gold discoveries, but they
attracted little or no attention, and were not followed up.

[4] This is a common expletive among sailors, and suits any purpose.

CHAPTER XXX

At eight o'clock all hands were called aft, and the watches set
for the voyage. Some changes were made; but I was glad to find
myself still in the larboard watch. Our crew was somewhat
diminished; for a man and a boy had gone in the Pilgrim; another
was second mate of the Ayacucho; and a fourth, Harry Bennett, the
oldest man of the crew, had broken down under the hard work and
constant exposure on the coast, and, having had a stroke of the
palsy, was left behind at the hide-house, under the charge of
Captain Arthur. The poor fellow wished very much to come home in
the ship; and he ought to have been brought home in her. But a
live dog is better than a dead lion, and a sick sailor belongs to
nobody's mess; so he was sent ashore with the rest of the lumber,
which was only in the way. He had come on board, with his chest,
in the morning, and tried to make himself useful about decks; but
his shuffling feet and weak arms led him into trouble, and some
words were said to him by the mate. He had the spirit of a man,
and had become a little tender, perhaps weakened in mind, and
said, ``Mr. Brown, I always did my duty aboard until I was sick.
If you don't want me, say so, and I'll go ashore.'' ``Bring up his
chest,'' said Mr. Brown, and poor Bennett went down into a boat
and was taken ashore, with tears in his eyes. He loved the ship
and the crew, and wished to get home, but could not bear to be
treated as a soger or loafer on board. This was the only
hard-hearted thing I ever knew Mr. Brown to do.

By these diminutions, we were short-handed for a voyage round Cape
Horn in the dead of winter. Beside Stimson and myself, there were
only five in the forecastle; who, together with four boys in the
steerage, the sailmaker, carpenter, cook, and steward, composed
the crew. In addition to this, we were only four days out, when
the sailmaker, who was the oldest and best seaman on board, was
taken with the palsy, and was useless for the rest of the voyage.
The constant wading in the water, in all weathers, to take off
hides, together with the other labors, is too much for men even in
middle life, and for any who have not good constitutions. (Beside
these two men of ours, the second officer of the California and
the carpenter of the Pilgrim, as we afterwards learned, broke down
under the work, and the latter died at Santa Barbara. The young
man, too, Henry Mellus, who came out with us from Boston in the
Pilgrim, had to be taken from his berth before the mast and made
clerk, on account of a fit of rheumatism which attacked him soon
after he came upon the coast.) By the loss of the sailmaker, our
watch was reduced to five, of whom two were boys, who never
steered but in fine weather, so that the other two and myself had
to stand at the wheel four hours apiece out of every twenty-four;
and the other watch had only four helmsmen. ``Never mind,-- we're
homeward bound!'' was the answer to everything; and we should not
have minded this, were it not for the thought that we should be
off Cape Horn in the very dead of winter. It was now the first
part of May; and two months would bring us off the Cape in July,
which is the worst month in the year there; when the sun rises at
nine and sets at three, giving eighteen hours night, and there is
snow and rain, gales and high seas, in abundance.

The prospect of meeting this in a ship half manned, and loaded so
deep that every heavy sea must wash her fore and aft, was by no
means pleasant. The Alert, in her passage out, doubled the Cape in
the month of February, which is midsummer; and we came round in
the Pilgrim in the latter part of October, which we thought was
bad enough. There was only one of our crew who had been off there
in the winter, and that was in a whale-ship, much lighter and
higher than our ship; yet he said they had man-killing weather for
twenty days without intermission, and their decks were swept
twice, and they were all glad enough to see the last of it. The
Brandywine frigate, also, in her recent passage round, had sixty
days off the Cape, and lost several boats by the heavy seas. All
this was for our comfort; yet pass it we must; and all hands
agreed to make the best of it.

During our watches below we overhauled our clothes, and made and
mended everything for bad weather. Each of us had made for himself
a suit of oil-cloth or tarpaulin, and these we got out, and gave
thorough coatings of oil or tar, and hung upon the stays to dry.
Our stout boots, too, we covered over with a thick mixture of
melted grease and tar. Thus we took advantage of the warm sun and
fine weather of the Pacific to prepare for its other face. In the
forenoon watches below, our forecastle looked like the workshop of
what a sailor is,-- a Jack-at-all-trades. Thick stockings and
drawers were darned and patched; mittens dragged from the bottom
of the chest and mended; comforters made for the neck and ears;
old flannel shirts cut up to line monkey-jackets; southwesters
were lined with flannel, and a pot of paint smuggled forward to
give them a coat on the outside; and everything turned to hand; so
that, although two years had left us but a scanty wardrobe, yet
the economy and invention which necessity teaches a sailor soon
put each of us in pretty good trim for bad weather, before we had
seen the last of the fine. Even the cobbler's art was not out of
place. Several old shoes were very decently repaired, and with
waxed ends, an awl, and the top of an old boot, I made me quite a
respectable sheath for my knife.

There was one difficulty, however, which nothing that we could do
would remedy; and that was the leaking of the forecastle, which
made it very uncomfortable in bad weather, and rendered half of
the berths tenantless. The tightest ships, in a long voyage, from
the constant strain which is upon the bowsprit, will leak more or
less round the heel of the bowsprit and the bitts, which come down
into the forecastle; but, in addition to this, we had an
unaccountable leak on the starboard bow, near the cat-head, which
drove us from the forward berths on that side, and, indeed, when
she was on the starboard tack, from all the forward berths. One of
the after berths, too, leaked in very bad weather; so that in a
ship which was in other respects unusually tight, and brought her
cargo to Boston perfectly dry, we had, after every effort made to
prevent it, in the way of calking and leading, a forecastle with
only three dry berths for seven of us. However, as there is never
but one watch below at a time, by ``turning in and out,'' we did
pretty well. And there being in our watch but three of us who
lived forward, we generally had a dry berth apiece in bad
weather.[1]

All this, however, was but anticipation. We were still in fine
weather in the North Pacific, running down the northeast trades,
which we took on the second day after leaving San Diego.

Sunday, May 15th, one week out, we were in latitude 14° 56' N.,
lon. 116° 14' W., having gone, by reckoning, over thirteen hundred
miles in seven days. In fact, ever since leaving San Diego, we had
had a fair wind, and as much as we wanted of it. For seven days our
lower and topmast studding-sails were set all the time,
and our royals and top-gallant studding-sails whenever she could
stagger under them. Indeed, the captain had shown, from the moment
we got to sea, that he was to have no boy's play, but that the ship
was to carry all she could, and that he was going to make up by
``cracking on'' to her what she wanted in lightness. In this way we
frequently made three degrees of latitude, besides something in
longitude, in the course of twenty-four hours. Our days we spent in
the usual ship's work. The rigging which had become slack from
being long in port was to be set up; breast backstays got up;
studding-sail booms rigged upon the main yard; and royal
studding-sails got ready for the light trades; ring-tail set; and
new rigging fitted, and sails made ready for Cape Horn. For, with
a ship's gear, as well as a sailor's wardrobe, fine weather must
be improved to get ready for the bad to come. Our forenoon watch
below, as I have said, was given to our own work, and our night
watches were spent in the usual manner,-- a trick at the wheel,
a lookout on the forecastle, a nap on a coil of rigging under the
lee of the rail; a yarn round the windlass-end; or, as was
generally my way, a solitary walk fore and aft, in the weather
waist, between the windlass-end and the main tack. Every wave that
she threw aside brought us nearer home, and every day's
observation at noon showed a progress which, if it continued,
would, in less than five months, take us into Boston Bay. This is
the pleasure of life at sea,-- fine weather, day after day,
without interruption,-- fair wind, and a plenty of it,-- and
homeward bound. Every one was in good humor; things went right;
and all was done with a will. At the dog watch, all hands came on
deck, and stood round the weather side of the forecastle, or sat
upon the windlass, and sung sea-songs and those ballads of pirates
and highwaymen which sailors delight in. Home, too, and what we
should do when we got there, and when and how we should arrive,
was no infrequent topic. Every night, after the kids and pots were
put away, and we had lighted our pipes and cigars at the galley,
and gathered about the windlass, the first question was,--

``Well, Dana, what was the latitude to-day?''

``Why, fourteen, north; and she has been going seven knots ever
since.''

``Well, this will bring us to the line in five days.''

``Yes, but these trades won't last twenty-four hours longer,''
says an old salt, pointing with the sharp of his hand to leeward;
``I know that by the look of the clouds.''

Then came all manner of calculations and conjectures as to the
continuance of the wind, the weather under the line, the southeast
trades, &c., and rough guesses as to the time the ship would be up
with the Horn; and some, more venturous, gave her so many days to
Boston Light, and offered to bet that she would not exceed it.

``You'd better wait till you get round Cape Horn,'' says an old
croaker.

``Yes,'' says another, ``you may see Boston, but you've got to
`smell hell' before that good day.''

Rumors also of what had been said in the cabin, as usual, found
their way forward. The steward had heard the captain say something
about the Straits of Magellan, and the man at the wheel fancied he
had heard him tell the ``passenger'' that, if he found the wind
ahead and the weather very bad off the Cape, he should stick her
off for New Holland, and come home round the Cape of Good Hope.

This passenger-- the first and only one we had had, except to go
from port to port, on the coast-- was no one else than a gentleman
whom I had known in my smoother days, and the last person I should
have expected to see on the coast of California,-- Professor
Nuttall, of Cambridge. I had left him quietly seated in the chair
of Botany and Ornithology in Harvard University, and the next I
saw of him, he was strolling about San Diego beach, in a sailor's
pea-jacket, with a wide straw hat, and barefooted, with his
trousers rolled up to his knees, picking up stones and shells. He
had travelled overland to the Northwest Coast, and come down in a
small vessel to Monterey. There he learned that there was a ship
at the leeward about to sail for Boston, and, taking passage in
the Pilgrim, which was then at Monterey, he came slowly along,
visiting the intermediate ports, and examining the trees, plants,
earths, birds, &c., and joined us at San Diego shortly before we
sailed. The second mate of the Pilgrim told me that they had an
old gentleman on board who knew me, and came from the college that
I had been in. He could not recollect his name, but said he was a
``sort of an oldish man,'' with white hair, and spent all his time
in the bush, and along the beach, picking up flowers and shells
and such truck, and had a dozen boxes and barrels full of them. I
thought over everybody who would be likely to be there, but could
fix upon no one; when, the next day, just as we were about to
shove off from the beach, he came down to the boat in the rig I
have described, with his shoes in his hand, and his pockets full
of specimens. I knew him at once, though I should hardly have been
more surprised to have seen the Old South steeple shoot up from
the hide-house. He probably had no more difficulty in recognizing
me. As we left home about the same time, we had nothing to tell
each other; and, owing to our different situations on board, I saw
but little of him on the passage home. Sometimes, when I was at
the wheel of a calm night, and the steering required little
attention, and the officer of the watch was forward, he would come
aft and hold a short yarn with me; but this was against the rules
of the ship, as is, in fact, all intercourse between passengers
and the crew. I was often amused to see the sailors puzzled to
know what to make of him, and to hear their conjectures about him
and his business. They were as much at a loss as our old sailmaker
was with the captain's instruments in the cabin. He said there
were three,-- the chro-nometer, the chre-nometer, and the
the-nometer. The Pilgrim's crew called Mr. Nuttall ``Old
Curious,'' from his zeal for curiosities; and some of them said
that he was crazy, and that his friends let him go about and amuse
himself in this way. Why else a rich man (sailors call every man
rich who does not work with his hands, and who wears a long coat
and cravat) should leave a Christian country and come to such a
place as California to pick up shells and stones, they could not
understand. One of them, however, who had seen something more of
the world ashore, set all to rights, as he thought; ``O, 'vast
there! You don't know anything about them craft. I've seen them
colleges and know the ropes. They keep all such things for
cur'osities, and study 'em, and have men a purpose to go and get
'em. This old chap knows what he's about. He a'n't the child you
take him for. He'll carry all these things to the college, and if
they are better than any that they have had before, he'll be head
of the college. Then, by and by, somebody else will go after some
more, and if they beat him he'll have to go again, or else give up
his berth. That's the way they do it. This old covey knows the
ropes. He has worked a traverse over 'em, and come 'way out here
where nobody's ever been afore, and where they'll never think of
coming.'' This explanation satisfied Jack; and as it raised Mr.
Nuttall's credit, and was near enough to the truth for common
purposes, I did not disturb it.

With the exception of Mr. Nuttall, we had no one on board but the
regular ship's company and the live stock. Upon the stock we had
made a considerable inroad. We killed one of the bullocks every
four days, so that they did not last us up to the line. We, or
rather the cabin, then began upon the sheep and the poultry, for
these never come into Jack's mess.[2] The pigs were left for the
latter part of the voyage, for they are sailors, and can stand all
weathers. We had an old sow on board, the mother of a numerous
progeny, who had been twice round the Cape of Good Hope and once
round Cape Horn. The last time going round was very nearly her
death. We heard her squealing and moaning one dark night after it
had been snowing and hailing for several hours, and, climbing over
into the sty, we found her nearly frozen to death. We got some
straw, an old sail, and other things, and wrapped her up in a
corner of the sty, where she stayed until we came into fine
weather again.

Wednesday, May 18th. Lat. 9° 54' N., lon. 113° 17' W. The northeast
trades had now left us, and we had the usual variable winds, the
``doldrums,'' which prevail near the line, together with some rain.
So long as we were in these latitudes, we had but little rest in
our watch on deck at night; for, as the winds were light and
variable, and we could not lose a breath, we were all the watch
bracing the yards, and taking in and making sail, and ``humbugging''
with our flying kites. A little puff of wind on the larboard
quarter, and then-- ``larboard fore braces!''-- and studding-sail
booms were rigged out, studding-sails set alow and aloft, the yards
trimmed, and jibs and spanker in; when it would come as calm as a
duck-pond, the man at the wheel standing with the palm of his hand
up, feeling for the wind. ``Keep her off a little!'' ``All aback
forward, sir!'' cries a man from the forecastle. Down go the braces
again; in come the studding-sails, all in a mess, which half an
hour won't set right; yards braced sharp up, and she's on the
starboard tack, close-hauled. The studding-sails must now be
cleared away, and set up in the tops and on the booms, and the
gear cut off and made fast. By the time this is done, and you are
looking out for a soft plank for a nap,-- ``Lay aft here, and square
in the head yards!'' and the studding-sails are all set again on the
starboard side. So it goes until it is eight bells,-- call the
watch,-- heave the log,-- relieve the wheel, and go below the
larboard watch.

Sunday, May 22d. Lat. 5° 14' N., lon. 166° 45' W. We were now a
fortnight out, and within five degrees of the line, to which two
days of good breeze would take us; but we had, for the most part,
what the sailors call ``an Irishman's hurricane,-- right up and
down.'' This day it rained nearly all day, and, being Sunday and
nothing to do, we stopped up the scuppers and filled the decks with
rain water, and, bringing all our clothes on deck, had a grand wash,
fore and aft. When this was through, we stripped to our drawers,
and taking pieces of soap, with strips of canvas for towels, we
turned-to and soaped, washed, and scrubbed one another down, to
get off, as we said, the California grime; for the common wash in
salt water, which is all that Jack can get, being on an allowance
of fresh, had little efficacy, and was more for taste than
utility. The captain was below all the afternoon, and we had
something nearer to Saturnalia than anything we had yet seen; for
the mate came into the scuppers, with a couple of boys to scrub
him, and got into a contest with them in heaving water. By
unplugging the holes, we let the soapsuds off the decks, and in a
short time had a new supply of clear rain water, in which we had a
grand rinsing. It was surprising to see how much soap and fresh
water did for the complexions of many of us; how much of what we
supposed to be tan and sea-blacking we got rid of. The next day,
the sun rising clear, the ship was covered, fore and aft, with
clothes of all sorts, hanging out to dry.

As we approached the line, the wind became more easterly, and the
weather clearer, and in twenty days from San Diego,--

Saturday, May 28th, at about three P.M., with a fine breeze from
the east-southeast, we crossed the equator. In twenty-four hours
after crossing the line, we took, which was very unusual, the
regular southeast trades. These winds come a little from the
eastward of southeast, and with us they blew directly from the
east-southeast, which was fortunate for us, as our course was
south-by-west, and we could thus go one point free. The yards were
braced so that every sail drew, from the spanker to the
flying-jib; and, the upper yards being squared in a little, the
fore and main top-gallant studding-sails were set, and drew
handsomely. For twelve days this breeze blew steadily, not varying
a point, and just so fresh that we could carry our royals; and
during the whole time we hardly started a brace. Such progress did
we make that at the end of seven days from the time we took the
breeze, on--

Sunday, June 5th, we were in lat. 19° 29' S., and lon. 118° 01' W.,
having made twelve hundred miles in seven days, very nearly upon a
taut bowline. Our good ship was getting to be herself again, and had
increased her rate of sailing more than one third since leaving San
Diego. The crew ceased complaining of her, and the officers hove the
log every two hours with evident satisfaction. This was glorious
sailing. A steady breeze; the light tradewind clouds over our heads;
the incomparable temperature of the Pacific,-- neither hot nor cold;
a clear sun every day, and clear moon and stars every night, and new
constellations rising in the south, and the familiar ones sinking
in the north, as we went on our course,-- ``stemming nightly
toward the pole.'' Already we had sunk the North Star and the
Great Bear, while the Southern Cross appeared well above the
southern horizon, and all hands looked out sharp to the southward
for the Magellan Clouds, which, each succeeding night, we expected
to make. ``The next time we see the North Star,'' said one, ``we
shall be standing to the northward, the other side of the Horn.''
This was true enough, and no doubt it would be a welcome sight,
for sailors say that in coming home from round Cape Horn, or the
Cape of Good Hope, the North Star is the first land you make.

These trades were the same that in the passage out in the Pilgrim
lasted nearly all the way from Juan Fernandez to the line; blowing
steadily on our starboard quarter for three weeks, without our
starting a brace, or even brailing down the skysails. Though we
had now the same wind, and were in the same latitude with the
Pilgrim on her passage out, yet we were nearly twelve hundred
miles to the westward of her course; for the captain, depending
upon the strong southwest winds which prevail in high southern
latitudes during the winter months, took the full advantage of the
trades, and stood well to the westward, so far that we passed
within about two hundred miles of Ducie's Island.

It was this weather and sailing that brought to my mind a little
incident that occurred on board the Pilgrim, while we were in the
same latitude. We were going along at a great rate, dead before
the wind, with studding-sails out on both sides, alow and aloft,
on a dark night, just after midnight, and everything as still as
the grave, except the washing of the water by the vessel's side;
for, being before the wind, with a smooth sea, the little brig,
covered with canvas, was doing great business with very little
noise. The other watch was below, and all our watch, except myself
and the man at the wheel, were asleep under the lee of the boat.
The second mate, who came out before the mast, and was always very
thick with me, had been holding a yarn with me, and just gone aft
to his place on the quarter-deck, and I had resumed my usual walk
to and from the windlass-end, when, suddenly, we heard a loud
scream coming from ahead, apparently directly from under the bows.
The darkness, and complete stillness of the night, and the
solitude of the ocean, gave to the sound a dreadful and almost
supernatural effect. I stood perfectly still, and my heart beat
quick. The sound woke up the rest of the watch, who stood looking
at one another. ``What, in the name of God, is that?'' said the
second mate, coming slowly forward. The first thought I had was,
that it might be a boat, with the crew of some wrecked vessel, or
perhaps the boat of some whale-ship, out over night, and we had
run it down in the darkness. Another scream! but less loud than
the first. This started us, and we ran forward, and looked over
the bows, and over the sides, to leeward, but nothing was to be
seen or heard. What was to be done? Heave the ship aback, and call
the captain? Just at this moment, in crossing the forecastle, one
of the men saw a light below, and, looking down the scuttle, saw
the watch all out of their berths, and afoul of one poor fellow,
dragging him out of his berth, and shaking him, to wake him out of
a nightmare. They had been waked out of their sleep, and as much
alarmed at the scream as we were, and were hesitating whether to
come on deck, when the second sound, proceeding directly from one
of the berths, revealed the cause of the alarm. The fellow got a
good shaking for the trouble he had given. We made a joke of the
matter; and we could well laugh, for our minds were not a little
relieved by its ridiculous termination.

We were now close upon the southern tropical line, and, with so
fine a breeze, were daily leaving the sun behind us, and drawing
nearer to Cape Horn, for which it behooved us to make every
preparation. Our rigging was all overhauled and mended, or changed
for new, where it was necessary; new and strong bobstays fitted in
the place of the chain ones, which were worn out; the spritsail
yard and martingale guys and back-ropes set well taut; bran-new
fore and main braces rove; top-gallant sheets, and wheelropes,
made of green hide, laid up in the form of rope, were stretched
and fitted; and new topsail clew-lines, &c. rove; new fore-topmast
backstays fitted; and other preparations made in good season, that
the ropes might have time to stretch and become limber before we
got into cold weather.

Sunday, June 12th. Lat. 26° 04' S., lon. 116° 31' W. We had now lost
the regular trades, and had the winds variable, principally from the
westward, and kept on in a southerly course, sailing very nearly
upon a meridian, and at the end of the week,--

Sunday, June 19th, were in lat. 34° 15' S., and lon. 116° 38' W.

[1] On removing the cat-head, after the ship arrived at Boston, it
was found that there were two holes under it which had been bored
for the purpose of driving treenails, and which, accidentally, had
not been plugged up when the cat-head was placed over them. This
provoking little piece of negligence caused us great discomfort.

[2] The customs as to the allowance of ``grub'' are very nearly the
same in all American merchantmen. Whenever a pig is killed, the
sailors have one mess from it. The rest goes to the cabin. The
smaller live stock, poultry, &c. the sailors never taste. And
indeed they do not complain of this, for it would take a great
deal to supply them with a good meal; and without the
accompaniments (which could hardly be furnished to them), it would
not be much better than salt beef. But even as to the salt beef
they are scarcely dealt fairly with; for whenever a barrel is
opened, before any of the beef is put into the harness-cask, the
steward comes up and picks it all over, and takes out the best
pieces (those that have any fat in them) for the cabin. This was
done in both the vessels I was in, and the men said that it was
usual in other vessels. Indeed, it is made no secret, and some of
the crew are usually called to help in assorting and putting away
the pieces. By this arrangement the hard, dry pieces, which the
sailors call ``old horse,'' come to their share.

There is a singular piece of rhyme, traditional among sailors,
which they say over such pieces of beef. I do not know that it
ever appeared in print before. When seated round the kid, if a
particularly bad piece is found, one of them takes it up, and
addresses it thus:--

