CHAPTER XIII.PASSAGE FROM HONOLULU TO MONTEREY.

THE MORAL PHAROS.—THE MORMON SHIP.—BIBLE CLASS.—THE SEA-HEN.—OUR INSANE SAILOR.—FOURTH OF JULY.—PROFANENESS AT SEA.—EVENING PRAYER-MEETING.—FUNERAL.—TARGET FIRING.—RELIGIOUS CONDITION OF THE CREW.—ANCHOR UNDER MONTEREY.

“The sea-bird wheels above the mast,And the waters fly below,And the foaming billows flashing fastAre leaping up the prow.”

“The sea-bird wheels above the mast,

And the waters fly below,

And the foaming billows flashing fast

Are leaping up the prow.”

Tuesday, June 23.We weighed anchor at daylight this morning, and stood out from the open bay of Honolulu. The breeze was fresh, and in a few hours Oahu presented only its volcanic peaks above the swell of the ocean. We cast a parting glance to those cliffs from which we had gazed in delighted wonder, and felt a sentiment allied to bereavement, as they faded on our vision.

The volcanoes which threw up these mountain-masses have long since rested from their labors; the flames which lit the savage grandeur of their craters are extinct; dim ages have swept over them, and only the bleak monuments of their terrific energy remain; but Christian philanthropy, without pomp and parade, and in the silence of that love whichseeks only to solace and save, has here kindled a light that shall never wane. Centuries may come and go, and night rest upon other isles of the wide sea, but this light will still stream on in undying splendor. Beneath its beams generations will here go untremblingly down to the unbreathing sepulchre, and as this world darkens on their vision, discern those objects of faith which loom to light in the spirit-land. With the good, a shadow only falls between this world and the next.

Wednesday, June 24.We have been for the last twenty-four hours on our starboard tack, with the wind from the northeast. The jagged steeps of Kanie sunk this morning in the sea over our larboard quarter. We are again upon the wide ocean without an object on which the eye can rest. Our frigate has a heavy roll; she has in her six months’ provisions, and lies too deep for the greatest speed. The heat is oppressive, but has been relieved by several refreshing showers. Our men jumped around in them like wild ducks in the foam of the cascade.

The wardroom of the Congress presents an orderly, well-regulated table. It has been so from the commencement of our cruise. Grace is said at our meals; not a glass of spirits has entered our mess; not a word of discord, petulance, or anger, has been heard. The officers are within the circle of that religioussentiment which more or less pervades the crew. It is religion alone that can bind passion, harmonize the elements of society, and render the obligations of mutual forbearance and love the abiding rules of action.

Thursday, June 25.We left at Honolulu the American ship Brooklyn, with one hundred and seventy-five Mormon emigrants on board, bound to Monterey and San Francisco, where they propose to settle. They look to us for protection, and expect to land, if necessary, under our batteries. I spent the greater part of a day among them, and must say, I was much pleased with their deportment. The greater portion of them are young, and have been trained to habits of industry, frugality, and enterprise. Some have been recently married, and are accompanied by their parents. They are mostly from the Methodist and Baptist persuasions. Their Mormonism, so far as they have any, has been superinduced on their previous faith, as Millerism on the belief of some Christians. They are rigidly strict in their domestic morals; have their morning and evening prayers; and the wind and the weather have never suspended, during their long voyage, their exercises of devotion.

Friday, June 26.We have had since we left porta head wind; but we are constantly working our way north through the trades into the variables; a few weeks since we were very anxious to get out of the variables, we are now equally anxious to get into them. But we were then sailing northwest; our course now lies northeast: such is the occupation of the sailor. He is forever crossing and retracing his own track, and well would it be for him if this crossing and retracing were confined to his track on the deep, but unhappily it enters into the pathway of his moral being. He plods back in penitence and remorse the space over which folly and passion blindly whirled him. “Facilis descensus averni, sed revocare his labor, hoc opus est.”

