Sunday, November 1st. Sailed this day (Sunday again) for Santa
Barbara, where we arrived on the 5th. Coming round Santa
Buenaventura, and nearing the anchorage, we saw two vessels in
port, a large full-rigged, and a small, hermaphrodite brig. The
former, the crew said, must be the Pilgrim; but I had been too
long in the Pilgrim to be mistaken in her, and I was right in
differing from them, for, upon nearer approach, her long, low,
shear, sharp bows, and raking masts, told quite another story.
``Man-of-war brig,'' said some of them; ``Baltimore clipper,''
said others; the Ayacucho, thought I; and soon the broad folds of
the beautiful banner of St. George-- white field with blood-red
border and cross-- were displayed from her peak. A few minutes put
it beyond a doubt, and we were lying by the side of the Ayacucho,
which had sailed from San Diego about nine months before, while we
were lying there in the Pilgrim. She had since been to Valparaiso,
Callao, and the Sandwich Islands, and had just come upon the
coast. Her boat came on board, bringing Captain Wilson; and in
half an hour the news was all over the ship that there was a war
between the United States and France. Exaggerated accounts reached
the forecastle. Battles had been fought, a large French fleet was
in the Pacific, &c., &c.; and one of the boat's crew of the
Ayacucho said that, when they left Callao, a large French frigate
and the American frigate Brandywine, which were lying there, were
going outside to have a battle, and that the English frigate
Blonde was to be umpire, and see fair play. Here was important
news for us. Alone, on an unprotected coast, without an American
man-of-war within some thousands of miles, and the prospect of a
voyage home through the whole length of the Pacific and Atlantic
Oceans! A French prison seemed a much more probable place of
destination than the good port of Boston. However, we were too
salt to believe every yarn that comes into the forecastle, and
waited to hear the truth of the matter from higher authority. By
means of the supercargo's clerk I got the amount of the matter,
which was, that the governments had had a difficulty about the
payment of a debt; that war had been threatened and prepared for,
but not actually declared, although it was pretty generally
anticipated. This was not quite so bad, yet was no small cause of
anxiety. But we cared very little about the matter ourselves.
``Happy go lucky'' with Jack! We did not believe that a French
prison would be much worse than ``hide droghing'' on the coast of
California; and no one who has not been a long, dull voyage, shut
up in one ship, can conceive of the effect of monotony upon one's
thoughts and wishes. The prospect of a change is a green spot in
the desert, and the probability of great events and exciting
scenes creates a feeling of delight, and sets life in motion, so
as to give a pleasure which any one not in the same state would be
unable to explain. In fact, a more jovial night we had not passed
in the forecastle for months. All seemed in unaccountably high
spirits. An undefined anticipation of radical changes, of new
scenes and great doings, seemed to have possessed every one, and
the common drudgery of the vessel appeared contemptible. Here was
a new vein opened,-- a grand theme of conversation and a topic for
all sorts of discussions. National feeling was wrought up. Jokes
were cracked upon the only Frenchman in the ship, and comparisons
made between ``old horse'' and ``soup meagre,'' &c., &c.
We remained in uncertainty as to this war for more than two
months, when an arrival from the Sandwich Islands brought us the
news of an amicable arrangement of the difficulties.
The other vessel which we found in port was the hermaphrodite brig
Avon, from the Sandwich Islands. She was fitted up in handsome
style; fired a gun, and ran her ensign up and down at sunrise and
sunset; had a band of four or five pieces of music on board, and
appeared rather like a pleasure yacht than a trader; yet, in
connection with the Loriotte, Clementine, Bolivar, Convoy, and
other small vessels, belonging to sundry Americans at Oahu, she
carried on a considerable trade,-- legal and illegal, in
otter-skins, silks, teas, &c., as well as hides and tallow.
The second day after our arrival, a full-rigged brig came round
the point from the northward, sailed leisurely through the bay,
and stood off again for the southeast in the direction of the
large island of Catalina. The next day the Avon got under way, and
stood in the same direction, bound for San Pedro. This might do
for marines and Californians, but we knew the ropes too well. The
brig was never again seen on the coast, and the Avon went into San
Pedro in about a week with a replenished cargo of Canton and
American goods.
