Two Years Before the Mast

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After supper, two of us took the captain on board the Lagoda. As
he came alongside, he gave his name, and the mate, in the gangway,
called out to Captain Bradshaw, down the companion-way, ``Captain
Thompson has come aboard, sir!'' ``Has he brought his brig with
him?'' asked the rough old fellow, in a tone which made itself
heard fore and aft. This mortified our captain not a little, and
it became a standing joke among us, and, indeed, over the coast,
for the rest of the voyage. The captain went down into the cabin,
and we walked forward and put our heads down the forecastle, where
we found the men at supper. ``Come down, shipmates![2] come down!''
said they, as soon as they saw us; and we went down, and found a
large, high forecastle, well lighted, and a crew of twelve or
fourteen men eating out of their kids and pans, and drinking their
tea, and talking and laughing, all as independent and easy as so
many ``woodsawyer's clerks.'' This looked like comfort and
enjoyment, compared with the dark little forecastle, and scanty,
discontented crew of the brig. It was Saturday night; they had got
through their work for the week, and, being snugly moored, had
nothing to do until Monday again. After two years' hard service,
they had seen the worst, and all, of California; had got their
cargo nearly stowed, and expected to sail, in a week or two, for
Boston.

We spent an hour or more with them, talking over California
matters, until the word was passed,-- ``Pilgrims, away!'' and we
went back to our brig. The Lagodas were a hardy, intelligent set,
a little roughened, and their clothes patched and old, from
California wear; all able seamen, and between the ages of twenty
and thirty-five or forty. They inquired about our vessel, the
usage on board, &c., and were not a little surprised at the story
of the flogging. They said there were often difficulties in
vessels on the coast, and sometimes knock-downs and fightings, but
they had never heard before of a regular seizing-up and flogging.
``Spread eagles'' were a new kind of bird in California.

Sunday, they said, was always given in San Diego, both at the
hide-houses and on board the vessels, a large number usually going
up to the town, on liberty. We learned a good deal from them about
the curing and stowing of hides, &c., and they were desirous to
have the latest news (seven months old) from Boston. One of their
first inquiries was for Father Taylor, the seamen's preacher in
Boston. Then followed the usual strain of conversation, inquiries,
stories, and jokes, which one must always hear in a ship's
forecastle, but which are, perhaps, after all, no worse, though
more gross and coarse, than those one may chance to hear from some
well dressed gentlemen around their tables.

[1] Owing to the change of vessels that afterwards took place,
Captain Thompson arrived in Boston nearly a year before the
Pilgrim, and was off on another voyage, and beyond the reach of
these men. Soon after the publication of the first edition of this
book, in 1841, I received a letter from Stimson, dated at Detroit,
Michigan, where he had reentered mercantile life, from which I
make this extract: ``As to your account of the flogging scene, I
think you have given a fair history of it, and, if anything, been
too lenient towards Captain Thompson for his brutal, cowardly
treatment of those men. As I was in the hold at the time the
affray commenced, I will give you a short history of it as near as
I can recollect. We were breaking out goods in the fore hold, and,
in order to get at them, we had to shift our hides from forward to
aft. After having removed part of them, we came to the boxes, and
attempted to get them out without moving any more of the hides.
While doing so, Sam accidentally hurt his hand, and, as usual,
began swearing about it, and was not sparing of his oaths,
although I think he was not aware that Captain Thompson was so
near him at the time. Captain Thompson asked him, in no moderate
way, what was the matter with him. Sam, on account of the
impediment in his speech, could not answer immediately, although
he endeavored to, but as soon as possible answered in a manner
that almost any one would, under the like circumstances, yet, I
believe, not with the intention of giving a short answer; but
being provoked, and suffering pain from the injured hand, he
perhaps answered rather short, or sullenly. Thus commenced the
scene you have so vividly described, and which seems to me exactly
the history of the whole affair without any exaggeration.''

[2] ``Shipmate'' is the term by which sailors address one another
when not acquainted.

CHAPTER XVI

The next day being Sunday, after washing and clearing decks, and
getting breakfast, the mate came forward with leave for one watch
to go ashore, on liberty. We drew lots, and it fell to the
larboard, which I was in. Instantly all was preparation. Buckets
of fresh water (which we were allowed in port), and soap, were put
in use; go-ashore jackets and trousers got out and brushed; pumps,
neckerchiefs, and hats overhauled, one lending to another; so that
among the whole each got a good fit-out. A boat was called to pull
the ``liberty-men'' ashore, and we sat down in the stern sheets,
``as big as pay-passengers,'' and, jumping ashore, set out on our
walk for the town, which was nearly three miles off.

