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Chapter II
Chapter II
First Impressions - "Sail Ho!"
The first day we passed at sea was the Sabbath. As we were just from
port, and there was a great deal to be done on board, we were kept at work all
day, and at night the watches were set, and everything put into sea order.
When we were called aft to be divided into watches, I had a good specimen of
the manner of a sea captain. After the division had been made, he gave a short
characteristic speech, walking the quarter deck with a cigar in his mouth, and
dropping the words out between the puffs.
"Now, my men, we have begun a long voyage. If we get along well together,
we shall have a comfortable time; if we don`t, we shall have hell afloat. All
you`ve got to do is to obey your orders and do your duty like men, - then
you`ll fare well enough; - if you don`t, you`ll fare hard enough, - I can tell
you. If we pull together, you`ll find me a clever fellow; if we don`t, you`ll
fine me a bloody rascal. - That`s all I`ve got to say. - Go below, the
larboard watch!"
I being in the starboard, or second mate`s watch, had the opportunity of
keeping the first watch at sea. S___, a young man, making, like myself, his
first voyage, was in the same watch, and as he was the son of a professional
man, and had been in a counting-room in Boston, we found that we had many
friends and topics in common. We talked these matters over - Boston, what our
friends were probably doing, our voyage, etc., until he went to take his turn
at the look-out, and left me to myself. I had now a fine time for reflection.
I felt for the first time the perfect silence of the sea. The officer was
walking the quarter deck, where I had no right to go, one or two men were
talking on the forecastle, whom I had little inclination to join, so that I
was left open to the full impression of everything about me. However much I
was affected by the beauty of the sea, the bright stars, and the clouds driven
swiftly over them, I could not but remember that I was separating myself from
all the social and intellectual enjoyments of life. Yet, strange as it may
seem, I did then and afterwards take pleasure in these reflections, hoping by
them to prevent my becoming insensible to the value of what I was leaving.
But all my dreams were soon put to flight by an order from the officer to
trim the yards, as the wind was getting ahead; and I could plainly see by the
looks the sailors occasionally cast to windward, and by the dark clouds that
were fast coming up, that we had bad weather to prepare for, and had heard the
captain say that he expected to be in the Gulf Stream by twelve o`clock. In a
few minutes eight bells were struck, the watch called, and we went below, I
now began to feel the first discomforts of a sailor`s life. The steerage in
which I lived was filled with coils of rigging, spare sails, old junk and ship
stores, which had not been stowed away. Moreover, there had been no berths
built for us to sleep in, and we were not allowed to drive nails to hang our
clothes upon. The sea, too, had risen, the vessel was rolling heavily, and
everything was pitched about in grand confusion. There was a complete
"hurrah`s nest," as the sailors say, "everything on top and nothing at hand."
A large hawser had been coiled away upon my chest; my hats, boots, mattress
and blankets had all fetched away and gone over to leeward, and were jammed
and broken under the boxes and coils of rigging. To crown all, we were allowed
no light to find anything with, and I was just beginning to feel strong
symptoms of sea-sickness, and that listlessness and inactivity which accompany
it. Giving up all attempts to collect my things together, I lay down upon the
sails, expecting every moment to hear the cry of "all hands ahoy," which the
approaching storm would soon make necessary. I shortly heard the rain-drops
falling on deck, thick and fast, and the watch evidently had their hands full
of work, for I could hear the loud and repeated orders of the mate, the
trampling of feet, the creaking of blocks, and all the accompaniments of a
coming storm. In a few minutes the slide of the hatch was thrown back, which
let down the noise and tumult of the deck still louder, the loud cry of "All
hands, ahoy! tumble up here and take in sail," saluted our ears, and the hatch
was quickly shut again. When I got upon deck, a new scene and a new experience
was before me. The little brig was close hauled upon the wind, and lying over,
as it then seemed to me, nearly upon her beam ends. The heavy head sea was
beating against her bows with the noise and force almost of a sledge hammer,
and flying over the deck, drenching us completely through. The topsail
halyards had been let go, and the great sails were filling out and backing
against the masts with a noise like thunder. The wind was whistling through
the rigging, loose ropes flying about; loud and, to me, unintelligible orders
constantly given and rapidly executed, and the sailors "singing out" at the
ropes in their hoarse and peculiar strains. In addition to all this, I had not
got my "sea legs on," was dreadfully sick, with hardly strength enough to hold
on to anything, and it was "pitch dark." This was my state when I was ordered
aloft, for the first time, to reef topsails.
How I got along, I cannot now remember. I "laid out" on the yards and
held on with all my strength. I could not have been of much service, for I
remember having been sick several times before I left the topsail yard. Soon
all was snug aloft, and we were again allowed to go below. This I did not
consider much of a favor, for the confusion of everything below, and that
inexpressible sickening smell, caused by the shaking up of the bilge-water in
the hold, made the steerage but an indifferent refuge from the cold, wet
decks. I had often read of the nautical experiences of others, but I felt as
though there could be none worse than mine; for in addition to every other
evil, I could not but remember that this was only the first night of a two
years` voyage. When we were on deck we were not much better off, for we were
continually ordered about by the officer, who said that it was good for us to
be in motion. Yet anything was better than the horrible state of things below.
