In a few days after our ostrich-hunt, our preparations for leaving Wellington Sound and our kind Patagonian friends were complete. Walgilka was very pressing in his desire for us to defer our departure, promising us all the hunting we could desire, but duty was duty, so we bade farewell to him and his people, and hoisted sail.
The American Government had agents in the Chilian port of Valparaiso, whom it was important for Captain Joker to see, and it was therefore decided to make sail in that direction. Another inducement for entering Valparaiso was our scarcity of hands, owing to the depletion our crew had suffered through the many detachments we had been compelled to make in the way of prize-crews. We hoped to obtain some recruits among the merchantmen of Valparaiso. But there was even more difficulty in entering this port than we had experienced at Rio, because the former was then one of the principal rendezvous of the British Pacific squadron, and we expected little mercy if we should be so unfortunate as to run afoul of one of them.
Nevertheless, we had been so successful thus far that we were not by any means specially apprehensive. We had not lost a single man since we started. But now, on our way to Valparaiso, there was a little event happened on board the Queer Fish, which, though it at first appeared trifling, was afterward viewed in the light of importance.
Little Willie Warner, our pretty cabin-boy, received a severe contusion of the head by a fall down the companionway, and had to go under medical treatment in consequence. He had always been exceedingly quiet and reticent, but was beloved by the whole crew on account of his gentleness and beauty. Every kindness was now evinced for him from every quarter. The captain especially was very considerate. He allowed Roddy Prinn to be nearly altogether excused from duty, in order that he might wait upon his little chum—a favor for which Roddy was exceedingly grateful. The doctor—I have forgotten to mention him; he was a good old body by the name of Benedict—the doctor was very attentive to Willie Warner, and always had something encouraging to say about his charge.
But, one day, we noticed Doctor Benedict come hastily up from below, looking very queer in the face. He went up to Captain Joker, and spoke apart with him in low tones, when they both looked pretty serious, and there was an expression on the captain's smiling lips—they always smiled more or less—which I had never noticed them wear before. Well, we didn't know what to make of this mystery; and it was not cleared up for a long time afterward.
Willie got well and returned to his duties, but the captain and doctor were, somehow, kinder and more gentle with him than they had ever been before, and his duties were made as light as possible.
Before Willie's convalescence was thoroughly over, we arrived off Valparaiso, but did not dare to enter openly, for fear of being stopped at the entrance by a British man-o'-war. We expected a signal from our agents, and hung off the coast a long time, watching for it. But none appeared, and Captain Joker resolved to attempt an entrance at his own hazard.
Luckily, he was perfectly familiar with the harbor, and, choosing a dark and stormy night, we succeeded in running in, without meeting any molestation.
The tempest went off during the night, and the bright sunlight of the ensuing morning saw us riding safely at anchor, not forty fathoms from the city's wharves.
Valparaiso was a city of much less importance then than now, but it was, nevertheless, a smart seaport for that remote portion of the globe. It is built right at the water's edge, with the grand mountain-wall of the Andes running so stiffly, loftily and impenetrably up behind, that you wonder how the rays of the rising sun ever reach the little city nestled at their rocky feet. At least you think they must have daylight on the level pampas beyond many moments before it surmounts those mountains to reach the narrow strip of plain between them and the sea. There is a fine cathedral in the city now, but when I was there, the largest establishment of this kind appeared to be a wooden structure. It was surmounted by a great red, wooden cross, and every morning and evening, we heard the sweet music of the Catholic service come floating to us over the waters of the bay.
We only remained in this port a few days, but, while at anchor there, I was a party in a kind of sport seldom, probably never, met with in any other portion of the globe. This was nothing more nor less than a hunt for electric eels.
Tony Trybrace and I became acquainted, while at Valparaiso, with a Chilian gentleman named Jose Gonzales. He possessed a large landed estate in the interior, and, when Tony had told him of our ostrich hunt in Patagonia, invited us to visit him at his country place, and he would promise us sport of, at least, a more novel character. Dicky Drake begged us to have the invitation extended to him also, which was readily complied with by Don Jose. And, one morning, having obtained a three-days' "leave" of Captain Joker, we mounted some fine mules, and set forth with our pleasant host. A portion of our journey lay through mountain land—the outskirts of the Andes, and we had a good opportunity of observing the inhabitants of the country.
Chili is, at present, considered, and with justice, the first of South American countries in point of everything pertaining to population; and evidences of her future were not lacking in the year 1812. The Spanish population of the mountain region were a simple and hardy race; whose hospitality alone causes the heart of the stranger to warm toward them with a kindly thrill.
We saw a great many of the llamas of the country, more condors, as well as monkeys, and many other strange and interesting individuals of brute creation.
A ride of about six hours from Valparaiso brought us to the ranch of our host. It was most beautifully situated on the fertile table-land, and made me in love with South American rural life. As we approached the mansion, we passed several black-looking pools, or lagoons, and were much surprised when told, by our host, that they were to be our hunting-grounds.
As we rode by the largest of these lagoons, which was scarcely a furlong from the ranch, Don Jose drew a biscuit from his saddle-bags and tossed it into the middle of the still, black waters. Instantly, and before it touched the surface, the lifeless-looking lagoon was filled with a strange and horrible existence. Myriads of snakes (as they appeared) rose suddenly to the surface, and engaged in a furious combat for the floating biscuit. Presently we saw thelittle fins on either side of their necks, and we then knew them to be eels. Some of them were very large—from six to seven feet in length, I should judge—but they averaged a much briefer length. Presently one of the larger snapped the biscuit under the water, which caused a sudden disappearance of all of them. One little fellow, however, swam around the edge of the tarn, in hopes of more food, projecting his shining head out of the water, and even climbed up the slimy bank, eying us with a peculiarly villainous gaze from his dull, leaden-colored eyes. Here was a chance for Dicky Drake, for, of course, there was no liability of a scrape that he did not seize with avidity.