This was one of the means of escaping the heavy duties the
Mexicans lay upon all imports. A vessel comes on the coast, enters
a moderate cargo at Monterey, which is the only custom-house, and
commences trading. In a month or more, having sold a large part of
her cargo, she stretches over to Catalina, or other of the large,
uninhabited islands which lie off the coast, in a trip from port
to port, and supplies herself with choice goods from a vessel from
Oahu, which has been lying off and on the islands, waiting for
her. Two days after the sailing of the Avon, the Loriotte came in
from the leeward, and without doubt had also a snatch at the
brig's cargo.
Tuesday, November 10th. Going ashore, as usual, in the gig, just
before sundown, to bring off the captain, we found, upon taking in
the captain and pulling off again, that our ship, which lay the
farthest out, had run up her ensign. This meant ``Sail ho!'' of
course, but as we were within the point we could see nothing.
``Give way, boys! Give way! Lay out on your oars, and long
stroke!'' said the captain; and stretching to the whole length of
our arms, bending back again so that our backs touched the
thwarts, we sent her through the water like a rocket. A few
minutes of such pulling opened the islands, one after another, in
range of the point, and gave us a view of the Canal, where was a
ship, under top-gallant-sails, standing in, with a light breeze,
for the anchorage. Putting the boat's head in the direction of the
ship, the captain told us to lay out again; and we needed no
spurring, for the prospect of boarding a new ship, perhaps from
home, hearing the news, and having something to tell of when we
got back, was excitement enough for us, and we gave way with a
will. Captain Nye, of the Loriotte, who had been an old whaleman,
was in the stern-sheets, and fell mightily into the spirit of it.
``Bend your backs, and break your oars!'' said he. ``Lay me on,
Captain Bunker!'' ``There she flukes!'' and other exclamations
current among whalemen. In the mean time it fell flat calm, and,
being within a couple of miles of the ship, we expected to board
her in a few minutes, when a breeze sprung up, dead ahead for the
ship, and she braced up and stood off toward the islands, sharp on
the larboard tack, making good way through the water. This, of
course, brought us up, and we had only to ``ease larboard oars,
pull round starboard!'' and go aboard the Alert, with something
very like a flea in the ear. There was a light land-breeze all
night, and the ship did not come to anchor until the next morning.
As soon as her anchor was down we went aboard, and found her to be
the whale-ship Wilmington and Liverpool Packet, of New Bedford,
last from the ``off-shore ground,'' with nineteen hundred barrels
of oil. A ``spouter'' we knew her to be, as soon as we saw her, by
her cranes and boats, and by her stump top-gallant-masts, and a
certain slovenly look to the sails, rigging, spars, and hull; and
when we got on board, we found everything to correspond,-- spouter
fashion. She had a false deck, which was rough and oily, and cut
up in every direction by the chines of oil casks; her rigging was
slack, and turning white, paint worn off the spars and blocks,
clumsy seizings, straps without covers, and ``homeward-bound
splices'' in every direction. Her crew, too, were not in much
better order. Her captain was a slab-sided Quaker, in a suit of
brown, with a broad-brimmed hat, bending his long legs as he moved
about decks, with his head down, like a sheep, and the men looked
more like fishermen and farmers than they did like sailors.
