A FLOGGING--A NIGHT ON SHORE--THE STATE OF THINGS ON BOARD--SAN DIEGO
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 sword's 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, and was rather slow in his motions, but
was a pretty good sailor, and always seemed to do his best; but 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 Russell and myself 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 up, 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. A----! 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, and after
repeated orders 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 him, 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 the shrouds, 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 bight 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 and eaten with
for months, and knew almost as well as a brother. The first and almost
uncontrollable impulse was resistance. But what was to be done? The
time for it had gone by. The two best men were fast, and there were
only two beside myself, and a small boy of ten or twelve years of age.
And then there were (beside the captain) three officers, steward, agent
and clerk. 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, they are pirates for life. If a sailor resist his
commander, he resists the law, and piracy or submission are his only
alternatives. Bad as it was, 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 he was loose, he ran forward to the forecastle.
"Bring that man aft," shouted the captain. The second mate, who had
been a shipmate of John's, 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 he soon
threw him from him. At this moment I would have given worlds for the
power to help the poor fellow; but it was all in vain. The captain
stood on the quarter-deck, bare-headed, 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!" etc.,
etc. The mate now went forward and told John quietly to go aft; and
he, seeing resistance in 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
began to resist; but the mate and Russell holding him, he was soon
seized up. When he was made fast, he turned to the captain, who stood
turning 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--"Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, Jesus Christ!"
"Don't call on Jesus Christ," shouted the captain; "he can't help you.
Call on Captain T----, 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, and horror-struck, I turned away
and leaned over the rail, and looked down into the water. A few rapid
thoughts of my own situation, and of the prospect of future revenge,
crossed my mind; but the falling of the blows and the cries of the man
called me back at once. At length they ceased, and turning round, I
found that the mate, at a signal from the captain had cut him down.
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 negro-driver! I'll see who'll tell me he isn't a negro
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 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, staid 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 Indian blood-hounds, 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 a
moment; the dim, swinging lamp of the forecastle shed its light over
the dark hole in which we lived; and many and various reflections and
purposes coursed through my mind. I thought of our situation, living
under a tyranny; of the character of the country we were in; of the
length of the voyage, and of the uncertainty attending our return to
America; and then, if we should return, of the prospect of obtaining
justice and satisfaction for these poor men; and vowed that if God
should ever give me the means, I would do something to redress the
grievances and relieve the sufferings of that poor class of beings, of
whom I then was one.
The next day was Sunday. We worked as usual, washing decks, etc.,
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, desolate-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 to me,
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 interesting 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 thing in California from which I could ever extract
anything like poetry. 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 waterways to the keelson."
I went up to the house to supper. We had frijoles, (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 "treinta uno," a sort of
Spanish "everlasting." I left them and went out to take up my bivouack
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 coati (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 hills 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, I thought it was the most melancholy, boding sound I
had ever heard. Through nearly all the night they kept it up,
answering one another slowly, at regular intervals. This was relieved
by the noisy coati, 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, etc. This,
they told me, was a worse harbor than Santa Barbara, for south-easters;
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 from 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 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 delicacy and a sense of honor, which would
have been worthy of admiration in the highest walks of life. Sam knew
that the other 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 that he never could see that man without thinking
what had been the means of bringing that 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.
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 discovered better than in getting under weigh.
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!" 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!" etc., etc.; but it would not do. Nobody
broke his back or his hand-spike 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
"Cheerily, 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
'Cheerily!'" said the mate; but there was no "cheerily" for us, and we
did without it. The captain walked the quarterdeck, 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 Campestrano, under which vessels
sometimes come to anchor, in the summer season, and take off hides. The
most distant one was St. Louis Rey, which the third mate said was only
fifteen miles from San Diego. 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 anxious 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 the 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 ran 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 on to 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, between
fifty and sixty years of age; and being nearly 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,
"Oh no! Captain T----, 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 old 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 soon 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 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 the captain down the companion-way--"Captain T---- has come
aboard, sir!" "Has he brought his brig with him?" said the rough old
fellow, in a tone which made itself heard fore and aft. This mortified
our captain a little, and it became a standing joke among us 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! 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 "wood-sawyer'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 with 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 with our
captain. They were a hardy, but intelligent crew; a little roughened,
and their clothes patched and old, from California wear; all able
seamen, and between the ages of twenty and thirty-five. They inquired
about our vessel, the usage, etc., 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 curing
and stowing of hides, etc. and they were anxious 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, nor, indeed, more gross, than that of many well-dressed
gentlemen at their clubs.