Two Years Before the Mast
country,--roguery and all--and was very entertaining. He was a smart,
unprincipled fellow, was at the bottom of most of the rascally doings
of the country, and gave us a great deal of interesting information in
the ways of the world we were in.
Saturday, Feb. 13th. Were called up at midnight to slip for a violent
north-easter, for this rascally hole of San Pedro is unsafe in every
wind but a south-wester, which is seldom known to blow more than once
in a half century. We went off with a flowing sheet, and hove-to under
the lee of Catalina island, where we lay three days, and then returned
to our anchorage.
Tuesday, Feb. 23d. This afternoon, a signal was made from the shore,
and we went off in the gig, and found the agent's clerk, who had been
up to the pueblo, waiting at the landing-place, with a package under
his arm, covered with brown papers and tied carefully with twine. No
sooner had we shoved off than he told us there was good news from Santa
Barbara. "What's that?" said one of the crew; "has the bloody agent
slipped off the hooks? Has the old bundle of bones got him at
last?"--"No; better than that. The California has arrived." Letters,
papers, news, and, perhaps,--friends, on board! Our hearts were all up
in our mouths, and we pulled away like good fellows; for the precious
packet could not be opened except by the captain. As we pulled under
the stern, the clerk held up the package, and called out to the mate,
who was leaning over the taffrail, that the California had arrived.
"Hurrah!" said the mate, so as to be heard fore and aft; "California
come, and news from Boston!"
Instantly there was a confusion on board which no one could account for
who has not been in the same situation. All discipline seemed for a
moment relaxed.
"What's that, Mr. Brown?" said the cook, putting his head out of the
galley--"California come?"
"Aye, aye! you angel of darkness, and there's a letter for you from
Bullknop 'treet, number two-two-five--green door and brass knocker!"
The packet was sent down into the cabin, and every one waited to hear
of the result. As nothing came up, the officers began to feel that
they were acting rather a child's part, and turned the crew to again
and the same strict discipline was restored, which prohibits speech
between man and man, while at work on deck; so that, when the steward
came forward with letters for the crew, each man took his letters,
carried them below to his chest, and came up again immediately; and not
a letter was read until we had cleared up decks for the night.
An overstrained sense of manliness is the characteristic of seafaring
men, or, rather, of life on board ship. This often gives an appearance
of want of feeling, and even of cruelty. From this, if a man comes
within an ace of breaking his neck and escapes, it is made a joke of;
and no notice must be taken of a bruise or cut; and any expression of
pity, or any show of attention, would look sisterly, and unbecoming a
man who has to face the rough and tumble of such a life. From this,
too, the sick are neglected at sea, and whatever sailors may be ashore,
a sick man finds little sympathy or attention, forward or aft. A man,
too, can have nothing peculiar or sacred on board ship; for all the
nicer feelings they take pride in disregarding, both in themselves and
others. A thin-skinned man could not live an hour on ship-board. One
would be torn raw unless he had the hide of an ox. A moment of natural
feeling for home and friends, and then the frigid routine of sea-life
returned. Jokes were made upon those who showed any interest in the
expected news, and everything near and dear was made common stock for
rude jokes and unfeeling coarseness, to which no exception could be
taken by any one.
Supper, too, must be eaten before the letters were read; and when, at
last, they were brought out, they all got round any one who had a
letter, and expected to have it read aloud, and have it all in common.
If any one went by himself to read, it was--"Fair play, there; and no
skulking!" I took mine and went into the sailmaker's berth, where I
could read it without interruption. It was dated August, just a year
from the time I had sailed from home; and every one was well, and no
great change had taken place. Thus, for one year, my mind was set at
ease, yet it was already six months from the date of the letter, and
what another year would bring to pass, who could tell? Every one away
from home thinks that some great thing must have happened, while to
those at home there seems to be a continued monotony and lack of
incident.
As much as my feelings were taken up by my own intelligence from home,
I could not but be amused by a scene in the steerage. The carpenter had
been married just before leaving Boston, and during the voyage had
talked much about his wife, and had to bear and forbear, as every man,
known to be married, must, aboard ship; yet the certainty of hearing
from his wife by the first ship, seemed to keep up his spirits. The
California came, the packet was brought on board; no one was in higher
spirits than he; but when the letters came forward, there was none for
him. The captain looked again, but there was no mistake. Poor
"Chips," could eat no supper. He was completely down in the mouth.
"Sails" (the sailmaker) tried to comfort him, and told him he was a
bloody fool to give up his grub for any woman's daughter, and reminded
him that he had told him a dozen times that he'd never see or hear from
his wife again.
