The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 5, 1897, Page 20

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, DECEMBER ot The award of the Paris tribunal was the first check to his career, but it was left to recent events to mark the final passing of the fur seal hunters in the water of the North Pacific. It not the lubberly landsman who on the rookeries hits a sturdy but harmiess buil seal over the head with a ciub that is spoken of, but a far is more picturesque indlvidual, the hunter of the velagic sealing His chooner, as a calling that arose and flourished ex- ely on the Pac Coast, was in 1ts heyday five rs ago and is now becoming a his- tory. His was a life teeming with danger and adventure, demanding brawn and braiz and daring; arduous, perilous and exciting. though unsung in verse and unrecorded in prose save in the brief marine news dispatches his career will ever be honored by those who go wn to the sea in ships, for vy appreciate 1at he was and what glory he deserves, Pelagic sealing and seal poaching are all one to the average reader of newspapers. ‘'Seal voachers” is the term hurled at the fur seal hunters by those journalists who know not of what they write, but think that to be patriotic they must condemn that to which the United States Government is opposed. Whatever the merits of the controversy be- Sealing Schooners and Supply Steame tween the nations as to pelagic oropen sea sealing outside of a proiected zone encircling the Bering Sea rookeri»s it is a misnomer to term those brave and hardy men who hunted the seal on the bosom of the broad Pacitic poachers. A poacher is one whom a thorough srort-man detests; a pelagic <eal hunter is one whom all sportsmen must admire. To know what a pelagic seal-hunter was one must know something of how pelacic sealing was carried on. For cver 100 years it has been known that annually, about February, the fur seals were 10 be fov in larger or smaller schools, moving northward, off the Pacitic Coast on their annual pilgrimage 10 the Bering Sea rookeries. Off the vicinity of Coos Bay, Oregon, is where the seals usually first appear. They move leisurely northward, over a wide area of sea. While their movement is general, it must not be supposed that large numbers are to be found in company. About July 1 they pass throuszh the chanr of the Aleutian Is'an s and enter Bering Sea, soon to haul themselves out on the rookeri s. Year after year they have pursued the same course, varying hardly more than two or tire: days in entering the sea. By reason of the fact that the United States scatterea leases the rookeries and the right to kill a cer- tain number of seals on them annually to a private corporation this Government has long looke | with disfavor upon the operations of the open-sea sealers, who ply their vocation while the seals are moving up the coast. The theory of the Government is that the slaughter of seals at sea 80 reduces the number that the seal tribes will sooner or later be extinct, while if the num- ber to be killed is limited to those ki:led on the islands no perceptible lessening would be ex- perienced. Wtile the term “poacher’” has been freely used there has been no in-tance of poaching for over five years, while there are only two on rec- ord for the last ten years. They took place wken lawless sealers raided the rcokeries and killed seals on the shore. True, previous to the first modus vivendi and in the seasons of 1888 ana 1889 with possibly a few cases later, British schooners have sought to seal within the then prohibited area of Bering Sea, but -ince the Paris tribunal decided that the United Statesdid not have exclusive jurisaiction over the whole sea this was harily to be considered poaching. 1t was about tweive years ago that the pelagic sealing fleet began to assume large proportions. In the season cf 1892, when pelagic sealing was r at Rendezvous at its height, there were ninety-five schooners in the fleet. All but twelve or fif- teen floated the British flag, It was the practice of the schioners to get to sea in February and endeavor to fall in with the seals as speedily as possible. Each schooner carried irom tour to eight huniers. For each hunter there were two boat- puilers. In addition tc these the crew of the average schooner was made upof a captain, a mate, a cook and a boy. ‘Weather permitting, the boats woull take leave of the schooner every morning and scatter about on the ccean, looking for seals. Sometimes the schooner and her littie flect of boats would be 400 or 500 miles off shore wuen at work. The boats would range away from the vessel to adistance of ten or fifteen miles. And here ceme in one of the dan-ers of thelife. In the North Pacific Ocean fogs bave a most depre-sing and annoying habit of shutting down on the