"I allers wanted a specimen of that cuss for my old uncle's cabinet at hum', and here's my chance!" he exclaimed, springing from his mule, and advancing, with hands innocently outstretched; while, from the peculiar expression of Don Jose's features, Tony and I suspected that there was something in the wind.
"I've got yer, yer varmint!" exclaimed Dicky, stooping joyfully over the reptile.
But no sooner did he clutch it than over he went, head over heels, with a bellow of pain, at the same time dropping the "critter" as if it was a candent thunderbolt.
"Don't give it up, Dicky! At him again!" roared Tony through his laughter.
"Bravo! Buena!" exclaimed the señor.
Smarting at the merriment which his mishap occasioned, Dicky picked himself up in a rage and again grabbed the reptile, which was making tracks for the water. But again he was knocked over by the electric shock, and the eel made its escape to the water.
The discomfited eel-catcher regained his feet, and slowly returned to his mule.
"Where's your specimen?" I asked.
Everybody else had something similar to say.
"Blast ther critter!" said Dicky, sulkily. "I never heer'd of a snake as was stuffed with red-hot needles afore."
With no other incident worthy of recording, our party soon arrived at the comfortable ranch of Don Jose.
The next day, at an early hour, we were summoned from our beds by the servants, and, descending, found our host already on muleback, with an eel-prong in his hand. Our mules and weapons of the same kind were awaiting us. We mounted and were soon on our way to the lagoon.
It was a glorious morning. The sun had not yet appeared, but the golden spears of his coming shot high above the sublime peaks of the Andes, gilding their ancient summits with a thousand hues, and flashing down, with a glittering swoop, upon the luxuriant plains. Everything was bright and blooming. Monkeys were leaping amid the branches of the tropical trees, and gaudy-plumed paroquets were flitting here and there; while the bright-green lizards glided across our path, rejoicing silently in the morning beams.
We reached the lagoon, which looked as lifeless and stagnant as ever. I was surprised at not seeing any boats; for I thought that, of course, they were necessary for the pursuit of our game. But they have a better, though more cruel, way of catching the festive eel in Chili.
We were accompanied by a large number of Don Jose's peons, who proceeded on foot, with legs bare as far up as the thigh, and each armed with an eel-prong, which is a four-pronged "trident," so to speak, sharply pointed, and provided with a wooden handle, or stalk, about four feet in length. They were a merry set, and kept up an incessant conversation and song in their mongrel Spanish, which the devil's interpreter couldn't understand.
We reached the margin of the lagoon, and waited there a short time, when we were aroused by a great trampling of the ground, and perceived a herd of some hundreds of wild horses and mules coming over the prairie toward the tarn at a thundering gait.
Don Jose now condescended to explain. These animals had been purposely kept without water for two days, and now, so soon as released, were rushing to the nearest lagoon to satisfy their fiery thirst. The character of the inhabitants of the pool was well known to them, and, under ordinary circumstances, not a horse or mule could be induced to put nose or foot into the electric waters. But now, maddened by thirst, and forgetful of everything but the frantic desire to satisfy it, they were making for the nearest water that glittered on the plain.
On came the thundering troop of steeds from the opposite side neighing and snorting, with their tongues lolling out. They burst through the chaparral and thick-growing cacti of the border, and in a moment were in the center of the pool—which was but a few rods in diameter.
Then commenced a scene which completely beggars description.
A most furious contest commenced between the animals and the electric-eels—who, thus suddenly aroused and trampled upon, were striking their strong enemies with all their power. Now and then an eel or two would flash up through the surface, but they were mostly invisible. The horses plunged frantically, uttering cries of agony almost human-like. They bit at the water, shrieked, and endeavored to reach the bank, but in vain. Stricken down by their unseen foes, many of them lost their legs, and went down, with difficulty keeping their heads above the water; and those that fell blocked the path of escape to those less fortunate. The appearance of the horses was most agonizing. Their manes fairly bristled with horror and pain, while it made me sick to hear their cries. The mules also suffered terribly, but not quite so acutely, it seemed to me, as the horses. Don Jose and his people enjoyed the scene immensely, shouting and crying out in the exuberance of their joy.
The singular contest lasted fully ten minutes, when it became evident that the fury of the attack of the eels was sensibly abating. In about five minutes more, the fear and pain of the horses and mules totally ceased. Those which had fallen regained their feet, and the whole herd, after quietly drinking their fill, left the pool, and galloped off over the pampas.
The reason of this was that the electric power of these eels becomes completely exhausted or expended after it has been exercised malignantly for a certain time, and it requires several hours of rest to recuperate their electric power. And during this time they are powerless of harm.
And now the peons advanced into the lagoon, brandishing their spears, while the Don, Tony, Dicky and myself dismounted and stood on the margin, watching our chance. The peons drove their prongs along the bottom, spiking the enfeebled reptiles, which they threw on the shore in great numbers, and then, retracing their steps, drove them toward our position on the bank, where we soon had our fill of the sport. The eels came up, first singly, then in knotted masses, and we darted our spears into them at our pleasure.
Dicky Drake enjoyed the sport hugely, but, as usual, met with some mishap. He had taken off his shoes, and was toddling barefoot in the slime, when he accidentally trod on an eel which had been prudent enough to hold off from the attack on the horses.
The poor fellow leaped back, with a loud scream, and went limping up the bank.
"Did you ever tread on a paper of red-hot pins?" he asked of me at the conclusion of the sport.
"Never did," I replied.
"If you'd like to know how it feels, just sot yer hoof on that air innocent-lookin' varmint," said he, pointing ruefully to the reptile by which he had suffered; but I had no anxiety to make the attempt.
At length we grew weary of the sport, left the peons to carry home the captured eels—which are much esteemed as an article of food—and proceeded on our return. Many thousands of eels were captured on that day.
