“Homeward bound” at last.—The prevailing Feeling.—Wauhoo and
Atoowi.—“Stowaways.”—Farewell to the Sandwich Islands.—Ship
“Uncas.”—On the Equator.—Whytootucke.—Roratongo.—Meeting of old
Friends.—Interesting Missionary Incidents.—A good Reason.—Good-by
to Roratongo.—Preparing for Cape Horn.—Christmas.—A heavy Gale.—
Off Cape Horn.—New Experiences.—In the Atlantic again.—Ship
“Betsey Williams.”—Brazilian Coast.—North of the Line.—Hurra for
Yankee Land.—Brig “Alpha.”—Try-works overboard.—Scudding off
Bermuda.—Gulf Stream.—Soundings.—Old “Hard-a-lee.”—The old Adage.—
“Home at last!”—Conclusion.
To the reader who has followed us through the wanderings of more than
four years, we tender our thanks, and beg his indulgence through our
“homeward bound” passage, where we will take leave of him, with the
kindest wishes for his prosperity and happiness.
On Monday, October 31st, we commenced our preparations for sea. All
were anxiously longing for the time to come when we should see the
ship’s head pointed toward home.
[Illustration: HOMEWARD BOUND.]
We had discharged several men who shipped with us at different times
during the voyage “for the last port,” and it became necessary to
procure more for “the passage home.” These were now all on board, and
we only waited the arrival of the captain and lady to take up our
anchor, loose our sails, and be under way. The day came. Tuesday,
November 1st, the joyful command was given to “heave away.” The old
windlass brakes rattled merrily, and
“Huzza! we’re homeward bound!”
rang out in full clear chorus from every voice on board, till the
hills and mountains of Maui echoed back the sound. We could see the
faces of our brother whalemen around us as they looked, no doubt,
enviously at our craft, thinking of the long season yet on the
“nor’west” to be gone through before they could sing as we did. But
we felt that we had a _right_ to be happy. For more than four long
and weary years had the ship been our floating home. We had labored,
toiled incessantly, in storm and in calm—in the boats and on board
ship—beneath the scorching heat of the tropical sun, and the freezing
cold of rigid climes—been exposed to all dangers both on sea and
land—and now, we hoped, we were going home to enjoy the fruit of
our hard-earned savings. Going home! None but they who have been
separated from near and dear friends, as we had been, for years, can
fully realize the joy which these words produced.
The ponderous anchor was soon raised from its coral bed and snugly
stowed away upon the bows; all sail was set, and we gladly left the
anchorage of Lahaina with strong northeast trades. We shaped our
course west-northwest for the island of Atoowi. The following day we
passed to the southward of Wauhoo, which was plainly in sight, and
“stood off and on” Atoowi. We procured several boat-loads of sweet
potatoes, yams, and other recruits, and then shaped our course for
the Society Islands. About an hour after leaving Atoowi a stranger
made his appearance on deck. This took the captain rather by
surprise, and he inquired of him “who he was and whence he came.” The
man replied that “he belonged to the ‘——,’ and did not wish to try
another season in the Arctic, and _did_ want to get home; was willing
to work his passage, and hoped the captain would allow him to go
home in the ship.” After giving him a long lecture upon the evils of
desertion, the old man consented that he should remain, and he went
forward with a happy heart.
On Friday, November 11th, we spoke the “Uncas,” of New Bedford,
Captain James, like ourselves, bound home. We had a very pleasant
“gam” with them, talking of the pleasures we were to enjoy, and
anticipating with them great happiness. Our captain threw down the
gauntlet to Captain J. for a race to New Bedford, which he gallantly
accepted, and, we must confess, as gallantly won.
Nothing of great interest to us occurred, except crossing the equator
for the last time in the Pacific, until we reached the Societies. We
felt, at the time we crossed the line, that another goal was reached
and passed—that another “milestone” in our journey was gone by. We
sighted the island of Whytootucke, one of the Society Islands, on
Friday, December 9th. We passed it, and on the following day raised
Roratongo, distant fifty miles. Language is inadequate to describe
the feeling of our Kanakas at once more seeing “my land,” as they
called it. They were half frantic with joy. But when boat-loads
of the natives came off to us the next day (having “beat” up to
the island during the night), and they found their own relatives
among them, we actually thought they would become crazy. We can not
describe the scene. We can only give the reader an idea of their mode
of salutation, which is to grasp each other by the right hand, place
the other over the back, and rub noses very affectionately! With all
our _pathetic_ feeling, we could but laugh at the ludicrous method.
