Ship Citizen sails from New Bedford.—Captain, Officers, and Crew.—Interest centred in a Whale Ship.—Accompanying Ships.—Seasickness and Homesickness.—Arrival at Cape Verd Islands.—An Agreement with Captain Sands, of the Ship Benjamin Tucker.—Whales raised.—Christmas Supper on board of the Citizen.—A Whale Scene.—"An ugly Customer."—A Whale Incident, copied from the Vineyard Gazette.—Arrival at Hilo.—Sandwich Islands.
The whale ship Citizen, of New Bedford, owned by J. Howland & Co., fitted for three or four years, and bound to the North Pacific on a whaling voyage, sailed from the port of New Bedford, October 29, 1851. She was commanded by Thomas Howes Norton, of Edgartown, Martha's Vineyard. Her officers were the following, namely: first mate, Lewis H. Roey, of New Bedford; second mate, John P. Fisher, of Edgartown; third mate, Walter Smith, of New Bedford; fourth mate, William Collins, of New Bedford. Four boat steerers, namely: Abram Osborn, Jr., and John W. Norton, of Edgartown, John Blackadore and James W. Wentworth, of New Bedford.
The following were nearly all the names of her crew: Charles T. Heath, William E. Smith, Christopher Simmons, George W. Borth, Darius Aping, William Nye, Manuel Jose, Jose Joahim, Charles C. Dyer, Charles Noyes, Edmund Clifford, George Long, Charles Adams, Bernard Mitchell, Nicholas Powers, William H. May, Alpheus Townshend, Barney R. Kehoe, Joseph E. Mears, James Dougherty, and Peter M. Cox. The whole number on board when she sailed was thirty-three persons. In addition to the above, five seamen were shipped at the Verd Islands, which made thirty-eight, all told.
As is generally the case, the majority of these were strangers, and perhaps had never seen each other's countenances until they appeared on the deck of the ship, henceforth to be their new home for months, and it may be for years.
Besides, in this number there were representatives from different and distant sections of the country, and not unfrequently an assortment of nations, and even races.
Here were gathered for the first time many a wandering youth, attracted to the seaboard by the spirit of romantic adventure, to see the world of waters, and to share in the excitement of new scenes. His wayward history, in breaking away from the wholesome restraints and watchcare of home, may be found written, perhaps, in many sorrowful hearts which he has left behind. Years may pass away before either parents or relatives shall hear again from the absent one, and it may be never. Such instances are not uncommon.
How much interest there is centred in a whale ship, as she is about to leave port! It is felt not only by those who embark their property and lives in her, but there are other attractions towards the ship. They are found in the desolateness which is felt in many home circles, in bidding adieu to husbands, sons, and brothers. When the anchor is weighed, and the sails are spread to the faithful breeze, sadness reigns in many households and in many hearts. The thoughts are not only painfully busy concerning present separations, but they bound forward to the future, and anticipate what may be the experience of a few years to come. Changes! one hardly dares think of them! Amid the perils and dangers of the deep, how long will the ship's company remain unbroken? Will the ship ever return, and reËnter her port again? Will those who have just released themselves from the embraces of friends, and wiped away the falling tear, and barred their hearts to the separation, will they ever return? or, if they should, will they ever see again those whom they are now leaving? These inquiries and reflections find expression only in painful emotions, sadness, and sorrow. Time will make changes, and leave its ineffaceable footprints with every passing year.
The land was lost sight of in the evening of the day upon which we sailed, with a strong south-west wind. We were accompanied out of the bay by two other outward bound whale ships—the Columbus, of Fairhaven, Captain Crowell, and the Hunter, of New Bedford, Captain Holt.
After the usual passage, with variable winds, and no particular incident of marked importance, except the ordinary and certain amount of seasickness on board, which generally attends the uninitiated in their first interviews with "old Neptune," Cape Verd Islands were made on the 4th of December. With seasickness, homesickness follows; and then it is that many of the inexperienced, having left good homes and quiet life, wish a thousand times that they had never "learned the trade." But all such wishes are now in vain. With a new life on shipboard and in the forecastle, romance passes away, and leaves in its place the stern outlines of a living reality. Seasickness, however, is only a temporary affair; in most cases, indeed, it soon subsides, and then spirits and hope revive with recruited and invigorated health.