We returned to the ranch and enjoyed ourselves in other, and less novel, ways than eel-hunting.
Before we left, our hospitable host showed us some curious relics of the ancient Indian inhabitants. These, from appearances, seem to have been mound-builders. We saw one of the mounds which had been excavated, and Don Jose, afterward, shewed us some specimens of earthenware and instruments of war—the latter fashioned of stone—which he had procured in the neighborhood.
We also made a short expedition with our host, to the crater of an extinct volcano, and looked with wonder, upon the vast basin, which had once—long, long ago, perhaps—vomited fire and lava upon the plains below.
Thanking our host for the pleasure he had afforded us, we, at the close of the second day, set out upon our return to Valparaiso, at which place we shortly arrived.
Captain Joker having transacted his business to his satisfaction, and the coast being clear of British cruisers, we, shortly afterward, weighed anchor, set all sail to catch the trade-winds, and danced out seaward and westward, intending to create an excitement among the British whalers of the South Pacific.
One interesting point which we visited on our way westward was the Island of Juan Fernandez, which has been made so famous by the fabulous adventures of Robinson Crusoe.
The island is quite small and girt with a thin line of reefs through whose intricacies it is almost impossible for a vessel larger than a long-boat to make a channel. The island itself is surpassingly beautiful. It is one of these little heavens of the summer sea which forcibly recalls the beautiful description of Tennyson:—
"Oh to burst all links of habit, and to wander far away,On from island unto island, at the gateways of the day.Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies,Breadths of tropic shade, and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag.Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag;Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the heavy fruited tree—Summer isles of Eden lying in the dark-purple spheres of sea.There, methinks, would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind.In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind.There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have scope and breathing space:I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive and they shall run.Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun;Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks.Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books."
"Oh to burst all links of habit, and to wander far away,On from island unto island, at the gateways of the day.Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies,Breadths of tropic shade, and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag.Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag;Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the heavy fruited tree—Summer isles of Eden lying in the dark-purple spheres of sea.There, methinks, would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind.In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind.There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have scope and breathing space:I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive and they shall run.Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun;Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks.Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books."
"Oh to burst all links of habit, and to wander far away,On from island unto island, at the gateways of the day.Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies,Breadths of tropic shade, and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag.Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag;Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the heavy fruited tree—Summer isles of Eden lying in the dark-purple spheres of sea.There, methinks, would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind.In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind.There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have scope and breathing space:I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive and they shall run.Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun;Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks.Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books."
"Oh to burst all links of habit, and to wander far away,
On from island unto island, at the gateways of the day.
Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies,
Breadths of tropic shade, and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.
Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag.
Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag;
Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the heavy fruited tree—
Summer isles of Eden lying in the dark-purple spheres of sea.
There, methinks, would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind.
In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind.
There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have scope and breathing space:
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.
Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive and they shall run.
Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun;
Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks.
Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books."
We left this delightful isle astern and drove to the westward, capturing many whalers by the way. We had succeeded in filling up our ship's company to more than repletion at Valparaiso, and now had prize-crews in abundance. When we had been short of men Captain Joker, in as many as three cases, had allowed valuable vessels of the enemy to go on their course on account of not having sufficient men to put prize-crews aboard.
It had been frequently urged by the first mate to destroy such vessels (after the manner of Captain Semmes) but Captain Joker invariably refused to do anything of the kind, swearing, in his rough, manly fashion, that he would sooner let the vessels go free than give them to the flames.
There was not much adventure in the capture of these vessels. It was merely a firing of a few shots across the bows of the blunt-bowed, heavily-laden craft, which seldom failed to bring her to, and then a peaceable taking possession of her. There was one instance in which there was a difference.
We one day (in the latter part of October, I think,) brought a vessel to somewhere within two degrees southward of the Sandwich Islands. She was a whaler from Hull, England, and as we came up to capture her was engaged in the capture of a whale. All her boats were out in pursuit. When we boarded her (her name was the Jenny Hollins) and the captain learned our true character, he immediately signaled his boats to return—or was about to do so, when Captain Joker stopped him with:
"Let them alone, my dear captain, they're very creditably engaged."
"But, sir," exclaimed the English skipper, "I have surrendered to you. I do not care to have my men employed to enrich your Government."
"My dear captain, pray let them alone. Boatswain," (turning to Tony Trybrace) "just take the long-boat with a complement of men, follow the boats of the Jenny Hollins and see that they do their work well, and then order them to the ship. We cannot afford to lose a good whale in these times."
So, in spite of the mortified pride of the skipper of the Jenny Hollins, Tony set out in the long-boat, wherein myself and most of my chums were rowers. The whale-boats were busily engaged in tackling a huge whale, probably thinking our craft to be nothing more than a brother whaler, stopped to take pot-luck.
They had harpooned their prey several times, and he had come up to breathe for the last time, and to die, when we rowed up. Now, a sperm whale in his death-flurry, as it is called, is not to be approached incautiously, without danger. But we were by no means experienced whalers, and rowed in, regardless of expense or peril, when, suddenly, we caught his tail squarelyunder our keel, and were lifted up skyward about forty feet, the boat capsizing in the air and tumbling everybody and everything out in the shake of a sheep's tail. Well, we all came down with a rush, as you may be sure. I am sorry to state that I, instead of coming down in the water, alit, head-first, on the back of the Leviathan, stunning me, and leaving me floating around in the water like a dead man. But, fortunately, our boat had fallen bottom downward, old Bluefish had regained her, and we were all picked up, one after another, more dripping than hurt. I remember coming to slowly, and hearing old Bluefish murmuring in my ears, with as much of tenderness as could inform his rude voice:
"Wake up! wake up! There's a dear fellow! I know'd as how a son of a sea-cook was never born to be drownded in salt water!"
