Redburn:
His First Voyage

by Herman Melville

Being the Sailor Boy
Confessions and Reminiscences
Of the Son-Of-A-Gentleman
In the Merchant Navy


Contents

 CHAPTER I. HOW WELLINGBOROUGH REDBURN’S TASTE FOR THE SEA WAS BORN AND BRED IN HIM
 CHAPTER II. REDBURN’S DEPARTURE FROM HOME
 CHAPTER III. HE ARRIVES IN TOWN
 CHAPTER IV. HOW HE DISPOSED OF HIS FOWLING-PIECE
 CHAPTER V. HE PURCHASES HIS SEA-WARDROBE, AND ON A DISMAL RAINY DAY PICKS UP HIS BOARD AND LODGING ALONG THE WHARVES
 CHAPTER VI. HE IS INITIATED IN THE BUSINESS OF CLEANING OUT THE PIG-PEN, AND SLUSHING DOWN THE TOP-MAST
 CHAPTER VII. HE GETS TO SEA AND FEELS VERY BAD
 CHAPTER VIII. HE IS PUT INTO THE LARBOARD WATCH; GETS SEA-SICK; AND RELATES SOME OTHER OF HIS EXPERIENCES
 CHAPTER IX. THE SAILORS BECOMING A LITTLE SOCIAL, REDBURN CONVERSES WITH THEM
 CHAPTER X. HE IS VERY MUCH FRIGHTENED; THE SAILORS ABUSE HIM; AND HE BECOMES MISERABLE AND FORLORN
 CHAPTER XI. HE HELPS WASH THE DECKS, AND THEN GOES TO BREAKFAST
 CHAPTER XII. HE GIVES SOME ACCOUNT OF ONE OF HIS SHIPMATES CALLED JACKSON
 CHAPTER XIII. HE HAS A FINE DAY AT SEA, BEGINS TO LIKE IT; BUT CHANGES HIS MIND
 CHAPTER XIV. HE CONTEMPLATES MAKING A SOCIAL CALL ON THE CAPTAIN IN HIS CABIN
 CHAPTER XV. THE MELANCHOLY STATE OF HIS WARDROBE
 CHAPTER XVI. AT DEAD OF NIGHT HE IS SENT UP TO LOOSE THE MAIN-SKYSAIL
 CHAPTER XVII. THE COOK AND STEWARD
 CHAPTER XVIII. HE ENDEAVORS TO IMPROVE HIS MIND; AND TELLS OF ONE BLUNT AND HIS DREAM BOOK
 CHAPTER XIX. A NARROW ESCAPE
 CHAPTER XX. IN A FOG HE IS SET TO WORK AS A BELL-TOLLER, AND BEHOLDS A HERD OF OCEAN-ELEPHANTS
 CHAPTER XXI. A WHALEMAN AND A MAN-OF-WAR’S-MAN
 CHAPTER XXII. THE HIGHLANDER PASSES A WRECK
 CHAPTER XXIII. AN UNACCOUNTABLE CABIN-PASSENGER, AND A MYSTERIOUS YOUNG LADY
 CHAPTER XXIV. HE BEGINS TO HOP ABOUT IN THE RIGGING LIKE A SAINT JAGO’s MONKEY
 CHAPTER XXV. QUARTER-DECK FURNITURE
 CHAPTER XXVI. A SAILOR A JACK OF ALL TRADES
 CHAPTER XXVII. HE GETS A PEEP AT IRELAND, AND AT LAST ARRIVES AT LIVERPOOL
 CHAPTER XXVIII. HE GOES TO SUPPER AT THE SIGN OF THE BALTIMORE CLIPPER
 CHAPTER XXIX. REDBURN DEFERENTIALLY DISCOURSES CONCERNING THE PROSPECTS OF SAILORS
 CHAPTER XXX. REDBURN GROWS INTOLERABLY FLAT AND STUPID OVER SOME OUTLANDISH OLD GUIDE-BOOKS
 CHAPTER XXXI. WITH HIS PROSY OLD GUIDE-BOOK, HE TAKES A PROSY STROLL THROUGH THE TOWN
 CHAPTER XXXII. THE DOCKS
 CHAPTER XXXIII. THE SALT-DROGHERS, AND GERMAN EMIGRANT SHIPS
 CHAPTER XXXIV. THE IRRAWADDY
 CHAPTER XXXV. GALLIOTS, COAST-OF-GUINEA-MAN, AND FLOATING CHAPEL
 CHAPTER XXXVI. THE OLD CHURCH OF ST. NICHOLAS, AND THE DEAD-HOUSE
 CHAPTER XXXVII. WHAT REDBURN SAW IN LAUNCELOTT’S-HEY
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE DOCK-WALL BEGGARS
 CHAPTER XXXIX. THE BOOBLE-ALLEYS OF THE TOWN
 CHAPTER XL. PLACARDS, BRASS-JEWELERS, TRUCK-HORSES, AND STEAMERS
 CHAPTER XLI. REDBURN ROVES ABOUT HTHER AND THITHER
 CHAPTER XLII. HIS ADVENTURE WITH THE CROSS OLD GENTLEMAN
 CHAPTER XLIII. HE TAKES A DELIGHTFUL RAMBLE INTO THE COUNTRY; AND MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF THREE ADORABLE CHARMERS
 CHAPTER XLIV. REDBURN INTRODUCES MASTER HARRY BOLTON TO THE FAVORABLE CONSIDERATION OF THE READER
 CHAPTER XLV. HARRY BOLTON KIDNAPS REDBURN, AND CARRIES HIM OFF TO LONDON
 CHAPTER XLVI. A MYSTERIOUS NIGHT IN LONDON
 CHAPTER XLVII. HOMEWARD BOUND
 CHAPTER XLVIII. A LIVING CORPSE
 CHAPTER XLIX. CARLO
 CHAPTER L. HARRY BOLTON AT SEA
 CHAPTER LI. THE EMIGRANTS
 CHAPTER LII. THE EMIGRANTS’ KITCHEN
 CHAPTER LIII. THE HORATII AND CURIATII
 CHAPTER LIV. SOME SUPERIOR OLD NAIL-ROD AND PIG-TAIL
 CHAPTER LV. DRAWING NIGH TO THE LAST SCENE IN JACKSON’S CAREER
 CHAPTER LVI. UNDER THE LEE OF THE LONG-BOAT, REDBURN AND HARRY HOLD CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNION
 CHAPTER LVII. ALMOST A FAMINE
 CHAPTER LVIII. THOUGH THE HIGHLANDER PUTS INTO NO HARBOR AS YET; SHE HERE AND THERE LEAVES MANY OF HER PASSENGERS BEHIND
 CHAPTER LIX. THE LAST END OF JACKSON
 CHAPTER LX. HOME AT LAST
 CHAPTER LXI. REDBURN AND HARRY, ARM IN ARM, IN HARBOR
 CHAPTER LXII. THE LAST THAT WAS EVER HEARD OF HARRY BOLTON




CHAPTER I.
HOW WELLINGBOROUGH REDBURN’S TASTE FOR THE SEA WAS BORN AND BRED IN HIM


“Wellingborough, as you are going to sea, suppose you take this
shooting-jacket of mine along; it’s just the thing—take it, it will
_save_ the expense of another. You see, it’s quite warm; fine long
skirts, stout horn buttons, and plenty of pockets.”

Out of the goodness and simplicity of his heart, thus spoke my elder
brother to me, upon the _eve_ of my departure for the seaport.

“And, Wellingborough,” he added, “since we are both short of money, and
you want an outfit, and I _Have_ none to _give,_ you may as well take
my fowling-piece along, and sell it in New York for what you can
get.—Nay, take it; it’s of no use to me now; I can’t find it in powder
any more.”

I was then but a boy. Some time previous my mother had removed from New
York to a pleasant village on the Hudson River, where we lived in a
small house, in a quiet way. Sad disappointments in several plans which
I had sketched for my future life; the necessity of doing something for
myself, united to a naturally roving disposition, had now conspired
within me, to send me to sea as a sailor.

For months previous I had been poring over old New York papers,
delightedly perusing the long columns of ship advertisements, all of
which possessed a strange, romantic charm to me. Over and over again I
devoured such announcements as the following:

FOR BREMEN.

_The coppered and copper-fastened brig Leda, having nearly completed
her cargo, will sail for the above port on Tuesday the twentieth of
May.
For freight or passage apply on board at Coenties Slip.
_


To my young inland imagination every word in an advertisement like
this, suggested volumes of thought.

A _brig!_ The very word summoned up the idea of a black, sea-worn
craft, with high, cozy bulwarks, and rakish masts and yards.

_Coppered and copper-fastened!_ That fairly smelt of the salt water!
How different such vessels must be from the wooden, one-masted,
green-and-white-painted sloops, that glided up and down the river
before our house on the bank.

_Nearly completed her cargo!_ How momentous the announcement;
suggesting ideas, too, of musty bales, and cases of silks and satins,
and filling me with contempt for the vile deck-loads of hay and lumber,
with which my river experience was familiar.

_Will sail on Tuesday the 20th of May-and_ the newspaper bore date the
fifth of the month! Fifteen whole days beforehand; think of that; what
an important voyage it must be, that the time of sailing was fixed upon
so long beforehand; the river sloops were not used to make such
prospective announcements.

_For freight or passage apply on board!_ Think of going on board a
coppered and copper-fastened brig, and taking passage for Bremen! And
who could be going to Bremen? No one but foreigners, doubtless; men of
dark complexions and jet-black whiskers, who talked French.

_Coenties Slip._ Plenty more brigs and any quantity of ships must be
lying there. Coenties Slip must be somewhere near ranges of
grim-looking warehouses, with rusty iron doors and shutters, and tiled
roofs; and old anchors and chain-cable piled on the walk. Old-fashioned
coffeehouses, also, much abound in that neighborhood, with sunburnt
sea-captains going in and out, smoking cigars, and talking about
Havanna, London, and Calcutta.

All these my imaginations were wonderfully assisted by certain shadowy
reminiscences of wharves, and warehouses, and shipping, with which a
residence in a seaport during early childhood had supplied me.

Particularly, I remembered standing with my father on the wharf when a
large ship was getting under way, and rounding the head of the pier. I
remembered the _yo heave ho!_ of the sailors, as they just showed their
woolen caps above the high bulwarks. I remembered how I thought of
their crossing the great ocean; and that that very ship, and those very
sailors, so near to me then, would after a time be actually in Europe.

Added to these reminiscences my father, now dead, had several times
crossed the Atlantic on business affairs, for he had been an importer
in Broad-street. And of winter evenings in New York, by the
well-remembered sea-coal fire in old Greenwich-street, he used to tell
my brother and me of the monstrous waves at sea, mountain high; of the
masts bending like twigs; and all about Havre, and Liverpool, and about
going up into the ball of St. Paul’s in London. Indeed, during my early
life, most of my thoughts of the sea were connected with the land; but
with fine old lands, full of mossy cathedrals and churches, and long,
narrow, crooked streets without sidewalks, and lined with strange
houses. And especially I tried hard to think how such places must look
of rainy days and Saturday afternoons; and whether indeed they did have
rainy days and Saturdays there, just as we did here; and whether the
boys went to school there, and studied geography, and wore their shirt
collars turned over, and tied with a black ribbon; and whether their
papas allowed them to wear boots, instead of shoes, which I so much
disliked, for boots looked so manly.

As I grew older my thoughts took a larger flight, and I frequently fell
into long reveries about distant voyages and travels, and thought how
fine it would be, to be able to talk about remote and barbarous
countries; with what reverence and wonder people would regard me, if I
had just returned from the coast of Africa or New Zealand; how dark and
romantic my sunburnt cheeks would look; how I would bring home with me
foreign clothes of a rich fabric and princely make, and wear them up
and down the streets, and how grocers’ boys would turn back their heads
to look at me, as I went by. For I very well remembered staring at a
man myself, who was pointed out to me by my aunt one Sunday in Church,
as the person who had been in Stony Arabia, and passed through strange
adventures there, all of which with my own eyes I had read in the book
which he wrote, an arid-looking book in a pale yellow cover.

“See what big eyes he has,” whispered my aunt, “they got so big,
because when he was almost dead with famishing in the desert, he all at
once caught sight of a date tree, with the ripe fruit hanging on it.”

Upon this, I stared at him till I thought his eyes were really of an
uncommon size, and stuck out from his head like those of a lobster. I
am sure my own eyes must have magnified as I stared. When church was
out, I wanted my aunt to take me along and follow the traveler home.
But she said the constables would take us up, if we did; and so I never
saw this wonderful Arabian traveler again. But he long haunted me; and
several times I dreamt of him, and thought his great eyes were grown
still larger and rounder; and once I had a vision of the date tree.

In course of time, my thoughts became more and more prone to dwell upon
foreign things; and in a thousand ways I sought to gratify my tastes.
We had several pieces of furniture in the house, which had been brought
from Europe. These I examined again and again, wondering where the wood
grew; whether the workmen who made them still survived, and what they
could be doing with themselves now.

Then we had several oil-paintings and rare old engravings of my
father’s, which he himself had bought in Paris, hanging up in the
dining-room.

Two of these were sea-pieces. One represented a fat-looking, smoky
fishing-boat, with three whiskerandoes in red caps, and their browsers
legs rolled up, hauling in a seine. There was high French-like land in
one corner, and a tumble-down gray lighthouse surmounting it. The waves
were toasted brown, and the whole picture looked mellow and old. I used
to think a piece of it might taste good.

The other represented three old-fashioned French men-of-war with high
castles, like pagodas, on the bow and stern, such as you see in
Froissart; and snug little turrets on top of the mast, full of little
men, with something undefinable in their hands. All three were sailing
through a bright-blue sea, blue as Sicily skies; and they were leaning
over on their sides at a fearful angle; and they must have been going
very fast, for the white spray was about the bows like a snow-storm.

Then, we had two large green French portfolios of colored prints, more
than I could lift at that age. Every Saturday my brothers and sisters
used to get them out of the corner where they were kept, and spreading
them on the floor, gaze at them with never-failing delight.

They were of all sorts. Some were pictures of Versailles, its
masquerades, its drawing-rooms, its fountains, and courts, and gardens,
with long lines of thick foliage cut into fantastic doors and windows,
and towers and pinnacles. Others were rural scenes, full of fine skies,
pensive cows standing up to the knees in water, and shepherd-boys and
cottages in the distance, half concealed in vineyards and vines.

And others were pictures of natural history, representing rhinoceroses
and elephants and spotted tigers; and above all there was a picture of
a great whale, as big as a ship, stuck full of harpoons, and three
boats sailing after it as fast as they could fly.

Then, too, we had a large library-case, that stood in the hall; an old
brown library-case, tall as a small house; it had a sort of basement,
with large doors, and a lock and key; and higher up, there were glass
doors, through which might be seen long rows of old books, that had
been printed in Paris, and London, and Leipsic. There was a fine
library edition of the Spectator, in six large volumes with gilded
backs; and many a time I gazed at the word _“London”_ on the
title-page. And there was a copy of D’Alembert in French, and I
wondered what a great man I would be, if by foreign travel I should
ever be able to read straight along without stopping, out of that book,
which now was a riddle to every one in the house but my father, whom I
so much liked to hear talk French, as he sometimes did to a servant we
had.

That servant, too, I used to gaze at with wonder; for in answer to my
incredulous cross-questions, he had over and over again assured me,
that he had really been born in Paris. But this I never entirely
believed; for it seemed so hard to comprehend, how a man who had been
born in a foreign country, could be dwelling with me in our house in
America.

As years passed on, this continual dwelling upon foreign associations,
bred in me a vague prophetic thought, that I was fated, one day or
other, to be a great voyager; and that just as my father used to
entertain strange gentlemen over their wine after dinner, I would
hereafter be telling my own adventures to an eager auditory. And I have
no doubt that this presentiment had something to do with bringing about
my subsequent rovings.

But that which perhaps more than any thing else, converted my vague
dreamings and longings into a definite purpose of seeking my fortune on
the sea, was an old-fashioned glass ship, about eighteen inches long,
and of French manufacture, which my father, some thirty years before,
had brought home from Hamburg as a present to a great-uncle of mine:
Senator Wellingborough, who had died a member of Congress in the days
of the old Constitution, and after whom I had the honor of being named.
Upon the decease of the Senator, the ship was returned to the donor.

It was kept in a square glass case, which was regularly dusted by one
of my sisters every morning, and stood on a little claw-footed Dutch
tea-table in one corner of the sitting-room. This ship, after being the
admiration of my father’s visitors in the capital, became the wonder
and delight of all the people of the village where we now resided, many
of whom used to call upon my mother, for no other purpose than to see
the ship. And well did it repay the long and curious examinations which
they were accustomed to give it.

In the first place, every bit of it was glass, and that was a great
wonder of itself; because the masts, yards, and ropes were made to
resemble exactly the corresponding parts of a real vessel that could go
to sea. She carried two tiers of black guns all along her two decks;
and often I used to try to peep in at the portholes, to see what else
was inside; but the holes were so small, and it looked so very dark
indoors, that I could discover little or nothing; though, when I was
very little, I made no doubt, that if I could but once pry open the
hull, and break the glass all to pieces, I would infallibly light upon
something wonderful, perhaps some gold guineas, of which I have always
been in want, ever since I could remember. And often I used to feel a
sort of insane desire to be the death of the glass ship, case, and all,
in order to come at the plunder; and one day, throwing out some hint of
the kind to my sisters, they ran to my mother in a great clamor; and
after that, the ship was placed on the mantel-piece for a time, beyond
my reach, and until I should recover my reason.

I do not know how to account for this temporary madness of mine, unless
it was, that I had been reading in a story-book about Captain Kidd’s
ship, that lay somewhere at the bottom of the Hudson near the
Highlands, full of gold as it could be; and that a company of men were
trying to dive down and get the treasure out of the hold, which no one
had ever thought of doing before, though there she had lain for almost
a hundred years.

Not to speak of the tall masts, and yards, and rigging of this famous
ship, among whose mazes of spun-glass I used to rove in imagination,
till I grew dizzy at the main-truck, I will only make mention of the
people on board of her. They, too, were all of glass, as beautiful
little glass sailors as any body ever saw, with hats and shoes on, just
like living men, and curious blue jackets with a sort of ruffle round
the bottom. Four or five of these sailors were very nimble little
chaps, and were mounting up the rigging with very long strides; but for
all that, they never gained a single inch in the year, as I can take my
oath.

Another sailor was sitting astride of the spanker-boom, with his arms
over his head, but I never could find out what that was for; a second
was in the fore-top, with a coil of glass rigging over his shoulder;
the cook, with a glass ax, was splitting wood near the fore-hatch; the
steward, in a glass apron, was hurrying toward the cabin with a plate
of glass pudding; and a glass dog, with a red mouth, was barking at
him; while the captain in a glass cap was smoking a glass cigar on the
quarterdeck. He was leaning against the bulwark, with one hand to his
head; perhaps he was unwell, for he looked very glassy out of the eyes.

The name of this curious ship was _La Reine,_ or The Queen, which was
painted on her stern where any one might read it, among a crowd of
glass dolphins and sea-horses carved there in a sort of semicircle.

And this Queen rode undisputed mistress of a green glassy sea, some of
whose waves were breaking over her bow in a wild way, I can tell you,
and I used to be giving her up for lost and foundered every moment,
till I grew older, and perceived that she was not in the slightest
danger in the world.

A good deal of dust, and fuzzy stuff like down, had in the course of
many years worked through the joints of the case, in which the ship was
kept, so as to cover all the sea with a light dash of white, which if
any thing improved the general effect, for it looked like the foam and
froth raised by the terrible gale the good Queen was battling against.

So much for _La Reine._ We have her yet in the house, but many of her
glass spars and ropes are now sadly shattered and broken,—but I will
not have her mended; and her figurehead, a gallant warrior in a
cocked-hat, lies pitching headforemost down into the trough of a
calamitous sea under the bows—but I will not have him put on his legs
again, till I get on my own; for between him and me there is a secret
sympathy; and my sisters tell me, even yet, that he fell from his perch
the very day I left home to go to sea on this _my first voyage._




CHAPTER II.
REDBURN’S DEPARTURE FROM HOME


It was with a heavy heart and full eyes, that my poor mother parted
with me; perhaps she thought me an erring and a willful boy, and
perhaps I was; but if I was, it had been a hardhearted world, and hard
times that had made me so. I had learned to think much and bitterly
before my time; all my young mounting dreams of glory had left me; and
at that early age, I was as unambitious as a man of sixty.

Yes, I will go to sea; cut my kind uncles and aunts, and sympathizing
patrons, and leave no heavy hearts but those in my own home, and take
none along but the one which aches in my bosom. Cold, bitter cold as
December, and bleak as its blasts, seemed the world then to me; there
is no misanthrope like a boy disappointed; and such was I, with the
warmth of me flogged out by adversity. But these thoughts are bitter
enough even now, for they have not yet gone quite away; and they must
be uncongenial enough to the reader; so no more of that, and let me go
on with my story.

“Yes, I will write you, dear mother, as soon as I can,” murmured I, as
she charged me for the hundredth time, not fail to inform her of my
safe arrival in New York.

“And now Mary, Martha, and Jane, kiss me all round, dear sisters, and
then I am off. I’ll be back in four months—it will be autumn then, and
we’ll go into the woods after nuts, an I’ll tell you all about Europe.
Good-by! good-by!”

So I broke loose from their arms, and not daring to look behind, ran
away as fast as I could, till I got to the corner where my brother was
waiting. He accompanied me part of the way to the place, where the
steamboat was to leave for New York; instilling into me much sage
advice above his age, for he was but eight years my senior, and warning
me again and again to take care of myself; and I solemnly promised I
would; for what cast-away will not promise to take of care himself,
when he sees that unless he himself does, no one else will.

We walked on in silence till I saw that his strength was giving out,—he
was in ill health then,—and with a mute grasp of the hand, and a loud
thump at the heart, we parted.

It was early on a raw, cold, damp morning toward the end of spring, and
the world was before me; stretching away a long muddy road, lined with
comfortable houses, whose inmates were taking their sunrise naps,
heedless of the wayfarer passing. The cold drops of drizzle trickled
down my leather cap, and mingled with a few hot tears on my cheeks.

I had the whole road to myself, for no one was yet stirring, and I
walked on, with a slouching, dogged gait. The gray shooting-jacket was
on my back, and from the end of my brother’s rifle hung a small bundle
of my clothes. My fingers worked moodily at the stock and trigger, and
I thought that this indeed was the way to begin life, with a gun in
your hand!

Talk not of the bitterness of middle-age and after life; a boy can feel
all that, and much more, when upon his young soul the mildew has
fallen; and the fruit, which with others is only blasted after
ripeness, with him is nipped in the first blossom and bud. And never
again can such blights be made good; they strike in too deep, and leave
such a scar that the air of Paradise might not erase it. And it is a
hard and cruel thing thus in early youth to taste beforehand the pangs
which should be reserved for the stout time of manhood, when the
gristle has become bone, and we stand up and fight out our lives, as a
thing tried before and foreseen; for then we are veterans used to
sieges and battles, and not green recruits, recoiling at the first
shock of the encounter.

At last gaining the boat we pushed off, and away we steamed down the
Hudson. There were few passengers on board, the day was so unpleasant;
and they were mostly congregated in the after cabin round the stoves.
After breakfast, some of them went to reading: others took a nap on the
settees; and others sat in silent circles, speculating, no doubt, as to
who each other might be.

They were certainly a cheerless set, and to me they all looked
stony-eyed and heartless. I could not help it, I almost hated them; and
to avoid them, went on deck, but a storm of sleet drove me below. At
last I bethought me, that I had not procured a ticket, and going to the
captain’s office to pay my passage and get one, was horror-struck to
find, that the price of passage had been suddenly raised that day,
owing to the other boats not running; so that I had not enough money to
pay for my fare. I had supposed it would be but a dollar, and only a
dollar did I have, whereas it was two. What was to be done? The boat
was off, and there was no backing out; so I determined to say nothing
to any body, and grimly wait until called upon for my fare.

The long weary day wore on till afternoon; one incessant storm raged on
deck; but after dinner the few passengers, waked up with their
roast-beef and mutton, became a little more sociable. Not with me, for
the scent and savor of poverty was upon me, and they all cast toward me
their evil eyes and cold suspicious glances, as I sat apart, though
among them. I felt that desperation and recklessness of poverty which
only a pauper knows. There was a mighty patch upon one leg of my
trowsers, neatly sewed on, for it had been executed by my mother, but
still very obvious and incontrovertible to the eye. This patch I had
hitherto studiously endeavored to hide with the ample skirts of my
shooting-jacket; but now I stretched out my leg boldly, and thrust the
patch under their noses, and looked at them so, that they soon looked
away, boy though I was. Perhaps the gun that I clenched frightened them
into respect; or there might have been something ugly in my eye; or my
teeth were white, and my jaws were set. For several hours, I sat gazing
at a jovial party seated round a mahogany table, with some crackers and
cheese, and wine and cigars. Their faces were flushed with the good
dinner they had eaten; and mine felt pale and wan with a long fast. If
I had presumed to offer to make one of their party; if I had told them
of my circumstances, and solicited something to refresh me, I very well
knew from the peculiar hollow ring of their laughter, they would have
had the waiters put me out of the cabin, for a beggar, who had no
business to be warming himself at their stove. And for that insult,
though only a conceit, I sat and gazed at them, putting up no petitions
for their prosperity. My whole soul was soured within me, and when at
last the captain’s clerk, a slender young man, dressed in the height of
fashion, with a gold watch chain and broach, came round collecting the
tickets, I buttoned up my coat to the throat, clutched my gun, put on
my leather cap, and pulling it well down, stood up like a sentry before
him. He held out his hand, deeming any remark superfluous, as his
object in pausing before me must be obvious. But I stood motionless and
silent, and in a moment he saw how it was with me. I ought to have
spoken and told him the case, in plain, civil terms, and offered my
dollar, and then waited the event. But I felt too wicked for that. He
did not wait a great while, but spoke first himself; and in a gruff
voice, very unlike his urbane accents when accosting the wine and cigar
party, demanded my ticket. I replied that I had none. He then demanded
the money; and upon my answering that I had not enough, in a loud angry
voice that attracted all eyes, he ordered me out of the cabin into the
storm. The devil in me then mounted up from my soul, and spread over my
frame, till it tingled at my finger ends; and I muttered out my
resolution to stay where I was, in such a manner, that the ticket man
faltered back. “There’s a dollar for you,” I added, offering it.

“I want two,” said he.

“Take that or nothing,” I answered; “it is all I have.”

I thought he would strike me. But, accepting the money, he contented
himself with saying something about sportsmen going on shooting
expeditions, without having money to pay their expenses; and hinted
that such chaps might better lay aside their fowling-pieces, and assume
the buck and saw. He then passed on, and left every eye fastened upon
me.

I stood their gazing some time, but at last could stand it no more. I
pushed my seat right up before the most insolent gazer, a short fat
man, with a plethora of cravat round his neck, and fixing my gaze on
his, gave him more gazes than he sent. This somewhat embarrassed him,
and he looked round for some one to take hold of me; but no one coming,
he pretended to be very busy counting the gilded wooden beams overhead.
I then turned to the next gazer, and clicking my gun-lock, deliberately
presented the piece at him.

Upon this, he overset his seat in his eagerness to get beyond my range,
for I had him point blank, full in the left eye; and several persons
starting to their feet, exclaimed that I must be crazy. So I was at
that time; for otherwise I know not how to account for my demoniac
feelings, of which I was afterward heartily ashamed, as I ought to have
been, indeed; and much more than that.

I then turned on my heel, and shouldering my fowling-piece and bundle,
marched on deck, and walked there through the dreary storm, till I was
wet through, and the boat touched the wharf at New York.

Such is boyhood.




CHAPTER III.
HE ARRIVES IN TOWN


From the boat’s bow, I jumped ashore, before she was secured, and
following my brother’s directions, proceeded across the town toward St.
John’s Park, to the house of a college friend of his, for whom I had a
letter.

It was a long walk; and I stepped in at a sort of grocery to get a
drink of water, where some six or eight rough looking fellows were
playing dominoes upon the counter, seated upon cheese boxes. They
winked, and asked what sort of sport I had had gunning on such a rainy
day, but I only gulped down my water and stalked off.

Dripping like a seal, I at last grounded arms at the doorway of my
brother’s friend, rang the bell and inquired for him.

“What do you want?” said the servant, eying me as if I were a
housebreaker.

“I want to see your lord and master; show me into the parlor.”

Upon this my host himself happened to make his appearance, and seeing
who I was, opened his hand and heart to me at once, and drew me to his
fireside; he had received a letter from my brother, and had expected me
that day.

The family were at tea; the fragrant herb filled the room with its
aroma; the brown toast was odoriferous; and everything pleasant and
charming. After a temporary warming, I was shown to a room, where I
changed my wet dress, and returning to the table, found that the
interval had been well improved by my hostess; a meal for a traveler
was spread and I laid into it sturdily. Every mouthful pushed the devil
that had been tormenting me all day farther and farther out of me, till
at last I entirely ejected him with three successive bowls of Bohea.

Magic of kind words, and kind deeds, and good tea! That night I went to
bed thinking the world pretty tolerable, after all; and I could hardly
believe that I had really acted that morning as I had, for I was
naturally of an easy and forbearing disposition; though when such a
disposition is temporarily roused, it is perhaps worse than a
cannibal’s.

Next day, my brother’s friend, whom I choose to call Mr. Jones,
accompanied me down to the docks among the shipping, in order to get me
a place. After a good deal of searching we lighted upon a ship for
Liverpool, and found the captain in the cabin; which was a very
handsome one, lined with mahogany and maple; and the steward, an
elegant looking mulatto in a gorgeous turban, was setting out on a sort
of sideboard some dinner service which looked like silver, but it was
only Britannia ware highly polished.

As soon as I clapped my eye on the captain, I thought myself he was
just the captain to suit me. He was a fine looking man, about forty,
splendidly dressed, with very black whiskers, and very white teeth, and
what I took to be a free, frank look out of a large hazel eye. I liked
him amazingly. He was promenading up and down the cabin, humming some
brisk air to himself when we entered.

“Good morning, sir,” said my friend.

“Good morning, good morning, sir,” said the captain. “Steward, chairs
for the gentlemen.”

“Oh! never mind, sir,” said Mr. Jones, rather taken aback by his
extreme civility. “I merely called to see whether you want a fine young
lad to go to sea with you. Here he is; he has long wanted to be a
sailor; and his friends have at last concluded to let him go for one
voyage, and see how he likes it.”

“Ah! indeed!” said the captain, blandly, and looking where I stood.
“He’s a fine fellow; I like him. So you want to be a sailor, my boy, do
you?” added he, affectionately patting my head. “It’s a hard life,
though; a hard life.”

But when I looked round at his comfortable, and almost luxurious cabin,
and then at his handsome care-free face, I thought he was only trying
to frighten me, and I answered, “Well, sir, I am ready to try it.”

“I hope he’s a country lad, sir,” said the captain to my friend, “these
city boys are sometimes hard cases.”

“Oh! yes, he’s from the country,” was the reply, “and of a highly
respectable family; his great-uncle died a Senator.”

“But his great-uncle don’t want to go to sea too?” said the captain,
looking funny.

“Oh! no, oh, no!— Ha! ha!”

“Ha! ha!” echoed the captain.

A fine funny gentleman, thought I, not much fancying, however, his
levity concerning my great-uncle, he’ll be cracking his jokes the whole
voyage; and so I afterward said to one of the riggers on board; but he
bade me look out, that he did not crack my head.

“Well, my lad,” said the captain, “I suppose you know we haven’t any
pastures and cows on board; you can’t get any milk at sea, you know.”

“Oh! I know all about that, sir; my father has crossed the ocean, if I
haven’t.”

“Yes,” cried my friend, “his father, a gentleman of one of the first
families in America, crossed the Atlantic several times on important
business.”

“Embassador extraordinary?” said the captain, looking funny again.

“Oh! no, he was a wealthy merchant.”

“Ah! indeed;” said the captain, looking grave and bland again, “then
this fine lad is the son of a gentleman?”

“Certainly,” said my friend, “and he’s only going to sea for the humor
of it; they want to send him on his travels with a tutor, but he _will_
go to sea as a sailor.”

The fact was, that my young friend (for he was only about twenty-five)
was not a very wise man; and this was a huge fib, which out of the
kindness of his heart, he told in my behalf, for the purpose of
creating a profound respect for me in the eyes of my future lord.

Upon being apprized, that I had willfully forborne taking the grand
tour with a tutor, in order to put my hand in a tar-bucket, the
handsome captain looked ten times more funny than ever; and said that
_he_ himself would be my tutor, and take me on my travels, and pay for
the privilege.

“Ah!” said my friend, “that reminds me of business. Pray, captain, how
much do you generally pay a handsome young fellow like this?”

“Well,” said the captain, looking grave and profound, “we are not so
particular about beauty, and we never give more than three dollars to a
green lad like Wellingborough here, that’s your name, my boy?
Wellingborough Redburn!—Upon my soul, a fine sounding name.”

“Why, captain,” said Mr. Jones, quickly interrupting him, “that won’t
pay for his clothing.”

“But you know his highly respectable and wealthy relations will
doubtless see to all that,” replied the captain, with his funny look
again.

“Oh! yes, I forgot that,” said Mr. Jones, looking rather foolish. “His
friends will of course see to that.”

“Of course,” said the captain smiling.

“Of course,” repeated Mr. Jones, looking ruefully at the patch on my
pantaloons, which just then I endeavored to hide with the skirt of my
shooting-jacket.

“You are quite a sportsman I see,” said the captain, eying the great
buttons on my coat, upon each of which was a carved fox.

Upon this my benevolent friend thought that here was a grand
opportunity to befriend me.

“Yes, he’s quite a sportsman,” said he, “he’s got a very valuable
fowling-piece at home, perhaps you would like to purchase it, captain,
to shoot gulls with at sea? It’s cheap.”

“Oh! no, he had better leave it with his relations,” said the captain,
“so that he can go hunting again when he returns from England.”

“Yes, perhaps that _would_ be better, after all,” said my friend,
pretending to fall into a profound musing, involving all sides of the
matter in hand. “Well, then, captain, you can only give the boy three
dollars a month, you say?”

“Only three dollars a month,” said the captain.

“And I believe,” said my friend, “that you generally give something in
advance, do you not?”

“Yes, that is sometimes the custom at the shipping offices,” said the
captain, with a bow, “but in this case, as the boy has rich relations,
there will be no need of that, you know.”

And thus, by his ill-advised, but well-meaning hints concerning the
respectability of my paternity, and the immense wealth of my relations,
did this really honest-hearted but foolish friend of mine, prevent me
from getting three dollars in advance, which I greatly needed. However,
I said nothing, though I thought the more; and particularly, how that
it would have been much better for me, to have gone on board alone,
accosted the captain on my own account, and told him the plain truth.
Poor people make a very poor business of it when they try to seem rich.

The arrangement being concluded, we bade the captain good morning; and
as we were about leaving the cabin, he smiled again, and said, “Well,
Redburn, my boy, you won’t get home-sick before you sail, because that
will make you very sea-sick when you get to sea.”

And with that he smiled very pleasantly, and bowed two or three times,
and told the steward to open the cabin-door, which the steward did with
a peculiar sort of grin on his face, and a slanting glance at my
shooting-jacket. And so we left.




CHAPTER IV.
HOW HE DISPOSED OF HIS FOWLING-PIECE


Next day I went alone to the shipping office to sign the articles, and
there I met a great crowd of sailors, who as soon as they found what I
was after, began to tip the wink all round, and I overheard a fellow in
a great flapping sou’wester cap say to another old tar in a shaggy
monkey-jacket, “Twig his coat, d’ye see the buttons, that chap ain’t
going to sea in a merchantman, he’s going to shoot whales. I say,
maty—look here—how d’ye sell them big buttons by the pound?”

“Give us one for a saucer, will ye?” said another.

“Let the youngster alone,” said a third. “Come here, my little boy, has
your ma put up some sweetmeats for ye to take to sea?”

They are all witty dogs, thought I to myself, trying to make the best
of the matter, for I saw it would not do to resent what they said; they
can’t mean any harm, though they are certainly very impudent; so I
tried to laugh off their banter, but as soon as ever I could, I put
down my name and beat a retreat.

On the morrow, the ship was advertised to sail. So the rest of that day
I spent in preparations. After in vain trying to sell my fowling-piece
for a fair price to chance customers, I was walking up Chatham-street
with it, when a curly-headed little man with a dark oily face, and a
hooked nose, like the pictures of Judas Iscariot, called to me from a
strange-looking shop, with three gilded balls hanging over it.

With a peculiar accent, as if he had been over-eating himself with
Indian-pudding or some other plushy compound, this curly-headed little
man very civilly invited me into his shop; and making a polite bow, and
bidding me many unnecessary good mornings, and remarking upon the fine
weather, begged me to let him look at my fowling-piece. I handed it to
him in an instant, glad of the chance of disposing of it, and told him
that was just what I wanted.

“Ah!” said he, with his Indian-pudding accent again, which I will not
try to mimic, and abating his look of eagerness, “I thought it was a
better article, it’s very old.”

“Not,” said I, starting in surprise, “it’s not been used more than
three times; what will you give for it?”

“We don’t _buy_ any thing here,” said he, suddenly looking very
indifferent, “this is a place where people _pawn_ things.” _Pawn_ being
a word I had never heard before, I asked him what it meant; when he
replied, that when people wanted any money, they came to him with their
fowling-pieces, and got one third its value, and then left the
fowling-piece there, until they were able to pay back the money.

What a benevolent little old man, this must be, thought I, and how very
obliging.

“And pray,” said I, “how much will you let me have for my gun, by way
of a pawn?”

“Well, I suppose it’s worth six dollars, and seeing you’re a boy, I’ll
let you have three dollars upon it”

“No,” exclaimed I, seizing the fowling-piece, “it’s worth five times
that, I’ll go somewhere else.”

“Good morning, then,” said he, “I hope you’ll do better,” and he bowed
me out as if he expected to see me again pretty soon.

I had not gone very far when I came across three more balls hanging
over a shop. In I went, and saw a long counter, with a sort of
picket-fence, running all along from end to end, and three little
holes, with three little old men standing inside of them, like
prisoners looking out of a jail. Back of the counter were all sorts of
things, piled up and labeled. Hats, and caps, and coats, and guns, and
swords, and canes, and chests, and planes, and books, and
writing-desks, and every thing else. And in a glass case were lots of
watches, and seals, chains, and rings, and breastpins, and all kinds of
trinkets. At one of the little holes, earnestly talking with one of the
hook-nosed men, was a thin woman in a faded silk gown and shawl,
holding a pale little girl by the hand. As I drew near, she spoke lower
in a whisper; and the man shook his head, and looked cross and rude;
and then some more words were exchanged over a miniature, and some
money was passed through the hole, and the woman and child shrank out
of the door.

I won’t sell my gun to that man, thought I; and I passed on to the next
hole; and while waiting there to be served, an elderly man in a
high-waisted surtout, thrust a silver snuff-box through; and a young
man in a calico shirt and a shiny coat with a velvet collar presented a
silver watch; and a sheepish boy in a cloak took out a frying-pan; and
another little boy had a Bible; and all these things were thrust
through to the hook-nosed man, who seemed ready to hook any thing that
came along; so I had no doubt he would gladly hook my gun, for the long
picketed counter seemed like a great seine, that caught every variety
of fish.

At last I saw a chance, and crowded in for the hole; and in order to be
beforehand with a big man who just then came in, I pushed my gun
violently through the hole; upon which the hook-nosed man cried out,
thinking I was going to shoot him. But at last he took the gun, turned
it end for end, clicked the trigger three times, and then said, “one
dollar.”

“What about one dollar?” said I.

“That’s all I’ll give,” he replied.

“Well, what do you want?” and he turned to the next person. This was a
young man in a seedy red cravat and a pimply face, that looked as if it
was going to seed likewise, who, with a mysterious tapping of his
vest-pocket and other hints, made a great show of having something
confidential to communicate.

But the hook-nosed man spoke out very loud, and said, “None of that;
take it out. Got a stolen watch? We don’t deal in them things here.”

Upon this the young man flushed all over, and looked round to see who
had heard the pawnbroker; then he took something very small out of his
pocket, and keeping it hidden under his palm, pushed it into the hole.

“Where did you get this ring?” said the pawnbroker.

“I want to pawn it,” whispered the other, blushing all over again.

“What’s your name?” said the pawnbroker, speaking very loud.

“How much will you give?” whispered the other in reply, leaning over,
and looking as if he wanted to hush up the pawnbroker.

At last the sum was agreed upon, when the man behind the counter took a
little ticket, and tying the ring to it began to write on the ticket;
all at once he asked the young man where he lived, a question which
embarrassed him very much; but at last he stammered out a certain
number in Broadway.

“That’s the City Hotel: you don’t live there,” said the man, cruelly
glancing at the shabby coat before him.

“Oh! well,” stammered the other blushing scarlet, “I thought this was
only a sort of form to go through; I don’t like to tell where I do
live, for I ain’t in the habit of going to pawnbrokers.”

“You stole that ring, you know you did,” roared out the hook-nosed man,
incensed at this slur upon his calling, and now seemingly bent on
damaging the young man’s character for life. “I’m a good mind to call a
constable; we don’t take stolen goods here, I tell you.”

All eyes were now fixed suspiciously upon this martyrized young man;
who looked ready to drop into the earth; and a poor woman in a
night-cap, with some baby-clothes in her hand, looked fearfully at the
pawnbroker, as if dreading to encounter such a terrible pattern of
integrity. At last the young man sunk off with his money, and looking
out of the window, I saw him go round the corner so sharply that he
knocked his elbow against the wall.

I waited a little longer, and saw several more served; and having
remarked that the hook-nosed men invariably fixed their own price upon
every thing, and if that was refused told the person to be off with
himself; I concluded that it would be of no use to try and get more
from them than they had offered; especially when I saw that they had a
great many fowling-pieces hanging up, and did not have particular
occasion for mine; and more than that, they must be very well off and
rich, to treat people so cavalierly.

My best plan then seemed to be to go right back to the curly-headed
pawnbroker, and take up with my first offer. But when I went back, the
curly-headed man was very busy about something else, and kept me
waiting a long time; at last I got a chance and told him I would take
the three dollars he had offered.

“Ought to have taken it when you could get it,” he replied. “I won’t
give but two dollars and a half for it now.”

In vain I expostulated; he was not to be moved, so I pocketed the money
and departed.




CHAPTER V.
HE PURCHASES HIS SEA-WARDROBE, AND ON A DISMAL RAINY DAY PICKS UP HIS
BOARD AND LODGING ALONG THE WHARVES


The first thing I now did was to buy a little stationery, and keep my
promise to my mother, by writing her; and I also wrote to my brother
informing him of the voyage I purposed making, and indulging in some
romantic and misanthropic views of life, such as many boys in my
circumstances, are accustomed to do.

The rest of the two dollars and a half I laid out that very morning in
buying a red woolen shirt near Catharine Market, a tarpaulin hat, which
I got at an out-door stand near Peck Slip, a belt and jackknife, and
two or three trifles. After these purchases, I had only one penny left,
so I walked out to the end of the pier, and threw the penny into the
water. The reason why I did this, was because I somehow felt almost
desperate again, and didn’t care what became of me. But if the penny
had been a dollar, I would have kept it.

I went home to dinner at Mr. Jones’, and they welcomed me very kindly,
and Mrs. Jones kept my plate full all the time during dinner, so that I
had no chance to empty it. She seemed to see that I felt bad, and
thought plenty of pudding might help me. At any rate, I never felt so
bad yet but I could eat a good dinner. And once, years afterward, when
I expected to be killed every day, I remember my appetite was very
keen, and I said to myself, “Eat away, Wellingborough, while you can,
for this may be the last supper you will have.”

After dinner I went into my room, locked the door carefully, and hung a
towel over the knob, so that no one could peep through the keyhole, and
then went to trying on my red woolen shirt before the glass, to see
what sort of a looking sailor I was going to make. As soon as I got
into the shirt I began to feel sort of warm and red about the face,
which I found was owing to the reflection of the dyed wool upon my
skin. After that, I took a pair of scissors and went to cutting my
hair, which was very long. I thought every little would help, in making
me a light hand to run aloft.

Next morning I bade my kind host and hostess good-by, and left the
house with my bundle, feeling somewhat misanthropical and desperate
again.

Before I reached the ship, it began to rain hard; and as soon as I
arrived at the wharf, it was plain that there would be no getting to
sea that day.

This was a great disappointment to me, for I did not want to return to
Mr. Jones’ again after bidding them good-by; it would be so awkward. So
I concluded to go on board ship for the present.

When I reached the deck, I saw no one but a large man in a large
dripping pea-jacket, who was calking down the main-hatches.

“What do you want, Pillgarlic?” said he.

“I’ve shipped to sail in this ship,” I replied, assuming a little
dignity, to chastise his familiarity.

“What for? a tailor?” said he, looking at my shooting jacket.

I answered that I was going as a “boy;” for so I was technically put
down on the articles.

“Well,” said he, “have you got your traps aboard?”

I told him I didn’t know there were any rats in the ship, and hadn’t
brought any “trap.”

At this he laughed out with a great guffaw, and said there must be
hay-seed in my hair.

This made me mad; but thinking he must be one of the sailors who was
going in the ship, I thought it wouldn’t be wise to make an enemy of
him, so only asked him where the men slept in the vessel, for I wanted
to put my clothes away.

_“Where’s_ your clothes?” said he.

“Here in my bundle,” said I, holding it up.

“Well if that’s all you’ve got,” he cried, “you’d better chuck it
overboard. But go forward, go forward to the forecastle; that’s the
place you’ll live in aboard here.”

And with that he directed me to a sort of hole in the deck in the bow
of the ship; but looking down, and seeing how dark it was, I asked him
for a light.

“Strike your eyes together and make one,” said he, “we don’t have any
lights here.” So I groped my way down into the forecastle, which smelt
so bad of old ropes and tar, that it almost made me sick. After waiting
patiently, I began to see a little; and looking round, at last
perceived I was in a smoky looking place, with twelve wooden boxes
stuck round the sides. In some of these boxes were large chests, which
I at once supposed to belong to the sailors, who must have taken that
method of appropriating their “Trunks,” as I afterward found these
boxes were called. And so it turned out.

After examining them for a while, I selected an empty one, and put my
bundle right in the middle of it, so that there might be no mistake
about my claim to the place, particularly as the bundle was so small.

This done, I was glad to get on deck; and learning to a certainty that
the ship would not sail till the next day, I resolved to go ashore, and
walk about till dark, and then return and sleep out the night in the
forecastle. So I walked about all over, till I was weary, and went into
a mean liquor shop to rest; for having my tarpaulin on, and not looking
very gentlemanly, I was afraid to go into any better place, for fear of
being driven out. Here I sat till I began to feel very hungry; and
seeing some doughnuts on the counter, I began to think what a fool I
had been, to throw away my last penny; for the doughnuts were but a
penny apiece, and they looked very plump, and fat, and round. I never
saw doughnuts look so enticing before; especially when a negro came in,
and ate one before my eyes. At last I thought I would fill up a little
by drinking a glass of water; having read somewhere that this was a
good plan to follow in a case like the present. I did not feel thirsty,
but only hungry; so had much ado to get down the water; for it tasted
warm; and the tumbler had an ugly flavor; the negro had been drinking
some spirits out of it just before.

I marched off again, every once in a while stopping to take in some
more water, and being very careful not to step into the same shop
twice, till night came on, and I found myself soaked through, for it
had been raining more or less all day. As I went to the ship, I could
not help thinking how lonesome it would be, to spend the whole night in
that damp and dark forecastle, without light or fire, and nothing to
lie on but the bare boards of my bunk. However, to drown all such
thoughts, I gulped down another glass of water, though I was wet enough
outside and in by this time; and trying to put on a bold look, as if I
had just been eating a hearty meal, I stepped aboard the ship.

The man in the big pea-jacket was not to be seen; but on going forward
I unexpectedly found a young lad there, about my own age; and as soon
as he opened his mouth I knew he was not an American. He talked such a
curious language though, half English and half gibberish, that I knew
not what to make of him; and was a little astonished, when he told me
he was an English boy, from Lancashire.

It seemed, he had come over from Liverpool in this very ship on her
last voyage, as a steerage passenger; but finding that he would have to
work very hard to get along in America, and getting home-sick into the
bargain, he had arranged with the captain to work his passage back.

I was glad to have some company, and tried to get him conversing; but
found he was the most stupid and ignorant boy I had ever met with. I
asked him something about the river Thames; when he said that he hadn’t
traveled any in America and didn’t know any thing about the rivers
here. And when I told him the river Thames was in England, he showed no
surprise or shame at his ignorance, but only looked ten times more
stupid than before.

At last we went below into the forecastle, and both getting into the
same bunk, stretched ourselves out on the planks, and I tried my best
to get asleep. But though my companion soon began to snore very loud,
for me, I could not forget myself, owing to the horrid smell of the
place, my being so wet, cold, and hungry, and besides all that, I felt
damp and clammy about the heart. I lay turning over and over, listening
to the Lancashire boy’s snoring, till at last I felt so, that I had to
go on deck; and there I walked till morning, which I thought would
never come.

As soon as I thought the groceries on the wharf would be open I left
the ship and went to make my breakfast of another glass of water. But
this made me very qualmish; and soon I felt sick as death; my head was
dizzy; and I went staggering along the walk, almost blind. At last I
dropt on a heap of chain-cable, and shutting my eyes hard, did my best
to rally myself, in which I succeeded, at last, enough to get up and
walk off. Then I thought that I had done wrong in not returning to my
friend’s house the day before; and would have walked there now, as it
was, only it was at least three miles up town; too far for me to walk
in such a state, and I had no sixpence to ride in an omnibus.




CHAPTER VI.
HE IS INITIATED IN THE BUSINESS OF CLEANING OUT THE PIG-PEN, AND
SLUSHING DOWN THE TOP-MAST


By the time I got back to the ship, every thing was in an uproar. The
pea-jacket man was there, ordering about a good many men in the
rigging, and people were bringing off chickens, and pigs, and beef, and
vegetables from the shore. Soon after, another man, in a striped calico
shirt, a short blue jacket and beaver hat, made his appearance, and
went to ordering about the man in the big pea-jacket; and at last the
captain came up the side, and began to order about both of them.

These two men turned out to be the first and second mates of the ship.

Thinking to make friends with the second mate, I took out an old
tortoise-shell snuff-box of my father’s, in which I had put a piece of
Cavendish tobacco, to look sailor-like, and offered the box to him very
politely. He stared at me a moment, and then exclaimed, “Do you think
we take snuff aboard here, youngster? no, no, no time for snuff-taking
at sea; don’t let the ‘old man’ see that snuff-box; take my advice and
pitch it overboard as quick as you can.”

I told him it was not snuff, but tobacco; when he said, he had plenty
of tobacco of his own, and never carried any such nonsense about him as
a tobacco-box. With that, he went off about his business, and left me
feeling foolish enough. But I had reason to be glad he had acted thus,
for if he had not, I think I should have offered my box to the chief
mate, who in that case, from what I afterward learned of him, would
have knocked me down, or done something else equally uncivil.

As I was standing looking round me, the chief mate approached in a
great hurry about something, and seeing me in his way, cried out,
“Ashore with you, you young loafer! There’s no stealings here; sail
away, I tell you, with that shooting-jacket!”

Upon this I retreated, saying that I was going out in the ship as a
sailor.

“A sailor!” he cried, “a barber’s clerk, you mean; _you_ going out in
the ship? what, in that jacket? Hang me, I hope the old man hasn’t been
shipping any more greenhorns like you—he’ll make a shipwreck of it if
he has. But this is the way nowadays; to save a few dollars in seamen’s
wages, they think nothing of shipping a parcel of farmers and
clodhoppers and baby-boys. What’s your name, Pillgarlic?”

“Redburn,” said I.

“A pretty handle to a man, that; scorch you to take hold of it; haven’t
you got any other?”

“Wellingborough,” said I.

“Worse yet. Who had the baptizing of ye? Why didn’t they call you Jack,
or Jill, or something short and handy. But I’ll baptize you over again.
D’ye hear, sir, henceforth your name is _Buttons._ And now do you go,
Buttons, and clean out that pig-pen in the long-boat; it has not been
cleaned out since last voyage. And bear a hand about it, d’ye hear;
there’s them pigs there waiting to be put in; come, be off about it,
now.”

Was this then the beginning of my sea-career? set to cleaning out a
pig-pen, the very first thing?

But I thought it best to say nothing; I had bound myself to obey
orders, and it was too late to retreat. So I only asked for a shovel,
or spade, or something else to work with.

“We don’t dig gardens here,” was the reply; “dig it out with your
teeth!”

After looking round, I found a stick and went to scraping out the pen,
which was awkward work enough, for another boat called the
“jolly-boat,” was capsized right over the longboat, which brought them
almost close together. These two boats were in the middle of the deck.
I managed to crawl inside of the long-boat; and after barking my shins
against the seats, and bumping my head a good many times, I got along
to the stern, where the pig-pen was.

While I was hard at work a drunken sailor peeped in, and cried out to
his comrades, “Look here, my lads, what sort of a pig do you call this?
Hallo! inside there! what are you ’bout there? trying to stow yourself
away to steal a passage to Liverpool? Out of that! out of that, I say.”
But just then the mate came along and ordered this drunken rascal
ashore.

The pig-pen being cleaned out, I was set to work picking up some
shavings, which lay about the deck; for there had been carpenters at
work on board. The mate ordered me to throw these shavings into the
long-boat at a particular place between two of the seats. But as I
found it hard work to push the shavings through in that place, and as
it looked wet there, I thought it would be better for the shavings as
well as myself, to thrust them where there was a larger opening and a
dry spot. While I was thus employed, the mate observing me, exclaimed
with an oath, “Didn’t I tell you to put those shavings somewhere else?
Do what I tell you, now, Buttons, or mind your eye!”

Stifling my indignation at his rudeness, which by this time I found was
my only plan, I replied that that was not so good a place for the
shavings as that which I myself had selected, and asked him to tell me
_why_ he wanted me to put them in the place he designated. Upon this,
he flew into a terrible rage, and without explanation reiterated his
order like a clap of thunder.

This was my first lesson in the discipline of the sea, and I never
forgot it. From that time I learned that sea-officers never gave
reasons for any thing they order to be done. It is enough that they
command it, so that the motto is, _“Obey orders, though you break
owners.”_

I now began to feel very faint and sick _again,_ and longed for the
ship to be leaving the dock; for then I made no doubt we would soon be
having something to eat. But as yet, I saw none of the sailors on
board, and as for the men at work in the rigging, I found out that they
were _“riggers,”_ that is, men living ashore, who worked by the day in
getting ships ready for sea; and this I found out to my cost, for
yielding to the kind blandishment of one of these _riggers, I_ had
swapped away my jackknife with him for a much poorer one of his own,
thinking to secure a sailor friend for the voyage. At last I watched my
chance, and while people’s backs were turned, I seized a carrot from
several bunches lying on deck, and clapping it under the skirts of my
shooting-jacket, went forward to eat it; for I had often eaten raw
carrots, which taste something like chestnuts. This carrot refreshed me
a good deal, though at the expense of a little pain in my stomach.
Hardly had I disposed of it, when I heard the chief mate’s voice crying
out for “Buttons.” I ran after him, and received an order to go aloft
and “slush down the main-top mast.”

This was all Greek to me, and after receiving the order, I stood
staring about me, wondering what it was that was to be done. But the
mate had turned on his heel, and made no explanations. At length I
followed after him, and asked what I must do.

“Didn’t I tell you to slush down the main-top mast?” he shouted.

“You did,” said I, “but I don’t know what that means.”

“Green as grass! a regular cabbage-head!” he exclaimed to himself. “A
fine time I’ll have with such a greenhorn aboard. Look you, youngster.
Look up to that long pole there—d’ye see it? that piece of a tree
there, you timber-head—well—take this bucket here, and go up the
rigging—that rope-ladder there—do you understand?—and dab this slush
all over the mast, and look out for your head if one drop falls on
deck. Be off now, Buttons.”

The eventful hour had arrived; for the first time in my life I was to
ascend a ship’s mast. Had I been well and hearty, perhaps I should have
felt a little shaky at the thought; but as I was then, weak and faint,
the bare thought appalled me.

But there was no hanging back; it would look like cowardice, and I
could not bring myself to confess that I was suffering for want of
food; so rallying again, I took up the bucket.

It was a heavy bucket, with strong iron hoops, and might have held
perhaps two gallons. But it was only half full now of a sort of thick
lobbered gravy, which I afterward learned was boiled out of the salt
beef used by the sailors. Upon getting into the rigging, I found it was
no easy job to carry this heavy bucket up with me. The rope handle of
it was so slippery with grease, that although I twisted it several
times about my wrist, it would be still twirling round and round, and
slipping off. Spite of this, however, I managed to mount as far as the
“top,” the clumsy bucket half the time straddling and swinging about
between my legs, and in momentary danger of capsizing. Arrived at the
“top,” I came to a dead halt, and looked up. How to surmount that
overhanging impediment completely posed me for the time. But at last,
with much straining, I contrived to place my bucket in the “top;” and
then, trusting to Providence, swung myself up after it. The rest of the
road was comparatively easy; though whenever I incautiously looked down
toward the deck, my head spun round so from weakness, that I was
obliged to shut my eyes to recover myself. I do not remember much more.
I only recollect my safe return to the deck.

In a short time the bustle of the ship increased; the trunks of cabin
passengers arrived, and the chests and boxes of the steerage
passengers, besides baskets of wine and fruit for the captain.

At last we cast loose, and swinging out into the stream, came to
anchor, and hoisted the signal for sailing. Every thing, it seemed, was
on board but the crew; who in a few hours after, came off, one by one,
in Whitehall boats, their chests in the bow, and themselves lying back
in the stem like lords; and showing very plainly the complacency they
felt in keeping the whole ship waiting for their lordships.

“Ay, ay,” muttered the chief mate, as they rolled out of then-boats and
swaggered on deck, “it’s your turn now, but it will be mine before
long. Yaw about while you may, my hearties, I’ll do the yawing after
the anchor’s up.”

Several of the sailors were very drunk, and one of them was lifted on
board insensible by his landlord, who carried him down below and dumped
him into a bunk. And two other sailors, as soon as they made their
appearance, immediately went below to sleep off the fumes of their
drink.

At last, all the crew being on board, word was passed to go to dinner
fore and aft, an order that made my heart jump with delight, for now my
long fast would be broken. But though the sailors, surfeited with
eating and drinking ashore, did not then touch the salt beef and
potatoes which the black cook handed down into the forecastle; and
though this left the whole allowance to me; to my surprise, I found
that I could eat little or nothing; for now I only felt deadly faint,
but not hungry.




CHAPTER VII.
HE GETS TO SEA AND FEELS VERY BAD


Every thing at last being in readiness, the pilot came on board, and
all hands were called to up anchor. While I worked at my bar, I could
not help observing how haggard the men looked, and how much they
suffered from this violent exercise, after the terrific dissipation in
which they had been indulging ashore. But I soon learnt that sailors
breathe nothing about such things, but strive their best to appear all
alive and hearty, though it comes very hard for many of them.

The anchor being secured, a steam tug-boat with a strong name, the
Hercules, took hold of us; and away we went past the long line of
shipping, and wharves, and warehouses; and rounded the green south
point of the island where the Battery is, and passed Governor’s Island,
and pointed right out for the Narrows.

My heart was like lead, and I felt bad enough, Heaven knows; but then,
there was plenty of work to be done, which kept my thoughts from
becoming too much for me.

And I tried to think all the time, that I was going to England, and
that, before many months, I should have actually been there and home
again, telling my adventures to my brothers and sisters; and with what
delight they would listen, and how they would look up to me then, and
reverence my sayings; and how that even my elder brother would be
forced to treat me with great consideration, as having crossed the
Atlantic Ocean, which he had never done, and there was no probability
he ever would.

With such thoughts as these I endeavored to shake off my
heavy-heartedness; but it would not do at all; for this was only the
first day of the voyage, and many weeks, nay, several whole months must
elapse before the voyage was ended; and who could tell what might
happen to me; for when I looked up at the high, giddy masts, and
thought how often I must be going up and down them, I thought sure
enough that some luckless day or other, I would certainly fall
overboard and be drowned. And then, I thought of lying down at the
bottom of the sea, stark alone, with the great waves rolling over me,
and no one in the wide world knowing that I was there. And I thought
how much better and sweeter it must be, to be buried under the pleasant
hedge that bounded the sunny south side of our village grave-yard,
where every Sunday I had used to walk after church in the afternoon;
and I almost wished I was there now; yes, dead and buried in that
churchyard. All the time my eyes were filled with tears, and I kept
holding my breath, to choke down the sobs, for indeed I could not help
feeling as I did, and no doubt any boy in the world would have felt
just as I did then.

As the steamer carried us further and further down the bay, and we
passed ships lying at anchor, with men gazing at us and waving their
hats; and small boats with ladies in them waving their handkerchiefs;
and passed the green shore of Staten Island, and caught sight of so
many beautiful cottages all overrun with vines, and planted on the
beautiful fresh mossy hill-sides; oh! then I would have given any thing
if instead of sailing _out of_ the bay, we were only coming _into_ it;
if we had crossed the ocean and returned, gone over and come back; and
my heart leaped up in me like something alive when I thought of really
entering that bay at the end of the voyage. But that was so far
distant, that it seemed it could never be. No, never, never more would
I see New York again.

And what shocked me more than any thing else, was to hear some of the
sailors, while they were at work coiling away the hawsers, talking
about the boarding-houses they were going to, when they came back; and
how that some friends of theirs had promised to be on the wharf when
the ship returned, to take them and their chests right up to
Franklin-square where they lived; and how that they would have a good
dinner ready, and plenty of cigars and spirits out on the balcony. I
say this kind of talking shocked me, for they did not seem to consider,
as I did, that before any thing like that could happen, we must cross
the great Atlantic Ocean, cross over from America to Europe and back
again, many thousand miles of foaming ocean.

At that time I did not know what to make of these sailors; but this
much I thought, that when they were boys, they could never have gone to
the Sunday School; for they swore so, it made my ears tingle, and used
words that I never could hear without a dreadful loathing.

And are these the men, I thought to myself, that I must live with so
long? these the men I am to eat with, and sleep with all the time? And
besides, I now began to see, that they were not going to be very kind
to me; but I will tell all about that when the proper time comes.

Now you must not think, that because all these things were passing
through my mind, that I had nothing to do but sit still and think; no,
no, I was hard at work: for as long as the steamer had hold of us, we
were very busy coiling away ropes and cables, and putting the decks in
order; which were littered all over with odds and ends of things that
had to be put away.

At last we got as far as the Narrows, which every body knows is the
entrance to New York Harbor from sea; and it may well be called the
Narrows, for when you go in or out, it seems like going in or out of a
doorway; and when you go out of these Narrows on a long voyage like
this of mine, it seems like going out into the broad highway, where not
a soul is to be seen. For far away and away, stretches the great
Atlantic Ocean; and all you can see beyond it where the sky comes down
to the water. It looks lonely and desolate enough, and I could hardly
believe, as I gazed around me, that there could be any land beyond, or
any place like Europe or England or Liverpool in the great wide world.
It seemed too strange, and wonderful, and altogether incredible, that
there could really be cities and towns and villages and green fields
and hedges and farm-yards and orchards, away over that wide blank of
sea, and away beyond the place where the sky came down to the water.
And to think of steering right out among those waves, and leaving the
bright land behind, and the dark night coming on, too, seemed wild and
foolhardy; and I looked with a sort of fear at the sailors standing by
me, who could be so thoughtless at such a time. But then I remembered,
how many times my own father had said he had crossed the ocean; and I
had never dreamed of such a thing as doubting him; for I always thought
him a marvelous being, infinitely purer and greater than I was, who
could not by any possibility do wrong, or say an untruth. Yet now, how
could I credit it, that he, my own father, whom I so well remembered;
had ever sailed out of these Narrows, and sailed right through the sky
and water line, and gone to England, and France, Liverpool, and
Marseilles. It was too wonderful to believe.

Now, on the right hand side of the Narrows as you go out, the land is
quite high; and on the top of a fine cliff is a great castle or fort,
all in ruins, and with the trees growing round it. It was built by
Governor Tompkins in the time of the last war with England, but was
never used, I believe, and so they left it to decay. I had visited the
place once when we lived in New York, as long ago almost as I could
remember, with my father, and an uncle of mine, an old sea-captain,
with white hair, who used to sail to a place called Archangel in
Russia, and who used to tell me that he was with Captain Langsdorff,
when Captain Langsdorff crossed over by land from the sea of Okotsk in
Asia to St. Petersburgh, drawn by large dogs in a sled. I mention this
of my uncle, because he was the very first sea-captain I had ever seen,
and his white hair and fine handsome florid face made so strong an
impression upon me, that I have never forgotten him, though I only saw
him during this one visit of his to New York, for he was lost in the
White Sea some years after.

But I meant to speak about the fort. It was a beautiful place, as I
remembered it, and very wonderful and romantic, too, as it appeared to
me, when I went there with my uncle. On the side away from the water
was a green grove of trees, very thick and shady; and through this
grove, in a sort of twilight you came to an arch in the wall of the
fort, dark as night; and going in, you groped about in long vaults,
twisting and turning on every side, till at last you caught a peep of
green grass and sunlight, and all at once came out in an open space in
the middle of the castle. And there you would see cows quietly grazing,
or ruminating under the shade of young trees, and perhaps a calf
frisking about, and trying to catch its own tail; and sheep clambering
among the mossy ruins, and cropping the little tufts of grass sprouting
out of the sides of the embrasures for cannon. And once I saw a black
goat with a long beard, and crumpled horns, standing with his forefeet
lifted high up on the topmost parapet, and looking to sea, as if he
were watching for a ship that was bringing over his cousin. I can see
him even now, and though I have changed since then, the black goat
looks just the same as ever; and so I suppose he would, if I live to be
as old as Methusaleh, and have as great a memory as he must have had.
Yes, the fort was a beautiful, quiet, charming spot. I should like to
build a little cottage in the middle of it, and live there all my life.
It was noon-day when I was there, in the month of June, and there was
little wind to stir the trees, and every thing looked as if it was
waiting for something, and the sky overhead was blue as my mother’s
eye, and I was so glad and happy then. But I must not think of those
delightful days, before my father became a bankrupt, and died, and we
removed from the city; for when I think of those days, something rises
up in my throat and almost strangles me.

Now, as we sailed through the Narrows, I caught sight of that beautiful
fort on the cliff, and could not help contrasting my situation now,
with what it was when with my father and uncle I went there so long
ago. Then I never thought of working for my living, and never knew that
there were hard hearts in the world; and knew so little of money, that
when I bought a stick of candy, and laid down a sixpence, I thought the
confectioner returned five cents, only that I might have money to buy
something else, and not because the pennies were my change, and
therefore mine by good rights. How different my idea of money now!

Then I was a schoolboy, and thought of going to college in time; and
had vague thoughts of becoming a great orator like Patrick Henry, whose
speeches I used to speak on the stage; but now, I was a poor friendless
boy, far away from my home, and voluntarily in the way of becoming a
miserable sailor for life. And what made it more bitter to me, was to
think of how well off were my cousins, who were happy and rich, and
lived at home with my uncles and aunts, with no thought of going to sea
for a living. I tried to think that it was all a dream, that I was not
where I was, not on board of a ship, but that I was at home again in
the city, with my father alive, and my mother bright and happy as she
used to be. But it would not do. I was indeed where I was, and here was
the ship, and there was the fort. So, after casting a last look at some
boys who were standing on the parapet, gazing off to sea, I turned away
heavily, and resolved not to look at the land any more.

About sunset we got fairly “outside,” and well may it so be called; for
I felt thrust out of the world. Then the breeze began to blow, and the
sails were loosed, and hoisted; and after a while, the steamboat left
us, and for the first time I felt the ship roll, a strange feeling
enough, as if it were a great barrel in the water. Shortly after, I
observed a swift little schooner running across our bows, and
re-crossing again and again; and while I was wondering what she could
be, she suddenly lowered her sails, and two men took hold of a little
boat on her deck, and launched it overboard as if it had been a chip.
Then I noticed that our pilot, a red-faced man in a rough blue coat,
who to my astonishment had all this time been giving orders instead of
the captain, began to button up his coat to the throat, like a prudent
person about leaving a house at night in a lonely square, to go home;
and he left the giving orders to the chief mate, and stood apart
talking with the captain, and put his hand into his pocket, and gave
him some newspapers.

And in a few minutes, when we had stopped our headway, and allowed the
little boat to come alongside, he shook hands with the captain and
officers and bade them good-by, without saying a syllable of farewell
to me and the sailors; and so he went laughing over the side, and got
into the boat, and they pulled him off to the schooner, and then the
schooner made sail and glided under our stern, her men standing up and
waving their hats, and cheering; and that was the last we saw of
America.




CHAPTER VIII.
HE IS PUT INTO THE LARBOARD WATCH; GETS SEA-SICK; AND RELATES SOME
OTHER OF HIS EXPERIENCES


It was now getting dark, when all at once the sailors were ordered on
the quarter-deck, and of course I went along with them.

