NEW BEDFORD

LIFE AND ADVENTURE
IN
THE SOUTH PACIFIC.

BY

A ROVING PRINTER.

NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1861.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York.

PREFACE.

The present volume lays no claim to literary merit. Two young men, led to engage in the whale-fisheries, and spending five years in the employment, have compiled from their log-books and their recollection a plain, unvarnished narrative of this period. The work is placed before the public as an account of localities few have visited, and the detail of an employment of which little is generally known. The chief effort in the way of style has been to give vivid descriptions, and make the reader the companion of the traveler. Aside from the information of the volume, it is enlivened by “life on shipboard.”

In these days of many books, in which “voyages” have no small representation, it may seem almost presumptuous to put forth another tale of travel. Yet every traveler has his own experiences; and the sailors who offer here their narrative for the landsman’s inspection believe that their yarn is not an old one, and they have some confidence that the reader will not say it is a dull one.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

LIFE AND ADVENTURE
IN
THE SOUTH PACIFIC.

CHAPTER I.
New Bedford.—Fitting out a Whaler.—Shipping a Crew.—Green Hands.—Shippers.—Outfitters.—A Sailor’s Wardrobe.—All Hands on board.—Good-by to Yankee Land.—The Pilot taking leave.—The last Farewell.—Captain’s Speech.—Choosing Watches.—The Modus Operandi of Ships’ Watches.—Sea-sickness.

The city of New Bedford, Mass., has for many years been the principal whaling-port of the United States. From there hundreds of young men have annually gone to different parts of the world to battle with the monsters of the deep, and, after a long and weary absence from home and friends, returned with ships “laden with the spoils.” It is not our purpose to give a description of this far-famed (among whalemen) place, but we trust it will prove interesting to the reader if we briefly sketch the modus operandi of fitting out a whaler, and “shipping a crew,” that if any one shall be tempted to see the world in a whaler, he may be put upon his guard against some of the impositions practiced upon “green hands” by the “shippers,” as they style themselves, of whaling-ports.

In fitting out a whaler for a voyage, every thing is usually done as cheaply as possible, and often on the “penny-wise and pound-foolish” plan. With some owners, however, we are happy to say, it is different. They have a regard for the health and comfort of the ship’s company, and their ships are generally well fitted, with good provisions, good whaling material, and every thing necessary to make the voyage one of pleasure and comfort to the crew as well as profit to themselves. In nine cases out of ten such ships get good crews, and make profitable voyages. But there are others who are actuated by a niggardly disposition in fitting and provisioning their ships, and the result of the voyage, as far as profit is concerned, is a corresponding one.

After a ship has her provisions, water, and every thing necessary for the voyage on board except her crew, she is “hauled into the stream,” ready for sea as soon as the ship’s company can be got on board, which generally occupies a day or two, as many of them are having their last “spree,” spending their “advance,” and often coming on board half intoxicated. Some of them, when they ship, are in that condition, and hardly know, until they are at sea, their true situation and how they came there. The majority of a whaler’s crew (foremast hands) are “greenies,” hardly any of them ever having smelt salt water, and knowing nothing of a seaman’s life, its hardships, its exposures, its joys, or its sorrows. But the poor fellows soon learn, and many of them, before they have been clear of the land a week, vainly wish themselves at home. Many of them are picked up by “shipping agents” throughout the country, who send them on to their respective shipping-houses in New Bedford. They are then furnished by the shippers with second or third rate boarding-houses, the board to be paid out of their advance. It is a common practice for the shippers to make contracts with owners to furnish them with so many “green hands” at so much per head; the shipper receiving his price from the owner, and then, in addition, charging poor “greeny” ten dollars for “getting him a ship.”

NEW BEDFORD FROM A WHALEMAN’S POINT OF VIEW.

He is then, after being shipped in a vessel of whose captain, officers, destination, etc., he is entirely ignorant, consigned to the tender mercies of the “outfitter,” who is to furnish his wardrobe for a five years’ voyage. The poor fellow is here sadly taken in. The outfitter will spin him a nice yarn, and promise him a splendid outfit, “enough to last him the whole voyage,” which he manages to postpone giving him until the ship is just ready to sail, when he will “fit him out” with a wooden box, made of pine boards, which he calls a chest, size about seven by nine, with perhaps a broken lock, and “stowed” with his five years’ clothing. As a general thing, this clothing is made in such a manner and of such material that it gives out before the ship gets into the Pacific, and the “slop-chest” is resorted to for a new supply. It is a common remark among whalemen who have been “bit,” that the cloth is “made of bull’s wool and dog’s hair, woven together by thunder and lightning.” The “five years’ supply” generally consists of two red or blue woolen shirts, two under-shirts, two pairs of drawers, one pair of woolen pants, one round-jacket, one monkey-jacket, two pairs of thin pants, two “hickory” shirts, a sou’wester or tarpaulin, two pairs of stockings, one pair of shoes, a jack-knife, comb, looking-glass, paper of needles, one quarter-pound of thread, five pounds of tobacco, a keg of oil soap, a tin cup, pan, and spoon, mattress, pillow, and blankets. For this lot of stuff the outfitter charges the moderate sum of seventy-five dollars, draws an order for that amount upon the owners, and, just as the ship is to sail, tells the “greeny” he must sign it, or he can’t go in the ship. Many times he is urged to, and often does, sign an order, the amount of which is left blank; and, after the ship sails, the outfitter fills the blank to suit himself. The poor victim is thus completely in their power, and they know it, and act accordingly. There are exceptions, of course; some men are engaged in the business who would scorn to do a mean action, but, generally, the outfitters of New Bedford are, politely speaking, gentlemen robbers.

Our ship was to sail on the 23d of October, 18—. Accordingly, on the morning of that day, every thing on board was in a glorious state of confusion. Chests, bundles, bedding, etc., were strewn about the decks until the lawful owners should take charge of them.

As soon as the crew were all on board, orders were given to “man the windlass,” and in a few moments the anchor was on the bow, and our last hold on American soil broken. Many an hour must pass, and many a mile of the blue wave be plowed, ere we could again drop our anchor in this port. The captain now came on board, accompanied by his wife and son, the huge sails were loosed, and we left the city of New Bedford with fine breezes and pleasant weather; many of us with gloomy forebodings, vainly endeavoring to penetrate the dim veil of the future and conjecture as to whether we should be spared again to tread our native shores; again to clasp in our embrace those dear friends we were leaving behind us sorrowing. But the future was all shrouded in mystery, and we could but sigh farewell, and place our trust in Him who “doeth all things well.”

As we are now at sea, the pilot takes his leave, with those who have come off to bid adieu to their brothers, sons, friends, etc.; and now the weather-beaten tar as well as the green hand brushes away a tear, as they bid a long farewell to happy homes; and as their native shores gradually sink behind the wave, all appear to be suddenly impressed with the loneliness of their situation, and the dangers they have to encounter and overcome ere they again behold the dear ones at home.

THE PILOT.

THE MATE.

At about 6 P.M. the captain came on deck, called all hands aft, and made a short speech, the substance of which was that, “as long as they behaved themselves, they should receive good treatment, should have plenty to eat and drink, and a regular watch below; that they were to go when told, come when called, and that without grumbling; and if any of them should act contrary to this, they would find they had come to the wrong place; that there were some thirty of the crew, and he but one, and it was utterly impossible for him to do every thing to please so many different minds, yet it was perfectly easy for them to so conduct themselves as to suit him; and,” he adds, “let every person sweep his own door clean and mind his own affairs, and there will be no difficulty; but if not, look out for ‘breakers:’ in fine, he hopes there will no trouble, and in forty months to be sailing up Buzzard’s Bay with a full ship.”

The captain and chief mate then proceeded to choose watches. Of the modus operandi of ships’ “watches” we presume a great many are conversant; but, for the benefit of those who are not, we will here relate it. The ship’s company is first divided into two equal portions, called the larboard, or mate’s watch, and the starboard, or captain’s watch, which is commanded, or, technically speaking, “headed” by the second mate. At 8 P.M. the “watch is set,” one watch remaining on deck, and the other going below until twelve. They then change, those on deck going below, and remaining until 4 A.M., when they again change for four hours more, until eight. At that time they are again changed, the watch that had “eight hours out” having the “forenoon watch below,” from 8 till 12 M.; and in the afternoon the watch that had but “four hours out” the night before have the afternoon watch below, from 12 to 4 P.M. The time from 4 to 8 P.M. is divided into two short watches, called “dog-watches,” for the purpose of regulating or keeping them in proper succession. For instance: the larboard watch is on deck from 8 P.M. to 12; the starboard from 12 to 4 A.M.; the larboard from 4 to 8 A.M.; the starboard from 8 A.M. to 12 M.; the larboard from 12 to 4 P.M.; the starboard from 4 to 6 P.M., and the larboard from 6 to 8 P.M., when the watch is set. They are thus changed every night, one having eight hours on deck and four below one night, and the next vice versa, continuing thus for the voyage.

It being 8 o’clock, eight bells were struck, and one watch was sent below. About this time the majority of us landlubbers were paying tribute to old Father Neptune—casting up our accounts—and it mattered very little to some of us whether the ship went up or down.

Of all the miserable beings in the world, the sea-sick “greeny” is the most miserable. Those who have been sea-sick can appreciate his situation when we tell them that, in addition to the feeling produced by the sickness, he is made the butt and laughing-stock of those around him who escape the infliction. Those who have never experienced this sickness can not appreciate the blessing of having escaped it, and we will not attempt, therefore, to describe it. However, to use a homely expression, when one is really sea-sick, good and strong, he “doesn’t care whether school keeps or not!”

CHAPTER II.
Sick of the Sea.—Description of the Boats and Whaling Apparatus.—Boat-headers.—Boat-steerers.—Mastheads.—The first Whale.—“There she blows!”—All hands excited.—Lowering the Boats.—“Pull, every man of you.”—A Fisherman’s Luck.—Whales again.—Cape Verd Islands.—St. Antonio.—St. Jago.—Fogo, the Island of Fire.—Going ashore.—A noisy Crowd.—Tom and the Portugee Donkey.—Manuel.—Now for Cape Horn.

It blew very fresh through the night, and could the old ship have come to an anchor about this time, we hardly think many of the “green hands” would have remained on board. But it was of no avail now to complain; all were in for it, and must take the evil with the good from this time until the end of the voyage.

Nothing worthy of note transpired, with the exception of occasionally seeing a sail, until Wednesday, November 31st, being about five weeks out, when we saw our first sperm whale. But before we lower the boats and capture this fellow, let us make the reader acquainted as much as possible with our boats and whaling apparatus.

Our ship carried four boats on the cranes, besides four more spare ones in case of accident, such as a boat being stove, etc. They are built in a manner to enable them to stand a very heavy sea, and at the same time very light and buoyant; about twenty-five feet in length and four in breadth, and sharp at both ends, for motion in either direction without turning. Near the stern of the boat is placed a strong, upright, round piece of wood, a little one side from the centre, which is termed the “loggerhead.” The whale-line passes two or three times around this when running out of the boat. At the head or bow is a groove, exactly in the centre, through which the line passes when taken out by the whale. In each boat are two tubs, containing each about one hundred and fifty fathoms, or eighteen hundred feet altogether in length, of the best Manilla tow-line, very carefully coiled, that it may run out perfectly clear and free; for such is the velocity of its egress sometimes that, should any thing obstruct its free passage, the boat, with all its contents, would be immediately drawn under the surface. There are also five or six harpoons, three lances, a keg, called the lantern-keg, containing a lantern with candles, matches, tinder, bread, pipes, and tobacco, that the boat’s crew may have something with which to sustain nature in case of being off in the night-time, or losing the ship in the day-time; a waif, which is a small flag fastened to a pole, to be inserted in the dead whale, as a signal to the ship that it is a “dead fish;” one or two drugs, which are pieces of plank about a foot or eighteen inches in diameter, with a centre-post, and short line attached, by which they are fastened to the whale-line, serving to check the speed of the whale in sounding or running.

DRUG.

Each boat is commanded by one of the officers of the ship, who is styled “boat-header;” the captain commanding the starboard boat, the first mate the larboard boat, the second mate the waist-boat, and the third mate the bow boat; and they are manned each by a crew of five, one of whom is the harpooner, or “boat-steerer.” All four boats are used in the chase, the race often becoming exciting as to which shall be the “first boat fast.”

Spade and Sheath. Blubber Pike. Lance. Harpoon and Sheath. Dipper. Oil Dipper. Pike.

THE MASTHEADMAN.

From the commencement of the voyage to its close men are stationed at each masthead, on the look-out for whales, and are relieved every two hours. When a whale is seen by any one of the men aloft, he immediately sings out in a peculiar voice, “There she blows!” and repeats it as often as the whale spouts. The officer of the deck immediately cries out, “Where away?” and the look-out replies, giving the direction of the whale from the ship. The officer again asks, “How far off?” The distance is given, and, in a shorter space of time than is occupied in relating it, the captain is at masthead with his spy-glass. As soon as he ascertains the fact that they are sperm whales, he sings out, “Call all hands; get the boats ready, and stand by to lower;” at the same time giving directions to the man at the wheel to keep the ship in the proper direction.

