<p>We lay about a week in San Pedro, and got under weigh for San Diego,
intending to stop at San Juan, as the south-easter season was nearly
over, and there was little or no danger.</p>
<p>This being the spring season, San Pedro, as well as all the other open
ports upon the coast, was filled with whales, that had come in to make
their annual visit upon soundings. For the first few days that we were
here and at Santa Barbara, we watched them with great interest—calling
out "there she blows!" every time we saw the spout of one breaking the
surface of the water; but they soon became so common that we took
little notice of them. They often "broke" very near us; and one thick,
foggy night, during a dead calm, while I was standing anchor-watch, one
of them rose so near, that he struck our cable, and made all surge
again. He did not seem to like the encounter much himself, for he
sheered off, and spouted at a good distance. We once came very near
running one down in the gig, and should probably have been knocked to
pieces and blown sky-high. We had been on board the little Spanish
brig, and were returning, stretching out well at our oars, the little
boat going like a swallow; our backs were forward, (as is always the
case in pulling,) and the captain, who was steering, was not looking
ahead, when, all at once, we heard the spout of a whale directly ahead.
"Back water! back water, for your lives!" shouted the captain; and we
backed our blades in the water and brought the boat to in a smother of
foam. Turning our heads, we saw a great, rough, hump-backed whale,
slowly crossing our fore foot, within three or four yards of the boat's
stem. Had we not backed water just as we did, we should inevitably
have gone smash upon him, striking him with our stem just about
amidships. He took no notice of us, but passed slowly on, and dived a
few yards beyond us, throwing his tail high in the air. He was so near
that we had a perfect view of him and as may be supposed, had no desire
to see him nearer. He was a disgusting creature; with a skin rough,
hairy, and of an iron-grey color. This kind differs much from the
sperm, in color and skin, and is said to be fiercer. We saw a few
sperm whales; but most of the whales that come upon the coast are
fin-backs, hump-backs, and right-whales, which are more difficult to
take, and are said not to give oil enough to pay for the trouble. For
this reason whale-ships do not come upon the coast after them. Our
captain, together with Captain Nye of the Loriotte, who had been in a
whale-ship, thought of making an attempt upon one of them with two
boats' crews, but as we had only two harpoons and no proper lines, they
gave it up.</p>
<p>During the months of March, April, and May, these whales appear in
great numbers in the open ports of Santa Barbara, San Pedro, etc., and
hover off the coast, while a few find their way into the close harbors
of San Diego and Monterey. They are all off again before midsummer,
and make their appearance on the "off-shore ground." We saw some fine
"schools" of sperm whales, which are easily distinguished by their
spout, blowing away, a few miles to windward, on our passage to San
Juan.</p>
<p>Coasting along on the quiet shore of the Pacific, we came to anchor, in
twenty fathoms' water, almost out at sea, as it were, and directly
abreast of a steep hill which overhung the water, and was twice as high
as our royal-mast-head. We had heard much of this place, from the
Lagoda's crew, who said it was the worst place in California. The shore
is rocky, and directly exposed to the south-east, so that vessels are
obliged to slip and run for their lives on the first sign of a gale;
and late as it was in the season, we got up our slip-rope and gear,
though we meant to stay only twenty-four hours. We pulled the agent
ashore, and were ordered to wait for him, while he took a circuitous
way round the hill to the mission, which was hidden behind it. We were
glad of the opportunity to examine this singular place, and hauling the
boat up and making her well fast, took different directions up and down
the beach, to explore it.</p>
<p>San Juan is the only romantic spot in California. The country here for
several miles is high table-land, running boldly to the shore, and
breaking off in a steep hill, at the foot of which the waters of the
Pacific are constantly dashing. For several miles the water washes the
very base of the hill, or breaks upon ledges and fragments of rocks
which run out into the sea. Just where we landed was a small cove, or
"bight," which gave us, at high tide, a few square feet of sand-beach
between the sea and the bottom of the hill. This was the only