water- scape without a moment’s warning. ‘Lhev are thick and ciammy, and to a -ealer possess hor- rors untold. With such a fog shutting -ff a view of the schooner from the hunters the latter were in a dangerous predicament. They all car- ried compasses, and olten water and a small amount of food. On the appearance of a fog the schooner would commence discharging a small cannon kept for TR JEAL U was no small dangeris shown by the record— long and ghastly—of lives lost in 'his manner, In hunting the seal the hunter stood upright in the bow of the double-ended boat, his shot- gun or rifle ready across bis oreast. Aft sat the boat-puliers, facing each other, one pushing and one pulling the oars. Often they put up a small sail and took it easy while the hunter kept up his waich forward. In good sealing the capta n and the mate have often taken out a boat, sometimes leaving the cook and dog alone to watch the vessel. The hunter was a superior individual. He often made from $1600 0 $1800 a season lasting eight or nine moutus. He hived in th: ca wi:h the captain and mate, and had nothiug to do with tne siiling or navigation oi the vessel, His abiiity as a shot had need to be excellent and of a peculiar quality, for his task was a « fii- culi one. All thai s exposed of a seal above v is anose ani small bit of head. A shy the sea! is hard to approach. Add to this the necessity of shooting bim whi'e he is bobbing up and down on & wave and while the boat i3 also doing aquatic gymnastics and one may imagine a seal is difficult o hir. To recover the body of a seal shot in the water it is nece sary that the shot be so accurate as to cau-e instant death; otherwise the wounded ani- mal sinks. The boat-pullers worked on what was termed s4avs.” Thatis, they received a certain per- centage of the value of the skins secured on a voyage. In addition they also received small wages. The hunter receivea a fixed price for every skin he took. Captain and mate rece.ved salaries and ‘‘lays.’’ The practice of the schooners was to follow the seal herds close up to the Aleutian Islands. There they would meet ut @ previousiy ap- pointed rendezvous, the supp.y steamer from Victoria, bringing mail and subp'iss. The catch would be transierred from schooners (o steamer, B N Sealers Boarding the Supply Steamer First News From Home in Five that purpose to notify the boats of her presence. ‘With all that, however, boats often failed to get back. Therc have been many cases where the three men comprising the crew of a hunting craft bave gone off in the morning from the schooner far out to sea, and have never returned or been heard from. Thers are other cascs where such crews have been picked up nearly dead from starvation and exposure days after they lost their home craft. The danger of sudden gales and storms at sea 5 s A D 4§ to Get Mail, Months. and then the schooners would go on for the re- mainder of the season. They would cruise about ‘he entrance to the sea for stragglers or would strike westward to the Asiatic coast to pick up the seals that had migrated rorthward on the Japanese ana Siberian coasts. Sometimes a schooner would be rash enough to get within Siberian waters and would promptly be pounced upon by a Russian gunboat, seized and her crew hurried off to Petropaulovski, to be either sent to vrison or allowed, after several months’ confine- In 1892 I mede the trip northward on the sup- ply steamer, the Coquitiam of Vancouver, B. C., Captain E. E. McLell n. We had (wo appointed rendezvous. Besides making them we met sev eral schooners at = We brought the first news from home that ”?" sealers had recewved inmonths. It was pathetic 1o note their es ness as they swarmed aboard of us to get their letters, to hear the hungry shouts a- they lowered into their boats the fresh fruit- and delicacies we brought them. One ap- preciated then what this e at sea sign fied. Comm nder Robley D. Evuns, U. 8. N., was that year in command of the Uuitea States patrol fleet. He went gunning for us with some of hi- fl-et with the obj>ct in view of preventing our giv ng rrovisions to schooers, thus break- ing up ‘heir work for the remainder o! the sea- con. He succeeded, although we tried our best 10 prevent him. It was the revenue cutter Cor- win, acting under his orders, that fizally caught us, but not until we had provisioned nine schoonersand bad given mail to seventeen oth- ers whom we were sbout to prov sion when the seizure was made. A prize crew saw us sately to Sitka, where the civil authorities looked after our physical comfort for a time. They say the Sitka jail bas never teen whitewashed -h&?If 80 well since the crew of the Coquitlam finished the job thut summer. . But the authorities had to give us up after all, for the contention of the Government that it he!d jurisdiction