"Ah!" said "Chips," "you don't know what it is to have a wife, and"--
"Don't I?" said Sails; and then came, for the hundredth time, the story
of his coming ashore at New York, from the Constellation frigate, after
a cruise of four years round the Horn,--being paid off with over five
hundred dollars,--marrying, and taking a couple of rooms in a
four-story house,--furnishing the rooms, (with a particular account of
the furniture, including a dozen flag-bottomed chairs, which he always
dilated upon, whenever the subject of furniture was alluded to,)--going
off to sea again, leaving his wife half-pay, like a fool,--coming home
and finding her "off, like Bob's horse, with nobody to pay the
reckoning;" furniture gone,--flag-bottomed chairs and all;--and with
it, his "long togs," the half-pay, his beaver hat, white linen shirts,
and everything else. His wife he never saw, or heard of, from that day
to this, and never wished to. Then followed a sweeping assertion, not
much to the credit of the sex, if true, though he has Pope to back him.
"Come, Chips, cheer up like a man, and take some hot grub! Don't be
made a fool of by anything in petticoats! As for your wife, you'll
never see her again; she was 'up keeleg and off' before you were
outside of Cape Cod. You hove your money away like a fool; but every
man must learn once, just as I did; so you'd better square the yards
with her, and make the best of it."
This was the best consolation "Sails" had to offer, but it did not seem
to be just the thing the carpenter wanted; for, during several days, he
was very much dejected, and bore with difficulty the jokes of the
sailors, and with still more difficulty their attempts at advice and
consolation, of most of which the sailmaker's was a good specimen.
Thursday, Feb. 25th. Set sail for Santa Barbara, where we arrived on
Sunday, the 28th. We just missed of seeing the California, for she had
sailed three days before, bound to Monterey, to enter her cargo and
procure her license, and thence to San Francisco, etc. Captain Arthur
left files of Boston papers for Captain T----, which, after they had
been read and talked over in the cabin, I procured from my friend the
third mate. One file was of all the Boston Transcripts for the month
of August, 1835, and the rest were about a dozen Daily Advertisers and
Couriers, of different dates. After all, there is nothing in a strange
land like a newspaper from home. Even a letter, in many respects, is
nothing, in comparison with it. It carries you back to the spot,
better than anything else. It is almost equal to clairvoyance. The
names of the streets, with the things advertised, are almost as good as
seeing the signs; and while reading "Boy lost!" one can almost hear the
bell and well-known voice of "Old Wilson," crying the boy as "strayed,
stolen, or mislaid!" Then there was the Commencement at Cambridge, and
the full account of the exercises at the graduating of my own class. A
list of all those familiar names, (beginning as usual with Abbot, and
ending with W., ) which, as I read them over, one by one, brought up
their faces and characters as I had known them in the various scenes of
college life. Then I imagined them upon the stage, speaking their
orations, dissertations, colloquies, etc., with the gestures and tones
of each, and tried to fancy the manner in which each would handle his
subject, *****, handsome, showy, and superficial; *****, with his
strong head, clear brain, cool self-possession; *****, modest,
sensitive, and underrated; *****, the mouth-piece of the debating
clubs, noisy, vaporous, and democratic; and so following. Then I could
see them receiving their A. Bs. from the dignified, feudal-looking
President, with his "auctoritate mihi commissâ," and walking off the
stage with their diplomas in their hands; while upon the very same day,
their classmate was walking up and down California beach with a hide
upon his head.
Every watch below, for a week, I pored over these papers, until I was
sure there could be nothing in them that had escaped my attention, and
was ashamed to keep them any longer.
Saturday, March 5th. This was an important day in our almanac, for it
was on this day that we were first assured that our voyage was really
drawing to a close. The captain gave orders to have the ship ready for
getting under weigh; and observed that there was a good breeze to take
us down to San Pedro. Then we were not going up to windward. Thus
much was certain, and was soon known, fore and aft; and when we went in
the gig to take him off, he shook hands with the people on the beach,
and said that he never expected to see Santa Barbara again. This
settled the matter, and sent a thrill of pleasure through the heart of
every one in the boat. We pulled off with a will, saying to ourselves
(I can speak for myself at least)--"Good-by, Santa Barbara!--This is
the last pull here--No more duckings in your breakers, and slipping
from your cursed south-easters!" The news was soon known aboard, and
put life into everything when we were getting under weigh. Each one
was taking his last look at the mission, the town, the breakers on the
beach, and swearing that no money would make him ship to see them
again; and when all hands tallied on to the cat-fall, the chorus of
"Time for us to go!" was raised for the first time, and joined in, with
full swing, by everybody. One would have thought we were on our voyage
home, so near did it seem to us, though there were yet three months for
us on the coast.
We left here the young Englishman, George Marsh, of whom I have before
spoken, who was wrecked upon the Pelew Islands. He left us to take the
berth of second mate on board the Ayacucho, which was lying in port.
He was well qualified for this, and his education would enable him to
rise to any situation on board ship. I felt really sorry to part from
him. There was something about him which excited my curiosity; for I
could not, for a moment, doubt that he was well born, and, in early
life, well bred. There was the latent gentleman about him, and the
sense of honor, and no little of the pride, of a young man of good
family. The situation was offered him only a few hours before we