One of those continued and heavy squalls common to the coast set in on the next day. They are foretold by the rapid falling of the mercury, and by the wind at first blowing from the south-west with the greatest intensity from eight to twelve hours, and then, shifting to the opposite point of the compass, we would have a second edition of about the same duration; the north-easterly gusts being always accompanied with torrents of rain, unequalled in violence by any I ever saw elsewhere. This weather would sometimes last for weeks without an interval of a pleasant day, and then be followed by a thick mist, which enveloped everything for five or six days more; thus precluding the possibility of whaling or the performance of other duties. Some idea of this miserable weather may be formed, when I state that during the four months we continued on the coast we were hove-to for fifty-eight days, and at least half as many more we were prevented from whaling by the density of the fog. Whenever our barometer foretold such weather, we shortened sail, until we had nothing spread but a close-reefed main topsail, main spencer, and foretopmast staysail: with this canvass we generally managed to sweat it out; although on two occasions we found even this sail too much, and were compelled to clew up the main topsail, and heave the ship to under the main spencer. On another occasion we heard a clap, like the discharge of a gun, and, hurrying forward, we found our foretopmast staysail blown into shreds.
Of course, little was to be done whilst Boreas was giving vent to his wrath in this turbulent manner. During the watches on deck it was really as much as one could do to look out for himself. Then there was the rigging to keep in repair, preventer-topsail braces to shift and reeve, besides taking in and putting out the boats: with these, in themselves trifling jobs, the watch on deck generally became thoroughly soaked before it was their turn to go below; and then an anxious period was spent in awaiting a gleam of sunshine to dry their clothes. The weather being cold, to use their own expression, “water was wet”; and being in the line of a sea coming aboard was neither safe nor comfortable. We passed the time away, however, sleeping day after day about sixteen hours out of twenty-four.
On the commencement of the gale above referred to, we saw a colonial schooner, belonging to Jacob’s River, New Zealand, square her yards and run for Mary’s Bay: her captain, on the approach of a gale, usually running into one of the many safe and pleasant harbors on the coast, remaining until its violence has ceased, and then popping out and cruising during the continuance of good weather. This schooner, Eliza, is manned by New Zealanders—her captain and mate are of the half-caste. They are a manly people, without much intelligence, but make excellent sailors and whalemen. The Otago, another schooner, whose mode of conduct corresponds with that of the Eliza, and also belongs to the same place, has a Maurii crew, with an English captain and mate. Some months after this I had considerable intercourse with these very pleasant people, and shall speak of them more fully as I progress with my journal.
Some days subsequently we ran in towards the land, and found that the same storm which had so liberally besprinkled us with rain had whitened the mountain caps with snow. We ran close in: there being bold water to the very base of the rocks, capable of floating the largest line-of-battle ship. The coast is irregular and rocky, possessing no beach, and only in the bays, which are numerous and safe, affording facilities for boat landing. The whole face of the mountains, which in some cases exceed a mile in height, is covered with tall trees. One of these eminences, when seen from the sea, presents an appearance precisely like a saddle, and hence was named Saddle Mount; and this was our landmark for four months: cruising towards and from it—at times going within a few miles, and seldom in clear weather being out of sight of it. It can be seen from the masthead a distance of one hundred and twenty miles, as we proved by experience.
On this ground, in company with us, there were about a dozen English ships from Sydney and Hobartown. After the lapse of a few weeks, the ships Alexander and James Allen made their appearance. Both these ships had run into Stewart’s Island for vegetables, and whilst there they had lost several men by desertion. From their description, there is little or no settlement on the island, the country being covered with the ordinary brush, and therefore presenting scarcely any invitation to a sojourner. The men who left the ships were put to a hard shift to sustain themselves. Several of them managed to reach Otago, a town in the vicinity, where they obtained employment; several left in small crafts for other ports on the coast; and one, (from whom I obtained the knowledge of their adventures,) after in vain trying to get along ashore, shipped in the colonial whaling schooner Otago, where I saw him. He gave a ludicrous description of their ups and downs. In the first place, he and another took to the bush for concealment; and, not venturing to show themselves, they remained concealed till night. It was intensely cold, and they were obliged to lie on each other to keep warm. The under place being preferable, and each wanting to secure it, almost a quarrel was occasioned thereby between them. As soon as their ship had departed, they came out from their hiding place, but could find no one to relieve their necessities, nor could they get employment. They finally joined the natives, who fed and clothed them. Becoming tired of this kind of life, they eagerly caught at the offer of a berth aboard a whaler. This poor fellow, my informant, was almost destitute, and had sent to us for clothing, of which a bundle was collected for him. He was a German, with a very thick head, and although the captain of the schooner was disposed to push him forward, he found little ground for cultivation. He made him steward of the craft; but he soon destroyed all the crockery ware, and was so negligent that the captain and mate were compelled to carry their knives and forks to bed with them, in order to find them when wanted.
