Two Years Before the Mast
They began soon after we came on board, and kept it up until after two
bells, when the second mate came forward and called "the Alerts away!"
Battle-songs, drinking-songs, boat-songs, love-songs, and everything
else, they seemed to have a complete assortment of, and I was glad to
find that "All in the Downs," "Poor Tom Bowline," "The Bay of Biscay,"
"List, ye Landsmen!" and all those classical songs of the sea, still
held their places. In addition to these, they had picked up at the
theatres and other places a few songs of a little more genteel cast,
which they were very proud of; and I shall never forget hearing an old
salt, who had broken his voice by hard drinking on shore, and bellowing
from the mast-head in a hundred northwesters, with all manner of
ungovernable trills and quavers in the high notes, breaking into a
rough falsetto--and in the low ones, growling along like the dying away
of the boatswain's "all hands ahoy!" down the hatch-way, singing, "Oh,
no, we never mention him."
"Perhaps, like me, he struggles with
Each feeling of regret;
But if he's loved as I have loved,
He never can forget!"
The last line, being the conclusion, he roared out at the top of his
voice, breaking each word up into half a dozen syllables. This was very
popular, and Jack was called upon every night to give them his
"sentimental song." No one called for it more loudly than I, for the
complete absurdity of the execution, and the sailors' perfect
satisfaction in it, were ludicrous beyond measure.
The next day, the California commenced unloading her cargo; and her
boats' crews, in coming and going, sang their boat-songs, keeping time
with their oars. This they did all day long for several days, until
their hides were all discharged, when a gang of them were sent on board
the Alert, to help us steeve our hides. This was a windfall for us, for
they had a set of new songs for the capstan and fall, and ours had got
nearly worn out by six weeks' constant use. I have no doubt that this
timely reinforcement of songs hastened our work several days.
Our cargo was now nearly all taken in; and my old friend, the Pilgrim,
having completed her discharge, unmoored, to set sail the next morning
on another long trip to windward. I was just thinking of her hard lot,
and congratulating myself upon my escape from her, when I received a
summons into the cabin. I went aft, and there found, seated round the
cabin table, my own captain, Captain Faucon of the Pilgrim, and Mr.
R----, the agent. Captain T---- turned to me and asked abruptly--
"D----, do you want to go home in the ship?"
"Certainly, sir," said I; "I expect to go home in the ship."
"Then," said he, "you must get some one to go in your place on board
the Pilgrim."
I was so completely "taken aback" by this sudden intimation, that for a
moment I could make no reply. I knew that it would be hopeless to
attempt to prevail upon any of the ship's crew to take twelve months
more upon the California in the brig. I knew, too, that Captain T----
had received orders to bring me home in the Alert, and he had told me,
when I was at the hide-house, that I was to go home in her; and even if
this had not been so, it was cruel to give me no notice of the step
they were going to take, until a few hours before the brig would sail.
As soon as I had got my wits about me, I put on a bold front, and told
him plainly that I had a letter in my chest informing me that he had
been written to, by the owners in Boston, to bring me home in the ship,
and moreover, that he had told me that I was to go in the ship.
To have this told him, and to be opposed in such a manner, was more
than my lord paramount had been used to.
He turned fiercely upon me, and tried to look me down, and face me out
of my statement; but finding that that wouldn't do, and that I was
entering upon my defence in such a way as would show to the other two
that he was in the wrong,--he changed his ground, and pointed to the
shipping papers of the Pilgrim, from which my name had never been
erased, and said that there was my name,--that I belonged to her,--that
he had an absolute discretionary power,--and, in short, that I must be
on board the Pilgrim by the next morning with my chest and hammock, or
have some one ready to go in my place, and that he would not hear
another word from me. No court or star chamber could proceed more
summarily with a poor devil, than this trio was about to do with me;
condemning me to a punishment worse than a Botany Bay exile, and to a
fate which would alter the whole current of my future life; for two
years more in California would have made me a sailor for the rest of my
days. I felt all this, and saw the necessity of being determined. I
repeated what I had said, and insisted upon my right to return in the
ship.
I "raised my arm, and tauld my crack,
Before them a'."
But it would have all availed me nothing, had I been "some poor body,"
before this absolute, domineering tribunal. But they saw that I would
not go, unless "vi et armis," and they knew that I had friends and
interest enough at home to make them suffer for any injustice they
might do me. It was probably this that turned the matter; for the
captain changed his tone entirely, and asked me if, in case any one
went in my place, I would give him the same sum that S---- gave Harris
to exchange with him. I told him that if any one was sent on board the
brig, I should pity him, and be willing to help him to that, or almost
any amount; but would not speak of it as an exchange.
"Very well," said he. "Go forward about your business, and send
English Ben here to me!"