Though it was by no means cold weather (we having on only our red
shirts and duck trousers), they all had on woollen trousers,-- not
blue and ship-shape, but of all colors,-- brown, drab, gray, aye,
and green,-- with suspenders over their shoulders, and pockets to
put their hands in. This, added to Guernsey frocks, striped
comforters about the neck, thick cowhide boots, woollen caps, and
a strong, oily smell, and a decidedly green look, will complete
the description. Eight or ten were on the fore topsail yard, and
as many more in the main, furling the topsails, while eight or ten
were hanging about the forecastle, doing nothing. This was a
strange sight for a vessel coming to anchor; so we went up to
them, to see what was the matter. One of them, a stout,
hearty-looking fellow, held out his leg and said he had the
scurvy; another had cut his hand; and others had got nearly well,
but said that there were plenty aloft to furl the sails, so they
were sogering on the forecastle. There was only one ``splicer'' on
board, a fine-looking old tar, who was in the bunt of the fore
topsail. He was probably the only thorough marline-spike seaman in
the ship, before the mast. The mates, of course, and the
boat-steerers, and also two or three of the crew, had been to sea
before, but only on whaling voyages; and the greater part of the
crew were raw hands, just from the bush, and had not yet got the
hay-seed out of their hair. The mizzen topsail hung in the
buntlines until everything was furled forward. Thus a crew of
thirty men were half an hour in doing what would have been done in
the Alert, with eighteen hands to go aloft, in fifteen or twenty
minutes.[1]
We found they had been at sea six or eight months, and had no news
to tell us, so we left them, and promised to get liberty to come
on board in the evening for some curiosities. Accordingly, as soon
as we were knocked off in the evening and were through supper, we
obtained leave, took a boat, and went aboard and spent an hour or
two. They gave us pieces of whalebone, and the teeth and other
parts of curious sea animals, and we exchanged books with them,--
a practice very common among ships in foreign ports, by which you
get rid of the books you have read and re-read, and a supply of
new ones in their stead, and Jack is not very nice as to their
comparative value.[2]
Thursday, November 12th. This day was quite cool in the early
part, and there were black clouds about; but as it was often so in
the morning, nothing was apprehended, and all the captains went
ashore together to spend the day. Towards noon the clouds hung
heavily over the mountains, coming half-way down the hills that
encircle the town of Santa Barbara, and a heavy swell rolled in
from the southeast. The mate immediately ordered the gig's crew
away, and, at the same time, we saw boats pulling ashore from the
other vessels. Here was a grand chance for a rowing-match, and
every one did his best. We passed the boats of the Ayacucho and
Loriotte, but could not hold our own with the long six-oared boat
of the whale-ship. They reached the breakers before us; but here
we had the advantage of them, for, not being used to the surf,
they were obliged to wait to see us beach our boat, just as, in
the same place, nearly a year before, we, in the Pilgrim, were
glad to be taught by a boat's crew of Kanakas.
We had hardly got the boats beached, and their heads pointed out
to sea, before our old friend, Bill Jackson, the handsome English
sailor, who steered the Loriotte's boat, called out that his brig
was adrift; and, sure enough, she was dragging her anchors, and
drifting down into the bight of the bay. Without waiting for the
captain (for there was no one on board the brig but the mate and
steward), he sprung into the boat, called the Kanakas together,
and tried to put off. But the Kanakas, though capital water-dogs,
were frightened by their vessel's being adrift, and by the
emergency of the case, and seemed to lose their faculties. Twice
their boat filled, and came broadside upon the beach. Jackson
swore at them for a parcel of savages, and promised to flog every
one of them. This made the matter no better; when we came forward,
told the Kanakas to take their seats in the boat, and, going two
on each side, walked out with her till it was up to our shoulders,
and gave them a shove, when, giving way with their oars, they got
her safely into the long, regular swell. In the mean time, boats
had put off to the Loriotte from our ship and the whaler, and,
coming all on board the brig together, they let go the other
anchor, paid out chain, braced the yards to the wind, and brought
the vessel up.
In a few minutes, the captains came hurrying down, on the run; and
there was no time to be lost, for the gale promised to be a severe
one, and the surf was breaking upon the beach, three deep, higher
and higher every instant. The Ayacucho's boat, pulled by four
Kanakas, put off first, and as they had no rudder or steering-oar,
would probably never have got off, had we not waded out with them
as far as the surf would permit. The next that made the attempt
was the whale-boat, for we, being the most experienced
``beach-combers,'' needed no help, and stayed till the last.
Whalemen make the best boats' crews in the world for a long pull,
but this landing was new to them, and, notwithstanding the
examples they had had, they slewed round and were hove up-- boat,
oars, and men-- all together, high and dry upon the sand. The
second time they filled, and had to turn their boat over, and set
her off again. We could be of no help to them, for they were so
many as to be in one another's way, without the addition of our
numbers. The third time they got off, though not without shipping
a sea which drenched them all, and half filled their boat, keeping
them baling until they reached their ship. We now got ready to go
off, putting the boat's head out; English Ben and I, who were the
largest, standing on each side of the bows to keep her head out to
the sea, two more shipping and manning the two after oars, and the
captain taking the steering oar. Two or three Mexicans, who stood
upon the beach looking at us, wrapped their cloaks about them,
shook their heads, and muttered ``Caramba!'' They had no taste for
such doings; in fact, the hydrophobia is a national malady, and
shows itself in their persons as well as their actions.