   ```Old horse! old horse! what brought you here?'
     `From Sacarap to Portland Pier
      I've carted stone this many a year;
      Till, killed by blows and sore abuse,
      They salted me down for sailors' use.
      The sailors they do me despise;
      They turn me over and damn my eyes;
      Cut off my meat, and scrape my bones,
      And pitch me over to Davy Jones.'''

There is a story current among seamen, that a beef-dealer was
convicted, at Boston, of having sold old horse for ship's stores,
instead of beef, and had been sentenced to be confined in jail
until he should eat the whole of it; and that he is now lying in
Boston jail. I have heard this story often, on board other vessels
besides those of our own nation. It is very generally believed,
and is always highly commended, as a fair instance of retaliatory
justice.

CHAPTER XXXI

There began now to be a decided change in the appearance of things.
The days became shorter and shorter; the sun running lower in its
course each day, and giving less and less heat, and the nights so
cold as to prevent our sleeping on deck; the Magellan Clouds in
sight, of a clear, moonless night; the skies looking cold and angry;
and, at times, a long, heavy, ugly sea, setting in from the
southward, told us what we were coming to. Still, however, we had a
fine, strong breeze, and kept on our way under as much sail as our
ship would bear. Toward the middle of the week, the wind hauled to
the southward, which brought us upon a taut bowline, made the ship
meet, nearly head-on, the heavy swell which rolled from that
quarter; and there was something not at all encouraging in the
manner in which she met it. Being still so deep and heavy, she
wanted the buoyancy which should have carried her over the seas,
and she dropped heavily into them, the water washing over the
decks; and every now and then, when an unusually large sea met her
fairly upon the bows, she struck it with a sound as dead and heavy
as that with which a sledge-hammer falls upon the pile, and took
the whole of it in upon the forecastle, and, rising, carried it
aft in the scuppers, washing the rigging off the pins, and
carrying along with it everything which was loose on deck. She had
been acting in this way all of our forenoon watch below; as we
could tell by the washing of the water over our heads, and the
heavy breaking of the seas against her bows, only the thickness of
a plank from our heads, as we lay in our berths, which are
directly against the bows. At eight bells, the watch was called,
and we came on deck, one hand going aft to take the wheel, and
another going to the galley to get the grub for dinner. I stood on
the forecastle, looking at the seas, which were rolling high, as
far as the eye could reach, their tops white with foam, and the
body of them of a deep indigo blue, reflecting the bright rays of
the sun. Our ship rose slowly over a few of the largest of them,
until one immense fellow came rolling on, threatening to cover
her, and which I was sailor enough to know, by the ``feeling of
her'' under my feet, she would not rise over. I sprang upon the
knight-heads, and, seizing hold of the fore-stay, drew myself up
upon it. My feet were just off the stanchion when the bow struck
fairly into the middle of the sea, and it washed the ship fore and
aft, burying her in the water. As soon as she rose out of it, I
looked aft, and everything forward of the mainmast, except the
long-boat, which was griped and double-lashed down to the
ring-bolts, was swept off clear. The galley, the pigsty, the
hen-coop, and a large sheep-pen which had been built upon the
fore-hatch, were all gone in the twinkling of an eye,-- leaving
the deck as clean as a chin new reaped,-- and not a stick left to
show where anything had stood. In the scuppers lay the galley,
bottom up, and a few boards floating about,-- the wreck of the
sheep-pen,-- and half a dozen miserable sheep floating among them,
wet through, and not a little frightened at the sudden change that
had come upon them. As soon as the sea had washed by, all hands
sprang up out of the forecastle to see what had become of the
ship; and in a few moments the cook and Old Bill crawled out from
under the galley, where they had been lying in the water, nearly
smothered, with the galley over them. Fortunately, it rested
against the bulwarks, or it would have broken some of their bones.
When the water ran off, we picked the sheep up, and put them in
the long-boat, got the galley back in its place, and set things a
little to rights; but, had not our ship had uncommonly high
bulwarks and rail, everything must have been washed overboard, not
excepting Old Bill and the cook. Bill had been standing at the
galley-door, with the kid of beef in his hand for the forecastle
mess, when away he went, kid, beef, and all. He held on to the kid
to the last, like a good fellow, but the beef was gone, and when
the water had run off we saw it lying high and dry, like a rock at
low tide,-- nothing could hurt that. We took the loss of our beef
very easily, consoling ourselves with the recollection that the
cabin had more to lose than we; and chuckled not a little at
seeing the remains of the chicken-pie and pancakes floating in the
scuppers. ``This will never do!'' was what some said, and every
one felt. Here we were, not yet within a thousand miles of the
latitude of Cape Horn, and our decks swept by a sea not one half
so high as we must expect to find there. Some blamed the captain
for loading his ship so deep when he knew what he must expect;
while others said that the wind was always southwest, off the
Cape, in the winter, and that, running before it, we should not
mind the seas so much. When we got down into the forecastle, Old
Bill, who was somewhat of a croaker,-- having met with a great
many accidents at sea,-- said that, if that was the way she was
going to act, we might as well make our wills, and balance the
books at once, and put on a clean shirt. ``'Vast there, you bloody
old owl! you're always hanging out blue lights! You're frightened
by the ducking you got in the scuppers, and can't take a joke!
What's the use in being always on the lookout for Davy Jones?''
``Stand by!'' says another, ``and we'll get an afternoon watch
below, by this scrape''; but in this they were disappointed, for
at two bells all hands were called and set to work, getting
lashings upon everything on deck; and the captain talked of
sending down the long top-gallant-masts; but as the sea went down
toward night, and the wind hauled abeam, we left them standing,
and set the studding-sails.

The next day all hands were turned-to upon unbending the old
sails, and getting up the new ones; for a ship, unlike people on
shore, puts on her best suit in bad weather. The old sails were
sent down, and three new topsails, and new fore and main courses,
jib, and fore-topmast staysail, which were made on the coast and
never had been used, were bent, with a complete set of new
earings, robands, and reef-points; and reef-tackles were rove to
the courses, and spilling-lines to the topsails. These, with new
braces and clew-lines fore and aft, gave us a good suit of running
rigging.

The wind continued westerly, and the weather and sea less rough
since the day on which we shipped the heavy sea, and we were
making great progress under studding-sails, with our light sails
all set, keeping a little to the eastward of south; for the
captain, depending upon westerly winds off the Cape, had kept so
far to the westward that, though we were within about five hundred
miles of the latitude of Cape Horn, we were nearly seventeen
hundred miles to the westward of it. Through the rest of the week
we continued on with a fair wind, gradually, as we got more to the
southward, keeping a more easterly course, and bringing the wind
on our larboard quarter, until--

Sunday, June 26th, when, having a fine, clear day, the captain got
a lunar observation, as well as his meridian altitude, which made
us in lat. 47° 50' S., lon. 113° 49' W.; Cape Horn bearing,
according to my calculations, E. S. E. 1/2 E., and distant eighteen
hundred miles.

Monday, June 27th. During the first part of this day the wind
continued fair, and, as we were going before it, it did not feel
very cold, so that we kept at work on deck in our common clothes
and round jackets. Our watch had an afternoon watch below for the
first time since leaving San Diego; and, having inquired of the
third mate what the latitude was at noon, and made our usual
guesses as to the time she would need to be up with the Horn, we
turned-in for a nap. We were sleeping away ``at the rate of
knots,'' when three knocks on the scuttle and ``All hands, ahoy!''
started us from our berths. What could be the matter? It did not
appear to be blowing hard, and, looking up through the scuttle, we
could see that it was a clear day overhead; yet the watch were
taking in sail. We thought there must be a sail in sight, and that
we were about to heave-to and speak her; and were just
congratulating ourselves upon it,-- for we had seen neither sail
nor land since we left port,-- when we heard the mate's voice on
deck (he turned-in ``all-standing,'' and was always on deck the
moment he was called) singing out to the men who were taking in
the studding-sails, and asking where his watch were. We did not
wait for a second call, but tumbled up the ladder; and there, on
the starboard bow, was a bank of mist, covering sea and sky, and
driving directly for us. I had seen the same before in my passage
round in the Pilgrim, and knew what it meant, and that there was
no time to be lost. We had nothing on but thin clothes, yet there
was not a moment to spare, and at it we went.

The boys of the other watch were in the tops, taking in the
top-gallant studding-sails and the lower and topmast
studding-sails were coming down by the run. It was nothing but
``haul down and clew up,'' until we got all the studding-sails in,
and the royals, flying jib, and mizzen top-gallant-sail furled,
and the ship kept off a little, to take the squall. The fore and
main top-gallant sails were still on her, for the ``old man'' did
not mean to be frightened in broad daylight, and was determined to
carry sail till the last minute. We all stood waiting for its
coming, when the first blast showed us that it was not to be
trifled with. Rain, sleet, snow, and wind enough to take our
breath from us, and make the toughest turn his back to windward!
The ship lay nearly over upon her beam-ends; the spars and rigging
snapped and cracked; and her top-gallant-masts bent like
whip-sticks. ``Clew up the fore and main top-gallant-sails!''
shouted the captain, and all hands sprang to the clew-lines. The
decks were standing nearly at an angle of forty-five degrees, and
the ship going like a mad steed through the water, the whole
forward part of her in a smother of foam. The halyards were let
go, and the yard clewed down, and the sheets started, and in a few
minutes the sails smothered and kept in by clewlines and
buntlines. ``Furl 'em, sir?'' asked the mate. ``Let go the topsail
halyards, fore and aft!'' shouted the captain in answer, at the
top of his voice. Down came the topsail yards, the reef-tackles
were manned and hauled out, and we climbed up to windward, and
sprang into the weather rigging. The violence of the wind, and the
hail and sleet, driving nearly horizontally across the ocean,
seemed actually to pin us down to the rigging. It was hard work
making head against them. One after another we got out upon the
yards. And here we had work to do; for our new sails had hardly
been bent long enough to get the stiffness out of them, and the
new earings and reef-points, stiffened with the sleet, knotted
like pieces of iron wire. Having only our round jackets and straw
hats on, we were soon wet through, and it was every moment growing
colder. Our hands were soon numbed, which, added to the stiffness
of everything else, kept us a good while on the yard. After we had
got the sail hauled upon the yard, we had to wait a long time for
the weather earing to be passed; but there was no fault to be
found, for French John was at the earing, and a better sailor
never laid out on a yard; so we leaned over the yard and beat our
hands upon the sail to keep them from freezing. At length the word
came, ``Haul out to leeward,'' and we seized the reef-points and
hauled the band taut for the lee earing. ``Taut band-- knot
away,'' and we got the first reef fast, and were just going to lay
down, when-- ``Two reefs-- two reefs!'' shouted the mate, and we
had a second reef to take, in the same way. When this was fast we
went down on deck, manned the halyards to leeward, nearly up to
our knees in water, set the topsail, and then laid aloft on the
main topsail yard, and reefed that sail in the same manner; for,
as I have before stated, we were a good deal reduced in numbers,
and, to make it worse, the carpenter, only two days before, had
cut his leg with an axe, so that he could not go aloft. This
weakened us so that we could not well manage more than one topsail
at a time, in such weather as this, and, of course, each man's
labor was doubled. From the main topsail yard, we went upon the
main yard, and took a reef in the mainsail. No sooner had we got
on deck than-- ``Lay aloft there, and close-reef mizzen topsail!''
This called me; and, being nearest to the rigging, I got first
aloft, and out to the weather earing. English Ben was up just
after me, and took the lee earing, and the rest of our gang were
soon on the yard, and began to fist the sail, when the mate
considerately sent up the cook and steward to help us. I could now
account for the long time it took to pass the other earings, for,
to do my best, with a strong hand to help me at the dog's ear, I
could not get it passed until I heard them beginning to complain
in the bunt. One reef after another we took in, until the sail was
close-reefed, when we went down and hoisted away at the halyards.
In the mean time, the jib had been furled and the staysail set,
and the ship under her reduced sail had got more upright, and was
under management; but the two top-gallant-sails were still hanging
in the buntlines, and slatting and jerking as though they would
take the masts out of her. We gave a look aloft, and knew that our
work was not done yet; and, sure enough, no sooner did the mate
see that we were on deck than-- ``Lay aloft there, four of you,
and furl the top-gallant-sails!'' This called me again, and two of
us went aloft up the fore rigging, and two more up the main, upon
the top-gallant yards. The shrouds were now iced over, the sleet
having formed a crust round all the standing rigging, and on the
weather side of the masts and yards. When we got upon the yard, my
hands were so numb that I could not have cast off the knot of the
gasket if it were to save my life. We both lay over the yard for a
few seconds, beating our hands upon the sail, until we started the
blood into our fingers' ends, and at the next moment our hands
were in a burning heat. My companion on the yard was a lad (the
boy, George Somerby), who came out in the ship a weak, puny boy,
from one of the Boston schools,-- ``no larger than a
spritsail-sheet knot,'' nor ``heavier than a paper of
lamp-black,'' and ``not strong enough to haul a shad off a
gridiron,'' but who was now ``as long as a spare topmast, strong
enough to knock down an ox, and hearty enough to eat him.'' We
fisted the sail together, and, after six or eight minutes of hard
hauling and pulling and beating down the sail, which was about as
stiff as sheet-iron, we managed to get it furled; and snugly
furled it must be, for we knew the mate well enough to be certain
that if it got adrift again we should be called up from our watch
below, at any hour of the night, to furl it.

I had been on the lookout for a chance to jump below and clap on a
thick jacket and southwester; but when we got on deck we found
that eight bells had been struck, and the other watch gone below,
so that there were two hours of dog watch for us, and a plenty of
work to do. It had now set in for a steady gale from the
southwest; but we were not yet far enough to the southward to make
a fair wind of it, for we must give Terra del Fuego a wide berth.
The decks were covered with snow, and there was a constant driving
of sleet. In fact, Cape Horn had set in with good earnest. In the
midst of all this, and before it became dark, we had all the
studding-sails to make up and stow away, and then to lay aloft and
rig in all the booms, fore and aft, and coil away the tacks,
sheets, and halyards. This was pretty tough work for four or five
hands, in the face of a gale which almost took us off the yards,
and with ropes so stiff with ice that it was almost impossible to
bend them. I was nearly half an hour out on the end of the fore
yard, trying to coil away and stop down the topmast studding-sail
tack and lower halyards. It was after dark when we got through,
and we were not a little pleased to hear four bells struck, which
sent us below for two hours, and gave us each a pot of hot tea
with our cold beef and bread, and, what was better yet, a suit of
thick, dry clothing, fitted for the weather, in place of our thin
clothes, which were wet through and now frozen stiff.

This sudden turn, for which we were so little prepared, was as
unacceptable to me as to any of the rest; for I had been troubled
for several days with a slight toothache, and this cold weather
and wetting and freezing were not the best things in the world for
it. I soon found that it was getting strong hold, and running over
all parts of my face; and before the watch was out I went aft to
the mate, who had charge of the medicine-chest, to get something
for it. But the chest showed like the end of a long voyage, for
there was nothing that would answer but a few drops of laudanum,
which must be saved for an emergency; so I had only to bear the
pain as well as I could.

When we went on deck at eight bells, it had stopped snowing, and
there were a few stars out, but the clouds were still black, and
it was blowing a steady gale. Just before midnight, I went aloft
and sent down the mizzen royal yard, and had the good luck to do
it to the satisfaction of the mate, who said it was done ``out of
hand and ship-shape.'' The next four hours below were but little
relief to me, for I lay awake in my berth the whole time, from the
pain in my face, and heard every bell strike, and, at four
o'clock, turned out with the watch, feeling little spirit for the
hard duties of the day. Bad weather and hard work at sea can be
borne up against very well if one only has spirit and health; but
there is nothing brings a man down, at such a time, like bodily
pain and want of sleep. There was, however, too much to do to
allow time to think; for the gale of yesterday, and the heavy seas
we met with a few days before, while we had yet ten degrees more
southing to make, had convinced the captain that we had something
before us which was not to be trifled with, and orders were given
to send down the long top-gallant-masts. The top-gallant and royal
yards were accordingly struck, the flying jib-boom rigged in, and
the top-gallant-masts sent down on deck, and all lashed together
by the side of the long-boat. The rigging was then sent down and
coiled away below, and everything made snug aloft. There was not a
sailor in the ship who was not rejoiced to see these sticks come
down; for, so long as the yards were aloft, on the least sign of a
lull, the top-gallant-sails were loosed, and then we had to furl
them again in a snow-squall, and shin up and down single ropes
caked with ice, and send royal yards down in the teeth of a gale
coming right from the south pole. It was an interesting sight,
too, to see our noble ship, dismantled of all her top-hamper of
long tapering masts and yards, and boom pointed with spear-head,
which ornamented her in port; and all that canvas, which a few
days before had covered her like a cloud, from the truck to the
water's edge, spreading far out beyond her hull on either side,
now gone; and she stripped, like a wrestler for the fight. It
corresponded, too, with the desolate character of her situation,--
alone, as she was, battling with storms, wind, and ice, at this
extremity of the globe, and in almost constant night.

Friday, July 1st. We were now nearly up to the latitude of Cape
Horn, and having over forty degrees of easting to make, we squared
away the yards before a strong westerly gale, shook a reef out of
the fore topsail, and stood on our way, east-by-south, with the
prospect of being up with the Cape in a week or ten days. As for
myself, I had had no sleep for forty-eight hours; and the want of
rest, together with constant wet and cold, had increased the
swelling, so that my face was nearly as large as two, and I found
it impossible to get my mouth open wide enough to eat. In this
state, the steward applied to the captain for some rice to boil
for me, but he only got a-- ``No! d---  you! Tell him to eat salt
junk and hard bread, like the rest of them.'' This was, in truth,
what I expected. However, I did not starve, for Mr. Brown, who was
a man as well as a sailor, and had always been a good friend to
me, smuggled a pan of rice into the galley, and told the cook to
boil it for me, and not let the ``old man'' see it. Had it been
fine weather, or in port, I should have gone below and lain by
until my face got well; but in such weather as this, and
short-handed as we were, it was not for me to desert my post; so I
kept on deck, and stood my watch and did my duty as well as I
could.

Saturday, July 2d. This day the sun rose fair, but it ran too low
in the heavens to give any heat, or thaw out our sails and
rigging; yet the sight of it was pleasant; and we had a steady
``reef-topsail breeze'' from the westward. The atmosphere, which
had previously been clear and cold, for the last few hours grew
damp, and had a disagreeable, wet chilliness in it; and the man
who came from the wheel said he heard the captain tell ``the
passenger'' that the thermometer had fallen several degrees since
morning, which he could not account for in any other way than by
supposing that there must be ice near us; though such a thing was
rarely heard of in this latitude at this season of the year. At
twelve o'clock we went below, and had just got through dinner,
when the cook put his head down the scuttle and told us to come on
deck and see the finest sight that we had ever seen. ``Where away,
Doctor?''[1] asked the first man who was up. ``On the larboard
bow.'' And there lay, floating in the ocean, several miles off, an
immense, irregular mass, its top and points covered with snow, and
its centre of a deep indigo color. This was an iceberg, and of the
largest size, as one of our men said who had been in the Northern
Ocean. As far as the eye could reach, the sea in every direction
was of a deep blue color, the waves running high and fresh, and
sparkling in the light, and in the midst lay this immense
mountain-island, its cavities and valleys thrown into deep shade,
and its points and pinnacles glittering in the sun. All hands were
soon on deck, looking at it, and admiring in various ways its
beauty and grandeur. But no description can give any idea of the
strangeness, splendor, and, really, the sublimity, of the sight.
Its great size,-- for it must have been from two to three miles in
circumference, and several hundred feet in height,-- its slow
motion, as its base rose and sank in the water, and its high
points nodded against the clouds; the dashing of the waves upon
it, which, breaking high with foam, lined its base with a white
crust; and the thundering sound of the cracking of the mass, and
the breaking and tumbling down of huge pieces; together with its
nearness and approach, which added a slight element of fear,-- all
combined to give to it the character of true sublimity. The main
body of the mass was, as I have said, of an indigo color, its base
crusted with frozen foam; and as it grew thin and transparent
toward the edges and top, its color shaded off from a deep blue to
the whiteness of snow. It seemed to be drifting slowly toward the
north, so that we kept away and avoided it. It was in sight all
the afternoon; and when we got to leeward of it the wind died
away, so that we lay-to quite near it for a greater part of the
night. Unfortunately, there was no moon, but it was a clear night,
and we could plainly mark the long, regular heaving of the
stupendous mass, as its edges moved slowly against the stars, now
revealing them, and now shutting them in. Several times in our
watch loud cracks were heard, which sounded as though they must
have run through the whole length of the iceberg, and several
pieces fell down with a thundering crash, plunging heavily into
the sea. Toward morning a strong breeze sprang up, and we filled
away, and left it astern, and at daylight it was out of sight. The
next day, which was--

Sunday, July 3d, the breeze continued strong, the air exceedingly
chilly, and the thermometer low. In the course of the day we saw
several icebergs of different sizes, but none so near as the one
which we saw the day before. Some of them, as well as we could
judge, at the distance at which we were, must have been as large
as that, if not larger. At noon we were in latitude 55° 12' south,
and supposed longitude 89° 5' west. Toward night the wind hauled
to the southward, and headed us off our course a little, and blew
a tremendous gale; but this we did not mind, as there was no rain
nor snow, and we were already under close sail.

Monday, July 4th. This was ``Independence Day'' in Boston. What
firing of guns, and ringing of bells, and rejoicings of all sorts,
in every part of our country! The ladies (who have not gone down to
Nahant, for a breath of cool air and sight of the ocean) walking the
streets with parasols over their heads, and the dandies in their
white pantaloons and silk stockings! What quantities of ice-cream
have been eaten, and how many loads of ice brought into the city from
a distance, and sold out by the lump and the pound! The smallest
of the islands which we saw to-day would have made the fortune of
poor Jack, if he had had it in Boston; and I dare say he would have
had no objection to being there with it. This, to be sure, was no
place to keep the Fourth of July. To keep ourselves warm, and the
ship out of the ice, was as much as we could do. Yet no one forgot
the day; and many were the wishes and conjectures and comparisons,
both serious and ludicrous, which were made among all hands. The sun
shone bright as long as it was up, only that a scud of black clouds
was ever and anon driving across it. At noon we were in
lat. 54° 27' S., and lon. 85° 5' W., having made a good deal of
easting, but having lost in our latitude by the heading off of the
wind. Between daylight and dark-- that is, between nine o'clock and
three-- we saw thirty-four ice islands of various sizes; some no
bigger than the hull of our vessel, and others apparently nearly as
large as the one that we first saw; though, as we went on, the
islands became smaller and more numerous; and, at sundown of this
day, a man at the mast-head saw large tracts of floating ice, called
``field-ice,'' at the southeast. This kind of ice is much more
dangerous than the large islands, for those can be seen at a
distance, and kept away from; but the field-ice, floating in great
quantities, and covering the ocean for miles and miles, in pieces
of every size,--  large, flat, and broken cakes, with here and there
an island rising twenty and thirty feet, and as large as the ship's
hull,-- this it is very difficult to sheer clear of. A constant
lookout was necessary; for many of these pieces, coming with the
heave of the sea, were large enough to have knocked a hole in the
ship, and that would have been the end of us; for no boat (even if
we could have got one out) could have lived in such a sea; and no
man could have lived in a boat in such weather. To make our
condition still worse, the wind came out due east, just after
sundown, and it blew a gale dead ahead, with hail and sleet and a
thick fog, so that we could not see half the length of the ship. Our
chief reliance, the prevailing westerly gales, was thus cut off; and
here we were, nearly seven hundred miles to the westward of the
Cape, with a gale dead from the eastward, and the weather so thick
that we could not see the ice, with which we were surrounded, until
it was directly under our bows. At four P.M. (it was then quite
dark) all hands were called, and sent aloft, in a violent squall
of hail and rain, to take in sail. We had now all got on our ``Cape
Horn rig,''-- thick boots, southwesters coming down over our neck
and ears, thick trousers and jackets, and some with oil-cloth suits
over all. Mittens, too, we wore on deck, but it would not do to go
aloft with them, as, being wet and stiff, they might let a man
slip overboard, for all the hold he could get upon a rope: so we
were obliged to work with bare hands, which, as well as our faces,
were often cut with the hailstones, which fell thick and large.
Our ship was now all cased with ice,-- hull, spars, and standing
rigging; and the running rigging so stiff that we could hardly
bend it so as to belay it, or, still less, take a knot with it;
and the sails frozen. One at a time (for it was a long piece of
work and required many hands) we furled the courses, mizzen
topsail, and fore-topmast staysail, and close-reefed the fore and
main topsails, and hove the ship to under the fore, with the main
hauled up by the clew-lines and buntlines, and ready to be sheeted
home, if we found it necessary to make sail to get to windward of
an ice island. A regular lookout was then set, and kept by each
watch in turn, until the morning. It was a tedious and anxious
night. It blew hard the whole time, and there was an almost
constant driving of either rain, hail, or snow. In addition to
this, it was ``as thick as muck,'' and the ice was all about us.
The captain was on deck nearly the whole night, and kept the cook
in the galley, with a roaring fire, to make coffee for him, which
he took every few hours, and once or twice gave a little to his
officers; but not a drop of anything was there for the crew. The
captain, who sleeps all the daytime, and comes and goes at night
as he chooses, can have his brandy-and-water in the cabin, and his
hot coffee at the galley; while Jack, who has to stand through
everything, and work in wet and cold, can have nothing to wet his
lips or warm his stomach. This was a ``temperance ship'' by her
articles, and, like too many such ships, the temperance was all in
the forecastle. The sailor, who only takes his one glass as it is
dealt out to him, is in danger of being drunk; while the captain,
upon whose self-possession and cool judgment the lives of all
depend, may be trusted with any amount, to drink at his will.
Sailors will never be convinced that rum is a dangerous thing by
taking it away from them and giving it to the officers; nor can
they see a friend in that temperance which takes from them what
they have always had, and gives them nothing in the place of it.
By seeing it allowed to their officers, they will not be convinced
that it is taken from them for their good; and by receiving
nothing in its place they will not believe that it is done in
kindness. On the contrary, many of them look upon the change as a
new instrument of tyranny. Not that they prefer rum. I never knew
a sailor, who had been a month away from the grog shops, who would
not prefer a pot of hot coffee or chocolate, in a cold night, to
all the rum afloat. They all say that rum only warms them for a
time; yet, if they can get nothing better, they will miss what
they have lost. The momentary warmth and glow from drinking it;
the break and change which it makes in a long, dreary watch by the
mere calling all hands aft and serving of it out; and the simply
having some event to look forward to and to talk about,-- all give
it an importance and a use which no one can appreciate who has not
stood his watch before the mast. On my passage out, the Pilgrim
was not under temperance articles, and grog was served out every
middle and morning watch, and after every reefing of topsails;
and, though I had never drunk rum before, nor desire to again, I
took my allowance then at the capstan, as the rest did, merely for
the momentary warmth it gave the system, and the change in our
feelings and aspect of our duties on the watch. At the same time,
as I have said, there was not a man on board who would not have
pitched the rum to the dogs (I have heard them say so a dozen
times) for a pot of coffee or chocolate; or even for our common
beverage,-- ``water bewitched and tea begrudged,'' as it was.[2]
The temperance reform is the best thing that ever was undertaken for
the sailor; but when the grog is taken from him, he ought to have
something in its place. As it is now, in most vessels, it is a
mere saving to the owners; and this accounts for the sudden
increase of temperance ships, which surprised even the best
friends of the cause. If every merchant, when he struck grog from
the list of the expenses of his ship, had been obliged to
substitute as much coffee, or chocolate, as would give each man a
pot-full when he came off the topsail yard, on a stormy night,--
I fear Jack might have gone to ruin on the old road.[3]

But this is not doubling Cape Horn. Eight hours of the night our
watch was on deck, and during the whole of that time we kept a
bright lookout: one man on each bow, another in the bunt of the
fore yard, the third mate on the scuttle, one man on each quarter,
and another always standing by the wheel. The chief mate was
everywhere, and commanded the ship when the captain was below.
When a large piece of ice was seen in our way, or drifting near
us, the word was passed along, and the ship's head turned one way
and another; and sometimes the yards squared or braced up. There
was little else to do than to look out; and we had the sharpest
eyes in the ship on the forecastle. The only variety was the
monotonous voice of the lookout forward,-- ``Another island!''--
``Ice ahead!''-- ``Ice on the lee bow!''-- ``Hard up the helm!''--
``Keep her off a little!''-- ``Stead-y!''

In the mean time the wet and cold had brought my face into such a
state that I could neither eat nor sleep; and though I stood it
out all night, yet, when it became light, I was in such a state
that all hands told me I must go below, and lie-by for a day or
two, or I should be laid up for a long time. When the watch was
changed I went into the steerage, and took off my hat and
comforter, and showed my face to the mate, who told me to go below
at once, and stay in my berth until the swelling went down, and
gave the cook orders to make a poultice for me, and said he would
speak to the captain.

I went below and turned-in, covering myself over with blankets and
jackets, and lay in my berth nearly twenty-four hours, half asleep
and half awake, stupid from the dull pain. I heard the watch
called, and the men going up and down, and sometimes a noise on
deck, and a cry of ``ice,'' but I gave little attention to
anything. At the end of twenty-four hours the pain went down, and
I had a long sleep, which brought me back to my proper state; yet
my face was so swollen and tender that I was obliged to keep my
berth for two or three days longer. During the two days I had been
below, the weather was much the same that it had been,-- head
winds, and snow and rain; or, if the wind came fair, too foggy,
and the ice too thick, to run. At the end of the third day the ice
was very thick; a complete fog-bank covered the ship. It blew a
tremendous gale from the eastward, with sleet and snow, and there
was every promise of a dangerous and fatiguing night. At dark, the
captain called all hands aft, and told them that not a man was to
leave the deck that night; that the ship was in the greatest
danger, any cake of ice might knock a hole in her, or she might
run on an island and go to pieces. No one could tell whether she
would be a ship the next morning. The lookouts were then set, and
every man was put in his station. When I heard what was the state
of things, I began to put on my clothes to stand it out with the
rest of them, when the mate came below, and, looking at my face,
ordered me back to my berth, saying that if we went down, we
should all go down together, but if I went on deck I might lay
myself up for life. This was the first word I had heard from aft;
for the captain had done nothing, nor inquired how I was, since I
went below.

In obedience to the mate's orders, I went back to my berth; but a
more miserable night I never wish to spend. I never felt the curse
of sickness so keenly in my life. If I could only have been on
deck with the rest where something was to be done and seen and
heard, where there were fellow-beings for companions in duty and
danger; but to be cooped up alone in a black hole, in equal
danger, but without the power to do, was the hardest trial.
Several times, in the course of the night, I got up, determined to
go on deck; but the silence which showed that there was nothing
doing, and the knowledge that I might make myself seriously ill,
for no purpose, kept me back. It was not easy to sleep, lying, as
I did, with my head directly against the bows, which might be
dashed in by an island of ice, brought down by the very next sea
that struck her. This was the only time I had been ill since I
left Boston, and it was the worst time it could have happened. I
felt almost willing to bear the plagues of Egypt for the rest of
the voyage, if I could but be well and strong for that one night.
Yet it was a dreadful night for those on deck. A watch of eighteen
hours, with wet and cold and constant anxiety, nearly wore them
out; and when they came below at nine o'clock for breakfast, they
almost dropped asleep on their chests, and some of them were so
stiff that they could with difficulty sit down. Not a drop of
anything had been given them during the whole time (though the
captain, as on the night that I was on deck, had his coffee every
four hours), except that the mate stole a pot-full of coffee for
two men to drink behind the galley, while he kept a lookout for
the captain. Every man had his station, and was not allowed to
leave it; and nothing happened to break the monotony of the night,
except once setting the main topsail, to run clear of a large