over twelve miles from sh and ithat we should have cone beyond tw Ive-mile and not the three-mile limit in making our cargo transfers was punctured eventually by the Circuii Court of Appeals, sit- « at San Franci-co. The move of Commander Evans was a good one, however—from the Government if not irom a just standpoint—for many of the schoon- ers lost the latter half of their season. Since then no supply steamers have been -eized. Strange as it may seem, most of the hunters Transferring Bags of Sealskins to the Supply Steamer and Receiving Supplies at Sea. who were hunting seals from a British vessel were Americans, and not a fow of the British vessels were British in name and register only, owners and crew being Americans. ‘With the Paris award probibiting the use of firesrms in pelagic sealing, and with the com- bined effort now seemingiy being mude to stop such hunting, the seal hunter will soon be a thing of the past. He coes, biit he leaves an bonorable record benhind him. May some writer who loves to weave stories of danger and daring study him as he was and render him immortal Harbor on Afognak Island, Western Aslaska. was another one the sealer had to face. That it ment, o retu rn home—if they could get there. in a tale of the North Puacific. AsHMUN N. Broww, 6s0000000000 00 \;e_fi BY: ] 1L +Well, then,” started the old man, +'when I tirst came to Apia I was a young man, with no wife to look after me, and I don’t know but that 1 was better off for my loneliness, though I’ve bLeen happy enough since. Now 1'm alone again,” and Le heaved s sigh, for reference to his own marital experiences always made him Leavy hearted. “But to come back to my story,’”’ he continued, ‘“being alone like that, I nat- uraily wanted some one todo my wash- ing, and the very first day 1 landed a lit-| tle half-caste boy came to me. He was not more than five or gix, I should think, with light curly hair, and a skin which 1 showed only a touch of the tar brush. He | scemed a fine, manly little chap, and in- terested me from tae first, especially as I couidn’t understand a word of Samoan, and he spoke English. £o he acted as my | interyreter. | ** ‘Please, sir,will you let motherdo your | washing? was the first remark he made to me. “*And who's mother?' I asked. *f0Oh, mothe’s a Samoan. She washes for a lot of the sailors and men who come here. Sne does the things well, 100, Only $1 a week.” © ‘But where’s your father?" “ I don’t know.” And his blue eyes filled with tears. ‘But I'm white, T am. | Mother says so, and 1 go to school with the whi'e boys at the prisst’s, ana I'll fizht any boy who says Iam a Samoan.’ “] was interested in this curious tropi- cal product, and, of course, zave the mother my washing to do. She seemed a decent kind of woman when she came for the clothes—not exactly pretty, but with: an honest, faithtul face. And she wrs fond of the boy, too; no mistake about that. “By and by, when I got to know them better, I learned all about their life his- tory, thouzh the little drama was then only at its commencement. But after- ward—many years aftervard—I saw the Iast scene played out. “Some half a dozen years before a dis- solute young man, by trade a blacksmith, haa come to Apia, and, 83 a matter of ROSE | when | through. course, had taken a native wife. Bat he else it was the drink, or some other cause, for after he had been there a year he | cleared out, leaving his young wife with | a baby a few monthsold in her arms. He left no money or anything else behind for her support, and when he was gone no | one troubied more about him. “It would have been easy enough for the woman to have got another husband, a native this time, to whom the baby would have been no obstacle. But no, Siami, as she called him, meaning Jim, would one cay come back to ber, and in the meantime there was Siami the younger, named after his father, to look after and bring up in white man’s style, so that ber husband returned he might have no reason to be ashamed of their child, “This one idea stuck to her right Siami must be brought up as a papalangi, asa whi‘e man’s son, and not asa Samoan. Therefore, she refused to go back and live with her people in the native style, tiough of course, being kind to their relations, as ail Samoans are, they would have been glad tc keep her. “She knew that if she took her boy into a native house sue could not prevent his learnirg native habits and growing up like a brown-skinnec youth. So she did a brave thing for an i:land woman, though it mightn’t seem muci to you, being accustomed to the ways of Euro- peans. Suecut nerself adrift from her family altogether and 100k her few sticks of furniture into a small weatherboard house, which she rented at the back of the town. It wasonly a miserabls little place, bardly more than a hut, but she made a home cf it for her boy, “'She got washing from the ships, and the people of Apia, knowing her sad story and admiring her independence, gave her odd jobs of maimaking and needle-work, at which she was very clever. 