Dana, Richard Henry, 1815-1882; Sailors; Seafaring life; Voyages and travels
would be creditable to him and interesting to the world, will ever see
the light, I cannot tell. His is one of those cases which are more
numerous than those suppose, who have never lived anywhere but in their
own homes, and never walked but in one line from their cradles to their
graves. We must come down from our heights, and leave our straight
paths, for the byways and low places of life, if we would learn truths
by strong contrasts; and in hovels, in forecastles, and among our own
outcasts in foreign lands, see what has been wrought upon our
fellow-creatures by accident, hardship, or vice.
Two days brought us to San Pedro, and two days more (to our no small
joy) gave us our last view of that place, which was universally called
the hell of California, and seemed designed, in every way, for the wear
and tear of sailors. Not even the last view could bring out one
feeling of regret. No thanks, thought I, as we left the sandy shores
in the distance, for the hours I have walked over your stones,
barefooted, with hides on my head;--for the burdens I have carried up
your steep, muddy hill; for the duckings in your surf; and for the
long days and longer nights passed on your desolate hill, watching
piles of hides, hearing the sharp bark of your eternal coati, and the
dismal hooting of your owls.
As I bade good-by to each successive place, I felt as though one link
after another were struck from the chain of my servitude. Having kept
close in shore, for the land-breeze, we passed the mission of San Juan
Campestráno the same night, and saw distinctly, by the bright
moonlight, the hill which I had gone down by a pair of halyards in
search of a few paltry hides. "Forsan et haec olim," thought I, and
took my last look of that place too. And on the next morning we were
under the high point of San Diego. The flood tide took us swiftly in,
and we came-to, opposite our hide-house, and prepared to get everything
in trim for a long stay. This was our last port. Here we were to
discharge everything from the ship, clean her out, smoke her, take in
our hides, wood, water, etc., and set sail for Boston. While all this
was doing, we were to lie still in one place, and the port was a safe
one, and there was no fear of south-easters. Accordingly, having
picked out a good berth, in the stream, with a good smooth beach
opposite, for a landing-place and within two cables' length of our
hide-house, we moored ship, unbent all the sails, sent down the
top-gallant yards and all the studding-sail booms, and housed the
top-gallant masts. The boats were then hove out, and all the sails,
spare spars, the stores, the rigging not rove, and, in fact, everything
which was not in daily use, sent ashore, and stowed away in the house.
Then went all our hides and horns, and we left hardly anything in the
ship but her ballast, and this we made preparation to heave out, the
next day. At night, after we had knocked off, and were sitting round
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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