island to leeward, which they were drifting fast upon. Some of the
boys got so sleepy and stupefied that they actually fell asleep at
their posts; and the young third mate, Mr. Hatch, whose post was
the exposed one of standing on the fore scuttle, was so stiff,
when he was relieved, that he could not bend his knees to get
down. By a constant lookout, and a quick shifting of the helm, as
the islands and pieces came in sight, the ship went clear of
everything but a few small pieces, though daylight showed the
ocean covered for miles. At daybreak it fell a dead calm, and with
the sun the fog cleared a little, and a breeze sprung up from the
westward, which soon grew into a gale. We had now a fair wind,
daylight, and comparatively clear weather; yet, to the surprise of
every one, the ship continued hove-to. ``Why does not he run?''
``What is the captain about?'' was asked by every one; and from
questions it soon grew into complaints and murmurings. When the
daylight was so short, it was too bad to lose it, and a fair wind,
too, which every one had been praying for. As hour followed hour,
and the captain showed no sign of making sail, the crew became
impatient, and there was a good deal of talking and consultation
together on the forecastle. They had been beaten out with the
exposure and hardship, and impatient to get out of it, and this
unaccountable delay was more than they could bear in quietness, in
their excited and restless state. Some said the captain was
frightened,-- completely cowed by the dangers and difficulties
that surrounded us, and was afraid to make sail; while others said
that in his anxiety and suspense he had made a free use of brandy
and opium, and was unfit for his duty. The carpenter, who was an
intelligent man, and a thorough seaman, and had great influence
with the crew, came down into the forecastle, and tried to induce
them to go aft and ask the captain why he did not run, or request
him, in the name of all hands, to make sail. This appeared to be a
very reasonable request, and the crew agreed that if he did not
make sail before noon they would go aft. Noon came, and no sail
was made. A consultation was held again, and it was proposed to
take the ship from the captain and give the command of her to the
mate, who had been heard to say that if he could have his way the
ship would have been half the distance to the Cape before night,--
ice or no ice. And so irritated and impatient had the crew become,
that even this proposition, which was open mutiny, was
entertained, and the carpenter went to his berth, leaving it
tacitly understood that something serious would be done if things
remained as they were many hours longer. When the carpenter left,
we talked it all over, and I gave my advice strongly against it.
Another of the men, too, who had known something of the kind
attempted in another ship by a crew who were dissatisfied with
their captain, and which was followed with serious consequences,
was opposed to it. Stimson, who soon came down, joined us, and we
determined to have nothing to do with it. By these means the crew
were soon induced to give it up for the present, though they said
they would not lie where they were much longer without knowing the
reason.

The affair remained in this state until four o'clock, when an
order came forward for all hands to come aft upon the
quarter-deck. In about ten minutes they came forward again, and
the whole affair had been blown. The carpenter, prematurely, and
without any authority from the crew, had sounded the mate as to
whether he would take command of the ship, and intimated an
intention to displace the captain; and the mate, as in duty bound,
had told the whole to the captain, who immediately sent for all
hands aft. Instead of violent measures, or, at least, an outbreak
of quarter-deck bravado, threats, and abuse, which they had every
reason to expect, a sense of common danger and common suffering
seemed to have tamed his spirit, and begotten in him something
like a humane fellow-feeling; for he received the crew in a manner
quiet, and even almost kind. He told them what he had heard, and
said that he did not believe that they would try to do any such
thing as was intimated; that they had always been good men,--
obedient, and knew their duty, and he had no fault to find with
them, and asked them what they had to complain of; said that no
one could say that he was slow to carry sail (which was true
enough), and that, as soon as he thought it was safe and proper,
he should make sail. He added a few words about their duty in
their present situation, and sent them forward, saying that he
should take no further notice of the matter; but, at the same
time, told the carpenter to recollect whose power he was in, and
that if he heard another word from him he would have cause to
remember him to the day of his death.

This language of the captain had a very good effect upon the crew,
and they returned quietly to their duty.

For two days more the wind blew from the southward and eastward,
and in the short intervals when it was fair, the ice was too thick
to run; yet the weather was not so dreadfully bad, and the crew
had watch and watch. I still remained in my berth, fast
recovering, yet not well enough to go safely on deck. And I should
have been perfectly useless; for, from having eaten nothing for
nearly a week, except a little rice which I forced into my mouth
the last day or two, I was as weak as an infant. To be sick in a
forecastle is miserable indeed. It is the worst part of a dog's
life, especially in bad weather. The forecastle, shut up tight to
keep out the water and cold air; the watch either on deck or
asleep in their berths; no one to speak to; the pale light of the
single lamp, swinging to and fro from the beam, so dim that one
can scarcely see, much less read, by it; the water dropping from
the beams and carlines and running down the sides, and the
forecastle so wet and dark and cheerless, and so lumbered up with
chests and wet clothes, that sitting up is worse than lying in the
berth. These are some of the evils. Fortunately, I needed no help
from any one, and no medicine; and if I had needed help I don't
know where I should have found it. Sailors are willing enough, but
it is true, as is often said,-- no one ships for nurse on board a
vessel. Our merchant ships are always undermanned, and if one man
is lost by sickness, they cannot spare another to take care of
him. A sailor is always presumed to be well, and if he's sick he's
a poor dog. One has to stand his wheel, and another his lookout,
and the sooner he gets on deck again the better.

Accordingly, as soon as I could possibly go back to my duty, I put
on my thick clothes and boots and southwester, and made my
appearance on deck. I had been but a few days below, yet
everything looked strangely enough. The ship was cased in ice,--
decks, sides, masts, yards, and rigging. Two close-reefed topsails
were all the sail she had on, and every sail and rope was frozen
so stiff in its place that it seemed as though it would be
impossible to start anything. Reduced, too, to her topmasts, she
had altogether a most forlorn and crippled appearance. The sun had
come up brightly; the snow was swept off the decks and ashes
thrown upon them so that we could walk, for they had been as
slippery as glass. It was, of course, too cold to carry on any
ship's work, and we had only to walk the deck and keep ourselves
warm. The wind was still ahead, and the whole ocean, to the
eastward, covered with islands and field-ice. At four bells the
order was given to square away the yards, and the man who came
from the helm said that the captain had kept her off to N. N. E.
What could this mean? The wildest rumors got adrift. Some said
that he was going to put into Valparaiso and winter, and others
that he was going to run out of the ice and cross the Pacific, and
go home round the Cape of Good Hope. Soon, however, it leaked out,
and we found that we were running for the Straits of Magellan. The
news soon spread through the ship, and all tongues were at work
talking about it. No one on board had been through the straits;
but I had in my chest an account of the passage of the ship A. J.
Donelson, of New York, through those straits a few years before.
The account was given by the captain, and the representation was
as favorable as possible. It was soon read by every one on board,
and various opinions pronounced. The determination of our captain
had at least this good effect; it gave us something to think and
talk about, made a break in our life, and diverted our minds from
the monotonous dreariness of the prospect before us. Having made a
fair wind of it, we were going off at a good rate, and leaving the
thickest of the ice behind us. This, at least, was something.

Having been long enough below to get my hands well warmed and
softened, the first handling of the ropes was rather tough; but a
few days hardened them, and as soon as I got my mouth open wide
enough to take in a piece of salt beef and hard bread, I was all
right again.

Sunday, July 10th. Lat. 54° 10', lon. 79° 07'. This was our position
at noon. The sun was out bright; the ice was all left behind, and
things had quite a cheering appearance. We brought our wet
pea-jackets and trousers on deck, and hung them up in the rigging,
that the breeze and the few hours of sun might dry them a little;
and, by leave of the cook, the galley was nearly filled with
stockings and mittens, hung round to be dried. Boots, too, were
brought up; and, having got a little tar and slush from below, we
gave them thick coats. After dinner all hands were turned-to, to get
the anchors over the bows, bend on the chains, &c. The fish-tackle
was got up, fish-davit rigged out, and, after two or three hours of
hard and cold work, both the anchors were ready for instant use, a
couple of kedges got up, a hawser coiled away upon the fore-hatch,
and the deep-sea-lead-line overhauled and made ready. Our spirits
returned with having something to do; and when the tackle was
manned to bowse the anchor home, notwithstanding the desolation of
the scene, we struck up ``Cheerly, men!'' in full chorus. This
pleased the mate, who rubbed his hands and cried out, ``That's
right, my boys; never say die! That sounds like the old crew!''
and the captain came up, on hearing the song, and said to the
passenger, within hearing of the man at the wheel, ``That sounds
like a lively crew. They'll have their song so long as there're
enough left for a chorus!''

This preparation of the cable and anchors was for the passage of
the straits; for, as they are very crooked, and with a variety of
currents, it is necessary to come frequently to anchor. This was
not, by any means, a pleasant prospect; for, of all the work that
a sailor is called upon to do in cold weather, there is none so
bad as working the ground-tackle. The heavy chain cables to be
hauled and pulled about decks with bare hands; wet hawsers,
slip-ropes, and buoy-ropes to be hauled aboard, dripping in water,
which is running up your sleeves, and freezing; clearing hawse
under the bows; getting under way and coming-to at all hours of
the night and day, and a constant lookout for rocks and sands and
turns of tides,-- these are some of the disagreeables of such a
navigation to a common sailor. Fair or foul, he wants to have
nothing to do with the ground-tackle between port and port. One of
our hands, too, had unluckily fallen upon a half of an old
newspaper which contained an account of the passage, through the
straits, of a Boston brig, called, I think, the Peruvian, in which
she lost every cable and anchor she had, got aground twice, and
arrived at Valparaiso in distress. This was set off against the
account of the A. J. Donelson, and led us to look forward with
less confidence to the passage, especially as no one on board had
ever been through, and we heard that the captain had no very
satisfactory charts. However, we were spared any further
experience on the point; for the next day, when we must have been
near the Cape of Pillars, which is the southwest point of the
mouth of the straits, a gale set in from the eastward, with a
heavy fog, so that we could not see half the ship's length ahead.
This, of course, put an end to the project for the present; for a
thick fog and a gale blowing dead ahead are not the most favorable
circumstances for the passage of difficult and dangerous straits.
This weather, too, seemed likely to last for some time, and we
could not think of beating about the mouth of the straits for a
week or two, waiting for a favorable opportunity; so we braced up
on the larboard tack, put the ship's head due south, and stuck her
off for Cape Horn again.

[1] The cook's title in all vessels.

[2] The proportions of the ingredients of the tea that was made for
us (and ours, as I have before stated, was a favorable specimen of
American merchantmen) were a pint of tea and a pint and a half of
molasses to about three gallons of water. These are all boiled
down together in the ``coppers,'' and, before serving it out, the
mess is stirred up with a stick, so as to give each man his fair
share of sweetening and tea-leaves. The tea for the cabin is, of
course, made in the usual way, in a teapot, and drunk with sugar.

[3] I do not wish these remarks, so far as they relate to the saving
of expense in the outfit, to be applied to the owners of our ship,
for she was supplied with an abundance of stores of the best kind
that are given to seamen; though the dispensing of them is
necessarily left to the captain. And I learned, on our return,
that the captain withheld many of the stores from us, from mere
ugliness. He brought several barrels of flour home, but would not
give us the usual twice-a-week duff, and so as to other stores.
Indeed, so high was the reputation of ``the employ'' among men and
officers for the character and outfit of their vessels, and for
their liberality in conducting their voyages, that when it was
known that they had the Alert fitting out for a long voyage, and
that hands were to be shipped at a certain time,-- a half hour
before the time, as one of the crew told me, sailors were steering
down the wharf, hopping over the barrels, like a drove of sheep.

CHAPTER XXXII

In our first attempt to double the Cape, when we came up to the
latitude of it, we were nearly seventeen hundred miles to the
westward, but, in running for the Straits of Magellan, we stood so
far to the eastward that we made our second attempt at a distance
of not more than four or five hundred miles; and we had great
hopes, by this means, to run clear of the ice; thinking that the
easterly gales, which had prevailed for a long time, would have
driven it to the westward. With the wind about two points free,
the yards braced in a little, and two close-reefed topsails and a
reefed foresail on the ship, we made great way toward the
southward; and almost every watch, when we came on deck, the air
seemed to grow colder, and the sea to run higher. Still we saw no
ice, and had great hopes of going clear of it altogether, when,
one afternoon, about three o'clock, while we were taking a siesta
during our watch below, ``All hands!'' was called in a loud and
fearful voice. ``Tumble up here, men!-- tumble up!-- don't stop
for your clothes-- before we're upon it!'' We sprang out of our
berths and hurried upon deck. The loud, sharp voice of the captain
was heard giving orders, as though for life or death, and we ran
aft to the braces, not waiting to look ahead, for not a moment was
to be lost. The helm was hard up, the after yards shaking, and the
ship in the act of wearing. Slowly, with the stiff ropes and iced
rigging, we swung the yards round, everything coming hard and with
a creaking and rending sound, like pulling up a plank which has
been frozen into the ice. The ship wore round fairly, the yards
were steadied, and we stood off on the other tack, leaving behind
us, directly under our larboard quarter, a large ice island,
peering out of the mist, and reaching high above our tops; while
astern, and on either side of the island, large tracts of
field-ice were dimly seen, heaving and rolling in the sea. We were
now safe, and standing to the northward; but, in a few minutes
more, had it not been for the sharp lookout of the watch, we
should have been fairly upon the ice, and left our ship's old
bones adrift in the Southern Ocean. After standing to the
northward a few hours, we wore ship, and, the wind having hauled,
we stood to the southward and eastward. All night long a bright
lookout was kept from every part of the deck; and whenever ice was
seen on the one bow or the other the helm was shifted and the
yards braced, and, by quick working of the ship, she was kept
clear. The accustomed cry of ``Ice ahead!''-- ``Ice on the lee
bow!''-- ``Another island!'' in the same tones, and with the same
orders following them, seemed to bring us directly back to our old
position of the week before. During our watch on deck, which was
from twelve to four, the wind came out ahead, with a pelting storm
of hail and sleet, and we lay hove-to, under a close-reefed fore
topsail, the whole watch. During the next watch it fell calm with
a drenching rain until daybreak, when the wind came out to the
westward, and the weather cleared up, and showed us the whole
ocean, in the course which we should have steered, had it not been
for the head wind and calm, completely blocked up with ice. Here,
then, our progress was stopped, and we wore ship, and once more
stood to the northward and eastward; not for the Straits of
Magellan, but to make another attempt to double the Cape, still
farther to the eastward; for the captain was determined to get
round if perseverance could do it, and the third time, he said,
never failed.

With a fair wind we soon ran clear of the field-ice, and by noon
had only the stray islands floating far and near upon the ocean.
The sun was out bright, the sea of a deep blue, fringed with the
white foam of the waves, which ran high before a strong
southwester; our solitary ship tore on through the open water as
though glad to be out of her confinement; and the ice islands lay
scattered here and there, of various sizes and shapes, reflecting
the bright rays of the sun, and drifting slowly northward before
the gale. It was a contrast to much that we had lately seen, and a
spectacle not only of beauty, but of life; for it required but
little fancy to imagine these islands to be animate masses which
had broken loose from the ``thrilling regions of thick-ribbed
ice,'' and were working their way, by wind and current, some
alone, and some in fleets, to milder climes. No pencil has ever
yet given anything like the true effect of an iceberg. In a
picture, they are huge, uncouth masses, stuck in the sea, while
their chief beauty and grandeur-- their slow, stately motion, the
whirling of the snow about their summits, and the fearful groaning
and cracking of their parts-- the picture cannot give. This is the
large iceberg,-- while the small and distant islands, floating on
the smooth sea, in the light of a clear day, look like little
floating fairy isles of sapphire.

From a northeast course we gradually hauled to the eastward, and
after sailing about two hundred miles, which brought us as near to
the western coast of Terra del Fuego as was safe, and having lost
sight of the ice altogether,-- for the third time we put the
ship's head to the southward, to try the passage of the Cape. The
weather continued clear and cold, with a strong gale from the
westward, and we were fast getting up with the latitude of the
Cape, with a prospect of soon being round. One fine afternoon, a
man who had gone into the fore-top to shift the rolling tackles
sung out at the top of his voice, and with evident glee, ``Sail
ho!'' Neither land nor sail had we seen since leaving San Diego;
and only those who have traversed the length of a whole ocean
alone can imagine what an excitement such an announcement produced
on board. ``Sail ho!'' shouted the cook, jumping out of his
galley; ``Sail ho!'' shouted a man, throwing back the slide of the
scuttle, to the watch below, who were soon out of their berths and
on deck; and ``Sail ho!'' shouted the captain down the
companion-way to the passenger in the cabin. Beside the pleasure
of seeing a ship and human beings in so desolate a place, it was
important for us to speak a vessel, to learn whether there was ice
to the eastward, and to ascertain the longitude; for we had no
chronometer, and had been drifting about so long that we had
nearly lost our reckoning; and opportunities for lunar
observations are not frequent or sure in such a place as Cape
Horn. For these various reasons the excitement in our little
community was running high, and conjectures were made, and
everything thought of for which the captain would hail, when the
man aloft sung out-- ``Another sail, large on the weather bow!''
This was a little odd, but so much the better, and did not shake
our faith in their being sails. At length the man in the top
hailed, and said he believed it was land, after all. ``Land in
your eye!'' said the mate, who was looking through the telescope;
``they are ice islands, if I can see a hole through a ladder'';
and a few moments showed the mate to be right; and all our
expectations fled; and instead of what we most wished to see we
had what we most dreaded, and what we hoped we had seen the last
of. We soon, however, left these astern, having passed within
about two miles of them, and at sundown the horizon was clear in
all directions.

Having a fine wind, we were soon up with and passed the latitude
of the Cape, and, having stood far enough to the southward to give
it a wide berth, we began to stand to the eastward, with a good
prospect of being round and steering to the northward, on the
other side, in a very few days. But ill luck seemed to have
lighted upon us. Not four hours had we been standing on in this
course before it fell dead calm, and in half an hour it clouded
up, a few straggling blasts, with spits of snow and sleet, came
from the eastward, and in an hour more we lay hove-to under a
close-reefed main topsail, drifting bodily off to leeward before
the fiercest storm that we had yet felt, blowing dead ahead, from
the eastward. It seemed as though the genius of the place had been
roused at finding that we had nearly slipped through his fingers,
and had come down upon us with tenfold fury. The sailors said that
every blast, as it shook the shrouds, and whistled through the
rigging, said to the old ship, ``No, you don't!''-- ``No, you
don't!''

For eight days we lay drifting about in this manner. Sometimes--
generally towards noon-- it fell calm; once or twice a round
copper ball showed itself for a few moments in the place where the
sun ought to have been, and a puff or two came from the westward,
giving some hope that a fair wind had come at last. During the
first two days we made sail for these puffs, shaking the reefs out
of the topsails and boarding the tacks of the courses; but finding
that it only made work for us when the gale set in again, it was
soon given up, and we lay-to under our close-reefs. We had less
snow and hail than when we were farther to the westward, but we
had an abundance of what is worse to a sailor in cold weather,--
drenching rain. Snow is blinding, and very bad when coming upon a
coast, but, for genuine discomfort, give me rain with freezing
weather. A snowstorm is exciting, and it does not wet through the
clothes (a fact important to a sailor); but a constant rain there
is no escaping from. It wets to the skin, and makes all protection
vain. We had long ago run through all our dry clothes, and as
sailors have no other way of drying them than by the sun, we had
nothing to do but to put on those which were the least wet. At the
end of each watch, when we came below, we took off our clothes and
wrung them out; two taking hold of a pair of trousers, one at each
end,-- and jackets in the same way. Stockings, mittens, and all,
were wrung out also, and then hung up to drain and chafe dry
against the bulkheads. Then, feeling of all our clothes, we picked
out those which were the least wet, and put them on, so as to be
ready for a call, and turned-in, covered ourselves up with
blankets, and slept until three knocks on the scuttle and the
dismal sound of ``All Starbowlines ahoy! Eight bells, there below!
Do you hear the news?'' drawled out from on deck, and the sulky
answer of ``Aye, aye!'' from below, sent us up again.

On deck all was dark, and either a dead calm, with the rain
pouring steadily down, or, more generally, a violent gale dead
ahead, with rain pelting horizontally, and occasional variations
of hail and sleet; decks afloat with water swashing from side to
side, and constantly wet feet, for boots could not be wrung out
like drawers, and no composition could stand the constant soaking.
In fact, wet and cold feet are inevitable in such weather, and are
not the least of those items which go to make up the grand total
of the discomforts of a winter passage round Cape Horn. Few words
were spoken between the watches as they shifted; the wheel was
relieved, the mate took his place on the quarter-deck, the
lookouts in the bows; and each man had his narrow space to walk
fore and aft in, or rather to swing himself forward and back in,
from one belaying-pin to another, for the decks were too slippery
with ice and water to allow of much walking. To make a walk, which
is absolutely necessary to pass away the time, one of us hit upon
the expedient of sanding the decks; and afterwards, whenever the
rain was not so violent as to wash it off, the weather-side of the
quarter-deck, and a part of the waist and forecastle were
sprinkled with the sand which we had on board for holystoning, and
thus we made a good promenade, where we walked fore and aft, two
and two, hour after hour, in our long, dull, and comfortless
watches. The bells seemed to be an hour or two apart, instead of
half an hour, and an age to elapse before the welcome sound of
eight bells. The sole object was to make the time pass on. Any
change was sought for which would break the monotony of the time;
and even the two hours' trick at the wheel, which came round to us
in turn, once in every other watch, was looked upon as a relief.
The never-failing resource of long yarns, which eke out many a
watch, seemed to have failed us now; for we had been so long
together that we had heard each other's stories told over and over
again till we had them by heart; each one knew the whole history
of each of the others, and we were fairly and literally talked
out. Singing and joking we were in no humor for; and, in fact, any
sound of mirth or laughter would have struck strangely upon our
ears, and would not have been tolerated any more than whistling or
a wind instrument. The last resort, that of speculating upon the
future, seemed now to fail us; for our discouraging situation, and
the danger we were really in (as we expected every day to find
ourselves drifted back among the ice), ``clapped a stopper'' upon
all that. From saying ``when we get home,'' we began insensibly to
alter it to ``if we get home,'' and at last the subject was
dropped by a tacit consent.

In this state of things, a new light was struck out, and a new
field opened, by a change in the watch. One of our watch was laid
up for two or three days by a bad hand (for in cold weather the
least cut or bruise ripens into a sore), and his place was
supplied by the carpenter. This was a windfall, and there was a
contest who should have the carpenter to walk with him. As
``Chips'' was a man of some little education, and he and I had had
a good deal of intercourse with each other, he fell in with me in
my walk. He was a Fin, but spoke English well, and gave me long
accounts of his country,-- the customs, the trade, the towns, what
little he knew of the government (I found he was no friend of
Russia), his voyages, his first arrival in America, his marriage
and courtship; he had married a countrywoman of his, a
dress-maker, whom he met with in Boston. I had very little to tell
him of my quiet, sedentary life at home; and in spite of our best
efforts, which had protracted these yarns through five or six
watches, we fairly talked each other out, and I turned him over to
another man in the watch, and put myself upon my own resources.

I commenced a deliberate system of time-killing, which united some
profit with a cheering up of the heavy hours. As soon as I came on
deck, and took my place and regular walk, I began with repeating
over to myself in regular order a string of matters which I had in
my memory,-- the multiplication table and the tables of weights
and measures; the Kanaka numerals; then the States of the Union,
with their capitals; the counties of England, with their shire
towns, and the kings of England in their order, and other things.
This carried me through my facts, and, being repeated
deliberately, with long intervals, often eked out the first two
bells. Then came the Ten Commandments, the thirty-ninth chapter of
Job, and a few other passages from Scripture. The next in the
order, which I seldom varied from, came Cowper's Castaway, which
was a great favorite with me; its solemn measure and gloomy
character, as well as the incident it was founded upon, making it
well suited to a lonely watch at sea. Then his lines to Mary, his
address to the Jackdaw, and a short extract from Table Talk (I
abounded in Cowper, for I happened to have a volume of his poems
in my chest); ``Ille et nefasto'' from Horace, and Goethe's Erl
König. After I had got through these, I allowed myself a more
general range among everything that I could remember, both in
prose and verse. In this way, with an occasional break by
relieving the wheel, heaving the log, and going to the
scuttle-butt for a drink of water, the longest watch was passed
away; and I was so regular in my silent recitations that, if there
was no interruption by ship's duty, I could tell very nearly the
number of bells by my progress.

Our watches below were no more varied than the watch on deck. All
washing, sewing, and reading was given up, and we did nothing but
eat, sleep, and stand our watch, leading what might be called a
Cape Horn life. The forecastle was too uncomfortable to sit up in;
and whenever we were below, we were in our berths. To prevent the
rain and the sea-water which broke over the bows from washing
down, we were obliged to keep the scuttle closed, so that the
forecastle was nearly air-tight. In this little, wet, leaky hole,
we were all quartered, in an atmosphere so bad that our lamp,
which swung in the middle from the beams, sometimes actually
burned blue, with a large circle of foul air about it. Still, I
was never in better health than after three weeks of this life. I
gained a great deal of flesh, and we all ate like horses. At every
watch when we came below, before turning in, the bread barge and
beef kid were overhauled. Each man drank his quart of hot tea
night and morning, and glad enough we were to get it; for no
nectar and ambrosia were sweeter to the lazy immortals than was a
pot of hot tea, a hard biscuit, and a slice of cold salt beef to
us after a watch on deck. To be sure, we were mere animals, and,
had this life lasted a year instead of a month, we should have
been little better than the ropes in the ship. Not a razor, nor a
brush, nor a drop of water, except the rain and the spray, had
come near us all the time; for we were on an allowance of fresh
water; and who would strip and wash himself in salt water on deck,
in the snow and ice, with the thermometer at zero?

After about eight days of constant easterly gales, the wind hauled
occasionally a little to the southward, and blew hard, which, as
we were well to the southward, allowed us to brace in a little,
and stand on under all the sail we could carry. These turns lasted
but a short while, and sooner or later it set in again from the
old quarter; yet at each time we made something, and were
gradually edging along to the eastward. One night, after one of
these shifts of the wind, and when all hands had been up a great
part of the time, our watch was left on deck, with the mainsail
hanging in the buntlines, ready to be set if necessary. It came on
to blow worse and worse, with hail and snow beating like so many
furies upon the ship, it being as dark and thick as night could
make it. The mainsail was blowing and slatting with a noise like
thunder, when the captain came on deck and ordered it to be
furled. The mate was about to call all hands, when the captain
stopped him, and said that the men would be beaten out if they
were called up so often; that, as our watch must stay on deck, it
might as well be doing that as anything else. Accordingly, we went
upon the yard; and never shall I forget that piece of work. Our
watch had been so reduced by sickness, and by some having been
left in California, that, with one man at the wheel, we had only
the third mate and three beside myself to go aloft; so that at
most we could only attempt to furl one yard-arm at a time. We
manned the weather yard-arm, and set to work to make a furl of it.
Our lower masts being short, and our yards very square, the sail
had a head of nearly fifty feet, and a short leech, made still
shorter by the deep reef which was in it, which brought the clew
away out on the quarters of the yard, and made a bunt nearly as
square as the mizzen royal yard. Beside this difficulty, the yard
over which we lay was cased with ice, the gaskets and rope of the
foot and leech of the sail as stiff and hard as a piece of leather
hose, and the sail itself about as pliable as though it had been
made of sheets of sheathing copper. It blew a perfect hurricane,
with alternate blasts of snow, hail, and rain. We had to fist the
sail with bare hands. No one could trust himself to mittens, for
if he slipped he was a gone man. All the boats were hoisted in on
deck, and there was nothing to be lowered for him. We had need of
every finger God had given us. Several times we got the sail upon
the yard, but it blew away again before we could secure it. It
required men to lie over the yard to pass each turn of the
gaskets, and when they were passed it was almost impossible to
knot them so that they would hold. Frequently we were obliged to
leave off altogether and take to beating our hands upon the sail
to keep them from freezing. After some time-- which seemed forever--
we got the weather side stowed after a fashion, and went over to
leeward for another trial. This was still worse, for the body of
the sail had been blown over to leeward, and, as the yard was
a-cock-bill by the lying over of the vessel, we had to light it
all up to windward. When the yard-arms were furled, the bunt was
all adrift again, which made more work for us. We got all secure
at last, but we had been nearly an hour and a half upon the yard,
and it seemed an age. It had just struck five bells when we went
up, and eight were struck soon after we came down. This may seem
slow work; but considering the state of everything, and that we
had only five men to a sail with just half as many square yards of
canvas in it as the mainsail of the Independence, sixty-gun ship,
which musters seven hundred men at her quarters, it is not
wonderful that we were no quicker about it. We were glad enough to
get on deck, and still more to go below. The oldest sailor in the
watch said, as he went down, ``I shall never forget that main
yard; it beats all my going a-fishing. Fun is fun, but furling one
yard-arm of a course at a time, off Cape Horn, is no better than
man-killing.''

During the greater part of the next two days, the wind was pretty
steady from the southward. We had evidently made great progress,
and had good hope of being soon up with the Cape, if we were not
there already. We could put but little confidence in our
reckoning, as there had been no opportunities for an observation,
and we had drifted too much to allow of our dead reckoning being
anywhere near the mark. If it would clear off enough to give a
chance for an observation, or if we could make land, we should
know where we were; and upon these, and the chances of falling in
with a sail from the eastward, we depended almost entirely.

Friday, July 22d. This day we had a steady gale from the
southward, and stood on under close sail, with the yards eased a
little by the weather braces, the clouds lifting a little, and
showing signs of breaking away. In the afternoon, I was below with
Mr. Hatch, the third mate, and two others, filling the bread
locker in the steerage from the casks, when a bright gleam of
sunshine broke out and shone down the companionway, and through
the skylight, lighting up everything below, and sending a warm
glow through the hearts of all. It was a sight we had not seen for
weeks,-- an omen, a godsend. Even the roughest and hardest face
acknowledged its influence. Just at that moment we heard a loud
shout from all parts of the deck, and the mate called out down the
companion-way to the captain, who was sitting in the cabin. What
he said we could not distinguish, but the captain kicked over his
chair, and was on deck at one jump. We could not tell what it was;
and, anxious as we were to know, the discipline of the ship would
not allow of our leaving our places. Yet, as we were not called,
we knew there was no danger. We hurried to get through with our
job, when, seeing the steward's black face peering out of the
pantry, Mr. Hatch hailed him to know what was the matter. ``Lan'
o, to be sure, sir! No you hear 'em sing out, `Lan' o?' De cap'em
say 'im Cape Horn!''

This gave us a new start, and we were soon through our work and on
deck; and there lay the land, fair upon the larboard beam, and
slowly edging away upon the quarter. All hands were busy looking
at it,-- the captain and mates from the quarter-deck, the cook
from his galley, and the sailors from the forecastle; and even Mr.
Nuttall, the passenger, who had kept in his shell for nearly a
month, and hardly been seen by anybody, and whom we had almost
forgotten was on board, came out like a butterfly, and was hopping
round as bright as a bird.

The land was the island of Staten Land, just to the eastward of
Cape Horn; and a more desolate-looking spot I never wish to set
eyes upon,-- bare, broken, and girt with rocks and ice, with here
and there, between the rocks and broken hillocks, a little stunted
vegetation of shrubs. It was a place well suited to stand at the