Watching for a ``smooth chance,'' we determined to show the other
boats the way it should be done, and, as soon as ours floated, ran
out with her, keeping her head out, with all our strength, and the
help of the captain's oar, and the two after oarsmen giving way
regularly and strongly, until our feet were off the ground, we
tumbled into the bows, keeping perfectly still, from fear of
hindering the others. For some time it was doubtful how it would
go. The boat stood nearly up and down in the water, and the sea,
rolling from under her, let her fall upon the water with a force
which seemed almost to stave her bottom in. By quietly sliding two
oars forward, along the thwarts, without impeding the rowers, we
shipped two bow oars, and thus, by the help of four oars and the
captain's strong arm, we got safely off, though we shipped several
seas, which left us half full of water. We pulled alongside of the
Loriotte, put her skipper on board, and found her making
preparations for slipping, and then pulled aboard our own ship.
Here Mr. Brown, always ``on hand,'' had got everything ready, so
that we had only to hook on the gig and hoist it up, when the
order was given to loose the sails. While we were on the yards, we
saw the Loriotte under way, and, before our yards were
mast-headed, the Ayacucho had spread her wings, and, with yards
braced sharp up, was standing athwart our hawse. There is no
prettier sight in the world than a full-rigged, clipper-built
brig, sailing sharp on the wind. In a minute more our slip-rope
was gone, the head-yards filled away, and we were off. Next came
the whaler; and in half an hour from the time when four vessels
were lying quietly at anchor, without a rag out, or a sign of
motion, the bay was deserted, and four white clouds were moving
over the water to seaward. Being sure of clearing the point, we
stood off with our yards a little braced in, while the Ayacucho
went off with a taut bowline, which brought her to windward of us.
During all this day, and the greater part of the night, we had the
usual southeaster entertainment, a gale of wind, with occasional
rain, and finally topped off with a drenching rain of three or
four hours. At daybreak the clouds thinned off and rolled away,
and the sun came up clear. The wind, instead of coming out from
the northward, as is usual, blew steadily and freshly from the
anchoring-ground. This was bad for us, for, being ``flying
light,'' with little more than ballast trim, we were in no
condition for showing off on a taut bowline, and had depended upon
a fair wind, with which, by the help of our light sails and
studding-sails, we meant to have been the first at the
anchoring-ground; but the Ayacucho was a good league to windward
of us, and was standing in in fine style. The whaler, however, was
as far to leeward of us, and the Loriotte was nearly out of sight,
among the islands, up the Canal. By hauling every brace and
bowline, and clapping watch-tackles upon all the sheets and
halyards, we managed to hold our own, and drop the leeward vessels
a little in every tack. When we reached the anchoring-ground, the
Ayacucho had got her anchor, furled her sails, squared her yards,
and was lying as quietly as if nothing had happened.
We had our usual good luck in getting our anchor without letting
go another, and were all snug, with our boats at the boom-ends, in
half an hour. In about two hours more the whaler came in, and made
a clumsy piece of work in getting her anchor, being obliged to let
go her best bower, and, finally, to get out a kedge and a hawser.
They were heave-ho-ing, stopping and unstopping, pawling, catting,
and fishing for three hours; and the sails hung from the yards all
the afternoon, and were not furled until sundown. The Loriotte
came in just after dark, and let go her anchor, making no attempt
to pick up the other until the next day.
This affair led to a dispute as to the sailing of our ship and the
Ayacucho. Bets were made between the captains, and the crews took
it up in their own way; but as she was bound to leeward and we to
windward, and merchant captains cannot deviate, a trial never took
place; and perhaps it was well for us that it did not, for the
Ayacucho had been eight years in the Pacific, in every part of it,--
Valparaiso, Sandwich Islands, Canton, California, and all,-- and
was called the fastest merchant-man that traded in the Pacific,
unless it was the brig John Gilpin, and perhaps the ship Ann
McKim, of Baltimore.
