But I must resume my narrative, and speak of the colonists, among whom there is a generation now rising who have been born on the island. They are known as Van Diemanians or Tasmanians. The males are large, fine-looking fellows, and the females generally possess some beauty and intelligence.
This city having considerable whaling trade, there is a corresponding interest taken in everything pertaining to that pursuit. For instance, all the boats that ply about the city front, large or small, are in the form of a whale-boat. Regattas are held, under the patronage of the colonial government, at which various prizes are distributed to the victorious crews of the successful boats: and now for a word about these boats. During the voyage we had two of them, one of which was purchased from the Flying Childers, when we were off the coast of New Zealand, in exchange for tobacco—the other we procured in Hobartown. The former had taken a prize at the regatta; and, therefore, I think we maybe said to have had fair specimens of the manufacture. These boats are longer, sharper, higher, and heavier than ours; they are built of hard wood—there being no wood in this country comparable to our cedar for the construction of whale-boats. Being heavier, they are of course more difficult to pull, and, although higher and sharper, some peculiarity in the model renders them so wet and uncomfortable, that, to use the words of those who had often got wet jackets whilst in them, “They do not ride a sea, but pass right through it.” One advantage they possess in the polished smoothness of their surface, which enables them to glide through the water with scarcely any perceptible noise, and approach the whale before he has an inkling of its whereabouts. Many of these Hobartown vessels totally discard boats manufactured by the artizans of that town, whilst others vastly prefer them to the American boat. From experience, I should say that the latter craft, viewed in every light, is superior; and, again, it has the advantage of being two-thirds cheaper—the Hobartown boat costing from thirty to fifty pounds, and the American fifteen or twenty at the most.
We had but little trouble in procuring water, for, if so disposed, a ship can have it brought alongside; but if not, all that is necessary is, as we did, to tow a raft of casks to the dock, fill them from a hose, and then convey them back to the ship. The water is of an excellent quality, and keeps sweet a long time.
As liberty was given every day, and the watches were ashore alternately, the privilege of remaining ashore during the night was extended to each individual. For the convenience of those who were disposed to return aboard, a boat was sent in at sundown; but it seldom brought off any of the liberty-men. It was manned by the watch on duty; so that three-fourths of the ship’s company might be ashore every night. The boat generally returned before midnight; and it was customary for the crew that manned it to sing a jolly heaving-song at the top of their voices—all joining in the chorus; and the nights being still and serene, the effect produced was rather startling through the silent harbor.
On the 5th of August all hands were aboard—liberty having been discontinued—all preparations made for sailing, and no intercourse allowed with the shore. Many of our crew wished to provide themselves with little articles for sea-use; but the captain, having all on board, determined to keep them there, and took the execution of all their little commissions upon himself. There was, however, no need of this precaution, in order to confine us on board our ship; for, throughout the entire day, we did not fail to have many opportunities to desert, if any of us had felt so disposed, and had availed ourselves of the watermen’s boats, which were continually arriving at, and departing from the ship.
In referring to the account of what transpired aboard the ship on the last night of our stay in the harbor of Hobartown, it may, perhaps, be said by the strict moralist, that too much latitude of correct moral principle was allowed by admitting female visitors, whose reputation, at least, if not their real character, was that of the lowest grade; inasmuch as by their participation in the gay hilarities of that evening encouragement was given to the idea, that their guilty course of life was no hindrance to the realization of lawful and innocent pleasure. Now, considering the fact that so many youngsters were comprised in our crew—“young bloods,” of keen susceptibilities for sport, whom the license of an hour might probably transform into “fast young men,”—we must acknowledge the apparent justness of this objection. But, on the other hand, let us consider the relation in which the captain of a ship stands to his men: it is not one which authorizes or requires him to assume the care and rod of a parent, or teacher of morals; but is one which demands a discipline that can secure their willing, hearty, and effective service. Moreover, it is impossible fully to control the inclinations of a boy, who likely has always had his own way at home, and has been sent to sea on account of a too free indulgence of self-will. I say that it is absolutely impossible to govern such a stripling, (after his parents have failed, while he was surrounded by the influences of home,) when separated fifteen thousand miles from his native country, and after two years of forecastle life, during which, being continually in the society of sailors, boys grow to be men in opinion and ideas, and expect to be treated as such when ashore. As to the expediency of somewhat relaxing the rigid rules of moral discipline, we may be satisfied by a mere contrast of the position of our own with the crew of the James Allen at the same moment. On board the latter, the men had been hectored and thwarted, and consequently more than one-half had deserted—leaving the void to be filled up with green hands,—and those who remained were sullen, dissatisfied, and discontented; whilst our own crew were all aboard their ship, both cheery and ready to go to sea. The fact of all the hands that were brought into this port again going out in the ship, of their own accord, is unprecedented in the annals of the arrival and departure of American whalers; for, commonly, such vessels lose a half or two-thirds of their crews. A few months ago, the ship Hunter, of New Bedford, touched here, and lost a number of her men—several of whom are now acting as policemen. Our non-success in capturing whales gave good cause for apprehending that we should meet with a like loss, and our not doing so may be attributed to the general good treatment which characterized our ship throughout her voyage. Although not a paradise, still she was as good as the best of whalers. No overt act of cruelty or brutality had been exercised on any one of our crew; and therefore they were now all satisfied again to go afloat in her.
In the morning three new men came aboard: two of them were ordinary seamen, or as such they represented themselves—one having steered a boat, and the other having been a year before the mast in a colonial vessel. If these were fair specimens of colonial seamen, the poorest must indeed be very low; for none of them knew the compass, or the rigging, or how to furl a square sail. The whole three were Irishmen, of the class that are banished from their country for their country’s good.
CHAPTER IX.
At 8 o’clock on the morning of the 6th we hove up our anchor, got under weigh, and, with a fair wind, stood down the river—leaving Hobartown in the distance—bound on another long cruise to the westward.
But before I take leave of Hobartown, I must acknowledge the general welcome and hospitality with which we were greeted and treated by its inhabitants, who seemed very desirous to add their contributions to make our time whilst in their harbor pass pleasantly. The mere fact of our being Americans was a passport to their good opinion. Although, when we are absent, they jeer at our national peculiarities, and lay great stress upon “guess” and “calculate,” yet they are all suavity when in our company. Away from home the whole of our people are known as Yankees, whether hailing from the northern, southern, eastern, or western section of our Union. Being an American, as far as my experience goes, is indeed a passport to civility amongst the inhabitants of all these penal colonies. Though the greater part of these people have been banished from Europe for their violation of the laws of their native country, nevertheless, they still consider themselves to be the injured party, and view England as a great oppressor, by whose peculiar societary organization her subjects are urged on to evil; and therefore they say, as such, they have neither regard nor respect for her. I noticed that the military band were continually playing, God save the Queen; but I saw nothing of that affection for the sovereign, which the English papers are forever rehearsing, as being an inherent principle in the British composition. Respect for her virtues, as a woman, they readily yield; but these people have a vague idea of republicanism, that will eventually cost Great Britain her Australian colonies; although self-government among such a people will undoubtedly be productive of little else than anarchy and disorder. The discordant elements composing the population need a thorough alternative, ere they can hope to form a government in any way resembling our Union of the West; and from my own impressions, drawn from an observation of both the higher and lower classes of society, I should say that it would require all the abattoirs of Paris,—which extend, I forget how many miles, and render it the most thoroughly drained city in the world,—as an outlet for the moral corruption of this country.