Life and Adventure in the South Pacific

by John D. Jones

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.