Two Years Before the Mast
much exposed to the south-east and north-west winds, that it is little
better than an open roadstead; and the whole swell of the Pacific ocean
rolls in here before a south-easter, and breaks with so heavy a surf in
the shallow waters, that it is highly dangerous to lie near to the
shore during the south-easter season; that is, between the months of
November and April.
This wind (the south-easter) is the bane of the coast of California.
Between the months of November and April, (including a part of each,)
which is the rainy season in this latitude, you are never safe from it,
and accordingly, in the ports which are open to it, vessels are
obliged, during these months, to lie at anchor at a distance of three
miles from the shore, with slip-ropes on their cables, ready to slip
and go to sea at a moment's warning. The only ports which are safe
from this wind are San Francisco and Monterey in the north, and San
Diego in the south.
As it was January when we arrived, and the middle of the south-easter
season, we accordingly came to anchor at the distance of three miles
from the shore, in eleven fathoms water, and bent a slip-rope and buoys
to our cables, cast off the yard-arm gaskets from the sails, and
stopped them all with rope-yarns. After we had done this, the boat
went ashore with the captain, and returned with orders to the mate to
send a boat ashore for him at sundown. I did not go in the first boat,
and was glad to find that there was another going before night; for
after so long a voyage as ours had been, a few hours is long to pass in
sight and out of reach of land. We spent the day on board in the usual
avocations; but as this was the first time we had been without the
captain, we felt a little more freedom, and looked about us to see what
sort of a country we had got into, and were to spend a year or two of
our lives in.
In the first place, it was a beautiful day, and so warm that we had on
straw hats, duck trowsers, and all the summer gear; and as this was
mid-winter, it spoke well for the climate; and we afterwards found that
the thermometer never fell to the freezing-point throughout the winter,
and that there was very little difference between the seasons, except
that during a long period of rainy and south-easterly weather, thick
clothes were not uncomfortable.
The large bay lay about us, nearly smooth, as there was hardly a breath
of wind stirring, though the boat's crew who went ashore told us that
the long ground swell broke into a heavy surf upon the beach. There was
only one vessel in the port--a long, sharp brig of about 300 tons, with
raking masts and very square yards, and English colors at her peak. We
afterwards learned that she was built at Guayaquil, and named the
Ayacucho, after the place where the battle was fought that gave Peru
her independence, and was now owned by a Scotchman named Wilson, who
commanded her, and was engaged in the trade between Callao, the
Sandwich Islands, and California. She was a fast sailer, as we
frequently afterwards perceived, and had a crew of Sandwich Islanders
on board. Beside this vessel there was no object to break the surface
of the bay. Two points ran out as the horns of the crescent, one of
which--the one to the westward--was low and sandy, and is that to which
vessels are obliged to give a wide berth when running out for a
south-easter; the other is high, bold, and well wooded, and, we were
told, has a mission upon it, called St. Buenaventura, from which the
point is named. In the middle of this crescent, directly opposite the
anchoring ground, lie the mission and town of Santa Barbara, on a low,
flat plain, but little above the level of the sea, covered with grass,
though entirely without trees, and surrounded on three sides by an
amphitheatre of mountains, which slant off to the distance of fifteen
or twenty miles. The mission stands a little back of the town, and is
a large building, or rather a collection of buildings, in the centre of
which is a high tower, with a belfry of five bells; and the whole,
being plastered, makes quite a show at a distance, and is the mark by
which vessels come to anchor. The town lies a little nearer to the
beach--about half a mile from it--and is composed of one-story houses
built of brown clay--some of them plastered--with red tiles on the
roofs. I should judge that there were about an hundred of them; and in
the midst of them stands the Presidio, or fort, built of the same
materials, and apparently but little stronger. The town is certainly
finely situated, with a bay in front, and an amphitheatre of hills
behind. The only thing which diminishes its beauty is, that the hills
have no large trees upon them, they having been all burnt by a great
fire which swept them off about a dozen years before, and they had not
yet grown up again. The fire was described to me by an inhabitant, as
having been a very terrible and magnificent sight. The air of the whole
valley was so heated that the people were obliged to leave the town and
take up their quarters for several days upon the beach.
