Guam.—Invasion of the Ladrone Islands by the Spaniards
in 1554.—Getting off Recruits.—Fruit.—Climate.—Captain
Anderson.—Massacre of Captain Luce and Boat’s Crew.—Proceed to
Japan Cruising-ground.—Ship “Boy.”—Boat’s Crew taken down by
a Whale.—Albicore and Skipjack.—“Our Luck” again.—The Spell
broken.—Bark “Medina.”—Manuel and the Hog.—A slight Tap.
Sunday, May 4th, we arrived at Guam. This is a beautiful island, of
rather high land, and resembles the American coast more than any
land we saw during our wanderings. The surface presents a rolling
appearance, the land looks fertile, and it is interspersed with dense
foliage. This island is the principal one of the group of the Ladrone
Islands.
These islands were invaded in 1554 by the Spaniards, but their
conquest was not completed till the year 1592, although they had,
during the different years of their invasion, resorted to their
usual sanguinary means. It was not until they had destroyed an
immense number of the inhabitants that they could bring the warlike
Ladrones to a state of subjection. When the conquest was finished,
they compelled the subjugated people to leave all the other islands
which form the group, and reside on only two of them, Guam and
Rotta, which placed them completely under the observation of their
jealous invaders. They also forced them to receive the Roman Catholic
religion, which continues to be the only one tolerated on the
island. The Spaniards have managed ever since to keep the people
in a state of subjection, although the spirit of revolt still lies
dormant in their breast, ready to burst forth at the first favorable
opportunity. They speak the Spanish language fluently; in fact, they
can speak no other, or they have no knowledge of the one formerly
spoken on the islands.
All hands were busily engaged getting off recruits for the coming
season on Japan, which consisted of yams, sweet potatoes, melons,
shaddock, and bananas, which grow here in great abundance. The island
also produces tamarinds, oranges, limes, cocoanuts, citrons, and
papaw apples, all of the finest quality. The inhabitants here enjoy
perpetual summer; the climate is mild and salubrious, and, were they
free from Spanish oppression, might be a happy and contented people.
We found a Scotchman—Captain Anderson he called himself—who had
resided here many years, and accumulated quite a little fortune
trading with ships, etc. He informed us that Captain Luce, of the
“Boy,” of Warren, together with his boat’s crew, had been massacred
by the natives at M‘Gaskill’s Island but a short time previous. The
captain went ashore for the purpose of trading with the natives for
fruit, fowl, etc. He had visited the island before, and always found
the natives friendly and peaceable. As he did not return to the ship,
the officer in charge kept close in to the land, and fearing there
had been foul play, early in the morning he stood in, and, by the
aid of the spy-glass, discovered the natives dressed in the clothing
belonging to the boat’s crew. They saw a white man coming off in a
canoe and making signals to them. When within hailing distance, he
reported that the captain and boat’s crew had been murdered; that he
had resided on the island some time, and was not afraid they would
attack him. Upon learning this sad news, the ship proceeded to the
cruising-ground in charge of the mate.
Every thing being in readiness, on Monday, May 5th, we left Guam
for the Japan ground, to cruise over a trackless waste of waters
for five or six months in pursuit of dollars in the shape of sperm
whales. Nothing out of the usual routine of ship’s duties occurred
for nearly two months. All was monotony; the same process day after
day—not even a sail nor a _whale_ to vary the scene. At length,
however, on the morning of Sunday, June 22d, our ears were startled
by the cry of “Sail ho!” from the mast-head. It was a dead calm—not
a breath of air stirring—and the sail was just visible from aloft.
About 4 P.M. a breeze sprang up, and brought the stranger with it.
It proved to be the “Boy,” and a boat’s crew came on board. They
confirmed the report relative to the massacre of Captain Luce and
his men. They also reported that a Nantucket ship cruising on the
ground had lost a boat and crew by being taken down by a whale. It
was supposed the line became foul, and, before it could be cut, boat
and crew disappeared beneath the surface, as they were never seen or
heard from afterward.
We now found large quantities of albicore and skipjack around the
ship. These fish are very good eating, tasting much like fresh cod,
and there were thousands of them to be seen in every direction. All
that was necessary to take them was to tie a piece of white rag on a
hook, and then sit on the bulwarks and trail the line along the top
of the water, the fish jumping at it as fast as one wished to haul
them in. We have seen as much as ten barrels of them caught in one
day. They weigh from five to fifty pounds. It is singular, but they
follow a ship as long as she remains in those latitudes.
At length, on the morning of Saturday, June 28th, the welcome cry was
heard from masthead, “T-h-e-r-e she b-l-o-w-s!” All were aroused,
and it was not long before our boats were down and after him, for
it was a “lone whale.” The bow boat soon fastened, and just as all
hands were congratulating themselves that we should soon have a whale
alongside, the irons drew, and the whale left for parts unknown.
“Just our luck,” was the exclamation, and all returned to the ship
with long faces, and “slightly” discouraged. It was now eight months
since we had taken a drop of oil, and we were twenty months out,
with but three hundred barrels. The prospect of two thousand barrels
in four years looked very dark just then. However, the old man
endeavored to console us by saying, “It is a long lane that has no
turning, boys!”
And we found this adage true, for the next morning we lowered down,
and in less than an hour had a hundred-barrel sperm whale alongside,
which caused every face to brighten, and before the decks were fairly
cleared up we took another, which made us eighty barrels, making one
hundred and eighty barrels in less than one week, more than half as
much as we had been twenty months in getting. Thus it is; whaling is
more a lottery than any thing else.
While cutting in the last whale, we discovered a ship running down
to us, which soon came within hailing distance, and proved to be the
British bark “Medina,” from Hong Kong, bound to San Francisco, with a
load of Chinese emigrants.
We were now enjoying beautiful weather. During the days hardly
a cloud was to be seen, and the atmosphere as clear as a bell.
The nights were lovely, warm, and pleasant, and many of the crew
preferred bringing their mattresses on deck and sleeping in the open
air to sleeping below. One night Portugee Manuel, among the rest, was
thus quietly taking a nap, but it happened to be his watch on deck,
and he did not feel disposed to keep awake when he should. One of the
watch, thinking to have a little sport, tied him fast to a large hog
who was quietly reposing not far off, and then, taking a rope’s end,
commenced belaboring the porker, who started up and off, dragging the
“Gee” very unceremoniously with him. This somewhat surprised Manuel,
who was not accustomed to this novel mode of locomotion, and, on
being released, he swore vengeance (in Portuguese) against hogs and
Yankees.
We again raised whales on Monday, July 28th, and gave chase as usual.
The waist-boat soon fastened to a fine long fellow, who did not
like to be trifled with, it seemed, in such a manner, and commenced
thrashing about in a way that threatened destruction to the boats
in the vicinity. After working himself into a towering passion, he
ended the fracas by knocking the waist-boat “higher than a kite,” and
sent the crew flying in all directions. The men were soon picked up,
and, when the whale saw the mischief which he had done, repenting, we
suppose, he remained quiet, and submitted to the “killing process”
with a very good grace, and “gave up the ghost” in the usual style.
The body was towed to the ship, and the “funeral ceremonies” were
performed in short order, his beautiful coat soon converted into
sperm oil and stowed away in the hold.
[Illustration: STOVE.]