Chapter Twenty-eighth.

SAIL FOR HOME--PASS THE “GOLDEN GATE,”--SAD CONDITION OF THE PASSENGERS--GRAVES AT THE BASE OF THE SNOWY MOUNTAINS--LAND RECEDES--LUXURIES ON BOARD--A DEATH AND BURIAL--ANOTHER DEATH--WHALES AND PORPOISES _versus_ SERPENTS OF FIRE--THUNDER STORM--DEATH OF DOCTOR REED--THREE DEAD BODIES FOUND ON BOARD--THE SCURVY--FIVE OF THE PASSENGERS INSANE--EVILS OF THE CREDIT SYSTEM--A CULTIVATED MIND DERANGED--MEMORY LOST--ITS CAUSE--THE VICTIM UPON THE VERGE OF DEATH--HARPOONING PORPOISES--EXCITING SPORT.

I had designed to leave San Francisco for home in the steamer of the 1st December, and had purchased my ticket with that view; but the steamer, being a foreign bottom, was unable to clear for another port in California, and having but small capacity for coal, I feared detention, and was induced to sell my ticket, and take passage in the ship Edward Everett, which was to sail on the 28th November, and which, I felt confident, would reach Panama in advance of the steamer. We were notified to be on board at 9 A.M.; and when Mr. Fairchild and myself reached the shore with our baggage, we saw the ship two miles out just preparing to swing from her moorings. We engaged two hardy “tars,” and were soon pulling off for her; we threaded our way through the shipping, and were doing our utmost as we saw the anchor of the Everett already up, her foresail aback, and she “turning on her heel,” preparatory to standing out to sea. We boarded her as she was under way. We passed the clippership Architect, which was just weighing anchor for Valparaiso; the captains saluted each other through their trumpets, and we passed on through the Golden Gate, with a fair breeze, assisted by the unerring ebb tide. The passengers, eighty in number, were all on deck to take a last look at the receding landscape.

It had been but a few short days since they first beheld this scene--since they first entered through this “Gate,” into the land of promise. They now look upon the same narrow passage, the same bold rocky coast, they had looked for with so much anxiety, and greeted with so much enthusiasm. But how different the feelings now! what a change! They were then accompanied by a brother or a friend, with high hopes and vigorous constitutions, looking forward with brilliant anticipations. But now the brother and friend are sleeping quietly at the base of yonder snow-capped mountain, and they are bearing the sad intelligence to the bereaved parents, brothers, and sisters. Instead of the vigorous constitutions, they are obliged to cling to the rigging for support, while they gaze for the last time upon the scene. With many it is the last time they are to view such a scene; their eyes are about to close upon the earth forever, to sleep beneath the bosom of the ocean. Many have not only sacrificed health, but are destitute of means, and are now reeling about the ship, endeavoring to earn their passage by their labor. Our ship seemed a hospital; three-fourths of all the passengers were invalids, some of them helpless. We drifted away before the wind, the mountains gradually disappearing from the horizon; one had lingered long, but as we descended from the crest of a mountain wave, we bid _it_ also, a last farewell. We spent the afternoon in adjusting our baggage, and the night in sleep; the morning dawned brightly--we were still under a full press of canvas, with a fair wind. All on board had taken passage under the impression that the accommodations were superior, for which they had paid extra. We consequently felt that we were well provided for, and fairly embarked on our voyage home. As usual the first day at sea, but little attention was paid to the cook, the passengers remaining cozily ensconced in their berths.

The 30th was ushered in with a fine breeze, and we were standing on our course. At noon we found the table supplied with hard bread (sea-biscuit) and salt beef, dainties that our stomachs did not relish; the same table was kept standing for supper. Captain Smith was interrogated in reference to his supply of provisions, for which we had paid him extra; he replied that he was abundantly supplied with the above, which, if we chose, we could have served up every day during the voyage; when too late, we learned that the delicacies for the sick, with which he had by public notice proclaimed his ship abundantly supplied, were “_non est_.” He had not even a pound of fruit on board; the invalids felt this privation most sensibly many of whom had come on board without supplies, having been led to believe by advertisements, that the ship had been furnished with a direct view to the comforts of those returning in ill-health. From the fare with which our table was supplied, it was impossible for a weak stomach to extract sufficient nutriment to sustain life. This was soon manifest, as those who were destitute immediately commenced to decline, and were soon confined to their berths. We could plainly see that the lives of some were fast ebbing away.

On the 6th December, in lat,. 22° 50´, North, it was announced that G. W. Ray, of Maine, was dead. He died at 10 A.M.; the gang-plank was placed, one end extending over the side of the ship, supported by the rail, the other supported by a cask, over this was thrown a piece of canvas, upon which was placed the corpse. A rope was tied around the body; thence, passing down was tied around the ancles, and to the end was attached a canvas bag, filled with sand. The body was then sewed up in the canvas, over which was thrown the ensign of California. The passengers now surround the corpse, with heads uncovered. A prayer is read by the captain, the ensign is removed, and at the word one end of the plank is raised, and the body passes gently into its grave. We are under a full press of canvas with an eight knot breeze; the last bubble rises to the surface, and the wind passes mournfully through the shrouds, as if sighing his last requiem.

At 8 P.M., of the same day, another death was announced. Deceased, Mr. Cook, was a young man from Sag Harbor, where he left a wife and child. One hour after the announcement of his death, he was consigned to the grave, that had so recently opened to receive his unfortunate companion. He was buried in Lat. 20° 50´, N.