junction of the two oceans, beyond the reach of human cultivation,
and encounter the blasts and snows of a perpetual winter. Yet,
dismal as it was, it was a pleasant sight to us; not only as being
the first land we had seen, but because it told us that we had
passed the Cape,-- were in the Atlantic,-- and that, with
twenty-four hours of this breeze, we might bid defiance to the
Southern Ocean. It told us, too, our latitude and longitude better
than any observation; and the captain now knew where we were, as
well as if we were off the end of Long Wharf.

In the general joy, Mr. Nuttall said he should like to go ashore
upon the island and examine a spot which probably no human being
had ever set foot upon; but the captain intimated that he would
see the island, specimens and all, in-- another place, before he
would get out a boat or delay the ship one moment for him.

We left the land gradually astern; and at sundown had the Atlantic
Ocean clear before us.

CHAPTER XXXIII

It is usual, in voyages round the Cape from the Pacific, to keep
to the eastward of the Falkland Islands; but as there had now set
in a strong, steady, and clear southwester, with every prospect of
its lasting, and we had had enough of high latitudes, the captain
determined to stand immediately to the northward, running inside
the Falkland Islands. Accordingly, when the wheel was relieved at
eight o'clock, the order was given to keep her due north, and all
hands were turned up to square away the yards and make sail. In a
moment the news ran through the ship that the captain was keeping
her off, with her nose straight for Boston, and Cape Horn over her
taffrail. It was a moment of enthusiasm. Every one was on the
alert, and even the two sick men turned out to lend a hand at the
halyards. The wind was now due southwest, and blowing a gale to
which a vessel close hauled could have shown no more than a single
close-reefed sail; but as we were going before it, we could carry
on. Accordingly, hands were sent aloft, and a reef shaken out of
the topsails, and the reefed foresail set. When we came to
mast-head the topsail yards, with all hands at the halyards, we
struck up ``Cheerly, men,'' with a chorus which might have been
heard half-way to Staten Land. Under her increased sail, the ship
drove on through the water. Yet she could bear it well; and the
captain sang out from the quarter-deck, ``Another reef out of that
fore topsail, and give it to her!'' Two hands sprang aloft; the
frozen reef-points and earings were cast adrift, the halyards
manned, and the sail gave out her increased canvas to the gale.
All hands were kept on deck to watch the effect of the change. It
was as much as she could well carry, and with a heavy sea astern
it took two men at the wheel to steer her. She flung the foam from
her bows, the spray breaking aft as far as the gangway. She was
going at a prodigious rate. Still everything held. Preventer
braces were reeved and hauled taut, tackles got upon the
backstays, and everything done to keep all snug and strong. The
captain walked the deck at a rapid stride, looked aloft at the
sails, and then to windward; the mate stood in the gangway,
rubbing his hands, and talking aloud to the ship, ``Hurrah, old
bucket! the Boston girls have got hold of the tow-rope!'' and the
like; and we were on the forecastle, looking to see how the spars
stood it, and guessing the rate at which she was going, when the
captain called out ``Mr. Brown, get up the topmast studding-sail!
What she can't carry she may drag!'' The mate looked a moment; but
he would let no one be before him in daring. He sprang forward.
``Hurrah, men! rig out the topmast studding-sail boom! Lay aloft,
and I'll send the rigging up to you!'' We sprang aloft into the
top; lowered a girt-line down, by which we hauled up the rigging;
rove the tacks and halyards; ran out the boom and lashed it fast,
and sent down the lower halyards as a preventer. It was a clear
starlight night, cold and blowing; but everybody worked with a
will. Some, indeed, looked as though they thought the ``old man''
was mad, but no one said a word. We had had a new topmast
studding-sail made with a reef in it,-- a thing hardly ever heard
of, and which the sailors had ridiculed a good deal, saying that
when it was time to reef a studding-sail it was time to take it
in. But we found a use for it now; for, there being a reef in the
topsail, the studding-sail could not be set without one in it
also. To be sure, a studding-sail with reefed topsails was rather
a novelty; yet there was some reason in it, for if we carried that
away we should lose only a sail and a boom; but a whole topsail
might have carried away the mast and all.

While we were aloft the sail had been got out, bent to the yard,
reefed, and ready for hoisting. Waiting for a good opportunity,
the halyards were manned and the yard hoisted fairly up to the
block; but when the mate came to shake the catspaw out of the
downhaul, and we began to boom-end the sail, it shook the ship to
her centre. The boom buckled up and bent like a whip-stick, and we
looked every moment to see something go; but, being of the short,
tough upland spruce, it bent like whalebone, and nothing could
break it. The carpenter said it was the best stick he had ever
seen. The strength of all hands soon brought the tack to the
boom-end, and the sheet was trimmed down, and the preventer and
the weather brace hauled taut to take off the strain. Every
rope-yarn seemed stretched to the utmost, and every thread of
canvas; and with this sail added to her, the ship sprang through
the water like a thing possessed. The sail being nearly all
forward, it lifted her out of the water, and she seemed actually
to jump from sea to sea. From the time her keel was laid, she had
never been so driven; and had it been life or death with every one
of us, she could not have borne another stitch of canvas.

Finding that she would bear the sail, the hands were sent below,
and our watch remained on deck. Two men at the wheel had as much
as they could do to keep her within three points of her course,
for she steered as wild as a young colt. The mate walked the deck,
looking at the sails, and then over the side to see the foam fly
by her,-- slapping his hands upon his thighs and talking to the
ship,-- ``Hurrah, you jade, you've got the scent!-- you know where
you're going!'' And when she leaped over the seas, and almost out
of the water, and trembled to her very keel, the spars and masts
snapping and creaking,-- ``There she goes!-- There she goes,--
handsomely?-- As long as she cracks she holds!''-- while we stood
with the rigging laid down fair for letting go, and ready to take
in sail and clear away, if anything went. At four bells we hove
the log, and she was going eleven knots fairly; and had it not
been for the sea from aft which sent the chip home, and threw her
continually off her course, the log would have shown her to have
been going somewhat faster. I went to the wheel with a young
fellow from the Kennebec, Jack Stewart, who was a good helmsman,
and for two hours we had our hands full. A few minutes showed us
that our monkey-jackets must come off; and, cold as it was, we
stood in our shirt-sleeves in a perspiration, and were glad enough
to have it eight bells, and the wheel relieved. We turned-in and
slept as well as we could, though the sea made a constant roar
under her bows, and washed over the forecastle like a small
cataract.

At four o'clock we were called again. The same sail was still on
the vessel, and the gale, if there was any change, had increased a
little. No attempt was made to take the studding-sail in; and,
indeed, it was too late now. If we had started anything toward
taking it in, either tack or halyards, it would have blown to
pieces, and carried something away with it. The only way now was
to let everything stand, and if the gale went down, well and good;
if not, something must go,-- the weakest stick or rope first,--
and then we could get it in. For more than an hour she was driven
on at such a rate that she seemed to crowd the sea into a heap
before her; and the water poured over the spritsail yard as it
would over a dam. Toward daybreak the gale abated a little, and
she was just beginning to go more easily along, relieved of the
pressure, when Mr. Brown, determined to give her no respite, and
depending upon the wind's subsiding as the sun rose, told us to
get along the lower studding-sail. This was an immense sail, and
held wind enough to last a Dutchman a week,-- hove-to. It was soon
ready, the boom topped up, preventer guys rove, and the idlers
called up to man the halyards; yet such was still the force of the
gale that we were nearly an hour setting the sail; carried away
the outhaul in doing it, and came very near snapping off the
swinging boom. No sooner was it set than the ship tore on again
like one mad, and began to steer wilder than ever. The men at the
wheel were puffing and blowing at their work, and the helm was
going hard up and hard down, constantly. Add to this, the gale did
not lessen as the day came on, but the sun rose in clouds. A
sudden lurch threw the man from the weather wheel across the deck
and against the side. The mate sprang to the wheel, and the man,
regaining his feet, seized the spokes, and they hove the wheel up
just in time to save the ship from broaching to, though as she
came up the studding-sail boom stood at an angle of forty-five
degrees. She had evidently more on her than she could bear; yet it
was in vain to try to take it in,-- the clew-line was not strong
enough, and they were thinking of cutting away, when another wide
yaw and a come-to snapped the guys, and the swinging boom came in
with a crash against the lower rigging. The outhaul block gave
way, and the topmast studding-sail boom bent in a manner which I
never before supposed a stick could bend. I had my eye on it when
the guys parted, and it made one spring and buckled up so as to
form nearly a half-circle, and sprang out again to its shape. The
clew-line gave way at the first pull; the cleat to which the
halyards were belayed was wrenched off, and the sail blew round
the spritsail yard and head guys, which gave us a bad job to get
it in. A half-hour served to clear all away, and she was suffered
to drive on with her topmast studding-sail set, it being as much
as she could stagger under.

During all this day and the next night we went on under the same
sail, the gale blowing with undiminished violence; two men at the
wheel all the time; watch and watch, and nothing to do but to
steer and look out for the ship, and be blown along;-- until the
noon of the next day,--

Sunday, July 24th, when we were in lat. 50° 27' S., lon. 62° 13' W.,
having made four degrees of latitude in the last twenty-four hours.
Being now to the northward of the Falkland Islands, the ship was
kept off, northeast, for the equator; and with her head for the
equator, and Cape Horn over her taffrail, she went gloriously
on; every heave of the sea leaving the Cape astern, and every hour
bringing us nearer to home and to warm weather. Many a time, when
blocked up in the ice, with everything dismal and discouraging
about us, had we said, if we were only fairly round, and standing
north on the other side, we should ask for no more; and now we had
it all, with a clear sea and as much wind as a sailor could pray
for. If the best part of a voyage is the last part, surely we had
all now that we could wish. Every one was in the highest spirits,
and the ship seemed as glad as any of us at getting out of her
confinement. At each change of the watch, those coming on deck
asked those going below, ``How does she go along?'' and got, for
answer, the rate, and the customary addition, ``Aye! and the
Boston girls have had hold of the tow-rope all the watch.'' Every
day the sun rose higher in the horizon, and the nights grew
shorter; and at coming on deck each morning there was a sensible
change in the temperature. The ice, too, began to melt from off
the rigging and spars, and, except a little which remained in the
tops and round the hounds of the lower masts, was soon gone. As we
left the gale behind us, the reefs were shaken out of the
topsails, and sail made as fast as she could bear it; and every
time all hands were sent to the halyards a song was called for,
and we hoisted away with a will.

Sail after sail was added, as we drew into fine weather; and in
one week after leaving Cape Horn, the long top-gallant-masts were
got up, top-gallant and royal yards crossed, and the ship restored
to her fair proportions.

The Southern Cross and the Magellan Clouds settled lower and lower
in the horizon; and so great was our change of latitude that each
succeeding night we sank some constellation in the south, and
raised another in the northern horizon.

Sunday, July 31st. At noon we were in lat. 36° 41' S.,
lon. 38° 08' W.; having traversed the distance of two thousand
miles, allowing for changes of course, in nine days. A thousand
miles in four days and a half! This is equal to steam.

Soon after eight o'clock the appearance of the ship gave evidence
that this was the first Sunday we had yet had in fine weather. As
the sun came up clear, with the promise of a fair, warm day, and,
as usual on Sunday, there was no work going on, all hands
turned-to upon clearing out the forecastle. The wet and soiled
clothes which had accumulated there during the past month were
brought up on deck; the chests moved; brooms, buckets of water,
swabs, scrubbing-brushes, and scrapers carried down and applied,
until the forecastle floor was as white as chalk, and everything
neat and in order. The bedding from the berths was then spread on
deck, and dried and aired; the deck-tub filled with water; and a
grand washing begun of all the clothes which were brought up.
Shirts, frocks, drawers, trousers, jackets, stockings, of every
shape and color, wet and dirty,-- many of them mouldy from having
been lying a long time wet in a foul corner,-- these were all
washed and scrubbed out, and finally towed overboard for half an
hour; and then made fast in the rigging to dry. Wet boots and
shoes were spread out to dry in sunny places on deck; and the
whole ship looked like a back yard on a washing-day. After we had
done with our clothes, we began upon our persons. A little fresh
water, which we had saved from our allowance, was put in buckets,
and, with soap and towels, we had what sailors call a fresh-water
wash. The same bucket, to be sure, had to go through several
hands, and was spoken for by one after another, but as we rinsed
off in salt water, pure from the ocean, and the fresh was used
only to start the accumulated grime and blackness of five weeks,
it was held of little consequence. We soaped down and scrubbed one
another with towels and pieces of canvas, stripping to it; and
then, getting into the head, threw buckets of water upon each
other. After this came shaving, and combing, and brushing; and
when, having spent the first part of the day in this way, we sat
down on the forecastle, in the afternoon, with clean duck trousers
and shirts on, washed, shaved, and combed, and looking a dozen
shades lighter for it, reading, sewing, and talking at our ease,
with a clear sky and warm sun over our heads, a steady breeze over
the larboard quarter, studding-sails out alow and aloft, and all
the flying kites abroad,-- we felt that we had got back into the
pleasantest part of a sailor's life. At sunset the clothes were
all taken down from the rigging,-- clean and dry,-- and stowed
neatly away in our chests; and our southwesters, thick boots,
Guernsey frocks, and other accompaniments of bad weather, put out
of the way, we hoped, for the rest of the voyage, as we expected
to come upon the coast early in the autumn.

Notwithstanding all that has been said about the beauty of a ship
under full sail, there are very few who have ever seen a ship,
literally, under all her sail. A ship coming in or going out of
port, with her ordinary sails, and perhaps two or three
studding-sails, is commonly said to be under full sail; but a ship
never has all her sail upon her, except when she has a light,
steady breeze, very nearly, but not quite, dead aft, and so
regular that it can be trusted, and is likely to last for some
time. Then, with all her sails, light and heavy, and
studding-sails, on each side, alow and aloft, she is the most
glorious moving object in the world. Such a sight very few, even
some who have been at sea a good deal, have ever beheld; for from
the deck of your own vessel you cannot see her, as you would a
separate object.

One night, while we were in these tropics, I went out to the end
of the flying-jib-boom upon some duty, and, having finished it,
turned round, and lay over the boom for a long time, admiring the
beauty of the sight before me. Being so far out from the deck, I
could look at the ship as at a separate vessel; and there rose up
from the water, supported only by the small black hull, a pyramid
of canvas, spreading out far beyond the hull, and towering up
almost, as it seemed in the indistinct night air, to the clouds.
The sea was as still as an inland lake; the light trade-wind was
gently and steadily breathing from astern; the dark blue sky was
studded with the tropical stars; there was no sound but the
rippling of the water under the stem; and the sails were spread
out, wide and high,-- the two lower studding-sails stretching on
each side far beyond the deck; the topmast studding-sails like
wings to the topsails; the top-gallant studding-sails spreading
fearlessly out above them; still higher, the two royal
studding-sails, looking like two kites flying from the same
string; and, highest of all, the little skysail, the apex of the
pyramid, seeming actually to touch the stars, and to be out of
reach of human hand. So quiet, too, was the sea, and so steady the
breeze, that if these sails had been sculptured marble they could
not have been more motionless. Not a ripple upon the surface of
the canvas; not even a quivering of the extreme edges of the sail,
so perfectly were they distended by the breeze. I was so lost in
the sight that I forgot the presence of the man who came out with
me, until he said (for he, too, rough old man-of-war's-man as he
was, had been gazing at the show), half to himself, still looking
at the marble sails,-- ``How quietly they do their work!''

The fine weather brought work with it, as the ship was to be put
in order for coming into port. To give a landsman some notion of
what is done on board ship, it may be truly said that all the
first part of a passage is spent in getting a ship ready for sea,
and the last part in getting her ready for port. She is, as
sailors say, like a lady's watch, always out of repair. The new,
strong sails, which we had up off Cape Horn, were to be sent down,
and the old set, which were still serviceable in fine weather, to
be bent in their place; all the rigging to be set up, fore and
aft; the masts stayed; the standing rigging to be tarred down;
lower and topmast rigging to be rattled down, fore and aft; the
ship scraped inside and out, and painted; decks varnished; new and
neat knots, seizings and coverings, to be fitted; and every part
put in order, to look well to the owner's eye, and to all critics,
on coming into Boston. This, of course, was a long matter; and all
hands were kept on deck at work for the whole of each day, during
the rest of the voyage. Sailors call this hard usage; but the ship
must be in crack order; and ``We're homeward bound'' was the
answer to everything.

We went on for several days, employed in this way, nothing
remarkable occurring; and, at the latter part of the week, fell in
with the southeast trades, blowing about east-southeast, which
brought them nearly two points abaft our beam. They blew strong
and steady, so that we hardly started a rope, until we were beyond
their latitude. The first day of ``all hands'' one of those little
incidents occurred, which are nothing in themselves, but are great
matters in the eyes of a ship's company, as they serve to break
the monotony of a voyage, and afford conversation to the crew for
days afterwards. These things, too, are often interesting, as they
show the customs and states of feeling on shipboard.

In merchant vessels, the captain gives his orders, as to the
ship's work, to the mate, in a general way, and leaves the
execution of them, with the particular ordering, to him. This has
become so fixed a custom that it is like a law, and is never
infringed upon by a wise master, unless his mate is no seaman; in
which case the captain must often oversee things for himself.
This, however, could not be said of our chief mate, and he was
very jealous of any encroachment upon the borders of his
authority.

On Monday morning the captain told him to stay the fore topmast
plumb. He accordingly came forward, turned all hands to, with
tackles on the stays and backstays, coming up with the seizings,
hauling here, belaying there, and full of business, standing
between the knight-heads to sight the mast,-- when the captain
came forward, and also began to give orders. This made confusion,
and the mate left his place and went aft, saying to the captain:--


``If you come forward, sir, I'll go aft. One is enough on the
forecastle.''

This produced a reply, and another fierce answer; and the words
flew, fists were doubled up, and things looked threateningly.

``I'm master of this ship.''

``Yes, sir, and I'm mate of her, and know my place! My place is
forward, and yours is aft.''

``My place is where I choose! I command the whole ship, and you
are mate only so long as I choose!''

``Say the word, Captain Thompson, and I'm done! I can do a man's
work aboard! I didn't come through the cabin windows! If I'm not
mate, I can be man,'' &c., &c.

This was all fun for us, who stood by, winking at each other, and
enjoying the contest between the higher powers. The captain took
the mate aft; and they had a long talk, which ended in the mate's
returning to his duty. The captain had broken through a custom,
which is a part of the common law of a ship, and without reason,
for he knew that his mate was a sailor, and needed no help from
him; and the mate was excusable for being angry. Yet, in strict
law, he was wrong, and the captain right. Whatever the captain
does is right, ipso facto, and any opposition to it is wrong on
board ship; and every officer and man knows this when he signs the
ship's articles. It is a part of the contract. Yet there has grown
up in merchant vessels a series of customs, which have become a
well-understood system, and have somewhat the force of
prescriptive law. To be sure, all power is in the captain, and the
officers hold their authority only during his will, and the men
are liable to be called upon for any service; yet, by breaking in
upon these usages, many difficulties have occurred on board ship,
and even come into courts of justice, which are perfectly
unintelligible to any one not acquainted with the universal nature
and force of these customs. Many a provocation has been offered,
and a system of petty oppression pursued towards men, the force
and meaning of which would appear as nothing to strangers, and
doubtless do appear so to many ``'long-shore'' juries and judges.

The next little diversion was a battle on the forecastle, one
afternoon, between the mate and the steward. They had been on bad
terms the whole voyage, and had threatened a rupture several
times. Once, on the coast, the mate had seized the steward, when
the steward suddenly lowered his head, and pitched it straight
into Mr. Brown's stomach, butting him against the galley, grunting
at every shove, and calling out ``You Brown!'' Mr. Brown looked
white in the face, and the heaviest blows he could give seemed to
have no effect on the negro's head. He was pulled off by the
second mate, and Mr. Brown was going at him again, when the
captain separated them; and Mr. Brown told his tale to the
captain, adding ``and, moreover, he called me Brown!'' From this
time ``moreover, he called me Brown,'' became a by-word on board.
Mr. Brown went aft, saying, ``I've promised it to you, and now
you've got it.'' But he did not seem to be sure which had ``got
it''; nor did we. We knew Mr. Brown would not leave the thing in
that equivocal position all the voyage, if he could help it. This
afternoon the mate asked the steward for a tumbler of water, and
he refused to get it for him, saying that he waited upon nobody
but the captain; and here he had the custom on his side. But, in
answering, he committed the unpardonable offence of leaving off
the handle to the mate's name. This enraged the mate, who called
him a ``black soger,'' and at it they went, clenching, striking,
and rolling over and over; while we stood by, looking on and
enjoying the fun. The darkey tried to butt him, as before, but the
mate got him down, and held him, the steward singing out, ``Let me
go, Mr. Brown, or there'll be blood spilt!'' In the midst of this,
the captain came on deck, separated them, took the steward aft,
and gave him half a dozen with a rope's end. The steward tried to
justify himself, but he had been heard to talk of spilling blood,
and that was enough to earn him his flogging; and the captain did
not choose to inquire any further. Mr. Brown was satisfied to let
him alone after that, as he had, on the whole, vindicated his
superiority in the eyes of the crew.

CHAPTER XXXIV

The same day, I met with one of those narrow escapes which are so
often happening in a sailor's life. I had been aloft nearly all
the afternoon, at work, standing for as much as an hour on the
fore top-gallant yard, which was hoisted up, and hung only by the
tie; when, having got through my work, I balled up my yarns, took
my serving-board in my hand, laid hold deliberately of the
top-gallant rigging, took one foot from the yard, and was just
lifting the other, when the tie parted, and down the yard fell. I
was safe, by my hold upon the rigging, but it made my heart beat
quick. Had the tie parted one instant sooner, or had I stood an
instant longer on the yard, I should inevitably have been thrown
violently from the height of ninety or a hundred feet, overboard;
or, what is worse, upon the deck. However, ``a miss is as good as
a mile''; a saying which sailors very often have occasion to use.
An escape is always a joke on board ship. A man would be ridiculed
who should make a serious matter of it. A sailor knows too well
that his life hangs upon a thread, to wish to be often reminded of
it; so, if a man has an escape, he keeps it to himself, or makes a
joke of it. I have often known a man's life to be saved by an
instant of time, or by the merest chance,-- the swinging of a
rope,-- and no notice taken of it. One of our boys, off Cape Horn,
reefing topsails of a dark night when there were no boats to be
lowered away, and where, if a man fell overboard, he must be left
behind, lost his hold of the reef-point, slipped from the
foot-rope, and would have been in the water in a moment, when the
man who was next to him on the yard, French John, caught him by
the collar of his jacket, and hauled him up upon the yard, with,
``Hold on, another time, you young monkey, and be d---d to you!''--
and that was all that was heard about it.

Sunday, August 7th. Lat. 25° 59' S., lon. 27° 0' W. Spoke the
English bark Mary Catherine, from Bahia, bound to Calcutta. This
was the first sail we had fallen in with, and the first time we
had seen a human form or heard the human voice, except of our own
number, for nearly a hundred days. The very yo-ho-ing of the sailors
at the ropes sounded sociably upon the ear. She was an old,
damaged-looking craft, with a high poop and top-gallant forecastle,
and sawed off square, stem and stern, like a true English
``tea-wagon,'' and with a run like a sugar-box. She had
studding-sails out alow and aloft, with a light but steady breeze,
and her captain said he could not get more than four knots out of
her, and thought he should have a long passage. We were going six
on an easy bowline.

The next day, about three P.M., passed a large corvette-built
ship, close upon the wind, with royals and skysails set fore and
aft, under English colors. She was standing south-by-east,
probably bound round Cape Horn. She had men in her tops, and black
mast-heads; heavily sparred, with sails cut to a t, and other
marks of a man-of-war. She sailed well, and presented a fine
appearance; the proud, feudal-looking banner of St. George-- the
cross in a blood-red field-- waving from the mizzen. We probably
were nearly as fine a sight, with our studding-sails spread far
out beyond the ship on either side, and rising in a pyramid to
royal studding-sails and skysails, burying the hull in canvas and
looking like what the whalemen on the Banks, under their stump
top-gallant-masts, call ``a Cape Horn-er under a cloud of sail.''

Friday, August 12th. At daylight made the island of Trinidad,
situated in lat. 20° 28' S., lon. 29° 08' W. At twelve M., it
bore N.W. 1/2 N., distant twenty-seven miles. It was a beautiful
day, the sea hardly ruffled by the light trades, and the island
looking like a small blue mound rising from a field of glass.
Such a fair and peaceful-looking spot is said to have been, for
a long time, the resort of a band of pirates, who ravaged the
tropical seas.

Thursday, August 18th. At three P.M., made the island of Fernando
Naronha, lying in lat. 3° 55' S., lon. 32° 35' W.; and between
twelve o'clock Friday night and one o'clock Saturday morning
crossed the equator, for the fourth time since leaving Boston,
in lon. 35° W.; having been twenty-seven days from Staten Land,--
a distance, by the courses we had made, of more than four thousand
miles.

We were now to the northward of the line, and every day added to
our latitude. The Magellan Clouds, the last sign of south
latitude, had long been sunk, and the North Star, the Great Bear,
and the familiar signs of northern latitudes, were rising in the
heavens. Next to seeing land, there is no sight which makes one
realize more that he is drawing near home, than to see the same
heavens, under which he was born, shining at night over his head.
The weather was extremely hot, with the usual tropical
alternations of a scorching sun and squalls of rain; yet not a
word was said in complaint of the heat, for we all remembered that
only three or four weeks before we would have given our all to be
where we now were. We had a plenty of water, too, which we caught
by spreading an awning, with shot thrown in to make hollows. These
rain squalls came up in the manner usual between the tropics. A
clear sky; burning, vertical sun; work going lazily on, and men
about decks with nothing but duck trousers, checked shirts, and
straw hats; the ship moving as lazily through the water; the man
at the helm resting against the wheel, with his hat drawn over his
eyes; the captain below, taking an afternoon nap; the passenger
leaning over the taffrail, watching a dolphin following slowly in
our wake; the sailmaker mending an old topsail on the lee side of
the quarter-deck; the carpenter working at his bench, in the
waist; the boys making sinnet; the spun-yarn winch whizzing round
and round, and the men walking slowly fore and aft with the yarns.
A cloud rises to windward, looking a little black; the skysails
are brailed down; the captain puts his head out of the
companion-way, looks at the cloud, comes up, and begins to walk
the deck. The cloud spreads and comes on; the tub of yarns, the
sail, and other matters, are thrown below, and the sky-light and
booby-hatch put on, and the slide drawn over the forecastle.
``Stand by the royal halyards''; and the man at the wheel keeps a
good weather helm, so as not to be taken aback. The squall strikes
her. If it is light, the royal yards are clewed down, and the ship
keeps on her way; but if the squall takes strong hold, the royals
are clewed up, fore and aft; light hands lay aloft and furl them;
top-gallant yards are clewed down, flying-jib hauled down, and the
ship kept off before it,-- the man at the helm laying out his
strength to heave the wheel up to windward. At the same time a
drenching rain, which soaks one through in an instant. Yet no one
puts on a jacket or cap; for if it is only warm, a sailor does not
mind a ducking; and the sun will soon be out again. As soon as the
force of the squall has passed, though to a common eye the ship
would seem to be in the midst of it,-- ``Keep her up to her course
again!''-- ``Keep her up, sir,'' (answer.)[1]-- ``Hoist away the
top-gallant yards!''-- ``Run up the flying-jib!''-- ``Lay aloft,
you boys, and loose the royals!'' and all sail is on her again
before she is fairly out of the squall; and she is going on in her
course. The sun comes out once more, hotter than ever, dries up
the decks and the sailors' clothes; the hatches are taken off; the
sail got up and spread on the quarter-deck; spun-yarn winch set a
whirling again; rigging coiled up; captain goes below; and every
sign of an interruption disappears.

These scenes, with occasional dead calms, lasting for hours, and
sometimes for days, are fair specimens of the Atlantic tropics.
The nights were fine; and as we had all hands all day, the watch
were allowed to sleep on deck at night, except the man at the
wheel, and one lookout on the forecastle. This was not so much
expressly allowed as winked at. We could do it if we did not ask
leave. If the lookout was caught napping, the whole watch was kept
awake. We made the most of this permission, and stowed ourselves
away upon the rigging, under the weather rail, on the spars, under
the windlass, and in all the snug corners; and frequently slept
out the watch, unless we had a wheel or a lookout. And we were
glad enough to get this rest; for under the ``all-hands'' system,
out of every other thirty-six hours we had only four below; and
even an hour's sleep was a gain not to be neglected. One would
have thought so to have seen our watch some nights, sleeping
through a heavy rain. And often have we come on deck, and, finding
a dead calm and a light, steady rain, and determined not to lose
our sleep, have laid a coil of rigging down so as to keep us out
of the water which was washing about decks, and stowed ourselves
away upon it, covering a jacket over us, and slept as soundly as a
Dutchman between two feather-beds.

For a week or ten days after crossing the line, we had the usual
variety of calms, squalls, head winds, and fair winds,-- at one
time braced sharp upon the wind, with a taut bowline, and in an
hour after slipping quietly along, with a light breeze over the
taffrail, and studding-sails set out on both sides,-- until we
fell in with the northeast trade-winds; which we did on the
afternoon of--

Sunday, August 28th, in lat. 12° N. The trade-wind clouds had been
in sight for a day or two previously, and we expected to take the
trades every hour. The light southerly breeze, which had been
breathing languidly during the first part of the day, died away
toward noon, and in its place came puffs from the northeast, which
caused us to take in our studding-sails and brace up; and, in a
couple of hours more, we were bowling gloriously along, dashing
the spray far ahead and to leeward, with the cool, steady
northeast trades freshening up the sea, and giving us as much as
we could carry our royals to. These winds blew strong and steady,
keeping us generally upon a bowline, as our course was about
north-northwest; and, sometimes, as they veered a little to the
eastward, giving us a chance at a main top-gallant studding-sail,
and sending us well to the northward, until--

Sunday, September 4th, when they left us in lat. 22° N., lon. 51°
W., directly under the tropic of Cancer.

For several days we lay ``humbugging about'' in the Horse
latitudes, with all sorts of winds and weather, and occasionally,
as we were in the latitude of the West Indies,-- a thunder-storm.
It was hurricane month, too, and we were just in the track of the
tremendous hurricane of 1830, which swept the North Atlantic,
destroying almost everything before it.

The first night after the trade-winds left us, while we were in
the latitude of the island of Cuba, we had a specimen of a true
tropical thunder-storm. A light breeze had been blowing from aft
during the first part of the night, which gradually died away, and
before midnight it was dead calm, and a heavy black cloud had
shrouded the whole sky. When our watch came on deck at twelve
o'clock, it was as black as Erebus; the studding-sails were all
taken in, and the royals furled; not a breath was stirring; the
sails hung heavy and motionless from the yards; and the stillness
and the darkness, which was almost palpable, were truly appalling.
Not a word was spoken, but every one stood as though waiting for
something to happen. In a few minutes the mate came forward, and
in a low tone, which was almost a whisper, told us to haul down
the jib. The fore and mizzen top-gallant sails were taken in in
the same silent manner; and we lay motionless upon the water, with
an uneasy expectation, which, from the long suspense, became
actually painful. We could hear the captain walking the deck, but
it was too dark to see anything more than one's hand before the
face. Soon the mate came forward again, and gave an order, in a
low tone, to clew up the main top-gallant-sail; and so infectious
was the awe and silence that the clew-lines and buntlines were
hauled up without any singing out at the ropes. An English lad and
myself went up to furl it; and we had just got the bunt up, when
the mate called out to us something, we did not hear what,-- but,
supposing it to be an order to bear-a-hand, we hurried and made
all fast, and came down, feeling our way among the rigging. When
we got down we found all hands looking aloft, and there, directly
over where we had been standing, upon the main top-gallant
mast-head, was a ball of light, which the sailors call a corposant
(corpus sancti), and which the mate had called out to us to look
at. They were all watching it carefully, for sailors have a notion
that if the corposant rises in the rigging it is a sign of fair
weather, but if it comes lower down there will be a storm.
Unfortunately, as an omen, it came down, and showed itself on the
top-gallant yard-arm. We were off the yard in good season, for it
is held a fatal sign to have the pale light of the corposant
thrown upon one's face. As it was, the English lad did not feel