It is a pity that some other arrangement is not made in merchant
vessels with regard to the liberty-day. When in port, the crews
are kept at work all the week, and the only day they are allowed
for rest or pleasure is Sunday; and unless they go ashore on that
day, they cannot go at all. I have heard of a religious captain
who gave his crew liberty on Saturdays, after twelve o'clock. This
would be a good plan, if shipmasters would bring themselves to
give their crews so much time. For young sailors especially, many
of whom have been brought up with a regard for the sacredness of
the day, this strong temptation to break it is exceedingly
injurious. As it is, it can hardly be expected that a crew, on a
long and hard voyage, will refuse a few hours of freedom from toil
and the restraints of a vessel, and an opportunity to tread the
ground and see the sights of society and humanity, because it is a
Sunday. They feel no objection to being drawn out of a pit on the
Sabbath day.

I shall never forget the delightful sensation of being in the open
air, with the birds singing around me, and escaped from the
confinement, labor, and strict rule of a vessel,-- of being once
more in my life, though only for a day, my own master. A sailor's
liberty is but for a day; yet while it lasts it is entire. He is
under no one's eye, and can do whatever, and go wherever, he
pleases. This day, for the first time, I may truly say, in my
whole life, I felt the meaning of a term which I had often heard,--
the sweets of liberty. Stimson was with me, and, turning our
backs upon the vessels, we walked slowly along, talking of the
pleasure of being our own masters, of the times past, when we were
free and in the midst of friends, in America, and of the prospect
of our return; and planning where we would go, and what we would
do, when we reached home. It was wonderful how the prospect
brightened, and how short and tolerable the voyage appeared, when
viewed in this new light. Things looked differently from what they
did when we talked them over in the little dark forecastle, the
night after the flogging, at San Pedro. It is not the least of the
advantages of allowing sailors occasionally a day of liberty, that
it gives them a spring, and makes them feel cheerful and
independent, and leads them insensibly to look on the bright side
of everything for some time after.

Stimson and I determined to keep as much together as possible,
though we knew that it would not do to cut our shipmates; for,
knowing our birth and education, they were a little suspicious
that we would try to put on the gentleman when we got ashore, and
would be ashamed of their company; and this won't do with Jack.
When the voyage is at an end, you do as you please; but so long as
you belong to the same vessel, you must be a shipmate to him on
shore, or he will not be a shipmate to you on board. Being
forewarned of this before I went to sea, I took no ``long togs''
with me; and being dressed like the rest, in white duck trousers,
blue jacket, and straw hat, which would prevent my going into
better company, and showing no disposition to avoid them, I set
all suspicion at rest. Our crew fell in with some who belonged to
the other vessels, and, sailor-like, steered for the first
grog-shop. This was a small adobe building, of only one room, in
which were liquors, ``dry-goods,'' West India goods, shoes, bread,
fruits, and everything which is vendible in California. It was
kept by a Yankee, a one-eyed man, who belonged formerly to Fall
River, came out to the Pacific in a whale-ship, left her at the
Sandwich Islands, and came to California and set up a pulperia.
Stimson and I followed in our shipmates' wake, knowing that to
refuse to drink with them would be the highest affront, but
determining to slip away at the first opportunity. It is the
universal custom with sailors for each one, in his turn, to treat
the whole, calling for a glass all round, and obliging every one
who is present, even to the keeper of the shop, to take a glass
with him. When we first came in, there was some dispute between
our crew and the others, whether the newcomers or the old
California rangers should treat first; but it being settled in
favor of the latter, each of the crews of the other vessels
treated all round in their turn, and as there were a good many
present (including some ``loafers'' who had dropped in, knowing
what was going on, to take advantage of Jack's hospitality), and
the liquor was a real (12 1/2 cents) a glass, it made somewhat of a
hole in their lockers. It was now our ship's turn, and Stimson and
I, desirous to get away, stepped up to call for glasses; but we
soon found that we must go in order,-- the oldest first, for the
old sailors did not choose to be preceded by a couple of
youngsters; and bon gre, mal gre, we had to wait our turn, with
the twofold apprehension of being too late for our horses, and of
getting too much; for drink you must, every time; and if you drink
with one, and not with another, it is always taken as an insult.

