On the morning of Thursday, September 18th, we were aroused by the soul-cheering cry of “Land ho!” In a moment all hands were in the rigging to catch a glimpse of the land. All strained their eyes with eager excitement to once more view a green spot. We had now been cruising nearly five months, and during that time we had seen nothing that resembled land, and but two ships. Sailing in the midst of the vast North Pacific, and cruising week after week, month after month, nothing new, nothing to change the monotony so usual to shipboard, all at once rose to our view a beautiful island densely covered with dark green foliage, the tall cocoanut-trees nodding a welcome as they waved their sweeping branches to and fro; and as we drew near to the land, the neat huts of the natives peering through the leafy opening, with the white sand-beach, a delightful clear atmosphere, with a fine breeze, the old ship standing on in majesty, all combined to make it a scene refreshing to behold—one of beauty and loveliness. Truly have these islands been denominated “breathing-places for sailors.” After beating about, enduring gales and storms, and meeting with no living beings upon the trackless ocean, to be ushered into the presence of one of these lovely “sea-girt isles” fills the beholder with the most joyous feelings, and convinces him that he is yet in the land of the living. We found ourselves, almost unconsciously we might say, offering our thanks and praises to the Giver of all good for His protecting power through the dangers and storms of our voyage thus far, and trusting that we should ere long be restored to those we so dearly loved.
But we were now to cruise for a few months among these islands. On Tuesday, September 21st, we were in sight of Henderville’s Island. At sunset, being about eight miles distant from the land, the wind died away, leaving every thing calm, the surface of the water unruffled, not a breath of air stirring, and the sails idly hanging or flapping themselves to and fro. The current was rapidly setting us in-shore. About eight o’clock we lowered a boat, and found we were drifting toward the reef at the rate of two miles per hour. The lights of the native fishermen along the reefs were plainly visible, and the roar of the breakers came to our ears in thunder tones, that sent a thrill through every heart, sounding like a death-knell, or the roaring of some monster anxious for his prey. That land which had appeared so beautiful to us but a few days previous was now hateful to our sight, and oh! how we longed for “plenty of sea-room” again. That island might truly be a “breathing-place” for us, but we feared it would be our last “breathing-place,” for we well knew the disposition of its natives, and were well aware that, should our ship be lost, there was no mercy to be expected from those rapacious savages. Serious thoughts for once filled the mind of every man on board: the visions of those happy homes far away—were we never to visit those homes again? The memories of the many happy days spent with friends—were we never again to enjoy them? After battling the elements thus far, after passing through so many dangers, were we thus to perish—to be thus massacred by a horde of merciless savages, and no one, perhaps, to tell our friends when and how we died? Oh! it was horrible to think of, and caused a shudder of anguish to pass through our every frame. And yet nothing but the interposition of a kind and merciful Providence could avert this fate. Slowly but surely were we drifting into those fatal breakers, and one hour more, one short hour, we felt must decide our fate. Oh, for a breeze! in vain we look for it; in vain we wished for it. All was calm and unruffled.
As a last resort, the boats were ordered out, and all hands sprang into them as they never sprang before, and commenced towing the ship. For four long hours did those noble men work at the oars, a battle between life and death, each seemingly striving for the mastery. We were just able, by this constant tugging at the oars, “to hold our own,” to stem the current. About one o’clock in the morning a breeze sprang up, and never, never was wind so welcomed. All hands gave one simultaneous shout, “We are saved!” and returned to the ship with joyous hearts. We could not but thank our heavenly Father for thus preserving us from the horrible fate that at one time seemed so certainly to await us.
