Dana, Richard Henry, 1815-1882; Sailors; Seafaring life; Voyages and travels
I looked anxiously for a boat, during the latter part of the
afternoon, but none came; until toward sundown, when I saw a speck
on the water, and as it drew near I found it was the gig, with the
captain. The hides, then, were not to go off. The captain came up
the hill, with a man, bringing my monkey jacket and a blanket. He
looked pretty black, but inquired whether I had enough to eat;
told me to make a house out of the hides, and keep myself warm, as
I should have to sleep there among them, and to keep good watch
over them. I got a moment to speak to the man who brought my
jacket.
``How do things go aboard?'' said I.
``Bad enough,'' said he; ``hard work and not a kind word spoken.''
``What!'' said I, ``have you been at work all day?''
``Yes! no more Sunday for us. Everything has been moved in the
hold, from stem to stern, and from the water-ways to the
keelson.''
I went up to the house to supper. We had fríjoles (the perpetual
food of the Californians, but which, when well cooked, are the
best bean in the world), coffee made of burnt wheat, and hard
bread. After our meal, the three men sat down by the light of a
tallow candle, with a pack of greasy Spanish cards, to the
favorite game of ``treinte uno,'' a sort of Spanish
``everlasting.'' I left them and went out to take up my bivouac
among the hides. It was now dark; the vessel was hidden from
sight, and except the three men in the house there was not a
living soul within a league. The coyotes (a wild animal of a
nature and appearance between that of the fox and the wolf) set up
their sharp, quick bark, and two owls, at the end of two distant
points running out into the bay, on different sides of the hill
where I lay, kept up their alternate dismal notes. I had heard
the sound before at night, but did not know what it was, until
one of the men, who came down to look at my quarters, told me it
was the owl. Mellowed by the distance, and heard alone, at night,
it was a most melancholy and boding sound. Through nearly all the
night they kept it up, answering one another slowly at regular
intervals. This was relieved by the noisy coyotes, some of which
came quite near to my quarters, and were not very pleasant
neighbors. The next morning, before sunrise, the long-boat came
ashore, and the hides were taken off.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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