What is to come now, thought I; but I soon found out. It seemed we were
going to be divided into watches. The chief mate began by selecting a
stout good-looking sailor for his watch; and then the second mate’s
turn came to choose, and he also chose a stout good-looking sailor. But
it was not me;— no; and _I_ noticed, as they went on choosing, one
after the other in regular rotation, that both of the mates never so
much as looked at me, but kept going round among the rest, peering into
their faces, for it was dusk, and telling them not to hide themselves
away so in their jackets. But the sailors, especially the stout
good-looking ones, seemed to make a point of lounging as much out of
the way as possible, and slouching their hats over their eyes; and
although it may only be a fancy of mine, _I_ certainly thought that
they affected a sort of lordly indifference as to whose watch they were
going to be in; and did not think it worth while to look any way
anxious about the matter. And the very men who, a few minutes before,
had showed the most alacrity and promptitude in jumping into the
rigging and running aloft at the word of command, now lounged against
the bulwarks and most lazily; as if they were quite sure, that by this
time the officers must know who the best men were, and they valued
themselves well enough to be willing to put the officers to the trouble
of searching them out; for if they were worth having, they were worth
seeking.

At last they were all chosen but me; and it was the chief mate’s next
turn to choose; though there could be little choosing in my case, since
_I_ was a thirteener, and must, whether or no, go over to the next
column, like the odd figure you carry along when you do a sum in
addition.

“Well, Buttons,” said the chief mate, “I thought I’d got rid of you.
And as it is, Mr. Rigs,” he added, speaking to the second mate, “I
guess you had better take him into your watch;—there, I’ll let you have
him, and then you’ll be one stronger than me.”

“No, I thank you,” said Mr. Rigs.

“You had better,” said the chief mate—“see, he’s not a bad looking
chap—he’s a little green, to be sure, but you were so once yourself,
you know, Rigs.”

“No, I thank you,” said the second mate again. “Take him yourself—he’s
yours by good rights—I don’t want him.” And so they put me in the chief
mate’s division, that is the larboard watch.

While this scene was going on, I felt shabby enough; there I stood,
just like a silly sheep, over whom two butchers are bargaining. Nothing
that had yet happened so forcibly reminded me of where I was, and what
I had come to. I was very glad when they sent us forward again.

As we were going forward, the second mate called one of the sailors by
name:-“You, Bill?” and Bill answered, “Sir?” just as if the second mate
was a born gentleman. It surprised me not a little, to see a man in
such a shabby, shaggy old jacket addressed so respectfully; but I had
been quite as much surprised when I heard the chief mate call him _Mr._
Rigs during the scene on the quarter-deck; as if this _Mr. Rigs_ was a
great merchant living in a marble house in Lafayette Place. But I was
not very long in finding out, that at sea all officers are _Misters,_
and would take it for an insult if any seaman presumed to omit calling
them so. And it is also one of their rights and privileges to be called
_sir_ when addressed—Yes, _sir; No, sir; Ay, ay, sir;_ and they are as
particular about being sirred as so many knights and baronets; though
their titles are not hereditary, as is the case with the Sir Johns and
Sir Joshuas in England. But so far as the second mate is concerned, his
tides are the only dignities he enjoys; for, upon the whole, he leads a
puppyish life indeed. He is not deemed company at any time for the
captain, though the chief mate occasionally is, at least deck-company,
though not in the cabin; and besides this, the second mate has to
breakfast, lunch, dine, and sup off the leavings of the cabin table,
and even the steward, who is accountable to nobody but the captain,
sometimes treats him cavalierly; and he has to run aloft when topsails
are reefed; and put his hand a good way down into the tar-bucket; and
keep the key of the boatswain’s locker, and fetch and carry balls of
marline and seizing-stuff for the sailors when at work in the rigging;
besides doing many other things, which a true-born baronet of any
spirit would rather die and give up his title than stand.

Having been divided into watches we were sent to supper; but I could
not eat any thing except a little biscuit, though I should have liked
to have some good tea; but as I had no pot to get it in, and was rather
nervous about asking the rough sailors to let me drink out of theirs; I
was obliged to go without a sip. I thought of going to the black cook
and begging a tin cup; but he looked so cross and ugly then, that the
sight of him almost frightened the idea out of me.

When supper was over, for they never talk about going to _tea_ aboard
of a ship, the watch to which I belonged was called on deck; and we
were told it was for us to stand the first night watch, that is, from
eight o’clock till midnight.

I now began to feel unsettled and ill at ease about the stomach, as if
matters were all topsy-turvy there; and felt strange and giddy about
the head; and so I made no doubt that this was the beginning of that
dreadful thing, the sea-sickness. Feeling worse and worse, I told one
of the sailors how it was with me, and begged him to make my excuses
very civilly to the chief mate, for I thought I would go below and
spend the night in my bunk. But he only laughed at me, and said
something about my mother not being aware of my being out; which
enraged me not a little, that a man whom I had heard swear so terribly,
should dare to take such a holy name into his mouth. It seemed a sort
of blasphemy, and it seemed like dragging out the best and most
cherished secrets of my soul, for at that time the name of mother was
the center of all my heart’s finest feelings, which ere that, I had
learned to keep secret, deep down in my being.

But I did not outwardly resent the sailor’s words, for that would have
only made the matter worse.

Now this man was a Greenlander by birth, with a very white skin where
the sun had not burnt it, and handsome blue eyes placed wide apart in
his head, and a broad good-humored face, and plenty of curly flaxen
hair. He was not very tall, but exceedingly stout-built, though active;
and his back was as broad as a shield, and it was a great way between
his shoulders. He seemed to be a sort of lady’s sailor, for in his
broken English he was always talking about the nice ladies of his
acquaintance in Stockholm and Copenhagen and a place he called the
Hook, which at first I fancied must be the place where lived the
hook-nosed men that caught fowling-pieces and every other article that
came along. He was dressed very tastefully, too, as if he knew he was a
good-looking fellow. He had on a new blue woolen Havre frock, with a
new silk handkerchief round his neck, passed through one of the
vertebral bones of a shark, highly polished and carved. His trowsers
were of clear white duck, and he sported a handsome pair of pumps, and
a tarpaulin hat bright as a looking-glass, with a long black ribbon
streaming behind, and getting entangled every now and then in the
rigging; and he had gold anchors in his ears, and a silver ring on one
of his fingers, which was very much worn and bent from pulling ropes
and other work on board ship. I thought he might better have left his
jewelry at home.

It was a long time before I could believe that this man was really from
Greenland, though he looked strange enough to me, then, to have come
from the moon; and he was full of stories about that distant country;
how they passed the winters there; and how bitter cold it was; and how
he used to go to bed and sleep twelve hours, and get up again and run
about, and go to bed again, and get up again—there was no telling how
many times, and all in one night; for in the winter time in his
country, he said, the nights were so many weeks long, that a Greenland
baby was sometimes three months old, before it could properly be said
to be a day old.

I had seen mention made of such things before, in books of voyages; but
that was only reading about them, just as you read the Arabian Nights,
which no one ever believes; for somehow, when I read about these
wonderful countries, I never used really to believe what I read, but
only thought it very strange, and a good deal too strange to be
altogether true; though I never thought the men who wrote the book
meant to tell lies. But I don’t know exactly how to explain what I
mean; but this much I will say, that I never believed in Greenland till
I saw this Greenlander. And at first, hearing him talk about Greenland,
only made me still more incredulous. For what business had a man from
Greenland to be in my company? Why was he not at home among the
icebergs, and how could he stand a warm summer’s sun, and not be melted
away? Besides, instead of icicles, there were ear-rings hanging from
his ears; and he did not wear bear-skins, and keep his hands in a huge
muff; things, which I could not help connecting with Greenland and all
Greenlanders.

But I was telling about my being sea-sick and wanting to retire for the
night. This Greenlander seeing I was ill, volunteered to turn doctor
and cure me; so going down into the forecastle, he came back with a
brown jug, like a molasses jug, and a little tin cannikin, and as soon
as the brown jug got near my nose, I needed no telling what was in it,
for it smelt like a still-house, and sure enough proved to be full of
Jamaica spirits.

“Now, Buttons,” said he, “one little dose of this will be better for
you than a whole night’s sleep; there, take that now, and then eat
seven or eight biscuits, and you’ll feel as strong as the mainmast.”

But I felt very little like doing as I was bid, for I had some scruples
about drinking spirits; and to tell the plain truth, for I am not
ashamed of it, I was a member of a society in the village where my
mother lived, called the Juvenile Total Abstinence Association, of
which my friend, Tom Legare, was president, secretary, and treasurer,
and kept the funds in a little purse that his cousin knit for him.
There was three and sixpence on hand, I believe, the last time he
brought in his accounts, on a May day, when we had a meeting in a grove
on the river-bank. Tom was a very honest treasurer, and never spent the
Society’s money for peanuts; and besides all, was a fine, generous boy,
whom I much loved. But I must not talk about Tom now.

When the Greenlander came to me with his jug of medicine, I thanked him
as well as I could; for just then I was leaning with my mouth over the
side, feeling ready to die; but I managed to tell him I was under a
solemn obligation never to drink spirits upon any consideration
whatever; though, as I had a sort of presentiment that the spirits
would now, for once in my life, do me good, I began to feel sorry, that
when I signed the pledge of abstinence, I had not taken care to insert
a little clause, allowing me to drink spirits in case of sea-sickness.
And I would advise temperance people to attend to this matter in
future; and then if they come to go to sea, there will be no need of
breaking their pledges, which I am truly sorry to say was the case with
me. And a hard thing it was, too, thus to break a vow before unbroken;
especially as the Jamaica tasted any thing but agreeable, and indeed
burnt my mouth so, that I did not relish my meals for some time after.
Even when I had become quite well and strong again, I wondered how the
sailors could really like such stuff; but many of them had a jug of it,
besides the Greenlander, which they brought along to sea with them, _to
taper off with,_ as they called it. But this tapering off did not last
very long, for the Jamaica was all gone on the second day, and the jugs
were tossed overboard. I wonder where they are now?

But to tell the truth, I found, in spite of its sharp taste, the
spirits I drank was just the thing I needed; but I suppose, if I could
have had a cup of nice hot coffee, it would have done quite as well,
and perhaps much better. But that was not to be had at that time of
night, or, indeed, at any other time; for the thing they called
_coffee,_ which was given to us every morning at breakfast, was the
most curious tasting drink I ever drank, and tasted as little like
coffee, as it did like lemonade; though, to be sure, it was generally
as cold as lemonade, and I used to think the cook had an icehouse, and
dropt ice into his coffee. But what was more curious still, was the
different quality and taste of it on different mornings. Sometimes it
tasted fishy, as if it was a decoction of Dutch herrings; and then it
would taste very salty, as if some _old horse,_ or sea-beef, had been
boiled in it; and then again it would taste a sort of cheesy, as if the
captain had sent his cheese-parings forward to make our coffee of; and
yet another time it would have such a very bad flavor, that I was
almost ready to think some old stocking-heels had been boiled in it.
What under heaven it was made of, that it had so many different bad
flavors, always remained a mystery; for when at work at his vocation,
our old cook used to keep himself close shut-up in his caboose, a
little cook-house, and never told any of his secrets.

Though a very serious character, as I shall hereafter show, he was for
all that, and perhaps for that identical reason, a very suspicious
looking sort of a cook, that I don’t believe would ever succeed in
getting the cooking at Delmonico’s in New York. It was well for him
that he was a black cook, for I have no doubt his color kept us from
seeing his dirty face! I never saw him wash but once, and that was at
one of his own soup pots one dark night when he thought no one saw him.
What induced him to be washing his face then, I never could find out;
but I suppose he must have suddenly waked up, after dreaming about some
real estate on his cheeks. As for his coffee, notwithstanding the
disagreeableness of its flavor, I always used to have a strange
curiosity every morning, to see what new taste it was going to have;
and though, sure enough, I never missed making a new discovery, and
adding another taste to my palate, I never found that there was any
change in the badness of the beverage, which always seemed the same in
that respect as before.

It may well be believed, then, that now when I was seasick, a cup of
such coffee as our old cook made would have done me no good, if indeed
it would not have come near making an end of me. And bad as it was, and
since it was not to be had at that time of night, as I said before, I
think I was excusable in taking something else in place of it, as I
did; and under the circumstances, it would be unhandsome of them, if my
fellow-members of the Temperance Society should reproach me for
breaking my bond, which I would not have done except in case of
necessity. But the evil effect of breaking one’s bond upon any occasion
whatever, was witnessed in the present case; for it insidiously opened
the way to subsequent breaches of it, which though very slight, yet
carried no apology with them.




CHAPTER IX.
THE SAILORS BECOMING A LITTLE SOCIAL, REDBURN CONVERSES WITH THEM


The latter part of this first long watch that we stood was very
pleasant, so far as the weather was concerned. From being rather
cloudy, it became a soft moonlight; and the stars peeped out, plain
enough to count one by one; and there was a fine steady breeze; and it
was not very cold; and we were going through the water almost as smooth
as a sled sliding down hill. And what was still better, the wind held
so steady, that there was little running aloft, little pulling ropes,
and scarcely any thing disagreeable of that kind.

The chief mate kept walking up and down the quarter-deck, with a
lighted long-nine cigar in his mouth by way of a torch; and spoke but
few words to us the whole watch. He must have had a good deal of
thinking to attend to, which in truth is the case with most seamen the
first night out of port, especially when they have thrown away their
money in foolish dissipation, and got very sick into the bargain. For
when ashore, many of these sea-officers are as wild and reckless in
their way, as the sailors they command.

While I stood watching the red cigar-end promenading up and down, the
mate suddenly stopped and gave an order, and the men sprang to obey it.
It was not much, only something about hoisting one of the sails a
little higher up on the mast. The men took hold of the rope, and began
pulling upon it; the foremost man of all setting up a song with no
words to it, only a strange musical rise and fall of notes. In the dark
night, and far out upon the lonely sea, it sounded wild enough, and
made me feel as I had sometimes felt, when in a twilight room a cousin
of mine, with black eyes, used to play some old German airs on the
piano. I almost looked round for goblins, and felt just a little bit
afraid. But I soon got used to this singing; for the sailors never
touched a rope without it. Sometimes, when no one happened to strike
up, and the pulling, whatever it might be, did not seem to be getting
forward very well, the mate would always say, _“Come, men, can’t any of
you sing? Sing now, and raise the dead.”_ And then some one of them
would begin, and if every man’s arms were as much relieved as mine by
the song, and he could pull as much better as I did, with such a
cheering accompaniment, I am sure the song was well worth the breath
expended on it. It is a great thing in a sailor to know how to sing
well, for he gets a great name by it from the officers, and a good deal
of popularity among his shipmates. Some sea-captains, before shipping a
man, always ask him whether he can sing out at a rope.

During the greater part of the watch, the sailors sat on the windlass
and told long stories of their adventures by sea and land, and talked
about Gibraltar, and Canton, and Valparaiso, and Bombay, just as you
and I would about Peck Slip and the Bowery. Every man of them almost
was a volume of Voyages and Travels round the World. And what most
struck me was that like books of voyages they often contradicted each
other, and would fall into long and violent disputes about who was
keeping the Foul Anchor tavern in Portsmouth at such a time; or whether
the King of Canton lived or did not live in Persia; or whether the
bar-maid of a particular house in Hamburg had black eyes or blue eyes;
with many other mooted points of that sort.

At last one of them went below and brought up a box of cigars from his
chest, for some sailors always provide little delicacies of that kind,
to break off the first shock of the salt water after laying idle
ashore; and also by way of _tapering off,_ as I mentioned a little
while ago. But I wondered that they never carried any pies and tarts to
sea with them, instead of spirits and cigars.

Ned, for that was the man’s name, split open the box with a blow of his
fist, and then handed it round along the windlass, just like a waiter
at a party, every one helping himself. But I was a member of an
Anti-Smoking Society that had been organized in our village by the
Principal of the Sunday School there, in conjunction with the
Temperance Association. So I did not smoke any then, though I did
afterward upon the voyage, I am sorry to say. Notwithstanding I
declined; with a good deal of unnecessary swearing, Ned assured me that
the cigars were real genuine Havannas; for he had been in Havanna, he
said, and had them made there under his own eye. According to his
account, he was very particular about his cigars and other things, and
never made any importations, for they were unsafe; but always made a
voyage himself direct to the place where any foreign thing was to be
had that he wanted. He went to Havre for his woolen shirts, to Panama
for his hats, to China for his silk handkerchiefs, and direct to
Calcutta for his cheroots; and as a great joker in the watch used to
say, no doubt he would at last have occasion to go to Russia for his
halter; the wit of which saying was presumed to be in the fact, that
the Russian hemp is the best; though that is not wit which needs
explaining.

By dint of the spirits which, besides stimulating my fainting strength,
united with the cool air of the sea to give me an appetite for our hard
biscuit; and also by dint of walking briskly up and down the deck
before the windlass, I had now recovered in good part from my sickness,
and finding the sailors all very pleasant and sociable, at least among
themselves, and seated smoking together like old cronies, and nothing
on earth to do but sit the watch out, I began to think that they were a
pretty good set of fellows after all, barring their swearing and
another ugly way of talking they had; and I thought I had misconceived
their true characters; for at the outset I had deemed them such a
parcel of wicked hard-hearted rascals that it would be a severe
affliction to associate with them.

Yes, I now began to look on them with a sort of incipient love; but
more with an eye of pity and compassion, as men of naturally gentle and
kind dispositions, whom only hardships, and neglect, and ill-usage had
made outcasts from good society; and not as villains who loved
wickedness for the sake of it, and would persist in wickedness, even in
Paradise, if they ever got there. And I called to mind a sermon I had
once heard in a church in behalf of sailors, when the preacher called
them strayed lambs from the fold, and compared them to poor lost
children, babes in the wood, orphans without fathers or mothers.

And I remembered reading in a magazine, called the Sailors’ Magazine,
with a sea-blue cover, and a ship painted on the back, about pious
seamen who never swore, and paid over all their wages to the poor
heathen in India; and how that when they were too old to go to sea,
these pious old sailors found a delightful home for life in the
Hospital, where they had nothing to do, but prepare themselves for
their latter end. And I wondered whether there were any such good
sailors among my ship-mates; and observing that one of them laid on
deck apart from the rest, I thought to be sure he must be one of them:
so I did not disturb his devotions: but I was afterward shocked at
discovering that he was only fast asleep, with one of the brown jugs by
his side.

I forgot to mention by the way, that every once in a while, the men
went into one corner, where the chief mate could not see them, to take
a “swig at the halyards,” as they called it; and this swigging at the
halyards it was, that enabled them “to taper off” handsomely, and no
doubt it was this, too, that had something to do with making them so
pleasant and sociable that night, for they were seldom so pleasant and
sociable afterward, and never treated me so kindly as they did then.
Yet this might have been owing to my being something of a stranger to
them, then; and our being just out of port. But that very night they
turned about, and taught me a bitter lesson; but all in good time.

I have said, that seeing how agreeable they were getting, and how
friendly their manner was, I began to feel a sort of compassion for
them, grounded on their sad conditions as amiable outcasts; and feeling
so warm an interest in them, and being full of pity, and being truly
desirous of benefiting them to the best of my poor powers, for I knew
they were but poor indeed, I made bold to ask one of them, whether he
was ever in the habit of going to church, when he was ashore, or
dropping in at the Floating Chapel I had seen lying off the dock in the
East River at New York; and whether he would think it too much of a
liberty, if I asked him, if he had any good books in his chest. He
stared a little at first, but marking what good language I used, seeing
my civil bearing toward him, he seemed for a moment to be filled with a
certain involuntary respect for me, and answered, that he had been to
church once, some ten or twelve years before, in London, and on a
week-day had helped to move the Floating Chapel round the Battery, from
the North River; and that was the only time he had seen it. For his
books, he said he did not know what I meant by good books; but if I
wanted the Newgate Calendar, and Pirate’s Own, he could lend them to
me.

When I heard this poor sailor talk in this manner, showing so plainly
his ignorance and absence of proper views of religion, I pitied him
more and more, and contrasting my own situation with his, I was
grateful that I was different from him; and I thought how pleasant it
was, to feel wiser and better than he could feel; though I was willing
to confess to myself, that it was not altogether my own good endeavors,
so much as my education, which I had received from others, that had
made me the upright and sensible boy I at that time thought myself to
be. And it was now, that I began to feel a good degree of complacency
and satisfaction in surveying my own character; for, before this, I had
previously associated with persons of a very discreet life, so that
there was little opportunity to magnify myself, by comparing myself
with my neighbors.

Thinking that my superiority to him in a moral way might sit uneasily
upon this sailor, I thought it would soften the matter down by giving
him a chance to show his own superiority to me, in a minor thing; for I
was far from being vain and conceited.

Having observed that at certain intervals a little bell was rung on the
quarter-deck by the man at the wheel; and that as soon as it was heard,
some one of the sailors forward struck a large bell which hung on the
forecastle; and having observed that how many times soever the man
astern rang his bell, the man forward struck his—tit for tat,—I
inquired of this Floating Chapel sailor, what all this ringing meant;
and whether, as the big bell hung right over the scuttle that went down
to the place where the watch below were sleeping, such a ringing every
little while would not tend to disturb them and beget unpleasant
dreams; and in asking these questions I was particular to address him
in a civil and condescending way, so as to show him very plainly that I
did not deem myself one whit better than he was, that is, taking all
things together, and not going into particulars. But to my great
surprise and mortification, he in the rudest land of manner laughed
aloud in my face, and called me a “Jimmy Dux,” though that was not my
real name, and he must have known it; and also the “son of a farmer,”
though as I have previously related, my father was a great merchant and
French importer in Broad-street in New York. And then he began to laugh
and joke about me, with the other sailors, till they all got round me,
and if I had not felt so terribly angry, I should certainly have felt
very much like a fool. But my being so angry prevented me from feeling
foolish, which is very lucky for people in a passion.




CHAPTER X.
HE IS VERY MUCH FRIGHTENED; THE SAILORS ABUSE HIM; AND HE BECOMES
MISERABLE AND FORLORN


While the scene last described was going on, we were all startled by a
horrid groaning noise down in the forecastle; and all at once some one
came rushing up the scuttle in his shirt, clutching something in his
hand, and trembling and shrieking in the most frightful manner, so that
I thought one of the sailors must be murdered below.

But it all passed in a moment; and while we stood aghast at the sight,
and almost before we knew what it was, the shrieking man jumped over
the bows into the sea, and we saw him no more. Then there was a great
uproar; the sailors came running up on deck; and the chief mate ran
forward, and learning what had happened, began to yell out his orders
about the sails and yards; and we all went to pulling and hauling the
ropes, till at last the ship lay almost still on the water. Then they
loosed a boat, which kept pulling round the ship for more than an hour,
but they never caught sight of the man. It seemed that he was one of
the sailors who had been brought aboard dead drunk, and tumbled into
his bunk by his landlord; and there he had lain till now. He must have
suddenly waked up, I suppose, raging mad with the delirium tremens, as
the chief mate called it, and finding himself in a strange silent
place, and knowing not how he had got there, he rushed on deck, and so,
in a fit of frenzy, put an end to himself.

This event, happening at the dead of night, had a wonderfully solemn
and almost awful effect upon me. I would have given the whole world,
and the sun and moon, and all the stars in heaven, if they had been
mine, had I been safe back at Mr. Jones’, or still better, in my home
on the Hudson River. I thought it an ill-omened voyage, and railed at
the folly which had sent me to sea, sore against the advice of my best
friends, that is to say, my mother and sisters.

Alas! poor Wellingborough, thought I, you will never see your home any
more. And in this melancholy mood I went below, when the watch had
expired, which happened soon after. But to my terror, I found that the
suicide had been occupying the very bunk which I had appropriated to
myself, and there was no other place for me to sleep in. The thought of
lying down there now, seemed too horrible to me, and what made it
worse, was the way in which the sailors spoke of my being frightened.
And they took this opportunity to tell me what a hard and wicked life I
had entered upon, and how that such things happened frequently at sea,
and they were used to it. But I did not believe this; for when the
suicide came rushing and shrieking up the scuttle, they looked as
frightened as I did; and besides that, and what makes their being
frightened still plainer, is the fact, that if they had had any
presence of mind, they could have prevented his plunging overboard,
since he brushed right by them. However, they lay in their bunks
smoking, and kept talking on some time in this strain, and advising me
as soon as ever I got home to pin my ears back, so as not to hold the
wind, and sail straight away into the interior of the country, and
never stop until deep in the bush, far off from the least running
brook, never mind how shallow, and out of sight of even the smallest
puddle of rainwater.

This kind of talking brought the tears into my eyes, for it was so true
and real, and the sailors who spoke it seemed so false-hearted and
insincere; but for all that, in spite of the sickness at my heart, it
made me mad, and stung me to the quick, that they should speak of me as
a poor trembling coward, who could never be brought to endure the
hardships of a sailor’s life; for I felt myself trembling, and knew
that I was but a coward then, well enough, without their telling me of
it. And they did not say I was cowardly, because they perceived it in
me, but because they merely supposed I must be, judging, no doubt, from
their own secret thoughts about themselves; for I felt sure that the
suicide frightened them very badly. And at last, being provoked to
desperation by their taunts, I told them so to their faces; but I might
better have kept silent; for they now all united to abuse me. They
asked me what business I, a boy like me, had to go to sea, and take the
bread out of the mouth of honest sailors, and fill a good seaman’s
place; and asked me whether I ever dreamed of becoming a captain, since
I was a gentleman with white hands; and if I ever _should_ be, they
would like nothing better than to ship aboard my vessel and stir up a
mutiny. And one of them, whose name was Jackson, of whom I shall have a
good deal more to say by-and-by, said, I had better steer clear of him
ever after, for if ever I crossed his path, or got into his way, he
would be the death of me, and if ever I stumbled about in the rigging
near _him,_ he would make nothing of pitching me overboard; and that he
swore too, with an oath. At first, all this nearly stunned me, it was
so unforeseen; and then I could not believe that they meant what they
said, or that they could be so cruel and black-hearted. But how could I
help seeing, that the men who could thus talk to a poor, friendless
boy, on the very first night of his voyage to sea, must be capable of
almost any enormity. I loathed, detested, and hated them with all that
was left of my bursting heart and soul, and I thought myself the most
forlorn and miserable wretch that ever breathed. May I never be a man,
thought I, if to be a boy is to be such a wretch. And I wailed and
wept, and my heart cracked within me, but all the time I defied them
through my teeth, and dared them to do their worst.

At last they ceased talking and fell fast asleep, leaving me awake,
seated on a chest with my face bent over my knees between my hands. And
there I sat, till at length the dull beating against the ship’s bows,
and the silence around soothed me down, and I fell asleep as I sat.




CHAPTER XI.
HE HELPS WASH THE DECKS, AND THEN GOES TO BREAKFAST


The next thing I knew, was the loud thumping of a handspike on deck as
the watch was called again. It was now four o’clock in the morning, and
when we got on deck the first signs of day were shining in the east.
The men were very sleepy, and sat down on the windlass without
speaking, and some of them nodded and nodded, till at last they fell
off like little boys in church during a drowsy sermon. At last it was
broad day, and an order was given to wash down the decks. A great tub
was dragged into the waist, and then one of the men went over into the
chains, and slipped in behind a band fastened to the shrouds, and
leaning over, began to swing a bucket into the sea by a long rope; and
in that way with much expertness and sleight of hand, he managed to
fill the tub in a very short time. Then the water began to splash about
all over the decks, and I began to think I should surely get my feet
wet, and catch my death of cold. So I went to the chief mate, and told
him I thought I would just step below, till this miserable wetting was
over; for I did not have any water-proof boots, and an aunt of mine had
died of consumption. But he only roared out for me to get a broom and
go to scrubbing, or he would prove a worse consumption to me than ever
got hold of my poor aunt. So I scrubbed away fore and aft, till my back
was almost broke, for the brooms had uncommon short handles, and we
were told to scrub hard.

At length the scrubbing being over, the mate began heaving buckets of
water about, to wash every thing clean, by way of finishing off. He
must have thought this fine sport, just as captains of fire engines
love to point the tube of their hose; for he kept me running after him
with full buckets of water, and sometimes chased a little chip all over
the deck, with a continued flood, till at last he sent it flying out of
a scupper-hole into the sea; when if he had only given me permission, I
could have picked it up in a trice, and dropped it overboard without
saying one word, and without wasting so much water. But he said there
was plenty of water in the ocean, and to spare; which was true enough,
but then I who had to trot after him with the buckets, had no more legs
and arms than I wanted for my own use.

I thought this washing down the decks was the most foolish thing in the
world, and besides that it was the most uncomfortable. It was worse
than my mother’s house-cleanings at home, which I used to abominate so.

At eight o’clock the bell was struck, and we went to breakfast. And now
some of the worst of my troubles began. For not having had any friend
to tell me what I would want at sea, I had not provided myself, as I
should have done, with a good many things that a sailor needs; and for
my own part, it had never entered my mind, that sailors had no table to
sit down to, no cloth, or napkins, or tumblers, and had to provide
every thing themselves. But so it was.

The first thing they did was this. Every sailor went to the cook-house
with his tin pot, and got it filled with coffee; but of course, having
no pot, there was no coffee for me. And after that, a sort of little
tub called a “kid,” was passed down into the forecastle, filled with
something they called “burgoo.” This was like mush, made of Indian
corn, meal, and water. With the _“kid,” a_ little tin cannikin was
passed down with molasses. Then the Jackson that I spoke of before, put
the kid between his knees, and began to pour in the molasses, just like
an old landlord mixing punch for a party. He scooped out a little hole
in the middle of the mush, to hold the molasses; so it looked for all
the world like a little black pool in the Dismal Swamp of Virginia.

Then they all formed a circle round the kid; and one after the other,
with great regularity, dipped their spoons into the mush, and after
stirring them round a little in the molasses-pool, they swallowed down
their mouthfuls, and smacked their lips over it, as if it tasted very
good; which I have no doubt it did; but not having any spoon, I wasn’t
sure.

I sat some time watching these proceedings, and wondering how polite
they were to each other; for, though there were a great many spoons to
only one dish, they never got entangled. At last, seeing that the mush
was getting thinner and thinner, and that it was getting low water, or
rather low molasses in the little pool, I ran on deck, and after
searching about, returned with a bit of stick; and thinking I had as
good a right as any one else to the mush and molasses, I worked my way
into the circle, intending to make one of the party. So I shoved in my
stick, and after twirling it about, was just managing to carry a little
_burgoo_ toward my mouth, which had been for some time standing ready
open to receive it, when one of the sailors perceiving what I was
about, knocked the stick out of my hands, and asked me where I learned
my manners; Was that the way gentlemen eat in my country? Did they eat
their victuals with splinters of wood, and couldn’t that wealthy
gentleman my father afford to buy his gentlemanly son a spoon?

All the rest joined in, and pronounced me an ill-bred, coarse, and
unmannerly youngster, who, if permitted to go on with such behavior as
that, would corrupt the whole crew, and make them no better than swine.

As I felt conscious that a stick was indeed a thing very unsuitable to
eat with, I did not say much to this, though it vexed me enough; but
remembering that I had seen one of the steerage passengers with a pan
and spoon in his hand eating his breakfast on the fore hatch, I now ran
on deck again, and to my great joy succeeded in borrowing his spoon,
for he had got through his meal, and down I came again, though at the
eleventh hour, and offered myself once more as a candidate.

But alas! there was little more of the Dismal Swamp left, and when I
reached over to the opposite end of the kid, I received a rap on the
knuckles from a spoon, and was told that I must help myself from my own
side, for that was the rule. But _my_ side was scraped clean, so I got
no _burgoo_ that morning.

But I made it up by eating some salt beef and biscuit, which I found to
be the invariable accompaniment of every meal; the sailors sitting
cross-legged on their chests in a circle, and breaking the hard
biscuit, very sociably, over each other’s heads, which was very
convenient indeed, but gave me the headache, at least for the first
four or five days till I got used to it; and then I did not care much
about it, only it kept my hair full of crumbs; and I had forgot to
bring a fine comb and brush, so I used to shake my hair out to windward
over the bulwarks every evening.




CHAPTER XII.
HE GIVES SOME ACCOUNT OF ONE OF HIS SHIPMATES CALLED JACKSON


While we sat eating our beef and biscuit, two of the men got into a
dispute, about who had been sea-faring the longest; when Jackson, who
had mixed the _burgoo,_ called upon them in a loud voice to cease their
clamor, for he would decide the matter for them. Of this sailor, I
shall have something more to say, as I get on with my narrative; so, I
will here try to describe him a little.

Did you ever see a man, with his hair shaved off, and just recovered
from the yellow fever? Well, just such a looking man was this sailor.
He was as yellow as gamboge, had no more whisker on his cheek, than I
have on my elbows. His hair had fallen out, and left him very bald,
except in the nape of his neck, and just behind the ears, where it was
stuck over with short little tufts, and looked like a worn-out
shoe-brush. His nose had broken down in the middle, and he squinted
with one eye, and did not look very straight out of the other. He
dressed a good deal like a Bowery boy; for he despised the ordinary
sailor-rig; wearing a pair of great over-all blue trowsers, fastened
with suspenders, and three red woolen shirts, one over the other; for
he was subject to the rheumatism, and was not in good health, he said;
and he had a large white wool hat, with a broad rolling brim. He was a
native of New York city, and had a good deal to say about
_highlanders,_ and _rowdies,_ whom he denounced as only good for the
gallows; but I thought he looked a good deal like a _highlander_
himself.

His name, as I have said, was Jackson; and he told us, he was a near
relation of General Jackson of New Orleans, and swore terribly, if any
one ventured to question what he asserted on that head. In fact he was
a great bully, and being the best seaman on board, and very overbearing
every way, all the men were afraid of him, and durst not contradict
him, or cross his path in any thing. And what made this more wonderful
was, that he was the weakest man, bodily, of the whole crew; and I have
no doubt that young and small as I was then, compared to what I am now,
I could have thrown him down. But he had such an overawing way with
him; such a deal of brass and impudence, such an unflinching face, and
withal was such a hideous looking mortal, that Satan himself would have
run from him. And besides all this, it was quite plain, that he was by
nature a marvelously clever, cunning man, though without education; and
understood human nature to a kink, and well knew whom he had to deal
with; and then, one glance of his squinting eye, was as good as a
knock-down, for it was the most deep, subtle, infernal looking eye,
that I ever saw lodged in a human head. I believe, that by good rights
it must have belonged to a wolf, or starved tiger; at any rate, I would
defy any oculist, to turn out a glass eye, half so cold, and snaky, and
deadly. It was a horrible thing; and I would give much to forget that I
have ever seen it; for it haunts me to this day.

It was impossible to tell how old this Jackson was; for he had no
beard, and no wrinkles, except small crowsfeet about the eyes. He might
have seen thirty, or perhaps fifty years. But according to his own
account, he had been to sea ever since he was eight years old, when he
first went as a cabin-boy in an Indiaman, and ran away at Calcutta. And
according to his own account, too, he had passed through every kind of
dissipation and abandonment in the worst parts of the world. He had
served in Portuguese slavers on the coast of Africa; and with a
diabolical relish used to tell of the _middle-passage,_ where the
slaves were stowed, heel and point, like logs, and the suffocated and
dead were unmanacled, and weeded out from the living every morning,
before washing down the decks; how he had been in a slaving schooner,
which being chased by an English cruiser off Cape Verde, received three
shots in her hull, which raked through and through a whole file of
slaves, that were chained.

He would tell of lying in Batavia during a fever, when his ship lost a
man every few days, and how they went reeling ashore with the body, and
got still more intoxicated by way of precaution against the plague. He
would talk of finding a cobra-di-capello, or hooded snake, under his
pillow in India, when he slept ashore there. He would talk of sailors
being poisoned at Canton with drugged _“shampoo,”_ for the sake of
their money; and of the Malay ruffians, who stopped ships in the
straits of Caspar, and always saved the captain for the last, so as to
make him point out where the most valuable goods were stored.

His whole talk was of this land; full of piracies, plagues and
poisonings. And often he narrated many passages in his own individual
career, which were almost incredible, from the consideration that few
men could have plunged into such infamous vices, and clung to them so
long, without paying the death-penalty.

But in truth, he carried about with him the traces of these things, and
the mark of a fearful end nigh at hand; like that of King Antiochus of
Syria, who died a worse death, history says, than if he had been stung
out of the world by wasps and hornets.

Nothing was left of this Jackson but the foul lees and dregs of a man;
he was thin as a shadow; nothing but skin and bones; and sometimes used
to complain, that it hurt him to sit on the hard chests. And I
sometimes fancied, it was the consciousness of his miserable,
broken-down condition, and the prospect of soon dying like a dog, in
consequence of his sins, that made this poor wretch always eye me with
such malevolence as he did. For I was young and handsome, at least my
mother so thought me, and as soon as I became a little used to the sea,
and shook off my low spirits somewhat, I began to have my old color in
my cheeks, and, spite of misfortune, to appear well and hearty; whereas
_he_ was being consumed by an incurable malady, that was eating up his
vitals, and was more fit for a hospital than a ship.

As I am sometimes by nature inclined to indulge in unauthorized
surmisings about the thoughts going on with regard to me, in the people
I meet; especially if I have reason to think they dislike me; I will
not put it down for a certainty that what I suspected concerning this
Jackson relative to his thoughts of me, was really the truth. But only
state my honest opinion, and how it struck me at the time; and even
now, I think I was not wrong. And indeed, unless it was so, how could I
account to myself, for the shudder that would run through me, when I
caught this man gazing at me, as I often did; for he was apt to be dumb
at times, and would sit with his eyes fixed, and his teeth set, like a
man in the moody madness.

I well remember the first time I saw him, and how I was startled at his
eye, which was even then fixed upon me. He was standing at the ship’s
helm, being the first man that got there, when a steersman was called
for by the pilot; for this Jackson was always on the alert for easy
duties, and used to plead his delicate health as the reason for
assuming them, as he did; though I used to think, that for a man in
poor health, he was very swift on the legs; at least when a good place
was to be jumped to; though that might only have been a sort of
spasmodic exertion under strong inducements, which every one knows the
greatest invalids will sometimes show.

And though the sailors were always very bitter against any thing like
_sogering,_ as they called it; that is, any thing that savored of a
desire to get rid of downright hard work; yet, I observed that, though
this Jackson was a notorious old _soger_ the whole voyage (I mean, in
all things not perilous to do, from which he was far from hanging
back), and in truth was a great veteran that way, and one who must have
passed unhurt through many campaigns; yet, they never presumed to call
him to account in any way; or to let him so much as think, what they
thought of his conduct. But I often heard them call him many hard names
behind his back; and sometimes, too, when, perhaps, they had just been
tenderly inquiring after his health before his face. They all stood in
mortal fear of him; and cringed and fawned about him like so many
spaniels; and used to rub his back, after he was undressed and lying in
his bunk; and used to run up on deck to the cook-house, to warm some
cold coffee for him; and used to fill his pipe, and give him chews of
tobacco, and mend his jackets and trowsers; and used to watch, and
tend, and nurse him every way. And all the time, he would sit scowling
on them, and found fault with what they did; and I noticed, that those
who did the most for him, and cringed the most before him, were the
very ones he most abused; while two or three who held more aloof, he
treated with a little consideration.

It is not for me to say, what it was that made a whole ship’s company
submit so to the whims of one poor miserable man like Jackson. I only
know that so it was; but I have no doubt, that if he had had a blue eye
in his head, or had had a different face from what he did have, they
would not have stood in such awe of him. And it astonished me, to see
that one of the seamen, a remarkably robust and good-humored young man
from Belfast in Ireland, was a person of no mark or influence among the
crew; but on the contrary was hooted at, and trampled upon, and made a
butt and laughing-stock; and more than all, was continually being
abused and snubbed by Jackson, who seemed to hate him cordially,
because of his great strength and fine person, and particularly because
of his red cheeks.

But then, this Belfast man, although he had shipped for an
_able-seaman,_ was not much of a sailor; and that always lowers a man
in the eyes of a ship’s company; I mean, when he ships for an
_able-seaman,_ but is not able to do the duty of one. For sailors are
of three classes—_able-seaman, ordinary-seaman,_ and _boys;_ and they
receive different wages according to their rank. Generally, a ship’s
company of twelve men will only have five or six able seamen, who if
they prove to understand their duty every way (and that is no small
matter either, as I shall hereafter show, perhaps), are looked up to,
and thought much of by the ordinary-seamen and boys, who reverence
their very pea-jackets, and lay up their sayings in their hearts.

But you must not think from this, that persons called _boys_ aboard
merchant-ships are all youngsters, though to be sure, I myself was
called a _boy,_ and a boy I was. No. In merchant-ships, a _boy_ means a
green-hand, a landsman on his first voyage. And never mind if he is old
enough to be a grandfather, he is still called a _boy;_ and boys’ work
is put upon him.

But I am straying off from what I was going to say about Jackson’s
putting an end to the dispute between the two sailors in the forecastle
after breakfast. After they had been disputing some time about who had
been to sea the longest, Jackson told them to stop talking; and then
bade one of them open his mouth; for, said he, I can tell a sailor’s
age just like a horse’s—by his teeth. So the man laughed, and opened
his mouth; and Jackson made him step out under the scuttle, where the
light came down from deck; and then made him throw his head back, while
he looked into it, and probed a little with his jackknife, like a
baboon peering into a junk-bottle. I trembled for the poor fellow, just
as if I had seen him under the hands of a crazy barber, making signs to
cut his throat, and he all the while sitting stock still, with the
lather on, to be shaved. For I watched Jackson’s eye and saw it
snapping, and a sort of going in and out, very quick, as if it were
something like a forked tongue; and somehow, I felt as if he were
longing to kill the man; but at last he grew more composed, and after
concluding his examination, said, that the first man was the oldest
sailor, for the ends of his teeth were the evenest and most worn down;
which, he said, arose from eating so much hard sea-biscuit; and this
was the reason he could tell a sailor’s age like a horse’s.

At this, every body made merry, and looked at each other, as much as to
_say—come, boys, let’s laugh;_ and they did laugh; and declared it was
a rare joke.

This was always the way with them. They made a point of shouting out,
whenever Jackson said any thing with a grin; that being the sign to
them that he himself thought it funny; though I heard many good jokes
from others pass off without a smile; and once Jackson himself (for, to
tell the truth, he sometimes had a comical way with him, that is, when
his back did not ache) told a truly funny story, but with a grave face;
when, not knowing how he meant it, whether for a laugh or otherwise,
they all sat still, waiting what to do, and looking perplexed enough;
till at last Jackson roared out upon them for a parcel of fools and
idiots; and told them to their beards, how it was; that he had
purposely put on his grave face, to see whether they would not look
grave, too; even when he was telling something that ought to split
their sides. And with that, he flouted, and jeered at them, and laughed
them all to scorn; and broke out in such a rage, that his lips began to
glue together at the corners with a fine white foam.

He seemed to be full of hatred and gall against every thing and every
body in the world; as if all the world was one person, and had done him
some dreadful harm, that was rankling and festering in his heart.
Sometimes I thought he was really crazy; and often felt so frightened
at him, that I thought of going to the captain about it, and telling
him Jackson ought to be confined, lest he should do some terrible thing
at last. But upon second thoughts, I always gave it up; for the captain
would only have called me a fool, and sent me forward again.

But you must not think that all the sailors were alike in abasing
themselves before this man. No: there were three or four who used to
stand up sometimes against him; and when he was absent at the wheel,
would plot against him among the other sailors, and tell them what a
shame and ignominy it was, that such a poor miserable wretch should be
such a tyrant over much better men than himself. And they begged and
conjured them as men, to put up with it no longer, but the very next
time, that Jackson presumed to play the dictator, that they should all
withstand him, and let him know his place. Two or three times nearly
all hands agreed to it, with the exception of those who used to slink
off during such discussions; and swore that they would not any more
submit to being ruled by Jackson. But when the time came to make good
their oaths, they were mum again, and let every thing go on the old
way; so that those who had put them up to it, had to bear all the brunt
of Jackson’s wrath by themselves. And though these last would stick up
a little at first, and even mutter something about a fight to Jackson;
yet in the end, finding themselves unbefriended by the rest, they would
gradually become silent, and leave the field to the tyrant, who would
then fly out worse than ever, and dare them to do their worst, and jeer
at them for white-livered poltroons, who did not have a mouthful of
heart in them. At such times, there were no bounds to his contempt; and
indeed, all the time he seemed to have even more contempt than hatred,
for every body and every thing.

As for me, I was but a boy; and at any time aboard ship, a boy is
expected to keep quiet, do what he is bid, never presume to interfere,
and seldom to talk, unless spoken to. For merchant sailors have a great
idea of their dignity, and superiority to _greenhorns_ and _landsmen,_
who know nothing about a ship; and they seem to think, that an _able
seaman_ is a great man; at least a much greater man than a little boy.
And the able seamen in the Highlander had such grand notions about
their seamanship, that I almost thought that able seamen received
diplomas, like those given at colleges; and were made a sort _A.M.S,_
or _Masters of Arts._

But though I kept thus quiet, and had very little to say, and well knew
that my best plan was to get along peaceably with every body, and
indeed endure a good deal before showing fight, yet I could not avoid
Jackson’s evil eye, nor escape his bitter enmity. And his being my foe,
set many of the rest against me; or at least they were afraid to speak
out for me before Jackson; so that at last I found myself a sort of
Ishmael in the ship, without a single friend or companion; and I began
to feel a hatred growing up in me against the whole crew—so much so,
that I prayed against it, that it might not master my heart completely,
and so make a fiend of me, something like Jackson.




CHAPTER XIII.
HE HAS A FINE DAY AT SEA, BEGINS TO LIKE IT; BUT CHANGES HIS MIND


The second day out of port, the decks being washed down and breakfast
over, the watch was called, and the mate set us to work.

It was a very bright day. The sky and water were both of the same deep
hue; and the air felt warm and sunny; so that we threw off our jackets.
I could hardly believe that I was sailing in the same ship I had been
in during the night, when every thing had been so lonely and dim; and I
could hardly imagine that this was the same ocean, now so beautiful and
blue, that during part of the night-watch had rolled along so black and
forbidding.

There were little traces of sunny clouds all over the heavens; and
little fleeces of foam all over the sea; and the ship made a strange,
musical noise under her bows, as she glided along, with her sails all
still. It seemed a pity to go to work at such a time; and if we could
only have sat in the windlass again; or if they would have let me go
out on the bowsprit, and lay down between the _manropes_ there, and
look over at the fish in the water, and think of home, I should have
been almost happy for a time.

I had now completely got over my sea-sickness, and felt very well; at
least in my body, though my heart was far from feeling right; so that I
could now look around me, and make observations.

And truly, though we were at sea, there was much to behold and wonder
at; to me, who was on my first voyage. What most amazed me was the
sight of the great ocean itself, for we were out of sight of land. All
round us, on both sides of the ship, ahead and astern, nothing was to
be seen but water—water—water; not a single glimpse of green shore, not
the smallest island, or speck of moss any where. Never did I realize
till now what the ocean was: how grand and majestic, how solitary, and
boundless, and beautiful and blue; for that day it gave no tokens of
squalls or hurricanes, such as I had heard my father tell of; nor could
I imagine, how any thing that seemed so playful and placid, could be
lashed into rage, and troubled into rolling avalanches of foam, and
great cascades of waves, such as I saw in the end.

As I looked at it so mild and sunny, I could not help calling to mind
my little brother’s face, when he was sleeping an infant in the cradle.
It had just such a happy, careless, innocent look; and every happy
little wave seemed gamboling about like a thoughtless little kid in a
pasture; and seemed to look up in your face as it passed, as if it
wanted to be patted and caressed. They seemed all live things with
hearts in them, that could feel; and I almost felt grieved, as we
sailed in among them, scattering them under our broad bows in
sun-flakes, and riding over them like a great elephant among lambs. But
what seemed perhaps the most strange to me of all, was a certain
wonderful rising and falling of the sea; I do not mean the waves
themselves, but a sort of wide heaving and swelling and sinking all
over the ocean. It was something I can not very well describe; but I
know very well what it was, and how it affected me. It made me almost
dizzy to look at it; and yet I could not keep my eyes off it, it seemed
so passing strange and wonderful.

I felt as if in a dream all the time; and when I could shut the ship
out, almost thought I was in some new, fairy world, and expected to
hear myself called to, out of the clear blue air, or from the depths of
the deep blue sea. But I did not have much leisure to indulge in such
thoughts; for the men were now getting some _stun’-sails_ ready to
hoist aloft, as the wind was getting fairer and fairer for us; and
these stun’-sails are light canvas which are spread at such times, away
out beyond the ends of the yards, where they overhang the wide water,
like the wings of a great bird.

For my own part, I could do but little to help the rest, not knowing
the name of any thing, or the proper way to go about aught. Besides, I
felt very dreamy, as I said before; and did not exactly know where, or
what I was; every thing was so strange and new.

While the stun’-sails were lying all tumbled upon the deck, and the
sailors were fastening them to the booms, getting them ready to hoist,
the mate ordered me to do a great many simple things, none of which
could I comprehend, owing to the queer words he used; and then, seeing
me stand quite perplexed and confounded, he would roar out at me, and
call me all manner of names, and the sailors would laugh and wink to
each other, but durst not go farther than that, for fear of the mate,
who in his own presence would not let any body laugh at me but himself.

However, I tried to wake up as much as I could, and keep from dreaming
with my eyes open; and being, at bottom, a smart, apt lad, at last I
managed to learn a thing or two, so that I did not appear so much like
a fool as at first.

People who have never gone to sea for the first time as sailors, can
not imagine how puzzling and confounding it is. It must be like going
into a barbarous country, where they speak a strange dialect, and dress
in strange clothes, and live in strange houses. For sailors have their
own names, even for things that are familiar ashore; and if you call a
thing by its shore name, you are laughed at for an ignoramus and a
landlubber. This first day I speak of, the mate having ordered me to
draw some water, I asked him where I was to get the pail; when I
thought I had committed some dreadful crime; for he flew into a great
passion, and said they never had any _pails_ at sea, and then I learned
that they were always called _buckets._ And once I was talking about
sticking a little wooden peg into a bucket to stop a leak, when he flew
out again, and said there were no _pegs_ at sea, only _plugs._ And just
so it was with every thing else.

But besides all this, there is such an infinite number of totally new
names of new things to learn, that at first it seemed impossible for me
to master them all. If you have ever seen a ship, you must have
remarked what a thicket of ropes there are; and how they all seemed
mixed and entangled together like a great skein of yarn. Now the very
smallest of these ropes has its own proper name, and many of them are
very lengthy, like the names of young royal princes, such as the
_starboard-main-top-gallant-bow-line,_ or the
_larboard-fore-top-sail-clue-line._

I think it would not be a bad plan to have a grand new naming of a
ship’s ropes, as I have read, they once had a simplifying of the
classes of plants in Botany. It is really wonderful how many names
there are in the world. There is no counting the names, that surgeons
and anatomists give to the various parts of the human body; which,
indeed, is something like a ship; its bones being the stiff
standing-rigging, and the sinews the small running ropes, that manage
all the motions.

I wonder whether mankind could not get along without all these names,
which keep increasing every day, and hour, and moment; till at last the
very air will be full of them; and even in a great plain, men will be
breathing each other’s breath, owing to the vast multitude of words
they use, that consume all the air, just as lamp-burners do gas. But
people seem to have a great love for names; for to know a great many
names, seems to look like knowing a good many things; though I should
not be surprised, if there were a great many more names than things in
the world. But I must quit this rambling, and return to my story.

At last we hoisted the stun’-sails up to the top-sail yards, and as
soon as the vessel felt them, she gave a sort of bound like a horse,
and the breeze blowing more and more, she went plunging along, shaking
off the foam from her bows, like foam from a bridle-bit. Every mast and
timber seemed to have a pulse in it that was beating with life and joy;
and I felt a wild exulting in my own heart, and felt as if I would be
glad to bound along so round the world.

Then was I first conscious of a wonderful thing in me, that responded
to all the wild commotion of the outer world; and went reeling on and
on with the planets in their orbits, and was lost in one delirious
throb at the center of the All. A wild bubbling and bursting was at my
heart, as if a hidden spring had just gushed out there; and my blood
ran tingling along my frame, like mountain brooks in spring freshets.

Yes! yes! give me this glorious ocean life, this salt-sea life, this
briny, foamy life, when the sea neighs and snorts, and you breathe the
very breath that the great whales respire! Let me roll around the
globe, let me rock upon the sea; let me race and pant out my life, with
an eternal breeze astern, and an endless sea before!

But how soon these raptures abated, when after a brief idle interval,
we were again set to work, and I had a vile commission to clean out the
chicken coops, and make up the beds of the pigs in the long-boat.

Miserable dog’s life is this of the sea! commanded like a slave, and
set to work like an ass! vulgar and brutal men lording it over me, as
if I were an African in Alabama. Yes, yes, blow on, ye breezes, and
make a speedy end to this abominable voyage!




CHAPTER XIV.
HE CONTEMPLATES MAKING A SOCIAL CALL ON THE CAPTAIN IN HIS CABIN


What reminded me most forcibly of my ignominious condition, was the
widely altered manner of the captain toward me.

I had thought him a fine, funny gentleman, full of mirth and good
humor, and good will to seamen, and one who could not fail to
appreciate the difference between me and the rude sailors among whom I
was thrown. Indeed, I had made no doubt that he would in some special
manner take me under his protection, and prove a kind friend and
benefactor to me; as I had heard that some sea-captains are fathers to
their crew; and so they are; but such fathers as Solomon’s precepts
tend to make—severe and chastising fathers, fathers whose sense of duty
overcomes the sense of love, and who every day, in some sort, play the
part of Brutus, who ordered his son away to execution, as I have read
in our old family Plutarch.

Yes, I thought that Captain Riga, for Riga was his name, would be
attentive and considerate to me, and strive to cheer me up, and comfort
me in my lonesomeness. I did not even deem it at all impossible that he
would invite me down into the cabin of a pleasant night, to ask me
questions concerning my parents, and prospects in life; besides
obtaining from me some anecdotes touching my great-uncle, the
illustrious senator; or give me a slate and pencil, and teach me
problems in navigation; or perhaps engage me at a game of chess. I even
thought he might invite me to dinner on a sunny Sunday, and help me
plentifully to the nice cabin fare, as knowing how distasteful the salt
beef and pork, and hard biscuit of the forecastle must at first be to a
boy like me, who had always lived ashore, and at home.

And I could not help regarding him with peculiar emotions, almost of
tenderness and love, as the last visible link in the chain of
associations which bound me to my home. For, while yet in port, I had
seen him and Mr. Jones, my brother’s friend, standing together and
conversing; so that from the captain to my brother there was but one
intermediate step; and my brother and mother and sisters were one.

And this reminds me how often I used to pass by the places on deck,
where I remembered Mr. Jones had stood when we first visited the ship
lying at the wharf; and how I tried to convince myself that it was
indeed true, that he had stood there, though now the ship was so far
away on the wide Atlantic Ocean, and he perhaps was walking down
Wall-street, or sitting reading the newspaper in his counting room,
while poor I was so differently employed.

When two or three days had passed without the captain’s speaking to me
in any way, or sending word into the forecastle that he wished me to
drop into the cabin to pay my respects. I began to think whether I
should not make the first advances, and whether indeed he did not
expect it of me, since I was but a boy, and he a man; and perhaps that
might have been the reason why he had not spoken to me yet, deeming it
more proper and respectful for me to address him first. I thought he
might be offended, too, especially if he were a proud man, with tender
feelings. So one evening, a little before sundown, in the second
dog-watch, when there was no more work to be done, I concluded to call
and see him.

After drawing a bucket of water, and having a good washing, to get off
some of the chicken-coop stains, I went down into the forecastle to
dress myself as neatly as I could. I put on a white shirt in place of
my red one, and got into a pair of cloth trowsers instead of my duck
ones, and put on my new pumps, and then carefully brushing my
shooting-jacket, I put that on over all, so that upon the whole, I made
quite a genteel figure, at least for a forecastle, though I would not
have looked so well in a drawing-room.

When the sailors saw me thus employed, they did not know what to make
of it, and wanted to know whether I was dressing to go ashore; I told
them no, for we were then out of sight of mind; but that I was going to
pay my respects to the captain. Upon which they all laughed and
shouted, as if I were a simpleton; though there seemed nothing so very
simple in going to make an evening call upon a friend. When some of
them tried to dissuade me, saying I was green and raw; but Jackson, who
sat looking on, cried out, with a hideous grin, “Let him go, let him
go, men—he’s a nice boy. Let him go; the captain has some nuts and
raisins for him.” And so he was going on, when one of his violent fits
of coughing seized him, and he almost choked.

As I was about leaving the forecastle, I happened to look at my hands,
and seeing them stained all over of a deep yellow, for that morning the
mate had set me to tarring some strips of canvas for the rigging I
thought it would never do to present myself before a gentleman that
way; so for want of lads, I slipped on a pair of woolen mittens, which
my mother had knit for me to carry to sea. As I was putting them on,
Jackson asked me whether he shouldn’t call a carriage; and another bade
me not forget to present his best respects to the skipper. I left them
all tittering, and coming on deck was passing the cook-house, when the
old cook called after me, saying I had forgot my cane.

But I did not heed their impudence, and was walking straight toward the
cabin-door on the quarter-deck, when the chief mate met me. I touched
my hat, and was passing him, when, after staring at me till I thought
his eyes would burst out, he all at once caught me by the collar, and
with a voice of thunder, wanted to know what I meant by playing such
tricks aboard a ship that he was mate of? I told him to let go of me,
or I would complain to my friend the captain, whom I intended to visit
that evening. Upon this he gave me such a whirl round, that I thought
the Gulf Stream was in my head; and then shoved me forward, roaring out
I know not what. Meanwhile the sailors were all standing round the
windlass looking aft, mightily tickled.

Seeing I could not effect my object that night, I thought it best to
defer it for the present; and returning among the sailors, Jackson
asked me how I had found the captain, and whether the next time I went,
I would not take a friend along and introduce him.

The upshot of this business was, that before I went to sleep that
night, I felt well satisfied that it was not customary for sailors to
call on the captain in the cabin; and I began to have an inkling of the
fact, that I had acted like a fool; but it all arose from my ignorance
of sea usages.

And here I may as well state, that I never saw the inside of the cabin
during the whole interval that elapsed from our sailing till our return
to New York; though I often used to get a peep at it through a little
pane of glass, set in the house on deck, just before the helm, where a
watch was kept hanging for the helmsman to strike the half hours by,
with his little bell in the binnacle, where the compass was. And it
used to be the great amusement of the sailors to look in through the
pane of glass, when they stood at the wheel, and watch the proceedings
in the cabin; especially when the steward was setting the table for
dinner, or the captain was lounging over a decanter of wine on a little
mahogany stand, or playing the game called _solitaire,_ at cards, of an
evening; for at times he was all alone with his dignity; though, as
will ere long be shown, he generally had one pleasant companion, whose
society he did not dislike.

The day following my attempt to drop in at the cabin, I happened to be
making fast a rope on the quarter-deck, when the captain suddenly made
his appearance, promenading up and down, and smoking a cigar. He looked
very good-humored and amiable, and it being just after his dinner, I
thought that this, to be sure, was just the chance I wanted.

I waited a little while, thinking he would speak to me himself; but as
he did not, I went up to him, and began by saying it was a very
pleasant day, and hoped he was very well. I never saw a man fly into
such a rage; I thought he was going to knock me down; but after
standing speechless awhile, he all at once plucked his cap from his
head and threw it at me. I don’t know what impelled me, but I ran to
the lee-scuppers where it fell, picked it up, and gave it to him with a
bow; when the mate came running up, and thrust me forward again; and
after he had got me as far as the windlass, he wanted to know whether I
was crazy or not; for if I was, he would put me in irons right off, and
have done with it.

But I assured him I was in my right mind, and knew perfectly well that
I had been treated in the most rude and un-gentlemanly manner both by
him and Captain Riga. Upon this, he rapped out a great oath, and told
me if I ever repeated what I had done that evening, or ever again
presumed so much as to lift my hat to the captain, he would tie me into
the rigging, and keep me there until I learned better manners. “You are
very green,” said he, “but I’ll ripen you.” Indeed this chief mate
seemed to have the keeping of the dignity of the captain; who, in some
sort, seemed too dignified personally to protect his own dignity.

I thought this strange enough, to be reprimanded, and charged with
rudeness for an act of common civility. However, seeing how matters
stood, I resolved to let the captain alone for the future, particularly
as he had shown himself so deficient in the ordinary breeding of a
gentleman. And I could hardly credit it, that this was the same man who
had been so very civil, and polite, and witty, when Mr. Jones and I
called upon him in port.

But this astonishment of mine was much increased, when some days after,
a storm came upon us, and the captain rushed out of the cabin in his
nightcap, and nothing else but his shirt on; and leaping up on the
poop, began to jump up and down, and curse and swear, and call the men
aloft all manner of hard names, just like a common loafer in the
street.

Besides all this, too, I noticed that while we were at sea, he wore
nothing but old shabby clothes, very different from the glossy suit I
had seen him in at our first interview, and after that on the steps of
the City Hotel, where he always boarded when in New York. Now, he wore
nothing but old-fashioned snuff-colored coats, with high collars and
short waists; and faded, short-legged pantaloons, very tight about the
knees; and vests, that did not conceal his waistbands, owing to their
being so short, just like a little boy’s. And his hats were all caved
in, and battered, as if they had been knocked about in a cellar; and
his boots were sadly patched. Indeed, I began to think that he was but
a shabby fellow after all; particularly as his whiskers lost their
gloss, and he went days together without shaving; and his hair, by a
sort of miracle, began to grow of a pepper and salt color, which might
have been owing, though, to his discontinuing the use of some kind of
dye while at sea. I put him down as a sort of impostor; and while
ashore, a gentleman on false pretenses; for no gentleman would have
treated another gentleman as he did me.

Yes, Captain Riga, thought I, you are no gentleman, and you know it!




CHAPTER XV.
THE MELANCHOLY STATE OF HIS WARDROBE


And now that I have been speaking of the captain’s old clothes, I may
as well speak of mine.

It was very early in the month of June that we sailed; and I had
greatly rejoiced that it was that time of the year; for it would be
warm and pleasant upon the ocean, I thought; and my voyage would be
like a summer excursion to the sea shore, for the benefit of the salt
water, and a change of scene and society.

So I had not given myself much concern about what I should wear; and
deemed it wholly unnecessary to provide myself with a great outfit of
pilot-cloth jackets, and browsers, and Guernsey frocks, and oil-skin
suits, and sea-boots, and many other things, which old seamen carry in
their chests. But one reason was, that I did not have the money to buy
them with, even if I had wanted to. So in addition to the clothes I had
brought from home, I had only bought a red shirt, a tarpaulin hat, and
a belt and knife, as I have previously related, which gave me a sea
outfit, something like the Texan rangers’, whose uniform, they say,
consists of a shirt collar and a pair of spurs.

But I was not many days at sea, when I found that my shore clothing, or
_“long togs,”_ as the sailors call them, were but ill adapted to the
life I now led. When I went aloft, at my yard-arm gymnastics, my
pantaloons were all the time ripping and splitting in every direction,
particularly about the seat, owing to their not being cut
sailor-fashion, with low waistbands, and to wear without suspenders. So
that I was often placed in most unpleasant predicaments, straddling the
rigging, sometimes in plain sight of the cabin, with my table linen
exposed in the most inelegant and ungentlemanly manner possible.

And worse than all, my best pair of pantaloons, and the pair I most
prided myself upon, was a very conspicuous and remarkable looking pair.

I had had them made to order by our village tailor, a little fat man,
very thin in the legs, and who used to say he imported the latest
fashions direct from Paris; though all the fashion plates in his shop
were very dirty with fly-marks.

Well, this tailor made the pantaloons I speak of, and while he had them
in hand, I used to call and see him two or three times a day to try
them on, and hurry him forward; for he was an old man with large round
spectacles, and could not see very well, and had no one to help him but
a sick wife, with five grandchildren to take care of; and besides that,
he was such a great snuff-taker, that it interfered with his business;
for he took several pinches for every stitch, and would sit snuffing
and blowing his nose over my pantaloons, till I used to get disgusted
with him. Now, this old tailor had shown me the pattern, after which he
intended to make my pantaloons; but I improved upon it, and bade him
have a slit on the outside of each leg, at the foot, to button up with
a row of six brass bell buttons; for a grown-up cousin of mine, who was
a great sportsman, used to wear a beautiful pair of pantaloons, made
precisely in that way.

And these were the very pair I now had at sea; the sailors made a great
deal of fun of them, and were all the time calling on each other to
“twig” them; and they would ask me to lend them a button or two, by way
of a joke; and then they would ask me if I was not a soldier. Showing
very plainly that they had no idea that my pantaloons were a very
genteel pair, made in the height of the sporting fashion, and copied
from my cousin’s, who was a young man of fortune and drove a tilbury.

When my pantaloons ripped and tore, as I have said, I did my best to
mend and patch them; but not being much of a sempstress, the more I
patched the more they parted; because I put my patches on, without
heeding the joints of the legs, which only irritated my poor pants the
more, and put them out of temper.

Nor must I forget my boots, which were almost new when I left home.
They had been my Sunday boots, and fitted me to a charm. I never had
had a pair of boots that I liked better; I used to turn my toes out
when I walked in them, unless it was night time, when no one could see
me, and I had something else to think of; and I used to keep looking at
them during church; so that I lost a good deal of the sermon. In a
word, they were a beautiful pair of boots. But all this only unfitted
them the more for sea-service; as I soon discovered. They had very high
heels, which were all the time tripping me in the rigging, and several
times came near pitching me overboard; and the salt water made them
shrink in such a manner, that they pinched me terribly about the
instep; and I was obliged to gash them cruelly, which went to my very
heart. The legs were quite long, coming a good way up toward my knees,
and the edges were mounted with red morocco. The sailors used to call
them my _“gaff-topsail-boots.”_ And sometimes they used to call me
“Boots,” and sometimes “Buttons,” on account of the ornaments on my
pantaloons and shooting-jacket.

At last, I took their advice, and _“razeed”_ them, as they phrased it.
That is, I amputated the legs, and shaved off the heels to the bare
soles; which, however, did not much improve them, for it made my feet
feel flat as flounders, and besides, brought me down in the world, and
made me slip and slide about the decks, as I used to at home, when I
wore straps on the ice.

As for my tarpaulin hat, it was a very cheap one; and therefore proved
a real sham and shave; it leaked like an old shingle roof; and in a
rain storm, kept my hair wet and disagreeable. Besides, from lying down
on deck in it, during the night watches, it got bruised and battered,
and lost all its beauty; so that it was unprofitable every way.

But I had almost forgotten my shooting-jacket, which was made of
moleskin. Every day, it grew smaller and smaller, particularly after a
rain, until at last I thought it would completely exhale, and leave
nothing but the bare seams, by way of a skeleton, on my back. It became
unspeakably unpleasant, when we got into rather cold weather, crossing
the Banks of Newfoundland, when the only way I had to keep warm during
the night, was to pull on my waistcoat and my roundabout, and then clap
the shooting-jacket over all. This made it pinch me under the arms, and
it vexed, irritated, and tormented me every way; and used to incommode
my arms seriously when I was pulling the ropes; so much so, that the
mate asked me once if I had the cramp.

I may as well here glance at some trials and tribulations of a similar
kind. I had no mattress, or bed-clothes, of any sort; for the thought
of them had never entered my mind before going to sea; so that I was
obliged to sleep on the bare boards of my bunk; and when the ship
pitched violently, and almost stood upon end, I must have looked like
an Indian baby tied to a plank, and hung up against a tree like a
crucifix.

I have already mentioned my total want of table-tools; never dreaming,
that, in this respect, going to sea as a sailor was something like
going to a boarding-school, where you must furnish your own spoon and
knife, fork, and napkin. But at length, I was so happy as to barter
with a steerage passenger a silk handkerchief of mine for a half-gallon
iron pot, with hooks to it, to hang on a grate; and this pot I used to
present at the cook-house for my allowance of coffee and tea. It gave
me a good deal of trouble, though, to keep it clean, being much
disposed to rust; and the hooks sometimes scratched my face when I was
drinking; and it was unusually large and heavy; so that my breakfasts
were deprived of all ease and satisfaction, and became a toil and a
labor to me. And I was forced to use the same pot for my bean-soup,
three times a week, which imparted to it a bad flavor for coffee.

I can not tell how I really suffered in many ways for my improvidence
and heedlessness, in going to sea so ill provided with every thing
calculated to make my situation at all comfortable, or even tolerable.
In time, my wretched “long togs” began to drop off my back, and I
looked like a Sam Patch, shambling round the deck in my rags and the
wreck of my gaff-topsail-boots. I often thought what my friends at home
would have said, if they could but get one peep at me. But I hugged
myself in my miserable shooting-jacket, when I considered that that
degradation and shame never could overtake me; yet, I thought it a
galling mockery, when I remembered that my sisters had promised to tell
all inquiring friends, that Wellingborough had gone _“abroad”_ just as
if I was visiting Europe on a tour with my tutor, as poor simple Mr.
Jones had hinted to the captain.

Still, in spite of the melancholy which sometimes overtook me, there
were several little incidents that made me forget myself in the
contemplation of the strange and to me most wonderful sights of the
sea.

And perhaps nothing struck into me such a feeling of wild romance, as a
view of the first vessel we spoke. It was of a clear sunny afternoon,
and she came bearing down upon us, a most beautiful sight, with all her
sails spread wide. She came very near, and passed under our stern; and
as she leaned over to the breeze, showed her decks fore and aft; and I
saw the strange sailors grouped upon the forecastle, and the cook
looking out of his cook-house with a ladle in his hand, and the captain
in a green jacket sitting on the taffrail with a speaking-trumpet.

