University of Virginia Library

ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH SEAS.

INTRODUCTION.

In the summer of 1842, the author of this narrative, as a
sailor before the mast, visited the Marquesas Islands in an
American South Seaman. At the island of Nukuheva he left
his vessel, which afterward sailed without him. Wandering in
the interior, he came upon the valley of Typee, inhabited by
a primitive tribe of savages, from which valley a fellow-sailor
who accompanied him soon afterward effected his escape. The
author, however, was detained in an indulgent captivity for
about the space of four months; at the end of which period, he
escaped in a boat which visited the bay.

This boat belonged to a vessel in need of men, which had
recently touched at a neighboring harbor of the same island,
where the captain had been informed of the author's detention
in Typee. Desirous of adding to his crew, he sailed round
thither, and “hove to” off the mouth of the bay. As the Typees
were considered hostile, the boat, manned by “Taboo”
natives from the other harbor, was then sent in, with an interpreter
at their head, to procure the author's release. This was
finally accomplished, though not without peril to all concerned.
At the time of his escape, the author was suffering severely
from lameness.

The boat having gained the open sea, the ship appeared in
the distance. Here the present narrative opens.

1. CHAPTER I.

It was in the middle of a bright tropical afternoon that we
made good our escape from the bay. The vessel we sought
lay with her main-topsail aback about a league from the land,
and was the only object that broke the broad expanse of the
ocean.

On approaching, she turned out to be a small, slatternly looking
craft, her hull and spars a dingy black, rigging all slack and
bleached nearly white, and every thing denoting an ill state of
affairs aboard. The four boats hanging from her sides proclaimed
her a whaler. Leaning carelessly over the bulwarks
were the sailors, wild, haggard-looking fellows in Scotch caps
and faded blue frocks; some of them with cheeks of a mottled
bronze, to which sickness soon changes the rich berry-brown
of a seaman's complexion in the tropics.

On the quarter-deck was one whom I took for the chief mate.
He wore a broad-brimmed Panama hat, and his spy-glass was
leveled as we advanced.

When we came alongside, a low cry ran fore and aft the
deck, and every body gazed at us with inquiring eyes. And
well they might. To say nothing of the savage boat's crew,
panting with excitement, all gesture and vociferation, my own
appearance was calculated to excite curiosity. A robe of the
native cloth was thrown over my shoulders, my hair and beard
were uncut, and I betrayed other evidences of my recent adventure.
Immediately on gaining the deck, they beset me on

all sides with questions, the half of which I could not answer,
so incessantly were they put.

As an instance of the curious coincidences which often befall
the sailor, I must here mention, that two countenances before
me were familiar. One was that of an old man-of-war's-man,
whose acquaintance I had made in Rio de Janeiro, at which
place touched the ship in which I sailed from home. The
other was a young man, whom, four years previous, I had frequently
met in a sailor boarding-house in Liverpool. I remembered
parting with him at Prince's Dock Gates, in the
midst of a swarm of police-officers, truckmen, stevedores, beggars,
and the like. And here we were again:—years had rolled
by, many a league of ocean had been traversed, and we were
thrown together under circumstances which almost made me
doubt my own existence.

But a few moments passed ere I was sent for into the cabin
by the captain.

He was quite a young man, pale and slender, more like a
sickly counting-house clerk than a bluff sea-captain. Bidding
me be seated, he ordered the steward to hand me a glass of
Pisco.[1] In the state I was, this stimulus almost made me delirious;
so that of all I then went on to relate concerning my
residence on the island I can scarcely remember a word.
After this I was asked whether I desired to “ship;” of course I
said yes; that is, if he would allow me to enter for one cruise,
engaging to discharge me, if I so desired, at the next port. In
this way men are frequently shipped on board whalemen in
the South Seas. My stipulation was acceded to, and the ship's
articles handed me to sign.

The mate was now called below, and charged to make a “well
man” of me; not, let it be borne in mind, that the captain felt
any great compassion for me, he only desired to have the benefit
of my services as soon as possible.

Helping me on deck, the mate stretched me out on the windlass
and commenced examining my limb; and then doctoring
it after a fashion with something from the medicine-chest, rolled
it up in a piece of an old sail, making so big a bundle, that
with my feet resting on the windlass, I might have been taken
for a sailor with the gout. While this was going on, some one
removing my tappa cloak slipped on a blue frock in its place;
and another, actuated by the same desire to make a civilized
mortal of me, flourished about my head a great pair of sheepshears,
to the imminent jeopardy of both ears, and the certain
destruction of hair and beard.

The day was now drawing to a close, and, as the land faded
from my sight, I was all alive to the change in my condition.
But how far short of our expectations is oftentimes the fulfillment
of the most ardent hopes. Safe aboard of a ship—so long
my earnest prayer—with home and friends once more in prospect,
I nevertheless felt weighed down by a melancholy that
could not be shaken off. It was the thought of never more
seeing those, who, notwithstanding their desire to retain me
a captive, had, upon the whole, treated me so kindly. I was
leaving them forever.

So unforeseen and sudden had been my escape, so excited
had I been through it all, and so great the contrast between
the luxurious repose of the valley, and the wild noise and motion
of a ship at sea, that at times my recent adventures had all
the strangeness of a dream; and I could scarcely believe that
the same sun now setting over a waste of waters, had that very
morning risen above the mountains and peered in upon me as
I lay on my mat in Typee.

Going below into the forecastle just after dark, I was inducted
into a wretched “bunk” or sleeping-box built over another.
The rickety bottoms of both were spread with several
pieces of a blanket. A battered tin can was then handed me,
containing about half a pint of “tea”—so called by courtesy,
though whether the juice of such stalks as one finds floating
therein deserves that title, is a matter all ship-owners must settle
with their consciences. A cube of salt beef, on a hard round
biscuit by way of platter, was also handed up; and without
more ado, I made a meal, the salt flavor of which, after the
Nebuchadnezzar fare of the valley, was positively delicious.

While thus engaged, an old sailor on a chest just under me
was puffing out volumes of tobacco smoke. My supper finished,
he brushed the stem of his sooty pipe against the sleeve of
his frock, and politely waved it toward me. The attention was
sailor-like; as for the nicety of the thing, no man who has
lived in forecastles is at all fastidious; and so, after a few
vigorous whiffs to induce repose, I turned over and tried
my best to forget myself. But in vain. My crib, instead of
extending fore and aft, as it should have done, was placed
athwartships, that is, at right angles to the keel; and the
vessel going before the wind, rolled to such a degree, that
every time my heels went up and my head went down, I
thought I was on the point of turning a somerset. Beside this,
there were still more annoying causes of inquietude; and,
every once in a while, a splash of water came down the open
scuttle, and flung the spray in my face.

At last, after a sleepless night, broken twice by the merciless
call of the watch, a peep of daylight struggled into view from
above, and some one came below. It was my old friend with
the pipe.

“Here, shipmate,” said I, “help me out of this place, and let
me go on deck.”

“Halloa, who's that croaking?” was the rejoinder, as he
peered into the obscurity where I lay. “Ay, Typee, my king
of the cannibals, is it you! But I say, my lad, how's that spar
of your'n? the mate says it's in a devil of a way; and last night
set the steward to sharpening the handsaw: hope he won't
have the carving of ye.”

Long before daylight we arrived off the bay of Nukuheva,
and making short tacks until morning, we then ran in, and sent
a boat ashore with the natives who had brought me to the ship.
Upon its return, we made sail again, and stood off from the
land. There was a fine breeze; and, notwithstanding my bad
night's rest, the cool, fresh air of a morning at sea was so bracing,
that, as soon as I breathed it, my spirits rose at once.

Seated upon the windlass the greater portion of the day,
and chatting freely with the men, I learned the history of the
voyage thus far, and every thing respecting the ship and its
present condition.

These matters I will now throw together in the next chapter.

2. CHAPTER II.

First and foremost, I must give some account of the Julia
herself; or “Little Jule,” as the sailors familiarly styled her.

She was a small barque of a beautiful model, something more
than two hundred tons, Yankee-built and very old. Fitted for
a privateer out of a New England port during the war of
1812, she had been captured at sea by a British cruiser, and,
after seeing all sorts of service, was at last employed as a government
packet in the Australian seas. Being condemned,
however, about two years previous, she was purchased at auction
by a house in Sydney, who, after some slight repairs, dispatched
her on the present voyage.

Notwithstanding the repairs, she was still in a miserable
plight. The lower masts were said to be unsound; the standing
rigging was much worn; and, in some places, even the
bulwarks were quite rotten. Still, she was tolerably tight, and
but little more than the ordinary pumping of a morning served
to keep her free.

But all this had nothing to do with her sailing; at that, brave
Little Jule, plump Little Jule, was a witch. Blow high, or
blow low, she was always ready for the breeze; and when she
dashed the waves from her prow, and pranced, and pawed the
sea, you never thought of her patched sails and blistered hull.
How the fleet creature would fly before the wind! rolling, now
and then, to be sure, but in very playfulness. Sailing to windward,
no gale could bow her over: with spars erect, she looked
right up into the wind's eye, and so she went.

But after all, Little Jule was not to be confided in. Lively
enough, and playful she was, but on that very account the
more to be distrusted. Who knew, but that like some vivacious
old mortal all at once sinking into a decline, she might,
some dark night, spring a leak and carry us all to the bottom.
However, she played us no such ugly trick, and therefore, I
wrong Little Jule in supposing it.

She had a free, roving commission. According to her
papers she might go whither she pleased—whaling, sealing,
or any thing else. Sperm whaling, however, was what she
relied upon; though, as yet, only two fish had been brought
alongside.

The day they sailed out of Sydney Heads, the ship's company,
all told, numbered some thirty-two souls; now, they
mustered about twenty; the rest had deserted. Even the
three junior mates who had headed the whale boats were
gone; and of the four harpooners, only one was left, a wild
New Zealander, or “Mowree,” as his countrymen are more
commonly called in the Pacific. But this was not all. More
than half the seamen remaining were more or less unwell from
a long sojourn in a dissipated port; some of them wholly unfit
for duty, one or two dangerously ill, and the rest managing to
stand their watch though they could do but little.

The captain was a young cockney, who, a few years before,
had emigrated to Australia, and, by some favoritism or other,
had procured the command of the vessel, though in no wise competent.
He was essentially a landsman, and though a man of education,
no more meant for the sea than a hair-dresser. Hence
every body made fun of him. They called him “The Cabin
Boy,” “Paper Jack,” and half a dozen other undignified names.
In truth, the men made no secret of the derision in which
they held him; and as for the slender gentleman himself, he
knew it all very well, and bore himself with becoming meekness.

Holding as little intercourse with them as possible, he
left every thing to the chief mate, who, as the story went,
had been given his captain in charge. Yet, despite his apparent
unobtrusiveness, the silent captain had more to do with
the men than they thought. In short, although one of your
sheepish-looking fellows, he had a sort of still, timid cunning,
which no one would have suspected, and which, for that very
reason, was all the more active. So the bluff mate, who
always thought he did what he pleased, was occasionally made
a tool of; and some obnoxious measures which he carried out,
in spite of all growlings, were little thought to originate with
the dapper little fellow in nankeen jacket and white canvas
pumps. But, to all appearance, at least, the mate had every
thing his own way; indeed, in most things this was actually
the case; and it was quite plain that the captain stood in awe
of him.

So far as courage, seamanship, and a natural aptitude for
keeping riotous spirits in subjection were concerned, no man
was better qualified for his vocation than John Jermin. He
was the very beau-ideal of the efficient race of short, thickset
men. His hair curled in little rings of iron gray all
over his round, bullet head. As for his countenance, it was
strongly marked, deeply pitted with the small-pox. For the
rest, there was a fierce little squint out of one eye; the nose
had a rakish twist to one side; while his large mouth, and
great white teeth, looked absolutely sharkish when he laughed.
In a word, no one, after getting a fair look at him, would
ever think of improving the shape of his nose, wanting in
symmetry if it was. Notwithstanding his pugnacious looks,
however, Jermin had a heart as big as a bullock's; that you
saw at a glance.

Such was our mate; but he had one failing: he abhorred all
weak infusions, and cleaved manfully to strong drink. At all

times he was more or less under the influence of it. Taken in
moderate quantities, I believe, in my soul, it did a man like
him good; brightened his eyes, swept the cobwebs out of his
brain, and regulated his pulse. But the worst of it was, that
sometimes he drank too much, and a more obstreperous fellow
than Jermin in his cups, you seldom came across. He was
always for having a fight; but the very men he flogged loved
him as a brother, for he had such an irresistibly good-natured
way of knocking them down, that no one could find it in his
heart to bear malice against him. So much for stout little
Jermin.

All English whalemen are bound by law to carry a physician,
who, of course, is rated a gentleman, and lives in the cabin,
with nothing but his professional duties to attend to; but incidentally
he drinks “flip” and plays cards with the captain.
There was such a worthy aboard of the Julia; but, curious to
tell, he lived in the forecastle with the men. And this was the
way it happened.

In the early part of the voyage the doctor and the captain
lived together as pleasantly as could be. To say nothing of
many a can they drank over the cabin transom, both of them had
read books, and one of them had traveled; so their stories never
flagged. But once on a time they got into a dispute about politics,
and the doctor, moreover, getting into a rage, drove home an
argument with his fist, and left the captain on the floor literally
silenced. This was carrying it with a high hand; so he was
shut up in his state-room for ten days, and left to meditate on
bread and water, and the impropriety of flying into a passion.
Smarting under his disgrace, he undertook, a short time after
his liberation, to leave the vessel clandestinely at one of the
islands, but was brought back ignominiously, and again shut
up. Being set at large for the second time, he vowed he would
not live any longer with the captain, and went forward with

his chests among the sailors, where he was received with open
arms, as a good fellow and an injured man.

I must give some further account of him, for he figures largely
in the narrative. His early history, like that of many other heroes,
was enveloped in the profoundest obscurity; though he
threw out hints of a patrimonial estate, a nabob uncle, and an
unfortunate affair which sent him a-roving. All that was known,
however, was this. He had gone out to Sydney as assistant-surgeon
of an emigrant ship. On his arrival there, he went back
into the country, and after a few months' wanderings, returned
to Sydney penniless, and entered as doctor aboard of the Julia.

His personal appearance was remarkable. He was over six
feet high—a tower of bones, with a complexion absolutely colorless,
fair hair, and a light, unscrupulous gray eye, twinkling
occasionally with the very devil of mischief. Among the crew,
he went by the name of the Long Doctor, or, more frequently
still, Doctor Long Ghost. And from whatever high estate
Doctor Long Ghost might have fallen, he had certainly at some
time or other spent money, drunk Burgundy, and associated
with gentlemen.

As for his learning, he quoted Virgil, and talked of Hobbes
of Malmsbury, beside repeating poetry by the canto, especially
Hudibras. He was, moreover, a man who had seen the world.
In the easiest way imaginable, he could refer to an amour he
had in Palermo, his lion hunting before breakfast among the
Caffres, and the quality of the coffee to be drunk in Muscat;
and about these places, and a hundred others, he had more anecdotes
than I can tell of. Then such mellow old songs as he sang,
in a voice so round and racy, the real juice of sound. How
such notes came forth from his lank body was a constant marvel.

Upon the whole, Long Ghost was as entertaining a companion
as one could wish; and to me in the Julia, an absolute
godsend.

3. CHAPTER III.

Owing to the absence of any thing like regular discipline,
the vessel was in a state of the greatest uproar. The captain,
having for some time past been more or less confined to the
cabin from sickness, was seldom seen. The mate, however,
was as hearty as a young lion, and ran about the decks making
himself heard at all hours. Bembo, the New Zealand harpooner,
held little intercourse with any body but the mate, who
could talk to him freely in his own lingo. Part of his time he
spent out on the bowsprit, fishing for albicores with a bone
hook; and occasionally he waked all hands up of a dark
night dancing some cannibal fandango all by himself on the
forecastle. But, upon the whole, he was remarkably quiet,
though something in his eye showed he was far from being
harmless.

Doctor Long Ghost, having sent in a written resignation as
the ship's doctor, gave himself out as a passenger for Sydney,
and took the world quite easy. As for the crew, those who
were sick seemed marvelously contented for men in their condition;
and the rest, not displeased with the general license,
gave themselves little thought of the morrow.

The Julia's provisions were very poor. When opened, the
barrels of pork looked as if preserved in iron rust, and diffused
an odor like a stale ragout. The beef was worse yet; a mahogany-colored
fibrous substance, so tough and tasteless, that I

almost believed the cook's story of a horse's hoof with the shoe
on having been fished up out of the pickle of one of the casks.
Nor was the biscuit much better; nearly all of it was broken
into hard, little gunflints, honey-combed through and through,
as if the worms usually infesting this article in long tropical
voyages, had, in boring after nutriment, come out at the antipodes
without finding any thing.

Of what sailors call “small stores,” we had but little. “Tea,”
however, we had in abundance; though, I dare say, the Hong
merchants never had the shipping of it. Beside this, every
other day we had what English seamen call “shot soup”—
great round peas, polishing themselves like pebbles by rolling
about in tepid water.

It was afterward told me, that all our provisions had been
purchased by the owners at an auction sale of condemned navy
stores in Sydney.

But notwithstanding the wateriness of the first course of
soup, and the saline flavor of the beef and pork, a sailor
might have made a satisfactory meal aboard of the Julia had
there been any side dishes—a potato or two, a yam, or a
plantain. But there was nothing of the kind. Still, there was
something else, which, in the estimation of the men, made
up for all deficiencies; and that was the regular allowance of
Pisco.

It may seem strange, that in such a state of affairs the captain
should be willing to keep the sea with his ship. But the
truth was, that by lying in harbor, he ran the risk of losing
the remainder of his men by desertion; and as it was, he still
feared that, in some outlandish bay or other, he might one day
find his anchor down, and no crew to weigh it.

With judicious officers the most unruly seamen can at sea be
kept in some sort of subjection; but once get them within a cable's
length of the land, and it is hard restraining them. It is

for this reason, that many South Sea whalemen do not come to
an anchor for eighteen or twenty months on a stretch. When
fresh provisions are needed, they run for the nearest land—
heave to eight or ten miles off, and send a boat ashore to
trade. The crews manning vessels like these are for the
most part villains of all nations and dyes; picked up in the lawless
ports of the Spanish Main, and among the savages of the
islands. Like galley-slaves, they are only to be governed by
scourges and chains. Their officers go among them with dirk
and pistol—concealed, but ready at a grasp.

Not a few of our own crew were men of this stamp; but,
riotous at times as they were, the bluff, drunken energies of
Jermin were just the thing to hold them in some sort of noisy
subjection. Upon an emergency, lie flew in among them,
showering his kicks and cuffs right and left, and "creating a
sensation" in every direction. And as hinted before, they
bore this knock-down authority with great good-humor. A
sober, discreet, dignified officer could have done nothing with
them; such a set would have thrown him and his dignity overboard.

Matters being thus, there was nothing for the ship but to
keep the sea. Nor was the captain without hope that the invalid
portion of his crew, as well as himself, would soon recover;
and then there was no telling what luck in the fishery might
yet be in store for us. At any rate, at the time of my coming
aboard, the report was, that Captain Guy was resolved upon
retrieving the past, and filling the vessel with oil in the shortest
space possible.

With this intention, we were now shaping our course for
Hytyhoo, a village on the island of St. Christina—one of the
Marquesas, and so named by Mendanna—for the purpose of
obtaining eight seamen, who, some weeks before, had stepped
ashore there from the Julia. It was supposed that, by this

time, they must have recreated themselves sufficiently, and
would be glad to return to their duty.

So to Hytyhoo, with all our canvas spread, and coquetting
with the warm, breezy Trades we bowled along; gliding up
and down the long, slow swells, the bonettas and albicores frolicking
round us.

4. CHAPTER IV.

I had scarcely been aboard of the ship twenty-four hours,
when a circumstance occurred, which, although noways picturesque,
is so significant of the state of affairs, that I can not forbear
relating it.

In the first place, however, it must be known, that among the
crew was a man so excessively ugly, that he went by the ironical
appellation of “Beauty.” He was the ship's carpenter;
and for that reason was sometimes known by his nautical cognomen
of “Chips.” There was no absolute deformity about
the man; he was symmetrically ugly. But ill favored as he
was in person, Beauty was none the less ugly in temper; but
no one could blame him; his countenance had soured his heart.
Now Jermin and Beauty were always at sword's points. The
truth was, the latter was the only man in the ship whom the
mate had never decidedly got the better of; and hence the
grudge he bore him. As for Beauty, he prided himself upon
talking up to the mate, as we shall soon see.

Toward evening there was something to be done on deck
and the carpenter who belonged to the watch was missing
“Where's that skulk, Chips?” shouted Jermin down the fore
castle scuttle.

“Taking his ease, d'ye see, down here on a chest, if you want
to know,” replied that worthy himself, quietly withdrawing his
pipe from his mouth. This insolence flung the fiery little mate
into a mighty rage; but Beauty said nothing, puffing away

with all the tranquillity imaginable. Here it must be remembered
that, never mind what may be the provocation, no prudent
officer ever dreams of entering a ship's forecastle on a
hostile visit. If he wants to see any body who happens to be
there, and refuses to come up, why he must wait patiently
until the sailor is willing. The reason is this. The place is
very dark; and nothing is easier than to knock one descending
on the head, before he knows where he is, and a very long
while before he ever finds out who did it.

Nobody knew this better than Jermin, and so he contented
himself with looking down the scuttle and storming. At last
Beauty made some cool observation which set him half wild.

“Tumble on deck,” he then bellowed—“come, up with you,
or I'll jump down and make you.” The carpenter begged him
to go about it at once.

No sooner said than done: prudence forgotten, Jermin was
there; and by a sort of instinct, had his man by the throat before
he could well see him. One of the men now made a rush
at him, but the rest dragged him off, protesting that they should
have fair play.

“Now, come on deck,” shouted the mate, struggling like a
good fellow to hold the carpenter fast.

“Take me there,” was the dogged answer, and Beauty wriggled
about in the nervous grasp of the other like a couple of
yards of boa-constrictor.

His assailant now undertook to make him up into a compact
bundle, the more easily to transport him. While thus occupied,
Beauty got his arms loose, and threw him over backward.
But Jermin quickly recovered himself, when for a time they
had it every way, dragging each other about, bumping their
heads against the projecting beams, and returning each other's
blows the first favorable opportunity that offered. Unfortunately,
Jermin at last slipped and fell; his foe seating himself on

his chest, and keeping him down. Now this was one of those
situations in which the voice of counsel, or reproof, comes with
peculiar unction. Nor did Beauty let the opportunity slip.
But the mate said nothing in reply, only foaming at the mouth
and struggling to rise.

Just then a thin tremor of a voice was heard from above.
It was the captain; who, happening to ascend to the quarter-deck
at the commencement of the scuffle, would gladly have returned
to the cabin, but was prevented by the fear of ridicule. As the
din increased, and it became evident that his officer was in serious
trouble, he thought it would never do to stand leaning
over the bulwarks, so he made his appearance on the forecastle,
resolved, as his best policy, to treat the matter lightly.

“Why, why,” he began, speaking pettishly, and very fast,
“what's all this about?—Mr. Jermin, Mr. Jermin—carpenter,
carpenter; what are you doing down there? Come on deck;
come on deck.”

Whereupon Doctor Long Ghost cries out in a squeak, “Ah!
Miss Guy, is that you? Now, my dear, go right home, or
you'll get hurt.”

“Pooh, pooh! you, sir, whoever you are, I was not speaking
to you; none of your nonsense. Mr. Jermin, I was talking
to you; have the kindness to come on deck, sir; I want to
see you.”

“And how, in the devil's name, am I to get there?” cried
the mate, furiously. “Jump down here, Captain Guy, and
show yourself a man. Let me up, you Chips! unhand me, I
say! Oh! I'll pay you for this, some day! Come on, Captain
Guy!”

At this appeal, the poor man was seized with a perfect
spasm of fidgets. “Pooh, pooh, carpenter; have done with
your nonsense! Let him up, sir; let him up! Do you hear?
Let Mr. Jermin come on deck!”

“Go along with you, Paper Jack,” replied Beauty; “this
quarrel's between the mate and me; so go aft, where you
belong!”

As the captain once more dipped his head down the scuttle
to make answer, from an unseen hand, he received, full in the
face, the contents of a tin can of soaked biscuit and tealeaves.
The doctor was not far off just then. Without waiting
for any thing more, the discomfited gentleman, with both
hands to his streaming face, retreated to the quarter-deck.

A few moments more, and Jermin, forced to a compromise,
followed after, in his torn frock and scarred face, looking for
all the world as if he had just disentangled himself from some
intricate piece of machinery. For about half an hour both
remained in the cabin, where the mate's rough tones were
heard high above the low, smooth voice of the captain.

Of all his conflicts with the men, this was the first in which
Jermin had been worsted; and he was proportionably enraged.
Upon going below — as the steward afterward told us — he
bluntly informed Guy that, for the future, he might look out
for his ship himself; for his part, he was done with her, if that
was the way he allowed his officers to be treated. After many
high words, the captain finally assured him, that the first fitting
opportunity the carpenter should be cordially flogged; though,
as matters stood, the experiment would be a hazardous one.
Upon this Jermin reluctantly consented to drop the matter for
the present; and he soon drowned all thoughts of it in a can
of flip, which Guy had previously instructed the steward to
prepare, as a sop to allay his wrath.

Nothing more ever came of this.

5. CHAPTER V.

Less than forty-eight hours after leaving Nukuheva, the blue,
looming island of St. Christina greeted us from afar. Drawing
near the shore, the grim, black spars and waspish hull of a
small man-of-war craft crept into view; the masts and yards
lined distinctly against the sky. She was riding to her anchor
in the bay, and proved to be a French corvette.

This pleased our captain exceedingly, and, coming on deck,
he examined her from the mizzen rigging with his glass. His
original intention was not to let go an anchor; but, counting
upon the assistance of the corvette in case of any difficulty, he
now changed his mind, and anchored alongside of her. As
soon as a boat could be lowered, he then went off to pay his
respects to the commander, and, moreover, as we supposed, to
concert measures for the apprehension of the runaways.

Returning in the course of twenty minutes, he brought along
with him two officers in undress and whiskers, and three or four
drunken obstreperous old chiefs; one with his legs thrust into
the armholes of a scarlet vest, another with a pair of spurs on
his heels, and a third in a cocked hat and feather. In addition
to these articles, they merely wore the ordinary costume of
their race—a slip of native cloth about the loins. Indecorous
as their behavior was, these worthies turned out to be a deputation
from the reverend the clergy of the island; and the object
of their visit was to put our ship under a rigorous “Taboo,”
to prevent the disorderly scenes and facilities for desertion

which would ensue, were the natives—men and women—allowed
to come off to us freely.

There was little ceremony about the matter. The priests
went aside for a moment, laid their shaven old crowns together,
and went over a little mummery. Whereupon, their leader
tore a long strip from his girdle of white tappa, and handed it
to one of the French officers, who, after explaining what was
to be done, gave it to Jermin. The mate at once went out to
the end of the flying jib boom, and fastened there the mystic
symbol of the ban. This put to flight a party of girls who had
been observed swimming toward us. Tossing their arms about,
and splashing the water like porpoises, with loud cries of
“taboo! taboo!” they turned about and made for the shore.

The night of our arrival, the mate and the Mowree were to
stand “watch and watch,” relieving each other every four hours;
the crew, as is sometimes customary when lying at an anchor,
being allowed to remain all night below. A distrust of the men,
however, was, in the present instance, the principal reason for
this proceeding. Indeed, it was all but certain, that some kind
of attempt would be made at desertion; and, therefore, when
Jermin's first watch came on at eight bells (midnight) — by
which time all was quiet — he mounted to the deck with a
flash of spirits in one hand, and the other in readiness to assail
the first countenance that showed itself above the forecastle
scuttle.

Thus prepared, he doubtless meant to stay awake; but for
all that, he before long fell asleep; and slept with such hearty
good-will too, that the men who left us that night might have
been waked up by his snoring. Certain it was, the mate
snored most strangely; and no wonder, with that crooked
bugle of his. When he came to himself it was just dawn, but
quite light enough to show two boats gone from the side. In
an instant he knew what had happened.

Dragging the Mowree out of an old sail where he was napping,
he ordered him to clear away another boat, and then
darted into the cabin to tell the captain the news. Springing
on deck again, he dove down into the forecastle for a couple
of oarsmen, but hardly got there before there was a cry, and a
loud splash heard over the side. It was the Mowree and the
boat—into which he had just leaped to get ready for lowering
—rolling over and over in the water.

The boat having at nightfall been hoisted up to its place
over the starboard quarter, some one had so cut the tackles
which held it there, that a moderate strain would at once part
them. Bembo's weight had answered the purpose, showing
that the deserters must have ascertained his specific gravity to a
fibre of hemp. There was another boat remaining; but it was
as well to examine it before attempting to lower. And it was
well they did; for there was a hole in the bottom large enough
to drop a barrel through: she had been scuttled most ruthlessly.

Jermin was frantic. Dashing his hat upon deck, he was
about to plunge overboard and swim to the corvette for a
cutter, when Captain Guy made his appearance and begged
him to stay where he was. By this time the officer of the
deck aboard the Frenchman had noticed our movements, and
hailed to know what had happened. Guy informed him
through his trumpet, and men to go in pursuit were instantly
promised. There was a whistling of a boatswain's pipe, an
order or two, and then a large cutter pulled out from the man-of-war's
stern, and in half a dozen strokes was alongside.
The mate leaped into her, and they pulled rapidly ashore.

