American whalers and the East Sea in the 1840s: Peril and adventure

A view of the East Sea from the coast of Gangwon Province in the 1930s / Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

• Published Nov 23, 2025 7:00 AM KST
• Updated Nov 23, 2025 5:50 PM KST

In the mid-1840s, the peaceful isolation of the East Sea was disrupted by the appearance of large, strange-looking vessels — three-masted and two-decked — flying a red, white and blue flag. These were American whaling ships, mainly from New Bedford, Massachusetts, along with a few from smaller New England ports, crewed by men of many nationalities in search of whales, a bit of adventure and, of course, pockets full of money when they returned home.

These whaling vessels often passed Jeju Island and sailed through the Korea Strait — the narrow passage separating Korea from Japan — to enter the East Sea whaling grounds. In early 1846, one American described circling Jeju Island for about a week on a calm summer sea — a strange description considering it was winter. Unfortunately, he didn’t consider the “Isle of Beauty” important enough to describe it in any detail, noting only that the crew “saw many whales and captured some.”

As for the East Sea itself, he declared the whaling to be “so easy” as “the fish were so numerous that we had no occasion to chase them with our ship: We had nothing to do but to lower our boats, harpoon them and bring them alongside for stripping.”

They took several whales before the season changed and the animals migrated north. The ship followed and continued to hunt until its holds were full. It didn’t take long for word to spread about the abundance of whales in the East Sea, and within the next couple of years Western whaling vessels began to appear more frequently along the Korean Peninsula and the Japanese archipelago.

In 1843, nearly one-third of the United States’ whaling fleet of 643 ships hailed from New Bedford, making it the whaling capital of the world. Many of these vessels were crewed largely by young, inexperienced men who received only a small share of the profits if the ship returned successfully to port. If the voyage failed, some sailors ended up in debt and were forced to embark on yet another whaling expedition.

Some joined not for adventure or wealth but as a means of escape from their own misdeeds or social stigma.

Orson Shattuch, who kept the logbook of the whaler Francis in the early 1850s, was polite and perhaps a little too kindhearted for the rough life of a whaler, though he was not without fault. On Feb. 8, 1851, while in the northern part of East Sea, he celebrated his 24th birthday and reflected in his log on the circumstances that had led him to the life of a sailor — the “almost criminal” acts that caused him to lose the affections of Elizabeth, his lover:

“[All] chance of happiness is gone now, I must drag out a miserable existence banished from my old friends and all [who] were most dear to me by my own misconduct. I can hardly realize that it is so [that] in so short a time I have wrecked all my youthful hopes.”

Although he never specifies the transgression, the guilt and pain are almost too much to bear. He confesses in his logbook that the temptation to leave the world is strong, but the recollections of his father, brothers and sister keep him from taking his own life. They would be hurt and mortified by such a rash act: “I heaped wrong and shame enough upon their heads [and] they shall suffer no more from me.”

On Dec. 9, 1848, the whaling ship Christopher Mitchell departed Nantucket for the Pacific whaling grounds. On board was a 19-year-old crewman named George Johnson from Rochester, New York. Although Johnson was apparently shy and looked younger than his age, he was hardworking and performed his duties well. Captain Thomas Sullivan could not afford to be choosy, as large numbers of men were rushing to California to take part in the gold rush.

In July 1849, near Paita, Peru — a popular supply port for whalers — Johnson fell deathly ill and had to be cared for by the crew. While wiping the sweat from his feverish body, one of the men made a startling discovery: Johnson was not a man, but a young woman!

Johnson then confessed to Captain Sullivan that her real name was Rebecca Ann Johnson. Her father had disowned her after she ran away to live with a lover. The relationship did not last and she soon found herself homeless. Dressed as a boy, she found employment as an attendant guiding a horse that pulled boats along the canal. When she learned of an opening on the whaler, she applied, hoping to escape her past and earn some money.

The astonished captain gave her $100 in wages and placed her on the next ship bound for home.

Considering the crowded living conditions on board, it is remarkable that she was able to keep her secret for so long.

Not only were the crew’s quarters crowded, they were, according to professor Curtis Martin, “literally a rat’s nest.” These ships processed whales at sea, cutting the blubber into long strips, rendering it into oil and storing it in barrels. The deck was coated in slime, oil and soot, and it was said that a whaling ship could be smelled long before it was seen. All of that filth was tracked down into the quarters.

Rats and other vermin — lice, bedbugs and cockroaches — were everywhere. One of Martin’s favorite anecdotes, taken from a sailor’s memoirs, described the scarcity of freshwater on board. Sailors were not allowed to wash their tin cups and plates, so after dinner they simply hung them up near their bunks. By morning, the cockroaches had cleaned them.

It is often said that an army marches on its stomach, and whaling was no different. A ship’s morale — as well as its health — rose or fell with the quantity and quality of the food. Whaling ships had a reputation of serving terrible (and barely edible) rations, but some sailors’ accounts suggest the meals weren’t always as bad as the legend.

Albert F. Peck, who sailed aboard the Covington in the late 1850s, described their weekly fare:

“Our daily diet on board ship was as follows: On Mondays, rice for dinner with beef and a little pork, a barrel of pork having to last as long as two of beef. Tuesday, boiled beans. Wednesday, peas, and when these failed, rice. Thursdays, boiled flour pudding called Duff. Fridays, beans again. Saturdays, codfish and potatoes, and Sundays, Duff again. Each morning for breakfast we had either potatoes and meat hashed up together with coffee or [illegible] a mess made of ship bread soaked overnight and boiled up in the morning with beef cut up and sliced potatoes. For supper [lunch], hard bread and beef with tea and plenty of molasses, each man being allowed a quart a week, which was amply sufficient, if not wasted, and besides this, we had extra messes, such as a sea pie when a hog was killed, soft bread, pickles, etc."

For whalers operating in the East Sea before Japan’s ports opened in the late 1850s, resupplying was a serious challenge. A New Bedford newspaper noted that Shanghai was an option, but suggested Hong Kong as a better choice:

“At Hong Kong, it is well known, the British have an efficient police, both on shore and on the water; all kinds of supplies are cheap and abundant, at all season, including beef, pigs, yams, sweet potatoes, oranges, limes and all tropical fruits. The port is free, with the exception of only a small fee to the harbor-master; and letters can be despatched monthly for London, reaching that destination in 54 days, and thence to the U.S.”

As Peck mentioned, many whaling ships carried live pigs, cows and poultry — sometimes even keeping them in the crew’s quarters — so they could slaughter them at sea and provide the men with occasional fresh meat.

While whaling was dangerous even in the best conditions, that danger grew sharply when the crew became demoralized by or discontent. Even the threat of draconian punishment couldn’t always keep men in line — or stop them from mutiny or desertion.

My appreciation to Diane Nars for her invaluable assistance.