Two Years Before the Mast
heel of the bowsprit, and the bitts, which come down into the
forecastle; but, in addition to this, we had an unaccountable leak on
the starboard bow, near the cat-head, which drove us from the forward
berths on that side, and, indeed, when she was on the starboard tack,
from all the forward berths. One of the after berths, too, leaked in
very bad weather; so that in a ship which was in other respects as
tight as a bottle, and brought her cargo to Boston perfectly dry, we
had, after every effort made to prevent it, in the way of caulking and
leading, a forecastle with only three dry berths for seven of us.
However, as there is never but one watch below at a time, by 'turning
in and out,' we did pretty well. And there being, in our watch, but
three of us who lived forward, we generally had a dry berth apiece in
bad weather.[1]
All this, however, was but anticipation. We were still in fine weather
in the North Pacific, running down the north-east trades, which we took
on the second day after leaving San Diego.
Sunday, May 15th, one week out, we were in latitude 14° 56' N., long.
116° 14' W., having gone, by reckoning, over thirteen hundred miles in
seven days. In fact, ever since leaving San Diego, we had had a fair
wind, and as much as we wanted of it. For seven days, our lower and
topmast studding-sails were set all the time, and our royals and
top-gallant studding-sails, whenever she could stagger under them.
Indeed, the captain had shown, from the moment we got to sea, that he
was to have no boy's play, but that the ship had got to carry all she
could, and that he was going to make up, by "cracking on" to her, what
she wanted in lightness. In this way, we frequently made three degrees
of latitude, besides something in longitude, in the course of
twenty-four hours.--Our days were spent in the usual ship's work. The
rigging which had become slack from being long in port was to be set
up; breast backstays got up; studding-sail booms rigged upon the main
yard; and the royal studding-sails got ready for the light trades;
ring-tail set; and new rigging fitted and sails got ready for Cape
Horn. For, with a ship's gear, as well as a sailor's wardrobe, fine
weather must be improved to get ready for the bad to come. Our
forenoon watch below, as I have said, was given to our own work, and
our night watches were spent in the usual manner:--a trick at the
wheel, a look-out on the forecastle, a nap on a coil of rigging under
the lee of the rail; a yarn round the windlass-end; or, as was
generally my way, a solitary walk fore and aft, in the weather waist,
between the windlass-end and the main tack. Every wave that she threw
aside brought us nearer home, and every day's observation at noon
showed a progress which, if it continued, would in less than five
months, take us into Boston Bay. This is the pleasure of life at
sea,--fine weather, day after day, without interruption,--fair wind,
and a plenty of it,--and homeward bound. Every one was in good humor;
things went right; and all was done with a will. At the dog watch, all
hands came on deck, and stood round the weather side of the forecastle,
or sat upon the windlass, and sung sea songs, and those ballads of
pirates and highwaymen, which sailors delight in. Home, too, and what
we should do when we got there, and when and how we should arrive, was
no infrequent topic. Every night, after the kids and pots were put
away, and we had lighted our pipes and cigars at the galley, and
gathered about the windlass, the first question was,--
"Well, Tom, what was the latitude to-day?"
"Why fourteen, north, and she has been going seven knots ever since."
"Well, this will bring us up to the line in five days."
"Yes, but these trades won't last twenty-four hours longer," says an
old salt, pointing with the sharp of his hand to leeward,--"I know that
by the look of the clouds."
Then came all manner of calculations and conjectures as to the
continuance of the wind, the weather under the line, the south-east
trades, etc., and rough guesses as to the time the ship would be up
with the Horn; and some, more venturous, gave her so many days to
Boston light, and offered to bet that she would not exceed it.
"You'd better wait till you get round Cape Horn," says an old croaker.
"Yes," says another, "you may see Boston, but you've got to 'smell
hell' before that good day."
Rumors also of what had been said in the cabin, as usual, found their
way forward. The steward had heard the captain say something about the
straits of Magellan, and the man at the wheel fancied he had heard him
tell the "passenger" that, if he found the wind ahead and the weather
very bad off the Cape, he should stick her off for New Holland, and
come home round the Cape of Good Hope.
This passenger--the first and only one we had had, except to go from
port to port, on the coast, was no one else than a gentleman whom I had
known in my better days; and the last person I should have expected to
have seen on the coast of California--Professor N----, of Cambridge. I
had left him quietly seated in the chair of Botany and Ornithology, in
Harvard University; and the next I saw of him, was strolling about San
Diego beach, in a sailor's pea-jacket, with a wide straw hat, and
barefooted, with his trowsers roiled up to his knees, picking up stones
and shells. He had travelled overland to the North-west Coast, and come
down in a small vessel to Monterey. There he learned that there was a
ship at the leeward, about to sail for Boston; and, taking passage in
the Pilgrim, which was then at Monterey, he came slowly down, visiting
the intermediate ports, and examining the trees, plants, earths, birds,
etc., and joined us at San Diego shortly before we sailed. The second
mate of the Pilgrim told me that they had an old gentleman on board who
knew me, and came from the college that I had been in.