5o she just managed to exist, but as for the boy, he fured like a rich man’s child. Tue mother would live on taro or bananas, or any native food she could pick up, but the boy must have every luxury. The mother might wear an old cotton lava-lava for her sole ~arment, but the child must always be dressed in t daintiest little clothes the Apia sto tound the climate too hot for his work, or | could furnish, ! Y“1lam afr rome of the Apia trades- men, being not altogether hard-hearted men, failed to put on a profit when they | supplied the poor woman with the dainty |ariicles. But she never knew it, bless | you. She was so independent that she wouid not have dealtat a store if she had | thought she was beinc favored atall. Sae even tried to learn Enelish so that she | might talk to ber son in what she deemed | to be bis proper language, bat I am afraid she was not very successful at that. Her | tongue could not manage our barbarous | consonznts, and ‘Siami kea kume hele’ was her neares<t apprcach to calling the boy to her in Engiish. | “Every night, when the day’s work and play were over, she woula dress the boy up carefully in his best coat and trou-ers, light the lamp and seat him belore a colored picture-book which some kind aay had given her, at the one table their { nttle hut possessed. Everrthing wasneat | and clean, the floor properly swept, the | sittie bits of furniture polished till you could -ee your face in them, and there was nothing to indicate that the home might not Lave belonged to some English women in humble circumstances. “Many a night have I dropped in and found the couple sitting there, little Jimmy laughing at his pictures and the woman busy over her needlework. His father might come back at any minute, | she would exvlain in her simple way; he would like to find his boy a papalang: gentleman and not 3 common Samoan child. “For herself the poor soul had never a thought, ber whole being centere! round the boy. And when he got biz enough the good fatiers tock him in at the con- vent :chool, and he was educated with the white children, so that he vrew up speak- ing English perfectly. Thoush they never admitted it 1 am sure that the kindly priests streiched a point in the mother's favor, or else the poor woman would never son’s education. “As long as I wasin Apia I never lost sight of this interesting couple, but after a few years, you know, I got married my- self. Then I went away trading in N.w Bri ain, and so for a time I heard notbing of the mother and her son. . “When I dia come back to the Navi. gators I found Jimmy quite a grown-up iad—us general favorite throu Lout the whole town. His education was finished, and he could read and write beiter than the majority of white men on the beach, let slone the balf-castes. His mother's friends, and she bad many, had got him a good position in one of the largest siores, He was already able to help her a little, and promised 10 do well for himselt in life. The rood woman was still single, she lived confidenily in t.e hope that one dav Siami would return and find that his son had been well brought up and was res.ly a papalangi. This was ber one con- solation, poor woman, and she had held | totheideaso loug that at last she had | times before, so I didn’t taki | &rown tobelieve in it. have been able to pay the fees ior her 1did not see much | | of her then, though, for soon after I got | back to Apia I bought this store, and | moved out of town altogether.” The old man paused and wiped his fore- head. Talking always made him perspire, ! he said. And Silei, who seemel by some | kind of instinct to understand that he! had been conversing about women of her | own race, besmed with her most engaging smile as she handed him the bow! of kava. “But did Jjimmy never come back?” I asked, when I saw that he bad recovered | his energy. | *Oh, yes; that’s the second and saddest act in the drama. He did come back; worse luck. “It was about two years ago and I was living quietly enough down here. I hadn’t seen m-ch of the young hali-caste or his mother for some time, since it was seldom I went to Apia, a place where one only snends money and does no good to one’s self. But I bad heard that the boy had shown great business aptitude, and had been advanced to a responsibie po-- tion in the firm, so that he was able to keep his old motaer in comfort. To do | him justice, he was not like most young | people who, once they are grown up and able 10 shilt for themselves, think no more of their parents. Naturally, though, he didn’t admire his father much when he