Having at length gone through our turns and acquitted ourselves of
all obligations, we slipped out, and went about among the houses,
endeavoring to find horses for the day, so that we might ride
round and see the country. At first we had but little success, all
that we could get out of the lazy fellows, in reply to our
questions, being the eternal drawling Quien sabe? (``Who knows?'')
which is an answer to all questions. After several efforts, we at
length fell in with a little Sandwich Island boy, who belonged to
Captain Wilson, of the Ayacucho, and was well acquainted in the
place; and he, knowing where to go, soon procured us two horses,
ready saddled and bridled, each with a lasso coiled over the
pommel. These we were to have all day, with the privilege of
riding them down to the beach at night, for a dollar, which we had
to pay in advance. Horses are the cheapest thing in California;
very fair ones not being worth more than ten dollars apiece, and
the poorer being often sold for three and four. In taking a day's
ride, you pay for the use of the saddle, and for the labor and
trouble of catching the horses. If you bring the saddle back safe,
they care but little what becomes of the horse. Mounted on our
horses, which were spirited beasts (and which, by the way, in this
country, are always steered in the cavalry fashion, by pressing
the contrary rein against the neck, and not by pulling on the
bit), we started off on a fine run over the country. The first
place we went to was the old ruinous presidio, which stands on a
rising ground near the village, which it overlooks. It is built in
the form of an open square, like all the other presidios, and was
in a most ruinous state, with the exception of one side, in which
the commandant lived, with his family. There were only two guns,
one of which was spiked, and the other had no carriage. Twelve
half-clothed and half-starved looking fellows composed the
garrison; and they, it was said, had not a musket apiece. The
small settlement lay directly below the fort, composed of about
forty dark brown looking huts, or houses, and three or four larger
ones, whitewashed, which belonged to the ``gente de razon.'' This
town is not more than half as large as Monterey, or Santa Barbara,
and has little or no business. From the presidio, we rode off in
the direction of the Mission, which we were told was three miles
distant. The country was rather sandy, and there was nothing for
miles which could be called a tree, but the grass grew green and
rank, there were many bushes and thickets, and the soil is said to
be good. After a pleasant ride of a couple of miles, we saw the
white walls of the Mission, and, fording a small stream, we came
directly before it. The Mission is built of adobe and plastered.
There was something decidedly striking in its appearance: a number
of irregular buildings, connected with one another, and, disposed
in the form of a hollow square, with a church at one end, rising
above the rest, with a tower containing five belfries, in each of
which hung a large bell, and with very large rusty iron crosses at
the tops. Just outside of the buildings, and under the walls,
stood twenty or thirty small huts, built of straw and of the
branches of trees, grouped together, in which a few Indians lived,
under the protection and in the service of the Mission.

Entering a gateway, we drove into the open square, in which the
stillness of death reigned. On one side was the church; on
another, a range of high buildings with grated windows; a third
was a range of smaller buildings, or offices, and the fourth
seemed to be little more than a high connecting wall. Not a living
creature could we see. We rode twice round the square, in the hope
of waking up some one; and in one circuit saw a tall monk, with
shaven head, sandals, and the dress of the Gray Friars, pass
rapidly through a gallery, but he disappeared without noticing us.
After two circuits, we stopped our horses, and at last a man
showed himself in front of one of the small buildings. We rode up
to him, and found him dressed in the common dress of the country,
with a silver chain round his neck, supporting a large bunch of
keys. From this, we took him to be the steward of the Mission,
and, addressing him as ``Mayor-domo,'' received a low bow and an
invitation to walk into his room. Making our horses fast, we went
in. It was a plain room, containing a table, three or four chairs,
a small picture or two of some saint, or miracle, or martyrdom,
and a few dishes and glasses. ``Hay alguna cosa de comer?'' said
I, from my grammar. ``Si, Senor!'' said he. ``Que gusta usted?''
Mentioning frijoles, which I knew they must have if they had
nothing else, and beef and bread, with a hint for wine, if they
had any, he went off to another building across the court, and
returned in a few minutes with a couple of Indian boys bearing
dishes and a decanter of wine. The dishes contained baked meats,
frijoles stewed with peppers and onions, boiled eggs, and
California flour baked into a kind of macaroni. These, together
with the wine, made the most sumptuous meal we had eaten since we
left Boston; and, compared with the fare we had lived upon for
seven months, it was a regal banquet. After despatching it, we
took out some money and asked him how much we were to pay. He
shook his head, and crossed himself, saying that it was charity,--
that the Lord gave it to us. Knowing the amount of this to be that
he did not sell, but was willing to receive a present, we gave him
ten or twelve reals, which he pocketed with admirable nonchalance,
saying, ``Dios se lo pague.'' Taking leave of him, we rode out to
the Indians' huts. The little children were running about among
the huts, stark naked, and the men were not much more; but the
women had generally coarse gowns of a sort of tow cloth. The men
are employed, most of the time, in tending the cattle of the
Mission, and in working in the garden, which is a very large one,
including several acres, and filled, it is said, with the best
fruits of the climate. The language of these people, which is
spoken by all the Indians of California, is the most brutish,
without any exception, that I ever heard, or that could well be
conceived of. It is a complete slabber. The words fall off of the
ends of their tongues, and a continual slabbering sound is made in
the cheeks, outside of the teeth. It cannot have been the language
of Montezuma and the independent Mexicans.