But this meeting almost brought tears to our eyes as we thought of
those whom we soon hoped to meet.
On Monday, December 12th, the boats went ashore to bring off fruit.
Wishing to have one more run on one of “the Pacific Isles,” we
jumped into one of the boats, and were soon on shore. On inquiry,
we learned that the missionary who was there at our former visit
had been recalled, and that Rev. Mr. BUYACOTT, from England, who
had been stationed there many years before, was again among them.
The natives appeared greatly attached to him; and we must relate a
simple incident of this attachment. They had received information
of his coming, and when the boat arrived which brought him from the
ship to the shore, it was instantly seized by the natives ere he had
time to land, and triumphantly borne, with great rejoicings, upon
their shoulders to the market-place, where he was received by the
authorities and his old friends with a warmth of feeling that bespoke
how universally he was beloved, and how rejoiced all were to see him
returned to them again.
They had lately erected a fine church edifice under his supervision,
which was certainly a credit to him as an architect, and to the
islanders. Great preparations were making for its dedication, which
was to take place in a few weeks. Under his care and example, the
natives appeared cheerful and happy; their little farms well tilled,
and themselves well dressed, neat, and contented. All united in
saying that Mr. BUYACOTT was a most excellent man; and the interest
he manifested in them, both temporally and spiritually, went far
to prove it. Under his supervision we found a printing-office in
operation, where tracts, papers, and hymns were printed in the native
language, and distributed, not only in Roratongo, but in every island
of the group. We found also blacksmiths, carpenters, shoemakers, and
nearly all kinds of mechanics, who had received their knowledge from
him. His residence was a fine stone house of two stories, situated on
a gentle rise of ground, surrounded by a beautiful yard interspersed
with shrubbery and flowers. A fine graveled walk led from the gate
to the house. We found it a cool, shady retreat, refreshed by the
sea-breeze, and shaded by beautiful orange groves.
But it was time for us to leave all this beauty of nature behind, and
plow our way homeward. We discharged all our Kanakas save one, who
wished to remain in the ship and go to America. On asking him what
particular reason he had for wishing to see “’Merick,” as he termed
it, he replied, “I like see all; and get my sister three fathom (six
yards) red ribbon!” We thought him going a long distance for “three
fathom red ribbon,” but, as he said “plenty time,” we gave up the
argument.
We here shipped three white men who were anxious to go to America,
and, having loaded the old ship with tropical fruit for the last
time, we bade our Kanaka friends adieu, and were soon on our way home
again, steering to the southward for a westerly wind that would send
us to the coast.
On Friday, December 16th, we commenced our preparations for doubling
the Cape. First, we gave the old ship a new suit of sails throughout,
from flying jib to spanker, good and strong ones, that would stand
many a heavy storm. Anchors were taken in on deck; also the bow and
waist boats, and every thing made snug generally. This was rendered
necessary also from the fact that we had commenced leaking so much as
to require pumping every four hours; and, these precautions taken, we
knew that she would not strain so much in heavy weather.
Sunday, December 25th, was Christmas with us as well as with those
at home. And, although we had no visits from Santa Claus, we felt
very happy, and knew that when another Christmas-day came round, if
living, we should be enjoying it with loved ones at home. The best on
board ship was served up for dinner, and all hands enjoyed it with a
keen relish, sharpened by the anticipation of the good things yet to
come. We were now about eighty degrees to the westward, and twenty to
the northward of Cape Horn.
From this time until Tuesday, January 24th, we bowled it along
merrily with a southwest wind, every thing set that would draw, and
every hour lessening the distance between us and the Cape. On that
day the gale increased to almost a hurricane, and hauled to the west.