saw him. e told me allabout it himself. I was sitting here when I was surprised to see bim turn up in grand style, with a large whaleboat and a Lig crew of natives. His firm was short of copra, he said, to com- pleie the cargo of a ship they were load- ing, and had sent bim round theislands | to buy up all he coud get. He offered a good price, so onr business was soon satis- factorily settled, and then, as it was get- ting lae in the afternoon, and it was a long way to the next station, I persuaded him to spend the night. When we were settled down comfortably uver our kava, he said, ‘I suppose you know !ather’s come back?' **What," and I whistled with surprise at the happening of the long expected, ‘youdon’t meun to say, Jimmy, that the old man’s turned up again?’ “ ‘Yes, i’s true enough,’ Jimmy replied, ‘and a nice handful we've found him.’ ** ‘Tell me all about it.” “*‘You know,” Jimmy went on, ‘that mother always had a habit of getting everything ready in the evening for fach- er's return. When I wasa little chiid she used to dress me for the occasion, and, now I’m grown up, I try to humor her as much as [ ca 8o, wheuever there’s nothing special going on I sit with her in the evenings and put on mv best coat, just to keep her company. Well, about a fortnight ago we were there, quietly enough, when suddeniy mother locked up from her work and said: ‘¢ “Your father will come back to-night, Stami.” “‘She had said the same thing many any special | vour father come back; I knew he would, notice, but just then the door was roughly | pusi.ed open and a fat, middle-aged man came in. He didn’t look a very respect- abie party; his face was flushed, and he rolled in his walk as if he had been drink- ing, and be wore a ragged suit of clothes which would have disgraced a beach- comber. But mother knew him, and like a flish she had her arms round his neck and was hugging and kissing him. *‘Here's I waited long, but now he is here.” The man seemed dazea by thissudden display of uffection, and said nothing for a while. I sat quietly at the table, won- dering what wounld happen next. “*‘Then mother took the man by the hand and pointed me out.’ ‘* *“There’s our boy, Siami,” she said, as well as her tears would let her. “I have cared for him well. Look at him, is be not a fine papalangi gentleman ?” Tne man seemed sort of dazed. He passed his hand over bis forehead ana then he recovered himself. “Obh, yes, I remember now; there was a kid when 1 went away. Biessed if I hadn’: forgotien sll about it. I never thought it would live; it seemed such a sickly litile thing. But what did yer want to go and make a gentleman of the boy for, Mele? What I wants is a rood hard- working boy, with a trade at his fingers’ ends, who can be a help to his father in his old age.” “ ‘Mother was terribly disappointed, I conld see, thourh she tried to hide the tears which would fall. 8tili, she replied. “If he is a gentleman, he’s a steady hard- working lad, end he’s getting $15 a week at the store.” **When the old man heard this his bleared eyes brightened. “Ob, all right | then, Jimmy, my son; here’s my band, and I bope you'il be a good son to your dad, who's come ali this way to seek you out.” ' **Buat I wouldn’t take his dirty hand. He might be my fatner, so taras I knew, but I wasn’t going to have anything to do with him. So I left the house, and I haven’t been back since. I've tried to persuade mother to come away, too, but she will stick to him, though ne's the dru: kenest old loafer on the beach. Every penny he can tqueeze out of her goes in drink, and e tricd the same game on me, but I turned him out of the store qu.ck exoueh.’ * *‘What’s he be n doing all this time? I asked. ‘*‘Ob, he's been in Australia, and, from what I hear, he did prefty well at his trade for a while. But iately he fajled altogether, and then, when he found the colonies played out, he tiought he would run down to Samoa and see what he could do here. I've told mother ugaiu and again not to give h'm any money, so as to make him go to work; but it’s no use, she’s too fond of him.’ “This wes all J mmy's tale and nex day he went his wuy in the boat, and I heard no more of the maiter for a while. “But a few montnhs later I went on a | ged clothing extracted a package carefully Malanga know, up to Tununga, where, there are several stores. you I had | out to contain a cabinet photo; wrapped up in brown paper. It turned zraph—a some businers there, for I was buying up | family group representing a comely mid. tobacco, but 1 thought I would make a | dle-aged mother bit of a pleasure trip of itas well. So I went along by easy stages, stopping several And, the last night before I got to Tun unga, I found a white man livir Samoan hoase. His name was Jounston, he said, he ar;d had been = a man who was