Well, the whale breathed his last soon after our mishap, and we helped the men tow her to the ship; though they were, of course, somewhat crestfallen to learn that they had been in the employ of Uncle Sam for the last hour or two.
Nevertheless, we had a gay time in trying out and cutting up the monster. There was a singular mishap occurred at about the close of this operation.
It is the custom to have the carcass of the whale lashed to the side of the ship while the work of cutting up is going on. I may as well mention, by way of parenthesis, that this operation of cutting up allures a great number of sharks to the side of the ship, for the sake of the worthless blubber and otherdébris. And, at this time, any man may venture among the black-fins with perfect impunity—so much more is whale-meat esteemed above human flesh by epicurean sharks. As soon as the flesh that is triable is taken from the whale, the carcass becomes a dead weight in the water, descending through the waves with a rush as soon as the stays are cut.
It happened that, in the case of our whale, when all but the last lashing were cut, one of the crew of the whaler, who was standing on the carcass, got his feet entangled in some of the cordage remaining on it. Just as the last stay was severed, he was discovered, and was rapidly being drawn to the bottom of the sea, when Old Nick threw a rope about his shoulders, and this served to hold him up. But, in the interim, the entire weight of the enormous skeleton was sustained by the body of the unfortunate seaman, who thereupon began to shriek out in mortal agony. The poor fellow would very probably have been dismembered, had not our heroic and shark-defying Snollygoster jumped overboard, with a knife, and severed the lashings by which he was held to the carcass. The latter immediately disappeared, followed by a great whirlpool of brine. Had the man not been caught, he would have been dragged down many fathoms below the sea; had his feet not been released from the weight of the carcass in time, he would very probably have been disjointed and slain with horrible agonies. As it was, he was more scared than hurt, and Snollygoster added another plume to his cap.
Before I quit our whaling experience, I must recur to another striking event of a more truly tragic character than the one just described.
We had captured a whaler from Southampton under very similar circumstances with the foregoing. Her boats were out—all but one—and I got permission from the captain to accompany this one, as I was anxious to see a whale capture through, from its inception to its close.
There were six boats in all, and ours the hindmost, but the whale—a very large one—dove and came up nearest us, so that we got in the first harpoon. Our harpooner, an athletic Yorkshireman, stood up in the bow of the boat, and struck home in the broad back of the whale as it rose above the water. The whale went down like lightning at the first prick of the harpoon. The lines connected with the harpoon are carefully coiled around in the middle of large tubs, with grooves at the bow for them to slip over. When a whale dives, these lines run out with indescribable swiftness. The groove fairly smokes, and several buckets of water are always dashed upon it to prevent the boat from taking fire. At the same time, a leg or an arm, caught in one of the coils, would be almost certain death to the owner.
On the occasion of which I speak, one of the oarsmen, with his back to the bow of the boat, had carelessly stepped into one of these tubs when the whale was struck. Down went the whale with a flash and a whirlpool. The man saw his danger, but too late, and just had time to sing out, "Clear away the line!" when he was whipped overboard and was never seen again.
We played havoc among the whalers for a long time, capturing as many as thirty valuable vessels, and sending them home.
We met with a terrible squall when a few leagues north of Otaheite, and weathered it with much difficulty. As it was, we sustained such damages that it was imperative to make for some port for repairs. It wouldn't do to enter Otaheite (Tahiti, it is sometimes called—probably the most beautiful spot in the world in all respects) on account of British influence prevailing there, so we set sail for the Sandwich Islands—intending, if unable to procure the necessary repairs there, to proceed to some port on the coast of California.
When we were about half-way to Honolulu—the chief island of the Sandwich group—we had the monotony of our voyage broken by an adventure with those dangerous phenomena of the ocean water-spouts. Early in the morning, Dicky Drake, who was at the mast-head, descried a vessel to the northeastward, and we immediately steered for her. We had come within a mile or so, and easily made her out to be a brigantine—of what nation we could not determine when the lookout again sung out:
"Water spouts on the larboard bow!"
We could see nothing of the kind at first, but the captain brought his glasses to bear, and reported that the lookout was correct.
Presently every one could see them from the deck. They appeared far away, like vast water-trees, growing from the sea to the sky, and expanding there in funnel shape; but as they appeared to be going away from us, we kept on our course, in order to overtake the brigantine.
The best definition of a water-spout represents it as a remarkable natural phenomenon, usually observed over the sea, but sometimes over the land. "It usually consists of a dense, black cloud, depending from the sky in a conical form toward the earth. Sometimes it unites with a corresponding portion, ascending from below, thus forming a continuous column from the surface of the earth (or sea) to the cloud."
The genuine—destructive—water-spout, that of the sea, consists of cloud thus partially depended from the sky, while the column which ascends to meet it is of the ocean brine. An immense quantity of water—probably many millions or billions of tons—is thus elevated to an enormous hight above the surface—following the course of the cloud, as it is driven by the wind, and falling, when deprived of the cloud-suction above, with a force sufficient to crush to splinters the combined navies of the world.
We had about lessened the interval between us and the stranger craft to one-half, when we saw her suddenly 'bout ship and tack toward us with all possible speed. This singular-conduct upon her part was soon explained by our perceiving that the wind had changed, and that the water spouts—of which there appeared to lie about a dozen—were bearing down upon us, with a rapidity which was terrible.
We 'bout ship with all possible speed, and tacked away from the danger with every stitch of canvas that we could cram. But our speed was as a snail's pace compared to the awful swiftness of the scudding water-spouts. In less than five minutes after we tacked, we were completely surrounded by the terrible columns of smooth, up-lifted brine, and we came almost to a standstill. It was a very terrible thing, for, as the water-spouts reached our position, the gale died away, and we, together with the strange brigantine, were left immediately in their midst, until it appeared that we were about to be forever entombed in a magnificent temple of pillared brine. For it was next to impossible to steer clear of them, without bringing one of them upon our heads, by the wind of our motion. They leaned to the eastward—still feeling the influence of the gale that had just died away.