And here, had this vessel come out of the infinite blue ocean, with all
these human beings on board, and the smoke tranquilly mounting up into
the sea-air from the cook’s funnel as if it were a chimney in a city;
and every thing looking so cool, and calm, and of-course, in the midst
of what to me, at least, seemed a superlative marvel.

Hoisted at her mizzen-peak was a red flag, with a turreted white castle
in the middle, which looked foreign enough, and made me stare all the
harder.

Our captain, who had put on another hat and coat, and was lounging in
an elegant attitude on the poop, now put his high polished brass
trumpet to his mouth, and said in a very rude voice for conversation,
_“Where from?”_

To which the other captain rejoined with some outlandish Dutch
gibberish, of which we could only make out, that the ship belonged to
Hamburg, as her flag denoted.

_Hamburg!_

Bless my soul! and here I am on the great Atlantic Ocean, actually
beholding a ship from Holland! It was passing strange. In my intervals
of leisure from other duties, I followed the strange ship till she was
quite a little speck in the distance.

I could not but be struck with the manner of the two sea-captains
during their brief interview. Seated at their ease on their respective
“poops” toward the stern of their ships, while the sailors were obeying
their behests; they touched hats to each other, exchanged compliments,
and drove on, with all the indifference of two Arab horsemen accosting
each other on an airing in the Desert. To them, I suppose, the great
Atlantic Ocean was a puddle.




CHAPTER XVI.
AT DEAD OF NIGHT HE IS SENT UP TO LOOSE THE MAIN-SKYSAIL


I must now run back a little, and tell of my first going aloft at
middle watch, when the sea was quite calm, and the breeze was mild.

The order was given to loose the _main-skysail,_ which is the fifth and
highest sail from deck. It was a very small sail, and from the
forecastle looked no bigger than a cambric pocket-handkerchief. But I
have heard that some ships carry still smaller sails, above the
skysail; called _moon-sails,_ and _skyscrapers,_ and _cloud-rakers._
But I shall not believe in them till I see them; a _skysail_ seems high
enough in all conscience; and the idea of any thing higher than that,
seems preposterous. Besides, it looks almost like tempting heaven, to
brush the very firmament so, and almost put the eyes of the stars out;
when a flaw of wind, too, might very soon take the conceit out of these
cloud-defying _cloud-rakers._

Now, when the order was passed to loose the skysail, an old Dutch
sailor came up to me, and said, “Buttons, my boy, it’s high time you be
doing something; and it’s boy’s business, Buttons, to loose de royals,
and not old men’s business, like me. Now, d’ye see dat leelle fellow
way up dare? _dare,_ just behind dem stars dare: well, tumble up, now,
Buttons, I zay, and looze him; way you go, Buttons.”

All the rest joining in, and seeming unanimous in the opinion, that it
was high time for me to be stirring myself, and doing _boy’s business,_
as they called it, I made no more ado, but jumped into the rigging. Up
I went, not daring to look down, but keeping my eyes glued, as it were,
to the shrouds, as I ascended.

It was a long road up those stairs, and I began to pant and breathe
hard, before I was half way. But I kept at it till I got to the
_Jacob’s Ladder;_ and they may well call it so, for it took me almost
into the clouds; and at last, to my own amazement, I found myself
hanging on the skysail-yard, holding on might and main to the mast; and
curling my feet round the rigging, as if they were another pair of
hands.

For a few moments I stood awe-stricken and mute. I could not see far
out upon the ocean, owing to the darkness of the night; and from my
lofty perch, the sea looked like a great, black gulf, hemmed in, all
round, by beetling black cliffs. I seemed all alone; treading the
midnight clouds; and every second, expected to find myself
falling—falling—falling, as I have felt when the nightmare has been on
me.

I could but just perceive the ship below me, like a long narrow plank
in the water; and it did not seem to belong at all to the yard, over
which I was hanging. A gull, or some sort of sea-fowl, was flying round
the truck over my head, within a few yards of my face; and it almost
frightened me to hear it; it seemed so much like a spirit, at such a
lofty and solitary height.

Though there was a pretty smooth sea, and little wind; yet, at this
extreme elevation, the ship’s motion was very great; so that when the
ship rolled one way, I felt something as a fly must feel, walking the
ceiling; and when it rolled the other way, I felt as if I was hanging
along a slanting pine-tree.

But presently I heard a distant, hoarse noise from below; and though I
could not make out any thing intelligible, I knew it was the mate
hurrying me. So in a nervous, trembling desperation, I went to casting
off the _gaskets,_ or lines tying up the sail; and when all was ready,
sung out as I had been told, to _“hoist away!”_ And hoist they did, and
me too along with the yard and sail; for I had no time to get off, they
were so unexpectedly quick about it. It seemed like magic; there I was,
going up higher and higher; the yard rising under me, as if it were
alive, and no soul in sight. Without knowing it at the time, I was in a
good deal of danger, but it was so dark that I could not see well
enough to feel afraid—at least on that account; though I felt
frightened enough in a promiscuous way. I only held on hard, and made
good the saying of old sailors, that the last person to fall overboard
from the rigging is a landsman, because he grips the ropes so fiercely;
whereas old tars are less careful, and sometimes pay the penalty.

After this feat, I got down rapidly on deck, and received something
like a compliment from Max the Dutchman.

This man was perhaps the best natured man among the crew; at any rate,
he treated me better than the rest did; and for that reason he deserves
some mention.

Max was an old bachelor of a sailor, very precise about his wardrobe,
and prided himself greatly upon his seamanship, and entertained some
straight-laced, old-fashioned notions about the duties of boys at sea.
His hair, whiskers, and cheeks were of a fiery red; and as he wore a
red shirt, he was altogether the most combustible looking man I ever
saw.

Nor did his appearance belie him; for his temper was very inflammable;
and at a word, he would explode in a shower of hard words and
imprecations. It was Max that several times set on foot those
conspiracies against Jackson, which I have spoken of before; but he
ended by paying him a grumbling homage, full of resentful reservations.

Max sometimes manifested some little interest in my welfare; and often
discoursed concerning the sorry figure I would cut in my tatters when
we got to Liverpool, and the discredit it would bring on the American
Merchant Service; for like all European seamen in American ships, Max
prided himself not a little upon his naturalization as a Yankee, and if
he could, would have been very glad to have passed himself off for a
born native.

But notwithstanding his grief at the prospect of my reflecting
discredit upon his adopted country, he never offered to better my
wardrobe, by loaning me any thing from his own well-stored chest. Like
many other well-wishers, he contented him with sympathy. Max also
betrayed some anxiety to know whether I knew how to dance; lest, when
the ship’s company went ashore, I should disgrace them by exposing my
awkwardness in some of the sailor saloons. But I relieved his anxiety
on that head.

He was a great scold, and fault-finder, and often took me to task about
my short-comings; but herein, he was not alone; for every one had a
finger, or a thumb, and sometimes both hands, in my unfortunate pie.




CHAPTER XVII.
THE COOK AND STEWARD


It was on a Sunday we made the Banks of Newfoundland; a drizzling,
foggy, clammy Sunday. You could hardly see the water, owing to the mist
and vapor upon it; and every thing was so flat and calm, I almost
thought we must have somehow got back to New York, and were lying at
the foot of Wall-street again in a rainy twilight. The decks were
dripping with wet, so that in the dense fog, it seemed as if we were
standing on the roof of a house in a shower.

It was a most miserable Sunday; and several of the sailors had twinges
of the rheumatism, and pulled on their monkey-jackets. As for Jackson,
he was all the time rubbing his back and snarling like a dog.

I tried to recall all my pleasant, sunny Sundays ashore; and tried to
imagine what they were doing at home; and whether our old family
friend, Mr. Bridenstoke, would drop in, with his silver-mounted
tasseled cane, between churches, as he used to; and whether he would
inquire about myself.

But it would not do. I could hardly realize that it was Sunday at all.
Every thing went on pretty much the same as before. There was no church
to go to; no place to take a walk in; no friend to call upon. I began
to think it must be a sort of second Saturday; a foggy Saturday, when
school-boys stay at home reading Robinson Crusoe.

The only man who seemed to be taking his ease that day, was our black
cook; who according to the invariable custom at sea, always went by the
name of _the doctor._

And _doctors,_ cooks certainly are, the very best medicos in the world;
for what pestilent pills and potions of the Faculty are half so
serviceable to man, and health-and-strength-giving, as roasted lamb and
green peas, say, in spring; and roast beef and cranberry sauce in
winter? Will a dose of calomel and jalap do you as much good? Will a
bolus build up a fainting man? Is there any satisfaction in dining off
a powder? But these doctors of the frying-pan sometimes loll men off by
a surfeit; or give them the headache, at least. Well, what then? No
matter. For if with their most goodly and ten times jolly medicines,
they now and then fill our nights with tribulations, and abridge our
days, what of the social homicides perpetrated by the Faculty? And when
you die by a pill-doctor’s hands, it is never with a sweet relish in
your mouth, as though you died by a frying-pan-doctor; but your last
breath villainously savors of ipecac and rhubarb. Then, what charges
they make for the abominable lunches they serve out so stingily! One of
their bills for boluses would keep you in good dinners a twelve-month.

Now, our doctor was a serious old fellow, much given to metaphysics,
and used to talk about original sin. All that Sunday morning, he sat
over his boiling pots, reading out of a book which was very much soiled
and covered with grease spots: for he kept it stuck into a little
leather strap, nailed to the keg where he kept the fat skimmed off the
water in which the salt beef was cooked. I could hardly believe my eyes
when I found this book was the Bible.

I loved to peep in upon him, when he was thus absorbed; for his smoky
studio or study was a strange-looking place enough; not more than five
feet square, and about as many high; a mere box to hold the stove, the
pipe of which stuck out of the roof.

Within, it was hung round with pots and pans; and on one side was a
little looking-glass, where he used to shave; and on a small shelf were
his shaving tools, and a comb and brush. Fronting the stove, and very
close to it, was a sort of narrow shelf, where he used to sit with his
legs spread out very wide, to keep them from scorching; and there, with
his book in one hand, and a pewter spoon in the other, he sat all that
Sunday morning, stirring up his pots, and studying away at the same
time; seldom taking his eye off the page. Reading must have been very
hard work for him; for he muttered to himself quite loud as he read;
and big drops of sweat would stand upon his brow, and roll off, till
they hissed on the hot stove before him. But on the day I speak of, it
was no wonder that he got perplexed, for he was reading a mysterious
passage in the Book of Chronicles. Being aware that I knew how to read,
he called me as I was passing his premises, and read the passage over,
demanding an explanation. I told him it was a mystery that no one could
explain; not even a parson. But this did not satisfy him, and I left
him poring over it still.

He must have been a member of one of those negro churches, which are to
be found in New York. For when we lay at the wharf, I remembered that a
committee of three reverend looking old darkies, who, besides their
natural canonicals, wore quaker-cut black coats, and broad-brimmed
black hats, and white neck-cloths; these colored gentlemen called upon
him, and remained conversing with him at his cookhouse door for more
than an hour; and before they went away they stepped inside, and the
sliding doors were closed; and then we heard some one reading aloud and
preaching; and after that a psalm was sung and a benediction given;
when the door opened again, and the congregation came out in a great
perspiration; owing, I suppose, to the chapel being so small, and there
being only one seat besides the stove.

But notwithstanding his religious studies and meditations, this old
fellow used to use some bad language occasionally; particularly of
cold, wet stormy mornings, when he had to get up before daylight and
make his fire; with the sea breaking over the bows, and now and then
dashing into his stove.

So, under the circumstances, you could not blame him much, if he did
rip a little, for it would have tried old Job’s temper, to be set to
work making a fire in the water.

Without being at all neat about his premises, this old cook was very
particular about them; he had a warm love and affection for his
cook-house. In fair weather, he spread the skirt of an old jacket
before the door, by way of a mat; and screwed a small ring-bolt into
the door for a knocker; and wrote his name, “Mr. Thompson,” over it,
with a bit of red chalk.

The men said he lived round the corner of _Forecastle-square,_ opposite
the _Liberty Pole;_ because his cook-house was right behind the
foremast, and very near the quarters occupied by themselves.

Sailors have a great fancy for naming things that way on shipboard.
When a man is hung at sea, which is always done from one of the lower
yard-arms, they say he _“takes a walk up Ladder-lane, and down
Hemp-street.”_

Mr. Thompson was a great crony of the steward’s, who, being a handsome,
dandy mulatto, that had once been a barber in West-Broadway, went by
the name of Lavender. I have mentioned the gorgeous turban he wore when
Mr. Jones and I visited the captain in the cabin. He never wore that
turban at sea, though; but sported an uncommon head of frizzled hair,
just like the large, round brush, used for washing windows, called a
_Pope’s Head._

He kept it well perfumed with Cologne water, of which he had a large
supply, the relics of his West-Broadway stock in trade. His clothes,
being mostly cast-off suits of the captain of a London liner, whom he
had sailed with upon many previous voyages, were all in the height of
the exploded fashions, and of every kind of color and cut. He had
claret-colored suits, and snuff-colored suits, and red velvet vests,
and buff and brimstone pantaloons, and several full suits of black,
which, with his dark-colored face, made him look quite clerical; like a
serious young colored gentleman of Barbados, about to take orders.

He wore an uncommon large pursy ring on his forefinger, with something
he called a real diamond in it; though it was very dim, and looked more
like a glass eye than any thing else. He was very proud of his ring,
and was always calling your attention to something, and pointing at it
with his ornamented finger.

He was a sentimental sort of a darky, and read the _“Three Spaniards,”_
and _“Charlotte Temple,”_ and carried a lock of frizzled hair in his
vest pocket, which he frequently volunteered to show to people, with
his handkerchief to his eyes. Every fine evening, about sunset, these
two, the cook and steward, used to sit on the little shelf in the
cook-house, leaning up against each other like the Siamese twins, to
keep from falling off, for the shelf was very short; and there they
would stay till after dark, smoking their pipes, and gossiping about
the events that had happened during the day in the cabin.

And sometimes Mr. Thompson would take down his Bible, and read a
chapter for the edification of Lavender, whom he knew to be a sad
profligate and gay deceiver ashore; addicted to every youthful
indiscretion. He would read over to him the story of Joseph and
Potiphar’s wife; and hold Joseph up to him as a young man of excellent
principles, whom he ought to imitate, and not be guilty of his
indiscretion any more. And Lavender would look serious, and say that he
knew it was all true—he was a wicked youth, he knew it—he had broken a
good many hearts, and many eyes were weeping for him even then, both in
New York, and Liverpool, and London, and Havre. But how could he help
it? He hadn’t made his handsome face, and fine head of hair, and
graceful figure. It was not _he,_ but the others, that were to blame;
for his bewitching person turned all heads and subdued all hearts,
wherever he went. And then he would look very serious and penitent, and
go up to the little glass, and pass his hands through his hair, and see
how his whiskers were coming on.




CHAPTER XVIII.
HE ENDEAVORS TO IMPROVE HIS MIND; AND TELLS OF ONE BLUNT AND HIS DREAM
BOOK


On the Sunday afternoon I spoke of, it was my watch below, and I
thought I would spend it profitably, in improving my mind.

My bunk was an upper one; and right over the head of it was a
_bull’s-eye,_ or circular piece of thick ground glass, inserted into
the deck to give light. It was a dull, dubious light, though; and I
often found myself looking up anxiously to see whether the bull’s-eye
had not suddenly been put out; for whenever any one trod on it, in
walking the deck, it was momentarily quenched; and what was still
worse, sometimes a coil of rope would be thrown down on it, and stay
there till I dressed myself and went up to remove it—a kind of
interruption to my studies which annoyed me very much, when diligently
occupied in reading.

However, I was glad of any light at all, down in that gloomy hole,
where we burrowed like rabbits in a warren; and it was the happiest
time I had, when all my messmates were asleep, and I could lie on my
back, during a forenoon watch below, and read in comparative quiet and
seclusion.

I had already read two books loaned to me by Max, to whose share they
had fallen, in dividing the effects of the sailor who had jumped
overboard. One was an account of Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea, and
the other was a large black volume, with _Delirium Tremens_ in great
gilt letters on the back. This proved to be a popular treatise on the
subject of that disease; and I remembered seeing several copies in the
sailor book-stalls about Fulton Market, and along South-street, in New
York.

But this Sunday I got out a book, from which I expected to reap great
profit and sound instruction. It had been presented to me by Mr. Jones,
who had quite a library, and took down this book from a top shelf,
where it lay very dusty. When he gave it to me, he said, that although
I was going to sea, I must not forget the importance of a good
education; and that there was hardly any situation in life, however
humble and depressed, or dark and gloomy, but one might find leisure in
it to store his mind, and build himself up in the exact sciences. And
he added, that though it _did_ look rather unfavorable for my future
prospects, to be going to sea as a common sailor so early in life; yet,
it would no doubt turn out for my benefit in the end; and, at any rate,
if I would only take good care of myself, would give me a sound
constitution, if nothing more; and _that_ was not to be undervalued,
for how many very rich men would give all their bonds and mortgages for
my boyish robustness.

He added, that I need not expect any light, trivial work, that was
merely entertaining, and nothing more; but here I would find
entertainment and edification beautifully and harmoniously combined;
and though, at first, I might possibly find it dull, yet, if I perused
the book thoroughly, it would soon discover hidden charms and
unforeseen attractions; besides teaching me, perhaps, the true way to
retrieve the poverty of my family, and again make them all well-to-do
in the world.

Saying this, he handed it to me, and I blew the dust off, and looked at
the back: _“Smith’s Wealth of Nations.”_ This not satisfying me, I
glanced at the title page, and found it was an _“Enquiry into the
Nature and Causes”_ of the alleged wealth of nations. But happening to
look further down, I caught sight of _“Aberdeen,”_ where the book was
printed; and thinking that any thing from Scotland, a foreign country,
must prove some way or other pleasing to me, I thanked Mr. Jones very
kindly, and promised to peruse the volume carefully.

So, now, lying in my bunk, I began the book methodically, at page
number one, resolved not to permit a few flying glimpses into it, taken
previously, to prevent me from making regular approaches to the gist
and body of the book, where I fancied lay something like the
philosopher’s stone, a secret talisman, which would transmute even
pitch and tar to silver and gold.

Pleasant, though vague visions of future opulence floated before me, as
I commenced the first chapter, entitled _“Of the causes of improvement
in the productive power of labor.”_ Dry as crackers and cheese, to be
sure; and the chapter itself was not much better. But this was only
getting initiated; and if I read on, the grand secret would be opened
to me. So I read on and on, about _“wages and profits of labor,”_
without getting any profits myself for my pains in perusing it.

Dryer and dryer; the very leaves smelt of saw-dust; till at last I
drank some water, and went at it again. But soon I had to give it up
for lost work; and thought that the old backgammon board, we had at
home, lettered on the back, _“The History of Rome”_ was quite as full
of matter, and a great deal more entertaining. I wondered whether Mr.
Jones had ever read the volume himself; and could not help remembering,
that he had to get on a chair when he reached it down from its dusty
shelf; _that_ certainly looked suspicious.

The best reading was on the fly leaves; and, on turning them over, I
lighted upon some half effaced pencil-marks to the following effect:
_“Jonathan Jones, from his particular friend Daniel Dods,_ 1798.” So it
must have originally belonged to Mr. Jones’ father; and I wondered
whether _he_ had ever read it; or, indeed, whether any body had ever
read it, even the author himself; but then authors, they say, never
read their own books; writing them, being enough in all conscience.

At length I fell asleep, with the volume in my hand; and never slept so
sound before; after that, I used to wrap my jacket round it, and use it
for a pillow; for which purpose it answered very well; only I sometimes
waked up feeling dull and stupid; but of course the book could not have
been the cause of that.

And now I am talking of books, I must tell of Jack Blunt the sailor,
and his Dream Book.

Jackson, who seemed to know every thing about all parts of the world,
used to tell Jack in reproach, that he was an _Irish Cockney._ By which
I understood, that he was an Irishman born, but had graduated in
London, somewhere about Radcliffe Highway; but he had no sort of brogue
that I could hear.

He was a curious looking fellow, about twenty-five years old, as I
should judge; but to look at his back, you would have taken him for a
little old man. His arms and legs were very large, round, short, and
stumpy; so that when he had on his great monkey-jacket, and sou’west
cap flapping in his face, and his sea boots drawn up to his knees, he
looked like a fat porpoise, standing on end. He had a round face, too,
like a walrus; and with about the same expression, half human and half
indescribable. He was, upon the whole, a good-natured fellow, and a
little given to looking at sea-life romantically; singing songs about
susceptible mermaids who fell in love with handsome young oyster boys
and gallant fishermen. And he had a sad story about a man-of-war’s-man
who broke his heart at Portsmouth during the late war, and threw away
his life recklessly at one of the quarter-deck cannonades, in the
battle between the Guerriere and Constitution; and another
incomprehensible story about a sort of fairy sea-queen, who used to be
dunning a sea-captain all the time for his autograph to boil in some
eel soup, for a spell against the scurvy.

He believed in all kinds of witch-work and magic; and had some wild
Irish words he used to mutter over during a calm for a fair wind.

And he frequently related his interviews in Liverpool with a
fortune-teller, an old negro woman by the name of De Squak, whose house
was much frequented by sailors; and how she had two black cats, with
remarkably green eyes, and nightcaps on their heads, solemnly seated on
a claw-footed table near the old goblin; when she felt his pulse, to
tell what was going to befall him.

This Blunt had a large head of hair, very thick and bushy; but from
some cause or other, it was rapidly turning gray; and in its transition
state made him look as if he wore a shako of badger skin.

The phenomenon of gray hairs on a young head, had perplexed and
confounded this Blunt to such a degree that he at last came to the
conclusion it must be the result of the black art, wrought upon him by
an enemy; and that enemy, he opined, was an old sailor landlord in
Marseilles, whom he had once seriously offended, by knocking him down
in a fray.

So while in New York, finding his hair growing grayer and grayer, and
all his friends, the ladies and others, laughing at him, and calling
him an old man with one foot in the grave, he slipt out one night to an
apothecary’s, stated his case, and wanted to know what could be done
for him.

The apothecary immediately gave him a pint bottle of something he
called _“Trafalgar Oil_ for restoring the hair,” _price one dollar;_
and told him that after he had used that bottle, and it did not have
the desired effect, he must try bottle No. 2, called _“Balm of
Paradise, or the Elixir of the Battle of Copenhagen.”_ These
high-sounding naval names delighted Blunt, and he had no doubt there
must be virtue in them.

I saw both bottles; and on one of them was an engraving, representing a
young man, presumed to be gray-headed, standing in his night-dress in
the middle of his chamber, and with closed eyes applying the Elixir to
his head, with both hands; while on the bed adjacent stood a large
bottle, conspicuously labeled, _“Balm of Paradise.”_ It seemed from the
text, that this gray-headed young man was so smitten with his hair-oil,
and was so thoroughly persuaded of its virtues, that he had got out of
bed, even in his sleep; groped into his closet, seized the precious
bottle, applied its contents, and then to bed again, getting up in the
morning without knowing any thing about it. Which, indeed, was a most
mysterious occurrence; and it was still more mysterious, how the
engraver came to know an event, of which the actor himself was
ignorant, and where there were no bystanders.

Three times in the twenty-four hours, Blunt, while at sea, regularly
rubbed in his liniments; but though the first bottle was soon exhausted
by his copious applications, and the second half gone, he still stuck
to it, that by the time we got to Liverpool, his exertions would be
crowned with success. And he was not a little delighted, that this
gradual change would be operating while we were at sea; so as not to
expose him to the invidious observations of people ashore; on the same
principle that dandies go into the country when they purpose raising
whiskers. He would often ask his shipmates, whether they noticed any
change yet; and if so, how much of a change? And to tell the truth,
there was a very great change indeed; for the constant soaking of his
hair with oil, operating in conjunction with the neglect of his toilet,
and want of a brush and comb, had matted his locks together like a wild
horse’s mane, and imparted to it a blackish and extremely glossy hue.
Besides his collection of hair-oils, Blunt had also provided himself
with several boxes of pills, which he had purchased from a sailor
doctor in New York, who by placards stuck on the posts along the
wharves, advertised to remain standing at the northeast corner of
Catharine Market, every Monday and Friday, between the hours of ten and
twelve in the morning, to receive calls from patients, distribute
medicines, and give advice gratis.

Whether Blunt thought he had the dyspepsia or not, I can not say; but
at breakfast, he always took three pills with his coffee; something as
they do in Iowa, when the bilious fever prevails; where, at the
boarding-houses, they put a vial of blue pills into the castor, along
with the pepper and mustard, and next door to another vial of
toothpicks. But they are very ill-bred and unpolished in the western
country.

Several times, too, Blunt treated himself to a flowing bumper of _horse
salts_ (Glauber salts); for like many other seamen, he never went to
sea without a good supply of that luxury. He would frequently, also,
take this medicine in a wet jacket, and then go on deck into a rain
storm. But this is nothing to other sailors, who at sea will doctor
themselves with calomel off Cape Horn, and still remain on duty. And in
this connection, some really frightful stories might be told; but I
forbear.

For a landsman to take salts as this Blunt did, it would perhaps be the
death of him; but at sea the salt air and the salt water prevent you
from catching cold so readily as on land; and for my own part, on board
this very ship, being so illy-provided with clothes, I frequently
turned into my bunk soaking wet, and turned out again piping hot, and
smoking like a roasted sirloin; and yet was never the worse for it; for
then, I bore a charmed life of youth and health, and was dagger-proof
to bodily ill.

But it is time to tell of the Dream Book. Snugly hidden in one corner
of his chest, Blunt had an extraordinary looking pamphlet, with a red
cover, marked all over with astrological signs and ciphers, and
purporting to be a full and complete treatise on the art of Divination;
so that the most simple sailor could teach it to himself.

It also purported to be the selfsame system, by aid of which Napoleon
Bonaparte had risen in the world from being a corporal to an emperor.
Hence it was entitled the _Bonaparte Dream Book;_ for the magic of it
lay in the interpretation of dreams, and their application to the
foreseeing of future events; so that all preparatory measures might be
taken beforehand; which would be exceedingly convenient, and
satisfactory every way, if true. The problems were to be cast by means
of figures, in some perplexed and difficult way, which, however, was
facilitated by a set of tables in the end of the pamphlet, something
like the Logarithm Tables at the end of Bowditch’s Navigator.

Now, Blunt revered, adored, and worshiped this _Bonaparte Dream Book_
of his; and was fully persuaded that between those red covers, and in
his own dreams, lay all the secrets of futurity. Every morning before
taking his pills, and applying his hair-oils, he would steal out of his
bunk before the rest of the watch were awake; take out his pamphlet,
and a bit of chalk; and then straddling his chest, begin scratching his
oily head to remember his fugitive dreams; marking down strokes on his
chest-lid, as if he were casting up his daily accounts.

Though often perplexed and lost in mazes concerning the cabalistic
figures in the book, and the chapter of directions to beginners; for he
could with difficulty read at all; yet, in the end, if not interrupted,
he somehow managed to arrive at a conclusion satisfactory to him. So
that, as he generally wore a good-humored expression, no doubt he must
have thought, that all his future affairs were working together for the
best.

But one night he started us all up in a fright, by springing from his
bunk, his eyes ready to start out of his head, and crying, in a husky
voice—“Boys! boys! get the benches ready! Quick, quick!”

“What benches?” growled Max—“What’s the matter?”

“Benches! benches!” screamed Blunt, without heeding him, “cut down the
forests, bear a hand, boys; the Day of Judgment’s coming!”

But the next moment, he got quietly into his bunk, and laid still,
muttering to himself, he had only been rambling in his sleep.

I did not know exactly what he had meant by his _benches;_ till,
shortly after, I overheard two of the sailors debating, whether mankind
would stand or sit at the Last Day.




CHAPTER XIX.
A NARROW ESCAPE


This Dream Book of Blunt’s reminds me of a narrow escape we had, early
one morning.

It was the larboard watch’s turn to remain below from midnight till
four o’clock; and having turned in and slept, Blunt suddenly turned out
again about three o’clock, with a wonderful dream in his head; which he
was desirous of at once having interpreted.

So he goes to his chest, gets out his tools, and falls to ciphering on
the lid. When, all at once, a terrible cry was heard, that routed him
and all the rest of us up, and sent the whole ship’s company flying on
deck in the dark. We did not know what it was; but somehow, among
sailors at sea, they seem to know when real danger of any land is at
hand, even in their sleep.

When we got on deck, we saw the mate standing on the bowsprit, and
crying out _Luff! Luff!_ to some one in the dark water before the ship.
In that direction, we could just see a light, and then, the great black
hull of a strange vessel, that was coming down on us obliquely; and so
near, that we heard the flap of her topsails as they shook in the wind,
the trampling of feet on the deck, and the same cry of _Luff! Luff!_
that our own mate, was raising.

In a minute more, I caught my breath, as I heard a snap and a crash,
like the fall of a tree, and suddenly, one of our flying-jib guys
jerked out the bolt near the cat-head; and presently, we heard our
jib-boom thumping against our bows.

Meantime, the strange ship, scraping by us thus, shot off into the
darkness, and we saw her no more. But she, also, must have been
injured; for when it grew light, we found pieces of strange rigging
mixed with ours. We repaired the damage, and replaced the broken spar
with another jib-boom we had; for all ships carry spare spars against
emergencies.

The cause of this accident, which came near being the death of all on
board, was nothing but the drowsiness of the look-out men on the
forecastles of both ships. The sailor who had the look-out on our
vessel was terribly reprimanded by the mate.

No doubt, many ships that are never heard of after leaving port, meet
their fate in this way; and it may be, that sometimes two vessels
coming together, jib-boom-and-jib-boom, with a sudden shock in the
middle watch of the night, mutually destroy each other; and like
fighting elks, sink down into the ocean, with their antlers locked in
death.

While I was at Liverpool, a fine ship that lay near us in the docks,
having got her cargo on board, went to sea, bound for India, with a
good breeze; and all her crew felt sure of a prosperous voyage. But in
about seven days after, she came back, a most distressing object to
behold. All her starboard side was torn and splintered; her starboard
anchor was gone; and a great part of the starboard bulwarks; while
every one of the lower yard-arms had been broken, in the same
direction; so that she now carried small and unsightly _jury-yards._

When I looked at this vessel, with the whole of one side thus
shattered, but the other still in fine trim; and when I remembered her
gay and gallant appearance, when she left the same harbor into which
she now entered so forlorn; I could not help thinking of a young man I
had known at home, who had left his cottage one morning in high
spirits, and was brought back at noon with his right side paralyzed
from head to foot.

It seems that this vessel had been run against by a strange ship,
crowding all sail before a fresh breeze; and the stranger had rushed
past her starboard side, reducing her to the sad state in which she now
was.

Sailors can not be too wakeful and cautious, when keeping their night
look-outs; though, as I well know, they too often suffer themselves to
become negligent, and nod. And this is not so wonderful, after all; for
though every seaman has heard of those accidents at sea; and many of
them, perhaps, have been in ships that have suffered from them; yet,
when you find yourself sailing along on the ocean at night, without
having seen a sail for weeks and weeks, it is hard for you to realize
that any are near. Then, if they _are_ near, it seems almost incredible
that on the broad, boundless sea, which washes Greenland at one end of
the world, and the Falkland Islands at the other, that any one vessel
upon such a vast highway, should come into close contact with another.
But the likelihood of great calamities occurring, seldom obtrudes upon
the minds of ignorant men, such as sailors generally are; for the
things which wise people know, anticipate, and guard against, the
ignorant can only become acquainted with, by meeting them face to face.
And even when experience has taught them, the lesson only serves for
that day; inasmuch as the foolish in prosperity are infidels to the
possibility of adversity; they see the sun in heaven, and believe it to
be far too bright ever to set. And even, as suddenly as the bravest and
fleetest ships, while careering in pride of canvas over the sea, have
been struck, as by lightning, and quenched out of sight; even so, do
some lordly men, with all their plans and prospects gallantly trimmed
to the fair, rushing breeze of life, and with no thought of death and
disaster, suddenly encounter a shock unforeseen, and go down,
foundering, into death.




CHAPTER XX.
IN A FOG HE IS SET TO WORK AS A BELL-TOLLER, AND BEHOLDS A HERD OF
OCEAN-ELEPHANTS


What is this that we sail through? What palpable obscure? What smoke
and reek, as if the whole steaming world were revolving on its axis, as
a spit?

It is a Newfoundland Fog; and we are yet crossing the Grand Banks,
wrapt in a mist, that no London in the Novemberest November ever
equaled. The chronometer pronounced it noon; but do you call this
midnight or midday? So dense is the fog, that though we have a fair
wind, we shorten sail for fear of accidents; and not only that, but
here am I, poor Wellingborough, mounted aloft on a sort of belfry, the
top of the _“Sampson-Post,”_ a lofty tower of timber, so called; and
tolling the ship’s bell, as if for a funeral.

This is intended to proclaim our approach, and warn all strangers from
our track.

Dreary sound! toll, toll, toll, through the dismal mist and fog.

The bell is green with verdigris, and damp with dew; and the little
cord attached to the clapper, by which I toll it, now and then slides
through my fingers, slippery with wet. Here I am, in my slouched black
hat, like the _“bull that could pull,”_ announcing the decease of the
lamented Cock-Robin.

A better device than the bell, however, was once pitched upon by an
ingenious sea-captain, of whom I have heard. He had a litter of young
porkers on board; and while sailing through the fog, he stationed men
at both ends of the pen with long poles, wherewith they incessantly
stirred up and irritated the porkers, who split the air with their
squeals; and no doubt saved the ship, as the geese saved the Capitol.

The most strange and unheard-of noises came out of the fog at times: a
vast sound of sighing and sobbing. What could it be? This would be
followed by a spout, and a gush, and a cascading commotion, as if some
fountain had suddenly jetted out of the ocean.

Seated on my Sampson-Post, I stared more and more, and suspended my
duty as a sexton. But presently some one cried out—_“There she blows!
whales! whales close alongside!”_

A whale! Think of it! whales close to _me,_ Wellingborough;— would my
own brother believe it? I dropt the clapper as if it were red-hot, and
rushed to the side; and there, dimly floating, lay four or five long,
black snaky-looking shapes, only a few inches out of the water.

Can these be whales? Monstrous whales, such as I had heard of? I
thought they would look like mountains on the sea; hills and valleys of
flesh! regular krakens, that made it high tide, and inundated
continents, when they descended to feed!

It was a bitter disappointment, from which I was long in recovering. I
lost all respect for whales; and began to be a little dubious about the
story of Jonah; for how could Jonah reside in such an insignificant
tenement; how could he have had elbow-room there? But perhaps, thought
I, the whale which according to Rabbinical traditions was a female one,
might have expanded to receive him like an anaconda, when it swallows
an elk and leaves the antlers sticking out of its mouth.

Nevertheless, from that day, whales greatly fell in my estimation.

But it is always thus. If you read of St. Peter’s, they say, and then
go and visit it, ten to one, you account it a dwarf compared to your
high-raised ideal. And, doubtless, Jonah himself must have been
disappointed when he looked up to the domed midriff surmounting the
whale’s belly, and surveyed the ribbed pillars around him. A pretty
large belly, to be sure, thought he, but not so big as it might have
been.

On the next day, the fog lifted; and by noon, we found ourselves
sailing through fleets of fishermen at anchor. They were very small
craft; and when I beheld them, I perceived the force of that sailor
saying, intended to illustrate restricted quarters, or being _on the
limits. It is like a fisherman’s walk,_ say they, _three steps and
overboard._

Lying right in the track of the multitudinous ships crossing the ocean
between England and America, these little vessels are sometimes run
down, and obliterated from the face of the waters; the cry of the
sailors ceasing with the last whirl of the whirlpool that closes over
their craft. Their sad fate is frequently the result of their own
remissness in keeping a good look-out by day, and not having their
lamps trimmed, like the wise virgins, by night.

As I shall not make mention of the Grand Banks on our homeward-bound
passage, I may as well here relate, that on our return, we approached
them in the night; and by way of making sure of our whereabouts, the
deep-sea-lead was heaved. The line attached is generally upward of
three hundred fathoms in length; and the lead itself, weighing some
forty or fifty pounds, has a hole in the lower end, in which, previous
to sounding, some tallow is thrust, that it may bring up the soil at
the bottom, for the captain to inspect. This is called “arming” the
lead.

We “hove” our deep-sea-line by night, and the operation was very
interesting, at least to me. In the first place, the vessel’s heading
was stopt; then, coiled away in a tub, like a whale-rope, the line was
placed toward the after part of the quarter-deck; and one of the
sailors carried the lead outside of the ship, away along to the end of
the jib-boom, and at the word of command, far ahead and overboard it
went, with a plunge; scraping by the side, till it came to the stern,
when the line ran out of the tub like light.

When we came to haul _it_ up, I was astonished at the force necessary
to perform the work. The whole watch pulled at the line, which was rove
through a block in the mizzen-rigging, as if we were hauling up a fat
porpoise. When the lead came in sight, I was all eagerness to examine
the tallow, and get a peep at a specimen of the bottom of the sea; but
the sailors did not seem to be much interested by it, calling me a fool
for wanting to preserve a few grains of the sand.

I had almost forgotten to make mention of the Gulf Stream, in which we
found ourselves previous to crossing the Banks. The fact of our being
in it was proved by the captain in person, who superintended the
drawing of a bucket of salt water, in which he dipped his thermometer.
In the absence of the Gulf-weed, this is the general test; for the
temperature of this current is eight degrees higher than that of the
ocean, and the temperature of the ocean is twenty degrees higher than
that of the Grand Banks. And it is to this remarkable difference of
temperature, for which there can be no equilibrium, that many seamen
impute the fogs on the coast of Nova Scotia and Newfoundland; but why
there should always be such ugly weather in the Gulf, is something that
I do not know has ever been accounted for.

It is curious to dip one’s finger in a bucket full of the Gulf Stream,
and find it so warm; as if the Gulf of Mexico, from whence this current
comes, were a great caldron or boiler, on purpose to keep warm the
North Atlantic, which is traversed by it for a distance of two thousand
miles, as some large halls in winter are by hot air tubes. Its mean
breadth being about two hundred leagues, it comprises an area larger
than that of the whole Mediterranean, and may be deemed a sort of
Mississippi of hot water flowing through the ocean; off the coast of
Florida, running at the rate of one mile and a half an hour.




CHAPTER XXI.
A WHALEMAN AND A MAN-OF-WAR’S-MAN


The sight of the whales mentioned in the preceding chapter was the
bringing out of Larry, one of our crew, who hitherto had been quite
silent and reserved, as if from some conscious inferiority, though he
had shipped as an _ordinary seaman,_ and, for aught I could see,
performed his duty very well.

When the men fell into a dispute concerning what kind of whales they
were which we saw, Larry stood by attentively, and after garnering in
their ignorance, all at once broke out, and astonished every body by
his intimate acquaintance with the monsters.

“They ar’n’t sperm whales,” said Larry, “their spouts ar’n’t bushy
enough; they ar’n’t Sulphur-bottoms, or they wouldn’t stay up so long;
they ar’n’t Hump-backs, for they ar’n’t got any humps; they ar’n’t
Fin-backs, for you won’t catch a Finback so near a ship; they ar’n’t
Greenland whales, for we ar’n’t off the coast of Greenland; and they
ar’n’t right whales, for it wouldn’t be right to say so. I tell ye,
men, them’s Crinkum-crankum whales.”

“And what are them?” said a sailor.

“Why, them is whales that can’t be cotched.”

Now, as it turned out that this Larry had been bred to the sea in a
whaler, and had sailed out of Nantucket many times; no one but Jackson
ventured to dispute his opinion; and even Jackson did not press him
very hard. And ever after, Larry’s judgment was relied upon concerning
all strange fish that happened to float by us during the voyage; for
whalemen are far more familiar with the wonders of the deep than any
other class of seaman.

This was Larry’s first voyage in the merchant service, and that was the
reason why, hitherto, he had been so reserved; since he well knew that
merchant seamen generally affect a certain superiority to
_“blubber-boilers,”_ as they contemptuously style those who hunt the
leviathan. But Larry turned out to be such an inoffensive fellow, and
so well understood his business aboard ship, and was so ready to jump
to an order, that he was exempted from the taunts which he might
otherwise have encountered.

He was a somewhat singular man, who wore his hat slanting forward over
the bridge of his nose, with his eyes cast down, and seemed always
examining your boots, when speaking to you. I loved to hear him talk
about the wild places in the Indian Ocean, and on the coast of
Madagascar, where he had frequently touched during his whaling voyages.
And this familiarity with the life of nature led by the people in that
remote part of the world, had furnished Larry with a sentimental
distaste for civilized society. When opportunity offered, he never
omitted extolling the delights of the free and easy Indian Ocean.

“Why,” said Larry, talking through his nose, as usual, “in _Madagasky_
there, they don’t wear any togs at all, nothing but a bowline round the
midships; they don’t have no dinners, but keeps a dinin’ all day off
fat pigs and dogs; they don’t go to bed any where, but keeps a noddin’
all the time; and they gets drunk, too, from some first rate arrack
they make from cocoa-nuts; and smokes plenty of ’baccy, too, I tell ye.
Fine country, that! Blast Ameriky, I say!”

To tell the truth, this Larry dealt in some illiberal insinuations
against civilization.

“And what’s the use of bein’ _snivelized!”_ said he to me one night
during our watch on deck; “snivelized chaps only learns the way to take
on ’bout life, and snivel. You don’t see any Methodist chaps feelin’
dreadful about their souls; you don’t see any darned beggars and pesky
constables in _Madagasky, I_ tell ye; and none o’ them kings there gets
their big toes pinched by the gout. Blast Ameriky, I say.”

Indeed, this Larry was rather cutting in his innuendoes.

“Are _you_ now, Buttons, any better off for bein’ snivelized?” coming
close up to me and eying the wreck of my gaff-topsail-boots very
steadfastly. “No; you ar’n’t a bit—but you’re a good deal _worse_ for
it, Buttons. I tell ye, ye wouldn’t have been to sea here, leadin’ this
dog’s life, if you hadn’t been snivelized—that’s the cause why, now.
Snivelization has been the ruin on ye; and it’s spiled me complete; I
might have been a great man in Madagasky; it’s too darned bad! Blast
Ameriky, I say.” And in bitter grief at the social blight upon his
whole past, present, and future, Larry turned away, pulling his hat
still lower down over the bridge of his nose.

In strong contrast to Larry, was a young man-of-war’s man we had, who
went by the name of _“Gun-Deck,”_ from his always talking of sailor
life in the navy. He was a little fellow with a small face and a
prodigious mop of brown hair; who always dressed in man-of-war style,
with a wide, braided collar to his frock, and Turkish trowsers. But he
particularly prided himself upon his feet, which were quite small; and
when we washed down decks of a morning, never mind how chilly it might
be, he always took off his boots, and went paddling about like a duck,
turning out his pretty toes to show his charming feet.

He had served in the armed steamers during the Seminole War in Florida,
and had a good deal to say about sailing up the rivers there, through
the everglades, and popping off Indians on the banks. I remember his
telling a story about a party being discovered at quite a distance from
them; but one of the savages was made very conspicuous by a pewter
plate, which he wore round his neck, and which glittered in the sun.
This plate proved his death; for, according to _Gun-Deck,_ he himself
shot it through the middle, and the ball entered the wearer’s heart. It
was a rat-killing war, he said.

_Gun-Deck_ had touched at Cadiz: had been to Gibraltar; and ashore at
Marseilles. He had sunned himself in the Bay of Naples: eaten figs and
oranges in Messina; and cheerfully lost one of his hearts at Malta,
among the ladies there. And about all these things, he talked like a
romantic man-of-war’s man, who had seen the civilized world, and loved
it; found it good, and a comfortable place to live in. So he and Larry
never could agree in their respective views of civilization, and of
savagery, of the Mediterranean and _Madagasky._




CHAPTER XXII.
THE HIGHLANDER PASSES A WRECK


We were still on the Banks, when a terrific storm came down upon us,
the like of which I had never before beheld, or imagined. The rain
poured down in sheets and cascades; the scupper holes could hardly
carry it off the decks; and in bracing the yards we waded about almost
up to our knees; every thing floating about, like chips in a dock.

This violent rain was the precursor of a hard squall, for which we duly
prepared, taking in our canvas to double-reefed-top-sails.

The tornado came rushing along at last, like a troop of wild horses
before the flaming rush of a burning prairie. But after bowing and
cringing to it awhile, the good Highlander was put off before it; and
with her nose in the water, went wallowing on, ploughing milk-white
waves, and leaving a streak of illuminated foam in her wake.

It was an awful scene. It made me catch my breath as I gazed. I could
hardly stand on my feet, so violent was the motion of the ship. But
while I reeled to and fro, the sailors only laughed at me; and bade me
look out that the ship did not fall overboard; and advised me to get a
handspike, and hold it down hard in the weather-scuppers, to steady her
wild motions. But I was now getting a little too wise for this foolish
kind of talk; though all through the voyage, they never gave it over.

This storm past, we had fair weather until we got into the Irish Sea.

The morning following the storm, when the sea and sky had become blue
again, the man aloft sung out that there was a wreck on the lee-beam.
We bore away for it, all hands looking eagerly toward it, and the
captain in the mizzen-top with his spy-glass. Presently, we slowly
passed alongside of it.

It was a dismantled, water-logged schooner, a most dismal sight, that
must have been drifting about for several long weeks. The bulwarks were
pretty much gone; and here and there the bare _stanchions,_ or posts,
were left standing, splitting in two the waves which broke clear over
the deck, lying almost even with the sea. The foremast was snapt off
less than four feet from its base; and the shattered and splintered
remnant looked like the stump of a pine tree thrown over in the woods.
Every time she rolled in the trough of the sea, her open main-hatchway
yawned into view; but was as quickly filled, and submerged again, with
a rushing, gurgling sound, as the water ran into it with the lee-roll.

At the head of the stump of the mainmast, about ten feet above the
deck, something like a sleeve seemed nailed; it was supposed to be the
relic of a jacket, which must have been fastened there by the crew for
a signal, and been frayed out and blown away by the wind.

Lashed, and leaning over sideways against the taffrail, were three
dark, green, grassy objects, that slowly swayed with every roll, but
otherwise were motionless. I saw the captain’s, glass directed toward
them, and heard him say at last, “They must have been dead a long
time.” These were sailors, who long ago had lashed themselves to the
taffrail for safety; but must have famished.

Full of the awful interest of the scene, I surely thought the captain
would lower a boat to bury the bodies, and find out something about the
schooner. But we did not stop at all; passing on our course, without so
much as learning the schooner’s name, though every one supposed her to
be a New Brunswick lumberman.

On the part of the sailors, no surprise was shown that our captain did
not send off a boat to the wreck; but the steerage passengers were
indignant at what they called his barbarity. For me, I could not but
feel amazed and shocked at his indifference; but my subsequent sea
experiences have shown me, that such conduct as this is very common,
though not, of course, when human life can be saved.

So away we sailed, and left her; drifting, drifting on; a garden spot
for barnacles, and a playhouse for the sharks.

“Look there,” said Jackson, hanging over the rail and coughing—“look
there; that’s a sailor’s coffin. Ha! ha! Buttons,” turning round to
me—“how do you like that, Buttons? Wouldn’t you like to take a sail
with them ’ere dead men? Wouldn’t it be nice?” And then he tried to
laugh, but only coughed again. “Don’t laugh at dem poor fellows,” said
Max, looking grave; “do’ you see dar bodies, dar souls are farder off
dan de Cape of Dood Hope.”

“Dood Hope, Dood Hope,” shrieked Jackson, with a horrid grin, mimicking
the Dutchman, “dare is no dood hope for dem, old boy; dey are drowned
and d .... d, as you and I will be, Red Max, one of dese dark nights.”

“No, no,” said Blunt, “all sailors are saved; they have plenty of
squalls here below, but fair weather aloft.”

“And did you get that out of your silly Dream Book, you Greek?” howled
Jackson through a cough. “Don’t talk of heaven to me—it’s a lie—I know
it—and they are all fools that believe in it. Do you think, you Greek,
that there’s any heaven for _you?_ Will they let _you_ in there, with
that tarry hand, and that oily head of hair? Avast! when some shark
gulps you down his hatchway one of these days, you’ll find, that by
dying, you’ll only go from one gale of wind to another; mind that, you
Irish cockney! Yes, you’ll be bolted down like one of your own pills:
and I should like to see the whole ship swallowed down in the Norway
maelstrom, like a box on ’em. That would be a dose of salts for ye!”
And so saying, he went off, holding his hands to his chest, and
coughing, as if his last hour was come.

Every day this Jackson seemed to grow worse and worse, both in body and
mind. He seldom spoke, but to contradict, deride, or curse; and all the
time, though his face grew thinner and thinner, his eyes seemed to
kindle more and more, as if he were going to die out at last, and leave
them burning like tapers before a corpse.

Though he had never attended churches, and knew nothing about
Christianity; no more than a Malay pirate; and though he could not read
a word, yet he was spontaneously an atheist and an infidel; and during
the long night watches, would enter into arguments, to prove that there
was nothing to be believed; nothing to be loved, and nothing worth
living for; but every thing to be hated, in the wide world. He was a
horrid desperado; and like a wild Indian, whom he resembled in his
tawny skin and high cheek bones, he seemed to run amuck at heaven and
earth. He was a Cain afloat; branded on his yellow brow with some
inscrutable curse; and going about corrupting and searing every heart
that beat near him.

But there seemed even more woe than wickedness about the man; and his
wickedness seemed to spring from his woe; and for all his hideousness,
there was that in his eye at times, that was ineffably pitiable and
touching; and though there were moments when I almost hated this
Jackson, yet I have pitied no man as I have pitied him.




CHAPTER XXIII.
AN UNACCOUNTABLE CABIN-PASSENGER, AND A MYSTERIOUS YOUNG LADY


As yet, I have said nothing special about the passengers we carried
out. But before making what little mention I shall of them, you must
know that the Highlander was not a Liverpool liner, or packet-ship,
plying in connection with a sisterhood of packets, at stated intervals,
between the two ports. No: she was only what is called a _regular
trader_ to Liverpool; sailing upon no fixed days, and acting very much
as she pleased, being bound by no obligations of any kind: though in
all her voyages, ever having New York or Liverpool for her destination.
Merchant vessels which are neither liners nor regular traders, among
sailors come under the general head of _transient ships;_ which implies
that they are here to-day, and somewhere else to-morrow, like Mullins’s
dog.

But I had no reason to regret that the Highlander was not a liner; for
aboard of those liners, from all I could gather from those who had
sailed in them, the crew have terrible hard work, owing to their
carrying such a press of sail, in order to make as rapid passages as
possible, and sustain the ship’s reputation for speed. Hence it is,
that although they are the very best of sea-going craft, and built in
the best possible manner, and with the very best materials, yet, a few
years of scudding before the wind, as they do, seriously impairs their
constitutions— like robust young men, who live too fast in their
teens—and they are soon sold out for a song; generally to the people of
Nantucket, New Bedford, and Sag Harbor, who repair and fit them out for
the whaling business.

Thus, the ship that once carried over gay parties of ladies and
gentlemen, as tourists, to Liverpool or London, now carries a crew of
harpooners round Cape Horn into the Pacific. And the mahogany and
bird’s-eye maple cabin, which once held rosewood card-tables and
brilliant coffee-urns, and in which many a bottle of champagne, and
many a bright eye sparkled, _now_ accommodates a bluff Quaker captain
from Martha’s Vineyard; who, perhaps, while lying with his ship in the
Bay of Islands, in New Zealand, entertains a party of naked chiefs and
savages at dinner, in place of the packet-captain doing the honors to
the literati, theatrical stars, foreign princes, and gentlemen of
leisure and fortune, who generally talked gossip, politics, and
nonsense across the table, in transatlantic trips. The broad
quarter-deck, too, where these gentry promenaded, is now often choked
up by the enormous head of the sperm-whale, and vast masses of unctuous
blubber; and every where reeks with oil during the prosecution of the
fishery. Sic _transit gloria mundi!_ Thus departs the pride and glory
of packet-ships! _It is_ like a broken down importer of French silks
embarking in the soap-boning business.

So, not being a liner, the Highlander of course did not have very ample
accommodations for cabin passengers. I believe there were not more than
five or six state-rooms, with two or three berths in each. At any rate,
on this particular voyage she only carried out one regular
cabin-passenger; that is, a person previously unacquainted with the
captain, who paid his fare down, and came on board soberly, and in a
business-like manner with his baggage.

He was an extremely little man, that solitary cabin-passenger—the
passenger who came on board in a business-like manner with his baggage;
never spoke to any one, and the captain seldom spoke to him.

Perhaps he was a deputy from the Deaf and Dumb Institution in New York,
going over to London to address the public in pantomime at Exeter Hall
concerning the signs of the times.

He was always in a brown study; sometimes sitting on the quarter-deck
with arms folded, and head hanging upon his chest. Then he would rise,
and gaze out to windward, as if he had suddenly discovered a friend.
But looking disappointed, would retire slowly into his state-room,
where you could see him through the little window, in an irregular
sitting position, with the back part of him inserted into his berth,
and his head, arms, and legs hanging out, buried in profound
meditation, with his fore-finger aside of his nose. He never was seen
reading; never took a hand at cards; never smoked; never drank wine;
never conversed; and never staid to the dessert at dinner-time.

He seemed the true microcosm, or little world to himself: standing in
no need of levying contributions upon the surrounding universe.
Conjecture was lost in speculating as to who he was, and what was his
business. The sailors, who are always curious with regard to such
matters, and criticise cabin-passengers more than cabin-passengers are
perhaps aware at the time, completely exhausted themselves in
suppositions, some of which are characteristically curious.

One of the crew said he was a mysterious bearer of secret dispatches to
the English court; others opined that he was a traveling surgeon and
bonesetter, but for what reason they thought so, I never could learn;
and others declared that he must either be an unprincipled bigamist,
flying from his last wife and several small children; or a scoundrelly
forger, bank-robber, or general burglar, who was returning to his
beloved country with his ill-gotten booty. One observing sailor was of
opinion that he was an English murderer, overwhelmed with speechless
remorse, and returning home to make a full confession and be hanged.

But it was a little singular, that among all their sage and sometimes
confident opinings, not one charitable one was made; no! they were all
sadly to the prejudice of his moral and religious character. But this
is the way all the world over. Miserable man! could you have had an
inkling of what they thought of you, I know not what you would have
done.

However, not knowing any thing about these surmisings and suspicions,
this mysterious cabin-passenger went on his way, calm, cool, and
collected; never troubled any body, and nobody troubled him. Sometimes,
of a moonlight night he glided about the deck, like the ghost of a
hospital attendant; flitting from mast to mast; now hovering round the
skylight, now vibrating in the vicinity of the binnacle. Blunt, the
Dream Book tar, swore he was a magician; and took an extra dose of
salts, by way of precaution against his spells.

When we were but a few days from port, a comical adventure befell this
cabin-passenger. There is an old custom, still in vogue among some
merchant sailors, of tying fast in the rigging any lubberly landsman of
a passenger who may be detected taking excursions aloft, however
moderate the flight of the awkward fowl. This is called _“making a
spread eagle”_ of the man; and before he is liberated, a promise is
exacted, that before arriving in port, he shall furnish the ship’s
company with money enough for a treat all round.

Now this being one of the perquisites of sailors, they are always on
the keen look-out for an opportunity of levying such contributions upon
incautious strangers; though they never attempt it in presence of the
captain; as for the mates, they purposely avert their eyes, and are
earnestly engaged about something else, whenever they get an inkling of
this proceeding going on. But, with only one poor fellow of a
cabin-passenger on board of the Highlander, and _he_ such a quiet,
unobtrusive, unadventurous wight, there seemed little chance for
levying contributions.

One remarkably pleasant morning, however, what should be seen, half way
up the mizzen rigging, but the figure of our cabin-passenger, holding
on with might and main by all four limbs, and with his head fearfully
turned round, gazing off to the horizon. He looked as if he had the
nightmare; and in some sudden and unaccountable fit of insanity, he
must have been impelled to the taking up of that perilous position.

“Good heavens!” said the mate, who was a bit of a wag, “you will surely
fall, sir! Steward, spread a mattress on deck, under the gentleman!”

But no sooner was our Greenland sailor’s attention called to the sight,
than snatching up some rope-yarn, he ran softly up behind the
passenger, and without speaking a word, began binding him hand and
foot. The stranger was more dumb than ever with amazement; at last
violently remonstrated; but in vain; for as his fearfulness of falling
made him keep his hands glued to the ropes, and so prevented him from
any effectual resistance, he was soon made a handsome _spread-eagle_
of, to the great satisfaction of the crew.

It was now discovered for the first, that this singular passenger
stammered and stuttered very badly, which, perhaps, was the cause of
his reservedness.

“Wha-wha-what i-i-is this f-f-for?”

“Spread-eagle, sir,” said the Greenlander, thinking that those few
words would at once make the matter plain.

“Wha-wha-what that me-me-mean?”

“Treats all round, sir,” said the Greenlander, wondering at the other’s
obtusity, who, however, had never so much as heard of the thing before.

At last, upon his reluctant acquiescence in the demands of the sailor,
and handing him two half-crown pieces, the unfortunate passenger was
suffered to descend.

The last I ever saw of this man was his getting into a cab at Prince’s
Dock Gates in Liverpool, and driving off alone to parts unknown. He had
nothing but a valise with him, and an umbrella; but his pockets looked
stuffed out; perhaps he used them for carpet-bags.

I must now give some account of another and still more mysterious,
though very different, sort of an occupant of the cabin, of whom I have
previously hinted. What say you to a charming young girl?—just the girl
to sing the Dashing White Sergeant; a martial, military-looking girl;
her father must have been a general. Her hair was auburn; her eyes were
blue; her cheeks were white and red; and Captain Riga was her most
devoted.

To the curious questions of the sailors concerning who she was, the
steward used to answer, that she was the daughter of one of the
Liverpool dock-masters, who, for the benefit of her health and the
improvement of her mind, had sent her out to America in the Highlander,
under the captain’s charge, who was his particular friend; and that now
the young lady was returning home from her tour.

And truly the captain proved an attentive father to her, and often
promenaded with her hanging on his arm, past the forlorn bearer of
secret dispatches, who would look up now and then out of his reveries,
and cast a furtive glance of wonder, as if he thought the captain was
audacious.

Considering his beautiful ward, I thought the captain behaved
ungallantly, to say the least, in availing himself of the opportunity
of her charming society, to wear out his remaining old clothes; for no
gentleman ever pretends to save his best coat when a lady is in the
case; indeed, he generally thirsts for a chance to abase it, by
converting it into a pontoon over a puddle, like Sir Walter Raleigh,
that the ladies may not soil the soles of their dainty slippers. But
this Captain Riga was no Raleigh, and hardly any sort of a true
gentleman whatever, as I have formerly declared. Yet, perhaps, he might
have worn his old clothes in this instance, for the express purpose of
proving, by his disdain for the toilet, that he was nothing but the
young lady’s guardian; for many guardians do not care one fig how
shabby they look.

But for all this, the passage out was one long paternal sort of a
shabby flirtation between this hoydenish nymph and the ill-dressed
captain. And surely, if her good mother, were she living, could have
seen this young lady, she would have given her an endless lecture for
her conduct, and a copy of Mrs. Ellis’s Daughters of England to read
and digest. I shall say no more of this anonymous nymph; only, that
when we arrived at Liverpool, she issued from her cabin in a richly
embroidered silk dress, and lace hat and veil, and a sort of Chinese
umbrella or parasol, which one of the sailors declared “spandangalous;”
and the captain followed after in his best broadcloth and beaver, with
a gold-headed cane; and away they went in a carriage, and that was the
last of her; I hope she is well and happy now; but I have some
misgivings.

It now remains to speak of the steerage passengers. There were not more
than twenty or thirty of them, mostly mechanics, returning home, after
a prosperous stay in America, to escort their wives and families back.
These were the only occupants of the steerage that I ever knew of; till
early one morning, in the gray dawn, when we made Cape Clear, the south
point of Ireland, the apparition of a tall Irishman, in a shabby shirt
of bed-ticking, emerged from the fore hatchway, and stood leaning on
the rail, looking landward with a fixed, reminiscent expression, and
diligently scratching its back with both hands. We all started at the
sight, for no one had ever seen the apparition before; and when we
remembered that it must have been burrowing all the passage down in its
bunk, the only probable reason of its so manipulating its back became
shockingly obvious.

I had almost forgotten another passenger of ours, a little boy not four
feet high, an English lad, who, when we were about forty-eight hours
from New York, suddenly appeared on deck, asking for something to eat.

It seems he was the son of a carpenter, a widower, with this only
child, who had gone out to America in the Highlander some six months
previous, where he fell to drinking, and soon died, leaving the boy a
friendless orphan in a foreign land.

For several weeks the boy wandered about the wharves, picking up a
precarious livelihood by sucking molasses out of the casks discharged
from West India ships, and occasionally regaling himself upon stray
oranges and lemons found floating in the docks. He passed his nights
sometimes in a stall in the markets, sometimes in an empty hogshead on
the piers, sometimes in a doorway, and once in the watchhouse, from
which he escaped the next morning, running as he told me, right between
the doorkeeper’s legs, when he was taking another vagrant to task for
repeatedly throwing himself upon the public charities.

At last, while straying along the docks, he chanced to catch sight of
the Highlander, and immediately recognized her as the very ship which
brought him and his father out from England. He at once resolved to
return in her; and, accosting the captain, stated his case, and begged
a passage. The captain refused to give it; but, nothing daunted, the
heroic little fellow resolved to conceal himself on board previous to
the ship’s sailing; which he did, stowing himself away in the
_between-decks;_ and moreover, as he told us, in a narrow space between
two large casks of water, from which he now and then thrust out his
head for air. And once a steerage passenger rose in the night and poked
in and rattled about a stick where he was, thinking him an uncommon
large rat, who was after stealing a passage across the Atlantic. There
are plenty of passengers of that kind continually plying between
Liverpool and New York.

As soon as he divulged the fact of his being on board, which he took
care should not happen till he thought the ship must be out of sight of
land; the captain had him called aft, and after giving him a thorough
shaking, and threatening to toss him overboard as a tit-bit for _John
Shark,_ he told the mate to send him forward among the sailors, and let
him live there. The sailors received him with open arms; but before
caressing him much, they gave him a thorough washing in the
lee-scuppers, when he turned out to be quite a handsome lad, though
thin and pale with the hardships he had suffered. However, by good
nursing and plenty to eat, he soon improved and grew fat; and before
many days was as fine a looking little fellow, as you might pick out of
Queen Victoria’s nursery. The sailors took the warmest interest in him.
One made him a little hat with a long ribbon; another a little jacket;
a third a comical little pair of man-of-war’s-man’s trowsers; so that
in the end, he looked like a juvenile boatswain’s mate. Then the cook
furnished him with a little tin pot and pan; and the steward made him a
present of a pewter tea-spoon; and a steerage passenger gave him a jack
knife. And thus provided, he used to sit at meal times half way up on
the forecastle ladder, making a great racket with his pot and pan, and
merry as a cricket. He was an uncommonly fine, cheerful, clever, arch
little fellow, only six years old, and it was a thousand pities that he
should be abandoned, as he was. Who can say, whether he is fated to be
a convict in New South Wales, or a member of Parliament for Liverpool?
When we got to that port, by the way, a purse was made up for him; the
captain, officers, and the mysterious cabin passenger contributing
their best wishes, and the sailors and poor steerage passengers
something like fifteen dollars in cash and tobacco. But I had almost
forgot to add that the daughter of the dock-master gave him a fine lace
pocket-handkerchief and a card-case to remember her by; very valuable,
but somewhat inappropriate presents. Thus supplied, the little hero
went ashore by himself; and I lost sight of him in the vast crowds
thronging the docks of Liverpool.

I must here mention, as some relief to the impression which Jackson’s
character must have made upon the reader, that in several ways he at
first befriended this boy; but the boy always shrunk from him; till, at
last, stung by his conduct, Jackson spoke to him no more; and seemed to
hate him, harmless as he was, along with all the rest of the world.

As for the Lancashire lad, he was a stupid sort of fellow, as I have
before hinted. So, little interest was taken in him, that he was
permitted to go ashore at last, without a good-by from any person but
one.




CHAPTER XXIV.
HE BEGINS TO HOP ABOUT IN THE RIGGING LIKE A SAINT JAGO’S MONKEY


But we have not got to Liverpool yet; though, as there is little more
to be said concerning the passage out, the Highlander may as well make
sail and get there as soon as possible. The brief interval will perhaps
be profitably employed in relating what progress I made in learning the
duties of a sailor.

After my heroic feat in loosing the main-skysail, the mate entertained
good hopes of my becoming a rare mariner. In the fullness of his heart,
he ordered me to turn over the superintendence of the chicken-coop to
the Lancashire boy; which I did, very willingly. After that, I took
care to show the utmost alacrity in running aloft, which by this time
became mere fun for me; and nothing delighted me more than to sit on
one of the topsail-yards, for hours together, helping Max or the
Greenlander as they worked at the rigging.

At sea, the sailors are continually engaged in _“parcelling,”
“serving,”_ and in a thousand ways ornamenting and repairing the
numberless shrouds and stays; mending sails, or turning one side of the
deck into a rope-walk, where they manufacture a clumsy sort of twine,
called _spun-yarn._ This is spun with a winch; and many an hour the
Lancashire boy had to play the part of an engine, and contribute the
motive power. For material, they use odds and ends of old rigging
called _“junk,”_ the yarns of which are picked to pieces, and then
twisted into new combinations, something as most books are
manufactured. This “junk” is bought at the junk shops along the
wharves; outlandish looking dens, generally subterranean, full of old
iron, old shrouds, spars, rusty blocks, and superannuated tackles; and
kept by villainous looking old men, in tarred trowsers, and with yellow
beards like oakum. They look like wreckers; and the scattered goods
they expose for sale, involuntarily remind one of the sea-beach,
covered with keels and cordage, swept ashore in a gale.

Yes, I was now as nimble as a monkey in the rigging, and at the cry of
_“tumble up there, my hearties, and take in sail,” I_ was among the
first ground-and-lofty tumblers, that sprang aloft at the word.

But the first time we reefed top-sails of a dark night, and I found
myself hanging over the yard with eleven others, the ship plunging and
rearing like a mad horse, till I felt like being jerked off the spar;
then, indeed, I thought of a feather-bed at home, and hung on with
tooth and nail; with no chance for snoring. But a few repetitions, soon
made me used to it; and before long, I tied my reef-point as quickly
and expertly as the best of them; never making what they call a
_“granny-knot,”_ and slipt down on deck by the bare stays, instead of
the shrouds. It is surprising, how soon a boy overcomes his timidity
about going aloft. For my own part, my nerves became as steady as the
earth’s diameter, and I felt as fearless on the royal yard, as Sam
Patch on the cliff of Niagara. To my amazement, also, I found, that
running up the rigging at sea, especially during a squall, was much
easier than while lying in port. For as you always go up on the
windward side, and the ship leans over, it makes more of a _stairs_ of
the rigging; whereas, in harbor, it is almost straight up and down.

Besides, the pitching and rolling only imparts a pleasant sort of
vitality to the vessel; so that the difference in being aloft in a ship
at sea, and a ship in harbor, is pretty much the same, as riding a real
live horse and a wooden one. And even if the live charger should pitch
you over his head, _that_ would be much more satisfactory, than an
inglorious fall from the other.

I took great delight in furling the top-gallant sails and royals in a
hard blow; which duty required two hands on the yard.

There was a wild delirium about it; a fine rushing of the blood about
the heart; and a glad, thrilling, and throbbing of the whole system, to
find yourself tossed up at every pitch into the clouds of a stormy sky,
and hovering like a judgment angel between heaven and earth; both hands
free, with one foot in the rigging, and one somewhere behind you in the
air. The sail would fill out like a balloon, with a report like a small
cannon, and then collapse and sink away into a handful. And the feeling
of mastering the rebellious canvas, and tying it down like a slave to
the spar, and binding it over and over with the _gasket,_ had a touch
of pride and power in it, such as young King Richard must have felt,
when he trampled down the insurgents of Wat Tyler.

As for steering, they never would let me go to the helm, except during
a calm, when I and the figure-head on the bow were about equally
employed.

By the way, that figure-head was a passenger I forgot to make mention
of before.

He was a gallant six-footer of a Highlander _“in full fig,”_ with
bright tartans, bare knees, barred leggings, and blue bonnet and the
most vermilion of cheeks. He was game to his wooden marrow, and stood
up to it through thick and thin; one foot a little advanced, and his
right arm stretched forward, daring on the waves. In a gale of wind it
was glorious to watch him standing at his post like a hero, and
plunging up and down the watery Highlands and Lowlands, as the ship
went roaming on her way. He was a veteran with many wounds of many
sea-fights; and when he got to Liverpool a figure-head-builder there,
amputated his left leg, and gave him another wooden one, which I am
sorry to say, did not fit him very well, for ever after he looked as if
he limped. Then this figure-head-surgeon gave him another nose, and
touched up one eye, and repaired a rent in his tartans. After that the
painter came and made his toilet all over again; giving him a new suit
throughout, with a plaid of a beautiful pattern.

I do not know what has become of Donald now, but I hope he is safe and
snug with a handsome pension in the “Sailors’-Snug-Harbor” on Staten
Island.

