Life and Adventure in the South Pacific

by John D. Jones

Thursday morning, March 3d, saw us clear of the land, with no wind, and enveloped in a thick fog. At noon the fog commenced rising, and as it continued slowly, exposed to our view a swarm of fishing junks. This did not create a very pleasant feeling in our midst, as we well knew that many of the so-called fishing junks were only pirates in disguise. One of them sent a boat with some fish, which we purchased, and then sent him off, as we did not like his appearance. It was still calm, and all hands were “whistling for a breeze,” which soon came, and before evening we were bowling it off at the rate of nine knots.

We had forgotten to mention that while in port we shipped two men, an officer and a boat-steerer. The officer, Mr. M., was a windy, braggadocio fellow, not over-stocked with common sense, whom all hands learned soon to hate and despise. The other, Davy, the boat-steerer, was a Frenchman, a very quiet, easy fellow, not at all inclined to kill himself with hard work.

We had been but a few days from port, and while yet in the China Sea, when the glad cry was heard, “T-h-e-r-e she b-l-o-w-s.” As this was our last cruise, it can be easily imagined how “eager for the fray” we were. Down went the boats, the men following, feeling decidedly fishy. The larboard and starboard boats soon fastened, and killed their whales with but little trouble; but not so with the bow boat. Our new officer must needs “show off” his skill, and, after fastening to his whale, drove the boat completely on to him, when he turned, and commenced very coolly chewing the boat to pieces. This was very unfortunate, as the waist boat, which was nearly up to a fourth whale, was necessarily obliged to go to the relief of the stove boat. The wounded whale fortunately received the harpoon in a vital part, and soon “turned up,” so that we got three whales, which was not a bad commencement for the cruise.

We now experienced very heavy gales of wind—what seamen call the “tail end” of a typhoon. It came upon us at first unawares, and we were near losing all our sails and spars, which would have rendered us a complete wreck. For an hour or two the wind would blow with tremendous force—it appeared that every thing must give way; and then a calm of an hour or two would occur, the sea now rolling and pitching in great fury. This weather lasted for two or three days; and when pleasant weather again broke upon us, never was it more welcome. We now sighted the northern islands of the Bashee group, and it was with difficulty that we kept clear of them.

On Thursday, March 24th, we sighted the southernmost island of the Loo Choo group, belonging to the Japan government. These islands possessed a peculiar interest to us at this time, as Commodore Perry was then on his celebrated expedition to Japan, and it was expected he would visit the Loo Choos about this time.

Twice during our voyage had death visited us, and taken from us officers and shipmates. Again he came, and on this occasion visited the forecastle, taking with him one of our Roratongo natives. He died on Monday, April 12th, of consumption. When he left his native island he was troubled with a severe cough, which grew worse rather than better, until his condition was one past all hope. While in Hong Kong he was placed in the hospital, and every thing that medical skill could do to effect a cure was resorted to, but all in vain. The captain endeavored to persuade him to remain there, promising to leave him so situated that he would be as comfortable as possible while he lived; but this he would not consent to. He said he did not wish to remain there and die among strangers, but would rather be with those with whom he had lately lived—those who were his acquaintances, and among his native friends. Every thing that could be done by captain, officers, and crew to make his last days comfortable and happy, was done. But the time drew near when he was to depart. Death already stood at his bedside, awaiting the summons to convey him over the dark river. Calling his Kanaka friends about him, whose tears flowed fast and full, he gave them sundry messages to his parents, brothers, and sisters; told them to say to all he died a Christian, firm in the faith of a redeeming Savior; and that, although his body might be buried in the depths of the dark blue sea, yet his soul would ascend to that glorious home above, which his Savior had “prepared for all those who love him.” He exhorted us all, in as strong a voice as his weak nature would permit, to prepare for death, for death would as surely come to us as to him. Requesting his native friends to sing, in their language, his favorite “missionary hymn,” as he termed it, “Oh! that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,” etc., he quietly dropped asleep in death.

What a lesson was here taught us nominal Christians by this poor native! An inhabitant of an island but a few years since barbarous, dying strong in the faith of a blessed immortality beyond the grave. If all the missionaries who have left their homes to labor for the spread of the Gospel among the heathen had accomplished no more, through Christ, than the salvation of this one native, yet were they well repaid. “What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”

At four P.M. all sail was taken in, the ensign half-mast, and again were all hands called to “witness burial service.” After the usual ceremonies, which were very affecting, the plank was raised, and the body committed to the deep.

Reader, when you die, it will be, we trust, in the Sabbath calm of your hushed chamber; but the poor sailor dies at sea, between the narrow decks of his rolling home. The last accents that reach your ear will be those of love and affection, such as alone flow from a mother’s heart and a sister dear; the last sounds that reach the dying sailor’s ear are the hoarse murmur of that wave which seems impatient to grasp its victim. You will be buried beneath the green tree, where love and grief may go to strew their flowers and cherish your virtues; but the poor sailor is hearsed in the dark depths of the ocean, there to drift about in its under-currents till the great judgment day. Alas! for the poor sailor, often the child of misfortune, impulse, and error, his brief life fraught with privations, hardship, and peril, his grave, at last, the foaming deep! Though man pity him not, may God, in his great mercy, remember his weaknesses and trials, and save him through his Son!

From this time until about the 15th of April we were very successful, obtaining, in three weeks’ time, about three hundred barrels of oil. This, with the whales we captured in the China Sea, increased our store nearly four hundred barrels since leaving Hong Kong. As a matter of course, all hands, from captain to cook, were in the best possible humor. This was our last cruise, and “every whale counted.” We were now steering for the Bonin Islands, to procure turtle, sweet potatoes, watermelons, etc.