HONOLULU TO SAN PEDRO
The two weeks spent ashore during _Lurline's_ return visit to Honolulu
were a welcome respite from the four months of unbroken life on
shipboard that had preceded them. The absence of the passengers
was taken advantage of to give the yacht a thorough overhauling in
preparation for the long, hard beat back to San Pedro, especial care
being taken in the renewal of the running rigging. Moreover, as we were
scheduled for a short stop at Hilo and confidently expected to run down
with a fair wind and arrive there all ready to receive calls, unusual
attention was given to brasswork and hardwood. Thus our plans; how
they worked out will appear presently.
On the evening of August 4th the Royal Hawaiian Yacht Club gave a
banquet for the _Lurline_ party, among other amenities of the occasion
being the election of the Commodore to an honorary life membership in
that organization. In his speech of acceptance the Commodore dwelt at
some length on the ideal sailing conditions existent in the Trades
latitudes of both North and South Pacific, and suggested as a means of
bringing those waters more closely to the attention of coast yachtsmen,
the inauguration of an annual race, in one direction or other, between
Honolulu and a California port. The idea was not entirely a new one
to Hawaiian yachtsmen, but the Commodore's assurance of the hearty
co-operation of the South Coast Yacht Club of San Pedro gave the
movement an impetus which resulted in the establishment of the
Trans-Pacific Yacht Race as a regular biennial fixture. Too much credit
cannot be given to the people of Hawaii, both in and out of yachting
circles, for the enthusiastic sportsmanship which has made this, the
only regular deep-sea yacht race that is sailed in any part of the world,
an accomplished fact.
At this banquet, also, were arranged the details for a match race
between two old rivals, Tom Hobron's sloop, _Gladys_, and Clarence
McFarlane's schooner, _La Paloma_. It was decided that the yachts
should run down to Lahina, on the island of Maui, remain there for a
day or two and then race back to Honolulu. As the date of the start,
August 10th, about coincided with that on which we were planning
to sail for Hilo, and as Lahina was but little off our course, the
opportunity of following the race seemed too good to neglect.
Accordingly a party of our friends was asked to accompany us, and
preparations made to start the ball rolling with a musical send-off
in Honolulu and stop it, at the disembarkation of our guests in
Lahina, with fireworks. On the arrival of the racers at Lahina--of
course _Lurline_ would arrive first--our friends were to go ashore
and await the steamer, while we proceeded on to Hilo. Never was
a schedule more carefully elaborated--even the gastronomical
preferences of each individual guest were consulted--and never did
a party of pleasure-seekers board a yacht with such firm
intentions--expressed and implied--of enjoying, unmixedly and
uninterruptedly, a really good time.
The water-front was gay with flags and black with people when, early
in the afternoon of the 10th, we hove up anchor and filled away for
the passage, following in the wakes of _Gladys_ and _La Paloma_. It
was "_Aloha, Aloha Nui_," from every pier and dock and bulkhead,
that we passed as we stood down the bay, and "_Aloha, Aloha_," from
every tug and schooner. At the landing of the boat club, at the inner
end of the passage, was a big crowd of friends with the band, and
from there the "_Alohas_" again burst forth as we sailed smartly by,
running at an easy five or six-knot gait before a light but steady
breeze.
As the yacht entered the passage and made her first curtesy to the
ocean swell, the band struck up _Aloha-oe_, and the crowd, falling
silent for the moment, vented its feelings in a flood of waving
handkerchiefs. Simultaneously, a similar muslin broadside flashed
forth in reply from the port side of the speeding yacht, and then,
with friends looking in the eyes of friends and the whole affair--even
to the music--going off as smoothly and dramatically as Lohengrin's
Farewell in an end-of-the-season performance, the lashing of the
fishing-tackle block on the forestay parted and let the anchor and
thirty-five fathoms of chain slide back into the sea.
An atmosphere histrionic gave way to one profanely sulphurous, for
in addition to spoiling the dramatic effect of our departure, the
contretemps left the yacht in a really awkward position. The wheel
was thrown hard down and mainsail and foresail sheets let go with all
possible dispatch, but not in time to prevent her from rollicking on to
the limit of her cable and bringing up short like a colt at the end of
its tether. Then she swung round, head to the wind, and began
tugging at her anchor as a colt tugs at its halter in trying to slip it
over its ears. While the sailors wound away on the winch in the thin,
blue smoke that still hovered forward--the mate had lost a good deal
of cuticle from the inside of his hand in trying to check the run of the
cable--our amiable guests brought up sofa pillows on the quarter deck
and, making megaphones of their hands, held long and animated
conversations with their friends on the landing of the boat club.
