I was born towards the close of the last century, in a village
pleasantly situated on the banks of the Merrimack, in Massachusetts. For
the satisfaction of the curious, and the edification of the genealogist,
I will state that my ancestors came to this country from England in the
middle of the seventeenth century. Why they left their native land to
seek an asylum on this distant shore whether prompted by a spirit of
adventure, or with a view to avoid persecution for religion's sake is
now unknown. Even if they "left their country for their country's good,"
they were undoubtedly as respectable, honest, and noble, as the major
part of those needy ruffians who accompanied William the Conqueror from
Normandy in his successful attempt to seize the British crown, and whose
descendants now boast of their noble ancestry, and proudly claim a seat
in the British House of Peers.
From my earliest years I manifested a strong attachment to reading; and
as matters relating to ships and sailors captivated my boyish fancy,
and exerted a magic influence on my mind, the "Adventures of Robinson
Crusoe," "Peter Wilkins," "Philip Quarle," and vagabonds of a similar
character, were my favorite books. An indulgence in this taste, and
perhaps an innate disposition to lead a wandering, adventurous life,
kindled in my bosom a strong desire, which soon became a fixed
resolution, TO GO TO SEA. Indeed, this wish to go abroad, to encounter
dangers on the mighty deep, to visit foreign countries and climes, to
face shipwrecks and disasters, became a passion. It was my favorite
theme of talk by day, and the subject of my dreams by night. As I
increased in years my longing for a sailor's life also increased;
and whenever my schoolfellows and myself were conversing about the
occupations we should select as the means of gaining a livelihood
hereafter, I invariably said, "I will be a sailor."
Had my parents lived, it is possible that this deep-seated inclination
might have been thwarted; that my destiny might have taken another
shape. But my father died while I was quite young, and my mother
survived him but a few years. She lived long enough, however, to
convince me that there is nothing more pure, disinterested, and enduring
than a mother's love, and that those who are deprived of this blessing
meet at the outset of their pilgrimage a misfortune which can never
be remedied. Thus, before I had numbered fifteen years, I found myself
thrown a waif on the waters of life, free to follow the bent of my
inclination to become a sailor.
Fortune favored my wishes. Soon after the death of my parents, a
relation of my mother was fitting out a vessel in Portsmouth, N.H.,
for a voyage to Demarara; and those who felt an interest in my welfare,
conceiving this a good opportunity for me to commence my salt-water
career, acceded to my wishes, and prevailed on my relative, against his
inclination, to take me with him as a cabin boy.
With emotions of delight I turned my back on the home of my childhood,
and gayly started off to seek my fortune in the world, with no other
foundation to build upon than a slender frame, an imperfect education,
a vivid imagination, ever picturing charming castles in the air, and a
goodly share of quiet energy and perseverance, modified by an excess of
diffidence, which to this day I have never been able to overcome.
I had already found in a taste for reading a valuable and never-failing
source of information and amusement. This attachment to books has
attended me through life, and been a comfort and solace in difficulties,
perplexities, and perils. My parents, also, early ingrafted on my mind
strict moral principles; taught me to distinguish between right and
wrong; to cherish a love of truth, and even a chivalric sense of honor
and honesty. To this, perhaps, more than to any other circumstance, may
be attributed whatever success and respectability has attended my career
through life. It has enabled me to resist temptations to evil with which
I was often surrounded, and to grapple with and triumph over obstacles
that might otherwise have overwhelmed me.
When I reached Portsmouth, my kinsman, Captain Tilton, gave me
an ungracious reception. He rebuked me severely for expressing a
determination to go to sea.
"Go to sea!" he exclaimed in a tone of the most sovereign contempt.
"Ridiculous! You are a noodle for thinking of such a thing. A sailor's
life is a dog's life at best! Besides, you are not fit for a sailor,
either by habits, taste, or constitution. With such a pale face, and
slight figure, and sheepish look, how can you expect to fight the battle
of life on the ocean, and endure all the crosses, the perils, and the
rough-and-tumble of a sailor's life? Hawser, you are not fit for a
sailor. You had much better go home and try something else."
Finding me unconvinced by his arguments, and unshaken in my
determination, he concluded his remarks by asking me abruptly the
startling question, "Are you ready to die?"
I replied, that I had not bestowed much thought on the subject; but
frankly admitted I was not altogether prepared for such a solemn event.
"Then, Hawser," said he with marked emphasis, "if you are not prepared
to die to die of YELLOW FEVER don't go to Demarara at this season of
the year!" And he left the room abruptly, apparently disgusted at my
obstinacy.
On the following day, Captain Tilton took me on board the brig Dolphin.
I did not mark her imperfections, which were many. She was a vessel,
bound on a voyage to a foreign port, and, therefore, I was charmed with
her appearance. In my eyes she was a model of excellence; as beautiful
and graceful as the celebrated barge in which Cleopatra descended the
Cyndnus to meet Mark Antony.
