Bailey’s Island.—Turtle.—Whaling.—Ship “James Allen.”—Water-spouts.—
A heavy Gale.—Monotony.—A Swimming Adventure.—Ship “Atkins
Adams.”—Spanish Jack again.—Tow-line Tea.—Captain’s stump
Speech.—A large Whale.—Bark “Antelope.”—Strange Incident.—Passage
to the Group.—Pitt’s Island.—Bark “Smyrna.”—A rummy Set.—Ship
“Susan.”—Fearful Tragedy.—Passage to Strong’s Island.—Ship
“Atlantic.”—Ship “Charles W. Morgan.”—“At home” once more.—Rev.
Mr. Snow.—Characteristic Meanness.—Rotumah Dance.—Feast and
Dance.—Sickness of Mr. L.—Divine Service on Board.—New Zealand
Native.—Farewell to Strong’s Island.
Nothing of interest transpired on the passage, unless we may speak
of continued boisterous weather, until Wednesday, May 4th, when we
sighted Bailey’s Island, one of the Bonin Group. Here we sent a boat
on shore, and procured a load of sweet potatoes, watermelons, green
corn, etc., and about twenty large turtle, which abound here in great
numbers. We need not say that “turtle soup” soon became _no luxury_
with us.
We cruised around these islands about a month, taking two large
whales in the mean time, which cheered us considerably, although we
were far from doing as well as we had expected. The usual course of
Japan whalemen is to cruise in the vicinity of the Bonin Islands
during the month of May and the early part of June, and then work
gradually to the eastward until the close of the season in September,
when they are compelled to leave from the severity of the weather.
On Wednesday, June 2d, we saw another whaleman from “Yankee Land,”
the “James Allen,” Captain Newcomb, of New Bedford. He bore down to
us with the ever-beautiful “stars and stripes” waving proudly from
the mizzen-peak, and passed our stern in gallant style. We had a
very interesting _gam_ with them, although hard at work putting the
dollars in our ship’s hold in the shape of sperm oil.
The next day we saw several large water-spouts, which are very common
in these latitudes. They passed some distance from us, and we were
very careful to give them a wide berth, as several ships had lately
suffered from them, having their spars and rigging severely injured.
These latitudes are also very often visited by fearful hurricanes,
called “typhoons.” On the 18th of June we experienced the “tail-end”
of one, as seamen call it. As we had received warning from the
barometer, sail was taken in, and every thing secured in a
substantial manner. The violence of the wind seemed to sweep every
thing before it, forcing the old ship almost on her beam ends. The
sea appeared like moving mountains; occasionally it would dash
against her sides, giving her a shock that would cause her to tremble
in every part. The heavy and labored rolling of the ship—the creaking
of the timbers—the wind shrieking through the rigging—clouds of
spray flying with almost the rapidity of lightning—clashing of the
backstays—dashing of the waves, intermingled with the hoarse shouting
of the sailors, made night hideous, and rendered the scene altogether
indescribable. All longed for morning, and when daylight appeared
a most awful yet grand sight presented itself. The gale was still
howling in all its fury; a lull for a few moments would ensue, then
heavy and sudden blasts would follow in quick succession, striking
the ship with such force as to make every plank in her shake and
tremble. She would plunge headlong into an immense abyss, and then
rise rapidly to the top of a mountain wave, showing a fearful chasm
on either side, which threatened to ingulf her and finish the scene.
Every thing conspired to render our situation an awful one; and yet
it was a grand, glorious sight. At noon the gale broke, and its fury
soon abated, leaving us once more with pleasant weather.
