We turned-in early, knowing that we might expect an early call;
and sure enough, before the stars had quite faded, ``All hands
ahoy!'' and we were turned-to, heaving out ballast. A regulation
of the port forbids any ballast to be thrown overboard;
accordingly, our long-boat was lined inside with rough boards and
brought alongside the gangway, but where one tubful went into the
boat twenty went overboard. This is done by every vessel, as it
saves more than a week of labor, which would be spent in loading
the boats, rowing them to the point, and unloading them. When any
people from the presidio were on board, the boat was hauled up and
the ballast thrown in; but when the coast was clear, she was
dropped astern again, and the ballast fell overboard. This is one
of those petty frauds which many vessels practise in ports of
inferior foreign nations, and which are lost sight of among the
deeds of greater weight which are hardly less common. Fortunately,
a sailor, not being a free agent in work aboard ship, is not
accountable; yet the fact of being constantly employed, without
thought, in such things, begets an indifference to the rights of
others.
Friday, and a part of Saturday, we were engaged in this work,
until we had thrown out all but what we wanted under our cargo on
the passage home; when, as the next day was Sunday, and a good day
for smoking ship, we cleared everything out of the cabin and
forecastle, made a slow fire of charcoal, birch bark, brimstone,
and other matters, on the ballast in the bottom of the hold,
calked up the hatches and every open seam, and pasted over the
cracks of the windows, and the slides of the scuttles and
companion-way. Wherever smoke was seen coming out, we calked and
pasted and, so far as we could, made the ship smoke tight. The
captain and officers slept under the awning which was spread over
the quarter-deck; and we stowed ourselves away under an old
studding-sail, which we drew over one side of the forecastle. The
next day, from fear that something might happen in the way of
fire, orders were given for no one to leave the ship, and, as the
decks were lumbered up, we could not wash them down, so we had
nothing to do all day long. Unfortunately, our books were where we
could not get at them, and we were turning about for something to
do, when one man recollected a book he had left in the galley. He
went after it, and it proved to be Woodstock. This was a great
windfall, and as all could not read it at once, I, being the
scholar of the company, was appointed reader. I got a knot of six
or eight about me, and no one could have had a more attentive
audience. Some laughed at the ``scholars,'' and went over the
other side of the forecastle to work and spin their yarns; but I
carried the day, and had the cream of the crew for my hearers.
Many of the reflections, and the political parts, I omitted, but
all the narrative they were delighted with; especially the
descriptions of the Puritans, and the sermons and harangues of the
Round-head soldiers. The gallantry of Charles, Dr. Radcliffe's
plots, the knavery of ``trusty Tompkins,''-- in fact, every part
seemed to chain their attention. Many things which, while I was
reading, I had a misgiving about, thinking them above their
tastes, I was surprised to find them enter into completely.
I read nearly all day, until sundown; when, as soon as supper was
over, as I had nearly finished, they got a light from the galley;
and, by skipping what was less interesting, I carried them through
to the marriage of Everard, and the restoration of Charles the
Second, before eight o'clock.
The next morning, we took the battens from the hatches, and opened
the ship. A few stifled rats were found; and what bugs,
cockroaches, fleas, and other vermin there might have been on
board must have unrove their life-lines before the hatches were
opened. The ship being now ready, we covered the bottom of the
hold over, fore and aft, with dried brush for dunnage, and, having
levelled everything away, we were ready to take in our cargo. All
the hides that had been collected since the California left the
coast (a little more than two years), amounting to about forty
thousand, had been cured, dried, and stowed away in the house,
waiting for our good ship to take them to Boston.
Now began the operation of taking in our cargo, which kept us hard
at work, from the gray of the morning till starlight, for six
weeks, with the exception of Sundays, and of just time to swallow
our meals. To carry the work on quicker, a division of labor was
made. Two men threw the hides down from the piles in the house,
two more picked them up and put them on a long horizontal pole,
raised a few feet from the ground, where they were beaten by two
more with flails, somewhat like those used in threshing wheat.
When beaten, they were taken from this pole by two more, and
placed upon a platform of boards; and ten or a dozen men, with
their trousers rolled up, and hides upon their heads, were
constantly going back and forth from the platform to the boat,
which was kept off where she would just float. The throwing the
hides upon the pole was the most difficult work, and required a
sleight of hand which was only to be got by long practice. As I
was known for a hide-curer, this post was assigned to me, and I
continued at it for six or eight days, tossing, in that time, from
eight to ten thousand hides, until my wrists became so lame that I
gave in, and was transferred to the gang that was employed in
filling the boats, where I remained for the rest of the time. As
we were obliged to carry the hides on our heads from fear of their
getting wet, we each had a piece of sheepskin sewed into the
inside of our hats, with the wool next our heads, and thus were
able to bear the weight, day after day, which might otherwise have
worn off our hair, and borne hard upon our skulls. Upon the whole
ours was the best berth, for though the water was nipping cold,
early in the morning and late at night, and being so continually
wet was rather an exposure, yet we got rid of the constant dust
and dirt from the beating of the hides, and, being all of us young
and hearty, did not mind the exposure. The older men of the crew,
whom it would have been imprudent to keep in the water, remained
on board with the mate, to stow the hides away, as fast as they
were brought off by the boats.