We were “scudding” before it, with close-reefed topsails, a heavy
sea running, and threatening to ingulf us every moment. The wind
increasing and sea still rising, it was deemed prudent to “heave-to.”
This was a dangerous proceeding in such a gale, but, with careful
management at the helm, it could be done. All hands were called, and
placed at their stations. The second and third officers took the
helm, the men stationed at the braces, and the ship’s head slowly
brought to the wind. She gallantly came up; but a wave—an _avalanche_
of water—struck her on the quarter, dashed in on deck, sweeping every
thing before it. “Hold on for your lives!” was the cry from the
captain’s lips, and each man grasped the rigging, expecting every
moment to be swept overboard. It was a fearful moment. The brave men
at the helm were up to their waists in water, but bravely they clung
to the wheel, knowing that if they left it death and destruction
awaited us all. The body of water on deck was immense, being filled
to the rail; and as the noble old ship would roll fearfully from
side to side, it would seem as if she never would recover herself.
By dint of great exertion, boards were knocked off the bulwarks, and
the water began to pour out. This rendered her laboring more easy,
and she was soon “luffed-to,” and rode comparatively easy. We all
breathed more freely when this was done, and felt that we had had a
narrow escape.
As we remained on deck watching the scene, we could not but
contemplate its grandeur. As the ship would rise on the top of a
gigantic wave, it seemed as if we were placed on the summit of a high
mountain, with a yawning gulf at our feet, into which the ship would
rapidly plunge as if she would bury herself. A feeling of awe and
terror would involuntarily creep over us as she alternately rose
to the crest of the mountain waves, and again plunged downward with
fearful velocity, as if every plunge would be her last.
As soon as the gale moderated sufficiently sail was again made, and
the noble old craft plowed her way onward through the briny wave,
bearing her freight of humanity nearer, nearer to that home they so
longed to see, and to those friends whose embrace they so longed to
clasp. By our reckoning we now found ourselves “off Cape Horn,” and,
with a fair wind, hoped soon to leave the Pacific far behind us.
The weather now became very cold, and our Portuguese and Kanaka found
some rather tough experiences of it. In fact, they were about froze
up. Amo, the Kanaka, would come on deck, and, the cold soon taking
hold, exclaim, “What for all the same? Ah! too much bite you no see
’em! What make all the same this?” On asking him if he ever saw cold
weather before, he replied, “Golly! no. I no been see all same this
my land. Cape Horn, he no good.” He constantly wore three or four
coats, and, in fact, all the clothes he could get on. It appeared
almost impossible that the cold should penetrate so many thicknesses,
yet he complained that it did. Manuel and Amo both came on deck one
morning, and found it covered with snow. We never saw two persons
more astonished than they. They made all sorts of inquiries, asking
where it came from, what it was for, and questions innumerable.
Seeing some of the men engaged in snowballing, they thought they
would “take a hand,” especially as they occasionally received a
quantity in the face. On picking it up, however, and attempting to
pack it, they very soon let it fall, exclaiming, “Golly! he hot all
the same fire!” and ran off, slapping their hands together, and
blowing their fingers.
By our reckoning we found that on Thursday, January 26th, we had
fairly passed Cape Horn, and were once more in the Atlantic. When
this fact was announced, a feeling of great joy seemed to pervade the
whole ship. We had all dreaded the passage round, and, now that it
was passed, all felt a great relief. And we felt that we were so much
nearer home. In fact, it appeared as though we were almost home; and
as we had before counted the months, and then the weeks that would
elapse ere we should tread our native soil, we felt that we could now
begin to count the _days_.
On Saturday, February 3d, we spoke the “Betsey Williams,” of New
London, Captain Pendleton. She was, like ourselves, homeward bound,
with a full cargo of whale oil. We passed a very pleasant day with
them, and at evening wished each other a safe and speedy passage, and
parted company.