Glad indeed were we to be delivered from this fate, and we now directed our course toward Ocean Island. On the morning of Thursday, September 25th, at daylight, the welcome shout was heard, “There she blows! A large whale!” Instantly the boats were down, and all hands gave chase. We discovered the whale had been fastened to by some other ship, as he had two irons in him, with a long line trailing behind. The larboard, or mate’s, boat soon fastened; the whale sounding heavily, a signal was made for “more line,” and the bow boat ran down, and passed to them their line; the whale continued to sound, taking out nearly eight hundred fathom (4800 feet), until the irons drew. In a short time the whale made his appearance; the boats again renewed the chase. After some considerable manœuvring and provoking dodging on the part of the whale, the waist-boat fastened. Away he went again, railroad speed, and after treating the boat’s crew to a ride that caused them to exert every muscle to hold their hair on, the irons again “came home.”
This only served to increase the excitement, and again the several boats gave chase with redoubled energy and ardor. About sunset the captain’s boat drew near; he stood in the head of the boat, determined to make the old fellow show the “red flag.” He was now close on; all were looking with breathless anxiety. They neared him, and the captain darted; the second iron followed the first in an instant, and he shouted “We are fast!” and turned round to roll up the sail of the boat. The old man was the spryest man in the ship, and before he could roll up the sail (which usually occupies about a minute), the last flake of line went out of the boat, and away went the old veteran with four hundred fathom (2400 feet) of our line and two harpoons. This was the last chance, it being near sunset, and they gave up the chase, at the same time respecting the intelligence and sagacity of the whale in not allowing himself to become a prey to the frail boats. He probably felt himself insulted by being pestered with such small trash, as well as the idea of being melted up for grease.
The men came on board hungry, thirsty, and tired, having pulled and worked from 6 A.M. to 8 P.M., with but a couple of cakes of hard bread and about a quart of water each to refresh themselves with through the day. The weather was intensely hot; they were exposed to the equatorial sun, which was directly over them; and yet they thought of none of these things till they came on board with no whale. Thus ended the chase of the largest whale we had yet seen, and which our boys christened “Ocean Island Dick.” The captain asserted that for the many years he had followed the sea (about thirty), he had never seen so large a whale as this one. Never mind; he has got the ship’s mark, in the shape of two irons, that will be apt to trouble him some before he rids himself of them.
Saturday, September 27th, we were at Ocean Island. The king himself, with quite a number of natives, came off, bringing with them nothing but pumpkins to trade. One of the boys remarked that he “supposed they considered themselves ‘some pumpkins!’” They were of an excellent quality, but were, in reality, our crooked-neck squash. They raise them in great quantities, and it is the principal article of trade with the ships. This island is certainly the most beautiful one of the group, the land being moderately high, and presenting a very even surface.
On leaving here we shaped our course again for Strong’s Island, which we saw on Wednesday, October 8th. As we neared the land the wind died away, leaving us becalmed, which continued for four days and nights. How provoking it was to lie there, about sixteen or eighteen miles from the land, during all this time, and feel ourselves thus imprisoned! During the day-time the surface of the water would scarce be disturbed by a ripple, and presented the appearance of a vast mirror, with a green islet by the way of decoration. After having been shut up in the ship for six long and weary months without setting foot on shore, to be thus kept in sight of a green “breathing-place” for four days and nights, and feel that you could not reach it so long as the calm continued, was tantalizing; it was not strange that we wished for a strong breeze, one that would put us into the harbor in two or three hours.
At length our wishes were gratified; and on Sunday morning, October 12th, we again dropped anchor in our old resting-place. In the afternoon we went on shore, and, on arriving at our “hotel,” found Zegrah and his wife, who gave us a hearty welcome, having been expecting us. In the evening they gave a feast in honor of our arrival.
The next two or three days we spent as usual, rambling over the island, through canals and over walls—through swamps and ditches in search of adventure. As we have before observed, we found the natives very kind and hospitable, always welcoming us in a hearty manner; and, from their actions, we should judge they were really glad to see us again. Wherever we visited, they spread before us the numerous fruits of the island, urging us to eat, and insisting that we should drink a shell of carva with them. We can never forget their kind, simple-hearted hospitality, and we have often looked back upon our visits there as green spots in the desert of life, refreshing and cheering.