building a schooner near by. But now the job was finished aad he was just living on among the Samoans, wait.ngz for something else to turn up. I| couidn’t help thinking that there wasn't | much chance of getting work in that place, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was a free and easy old fellow and I soon made myself quite at home with him. By and by he produced a bottle of gin, a rare thing in those parts, and we were soon friendly enough. He had a native wife, a good-looking young girl, and he seemed reconciled to his lot and to be in no hurry to go out and look for work where lie might have had a chance of ing it. ‘‘He was very talkative and told me a lot about himself and his family, and soon I begun to suspect something. It wasn't the name—that was common enough. But when he said that he had been in Sa- moa twenty years before and had only re- turned a few montbs ago, it dawned upon | me. “‘Were you married. when you first came here?’ I asked. ‘“‘Oh, yes,” he replied, carelessly. bad a native wife, but I neverthoughtany more about her after I went away.’ **And a child, too?" ***Ob, yes, there was a boy born just be- fore Ileit. He's grown upnow into a fine young fellow and getting a good salary at So-and-so’s store. Lut he won’t have any- thing to say to hisold lather; much too great a swell for thut.’ 1 thought the old father deserved all the treatment he had got, but, of course, it wouid not have been polite to say so “Then the fellow told me more of his family history and confided to me that he had come to Samoa aiter his business in Au tralia failed in the hope of setting up a blacksmith’s shop. But he had gone on the spree w en he arrived and soon spent ihe Little money he brourzht with nim. Now be ddi’t see how tosend for his wife and chi:dren, much iess Lhow to keep hem when they got here. « Children, did yousav! I exclaimed, thinking of young Jimmy and the Sa- moan woman, with bher unchanging fidelity. “Ohb, ves, said the old man, quite una- beshed, ‘I've a wife and six kids in Aus- trelia. And ‘hey’ve got a . ood education, too, for I was well off then. Luok here.’ “He went to a battered old sea-ches:, which appeared to be his whole personal luggage, and from under a layer of rag- nights at viliages on the way. | B | | ina| | fice. a blacksmith by trade, | aking some ironwork for | | and six well- desed, ell-dressed ‘* ‘There’s the fami sald Johnston, ‘There’s Johnny, the eld. st; he's a reui clever boy; he’s going to be a greatarchi- tect some day; he’sin a good Sydney of- And there’s Polly; she pl piano fine.’ : Vb “Thus the old man ran over the litie accomplishments of his white children, I listened in silence, but I couldn’t help thinking all the time of the plain, brown- skinned woman sitting <o patiently with her little boy and waiting for Siami come back.’’ (TRE END.) I B L:earr\ir\g to Ride. Inever recall my first attempt to ride a wheel without experiencing a thrill of pleasure to think that I am still alive. With the aid of two experienced riders a I had managea to mount wheel. Haidly had I taken a firm g on the banale-bars than the 1wo accomplices re- leased their hold and left me alone to the wild mercies of an unmanageable bike. I knew well that everything depended upon my coolness, so I held the handle. bars with a still firmer grip anc endeay- ored to balance my body to the move- meunts of the wheel, which was now shj inyg desperately from one side of the road to the other. Already I reaiized tnat [ was in a bopeless pos tion, and, as tae wheel struck the curbing at this moment,’ I bastily dismounted. Perhaps I did not get off in a very gracelul manner, never- theless I struck the sidewalk with a force and enthusiasm that won the applause of the oulookers. By the end of *"ree weeks I was able to lay aside my crutches, remove the spiints from my arm and lake the pledge against becf tea. For a time I cared not to ride, so well satisfied was I in being able to walk; but in an unguarded moment I again fell a victim to the pernicious habit, This time I was more successful, and be. came so well satisfied with my success that I determined to visita young lady acquaintance. { 1t was not until I was about to leave tuat I realized my inabiiity to mount, The very theueht made me turn pale, an by the time I reached the gate cold beagls 0. perspiration were standing on my .ore- bead. Aiter making several unsuccessiul attempt to mount, the young iady came 1o my assist.nce; the ne ghtors aiso came out to encourace us by b ts of advice and kindly suegestions. With each fai ure I tecime more ecxcited, my wheel became more unmanageab e, until in sheer dese peration I started off leading the.bik i and vraying that some friendly comet woud strike the earth in my immediate vicinity. NIck BowDEN. A hN No