We had the usual amount of calms and head winds, which brought out
the usual quantity of _grumbling_ from all hands, until we sighted
the Brazilian coast. We then took a southeast wind, which merrily
bowled us onward toward the line, which we were soon to cross for the
last time. And cross it we did on Friday, March 10th, but with far
different feelings than when we crossed it the _first_ time, nearly
five years previous. Then we felt the future to be all uncertainty;
now we looked forward to the happy time when we should meet those
we so much longed to see. Then we had the prospect of four years’
absence from our native land; now we felt that that time had passed
away, and we were soon to reap the fruit of our labor. At evening all
hands gathered upon the forecastle, spinning yarns, singing songs,
etc., in joyful anticipation, and, with three hearty cheers for
“Yankee land,” adjourned.
It was now time for us to begin to paint ship, slick up things
generally, and make every thing “shipshape and Bristol fashion.” This
must be done in pleasant tropical weather, and we soon had a new coat
on the old ship, making her look “e’enamost as good as new.” We were
on the watch for outward-bound vessels, as we wished to obtain late
news from home, and naturally felt anxious to know what was going on,
and news of any kind was welcome. On Saturday, March 25th, we spoke
the brig “Alpha,” of Halifax, and sent a boat on board to obtain,
if possible, some news, and a few vegetables of some kind, as ours
had long since, to use a somewhat homely expression, “gi’n out.” The
boat soon returned, however, with neither, and we bid our Blue-nose
friends good-by, and went on our way.
As we stated in a previous chapter, we obtained our last whales
on Japan. It is customary for whalers to man mastheads during the
passage home as well as on cruising-grounds, although not as vigilant
a watch, we think, is kept. The try-works, also, are kept standing
until they arrive near Bermuda. On Saturday, April 1st, the order was
given, “Overboard try-works,” and at it we went with a will. Bricks
and mortar soon flew into the ocean, and the large try-pots were
released from their places and lashed to the deck. “No more whales
this voyage,” cried the mate, as the last brick disappeared over the
side. Yet we felt a regret at this too, for we would have loved the
excitement, just then, of fastening to an eighty barreler, and having
a nice run. But it was not to be, and we were not _very_ sorry.
All seamen know the weather which is most common “off the Bermudas.”
We had our share of the gales so prevalent there. From this time
for a week or more, we experienced all sorts of weather and winds.
One day a fair wind, and the next “dead ahead,” as seamen term it,
blowing a gale.
[Illustration: A LAND-SHARK.]
At last we took a breeze from the southwest, which increased to
a heavy gale, but held on until we entered the Gulf Stream. This
we knew by the temperature of the water, which is there always
blood-warm. On Saturday, April 8th, we ascertained that we were to
the northward of the Gulf Stream, and on soundings, the water being a
bright green color.
On Monday, April 10th, all hands were ordered to “bend the cables.”
It is unnecessary to say that we rejoiced greatly at this order.
The chains were dragged from their resting-place in the hold in
double-quick time, and every thing got ready for “letting go” the
anchor on soil that had not been touched by it for nearly five years.
Although not yet in sight of land, we all were anxious, excited,
nervous. If the reader asks why, we reply we had been years separated
from our native land, and were now returning to it.
The morning of Tuesday, April 11th, broke upon us thick, rainy, cold,
and disagreeable. As the fog gradually rose, we discovered around and
about us on every side a great number of vessels, probably a majority
of them coasters. Bringing the old gun to the gangway, we fired it
several times, in hopes it would bring us a pilot. The effort was
successful. In a short time, the New Bedford pilot-boat “George
Steers” ran alongside, and furnished us with an old gray-headed
veteran, a regular old sea-dog, to take charge of the ship, and bring
her to an anchor off New Bedford. It is useless to attempt describing
the joy, the enthusiasm of all hands, now that the long-looked-for
moment had come when “old Hard-a-lee” should put his foot on deck.
And when he informed us that he intended to have the ship at anchor
in New Bedford harbor at 10 P.M. that night, one simultaneous shout
arose, and every man sprang to his post.
We never heard that the adage “There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup
and the lip” failed because it is old, and we realized it during
that night and the following day. Instead of being in the city of
New Bedford, as we anticipated, we found ourselves, on the following
morning, in the midst of as severe a gale as we had experienced
during the voyage. A short time after the sun went down, the wind
rose from the northeast, and we were soon stripped to the bare poles.