We continued at work in this manner until the lower hold was
filled to within four feet of the beams, when all hands were
called aboard to begin steeving. As this is a peculiar operation,
it will require a minute description.
Before stowing the hides, as I have said, the ballast is levelled
off, just above the keelson, and then loose dunnage is placed upon
it, on which the hides rest. The greatest care is used in stowing,
to make the ship hold as many hides as possible. It is no mean
art, and a man skilled in it is an important character in
California. Many a dispute have I heard raging high between
professed ``beach-combers,'' as to whether the hides should be
stowed ``shingling,'' or ``back-to-back and flipper-to-flipper'';
upon which point there was an entire and bitter division of
sentiment among the savans. We adopted each method at different
periods of the stowing, and parties ran high in the forecastle,
some siding with ``old Bill'' in favor of the former, and others
scouting him and relying upon ``English Bob'' of the Ayacucho, who
had been eight years in California, and was willing to risk his
life and limb for the latter method. At length a compromise was
effected, and a middle course of shifting the ends and backs at
every lay was adopted, which worked well, and which each party
granted was better than that of the other, though inferior to its
own.
Having filled the ship up, in this way, to within four feet of her
beams, the process of steeving began, by which a hundred hides are
got into a place where scarce one could be forced by hand, and
which presses the hides to the utmost, sometimes starting the
beams of the ship,-- resembling in its effects the jack-screws
which are used in stowing cotton. Each morning we went ashore, and
beat and brought off as many hides as we could steeve in a day,
and, after breakfast, went down into the hold, where we remained
at work until night, except a short spell for dinner. The length
of the hold, from stem to stern, was floored off level; and we
began with raising a pile in the after part, hard against the
bulkhead of the run, and filling it up to the beams, crowding in
as many as we could by hand and pushing in with oars, when a large
``book'' was made of from twenty-five to fifty hides, doubled at
the backs, and placed one within another, so as to leave but one
outside hide for the book. An opening was then made between two
hides in the pile, and the back of the outside hide of the book
inserted. Above and below this book were placed smooth strips of
wood, well greased, called ``ways,'' to facilitate the sliding in
of the book. Two long, heavy spars, called steeves, made of the
strongest wood, and sharpened off like a wedge at one end, were
placed with their wedge ends into the inside of the hide which was
the centre of the book, and to the other end of each straps were
fitted, into which large tackles[1] were hooked, composed each of
two huge purchase blocks, one hooked to the strap on the end of
the steeve, and the other into a dog, fastened into one of the
beams, as far aft as it could be got. When this was arranged, and
the ways greased upon which the book was to slide, the falls of
the tackles were stretched forward, and all hands tallied on, and
bowsed away upon them until the book was well entered, when these
tackles were nippered, straps and toggles clapped upon the falls,
and two more luff tackles hooked on, with dogs, in the same
manner; and thus, by luff upon luff, the power was multiplied,
until into a pile in which one hide more could not be crowded by
hand a hundred or a hundred and fifty were often driven by this
complication of purchases. When the last luff was hooked on, all
hands were called to the rope,-- cook, steward, and all,-- and
ranging ourselves at the falls, one behind the other, sitting down
on the hides, with our heads just even with the beams, we set taut
upon the tackles, and striking up a song, and all lying back at
the chorus, we bowsed the tackles home, and drove the large books
chock in out of sight.
The sailors' songs for capstans and falls are of a peculiar kind,
having a chorus at the end of each line. The burden is usually
sung by one alone, and, at the chorus, all hands join in,-- and,
the louder the noise, the better. With us, the chorus seemed
almost to raise the decks of the ship, and might be heard at a
great distance ashore. A song is as necessary to sailors as the
drum and fife to a soldier. They must pull together as soldiers
must step in time, and they can't pull in time, or pull with a
will, without it. Many a time, when a thing goes heavy, with one
fellow yo-ho-ing, a lively song, like ``Heave, to the girls!''
``Nancy O!'' ``Jack Crosstree,'' ``Cheerly, men,'' &c., has put
life and strength into every arm. We found a great difference in
the effect of the various songs in driving in the hides. Two or
three songs would be tried, one after the other, with no effect,--
not an inch could be got upon the tackles; when a new song, struck
up, seemed to hit the humor of the moment, and drove the tackles
``two blocks'' at once. ``Heave round hearty!'' ``Captain gone
ashore!'' ``Dandy ship and a dandy crew,'' and the like, might do
for common pulls, but on an emergency, when we wanted a heavy,
``raise-the-dead pull,'' which should start the beams of the ship,
there was nothing like ``Time for us to go!'' ``Round the
corner,'' ``Tally high ho! you know,'' or ``Hurrah! hurrah! my
hearty bullies!''