Another cutter, carrying an armed crew, soon followed.

In an hour's time the first returned, towing the two whale
boats, which had been found turned up like tortoises on the
beach.

Noon came, and nothing more was heard from the deserters.
Meanwhile Doctor Long Ghost and myself lounged about, cultivating
an acquaintance, and gazing upon the shore scenery.
The bay was as calm as death; the sun high and hot; and
occasionally a still gliding canoe stole out from behind the
headlands, and shot across the water.

And all the morning long our sick men limped about the
deck, casting wistful glances inland, where the palm-trees
waved and beckoned them into their reviving shades. Poor
invalid rascals! How conducive to the restoration of their
shattered health would have been those delicious groves! But
hard-hearted Jermin assured them, with an oath, that foot of
theirs should never touch the beach.

Toward sunset a crowd was seen coming down to the water.
In advance of all were the fugitives—bareheaded—their frocks
and trowsers hanging in tatters, every face covered with blood
and dust, and their arms pinioned behind them with green thongs.
Following them up, was a shouting rabble of islanders, pricking
them with the points of their long spears, the party from the
corvette menacing them in flank with their naked cutlasses.

The bonus of a musket to the King of the Bay, and the
promise of a tumbler full of powder for every man caught, had
set the whole population on their track; and so successful was
the hunt, that not only were that morning's deserters brought
back, but five of those left behind on a former visit. The
natives, however, were the mere hounds of the chase, raising
the game in their coverts, but leaving the securing of it to the
Frenchmen. Here, as elsewhere, the islanders have no idea
of taking part in such a scuffle as ensues upon the capture of a
party of desperate seamen.

The runaways were at once brought aboard, and, though
they looked rather sulky, soon came round, and treated the
whole affair as a frolicsome adventure.

6. CHAPTER VI.

Fearful of spending another night in Hytyhoo, Captain
Guy caused the ship to be got under way shortly after dark.

The next morning, when all supposed that we were fairly
embarked for a long cruise, our course was suddenly altered for
La Dominica, or Hivarhoo, an island just north of the one we
had quitted. The object of this, as we learned, was to procure,
if possible, several English sailors, who, according to the commander
of the corvette, had recently gone ashore there from an
American whaler and were desirous of shipping aboard of one
of their own country vessels.

We made the land in the afternoon, coming abreast of a
shady glen opening from a deep bay, and winding by green
defiles far out of sight. “Hands by the weather-main-brace!”
roared the mate, jumping up on the bulwarks; and in a moment
the prancing Julia, suddenly arrested in her course,
bridled her head like a steed reined in, while the foam flaked
under her bows.

This was the place where we expected to obtain the men; so
a boat was at once got in readiness to go ashore. Now it was
necessary to provide a picked crew—men the least likely to
abscond. After considerable deliberation on the part of the
captain and mate, four of the seamen were pitched upon as the
most trustworthy; or rather they were selected from a choice
assortment of suspicious characters as being of an inferior order
of rascality.

Armed with cutlasses all round—the natives were said to be
an ugly set—they were followed over the side by the invalid
captain, who, on this occasion, it seems, was determined to signalize
himself. Accordingly, in addition to his cutlass, he wore
an old boarding belt, in which was thrust a brace of pistols.
They at once shoved off.

My friend Long Ghost had, among other things which looked
somewhat strange in a ship's forecastle, a capital spy-glass, and
on the present occasion we had it in use.

When the boat neared the head of the inlet, though invisible
to the naked eye, it was plainly revealed by the glass; looking
no bigger than an egg-shell, and the men diminished to pigmies.

At last, borne on what seemed a long flake of foam the tiny
craft shot up the beach amid a shower of sparkles. Not a soul
was there. Leaving one of their number by the water, the
rest of the pigmies stepped ashore, looking about them very
circumspectly, pausing now and then hand to ear, and peering
under a dense grove which swept down within a few paces of
the sea. No one came, and to all appearances every thing was
as still as the grave. Presently, he with the pistols, followed
by the rest flourishing their bodkins, entered the wood and
were soon lost to view. They did not stay long; probably
anticipating some inhospitable ambush were they to stray any
distance up the glen.

In a few moments they embarked again, and were soon riding
pertly over the waves of the bay. All of a sudden the captain
started to his feet—the boat spun round, and again made for
the shore. Some twenty or thirty natives armed with spears
which through the glass looked like reeds, had just come out
of the grove, and were apparently shouting to the strangers not
to be in such a hurry, but return and be sociable. But they
were somewhat distrusted, for the boat paused about its length

from the beach, when the captain standing up in its head delivered
an address in pantomime, the object of which seemed
to be, that the islanders should draw near. One of them
stepped forward and made answer, seemingly again urging the
strangers not to be diffident, but beach their boat. The captain
declined, tossing his arms about in another pantomime. In the
end he said something which made them shake their spears;
whereupon he fired a pistol among them, which set the whole
party running; while one poor little fellow, dropping his spear
and clapping his hand behind him, limped away in a manner
which almost made me itch to get a shot at his assailant.

Wanton acts of cruelty like this are not unusual on the part
of sea captains landing at islands comparatively unknown.
Even at the Pomotu group, but a day's sail from Tahiti, the
islanders coming down to the shore have several times been
fired at by trading schooners passing through their narrow
channels; and this too as a mere amusement on the part of the
ruffians.

Indeed, it is almost incredible, the light in which many sailors
regard these naked heathens. They hardly consider them human.
But it is a curious fact, that the more ignorant and
degraded men are, the more contemptuously they look upon
those whom they deem their inferiors.

All powers of persuasion being thus lost upon these foolish
savages, and no hope left of holding further intercourse, the
boat returned to the ship.

7. CHAPTER VII.

On the other side of the island was the large and populous
bay of Hannamanoo, where the men sought might yet be found.
But as the sun was setting by the time the boat came alongside,
we got our off-shore tacks aboard and stood away for an
offing. About daybreak we wore, and ran in, and by the time
the sun was well up, entered the long, narrow channel dividing
the islands of La Dominica and St. Christina.

On one hand was a range of steep green bluffs hundreds of
feet high, the white huts of the natives here and there nestling
like birdsnests in deep clefts gushing with verdure. Across
the water, the land rolled away in bright hillsides, so warm
and undulating, that they seemed almost to palpitate in the sun.
On we swept, past bluff and grove, wooded glen and valley,
and dark ravines lighted up far inland with wild falls of water.
A fresh land-breeze filled our sails, the embayed waters were
gentle as a lake, and every blue wave broke with a tinkle
against our coppered prow.

On gaining the end of the channel we rounded a point, and
came full upon the bay of Hannamanoo. This is the only harbor
of any note about the island, though as far as a safe anchorage
is concerned it hardly deserves the title.

Before we held any communication with the shore, an incident
occurred which may convey some further idea of the character
of our crew.

Having approached as near the land as we could prudently,

our headway was stopped, and we awaited the arrival of a
canoe which was coming out of the bay. All at once we got
into a strong current, which swept us rapidly toward a rocky
promontory forming one side of the harbor. The wind had
died away; so two boats were at once lowered for the purpose
of pulling the ship's head round. Before this could be done,
the eddies were whirling upon all sides, and the rock so near,
that it seemed as if one might leap upon it from the mast-head.
Notwithstanding the speechless fright of the captain, and the
hoarse shouts of the unappalled Jermin, the men handled the
ropes as deliberately as possible, some of them chuckling at the
prospect of going ashore, and others so eager for the vessel to
strike, that they could hardly contain themselves. Unexpectedly
a countercurrent befriended us, and assisted by the boats
we were soon out of danger.

What a disappointment for our crew! All their little plans
for swimming ashore from the wreck, and having a fine time of
it for the rest of their days, thus cruelly nipt in the bud.

Soon after, the canoe came alongside. In it were eight or
ten natives, comely, vivacious-looking youths, all gesture and
exclamation; the red feathers in their headbands perpetually
nodding. With them also came a stranger, a renegado from
Christendom and humanity—a white man, in the South Sea
girdle, and tattooed in the face. A broad blue band stretched
across his face from ear to ear, and on his forehead was
the taper figure of a blue shark, nothing but fins from head to
tail.

Some of us gazed upon this man with a feeling akin to horror,
no ways abated when informed that he had voluntarily
submitted to this embellishment of his countenance. What an
impress! Far worse than Cain's—his was perhaps a wrinkle,
or a freckle, which some of our modern cosmetics might have
effaced; but the blue shark was a mark indelible, which all the

waters of Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, could never
wash out. He was an Englishman, Lem Hardy he called himself,
who had deserted from a trading brig touching at the island
for wood and water some ten years previous. He had gone
ashore as a sovereign power, armed with a musket and a bag
of ammunition, and ready, if need were, to prosecute war on
his own account. The country was divided by the hostile
kings of several large valleys. With one of them, from whom
he first received overtures, he formed an alliance, and became
what he now was, the military leader of the tribe, and war-god
of the entire island.

His campaigns beat Napoleon's. In one night-attack, his
invincible musket, backed by the light infantry of spears and
javelins, vanquished two clans, and the next morning brought
all the others at the feet of his royal ally.

Nor was the rise of his domestic fortunes at all behind the
Corsican's: three days after landing, the exquisitely tattooed
hand of a princess was his; receiving along with the damsel as
her portion, one thousand fathoms of fine tappa, fifty double-braided
mats of split grass, four hundred hogs, ten houses in
different parts of her native valley, and the sacred protection of
an express edict of the Taboo, declaring his person inviolable
forever.

Now, this man was settled for life, perfectly satisfied with his
circumstances, and feeling no desire to return to his friends.
“Friends,” indeed, he had none. He told me his history.
Thrown upon the world a foundling, his paternal origin was as
much a mystery to him as the genealogy of Odin; and, scorned
by every body, he fled the parish workhouse when a boy,
and lanched upon the sea. He had followed it for several
years, a dog before the mast, and now he had thrown it up
forever.

And for the most part, it is just this sort of men—so many

of whom are found among sailors—uncared for by a single
soul, without ties, reckless, and impatient of the restraints
of civilization, who are occasionally found quite at home
upon the savage islands of the Pacific. And, glancing at
their hard lot in their own country, what marvel at their
choice?

According to the renegado, there was no other white man on
the island; and as the captain could have no reason to suppose
that Hardy intended to deceive us, he concluded that the
Frenchmen were in some way or other mistaken in what they
had told us. However, when our errand was made known to the
rest of our visitors, one of them, a fine, stalwart fellow, his face
all eyes and expression, volunteered for a cruise. All the wages
he asked, was a red shirt, a pair of trowsers, and a hat,
which were to be put on there and then; beside a plug of
tobacco and a pipe. The bargain was struck directly; but
Wymontoo afterward came in with a codicil, to the effect that
a friend of his, who had come along with him, should be given
ten whole sea-biscuits, without crack or flaw, twenty perfectly
new and symmetrically straight nails, and one jackknife. This
being agreed to, the articles were at once handed over, the
native receiving them with great avidity, and in the absence of
clothing, using his mouth as a pocket to put the nails in. Two
of them, however, were first made to take the place of a pair
of ear-ornaments, curiously fashioned out of bits of whitened
wood.

It now began breezing strongly from seaward, and no time
was to be lost in getting away from the land; so after an affecting
rubbing of noses between our new shipmate and his countrymen,
we sailed away with him.

To our surprise, the farewell shouts from the canoe, as we
dashed along under bellied royals, were heard unmoved by
our islander; but it was not long thus. That very evening,

when the dark blue of his native hills sunk in the horizon, the
poor savage leaned over the bulwarks, dropped his head upon
his chest, and gave way to irrepressible emotions. The ship
was plunging hard, and Wymontoo, sad to tell, in addition to
his other pangs, was terribly sea-sick.

8. CHAPTER VIII.

For a while leaving Little Jule to sail away by herself, I will
here put down some curious information obtained from Hardy.

The renegado had lived so long on the island, that its customs
were quite familiar; and I much lamented that, from the shortness
of our stay, he could not tell us more than he did.

From the little intelligence gathered, however, I learned to
my surprise that, in some things, the people of Hivarhoo, though
of the same group of islands, differed considerably from my
tropical friends in the valley of Typee.

As his tattooing attracted so much remark, Hardy had a good
deal to say concerning the manner in which that art was practiced
upon the island.

Throughout the entire cluster the tattooers of Hivarhoo enjoyed
no small reputation. They had carried their art to the
highest perfection, and the profession was esteemed most honorable.
No wonder, then, that like genteel tailors, they rated
their services very high; so much so, that none but those belonging
to the higher classes could afford to employ them. So
true was this, that the elegance of one's tattooing was in most
cases a sure indication of birth and riches.

Professors in large practice lived in spacious houses, divided
by screens of tappa into numerous little apartments, where
subjects were waited upon in private. The arrangement
chiefly grew out of a singular ordinance of the Taboo, which
enjoined the strictest privacy upon all men, high and low, while

under the hands of a tattooer. For the time, the slightest intercourse
with others is prohibited, and the small portion of
food allowed, is pushed under the curtain by an unseen hand.
The restriction with regard to food, is intended to reduce the
blood, so as to diminish the inflammation consequent upon puncturing
the skin. As it is, this comes on very soon, and takes
some time to heal; so that the period of seclusion generally
embraces many days, sometimes several weeks.

All traces of soreness vanished, the subject goes abroad; but
only again to return; for, on account of the pain, only a small
surface can be operated upon at once; and as the whole body
is to be more or less embellished by a process so slow, the studios
alluded to are constantly filled. Indeed, with a vanity
elsewhere unheard of, many spend no small portion of their
days thus sitting to an artist.

To begin the work, the period of adolescence is esteemed
the most suitable. After casting about for some eminent tattooer,
the friends of the youth take him to his house, to have the outlines
of the general plan laid out. It behooves the professor to
have a nice eye, for a suit to be worn for life should be well
cut.

Some tattooers, yearning after perfection, employ, at large
wages, one or two men of the commonest order—vile fellows,
utterly regardless of appearances, upon whom they first try
their patterns and practice generally. Their backs remorselessly
scrawled over, and no more canvas remaining, they are
dismissed, and ever after go about, the scorn of their countrymen.

Hapless wights! thus martyred in the cause of the Fine Arts.

Beside the regular practitioners, there are a parcel of shabby,
itinerant tattooers, who, by virtue of their calling, stroll unmolested
from one hostile bay to another, doing their work dog-cheap
for the multitude. They always repair to the various

religious festivals, which gather great crowds. When these are
concluded, and the places where they are held vacated even by
the tattooers, scores of little tents of coarse tappa are left standing,
each with a solitary inmate, who, forbidden to talk to his
unseen neighbors, is obliged to stay there till completely healed.
The itinerants are a reproach to their profession, mere
cobblers, dealing in nothing but jagged lines and clumsy
patches, and utterly incapable of soaring to those heights of
fancy attained by the gentlemen of the faculty.

All professors of the arts love to fraternize; and so, in Hannamanoo,
the tattooers came together in the chapters of their
worshipful order. In this society, duly organized, and conferring
degrees, Hardy, from his influence as a white, was a sort of
honorary Grand Master. The blue shark, and a sort of Urim
and Thummim engraven upon his chest, were the seal of his
initiation. All over Hivarhoo are established these orders of
tattooers. The way in which the renegado's came to be founded
is this. A year or two after his landing there happened to
be a season of scarcity, owing to the partial failure of the bread-fruit
harvest for several consecutive seasons. This brought
about such a falling off in the number of subjects for tattooing,
that the profession became quite needy. The royal ally of
Hardy, however, hit upon a benevolent expedient to provide
for their wants, at the same time conferring a boon upon many
of his subjects.

By sound of conch-shell it was proclaimed before the palace,
on the beach, and at the head of the valley, that Noomai, King
of Hannamanoo, and friend of Hardee-Hardee, the white,
kept open heart and table for all tattooers whatsoever; but to
entitle themselves to this hospitality, they were commanded to
practice without fee upon the meanest native soliciting their
services.

Numbers at once flocked to the royal abode, both artists and

sitters. It was a famous time; and the buildings of the palace
being “taboo” to all but the tattooers and chiefs, the sitters bivouacked
on the common, and formed an extensive encampment.

The “Lora Tattoo,” or the Time of Tattooing, will be long remembered.
An enthusiastic sitter celebrated the event in
verse. Several lines were repeated to us by Hardy, some of
which, in a sort of colloquial chant he translated nearly thus:

9. CHAPTER IX.

The night we left Hannamanoo was bright and starry, and
so warm, that when the watches were relieved, most of the men,
instead of going below, flung themselves around the foremast.

Toward morning, finding the heat of the forecastle unpleasant,
I ascended to the deck where every thing was noiseless. The
Trades were blowing with a mild, steady strain upon the canvas,
and the ship heading right out into the immense blank of
the Western Pacific. The watch were asleep. With one foot
resting on the rudder, even the man at the helm nodded, and the
mate himself, with arms folded, was leaning against the capstan.

On such a night, and all alone, revery was inevitable. I
leaned over the side, and could not help thinking of the strange
objects we might be sailing over.

But my meditations were soon interrupted by a gray, spectral
shadow cast over the heaving billows. It was the dawn,
soon followed by the first rays of the morning. They flashed
into view at one end of the arched night, like—to compare great
things with small—the gleamings of Guy Fawkes's lantern in
the vaults of the Parliament House. Before long, what seemed
a live ember rested for a moment on the rim of the ocean, and
at last the blood-red sun stood full and round in the level East,
and the long sea-day began.

Breakfast over, the first thing attended to was the formal
baptism of Wymontoo, who, after thinking over his affairs during
the night, looked dismal enough.

There were various opinions as to a suitable appellation.
Some maintained that we ought to call him “Sunday,” that
being the day we caught him; others, “Eighteen Forty-two,”
the then year of our Lord; while Doctor Long Ghost remarked,
that he ought, by all means, to retain his original name,—Wymontoo-Hee,
meaning (as he maintained), in the figurative language
of the island, something analogous to one who had got
himself into a scrape. The mate put an end to the discussion
by sousing the poor fellow with a bucket of salt water, and be-stowing
upon him the nautical appellation of “Luff.”

Though a certain mirthfulness succeeded his first pangs at
leaving home, Wymontoo—we will call him thus—gradually
relapsed into his former mood, and became very melancholy.
Often I noticed him crouching apart in the forecastle, his strange
eyes gleaming restlessly, and watching the slightest movement
of the men. Many a time he must have been thinking of his
bamboo hut, when they were talking of Sydney and its dance-houses.

We were now fairly at sea, though to what particular cruising-ground
we were going, no one knew; and, to all appearances,
few cared. The men, after a fashion of their own, began
to settle down into the routine of sea-life, as if every thing was
going on prosperously. Blown along over a smooth sea, there
was nothing to do but steer the ship, and relieve the “lookouts”
at the mast-heads. As for the sick, they had two or three more
added to their number—the air of the island having disagreed
with the constitutions of several of the runaways. To crown
all, the captain again relapsed, and became quite ill.

The men fit for duty were divided into two small watches,
headed respectively by the mate and the Mowree; the latter,
by virtue of his being a harponeer, succeeding to the place
of the second mate, who had absconded.

In this state of things whaling was out of the question; but

in the face of every thing, Jermin maintained that the invalids
would soon be well. However that might be, with the same
pale blue sky overhead, we kept running steadily to the
westward. Forever advancing, we seemed always in the
same place, and every day was the former lived over again.
We saw no ships, expected to see none. No sign of life was
perceptible but the porpoises and other fish sporting under the
bows like pups ashore. But, at intervals, the gray albatros,
peculiar to these seas, came flapping his immense wings over
us, and then skimmed away silently as if from a plague-ship.
Or flights of the tropic bird, known among seamen as the
“boatswain,” wheeled round and round us, whistling shrilly
as they flew.

The uncertainty hanging over our destination at this time,
and the fact that we were abroad upon waters comparatively
little traversed, lent an interest to this portion of the cruise
which I shall never forget.

From obvious prudential considerations the Pacific has been
principally sailed over in known tracts, and this is the reason
why new islands are still occasionally discovered, by exploring
ships and adventurous whalers, notwithstanding the great number
of vessels of all kinds of late navigating this vast ocean. Indeed,
considerable portions still remain wholly unexplored; and
there is doubt as to the actual existence of certain shoals, and
reefs, and small clusters of islands vaguely laid down in the
charts. The mere circumstance, therefore, of a ship like ours
penetrating into these regions, was sufficient to cause any reflecting
mind to feel at least a little uneasy. For my own part,
the many stories I had heard of ships striking at midnight upon
unknown rocks, with all sail set, and a slumbering crew, often
recurred to me, especially, as from the absence of discipline,
and our being so short-handed, the watches at night were
careless in the extreme.

But no thoughts like these were entertained by my reckless
shipmates; and along we went, the sun every evening setting
right ahead of our jib boom.

For what reason the mate was so reserved with regard to
our precise destination was never made known. The stories
he told us, I, for one, did not believe; deeming them all a
mere device to lull the crew.

He said we were bound to a fine cruising ground, scarcely
known to other whalemen, which he had himself discovered
when commanding a small brig upon a former voyage. Here,
the sea was alive with large whales, so tame, that all you had
to do was to go up and kill them: they were too frightened to
resist. A little to leeward of this was a small cluster of islands,
where we were going to refit, abounding with delicious fruits,
and peopled by a race almost wholly unsophisticated by intercourse
with strangers.

In order, perhaps, to guard against the possibility of any
one finding out the precise latitude and longitude of the spot
we were going to, Jermin never revealed to us the ship's place
at noon, though such is the custom aboard of most vessels.

Meanwhile, he was very assiduous in his attention to the
invalids. Doctor Long Ghost having given up the keys of the
medicine-chest, they were handed over to him; and, as physician,
he discharged his duties to the satisfaction of all. Pills
and powders, in most cases, were thrown to the fish, and in
place thereof, the contents of a mysterious little quarter cask
were produced, diluted with water from the “butt.” His
draughts were mixed on the capstan, in cocoa-nut shells
marked with the patients' names. Like shore doctors, he did
not eschew his own medicines, for his professional calls in the
forecastle were sometimes made when he was comfortably tipsy:
nor did he omit keeping his invalids in good-humor, spinning
his yarns to them, by the hour, whenever he went to see them.

Owing to my lameness, from which I soon began to recover,
I did no active duty, except standing an occasional “trick” at
the helm. It was in the forecastle chiefly, that I spent my
time, in company with the Long Doctor, who was at great
pains to make himself agreeable. His books, though sadly
torn and battered, were an invaluable resource. I read them
through again and again, including a learned treatise on the
yellow fever. In addition to these, he had an old file of
Sydney papers, and I soon became intimately acquainted with
the localities of all the advertising tradesmen there. In particular,
the rhetorical flourishes of Stubbs, the real-estate
auctioneer, diverted me exceedingly, and I set him down as
no other than a pupil of Robins the Londoner.

Aside from the pleasure of his society, my intimacy with
Long Ghost was of great service to me in other respects. His
disgrace in the cabin only confirmed the good-will of the
democracy in the forecastle; and they not only treated him in
the most friendly manner, but looked up to him with the
utmost deference, besides laughing heartily at all his jokes
As his chosen associate, this feeling for him extended to me,
and gradually we came to be regarded in the light of distinguished
guests. At meal-times we were always first served,
and otherwise were treated with much respect.

Among other devices to kill time, during the frequent calms,
Long Ghost hit upon the game of chess. With a jackknife,
we carved the pieces quite tastefully out of bits of wood, and
our board was the middle of a chest-lid, chalked into squares,
which, in playing, we straddled at either end. Having no
other suitable way of distinguishing the sets, I marked mine
by tying round them little scarfs of black silk, torn from an old
neck handkerchief. Putting them in mourning this way, the
doctor said, was quite appropriate, seeing that they had reason
to feel sad three games out of four. Of chess, the men never

could make head nor tail; indeed, their wonder rose to such a
pitch, that they at last regarded the mysterious movements of
the game with something more than perplexity; and after puzzling
over them through several long engagements, they came
to the conclusion that we must be a couple of necromancers.

10. CHAPTER X.

I may as well give some idea of the place in which the doctor
and I lived together so sociably.

Most persons know that a ship's forecastle embraces the
forward part of the deck about the bowsprit: the same term,
however, is generally bestowed upon the sailors' sleeping-quarters,
which occupy a space immediately beneath, and are partitioned
off by a bulkhead.

Planted right in the bows, or, as sailors say, in the very eyes
of the ship, this delightful apartment is of a triangular shape,
and is generally fitted with two tiers of rude bunks. Those of
the Julia were in a most deplorable condition, mere wrecks,
some having been torn down altogether to patch up others; and
on one side there were but two standing. But with most of the
men it made little difference whether they had a bunk or not,
since, having no bedding, they had nothing to put in it but
themselves.

Upon the boards of my own crib I spread all the old canvas
and old clothes I could pick up. For a pillow, I wrapped an
old jacket round a log. This helped a little the wear and tear
of one's bones when the ship rolled.

Rude hammocks made out of old sails were in many cases
used as substitutes for the demolished bunks; but the space
they swung in was so confined, that they were far from being
agreeable.

The general aspect of the forecastle was dungeon-like and

dingy in the extreme. In the first place, it was not five feet
from deck to deck, and even this space was encroached upon
by two outlandish cross-timbers bracing the vessel, and by the
sailors' chests, over which you must needs crawl in getting
about. At meal-times, and especially when we indulged in
after-dinner chat, we sat about the chests like a parcel of tailors.

In the middle of all, were two square, wooden columns, denominated
in marine architecture “Bowsprit Bitts.” They
were about a foot apart, and between them, by a rusty chain,
swung the forecastle lamp, burning day and night, and forever
casting two long black shadows. Lower down, between the
bitts, was a locker, or sailors' pantry, kept in abominable disorder,
and sometimes requiring a vigorous cleaning and fumigation.

All over, the ship was in a most dilapidated condition; but in
the forecastle it looked like the hollow of an old tree going to
decay. In every direction the wood was damp and discolored,
and here and there soft and porous. Moreover, it was hacked
and hewed without mercy, the cook frequently helping himself
to splinters for kindling-wood from the bitts and beams. Overhead,
every carline was sooty, and here and there deep holes
were burned in them, a freak of some drunken sailors on a
voyage long previous.

From above, you entered by a plank, with two cleets, slanting
down from the scuttle, which was a mere hole in the deck.
There being no slide to draw over in case of emergency, the
tarpaulin temporarily placed there, was little protection from
the spray heaved over the bows; so that in any thing of a
breeze the place was miserably wet. In a squall, the water
fairly poured down in sheets like a cascade, swashing about,
and afterward spirting up between the chests like the jets of a
fountain.

Such were our accommodations aboard of the Julia; but bad

as they were, we had not the undisputed possession of them.
Myriads of cockroaches, and regiments of rats disputed the
place with us. A greater calamity than this can scarcely befall
a vessel in the South Seas.

So warm is the climate that it is almost impossible to get rid
of them. You may seal up every hatchway, and fumigate the
hull till the smoke forces itself out at the seams, and enough
will survive to repeople the ship in an incredibly short period.
In some vessels, the crews of which after a hard fight have
given themselves up, as it were, for lost, the vermin seem to
take actual possession, the sailors being mere tenants by sufferance.
With Sperm Whalemen, hanging about the Line, as
many of them do for a couple of years on a stretch, it is infinitely
worse than with other vessels.

As for the Julia, these creatures never had such free and
easy times as they did in her crazy old hull; every chink and
cranny swarmed with them; they did not live among you, but
you among them. So true was this, that the business of eating
and drinking was better done in the dark than in the light of
day.

Concerning the cockroaches, there was an extraordinary phenomenon,
for which none of us could ever account.

Every night they had a jubilee. The first symptom was an
unusual clustering and humming among the swarms lining the
beams overhead, and the inside of the sleeping-places. This
was succeeded by a prodigious coming and going on the part
of those living out of sight. Presently they all came forth; the
larger sort racing over the chests and planks; winged monsters
darting to and fro in the air; and the small fry buzzing in heaps
almost in a state of fusion.

On the first alarm, all who were able darted on deck; while
some of the sick who were too feeble, lay perfectly quiet—the
distracted vermin running over them at pleasure. The performance

lasted some ten minutes, during which no hive ever
hummed louder. Often it was lamented by us that the time of
the visitation could never be predicted; it was liable to come
upon us at any hour of the night, and what a relief it was, when
it happened to fall in the early part of the evening.

Nor must I forget the rats: they did not forget me. Tame
as Trenck's mouse, they stood in their holes peering at you like
old grandfathers in a doorway. Often they darted in upon us
at meal-times, and nibbled our food. The first time they approached
Wymontoo, he was actually frightened; but becoming
accustomed to it, he soon got along with them much better than
the rest. With curious dexterity he seized the animals by
their legs, and flung them up the scuttle to find a watery grave.

But I have a story of my own to tell about these rats. One
day the cabin steward made me a present of some molasses,
which I was so choice of, that I kept it hid away in a tin can in
the farthest corner of my bunk. Faring as we did, this molasses
dropped upon a biscuit was a positive luxury, which I
shared with none but the doctor, and then only in private.
And sweet as the treacle was, how could bread thus prepared
and eaten in secret be otherwise than pleasant.