It is impossible to describe the excitement that now prevails. All are anxious to obtain a glimpse, many for the first time, of the monster. The lethargy produced by the hitherto monotonous voyage is now shaken off, and one and all partake of the excitement. All is bustle and animation; some are at masthead, some are in the rigging, and others flying around, getting the boats in perfect order, and ready to be lowered at a moment’s notice. If the whale is to the leeward of the ship, she is kept in that direction; if to windward, the boats are sent in chase, which often proves to be an arduous task. In this instance the whale was to the leeward. When we were within proper distance, the captain coming down, called out, “Haul aback the mainyards; lower away the boats,” and the respective crews follow them down. In a moment more they are pulling for the whale. From hour to hour, and often from sunrise to sunset, do these hardy men toil at the oar, enduring suffering and fatigue, almost unnoticed under the eager excitement of the chase, to be the head boat, or the “first boat fast;” and this under a scorching tropical sun. The waist boat draws near the whale, and all is excitement; the officer crying out, “Pull, men, do pull; now, my hearties, give way; oh! men, do pull; I’ll give you any thing I’ve got, only put me alongside that whale; there he blows; only three seas off,” etc. The boat is close to him; it draws nearer and nearer; the officer orders the boat-steerer to “stand up;” he rises in his place and lifts the fatal weapon; and, when the boat is close enough, the order is given, “Give it to him; give it to him, I tell you!” The boat-steerer darts and misses him, and the whale is “gallied,” or frightened, and takes French leave. Thus ended our first chase after a whale, as did many more during the voyage, and, after having pulled nearly all day, they returned to the ship, all hands disappointed, but the captain cheering us with “better luck next time.” Having thus disposed of our “first whale,” we kept on our course, steering southeast, for the Cape Verd Islands.

On Tuesday, November 27th, we again saw sperm whales, lowered all the boats in chase, but they were going too fast for us, and, pulling a long time with no success, gave up and came on board.

The next day we saw the island of St. Antonio, and ran in toward the land. The inhabitants of this island, like all others of the Cape Verd group, are Portuguese. They subsist principally on the yam, sweet potato, cocoanut, banana, orange, etc., and fish; live in nearly a nude state; are, as a general thing, treacherous, thieving, ignorant, and superstitious. The Roman Catholic religion is the only one tolerated.

On Thursday, the 29th, we passed the island of St. Jago, another of the same group. We were now steering for Fogo, which, on the following morning at daybreak, we saw distant about nine miles. On this island is a volcano, whose summit is one and a quarter miles above the level of the sea. From this volcano the island derives its name, “Fogo, the Island of Fire.” Some years since an eruption took place, which destroyed most of the vegetation, and many of the inhabitants lost their lives. Those that escaped took boats and proceeded to the island of Bravo, a few miles distant. Our captain sent two of our boats in to the shore, for the purpose of trading with the natives, exchanging calico, beads, looking-glasses, trinkets, etc., for various fruits. The opportunity now being given us of visiting dry land once more, we accepted it joyfully. As we drew in near to the shore, the island presented a beautiful appearance; the mountains and hills were covered with green verdure; the natives were seen flocking down their sides, some loaded with baskets of fruit of various kinds, some driving a miserable-looking donkey before them, with a basket of fruit on one side and a pig on the other; here, too, might be seen a great strapping Portuguese woman, with a pig over her shoulder, shouting as loud as her burden squealed, and all hallooing to the boats; the waves breaking over the reef in thunder tones, and all together creating one of the wildest scenes of confusion we have ever witnessed. We finally found, after pulling along the shore for some distance, an opening in the reef, where we might land without danger of getting our boats stove to pieces, and pulled in. As soon as we landed we were surrounded by nearly two hundred Portuguese, and a scene now ensued that beggars description. Imagine a flock of two hundred birds, all chattering, about fifty hogs squealing, goats bleating, donkeys braying, and sailors shouting and laughing, and you have some faint idea of the real scene. Some of our men, too, went in for a little fun. One of them, Tom W., a regular wag, managed to steal a Portuguese’s donkey for a short ride up the mountain and back. When he returned, the donkey’s master wanted the moderate sum of seven dollars for the use of the animal. Tom told him he would give him his note for ten years; but the Gee would not be satisfied, until, a crowd gathering around, the matter was finally compromised by Tom’s buying his basket of oranges, containing, perhaps, a hundred, for which he gave him about one eighth of a pound of tobacco.

In the afternoon we returned to the ship, our boats loaded with fruit. We also brought off with us a wild Portugee, who was determined, in spite of the remonstrances of our officers, to “see the elephant.” He could not speak a word of English, and seemed to look on all the proceedings on board ship with a great deal of comical dignity and interest. He made the captain understand by signs that he wished to go the voyage. Accordingly they soon struck a bargain, and Manuel became a member of the ship’s company. He was furnished with a couple of suits of clothes, Tom W. gravely remarking that “it was the first suit of clothes that was ever in the family,” and sent forward. He was of noble build, being six feet three inches high, and well proportioned. He soon, however, was obliged to “cast up his accounts,” and we never saw a more pitiable-looking object than sea-sick Portugee Manuel; and, while many of the crew were passing jokes upon him, he looked as if he fully believed he had fallen into the hands of barbarians.

From this island we shaped our course for Cape Horn.

CHAPTER III.
Our Captain.—Officers.—Boat-steerers.—Foremast Hands.—Jo Bob.—Sailor’s Fare.—The Cask of Pies.—Mackey.—Lawrence asleep.

The ship being by this time “shipshape and Bristol fashion,” and the crew pretty well acquainted with each other, we will give a brief description of the officers and crew. Our captain is a man of about fifty, and has “beat the wash” for the past twenty-six years. He is a thorough sailor, a skillful navigator, and an impartial and decisive judge, and one who commands the respect of both officers and crew. His lady is an agreeable, intelligent woman, well fitted to be the wife of such a man; his son, a lad of about ten years, a smart, active boy, and cut out for a sailor.

Our chief mate, Mr. C., is a seaman of the first water, one thoroughly versed in the mysteries of sailorship, prompt and efficient, kind and obliging, and, above all, a most skillful whaleman.

Our second officer, Mr. L., is also an excellent seaman, an experienced whaleman, and one whom the whole ship’s company love, for he is a good man, and to them all a kind friend.

Quite the contrary is our third officer, Mr. K. He is a pompous, windy sort of a being, who knows more than the captain and all hands, and one whom the men detest.

Our fourth officer, Mr. F., is a fine jovial fellow, as smart as a steel trap, and perfectly at home on board ship. He is also an excellent whaleman.

The boat-steerers are good-natured boys, always ready in the discharge of their duties; and the cooper, a quiet, peaceable man, who attends to his own business, which he thoroughly understands, and does not trouble himself with other people’s.

The crew represent most of the states of the Union, England, and France. We have with us, also, a Kanaka, a native of the island of Roratongo, one of the Society Islands; a good-natured, lazy fellow, with but one eye, who goes by the very expressive name of Jo Bob. He speaks but little English, and that so broken as to make it difficult to understand him; nevertheless, in the first watch at night, he takes our wild Portuguese on the heel of the bowsprit, and endeavors to teach him English, and rather comical work they make of it. Most of the mechanical trades we find represented among our crew, as well as the professions, and the “art preservative of all arts.” One or two, from their appearance and conversation, would lead a person to suppose they had never before been beyond the boundaries of a cow pasture. Some have been driven to the sea to escape the consequence of rascalities at home; others from family difficulties; some have come to sea to repair their broken health; a few have run away from home to escape the fancied tyrannies of parents, and still others from an inclination to follow the sea and a love of adventure; and all have come to a good school, in one sense of the word. Shut out from all society; prescribed to a certain portion of the ship; to go when told, come when called, and that without grumbling; put upon sailor’s fare, which generally consists of coffee and tea, without milk or sugar, and sea-bread, with cold salt pork, for breakfast, beef and pork for dinner, with “duff” for dessert—and we will give a brief description of this beautiful dish: Take flour, which has previously been dug out of a cask with mallet and chisel, and then pounded fine, mix it with water to the consistency of a paste, and then “dump” it into a canvas bag, and boil for three hours, with about the third quality of West India molasses, well diluted with water, for sauce, and you have the sailor’s delicacy—“duff!” This food, with the manner of living, generally brings them to their senses; they begin to realize the comforts and blessings of a good home, and make the important discovery that their wisdom is not quite so extensive as Solomon’s, and that they were sadly mistaken in supposing they knew more than their parents. If any young men who may chance to read this book should have a longing for the sea and all its pleasures, we will inform them how they may obtain a slight foretaste of those joys. Let them choose a dark, cold, rainy night, such as we often have in the month of November, and be roused suddenly out of a snug, cozy sleep, mount into the top of the tallest tree they can find, and there stand and endure the pitiless beatings of the storm for four long hours, and we think they will get a slight foretaste of the joys of a sailor’s life. But still, whenever we have been asked the question by such, we say, “Go, by all means, and then you will be satisfied.” The old adage proves true here as well as elsewhere, “Experience is a dear school.”

We will here give one or two anecdotes in relation to life on shipboard, which will serve to illustrate the tricks and games often practiced. We had with us, by some means unaccountable, a young fellow from Taunton, Mass., a lazy, half-foolish, soft piece of humanity, to whom we soon gave the dignified appellation of “Barney.” When only a few days out, and Barney was partially recovering from his sea-sickness, the poor fellow, missing the accustomed good things at home, and not relishing the hard fare of ship-life, complained sadly of his want of appetite; that he could not relish the fat salt pork and hard bread which he was obliged to eat. One of the old seamen, who are always up to such jokes, said to him, “Why, Barney, you fool, why don’t you go and ask the captain or mate to break out that cask of pies that they have got in the main hold, and give you one? They were put on board expressly for the green hands when recovering from their sea-sickness.”

“Cask of pies!” replied Barney, opening his eyes and mouth wide with astonishment. “Is there a cask of pies aboard?”

“Certainly,” replied his tormentor, “and it was put aboard on purpose for the green hands, and you’re a fool if you don’t go and tell the old man[1] you want some.”

So off Barney posts aft to the captain and mate, who were walking the quarter-deck together. It was not long before he returned to the forecastle, his countenance considerably elongated, and feeling very much crestfallen.

“What’s the matter, Barney? Didn’t you get any pies?”

“No, I didn’t get any pies, and there ain’t any aboard the ship either, and you knew there was not.”

“Why, what did the old man say?”

“He said that some one was making a fool of me, and if I came to him after any more pies he would stop my watch below for the whole cruise.”

Poor Barney was obliged to submit, not only to sailor’s food, but to be one of the butts of the ship’s company for the voyage.

We had on board a fellow from Nova Scotia by the name of Mackey. It was the delight of some of the watch to “stuff” Mackey with all sorts of imaginable stories on divers subjects, and to get the poor fellow, who was very credulous withal, into some scrape. One night, when it was blowing very hard, and the ship lying-to under easy sail, rolling heavily, some one of the watch told Mackey to place a handspike in one of the lee scupper-holes to prevent the ship rolling so badly. Off posts Mackey for a handspike, but, finding none, he contented himself with using a scrub-broom handle, which he placed in the scupper-hole, and commenced jumping upon it, until he finally broke it. The officer of the watch espied him, and sang out,

“What are you about there, you Mackey?”

“Stopping the old ship from rolling, sir.”

“Well, I guess you have worked at that about long enough; now point yourself aloft, and try your hand at slushing down the masts; away you go!”

Poor Mackey starts off, grumbling that they should give him a work-up job for trying to stop the ship from pitching about so. He gets up aloft, and finds rather a difficult job before him.

“How shall I hang on, sir?”

“By your eyelids.”

“But I can’t do it, sir.”

“Then let go; probably the deck will bring you up.”

As this is all the consolation Mackey gets, he goes to work, muttering all sorts of invectives against whale-ships and mean men, and wishing them all in Tophet, and that he was at home, down in Nova Scotia, and guesses he would not trouble salt water again.

Our pompous third officer was very much opposed to allowing the men to sit down in the night watches, for fear they should take a short nap now and then. We had one fellow on board who was one of the laziest fellows in existence, so very lazy that before we were two weeks out he had received the appropriate sobriquet of “Lazy Lawrence.” He possessed, in addition to the excellent trait of character above mentioned, that of being the most inveterate liar ever known, and at the same time the greatest sleepyhead on board. As soon as he would come on deck in the middle, or morning watch, he would invariably bring himself to an anchor somewhere, and then—he was fast asleep. One night one of the crew, stationed on the look-out, espied him, and, thinking to have a little sport, goes aft to the binnacle lamp (which is the lamp that gives the light to the helmsman at night), covered his hands with oily smut, and, coming forward to the place where Lawrence was so quietly reposing, probably dreaming of his home, “’way down East, in the State of Maine,” and the farm, drew both hands very quietly across the poor fellow’s face several times, giving him very much the appearance of a molasses-colored darkey. Next morning all hands were called to go through the usual process of washing decks, etc. Lawrence, making his appearance with the rest, presented a comical spectacle. All hands roared with laughter; he, not imagining what was the cause of their merriment, joined in. At last the chief mate, who had an inkling of the matter, sang out,

“What is the matter with you this morning, Lawrence; are you sick?”

“No, thir,” lisped Lawrence.

“I guess you got asleep during your watch last night, did you not?”

“No, thir; I never closed my eyes the whole watch!”

“Don’t lie to me; what were you doing on the windlass, just after four bells?”

“Only thinking, thir.”

“There, that will do; go wash, and point yourself aloft, and stay there till I call you down; and learn, when I ask you a question, to tell the truth; away you go!”

So away goes Lawrence, imagining himself the most abused man in existence, and says a state prison would be preferable to an old blubber-hunter. After he had been kept aloft two or three hours, he was called down, told to tell the truth after this, and sent about his business.

[1] The captain.

