Two Years Before the Mast
much changed for the better. The sea and wind had gone down, and the
stars were out bright. I experienced a corresponding change in my
feelings; yet continued extremely weak from my sickness. I stood in
the waist on the weather side, watching the gradual breaking of the
day, and the first streaks of the early light. Much has been said of
the sun-rise at sea; but it will not compare with the sun-rise on
shore. It wants the accompaniments of the songs of birds, the awakening
hum of men, and the glancing of the first beams upon trees, hills,
spires, and house-tops, to give it life and spirit. But though the
actual rise of the sun at sea is not so beautiful, yet nothing will
compare with the early breaking of day upon the wide ocean.
There is something in the first grey streaks stretching along the
eastern horizon and throwing an indistinct light upon the face of the
deep, which combines with the boundlessness and unknown depth of the
sea around you, and gives one a feeling of loneliness, of dread, and of
melancholy foreboding, which nothing else in nature can give. This
gradually passes away as the light grows brighter, and when the sun
comes up, the ordinary monotonous sea day begins.
From such reflections as these, I was aroused by the order from the
officer, "Forward there! rig the head-pump!" I found that no time was
allowed for day-dreaming, but that we must "turn-to" at the first
light. Having called up the "idlers," namely carpenter, cook, steward,
etc., and rigged the pump, we commenced washing down the decks. This
operation, which is performed every morning at sea, takes nearly two
hours; and I had hardly strength enough to get through it. After we
had finished, swabbed down, and coiled up the rigging, I sat down on
the spars, waiting for seven bells, which was the sign for breakfast.
The officer, seeing my lazy posture, ordered me to slush the main-mast,
from the royal-mast-head, down. The vessel was then rolling a little,
and I had taken no sustenance for three days, so that I felt tempted to
tell him that I had rather wait till after breakfast; but I knew that I
must "take the bull by the horns," and that if I showed any sign of
want of spirit or of backwardness, that I should be ruined at once. So
I took my bucket of grease and climbed up to the royal-mast-head. Here
the rocking of the vessel, which increases the higher you go from the
foot of the mast, which is the fulcrum of the lever, and the smell of
the grease, which offended my fastidious senses, upset my stomach
again, and I was not a little rejoiced when I got upon the comparative
terra firma of the deck. In a few minutes seven bells were struck, the
log hove, the watch called, and we went to breakfast. Here I cannot but
remember the advice of the cook, a simple-hearted African. "Now," says
he, "my lad, you are well cleaned out; you haven't got a drop of your
'long-shore swash aboard of you. You must begin on a new tack,--pitch
all your sweetmeats overboard, and turn-to upon good hearty salt beef
and sea bread, and I'll promise you, you'll have your ribs well
sheathed, and be as hearty as any of 'em, afore you are up to the
Horn." This would be good advice to give to passengers, when they
speak of the little niceties which they have laid in, in case of
sea-sickness.
I cannot describe the change which half a pound of cold salt beef and a
biscuit or two produced in me. I was a new being. We had a watch
below until noon, so that I had some time to myself; and getting a huge
piece of strong, cold, salt beef from the cook, I kept gnawing upon it
until twelve o'clock. When we went on deck I felt somewhat like a man,
and could begin to learn my sea duty with considerable spirit. At
about two o'clock we heard the loud cry of "sail ho!" from aloft, and
soon saw two sails to windward, going directly athwart our hawse. This
was the first time that I had seen a sail at sea. I thought then, and
always have since, that it exceeds every other sight in interest and
beauty. They passed to leeward of us, and out of hailing distance; but
the captain could read the names on their sterns with the glass. They
were the ship Helen Mar, of New York, and the brig Mermaid, of Boston.
They were both steering westward, and were bound in for our "dear
native land."
Thursday, Aug. 21st. This day the sun rose clear, we had a fine wind,
and everything was bright and cheerful. I had now got my sea legs on,
and was beginning to enter upon the regular duties of a sea-life.
About six bells, that is, three o'clock, P.M., we saw a sail on our
larboard bow. I was very anxious, like every new sailor, to speak her.
She came down to us, backed her main-top-sail, and the two vessels
stood "head on," bowing and curvetting at each other like a couple of
war-horses reined in by their riders. It was the first vessel that I
had seen near, and I was surprised to find how much she rolled and
pitched in so quiet a sea. She lunged her head into the sea, and then,
her stern settling gradually down, her huge bows rose up, showing the
bright copper, and her stern, and bresthooks dripping, like old
Neptune's locks, with the brine. Her decks were filled with passengers
who had come up at the cry of "sail ho," and who by their dress and
features appeared to be Swiss and French emigrants. She hailed us at
first in French, but receiving no answer, she tried us in English. She
was the ship La Carolina, from Havre, for New York. We desired her to
report the brig Pilgrim, from Boston, for the north-west coast of
America, five days out. She then filled away and left us to plough on
through our waste of waters. This day ended pleasantly; we had got
into regular and comfortable weather, and into that routine of sea-life
which is only broken by a storm, a sail, or the sight of land.
