ORMSBY’S PEAK.
It still continued calm until Wednesday the 29th. During that day a breeze sprang up, and we again made the land. Captain E. and a boat’s crew had been on shore two days, in consequence of our drifting away from the land. They came off on this day, bringing with them some sweet potatoes and two fine large turtle. But very few persons reside on these islands—some twelve or fifteen. Mr. Savory, the oldest inhabitant, came to Peel’s Island in 1812, and has never left it. All living on the island are English or American. Irish and sweet potatoes, corn, melons, onions, and nearly all kinds of vegetables, are raised with the greatest ease. Oranges and pine-apples are of spontaneous growth, and abundant. Green turtle, also, are found here in great numbers, and easily procured.
The expedition to Japan, under Commodore Perry, paid this island a visit, and the commodore was very strongly impressed with the idea of making it a naval and coal dépôt for vessels plying between San Francisco, Australia, and Hong Kong; so much so that he took possession of a portion of it (with the consent and approbation of the inhabitants), and sent on shore three men, with agricultural implements, seeds, live-stock, etc., to experiment, while he proceeded to the Loo Choos, and to await his return.
The reader will doubtless recollect one “John Wilds,” who sailed with us a short time during the first part of the voyage, and who left to go to the gold mines in Australia. What was our surprise to find him living on Peel’s Island. He informed us that, finding it rather hard digging in Australia, he shipped for Hong Kong, where he joined a whaler. Serving a short season in her, he left, and had since resided on Peel’s Island, raising vegetables, and catching turtle for ships. He had thrown aside the profession of sailor, and had become a merchant.
While all hands were busily engaged, from ship to shore, and shore to ship, laying in a stock of vegetables and turtle for our last cruise, one of our men became so enamored with Peel’s Island that he concluded to take French leave. Accordingly, while on shore, he took to his heels and made off. The officer in charge of the boat gave chase, but the man was too nimble for him, and he was soon out of sight. Foolish fellow! he was the loser some four hundred dollars by the operation, and in a few months later lost his life, having been capsized in a boat and drowned.
We now come to the last anniversary of our nation’s birthday that we were destined to spend together in our ocean home, and we resolved that it should be a merry one. All unnecessary work was suspended; the doctor was ordered to serve up his best dishes for the occasion, and all hands went in for a merry time—a celebration on our own hook. During the morning a national salute was fired, the glorious stars and stripes floating proudly at our mizzen peak the mean while. At twelve dinner was announced. The bill of fare, as presented by the doctor, was turtle soup, boiled turtle, fried turtle, and turtle in every conceivable way; sweet potatoes; cakes; pies; custards; turtle eggs, fried and boiled; plum duff, etc., etc.—the whole forming a repast that Jack seldom sits down to. All hands did ample justice to the dinner, which the old darkey cook received as a great compliment. “I tought,” said he, “I fix dinner for you dis foufh July just suit you, and I been gone done it.” We now postponed further proceedings until evening. Among other good things, the steward had brewed a barrel of excellent small beer for the occasion from sweet potatoes and hops. And now the watch had been set; none on deck save the man at the wheel and the officer pacing his rounds. Forward were all hands in the forecastle, which was brilliantly illuminated by the real spermaceti—the spoils of our own hard-fought battles—each one seated with his pot of beer before him. The song was called for; and “Hail Columbia!” was sung by Yankees, Englishmen, Frenchmen, Spaniards, Portuguese, and Kanakas, as never sung before. Patriotic speeches followed, and the sentiment of devotion to our country was toasted: “three times three,” with a will, was given for the “land of the free and the home of the brave.” The Kanakas and Portuguese, although not understanding the “merits of the case,” entered into the sport with a hearty good-will, drinking their small-beer, occasionally exclaiming, “Hurra Fourth July! very good; I like s’pose he come every day.” And thus our last Fourth of July in a whaler passed. Although not making as much of a “splurge” as did many patriots on that day, yet our hearts beat as true, and expressed as much devotion to our country.
From this time our good fortune, that had followed us during the cruise so far, appeared to gain. During the next thirty days we captured nearly three hundred barrels of oil, which was in itself a good season’s work. Fortune had at last crowned our efforts with success, and each day, as it passed, would hear some one exclaim, “One day less on board the old hooker!”
Nothing of peculiar interest transpired further during the cruise except an occasional meeting with a brother whaleman. We were all the time working our way to the eastward, preparatory to leaving the ground in September. On Tuesday, August 4th, spoke the “Rambler,” of Nantucket, Captain Potter. Soon after parting company, we lowered our boats and captured two large whales, they yielding us about one hundred and sixty barrels of oil. On the 25th of the same month we gammed with the “Hope,” of New Bedford, Captain Gifford. We found him quite ill, and hardly able to walk the deck; yet in this same feeble condition, a few days previous, when whales were raised, he had been placed in his boat, bolstered up with pillows, and actually captured a large whale. Nothing, he said, but his anxiety to get a good voyage induced him to do so.
The following day we again gammed with our old friends of the “Roscoe.” It will be remembered that we had with us a Kanaka from Simpson’s Island, whom we called “Dick Simpson.” As he did not wish to go to America, the captain told him that he might go into the first ship that we met that would take him to his island. An opportunity now presented itself in the “Roscoe,” and Dick availed himself of it. The captain gave him his discharge, and paid him in tobacco, pipes, calico, trinkets, etc.—the currency of “his land”—and Dick prepared to leave us. Nearly every one of the crew made him some present as a token of affection, for we all loved good-natured, obliging Dick Simpson. What if his skin was of a dingy hue, he had a brave, good heart, as we all could testify, and we could see that heart was heavy as he bade us each an adieu. The “pumps” of more than one warm-hearted sailor were “set going” on that occasion, but none were ashamed of them. Neither was he soon forgotten, but long remembered by us all.