The reason why they gave me such a slender chance of learning to steer
was this. I was quite young and raw, and steering a ship is a great
art, upon which much depends; especially the making a short passage;
for if the helmsman be a clumsy, careless fellow, or ignorant of his
duty, he keeps the ship going about in a melancholy state of indecision
as to its precise destination; so that on a voyage to Liverpool, it may
be pointing one while for Gibraltar, then for Rotterdam, and now for
John o’ Groat’s; all of which is worse than wasted time. Whereas, a
true steersman keeps her to her work night and day; and tries to make a
bee-line from port to port.

Then, in a sudden squall, inattention, or want of quickness at the
helm, might make the ship _“lurch to”—or “bring her by the lee.”_ And
what those things are, the cabin passengers would never find out, when
they found themselves going down, down, down, and bidding good-by
forever to the moon and stars.

And they little think, many of them, fine gentlemen and ladies that
they are, what an important personage, and how much to be had in
reverence, is the rough fellow in the pea-jacket, whom they see
standing at the wheel, now cocking his eye aloft, and then peeping at
the compass, or looking out to windward.

Why, that fellow has all your lives and eternities in his hand; and
with one small and almost imperceptible motion of a spoke, in a gale of
wind, might give a vast deal of work to surrogates and lawyers, in
proving last wills and testaments.

Ay, you may well stare at him now. He does not look much like a man who
might play into the hands of an heir-at-law, does he? Yet such is the
case. Watch him close, therefore; take him down into your state-room
occasionally after a stormy watch, and make a friend of him. A glass of
cordial will do it. And if you or your heirs are interested with the
underwriters, then also have an eye on him. And if you remark, that of
the crew, all the men who come to the helm are careless, or
inefficient; and if you observe the captain scolding them often, and
crying out: _“Luff, you rascal; she’s falling off!”_ or, _“Keep her
steady, you scoundrel, you’re boxing the compass!”_ then hurry down to
your state-room, and if you have not yet made a will, get out your
stationery and go at it; and when it is done, seal it up in a bottle,
like Columbus’ log, and it may possibly drift ashore, when you are
drowned in the next gale of wind.




CHAPTER XXV.
QUARTER-DECK FURNITURE


Though, for reasons hinted at above, they would not let me steer, I
contented myself with learning the compass, a graphic facsimile of
which I drew on a blank leaf of the _“Wealth of Nations,”_ and studied
it every morning, like the multiplication table.

I liked to peep in at the binnacle, and watch the needle; and I
wondered how it was that it pointed north, rather than south or west;
for I do not know that any reason can be given why it points in the
precise direction it does. One would think, too, that, as since the
beginning of the world almost, the tide of emigration has been setting
west, the needle would point that way; whereas, it is forever pointing
its fixed fore-finger toward the Pole, where there are few inducements
to attract a sailor, unless it be plenty of ice for mint-juleps.

Our binnacle, by the way, the place that holds a ship’s compasses,
deserves a word of mention. It was a little house, about the bigness of
a common bird-cage, with sliding panel doors, and two drawing-rooms
within, and constantly perched upon a stand, right in front of the
helm. It had two chimney stacks to carry off the smoke of the lamp that
burned in it by night.

It was painted green, and on two sides had Venetian blinds; and on one
side two glazed sashes; so that it looked like a cool little summer
retreat, a snug bit of an arbor at the end of a shady garden lane. Had
I been the captain, I would have planted vines in boxes, and placed
them so as to overrun this binnacle; or I would have put canary-birds
within; and so made an aviary of it. It is surprising what a different
air may be imparted to the meanest thing by the dainty hand of taste.
Nor must I omit the helm itself, which was one of a new construction,
and a particular favorite of the captain. It was a complex system of
cogs and wheels and spindles, all of polished brass, and looked
something like a printing-press, or power-loom. The sailors, however,
did not like it much, owing to the casualties that happened to their
imprudent fingers, by catching in among the cogs and other intricate
contrivances. Then, sometimes in a calm, when the sudden swells would
lift the ship, the helm would fetch a lurch, and send the helmsman
revolving round like Ixion, often seriously hurting him; a sort of
breaking on the wheel.

The _harness-cask,_ also, a sort of sea side-board, or rather
meat-safe, in which a week’s allowance of salt pork and beef is kept,
deserves being chronicled. It formed part of the standing furniture of
the quarter-deck. Of an oval shape, it was banded round with hoops all
silver-gilt, with gilded bands secured with gilded screws, and a gilded
padlock, richly chased. This formed the captain’s smoking-seat, where
he would perch himself of an afternoon, a tasseled Chinese cap upon his
head, and a fragrant Havanna between his white and canine-looking
teeth. He took much solid comfort, Captain Riga.

Then the magnificent _capstan!_ The pride and glory of the whole ship’s
company, the constant care and dandled darling of the cook, whose duty
it was to keep it polished like a teapot; and it was an object of
distant admiration to the steerage passengers. Like a parlor
center-table, it stood full in the middle of the quarter-deck, radiant
with brazen stars, and variegated with diamond-shaped veneerings of
mahogany and satin wood. This was the captain’s lounge, and the chief
mate’s secretary, in the bar-holes keeping paper and pencil for
memorandums.

I might proceed and speak of the _booby-hatch,_ used as a sort of
settee by the officers, and the _fife-rail_ round the mainmast,
inclosing a little ark of canvas, painted green, where a small white
dog with a blue ribbon round his neck, belonging to the dock-master’s
daughter, used to take his morning walks, and air himself in this small
edition of the New York Bowling-Green.




CHAPTER XXVI.
A SAILOR A JACK OF ALL TRADES


As I began to learn my sailor duties, and show activity in running
aloft, the men, I observed, treated me with a little more
consideration, though not at all relaxing in a certain air of
professional superiority. For the mere knowing of the names of the
ropes, and familiarizing yourself with their places, so that you can
lay hold of them in the darkest night; and the loosing and furling of
the canvas, and reefing topsails, and hauling braces; all this, though
of course forming an indispensable part of a seaman’s vocation, and the
business in which he is principally engaged; yet these are things which
a beginner of ordinary capacity soon masters, and which are far
inferior to many other matters familiar to an _“able seaman.”_

What did I know, for instance, about _striking a top-gallant-mast,_ and
sending it down on deck in a gale of wind? Could I have _turned in a
dead-eye,_ or in the approved nautical style have _clapt a seizing on
the main-stay?_ What did I know of _“passing a gammoning,” “reiving a
Burton,” “strapping a shoe-block,” “clearing a foul hawse,”_ and
innumerable other intricacies?

The business of a thorough-bred sailor is a special calling, as much of
a regular trade as a carpenter’s or locksmith’s. Indeed, it requires
considerably more adroitness, and far more versatility of talent.

In the English merchant service boys serve a long apprenticeship to the
sea, of seven years. Most of them first enter the Newcastle colliers,
where they see a great deal of severe coasting service. In an old copy
of the Letters of Junius, belonging to my father, I remember reading,
that coal to supply the city of London could be dug at Blackheath, and
sold for one half the price that the people of London then paid for it;
but the Government would not suffer the mines to be opened, as it would
destroy the great nursery for British seamen.

A thorough sailor must understand much of other avocations. He must be
a bit of an embroiderer, to work fanciful collars of hempen lace about
the shrouds; he must be something of a weaver, to weave mats of
rope-yarns for lashings to the boats; he must have a touch of
millinery, so as to tie graceful bows and knots, such as _Matthew
Walker’s roses,_ and _Turk’s heads;_ he must be a bit of a musician, in
order to sing out at the halyards; he must be a sort of jeweler, to set
dead-eyes in the standing rigging; he must be a carpenter, to enable
him to make a jurymast out of a yard in case of emergency; he must be a
sempstress, to darn and mend the sails; a ropemaker, to twist _marline_
and _Spanish foxes;_ a blacksmith, to make hooks and thimbles for the
blocks: in short, he must be a sort of Jack of all trades, in order to
master his own. And this, perhaps, in a greater or less degree, is
pretty much the case with all things else; for you know nothing till
you know all; which is the reason we never know anything.

A sailor, also, in working at the rigging, uses special tools peculiar
to his calling—_fids, serving-mallets, toggles, prickers,
marlingspikes, palms, heavers,_ and many more. The smaller sort he
generally carries with him from ship to ship in a sort of canvas
reticule.

The estimation in which a ship’s crew hold the knowledge of such
accomplishments as these, is expressed in the phrase they apply to one
who is a clever practitioner. To distinguish such a mariner from those
who merely _“hand, reef, and steer,”_ that is, run aloft, furl sails,
haul ropes, and stand at the wheel, they say he is _“a sailor-man”_
which means that he not only knows how to reef a topsail, but is an
artist in the rigging.

Now, alas! I had no chance given me to become initiated in this art and
mystery; no further, at least, than by looking on, and watching how
that these things might be done as well as others, the reason was, that
I had only shipped for this one voyage in the Highlander, a short
voyage too; and it was not worth while to teach _me_ any thing, the
fruit of which instructions could be only reaped by the next ship I
might belong to. All they wanted of me was the good-will of my muscles,
and the use of my backbone—comparatively small though it was at that
time—by way of a lever, for the above-mentioned artists to employ when
wanted. Accordingly, when any embroidery was going on in the rigging, I
was set to the most inglorious avocations; as in the merchant service
it is a religious maxim to keep the hands always employed at something
or other, never mind what, during their watch on deck.

Often furnished with a club-hammer, they swung me over the bows in a
bowline, to pound the rust off the anchor: a most monotonous, and to me
a most uncongenial and irksome business. There was a remarkable
fatality attending the various hammers I carried over with me. Somehow
they _would_ drop out of my hands into the sea. But the supply of
reserved hammers seemed unlimited: also the blessings and benedictions
I received from the chief mate for my clumsiness.

At other times, they set me to picking oakum, like a convict, which
hempen business disagreeably obtruded thoughts of halters and the
gallows; or whittling belaying-pins, like a Down-Easter.

However, I endeavored to bear it all like a young philosopher, and
whiled away the tedious hours by gazing through a port-hole while my
hands were plying, and repeating Lord Byron’s Address to the Ocean,
which I had often spouted on the stage at the High School at home.

Yes, I got used to all these matters, and took most things coolly, in
the spirit of Seneca and the stoics.

All but the _“turning out”_ or rising from your berth when the watch
was called at night—_that_ I never fancied. It was a sort of
acquaintance, which the more I cultivated, the more I shrunk from; a
thankless, miserable business, truly.

Consider that after walking the deck for four full hours, you go below
to sleep: and while thus innocently employed in reposing your wearied
limbs, you are started up—it seems but the next instant after closing
your lids—and hurried on deck again, into the same disagreeably dark
and, perhaps, stormy night, from which you descended into the
forecastle.

The previous interval of slumber was almost wholly lost to me; at least
the golden opportunity could not be appreciated: for though it is
usually deemed a comfortable thing to be asleep, yet at the time no one
is conscious that he is so enjoying himself. Therefore I made a little
private arrangement with the Lancashire lad, who was in the other
watch, just to step below occasionally, and shake me, and whisper in my
ear—_“Watch below, Buttons; watch below”—_which pleasantly reminded me
of the delightful fact. Then I would turn over on my side, and take
another nap; and in this manner I enjoyed several complete watches in
my bunk to the other sailor’s one. I recommend the plan to all landsmen
contemplating a voyage to sea.

But notwithstanding all these contrivances, the dreadful sequel could
not be avoided. Eight bells would at last be struck, and the men on
deck, exhilarated by the prospect of changing places with us, would
call the watch in a most provoking but mirthful and facetious style.

As thus:—

“Starboard watch, ahoy! eight bells there, below! Tumble up, my lively
hearties; steamboat alongside waiting for your trunks: bear a hand,
bear a hand with your knee-buckles, my sweet and pleasant fellows! fine
shower-bath here on deck. Hurrah, hurrah! your ice-cream is getting
cold!”

Whereupon some of the old croakers who were getting into their trowsers
would reply with—“Oh, stop your gabble, will you? don’t be in such a
hurry, now. You feel sweet, don’t you?” with other exclamations, some
of which were full of fury.

And it was not a little curious to remark, that at the expiration of
the ensuing watch, the tables would be turned; and we on deck became
the wits and jokers, and those below the grizzly bears and growlers.




CHAPTER XXVII.
HE GETS A PEEP AT IRELAND, AND AT LAST ARRIVES AT LIVERPOOL


The Highlander was not a grayhound, not a very fast sailer; and so, the
passage, which some of the packet ships make in fifteen or sixteen
days, employed us about thirty.

At last, one morning I came on deck, and they told me that Ireland was
in sight.

Ireland in sight! A foreign country actually visible! I peered hard,
but could see nothing but a bluish, cloud-like spot to the northeast.
Was that Ireland? Why, there was nothing remarkable about that; nothing
startling. If _that’s_ the way a foreign country looks, I might as well
have staid at home.

Now what, exactly, I had fancied the shore would look like, I can not
say; but I had a vague idea that it would be something strange and
wonderful. However, there it was; and as the light increased and the
ship sailed nearer and nearer, the land began to magnify, and I gazed
at it with increasing interest.

Ireland! I thought of Robert Emmet, and that last speech of his before
Lord Norbury; I thought of Tommy Moore, and his amatory verses: I
thought of Curran, Grattan, Plunket, and O’Connell; I thought of my
uncle’s ostler, Patrick Flinnigan; and I thought of the shipwreck of
the gallant Albion, tost to pieces on the very shore now in sight; and
I thought I should very much like to leave the ship and visit Dublin
and the Giant’s Causeway.

Presently a fishing-boat drew near, and I rushed to get a view of it;
but it was a very ordinary looking boat, bobbing up and down, as any
other boat would have done; yet, when I considered that the solitary
man in it was actually a born native of the land in sight; that in all
probability he had never been in America, and knew nothing about my
friends at home, I began to think that he looked somewhat strange.

He was a very fluent fellow, and as soon as we were within hailing
distance, cried out—“Ah, my fine sailors, from Ameriky, ain’t ye, my
beautiful sailors?” And concluded by calling upon us to stop and heave
a rope. Thinking he might have something important to communicate, the
mate accordingly backed the main yard, and a rope being thrown, the
stranger kept hauling in upon it, and coiling it down, crying, “pay
out! pay out, my honeys; ah! but you’re noble fellows!” Till at last
the mate asked him why he did not come alongside, adding, “Haven’t you
enough rope yet?”

“Sure and I have,” replied the fisherman, “and it’s time for Pat to cut
and run!” and so saying, his knife severed the rope, and with a
Kilkenny grin, he sprang to his tiller, put his little craft before the
wind, and bowled away from us, with some fifteen fathoms of our
tow-line.

“And may the Old Boy hurry after you, and hang you in your stolen hemp,
you Irish blackguard!” cried the mate, shaking his fist at the receding
boat, after recovering from his first fit of amazement.

Here, then, was a beautiful introduction to the eastern hemisphere;
fairly robbed before striking soundings. This trick upon experienced
travelers certainly beat all I had ever heard about the wooden nutmegs
and bass-wood pumpkin seeds of Connecticut. And I thought if there were
any more Hibernians like our friend Pat, the Yankee peddlers might as
well give it up.

The next land we saw was Wales. It was high noon, and a long line of
purple mountains lay like banks of clouds against the east.

Could this be really Wales?—Wales?—and I thought of the Prince of
Wales.

And did a real queen with a diadem reign over that very land I was
looking at, with the identical eyes in my own head?—And then I thought
of a grandfather of mine, who had fought against the ancestor of this
queen at Bunker’s Hill.

But, after all, the general effect of these mountains was mortifyingly
like the general effect of the Kaatskill Mountains on the Hudson River.

With a light breeze, we sailed on till next day, when we made Holyhead
and Anglesea. Then it fell almost calm, and what little wind we had,
was ahead; so we kept tacking to and fro, just gliding through the
water, and always hovering in sight of a snow-white tower in the
distance, which might have been a fort, or a light-house. I lost myself
in conjectures as to what sort of people might be tenanting that lonely
edifice, and whether they knew any thing about us.

The third day, with a good wind over the taffrail, we arrived so near
our destination, that we took a pilot at dusk.

He, and every thing connected with him were very different from our New
York pilot. In the first place, the pilot boat that brought him was a
plethoric looking sloop-rigged boat, with flat bows, that went wheezing
through the water; quite in contrast to the little gull of a schooner,
that bade us adieu off Sandy Hook. Aboard of her were ten or twelve
other pilots, fellows with shaggy brows, and muffled in shaggy coats,
who sat grouped together on deck like a fire-side of bears, wintering
in Aroostook. They must have had fine sociable times, though, together;
cruising about the Irish Sea in quest of Liverpool-bound vessels;
smoking cigars, drinking brandy-and-water, and spinning yarns; till at
last, one by one, they are all scattered on board of different ships,
and meet again by the side of a blazing sea-coal fire in some Liverpool
taproom, and prepare for another yachting.

Now, when this English pilot boarded us, I stared at him as if he had
been some wild animal just escaped from the Zoological Gardens; for
here was a real live Englishman, just from England. Nevertheless, as he
soon fell to ordering us here and there, and swearing vociferously in a
language quite familiar to me; I began to think him very common-place,
and considerable of a bore after all.

After running till about midnight, we _“hove-to”_ near the mouth of the
Mersey; and next morning, before day-break, took the first of the
flood; and with a fair wind, stood into the river; which, at its mouth,
is quite an arm of the sea. Presently, in the misty twilight, we passed
immense buoys, and caught sight of distant objects on shore, vague and
shadowy shapes, like Ossian’s ghosts.

As I stood leaning over the side, and trying to summon up some image of
Liverpool, to see how the reality would answer to my conceit; and while
the fog, and mist, and gray dawn were investing every thing with a
mysterious interest, I was startled by the doleful, dismal sound of a
great bell, whose slow intermitting tolling seemed in unison with the
solemn roll of the billows. I thought I had never heard so boding a
sound; a sound that seemed to speak of judgment and the resurrection,
like belfry-mouthed Paul of Tarsus.

It was not in the direction of the shore; but seemed to come out of the
vaults of the sea, and out of the mist and fog.

Who was dead, and what could it be?

I soon learned from my shipmates, that this was the famous _Bett-Buoy,_
which is precisely what its name implies; and tolls fast or slow,
according to the agitation of the waves. In a calm, it is dumb; in a
moderate breeze, it tolls gently; but in a gale, it is an alarum like
the tocsin, warning all mariners to flee. But it seemed fuller of
dirges for the past, than of monitions for the future; and no one can
give ear to it, without thinking of the sailors who sleep far beneath
it at the bottom of the deep.

As we sailed ahead the river contracted. The day came, and soon,
passing two lofty land-marks on the Lancashire shore, we rapidly drew
near the town, and at last, came to anchor in the stream.

Looking shoreward, I beheld lofty ranges of dingy warehouses, which
seemed very deficient in the elements of the marvelous; and bore a most
unexpected resemblance to the ware-houses along South-street in New
York. There was nothing strange; nothing extraordinary about them.
There they stood; a row of calm and collected ware-houses; very good
and substantial edifices, doubtless, and admirably adapted to the ends
had in view by the builders; but plain, matter-of-fact ware-houses,
nevertheless, and that was all that could be said of them.

To be sure, I did not expect that every house in Liverpool must be a
Leaning Tower of Pisa, or a Strasbourg Cathedral; but yet, these
edifices I must confess, were a sad and bitter disappointment to me.

But it was different with Larry the whaleman; who to my surprise,
looking about him delighted, exclaimed, “Why, this ’ere is a
considerable place—I’m _dummed if_ it ain’t quite a place.—Why, them
’ere houses is considerable houses. It beats the coast of Afriky, all
hollow; nothing like this in _Madagasky,_ I tell you;—I’m _dummed,_
boys if Liverpool ain’t a city!”

Upon this occasion, indeed, Larry altogether forgot his hostility to
civilization. Having been so long accustomed to associate foreign lands
with the savage places of the Indian Ocean, he had been under the
impression, that Liverpool must be a town of bamboos, situated in some
swamp, and whose inhabitants turned their attention principally to the
cultivation of log-wood and curing of flying-fish. For that any great
commercial city existed three thousand miles from home, was a thing, of
which Larry had never before had a _“realizing sense.”_ He was
accordingly astonished and delighted; and began to feel a sort of
consideration for the country which could boast so extensive a town.
Instead of holding Queen Victoria on a par with the Queen of
Madagascar, as he had been accustomed to do; he ever after alluded to
that lady with feeling and respect.

As for the other seamen, the sight of a foreign country seemed to
kindle no enthusiasm in them at all: no emotion in the least. They
looked around them with great presence of mind, and acted precisely as
you or I would, if, after a morning’s absence round the corner, we
found ourselves returning home. Nearly all of them had made frequent
voyages to Liverpool.

Not long after anchoring, several boats came off; and from one of them
stept a neatly-dressed and very respectable-looking woman, some thirty
years of age, I should think, carrying a bundle. Coming forward among
the sailors, she inquired for Max the Dutchman, who immediately was
forthcoming, and saluted her by the mellifluous appellation of _Sally._

Now during the passage, Max in discoursing to me of Liverpool, had
often assured me, that that city had the honor of containing a spouse
of his; and that in all probability, I would have the pleasure of
seeing her. But having heard a good many stories about the bigamies of
seamen, and their having wives and sweethearts in every port, the round
world over; and having been an eye-witness to a nuptial parting between
this very Max and a lady in New York; I put down this relation of his,
for what I thought it might reasonably be worth. What was my
astonishment, therefore, to see this really decent, civil woman coming
with a neat parcel of Max’s shore clothes, all washed, plaited, and
ironed, and ready to put on at a moment’s warning.

They stood apart a few moments giving loose to those transports of
pleasure, which always take place, I suppose, between man and wife
after long separations.

At last, after many earnest inquiries as to how he had behaved himself
in New York; and concerning the state of his wardrobe; and going down
into the forecastle, and inspecting it in person, Sally departed;
having exchanged her bundle of clean clothes for a bundle of soiled
ones, and this was precisely what the New York wife had done for Max,
not thirty days previous.

So long as we laid in port, Sally visited the Highlander daily; and
approved herself a neat and expeditious getter-up of duck frocks and
trowsers, a capital tailoress, and as far as I could see, a very
well-behaved, discreet, and reputable woman.

But from all I had seen of her, I should suppose Meg, the New York
wife, to have been equally well-behaved, discreet, and reputable; and
equally devoted to the keeping in good order Max’s wardrobe.

And when we left England at last, Sally bade Max good-by, just as Meg
had done; and when we arrived at New York, Meg greeted Max precisely as
Sally had greeted him in Liverpool. Indeed, a pair of more amiable
wives never belonged to one man; they never quarreled, or had so much
as a difference of any kind; the whole broad Atlantic being between
them; and Max was equally polite and civil to both. For many years, he
had been going Liverpool and New York voyages, plying between wife and
wife with great regularity, and sure of receiving a hearty domestic
welcome on either side of the ocean.

Thinking this conduct of his, however, altogether wrong and every way
immoral, I once ventured to express to him my opinion on the subject.
But I never did so again. He turned round on me, very savagely; and
after rating me soundly for meddling in concerns not my own, concluded
by asking me triumphantly, whether _old King Sol,_ as he called the son
of David, did not have a whole frigate-full of wives; and that being
the case, whether he, a poor sailor, did not have just as good a right
to have two? “What was not wrong then, is right now,” said Max; “so,
mind your eye, Buttons, or I’ll crack your pepper-box for you!”




CHAPTER XXVIII.
HE GOES TO SUPPER AT THE SIGN OF THE BALTIMORE CLIPPER


In the afternoon our pilot was all alive with his orders; we hove up
the anchor, and after a deal of pulling, and hauling, and jamming
against other ships, we wedged our way through a lock at high tide; and
about dark, succeeded in working up to a berth in _Prince’s Dock._ The
hawsers and tow-lines being then coiled away, the crew were told to go
ashore, select their boarding-house, and sit down to supper.

Here it must be mentioned, that owing to the strict but necessary
regulations of the Liverpool docks, no fires of any kind are allowed on
board the vessels within them; and hence, though the sailors are
supposed to sleep in the forecastle, yet they must get their meals
ashore, or live upon cold potatoes. To a ship, the American merchantmen
adopt the former plan; the owners, of course, paying the landlord’s
bill; which, in a large crew remaining at Liverpool more than six
weeks, as we of the Highlander did, forms no inconsiderable item in the
expenses of the voyage. Other ships, however—the economical Dutch and
Danish, for instance, and sometimes the prudent Scotch—feed their
luckless tars in dock, with precisely the same fare which they give
them at sea; taking their salt junk ashore to be cooked, which, indeed,
is but scurvy sort of treatment, since it is very apt to induce the
scurvy. A parsimonious proceeding like this is regarded with
immeasurable disdain by the crews of the New York vessels, who, if
their captains treated them after that fashion, would soon bolt and
run.

It was quite dark, when we all sprang ashore; and, for the first time,
I felt dusty particles of the renowned British soil penetrating into my
eyes and lungs. As for _stepping_ on it, that was out of the question,
in the well-paved and flagged condition of the streets; and I did not
have an opportunity to do so till some time afterward, when I got out
into the country; and then, indeed, I saw England, and snuffed its
immortal loam—but not till then.

Jackson led the van; and after stopping at a tavern, took us up this
street, and down that, till at last he brought us to a narrow lane,
filled with boarding-houses, spirit-vaults, and sailors. Here we
stopped before the sign of a Baltimore Clipper, flanked on one side by
a gilded bunch of grapes and a bottle, and on the other by the British
Unicorn and American Eagle, lying down by each other, like the lion and
lamb in the millennium.—A very judicious and tasty device, showing a
delicate apprehension of the propriety of conciliating American sailors
in an English boarding-house; and yet in no way derogating from the
honor and dignity of England, but placing the two nations, indeed, upon
a footing of perfect equality.

Near the unicorn was a very small animal, which at first I took for a
young unicorn; but it looked more like a yearling lion. It was holding
up one paw, as if it had a splinter in it; and on its head was a sort
of basket-hilted, low-crowned hat, without a rim. I asked a sailor
standing by, what this animal meant, when, looking at me with a grin,
he answered, “Why, youngster, don’t you know what that means? It’s a
young jackass, limping off with a kedgeree pot of rice out of the
cuddy.”

Though it was an English boarding-house, it was kept by a broken-down
American mariner, one Danby, a dissolute, idle fellow, who had married
a buxom English wife, and now lived upon her industry; for the lady,
and not the sailor, proved to be the head of the establishment.

She was a hale, good-looking woman, about forty years old, and among
the seamen went by the name of _“Handsome Mary.”_ But though, from the
dissipated character of her spouse, Mary had become the business
personage of the house, bought the marketing, overlooked the tables,
and conducted all the more important arrangements, yet she was by no
means an Amazon to her husband, if she _did_ play a masculine part in
other matters. No; and the more is the pity, poor Mary seemed too much
attached to Danby, to seek to rule him as a termagant. Often she went
about her household concerns with the tears in her eyes, when, after a
fit of intoxication, this brutal husband of hers had been beating her.
The sailors took her part, and many a time volunteered to give him a
thorough thrashing before her eyes; but Mary would beg them not to do
so, as Danby would, no doubt, be a better boy next time.

But there seemed no likelihood of this, so long as that abominable bar
of his stood upon the premises. As you entered the passage, it stared
upon you on one side, ready to entrap all guests.

It was a grotesque, old-fashioned, castellated sort of a sentry-box,
made of a smoky-colored wood, and with a grating in front, that lifted
up like a portcullis. And here would this Danby sit all the day long;
and when customers grew thin, would patronize his own ale himself,
pouring down mug after mug, as if he took himself for one of his own
quarter-casks.

Sometimes an old crony of his, one Bob Still, would come in; and then
they would occupy the sentry-box together, and swill their beer in
concert. This pot-friend of Danby was portly as a dray-horse, and had a
round, sleek, oily head, twinkling eyes, and moist red cheeks. He was a
lusty troller of ale-songs; and, with his mug in his hand, would lean
his waddling bulk partly out of the sentry-box, singing:

“No frost, no snow, no wind, I trow,
    Can hurt me if I wold,
I am so wrapt, and thoroughly lapt
    In jolly good ale and old,—
I stuff my skin so full within,
    Of jolly good ale and old.”


Or this,

“Four wines and brandies I detest,
Here’s richer juice from barley press’d.
It is the quintessence of malt,
And they that drink it want no salt.
Come, then, quick come, and take this beer,
And water henceforth you’ll forswear.”


Alas! Handsome Mary. What avail all thy private tears and remonstrances
with the incorrigible Danby, so long as that brewery of a toper, Bob
Still, daily eclipses thy threshold with the vast diameter of his
paunch, and enthrones himself in the sentry-box, holding divided rule
with thy spouse?

The more he drinks, the fatter and rounder waxes Bob; and the songs
pour out as the ale pours in, on the well-known principle, that the air
in a vessel is displaced and expelled, as the liquid rises higher and
higher in it.

But as for Danby, the miserable Yankee grows sour on good cheer, and
dries up the thinner for every drop of fat ale he imbibes. It is plain
and demonstrable, that much ale is not good for Yankees, and operates
differently upon them from what it does upon a Briton: ale must be
drank in a fog and a drizzle.

Entering the sign of the Clipper, Jackson ushered us into a small room
on one side, and shortly after, Handsome Mary waited upon us with a
courtesy, and received the compliments of several old guests among our
crew. She then disappeared to provide our supper. While my shipmates
were now engaged in tippling, and talking with numerous old
acquaintances of theirs in the neighborhood, who thronged about the
door, I remained alone in the little room, meditating profoundly upon
the fact, that I was now seated upon an English bench, under an English
roof, in an English tavern, forming an integral part of the English
empire. It was a staggering fact, but none the less true.

I examined the place attentively; it was a long, narrow, little room,
with one small arched window with red curtains, looking out upon a
smoky, untidy yard, bounded by a dingy brick-wall, the top of which was
horrible with pieces of broken old bottles, stuck into mortar.

A dull lamp swung overhead, placed in a wooden ship suspended from the
ceiling. The walls were covered with a paper, representing an endless
succession of vessels of all nations continually circumnavigating the
apartment. By way of a pictorial mainsail to one of these ships, a map
was hung against it, representing in faded colors the flags of all
nations. From the street came a confused uproar of ballad-singers,
bawling women, babies, and drunken sailors.

And this is England?

But where are the old abbeys, and the York Minsters, and the lord
mayors, and coronations, and the May-poles, and fox-hunters, and Derby
races, and the dukes and duchesses, and the Count d’Orsays, which, from
all my reading, I had been in the habit of associating with England?
Not the most distant glimpse of them was to be seen.

Alas! Wellingborough, thought I, I fear you stand but a poor chance to
see the sights. You are nothing but a poor sailor boy; and the Queen is
not going to send a deputation of noblemen to invite you to St.
James’s.

It was then, I began to see, that my prospects of seeing the world as a
sailor were, after all, but very doubtful; for sailors only go _round_
the world, without going _into_ it; and their reminiscences of travel
are only a dim recollection of a chain of tap-rooms surrounding the
globe, parallel with the Equator. They but touch the perimeter of the
circle; hover about the edges of terra-firma; and only land upon
wharves and pier-heads. They would dream as little of traveling inland
to see Kenilworth, or Blenheim Castle, as they would of sending a car
overland to the Pope, when they touched at Naples.

From these reveries I was soon roused, by a servant girl hurrying from
room to room, in shrill tones exclaiming, “Supper, supper ready.”

Mounting a rickety staircase, we entered a room on the second floor.
Three tall brass candlesticks shed a smoky light upon smoky walls, of
what had once been sea-blue, covered with sailor-scrawls of foul
anchors, lovers’ sonnets, and ocean ditties. On one side, nailed
against the wainscot in a row, were the four knaves of cards, each Jack
putting his best foot foremost as usual. What these signified I never
heard.

But such ample cheer! Such a groaning table! Such a superabundance of
solids and substantial! Was it possible that sailors fared thus?—the
sailors, who at sea live upon salt beef and biscuit?

First and foremost, was a mighty pewter dish, big as Achilles’ shield,
sustaining a pyramid of smoking sausages. This stood at one end; midway
was a similar dish, heavily laden with farmers’ slices of head-cheese;
and at the opposite end, a congregation of beef-steaks, piled tier over
tier. Scattered at intervals between, were side dishes of boiled
potatoes, eggs by the score, bread, and pickles; and on a stand
adjoining, was an ample reserve of every thing on the supper table.

We fell to with all our hearts; wrapt ourselves in hot jackets of
beef-steaks; curtailed the sausages with great celerity; and sitting
down before the head-cheese, soon razed it to its foundations.

Toward the close of the entertainment, I suggested to Peggy, one of the
girls who had waited upon us, that a cup of tea would be a nice thing
to take; and I would thank her for one. She replied that it was too
late for tea; but she would get me a cup of _“swipes”_ if I wanted it.

Not knowing what _“swipes”_ might be, I thought I would run the risk
and try it; but it proved a miserable beverage, with a musty, sour
flavor, as if it had been a decoction of spoiled pickles. I never
patronized _swipes_ again; but gave it a wide berth; though, at dinner
afterward, it was furnished to an unlimited extent, and drunk by most
of my shipmates, who pronounced it good.

But Bob Still would not have pronounced it so; for this _stripes, as I_
learned, was a sort of cheap substitute for beer; or a bastard kind of
beer; or the washings and rinsings of old beer-barrels. But I do not
remember now what they said it was, precisely. I only know, that
_swipes_ was my abomination. As for the taste of it, I can only
describe it as answering to the name itself; which is certainly
significant of something vile. But it is drunk in large quantities by
the poor people about Liverpool, which, perhaps, in some degree,
accounts for their poverty.




CHAPTER XXIX.
REDBURN DEFERENTIALLY DISCOURSES CONCERNING THE PROSPECTS OF SAILORS


The ship remained in Prince’s Dock over six weeks; but as I do not mean
to present a diary of my stay there, I shall here simply record the
general tenor of the life led by our crew during that interval; and
will then proceed to note down, at random, my own wanderings about
town, and impressions of things as they are recalled to me now, after
the lapse of so many years.

But first, I must mention that we saw little of the captain during our
stay in the dock. Sometimes, cane in hand, he sauntered down of a
pleasant morning from the _Arms Hotel_, I believe it was, where he
boarded; and after lounging about the ship, giving orders to his Prime
Minister and Grand Vizier, the chief mate, he would saunter back to his
drawing-rooms.

From the glimpse of a play-bill, which I detected peeping out of his
pocket, I inferred that he patronized the theaters; and from the flush
of his cheeks, that he patronized the fine old Port wine, for which
Liverpool is famous.

Occasionally, however, he spent his nights on board; and mad,
roystering nights they were, such as rare Ben Jonson would have
delighted in. For company over the cabin-table, he would have four or
five whiskered sea-captains, who kept the steward drawing corks and
filling glasses all the time. And once, the whole company were found
under the table at four o’clock in the morning, and were put to bed and
tucked in by the two mates. Upon this occasion, I agreed with our
woolly Doctor of Divinity, the black cook, that they should have been
ashamed of themselves; but there is no shame in some sea-captains, who
only blush after the third bottle.

During the many visits of Captain Riga to the ship, he always said
something courteous to a gentlemanly, friendless custom-house officer,
who staid on board of us nearly all the time we lay in the dock.

And weary days they must have been to this friendless custom-house
officer; trying to kill time in the cabin with a newspaper; and rapping
on the transom with his knuckles. He was kept on board to prevent
smuggling; but he used to smuggle himself ashore very often, when,
according to law, he should have been at his post on board ship. But no
wonder; he seemed to be a man of fine feelings, altogether above his
situation; a most inglorious one, indeed; worse than driving geese to
water.

And now, to proceed with the crew.

At daylight, all hands were called, and the decks were washed down;
then we had an hour to go ashore to breakfast; after which we worked at
the rigging, or picked oakum, or were set to some employment or other,
never mind how trivial, till twelve o’clock, when we went to dinner. At
half-past nine we resumed work; and finally _knocked off_ at four
o’clock in the afternoon, unless something particular was in hand. And
after four o’clock, we could go where we pleased, and were not required
to be on board again till next morning at daylight.

As we had nothing to do with the cargo, of course, our duties were
light enough; and the chief mate was often put to it to devise some
employment for us.

We had no watches to stand, a ship-keeper, hired from shore, relieving
us from that; and all the while the men’s wages ran on, as at sea.
Sundays we had to ourselves.

Thus, it will be seen, that the life led by sailors of American ships
in Liverpool, is an exceedingly easy one, and abounding in leisure.
They live ashore on the fat of the land; and after a little wholesome
exercise in the morning, have the rest of the day to themselves.

Nevertheless, these Liverpool voyages, likewise those to London and
Havre, are the least profitable that an improvident seaman can take.
Because, in New York he receives his month’s advance; in Liverpool,
another; both of which, in most cases, quickly disappear; so that by
the time his voyage terminates, he generally has but little coming to
him; sometimes not a cent. Whereas, upon a long voyage, say to India or
China, his wages accumulate; he has more inducements to economize, and
far fewer motives to extravagance; and when he is paid off at last, he
goes away jingling a quart measure of dollars.

Besides, of all sea-ports in the world, Liverpool, perhaps, most
abounds in all the variety of land-sharks, land-rats, and other vermin,
which make the hapless mariner their prey. In the shape of landlords,
bar-keepers, clothiers, crimps, and boarding-house loungers, the
land-sharks devour him, limb by limb; while the land-rats and mice
constantly nibble at his purse.

Other perils he runs, also, far worse; from the denizens of notorious
Corinthian haunts in the vicinity of the docks, which in depravity are
not to be matched by any thing this side of the pit that is bottomless.

And yet, sailors love this Liverpool; and upon long voyages to distant
parts of the globe, will be continually dilating upon its charms and
attractions, and extolling it above all other seaports in the world.
For in Liverpool they find their Paradise—not the well known street of
that name—and one of them told me he would be content to lie in
Prince’s Dock till _he hove up anchor_ for the world to come.

Much is said of ameliorating the condition of sailors; but it must ever
prove a most difficult endeavor, so long as the antidote is given
before the bane is removed.

Consider, that, with the majority of them, the very fact of their being
sailors, argues a certain recklessness and sensualism of character,
ignorance, and depravity; consider that they are generally friendless
and alone in the world; or if they have friends and relatives, they are
almost constantly beyond the reach of their good influences; consider
that after the rigorous discipline, hardships, dangers, and privations
of a voyage, they are set adrift in a foreign port, and exposed to a
thousand enticements, which, under the circumstances, would be hard
even for virtue itself to withstand, unless virtue went about on
crutches; consider that by their very vocation they are shunned by the
better classes of people, and cut off from all access to respectable
and improving society; consider all this, and the reflecting mind must
very soon perceive that the case of sailors, as a class, is not a very
promising one.

Indeed, the bad things of their condition come under the head of those
chronic evils which can only be ameliorated, it would seem, by
ameliorating the moral organization of all civilization.

Though old seventy-fours and old frigates are converted into chapels,
and launched into the docks; though the “Boatswain’s Mate” and other
clever religious tracts in the nautical dialect are distributed among
them; though clergymen harangue them from the pier-heads: and chaplains
in the navy read sermons to them on the gun-deck; though evangelical
boarding-houses are provided for them; though the parsimony of
ship-owners has seconded the really sincere and pious efforts of
Temperance Societies, to take away from seamen their old rations of
grog while at sea:—notwithstanding all these things, and many more, the
relative condition of the great bulk of sailors to the rest of mankind,
seems to remain pretty much where it was, a century ago.

It is too much the custom, perhaps, to regard as a special advance,
that unavoidable, and merely participative progress, which any one
class makes in sharing the general movement of the race. Thus, because
the sailor, who to-day steers the Hibernia or Unicorn steam-ship across
the Atlantic, is a somewhat different man from the exaggerated sailors
of Smollett, and the men who fought with Nelson at Copenhagen, and
survived to riot themselves away at North Corner in Plymouth;—because
the modem tar is not quite so gross as heretofore, and has shaken off
some of his shaggy jackets, and docked his Lord Rodney
queue:—therefore, in the estimation of some observers, he has begun to
see the evils of his condition, and has voluntarily improved. But upon
a closer scrutiny, it will be seen that he has but drifted along with
that great tide, which, perhaps, has two flows for one ebb; he has made
no individual advance of his own.

There are classes of men in the world, who bear the same relation to
society at large, that the wheels do to a coach: and are just as
indispensable. But however easy and delectable the springs upon which
the insiders pleasantly vibrate: however sumptuous the hammer-cloth,
and glossy the door-panels; yet, for all this, the wheels must still
revolve in dusty, or muddy revolutions. No contrivance, no sagacity can
lift _them_ out of the mire; for upon something the coach must be
bottomed; on something the insiders must roll.

Now, sailors form one of these wheels: they go and come round the
globe; they are the true importers, and exporters of spices and silks;
of fruits and wines and marbles; they carry missionaries, embassadors,
opera-singers, armies, merchants, tourists, and scholars to their
destination: they are a bridge of boats across the Atlantic; they are
the _primum mobile_ of all commerce; and, in short, were they to
emigrate in a body to man the navies of the moon, almost every thing
would stop here on earth except its revolution on its axis, and the
orators in the American Congress.

And yet, what are sailors? What in your heart do you think of that
fellow staggering along the dock? Do you not give him a wide berth,
shun him, and account him but little above the brutes that perish? Will
you throw open your parlors to him; invite him to dinner? or give him a
season ticket to your pew in church?—No. You will do no such thing; but
at a distance, you will perhaps subscribe a dollar or two for the
building of a hospital, to accommodate sailors already broken down; or
for the distribution of excellent books among tars who can not read.
And the very mode and manner in which such charities are made, bespeak,
more than words, the low estimation in which sailors are held. It is
useless to gainsay it; they are deemed almost the refuse and
offscourings of the earth; and the romantic view of them is principally
had through romances.

But can sailors, one of the wheels of this world, be wholly lifted up
from the mire? There seems not much chance for it, in the old systems
and programmes of the future, however well-intentioned and sincere; for
with such systems, the thought of lifting them up seems almost as
hopeless as that of growing the grape in Nova Zembla.

But we must not altogether despair for the sailor; nor need those who
toil for his good be at bottom disheartened, or Time must prove his
friend in the end; and though sometimes he would almost seem as a
neglected step-son of heaven, permitted to run on and riot out his days
with no hand to restrain him, while others are watched over and
tenderly cared for; yet we feel and we know that God is the true Father
of all, and that none of his children are without the pale of his care.




CHAPTER XXX.
REDBURN GROWS INTOLERABLY FLAT AND STUPID OVER SOME OUTLANDISH OLD
GUIDE-BOOKS


Among the odd volumes in my father’s library, was a collection of old
European and English guide-books, which he had bought on his travels, a
great many years ago. In my childhood, I went through many courses of
studying them, and never tired of gazing at the numerous quaint
embellishments and plates, and staring at the strange title-pages, some
of which I thought resembled the mustached faces of foreigners. Among
others was a Parisian-looking, faded, pink-covered pamphlet, the rouge
here and there effaced upon its now thin and attenuated cheeks,
entitled, _“Voyage Descriptif et Philosophique de L’Ancien et du
Nouveau Paris: Miroir Fidèle”_ also a time-darkened, mossy old book, in
marbleized binding, much resembling verd-antique, entitled,
_“Itinéraire Instructif de Rome, ou Description Générale des Monumens
Antiques et Modernes et des Ouvrages les plus Remarquables de Peinteur,
de Sculpture, et de Architecture de cette Célébre Ville;”_ on the
russet title-page is a vignette representing a barren rock, partly
shaded by a scrub-oak (a forlorn bit of landscape), and under the lee
of the rock and the shade of the tree, maternally reclines the
houseless foster-mother of Romulus and Remus, giving suck to the
illustrious twins; a pair of naked little cherubs sprawling on the
ground, with locked arms, eagerly engaged at their absorbing
occupation; a large cactus-leaf or diaper hangs from a bough, and the
wolf looks a good deal like one of the no-horn breed of barn-yard cows;
the work is published _“Avec privilege du Souverain Pontife.”_ There
was also a velvet-bound old volume, in brass clasps, entitled, _“The
Conductor through Holland”_ with a plate of the Stadt House; also a
venerable _“Picture of London”_ abounding in representations of St.
Paul’s, the Monument, Temple-Bar, Hyde-Park-Corner, the Horse Guards,
the Admiralty, Charing-Cross, and Vauxhall Bridge. Also, a bulky book,
in a dusty-looking yellow cover, reminding one of the paneled doors of
a mail-coach, and bearing an elaborate title-page, full of printer’s
flourishes, in emulation of the cracks of a four-in-hand whip,
entitled, in part, _“The Great Roads, both direct and cross, throughout
England and Wales, from an actual Admeasurement by order of His
Majesty’s Postmaster-General: This work describes the Cities, Market
and Borough and Corporate Towns, and those at which the Assizes are
held, and gives the time of the Mails’ arrival and departure from each:
Describes the Inns in the Metropolis from which the stages go, and the
Inns in the country which supply post-horses and carriages: Describes
the Noblemen and Gentlemen’s Seats situated near the Road, with Maps of
the Environs of London, Bath, Brighton, and Margate.”_ It is dedicated
_“To the Right Honorable the Earls of Chesterfield and Leicester, by
their Lordships’ Most Obliged, Obedient, and Obsequious Servant, John
Gary,_ 1798.” Also a green pamphlet, with a motto from Virgil, and an
intricate coat of arms on the cover, looking like a diagram of the
Labyrinth of Crete, entitled, “A _Description of York, its Antiquities
and Public Buildings, particularly the Cathedral; compiled with great
pains from the most authentic records.”_ Also a small
scholastic-looking volume, in a classic vellum binding, and with a
frontispiece bringing together at one view the towers and turrets of
King’s College and the magnificent Cathedral of Ely, though
geographically sixteen miles apart, entitled, _“The Cambridge Guide:
its Colleges, Halls, Libraries, and Museums, with the Ceremonies of the
Town and University, and some account of Ely Cathedral.”_ Also a
pamphlet, with a japanned sort of cover, stamped with a disorderly
higgledy-piggledy group of pagoda-looking structures, claiming to be an
accurate representation of the _“North or Grand Front of Blenheim,”_
and entitled, “A _Description of Blenheim, the Seat of His Grace the
Duke of Marlborough; containing a full account of the Paintings,
Tapestry, and Furniture: a Picturesque Tour of the Gardens and Parks,
and a General Description of the famous China Gallery,_ &.; _with an
Essay on Landscape Gardening: and embellished with a View of the
Palace, and a New and Elegant Plan of the Great Park.”_ And lastly, and
to the purpose, there was a volume called “THE PICTURE OF LIVERPOOL.”

It was a curious and remarkable book; and from the many fond
associations connected with it, I should like to immortalize it, if I
could.

But let me get it down from its shrine, and paint it, if I may, from
the life.

As I now linger over the volume, to and fro turning the pages so dear
to my boyhood,—the very pages which, years and years ago, my father
turned over amid the very scenes that are here described; what a soft,
pleasing sadness steals over me, and how I melt into the past and
forgotten!

Dear book! I will sell my Shakespeare, and even sacrifice my old quarto
Hogarth, before I will part with you. Yes, I will go to the hammer
myself, ere I send you to be knocked down in the auctioneer’s shambles.
I will, my beloved,—old family relic that you are;—till you drop leaf
from leaf, and letter from letter, you shall have a snug shelf
somewhere, though I have no bench for myself.

In size, it is what the booksellers call an _18mo;_ it is bound in
green morocco, which from my earliest recollection has been spotted and
tarnished with time; the corners are marked with triangular patches of
red, like little cocked hats; and some unknown Goth has inflicted an
incurable wound upon the back. There is no lettering outside; so that
he who lounges past my humble shelves, seldom dreams of opening the
anonymous little book in green. There it stands; day after day, week
after week, year after year; and no one but myself regards it. But I
make up for all neglects, with my own abounding love for it.

But let us open the volume.

What are these scrawls in the fly-leaves? what incorrigible pupil of a
writing-master has been here? what crayon sketcher of wild animals and
falling air-castles? Ah, no!—these are all part and parcel of the
precious book, which go to make up the sum of its treasure to me.

Some of the scrawls are my own; and as poets do with their juvenile
sonnets, I might write under this horse, _“Drawn at the age of three
years,”_ and under this autograph, _“Executed at the age of eight.”_

Others are the handiwork of my brothers, and sisters, and cousins; and
the hands that sketched some of them are now moldered away.

But what does this anchor here? this ship? and this sea-ditty of
Dibdin’s? The book must have fallen into the hands of some tarry
captain of a forecastle. No: that anchor, ship, and Dibdin’s ditty are
mine; this hand drew them; and on this very voyage to Liverpool. But
not so fast; I did not mean to tell that yet.

Full in the midst of these pencil scrawlings, completely surrounded
indeed, stands in indelible, though faded ink, and in my father’s
hand-writing, the following:—

WALTER REDBURN.


Riddough’s Royal Hotel,
Liverpool, March 20th, 1808.


Turning over that leaf, I come upon some half-effaced miscellaneous
memoranda in pencil, characteristic of a methodical mind, and therefore
indubitably my father’s, which he must have made at various times
during his stay in Liverpool. These are full of a strange, subdued,
old, midsummer interest to me: and though, from the numerous
effacements, it is much like cross-reading to make them out; yet, I
must here copy a few at random:—

                                      £     s.     d
_Guide-Book_                                3      6
_Dinner at the Star and Garter_                   10
_Trip to Preston (distance 31 m.)_    2     6      3
_Gratuities_                                       4
_Hack_                                      4      6
_Thompson’s Seasons_                               5
_Library_                                          1
_Boat on the river_                                6
_Port wine and cigar_                              4


And on the opposite page, I can just decipher the following:

_Dine with Mr. Roscoe on Monday._
_Call upon Mr. Morille same day._
_Leave card at Colonel Digby’s on Tuesday._
_Theatre Friday night—Richard III. and new farce._
_Present letter at Miss L——’s on Tuesday._
_Call on Sampson & Wilt, Friday._
_Get my draft on London cashed._
_Write home by the Princess._
_Letter bag at Sampson and Wilt’s._


Turning over the next leaf, I unfold a map, which in the midst of the
British Arms, in one corner displays in sturdy text, that this is _“A
Plan of the Town of Liverpool.”_ But there seems little plan in the
confined and crooked looking marks for the streets, and the docks
irregularly scattered along the bank of the Mersey, which flows along,
a peaceful stream of shaded line engraving.

On the northeast corner of the map, lies a level Sahara of yellowish
white: a desert, which still bears marks of my zeal in endeavoring to
populate it with all manner of uncouth monsters in crayons. The space
designated by that spot is now, doubtless, completely built up in
Liverpool.

Traced with a pen, I discover a number of dotted lines, radiating in
all directions from the foot of Lord-street, where stands marked
_“Riddough’s Hotel,”_ the house my father stopped at.

These marks delineate his various excursions in the town; and I follow
the lines on, through street and lane; and across broad squares; and
penetrate with them into the narrowest courts.

By these marks, I perceive that my father forgot not his religion in a
foreign land; but attended St. John’s Church near the Hay-market, and
other places of public worship: I see that he visited the News Room in
Duke-street, the Lyceum in Bold-street, and the Theater Royal; and that
he called to pay his respects to the eminent Mr. Roscoe, the historian,
poet, and banker.

Reverentially folding this map, I pass a plate of the Town Hall, and
come upon the Title Page, which, in the middle, is ornamented with a
piece of landscape, representing a loosely clad lady in sandals,
pensively seated upon a bleak rock on the sea shore, supporting her
head with one hand, and with the other, exhibiting to the stranger an
oval sort of salver, bearing the figure of a strange bird, with this
motto elastically stretched for a border—_“Deus nobis haec otia
fecit.”_

The bird forms part of the city arms, and is an imaginary
representation of a now extinct fowl, called the _“Liver,”_ said to
have inhabited a _“pool,”_ which antiquarians assert once covered a
good part of the ground where Liverpool now stands; and from that bird,
and this pool, Liverpool derives its name.

At a distance from the pensive lady in sandals, is a ship under full
sail; and on the beach is the figure of a small man, vainly essaying to
roll over a huge bale of goods.

Equally divided at the top and bottom of this design, is the following
title complete; but I fear the printer will not be able to give a
facsimile:—

_The Picture
of Liverpool:
or, Stranger’s Guide
and Gentleman’s Pocket Companion
_ FOR THE TOWN.
 Embellished
With Engravings
By the Most Accomplished and Eminent Artists.
Liverpool:
Printed in Swift’s Court,
And sold by Woodward and Alderson, 56 Castle St. 1803.



A brief and reverential preface, as if the writer were all the time
bowing, informs the reader of the flattering reception accorded to
previous editions of the work; and quotes _“testimonies of respect
which had lately appeared in various quarters_ —_the British Critic,
Review, and the seventh volume of the Beauties of England and
Wales”—_and concludes by expressing the hope, that this new, revised,
and illustrated edition might _“render it less unworthy of the public
notice, and less unworthy also of the subject it is intended to
illustrate.”_

A very nice, dapper, and respectful little preface, the time and place
of writing which is solemnly recorded at the end-Hope _Place, 1st
Sept._ 1803.

But how much fuller my satisfaction, as I fondly linger over this
circumstantial paragraph, if the writer had recorded the precise hour
of the day, and by what timepiece; and if he had but mentioned his age,
occupation, and name.

But all is now lost; I know not who he was; and this estimable author
must needs share the oblivious fate of all literary incognitos.

He must have possessed the grandest and most elevated ideas of true
fame, since he scorned to be perpetuated by a solitary initial. Could I
find him out now, sleeping neglected in some churchyard, I would buy
him a headstone, and record upon it naught but his title-page, deeming
that his noblest epitaph.

After the preface, the book opens with an extract from a prologue
written by the excellent Dr. Aiken, the brother of Mrs. Barbauld, upon
the opening of the Theater Royal, Liverpool, in 1772:—

_“Where Mersey’s stream, long winding o’er the plain,
Pours his full tribute to the circling main,
A band of fishers chose their humble seat;
Contented labor blessed the fair retreat,
Inured to hardship, patient, bold, and rude,
They braved the billows for precarious food:
Their straggling huts were ranged along the shore,
Their nets and little boats their only store.”_


Indeed, throughout, the work abounds with quaint poetical quotations,
and old-fashioned classical allusions to the Aeneid and Falconer’s
Shipwreck.

And the anonymous author must have been not only a scholar and a
gentleman, but a man of gentle disinterestedness, combined with true
city patriotism; for in his _“Survey of__ the Town”_ are nine thickly
printed pages of a neglected poem by a neglected Liverpool poet.

By way of apologizing for what might seem an obtrusion upon the public
of so long an episode, he courteously and feelingly introduces it by
saying, that _“the poem has now for several years been scarce, and is
at present but little known; and hence a very small portion of it will
no doubt be highly acceptable to the cultivated reader; especially as
this noble epic is written with great felicity of expression and the
sweetest delicacy of feeling.”_

Once, but once only, an uncharitable thought crossed my mind, that the
author of the Guide-Book might have been the author of the epic. But
that was years ago; and I have never since permitted so uncharitable a
reflection to insinuate itself into my mind.

This epic, from the specimen before me, is composed in the old stately
style, and rolls along commanding as a coach and four. It sings of
Liverpool and the Mersey; its docks, and ships, and warehouses, and
bales, and anchors; and after descanting upon the abject times, when
_“his noble waves, inglorious, Mersey rolled,”_ the poet breaks forth
like all Parnassus with:—

_“Now o’er the wondering world her name resounds,
From northern climes to India’s distant bounds—
Where’er his shores the broad Atlantic waves;
Where’er the Baltic rolls his wintry waves;
Where’er the honored flood extends his tide,
That clasps Sicilia like a favored bride.
Greenland for her its bulky whale resigns,
And temperate Gallia rears her generous vines:
’Midst warm Iberia citron orchards blow,
And the ripe fruitage bends the laboring bough;
In every clime her prosperous fleets are known,
She makes the wealth of every clime her own.”_


It also contains a delicately-curtained allusion to Mr. Roscoe:—

_“And here_ R*s*o*, _with genius all his own,
New tracks explores, and all before unknown?”_


Indeed, both the anonymous author of the Guide-Book, and the gifted
bard of the Mersey, seem to have nourished the warmest appreciation of
the fact, that to their beloved town Roscoe imparted a reputation which
gracefully embellished its notoriety as a mere place of commerce. He is
called the modern Guicciardini of the modern Florence, and his
histories, translations, and Italian Lives, are spoken of with
classical admiration.

The first chapter begins in a methodical, business-like way, by
informing the impatient reader of the precise latitude and longitude of
Liverpool; so that, at the outset, there may be no misunderstanding on
that head. It then goes on to give an account of the history and
antiquities of the town, beginning with a record in the _Doomsday-Book_
of William the Conqueror.

Here, it must be sincerely confessed, however, that notwithstanding his
numerous other merits, my favorite author betrays a want of the
uttermost antiquarian and penetrating spirit, which would have scorned
to stop in its researches at the reign of the Norman monarch, but would
have pushed on resolutely through the dark ages, up to Moses, the man
of Uz, and Adam; and finally established the fact beyond a doubt, that
the soil of Liverpool was created with the creation.

But, perhaps, one of the most curious passages in the chapter of
antiquarian research, is the pious author’s moralizing reflections upon
an interesting fact he records: to wit, that in a.d. 1571, the
inhabitants sent a memorial to Queen Elizabeth, praying relief under a
subsidy, wherein they style themselves _“her majesty’s poor decayed
town of Liverpool.”_

As I now fix my gaze upon this faded and dilapidated old guide-book,
bearing every token of the ravages of near half a century, and read how
this piece of antiquity enlarges like a modern upon previous
antiquities, I am forcibly reminded that the world is indeed growing
old. And when I turn to the second chapter, _“On the increase of the
town, and number of inhabitants,”_ and then skim over page after page
throughout the volume, all filled with allusions to the immense
grandeur of a place, which, since then, has more than quadrupled in
population, opulence, and splendor, and whose present inhabitants must
look back upon the period here spoken of with a swelling feeling of
immeasurable superiority and pride, I am filled with a comical sadness
at the vanity of all human exaltation. For the cope-stone of to-day is
the corner-stone of tomorrow; and as St. Peter’s church was built in
great part of the ruins of old Rome, so in all our erections, however
imposing, we but form quarries and supply ignoble materials for the
grander domes of posterity.

And even as this old guide-book boasts of the, to us, insignificant
Liverpool of fifty years ago, the New York guidebooks are now vaunting
of the magnitude of a town, whose future inhabitants, multitudinous as
the pebbles on the beach, and girdled in with high walls and towers,
flanking endless avenues of opulence and taste, will regard all our
Broadways and Bowerys as but the paltry nucleus to their Nineveh. From
far up the Hudson, beyond Harlem River, where the young saplings are
now growing, that will overarch their lordly mansions with broad
boughs, centuries old; they may send forth explorers to penetrate into
the then obscure and smoky alleys of the Fifth Avenue and
Fourteenth-street; and going still farther south, may exhume the
present Doric Custom-house, and quote it as a proof that their high and
mighty metropolis enjoyed a Hellenic antiquity.

As I am extremely loth to omit giving a specimen of the dignified style
of this _“Picture of Liverpool,”_ so different from the brief, pert,
and unclerkly hand-books to Niagara and Buffalo of the present day, I
shall now insert the chapter of antiquarian researches; especially as
it is entertaining in itself, and affords much valuable, and perhaps
rare information, which the reader may need, concerning the famous
town, to which I made _my first voyage._ And I think that with regard
to a matter, concerning which I myself am wholly ignorant, it is far
better to quote my old friend verbatim, than to mince his substantial
baron-of-beef of information into a flimsy ragout of my own; and so,
pass it off as original. Yes, I will render unto my honored guide-book
its due.

But how can the printer’s art so dim and mellow down the pages into a
soft sunset yellow; and to the reader’s eye, shed over the type all the
pleasant associations which the original carries to me!

No! by my father’s sacred memory, and all sacred privacies of fond
family reminiscences, I will not! I will _not_ quote thee, old Morocco,
before the cold face of the marble-hearted world; for your antiquities
would only be skipped and dishonored by shallow-minded readers; and for
me, I should be charged with swelling out my volume by plagiarizing
from a guide-book-the most vulgar and ignominious of thefts!




CHAPTER XXXI.
WITH HIS PROSY OLD GUIDE-BOOK, HE TAKES A PROSY STROLL THROUGH THE TOWN


When I left home, I took the green morocco guide-book along, supposing
that from the great number of ships going to Liverpool, I would most
probably ship on board of one of them, as the event itself proved.

Great was my boyish delight at the prospect of visiting a place, the
infallible clew to all whose intricacies I held in my hand.

On the passage out I studied its pages a good deal. In the first place,
I grounded myself thoroughly in the history and antiquities of the
town, as set forth in the chapter I intended to quote. Then I mastered
the columns of statistics, touching the advance of population; and
pored over them, as I used to do over my multiplication-table. For I
was determined to make the whole subject my own; and not be content
with a mere smattering of the thing, as is too much the custom with
most students of guide-books. Then I perused one by one the elaborate
descriptions of public edifices, and scrupulously compared the text
with the corresponding engraving, to see whether they corroborated each
other. For be it known that, including the map, there were no less than
seventeen plates in the work. And by often examining them, I had so
impressed every column and cornice in my mind, that I had no doubt of
recognizing the originals in a moment.

In short, when I considered that my own father had used this very
guide-book, and that thereby it had been thoroughly tested, and its
fidelity proved beyond a peradventure; I could not but think that I was
building myself up in an unerring knowledge of Liverpool; especially as
I had familiarized myself with the map, and could turn sharp corners on
it, with marvelous confidence and celerity.

In imagination, as I lay in my berth on ship-board, I used to take
pleasant afternoon rambles through the town; down St. James-street and
up Great George’s, stopping at various places of interest and
attraction. I began to think I had been born in Liverpool, so familiar
seemed all the features of the map. And though some of the streets
there depicted were thickly involved, endlessly angular and crooked,
like the map of Boston, in Massachusetts, yet, I made no doubt, that I
could march through them in the darkest night, and even run for the
most distant dock upon a pressing emergency.

Dear delusion!

It never occurred to my boyish thoughts, that though a guide-book,
fifty years old, might have done good service in its day, yet it would
prove but a miserable cicerone to a modern. I little imagined that the
Liverpool my father saw, was another Liverpool from that to which I,
his son Wellingborough was sailing. No; these things never obtruded; so
accustomed had I been to associate my old morocco guide-book with the
town it described, that the bare thought of there being any
discrepancy, never entered my mind.

While we lay in the Mersey, before entering the dock, I got out my
guide-book to see how the map would compare with the identical place
itself. But they bore not the slightest resemblance. However, thinks I,
this is owing to my taking a horizontal view, instead of a bird’s-eye
survey. So, never mind old guide-book, _you,_ at least, are all right.

But my faith received a severe shock that same evening, when the crew
went ashore to supper, as I have previously related.

The men stopped at a curious old tavern, near the Prince’s Dock’s
walls; and having my guide-book in my pocket, I drew it forth to
compare notes, when I found, that precisely upon the spot where I and
my shipmates were standing, and a cherry-cheeked bar-maid was filling
their glasses, my infallible old Morocco, in that very place, located a
fort; adding, that it was well worth the intelligent stranger’s while
to visit it for the purpose of beholding the guard relieved in the
evening.

This was a staggerer; for how could a tavern be mistaken for a castle?
and this was about the hour mentioned for the guard to turn out; yet
not a red coat was to be seen. But for all this, I could not, for one
small discrepancy, condemn the old family servant who had so faithfully
served my own father before me; and when I learned that this tavern
went by the name of _“The Old Fort Tavern;”_ and when I was told that
many of the old stones were yet in the walls, I almost completely
exonerated my guide-book from the half-insinuated charge of misleading
me.

The next day was Sunday, and I had it all to myself; and now, thought
I, my guide-book and I shall have a famous ramble up street and down
lane, even unto the furthest limits of this Liverpool.

I rose bright and early; from head to foot performed my ablutions “with
Eastern scrupulosity,” and I arrayed myself in my red shirt and
shooting-jacket, and the sportsman’s pantaloons; and crowned my entire
man with the tarpaulin; so that from this curious combination of
clothing, and particularly from my red shirt, I must have looked like a
very strange compound indeed: three parts sportsman, and two soldier,
to one of the sailor.

My shipmates, of course, made merry at my appearance; but I heeded them
not; and after breakfast, jumped ashore, full of brilliant
anticipations.

My gait was erect, and I was rather tall for my age; and that may have
been the reason why, as I was rapidly walking along the dock, a drunken
sailor passing, exclaimed, _“Eyes right! quick step there!”_

Another fellow stopped me to know whether I was going fox-hunting; and
one of the dock-police, stationed at the gates, after peeping out upon
me from his sentry box, a snug little den, furnished with benches and
newspapers, and hung round with storm jackets and oiled capes, issued
forth in a great hurry, crossed my path as I was emerging into the
street, and commanded me to _halt!_ I obeyed; when scanning my
appearance pertinaciously, he desired to know where I got that
tarpaulin hat, not being able to account for the phenomenon of its
roofing the head of a broken-down fox-hunter. But I pointed to my ship,
which lay at no great distance; when remarking from my voice that I was
a Yankee, this faithful functionary permitted me to pass.

It must be known that the police stationed at the gates of the docks
are extremely observant of strangers going out; as many thefts are
perpetrated on board the ships; and if they chance to see any thing
suspicious, they probe into it without mercy. Thus, the old men who buy
_“shakings,”_ and rubbish from vessels, must turn their bags wrong side
out before the police, ere they are allowed to go outside the walls.
And often they will search a suspicious looking fellow’s clothes, even
if he be a very thin man, with attenuated and almost imperceptible
pockets.

But where was I going?

I will tell. My intention was in the first place, to visit Riddough’s
Hotel, where my father had stopped, more than thirty years before: and
then, with the map in my hand, follow him through all the town,
according to the dotted lines in the diagram. For thus would I be
performing a filial pilgrimage to spots which would be hallowed in my
eyes.

At last, when I found myself going down Old Hall-street toward
Lord-street, where the hotel was situated, according to my authority;
and when, taking out my map, I found that Old Hall-street was marked
there, through its whole extent with my father’s pen; a thousand fond,
affectionate emotions rushed around my heart.

Yes, in this very street, thought I, nay, on this very flagging my
father walked. Then I almost wept, when I looked down on my sorry
apparel, and marked how the people regarded me; the men staring at so
grotesque a young stranger, and the old ladies, in beaver hats and
ruffles, crossing the walk a little to shun me.

How differently my father must have appeared; perhaps in a blue coat,
buff vest, and Hessian boots. And little did he think, that a son of
his would ever visit Liverpool as a poor friendless sailor-boy. But I
was not born then: no, when he walked this flagging, I was not so much
as thought of; I was not included in the census of the universe. My own
father did not know me then; and had never seen, or heard, or so much
as dreamed of me. And that thought had a touch of sadness to me; for if
it had certainly been, that my own parent, at one time, never cast a
thought upon me, how might it be with me hereafter? Poor, poor
Wellingborough! thought I, miserable boy! you are indeed friendless and
forlorn. Here you wander a stranger in a strange town, and the very
thought of your father’s having been here before you, but carries with
it the reflection that, he then knew you not, nor cared for you one
whit.

But dispelling these dismal reflections as well as I could, I pushed on
my way, till I got to Chapel-street, which I crossed; and then, going
under a cloister-like arch of stone, whose gloom and narrowness
delighted me, and filled my Yankee soul with romantic thoughts of old
Abbeys and Minsters, I emerged into the fine quadrangle of the
Merchants’ Exchange.

There, leaning against the colonnade, I took out my map, and traced my
father right across Chapel-street, and actually through the very arch
at my back, into the paved square where I stood.

So vivid was now the impression of his having been here, and so narrow
the passage from which he had emerged, that I felt like running on, and
overtaking him around the Town Hall adjoining, at the head of
Castle-street. But I soon checked myself, when remembering that he had
gone whither no son’s search could find him in this world. And then I
thought of all that must have happened to him since he paced through
that arch. What trials and troubles he had encountered; how he had been
shaken by many storms of adversity, and at last died a bankrupt. I
looked at my own sorry garb, and had much ado to keep from tears.

But I rallied, and gazed round at the sculptured stonework, and turned
to my guide-book, and looked at the print of the spot. It was correct
to a pillar; but wanted the central ornament of the quadrangle. This,
however, was but a slight subsequent erection, which ought not to
militate against the general character of my friend for
comprehensiveness.

The ornament in question is a group of statuary in bronze, elevated
upon a marble pedestal and basement, representing Lord Nelson expiring
in the arms of Victory. One foot rests on a rolling foe, and the other
on a cannon. Victory is dropping a wreath on the dying admiral’s brow;
while Death, under the similitude of a hideous skeleton, is insinuating
his bony hand under the hero’s robe, and groping after his heart. A
very striking design, and true to the imagination; I never could look
at Death without a shudder.

At uniform intervals round the base of the pedestal, four naked figures
in chains, somewhat larger than life, are seated in various attitudes
of humiliation and despair. One has his leg recklessly thrown over his
knee, and his head bowed over, as if he had given up all hope of ever
feeling better. Another has his head buried in despondency, and no
doubt looks mournfully out of his eyes, but as his face was averted at
the time, I could not catch the expression. These woe-begone figures of
captives are emblematic of Nelson’s principal victories; but I never
could look at their swarthy limbs and manacles, without being
involuntarily reminded of four African slaves in the market-place.

