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Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXVIII
An Old Friend - A Victim - California Rangers - News from Home - Last Looks
Monday, Feb. 1st. After having been in port twenty-one days, we sailed
for San Pedro, where we arrived on the following day, having gone "all
fluking," with the weather clew of the mainsail hauled up, the yards braced in
a little, and the lower studding-sails just drawing; the wind hardly
shifting a point during the passage. Here we found the Ayacucho and the
Pilgrim, which last we had not seen since the 11th of September, - nearly five
months; and I really felt something like an affection for the old brig which
had been my first home, and in which I had spent nearly a year, and got the
first rough and tumble of a sea life. She, too, was associated, in my mind
with Boston, the wharf from which we sailed, anchorage in the stream, leave -
taking, and all such matters, which were now to me like small links connecting
me with another world, which I had once been in, and which, please God, I
might yet see again. I went on board the first night, after supper; found the
old cook in the galley, playing upon the fife which I had given him, as a
parting present; had a hearty shake of the hand from him; and dove down into
the forecastle, where were my old shipmates, the same as ever, glad to see me;
for they had nearly given us up as lost, especially when they did not find us
in Santa Barbara. They had been at San Diego last, had been lying at San Pedro
nearly a month, and had received three thousand hides from the pueblo. These
were taken from her the next day, which filled us up, and we both got under
weigh on the 4th, she bound up to San Francisco again, and we to San Diego,
where we arrived on the 6th.
We were always glad to see San Diego; it being the depot, and a snug
little place, and seeming quite like home, especially to me, who had spent a
summer there. There was no vessel in port, the Rosa having sailed for
Valparaiso and Cadiz, and the Catalina for Callao, nearly a month before. We
discharged our hides, and in four days were ready to sail again for the
windward; and, to our great joy - for the last time! Over thirty thousand
hides had been already collected, cured, and stowed away in the house, which,
together with what we should collect, and the Pilgrim would bring down from
San Francisco, would make out her cargo. The thought that we were actually
going up for the last time, and that the next time we went round San Diego
point it would be "homeward bound," brought things so near a close, that we
felt as though we were just there, though it must still be the greater part of
a year before we could see Boston.
I spent one evening, as had been my custom, at the oven with the Sandwich
Islanders; but it was far from being the usual noisy, laughing time. It has
been said, that the greatest curse to each of the South Sea islands, was the
first man who discovered it; and every one who knows anything of the history
of our commerce in those parts, knows how much truth there is in this; and
that the white men, with their vices, have brought in diseases before unknown
to the islanders, and which are now sweeping off the native population of the
Sandwich Islands, at the rate of one fortieth of the entire population
annually. They seem to be a doomed people. The curse of a people calling
themselves Christian, seems to follow them everywhere; and even here, in this
obscure place, lay two young islanders, whom I had left strong, active young
men, in the vigor of health, wasting away under a disease, which they would
never have known but for their intercourse with Christianized Mexico and
people from Christian America. One of them was not so ill; and was moving
about, smoking his pipe, and talking, and trying to keep up his spirits; but
the other, who was my friend, and Aikane-Hope, was the most dreadful object
I had ever seen in my life: his eyes sunken and dead, his cheeks fallen in
against his teeth, his hands looking like claws; a dreadful cough, which
seemed to rack his whole shattered system, a hollow whispering voice, and an
entire inability to move himself. There he lay, upon a mat, on the ground,
which was the only floor of the oven, with no medicine, no comforts, and no
one to care for, or help him, but a few Kanakas, who were willing enough, but
could do nothing. The sight of him made me sick, and faint. Poor fellow!
During the four months that I lived upon the beach, we were continually
together, both in work, and in our excursions in the woods, and upon the
water. I really felt a strong affection for him, and preferred him to any of
my own countrymen there; and I believe there was nothing which he would not
have done for me. When I came into the oven he looked at me, held out his
hand, and said, in a low voice, but with a delightful smile, "Aloha, Aikane!
Aloha nui!" I comforted him as well as I could, and promised to ask the
captain to help him from the medicine-chest, and told him I had no doubt the
captain would do what he could for him, as he had worked in our employ for
several years, both on shore and aboard our vessels on the coast. I went
aboard and turned into my hammock, but I could not sleep.
