Payta.—Its Appearance.—Inhabitants.—Shipped three Spaniards.—
Gamming.—Exchanged Boat-steerers.—Gloomy Forebodings.—Whales
again.—Stove Boat.—Manuel overboard.—No Sunday off Soundings.—
Mackey and the Mate.—Star-gazing.—Reflections.—A County
Fair.—Lawrence in Trouble.
On Thursday, 25th of April, we were off the anchorage of Payta. The
land here presents a bleak, barren appearance; not a tree or shrub
in sight; nothing but sand and rocks as far as the eye can reach.
Water is furnished the inhabitants by persons who make it a business,
and bring it a long distance in skins on mules. The streets of this
town are narrow and dirty; the houses are miserable; women and men
dissipated and ugly-looking; fleas abundant, and loafers plenty.
While on shore here the captain shipped three green Peruvians, who
answered to the cognomens of Manuel Maria, Tom, and Jack; the last
two soon getting additions to their titles, making them “Spanish
Tom” and “Nigger Jack.” We now squared our yards, made sail, and bid
farewell to this outlandish hole, and also to the South American
coast. We here spoke and gammed with the “President,” of Nantucket,
and the “Marcus,” of Fairhaven, bound home. This gave us another
opportunity of sending a line to the “loved ones at home,” which we
were glad to improve. One of our boat-steerers, having been on the
sick-list nearly all the voyage, expressed a wish to return home in
the “Marcus.” Accordingly, an arrangement was soon made between the
two captains, and we took a Mr. Smith in exchange. All bid Gifford
an affectionate farewell, hoping he might be spared to reach his
native land, and be restored to the bosom of his family. Farewell,
Gifford—a long farewell. You are going to your own dear home; you
will soon be clasped in the embrace of a dear mother and affectionate
sisters. God grant that your life _may_ be spared, that you may enjoy
these blessings.
We are bound for the cruising grounds to the westward, with some
three or four years yet before us ere we can behold those that are
near and dear to us; and how many of our small company may be spared
to again tread their native shores, God alone knows. Let us yield a
cheerful compliance to the will of the Almighty, knowing that we are
safe in His hands, and _in faith_ say, “Thy will, not mine, be done,
O Lord.” With heavy hearts we squared our yards and headed for our
cruising grounds.
On Monday, May 13th, spoke ship “Rebecca Sims,” of New Bedford, with
whose ship’s company we passed a very pleasant day. How cheering to
the lone mariner while cruising, with no land in sight, and thousands
of miles from our own home, to meet a ship from the same port, and a
crew speaking the same language as ourselves! It is like meeting old
friends.
On Saturday, the 25th of May, we raised a school of sperm whales.
We immediately down boats and after them. After some pretty hard
pulling, the chief mate’s boat fastened to a cow whale, and killed
it. During the melee the boat was badly stove, and our giant Manuel,
the Portugee, knocked overboard. The whale was running with great
speed at the time, and, as a matter of course, poor Gee was soon left
a long distance astern. However, one of the other boats, seeing what
had transpired, came to the rescue, and Manuel was picked up. When
they reached him he was striking out manfully for the boat, which was
now miles ahead of him, and calling on all the saints in the calendar
for help at the top of his voice. He was an excellent swimmer, but
greatly frightened; so much so that some of the boat’s crew that
picked him up declared that he was ten shades lighter. At sundown we
had the jacket of the whale on deck.
The next day was Sunday, but not Sabbath. On all whalers, while at
sea, mast-heads are manned, whales chased and captured, cut in and
tried out on Sunday as much as any other day in the week. Nothing
else, however, except what is absolutely necessary for navigating
the ship, is done on this day, which is generally spent by the crew
in reading and writing. To-day, while all hands were busily employed
in cutting up the blubber, trying out, and clearing up the decks
generally, the mate missed our friend Mackey from his post, which
was to assist in hoisting the blubber from the blubber-room. He
accordingly went forward to the forecastle, and, calling out, asked
him what he was doing below.
Mackey replied, “Breaking out my chest to get a chaw o’ tobacco.”
“But would not any of the men on deck give you a chew?”
“No, sir, I don’t believe they would,” replied he, coolly.
“Well, just point yourself out of that, aft, to the main hatchway,
and get up on the bitts, and stand by to hoist that blubber on deck.
Now, mind, don’t let me have to look after you again, if you do there
will be trouble; stay there _till I call you down_!”
Mackey took the place, and appeared perfectly contented with his new
position, as he could sit down. Presently the mate sang out, “Come
this way, all of you, and shove this case overboard.” It had just
been bailed, and was now ready to launch into its native element,
from which it had been taken. After tugging and shoving for a long
time to no purpose, the mate looked around to see if any one was
missing, and, not seeing him, called out, “Where is that Mackey?”