We recollect reading, during our wanderings, in a newspaper which we
procured from the _States_, in some ship, a letter written by some
European tourist, in which he complained sadly of the “monotony of a
voyage across the Atlantic,” which occupied _ten long weary_ days. We
thought, at the time, we would like very much to have the writer take
_one cruise_ in a whaler of seven or eight months, where he would
see nothing but blue water for six of those months. We hardly think
he would complain of the “monotony of a voyage across the Atlantic”
again. We were now cruising where, day after day, week after week,
nothing but blue water was visible around us; the same dull round of
duties; not even a brother whaleman hove in sight with whom we could
enjoy a friendly _gam_. To add to all this, we could see no whales;
the captain and all hands were getting discouraged, and feared we
should have to leave the ground in September with but little more oil
than when we came upon it. At last the captain appeared to wake up,
and offered a bounty of twenty dollars to the man who should first
raise a whale.
At length a laughable incident occurred, which served to enliven our
dull life somewhat, and keep us from sinking entirely into a state
of nonentity. Several of the crew, one calm day, were out on the
jib-boom, endeavoring to hook some fish which were around the ship
in great numbers, that they might indulge in the luxury of a mess
of fresh fish for dinner. One of the number, in hauling up a large
albicore, lost his hat overboard. Spanish Jack being on deck, sang
out,
“What you give me get your hat?”
“Two heads of tobacco,” shouted the man.
In a moment Jack was overboard, and in a few seconds had the hat.
Placing it on his head, he started for the ship. Although it was
nearly calm, yet the ship was going slowly through the water, and the
breeze _happened_ to be freshening. At every stroke Jack would make
he would lose the hat off, and, stopping to pick it up, he found he
was losing ground. He now tried a new experiment—throwing it ahead
of him, and then swimming to it; then throwing it again, and so on;
but even this would not work, as every time he would throw the hat
he would go _under_ himself, and come up snorting and blowing like
a porpoise. The darkey now began to be frightened. He was all the
time losing ground; the ship was leaving him astern; and the captain
finally sang out to him, “Never mind the hat; come aboard!” but to
no purpose; Jack stuck to the hat, fearing he should lose the reward
if he did not get it. At last, however, after repeated threats from
the captain, he was under the necessity of abandoning it, and struck
out boldly for the ship, shouting, “_Santa Maria! Santa Maria! Madre
de Dios!_” at every stroke. A rope was thrown him, but he was so
exhausted he could not hold fast of it; finally one of the ship’s
company went down the side and made it fast round his body. Jack was
now hauled in on deck more frightened than hurt, and as _pale_ as
possible for a darkey to be. On recovering so as to speak, his first
words were for the promised reward of tobacco, which were given him,
although he had not recovered the hat. All hands had a hearty laugh
over this incident, and it seemed to infuse new spirits into every
one.
Thursday, July 8th, we spoke the ship “Atkins Adams,” a vessel that
left Guam in company with us. She had taken but forty barrels since
coming upon the ground.
At length, on Saturday, July 24th, at daylight, was once more heard
the welcome cry, “T-h-e-r-e she b-l-o-w-s!” In the shortest possible
space of time four boats were down and gave chase. The boat-steerer
of the waist-boat darted and missed his aim. This “gallied” the
whale, and off he went at railroad speed, the boats returning to
the ship. About nine A.M., however, the chase was renewed, and, by
skillful management, the bow-boat fastened both irons solid. As the
whale was sounding, Spanish Jack, who was one of the crew, from
some unknown cause became badly frightened, and managed to throw
his paddle into the line-tub. Of course the line, which was running
out with great rapidity, became foul, and carried the paddle to the
loggerhead, which frightened Jack still more, and his next move was
to _jump into the tub himself_. The boat-steerer, seeing how matters
stood, as quick as thought seized the boat-hatchet and cut the line,
which alone saved Jack and all hands from certain death. Away went
the whale; and, after reflecting upon their situation a moment,
the crew commenced berating poor Jack for his carelessness in thus
endangering his and their lives, and losing them the whale. As all
hopes of capturing him were now at an end, the boats returned to the
ship.
On learning the particulars, the captain administered to Jack a
slight dose of _tow-line tea_ to prevent any serious consequences
arising from his late carelessness. He did not relish the medicine
much, but was obliged to take it, nevertheless. It was really
provoking; we had been cruising so long without seeing whales, and
when we did see them under such favorable circumstances, to lose them
from such carelessness was not only provoking, but discouraging.
