The Brig Catalina Came In From San Diego, And Being Bound Up To
Windward, We Both Got Under Weigh At
The same time, for a trial
of speed up to Santa Barbara, a distance of about eighty miles.
We hove
Up and got under sail about eleven o'clock at night, with
a light land-breeze, which died away toward morning, leaving us
becalmed only a few miles from our anchoring-place. The Catalina,
being a small vessel, of less than half our size, put out sweeps
and got a boat ahead, and pulled out to sea, during the night,
so that she had the sea-breeze earlier and stronger than we did,
and we had the mortification of seeing her standing up the coast,
with a fine breeze, the sea all ruffled about her, while we
were becalmed, in-shore. When the sea-breeze died away, she was
nearly out of sight; and, toward the latter part of the afternoon,
the regular north-west wind set in fresh, we braced sharp upon it,
took a pull at every sheet, tack, and halyard, and stood after her,
in fine style, our ship being very good upon a taughtened bowline.
We had nearly five hours of fine sailing, beating up to windward,
by long stretches in and off shore, and evidently gaining upon the
Catalina at every tack. When this breeze left us, we were so near
as to count the painted ports on her side. Fortunately, the wind
died away when we were on our inward tack, and she on her outward,
so we were in-shore, and caught the land-breeze first, which came
off upon our quarter, about the middle of the first watch. All hands
were turned-up, and we set all sail, to the skysails and the
royal studding-sails; and with these, we glided quietly through
the water, leaving the Catalina, which could not spread so much
canvas as we, gradually astern, and, by daylight, were off
St. Buenaventura, and our antagonist nearly out of sight.
The sea-breeze, however, favored her again, while we were becalmed
under the headland, and laboring slowly along, she was abreast of
us by noon. Thus we continued, ahead, astern, and abreast of one
another, alternately; now, far out at sea, and again, close in under
the shore. On the third morning, we came into the great bay of
Santa Barbara, two hours behind the brig, and thus lost the bet;
though, if the race had been to the point, we should have beaten
her by five or six hours. This, however, settled the relative
sailing of the vessels, for it was admitted that although she,
being small and light, could gain upon us in very light winds,
yet whenever there was breeze enough to set us agoing, we walked
away from her like hauling in a line; and in beating to windward,
which is the best trial of a vessel, we had much the advantage of
her.
Sunday, Oct. 4th. This was the day of our arrival; and somehow
or other, our captain always managed not only to sail, but to come
into port, on a Sunday. The main reason for sailing on the Sabbath
is not, as many people suppose, because Sunday is thought a lucky
day, but because it is a leisure day. During the six days, the crew
are employed upon the cargo and other ship's works, and the Sabbath,
being their only day of rest, whatever additional work can be thrown
into Sunday, is so much gain to the owners. This is the reason of
our coasters, packets, etc, sailing on the Sabbath. They get six
good days' work out of the crew, and then throw all the labor of
sailing into the Sabbath. Thus it was with us, nearly all the
time we were on the coast, and many of our Sabbaths were lost
entirely to us. The Catholics on shore have no trading and make
no journeys on Sunday, but the American has no national religion,
and likes to show his independence of priestcraft by doing as he
chooses on the Lord's day.
Santa Barbara looked very much as it did when I left it five months
before: the long sand beach, with the heavy rollers, breaking upon
it in a continual roar, and the little town, imbedded on the plain,
girt by its amphitheatre of mountains. Day after day, the sun shone
clear and bright upon the wide bay and the red roofs of the houses;
everything being as still as death, the people really hardly seeming
to earn their sun-light. Daylight actually seemed thrown away upon
them. We had a few visitors, and collected about a hundred hides,
and every night, at sundown, the gig was sent ashore, to wait for
the captain, who spent his evenings in the town. We always took
our monkey-jackets with us, and flint and steel, and made a fire
on the beach with the driftwood and the bushes we pulled from the
neighboring thickets, and lay down by it, on the sand. Sometimes we
would stray up to the town, if the captain was likely to stay late,
and pass the time at some of the houses, in which we were almost
always well received by the inhabitants. Sometimes earlier and
sometimes later, the captain came down; when, after a good drenching
in the surf, we went aboard, changed our clothes, and turned in for
the night - yet not for all the night, for there was the anchor watch
to stand.
This leads me to speak of my watchmate for nine months - and,
taking him all in all, the most remarkable man I have ever
seen - Tom Harris. An hour, every night, while lying in port,
Harris and myself had the deck to ourselves, and walking fore
and aft, night after night, for months, I learned his whole
character and history, and more about foreign nations, the habits
of different people, and especially the secrets of sailors' lives
and hardships, and also of practical seamanship, (in which he was
abundantly capable of instructing me,) than I could ever have
learned elsewhere.
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