One of the men belonging to the James Allen adopted a novel plan to get away from the ship. He was a middle-aged man, who had participated in numerous whaling-voyages. On the Allen he held a boatsteerer’s berth, but from dislike on the part of his captain, he was broken, and sent into the forecastle. In his many voyages, he had mastered the language of the Sandwich Islanders, which is intelligible to the native New Zealander, and vice versa. On the night that he determined to desert, he procured the paunch of a blackfish, which is readily found on board a whaler—it being well adapted for making drugs; in it he stowed his clothes, and firmly securing the aperture, he had an air-tight bag, with which he succeeded in reaching the shore in safety. Having a good deal of Yankee shrewdness, and being able to tinker a little, as well as to converse intelligibly, he managed to get into employment, and was doing quite well when last heard from.
On the last day of March our mastheadsman sung out, that there were boats whaling ahead. We stood towards them, and, in the course of an hour, found that the James Allen’s boats were fast to a large sperm whale. We kept on running, and sighted more whales. We lowered away our boats at about 3 o’clock in the afternoon; but at 4¹⁄₂ o’clock we called them aboard, and stood out to sea. The boats were again lowered at 5 o’clock; and the third mate, after half an hour’s chase, struck a noble whale, his boatsteerer giving him both irons clear to the socket. Scarcely, however, had the second harpoon left his hand when the boat was struck twice in succession by the whale’s flukes. The blows were struck between the bow and amidship thwarts, knocking a large hole completely through her. She soon filled, and capsized. The crew swam to her, and got upon her bottom; but, there being a heavy swell on, she continued to roll over and over, the crew following her as best they could. Several times they regained their position on her; but just as the other boats approached the scene of disaster, to give them aid, they discovered that one of their number was missing. At the same instant the third mate cried out, that some one had hold of his legs, and urged haste on the part of the approaching boat. Being a strong swimmer, he managed to keep himself afloat, notwithstanding the drowning man’s clutch, until they had caught hold of him from the boat; but then he instantly exclaimed, “He has let go!” The boatsteerer of the larboard boat dove in, but could see nothing of him; and his boatmates were forced to return aboard, leaving him at rest in the sea, over which he had voyaged for years. Upon the boat’s arriving at the ship, the captain hailed it; and, fearing the worst, asked if any one was lost. On being answered that John was drowned, he appeared much affected, and wept like a child. The lost man was a German, named John Walter, belonging to Hamburg. He was of an amiable disposition, and had endeared himself by his good qualities to all on board. He was every inch a sailor, having spent a number of years in the American merchant-service, wherein, strange to say, he had several times narrowly escaped drowning. On our first visit to Vasse, he was also barely saved from a similar fate. It is customary, just previous to leaving port, to roll the boats over and over in the water, for the purpose of cleansing them from the sand that is collected in them by beaching; which is usually done, amid much merriment, by several men stripping and going into the water for the purpose of conducting the operation. On the day to which I have reference, John Walter was seated in a boat, when orders were given to roll her. He remained in her; and the officer, supposing that he could swim, but did not care to take off his clothes, ordered the boat-plugs to be drawn out; whereupon she filled, and rolled over. From his frantic struggles, we then discovered his inability to support himself. The alarm was instantly given; and a boat alongside, belonging to the barque Monmouth, of Cold Spring, was cast loose, and soon had him aboard, totally exhausted. Now, however, after these hairbreadth escapes, as if fate had such a death in store for him, he met a watery grave in the broad South Pacific Ocean. Well may his life be said to have been one of fearful vicissitudes. But he had not always been alone in his imminent perils; for in one case, whilst pursuing the hazardous duties of his arduous profession, he found himself in the middle of the Atlantic, aboard a ship fearfully leaking. The cargo, which was salt, having got into the pump-wells, prevented their being used; and it was only by the most strenuous exertions, that they were enabled to retrace their course, and run their ship ashore in the harbor of Cadiz.
And now our little circle was broken into by the King of Terrors! Sailing under the same flag—every day in contact with each other—depending on the same planks for protection from the wind and wave,—in the course of the two years that we had been upon the ocean, warm friendships had sprung up, and “shipmate” was only another name for “brother.” This accident—one to which we all felt ourselves liable—excited expressions of feeling, that one would scarcely believe could emanate from the speakers: men in our line of life seldom making an undue display of emotion. Every good quality and trait inherent to the deceased was rehearsed; and in conclusion, all hoped that poor John was in a better home above; and, if any one on board our ship had a prospect of a bright hereafter, surely he, the least offender of us all against the Divine law, would be the one.
On the following morning we ran down and spoke the Allen. They were cutting in their whale; and the cheerful note of their merry chaunt, as they worked the windlass, contrasted strongly with our own bitter feelings and heavy hearts.
The captain gave directions to have all the lost man’s property gathered together, which was done; and, a few days after, the whole ship’s company was mustered aft, on the quarter-deck, and all his effects were disposed of by auction, the captain acting as auctioneer. Every one bought something—each wishing to secure a memento of the deceased; and as the bidding was spirited, much more than the intrinsic value was realized for each article. This is a rule of the sea, but whether a maritime law or not, I do not know: the money produced by such sale being handed over to the friends of the deceased, if they can be found; but if unable to do so, it is usually given to the Seamen’s Friend Society.