I remember very well going to the hatchway and putting my head down, when I
was oppressed by nausea, and always being relieved immediately. It was as good
as an emetic.
This state of things continued for two days.
Wednesday, Aug. 20th. We had the watch on deck from four till eight, this
morning. When we came on deck at four o`clock, we found things much changed
for the better. The sea and wind had gone down, and the stars were out bright.
I experienced a corresponding change in my feelings; yet continued extremely
weak from my sickness. I stood in the waist on the weather side, watching the
gradual breaking of the day, and the first streaks of the early light. Much
has been said of the sunrise at sea; but it will not compare with the sun-rise
on shore. It wants the accompaniments of the songs of birds, the awakening hum
of men, and the glancing of the first beams upon trees, hills, spires, and
housetops, to give it life and spirit. But though the actual rise of the sun
at sea is not so beautiful, yet nothing will compare with the early breaking
of day upon the wide ocean.
There is something in the first grey streaks stretching along the eastern
horizon and throwing an indistinct light upon the face of the deep, which
combines with the boundlessness and unknown depth of the sea around you, and
gives one a feeling of loneliness, of dread, and of melancholy foreboding,
which nothing else in nature can give. This gradually passes away as the light
grows brighter, and when the sun comes up, the ordinary monotonous sea day
begins.
From such reflections as these, I was aroused by the order from the
officer, "Forward there! rig the head-pump!" I found that no time was allowed
for daydreaming, but that we must "turn to" at the first light. Having called
up the "idlers," namely, carpenter, cook, steward, etc., and rigged the pump,
we commenced washing down the decks. This operation, which is performed every
morning at sea, takes nearly two hours; and I had hardly strength enough to
get through it. After we had finished, swabbed down, and coiled up the
rigging, I sat down on the spars, waiting for seven bells, which was the sign
for breakfast. The officer, seeing my lazy posture, ordered me to slush the
main-mast from the royal-mast-head, down. The vessel was then rolling a
little, and I had taken no sustenance for three days, so that I felt tempted
to tell him that I had rather wait till after breakfast; but I knew that I
must "take the bull by the horns," and that if I showed any sign of want of
spirit or of backwardness, that I should be ruined at once. So I took my
bucket of grease and climbed up to the royal-mast-head. Here the rocking of
the vessel, which increases the higher you go from the foot of the mast, which
is the fulcrum of the lever, and the smell of the grease, which offended my
fastidious senses, upset my stomach again, and I was not a little rejoiced
when I got upon the comparative terra firma of the deck. In a few minutes
seven bells were struck, the log hove, the watch called, and we went to
breakfast. Here I cannot but remember the advice of the cook, a simple hearted
African. "Now," says he, "my lad, you are well cleaned out; you haven`t got a
drop of your `long-shore swash aboard of you. You must begin on a new
tack-pitch all your sweetmeats overboard, and turn-to upon good hearty salt
beef and sea bread, and I`ll promise you, you`ll have your ribs well sheathed,
and be as hearty as any of `em, afore you are up to the Horn." This would be
good advice to give to passengers, when they speak of the little niceties
which they have laid in, in case of sea-sickness.
I cannot describe the change which half of a pound of cold salt beef and
a biscuit or two produced in me. I was a new being. We had a watch below until
noon, so that I had some time to myself; and getting a huge piece of strong,
cold, salt beef from the cook, I kept gnawing upon it until twelve o`clock.
When we went on deck I felt somewhat like a man, and could begin to learn my
sea duty with considerable spirit. At about two o`clock we heard the loud cry
of "sail ho!" from aloft, and soon saw two sails to windward, going directly
athwart our hawse. This was the first time that I had seen a sail at sea. I
thought then, and have always since, that it exceeds every other sight in
interest and beauty. They passed to leeward of us, and out of hailing
distance; but the captain could read the names on their sterns with the glass.
They were the ship Helen Mar, of New York, and the brig Mermaid, of Boston.
They were both steering westward, and were bound in for our "dear native
land."
Thursday, Aug. 21st. This day the sun rose clear, we had a fine wind, and
everything was bright and cheerful. I had now got my sea legs on, and was
beginning to enter upon the regular duties of a sea-life. About six bells,
that is, three o`clock P. M., we saw a sail on our larboard bow. I was very
anxious, like every new sailor, to speak her. She came down to us, backed her
main-topsail, and the two vessels stood "head on," bowing and curvetting at
each other like a couple of war-horses reined in by their riders. It was the
first vessel that I had seen near, and I was surprised to find out how much
she rolled and pitched in so quiet a sea. She plunged her head into the sea,
and then, her stern settling gradually down, her huge bows rose up, showing
the bright copper, and her stern, and breast-hooks dripping, like old
Neptune`s locks, with the brine. Her decks were filled with passengers who had
come up at the cry of "sail ho," and who by their dress and features appeared
to be Swiss and French emigrants. She hailed us at first in French, but
receiving no answer, she tried us in English. She was the ship La Carolina,
from Havre, for New York. We desired her to report the brig Pilgrim, from
Boston, for the north-west coast of America, five days out. She then filled
away and left us to plough on through our waste of waters. This day ended
pleasantly; we had got into regular and comfortable weather, and into that
routine of sea-life which is only broken by a storm, a sail, or the sight of
land.
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