CHAPTER XV.
But I have digressed long enough. I now return to the old Pacific and her inmates, as she was when we crossed the line, or a few degrees to the southward of it; at which time we lost sight of the Magellan clouds. Shortly after this the glorious Southern Cross disappeared from our view. These two constellations had been for years our landmarks in the heavens, (pardon the incompatibility of the expression,) and had become so familiar that at night the horizon seemed to us incomplete without them; but still we hailed their retirement from our view with delight, for it was an earnest of home. For several nights afterward we strained our eyes and patience in unavailing search for the North Star. At last it was sighted by a close observer. It was hailed by a general shout, that made the welkin ring; and hearts warmed as day after day in our passage north we opened still farther the glories of the northern sky; our own, with its fleecy scud and resplendent tints, shedding refulgence on our free and happy land.
And now, as we progressed day by day, it may be wondered, what were the plans of our crew for the future: all having gained little else than experience, and that not being a disposable commodity at our place of destination. But, kind people! do not think that any one of us felt poverty-stricken, or dependenton other than his own exertions for support. A more self-reliable set of men never drew breath than those who were now around me. One and all felt perfectly able to maintain themselves respectably, if health were vouchsafed to them by the Creator; and all had their plans. The first we will consider is that of the Massachusetts men—they forming by far the largest class. Although they mooted a hundred different channels in which they would direct their energies, there was a strong under-current pervading the whole, which bespoke whaling as their chief point, though many declared this their dernier resort, only to be engaged in by them from extreme necessity. Some of them thought that the whaling business was becoming too poor to follow, and declared their intention of emigrating to Oregon or Kansas, in quest of gold, should the accounts from those regions continue to hold out the same favorable inducements they had already done.
The second class whom we shall consider is, that formed of prodigal sons—a proportionably numerous one. Most of this class had left home with a desire to see the world, and a hope of returning with both pockets full of money, to astonish the “old folks at home,” and, if necessary, to be expended for their comfort. Their bright anticipations not having been fulfilled, they were ashamed to go home; and, although we may doubt the wisdom of such a course, there is an honorable pride attaching to it, that cannot fail to command respect. Most of them had companions to whom they were attached during the voyage, and they determined that they would embark together to some foreign port or other(those of the Mediterranean were the most popular) for four or six months, when they would be sure of their monthly wages; and should they carry out their resolves, they might then return to their homes. This plan sounds foolish, and was foolish. No doubt they would be welcome to their relatives, with or without money; but I must confess that in the face of the warmest letters, and in the full assurance and conviction of the heartiest welcome, I myself felt a reluctance in returning, without something of moment to show, as a remuneration for almost four years of exile.
The last class (very few in number) is, those who had no homes—children of the sea. These did not take the same warm interest in a return to the States as we did; or, rather, it is a different interest—a mere sensual feeling: a desire to have a good spree, and be off again. They had no settled plan, but were ready, as soon as their money or credit became exhausted, to go here or there, as the caprice of the moment or the prospect of gain might lead them. Poor fellows! theirs was a hard prospective, and they felt it; for, when those, who were so blessed, gathered around each other, and talked of a reunion with parents, brothers, and sisters, they would walk moodily and alone, or strive by a reckless air to show their contempt for the comforts of home—but it was in vain. These now expected to follow the sea for their bread, just as the farmer does his plough. In the absence of good examples ashore, they had nothing to give them a strong bias to remain there; they considered the ocean as the granary from which their daily provision must be procured. God directthem wherever they may go, and in whatever they may do!—that they may avoid the snares spread for them by the designing at every step of the paths they must follow.
On the evening of March 17th we entered and crossed the Gulf Stream. Our near approach to it had been indicated days before by the appearance of the Gulf weed. This weed is inhabited by multifarious marine animals. On being scooped up and placed in a bucket of water, its tiny residents were to be seen swimming and plying about with the intensest activity: crabs, lobsters, various kinds of fish, and the meduca, together with many others that are nondescripts.
On arriving at the Stream we dipped up a bucketful of its water from alongside, and found it quite warm. A short time afterwards we repeated the experiment, and found a variation in the temperature. Thus, at intervals of fifteen minutes throughout our passage across it, we tested the water to the best of our ability; and although our thermometer could not be fully depended upon, yet the result was still decided enough to make me a convert to Professor Bache’s theory: that, the Gulf Stream is a series of belts of water, varying in temperature, instead of a body of water of uninterrupted equivalent warmth.
On the following day we experienced one of those southeast gales, attended by fog, which are so common to the American coast in the month of March. As long as we felt satisfied that we had an offing, things went pretty well, and we rejoiced at the way the ship was making before the gale; although, inthe absence of sun, moon, and stars, we had nothing by which to ascertain our whereabouts. At noon we spoke the brig Pilotfish, of Boston, and found that by her reckoning we were fifty miles farther to the westward than what our chronometer gave it; however, we felt pretty well satisfied as to our own correctness until night, when we shortened sail, (which throughout the day we had carried to the extent of the vessel’s ability,) and luffed to the wind, hove the lead, and sounded with the deep-sea line. At the same time the gale increased to a hurricane, and, as we could not see a ship’s length ahead, we were compelled, sorely against our inclinations, to heave the ship to for the night.
At 3 o’clock A. M. the next morning we all at once felt a change in the atmosphere, and, on inquiring the cause, found that the wind had hauled to the westward. A few minutes afterward the fleecy scud drove rapidly to the leeward, and the wind from the southwest bore down on us with extreme violence. But not too violent for us. Oh, no! It was hailed with delight. It was fair and strong; and, although we could show only close-reefed topsails and foresail to it, we bowled away, with it on our quarter, at the rate of twelve knots an hour. As we gradually neared the land we saw a number of small coasting-crafts laying-to, with the water sweeping over them—they not venturing to run in such weather. Of these we spoke several, and ascertained from them the bearings of Montauk Point. We found now that our chronometer was indeed wrong, and that had we depended upon it we would most likely have been by this time high and dry onsome part of our own coast. This variation of the chronometer was very strange to us. During the whole voyage we had found it perfectly trustworthy; and, of course, after so long an acquaintance with its exactness, we had learned to place implicit confidence in it. AtSt.Helena it was correct, and so also off CapeSt.Roque only three weeks before. But the present was precisely the case with it on the last voyage, when Captain James Allen commanded the ship. Then, likewise, there had not been a mile’s variation in it until he had crossed the Gulf Stream, homeward-bound, when an error of fifty miles was discovered—a pilot-boat giving him his true whereabouts. Now, the question is, what was the cause of this singular variation? Was it the Gulf Stream, or what was it? Here is a question for the savans, and should they solve it, I will be happy to hear of their explanation.