[Illustration: THE “OLD MAN” TALKS.]
The old man, after giving Jack his medicine, proceeded to make a
stump speech to all hands, to the effect that “they were now some
thirty-three months from home, with only about seven hundred barrels
of oil; that the voyage was rapidly drawing to a close; it would
soon be time for the ‘Emily Morgan’ to be ‘homeward-bound;’ yet, if
they went on at this rate, what would they go home with? A broken
voyage; nothing coming to them, and their time worse than thrown
away. He hoped the crew would wake up and take some interest in the
voyage. If they were only determined to succeed, succeed they would,
and they would soon be in ‘Yankee land’ with a good voyage.” At the
close of this speech three hearty cheers were given; the men went
forward in excellent spirits, threatening the sperm whales on Japan
with complete annihilation.
An opportunity soon presented itself; and proved they were in
earnest. On Tuesday, July 27th, we raised a “lone” whale, and in less
than an hour from the time he was first seen he was lying alongside
the ship, dead. On cutting him in, we found him an old veteran
covered with scars, and two harpoons in him marked “S. M. N.” By
this we knew he had been struck by the “Milton,” who was cruising on
the ground. The following day, while cutting in the whale, a sail
hove in sight to windward. Some hints were thrown out by the captain
that this was the “Milton;” on hearing which, “all hands” struck up
a lively tune, and the windlass went round cheerily; blanket-piece
after blanket-piece came in on deck, and, just as the last piece
swung in clear of the plankshire, the stranger rounded our stern.
Instead of the “Milton” she proved to be the “Antelope,” of Newport,
Captain Potter. Had it been the former vessel, and any part of the
whale remaining in the water, the self-constituted laws of whalemen
would have compelled us to have given up the whole of the whale,
and this accounted for the hurry we were in to secure the fish ere
the stranger came down to us. The result proved our fears to be
groundless; nevertheless, the blubber was all on deck, and no one
regretted it.
A few days after this we again spoke the “Atkins Adams,” and found
that she was about leaving the ground. On inquiring the cause of this
resolve, Captain Fish said “that he had seen whales but twice since
he had been on the ground, and both times they had steam-engines
inside them, and were going like lightning, bound for the ‘Emily
Morgan.’” Our skipper encouraged him to remain a while longer,
telling him what success we had had, and that the best of the season
was yet to come. The following morning, while in company with them,
we raised a whale off our lee beam which had the appearance of having
been wounded. Seeing us manœuvring, they ran down, but before they
reached us we had a dead whale alongside. Without exchanging a word
with us, they continued on their course to the southward, no doubt
disheartened, and determined to try their luck elsewhere.
We must now mention a very strange incident, and one that but very
seldom occurs among whalemen. On cutting in this whale, we found
two irons in it marked “S. E. M.” It being our own ship’s mark, and
the irons belonging to the bow-boat, and recognized as such by all
hands, proved conclusively that it was the same whale which had got
our friend Jack into a scrape, and which we had lost nineteen days
previous, and about 360 miles to the westward of where we were then
cruising.
Such instances are very rare. The only one we ever heard was that of
the ship “John and Edward.” While on her outward-bound passage in the
Atlantic she struck a large sperm whale, and was compelled to cut
from him. She was absent three years, and on her home passage, off
the coast of Peru, in the Pacific, captured the same whale. The irons
had a _peculiar_ mark, such as no other ship carried, and from this
they knew the whale. Nothing but the head of the harpoon and about
a foot of the shank remained, the other part having rusted off. This
proves conclusively that sperm whales do migrate from one ocean to
the other _via_ Cape Horn, notwithstanding several learned authors
have asserted to the contrary.
On the 15th of September we pointed the ship’s head to the southward
with cheerful hearts. This was the best cruise we had yet made,
having taken about four hundred barrels of oil. The next season on
Japan was to be our last; from thence we were “homeward-bound.”
