The hides, as they come rough and uncured from the vessels, are piled up outside of the houses, whence they are taken and carried through a regular process of pickling, drying, and cleaning, and stowed away in the house, ready to be put on board. This process is necessary in order that they may keep during a long voyage and in warm latitudes11. For the purpose of curing and taking care of them, an officer and a part of the crew of each vessel6 are usually left ashore; and it was for this business, we found, that our new officer had joined us. As soon as the hides were landed, he took charge of the house, and the captain intended to leave two or three of us with him, hiring Sandwich–Islanders in our places on board; but he could not get any Sandwich–Islanders to go, although he offered them fifteen dollars a month; for the report of the flogging had got among them, and he was called “aole maikai” (no good); and that was an end of the business. They were, however, willing to work on shore, and four of them were hired and put with Mr. Russell to cure the hides.
After landing our hides, we next sent ashore our spare spars and rigging, all the stores which we did not need in the course of one trip to windward, and, in fact, everything which we could spare, so as to make room on board for hides; among other things, the pigsty12, and with it “old Bess.” This was an old sow that we had brought from Boston, and who lived to get round Cape13 Horn, where all the other pigs died from cold and wet. Report said that she had been a Canton voyage before. She had been the pet of the cook during the whole passage, and he had fed her with the best of everything, and taught her to know his voice, and to do a number of strange tricks for his amusement. Tom Cringle says that no one can fathom14 a negro’s affection for a pig; and I believe he is right, for it almost broke our poor darky’s heart when he heard that Bess was to be taken ashore, and that he was to have the care of her no more. He had depended upon her as a solace15, during the long trips up and down the coast. “Obey orders, if you break owners!” said he — “break hearts,” he might have said — and lent a hand to get her over the side, trying to make it as easy for her as possible. We got a whip on the main-yard, and, hooking it to a strap16 round her body, swayed away, and, giving a wink17 to one another, ran her chock up to the yard-arm. “‘Vast there! ‘vast!” said the mate; “none of your skylarking! Lower away!” But he evidently enjoyed the joke. The pig squealed18 like the “crack of doom,” and tears stood in the poor darky’s eyes; and he muttered something about having no pity on a dumb beast. “Dumb beast!” said Jack2, “if she’s what you call a dumb beast, then my eyes a’n’t mates.” This produced a laugh from all but the cook. He was too intent upon seeing her safe in the boat. He watched her all the way ashore, where, upon her landing, she was received by a whole troop of her kind, who had been set ashore from the other vessels, and had multiplied and formed a large commonwealth19. From the door of his galley20 the cook used to watch them in their manoeuvres, setting up a shout and clapping his hands whenever Bess came off victorious22 in the struggles for pieces of raw hide and half-picked bones which were lying about the beach. During the day, he saved all the nice things, and made a bucket of swill23, and asked us to take it ashore in the gig, and looked quite disconcerted when the mate told him that he would pitch the swill overboard, and him after it, if he saw any of it go into the boats. We told him that he thought more about the pig than he did about his wife, who lived down in Robinson’s Alley21; and, indeed, he could hardly have been more attentive24, for he actually, on several nights, after dark, when he thought he would not be seen, sculled himself ashore in a boat, with a bucket of nice swill, and returned like Leander from crossing the Hellespont.
The next Sunday the other half of our crew went ashore on liberty, and left us on board, to enjoy the first quiet Sunday we had had upon the coast. Here were no hides to come off, and no southeasters to fear. We washed and mended our clothes in the morning, and spent the rest of the day in reading and writing. Several of us wrote letters to send home by the Lagoda. At twelve o’clock, the Ayacucho dropped her fore10 topsail, which was a signal for her sailing. She unmoored and warped25 down into the bight, from which she got under way. During this operation her crew were a long time heaving at the windlass, and I listened to the musical notes of a Sandwich–Islander named Mahanna, who “sang out” for them. Sailors, when heaving at a windlass, in order that they may heave together, always have one to sing out, which is done in high and long-drawn notes, varying with the motion of the windlass. This requires a clear voice, strong lungs, and much practice, to be done well. This fellow had a very peculiar26, wild sort of note, breaking occasionally into a falsetto. The sailors thought that it was too high, and not enough of the boatswain hoarseness27 about it; but to me it had a great charm. The harbor was perfectly28 still, and his voice rang among the hills as though it could have been heard for miles. Toward sundown, a good breeze having sprung up, the Ayacucho got under way, and with her long, sharp head cutting elegantly through the water on a taut29 bowline, she stood directly out of the harbor, and bore away to the southward. She was bound to Callao, and thence to the Sandwich Islands, and expected to be on the coast again in eight or ten months.