Saturday, June 27.We have at last a slant of wind which has put us on our course. The Mormon ship must make haste if she expects to overtake us before we reach Monterey. It is a little singular that with a company of one hundred and seventy emigrants, confined in a vessel of only four hundred tons, depending on each other’s activity and forbearence for comfort, unbroken harmony should have prevailed. They may have had their momentary jars, but I was assured by the captain, who is not of their persuasion, that no serious discord had occurred. They put their money into a joint stock, laid in their own provisions, and have every thing in common.They chartered their vessel, for which they pay twelve hundred dollars per month. It will cost them for their passage alone some ten thousand dollars before they disembark in California.

Sunday, June 28.We had divine service at the usual hour. The subject of the sermon was the aversion of the world to the meekness, humility, and forbearance which enter into the Christian character. Men of the world are too apt to consider these qualities incompatible with courage, resolution, firmness, and self-respect. But the most heroic virtues have been displayed in dungeons, on the rack, and at the stake, by martyrs to truth. He who suffered on the cross, triumphed over not only the malice of his foes, but the terrors of death. After service I met my Bible class, and spent an hour with them. Among them are some of the first seamen in the ship; men whose influence extend through the whole crew; several of these, there is reason to believe, have experienced religion since we started on the present cruise. God grant they may persevere with unshaken firmness.

I applied to-day to Captain Du Pont and Mr. Livingston for the apartment leading to the store-room, in which to hold our evening prayer-meeting. It was granted without any hesitation. This prayer-meeting commenced with three or four individuals;it now embraces some fifteen or twenty, and it will not stop here.

Monday, June 29.We have been in a dead calm all day,—the ocean slumbering about us without a ripple, and our dog-vane not lifting a feather. The lazy clouds piled themselves up in pyramids and castles on the sea, without a wave or breath to disturb their fantastic forms. The rays of the sun were quenched in their veils, and twilight spread over their summits her rosy charm. As night in her sable hues advanced, the moon came up and poured on turret and tower her tender light. Man rears his structures amid weariness and tumult; nature erects hers in silence. When the monuments of man decay, ages may sigh over their unreviving relics, but when those of nature are dissolved, others emerge from the ruin in more exulting beauty, as the bird of flame from the ashes of its parent.

Tuesday, June 30.When an aquatic fowl appears for which the sailor has no other name, he always calls it a sea-hen. Several of this brood have been about our ship to-day, circling through the air, and resting on the sleeping sea. The head is large, the neck strong, the wings long and arching, and the plumage dark brown. We tried to hook one of them with a tempting bait, but the fellow was too cunning.The only purpose they seemingly serve is to relieve the monotony of a sea-life.

We have been lying now for two days in the same waveless berth; our motion has not been sufficient to straighten our log-line. Every cloud is watched, but it brings no breeze. It departs like the airy visions of childhood, and none knoweth the place of its rest. We are born in shadows; live in their aerial folds, and vanish at last into deep night. But the spark of the Divinity that glows within is quenchless evermore.

Wednesday, July 1.We caught to-day, with a hook, one of the sailor’s sea-hens. It proved to be the brown albatros of the Pacific; and measured ten feet between the tips of its wings. When brought on board, the fellow threw his wild glances at the crew, and walked about as haughtily as if sole monarch of the peopled deck. One of the men attempted to trifle with his dignity, when he pounced upon him and severely chastised his impertinence. After being detained an hour, we let him go to join his female companion, who was waiting for him, on the wave, by the side of the ship. The albatros never deserts its consort in calamity.

The love which coldly wounds and kills,Is that which care and sorrow chills.

The love which coldly wounds and kills,

Is that which care and sorrow chills.

Thursday, July 2.Our sailor, Lewis, who is touched with insanity, is again on deck. He moves around among the crew, but never participates in their amusements, or enters into conversation with any one. If questioned, his answers are so stern and brief they quell curiosity. He handles a rope as if there were a scorpion’s fang in every strand. Only snatches of his history are known. He has borne arms; his last exploits were at San Jacinto. He has the air of one in whom the feelings of a better nature have been turned to apathy and scorn.

“His features’ deepening lines and varying hueAt times attract, and yet perplex the viewAs if within that murkiness of mindWorked feeling, fearful and yet undefined.He has the skill, when cunning’s gaze would seekTo probe his heart and watch his changing cheek,At once the observer’s purpose to espy,And on himself roll back his scrutiny.”

