There She Blows! Or, The Log of the Arethusa

by William Hussey Macy

Here were anchored some dozen or fifteen whaleships, mostly from Nantucket and New Bedford; some lately from home bringing letters for those long absent, while two or three were making their last port homeward-bound, and ready to take the answering epistles; for at that time the process of annihilation of time and space which has made such strides within the last quarter of a century, was, comparatively speaking, in its infancy. Yankee enterprise had not yet pushed its way over the Sierras, and the ponchoed Mexican still lounged at his ease, and drawled his quien sabe? where now great commercial cities have started up as if by magic. No ocean steamers then vexed the waters of "the Gulf" and the Caribbean; overland mails were rather a "proposed" innovation than a fixed fact, and the electric telegraph was as yet hidden in the womb of time. To us in the Pacific, news from home even a year old was heartily welcomed; while the advent of a whaler five or six months out was a perfect windfall.

Good fellowship and jollity presided at the reunions or "gams" on board the various whalers at anchor; music and dancing held high carnival every evening; old friendships were renewed and new ones formed; unexpected recognitions were of frequent occurrence; and even members of the same family, separated for a long series of years, were here reunited, though but temporarily. A striking instance of this sort occurred two or three days after our arrival. A bark was beating in for anchorage, and Mr. Swain was seen to shove off his boat from the Fortitude, and pull out towards her. She had a private signal flying, and Father Grafton, after consulting a list which he kept tacked on the inside of his chest-lid, told me she was the Clio, of New Bedford, and added, indifferently, "Swain's brother is mate of her." The brothers were both on board the Arethusa in the evening, and I heard the question casually asked, "how long it was since they saw each other last?" "Let me see," said Swain of the Clio. "I sailed on my first voyage to the Brazil Banks in 1820, and Joe had been gone about a year then in the Good Success. It's a little over twenty-three years."

"It was quite time to shake hands, then," said our mate. I stared in amazement at the coolness with which they treated the matter! Here were two brothers, both pursuing the same business for a livelihood, and both residing, with their families, in the same town, who had not seen each other's faces since they were schoolboys. And among this knot of Nantucket officers present, the fact was not looked upon as being very remarkable, and was dismissed with merely a passing word of comment. I was speaking of this matter aside to the young third mate, Mr. Bunker, "Why," said he, "we islanders don't think much of that. It's matter of course in our business. Young as I am, it is eight years since I saw my eldest brother who is now second mate of a ship cruising 'on New Zealand,' and I am not likely to get a sight at him for many years to come, unless one of us makes an unusually long or short voyage so as to bring us both at home at the same time. It is not that we are wanting in natural affection that we treat the matter so coolly. I think I love my brother, and I suppose if we should accidentally meet, we should do just as the Swain brothers do: give each other a hearty greeting, make the most of each other's company while it lasted, and part again in a day, perhaps in an hour, for another series of years, and that is all about it."

We have taken in our water and recruits; received on board the oil from the Fortitude and stowed it down; the heavy work is all finished, and not much remains to be done but to paint the ship; and now the "liberty" begins. The word is passed for the watch to get ready to go ashore. Now the "finery" is roused out from the depths of sea-chests, that is, if we have any; and, if we have only one article of "long-shore toggery," it must be worn, though perhaps not strictly in keeping with other parts of our attire, which gives us a slight touch of the amphibious appearance of which I have before spoken at Nantucket. Farrell is with us, having "swapped" into the larboard watch for the occasion, and sports a neat pair of velveteens of the peculiar color and cut that no man who speaks without the brogue, ever did, or by any possibility could wear. Where he got them is a mystery, for no one of his shipmates ever saw them before. The two boys, Kelly and Hoeg, are resplendent in round jackets of green flannel, at that time an indispensable part of the outfit of every "native" below the rank of chief mate; but which have fallen into disuse, and passed away to oblivion with the stiff tarpaulin hat, it is to be hoped never to return.

"Come aft, and get your money."

The old man has a pile of Spanish dollars on the cabin-table, and serves them out with one hand, while he makes entries in his memorandum-book with the other; the watch pass in and out again, one at a time, like voters at the polls, each getting his two dollars, and a rough word of advice to "behave himself, and not break his liberty, nor bring any money off with him." We take our places in the boat, but not at the oar; for we are but passengers to be ferried ashore by the other watch.