Getting under way in the narrow passage was by no means a simple
operation, but, thanks largely to a favourable set of current, it was
accomplished without accident. _Gladys_ and _La Paloma_ were
something more than hull down to the south by the time _Lurline_ was
clear of the reef, but with a fair wind, which was increasing steadily as
we worked from under the lee of the land, it was hoped to overcome
their lead in time to give our guests a good view of the race. _Lurline_
gained rapidly while daylight lasted, and by the time the banners of
a brilliant sunset fluttered low in the west and Tantalus disappeared
behind the dusky pall of the coming night we seemed in a fair way to
accomplish our purpose.
Never was there such a night; never so jolly a yachting party. The
slow-heaving sea, bathed in a flood of moonlight, was a-dazzle in
dimples of liquid, lucent gold; the sky was a star-set vault of purple,
and the breeze, milk-warm and redolent of the smell of some distant,
flower-clothed valley, a caress from heaven. The temper of the party
matched the night.
Dinner was a huge success. There were a few negligible incidentals
of the soup, fish, roast and salad order, preliminary to a huge feast of
preserves made of every known variety of Hawaiian fruit from mangoes
to mummy-apples, sugared down in jars at all known stages of ripeness
and unripeness. These, with countless boxes of candy and fresh fruit,
were the contributions of our guests and their friends. And how we did
eat, and drink each other's healths, and with what acclamation agree that,
never since the voyage of the Argonauts, had cruise been so auspiciously
begun. Banjos and _ukuleles_ were a-twang and a-tinkle on the after
deck, accordions and a bugle wailed and brayed from the forecastle, and
through it all ran a fog-horn obligato played by a festive Hawaiian miss
who had unearthed that instrument of torture from the lazarette.
About ten o'clock the wind died down and the yacht, deprived of its
steadying influence, fell more and more under the disturbing sway of
the swinging swells from the channel. Before long a decided current
became apparent, running with the seas and setting us rapidly toward
the rocks of Makapu-u Point. At midnight Diamond Head Light, which is
arranged so as to change colour to the ship passing shoreward of the
danger line, showed ominously in a solid beam of warning red. And still
the yacht continued to drift, with the land looming higher and the
threatening roar of the surf on the reef growing louder every minute.
From rolling but gently when she first dropped the wind, the
yacht, in the wrench of the steeper seas nearer shore, was shortly
executing a _pas seul_ of singular intricacy and animation; so that
our guests--frankly, openly and unfeignedly seasick, every one of
them--from a half hour of fear that they were going to be cast
on the reef and drowned, relapsed into an indefinite period in which
they were afraid that perhaps nothing of so felicitous a nature was
going to befall after all. Bundling the sufferers below as gently as the
exigency permitted, the boats were cleared and swung out ready for
launching. Towing off, in the face of swells and current so persistent,
held scant promise of success, but we were about to try it as a last
expedient when the sails began filling with vagrant puffs from an
awakening Trade-wind, and we slacked off sheets and got away
without putting it to the test.
The rest of the night we spent in crabbing across the lumpy channel,
to come out in the grey dawn upon a windless patch of swell and
current-churned water in the lee of Molokai which, of all the
fiend-infested corners of the Seven Seas, is the spot most accursed.
Steep, viciously-heaving humps of water, wallowing without rhythm or
reason, wrangled angrily to see which could pitch or roll the yacht
farthest in its own particular direction. She was like a kitten thrown
to a pack of hungry hounds. They pulled her, hauled her, rolled her,
dragged her, tossed her on high and trampled her underfoot. Not all
the other rough-and-rowdy intervals of the whole cruise crowded into
a single day could have compared with it for the sheer discomfort
it imposed. All but two of the sailors, and the cook as well, were
violently seasick. Only a couple of us of the regular guard of
_Lurline_ were holding up our heads, and the guests were a unit of
prostrate despair. Not a bed or a bunk on the yacht was tenantable in
the fearful rollings; no bed or bunk less than a covered box could have
been. Everything not screwed or lashed into place--and even many
objects which had been thus secured--sought the lowest level, and a
survey of the cabin, looking forward from the foot of the companionway,
suggested something between a tableau of the aftermath of Belshazzar's
Feast and the Kishneff massacres staged in a secondhand store. Banjos,
ukuleles, fog-horn, no longer thrilling to the touch of the revellers,
complained intermittently with muffled chords of protest as they rolled
drunkenly to port and starboard with the lurches of the yacht. And as for
the revellers themselves--but the Hand of Charity throws the Helm of
Description hard-a-lee and sends me off before the Wind of Pity on
another tack.
