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Chapter I
Chapter I
Departure
The fourteenth of August was the day fixed upon for the sailing of the
brig Pilgrim on her voyage from Boston round Cape Horn to the western coast of
North America. As she was to get under weigh early in the afternoon, I made my
appearance on board at twelve o`clock, in full sea-rig, and with my chest,
containing an outfit for a two or three years` voyage, which I had undertaken
from a determination to cure, if possible, by an entire change of life, and by
a long absence from books and study, a weakness of the eyes, which had obliged
me to give up my pursuits, and which no medical aid seemed likely to cure.
The change from the tight dress coat, silk cap and kid gloves of an
undergraduate at Cambridge, to the loose duck trowsers, checked shirt and
tarpaulin hat of a sailor, though somewhat of a transformation, was soon made,
and I supposed that I should pass very well for a jack tar. But it is
impossible to deceive the practised eye in these matters; and while I supposed
myself to be looking as salt as Neptune himself, I was, no doubt, known for a
landsman by every one on board as soon as I hove in sight. A sailor has a
peculiar cut to his clothes, and a way of wearing them which a green hand can
never get. The trowsers, tight round the hips, and thence hanging long and
loose round the feet, a superabundance of checked shirt, a low-crowned, well
varnished black hat, worn on the back of the head, with half a fathom of black
ribbon hanging over the left eye, and a peculiar tie to the black silk
neckerchief, with sundry other minutiae, are signs, the want of which betray
the beginner, at once. Besides the points in my dress which were out of the
way, doubtless my complexion and hands were enough to distinguish me from the
regular salt, who, with a sunburnt cheek, wide step, and rolling gait, swings
his bronzed and toughened hands athwartships, half open, as though just ready
to grasp a rope.
"With all my imperfections on my head," I joined the crew, and we hauled
out into the stream, and came to anchor for the night. The next day we were
employed in preparations for sea, reeving studding-sail gear, crossing royal
yards, putting on chafing gear, and taking on board our powder. On the
following night, I stood my first watch. I remained awake nearly all the first
part of the night from fear that I might not hear when I was called; and when
I went on deck, so great were my ideas of the importance of my trust, that I
walked regularly fore and aft the whole length of the vessel, looking out over
the bows and taffrail at each turn, and was not a little surprised at the
coolness of the old salt whom I called to take my place, in stowing himself
snugly away under the long boat, for a nap. That was a sufficient look-out, he
thought, for a fine night, at anchor in a safe harbor.
The next morning was Saturday, and a breeze having sprung up from the
southward, we took a pilot on board, hove up our anchor, and began beating
down the bay. I took leave of those of my friends who came to see me off, and
had barely opportunity to take a last look at the city, and well known
objects, as no time is allowed on board ship for sentiment. As we drew down
into the lower harbor, we found the wind ahead in the bay, and were obliged to
come to anchor in the roads. We remained there through the day and a part of
the night. My watch began at eleven o`clock at night, and I received orders to
call the captain if the wind came out from the westward. About midnight the
wind became fair, and having called the captain, I was ordered to call all
hands. How I accomplished this I do not know, but I am quite sure that I did
not give the true hoarse, boatswain call of "A-a-ll ha-a-a-nds! up anchor,
a-ho-oy!" In a short time every one was in motion, the sails loosed, the yards
braced, and we began to heave up the anchor, which was our last hold upon
Yankee land. I could take but little part in all these preparations. My little
knowledge of a vessel was all at fault. Unintelligible orders were so rapidly
given and so immediately executed; there was such a hurrying about, and such
an intermingling of strange cries and stranger actions, that I was completely
bewildered. There is not so helpless and pitiable an object in the world as a
landsman beginning a sailor`s life. At length those peculiar, longdrawn
sounds, which denote that the crew are heaving at the windlass, began, and in
a few moments we were under weigh. The noise of the water thrown from the bows
began to be heard, the vessel leaned over from the damp night breeze, and
rolled with the heavy ground swell, and we had actually begun our long, long
journey. This was literally bidding "good night" to my native land.
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