At the close of the week we were ready to sail, but were delayed a day or two by the running away of Foster, the man who had been our second mate and was turned forward. From the time that he was “broken,” he had had a dog’s berth30 on board the vessel, and determined31 to run away at the first opportunity. Having shipped for an officer when he was not half a seaman32, he found little pity with the crew, and was not man enough to hold his ground among them. The captain called him a “soger,”1 and promised to “ride him down as he would the main tack”; and when officers are once determined to “ride a man down,” it is a gone case with him. He had had several difficulties with the captain, and asked leave to go home in the Lagoda; but this was refused him. One night he was insolent33 to an officer on the beach, and refused to come aboard in the boat. He was reported to the captain; and, as he came aboard — it being past the proper hour — he was called aft, and told that he was to have a flogging. Immediately he fell down on deck, calling out, “Don’t flog me, Captain Thompson, don’t flog me!” and the captain, angry and disgusted with him, gave him a few blows over the back with a rope’s end, and sent him forward. He was not much hurt, but a good deal frightened, and made up his mind to run away that night. This was managed better than anything he ever did in his life, and seemed really to show some spirit and forethought. He gave his bedding and mattress34 to one of the Lagoda’s crew, who promised to keep it for him, and took it aboard his ship as something which he had bought. He then unpacked35 his chest, putting all his valuable clothes into a large canvas bag, and told one of us who had the watch to call him at midnight. Coming on deck at midnight, and finding no officer on deck, and all still aft, he lowered his bag into a boat, got softly down into it, cast off the painter, and let it drop down silently with the tide until he was out of hearing, when he sculled ashore.
The next morning, when all hands were mustered36, there was a great stir to find Foster. Of course, we would tell nothing, and all they could discover was that he had left an empty chest behind him, and that he went off in a boat; for they saw the boat lying high and dry on the beach. After breakfast, the captain went up to the town, and offered a reward of twenty dollars for him; and for a couple of days the soldiers, Indians, and all others who had nothing to do, were scouring37 the country for him, on horseback, but without effect; for he was safely concealed39, all the time, within fifty rods of the hide-houses. As soon as he had landed, he went directly to the Lagoda’s hide-house, and a part of her crew, who were living there on shore, promised to conceal38 him and his traps until the Pilgrim should sail, and then to intercede40 with Captain Bradshaw to take him on board his ship. Just behind the hide-houses, among the thickets41 and underwood, was a small cave, the entrance to which was known only to two men on the beach, and which was so well concealed that though, when I afterwards came to live on shore, it was shown to me two or three times, I was never able to find it alone. To this cave he was carried before daybreak in the morning, and supplied with bread and water, and there remained until he saw us under way and well round the point.
Friday, March 27th. The captain having given up all hope of finding Foster, and being unwilling42 to delay any longer, gave orders for unmooring ship, and we made sail, dropping slowly down with the tide and light wind. We left letters with Captain Bradshaw to take to Boston, and were made miserable43 by hearing him say that he should be back again before we left the coast. The wind, which was very light, died away soon after we doubled the point, and we lay becalmed for two days, not moving three miles the whole time, and a part of the second day were almost within sight of the vessels. On the third day, about noon, a cool sea-breeze came rippling44 and darkening the surface of the water, and by sundown we were off San Juan, which is about forty miles from San Diego, and is called half-way to San Pedro, where we were bound. Our crew was now considerably45 weakened. One man we had lost overboard, another had been taken aft as clerk, and a third had run away; so that, beside Stimson and myself, there were only three able seamen46 and one boy of twelve years of age. With this diminished and discontented crew, and in a small vessel, we were now to battle the watch through a couple of years of hard service; yet there was not one who was not glad that Foster had escaped; for, shiftless and good for nothing as he was, no one could wish to see him dragging on a miserable life, cowed down and disheartened; and we were all rejoiced to hear, upon our return to San Diego, about two months afterwards, that he had been immediately taken aboard the Lagoda, and had gone home in her, on regular seaman’s wages.