If we had been either altogether to the larboard or starboard of them, we might have let them all down to their proper level by a few cannon-shots, but, surrounded as we were, our predicament was most distressing.
The water-spouts kept wheeling about us, slowly and silently. They were vast, smooth, glassy columns of brine, reaching to the heavens, some of them four or five feet in diameter in the most slender part.
At length, however, a broad opening was created to the southward and we, throwing out our sweeps, made for it with the good will of men whose lives are suspended upon the muscles of the arm. We reached it and were soon out of danger of theforest(so to speak) of water-spouts; but several more were to be seen far to the southward, and we swung around our swivel to send a shot in the midst of the multitude from which we had just escaped.
Now here was a predicament, for the brigantine was unprovided with sweeps, and, as there was not a breath of wind—a dead calm—was compelled to remain where she was. In vain we signaled her to put out her boats and attempt to tow out; she paid no attention to us whatever. Through the telescope we could see her crew kneeling and praying upon the deck. Her officers had evidently lost their presence of mind, and piped all hands to prayers when work with a will might have saved her.
And now, to our anguish, a slight breath of air came from the northward. It would freshen to a gale in ten minutes. We would again have the watery labyrinth around us, with little hope of escape. What were we to do? If we fired our guns we would envelope the unfortunate brigantine in certain destruction; if we neglected to fire them we would, just as certainly, involve the destruction of our own ship. It was one of those hard questions of fatality where self-preservation is the only solution.
So, with a heavy heart, doubtless, the captain gave the order and our Long Tom sent a shower of grape-shot and six-pounders among the labyrinth of water-columns. The effect was grand and terrible.
Simultaneously with the report of the swivel the tops of the water-spouts were seen to tremble, then to sway to and fro, and then, down they came with the most terrific noise I ever heard in my life.
"Try up the main-to'gallants! All hands aloft! Steady, there, at the helm! Port! hard a-port!" bawled our captain through his trumpet, and his orders were just obeyed in time to allow us to breast the enormous billows occasioned by the falling water-spouts, while we were all drenched to the skin by the spray of their splash, although the one which had stood nearest to us was fully half a mile away.
As for the stranger—the brigantine—she was never seen again. We never saw a floating splinter of that ill-fated ship, whereby to tell the port whence she came or whither she was bound.
I come now to the most painful episode that was connected with the cruise of our almost uniformly merry privateer, the Queer Fish. I have had little of the painful—much of the glad and rollicking—to treat of thus far, and would gladly spin my yarn to its termination as merrily as I began. But truth directs me to a different course.
Besides, as this event which I am about to describe is about the only one of a sorrowful character directly connected with the Queer Fish, it may serve to throw the other features of my yarn into a more distinctly cheerful light. Nevertheless, be that as it may, the truth must, like murder, out at last, and here it is.
Little Willie Warner, our pet, the cabin-boy, had never totally recovered from the effects of the accident we have narrated as having befallen him. The climate was exceedingly bad as we approached the latitude of the Sandwich Islands—much rain, followed by days of the most intense tropic heat—and little Willie, probably from the cerebral contusion he had formerly received, contracted a brain fever, which soon brought him very low.
Roddy Prinn, as in the former instance, was permitted to devote all his time to the duties of a nurse, and all of us did what we could. But, on the morning of the fourth day of the fever, good Doctor Benedict sorrowfully informed the captain that the days and hours of little Willie Warner were numbered, and that the number was brief indeed.
We had noticed, from the commencement of this illness, that same appearance of mysterious information, between the captain and the doctor, which had before been indicated to us. And now, at this solemn moment of the announcement of the approaching end of the sufferer, this mystery was still more apparent.
The prognostication of the doctor proved only too true. Willie Warner breathed his last before the set of sun.
Deeply grieved as was every one on the ship at this deplorable event, there was one whosegrief dwarfed all others in the magnitude of its agony. This was Roddy Prinn. The poor fellow went almost insane. Above all, he besought the captain to preserve the body of his little chum, until our approach to the islands would enable us to accord a Christian burial on land to the remains. But, as we were yet within a hundred and fifty miles of our destination, compliance with this request was rendered impossible.
Poor Roddy then waxed violent, but was only confined in the gun-room. For, in keeping with the gentle treatment which Willie Warner had always received from the captain, he (Roddy) was treated with an unaccountable leniency. The poor fellow's mind was, undoubtedly, somewhat deranged through his grief.
The day after the death of Willie Warner, the body of the little cabin-boy was consigned to the deep.
It was a sad and impressive ceremony.
All the crew stood around, with their heads uncovered, preserving a deep silence, while the funeral Service was read in measured tones by Doctor Benedict. Then, with a heavy plunge, the shotted sack struck the blue waters, and the form of him we had loved so much was lost to us forever.
On the same day, an excitement was created on shipboard by intelligence that Roddy Prinn had attempted suicide, while in his confinement, he had opened a vein in his arms, and was discovered by Doctor Benedict just in time to be saved. As it was, he was almost exhausted through loss of blood, and was not able to be about for some days afterward. He next threw himself into the sea, out of the ports of the gun-room, but was rescued by Snollygoster. Roddy then seemed to give up self-destruction as a bad job, acted very reasonably, and was allowed to return to his duty.
A few nights after this last attempt, it was my watch upon deck, and, observing that Roddy was more melancholy than usual, I resolved to keep a sharp eye upon him.
The night was one of surpassing beauty. I think I never saw so many stars as studded the glorious vault upon that night; and, presently, the moon, the broad, lucid, tropic moon rose above the ocean's edge, with a luster by which you could have read small print with no difficulty. In spite of myself, my attention was directed to the beauty of the heavens, and was only called thence by the noise of a loud splash in the water, over the starboard bow.