CHAPTER IV.
Crossing the Equator.—Barney looking for the “Line.”—Spoke Ship “Java.”—Spoke Ship “Ontario,” homeward bound.—Writing Letters Home “under Difficulties.”—Sperm Whales again.—A Fast Boat.—The Red Flag.—The Flurry.—The Fluke-chain passed.

On the 13th of December, 18—, we crossed the equator in longitude 24° 30´ west. The weather was delightful; pleasant breezes and sunshine; the heat not uncomfortable, but just enough to make thin clothing desirable. Old Neptune did not favor us with a visit, although rather fearfully expected by some. This practice, we believe, has become obsolete, and we rejoice heartily at it, for a more barbarous one never was invented.

Barney was very anxiously and busily engaged during the middle and morning watches, and most of the day, in looking for the “line” as we crossed it. He had talked of nothing else for several days, and was keeping a bright look-out for it, losing his watch below for the purpose. But he was doomed to disappointment. No “line” was visible when we crossed the equator, and poor Barney went below, when the announcement was made that we were south of it, muttering to himself, “It is certainly strange; I have often seen it on the maps, and I can’t imagine how we crossed it without seeing it.” Barney found out his error before the voyage was up.

The same day we saw the first whale-ship at sea, the ship “Java,” of Fairhaven, Captain Thompson. She, like ourselves, was bound for the Pacific. Had taken no whales as yet.

On the twentieth of the same month, while in company with the Java, we spoke the “Ontario,” of Sag Harbor, bound home, with a full cargo of whale oil. Paper, pens, and ink were now in great demand, all eager to send letters home. And now a great many of those who attempted writing for the first time found out the difficulty, we might almost say folly, of attempting to write legibly at sea. We had by this time, from having practiced it daily in keeping a journal, acquired the knack, though at first our efforts in that line were really astounding, to us at all events. Even now it is hard deciphering the marks we first “entered in our log,” they having a closer resemblance to the tracks of an old turkey who had stepped in a pool of ink and walked over paper than any thing else we can liken them to.

But we must hasten, as the good ship “Ontario” is waiting anxiously for her master to return on board, that she may be on her way “homeward bound.” Her crew were pitying us poor fellows—outward-bounders on a long voyage—while we were vainly endeavoring to conjecture how soon the time would arrive when we should be homeward bound with a full ship, and could look with an eye of pity upon poor outward-bound whalemen.

The morning of the twenty-second commences with light breezes from the northeast; pleasant weather. Suddenly, about 9 A.M., the monotony is broken by the welcome cry from masthead,

“T-h-e-r-e she b-l-o-w-s! T-h-e-r-e she b-l-o-w-s!”

“Where away?”

“Four points off the lee bow, sir.”

“How far off?”

“About two miles, sir.”

“What does it look like?”

“Sperm whales, sir.”

“Ay, ay; sing out every time you holler.”

By this time the captain was aloft, and, on taking a view with his spy-glass at the “spouts,” sings out, “Sperm whales! Call all hands; bear a hand there, and get your boats ready.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” is the reply. All hands are called, and the different crews stand by their respective boats, “all eager for the fray,” and expressing their determination to capture a whale before returning to the ship, taking for their motto, “A dead whale or a stove boat.”

“Lower away the boats!” shouts the captain, as he descends to the deck. They are instantly lowered, followed by the crews, and now comes the tug of war. Each boat sets her sail, and the men pull in good earnest. While they are skimming the waves the whale is still spouting, and all are anxious to reach him before his “spoutings are out.” It frequently happens, when in pursuit, that, just at the moment the boat-steerer “stands up” to strike the whale, he suddenly descends; but experienced whalemen can generally tell the direction they take while down by the position of the “flukes” when going down. The boats are then pulled in the direction the whale is supposed to have taken. They also judge of the distance the whale will go under water by the velocity of the animal when last seen. After the boats have pulled what is judged to be the proper distance, they “heave up,” or cease pulling. A large whale, when not “gallied,” or frightened, generally spouts from sixty to seventy times before going down, and remains down from fifty to seventy minutes.

The boats have now got close on. Those left on board the ship are watching with breathless anxiety, occasionally exclaiming, “Oh pull, boys! do pull!” Meantime the men in the boats are bending back to it, but the bow boat has the advantage; she is the head boat. Mr. K. is jumping up and down in the stern, crying, “Once more, my hearties; give it to her! a few more strokes, and we have him; pull, my children! why don’t you break your backbones, you rascals? so there you are now; that’s the stroke for a thousand pounds; start her, but keep cool; cucumbers is the word; easy, easy; only start her! why don’t you snap your oars, you rascals? bite something, you dogs! easy now, but pull; oh, you’re all asleep! stop snoring, and pull; pull, will ye? pull, can’t ye? pull, won’t ye? pull, and start your eyes out! that’s it; now you start her.” Thus, one moment coaxing and the next scolding; but no one heeds him, as all are bent on taking the whale. “Stand up!” shouted he; and the boat-steerer rose to his feet, grasped his iron, and, as the boat neared the monster, “Give it to him!” is the next cry, and “chock to the socket” went the first iron, followed as quick as thought by the second. One deafening cheer, and the cry resounded over the waters, “We are fast! we are fast!” The sea, which but a moment before lay still and quiet, with scarcely a ripple to break its even surface, is now lashed into foam by the writhings of the whale. “Stern all!” shouts the officer. The boat is immediately backed, and removed from present danger; the officer takes the head of the boat, and the boat-steerer takes the steering oar to manage the boat; the whale is sounding, and the line is running through the “chocks,” or groove in the head of the boat, with the rapidity of lightning, and as it passes round the loggerhead it ignites from the heat produced by friction, but the tub-oarsman is continually dashing water upon it in the line-tub. The whale sounds deep, and the line is almost out; a signal is made to the other boats, which are coming down. They come near enough, and bend on their lines; but presently it ceases running out and slackens; the whale is coming to the surface again. All hands now commence to “haul in line” as fast as he rises, and the boat-steerer coils it away, as fast as hauled in, in the stern sheets. He soon breaks water, and the boat is gradually hauled up to him. Another boat now fastens, and he again attempts to sound; but, being weakened by loss of blood, he is soon at the surface again. The boats now draw alongside, and the officer of the first boat fast prepares his lance. He darts it for his vitals (just behind the fin), and the first one proves fatal, for in a moment more he shows the “red flag;” the blood flows freely from the spout-hole in a thick, dark stream; the sea is stained for some distance, and the men in the boats are covered with the bloody spray, but glory in it.

“GIVE IT TO HIM.”

TOWING A DEAD WHALE.

The monster now attempts to sound, but is obliged to keep to the surface, and he soon goes in what is technically termed by whalemen his “flurry,” but what landsmen would call his dying agonies—and terrible they are. The sea is beaten into a perfect foam by his writhings and contortions; and, after a short time, as if with accelerated strength, he starts off with lightning speed, describing in his course circles, each growing smaller than the preceding one, and his speed slackening, until he finally gives one monster throe and dies, rolling fin out, with his head to the sun.[2]

The battle is now ended, and the “huge leviathan lies a victim to the superior power and mind of man.”

Now that life is extinct, a hole is cut in his head, the line made fast, and all the boats “hook on” and tow him to the ship, where he is made fast by means of a fluke-chain being passed around his tail, which chain is brought to the forward part of the ship, and passed through a “hawse-hole,” and made fast to the “bowsprit bits,” bringing the whale with his head pointing aft, and in a proper position to commence the operation of “cutting in.”

[2] This is stated to be a fact by old and experienced whalemen, who assert they have never seen a sperm whale die in any other manner. This peculiarity we have never heard accounted for.

CHAPTER V.
Description of the Sperm Whale.—Described externally.—Difference between the Sperm and Right Whale.

Before proceeding farther, perhaps it will be interesting to the reader if we give a brief description of the external form of the sperm whale. The following draft represents the shape of the animal, and the various dotted lines show the manner of dividing it, in order to “heave it in on deck.”

A, the nostril, or spout-hole; B, the situation of the case; C, the junk; D, the bunch of the neck; E, the eye; F, the fin; G, the spiral strips, or “blanket-pieces;” H, the hump; I, the ridge; K, the small; L, the tail, or flukes; M, the jaw.

The head of the whale presents in front a thick, blunt appearance, and constitutes about one third the length of the animal. At its junction with the body is a protuberance on its back, called the “bunch of the neck;” immediately back of this is the thickest part of the body. It then gradually tapers for about another third of the whole length, when the “small,” as it is called, commences; and at this point on the back is another and larger prominence of a pyramidal form, called the “hump,” from which a series of smaller prominences runs half way down the small, forming the “ridge.” The body then contracts so much as to become not larger than the body of a man, and terminates by being expanded on the sides into the “flukes,” or tail. The flukes resemble somewhat in shape the tail of a fish, only being placed horizontal instead of perpendicular. In the larger whales these flukes are from eight to ten feet in length, and from fourteen to sixteen feet in breadth. The depth of the head and body is greater than the width.

At the angle formed by the superior and anterior surfaces of the head, a little on the left side, is the nostril, or “spout-hole,” which, in the dead animal, presents the appearance of a slit, or fissure, in form resembling an S, extending longitudinally, and about twelve inches in length. The “case,” situated in the upper part of the head, is a large, almost triangular-shaped cavity, lined by a beautiful glistening membrane, and covered by a thick layer of muscular fibres and tendons running in various directions, and finally united by common integuments. This cavity is for the purpose of containing and secreting an oily fluid, which after death concretes into a granulated substance of a yellowish-white color—the spermaceti. The quantity of fluid contained in the case depends on the size of the whale; from that of a large whale fifteen barrels of liquid spermaceti are often taken.

Immediately beneath the case, and projecting beyond the lower jaw, is situated the junk, which is composed of dense cellular tissue, strengthened by numerous strong tendons and fibres, and infiltrated with spermaceti.

The mouth is at the base of the head, and continues nearly its whole length. The lower jaw is pointed in front, and gradually widens till it is received in the socket of the upper jaw. It contains forty-two teeth, conical in shape, and, in the large whale, formidable in appearance. There are none, however, in the upper jaw, but indentations which receive the points of those in the lower jaw. Sometimes a few rudimentary teeth are found in the upper jaw, never, however, projecting beyond the gums, upon which those in the lower jaw strike when the mouth is closed.

The tongue is of a white color, exceedingly small, and does not appear to possess the power of very extended motion.

The mouth is lined throughout with a white membrane, which becomes continuous at the lips, and borders with the common integument, where it becomes of a dark brown or black color.

The eyes are small, and are furnished with eyelids. They are situated above and behind the angle of the mouth, at the widest part of the head. At a short distance behind the eyes are the external openings of the ears, of sufficient size to admit a small quill, and unprovided with any external auricular appendage.

The fins are not far from the posterior angle of the mouth, and are analogous in their formation to the anterior extremities of other animals. They are not much used as instruments of progression, but probably in giving a direction to motions in balancing the body, in sinking suddenly, and occasionally in protecting and supporting their young.

SPERM WHALE.

In a full-grown male sperm whale of the largest size the dimensions may be given as follows: Length, from eighty to ninety feet; depth of head, from ten to twelve feet; breadth, from seven to ten feet; depth of body, from sixteen to eighteen feet; swimming paws, or fins, about eight feet long and three broad; the tail, or flukes, have been previously mentioned.

In reviewing the description of the external form and some of the organs of the sperm whale, it will, perhaps, not be uninteresting if some comparison is instituted between them and the corresponding points of the right whale. One of the greatest peculiarities of the sperm whale, which strikes, at first sight, every beholder, is the apparently disproportionate and unwieldy bulk of the head; but this, instead of being, as might be supposed, an impediment to the freedom of the animal’s motion in his native element, is, on the contrary, in some respects very conducive to his lightness and agility. A great part of the bulk of the head is composed of a large, thin, membraneous case, containing, during life, a thin oil of much less specific gravity than water, below which again is the junk, which, although heavier than the spermaceti, is still lighter than the element in which the whale moves; consequently, the head is lighter than any other part of the body, and will always have a tendency to rise, at least so far above the surface as to elevate the nostril, or “spout-hole,” sufficiently for all purposes of respiration. In case the animal should wish to increase his speed to the utmost, the narrow anterior and inferior surface, which bears a resemblance to the cut-water of a ship, and which would, in fact, answer the same purpose to the whale, would be the only part exposed to the pressure of the water in front, enabling him thus to pass, with the greatest ease and celerity, through the boundless track of his wide domain.

RIGHT WHALE.

It is in the shape of the head that the sperm whale differs, in the most remarkable degree, from the right whale—the shape of whose head more resembles that of a porpoise—and in it the spout-hole is situated much farther back, rendering it seldom or never necessary for the nose to be elevated above the surface of the water. The eyes, in both the sperm and right whale, are exceedingly small in comparison with their bulk; still, they are tolerably quick-sighted. We are not aware that the sperm whale possesses, in any respect, any superiority. We again observe, in the formation of the mouth, a very remarkable difference in the two animals; for, in place of the enormous plates of whalebone which are found attached to the upper jaw of the right whale, we only find depressions for the reception of the teeth of the lower jaw, which plainly point out that the food of the two animals must be very different.

RIGHT WHALE BONE.

There are several prominences or humps on the back of the sperm whale, which constitutes another difference in their external aspect. These prominences are not altogether peculiar to the sperm whale, as there is a species of fish, called by whalemen “humpbacks,” which possesses a prominence on the back very similar to that of the sperm whale.