comfortably at having had it so near him, and directly over his
head. In a few minutes it disappeared, and showed itself again on
the fore top-gallant yard; and, after playing about for some time,
disappeared once more, when the man on the forecastle pointed to
it upon the flying-jib-boom-end. But our attention was drawn from
watching this, by the falling of some drops of rain, and by a
perceptible increase of the darkness, which seemed suddenly to add
a new shade of blackness to the night. In a few minutes, low,
grumbling thunder was heard, and some random flashes of lightning
came from the southwest. Every sail was taken in but the topsails;
still, no squall appeared to be coming. A few puffs lifted the
topsails, but they fell again to the mast, and all was as still as
ever. A moment more, and a terrific flash and peal broke
simultaneously upon us, and a cloud appeared to open directly over
our heads, and let down the water in one body, like a falling
ocean. We stood motionless, and almost stupefied; yet nothing had
been struck. Peal after peal rattled over our heads, with a sound
which seemed actually to stop the breath in the body, and the
``speedy gleams'' kept the whole ocean in a glare of light. The
violent fall of rain lasted but a few minutes, and was followed by
occasional drops and showers; but the lightning continued
incessant for several hours, breaking the midnight darkness with
irregular and blinding flashes. During all this time there was not
a breath stirring, and we lay motionless, like a mark to be shot
at, probably the only object on the surface of the ocean for miles
and miles. We stood hour after hour, until our watch was out, and
we were relieved, at four o'clock. During all this time hardly a
word was spoken; no bells were struck, and the wheel was silently
relieved. The rain fell at intervals in heavy showers, and we
stood drenched through and blinded by the flashes, which broke the
Egyptian darkness with a brightness that seemed almost malignant;
while the thunder rolled in peals, the concussion of which
appeared to shake the very ocean. A ship is not often injured by
lightning, for the electricity is separated by the great number of
points she presents, and the quantity of iron which she has
scattered in various parts. The electric fluid ran over our
anchors, topsail sheets and ties; yet no harm was done to us. We
went below at four o'clock, leaving things in the same state. It
is not easy to sleep when the very next flash may tear the ship in
two, or set her on fire; or where the deathlike calm may be broken
by the blast of a hurricane, taking the masts out of the ship. But
a man is no sailor if he cannot sleep when he turns-in, and turn
out when he's called. And when, at seven bells, the customary
``All the larboard watch, ahoy!'' brought us on deck, it was a
fine, clear, sunny morning, the ship going leisurely along, with a
soft breeze and all sail set.

[1] A man at the wheel is required to repeat every order given him.
A simple ``Aye, aye, sir,'' is not enough there.

CHAPTER XXXV

From the latitude of the West Indies, until we got inside the
Bermudas, where we took the westerly and southwesterly winds,
which blow steadily off the coast of the United States early in
the autumn, we had every variety of weather, and two or three
moderate gales, or, as sailors call them, double-reef-topsail
breezes, which came on in the usual manner, and of which one is a
specimen of all. A fine afternoon; all hands at work, some in the
rigging, and others on deck; a stiff breeze, and ship close upon
the wind, and skysails brailed down. Latter part of the afternoon,
breeze increases, ship lies over to it, and clouds look windy.
Spray begins to fly over the forecastle, and wets the yarns the
boys are knotting;-- ball them up and put them below. Mate knocks
off work and clears up decks earlier than usual, and orders a man
who has been employed aloft to send the royal halyards over to
windward, as he comes down. Breast back-stays hauled taut, and a
tackle got upon the martingale back-rope. One of the boys furls
the mizzen royal. Cook thinks there is going to be ``nasty work,''
and has supper ready early. Mate gives orders to get supper by the
watch, instead of all hands, as usual. While eating supper, hear
the watch on deck taking in the royals. Coming on deck, find it is
blowing harder, and an ugly head sea running. Instead of having
all hands on the forecastle in the dog watch, smoking, singing,
and telling yarns, one watch goes below and turns-in, saying that
it's going to be an ugly night, and two hours' sleep is not to be
lost. Clouds look black and wild; wind rising, and ship working
hard against a heavy head sea, which breaks over the forecastle,
and washes aft through the scuppers. Still, no more sail is taken
in, for the captain is a driver, and, like all drivers, very
partial to his top-gallant-sails. A top-gallant-sail, too, makes
the difference between a breeze and a gale. When a
top-gallant-sail is on a ship, it is only a breeze, though I have
seen ours set over a reefed topsail, when half the bowsprit was
under water, and it was up to a man's knees in the lee scuppers.
At eight bells, nothing is said about reefing the topsails, and
the watch go below, with orders to ``stand by for a call.'' We
turn-in, growling at the ``old man'' for not reefing the topsails
when the watch was changed, but putting it off so as to call all
hands, and break up a whole watch below-- turn-in ``all
standing,'' and keep ourselves awake, saying there is no use in
going to sleep to be waked up again. Wind whistles on deck, and
ship works hard, groaning and creaking, and pitching into a heavy
head sea, which strikes against the bows, with a noise like
knocking upon a rock. The dim lamp in the forecastle swings to and
fro, and things ``fetch away'' and go over to leeward. ``Doesn't
that booby of a second mate ever mean to take in his
top-gallant-sails? He'll have the sticks out of her soon,'' says
Old Bill, who was always growling, and, like most old sailors, did
not like to see a ship abused. By and by, an order is given;
``Aye, aye, sir!'' from the forecastle; rigging is thrown down on
deck; the noise of a sail is heard fluttering aloft, and the
short, quick cry which sailors make when hauling upon clew-lines.
``Here comes his fore top-gallant-sail in!'' We are wide awake,
and know all that's going on as well as if we were on deck. A
well-known voice is heard from the mast-head singing out to the
officer of the watch to haul taut the weather brace. ``Hallo!
There's Ben Stimson aloft to furl the sail!'' Next thing, rigging
is thrown down directly over our heads, and a long-drawn cry and a
rattling of hanks announce that the flying-jib has come in. The
second mate holds on to the main top-gallant-sail until a heavy
sea is shipped, and washes over the forecastle as though the whole
ocean had come aboard; when a noise further aft shows that that
sail, too, is taking in. After this the ship is more easy for a
time; two bells are struck, and we try to get a little sleep. By
and by,-- bang, bang, bang, on the scuttle,-- ``All ha-a-ands,
aho-o-y!'' We spring out of our berths, clap on a monkey-jacket
and southwester, and tumble up the ladder. Mate up before us, and
on the forecastle, singing out like a roaring bull; the captain
singing out on the quarter-deck, and the second mate yelling, like
a hyena, in the waist. The ship is lying over half upon her
beam-ends; lee scuppers under water, and forecastle all in a
smother of foam. Rigging all let go, and washing about decks;
topsail yards down upon the caps, and sails flapping and beating
against the masts; and starboard watch hauling out the
reef-tackles of the main topsail. Our watch haul out the fore, and
lay aloft and put two reefs into it, and reef the foresail, and
race with the starboard watch to see which will mast-head its
topsail first. All hands tally-on to the main tack, and while some
are furling the jib and hoisting the staysail, we mizzen-top-men
double-reef the mizzen topsail and hoist it up. All being made
fast,-- ``Go below, the watch!'' and we turn-in to sleep out the
rest of the time, which is perhaps an hour and a half. During all
the middle, and for the first part of the morning watch, it blows
as hard as ever, but toward daybreak it moderates considerably,
and we shake a reef out of each topsail, and set the
top-gallant-sails over them; and when the watch come up, at seven
bells, for breakfast, shake the other reefs out, turn all hands to
upon the halyards, get the watch-tackle upon the top-gallant
sheets and halyards, set the flying-jib, and crack on to her
again.

Our captain had been married only a few weeks before he left
Boston, and, after an absence of over two years, it may be
supposed he was not slow in carrying sail. The mate, too, was not
to be beaten by anybody; and the second mate, though he was afraid
to press sail, was still more afraid of the captain, and, being
between two fears, sometimes carried on longer than any of them.
We snapped off three flying-jib-booms in twenty-four hours, as
fast as they could be fitted and rigged out; sprung the spritsail
yard, and made nothing of studding-sail booms. Beside the natural
desire to get home, we had another reason for urging the ship on.
The scurvy had begun to show itself on board. One man had it so
badly as to be disabled and off duty, and the English lad, Ben,
was in a dreadful state, and was daily growing worse. His legs
swelled and pained him so that he could not walk; his flesh lost
its elasticity, so that if pressed in it would not return to its
shape; and his gums swelled until he could not open his mouth. His
breath, too, became very offensive; he lost all strength and
spirit; could eat nothing; grew worse every day; and, in fact,
unless something was done for him, would be a dead man in a week,
at the rate at which he was sinking. The medicines were all, or
nearly all, gone, and if we had had a chest-full, they would have
been of no use, for nothing but fresh provisions and terra firma
has any effect upon the scurvy. This disease is not so common now
as formerly, and is attributed generally to salt provisions, want
of cleanliness, the free use of grease and fat (which is the
reason of its prevalence among whalemen), and, last of all, to
laziness. It never could have been from the last cause on board
our ship; nor from the second, for we were a very cleanly crew,
kept our forecastle in neat order, and were more particular about
washing and changing clothes than many better-dressed people on
shore. It was probably from having none but salt provisions, and
possibly from our having run very rapidly into hot weather, after
our having been so long in the extremest cold.

Depending upon the westerly winds which prevail off the coast in
the autumn, the captain stood well to the westward, to run inside
of the Bermudas, and in the hope of falling in with some vessel
bound to the West Indies or the Southern States. The scurvy had
spread no further among the crew, but there was danger that it
might; and these cases were bad ones.

Sunday, September 11th. Lat. 30° 04' N., lon. 63° 23' W.; the
Bermudas bearing north-northwest, distant one hundred and fifty
miles. The next morning about ten o'clock, ``Sail ho!'' was cried
on deck; and all hands turned up to see the stranger. As
she drew nearer, she proved to be an ordinary-looking
hermaphrodite brig, standing south-southeast, and probably bound
out from the Northern States to the West Indies, and was just the
thing we wished to see. She hove-to for us, seeing that we wished
to speak her, and we ran down to her, boom-ended our
studding-sails, backed our main topsail, and hailed her: ``Brig
ahoy!'' ``Hallo!'' ``Where are you from, pray?'' ``From New York,
bound to Curaçoa.'' ``Have you any fresh provisions to spare?''
``Aye, aye! plenty of them!'' We lowered away the quarter-boat
instantly, and the captain and four hands sprang in, and were soon
dancing over the water and alongside the brig. In about half an
hour they returned with half a boat-load of potatoes and onions,
and each vessel filled away and kept on her course. She proved to
be the brig Solon, of Plymouth, from the Connecticut River, and
last from New York, bound to the Spanish Main, with a cargo of
fresh provisions, mules, tin bake-pans, and other notions. The
onions were fresh; and the mate of the brig told the men in the
boat, as he passed the bunches over the side, that the girls had
strung them on purpose for us the day he sailed. We had made the
mistake, on board, of supposing that a new President had been
chosen the last winter, and, as we filled away, the captain hailed
and asked who was President of the United States. They answered,
Andrew Jackson; but, thinking that the old General could not have
been elected for a third time, we hailed again, and they answered,
Jack Downing, and left us to correct the mistake at our leisure.

Our boat's crew had a laugh upon one of our number, Joe, who was
vain and made the best show of everything. The style and gentility
of a ship and her crew depend upon the length and character of the
voyage. An India or China voyage always is the thing, and a voyage
to the Northwest coast (the Columbia River or Russian America) for
furs is romantic and mysterious, and if it takes the ship round
the world, by way of the Islands and China, it out-ranks them all.
The grave, slab-sided mate of the schooner leaned over the rail,
and spoke to the men in our boat: ``Where are you from?'' Joe
answered up quick, ``From the Nor'west coast.'' ``What's your
cargo?'' This was a poser; but Joe was ready with an equivoke.
``Skins,'' said he. ``Here and there a horn?'' asked the mate, in
the dryest manner. The boat's crew laughed out, and Joe's glory
faded. Apropos of this, a man named Sam, on board the Pilgrim,
used to tell a story of a mean little captain in a mean little
brig, in which he sailed from Liverpool to New York, who insisted
on speaking a great, homeward-bound Indiaman, with her
studding-sails out on both sides, sunburnt men in wide-brimmed
hats on her decks, and a monkey and paroquet in her rigging,
``rolling down from St. Helena.'' There was no need of his
stopping her to speak her, but his vanity led him to do it, and
then his meanness made him so awestruck that he seemed to quail.
He called out, in a small, lisping voice, ``What ship is that,
pray?'' A deep-toned voice roared through the trumpet, ``The
Bashaw, from Canton, bound to Boston. Hundred and ten days out!
Where are you from?'' ``Only from Liverpool, sir,'' he lisped, in
the most apologetic and subservient voice. But the humor will be
felt by those only who know the ritual of hailing at sea. No one
says ``sir,'' and the ``only'' was wonderfully expressive.

It was just dinner-time when we filled away, and the steward,
taking a few bunches of onions for the cabin, gave the rest to us,
with a bottle of vinegar. We carried them forward, stowed them
away in the forecastle, refusing to have them cooked, and ate them
raw, with our beef and bread. And a glorious treat they were. The
freshness and crispness of the raw onion, with the earthy taste,
give it a great relish to one who has been a long time on salt
provisions. We were ravenous after them. It was like a scent of
blood to a hound. We ate them at every meal, by the dozen, and
filled our pockets with them, to eat in our watch on deck; and the
bunches, rising in the form of a cone, from the largest at the
bottom, to the smallest, no larger than a strawberry, at the top,
soon disappeared. The chief use, however, of the fresh provisions,
was for the men with the scurvy. One of them was able to eat, and
he soon brought himself to, by gnawing upon raw potatoes and
onions; but the other, by this time, was hardly able to open his
mouth, and the cook took the potatoes raw, pounded them in a
mortar, and gave him the juice to drink. This he swallowed, by the
teaspoonful at a time, and rinsed it about his gums and throat.
The strong earthy taste and smell of this extract of the raw
potato at first produced a shuddering through his whole frame,
and, after drinking it, an acute pain, which ran through all parts
of his body; but knowing by this that it was taking strong hold,
he persevered, drinking a spoonful every hour or so, and holding
it a long time in his mouth, until, by the effect of this drink,
and of his own restored hope (for he had nearly given up in
despair), he became so well as to be able to move about, and open
his mouth enough to eat the raw potatoes and onions pounded into a
soft pulp. This course soon restored his appetite and strength,
and in ten days after we spoke the Solon, so rapid was his
recovery that, from lying helpless and almost hopeless in his
berth, he was at the mast-head, furling a royal.

With a fine southwest wind we passed inside of the Bermudas, and,
notwithstanding the old couplet, which was quoted again and again
by those who thought we should have one more touch of a storm
before our long absence,--

   ``If the Bermudas let you pass,
     You must beware of Hatteras,''--

we were to the northward of Hatteras, with good weather, and
beginning to count, not the days, but the hours, to the time when
we should be at anchor in Boston harbor.

Our ship was in fine order, all hands having been hard at work
upon her, from daylight to dark, every day but Sunday from the
time we got into warm weather on this side the Cape.

It is a common notion with landsmen that a ship is in her finest
condition when she leaves port to enter upon her voyage, and that
she comes home, after a long absence,--

   ``With over-weathered ribs and ragged sails;
     Lean, rent, and beggared by the strumpet wind.''

But so far from that, unless a ship meets with some accident, or
comes upon the coast in the dead of winter, when work cannot be
done upon the rigging, she is in her finest order at the end of
the voyage. When she sails from port, her rigging is generally
slack; the masts need staying; the decks and sides are black and
dirty from taking in cargo; riggers' seizings and overhand knots
in place of nice seamanlike work; and everything, to a sailor's
eye, adrift. But on the passage home the fine weather between the
tropics is spent in putting the ship in the neatest order. No
merchant vessel looks better than an Indiaman, or a Cape Horn-er,
after a long voyage, and captains and mates stake their reputation
for seamanship upon the appearance of their ships when they haul
into the dock. All our standing rigging, fore and aft, was set up
and tarred, the masts stayed, the lower and topmast rigging
rattled down (or up, as the fashion now is); and so careful were
our officers to keep the ratlines taut and straight, that we were
obliged to go aloft upon the ropes and shearpoles with which the
rigging was swifted in; and these were used as jury ratlines until
we got close upon the coast. After this, the ship was scraped,
inside and out, decks, masts, booms, and all; a stage being rigged
outside, upon which we scraped her down to the water-line,
pounding the rust off the chains, bolts, and fastenings. Then,
taking two days of calm under the line, we painted her on the
outside, giving her open ports in her streak, and finishing off
the nice work upon the stern, where sat Neptune in his car,
holding his trident, drawn by sea horses; and retouched the
gilding and coloring of the cornucopia which ornamented her
billet-head. The inside was then painted, from the skysail truck
to the waterways,-- the yards, black; mast-heads and tops, white;
monkey-rail, black, white, and yellow; bulwarks, green;
plank-shear, white; waterways, lead-color, &c., &c. The anchors
and ring-bolts, and other iron work, were blackened with coal-tar;
and the steward was kept at work, polishing the brass of the
wheel, bell, capstan, &c. The cabin, too, was scraped, varnished,
and painted; and the forecastle scraped and scrubbed, there being
no need of paint and varnish for Jack's quarters. The decks were
then scraped and varnished, and everything useless thrown
overboard; among which, the empty tar barrels were set on fire and
thrown overboard, of a dark night, and left blazing astern,
lighting up the ocean for miles. Add to all this labor the neat
work upon the rigging,-- the knots, flemish-eyes, splices,
seizings, coverings, pointings, and graffings which show a ship in
crack order. The last preparation, and which looked still more
like coming into port, was getting the anchors over the bows,
bending the cables, rowsing the hawsers up from between decks, and
overhauling the deep-sea lead-line.

Thursday, September 15th. This morning the temperature and
peculiar appearance of the water, the quantities of gulf-weed
floating about, and a bank of clouds lying directly before us,
showed that we were on the border of the Gulf Stream. This
remarkable current, running northeast, nearly across the ocean, is
almost constantly shrouded in clouds and is the region of storms
and heavy seas. Vessels often run from a clear sky and light wind,
with all sail, at once into a heavy sea and cloudy sky, with
double-reefed topsails. A sailor told me that, on a passage from
Gibraltar to Boston, his vessel neared the Gulf Stream with a
light breeze, clear sky, and studding-sails out, alow and aloft;
while before it was a long line of heavy, black clouds, lying like
a bank upon the water, and a vessel coming out of it, under
double-reefed topsails, and with royal yards sent down. As they
drew near, they began to take in sail after sail, until they were
reduced to the same condition; and, after twelve or fourteen hours
of rolling and pitching in a heavy sea, before a smart gale, they
ran out of the bank on the other side, and were in fine weather
again, and under their royals and skysails. As we drew into it,
the sky became cloudy, the sea high, and everything had the
appearance of the going off, or the coming on, of a storm. It was
blowing no more than a stiff breeze; yet the wind being northeast,
which is directly against the course of the current, made an ugly,
chopping sea, which heaved and pitched the vessel about, so that
we were obliged to send down the royal yards, and to take in our
light sails. At noon, the thermometer, which had been repeatedly
lowered into the water, showed the temperature to be seventy;
which was considerably above that of the air,-- as is always the
case in the centre of the Stream. A lad who had been at work at
the royal-mast-head came down upon deck, and took a turn round the
long-boat; and, looking pale, said he was so sick that he could
stay aloft no longer, but was ashamed to acknowledge it to the
officer. He went up again, but soon gave out and came down, and
leaned over the rail, ``as sick as a lady passenger.'' He had been
to sea several years, and had, he said, never been sick before. He
was made so by the irregular pitching motion of the vessel,
increased by the height to which he had been above the hull, which
is like the fulcrum of the lever. An old sailor, who was at work
on the top-gallant yard, said he felt disagreeably all the time,
and was glad, when his job was done, to get down into the top, or
upon deck. Another hand was sent to the royal-mast-head, who
stayed nearly an hour, but gave up. The work must be done, and the
mate sent me. I did very well for some time, but began at length
to feel very unpleasantly, though I never had been sick since the
first two days from Boston, and had been in all sorts of weather
and situations. Still, I kept my place, and did not come down,
until I had got through my work, which was more than two hours.
The ship certainly never acted so before. She was pitched and
jerked about in all manner of ways; the sails seeming to have no
steadying power over her. The tapering points of the masts made
various curves against the sky overhead, and sometimes, in one
sweep of an instant, described an arc of more than forty-five
degrees, bringing up with a sudden jerk, which made it necessary
to hold on with both hands, and then sweeping off in another long,
irregular curve. I was not positively sick, and came down with a
look of indifference, yet was not unwilling to get upon the
comparative terra firma of the deck. A few hours more carried us
through, and when we saw the sun go down, upon our larboard beam,
in the direction of the continent of North America, we had left
the banks of dark, stormy clouds astern, in the twilight.

CHAPTER XXXVI

Friday, September 16th. Lat. 38° N., lon. 69° 00' W. A fine
southwest wind; every hour carrying us nearer in toward the land.
All hands on deck at the dog watch, and nothing talked about but
our getting in; where we should make the land; whether we should
arrive before Sunday; going to church; how Boston would look;
friends; wages paid; and the like. Every one was in the best
spirits; and, the voyage being nearly at an end, the strictness
of discipline was relaxed, for it was not necessary to order in
a cross tone what all were ready to do with a will. The differences
and quarrels which a long voyage breeds on board a ship were
forgotten, and every one was friendly; and two men, who had been on
the eve of a fight half the voyage, were laying out a plan together
for a cruise on shore. When the mate came forward, he talked to the
men, and said we should be on George's Bank before to-morrow noon;
and joked with the boys, promising to go and see them, and to take
them down to Marblehead in a coach.

Saturday, 17th. The wind was light all day, which kept us back
somewhat; but a fine breeze springing up at nightfall, we were
running fast in toward the land. At six o'clock we expected to
have the ship hove-to for soundings, as a thick fog, coming up,
showed we were near them; but no order was given, and we kept on
our way. Eight o'clock came, and the watch went below, and, for
the whole of the first hour the ship was driving on, with
studding-sails out, alow and aloft, and the night as dark as a
pocket. At two bells the captain came on deck, and said a word to
the mate, when the studding-sails were hauled into the tops, or
boom-ended, the after yards backed, the deep-sea-lead carried
forward, and everything got ready for sounding. A man on the
spritsail yard with the lead, another on the cat-head with a
handful of the line coiled up, another in the fore chains, another
in the waist, and another in the main chains, each with a quantity
of the line coiled away in his hand. ``All ready there, forward?''--
``Aye, aye, sir!''-- ``He-e-ave!''-- ``Watch! ho! watch!'' sings
out the man on the spritsail yard, and the heavy lead drops into
the water. ``Watch! ho! watch!'' bawls the man on the cat-head, as
the last fake of the coil drops from his hand, and ``Watch! ho!
watch!'' is shouted by each one as the line falls from his hold,
until it comes to the mate, who tends the lead, and has the line
in coils on the quarter-deck. Eighty fathoms and no bottom! A
depth as great as the height of St. Peters! The line is snatched
in a block upon the swifter, and three or four men haul it in and
coil it away. The after yards are braced full, the studding-sails
hauled out again, and in a few minutes more, the ship had her
whole way upon her. At four bells backed again, hove the lead, and--
soundings! at sixty fathoms! Hurrah for Yankee land! Hand over
hand we hauled the lead in, and the captain, taking it to the
light, found black mud on the bottom. Studding-sails taken in;
after yards filled, and ship kept on under easy sail all night,
the wind dying away.

The soundings on the American coast are so regular that a
navigator knows as well where he has made land by the soundings,
as he would by seeing the land. Black mud is the soundings of
Block Island. As you go toward Nantucket, it changes to a dark
sand; then, sand and white shells; and on George's Banks, white
sand; and so on. As our soundings showed us to be off Block
Island, our course was due east, to Nantucket Shoals and the South
Channel; but the wind died away and left us becalmed in a thick
fog, in which we lay the whole of Sunday. At noon of--

Sunday, 18th, Block Island bore, by calculation, N.W. 1/4 W. fifteen
miles; but the fog was so thick all day that we could see nothing.

Having got through the ship's duty, and washed and changed our
clothes, we went below, and had a fine time overhauling our
chests, laying aside the clothes we meant to go ashore in, and
throwing overboard all that were worn out and good for nothing.
Away went the woollen caps in which we had carried hides upon our
heads, for sixteen months, on the coast of California; the duck
frocks for tarring down rigging; and the worn-out and darned
mittens and patched woollen trousers which had stood the tug of
Cape Horn. We hove them overboard with a good will; for there is
nothing like being quit of the very last appendages, remnants, and
mementos of our hard fortune. We got our chests all ready for
going ashore; ate the last ``duff'' we expected to have on board
the ship Alert; and talked as confidently about matters on shore
as though our anchor were on the bottom.

``Who'll go to church with me a week from to-day?''

``I will,'' says Jack; who said aye to everything.

``Go away, salt water!'' says Tom. ``As soon as I get both legs
ashore, I'm going to shoe my heels, and button my ears behind me,
and start off into the bush, a straight course, and not stop till
I'm out of the sight of salt water!''

``Oh! belay that! If you get once moored, stem and stern, in old
Barnes's grog-shop, with a coal fire ahead and the bar under your
lee, you won't see daylight for three weeks!''

``No!'' says Tom, ``I'm going to knock off grog and go and board
at the Home, and see if they won't ship me for a deacon!''

``And I,'' says Bill, ``am going to buy a quadrant and ship for
navigator of a Hingham packet!''

Harry White swore he would take rooms at the Tremont House and set
up for a gentleman; he knew his wages would hold out for two weeks
or so.

These and the like served to pass the time while we were lying
waiting for a breeze to clear up the fog and send us on our way.

Toward night a moderate breeze sprang up; the fog, however,
continuing as thick as before; and we kept on to the eastward.
About the middle of the first watch, a man on the forecastle sang
out, in a tone which showed that there was not a moment to be
lost,-- ``Hard up the helm!'' and a great ship loomed up out of
the fog, coming directly down upon us. She luffed at the same
moment, and we just passed each other, our spanker boom grazing
over her quarter. The officer of the deck had only time to hail,
and she answered, as she went into the fog again, something about
Bristol. Probably a whaleman from Bristol, Rhode Island, bound
out. The fog continued through the night, with a very light
breeze, before which we ran to the eastward, literally feeling our
way along. The lead was heaved every two hours, and the gradual
change from black mud to sand showed that we were approaching
Nantucket South Shoals. On Monday morning, the increased depth and
dark-blue color of the water, and the mixture of shells and white
sand which we brought up, upon sounding, showed that we were in
the channel, and nearing George's; accordingly, the ship's head
was put directly to the northward, and we stood on, with perfect
confidence in the soundings, though we had not taken an
observation for two days, nor seen land; and the difference of an
eighth of a mile out of the way might put us ashore. Throughout
the day a provokingly light wind prevailed, and at eight o'clock,
a small fishing schooner, which we passed, told us we were nearly
abreast of Chatham lights. Just before midnight, a light
land-breeze sprang up, which carried us well along; and at four
o'clock, thinking ourselves to the northward of Race Point, we
hauled upon the wind and stood into the bay, west-northwest, for
Boston light, and began firing guns for a pilot. Our watch went
below at four o'clock, but could not sleep, for the watch on deck
were banging away at the guns every few minutes. And indeed, we
cared very little about it, for we were in Boston Bay; and if
fortune favored us, we could all ``sleep in'' the next night, with
nobody to call the watch every four hours.

We turned out, of our own will, at daybreak, to get a sight of
land. In the gray of the morning, one or two small fishing smacks
peered out of the mist; and when the broad day broke upon us,
there lay the low sand-hills of Cape Cod over our larboard
quarter, and before us the wide waters of Massachusetts Bay, with
here and there a sail gliding over its smooth surface. As we drew
in toward the mouth of the harbor, as toward a focus, the vessels
began to multiply, until the bay seemed alive with sails gliding
about in all directions; some on the wind, and others before it,
as they were bound to or from the emporium of trade and centre of
the bay. It was a stirring sight for us, who had been months on
the ocean without seeing anything but two solitary sails; and over
two years without seeing more than the three or four traders on an
almost desolate coast. There were the little coasters, bound to
and from the various towns along the south shore, down in the
bight of the bay, and to the eastward; here and there a
square-rigged vessel standing out to seaward; and, far in the
distance, beyond Cape Ann, was the smoke of a steamer, stretching
along in a narrow black cloud upon the water. Every sight was full
of beauty and interest. We were coming back to our homes; and the
signs of civilization and prosperity and happiness, from which we
had been so long banished, were multiplying about us. The high
land of Cape Ann and the rocks and shore of Cohasset were full in
sight, the light-houses standing like sentries in white before the
harbors; and even the smoke from the chimneys on the plains of
Hingham was seen rising slowly in the morning air. One of our boys
was the son of a bucket-maker; and his face lighted up as he saw
the tops of the well-known hills which surround his native place.
About ten o'clock a little boat came bobbing over the water, and
put a pilot on board, and sheered off in pursuit of other vessels
bound in. Being now within the scope of the telegraph stations,
our signals were run up at the fore; and in half an hour
afterwards, the owner on 'Change, or in his counting-room, knew
that his ship was below; and the landlords, runners, and sharks in
Ann Street learned that there was a rich prize for them down in
the bay,-- a ship from round the Horn, with a crew to be paid off
with two years' wages.

The wind continuing very light, all hands were sent aloft to strip
off the chafing gear; and battens, parcellings, roundings, hoops,
mats, and leathers came flying from aloft, and left the rigging
neat and clean, stripped of all its sea bandaging. The last touch
was put to the vessel by painting the skysail poles; and I was
sent up to the fore, with a bucket of white paint and a brush, and
touched her off, from the truck to the eyes of the royal rigging.
At noon we lay becalmed off the lower light-house; and, it being
about slack water, we made little progress. A firing was heard in
the direction of Hingham, and the pilot said there was a review
there. The Hingham boy got wind of this, and said if the ship had
been twelve hours sooner he should have been down among the
soldiers, and in the booths, and having a grand time. As it was,
we had little prospect of getting in before night. About two
o'clock a breeze sprang up ahead, from the westward, and we began
beating up against it. A full-rigged brig was beating in at the
same time, and we passed each other in our tacks, sometimes one
and sometimes the other working to windward, as the wind and tide
favored or opposed. It was my trick at the wheel from two till
four; and I stood my last helm, making between nine hundred and a
thousand hours which I had spent at the helms of our two vessels.
The tide beginning to set against us, we made slow work; and the
afternoon was nearly spent before we got abreast of the inner
light. In the meanwhile, several vessels were coming down, outward
bound; among which, a fine, large ship, with yards squared, fair
wind and fair tide, passed us like a race-horse, the men running
out upon her yards to rig out the studding-sail booms. Toward
sundown the wind came off in flaws, sometimes blowing very stiff,
so that the pilot took in the royals, and then it died away; when,
in order to get us in before the tide became too strong, the
royals were set again. As this kept us running up and down the
rigging, one hand was sent aloft at each mast-head, to stand by to
loose and furl the sails at the moment of the order. I took my
place at the fore, and loosed and furled the royal five times
between Rainsford Island and the Castle. At one tack we ran so
near to Rainsford Island that, looking down from the royal yard,
the island, with its hospital buildings, nice gravelled walks, and
green plats, seemed to lie directly under our yard-arms. So close
is the channel to some of these islands, that we ran the end of
our flying-jib-boom over one of the outworks of the fortifications
on George's Island; and had an opportunity of seeing the
advantages of that point as a fortified place; for, in working up
the channel, we presented a fair stem and stern, for raking, from
the batteries, three or four times. One gun might have knocked us
to pieces.

We had all set our hearts upon getting up to town before night and
going ashore, but the tide beginning to run strong against us, and
the wind, what there was of it, being ahead, we made but little by
weather-bowing the tide, and the pilot gave orders to cock-bill
the anchor and overhaul the chain. Making two long stretches,
which brought us into the roads, under the lee of the Castle, he
clewed up the topsails, and let go the anchor; and for the first
time since leaving San Diego,-- one hundred and thirty-five days,--
our anchor was upon bottom. In half an hour more, we were lying
snugly, with all sails furled, safe in Boston harbor; our long
voyage ended; the well-known scene about us; the dome of the State
House fading in the western sky; the lights of the city starting
into sight, as the darkness came on; and at nine o'clock the
clangor of the bells, ringing their accustomed peals; among which
the Boston boys tried to distinguish the well-known tone of the
Old South.

We had just done furling the sails, when a beautiful little
pleasure-boat luffed up into the wind, under our quarter, and the
