"They'll pass the word all the way over those mountains," said our cool and ready companion. "There's a chain of sentinels and pickets on every hill. It's all right; these fellows know me well. Lay right in for that flat rock, and I'll land there."
We did so; he jumped out on the ledge of rock, and with a single "good-by" to us, he rushed up to meet the two natives half-way. They seemed to greet each other as former acquaintances might, and the three disappeared over the brow of the hill together, as we pulled out at the mouth of the bay. This was the last that any one of us ever saw of our "government man;" but some two years afterwards, I read, by accident, in a Sydney newspaper, an account of a smart and bloody skirmish between the English troops and the Maori tribes, and among the slain had been found the body of a white man, tattooed in the face like a chief of rank, and it was recognized as that of a desperado long known in the colonial settlements as Galway Mike. Thus read the statement in the Gazette, and this is all I know of his history.
The passage across the South Pacific Ocean is monotonous and barren of incident. From New Zealand to Cape Horn we had rugged weather and strong winds, for the most part fair for running on our course, at times blowing, day after day, with the regularity of trades, again hauling a few points so as to trim for it on the other quarter, and in one or two instances increasing to a gale, so violent as to compel us to heave to for the safety of the ship. As we approached Cape Horn we again encountered the cutting hail squalls which seem almost peculiar to this part of the world, but with the wind aft, we did not mind them so much as when outward bound. Rolling off before the westerly gales with sufficient press of canvas on the ship to keep her well clear of the mountainous seas in chase of her, with everything well secured, and careful men at the wheel, we laughed at the weather now, and wondered at our own progress, as we counted off five, six, or seven degrees of longitude each day, and reckoned how many more days at this rate of sailing ere we should have room to edge away to the northward and begin to steal towards a milder climate. Degrees of longitude are short ones in this latitude, and we seem to be "putting a girdle round about the earth," if not, like Puck, "in forty minutes," yet still at a rate that appears to us marvellous, as we find our clock nearly half an hour behind the sun each day at meridian, and push her ahead to keep her up to our flying rate of progress.
Land ho! most welcome to our eager eyes, rough, barren and uninhabitable though it be, the storm-beaten rock of Diego Ramirez, for it tells us where we are, better than the whole slateful of figures. "Shake out another reef!" she'll bear it! another day's run, and we can shove her off north-east on the "home side of the land"—the towering seas gather and roll on after us—but keep the canvas on her and she will keep ahead of them—every one of them shoots her on towards "Home, sweet home"—Diego Ramirez fades into the dark squall astern, and if the wind stands where it is, we shall catch Cape Horn asleep. That squall has passed—it is not so heavy as it promised to be—"Give her the mainto'gallantsail!" We must make the most of the breeze while we have it, for we're homeward bound! The sun rises brightly this morning, and the wind is fresh yet, and canting to the southward—"Never mind! let her slide off two points, east-north-east now!" for we've plenty of sea room—we're in the Atlantic!
We passed to the eastward of the Falklands, and were nearly on the ground where we lost our third mate, when outward-bound. Of course the melancholy circumstance was recalled, and talked over, and the captain mentioned that some twelve years previous, when mate of the Colossus, he had struck a whale in this vicinity, and lost him in consequence of his iron breaking.
"I hope," said he, "to see whales yet in crossing this ground. It bids fair to be a good day to-morrow, and I think we will shorten sail at night and let her jog easy, so as to take a good look along here. One large whale would be all we want to chock us off, and we would go home with flying colors."
The next morning we had hardly got the reefs shaken out, when whales were raised. There were several of them, but they did not appear to run together, but were seen here and there in different directions, and were also irregular in their time of rising and going down.
"These whales have been gallied," said the old man, "and have not got regular yet. Some ship has been whaling here yesterday, I think. But here is one off the lee quarter that I think can be struck, Mr. Grafton. You and Mr. Dunham lower away and go down there and try him, and I will wait a while and take the ship's chance. If you get fast, I'll come down there to you."
Away we went off to leeward, but it soon appeared that his whaleship was too shy for us, and was playing a dodge game with us. In vain we tried to "prick for him;" we spread our chances, and used our best judgment, but all to no purpose. He always rose in some unexpected quarter, and spouting but a few times, was down again before we could get near enough to "stand up." At length he took a start and went off to leeward at a round pace, and led on by our ardor in the chase we pursued it until we were full three miles from the ship, when it became evident that he was moving faster and faster at each rising, and we abandoned the chase, especially as the ship showed no signs of running off, but still lay aback in the same position as when we lowered. We laid round the heads of our boats towards the ship, and pulled to windward, wondering why the old man still kept his luff, when up went the ensign at the peak, and the small signal at the main was run up and down several times in rapid succession.