We were surrounded during the day (7th) by whales and porpoises, and during the evening, as they would pass through the “luminous animalculæ,” they would present the appearance of enormous serpents of fire. On the 8th we were visited by a terrific thunder storm, accompanied by heavy winds. We run under close-reefed topsails; and when the storm clears up we find the wind dead ahead, and are obliged to run several days sharp on the wind.

On the morning of the 14th another death was announced; the deceased, Dr. Reed, of Massachusetts, had been, for some days, conscious of his approaching end, and manifested a strong desire to have his remains conveyed to his friends. This was his last and almost only request; the fear that this might not be complied with seemed to linger with him to the last, and died only with his last pulsation. He received some encouragement from the captain, but one short hour after his death, he followed his unfortunate companions to the grave. He was buried in Lat 16° 3’ N.

A report is in circulation that there are dead bodies on board. On inquiry, we learn that there are three--a man, a woman and child; they were preserved in casks of spirits, and being conveyed to the States. This created the greatest consternation in the minds of the sailors, and they unanimously resolved to leave the ship at the first port. They have a superstitious idea that vessels cannot be safely navigated with dead bodies on board. Many of the passengers were confined to their berths, some of them destined never again to leave them, until removed by death. The scurvy had appeared in its worst form, and there was nothing on board to relieve its victims. The food served out was most execrable; those in robust health were pining away, and for the invalids, there was no hope. Among the latter there were five who were deranged; they were all confined to their berths, and seemed waiting to be relieved by death. There is a physician on board, (whose father and captain Smith are sole owners of the ship), his services, however, are not at the disposition of all. The captain has flour, but pretends it does not belong to the ship, and refuses to serve it out to the passengers. He, however, offered to sell it, and two or three of us joined and bought a quantity of him, together with a quantity of sugar; all to be paid for in Panama, at Panama prices, and for all of which we _never had the most distant idea_ of paying him a farthing. We hired the cook to prepare it for us, and thereafter were well served. With this supply, we were in a condition to invite the invalids to our table, where we could furnish them something more palatable than sea-biscuit and salt beef.

My attention was attracted to one of the passengers, who, upon my inquiring for Spanish books, offered me one of Spanish comedy; there was something polished in his manners, yet something wayward, which very much excited my interest. His clothes were good, still, in his helplessness, they had become extremely filthy. He commenced conversation, but soon stopped for a moment, as if trying to recollect himself; and said he believed he had entirely lost his mind, that his ideas were so incoherent, he feared he could not make himself understood. He first inquired where the ship was bound; I informed him, and asked him how he came on board. He did not know, but said he was informed that he was to be sent home; he did not know why, nor from whom he received the information. He wished me to converse with him, and try to set him right; he gave me the keys to his trunks, and wished me to open them. I found them stored with clothing of the best quality, together with a well selected library of books, mathematical instruments, and materials for drawing: everything indicating a man of refinement and education. In his writing desk I found a patriotic poem, composed and read by him, on board the ship in which he sailed for California: on the anniversary of our national independence. I also found a daguerreotype; the sight of this seemed to awaken pleasing emotions. It contained the portraits of a lady and child; these he recognized as his wife and little daughter. By the sight of these, he was at first overcome; his wife appeared natural to him, but he had not the most distant idea of the age of his little daughter; he wondered if it was of a sufficient age, when he left home, to call him father, and whether it would remember and greet him when he returned. He now realized, most painfully, the gloom that hung like a pall over his memory. The sight of the articles as I would take them out, seemed to call up others, by association. The sight of rifle and pistol-balls reminded him that he had, somewhere, a rifle and revolver, where, he did not know. I requested him to run back in his memory, if possible, to the time when he first became deranged. He said that he was attacked with the fever at Benicia, and carried on board a ship that was then lying at anchor. There were several sick on board, and during his sickness, one was brought and placed on a table in front of his berth. He watched him day after day, until one night, as the light fell dimly on his pallid features, a slight convulsion passed over him, and his jaw fell. This closed the scene; from this moment his mind had been wandering in the dark labyrinths of forgetfulness. The fever had left him, and given place to that dreaded malady, the scurvy, with which he had now become reduced almost to helplessness. His feet and limbs were swollen to double their usual size, their purple hue denoting the fearful state to which his system was reduced. The name of this unfortunate man was E. W. Clark, Jr., of West Boylston, Mass. He gave me his name, and the address of his friends, at a time when he had but little hope of ever seeing them, with the request that I should write them the particulars of his death.

On the 16th, we were surrounded by porpoises; our first mate being an old harpooner, descended into the martingale of the ship, his harpoon being attached to a rope which passed through a tackle-block above, and was manned by about thirty passengers. At the first plunge of the ship, he “let go” the harpoon, taking effect in the back of a porpoise; “haul away,” and the huge monster was swinging in the air. This was a moment of intense excitement; the harpoon had passed almost through the body, but in hauling him from the water, it had drawn out, holding only to a half-inch of the skin. One struggle and he would have been released; but the auspicious moment passed, and at the word “ease away,” he was safely _shipped_ on our forecastle deck. His struggles now were fearful; his throes causing the very spars to tremble. He strikes another and another, both of which are safely drawn on board. He strikes a fourth, and after hauling it several feet from the water, it falls from the harpoon and rushes through the water, staining its wake with blood. We are now well supplied with fish, but of a kind not calculated to tempt the appetite.