junior partner of the firm to which our ship belonged, Mr. Hooper,
jumped on board. I saw him from the mizzen-topsail yard, and knew
him well. He shook the captain by the hand, and went down into the
cabin, and in a few minutes came up and inquired of the mate for
me. The last time I had seen him I was in the uniform of an
undergraduate of Harvard College, and now, to his astonishment,
there came down from aloft a ``rough alley'' looking fellow, with
duck trousers and red shirt, long hair, and face burnt as dark as
an Indian's. We shook hands, and he congratulated me upon my
return and my appearance of health and strength, and said that my
friends were all well. He had seen some of my family a few days
before. I thanked him for telling me what I should not have dared
to ask; and if--

   ``The first bringer of unwelcome news
     Hath but a losing office; and his tongue
     Sounds ever after like a sullen bell,''--

certainly I ought ever to remember this gentleman and his words
with pleasure.

The captain went up to town in the boat with Mr. Hooper, and left
us to pass another night on board ship, and to come up with the
morning's tide under command of the pilot.

So much did we feel ourselves to be already at home, in
anticipation, that our plain supper of hard bread and salt beef
was barely touched; and many on board, to whom this was the first
voyage, could scarcely sleep. As for myself, by one of those
anomalous changes of feeling of which we are all the subjects, I
found that I was in a state of indifference for which I could by
no means account. A year before, while carrying hides on the
coast, the assurance that in a twelvemonth we should see Boston
made me half wild; but now that I was actually there, and in sight
of home, the emotions which I had so long anticipated feeling I
did not find, and in their place was a state of very nearly entire
apathy. Something of the same experience was related to me by a
sailor whose first voyage was one of five years upon the Northwest
Coast. He had left home a lad, and when, after so many years of
hard and trying experience, he found himself homeward bound, such
was the excitement of his feelings that, during the whole passage,
he could talk and think of nothing else but his arrival, and how
and when he should jump from the vessel and take his way directly
home. Yet, when the vessel was made fast to the wharf and the crew
dismissed, he seemed suddenly to lose all feeling about the
matter. He told me that he went below and changed his dress; took
some water from the scuttle-butt and washed himself leisurely;
overhauled his chest, and put his clothes all in order; took his
pipe from its place, filled it, and, sitting down upon his chest,
smoked it slowly for the last time. Here he looked round upon the
forecastle in which he had spent so many years, and being alone
and his shipmates scattered, began to feel actually unhappy. Home
became almost a dream; and it was not until his brother (who had
heard of the ship's arrival) came down into the forecastle and
told him of things at home, and who were waiting there to see him,
that he could realize where he was, and feel interest enough to
put him in motion toward that place for which he had longed, and
of which he had dreamed, for years. There is probably so much of
excitement in prolonged expectation that the quiet realizing of it
produces a momentary stagnation of feeling as well as of effort.
It was a good deal so with me. The activity of preparation, the
rapid progress of the ship, the first making land, the coming up
the harbor, and old scenes breaking upon the view, produced a
mental as well as bodily activity, from which the change to a
perfect stillness, when both expectation and the necessity of
labor failed, left a calmness, almost an indifference, from which
I must be roused by some new excitement. And the next morning,
when all hands were called, and we were busily at work, clearing
the decks, and getting everything in readiness for going up to the
wharves,-- loading the guns for a salute, loosing the sails, and
manning the windlass,-- mind and body seemed to wake together.

About ten o'clock a sea-breeze sprang up, and the pilot gave
orders to get the ship under way. All hands manned the windlass,
and the long-drawn ``Yo, heave, ho!'' which we had last heard
dying away among the desolate hills of San Diego, soon brought the
anchor to the bows; and, with a fair wind and tide, a bright sunny
morning, royals and skysails set, ensign, streamer, signals, and
pennant flying, and with our guns firing, we came swiftly and
handsomely up to the city. Off the end of the wharf, we
rounded-to, and let go our anchor; and no sooner was it on the
bottom than the decks were filled with people: custom-house
officers; Topliff's agent, to inquire for news; others, inquiring
for friends on board, or left upon the coast; dealers in grease,
besieging the galley to make a bargain with the cook for his
slush; ``loafers'' in general; and, last and chief, boarding-house
runners, to secure their men. Nothing can exceed the obliging
disposition of these runners, and the interest they take in a
sailor returned from a long voyage with a plenty of money. Two or
three of them, at different times, took me by the hand; pretended
to remember me perfectly; were quite sure I had boarded with them
before I sailed; were delighted to see me back; gave me their
cards; had a hand-cart waiting on the wharf, on purpose to take my
things up; would lend me a hand to get my chest ashore; bring a
bottle of grog on board if we did not haul in immediately; and the
like. In fact, we could hardly get clear of them to go aloft and
furl the sails. Sail after sail, for the hundredth time, in fair
weather and in foul, we furled now for the last time together, and
came down and took the warp ashore, manned the capstan, and with a
chorus which waked up half North End, and rang among the buildings
in the dock, we hauled her in to the wharf.[1] The city bells were
just ringing one when the last turn was made fast and the crew
dismissed; and in five minutes more not a soul was left on board
the good ship Alert but the old ship-keeper, who had come down
from the counting-house to take charge of her.

[1] [Sept. 21, 1836.]

TWENTY-FOUR YEARS AFTER

It was in the winter of 1835-6 that the ship Alert, in the
prosecution of her voyage for hides on the remote and almost
unknown coast of California, floated into the vast solitude of the
Bay of San Francisco. All around was the stillness of nature. One
vessel, a Russian, lay at anchor there, but during our whole stay
not a sail came or went. Our trade was with remote Missions, which
sent hides to us in launches manned by their Indians. Our
anchorage was between a small island, called Yerba Buena, and a
gravel beach in a little bight or cove of the same name, formed by
two small, projecting points. Beyond, to the westward of the
landing-place, were dreary sand-hills, with little grass to be
seen, and few trees, and beyond them higher hills, steep and
barren, their sides gullied by the rains. Some five or six miles
beyond the landing-place, to the right, was a ruinous Presidio,
and some three or four miles to the left was the Mission of
Dolores, as ruinous as the Presidio, almost deserted, with but few
Indians attached to it, and but little property in cattle. Over a
region far beyond our sight there were no other human habitations,
except that an enterprising Yankee, years in advance of his time,
had put up, on the rising ground above the landing, a shanty of
rough boards, where he carried on a very small retail trade
between the hide ships and the Indians. Vast banks of fog,
invading us from the North Pacific, drove in through the entrance,
and covered the whole bay; and when they disappeared, we saw a few
well-wooded islands, the sand-hills on the west, the grassy and
wooded slopes on the east, and the vast stretch of the bay to the
southward, where we were told lay the Missions of Santa Clara and
San José, and still longer stretches to the northward and
northeastward, where we understood smaller bays spread out, and
large rivers poured in their tributes of waters. There were no
settlements on these bays or rivers, and the few ranchos and
Missions were remote and widely separated. Not only the
neighborhood of our anchorage, but the entire region of the great
bay, was a solitude. On the whole coast of California there was
not a light-house, a beacon, or a buoy, and the charts were made
up from old and disconnected surveys by British, Russian, and
Mexican voyagers. Birds of prey and passage swooped and dived
about us, wild beasts ranged through the oak groves, and as we
slowly floated out of the harbor with the tide, herds of deer came
to the water's edge, on the northerly side of the entrance, to
gaze at the strange spectacle.

On the evening of Saturday, the 13th of August, 1859, the superb
steamship Golden Gate, gay with crowds of passengers, and lighting
the sea for miles around with the glare of her signal lights of
red, green, and white, and brilliant with lighted saloons and
staterooms, bound up from the Isthmus of Panama, neared the
entrance to San Francisco, the great centre of a world-wide
commerce. Miles out at sea, on the desolate rocks of the
Farallones, gleamed the powerful rays of one of the most costly
and effective light-houses in the world. As we drew in through the
Golden Gate, another light-house met our eyes, and in the clear
moonlight of the unbroken California summer we saw, on the right,
a large fortification protecting the narrow entrance, and just
before us the little island of Alcatraz confronted us,-- one
entire fortress. We bore round the point toward the old
anchoring-ground of the hide ships, and there, covering the
sand-hills and the valleys, stretching from the water's edge to
the base of the great hills, and from the old Presidio to the
Mission, flickering all over with the lamps of its streets and
houses, lay a city of one hundred thousand inhabitants. Clocks
tolled the hour of midnight from its steeples, but the city was
alive from the salute of our guns, spreading the news that the
fortnightly steamer had come, bringing mails and passengers from
the Atlantic world. Clipper ships of the largest size lay at
anchor in the stream, or were girt to the wharves; and capacious
high-pressure steamers, as large and showy as those of the Hudson
or Mississippi, bodies of dazzling light, awaited the delivery of
our mails to take their courses up the Bay, stopping at Benicia
and the United States Naval Station, and then up the great
tributaries-- the Sacramento, San Joaquin, and Feather Rivers-- to
the far inland cities of Sacramento, Stockton, and Marysville.

The dock into which we drew, and the streets about it, were
densely crowded with express wagons and hand-carts to take
luggage, coaches and cabs for passengers, and with men,-- some
looking out for friends among our hundreds of passengers,-- agents
of the press, and a greater multitude eager for newspapers and
verbal intelligence from the great Atlantic and European world.
Through this crowd I made my way, along the well-built and
well-lighted streets, as alive as by day, where boys in high-keyed
voices were already crying the latest New York papers; and between
one and two o'clock in the morning found myself comfortably abed
in a commodious room, in the Oriental Hotel, which stood, as well
as I could learn, on the filled-up cove, and not far from the spot
where we used to beach our boats from the Alert.

Sunday, August 14th. When I awoke in the morning, and looked from
my windows over the city of San Francisco, with its storehouses,
towers, and steeples; its court-houses, theatres, and hospitals;
its daily journals; its well-filled learned professions; its
fortresses and light-houses; its wharves and harbor, with their
thousand-ton clipper ships, more in number than London or
Liverpool sheltered that day, itself one of the capitals of the
American Republic, and the sole emporium of a new world, the
awakened Pacific; when I looked across the bay to the eastward,
and beheld a beautiful town on the fertile, wooded shores of the
Contra Costa, and steamers, large and small, the ferryboats to the
Contra Costa, and capacious freighters and passenger-carriers to
all parts of the great bay and its tributaries, with lines of
their smoke in the horizon,-- when I saw all these things, and
reflected on what I once was and saw here, and what now surrounded
me, I could scarcely keep my hold on reality at all, or the
genuineness of anything, and seemed to myself like one who had
moved in ``worlds not realized.''

I could not complain that I had not a choice of places of worship.
The Roman Catholics have an archbishop, a cathedral, and five or
six smaller churches, French, German, Spanish, and English; and
the Episcopalians a bishop, a cathedral, and three other churches;
the Methodists and Presbyterians have three or four each, and
there are Congregationalists, Baptists, a Unitarian, and other
societies. On my way to church, I met two classmates of mine at
Harvard standing in a door-way, one a lawyer and the other a
teacher, and made appointments for a future meeting. A little
farther on I came upon another Harvard man, a fine scholar and
wit, and full of cleverness and good-humor, who invited me to go
to breakfast with him at the French house,-- he was a bachelor,
and a late riser on Sundays. I asked him to show me the way to
Bishop Kip's church. He hesitated, looked a little confused, and
admitted that he was not as well up in certain classes of
knowledge as in others, but, by a desperate guess, pointed out a
wooden building at the foot of the street, which any one might
have seen could not be right, and which turned out to be an
African Baptist meeting-house. But my friend had many capital
points of character, and I owed much of the pleasure of my visit
to his attentions.

The congregation at the Bishop's church was precisely like one you
would meet in New York, Philadelphia, or Boston. To be sure, the
identity of the service makes one feel at once at home, but the
people were alike, nearly all of the English race, though from all
parts of the Union. The latest French bonnets were at the head of
the chief pews, and business men at the foot. The music was
without character, but there was an instructive sermon, and the
church was full.

I found that there were no services at any of the Protestant
churches in the afternoon. They have two services on Sunday; at 11
A.M., and after dark. The afternoon is spent at home, or in
friendly visiting, or teaching of Sunday Schools, or other humane
and social duties.

This is as much the practice with what at home are called the
strictest denominations as with any others. Indeed, I found
individuals, as well as public bodies, affected in a marked degree
by a change of oceans and by California life. One Sunday afternoon
I was surprised at receiving the card of a man whom I had last
known, some fifteen years ago, as a strict and formal deacon of a
Congregational Society in New England. He was a deacon still, in
San Francisco, a leader in all pious works, devoted to his
denomination and to total abstinence,-- the same internally, but
externally-- what a change! Gone was the downcast eye, the bated
breath, the solemn, non-natural voice, the watchful gait, stepping
as if he felt responsible for the balance of the moral universe!
He walked with a stride, an uplifted open countenance, his face
covered with beard, whiskers, and mustache, his voice strong and
natural,-- and, in short, he had put off the New England deacon
and become a human being. In a visit of an hour I learned much
from him about the religious societies, the moral reforms, the
``Dashaways,''-- total abstinence societies, which had taken
strong hold on the young and wilder parts of society,-- and then
of the Vigilance Committee, of which he was a member, and of more
secular points of interest.

In one of the parlors of the hotel, I saw a man of about sixty
years of age, with his feet bandaged and resting in a chair, whom
somebody addressed by the name of Lies.[1] Lies! thought I, that
must be the man who came across the country from Kentucky to
Monterey while we lay there in the Pilgrim in 1835, and made a
passage in the Alert, when he used to shoot with his rifle bottles
hung from the top-gallant studding-sail-boom-ends. He married the
beautiful Doña Rosalía Vallejo, sister of Don Guadalupe. There
were the old high features and sandy hair. I put my chair beside
him, and began conversation, as any one may do in California. Yes,
he was the Mr. Lies; and when I gave my name he professed at once
to remember me, and spoke of my book. I found that almost-- I
might perhaps say quite-- every American in California had read
it; for when California ``broke out,'' as the phrase is, in 1848,
and so large a portion of the Anglo-Saxon race flocked to it,
there was no book upon California but mine. Many who were on the
coast at the time the book refers to, and afterwards read it, and
remembered the Pilgrim and Alert, thought they also remembered me.
But perhaps more did remember me than I was inclined at first to
believe, for the novelty of a collegian coming out before the mast
had drawn more attention to me than I was aware of at the time.

Late in the afternoon, as there were vespers at the Roman Catholic
churches, I went to that of Notre Dame des Victoires. The
congregation was French, and a sermon in French was preached by an
Abbé; the music was excellent, all things airy and tasteful, and
making one feel as if in one of the chapels in Paris. The
Cathedral of St. Mary, which I afterwards visited, where the Irish
attend, was a contrast indeed, and more like one of our stifling
Irish Catholic churches in Boston or New York, with intelligence
in so small a proportion to the number of faces. During the three
Sundays I was in San Francisco, I visited three of the Episcopal
churches, and the Congregational, a Chinese Mission Chapel, and on
the Sabbath (Saturday) a Jewish synagogue. The Jews are a wealthy
and powerful class here. The Chinese, too, are numerous, and do a
great part of the manual labor and small shop-keeping, and have
some wealthy mercantile houses.

It is noticeable that European Continental fashions prevail
generally in this city,-- French cooking, lunch at noon, and
dinner at the end of the day, with café noir after meals, and to a
great extent the European Sunday,-- to all which emigrants from
the United States and Great Britain seem to adapt themselves. Some
dinners which were given to me at French restaurants were, it
seemed to me,-- a poor judge of such matters, to be sure,-- as
sumptuous and as good, in dishes and wines, as I have found in
Paris. But I had a relish-maker which my friends at table did not
suspect,-- the remembrance of the forecastle dinners I ate here
twenty-four years before.

August 17th. The customs of California are free; and any person
who knows about my book speaks to me. The newspapers have
announced the arrival of the veteran pioneer of all. I hardly walk
out without meeting or making acquaintances. I have already been
invited to deliver the anniversary oration before the Pioneer
Society, to celebrate the settlement of San Francisco. Any man is
qualified for election into this society who came to California
before 1853. What moderns they are! I tell them of the time when
Richardson's shanty of 1835-- not his adobe house of 1836-- was
the only human habitation between the Mission and the Presidio,
and when the vast bay, with all its tributaries and recesses, was
a solitude,-- and yet I am but little past forty years of age.
They point out the place where Richardson's adobe house stood, and
tell me that the first court and first town council were convened
in it, the first Protestant worship performed in it, and in it the
first capital trial by the Vigilance Committee held. I am taken
down to the wharves, by antiquaries of a ten or twelve years'
range, to identify the two points, now known as Clark's and
Rincon, which formed the little cove of Yerba Buena, where we used
to beach our boats,-- now filled up and built upon. The island we
called ``Wood Island,'' where we spent the cold days and nights of
December, in our launch, getting wood for our year's supply, is
clean shorn of trees; and the bare rocks of Alcatraz Island, an
entire fortress. I have looked at the city from the water, and at
the water and islands from the city, but I can see nothing that
recalls the times gone by, except the venerable Mission, the
ruinous Presidio, the high hills in the rear of the town, and the
great stretches of the bay in all directions.

To-day I took a California horse of the old style,-- the run, the
loping gait,-- and visited the Presidio. The walls stand as they
did, with some changes made to accommodate a small garrison of
United States troops. It has a noble situation, and I saw from it
a clipper ship of the very largest class, coming through the Gate,
under her fore-and-aft sails. Thence I rode to the Fort, now
nearly finished, on the southern shore of the Gate, and made an
inspection of it. It is very expensive and of the latest style.
One of the engineers here is Custis Lee, who has just left West
Point at the head of his class,-- a son of Colonel Robert E. Lee,
who distinguished himself in the Mexican War.[2]

Another morning I ride to the Mission Dolores. It has a strangely
solitary aspect, enhanced by its surroundings of the most
uncongenial, rapidly growing modernisms; the hoar of ages
surrounded by the brightest, slightest, and rapidest of modern
growths. Its old belfries still clanged with the discordant bells,
and Mass was saying within, for it is used as a place of worship
for the extreme south part of the city.

In one of my walks about the wharves, I found a pile of dry hides
lying by the side of a vessel. Here was something to feelingly
persuade me what I had been, to recall a past scarce credible to
myself. I stood lost in reflection. What were these hides-- what
were they not?-- to us, to me, a boy, twenty-four years ago? These
were our constant labor, our chief object, our almost habitual
thought. They brought us out here, they kept us here, and it was
only by getting them that we could escape from the coast and
return to home and civilized life. If it had not been that I might
be seen, I should have seized one, slung it over my head, walked
off with it, and thrown it by the old toss-- I do not believe yet
a lost art-- to the ground. How they called up to my mind the
months of curing at San Diego, the year and more of beach and surf
work, and the steeving of the ship for home! I was in a dream of
San Diego, San Pedro,-- with its hill so steep for taking up
goods, and its stones so hard to our bare feet,-- and the cliffs
of San Juan! All this, too, is no more! The entire hide-business
is of the past, and to the present inhabitants of California a dim
tradition. The gold discoveries drew off all men from the
gathering or cure of hides, the inflowing population made an end
of the great droves of cattle; and now not a vessel pursues the--
I was about to say dear-- the dreary, once hated business of
gathering hides upon the coast, and the beach of San Diego is
abandoned and its hide-houses have disappeared. Meeting a
respectable-looking citizen on the wharf, I inquired of him how
the hide-trade was carried on. ``O,'' said he, ``there is very
little of it, and that is all here. The few that are brought in
are placed under sheds in winter, or left out on the wharf in
summer, and are loaded from the wharves into the vessels
alongside. They form parts of cargoes of other materials.'' I
really felt too much, at the instant, to express to him the cause
of my interest in the subject, and only added, ``Then the old
business of trading up and down the coast and curing hides for
cargoes is all over?'' ``O yes, sir,'' said he, ``those old times
of the Pilgrim and Alert and California, that we read about, are
gone by.''

Saturday, August 20th. The steamer Senator makes regular trips up
and down the coast, between San Francisco and San Diego, calling
at intermediate ports. This is my opportunity to revisit the old
scenes. She sails to-day, and I am off, steaming among the great
clippers anchored in the harbor, and gliding rapidly round the
point, past Alcatraz Island, the light-house, and through the
fortified Golden Gate, and bending to the southward,-- all done in
two or three hours, which, in the Alert, under canvas, with head
tides, variable winds, and sweeping currents to deal with, took us
full two days.

Among the passengers I noticed an elderly gentleman, thin, with
sandy hair and a face that seemed familiar. He took off his glove
and showed one shrivelled hand. It must be he! I went to him and
said, ``Captain Wilson, I believe.'' Yes, that was his name. ``I knew
you, sir, when you commanded the Ayacucho on this coast, in old
hide-droghing times, in 1835-6.'' He was quickened by this, and at
once inquiries were made on each side, and we were in full talk
about the Pilgrim and Alert, Ayacucho and Loriotte, the California
and Lagoda. I found he had been very much flattered by the praise
I had bestowed in my book on his seamanship, especially in bringing
the Pilgrim to her berth in San Diego harbor, after she had drifted
successively into the Lagoda and Loriotte, and was coming into him.
I had made a pet of his brig, the Ayacucho, which pleased him almost
as much as my remembrance of his bride and their wedding, which
I saw at Santa Barbara in 1836. Doña Ramona was now the mother of a
large family, and Wilson assured me that if I would visit him at his
rancho, near San Luis Obispo, I should find her still a handsome
woman, and very glad to see me. How we walked the deck together,
hour after hour, talking over the old times,-- the ships, the
captains, the crews, the traders on shore, the ladies, the Missions,
the southeasters! indeed, where could we stop? He had sold the
Ayacucho in Chili for a vessel of war, and had given up the sea,
and had been for years a ranchero. (I learned from others that he
had become one of the most wealthy and respectable farmers in the
State, and that his rancho was well worth visiting.) Thompson, he
said, hadn't the sailor in him; and he never could laugh enough at
his fiasco in San Diego, and his reception by Bradshaw. Faucon was
a sailor and a navigator. He did not know what had become of George
Marsh (ante, pp. 255-258), except that he left him in Callao; nor
could he tell me anything of handsome Bill Jackson (ante, p. 104),
nor of Captain Nye of the Loriotte. I told him all I then knew
of the ships, the masters, and the officers. I found he had kept
some run of my history, and needed little information. Old Señor
Noriego of Santa Barbara, he told me, was dead, and Don Carlos and
Don Santiago, but I should find their children there, now in
middle life. Doña Angustias, he said, I had made famous by my
praises of her beauty and dancing, and I should have from her a
royal reception. She had been a widow, and remarried since, and
had a daughter as handsome as herself. The descendants of Noriego
had taken the ancestral name of De la Guerra, as they were nobles
of Old Spain by birth; and the boy Pablo, who used to make
passages in the Alert, was now Don Pablo de la Guerra, a Senator
in the State Legislature for Santa Barbara County.

The points in the country, too, we noticed, as we passed them,--
Santa Cruz, San Luis Obispo, Point Año Nuevo, the opening to
Monterey, which to my disappointment we did not visit. No;
Monterey, the prettiest town on the coast, and its capital and
seat of customs, had got no advantage from the great changes, was
out of the way of commerce and of the travel to the mines and
great rivers, and was not worth stopping at. Point Conception we
passed in the night, a cheery light gleaming over the waters from
its tall light-house, standing on its outermost peak. Point
Conception! That word was enough to recall all our experiences and
dreads of gales, swept decks, topmast carried away, and the
hardships of a coast service in the winter. But Captain Wilson
tells me that the climate has altered; that the southeasters are
no longer the bane of the coast they once were, and that vessels
now anchor inside the kelp at Santa Barbara and San Pedro all the
year round. I should have thought this owing to his spending his
winters on a rancho instead of the deck of the Ayacucho, had not
the same thing been told me by others.

Passing round Point Conception, and steering easterly, we opened
the islands that form, with the main-land, the canal of Santa
Barbara. There they are, Santa Cruz and Santa Rosa; and there is
the beautiful point, Santa Buenaventura; and there lies Santa
Barbara on its plain, with its amphitheatre of high hills and
distant mountains. There is the old white Mission with its
belfries, and there the town, with its one-story adobe houses,
with here and there a two-story wooden house of later build; yet
little is it altered,-- the same repose in the golden sunlight and
glorious climate, sheltered by its hills; and then, more remindful
than anything else, there roars and tumbles upon the beach the
same grand surf of the great Pacific as on the beautiful day when
the Pilgrim, after her five months' voyage, dropped her weary
anchors here; the same bright blue ocean, and the surf making just
the same monotonous, melancholy roar, and the same dreamy town,
and gleaming white Mission, as when we beached our boats for the
first time, riding over the breakers with shouting Kanakas, the
three small hide-traders lying at anchor in the offing. But now we
are the only vessel, and that an unromantic, sail-less, spar-less,
engine-driven hulk!

I landed in the surf, in the old style, but it was not high enough
to excite us, the only change being that I was somehow
unaccountably a passenger, and did not have to jump overboard and
steady the boat, and run her up by the gunwales.

Santa Barbara has gained but little. I should not know, from
anything I saw, that she was now a seaport of the United States, a
part of the enterprising Yankee nation, and not still a lifeless
Mexican town. At the same old house, where Señor Noriego lived, on
the piazza in front of the court-yard, where was the gay scene of
the marriage of our agent, Mr. Robinson, to Doña Anita, where Don
Juan Bandini and Doña Angustias danced, Don Pablo de la Guerra
received me in a courtly fashion. I passed the day with the
family, and in walking about the place; and ate the old dinner
with its accompaniments of fríjoles, native olives and grapes, and
native wines. In due time I paid my respects to Doña Angustias,
and, notwithstanding what Wilson told me, I could hardly believe
that after twenty-four years there would still be so much of the
enchanting woman about her. She thanked me for the kind and, as
she called them, greatly exaggerated compliments I had paid her;
and her daughter told me that all travellers who came to Santa
Barbara called to see her mother, and that she herself never
expected to live long enough to be a belle.

Mr. Alfred Robinson, our agent in 1835-6, was here, with a part of
his family. I did not know how he would receive me, remembering
what I had printed to the world about him at a time when I took
little thought that the world was going to read it; but there was
no sign of offence, only a cordiality which gave him, as between
us, rather the advantage in status.

The people of this region are giving attention to sheep-raising,
wine-making, and the raising of olives, just enough to keep the
town from going backwards.

But evening is drawing on, and our boat sails to-night. So,
refusing a horse or carriage, I walk down, not unwilling to be a
little early, that I may pace up and down the beach, looking off
to the islands and the points, and watching the roaring, tumbling
billows. How softening is the effect of time! It touches us
through the affections. I almost feel as if I were lamenting the
passing away of something loved and dear,-- the boats, the
Kanakas, the hides, my old shipmates! Death, change, distance,
lend them a character which makes them quite another thing from
the vulgar, wearisome toil of uninteresting, forced manual labor.

The breeze freshened as we stood out to sea, and the wild waves
rolled over the red sun, on the broad horizon of the Pacific; but
it is summer, and in summer there can be no bad weather in
California. Every day is pleasant. Nature forbids a drop of rain
to fall by day or night, or a wind to excite itself beyond a fresh
summer breeze.

The next morning we found ourselves at anchor in the Bay of San
Pedro. Here was this hated, this thoroughly detested spot.
Although we lay near, I could scarce recognize the hill up which
we rolled and dragged and pushed and carried our heavy loads, and
down which we pitched the hides, to carry them barefooted over the
rocks to the floating long-boat. It was no longer the
landing-place. One had been made at the head of the creek, and
boats discharged and took off cargoes from a mole or wharf, in a
quiet place, safe from southeasters. A tug ran to take off
passengers from the steamer to the wharf,-- for the trade of Los
Angeles is sufficient to support such a vessel. I got the captain
to land me privately, in a small boat, at the old place by the
hill. I dismissed the boat, and, alone, found my way to the high
ground. I say found my way, for neglect and weather had left but
few traces of the steep road the hide-vessels had built to the
top. The cliff off which we used to throw the hides, and where I
spent nights watching them, was more easily found. The population
was doubled, that is to say, there were two houses, instead of
one, on the hill. I stood on the brow and looked out toward the
offing, the Santa Catalina Island, and, nearer, the melancholy
Dead Man's Island, with its painful tradition, and recalled the
gloomy days that followed the flogging, and fancied the Pilgrim at
anchor in the offing. But the tug is going toward our steamer, and
I must awake and be off. I walked along the shore to the new
landing-place, where were two or three store-houses and other
buildings, forming a small depot; and a stage-coach, I found, went
daily between this place and the Pueblo. I got a seat on the top
of the coach, to which were tackled six little less than wild
California horses. Each horse had a man at his head, and when the
driver had got his reins in hand he gave the word, all the horses
were let go at once, and away they went on a spring, tearing over
the ground, the driver only keeping them from going the wrong way,
for they had a wide, level pampa to run over the whole thirty
miles to the Pueblo. This plain is almost treeless, with no grass,
at least none now in the drought of midsummer, and is filled with
squirrel-holes, and alive with squirrels. As we changed horses
twice, we did not slacken our speed until we turned into the
streets of the Pueblo.

The Pueblo de los Angeles I found a large and flourishing town of
about twenty thousand inhabitants, with brick sidewalks, and
blocks of stone or brick houses. The three principal traders when
we were here for hides in the Pilgrim and Alert are still among
the chief traders of the place,-- Stearns, Temple, and Warner, the
two former being reputed very rich. I dined with Mr. Stearns, now
a very old man, and met there Don Juan Bandini, to whom I had
given a good deal of notice in my book. From him, as indeed from
every one in this town, I met with the kindest attentions. The
wife of Don Juan, who was a beautiful young girl when we were on
the coast, Doña Refugio, daughter of Don Santiago Argüello, the
commandante of San Diego, was with him, and still handsome. This
is one of several instances I have noticed of the preserving
quality of the California climate. Here, too, was Henry Mellus,
who came out with me before the mast in the Pilgrim, and left the
brig to be agent's clerk on shore. He had experienced varying
fortunes here, and was now married to a Mexican lady, and had a
family. I dined with him, and in the afternoon he drove me round
to see the vineyards, the chief objects in this region. The
vintage of last year was estimated at half a million of gallons.
Every year new square miles of ground are laid down to vineyards,
and the Pueblo promises to be the centre of one of the largest
wine-producing regions in the world. Grapes are a drug here, and I
found a great abundance of figs, olives, peaches, pears, and
melons. The climate is well suited to these fruits, but is too hot
and dry for successful wheat crops.

Towards evening, we started off in the stage-coach, with again our
relays of six mad horses, and reached the creek before dark,
though it was late at night before we got on board the steamer,
which was slowly moving her wheels, under way for San Diego.

As we skirted along the coast, Wilson and I recognized, or thought
we did, in the clear moonlight, the rude white Mission of San Juan
Capistrano, and its cliff, from which I had swung down by a pair
of halyards to save a few hides,-- a boy who could not be
prudential, and who caught at every chance for adventure.

As we made the high point off San Diego, Point Loma, we were
greeted by the cheering presence of a light-house. As we swept
round it in the early morning, there, before us, lay the little
harbor of San Diego, its low spit of sand, where the water runs so
deep; the opposite flats, where the Alert grounded in starting for
home; the low hills, without trees, and almost without brush; the
quiet little beach;-- but the chief objects, the hide-houses, my
eye looked for in vain. They were gone, all, and left no mark
behind.

I wished to be alone, so I let the other passengers go up to the
town, and was quietly pulled ashore in a boat, and left to myself.
The recollections and the emotions all were sad, and only sad.

   Fugit, interea fugit irreparabile tempus.

The past was real. The present, all about me, was unreal,
unnatural, repellant. I saw the big ships lying in the stream, the
Alert, the California, the Rosa, with her Italians; then the
handsome Ayacucho, my favorite; the poor dear old Pilgrim, the
home of hardship and hopelessness; the boats passing to and fro;
the cries of the sailors at the capstan or falls; the peopled
beach; the large hide-houses, with their gangs of men; and the
Kanakas interspersed everywhere. All, all were gone! not a vestige