Just before sun-down the mate ordered a boat's crew ashore, and I went
as one of the number. We passed under the stern of the English brig,
and had a long pull ashore. I shall never forget the impression which
our first landing on the beach of California made upon me. The sun had
just gone down; it was getting dusky; the damp night wind was beginning
to blow, and the heavy swell of the Pacific was setting in, and
breaking in loud and high "combers" upon the beach. We lay on our oars
in the swell, just outside of the surf, waiting for a good chance to
run in, when a boat, which had put off from the Ayacucho just after us,
came alongside of us, with a crew of dusky Sandwich Islanders, talking
and halooing in their outlandish tongue. They knew that we were
novices in this kind of boating, and waited to see us go in. The second
mate, however, who steered our boat, determined to have the advantage
of their experience, and would not go in first. Finding, at length, how
matters stood, they gave a shout, and taking advantage of a great
comber which came swelling in, rearing its head, and lifting up the
stern of our boat nearly perpendicular, and again dropping it in the
trough, they gave three or four long and strong pulls, and went in on
top of the great wave, throwing their oars overboard, and as far from
the boat as they could throw them, and jumping out the instant that the
boat touched the beach, and then seizing hold of her and running her up
high and dry upon the sand. We saw, at once, how it was to be done,
and also the necessity of keeping the boat "stern on" to the sea; for
the instant the sea should strike upon her broad-side or quarter, she
would be driven up broad-side-on, and capsized. We pulled strongly in,
and as soon as we felt that the sea had got hold of us and was carrying
us in with the speed of a race-horse, we threw the oars as far from the
boat as we could, and took hold of the gunwale, ready to spring out and
seize her when she struck, the officer using his utmost strength to
keep her stern on. We were shot up upon the beach like an arrow from a
bow, and seizing the boat, ran her up high and dry, and soon picked up
our oars, and stood by her, ready for the captain to come down.
Finding that the captain did not come immediately, we put our oars in
the boat, and leaving one to watch it, walked about the beach to see
what we could, of the place. The beach is nearly a mile in length
between the two points, and of smooth sand. We had taken the only good
landing-place, which is in the middle; it being more stony toward the
ends. It is about twenty yards in width from high-water mark to a
slight bank at which the soil begins, and so hard that it is a favorite
place for running horses. It was growing dark, so that we could just
distinguish the dim outlines of the two vessels in the offing; and the
great seas were rolling in, in regular lines, growing larger and larger
as they approached the shore, and hanging over the beach upon which
they were to break, when their tops would curl over and turn white with
foam, and, beginning at one extreme of the line, break rapidly to the
other, as a long card-house falls when the children knock down the
cards at one end. The Sandwich Islanders, in the mean time, had turned
their boat round, and ran her down into the water, and were loading her
with hides and tallow. As this was the work in which we were soon to
be engaged, we looked on with some curiosity. They ran the boat into
the water so far that every large sea might float her, and two of them,
with their trowsers rolled up, stood by the bows, one on each side,
keeping her in her right position. This was hard work; for beside the
force they had to use upon the boat, the large seas nearly took them
off their legs. The others were running from the boat to the bank,
upon which, out of the reach of the water, was a pile of dry bullocks'
hides, doubled lengthwise in the middle, and nearly as stiff as boards.
These they took upon their heads, one or two at a time, and carried
down to the boat, where one of their number stowed them away. They
were obliged to carry them on their heads, to keep them out of the
water, and we observed that they had on thick woolen caps. "Look here,
Bill, and see what you're coming to!" said one of our men to another
who stood by the boat. "Well, D----," said the second mate to me,
"this does not look much like Cambridge college, does it? This is what
I call 'head work.'" To tell the truth, it did not look very
encouraging.
After they had got through with the hides, they laid hold of the bags
of tallow, (the bags are made of hide, and are about the size of a
common meal bag,) and lifting each upon the shoulders of two men, one
at each end, walked off with them to the boat, and prepared to go
aboard. Here, too, was something for us to learn. The man who
steered, shipped his oar and stood up in the stern, and those that
pulled the after oars sat upon their benches, with their oars shipped,
ready to strike out as soon as she was afloat. The two men at the bows
kept their places; and when, at length, a large sea came in and floated
her, seized hold of the gunwale, and ran out with her till they were up
to their armpits, and then tumbled over the gunwale into the bows,
dripping with water. The men at the oars struck out, but it wouldn't
do; the sea swept back and left them nearly high and dry. The two
fellows jumped out again; and the next time they succeeded better, and,
with the help of a deal of outlandish hallooing and bawling, got her
well off. We watched them till they were out of the breakers, and saw
them steering for their vessel, which was now hidden in the darkness.
The sand of the beach began to be cold to our bare feet; the frogs set
up their croaking in the marshes, and one solitary owl, from the end of
the distant point, gave out his melancholy note, mellowed by the
distance, and we began to think that it was high time for "the old
man," as the captain is generally called, to come down. In a few
minutes we heard something coming towards us. It was a man on
horseback. He came up on the full gallop, reined up near us, addressed
a few words to us, and receiving no answer, wheeled around and galloped
off again. He was nearly as dark as an Indian, with a large Spanish
hat, blanket cloak or surreppa, and leather leggins, with a long knife
stuck in them. "This is the seventh city that ever I was in, and no
Christian one neither," said Bill Brown. "Stand by!" said Tom, "you
haven't seen the worst of it yet." In the midst of this conversation
the captain appeared; and we winded the boat round, shoved her down,