Thinking, from my education, that I must have some knowledge of medicine,
the Kanakas had insisted upon my examining him carefully; and it was not a
sight to be forgotten. One of our crew, an old man-of-war`s man, of twenty
years` standing, who had seen sin and suffering in every shape, and whom I
afterwards took to see Hope, said it was dreadfully worse than anything he had
ever seen, or even dreamed of. He was horror-struck, as his countenance
showed; yet he had been among the worst cases in our naval hospitals. I could
not get the thought of the poor fellow out of my head all night; his horrible
suffering, and his apparently inevitable, horrible end.
The next day I told the captain of Hope`s state, and asked him if he
would be so kind as to go and see him.
"What? a d___d Kanaka?"
"Yes, sir," said I; "but he has worked four years for our vessels, and
has been in the employ of our owners, both on shore and aboard."
"Oh! he be d___d!" said the captain, and walked off.
This same man died afterwards of a fever on the deadly coast of Sumatra;
and God grant he had better care taken of him in his sufferings, than he ever
gave to any one else! Finding nothing was to be got from the captain, I
consulted an old shipmate, who had much experience in these matters, and got
from him a recipe, which he always kept by him. With this I went to the mate,
and told him the case. Mr. Brown had been entrusted with the general care of
the medicine-chest, and although a driving fellow, and a taught hand in a
watch, he had good feelings, and was always inclined to be kind to the sick.
He said that Hope was not strictly one of the crew, but as he was in our
employ when taken sick, he should have the medicines; and he got them and gave
them to me, with leave to go ashore at night. Nothing could exceed the delight
of the Kanakas, when I came bringing the medicines. All their terms of
affection and gratitude were spent upon me, and in a sense wasted, (for I
could not understand half of them,) yet they made all known by their manner.
Poor Hope was so much revived at the bare thought of anything`s being done for
him, that he was already stronger and better. I knew he must die as he was,
and he could but die under the medicines, and any chance was worth running. An
oven, exposed to every wind and change of weather, is no place to take
calomel; but nothing else would do, and strong remedies must be used, or he
was gone. The applications, internal and external, were powerful, and I gave
him strict directions to keep warm and sheltered, telling him it was only his
chance for life. Twice, after this, I visited him, having only time to run up,
while waiting in the boat He promised to take his medicines regularly until we
returned, and insisted upon it that he was doing better.
We got under weigh on the 10th, bound up to San Pedro, and had three days
of calm and head winds, making but little progress. On the fourth, we took a
stiff south-easter, which obliged us to reef our topsails. While on the
yard, we saw a sail on the weather bow, and in about half an hour, passed the
Ayacucho, under double-reefed topsails, beating down to San Diego. Arrived
at San Pedro on the fourth day, and came-to in the old place, a league from
shore, with no other vessel in port, and the prospect of three weeks, or more,
of dull life, rolling goods up a slippery hill, carrying hides on our heads
over sharp stones, and, perhaps, slipping for a south-easter.
There was but one man in the only house here, and him I shall always
remember as a good specimen of a California ranger. He had been a tailor in
Philadelphia, and getting intemperate and in debt, he joined a trapping party
and went to the Columbia river, and thence down to Monterey, where he spent
everything, left his party, and came to the Pueblo de los Angelos, to work at
his trade. Here he went dead to leeward among the pulperias, gambling rooms,
etc., and came down to San Pedro, to be moral by being out of temptation. He
had been in the house several weeks, working hard at his trade, upon orders
which he had brought with him, and talked much of his resolution, and opened
his heart to us about his past life. After we had been here some time, he
started off one morning, in fine spirits, well dressed, to carry the clothes
which he had been making to the pueblo, and saying he would bring back his
money and some fresh orders the next day. The next day came, and a week
passed, and nearly a fortnight, when, one day, going ashore, we saw a tall
man, who looked like our friend the tailor, getting out of the back of an
Indian`s cart, which had just come down from the pueblo. He stood for the
house, buy we bore up after him; when finding that we were overhauling him, he
hove-to and spoke us. Such a sight I never saw before. Barefooted, with an
old pair of trowsers tied round his waist by a piece of green hide, a soiled
cotton shirt, and a torn Indian hat; "cleaned out," to the last real, and
completely "used up." He confessed the whole matter; acknowledged that he was
on his back; and now he had a prospect of a fit of the horrors for a week, and
of being worse than useless for months. This is a specimen of the life of half
of the Americans and English who are adrift over the whole of California. One
of the same stamp was Russell, who was master of the hide-house at San
Diego, while I was there, and afterwards turned away for his misconduct. He
spent his own money and nearly all the stores among the half-bloods upon the
beach, and being turned away, went up to the Presidio, where he lived the life
of a desperate "loafer," until some rascally deed sent him off "between two
days," with men on horseback, dogs, and Indians in full cry after him, among
the hills. One night, he burst into our room at the hide-house, breathless,
pale as a ghost, covered with mud, and torn by thorns and briers, nearly
naked, and begged for a crust of bread, saying he had neither eaten nor slept
for three days. Here was the great Mr. Russell, who a month before was "Don
Tomas," "Capitan de la playa," "Maestro de la casa," etc., etc., begging food
and shelter of Kanakas and sailors. He staid with us till he gave himself up,
and was dragged off to the calabozo.