We took our departure from the islands on the 6th, in company with the ship Benjamin Tucker, Captain Sands; strong breezes, north-east trades. The first whales were seen about lat. 30° S., lon. 31° 41´ W., distant about seven miles—light winds. We set signal for the Benjamin Tucker, four or five miles distant, to notify Captain Sands that whales were in sight—an agreement we made while sailing in company. Boats were lowered; the mate fastened to a whale, which brought the shoal to. The second mate was less successful; his boat was stoven by a whale, and his men were floating about upon scattered and broken pieces of the wreck. Other boats soon came up and rescued their companions. The ship now ran down to the boat which was fastened to the whale. The whale, however, was lost, in consequence of cutting the line in the act of lancing him. After a pursuit of an hour or more, the mate fastened to another whale, and finally secured it, though it proved to be of but little pecuniary value. At the same time the boats of the Benjamin Tucker captured a whale, but they could not boast of much superiority. It made them three barrels. Thus ended the first whaling scene on the voyage, and certainly not a very profitable day's work.
The Citizen was put on her course. We passed several ships—weather good. December 20, lat. 40° S., whales were raised again, but took no oil. Still in company with the Benjamin Tucker. On Christmas Eve, Captain Sands and his wife took tea on board of our ship, thus reviving remembrances of home and friends, though thousands of miles distant from our native port.
The next incident of more than ordinary interest was another whale scene, of sufficient excitement and peril to satisfy the most ardent and aspiring.
The Benjamin Tucker had luffed to, headed to the westward, with signal to the Citizen that whales were in sight. The ship Columbus was then in company. The three ships were in full pursuit of the monsters of the deep. The school was overtaken in course of an hour or two working to the leeward. At first, one of the boats was lowered from the Citizen, and then another, and another, until four boats were bounding over the waves, each seeking to be laid alongside of his victim, and join in the uncertain conflict. From the three ships there were twelve boats pressing forward with the utmost celerity to share in the encounter, and each emulous to bear off his prize. The fourth boat despatched from the Citizen fastened to a whale. He was shortly lanced, and spouted blood—a sure indication that he had received his death wound. In mortal agony, he plunged, and floundered, and mingled the warm current of his own life with the foaming waters around him. Conscious, apparently, of the authors of his sufferings, with rage and madness he at once attacked the boat, and with his ponderous jaws seized it, and in a moment bit it in two in the centre. Nor was there any time to be lost by the humble occupants of the boat. The rules of courtesy and ordinary politeness in entertaining a superior were for the time being laid entirely aside. Each seaman fled for his life—some from the stern, and others from the bow, while the cracking boards around and beneath them convinced them that the whale had every thing in his own way. Besides, the sensation was any thing but pleasant in expecting every moment to become fodder to the enraged leviathan of the deep. In quick succession those enormous jaws fell, accompanied with a deep, hollow moan or groan, which evinced intense pain, that sent a chill of terror to the stoutest hearts. They felt the feebleness of man when the monster arose in his fury and strength. A boat was soon sent to the rescue of their companions, who were swimming in every direction, to avoid contact with the enraged whale, which seemed bent on destroying every thing within his reach. He really asserted his original lordship in his own native element, and was determined to drive out all intruders. He therefore attacked the second boat, and would probably have ground it to atoms, had not a fortunate circumstance of two objects perhaps somewhat disconcerting him, and dividing his attention, turned him off from his purpose.
The captain of the Citizen, observing the affray from the beginning, was soon convinced that matters were taking rather a serious direction, and that not only the boats but the lives of his men were greatly imperilled. He therefore ordered the fifth boat to be instantly lowered, manned with "green hands," the command of which he himself assumed, and directed in pursuit of the whale. Five boats were now engaged in the contest, with the exception of the one stoven, and all the available crew and officers, including the captain, concentrated their efforts and energies in order to capture this "ugly customer." Just at the moment he was attacking or had already attacked the second boat, the captain's boat appeared on the ground, and from some cause best known to himself, the whale immediately left the former and assailed the latter. What the whale had already done, and what he appeared determined still to do, were by no means very flattering antecedents, and would very naturally impress the minds of "green hands," especially, that whaling, after all, was a reality, and not an imaginary affair or ordinary pastime.