Here, among the huts, we saw the oldest man that I had ever met
with; and, indeed, I never supposed that a person could retain
life and exhibit such marks of age. He was sitting out in the sun,
leaning against the side of a hut; and his legs and arms, which
were bare, were of a dark red color, the skin withered and shrunk
up like burnt leather, and the limbs not larger round than those
of a boy of five years. He had a few gray hairs, which were tied
together at the back of his head, and he was so feeble that, when
we came up to him, he raised his hands slowly to his face, and,
taking hold of his lids with his fingers, lifted them up to look
at us; and, being satisfied, let them drop again. All command over
the lids seemed to have gone. I asked his age, but could get no
answer but ``Quien sabe?'' and they probably did not know it.

Leaving the Mission, we returned to the village, going nearly all
the way on a full run. The California horses have no medium gait,
which is pleasant, between walking and running; for as there are
no streets and parades, they have no need of the genteel trot, and
their riders usually keep them at the top of their speed until
they are tired, and then let them rest themselves by walking. The
fine air of the afternoon, the rapid gait of the animals, who
seemed almost to fly over the ground, and the excitement and
novelty of the motion to us, who had been so long confined on
shipboard, were exhilarating beyond expression, and we felt
willing to ride all day long. Coming into the village, we found
things looking very lively. The Indians, who always have a holiday
on Sunday, were engaged at playing a kind of running game of ball,
on a level piece of ground, near the houses. The old ones sat down
in a ring, looking on, while the young ones-- men, boys, and girls--
were chasing the ball, and throwing it with all their might.
Some of the girls ran like greyhounds. At every accident, or
remarkable feat, the old people set up a deafening screaming and
clapping of hands. Several blue jackets were reeling about among
the houses, which showed that the pulperias had been well
patronized. One or two of the sailors had got on horseback, but
being rather indifferent horsemen, and the Mexicans having given
them vicious beasts, they were soon thrown, much to the amusement
of the people. A half-dozen Sandwich-Islanders, from the
hide-houses and the two brigs, bold riders, were dashing about on
the full gallop, hallooing and laughing like so many wild men.

It was now nearly sundown, and Stimson and I went into a house and
sat quietly down to rest ourselves before going to the beach.
Several people soon collected to see ``los marineros ingleses,''
and one of them, a young woman, took a great fancy to my
pocket-handkerchief, which was a large silk one that I had before
going to sea, and a handsomer one than they had been in the habit
of seeing. Of course, I gave it to her, which brought me into high
favor; and we had a present of some pears and other fruits, which
we took down to the beach with us. When we came to leave the
house, we found that our horses, which we had tied at the door,
were both gone. We had paid for them to ride down to the beach,
but they were not to be found. We went to the man of whom we hired
them, but he only shrugged his shoulders, and to our question,
``Where are the horses?'' only answered, ``Quien sabe?'' but as he
was very easy, and made no inquiries for the saddles, we saw that
he knew very well where they were. After a little trouble,
determined not to walk to the beach,-- a distance of three miles,--
we procured two, at four reals more apiece, with two Indian boys
to run behind and bring them back. Determined to have ``the go''
out of the horses, for our trouble, we went down at full speed,
and were on the beach in a few minutes. Wishing to make our
liberty last as long as possible, we rode up and down among the
hide-houses, amusing ourselves with seeing the men as they arrived
(it was now dusk), some on horseback and others on foot. The
Sandwich-Islanders rode down, and were in ``high snuff.'' We
inquired for our shipmates, and were told that two of them had
started on horseback, and been thrown, or had fallen off, and were
seen heading for the beach, but steering pretty wild, and, by the
looks of things, would not be down much before midnight.

The Indian boys having arrived, we gave them our horses, and,
having seen them safely off, hailed for a boat, and went aboard.
Thus ended our first liberty-day on shore. We were well tired, but
had had a good time, and were more willing to go back to our old
duties. About midnight we were waked up by our two watch-mates,
who had come aboard in high dispute. It seems they had started to
come down on the same horse, double-backed; and each was accusing
the other of being the cause of his fall. They soon, however,
turned-in and fell asleep, and probably forgot all about it, for
the next morning the dispute was not renewed.