He could not recollect his name, but said he was a "sort of an oldish
man," with white hair, and spent all his time in the bush, and along
the beach, picking up flowers and shells, and such truck, and had a
dozen boxes and barrels, full of them. I thought over everybody who
would be likely to be there, but could fix upon no one; when, the next
day, just as we were about to shove off from the beach, he came down to
the boat, in the rig I have described, with his shoes in his hand, and
his pockets full of specimens. I knew him at once, though I should not
have been more surprised to have seen the Old South steeple shoot up
from the hide-house. He probably had no less difficulty in recognizing
me. As we left home about the same time, we had nothing to tell one
another; and, owing to our different situations on board, I saw but
little of him on the passage home. Sometimes, when I was at the wheel
of a calm night, and the steering required no attention, and the
officer of the watch was forward, he would come aft and hold a short
yarn with me; but this was against the rules of the ship, as is, in
fact, all intercourse between passengers and the crew. I was often
amused to see the sailors puzzled to know what to make of him, and to
hear their conjectures about him and his business. They were as much
puzzled as our old sailmaker was with the captain's instruments in the
cabin.
He said there were three:--the chro-nometer, the chre-nometer, and the
the-nometer. (Chronometer, barometer, and thermometer.) The Pilgrim's
crew christened Mr. N. "Old Curious," from his zeal for curiosities,
and some of them said that he was crazy, and that his friends let him
go about and amuse himself in this way. Why else a rich man (sailors
call every man rich who does not work with his hands, and wears a long
coat and cravat) should leave a Christian country, and come to such a
place as California, to pick up shells and stones, they could not
understand. One of them, however, an old salt, who had seen something
more of the world ashore, set all to rights, as he thought,--"Oh, 'vast
there!--You don't know anything about them craft. I've seen them
colleges, and know the ropes. They keep all such things for
cur'osities, and study 'em, and have men a' purpose to go and get 'em.
This old chap knows what he's about. He a'n't the child you take him
for. He'll carry all these things to the college, and if they are
better than any that they have had before, he'll be head of the
college. Then, by-and-by, somebody else will go after some more, and
if they beat him, he'll have to go again, or else give up his berth.
That's the way they do it. This old covey knows the ropes. He has
worked a traverse over 'em, and come 'way out here, where nobody's ever
been afore, and where they'll never think of coming." This explanation
satisfied Jack; and as it raised Mr. N.'s credit for capacity, and was
near enough to the truth for common purposes, I did not disturb it.
With the exception of Mr. N., we had no one on board but the regular
ship's company, and the live stock. Upon this, we had made a
considerable inroad. We killed one of the bullocks every four days, so
that they did not last us up to the line. We, or, rather, they, then
began upon the sheep and the poultry, for these never come into Jack's
mess.[2] The pigs were left for the latter part of the voyage, for
they are sailors, and can stand all weathers. We had an old sow on
board, the mother of a numerous progeny, who had been twice round the
Cape of Good Hope, and once round Cape Horn. The last time going
round, was very nearly her death. We heard her squealing and moaning
one dark night, after it had been snowing and hailing for several
hours, and getting into the sty, we found her nearly frozen to death.
We got some straw, an old sail, and other things, and wrapped her up in
a corner of the sty, where she staid until we got into fine weather
again.
Wednesday, May 18th. Lat. 9° 54' N., long. 113° 17' W. The north-east
trades had now left us, and we had the usual variable winds, which
prevail near the line, together with some rain. So long as we were in
these latitudes, we had but little rest in our watch on deck at night,
for, as the winds were light and variable, and we could not lose a
breath, we were all the watch bracing the yards, and taking in and
making sail, and "humbugging" with our flying kites. A little puff of
wind on the larboard quarter, and then--"larboard fore braces!" and
studding-booms were rigged out, studding-sails set alow and aloft, the
yards trimmed, and jibs and spanker in; when it would come as calm as a
duck-pond, and the man at the wheel stand with the palm of his hand up,
feeling for the wind. "Keep her off a little!" "All aback forward,
sir!" cries a man from the forecastle. Down go the braces again; in
come the studding-sails, all in a mess, which half an hour won't set
right; yards braced sharp up; and she's on the starboard tack, close
hauled.
The studding-sails must now be cleared away, and set up in the tops,
and on the booms. By the time this is done, and you are looking out
for a soft plank for a nap,--"Lay aft here, and square in the head
yards!" and the studding-sails are all set again on the starboard side.
So it goes until it is eight bells,--call the watch,--heave the
log,--relieve the wheel, and go below the larboard watch.
[Editor's note: the "166°" in the following paragraph is clearly an error, with "116°" actually meant. Longitude 166° would have put the ship southwest of the Sandwich Islands. However, this printing error goes back to at least an 1869 edition of this book.]
Sunday, May 22d. Lat. 5° 14' N., long. 166° 45' W. We were now a
fortnight out, and within five degrees of the line, to which two days
of good breeze would take us; but we had, for the most part, what