Dana, Richard Henry, 1815-1882; Sailors; Seafaring life; Voyages and travels
Thursday, Nov. 12th. This day was quite cool in the early part, and
there were black clouds about; but as it was often so in the morning,
nothing was apprehended, and all the captains went ashore together, to
spend the day. Towards noon, the clouds hung heavily over the
mountains, coming half way down the hills that encircle the town of
Santa Barbara, and a heavy swell rolled in from the south-east. The
mate immediately ordered the gig's crew away, and at the same time, we
saw boats pulling ashore from the other vessels. Here was a grand
chance for a rowing match, and every one did his best. We passed the
boats of the Ayacucho and Loriotte, but could gain nothing upon, and
indeed, hardly hold our own with, the long, six-oared boat of the
whale-ship. They reached the breakers before us; but here we had the
advantage of them, for, not being used to the surf, they were obliged
to wait to see us beach our boat, just as, in the same place, nearly a
year before, we, in the Pilgrim, were glad to be taught by a boat's
crew of Kanakas.
We had hardly got the boats beached, and their heads out, before our
old friend, Bill Jackson, the handsome English sailor, who steered the
Loriotte's boat, called out that the brig was adrift; and, sure enough,
she was dragging her anchors, and drifting down into the bight of the
bay. Without waiting for the captain, (for there was no one on board
but the mate and steward,) he sprung into the boat, called the Kanakas
together, and tried to put off. But the Kanakas, though capital
water-dogs, were frightened by their vessel's being adrift, and by the
emergency of the case, and seemed to lose their faculties. Twice,
their boat filled, and came broadside upon the beach. Jackson swore at
them for a parcel of savages, and promised to flog every one of them.
This made the matter no better; when we came forward, told the Kanakas
to take their seats in the boat, and, going two on each side, walked
out with her till it was up to our shoulders, and gave them a shove,
when, giving way with their oars, they got her safely into the long,
regular swell. In the mean time, boats had put off from our ships and
the whaler, and coming all on board the brig together, they let go the
other anchor, paid out chain, braced the yards to the wind, and brought
the vessel up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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