And my thoughts would revert to Virginia and Carolina; and also to the
historical fact, that the African slave-trade once constituted the
principal commerce of Liverpool; and that the prosperity of the town
was once supposed to have been indissolubly linked to its prosecution.
And I remembered that my father had often spoken to gentlemen visiting
our house in New York, of the unhappiness that the discussion of the
abolition of this trade had occasioned in Liverpool; that the struggle
between sordid interest and humanity had made sad havoc at the
fire-sides of the merchants; estranged sons from sires; and even
separated husband from wife. And my thoughts reverted to my father’s
friend, the good and great Roscoe, the intrepid enemy of the trade; who
in every way exerted his fine talents toward its suppression; writing a
poem _(“the Wrongs of Africa”),_ several pamphlets; and in his place in
Parliament, he delivered a speech against it, which, as coming from a
member for Liverpool, was supposed to have turned many votes, and had
no small share in the triumph of sound policy and humanity that ensued.

How this group of statuary affected me, may be inferred from the fact,
that I never went through Chapel-street without going through the
little arch to look at it again. And there, night or day, I was sure to
find Lord Nelson still falling back; Victory’s wreath still hovering
over his swordpoint; and Death grim and grasping as ever; while the
four bronze captives still lamented their captivity.

Now, as I lingered about the railing of the statuary, on the Sunday I
have mentioned, I noticed several persons going in and out of an
apartment, opening from the basement under the colonnade; and,
advancing, I perceived that this was a news-room, full of files of
papers. My love of literature prompted me to open the door and step in;
but a glance at my soiled shooting-jacket prompted a dignified looking
personage to step up and shut the door in my face. I deliberated a
minute what I should do to him; and at last resolutely determined to
let him alone, and pass on; which I did; going down Castle-street (so
called from a castle which once stood there, said my guide-book), and
turning down into Lord.

Arrived at the foot of the latter street, I in vain looked round for
the hotel. How serious a disappointment was this may well be imagined,
when it is considered that I was all eagerness to behold the very house
at which my father stopped; where he slept and dined, smoked his cigar,
opened his letters, and read the papers. I inquired of some gentlemen
and ladies where the missing hotel was; but they only stared and passed
on; until I met a mechanic, apparently, who very civilly stopped to
hear my questions and give me an answer.

“Riddough’s Hotel?” said he, “upon my word, I think I have heard of
such a place; let me see—yes, yes—that was the hotel where my father
broke his arm, helping to pull down the walls. My lad, you surely can’t
be inquiring for Riddough’s Hotel! What do you want to find there?”

“Oh! nothing,” I replied, “I am much obliged for your information”—and
away I walked.

Then, indeed, a new light broke in upon me concerning my guide-book;
and all my previous dim suspicions were almost confirmed. It was nearly
half a century behind the age! and no more fit to guide me about the
town, than the map of Pompeii.

It was a sad, a solemn, and a most melancholy thought. The book on
which I had so much relied; the book in the old morocco cover; the book
with the cocked-hat corners; the book full of fine old family
associations; the book with seventeen plates, executed in the highest
style of art; this precious book was next to useless. Yes, the thing
that had guided the father, could not guide the son. And I sat down on
a shop step, and gave loose to meditation.

Here, now, oh, Wellingborough, thought I, learn a lesson, and never
forget it. This world, my boy, is a moving world; its Riddough’s Hotels
are forever being pulled down; it never stands still; and its sands are
forever shifting. This very harbor of Liverpool is gradually filling
up, they say; and who knows what your son (if you ever have one) may
behold, when he comes to visit Liverpool, as long after you as you come
after his grandfather. And, Wellingborough, as your father’s guidebook
is no guide for you, neither would yours (could you afford to buy a
modern one to-day) be a true guide to those who come after you.
Guide-books, Wellingborough, are the least reliable books in all
literature; and nearly all literature, in one sense, is made up of
guide-books. Old ones tell us the ways our fathers went, through the
thoroughfares and courts of old; but how few of those former places can
their posterity trace, amid avenues of modem erections; to how few is
the old guide-book now a clew! Every age makes its own guidebooks, and
the old ones are used for waste paper. But there is one Holy
Guide-Book, Wellingborough, that will never lead you astray, if you but
follow it aright; and some noble monuments that remain, though the
pyramids crumble.

But though I rose from the door-step a sadder and a wiser boy, and
though my guide-book had been stripped of its reputation for
infallibility, I did not treat with contumely or disdain, those sacred
pages which had once been a beacon to my sire.

No.—Poor old guide-book, thought I, tenderly stroking its back, and
smoothing the dog-ears with reverence; I will not use you with despite,
old Morocco! and you will yet prove a trusty conductor through many old
streets in the old parts of this town; even if you are at fault, now
and then, concerning a Riddough’s Hotel, or some other forgotten thing
of the past. As I fondly glanced over the leaves, like one who loves
more than he chides, my eye lighted upon a passage concerning _“The Old
Dock,”_ which much aroused my curiosity. I determined to see the place
without delay: and walking on, in what I presumed to be the right
direction, at last found myself before a spacious and splendid pile of
sculptured brown stone; and entering the porch, perceived from
incontrovertible tokens that it must be the Custom-house. After
admiring it awhile, I took out my guide-book again; and what was my
amazement at discovering that, according to its authority, I was
entirely mistaken with regard to this Custom-house; for precisely where
I stood, _“The Old Dock”_ must be standing, and reading on concerning
it, I met with this very apposite passage:—_“The first idea that
strikes the stranger in coming to this dock, is the singularity of so
great a number of ships afloat in the very heart of the town, without
discovering any connection with the sea.”_

Here, now, was a poser! Old Morocco confessed that there was a good
deal of “singularity” about the thing; nor did he pretend to deny that
it was, without question, amazing, that this fabulous dock should seem
to have no _connection with the sea!_ However, the same author went on
to say, that the _“astonished stranger must suspend his wonder for
awhile, and turn to the left.”_ But, right or left, no place answering
to the description was to be seen.

This was too confounding altogether, and not to be easily accounted
for, even by making ordinary allowances for the growth and general
improvement of the town in the course of years. So, guide-book in hand,
I accosted a policeman standing by, and begged him to tell me whether
he was acquainted with any place in that neighborhood called the _“Old
Dock.”_ The man looked at me wonderingly at first, and then seeing I
was apparently sane, and quite civil into the bargain, he whipped his
well-polished boot with his rattan, pulled up his silver-laced
coat-collar, and initiated me into a knowledge of the following facts.

It seems that in this place originally stood the _“pool,”_ from which
the town borrows a part of its name, and which originally wound round
the greater part of the old settlements; that this pool was made into
the “Old Dock,” for the benefit of the shipping; but that, years ago,
it had been filled up, and furnished the site for the Custom-house
before me.

I now eyed the spot with a feeling somewhat akin to the Eastern
traveler standing on the brink of the Dead Sea. For here the doom of
Gomorrah seemed reversed, and a lake had been converted into
substantial stone and mortar.

Well, well, Wellingborough, thought I, you had better put the book into
your pocket, and carry it home to the Society of Antiquaries; it is
several thousand leagues and odd furlongs behind the march of
improvement. Smell its old morocco binding, Wellingborough; does it not
smell somewhat mummy-ish? Does it not remind you of Cheops and the
Catacombs? I tell you it was written before the lost books of Livy, and
is cousin-german to that irrecoverably departed volume, entitled, _“The
Wars of the Lord”_ quoted by Moses in the Pentateuch. Put it up,
Wellingborough, put it up, my dear friend; and hereafter follow your
nose throughout Liverpool; it will stick to you through thick and thin:
and be your ship’s mainmast and St. George’s spire your landmarks.

No!—And again I rubbed its back softly, and gently adjusted a loose
leaf: No, no, I’ll not give you up yet. Forth, old Morocco! and lead me
in sight of the venerable Abbey of Birkenhead; and let these eager eyes
behold the mansion once occupied by the old earls of Derby!

For the book discoursed of both places, and told how the Abbey was on
the Cheshire shore, full in view from a point on the Lancashire side,
covered over with ivy, and brilliant with moss! And how the house of
the noble Derby’s was now a common jail of the town; and how that
circumstance was full of suggestions, and pregnant with wisdom!

But, alas! I never saw the Abbey; at least none was in sight from the
water: and as for the house of the earls, I never saw that.

Ah me, and ten times alas! am I to visit old England in vain? in the
land of Thomas-a-Becket and stout John of Gaunt, not to catch the least
glimpse of priory or castle? Is there nothing in all the British empire
but these smoky ranges of old shops and warehouses? is Liverpool but a
brick-kiln? Why, no buildings here look so ancient as the old
gable-pointed mansion of my maternal grandfather at home, whose bricks
were brought from Holland long before the revolutionary war! Tis a
deceit—a gull—a sham—a hoax! This boasted England is no older than the
State of New York: if it is, show me the proofs—point out the vouchers.
Where’s the tower of Julius Caesar? Where’s the Roman wall? Show me
Stonehenge!

But, Wellingborough, I remonstrated with myself, you are only in
Liverpool; the old monuments lie to the north, south, east, and west of
you; you are but a sailor-boy, and you can not expect to be a great
tourist, and visit the antiquities, in that preposterous
shooting-jacket of yours. Indeed, you can not, my boy.

True, true—that’s it. I am not the traveler my father was. I am only a
common-carrier across the Atlantic.

After a weary day’s walk, I at last arrived at the sign of the
Baltimore Clipper to supper; and Handsome Mary poured me out a brimmer
of tea, in which, for the time, I drowned all my melancholy.




CHAPTER XXXII.
THE DOCKS


For more than six weeks, the ship Highlander lay in Prince’s Dock; and
during that time, besides making observations upon things immediately
around me, I made sundry excursions to the neighboring docks, for I
never tired of admiring them.

Previous to this, having only seen the miserable wooden wharves, and
slip-shod, shambling piers of New York, the sight of these mighty docks
filled my young mind with wonder and delight. In New York, to be sure,
I could not but be struck with the long line of shipping, and tangled
thicket of masts along the East River; yet, my admiration had been much
abated by those irregular, unsightly wharves, which, I am sure, are a
reproach and disgrace to the city that tolerates them.

Whereas, in Liverpool, I beheld long China walls of masonry; vast piers
of stone; and a succession of granite-rimmed docks, completely
inclosed, and many of them communicating, which almost recalled to mind
the great American chain of lakes: Ontario, Erie, St. Clair, Huron,
Michigan, and Superior. The extent and solidity of these structures,
seemed equal to what I had read of the old Pyramids of Egypt.

Liverpool may justly claim to have originated the model of the “Wet
Dock,”[1] so called, of the present day; and every thing that is
connected with its design, construction, regulation, and improvement.
Even London was induced to copy after Liverpool, and Havre followed her
example. In magnitude, cost, and durability, the docks of Liverpool,
even at the present day surpass all others in the world.

 [1] This term—_Wet Dock_—did not originate, (as has been erroneously
 opined by the otherwise learned Bardoldi); from the fact, that persons
 falling into one, never escaped without a soaking; but it is simply
 used, in order to distinguish these docks from the _Dry-Dock_, where
 the bottoms of ships are repaired.


The first dock built by the town was the _“Old Dock,”_ alluded to in my
Sunday stroll with my guide-book. This was erected in 1710, since which
period has gradually arisen that long line of dock-masonry, now
flanking the Liverpool side of the Mersey.

For miles you may walk along that river-side, passing dock after dock,
like a chain of immense fortresses:—Prince’s, George’s, Salt-House,
Clarence, Brunswick, Trafalgar, King’s, Queen’s, and many more.

In a spirit of patriotic gratitude to those naval heroes, who by their
valor did so much to protect the commerce of Britain, in which
Liverpool held so large a stake; the town, long since, bestowed upon
its more modern streets, certain illustrious names, that Broadway might
be proud of:—Duncan, Nelson, Rodney, St. Vincent, Nile.

But it is a pity, I think, that they had not bestowed these noble names
upon their noble docks; so that they might have been as a rank and file
of most fit monuments to perpetuate the names of the heroes, in
connection with the commerce they defended.

And how much better would such stirring monuments be; full of life and
commotion; than hermit obelisks of Luxor, and idle towers of stone;
which, useless to the world in themselves, vainly hope to eternize a
name, by having it carved, solitary and alone, in their granite. Such
monuments are cenotaphs indeed; founded far away from the true body of
the fame of the hero; who, if he be truly a hero, must still be linked
with the living interests of his race; for the true fame is something
free, easy, social, and companionable. They are but tomb-stones, that
commemorate his death, but celebrate not his life. It is well enough
that over the inglorious and thrice miserable grave of a Dives, some
vast marble column should be reared, recording the fact of his having
lived and died; for such records are indispensable to preserve his
shrunken memory among men; though that memory must soon crumble away
with the marble, and mix with the stagnant oblivion of the mob. But to
build such a pompous vanity over the remains of a hero, is a slur upon
his fame, and an insult to his ghost. And more enduring monuments are
built in the closet with the letters of the alphabet, than even Cheops
himself could have founded, with all Egypt and Nubia for his quarry.

Among the few docks mentioned above, occur the names of the _King’s_
and _Queens._ At the time, they often reminded me of the two principal
streets in the village I came from in America, which streets once
rejoiced in the same royal appellations. But they had been christened
previous to the Declaration of Independence; and some years after, in a
fever of freedom, they were abolished, at an enthusiastic town-meeting,
where King George and his lady were solemnly declared unworthy of being
immortalized by the village of L—. A country antiquary once told me,
that a committee of two barbers were deputed to write and inform the
distracted old gentleman of the fact.

As the description of any one of these Liverpool docks will pretty much
answer for all, I will here endeavor to give some account of Prince’s
Dock, where the Highlander rested after her passage across the
Atlantic.

This dock, of comparatively recent construction, is perhaps the largest
of all, and is well known to American sailors, from the fact, that it
is mostly frequented by the American shipping. Here lie the noble New
York packets, which at home are found at the foot of Wall-street; and
here lie the Mobile and Savannah cotton ships and traders.

This dock was built like the others, mostly upon the bed of the river,
the earth and rock having been laboriously scooped out, and solidified
again as materials for the quays and piers. From the river, Prince’s
Dock is protected by a long pier of masonry, surmounted by a massive
wall; and on the side next the town, it is bounded by similar walls,
one of which runs along a thoroughfare. The whole space thus inclosed
forms an oblong, and may, at a guess, be presumed to comprise about
fifteen or twenty acres; but as I had not the rod of a surveyor when I
took it in, I will not be certain.

The area of the dock itself, exclusive of the inclosed quays
surrounding it, may be estimated at, say, ten acres. Access to the
interior from the streets is had through several gateways; so that,
upon their being closed, the whole dock is shut up like a house. From
the river, the entrance is through a water-gate, and ingress to ships
is only to be had, when the level of the dock coincides with that of
the river; that is, about the time of high tide, as the level of the
dock is always at that mark. So that when it is low tide in the river,
the keels of the ships inclosed by the quays are elevated more than
twenty feet above those of the vessels in the stream. This, of course,
produces a striking effect to a stranger, to see hundreds of immense
ships floating high aloft in the heart of a mass of masonry.

Prince’s Dock is generally so filled with shipping, that the entrance
of a new-comer is apt to occasion a universal stir among all the older
occupants. The dock-masters, whose authority is declared by tin signs
worn conspicuously over their hats, mount the poops and forecastles of
the various vessels, and hail the surrounding strangers in all
directions:— _“Highlander ahoy! Cast off your bowline, and sheer
alongside the Neptune!”—“Neptune ahoy! get out a stern-line, and sheer
alongside the Trident!”—“Trident ahoy! get out a bowline, and drop
astern of the Undaunted!”_ And so it runs round like a shock of
electricity; touch one, and you touch all. This kind of work irritates
and exasperates the sailors to the last degree; but it is only one of
the unavoidable inconveniences of inclosed docks, which are outweighed
by innumerable advantages.

Just without the water-gate, is a basin, always connecting with the
open river, through a narrow entrance between pierheads. This basin
forms a sort of ante-chamber to the dock itself, where vessels lie
waiting their turn to enter. During a storm, the necessity of this
basin is obvious; for it would be impossible to _“dock”_ a ship under
full headway from a voyage across the ocean. From the turbulent waves,
she first glides into the ante-chamber between the pier-heads and from
thence into the docks.

Concerning the cost of the docks, I can only state, that the _King’s
Dock,_ comprehending but a comparatively small area, was completed at
an expense of some £20,000.

Our old ship-keeper, a Liverpool man by birth, who had long followed
the seas, related a curious story concerning this dock. One of the
ships which carried over troops from England to Ireland in King
William’s war, in 1688, entered the King’s Dock on the first day of its
being opened in 1788, after an interval of just one century. She was a
dark little brig, called the _Port-a-Ferry._ And probably, as her
timbers must have been frequently renewed in the course of a hundred
years, the name alone could have been all that was left of her at the
time. A paved area, very wide, is included within the walls; and along
the edge of the quays are ranges of iron sheds, intended as a temporary
shelter for the goods unladed from the shipping. Nothing can exceed the
bustle and activity displayed along these quays during the day; bales,
crates, boxes, and cases are being tumbled about by thousands of
laborers; trucks are coming and going; dock-masters are shouting;
sailors of all nations are singing out at their ropes; and all this
commotion is greatly increased by the resoundings from the lofty walls
that hem in the din.




CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE SALT-DROGHERS, AND GERMAN EMIGRANT SHIPS


Surrounded by its broad belt of masonry, each Liverpool dock is a
walled town, full of life and commotion; or rather, it is a small
archipelago, an epitome of the world, where all the nations of
Christendom, and even those of Heathendom, are represented. For, in
itself, each ship is an island, a floating colony of the tribe to which
it belongs.

Here are brought together the remotest limits of the earth; and in the
collective spars and timbers of these ships, all the forests of the
globe are represented, as in a grand parliament of masts. Canada and
New Zealand send their pines; America her live oak; India her teak;
Norway her spruce; and the Right Honorable Mahogany, member for
Honduras and Campeachy, is seen at his post by the wheel. Here, under
the beneficent sway of the Genius of Commerce, all climes and countries
embrace; and yard-arm touches yard-arm in brotherly love.

A Liverpool dock is a grand caravansary inn, and hotel, on the spacious
and liberal plan of the _Astor House._ Here ships are lodged at a
moderate charge, and payment is not demanded till the time of
departure. Here they are comfortably housed and provided for; sheltered
from all weathers and secured from all calamities. For I can hardly
credit a story I have heard, that sometimes, in heavy gales, ships
lying in the very middle of the docks have lost their
top-gallant-masts. Whatever the toils and hardships encountered on the
voyage, whether they come from Iceland or the coast of New Guinea, here
their sufferings are ended, and they take their ease in their watery
inn.

I know not how many hours I spent in gazing at the shipping in Prince’s
Dock, and speculating concerning their past voyages and future
prospects in life. Some had just arrived from the most distant ports,
worn, battered, and disabled; others were all a-taunt-o—spruce, gay,
and brilliant, in readiness for sea.

Every day the Highlander had some new neighbor. A black brig from
Glasgow, with its crew of sober Scotch caps, and its staid,
thrifty-looking skipper, would be replaced by a jovial French
hermaphrodite, its forecastle echoing with songs, and its quarter-deck
elastic from much dancing.

On the other side, perhaps, a magnificent New York Liner, huge as a
seventy-four, and suggesting the idea of a Mivart’s or Delmonico’s
afloat, would give way to a Sidney emigrant ship, receiving on board
its live freight of shepherds from the Grampians, ere long to be
tending their flocks on the hills and downs of New Holland.

I was particularly pleased and tickled, with a multitude of little
salt-droghers, rigged like sloops, and not much bigger than a
pilot-boat, but with broad bows painted black, and carrying red sails,
which looked as if they had been pickled and stained in a tan-yard.
These little fellows were continually coming in with their cargoes for
ships bound to America; and lying, five or six together, alongside of
those lofty Yankee hulls, resembled a parcel of red ants about the
carcass of a black buffalo.

When loaded, these comical little craft are about level with the water;
and frequently, when blowing fresh in the river, I have seen them
flying through the foam with nothing visible but the mast and sail, and
a man at the tiller; their entire cargo being snugly secured under
hatches.

It was diverting to observe the self-importance of the skipper of any
of these diminutive vessels. He would give himself all the airs of an
admiral on a three-decker’s poop; and no doubt, thought quite as much
of himself. And why not? What could Caesar want more? Though his craft
was none of the largest, it was subject to _him;_ and though his crew
might only consist of himself; yet if he governed it well, he achieved
a triumph, which the moralists of all ages have set above the victories
of Alexander.

These craft have each a little cabin, the prettiest, charmingest, most
delightful little dog-hole in the world; not much bigger than an
old-fashioned alcove for a bed. It is lighted by little round glasses
placed in the deck; so that to the insider, the ceiling is like a small
firmament twinkling with astral radiations. For tall men, nevertheless,
the place is but ill-adapted; a sitting, or recumbent position being
indispensable to an occupancy of the premises. Yet small, low, and
narrow as the cabin is, somehow, it affords accommodations to the
skipper and his family. Often, I used to watch the tidy good-wife,
seated at the open little scuttle, like a woman at a cottage door,
engaged in knitting socks for her husband; or perhaps, cutting his
hair, as he kneeled before her. And once, while marveling how a couple
like this found room to turn in, below, I was amazed by a noisy
irruption of cherry-cheeked young tars from the scuttle, whence they
came rolling forth, like so many curly spaniels from a kennel.

Upon one occasion, I had the curiosity to go on board a salt-drogher,
and fall into conversation with its skipper, a bachelor, who kept house
all alone. I found him a very sociable, comfortable old fellow, who had
an eye to having things cozy around him. It was in the evening; and he
invited me down into his sanctum to supper; and there we sat together
like a couple in a box at an oyster-cellar.

“He, he,” he chuckled, kneeling down before a fat, moist, little cask
of beer, and holding a cocked-hat pitcher to the faucet—“You see, Jack,
I keep every thing down here; and nice times I have by myself. Just
before going to bed, it ain’t bad to take a nightcap, you know; eh!
Jack?—here now, smack your lips over that, my boy—have a pipe?—but
stop, let’s to supper first.”

So he went to a little locker, a fixture against the side, and groping
in it awhile, and addressing it with—_“What cheer here, what cheer?”_
at last produced a loaf, a small cheese, a bit of ham, and a jar of
butter. And then placing a board on his lap, spread the table, the
pitcher of beer in the center. “Why that’s but a two legged table,”
said I, “let’s make it four.”

So we divided the burthen, and supped merrily together on our knees.

He was an old ruby of a fellow, his cheeks toasted brown; and it did my
soul good, to see the froth of the beer bubbling at his mouth, and
sparkling on his nut-brown beard. He looked so like a great mug of ale,
that I almost felt like taking him by the neck and pouring him out.

“Now Jack,” said he, when supper was over, “now Jack, my boy, do you
smoke?—Well then, load away.” And he handed me a seal-skin pouch of
tobacco and a pipe. We sat smoking together in this little sea-cabinet
of his, till it began to look much like a state-room in Tophet; and
notwithstanding my host’s rubicund nose, I could hardly see him for the
fog.

“He, he, my boy,” then said he—“I don’t never have any bugs here, I
tell ye: I smokes ’em all out every night before going to bed.”

“And where may you sleep?” said I, looking round, and seeing no sign of
a bed.

“Sleep?” says he, “why I sleep in my jacket, that’s the best
counterpane; and I use my head for a pillow. He-he, funny, ain’t it?”

“Very funny,” says I.

“Have some more ale?” says he; “plenty more.” “No more, thank you,”
says I; “I guess I’ll go;” for what with the tobacco-smoke and the ale,
I began to feel like breathing fresh air. Besides, my conscience smote
me for thus freely indulging in the pleasures of the table.

“Now, don’t go,” said he; “don’t go, my boy; don’t go out into the
damp; take an old Christian’s advice,” laying his hand on my shoulder;
“it won’t do. You see, by going out now, you’ll shake off the ale, and
get broad awake again; but if you stay here, you’ll soon be dropping
off for a nice little nap.”

But notwithstanding these inducements, I shook my host’s hand and
departed. There was hardly any thing I witnessed in the docks that
interested me more than the German emigrants who come on board the
large New York ships several days before their sailing, to make every
thing comfortable ere starting. Old men, tottering with age, and little
infants in arms; laughing girls in bright-buttoned bodices, and astute,
middle-aged men with pictured pipes in their mouths, would be seen
mingling together in crowds of five, six, and seven or eight hundred in
one ship.

Every evening these countrymen of Luther and Melancthon gathered on the
forecastle to sing and pray. And it was exalting to listen to their
fine ringing anthems, reverberating among the crowded shipping, and
rebounding from the lofty walls of the docks. Shut your eyes, and you
would think you were in a cathedral.

They keep up this custom at sea; and every night, in the dog-watch,
sing the songs of Zion to the roll of the great ocean-organ: a pious
custom of a devout race, who thus send over their hallelujahs before
them, as they hie to the land of the stranger.

And among these sober Germans, my country counts the most orderly and
valuable of her foreign population. It is they who have swelled the
census of her Northwestern States; and transferring their ploughs from
the hills of Transylvania to the prairies of Wisconsin; and sowing the
wheat of the Rhine on the banks of the Ohio, raise the grain, that, a
hundred fold increased, may return to their kinsmen in Europe.

There is something in the contemplation of the mode in which America
has been settled, that, in a noble breast, should forever extinguish
the prejudices of national dislikes. Settled by the people of all
nations, all nations may claim her for their own. You can not spill a
drop of American blood without spilling the blood of the whole world.
Be he Englishman, Frenchman, German, Dane, or Scot; the European who
scoffs at an American, calls his own brother _Raca,_ and stands in
danger of the judgment. We are not a narrow tribe of men, with a
bigoted Hebrew nationality—whose blood has been debased in the attempt
to ennoble it, by maintaining an exclusive succession among ourselves.
No: our blood is as the flood of the Amazon, made up of a thousand
noble currents all pouring into one. We are not a nation, so much as a
world; for unless we may claim all the world for our sire, like
Melchisedec, we are without father or mother.

For who was our father and our mother? Or can we point to any Romulus
and Remus for our founders? Our ancestry is lost in the universal
paternity; and Caesar and Alfred, St. Paul and Luther, and Homer and
Shakespeare are as much ours as Washington, who is as much the world’s
as our own. We are the heirs of all time, and with all nations we
divide our inheritance. On this Western Hemisphere all tribes and
people are forming into one federated whole; and there is a future
which shall see the estranged children of Adam restored as to the old
hearthstone in Eden.

The other world beyond this, which was longed for by the devout before
Columbus’ time, was found in the New; and the deep-sea-lead, that first
struck these soundings, brought up the soil of Earth’s Paradise. Not a
Paradise then, or now; but to be made so, at God’s good pleasure, and
in the fullness and mellowness of time. The seed is sown, and the
harvest must come; and our children’s children, on the world’s jubilee
morning, shall all go with their sickles to the reaping. Then shall the
curse of Babel be revoked, a new Pentecost come, and the language they
shall speak shall be the language of Britain. Frenchmen, and Danes, and
Scots; and the dwellers on the shores of the Mediterranean, and in the
regions round about; Italians, and Indians, and Moors; there shall
appear unto them cloven tongues as of fire.




CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE IRRAWADDY


Among the various ships lying in Prince’s Dock, none interested me more
than the Irrawaddy, of Bombay, a _“country ship,”_ which is the name
bestowed by Europeans upon the large native vessels of India. Forty
years ago, these merchantmen were nearly the largest in the world; and
they still exceed the generality. They are built of the celebrated teak
wood, the oak of the East, or in Eastern phrase, _“the King of the
Oaks.”_ The Irrawaddy had just arrived from Hindostan, with a cargo of
cotton. She was manned by forty or fifty Lascars, the native seamen of
India, who seemed to be immediately governed by a countryman of theirs
of a higher caste. While his inferiors went about in strips of white
linen, this dignitary was arrayed in a red army-coat, brilliant with
gold lace, a cocked hat, and drawn sword. But the general effect was
quite spoiled by his bare feet.

In discharging the cargo, his business seemed to consist in
flagellating the crew with the flat of his saber, an exercise in which
long practice had made him exceedingly expert. The poor fellows jumped
away with the tackle-rope, elastic as cats.

One Sunday, I went aboard of the Irrawaddy, when this oriental usher
accosted me at the gangway, with his sword at my throat. I gently
pushed it aside, making a sign expressive of the pacific character of
my motives in paying a visit to the ship. Whereupon he very
considerately let me pass.

I thought I was in Pegu, so strangely woody was the smell of the
dark-colored timbers, whose odor was heightened by the rigging of
_kayar,_ or cocoa-nut fiber.

The Lascars were on the forecastle-deck. Among them were Malays,
Mahrattas, Burmese, Siamese, and Cingalese. They were seated round
“kids” full of rice, from which, according to their invariable custom,
they helped themselves with one hand, the other being reserved for
quite another purpose. They were chattering like magpies in
Hindostanee, but I found that several of them could also speak very
good English. They were a small-limbed, wiry, tawny set; and I was
informed made excellent seamen, though ill adapted to stand the
hardships of northern voyaging.

They told me that seven of their number had died on the passage from
Bombay; two or three after crossing the Tropic of Cancer, and the rest
met their fate in the Channel, where the ship had been tost about in
violent seas, attended with cold rains, peculiar to that vicinity. Two
more had been lost overboard from the flying-jib-boom.

I was condoling with a young English cabin-boy on board, upon the loss
of these poor fellows, when he said it was their own fault; they would
never wear monkey-jackets, but clung to their thin India robes, even in
the bitterest weather. He talked about them much as a farmer would
about the loss of so many sheep by the murrain.

The captain of the vessel was an Englishman, as were also the three
mates, master and boatswain. These officers lived astern in the cabin,
where every Sunday they read the Church of England’s prayers, while the
heathen at the other end of the ship were left to their false gods and
idols. And thus, with Christianity on the quarter-deck, and paganism on
the forecastle, the Irrawaddy ploughed the sea.

As if to symbolize this state of things, the _“fancy piece”_ astern
comprised, among numerous other carved decorations, a cross and a
miter; while forward, on the bows, was a sort of devil for a
figure-head—a dragon-shaped creature, with a fiery red mouth, and a
switchy-looking tail.

After her cargo was discharged, which was done “to the sound of flutes
and soft recorders”—something as work is done in the navy to the music
of the boatswain’s pipe—the Lascars were set to _“stripping the ship”_
that is, to sending down all her spars and ropes.

At this time, she lay alongside of us, and the Babel on board almost
drowned our own voices. In nothing but their girdles, the Lascars
hopped about aloft, chattering like so many monkeys; but, nevertheless,
showing much dexterity and seamanship in their manner of doing their
work.

Every Sunday, crowds of well-dressed people came down to the dock to
see this singular ship; many of them perched themselves in the shrouds
of the neighboring craft, much to the wrath of Captain Riga, who left
strict orders with our old ship-keeper, to drive all strangers out of
the Highlander’s rigging. It was amusing at these times, to watch the
old women with umbrellas, who stood on the quay staring at the Lascars,
even when they desired to be private. These inquisitive old ladies
seemed to regard the strange sailors as a species of wild animal, whom
they might gaze at with as much impunity, as at leopards in the
Zoological Gardens.

One night I was returning to the ship, when just as I was passing
through the Dock Gate, I noticed a white figure squatting against the
wall outside. It proved to be one of the Lascars who was smoking, as
the regulations of the docks prohibit his indulging this luxury on
board his vessel. Struck with the curious fashion of his pipe, and the
odor from it, I inquired what he was smoking; he replied _“Joggerry,”_
which is a species of weed, used in place of tobacco.

Finding that he spoke good English, and was quite communicative, like
most smokers, I sat down by _Dattabdool-mans, as_ he called himself,
and we fell into conversation. So instructive was his discourse, that
when we parted, I had considerably added to my stock of knowledge.
Indeed, it is a Godsend to fall in with a fellow like this. He knows
things you never dreamed of; his experiences are like a man from the
moon—wholly strange, a new revelation. If you want to learn romance, or
gain an insight into things quaint, curious, and marvelous, drop your
books of travel, and take a stroll along the docks of a great
commercial port. Ten to one, you will encounter Crusoe himself among
the crowds of mariners from all parts of the globe.

But this is no place for making mention of all the subjects upon which
I and my Lascar friend mostly discoursed; I will only try to give his
account of the _teakwood_ and _kayar rope,_ concerning which things I
was curious, and sought information.

The _“sagoon”_ as he called the tree which produces the teak, grows in
its greatest excellence among the mountains of Malabar, whence large
quantities are sent to Bombay for shipbuilding. He also spoke of
another kind of wood, the _“sissor,”_ which supplies most of the
_“shin-logs,”_ or “knees,” and crooked timbers in the _country ships._
The sagoon grows to an immense size; sometimes there is fifty feet of
trunk, three feet through, before a single bough is put forth. Its
leaves are very large; and to convey some idea of them, my Lascar
likened them to elephants’ ears. He said a purple dye was extracted
from them, for the purpose of staining cottons and silks. The wood is
specifically heavier than water; it is easily worked, and extremely
strong and durable. But its chief merit lies in resisting the action of
the salt water, and the attacks of insects; which resistance is caused
by its containing a resinous oil called _“poonja.”_

To my surprise, he informed me that the Irrawaddy was wholly built by
the native shipwrights of India, who, he modestly asserted, surpassed
the European artisans.

The rigging, also, was of native manufacture. As the _kayar,_ of which
it is composed, is now getting into use both in England and America, as
well for ropes and rigging as for mats and rugs, my Lascar friend’s
account of it, joined to my own observations, may not be uninteresting.

In India, it is prepared very much in the same way as in Polynesia. The
cocoa-nut is gathered while the husk is still green, and but partially
ripe; and this husk is removed by striking the nut forcibly, with both
hands, upon a sharp-pointed stake, planted uprightly in the ground. In
this way a boy will strip nearly fifteen hundred in a day. But the
_kayar_ is not made from the husk, as might be supposed, but from the
rind of the nut; which, after being long soaked in water, is beaten
with mallets, and rubbed together into fibers. After this being dried
in the sun, you may spin it, just like hemp, or any similar substance.
The fiber thus produced makes very strong and durable ropes, extremely
well adapted, from their lightness and durability, for the running
rigging of a ship; while the same causes, united with its great
strength and buoyancy, render it very suitable for large cables and
hawsers.

But the elasticity of the _kayar_ ill fits it for the shrouds and
standing-rigging of a ship, which require to be comparatively firm.
Hence, as the Irrawaddy’s shrouds were all of this substance, the
Lascar told me, they were continually setting up or slacking off her
standing-rigging, according as the weather was cold or warm. And the
loss of a foretopmast, between the tropics, in a squall, he attributed
to this circumstance.

After a stay of about two weeks, the Irrawaddy had her heavy Indian
spars replaced with Canadian pine, and her _kayar_ shrouds with hempen
ones. She then mustered her pagans, and hoisted sail for London.




CHAPTER XXXV.
GALLIOTS, COAST-OF-GUINEA-MAN, AND FLOATING CHAPEL


Another very curious craft often seen in the Liverpool docks, is the
Dutch galliot, an old-fashioned looking gentleman, with hollow waist,
high prow and stern, and which, seen lying among crowds of tight Yankee
traders, and pert French brigantines, always reminded me of a cocked
hat among modish beavers.

The construction of the galliot has not altered for centuries; and the
northern European nations, Danes and Dutch, still sail the salt seas in
this flat-bottomed salt-cellar of a ship; although, in addition to
these, they have vessels of a more modern kind.

They seldom paint the galliot; but scrape and varnish all its planks
and spars, so that all over it resembles the _“bright side”_ or
polished _streak,_ usually banding round an American ship.

Some of them are kept scrupulously neat and clean, and remind one of a
well-scrubbed wooden platter, or an old oak table, upon which much wax
and elbow vigor has been expended. Before the wind, they sail well; but
on a bowline, owing to their broad hulls and flat bottoms, they make
leeway at a sad rate.

Every day, some strange vessel entered Prince’s Dock; and hardly would
I gaze my fill at some outlandish craft from Surat or the Levant, ere a
still more outlandish one would absorb my attention.

Among others, I remember, was a little brig from the Coast of Guinea.
In appearance, she was the ideal of a slaver; low, black, clipper-built
about the bows, and her decks in a state of most piratical disorder.

She carried a long, rusty gun, on a swivel, amid-ships; and that gun
was a curiosity in itself. It must have been some old veteran,
condemned by the government, and sold for any thing it would fetch. It
was an antique, covered with half-effaced inscriptions, crowns,
anchors, eagles; and it had two handles near the trunnions, like those
of a tureen. The knob on the breach was fashioned into a dolphin’s
head; and by a comical conceit, the touch-hole formed the orifice of a
human ear; and a stout tympanum it must have had, to have withstood the
concussions it had heard.

The brig, heavily loaded, lay between two large ships in ballast; so
that its deck was at least twenty feet below those of its neighbors.
Thus shut in, its hatchways looked like the entrance to deep vaults or
mines; especially as her men were wheeling out of her hold some kind of
ore, which might have been gold ore, so scrupulous were they in evening
the bushel measures, in which they transferred it to the quay; and so
particular was the captain, a dark-skinned whiskerando, in a Maltese
cap and tassel, in standing over the sailors, with his pencil and
memorandum-book in hand.

The crew were a buccaneering looking set; with hairy chests, purple
shirts, and arms wildly tattooed. The mate had a wooden leg, and
hobbled about with a crooked cane like a spiral staircase. There was a
deal of swearing on board of this craft, which was rendered the more
reprehensible when she came to moor alongside the Floating Chapel.

This was the hull of an old sloop-of-war, which had been converted into
a mariner’s church. A house had been built upon it, and a steeple took
the place of a mast. There was a little balcony near the base of the
steeple, some twenty feet from the water; where, on week-days, I used
to see an old pensioner of a tar, sitting on a camp-stool, reading his
Bible. On Sundays he hoisted the Bethel flag, and like the _muezzin_ or
cryer of prayers on the top of a Turkish mosque, would call the
strolling sailors to their devotions; not officially, but on his own
account; conjuring them not to make fools of themselves, but muster
round the pulpit, as they did about the capstan on a man-of-war. This
old worthy was the sexton. I attended the chapel several times, and
found there a very orderly but small congregation. The first time I
went, the chaplain was discoursing on future punishments, and making
allusions to the Tartarean Lake; which, coupled with the pitchy smell
of the old hull, summoned up the most forcible image of the thing which
I ever experienced.

The floating chapels which are to be found in some of the docks, form
one of the means which have been tried to induce the seamen visiting
Liverpool to turn their thoughts toward serious things. But as very few
of them ever think of entering these chapels, though they might pass
them twenty times in the day, some of the clergy, of a Sunday, address
them in the open air, from the corners of the quays, or wherever they
can procure an audience.

Whenever, in my Sunday strolls, I caught sight of one of these
congregations, I always made a point of joining it; and would find
myself surrounded by a motley crowd of seamen from all quarters of the
globe, and women, and lumpers, and dock laborers of all sorts.
Frequently the clergyman would be standing upon an old cask, arrayed in
full canonicals, as a divine of the Church of England. Never have I
heard religious discourses better adapted to an audience of men, who,
like sailors, are chiefly, if not only, to be moved by the plainest of
precepts, and demonstrations of the misery of sin, as conclusive and
undeniable as those of Euclid. No mere rhetoric avails with such men;
fine periods are vanity. You can not touch them with tropes. They need
to be pressed home by plain facts.

And such was generally the mode in which they were addressed by the
clergy in question: who, taking familiar themes for their discourses,
which were leveled right at the wants of their auditors, always
succeeded in fastening their attention. In particular, the two great
vices to which sailors are most addicted, and which they practice to
the ruin of both body and soul; these things, were the most enlarged
upon. And several times on the docks, I have seen a robed clergyman
addressing a large audience of women collected from the notorious lanes
and alleys in the neighborhood.

Is not this as it ought to be? since the true calling of the reverend
clergy is like their divine Master’s;—not to bring the righteous, but
sinners to repentance. Did some of them leave the converted and
comfortable congregations, before whom they have ministered year after
year; and plunge at once, like St. Paul, into the infected centers and
hearts of vice: _then_ indeed, would they find a strong enemy to cope
with; and a victory gained over _him,_ would entitle them to a
conqueror’s wreath. Better to save one sinner from an obvious vice that
is destroying him, than to indoctrinate ten thousand saints. And as
from every corner, in Catholic towns, the shrines of Holy Mary and the
Child Jesus perpetually remind the commonest wayfarer of his heaven;
even so should Protestant pulpits be founded in the market-places, and
at street corners, where the men of God might be heard by all of His
children.




CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE OLD CHURCH OF ST. NICHOLAS, AND THE DEAD-HOUSE


The floating chapel recalls to mind the _“Old Church,”_ well known to
the seamen of many generations, who have visited Liverpool. It stands
very near the docks, a venerable mass of brown stone, and by the town’s
people is called the Church of St. Nicholas. I believe it is the best
preserved piece of antiquity in all Liverpool.

Before the town rose to any importance, it was the only place of
worship on that side of the Mersey; and under the adjoining Parish of
Walton was a _chapel-of-ease;_ though from the straight backed pews,
there could have been but little comfort taken in it.

In old times, there stood in front of the church a statue of St.
Nicholas, the patron of mariners; to which all pious sailors made
offerings, to induce his saintship to grant them short and prosperous
voyages. In the tower is a fine chime of bells; and I well remember my
delight at first hearing them on the first Sunday morning after our
arrival in the dock. It seemed to carry an admonition with it;
something like the premonition conveyed to young Whittington by Bow
Bells. _“Wellingborough! Wellingborough! you must not forget to go to
church, Wellingborough! Don’t forget, Wellingborough! Wellingborough!
don’t forget.”_

Thirty or forty years ago, these bells were rung upon the arrival of
every Liverpool ship from a foreign voyage. How forcibly does this
illustrate the increase of the commerce of the town! Were the same
custom now observed, the bells would seldom have a chance to cease.

What seemed the most remarkable about this venerable old church, and
what seemed the most barbarous, and grated upon the veneration with
which I regarded this time-hallowed structure, was the condition of the
grave-yard surrounding it. From its close vicinity to the haunts of the
swarms of laborers about the docks, it is crossed and re-crossed by
thoroughfares in all directions; and the tomb-stones, not being erect,
but horizontal (indeed, they form a complete flagging to the spot),
multitudes are constantly walking over the dead; their heels erasing
the death’s-heads and crossbones, the last mementos of the departed. At
noon, when the lumpers employed in loading and unloading the shipping,
retire for an hour to snatch a dinner, many of them resort to the
grave-yard; and seating themselves upon a tomb-stone use the adjoining
one for a table. Often, I saw men stretched out in a drunken sleep upon
these slabs; and once, removing a fellow’s arm, read the following
inscription, which, in a manner, was true to the life, if not to the
death:—

HERE LYETH YE BODY OF
TOBIAS DRINKER.


For two memorable circumstances connected with this church, I am
indebted to my excellent friend, Morocco, who tells me that in 1588 the
Earl of Derby, coming to his residence, and waiting for a passage to
the Isle of Man, the corporation erected and adorned a sumptuous stall
in the church for his reception. And moreover, that in the time of
Cromwell’s wars, when the place was taken by that mad nephew of King
Charles, Prince Rupert, he converted the old church into a military
prison and stable; when, no doubt, another _“sumptuous stall”_ was
erected for the benefit of the steed of some noble cavalry officer.

In the basement of the church is a Dead House, like the Morgue in
Paris, where the bodies of the drowned are exposed until claimed by
their friends, or till buried at the public charge.

From the multitudes employed about the shipping, this dead-house has
always more or less occupants. Whenever I passed up Chapel-street, I
used to see a crowd gazing through the grim iron grating of the door,
upon the faces of the drowned within. And once, when the door was
opened, I saw a sailor stretched out, stark and stiff, with the sleeve
of his frock rolled up, and showing his name and date of birth tattooed
upon his arm. It was a sight full of suggestions; he seemed his own
headstone.

I was told that standing rewards are offered for the recovery of
persons falling into the docks; so much, if restored to life, and a
less amount if irrecoverably drowned. Lured by this, several horrid old
men and women are constantly prying about the docks, searching after
bodies. I observed them principally early in the morning, when they
issued from their dens, on the same principle that the rag-rakers, and
rubbish-pickers in the streets, sally out bright and early; for then,
the night-harvest has ripened.

There seems to be no calamity overtaking man, that can not be rendered
merchantable. Undertakers, sextons, tomb-makers, and hearse-drivers,
get their living from the dead; and in times of plague most thrive. And
these miserable old men and women hunted after corpses to keep from
going to the church-yard themselves; for they were the most wretched of
starvelings.




CHAPTER XXXVII.
WHAT REDBURN SAW IN LAUNCELOTT’S-HEY


The dead-house reminds me of other sad things; for in the vicinity of
the docks are many very painful sights.

In going to our boarding-house, the sign of the Baltimore Clipper, I
generally passed through a narrow street called “Launcelott’s-Hey,”
lined with dingy, prison-like cotton warehouses. In this street, or
rather alley, you seldom see any one but a truck-man, or some solitary
old warehouse-keeper, haunting his smoky den like a ghost.

Once, passing through this place, I heard a feeble wail, which seemed
to come out of the earth. It was but a strip of crooked side-walk where
I stood; the dingy wall was on every side, converting the mid-day into
twilight; and not a soul was in sight. I started, and could almost have
run, when I heard that dismal sound. It seemed the low, hopeless,
endless wail of some one forever lost. At last I advanced to an opening
which communicated downward with deep tiers of cellars beneath a
crumbling old warehouse; and there, some fifteen feet below the walk,
crouching in nameless squalor, with her head bowed over, was the figure
of what had been a woman. Her blue arms folded to her livid bosom two
shrunken things like children, that leaned toward her, one on each
side. At first, I knew not whether they were alive or dead. They made
no sign; they did not move or stir; but from the vault came that
soul-sickening wail.

I made a noise with my foot, which, in the silence, echoed far and
near; but there was no response. Louder still; when one of the children
lifted its head, and cast upward a faint glance; then closed its eyes,
and lay motionless. The woman also, now gazed up, and perceived me; but
let fall her eye again. They were dumb and next to dead with want. How
they had crawled into that den, I could not tell; but there they had
crawled to die. At that moment I never thought of relieving them; for
death was so stamped in their glazed and unimploring eyes, that I
almost regarded them as already no more. I stood looking down on them,
while my whole soul swelled within me; and I asked myself, What right
had any body in the wide world to smile and be glad, when sights like
this were to be seen? It was enough to turn the heart to gall; and make
a man-hater of a Howard. For who were these ghosts that I saw? Were
they not human beings? A woman and two girls? With eyes, and lips, and
ears like any queen? with hearts which, though they did not bound with
blood, yet beat with a dull, dead ache that was their life.

At last, I walked on toward an open lot in the alley, hoping to meet
there some ragged old women, whom I had daily noticed groping amid foul
rubbish for little particles of dirty cotton, which they washed out and
sold for a trifle.

I found them; and accosting one, I asked if she knew of the persons I
had just left. She replied, that she did not; nor did she want to. I
then asked another, a miserable, toothless old woman, with a tattered
strip of coarse baling stuff round her body. Looking at me for an
instant, she resumed her raking in the rubbish, and said that she knew
who it was that I spoke of; but that she had no time to attend to
beggars and their brats. Accosting still another, who seemed to know my
errand, I asked if there was no place to which the woman could be
taken. “Yes,” she replied, “to the church-yard.” I said she was alive,
and not dead.

“Then she’ll never die,” was the rejoinder. “She’s been down there
these three days, with nothing to eat;—that I know myself.”

“She desarves it,” said an old hag, who was just placing on her crooked
shoulders her bag of pickings, and who was turning to totter off, “that
Betsy Jennings desarves it—was she ever married? tell me that.”

Leaving Launcelott’s-Hey, I turned into a more frequented street; and
soon meeting a policeman, told him of the condition of the woman and
the girls.

“It’s none of my business, Jack,” said he. “I don’t belong to that
street.”

“Who does then?”

“I don’t know. But what business is it of yours? Are you not a Yankee?”

“Yes,” said I, “but come, I will help you remove that woman, if you say
so.”

“There, now, Jack, go on board your ship and stick to it; and leave
these matters to the town.”

I accosted two more policemen, but with no better success; they would
not even go with me to the place. The truth was, it was out of the way,
in a silent, secluded spot; and the misery of the three outcasts,
hiding away in the ground, did not obtrude upon any one.

Returning to them, I again stamped to attract their attention; but this
time, none of the three looked up, or even stirred. While I yet stood
irresolute, a voice called to me from a high, iron-shuttered window in
a loft over the way; and asked what I was about. I beckoned to the man,
a sort of porter, to come down, which he did; when I pointed down into
the vault.

“Well,” said he, “what of it?”

“Can’t we get them out?” said I, “haven’t you some place in your
warehouse where you can put them? have you nothing for them to eat?”

“You’re crazy, boy,” said he; “do you suppose, that Parkins and Wood
want their warehouse turned into a hospital?”

I then went to my boarding-house, and told Handsome Mary of what I had
seen; asking her if she could not do something to get the woman and
girls removed; or if she could not do that, let me have some food for
them. But though a kind person in the main, Mary replied that she gave
away enough to beggars in her own street (which was true enough)
without looking after the whole neighborhood.

Going into the kitchen, I accosted the cook, a little shriveled-up old
Welshwoman, with a saucy tongue, whom the sailors called _Brandy-Nan;_
and begged her to give me some cold victuals, if she had nothing
better, to take to the vault. But she broke out in a storm of swearing
at the miserable occupants of the vault, and refused. I then stepped
into the room where our dinner was being spread; and waiting till the
girl had gone out, I snatched some bread and cheese from a stand, and
thrusting it into the bosom of my frock, left the house. Hurrying to
the lane, I dropped the food down into the vault. One of the girls
caught at it convulsively, but fell back, apparently fainting; the
sister pushed the other’s arm aside, and took the bread in her hand;
but with a weak uncertain grasp like an infant’s. She placed it to her
mouth; but letting it fall again, murmuring faintly something like
“water.” The woman did not stir; her head was bowed over, just as I had
first seen her.

Seeing how it was, I ran down toward the docks to a mean little sailor
tavern, and begged for a pitcher; but the cross old man who kept it
refused, unless I would pay for it. But I had no money. So as my
boarding-house was some way off, and it would be lost time to run to
the ship for my big iron pot; under the impulse of the moment, I
hurried to one of the Boodle Hydrants, which I remembered having seen
running near the scene of a still smoldering fire in an old rag house;
and taking off a new tarpaulin hat, which had been loaned me that day,
filled it with water.

With this, I returned to Launcelott’s-Hey; and with considerable
difficulty, like getting down into a well, I contrived to descend with
it into the vault; where there was hardly space enough left to let me
stand. The two girls drank out of the hat together; looking up at me
with an unalterable, idiotic expression, that almost made me faint. The
woman spoke not a word, and did not stir. While the girls were breaking
and eating the bread, I tried to lift the woman’s head; but, feeble as
she was, she seemed bent upon holding it down. Observing her arms still
clasped upon her bosom, and that something seemed hidden under the rags
there, a thought crossed my mind, which impelled me forcibly to
withdraw her hands for a moment; when I caught a glimpse of a meager
little babe—the lower part of its body thrust into an old bonnet. Its
face was dazzlingly white, even in its squalor; but the closed eyes
looked like balls of indigo. It must have been dead some hours.

The woman refusing to speak, eat, or drink, I asked one of the girls
who they were, and where they lived; but she only stared vacantly,
muttering something that could not be understood.

The air of the place was now getting too much for me; but I stood
deliberating a moment, whether it was possible for me to drag them out
of the vault. But if I did, what then? They would only perish in the
street, and here they were at least protected from the rain; and more
than that, might die in seclusion.

I crawled up into the street, and looking down upon them again, almost
repented that I had brought them any food; for it would only tend to
prolong their misery, without hope of any permanent relief: for die
they must very soon; they were too far gone for any medicine to help
them. I hardly know whether I ought to confess another thing that
occurred to me as I stood there; but it was this—I felt an almost
irresistible impulse to do them the last mercy, of in some way putting
an end to their horrible lives; and I should almost have done so, I
think, had I not been deterred by thoughts of the law. For I well knew
that the law, which would let them perish of themselves without giving
them one cup of water, would spend a thousand pounds, if necessary, in
convicting him who should so much as offer to relieve them from their
miserable existence.

The next day, and the next, I passed the vault three times, and still
met the same sight. The girls leaning up against the woman on each
side, and the woman with her arms still folding the babe, and her head
bowed. The first evening I did not see the bread that I had dropped
down in the morning; but the second evening, the bread I had dropped
that morning remained untouched. On the third morning the smell that
came from the vault was such, that I accosted the same policeman I had
accosted before, who was patrolling the same street, and told him that
the persons I had spoken to him about were dead, and he had better have
them removed. He looked as if he did not believe me, and added, that it
was not his street.

When I arrived at the docks on my way to the ship, I entered the
guard-house within the walls, and asked for one of the captains, to
whom I told the story; but, from what he said, was led to infer that
the Dock Police was distinct from that of the town, and this was not
the right place to lodge my information.

I could do no more that morning, being obliged to repair to the ship;
but at twelve o’clock, when I went to dinner, I hurried into
Launcelott’s-Hey, when I found that the vault was empty. In place of
the women and children, a heap of quick-lime was glistening.

I could not learn who had taken them away, or whither they had gone;
but my prayer was answered—they were dead, departed, and at peace.

But again I looked down into the vault, and in fancy beheld the pale,
shrunken forms still crouching there. Ah! what are our creeds, and how
do we hope to be saved? Tell me, oh Bible, that story of Lazarus again,
that I may find comfort in my heart for the poor and forlorn.
Surrounded as we are by the wants and woes of our fellowmen, and yet
given to follow our own pleasures, regardless of their pains, are we
not like people sitting up with a corpse, and making merry in the house
of the dead?




CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE DOCK-WALL BEGGARS


I might relate other things which befell me during the six weeks and
more that I remained in Liverpool, often visiting the cellars, sinks,
and hovels of the wretched lanes and courts near the river. But to tell
of them, would only be to tell over again the story just told; so I
return to the docks.

The old women described as picking dirty fragments of cotton in the
empty lot, belong to the same class of beings who at all hours of the
day are to be seen within the dock walls, raking over and over the
heaps of rubbish carried ashore from the holds of the shipping.

As it is against the law to throw the least thing overboard, even a
rope yarn; and as this law is very different from similar laws in New
York, inasmuch as it is rigidly enforced by the dock-masters; and,
moreover, as after discharging a ship’s cargo, a great deal of dirt and
worthless dunnage remains in the hold, the amount of rubbish
accumulated in the appointed receptacles for depositing it within the
walls is extremely large, and is constantly receiving new accessions
from every vessel that unlades at the quays.

Standing over these noisome heaps, you will see scores of tattered
wretches, armed with old rakes and picking-irons, turning over the
dirt, and making as much of a rope-yarn as if it were a skein of silk.
Their findings, nevertheless, are but small; for as it is one of the
immemorial perquisites of the second mate of a merchant ship to
collect, and sell on his own account, all the condemned “old junk” of
the vessel to which he belongs, he generally takes good heed that in
the buckets of rubbish carried ashore, there shall be as few rope-yarns
as possible.

In the same way, the cook preserves all the odds and ends of pork-rinds
and beef-fat, which he sells at considerable profit; upon a six months’
voyage frequently realizing thirty or forty dollars from the sale, and
in large ships, even more than that. It may easily be imagined, then,
how desperately driven to it must these rubbish-pickers be, to ransack
heaps of refuse which have been previously gleaned.

Nor must I omit to make mention of the singular beggary practiced in
the streets frequented by sailors; and particularly to record the
remarkable army of paupers that beset the docks at particular hours of
the day.

At twelve o’clock the crews of hundreds and hundreds of ships issue in
crowds from the dock gates to go to their dinner in the town. This hour
is seized upon by multitudes of beggars to plant themselves against the
outside of the walls, while others stand upon the curbstone to excite
the charity of the seamen. The first time that I passed through this
long lane of pauperism, it seemed hard to believe that such an array of
misery could be furnished by any town in the world.

Every variety of want and suffering here met the eye, and every vice
showed here its victims. Nor were the marvelous and almost incredible
shifts and stratagems of the professional beggars, wanting to finish
this picture of all that is dishonorable to civilization and humanity.

Old women, rather mummies, drying up with slow starving and age; young
girls, incurably sick, who ought to have been in the hospital; sturdy
men, with the gallows in their eyes, and a whining lie in their mouths;
young boys, hollow-eyed and decrepit; and puny mothers, holding up puny
babes in the glare of the sun, formed the main features of the scene.

But these were diversified by instances of peculiar suffering, vice, or
art in attracting charity, which, to me at least, who had never seen
such things before, seemed to the last degree uncommon and monstrous.

I remember one cripple, a young man rather decently clad, who sat
huddled up against the wall, holding a painted board on his knees. It
was a picture intending to represent the man himself caught in the
machinery of some factory, and whirled about among spindles and cogs,
with his limbs mangled and bloody. This person said nothing, but sat
silently exhibiting his board. Next him, leaning upright against the
wall, was a tall, pallid man, with a white bandage round his brow, and
his face cadaverous as a corpse. He, too, said nothing; but with one
finger silently pointed down to the square of flagging at his feet,
which was nicely swept, and stained blue, and bore this inscription in
chalk:—

_“I have had no food for three days;
My wife and children are dying.”_


Further on lay a man with one sleeve of his ragged coat removed,
showing an unsightly sore; and above it a label with some writing.

In some places, for the distance of many rods, the whole line of
flagging immediately at the base of the wall, would be completely
covered with inscriptions, the beggars standing over them in silence.

But as you passed along these horrible records, in an hour’s time
destined to be obliterated by the feet of thousands and thousands of
wayfarers, you were not left unassailed by the clamorous petitions of
the more urgent applicants for charity. They beset you on every hand;
catching you by the coat; hanging on, and following you along; and,
_for Heaven’s sake,_ and _for God’s sake,_ and _for Christ’s sake,_
beseeching of you but _one ha’penny._ If you so much as glanced your
eye on one of them, even for an instant, it was perceived like
lightning, and the person never left your side until you turned into
another street, or satisfied his demands. Thus, at least, it was with
the sailors; though I observed that the beggars treated the town’s
people differently.

I can not say that the seamen did much to relieve the destitution which
three times every day was presented to their view. Perhaps habit had
made them callous; but the truth might have been that very few of them
had much money to give. Yet the beggars must have had some inducement
to infest the dock walls as they did.

As an example of the caprice of sailors, and their sympathy with
suffering among members of their own calling, I must mention the case
of an old man, who every day, and all day long, through sunshine and
rain, occupied a particular corner, where crowds of tars were always
passing. He was an uncommonly large, plethoric man, with a wooden leg,
and dressed in the nautical garb; his face was red and round; he was
continually merry; and with his wooden stump thrust forth, so as almost
to trip up the careless wayfarer, he sat upon a great pile of monkey
jackets, with a little depression in them between his knees, to receive
the coppers thrown him. And plenty of pennies were tost into his
poor-box by the sailors, who always exchanged a pleasant word with the
old man, and passed on, generally regardless of the neighboring
beggars.

The first morning I went ashore with my shipmates, some of them greeted
him as an old acquaintance; for that corner he had occupied for many
long years. He was an old man-of-war’s man, who had lost his leg at the
battle of Trafalgar; and singular to tell, he now exhibited his wooden
one as a genuine specimen of the oak timbers of Nelson’s ship, the
Victory.

Among the paupers were several who wore old sailor hats and jackets,
and claimed to be destitute tars; and on the strength of these
pretensions demanded help from their brethren; but Jack would see
through their disguise in a moment, and turn away, with no benediction.

As I daily passed through this lane of beggars, who thronged the docks
as the Hebrew cripples did the Pool of Bethesda, and as I thought of my
utter inability in any way to help them, I could not but offer up a
prayer, that some angel might descend, and turn the waters of the docks
into an elixir, that would heal all their woes, and make them, man and
woman, healthy and whole as their ancestors, Adam and Eve, in the
garden.

Adam and Eve! If indeed ye are yet alive and in heaven, may it be no
part of your immortality to look down upon the world ye have left. For
as all these sufferers and cripples are as much your family as young
Abel, so, to you, the sight of the world’s woes would be a parental
torment indeed.




CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE BOOBLE-ALLEYS OF THE TOWN


The same sights that are to be met with along the dock walls at noon,
in a less degree, though diversified with other scenes, are continually
encountered in the narrow streets where the sailor boarding-houses are
kept.

In the evening, especially when the sailors are gathered in great
numbers, these streets present a most singular spectacle, the entire
population of the vicinity being seemingly turned into them.
Hand-organs, fiddles, and cymbals, plied by strolling musicians, mix
with the songs of the seamen, the babble of women and children, and the
groaning and whining of beggars. From the various boarding-houses, each
distinguished by gilded emblems outside—an anchor, a crown, a ship, a
windlass, or a dolphin—proceeds the noise of revelry and dancing; and
from the open casements lean young girls and old women, chattering and
laughing with the crowds in the middle of the street. Every moment
strange greetings are exchanged between old sailors who chance to
stumble upon a shipmate, last seen in Calcutta or Savannah; and the
invariable courtesy that takes place upon these occasions, is to go to
the next spirit-vault, and drink each other’s health.

There are particular paupers who frequent particular sections of these
streets, and who, I was told, resented the intrusion of mendicants from
other parts of the town.

Chief among them was a white-haired old man, stone-blind; who was led
up and down through the long tumult by a woman holding a little saucer
to receive contributions. This old man sang, or rather chanted, certain
words in a peculiarly long-drawn, guttural manner, throwing back his
head, and turning up his sightless eyeballs to the sky. His chant was a
lamentation upon his infirmity; and at the time it produced the same
effect upon me, that my first reading of Milton’s Invocation to the Sun
did, years afterward. I can not recall it all; but it was something
like this, drawn out in an endless groan—

“Here goes the blind old man; blind, blind, blind; no more will he see
sun nor moon—no more see sun nor moon!” And thus would he pass through
the middle of the street; the woman going on in advance, holding his
hand, and dragging him through all obstructions; now and then leaving
him standing, while she went among the crowd soliciting coppers.

But one of the most curious features of the scene is the number of
sailor ballad-singers, who, after singing their verses, hand you a
printed copy, and beg you to buy. One of these persons, dressed like a
man-of-war’s-man, I observed every day standing at a corner in the
middle of the street. He had a full, noble voice, like a church-organ;
and his notes rose high above the surrounding din. But the remarkable
thing about this ballad-singer was one of his arms, which, while
singing, he somehow swung vertically round and round in the air, as if
it revolved on a pivot. The feat was unnaturally unaccountable; and he
performed it with the view of attracting sympathy; since he said that
in falling from a frigate’s mast-head to the deck, he had met with an
injury, which had resulted in making his wonderful arm what it was.

I made the acquaintance of this man, and found him no common character.
He was full of marvelous adventures, and abounded in terrific stories
of pirates and sea murders, and all sorts of nautical enormities. He
was a monomaniac upon these subjects; he was a Newgate Calendar of the
robberies and assassinations of the day, happening in the sailor
quarters of the town; and most of his ballads were upon kindred
subjects. He composed many of his own verses, and had them printed for
sale on his own account. To show how expeditious he was at this
business, it may be mentioned, that one evening on leaving the dock to
go to supper, I perceived a crowd gathered about the _Old Fort Tavern;_
and mingling with the rest, I learned that a woman of the town had just
been killed at the bar by a drunken Spanish sailor from Cadiz. The
murderer was carried off by the police before my eyes, and the very
next morning the ballad-singer with the miraculous arm, was singing the
tragedy in front of the boarding-houses, and handing round printed
copies of the song, which, of course, were eagerly bought up by the
seamen.

This passing allusion to the murder will convey some idea of the events
which take place in the lowest and most abandoned neighborhoods
frequented by sailors in Liverpool. The pestilent lanes and alleys
which, in their vocabulary, go by the names of Rotten-row,
Gibraltar-place, and Booble-alley, are putrid with vice and crime; to
which, perhaps, the round globe does not furnish a parallel. The sooty
and begrimed bricks of the very houses have a reeking, Sodomlike, and
murderous look; and well may the shroud of coal-smoke, which hangs over
this part of the town, more than any other, attempt to hide the
enormities here practiced. These are the haunts from which sailors
sometimes disappear forever; or issue in the morning, robbed naked,
from the broken doorways. These are the haunts in which cursing,
gambling, pickpocketing, and common iniquities, are virtues too lofty
for the infected gorgons and hydras to practice. Propriety forbids that
I should enter into details; but kidnappers, burkers, and
resurrectionists are almost saints and angels to them. They seem
leagued together, a company of miscreant misanthropes, bent upon doing
all the malice to mankind in their power. With sulphur and brimstone
they ought to be burned out of their arches like vermin.




CHAPTER XL.
PLACARDS, BRASS-JEWELERS, TRUCK-HORSES, AND STEAMERS


As I wish to group together what fell under my observation concerning
the Liverpool docks, and the scenes roundabout, I will try to throw
into this chapter various minor things that I recall.

The advertisements of pauperism chalked upon the flagging round the
dock walls, are singularly accompanied by a multitude of quite
different announcements, placarded upon the walls themselves. They are
principally notices of the approaching departure of _“superior,
fast-sailing, coppered and copper-fastened ships,”_ for the United
States, Canada, New South Wales, and other places. Interspersed with
these, are the advertisements of Jewish clothesmen, informing the
judicious seamen where he can procure of the best and the cheapest;
together with ambiguous medical announcements of the tribe of quacks
and empirics who prey upon all seafaring men. Not content with thus
publicly giving notice of their whereabouts, these indefatigable
Sangrados and pretended Samaritans hire a parcel of shabby
workhouse-looking knaves, whose business consists in haunting the dock
walls about meal times, and silently thrusting mysterious little
billets—duodecimo editions of the larger advertisements—into the
astonished hands of the tars.

They do this, with such a mysterious hang-dog wink; such a sidelong
air; such a villainous assumption of your necessities; that, at first,
you are almost tempted to knock them down for their pains.

Conspicuous among the notices on the walls, are huge Italic inducements
to all seamen disgusted with the merchant service, to accept a round
bounty, and embark in her Majesty’s navy.

In the British armed marine, in time of peace, they do not ship men for
the general service, as in the American navy; but for particular ships,
going upon particular cruises. Thus, the frigate Thetis may be
announced as about to sail under the command of that fine old sailor,
and noble father to his crew, _Lord George Flagstaff._

Similar announcements may be seen upon the walls concerning enlistments
in the army. And never did auctioneer dilate with more rapture upon the
charms of some country-seat put up for sale, than the authors of these
placards do, upon the beauty and salubrity of the distant climes, for
which the regiments wanting recruits are about to sail. Bright lawns,
vine-clad hills, endless meadows of verdure, here make up the
landscape; and adventurous young gentlemen, fond of travel, are
informed, that here is a chance for them to see the world at their
leisure, and be paid for enjoying themselves into the bargain. The
regiments for India are promised plantations among valleys of palms;
while to those destined for New Holland, a novel sphere of life and
activity is opened; and the companies bound to Canada and Nova Scotia
are lured by tales of summer suns, that ripen grapes in December. No
word of war is breathed; hushed is the clang of arms in these
announcements; and the sanguine recruit is almost tempted to expect
that pruning-hooks, instead of swords, will be the weapons he will
wield.

Alas! is not this the cruel stratagem of Bruce at Bannockburn, who
decoyed to his war-pits by covering them over with green boughs? For
instead of a farm at the blue base of the Himalayas, the Indian recruit
encounters the keen saber of the Sikh; and instead of basking in sunny
bowers, the Canadian soldier stands a shivering sentry upon the bleak
ramparts of Quebec, a lofty mark for the bitter blasts from Baffin’s
Bay and Labrador. There, as his eye sweeps down the St. Lawrence, whose
every billow is bound for the main that laves the shore of Old England;
as he thinks of his long term of enlistment, which sells him to the
army as Doctor Faust sold himself to the devil; how the poor fellow
must groan in his grief, and call to mind the church-yard stile, and
his Mary.

These army announcements are well fitted to draw recruits in Liverpool.
Among the vast number of emigrants, who daily arrive from all parts of
Britain to embark for the United States or the colonies, there are many
young men, who, upon arriving at Liverpool, find themselves next to
penniless; or, at least, with only enough money to carry them over the
sea, without providing for future contingencies. How easily and
naturally, then, may such youths be induced to enter upon the military
life, which promises them a free passage to the most distant and
flourishing colonies, and certain pay for doing nothing; besides
holding out hopes of vineyards and farms, to be verified in the
fullness of time. For in a moneyless youth, the decision to leave home
at all, and embark upon a long voyage to reside in a remote clime, is a
piece of adventurousness only one removed from the spirit that prompts
the army recruit to enlist.

I never passed these advertisements, surrounded by crowds of gaping
emigrants, without thinking of rattraps.