This was the most lively part of our work. A little boating and
beach work in the morning; then twenty or thirty men down in a
close hold, where we were obliged to sit down and slide about,
passing hides, and rowsing about the great steeves, tackles, and
dogs, singing out at the falls, and seeing the ship filling up
every day. The work was as hard as it could well be. There was not
a moment's cessation from Monday morning till Saturday night, when
we were generally beaten out, and glad to have a full night's
rest, a wash and shift of clothes, and a quiet Sunday. During all
this time-- which would have startled Dr. Graham-- we lived upon
almost nothing but fresh beef; fried beefsteaks, three times a
day,-- morning, noon, and night. At morning and night we had a
quart of tea to each man, and an allowance of about a pound of
hard bread a day; but our chief article of food was beef. A mess,
consisting of six men, had a large wooden kid piled up with
beefsteaks, cut thick, and fried in fat, with the grease poured
over them. Round this we sat, attacking it with our jack-knives
and teeth, and with the appetite of young lions, and sent back an
empty kid to the galley. This was done three times a day. How many
pounds each man ate in a day I will not attempt to compute. A
whole bullock (we ate liver and all) lasted us but four days. Such
devouring of flesh, I will venture to say, is not often seen. What
one man ate in a day, over a hearty man's allowance, would make an
English peasant's heart leap into his mouth. Indeed, during all
the time we were upon the coast, our principal food was fresh
beef, and every man had perfect health; but this was a time of
especial devouring, and what we should have done without meat I
cannot tell. Once or twice, when our bullocks failed, and we were
obliged to make a meal upon dry bread and water, it seemed like
feeding upon shavings. Light and dry, feeling unsatisfied, and, at
the same time, full, we were glad to see four quarters of a
bullock, just killed, swinging from the fore-top. Whatever
theories may be started by sedentary men, certainly no men could
have gone through more hard work and exposure for sixteen months
in more perfect health, and without ailings and failings, than our
ship's crew, let them have lived upon Hygeia's own baking and
dressing.
Friday, April 15th. Arrived, brig Pilgrim, from the windward. It
was a sad sight for her crew to see us getting ready to go off the
coast, while they, who had been longer on the coast than the
Alert, were condemned to another year's hard service. I spent an
evening on board, and found them making the best of the matter,
and determined to rough it out as they might. But Stimson, after
considerable negotiating and working, had succeeded in persuading
my English friend, Tom Harris,-- my companion in the anchor watch,--
for thirty dollars, some clothes, and an intimation from Captain
Faucon that he should want a second mate before the voyage was
over, to take his place in the brig as soon as she was ready to go
up to windward.
The first opportunity I could get to speak to Captain Faucon, I
asked him to step up to the oven and look at Hope, whom he knew
well, having had him on board his vessel. He went to see him at
once, and said that he was doing pretty well, but there was so
little medicine on board the brig, and she would be so long on the
coast, that he could spare none for him, but that Captain Arthur
would take care of him when he came down in the California, which
would be in a week or more. I had been to see Hope the first night
after we got into San Diego this last time, and had frequently
since spent the early part of a night in the oven. I hardly
expected, when I left him to go to windward, to find him alive
upon my return. He was certainly as low as he could well be when I
left him, and what would be the effect of the medicines that I
gave him I hardly then dared to conjecture. Yet I knew that he
must die without them. I was not a little rejoiced, therefore, and
relieved, upon our return, to see him decidedly better. The
medicines were strong, and took hold and gave a check to the
disorder which was destroying him; and, more than that, they had
begun the work of exterminating it. I shall never forget the
gratitude that he expressed. All the Kanakas attributed his escape
solely to my knowledge, and would not be persuaded that I had not
all the secrets of the physical system open to me and under my
control. My medicines, however, were gone, and no more could be
got from the ship, so that his life was left to hang upon the
arrival of the California.
Sunday, April 24th. We had now been nearly seven weeks in San
Diego, and had taken in the greater part of our cargo, and were
looking out every day for the arrival of the California, which had
our agent on board; when, this afternoon, some Kanakas, who had
been over the hill for rabbits and to fight rattlesnakes, came
running down the path, singing out ``Kail ho!'' with all their
might. Mr. Hatch, our third mate, was ashore, and, asking them
particularly about the size of the sail, &c., and learning that it
was ``Moku-- Nui Moku,'' hailed our ship, and said that the
California was on the other side of the point. Instantly, all
hands were turned up, the bow guns run out and loaded, the ensign
and broad pennant set, the yards squared by lifts and braces, and
everything got ready to make a fair appearance. The instant she
showed her nose round the point we began our salute. She came in
under top-gallant-sails, clewed up and furled her sails in good
order, and came-to within swinging distance of us. It being
Sunday, and nothing to do, all hands were on the forecastle,
criticising the new comer. She was a good, substantial ship, not
quite so long as the Alert, wall-sided and kettle-bottomed, after
the latest fashion of south-shore cotton and sugar wagons; strong,
too, and tight, and a good average sailer, but with no pretensions
to beauty, and nothing in the style of a ``crack ship.'' Upon the
whole, we were perfectly satisfied that the Alert might hold up
her head with a ship twice as smart as she.
At night some of us got a boat and went on board, and found a
large, roomy forecastle (for she was squarer forward than the
Alert), and a crew of a dozen or fifteen men and boys sitting
around on their chests, smoking and talking, and ready to give a
welcome to any of our ship's company. It was just seven months
since they left Boston, which seemed but yesterday to us.