Jack's liberty is perfect while it lasts, that is, so far as the ship's duty is concerned. Twenty-four hours is our limit, and the boat will be sent in next morning to bring us off, unless we prefer to hire other conveyance, which we can do if we choose—and have money enough left. Other boats with "liberty men" are to be seen leaving various ships, among the rest the Fortitude's, in which are several of my former comrades in the gallant Lydia Ann. We pull into the rude wharf or mole, and all jump on terra firma with a feeling of outgushing freedom, a Fourth-of-July feeling, uncontrollable, boiling over. We invite our unfortunate, shipmates, the ferrymen, to "come up and take a drink," and do so with an air, too. They accept, asking the officer's permission, poor fellows! It matters not that we shall have to do the same thing to-morrow, "sufficient unto the day" is our motto now; and each man carries a Declaration of Independence to his pocket, ay, two of them jingling.

It is not to be wondered at, if the seaman after being cooped up and subjected to strict discipline for months at sea, thinks it hard that he cannot follow his bent, and do precisely as he pleases for twenty-four hours on shore, and revolts at the idea of submitting to the local authorities and conducting himself like a law-abiding citizen. We all take a drink together at the nearest pulperia, officers and all, and glance condescendingly at our ferrymen ignominiously going down to the boat to pull her back again.

"Well, where next?" We gradually separate into knots of two or three, seeking adventures. Some will care for little else but to cast anchor in a pulperia and soak themselves with liquor; others will patronize a ten-pin alley or a billiard table if they can find one; while none are insensible to the blandishments of the graceful and seductive Chilian women. Mr. Bunker assumes the office of Mentor for me, for he has been here "last voyage," and knows some of the ropes. So we are not long in finding good quarters, and enjoy the day very pleasantly, drinking only enough to keep our wits sharp and make us lively company for each other. We drop in at a dance hall which is occupied only by a few loungers at present, but the fellow behind the bar, who, it strikes me has a very "Rule Britannia" look for a Spaniard, tells us "there'll be fun in the hevening," and kindly invites us to participate. We pursue our rambles, occasionally encountering small parties of our shipmates among the many sailors to be found in various stages of exhilaration as we investigate the beauties of "Jibboom Street," and pry a little into the mysteries of the classic precincts of the "Devil's Pocket."

But here's a row! Let us see what it is! Sailors and idlers gather from all quarters with surprising quickness, for there is perhaps nothing which exerts a greater centripetal force than a street row or brawl. It seems bad blood had been engendered between two of the Fortitude's boys on the outward voyage, and they have decided to knock a little of it out, while the liquor is in. Two or three harmless cracks are interchanged, and a "hook" ensues, when a vigilante unhappily appears on the field and insists upon making himself a third party in the business, contrary to all seaman-like laws of fair play; their shipmates say they shall finish their set-to if they like; another vigilante appears to assist his colleague, and each seizing a belligerent, they start them in the direction of the calaboose; large reinforcements of sailors gather to the rescue, and the police also rally in the same direction with their espadas drawn; one of the pugnacious youths is by this time in the melting mood, and goes like a lamb to the slaughter; but the other proving refractory, receives a persuader or two with the flat of the "cheese-knife," a very Spanish substitute for a policeman's baton. This is the feather that breaks the camel's back; a general attack is made by the infuriated mariners, the policemen are knocked over and the cheese-knives taken from them; two or three sailors are slightly cut, but no one is seriously injured. Farrell is conspicuous in the melee, flourishing a stout stick, with his neat velveteens very much defiled, and his shirt showing through in some "thin places." The two original combatants are released, and the sailors have the field to themselves. But fire-arms now make their appearance—a platoon of scare-crow looking troops are drawn up in line and serious bloodshed is threatened. But the alarm has spread; the American captains and officers make their appearance, and the consul makes a speech to the seamen who are already half-frightened at their own victory so cheaply won. The captains and officers exert their influence in particular quarters at the same time; oil is poured upon the troubled waters; the captured weapons are given up; and the two young fellows who have found themselves so unexpectedly popular and notorious are persuaded to go quietly to prison under guard for the present. The outraged majesty of the Chilian Republic is vindicated, and the wrath of the officials appeased. The pulperias again do a thriving business, much to the relief of the proprietors, for the liquor law has been in force two hours, pending the negotiations.