One night our precious can ran low, and in canting it over in
the dark, something besides the molasses slipped out. How long
it had been there, kind Providence never revealed; nor were
we over anxious to know; for we hushed up the bare thought
as quickly as possible. The creature certainly died a luscious
death, quite equal to Clarence's in the butt of Malmsey.

11. CHAPTER XI.

Grave though he was at times, Doctor Long Ghost was a
decided wag.

Every one knows what lovers of fun sailors are ashore—afloat,
they are absolutely mad after it. So his pranks were duly appreciated.

The poor old black cook! Unlashing his hammock for the
night, and finding a wet log fast asleep in it; and then waking
in the morning with his woolly head tarred. Opening his coppers,
and finding an old boot boiling away as saucy as could
be, and sometimes cakes of pitch candying in his oven.

Baltimore's[3] tribulations were indeed sore; there was no
peace for him day nor night. Poor fellow! he was altogether
too good-natured. Say what they will about easy-tempered
people, it is far better, on some accounts, to have the temper
of a wolf. Who ever thought of taking liberties with gruff
Black Dan!

The most curious of the doctor's jokes, was hoisting the men
aloft by the foot or shoulder, when they fell asleep on deck during
the night-watches.

Ascending from the forecastle on one occasion, he found
every soul napping, and forthwith went about his capers.
Fastening a rope's end to each sleeper, he rove the lines
through a number of blocks, and conducted them all to the

windlass; then, by heaving round cheerily, in spite of cries and
struggles, he soon had them dangling aloft in all directions by
arms and legs. Waked by the uproar, we rushed up from below,
and found the poor fellows swinging in the moonlight
from the tops and lower yard-arms, like a parcel of pirates gibbeted
at sea by a cruiser.

Connected with this sort of diversion, was another prank of his.
During the night some of those on deck would come below to
light a pipe, or take a mouthful of beef and biscuit. Sometimes
they fell asleep; and being missed directly that any thing
was to be done, their shipmates often amused themselves by
running them aloft with a pulley dropped down the scuttle from
the fore-top.

One night, when all was perfectly still, I lay awake in the
forecastle; the lamp was burning low and thick, and swinging
from its blackened beam; and with the uniform motion of the
ship, the men in the bunks rolled slowly from side to side; the
hammocks swaying in unison.

Presently I heard a foot upon the ladder, and, looking up,
saw a wide trowsers' leg. Immediately, Navy Bob, a stout, old
Triton, stealthily descended, and at once went to groping in the
locker after something to eat.

Supper ended, he proceeded to load his pipe. Now, for a
good comfortable smoke at sea, there never was a better place
than the Julia's forecastle at midnight. To enjoy the luxury,
one wants to fall into a kind of dreamy revery, only known to
the children of the weed. And the very atmosphere of the
place, laden as it was with the snores of the sleepers, was inducive
of this. No wonder, then, that after a while Bob's head
sunk upon his breast; presently his hat fell off, the extinguished
pipe dropped from his mouth, and the next moment he lay out
on the chest as tranquil as an infant.

Suddenly an order was heard on deck, followed by the

trampling of feet and the hauling of rigging. The yards were
being braced, and soon after the sleeper was missed; for there
was a whispered conference over the scuttle.

Directly a shadow glided across the forecastle and noiselessly
approached the unsuspecting Bob. It was one of the watch
with the end of a rope leading out of sight up the scuttle.
Pausing an instant, the sailor pressed softly the chest of his
victim, sounding his slumbers; and then hitching the cord to
his ankle, returned to the deck.

Hardly was his back turned, when a long limb was thrust
from a hammock opposite, and Doctor Long Ghost, leaping
forth warily, whipped the rope from Bob's ankle, and fastened it
like lightning to a great lumbering chest, the property of the
man who had just disappeared.

Scarcely was the thing done, when lo! with a thundering
bound, the clumsy box was torn from its fastenings, and banging
from side to side, flew toward the scuttle. Here it jammed;
and thinking that Bob, who was as strong as a windlass,
was grappling a beam and trying to cut the line, the jokers on
deck strained away furiously. On a sudden, the chest went
aloft, and striking against the mast, flew open, raining down on
the heads of the party a merciless shower of things too numerous
to mention.

Of course the uproar roused all hands, and when we hurried
on deck, there was the owner of the box, looking aghast at its
scattered contents, and with one wandering hand taking the
altitude of a bump on his head.

12. CHAPTER XII.

The mirthfulness, which, at times, reigned among us, was in
strange and shocking contrast with the situation of some of the
invalids. Thus, at least, did it seem to me, though not to others.

But an event occurred about this period, which, in removing
by far the most pitiable cases of suffering, tended to make less
grating to my feelings the subsequent conduct of the crew.

We had been at sea about twenty days, when two of the
sick who had rapidly grown worse, died one night within an
hour of each other.

One occupied a bunk right next to mine, and for several
days had not risen from it. During this period he was often
delirious, starting up and glaring around him, and sometimes
wildly tossing his arms.

On the night of his decease, I retired shortly after the middle
watch began, and waking from a vague dream of horrors, felt
something clammy resting on me. It was the sick man's hand.
Two or three times during the evening previous, he had thrust
it into my bunk, and I had quietly removed it; but now I
started and flung it from me. The arm fell stark and stiff, and
I knew that he was dead.

Waking the men, the corpse was immediately rolled up in
the strips of blanketing upon which it lay, and carried on deck.
The mate was then called, and preparations made for an instantaneous
burial. Laying the body out on the forehatch, it was
stitched up in one of the hammocks, some “kentlege” being

placed at the feet instead of shot. This done, it was borne to
the gangway, and placed on a plank laid across the bulwarks.
Two men supported the inside end. By way of solemnity, the
ship's headway was then stopped by hauling aback the main-top-sail.

The mate, who was far from being sober, then staggered up,
and holding on to a shroud, gave the word. As the plank
tipped, the body slid off slowly, and fell with a splash into the
sea. A bubble or two, and nothing more was seen.

“Brace forward!” The main-yard swung round to its
place, and the ship glided on, while the corpse, perhaps, was
still sinking.

We had tossed a shipmate to the sharks, but no one would
have thought it, to have gone among the crew immediately
after. The dead man had been a churlish, unsocial fellow,
while alive, and no favorite; and now that he was no more,
little thought was bestowed upon him. All that was said, was
concerning the disposal of his chest, which, having been always
kept locked, was supposed to contain money. Some one volunteered
to break it open, and distribute its contents, clothing
and all, before the captain should demand it.

While myself and others were endeavoring to dissuade them
from this, all started at a cry from the forecastle. There could
be no one there but two of the sick, unable to crawl on deck.
We went below, and found one of them dying on a chest. He
had fallen out of his hammock in a fit, and was insensible. The
eyes were open and fixed, and his breath coming and going
convulsively. The men shrunk from him; but the doctor,
taking his hand, held it a few moments in his, and suddenly
letting it fall, exclaimed, “He's gone!” The body was instantly
borne up the ladder.

Another hammock was soon prepared, and the dead sailor
stitched up as before. Some additional ceremony, however,

was now insisted upon, and a Bible was called for. But none
was to be had, not even a Prayer Book. When this was
made known, Antone, a Portuguese, from the Cape-de-Verd
Islands, stepped up, muttered something over the corpse of his
countryman, and, with his finger, described upon the back of
the hammock the figure of a large cross; whereupon it received
the dead-lanch.

These two men both perished from the proverbial indiscretions
of seamen, heightened by circumstances apparent; but
had either of them been ashore under proper treatment, he
would, in all human probability, have recovered.

Behold here the fate of a sailor! They give him the last toss,
and no one asks whose child he was.

For the rest of that night there was no more sleep. Many
stayed on deck until broad morning, relating to each other those
marvelous tales of the sea which the occasion was calculated
to call forth. Little as I believed in such things, I could not
listen to some of these stories unaffected. Above all was I
struck by one of the carpenter's.

On a voyage to India, they had a fever aboard, which carried
off nearly half the crew in the space of a few days. After this
the men never went aloft in the night-time, except in couples.
When top-sails were to be reefed, phantoms were seen at the
yard-arm ends; and in tacking ship, voices called aloud from
the tops. The carpenter himself, going with another man to
furl the main-top-gallant-sail in a squall, was nearly pushed
from the rigging by an unseen hand; and his shipmate swore
that a wet hammock was flirted in his face.

Stories like these were related as gospel truths, by those
who declared themselves eye-witnesses.

It is a circumstance not generally known, perhaps, that,
among ignorant seamen, Finlanders, or Finns, as they are more
commonly called, are regarded with peculiar superstition. For

some reason or other, which I never could get at, they are supposed
to possess the gift of second sight, and the power to
wreak supernatural vengeance upon those who offend them.
On this account they have great influence among sailors, and
two or three with whom I have sailed at different times, were
persons well calculated to produce this sort of impression, at
least upon minds disposed to believe in such things.

Now, we had one of these sea-prophets aboard; an old,
yellow-haired fellow, who always wore a rude seal-skin cap
of his own make, and carried his tobacco in a large pouch
made of the same stuff. Van, as we called him, was a quiet,
inoffensive man, to look at, and, among such a set, his occasional
peculiarities had hitherto passed for nothing. At this
time, however, he came out with a prediction, which was none
the less remarkable from its absolute fulfillment, though not
exactly in the spirit in which it was given out.

The night of the burial he laid his hand on the old horse-shoe
nailed as a charm to the foremast, and solemnly told us
that, in less than three weeks, not one quarter of our number
would remain aboard the ship—by that time they would have
left her forever.

Some laughed; Flash Jack called him an old fool; but
among the men generally it produced a marked effect. For
several days a degree of quiet reigned among us, and allusions
of such a kind were made to recent events, as could be attributed
to no other cause than the Finn's omen.

For my own part, what had lately come to pass was not
without its influence. It forcibly brought to mind our really
critical condition. Doctor Long Ghost, too, frequently revealed
his apprehensions, and once assured me that he would give
much to be safely landed upon any island around us.

Where we were, exactly, no one but the mate seemed to
know, nor whither we were going. The captain—a mere cipher

—was an invalid in his cabin; to say nothing more of so many
of his men languishing in the forecastle.

Our keeping the sea under these circumstances, a matter
strange enough at first, now seemed wholly unwarranted; and
added to all, was the thought, that our fate was absolutely in
the hand of the reckless Jermin. Were any thing to happen to
him, we would be left without a navigator, for, according to
Jermin himself, he had, from the commencement of the voyage,
always kept the ship's reckoning, the captain's nautical knowledge
being insufficient.

But considerations like these, strange as it may seem, seldom
or never occurred to the crew. They were alive only to superstitious
fears; and when, in apparent contradiction to the Finn's
prophecy, the sick men rallied a little, they began to recover
their former spirits, and the recollection of what had occurred
insensibly faded from their minds. In a week's time, the unworthiness
of Little Jule, as a sea vessel, always a subject of
jest, now became more so than ever. In the forecastle, Flash
Jack, with his knife, often dug into the dank, rotten planks
ribbed between us and death, and flung away the splinters
with some sea joke.

As to the remaining invalids, they were hardly ill enough to
occasion any serious apprehension, at least for the present, in
the breasts of such thoughtless beings as themselves. And
even those who suffered the most, studiously refrained from
any expression of pain.

The truth is, that among sailors as a class, sickness at sea is
so heartily detested, and the sick so little cared for, that the
greatest invalid generally strives to mask his sufferings. He
has given no sympathy to others, and he expects none in return.
Their conduct, in this respect, so opposed to their
generous-hearted behavior ashore, painfully affects the landsman
on his first intercourse with them as a sailor.

Sometimes, but seldom, our invalids inveighed against their
being kept at sea, where they could be of no service, when
they ought to be ashore and in the way of recovery. But—
“Oh! cheer up—cheer up, my hearties!”—the mate would
say. And after this fashion he put a stop to their murmurings.

But there was one circumstance, to which heretofore I have
but barely alluded, that tended more than any thing else to
reconcile many to their situation. This was the receiving
regularly, twice every day, a certain portion of Pisco, which
was served out at the capstan, by the steward, in little tin
measures called “tots.”

The lively affection seamen have for strong drink is well
known; but in the South Seas, where it is so seldom to be
had, a thorough-bred sailor deems scarcely any price too dear
which will purchase his darling “tot.” Nowadays, American
whalemen in the Pacific never think of carrying spirits as a
ration; and aboard of most of them, it is never served out
even in times of the greatest hardships. All Sydney whalemen,
however, still cling to the old custom, and carry it as a
part of the regular supplies for the voyage.

In port, the allowance of Pisco was suspended; with a view,
undoubtedly, of heightening the attractions of being out of
sight of land.

Now, owing to the absence of proper discipline, our sick,
in addition to what they took medicinally, often came in for
their respective “tots” convivially; and, added to all this, the
evening of the last day of the week was always celebrated by
what is styled on board of English vessels, “The Saturday-night
bottles.” Two of these were sent down into the forecastle,
just after dark; one for the starboard watch, and the
other for the larboard.

By prescription, the oldest seamen in each claims the treat
as his, and, accordingly, pours out the good cheer and passes

it round like a lord doing the honors of his table. But the
Saturday-night bottles were not all. The carpenter and
cooper, in sea parlance, Chips and Bungs, who were the
“Cods,” or leaders of the forecastle, in some way or other,
managed to obtain an extra supply, which perpetually kept
them in fine after-dinner spirits, and, moreover, disposed them
to look favorably upon a state of affairs like the present.

But where were the sperm whales all this time? In good
sooth, it made little matter where they were, since we were in
no condition to capture them. About this time, indeed, the
men came down from the mast-heads, where, until now, they
had kept up the form of relieving each other every two hours.
They swore they would go there no more. Upon this, the
mate carelessly observed, that they would soon be where lookouts
were entirely unnecessary, the whales he had in his eye
(though Flash Jack said they were all in his) being so tame,
that they made a practice of coming round ships, and scratching
their backs against them.

Thus went the world of waters with us, some four weeks or
more after leaving Hannamanoo.

13. CHAPTER XIII.

It was not long after the death of the two men, that Captain
Guy was reported as fast declining, and in a day or two more,
as dying. The doctor, who previously had refused to enter the
cabin upon any consideration, now relented, and paid his old
enemy a professional visit.

He prescribed a warm bath, which was thus prepared. The
skylight being removed, a cask was lowered down into the
cabin, and then filled with buckets of water from the ship's coppers.
The cries of the patient, when dipped into this rude bath,
were most painful to hear. They at last laid him on the transom,
more dead than alive.

That evening, the mate was perfectly sober, and coming forward
to the windlass, where we were lounging, summoned aft
the doctor, myself, and two or three others of his favorites; when,
in the presence of Bembo the Mowree, he spoke to us thus:

“I have something to say to ye, men. There's none but
Bembo here as belongs aft, so I've picked ye out as the best
men for'ard to take counsel with, d'ye see, consarning the ship.
The captain's anchor is pretty nigh atrip; I shouldn't wonder
if he croaked afore morning. So what's to be done? If we
have to sew him up, some of those pirates there for'ard may
take it into their heads to run off with the ship, because there's
no one at the tiller. Now, I've detarmined what's best to be
done; but I don't want to do it unless I've good men to back me,
and make things all fair and square if ever we get home again.”

We all asked what his plan was.

“I'll tell ye what it is, men. If the skipper dies, all agree
to obey my orders, and in less than three weeks I'll engage to
have five hundred barrels of sperm oil under hatches: enough
to give every mother's son of ye a handful of dollars when we
get to Sydney. If ye don't agree to this, ye won't have a farthing
coming to ye.”[4]

Doctor Long Ghost at once broke in. He said that such a
thing was not to be dreamt of; that if the captain died, the
mate was in duty bound to navigate the ship to the nearest
civilized port, and deliver her up into an English consul's hands;
when, in all probability, after a run ashore, the crew would be
sent home. Every thing forbade the mate's plan. “Still,”
said he, assuming an air of indifference, “if the men say stick
it out, stick it out say I; but in that case, the sooner we get to
those islands of yours the better.”

Something more he went on to say; and from the manner in
which the rest regarded him, it was plain that our fate was in
his hands. It was finally resolved upon, that if Captain Guy
was no better in twenty-four hours, the ship's head should be
pointed for the island of Tahiti.

This announcement produced a strong sensation—the sick
rallied—and the rest speculated as to what was next to befall
us; while the doctor, without alluding to Guy, congratulated
me upon the prospect of soon beholding a place so famous as
the island in question.

The night after the holding of the council, I happened to go
on deck in the middle watch, and found the yards braced sharp
up on the larboard tack, with the South East Trades strong on
our bow. The captain was no better; and we were off for
Tahiti.

14. CHAPTER XIV.

While gliding along on our way, I can not well omit some
account of a poor devil we had among us, who went by the
name of Rope Yarn, or Ropey.

He was a nondescript who had joined the ship as a landsman.
Being so excessively timid and awkward, it was thought useless
to try and make a sailor of him; so he was translated into
the cabin as steward; the man previously filling that post, a
good seaman, going among the crew and taking his place. But
poor Ropey proved quite as clumsy among the crockery as
in the rigging; and one day when the ship was pitching,
having stumbled into the cabin with a wooden tureen of
soup, he scalded the officers so that they didn't get over it in
a week. Upon which, he was dismissed, and returned to the
forecastle.

Now, nobody is so heartily despised as a pusillanimous, lazy,
good-for-nothing land-lubber; a sailor has no bowels of compassion
for him. Yet, useless as such a character may be in
many respects, a ship's company is by no means disposed to let
him reap any benefit from his deficiencies. Regarded in the
light of a mechanical power, whenever there is any plain, hard
work to be done, he is put to it like a lever; every one giving
him a pry.

Then, again, he is set about all the vilest work. Is there a
heavy job at tarring to be done, he is pitched neck and shoulders
into a tar-barrel, and set to work at it. Moreover, he is

made to fetch and carry like a dog. Like as not, if the mate
sends him after his quadrant, on the way he is met by the captain,
who orders him to pick some oakum; and while he is
hunting up a bit of rope, a sailor comes along and wants to
know what the deuse he's after, and bids him be off to the forecastle.

“Obey the last order,” is a precept inviolable at sea. So the
land-lubber, afraid to refuse to do any thing, rushes about distracted,
and does nothing: in the end receiving a shower of
kicks and cuffs from all quarters.

Added to his other hardships, he is seldom permitted to open
his mouth unless spoken to; and then, he might better keep
silent. Alas for him! if he should happen to be any thing of
a droll; for in an evil hour should he perpetrate a joke, he
would never know the last of it.

The witticisms of others, however, upon himself, must be received
in the greatest good-humor.

Woe be unto him, if at meal-times he so much as look sideways
at the beef-kid before the rest are helped.

Then he is obliged to plead guilty to every piece of mischief
which the real perpetrator refuses to acknowledge; thus taking
the place of that sneaking rascal, nobody, ashore. In short,
there is no end to his tribulations.

The land-lubber's spirits often sink, and the first result of his
being moody and miserable, is naturally enough an utter neglect
of his toilet.

The sailors perhaps ought to make allowances; but heartless
as they are, they do not. No sooner is his cleanliness questioned,
than they rise upon him like a mob of the Middle Ages
upon a Jew; drag him into the lee-scuppers, and strip him to
the buff. In vain he bawls for mercy; in vain calls upon the
captain to save him.

Alas! I say again, for the land-lubber at sea. He is the

veriest wretch the watery world over. And such was Rope
Yarn; of all land-lubbers, the most lubberly and the most miserable.
A forlorn, stunted, hook-visaged mortal he was too;
one of those, whom you know at a glance to have been tried
hard and long in the furnace of affliction. His face was an
absolute puzzle; though sharp and sallow, it had neither the
wrinkles of age nor the smoothness of youth; so that for the
soul of me, I could hardly tell whether he was twenty-five or
fifty.

But to his history. In his better days, it seems he had been
a journeyman baker in London, somewhere about Holborn;
and on Sundays wore a blue coat and metal buttons, and spent
his afternoons in a tavern, smoking his pipe and drinking his
ale like a free and easy journeyman baker that he was. But
this did not last long; for an intermeddling old fool was the
ruin of him. He was told that London might do very well for
elderly gentlemen and invalids; but for a lad of spirit, Australia
was the Land of Promise. In a dark day Ropey wound up his
affairs and embarked.

Arriving in Sydney with a small capital, and after a while
waxing snug and comfortable by dint of hard kneading, he took
unto himself a wife; and so far as she was concerned, might
then have gone into the country and retired; for she effectually
did his business. In short, the lady worked him woe in heart
and pocket; and in the end, ran off with his till and his foreman.
Ropey went to the sign of the Pipe and Tankard; got
fuddled; and over his fifth pot meditated suicide—an intention
carried out; for the next day he shipped as landsman aboard
the Julia, South Seaman.

The ex-baker would have fared far better, had it not been
for his heart, which was soft and underdone. A kind word
made a fool of him; and hence most of the scrapes he got into.
Two or three wags, aware of his infirmity, used to “draw him

out” in conversation, whenever the most crabbed and choleric
old seamen were present.

To give an instance. The watch below, just waked from
their sleep, are all at breakfast; and Ropey, in one corner, is
disconsolately partaking of its delicacies. Now, sailors newly
waked are no cherubs; and therefore not a word is spoken,
every body munching his biscuit, grim and unshaven. At this
juncture an affable-looking scamp—Flash Jack—crosses the
forecastle, tin can in hand, and seats himself beside the land-lubber.

“Hard fare this, Ropey,” he begins; “hard enough, too, for
them that's known better and lived in Lun'nun. I say now,
Ropey, s'posing you were back to Holborn this morning, what
would you have for breakfast, eh?”

“Have for breakfast!” cried Ropey, in a rapture. “Don't
speak of it!”

“What ails that fellow?” here growled an old sea-bear, turning
round savagely.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” said Jack; and then, leaning over to
Rope Yarn, he bade him go on, but speak lower.

“Well, then,” said he, in a smugged tone, his eyes lighting
up like two lanterns, “well, then, I'd go to Mother Moll's that
makes the great muffins: I'd go there, you know, and cock my
foot on the 'ob, and call for a noggin o' somethink to begin
with.”

“And what then, Ropey?”

“Why then, Flashy,” continued the poor victim, unconsciously
warming with his theme; “why then, I'd draw my chair up
and call for Betty, the gal wot tends to customers. Betty, my
dear, says I, you looks charmin' this mornin'; give me a nice
rasher of bacon and h'eggs Betty my love; and I wants a pint
of h'ale, and three nice h'ot muffins and butter—and a slice of
Cheshire; and Betty, I wants—”

“A shark-steak, and be hanged to you!” roared Black Dan,
with an oath. Whereupon, dragged over the chests, the
ill-starred fellow is pummeled on deck.

I always made a point of befriending poor Ropey when I
could; and, for this reason, was a great favorite of his.

15. CHAPTER XV.

Bound into port, Chips and Bungs increased their devotion
to the bottle; and, to the unspeakable envy of the rest, these
jolly companions—or “the Partners,” as the men called them—
rolled about deck, day after day, in the merriest mood imaginable.

But jolly as they were in the main, two more discreet tipplers
it would be hard to find. No one ever saw them take any
thing, except when the regular allowance was served out by
the steward; and to make them quite sober and sensible, you
had only to ask them how they contrived to keep otherwise.
Sometime after, however, their secret leaked out.

The casks of Pisco were kept down the after-hatchway,
which, for this reason, was secured with bar and padlock. The
cooper, nevertheless, from time to time, effected a burglarious
entry, by descending into the fore-hold; and then, at the risk
of being jammed to death, crawling along over a thousand obstructions,
to where the casks were stowed.

On the first expedition, the only one to be got at lay among
others, upon its bilge, with the bung-hole well over. With a
bit of iron hoop, suitably bent, and a good deal of prying and
punching, the bung was forced in; and then the cooper's neck-handkerchief,
attached to the end of the hoop, was drawn in
and out—the absorbed liquor being deliberately squeezed into
a small bucket.

Bungs was a man after a bar-keeper's own heart. Drinking

steadily, until just manageably tipsy, he contrived to continue
so; getting neither more nor less inebriated, but, to use his own
phrase, remaining “just about right.” When in this interesting
state, he had a free lurch in his gait, a queer way of hitching
up his waistbands, looked unnecessarily steady at you when
speaking, and for the rest, was in very tolerable spirits. At
these times, moreover, he was exceedingly patriotic; and in a
most amusing way, frequently showed his patriotism whenever
he happened to encounter Dunk, a good-natured, square-faced
Dane, aboard.

It must be known here, by the bye, that the cooper had a
true sailor admiration for Lord Nelson. But he entertained
a very erroneous idea of the personal appearance of the hero.
Not content with depriving him of an eye, and an arm, he
stoutly maintained that he had also lost a leg in one of his
battles. Under this impression, he sometimes hopped up to
Dunk, with one leg curiously locked behind him into his right
arm, at the same time closing an eye.

In this attitude he would call upon him to look up, and behold
the man who gave his countrymen such a thrashing at Copenhagen.
“Look you, Dunk,” says he, staggering about, and
winking hard with one eye, to keep the other shut, “Look
you; one man—hang me, half a man—with one leg, one arm,
one eye—hang me, with only a piece of a carcass, flogged your
whole shabby nation. Do you deny it, you lubber?”

The Dane was a mule of a man, and understanding but little
English, seldom made any thing of a reply; so the cooper generally
dropped his leg, and marched off, with the air of a man
who despised saying any thing further.

16. CHAPTER XVI.

The mild blue weather we enjoyed after leaving the Marquesas,
gradually changed as we ran farther south and approached
Tahiti. In these generally tranquil seas, the wind
sometimes blows with great violence; though, as every sailor
knows, a spicy gale in the tropic latitudes of the Pacific, is far
different from a tempest in the howling North Atlantic. We
soon found ourselves battling with the waves, while the before
mild Trades, like a woman roused, blew fiercely, but still
warmly, in our face.

For all this, the mate carried sail without stint; and as for
brave little Jule, she stood up to it well; and though once in a
while floored in the trough of a sea, sprang to her keel again and
showed play. Every old timber groaned—every spar buckled
—every chafed cord strained; and yet, spite of all, she plunged
on her way like a racer. Jermin, sea-jockey that he was,
sometimes stood in the fore-chains, with the spray every now
and then dashing over him, and shouting out, “Well done,
Jule—dive into it, sweetheart. Hurrah!”

One afternoon there was a mighty queer noise aloft, which
set the men running in every direction. It was the maint'-gallant-mast.
Crash! it broke off just above the cap, and
held there by the rigging, dashed with every roll, from side to
side, with all the hamper that belonged to it. The yard hung
by a hair, and at every pitch, thumped against the cross-trees;
while the sail streamed in ribbons, and the loose ropes coiled,

and thrashed the air, like whip-lashes. “Stand from under!”
and down came the rattling blocks, like so many shot. The
yard, with a snap and a plunge, went hissing into the sea,
disappeared, and shot its full length out again. The crest of a
great wave then broke over it—the ship rushed by—and we
saw the stick no more.

While this lively breeze continued, Baltimore, our old black
cook, was in great tribulation.

Like most South Seamen, the Julia's “caboose,” or cook-house,
was planted on the larboard side of the forecastle.
Under such a press of canvas, and with the heavy sea running,
the barque, diving her bows under, now and then shipped green
glassy waves, which, breaking over the head-rails, fairly deluged
that part of the ship, and washed clean aft. The caboose-house
—thought to be firmly lashed down to its place—served as a
sort of breakwater to the inundation.

About these times, Baltimore always wore what he called
his “gale-suit;” among other things, comprising a Sou'-Wester
and a huge pair of well anointed sea-boots, reaching almost to
his knees. Thus equipped for a ducking or a drowning, as the
case might be, our culinary high-priest drew to the slides of
his temple, and performed his sooty rites in secret.

So afraid was the old man of being washed overboard, that
he actually fastened one end of a small line to his waistbands,
and coiling the rest about him, made use of it as occasion
required. When engaged outside, he unwound the cord, and
secured one end to a ring-bolt in the deck; so that if a chance
sea washed him off his feet, it could do nothing more.

One evening, just as he was getting supper, the Julia reared
up on her stern, like a vicious colt, and when she settled again
forward, fairly dished a tremendous sea. Nothing could withstand
it. One side of the rotten head-bulwarks came in with a
crash; it smote the caboose, tore it from its moorings, and after

boxing it about, dashed it against the windlass, where it stranded.
The water then poured along the deck like a flood, rolling
over and over pots, pans, and kettles, and even old Baltimore
himself, who went breaching along like a porpoise.

Striking the taffrail, the wave subsided, and washing from
side to side, left the drowning cook high and dry on the after-hatch:
his extinguished pipe still between his teeth, and almost
bitten in two.

The few men on deck having sprung into the main-rigging,
sailor-like, did nothing but roar at his calamity.

The same night, our flying-jib-boom snapped off like a pipe-stem,
and our spanker-gaff came down by the run.

By the following morning, the wind in a great measure had
gone down; the sea with it; and by noon we had repaired our
damages as well as we could, and were sailing along as
pleasantly as ever.

But there was no help for the demolished bulwarks; we had
nothing to replace them; and so, whenever it breezed again,
our dauntless craft went along with her splintered prow dripping,
but kicking up her fleet heels just as high as before.