Although it was a long time ahead, yet we felt that every day made it
one the less, and every mile of blue water plowed was one the less.
Just before reaching the group we lowered and captured a twenty-five
barrel whale: this helped to cheer us along our way very much.
Monday, October 11th, we made Pitt’s Island; sent a boat ashore,
and found the bark “S.,” of New Bedford, at anchor. The crew of
this vessel, including the captain and officers, with ten or twelve
beachcombers, were engaged in making cocoanut rum, and all hands,
natives included, were as drunk as rum could make them.
The following day we spoke the “Susan,” of Nantucket, Captain Smith.
From this vessel we learned that during the past season a fearful
tragedy had been enacted at the group. Twenty-five beachcombers
residing on Henderville’s and Woodell’s Islands, which are separated
by a channel of only a few miles, were murdered by the natives. It
appears, from what we could learn, that they had some difficulty with
the natives—attempting to do as they pleased—threatening to take the
islands, etc. They had also succeeded in effecting a division among
the natives, one party espousing their cause, the other opposed
to them. Some of the more cunning, however, saw through the whole
plot, and called a private council of both parties. After much
deliberation, it was resolved to put to death all the white men,
which was accordingly done. This removed the cause of their quarrels,
and they lived at peace again.
We were now steering for Strong’s Island, with fine breezes,
beautiful weather, and cheerful hearts. Sunday, October 19th, we
spoke the “Atlantic,” of Nantucket, Captain Coleman.
At daylight on Tuesday, the 26th, we were within a few miles of the
land. Saw a ship coming out, which proved to be the “Charles W.
Morgan,” of New Bedford, Captain Sampson, bound home. Paper, pens,
and ink were now in great demand, and, as we wrote a few lines to the
dear ones at home, the thought that in one year more we too would
be “homeward-bound,” cheered us, and caused us to fancy almost that
the time had arrived. But no, not yet could we sing “Huzza, we’re
homeward bound!”
At noon we came to anchor in our old resting-place. All hands
hastened ashore to see our old friends and exchange greetings. We
received a hearty welcome from Zegrah and his wife, who remarked to
us that we all belonged to Strong’s Island, we had been there so
much. We learned that Rev. Mr. Snow, an American missionary, with
his wife, had taken up his residence here; also that Captain Hussey
had left the island as master of the whaling brig “Wm. Penn,” of San
Francisco.
On visiting among the natives, we discovered a feeling of antipathy
to Mr. Snow had arisen among them. We soon ascertained the cause
to be what we had at first anticipated. A miserable beachcomber
had been telling them that “if the king allowed the missionary to
remain, in a short time he would become possessor of the island; that
they would have to give every thing they obtained to him,” etc. We
were surprised that such reports should be so circulated among the
natives, as not the least cause had arisen for them, and could only
account for it from the fact that it was characteristic of the class.
What made the matter still worse was that, when Mr. Snow came to the
island, he found this fellow friendless and homeless; his means of
subsistence all gone, and begging from house to house. Taking pity
upon him, he invited him to take up his abode at his house. Here he
found excellent fare, and nothing to do but to eat, drink, and sleep;
and, although Mr. S. was very much occupied in making improvements
upon his dwelling and land attached, yet he was the last one to offer
him any assistance, but, on the contrary, was repaying his kindness
by endeavoring to prejudice the natives against him.
Several natives from the Island of Rotumah were residing on Strong’s
Island at this time. We attended one of their dances, given by them
in honor of our ship’s company. Their singing and dancing excelled
any thing of the kind we had yet witnessed. They moved in exact time
with the music, and went through the exercises with great precision.