Accordingly, we had much to ask; for though we had seen the
newspapers which she had brought, yet these were the very men who
had been in Boston, and seen everything with their own eyes. One
of the green hands was a Boston boy, from one of the public
schools, and, of course, knew many things which we wished to ask
about, and, on inquiring the names of our two Boston boys, found
that they had been school-mates of his. Our men had hundreds of
questions to ask about Ann Street, the boarding-houses, the ships
in port, the rate of wages, and other matters.
Among her crew were two English man-of-war's-men, so that, of
course, we soon had music. They sang in the true sailor's style,
and the rest of the crew, which was a remarkably musical one,
joined in the choruses. They had many of the latest sailor songs,
which had not yet got about among our merchantmen, and which they
were very choice of. They began soon after we came on board, and
kept it up until after two bells, when the second mate came
forward and called ``the Alerts away!'' Battle-songs,
drinking-songs, boat-songs, love-songs, and everything else, they
seemed to have a complete assortment of, and I was glad to find
that ``All in the Downs,'' ``Poor Tom Bowline,'' ``The Bay of
Biscay,'' ``List, ye Landsmen!'' and other classical songs of the
sea, still held their places. In addition to these, they had
picked up at the theatres and other places a few songs of a little
more genteel cast, which they were very proud of; and I shall
never forget hearing an old salt, who had broken his voice by hard
drinking on shore, and bellowing from the mast-head in a hundred
northwesters, singing-- with all manner of ungovernable trills and
quavers, in the high notes breaking into a rough falsetto, and in
the low ones growling along like the dying away of the boatswain's
``All hands ahoy!'' down the hatchway-- ``O no, we never mention
him.''
``Perhaps, like me, he struggles with
Each feeling of regret;
But if he's loved as I have loved,
He never can forget!''
The last line he roared out at the top of his voice, breaking each
word into half a dozen syllables. This was very popular, and Jack
was called upon every night to give them his ``sentimental song.''
No one called for it more loudly than I, for the complete
absurdity of the execution, and the sailors' perfect satisfaction
in it, were ludicrous beyond measure.
The next day the California began unloading her cargo; and her
boats' crews, in coming and going, sang their boat-songs, keeping
time with their oars. This they did all day long for several days,
until their hides were all discharged, when a gang of them were
sent on board the Alert to help us steeve our hides. This was a
windfall for us, for they had a set of new songs for the capstan
and fall, and ours had got nearly worn out by six weeks' constant
use. I have no doubt that this timely re-enforcement of songs
hastened our work several days.
Our cargo was now nearly all taken in, and my old friend, the
Pilgrim, having completed her discharge, unmoored, to set sail the
next morning on another long trip to windward. I was just thinking
of her hard lot, and congratulating myself upon my escape from
her, when I received a summons into the cabin. I went aft, and
there found, seated round the cabin table, my own captain, Captain
Faucon of the Pilgrim, and Mr. Robinson, the agent. Captain
Thompson turned to me and asked abruptly,--
``Dana, do you want to go home in the ship?''
``Certainly, sir,'' said I; ``I expect to go home in the ship.''
``Then,'' said he, ``you must get some one to go in your place on
board the Pilgrim.''
I was so completely ``taken aback'' by this sudden intimation that
for a moment I could make no reply. I thought it would be hopeless
to attempt to prevail upon any of the ship's crew to take twelve
months more upon California in the brig. I knew, too, that Captain
Thompson had received orders to bring me home in the Alert, and he
had told me, when I was at the hide-house, that I was to go home
in her; and even if this had not been so, it was cruel to give me
no notice of the step they were going to take, until a few hours
before the brig would sail. As soon as I had got my wits about me,
I put on a bold front, and told him plainly that I had a letter in
my chest informing me that he had been written to by the owners in
Boston to bring me home in the ship; and, moreover, that he had
told me that he had such instructions, and that I was to return in
the ship.
To have this told him, and to be opposed in such a manner, was
more than my lord paramount had been used to. He turned fiercely
upon me, and tried to look me down, and face me out of my
statement; but finding that that wouldn't do, and that I was
entering upon my defence in such a way as would show to the other
two that he was in the wrong, he changed his ground, and pointed
to the shipping-papers of the Pilgrim, from which my name had
never been erased, and said that there was my name,-- that I
belonged to her,-- that he had an absolute discretionary power,--
and, in short, that I must be on board the Pilgrim by the next
morning with my chest and hammock, or have some one ready to go in
my place, and that he would not hear another word from me. No
court of star chamber could proceed more summarily with a poor
devil than this trio was about to do with me; condemning me to a
punishment worse than a Botany Bay exile, and to a fate which
might alter the whole current of my future life; for two years
more in California might have made me a sailor for the rest of my
days. I felt all this, and saw the necessity of being determined.
I repeated what I had said, and insisted upon my right to return
in the ship.
``I raised my arm, and tauld my crack,
Before them a'.''
But it would have all availed me nothing had I been ``some poor
body'' before this absolute, domineering tribunal. But they saw
that I would not go, unless ``vi et armis,'' and they knew that I
had friends and interest enough at home to make them suffer for
any injustice they might do me. It was probably this that turned
the scale; for the captain changed his tone entirely, and asked me
if, in case any one went in my place, I would give him the same
sum that Stimson gave Harris to exchange with him. I told them
that if any one was sent on board the brig I should pity him, and
be willing to help him to that, or almost any amount; but would
not speak of it as an exchange.