17. CHAPTER XVII.

How far we sailed to the westward after leaving the Marquesas,
or what might have been our latitude and longitude at
any particular time, or how many leagues we voyaged on our
passage to Tahiti, are matters, about which, I am sorry to say,
I can not with any accuracy enlighten the reader. Jermin, as
navigator, kept our reckoning; and, as hinted before, kept it
all to himself. At noon, he brought out his quadrant, a rusty
old thing, so odd-looking that it might have belonged to an astrologer.

Sometimes, when rather flustered from his potations, he went
staggering about deck, instrument to eye, looking all over for
the sun—a phenomenon which any sober observer might have
seen right overhead. How upon earth he contrived, on some
occasions, to settle his latitude, is more than I can tell. The
longitude, he must either have obtained by the Rule of Three,
or else by special revelation. Not that the chronometer in the
cabin was seldom to be relied on, or was any ways fidgety;
quite the contrary; it stood stock-still; and by that means, no
doubt, the true Greenwich time—at the period of its stopping,
at least—was preserved to a second.

The mate, however, in addition to his “Dead Reckoning,”
pretended to ascertain his meridian distance from Bow Bells
by an occasional lunar observation. This, I believe, consists
in obtaining with the proper instruments, the angular distance
between the moon and some one of the stars. The operation

generally requires two observers to take sights, at one and the
same time.

Now, though the mate alone might have been thought well
calculated for this, inasmuch as he generally saw things double,
the doctor was usually called upon to play a sort of second
quadrant to Jermin's first; and what with the capers of both, they
used to furnish a good deal of diversion. The mate's tremulous
attempts to level his instrument at the star he was after,
were comical enough. For my own part, when he did catch
sight of it, I hardly knew how he managed to separate it from
the astral host revolving in his own brain.

However, by hook or by crook, he piloted us along; and before
many days, a fellow sent aloft to darn a rent in the fore-top-sail,
threw his hat into the air, and bawled out “Land, ho!”

Land it was; but in what part of the South Seas, Jermin
alone knew, and some doubted whether even he did. But no
sooner was the announcement made, than he came running on
deck, spy-glass in hand, and clapping it to his eye, turned round
with the air of a man receiving indubitable assurance of something
he was quite certain of before. The land was precisely
that for which he had been steering; and, with a wind, in less
than twenty-four hours we would sight Tahiti. What he said
was verified.

The island turned out to be one of the Pomotu or Low
Group—sometimes called the Coral Islands—perhaps the most
remarkable and interesting in the Pacific. Lying to the east
of Tahiti, the nearest are within a day's sail of that place.

They are very numerous; mostly small, low, and level;
sometimes wooded, but always covered with verdure. Many
are crescent-shaped; others resemble a horse-shoe in figure.
These last are nothing more than narrow circles of land, surrounding
a smooth lagoon, connected by a single opening with
the sea. Some of the lagoons, said to have subterranean out

lets, have no visible ones; the inclosing island, in such cases,
being a complete zone of emerald. Other lagoons still, are girdled
by numbers of small, green islets, very near to each other.

The origin of the entire group is generally ascribed to the
coral insect.

According to some naturalists, this wonderful little creature,
commencing its erections at the bottom of the sea, after the
lapse of centuries, carries them up to the surface, where its labors
cease. Here, the inequalities of the coral collect all floating
bodies; forming, after a time, a soil, in which the seeds carried
thither by birds, germinate, and cover the whole with vegetation.
Here and there, all over this archipelago, numberless
naked, detached coral formations are seen, just emerging, as it
were, from the ocean. These would appear to be islands in
the very process of creation—at any rate, one involuntarily
concludes so, on beholding them.[5]

As far as I know, there are but few bread-fruit trees in any
part of the Pomotu group. In many places the cocoa-nut even
does not grow; though, in others, it largely flourishes. Consequently,
some of the islands are altogether uninhabited; others
support but a single family; and in no place is the population
very large. In some respects the natives resemble the Tahitians:
their language, too, is very similar. The people of the
southeasterly clusters—concerning whom, however, but little
is known—have a bad name as cannibals; and for that reason
their hospitality is seldom taxed by the mariner.

Within a few years past, missionaries from the Society group

have settled among the leeward islands, where the natives have
treated them kindly. Indeed, nominally, many of these people
are now Christians; and, through the political influence of their
instructors, no doubt, a short time since came under the allegiance
of Pomaree, the Queen of Tahiti; with which island
they always carried on considerable intercourse.

The Coral Islands are principally visited by the pearl-shell
fishermen, who arrive in small schooners, carrying not more
than five or six men.

For a long while the business was engrossed by Merenhout,
the French Consul at Tahiti, but a Dutchman by birth, who,
in one year, is said to have sent to France fifty thousand dollars'
worth of shells. The oysters are found in the lagoons, and
about the reefs; and, for half-a-dozen nails a-day, or a compensation
still less, the natives are hired to dive after them.

A great deal of cocoa-nut oil is also obtained in various places.
Some of the uninhabited islands are covered with dense groves;
and the ungathered nuts which have fallen year after year, lie
upon the ground in incredible quantities. Two or three men,
provided with the necessary apparatus for trying out the oil,
will, in the course of a week or two, obtain enough to load one
of the large sea-canoes.

Cocoa-nut oil is now manufactured in different parts of the
South Seas, and forms no small part of the traffic carried on
with trading vessels. A considerable quantity is annually exported
from the Society Islands to Sydney. It is used in lamps
and for machinery, being much cheaper than the sperm, and,
for both purposes, better than the right-whale oil. They bottle
it up in large bamboos, six or eight feet long; and these
form part of the circulating medium of Tahiti.

To return to the ship. The wind dying away, evening came
on before we drew near the island. But we had it in view during
the whole afternoon.

It was small and round, presenting one enameled level, free
from trees, and did not seem four feet above the water. Beyond
it was another and larger island, about which a tropical
sunset was throwing its glories; flushing all that part of the
heavens, and making it flame like a vast dyed oriel illuminated.

The Trades scarce filled our swooning sails; the air was
languid with the aroma of a thousand strange, flowering shrubs.
Upon inhaling it, one of the sick, who had recently shown symptoms
of scurvy, cried out in pain, and was carried below. This
is no unusual effect in such instances.

On we glided, within less than a cable's length of the shore,
which was margined with foam that sparkled all round. Within,
nestled the still, blue lagoon. No living thing was seen, and,
for aught we knew, we might have been the first mortals who
had ever beheld the spot. The thought was quickening to the
fancy; nor could I help dreaming of the endless grottoes and
galleries, far below the reach of the mariner's lead.

And what strange shapes were lurking there! Think of
those arch creatures, the mermaids, chasing each other in and
out of the coral cells, and catching their long hair in the coral
twigs!

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

At early dawn of the following morning we saw the Peaks
of Tahiti. In clear weather they may be seen at the distance
of ninety miles.

“Hivarhoo!” shouted Wymontoo, overjoyed, and running
out upon the bowsprit when the land was first faintly descried
in the distance. But when the clouds floated away, and showed
the three peaks standing like obelisks against the sky; and the
bold shore undulating along the horizon, the tears gushed from
his eyes. Poor fellow! It was not Hivarhoo. Green Hivarhoo
was many a long league off.

Tahiti is by far the most famous island in the South Seas;
indeed, a variety of causes has made it almost classic. Its natural
features alone distinguish it from the surrounding groups.
Two round and lofty promontories, whose mountains rise nine
thousand feet above the level of the ocean, are connected by a
low, narrow isthmus; the whole being some one hundred miles
in circuit. From the great central peaks of the larger peninsula—Orohena,
Aorai, and Pirohitee—the land radiates on all
sides to the sea in sloping green ridges. Between these are
broad and shadowy valleys—in aspect, each a Tempe—watered
with fine streams, and thickly wooded. Unlike many of the
other islands, there extends nearly all round Tahiti, a belt of
low, alluvial soil, teeming with the richest vegetation. Here,
chiefly, the natives dwell.

Seen from the sea, the prospect is magnificent. It is one

mass of shaded tints of green, from beach to mountain top; endlessly
diversified with valleys, ridges, glens, and cascades.
Over the ridges, here and there, the loftier peaks fling their
shadows, and far down the valleys. At the head of these, the
water-falls flash out into the sunlight as if pouring through vertical
bowers of verdure. Such enchantment, too, breathes over
the whole, that it seems a fairy world, all fresh and blooming
from the hand of the Creator.

Upon a near approach, the picture loses not its attractions.
It is no exaggeration to say, that to a European of any sensibility,
who, for the first time, wanders back into these valleys
—away from the haunts of the natives—the ineffable repose and
beauty of the landscape is such, that every object strikes him
like something seen in a dream; and for a time he almost refuses
to believe that scenes like these should have a commonplace
existence. No wonder that the French bestowed upon
the island the appellation of the New Cytherea. “Often,” says
De Bourgainville, “I thought I was walking in the Garden of
Eden.”

Nor, when first discovered, did the inhabitants of this charming
country at all diminish the wonder and admiration of the
voyager. Their physical beauty and amiable dispositions harmonized
completely with the softness of their clime. In truth,
every thing about them was calculated to awaken the liveliest
interest. Glance at their civil and religious institutions. To
their king, divine rights were paid; while for poetry, their
mythology rivaled that of ancient Greece.

Of Tahiti, earlier and more full accounts were given, than of
any other island in Polynesia; and this is the reason why it
still retains so strong a hold on the sympathies of all readers of
South Sea voyages. The journals of its first visitors, containing,
as they did, such romantic descriptions of a country and people
before unheard of, produced a marked sensation throughout

Europe; and when the first Tahitians were carried thither,
Omai in London, and Aotooroo in Paris, were caressed by
nobles, scholars, and ladies.

In addition to all this, several eventful occurrences, more
or less connected with Tahiti, have tended to increase its
celebrity. Over two centuries ago, Quiros, the Spaniard, is
supposed to have touched at the island; and at intervals, Wallis,
Byron, Cook, De Bourgainville, Vancouver, Le Perouse, and
other illustrious navigators, refitted their vessels in its harbors.
Here the famous Transit of Venus was observed, in 1769.
Here the memorable mutiny of the Bounty afterward had its
origin. It was to the pagans of Tahiti that the first regularly
constituted Protestant missionaries were sent; and from their
shores also, have sailed successive missions to the neighboring
islands.

These, with other events, which might be mentioned, have
united in keeping up the first interest which the place awakened;
and the recent proceedings of the French have more
than ever called forth the sympathies of the public.

19. CHAPTER XIX.

The sight of the island was right welcome. Going into
harbor, after a cruise is always joyous enough, and the sailor
is apt to indulge in all sorts of pleasant anticipations. But to
us, the occasion was heightened by many things peculiar to
our situation.

Since steering for the land, our prospects had been much
talked over. By many it was supposed, that should the captain
leave the ship, the crew were no longer bound by her
articles. This was the opinion of our forecastle Cokes; though,
probably, it would not have been sanctioned by the Marine
Courts of Law. At any rate, such was the state of both vessel
and crew, that whatever might be the event, a long stay, and
many holydays in Tahiti, were confidently predicted.

Every body was in high spirits. The sick, who had been improving
day by day since the change in our destination, were
on deck, and leaning over the bulwarks; some all animation,
and others silently admiring an object unrivaled for its stately
beauty—Tahiti from the sea.

The quarter-deck, however, furnished a marked contrast to
what was going on at the other end of the ship. The Mowree
was there, as usual, scowling by himself; and Jermin walked
to and fro in deep thought, every now and then looking to
windward, or darting into the cabin and quickly returning.

With all our light sails wooingly spread, we held on our way,
until, with the doctor's glass, Papeetee, the village metropolis

of Tahiti came into view. Several ships were descried lying
in the harbor, and among them, one which loomed up black
and large; her two rows of teeth proclaiming a frigate. This
was the Reine Blanche, last from the Marquesas, and carrying
at the fore, the flag of Rear Admiral Du Petit Thouras. Hardly
had we made her out, when the booming of her guns came
over the water. She was firing a salute, which afterward
turned out to be in honor of a treaty; or rather—as far as the
natives were concerned—a forced cession of Tahiti to the
French, that morning concluded.

The cannonading had hardly died away, when Jermin's voice
was heard giving an order so unexpected that every one started.
“Stand by to haul back the main-yard!”

“What's that mean?” shouted the men, “are we not going
into port?”

“Tumble after here, and no words!” cried the mate; and in
a moment the main-yard swung round, when, with her jib-boom
pointing out to sea, the Julia lay as quiet as a duck. We all
looked blank—what was to come next?

Presently the steward made his appearance, carrying a matress,
which he spread out in the stern-sheets of the captain's
boat; two or three chests, and other things belonging to his
master, were similarly disposed of.

This was enough. A slight hint suffices for a sailor.

Still adhering to his resolution to keep the ship at sea in
spite of every thing, the captain, doubtless, intended to set himself
ashore, leaving the vessel under the mate, to resume her
voyage at once; but after a certain period agreed upon, to
touch at the island, and take him off. All this, of course, could
easily be done, without approaching any nearer the land with
the Julia than we now were. Invalid whaling captains often
adopt a plan like this; but, in the present instance, it was
wholly unwarranted; and, every thing considered, at war with

the commonest principles of prudence and humanity. And,
although, on Guy's part, this resolution showed more hardihood
than he had ever been given credit for; it, at the same time,
argued an unaccountable simplicity, in supposing that such a
crew would, in any way, submit to the outrage.

It was soon made plain that we were right in our suspicions;
and the men became furious. The cooper and carpenter volunteered
to head a mutiny forthwith; and, while Jermin was
below, four or five rushed aft to fasten down the cabin scuttle;
others, throwing down the main-braces, called out to the rest to
lend a hand, and fill away for the land. All this was done in
an instant; and things were looking critical, when Doctor Long
Ghost and myself prevailed upon them to wait a while, and do
nothing hastily; there was plenty of time, and the ship was
completely in our power.

While the preparations were still going on in the cabin, we
mustered the men together, and went into counsel upon the
forecastle.

It was with much difficulty that we could bring these rash
spirits to a calm consideration of the case. But the doctor's
influence at last began to tell; and, with a few exceptions, they
agreed to be guided by him; assured that, if they did so, the
ship would eventually be brought to her anchors, without any
one getting into trouble. Still they told us, up and down, that
if peaceable means failed, they would seize Little Jule, and
carry her into Papeetee, if they all swung for it; but, for the
present, the captain should have his own way.

By this time every thing was ready; the boat was lowered
and brought to the gangway; and the captain was helped on
deck by the mate and steward. It was the first time we had
seen him in more than two weeks, and he was greatly altered.
As if anxious to elude every eye, a broad-brimmed Payta hat
was pulled down over his brow; so that his face was only

visible when the brim flapped aside. By a sling, rigged from
the main-yard, the cook and Bembo now assisted in lowering
him into the boat. As he went moaning over the side, he must
have heard the whispered maledictions of his crew.

While the steward was busy adjusting matters in the boat,
the mate, after a private interview with the Mowree, turned
round abruptly, and told us that he was going ashore with the
captain, to return as soon as possible. In his absence, Bembo,
as next in rank, would command; there being nothing to do
but keep the ship at a safe distance from the land. He then
sprang into the boat, and, with only the cook and steward as
oarsmen, steered for the shore.

Guy's thus leaving the ship in the men's hands, contrary to
the mate's advice, was another evidence of his simplicity; for
at this particular juncture, had neither the doctor nor myself
been aboard, there is no telling what they might have done.

For the nonce, Bembo was captain; and, so far as mere
seamanship was concerned, he was as competent to command
as any one. In truth, a better seaman never swore. This accomplishment,
by the by, together with a surprising familiarity
with most nautical names and phrases, comprised about all the
English he knew.

Being a harponeer, and, as such, having access to the cabin,
this man, though not yet civilized, was, according to sea usages,
which know no exceptions, held superior to the sailors;
and therefore nothing was said against his being left in charge
of the ship; nor did it occasion any surprise.

Some additional account must be given of Bembo. In the
first place, he was far from being liked. A dark, moody
savage, every body but the mate more or less distrusted or
feared him. Nor were these feelings unreciprocated. Unless
duty called, he seldom went among the crew. Hard stories too
were told about him; something, in particular, concerning an

hereditary propensity to kill men and eat them. True, he
came from a race of cannibals; but that was all that was
known to a certainty.

Whatever unpleasant ideas were connected with the Mowree,
his personal appearance no way lessened them. Unlike most
of his countrymen, he was, if any thing, below the ordinary
height; but then, he was all compact, and under his swart,
tattooed skin, the muscles worked like steel rods. Hair, crisp,
and coal-black, curled over shaggy brows, and ambushed small,
intense eyes, always on the glare. In short, he was none of
your effeminate barbarians.

Previous to this, he had been two or three voyages in
Sydney whalemen; always, however, as in the present instance,
shipping at the Bay of Islands, and receiving his discharge
there on the homeward-bound passage. In this way,
his countrymen frequently enter on board the colonial whaling
vessels.

There was a man among us who had sailed with the
Mowree on his first voyage, and he told me that he had not
changed a particle since then.

Some queer things this fellow told me. The following is
one of his stories. I give it for what it is worth; premising,
however, that from what I know of Bembo, and the fool-hardy,
dare-devil feats sometimes performed in the sperm-whale fishery,
I believe in its substantial truth.

As may be believed, Bembo was a wild one after a fish; indeed,
all New Zealanders engaged in this business are; it
seems to harmonize sweetly with their blood-thirsty propensities.
At sea, the best English they speak, is the South Seaman's
slogan in lowering away, “A dead whale, or a stove
boat!” Game to the marrow, these fellows are generally
selected for harponeers; a post in which a nervous, timid man
would be rather out of his element.

In darting, the harponeer, of course, stands erect in the
head of the boat, one knee braced against a support. But
Bembo disdained this; and was always pulled up to his fish,
balancing himself right on the gunwale.

But to my story. One morning, at daybreak, they brought
him up to a large, lone whale. He darted his harpoon, and
missed; and the fish sounded. After a while, the monster rose
again, about a mile off, and they made after him. But he was
frightened, or “gallied,” as they call it; and noon came, and
the boat was still chasing him. In whaling, as long as the fish
is in sight, and no matter what may have been previously
undergone, there is no giving up, except when night comes;
and nowadays, when whales are so hard to be got, frequently
not even then. At last, Bembo's whale was alongside for the
second time. He darted both harpoons; but, as sometimes
happens to the best men, by some unaccountable chance, once
more missed. Though it is well known that such failures will
happen at times, they, nevertheless, occasion the bitterest disappointment
to a boat's crew, generally expressed in curses
both loud and deep. And no wonder. Let any man pull with
might and main for hours and hours together, under a burning
sun; and if it do not make him a little peevish, he is no sailor.

The taunts of the seamen may have maddened the Mowree;
however it was, no sooner was he brought up again, than, harpoon
in hand, he bounded upon the whale's back, and for one dizzy
second was seen there. The next, all was foam and fury, and
both were out of sight. The men sheered off, flinging overboard
the line as fast as they could; while ahead, nothing was
seen but a red whirlpool of blood and brine.

Presently, a dark object swam out; the line began to
straighten; then smoked round the loggerhead, and, quick
as thought, the boat sped like an arrow through the water.
They were “fast,” and the whale was running.

Where was the Mowree? His brown hand was on the boat's
gunwale; and he was hauled aboard in the very midst of the
mad bubbles that burst under the bows.

Such a man, or devil, if you will, was Bembo.

20. CHAPTER XX.

After the captain left, the land-breeze died away; and, as
is usual about these islands, toward noon it fell a dead calm.
There was nothing to do but haul up the courses, run down
the jib, and lay and roll upon the swells. The repose of the
elements seemed to communicate itself to the men; and for a
time, there was a lull.

Early in the afternoon, the mate, having left the captain at
Papeetee, returned to the ship. According to the steward, they
were to go ashore again right after dinner with the remainder
of Guy's effects.

On gaining the deck, Jermin purposely avoided us, and went
below without saying a word. Meanwhile, Long Ghost and
I labored hard to diffuse the right spirit among the crew;
impressing upon them that a little patience and management
would, in the end, accomplish all that their violence could; and
that, too, without making a serious matter of it.

For my own part, I felt that I was under a foreign flag; that
an English consul was close at hand, and that sailors seldom
obtain justice. It was best to be prudent. Still, so much did
I sympathize with the men, so far, at least, as their real grievances
were concerned; and so convinced was I of the cruelty and
injustice of what Captain Guy seemed bent upon, that if need
were, I stood ready to raise a hand.

In spite of all we could do, some of them again became most
refractory, breathing nothing but downright mutiny. When we

went below to dinner, these fellows stirred up such a prodigious
tumult that the old hull fairly echoed. Many, and fierce too,
were the speeches delivered, and uproarious the comments of
the sailors. Among others, Long Jim, or—as the doctor afterward
called him—Lacedæmonian Jim, rose in his place, and
addressed the forecastle parliament in the following strain:

“Look ye, Britons! if, after what's happened, this there craft
goes to sea with us, we are no men; and that's the way to say
it. Speak the word, my livelies, and I'll pilot her in. I've
been to Tahiti before, and I can do it.” Whereupon, he sat
down amid a universal pounding of chest-lids, and cymbaling
of tin pans; the few invalids, who, as yet, had not been actively
engaged with the rest, now taking part in the applause, creaking
their bunk-boards and swinging their hammocks. Cries
also were heard, of “Handspikes and a shindy!” “Out stunsails!”
“Hurrah!”

Several now ran on deck, and, for the moment, I thought it
was all over with us; but we finally succeeded in restoring some
degree of quiet.

At last, by way of diverting their thoughts, I proposed that
a “Round Robin” should be prepared and sent ashore to the
consul, by Baltimore, the cook. The idea took mightily, and
I was told to set about it at once. On turning to the doctor for
the requisite materials, he told me he had none; there was not
a fly-leaf, even, in any of his books. So, after great search, a
damp, musty volume, entitled “A History of the most Atrocious
and Bloody Piracies,” was produced, and its two remaining
blank leaves being torn out, were, by help of a little pitch,
lengthened into one sheet. For ink, some of the soot over the
lamp was then mixed with water, by a fellow of a literary turn;
and an immense quill, plucked from a distended albatros' wing,
which, nailed against the bowsprit bitts, had long formed an
ornament of the forecastle, supplied a pen.

Making use of the stationery thus provided, I indited upon a
chest-lid, a concise statement of our grievances; concluding
with the earnest hope, that the consul would at once come off,
and see how matters stood, for himself. Right beneath the note
was described the circle about which the names were to be
written; the great object of a Round Robin being to arrange
the signatures in such a way, that, although they are all found
in a ring, no man can be picked out as the leader of it.

Few among them had any regular names; many answering
to some familiar title, expressive of a personal trait; or oftener
still, to the name of the place from which they hailed; and in
one or two cases were known by a handy syllable or two, significant
of nothing in particular but the men who bore them.
Some, to be sure, had, for the sake of formality, shipped under
a feigned cognomen, or “Purser's name;” these, however,
were almost forgotten by themselves; and so, to give the
document an air of genuineness, it was decided that every
man's name should be put down as it went among the crew.
The annexed, therefore, as nearly as I can recall it, is something
like a correct representation of the signatures. It is due
the doctor, to say, that the circumscribed device was his.

Folded, and sealed with a drop of tar, the Round Robin was
directed to “The English Consul, Tahiti;” and, handed to the
cook, was by him delivered into that gentleman's hands as soon
as the mate went ashore.

On the return of the boat, some time after dark, we learned
a good deal from old Baltimore, who, having been allowed to
run about as much as he pleased, had spent his time gossiping.

Owing to the proceedings of the French, every thing in Tahiti
was in an uproar. Pritchard, the missionary consul, was absent
in England; but his place was temporarily filled by one Wilson,
an educated white man, born on the island, and the son of
an old missionary of that name, still living.

With natives and foreigners alike, Wilson the younger was
exceedingly unpopular, being held an unprincipled and dissipated
man, a character verified by his subsequent conduct.
Pritchard's selecting a man like this to attend to the duties of
his office, had occasioned general dissatisfaction ashore.

Though never in Europe or America, the acting consul had
been several voyages to Sydney in a schooner belonging to the
mission; and therefore our surprise was lessened, when Baltimore
told us, that he and Captain Guy were as sociable as could
be—old acquaintances, in fact; and that the latter had taken
up his quarters at Wilson's house. For us, this bonded ill.

The mate was now assailed by a hundred questions as to
what was going to be done with us. His only reply was, that
in the morning the consul would pay us a visit, and settle every
thing.

After holding our ground off the harbor during the night, in
the morning a shore boat, manned by natives, was seen coming
off. In it were Wilson and another white man, who proved to
be a Doctor Johnson, an Englishman, and a resident physician
of Papeetee.

Stopping our headway as they approached, Jermin advanced
to the gangway to receive them. No sooner did the consul
touch the deck, than he gave us a specimen of what he was.

“Mr. Jermin,” he cried loftily, and not deigning to notice
the respectful salutation of the person addressed, “Mr. Jermin,
tack ship, and stand off from the land.”

Upon this, the men looked hard at him, anxious to see what
sort of a looking “cove” he was. Upon inspection, he turned
out to be an exceedingly minute “cove,” with a viciously
pugged nose, and a decidedly thin pair of legs. There was
nothing else noticeable about him. Jermin, with ill assumed
suavity, at once obeyed the order, and the ship's head soon
pointed out to sea.

Now, contempt is as frequently produced at first sight as
love; and thus was it with respect to Wilson. No one could
look at him without conceiving a strong dislike, or a cordial
desire to entertain such a feeling the first favorable opportunity.
There was such an intolerable air of conceit about this man,
that it was almost as much as one could do to refrain from
running up and affronting him.

“So the counselor is come,” exclaimed Navy Bob, who, like
all the rest, invariably styled him thus, much to mine and the
doctor's diversion. “Ay,” said another, “and for no good, I'll
be bound.”

Such were some of the observations made, as Wilson and the
mate went below conversing.

But no one exceeded the cooper in the violence with which
he inveighed against the ship and every thing connected with
her. Swearing like a trooper, he called the main-mast to witness,
that if he (Bungs) ever again went out of sight of land in
the Julia, he prayed Heaven that a fate might be his—altogether
too remarkable to be here related.

Much had he to say also concerning the vileness of what we
had to eat—not fit for a dog; besides enlarging upon the imprudence
of intrusting the vessel longer to a man of the mate's
intemperate habits. With so many sick, too, what could we
expect to do in the fishery? It was no use talking; come
what come might, the ship must let go her anchor.

Now, as Bungs, besides being an able seaman, a “Cod” in
the forecastle, and about the oldest man in it, was, moreover,
thus deeply imbued with feelings so warmly responded to by
the rest, he was all at once selected to officiate as spokesman,
so soon as the consul should see fit to address us. The selection
was made contrary to mine and the doctor's advice; however,
all assured us they would keep quiet, and hear every thing
Wilson had to say, before doing any thing decisive.

We were not kept long in suspense; for very soon he was
seen standing in the cabin gangway, with the tarnished tin case
containing the ship's papers; and Jermin at once sung out for
the ship's company to muster on the quarter-deck.

21. CHAPTER XXI.

The order was instantly obeyed, and the sailors ranged themselves,
facing the consul.

They were a wild company; men of many climes—not at all
precise in their toilet arrangements, but picturesque in their
very tatters. My friend, the Long Doctor, was there too; and
with a view, perhaps, of enlisting the sympathies of the consul
for a gentleman in distress, had taken more than ordinary pains
with his appearance. But among the sailors, he looked like a
land-crane blown off to sea, and consorting with petrels.

The forlorn Rope Yarn, however, was by far the most remarkable
figure. Land-lubber that he was, his outfit of seaclothing
had long since been confiscated; and he was now fain
to go about in whatever he could pick up. His upper garment
—an unsailor-like article of dress which he persisted in wearing,
though torn from his back twenty times in the day—was
an old “claw-hammer-jacket,” or swallow-tail coat, formerly
belonging to Captain Guy, and which had formed one of his
perquisites when steward.

By the side of Wilson was the mate, bareheaded, his gray
locks lying in rings upon his bronzed brow, and his keen eye
scanning the crowd as if he knew their every thought. His
frock hung loosely, exposing his round throat, mossy chest, and
short and nervous arm embossed with pugilistic bruises, and
quaint with many a device in India ink.

In the midst of a portentous silence, the consul unrolled his

papers, evidently intending to produce an effect by the exceeding
bigness of his looks.

“Mr. Jermin, call off their names;” and he handed him a list
of the ship's company.

All answered but the deserters and the two mariners at the
bottom of the sea.

It was now supposed that the Round Robin would be produced,
and something said about it. But not so. Among the
consul's papers, that unique document was thought to be perceived;
but, if there, it was too much despised to be made a
subject of comment. Some present, very justly regarding it as
an uncommon literary production, had been anticipating all
sorts of miracles therefrom; and were, therefore, much touched
at this neglect.

“Well, men,” began Wilson again after a short pause, “although
you all look hearty enough, I'm told there are some
sick among you. Now then, Mr. Jermin, call off the names
on that sick-list of yours, and let them go over to the other
side of the deck—I should like to see who they are.”

“So, then,” said he, after we had all passed over, “you are
the sick fellows, are you? Very good: I shall have you seen
to. You will go down into the cabin, one by one, to Doctor
Johnson, who will report your respective cases to me.
Such as he pronounces in a dying state I shall have sent ashore;
the rest will be provided with every thing needful, and remain
aboard.”