Besides the mysterious agents of the quacks, who privily thrust their
little notes into your hands, folded up like a powder; there are
another set of rascals prowling about the docks, chiefly at dusk; who
make strange motions to you, and beckon you to one side, as if they had
some state secret to disclose, intimately connected with the weal of
the commonwealth. They nudge you with an elbow full of indefinite hints
and intimations; they glitter upon you an eye like a Jew’s or a
pawnbroker’s; they dog you like Italian assassins. But if the blue coat
of a policeman chances to approach, how quickly they strive to look
completely indifferent, as to the surrounding universe; how they
saunter off, as if lazily wending their way to an affectionate wife and
family.

The first time one of these mysterious personages accosted me, I
fancied him crazy, and hurried forward to avoid him. But arm in arm
with my shadow, he followed after; till amazed at his conduct, I turned
round and paused.

He was a little, shabby, old man, with a forlorn looking coat and hat;
and his hand was fumbling in his vest pocket, as if to take out a card
with his address. Seeing me stand still he made a sign toward a dark
angle of the wall, near which we were; when taking him for a cunning
foot-pad, I again wheeled about, and swiftly passed on. But though I
did not look round, I _felt_ him following me still; so once more I
stopped. The fellow now assumed so mystic and admonitory an air, that I
began to fancy he came to me on some warning errand; that perhaps a
plot had been laid to blow up the Liverpool docks, and he was some
Monteagle bent upon accomplishing my flight. I was determined to see
what he was. With all my eyes about me, I followed him into the arch of
a warehouse; when he gazed round furtively, and silently showing me a
ring, whispered, “You may have it for a shilling; it’s pure gold—I
found it in the gutter—hush! don’t speak! give me the money, and it’s
yours.”

“My friend,” said I, “I don’t trade in these articles; I don’t want
your ring.”

“Don’t you? Then take that,” he whispered, in an intense hushed
passion; and I fell flat from a blow on the chest, while this infamous
jeweler made away with himself out of sight. This business transaction
was conducted with a counting-house promptitude that astonished me.

After that, I shunned these scoundrels like the leprosy: and the next
time I was pertinaciously followed, I stopped, and in a loud voice,
pointed out the man to the passers-by; upon which he absconded; rapidly
turning up into sight a pair of obliquely worn and battered boot-heels.
I could not help thinking that these sort of fellows, so given to
running away upon emergencies, must furnish a good deal of work to the
shoemakers; as they might, also, to the growers of hemp and
gallows-joiners.

Belonging to a somewhat similar fraternity with these irritable
merchants of brass jewelry just mentioned, are the peddlers of
Sheffield razors, mostly boys, who are hourly driven out of the dock
gates by the police; nevertheless, they contrive to saunter back, and
board the vessels, going among the sailors and privately exhibiting
their wares. Incited by the extreme cheapness of one of the razors, and
the gilding on the case containing it, a shipmate of mine purchased it
on the spot for a commercial equivalent of the price, in tobacco. On
the following Sunday, he used that razor; and the result was a pair of
tormented and tomahawked cheeks, that almost required a surgeon to
dress them. In old times, by the way, it was not a bad thought, that
suggested the propriety of a barber’s practicing surgery in connection
with the chin-harrowing vocation.

Another class of knaves, who practice upon the sailors in Liverpool,
are the pawnbrokers, inhabiting little rookeries among the narrow lanes
adjoining the dock. I was astonished at the multitude of gilded balls
in these streets, emblematic of their calling. They were generally next
neighbors to the gilded grapes over the spirit-vaults; and no doubt,
mutually to facilitate business operations, some of these
establishments have connecting doors inside, so as to play their
customers into each other’s hands. I often saw sailors in a state of
intoxication rushing from a spirit-vault into a pawnbroker’s; stripping
off their boots, hats, jackets, and neckerchiefs, and sometimes even
their pantaloons on the spot, and offering to pawn them for a song. Of
course such applications were never refused. But though on shore, at
Liverpool, poor Jack finds more sharks than at sea, he himself is by no
means exempt from practices, that do not savor of a rigid morality; at
least according to law. In tobacco smuggling he is an adept: and when
cool and collected, often manages to evade the Customs completely, and
land goodly packages of the weed, which owing to the immense duties
upon it in England, commands a very high price.

As soon as we came to anchor in the river, before reaching the dock,
three Custom-house underlings boarded us, and coming down into the
forecastle, ordered the men to produce all the tobacco they had.
Accordingly several pounds were brought forth.

“Is that all?” asked the officers.

“All,” said the men.

“We will see,” returned the others.

And without more ado, they emptied the chests right and left; tossed
over the bunks and made a thorough search of the premises; but
discovered nothing. The sailors were then given to understand, that
while the ship lay in dock, the tobacco must remain in the cabin, under
custody of the chief mate, who every morning would dole out to them one
plug per head, as a security against their carrying it ashore.

“Very good,” said the men.

But several of them had secret places in the ship, from whence they
daily drew pound after pound of tobacco, which they smuggled ashore in
the manner following.

When the crew went to meals, each man carried at least one plug in his
pocket; _that_ he had a right to; and as many more were hidden about
his person as he dared. Among the great crowds pouring out of the
dock-gates at such hours, of course these smugglers stood little chance
of detection; although vigilant looking policemen were always standing
by. And though these _“Charlies”_ might suppose there were tobacco
smugglers passing; yet to hit the right man among such a throng, would
be as hard, as to harpoon a speckled porpoise, one of ten thousand
darting under a ship’s bows.

Our forecastle was often visited by foreign sailors, who knowing we
came from America, were anxious to purchase tobacco at a cheap rate;
for in Liverpool it is about an American penny per pipe-full. Along the
docks they sell an English pennyworth, put up in a little roll like
confectioners’ mottoes, with poetical lines, or instructive little
moral precepts printed in red on the back.

Among all the sights of the docks, the noble truck-horses are not the
least striking to a stranger. They are large and powerful brutes, with
such sleek and glossy coats, that they look as if brushed and put on by
a valet every morning. They march with a slow and stately step, lifting
their ponderous hoofs like royal Siam elephants. Thou shalt not lay
stripes upon these Roman citizens; for their docility is such, they are
guided without rein or lash; they go or come, halt or march on, at a
whisper. So grave, dignified, gentlemanly, and courteous did these fine
truck-horses look—so full of calm intelligence and sagacity, that often
I endeavored to get into conversation with them, as they stood in
contemplative attitudes while their loads were preparing. But all I
could get from them was the mere recognition of a friendly neigh;
though I would stake much upon it that, could I have spoken in their
language, I would have derived from them a good deal of valuable
information touching the docks, where they passed the whole of their
dignified lives.

There are unknown worlds of knowledge in brutes; and whenever you mark
a horse, or a dog, with a peculiarly mild, calm, deep-seated eye, be
sure he is an Aristotle or a Kant, tranquilly speculating upon the
mysteries in man. No philosophers so thoroughly comprehend us as dogs
and horses. They see through us at a glance. And after all, what is a
horse but a species of four-footed dumb man, in a leathern overall, who
happens to live upon oats, and toils for his masters, half-requited or
abused, like the biped hewers of wood and drawers of water? But there
is a touch of divinity even in brutes, and a special halo about a
horse, that should forever exempt him from indignities. As for those
majestic, magisterial truck-horses of the docks, I would as soon think
of striking a judge on the bench, as to lay violent hand upon their
holy hides.

It is wonderful what loads their majesties will condescend to draw. The
truck is a large square platform, on four low wheels; and upon this the
lumpers pile bale after bale of cotton, as if they were filling a large
warehouse, and yet a procession of three of these horses will
tranquilly walk away with the whole.

The truckmen themselves are almost as singular a race as their animals.
Like the Judiciary in England, they wear gowns,—not of the same cut and
color though,—which reach below their knees; and from the racket they
make on the pavements with their hob-nailed brogans, you would think
they patronized the same shoemaker with their horses. I never could get
any thing out of these truckmen. They are a reserved, sober-sided set,
who, with all possible solemnity, march at the head of their animals;
now and then gently advising them to sheer to the right or the left, in
order to avoid some passing vehicle. Then spending so much of their
lives in the high-bred company of their horses, seems to have mended
their manners and improved their taste, besides imparting to them
something of the dignity of their animals; but it has also given to
them a sort of refined and uncomplaining aversion to human society.

There are many strange stories told of the truck-horse. Among others is
the following: There was a parrot, that from having long been suspended
in its cage from a low window fronting a dock, had learned to converse
pretty fluently in the language of the stevedores and truckmen. One day
a truckman left his vehicle standing on the quay, with its back to the
water. It was noon, when an interval of silence falls upon the docks;
and Poll, seeing herself face to face with the horse, and having a mind
for a chat, cried out to him, _“Back! back! back!”_

Backward went the horse, precipitating himself and truck into the
water.

Brunswick Dock, to the west of Prince’s, is one of the most interesting
to be seen. Here lie the various black steamers (so unlike the American
boats, since they have to navigate the boisterous Narrow Seas) plying
to all parts of the three kingdoms. Here you see vast quantities of
produce, imported from starving Ireland; here you see the decks turned
into pens for oxen and sheep; and often, side by side with these
inclosures, Irish deck-passengers, thick as they can stand, seemingly
penned in just like the cattle. It was the beginning of July when the
Highlander arrived in port; and the Irish laborers were daily coming
over by thousands, to help harvest the English crops.

One morning, going into the town, I heard a tramp, as of a drove of
buffaloes, behind me; and turning round, beheld the entire middle of
the street filled by a great crowd of these men, who had just emerged
from Brunswick Dock gates, arrayed in long-tailed coats of hoddin-gray,
corduroy knee-breeches, and shod with shoes that raised a mighty dust.
Flourishing their Donnybrook shillelahs, they looked like an irruption
of barbarians. They were marching straight out of town into the
country; and perhaps out of consideration for the finances of the
corporation, took the middle of the street, to save the side-walks.

“Sing _Langolee, and the Lakes of Killarney,”_ cried one fellow,
tossing his stick into the air, as he danced in his brogans at the head
of the rabble. And so they went! capering on, merry as pipers.

When I thought of the multitudes of Irish that annually land on the
shores of the United States and Canada, and, to my surprise, witnessed
the additional multitudes embarking from Liverpool to New Holland; and
when, added to all this, I daily saw these hordes of laborers,
descending, thick as locusts, upon the English corn-fields; I could not
help marveling at the fertility of an island, which, though her crop of
potatoes may fail, never yet failed in bringing her annual crop of men
into the world.




CHAPTER XLI.
REDBURN ROVES ABOUT HITHER AND THITHER


I do not know that any other traveler would think it worth while to
mention such a thing; but the fact is, that during the summer months in
Liverpool, the days are exceedingly lengthy; and the first evening I
found myself walking in the twilight after nine o’clock, I tried to
recall my astronomical knowledge, in order to account satisfactorily
for so curious a phenomenon. But the days in summer, and the nights in
winter, are just as long in Liverpool as at Cape Horn; for the latitude
of the two places very nearly corresponds.

These Liverpool days, however, were a famous thing for me; who,
thereby, was enabled after my day’s work aboard the Highlander, to
ramble about the town for several hours. After I had visited all the
noted places I could discover, of those marked down upon my father’s
map, I began to extend my rovings indefinitely; forming myself into a
committee of one, to investigate all accessible parts of the town;
though so many years have elapsed, ere I have thought of bringing in my
report.

This was a great delight to me: for wherever I have been in the world,
I have always taken a vast deal of lonely satisfaction in wandering
about, up and down, among out-of-the-way streets and alleys, and
speculating upon the strangers I have met. Thus, in Liverpool I used to
pace along endless streets of dwelling-houses, looking at the names on
the doors, admiring the pretty faces in the windows, and invoking a
passing blessing upon the chubby children on the door-steps. I was
stared at myself, to be sure: but what of that? We must give and take
on such occasions. In truth, I and my shooting-jacket produced quite a
sensation in Liverpool: and I have no doubt, that many a father of a
family went home to his children with a curious story, about a
wandering phenomenon they had encountered, traversing the side-walks
that day. In the words of the old song, _“I cared for nobody, no not I,
and nobody cared for me.”_ I stared my fill with impunity, and took all
stares myself in good part.

Once I was standing in a large square, gaping at a splendid chariot
drawn up at a portico. The glossy horses quivered with good-living, and
so did the sumptuous calves of the gold-laced coachman and footmen in
attendance. I was particularly struck with the red cheeks of these men:
and the many evidences they furnished of their enjoying this meal with
a wonderful relish.

While thus standing, I all at once perceived, that the objects of my
curiosity, were making me an object of their own; and that they were
gazing at me, as if I were some unauthorized intruder upon the British
soil. Truly, they had reason: for when I now think of the figure I must
have cut in those days, I only marvel that, in my many strolls, my
passport was not a thousand times demanded.

Nevertheless, I was only a forlorn looking mortal among tens of
thousands of rags and tatters. For in some parts of the town, inhabited
by laborers, and poor people generally; I used to crowd my way through
masses of squalid men, women, and children, who at this evening hour,
in those quarters of Liverpool, seem to empty themselves into the
street, and live there for the time. I had never seen any thing like it
in New York. Often, I witnessed some curious, and many very sad scenes;
and especially I remembered encountering a pale, ragged man, rushing
along frantically, and striving to throw off his wife and children, who
clung to his arms and legs; and, in God’s name, conjured him not to
desert them. He seemed bent upon rushing down to the water, and
drowning himself, in some despair, and craziness of wretchedness. In
these haunts, beggary went on before me wherever I walked, and dogged
me unceasingly at the heels. Poverty, poverty, poverty, in almost
endless vistas: and want and woe staggered arm in arm along these
miserable streets.

And here, I must not omit one thing, that struck me at the time. It was
the absence of negroes; who in the large towns in the “free states” of
America, almost always form a considerable portion of the destitute.
But in these streets, not a negro was to be seen. All were whites; and
with the exception of the Irish, were natives of the soil: even
Englishmen; as much Englishmen, as the dukes in the House of Lords.
This conveyed a strange feeling: and more than any thing else, reminded
me that I was not in my own land. For _there,_ such a being as a native
beggar is almost unknown; and to be a born American citizen seems a
guarantee against pauperism; and this, perhaps, springs from the virtue
of a vote.

Speaking of negroes, recalls the looks of interest with which
negro-sailors are regarded when they walk the Liverpool streets. In
Liverpool indeed the negro steps with a prouder pace, and lifts his
head like a man; for here, no such exaggerated feeling exists in
respect to him, as in America. Three or four times, I encountered our
black steward, dressed very handsomely, and walking arm in arm with a
good-looking English woman. In New York, such a couple would have been
mobbed in three minutes; and the steward would have been lucky to
escape with whole limbs. Owing to the friendly reception extended to
them, and the unwonted immunities they enjoy in Liverpool, the black
cooks and stewards of American ships are very much attached to the
place and like to make voyages to it.

Being so young and inexperienced then, and unconsciously swayed in some
degree by those local and social prejudices, that are the marring of
most men, and from which, for the mass, there seems no possible escape;
at first I was surprised that a colored man should be treated as he is
in this town; but a little reflection showed that, after all, it was
but recognizing his claims to humanity and normal equality; so that, in
some things, we Americans leave to other countries the carrying out of
the principle that stands at the head of our Declaration of
Independence.

During my evening strolls in the wealthier quarters, I was subject to a
continual mortification. It was the humiliating fact, wholly unforeseen
by me, that upon the whole, and barring the poverty and beggary,
Liverpool, away from the docks, was very much such a place as New York.
There were the same sort of streets pretty much; the same rows of
houses with stone steps; the same kind of side-walks and curbs; and the
same elbowing, heartless-looking crowd as ever.

I came across the Leeds Canal, one afternoon; but, upon my word, no one
could have told it from the Erie Canal at Albany. I went into St.
John’s Market on a Saturday night; and though it was strange enough to
see that great roof supported by so many pillars, yet the most
discriminating observer would not have been able to detect any
difference between the articles exposed for sale, and the articles
exhibited in Fulton Market, New York.

I walked down Lord-street, peering into the jewelers’ shops; but I
thought I was walking down a block in Broadway. I began to think that
all this talk about travel was a humbug; and that he who lives in a
nut-shell, lives in an epitome of the universe, and has but little to
see beyond him.

It is true, that I often thought of London’s being only seven or eight
hours’ travel by railroad from where I was; and that _there,_ surely,
must be a world of wonders waiting my eyes: but more of London anon.

Sundays were the days upon which I made my longest explorations. I rose
bright and early, with my whole plan of operations in my head. First
walking into some dock hitherto unexamined, and then to breakfast. Then
a walk through the more fashionable streets, to see the people going to
church; and then I myself went to church, selecting the goodliest
edifice, and the tallest Kentuckian of a spire I could find.

For I am an admirer of church architecture; and though, perhaps, the
sums spent in erecting magnificent cathedrals might better go to the
founding of charities, yet since these structures are built, those who
disapprove of them in one sense, may as well have the benefit of them
in another.

It is a most Christian thing, and a matter most sweet to dwell upon and
simmer over in solitude, that any poor sinner may go to church wherever
he pleases; and that even St. Peter’s in Rome is open to him, as to a
cardinal; that St. Paul’s in London is not shut against him; and that
the Broadway Tabernacle, in New York, opens all her broad aisles to
him, and will not even have doors and thresholds to her pews, the
better to allure him by an unbounded invitation. I say, this
consideration of the hospitality and democracy in churches, is a most
Christian and charming thought. It speaks whole volumes of folios, and
Vatican libraries, for Christianity; it is more eloquent, and goes
farther home than all the sermons of Massillon, Jeremy Taylor, Wesley,
and Archbishop Tillotson.

Nothing daunted, therefore, by thinking of my being a stranger in the
land; nothing daunted by the architectural superiority and costliness
of any Liverpool church; or by the streams of silk dresses and fine
broadcloth coats flowing into the aisles, I used humbly to present
myself before the sexton, as a candidate for admission. He would stare
a little, perhaps (one of them once hesitated), but in the end, what
could he do but show me into a pew; not the most commodious of pews, to
be sure; nor commandingly located; nor within very plain sight or
hearing of the pulpit. No; it was remarkable, that there was always
some confounded pillar or obstinate angle of the wall in the way; and I
used to think, that the sextons of Liverpool must have held a secret
meeting on my account, and resolved to apportion me the most
inconvenient pew in the churches under their charge. However, they
always gave me a seat of some sort or other; sometimes even on an oaken
bench in the open air of the aisle, where I would sit, dividing the
attention of the congregation between myself and the clergyman. The
whole congregation seemed to know that I was a foreigner of
distinction.

It was sweet to hear the service read, the organ roll, the sermon
preached—just as the same things were going on three thousand five
hundred miles off, at home! But then, the prayer in behalf of her
majesty the Queen, somewhat threw me back. Nevertheless, I joined in
that prayer, and invoked for the lady the best wishes of a poor Yankee.

How I loved to sit in the holy hush of those brown old monastic aisles,
thinking of Harry the Eighth, and the Reformation! How I loved to go a
roving with my eye, all along the sculptured walls and buttresses;
winding in among the intricacies of the pendent ceiling, and wriggling
my fancied way like a wood-worm. I could have sat there all the morning
long, through noon, unto night. But at last the benediction would come;
and appropriating my share of it, I would slowly move away, thinking
how I should like to go home with some of the portly old gentlemen,
with high-polished boots and Malacca canes, and take a seat at their
cosy and comfortable dinner-tables. But, alas! there was no dinner for
me except at the sign of the Baltimore Clipper.

Yet the Sunday dinners that Handsome Mary served up were not to be
scorned. The roast beef of Old England abounded; and so did the
immortal plum-puddings, and the unspeakably capital gooseberry pies.
But to finish off with that abominable _“swipes”_ almost spoiled all
the rest: not that I myself patronized _“swipes”_ but my shipmates did;
and every cup I saw them drink, I could not choose but taste in
imagination, and even then the flavor was bad.

On Sundays, at dinner-time, as, indeed, on every other day, it was
curious to watch the proceedings at the sign of the Clipper. The
servant girls were running about, mustering the various crews, whose
dinners were spread, each in a separate apartment; and who were
collectively known by the names of their ships.

“Where are the _Arethusas?—_Here’s their beef been smoking this
half-hour.”—“Fly, Betty, my dear, here come the _Splendids.”—_ “Run,
Molly, my love; get the salt-cellars for the _Highlanders_ .”—“You
Peggy, where’s the _Siddons’ pickle-pat?”—“I_ say, Judy, are you never
coming with that pudding for the _Lord Nelsons?”_

On week days, we did not fare quite so well as on Sundays; and once we
came to dinner, and found two enormous bullock hearts smoking at each
end of the Highlanders’ table. Jackson was indignant at the outrage.

He always sat at the head of the table; and this time he squared
himself on his bench, and erecting his knife and fork like flag-staffs,
so as to include the two hearts between them, he called out for Danby,
the boarding-house keeper; for although his wife Mary was in fact at
the head of the establishment, yet Danby himself always came in for the
fault-findings.

Danby obsequiously appeared, and stood in the doorway, well knowing the
philippics that were coming. But he was not prepared for the peroration
of Jackson’s address to him; which consisted of the two bullock hearts,
snatched bodily off the dish, and flung at his head, by way of a
recapitulation of the preceding arguments. The company then broke up in
disgust, and dined elsewhere.

Though I almost invariably attended church on Sunday mornings, yet the
rest of the day I spent on my travels; and it was on one of these
afternoon strolls, that on passing through St. George’s-square, I found
myself among a large crowd, gathered near the base of George the
Fourth’s equestrian statue.

The people were mostly mechanics and artisans in their holiday clothes;
but mixed with them were a good many soldiers, in lean, lank, and
dinnerless undresses, and sporting attenuated rattans. These troops
belonged to the various regiments then in town. Police officers, also,
were conspicuous in their uniforms. At first perfect silence and
decorum prevailed.

Addressing this orderly throng was a pale, hollow-eyed young man, in a
snuff-colored surtout, who looked worn with much watching, or much
toil, or too little food. His features were good, his whole air was
respectable, and there was no mistaking the fact, that he was strongly
in earnest in what he was saying.

In his hand was a soiled, inflammatory-looking pamphlet, from which he
frequently read; following up the quotations with nervous appeals to
his hearers, a rolling of his eyes, and sometimes the most frantic
gestures. I was not long within hearing of him, before I became aware
that this youth was a Chartist.

Presently the crowd increased, and some commotion was raised, when I
noticed the police officers augmenting in number; and by and by, they
began to glide through the crowd, politely hinting at the propriety of
dispersing. The first persons thus accosted were the soldiers, who
accordingly sauntered off, switching their rattans, and admiring their
high-polished shoes. It was plain that the Charter did not hang very
heavy round their hearts. For the rest, they also gradually broke up;
and at last I saw the speaker himself depart.

I do not know why, but I thought he must be some despairing elder son,
supporting by hard toil his mother and sisters; for of such many
political desperadoes are made.

That same Sunday afternoon, I strolled toward the outskirts of the
town, and attracted by the sight of two great Pompey’s pillars, in the
shape of black steeples, apparently rising directly from the soil, I
approached them with much curiosity. But looking over a low parapet
connecting them, what was my surprise to behold at my feet a smoky
hollow in the ground, with rocky walls, and dark holes at one end,
carrying out of view several lines of iron railways; while far beyond,
straight out toward the open country, ran an endless railroad. Over the
place, a handsome Moorish arch of stone was flung; and gradually, as I
gazed upon it, and at the little side arches at the bottom of the
hollow, there came over me an undefinable feeling, that I had
previously seen the whole thing before. Yet how could that be?
Certainly, I had never been in Liverpool before: but then, that Moorish
arch! surely I remembered that very well. It was not till several
months after reaching home in America, that my perplexity upon this
matter was cleared away. In glancing over an old number of the Penny
Magazine, there I saw a picture of the place to the life; and
remembered having seen the same print years previous. It was a
representation of the spot where the Manchester railroad enters the
outskirts of the town.




CHAPTER XLII.
HIS ADVENTURE WITH THE _CROSS_ OLD GENTLEMAN


My adventure in the News-Room in the Exchange, which I have related in
a previous chapter, reminds me of another, at the Lyceum, some days
after, which may as well be put down here, before I forget it.

I was strolling down Bold-street, I think it was, when I was struck by
the sight of a brown stone building, very large and handsome. The
windows were open, and there, nicely seated, with their comfortable
legs crossed over their comfortable knees, I beheld several sedate,
happy-looking old gentlemen reading the magazines and papers, and one
had a fine gilded volume in his hand.

Yes, this must be the Lyceum, thought I; let me see. So I whipped out
my guide-book, and opened it at the proper place; and sure enough, the
building before me corresponded stone for stone. I stood awhile on the
opposite side of the street, gazing at my picture, and then at its
original; and often dwelling upon the pleasant gentlemen sitting at the
open windows; till at last I felt an uncontrollable impulse to step in
for a moment, and run over the news.

I’m a poor, friendless sailor-boy, thought I, and they can not object;
especially as I am from a foreign land, and strangers ought to be
treated with courtesy. I turned the matter over again, as I walked
across the way; and with just a small tapping of a misgiving at my
heart, I at last scraped my feet clean against the curb-stone, and
taking off my hat while I was yet in the open air, slowly sauntered in.

But I had not got far into that large and lofty room, filled with many
agreeable sights, when a crabbed old gentleman lifted up his eye from
the _London Times,_ which words I saw boldly printed on the back of the
large sheet in his hand, and looking at me as if I were a strange dog
with a muddy hide, that had stolen out of the gutter into this fine
apartment, he shook his silver-headed cane at me fiercely, till the
spectacles fell off his nose. Almost at the same moment, up stepped a
terribly cross man, who looked as if he had a mustard plaster on his
back, that was continually exasperating him; who throwing down some
papers which he had been filing, took me by my innocent shoulders, and
then, putting his foot against the broad part of my pantaloons, wheeled
me right out into the street, and dropped me on the walk, without so
much as offering an apology for the affront. I sprang after him, but in
vain; the door was closed upon me.

These Englishmen have no manners, that’s plain, thought I; and I
trudged on down the street in a reverie.




CHAPTER XLIII.
HE TAKES A DELIGHTFUL RAMBLE INTO THE COUNTRY; AND MAKES THE
ACQUAINTANCE OF THREE ADORABLE CHARMERS


Who that dwells in America has not heard of the bright fields and green
hedges of England, and longed to behold them? Even so had it been with
me; and now that I was actually in England, I resolved not to go away
without having a good, long look at the open fields.

On a Sunday morning I started, with a lunch in my pocket. It was a
beautiful day in July; the air was sweet with the breath of buds and
flowers, and there was a green splendor in the landscape that ravished
me. Soon I gained an elevation commanding a wide sweep of view; and
meadow and mead, and woodland and hedge, were all around me.

Ay, ay! this was old England, indeed! I had found it at last—there it
was in the country! Hovering over the scene was a soft, dewy air, that
seemed faintly tinged with the green of the grass; and I thought, as I
breathed my breath, that perhaps I might be inhaling the very particles
once respired by Rosamond the Fair.

On I trudged along the London road—smooth as an entry floor—and every
white cottage I passed, embosomed in honeysuckles, seemed alive in the
landscape.

But the day wore on; and at length the sun grew hot; and the long road
became dusty. I thought that some shady place, in some shady field,
would be very pleasant to repose in. So, coming to a charming little
dale, undulating down to a hollow, arched over with foliage, I crossed
over toward it; but paused by the road-side at a frightful
announcement, nailed against an old tree, used as a gate-post—

“MAN-TRAPS AND SPRING-GUNS!”


In America I had never heard of the like. What could it mean? They were
not surely _cannibals,_ that dwelt down in that beautiful little dale,
and lived by catching men, like weasels and beavers in Canada!

“A _man-trap!”_ It must be so. The announcement could bear but one
meaning—that there was something near by, intended to catch human
beings; some species of mechanism, that would suddenly fasten upon the
unwary rover, and hold him by the leg like a dog; or, perhaps, devour
him on the spot.

Incredible! In a Christian land, too! Did that sweet lady, Queen
Victoria, permit such diabolical practices? Had her gracious majesty
ever passed by this way, and seen the announcement?

And who put it there?

The proprietor, probably.

And what right had he to do so?

Why, he owned the soil.

And where are his title-deeds?

In his strong-box, I suppose.

Thus I stood wrapt in cogitations.

You are a pretty fellow, Wellingborough, thought I to myself; you are a
mighty traveler, indeed:—stopped on your travels by a _man-trap!_ Do
you think Mungo Park was so served in Africa? Do you think Ledyard was
so entreated in Siberia? Upon my word, you will go home not very much
wiser than when you set out; and the only excuse you can give, for not
having seen more sights, will be _man-traps—mantraps, my masters!_ that
frightened you!

And then, in my indignation, I fell back upon first principles. What
right has this man to the soil he thus guards with dragons? What
excessive effrontery, to lay sole claim to a solid piece of this
planet, right down to the earth’s axis, and, perhaps, straight through
to the antipodes! For a moment I thought I would test his traps, and
enter the forbidden Eden.

But the grass grew so thickly, and seemed so full of sly things, that
at last I thought best to pace off.

Next, I came to a hawthorn lane, leading down very prettily to a nice
little church; a mossy little church; a beautiful little church; just
such a church as I had always dreamed to be in England. The porch was
viny as an arbor; the ivy was climbing about the tower; and the bees
were humming about the hoary old head-stones along the walls.

Any man-traps here? thought I—any spring-guns?

No.

So I walked on, and entered the church, where I soon found a seat. No
Indian, red as a deer, could have startled the simple people more. They
gazed and they gazed; but as I was all attention to the sermon, and
conducted myself with perfect propriety, they did not expel me, as at
first I almost imagined they might.

Service over, I made my way through crowds of children, who stood
staring at the marvelous stranger, and resumed my stroll along the
London Road.

My next stop was at an inn, where under a tree sat a party of rustics,
drinking ale at a table.

“Good day,” said I.

“Good day; from Liverpool?”

“I guess so.”

“For London?”

“No; not this time. I merely come to see the country.”

At this, they gazed at each other; and I, at myself; having doubts
whether I might not look something like a horse-thief.

“Take a seat,” said the landlord, a fat fellow, with his wife’s apron
on, I thought.

“Thank you.”

And then, little by little, we got into a long talk: in the course of
which, I told who I was, and where I was from. I found these rustics a
good-natured, jolly set; and I have no doubt they found me quite a
sociable youth. They treated me to ale; and I treated them to stories
about America, concerning which, they manifested the utmost curiosity.
One of them, however, was somewhat astonished that I had not made the
acquaintance of a brother of his, who had resided somewhere on the
banks of the Mississippi for several years past; but among twenty
millions of people, I had never happened to meet him, at least to my
knowledge.

At last, leaving this party, I pursued my way, exhilarated by the
lively conversation in which I had shared, and the pleasant sympathies
exchanged: and perhaps, also, by the ale I had drunk:—fine old ale;
yes, English ale, ale brewed in England! And I trod English soil; and
breathed English air; and every blade of grass was an Englishman born.
Smoky old Liverpool, with all its pitch and tar was now far behind;
nothing in sight but open meadows and fields.

Come, Wellingborough, why not push on for London?— Hurra! what say you?
let’s have a peep at St. Paul’s? Don’t you want to see the queen? Have
you no longing to behold the duke? Think of Westminster Abbey, and the
Tunnel under the Thames! Think of Hyde Park, and the ladies!

But then, thought I again, with my hands wildly groping in my two
vacuums of pockets—who’s to pay the bill?—You can’t beg your way,
Wellingborough; that would never do; for you are your father’s son,
Wellingborough; and you must not disgrace your family in a foreign
land; you must not turn pauper.

Ah! Ah! it was indeed too true; there was no St. Paul’s or Westminster
Abbey for me; that was flat.

Well, well, up heart, you’ll see it one of these days.

But think of it! here I am on the very road that leads to the
Thames—think of _that!—_here I am—ay, treading in the wheel-tracks of
coaches that are bound for the metropolis!—It was too bad; too bitterly
bad. But I shoved my old hat over my brows, and walked on; till at last
I came to a green bank, deliriously shaded by a fine old tree with
broad branching arms, that stretched themselves over the road, like a
hen gathering her brood under her wings. Down on the green grass I
threw myself and there lay my head, like a last year’s nut. People
passed by, on foot and in carriages, and little thought that the sad
youth under the tree was the great-nephew of a late senator in the
American Congress.

Presently, I started to my feet, as I heard a gruff voice behind me
from the field, crying out—“What are you doing there, you young
rascal?—run away from the work’us, have ye? Tramp, or I’ll set Blucher
on ye!”

And who was Blucher? A cut-throat looking dog, with his black
bull-muzzle thrust through a gap in the hedge. And his master? A sturdy
farmer, with an alarming cudgel in his hand.

“Come, are you going to start?” he cried.

“Presently,” said I, making off with great dispatch. When I had got a
few yards into the middle of the highroad (which belonged as much to me
as it did to the queen herself), I turned round, like a man on his own
premises, and said— “Stranger! if you ever visit America, just call at
our house, and you’ll always find there a dinner and a bed. Don’t
fail.”

I then walked on toward Liverpool, full of sad thoughts concerning the
cold charities of the world, and the infamous reception given to
hapless young travelers, in broken-down shooting-jackets.

On, on I went, along the skirts of forbidden green fields; until
reaching a cottage, before which I stood rooted.

So sweet a place I had never seen: no palace in Persia could be
pleasanter; there were flowers in the garden; and six red cheeks, like
six moss-roses, hanging from the casement. At the embowered doorway,
sat an old man, confidentially communing with his pipe: while a little
child, sprawling on the ground, was playing with his shoestrings. A
hale matron, but with rather a prim expression, was reading a journal
by his side: and three charmers, three Peris, three Houris! were
leaning out of the window close by.

Ah! Wellingborough, don’t you wish you could step in?

With a heavy heart at his cheerful sigh, I was turning to go, when—is
it possible? the old man called me back, and invited me in.

“Come, come,” said he, “you look as if you had walked far; come, take a
bowl of milk. Matilda, my dear” (how my heart jumped), “go fetch some
from the dairy.” And the white-handed angel did meekly obey, and handed
_me—me,_ the vagabond, a bowl of bubbling milk, which I could hardly
drink down, for gazing at the dew on her lips.

As I live, I could have married that charmer on the spot!

She was by far the most beautiful rosebud I had yet seen in England.
But I endeavored to dissemble my ardent admiration; and in order to do
away at once with any unfavorable impressions arising from the close
scrutiny of my miserable shooting-jacket, which was now taking place, I
declared myself a Yankee sailor from Liverpool, who was spending a
Sunday in the country.

“And have you been to church to-day, young man?” said the old lady,
looking daggers.

“Good madam, I have; the little church down yonder, you know—a most
excellent sermon—I am much the better for it.”

I wanted to mollify this severe looking old lady; for even my short
experience of old ladies had convinced me that they are the hereditary
enemies of all strange young men.

I soon turned the conversation toward America, a theme which I knew
would be interesting, and upon which I could be fluent and agreeable. I
strove to talk in Addisonian English, and ere long could see very
plainly that my polished phrases were making a surprising impression,
though that miserable shooting-jacket of mine was a perpetual drawback
to my claims to gentility.

Spite of all my blandishments, however, the old lady stood her post
like a sentry; and to my inexpressible chagrin, kept the three charmers
in the background, though the old man frequently called upon them to
advance. This fine specimen of an old Englishman seemed to be quite as
free from ungenerous suspicions as his vinegary spouse was full of
them. But I still lingered, snatching furtive glances at the young
ladies, and vehemently talking to the old man about Illinois, and the
river Ohio, and the fine farms in the Genesee country, where, in
harvest time, the laborers went into the wheat fields a thousand
strong.

Stick to it, Wellingborough, thought I; don’t give the old lady time to
think; stick to it, my boy, and an invitation to tea will reward you.
At last it came, and the old lady abated her frowns.

It was the most delightful of meals; the three charmers sat all on one
side, and I opposite, between the old man and his wife. The middle
charmer poured out the souchong, and handed me the buttered muffins;
and such buttered muffins never were spread on the other side of the
Atlantic. The butter had an aromatic flavor; by Jove, it was perfectly
delicious.

And there they sat—the charmers, I mean—eating these buttered muffins
in plain sight. I wished I was a buttered muffin myself. Every minute
they grew handsomer and handsomer; and I could not help thinking what a
fine thing it would be to carry home a beautiful English wife! how my
friends would stare! a lady from England!

I might have been mistaken; but certainly I thought that Matilda, the
one who had handed me the milk, sometimes looked rather benevolently in
the direction where I sat. She certainly _did_ look at my jacket; and I
am constrained to think at my face. Could it be possible she had fallen
in love at first sight? Oh, rapture! But oh, misery! that was out of
the question; for what a looking suitor was Wellingborough?

At length, the old lady glanced toward the door, and made some
observations about its being yet a long walk to town. She handed me the
buttered muffins, too, as if performing a final act of hospitality; and
in other fidgety ways vaguely hinted her desire that I should decamp.

Slowly I rose, and murmured my thanks, and bowed, and tried to be off;
but as quickly I turned, and bowed, and thanked, and lingered again and
again. Oh, charmers! oh, Peris! thought I, must I go? Yes,
Wellingborough, you must; so I made one desperate congee, and darted
through the door.

I have never seen them since: no, nor heard of them; but to this day I
live a bachelor on account of those ravishing charmers.

As the long twilight was waning deeper and deeper into the night, I
entered the town; and, plodding my solitary way to the same old docks,
I passed through the gates, and scrambled my way among tarry smells,
across the tiers of ships between the quay and the Highlander. My only
resource was my bunk; in I turned, and, wearied with my long stroll,
was soon fast asleep, dreaming of red cheeks and roses.




CHAPTER XLIV.
REDBURN INTRODUCES MASTER HARRY BOLTON TO THE FAVORABLE CONSIDERATION
OF THE READER


It was the day following my Sunday stroll into the country, and when I
had been in England four weeks or more, that I made the acquaintance of
a handsome, accomplished, but unfortunate youth, young Harry Bolton. He
was one of those small, but perfectly formed beings, with curling hair,
and silken muscles, who seem to have been born in cocoons. His
complexion was a mantling brunette, feminine as a girl’s; his feet were
small; his hands were white; and his eyes were large, black, and
womanly; and, poetry aside, his voice was as the sound of a harp.

But where, among the tarry docks, and smoky sailor-lanes and by-ways of
a seaport, did I, a battered Yankee boy, encounter this courtly youth?

Several evenings I had noticed him in our street of boarding-houses,
standing in the doorways, and silently regarding the animated scenes
without. His beauty, dress, and manner struck me as so out of place in
such a street, that I could not possibly divine what had transplanted
this delicate exotic from the conservatories of some Regent-street to
the untidy potato-patches of Liverpool.

At last I suddenly encountered him at the sign of the Baltimore
Clipper. He was speaking to one of my shipmates concerning America; and
from something that dropped, I was led to imagine that he contemplated
a voyage to my country. Charmed with his appearance, and all eagerness
to enjoy the society of this incontrovertible son of a gentleman—a kind
of pleasure so long debarred me—I smoothed down the skirts of my
jacket, and at once accosted him; declaring who I was, and that nothing
would afford me greater delight than to be of the least service, in
imparting any information concerning America that he needed.

He glanced from my face to my jacket, and from my jacket to my face,
and at length, with a pleased but somewhat puzzled expression, begged
me to accompany him on a walk.

We rambled about St. George’s Pier until nearly midnight; but before we
parted, with uncommon frankness, he told me many strange things
respecting his history.

According to his own account, Harry Bolton was a native of Bury St.
Edmunds, a borough of Suffolk, not very far from London, where he was
early left an orphan, under the charge of an only aunt. Between his
aunt and himself, his mother had divided her fortune; and young Harry
thus fell heir to a portion of about five thousand pounds.

Being of a roving mind, as he approached his majority he grew restless
of the retirement of a country place; especially as he had no
profession or business of any kind to engage his attention.

In vain did Bury, with all its fine old monastic attractions, lure him
to abide on the beautiful banks of her Larke, and under the shadow of
her stately and storied old Saxon tower.

By all my rare old historic associations, breathed Bury; by my
Abbey-gate, that bears to this day the arms of Edward the Confessor; by
my carved roof of the old church of St. Mary’s, which escaped the low
rage of the bigoted Puritans; by the royal ashes of Mary Tudor, that
sleep in my midst; by my Norman ruins, and by all the old abbots of
Bury, do not, oh Harry! abandon me. Where will you find shadier walks
than under my lime-trees? where lovelier gardens than those within the
old walls of my monastery, approached through my lordly Gate? Or if, oh
Harry! indifferent to my historic mosses, and caring not for my annual
verdure, thou must needs be lured by other tassels, and wouldst fain,
like the Prodigal, squander thy patrimony, then, go not away from old
Bury to do it. For here, on Angel-Hill, are my coffee and card-rooms,
and billiard saloons, where you may lounge away your mornings, and
empty your glass and your purse as you list.

In vain. Bury was no place for the adventurous Harry, who must needs
hie to London, where in one winter, in the company of gambling
sportsmen and dandies, he lost his last sovereign.

What now was to be done? His friends made interest for him in the
requisite quarters, and Harry was soon embarked for Bombay, as a
midshipman in the East India service; in which office he was known as a
_“guinea-pig,”_ a humorous appellation then bestowed upon the middies
of the Company. And considering the perversity of his behavior, his
delicate form, and soft complexion, and that gold guineas had been his
bane, this appellation was not altogether, in poor Harry’s case,
inapplicable.

He made one voyage, and returned; another, and returned; and then threw
up his warrant in disgust. A few weeks’ dissipation in London, and
again his purse was almost drained; when, like many prodigals, scorning
to return home to his aunt, and amend—though she had often written him
the kindest of letters to that effect—Harry resolved to precipitate
himself upon the New World, and there carve out a fresh fortune. With
this object in view, he packed his trunks, and took the first train for
Liverpool. Arrived in that town, he at once betook himself to the
docks, to examine the American shipping, when a new crotchet entered
his brain, born of his old sea reminiscences. It was to assume duck
browsers and tarpaulin, and gallantly cross the Atlantic as a sailor.
There was a dash of romance in it; a taking abandonment; and scorn of
fine coats, which exactly harmonized with his reckless contempt, at the
time, for all past conventionalities.

Thus determined, he exchanged his trunk for a mahogany chest; sold some
of his superfluities; and moved his quarters to the sign of the Gold
Anchor in Union-street.

After making his acquaintance, and learning his intentions, I was all
anxiety that Harry should accompany me home in the Highlander, a desire
to which he warmly responded.

Nor was I without strong hopes that he would succeed in an application
to the captain; inasmuch as during our stay in the docks, three of our
crew had left us, and their places would remain unsupplied till just
upon the eve of our departure.

And here, it may as well be related, that owing to the heavy charges to
which the American ships long staying in Liverpool are subjected, from
the obligation to continue the wages of their seamen, when they have
little or no work to employ them, and from the necessity of boarding
them ashore, like lords, at their leisure, captains interested in the
ownership of their vessels, are not at all indisposed to let their
sailors abscond, if they please, and thus forfeit their money; for they
well know that, when wanted, a new crew is easily to be procured,
through the crimps of the port.

Though he spake English with fluency, and from his long service in the
vessels of New York, was almost an American to behold, yet Captain Riga
was in fact a Russian by birth, though this was a fact that he strove
to conceal. And though extravagant in his personal expenses, and even
indulging in luxurious habits, costly as Oriental dissipation, yet
Captain Riga was a niggard to others; as, indeed, was evinced in the
magnificent stipend of three dollars, with which he requited my own
valuable services. Therefore, as it was agreed between Harry and me,
that he should offer to ship as a _“boy,”_ at the same rate of
compensation with myself, I made no doubt that, incited by the
cheapness of the bargain, Captain Riga would gladly close with him; and
thus, instead of paying sixteen dollars a month to a thorough-going
tar, who would consume all his rations, buy up my young blade of Bury,
at the rate of half a dollar a week; with the cheering prospect, that
by the end of the voyage, his fastidious palate would be the means of
leaving a handsome balance of salt beef and pork in the _harness-cask._

With part of the money obtained by the sale of a few of his velvet
vests, Harry, by my advice, now rigged himself in a Guernsey frock and
man-of-war browsers; and thus equipped, he made his appearance, one
fine morning, on the quarterdeck of the Highlander, gallantly doffing
his virgin tarpaulin before the redoubtable Riga.

No sooner were his wishes made known, than I perceived in the captain’s
face that same bland, benevolent, and bewitchingly merry expression,
that had so charmed, but deceived me, when, with Mr. Jones, I had first
accosted him in the cabin.

Alas, Harry! thought I,—as I stood upon the forecastle looking astern
where they stood,—that _“gallant, gay deceiver”_ shall not altogether
cajole you, if Wellingborough can help it. Rather than that should be
the case, indeed, I would forfeit the pleasure of your society across
the Atlantic.

At this interesting interview the captain expressed a sympathetic
concern touching the sad necessities, which he took upon himself to
presume must have driven Harry to sea; he confessed to a warm interest
in his future welfare; and did not hesitate to declare that, in going
to America, under such circumstances, to seek his fortune, he was
acting a manly and spirited part; and that the voyage thither, as a
sailor, would be an invigorating preparative to the landing upon a
shore, where he must battle out his fortune with Fate.

He engaged him at once; but was sorry to say, that he could not provide
him a home on board till the day previous to the sailing of the ship;
and during the interval, he could not honor any drafts upon the
strength of his wages.

However, glad enough to conclude the agreement upon any terms at all,
my young blade of Bury expressed his satisfaction; and full of
admiration at so urbane and gentlemanly a sea-captain, he came forward
to receive my congratulations.

“Harry,” said I, “be not deceived by the fascinating Riga—that gay
Lothario of all inexperienced, sea-going youths, from the capital or
the country; he has a Janus-face, Harry; and you will not know him when
he gets you out of sight of land, and mouths his cast-off coats and
browsers. For _then_ he is another personage altogether, and adjusts
his character to the shabbiness of his integuments. No more condolings
and sympathy then; no more blarney; he will hold you a little better
than his boots, and would no more think of addressing you than of
invoking wooden Donald, the figure-head on our bows.”

And I further admonished my friend concerning our crew, particularly of
the diabolical Jackson, and warned him to be cautious and wary. I told
him, that unless he was somewhat accustomed to the rigging, and could
furl a royal in a squall, he would be sure to subject himself to a sort
of treatment from the sailors, in the last degree ignominious to any
mortal who had ever crossed his legs under mahogany.

And I played the inquisitor, in cross-questioning Harry respecting the
precise degree in which he was a practical sailor;—whether he had a
giddy head; whether his arms could bear the weight of his body;
whether, with but one hand on a shroud, a hundred feet aloft in a
tempest, he felt he could look right to windward and beard it.

To all this, and much more, Harry rejoined with the most off-hand and
confident air; saying that in his _“guinea-pig”_ days, he had often
climbed the masts and handled the sails in a gentlemanly and amateur
way; so he made no doubt that he would very soon prove an expert
tumbler in the Highlander’s rigging.

His levity of manner, and sanguine assurance, coupled with the constant
sight of his most unseamanlike person—more suited to the Queen’s
drawing-room than a ship’s forecastle-bred many misgivings in my mind.
But after all, every one in this world has his own fate intrusted to
himself; and though we may warn, and forewarn, and give sage advice,
and indulge in many apprehensions touching our friends; yet our
friends, for the most part, will _“gang their ain gate;”_ and the most
we can do is, to hope for the best. Still, I suggested to Harry,
whether he had not best cross the sea as a steerage passenger, since he
could procure enough money for that; but no, he was bent upon going as
a sailor.

I now had a comrade in my afternoon strolls, and Sunday excursions; and
as Harry was a generous fellow, he shared with me his purse and his
heart. He sold off several more of his fine vests and browsers, his
silver-keyed flute and enameled guitar; and a portion of the money thus
furnished was pleasantly spent in refreshing ourselves at the road-side
inns in the vicinity of the town.

Reclining side by side in some agreeable nook, we exchanged our
experiences of the past. Harry enlarged upon the fascinations of a
London life; described the curricle he used to drive in Hyde Park; gave
me the measurement of Madame Vestris’ ankle; alluded to his first
introduction at a club to the madcap Marquis of Waterford; told over
the sums he had lost upon the turf on a Derby day; and made various but
enigmatical allusions to a certain Lady Georgiana Theresa, the noble
daughter of an anonymous earl.

Even in conversation, Harry was a prodigal; squandering his
aristocratic narrations with a careless hand; and, perhaps, sometimes
spending funds of reminiscences not his own.

As for me, I had only my poor old uncle the senator to fall back upon;
and I used him upon all emergencies, like the knight in the game of
chess; making him hop about, and stand stiffly up to the encounter,
against all my fine comrade’s array of dukes, lords, curricles, and
countesses.

In these long talks of ours, I frequently expressed the earnest desire
I cherished, to make a visit to London; and related how strongly
tempted I had been one Sunday, to walk the whole way, without a penny
in my pocket. To this, Harry rejoined, that nothing would delight him
more, than to show me the capital; and he even meaningly but
mysteriously hinted at the possibility of his doing so, before many
days had passed. But this seemed so idle a thought, that I only imputed
it to my friend’s good-natured, rattling disposition, which sometimes
prompted him to out with any thing, that he thought would be agreeable.
Besides, would this fine blade of Bury be seen, by his aristocratic
acquaintances, walking down Oxford-street, say, arm in arm with the
sleeve of my shooting-jacket? The thing was preposterous; and I began
to think, that Harry, after all, was a little bit disposed to impose
upon my Yankee credulity.

Luckily, my Bury blade had no acquaintance in Liverpool, where, indeed,
he was as much in a foreign land, as if he were already on the shores
of Lake Erie; so that he strolled about with me in perfect abandonment;
reckless of the cut of my shooting-jacket; and not caring one whit who
might stare at so singular a couple.

But once, crossing a square, faced on one side by a fashionable hotel,
he made a rapid turn with me round a corner; and never stopped, till
the square was a good block in our rear. The cause of this sudden
retreat, was a remarkably elegant coat and pantaloons, standing upright
on the hotel steps, and containing a young buck, tapping his teeth with
an ivory-headed riding-whip.

“Who was he, Harry?” said I.

“My old chum, Lord Lovely,” said Harry, with a careless air, “and
Heaven only knows what brings Lovely from London.”

“A lord?” said I starting; “then I must look at him again;” for lords
are very scarce in Liverpool.

Unmindful of my companion’s remonstrances, I ran back to the corner;
and slowly promenaded past the upright coat and pantaloons on the
steps.

It was not much of a lord to behold; very thin and limber about the
legs, with small feet like a doll’s, and a small, glossy head like a
seal’s. I had seen just such looking lords standing in sentimental
attitudes in front of Palmo’s in Broadway.

However, he and I being mutual friends of Harry’s, I thought something
of accosting him, and taking counsel concerning what was best to be
done for the young prodigal’s welfare; but upon second thoughts I
thought best not to intrude; especially, as just then my lord Lovely
stepped to the open window of a flashing carriage which drew up; and
throwing himself into an interesting posture, with the sole of one boot
vertically exposed, so as to show the stamp on it—a coronet—fell into a
sparkling conversation with a magnificent white satin hat, surmounted
by a regal marabou feather, inside.

I doubted not, this lady was nothing short of a peeress; and thought it
would be one of the pleasantest and most charming things in the world,
just to seat myself beside her, and order the coachman to take us a
drive into the country.

But, as upon further consideration, I imagined that the peeress might
decline the honor of my company, since I had no formal card of
introduction; I marched on, and rejoined my companion, whom I at once
endeavored to draw out, touching Lord Lovely; but he only made
mysterious answers; and turned off the conversation, by allusions to
his visits to Ickworth in Suffolk, the magnificent seat of the Most
Noble Marquis of Bristol, who had repeatedly assured Harry that he
might consider Ickworth his home.

Now, all these accounts of marquises and Ickworths, and Harry’s having
been hand in glove with so many lords and ladies, began to breed some
suspicions concerning the rigid morality of my friend, as a teller of
the truth. But, after all, thought I to myself, who can prove that
Harry has fibbed? Certainly, his manners are polished, he has a mighty
easy address; and there is nothing altogether impossible about his
having consorted with the master of Ickworth, and the daughter of the
anonymous earl. And what right has a poor Yankee, like me, to insinuate
the slightest suspicion against what he says? What little money he has,
he spends freely; he can not be a polite blackleg, for I am no pigeon
to pluck; so _that_ is out of the question;—perish such a thought,
concerning my own bosom friend!

But though I drowned all my suspicions as well as I could, and ever
cherished toward Harry a heart, loving and true; yet, spite of all
this, I never could entirely digest some of his imperial reminiscences
of high life. I was very sorry for this; as at times it made me feel
ill at ease in his company; and made me hold back my whole soul from
him; when, in its loneliness, it was yearning to throw itself into the
unbounded bosom of some immaculate friend.




CHAPTER XLV.
HARRY BOLTON KIDNAPS REDBURN, AND CARRIES HIM OFF TO LONDON


It might have been a week after our glimpse of Lord Lovely, that Harry,
who had been expecting a letter, which, he told me, might possibly
alter his plans, one afternoon came bounding on board the ship, and
sprang down the hatchway into the _between-decks,_ where, in perfect
solitude, I was engaged picking oakum; at which business the mate had
set me, for want of any thing better.

“Hey for London, Wellingborough!” he cried. “Off tomorrow! first
train—be there the same night—come! I have money to rig you all
out—drop that hangman’s stuff there, and away! Pah! how it smells here!
Come; up you jump!”

I trembled with amazement and delight.

London? it could not be!—and Harry—how kind of him! he was then indeed
what he seemed. But instantly I thought of all the circumstances of the
case, and was eager to know what it was that had induced this sudden
departure.

In reply my friend told me, that he had received a remittance, and had
hopes of recovering a considerable sum, lost in some way that he chose
to conceal.

“But how am I to leave the ship, Harry?” said I; “they will not let me
go, will they? You had better leave me behind, after all; I don’t care
very much about going; and besides, I have no money to share the
expenses.”

This I said, only pretending indifference, for my heart was jumping all
the time.

“Tut! my Yankee bantam,” said Harry; “look here!” and he showed me a
handful of gold.

“But they are _yours,_ and not _mine,_ Harry,” said I.

“Yours _and_ mine, my sweet fellow,” exclaimed Harry. “Come, sink the
ship, and let’s go!”

“But you don’t consider, if I quit the ship, they’ll be sending a
constable after me, won’t they?”

“What! and do you think, then, they value your services so highly? Ha!
ha!-Up, up, Wellingborough: I can’t wait.”

True enough. I well knew that Captain Riga would not trouble himself
much, if I _did_ take French leave of him. So, without further thought
of the matter, I told Harry to wait a few moments, till the ship’s bell
struck four; at which time I used to go to supper, and be free for the
rest of the day.

The bell struck; and off we went. As we hurried across the quay, and
along the dock walls, I asked Harry all about his intentions. He said,
that go to London he must, and to Bury St. Edmunds; but that whether he
should for any time remain at either place, he could not now tell; and
it was by no means impossible, that in less than a week’s time we would
be back again in Liverpool, and ready for sea. But all he said was
enveloped in a mystery that I did not much like; and I hardly know
whether I have repeated correctly what he said at the time.

Arrived at the _Golden Anchor,_ where Harry put up, he at once led me
to his room, and began turning over the contents of his chest, to see
what clothing he might have, that would fit me.

Though he was some years my senior, we were about the same size—if any
thing, I was larger than he; so, with a little stretching, a shirt,
vest, and pantaloons were soon found to suit. As for a coat and hat,
those Harry ran out and bought without delay; returning with a loose,
stylish sack-coat, and a sort of foraging cap, very neat, genteel, and
unpretending.

My friend himself soon doffed his Guernsey frock, and stood before me,
arrayed in a perfectly plain suit, which he had bought on purpose that
very morning. I asked him why he had gone to that unnecessary expense,
when he had plenty of other clothes in his chest. But he only winked,
and looked knowing. This, again, I did not like. But I strove to drown
ugly thoughts.

Till quite dark, we sat talking together; when, locking his chest, and
charging his landlady to look after it well, till he called, or sent
for it; Harry seized my arm, and we sallied into the street.

Pursuing our way through crowds of frolicking sailors and fiddlers, we
turned into a street leading to the Exchange. There, under the shadow
of the colonnade, Harry told me to stop, while he left me, and went to
finish his toilet. Wondering what he meant, I stood to one side; and
presently was joined by a stranger in whiskers and mustache.

“It’s _me”_ said the stranger; and who was _me_ but Harry, who had thus
metamorphosed himself? I asked him the reason; and in a faltering
voice, which I tried to make humorous, expressed a hope that he was not
going to turn gentleman forger.

He laughed, and assured me that it was only a precaution against being
recognized by his own particular friends in London, that he had adopted
this mode of disguising himself.

“And why afraid of your friends?” asked I, in astonishment, “and we are
not in London yet.”

“Pshaw! what a Yankee you are, Wellingborough. Can’t you see very
plainly that I have a plan in my head? And this disguise is only for a
short time, you know. But I’ll tell you all by and by.”

I acquiesced, though not feeling at ease; and we walked on, till we
came to a public house, in the vicinity of the place at which the cars
are taken.

We stopped there that night, and next day were off, whirled along
through boundless landscapes of villages, and meadows, and parks: and
over arching viaducts, and through wonderful tunnels; till, half
delirious with excitement, I found myself dropped down in the evening
among gas-lights, under a great roof in Euston Square.

London at last, and in the West-End!




CHAPTER XLVI.
A MYSTERIOUS NIGHT IN LONDON


“No time to lose,” said Harry, “come along.”

He called a cab: in an undertone mentioned the number of a house in
some street to the driver; we jumped in, and were off.

As we rattled over the boisterous pavements, past splendid squares,
churches, and shops, our cabman turning corners like a skater on the
ice, and all the roar of London in my ears, and no end to the walls of
brick and mortar; I thought New York a hamlet, and Liverpool a
coal-hole, and myself somebody else: so unreal seemed every thing about
me. My head was spinning round like a top, and my eyes ached with much
gazing; particularly about the corners, owing to my darting them so
rapidly, first this side, and then that, so as not to miss any thing;
though, in truth, I missed much.

“Stop,” cried Harry, after a long while, putting his head out of the
window, all at once—“stop! do you hear, you deaf man? you have passed
the house—No. 40 I told you—that’s it—the high steps there, with the
purple light!”

The cabman being paid, Harry adjusting his whiskers and mustache, and
bidding me assume a lounging look, pushed his hat a little to one side,
and then locking arms, we sauntered into the house; myself feeling not
a little abashed; it was so long since I had been in any courtly
society.

It was some semi-public place of opulent entertainment; and far
surpassed any thing of the kind I had ever seen before.

The floor was tesselated with snow-white, and russet-hued marbles; and
echoed to the tread, as if all the Paris catacombs were underneath. I
started with misgivings at that hollow, boding sound, which seemed
sighing with a subterraneous despair, through all the magnificent
spectacle around me; mocking it, where most it glared.

The walls were painted so as to deceive the eye with interminable
colonnades; and groups of columns of the finest Scagliola work of
variegated marbles—emerald-green and gold, St. Pons veined with silver,
Sienna with porphyry—supported a resplendent fresco ceiling, arched
like a bower, and thickly clustering with mimic grapes. Through all the
East of this foliage, you spied in a crimson dawn, Guide’s ever
youthful Apollo, driving forth the horses of the sun. From sculptured
stalactites of vine-boughs, here and there pendent hung galaxies of gas
lights, whose vivid glare was softened by pale, cream-colored,
porcelain spheres, shedding over the place a serene, silver flood; as
if every porcelain sphere were a moon; and this superb apartment was
the moon-lit garden of Portia at Belmont; and the gentle lovers,
Lorenzo and Jessica, lurked somewhere among the vines.

At numerous Moorish looking tables, supported by Caryatides of turbaned
slaves, sat knots of gentlemanly men, with cut decanters and
taper-waisted glasses, journals and cigars, before them.

To and fro ran obsequious waiters, with spotless napkins thrown over
their arms, and making a profound salaam, and hemming deferentially,
whenever they uttered a word.

At the further end of this brilliant apartment, was a rich mahogany
turret-like structure, partly built into the wall, and communicating
with rooms in the rear. Behind, was a very handsome florid old man,
with snow-white hair and whiskers, and in a snow-white jacket—he looked
like an almond tree in blossom—who seemed to be standing, a polite
sentry over the scene before him; and it was he, who mostly ordered
about the waiters; and with a silent salute, received the silver of the
guests.

Our entrance excited little or no notice; for every body present seemed
exceedingly animated about concerns of their own; and a large group was
gathered around one tall, military looking gentleman, who was reading
some India war-news from the Times, and commenting on it, in a very
loud voice, condemning, in toto, the entire campaign.

We seated ourselves apart from this group, and Harry, rapping on the
table, called for wine; mentioning some curious foreign name.

The decanter, filled with a pale yellow wine, being placed before us,
and my comrade having drunk a few glasses; he whispered me to remain
where I was, while he withdrew for a moment.

I saw him advance to the turret-like place, and exchange a confidential
word with the almond tree there, who immediately looked very much
surprised,—I thought, a little disconcerted,—and then disappeared with
him.

While my friend was gone, I occupied myself with looking around me, and
striving to appear as indifferent as possible, and as much used to all
this splendor as if I had been born in it. But, to tell the truth, my
head was almost dizzy with the strangeness of the sight, and the
thought that I was really in London. What would my brother have said?
What would Tom Legare, the treasurer of the Juvenile Temperance
Society, have thought?

But I almost began to fancy I had no friends and relatives living in a
little village three thousand five hundred miles off, in America; for
it was hard to unite such a humble reminiscence with the splendid
animation of the London-like scene around me.

And in the delirium of the moment, I began to indulge in foolish golden
visions of the counts and countesses to whom Harry might introduce me;
and every instant I expected to hear the waiters addressing some
gentleman as _“My Lord,”_ or _“four Grace.”_ But if there were really
any lords present, the waiters omitted their titles, at least in my
hearing.

Mixed with these thoughts were confused visions of St. Paul’s and the
Strand, which I determined to visit the very next morning, before
breakfast, or perish in the attempt. And I even longed for Harry’s
return, that we might immediately sally out into the street, and see
some of the sights, before the shops were all closed for the night.

While I thus sat alone, I observed one of the waiters eying me a little
impertinently, as I thought, and as if he saw something queer about me.
So I tried to assume a careless and lordly air, and by way of helping
the thing, threw one leg over the other, like a young Prince Esterhazy;
but all the time I felt my face burning with embarrassment, and for the
time, I must have looked very guilty of something. But spite of this, I
kept looking boldly out of my eyes, and straight through my blushes,
and observed that every now and then little parties were made up among
the gentlemen, and they retired into the rear of the house, as if going
to a private apartment. And I overheard one of them drop the word
_Rouge;_ but he could not have used rouge, for his face was exceedingly
pale. Another said something about _Loo._

At last Harry came back, his face rather flushed.

“Come along, Redburn,” said he.

So making no doubt we were off for a ramble, perhaps to Apsley House,
in the Park, to get a sly peep at the old Duke before he retired for
the night, for Harry had told me the Duke always went to bed early, I
sprang up to follow him; but what was my disappointment and surprise,
when he only led me into the passage, toward a staircase lighted by
three marble Graces, unitedly holding a broad candelabra, like an elk’s
antlers, over the landing.

We rambled up the long, winding slope of those aristocratic stairs,
every step of which, covered with Turkey rugs, looked gorgeous as the
hammer-cloth of the Lord Mayor’s coach; and Harry hied straight to a
rosewood door, which, on magical hinges, sprang softly open to his
touch.

As we entered the room, methought I was slowly sinking in some
reluctant, sedgy sea; so thick and elastic the Persian carpeting,
mimicking parterres of tulips, and roses, and jonquils, like a bower in
Babylon.

Long lounges lay carelessly disposed, whose fine damask was interwoven,
like the Gobelin tapestry, with pictorial tales of tilt and tourney.
And oriental ottomans, whose cunning warp and woof were wrought into
plaited serpents, undulating beneath beds of leaves, from which, here
and there, they flashed out sudden splendors of green scales and gold.

In the broad bay windows, as the hollows of King Charles’ oaks, were
Laocoon-like chairs, in the antique taste, draped with heavy fringes of
bullion and silk.

The walls, covered with a sort of tartan-French paper, variegated with
bars of velvet, were hung round with mythological oil-paintings,
suspended by tasseled cords of twisted silver and blue.

They were such pictures as the high-priests, for a bribe, showed to
Alexander in the innermost shrine of the white temple in the Libyan
oasis: such pictures as the pontiff of the sun strove to hide from
Cortez, when, sword in hand, he burst open the sanctorum of the
pyramid-fane at Cholula: such pictures as you may still see, perhaps,
in the central alcove of the excavated mansion of Pansa, in Pompeii—in
that part of it called by Varro _the hollow of the house:_ such
pictures as Martial and Seutonius mention as being found in the private
cabinet of the Emperor Tiberius: such pictures as are delineated on the
bronze medals, to this day dug up on the ancient island of Capreas:
such pictures as you might have beheld in an arched recess, leading
from the left hand of the secret side-gallery of the temple of
Aphrodite in Corinth.

In the principal pier was a marble bracket, sculptured in the semblance
of a dragon’s crest, and supporting a bust, most wonderful to behold.
It was that of a bald-headed old man, with a mysteriously-wicked
expression, and imposing silence by one thin finger over his lips. His
marble mouth seemed tremulous with secrets.

“Sit down, Wellingborough,” said Harry; “don’t be frightened, we are at
home.—Ring the bell, will you? But stop;”— and advancing to the
mysterious bust, he whispered something in its ear.

“He’s a knowing mute, Wellingborough,” said he; “who stays in this one
place all the time, while he is yet running of errands. But mind you
don’t breathe any secrets in his ear.”

In obedience to a summons so singularly conveyed, to my amazement a
servant almost instantly appeared, standing transfixed in the attitude
of a bow.

“Cigars,” said Harry. When they came, he drew up a small table into the
middle of the room, and lighting his cigar, bade me follow his example,
and make myself happy.

Almost transported with such princely quarters, so undreamed of before,
while leading my dog’s life in the filthy forecastle of the Highlander,
I twirled round a chair, and seated myself opposite my friend.

But all the time, I felt ill at heart; and was filled with an
undercurrent of dismal forebodings. But I strove to dispel them; and
turning to my companion, exclaimed, “And pray, do you live here, Harry,
in this Palace of Aladdin?”

“Upon my soul,” he cried, “you have hit it:—you must have been here
before! Aladdin’s Palace! Why, Wellingborough, it goes by that very
name.”

Then he laughed strangely: and for the first time, I thought he had
been quaffing too freely: yet, though he looked wildly from his eyes,
his general carriage was firm.

“Who are you looking at so hard, Wellingborough?” said he.

“I am afraid, Harry,” said I, “that when you left me just now, you must
have been drinking something stronger than wine.”

“Hear him now,” said Harry, turning round, as if addressing the
bald-headed bust on the bracket,—“a parson ’pon honor!—But remark you,
Wellingborough, my boy, I must leave you again, and for a considerably
longer time than before:—I may not be back again to-night.”

“What?” said I.

“Be still,” he cried, “hear me, I know the old duke here, and—”

“Who? not the Duke of Wellington,” said I, wondering whether Harry was
really going to include _him_ too, in his long list of confidential
friends and acquaintances.

“Pooh!” cried Harry, “I mean the white-whiskered old man you saw below;
they call him _the Duke:—he_ keeps the house. I say, I know him well,
and he knows _me;_ and he knows what brings me here, also. Well; we
have arranged every thing about you; you are to stay in this room, and
sleep here tonight, and—and—” continued he, speaking low—“you must
guard this letter—” slipping a sealed one into my hand—“and, if I am
not back by morning, you must post right on to Bury, and leave the
letter there;—here, take this paper—it’s all set down here in black and
white—where you are to go, and what you are to do. And after that’s
done—mind, this is all in case I don’t return—then you may do what you
please: stay here in London awhile, or go back to Liverpool. And here’s
enough to pay all your expenses.”

All this was a thunder stroke. I thought Harry was crazy. I held the
purse in my motionless hand, and stared at him, till the tears almost
started from my eyes.

“What’s the matter, Redburn?” he cried, with a wild sort of laugh—“you
are not afraid of me, are you?—No, no! I believe in you, my boy, or you
would not hold that purse in your hand; no, nor that letter.”

“What in heaven’s name do you mean?” at last I exclaimed, “you don’t
really intend to desert me in this strange place, do you, Harry?” and I
snatched him by the hand.

“Pooh, pooh,” he cried, “let me go. I tell you, it’s all right: do as I
say: that’s all. Promise me now, will you? Swear it!—no, no,” he added,
vehemently, as I conjured him to tell me more—“no, I won’t: I have
nothing more to tell you—not a word. Will you swear?”

“But one sentence more for your own sake, Harry: hear me!”

“Not a syllable! Will you swear?—you will not? then here, give me that
purse:—there—there—take that—and that—and that;—that will pay your fare
back to Liverpool; good-by to you: you are not my friend,” and he
wheeled round his back.

I know not what flashed through my mind, but something suddenly
impelled me; and grasping his hand, I swore to him what he demanded.

Immediately he ran to the bust, whispered a word, and the
white-whiskered old man appeared: whom he clapped on the shoulder, and
then introduced me as his friend—young Lord Stormont; and bade the
almond tree look well to the comforts of his lordship, while
he—Harry—was gone.