Add to this furious storms of hail and snow pelting us continually,
and one can judge of our situation. The gale continued during the
whole of Wednesday and Wednesday night, furious as a hurricane, and
directly in our teeth. This was tantalizing; but bear it we must, and
wait for a fair wind.
The next morning, about eight o’clock, the wind moderated and hauled
to the south. It was not many minutes before every stitch of canvas
that would draw was set, and we were rapidly approaching the land.
Block Island hove in sight, then Montauk Point, and thus one point
of land after another rose to view. “That ’Merick?” exclaimed Amo,
the Kanaka, as the land loomed up in the distance. “Yes,” we replied,
with a feeling of joy and pride, “yes, _that is America!_”
Bright and beautiful shone the full moon as we sailed up Buzzard’s
Bay that evening, steering for Clarke’s Point. Sail was gradually
reduced, and furled for the last time. At midnight we dropped anchor
off the point, about two miles below the city, and when it struck the
bottom, three hearty, enthusiastic cheers were given, that made the
welkin ring. The remaining sails were soon furled, and we started
for the shore, where we found our friends waiting to receive us with
open arms. We breathed a prayer of gratitude to Almighty GOD, who had
spared and shielded us through all the vicissitudes and dangers to
which we had been exposed, and permitted us to return in safety to
our native land.
[Illustration: JUST LANDED.]
And what shall we say in conclusion? We thank the reader who has
followed us through the wanderings of five years, and, if he has been
instructed or amused, we are content. As is remarked in the Preface,
we have told our “yarn” in a plain, unvarnished style, laying no
claim to literary merit, or wishing to be considered an _author_,
but merely seeking to lay before the public a _truthful_ statement of
what we saw. With this conclusion, we wish all our readers long life
and happiness, and bid them an affectionate farewell.
Q
THE END.
* * * * *
_Mr. Motley, the American historian of the United Netherlands—we
owe him English homage._—LONDON TIMES.
“_As interesting as a romance, and as reliable as a proposition of
Euclid._”
History of
The United Netherlands.
FROM THE DEATH OF WILLIAM THE SILENT TO THE SYNOD OF DORT. WITH A
FULL VIEW OF THE ENGLISH-DUTCH STRUGGLE AGAINST SPAIN, AND OF THE
ORIGIN AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SPANISH ARMADA.
BY JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, LL.D., D.C.L.,
Corresponding Member of the Institute of France, Author of “The
Rise of the Dutch Republic.”
With Portraits and Map.
2 vols. 8vo, Muslin, $4 00; Sheep, $4 50; Half Calf, $6 00.
_Critical Notices._
His living and truthful picture of events.—_Quarterly Review_
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Fertile as the present age has been in historical works of the
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the grand qualities of interest, accuracy, and truth.—_Edinburgh
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This noble work.—_Westminster Review_ (London).
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The careful study of these volumes will infallibly afford a feast
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Already takes a rank among standard works of history.—_London Critic._
Mr. Motley’s prose epic.—_London Spectator._
Its pages are pregnant with instruction.—_London Literary Gazette._
We may profit by almost every page of his narrative. All the topics
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History of the United Netherlands.—_New York Times._
Bears on every page marks of the same vigorous mind that produced
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The inspiring idea which breathes through Mr. Motley’s histories
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The name of Motley now stands in the very front rank of living
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of the _History of the United Netherlands_. All the nerve, and power,
and substance of juicy life are there, lending a charm to every
page.—_Church Journal, N. Y._
Motley, indeed, has produced a prose epic, and his fighting
scenes are as real, spirited, and life-like as the combats in the
Iliad.—_The Press_ (Phila.).
His history is as interesting as a romance, and as reliable as a
proposition of Euclid. Clio never had a more faithful disciple. We
advise every reader whose means will permit to become the owner of
these fascinating volumes, assuring him that he will never regret the
investment.—_Christian Intelligencer, N. Y._
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We regard this work as the best contribution to modern history that
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The “History of the Dutch Republic” is a great gift to us: but the
heart and earnestness that beat through all its pages are greater,
for they give us most timely inspiration to vindicate the true ideas
of our country, and to compose an able history of our own.—_Christian
Examiner_ (Boston).
