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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
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- 5352
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- port, all discharged seamen being forced to join them.
To Mack and his men our story was well known; indeed, they had several
times called to see us; and of course, as sailors and congenial
spirits, they were hard against Captain Guy.
Deeming the matter important, they came in a body to the Calabooza, and
wished to know whether, all things considered, we thought it best for
any of them to join the Julia.
Anxious to pack the ship off as soon as possible, we answered, by all
means. Some went so far as to laud the Julia to the skies as the best
and fastest of ships. Jermin too, as a good fellow, and a sailor every
inch, came in for his share of praise; and as for the captain—quiet
man, he would never trouble anyone. In short, every inducement we could
think of was presented; and Flash Jack ended by assuring the
beachcombers solemnly that, now we were all well and hearty, nothing
but a regard to principle prevented us from returning on board
ourselves.
The result was that a new crew was finally obtained, together with a
steady New Englander for second mate, and three good whalemen for
harpooners. In part, what was wanting for the ship’s larder was also
supplied; and as far as could be done in a place like Tahiti, the
damages the vessel had sustained were repaired. As for the Mowree, the
authorities refusing to let him be put ashore, he was carried to sea in
irons, down in the hold. What eventually became of him we never heard.
Ropey, poor poor Ropey, who a few days previous had fallen sick, was
left ashore at the sailor hospital at Townor, a small place upon the
beach between Papeetee and Matavai. Here, some time after, he breathed
his last. No one knew his complaint: he must have died of hard times.
Several of us saw him interred in the sand, and I planted a rude post
to mark his resting-place.
The cooper, and the rest who had remained aboard from the first, of
course, composed part of the Julia’s new crew.
To account for the conduct, all along, of the consul and captain, in
trying so hard to alter our purpose with respect to the ship, the
following statement is all that is requisite. Beside an advance of from
fifteen to twenty-five dollars demanded by every sailor shipping at
Tahiti, an additional sum for each man so shipped has to be paid into
the hands of the government, as a charge of the port. Beside this, the
men—with here and there an exception—will only ship for one cruise,
thus becoming entitled to a discharge before the vessel reaches home;
which, in time, creates the necessity of obtaining other men, at a
similar cost. Now, the Julia’s exchequer was at low-water mark, or
rather, it was quite empty; and to meet these expenses, a good part of
what little oil there was aboard had to be sold for a song to a
merchant of Papeetee.
It was Sunday in Tahiti and a glorious morning, when Captain Bob,
waddling into the Calabooza, startled us by announcing “Ah—my
boy—shippy you, harre—maky sail!” In other words, the Julia was off.
The beach was quite near, and in this quarter altogether uninhabited;
so down we ran, and, at cable’s length, saw little Jule gliding
past—top-gallant-sails hoisting, and a boy aloft with one leg thrown
over the yard, loosing the fore-royal. The decks were all life and
commotion; the sailors on the forecastle singing “Ho, cheerly men!” as
they catted the anchor; and the gallant Jennin, bare-headed as his
wont, standing up on the bowsprit, and issuing his orders. By the man
at the helm stood Captain Guy, very quiet and gentlemanly, and smoking
a cigar.
Soon the ship drew near the reef, and, altering her course, glided out
through the break, and went on her way.
Thus disappeared little Jule, about three weeks after entering the
harbour: and nothing more have I ever heard of her.
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