On, therefore, the whale came to the captain's boat, ploughing the sea before him, jaws extended, with the fell purpose of destroying whatever he might chance to meet. As he approached near, the lance was thrust into his head and held in that position by the captain, and by this means he was kept at bay, while the boat was driven astern nearly half a mile. In this manner he was prevented from coming any nearer to the boat, the boat moving through the water as fast and as long as he pressed his head against the point of the lance. This was the only means of their defence. It was a most fortunate circumstance in a most trying situation. If the handle of the lance had broken, they would have been at the mercy of a desperate antagonist. The countenances of the boys were pallid with fear, and doubtless the very hair upon their heads stood erect. It was a struggle for life. It was death presented to them under one of the most frightful forms. They were, however, as singularly and as suddenly relieved as they were unexpectedly attacked. The whale caught sight of the ship, as was supposed, which was running down towards the boats, and suddenly started for the new and larger object of attack. This was observed by the captain, who immediately made signal to keep the ship off the wind, which would give her more headway, and thus, if possible, escape a concussion which appeared at first sight inevitable. The whale started on his new course towards the ship with the utmost velocity, with the intention of running into her. The consequences no one could predict; more than likely he would have either greatly disabled the ship, or even sunk her, had he struck her midships. To prevent such a catastrophe—the injury of the ship, and perhaps the ruin of the voyage—every thing now seemed to depend upon the direction of the ship and a favoring wind. Every eye was turned towards the ship; oars were resting over the gunwale of the boats, and each seaman instinctively fixed in his place, while anticipating a new encounter upon a larger scale, the results of which were fearfully problematical. A good and merciful Providence, however, whose traces are easily discernible in the affairs of men both upon the ocean and upon the land, opportunely interfered. The ship was making considerable headway. The whale started on a bee line for the ship, but when he came up with her, in consequence of her increased speed before the wind, he fell short some ten or twelve feet from the stern. The crisis was passed. On he sped his way, dragging half of the boat still attached to the lines connected with the irons that were in his body. His death struggle was long and violent. In about half an hour he went into his "flurry, and turned up." Colors were set for the boats to return to the ship; the dead whale was brought alongside, cut in, boiled out, and seventy-five barrels of sperm oil were stowed away.
We copy the following whale incident from the Vineyard Gazette of October 14, 1853. The editor says,— "We are indebted to Captain Thomas A. Norton, of this town, one of the early commanders of the whale ship Hector, of New Bedford, for the following interesting particulars relative to an attack upon and final capture of an ugly whale. Captain Norton was chief mate of the Hector at the time.
"'In October, 1832, when in lat. 12° S., lon. 80° W., the ship ninety days from port, we raised a whale. The joyful cry was given of "There she blows!" and every thing on board at once assumed an aspect of busy preparation for the capture. The boats were lowered, and chase commenced. When we got within about three ships' lengths of him, he turned and rushed furiously upon us. He struck us at the same moment we fastened to him. He stove the boat badly; but with the assistance of sails which were placed under her bottom, and constant bailing, she was kept above water. The captain, John O. Morse, came to our assistance. I told him he had better keep clear of the whale; but he said he had a very long lance, and wanted to try it upon the rascal. Captain Morse went up to the whale, when all at once he turned upon the boat, which he took in his mouth, and held it "right up on end," out of the water, and shook it all to pieces in a moment. The men were thrown in every direction, and Captain Morse fell from a height of at least thirty feet into the water. Not being satisfied with the total destruction of the boat, he set to work and "chewed up" the boat kegs and lantern kegs, and whatever fragments of the boat he could find floating on the water. At this stage of the "fight," I told Captain Morse that if he would give me the choice of the ship's company, I would try him again. It was desperate work, to all appearance, and up to this time the vicious fellow had had it all his own way. The captain was in favor of trying him from the ship, but finally consented for us to attack him again from a boat. With a picked crew, we again approached the whale, now lying perfectly still, apparently ready for another attack, as the event proved. Seeing our approach, he darted towards us with his mouth wide open, his ponderous jaws coming together every moment with tremendous energy. We gave the word to "stern all," which was obeyed in good earnest. As we passed the ship, I heard the captain exclaim, "There goes another boat!" She did go, to be sure, through the water with all speed, but fortunately not to destruction. The monster chased us in this way for half a mile or more, during most of which time his jaws were within six or eight inches of the head of the boat. Every time he brought them together, the concussion could be heard at the distance of at least a mile. I intended to jump overboard if he caught the boat. I told Mr. Mayhew, the third mate, who held the steering oar, that the whale would turn over soon to spout, and that then would be our time to kill him. After becoming exhausted, he turned over to spout, and at the same instant we stopped the boat, and buried our lances deep in "his life." One tremendous convulsion of his frame followed, and all was still. He never troubled us more. We towed him to the ship, tried him out, and took ninety barrels of sperm oil from him.