At this announcement, we gazed strangely at each other, anxious
to see who it was that looked like dying, and pretty nearly
deciding to stay aboard and get well, rather than go ashore and
be buried. There were some, nevertheless, who saw very
plainly what Wilson was at, and they acted accordingly.
For my own part, I resolved to assume as dying an expression
as possible; hoping, that on the strength of it, I might

be sent ashore, and so get rid of the ship without any further
trouble.

With this intention, I determined to take no part in any
thing that might happen, until my case was decided upon. As
for the doctor, he had all along pretended to be more or less
unwell; and by a significant look now given me, it was plain
that he was becoming decidedly worse.

The invalids disposed of for the present, and one of them
having gone below to be examined, the consul turned round to
the rest, and addressed them as follows:

“Men, I'm going to ask you two or three questions—let one
of you answer yes or no, and the rest keep silent. Now then:
Have you any thing to say against your mate, Mr. Jermin?”
And he looked sharply among the sailors, and, at last, right
into the eye of the cooper, whom every body was eying.

“Well, sir,” faltered Bungs, “we can't say any thing against
Mr. Jermin's seamanship, but—”

“I want no buts,” cried the consul, breaking in: “answer
me yes or no—have you any thing to say against Mr. Jermin?”

“I was going on to say, sir; Mr. Jermin's a very good man;
but then—” Here the mate looked marlingspikes at Bungs;
and Bungs, after stammering out something, looked straight
down to a seam in the deck, and stopped short.

A rather assuming fellow heretofore, the cooper had sported
many feathers in his cap; he was now showing the white one.

“So much then for that part of the business,” exclaimed Wilson,
smartly; “you have nothing to say against him, I see.”

Upon this, several seemed to be on the point of saying a
good deal; but disconcerted by the cooper's conduct, checked
themselves, and the consul proceeded.

“Have you enough to eat, aboard? answer me, you man who
spoke before.”

“Well, I don't know as to that,” said the cooper, looking ex

cessively uneasy, and trying to edge back, but pushed forward
again. “Some of that salt horse ain't as sweet as it might
be.”

“That's not what I asked you,” shouted the consul, growing
brave quite fast; “answer my questions as I put them, or I'll
find a way to make you.”

This was going a little too far. The ferment, into which the
cooper's poltroonery had thrown the sailors, now brooked no
restraint; and one of them—a young American who went by
the name of Salem[6] —dashed out from among the rest, and
fetching the cooper a blow, that sent him humming over toward
the consul, flourished a naked sheath-knife in the air, and burst
forth with “I'm the little fellow that can answer your questions;
just put them to me once, counselor.”

But the “counselor” had no more questions to ask just then;
for at the alarming apparition of Salem's knife, and the extraordinary
effect produced upon Bungs, he had popped his head
down the companion-way, and was holding it there.

Upon the mate's assuring him, however, that it was all over,
he looked up, quite flustered, if not frightened, but evidently
determined to put as fierce a face on the matter as practicable
Speaking sharply, he warned all present to “look out;” and
then repeated the question, whether there was enough to eat
aboard. Every one now turned spokesman; and he was assailed
by a perfect hurricane of yells, in which the oaths fell
like hailstones.

“How's this! what d'ye mean?” he cried, upon the first lull;
“who told you all to speak at once? Here, you man with the
knife, you'll be putting some one's eyes out yet; d'ye hear,
you sir? You seem to have a good deal to say, who are you,
pray; where did you ship?”

“I'm nothing more nor a bloody beech-comber,”[7] retorted
Salem, stepping forward piratically and eying him; “and if
you want to know, I shipped at the Islands about four months
ago.”

“Only four months ago? And here you have more to say
than men who have been aboard the whole voyage;” and the
consul made a dash at looking furious, but failed. “Let me
hear no more from you, sir. Where's that respectable, gray-headed
man, the cooper? he's the one to answer my questions.”

“There's no 'spectable, gray-headed men aboard,” returned
Salem; “we're all a parcel of mutineers and pirates!”

All this time, the mate was holding his peace; and Wilson,
now completely abashed, and at a loss what to do, took him by
the arm, and walked across the deck. Returning to the cabin-scuttle,
after a close conversation, he abruptly addressed the
sailors, without taking any further notice of what had just
happened.

“For reasons you all know, men, this ship has been placed
in my hands. As Captain Guy will remain ashore for the
present, your mate, Mr. Jermin, will command until his recovery.
According to my judgment, there is no reason why
the voyage should not be at once resumed; especially, as I
shall see that you have two more harponeers, and enough
good men to man three boats. As for the sick, neither you

nor I have any thing to do with them; they will be attended
to by Doctor Johnson; but I've explained that matter before.
As soon as things can be arranged—in a day or two, at farthest
—you will go to sea for a three months' cruise, touching here,
at the end of it, for your captain. Let me hear a good report
of you, now, when you come back. At present, you will continue
lying off and on the harbor. I will send you fresh provisions
as soon as I can get them. There: I've nothing more
to say; go forward to your stations.”

And, without another word, he wheeled round to descend
into the cabin. But hardly had he concluded, before the incensed
men were dancing about him on every side, and calling
upon him to lend an ear. Each one for himself denied the
legality of what he proposed to do; insisted upon the necessity
for taking the ship in; and finally gave him to understand,
roughly and roundly, that go to sea in her they would not.

In the midst of this mutinous uproar, the alarmed consul
stood fast by the scuttle. His tactics had been decided upon
beforehand; indeed, they must have been concerted ashore,
between him and the captain; for all he said, as he now
hurried below, was, “Go forward, men; I'm through with
you: you should have mentioned these matters before: my
arrangements are concluded: go forward, I say; I've nothing
more to say to you.” And, drawing over the slide of the
scuttle, he disappeared.

Upon the very point of following him down, the attention
of the exasperated seamen was called off to a party who had
just then taken the recreant Bungs in hand. Amid a shower
of kicks and cuffs, the traitor was borne along to the forecastle,
where—I forbear to relate what followed.

22. CHAPTER XXII.

During the scenes just described, Doctor Johnson was
engaged in examining the sick; of whom, as it turned out,
all but two were to remain in the ship. He had evidently
received his cue from Wilson.

One of the last called below into the cabin, just as the
quarter-deck gathering dispersed, I came on deck quite incensed.
My lameness, which, to tell the truth, was now much
better, was put down as, in a great measure, affected; and my
name was on the list of those who would be fit for any duty in
a day or two. This was enough. As for Doctor Long Ghost,
the shore physician, instead of extending to him any professional
sympathy, had treated him very cavalierly. To a
certain extent, therefore, we were now both bent on making
common cause with the sailors.

I must explain myself here. All we wanted was to have the
ship snugly anchored in Papeetee Bay; entertaining no doubt
that, could this be done, it would in some way or other peaceably
lead to our emancipation. Without a downright mutiny,
there was but one way to accomplish this: to induce the men
to refuse all further duty, unless it were to work the vessel in.
The only difficulty lay in restraining them within proper
bounds. Nor was it without certain misgivings, that I found
myself so situated, that I must necessarily link myself, however
guardedly, with such a desperate company; and in an
enterprise too, of which it was hard to conjecture what might

be the result. But any thing like neutrality was out of the
question; and unconditional submission was equally so.

On going forward, we found them ten times more tumultuous
than ever. After again restoring some degree of tranquillity,
we once more urged our plan of quietly refusing duty,
and awaiting the result. At first, few would hear of it; but in
the end, a good number were convinced by our representations.
Others held out. Nor were those who thought with
us, in all things to be controlled.

Upon Wilson's coming on deck to enter his boat, he was
beset on all sides; and, for a moment, I thought the ship
would be seized before his very eyes.

“Nothing more to say to you, men; my arrangements are
made. Go forward, where you belong. I'll take no insolence;”
and, in a tremor, Wilson hurried over the side in the
midst of a volley of execrations.

Shortly after his departure, the mate ordered the cook and
steward into his boat; and saying that he was going to see
how the captain did, left us, as before, under the charge of
Bembo.

At this time we were lying becalmed, pretty close in with
the land (having gone about again), our main-top-sail flapping
against the mast with every roll.

The departure of the consul and Jermin was followed by a
scene absolutely indescribable. The sailors ran about deck
like madmen; Bembo, all the while, leaning against the taffrail
by himself, smoking his heathenish stone pipe, and never
interfering.

The cooper, who that morning had got himself into a fluid
of an exceedingly high temperature, now did his best to regain
the favor of the crew. “Without distinction of party,” he
called upon all hands to step up, and partake of the contents
of his bucket.

But it was quite plain that, before offering to intoxicate
others, he had taken the wise precaution of getting well tipsy
himself. He was now once more happy in the affection of his
shipmates, who, one and all, pronounced him sound to the
kelson.

The Pisco soon told; and, with great difficulty, we restrained
a party in the very act of breaking into the after-hold in pursuit
of more.

All manner of pranks were now played.

“Mast-head, there! what d'ye see?” bawled Beauty, hailing
the main-truck through an enormous copper tunnel.
“Stand by for stays,” roared Flash Jack, hauling off with the
cook's axe, at the fastenings of the main-stay. “Looky out for
'qualls!” shrieked the Portuguese, Antone, darting a handspike
through the cabin sky-light. And “Heave round cheerly,
men,” sung out Navy Bob, dancing a hornpipe on the fore
castle.

23. CHAPTER XXIII.

Toward sunset, the mate came off, singing merrily, in the
stern of his boat; and in attempting to climb up the side, succeeded
in going plump into the water. He was rescued by the
steward, and carried across the deck with many moving expressions
of love for his bearer. Tumbled into the quarterboat,
he soon fell asleep, and waking about midnight, somewhat
sobered, went forward among the men. Here, to prepare
for what follows, we must leave him for a moment.

It was now plain enough, that Jermin was by no means unwilling
to take the Julia to sea; indeed, there was nothing he
so much desired; though what his reasons were, seeing our
situation, we could only conjecture. Nevertheless, so it was;
and having counted much upon his rough popularity with the
men to reconcile them to a short cruise under him, he had
consequently been disappointed in their behavior. Still, thinking
that they would take a different view of the matter, when
they came to know what fine times he had in store for them, he
resolved upon trying a little persuasion.

So on going forward, he put his head down the forecastle
scuttle, and hailed us all quite cordially, inviting us down into
the cabin; where, he said, he had something to make merry
withal. Nothing loth, we went; and throwing ourselves along
the transom, waited for the steward to serve us.

As the can circulated, Jermin, leaning on the table and occupying
the captain's arm-chair secured to the deck, opened his

mind as bluntly and freely as ever. He was by no means yet
sober.

He told us we were acting very foolishly; that if we only
stuck to the ship, he would lead us all a jovial life of it; enumerating
the casks still remaining untapped in the Julia's
wooden cellar. It was even hinted vaguely, that such a thing
might happen as our not coming back for the captain; whom he
spoke of but lightly; asserting, what he had often said before,
that he was no sailor.

Moreover, and perhaps with special reference to Doctor
Long Ghost and myself, he assured us generally, that if there
were any among us studiously inclined, he would take great
pleasure in teaching such the whole art and mystery of navigation,
including the gratuitous use of his quadrant.

I should have mentioned, that previous to this, he had taken
the doctor aside, and said something about reinstating him in
the cabin with augmented dignity; beside throwing out a hint,
that I myself, was in some way or other to be promoted. But
it was all to no purpose; bent the men were upon going ashore,
and there was no moving them.

At last he flew into a rage—much increased by the frequency
of his potations—and with many imprecations, concluded by
driving every body out of the cabin. We tumbled up the gangway
in high good-humor.

Upon deck every thing looked so quiet, that some of the most
pugnacious spirits actually lamented that there was so little
prospect of an exhilarating disturbance before morning. It was
not five minutes, however, ere these fellows were gratified.

Sydney Ben—said to be a runaway Ticket-of-Leave-Man,[8]

and for reasons of his own, one of the few who still remained
on duty—had, for the sake of the fun, gone down with the rest
into the cabin; where Bembo, who meanwhile was left in charge
of the deck, had frequently called out for him. At first, Ben
pretended not to hear; but on being sung out for again and
again, bluntly refused; at the same time, casting some illiberal
reflections on the Mowree's maternal origin, which the latter
had been long enough among sailors to understand as in the
highest degree offensive. So just after the men came up from
below, Bembo singled him out, and gave him such a cursing in
his broken lingo, that it was enough to frighten one. The
convict was the worse for liquor; indeed the Mowree had been
tippling also, and before we knew it, a blow was struck by
Ben, and the two men came together like magnets.

The Ticket-of-Leave-Man was a practiced bruiser; but the
savage knew nothing of the art pugilistic: and so they were
even. It was clear hugging and wrenching till both came to
the deck. Here they rolled over and over in the middle of a
ring which seemed to form of itself. At last the white man's
head fell back, and his face grew purple. Bembo's teeth were
at his throat. Rushing in all round, they hauled the savage off,
but not until repeatedly struck on the head would he let go.

His rage was now absolutely demoniac; he lay glaring, and
writhing on the deck, without attempting to rise. Cowed, as
they supposed he was, from his attitude, the men, rejoiced at
seeing him thus humbled, left him; after rating him in sailor
style, for a cannibal and a coward.

Ben was attended to, and led below.

Soon after this, the rest also, with but few exceptions, retired
into the forecastle; and having been up nearly all the previous
night, they quickly dropped about the chests and rolled into

the hammocks. In an hour's time, not a sound could be heard
in that part of the ship.

Before Bembo was dragged away, the mate had in vain
endeavored to separate the combatants, repeatedly striking the
Mowree; but the seamen interposing, at last kept him off.

And intoxicated as he was, when they dispersed, he knew
enough to charge the steward—a steady seaman be it remembered—with
the present safety of the ship; and then went below,
where he fell directly into another drunken sleep.

Having remained upon deck with the doctor some time after
the rest had gone below, I was just on the point of following
him down, when I saw the Mowree rise, draw a bucket of
water, and holding it high above his head, pour its contents
right over him. This he repeated several times. There was
nothing very peculiar in the act, but something else about him
struck me. However, I thought no more of it, but descended
the scuttle.

After a restless nap, I found the atmosphere of the forecastle
so close, from nearly all the men being down at the same time,
that I hunted up an old pea-jacket and went on deck; intending
to sleep it out there till morning. Here I found the cook and
steward, Wymontoo, Rope Yarn, and the Dane; who, being
all quiet, manageable fellows, and holding aloof from the rest
since the captain's departure, had been ordered by the mate
not to go below until sunrise. They were lying under the lee
of the bulwarks; two or three fast asleep, and the others smoking
their pipes, and conversing.

To my surprise, Bembo was at the helm; but there being so
few to stand there now, they told me, he had offered to take his
turn with the rest, at the same time heading the watch; and to
this, of course, they made no objection.

It was a fine, bright night; all moon and stars, and white
crests of waves. The breeze was light, but freshening; and

close hauled, poor little Jule, as if nothing had happened, was
heading in for the land, which rose high and hazy in the
distance.

After the day's uproar, the tranquillity of the scene was
soothing, and I leaned over the side to enjoy it.

More than ever did I now lament my situation—but it was
useless to repine, and I could not upbraid myself. So at last,
becoming drowsy, I made a bed with my jacket under the
windlass, and tried to forget myself.

How long I lay there, I can not tell; but as I rose, the first
object that met my eye, was Bembo at the helm; his dark
figure slowly rising and falling with the ship's motion against
the spangled heavens behind. He seemed all impatience and
expectation; standing at arm's length from the spokes, with
one foot advanced, and his bare head thrust forward. Where
I was, the watch were out of sight; and no one else was stirring;
the deserted decks and broad white sails were gleaming in the
moonlight.

Presently, a swelling, dashing sound came upon my ear, and
I had a sort of vague consciousness that I had been hearing it
before. The next instant I was broad awake and on my feet.
Right ahead, and so near that my heart stood still, was a long
line of breakers, heaving and frothing. It was the coral reef,
girdling the island. Behind it, and almost casting their shadows
upon the deck, were the sleeping mountains, about whose hazy
peaks the gray dawn was just breaking. The breeze had
freshened, and with a steady, gliding motion, we were running
straight for the reef.

All was taken in at a glance; the fell purpose of Bembo was
obvious, and with a frenzied shout to wake the watch, I rushed
aft. They sprang to their feet bewildered; and after a short,
but desperate scuffle, we tore him from the helm. In wrestling
with him, the wheel—left for a moment unguarded—flew to

leeward, thus, fortunately, bringing the ship's head to the wind,
and so retarding her progress. Previous to this, she had been
kept three or four points free, so as to close with the breakers.
Her headway now shortened, I steadied the helm, keeping the
sails just lifting, while we glided obliquely toward the land. To
have run off before the wind—an easy thing—would have been
almost instant destruction, owing to a curve of the reef in that
direction. At this time, the Dane and the steward were still
struggling with the furious Mowree, and the others were running
about irresolute and shouting.

But darting forward the instant I had the helm, the old cook
thundered on the forecastle with a handspike, “Breakers!
breakers close aboard!—'bout ship! 'bout ship!”

Up came the sailors, staring about them in stupid horror.

“Haul back the head-yards!” “Let go the lee fore-brace!”
“Ready about! about!” were now shouted on all sides; while
distracted by a thousand orders, they ran hither and thither,
fairly panic-stricken.

It seemed all over with us; and I was just upon the point
of throwing the ship full into the wind (a step, which, saving
us for the instant, would have sealed our fate in the end),
when a sharp cry shot by my ear like the flight of an arrow.

It was Salem: “All ready for'ard; hard down!”

Round and round went the spokes—the Julia, with her short
keel, spinning to windward like a top. Soon, the jib-sheets
lashed the stays, and the men, more self-possessed, flew to the
braces.

“Main-sail haul!” was now heard, as the fresh breeze streamed
fore and aft the deck; and directly the after-yards were
whirled round.

In half-a-minute more, we were sailing away from the land
on the other tack, with every sail distended.

Turning on our heel within little more than a biscuit's toss
of the reef, no earthly power could have saved us, were it not
that, up to the very brink of the coral rampart, there are no
soundings.

24. CHAPTER XXIV.

The purpose of Bembo had been made known to the men
generally by the watch; and now that our salvation was certain,
by an instinctive impulse they raised a cry, and rushed toward
him.

Just before liberated by Dunk and the steward, he was
standing doggedly by the mizen-mast; and, as the infuriated
sailors came on, his bloodshot eye rolled, and his sheath-knife
glittered over his head.

“Down with him!” “Strike him down!” “Hang him at
the main-yard!” such were the shouts now raised. But he
stood unmoved, and, for a single instant, they absolutely faltered.

“Cowards!” cried Salem, and he flung himself upon him.
The steel descended like a ray of light; but did no harm; for
the sailor's heart was beating against the Mowree's before he
was aware.

They both fell to the deck, when the knife was instantly
seized, and Bembo secured.

“For'ard! for'ard with him!” was again the cry; “give him
a sea-toss!” “overboard with him!” and he was dragged along
the deck, struggling and fighting with tooth and nail.

All this uproar immediately over the mate's head at last
roused him from his drunken nap, and he came staggering on
deck.

“What's this?” he shouted, running right in among them.

“It's the Mowree, zur; they are going to murder him, zur,”
here sobbed poor Rope Yarn, crawling close up to him.

“Avast! avast!” roared Jermin, making a spring toward
Bembo, and dashing two or three of the sailors aside. At this
moment the wretch was partly flung over the bulwarks, which
shook with his frantic struggles. In vain the doctor and others
tried to save him: the men listened to nothing.

“Murder and mutiny, by the salt sea!” shouted the mate;
and dashing his arms right and left, he planted his iron hand
upon the Mowree's shoulder.

“There are two of us now; and as you serve him, you serve
me,” he cried, turning fiercely round.

“Over with them together, then,” exclaimed the carpenter,
springing forward; but the rest fell back before the courageous
front of Jermin, and, with the speed of thought, Bembo, unharmed,
stood upon deck.

“Aft with ye!” cried his deliverer; and he pushed him right
among the men, taking care to follow him up close. Giving
the sailors no time to recover, he pushed the Mowree before
him, till they came to the cabin scuttle, when he drew the slide
over him, and stood still. Throughout, Bembo never spoke
one word.

“Now for'ard where ye belong!” cried the mate, addressing
the seamen, who by this time, rallying again, had no idea of
losing their victim.

“The Mowree! the Mowree!” they shouted.

Here the doctor, in answer to the mate's repeated questions,
stepped forward, and related what Bembo had been doing; a
matter which the mate but dimly understood from the violent
threatenings he had been hearing.

For a moment he seemed to waver; but at last, turning the
key in the padlock of the slide, he breathed through his set
teeth—“Ye can't have him; I'll hand him over to the consul;

so for'ard with ye, I say: when there's any drowning to be
done, I'll pass the word; so away with ye, ye blood-thirsty
pirates!”

It was to no purpose that they begged or threatened: Jermin,
although by no means sober, stood his ground manfully, and
before long they dispersed, soon to forget every thing that had
happened.

Though we had no opportunity to hear him confess it, Bembo's
intention to destroy us was beyond all question. His only
motive could have been, a desire to revenge the contumely
heaped upon him the night previous, operating upon a heart
irreclaimably savage, and at no time fraternally disposed toward
the crew.

During the whole of this scene the doctor did his best to
save him. But well knowing that all I could do, would have
been equally useless, I maintained my place at the wheel. Indeed,
no one but Jermin could have prevented this murder.

25. CHAPTER XXV.

During the morning of the day which dawned upon the
events just recounted, we remained a little to leeward of the
harbor, waiting the appearance of the consul, who had promised
the mate to come off in a shore boat for the purpose of seeing
him.

By this time the men had forced his secret from the cooper;
and the consequence was, that they kept him continually
coming and going from the after-hold. The mate must have
known this; but he said nothing, notwithstanding all the
dancing, and singing, and occasional fighting which announced
the flow of the Pisco.

The peaceable influence which the doctor and myself had
heretofore been exerting, was now very nearly at an end.

Confident, from the aspect of matters, that the ship, after all,
would be obliged to go in; and learning, moreover, that the
mate had said so, the sailors, for the present, seemed in no
hurry about it; especially as the bucket of Bungs gave such
generous cheer.

As for Bembo, we were told that, after putting him in
double irons, the mate had locked him up in the captain's
state-room, taking the additional precaution of keeping the
cabin scuttle secured. From this time forward we never saw
the Mowree again, a circumstance which will explain itself as
the narrative proceeds.

Noon came, and no consul; and as the afternoon advanced

without any word even from the shore, the mate was justly incensed;
more especially, as he had taken great pains to keep
perfectly sober against Wilson's arrival.

Two or three hours before sundown, a small schooner came
out of the harbor, and headed over for the adjoining island
of Imeeo, or Moreea, in plain sight, about fifteen miles distant.
The wind failing, the current swept her down under our bows,
where we had a fair glimpse of the natives on her decks.

There were a score of them, perhaps, lounging upon spread
mats, and smoking their pipes. On floating so near, and hearing
the maudlin cries of our crew, and beholding their antics,
they must have taken us for a pirate; at any rate, they got out
their sweeps, and pulled away as fast as they could; the sight
of our two six-pounders, which, by way of a joke, were now
run out of the side-ports, giving a fresh impetus to their efforts.
But they had not gone far, when a white man, with a red sash
about his waist, made his appearance on deck, the natives immediately
desisting.

Hailing us loudly, he said he was coming aboard; and after
some confusion on the schooner's decks, a small canoe was
lanched overboard, and, in a minute or two, he was with us.
He turned out to be an old shipmate of Jermin's, one Viner,
long supposed dead, but now resident on the island.

The meeting of these men, under the circumstances, is one
of a thousand occurrences appearing exaggerated in fiction; but,
nevertheless, frequently realized in actual lives of adventure.

Some fifteen years previous, they had sailed together as
officers of the bark Jane, of London, a South Seaman. Somewhere
near the New Hebrides, they struck one night upon an
unknown reef; and, in a few hours, the Jane went to pieces.
The boats, however, were saved; some provisions also, a
quadrant, and a few other articles. But several of the men
were lost before they got clear of the wreck.

The three boats, commanded respectively by the captain,
Jermin, and the third mate, then set sail for a small English
settlement at the Bay of Islands in New Zealand. Of course
they kept together as much as possible. After being at sea
about a week, a Lascar in the captain's boat went crazy; and,
it being dangerous to keep him, they tried to throw him overboard.
In the confusion that ensued, the boat capsized from
the sail's “jibing;” and a considerable sea running at the time,
and the other boats being separated more than usual, only one
man was picked up. The very next night it blew a heavy
gale; and the remaining boats taking in all sail, made bundles
of their oars, flung them overboard, and rode to them with
plenty of line. When morning broke, Jermin and his men
were alone upon the ocean; the third mate's boat, in all probability,
having gone down.

After great hardships, the survivors caught sight of a brig,
which took them on board, and eventually landed them in
Sydney.

Ever since then our mate had sailed from that port, never
once hearing of his lost shipmates, whom, by this time, of course,
he had long given up. Judge, then, his feelings, when Viner,
the lost third mate, the instant he touched the deck, rushed up
and wrung him by the hand.

During the gale his line had parted; so that the boat, drifting
fast to leeward, was out of sight by morning. Reduced,
after this, to great extremities, the boat touched, for fruit, at an
island of which they knew nothing. The natives, at first,
received them kindly; but one of the men getting into a
quarrel on account of a woman, and the rest taking his part,
they were all massacred but Viner, who, at the time, was in an
adjoining village. After staying on the island more than two
years, he finally escaped in the boat of an American whaler,
which landed him at Valparaiso. From this period he had continued

to follow the seas, as a man before the mast, until about
eighteen months previous, when he went ashore at Tahiti, where
he now owned the schooner we saw, in which he traded among
the neighboring islands.

The breeze springing up again just after nightfall, Viner
left us, promising his old shipmate to see him again, three days
hence, in Papeetee harbor.

26. CHAPTER XXVI.

Exhausted by the day's wassail, most of the men went
below at an early hour, leaving the deck to the steward and
two of the men remaining on duty; the mate, with Baltimore
and the Dane, engaging to relieve them at midnight. At that
hour, the ship—now standing off shore, under short sail—was
to be tacked.

It was not long after midnight, when we were wakened in
the forecastle by the lion roar of Jermin's voice, ordering a
pull at the jib-halyards; and soon afterward, a handspike
struck the scuttle, and all hands were called to take the ship
into port.

This was wholly unexpected; but we learned directly, that
the mate, no longer relying upon the consul, and renouncing
all thought of inducing the men to change their minds, had
suddenly made up his own. He was going to beat up to the
entrance of the harbor, so as to show a signal for a pilot before
sunrise.

Notwithstanding this, the sailors absolutely refused to assist
in working the ship under any circumstances whatever: to all
mine and the doctor's entreaties lending a deaf ear. Sink or
strike, they swore they would have nothing more to do with
her. This perverseness was to be attributed, in a great
measure, to the effects of their late debauch.

With a strong breeze, all sail set, and the ship in the hands
of four or five men, exhausted by two nights' watching, our

situation was bad enough; especially as the mate seemed more
reckless than ever, and we were now to tack ship several times
close under the land.

Well knowing that if any thing untoward happened to the
vessel before morning, it would be imputed to the conduct
of the crew, and so lead to serious results, should they ever be
brought to trial; I called together those on deck, to witness
my declaration:—that now that the Julia was destined for the
harbor (the only object for which I, at least, had been struggling),
I was willing to do what I could, toward carrying her
in safely. In this step I was followed by the doctor.

The hours passed anxiously until morning; when, being well
to windward of the mouth of the harbor, we bore up for it, with
the union-jack at the fore. No sign, however, of boat or pilot
was seen; and after running close in several times, the ensign
was set at the mizen-peak, union down in distress. But it was
of no avail.

Attributing to Wilson this unaccountable remissness on the
part of those ashore, Jermin, quite enraged, now determined
to stand boldly in upon his own responsibility; trusting solely
to what he remembered of the harbor on a visit there many
years previous.

This resolution was characteristic. Even with a competent
pilot, Papeetee Bay is considered a ticklish one to enter.
Formed by a bold sweep of the shore, it is protected seaward
by the coral reef, upon which the rollers break with great
violence. After stretching across the bay, the barrier extends
on toward Point Venus,[9] in the district of Matavai, eight or
nine miles distant. Here there is an opening, by which ships
enter, and glide down the smooth, deep canal, between the
reef and the shore, to the harbor. But, by seamen generally,

the leeward entrance is preferred, as the wind is extremely
variable inside the reef. This latter entrance is a break in the
barrier directly facing the bay and village of Papeetee. It is
very narrow; and, from the baffling winds, currents, and sunken
rocks, ships now and then grate their keels against the
coral.

But the mate was not to be daunted; so, stationing what
men he had at the braces, he sprang upon the bulwarks, and,
bidding every body keep wide awake, ordered the helm up.
In a few moments, we were running in. Being toward noon,
the wind was fast leaving us, and, by the time the breakers
were roaring on either hand, little more than steerage-way
was left. But on we glided—smoothly and deftly; avoiding
the green, darkling objects here and there strewn in our path:
Jermin occasionally looking down in the water, and then about
him, with the utmost calmness, and not a word spoken. Just
fanned along thus, it was not many minutes ere we were past
all danger, and floated into the placid basin within. This was
the cleverest specimen of his seamanship that he ever gave us.

