Home After Storms and Adventures
September 18, 2014Richard Henry Dana, Jr. |
Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
(1815–1882). Two Years before the Mast.
Vol. 23, pp. 348-356 of
The Harvard Classics
Every sight was full
of beauty. We were coming back to our homes, and the signs of
civilization from which we had been so long banished - " wrote
Dana, as his ship entered Boston Harbor.
(Dana returns from
two-year voyage, Sept. 18, 1836.)
Chapter
XXXVI
Soundings—Sights
from Home—Boston Harbor—Leaving the Ship
FRIDAY, SEPT. 16TH. Lat.
38š N., long. 69š 00' W. A fine south-west wind; every hour
carrying us nearer in toward land. All hands on deck at the dog
watch, and nothing
talked about, but our getting in; where we should
make the land; whether we should arrive before Sunday; going to
church; how Boston would look; friends; wages paid;—and the like.
Every one was in the best of spirits; and, the voyage being nearly at
an end, the strictness of discipline was relaxed; for it was not
necessary to order in a cross tone, what every one was ready to do
with a will. The little differences and quarrels which a long voyage
breeds on board a ship, were forgotten, and every one was friendly;
and two men, who had been on the eve of a battle half the voyage,
were laying out a plan together for a cruise on shore. When the mate
came forward, he talked to the men, and said we should be on George’s
Bank before to-morrow noon; and joked with the boys, promising to go
and see them, and to take them down to Marble, head in a coach.
Saturday, 17th. The wind
was light all day, which kept us back somewhat; but a fine breeze
springing up at nightfall, we were running fast in toward the land.
At six o’clock we expected to have the ship hove-to for soundings,
as a thick fog, coming up showed we were near them; but no order was
given, and we kept on our way. Eight o’clock came, and the watch
went below, and, for the whole of the first hour, the ship was
tearing on, with studding-sails out, alow and aloft, and the night as
dark as a pocket. At two bells the captain came on deck, and said a
word to the mate, when the studding sails were hauled into the tops,
or boom-ended, the after yards backed, the deep-sea-lead carried
forward, and everything got ready for sounding. A man on the
spritsail yard with the lead, another on the cat-head with a handful
of the line coiled up, another in the fore chains, another in the
waist, and another in the main chains, each with a quantity of the
line coiled away in his hand. “All ready there, forward?”—“Aye,
aye, sir!”—“He-e-e-ave!”—“Watch! ho! watch!” sings out
the man on the man on the spritsail yard, and the heavy lead drops
into the water. “Watch! ho! watch!” bawls the man on the
cat-head, as the last fake of the coil drops from his hand, and
“Watch! ho! watch!” is shouted by each one as the line falls from
his hold; until it comes to the mate, who tends the lead, and has the
line in coils on the quarter-deck. Eighty fathoms, and no bottom! A
depth as great as the height of St. Peter’s! the line is snatched
in a block upon the swifter, and three or four men haul it in and
coil it away. The after yards are braced full, the studding-sails
hauled out again, and in a few minutes more the ship had her whole
way upon her. At four bells, backed again, hove the lead,
and—soundings! at sixty fathoms! Hurrah for Yankee land! Hand over
hand, we hauled the lead in, and the captain, taking it to the light,
found black mud on the bottom. Studding-sails taken in; after yards
filled, and ship kept on under easy sail all night; the wind dying
away.
The soundings on the American coast
are so regular that a navigator knows as well where he has made land,
by the soundings, as he would by seeing the land. Black mud is the
soundings of Block Island. As you go toward Nantucket, it changes to
a dark sand; then, sand and white shells; and on George’s Banks,
white sand; and so on. Being off Block Island, our course was due
east, to Nantucket Shoals, and the South Channel; but the wind died
away and left us becalmed in a thick fog, in which we lay the whole
of Sunday. At noon of.
Sunday, 18th, Block Island
bore, by calculation, N.W. 1–4 W. fifteen miles; but the fog was so
thick all day that we could see nothing.
Having got through the ship’s duty,
and washed and shaved, we went below, and had a fine time overhauling
our chests, laying aside the clothes we meant to go ashore in and
throwing overboard all that were worn out and good for nothing. Away
went the woollen caps in which we had carried hides upon our heads,
for sixteen months, on the coast of California; the duck frocks, for
tarring down rigging; worn-out and darned mittens and patched woollen
trowsers which had stood the tug of Cape Horn. We hove them overboard
with a good will; for there is nothing like being quit of the very
last appendages and remnants of our evil fortune. We got our chests
all ready for going ashore, ate the last “duff” we expected to
have on board the ship Alert; and talked as confidently about matters
on shore as though our anchor were on the bottom.
