Dana, Richard Henry, 1815-1882; Sailors; Seafaring life; Voyages and travels
We were always glad to see San Diego; it being the depot, and a
snug little place, and seeming quite like home, especially to me,
who had spent a summer there. There was no vessel in port, the
Rosa having sailed for Valparaiso and Cadiz, and the Catalina for
Callao, nearly a month before. We discharged our hides, and in
four days were ready to sail again for the windward; and, to our
great joy-- for the last time! Over thirty thousand hides had been
already collected, cured, and stowed away in the house, which,
together with what we should collect, and the Pilgrim would bring
down from San Francisco, would make out our cargo. The thought
that we were actually going up for the last time, and that the
next time we went round San Diego point it would be ``homeward
bound,'' brought things so near a close that we felt as though we
were just there, though it must still be the greater part of a
year before we could see Boston.
I spent one evening, as had been my custom, at the oven with the
Sandwich-Islanders; but it was far from being the usual noisy,
laughing time. It has been said that the greatest curse to each of
the South Sea Islands was the first man who discovered it; and
every one who knows anything of the history of our commerce in
those parts knows how much truth there is in this; and that the
white men, with their vices, have brought in diseases before
unknown to the islanders, which are now sweeping off the native
population of the Sandwich Islands at the rate of one fortieth of
the entire population annually. They seem to be a doomed people.
The curse of a people calling themselves Christians seems to
follow them everywhere; and even here, in this obscure place, lay
two young islanders, whom I had left strong, active young men, in
the vigor of health, wasting away under a disease which they would
never have known but for their intercourse with people from
Christian America and Europe. One of them was not so ill, and was
moving about, smoking his pipe, and talking, and trying to keep up
his spirits; but the other, who was my friend and aikane, Hope,
was the most dreadful object I had ever seen in my life,-- his
eyes sunken and dead, his cheeks fallen in against his teeth, his
hands looking like claws; a dreadful cough, which seemed to rack
his whole shattered system, a hollow, whispering voice, and an
entire inability to move himself. There he lay, upon a mat, on the
ground, which was the only floor of the oven, with no medicine, no
comforts, and no one to care for or help him but a few Kanakas,
who were willing enough, but could do nothing. The sight of him
made me sick and faint. Poor fellow! During the four months that I
lived upon the beach, we were continually together, in work, and
in our excursions in the woods and upon the water. I felt a strong
affection for him, and preferred him to any of my own countrymen
there; and I believe there was nothing which he would not have
done for me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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