BEGINNING THE LONG RETURN VOYAGE--A SCARE
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 third, 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. By these diminutions, we were short-handed for a voyage round Cape
Horn in the dead of winter. Besides S---- and myself, there were only
five in the forecastle; who, together with four boys in the steerage,
the sailmaker, carpenter, etc., composed the whole crew. In addition
to this, we were only three or 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 old men, 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 broke down under the work,
and the latter died at Santa Barbara. The young man, too, 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 whaleship, 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 passage round, had sixty
days off the Cape, and lost several boats by the heavy sea. 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, and hung out to dry. 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; south-westers 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, even 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 as
tight as a bottle, and brought her cargo to Boston perfectly dry, we
had, after every effort made to prevent it, in the way of caulking 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 north-east 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., long.
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 had got 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 were 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 the royal studding-sails got ready for the light trades;
ring-tail set; and new rigging fitted and sails got 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 look-out 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, Tom, what was the latitude to-day?"
"Why fourteen, north, and she has been going seven knots ever since."
"Well, this will bring us up 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 south-east
trades, etc., 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 better days; and the last person I should have expected to
have seen on the coast of California--Professor N----, 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, was strolling about San
Diego beach, in a sailor's pea-jacket, with a wide straw hat, and
barefooted, with his trowsers roiled up to his knees, picking up stones
and shells. He had travelled overland to the North-west 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 down, visiting
the intermediate ports, and examining the trees, plants, earths, birds,
etc., 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 not
have been more surprised to have seen the Old South steeple shoot up
from the hide-house. He probably had no less difficulty in recognizing
me. As we left home about the same time, we had nothing to tell one
another; 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 no 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
puzzled 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. (Chronometer, barometer, and thermometer.) The Pilgrim's
crew christened Mr. N. "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 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, an old salt, who had seen something
more of the world ashore, set all to rights, as he thought,--"Oh, '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. N.'s credit for capacity, and was
near enough to the truth for common purposes, I did not disturb it.
With the exception of Mr. N., we had no one on board but the regular
ship's company, and the live stock. Upon this, 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, they, 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 getting 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 staid until we got into fine weather
again.
Wednesday, May 18th. Lat. 9° 54' N., long. 113° 17' W. The north-east
trades had now left us, and we had the usual variable winds, 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-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, and the man at the wheel stand 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. 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.
[Editor's note: the "166°" in the following paragraph is clearly an error, with "116°" actually meant. Longitude 166° would have put the ship southwest of the Sandwich Islands. However, this printing error goes back to at least an 1869 edition of this book.]
Sunday, May 22d. Lat. 5° 14' N., long. 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
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
and strips of canvas for towels, we turned-to and soaped, washed, and
scrubbed one another down, to get off, as we said, the California dust;
for the common wash in salt water, which is all 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 a 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
battle with them in heaving water. By unplugging the holes, we let the
soap-suds off the decks, and in a short time had a new supply of 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-south-east, we crossed the equator. In twenty-four hours after
crossing the line, which was very unusual, we took the regular
south-east trades. These winds come a little from the eastward of
south-east, and, with us, they blew directly from the east-south-east,
which was fortunate for us, for 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 just 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 long. 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, 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 trade-wind clouds over our heads;
the incomparable temperature of the Pacific,--neither hot nor cold; a
clear sun every day, and clear moon and stars each 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 in the
northern 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, and 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 south-west 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 was 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
whaleship, out over night, and we had run them 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. Call the
captain, and heave the ship aback? 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, coming 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 behoved us to make every preparation. Our
rigging was all examined and overhauled, and mended, or replaced with
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 wheel-ropes, made of green hide,
laid up in the form of rope, were stretched and fitted; and new
top-sail clewlines, etc., rove; new fore-topmast back-stays 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., 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 long. 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 tree-nails, and which, accidentally, had not been
plugged up when the cat-head was placed over them. This was sufficient
to account for the leak, and for our not having been able to discover
and stop it.
[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, etc., they 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, but 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 addressing it, repeats
these lines: "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 pick my bones,
And pitch the rest 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 beside those of
our own nation. It is very generally believed, and is always highly
commended, as a fair instance of retaliatory justice.