I went forward with a light heart, but feeling as angry, and as much
contempt as I could well contain between my teeth. English Ben was
sent aft, and in a few moments came forward, looking as though he had
received his sentence to be hung. The captain had told him to get his
things ready to go on board the brig the next morning; and that I would
give him thirty dollars and a suit of clothes. The hands had "knocked
off" for dinner, and were standing about the forecastle, when Ben came
forward and told his story. I could see plainly that it made a great
excitement, and that, unless I explained the matter to them, the
feeling would be turned against me. Ben was a poor English boy, a
stranger in Boston, and without friends or money; and being an active,
willing lad, and a good sailor for his years, was a general favorite.
"Oh, yes!" said the crew, "the captain has let you off, because you are
a gentleman's son, and have got friends, and know the owners; and taken
Ben, because he is poor, and has got nobody to say a word for him!" I
knew that this was too true to be answered, but I excused myself from
any blame, and told them that I had a right to go home, at all events.
This pacified them a little, but Jack had got a notion that a poor lad
was to be imposed upon, and did not distinguish very clearly; and
though I knew that I was in no fault, and, in fact, had barely escaped
the grossest injustice, yet I felt that my berth was getting to be a
disagreeable one. The notion that I was not "one of them," which, by a
participation in all their labor and hardships, and having no favor
shown me, had been laid asleep, was beginning to revive. But far
stronger than any feeling for myself, was the pity I felt for the poor
lad. He had depended upon going home in the ship; and from Boston, was
going immediately to Liverpool, to see his friends. Beside this,
having begun the voyage with very few clothes, he had taken up the
greater part of his wages in the slop-chest, and it was every day a
losing concern to him; and, like all the rest of the crew, he had a
hearty hatred of California, and the prospect of eighteen months or two
years more of hide-droghing seemed completely to break down his spirit.
I had determined not to go myself, happen what would, and I knew that
the captain would not dare to attempt to force me. I knew, too, that
the two captains had agreed together to get some one, and that unless I
could prevail upon somebody to go voluntarily, there would be no help
for Ben. From this consideration, though I had said that I would have
nothing to do with an exchange, I did my best to get some one to go
voluntarily. I offered to give an order upon the owners in Boston for
six months' wages, and also all the clothes, books, and other matters,
which I should not want upon the voyage home. When this offer was
published in the ship, and the case of poor Ben was set forth in strong
colors, several, who would not have dreamed of going themselves, were
busy in talking it up to others, who, they thought, might be tempted to
accept it; and, at length, one fellow, a harum-scarum lad, whom we
called Harry Bluff, and who did not care what country or ship he was
in, if he had clothes enough and money enough--partly from pity for
Ben, and partly from the thought he should have "cruising money" for
the rest of his stay,--came forward, and offered to go and "sling his
hammock in the bloody hooker." Lest his purpose should cool, I signed
an order for the sum upon the owners in Boston, gave him all the
clothes I could spare, and sent him aft to the captain, to let him know
what had been done. The skipper accepted the exchange, and was,
doubtless, glad to have it pass off so easily. At the same time he
cashed the order, which was endorsed to him,[1] and the next morning,
the lad went aboard the brig, apparently in good spirits, having shaken
hands with each of us and wished us a pleasant passage home, jingling
the money in his pockets, and calling out, "Never say die, while
there's a shot in the locker." The same boat carried off Harris, my
old watchmate, who had previously made an exchange with my friend S----.
I was sorry to part with Harris. Nearly two hundred hours (as we had
calculated it) had we walked the ship's deck together, at anchor watch,
when all hands were below, and talked over and over every subject which
came within the ken of either of us. He gave me a strong gripe with
his hand; and I told him, if he came to Boston again, not to fail to
find me out, and let me see an old watchmate. The same boat brought on
board S----, my friend, who had begun the voyage with me from Boston,
and, like me, was going back to his family and to the society which we
had been born and brought up in. We congratulated one another upon
finding what we had long talked over and wished for, thus brought
about; and none on board the ship were more glad than ourselves to see
the old brig standing round the point, under full sail. As she passed
abreast of us, we all collected in the waist, and gave her three loud,
hearty cheers, waving our hats in the air. Her crew sprang into the
rigging and chains, answered us with three as loud, to which we, after
the nautical custom, gave one in return. I took my last look of their
familiar faces as they got over the rail, and saw the old black cook
put his head out of the galley, and wave his cap over his head. The
crew flew aloft to loose the top-gallant sails and royals; the two
captains waved their hands to one another; and, in ten minutes, we saw
the last inch of her white canvas, as she rounded the point.
Relieved as I was to see her well off, (and I felt like one who had
just sprung from an iron trap which was closing upon him) I had yet a
feeling of regret at taking the last look at the old craft in which I
had spent a year, and the first year, of my sailor's life--which had
been my first home in the new world into which I had entered--and with
which I had associated so many things,--my first leaving home, my first
crossing the equator, Cape Horn, Juan Fernandez, death at sea, and