to mark where one hide-house stood. The oven, too, was gone. I
searched for its site, and found, where I thought it should be, a
few broken bricks and bits of mortar. I alone was left of all, and
how strangely was I here! What changes to me! Where were they all?
Why should I care for them,-- poor Kanakas and sailors, the refuse
of civilization, the outlaws and beach-combers of the Pacific!
Time and death seemed to transfigure them. Doubtless nearly all
were dead; but how had they died, and where? In hospitals, in
fever-climes, in dens of vice, or falling from the mast, or
dropping exhausted from the wreck,--

   ``When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
     He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
     Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.''

The light-hearted boys are now hardened middle-aged men, if the
seas, rocks, fevers, and the deadlier enemies that beset a
sailor's life on shore have spared them; and the then strong men
have bowed themselves, and the earth or sea has covered them.

Even the animals are gone,-- the colony of dogs, the broods of
poultry, the useful horses; but the coyotes bark still in the
woods, for they belong not to man, and are not touched by his
changes.

I walked slowly up the hill, finding my way among the few bushes,
for the path was long grown over, and sat down where we used to
rest in carrying our burdens of wood, and to look out for vessels
that might, though so seldom, be coming down from the windward.

To rally myself by calling to mind my own better fortune and
nobler lot, and cherished surroundings at home, was impossible.
Borne down by depression, the day being yet at its noon, and the
sun over the old point,-- it is four miles to the town, the
Presidio,-- I have walked it often, and can do it once more,-- I
passed the familiar objects, and it seemed to me that I remembered
them better than those of any other place I had ever been in;--
the opening to the little cave; the low hills where we cut wood
and killed rattlesnakes, and where our dogs chased the coyotes;
and the black ground where so many of the ship's crew and
beach-combers used to bring up on their return at the end of a
liberty day, and spend the night sub Jove.

The little town of San Diego has undergone no change whatever that
I can see. It certainly has not grown. It is still, like Santa
Barbara, a Mexican town. The four principal houses of the gente de
razon-- of the Bandinis, Estudillos, Argüellos, and Picos-- are
the chief houses now; but all the gentlemen-- and their families,
too, I believe-- are gone. The big vulgar shop-keeper and trader,
Fitch, is long since dead; Tom Wrightington, who kept the rival
pulpería, fell from his horse when drunk, and was found nearly
eaten up by coyotes; and I can scarce find a person whom I
remember. I went into a familiar one-story adobe house, with its
piazza and earthen floor, inhabited by a respectable lower-class
family by the name of Machado, and inquired if any of the family
remained, when a bright-eyed middle-aged woman recognized me, for
she had heard I was on board the steamer, and told me she had
married a shipmate of mine, Jack Stewart, who went out as second
mate the next voyage, but left the ship and married and settled
here. She said he wished very much to see me. In a few minutes he
came in, and his sincere pleasure in meeting me was extremely
grateful. We talked over old times as long as I could afford to. I
was glad to hear that he was sober and doing well. Doña Tomasa
Pico I found and talked with. She was the only person of the old
upper class that remained on the spot, if I rightly recollect. I
found an American family here, with whom I dined,-- Doyle and his
wife, nice young people, Doyle agent for the great line of coaches
to run to the frontier of the old States.

I must complete my acts of pious remembrance, so I take a horse and
make a run out to the old Mission, where Ben Stimson and I went the
first liberty day we had after we left Boston (ante, p. 140). All has
gone to decay. The buildings are unused and ruinous, and the large
gardens show now only wild cactuses, willows, and a few olive-trees.
A fast run brings me back in time to take leave of the few I knew
and who knew me, and to reach the steamer before she sails. A last
look-- yes, last for life-- to the beach, the hills, the low point,
the distant town, as we round Point Loma and the first beams of the
light-house strike out towards the setting sun.

Wednesday, August 24th. At anchor at San Pedro by daylight. But
instead of being roused out of the forecastle to row the long-boat
ashore and bring off a load of hides before breakfast, we were
served with breakfast in the cabin, and again took our drive with
the wild horses to the Pueblo and spent the day; seeing nearly the
same persons as before, and again getting back by dark. We steamed
again for Santa Barbara, where we only lay an hour, and passed
through its canal and round Point Conception, stopping at San Luis
Obispo to land my friend, as I may truly call him after this long
passage together, Captain Wilson, whose most earnest invitation to
stop here and visit him at his rancho I was obliged to decline.

Friday evening, 26th August, we entered the Golden Gate, passed
the light-houses and forts, and clipper ships at anchor, and came
to our dock, with this great city, on its high hills and rising
surfaces, brilliant before us, and full of eager life.

Making San Francisco my head-quarters, I paid visits to various
parts of the State,-- down the Bay to Santa Clara, with its live
oaks and sycamores, and its Jesuit College for boys; and San José,
where is the best girls' school in the State, kept by the Sisters
of Notre Dame,-- a town now famous for a year's session of ``The
legislature of a thousand drinks,''-- and thence to the rich
Almaden quicksilver mines, returning on the Contra Costa side
through the rich agricultural country, with its ranchos and the
vast grants of the Castro and Soto families, where farming and
fruit-raising are done on so large a scale. Another excursion was
up the San Joaquin to Stockton, a town of some ten thousand
inhabitants, a hundred miles from San Francisco, and crossing the
Tuolumne and Stanislaus and Merced, by the little Spanish town of
Hornitos, and Snelling's Tavern, at the ford of the Merced, where
so many fatal fights are had. Thence I went to Mariposa County,
and Colonel Fremont's mines, and made an interesting visit to
``the Colonel,'' as he is called all over the country, and Mrs.
Fremont, a heroine equal to either fortune, the salons of Paris
and the drawing-rooms of New York and Washington, or the roughest
life of the remote and wild mining regions of Mariposa,-- with
their fine family of spirited, clever children. After a rest
there, we went on to Clark's Camp and the Big Trees, where I
measured one tree ninety-seven feet in circumference without its
bark, and the bark is usually eighteen inches thick; and rode
through another which lay on the ground, a shell, with all the
insides out,-- rode through it mounted, and sitting at full height
in the saddle; then to the wonderful Yo Semite Valley,-- itself a
stupendous miracle of nature, with its Dome, its Capitan, its
walls of three thousand feet of perpendicular height,-- but a
valley of streams, of waterfalls, from the torrent to the mere
shimmer of a bridal veil, only enough to reflect a rainbow, with
their plunges of twenty-five hundred feet, or their smaller falls
of eight hundred, with nothing at the base but thick mists, which
form and trickle, and then run and at last plunge into the blue
Merced that flows through the centre of the valley. Back by the
Coulterville trail, the peaks of Sierra Nevada in sight, across
the North Fork of the Merced, by Gentry's Gulch, over hills and
through cañons, to Fremont's again, and thence to Stockton and San
Francisco,-- all this at the end of August, when there has been no
rain for four months, and the air is clear and very hot, and the
ground perfectly dry; windmills, to raise water for artificial
irrigation of small patches, seen all over the landscape, while we
travel through square miles of hot dust, where they tell us, and
truly, that in winter and early spring we should be up to our
knees in flowers; a country, too, where surface gold-digging is so
common and unnoticed that the large, six-horse stage-coach, in
which I travelled from Stockton to Hornitos, turned off in the
high road for a Chinaman, who, with his pan and washer, was
working up a hole which an American had abandoned, but where the
minute and patient industry of the Chinaman averaged a few dollars
a day.

These visits were so full of interest, with grandeurs and humors
of all sorts, that I am strongly tempted to describe them. But I
remember that I am not to write a journal of a visit over the new
California, but to sketch briefly the contrasts with the old spots
of 1835-6, and I forbear.

How strange and eventful has been the brief history of this
marvellous city, San Francisco! In 1835 there was one board
shanty. In 1836, one adobe house on the same spot. In 1847, a
population of four hundred and fifty persons, who organized a town
government. Then came the auri sacra fames, the flocking together
of many of the worst spirits of Christendom; a sudden birth of a
city of canvas and boards, entirely destroyed by fire five times
in eighteen months, with a loss of sixteen millions of dollars,
and as often rebuilt, until it became a solid city of brick and
stone, of nearly one hundred thousand inhabitants, with all the
accompaniments of wealth and culture, and now (in 1859) the most
quiet and well-governed city of its size in the United States. But
it has been through its season of Heaven-defying crime, violence,
and blood, from which it was rescued and handed back to soberness,
morality, and good government, by that peculiar invention of
Anglo-Saxon Republican America, the solemn, awe-inspiring
Vigilance Committee of the most grave and responsible citizens,
the last resort of the thinking and the good, taken to only when
vice, fraud, and ruffianism have intrenched themselves behind the
forms of law, suffrage, and ballot, and there is no hope but in
organized force, whose action must be instant and thorough, or its
state will be worse than before. A history of the passage of this
city through those ordeals, and through its almost incredible
financial extremes, should be written by a pen which not only
accuracy shall govern, but imagination shall inspire.

I cannot pause for the civility of referring to the many kind
attentions I received, and the society of educated men and women
from all parts of the Union I met with; where New England, the
Carolinas, Virginia, and the new West sat side by side with
English, French, and German civilization.

My stay in California was interrupted by an absence of nearly four
months, when I sailed for the Sandwich Islands in the noble Boston
clipper ship Mastiff, which was burned at sea to the water's edge;
we escaping in boats, and carried by a friendly British bark into
Honolulu, whence, after a deeply interesting visit of three months
in that most fascinating group of islands, with its natural and
its moral wonders, I returned to San Francisco in an American
whaler, and found myself again in my quarters on the morning of
Sunday, December 11th, 1859.

My first visit after my return was to Sacramento, a city of about
forty thousand inhabitants, more than a hundred miles inland from
San Francisco, on the Sacramento, where was the capital of the
State, and where were fleets of river steamers, and a large inland
commerce. Here I saw the inauguration of a Governor, Mr. Latham, a
young man from Massachusetts, much my junior; and met a member of
the State Senate, a man who, as a carpenter, repaired my father's
house at home some ten years before; and two more Senators from
southern California, relics of another age,-- Don Andres Pico,
from San Diego; and Don Pablo de la Guerra, whom I have mentioned
as meeting at Santa Barbara. I had a good deal of conversation
with these gentlemen, who stood alone in an assembly of Americans,
who had conquered their country, spared pillars of the past. Don
Andres had fought us at San Pazqual and Sepulveda's rancho, in
1846, and as he fought bravely, not a common thing among the
Mexicans, and, indeed, repulsed Kearney, is always treated with
respect. He had the satisfaction, dear to the proud Spanish heart,
of making a speech before a Senate of Americans, in favor of the
retention in office of an officer of our army who was wounded at
San Pazqual, and whom some wretched caucus was going to displace
to carry out a political job. Don Andres's magnanimity and
indignation carried the day.

My last visit in this part of the country was to a new and rich
farming region, the Napa Valley, the United States Navy Yard at
Mare Island, the river gold workings, and the Geysers, and old Mr.
John Yount's rancho. On board the steamer, found Mr. Edward
Stanley, formerly member of Congress from North Carolina, who
became my companion for the greater part of my trip. I also met--
a revival on the spot of an acquaintance of twenty years ago-- Don
Guadalupe Vallejo; I may say acquaintance, for although I was then
before the mast, he knew my story, and, as he spoke English well,
used to hold many conversations with me, when in the boat or on
shore. He received me with true earnestness, and would not hear of
my passing his estate without visiting him. He reminded me of a
remark I made to him once, when pulling him ashore in the boat,
when he was commandante at the Presidio. I learned that the two
Vallejos, Guadalupe and Salvador, owned, at an early time, nearly
all Napa and Sonoma, having princely estates. But they have not
much left. They were nearly ruined by their bargain with the
State, that they would put up the public buildings if the Capital
should be placed at Vallejo, then a town of some promise. They
spent $100,000, the Capital was moved there, and in two years
removed to San José on another contract. The town fell to pieces,
and the houses, chiefly wooden, were taken down and removed. I
accepted the old gentleman's invitation so far as to stop at
Vallejo to breakfast.

The United States Navy Yard, at Mare Island, near Vallejo, is
large and well placed, with deep fresh water. The old
Independence, and the sloop Decatur, and two steamers were there,
and they were experimenting on building a despatch boat, the
Saginaw, of California timber.

I have no excuse for attempting to describe my visit through the
fertile and beautiful Napa Valley, nor even, what exceeded that in
interest, my visit to old John Yount at his rancho, where I heard
from his own lips some of his most interesting stories of hunting
and trapping and Indian fighting, during an adventurous life of
forty years of such work, between our back settlements in Missouri
and Arkansas, and the mountains of California, trapping the
Colorado and Gila,-- and his celebrated dream, thrice repeated,
which led him to organize a party to go out over the mountains,
that did actually rescue from death by starvation the wretched
remnants of the Donner Party.

I must not pause for the dreary country of the Geysers, the
screaming escapes of steam, the sulphur, the boiling caldrons of
black and yellow and green, and the region of Gehenna, through
which runs a quiet stream of pure water; nor for the park scenery,
and captivating ranchos of the Napa Valley, where farming is done
on so grand a scale,-- where I have seen a man plough a furrow by
little red flags on sticks, to keep his range by, until nearly out
of sight, and where, the wits tell us, he returns the next day on
the back furrow; a region where, at Christmas time, I have seen
old strawberries still on the vines, by the side of vines in full
blossom for the next crop, and grapes in the same stages, and open
windows, and yet a grateful wood fire on the hearth in early
morning; nor for the titanic operations of hydraulic surface
mining, where large mountain streams are diverted from their
ancient beds, and made to do the work, beyond the reach of all
other agents, of washing out valleys and carrying away hills, and
changing the whole surface of the country, to expose the stores of
gold hidden for centuries in the darkness of their earthy depths.

January 10th, 1860. I am again in San Francisco, and my revisit to
California is closed. I have touched too lightly and rapidly for
much impression upon the reader on my last visit into the
interior; but, as I have said, in a mere continuation to a
narrative of a sea-faring life on the coast, I am only to carry
the reader with me on a revisit to those scenes in which the
public has long manifested so gratifying an interest. But it
seemed to me that slight notices of these entirely new parts of
the country would not be out of place, for they serve to put in
strong contrast with the solitudes of 1835-6 the developed
interior, with its mines, and agricultural wealth, and rapidly
filling population, and its large cities, so far from the coast,
with their education, religion, arts, and trade.

On the morning of the 11th January, 1860, I passed, for the eighth
time, through the Golden Gate, on my way across the delightful
Pacific to the Oriental world, with its civilization three
thousand years older than that I was leaving behind. As the shores
of California faded in the distance, and the summits of the Coast
Range sank under the blue horizon, I bade farewell-- yes, I do not
doubt, forever-- to those scenes which, however changed or
unchanged, must always possess an ineffable interest for me.

                     ---------

It is time my fellow-travellers and I should part company. But I
have been requested by a great many persons to give some account
of the subsequent history of the vessels and their crews, with
which I had made them acquainted. I attempt the following sketches
in deference to these suggestions, and not, I trust, with any
undue estimate of the general interest my narrative may have
created.

Something less than a year after my return in the Alert, and when,
my eyes having recovered, I was again in college life, I found one
morning in the newspapers, among the arrivals of the day before,
``The brig Pilgrim, Faucon, from San Diego, California.'' In a few
hours I was down in Ann Street, and on my way to Hackstadt's
boarding-house, where I knew Tom Harris and others would lodge.
Entering the front room, I heard my name called from amid a group
of blue-jackets, and several sunburned, tar-colored men came
forward to speak to me. They were, at first, a little embarrassed
by the dress and style in which they had never seen me, and one of
them was calling me Mr. Dana; but I soon stopped that, and we were
shipmates once more. First, there was Tom Harris, in a
characteristic occupation. I had made him promise to come and see
me when we parted in San Diego; he had got a directory of Boston,
found the street and number of my father's house, and, by a study
of the plan of the city, had laid out his course, and was
committing it to memory. He said he could go straight to the house
without asking a question. And so he could, for I took the book
from him, and he gave his course, naming each street and turn to
right or left, directly to the door.

Tom had been second mate of the Pilgrim, and had laid up no mean
sum of money. True to his resolution, he was going to England to
find his mother, and he entered into the comparative advantages of
taking his money home in gold or in bills,-- a matter of some
moment, as this was in the disastrous financial year of 1837. He
seemed to have his ideas well arranged, but I took him to a
leading banker, whose advice he followed; and, declining my
invitation to go up and show himself to my friends, he was off for
New York that afternoon, to sail the next day for Liverpool. The
last I ever saw of Tom Harris was as he passed down Tremont Street
on the sidewalk, a man dragging a hand-cart in the street by his
side, on which were his voyage-worn chest, his mattress, and a box
of nautical instruments.

Sam seemed to have got funny again, and he and John the Swede learned
that Captain Thompson had several months before sailed in command of
a ship for the coast of Sumatra, and that their chance of proceedings
against him at law was hopeless. Sam was afterwards lost in a brig
off the coast of Brazil, when all hands went down. Of John and the
rest of the men I have never heard. The Marblehead boy, Sam, turned
out badly; and, although he had influential friends, never allowed
them to improve his condition. The old carpenter, the Fin, of whom
the cook stood in such awe (ante, p. 47), had fallen sick and died
in Santa Barbara, and was buried ashore. Jim Hall, from the Kennebec,
who sailed with us before the mast, and was made second mate in
Foster's place, came home chief mate of the Pilgrim. I have often
seen him since. His lot has been prosperous, as he well deserved it
should be. He has commanded the largest ships, and, when I last saw
him, was going to the Pacific coast of South America, to take charge
of a line of mail steamers. Poor, luckless Foster I have twice seen.
He came into my rooms in Boston, after I had become a barrister and
my narrative had been published, and told me he was chief mate of a
big ship; that he had heard I had said some things unfavorable of him
in my book; that he had just bought it, and was going to read it that
night, and if I had said anything unfair of him, he would punish me
if he found me in State Street. I surveyed him from head to foot, and
said to him, ``Foster, you were not a formidable man when I last
knew you, and I don't believe you are now.'' Either he was of my
opinion, or thought I had spoken of him well enough, for the next
(and last) time I met him he was civil and pleasant.

I believe I omitted to state that Mr. Andrew B. Amerzene, the
chief mate of the Pilgrim, an estimable, kind, and trustworthy
man, had a difficulty with Captain Faucon, who thought him slack,
was turned off duty, and sent home with us in the Alert. Captain
Thompson, instead of giving him the place of a mate off duty, put
him into the narrow between-decks, where a space, not over four
feet high, had been left out among the hides, and there compelled
him to live the whole wearisome voyage, through trades and
tropics, and round Cape Horn, with nothing to do,-- not allowed to
converse or walk with the officers, and obliged to get his grub
himself from the galley, in the tin pot and kid of a common
sailor. I used to talk with him as much as I had opportunity to,
but his lot was wretched, and in every way wounding to his
feelings. After our arrival, Captain Thompson was obliged to make
him compensation for this treatment. It happens that I have never
heard of him since.

Henry Mellus, who had been in a counting-house in Boston, and left
the forecastle, on the coast, to be agent's clerk, and whom I met,
a married man, at Los Angeles in 1859, died at that place a few
years ago, not having been successful in commercial life. Ben
Stimson left the sea for the fresh water and prairies, settled in
Detroit as a merchant, and when I visited that city, in 1863, I
was rejoiced to find him a prosperous and respected man, and the
same generous-hearted shipmate as ever.

This ends the catalogue of the Pilgrim's original crew, except her
first master, Captain Thompson. He was not employed by the same
firm again, and got up a voyage to the coast of Sumatra for
pepper. A cousin and classmate of mine, Mr. Channing, went as
supercargo, not having consulted me as to the captain. First,
Captain Thompson got into difficulties with another American
vessel on the coast, which charged him with having taken some
advantage of her in getting pepper; and then with the natives, who
accused him of having obtained too much pepper for his weights.
The natives seized him, one afternoon, as he landed in his boat,
and demanded of him to sign an order on the supercargo for the
Spanish dollars that they said were due them, on pain of being
imprisoned on shore. He never failed in pluck, and now ordered his
boat aboard, leaving him ashore, the officer to tell the
supercargo to obey no direction except under his hand. For several
successive days and nights, his ship, the Alciope, lay in the
burning sun, with rain-squalls and thunder-clouds coming over the
high mountains, waiting for a word from him. Toward evening of the
fourth or fifth day he was seen on the beach, hailing for the
boat. The natives, finding they could not force more money from
him, were afraid to hold him longer, and had let him go. He sprang
into the boat, urged her off with the utmost eagerness, leaped on
board the ship like a tiger, his eyes flashing and his face full
of blood, ordered the anchor aweigh, and the topsails set, the
four guns, two on a side, loaded with all sorts of devilish stuff,
and wore her round, and, keeping as close into the bamboo village
as he could, gave them both broadsides, slam-bang into the midst
of the houses and people, and stood out to sea! As his excitement
passed off, headache, languor, fever, set in,-- the deadly
coast-fever, contracted from the water and night-dews on shore and
his maddened temper. He ordered the ship to Penang, and never saw
the deck again. He died on the passage, and was buried at sea. Mr.
Channing, who took care of him in his sickness and delirium,
caught the fever from him, but, as we gratefully remember, did not
die until the ship made port, and he was under the kindly roof of
a hospitable family in Penang. The chief mate, also, took the
fever, and the second mate and crew deserted; and, although the
chief mate recovered and took the ship to Europe and home, the
voyage was a melancholy disaster. In a tour I made round the world
in 1859-1860, of which my revisit to California was the beginning,
I went to Penang. In that fairy-like scene of sea and sky and
shore, as beautiful as material earth can be, with its fruits and
flowers of a perpetual summer,-- somewhere in which still lurks
the deadly fever,-- I found the tomb of my kinsman, classmate, and
friend. Standing beside his grave, I tried not to think that his
life had been sacrificed to the faults and violence of another; I
tried not to think too hardly of that other, who at least had
suffered in death.

The dear old Pilgrim herself! She was sold, at the end of this
voyage, to a merchant in New Hampshire, who employed her on short
voyages, and, after a few years, I read of her total loss at sea,
by fire, off the coast of North Carolina.

Captain Faucon, who took out the Alert, and brought home the
Pilgrim, spent many years in command of vessels in the Indian and
Chinese seas, and was in our volunteer navy during the late war,
commanding several large vessels in succession, on the blockade of
the Carolinas, with the rank of lieutenant. He has now given up
the sea, but still keeps it under his eye, from the piazza of his
house on the most beautiful hill in the environs of Boston. I have
the pleasure of meeting him often. Once, in speaking of the
Alert's crew, in a company of gentlemen, I heard him say that that
crew was exceptional; that he had passed all his life at sea, but
whether before the mast or abaft, whether officer or master, he
had never met such a crew, and never should expect to; and that
the two officers of the Alert, long ago shipmasters, agreed with
him that, for intelligence, knowledge of duty and willingness to
perform it, pride in the ship, her appearance and sailing, and in
absolute reliableness, they never had seen their equal. Especially
he spoke of his favorite seaman, French John. John, after a few
more years at sea, became a boatman, and kept his neat boat at the
end of Granite Wharf, and was ready to take all, but delighted to
take any of us of the old Alert's crew, to sail down the harbor.
One day Captain Faucon went to the end of the wharf to board a
vessel in the stream, and hailed for John. There was no response,
and his boat was not there. He inquired, of a boatman near, where
John was. The time had come that comes to all! There was no loyal
voice to respond to the familiar call, the hatches had closed over
him, his boat was sold to another, and he had left not a trace
behind. We could not find out even where he was buried.

Mr. Richard Brown, of Marblehead, our chief mate in the Alert,
commanded many of our noblest ships in the European trade, a
general favorite. A few years ago, while stepping on board his
ship from the wharf, he fell from the plank into the hold and was
killed. If he did not actually die at sea, at least he died as a
sailor,-- he died on board ship.

Our second mate, Evans, no one liked or cared for, and I know
nothing of him, except that I once saw him in court, on trial for
some alleged petty tyranny towards his men,-- still a subaltern
officer.

The third mate, Mr. Hatch, a nephew of one of the owners, though
only a lad on board the ship, went out chief mate the next voyage,
and rose soon to command some of the finest clippers in the
California and India trade, under the new order of things,-- a man
of character, good judgment, and no little cultivation.

Of the other men before the mast in the Alert, I know nothing of
peculiar interest. When visiting, with a party of ladies and
gentlemen, one of our largest line-of-battle ships, we were escorted
about the decks by a midshipman, who was explaining various matters
on board, when one of the party came to me and told me that there
was an old sailor there with a whistle round his neck, who looked at
me and said of the officer, ``he can't show him anything aboard a
ship.'' I found him out, and, looking into his sunburnt face, covered
with hair, and his little eyes drawn up into the smallest passages
for light,-- like a man who had peered into hundreds of
northeasters,-- there was old ``Sails'' of the Alert, clothed in all
the honors of boatswain's-mate. We stood aside, out of the cun of the
officers, and had a good talk over old times. I remember the contempt
with which he turned on his heel to conceal his face, when the
midshipman (who was a grown youth) could not tell the ladies the
length of a fathom, and said it depended on circumstances.
Notwithstanding his advice and consolation to ``Chips,'' in the
steerage of the Alert, and his story of his runaway wife and the
flag-bottomed chairs (ante, p. 318), he confessed to me that he had
tried marriage again, and had a little tenement just outside the
gate of the yard.

Harry Bennett, the man who had the palsy, and was unfeelingly left
on shore when the Alert sailed, came home in the Pilgrim, and I
had the pleasure of helping to get him into the Massachusetts
General Hospital. When he had been there about a week, I went to
see him in his ward, and asked him how he got along. ``Oh!
first-rate usage, sir; not a hand's turn to do, and all your grub
brought to you, sir.'' This is a sailor's paradise,-- not a hand's
turn to do, and all your grub brought to you. But an earthly
paradise may pall. Bennett got tired of in-doors and stillness,
and was soon out again, and set up a stall, covered with canvas,
at the end of one of the bridges, where he could see all the
passers-by, and turn a penny by cakes and ale. The stall in time
disappeared, and I could learn nothing of his last end, if it has
come.

Of the lads who, beside myself, composed the gig's crew, I know
something of all but one. Our bright-eyed, quick-witted little
cockswain, from the Boston public schools, Harry May, or Harry
Bluff, as he was called, with all his songs and gibes, went the
road to ruin as fast as the usual means could carry him. Nat, the
``bucket-maker,'' grave and sober, left the seas, and, I believe,
is a hack-driver in his native town, although I have not had the
luck to see him since the Alert hauled into her berth at the North
End.

One cold winter evening, a pull at the bell, and a woman in distress
wished to see me. Her poor son George,-- George Somerby,-- ``you
remember him, sir; he was a boy in the Alert; he always talks of
you,-- he is dying in my poor house.'' I went with her, and in a
small room, with the most scanty furniture, upon a mattress on the
floor,-- emaciated, ashy pale, with hollow voice and sunken eyes,--
lay the boy George, whom we took out a small, bright boy of fourteen
from a Boston public school, who fought himself into a position on
board ship (ante, p. 295), and whom we brought home a tall, athletic
youth, that might have been the pride and support of his widowed
mother. There he lay, not over nineteen years of age, ruined by every
vice a sailor's life absorbs. He took my hand in his wasted feeble
fingers, and talked a little with his hollow, death-smitten voice.
I was to leave town the next day for a fortnight's absence, and whom
had they to see to them? The mother named her landlord,-- she knew no
one else able to do much for them. It was the name of a physician
of wealth and high social position, well known in the city as the
owner of many small tenements, and of whom hard things had been
said as to his strictness in collecting what he thought his dues.
Be that as it may, my memory associates him only with ready and
active beneficence. His name has since been known the civilized
world over, from his having been the victim of one of the most
painful tragedies in the records of the criminal law.[3] I tried the
experiment of calling upon him; and, having drawn him away from
the cheerful fire, sofa, and curtains of a luxurious parlor, I
told him this simple tale of woe, of one of his tenants, unknown
to him even by name. He did not hesitate; and I well remember how,
in that biting, eager air, and at a late hour, he drew his cloak
about his thin and bent form, and walked off with me across the
Common, and to the South End, nearly two miles of an exposed walk,
to the scene of misery. He gave his full share, and more, of
kindness and material aid; and, as George's mother told me, on my
return, had with medical aid and stores, and a clergyman, made the
boy's end as comfortable and hopeful as possible.

The Alert made two more voyages to the coast of California,
successful, and without a mishap, as usual, and was sold by
Messrs. Bryant and Sturgis, in 1843, to Mr. Thomas W. Williams, a
merchant of New London, Connecticut, who employed her in the
whale-trade in the Pacific. She was as lucky and prosperous there
as in the merchant service. When I was at the Sandwich Islands in
1860, a man was introduced to me as having commanded the Alert on
two cruises, and his friends told me that he was as proud of it as
if he had commanded a frigate.

I am permitted to publish the following letter from the owner of
the Alert, giving her later record and her historic end,--
captured and burned by the rebel Alabama:--

New London, March 17, 1868.

Richard H. Dana, Esq.:

Dear Sir,-- I am happy to acknowledge the receipt of your favor of
the 14th inst., and to answer your inquiries about the good ship
Alert. I bought her of Messrs. Bryant and Sturgis, in the year
1843, for my firm of Williams and Haven, for a whaler, in which
business she was successful until captured by the rebel steamer
Alabama, September, 1862, making a period of more than nineteen
years, during which she took and delivered at New London upwards
of twenty-five thousand barrels of whale and sperm oil. She sailed
last from this port, August 30, 1862, for Hurd's Island (the newly
discovered land south of Kerguelen's), commanded by Edwin Church,
and was captured and burned on the 9th of September following,
only ten days out, near or close to the Azores, with thirty
barrels of sperm oil on board, and while her boats were off in
pursuit of whales.

The Alert was a favorite ship with all owners, officers, and men
who had anything to do with her; and I may add almost all who
heard her name asked if that was the ship the man went in who
wrote the book called ``Two Years before the Mast''; and thus we
feel, with you, no doubt, a sort of sympathy at her loss, and
that, too, in such a manner, and by wicked acts of our own
countrymen.

My partner, Mr. Haven, sends me a note from the office this P.M.,
saying that he had just found the last log-book, and would send up
this evening a copy of the last entry on it; and if there should
be anything of importance I will enclose it to you, and if you
have any further inquiries to put, I will, with great pleasure,
endeavor to answer them.

Remaining very respectfully and truly yours,

Thomas W. Williams.

P.S.-- Since writing the above I have received the extract from
the log-book, and enclose the same.

   The last Entry in the Log-Book of the Alert.

``September 9, 1862.

``Shortly after the ship came to the wind, with the main yard
aback, we went alongside and were hoisted up, when we found we
were prisoners of war, and our ship a prize to the Confederate
steamer Alabama. We were then ordered to give up all nautical
instruments and letters appertaining to any of us. Afterwards we
were offered the privilege, as they called it, of joining the
steamer or signing a parole of honor not to serve in the army or
navy of the United States. Thank God no one accepted the former of
these offers. We were all then ordered to get our things ready in
haste, to go on shore,-- the ship running off shore all the time.
We were allowed four boats to go on shore in, and when we had got
what things we could take in them, were ordered to get into the
boats and pull for the shore,-- the nearest land being about
fourteen miles off,-- which we reached in safety, and, shortly
after, saw the ship in flames.

``So end all our bright prospects, blasted by a gang of
miscreants, who certainly can have no regard for humanity so long
as they continue to foster their so-called peculiar institution,
which is now destroying our country.''

I love to think that our noble ship, with her long record of good
service and uniform success, attractive and beloved in her life,
should have passed, at her death, into the lofty regions of
international jurisprudence and debate, forming a part of the body
of the ``Alabama Claims'';-- that, like a true ship, committed to
her element once for all at her launching, she perished at sea,
and, without an extreme use of language, we may say, a victim in
the cause of her country.

R.H.D., Jr.

Boston, May 6, 1869.

[1] Pronounced Leese.

[2] This journal was of 1859 before Colonel Robert E. Lee became the
celebrated General Lee in command of the Confederate forces in the