“His features’ deepening lines and varying hue

At times attract, and yet perplex the view

As if within that murkiness of mind

Worked feeling, fearful and yet undefined.

He has the skill, when cunning’s gaze would seek

To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek,

At once the observer’s purpose to espy,

And on himself roll back his scrutiny.”

Friday, July 3.We have at last a breeze from the northwest, which is leading us out of this region of calms. Our latitude is 35° N. Our thermometer ranges at seventy,—rather a cool temperature, considering that we are so near the vertical rays of a cloudless sun, wheeling around his northern bourne in his career of flame to the Line. But the temperature of the Pacific never undergoes those extreme changes to which that of the same latitude in theAtlantic is subjected. The cause of this difference is probably found in the relative disproportion of sea and land over which the tides of the atmosphere pass in the two oceans.

Three seamen came into my state-room to-day to converse with me on the subject of religion. They stated that for several weeks their attention had been drawn to this subject, and that they had now resolved to renounce every sin, and seek an interest in Christ. I encouraged them in this good resolution, gave them books suited to their frame of mind, and invited them to our evening prayer-meeting. These are the bows of promise which span the dark tides of ocean.

Saturday, July 4.This is the anniversary of our national independence. The crew have been permitted to spend it as they pleased; no duty being required of them beyond what is essential to keep the ship on her course. Some collected themselves in groups, and spun patriotic yarns about naval actions in the last war; some sung the star-spangled banner; some waxed eloquent at the idea of a war with Mexico, and some sat quietly mending their old clothes. The young were generally the most eager for hostilities, and seemed to think they could hew their way with a cutlass and a pound of pork to the halls of the Montezumas.

Commodore Stockton gave an elegant dinner to his officers. Many sentiments, kindled by the examples of the glorious past, went round; and many thoughts of home and hearts left behind, melted in an under-tone through the festivities. How veneration, gratitude, and pride, will grow in the breast of an American, in a distant clime, over the memory of those who perilled their all in the Revolution! They rest in immortal remembrance amid the flowers and fragrant airs of earth:

“By fairy hands their knell is rung,By forms unseen their dirge is sung.”

“By fairy hands their knell is rung,

By forms unseen their dirge is sung.”

Sunday, July 5.Though the morning has been overcast with flying clouds, from which dashes of rain have fallen, accompanied with sudden gusts of wind, giving every thing the air of discomfort, and rendering the ship rather uneasy, yet we have had our regular service. The subject of the discourse was, Profaneness—its degrading effects, its prohibition in the rules of the service, its violation of the laws of God.

This is the besetting sin of those who follow the seas,—of those who, in their helplessness, are surrounded by the most stupendous displays of omnipotent power. Yet let the ship in which it prevails most, be swept in a gale of shroud and mast, be driving amid breakers against the steep rock, her guiltycrew will fall on their knees in prayer, and call on Him whose name they have profaned, whose worship they have derided, to have mercy and save.

Our prayer-meeting has increased, so that the small apartment in which we have been assembling will not accommodate us. Capt. Du Pont, on the suggestion of Mr. Livingston, has given us the use of the store-room. It has been so arranged that there is no interference with the public stores, and no increase of hazard from additional lights. It would have been easy for them to have suggested difficulties; but, thank God, they are not so inclined. They have extended to me every facility and every encouragement in their power. Nor has any officer on board the ship cast an impediment in my way. Not a derisive remark from any one, either in or out of the wardroom, has fallen on my ear.

Monday, July 6.When we were receiving our crew at Norfolk, an old seaman, by the name of Barnard, applied to Capt. Du Pont to be shipped. He was told that he had not vigor for the hardships of another cruise, and kindly advised to make the Naval Asylum his home. But he plead the forty years of service which he had performed in our national ships so earnestly, that he was permitted to come on board. Though over sixty years of age, he has discharged the duties of quarter-master very well. Butrecently the springs of life have been giving way, till at last he has been obliged to relinquish his post at the wheel. He could not rally again, and has sunk to his last repose.