“Who’ll go to church with me a
week from to-day?”
“I will,” says Jack; who said aye
to everything.
“Go away, salt water!” says Tom.
“As soon as I get both legs ashore, I’m going to shoe my heels,
and button my ears behind me, and start off into the bush, a straight
course, and not stop till I’m out of the sight of salt water!”
“Oh! belay that! Spin that yarn
where nobody knows your filling! If you get once moored, stem and
stern, in old B——’s grog-shop, with a coal fire ahead and the
bar under your lee, you won’t see daylight for three weeks!”
“No!” says Tom, “I’m going to
knock off grog, and go and board at the Home, and see if they won’t
ship me for a deacon!”
“And I,” says Bill, “am going to
buy a quadrant and ship for navigator of a Hingham packet!”
These and the like jokes served to
pass the time while we were lying waiting for a breeze to clear up
the fog and send us on our way.
Toward night a moderate breeze sprang
up; the fog however continuing as thick as before; and we kept on to
the eastward. About the middle of the first watch, a man on the
forecastle sang out, in a tone which showed that there was not a
moment to be lost,—“Hard up the helm!” and a great ship loomed
up out of the fog, coming directly down upon us. She luffed at the
same moment, and we just passed one another; our spanker boom grazing
over her quarter. The officer of the deck had only time to hail, and
she answered, as she went into the fog again, something about
Bristol—Probably, a whaleman from Bristol, Rhode Island, bound out.
The fog continued through the night, with a very light breeze, before
which we ran to the eastward, literally feeling our way along. The
lead was heaved every two hours, and the gradual change from black
mud to sand, showed that we were approaching Nantucket South Shoals.
On Monday morning, the increased depth and deep blue color of the
water, and the mixture of shells and white sand which we brought up,
upon sounding, showed that we were in the channel, and nearing
George’s; accordingly, the ship’s head was put directly to the
northward, and we stood on, with perfect confidence in the soundings,
though we had not taken an observation for two days, nor seen land;
and the difference of an eighth of a mile out of the way might put us
ashore. Throughout the day a provokingly light wind prevailed, and at
eight o’clock, a small fishing schooner, which we passed, told us
we were nearly abreast of Chatham lights. Just before midnight, a
light land-breeze sprang up, which carried us well along; and at four
o’clock, thinking ourselves to the northward of Race Point, we
hauled upon the wind and stood into the bay, west-northwest, for
Boston light, and commenced firing guns for a pilot. Our watch went
below at four o’clock, but could not sleep, for the watch on deck
were banging away at the guns every few minutes. And, indeed, we
cared very little about it, for we were in Boston Bay; and if fortune
favored us, we could all “sleep in” the next night, with nobody
to call the watch every four hours.
We turned out, of our own will, at
daybreak, to get a sight of land. In the grey of the morning, one or
two small fishing smacks peered out of the mist; and when the broad
day broke upon us, there lay the low sand-hills of Cape Cod, over our
larboard quarter, and before us, the wide waters of Massachusetts
Bay, with here and there a sail gliding over its smooth surface. As
we drew in toward the mouth of the harbor, as toward a focus, the
vessels began to multiply until the bay seemed actually alive with
sails gliding about in every direction; some on the wind, and others
before it, as they were bound to or from the emporium of trade and
centre of the bay. It was a stirring sight for us, who had been
months on the ocean without seeing anything but two solitary sails;
and over two years without seeing more than the three or four traders
on an almost desolate coast. There were the little coasters, bound to
and from the various towns along the south shore, down in the bight
of the bay, and to the eastward; here and there a square-rigged
vessel standing out to seaward; and, far in the distance, beyond Cape
Ann, was the smoke of a steamer, stretching along in a narrow, black
cloud upon the water. Every sight was full of beauty and interest. We
were coming back to our homes; and the signs of civilization, and
prosperity, and happiness, from which we had been so long banished,
were multiplying about us. The high land of Cape Ann and the rocks
and shore of Cohasset were full in sight, the lighthouses, standing
like sentries in white before the harbors, and even the smoke from
the chimney on the plains of Hingham was seen rising slowly in the
morning air. One of our boys was the son of a bucket-maker; and his
face lighted up as he saw the tops of the well-known hills which
surround his native place. About ten o’clock a little boat came
bobbing over the water, and put a pilot on board, and sheered off in
pursuit of other vessels bound in. Being now within the scope of the
telegraph stations, our signals were run up at the fore, and in half
an hour afterwards, the owner on ’change, or in his counting-room,
knew that his ship was below; and the landlords, runners, and sharks
in Ann street learned that there was a rich prize for them down in
the bay: a ship from round the Horn, with a crew to be paid off with
two years’ wages.