Another, and a more amusing specimen, was one whom we saw at San
Francisco. He had been a lad on board the ship California, in one of her first
voyages, and ran away and commenced Ranchero, gambling, stealing horses, etc.
He worked along up to San Francisco, and was living on a rancho near there,
while we were in port. One morning, when we went ashore in the boat, we found
him at the landing-place, dressed in California style, - a wide hat, faded
velveteen trowsers, and a blanket cloak thrown over his shoulders - and
wishing to go off in the boat, saying he was going to pasear with our captain
a little. We had many doubts of the reception he would meet with; but he
seemed to think himself company for any one. We took him aboard, landed him at
the gangway, and went about our work, keeping an eye upon the quarter-deck,
where the captain was walking. The lad went up to him with the most complete
assurance, and raising his hat, wished him a good afternoon. Captain T___
turned round, looked at him from head to foot, and saying coolly, "Hallo! who
the h___ are you?" kept on his walk. This was a rebuff not to be mistaken, and
the joke passed about among the crew by winks and signs, at different parts of
the ship. Finding himself disappointed at headquarters, he edged along forward
to the mate, who was overseeing some work on the forecastle, and tried to
begin a yarn; but it would not do. The mate had seen the reception he had met
with aft, and would have no cast-off company. The second mate was aloft, and
the third mate and myself were painting the quarter-boat, which hung by the
davits, so he betook himself to us; but we looked at one another, and the
officer was too busy to say a word. From us, he went to one and another of the
crew, but the joke had got before him, and he found everybody busy and silent.
Looking over the rail a few moments afterward, we saw him at the galley-door
talking to the cook. This was a great comedown, from the highest seat in the
synagogue to a seat in the galley with the black cook. At night, too, when
supper was called, he stood in the waist for some time, hoping to be asked
down with the officers, but they went below, one after another, and left him.
His next chance was with the carpenter and sail-maker, and he lounged round
the after hatchway until the last had gone down. We had now had fun enough out
of him, and taking pity on him, offered him a pot of tea, and a cut at the
kid, with the rest, in the forecastle. He was hungry, and it was growing dark,
and he began to see that there was no use in playing the caballero any longer,
and came down into the forecastle, put into the "grub" in sailor`s style,
threw off all his airs, and enjoyed the joke as much as any one; for a man
must take a joke among sailors. He gave us the whole account of his adventures
in the country, - roguery and all - and was very entertaining. He was a smart,
unprincipled fellow, was at the bottom of most of the rascally doings of the
country, and gave us a great deal of interesting information in the ways of
the world we were in.
Saturday, Feb. 13th. Were called up at midnight to slip for a violent
north-easter, for this rascally hole of San Pedro is unsafe in every wind
but a south-wester, which is seldom known to blow more than once in a half
century. We went off with a flowing sheet, and hove-to under the lee of
Catalina island, where we lay three days, and then returned to our anchorage.
