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.