This work bears on its face the evidences of scholarship and
research. The arrangement is clear end effective: the style
energetic, lively, and often brilliant. *** Mr. Motley’s instructive
volumes will, we trust, have a circulation commensurate with their
interest and value.—_Protestant Episcopal Quarterly Review._
To the illustration of this most interesting period Mr. Motley has
brought the matured powers of a vigorous and brilliant mind, and the
abundant fruits of patient and judicious study and deep reflection.
The result is, one of the most important contributions to historical
literature that have been made in this country.—_North American
Review._
We would conclude this notice by earnestly recommending our readers
to procure for themselves this truly great and admirable work, by
the production of which the author has conferred no less honor upon
his country than he has won praise and fame for himself, and than
which, we can assure them, they can find nothing more attractive or
interesting within the compass of modern literature.—_Evangelical
Review._
It is not often that we have the pleasure of commending to the
attention of the lover of books a work of such extraordinary and
unexceptionable excellence as this one.—_Univeralist Quarterly
Review._
There are an elevation and a classic polish in these volumes, and a
felicity of grouping and of portraiture, which invest the subject
with the attractions of a living and stirring episode in the grand
historic drama.—_Southern Methodist Quarterly Review._
The author writes with a genial glow and love of his subject.—
_Presbyterian Quarterly Review._
Mr. Motley is a sturdy Republican and a hearty Protestant. His style
is lively and picturesque, and his work is an honor and an important
accession to our national literature.—_Church Review._
Mr. Motley’s work is an important one, the result of profound
research, sincere convictions, sound principles, and manly
sentiments; and even those who are most familiar with the history
of the period will find in it a fresh and vivid addition to their
previous knowledge. It does honor to American literature, and would
do honor to the literature of any country in the world.—_Edinburgh
Review._
A serious chasm in English historical literature has been (by this
book) very remarkably filled. *** A history as complete as industry
and genius can make it now lies before us, of the first twenty years
of the revolt of the United Provinces. *** All the essentials of
a great writer Mr. Motley eminently possesses. His mind is broad,
his industry unwearied. In power a dramatic description no modern
historian, except, perhaps, Mr. Carlyle, surpasses him, and in
analysis of character he is elaborate and distinct.—_Westminster
Review._
It is a work of real historical value, the result of accurate
criticism, written in a liberal spirit, and from first to last deeply
interesting.—_Athenæum._
The style is excellent, clear vivid, eloquent; and the industry with
which original sources have been investigated, and through which new
light has been shed over perplexed incidents and characters, entitles
Mr. Motley to a high rank in the literature of an age peculiarly rich
in history.—_North British Review._
It abounds in new information, and as a first work, commands a very
cordial recognition, not merely of the promise it gives, but of the
extent and importance of the labor actually performed on it.—_London
Examiner._
Mr. Motley’s “History” is a work of which any country might be
proud.—_Press_ (London).
Mr. Motley’s History will be a standard book of reference in
historical literature.—_London Literary Gazette._
Mr. Motley has searched the whole range of historical documents
necessary to the composition of his work.—_London Leader._
This is really a great work. It belongs to the class of books in
which we range our Grotes, Milmans, Merivales, and Macaulays, as
the glories of English literature in the department of history. ***
Mr. Motley’s gifts as a historical writer are among the highest and
rarest.—_Nonconformist_ (London).
Mr. Motley’s volumes will well repay perusal. *** For his learning,
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him, and bid him good speed for the remainder of his interesting and
heroic narrative.—_Saturday Review._
The story is a noble one, and is worthily treated. *** Mr. Motley has
had the patience to unravel, with unfailing perseverance the thousand
intricate plots of the adversaries of the Prince of Orange; but the
details and the literal extracts which he has derived from original
documents, and transferred to his pages, give a truthful color and
a picturesque effect, which are especially charming.—_London Daily
News._
M. Lothrop Motley dans son magnifique tableau de la formation de
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Our accomplished countryman, Mr. J. Lothrop Motley, who, during
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Transcriber’s Notes:
- Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
- Blank pages have been removed.
- Silently corrected a few punctuation errors.
- “remainer” corrected to “remainder”, otherwise spelling and
hyphenation variations were left as is.