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.