Were called up at midnight to slip for
a violent north-easter, for this rascally hole of San Pedro is
unsafe in every wind but a south-wester, which is seldom known
to blow more than once in a half century. We went off with a
flowing sheet, and hove-to under the lee of Catalina island,
where we lay three days, and then returned to our anchorage.
Tuesday, Feb. 23d. This afternoon, a signal was made from the
shore, and we went off in the gig, and found the agent's clerk,
who had been up to the pueblo, waiting at the landing-place, with a
package under his arm, covered with brown papers and tied carefully
with twine. No sooner had we shoved off than he told us there was
good news from Santa Barbara. "What's that?" said one of the crew;
"has the bloody agent slipped off the hooks? Has the old bundle of
bones got him at last?" - "No; better than that. The California
has arrived." Letters, papers, news, and, perhaps, - friends, on
board! Our hearts were all up in our mouths, and we pulled away
like good fellows; for the precious packet could not be opened
except by the captain. As we pulled under the stern, the clerk
held up the package, and called out to the mate, who was leaning
over the taffrail, that the California had arrived.
"Hurrah!" said the mate, so as to be heard fore and aft;
"California come, and news from Boston!"
Instantly there was a confusion on board which no one could account
for who has not been in the same situation. All discipline seemed
for a moment relaxed.
"What's that, Mr. Brown?" said the cook, putting his head out of
the galley - "California come?"
"Aye, aye! you angel of darkness, and there's a letter for you
from Bullknop 'treet, number two-two-five - green door and brass
knocker!"
The packet was sent down into the cabin, and every one waited
to hear of the result. As nothing came up, the officers began
to feel that they were acting rather a child's part, and turned
the crew to again and the same strict discipline was restored,
which prohibits speech between man and man, while at work on
deck; so that, when the steward came forward with letters for
the crew, each man took his letters, carried them below to his
chest, and came up again immediately; and not a letter was read
until we had cleared up decks for the night.
An overstrained sense of manliness is the characteristic of
seafaring men, or, rather, of life on board ship. This often
gives an appearance of want of feeling, and even of cruelty.
From this, if a man comes within an ace of breaking his neck
and escapes, it is made a joke of; and no notice must be taken
of a bruise or cut; and any expression of pity, or any show of
attention, would look sisterly, and unbecoming a man who has to
face the rough and tumble of such a life. From this, too, the sick
are neglected at sea, and whatever sailors may be ashore, a sick
man finds little sympathy or attention, forward or aft. A man, too,
can have nothing peculiar or sacred on board ship; for all the nicer
feelings they take pride in disregarding, both in themselves and
others. A thin-skinned man could not live an hour on ship-board.
One would be torn raw unless he had the hide of an ox. A moment of
natural feeling for home and friends, and then the frigid routine
of sea-life returned. Jokes were made upon those who showed any
interest in the expected news, and everything near and dear was
made common stock for rude jokes and unfeeling coarseness, to which
no exception could be taken by any one.
Supper, too, must be eaten before the letters were read; and when,
at last, they were brought out, they all got round any one who had
a letter, and expected to have it read aloud, and have it all in
common. If any one went by himself to read, it was - "Fair play,
there; and no skulking!" I took mine and went into the sailmaker's
berth, where I could read it without interruption. It was dated
August, just a year from the time I had sailed from home; and every
one was well, and no great change had taken place. Thus, for one
year, my mind was set at ease, yet it was already six months from
the date of the letter, and what another year would bring to pass,
who could tell? Every one away from home thinks that some great
thing must have happened, while to those at home there seems to
be a continued monotony and lack of incident.
As much as my feelings were taken up by my own intelligence
from home, I could not but be amused by a scene in the steerage.
The carpenter had been married just before leaving Boston, and
during the voyage had talked much about his wife, and had to bear
and forbear, as every man, known to be married, must, aboard ship;
yet the certainty of hearing from his wife by the first ship, seemed
to keep up his spirits. The California came, the packet was brought
on board; no one was in higher spirits than he; but when the letters
came forward, there was none for him. The captain looked again,
but there was no mistake. Poor "Chips," could eat no supper.
He was completely down in the mouth. "Sails" (the sailmaker)
tried to comfort him, and told him he was a bloody fool to give
up his grub for any woman's daughter, and reminded him that he
had told him a dozen times that he'd never see or hear from his
wife again.
"Ah!" said "Chips," "you don't know what it is to have a wife, and" -
"Don't I?" said Sails; and then came, for the hundredth time, the story
of his coming ashore at New York, from the Constellation frigate,
after a cruise of four years round the Horn, - being paid off with
over five hundred dollars, - marrying, and taking a couple of rooms
in a four-story house, - furnishing the rooms, (with a particular
account of the furniture, including a dozen flag-bottomed chairs,
which he always dilated upon, whenever the subject of furniture was
alluded to,) - going off to sea again, leaving his wife half-pay,
like a fool, - coming home and finding her "off, like Bob's horse,
with nobody to pay the reckoning;" furniture gone, - flag-bottomed
chairs and all; - and with it, his "long togs," the half-pay,
his beaver hat, white linen shirts, and everything else.
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