During all their dances they use the musket, which they handle with
the greatest expertness. The war-dance, in particular, was one of
wild and thrilling movements; their hair long, and standing in
all directions from their head, even to the perpendicular; their
bodies tattooed and besmeared with cocoanut oil, with nothing but a
tappa about the loins and a musket by the side, they looked really
frightful and war-like. The dance is performed by forming in two
lines, and as they sing they perform their evolutions of advancing,
discovering and attacking the enemy, wheeling to load their pieces,
fronting again, the front rank dropping upon one knee to allow those
in the rear to fire over them, while both lines fire in the direction
of the supposed enemy, and retreat to reload. After performing these
evolutions several times, they appear to come off victorious, and
start off into a noisy song and dance. We remained until quite a late
hour witnessing their performances, and, after all hands had given
them three hearty cheers, the assemblage dispersed very peaceably.
We returned to our quarters very much pleased with our evening’s
entertainment, wishing it were in our power to place the band in
Barnum’s hands.
We also attended, a few days after this, a feast and dance given
by King George, at which a large wild hog was served up, and every
thing “got up” in grand style. To this feast the Rotumah Kanakers
were invited, and in the evening they again entertained us with
their dances. The king and chiefs appeared highly pleased with their
performances, continually exclaiming “very good fashion, that dance.”
Our second officer, Mr. L., had been sick for a number of months, yet
he possessed such remarkable energy and perseverance that he would
not succumb to it, but did his duty regularly up to the time of our
arriving in port; and even then he appeared to feel that when we
once more got to sea he should recover; but we all felt and thought
differently. We could see that he was wasting away, little by little,
and we felt that his days were numbered—that he would never see his
home again.
On Sunday, October 31st, divine service was performed on board by
Rev. Mr. Snow. For three long years we had not listened to such
sounds as came to our ears on that day. It was, to say the least, a
pleasing sight to see the weather-beaten tar with a hymn-book in his
hand, and to hear all unite in singing the praises of God. The sermon
was very plain, yet forcible, reminding us of the short tenure of our
lives, and admonishing all to prepare for death. The feeling manner
in which Mr. S. spoke of death on shipboard brought tears to the eyes
of many, as we had not forgotten such a scene among our own small
company. King George and the royal family were on board, and appeared
to listen to the exercises with a great deal of interest; and when
they were concluded, he wished to know of us what the good man had
been talking about so long. His majesty appeared to have taken quite
an interest in the missionary. He gave him a large piece of good
land, built him a nice substantial house, and assisted him all in his
power. He was also building a house for himself in the same vicinity.
In conversation with Mr. Snow, he informed us that it was his
intention to take the children in charge, teach them the English
language, and endeavor to bring them up in the right way. He, of
course, anticipated trials and difficulties in his efforts. He did
not intend to interfere with any of the old customs of the natives,
but show to the rising generation the folly of these customs, that
when they came upon the stage of action they would abolish their
heathenish rites. We wished him God speed, for we believed him to be
a true Christian—one who was actuated by no selfish motive, but by
a desire to “do his Master’s will.” We felt, too, that great praise
was due to his excellent lady, who had voluntarily surrendered the
comforts and luxuries of a home among enlightened people to spend her
life on one of the heathen islands of the vast Pacific, to add her
mite toward civilizing and Christianizing the poor native. “Verily
they will receive their reward.”
We found on shore a native of the New Zealand Islands, who had
been left here sick. We visited him several times, once or twice
in company with Mr. Snow. He was very sick, and did not expect to
recover. The “good missionary,” as he called Mr. S., was doing all
in his power to alleviate his sufferings, nursing him with all the
love and sympathy of a brother; and Mrs. S. often visited the poor
man. He expressed to Mr. Snow his confidence and belief in a dying
Savior, trusting in his love and merits; and we doubt not that when
his spirit took its flight, it went to those mansions above, where
the poor New Zealander is welcomed by Christ and his angels as warmly
as the favored Christian of American lands.
The time had now arrived when we were to bid adieu to Strong’s Island
and its pleasures, some of us forever. Need we say that we had become
somewhat attached to our friends here, who had ever treated us with
such kindness? Never shall we forget them; and in future years, when
memory shall recall former happy scenes and pleasures enjoyed while
_roving_, Strong’s Island and its simple, kind-hearted natives will
stand forth bold and prominent.
“Isle of beauty, fare thee well!”