As we held on toward the frigate and shipping, a canoe,
coming out from among them, approached. In it were a boy
and an old man—both islanders; the former nearly naked,
and the latter dressed in an old naval frock-coat. Both were
paddling with might and main; the old man, once in a while,
tearing his paddle out of the water; and, after rapping his
companion over the head, both fell to with fresh vigor. As
they came within hail, the old fellow, springing to his feet and
flourishing his paddle, cut some of the queerest of capers; all
the while jabbering something which at first we could not
understand.

Presently we made out the following:—“Ah! you pemi,
ah!—you come!—What for you come?—You be fine for come
no pilot.—I say, you hear?—I say, you ita maitai (no good).—

You hear?—You no pilot.—Yes, you d— me, you no pilot
't all; I d— you; you hear?”

This tirade, which showed plainly that, whatever the profane
old rascal was at, he was in right good earnest, produced
peals of laughter from the ship. Upon which, he seemed to
get beside himself; and the boy, who, with suspended paddle,
was staring about him, received a sound box over the head,
which set him to work in a twinkling, and brought the canoe
quite near. The orator now opening afresh, it turned out
that his vehement rhetoric was all addressed to the mate, still
standing conspicuously on the bulwarks.

But Jermin was in no humor for nonsense; so, with a
sailor's blessing, he ordered him off. The old fellow then flew
into a regular frenzy, cursing and swearing worse than any civilized
being I ever heard.

“You sabbee[10] me?” he shouted. “You know me, ah?
Well: me Jim, me pilot—been pilot now long time.”

“Ay,” cried Jermin, quite surprised, as indeed we all were,
“you are the pilot, then, you old pagan. Why didn't you come
off before this?”

“Ah! me sabbee,—me know—you piratee (pirate)—see you
long time, but no me come—I sabbee you—you ita maitai nuee
(superlatively bad).”

“Paddle away with ye,” roared Jermin, in a rage; “be off!
or I'll dart a harpoon at ye!”

But, instead of obeying the order, Jim, seizing his paddle,
darted the canoe right up to the gangway, and, in two bounds,
stood on deck. Pulling a greasy silk handkerchief still lower
over his brow, and improving the sit of his frock-coat with a
vigorous jerk, he then strode up to the mate; and, in a more
flowery style than ever, gave him to understand that the re

doubtable “Jim,” himself, was before him; that the ship was
his until the anchor was down; and he should like to hear
what any one had to say to it.

As there now seemed little doubt that he was all he claimed
to be, the Julia was at last surrendered.

Our gentleman now proceeded to bring us to an anchor,
jumping up between the knight-heads, and bawling out “Luff!
luff! keepy off! keepy off!” and insisting upon each time being
respectfully responded to by the man at the helm. At this
time our steerage-way was almost gone; and yet, in giving
his orders, the passionate old man made as much fuss as a white
squall aboard the Flying Dutchman.

Jim turned out to be the regular pilot of the harbor; a post,
be it known, of no small profit; and, in his eyes, at least, invested
with immense importance.[11] Our unceremonious entrance,
therefore, was regarded as highly insulting, and tending
to depreciate both the dignity and lucrativeness of his office.

The old man is something of a wizard. Having an understanding
with the elements, certain phenomena of theirs are
exhibited for his particular benefit. Unusually clear weather,
with a fine steady breeze, is a certain sign that a merchantman
is at hand; whale-spouts seen from the harbor, are tokens of a
whaling vessel's approach; and thunder and lightning, happening
so seldom as they do, are proof positive that a man-of-war
is drawing near.

In short, Jim, the pilot, is quite a character in his way; and
no one visits Tahiti without hearing some curious story about
him.

27. CHAPTER XXVII.

The village of Papeetee struck us all very pleasantly. Lying
in a semicircle round the bay, the tasteful mansions of the chiefs
and foreign residents impart an air of tropical elegance, heightened
by the palm-trees waving here and there, and the deep-green
groves of the Bread-Fruit in the background. The
squalid huts of the common people are out of sight, and there is
nothing to mar the prospect.

All round the water, extends a wide, smooth beach of mixed
pebbles and fragments of coral. This forms the thoroughfare
of the village; the handsomest houses all facing it—the fluctuations
of the tides[12] being so inconsiderable, that they cause no
inconvenience.

The Pritchard residence—a fine large building—occupies a
site on one side of the bay: a green lawn slopes off to the sea;
and in front waves the English flag. Across the water, the tricolor
also, and the stars and stripes, distinguish the residences
of the other consuls.

What greatly added to the picturesqueness of the bay at this
time, was the condemned hull of a large ship, which at the
farther end of the harbor lay bilged upon the beach, its stern
settled low in the water, and the other end high and dry. From

where we lay, the trees behind seemed to lock their leafy
boughs over its bowsprit; which, from its position, looked nearly
upright.

She was an American whaler, a very old craft. Having
sprung a leak at sea, she had made all sail for the island, to
heave down for repairs. Found utterly unseaworthy, however,
her oil was taken out and sent home in another vessel; the hull
was then stripped and sold for a trifle.

Before leaving Tahiti, I had the curiosity to go over this poor
old ship, thus stranded on a strange shore. What were my
emotions, when I saw upon her stern the name of a small town
on the river Hudson! She was from the noble stream on whose
banks I was born; in whose waters I had a hundred times
bathed. In an instant, palm-trees and elms—canoes and skiffs
—church spires and bamboos—all mingled in one vision of the
present and the past.

But we must not leave Little Jule.

At last the wishes of many were gratified; and like an aeronaut's
grapnel, her rusty little anchor was caught in the coral
groves at the bottom of Papeetee Bay. This must have been
more than forty days after leaving the Marquesas.

The sails were yet unfurled, when a boat came alongside
with our esteemed friend Wilson, the consul.

“How's this, how's this, Mr. Jermin?” he began, looking
very savage as he touched the deck. “What brings you in
without orders?”

“You did not come off to us, as you promised, sir; and there
was no hanging on longer with nobody to work the ship,” was
the blunt reply.

“So the infernal scoundrels held out—did they? Very good;
I'll make them sweat for it,” and he eyed the scowling men
with unwonted intrepidity. The truth was, he felt safer now,
than when outside the reef.

“Muster the mutineers on the quarter-deck,” he continued.
“Drive them aft, sir, sick and well: I have a word to say to
them.”

“Now, men,” said he, “you think it's all well with you, I
suppose. You wished the ship in, and here she is. Captain
Guy's ashore, and you think you must go too: but we'll see
about that—I'll miserably disappoint you.” (These last were
his very words.) “Mr. Jermin, call off the names of those who
did not refuse duty, and let them go over to the starboard side.”

This done, a list was made out of the “mutineers,” as he
was pleased to call the rest. Among these, the doctor and
myself were included; though the former stepped forward, and
boldly pleaded the office held by him when the vessel left Sydney.
The mate also—who had always been friendly—stated
the service rendered by myself two nights previous, as well as
my conduct when he announced his intention to enter the harbor.
For myself, I stoutly maintained, that according to the
tenor of the agreement made with Captain Guy, my time aboard
the ship had expired—the cruise being virtually at an end,
however it had been brought about—and I claimed my discharge.

But Wilson would hear nothing. Marking something in my
manner, nevertheless, he asked my name and country; and
then observed with a sneer, “Ah, you are the lad, I see, that
wrote the Round Robin; I'll take good care of you, my fine
fellow—step back, sir.”

As for poor Long Ghost, he denounced him as a “Sydney
Flash-Gorger;” though what under heaven he meant by that
euphonious title, is more than I can tell. Upon this, the doctor
gave him such a piece of his mind, that the consul furiously
commanded him to hold his peace, or he would instantly have
him seized into the rigging, and flogged. There was no help
for either of us—we were judged by the company we kept.

All were now sent forward; not a word being said as to what
he intended doing with us.

After a talk with the mate, the consul withdrew, going aboard
the French frigate, which lay within a cable's length. We now
suspected his object; and since matters had come to this pass,
were rejoiced at it. In a day or two the Frenchman was to
sail for Valparaiso, the usual place of rendezvous for the English
squadron in the Pacific; and doubtless, Wilson meant to put us
on board, and send us thither to be delivered up. Should our
conjecture prove correct, all we had to expect, according to
our most experienced shipmates, was the fag end of a cruise in
one of her majesty's ships, and a discharge before long at Portsmouth.

We now proceeded to put on all the clothes we could—frock
over frock, and trowsers over trowsers—so as to be in readiness
for removal at a moment's warning. Armed ships allow
nothing superfluous to litter up the deck; and therefore, should
we go aboard the frigate, our chests and their contents would
have to be left behind.

In an hour's time, the first-cutter of the Reine Blanche came
alongside, manned by eighteen or twenty sailors, armed with
cutlasses and boarding-pistols—the officers, of course, wearing
their side-arms, and the consul in an official cocked hat, borrowed
for the occasion. The boat was painted a “pirate
black,” its crew were a dark, grim-looking set, and the officers
uncommonly fierce-looking little Frenchmen. On the whole
they were calculated to intimidate—the consul's object, doubtless,
in bringing them.

Summoned aft again, every one's name was called separately;
and being solemnly reminded that it was his last chance to
escape punishment, was asked if he still refused duty. The
response was instantaneous: “Ay, sir, I do.” In some cases
followed up by divers explanatory observations, cut short by

Wilson's ordering the delinquent into the cutter. As a general
thing, the order was promptly obeyed—some taking a sequence
of hops, skips, and jumps, by way of showing, not only their
unimpaired activity of body, but their alacrity in complying
with all reasonable requests.

Having avowed their resolution not to pull another rope of
the Julia's—even if at once restored to perfect health—all the
invalids, with the exception of the two to be set ashore, accompanied
us into the cutter. They were in high spirits; so much
so, that something was insinuated about their not having been
quite as ill as pretended.

The cooper's name was the last called; we did not hear
what he answered, but he stayed behind. Nothing was done
about the Mowree.

Shoving clear from the ship, three loud cheers were raised;
Flash Jack and others receiving a sharp reprimand for it from
the consul.

“Good-by, Little Jule,” cried Navy Bob, as we swept under
the bows. “Don't fall overboard, Ropey,” said another to the
poor land-lubber, who, with Wymontoo, the Dane, and others
left behind, was looking over at us from the forecastle.

“Give her three more!” cried Salem, springing to his feet
and whirling his hat round. “You sacre dam raskeel,” shouted
the lieutenant of the party, bringing the flat of his sabre across
his shoulders, “you now keepy steel.”

The doctor and myself, more discreet, sat quietly in the bow
of the cutter; and for my own part, though I did not repent
what I had done, my reflections were far from being enviable.

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.

In a few moments, we were paraded in the frigate's gangway;
the first lieutenant—an elderly, yellow-faced officer, in an ill-cut
coat and tarnished gold lace—coming up, and frowning upon us.

This gentleman's head was a mere bald spot; his legs, sticks;
in short, his whole physical vigor seemed exhausted in the production
of one enormous moustache. Old Gamboge, as he was
forthwith christened, now received a paper from the consul;
and, opening it, proceeded to compare the goods delivered with
the invoice.

After being thoroughly counted, a meek little midshipman
was called, and we were soon after given in custody to half-a-dozen
sailor-soldiers—fellows with tarpaulins and muskets.
Preceded by a pompous functionary (whom we took for one of
the ship's corporals, from his ratan and the gold lace on his
sleeve), we were now escorted down the ladders to the berth-deck.

Here we were politely handcuffed, all round; the man with
the bamboo evincing the utmost solicitude in giving us a good
fit from a large basket of the articles of assorted sizes.

Taken by surprise at such an uncivil reception, a few of the
party demurred; but all coyness was, at last, overcome; and
finally our feet were inserted into heavy anklets of iron, running
along a great bar bolted down to the deck. After this,
we considered ourselves permanently established in our new
quarters.

“The deuse take their old iron!” exclaimed the doctor; “if
I'd known this, I'd stayed behind.”

“Ha, ha!” cried Flash Jack, “you're in for it, Doctor Long
Ghost.”

“My hands and feet are, any way,” was the reply.

They placed a sentry over us; a great lubber of a fellow,
who marched up and down with a dilapidated old cutlass of
most extraordinary dimensions. From its length, we had some
idea that it was expressly intended to keep a crowd in order—
reaching over the heads of half-a-dozen, say, so as to get a cut
at somebody behind.

“Mercy!” ejaculated the doctor with a shudder, “what a
sensation it must be to be killed by such a tool.”

We fasted till night, when one of the boys came along with
a couple of “kids” containing a thin, saffron-colored fluid, with
oily particles floating on top. The young wag told us this was
soup: it turned out to be nothing more than oleaginous warm
water. Such as it was, nevertheless, we were fain to make a
meal of it, our sentry being attentive enough to undo our
bracelets. The “kids” passed from mouth to mouth, and were
soon emptied.

The next morning, when the sentry's back was turned, some
one, whom we took for an English sailor, tossed over a few
oranges, the rinds of which we afterward used for cups.

On the second day nothing happened worthy of record. On
the third, we were amused by the following scene.

A man, whom we supposed a boatswain's mate, from the silver
whistle hanging from his neck, came below, driving before
him a couple of blubbering boys, and followed by a whole
troop of youngsters in tears. The pair, it seemed, were sent
down to be punished by command of an officer; the rest had
accompanied them out of sympathy.

The boatswain's mate went to work without delay, seizing

the poor little culprits by their loose frocks, and using a ratan
without mercy. The other boys wept, clasped their hands, and
fell on their knees; but in vain; the boatswain's mate only hit
out at them; once in a while making them yell ten times louder
than ever.

In the midst of the tumult, down comes a midshipman, who,
with a great air, orders the man on deck, and running in among
the boys, sets them to scampering in all directions.

The whole of this proceeding was regarded with infinite
scorn by Navy Bob, who, years before, had been captain of the
foretop on board a line-of-battle ship. In his estimation, it was
a lubberly piece of business throughout: they did things differently
in the English navy.

29. CHAPTER XXIX.

I can not forbear a brief reflection upon the scene ending
the last chapter.

The ratanning of the young culprits, although significant of
the imperfect discipline of a French man-of-war, may also be
considered as in some measure characteristic of the nation.

In an American or English ship, a boy, when flogged, is
either lashed to the breech of a gun, or brought right up to the
gratings, the same way the men are. But as a general rule, he
is never punished beyond his strength. You seldom or never
draw a cry from the young rogue. He bites his tongue, and
stands up to it like a hero. If practicable (which is not always
the case), he makes a point of smiling under the operation.
And so far from his companions taking any compassion on him,
they always make merry over his misfortunes. Should he turn
baby and cry, they are pretty sure to give him afterward a sly
pounding in some dark corner.

This tough training produces its legitimate results.[13] The
boy becomes, in time, a thorough-bred tar, equally ready to
strip and take a dozen on board his own ship, or, cutlass in
hand, dash pell-mell on board the enemy's. Whereas the
young Frenchman, as all the world knows, makes but an indifferent

seaman; and though, for the most part, he fights well
enough, some how or other he seldom fights well enough to beat.

How few sea-battles have the French ever won! But more:
how few ships have they ever carried by the board—that true
criterion of naval courage! But not a word against French
bravery—there is plenty of it; but not of the right sort. A
Yankee's, or an Englishman's is the downright Waterloo
“game.” The French fight better on land; and not being essentially
a maritime people, they ought to stay there. The
best of shipwrights, they are no sailors.

And this carries me back to the Reine Blanche, as noble a
specimen of what wood and iron can make, as ever floated.

She was a new ship: the present her maiden cruise. The greatest
pains having been taken in her construction, she was accounted
the “crack” craft in the French navy. She is one of
the heavy sixty-gun frigates now in vogue all over the world,
and which we Yankees were the first to introduce. In action,
these are the most murderous vessels ever lanched.

The model of the Reine Blanche has all that warlike comeliness
only to be seen in a fine fighting-ship. Still, there is a
good deal of French flummery about her—brass-plates and
other gewgaws, stuck on all over, like baubles on a handsome
woman.

Among other things, she carries a stern gallery resting on the
uplifted hands of two Caryatides, larger than life. You step
out upon this from the commodore's cabin. To behold the
rich hangings, and mirrors, and mahogany within, one is almost
prepared to see a bevy of ladies trip forth on the balcony for
an airing.

But come to tread the gun-deck, and all thoughts like these
are put to flight. Such batteries of thunderbolt hurlers! with
a sixty-eight-pounder or two thrown in as make-weights. On
the spar-deck, also, are carronades of enormous caliber.

Recently built, this vessel, of course, had the benefit of the
latest improvements. I was quite amazed to see on what high
principles of art, some exceedingly simple things were done.
But your Gaul is scientific about every thing; what other people
accomplish by a few hard knocks, he delights in achieving
by a complex arrangement of the pulley, lever, and screw.

What demi-semi-quavers in a French air! In exchanging
naval courtesies, I have known a French band play “Yankee
Doodle” with such a string of variations, that no one but a
“pretty 'cute” Yankee could tell what they were at.

In the French navy they have no marines; their men, taking
turns at carrying the musket, are sailors one moment, and
soldiers the next; a fellow running aloft in his line-frock to-day,
to-morrow stands sentry at the admiral's cabin-door. This is
fatal to any thing like proper sailor pride. To make a man a
seaman, he should be put to no other duty. Indeed, a thorough
tar is unfit for any thing else; and what is more, this fact is the
best evidence of his being a true sailor.

On board the Reine Blanche, they did not have enough to
eat; and what they did have, was not of the right sort. Instead
of letting the sailors file their teeth against the rim of a hard
sea-biscuit, they baked their bread daily in pitiful little rolls.
Then they had no “grog;” as a substitute, they drugged the
poor fellows with a thin, sour wine—the juice of a few
grapes, perhaps, to a pint of the juice of water-facets. Moreover,
the sailors asked for meat, and they gave them soup; a
rascally substitute, as they well knew.

Ever since leaving home, they had been on “short allowance.”
At the present time, those belonging to the boats—and
thus getting an occasional opportunity to run ashore—frequently
sold their rations of bread to some less fortunate shipmate for
sixfold its real value.

Another thing tending to promote dissatisfaction among the

crew was, their having such a devil of a fellow for a captain.
He was one of those horrid naval bores—a great disciplinarian.
In port, he kept them constantly exercising yards and sails,
and manœuvering with the boats; and at sea, they were forever
at quarters; running in and out the enormous guns, as if their
arms were made for nothing else. Then there was the admiral
aboard, also; and, no doubt, he too had a paternal eye
over them.

In the ordinary routine of duty, we could not but be struck
with the listless, slovenly behavior of these men; there was
nothing of the national vivacity in their movements; nothing
of the quick precision perceptible on the deck of a thoroughly
disciplined armed vessel.

All this, however, when we came to know the reason, was
no matter of surprise; three fourths of them were pressed
men. Some old merchant sailors had been seized the very day
they landed from distant voyages; while the landsmen, of
whom there were many, had been driven down from the country
in herds, and so sent to sea.

At the time, I was quite amazed to hear of press-gangs in a
day of comparative peace; but the anomaly is accounted for
by the fact, that, of late, the French have been building up a
great military marine, to take the place of that which Nelson
gave to the waves of the sea at Trafalgar. But it is to be hoped,
that they are not building their ships for the people across the
channel to take. In case of a war, what a fluttering of French
ensigns there would be!

Though I say the French are no sailors, I am far from seeking
to underrate them as a people. They are an ingenious and
right gallant nation. And, as an American, I take pride in
asserting it.

30. CHAPTER XXX.

Five days and nights, if I remember right, we were aboard
the frigate. On the afternoon of the fifth, we were told that the
next morning she sailed for Valparaiso. Rejoiced at this, we
prayed for a speedy passage. But, as it turned out, the consul
had no idea of letting us off so easily. To our no small surprise,
an officer came along toward night, and ordered us out
of irons. Being then mustered in the gangway, we were escorted
into a cutter alongside, and pulled ashore.

Accosted by Wilson as we struck the beach, he delivered us
up to a numerous guard of natives, who at once conducted us
to a house near by. Here we were made to sit down under a
shade without; and the consul and two elderly European residents
passed by us, and entered.

After some delay, during which we were much diverted by
the hilarious good-nature of our guard—one of our number was
called out for, followed by an order for him to enter the house
alone.

On returning a moment after, he told us we had little to encounter.
It had simply been asked, whether he still continued
of the same mind; on replying yes, something was put down
upon a piece of paper, and he was waved outside. All being
summoned in rotation, my own turn came at last.

Within, Wilson and his two friends were seated magisterially
at a table—an inkstand, a pen, and a sheet of paper, lending
quite a business-like air to the apartment. These three

gentlemen, being arrayed in coats and pantaloons, looked respectable,
at least in a country where complete suits of garments
are so seldom met with. One present essayed a solemn
aspect; but having a short neck and a full face, only made
out to look stupid.

It was this individual who condescended to take a paternal
interest in myself. After declaring my resolution with respect
to the ship unalterable, I was proceeding to withdraw, in compliance
with a sign from the consul, when the stranger turned
round to him, saying, “Wait a minute, if you please, Mr. Wilson;
let me talk to that youth. Come here, my young friend:
I'm extremely sorry to see you associated with these bad men;
do you know what it will end in?”

“Oh, that's the lad that wrote the Round Robin,” interposed
the consul. “He and that rascally doctor are at the bottom of
the whole affair—go outside, sir.”

I retired as from the presence of royalty; backing out with
many bows.

The evident prejudice of Wilson against both the doctor and
myself, was by no means inexplicable. A man of any education
before the mast is always looked upon with dislike by his
captain; and, never mind how peaceable he may be, should
any disturbance arise, from his intellectual superiority, he is
deemed to exert an underhand influence against the officers.

Little as I had seen of Captain Guy, the few glances cast
upon me after being on board a week or so, were sufficient to
reveal his enmity—a feeling quickened by my undisguised companionship
with Long Ghost, whom he both feared and cordially
hated. Guy's relations with the consul, readily explains
the latter's hostility.

The examination over, Wilson and his friends advanced to
the doorway; when the former, assuming a severe expression,
pronounced our perverseness, infatuation in the extreme. Nor

was there any hope left: our last chance for pardon was gone.
Even were we to become contrite, and crave permission to return
to duty, it would not now be permitted.

“Oh! get along with your gammon, counselor,” exclaimed
Black Dan, absolutely indignant that his understanding should
be thus insulted.

Quite enraged, Wilson bade him hold his peace; and then,
summoning a fat old native to his side, addressed him in Tahitian,
giving directions for leading us away to a place of safe
keeping.

Hereupon, being marshaled in order, with the old man at
our head, we were put in motion, with loud shouts, along a fine
pathway, running far on, through wide groves of the cocoa-nut
and bread-fruit.

The rest of our escort trotted on beside us in high good-humor;
jabbering broken English, and in a hundred ways giving
us to understand that Wilson was no favorite of theirs, and that
we were prime, good fellows for holding out as we did. They
seemed to know our whole history.

The scenery around was delightful. The tropical day was
fast drawing to a close; and from where we were, the sun
looked like a vast red fire burning in the woodlands—its rays
falling aslant through the endless ranks of trees, and every leaf
fringed with flame. Escaped from the confined decks of the
frigate, the air breathed spices to us; streams were heard flowing;
green boughs were rocking; and far inland, all sunset
flushed, rose the still, steep peaks of the island.

As we proceeded, I was more and more struck by the picturesqueness
of the wide, shaded road. In several places, durable
bridges of wood were thrown over large water-courses; others
were spanned by a single arch of stone. In any part of the
road, three horsemen might have ridden abreast.

This beautiful avenue—by far the best thing which civiliza

tion has done for the island—is called by foreigners “the Broom
Road,” though for what reason I do not know. Originally
planned for the convenience of the missionaries journeying from
one station to another, it almost completely encompasses the
larger peninsula; skirting for a distance of at least sixty miles
along the low, fertile lands bordering the sea. But on the side
next Taiarboo, or the lesser peninsula, it sweeps through a narrow,
secluded valley, and thus crosses the island in that direction.

The uninhabited interior, being almost impenetrable from
the densely wooded glens, frightful precipices, and sharp mountain
ridges absolutely inaccessible, is but little known, even to
the natives themselves; and so, instead of striking directly
across from one village to another, they follow the Broom
Road round and round.[14]

It is by no means, however, altogether traveled on foot;
horses being now quite plentiful. They were introduced from
Chili; and possessing all the gayety, fleetness, and docility of
the Spanish breed, are admirably adapted to the tastes of the
higher classes, who as equestrians have become very expert.
The missionaries and chiefs never think of journeying except
in the saddle; and at all hours of the day, you see the latter
galloping along at full speed. Like the Sandwich Islanders,
they ride like Pawnee-Loups.

For miles and miles I have traveled the Broom Road, and

never wearied of the continual change of scenery. But where-ever
it leads you—whether through level woods, across grassy
glens, or over hills waving with palms—the bright blue sea on
one side, and the green mountain pinnacles on the other, are
always in sight.

31. CHAPTER XXXI.

About a mile from the village we came to a halt.

It was a beautiful spot. A mountain stream here flowed at
the foot of a verdant slope; on one hand, it murmured along
until the waters, spreading themselves upon a beach of small,
sparkling shells, trickled into the sea; on the other, was a long
defile, where the eye pursued a gleaming, sinuous thread, lost
in shade and verdure.

The ground next the road was walled in by a low, rude
parapet of stones; and, upon the summit of the slope beyond,
was a large, native house, the thatch dazzling white, and, in
shape, an oval.

“Calabooza! Calabooza Beretanee!” (the English Jail),
cried our conductor, pointing to the building.

For a few months past, having been used by the consul as a
house of confinement for his refractory sailors, it was thus
styled to distinguish it from similar places in and about
Papeetee.

Though extremely romantic in appearance, on a near approach
it proved but ill adapted to domestic comfort. In
short, it was a mere shell, recently built, and still unfinished.
It was open all round, and tufts of grass were growing here
and there under the very roof. The only piece of furniture
was the “stocks,” a clumsy machine for keeping people in
one place, which, I believe, is pretty much out of date in most
countries. It is still in use, however, among the Spaniards in

South America; from whom, it seems, the Tahitians have borrowed
the contrivance, as well as the name by which all places
of confinement are known among them.

The stocks were nothing more than two stout timbers, about
twenty feet in length, and precisely alike. One was placed
edgeways on the ground, and the other resting on top, left, at
regular intervals along the seam, several round holes, the object
of which was evident at a glance.

By this time, our guide had informed us, that he went by the
name of “Capin Bob” (Captain Bob); and a hearty old Bob he
proved. It was just the name for him. From the first, so
pleased were we with the old man, that we cheerfully acquiesced
in his authority.

Entering the building, he set us about fetching heaps of dry
leaves to spread behind the stocks for a couch. A trunk of a
small cocoa-nut tree was then placed for a bolster—rather a
hard one, but the natives are used to it. For a pillow, they
use a little billet of wood, scooped out, and standing on four
short legs—a sort of head-stool.

These arrangements completed, Captain Bob proceeded to
“hannapar,” or secure us, for the night. The upper timber
of the machine being lifted at one end, and our ankles placed
in the semicircular spaces of the lower one, the other beam
was then dropped; both being finally secured together by an
old iron hoop at either extremity. This initiation was performed
to the boisterous mirth of the natives, and diverted ourselves
not a little.

Captain Bob now bustled about, like an old woman seeing
the children to bed. A basket of baked “taro,” or Indian
turnip, was brought in, and we were given a piece all round.
Then a great counterpane, of coarse, brown “tappa,” was
stretched over the whole party; and, after sundry injunctions
to “moee-moee,” and be “maitai”—in other words, to go to

sleep, and be good boys—we were left to ourselves, fairly put
to bed and tucked in.

Much talk was now had concerning our prospects in life;
but the doctor and I, who lay side by side, thinking the occasion
better adapted to meditation, kept pretty silent; and, before
long, the rest ceased conversing, and, wearied with loss
of rest on board the frigate, were soon sound asleep.

After sliding from one revery into another, I started, and
gave the doctor a pinch. He was dreaming, however; and,
resolved to follow his example, I troubled him no more.

How the rest managed, I know not; but, for my own part,
I found it very hard to get asleep. The consciousness of
having one's foot pinned; and the impossibility of getting it
anywhere else than just where it was, was most distressing.

But this was not all: there was no way of lying but straight
on your back; unless, to be sure, one's limb went round and
round in the ankle, like a swivel. Upon getting into a sort
of doze, it was no wonder this uneasy posture gave me the
nightmare. Under the delusion that I was about some gymnastics
or other, I gave my unfortunate member such a twitch,
that I started up with the idea that some one was dragging the
stocks away.

Captain Bob and his friends lived in a little hamlet hard by;
and when morning showed in the East, the old gentleman
came forth from that direction likewise, emerging from a
grove, and saluting us loudly as he approached.

Finding every body awake, he set us at liberty; and, leading
us down to the stream, ordered every man to strip and
bathe.

“All han's, my boy, hanna-hanna, wash!” he cried. Bob
was a linguist, and had been to sea in his day, as he many a
time afterward told us.