The skin of the sperm whale is smooth, but occasionally, in old whales, wrinkled. The color of the skin, over the greatest part of the body, is very dark. In different whales there is considerable variety of shade; some are even piebald. “Old bulls,” as full-grown males are called by whalemen, have generally a portion of gray on the nose above the fore-part of the upper jaw, and they are then said to be “gray headed.” In young whales the “black skin,” as it is called, is about three eighths of an inch thick, but in old ones it is not more than one eighth.

Immediately beneath the black skin is the blubber, or fat, which is contained in a cellular membrane, and which is much strengthened by numerous fibres. The average thickness of the fat on the breast of a large whale, when in good condition, is about eighteen inches. The “hump” is generally the thickest part of the blubber, being sometimes from twenty-two to twenty-six inches in thickness; and, in most other parts of the body, it measures from nine to fourteen inches. The head is not, however, supplied with this covering, or blubber, having only the black skin, which lies close to a layer of very dense cellular tissue, under which is seen a considerable thickness of numerous small tendons, intermixed with muscular fibres.

This thick covering of blubber, or fat, is called the “blanket;” it is of a yellowish color, and, when melted down, furnishes the sperm oil. It also serves two excellent purposes to the whale: rendering it buoyant, and furnishing it with a warm protection from the coldness of the surrounding element—in this last respect, answering well to the name bestowed upon it by whalemen.

CUTTING IN.

CHAPTER VI.
“Cutting in.”

As we are now ready to “cut in” the whale, we will briefly explain the modus operandi. In the first place the decks are cleared, in order to have room to work. The ponderous cutting tackles are swayed up to the lower-mast head (the main), the strongest point any where above a ship’s deck. Large hawsers are then rove through these blocks, then through similar ones on deck, to the windlass, in the forward part of the ship. To the lower blocks are attached ponderous iron hooks, weighing over one hundred pounds each. These hooks are for the purpose of “hooking on” to the blubber, and can be put on and taken off the blocks at pleasure. And now, suspended in stages over the side, the first and second mates, armed with their long spades, begin cutting a hole in the body for the insertion of the hook just above one of the fins. This done, a broad semicircular line is cut round the hole, the hook is inserted, and the main body of the crew, striking up a wild chorus, now commence heaving at the windlass. The entire ship careens over on her side; every bolt in her starts like the nail-heads of an old house in frosty weather; she trembles, quivers, and nods her frighted mastheads to the sky. More and more she leans over to the whale, while every gasping heave of the windlass is answered by a helping heave of the billows, till at last a swift, startling snap is heard; with a great swash the ship rolls upward and backward from the whale, and the triumphant tackle rises into sight, dragging after it the disengaged semicircular end of the first strip of blubber. Now, as the blubber envelops the whale, as we described in the last chapter, precisely as the rind does an orange, so is it stripped off the body precisely as an orange is sometimes stripped by spiralizing it. The strain, constantly kept up by the windlass, continually keeps the whale rolling over and over in the water; and as the blubber in one strip uniformly peels off along the line called the “scarf,” simultaneously cut by the spades of the mates—the chief mate separating the head from the body while the whale is being rolled over the first time—and just as fast as it is thus peeled off, and indeed by that very act itself, it is all the time being hoisted higher and higher aloft till its upper end grazes the main-top; the men at the windlass then cease heaving, and for a moment or two the prodigious, blood-dripping mass sways to and fro as if let down from the sky; and every one present must take good care to dodge it when it swings, else it may box his ears and pitch him overboard.

One of the attending boat-steerers now advances with a long, keen weapon, called a boarding-knife, and, watching his opportunity, he dexterously slices out a considerable hole in the lower part of the swaying mass. Into this hole the end of the second alternating great tackle is hooked, so as to retain a hold upon the blubber, in order to prepare for what follows. Whereupon this accomplished swordsman, warning all hands to stand off, once more makes a scientific dash at the mass, and with a few sidelong, desperate, lunging slicings, severs it completely in two; so that, while the short lower part is still fast, the long upper strip, the “blanket piece,” swings clear, and is all ready for lowering. The heavers forward now resume their song and their work, and, while the one tackle is peeling and hoisting a second strip from the whale, the other is slowly slackened away, and down goes the first strip through the main hatchway right beneath, into an unfurnished parlor called the “blubber-room.” Into this twilight apartment sundry nimble hands keep coiling away the long blanket-pieces, as if they were a great live mass of plaited serpents. And thus the work proceeds; the two tackles hoisting and lowering simultaneously, both whale and windlass heaving, the crew singing, the blubber-room gentlemen coiling, the mates cutting, the ship straining, and all hands swearing occasionally, by way of assuaging the general friction.

And now the “body” of the whale is all in; the carcass has floated off, food for the sharks; the head, which has been made fast alongside the ship, is brought to the gangway, and the junk is separated from the case, and “hove in” on deck. Now comes the bailing of the case. It is hoisted up alongside the gangway, nearly level with the ship’s deck; a “whip” is rigged, being simply a rope, one end on deck, the other passing through a single block made fast to the main-yard, to which is attached a bucket of the capacity of about a gallon. One of the boat-steerers stands on the end of the case, with a short spade cuts a hole in the case, and the bucket is then sunk into it by means of a long pole, until it is filled, when it is hoisted out and emptied, and so on until the liquid oil is all bailed out. From the case of a hundred-barrel sperm whale from fifteen to seventeen barrels of liquid oil is generally obtained, though a great deal is unavoidably wasted. After the case is bailed it is cut loose, and immediately sinks with great rapidity.

CHAPTER VII.
“Trying out.”—“Stowing down.”—“Cleaning up.”—Gale off the River De la Plata.—Thunder and Lightning.—Narrow Escape of the Ship.

The whale is now cut in; then comes the process of “trying out.” In the centre of the deck, somewhat forward, are the try-works for the purpose of trying out the oil. It is a square place, built up with bricks and iron, about four feet high and ten square. It has two large iron pots in the centre, each one containing between three and four barrels, with furnaces underneath. The liquid spermaceti from the case is first put into the pots, the fires are lighted, and the process of “trying out” commences. Here we would state that, in a whaling voyage, the first fire in a try-works has to be fed for a time with wood. After that no wood is used, except as the means of quick ignition to the staple fuel. In a word, after being tried out, the crisp, shriveled blubber, now called scraps, still contains considerable of its unctuous properties. These scraps feed the flames. Like a plethoric burning martyr, or a self-consuming misanthrope, once ignited, the whale supplies his own fuel and burns by his own body. Would that he consumed his own smoke! for his smoke is horrible to inhale, and inhale it you must; and not only that, but you must live in it for the time. It has an indescribable odor about it, such as one might imagine would arise from a Hindoo funeral pile.

The blanket-pieces are cut into small pieces, varying from twelve to twenty inches in length, and about as wide as the thickness of the blubber, called “horse pieces.” They are then pitched on deck, and forward to the mincing machine, where they are cut into very thin slices, and are then ready for the pots.

TRYING OUT.

As soon as the oil is extracted from the blubber, the scraps are skimmed off, and the oil bailed out of the pots into a large copper cooler, which stands by the side of the try-works. When it is sufficiently cool that it will not burn the casks, it is poured into them, and allowed to remain on deck for two or three days. It is then “coopered,” that is, the hoops on the casks are all driven tight, to prevent them from leaking, it having been rendered necessary by the hot oil shrinking the casks. At length, when the last pint is casked and coopered, and all is sufficiently cool, then the great hatchways are unsealed, the bowels of the ship are thrown open, and down go the casks to their rest in the hold. This done, the hatches are replaced and hermetically sealed, like a closet walled up.

And now comes the process of cleaning up. From the ashes of the scraps is made a powerful lye, which is used in removing the grease from the bulwarks and decks of the ship. Hands go diligently along, and with buckets of lye and water, and rags, restore all to its full tidiness. The soot is brushed from the lower rigging; all the numerous implements which have been in use are likewise faithfully cleansed and put away. The great hatch is scrubbed and placed upon the try-works; every cask is out of sight; all tackles are coiled in unseen nooks; and when, by the combined and almost simultaneous industry of the ship’s company, the whole of this duty is concluded, then the crew themselves proceed to their own ablutions, shift themselves from top to toe, and issue forth to the cleaned and white decks, fresh and all aglow, as bridegrooms new leaped from out the daintiest Holland.

We now continued our way for Cape Horn, having beautiful clear weather with fine southeast trade-winds.

On Tuesday, January 8th, 1850, we were off the River De la Plata. This region is notorious for its heavy gales and “pamperos,” a species of hurricane. We had, for three days, been having a severe gale. On this evening (the third day) the wind died away; the heavens were shrouded with heavy black clouds; every thing so quiet, and yet so gloomy, seemed but the forerunner of a storm of the wildest description. Sail was taken in, and all put in readiness, awaiting its approach. Presently the heavens were illuminated with the glare of lightning, followed by the hoarse and deep thunder that appeared to come from the very bottom of the great deep. It increased until the whole heavens were one broad sheet of flame, and the reflection upon the surface of the water gave it the resemblance of a sea of fire; and the constant thunder, seeming to shake the earth to the very centre, added to the sublime grandeur of the awe-inspiring scene. On every hand, and in whatever direction the eye turned, the same continual blaze of lightning, accompanied by the heavy and continuous thunder, presented itself to the beholder. It was certainly the most awful and yet sublime scene we had ever witnessed.

“The storm howled madly on the sea,

The clouds their thunder-anthems sang;

And billows rolling fearfully,

In concert with the whirlwinds rang.”

All hands were gazing upon the grand spectacle, when, suddenly, a clap immediately over our heads—a sudden flash—a jar, followed by impenetrable darkness. All hands were dumb; no one dared to speak. The ship had been struck, but none could ask where, fearful of being told we were lost. The mate, however, soon came along, and gave proper directions to examine the ship. He then went to the main-top, and found the powder, which had been placed there for safety, all right. Another descended to the hold, but discovered no fire. It appears the lightning struck our main-royal truck, and descended to the deck, which being wet, it passed off with but little damage. The next morning, on unfurling the main-royal sail, we found thirteen holes burned in it, about the size of a musket ball. The lightning went through the “bunt,” as it was rolled on the yard, thus accounting for the large number of holes.

As soon as it was generally known we had escaped with so little injury, all experienced a feeling of gratitude for our truly remarkable escape. As we before remarked, the powder, which was contained in two “breakers,” or long, narrow barrels, each containing four kegs, was placed in the main and mizzen tops, one breaker on each side of the mast. The lightning had descended immediately between the two breakers in the main-top. Had it ignited the powder contained in one of the kegs, in all probability our voyage at sea, and perhaps for life, would have been soon ended. We felt truly thankful that we had so miraculously escaped. Some two or three of the men were knocked down, and others stunned, but nothing serious. The night slowly wore away; the constant glare of the fierce lightning, and the never-ceasing roar of the thunder, continuing until day dawned.

We all felt relieved when daybreak once more came over the sea. The gale, which had increased during the night, now abated; the clouds broke away, even the one with the “silver lining,” and “old Sol” once more showed his cheering face, and sent his gladsome rays rejoicing over the face of the great deep.

CHAPTER VIII.
Preparing for Cape Horn.—Head Winds.—Staten Land.—Cape Horn.—Heavy Gale.—Porpoises and Albatross.—Mackey and the Third Mate.—Captured a Sperm Whale.—Preparing for Port.—The Anchor down.

We now commenced making preparations for that much-dreaded place, Cape Horn. Took the anchors in on deck, and lashed them solid; also the boats from off the cranes, and secured every thing generally. We were now sailing along with fine breezes from the northward, but the coolness of the air reminded us that we were approaching the southernmost point of land. On the 13th of January the wind veered round to the south, and increased to a heavy gale. We reduced the sail to a close-reefed main-topsail, sent down top gallant yards, and prepared for a regular “Cape Horner.” At midnight, however, the wind abated, and sea went down; next morning it was pleasant, with fine northerly breezes; but at night the wind again hauled to the southward, blowing heavy, with rain, which obliged us to heave to. Thus the wind often changes in the Atlantic in this latitude; sometimes ships are kept here for weeks by head winds.

On the 25th we were off Staten Land. This island presents a bleak, rocky appearance. Saw a ship trying out, which assures us that sperm whales have been taken here lately.

On Saturday, the 26th, we were off the island of Cape Horn. This island is said to have received its name from its conical shape. We here saw quite a fleet of merchantmen and whalemen bound round the Horn, no less than twenty-two ships being in sight from masthead. About nine o’clock this morning, while sailing along with a fair, pleasant wind, carrying studding-sails, all hands were suddenly called to take in sail, and, before the ship was under snug canvas, the gale broke upon us in all its fury, coming, as seamen say, “butt-end first.” However, we soon had every thing snug, and then “let the winds pipe.” With a good ship and plenty of sea-room, we felt no danger. The next day great numbers of porpoises were seen, going through the water like race-horses. Plenty of albatross and Cape pigeons were in sight also. We caught an albatross, a beautiful large bird, perfectly white, measuring sixteen feet from tip to tip of its wings. They are called by seamen “Goneys,” for what reason we know not. We also saw large numbers of “Mother Carey’s Chickens,” that beautiful little bird so well known to all. They were flying in the wake of the ship, skimming along its surface, apparently happy and contented. As we sat watching them and the noble albatross, as he went wheeling and circling in the air, we could not but think of that great Creator who endowed them with the instinct which they possess—an instinct that guides them over the trackless waste of waters hundreds and thousands of miles from land, and then to land again, day after day, and week after week. No place in the world presents so many evidences of a great and a good God as the vast and mighty ocean.

