Here was a gloomy prospect indeed. The Lagoda, a
smaller ship than the California, carrying only thirty-one or
thirty-two thousand, had been two years getting her cargo; and we
were to collect a cargo of forty thousand beside our own, which
would be twelve or fifteen thousand; and hides were said to be
growing scarcer. Then, too, this ship, which had been to us a
worse phantom than any flying Dutchman, was no phantom, or ideal
thing, but had been reduced to a certainty; so much so that a name
was given her, and it was said that she was to be the Alert, a
well-known Indiaman, which was expected in Boston in a few months,
when we sailed. There could be no doubt, and all looked black
enough. Hints were thrown out about three years and four years;
the older sailors said they never should see Boston again, but
should lay their bones in California; and a cloud seemed to hang
over the whole voyage. Besides, we were not provided for so long a
voyage, and clothes, and all sailors' necessaries, were
excessively dear,-- three or four hundred per cent advance upon
the Boston prices. This was bad enough for the crew; but still
worse was it for me, who did not mean to be a sailor for life,
having intended only to be gone eighteen months or two years.
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