Instantly divining that Roddy had made another attempt at suicide, I sung out, "Man overboard!" and ran to the bow.
We were completely becalmed, and, as the water was devoid of even a ripple, I could see far down into the sea. And, looking down, I was not long in discovering the figure of the unfortunate young man. Just then the captain, first mate and Doctor Benedict came to the bows, and looked over.
Snollygoster had also heard the splash, had also rightly conjectured the cause, and was tearing off his coat and shoes, preparatory for a plunge to the rescue.
One remarkable thing in the appearance of the figure below the water was that it neither sunk any deeper, nor rose up, but appeared silently suspended, face downward, at a distance of several fathoms below the surface. We were at a loss to account for this singular phenomenon.
Suddenly Snollygoster went overboard with a sharp dive. The water was shaken so much by the plunge that we, for a moment, lost sight of everything below the surface. But the disturbance quickly faded out of the glassy brine, and we could see both the silent form of the drowner and the active figure of the would-be rescuer.
We saw Snolly keep under the water by great effort and skill, and frequently touch the body to draw it to the surface, but it as often resisted his efforts, floated about uneasily when disturbed, and then settled down into quiescence, as before—with the head down, silently suspended in the blue crystal of the sea. After repeated efforts, all of which were unavailing, the heroic negro was compelled to come up to the surface for breath.
"Try it once more—that is, if possible!" cried Doctor Benedict and down again went the indefatigable rescuer.
We, this time, saw him tug with all his force at the suspended form of Roddy Prinn. This time he was more successful; for suddenly, as if relieved of some heavy weight, the body became wonderfully buoyant, and swiftly rose to the surface of its own accord, whence, with the assistance of Snollygoster and a line from the Queer Fish, it was brought on deck. But all restoratives were of no avail. The suicide was afait accompliat last, and Roddy Prinn was no more.
"What caused the body to come up so suddenly, Snolly?" asked Doctor Benedict.
"Bekase, Massa Ben'dick, I shook out de t'irty-pound shot which it held in de hands," was the reply.
It was true.
In order to be successful in drowning himself, the suicide, before leaping over the taffrail into the sea, had firmly clutched in his two hands a thirty-pound cannon-ball. This had kept him silently suspended below the surface, until at last, the cannon-ball being shaken from its hold by the rude grasp of the negro, the body had risen to the surface.
Whatever may be said of this singular suicide, it must be acknowledged that Roddy displayed considerable resolution in carrying out his intention.
Next day the body of this unfortunate young man was also consigned to the deep. And then the mystery, which we had noticed to exist between the captain and the doctor, leaked out, and became the property of all.
It became known that Willie Warner was not a man, but a woman, and that Roddy Prinn was her husband.
They had shipped on board the Queer Fish at the Boston docks, and it was only upon the occasion of the first sickness of the pseudo-cabin-boy that her sex was revealed to the physician, and, through him, to the captain.
The reasons which induced the lady to assume the disguise of a sailor may have been known to the captain or doctor, but they never transpired among the crew.
In consequence of this we had many preposterous rumors afloat—strange stories wherein cruel parents, inexorable step-mothers, crimes committed on land, and other wild theories as to the history of the lovers, whose lives were so mysterious, and whose deaths were so melancholy and strange.
But, however wild the stories may have been, and however far from the real history of the lovers, we held their memory dear and sacred. And while we remembered with gentle kindness the gentle disposition of Roddy Prinn, our recollections of our pretty little cabin-boy, Willie Warner, were mixed up with purity and sweetness.
We must have been still fifty miles from our destination, when the bright and continued light to the northward made it evident that the volcanic mountain of the Sandwich Islands was in active operation.
No one was especially apprehensive of this, for chances to witness volcanoes are not to be met with every day in the year.
As night came on, the light to the northward became more and more vivid, and as we neared the islands, we could hear the roar of the volcano, resembling the rumble of distant thunder.
We drew within ten knots of the scene, and then came to anchor on a coral foundation—in water about twelve fathoms deep.
The scene of a great volcano, in process of eruption, is an event to be remembered throughout one's immortality. Words can but faintly express its grandeur, its terrible splendor. The painter's brush is powerless here, even if wielded by the hand of genius.
The noise of the eruption was terrible as we cast anchor, and the waves were running high, although there was but little wind. From this circumstance we judged that the eruption was accompanied by an earthquake of no ordinary character.
Imagine to yourselves a lofty mountain-peak, surrounded by many others of lesser hight and magnitude, piled around, with their clothing of dark and somber trees. Then fancy this central peak to become an instrument for flooding the world with the original fire, and you may have some faint conception of the grandeur of the scene we witnessed.
The stars, except at the horizon's edge, were completely dimmed by the mighty effulgence of the blazing peak, or blotted out by the dense volumes of smoke which drifted in the light breeze between the sea and the heavens like a pall for the world.
The whole of that side of the peak presented to our view was a liquid mass of red-hot lava. It rolled down the smooth slopes, or plunged from the cliffs in cataracts of living flame. We could see the ocean boiling along the horses as the hot rivers found their way to the water; and millions of dead fishes floated by the ship on the surface of the sea.
The sides and rigging of the Queer Fish were thronged with the crew, who gazed long upon the terrible but fascinating scene.
The smoke which poured in black volumes from the crater of the mountain was usually intermingled with sheets of flame in about equal quantity; but sometimes the smoke would preponderate so much as almost to shut out the fire, while at others the crater would vomit flame alone, when the glare would be so distressingly vivid that we were compelled to shield our eyes with our hands.
The gray ashes emitted by the eruption must also have been very great, for the deck of the ship was covered with a thin coating of it as it drifted aboard like snow, being so fine and dense as to render the air difficult to breathe.
The eruption continued all night, and as there appeared no evidence that it would be likely soon to abate we hoisted anchor and sailed for California on the following morning.