"'When we were cutting him in, we found two irons in his body, marked with the name of the ship Barclay, and belonging to the mate's boat. We afterwards learned that three months before, when the same whale was in lat. 5° S., lon. 105° W., he was attacked by the mate of the ship Barclay, who had a desperate struggle with him, in which he lost his life.'
"Captain Norton, at the time of the adventure with this whale, had 'seen some service,' but he freely confesses that he never before nor since (though he has had his buttons bitten off his shirt by a whale) has come in contact with such an ugly customer as 'the rogue whale,' as he was termed in sailor parlance. He seemed to possess the spirit of a demon, and looked as savage as a hungry hyena. Our readers may imagine the effect such an encounter would have upon a crew of 'green hands.' During the frightful chase of the boat by the whale, their faces were of a livid whiteness, and their hair stood erect. On their arrival at the first port, they all took to the mountains, and few, if any of them, have ever been seen since."
The Citizen was put on her course again, with strong breezes and fair wind. About five days after, we spoke with the Benjamin Tucker, but Captain Sands had taken no oil. In lat. 47° S. another whale was raised; three boats were lowered in pursuit, but before he could be reached by the irons, he turned flukes, and was seen no more. Lost sight of the Benjamin Tucker. We shaped our course for Statan Land. In lat. 48° S. we experienced a very heavy gale from the south-west, which continued with great severity for twenty-four hours. We spoke with the bark Oscar, Captain Dexter, bound round the cape.
Statan Land in sight, passed seventeen ships, all bound for the cape. The Citizen was eleven days in doubling the cape, and experienced very heavy weather. In lat. 54° S. we raised the first right whale, but, blowing hard, could not lower. Whales were in sight several days in succession, but we could not lower, on account of rugged weather. In lat. 47° S. a ship was discovered with her boats down in pursuit of whales; came up with her; lowered for right whales, and chased them for an hour or more, but took none. At this time we spoke with the ship Columbus again, with one of her boats fastened to a whale. She had one boat stoven.
Passed St. Felix Islands, on the coast of Chili, and sighted the Gallipagos. In crossing the equator, it was calm for twenty-seven days, and but little progress was made during that time. On the 20th of April, 1852, after a passage of more than five months from New Bedford, we entered the port of Hilo.
Hilo is a port on the Island of Hawaii, one of the cluster of islands in the North Pacific Ocean called Sandwich Islands. They were discovered by Captains Cook and King in 1778, who gave them their present name, in honor of the first lord of the admiralty. The group consists of ten islands, but all of them are not inhabited; they extend from lat. 18° 50´ to 22° 20´ N., and from lon. 154° 53´ to 160° 15´ W., lying about one third of the distance from the western coast of Mexico to the eastern coast of China. By the census of 1849, the population of seven of the islands is given as follows: Hawaii, 27,204; Oahu, 23,145; Maui, 18,671; Kauhai, 6,941; Molokai, 3,429; Nuhua, 723; Lanai, 523; amounting to 80,641.
Most of these islands are volcanic and mountainous. In several places the volcanoes are in activity. Some of the mountains are of great height, being estimated at fifteen thousand feet.
The climate is warm, but not unhealthy, the winter being marked only by the prevalence of heavy rains between December and March. A meteorological table gives as the greatest heat during the year, 88° of Fahrenheit; as the least, 61°. Some of these islands are distinguished for the cultivation of the yam, which affords quite a valuable supply for ships.
The situation of the Sandwich Islands renders them important to vessels navigating the Northern Pacific, and especially so to whalemen. The ports of Hilo, Lahaina, Honolulu, and a few others, are the resort of a large number of whale ships, for the purpose of obtaining recruits. They may be considered as a central point, where ships meet both in the fall and spring, and from whence all matters of intelligence are transmitted to San Francisco, and from the latter place to the Atlantic States.
Formerly all ship news and letters were brought from the islands to the Atlantic States by homeward bound ships around the Horn, which required for their passages from three and a half to five months. But now, in consequence of mail communications across the isthmus to San Francisco, and from thence to the islands, letters and other public intelligence from the last-named place reach us in six weeks or two months from date.