Saturday, November 14th. This day we got under way, with the agent
and several Mexicans of note, as passengers, bound up to Monterey.
We went ashore in the gig to bring them off with their baggage,
and found them waiting on the beach, and a little afraid about
going off, as the surf was running very high. This was nuts to us,
for we liked to have a Mexican wet with salt water; and then the
agent was very much disliked by the crew, one and all; and we
hoped, as there was no officer in the boat, to have a chance to
duck them, for we knew that they were such ``marines'' that they
would not know whether it was our fault or not. Accordingly, we
kept the boat so far from shore as to oblige them to wet their
feet in getting into her; and then waited for a good high comber,
and, letting the head slue a little round, sent the whole force of
the sea into the stern-sheets, drenching them from head to feet.
The Mexicans sprang out of the boat, swore, and shook themselves,
and protested against trying it again; and it was with the
greatest difficulty that the agent could prevail upon them to make
another attempt. The next time we took care, and went off easily
enough, and pulled aboard. The crew came to the side to hoist in
their baggage, and heartily enjoyed the half-drowned looks of the
company.
Everything being now ready, and the passengers aboard, we ran up
the ensign and broad pennant (for there was no man-of-war, and we
were the largest vessel on the coast), and the other vessels ran
up their ensigns. Having hove short, cast off the gaskets, and
made the bunt of each sail fast by the jigger, with a man on each
yard, at the word the whole canvas of the ship was loosed, and
with the greatest rapidity possible everything was sheeted home
and hoisted up, the anchor tripped and cat-headed, and the ship
under headway. We were determined to show the ``spouter'' how
things could be done in a smart ship, with a good crew, though not
more than half his numbers. The royal yards were all crossed at
once, and royals and sky-sails set, and, as we had the wind free,
the booms were run out, and all were aloft, active as cats, laying
out on the yards and booms, reeving the studding-sail gear; and
sail after sail the captain piled upon her, until she was covered
with canvas, her sails looking like a great white cloud resting
upon a black speck. Before we doubled the point, we were going at
a dashing rate, and leaving the shipping far astern. We had a fine
breeze to take us through the Canal, as they call this bay of
forty miles long by ten wide. The breeze died away at night, and
we were becalmed all day on Sunday, about half-way between Santa
Barbara and Point Conception. Sunday night we had a light, fair
wind, which set us up again; and having a fine sea-breeze on the
first part of Monday we had the prospect of passing, without any
trouble, Point Conception,-- the Cape Horn of California, where,
the sailors say, it begins to blow the first of January, and blows
until the last of December. Toward the latter part of the
afternoon, however, the regular northwest wind, as usual, set in,
which brought in our studding-sails, and gave us the chance of
beating round the Point, which we were now just abreast of, and
which stretched off into the Pacific, high, rocky, and barren,
forming the central point of the coast for hundreds of miles north
and south. A cap-full of wind will be a bag-full here, and before
night our royals were furled, and the ship was laboring hard under
her top-gallant-sails. At eight bells our watch went below,
leaving her with as much sail as she could stagger under, the
water flying over the forecastle at every plunge. It was evidently
blowing harder, but then there was not a cloud in the sky, and the
sun had gone down bright.
We had been below but a short time, before we had the usual
premonitions of a coming gale,-- seas washing over the whole
forward part of the vessel, and her bows beating against them with
a force and sound like the driving of piles. The watch, too,
seemed very busy trampling about decks, and singing out at the
ropes. A sailor can tell, by the sound, what sail is coming in;
and, in a short time, we heard the top-gallant-sails come in, one
after another, and then the flying jib. This seemed to ease her a
good deal, and we were fast going off to the land of Nod, when--
bang, bang, bang-- on the scuttle, and ``All hands, reef topsails,
ahoy!'' started us out of our berths; and, it not being very cold
weather, we had nothing extra to put on, and were soon on deck. I
shall never forget the fineness of the sight. It was a clear, and
rather a chilly night; the stars were twinkling with an intense
brightness, and as far as the eye could reach there was not a
cloud to be seen. The horizon met the sea in a defined line. A
painter could not have painted so clear a sky. There was not a
speck upon it. Yet it was blowing great guns from the northwest.