“Here I am, sir,” shouted Mackey, sitting at his ease on the bitts,
looking on with perfect indifference and composure.
“What in the name of goodness are you doing there?”
“You told me to stay here till you called me, sir,” said Mackey, not
loving work well enough to offer his services until he was called on.
“Get down out of that, you blackguard, and come here where the work
is.”
Mackey left his stand amid the roars of the crew; the mate himself,
who could always appreciate a good joke, could not refrain from
joining in the general laugh.
On Tuesday, May 28th, we had most delightful weather, and the evening
was one of those beautiful, mild, calm nights so common to the
Pacific. With gentle breezes, we were slowly plowing our way to the
Marquesas Islands. The stars shone forth in all their resplendent
beauty, and not a cloud was to be seen in the whole face of the
heavens. It was truly a lovely night, and the all-pervading stillness
seemed to remind us of our own loneliness, and our thoughts naturally
reverted to other scenes—to the far-distant home; to the dear friends
and loved ones to whom we bid a hasty but sad farewell. Do these dear
friends ever bestow a thought or breathe a prayer for the welfare of
the wanderer? Were they thinking of the one far, far away? and when
they assemble around the festive board, or form the family circle
about the fireside, do they miss the absent one? Oh, what joy would
it have been to have known that there were some in the land of our
birth that missed us, and prayed for the return of the wanderer! What
joy would it have been to know that our friends were enjoying that
blessing, _health_! What a consolation to have been assured that they
were spared the ravages of disease and death! But this pleasure was
denied us. Thousands of miles of blue water rolled between us and
our homes. What recollections crowd upon the mind at the mention of
_home_! The dear old village, where we have sported with all the joys
of youth—the old school-house, where we for hours and hours have sat
trying the patience of the teacher, conning our lesson, perhaps,
or engaged in some mischief—the stream, along whose banks we have
so often strolled, listening to the merry carol of the birds, and
annoying the finny tribe—the hills, over which we have rambled with
boyish glee—the woods, in whose pleasant retreats we have passed so
many happy hours—schoolmates, the beautiful fair ones—and lastly,
though not least, dear parents, brothers and sisters—all rushed
through the brain in a tumultuous whirl, and we found ourselves
unconsciously sighing for the pleasures of home. But, alas! we awoke
to the sad reality of our situation. Thousands and tens of thousands
of miles of blue water, must be beat ere we could again clasp in our
arms those we held so dear; and we could only look up to Him who
“ruleth the waves,” and trust in His protection. What consolation to
our fainting heart these words: “Be still, and know that I am GOD.”
The men forward had aroused from their lethargy, and some were
whiling away the time singing, others telling yarns; Spanish Jack
and Portuguese Manuel were seated by themselves, thumping on an old
fiddle; Jo Bob was amusing some of the boys by giving them a specimen
of his island dancing and singing. The watch below were in about
the same condition, “lying around loose,” listening to a long yarn
spun by Lawrence about a county fair that took place down in Maine.
As usual, his stories would not “match.” He gave a full description
of the whole affair. “The table,” he said, “was about three or four
hundred feet long, and about six thousand people sat down to dinner
_at one time_!” Some of the boys inquired “what they had to drink.”
“Strong beer,” replied Lawrence; whereupon one of the watch said
“he had lied to him, as he had often stated that the people down in
Maine never indulged in strong drink.” But Lawrence was not to be
caught in this manner, and he readily replied, “Well, it was not so
_very_ strong; it was made _of spruce_!” All the watch now joined in
a hearty laugh at Lawrence’s expense.
Meanwhile the order of arrangements on deck were somewhat different.
It happened that Lawrence’s berth, which was an upper one, was chock
forward in the “eyes” of the ship, and one of the dead lights—used
for the purpose of letting air and light into the forecastle, which
opened exactly abreast his face—was left open. One of the watch on
deck, having listened to Lawrence’s yarn, and wishing to have a
little sport at his expense, stationed himself over the bows, on the
martingale guys, and, as Lawrence rolled over, gave him a bucket of
water, dash in the face, almost drowning the poor fellow. As soon
as he could speak, for he was terribly frightened, and his bed was
fairly afloat, Lawrence commenced jawing about the man at the helm
“getting the ship off her course.” It was as smooth as a mill-pond,
but he had the idea that the sea had washed in. His sleep was spoiled
for that watch below, as the whole watch were shouting and laughing,
and he growling and putting on dry clothing.