Tuesday, Feb. 23d. This afternoon, a signal was made from the shore, and
we went off in the gig, and found the agent`s clerk, who had been up to the
pueblo, waiting at the landing-place, with a package under his arm, covered
with brown paper, and tied carefully with twine. No sooner had we shoved off
than he told us there was good news from Santa Barbara. "What`s that?" said
one of the crew; "has the bloody agent slipped off the hooks? Has the old
bundle of bones got him at last?" - "No; better than that. The California has
arrived." Letters, papers, news, and, perhaps, - friends, on board! Our hearts
were all up in our mouths, and we pulled away like good fellows; for the
precious packet could not be opened except by the captain. As we pulled under
the stern, the clerk held up the package, and called out to the mate, who was
leaning over the taffrail, that the California had arrived.
"Hurrah!" said the mate, so as to be heard fore and aft; "California
come, and news from Boston!"
Instantly there was a confusion on board which no one could account for
who has not been in the same situation. All discipline seemed for a moment
relaxed.
"What`s that, Mr. Brown?" said the cook, putting his head out of the
galley - "California come?"
"Aye, aye! you angel of darkness, and there`s a letter for you from
Bullknop `treet, number two-two-five - green door and brass knocker!"
The packet was sent down into the cabin, and every one waited to hear of
the result. As nothing came up, the officers began to feel that they were
acting rather a child`s part, and turned the crew to again and the same strict
discipline was restored, which prohibits speech between man and man, while at
work on deck; so that, when the steward came forward with letters for the
crew, each man took his letters, carried them below to his chest, and came up
again immediately; and not a letter was read until we had cleared up decks for
the night.
An overstrained sense of manliness is the characteristic of seafaring
men, or, rather, of life on board ship. This often gives an appearance of want
of feeling, and even of cruelty. From this, if a man comes within an ace of
breaking his neck and escapes, it is made a joke of; and no notice must be
taken of a bruise or cut; and any expression of pity, or any show of
attention, would look sisterly, and unbecoming a man who has to face the rough
and tumble of such a life. From this, too, the sick are neglected at sea, and
whatever sailors may be ashore, a sick man finds little sympathy or attention,
forward or aft. A man, too, can have nothing peculiar or sacred on board ship;
for all the nicer feelings they take pride in disregarding, both in themselves
and others. A thin-skinned man could not live an hour on ship-board. One
would be torn raw unless he had the hide of an ox. A moment of natural feeling
for home and friends, and then the frigid routine of sea-life returned.
Jokes were made upon those who showed any interest in the expected news, and
everything near and dear was made common stock for rude jokes and unfeeling
coarseness, to which no exception could be taken by any one.
Supper, too, must be eaten before the letters were read; and when, at
last, they were brought out, they all got round any one who had a letter, and
expected to have it read aloud, and have it all in common. If any one went by
himself to read, it was - "Fair play, there; and no skulking!" I took mine and
went into the sailmaker`s berth, where I could read it without interruption.
It was dated August, just a year from the time I had sailed from home; and
every one was well, and no great change had taken place. Thus, for one year,
my mind was set at ease, yet it was already six months from the date of the
letter, and what another year would bring to pass, who could tell? Every one
away from home thinks that some great thing must have happened, while to those
at home there seems to be a continued monotony and lack of incident.
As much as my feelings were taken up by my own intelligence from home, I
could not but be amused by a scene in the steerage. The carpenter had been
married just before leaving Boston, and during the voyage had talked much
about his wife, and had to bear and forbear, as every man, known to be
married, must, aboard ship; yet the certainty of hearing from his wife by the
first ship, seemed to keep up his spirits. The California came, the packet was
brought on board; no one was in higher spirits than he; but when the letters
came forward, there was none for him. The captain looked again, but there was
no mistake. Poor "Chips," could eat no supper. He was completely down in the
mouth. "Sails" (the sailmaker) tried to comfort him, and told him he was a
bloody fool to give up his grub for any woman`s daughter, and reminded him
that he had told him a dozen times that he`d never see or hear from his wife
again.