Spoke the ship “Henry,” of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, bound for California. The heavy gales of wind still continued, with rain, hail, snow, and sleet at intervals, until Friday, the 8th of February, when we found we had passed the Horn, and were fairly in the Pacific.

About this time an occurrence transpired which shows a seaman’s love of a good joke, even at the expense of an officer. It appears our third mate, Mr. K., whom we have before spoken of as a very pompous, great-I-and-little-you sort of a man, was much opposed to the men enjoying themselves in any manner if he could prevent it, and, for this reason, they were continually devising some plan to torment him. He had given express orders that no one of the watch should go below during their watch on deck. Mackey, who much preferred the warm forecastle to the cold deck, would skulk below every opportunity he could get. Mr. K. went forward on this occasion, and, as usual, Mackey was enjoying a fine nap on a chest. Mr. K. ordered him on deck, telling him “if he caught him in the forecastle again that night he would break his head,” and then strutted aft. It was not long after this before one of the watch sang out, in a voice just loud enough to be heard aft, “Mackey, you had better come up on deck; if Mr. K. catches you down in the forecastle, he will surely kill you.”

Then another sings out, “Mackey, come up out of that; the third mate is coming.”

Mr. K., who had been listening, rushes forward with a determined air; “he would show that Mackey that he had got to walk chalk, or he would break his head.” Arriving at the forecastle scuttle, he cried out, in a voice of thunder, “Come up here, you blackguard, and bear a hand, too.” No answer.

“Do you hear me? If I come down there, I’ll kill you deader than the d—l.” No answer yet. Mr. K., now fairly boiling with rage, cries out, “I’ll fetch you out of that; I’ll show you a trick or two;” and, on turning to go down, espied some one dodging around the foremast that bore a striking resemblance to the missing Mackey. Quickly coming up again, he saw that it was really Mackey, who had not left the deck. He then turned to the men, quite chopfallen, telling them he “never wanted to hear any more such stuff,” and, cursing them until he was satisfied, he turned and went aft, leaving the watch convulsed with laughter.

As we were now fairly in the Pacific, with pleasant weather and fine breezes, steering to the northward, we put the boats upon the cranes, the anchors on the bows, and cleared up generally, all hands rejoicing that the stormy Cape had been at length passed.

On the 13th of February we saw our first sperm whale in the Pacific. It was not long after our boats were down and pursuing him before the starboard boat fastened, and the old man brought the “claret” the first lance. Soon we had him alongside, his coat on deck, tried out, and down in the hold. We were now about four months out, with one hundred and eighty barrels of oil, which was a good foundation for a first-rate voyage.

On the 1st day of March, 18—, the welcome news came from aft, “All hands to bend cables,” and soon the massive chains were dragged from their resting-places below, and fastened to the huge anchors, which were got ready for “letting go” in the harbor of Talcahuana, Chili. But there is “many a slip,” etc., and we experienced it here, as we were beating about for nine days, unable to enter port on account of boisterous head winds. At length, however, on the 9th, we got a fair wind, and entered the harbor with every thing set, and “let go” our anchor—the old ship at rest for the first time in four and a half months.

CHAPTER IX.
Talcahuana.—Its Streets.—Public Buildings.—Market.—Calaboose.—The Harbor.—Churches.—Paulparees.—Inhabitants.—Manners and Customs.—Getting off Water.—Mackey again in Trouble.—In the Calaboose.—Californians.—Climate and Products of Chili.—Horseback Riding.—Spanish Wake.—Desertion.—American Consul.—Mackey’s Oration.—Swimming ashore.—Departure.

Talcahuana is the sea-port of the city of Conception, and is situated at the head of a beautiful bay, protected from all winds by the high lands inclosing it. At the entrance of the harbor is the island of Karakina, on the north side of which is the passage, and on the south side the false passage, as it is called, not being navigable for ships. Abreast of the anchorage, which is immediately in front of the town, is a small fort, with but few guns, and in a very good position to do execution, with proper management. The houses are mostly one story, and of stone. They are obliged to build them thus on account of frequent earthquakes. They present a very neat appearance, being nearly all painted white, or whitewashed. The streets are rather narrow, but kept very clean. Talcahuana can not boast much of her public buildings, they being “few and far between.” The market, if it may be so called, is very large in proportion to the size of the town, being a wide space of ground, inclosed by high brick walls, with no roof. The church, of which the inhabitants appear very proud, presents much the appearance of an old stone barn. The calaboose, or jail, is an old stone building in rather a dilapidated condition; but the “city fathers,” with a just appreciation of the wants of their “constituents,” are engaged in the erection of a new one on a much larger scale.

Immediately in the rear of the town is a fine eminence. On arriving at its summit we found ourselves well repaid for our trouble by the beautiful prospect before us. The busy multitude in the streets below—the neat, bright appearance of the houses—the shipping lying at anchor, with their various national colors flying—the smooth, unruffled surface of the waters of the bay, inclosed by beautiful green hills and mountains—in the distance the blue waters of the Pacific—all united to bring before us one of the most beautiful scenes our eyes ever beheld.

A number of years since the old city of Talcahuana was destroyed by an earthquake, a large portion of which sunk. Where the most thriving part once stood, nothing is now to be seen but a low, marshy waste. Some remains of the old city are yet visible in the town.

The inhabitants speak the Spanish language—are hospitable, good-natured, and, as a general thing, very indolent. They are very loose in their morals, but warm supporters of their religion, which is the Roman Catholic, it being the only creed tolerated. The females are rather dark, very graceful and sprightly, beautiful singers, and some of them are very handsome. The town is filled with “Paulparee,” or rum-shops, which are frequented principally by Spaniards and seamen.

On Monday, March 11th, we commenced getting off water and fresh provisions, such as potatoes, onions, turnips, etc. In getting off water, two boat’s crews are generally dispatched to the watering-place with a “raft of casks,” which are filled and towed to the ship, and then hoisted on board. In this manner four or five hundred barrels of water are obtained in about two days—a sufficient quantity for a six months’ cruise. By some fortune or misfortune, Mackey was one of the crew dispatched to the watering-place, and, while there, he thought he would take an observation of the country round about. Accordingly, he wandered some distance to the top of a high hill, and, while much engaged in viewing the beauties of nature, two or three “vigilantes,” or policemen, appeared, and demanded of him “what he was doing there.” Mackey replied, “Nothing, but looking at the country.” They then asked him if he had a pass (which is a necessary article to every person while on shore), and Mackey was obliged to confess he had not, when they very politely offered to show him “the elephant.” Mackey begged to be excused, declining their services; but the vigilantes were not to be put off. There was no help for him; go he must; he was in a fix; so off he marched, muttering about liberty, etc., until they arrived at the calaboose, where he was snugly quartered.

The next day, being on shore, we thought we would give Mackey a call, and see how the poor fellow fared. We found him in excellent spirits. He said he “had just as lief stop there as not; for, if he was on board the ship, he would have to work, and there he got plenty to eat and had nothing to do.”

To-day the town was filled with Californians and sailors—some trying their hands at riding on horseback, and rather comical work they make of it. Others are exploring the town, chatting with pretty girls, bantering with the Spaniards, or enjoying themselves in dancing. Some of them require considerable sea-room, whether it is from the effects of coming ashore after a long passage, or the spiritual influence of the aguadente, we can not say. However, they appear to be perfectly at home and contented.

Chili has a very mild and wholesome climate, and is very fertile. Large quantities of fine wheat are raised, and agriculture generally receives much attention. Apples, peaches, and pears are raised in abundance, while grapes are cultivated to a very great extent, principally for the purpose of making wine, which is said to be of a very superior flavor. The face of the country presents a rolling appearance, with occasional high hills, and in the distance are seen, towering above the clouds, the snow-covered peaks of the Andes.

Chili is also renowned for its extensive mines of silver, gold, and copper, which, however, are not worked so much at present as formerly. The government is republican, and quite liberal in its views.

The next day, Friday, the 15th of March, we devoted to riding through the country. The horses here are well trained, but, to one unaccustomed to the Chilian mode of guiding them, ludicrous incidents will sometimes occur. If you wish to turn to the left, you must pull the right rein, and vice versa. They are very tender-bitted, and a slight jerk of the reins will bring the horse to an immediate stand. It is very common to see a rider urging his horse to a full run, and, not understanding them, pull the reins in order to sit secure, when, lo and behold, the horse suddenly stops, and the rider keeps on going, measuring his length in the road some distance ahead.

While strolling about town in the evening, we heard low musical sounds proceeding from a house near by. On presenting ourselves at the door we were cordially invited to enter, and were immediately ushered into a large, square room, filled with Spaniards of both sexes. On a table at the farther end of the room was the corpse of a beautiful child of about two years of age, in a sitting posture. Its little arms were crossed on its breast; the sweet, heavenly smile that still lingered on the features of clay, and the fresh, rosy cheeks, gave it a most beautiful and angelic appearance. Our first conjecture on entering the room was that it was wax-work. It was dressed in white, and decorated with flowers. On the table were a large number of wax tapers burning, while the wall around and above was covered with paintings of the Crucifixion, Virgin Mary, etc. In one corner of the room some seven or eight persons were chanting the solemn death-chants of the Catholic Church, accompanied by several guitars. The parents of the child were seated on a low bed, mourning and sobbing in a most piteous manner, while several relatives, as we supposed them to be, were gathered around, endeavoring to comfort them in their affliction.

We advanced by invitation and saluted the corpse, and, as our eyes were fixed on the lovely image, we thought we could almost perceive it answer our gaze by a sweet smile, so fresh and life-like did it look. It was truly a solemn, mournful, and yet beautiful sight. Still, the appearance of the bottle disgraced the scene, as it was passed from one to the other, although it is customary at all Spanish wakes.

On the morning of Saturday, the 16th of March, we found that five men had deserted from the ship. The liberty of the remainder of the crew was therefore stopped, which appeared to cause considerable dissatisfaction. However, this was the only course left for the captain, as most of the men on board had made up their minds to desert in order to get to California. Stopping all communication of the crew with the shore must put an end to the desertions.

This state of affairs continued until the following Monday, when the crew, being so very much dissatisfied, sent a petition to the American consul requesting to be discharged from the ship. He came on board, and all those wishing to be discharged were ordered to take the starboard side of the quarter-deck. The captain, by request of the consul, inquired of each separately his reasons for wishing to be discharged. Some gave as a reason that they did not like the business; others, that they had been ill treated; and one, that he was under age when he shipped, and he wanted to go home. The consul could scarcely refrain from laughing outright at such reasons, and finally told them he could not help them. As they had signed the ship’s articles, he could not interfere in the matter; the captain was the man to settle that.

Mackey, who had been intently watching every word that fell from the lips of the consul, thought it about time for him to put in his oar, and, speaking out, said he “had been abused at various times, and once had been kicked while at the helm.” The officer who had taken this liberty said that “Mackey was asleep at the helm one night, and he gave him a slight kick, just sufficient to waken him.” The consul replied that he could do nothing about that. Mackey now broke forth with great earnestness: “I thought American consuls were sent to these places to protect and defend American citizens, whether sailors or captains; but you say you can do nothing about it. What are you good for, then? What business have you here? You might much better be at home about your business. Any way, you are good for nothing here but to pamper to every captain’s wishes that will give you a cake of hard bread and a pint of beans.”

This speech Mackey delivered with great gusto, making flourishes that would have shamed an orator. The speech, of course, “brought down the house,” and caused a broad grin upon the countenance of all. The consul took it very coolly; the men were sent forward, and he, in company with the captain, left for shore.

And here we would remark that in many cases Mackey’s words were true. It is a shameful and lamentable fact, that in many instances American consuls regard seamen as “having no rights that they are bound to respect;” and it is often the case that masters of vessels who have been ill treating their men will, on entering port, present the consul with a small quantity of provisions, or something of that kind, and the result is, that no “foremast hand” from that ship can obtain justice from the consul. We make no comments on this; we simply state the facts, and let our readers make their own.

Our crew were now heartily sick and tired of port, and longed to be on the “open sea” again. On Wednesday, March 20th, while all hands were at breakfast, Mackey determined to make one more effort for his liberty. Accordingly, he made his clothes up in a nice little bundle, fastened them on his back, slipped cautiously down the cable, and struck boldly out for the shore. On his crossing the stern of a ship, the captain of which had just come on deck, and espying a man swimming, hailed him:

“Where are you going, my man?”

“Going ashore; where do you suppose?” shouted Mackey.

One of our officers, happening to come up on deck at this moment, thought he saw something black bobbing up and down in the water quite a distance off. On looking with the glass, it was found to be Mackey, with his bunch of clothes on his back, and almost ashore. A boat was immediately lowered and went in chase. Mackey espied it coming, and struck out manfully; as for dear life he swam, but it was of no avail. When nearly to the shore, he was taken and thrust into the bottom of the boat, brought on board, and put in irons. A ship’s company near us mounted their rigging and gave “three cheers for the man who attempted to swim ashore!”

At 10 A.M. of that day we weighed anchor, and, with beautiful weather and a fine breeze, left the port of Talcahuana.

CHAPTER X.
Cruising.—Boats’-crew Watches.—Deserters by wholesale.—A large Reward.—Public Auction.—Juan Fernandez.—Peaches.—Robinson Crusoe’s Cave.—Fishing.—Ship “Java.”—Masa Fuero.—St. Felix.—St. Ambrose.—San Lorenzo.—Callao.—A Railroad.