At this moment, we were all alone with him; and it would

have been the easiest thing in the world to have given him the
slip; but he seemed to have no idea of such a thing; treating
us so frankly and cordially, indeed, that even had we thought
of running, we would have been ashamed of attempting it.
He very well knew, nevertheless (as we ourselves were not
slow in finding out), that, for various reasons, any attempt
of the kind, without some previously arranged plan for leaving
the island, would be certain to fail.

As Bob was a rare one every way, I must give some account
of him. There was a good deal of “personal appearance”
about him; in short, he was a corpulent giant, over six
feet in height, and literally as big round as a hogshead. The
enormous bulk of some of the Tahitians has been frequently
spoken of by voyagers.

Beside being the English consul's jailer, as it were, he
carried on a little Tahitian farming; that is to say, he owned
several groves of the bread-fruit and palm, and never hindered
their growing. Close by was a “taro” patch of his, which he
occasionally visited.

Bob seldom disposed of the produce of his lands; it was all
needed for domestic consumption. Indeed, for gormandizing,
I would have matched him against any three common-council
men at a civic feast.

A friend of Bob's told me, that, owing to his voraciousness,
his visits to other parts of the island were much dreaded; for,
according to Tahitian customs, hospitality without charge is
enjoined upon every one; and though it is reciprocal in most
cases, in Bob's it was almost out of the question. The damage
done to a native larder in one of his morning calls, was more
than could be made good by his entertainer's spending the
holydays with him.

The old man, as I have hinted, had, once upon a time, been
a cruise or two in a whaling-vessel; and, therefore, he prided

himself upon his English. Having acquired what he knew of
it in the forecastle, he talked little else than sailor phrases, which
sounded whimsically enough.

I asked him one day how old he was. “Olee?” he exclaimed,
looking very profound in consequence of thoroughly understanding
so subtile a question—“Oh! very olee—'tousand 'ear
—more—big man when Capin Tootee (Captain Cook) heavey
in sight.” (In sea parlance, came into view.)

This was a thing impossible; but adapting my discourse to
the man, I rejoined—“Ah! you see Capin Tootee—well, how
you like him?”

“Oh! he maitai: (good) friend of me, and know my
wife.”

On my assuring him strongly, that he could not have been born
at the time, he explained himself by saying, that he was speaking
of his father, all the while. This, indeed, might very well
have been.

It is a curious fact, that all these people, young and old, will
tell you that they have enjoyed the honor of a personal acquaintance
with the great navigator; and if you listen to them, they
will go on and tell anecdotes without end. This springs from
nothing but their great desire to please; well knowing that a
more agreeable topic for a white man could not be selected.
As for the anachronism of the thing, they seem to have no idea
of it: days and years are all the same to them.

After our sunrise bath, Bob once more placed us in the stocks,
almost moved to tears at subjecting us to so great a hardship;
but he could not treat us otherwise, he said, on pain of the
consul's displeasure. How long we were to be confined, he did
not know; nor what was to be done with us in the end.

As noon advanced, and no signs of a meal were visible, some
one inquired whether we were to be boarded, as well as lodged,
at the Hotel de Calabooza?

“Vast heavey” (avast heaving, or wait a bit)—said Bob—
“kow-kow” (food) “come ship by by.”

And, sure enough, along comes Rope Yarn with a wooden
bucket of the Julia's villainous biscuit. With a grin, he said it
was a present from Wilson; it was all we were to get that day.
A great cry was now raised; and well was it for the land-lubber,
that he had a pair of legs, and the men could not use theirs.
One and all, we resolved not to touch the bread, come what
come might; and so we told the natives.

Being extravagantly fond of ship-biscuit—the harder the
better—they were quite overjoyed; and offered to give us every
day, a small quantity of baked bread-fruit and Indian turnip in
exchange for the bread. This we agreed to; and every morning
afterward, when the bucket came, its contents were at once
handed over to Bob and his friends, who never ceased munching
until nightfall.

Our exceedingly frugal meal of bread-fruit over, Captain
Bob waddled up to us with a couple of long poles hooked at
one end, and several large baskets of woven cocoa-nut branches.

Not far off was an extensive grove of orange-trees in full
bearing; and myself and another were selected to go with him,
and gather a supply for the party. When we went in among
the trees, the sumptuousness of the orchard was unlike any thing
I had ever seen; while the fragrance shaken from the gently
waving boughs, regaled our senses most delightfully.

In many places the trees formed a dense shade, spreading
overhead a dark, rustling vault, groined with boughs, and
studded here and there with the ripened spheres, like gilded
balls. In several places, the overladen branches were borne to
the earth, hiding the trunk in a tent of foliage. Once fairly in
the grove, we could see nothing else; it was oranges all
round.

To preserve the fruit from bruising, Bob, hooking the twigs

with his pole, let them fall into his basket. But this would not
do for us. Seizing hold of a bough, we brought such a shower
to the ground, that our old friend was fain to run from under.
Heedless of remonstrance, we then reclined in the shade, and
feasted to our heart's content. Heaping up the baskets afterward,
we returned to our comrades, by whom our arrival was
hailed with loud plaudits; and in a marvelously short time,
nothing was left of the oranges we brought, but the rinds.

While inmates of the Calabooza, we had as much of the
fruit as we wanted; and to this cause, and others that might be
mentioned, may be ascribed the speedy restoration of our sick
to comparative health.

The orange of Tahiti is delicious—small and sweet, with a
thin, dry rind. Though now abounding, it was unknown
before Cook's time, to whom the natives are indebted for so
great a blessing. He likewise introduced several other kinds
of fruit; among these were the fig, pine-apple, and lemon, now
seldom met with. The lime still grows, and some of the
poorer natives express the juice to sell to the shipping. It is
highly valued as an anti-scorbutic. Nor was the variety of
foreign fruits and vegetables which were introduced, the only
benefit conferred by the first visitors to the Society group.
Cattle and sheep were left at various places. More of them
anon.

Thus, after all that of late years has been done for these
islanders, Cook and Vancouver may, in one sense at least, be
considered their greatest benefactors.

32. CHAPTER XXXII.

As I happened to arrive at the island at a very interesting
period in its political affairs, it may be well to give some little
account here of the proceedings of the French, by way of
episode to the narrative. My information was obtained at the
time from the general reports then rife among the natives, as
well as from what I learned upon a subsequent visit, and reliable
accounts which I have seen since reaching home.

It seems, that for some time back the French had been
making repeated ineffectual attempts to plant a Roman Catholic
mission here. But, invariably treated with contumely, they
sometimes met with open violence; and, in every case, those
directly concerned in the enterprise were ultimately forced to
depart. In one instance, two priests, Laval and Caset, after
enduring a series of persecutions, were set upon by the natives,
maltreated, and finally carried aboard a small trading schooner,
which eventually put them ashore at Wallis' island—a savage
place—some two thousand miles to the westward.

Now, that the resident English missionaries authorized the
banishment of these priests, is a fact undenied by themselves.
I was also repeatedly informed, that by their inflammatory harangues
they instigated the riots which preceded the sailing of
the schooner. At all events, it is certain that their unbounded
influence with the natives would easily have enabled them to
prevent every thing that took place on this occasion, had they
felt so inclined.

Melancholy as such an example of intolerance on the part of

Protestant missionaries must appear, it is not the only one, and
by no means the most flagrant, which might be presented. But
I forbear to mention any others; since they have been more than
hinted at by recent voyagers, and their repetition here would
perhaps be attended with no good effect. Besides, the conduct
of the Sandwich Island missionaries in particular, has latterly
much amended in this respect.

The treatment of the two priests formed the principal ground
(and the only justifiable one) upon which Du Petit Thouars
demanded satisfaction; and which subsequently led to his
seizure of the island. In addition to other things, he also
charged, that the flag of Merenhout, the consul, had been repeatedly
insulted, and the property of a certain French resident
violently appropriated by the government. In the latter instance,
the natives were perfectly in the right. At that time, the
law against the traffic in ardent spirits (every now and then
suspended and revived) happened to be in force; and finding
a large quantity on the premises of Victor, a low, knavish adventurer
from Marseilles, the Tahitians pronounced it forfeit.

For these, and similar alledged outrages, a large pecuniary
restitution was demanded ($10,000), which there being no
exchequer to supply, the island was forthwith seized, under
cover of a mock treaty, dictated to the chiefs on the gun-deck
of Du Petit Thouar's frigate. But, notwithstanding this formality,
there now seems little doubt that the downfall of the
Pomarees was decided upon at the Tuilleries.

After establishing the Protectorate, so called, the rear-admiral
sailed; leaving M. Bruat governor, assisted by Reine
and Carpegne, civilians, named members of the Council of
Government, and Merenhout, the consul, now made Commissioner
Royal. No soldiers, however, were landed, until
several months afterward. As men, Reine and Carpegne were
not disliked by the natives; but Bruat and Merenhout they

bitterly detested. In several interviews with the poor queen,
the unfeeling governor sought to terrify her into compliance
with his demands; clapping his hand upon his sword, shaking
his fist in her face, and swearing violently. “Oh, king of a
great nation,” said Pomaree, in her letter to Louis Phillipe,
“fetch away this man; I and my people can not endure his
evil doings. He is a shameless man.”

Although the excitement among the natives did not wholly
subside upon the rear-admiral's departure, no overt act of
violence immediately followed. The queen had fled to Imeeo;
and the dissensions among the chiefs, together with the ill
advised conduct of the missionaries, prevented a union upon
some common plan of resistance. But the great body of the
people, as well as their queen, confidently relied upon the
speedy interposition of England—a nation bound to them by
many ties, and which, more than once, had solemnly guarantied
their independence.

As for the missionaries, they openly defied the French
governor, childishly predicting fleets and armies from Britain.
But what is the welfare of a spot like Tahiti, to the mighty
interests of France and England! There was a remonstrance
on one side, and a reply on the other; and there the matter
rested. For once in their brawling lives, St. George and St.
Denis were hand and glove; and they were not going to cross
sabres about Tahiti.

During my stay upon the island, so far as I could see, there
was little to denote that any change had taken place in the
government. Such laws as they had were administered the
same as ever; the missionaries went about unmolested, and
comparative tranquillity everywhere prevailed. Nevertheless,
I sometimes heard the natives inveighing against the French
(no favorites, by the by, throughout Polynesia), and bitterly
regretting that the queen had not, at the outset, made a stand.

In the house of the chief Adeea, frequent discussions took
place, concerning the ability of the island to cope with the
French: the number of fighting men and muskets among the
natives were talked of, as well as the propriety of fortifying
several heights overlooking Papeetee. Imputing these symptoms
to the mere resentment of a recent outrage, and not to
any determined spirit of resistance, I little anticipated the
gallant, though useless warfare, so soon to follow my departure.

At a period subsequent to my first visit, the island, which
before was divided into nineteen districts, with a native chief
over each, in capacity of governor and judge, was, by Bruat,
divided into four. Over these he set as many recreant chiefs,
Kitoti, Tati, Utamai, and Paraita; to whom he paid $1000 each,
to secure their assistance in carrying out his evil designs.

The first blood shed, in any regular conflict, was at Mahanar,
upon the peninsula of Taraiboo. The fight originated in the
seizure of a number of women from the shore, by men belonging
to one of the French vessels of war. In this affair, the
islanders fought desperately, killing about fifty of the enemy,
and losing ninety of their own number. The French sailors
and marines, who, at the time, were reported to be infuriated
with liquor, gave no quarter; and the survivors only saved
themselves by fleeing to the mountains. Subsequently, the
battles of Hararparpi and Fararar were fought, in which the
invaders met with indifferent success.

Shortly after the engagement at Hararparpi, three Frenchmen
were waylaid in a pass of the valleys, and murdered by
the incensed natives. One was Lefevre, a notorious scoundrel,
and a spy, whom Bruat had sent to conduct a certain Major
Fergus (said to be a Pole), to the hiding-place of four chiefs,
whom the governor wished to seize and execute. This circumstance
violently inflamed the hostility of both parties.

About this time, Kitoti, a depraved chief, and the pliant
tool of Bruat, was induced by him to give a great feast in the
Vale of Paree, to which all his countrymen were invited.
The governor's object was to gain over all he could to his
interests; he supplied an abundance of wine and brandy, and
a scene of bestial intoxication was the natural consequence.
Before it came to this, however, several speeches were made
by the islanders. One of these, delivered by an aged warrior,
who had formerly been at the head of the celebrated Aeorai
Society, was characteristic. “This is a very good feast,” said
the reeling old man, “and the wine also is very good; but you
evil-minded Wee-Wees (French), and you false-hearted men of
Tahiti, are all very bad.”

By the latest accounts, most of the islanders still refuse to
submit to the French; and what turn events may hereafter
take, it is hard to predict. At any rate, these disorders must
accelerate the final extinction of their race.

Along with the few officers left by Du Petit Thouars, were
several French priests, for whose unobstructed exertions in
the dissemination of their faith, the strongest guaranties were
provided by an article of the treaty. But no one was bound
to offer them facilities; much less a luncheon, the first day
they went ashore. True, they had plenty of gold; but to the
natives it was anathema—taboo—and, for several hours and
some odd minutes, they would not touch it. Emissaries of the
Pope and the devil, as the strangers were considered—the
smell of sulphur hardly yet shaken out of their canonicals—
what islander would venture to jeopardize his soul, and call
down a blight on his bread-fruit, by holding any intercourse
with them! That morning the priests actually picknicked in a
grove of cocoa-nut trees; but, before night, Christian hospitality—in
exchange for a commercial equivalent of hard dollars—
was given them in an adjoining house.

Wanting in civility, as the conduct of the English missionaries
may be thought, in withholding a decent reception to
these persons, the latter were certainly to blame in needlessly
placing themselves in so unpleasant a predicament. Under
far better auspices, they might have settled upon some one
of the thousand unconverted isles of the Pacific, rather than
have forced themselves thus, upon a people already professedly
Christians.

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.

Our place of confinement being open all round, and so
near the Broom Road, of course we were in plain sight of
every body passing; and, therefore, we had no lack of visitors
among such an idle, inquisitive set, as the Tahitians. For a
few days, they were coming and going continually; while
thus ignobly fast by the foot, we were fain to give passive
audience.

During this period, we were the lions of the neighborhood;
and, no doubt, strangers from the distant villages were taken
to see the “Karhowrees” (white men), in the same way that
countrymen, in a city, are gallanted to the Zoological Gardens.

All this gave us a fine opportunity of making observations.
I was painfully struck by the considerable number of sickly or
deformed persons; undoubtedly made so by a virulent complaint,
which, under native treatment, almost invariably affects,
in the end, the muscles and bones of the body. In particular,
there is a distortion of the back, most unsightly to behold,
originating in a horrible form of the malady.

Although this, and other bodily afflictions, were unknown before
the discovery of the islands by the whites, there are several
cases found of the Fa-Fa, or Elephantiasis—a native disease,
which seems to have prevailed among them from the earliest
antiquity. Affecting the legs and feet alone, it swells them, in
some instances, to the girth of a man's body, covering the skin
with scales. It might be supposed, that one, thus afflicted,

would be incapable of walking; but, to all appearance, they
seem to be nearly as active as any body; apparently, suffering
no pain, and bearing the calamity with a degree of cheerfulness
truly marvelous.

The Fa-Fa is very gradual in its approaches, and years
elapse before the limb is fully swollen. Its origin is ascribed
by the natives to various causes; but the general impression
seems to be, that it arises, in most cases, from the eating of unripe
bread-fruit and Indian turnip. So far as I could find out,
it is not hereditary. In no stage do they attempt a cure; the
complaint being held incurable.

Speaking of the Fa-Fa, reminds me of a poor fellow, a sailor,
whom I afterward saw at Roorootoo, a lone island, some two
days' sail from Tahiti.

The island is very small, and its inhabitants nearly extinct.
We sent a boat off to see whether any yams were to be had, as
formerly, the yams of Roorootoo were as famous among the
islands round about, as Sicily oranges in the Mediterranean.
Going ashore, to my surprise, I was accosted, near a little
shanty of a church, by a white man, who limped forth from a
wretched hut. His hair and beard were unshorn, his face
deadly pale and haggard, and one limb swelled with the Fa-Fa
to an incredible bigness. This was the first instance of a
foreigner suffering from it, that I had ever seen, or heard of;
and the spectacle shocked me accordingly.

He had been there for years. From the first symptoms,
he could not believe his complaint to be what it really was,
and trusted it would soon disappear. But when it became
plain, that his only chance for recovery was a speedy change
of climate, no ship would receive him as a sailor: to think of
being taken as a passenger, was idle. This speaks little for the
humanity of sea captains; but the truth is, that those in the
Pacific have little enough of the virtue; and, nowadays, when

so many charitable appeals are made to them, they have become
callous.

I pitied the poor fellow from the bottom of my heart; but
nothing could I do, as our captain was inexorable. “Why,”
said he, “here we are—started on a six months' cruise—I can't
put back; and he is better off on the island than at sea. So
on Roorootoo he must die.” And probably he did.

I afterward heard of this melancholy object, from two sea-men.
His attempts to leave were still unavailing, and his hard
fate was fast closing in.

Notwithstanding the physical degeneracy of the Tahitians
as a people, among the chiefs, individuals of personable figures
are still frequently met with; and, occasionally, majestic-looking
men, and diminutive women as lovely as the nymphs who,
nearly a century ago, swam round the ships of Wallis. In
these instances, Tahitian beauty is quite as seducing as it
proved to the crew of the Bounty; the young girls being just
such creatures as a poet would picture in the tropics—soft,
plump, and dreamy-eyed.

The natural complexion of both sexes is quite light; but the
males appear much darker, from their exposure to the sun.
A dark complexion, however, in a man, is highly esteemed, as
indicating strength of both body and soul. Hence there is a
saying, of great antiquity among them,

With this idea of manliness, no wonder the Tahitians regard
all pale and tepid-looking Europeans, as weak and feminine;
whereas, a sailor, with a cheek like the breast of a roast turkey,
is held a lad of brawn: to use their own phrase, a “taata tona,”
or man of bones.

Speaking of bones, recalls an ugly custom of theirs, now obsolete—that

of making fish-hooks and gimblets out of those of
their enemies. This beats the Scandinavians turning people's
skulls into cups and saucers.

But to return to the Calabooza Beretanee. Immense was
the interest we excited among the throngs that called there;
they would stand talking about us by the hour, growing most
unnecessarily excited too, and dancing up and down with all
the vivacity of their race. They invariably sided with us; flying
out against the consul, and denouncing him as “Ita maitai
nuee,” or very bad exceedingly. They must have borne him
some grudge or other.

Nor were the women, sweet souls, at all backward in visiting.
Indeed, they manifested even more interest than the men;
gazing at us with eyes full of a thousand meanings, and conversing
with marvelous rapidity. But, alas! inquisitive though
they were, and, doubtless, taking some passing compassion on
us, there was little real feeling in them after all, and still less
sentimental sympathy. Many of them laughed outright at us,
noting only what was ridiculous in our plight.

I think it was the second day of our confinement, that a
wild, beautiful girl burst into the Calabooza, and, throwing
herself into an arch attitude, stood afar off, and gazed at us.
She was a heartless one:—tickled to death with Black Dan's
nursing his chafed ankle, and indulging in certain moral reflections
on the consul and Captain Guy. After laughing her fill
at him, she condescended to notice the rest; glancing from one
to another, in the most methodical and provoking manner
imaginable. Whenever any thing struck her comically, you
saw it like a flash—her finger leveled instantaneously, and,
flinging herself back, she gave loose to strange, hollow little
notes of laughter, that sounded like the bass of a music-box,
playing a lively air with the lid down.

Now, I knew not, that there was any thing in my own

appearance calculated to disarm ridicule; and, indeed, to have
looked at all heroic, under the circumstances, would have
been rather difficult. Still, I could not but feel exceedingly
annoyed at the prospect of being screamed at in turn, by this
mischievous young witch, even though she were but an
islander. And, to tell a secret, her beauty had something to
do with this sort of feeling; and, pinioned as I was, to a log,
and clad most unbecomingly, I began to grow sentimental.

Ere her glance fell upon me, I had, unconsciously, thrown
myself into the most graceful attitude I could assume, leaned
my head upon my hand, and summoned up as abstracted an
expression as possible. Though my face was averted, I soon
felt it flash, and knew that the glance was on me: deeper and
deeper grew the flush, and not a sound of laughter.

Delicious thought! she was moved at the sight of me. I
could stand it no longer, but started up. Lo! there she was;
her great hazel eyes rounding and rounding in her head, like
two stars, her whole frame in a merry quiver, and an expression
about the mouth that was sudden and violent death to any
thing like sentiment.

The next moment she spun round, and, bursting from peal
to peal of laughter, went racing out of the Calabooza; and, in
mercy to me, never returned.

34. CHAPTER XXXIV.

A few days passed; and, at last, our docility was rewarded
by some indulgence on the part of Captain Bob.

He allowed the entire party to be at large during the day;
only enjoining upon us always to keep within hail. This, to
be sure, was in positive disobedience to Wilson's orders; and
so, care had to be taken that he should not hear of it. There
was little fear of the natives telling him; but strangers traveling
the Broom Road might. By way of precaution, boys were
stationed as scouts along the road. At sight of a white man,
they sounded the alarm; when we all made for our respective
holes (the stocks being purposely left open): the beam then
descended, and we were prisoners. As soon as the traveler
was out of sight, of course, we were liberated.

Notwithstanding the regular supply of food which we obtained
from Captain Bob and his friends, it was so small, that
we often felt most intolerably hungry. We could not blame
them for not bringing us more, for we soon became aware that
they had to pinch themselves, in order to give us what they
did; beside, they received nothing for their kindness but the
daily bucket of bread.

Among a people, like the Tahitians, what we call “hard
times,” can only be experienced in a scarcity of edibles; yet,
so destitute are many of the common people, that this most
distressing consequence of civilization may be said, with them,
to be ever present. To be sure, the natives about the Calabooza,

had abundance of limes and oranges; but what were
these good for, except to impart a still keener edge to appetites
which there was so little else to gratify? During the
height of the bread-fruit season, they fare better; but, at other
times, the demands of the shipping exhaust the uncultivated
resources of the island; and the lands being mostly owned by
the chiefs, the inferior orders have to suffer for their cupidity.
Deprived of their nets, many of them would starve.

As Captain Bob insensibly remitted his watchfulness, and
we began to stroll farther and farther from the Calabooza, we
managed, by a systematic foraging upon the country round
about, to make up for some of our deficiencies. And fortunate
it was, that the houses of the wealthier natives were just as
open to us as those of the most destitute; we were treated as
kindly in one as the other.

Once in a while, we came in at the death of a chief's pig;
the noise of whose slaughtering was generally to be heard at a
great distance. An occasion like this gathers the neighbors
together, and they have a bit of a feast, where a stranger
is always welcome. A good loud squeal, therefore, was
music in our ears. It showed something going on in that
direction.

Breaking in upon the party tumultuously, as we did, we
always created a sensation. Sometimes, we found the animal
still alive and struggling; in which case, it was generally
dropped at our approach. To provide for these emergencies,
Flash Jack generally repaired to the scene of operations with a
sheath knife between his teeth, and a club in his hand. Others
were exceedingly officious in singeing off the bristles, and disemboweling.
Doctor Long Ghost and myself, however, never
meddled with these preliminaries, but came to the feast itself,
with unimpaired energies.

Like all lank men, my long friend had an appetite of his

own. Others occasionally went about seeking what they might
devour, but he was always on the alert.

He had an ingenious way of obviating an inconvenience
which we all experienced at times. The islanders seldom use
salt with their food; so he begged Rope Yarn to bring him
some from the ship; also a little pepper, if he could; which,
accordingly, was done. This he placed in a small leather
wallet—a “monkey bag” (so called by sailors)—usually worn
as a purse about the neck.

“In my poor opinion,” said Long Ghost, as he tucked the
wallet out of sight, “it behooves a stranger, in Tahiti, to have
his knife in readiness, and his caster slung.”

35. CHAPTER XXXV.

We had not been many days ashore, when Doctor Johnson
was espied coming along the Broom Road.

We had heard that he meditated a visit, and suspected what
he was after. Being upon the consul's hands, all our expenses
were of course payable by him in his official capacity; and,
therefore, as a friend of Wilson, and sure of good pay, the
shore doctor had some idea of allowing us to run up a bill with
him. True, it was rather awkward to ask us to take medicines,
which, on board the ship, he told us were not needed. However,
he resolved to put a bold face on the matter, and give us
a call.

His approach was announced by one of the scouts, upon
which some one suggested that we should let him enter, and
then put him in the stocks. But Long Ghost proposed better
sport. What it was, we shall presently see.

Very bland and amiable, Doctor Johnson advanced, and,
resting his cane on the stocks, glanced to right and left, as we
lay before him. “Well, my lads”—he began—“how do you
find yourselves to-day?”

Looking very demure, the men made some rejoinder; and he
went on.

“Those poor fellows I saw the other day—the sick, I mean—
how are they?” and he scrutinized the company. At last, he
singled out one who was assuming a most unearthly appearance,
and remarked, that he looked as if he were extremely ill.

“Yes,” said the sailor dolefully, “I'm afeard, doctor, I'll soon
be losing the number of my mess!” (a sea phrase, for departing
this life) and he closed his eyes, and moaned.

“What does he say?” said Johnson, turning round eagerly.

“Why,” exclaimed Flash Jack, who volunteered as interpreter,
“he means he's going to croak” (die).

“Croak! and what does that mean, applied to a patient?”

“Oh! I understand,” said he, when the word was explained;
and he stepped over the stocks, and felt of the man's pulse.

“What's his name?” he asked, turning this time to old Navy
Bob.

“We calls him Jingling Joe,” replied that worthy.

“Well then, men, you must take good care of poor Joseph;
and I will send him a powder, which must be taken according
to the directions. Some of you know how to read, I presume?”

“That ere young cove does,” replied Bob, pointing toward
the place where I lay, as if he were directing attention to a
sail at sea.

After examining the rest—some of whom were really invalids,
but convalescent, and others only pretending to be laboring under
divers maladies, Johnson turned round, and addressed the party.

“Men,” said he, “if any more of you are ailing, speak up,
and let me know. By order of the consul, I'm to call every
day; so if any of you are at all sick, it's my duty to prescribe
for you. This sudden change from ship fare to shore living,
plays the deuse with you sailors, so be cautious about eating
fruit. Good-day! I'll send you the medicines the first thing
in the morning.”

Now, I am inclined to suspect that with all his want of understanding,
Johnson must have had some idea that we were
quizzing him. Still, that was nothing, so long as it answered
his purpose; and therefore, if he did see through us, he never
showed it.

Sure enough, at the time appointed, along came a native lad
with a small basket of cocoa-nut stalks, filled with powders, pill-boxes,
and vials, each with names and directions written in a
large, round hand. The sailors, one and all, made a snatch at
the collection, under the strange impression that some of the
vials were seasoned with spirits. But, asserting his privilege
as physician, to the first reading of the labels, Doctor Long
Ghost was at last permitted to take possession of the basket.

The first thing lighted upon, was a large vial, labeled—“For
William—rub well in.”

This vial certainly had a spirituous smell; and upon handing
it to the patient, he made a summary internal application of its
contents. The doctor looked aghast.

There was now a mighty commotion. Powders and pills
were voted mere drugs in the market, and the holders of vials
were pronounced lucky dogs. Johnson must have known
enough of sailors to make some of his medicines palatable—
this, at least, Long Ghost suspected. Certain it was, every one
took to the vials; if at all spicy, directions were unheeded,
their contents all going one road.

The largest one of all, quite a bottle indeed, and having a
sort of burnt brandy odor, was labeled—“For Daniel, drink
freely, and until relieved.” This, Black Dan proceeded to do;
and would have made an end of it at once, had not the bottle,
after a hard struggle, been snatched from his hands, and passed
round, like a jovial decanter. The old tar had complained of the
effects of an immoderate eating of fruit.

Upon calling the following morning, our physician found his
precious row of patients reclining behind the stocks, and doing
“as well as could be expected.”

But the pills and powders were found to have been perfectly
inactive: probably because none had been taken. To make
them efficacious, it was suggested that, for the future, a bottle

of Pisco should be sent along with them. According to Flash
Jack's notions, unmitigated medical compounds were but dry
stuff at the best, and needed something good to wash them down.

Thus far, our own M.D., Doctor Long Ghost, after starting
the frolic, had taken no further part in it; but on the physician's
third visit, he took him to one side, and had a private confabulation.
What it was, exactly, we could not tell; but from certain
illustrative signs and gestures, I fancied that he was describing
the symptoms of some mysterious disorganization of
the vitals, which must have come on within the hour. Assisted
by his familiarity with medical terms, he seemed to produce
a marked impression. At last, Johnson went his way, promising
aloud that he would send Long Ghost what he desired.

When the medicine boy came along the following morning,
the doctor was the first to accost him, walking off with a small
purple vial. This time, there was little else in the basket but a
case bottle of the burnt brandy cordial, which, after much
debate, was finally disposed of by some one pouring the contents,
little by little, into the half of a cocoa-nut shell, and so
giving all who desired, a glass. No further medicinal cheer
remaining, the men dispersed.