"Ah!" said "Chips," "you don`t know what it is to have a wife, and" -
"Don`t I?" said Sails; and then came, for the hundredth time, the story
of his coming ashore at New York, from the Constellation frigate, after a
cruise of four years round the Horn, - being paid off with over five hundred
dollars, - marrying, and taking a couple of rooms in a four-story house, -
furnishing the rooms, (with a particular account of the furniture, including a
dozen flag-bottomed chairs, which he always dilated upon, whenever the
subject of furniture was alluded to,) - going off to sea again, leaving his
wife half-pay, like a fool, - coming home and finding her "off, like Bob`s
horse, with nobody to pay the reckoning;" furniture gone, - flag-bottomed
chairs and all; - and with it, his "long togs," the half-pay, his beaver
hat, white linen shirts, and everything else. His wife he never saw, or heard
of, from that day to this, and never wished to. Then followed a sweeping
assertion, not much to the credit of the sex, if true, though he has Pope to
back him. "Come, Chips, cheer up like a man, and take some hot grub! Don`t be
made a fool of by anything in petticoats! As for your wife, you`ll never see
her again; she was `up keeleg and off` before you were outside of Cape Cod.
You hove your money away like a fool; but every man must learn once, just as I
did; so you`d better square the yards with her, and make the best of it."
This was the best consolation "Sails" had to offer, but it did not seem
to be just the thing the carpenter wanted; for, during several days, he was
very much dejected, and bore with difficulty the jokes of the sailors, and
with still more difficulty their attempts at advice and consolation, of most
of which the sailmaker`s was a good specimen.
Thursday, Feb. 25th. Set sail for Santa Barbara, where we arrived on
Sunday, the 28th. We just missed of seeing the California, for she had sailed
three days before, bound to Monterey, to enter her cargo and procure her
license, and thence to San Francisco, etc. Captain Arthur left files of Boston
papers for Captain T -, which, after they had been read and talked over in the
cabin, I procured from my friend the third mate. One file was of all the
Boston Transcripts for the month of August, 1835, and the rest were about a
dozen Daily Advertisers and Couriers, of different dates. After all, there is
nothing in a strange land like a newspaper from home. Even a letter, in many
respects, is nothing, in comparison with it. It carries you back to the spot,
better than anything else. It is almost equal to clairvoyance. The names of
the streets, with the things advertised, are almost as good as seeing the
signs; and while reading "Boy lost!" one can almost hear the bell and well -
known voice of "Old Wilson," crying the boy as "strayed, stolen, or mislaid!"
Then there was the Commencement at Cambridge, and the full account of the
exercises at the graduating of my own class. A list of all those familiar
names, (beginning as usual with Abbot, and ending with W.,) which, as I read
them over, one by one, brought up their faces and characters as I had known
them in the various scenes of college life. Then I imagined them upon the
stage, speaking their orations, dissertations, colloquies, etc., with the
gestures and tones of each, and tried to fancy the manner in which each would
handle his subject, * * * * *, handsome, showy, and superficial; * * * *, with
his strong head, clear brain, cool self-possession; * * * * *, modest,
sensitive, and underrated; * * * * *, the mouth-piece of the debating clubs,
noisy, vaporous, and democratic; and so following. Then I could see them
receiving their A.Bs. from the dignified, feudal-looking President, with his
"auctoritate mihi commissa," and walking off the stage with their diplomas in
their hands; while upon the very same day, their classmate was walking up and
down California beach with a hide upon his head.
Every watch below, for a week, I pored over these papers, until I was
sure there could be nothing in them that had escaped my attention, and was
ashamed to keep them any longer.
Saturday, March 5th. This was an important day in our almanac, for it was
on this day that we were first assured that our voyage was really drawing to a
close. The captain gave orders to have the ship ready for getting under weigh;
and observed that there was a good breeze to take us down to San Pedro. Then
we were not going up to windward. Thus much was certain, and was soon known,
fore and aft; and when we went in the gig to take him off, he shook hands with
the people on the beach, and said that he never expected to see Santa Barbara
again. This settled the matter, and sent a thrill of pleasure through the
heart of every one in the boat. We pulled off with a will, saying to ourselves
(I can speak for myself at least) - "Good-by, Santa Barbara! - This is the
last pull here - No more duckings in your breakers, and slipping from your
cursed south-easters!" The news was soon known aboard, and put life into
everything when we were getting under weigh. Each one was taking his last look
at the mission, the town, the breakers on the beach, and swearing that no
money would make him ship to see them again; and when all hands tallied on to
the cat-fall, the chorus of "Time for us to go!" was raised for the first
time, and joined in, with full swing, by everybody. One would have thought we
were on our voyage home, so near did it seem to us, though there were yet
three months for us on the coast.