We were now fairly at sea again, cruising for whales. We were now, as is customary for whalemen alone while on cruising ground, standing “boats’-crew watches.” It will be recollected that in a former chapter we explained the “regular watches” of a ship’s company; but this is something entirely different. The ship’s company are now divided into three equal portions, and each watch has only “four hours out” each night and “eight hours in,” instead of four and eight hours alternately, as in the regular watches. They are regulated so as to alternate them every night, and are generally “headed” or in charge of the boat-steerers.

It was during one of these watches, on the morning of the 25th of March, that a boat-steerer and five foremast hands took the bow boat from off the cranes and deserted the ship. The boat-steerer who left was the one who headed the watch. It was blowing quite fresh from the southeast at the time, the ship standing to the westward under double-reefed topsails. The plot had probably been concocting for some days, as they took with them, in addition to most of their clothing, all the boat sails and a quantity of provisions and water, disabling the other boats by taking the “thole-pins” and hiding them. It was very rugged weather, and the experiment was dangerous, as the ship was going through the water about six knots. They succeeded, however, in getting clear.

JUAN FERNANDEZ, FROM THE SEA.

As soon as their absence was discovered, all hands were called, sail made, and we tacked ship and stood in for the land, which was about one hundred and eighty miles distant. At daybreak the captain offered a reward of one hundred dollars to the person who should first raise the boat from the masthead, but the reward was never claimed.

The man who was at the wheel at the time the boat was taken said he knew nothing about the boat going, although the boat-steerer came to the binnacle and took one of the ship’s compasses before his face. He said he thought the man wished to fix the compass. The captain was very much enraged, and could hardly keep his hands off the man.

After cruising a few days for the missing boat, and seeing nothing, we squared away for Juan Fernandez. The remark that “we see something new every day” is as applicable to whalers, and perhaps more so, as to any thing else. We now had something new, a public auction; the public, the ship’s company; the auctioneer, the captain; the “stock,” not Central Railroad, nor yet La Crosse and Milwaukie bonds, but the clothing and other valuables (!) left on board by deserters. This is the usual practice on board of whalemen, and we had several “public auctions” during the voyage.

On Tuesday, April 2d, 1850, we first sighted the island of Juan Fernandez, and the next day sent a boat on shore for peaches. Another boat and crew were dispatched fishing. This island looks beautiful from the sea, being very high land, and completely covered with verdure. Peaches and quinces grow here in great abundance. Wild goats are also found here in large numbers. There was but one family living on the island at this time, the head of which, we believe, was governor! We need hardly repeat here that this island is famous for having been the residence of Alexander Selkirk, a Scotch sailor, who was put ashore some years since, and remained a long time on the island, his adventures giving rise to the well-known story of Robinson Crusoe. The cave spoken of in that work as “Robinson Crusoe’s Cave” is still pointed out, whether the true one or not we are unable to say.

PEAK OF YONKA.

We now returned to the ship with our fish, etc., after having spent most of the day with poor success, and lost our boat-anchor. We found the other boat had arrived with peaches and quinces. We altered our course and steered north.

The next day we saw the island of Masa Fuero, very similar in its appearance to Juan; and on the 10th sighted the islands of St. Felix and St. Ambrose. They present a rocky, barren appearance, and are uninhabited except by sea-birds, who flock there in great numbers.

CRUSOE’S CAVE.

On the 17th we saw the island of San Lorenzo, off the town of Callao; and the next day we were “standing off and on” in the Bay of Callao, Peru. Our captain here went ashore to obtain medical advice and assistance for Mr. Lowe, our second officer, who has been for some time off duty, sick, his right side being affected with palsy.

This town is well laid out, the houses mostly one story. The streets are of good width and clean. This city was also destroyed in 1746 by an earthquake, and remains are yet to be seen as gloomy monuments placed over the ill-fated persons who were thus suddenly cut off. There is a railroad building from Callao to Lima, which is but seven miles distant. About 4 P.M. the captain and Mr. Lowe returned, and we filled away for Payta.

CHAPTER XI.
Payta.—Its Appearance.—Inhabitants.—Shipped three Spaniards.—Gamming.—Exchanged Boat-steerers.—Gloomy Forebodings.—Whales again.—Stove Boat.—Manuel overboard.—No Sunday off Soundings.—Mackey and the Mate.—Star-gazing.—Reflections.—A County Fair.—Lawrence in Trouble.

On Thursday, 25th of April, we were off the anchorage of Payta. The land here presents a bleak, barren appearance; not a tree or shrub in sight; nothing but sand and rocks as far as the eye can reach. Water is furnished the inhabitants by persons who make it a business, and bring it a long distance in skins on mules. The streets of this town are narrow and dirty; the houses are miserable; women and men dissipated and ugly-looking; fleas abundant, and loafers plenty.

While on shore here the captain shipped three green Peruvians, who answered to the cognomens of Manuel Maria, Tom, and Jack; the last two soon getting additions to their titles, making them “Spanish Tom” and “Nigger Jack.” We now squared our yards, made sail, and bid farewell to this outlandish hole, and also to the South American coast. We here spoke and gammed with the “President,” of Nantucket, and the “Marcus,” of Fairhaven, bound home. This gave us another opportunity of sending a line to the “loved ones at home,” which we were glad to improve. One of our boat-steerers, having been on the sick-list nearly all the voyage, expressed a wish to return home in the “Marcus.” Accordingly, an arrangement was soon made between the two captains, and we took a Mr. Smith in exchange. All bid Gifford an affectionate farewell, hoping he might be spared to reach his native land, and be restored to the bosom of his family. Farewell, Gifford—a long farewell. You are going to your own dear home; you will soon be clasped in the embrace of a dear mother and affectionate sisters. God grant that your life may be spared, that you may enjoy these blessings.

We are bound for the cruising grounds to the westward, with some three or four years yet before us ere we can behold those that are near and dear to us; and how many of our small company may be spared to again tread their native shores, God alone knows. Let us yield a cheerful compliance to the will of the Almighty, knowing that we are safe in His hands, and in faith say, “Thy will, not mine, be done, O Lord.” With heavy hearts we squared our yards and headed for our cruising grounds.

On Monday, May 13th, spoke ship “Rebecca Sims,” of New Bedford, with whose ship’s company we passed a very pleasant day. How cheering to the lone mariner while cruising, with no land in sight, and thousands of miles from our own home, to meet a ship from the same port, and a crew speaking the same language as ourselves! It is like meeting old friends.

On Saturday, the 25th of May, we raised a school of sperm whales. We immediately down boats and after them. After some pretty hard pulling, the chief mate’s boat fastened to a cow whale, and killed it. During the melee the boat was badly stove, and our giant Manuel, the Portugee, knocked overboard. The whale was running with great speed at the time, and, as a matter of course, poor Gee was soon left a long distance astern. However, one of the other boats, seeing what had transpired, came to the rescue, and Manuel was picked up. When they reached him he was striking out manfully for the boat, which was now miles ahead of him, and calling on all the saints in the calendar for help at the top of his voice. He was an excellent swimmer, but greatly frightened; so much so that some of the boat’s crew that picked him up declared that he was ten shades lighter. At sundown we had the jacket of the whale on deck.

The next day was Sunday, but not Sabbath. On all whalers, while at sea, mast-heads are manned, whales chased and captured, cut in and tried out on Sunday as much as any other day in the week. Nothing else, however, except what is absolutely necessary for navigating the ship, is done on this day, which is generally spent by the crew in reading and writing. To-day, while all hands were busily employed in cutting up the blubber, trying out, and clearing up the decks generally, the mate missed our friend Mackey from his post, which was to assist in hoisting the blubber from the blubber-room. He accordingly went forward to the forecastle, and, calling out, asked him what he was doing below.

Mackey replied, “Breaking out my chest to get a chaw o’ tobacco.”

“But would not any of the men on deck give you a chew?”

“No, sir, I don’t believe they would,” replied he, coolly.

“Well, just point yourself out of that, aft, to the main hatchway, and get up on the bitts, and stand by to hoist that blubber on deck. Now, mind, don’t let me have to look after you again, if you do there will be trouble; stay there till I call you down!”

Mackey took the place, and appeared perfectly contented with his new position, as he could sit down. Presently the mate sang out, “Come this way, all of you, and shove this case overboard.” It had just been bailed, and was now ready to launch into its native element, from which it had been taken. After tugging and shoving for a long time to no purpose, the mate looked around to see if any one was missing, and, not seeing him, called out, “Where is that Mackey?”

“Here I am, sir,” shouted Mackey, sitting at his ease on the bitts, looking on with perfect indifference and composure.

“What in the name of goodness are you doing there?”

“You told me to stay here till you called me, sir,” said Mackey, not loving work well enough to offer his services until he was called on.

“Get down out of that, you blackguard, and come here where the work is.”

Mackey left his stand amid the roars of the crew; the mate himself, who could always appreciate a good joke, could not refrain from joining in the general laugh.

On Tuesday, May 28th, we had most delightful weather, and the evening was one of those beautiful, mild, calm nights so common to the Pacific. With gentle breezes, we were slowly plowing our way to the Marquesas Islands. The stars shone forth in all their resplendent beauty, and not a cloud was to be seen in the whole face of the heavens. It was truly a lovely night, and the all-pervading stillness seemed to remind us of our own loneliness, and our thoughts naturally reverted to other scenes—to the far-distant home; to the dear friends and loved ones to whom we bid a hasty but sad farewell. Do these dear friends ever bestow a thought or breathe a prayer for the welfare of the wanderer? Were they thinking of the one far, far away? and when they assemble around the festive board, or form the family circle about the fireside, do they miss the absent one? Oh, what joy would it have been to have known that there were some in the land of our birth that missed us, and prayed for the return of the wanderer! What joy would it have been to know that our friends were enjoying that blessing, health! What a consolation to have been assured that they were spared the ravages of disease and death! But this pleasure was denied us. Thousands of miles of blue water rolled between us and our homes. What recollections crowd upon the mind at the mention of home! The dear old village, where we have sported with all the joys of youth—the old school-house, where we for hours and hours have sat trying the patience of the teacher, conning our lesson, perhaps, or engaged in some mischief—the stream, along whose banks we have so often strolled, listening to the merry carol of the birds, and annoying the finny tribe—the hills, over which we have rambled with boyish glee—the woods, in whose pleasant retreats we have passed so many happy hours—schoolmates, the beautiful fair ones—and lastly, though not least, dear parents, brothers and sisters—all rushed through the brain in a tumultuous whirl, and we found ourselves unconsciously sighing for the pleasures of home. But, alas! we awoke to the sad reality of our situation. Thousands and tens of thousands of miles of blue water, must be beat ere we could again clasp in our arms those we held so dear; and we could only look up to Him who “ruleth the waves,” and trust in His protection. What consolation to our fainting heart these words: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

The men forward had aroused from their lethargy, and some were whiling away the time singing, others telling yarns; Spanish Jack and Portuguese Manuel were seated by themselves, thumping on an old fiddle; Jo Bob was amusing some of the boys by giving them a specimen of his island dancing and singing. The watch below were in about the same condition, “lying around loose,” listening to a long yarn spun by Lawrence about a county fair that took place down in Maine. As usual, his stories would not “match.” He gave a full description of the whole affair. “The table,” he said, “was about three or four hundred feet long, and about six thousand people sat down to dinner at one time!” Some of the boys inquired “what they had to drink.” “Strong beer,” replied Lawrence; whereupon one of the watch said “he had lied to him, as he had often stated that the people down in Maine never indulged in strong drink.” But Lawrence was not to be caught in this manner, and he readily replied, “Well, it was not so very strong; it was made of spruce!” All the watch now joined in a hearty laugh at Lawrence’s expense.

Meanwhile the order of arrangements on deck were somewhat different. It happened that Lawrence’s berth, which was an upper one, was chock forward in the “eyes” of the ship, and one of the dead lights—used for the purpose of letting air and light into the forecastle, which opened exactly abreast his face—was left open. One of the watch on deck, having listened to Lawrence’s yarn, and wishing to have a little sport at his expense, stationed himself over the bows, on the martingale guys, and, as Lawrence rolled over, gave him a bucket of water, dash in the face, almost drowning the poor fellow. As soon as he could speak, for he was terribly frightened, and his bed was fairly afloat, Lawrence commenced jawing about the man at the helm “getting the ship off her course.” It was as smooth as a mill-pond, but he had the idea that the sea had washed in. His sleep was spoiled for that watch below, as the whole watch were shouting and laughing, and he growling and putting on dry clothing.

CHAPTER XII.
Marquesas Islands.—Dominica.—Its Appearance.—Visitors.—Tattooing.—The Chief.—His costly Dress.—Delivers his Papers.—A “Recommend.”—Society Islands.—Roratonga.—Its Appearance.—New York.—New Bedford.—Too many Friends.—The universal Remedy.—Fruit.—A thieving Set.—Missionaries.—Petty Tyrannies practiced.—Rev. John Williams.—His Death.—The staple Commodity.—The Desire for Sea.—Queen and Government.—Desertion.—General Losses.—Jo Bob’s Choice.—A merry Time.

On Thursday, June 6th, we raised the island of Dominica, one of the Marquesas group. This island presents a beautiful appearance from the sea. The thick groves of the cocoanut, orange, lime, and bread-fruit-trees, with the native huts occasionally peeping out from under the foliage; the mountains in the background, thickly studded with magnolia groves; a beautiful stream of water tickling down the sides of large mountains, here and there inclosed by the trees, are all plainly visible from the ship, and make us long to ramble among them.

