'' We pulled the long distances to and from the shore,
with our loaded boats, without a word spoken, and with
discontented looks, while they not only lightened the labor of
rowing, but actually made it pleasant and cheerful, by their
music. So true is it, that:--
``For the tired slave, song lifts the languid oar,
And bids it aptly fall, with chime
That beautifies the fairest shore,
And mitigates the harshest clime.''
After lying about a week in San Pedro, we got under way for San
Diego, intending to stop at San Juan, as the southeaster season
was nearly over, and there was little or no danger.
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.
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