landing-place. Directly before us, rose the perpendicular height of
four or five hundred feet. How we were to get hides down, or goods up,
upon the table-land on which the mission was situated, was more than we
could tell. The agent had taken a long circuit, and yet had frequently
to jump over breaks, and climb up steep places, in the ascent. No
animal but a man or monkey could get up it. However, that was not our
look-out; and knowing that the agent would be gone an hour or more, we
strolled about, picking up shells, and following the sea where it
tumbled in, roaring and spouting, among the crevices of the great
rocks. What a sight, thought I, must this be in a south-easter! The
rocks were as large as those of Nahant or Newport, but, to my eye, more
grand and broken. Beside, there was a grandeur in everything around,
which gave almost a solemnity to the scene: a silence and solitariness
which affected everything! Not a human being but ourselves for miles;
and no sound heard but the pulsations of the great Pacific! and the
great steep hill rising like a wall, and cutting us off from all the
world, but the "world of waters!" I separated myself from the rest and
sat down on a rock, just where the sea ran in and formed a fine
spouting horn. Compared with the plain, dull sand-beach of the rest of
the coast, this grandeur was as refreshing as a great rock in a weary
land. It was almost the first time that I had been positively
alone—free from the sense that human beings were at my elbow, if not
talking with me—since I had left home. My better nature returned
strong upon me. Everything was in accordance with my state of feeling,
and I experienced a glow of pleasure at finding that what of poetry and
romance I ever had in me, had not been entirely deadened by the
laborious and frittering life I had led. Nearly an hour did I sit,
almost lost in the luxury of this entire new scene of the play in which
I had been so long acting, when I was aroused by the distant shouts of
my companions, and saw that they were collecting together, as the agent
had made his appearance, on his way back to our boat.</p>
<p>We pulled aboard, and found the long-boat hoisted out, and nearly laden
with goods; and after dinner, we all went on shore in the quarter-boat,
with the long-boat in tow. As we drew in, we found an ox-cart and a
couple of men standing directly on the brow of the hill; and having
landed, the captain took his way round the hill, ordering me and one
other to follow him. We followed, picking our way out, and jumping and
scrambling up, walking over briers and prickly pears, until we came to
the top. Here the country stretched out for miles as far as the eye
could reach, on a level, table surface; and the only habitation in
sight was the small white mission of San Juan Capistrano, with a few
Indian huts about it, standing in a small hollow, about a mile from
where we were. Reaching the brow of the hill where the cart stood, we
found several piles of hides, and Indians sitting round them. One or
two other carts were coming slowly on from the mission, and the captain
told us to begin and throw the hides down. This, then, was the way
they were to be got down: thrown down, one at a time, a distance of
four hundred feet! This was doing the business on a great scale.
Standing on the edge of the hill and looking down the perpendicular
height, the sailors,</p>
<p class="poem">
—"That walk upon the beach,<br/>
Appeared like mice; and our tall anchoring bark<br/>
Diminished to her cock; her cock a buoy<br/>
Almost too small for sight."<br/></p>
<p>Down this height we pitched the hides, throwing them as far out into
the air as we could; and as they were all large, stiff, and doubled,
like the cover of a book, the wind took them, and they swayed and
eddied about, plunging and rising in the air, like a kite when it has
broken its string. As it was now low tide, there was no danger of
their falling into the water, and as fast as they came to ground, the
men below picked them up, and taking them on their heads, walked off
with them to the boat. It was really a picturesque sight: the great
height; the scaling of the hides; and the continual walking to and fro
of the men, who looked like mites, on the beach! This was the romance
of hide-droghing!</p>
<p>Some of the hides lodged in cavities which were under the bank and out
of our sight, being directly under us; but by sending others down in
the same direction, we succeeded in dislodging them. Had they remained
there, the captain said he should have sent on board for a couple of
pairs of long halyards, and got some one to have gone down for them.