A canoe was seen approaching us, and the main yard was hauled aback, when it was soon alongside. The natives were certainly the most singular-looking beings we had ever beheld. They are about medium size, copper-colored, and wear no clothing except a small piece of tappa—a native cloth pounded out from bark—around their loins. Their faces and bodies were tattooed in such a manner that they look truly frightful. Some have a broad stripe running diagonally across the face; others had half the face tattooed; others one eye, with a black mark abreast of it; some the lower half of the face. Their bodies presented all the variations of the kaleidoscope.

The chief, who is quite a dignitary, was “dressed up” for the great occasion. His dress consisted of an old overcoat that reached nearly to his knees, with a large white button tied by a string about a foot in length to the back part, and an old bell-crown “beaver,” about four sizes too large, completely covering his head and ears. This completed his wardrobe, and a truly comical appearance he presented as he approached the captain, pulled off his beaver, pulled out his papers, and presented them with the air of a man of business. The papers were recommends from captains who had traded with him, but he knew nothing contained in them. One of them, of which we obtained a sight, read in this wise: “Beware of this fellow; he is dishonest and a villain; do not allow him to persuade you to go ashore with him.” A nice “recommend,” truly. And here we will remark that the tribe at this bay are cannibals of the fiercest kind, and it would not be very safe for a boat’s crew to go among them.

As we were in haste to reach the Society Islands, we politely took leave of our visitors and the comical-looking old chief, and braced forward, soon leaving the beautiful island of Dominica far astern.

We, in the course of two or three days, passed several of the Societies, and on Saturday the 22d of June, sighted the island of Roratonga, the one to which we were bound. The island, like all those in the tropics, especially those composing the Marquesan and Society group, presents the most rich and beautiful appearance. The land, as it recedes back from the sea, rises to a considerable height, and is dressed in the brightest green foliage; the sandy beach, washed by the never-ceasing rollers, with the neat white houses quietly reposing beneath the thick shade of the myriads of cocoanut, orange, and banana trees, renders it the most beautiful island we have ever beheld. As we stood viewing it from the ship, while drawing nearer and nearer, we could but imagine it to be some Eden of happiness, where yet the passion of man had not stepped in to mar and spoil its beauty. But even here we found that the “serpent” had entered and filled it with sin.

There are three villages on this island, named New York, New Bedford, and the one at which we stopped, Roratongo. We believe there are about eight hundred inhabitants in this village. From appearances, they are not very cleanly in their persons, and are rather forbidding. Most of them, however, wear European clothing, which they obtain from ships. They endeavor to make themselves very friendly, and, as soon as you land, they throng about you as numerous as runners in Albany on landing from a North River steam-boat, exclaiming, in very good broken English, “How de do, my fliend? You be my fliend? Go my house; me got plenty fruit my house.” Each one does his best to make you understand he is your very particular friend; very disinterestedly, of course, as we found to our cost. We accepted the invitation of one of these, who would have it that he was our very particular friend—in fact, he almost claimed relationship—and accompanied him to his house. On arriving at his “house,” we found it to be a long stone building, whitewashed, consisting of but one apartment, with a curtain or screen in the centre, which probably served as a partition, making two rooms. The inmates consisted of two or three young, dirty, ugly-looking females, one of them cross-eyed, and another that had lost an eye, and an old lady, who kept up a constant cry, begging for tobacco. “Too much sore, my toose; small piece bacca.” We soon found this “sore toose” very prevalent, and “bacca” the universal remedy—the great cure-all. After supplying their “immediate necessities,” we sat down to eat some oranges and bananas offered to us. This island abounds with all kinds of tropical fruit, and we soon struck a bargain for all we wanted; and, on arising to go, found they had stolen all our tobacco and pocket-knives. They are expert thieves and arrant rogues; no dependence can be placed on them.

The English have a missionary station here, established several years since. Some of the natives like the present missionary, and some do not. The chiefs or rulers uphold him, but the “people” say he is “no good;” he makes them “work too much.” One of them informed us—and we afterward found it to be true—that if a Kanaka failed to attend church on Sabbath, he had to pay the missionary one dollar, either in money or fruit; if he smoked on the Sabbath, the same penalty; and several other petty tyrannies are practiced, which has the effect of causing the natives to hate the missionary and the Gospel he teaches, and shows that unprincipled as well as good men are sent out, though not known to be such by those who send them, to spread the Gospel among the heathen. If a native wishes a Bible, he must pay the sum of one dollar for it, and the same if a sailor wants one. Such things as these tend more to cause a feeling of hatred against the missionary and his work than of love.

On this island is the grave of the Rev. John Williams, the pioneer missionary, who was universally beloved and respected by the natives. He was a noble as well as a good man, and was actuated by none but the purest motives. He faithfully labored to enlighten the heathen, and to diffuse the glorious blessings of the Gospel of Jesus Christ among them, and his labors were greatly blessed. After establishing several missionary stations, he went to the island of Tanna, one of the Hebrides, where the natives were cannibals, and groveling in the darkest superstition. On attempting to land, with a desire to create a friendly feeling with the natives, they rushed for him, and, as he attempted to reach the boat, he was struck by a spear and killed. They hauled the body clear of the beach, and refused to give it up. However, we learn they have since delivered up the remains, which were taken to Roratonga and buried. Thus perished this great and good man, at the hand of those to whom he would have done naught but good.

The staple commodity here is tobacco, which is very scarce, and readily commands a high price. For instance, half a pound of ordinary “plug” will purchase two hundred oranges, and other fruit in the same proportion. The natives, both male and female, are very much addicted to its use—never chewing, but forever smoking.

Quite a number of the natives came on board, wishing to go to sea with us, as they say “too much work ashore.” It appears they are building a church, and they do not wish to work, as they receive no pay. We are glad to be able to say that this missionary station is an exception; that at no other one that we visited during our wanderings were the natives tyrannized over as they were here. We are glad, too, for the honor of our country, that this missionary was not an American.

The government is administered by the queen and missionary, or, we should rather say, the missionary and the queen, as she is merely a nominal sovereign. She is a very dignified lady, weighing about three hundred pounds. Next in rank come the “chiefs,” who are members of the royal family, and, with the sovereigns above mentioned, form the council, or law-making power. Next come the “kikos,” or constables, who see that all laws are properly enforced, and arrest those who are guilty of violating them. As there was a law in force preventing any of the inhabitants leaving the island without the consent of the missionary, those who had come on board, wishing to go to sea with us, were compelled to return to land, which they did with sorrowful hearts. Our captain, however, obtained the necessary consent, and shipped three, whom he chose while ashore.

Wood and water all aboard, ship loaded down with luscious tropical fruit, such as oranges, bananas, pine-apples, cocoanuts, limes, lemons, plantains, etc., on Tuesday, June 25th, we were ready to take our departure from this lovely isle. In the last boat that went ashore this morning, one of the crew, by the name of Bob White, a miserable specimen of a most miserable Frenchman, who had imposed upon the captain, palming himself off as a “first-rate steward,” and who had been shipped in that capacity in America, but kicked forward the second day out from home, managed to steal into the boat unobserved, and, while ashore, deserted. All hands, from captain down, were glad to be well rid of him.

When once more at sea, the crew, on looking into chests and examining their possessions, begin to miss different articles of clothing, etc.: one has had his shoes stolen; another a shirt; another his blanket; another his jacket, etc. All appear to have lost something, and they say, if we had remained there much longer, the natives would have stolen us poor.

“Isle of booty, fare thee well.”

Perhaps, however, we were well recompensed, as, upon examination when the watch was set, we found that we had three more Kanakas than were shipped by the captain. The old ship had stolen them in return for the natives plundering her crew. The captain was much opposed to this proceeding on the part of the ship, but, as the island was now out of sight, and we were fast leaving it with a fair wind, he consented to their going with us.

Our old Kanaka friend, Jo Bob, who had come from America with us for the express purpose of going home and remaining, after being ashore a day or two, came on board, and wished to “go the voyage.” We were very much surprised at this, and at first could not account for it, but presently he “let the cat out of the bag,” saying the “Kanakas had got to work—build meetin’-house,” and, as he was a sailor, he spurned the idea of mixing mortar or carrying the hod. Jo thought the least of the two evils was the old ship; and he might well say that, for he was as lazy as a “Mahone soger,” and had seen easy times on board.

In the evening all hands appeared to be in the best humor possible. The fruit had been freely distributed, and each man had received as much as he wanted for a month. All were busy discussing its qualities, spinning yarns, singing and dancing; while the Kanakas, seven in number, were having their “hula hula,” or dances, accompanied with songs, in high glee. These performances were very interesting to us, as we never before witnessed them. They have what they call their love dance, missionary dance, whaling dance, and war dance. Their gestures, songs, and dances very much resemble those of the North American Indians.

CHAPTER XIII.
Making Passage to King Mill Group.—Fourth of July.—Byron’s Island.—Perote Island.—Drummond’s Island.—Sydenham’s Island.—Visit from the Natives.—Their Canoes.—Themselves.—Trade.—“Dittoes.”—Taking of the “Triton.”—A treacherous Portuguese.—A bloody Massacre.—A just Retribution.—The Kanaka’s Stratagem.—The Natives frightened.—Prisoners ashore.—A young Hero.—Hostages.—The Prisoners released.—Proceed to the Sandwich Islands.—Henderville’s Island.—Woodle’s Island.—Natives again.—“Teka moi moi.”—Young Cocoanuts.—Decidedly Jewish.—Easily satisfied.—Description of Natives.—The Females.—A large Fleet.—Comparisons.—Simpson’s Island.—Ship “Narragansett.”—Stove Boat.—Fisherman’s Luck.—Experiments in Mesmerism.—Somebody “sold.”

We were now making passage for the “King Mill Group,” which is a group of small islands greatly celebrated for being a good sperm whaling ground. Our captain had filled the same ship in which we now were on this ground but a few years before, and it was to be our principal place of cruising for a year or fourteen months, at least.

And now we come to Thursday, July 4th—the never-to-be-forgotten Fourth of July—our first one at sea. While our friends at home are celebrating the anniversary of American Independence, we are deprived the pleasure of being with them in person, yet we are with them in spirit, and the spark of patriotism glows as brightly in the small company of Americans on board as if we had been within hearing of the booming cannon, the joyful peal rung out by the merry bells, the patriotic oration and sentiment; and, although among the wild Isles of the Pacific, and thousands of leagues from the “home of the free,” yet the return of this day sent a thrill of joy through every frame, and we felt thankful to the God who watched over the cradle of the infant nation, who still guides its footsteps as it approaches manhood, and who is ever blessing it with heaven’s choicest blessings. May no American ever fail to render thanks for this anniversary, in whatever clime he may be situated.

SYDENHAM ISLAND CANOE.

On Tuesday, July 23d, we saw the most eastern island of the group, Byron’s Island, and the next day sighted Perote Island. These islands are all coral formations, very low, are inhabited, and thickly covered with cocoanut-trees. On Saturday, the 27th, we passed Drummond’s Island, and sighted Sydenham’s Island. From the latter the natives came off in great numbers to trade. Their canoes are constructed of narrow, thin strips of wood, the cocoanut, fastened with small line made from the cocoanut husk; are sharp at both ends, very narrow, and are prevented from capsizing by a long piece of wood placed parallel with the canoe and made fast to it, called the “outrigger.” They have a mast, with a three-cornered mat sail, made from the leaf of the cocoanut-tree, and rigged in such a manner as to admit of sailing in either direction without turning the canoe. They have them of all sizes, from the small one carrying but one person, to the large war-canoes carrying one hundred.

The natives are a wild-looking set of copper-colored beings, in a complete state of nudity, their bodies tattooed, and covered with cocoanut oil, which is their perfumery. They are of medium size, but very powerful. They are all merchants, bringing with them, to trade with ships, shells, fish, mats, cocoanuts, and a species of fruits called “dittoes.” These grow in large bunches, very compact, and similar to figs packed in a box. On the outside of the bunch they are green; on breaking them apart, you find about two thirds of the length, from the inner end, is of a bright golden color, and of an excellent flavor. The currency here, as at most of the Kanaka Islands, is tobacco and pipes, and for this they will follow a ship for miles. As it was near night, we made sail and motioned them ashore.

At this island a few years since, the natives, led on by a Portugee, who was living among them at this time, attempted to take the ship “Triton,” of New Bedford, Captain Spencer. The plot was well laid and matured, and the natives went off to the ship and informed the captain, by signs, they had a fine “fluke-chain” ashore, and wanted to sell it. He asked them where they got it, when they replied, “Kiabuka broke” (ship broke), conveying the idea that a ship had been wrecked here some time previous. As the captain was desirous of obtaining a chain of this description, he immediately, without suspecting their dark and bloody designs, ordered his boat to be lowered away and manned. On arriving on shore, and before they suspected any treachery, they were seized and bound. The Portugee then, with a large number of natives, went off to the ship to trade, as they intimated. The crew, when they arrived, were mostly down below, and the third mate was asleep in one of the boats. When the natives had collected on deck in sufficient numbers, they made a rush for the “spades,” which hung overhead on the quarter-deck, and, before any one was aware of what was transpiring, had possession of the deck. They killed the man at the helm, two or three foremast hands, the second mate, steward, and cook, and then proceeded to the cabin, where the mate was lying asleep. He was aroused by the noise, but too late to offer any resistance; they, attacking him, cut and mangled him in a horrible manner, and left him, as they supposed, dead.