The almond tree blandly bowed, and grimaced, with a peculiar
expression, that I hated on the spot. After a few words more, he
withdrew. Harry then shook my hand heartily, and without giving me a
chance to say one word, seized his cap, and darted out of the room,
saying, “Leave not this room tonight; and remember the letter, and
Bury!”

I fell into a chair, and gazed round at the strange-looking walls and
mysterious pictures, and up to the chandelier at the ceiling; then
rose, and opened the door, and looked down the lighted passage; but
only heard the hum from the roomful below, scattered voices, and a
hushed ivory rattling from the closed apartments adjoining. I stepped
back into the room, and a terrible revulsion came over me: I would have
given the world had I been safe back in Liverpool, fast asleep in my
old bunk in Prince’s Dock.

I shuddered at every footfall, and almost thought it must be some
assassin pursuing me. The whole place seemed infected; and a strange
thought came over me, that in the very damasks around, some eastern
plague had been imported. And was that pale yellow wine, that I drank
below, drugged? thought I. This must be some house whose foundations
take hold on the pit. But these fearful reveries only enchanted me fast
to my chair; so that, though I then wished to rush forth from the
house, my limbs seemed manacled.

While thus chained to my seat, something seemed suddenly flung open; a
confused sound of imprecations, mixed with the ivory rattling, louder
than before, burst upon my ear, and through the partly open door of the
room where I was, I caught sight of a tall, frantic man, with clenched
hands, wildly darting through the passage, toward the stairs.

And all the while, Harry ran through my soul—in and out, at every door,
that burst open to his vehement rush.

At that moment my whole acquaintance with him passed like lightning
through my mind, till I asked myself why he had come here, to London,
to do this thing?—why would not Liverpool have answered? and what did
he want of me? But, every way, his conduct was unaccountable. From the
hour he had accosted me on board the ship, his manner seemed gradually
changed; and from the moment we had sprung into the cab, he had seemed
almost another person from what he had seemed before.

But what could I do? He was gone, that was certain;—would he ever come
back? But he might still be somewhere in the house; and with a shudder,
I thought of that ivory rattling, and was almost ready to dart forth,
search every room, and save him. But that would be madness, and I had
sworn not to do so. There seemed nothing left, but to await his return.
Yet, if he did not return, what then? I took out the purse, and counted
over the money, and looked at the letter and paper of memoranda.

Though I vividly remember it all, I will not give the superscription of
the letter, nor the contents of the paper. But after I had looked at
them attentively, and considered that Harry could have no conceivable
object in deceiving me, I thought to myself, Yes, he’s in earnest; and
here I am—yes, even in London! And here in this room will I stay, come
what will. I will implicitly follow his directions, and so see out the
last of this thing.

But spite of these thoughts, and spite of the metropolitan magnificence
around me, I was mysteriously alive to a dreadful feeling, which I had
never before felt, except when penetrating into the lowest and most
squalid haunts of sailor iniquity in Liverpool. All the mirrors and
marbles around me seemed crawling over with lizards; and I thought to
myself, that though gilded and golden, the serpent of vice is a serpent
still.

It was now grown very late; and faint with excitement, I threw myself
upon a lounge; but for some time tossed about restless, in a sort of
night-mare. Every few moments, spite of my oath, I was upon the point
of starting up, and rushing into the street, to inquire where I was;
but remembering Harry’s injunctions, and my own ignorance of the town,
and that it was now so late, I again tried to be composed.

At last, I fell asleep, dreaming about Harry fighting a duel of
dice-boxes with the military-looking man below; and the next thing I
knew, was the glare of a light before my eyes, and Harry himself, very
pale, stood before me.

“The letter and paper,” he cried.

I fumbled in my pockets, and handed them to him.

“There! there! there! thus I tear you,” he cried, wrenching the letter
to pieces with both hands like a madman, and stamping upon the
fragments. “I am off for America; the game is up.”

“For God’s sake explain,” said I, now utterly bewildered, and
frightened. “Tell me, Harry, what is it? You have not been gambling?”

“Ha, ha,” he deliriously laughed. “Gambling? red and white, you
mean?—cards?—dice?—the bones?—Ha, ha!—Gambling? gambling?” he ground
out between his teeth—“what two devilish, stiletto-sounding syllables
they are!”

“Wellingborough,” he added, marching up to me slowly, but with his eyes
blazing into mine—“Wellingborough”—and fumbling in his breast-pocket,
he drew forth a dirk—“Here, Wellingborough, take it—take it, I say—are
you stupid?—there, there”—and he pushed it into my hands. “Keep it away
from me—keep it out of my sight—I don’t want it near me, while I feel
as I do. They serve suicides scurvily here, Wellingborough; they don’t
bury them decently. See that bell-rope! By Heaven, it’s an invitation
to hang myself"—and seizing it by the gilded handle at the end, he
twitched it down from the wall.

“In God’s name, what ails you?” I cried.

“Nothing, oh nothing,” said Harry, now assuming a treacherous, tropical
calmness—“nothing, Redburn; nothing in the world. I’m the serenest of
men.”

“But give me that dirk,” he suddenly cried—“let me have it, I say. Oh!
I don’t mean to murder myself—I’m past that now—give it me”—and
snatching it from my hand, he flung down an empty purse, and with a
terrific stab, nailed it fast with the dirk to the table.

“There now,” he cried, “there’s something for the old duke to see
to-morrow morning; that’s about all that’s left of me— that’s my
skeleton, Wellingborough. But come, don’t be downhearted; there’s a
little more gold yet in Golconda; I have a guinea or two left. Don’t
stare so, my boy; we shall be in Liverpool to-morrow night; we start in
the morning”—and turning his back, he began to whistle very fiercely.

“And this, then,” said I, “is your showing me London, is it, Harry? I
did not think this; but tell me your secret, whatever it is, and I will
not regret not seeing the town.”

He turned round upon me like lightning, and cried, “Red-burn! you must
swear another oath, and instantly.”

“And why?” said I, in alarm, “what more would you have me swear?”

“Never to question me again about this infernal trip to London!” he
shouted, with the foam at his lips—“never to breathe it! swear!”

“I certainly shall not trouble you, Harry, with questions, if you do
not desire it,” said I, “but there’s no need of swearing.”

“Swear it, I say, as you love me, Redburn,” he added, imploringly.

“Well, then, I solemnly do. Now lie down, and let us forget ourselves
as soon as we can; for me, you have made me the most miserable dog
alive.”

“And what am I?” cried Harry; “but pardon me, Redburn, I did not mean
to offend; if you knew all—but no, no!—never mind, never mind!” And he
ran to the bust, and whispered in its ear. A waiter came.

“Brandy,” whispered Harry, with clenched teeth.

“Are you not going to sleep, then?” said I, more and more alarmed at
his wildness, and fearful of the effects of his drinking still more, in
such a mood.

“No sleep for me! sleep if _you_ can—I mean to sit up with a
decanter!—let me see”—looking at the ormolu clock on the mantel—“it’s
only two hours to morning.”

The waiter, looking very sleepy, and with a green shade on his brow,
appeared with the decanter and glasses on a salver, and was told to
leave it and depart.

Seeing that Harry was not to be moved, I once more threw myself on the
lounge. I did not sleep; but, like a somnambulist, only dozed now and
then; starting from my dreams; while Harry sat, with his hat on, at the
table; the brandy before him; from which he occasionally poured into
his glass. Instead of exciting him, however, to my amazement, the
spirits seemed to soothe him down; and, ere long, he was comparatively
calm.

At last, just as I had fallen into a deep sleep, I was wakened by his
shaking me, and saying our cab was at the door.

“Look! it is broad day,” said he, brushing aside the heavy hangings of
the window.

We left the room; and passing through the now silent and deserted hall
of pillars, which, at this hour, reeked as with blended roses and
cigar-stumps decayed; a dumb waiter; rubbing his eyes, flung open the
street door; we sprang into the cab; and soon found ourselves whirled
along northward by railroad, toward Prince’s Dock and the Highlander.




CHAPTER XLVII.
HOMEWARD BOUND


Once more in Liverpool; and wending my way through the same old streets
to the sign of the Golden Anchor; I could scarcely credit the events of
the last thirty-six hours.

So unforeseen had been our departure in the first place; so rapid our
journey; so unaccountable the conduct of Harry; and so sudden our
return; that all united to overwhelm me. That I had been at all in
London seemed impossible; and that I had been there, and come away
little the wiser, was almost distracting to one who, like me, had so
longed to behold that metropolis of marvels.

I looked hard at Harry as he walked in silence at my side; I stared at
the houses we passed; I thought of the cab, the gas lighted hall in the
Palace of Aladdin, the pictures, the letter, the oath, the dirk; the
mysterious place where all these mysteries had occurred; and then, was
almost ready to conclude, that the pale yellow wine had been drugged.

As for Harry, stuffing his false whiskers and mustache into his pocket,
he now led the way to the boarding-house; and saluting the landlady,
was shown to his room; where we immediately shifted our clothes,
appearing once more in our sailor habiliments.

“Well, what do you propose to do now, Harry?” said I, with a heavy
heart.

“Why, visit your Yankee land in the Highlander, of course—what else?"
he replied.

“And is it to be a visit, or a long stay?” asked I.

“That’s as it may turn out,” said Harry; “but I have now more than ever
resolved upon the sea. There is nothing like the sea for a fellow like
me, Redburn; a desperate man can not get any further than the wharf,
you know; and the next step must be a long jump. But come, let’s see
what they have to eat here, and then for a cigar and a stroll. I feel
better already. Never say die, is my motto.”

We went to supper; after that, sallied out; and walking along the quay
of Prince’s Dock, heard that the ship Highlander had that morning been
advertised to sail in two days’ time.

“Good!” exclaimed Harry; and I was glad enough myself.

Although I had now been absent from the ship a full forty-eight hours,
and intended to return to her, yet I did not anticipate being called to
any severe account for it from the officers; for several of our men had
absented themselves longer than I had, and upon their return, little or
nothing was said to them. Indeed, in some cases, the mate seemed to
know nothing about it. During the whole time we lay in Liverpool, the
discipline of the ship was altogether relaxed; and I could hardly
believe they were the same officers who were so dictatorial at sea. The
reason of this was, that we had nothing important to do; and although
the captain might now legally refuse to receive me on board, yet I was
not afraid of that, as I was as stout a lad for my years, and worked as
cheap, as any one he could engage to take my place on the homeward
passage.

Next morning we made our appearance on board before the rest of the
crew; and the mate perceiving me, said with an oath, “Well, sir, you
have thought best to return then, have you? Captain Riga and I were
flattering ourselves that you had made a run of it for good.”

Then, thought I, the captain, who seems to affect to know nothing of
the proceedings of the sailors, has been aware of my absence.

“But turn to, sir, turn to,” added the mate; “here! aloft there, and
free that pennant; it’s foul of the backstay—jump!”

The captain coming on board soon after, looked very benevolently at
Harry; but, as usual, pretended not to take the slightest notice of
myself.

We were all now very busy in getting things ready for sea. The cargo
had been already stowed in the hold by the stevedores and lumpers from
shore; but it became the crew’s business to clear away the
_between-decks,_ extending from the cabin bulkhead to the forecastle,
for the reception of about five hundred emigrants, some of whose boxes
were already littering the decks.

To provide for their wants, a far larger supply of water was needed
than upon the outward-bound passage. Accordingly, besides the usual
number of casks on deck, rows of immense tierces were lashed
amid-ships, all along the _between-decks,_ forming a sort of aisle on
each side, furnishing access to four rows of bunks,—three tiers, one
above another,—against the ship’s sides; two tiers being placed over
the tierces of water in the middle. These bunks were rapidly knocked
together with coarse planks. They looked more like dog-kennels than any
thing else; especially as the place was so gloomy and dark; no light
coming down except through the fore and after hatchways, both of which
were covered with little houses called _“booby-hatches.”_ Upon the
main-hatches, which were well calked and covered over with heavy
tarpaulins, the _“passengers-galley”_ was solidly lashed down.

This _galley_ was a large open stove, or iron range—made expressly for
emigrant ships, wholly unprotected from the weather, and where alone
the emigrants are permitted to cook their food while at sea.

After two days’ work, every thing was in readiness; most of the
emigrants on board; and in the evening we worked the ship close into
the outlet of Prince’s Dock, with the bow against the water-gate, to go
out with the tide in the morning.

In the morning, the bustle and confusion about us was indescribable.
Added to the ordinary clamor of the docks, was the hurrying to and fro
of our five hundred emigrants, the last of whom, with their baggage,
were now coming on board; the appearance of the cabin passengers,
following porters with their trunks; the loud orders of the
dock-masters, ordering the various ships behind us to preserve their
order of going out; the leave-takings, and good-by’s, and
God-bless-you’s, between the emigrants and their friends; and the
cheers of the surrounding ships.

At this time we lay in such a way, that no one could board us except by
the bowsprit, which overhung the quay. Staggering along that bowsprit,
now came a one-eyed _crimp_ leading a drunken tar by the collar, who
had been shipped to sail with us the day previous. It has been stated
before, that two or three of our men had left us for good, while in
port. When the crimp had got this man and another safely lodged in a
bunk below, he returned on shore; and going to a miserable cab, pulled
out still another apparently drunken fellow, who proved completely
helpless. However, the ship now swinging her broadside more toward the
quay, this stupefied sailor, with a Scotch cap pulled down over his
closed eyes, only revealing a sallow Portuguese complexion, was lowered
on board by a rope under his arms, and passed forward by the crew, who
put him likewise into a bunk in the forecastle, the crimp himself
carefully tucking him in, and bidding the bystanders not to disturb him
till the ship was away from the land.

This done, the confusion increased, as we now glided out of the dock.
Hats and handkerchiefs were waved; hurrahs were exchanged; and tears
were shed; and the last thing I saw, as we shot into the stream, was a
policeman collaring a boy, and walking him off to the guard-house.

A steam-tug, the _Goliath,_ now took us by the arm, and gallanted us
down the river past the fort.

The scene was most striking.

Owing to a strong breeze, which had been blowing up the river for four
days past, holding wind-bound in the various docks a multitude of ships
for all parts of the world; there was now under weigh, a vast fleet of
merchantmen, all steering broad out to sea. The white sails glistened
in the clear morning air like a great Eastern encampment of sultans;
and from many a forecastle, came the deep mellow old song _Ho-o-he-yo,
cheerily men!_ as the crews called their anchors.

The wind was fair; the weather mild; the sea most smooth; and the poor
emigrants were in high spirits at so auspicious a beginning of their
voyage. They were reclining all over the decks, talking of soon seeing
America, and relating how the agent had told them, that twenty days
would be an uncommonly long voyage.

Here it must be mentioned, that owing to the great number of ships
sailing to the Yankee ports from Liverpool, the competition among them
in obtaining emigrant passengers, who as a cargo are much more
remunerative than crates and bales, is exceedingly great; so much so,
that some of the agents they employ, do not scruple to deceive the poor
applicants for passage, with all manner of fables concerning the short
space of time, in which their ships make the run across the ocean.

This often induces the emigrants to provide a much smaller stock of
provisions than they otherwise would; the effect of which sometimes
proves to be in the last degree lamentable; as will be seen further on.
And though benevolent societies have been long organized in Liverpool,
for the purpose of keeping offices, where the emigrants can obtain
reliable information and advice, concerning their best mode of
embarkation, and other matters interesting to them; and though the
English authorities have imposed a law, providing that every captain of
an emigrant ship bound for any port of America shall see to it, that
each passenger is provided with rations of food for sixty days; yet,
all this has not deterred mercenary ship-masters and unprincipled
agents from practicing the grossest deception; nor exempted the
emigrants themselves, from the very sufferings intended to be averted.

No sooner had we fairly gained the expanse of the Irish Sea, and, one
by one, lost sight of our thousand consorts, than the weather changed
into the most miserable cold, wet, and cheerless days and nights
imaginable. The wind was tempestuous, and dead in our teeth; and the
hearts of the emigrants fell. Nearly all of them had now hied below, to
escape the uncomfortable and perilous decks: and from the two
_“booby-hatches”_ came the steady hum of a subterranean wailing and
weeping. That irresistible wrestler, sea-sickness, had overthrown the
stoutest of their number, and the women and children were embracing and
sobbing in all the agonies of the poor emigrant’s first storm at sea.

Bad enough is it at such times with ladies and gentlemen in the cabin,
who have nice little state-rooms; and plenty of privacy; and stewards
to run for them at a word, and put pillows under their heads, and
tenderly inquire how they are getting along, and mix them a posset: and
even then, in the abandonment of this soul and body subduing malady,
such ladies and gentlemen will often give up life itself as
unendurable, and put up the most pressing petitions for a speedy
annihilation; all of which, however, only arises from their intense
anxiety to preserve their valuable lives.

How, then, with the friendless emigrants, stowed away like bales of
cotton, and packed like slaves in a slave-ship; confined in a place
that, during storm time, must be closed against both light and air; who
can do no cooking, nor warm so much as a cup of water; for the
drenching seas would instantly flood their fire in their exposed galley
on deck? How, then, with these men, and women, and children, to whom a
first voyage, under the most advantageous circumstances, must come just
as hard as to the Honorable De Lancey Fitz Clarence, lady, daughter,
and seventeen servants.

Nor is this all: for in some of these ships, as in the case of the
Highlander, the emigrant passengers are cut off from the most
indispensable conveniences of a civilized dwelling. This forces them in
storm time to such extremities, that no wonder fevers and plagues are
the result. We had not been at sea one week, when to hold your head
down the fore hatchway was like holding it down a suddenly opened
cesspool.

But still more than this. Such is the aristocracy maintained on board
some of these ships, that the most arbitrary measures are enforced, to
prevent the emigrants from intruding upon the most holy precincts of
the quarter-deck, the only completely open space on ship-board.
Consequently—even in fine weather—when they come up from below, they
are crowded in the waist of the ship, and jammed among the boats,
casks, and spars; abused by the seamen, and sometimes cuffed by the
officers, for unavoidably standing in the way of working the vessel.

The cabin-passengers of the Highlander numbered some fifteen in all;
and to protect this detachment of gentility from the barbarian
incursions of the _“wild Irish”_ emigrants, ropes were passed
athwart-ships, by the main-mast, from side to side: which defined the
boundary line between those who had paid three pounds passage-money,
from those who had paid twenty guineas. And the cabin-passengers
themselves were the most urgent in having this regulation maintained.

Lucky would it be for the pretensions of some parvenus, whose souls are
deposited at their banker’s, and whose bodies but serve to carry about
purses, knit of poor men’s heartstrings, if thus easily they could
precisely define, ashore, the difference between them and the rest of
humanity.

But, I, Redburn, am a poor fellow, who have hardly ever known what it
is to have five silver dollars in my pocket at one time; so, no doubt,
this circumstance has something to do with my slight and harmless
indignation at these things.




CHAPTER XLVIII.
A LIVING CORPSE


It was destined that our departure from the English strand, should be
marked by a tragical event, akin to the sudden end of the suicide,
which had so strongly impressed me on quitting the American shore.

Of the three newly shipped men, who in a state of intoxication had been
brought on board at the dock gates, two were able to be engaged at
their duties, in four or five hours after quitting the pier. But the
third man yet lay in his bunk, in the self-same posture in which his
limbs had been adjusted by the crimp, who had deposited him there.

His name was down on the ship’s papers as Miguel Saveda, and for Miguel
Saveda the chief mate at last came forward, shouting down the
forecastle-scuttle, and commanding his instant presence on deck. But
the sailors answered for their new comrade; giving the mate to
understand that Miguel was still fast locked in his trance, and could
not obey him; when, muttering his usual imprecation, the mate retired
to the quarterdeck.

This was in the first dog-watch, from four to six in the evening. At
about three bells, in the next watch, Max the Dutchman, who, like most
old seamen, was something of a physician in cases of drunkenness,
recommended that Miguel’s clothing should be removed, in order that he
should lie more comfortably. But Jackson, who would seldom let any
thing be done in the forecastle that was not proposed by himself,
capriciously forbade this proceeding.

So the sailor still lay out of sight in his bunk, which was in the
extreme angle of the forecastle, behind the _bowsprit-bitts_—two stout
timbers rooted in the ship’s keel. An hour or two afterward, some of
the men observed a strange odor in the forecastle, which was attributed
to the presence of some dead rat among the hollow spaces in the side
planks; for some days before, the forecastle had been smoked out, to
extirpate the vermin overrunning her. At midnight, the larboard watch,
to which I belonged, turned out; and instantly as every man waked, he
exclaimed at the now intolerable smell, supposed to be heightened by
the shaking up the bilge-water, from the ship’s rolling.

“Blast that rat!” cried the Greenlander.

“He’s blasted already,” said Jackson, who in his drawers had crossed
over to the bunk of Miguel. “It’s a water-rat, shipmates, that’s dead;
and here he is”—and with that, he dragged forth the sailor’s arm,
exclaiming, “Dead as a timber-head!”

Upon this the men rushed toward the bunk, Max with the light, which he
held to the man’s face.

“No, he’s not dead,” he cried, as the yellow flame wavered for a moment
at the seaman’s motionless mouth. But hardly had the words escaped,
when, to the silent horror of all, two threads of greenish fire, like a
forked tongue, darted out between the lips; and in a moment, the
cadaverous face was crawled over by a swarm of wormlike flames.

The lamp dropped from the hand of Max, and went out; while covered all
over with spires and sparkles of flame, that faintly crackled in the
silence, the uncovered parts of the body burned before us, precisely
like phosphorescent shark in a midnight sea.

The eyes were open and fixed; the mouth was curled like a scroll, and
every lean feature firm as in life; while the whole face, now wound in
curls of soft blue flame, wore an aspect of grim defiance, and eternal
death. Prometheus, blasted by fire on the rock.

One arm, its red shirt-sleeve rolled up, exposed the man’s name,
tattooed in vermilion, near the hollow of the middle joint; and as if
there was something peculiar in the painted flesh, every vibrating
letter burned so white, that you might read the flaming name in the
flickering ground of blue.

“Where’s that d—d Miguel?” was now shouted down among us from the
scuttle by the mate, who had just come on deck, and was determined to
have every man up that belonged to his watch.

“He’s gone to the harbor where they never weigh anchor,” coughed
Jackson. “Come you down, sir, and look.”

Thinking that Jackson intended to beard him, the mate sprang down in a
rage; but recoiled at the burning body as if he had been shot by a
bullet. “My God!” he cried, and stood holding fast to the ladder.

“Take hold of it,” said Jackson, at last, to the Greenlander; “it must
go overboard. Don’t stand shaking there, like a dog; take hold of it, I
say! But stop”—and smothering it all in the blankets, he pulled it
partly out of the bunk.

A few minutes more, and it fell with a bubble among the phosphorescent
sparkles of the damp night sea, leaving a coruscating wake as it sank.

This event thrilled me through and through with unspeakable horror; nor
did the conversation of the watch during the next four hours on deck at
all serve to soothe me.

But what most astonished me, and seemed most incredible, was the
infernal opinion of Jackson, that the man had been actually dead when
brought on board the ship; and that knowingly, and merely for the sake
of the month’s advance, paid into his hand upon the strength of the
bill he presented, the body-snatching crimp had knowingly shipped a
corpse on board of the Highlander, under the pretense of its being a
live body in a drunken trance. And I heard Jackson say, that he had
known of such things having been done before. But that a really dead
body ever burned in that manner, I can not even yet believe. But the
sailors seemed familiar with such things; or at least with the stories
of such things having happened to others.

For me, who at that age had never so much as happened to hear of a case
like this, of animal combustion, in the horrid mood that came over me,
I almost thought the burning body was a premonition of the hell of the
Calvinists, and that Miguel’s earthly end was a foretaste of his
eternal condemnation.

Immediately after the burial, an iron pot of red coals was placed in
the bunk, and in it two handfuls of coffee were roasted. This done, the
bunk was nailed up, and was never opened again during the voyage; and
strict orders were given to the crew not to divulge what had taken
place to the emigrants; but to this, they needed no commands.

After the event, no one sailor but Jackson would stay alone in the
forecastle, by night or by noon; and no more would they laugh or sing,
or in any way make merry there, but kept all their pleasantries for the
watches on deck. All but Jackson: who, while the rest would be sitting
silently smoking on their chests, or in their bunks, would look toward
the fatal spot, and cough, and laugh, and invoke the dead man with
incredible scoffs and jeers. He froze my blood, and made my soul stand
still.




CHAPTER XLIX.
CARLO


There was on board our ship, among the emigrant passengers, a
rich-cheeked, chestnut-haired Italian boy, arrayed in a faded,
olive-hued velvet jacket, and tattered trowsers rolled up to his knee.
He was not above fifteen years of age; but in the twilight pensiveness
of his full morning eyes, there seemed to sleep experiences so sad and
various, that his days must have seemed to him years. It was not an eye
like Harry’s tho’ Harry’s was large and womanly. It shone with a soft
and spiritual radiance, like a moist star in a tropic sky; and spoke of
humility, deep-seated thoughtfulness, yet a careless endurance of all
the ills of life.

The head was if any thing small; and heaped with thick clusters of
tendril curls, half overhanging the brows and delicate ears, it somehow
reminded you of a classic vase, piled up with Falernian foliage.

From the knee downward, the naked leg was beautiful to behold as any
lady’s arm; so soft and rounded, with infantile ease and grace. His
whole figure was free, fine, and indolent; he was such a boy as might
have ripened into life in a Neapolitan vineyard; such a boy as gipsies
steal in infancy; such a boy as Murillo often painted, when he went
among the poor and outcast, for subjects wherewith to captivate the
eyes of rank and wealth; such a boy, as only Andalusian beggars are,
full of poetry, gushing from every rent.

Carlo was his name; a poor and friendless son of earth, who had no
sire; and on life’s ocean was swept along, as spoon-drift in a gale.

Some months previous, he had landed in Prince’s Dock, with his
hand-organ, from a Messina vessel; and had walked the streets of
Liverpool, playing the sunny airs of southern climes, among the
northern fog and drizzle. And now, having laid by enough to pay his
passage over the Atlantic, he had again embarked, to seek his fortunes
in America.

From the first, Harry took to the boy.

“Carlo,” said Harry, “how did you succeed in England?”

He was reclining upon an old sail spread on the long-boat; and throwing
back his soiled but tasseled cap, and caressing one leg like a child,
he looked up, and said in his broken English—that seemed like mixing
the potent wine of Oporto with some delicious syrup:—said he, “Ah! I
succeed very well!—for I have tunes for the young and the old, the gay
and the sad. I have marches for military young men, and love-airs for
the ladies, and solemn sounds for the aged. I never draw a crowd, but I
know from their faces what airs will best please them; I never stop
before a house, but I judge from its portico for what tune they will
soonest toss me some silver. And I ever play sad airs to the merry, and
merry airs to the sad; and most always the rich best fancy the sad, and
the poor the merry.”

“But do you not sometimes meet with cross and crabbed old men,” said
Harry, “who would much rather have your room than your music?”

“Yes, sometimes,” said Carlo, playing with his foot, “sometimes I do.”

“And then, knowing the value of quiet to unquiet men, I suppose you
never leave them under a shilling?”

“No,” continued the boy, “I love my organ as I do myself, for it is my
only friend, poor organ! it sings to me when I am sad, and cheers me;
and I never play before a house, on purpose to be paid for leaving off,
not I; would I, poor organ?”— looking down the hatchway where it was.
“No, that I never have done, and never will do, though I starve; for
when people drive me away, I do not think my organ is to blame, but
they themselves are to blame; for such people’s musical pipes are
cracked, and grown rusted, that no more music can be breathed into
their souls.”

“No, Carlo; no music like yours, perhaps,” said Harry, with a laugh.

“Ah! there’s the mistake. Though my organ is as full of melody, as a
hive is of bees; yet no organ can make music in unmusical breasts; no
more than my native winds can, when they breathe upon a harp without
chords.”

Next day was a serene and delightful one; and in the evening when the
vessel was just rippling along impelled by a gentle yet steady breeze,
and the poor emigrants, relieved from their late sufferings, were
gathered on deck; Carlo suddenly started up from his lazy reclinings;
went below, and, assisted by the emigrants, returned with his organ.

Now, music is a holy thing, and its instruments, however humble, are to
be loved and revered. Whatever has made, or does make, or may make
music, should be held sacred as the golden bridle-bit of the Shah of
Persia’s horse, and the golden hammer, with which his hoofs are shod.
Musical instruments should be like the silver tongs, with which the
high-priests tended the Jewish altars—never to be touched by a hand
profane. Who would bruise the poorest reed of Pan, though plucked from
a beggar’s hedge, would insult the melodious god himself.

And there is no humble thing with music in it, not a fife, not a
negro-fiddle, that is not to be reverenced as much as the grandest
architectural organ that ever rolled its flood-tide of harmony down a
cathedral nave. For even a Jew’s-harp may be so played, as to awaken
all the fairies that are in us, and make them dance in our souls, as on
a moon-lit sward of violets.

But what subtle power is this, residing in but a bit of steel, which
might have made a tenpenny nail, that so enters, without knocking, into
our inmost beings, and shows us all hidden things?

Not in a spirit of foolish speculation altogether, in no merely
transcendental mood, did the glorious Greek of old fancy the human soul
to be essentially a harmony. And if we grant that theory of Paracelsus
and Campanella, that every man has four souls within him; then can we
account for those banded sounds with silver links, those quartettes of
melody, that sometimes sit and sing within us, as if our souls were
baronial halls, and our music were made by the hoarest old harpers of
Wales.

But look! here is poor Carlo’s organ; and while the silent crowd
surrounds him, there he stands, looking mildly but inquiringly about
him; his right hand pulling and twitching the ivory knobs at one end of
his instrument.

Behold the organ!

Surely, if much virtue lurk in the old fiddles of Cremona, and if their
melody be in proportion to their antiquity, what divine ravishments may
we not anticipate from this venerable, embrowned old organ, which might
almost have played the Dead March in Saul, when King Saul himself was
buried.

A fine old organ! carved into fantastic old towers, and turrets, and
belfries; its architecture seems somewhat of the Gothic, monastic
order; in front, it looks like the West-Front of York Minster.

What sculptured arches, leading into mysterious intricacies!—what
mullioned windows, that seem as if they must look into chapels flooded
with devotional sunsets!—what flying buttresses, and gable-ends, and
niches with saints!—But stop! ’tis a Moorish iniquity; for here, as I
live, is a Saracenic arch; which, for aught I know, may lead into some
interior Alhambra.

Ay, it does; for as Carlo now turns his hand, I hear the gush of the
Fountain of Lions, as he plays some thronged Italian air—a mixed and
liquid sea of sound, that dashes its spray in my face.

Play on, play on, Italian boy! what though the notes be broken, here’s
that within that mends them. Turn hither your pensive, morning eyes;
and while I list to the organs twain— one yours, one mine—let me gaze
fathoms down into thy fathomless eye;—’tis good as gazing down into the
great South Sea, and seeing the dazzling rays of the dolphins there.

Play on, play on! for to every note come trooping, now, triumphant
standards, armies marching—all the pomp of sound. Methinks I am Xerxes,
the nucleus of the martial neigh of all the Persian studs. Like gilded
damask-flies, thick clustering on some lofty bough, my satraps swarm
around me.

But now the pageant passes, and I droop; while Carlo taps his ivory
knobs; and plays some flute-like saraband—soft, dulcet, dropping
sounds, like silver cans in bubbling brooks. And now a clanging,
martial air, as if ten thousand brazen trumpets, forged from spurs and
swordhilts, called North, and South, and East, to rush to West!

Again—what blasted heath is this?—what goblin sounds of Macbeth’s
witches?—Beethoven’s Spirit Waltz! the muster-call of sprites and
specters. Now come, hands joined, Medusa, Hecate, she of Endor, and all
the Blocksberg’s, demons dire.

Once more the ivory knobs are tapped; and long-drawn, golden sounds are
heard—some ode to Cleopatra; slowly loom, and solemnly expand, vast,
rounding orbs of beauty; and before me float innumerable queens, deep
dipped in silver gauzes.

All this could Carlo do—make, unmake me; build me up; to pieces take
me; and join me limb to limb. He is the architect of domes of sound,
and bowers of song.

And all is done with that old organ! Reverenced, then, be all street
organs; more melody is at the beck of my Italian boy, than lurks in
squadrons of Parisian orchestras.

But look! Carlo has that to feast the eye as well as ear; and the same
wondrous magic in me, magnifies them into grandeur; though every figure
greatly needs the artist’s repairing hand, and sadly needs a dusting.

His York Minster’s West-Front opens; and like the gates of Milton’s
heaven, it turns on golden hinges.

What have we here? The inner palace of the Great Mogul? Group and
gilded columns, in confidential clusters; fixed fountains; canopies and
lounges; and lords and dames in silk and spangles.

The organ plays a stately march; and presto! wide open arches; and out
come, two and two, with nodding plumes, in crimson turbans, a troop of
martial men; with jingling scimiters, they pace the hall; salute, pass
on, and disappear.

Now, ground and lofty tumblers; jet black Nubian slaves. They fling
themselves on poles; stand on their heads; and downward vanish.

And now a dance and masquerade of figures, reeling from the side-doors,
among the knights and dames. Some sultan leads a sultaness; some
emperor, a queen; and jeweled sword-hilts of carpet knights fling back
the glances tossed by coquettes of countesses.

On this, the curtain drops; and there the poor old organ stands,
begrimed, and black, and rickety.

Now, tell me, Carlo, if at street corners, for a single penny, I may
thus transport myself in dreams Elysian, who so rich as I? Not he who
owns a million.

And Carlo! ill betide the voice that ever greets thee, my Italian boy,
with aught but kindness; cursed the slave who ever drives thy wondrous
box of sights and sounds forth from a lordling’s door!




CHAPTER L.
HARRY BOLTON AT SEA


As yet I have said nothing about how my friend, Harry, got along as a
sailor.

Poor Harry! a feeling of sadness, never to be comforted, comes over me,
even now when I think of you. For this voyage that you went, but
carried you part of the way to that ocean grave, which has buried you
up with your secrets, and whither no mourning pilgrimage can be made.

But why this gloom at the thought of the dead? And why should we not be
glad? Is it, that we ever think of them as departed from all joy? Is
it, that we believe that indeed they are dead? They revisit us not, the
departed; their voices no more ring in the air; summer may come, but it
is winter with them; and even in our own limbs we feel not the sap that
every spring renews the green life of the trees.

But Harry! you live over again, as I recall your image before me. I see
you, plain and palpable as in life; and can make your existence obvious
to others. Is he, then, dead, of whom this may be said?

But Harry! you are mixed with a thousand strange forms, the centaurs of
fancy; half real and human, half wild and grotesque. Divine imaginings,
like gods, come down to the groves of our Thessalies, and there, in the
embrace of wild, dryad reminiscences, beget the beings that astonish
the world.

But Harry! though your image now roams in my Thessaly groves, it is the
same as of old; and among the droves of mixed beings and centaurs, you
show like a zebra, banding with elks.

And indeed, in his striped Guernsey frock, dark glossy skin and hair,
Harry Bolton, mingling with the Highlander’s crew, looked not unlike
the soft, silken quadruped-creole, that, pursued by wild Bushmen,
bounds through Caffrarian woods.

How they hunted you, Harry, my zebra! those ocean barbarians, those
unimpressible, uncivilized sailors of ours! How they pursued you from
bowsprit to mainmast, and started you out of your every retreat!

Before the day of our sailing, it was known to the seamen that the
girlish youth, whom they daily saw near the sign of the Clipper in
Union-street, would form one of their homeward-bound crew. Accordingly,
they cast upon him many a critical glance; but were not long in
concluding that Harry would prove no very great accession to their
strength; that the hoist of so tender an arm would not tell many
hundred-weight on the maintop-sail halyards. Therefore they disliked
him before they became acquainted with him; and such dislikes, as every
one knows, are the most inveterate, and liable to increase. But even
sailors are not blind to the sacredness that hallows a stranger; and
for a time, abstaining from rudeness, they only maintained toward my
friend a cold and unsympathizing civility.

As for Harry, at first the novelty of the scene filled up his mind; and
the thought of being bound for a distant land, carried with it, as with
every one, a buoyant feeling of undefinable expectation. And though his
money was now gone again, all but a sovereign or two, yet that troubled
him but little, in the first flush of being at sea.

But I was surprised, that one who had certainly seen much of life,
should evince such an incredible ignorance of what was wholly
inadmissible in a person situated as he was. But perhaps his
familiarity with lofty life, only the less qualified him for
understanding the other extreme. Will you believe me, this Bury blade
once came on deck in a brocaded dressing-gown, embroidered slippers,
and tasseled smoking-cap, to stand his morning watch.

As soon as I beheld him thus arrayed, a suspicion, which had previously
crossed my mind, again recurred, and I almost vowed to myself that,
spite his protestations, Harry Bolton never could have been at sea
before, even as a _Guinea-pig_ in an Indiaman; for the slightest
acquaintance with the sea-life and sailors, should have prevented him,
it would seem, from enacting this folly.

“Who’s that Chinese mandarin?” cried the mate, who had made voyages to
Canton. “Look you, my fine fellow, douse that mainsail now, and furl it
in a trice.”

“Sir?” said Harry, starting back. “Is not this the morning watch, and
is not mine a morning gown?”

But though, in my refined friend’s estimation, nothing could be more
appropriate; in the mate’s, it was the most monstrous of incongruities;
and the offensive gown and cap were removed.

“It is too bad!” exclaimed Harry to me; “I meant to lounge away the
watch in that gown until coffee time;—and I suppose your Hottentot of a
mate won’t permit a gentleman to smoke his Turkish pipe of a morning;
but by gad, I’ll wear straps to my pantaloons to spite him!”

Oh! that was the rock on which you split, poor Harry! Incensed at the
want of polite refinement in the mates and crew, Harry, in a pet and
pique, only determined to provoke them the more; and the storm of
indignation he raised very soon overwhelmed him.

The sailors took a special spite to his chest, a large mahogany one,
which he had had made to order at a furniture warehouse. It was
ornamented with brass screw-heads, and other devices; and was well
filled with those articles of the wardrobe in which Harry had sported
through a London season; for the various vests and pantaloons he had
sold in Liverpool, when in want of money, had not materially lessened
his extensive stock.

It was curious to listen to the various hints and opinings thrown out
by the sailors at the occasional glimpses they had of this collection
of silks, velvets, broadcloths, and satins. I do not know exactly what
they thought Harry had been; but they seemed unanimous in believing
that, by abandoning his country, Harry had left more room for the
gamblers. Jackson even asked him to lift up the lower hem of his
browsers, to test the color of his calves.

It is a noteworthy circumstance, that whenever a slender made youth, of
easy manners and polite address happens to form one of a ship’s
company, the sailors almost invariably impute his sea-going to an
irresistible necessity of decamping from terra-firma in order to evade
the constables.

These white-fingered gentry must be light-fingered too, they say to
themselves, or they would not be after putting their hands into our
tar. What else can bring them to sea?

Cogent and conclusive this; and thus Harry, from the very beginning,
was put down for a very equivocal character.

Sometimes, however, they only made sport of his appearance; especially
one evening, when his monkey jacket being wet through, he was obliged
to mount one of his swallow-tailed coats. They said he carried two
mizzen-peaks at his stern; declared he was a broken-down quill-driver,
or a footman to a Portuguese running barber, or some old maid’s
tobacco-boy. As for the captain, it had become all the same to Harry as
if there were no gentlemanly and complaisant Captain Riga on board. For
to his no small astonishment,—but just as I had predicted,—Captain Riga
never noticed him now, but left the business of indoctrinating him into
the little experiences of a greenhorn’s career solely in the hands of
his officers and crew.

But the worst was to come. For the first few days, whenever there was
any running aloft to be done, I noticed that Harry was indefatigable in
coiling away the slack of the rigging about decks; ignoring the fact
that his shipmates were springing into the shrouds. And when all hands
of the watch would be engaged _clewing up a t’-gallant-sail,_ that is,
pulling the proper ropes on deck that wrapped the sail up on the yard
aloft, Harry would always manage to get near the _belaying-pin, so_
that when the time came for two of us to spring into the rigging, he
would be inordinately fidgety in making fast the _clew-lines,_ and
would be so absorbed in that occupation, and would so elaborate the
hitchings round the pin, that it was quite impossible for him, after
doing so much, to mount over the bulwarks before his comrades had got
there. However, after securing the clew-lines beyond a possibility of
their getting loose, Harry would always make a feint of starting in a
prodigious hurry for the shrouds; but suddenly looking up, and seeing
others in advance, would retreat, apparently quite chagrined that he
had been cut off from the opportunity of signalizing his activity.

At this I was surprised, and spoke to my friend; when the alarming fact
was confessed, that he had made a private trial of it, and it never
would do: _he could not go aloft;_ his nerves would not hear of it.

“Then, Harry,” said I, “better you had never been born. Do you know
what it is that you are coming to? Did you not tell me that you made no
doubt you would acquit yourself well in the rigging? Did you not say
that you had been two voyages to Bombay? Harry, you were mad to ship.
But you only imagine it: try again; and my word for it, you will very
soon find yourself as much at home among the spars as a bird in a
tree.”

But he could not be induced to try it over again; the fact was, _his
nerves could not stand it;_ in the course of his courtly career, he had
drunk too much strong Mocha coffee and gunpowder tea, and had smoked
altogether too many Havannas.

At last, as I had repeatedly warned him, the mate singled him out one
morning, and commanded him to mount to the main-truck, and unreeve the
short signal halyards.

“Sir?” said Harry, aghast.

“Away you go!” said the mate, snatching a whip’s end.

“Don’t strike me!” screamed Harry, drawing himself up.

“Take that, and along with you,” cried the mate, laying the rope once
across his back, but lightly.

“By heaven!” cried Harry, wincing—not with the blow, but the insult:
and then making a dash at the mate, who, holding out his long arm, kept
him lazily at bay, and laughed at him, till, had I not feared a broken
head, I should infallibly have pitched my boy’s bulk into the officer.

“Captain Riga!” cried Harry.

“Don’t call upon _him”_ said the mate; “he’s asleep, and won’t wake up
till we strike Yankee soundings again. Up you go!” he added,
flourishing the rope’s end.

Harry looked round among the grinning tars with a glance of terrible
indignation and agony; and then settling his eye on me, and seeing
there no hope, but even an admonition of obedience, as his only
resource, he made one bound into the rigging, and was up at the
main-top in a trice. I thought a few more springs would take him to the
truck, and was a little fearful that in his desperation he might then
jump overboard; for I had heard of delirious greenhorns doing such
things at sea, and being lost forever. But no; he stopped short, and
looked down from the top. Fatal glance! it unstrung his every fiber;
and I saw him reel, and clutch the shrouds, till the mate shouted out
for him not to squeeze the tar out of the ropes. “Up you go, sir.” But
Harry said nothing.

“You Max,” cried the mate to the Dutch sailor, “spring after him, and
help him; you understand?”

Max went up the rigging hand over hand, and brought his red head with a
bump against the base of Harry’s back. Needs must when the devil
drives; and higher and higher, with Max bumping him at every step, went
my unfortunate friend. At last he gained the royal yard, and the thin
signal halyards—, hardly bigger than common twine—were flying in the
wind. “Unreeve!” cried the mate.

I saw Harry’s arm stretched out—his legs seemed shaking in the rigging,
even to us, down on deck; and at last, thank heaven! the deed was done.

He came down pale as death, with bloodshot eyes, and every limb
quivering. From that moment he never put foot in rattlin; never mounted
above the bulwarks; and for the residue of the voyage, at least, became
an altered person.

At the time, he went to the mate—since he could not get speech of the
captain—and conjured him to intercede with Riga, that his name might be
stricken off from the list of the ship’s company, so that he might make
the voyage as a steerage passenger; for which privilege, he bound
himself to pay, as soon as he could dispose of some things of his in
New York, over and above the ordinary passage-money. But the mate gave
him a blunt denial; and a look of wonder at his effrontery. Once a
sailor on board a ship, and _always_ a sailor for that voyage, at
least; for within so brief a period, no officer can bear to associate
on terms of any thing like equality with a person whom he has ordered
about at his pleasure.

Harry then told the mate solemnly, that he might do what he pleased,
but go aloft again he _could_ not, and _would_ not. He would do any
thing else but that.

This affair sealed Harry’s fate on board of the Highlander; the crew
now reckoned him fair play for their worst jibes and jeers, and he led
a miserable life indeed.

Few landsmen can imagine the depressing and self-humiliating effects of
finding one’s self, for the first time, at the beck of illiterate
sea-tyrants, with no opportunity of exhibiting any trait about you, but
your ignorance of every thing connected with the sea-life that you
lead, and the duties you are constantly called upon to perform. In such
a sphere, and under such circumstances, Isaac Newton and Lord Bacon
would be sea-clowns and bumpkins; and Napoleon Bonaparte be cuffed and
kicked without remorse. In more than one instance I have seen the truth
of this; and Harry, poor Harry, proved no exception. And from the
circumstances which exempted me from experiencing the bitterest of
these evils, I only the more felt for one who, from a strange
constitutional nervousness, before unknown even to himself, was become
as a hunted hare to the merciless crew.

But how was it that Harry Bolton, who spite of his effeminacy of
appearance, had evinced, in our London trip, such unmistakable flashes
of a spirit not easily tamed—how was it, that he could now yield
himself up to the almost passive reception of contumely and contempt?
Perhaps his spirit, for the time, had been broken. But I will not
undertake to explain; we are curious creatures, as every one knows; and
there are passages in the lives of all men, so out of keeping with the
common tenor of their ways, and so seemingly contradictory of
themselves, that only He who made us can expound them.




CHAPTER LI.
THE EMIGRANTS


After the first miserable weather we experienced at sea, we had
intervals of foul and fair, mostly the former, however, attended with
head winds, till at last, after a three days’ fog and rain, the sun
rose cheerily one morning, and showed us Cape Clear. Thank heaven, we
were out of the weather emphatically called _“Channel weather,”_ and
the last we should see of the eastern hemisphere was now in plain
sight, and all the rest was broad ocean.

_Land ho!_ was cried, as the dark purple headland grew out of the
north. At the cry, the Irish emigrants came rushing up the hatchway,
thinking America itself was at hand.

“Where is it?” cried one of them, running out a little way on the
bowsprit. “Is _that_ it?”

“Aye, it doesn’t look much like _ould_ Ireland, does it?” said Jackson.

“Not a bit, honey:—and how long before we get there? to-night?”

Nothing could exceed the disappointment and grief of the emigrants,
when they were at last informed, that the land to the north was their
own native island, which, after leaving three or four weeks previous in
a steamboat for Liverpool, was now close to them again; and that, after
newly voyaging so many days from the Mersey, the Highlander was only
bringing them in view of the original home whence they started.

They were the most simple people I had ever seen. They seemed to have
no adequate idea of distances; and to them, America must have seemed as
a place just over a river. Every morning some of them came on deck, to
see how much nearer we were: and one old man would stand for hours
together, looking straight off from the bows, as if he expected to see
New York city every minute, when, perhaps, we were yet two thousand
miles distant, and steering, moreover, against a head wind.

The only thing that ever diverted this poor old man from his earnest
search for land, was the occasional appearance of porpoises under the
bows; when he would cry out at the top of his voice—“Look, look, ye
divils! look at the great pigs of the sea!”

At last, the emigrants began to think, that the ship had played them
false; and that she was bound for the East Indies, or some other remote
place; and one night, Jackson set a report going among them, that Riga
purposed taking them to Barbary, and selling them all for slaves; but
though some of the old women almost believed it, and a great weeping
ensued among the children, yet the men knew better than to believe such
a ridiculous tale.

Of all the emigrants, my Italian boy Carlo, seemed most at his ease. He
would lie all day in a dreamy mood, sunning himself in the long boat,
and gazing out on the sea. At night, he would bring up his organ, and
play for several hours; much to the delight of his fellow voyagers, who
blessed him and his organ again and again; and paid him for his music
by furnishing him his meals. Sometimes, the steward would come forward,
when it happened to be very much of a moonlight, with a message from
the cabin, for Carlo to repair to the quarterdeck, and entertain the
gentlemen and ladies.

There was a fiddler on board, as will presently be seen; and sometimes,
by urgent entreaties, he was induced to unite his music with Carlo’s,
for the benefit of the cabin occupants; but this was only twice or
thrice: for this fiddler deemed himself considerably elevated above the
other steerage-passengers; and did not much fancy the idea of fiddling
to strangers; and thus wear out his elbow, while persons, entirely
unknown to him, and in whose welfare he felt not the slightest
interest, were curveting about in famous high spirits. So for the most
part, the gentlemen and ladies were fain to dance as well as they could
to my little Italian’s organ.

It was the most accommodating organ in the world; for it could play any
tune that was called for; Carlo pulling in and out the ivory knobs at
one side, and so manufacturing melody at pleasure.

True, some censorious gentlemen cabin-passengers protested, that such
or such an air, was not precisely according to Handel or Mozart; and
some ladies, whom I overheard talking about throwing their nosegays to
Malibran at Covent Garden, assured the attentive Captain Riga, that
Carlo’s organ was a most wretched affair, and made a horrible din.

“Yes, ladies,” said the captain, bowing, “by your leave, I think
Carlo’s organ must have lost its mother, for it squeals like a pig
running after its dam.”

Harry was incensed at these criticisms; and yet these cabin-people were
all ready enough to dance to poor Carlo’s music.

“Carlo”—said I, one night, as he was marching forward from the
quarter-deck, after one of these sea-quadrilles, which took place
during my watch on deck:—“Carlo”—said I, “what do the gentlemen and
ladies give you for playing?”

“Look!”—and he showed me three copper medals of Britannia and her
shield—three English pennies.

Now, whenever we discover a dislike in us, toward any one, we should
ever be a little suspicious of ourselves. It may be, therefore, that
the natural antipathy with which almost all seamen and
steerage-passengers, regard the inmates of the cabin, was one cause at
least, of my not feeling very charitably disposed toward them, myself.

Yes: that might have been; but nevertheless, I will let nature have her
own way for once; and here declare roundly, that, however it was, I
cherished a feeling toward these cabin-passengers, akin to contempt.
Not because they happened to be cabin-passengers: not at all: but only
because they seemed the most finical, miserly, mean men and women, that
ever stepped over the Atlantic.

One of them was an old fellow in a robust looking coat, with broad
skirts; he had a nose like a bottle of port-wine; and would stand for a
whole hour, with his legs straddling apart, and his hands deep down in
his breeches pockets, as if he had two mints at work there, coining
guineas. He was an abominable looking old fellow, with cold, fat,
jelly-like eyes; and avarice, heartlessness, and sensuality stamped all
over him. He seemed all the time going through some process of mental
arithmetic; doing sums with dollars and cents: his very mouth, wrinkled
and drawn up at the corners, looked like a purse. When he dies, his
skull ought to be turned into a savings box, with the till-hole between
his teeth.

Another of the cabin inmates, was a middle-aged Londoner, in a comical
Cockney-cut coat, with a pair of semicircular tails: so that he looked
as if he were sitting in a swing. He wore a spotted neckerchief; a
short, little, fiery-red vest; and striped pants, very thin in the
calf, but very full about the waist. There was nothing describable
about him but his dress; for he had such a meaningless face, I can not
remember it; though I have a vague impression, that it looked at the
time, as if its owner was laboring under the mumps.

Then there were two or three buckish looking young fellows, among the
rest; who were all the time playing at cards on the poop, under the lee
of the _spanker;_ or smoking cigars on the taffrail; or sat quizzing
the emigrant women with opera-glasses, leveled through the windows of
the upper cabin. These sparks frequently called for the steward to help
them to brandy and water, and talked about going on to Washington, to
see Niagara Falls.

There was also an old gentleman, who had brought with him three or four
heavy files of the _London Times,_ and other papers; and he spent all
his hours in reading them, on the shady side of the deck, with one leg
crossed over the other; and without crossed legs, he never read at all.
That was indispensable to the proper understanding of what he studied.
He growled terribly, when disturbed by the sailors, who now and then
were obliged to move him to get at the ropes.

As for the ladies, I have nothing to say concerning them; for ladies
are like creeds; if you can not speak well of them, say nothing.




CHAPTER LII.
THE EMIGRANTS’ KITCHEN


I have made some mention of the “galley,” or great stove for the
steerage passengers, which was planted over the main hatches.

During the outward-bound passage, there were so few occupants of the
steerage, that they had abundant room to do their cooking at this
galley. But it was otherwise now; for we had four or five hundred in
the steerage; and all their cooking was to be done by one fire; a
pretty large one, to be sure, but, nevertheless, small enough,
considering the number to be accommodated, and the fact that the fire
was only to be kindled at certain hours.

For the emigrants in these ships are under a sort of martial-law; and
in all their affairs are regulated by the despotic ordinances of the
captain. And though it is evident, that to a certain extent this is
necessary, and even indispensable; yet, as at sea no appeal lies beyond
the captain, he too often makes unscrupulous use of his power. And as
for going to law with him at the end of the voyage, you might as well
go to law with the Czar of Russia.

At making the fire, the emigrants take turns; as it is often very
disagreeable work, owing to the pitching of the ship, and the heaving
of the spray over the uncovered “galley.” Whenever I had the morning
watch, from four to eight, I was sure to see some poor fellow crawling
up from below about daybreak, and go to groping over the deck after
bits of rope-yarn, or tarred canvas, for kindling-stuff. And no sooner
would the fire be fairly made, than up came the old women, and men, and
children; each armed with an iron pot or saucepan; and invariably a
great tumult ensued, as to whose turn to cook came next; sometimes the
more quarrelsome would fight, and upset each other’s pots and pans.

Once, an English lad came up with a little coffee-pot, which he managed
to crowd in between two pans. This done, he went below. Soon after a
great strapping Irishman, in knee-breeches and bare calves, made his
appearance; and eying the row of things on the fire, asked whose
coffee-pot that was; upon being told, he removed it, and put his own in
its place; saying something about that individual place belonging to
him; and with that, he turned aside.

Not long after, the boy came along again; and seeing his pot removed,
made a violent exclamation, and replaced it; which the Irishman no
sooner perceived, than he rushed at him, with his fists doubled. The
boy snatched up the boiling coffee, and spirted its contents all about
the fellow’s bare legs; which incontinently began to dance involuntary
hornpipes and fandangoes, as a preliminary to giving chase to the boy,
who by this time, however, had decamped.

Many similar scenes occurred every day; nor did a single day pass, but
scores of the poor people got no chance whatever to do their cooking.

This was bad enough; but it was a still more miserable thing, to see
these poor emigrants wrangling and fighting together for the want of
the most ordinary accommodations. But thus it is, that the very
hardships to which such beings are subjected, instead of uniting them,
only tends, by imbittering their tempers, to set them against each
other; and thus they themselves drive the strongest rivet into the
chain, by which their social superiors hold them subject.

It was with a most reluctant hand, that every evening in the second
dog-watch, at the mate’s command, I would march up to the fire, and
giving notice to the assembled crowd, that the time was come to
extinguish it, would dash it out with my bucket of salt water; though
many, who had long waited for a chance to cook, had now to go away
disappointed.

The staple food of the Irish emigrants was oatmeal and water, boiled
into what is sometimes called _mush;_ by the Dutch is known as
_supaan;_ by sailors _burgoo;_ by the New Englanders _hasty-pudding;_
in which hasty-pudding, by the way, the poet Barlow found the materials
for a sort of epic.

Some of the steerage passengers, however, were provided with
sea-biscuit, and other perennial food, that was eatable all the year
round, fire or no fire.

There were several, moreover, who seemed better to do in the world than
the rest; who were well furnished with hams, cheese, Bologna sausages,
Dutch herrings, alewives, and other delicacies adapted to the
contingencies of a voyager in the steerage.

There was a little old Englishman on board, who had been a grocer
ashore, whose greasy trunks seemed all pantries; and he was constantly
using himself for a cupboard, by transferring their contents into his
own interior. He was a little light of head, I always thought. He
particularly doated on his long strings of sausages; and would
sometimes take them out, and play with them, wreathing them round him,
like an Indian juggler with charmed snakes. What with this diversion,
and eating his cheese, and helping himself from an inexhaustible junk
bottle, and smoking his pipe, and meditating, this crack-pated grocer
made time jog along with him at a tolerably easy pace.

But by far the most considerable man in the steerage, in point of
pecuniary circumstances at least, was a slender little pale-faced
English tailor, who it seemed had engaged a passage for himself and
wife in some imaginary section of the ship, called the _second cabin,_
which was feigned to combine the comforts of the first cabin with the
cheapness of the steerage. But it turned out that this second cabin was
comprised in the after part of the steerage itself, with nothing
intervening but a name. So to his no small disgust, he found himself
herding with the rabble; and his complaints to the captain were
unheeded.

This luckless tailor was tormented the whole voyage by his wife, who
was young and handsome; just such a beauty as farmers’-boys fall in
love with; she had bright eyes, and red cheeks, and looked plump and
happy.

She was a sad coquette; and did not turn away, as she was bound to do,
from the dandy glances of the cabin bucks, who ogled her through their
double-barreled opera glasses. This enraged the tailor past telling; he
would remonstrate with his wife, and scold her; and lay his matrimonial
commands upon her, to go below instantly, out of sight. But the lady
was not to be tyrannized over; and so she told him. Meantime, the bucks
would be still framing her in their lenses, mightily enjoying the fun.
The last resources of the poor tailor would be, to start up, and make a
dash at the rogues, with clenched fists; but upon getting as far as the
mainmast, the mate would accost him from over the rope that divided
them, and beg leave to communicate the fact, that he could come no
further. This unfortunate tailor was also a fiddler; and when fairly
baited into desperation, would rush for his instrument, and try to get
rid of his wrath by playing the most savage, remorseless airs he could
think of.

While thus employed, perhaps his wife would accost him—

“Billy, my dear;” and lay her soft hand on his shoulder.

But Billy, he only fiddled harder.

“Billy, my love!”

The bow went faster and faster.

“Come, now, Billy, my dear little fellow, let’s make it all up;” and
she bent over his knees, looking bewitchingly up at him, with her
irresistible eyes.

Down went fiddle and bow; and the couple would sit together for an hour
or two, as pleasant and affectionate as possible.

But the next day, the chances were, that the old feud would be renewed,
which was certain to be the case at the first glimpse of an opera-glass
from the cabin.




CHAPTER LIII.
THE HORATII AND CURIATII


With a slight alteration, I might begin this chapter after the manner
of Livy, in the 24th section of his first book:—“It _happened, that in
each family were three twin brothers, between whom there was little
disparity in point of age or of strength.”_

Among the steerage passengers of the Highlander, were two women from
Armagh, in Ireland, widows and sisters, who had each three twin sons,
born, as they said, on the same day.

They were ten years old. Each three of these six cousins were as like
as the mutually reflected figures in a kaleidoscope; and like the forms
seen in a kaleidoscope, together, as well as separately, they seemed to
form a complete figure. But, though besides this fraternal likeness,
all six boys bore a strong cousin-german resemblance to each other;
yet, the O’Briens were in disposition quite the reverse of the
O’Regans. The former were a timid, silent trio, who used to revolve
around their mother’s waist, and seldom quit the maternal orbit;
whereas, the O’Regans were “broths of boys,” full of mischief and fun,
and given to all manner of devilment, like the tails of the comets.

Early every morning, Mrs. O’Regan emerged from the steerage, driving
her spirited twins before her, like a riotous herd of young steers; and
made her way to the capacious deck-tub, full of salt water, pumped up
from the sea, for the purpose of washing down the ship. Three splashes,
and the three boys were ducking and diving together in the brine; their
mother engaged in _shampooing_ them, though it was haphazard sort of
work enough; a rub here, and a scrub there, as she could manage to
fasten on a stray limb.

“Pat, ye divil, hould still while I wash ye. Ah! but it’s you, Teddy,
you rogue. Arrah, now, Mike, ye spalpeen, don’t be mixing your legs up
with Pat’s.”

The little rascals, leaping and scrambling with delight, enjoyed the
sport mightily; while this indefatigable, but merry matron, manipulated
them all over, as if it were a matter of conscience.

Meanwhile, Mrs. O’Brien would be standing on the boatswain’s locker—or
rope and tar-pot pantry in the vessel’s bows—with a large old quarto
Bible, black with age, laid before her between the knight-heads, and
reading aloud to her three meek little lambs.

The sailors took much pleasure in the deck-tub performances of the
O’Regans, and greatly admired them always for their archness and
activity; but the tranquil O’Briens they did not fancy so much. More
especially they disliked the grave matron herself; hooded in rusty
black; and they had a bitter grudge against her book. To that, and the
incantations muttered over it, they ascribed the head winds that
haunted us; and Blunt, our Irish cockney, really believed that Mrs.
O’Brien purposely came on deck every morning, in order to secure a foul
wind for the next ensuing twenty-four hours.

At last, upon her coming forward one morning, Max the Dutchman accosted
her, saying he was sorry for it, but if she went between the
knight-heads again with her book, the crew would throw it overboard for
her.

Now, although contrasted in character, there existed a great warmth of
affection between the two families of twins, which upon this occasion
was curiously manifested.

Notwithstanding the rebuke and threat of the sailor, the widow silently
occupied her old place; and with her children clustering round her,
began her low, muttered reading, standing right in the extreme bows of
the ship, and slightly leaning over them, as if addressing the
multitudinous waves from a floating pulpit. Presently Max came behind
her, snatched the book from her hands, and threw it overboard. The
widow gave a wail, and her boys set up a cry. Their cousins, then
ducking in the water close by, at once saw the cause of the cry; and
springing from the tub, like so many dogs, seized Max by the legs,
biting and striking at him: which, the before timid little O’Briens no
sooner perceived, than they, too, threw themselves on the enemy, and
the amazed seaman found himself baited like a bull by all six boys.

And here it gives me joy to record one good thing on the part of the
mate. He saw the fray, and its beginning; and rushing forward, told Max
that he would harm the boys at his peril; while he cheered them on, as
if rejoiced at their giving the fellow such a tussle. At last Max,
sorely scratched, bit, pinched, and every way aggravated, though of
course without a serious bruise, cried out “enough!” and the assailants
were ordered to quit him; but though the three O’Briens obeyed, the
three O’Regans hung on to him like leeches, and had to be dragged off.

“There now, you rascal,” cried the mate, “throw overboard another
Bible, and I’ll send you after it without a bowline.”

This event gave additional celebrity to the twins throughout the
vessel. That morning all six were invited to the quarter-deck, and
reviewed by the cabin-passengers, the ladies manifesting particular
interest in them, as they always do concerning twins, which some of
them show in public parks and gardens, by stopping to look at them, and
questioning their nurses.

“And were you all born at one time?” asked an old lady, letting her eye
run in wonder along the even file of white heads.

“Indeed, an’ we were,” said Teddy; “wasn’t we, mother?”

Many more questions were asked and answered, when a collection was
taken up for their benefit among these magnanimous cabin-passengers,
which resulted in starting all six boys in the world with a penny
apiece.

I never could look at these little fellows without an inexplicable
feeling coming over me; and though there was nothing so very remarkable
or unprecedented about them, except the singular coincidence of two
sisters simultaneously making the world such a generous present; yet,
the mere fact of there being twins always seemed curious; in fact, to
me at least, all twins are prodigies; and still I hardly know why this
should be; for all of us in our own persons furnish numerous examples
of the same phenomenon. Are not our thumbs twins? A regular Castor and
Pollux? And all of our fingers? Are not our arms, hands, legs, feet,
eyes, ears, all twins; born at one birth, and as much alike as they
possibly can be?

Can it be, that the Greek grammarians invented their dual number for
the particular benefit of twins?




CHAPTER LIV.
SOME SUPERIOR OLD NAIL-ROD AND _PIG-TAIL_


It has been mentioned how advantageously my shipmates disposed of their
tobacco in Liverpool; but it is to be related how those nefarious
commercial speculations of theirs reduced them to sad extremities in
the end.

True to their improvident character, and seduced by the high prices
paid for the weed in England, they had there sold off by far the
greater portion of what tobacco they had; even inducing the mate to
surrender the portion he had secured under lock and key by command of
the Custom-house officers. So that when the crew were about two weeks
out, on the homeward-bound passage, it became sorrowfully evident that
tobacco was at a premium.

Now, one of the favorite pursuits of sailors during a dogwatch below at
sea is cards; and though they do not understand whist, cribbage, and
games of that kidney, yet they are adepts at what is called
_“High-low-Jack-and-the-game,”_ which name, indeed, has a Jackish and
nautical flavor. Their stakes are generally so many plugs of tobacco,
which, like rouleaux of guineas, are piled on their chests when they
play. Judge, then, the wicked zest with which the Highlander’s crew now
shuffled and dealt the pack; and how the interest curiously and
invertedly increased, as the stakes necessarily became less and less;
and finally resolved themselves into _“chaws.”_

So absorbed, at last, did they become at this business, that some of
them, after being hard at work during a nightwatch on deck, would rob
themselves of rest below, in order to have a brush at the cards. And as
it is very difficult sleeping in the presence of gamblers; especially
if they chance to be sailors, whose conversation at all times is apt to
be boisterous; these fellows would often be driven out of the
forecastle by those who desired to rest. They were obliged to repair on
deck, and make a card-table of it; and invariably, in such cases, there
was a great deal of contention, a great many ungentlemanly charges of
nigging and cheating; and, now and then, a few parenthetical blows were
exchanged.

But this was not so much to be wondered at, seeing they could see but
very little, being provided with no light but that of a midnight sky;
and the cards, from long wear and rough usage, having become
exceedingly torn and tarry, so much so, that several members of the
four suits might have seceded from their respective clans, and formed
into a fifth tribe, under the name of _“Tar-spots.”_

Every day the tobacco grew scarcer and scarcer; till at last it became
necessary to adopt the greatest possible economy in its use. The
modicum constituting an ordinary _“chaw,”_ was made to last a whole
day; and at night, permission being had from the cook, this self-same
_“chaw”_ was placed in the oven of the stove, and there dried; so as to
do duty in a pipe.

In the end not a plug was to be had; and deprived of a solace and a
stimulus, on which sailors so much rely while at sea, the crew became
absent, moody, and sadly tormented with the hypos. They were something
like opium-smokers, suddenly cut off from their drug. They would sit on
their chests, forlorn and moping; with a steadfast sadness, eying the
forecastle lamp, at which they had lighted so many a pleasant pipe.
With touching eloquence they recalled those happier evenings—the time
of smoke and vapor; when, after a whole day’s delectable _“chawing,”_
they beguiled themselves with their genial, and most companionable
puffs.

One night, when they seemed more than usually cast down and
disconsolate, Blunt, the Irish cockney, started up suddenly with an
idea in his head—“Boys, let’s search under the bunks!” Bless you,
Blunt! what a happy conceit! Forthwith, the chests were dragged out;
the dark places explored; and two sticks of _nail-rod_ tobacco, and
several old _“chaws,”_ thrown aside by sailors on some previous voyage,
were their cheering reward. They were impartially divided by Jackson,
who, upon this occasion, acquitted himself to the satisfaction of all.

Their mode of dividing this tobacco was the rather curious one
generally adopted by sailors, when the highest possible degree of
impartiality is desirable. I will describe it, recommending its earnest
consideration to all heirs, who may hereafter divide an inheritance;
for if they adopted this nautical method, that universally slanderous
aphorism of Lavater would be forever rendered nugatory—“Expect _not to
understand any man till you have divided with him an inheritance.”_

The _nail-rods_ they cut as evenly as possible into as many parts as
there were men to be supplied; and this operation having been performed
in the presence of all, Jackson, placing the tobacco before him, his
face to the wall, and back to the company, struck one of the bits of
weed with his knife, crying out, “Whose is this?” Whereupon a
respondent, previously pitched upon, replied, at a venture, from the
opposite corner of the forecastle, “Blunt’s;” and to Blunt it went; and
so on, in like manner, till all were served.

I put it to you, lawyers—shade of Blackstone, I invoke you—if a more
impartial procedure could be imagined than this?

But the nail-rods and last-voyage _“chaws”_ were soon gone, and then,
after a short interval of comparative gayety, the men again drooped,
and relapsed into gloom.

They soon hit upon an ingenious device, however—but not altogether new
among seamen—to allay the severity of the depression under which they
languished. Ropes were unstranded, and the yarns picked apart; and, cut
up into small bits, were used as a substitute for the weed. Old ropes
were preferred; especially those which had long lain in the hold, and
had contracted an epicurean dampness, making still richer their
ancient, cheese-like flavor.

In the middle of most large ropes, there is a straight, central part,
round which the exterior strands are twisted. When in picking oakum,
upon various occasions, I have chanced, among the old junk used at such
times, to light upon a fragment of this species of rope, I have ever
taken, I know not what kind of strange, nutty delight in untwisting it
slowly, and gradually coming upon its deftly hidden and aromatic
_“heart;”_ for so this central piece is denominated.

It is generally of a rich, tawny, Indian hue, somewhat inclined to
luster; is exceedingly agreeable to the touch; diffuses a pungent odor,
as of an old dusty bottle of Port, newly opened above ground; and,
altogether, is an object which no man, who enjoys his dinners, could
refrain from hanging over, and caressing.

Nor is this delectable morsel of _old junk_ wanting in many
interesting, mournful, and tragic suggestions. Who can say in what
gales it may have been; in what remote seas it may have sailed? How
many stout masts of seventy-fours and frigates it may have staid in the
tempest? How deep it may have lain, as a hawser, at the bottom of
strange harbors? What outlandish fish may have nibbled at it in the
water, and what un-catalogued sea-fowl may have pecked at it, when
forming part of a lofty stay or a shroud?