When you can see a cloud to windward, you feel that there is a
place for the wind to come from; but here it seemed to come from
nowhere. No person could have told from the heavens, by their
eyesight alone, that it was not a still summer's night. One reef
after another we took in the topsails, and before we could get
them hoisted up we heard a sound like a short, quick rattling of
thunder, and the jib was blown to atoms out of the bolt-rope. We
got the topsails set, and the fragments of the jib stowed away,
and the fore topmast staysail set in its place, when the great
mainsail gaped open, and the sail ripped from head to foot. ``Lay
up on that main yard and furl the sail, before it blows to
tatters!'' shouted the captain; and in a moment we were up,
gathering the remains of it upon the yard. We got it wrapped round
the yard, and passed gaskets over it as snugly as possible, and
were just on deck again, when, with another loud rent, which was
heard throughout the ship, the fore topsail, which had been
double-reefed, split in two athwartships, just below the
reef-band, from earing to earing. Here again it was-- down yard,
haul out reef-tackles, and lay out upon the yard for reefing. By
hauling the reef-tackles chock-a-block we took the strain from the
other earings, and passing the close-reef earing, and knotting the
points carefully, we succeeded in setting the sail, close reefed.
We had but just got the rigging coiled up, and were waiting to
hear ``Go below the watch!'' when the main royal worked loose from
the gaskets, and blew directly out to leeward, flapping, and
shaking the mast like a wand. Here was a job for somebody. The
royal must come in or be cut adrift, or the mast would be snapped
short off. All the light hands in the starboard watch were sent up
one after another, but they could do nothing with it. At length,
John, the tall Frenchman, the head of the starboard watch (and a
better sailor never stepped upon a deck), sprang aloft, and, by
the help of his long arms and legs, succeeded, after a hard
struggle,-- the sail blowing over the yard-arm to leeward, and the
skysail adrift directly over his head,-- in smothering it and
frapping it with long pieces of sinnet. He came very near being
blown or shaken from the yard several times, but he was a true
sailor, every finger a fish-hook. Having made the sail snug, he
prepared to send the yard down, which was a long and difficult
job; for, frequently, he was obliged to stop, and hold on with all
his might for several minutes, the ship pitching so as to make it
impossible to do anything else at that height. The yard at length
came down safe, and, after it, the fore and mizzen royal yards
were sent down. All hands were then sent aloft, and for an hour or
two we were hard at work, making the booms well fast, unreeving
the studding-sail and royal and skysail gear, getting
rolling-ropes on the yard, setting up the weather
breast-backstays, and making other preparations for a storm. It
was a fine night for a gale; just cool and bracing enough for
quick work, without being cold, and as bright as day. It was sport
to have a gale in such weather as this. Yet it blew like a
hurricane. The wind seemed to come with a spite, an edge to it,
which threatened to scrape us off the yards. The force of the wind
was greater than I had ever felt it before; but darkness, cold,
and wet are the worst parts of a storm, to a sailor.
Having got on deck again, we looked round to see what time of
night it was, and whose watch. In a few minutes the man at the
wheel struck four bells, and we found that the other watch was
out, and our own half out. Accordingly, the starboard watch went
below, and left the ship to us for a couple of hours, yet with
orders to stand by for a call.
Hardly had they got below, before away went the fore topmast
staysail, blown to ribands. This was a small sail, which we could
manage in the watch, so that we were not obliged to call up the
other watch. We laid out upon the bowsprit, where we were under
water half the time, and took in the fragments of the sail, and,
as she must have some head sail on her, prepared to bend another
staysail. We got the new one out into the nettings; seized on the
tack, sheets, and halyards, and the hanks; manned the halyards,
cut adrift the frapping-lines, and hoisted away; but before it was
half-way up the stay it was blown all to pieces. When we belayed
the halyards, there was nothing left but the bolt-rope. Now large
eyes began to show themselves in the foresail, and, knowing that
it must soon go, the mate ordered us upon the yard to furl it.