The wind continuing very light, all
hands were sent aloft to strip off the chafing gear; and battens,
parcellings, roundings, hoops, mats, and leathers, came flying from
aloft, and left the rigging neat and clean, stripped of all its sea
bandaging. The last touch was put to the vessel by painting the
skysail poles; and I was sent up to the fore, with a bucket of white
paint and a brush, and touched her off, from the truck to the eyes of
the royal rigging. At noon, we lay becalmed off the lower
light-house; and it being about slack water, we made little progress.
A firing was heard in the direction of Hingham, and the pilot said
there was a review there. The Hingham boy got wind of this, and said
if the ship had been twelve hours sooner, he should have been down
among the soldiers, and in the booths, and having a grand time. As it
was, we had little prospect of getting in before night. About two
o’clock a breeze sprang up ahead, from the westward, and we began
beating up against it. A full-rigged brig was beating in at the same
time, and we passed one another, in our tacks, sometimes one and
sometimes the other, working to windward, as the wind and tide
favored or opposed. It was my trick at the wheel from two till four;
and I stood my last helm, making between nine hundred and a thousand
hours which I had spent at the helms of our two vessels. The tide
beginning to set against us, we made slow work; and the afternoon was
nearly spent, before we got abreast of the inner light. In the
meantime, several vessels were coming down, outward bound; among
which, a fine, large ship, with yards squared, fair wind and fair
tide, passed us like a race-horse, the men running out upon her yards
to rig out the studding-sail booms. Toward sundown the wind came off
in flaws, sometimes blowing very stiff, so that the pilot took in the
royals, and then it died away; when, in order to get us in before the
tide became too strong, the royals were set again. As this kept us
running up and down the rigging all the time, one hand was sent aloft
at each mast-head, to stand-by to loose and furl the sails, at the
moment of the order. I took my place at the fore, and loosed and
furled the royal five times between Rainsford Island and the Castle.
At one tack we ran so near to Rainsford Island, that, looking down
from the royal yard, the island, with its hospital buildings, nice
gravelled walks, and green plats, seemed to he directly under our
yard-arms. So close is the channel to some of these islands, that we
ran the end of our flying-jib-boom over one of the out-works of the
fortifications on George’s Island; and had had an opportunity of
seeing the advantages of that point as a fortified place; for, in
working up the channel, we presented a fair stem and stern, for
raking, from the batteries, three or four times. One gun might have
knocked us to pieces.
We had all set our hearts upon getting
up to town before night and going ashore, but the tide beginning to
run strong against us, and the wind, what there was of it, being
ahead, we made but little by weather-bowing the tide, and the pilot
gave orders to cock-bill the anchor and overhaul the chain. Making
two long stretches, which brought us into the roads, under the lee of
the castle, he clawed up the topsails, and let go the anchor; and for
the first time since leaving San Diego,—one hundred and thirty-five
days—our anchor was upon bottom. In half an hour more, we were
lying snugly, with all sails furled, safe in Boston harbor; our long
voyage ended; the well-known scene about us; the dome of the State
House fading in the western sky; the lights of the city starting into
sight, as the darkness came on; and at nine o’clock the clangor of
the bells, ringing their accustomed peals; among which the Boston
boys tried to distinguish the well-known tone of the Old South.
We had just done furling the sails,
when a beautiful little pleasure-boat luffed up into the wind, under
our quarter, and the junior partner of the firm to which our ship
belonged, jumped on board. I saw him from the mizen topsail yard, and
knew him well. He shook the captain by the hand, and went down into
the cabin, and in a few moments came up and inquired of the mate for
me. The last time I had seen him, I was in the uniform of an
undergraduate of Harvard College, and now, to his astonishment, there
came down from aloft a “rough alley” looking fellow, with duck
trowsers and red shirt, long hair, and face burnt as black as an
Indian’s. He shook me by the hand, congratulated me upon my return
and my appearance of health and strength, and said my friends were
all well. I thanked him for telling me what I should not have dared
to ask; and if—
——“the first
bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing
office; and his tongue
Sounds ever after like
a sullen bell—”
certainly I shall ever remember this man and his
words with pleasure.
