But I have digressed long enough. I now return to the old Pacific and
her inmates, as she was when we crossed the line, or a few degrees
to the southward of it; at which time we lost sight of the Magellan
clouds. Shortly after this the glorious Southern Cross disappeared from
our view. These two constellations had been for years our landmarks in
the heavens, (pardon the incompatibility of the expression,) and had
become so familiar that at night the horizon seemed to us incomplete
without them; but still we hailed their retirement from our view with
delight, for it was an earnest of home. For several nights afterward we
strained our eyes and patience in unavailing search for the North Star.
At last it was sighted by a close observer. It was hailed by a general
shout, that made the welkin ring; and hearts warmed as day after day in
our passage north we opened still farther the glories of the northern
sky; our own, with its fleecy scud and resplendent tints, shedding
refulgence on our free and happy land.
And now, as we progressed day by day, it may be wondered, what were
the plans of our crew for the future: all having gained little else
than experience, and that not being a disposable commodity at our place
of destination. But, kind people! do not think that any one of us
felt poverty-stricken, or dependent on other than his own exertions
for support. A more self-reliable set of men never drew breath than
those who were now around me. One and all felt perfectly able to
maintain themselves respectably, if health were vouchsafed to them by
the Creator; and all had their plans. The first we will consider is
that of the Massachusetts men--they forming by far the largest class.
Although they mooted a hundred different channels in which they would
direct their energies, there was a strong under-current pervading the
whole, which bespoke whaling as their chief point, though many declared
this their dernier resort, only to be engaged in by them from extreme
necessity. Some of them thought that the whaling business was becoming
too poor to follow, and declared their intention of emigrating to
Oregon or Kansas, in quest of gold, should the accounts from those
regions continue to hold out the same favorable inducements they had
already done.
The second class whom we shall consider is, that formed of prodigal
sons--a proportionably numerous one. Most of this class had left home
with a desire to see the world, and a hope of returning with both
pockets full of money, to astonish the “old folks at home,” and, if
necessary, to be expended for their comfort. Their bright anticipations
not having been fulfilled, they were ashamed to go home; and, although
we may doubt the wisdom of such a course, there is an honorable pride
attaching to it, that cannot fail to command respect. Most of them
had companions to whom they were attached during the voyage, and they
determined that they would embark together to some foreign port or
other (those of the Mediterranean were the most popular) for four or
six months, when they would be sure of their monthly wages; and should
they carry out their resolves, they might then return to their homes.
This plan sounds foolish, and was foolish. No doubt they would be
welcome to their relatives, with or without money; but I must confess
that in the face of the warmest letters, and in the full assurance and
conviction of the heartiest welcome, I myself felt a reluctance in
returning, without something of moment to show, as a remuneration for
almost four years of exile.
The last class (very few in number) is, those who had no
homes--children of the sea. These did not take the same warm interest
in a return to the States as we did; or, rather, it is a different
interest--a mere sensual feeling: a desire to have a good spree, and be
off again. They had no settled plan, but were ready, as soon as their
money or credit became exhausted, to go here or there, as the caprice
of the moment or the prospect of gain might lead them. Poor fellows!
theirs was a hard prospective, and they felt it; for, when those, who
were so blessed, gathered around each other, and talked of a reunion
with parents, brothers, and sisters, they would walk moodily and alone,
or strive by a reckless air to show their contempt for the comforts
of home--but it was in vain. These now expected to follow the sea for
their bread, just as the farmer does his plough. In the absence of good
examples ashore, they had nothing to give them a strong bias to remain
there; they considered the ocean as the granary from which their daily
provision must be procured. God direct them wherever they may go, and
in whatever they may do!--that they may avoid the snares spread for
them by the designing at every step of the paths they must follow.
On the evening of March 17th we entered and crossed the Gulf Stream.
Our near approach to it had been indicated days before by the
appearance of the Gulf weed. This weed is inhabited by multifarious
marine animals. On being scooped up and placed in a bucket of water,
its tiny residents were to be seen swimming and plying about with the
intensest activity: crabs, lobsters, various kinds of fish, and the
meduca, together with many others that are nondescripts.
On arriving at the Stream we dipped up a bucketful of its water
from alongside, and found it quite warm. A short time afterwards we
repeated the experiment, and found a variation in the temperature.
Thus, at intervals of fifteen minutes throughout our passage across
it, we tested the water to the best of our ability; and although our
thermometer could not be fully depended upon, yet the result was still
decided enough to make me a convert to Professor Bache’s theory: that,
the Gulf Stream is a series of belts of water, varying in temperature,
instead of a body of water of uninterrupted equivalent warmth.
On the following day we experienced one of those southeast gales,
attended by fog, which are so common to the American coast in the month
of March. As long as we felt satisfied that we had an offing, things
went pretty well, and we rejoiced at the way the ship was making before
the gale; although, in the absence of sun, moon, and stars, we had
nothing by which to ascertain our whereabouts. At noon we spoke the
brig Pilotfish, of Boston, and found that by her reckoning we were
fifty miles farther to the westward than what our chronometer gave it;
however, we felt pretty well satisfied as to our own correctness until
night, when we shortened sail, (which throughout the day we had carried
to the extent of the vessel’s ability,) and luffed to the wind, hove
the lead, and sounded with the deep-sea line. At the same time the gale
increased to a hurricane, and, as we could not see a ship’s length
ahead, we were compelled, sorely against our inclinations, to heave the
ship to for the night.
At 3 o’clock A. M. the next morning we all at once felt a change in
the atmosphere, and, on inquiring the cause, found that the wind had
hauled to the westward. A few minutes afterward the fleecy scud drove
rapidly to the leeward, and the wind from the southwest bore down on
us with extreme violence. But not too violent for us. Oh, no! It was
hailed with delight. It was fair and strong; and, although we could
show only close-reefed topsails and foresail to it, we bowled away,
with it on our quarter, at the rate of twelve knots an hour. As we
gradually neared the land we saw a number of small coasting-crafts
laying-to, with the water sweeping over them--they not venturing to run
in such weather. Of these we spoke several, and ascertained from them
the bearings of Montauk Point. We found now that our chronometer was
indeed wrong, and that had we depended upon it we would most likely
have been by this time high and dry on some part of our own coast.
This variation of the chronometer was very strange to us. During the
whole voyage we had found it perfectly trustworthy; and, of course,
after so long an acquaintance with its exactness, we had learned to
place implicit confidence in it. At St. Helena it was correct, and
so also off Cape St. Roque only three weeks before. But the present
was precisely the case with it on the last voyage, when Captain James
Allen commanded the ship. Then, likewise, there had not been a mile’s
variation in it until he had crossed the Gulf Stream, homeward-bound,
when an error of fifty miles was discovered--a pilot-boat giving him
his true whereabouts. Now, the question is, what was the cause of this
singular variation? Was it the Gulf Stream, or what was it? Here is a
question for the savans, and should they solve it, I will be happy to
hear of their explanation.