Being unwilling to call up the watch who had been on deck all
night, he roused out the carpenter, sailmaker, cook, and steward,
and with their help we manned the fore yard, and, after nearly
half an hour's struggle, mastered the sail, and got it well furled
round the yard. The force of the wind had never been greater than
at this moment. In going up the rigging, it seemed absolutely to
pin us down to the shrouds; and, on the yard, there was no such
thing as turning a face to windward. Yet here was no driving
sleet, and darkness, and wet, and cold, as off Cape Horn; and
instead of stiff oil-cloth suits, southwester caps, and thick
boots, we had on hats, round jackets, duck trousers, light shoes,
and everything light and easy. These things make a great
difference to a sailor. When we got on deck, the man at the wheel
struck eight bells (four o'clock in the morning), and ``All
Starbowlines, ahoy!'' brought the other watch up, but there was no
going below for us. The gale was now at its height, ``blowing like
scissors and thumb-screws''; the captain was on deck; the ship,
which was light, rolling and pitching as though she would shake
the long sticks out of her, and the sails were gaping open and
splitting in every direction. The mizzen topsail, which was a
comparatively new sail, and close reefed, split from head to foot,
in the bunt; the fore topsail went, in one rent, from clew to
earing, and was blowing to tatters; one of the chain bobstays
parted; the spritsail yard sprung in the slings; the martingale
had slued away off to leeward; and, owing to the long dry weather,
the lee rigging hung in large bights at every lurch. One of the
main top-gallant shrouds had parted; and, to crown all, the galley
had got adrift, and gone over to leeward, and the anchor on the
lee bow had worked loose, and was thumping the side. Here was work
enough for all hands for half a day. Our gang laid out on the
mizzen topsail yard, and after more than half an hour's hard work,
furled the sail, though it bellied out over our heads, and again,
by a slat of the wind, blew in under the yard with a fearful jerk,
and almost threw us off from the foot-ropes.
Double gaskets were passed round the yards, rolling tackles and
other gear bowsed taut, and everything made as secure as it could
be. Coming down, we found the rest of the crew just coming down
the fore rigging, having furled the tattered topsail, or, rather,
swathed it round the yard, which looked like a broken limb,
bandaged. There was no sail now on the ship, but the spanker and
the close-reefed main topsail, which still held good. But this was
too much after sail, and order was given to furl the spanker. The
brails were hauled up, and all the light hands in the starboard
watch sent out on the gaff to pass the gaskets; but they could do
nothing with it. The second mate swore at them for a parcel of
``sogers,'' and sent up a couple of the best men; but they could
do no better, and the gaff was lowered down. All hands were now
employed in setting up the lee rigging, fishing the spritsail
yard, lashing the galley, and getting tackles upon the martingale,
to bowse it to windward. Being in the larboard watch, my duty was
forward, to assist in setting up the martingale. Three of us were
out on the martingale guys and back-ropes for more than half an
hour, carrying out, hooking and unhooking the tackles, several
times buried in the seas, until the mate ordered us in, from fear
of our being washed off. The anchors were then to be taken up on
the rail, which kept all hands on the forecastle for an hour,
though every now and then the seas broke over it, washing the
rigging off to leeward, filling the lee scuppers breast-high, and
washing chock aft to the taffrail.
Having got everything secure again, we were promising ourselves
some breakfast, for it was now nearly nine o'clock in the
forenoon, when the main topsail showed evident signs of giving
way. Some sail must be kept on the ship, and the captain ordered
the fore and main spencer gaffs to be lowered down, and the two
spencers (which were storm sails, bran-new, small, and made of the
strongest canvas) to be got up and bent; leaving the main topsail
to blow away, with a blessing on it, if it would only last until
we could set the spencers. These we bent on very carefully, with
strong robands and seizings, and, making tackles fast to the
clews, bowsed them down to the water-ways. By this time the main
topsail was among the things that have been, and we went aloft to
stow away the remnant of the last sail of all those which were on
the ship twenty-four hours before. The spencers were now the only
whole sails on the ship, and, being strong and small, and near the
deck, presenting but little surface to the wind above the rail,
promised to hold out well. Hove-to under these, and eased by
having no sail above the tops, the ship rose and fell, and drifted
off to leeward like a line-of-battle ship.