The captain went up to town in the
boat with Mr. H——, and left us to pass another night on board
ship, and to come up with the morning’s tide under command of the
pilot.
So much did we feel ourselves to be
already at home, in anticipation, that our plain supper of hard bread
and salt beef was barely touched; and many on board, to whom this was
the first voyage, could scarcely sleep. As for myself, by one of
those anomalous changes of feeling of which we are all the subjects,
I found that I was in a state of indifference, for which I could by
no means account. A year before, while carrying hides on the coast,
the assurance that in a twelve month we should see Boston, made me
half wild; but now that I was actually there, and in sight of home,
the emotions which I had so long anticipated feeling, I did not find,
and in their place was a state of very nearly entire apathy.
Something of the same experience was related to me by a sailor whose
first voyage was one of five years upon the North-west Coast. He had
left home, a lad, and after several years of very hard and trying
experience, found himself homeward bound; and such was the excitement
of his feelings that, during the whole passage, he could talk and
think of nothing else but his arrival, and how and when he should
jump from the vessel and take his way directly home. Yet when the
vessel was made fast to the wharf and the crew dismissed, he seemed
suddenly to lose all feeling about the matter. He told me that he
went below and changed his dress; took some water from the
scuttle-butt and washed himself leisurely; overhauled his chest, and
put his clothes all in order; took his pipe from its place, filled
it, and sitting down upon his chest, smoked it slowly for the last
time. Here he looked round upon the forecastle in which he had spent
so many years, and being alone and his shipmates scattered, he began
to feel actually unhappy. Home became almost a dream; and it was not
until his brother (who had heard of the ship’s arrival) came down
into the forecastle and told him of things at home, and who were
waiting there to see him, that he could realize where he was, and
feel interest enough to put him in motion toward that place for which
he had longed, and of which he had dreamed, for years. There is
probably so much of excitement in prolonged expectation, that the
quiet realizing of it produces a momentary stagnation of feeling as
well as of effort. It was a good deal so with me. The activity of
preparation, the rapid progress of the ship, the first making land,
the coming up the harbor, and old scenes breaking upon the view,
produced a mental as well as bodily activity, from which the change
to a perfect stillness, when both expectation and the necessity of
labor failed, left a calmness, almost of indifference, from which I
must be roused by some new excitement. And the next morning, when all
hands were called, and we were busily at work, clearing the decks,
and getting everything in readiness for going up to the
wharves,—loading the guns for a salute, loosing the sails, and
manning the windlass—mind and body seemed to wake together.
About ten o’clock, a sea-breeze
sprang up, and the pilot gave orders to get the ship under weigh. All
hands manned the windlass, and the long-drawn “Yo, heave, ho!”
which we had last heard dying away among the desolate hills of San
Diego, soon brought the anchor to the bows; and, with a fair wind and
tide, a bright sunny morning, royals and sky-sails set, ensign,
streamer, signals, and pennant, flying, and with our guns firing, we
came swiftly and handsomely up to the city. Off the end of the wharf,
we rounded-to and let go our anchor; and no sooner was it on the
bottom, than the decks were filled with people: custom-house
officers; Toplier’s agent, to inquire for news; others, inquiring
for friends on board, or left upon the coast; dealers in grease,
besieging the galley to make a bargain with the cook for his slush;
“loafers” in general; and last and chief, boarding-house runners,
to secure their men. Nothing can exceed the obliging disposition of
these runners, and the interest they take in a sailor returned from a
long voyage with a plenty of money. Two or three of them, at
different times, took me by the hand; remembered me perfectly; were
quite sure I had boarded with them before I sailed; were delighted to
see me back; gave me their cards; had a hand-cart waiting on the
wharf, on purpose to take my things up: would lend me a hand to get
my chest ashore; bring a bottle of grog on board if we did not haul
in immediately,—and the like. In fact, we could hardly get clear of
them, to go aloft and furl the sails. Sail after sail, for the
hundredth time, in fair weather and in foul, we furled now for the
last time together, and came down and took the warp ashore, manned
the capstan, and with a chorus which waked up half the North End, and
rang among the buildings in the dock, we hauled her in to the wharf.
Here, too, the landlords and runners were active and ready, taking a
bar to the capstan, lending a hand at the ropes, laughing and talking
and telling the news. The city bells were just ringing one when the
last turn was made fast, and the crew dismissed; and in five minutes
more, not a soul was left on board the good ship Alert, but the old
ship-keeper, who had come down from the counting-house to take charge
of her.
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