Now, this particular part of the rope, this nice little “cut” it was,
that among the sailors was the most eagerly sought after. And getting
hold of a foot or two of old cable, they would cut into it lovingly, to
see whether it had any _“tenderloin.”_

For my own part, nevertheless, I can not say that this tit-bit was at
all an agreeable one in the mouth; however pleasant to the sight of an
antiquary, or to the nose of an epicure in nautical fragrancies.
Indeed, though possibly I might have been mistaken, I thought it had
rather an astringent, acrid taste; probably induced by the tar, with
which the flavor of all ropes is more or less vitiated. But the sailors
seemed to like it, and at any rate nibbled at it with great gusto. They
converted one pocket of their trowsers into a junk-shop, and when
solicited by a shipmate for a _“chaw,”_ would produce a small coil of
rope.

Another device adopted to alleviate their hardships, was the
substitution of dried tea-leaves, in place of tobacco, for their pipes.
No one has ever supped in a forecastle at sea, without having been
struck by the prodigious residuum of tea-leaves, or cabbage stalks, in
his tin-pot of bohea. There was no lack of material to supply every
pipe-bowl among us.

I had almost forgotten to relate the most noteworthy thing in this
matter; namely, that notwithstanding the general scarcity of the
genuine weed, Jackson was provided with a supply; nor did it give out,
until very shortly previous to our arrival in port.

In the lowest depths of despair at the loss of their precious solace,
when the sailors would be seated inconsolable as the Babylonish
captives, Jackson would sit cross-legged in his bunk, which was an
upper one, and enveloped in a cloud of tobacco smoke, would look down
upon the mourners below, with a sardonic grin at their forlornness.

He recalled to mind their folly in selling for filthy lucre, their
supplies of the weed; he painted their stupidity; he enlarged upon the
sufferings they had brought upon themselves; he exaggerated those
sufferings, and every way derided, reproached, twitted, and hooted at
them. No one dared to return his scurrilous animadversions, nor did any
presume to ask him to relieve their necessities out of his fullness. On
the contrary, as has been just related, they divided with him the
_nail-rods_ they found.

The extraordinary dominion of this one miserable Jackson, over twelve
or fourteen strong, healthy tars, is a riddle, whose solution must be
left to the philosophers.




CHAPTER LV.
DRAWING NIGH TO THE LAST SCENE IN JACKSON’S CAREER


The closing allusion to Jackson in the chapter preceding, reminds me of
a circumstance—which, perhaps, should have been mentioned before—that
after we had been at sea about ten days, he pronounced himself too
unwell to do duty, and accordingly went below to his bunk. And here,
with the exception of a few brief intervals of sunning himself in fine
weather, he remained on his back, or seated cross-legged, during the
remainder of the homeward-bound passage.

Brooding there, in his infernal gloom, though nothing but a castaway
sailor in canvas trowsers, this man was still a picture, worthy to be
painted by the dark, moody hand of Salvator. In any of that master’s
lowering sea-pieces, representing the desolate crags of Calabria, with
a midnight shipwreck in the distance, this Jackson’s would have been
the face to paint for the doomed vessel’s figurehead, seamed and
blasted by lightning.

Though the more sneaking and cowardly of my shipmates whispered among
themselves, that Jackson, sure of his wages, whether on duty or off,
was only feigning indisposition, nevertheless it was plain that, from
his excesses in Liverpool, the malady which had long fastened its fangs
in his flesh, was now gnawing into his vitals.

His cheek became thinner and yellower, and the bones projected like
those of a skull. His snaky eyes rolled in red sockets; nor could he
lift his hand without a violent tremor; while his racking cough many a
time startled us from sleep. Yet still in his tremulous grasp he swayed
his scepter, and ruled us all like a tyrant to the last.

The weaker and weaker he grew, the more outrageous became his treatment
of the crew. The prospect of the speedy and unshunable death now before
him, seemed to exasperate his misanthropic soul into madness; and as if
he had indeed sold it to Satan, he seemed determined to die with a
curse between his teeth.

I can never think of him, even now, reclining in his bunk, and with
short breaths panting out his maledictions, but I am reminded of that
misanthrope upon the throne of the world—the diabolical Tiberius at
Caprese; who even in his self-exile, imbittered by bodily pangs, and
unspeakable mental terrors only known to the damned on earth, yet did
not give over his blasphemies but endeavored to drag down with him to
his own perdition, all who came within the evil spell of his power. And
though Tiberius came in the succession of the Caesars, and though
unmatchable Tacitus has embalmed his carrion, yet do I account this
Yankee Jackson full as dignified a personage as he, and as well
meriting his lofty gallows in history; even though he was a nameless
vagabond without an epitaph, and none, but I, narrate what he was. For
there is no dignity in wickedness, whether in purple or rags; and hell
is a democracy of devils, where all are equals. There, Nero howls side
by side with his own malefactors. If Napoleon were truly but a martial
murderer, I pay him no more homage than I would a felon. Though
Milton’s Satan dilutes our abhorrence with admiration, it is only
because he is not a genuine being, but something altered from a genuine
original. We gather not from the four gospels alone, any high-raised
fancies concerning this Satan; we only know him from thence as the
personification of the essence of evil, which, who but pickpockets and
burglars will admire? But this takes not from the merit of our
high-priest of poetry; it only enhances it, that with such unmitigated
evil for his material, he should build up his most goodly structure.
But in historically canonizing on earth the condemned below, and
lifting up and lauding the illustrious damned, we do but make examples
of wickedness; and call upon ambition to do some great iniquity, and be
sure of fame.




CHAPTER LVI.
UNDER THE LEE OF THE LONG-BOAT, REDBURN AND HARRY HOLD CONFIDENTIAL
COMMUNION


A sweet thing is a song; and though the Hebrew captives hung their
harps on the willows, that they could not sing the melodies of
Palestine before the haughty beards of the Babylonians; yet, to
themselves, those melodies of other times and a distant land were as
sweet as the June dew on Hermon.

And poor Harry was as the Hebrews. He, too, had been carried away
captive, though his chief captor and foe was himself; and he, too, many
a night, was called upon to sing for those who through the day had
insulted and derided him.

His voice was just the voice to proceed from a small, silken person
like his; it was gentle and liquid, and meandered and tinkled through
the words of a song, like a musical brook that winds and wantons by
pied and pansied margins.

“_I_ can’t sing to-night”—sadly said Harry to the Dutchman, who with
his watchmates requested him to while away the middle watch with his
melody—“I can’t sing to-night. But, Wellingborough,” he whispered,—and
I stooped my ear,— “come _you_ with me under the lee of the long-boat,
and there I’ll hum you an air.”

It was _The Banks of the Blue Moselle._

Poor, poor Harry! and a thousand times friendless and forlorn! To be
singing that thing, which was only meant to be warbled by falling
fountains in gardens, or in elegant alcoves in drawing-rooms,—to be
singing it _here—here,_ as I live, under the tarry lee of our
long-boat.

But he sang, and sang, as I watched the waves, and peopled them all
with sprites, and cried _“chassez!” “hands across!”_ to the
multitudinous quadrilles, all danced on the moonlit, musical floor.

But though it went so hard with my friend to sing his songs to this
ruffian crew, whom he hated, even in his dreams, till the foam flew
from his mouth while he slept; yet at last I prevailed upon him to
master his feelings, and make them subservient to his interests. For so
delighted, even with the rudest minstrelsy, are sailors, that I well
knew Harry possessed a spell over them, which, for the time at least,
they could not resist; and it might induce them to treat with more
deference the being who was capable of yielding them such delight.
Carlo’s organ they did not so much care for; but the voice of my Bury
blade was an accordion in their ears.

So one night, on the windlass, he sat and sang; and from the ribald
jests so common to sailors, the men slid into silence at every verse.
Hushed, and more hushed they grew, till at last Harry sat among them
like Orpheus among the charmed leopards and tigers. Harmless now the
fangs with which they were wont to tear my zebra, and backward curled
in velvet paws; and fixed their once glaring eyes in fascinated and
fascinating brilliancy. Ay, still and hissingly all, for a time, they
relinquished their prey.

Now, during the voyage, the treatment of the crew threw Harry more and
more upon myself for companionship; and few can keep constant company
with another, without revealing some, at least, of their secrets; for
all of us yearn for sympathy, even if we do not for love; and to be
intellectually alone is a thing only tolerable to genius, whose
cherisher and inspirer is solitude.

But though my friend became more communicative concerning his past
career than ever he had been before, yet he did not make plain many
things in his hitherto but partly divulged history, which I was very
curious to know; and especially he never made the remotest allusion to
aught connected with our trip to London; while the oath of secrecy by
which he had bound me held my curiosity on that point a captive.
However, as it was, Harry made many very interesting disclosures; and
if he did not gratify me more in that respect, he atoned for it in a
measure, by dwelling upon the future, and the prospects, such as they
were, which the future held out to him.

He confessed that he had no money but a few shillings left from the
expenses of our return from London; that only by selling some more of
his clothing, could he pay for his first week’s board in New York; and
that he was altogether without any regular profession or business, upon
which, by his own exertions, he could securely rely for support. And
yet, he told me that he was determined never again to return to
England; and that somewhere in America he must work out his temporal
felicity.

“I have forgotten England,” he said, “and never more mean to think of
it; so tell me, Wellingborough, what am I to do in America?”

It was a puzzling question, and full of grief to me, who, young though
I was, had been well rubbed, curried, and ground down to fine powder in
the hopper of an evil fortune, and who therefore could sympathize with
one in similar circumstances. For though we may look grave and behave
kindly and considerately to a friend in calamity; yet, if we have never
actually experienced something like the woe that weighs him down, we
can not with the best grace proffer our sympathy. And perhaps there is
no true sympathy but between equals; and it may be, that we should
distrust that man’s sincerity, who stoops to condole with us.

So Harry and I, two friendless wanderers, beguiled many a long watch by
talking over our common affairs. But inefficient, as a benefactor, as I
certainly was; still, being an American, and returning to my home; even
as he was a stranger, and hurrying from his; therefore, I stood toward
him in the attitude of the prospective doer of the honors of my
country; I accounted him the nation’s guest. Hence, I esteemed it more
befitting, that I should rather talk with him, than he with me: that
_his_ prospects and plans should engage our attention, in preference to
my own.

Now, seeing that Harry was so brave a songster, and could sing such
bewitching airs: I suggested whether his musical talents could not be
turned to account. The thought struck him most favorably—“Gad, my boy,
you have hit it, you have,” and then he went on to mention, that in
some places in England, it was customary for two or three young men of
highly respectable families, of undoubted antiquity, but unfortunately
in lamentably decayed circumstances, and thread-bare coats—it was
customary for two or three young gentlemen, so situated, to obtain
their livelihood by their voices: coining their silvery songs into
silvery shillings.

They wandered from door to door, and rang the bell—Are _the ladies and
gentlemen in?_ Seeing them at least gentlemanly looking, if not
sumptuously appareled, the servant generally admitted them at once; and
when the people entered to greet them, their spokesman would rise with
a gentle bow, and a smile, and say, _We come, ladies and gentlemen, to
sing you a song: we are singers, at your service._ And so, without
waiting reply, forth they burst into song; and having most mellifluous
voices, enchanted and transported all auditors; so much so, that at the
conclusion of the entertainment, they very seldom failed to be well
recompensed, and departed with an invitation to return again, and make
the occupants of that dwelling once more delighted and happy.

“Could not something of this kind now, be done in New York?” said
Harry, “or are there no parlors with ladies in them, there?” he
anxiously added.

Again I assured him, as I had often done before, that New York was a
civilized and enlightened town; with a large population, fine streets,
fine houses, nay, plenty of omnibuses; and that for the most part, he
would almost think himself in England; so similar to England, in
essentials, was this outlandish America that haunted him.

I could not but be struck—and had I not been, from my birth, as it
were, a cosmopolite—I had been amazed at his skepticism with regard to
the civilization of my native land. A greater patriot than myself might
have resented his insinuations. He seemed to think that we Yankees
lived in wigwams, and wore bear-skins. After all, Harry was a spice of
a Cockney, and had shut up his Christendom in London.

Having then assured him, that I could see no reason, why he should not
play the troubadour in New York, as well as elsewhere; he suddenly
popped upon me the question, whether I would not join him in the
enterprise; as it would be quite out of the question to go alone on
such a business.

Said I, “My dear Bury, I have no more voice for a ditty, than a dumb
man has for an oration. Sing? Such Macadamized lungs have I, that I
think myself well off, that I can talk; let alone nightingaling.”

So that plan was quashed; and by-and-by Harry began to give up the idea
of singing himself into a livelihood.

“No, I won’t sing for my mutton,” said he—“what would Lady Georgiana
say?”

“If I could see her ladyship once, I might tell you, Harry,” returned
I, who did not exactly doubt him, but felt ill at ease for my bosom
friend’s conscience, when he alluded to his various noble and right
honorable friends and relations.

“But surely, Bury, my friend, you must write a clerkly hand, among your
other accomplishments; and _that_ at least, will be sure to help you.”

“I _do_ write a hand,” he gladly rejoined—“there, look at the
implement!—do you not think, that such a hand as _that_ might dot an
_i,_ or cross a _t,_ with a touching grace and tenderness?”

Indeed, but it did betoken a most excellent penmanship. It was small;
and the fingers were long and thin; the knuckles softly rounded; the
nails hemispherical at the base; and the smooth palm furnishing few
characters for an Egyptian fortune-teller to read. It was not as the
sturdy farmer’s hand of Cincinnatus, who followed the plough and guided
the state; but it was as the perfumed hand of Petronius Arbiter, that
elegant young buck of a Roman, who once cut great Seneca dead in the
forum.

His hand alone, would have entitled my Bury blade to the suffrages of
that Eastern potentate, who complimented Lord Byron upon his feline
fingers, declaring that they furnished indubitable evidence of his
noble birth. And so it did: for Lord Byron was as all the rest of
us—the son of a _man._ And so are the dainty-handed, and wee-footed
half-cast paupers in Lima; who, if their hands and feet were entitled
to consideration, would constitute the oligarchy of all Peru.

Folly and foolishness! to think that a gentleman is known by his
finger-nails, like Nebuchadnezzar, when his grew long in the pasture:
or that the badge of nobility is to be found in the smallness of the
foot, when even a fish has no foot at all!

Dandies! amputate yourselves, if you will; but know, and be assured,
oh, democrats, that, like a pyramid, a great man stands on a broad
base. It is only the brittle porcelain pagoda, that tottles on a toe.

But though Harry’s hand was lady-like looking, and had once been white
as the queen’s cambric handkerchief, and free from a stain as the
reputation of Diana; yet, his late pulling and hauling of halyards and
clew-lines, and his occasional dabbling in tar-pots and slush-shoes,
had somewhat subtracted from its original daintiness.

Often he ruefully eyed it.

Oh! hand! thought Harry, ah, hand! what have you come to? Is it seemly,
that you should be polluted with pitch, when you once handed countesses
to their coaches? Is _this_ the hand I kissed to the divine Georgiana?
with which I pledged Lady Blessington, and ratified my bond to Lord
Lovely? _This_ the hand that Georgiana clasped to her bosom, when she
vowed she was mine?—Out of sight, recreant and apostate!—deep
down—disappear in this foul monkey-jacket pocket where I thrust you!

After many long conversations, it was at last pretty well decided, that
upon our arrival at New York, some means should be taken among my few
friends there, to get Harry a place in a mercantile house, where he
might flourish his pen, and gently exercise his delicate digits, by
traversing some soft foolscap; in the same way that slim, pallid ladies
are gently drawn through a park for an airing.




CHAPTER LVII.
ALMOST A FAMINE


“Mammy! mammy! come and see the sailors eating out of little troughs,
just like our pigs at home.” Thus exclaimed one of the steerage
children, who at dinner-time was peeping down into the forecastle,
where the crew were assembled, helping themselves from the “kids,”
which, indeed, resemble hog-troughs not a little.

“Pigs, is it?” coughed Jackson, from his bunk, where he sat presiding
over the banquet, but not partaking, like a devil who had lost his
appetite by chewing sulphur.—“Pigs, is it?—and the day is close by, ye
spalpeens, when you’ll want to be after taking a sup at our troughs!”

This malicious prophecy proved true.

As day followed day without glimpse of shore or reef, and head winds
drove the ship back, as hounds a deer; the improvidence and
shortsightedness of the passengers in the steerage, with regard to
their outfits for the voyage, began to be followed by the inevitable
results.

Many of them at last went aft to the mate, saying that they had nothing
to eat, their provisions were expended, and they must be supplied from
the ship’s stores, or starve.

This was told to the captain, who was obliged to issue a ukase from the
cabin, that every steerage passenger, whose destitution was
demonstrable, should be given one sea-biscuit and two potatoes a day; a
sort of substitute for a muffin and a brace of poached eggs.

But this scanty ration was quite insufficient to satisfy their hunger:
hardly enough to satisfy the necessities of a healthy adult. The
consequence was, that all day long, and all through the night, scores
of the emigrants went about the decks, seeking what they might devour.
They plundered the chicken-coop; and disguising the fowls, cooked them
at the public galley. They made inroads upon the pig-pen in the boat,
and carried off a promising young shoat: _him_ they devoured raw, not
venturing to make an incognito of his carcass; they prowled about the
cook’s caboose, till he threatened them with a ladle of scalding water;
they waylaid the steward on his regular excursions from the cook to the
cabin; they hung round the forecastle, to rob the bread-barge; they
beset the sailors, like beggars in the streets, craving a mouthful in
the name of the Church.

At length, to such excesses were they driven, that the Grand Russian,
Captain Riga, issued another ukase, and to this effect: Whatsoever
emigrant is found guilty of stealing, the same shall be tied into the
rigging and flogged.

Upon this, there were secret movements in the steerage, which almost
alarmed me for the safety of the ship; but nothing serious took place,
after all; and they even acquiesced in, or did not resent, a singular
punishment which the captain caused to be inflicted upon a culprit of
their clan, as a substitute for a flogging. For no doubt he thought
that such rigorous discipline as _that_ might exasperate five hundred
emigrants into an insurrection.

A head was fitted to one of the large deck-tubs—the half of a cask; and
into this head a hole was cut; also, two smaller holes in the bottom of
the tub. The head—divided in the middle, across the diameter of the
orifice—was now fitted round the culprit’s neck; and he was forthwith
coopered up into the tub, which rested on his shoulders, while his legs
protruded through the holes in the bottom.

It was a burden to carry; but the man could walk with it; and so
ridiculous was his appearance, that spite of the indignity, he himself
laughed with the rest at the figure he cut.

“Now, Pat, my boy,” said the mate, “fill that big wooden belly of
yours, if you can.”

Compassionating his situation, our old “doctor” used to give him alms
of food, placing it upon the cask-head before him; till at last, when
the time for deliverance came, Pat protested against mercy, and would
fain have continued playing Diogenes in the tub for the rest of this
starving voyage.




CHAPTER LVIII.
THOUGH THE HIGHLANDER PUTS INTO NO HARBOR AS YET; SHE HERE AND THERE
LEAVES MANY OF HER PASSENGERS BEHIND


Although fast-sailing ships, blest with prosperous breezes, have
frequently made the run across the Atlantic in eighteen days; yet, it
is not uncommon for other vessels to be forty, or fifty, and even
sixty, seventy, eighty, and ninety days, in making the same passage.
Though in the latter cases, some signal calamity or incapacity must
occasion so great a detention. It is also true, that generally the
passage out from America is shorter than the return; which is to be
ascribed to the prevalence of westerly winds.

We had been outside of Cape Clear upward of twenty days, still harassed
by head-winds, though with pleasant weather upon the whole, when we
were visited by a succession of rain storms, which lasted the greater
part of a week.

During the interval, the emigrants were obliged to remain below; but
this was nothing strange to some of them; who, not recovering, while at
sea, from their first attack of seasickness, seldom or never made their
appearance on deck, during the entire passage.

During the week, now in question, fire was only once made in the public
galley. This occasioned a good deal of domestic work to be done in the
steerage, which otherwise would have been done in the open air. When
the lulls of the rain-storms would intervene, some unusually cleanly
emigrant would climb to the deck, with a bucket of slops, to toss into
the sea. No experience seemed sufficient to instruct some of these
ignorant people in the simplest, and most elemental principles of
ocean-life. Spite of all lectures on the subject, several would
continue to shun the leeward side of the vessel, with their slops. One
morning, when it was blowing very fresh, a simple fellow pitched over a
gallon or two of something to windward. Instantly it flew back in his
face; and also, in the face of the chief mate, who happened to be
standing by at the time. The offender was collared, and shaken on the
spot; and ironically commanded, never, for the future, to throw any
thing to windward at sea, but fine ashes and scalding hot water.

During the frequent _hard blows_ we experienced, the hatchways on the
steerage were, at intervals, hermetically closed; sealing down in their
noisome den, those scores of human beings. It was something to be
marveled at, that the shocking fate, which, but a short time ago,
overtook the poor passengers in a Liverpool steamer in the Channel,
during similar stormy weather, and under similar treatment, did not
overtake some of the emigrants of the Highlander.

Nevertheless, it was, beyond question, this noisome confinement in so
close, unventilated, and crowded a den: joined to the deprivation of
sufficient food, from which many were suffering; which, helped by their
personal uncleanliness, brought on a malignant fever.

The first report was, that two persons were affected. No sooner was it
known, than the mate promptly repaired to the medicine-chest in the
cabin: and with the remedies deemed suitable, descended into the
steerage. But the medicines proved of no avail; the invalids rapidly
grew worse; and two more of the emigrants became infected.

Upon this, the captain himself went to see them; and returning, sought
out a certain alleged physician among the cabin-passengers; begging him
to wait upon the sufferers; hinting that, thereby, he might prevent the
disease from extending into the cabin itself. But this person denied
being a physician; and from fear of contagion—though he did not confess
that to be the motive—refused even to enter the steerage. The cases
increased: the utmost alarm spread through the ship: and scenes ensued,
over which, for the most part, a veil must be drawn; for such is the
fastidiousness of some readers, that, many times, they must lose the
most striking incidents in a narrative like mine.

Many of the panic-stricken emigrants would fain now have domiciled on
deck; but being so scantily clothed, the wretched weather—wet, cold,
and tempestuous—drove the best part of them again below. Yet any other
human beings, perhaps, would rather have faced the most outrageous
storm, than continued to breathe the pestilent air of the steerage. But
some of these poor people must have been so used to the most abasing
calamities, that the atmosphere of a lazar-house almost seemed their
natural air.

The first four cases happened to be in adjoining bunks; and the
emigrants who slept in the farther part of the steerage, threw up a
barricade in front of those bunks; so as to cut off communication. But
this was no sooner reported to the captain, than he ordered it to be
thrown down; since it could be of no possible benefit; but would only
make still worse, what was already direful enough.

It was not till after a good deal of mingled threatening and coaxing,
that the mate succeeded in getting the sailors below, to accomplish the
captain’s order.

The sight that greeted us, upon entering, was wretched indeed. It was
like entering a crowded jail. From the rows of rude bunks, hundreds of
meager, begrimed faces were turned upon us; while seated upon the
chests, were scores of unshaven men, smoking tea-leaves, and creating a
suffocating vapor. But this vapor was better than the native air of the
place, which from almost unbelievable causes, was fetid in the extreme.
In every corner, the females were huddled together, weeping and
lamenting; children were asking bread from their mothers, who had none
to give; and old men, seated upon the floor, were leaning back against
the heads of the water-casks, with closed eyes and fetching their
breath with a gasp.

At one end of the place was seen the barricade, hiding the invalids;
while—notwithstanding the crowd—in front of it was a clear area, which
the fear of contagion had left open.

“That bulkhead must come down,” cried the mate, in a voice that rose
above the din. “Take hold of it, boys.”

But hardly had we touched the chests composing it, when a crowd of
pale-faced, infuriated men rushed up; and with terrific howls, swore
they would slay us, if we did not desist.

“Haul it down!” roared the mate.

But the sailors fell back, murmuring something about merchant seamen
having no pensions in case of being maimed, and they had not shipped to
fight fifty to one. Further efforts were made by the mate, who at last
had recourse to entreaty; but it would not do; and we were obliged to
depart, without achieving our object.

About four o’clock that morning, the first four died. They were all
men; and the scenes which ensued were frantic in the extreme.
Certainly, the bottomless profound of the sea, over which we were
sailing, concealed nothing more frightful.

Orders were at once passed to bury the dead. But this was unnecessary.
By their own countrymen, they were torn from the clasp of their wives,
rolled in their own bedding, with ballast-stones, and with hurried
rites, were dropped into the ocean.

At this time, ten more men had caught the disease; and with a degree of
devotion worthy all praise, the mate attended them with his medicines;
but the captain did not again go down to them.

It was all-important now that the steerage should be purified; and had
it not been for the rains and squalls, which would have made it madness
to turn such a number of women and children upon the wet and
unsheltered decks, the steerage passengers would have been ordered
above, and their den have been given a thorough cleansing. But, for the
present, this was out of the question. The sailors peremptorily refused
to go among the defilements to remove them; and so besotted were the
greater part of the emigrants themselves, that though the necessity of
the case was forcibly painted to them, they would not lift a hand to
assist in what seemed their own salvation.

The panic in the cabin was now very great; and for fear of contagion to
themselves, the cabin passengers would fain have made a prisoner of the
captain, to prevent him from going forward beyond the mainmast. Their
clamors at last induced him to tell the two mates, that for the present
they must sleep and take their meals elsewhere than in their old
quarters, which communicated with the cabin.

On land, a pestilence is fearful enough; but there, many can flee from
an infected city; whereas, in a ship, you are locked and bolted in the
very hospital itself. Nor is there any possibility of escape from it;
and in so small and crowded a place, no precaution can effectually
guard against contagion.

Horrible as the sights of the steerage now were, the cabin, perhaps,
presented a scene equally despairing. Many, who had seldom prayed
before, now implored the merciful heavens, night and day, for fair
winds and fine weather. Trunks were opened for Bibles; and at last,
even prayer-meetings were held over the very table across which the
loud jest had been so often heard.

Strange, though almost universal, that the seemingly nearer prospect of
that death which any body at any time may die, should produce these
spasmodic devotions, when an everlasting Asiatic Cholera is forever
thinning our ranks; and die by death we all must at last.

On the second day, seven died, one of whom was the little tailor; on
the third, four; on the fourth, six, of whom one was the Greenland
sailor, and another, a woman in the cabin, whose death, however, was
afterward supposed to have been purely induced by her fears. These last
deaths brought the panic to its height; and sailors, officers,
cabin-passengers, and emigrants—all looked upon each other like lepers.
All but the only true leper among us—the mariner Jackson, who seemed
elated with the thought, that for _him—_already in the deadly clutches
of another disease—no danger was to be apprehended from a fever which
only swept off the comparatively healthy. Thus, in the midst of the
despair of the healthful, this incurable invalid was not cast down;
not, at least, by the same considerations that appalled the rest.

And still, beneath a gray, gloomy sky, the doomed craft beat on; now on
this tack, now on that; battling against hostile blasts, and drenched
in rain and spray; scarcely making an inch of progress toward her port.

On the sixth morning, the weather merged into a gale, to which we
stripped our ship to a storm-stay-sail. In ten hours’ time, the waves
ran in mountains; and the Highlander rose and fell like some vast buoy
on the water. Shrieks and lamentations were driven to leeward, and
drowned in the roar of the wind among the cordage; while we gave to the
gale the blackened bodies of five more of the dead.

But as the dying departed, the places of two of them were filled in the
rolls of humanity, by the birth of two infants, whom the plague, panic,
and gale had hurried into the world before their time. The first cry of
one of these infants, was almost simultaneous with the splash of its
father’s body in the sea. Thus we come and we go. But, surrounded by
death, both mothers and babes survived.

At midnight, the wind went down; leaving a long, rolling sea; and, for
the first time in a week, a clear, starry sky.

In the first morning-watch, I sat with Harry on the windlass, watching
the billows; which, seen in the night, seemed real hills, upon which
fortresses might have been built; and real valleys, in which villages,
and groves, and gardens, might have nestled. It was like a landscape in
Switzerland; for down into those dark, purple glens, often tumbled the
white foam of the wave-crests, like avalanches; while the seething and
boiling that ensued, seemed the swallowing up of human beings.

By the afternoon of the next day this heavy sea subsided; and we bore
down on the waves, with all our canvas set; stun’-sails alow and aloft;
and our best steersman at the helm; the captain himself at his
elbow;—bowling along, with a fair, cheering breeze over the taffrail.

The decks were cleared, and swabbed bone-dry; and then, all the
emigrants who were not invalids, poured themselves out on deck,
snuffing the delightful air, spreading their damp bedding in the sun,
and regaling themselves with the generous charity of the captain, who
of late had seen fit to increase their allowance of food. A detachment
of them now joined a band of the crew, who proceeding into the
steerage, with buckets and brooms, gave it a thorough cleansing,
sending on deck, I know not how many bucketsful of defilements. It was
more like cleaning out a stable, than a retreat for men and women. This
day we buried three; the next day one, and then the pestilence left us,
with seven convalescent; who, placed near the opening of the hatchway,
soon rallied under the skillful treatment, and even tender care of the
mate.

But even under this favorable turn of affairs, much apprehension was
still entertained, lest in crossing the Grand Banks of Newfoundland,
the fogs, so generally encountered there, might bring on a return of
the fever. But, to the joy of all hands, our fair wind still held on;
and we made a rapid run across these dreaded shoals, and southward
steered for New York.

Our days were now fair and mild, and though the wind abated, yet we
still ran our course over a pleasant sea. The steerage-passengers—at
least by far the greater number—wore a still, subdued aspect, though a
little cheered by the genial air, and the hopeful thought of soon
reaching their port. But those who had lost fathers, husbands, wives,
or children, needed no crape, to reveal to others, who they were. Hard
and bitter indeed was their lot; for with the poor and desolate, grief
is no indulgence of mere sentiment, however sincere, but a gnawing
reality, that eats into their vital beings; they have no kind
condolers, and bland physicians, and troops of sympathizing friends;
and they must toil, though to-morrow be the burial, and their
pallbearers throw down the hammer to lift up the coffin.

How, then, with these emigrants, who, three thousand miles from home,
suddenly found themselves deprived of brothers and husbands, with but a
few pounds, or perhaps but a few shillings, to buy food in a strange
land?

As for the passengers in the cabin, who now so jocund as they? drawing
nigh, with their long purses and goodly portmanteaus to the promised
land, without fear of fate. One and all were generous and gay, the
jelly-eyed old gentleman, before spoken of, gave a shilling to the
steward.

The lady who had died, was an elderly person, an American, returning
from a visit to an only brother in London. She had no friend or
relative on board, hence, as there is little mourning for a stranger
dying among strangers, her memory had been buried with her body.

But the thing most worthy of note among these now light-hearted people
in feathers, was the gay way in which some of them bantered others,
upon the panic into which nearly all had been thrown.

And since, if the extremest fear of a crowd in a panic of peril, proves
grounded on causes sufficient, they must then indeed come to
perish;—therefore it is, that at such times they must make up their
minds either to die, or else survive to be taunted by their fellow-men
with their fear. For except in extraordinary instances of exposure,
there are few living men, who, at bottom, are not very slow to admit
that any other living men have ever been very much nearer death than
themselves. Accordingly, _craven_ is the phrase too often applied to
any one who, with however good reason, has been appalled at the
prospect of sudden death, and yet lived to escape it. Though, should he
have perished in conformity with his fears, not a syllable of _craven_
would you hear. This is the language of one, who more than once has
beheld the scenes, whence these principles have been deduced. The
subject invites much subtle speculation; for in every being’s ideas of
death, and his behavior when it suddenly menaces him, lies the best
index to his life and his faith. Though the Christian era had not then
begun, Socrates died the death of the Christian; and though Hume was
not a Christian in theory, yet he, too, died the death of the
Christian,—humble, composed, without bravado; and though the most
skeptical of philosophical skeptics, yet full of that firm, creedless
faith, that embraces the spheres. Seneca died dictating to posterity;
Petronius lightly discoursing of essences and love-songs; and Addison,
calling upon Christendom to behold how calmly a Christian could die;
but not even the last of these three, perhaps, died the best death of
the Christian.

The cabin passenger who had used to read prayers while the rest kneeled
against the transoms and settees, was one of the merry young sparks,
who had occasioned such agonies of jealousy to the poor tailor, now no
more. In his rakish vest, and dangling watch-chain, this same youth,
with all the awfulness of fear, had led the earnest petitions of his
companions; supplicating mercy, where before he had never solicited the
slightest favor. More than once had he been seen thus engaged by the
observant steersman at the helm: who looked through the little glass in
the cabin bulk-head.

But this youth was an April man; the storm had departed; and now he
shone in the sun, none braver than he.

One of his jovial companions ironically advised him to enter into holy
orders upon his arrival in New York.

“Why so?” said the other, “have I such an orotund voice?”

“No;” profanely returned his friend—“but you are a coward—just the man
to be a parson, and pray.”

However this narrative of the circumstances attending the fever among
the emigrants on the Highland may appear; and though these things
happened so long ago; yet just such events, nevertheless, are perhaps
taking place to-day. But the only account you obtain of such events, is
generally contained in a newspaper paragraph, under the shipping-head.
_There_ is the obituary of the destitute dead, who die on the sea. They
die, like the billows that break on the shore, and no more are heard or
seen. But in the events, thus merely initialized in the catalogue of
passing occurrences, and but glanced at by the readers of news, who are
more taken up with paragraphs of fuller flavor; what a world of life
and death, what a world of humanity and its woes, lies shrunk into a
three-worded sentence!

You see no plague-ship driving through a stormy sea; you hear no groans
of despair; you see no corpses thrown over the bulwarks; you mark not
the wringing hands and torn hair of widows and orphans:—all is a blank.
And one of these blanks I have but filled up, in recounting the details
of the Highlander’s calamity.

Besides that natural tendency, which hurries into oblivion the last
woes of the poor; other causes combine to suppress the detailed
circumstances of disasters like these. Such things, if widely known,
operate unfavorably to the ship, and make her a bad name; and to avoid
detention at quarantine, a captain will state the case in the most
palliating light, and strive to hush it up, as much as he can.

In no better place than this, perhaps, can a few words be said,
concerning emigrant ships in general.

Let us waive that agitated national topic, as to whether such
multitudes of foreign poor should be landed on our American shores; let
us waive it, with the one only thought, that if they can get here, they
have God’s right to come; though they bring all Ireland and her
miseries with them. For the whole world is the patrimony of the whole
world; there is no telling who does not own a stone in the Great Wall
of China. But we waive all this; and will only consider, how best the
emigrants can come hither, since come they do, and come they must and
will.

Of late, a law has been passed in Congress, restricting ships to a
certain number of emigrants, according to a certain rate. If this law
were enforced, much good might be done; and so also might much good be
done, were the English law likewise enforced, concerning the fixed
supply of food for every emigrant embarking from Liverpool. But it is
hardly to be believed, that either of these laws is observed.

But in all respects, no legislation, even nominally, reaches the hard
lot of the emigrant. What ordinance makes it obligatory upon the
captain of a ship, to supply the steerage-passengers with decent
lodgings, and give them light and air in that foul den, where they are
immured, during a long voyage across the Atlantic? What ordinance
necessitates him to place the _galley,_ or steerage-passengers’ stove,
in a dry place of shelter, where the emigrants can do their cooking
during a storm, or wet weather? What ordinance obliges him to give them
more room on deck, and let them have an occasional run fore and
aft?—There is no law concerning these things. And if there was, who but
some Howard in office would see it enforced? and how seldom is there a
Howard in office!

We talk of the Turks, and abhor the cannibals; but may not some of
_them,_ go to heaven, before some of _us?_ We may have civilized bodies
and yet barbarous souls. We are blind to the real sights of this world;
deaf to its voice; and dead to its death. And not till we know, that
one grief outweighs ten thousand joys, will we become what Christianity
is striving to make us.




CHAPTER LIX.
THE LAST END OF JACKSON


“Off Cape Cod!” said the steward, coming forward from the quarter-deck,
where the captain had just been taking his noon observation; sweeping
the vast horizon with his quadrant, like a dandy circumnavigating the
dress-circle of an amphitheater with his glass.

_Off Cape Cod!_ and in the shore-bloom that came to us— even from that
desert of sand-hillocks—methought I could almost distinguish the
fragrance of the rose-bush my sisters and I had planted, in our far
inland garden at home. Delicious odors are those of our mother Earth;
which like a flower-pot set with a thousand shrubs, greets the eager
voyager from afar.

The breeze was stiff, and so drove us along that we turned over two
broad, blue furrows from our bows, as we plowed the watery prairie. By
night it was a reef-topsail-breeze; but so impatient was the captain to
make his port before a shift of wind overtook us, that even yet we
carried a main-topgallant-sail, though the light mast sprung like a
switch.

In the second dog-watch, however, the breeze became such, that at last
the order was given to douse the top-gallant-sail, and clap a reef into
all three top-sails.

While the men were settling away the halyards on deck, and before they
had begun to haul out the reef-tackles, to the surprise of several,
Jackson came up from the forecastle, and, for the first time in four
weeks or more, took hold of a rope.

Like most seamen, who during the greater part of a voyage, have been
off duty from sickness, he was, perhaps, desirous, just previous to
entering port, of reminding the captain of his existence, and also that
he expected his wages; but, alas! his wages proved the wages of sin.

At no time could he better signalize his disposition to work, than upon
an occasion like the present; which generally attracts every soul on
deck, from the captain to the child in the steerage.

His aspect was damp and death-like; the blue hollows of his eyes were
like vaults full of snakes; and issuing so unexpectedly from his dark
tomb in the forecastle, he looked like a man raised from the dead.

Before the sailors had made fast the reef-tackle, Jackson was tottering
up the rigging; thus getting the start of them, and securing his place
at the extreme weather-end of the topsail-yard—which in reefing is
accounted the post of honor. For it was one of the characteristics of
this man, that though when on duty he would shy away from mere dull
work in a calm, yet in tempest-time he always claimed the van, and
would yield it to none; and this, perhaps, was one cause of his
unbounded dominion over the men.

Soon, we were all strung along the main-topsail-yard; the ship rearing
and plunging under us, like a runaway steed; each man gripping his
reef-point, and sideways leaning, dragging the sail over toward
Jackson, whose business it was to confine the reef corner to the yard.

His hat and shoes were off; and he rode the yard-arm end, leaning
backward to the gale, and pulling at the earing-rope, like a bridle. At
all times, this is a moment of frantic exertion with sailors, whose
spirits seem then to partake of the commotion of the elements, as they
hang in the gale, between heaven and earth; and _then_ it is, too, that
they are the most profane.

“Haul out to windward!” coughed Jackson, with a blasphemous cry, and he
threw himself back with a violent strain upon the bridle in his hand.
But the wild words were hardly out of his mouth, when his hands dropped
to his side, and the bellying sail was spattered with a torrent of
blood from his lungs.

As the man next him stretched out his arm to save, Jackson fell
headlong from the yard, and with a long seethe, plunged like a diver
into the sea.

It was when the ship had rolled to windward, which, with the long
projection of the yard-arm over the side, made him strike far out upon
the water. His fall was seen by the whole upward-gazing crowd on deck,
some of whom were spotted with the blood that trickled from the sail,
while they raised a spontaneous cry, so shrill and wild, that a blind
man might have known something deadly had happened.

Clutching our reef-points, we hung over the stick, and gazed down to
the one white, bubbling spot, which had closed over the head of our
shipmate; but the next minute it was brewed into the common yeast of
the waves, and Jackson never arose. We waited a few minutes, expecting
an order to descend, haul back the fore-yard, and man the boat; but
instead of that, the next sound that greeted us was, “Bear a hand, and
reef away, men!” from the mate.

Indeed, upon reflection, it would have been idle to attempt to save
Jackson; for besides that he must have been dead, ere he struck the
sea—and if he had not been dead then, the first immersion must have
driven his soul from his lacerated lungs—our jolly-boat would have
taken full fifteen minutes to launch into the waves.

And here it should be said, that the thoughtless security in which too
many sea-captains indulge, would, in case of some sudden disaster
befalling the Highlander, have let us all drop into our graves.

Like most merchant ships, we had but two boats: the longboat and the
jolly-boat. The long boat, by far the largest and stoutest of the two,
was permanently bolted down to the deck, by iron bars attached to its
sides. It was almost as much of a fixture as the vessel’s keel. It was
filled with pigs, fowls, firewood, and coals. Over this the jolly-boat
was capsized without a _thole-pin_ in the gunwales; its bottom
bleaching and cracking in the sun.

Judge, then, what promise of salvation for us, had we shipwrecked; yet
in this state, one merchant ship out of three, keeps its boats. To be
sure, no vessel full of emigrants, by any possible precautions, could
in case of a fatal disaster at sea, hope to save the tenth part of the
souls on board; yet provision should certainly be made for a handful of
survivors, to carry home the tidings of her loss; for even in the worst
of the calamities that befell patient Job, some _one_ at least of his
servants escaped to report it.

In a way that I never could fully account for, the sailors, in my
hearing at least, and Harry’s, never made the slightest allusion to the
departed Jackson. One and all they seemed tacitly to unite in hushing
up his memory among them. Whether it was, that the severity of the
bondage under which this man held every one of them, did really corrode
in their secret hearts, that they thought to repress the recollection
of a thing so degrading, I can not determine; but certain it was, that
_his_ death was _their_ deliverance; which they celebrated by an
elevation of spirits, unknown before. Doubtless, this was to be in part
imputed, however, to their now drawing near to their port.




CHAPTER LX.
HOME AT LAST


Next day was Sunday; and the mid-day sun shone upon a glassy sea.

After the uproar of the breeze and the gale, this profound, pervading
calm seemed suited to the tranquil spirit of a day, which, in godly
towns, makes quiet vistas of the most tumultuous thoroughfares.

The ship lay gently rolling in the soft, subdued ocean swell; while all
around were faint white spots; and nearer to, broad, milky patches,
betokening the vicinity of scores of ships, all bound to one common
port, and tranced in one common calm. Here the long, devious wakes from
Europe, Africa, India, and Peru converged to a line, which braided them
all in one.

Full before us quivered and danced, in the noon-day heat and mid-air,
the green heights of New Jersey; and by an optical delusion, the blue
sea seemed to flow under them.

The sailors whistled and whistled for a wind; the impatient
cabin-passengers were arrayed in their best; and the emigrants
clustered around the bows, with eyes intent upon the long-sought land.

But leaning over, in a reverie, against the side, my Carlo gazed down
into the calm, violet sea, as if it were an eye that answered his own;
and turning to Harry, said, “This America’s skies must be down in the
sea; for, looking down in this water, I behold what, in Italy, we also
behold overhead. Ah! after all, I find my Italy somewhere, wherever I
go. I even found it in rainy Liverpool.”

Presently, up came a dainty breeze, wafting to us a white wing from the
shore—the pilot-boat! Soon a monkey-jacket mounted the side, and was
beset by the captain and cabin people for news. And out of bottomless
pockets came bundles of newspapers, which were eagerly caught by the
throng.

The captain now abdicated in the pilot’s favor, who proved to be a
tiger of a fellow, keeping us hard at work, pulling and hauling the
braces, and trimming the ship, to catch the least _cat’s-paw_ of wind.

When, among sea-worn people, a strange man from shore suddenly stands
among them, with the smell of the land in his beard, it conveys a
realization of the vicinity of the green grass, that not even the
distant sight of the shore itself can transcend.

The steerage was now as a bedlam; trunks and chests were locked and
tied round with ropes; and a general washing and rinsing of faces and
hands was beheld. While this was going on, forth came an order from the
quarter-deck, for every bed, blanket, bolster, and bundle of straw in
the steerage to be committed to the deep.—A command that was received
by the emigrants with dismay, and then with wrath. But they were
assured, that this was indispensable to the getting rid of an otherwise
long detention of some weeks at the quarantine. They therefore
reluctantly complied; and overboard went pallet and pillow. Following
them, went old pots and pans, bottles and baskets. So, all around, the
sea was strewn with stuffed bed-ticks, that limberly floated on the
waves—couches for all mermaids who were not fastidious. Numberless
things of this sort, tossed overboard from emigrant ships nearing the
harbor of New York, drift in through the Narrows, and are deposited on
the shores of Staten Island; along whose eastern beach I have often
walked, and speculated upon the broken jugs, torn pillows, and
dilapidated baskets at my feet.

A second order was now passed for the emigrants to muster their forces,
and give the steerage a final, thorough cleaning with sand and water.
And to this they were incited by the same warning which had induced
them to make an offering to Neptune of their bedding. The place was
then fumigated, and dried with pans of coals from the galley; so that
by evening, no stranger would have imagined, from her appearance, that
the Highlander had made otherwise than a tidy and prosperous voyage.
Thus, some sea-captains take good heed that benevolent citizens shall
not get a glimpse of the true condition of the steerage while at sea.

That night it again fell calm; but next morning, though the wind was
somewhat against us, we set sail for the Narrows; and making short
tacks, at last ran through, almost bringing our jib-boom over one of
the forts.

An early shower had refreshed the woods and fields, that glowed with a
glorious green; and to our salted lungs, the land breeze was spiced
with aromas. The steerage passengers almost neighed with delight, like
horses brought back to spring pastures; and every eye and ear in the
Highlander was full of the glad sights and sounds of the shore.

No more did we think of the gale and the plague; nor turn our eyes
upward to the stains of blood, still visible on the topsail, whence
Jackson had fallen; but we fixed our gaze on the orchards and meads,
and like thirsty men, drank in all their dew.

On the Staten Island side, a white staff displayed a pale yellow flag,
denoting the habitation of the quarantine officer; for as if to
symbolize the yellow fever itself, and strike a panic and premonition
of the black vomit into every beholder, all quarantines all over the
world, taint the air with the streamings of their fever-flag.

But though the long rows of white-washed hospitals on the hill side
were now in plain sight, and though scores of ships were here lying at
anchor, yet no boat came off to us; and to our surprise and delight, on
we sailed, past a spot which every one had dreaded. How it was that
they thus let us pass without boarding us, we never could learn.

Now rose the city from out the bay, and one by one, her spires pierced
the blue; while thick and more thick, ships, brigs, schooners, and sail
boats, thronged around. We saw the Hartz Forest of masts and black
rigging stretching along the East River; and northward, up the stately
old Hudson, covered with white sloop-sails like fleets of swans, we
caught a far glimpse of the purple Palisades.

Oh! he who has never been afar, let him once go from home, to know what
home is. For as you draw nigh again to your old native river, he seems
to pour through you with all his tides, and in your enthusiasm, you
swear to build altars like mile-stones, along both his sacred banks.

Like the Czar of all the Russias, and Siberia to boot, Captain Riga,
telescope in hand, stood on the poop, pointing out to the passengers,
Governor’s Island, Castle Garden, and the Battery.

“And _that”_ said he, pointing out a vast black hull which, like a
shark, showed tiers of teeth, _“that,_ ladies, is a
line-of-battle-ship, the North Carolina.”

“Oh, dear!”—and “Oh my!”—ejaculated the ladies, and— “Lord, save us,”
responded an old gentleman, who was a member of the Peace Society.

Hurra! hurra! and ten thousand times hurra! down goes our old anchor,
fathoms down into the free and independent Yankee mud, one handful of
which was now worth a broad manor in England.

The Whitehall boats were around us, and soon, our cabin passengers were
all off, gay as crickets, and bound for a late dinner at the Astor
House; where, no doubt, they fired off a salute of champagne corks in
honor of their own arrival. Only a very few of the steerage passengers,
however, could afford to pay the high price the watermen demanded for
carrying them ashore; so most of them remained with us till morning.
But nothing could restrain our Italian boy, Carlo, who, promising the
watermen to pay them with his music, was triumphantly rowed ashore,
seated in the stern of the boat, his organ before him, and something
like “Hail Columbia!” his tune. We gave him three rapturous cheers, and
we never saw Carlo again.

Harry and I passed the greater part of the night walking the deck, and
gazing at the thousand lights of the city.

At sunrise, we _warped_ into a berth at the foot of Wall-street, and
knotted our old ship, stem and stern, to the pier. But that knotting of
_her,_ was the unknotting of the bonds of the sailors, among whom, it
is a maxim, that the ship once fast to the wharf, they are free. So
with a rush and a shout, they bounded ashore, followed by the
tumultuous crowd of emigrants, whose friends, day-laborers and
housemaids, stood ready to embrace them.

But in silent gratitude at the end of a voyage, almost equally
uncongenial to both of us, and so bitter to one, Harry and I sat on a
chest in the forecastle. And now, the ship that we had loathed, grew
lovely in our eyes, which lingered over every familiar old timber; for
the scene of suffering is a scene of joy when the suffering is past;
and the silent reminiscence of hardships departed, is sweeter than the
presence of delight.




CHAPTER LXI.
REDBURN AND HARRY, ARM IN ARM, IN HARBOR


There we sat in that tarry old den, the only inhabitants of the
deserted old ship, but the mate and the rats.

At last, Harry went to his chest, and drawing out a few shillings,
proposed that we should go ashore, and return with a supper, to eat in
the forecastle. Little else that was eatable being for sale in the
paltry shops along the wharves, we bought several pies, some doughnuts,
and a bottle of ginger-pop, and thus supplied we made merry. For to us,
whose very mouths were become pickled and puckered, with the continual
flavor of briny beef, those pies and doughnuts were most delicious. And
as for the ginger-pop, why, that ginger-pop was divine! I have
reverenced ginger-pop ever since.

We kept late hours that night; for, delightful certainty! placed beyond
all doubt—like royal landsmen, we were masters of the watches of the
night, and no _starb-o-leens ahoy!_ would annoy us again.

“All night in! think of _that,_ Harry, my friend!”

“Ay, Wellingborough, it’s enough to keep me awake forever, to think I
may now sleep as long as I please.”

We turned out bright and early, and then prepared for the shore, first
stripping to the waist, for a toilet.

“I shall never get these confounded tar-stains out of my fingers,”
cried Harry, rubbing them hard with a bit of oakum, steeped in strong
suds. “No! they will _not_ come out, and I’m ruined for life. Look at
my hand once, Wellingborough!”

It was indeed a sad sight. Every finger nail, like mine, was dyed of a
rich, russet hue; looking something like bits of fine tortoise shell.

“Never mind, Harry,” said I—“You know the ladies of the east steep the
tips of their fingers in some golden dye.”

“And by Plutus,” cried Harry—“I’d steep mine up to the armpits in gold;
since you talk about _that._ But never mind, I’ll swear I’m just from
Persia, my boy.”

We now arrayed ourselves in our best, and sallied ashore; and, at once,
I piloted Harry to the sign of a Turkey Cock in Fulton-street, kept by
one Sweeny, a place famous for cheap Souchong, and capital buckwheat
cakes.

“Well, gentlemen, what will you have?”—said a waiter, as we seated
ourselves at a table.

“_Gentlemen!_” whispered Harry to me—“_gentlemen!_—hear him!—I say now,
Redburn, they didn’t talk to us that way on board the old Highlander.
By heaven, I begin to feel my straps again:—Coffee and hot rolls,” he
added aloud, crossing his legs like a lord, “and fellow—come back—bring
us a venison-steak.”

“Haven’t got it, gentlemen.”

“Ham and eggs,” suggested I, whose mouth was watering at the
recollection of that particular dish, which I had tasted at the sign of
the Turkey Cock before. So ham and eggs it was; and royal coffee, and
imperial toast.

But the butter!

“Harry, did you ever taste such butter as this before?”

“Don’t say a word,”—said Harry, spreading his tenth slice of toast “I’m
going to turn dairyman, and keep within the blessed savor of butter, so
long as I live.”

We made a breakfast, never to be forgotten; paid our bill with a
flourish, and sallied into the street, like two goodly galleons of
gold, bound from Acapulco to Old Spain.

“Now,” said Harry, “lead on; and let’s see something of these United
States of yours. I’m ready to pace from Maine to Florida; ford the
Great Lakes; and jump the River Ohio, if it comes in the way. Here,
take my arm;—lead on.”

Such was the miraculous change, that had now come over him. It reminded
me of his manner, when we had started for London, from the sign of the
Golden Anchor, in Liverpool.

He was, indeed, in most wonderful spirits; at which I could not help
marveling; considering the cavity in his pockets; and that he was a
stranger in the land.

By noon he had selected his boarding-house, a private establishment,
where they did not charge much for their board, and where the
landlady’s butcher’s bill was not very large.

Here, at last, I left him to get his chest from the ship; while I
turned up town to see my old friend Mr. Jones, and learn what had
happened during my absence.

With one hand, Mr. Jones shook mine most cordially; and with the other,
gave me some letters, which I eagerly devoured. Their purport compelled
my departure homeward; and I at once sought out Harry to inform him.

Strange, but even the few hours’ absence which had intervened; during
which, Harry had been left to himself, to stare at strange streets, and
strange faces, had wrought a marked change in his countenance. He was a
creature of the suddenest impulses. Left to himself, the strange
streets seemed now to have reminded him of his friendless condition;
and I found him with a very sad eye; and his right hand groping in his
pocket.

“Where am I going to dine, this day week?”—he slowly said. “What’s to
be done, Wellingborough?”

And when I told him that the next afternoon I must leave him; he looked
downhearted enough. But I cheered him as well as I could; though
needing a little cheering myself; even though I _had_ got home again.
But no more about that.

Now, there was a young man of my acquaintance in the city, much my
senior, by the name of Goodwell; and a good natured fellow he was; who
had of late been engaged as a clerk in a large forwarding house in
South-street; and it occurred to me, that he was just the man to
befriend Harry, and procure him a place. So I mentioned the thing to my
comrade; and we called upon Goodwell.

I saw that he was impressed by the handsome exterior of my friend; and
in private, making known the case, he faithfully promised to do his
best for him; though the times, he said, were quite dull.

That evening, Goodwell, Harry, and I, perambulated the streets, three
abreast:—Goodwell spending his money freely at the oyster-saloons;
Harry full of allusions to the London Clubhouses: and myself
contributing a small quota to the general entertainment.

Next morning, we proceeded to business.

Now, I did not expect to draw much of a salary from the ship; so as to
retire for life on the profits of _my first voyage;_ but nevertheless,
I thought that a dollar or two might be coming. For dollars are
valuable things; and should not be overlooked, when they are owing.
Therefore, as the second morning after our arrival, had been set apart
for paying off the crew, Harry and I made our appearance on ship-board,
with the rest. We were told to enter the cabin; and once again I found
myself, after an interval of four months, and more, surrounded by its
mahogany and maple.

Seated in a sumptuous arm-chair, behind a lustrous, inlaid desk, sat
Captain Riga, arrayed in his City Hotel suit, looking magisterial as
the Lord High Admiral of England. Hat in hand, the sailors stood
deferentially in a semicircle before him, while the captain held the
ship-papers in his hand, and one by one called their names; and in
mellow bank notes—beautiful sight!—paid them their wages.

Most of them had less than ten, a few twenty, and two, thirty dollars
coming to them; while the old cook, whose piety proved profitable in
restraining him from the expensive excesses of most seafaring men, and
who had taken no pay in advance, had the goodly round sum of seventy
dollars as his due.

Seven ten dollar bills! each of which, as I calculated at the time, was
worth precisely one hundred dimes, which were equal to one thousand
cents, which were again subdivisible into fractions. So that he now
stepped into a fortune of seventy thousand American _“mitts.”_ Only
seventy dollars, after all; but then, it has always seemed to me, that
stating amounts in sounding fractional sums, conveys a much fuller
notion of their magnitude, than by disguising their immensity in such
aggregations of value, as doubloons, sovereigns, and dollars. Who would
not rather be worth 125,000 francs in Paris, than only £5000 in London,
though the intrinsic value of the two sums, in round numbers, is pretty
much the same.

With a scrape of the foot, and such a bow as only a negro can make, the
old cook marched off with his fortune; and I have no doubt at once
invested it in a grand, underground oyster-cellar.

The other sailors, after counting their cash very carefully, and seeing
all was right, and not a bank-note was dog-eared, in which case they
would have demanded another: for they are not to be taken in and
cheated, your sailors, and they know their rights, too; at least, when
they are at liberty, after the voyage is concluded:— the sailors also
salaamed, and withdrew, leaving Harry and me face to face with the
Paymaster-general of the Forces.

We stood awhile, looking as polite as possible, and expecting every
moment to hear our names called, but not a word did we hear; while the
captain, throwing aside his accounts, lighted a very fragrant cigar,
took up the morning paper—I think it was the Herald—threw his leg over
one arm of the chair, and plunged into the latest intelligence from all
parts of the world.

I looked at Harry, and he looked at me; and then we both looked at this
incomprehensible captain.

At last Harry hemmed, and I scraped my foot to increase the
disturbance.

The Paymaster-general looked up.

“Well, where do you come from? Who are _you,_ pray? and what do you
want? Steward, show these young gentlemen out.”

“I want my money,” said Harry.

“My wages are due,” said I.

The captain laughed. Oh! he was exceedingly merry; and taking a long
inspiration of smoke, removed his cigar, and sat sideways looking at
us, letting the vapor slowly wriggle and spiralize out of his mouth.

“Upon my soul, young gentlemen, you astonish me. Are your names down in
the City Directory? have you any letters of introduction, young
gentlemen?”

“Captain Riga!” cried Harry, enraged at his impudence—“I tell you what
it is, Captain Riga; this won’t do—where’s the rhino?”

“Captain Riga,” added I, “do you not remember, that about four months
ago, my friend Mr. Jones and myself had an interview with you in this
very cabin; when it was agreed that I was to go out in your ship, and
receive three dollars per month for my services? Well, Captain Riga, I
have gone out with you, and returned; and now, sir, I’ll thank you for
my pay.”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” said the captain. _“Mr. Jones!_ Ha! ha! I
remember Mr. Jones: a very gentlemanly gentleman; and stop—_you,_ too,
are the son of a wealthy French importer; and—let me think—was not your
great-uncle a barber?”

“No!” thundered I.

“Well, well, young gentleman, really I beg your pardon. Steward, chairs
for the young gentlemen—be seated, young gentlemen. And now, let me
see,” turning over his accounts— “Hum, hum!—yes, here it is:
Wellingborough Redburn, at three dollars a month. Say four months,
that’s twelve dollars; less three dollars advanced in Liverpool—that
makes it nine dollars; less three hammers and two scrapers lost
overboard— that brings it to four dollars and a quarter. I owe you four
dollars and a quarter, I believe, young gentleman?”

“So it seems, sir,” said I, with staring eyes.

“And now let me see what you owe me, and then well be able to square
the yards, Monsieur Redburn.”

Owe _him!_ thought I—what do I owe him but a grudge, but I concealed my
resentment; and presently he said, “By running away from the ship in
Liverpool, you forfeited your wages, which amount to twelve dollars;
and as there has been advanced to you, in money, hammers, and scrapers,
seven dollars and seventy-five cents, you are therefore indebted to me
in precisely that sum. Now, young gentleman, I’ll thank you for the
money;” and he extended his open palm across the desk.

“Shall I pitch into him?” whispered Harry.

I was thunderstruck at this most unforeseen announcement of the state
of my account with Captain Riga; and I began to understand why it was
that he had till now ignored my absence from the ship, when Harry and I
were in London. But a single minute’s consideration showed that I could
not help myself; so, telling him that he was at liberty to begin his
suit, for I was a bankrupt, and could not pay him, I turned to go.

Now, here was this man actually turning a poor lad adrift without a
copper, after he had been slaving aboard his ship for more than four
mortal months. But Captain Riga was a bachelor of expensive habits, and
had run up large wine bills at the City Hotel. He could not afford to
be munificent. Peace to his dinners.

“Mr. Bolton, I believe,” said the captain, now blandly bowing toward
Harry. “Mr. Bolton, _you_ also shipped for three dollars per month: and
you had one month’s advance in Liverpool; and from dock to dock we have
been about a month and a half; so I owe you just one dollar and a half,
Mr. Bolton; and here it is;” handing him six two-shilling pieces.

“And this,” said Harry, throwing himself into a tragical attitude,
_“this_ is the reward of my long and faithful services!”

Then, disdainfully flinging the silver on the desk, he exclaimed,
“There, Captain Riga, you may keep your tin! It has been in _your_
purse, and it would give me the itch to retain it. Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, young gentlemen; pray, call again,” said the captain,
coolly bagging the coins. His politeness, while in port, was
invincible.

Quitting the cabin, I remonstrated with Harry upon his recklessness in
disdaining his wages, small though they were; I begged to remind him of
his situation; and hinted that every penny he could get might prove
precious to him. But he only cried _Pshaw!_ and that was the last of
it.

Going forward, we found the sailors congregated on the forecastle-deck,
engaged in some earnest discussion; while several carts on the wharf,
loaded with their chests, were just in the act of driving off, destined
for the boarding-houses uptown. By the looks of our shipmates, I saw
very plainly that they must have some mischief under weigh; and so it
turned out.

Now, though Captain Riga had not been guilty of any particular outrage
against the sailors; yet, by a thousand small meannesses—such as
indirectly causing their allowance of bread and beef to be diminished,
without betraying any appearance of having any inclination that way,
and without speaking to the sailors on the subject—by this, and kindred
actions, I say, he had contracted the cordial dislike of the whole
ship’s company; and long since they had bestowed upon him a name
unmentionably expressive of their contempt.

The voyage was now concluded; and it appeared that the subject being
debated by the assembly on the forecastle was, how best they might give
a united and valedictory expression of the sentiments they entertained
toward their late lord and master. Some emphatic symbol of those
sentiments was desired; some unmistakable token, which should forcibly
impress Captain Riga with the justest possible notion of their
feelings.

It was like a meeting of the members of some mercantile company, upon
the eve of a prosperous dissolution of the concern; when the
subordinates, actuated by the purest gratitude toward their president,
or chief, proceed to vote him a silver pitcher, in token of their
respect. It was something like this, I repeat—but with a material
difference, as will be seen.

At last, the precise manner in which the thing should be done being
agreed upon, Blunt, the “Irish cockney,” was deputed to summon the
captain. He knocked at the cabin-door, and politely requested the
steward to inform Captain Riga, that some gentlemen were on the
pier-head, earnestly seeking him; whereupon he joined his comrades.

In a few moments the captain sallied from the cabin, and found the
_gentlemen_ alluded to, strung along the top of the bulwarks, on the
side next to the wharf. Upon his appearance, the row suddenly wheeled
about, presenting their backs; and making a motion, which was a polite
salute to every thing before them, but an abominable insult to all who
happened to be in their rear, they gave three cheers, and at one bound,
cleared the ship.

True to his imperturbable politeness while in port, Captain Riga only
lifted his hat, smiled very blandly, and slowly returned into his
cabin.

Wishing to see the last movements of this remarkable crew, who were so
clever ashore and so craven afloat, Harry and I followed them along the
wharf, till they stopped at a sailor retreat, poetically denominated
“The Flashes.” And here they all came to anchor before the bar; and the
landlord, a lantern-jawed landlord, bestirred himself behind it, among
his villainous old bottles and decanters. He well knew, from their
looks, that his customers were “flush,” and would spend their money
freely, as, indeed, is the case with most seamen, recently paid off.

It was a touching scene.

“Well, maties,” said one of them, at last—“I spose we shan’t see each
other again:—come, let’s splice the main-brace all round, and drink to
_the last voyage!”_

Upon this, the landlord danced down his glasses, on the bar, uncorked
his decanters, and deferentially pushed them over toward the sailors,
as much as to say—_“Honorable gentlemen, it is not for me to allowance
your liquor;—help yourselves, your honors.”_

And so they did; each glass a bumper; and standing in a row, tossed
them all off; shook hands all round, three times three; and then
disappeared in couples, through the several doorways; for _“The
Flashes”_ was on a corner.

If to every one, life be made up of farewells and greetings, and a
_“Good-by, God bless you,”_ is heard for every _“How d’ye do, welcome,
my boy”—_then, of all men, sailors shake the most hands, and wave the
most hats. They are here and then they are there; ever shifting
themselves, they shift among the shifting: and like rootless sea-weed,
are tossed to and fro.

As, after shaking our hands, our shipmates departed, Harry and I stood
on the corner awhile, till we saw the last man disappear.

“They are gone,” said I.

“Thank heaven!” said Harry.




CHAPTER LXII.
THE LAST THAT WAS EVER HEARD OF HARRY BOLTON


That same afternoon, I took my comrade down to the Battery; and we sat
on one of the benches, under the summer shade of the trees.

It was a quiet, beautiful scene; full of promenading ladies and
gentlemen; and through the foliage, so fresh and bright, we looked out
over the bay, varied with glancing ships; and then, we looked down to
our boots; and thought what a fine world it would be, if we only had a
little money to enjoy it. But that’s the everlasting rub—oh, who can
cure an empty pocket?

“I have no doubt, Goodwell will take care of you, Harry,” said I, “he’s
a fine, good-hearted fellow; and will do his best for you, I know.”

“No doubt of it,” said Harry, looking hopeless.

“And I need not tell you, Harry, how sorry I am to leave you so soon.”

“And I am sorry enough myself,” said Harry, looking very sincere.

“But I will be soon back again, I doubt not,” said I.

“Perhaps so,” said Harry, shaking his head. “How far is it off?”

“Only a hundred and eighty miles,” said I.

“A hundred and eighty miles!” said Harry, drawing the words out like an
endless ribbon. “Why, I couldn’t walk that in a month.”

“Now, my dear friend,” said I, “take my advice, and while I am gone,
keep up a stout heart; never despair, and all will be well.”

But notwithstanding all I could say to encourage him, Harry felt so
bad, that nothing would do, but a rush to a neighboring bar, where we
both gulped down a glass of ginger-pop; after which we felt better.

He accompanied me to the steamboat, that was to carry me homeward; he
stuck close to my side, till she was about to put off; then, standing
on the wharf, he shook me by the hand, till we almost counteracted the
play of the paddles; and at last, with a mutual jerk at the arm-pits,
we parted. I never saw Harry again.

I pass over the reception I met with at home; how I plunged into
embraces, long and loving:—I pass over this; and will conclude _my
first voyage_ by relating all I know of what overtook Harry Bolton.

Circumstances beyond my control, detained me at home for several weeks;
during which, I wrote to my friend, without receiving an answer.

I then wrote to young Goodwell, who returned me the following letter,
now spread before me.

_“Dear Redburn—Your poor friend, Harry, I can not find any where. After
you left, he called upon me several times, and we walked out together;
and my interest in him increased every day. But you don’t know how dull
are the times here, and what multitudes of young men, well qualified,
are seeking employment in counting-houses. I did my best; but could not
get Harry a place. However, I cheered him. But he grew more and more
melancholy, and at last told me, that he had sold all his clothes but
those on his back to pay his board. I offered to loan him a few
dollars, but he would not receive them. I called upon him two or three
times after this, but he was not in; at last, his landlady told me that
he had permanently left her house the very day before. Upon my
questioning her closely, as to where he had gone, she answered, that
she did not know, but from certain hints that had dropped from our poor
friend, she feared he had gone on a whaling voyage. I at once went to
the offices in South-street, where men are shipped for the Nantucket
whalers, and made inquiries among them; but without success. And this,_
I _am heartily grieved to say, is all I know of our friend. I can not
believe that his melancholy could bring him to the insanity of throwing
himself away in a whaler; and I still think, that he must be somewhere
in the city. You must come down yourself, and help me seek him out.”_

This letter gave me a dreadful shock. Remembering our adventure in
London, and his conduct there; remembering how liable he was to yield
to the most sudden, crazy, and contrary impulses; and that, as a
friendless, penniless foreigner in New York, he must have had the most
terrible incitements to committing violence upon himself; I shuddered
to think, that even now, while I thought of him, he might no more be
living. So strong was this impression at the time, that I quickly
glanced over the papers to see if there were any accounts of suicides,
or drowned persons floating in the harbor of New York.

I now made all the haste I could to the seaport, but though I sought
him all over, no tidings whatever could be heard.

To relieve my anxiety, Goodwell endeavored to assure me, that Harry
must indeed have departed on a whaling voyage. But remembering his
bitter experience on board of the Highlander, and more than all, his
nervousness about going aloft, it seemed next to impossible.

At last I was forced to give him up.


Years after this, I found myself a sailor in the Pacific, on board of a
whaler. One day at sea, we spoke another whaler, and the boat’s crew
that boarded our vessel, came forward among us to have a little
sea-chat, as is always customary upon such occasions.

Among the strangers was an Englishman, who had shipped in his vessel at
Callao, for the cruise. In the course of conversation, he made allusion
to the fact, that he had now been in the Pacific several years, and
that the good craft Huntress of Nantucket had had the honor of
originally bringing him round upon that side of the globe. I asked him
why he had abandoned her; he answered that she was the most unlucky of
ships.

“We had hardly been out three months,” said he, “when on the Brazil
banks we lost a boat’s crew, chasing a whale after sundown; and next
day lost a poor little fellow, a countryman of mine, who had never
entered the boats; he fell over the side, and was jammed between the
ship, and a whale, while we were cutting the fish in. Poor fellow, he
had a hard time of it, from the beginning; he was a gentleman’s son,
and when you could coax him to it, he sang like a bird.”

“What was his name?” said I, trembling with expectation; “what kind of
eyes did he have? what was the color of his hair?”

“Harry Bolton was not your brother?” cried the stranger, starting.

_Harry Bolton!_ it was even he!

But yet, I, Wellingborough Redburn, chance to survive, after having
passed through far more perilous scenes than any narrated in this, _My
First Voyage_—which here I end.