Civil War.

[3] [Dr. George Parkman.]

SEVENTY-SIX YEARS AFTER

By the Author's Son

In the preceding chapter, my father contrasted the solitary bay of
San Francisco in 1835, its one, or at most, two vessels and one
board hut on shore, with the city of San Francisco in 1859 of
nearly one hundred thousand inhabitants and a fleet of large
clipper ships and sail of all kind in the harbor, which he saw on
his arrival in the steamer Golden Gate bringing the
``fortnightly'' ``mails and passengers from the Atlantic world.''
The contrast from 1859 to 1911 is hardly less striking. San
Francisco has now grown to over four hundred thousand inhabitants,
has twelve daily trains bringing mails and passengers from across
the continent and beyond, and steamers six to ten times the size
of the Golden Gate. In visiting San Pedro in 1859 he speaks of the
landing at the head of a creek where boats discharged and took off
cargoes from a mole or wharf, and of how ``a tug ran to take off
passengers from the steamer to the wharf, for the trade of Los
Angeles is sufficient to support such a vessel.'' From this
landing, a stage-coach went daily to Los Angeles, a town of about
twenty thousand inhabitants. Now there is a fine harbor at which
large steamers themselves can land at San Pedro and a four-track
electric road leading to Los Angeles, now a city of three hundred
thousand inhabitants. Trains on this road go at the rate of sixty
miles an hour. The picturesqueness, the Aladdin lamp character of
the change, would not perhaps be heightened, but certainly the
contrast is greater, if the days of 1835 be compared with 1911
instead of 1859, while the startling growth from 1859 to the
present makes one pause to ask what will be the progress and the
changes in the next fifty-two years.

Of the fate of the vessels since my father wrote ``Twenty-four
Years After,'' little has come to our knowledge. Of the brig
Pilgrim, he says, ``I read of her total loss at sea by fire off
the coast of North Carolina.'' On the records of the United States
Custom House at Boston is this epitaph, ``Brig Pilgrim, owner, R.
Haley, surrender of transfer 30 June 1856, broken up at Key
West.'' Is it not romantic and appropriate that this vessel, so
associated with the then Mexican-Spanish coast of California,
should have left her bones on the coast of the once Spanish colony
of Florida?

A schoolmate of mine dwelling at Yokohama tells us of the fate of
the ship Lagoda. This is the vessel that Captain Thompson of the
Pilgrim came aboard and ``brought his brig with him'' (page 137), and
to which poor Foster fled (page 154), in fear of being flogged. The
Lagoda was under three hundred and forty tons, built at Scituate,
Mass., in 1826, of oak with ``bluff bows and square stern.'' Later
she was sold to a New Bedford owner, converted into a bark and
turned into a whaler. In 1890, she came to Yokohama much damaged,
was officially surveyed and pronounced not worth repair, was sold
at auction and bought as a coal hulk for the Canadian Pacific
Company's steamers at that port, and in 1899 was sold to the
Japanese, burned and broken up at Kanagawa. The fate of these
vessels, with that of the Alert burned at sea by the Alabama,
illustrates how vessels, as Ernest Thompson Seton says of wild
animals, seldom fail to have a hard, if not a tragic, ending.

It may be interesting to state that the Ayacucho (pronounced
I-ah-coo-tsho) was named after the battle fought December 9, 1824,
in Peru, South America, in which the Spaniards were defeated by
the armies of Columbia and Peru, which battle ended the Spanish
rule in America. What became of her after she was sold to the
Chilian government as a vessel of war, we do not know.

The Loriotte, we learn, was built at Plymouth, Mass., in 1828, was
ninety-two tons, originally a schooner and later changed into an
hermaphrodite brig. Gorham H. Nye, her captain and part owner, was
born in Nantucket, Mass.

As to persons, there is little to add about Captain Thompson.
Captain Faucon gave it as his opinion that Thompson was not a good
navigator and that Thompson knew his sailors knew it, and to this
cause he attributed in some measure Thompson's hard treatment of
the men. His navigation of the Alert some twelve or fifteen
hundred miles westward of the usual course around Cape Horn on the
return passage was an instance. It was much criticised by his
sailors and officers. It not only greatly lengthened the total
distance but brought the vessel into currents that were more
antarctic and more frequented with ice than those currents nearer
the southwest coast of South America, usually taken advantage of
on the trip west to east. In 1880, on my visit to the scenes of
``Two Years Before the Mast,'' I met a nephew of Captain Thompson
at Santa Barbara. He was then the proprietor of the hotel at which
I stayed. He invited me to walk with him Sunday afternoon. When we
started out together I noticed he had a large, thick cane, while I
had none. Could it be he was to wreak vengeance on the son of the
man who had exposed his uncle? I was strong and athletic after a
year as stroke of the Freshman crew and three years as stroke of
the University crew at Harvard. I kept my weather eye open and
took care to be a little behind rather than ahead of my companion.
At last he began on my father's story, ``Two Years Before the
Mast,'' and his uncle. Now it is coming, thought I, but to my
surprise and relief he detailed a family trouble in which the
uncle had tried to get into his own possession land which belonged
in part to his brothers and of which he, the captain, had been
placed in charge, and my friend, for so I could then think of him,
wound up with saying my father had done his uncle perfect justice.
The year of Captain Thompson's death was 1837.

The chief mate of the Pilgrim on her outward voyage, Mr. Andrew B.
Amerzeen, was born at Epsom, N.H., June 7, 1806. After returning
in the Alert in 1836, as described by my father, his mother
prevailed on him to give up long voyages, owing to the fact that
his father, a ship owner and master, had been lost at sea with his
ship a year or two before. Mr. Amerzeen then made several short
voyages to the West Indies and in the fall of 1838 his ship was
dismasted in a storm somewhere below Cape Hatteras. He was ill
with yellow fever and confined to his stateroom at the time. The
ship was worked into one of the southern ports, Savannah I am
told, and there Mr. Amerzeen died September 27, 1838, from this
fever.

``Jim Hall,'' the sailor who was made second mate of the Pilgrim
in Foster's place, after several years' successful career as
Captain and Manager of the Pacific Steamship Navigation Company on
the west coast of South America with the title of Commodore,
returned to this country, having saved a competence, and settled
at East Braintree, Massachusetts. He called on me at my office
some ten years after my father's death. He was six feet tall, a
handsome man of striking appearance, with blue eyes, nearly white
hair, a ruddy countenance, and a very straight figure for one of
nearly eighty years of age. He was born at Pittston, Maine, July
4, 1813. He is said to have commanded twenty-seven different
vessels, steam and sail, and never to have had an accident,
``never cost the underwriters a dollar.'' He died April 22, 1904.
His wife (Mary Ann Kimball of Hookset, N.H.) survived him.

Of George P. Marsh, the new hand shipped at San Pedro October 22,
1835, the Englishman with a strange career, we have heard in a
letter from Mr. Samuel C. Clarke of Chicago, passenger with
Captain Low on the ship Cabot when she took Marsh from the Pelew
Islands. Mr. Clarke kept a journal at the time, which confirms in
almost every detail the story as told by Marsh, with one or two
very minor exceptions but one important difference. He told them
when first rescued that he was ``a native of Providence, Rhode
Island'' in America, while to his shipmates in California he
always said he was a native of England and brought up on a
smuggler. By a letter from his nephew, Edward W. Boyd, we learn
that his real name was George Walker Marsh, that he was the eldest
son of a retired English army officer and his wife, and was born
in St. Malo, France, hence his knowledge of the French language.
He went to sea against their will but communicated with them
several times afterwards. After he left to join the Ayacucho in
Chili, all trace of him was lost at Valparaiso.

Captain Edward Horatio Faucon, who took out the Alert and brought
back the Pilgrim, continued, after my father's last chapter, to
live at Milton Hill where he still kept ``the sea under his eye
from the piazza of his house.'' He was occasionally employed by
Boston marine underwriters on salvage cases, going to many places,
from St. Thomas, W.I., and the Bermudas, to Nova Scotia in the
north. He was a constant reader, chiefly interested in history,
political economy and sociology. He made visits, annually or
oftener, on my mother until his death on May 22, 1894. We all
remember his keen eye, erect figure, quiet reserve, and old-time
courtesy of manner, and his personal interest in those who come
and go in ships, and more particularly in those of the Alert, his
favorite ship. He was born in Boston, November 21, 1806. His
father, Nicolas Michael Faucon, was a Frenchman of Rouen, who
fought in the Napoleonic wars with distinction as Captain of the
Second Regiment of the Hussars, and came to this country, where he
married Miss Catherine Waters at Trinity Church, Boston. He was
instructor in French at Harvard, 1806-1816. Our Captain Faucon
left a widow and daughter, and a promising son, Gorham Palfrey
Faucon, a Harvard graduate, a well-trained civil engineer in the
employ of large railroads, and, like his father, interested in
literature and public problems. He died in 1897, in the early
prime of life.

The third mate, James Byers Hatch, whom Captain Faucon in a letter
to us called ``one of the best of men,'' continued to command
large sailing vessels on deep sea voyages with some mishaps and
narrow escapes. While in California on one of these voyages he
found James Hall on board another ship at the same wharf, and in a
letter to Captain Faucon written June, 1893, says, ``I persuaded
him to take the first officer's berth, and what an officer he
was!! Everything went on like clockwork. I do not think I ever
found the least fault with him during the whole time he was with
me.'' Captain Hatch lost his only son, a lad of seven, on a voyage
to Calcutta. ``The boy,'' said he, ``fell from the top of the
house on the poop deck and died in about a week.'' His wife and
married daughter both died in 1881. He himself settled in
Springfield, Mass., his birthplace, and lost almost all he had
saved in some unsuccessful business venture in that city, and
lived a rather lonely and sad life. In the above letter he said,
``I am now ready and anxious to leave this earth and take my
chance in the next.'' He died at Springfield soon after 1894.

Benjamin Godfrey Stimson, the young sailor about my father's age,
was born in Dedham, Mass., March 19, 1816. It came naturally to
him to go to sea, for his great-uncle Benjamin Stimson commanded
the colonial despatch vessel under Pepperell, in the siege of
Louisburg. After settling in Detroit in 1837, he married a
Canadian lady (Miss Ives), owned many lake vessels, including the
H. P. Baldwin, the largest bark of her day on the great lakes, and
was Controller of that city from 1868 to 1870, during which time
the city hall was built by him at less than estimated cost. He
died December 13, 1871, leaving a widow and two sons, Edward I.
and Arthur K. Stimson. The agent Alfred Robinson died in 1895.

Jack Stewart I met in San Diego on my visit there in 1881, as I
have stated in the Introduction. He was quite a character in the
``old'' town and made a good deal of his being one of the crew of
the Alert. He died January 2, 1892, leaving children and
grandchildren. Henry Mellus, who went out before the mast and left
the Pilgrim to be agent's clerk ashore, and whom my father met at
Los Angeles in 1859, was made mayor of that city the very next
year.

Last, but not least, from the point of view of friendship, was my
father's ``dear Kanaka'' (Hope), whose life my father saved (by
getting ship's medicines from the mate, after Captain Thompson had
refused to give them), and for whom he had so much real affection.
The last mention we have of Hope is found in my father's journal
under date of May 24, 1842.

``Horatio E. Hale called. Been away four years as Philologist to
the Exploring Expedition. Was in San Francisco three months ago
and saw the Alert there collecting hides. Also saw `Hope' the
Kanaka mentioned in my `Two Years.' Hope desired his Aikane to me--
Remembered me well. Hale said his face lighted up as soon as my
name was mentioned to him.''

As to all the rest of the officers and crews, they have doubtless
all handed in their last account and taken passage across the
Unknown Sea to the other world.

Of the ``fascinating'' Doña Angustias dela Guerra, whose graceful
dancing with Don Juan Bandini in Santa Barbara during the ceremonies
attending the marriage of her sister, Doña Anita with Mr. Robinson,
the Agent, in January, 1836, my father describes (pages 300-305),
something more is to be said.

On my visit to Santa Barbara in 1880, I had the privilege of
seeing her. I was much impressed with her graceful carriage, her
face still handsome, though she was then sixty-five years of age,
with her dignity, calm self-possession, and above all with her
true gentility of manner and evidently high character and purpose,
together with a delightful humor, which shone in her eyes. General
Sherman, in a letter as late as 1888, says of her, she ``was the
finest woman it has been my good fortune to know,'' and Bayard
Taylor in El Dorado (Putnam's edition of 1884, page 141) writes,
``she is a woman whose nobility of character, native vigor and
activity of intellect, and above all, whose instinctive
refinement,'' etc.

In 1847, when our officers took possession of California, she, a
Mexican, of the first Mexican family of California, took care of
the first United States officer who died in Monterey, Lieutenant
Colville J. Minor, an enemy to her country, for which service she
received a letter of thanks from the First Military Governor,
dated August 21, 1848.

She died January 21, 1890, at the age of seventy-five. The name of
her first husband was Don Manuel Jimeno and of her second Dr. Ord.
Caroline Jimeno was the daughter ``as beautiful as her mother''
that Mr. Dana met in 1859, then a young lady of seventeen. Her
daughter by the second marriage, Rebecca R. Ord, an ``infant in
arms'' when my father saw her in 1859, married Lieutenant John H.
H. Peshine of the United States Army, who in 1893 was made First
Military Attaché to the Court of Madrid.

The dela Guerra family of California, I am told, is dying out in
the male line and will soon leave no representative.

As to Richard Henry Dana, Jr.,[1] the author of the book, the reader
may wish to know something. He came back from his two years' trip
in 1836 ``in a state of intellectual famine, to books and study
and intercourse with educated men.'' He had left his class at
Harvard at the end of the sophomore year (1833), on account of the
trouble with his eyes and sailed about a year later. When he
returned, September, 1836, his class had graduated in the summer
of 1835, but with a little study he passed the examinations for
the then senior class, which he entered late in the autumn of
1836. On graduation in 1837 he not only stood first, but ``had the
highest marks that were given out in every branch of study.'' He
took the Bowdoin prize for English prose composition and the first
Boylston prize in elocution. He then entered the Law School and
became instructor in elocution under Professor Edward T. Channing,
and during this period wrote the ``Two Years Before the Mast.'' In
February, 1840, he went into the office of Charles G. Loring and
in the following September opened his own office and began the
active practice of law. He was born August 1, 1815, at Cambridge,
Mass., with a line of ancestors reaching back to the early days of
the Massachusetts Bay Colony, with several colonial governors in
the maternal lines. His great grandfather, Richard Dana, was one
of the early patriots, a ``Son of Liberty,'' who frequently
presided at the meetings at Faneuil Hall at which Otis, Adams and
others spoke. This man's son, my father's grandfather, Francis
Dana, was several times member of the State Colonial Legislature
and of the Continental Congress. He was one of the signers of the
Articles of Confederation and married Elizabeth Ellery, the
daughter of William Ellery, one of the signers of the Declaration
of Independence. Francis Dana had been sent abroad on a special
mission to England in 1774 before the breaking out of the
Revolutionary War, to sound English public opinion, for which he
had unusual advantages. He returned in the late spring of 1776
advising independence, and soon after this the Declaration of
Independence was signed. Francis Dana was also appointed on a
special mission to Paris and Holland with John Adams, later was
made Minister to Russia, and after the peace with Great Britain
was made Chief Justice of Massachusetts. Mr. Dana's own father,
Richard Henry Dana, Senior, was a poet and literary critic and a
founder of the ``North American Review.'' Young Richard was
brought up in very moderate circumstances. His grandfather, who
had accumulated a good deal of property, lost the larger part of
it through unfortunate investments in canals by a relation, in
which he had himself become more deeply involved than he supposed.
I remember my father's saying that his spending money for one
whole term consisted of twenty-five cents, which he carried in his
pocket in cases of emergencies. He walked to and from Boston to
save omnibus fares, had no carpet on his college room and had no
chore-man to black his boots and fetch his water and fuel. This,
however, was the usual custom in his day with all but the rich
collegian. The necessities of life did not then demand so high a
rate of ``living wage'' as to-day.

He entered on this sea experience with his eyes open. He had the
opportunity of going on a long voyage as a passenger, but he
refused it, and resolutely took the harder way of accomplishing
his purpose of toughening himself. A little incident of his
boyhood gives a hint of his pluck. His schoolmaster, angry at what
he chose to call ``disobedience'' on the excuse of a ``pretended''
illness, told the boy to put out his left hand. ``Upon this
hand,'' wrote Dana years afterward, ``he inflicted six blows with
all his strength, and then six upon the right hand. I was in such
a frenzy of indignation at his injustice and his insulting
insinuation, that I could not have uttered a word for my life. I
was too small and slender to resist, and could show my spirit only
by fortitude. He called for my right hand again, and gave six more
blows in the same manner, and then six more upon the left. My
hands were swollen and in acute pain, but I did not flinch nor
show a sign of suffering. He was determined to conquer, and gave
six more blows upon each hand, with full force. Still there was no
sign from me of pain or submission. I could have gone to the stake
for what I considered my honor. The school was in an uproar of
hissing and scraping and groaning, and the master turned his
attention to the other boys and let me alone. He said not another
word to me through the day. If he had I could not have answered,
for my whole soul was in my throat and not a word could get out. .
. . I went in the afternoon to the trustees of the school, stated
my case, produced my evidence, and had an examination made. The
next morning but four boys went to school, and the day following
the career of Mr. W. ended.''

That Dana had a keen sense of injustice not merely when he himself
was concerned, but whenever he was brought face to face with
injustice, the reader of this book has discovered for himself, and
that a high sense of honor and right was a controlling passion of
his life will appear when one knows his career after he returned
from his long voyage. It rendered his attitude toward his
profession, that of a lawyer, very different from that of a man
merely seeking a livelihood.

Beside his work for the sailors to which I refer later there was
another class of peculiarly helpless sufferers to make even
stronger demand upon his sense of justice. By his social relations
and by his strong antipathy to violence of every kind, Dana would
naturally have found his place amongst the men who in politics
prefer orderly and regular and especially respectable
associations. He came into active life when a small band of
earnest men and women were agitating for the abolition of slavery.
Some among them were also attacking the church, and proposing all
sorts of changes in society. But Dana was a man of strong
religious principles and feelings, and he had little faith in any
violent change in the social order. His diaries and letters of the
period show that he was annoyed by the temper of the
Abolitionists. They were not his kind. Nevertheless he was not a
man to steer between two parties. In a great moral crisis he was
sure to take sides. He took sides now and came out as a member of
the Free Soil party. He made a distinction, which was a clear one,
between the Free Soil party and the uncompromising Abolitionists.
But in the rising heat of political feeling, other people did not
make a like distinction, and Dana, a young lawyer, married now,
and with a family growing up about him, found himself put out into
the cold by the well-to-do, the successful, and the respectable.

Dana had a keen scent for politics, and he looked with the
strongest interest upon the great political movement which was
stirring the country; but he did not espouse the cause of free
soil because he expected to profit by it politically. On the
contrary, he knew that he was shutting himself out from political
preferment by such a course, and at the same time was imperilling
his professional success. It was the act of a man who stood up for
the cause of righteousness, without counting the cost. In like
manner he now had the opportunity of illustrating afresh his
attitude toward the law, for he held that law was for the
accomplishment of justice, and that it was most glorious when its
strong arm protected and defended the weak and downtrodden. By a
natural course, therefore, he became a prominent counsel for those
unfortunate negroes who, at this time, in Boston, were held as
fugitive slaves. While the ingenuity of some was expended in
putting the law on the side of the strong and the rich, Dana, who
was convinced in his mind that the law of the state was honestly
to be invoked in defence of the fugitive slave, gave himself heart
and soul to the work of applying the law, and received no
remuneration for his services in any fugitive slave case. Instead,
he received at the close of one of the most important cases, a
blow from a blackguard which narrowly missed maiming him for life.
It is worth while to read what Dana wrote after rendering all the
aid he could in the defence of Anthony Burns: ``The labors of a
lawyer are ordinarily devoted to questions of property between man
and man. He is to be congratulated if, though but for once, in any
signal cause he can devote them to the vindication of any of the
great primal rights affecting the highest interests of man.'' He
was a member of the noted Free Soil Convention at Buffalo of 1848,
and presided at the first meeting of the Republican party in
Massachusetts.

It may be a source of wonder to some that Dana, who achieved a
great literary success in the book which he wrote when a young
man, did not pursue literature as an avocation, if not as a
vocation. He published but one other book, a narrative of a trip
to Cuba made in 1859, and he wrote a few magazine articles. The
explanation must be found in the temperament and character of the
man. His ``Two Years Before the Mast'' is a vivid representation
of what he saw and experienced at a most impressionable age. He
put his young life into it; he was not thinking of literature when
he wrote it, and thus the book takes rank with those books which
are bits of life rather than products of art. Afterward he was
immersed in his law practice, and he was a prodigious worker. He
saw with great clearness the points in the cases he took up, and
he was untiring in his industry to cover the whole case. He did
all the work himself; he did not lay the details on others, and
avail himself of their diligence. His time, moreover, as we have
shown, was very much at the disposal of those who could pay him
little or nothing for his services, and he gave months of labor to
the unremunerative defence of the fugitive slave. Moreover, his
deep religious conviction and his high sense of legal honor often
stood in the way of his profit. So it was that his life was one of
hard work and little more than support of his family. There was
scant time for any wandering into fields of literature.

Yet he left behind him some other writings which show well that
the hand which penned the ``Two Years'' never lost its cunning. He
made an interesting visit to Europe, and, later in life, in
1859-60, made a journey round the world. The record which he kept
on these journeys has been drawn upon largely in the biography[2]
prepared by Charles Francis Adams, who was in his early days a
student in Dana's office, and there one finds page after page of
delightfully animated description and narrative. He wrote for his
own pleasure and for that of his family, and his writing was like
brilliant talk, the outflow of a generous mind not easily saved
for more common use. He published notes to Wheaton's
``International Law,'' several of which are quoted in all new works
on the subject to this day.

The journey which he took round the world was for the purpose of
restoring his health, which had been greatly impaired. He came
back in improved condition, and entered upon the excited period of
the war, when he held the office of United States District
Attorney. During this time he argued the famous prize causes
before the United States Supreme Court, and his argument was the
one that turned the Court, which was democratic in its politics,
to take the unanimous view that the United States Government had a
right to establish blockade and take prizes of foreign vessels
that were breaking this blockade. Had it not been for this
decision, so largely influenced, as the Court itself generously
states, by Mr. Dana's argument, the Civil War would have been
greatly prolonged, with possibly another, or at least a doubtful
issue. He afterward served in the Massachusetts legislature, and
there made several noted speeches, among others his argument on
the repeal of the usury laws, a bill for which was unexpectedly
carried in that body as the result of this speech which has been
reprinted for use before legislatures of other states.

He accepted a nomination to Congress, chiefly as a protest against
the nomination of B. F. Butler, who was running on a paper money
and repudiation platform against the principles of his own party,
but Mr. Dana was defeated. In 1876 he was nominated by President
Grant minister to England, but his nomination was not confirmed by
the Senate, for his nomination had been made without consulting
the Senatorial cabal and also he had bitter enemies, who carried
on a warfare against him upon terms which he was too honorable to
accept.

A selection of Mr. Dana's speeches, the most interesting
historically or those of most present value, have been published,
together with a biographical sketch,[3] supplementing the Life
written by Charles Francis Adams.

Two years later, broken now in health, but with his mind vigorous,
he resolved to give up the practice of law and devote himself to
writing a work on international law. For this purpose, and as a
measure of economy, he went to Europe, and for two years applied
himself diligently to his plan for a book which he believed would
give some fundamentally new views on international law. He had
made many notes and had begun to write the first few chapters when
he died, after a short illness, from pneumonia, in Rome, January
6, 1882. He was buried in the beautiful Protestant cemetery of
that city.

His wife, who was Sarah Watson of Hartford, Conn., survived him,
and he left five daughters and a son. There are now nine of his
grandchildren living (four of them Dana grandsons), and also four
great-grandchildren.

Finally, what did Mr. Dana accomplish for sailors? In the preface
to the first edition (1840) he said, ``If it shall . . . call more
attention to the welfare of seamen, or give any information as to
their real condition which may serve to raise them in the rank of
beings, and to promote in any measure their religious and moral
improvement, and diminish the hardships of their daily life, the
end of its publication will be answered.'' And after the flogging
at San Pedro, there was his vow (page 1252), ``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 had so long been cast.'' For redressing individual
grievances he took the part of the sailor in many a lawsuit where
his remuneration was often next to nothing, and by which action he
incurred the ill will of possible future rich and influential
clients. In his journal December 14, 1847, he says, ``I often have
a good deal to contend with in the slurs or open opposition of
masters and owners of vessels whose seamen I undertake to defend or
look after,'' though he adds there were honorable exceptions. These
cases he fought hard and bravely, and into them he put his whole
mind, heart and soul. He could not have done better in them if he
had been paid the highest fees known to the Bar. He settled as many
of these cases out of court as he could. He believed any reasonable
settlement better for the sailor than a legal contest, though his
own fees would be less. Beside taking the part of the individual
seamen, he published the ``Seamen's Friend,'' a book giving the full
legal rights of sailors as well as their duties, a set of definitions
of sea terms, which to this day is quoted in all the dictionaries,
and much information for the use of beginners. He drew up a petition
and prepared an accompanying leaflet addressed to Congress for
``The More Speedy Trial of Seamen.'' He wrote numerous articles
for the press and delivered many addresses on behalf of seamen, or
for institutions for their benefit such as ``Father'' Taylor's
Bethel and for a more cordial reception of sailors in the church.
He wrote the introduction of Leech's ``A Voice from the Main
Deck,'' but above all it was the indirect influence of his ``Two
Years Before the Mast'' which did the most to relieve their
hardships.

While on a trip in Europe in 1875-76, I spent some weeks in London
and visited Parliament frequently to study the proceedings and see
and hear its leading men. By a strange coincidence at my very
first visit, made at the invitation of the late Sir William Vernon
Harcourt, after I had sent in my card and was ushered into the
inner lobby, I saw a man, evidently a member, rushing out into
this lobby, and, to quote from my journal written at the time,
``in a wild state of excitement, throwing about his arms and
shaking his fists, with short ejaculations such as `I'll expose
the villains, all of them,' and I heard the words `Cheats!' and I
think `Liars!''' This was a strange introduction to the then
decorous British House of Commons, for this was before the active
days of Parnell. I saw poor, blind Henry Fawcett[4] and others
trying to calm the man. The lobby was immediately cleared of
strangers, so I saw no more just then, but I was later admitted
into the House and learned that this man was the famous Plimsoll
(1824-1898). He had become enraged because his Merchants' Shipping
Bill had just been thrown out by Disraeli, then Prime Minister, on
this day of the so-called ``Slaughter of the Innocents,'' that is,
the day when the Government abandoned all bills which they were
not to carry out that session. Justin McCarthy, in his ``History
of Our Own Times'' (Vol. IV, page 24, et seq.), gives a full
account of this scene. Plimsoll's Bill was a measure for the
protection of seamen against the danger of being sent to sea in
vessels unfit for the voyage. To understand the whole situation of
the sailor in civilized countries, one must know that the only way
allowed by law or custom for him to get employment is to sign
articles sometimes without even knowing the name of the vessel,
and almost always without an opportunity to examine or even see
her. Once having signed these papers, sailors are by law compelled
to keep their contracts and can be imprisoned and sent aboard if
they try to escape. Every other person in every other kind of
employment, since the abolition of slavery, signing similar papers
has a right to refuse to carry out his agreement, with no other
penalty than a suit for damages. He cannot be forced to carry out
the contract in person. If this were not so, there would be a sort
of contract peonage or slavery endorsed by the law. It is
otherwise, however, with the sailors. The United States Supreme
Court in the case of Robertson v. Baldwin (165 U.S. 275, 1896)
decided, Judge Harlan dissenting, that notwithstanding the
thirteenth amendment to the Constitution which, it was supposed,
had prohibited involuntary servitude except as punishment for
crime, sailors could be forced on board of vessels, and the facts
that the vessel was unfit for living, the food bad, and the master
brutal were no defences. The headnote of the case says, ``The
contract of a sailor has always been treated as an exceptional one
involving to a certain extent the surrender of his personal
liberty during the life of his contract.'' Mr. Plimsoll was
rightly convinced that unseaworthy vessels left port for the sake
of insurance money on valued policies, that the lives of the
seamen were thereby imperilled, and that the poor sailor had no
redress before the law. The bill that had just been thrown out by
Disraeli provided that if one-quarter of the seamen appealed on
the ground of unseaworthiness a survey would be ordered, the
vessel detained till the survey was made, and if she were
unseaworthy or improperly provisioned the sailors would be
relieved from their contract unless those defects were cured. It
also had other minor provisions for the benefit of the sailors. In
Parliament that night, it was thought that Plimsoll's wild conduct
had destroyed his reputation as a sane man and had ruined the
chances of ever passing his bill, but outside of Parliament the
effect was just the reverse. The public was aroused to a full
understanding of the essential merits of his bill and the
government was forced to put it on the calendar and carry it
through that session in its substantial features, and the
following year (1876) a more complete and perfected act covering
the same points was passed.

In the United States, a most interesting character, Andrew
Furuseth, a Norwegian, himself a sailor, and without much
education but a man of wonderful force, has succeeded, largely by
the aid of labor unions, in forcing through Congress bills by
which no American seaman can any longer be forced against his will
into this servitude nor any foreign seaman on domestic voyages.
Another evil tending to degrade and enslave the sailor was the
allowance made by law of three months' advance wages on beginning
a voyage. This apparently harmless and, to the credulous and
inexperienced legislator, beneficial provision gave a chance to
the sailors' boarding-house keeper and runner, or ``crimp,'' as he
or she is called, to ``shanghai'' seamen and put them aboard drunk
or drugged, with little or no clothing but what they had on their
backs and rob them of this advance money. The ``crimps''' share of
this money in San Francisco alone has been calculated at one
million dollars a year, or equal to eighty per cent of the
seamen's entire wages. Part of this had to be shared with corrupt
police and politicians and some of it has been traced to sources
``higher up.'' So common was this practice that vessels sailing
from San Francisco and New York had so few sober sailors aboard,
that it was customary to take longshoremen to set sail, heave
anchor and get the ship under way, and then send them back by tug.
This is precisely what happened on the well-equipped and new ship
on which I sailed from New York in 1879 for California, and the
same situation is described by Captain Arthur H. Clark in his
account of seamen in his ``Clipper Ship Era.'' These poor sailors,
without proper clothing, had to draw on the ship's ``slop chest''
for necessary oilskins, thick jackets, mittens and the like, and
used up almost all the rest of their wages. The small balance was
wasted or stolen, or both, at the port of arrival, and off they
were shipped again by the ``crimp'' with no chance to save or
improve their condition. After years of agitation by the friends
of sailors the advance pay is now wholly abolished in the
coastwise trade in America and the three months' advance cut down
to one in the foreign trade, immensely to the benefit of the
sailor and the discouragement of the ``crimp.'' The argument that
without this system of bondage and ``crimpage'' it would be
impossible to secure crews is fully answered by the experience of
Great Britain since the passage of the Plimsoll Acts and in the
United States since the recent acts of Congress. On the contrary,
these measures tend to secure a better class of sailors and compel
improvement of the conditions under which they do their work. I
was told when in England that Plimsoll, who himself was not a
sailor, was influenced among other things by my father's book
``Two Years Before the Mast.''

THE END

[1] He was Richard Henry Dana, Jr., when he wrote his book, and
continued to be called so through life, for his father, a poet and
littérateur, lived to the age of ninety-two, and died but three
years before his son.

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

[3] Speeches in Stirring Times and Letters to a Son. Richard H.
Dana, Jr. Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin Company, 1910.

[4] The political economist and M.P.




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