We have since estimated that this slap-banging ten hours of "devil and
the deep sea" in the lee of Molokai did more damage to the yacht's
rigging than all of the four months of cruising south of the Line.
Most of this became apparent in subsequent overhaulings; at the time
the principal trouble arose through the repeated carrying away of the
boom-tackle. This happened four times: once through the splitting of
the block, a flying fragment of which narrowly missed decapitating
the man at the wheel; once through the tearing loose of the cleat on
the boom; twice through the breaking of the wire lashing on the boom.
How the yacht escaped being racked to pieces in the crazy tug-of-war
between the keel, on the one side, trying to hold her to the normal,
and on the other the waves, savagely bent on throwing her on her beam's
ends or standing her on bowsprit or rudder, has always remained a
mystery to us.
At four in the afternoon a light breeze sprang up from the south. We
were still somewhat nearer to Honolulu than Lahina, which, with the
fact that the wind was fair to the former port and dead ahead to the
latter, quickly decided us as to what our course would be. Under
all-plain lower sail we made the thirty-two miles to Diamond Head in
three hours and a half, only to fail--probably on account of the hour--in
our endeavour to attract a pilot. Finally we were forced to lower a boat,
which, with some difficulty, got through the reef at Waikiki and landed
a man to telephone for a tug. The _Waterwitch_ came out in due time
and towed the yacht to her old anchorage in Rotten Row. Our guests, as
fast as they revived, went eagerly ashore. _Gladys_ and _La Paloma_, as
we subsequently learned, after nearly going on the rocks of Rabbit
Island the same night that _Lurline_ was threatened with similar disaster
on Makapu-u Point, continued the race to Lahina, _Gladys_, as usual,
winning.
On the forenoon of the 13th, after a day spent in effecting such
renewals and repairs as were absolutely necessary, we again set sail
for the island of Hawaii. We left with the intention of proceeding to
Kawahaie, on the leeward side of the island, to pick up our friend,
Eben Low, who had a ranch in that district, and carry him on to Hilo.
A glance at the chart, however, revealed the fact that the course to
this point would expose us to possible calms in the lees of Molokai and
Maui, and the idea was promptly given up. So we sailed the windward
course, and even by that met weather which dragged out to over three
days a run which we had hoped to make in a little more than one. At
four o'clock in the afternoon of the 16th we were off Hilo harbour, but
unable to enter for lack of wind. An anchorage was finally reached at
the end of a tow-line kindly passed us by the freighter, _Charles
Councelman_.
We remained in Hilo five days, renewing old acquaintances and
allowing the crew opportunity still further to repair the ravages of that
night of accursed memory in the lee of Molokai. The bay, with its mile
or more of exposure to the north-east--the quarter of the prevailing
wind--was as uncomfortable as ever to lie in, the yacht, without sails
to steady her, rolling and pitching much of the time more violently
than in the open sea. Fortunately there was no heavy weather of the
kind that throws up a line of surf across the river entrance and makes
it impossible to land in boats for days at a time. Hilo harbour is
badly in need of extensive protective works.
Shortly before noon of the 21st of August, _Lurline_ left anchorage in
Hilo homeward bound for San Pedro. Close-hauled on the starboard
tack to a light northeast wind, we stood out of the harbour, dipping to
several steamers and sailing vessels whose crews lined up to give us
good-bye cheers as we passed. Outside the wind was coming in weighty
gusts, and a rumpled, squally-looking northeast seemed to give the
lie to a barometer that was soaring optimistically around 30.05. The
instrument had its way, however, for the squalls worked off inland in a
couple of hours, leaving us with a steady E.N.E. wind and a brilliant
fair-weather sky full of cottony Trade-clouds. At three o'clock, when
we took departure with Alia Point bearing S.W. 3/4 W., distant six
miles, a course of N.N.E. was set, to be held with scarcely a quarter
of a point's deviation for four days.