To-day we have consigned his remains to the deep. The body, wrapped in his hammock, was borne by his messmates up the main-hatch, along the line of the marine guard presenting arms, where it was met by the Commodore and Captain, As the band ceased its funeral air, the burial service was read, the plank on which the body lay was lifted, and Barnard glided down to his deep rest. Over him roll the waters of the Pacific.

But when the last great trump shall thrill the grave,And earth’s unnumbered myriads reappear,He too shall hear the summons ’neath the wave,That now in silence wraps his sunless bier.And coming forth, in trembling reverence bowed,Unfold the tongueless secrets of his shroud.

But when the last great trump shall thrill the grave,

And earth’s unnumbered myriads reappear,

He too shall hear the summons ’neath the wave,

That now in silence wraps his sunless bier.

And coming forth, in trembling reverence bowed,

Unfold the tongueless secrets of his shroud.

Tuesday, July 7.We have sailed since we left Callao about eight thousand miles without falling in with a single vessel, though the Pacific is said to be sprinkled with whalers and merchantmen. The former pursue their vocation without any reference to the customary tracks of other vessels; they set up their chase wherever the whale sweeps, be it to the Pole or the Line, and yet we have not encounteredone of them. Out of the thousand, not one has come within the range of our vision. This gives one some idea of the immensity of the Pacific. A ship in it is like a meteor in the unconfined realms of space.

Wednesday, July 8.We have had general quarters, with the exercise of the crew at the guns, almost every day since we left Honolulu. Mexican papers were received there, the day before our departure, stating that hostilities had commenced between that country and the United States, on the Texan line. We doubted the correctness of the information, but put to sea at once, that we might be off Monterey in season for any service which the possible exigency might require.

To-day we have been practising at target firing. This fictitious foe made his appearance on a platform buoyed up by eight empty casks at a distance, varying with the action of the sea and wind, of from one to two miles. The firing commenced on the larboard side, and was restricted to one round from each gun. It was found that the shot, though the guns had been elevated one degree, struck the water short of the mark. An order was therefore given to elevate the guns two degrees, and to be careful to fire on an even keel. This brought the target within a point-blank range; and the shot whistled past it, grazing this side and that.

We now tacked ship, and gave the starboard lads a chance. Their shot struck with sufficient accuracy for all practical purposes in a naval engagement, and the target, though bobbing up and down on the sea as a frightened thing of life, very narrowly escaped. The whistling, whizzing sound made by a huge ball in its passage through the air, is like nothing else that I have ever heard. It seems to carry in its very tone an import of the destructive errand upon which it is sent. This ominous voice, however, in the excitement and thunders of an engagement, is never heard. The warning and the havoc come together, twins in life and death!

Thursday, July 9.We have made, for the last three days, but very little progress towards our port. The wind has been extremely light and baffling, breathing and dying away at all points of the compass. The atmosphere has had that peculiar property which magnifies every object of vision. The moon hung on the horizon this evening with a breadth of circle which attracted the attention of all on board; the stars seemed to have extended their glowing verge, the sea-bird to have enlarged its dusky form as it floated dimly in the pale light, while the wing of the cloud threw its vast shadow on the sleeping surface of the sea. We heard

“Not a sound, save the surge of the shipAs she lazily rolls to and fro,And the sails as they listlessly flap,And the creak of the rudder below.”

“Not a sound, save the surge of the ship

As she lazily rolls to and fro,

And the sails as they listlessly flap,

And the creak of the rudder below.”

Friday, July 10.We have had to-day a light but steady breeze on our starboard quarter. Our studding-sails have been set for the first time since we left Honolulu. We are now within nine hundred miles of our port. All are engaged, some in ship’s duty, some in acquiring Spanish, some in writing letters home; while the crew, as they come off watch, occupy their time with books from the library. Sailors will read if you furnish them with books suited to their tastes and habits. Give them narratives, history, biography, and incidents of travel. In these sketches virtues may be shadowed forth that will win reverence and love, and the results of vice unfolded with repelling power. But all this requires care in the selection; this duty properly devolves on the chaplain; it is for him to elevate and mould the moral sentiments of those around him. If he is not equal to this, he should not put his foot on the decks of a man-of-war.