We left here the young Englishman, George Marsh, of whom I have before
spoken, who was wrecked upon the Pelew Islands. He left us to take the berth
of second mate on board the Ayacucho, which was lying in port. He was well
qualified for this, and his education would enable him to rise to any
situation on board ship. I felt really sorry to part from him. There was
something about him which excited my curiosity; for I could not, for a moment,
doubt that he was well born, and, in early life, well bred. There was the
latent gentleman about him, and the sense of honor, and no little of the
pride, of a young man of good family. The situation was offered him only a few
hours before we sailed; and though he must give up returning to America, yet I
have no doubt that the change from a dog`s berth to an officer`s, was too
agreeable to his feelings to be declined. We pulled him on board the Ayacucho,
and when he left the boat he gave each of its crew a piece of money, except
myself, and shook hands with me, nodding his head, as much as to say, - "We
understand one another," and sprang on board. Had I known, an hour sooner,
that he was to leave us, I would have made an effort to get from him the true
history of his early life. He knew that I had no faith in the story which he
told the crew, and perhaps, in the moment of parting from me, probably
forever, he would have given me the true account. Whether I shall ever meet
him again, or whether his manuscript narrative of his adventures in the Pelew
Islands, which would be creditable to him and interesting to the world, will
ever see the light, I cannot tell. His is one of those cases which are more
numerous than those suppose, who have never lived anywhere but in their own
homes, and never walked but in one line from their cradles to their graves. We
must come down from our heights, and leave our straight paths, for the byways
and low places of life, if we would learn truths by strong contrasts; and in
hovels, in forecastles, and among our own outcasts in foreign lands, see what
has been wrought upon our fellow-creatures by accident, hardship, or vice.
Two days brought us to San Pedro, and two days more (to our no small joy)
gave us our last view of that place, which was universally called the hell of
California, and seemed designed, in every way, for the wear and tear of
sailors. Not even the last view could bring out one feeling of regret. No
thanks, thought I, as we left the sandy shores in the distance, for the hours
I have walked over your stones, barefooted, with hides on my head; - for the
burdens I have carried up your steep, muddy hill; - for the duckings in your
surf; and for the long days and longer nights passed on your desolate hill,
watching piles of hides, hearing the sharp bark of your eternal coati, and the
dismal hooting of your owls.
As I bade glod-by to each successive place, I felt as though one link
after another were struck from the chain of my servitude. Having kept close in
shore, for the land-breeze, we passed the mission of San Juan Campestrano
the same night, and saw distinctly, by the bright moonlight, the hill which I
had gone down by a pair of halyards in search of a few paltry hides. "Forsan
et haec olim," thought I, and took my last look of that place too. And on the
next morning we were under the high point of San Diego. The flood tide took us
swiftly in, and we came-to, opposite our hide-house, and prepared to get
everything in trim for a long stay. This was our last port. Here we were to
discharge everything from the ship, clean her out, smoke her, take in our
hides, wood, water, etc., and set sail for Boston. While all this was doing,
we were to lie still in one place, and the port was a safe one, and there was
no fear of south-easters. Accordingly, having picked out a good berth, in
the stream, with a good smooth beach opposite, for a landing-place and
within two cables` length of our hide-house, we moored ship, unbent all the
sails, sent down the top-gallant yards and all the studding-sail booms,
and housed the top-gallant masts. The boats were then hove out, and all the
sails, spare spars, the stores, the rigging not rove, and, in fact, everything
which was not in daily use, sent ashore, and stowed away in the house. Then
went all our hides and horns, and we left hardly anything in the ship but her
ballast, and this we made preparation to heave out, the next day. At night,
after we had knocked off, and were sitting round in the forecastle, smoking
and talking and taking sailor`s pleasure, we congratulated ourselves upon
being in that situation in which we had wished ourselves every time we had
come into San Diego. "If we were only here for the last time," we had often
said, "with our top-gallant masts housed and our sails unbent!" - and now we
had our wish. Six weeks, or two months, of the hardest work we had yet seen,
was before us, and then - "Good-by to California!"
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