We had succeeded much better than we had anticipated in making our own repairs, so that our object in making for the port of Santa Barbara was more to obtain fresh water and provisions than anything else.
Our passage to this little port was attended by some rough weather, but on the whole we had not much to complain of throughout our entire Pacific Ocean experience. We made two prizes on the way. One of them was a British brig from the Columbia River of tolerable value; the other was a rich whaler from Acapulco, on her way to the northern whale-fields, but already half-full of excellent sperm; and we also captured a schooner, but as she had nothing in her hold but ballast we permitted her to pursue the even tenor of her way—not thinking her of sufficient value to warrant our depleting our company by another prize-crew.
We arrived at Santa Barbara in the early part of January—just at the close of the rainy season, and came to anchor close under the town, for the harbor is deep.
California in the time of which I treat was far different from now. With the exception of a few Mexican settlements along and near the coast, it was nothing but wilderness. There was probably not a house where the present fine and populous city of San Francisco stands, and very few settlements in that neighborhood of the coast—the northern part of which was but little known.
Santa Barbara was nothing but a collection of fifty or sixty adobe houses, with a larger structure called (I could never understand why) the Fort, in which the Mexican commandant of the place made his residence. The coast range of the Rocky Mountains comes down close to the water here and, back of the town, we could see lofty peaks uplift themselves grandly (though not so lofty as in the case of Valparaiso), some of them covered with perpetual snow. But their lower slopes are fertile and sunny, and the natives had done a good deal in the raising of vineyards upon them—terracing the steeps to prevent the soil from washing down by the rains or the melting of the snows above.
Ships very seldom made a port of entry of Santa Barbara in those days, and the arrival of the Queer Fish was quite an event among the inhabitants, who treated us with uniform kindness.
As with the other inhabitants of Spanish America, hospitality is a ruling and virtuous feature of the poor, ignorant Mexicans. Long after the time I speak of, I traveled much among them, and was ever received with the open arms of hospitable friendliness by even the most ignorant and indigent among them.
We got excellent water at this place, as well as plenty of grapes and other fruit.
As we remained here several weeks, we had many adventures on shore. One of the most interesting of these occurred shortly after our coming to an anchorage.
Old Bluefish and myself had obtained permission for a day on shore to enjoy ourselves hunting, and having each of us procured an excellent mustang, set off at a brisk pace in the early morning. We were not long in getting through the mountains—wherein we saw several grizzlies which were too far off to be attacked—and soon emerged from the defiles upon the level plains that lie to the westward.
We halted for refreshments at a little town called San Fernandino, if I remember rightly, and then proceeded on our way, through a colony of marmots or prairie-dogs, intending or hoping to kill some antelope farther on.
We had a first-rate day's sport, considering that we were sailors. We killed three antelope and about a dozen of the large hares, which have since won the name of jackass-rabbits. The name is not altogether inappropriate—so far as it applies to the animal's ears, which are of extraordinary length and size. The animals themselves are of the hare species. They do not jump as a rabbit, but run as a fox, and with surprising swiftness withal. They are very large, much larger than the English hare, and are excellent eating.
It was growing late in the afternoon when we concluded to relinquish our hunt, and return homeward. So we slung our game across the necks of our steeds, and proceeded westward, over the faintly-distinguished trail whereby we had come.
We had not traveled many miles before we witnessed a singular and novel sight.
Old Bluefish called my attention to a great dust in our advance, which we soon perceived to be caused by four Mexican hunters in pursuit of a grizzly bear. We took our stand on a little eminence, and waited to see the sport.
The bear could run almost as fast as the horses of his pursuers, and on they all came at a terrific pace, the Mexicans shouting at the top of their lungs and brandishing their lassoes at a great rate. We now saw that their intention was to take his bearship alive.
Just as the grizzly came opposite our point of observation, one of the Californians let his lariat fly, and, catching Bruin by the hind paw tripped him up, while the rest of the horsemen began to circle round the beast on their wild steeds, swinging their lariats, and watching for a chance to noose the monster.
The latter rose up on his hind feet, clutched the line which held him, and began to draw his entrapper toward him—horse and all. I never saw a more striking instance of the great muscular strength of the grizzly than this. He seemed to draw the horse and rider toward him with the most perfect ease.
We expected to see the Californian draw his knife and cut the line immediately, thus releasing himself from his unpleasant predicament. But he did nothing of the kind. He retained his seat with the most perfect coolness—exhibiting his exquisite horsemanship in so doing; for, although the horse which he bestrode gave tokens of the utmost fright, the horseman kept him in perfect subjection to his will, and calmly allowed the bear to pull him forward inch by inch.
I was almost ready to yell out with excitement when I saw the fearless horseman dragged up to within a few feet of the ferocious beast. But, at this instant, whiz went another lariat through the air, and Bruin was caught around the gullet and choked so taut that he could hardly breathe. This caused him to release his hold on the line of his first captor and make at the new assailant. But another noose quickly followed the second, catching him by one of his forepaws, while his remaining hind-foot was quickly caught up by the remaining hunter.
Poor Bruin was fairly in the toils, for his prodigious strength could now avail him nothing.
The horsemen commenced circling around him on their swift and well-trained steeds, in such a manner as to wind their long, stout lariats of hide repeatedly round the body and limbs of their prey. When he was no longer capable of effective exertion, the horsemen dismounted, and completed their work by a few ingenious knots, so that the bear was completely powerless.
A light wagon or cart, which had been waiting in the distance, then came up, and, after a great deal of pulling and hauling and leverage, the monster was safely loaded.
We now made our appearance, and made friends with the hunters, as well as imperfect knowledge of their language would admit of. We were surprised and gratified to learn that the bear had been entrapped for a show—a bear and bull fight—which was to take place at Santa Barbara in a few days.
So, as we all had one destination, we started homeward together, and arrived at the town shortly after dark.