An hour or two passed, when Flash Jack directed attention
to my long friend, who, since the medicine boy left, had not
been noticed till now. With eyes closed, he was lying behind
the stocks, and Jack was lifting his arm and letting it fall as if
life were extinct. On running up with the rest, I at once connected
the phenomenon with the mysterious vial. Searching
his pocket, I found it, and holding it up, it proved to be laudanum.
Flash Jack, snatching it from my hand in a rapture,
quickly informed all present, what it was; and with much glee,
proposed a nap for the company. Some of them not comprehending
him exactly, the apparently defunct Long Ghost—who
lay so still that I a little suspected the genuineness of his sleep—

was rolled about as an illustration of the virtues of the vial's
contents. The idea tickled every body mightily; and throwing
themselves down, the magic draught was passed from hand to
hand. Thinking that, as a matter of course, they must at once
become insensible, each man, upon taking his sip, fell back,
and closed his eyes.

There was little fear of the result, since the narcotic was
equally distributed. But, curious to see how it would operate,
I raised myself gently after a while, and looked around. It
was about noon, and perfectly still; and as we all daily took
the siesta, I was not much surprised to find every one quiet.
Still, in one or two instances, I thought I detected a little
peeping.

Presently, I heard a footstep, and saw Doctor Johnson approaching.

And perplexed enough did he look at the sight of his prostrate
file of patients, plunged apparently, in such unaccountable
slumbers.

“Daniel,” he cried, at last, punching in the side with his
cane, the individual thus designated—“Daniel, my good fellow,
get up! do you hear?”

But Black Dan was immovable; and he poked the next
sleeper.

“Joseph, Joseph! come, wake up! it's me, Doctor Johnson.”

But Jingling Joe, with mouth open, and eyes shut, was not
to be started.

“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed, with uplifted hands and
cane, “what's got into 'em? I say, men”—he shouted, running
up and down—“come to life, men! what under the sun's the
matter with you?” and he struck the stocks, and bawled with
increased vigor.

At last he paused, folded his hands over the head of his cane,

and steadfastly gazed upon us. The notes of the nasal orches
tra were rising and falling upon his ear, and a new idea suggested
itself.

“Yes, yes; the rascals must have been getting boozy. Well,
it's none of my business—I'll be off;” and off he went.

No sooner was he out of sight, than nearly all started to
their feet, and a hearty laugh ensued.

Like myself, most of them had been watching the event from
under a sly eyelid. By this time, too, Doctor Long Ghost was
as wide awake as any body. What were his reasons for taking
laudanum,—if, indeed, he took any whatever,—is best known to
himself; and, as it is neither mine nor the reader's business,
we will say no more about it.

36. CHAPTER XXXVI.

We had been inmates of the Calabooza Beretanee about
two weeks, when, one morning, Captain Bob, coming from the
bath, in a state of utter nudity, brought into the building an
armful of old tappa, and began to dress to go out.

The operation was quite simple. The tappa—of the coarsest
kind—was in one long, heavy piece; and, fastening one end to
a column of Habiscus wood, supporting the Calabooza, he went
off a few paces, and putting the other about his waist, wound
himself right up to the post. This unique costume, in rotundity
something like a farthingale, added immensely to his large
bulk; so much so, that he fairly waddled in his gait. But he
was only adhering to the fashion of his fathers; for, in the olden
time, the “Kihee,” or big girdle, was quite the mode for both
sexes. Bob, despising recent innovations, still clung to it. He
was a gentleman of the old school—one of the last of the Kihees.

He now told us, that he had orders to take us before the
consul. Nothing loth, we formed in procession; and, with
the old man at our head, sighing and laboring like an engine,
and flanked by a guard of some twenty natives, we started for
the village.

Arrived at the consular office, we found Wilson there, and
four or five Europeans, seated in a row facing us; probably
with the view of presenting as judicial an appearance as possible.

On one side was a couch, where Captain Guy reclined. He

looked convalescent; and, as we found out, intended soon to
go aboard his ship. He said nothing, but left every thing to
the consul.

The latter now rose, and, drawing forth a paper from a large
roll, tied with red tape, commenced reading aloud.

It purported to be, “The affidavit of John Jermin, first
officer of the British Colonial Barque Julia; Guy, Master;” and
proved to be a long statement of matters, from the time of
leaving Sydney, down to our arrival in the harbor. Though
artfully drawn up, so as to bear hard against every one of us,
it was pretty correct in the details; excepting, that it was
wholly silent as to the manifold derelictions of the mate himself—a
fact which imparted unusual significance to the concluding
sentence, “And furthermore, this deponent sayeth
not.”

No comments were made, although we all looked round for
the mate, to see whether it was possible that he could have
authorized this use of his name. But he was not present.

The next document produced, was the deposition of the
captain himself. As on all other occasions, however, he had
very little to say for himself, and it was soon set aside.

The third affidavit, was that of the seamen remaining aboard
the vessel, including the traitor Bungs, who, it seemed, had
turned ship's evidence. It was an atrocious piece of exaggeration,
from beginning to end; and those who signed it could
not have known what they were about. Certainly Wymontoo
did not, though his mark was there. In vain the consul commanded
silence during the reading of this paper; comments
were shouted out upon every paragraph.

The affidavits read, Wilson, who, all the while, looked as
stiff as a poker, solemnly drew forth the ship's articles from
their tin case. This document was a discolored, musty, bilious-looking
affair, and hard to read. When finished, the consul

held it up; and, pointing to the marks of the ship's company,
at the bottom, asked us, one by one, whether we acknowledged
the same for our own.

“What's the use of asking that?” said Black Dan; “Captain
Guy there, knows as well as we they are.”

“Silence, sir!” said Wilson, who, intending to produce a
suitable impression by this ridiculous parade, was not a little
mortified by the old sailor's bluntness.

A pause of a few moments now ensued; during which the
bench of judges communed with Captain Guy, in a low tone,
and the sailors canvassed the motives of the consul in having
the affidavits taken.

The general idea seemed to be, that it was done with a
view of “bouncing,” or frightening us into submission. Such
proved to be the case; for Wilson, rising to his feet again,
addressed us as follows:—

“You see, men, that every preparation has been made to
send you to Sydney for trial. The Rosa (a small Australian
schooner, lying in the harbor) will sail for that place in the
course of ten days, at farthest. The Julia sails on a cruise this
day week. Do you still refuse duty?”

We did.

Hereupon the consul and captain exchanged glances; and
the latter looked bitterly disappointed.

Presently I noticed Guy's eye upon me; and, for the first
time, he spoke, and told me to come near. I stepped forward.

“Was it not you that was taken off the island?”

“It was.”

“It is you then who owe your life to my humanity. Yet this
is the gratitude of a sailor, Mr. Wilson!”

“Not so, sir.” And I at once gave him to understand, that
I was perfectly acquainted with his motives in sending a boat

into the bay; his crew was reduced, and he merely wished to
procure the sailor whom he expected to find there. The ship
was the means of my deliverance, and no thanks to the benevolence
of its captain.

Doctor Long Ghost also, had a word to say. In two masterly
sentences he summed up Captain Guy's character, to the
complete satisfaction of every seaman present.

Matters were now growing serious; especially as the sailors
became riotous, and talked about taking the consul and the
captain back to the Calabooza with them.

The other judges fidgeted, and loudly commanded silence.
It was at length restored; when Wilson, for the last time
addressing us, said something more about the Rosa and Sydney,
and concluded by reminding us, that a week would elapse
ere the Julia sailed.

Leaving these hints to operate for themselves, he dismissed
the party, ordering Captain Bob and his friends to escort us
back whence we came.

37. CHAPTER XXXVII.

A day or two after the events just related, we were lounging
in the Calabooza Beretanee, when we were honored by a visit
from three of the French priests; and as about the only notice
ever taken of us by the English missionaries, was their leaving
their cards for us in the shape of a package of tracts, we could
not help thinking, that the Frenchmen, in making a personal
call, were at least much better bred.

By this time they had settled themselves down quite near
our habitation. A pleasant little stroll down the Broom Road,
and a rustic cross peeped through the trees; and soon you
came to as charming a place as one would wish to see: a soft
knoll, planted with old bread-fruit trees; in front, a savannah,
sloping to a grove of palms, and, between these, glimpses of
blue, sunny waves.

On the summit of the knoll, was a rude chapel, of bamboos;
quite small, and surmounted by the cross. Between the canes,
at nightfall, the natives stole peeps at a small portable altar; a
crucifix to correspond, and gilded candlesticks and censers.
Their curiosity carried them no further; nothing could induce
them to worship there. Such queer ideas as they entertained,
of the hated strangers! Masses and chants were nothing more
than evil spells. As for the priests themselves, they were no
better than diabolical sorcerers; like those who, in old times,
terrified their fathers.

Close by the chapel, was a range of native houses; rented

from a chief, and handsomely furnished. Here lived the
priests; and, very comfortably, too. They looked sanctimonious
enough abroad; but that went for nothing: since, at
home, in their retreat, they were a club of Friar Tucks; holding
priestly wassail over many a good cup of red brandy, and
rising late in the morning.

Pity it was, they couldn't marry—pity for the ladies of the
island, I mean, and the cause of morality; for what business
had the ecclesiastical old bachelors, with such a set of trim
little native handmaidens? These damsels were their first
converts; and devoted ones they were.

The priests, as I said before, were accounted necromancers:
the appearance of two of our three visitors might have justified
the conceit.

They were little, dried-up Frenchmen, in long, straight
gowns of black cloth, and unsightly three-cornered hats—so
preposterously big, that, in putting them on, the reverend
fathers seemed extinguishing themselves.

Their companion was dressed differently. He wore a sort
of yellow, flannel morning-gown, and a broad-brimmed Manilla
hat. Large and portly, he was also hale and fifty; with a
complexion like an autumnal leaf—handsome blue eyes—fine
teeth, and a racy Milesian brogue. In short, he was an Irishman;
Father Murphy, by name; and, as such, pretty well
known, and very thoroughly disliked, throughout all the Protestant
missionary settlements in Polynesia. In early youth,
he had been sent to a religious seminary in France; and, taking
orders there, had, but once or twice afterward, revisited his
native land.

Father Murphy marched up to us briskly; and the first words
he uttered were, to ask whether there were any of his countrymen
among us. There were two of them; one, a lad of sixteen—a
bright, curly-headed rascal—and, being a young Irishman,

of course, his name was Pat. The other, was an ugly,
and rather melancholy-looking scamp; one M'Gee, whose
prospects in life had been blasted by a premature transportation
to Sydney. This was the report, at least, though it might
have been scandal.

In most of my shipmates, were some redeeming qualities;
but about M'Gee, there was nothing of the kind; and forced
to consort with him, I could not help regretting, a thousand
times, that the gallows had been so tardy. As if impelled,
against her will, to send him into the world, Nature had done
all she could to insure his being taken for what he was. About
the eyes, there was no mistaking him; with a villainous cast in
one, they seemed suspicious of each other.

Glancing away from him at once, the bluff priest rested his
gaze on the good-humored face of Pat, who, with a pleasant
roguishness, was “twigging” the enormous hats (or “Hytee
Belteezers,” as land beavers are called by sailors), from under
which, like a couple of snails, peeped the two little Frenchmen.

Pat and the priest were both from the same town in Meath;
and, when this was found out, there was no end to the questions
of the latter. To him, Pat seemed a letter from home,
and said a hundred times as much.

After a long talk between these two, and a little broken English
from the Frenchmen, our visitors took leave; but Father
Murphy had hardly gone a dozen rods, when back he came,
inquiring whether we were in want of any thing.

“Yes,” cried one, “something to eat.” Upon this, he
promised to send us some fresh wheat bread, of his own
baking; a great luxury in Tahiti.

We all felicitated Pat upon picking up such a friend, and
told him his fortune was made.

The next morning, a French servant of the priest's made his

appearance, with a small bundle of clothing for our young
Hibernian; and the promised bread for the party. Pat, being
out at the knees and elbows, and, like the rest of us, not full
inside, the present was acceptable all round.

In the afternoon, Father Murphy himself came along; and,
in addition to his previous gifts, gave Pat a good deal of
advice: said he was sorry to see him in limbo, and that he
would have a talk with the consul about having him set free.

We saw nothing more of him for two or three days; at the
end of which time he paid us another call, telling Pat, that
Wilson was inexorable, having refused to set him at liberty,
unless to go aboard the ship. This, the priest now besought
him to do forthwith; and so escape the punishment which, it
seems, Wilson had been hinting at to his intercessor. Pat,
however, was stanch against entreaties; and, with all the ardor
of a sophomorean sailor, protested his intention to hold out to
the last. With none of the meekness of a good little boy
about him, the blunt youngster stormed away at such a rate,
that it was hard to pacify him; and the priest said no more.

How it came to pass—whether from Murphy's speaking to
the consul, or otherwise, we could not tell—but the next day,
Pat was sent for by Wilson, and being escorted to the village
by our good old keeper, three days elapsed before he returned.

Bent upon reclaiming him, they had taken him on board the
ship; feasted him in the cabin; and, finding that of no avail,
down they thrust him into the hold, in double irons, and on
bread and water. All would not do; and so he was sent back
to the Calabooza. Boy that he was, they must have counted
upon his being more susceptible to discipline than the rest.

The interest felt in Pat's welfare, by his benevolent countryman,
was very serviceable to the rest of us; especially as we
all turned Catholics, and went to mass every morning, much to
Captain Bob's consternation. Upon finding it out, he threatened

to keep us in the stocks, if we did not desist. He went
no farther than this, though; and so, every few days, we strolled
down to the priest's residence, and had a mouthful to eat, and
something generous to drink. In particular, Dr. Long Ghost
and myself became huge favorites with Pat's friend; and many
a time he regaled us from a quaint-looking traveling-case for
spirits, stowed away in one corner of his dwelling. It held
four square flasks, which, somehow or other, always contained
just enough to need emptying. In truth, the fine old Irishman
was a rosy fellow in canonicals. His countenance and his soul
were always in a glow. It may be ungenerous to reveal his
failings, but he often talked thick, and sometimes was perceptibly
eccentric in his gait.

I never drink French brandy, but I pledge Father Murphy.
His health again! And many jolly proselytes may he make in
Polynesia!

38. CHAPTER XXXVIII.

To make good the hint thrown out by the consul upon the
conclusion of the Farce of the Affidavits, we were again brought
before him within the time specified.

It was the same thing over again: he got nothing out of us,
and we were remanded; our resolute behavior annoying him
prodigiously.

What we observed, led us to form the idea, that on first learning
the state of affairs on board the Julia, Wilson must have addressed
his invalid friend, the captain, something in the following
style:

“Guy, my poor fellow, don't worry yourself now about those
rascally sailors of yours. I'll dress them out for you—just
leave it all to me, and set your mind at rest.”

But handcuffs and stocks, big looks, threats, dark hints, and
depositions, had all gone for naught.

Conscious that, as matters now stood, nothing serious could
grow out of what had happened; and never dreaming that our
being sent home for trial, had ever been really thought of, we
thoroughly understood Wilson, and laughed at him accordingly.

Since leaving the Julia, we had caught no glimpse of the
mate; but we often heard of him.

It seemed that he remained on board, keeping house in the
cabin for himself and Viner; who, going to see him according
to promise, was induced to remain a guest. These two cronies
now had fine times; tapping the captain's quarter-casks, playing

cards on the transom, and giving balls of an evening to the
ladies ashore. In short, they cut up so many queer capers,
that the missionaries complained of them to the consul; and
Jermin received a sharp reprimand.

This so affected him, that he drank still more freely than
before; and one afternoon, when mellow as a grape, he took
umbrage at a canoe full of natives, who, on being hailed from
the deck to come aboard and show their papers, got frightened,
and paddled for the shore. Lowering a boat instantly, he
equipped Wymontoo and the Dane with a cutlass apiece, and
seizing another himself, off they started in pursuit, the ship's
ensign flying in the boat's stern. The alarmed islanders,
beaching their canoe, with loud cries fled through the village,
the mate after them, slashing his naked weapon to right and
left. A crowd soon collected; and the “Karhowree toonee,”
or crazy stranger, was quickly taken before Wilson.

Now, it so chanced, that in a native house hard by, the consul
and Captain Guy were having a quiet game at cribbage by
themselves, a decanter on the table standing sentry. The obstreperous
Jermin was brought in; and finding the two thus
pleasantly occupied, it had a soothing effect upon him; and he
insisted upon taking a hand at the cards, and a drink of the
brandy. As the consul was nearly as tipsy as himself, and the
captain dared not object for fear of giving offense, at it they
went,—all three of them—and made a night of it; the mate's
delinquencies being summarily passed over, and his captors
sent away.

An incident worth relating grew out of this freak.

There wandered about Papeetee, at this time, a shriveled
little fright of an Englishwoman, known among sailors as “Old
Mother Tot.” From New Zealand to the Sandwich Islands,
she had been all over the South Seas; keeping a rude hut of
entertainment for mariners, and supplying them with rum and

dice. Upon the missionary islands, of course, such conduct
was severely punishable; and at various places, Mother Tot's
establishment had been shut up, and its proprietor made to quit
in the first vessel that could be hired to land her elsewhere.
But, with a perseverance invincible, wherever she went, she
always started afresh; and so became notorious everywhere.

By some wicked spell of hers, a patient, one-eyed little cobbler
followed her about, mending shoes for white men, doing
the old woman's cooking, and bearing all her abuse without
grumbling. Strange to relate, a battered Bible was seldom out
of his sight; and whenever he had leisure, and his mistress' back
was turned, he was forever poring over it. This pious propensity
used to enrage the old crone past belief; and oftentimes
she boxed his ears with the book, and tried to burn it. Mother
Tot and her man Josy were, indeed, a curious pair.

But to my story.

A week or so after our arrival in the harbor, the old lady
had once again been hunted down, and forced for the time to
abandon her nefarious calling. This was brought about chiefly
by Wilson, who, for some reason unknown, had contracted the
most violent hatred for her; which, on her part, was more than
reciprocated.

Well: passing, in the evening, where the consul and his party
were making merry, she peeped through the bamboos of the
house; and straightway resolved to gratify her spite.

The night was very dark; and providing herself with a huge
ship's lantern, which usually swung in her hut, she waited till
they came forth. This happened about midnight; Wilson making
his appearance, supported by two natives, holding him up by
the arms. These three went first; and just as they got under a
deep shade, a bright light was thrust within an inch of Wilson's
nose. The old hag was kneeling before him, holding the
lantern with uplifted hands.

“Ha, ha! my fine counselor,” she shrieked; “ye persecute
a lone old body like me for selling rum—do ye? And here ye
are, carried home drunk—Hoot! ye villain, I scorn ye!” And
she spat upon him.

Terrified at the apparition, the poor natives—arrant believers
in ghosts—dropped the trembling consul, and fled in all directions.
After giving full vent to her rage, Mother Tot hobbled
away, and left the three revelers to stagger home the best way
they could.

The day following our last interview with Wilson, we learned
that Captain Guy had gone on board his vessel, for the purpose
of shipping a new crew. There was a round bounty offered;
and a heavy bag of Spanish dollars, with the Julia's articles
ready for signing, were laid on the capstan-head.

Now, there was no lack of idle sailors ashore, mostly “Beach-combers,”
who had formed themselves into an organized gang,
headed by one Mack, a Scotchman, whom they styled the Commodore.
By the laws of the fraternity, no member was allowed
to ship on board a vessel, unless granted permission by the rest.
In this way the gang controlled the port, all discharged seamen
being forced to join them.

To Mack and his men our story was well known; indeed,
they had several times called to see us; and of course, as sailors
and congenial spirits, they were hard against Captain Guy.

Deeming the matter important, they came in a body to the
Calabooza, and wished to know, whether, all things considered,
we thought it best for any of them to join the Julia.

Anxious to pack the ship off as soon as possible, we answered,
by all means. Some went so far as to laud the Julia to the
skies, as the best and fastest of ships. Jermin too, as a good
fellow, and a sailor every inch, came in for his share of praise;
and as for the captain—quiet man, he would never trouble any
one. In short, every inducement we could think of was presented;

and Flash Jack ended by assuring the beachcombers
solemnly, that now we were all well and hearty, nothing but a
regard to principle, prevented us from returning on board ourselves.

The result was, that a new crew was finally obtained, together
with a steady New Englander for second mate, and three good
whalemen for harponeers. In part, what was wanting for the
ship's larder was also supplied; and as far as could be done in
a place like Tahiti, the damages the vessel had sustained
were repaired. As for the Mowree, the authorities refusing
to let him be put ashore, he was carried to sea in irons,
down in the hold. What eventually became of him, we never
heard.

Ropey, poor, poor Ropey, who a few days previous had fallen
sick, was left ashore at the sailor hospital at Townor, a small
place upon the beach between Papeetee and Matavai. Here,
some time after, he breathed his last. No one knew his complaint:
he must have died of hard times. Several of us saw
him interred in the sand, and I planted a rude post to mark his
resting-place.

The cooper, and the rest who had remained aboard from the
first, of course, composed part of the Julia's new crew.

To account for the conduct, all along, of the consul and captain,
in trying so hard to alter our purpose with respect to the
ship, the following statement is all that is requisite. Beside an
advance of from fifteen to twenty-five dollars demanded by
every sailor shipping at Tahiti, an additional sum for each man
so shipped, has to be paid into the hands of the government, as
a charge of the port. Beside this, the men—with here and
there an exception—will only ship for one cruise, thus becoming
entitled to a discharge before the vessel reaches home;
which, in time, creates the necessity of obtaining other men, at a
similar cost. Now, the Julia's exchequer was at low-water

mark, or rather, it was quite empty; and to meet these expenses,
a good part of what little oil there was aboard, had to
be sold for a song to a merchant of Papeetee.

It was Sunday in Tahiti, and a glorious morning, when Captain
Bob, waddling into the Calabooza, startled us by announcing
“Ah—my boy—shippy you, harree—maky sail!” In other
words, the Julia was off.

The beach was quite near, and in this quarter altogether uninhabited;
so down we ran, and, at a cable's length, saw little
Jule gliding past—top-gallant-sails hoisting, and a boy aloft
with one leg thrown over the yard, loosing the fore-royal. The
decks were all life and commotion; the sailors on the forecastle
singing “Ho, cheerly men!” as they catted the anchor; and the
gallant Jermin, bareheaded as his wont, standing up on the bowsprit,
and issuing his orders. By the man at the helm, stood
Captain Guy, very quiet and gentlemanly, and smoking a cigar.
Soon the ship drew near the reef, and altering her course, glided
out through the break, and went on her way.

Thus disappeared little Jule, about three weeks after entering
the harbor; and nothing more have I ever heard of her.

39. CHAPTER XXXIX.

The ship out of the way, we were quite anxious to know
what was going to be done with us. On this head, Captain
Bob could tell us nothing; no further at least, than that he still
considered himself responsible for our safe-keeping. However,
he never put us to bed any more; and we had every thing our
own way.

The day after the Julia left, the old man came up to us in
great tribulation, saying that the bucket of bread was no longer
forthcoming, and that Wilson had refused to send any thing in
its place. One and all, we took this for a hint to disperse
quietly, and go about our business. Nevertheless, we were not
to be shaken off so easily; and taking a malicious pleasure in
annoying our old enemy, we resolved, for the present, to stay
where we were. For the part he had been acting, we learned
that the consul was the laughing-stock of all the foreigners
ashore, who frequently twitted him upon his hopeful protegées
of the Calabooza Beretanee.

As we were wholly without resources, so long as we remained
on the island no better place than Captain Bob's could
be selected for an abiding-place. Beside, we heartily loved the
old gentleman, and could not think of leaving him; so, telling
him to give no thought as to wherewithal we should be clothed
and fed, we resolved, by extending and systematizing our foraging
operations, to provide for ourselves.

We were greatly assisted by a parting legacy of Jermin's.

To him we were indebted for having all our chests sent ashore,
and every thing left therein. They were placed in the custody
of a petty chief living near by, who was instructed by the consul
not to allow them to be taken away; but we might call and
make our toilets whenever we pleased.

We went to see Mahinee, the old chief; Captain Bob going
along, and stoutly insisting upon having the chattels delivered
up. At last this was done; and in solemn procession the chests
were borne by the natives to the Calabooza. Here, we disposed
them about quite tastefully; and made such a figure, that
in the eyes of old Bob and his friends, the Calabooza Beretanee
was by far the most sumptuously furnished saloon in Tahiti.

Indeed, so long as it remained thus furnished, the native
courts of the district were held there; the judge, Mahinee, and
his associates, sitting upon one of the chests, and the culprits
and spectators thrown at full length upon the ground, both inside
of the building, and under the shade of the trees without; while,
leaning over the stocks as from a gallery, the worshipful crew
of the Julia looked on, and canvassed the proceedings.

I should have mentioned before, that previous to the vessel's
departure, the men had bartered away all the clothing they
could possibly spare; but now, it was resolved to be more
provident.

The contents of the chests were of the most miscellaneous
description:—sewing utensils, marling-spikes, strips of calico,
bits of rope, jackknives; nearly every thing, in short, that a sea-man
could think of. But of wearing apparel, there was little
but old frocks, remnants of jackets, and legs of trowsers, with
now and then the foot of a stocking. These, however, were
far from being valueless; for, among the poorer Tahitians, every
thing European is highly esteemed. They come from “Beretanee,
Fenooa Pararee” (Britain, Land of Wonders), and that
is enough.

The chests themselves were deemed exceedingly precious,
especially those with unfractured locks, which would absolutely
click, and enable the owner to walk off with the key. Scars,
however, and bruises, were considered great blemishes. One
old fellow, smitten with the doctor's large mahogany chest (a
well filled one, by the by), and finding infinite satisfaction in
merely sitting thereon, was detected in the act of applying
a healing ointment to a shocking scratch which impaired the
beauty of the lid.

There is no telling the love of a Tahitian for a sailor's trunk.
So ornamental is it held as an article of furniture in his hut, that
the women are incessantly tormenting their husbands to bestir
themselves, and make them a present of one. When obtained,
no pier-table just placed in a drawing-room, is regarded with
half the delight. For these reasons, then, our coming into possession
of our estate at this time, was an important event.

The islanders are much like the rest of the world; and the
news of our good fortune brought us troops of “tayos” or
friends, eager to form an alliance after the national custom, and
do our slightest bidding.

The really curious way in which all the Polynesians are in
the habit of making bosom friends at the shortest possible notice,
is deserving of remark. Although, among a people like
the Tahitians, vitiated as they are by sophisticating influences,
this custom has in most cases degenerated into a mere mercenary
relation, it nevertheless had its origin in a fine, and in
some instances, heroic sentiment, formerly entertained by their
fathers.

In the annals of the island are examples of extravagant friendships,
unsurpassed by the story of Damon and Pythias: in truth,
much more wonderful; for, notwithstanding the devotion—even
of life in some cases—to which they led, they were frequently
entertained at first sight for some stranger from another island.

Filled with love and admiration for the first whites who came
among them, the Polynesians could not testify the warmth of
their emotions more strongly, than by instantaneously making
their abrupt proffer of friendship. Hence, in old voyages we
read of chiefs coming off from the shore in their canoes, and
going through with strange antics, expressive of this desire. In
the same way, their inferiors accosted the seamen; and thus the
practice has continued in some islands down to the present day.

There is a small place, not many days' sail from Tahiti, and
seldom visited by shipping, where the vessel touched to which
I then happened to belong.

Of course, among the simple-hearted natives, we had a friend
all round. Mine was Poky, a handsome youth, who never could
do enough for me. Every morning at sunrise, his canoe came
alongside loaded with fruits of all kinds; upon being emptied,
it was secured by a line to the bowsprit, under which it lay
all day long, ready at any time to carry its owner ashore on an
errand.

Seeing him so indefatigable, I told Poky one day, that I was a
virtuoso in shells and curiosities of all kinds. That was enough;
away he paddled for the head of the bay, and I never saw him
again for twenty-four hours. The next morning, his canoe
came gliding slowly along the shore, with the full-leaved bough
of a tree for a sail. For the purpose of keeping the things dry,
he had also built a sort of platform just behind the prow, railed
in with green wicker-work; and here was a heap of yellow
bananas and cowree shells; young cocoa-nuts and antlers of red
coral; two or three pieces of carved wood; a little pocket-idol,
black as jet, and rolls of printed tappa.

We were given a holyday; and upon going ashore, Poky, of
course, was my companion and guide. For this, no mortal
could be better qualified; his native country was not large, and
he knew every inch of it. Gallanting me about, every one was

stopped and ceremoniously introduced to Poky's “tayo karhowree
nuee” or his particular white friend.

He showed me all the lions; but more than all, he took me
to see a charming lioness—a young damsel—the daughter of a
chief—the reputation of whose charms had spread to the neighboring
islands, and even brought suitors therefrom. Among
these was Tooboi, the heir of Tamatoy, King of Raiatair, one
of the Society Isles. The girl was certainly fair to look upon.
Many heavens were in her sunny eyes; and the outline of that
arm of hers, peeping forth from a capricious tappa robe, was the
very curve of beauty.

Though there was no end to Poky's attentions, not a syllable
did he ever breathe of reward; but sometimes he looked
very knowing. At last the day came for sailing, and with it,
also, his canoe, loaded down to the gunwale with a sea stock
of fruits. Giving him all I could spare from my chest, I went
on deck to take my place at the windlass; for the anchor was
weighing. Poky followed, and heaved with me at the same
handspike.

The anchor was soon up; and away we went out of the bay
with more than twenty shallops towing astern. At last they left
us; but long as I could see him at all, there was Poky, standing
alone and motionless in the bow of his canoe.

END OF PART I.