After a slow passage of five days, we arrived on Wednesday, the first of April, at our old anchoring-ground at San Pedro. The bay was as deserted47 and looked as dreary48 as before, and formed no pleasing contrast with the security and snugness49 of San Diego, and the activity and interest which the loading and unloading of four vessels gave to that scene. In a few days the hides began to come slowly down, and we got into the old business of rolling goods up the hill, pitching hides down, and pulling our long league off and on. Nothing of note occurred while we were lying here, except that an attempt was made to repair the small Mexican brig which had been cast away in a southeaster, and which now lay up, high and dry, over one reef of rocks and two sand-banks. Our carpenter surveyed her, and pronounced her capable of being refitted, and in a few days the owners came down from the Pueblo50, and having waited for the high spring tides, with the help of our cables, kedges, and crew, hauled her off after several trials. The three men at the house on shore, who had formerly51 been a part of her crew, now joined her, and seemed glad enough at the prospect of getting off the coast.
On board our own vessel, things went on in the common monotonous52 way. The excitement which immediately followed the flogging scene had passed off, but the effect of it upon the crew, and especially upon the two men themselves, remained. The different manner in which these men were affected53, corresponding to their different characters, was not a little remarkable54. John was a foreigner and high-tempered, and though mortified55, as any one would be at having had the worst of an encounter, yet his chief feeling seemed to be anger; and he talked much of satisfaction and revenge, if he ever got back to Boston. But with the other it was very different. He was an American, and had had some education; and this thing coming upon him seemed completely to break him down. He had a feeling of the degradation56 that had been inflicted57 upon him, which the other man was incapable58 of. Before that, he had a good deal of fun in him, and amused us often with queer negro stories (he was from a Slave State); but afterwards he seldom smiled, seemed to lose all life and elasticity59, and appeared to have but one wish, and that was for the voyage to be at an end. I have often known him to draw a long sigh when he was alone, and he took but little part or interest in John’s plans of satisfaction and retaliation60.
After a stay of about a fortnight, during which we slipped for one southeaster, and were at sea two days, we got under way for Santa Barbara. It was now the middle of April, the southeaster season was nearly over, and the light, regular winds, which blow down the coast, began to set steadily61 in, during the latter part of each day. Against these we beat slowly up to Santa Barbara — a distance of about ninety miles — in three days. There we found, lying at anchor, the large Genoese ship which we saw in the same place on the first day of our coming upon the coast. She had been up to San Francisco, or, as it is called, “chock up to windward,” had stopped at Monterey on her way down, and was shortly to proceed to San Pedro and San Diego, and thence, taking in her cargo62, to sail for Valparaiso and Cadiz. She was a large, clumsy ship, and, with her topmasts stayed forward, and high poop-deck, looked like an old woman with a crippled back. It was now the close of Lent, and on Good Friday she had all her yards a’-cock-bill, which is customary among Catholic vessels. Some also have an effigy63 of Judas, which the crew amuse themselves with keel-hauling and hanging by the neck from the yard-arms.
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1
scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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pigsty
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| n.猪圈，脏房间 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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16
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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17
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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18
squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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21
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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swill
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| v.冲洗；痛饮；n.泔脚饲料；猪食；（谈话或写作中的）无意义的话 | |
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24
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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25
warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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26
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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hoarseness
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| n.嘶哑， 刺耳 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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30
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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35
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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36
mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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40
intercede
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| vi.仲裁，说情 | |
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41
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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42
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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43
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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44
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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45
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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46
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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47
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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48
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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49
snugness
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50
pueblo
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| n.（美国西南部或墨西哥等）印第安人的村庄 | |
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51
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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52
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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53
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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54
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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55
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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56
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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57
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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59
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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60
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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61
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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62
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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63
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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