The Portugee, who led on the savages, now proceeded to the deck in order to make a finish of the bloody job, massacre the remainder of the crew, who were confined in the forecastle, and then work the ship ashore into the breakers. The third mate, who had become aroused by the noise, but wisely kept quiet until he saw the Portugee passing abreast of him, suddenly darted a lance with such unerring aim that it was driven completely through his body, killing him instantly. The natives were greatly frightened at this, and attacked the third officer, but he managed to elude them, and escaped below. They now fired muskets, which they had taken from the cabin, already loaded, down the skylight, until they saw it was useless, when they directed their whole energies to getting the ship into the breakers. One of the crew happened to be a Kanaka, and they ordered him to the helm, and to keep the ship headed for the land, threatening him with instant death if he failed. But he was secretly determined to thwart their horrible purposes, and accordingly kept the ship headed nearly in a contrary direction. As soon as the natives discovered they were leaving the land instead of approaching it, they were about to put their threat into execution; but he made them to understand that he could not steer the ship, knew nothing about it, etc. One of the chiefs then told him to go to masthead and keep a look-out, and he would steer the ship ashore. He immediately mounted the rigging, and with the agility of a monkey was soon aloft at masthead. Not deeming it prudent to make known his purpose too soon, he waited; the ship was gradually approaching the breakers, where she would soon be more than ever in the power of these bloodthirsty cannibals. But the time has come for relief; “Sail ho!” is the cry from aloft; and the rascals are jumping overboard into the water and their canoes, and paddling for dear life to the shore, with fright depicted on every countenance. The brave Kanaka, who had by this stratagem succeeded in saving the ship, now came down on deck and released the men in the forecastle, who, with the third mate, immediately headed the ship off shore, and, supposing the captain and his boat’s crew all murdered, made all sail. The mate, who was left for dead, recovered gradually. After a long passage, they made the port of Honolulu, Sandwich Islands.

The captain, together with his boat’s crew, whom we left on shore bound, were, for some unknown reason, kept still alive as prisoners. The natives finally, at a council held, determined to murder them all. The arrangements were all completed. The captain was first led forth, firmly bound, and, in imitation of our North American Indians, they laid his head upon the fatal block; the executioner, with his massive war-club in readiness, awaits but the word from the chief which is to send a soul into eternity. But who is this rushing forward, and, Pocahontas-like, braving the ire of that dread chief, and proudly, firmly demanding the life of Captain Spencer and the white men with him? ’Tis the son of the chief, who, with fire in his eye and determination in every line of his features, tells them “they must not murder the white men; if they do, plenty America Fire Kiabuka come, kill all Kanaka.” The bravery and reasoning of the brave boy-chief prevailed, and their lives were spared, though still kept “in bonds.”

After some weeks had passed a ship came to the island to trade, and, through some one of the natives, the captain ascertained the fact that Captain Spencer and his men were held prisoners. The captain and crew of the ship trading immediately seized and bound a number of the natives on board as hostages, telling the remainder that if Captain S. and his men were not instantly forth-coming, unharmed, those detained on board as hostages should swing at the yard-arm. This threat had the desired effect. Captain Spencer and his men were liberated from their cruel bondage, and kindly received by all on board. The captain proceeded to the Sandwich Islands, where he now resides; and when narrating to us the above particulars, although an old sea-dog, the tear would trickle down the weather-beaten cheek as he recalled to mind the fate of those who were so cruelly murdered, and his own miraculous escape.

On Wednesday, July 31st, we saw Henderville’s and Woodle’s Islands. We headed for the latter, and when two or three miles from land our decks were crowded with natives, all bringing something to trade. A lively scene now presented itself, equaling any of our large trading marts, though not, perhaps, on quite as extensive a scale. Here might be seen a native offering a hat to a sailor, and each one endeavoring to get the best of the bargain; another was offering mats, another shells, and so on to the end, all for “’baccy.” At this island we found something in the shape of molasses that we had never yet seen. It is made from the milk of the cocoanut boiled down, and called by them “teka moi moi.” It resembles maple molasses, both in color and flavor, more than any thing else, and was quite a treat to our ship’s company, who purchased large quantities—five cocoanut shells filled with it for one “plug” of tobacco.

Those who have never tasted the young cocoanut may be excusable in eating, and drinking the milk of the miserable things called cocoanuts which are exposed for sale at our fruit-stands. But, to enjoy it in all its delicious fullness, one must eat them when they are green, and when the shell is so soft as to admit of a knife being passed through the husk and shell, as one would “plug” a melon. In this state the nut is full of the rich milk, and, on breaking them open, some are so young that no meat has yet formed; in others it is like jelly; and, as it advances in age, the milk loses its rich flavor, and the meat becomes hard and oily.

The natives of this island are shrewd customers, and drive a bargain with all the tightness of a Jew, bantering until they find they can obtain no more, and then sell. In one respect, however, comparatively speaking, they are easily satisfied. A “head” of tobacco goes a great way with them; and he is considered a rich man among them who becomes possessed of two or three “heads.” They appear, also, to be much better natured and better looking than any we have yet seen; have more of that noble, manly appearance than those of Sydenham’s Island. They are much larger, also, and many of them wear the “tappa” about the loins. The females are very fair-looking, with regular features, small and delicate in size and structure, and appear very graceful and sprightly. They are very cleanly, and when they come off to ships have their heads decorated with wreaths of wild flowers, and generally a bunch in each ear as a substitute for ear-rings. They are merry creatures, always laughing, and showing teeth of pearly whiteness, that any woman might be proud of, which are not manufactured for the occasion by a dentist. Were they white, they would create no small sensation among the belles and beaux of America; and we have seen some who have just color enough in the cheek to make them truly beautiful. In fact, it is rather a dangerous affair to be placed amid such fascinating creatures after a long cruise, and having seen none but our own ship’s company. From the affectionate glances bestowed by some of our sailors upon the dark-eyed beauties, we fear they will leave their hearts behind as well as their tobacco.

The sea between the ship and the shore was completely covered by myriads of canoes, some going ashore, and others paddling for the ship. We were thus trading about four hours, till, having procured all we desired “in their line,” we bid them adieu, and turned our thoughts to whaling.

Thursday, August 8th, we again sighted Sydenham’s Island, the natives coming off as usual to trade. One can not but notice the difference in the appearance of the natives of this and Woodle’s Island; yet they are only sixty miles apart. Those of the latter have a noble, manly look, are smooth-skinned and good-natured, while those of the former are a sullen, inferior-looking set of beings, many of them scaly or rough-skinned. They have a regular hang-dog, villainous expression, that plainly says “plunder and murder.” The females are even worse than the men, being very masculine in appearance, manners, and speech, with high cheek-bones, and mouths that would drive a hungry man crazy. They are very indolent, and seldom bring of any trade, a few fish or shells generally comprising the whole assortment.

The next island we saw was Simpson’s, but passed it without stopping. On Friday, August 16th, we spoke the ship “Narragansett,” Captain Rogers, soon bound home. We enjoyed a very pleasant “gam” with them, they all feeling very happy, thinking they would so soon be homeward bound. We could but wish them joy, with a safe and quick passage home.

On the 2lst, Tuesday, we lowered for whales. One of the boats succeeded in fastening to a “cow,” and, after some running, sounding, etc., she began to think it “boys’ play,” and about time to end the sport, and coming up under the boat, gave it a rap that knocked it into “kindling wood,” and hoisted the boys a pretty good distance in the air. Appearing perfectly satisfied with this part of the performance, she departed for “parts unknown” with two irons and about eighteen hundred feet of line attached to her. The crew were picked up after a bath of about an hour. The next day saw whales, and concluded to try our luck again. The waist-boat finally succeeded in fastening to a large fat cow, and all hands were chuckling over the idea of having outwitted this one, when lo, and behold! her majesty turns and bites the line in two as coolly as you please, and makes off. The boys returned on board, acknowledging that “there’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip” in whaling as well as every thing else.

About this time Mackey and Tom W. had quite an extensive argument on mesmerism. Mackey was a great skeptic, but finally agreed to become a sound believer and disciple if Tom would mesmerize him. To all this Tom readily consented, and preparations were accordingly made with the gravity and demeanor of a regular professor of the humbug. Strict silence was imposed upon all hands; not a word was to be uttered, not even in a whisper, or the spell would be broken. Two tin pans were introduced as “mediums,” and Mackey was instructed to hold one with the bottom toward the mesmerizer, and look him steadily in the eye, while he took the other in the same manner. Tom now informed Mackey that he must do exactly as he did—go through with the same motions, etc.; to all of which he readily consented, and the manipulations commenced. Unfortunately, it happened that the bottom of Mackey’s pan had been smoked considerably, if not more, and as Tom would draw his fingers around on the bottom of his own pan (which was clean), and then over his face, Mackey would “follow suit,” and by this operation his face soon began to assume the appearance of a striped zebra. The hands were then changed, and the other side mesmerized in the same manner. After Mackey was nicely blacked, so that it was almost impossible to tell whether he most resembled an Indian painted for the war-dance or the aforesaid striped zebra, Tom said he guessed he would have to give it up; there was too much noise on deck, and his “mediums” did not work well; but asked him if he did not feel sleepy. Mackey stoutly denied being sleepy, and said he knew it was all a humbug—couldn’t fool him; saying which he started aft for a drink of water. The watch on deck were employed mending sails, and, as Mackey rolled along, they all broke into one simultaneous roar on beholding his comical physiognomy. The mate asked him if he “was sick.”

“No, sir,” replied Mackey, boldly.

“Well, then, what is the matter with you? You look very pale!”

Mackey knew hardly what to say to this, but finally replied, “One of the watch has been trying to mesmerize me, and it might have affected me some.”

The mate told him he had better go below and turn in instantly, as he was sure something ailed him. This frightened Mackey, and he hastened down, got out his looking-glass, and, at the first sight, dropped it. However, he mustered courage, and looked again; then at the watch, who had all assembled about him in perfect silence; then at the pan; and, after a few moments, the light broke in upon him, and he exclaimed, “Sold, by thunder!” and rushed on deck to try the virtues of salt water and oil soap, greeted with a perfect storm of laughter from the watch. It is useless to add that Mackey never after, so long as he remained with us, had any thing to say upon the science of Mesmerism.

CHAPTER XIV.
Pitt’s Island.—Knox and Charlotte’s Islands.—Base Conduct.—Thieving.—Jack and Manuel.—Almost a “dead Nigger.”—Bark “Belle.”—Ship “Boy.”—Wreck of the “Flying Fox.”—Plundered by the Natives.—Hall’s Island.—Desertion.—My Man Friday.—A wet Berth again.—Ship “Hector.”—Anxiety for Letters.—A Canoe in distress.—A heart-rending Sight.—Gratitude of the Natives.—Pleasant Island.—Its Natives.—Murder of white Men.—Brig “Inga.”—Thieves again.—Search-warrant issued.—Property found, Culprit tried and punished.—A heavy Squall.—Strong’s Island.

We were now getting down to the more westward of the group, and on Sunday, the 25th, saw Pitt’s Island. This is one of the finest-looking islands of the whole group; the land being higher, with more verdure. The next day we saw Knox’s Island. The natives of this and Charlotte’s Island are now at war, instigated, we are sorry to learn, by the base conduct of an American whaling captain, who has taken sides with one party, and who takes great pleasure in slaughtering those of the other side.

Whenever the boats are off after whales, a certain number of the ship’s company remain on board to work the ship, who are called “ship-keepers.” One of these ship-keepers was “Nigger Jack,” whom, the reader will recollect, we shipped at Payta. It appears he was in the habit, at these times, of going down into the forecastle, and pilfering whatever he saw that would strike his fancy. He also was troubled very much with a sweet tooth, and would help himself to the other men’s allowance of molasses, not touching his own. This kind of work went on for some time, and, as the men could prove nothing, they kept quiet and waited, Micawber-like, for something to “turn up.” The opportunity soon came. The boats were all off after whales, and our Spanish darkey was, as usual, spending his time below, when one of the other ship-keepers, going into the forecastle, caught him in the very act of helping himself to molasses from the allowance of Portugee Manuel. He said nothing to him, however, but waited until the men returned for the opportunity of “opening the ball.” It so happened that, on this occasion, the men were down all day, from 7 A.M. to 8 P.M., with little or no food, and came on board, without having fastened, nearly exhausted with pulling, hungry as bears, and in none of the best of humors. Supper was sent down, and Manuel went to his keg to get some molasses for his “duff,” but, to his surprise, found it empty! His Gee blood was up in an instant, and he sang out, “What man been takey my molass?” Some one replied, “Nigger Jack;” and, before the darkey could contradict it, the heavy molasses keg struck him, bim! full in the face. The blood flew on all sides, and he ran for the deck, and, fully believing that he was about to “kick the bucket,” commenced chanting the Paternoster, occasionally interspersing it with exclamations of “Muerto! muerto!” signifying “Killed! killed!” in a most pitiful tone. But he was suddenly interrupted by an order from aft to present himself. He crawled off, and, after a long time, succeeded in making the captain understand what the difficulty was. Manuel was now sent for, who sputtered out his side of the story, in half English and half Portugee, to the no small amusement of the captain and officers, and appeals to the person who saw the theft committed. The old man reprimanded Manuel for throwing molasses kegs, and told the Spaniard that if the men caught him stealing again, they would, in all probability, kill him outright, and sent him off about his business. There is nothing so much despised on board ship as these petty thefts, and he who commits them generally leads a hard life.

We here saw the bark “Belle,” of Fairhaven, Captain Handy. This vessel was engaged in trading at the different islands for cocoanut oil, which was sold in Sydney, New South Wales.