Two days after this, a great festival came off, and almost all the people of the Queer Fish were on shore to see the fun.
Mexican holy days are a singular institution, if the one about to be cited may be considered a fair sample of them all.
Church-going forms a small portion of the ceremonies. It is true, the priests went through the town in the morning, jingling their little bells, and asking for alms, while the people of the place almost prostrated themselves before them, and the miserable old bell in the belfry of the adobe cathedral kept up a dismal clang all the time, as if tolling the burial service of all mankind. But then, a few hours later, and the population were amusing themselves with firing off cannon at imaginary demons in the air—the priests directing the guns to the proper spots. I could not believe this at first, and it was only upon diligent inquiry that I found it to be true. But I never before heard of this duty being numbered among the sacerdotal functions of any country—even those of Catholic persuasion.
Horse-racing was the next celebration in order, and we experienced considerable pleasure in seeing the Californians compete with each other on their swift steeds.
After the horse-racing came the bull and bear fight, in which old Bluefish and myself evinced an especial interest.
A broad tract of sward was inclosed in palings and ropes, just outside the town, on the ocean-shore. Long before the animals appeared, the merry people of Santa Barbara crowded round this inclosure, smoking their cigarettoes and having a good time generally, while the distinguished visitors from the Queer Fish were allotted a good place of observation underneath a little pavilion, which was reared at the command, and for the benefit, of the commandant and his family.
We waited a good while, but it was almost sunset, and the heat was not oppressive. At last, amid the cheers of the populace, the cart appeared bearing the grizzly. He was driven, still bound, within the inclosure, and there dumped unceremoniously upon the ground. Then the bull, a very fine and ferocious one, was driven into the inclosure. While he was prancing and bellowing about, taking his "bearings," the strong gates of the palisades were closed, and one of the Californians, who officiated, proceeded to cut the thongs which fettered the bear, by means of a knife made fast to the end of a long pole, thus enabling him to perform the operation and stand outside the stockade at the same time.
Released from his long confinement, Bruin staggered to his feet and stretched himself. He was pretty soon himself again, and now began to eye the bull with suspicious glances, keeping on the opposite side of the ring, and not seeming especially anxious for a nearer acquaintance. The bull appeared somewhat more belligerent, but likewise averse to commence the fight. He would advance this way and that, pawing the ground and lashing his flanks with his angry tail, while the great bear—which probably outweighed his antagonist by several hundred pounds, although he was not quite so bulky—shifted as the bull did, keeping his nose close to the ground, but apparently ready for any emergency.
The ceremony of making each other's acquaintance becoming rather tedious to the impatient spectators, the latter began to yell and shriek in a hideous manner, in the apparent hope of inducing a commencement of the scrimmage. But both bull and bear still being wary and cautious, the man who had cut the thongs of the former commenced to goad, now the bull and then the bear with his pole-knife.
This had the desired effect, for presently the bull lowered his horns, and rushed upon the bear with a fierce bellow. Bruin took it coolly, stood on his hind legs, avoided the coming horns, and fetched his antagonist such a wipe with one of his terrible forepaws that the bull staggered back to his side of the arena, with one side of his neck raw and bloody.
But Bruin, elated with his success, no doubt, forgot his caution, and followed up his antagonist, fetching him another wipe between the hips, but receiving, in his turn, one of the formidable horns under his left shoulder, which seemed to paralyze one of his paws. He then retreated in his turn, walking on three feet, and watching the bull with a distrustful wariness.
The spectators were very much excited at this exhibition, and began to make wagers as to the result of the combat. But I took notice that almost all of them preferred to bet on the bull.
At length the bull lowered his head again and made another rush, but only to be repulsed a second time by his powerful antagonist. But this time the "round" was much more protracted than before, and both of the beasts were much injured.
The bear moved about with evident pain, but his injuries were more of the character of bruises than otherwise, while those of the bull occasioned much loss of blood, the effects of which were already beginning to tell painfully upon him. His courage was sublime. He did all the attacking, charging repeatedly, in spite of the terrible slashing he received from the forepaw of the grizzly, until at last both of his sides were streaming with gore, and his eyes were almost blinded with his blood.
But now the bull, evidently feeling that his strength would soon be exhausted, gathered himself up for a prodigious effort, and sprung upon his adversary with the momentum of a locomotive.
In vain did Bruin lash out with those long sharp talons of his; the bull would not be denied, and goring him to the ground, fairly pinned him to the earth. One of his horns held the bear by the neck and the other pierced deeply into his breast. The bear bellowed with pain and fought with all his paws, but his struggles grew gradually feebler, and the bull held him down bravely, until at last the movements of Bruin ceased altogether, a token that he breathed no more.
Then, and only then, did the bull extract his horns from the fallen body and lift his bloody head. The plaudits of the spectators rung loud, but the brave animal only staggered a few paces, when he fell in the center of the arena and expired. His victory had cost him his life.
After a delay of a week or more with our friends at Santa Barbara we weighed anchor one bright morning in the middle of January and started southward for Acapulco, intending to pick up what prizes might chance to cross our path on the way thither.
But our passage southward was scarcely broken by a single event so important as the capture of a British trader. We had splendid weather all the way down.
When off Cape St. Lucas I for the first time witnessed that phenomenon of the desert and of the ocean which is denominated a mirage. It happened just about an hour before sunset. The day had been characterized by a peculiar kind of haze ever since noon. This silvery haze or vapor completely banked the western horizon, and was smitten by the beams of the descending sun into many beautiful hues, when—about the time before mentioned—the lookout suddenly sung out:
"A sail on the larboard bow!" then again in a few seconds:
"A sail on the starboard bow!"
At last he sung out in a tone of amazement:
"Sails all around the ships!"
This was true enough, but they were visionary sails, not on the ocean, but high up in the misty air, and probably belonging to those vessels which came to the poet in his visions, when he