And now that the Abrolhas’ are dropping astern, we will contrast the present state of our feelings with what they were when we entered this channel, five weeks since. Then we were pregnant with hope: no doubt existing in our minds as to the preconceived certainty of taking several hundred barrels of oil—the only damper to our ardent expectation being the forethought of our toil in towing. The possibility of there being no whales never struck us; for we had from various testimonies of their presence put this point so far beyond all question, that if any one had started the least misgivings he would have been treated with derision. At that time, too, we firmly expected to leave directly for home on quitting the islands; having only to make a short stoppage at the Island of St. Helena for water. But now we had before us the unpleasant prospect of another cruise; and this still more darkened with the thought of our putting into ports, where the little we had due to us would most likely be foolishly spent. Instead of the hundreds of barrels of oil that we had anticipated to have stowed below, we had two hundred barrels of salt-water; and to counterbalance our other disappointments we had—just nothing at all. Yet, had we not made the attempt, none of us would have been satisfied; and I think the captain perfectly justified, although the result was so disastrous.
But there is no use in repining: for this was only one of the series of maladventures we experienced throughout our voyage. The season in the Bight and that on New Zealand (on both of which we had counted largely) returned us almost nothing. We had, however, solaced ourselves with the reflection that the Abrolhas’ season was yet to come; and, although we preferred the sperm oil, still we had made up our minds to be satisfied with a cargo of that of the humpback, which we were assured we could get without trouble, except hard work. And now, when this too had failed, our sheet-anchor was gone: for, if there were any who still had an idea of making a good voyage, they were hoping against hope. For us, certainly, the day had gone by; unless, indeed, when we returned, the market for oil should by some strange revulsion have become so much exhausted as to cause it to bring an almost fabulous price. Then, and then only, would any of us make pin-money enough to repay us for more than three years of a hard, wearisome life. However, as I said before, there is no use in repining. We must grin and bear it, and at the same time admit ourselves convinced of the aptness of that axiom which reads “Blessed are they who expect nothing; for they are sure not to be disappointed.”
And now, the general feeling that pervaded the ship’s company was a wish for a speedy return home: all being convinced of the inutility of a longer absence. But whether the captain would act in accordance with it remained to be seen. His mind fluctuated, with the tide of time, between these two points: to go, or not to go. This was the question which he appeared to be continually debating in his own mind. One moment, “going home” was in the ascendant; the next, all his sympathies were enlisted in favor of staying out for another cruise: points which were perhaps ultimately decided to our disadvantage.
CHAPTER XII.
After leaving the Abrolhas’, we had a strong westerly breeze, which required us to carry sail pretty stiffly, to avoid the shore; in the course of which process we sighted the Wollaby group and Wizzard’s Peak on the main.
Our intention was to cruise here for four or six weeks; but having, after the lapse of eight or nine days, seen sperm whales which were going eyes out to the westward, (we lowered for them, but did not get within miles of them,) on the morning of September 1st, we spoke the Europa, sold to her captain another boat, and, with strong southeast trades, took up our line of departure for the westward. Our ship’s bottom, from long exposure, was very foul, and we tried to make amends for her dullness by packing her spars full of canvass: main royal, topmast, lower and topgallant studding sails, all assisting us on our westerly course; and, although we were not bound directly home, we were all well aware that space now crossed brought us thitherward, and would not need to be retraced by us. Hence we entered into the spirit of the passage with more alacrity than usual. There was, besides, this other consideration, that we were bound to a port within the precincts of civilization; which is always a matter of gratification to sailors, after either a short or long cruise.
At the last farewell visit from the Europa’s crew, we were commissioned to deliver many a message, both verbal and written, to near and dear friends of theirs in the States; and they, poor fellows, doomed as they are, for a year or eighteen months more, cruising off New Holland’s coast, could not avoid announcing their wishes to be aboard with us. They, however, bade us “God speed;” and we bade adieu to New Holland and them both at the same time, hoping to meet the latter again in the land of Washington, amid pleasanter scenes and under happier auspices than can be found within the confines of an Indian Ocean whaler’s timbers.
After bidding adieu to the Europa, we occupied ourselves in sending aloft studding sails on the fore and main, from the topgallant yards to the deck; the main royal was bent, a mizzen staysail manufactured and bent, and under a cloud of canvass, impelled by the gentle trade-wind, we kept her west-north-west, fully anticipating making Mauritius within a fortnight; but, like most of our bright anticipations, this was doomed to be dashed—the trade-winds, most unusually at this season of the year, persisting in being light, so that it was not until the 21st that we saw the Isle of France. Previous to this, on the 19th, we sighted and passed close by the Island of Rodrique. This small island is seldom visited by whalers for supplies, as there is no accredited American agent resident on it. It however is made famous amongst the whaling fleet, from the fact of a captain of a New Bedford vessel having selected a lady of the island, of French parentage, as his lady love, marrying, and taking her with him to the United States, to the dismay of the fair sex in his native neighborhood, who had set their caps for him. This fact is so well known and widely spread, that I never, whilst in the Indian Ocean, heard the name of the island mentioned, without being compelled, from politeness, to listen to a repetition of the love passage.
The following day, at five o’clock in the afternoon, we sighted a school of sperm whales, consisting of cows and calves. After several hours chasing, we were obliged to relinquish the pursuit as futile.
On the afternoon of the 23d we stood close in to the land composing the Isle of France; it is rugged and mountainous, covered by immense fields of nature’s own green, which we judged to be the different plantations of coffee and sugar-cane, for which the island is celebrated. At night we beat to windward, having to direct us the beacons of two light-houses, which designate the entrance to the harbor. Next morning we stood into the roadstead, which is easy of access, but only presents a secure anchorage at certain seasons of the year, being entirely unprotected from the winds. At 10¹⁄₂ A. M. on the 23d we let go our anchor, amid some twenty vessels, most of which fly either the French or English flag—these two nations carrying on the principal trade to and from the port. These vessels were of the most ancient models, not a clipper to be seen amongst them; all betrayed too plainly that Yankee ingenuity had nothing to do with their construction, but that their models, rig, and lumbering appearance were all owing to some clumsy English shipwright, or French bungler in the same line.