CHAPTER XVII

The next sound that we heard was ``All hands ahoy!'' and, looking
up the scuttle, saw that it was just daylight. Our liberty had now
truly taken flight, and with it we laid away our pumps, stockings,
blue jackets, neckerchiefs, and other go-ashore paraphernalia, and
putting on old duck trousers, red shirts, and Scotch caps, began
taking out and landing our hides. For three days we were hard at
work in this duty, from the gray of the morning until starlight,
with the exception of a short time allowed for meals. For landing
and taking on board hides, San Diego is decidedly the best place
in California. The harbor is small and land-locked; there is no
surf; the vessels lie within a cable's length of the beach, and
the beach itself is smooth, hard sand, without rocks or stones.
For these reasons, it is used by all the vessels in the trade as a
depot; and, indeed, it would be impossible, when loading with the
cured hides for the passage home, to take them on board at any of
the open ports, without getting them wet in the surf, which would
spoil them. We took possession of one of the hide-houses, which
belonged to our firm, and had been used by the California. It was
built to hold forty thousand hides, and we had the pleasing
prospect of filling it before we could leave the coast; and toward
this our thirty-five hundred, which we brought down with us, would
do but little. There was scarce a man on board who did not go
often into the house, looking round, reflecting, and making some
calculation of the time it would require.

The hides, as they come rough and uncured from the vessels, are
piled up outside of the houses, whence they are taken and carried
through a regular process of pickling, drying, and cleaning, and
stowed away in the house, ready to be put on board. This process
is necessary in order that they may keep during a long voyage and
in warm latitudes. For the purpose of curing and taking care of
them, an officer and a part of the crew of each vessel are usually
left ashore; and it was for this business, we found, that our new
officer had joined us. As soon as the hides were landed, he took
charge of the house, and the captain intended to leave two or
three of us with him, hiring Sandwich-Islanders in our places on
board; but he could not get any Sandwich-Islanders to go, although
he offered them fifteen dollars a month; for the report of the
flogging had got among them, and he was called ``aole maikai'' (no
good); and that was an end of the business. They were, however,
willing to work on shore, and four of them were hired and put with
Mr. Russell to cure the hides.

After landing our hides, we next sent ashore our spare spars and
rigging, all the stores which we did not need in the course of one
trip to windward, and, in fact, everything which we could spare,
so as to make room on board for hides; among other things, the
pigsty, and with it ``old Bess.'' This was an old sow that we had
brought from Boston, and who lived to get round Cape Horn, where
all the other pigs died from cold and wet. Report said that she
had been a Canton voyage before. She had been the pet of the cook
during the whole passage, and he had fed her with the best of
everything, and taught her to know his voice, and to do a number
of strange tricks for his amusement. Tom Cringle says that no one
can fathom a negro's affection for a pig; and I believe he is
right, for it almost broke our poor darky's heart when he heard
that Bess was to be taken ashore, and that he was to have the care
of her no more. He had depended upon her as a solace, during the
long trips up and down the coast. ``Obey orders, if you break
owners!'' said he,-- ``break hearts,'' he might have said,-- and
lent a hand to get her over the side, trying to make it as easy
for her as possible. We got a whip on the main-yard, and, hooking
it to a strap round her body, swayed away, and, giving a wink to
one another, ran her chock up to the yard-arm. ``'Vast there!
'vast!'' said the mate; ``none of your skylarking! Lower away!''
But he evidently enjoyed the joke. The pig squealed like the
``crack of doom,'' and tears stood in the poor darky's eyes; and
he muttered something about having no pity on a dumb beast. ``Dumb
beast!'' said Jack, ``if she's what you call a dumb beast, then my
eyes a'n't mates.'' This produced a laugh from all but the cook.
He was too intent upon seeing her safe in the boat. He watched her
all the way ashore, where, upon her landing, she was received by a
whole troop of her kind, who had been set ashore from the other
vessels, and had multiplied and formed a large commonwealth. From
the door of his galley the cook used to watch them in their
manoeuvres, setting up a shout and clapping his hands whenever
Bess came off victorious in the struggles for pieces of raw hide
and half-picked bones which were lying about the beach. During the
day, he saved all the nice things, and made a bucket of swill, and
asked us to take it ashore in the gig, and looked quite
disconcerted when the mate told him that he would pitch the swill
overboard, and him after it, if he saw any of it go into the
boats. We told him that he thought more about the pig than he did
about his wife, who lived down in Robinson's Alley; and, indeed,
he could hardly have been more attentive, for he actually, on
several nights, after dark, when he thought he would not be seen,
sculled himself ashore in a boat, with a bucket of nice swill, and
returned like Leander from crossing the Hellespont.

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