On the 23rd two steamers were sighted heading S.S. W., probably for
Honolulu. These were the first ships seen in the open sea since the
sails of a bark, hull down on the horizon, were sighted a few days
after leaving San Pedro, seven months previously. These three confused
blurs against the skyline, all of them too distant to signal, were
the nearest approach to company that _Lurline_ knew during the entire
cruise. Probably no other circumstance could so strikingly illustrate
the utter loneliness of the mid-Pacific. Anywhere south of Hawaii,
off the tracks of the two Australian-American steamship lines, the
crew of a disabled ship might float for ten years--or ten times ten
years--without smoke or sail breaking the smooth line of the horizon.
Early in the morning of the 25th the watch reported a lunar rainbow,
and all hands, fore and aft, tumbled out on deck to view the unusual
phenomenon. The full moon was shining brightly from a clear sky to the
southwest, having sunk to about thirty degrees from the horizon. Up to
the northeast a fluffy bank of dove-grey clouds were heaped half-way
to the zenith, and against this, an unbroken arch of mother-of-pearl,
the rainbow stood clearly forth. From red to violet, all the colours of
the spectrum were there just as in a solar rainbow, yet shining with a
light elusive and unearthly where the spectral hands that fashioned it
had woven a warp of moonshine into the woof of the blended iridesence.
Twice it faded and reappeared before dissolving for the last time in
the first flush of a sparkling daisy and daffodil sunrise.
For some days after leaving Hilo the wind held steadily from the
northeast, forcing us several points to the north of a direct course to
San Pedro. Crowded close on the wind all the time, the yacht made slow
headway, averaging but little better than 120 miles a day. On the 26th,
however, the wind veered to southeast, and on the three days that it
remained in that quarter runs of 143, 188 and 176 miles, respectively,
were registered. This was followed by a spell of calm, and that by a
succession of days of varying, uncertain weather and head-winds, which
held all the way to San Pedro. Most of this latter period the wind was
moderate and the sea light, as is evidenced by the fact that both fore
and main gafftopsails were carried, day and night, from the afternoon
of August 24th to the morning of September 4th, ten and a half days.
In the evening of September 3rd, at about Lat. 34° north, Long. 133°
west, we encountered our first fog, and from that time on were
hampered more or less by thick weather all the way to port, which we
reached a week later. The brilliant tropical days of sunshine and squalls
succeeded to dull temperate days of much cloudiness and little wind
and rain. Some days the fog was high and troublesome only in making
observations impossible; on others it settled down close to the sea
in banks so dense that the main truck was not visible from the deck.
On these latter occasions, though it was not likely that there was
another ship within 500 miles, prudence had the call and our little
hand-cranked fog-horn--the same that had figured in the revels of our
guests the night that the yacht nearly went on the rocks of Oahu--was
kept incessantly at work.
Between fogs and light and baffling winds, our progress for the latter
half of this traverse was slower than for any other similar period of the
voyage. On but three of the last nine days did the yacht log over 100
miles, these being the 4th of September, 153 miles, and the 8th, 150
miles. The runs for the other five days were twenty-six, forty-six,
forty-seven, eighty-seven, and sixty-seven miles, respectively. The
winds, for the most part, were northeasterly, but the comparatively
good run of the 8th was made with a very light but steady breeze from
the west.
Several land birds came aboard on the morning of the 10th, and not long
afterward the brown slopes of Santa Rosa Island took shape through the
lifting fog. The heavens were overcast all day, but for a brief space
in the afternoon a long strip of cloud ran back across the east like a
sliding door, and through the rift we had a brief glimpse of the rugged
Sierra Madres, a hundred miles distant, standing sharp and distinct in
a flood of sunshine against a vivid background of California sky.
Doing the best we could with puffs of wind that came by turn from all
points of the compass, we crept along at three or four miles an hour
until midnight. Then it fell dead calm, and during the next eight hours
the log recorded but a single mile. This was broken by a light westerly
breeze and before it, wing-and-wing, we went groping in through the
fog, watching for a land-fall that would give us our position. This
appeared at noon, when the familiar cliffs of Point Vicente began
showing in dark brown patches through the thinning mist off the port
bow, distant about five miles. Three hours later the Commodore was able
to close the log of _Lurline_ with the following entry:
_September 11th, three P. M.--"Anchored near our old mooring
in San Pedro outer harbour, having been away seven months and
seven days, travelling 13,500 miles without accident or serious
trouble."_
THE END
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Inconsistencies in the author's use of hyphens have been left
unchanged, as in the original text. Obvious printer errors have been
corrected without comment. Otherwise, the author's original spelling,
punctuation, and hyphenation have been left intact.
End of Project Gutenberg's In the Track of the Trades, by Lewis R. Freeman