Saturday, July 11.Our light aft wind has left us, and we have in its stead a heavy sea, rolling in from the west. There must have been a tremendous blow in that quarter. Our ship rolled last night asshe did off Cape Horn. Every thing in the wardroom and steerage which had not been secured, rushed about in crashing confusion. The candlesticks leaped from the sideboard, a tray of knives and forks followed, while a water tank flew from one bulkhead to another, as if determined to dash in its own staves. The front board of my berth had been taken out to admit more air, and I had no sooner dropped asleep, than out I rolled on the floor; and well was it for me that I did, for I was no sooner out of my berth than my library tumbled in. What singular feelings, half vexatious and half ludicrous, one has gathering himself up from such a tumble!

Sunday, July 12.The weather has been too stormy, and the roll of the ship too heavy, for religious service on deck. We have had a prayer-meeting in the store-room. The attendance was voluntary, but the large apartment was filled. A good number of our sailors are earnestly seeking religion, and several hope they have found it. I meet them every evening from eight to nine o’clock. They speak in these meetings with much frankness of their previous evil courses, and of their resolution to abandon them and seek Christ. Those who have obtained light and comfort, encourage others, and pray for them with an earnestness which shows their heart is in the work. Every evening some two orthree new ones join us. Among them are some of the first sailors we have.

The effect of this on the discipline of the ship is too marked to escape observation. There is no disobedience and no punishment. Each performs with alacrity the duties of his station. It would seem as if we might throw every instrument of correction and coercion overboard; their requirement, for the present at least, has ceased. Give me the religious sentiment in a crew, and you may sink your handcuffs, cats, and colts in the depths of ocean. They who, under the hypocritical cry of church and state, would deprive our seamen of these influences, have steeled their hearts to the first instincts of humanity. Their religion, if they have any, is cruel as the grave.

Monday, July 13.The following note, which I received last evening from one of our quarter-gunners, a stanch sailor, derives its interest from the fact that he followed it up with an attendance at our prayer-meeting.

U. S. Frigate Congress, July 12, 1846.

Dear Sir:—

With feelings of sincere regret for the error I made on the night of the 11th, by using profane language in your hearing, I do humbly crave your pardon, and I do assure you, had I known you were present at the time, such language would never have been used by me. I am aware Ican make no excuse for the crime of swearing: it is, as you have truly said, the force of habit, which should have been checked by me years ago. No man inside this ship is more indebted to an all-merciful God than I am, for I have been totally shipwrecked in the course of my sea-life four different times, and been preserved when some of my shipmates met a watery grave; and still I sin greatly, daily, hourly, in spite of all my resolutions to the contrary.

Yours obediently.

Tuesday, July 14.We were tumbled out of our dead calm by a roaring northwester, and have been driven by it two hundred and thirty-five miles in the last twenty-four hours. We have six months’ provisions, and four months’ water, on board, and have been logging eleven and twelve knots. A ship that can do this under these circumstances, and close hauled, must be a good sailer. We are now within two hundred and twenty miles of our port; and if this wind continues, shall probably anchor under Monterey to-morrow. Whether it be for hostilities or for peace, we know not; but we are prepared for either.

Wednesday, July 15.The wind continued very fresh through the night. Not wishing to make the land till daylight, we furled our top-gallant sails, hauled up our courses, double-reefed our topsails, andstill run eight knots. As day dawned, Point Pinos rose fifteen miles directly ahead of us. But as the first rays of the sun tipped its forest-tops with flame, a bank of fog rolled between. Not a vestige of the coast was seen for hours; and we wore ship, and stood out to sea.

It was nearly noon before the fog lifted. We then made sail, and in two hours rounded Point Pinos, and entered the harbor of Monterey. We discovered at anchor the U. S. frigate Savannah, bearing the broad pennant of Commodore Sloat; the U. S. sloop-of-war Cyane, Captain Mervin; and the U. S. sloop-of-war Levant, Commander Page. We run up the red pennant, and saluted the blue of Commodore Sloat with thirteen guns, which were returned by the Savannah. As we rounded under her stern for our berth, her band struck up “Hail Columbia!” We came to anchor, in graceful style, outside the Cyane.

Here will we rest, and let the winds rave on

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