``Very well,'' said he. ``Go forward about your business, and send
English Ben here to me!''
I went forward with a light heart, but feeling as much anger and
contempt as I could well contain between my teeth. English Ben was
sent aft, and in a few moments came forward, looking as though he
had received his sentence to be hanged. The captain had told him
to get his things ready to go on board the brig next morning; and
that I would give him thirty dollars and a suit of clothes. The
hands had ``knocked off'' for dinner, and were standing about the
forecastle, when Ben came forward and told his story. I could see
plainly that it made a great excitement, and that, unless I
explained the matter to them, the feeling would be turned against
me. Ben was a poor English boy, a stranger in Boston, and without
friends or money; and, being an active, willing lad, and a good
sailor for his years, was a general favorite. ``O yes!'' said the
crew; ``the captain has let you off because you are a gentleman's
son, and taken Ben because he is poor, and has got nobody to say a
word for him.'' I knew that this was too true to be answered, but
I excused myself from any blame, and told them that I had a right
to go home, at all events. This pacified them a little, but Jack
had got a notion that a poor lad was to be imposed upon, and did
not distinguish very clearly; and though I knew that I was in no
fault, and, in fact, had barely escaped the grossest injustice,
yet I felt that my berth was getting to be a disagreeable one. The
notion that I was not ``one of them,'' which, by a participation
in all their labor and hardships, and having no favor shown me,
and never asserting myself among them, had been laid asleep, was
beginning to revive. But far stronger than any feeling for myself
was the pity I felt for the poor lad. He had depended upon going
home in the ship; and from Boston was going immediately to
Liverpool, to see his friends. Besides this, having begun the
voyage with very few clothes, he had taken up the greater part of
his wages in the slop-chest, and it was every day a losing concern
to him; and, like all the rest of the crew, he had a hearty hatred
of California, and the prospect of eighteen months or two years
more of hide droghing seemed completely to break down his spirit.
I had determined not to go myself, happen what would, and I knew
that the captain would not dare to attempt to force me. I knew,
too, that the two captains had agreed together to get some one,
and that unless I could prevail upon somebody to go voluntarily,
there would be no help for Ben. From this consideration, though I
had said that I would have nothing to do with an exchange, I did
my best to get some one to go voluntarily. I offered to give an
order upon the owners in Boston for six months' wages, and also
all the clothes, books, and other matters which I should not want
upon the voyage home. When this offer was published in the ship,
and the case of poor Ben set forth in strong colors, several, who
would not dream of going themselves, were busy in talking it up to
others, who, they thought, might be tempted to accept it; and, at
length, a Boston boy, a harum-scarum lad, a great favorite, Harry
May, whom we called Harry Bluff, and who did not care what country
or ship he was in, if he had clothes enough and money enough,--
partly from pity for Ben, and partly from the thought he should
have ``cruising money'' for the rest of his stay,-- came forward,
and offered to go and ``sling his hammock in the bloody hooker.''
Lest his purpose should cool, I signed an order for the sum upon
the owners in Boston, gave him all the clothes I could spare, and
sent him aft to the captain, to let him know what had been done.
The skipper accepted the exchange, and was, doubtless, glad to
have it pass off so easily. At the same time he cashed the order,
which was indorsed to him,[2] and the next morning the lad went
aboard the brig, apparently in good spirits, having shaken hands
with each of us and wished us a pleasant passage home, jingling
the money in his pockets, and calling out ``Never say die, while
there's a shot in the locker.'' The same boat carried off Harris,
my old watchmate, who had previously made an exchange with my
friend Stimson.
I was sorry to part with Harris. Nearly two hundred hours (as we
had calculated it) had we walked the ship's deck together, at
anchor watch, when all hands were below, and talked over and over
every subject which came within the ken of either of us. He gave
me a strong gripe with his hand; and I told him, if he came to
Boston, not to fail to find me out, and let me see my old
watchmate. The same boat brought on board Stimson, who had begun
the voyage with me from Boston, and, like me, was going back to
his family and to the society in which he had been born and
brought up. We congratulated each other upon finding what we had
long talked over and wished for thus brought about; and none on
board the ship were more glad than ourselves to see the old brig
standing round the point, under full sail. As she passed abreast
of us, we all collected in the waist, and gave her three loud,
hearty cheers, waving our hats in the air. Her crew sprang into
the rigging and chains, and answered us with three as loud, to
which we, after the nautical custom, gave one in return. I took my
last look of their familiar faces as they passed over the rail,
and saw the old black cook put his head out of the galley, and
wave his cap over his head. Her crew flew aloft to loose the
top-gallant-sails and royals; the two captains waved their hands
to each other; and, in ten minutes, we saw the last inch of her
white canvas, as she rounded the point.
Relieved as I was to see her well off (and I felt like one who had
just sprung from an iron trap which was closing upon him), I had
yet a feeling of regret at taking the last look at the old craft
in which I had spent a year, and the first year, of my sailor's
life, which had been my first home in the new world into which I
had entered, and with which I had associated so many events,-- my
first leaving home, my first crossing the equator, Cape Horn, Juan
Fernandez, death at sea, and other things, serious and common.