The captain led me to the mate, who was busily engaged about the decks.
"Mr. Thompson," said he, "here is a lad who wants to go to sea, and I
have foolishly engaged to take him as a cabin boy. Keep him on board the
brig; look sharp after him; don't let him have an idle moment; and,
if possible, make him useful in some way until the vessel is ready for
sea."
Mr. William Thompson was a worthy man, who subsequently became a
shipmaster and merchant of great respectability in Portsmouth. He
treated me with consideration and kindness, and took pleasure in
teaching me the details of the business I was about to undertake.
During the few days in which the Dolphin lay at the wharf I gained much
nautical information. I learned the names of the different parts of a
vessel; of the different masts, and some portions of the rigging. But
the great number of ropes excited my admiration. I thought a lifetime
would hardly suffice to learn their different names and purposes. I
accomplished successfully the feat of going aloft; and one memorable
day, assisted the riggers in "bending sails," and received an
ill-natured rebuke from a crusty old tar, for my stupidity in failing
to understand him when he told me to "pass the gasket" while furling the
fore-topsail. Instead of passing the gasket around the yard, I gravely
handed him a marlinspike!
In the course of my desultory reading, I had learned that vessels at sea
were liable to "spring a leak," which was one of the most dreaded perils
of navigation; and I had a vague notion that the hold of a ship was
always so arranged that a leak could be discovered and stopped. I was,
therefore, not a little puzzled when I found the hold of the Dolphin was
crammed with lumber; not a space having been left large enough to stow
away the ghost of a belaying pin. Finding the captain in a pleasant mood
one day, I ventured to ask him what would be the consequence if the brig
should spring a leak in her bottom.
"Spring a leak in her bottom!" he replied, in his gruff manner; "why, we
should go to the bottom, of course."
The brig was now ready for sea. The sailors were shipped, and I watched
them closely as they came on board, expecting to find the noble-looking,
generous spirited tars I had become so familiar with in books. It
happened, however, that three out of the five seamen who composed the
crew were "old English men-of-war's-men," and had long since lost
any refinement of character or rectitude of principle they originally
possessed. They were brought on board drunk by the landlord with whom
they boarded; for the "old tars" of those days fifty years ago had no
homes; when on shore all they cared for was a roof to shelter them, and
plenty of grog, in which they would indulge until their money was gone,
when they would go to sea and get more.
Now ensued the bustle incident to such occasions. Captain William Boyd,
who had volunteered to pilot the brig down the harbor, came on board;
the sails were hoisted; the deck was crowded with persons to take leave
of their friends, or gratify a morbid curiosity; and what with the
numerous questions asked, the running to and fro, the peremptory
commands of the mate, the unmusical singing and shouting of the crew
as they executed the various orders, together with the bawling of the
handcartmen and truckmen as they brought down the last of the trunks,
chests, stores, and provisions, my brain was in a whirl of excitement; I
hardly knew whether I stood on my head or my heels.
At last the captain came down the wharf, accompanied by Joshua Haven,
one of the owners, and some friends, who had made arrangements to
proceed in the brig so far as the mouth of the harbor. The single rope
which connected the Dolphin with the shore was cast loose; the pilot
gave some orders; that were Greek to me, in a loud and energetic tone;
the men on the wharf gave three cheers, which were heartily responded
to by the temporary passengers and crew; and with a pleasant breeze from
the westward, we sailed merrily down the river.
Some few persons lingered on the wharf, and continued for a time to
wave their handkerchiefs in token of an affectionate farewell to their
friends. I seemed to stand alone while these interesting scenes were
enacted. I took no part in the warm greetings or the tender adieus. I
had bidden farewell to my friends and relatives in another town some
days before; and no one took sufficient interest in my welfare to travel
a few miles, look after my comforts, and wish me a pleasant voyage as I
left my native land.
Although from the reception I had met with I had little reason to expect
present indulgences or future favors from my kinsman who commanded the
brig, I did not regret the step I had taken. On the contrary, my bosom
bounded with joy when the last rope was severed, and the vessel on whose
decks I proudly stood was actually leaving the harbor of Portsmouth,
under full sail, bound to a foreign port. This was no longer "the
baseless fabric of a vision." The dream of my early years had come to
pass; and I looked forward with all the confidence of youth to a bold
and manly career, checkered it might be with toil and suffering, but
replete with stirring adventure, whose wild and romantic charms would
be cheaply won by wading through a sea of troubles. I now realized the
feeling which has since been so well described by the poet:
"A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep.
"Like an eagle caged, I pine
On this dull, unchanging shore;
O, give me the flashing brine,
The spray, and the tempest's roar."