It was now eleven o'clock, and the watch was sent below to get
breakfast, and at eight bells (noon), as everything was snug,
although the gale had not in the least abated, the watch was set,
and the other watch and idlers sent below. For three days and
three nights the gale continued with unabated fury, and with
singular regularity. There were no lulls, and very little
variation in its fierceness. Our ship, being light, rolled so as
almost to send the fore yard-arm under water, and drifted off
bodily to leeward. All this time there was not a cloud to be seen
in the sky, day or night; no, not so large as a man's hand. Every
morning the sun rose cloudless from the sea, and set again at
night in the sea, in a flood of light. The stars, too, came out of
the blue one after another, night after night, unobscured, and
twinkled as clear as on a still, frosty night at home, until the
day came upon them. All this time the sea was rolling in immense
surges, white with foam, as far as the eye could reach, on every
side, for we were now leagues and leagues from shore.
The between-decks being empty, several of us slept there in
hammocks, which are the best things in the world to sleep in
during a storm; it not being true of them, as it is of another
kind of bed, ``when the wind blows the cradle will rock''; for it
is the ship that rocks, while they hang vertically from the beams.
During these seventy-two hours we had nothing to do but to turn in
and out, four hours on deck, and four below, eat, sleep, and keep
watch. The watches were only varied by taking the helm in turn,
and now and then by one of the sails, which were furled, blowing
out of the gaskets, and getting adrift, which sent us up on the
yards, and by getting tackles on different parts of the rigging,
which were slack. Once the wheel-rope parted, which might have
been fatal to us, had not the chief mate sprung instantly with a
relieving tackle to windward, and kept the tiller up, till a new
rope could be rove. On the morning of the twentieth, at daybreak,
the gale had evidently done its worst, and had somewhat abated; so
much so that all hands were called to bend new sails, although it
was still blowing as hard as two common gales. One at a time, and
with great difficulty and labor, the old sails were unbent and
sent down by the buntlines, and three new topsails, made for the
homeward passage round Cape Horn, which had never been bent, were
got up from the sail-room, and, under the care of the sailmaker,
were fitted for bending, and sent up by the halyards into the
tops, and, with stops and frapping-lines, were bent to the yards,
close-reefed, sheeted home, and hoisted. These were bent one at a
time, and with the greatest care and difficulty. Two spare courses
were then got up and bent in the same manner and furled, and a
storm-jib, with the bonnet off, bent and furled to the boom. It
was twelve o'clock before we got through, and five hours of more
exhausting labor I never experienced; and no one of that ship's
crew, I will venture to say, will ever desire again to unbend and
bend five large sails in the teeth of a tremendous northwester.
Towards night a few clouds appeared in the horizon, and, as the
gale moderated, the usual appearance of driving clouds relieved
the face of the sky. The fifth day after the commencement of the
storm, we shook a reef out of each topsail, and set the reefed
foresail, jib, and spanker, but it was not until after eight days
of reefed topsails that we had a whole sail on the ship, and then
it was quite soon enough, for the captain was anxious to make up
for leeway, the gale having blown us half the distance to the
Sandwich Islands.
Inch by inch, as fast as the gale would permit, we made sail on
the ship, for the wind still continued ahead, and we had many
days' sailing to get back to the longitude we were in when the
storm took us. For eight days more we beat to windward under a
stiff top-gallant breeze, when the wind shifted and became
variable. A light southeaster, to which we could carry a reefed
topmast studding-sail, did wonders for our dead reckoning.
Friday, December 4th. After a passage of twenty days, we arrived
at the mouth of the Bay of San Francisco.
[1] I have been told that this description of a whaleman has given
offence to the whale-trading people of Nantucket, New Bedford, and
the Vineyard. It is not exaggerated; and the appearance of such a
ship and crew might well impress a young man trained in the ways
of a ship of the style of the Alert. Long observation has
satisfied me that there are no better seamen, so far as handling a
ship is concerned, and none so venturous and skilful navigators,
as the masters and officers of our whalemen. But never, either on
this voyage, or in a subsequent visit to the Pacific and its
islands, was it my fortune to fall in with a whaleship whose
appearance, and the appearance of whose crew, gave signs of
strictness of discipline and seaman-like neatness. Probably these
things are impossibilities, from the nature of the business, and I
may have made too much of them.
[2] This visiting between the crews of ships at sea is called, among
whalemen, ``gamming.''