Yet, with all this, and the sentiment I had for my old shipmates
condemned to another term of California life, the thought that we
were done with it, and that one week more would see us on our way
to Boston, was a cure for everything.
Friday, May 6th, completed the getting in of our cargo, and was a
memorable day in our calendar. The time when we were to take in
our last hide we had looked forward to, for sixteen months, as the
first bright spot. When the last hide was stowed away, the hatches
calked down, the tarpaulins battened on to them, the long-boat
hoisted in and secured, and the decks swept down for the night,--
the chief mate sprang upon the top of the long-boat, called all
hands into the waist, and, giving us a signal by swinging his cap
over his head, we gave three long, loud cheers, which came from
the bottom of our hearts, and made the hills and valleys ring
again. In a moment we heard three in answer from the California's
crew, who had seen us taking in our long-boat; ``the cry they
heard,-- its meaning knew.''
The last week we had been occupied in taking in a supply of wood
and water for the passage home, and in bringing on board the spare
spars, sails, &c. I was sent off with a party of Indians to fill
the water-casks, at a spring about three miles from the shipping
and near the town, and was absent three days, living at the town,
and spending the daytime in filling the casks and transporting
them on ox-carts to the landing-place, whence they were taken on
board by the crew with boats. This being all done with, we gave
one day to bending our sails, and at night every sail, from the
courses to the skysails, was bent, and every studding-sail ready
for setting.
Before our sailing an unsuccessful attempt was made by one of the
crew of the California to effect an exchange with one of our
number. It was a lad, between fifteen and sixteen years of age,
who went by the name of the ``reefer,'' having been a midshipman
in an East India Company's ship. His singular character and story
had excited our interest ever since the ship came into the port.
He was a delicate, slender little fellow, with a beautiful pearly
complexion, regular features; forehead as white as marble, black
hair curling beautifully round it; tapering, delicate fingers;
small feet, soft voice, gentle manners, and, in fact, every sign
of having been well born and bred. At the same time there was
something in his expression which showed a slight deficiency of
intellect. How great the deficiency was, or what it resulted from;
whether he was born so; whether it was the result of disease or
accident; or whether, as some said, it was brought on by his
distress of mind during the voyage,-- I cannot say. From his
account of himself, and from many circumstances which were known
in connection with his story, he must have been the son of a man
of wealth. His mother was an Italian. He was probably a natural
son, for in scarcely any other way could the incidents of his
early life be accounted for. He said that his parents did not live
together, and he seemed to have been ill treated by his father.
Though he had been delicately brought up, and indulged in every
way (and he had then with him trinkets which had been given him at
home), yet his education had been sadly neglected; and when only
twelve years old, he was sent as midshipman in the Company's
service. His own story was, that he afterwards ran away from home,
upon a difficulty which he had with his father, and went to
Liverpool, whence he sailed in the ship Rialto, Captain Holmes,
for Boston. Captain Holmes endeavored to get him a passage back,
but, there being no vessel to sail for some time, the boy left
him, and went to board at a common sailor's boarding-house in Ann
Street, where he supported himself for a few weeks by selling some
of his valuables. At length, according to his own account, being
desirous of returning home, he went to a shipping-office, where
the shipping articles of the California were open. Upon asking
where the ship was going, he was told by the shipping-master that
she was bound to California. Not knowing where that was, he told
him that he wanted to go to Europe, and asked if California was in
Europe. The shipping-master answered him in a way which the boy
did not understand, and advised him to ship. The boy signed the
articles, received his advance, laid out a little of it in
clothes, and spent the rest, and was ready to go on board, when,
upon the morning of sailing, he heard that the ship was bound upon
the Northwest Coast, on a two or three years' voyage, and was not
going to Europe. Frightened at this prospect, he slipped away when
the crew were going aboard, wandered up into another part of the
town, and spent all the forenoon in straying about the Common, and
the neighboring streets. Having no money, and all his clothes and
other things being in his chest on board, and being a stranger, he
became tired and hungry, and ventured down toward the shipping, to
see if the vessel had sailed. He was just turning the corner of a
street, when the shipping-master, who had been in search of him,
popped upon him, seized him, and carried him on board. He cried
and struggled, and said he did not wish to go in the ship; but the
topsails were at the mast-head, the fasts just ready to be cast
off, and everything in the hurry and confusion of departure, so
that he was hardly noticed; and the few who did inquire about the
matter were told that it was merely a boy who had spent his
advance and tried to run away. Had the owners of the vessel known
anything of the matter, they would doubtless have interfered; but
they either knew nothing of it, or heard, like the rest, that it
was only an unruly boy who was sick of his bargain. As soon as the
boy found himself actually at sea, and upon a voyage of two or
three years in length, his spirits failed him; he refused to work,
and became so miserable that Captain Arthur took him into the
cabin, where he assisted the steward, and occasionally pulled and
hauled about decks. He was in this capacity when we saw him; and
though it was much better for him than the life in a forecastle,
and the hard work, watching, and exposure, which his delicate
frame could not have borne, yet, to be joined with a black fellow
in waiting upon a man whom he probably looked upon as but little,
in point of education and manners, above one of his father's
servants, was almost too much for his spirit to bear. Had he
entered upon this situation of his own free will, he could have
endured it; but to have been deceived, and, in addition to that,
forced into it, was intolerable. He made every effort to go home
in our ship, but his captain refused to part with him except in
the way of exchange, and that he could not effect. If this account
of the whole matter, which we had from the boy, and which was
confirmed by the crew, be correct, I cannot understand why Captain
Arthur should have refused to let him go, especially as he had the
name, not only with that crew, but with all he had ever commanded,
of an unusually kind-hearted man. The truth is, the unlimited
power which merchant captains have upon long voyages on strange
coasts takes away the sense of responsibility, and too often, even
in men otherwise well disposed, gives growth to a disregard for
the rights and feelings of others. The lad was sent on shore to
join the gang at the hide-house, from whence, I was afterwards
rejoiced to hear, he effected his escape, and went down to Callao
in a small Spanish schooner; and from Callao he probably returned
to England.
Soon after the arrival of the California, I spoke to Captain
Arthur about Hope, the Kanaka; and as he had known him on the
voyage before, and liked him, he immediately went to see him, gave
him proper medicines, and, under such care, he began rapidly to
recover. The Saturday night before our sailing I spent an hour in
the oven, and took leave of my Kanaka friends; and, really, this
was the only thing connected with leaving California which was in
any way unpleasant. I felt an interest and affection for many of
these simple, true-hearted men, such as I never felt before but
for a near relation. Hope shook me by the hand; said he should
soon be well again, and ready to work for me when I came upon the
coast, next voyage, as officer of the ship; and told me not to
forget, when I became captain, how to be kind to the sick. Old
``Mr. Bingham'' and ``King Mannini'' went down to the boat with
me, shook me heartily by the hand, wished us a good voyage, and
went back to the oven, chanting one of their deep, monotonous,
improvised songs, the burden of which I gathered to be about us
and our voyage.
Sunday, May 8th, 1836. This promised to be our last day in
California. Our forty thousand hides and thirty thousand horns,
besides several barrels of otter and beaver skins, were all stowed
below, and the hatches calked down.[3] All our spare spars were
taken on board and lashed, our water-casks secured, and our live
stock, consisting of four bullocks, a dozen sheep, a dozen or more
pigs, and three or four dozens of poultry, were all stowed away in
their different quarters; the bullocks in the long-boat, the sheep
in a pen on the fore hatch, the pigs in a sty under the bows of
the long-boat, and the poultry in their proper coop, and the
jolly-boat was full of hay for the sheep and bullocks. Our
unusually large cargo, together with the stores for a five months'
voyage, brought the ship channels down into the water. In addition
to this, she had been steeved so thoroughly, and was so bound by
the compression of her cargo, forced into her by machinery so
powerful, that she was like a man in a strait-jacket, and would be
but a dull sailer until she had worked herself loose.
The California had finished discharging her cargo, and was to get
under way at the same time with us. Having washed down decks and
got breakfast, the two vessels lay side by side, in complete
readiness for sea, our ensigns hanging from the peaks, and our
tall spars reflected from the glassy surface of the river, which,
since sunrise, had been unbroken by a ripple. At length a few
whiffs came across the water, and, by eleven o'clock the regular
northwest wind set steadily in. There was no need of calling all
hands, for we had all been hanging about the forecastle the whole
forenoon, and were ready for a start upon the first sign of a
breeze. Often we turned our eyes aft upon the captain, who was
walking the deck, with every now and then a look to windward. He
made a sign to the mate, who came forward, took his station
deliberately between the knight-heads, cast a glance aloft, and
called out ``All hands, lay aloft and loose the sails!'' We were
half in the rigging before the order came, and never since we left
Boston were the gaskets off the yards, and the rigging overhauled,
in a shorter time. ``All ready forward, sir!''-- ``All ready the
main!''-- ``Cross-jack yards all ready, sir!''-- ``Lay down, all
hands but one on each yard!'' The yard-arm and bunt gaskets were
cast off; and each sail hung by the jigger, with one man standing
by the tie to let it go. At the same moment that we sprang aloft,
a dozen hands sprang into the rigging of the California, and in an
instant were all over her yards; and her sails, too, were ready to
be dropped at the word. In the mean time our bow gun had been
loaded and run out, and its discharge was to be the signal for
dropping the sails. A cloud of smoke came out of our bows; the
echoes of the gun rattled our farewell among the hills of
California, and the two ships were covered, from head to foot,
with their white canvas. For a few minutes all was uproar and
apparent confusion; men jumping about like monkeys in the rigging;
ropes and blocks flying, orders given and answered amid the
confused noises of men singing out at the ropes. The topsails came
to the mast-heads with ``Cheerly, men!'' and, in a few minutes,
every sail was set, for the wind was light. The head sails were
backed, the windlass came round ``slip-- slap'' to the cry of the
sailors;-- ``Hove short, sir,'' said the mate;-- ``Up with him!''--
``Aye, aye, sir.'' A few hearty and long heaves, and the anchor
showed its head. ``Hook cat!'' The fall was stretched along the
decks; all hands laid hold;-- ``Hurrah, for the last time,'' said
the mate; and the anchor came to the cat-head to the tune of
``Time for us to go,'' with a rollicking chorus. Everything was
done quick, as though it was for the last time. The head yards
were filled away, and our ship began to move through the water on
her homeward-bound course.
The California had got under way at the same moment, and we sailed
down the narrow bay abreast, and were just off the mouth, and,
gradually drawing ahead of her, were on the point of giving her
three parting cheers, when suddenly we found ourselves stopped
short, and the California ranging fast ahead of us. A bar
stretches across the mouth of the harbor, with water enough to
float common vessels, but, being low in the water, and having kept
well to leeward, as we were bound to the southward, we had stuck
fast, while the California, being light, had floated over.
We kept all sail on, in the hope of forcing over, but, failing in
this, we hove aback, and lay waiting for the tide, which was on
the flood, to take us back into the channel. This was something of
a damper to us, and the captain looked not a little mortified and
vexed. ``This is the same place where the Rosa got ashore, sir,''
observed our red-headed second mate, most malàpropos. A
malediction on the Rosa, and him too, was all the answer he got,
and he slunk off to leeward. In a few minutes the force of the
wind and the rising of the tide backed us into the stream, and we
were on our way to our old anchoring-place, the tide setting
swiftly up, and the ship barely manageable in the light breeze. We
came-to in our old berth opposite the hide-house, whose inmates
were not a little surprised to see us return. We felt as though we
were tied to California; and some of the crew swore that they
never should get clear of the bloody[4] coast.
In about half an hour, which was near high water, the order was
given to man the windlass, and again the anchor was catted; but
there was no song, and not a word was said about the last time.
The California had come back on finding that we had returned, and
was hove-to, waiting for us, off the point. This time we passed
the bar safely, and were soon up with the California, who filled
away, and kept us company. She seemed desirous of a trial of
speed, and our captain accepted the challenge, although we were
loaded down to the bolts of our chain-plates, as deep as a
sand-barge, and bound so taut with our cargo that we were no more
fit for a race than a man in fetters; while our antagonist was in
her best trim. Being clear of the point, the breeze became stiff,
and the royal-masts bent under our sails, but we would not take
them in until we saw three boys spring aloft into the rigging of
the California; when they were all furled at once, but with orders
to our boys to stay aloft at the top-gallant mast-heads and loose
them again at the word. It was my duty to furl the fore royal;
and, while standing by to loose it again, I had a fine view of the
scene. From where I stood, the two vessels seemed nothing but
spars and sails, while their narrow decks, far below, slanting
over by the force of the wind aloft, appeared hardly capable of
supporting the great fabrics raised upon them. The California was
to windward of us, and had every advantage; yet, while the breeze
was stiff, we held our own. As soon as it began to slacken, she
ranged a little ahead, and the order was given to loose the
royals. In an instant the gaskets were off and the bunt dropped.
``Sheet home the fore royal!-- Weather sheet's home!''-- ``Lee
sheet's home!''-- ``Hoist away, sir!'' is bawled from aloft.
``Overhaul your clew-lines!'' shouts the mate. ``Aye, aye, sir!
all clear!''-- ``Taut leech! belay! Well the lee brace; haul taut
to windward,''-- and the royals are set. These brought us up
again; but, the wind continuing light, the California set hers,
and it was soon evident that she was walking away from us. Our
captain then hailed, and said that he should keep off to his
course; adding, ``She isn't the Alert now. If I had her in your
trim she would have been out of sight by this time.'' This was
good-naturedly answered from the California, and she braced sharp
up, and stood close upon the wind up the coast; while we squared
away our yards, and stood before the wind to the south-southwest.
The California's crew manned her weather rigging, waved their hats
in the air, and gave us three hearty cheers, which we answered as
heartily, and the customary single cheer came back to us from over
the water. She stood on her way, doomed to eighteen months' or two
years' hard service upon that hated coast, while we were making
our way to our home, to which every hour and every mile was
bringing us nearer.
As soon as we parted company with the California, all hands were
sent aloft to set the studding-sails. Booms were rigged out, tacks
and halyards rove, sail after sail packed upon her, until every
available inch of canvas was spread, that we might not lose a
breath of the fair wind. We could now see how much she was cramped
and deadened by her cargo; for with a good breeze on her quarter,
and every stitch of canvas spread, we could not get more than six
knots out of her. She had no more life in her than if she were
water-logged. The log was hove several times; but she was doing
her best. We had hardly patience with her, but the older sailors
said, ``Stand by! you'll see her work herself loose in a week or
two, and then she'll walk up to Cape Horn like a race-horse.''
When all sail had been set, and the decks cleared up, the
California was a speck in the horizon, and the coast lay like a
low cloud along the northeast. At sunset they were both out of
sight, and we were once more upon the ocean, where sky and water
meet.
[1] This word, when used to signify a pulley or purchase formed by
blocks and a rope, is always by seamen pronounced ta-kl.
[2] When our crew were paid off in Boston, the owners answered the
orders of Stimson and me, but refused to deduct the amount from the
pay-roll, saying that the exchanges were made under compulsion.
[3] We had also a small quantity of gold dust, which Mexicans or
Indians had brought down to us from the interior. It was not
uncommon for our ships to bring a little, as I have since learned
from the owners. I heard rumors of gold discoveries, but they
attracted little or no attention, and were not followed up.
[4] This is a common expletive among sailors, and suits any purpose.