CHAPTER III
SHIP'S DUTIES--TROPICS
As we had now a long "spell" of fine weather, without any incident to
break the monotony of our lives, there can be no better place to
describe the duties, regulations, and customs of an American
merchantman, of which ours was a fair specimen.
The captain, in the first place, is lord paramount. He stands no
watch, comes and goes when he pleases, and is accountable to no one,
and must be obeyed in everything, without a question, even from his
chief officer. He has the power to turn his officers off duty, and even
to break them and make them do duty as sailors in the forecastle. When
there are no passengers and no supercargo, as in our vessel, he has no
companion but his own dignity, and no pleasures, unless he differs from
most of his kind, but the consciousness of possessing supreme power,
and, occasionally, the exercise of it.
The prime minister, the official organ, and the active and
superintending officer, is the chief mate. He is first lieutenant,
boatswain, sailing-master, and quarter-master. The captain tells him
what he wishes to have done, and leaves to him the care of overseeing,
of allotting the work, and also the responsibility of its being well
done. The mate (as he is always called, par excellence) also keeps the
log-book, for which he is responsible to the owners and insurers, and
has the charge of the stowage, safe keeping, and delivery of the cargo.
He is also, ex-officio, the wit of the crew; for the captain does not
condescend to joke with the men, and the second mate no one cares for;
so that when "the mate" thinks fit to entertain "the people" with a
coarse joke or a little practical wit, every one feels bound to laugh.
The second mate's is proverbially a dog's berth. He is neither officer
nor man. The men do not respect him as an officer, and he is obliged
to go aloft to reef and furl the topsails, and to put his hands into
the tar and slush, with the rest. The crew call him the "sailor's
waiter," as he has to furnish them with spun-yarn, marline, and all
other stuffs that they need in their work, and has charge of the
boatswain's locker, which includes serving-boards, marline-spikes, etc.
He is expected by the captain to maintain his dignity and to enforce
obedience, and still is kept at a great distance from the mate, and
obliged to work with the crew. He is one to whom little is given and
of whom much is required. His wages are usually double those of a
common sailor, and he eats and sleeps in the cabin; but he is obliged
to be on deck nearly all the time, and eats at the second table, that
is, makes a meal out of what the captain and chief mate leave.
The steward is the captain's servant, and has charge of the pantry,
from which every one, even the mate himself, is excluded. These
distinctions usually find him an enemy in the mate, who does not like
to have any one on board who is not entirely under his control; the
crew do not consider him as one of their number, so he is left to the
mercy of the captain.
The cook is the patron of the crew, and those who are in his favor can
get their wet mittens and stockings dried, or light their pipes at the
galley on the night watch. These two worthies, together with the
carpenter and sailmaker, if there be one, stand no watch, but, being
employed all day, are allowed to "sleep in" at night, unless all hands
are called.
The crew are divided into two divisions, as equally as may be, called
the watches. Of these the chief mate commands the larboard, and the
second mate the starboard. They divide the time between them, being on
and off duty, or, as it is called, on deck and below, every other four
hours. If, for instance, the chief mate with the larboard watch have
the first night-watch from eight to twelve; at the end of the four
hours, the starboard watch is called, and the second mate takes the
deck, while the larboard watch and the first mate go below until four
in the morning, when they come on deck again and remain until eight;
having what is called the morning watch. As they will have been on
deck eight hours out of the twelve, while those who had the middle
watch--from twelve to four, will only have been up four hours, they
have what is called a "forenoon watch below," that is, from eight,
A.M., till twelve, M. In a man-of-war, and in some merchantmen, this
alteration of watches is kept up throughout the twenty-four hours; but
our ship, like most merchantmen, had "all hands" from twelve o'clock
till dark, except in bad weather, when we had "watch and watch."
An explanation of the "dog watches" may, perhaps, be of use to one who
has never been at sea. They are to shift the watches each night, so
that the same watch need not be on deck at the same hours. In order to
effect this, the watch from four to eight, P.M., is divided into two
half, or dog watches, one from four to six, and the other from six to
eight. By this means they divide the twenty-four hours into seven
watches instead of six, and thus shift the hours every night. As the
dog watches come during twilight, after the day's work is done, and
before the night watch is set, they are the watches in which everybody
is on deck. The captain is up, walking on the weather side of the
quarter-deck, the chief mate is on the lee side, and the second mate
about the weather gangway. The steward has finished his work in the
cabin, and has come up to smoke his pipe with the cook in the galley.
The crew are sitting on the windlass or lying on the forecastle,
smoking, singing, or telling long yarns. At eight o'clock, eight bells
are struck, the log is hove, the watch set, the wheel relieved, the
galley shut up, and the other watch goes below.
The morning commences with the watch on deck's "turning-to" at
day-break and washing down, scrubbing, and swabbing the decks. This,
together with filling the "scuttled butt" with fresh water, and coiling