It was said that one of the crew of an English brig went down in the
same way, a few years before. We looked over, and thought it would not
be a welcome task, especially for a few paltry hides; but no one knows
what he can do until he is called upon; for, six months afterwards, I
went down the same place by a pair of top-gallant studding-sail
halyards, to save a half a dozen hides which had lodged there.</p>
<p>Having thrown them all down, we took our way back again, and found the
boat loaded and ready to start. We pulled off; took the hides all
aboard; hoisted in the boats; hove up our anchor; made sail; and before
sundown, were on our way to San Diego.</p>
<p>Friday, May 8th, 1835. Arrived at San Diego. Here we found the little
harbor deserted. The Lagoda, Ayacucho, Loriotte, and all, had left the
coast, and we were nearly alone. All the hide-houses on the beach, but
ours, were shut up, and the Sandwich Islanders, a dozen or twenty in
number, who had worked for the other vessels and been paid off when
they sailed, were living on the beach, keeping up a grand carnival. A
Russian discovery-ship which had been in this port a few years before,
had built a large oven for baking bread, and went away, leaving it
standing. This, the Sandwich Islanders took possession of, and had
kept, ever since, undisturbed. It was big enough to hold six or eight
men—that is, it was as large as a ship's forecastle; had a door at the
side, and a vent-hole at top. They covered it with Oahu mats, for a
carpet; stopped up the vent-hole in bad weather, and made it their
head-quarters. It was now inhabited by as many as a dozen or twenty
men, who lived there in complete idleness—drinking, playing cards, and
carousing in every way. They bought a bullock once a week, which kept
them in meat, and one of them went up to the town every day to get
fruit, liquor, and provisions. Besides this, they had bought a cask of
ship-bread, and a barrel of flour from the Lagoda, before she sailed.
There they lived, having a grand time, and caring for nobody. Captain
T—— was anxious to get three or four of them to come on board the
Pilgrim, as we were so much diminished in numbers; and went up to the
oven and spent an hour or two trying to negotiate with them. One of
them,—a finely built, active, strong and intelligent fellow,— who was
a sort of king among them, acted as spokesman. He was called
Mannini,—or rather, out of compliment to his known importance and
influence, Mr. Mannini—and was known all over California. Through him,
the captain offered them fifteen dollars a month, and one month's pay
in advance; but it was like throwing pearls before swine, or rather,
carrying coals to Newcastle. So long as they had money, they would not
work for fifty dollars a month, and when their money was gone, they
would work for ten.</p>
<p>"What do you do here, Mr. Mannini?"[1] said the captain.</p>
<p>"Oh, we play cards, get drunk, smoke—do anything we're a mind to."</p>
<p>"Don't you want to come aboard and work?"</p>
<p>"Aole! aole make make makou i ka hana. Now, got plenty money; no good,
work. Mamule, money pau—all gone. Ah! very good, work!—maikai, hana
hana nui!"</p>
<p>"But you'll spend all your money in this way," said the captain.</p>
<p>"Aye! me know that. By-'em-by money pau—all gone; then Kanaka work
plenty."</p>
<p>This was a hopeless case, and the captain left them, to wait patiently
until their money was gone.</p>
<p>We discharged our hides and tallow, and in about a week were ready to
set sail again for the windward. We unmoored, and got everything
ready, when the captain made another attempt upon the oven. This time
he had more regard to the "mollia tempora fandi," and succeeded very
well. He got Mr. Mannini in his interest, and as the shot was getting
low in the locker, prevailed upon him and three others to come on board
with their chests and baggage, and sent a hasty summons to me and the
boy to come ashore with our things, and join the gang at the
hide-house. This was unexpected to me; but anything in the way of
variety I liked; so we got ready, and were pulled ashore. I stood on
the beach while the brig got under weigh, and watched her until she
rounded the point, and then went up to the hide-house to take up my
quarters for a few months.</p>
<br/>
<P CLASS="footnote">
[1] The letter i in the Sandwich Island language is sounded like e in
the English.</p>
<br/><br/><br/>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />