Produced by Robert E. Brewer. HTML version by Al Haines.
TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST
A Personal Narrative of Life at Sea
By
Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
With an introduction and notes by
Homer Eaton Keyes, B.L.
Assistant Professor of Art in Dartmouth College
----Crowded in the rank and narrow ship,--
Housed on the wild sea with wild usages,--
Whate'er in the inland dales the land conceals
Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing,
Do we behold of that in our rude voyage.
Coleridge's Wallenstein.
CONTENTS
Introduction
Biographical Note
California and her Missions
Bibliographical References
Diagram of Ships
Explanation of Diagram
Two Years Before the Mast
Twenty-Four Years After
INTRODUCTION
Biographical Note
Two years before the mast were but an episode in the life of Richard
Henry Dana, Jr.; yet the narrative in which he details the experiences
of that period is, perhaps, his chief claim to a wide remembrance. His
services in other than literary fields occupied the greater part of his
life, but they brought him comparatively small recognition and many
disappointments. His happiest associations were literary, his
pleasantest acquaintanceships those which arose through his fame as the
author of one book. The story of his life is one of honest and
competent effort, of sincere purpose, of many thwarted hopes. The
traditions of his family forced him into a profession for which he was
intellectually but not temperamentally fitted: he should have been a
scholar, teacher, and author; instead he became a lawyer.
Born in Cambridge, Mass., August 1, 1815, Richard Henry Dana, Jr., came
of a line of Colonial ancestors whose legal understanding and patriotic
zeal had won them distinction. His father, if possessed of less vigor
than his predecessors, was yet a man of culture and ability. He was
widely known as poet, critic, and lecturer; and endowed his son with
native qualities of intelligence, good breeding, and honesty.
After somewhat varied and troublous school days, young Dana entered
Harvard University, where he took high rank in his classes and bid fair
to make a reputation as a scholar. But at the beginning of his third
year of college a severe attack of measles interrupted his course, and
so affected his eyes as to preclude, for a time at least, all idea of
study. The state of the family finances was not such as to permit of
foreign travel in search of health. Accordingly, prompted by necessity
and by a youthful love of adventure, he shipped as a common sailor in
the brig, Pilgrim, bound for the California coast. His term of service
lasted a trifle over two years--from August, 1834, to September, 1836.
The undertaking was one calculated to kill or cure. Fortunately it had
the latter effect; and, upon returning to his native place, physically
vigorous but intellectually starved, he reentered Harvard and worked
with such enthusiasm as to graduate in six months with honor.
Then came the question of his life work. Though intensely religious,
he did not feel called to the ministry; business made no appeal; his
ancestors had been lawyers; it seemed best that he should follow where
they had led. Had conditions been those of to-day, he would naturally
have drifted into some field of scholarly research,--political science
or history. As it was, he entered law school, which, in 1840, he left
to take up the practice of his profession. But Dana had not the tact,
the personal magnetism, or the business sagacity to make a brilliant
success before the bar. Despite the fact that he had become a master
of legal theory, an authority upon international questions, and a
counsellor of unimpeachable integrity, his progress was painfully slow
and toilsome. Involved with his lack of tact and magnetism there was,
too, an admirable quality of sturdy obstinacy that often worked him
injury. Though far from sharing the radical ideas of the
Abolitionists, he was ardent in his anti-slavery ideas and did not
hesitate to espouse the unpopular doctrines of the Free-Soil party of
1848, or to labor for the freedom of those Boston negroes, who, under
the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850, were in danger of deportation to the
South.
His activity in the latter direction resulted in pecuniary loss, social
ostracism and worse; for upon one occasion he was set upon and nearly
killed by a pair of thugs. But Dana was not a man to be swerved from
his purpose by considerations of policy or of personal safety. He met
his problems as they came to him, took the course which he believed to
be right and then stuck to it with indomitable tenacity. Yet,
curiously enough, with none of the characteristics of the politician,
he longed for political preferment. At the hands of the people this
came to him in smallest measure only. Though at one time a member of
the Massachusetts Legislature, he was defeated as candidate for the
lower house of Congress, and in 1876 suffered the bitterest
disappointment of his life, when the libellous attacks of enemies
prevented the ratification of his nomination as Minister to England.
Previous to this he had served his country as United States District
Attorney during the Civil War, a time when the office demanded the
highest type of ability and uprightness. That the government
appreciated this was shown in 1867 by its choice of Dana as one of its
counsel in the prosecution of Jefferson Davis for treason. The
position of legal representative before the Halifax tribunal of 1877,
which met to discuss fishery questions at issue between the United
States and Canada, was given him no doubt in part because of his
eminent fitness, in part as balm for the wound of the preceding year.
But whatever satisfaction he may have found in such honors as time and
ripening years brought to him, his chief joy and relaxation lay in
travel. When worry and overwork began to tell upon him, he would betake
himself to shore or mountains. Upon several occasions he visited
Europe, and in 1859 made a tour of the world. At length, in 1876, he
gave up active life and took residence abroad, with the idea of finding
leisure for the preparation of a treatise on international law. He was
still engaged in collecting his material when, on January 6, 1882,
death overtook him. He was buried in Rome in the Protestant Cemetery,
whose cypresses cast their long shadows over the graves of many
distinguished foreigners who have sought a last refuge of health and
peace under the skies of Italy.
Such a career as his would seem far enough from being a failure. Yet,
in retirement, Dana looked back upon it not without regret. As a
lawyer, he had felt a justifiable desire to see his labors crowned by
his elevation to the bench; as an active participant in public affairs,
he had felt that his services and talents rendered him deserving of a
seat in Congress. Lacking these things, he might have hoped that the
practice of his profession would yield him a fortune. Here again he
was disappointed. In seeking the fulfillment of his ambitions, he was
always on the high road to success; he never quite arrived.
It is remarkable that, having written one successful book, Dana did not
seek further reward as a man of letters. Two Years before the Mast
appeared in 1840, while its author was still a law student. Though at
the time it created no great stir in the United States, it was most
favorably received in England, where it paved the way for many pleasant
and valuable acquaintanceships. The following year, Dana produced a
small volume on seamanship, entitled The Seaman's Friend. This, and a
short account of a trip to Cuba in 1859, constitute the sole additions
to his early venture. He was a copious letter-writer and kept full
journals of his various travels; but he never elaborated them for
publication. Yet, long before his death, he had seen the narrative of
his sailor days recognized as an American classic. Time has not
diminished its reputation. We read it to-day not merely for its
simple, unpretentious style; but for its clear picture of sea life
previous to the era of steam navigation, and for its graphic
description of conditions in California before visions of gold sent the
long lines of "prairie schooners" drifting across the plains to unfold
the hidden destiny of the West.
California and her Missions
It is not easy to realize that, during the stirring days when the
eastern coast-line of North America was experiencing the ferment of
revolution, the Pacific seaboard was almost totally unexplored, its
population largely a savage one. But Spain, long established in
Mexico, was slowly pushing northward along the California coast. Her
emissaries were the Franciscan friars; her method the founding of
Indian missions round which, in due course, should arise towns intended
to afford harbor for Spanish ships and to serve as outposts against the
steady encroachments of Russia, who, from Alaska, was reaching out
toward San Francisco Bay.
Thus began the white settlement of California. San Diego Mission was
founded in 1769; San Carlos, at Monterey, in 1770; San Francisco, in
1776; Santa Barbara, in 1786. For the general guardianship of these
missions a garrison, or presidio, was in each case provided. It was
responsible not only for the protection of the town thus created, but
for all the missions in the district. The presidio of San Diego, for
example, was in charge of the missions of San Diego, San Gabriel, San
Juan Capistrano, and San Luis Rey. So, likewise, there were garrisons
with extensive jurisdiction at Santa Barbara, Monterey, and San
Francisco.
The Indians in the immediate vicinity of a mission were attached
thereto by a sort of gentle enslavement. They were provided special
quarters, were carefully looked after by the priests, their religious
education fostered, and their innate laziness conquered by specific
requirements of labor in agriculture, cattle raising, and simple
handicrafts. It was an arrangement which worked well for both parties
concerned. The slavery of the Indians was not unlike the obligation of
children to their parents; they were comfortable, well behaved, and for
the most part contented with the rule of the friars, who, on their
side, began to accumulate considerable wealth from the well-directed
efforts of their charges.
The supposition was that in the course of years the Indians might
become so habituated to thrift and industry as to be released from
supervision and safely left to their own devices. But that happy
consummation had not occurred when, in 1826, Mexico succeeded in
separating herself from the mother country and began her career as an
independent republic, of which California was a part. Nevertheless,
the greed of politicians suddenly wrought the change which was to have
come as the slow development of years. By governmental decree, the
Indians were declared free of obligation to the friars; the latter were
stripped of their temporal powers, their funds seized under the guise
of a loan, and their establishments often subjected to what was little
short of pillage. This state of affairs had scarcely begun at the time
of the author's visit to California; still, as he points out in Chapter
XXI, the decline of the missions had already set in.
The final blow to their power and usefulness came, however, with the
upheaval accompanying the Mexican war and the acquisition of California
by the United States. Although this country returned all mission
buildings to the control of the Church, their reason for being had
vanished; they were sold, or destroyed, or feebly maintained on funds
insufficient to forestall dilapidation. Fortunately the Franciscan
friars had built for beauty as well as for use; the architecture which
they devised in skillful adaptation of their native Spanish type
displayed originality and picturesque charm. Hence, of late years,
Californians have come to feel a worthy pride in the monuments of the
early history of their state, and have taken steps to preserve such of
them as survive. No less than twenty-one are today the goal of the
traveller.
The reader who is interested in pursuing the subject thus outlined will
find its satisfactory treatment in George Wharton James's _In and out
of the old Missions of California,_ a book that combines agreeable
reading with excellent illustrations.
References
The author's life is fully and sympathetically treated in Charles
Francis Adams's Richard Henry Dana. Boston, 1890.
The most exhaustive history of California and the Pacific coast in
general is H. H. Bancroft's History of the Pacific States of North
America. San Francisco, 1882-1888. A briefer work is Josiah Royce's
California. Boston, 1886. Though this book considers mainly the
transition period, 1846-1856, its introduction gives an excellent
survey of earlier years. F. J. Turner's Rise of the New West, which is
volume XIV of the American Nation, New York, 1907, tells the story of
the development of the whole territory west of the Mississippi.
Those who are curious to search out all the items of ship construction
will find them adequately illustrated, under the caption, "ship," in
both Standard and Century dictionaries.
Explanation of Diagram
The following diagram, from which many details have been omitted,
presents sufficient data for an understanding of the more important
nautical terms which occur in the text. A number of other such terms
have been explained in the notes. In omitting reference to many more,
the editor has felt that ovarannotation would turn a straightforward
and interesting narrative into a mere excuse for a nautical dictionary,
and quite defeat the purpose of the book. The author's technical
vocabulary, even when most bewildering, serves to give force and the
vividness of local color to his descriptions. To pause in the midst of
a storm at sea for comment and definition would result merely in
checking the movement of the story and putting a damper upon the
imagination.
Two Years before the Mast affords the teacher a somewhat unusual
opportunity. Few literary works are better calculated to stimulate
inquiry into the remarkable changes which three-quarters of a century
have wrought in the United States. Much profitable class employment in
the drawing of maps and the writing of brief themes dealing with
various phases of the romantic history of California will suggest
itself. The numerous geographical allusions should be traced with the
aid of an atlas.
| --+--
--+-- | |j|
/| | --+--
/ |f| | |i|
/ +-- ---+---
/ /|e| | | |
/ / +--- | | h|
/ / | | ----+----
/a / |d | | | |
/__/ b +---- | | g |
/ /_____|c | \__|____\
/__/ |___| |
\------+----------+-------
\_______________________/
a. Flying jib.
b. Jib.
c. Foresail.
d. Foretopsail.
e. Foretopgallantsail.
f. Foreroyal.
g. Mainsail.
h. Maintopsail.
i. Maintopgallantsail.
j. Mainroyal.
|
|B2
| | |C2
|A2 6--+-- |
3--+-- | 9--+--
| || |
|| | ||
| 5--+-- |
2---+--- |B1 |C1
E --__ |A1 || 8---+---
--__ || | |
--| 4----+---- ||
1----+---- | 7----+---- G __--
| | | __-- /
|A |B |C F __-- \ /
D | | | __-- H\/
------______|________|________|________---------
\_______________________________/
A. Mizzenmast.
A1. Mizzentopmast.
A2. Mizzentopgallant and royalmast.
B. Mainmast.
B1. Maintopmast.
B2. Maintopgallant and royalmast.
C. Foremast.
C1. Foretopmast.
C2. Foretopgallant and royalmast.
D. Spanker boom.
E. Spanker gaff.
F. Bowsprit.
G. Jib boom and flying jib boom.
H. Martingale boom.
1. Crossjack yard.
2. Mizzentopsail yard.
3. Mizzentopgallant yard.
4. Main yard.
5. Maintopsail yard.
6. Maintopgallant yard.
7. Fore yard.
8. Foretopsail yard.
9. Foretopgallant yard.
[Editor: Many more numbered lifts, stays, and braces were left out of
these simplified diagrams. They are intended to be viewed using a
fixed-width font.]
Each mast section is joined to the lower one in two places:
| |
| |
___|_|_
\_____/ Mast cap.
| | |
| | |
| | |
_|_|_|_
\_____/ Trestletree.
| |
| |
Each mast also sports net-like rigging from the lowest trestletree to
the deck. These are called "shrouds".
TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST
CONTENTS
I DEPARTURE
II FIRST IMPRESSIONS--"SAIL HO!"
III SHIP'S DUTIES--TROPICS
IV A ROGUE--TROUBLE ON BOARD--"LAND HO!"--POMPERO--CAPE HORN
V CAPE HORN--A VISIT
VI LOSS OF A MAN--SUPERSTITION
VII JUAN FERNANDEZ--THE PACIFIC
VIII "TARRING DOWN"--DAILY LIFE--"GOING AFT"--CALIFORNIA
IX CALIFORNIA--A SOUTH-EASTER
X A SOUTH-EASTER--PASSAGE UP THE COAST
XI PASSAGE UP THE COAST--MONTEREY
XII LIFE AT MONTEREY
XIII TRADING--A BRITISH SAILOR
XIV SANTA BARBARA--HIDE-DROGHING--HARBOR DUTIES--DISCONTENT--SAN
PEDRO
XV A FLOGGING--A NIGHT ON SHORE--THE STATE OF THINGS ON
BOARD--SAN DIEGO
XVI LIBERTY-DAY ON SHORE
XVII SAN DIEGO--A DESERTION--SAN PEDRO AGAIN--BEATING THE COAST
XVIII EASTER SUNDAY--"SAIL HO!"--WHALES--SAN JUAN--ROMANCE OF
HIDE-DROGHING--SAN DIEGO AGAIN
XIX THE SANDWICH ISLANDERS--HIDE-CURING--WOOD-CUTTING--RATTLE-
SNAKES--NEW-COMERS
XX LEISURE--NEWS FROM HOME--"BURNING THE WATER"
XXI CALIFORNIA AND ITS INHABITANTS
XXII LIFE ON SHORE--THE ALERT
XXIII NEW SHIP AND SHIPMATES--MY WATCHMATE
XXIV SAN DIEGO AGAIN--A DESCENT--HURRIED DEPARTURE--A NEW SHIPMATE
XXV RUMORS OF WAR--A SPOUTER--SLIPPING FOR A SOUTH-EASTER--A GALE
XXVI SAN FRANCISCO--MONTEREY
XXVII THE SUNDAY WASH-UP--ON SHORE--A SET-TO--A GRANDEE--"SAIL
HO!"--A FANDANGO
XXVIII AN OLD FRIEND--A VICTIM--CALIFORNIA RANGERS--NEWS FROM
XXIX LOADING FOR HOME--A SURPRISE--LAST OF AN OLD FRIEND--THE LAST
HIDE--A HARD CASE--UP ANCHOR, FOR HOME!--HOMEWARD BOUND
XXX BEGINNING THE LONG RETURN VOYAGE--A SCARE
XXXI BAD PROSPECTS--FIRST TOUCH OF CAPE HORN--ICEBERGS--TEMPERANCE
SHIPS--LYING-UP--ICE--DIFFICULTY ON BOARD--CHANGE OF
COURSE--STRAITS OF MAGELLAN
XXXII ICE AGAIN--A BEAUTIFUL AFTERNOON--CAPE HORN--"LAND
HO!"--HEADING FOR HOME
XXXIII CRACKING ON--PROGRESS HOMEWARD--A PLEASANT SUNDAY--A FINE
SIGHT--BY-PLAY
XXXIV NARROW ESCAPES--THE EQUATOR--TROPICAL SQUALLS--A THUNDER STORM
XXXV A DOUBLE-REEF-TOP-SAIL BREEZE--SCURVY--A FRIEND IN
NEED--PREPARING FOR PORT--THE GULF STREAM
XXXVI SOUNDINGS--SIGHTS FROM HOME--BOSTON HARBOR--LEAVING THE SHIP
CONCLUDING CHAPTER
PREFACE
I am unwilling to present this narrative to the public without a few
words in explanation of my reasons for publishing it. Since Mr.
Cooper's Pilot and Red Rover, there have been so many stories of
sea-life written, that I should really think it unjustifiable in me to
add one to the number without being able to give reasons in some
measure warranting me in so doing.
With the single exception, as I am quite confident, of Mr. Ames's
entertaining, but hasty and desultory work, called "Mariner's
Sketches," all the books professing to give life at sea have been
written by persons who have gained their experience as naval officers,
or passengers, and of these, there are very few which are intended to
be taken as narratives of facts.
Now, in the first place, the whole course of life, and daily duties,
the discipline, habits and customs of a man-of-war are very different
from those of the merchant service; and in the next place, however
entertaining and well written these books may be, and however
accurately they may give sea-life as it appears to their authors, it
must still be plain to every one that a naval officer, who goes to sea
as a gentleman, "with his gloves on," (as the phrase is,) and who
associated only with his fellow-officers, and hardly speaks to a sailor
except through a boatswain's mate, must take a very different view of
the whole matter from that which would be taken by a common sailor.
Besides the interest which every one must feel in exhibitions of life
in those forms in which he himself has never experienced it; there has
been, of late years, a great deal of attention directed toward common
seamen, and a strong sympathy awakened in their behalf. Yet I believe
that, with the single exception which I have mentioned, there has not
been a book written, professing to give their life and experiences, by
one who has been of them, and can know what their life really is. A
voice from the forecastle has hardly yet been heard.
In the following pages I design to give an accurate and authentic
narrative of a little more than two years spent as a common sailor,
before the mast, in the American merchant service. It is written out
from a journal which I kept at the time, and from notes which I made of
most of the events as they happened; and in it I have adhered closely
to fact in every particular, and endeavored to give each thing its true
character. In so doing, I have been obliged occasionally to use strong
and coarse expressions, and in some instances to give scenes which may
be painful to nice feelings; but I have very carefully avoided doing
so, whenever I have not felt them essential to giving the true
character of a scene. My design is, and it is this which has induced me
to publish the book, to present the life of a common sailor at sea as
it really is,--the light and the dark together.
There may be in some parts a good deal that is unintelligible to the
general reader; but I have found from my own experience, and from what
I have heard from others, that plain matters of fact in relation to
customs and habits of life new to us, and descriptions of life under
new aspects, act upon the inexperienced through the imagination, so
that we are hardly aware of our want of technical knowledge. Thousands
read the escape of the American frigate through the British channel,
and the chase and wreck of the Bristol trader in the Red Rover, and
follow the minute nautical manoeuvres with breathless interest, who do
not know the name of a rope in the ship; and perhaps with none the less
admiration and enthusiasm for their want of acquaintance with the
professional detail.
In preparing this narrative I have carefully avoided incorporating into
it any impressions but those made upon me by the events as they
occurred, leaving to my concluding chapter, to which I shall
respectfully call the reader's attention, those views which have been
suggested to me by subsequent reflection.
These reasons, and the advice of a few friends, have led me to give
this narrative to the press. If it shall interest the general reader,
and call more attention to the welfare of seamen, or give any
information as to their real condition, which may serve to raise them
in the rank of beings, and to promote in any measure their religious
and moral improvement, and diminish the hardships of their daily life,
the end of its publication will be answered.
R.H.D., Jr.
Boston, July, 1840.
CHAPTER I
DEPARTURE
The fourteenth of August was the day fixed upon for the sailing of the
brig Pilgrim on her voyage from Boston round Cape Horn to the western
coast of North America. As she was to get under weigh early in the
afternoon, I made my appearance on board at twelve o'clock, in full
sea-rig, and with my chest, containing an outfit for a two or three
year voyage, which I had undertaken from a determination to cure, if
possible, by an entire change of life, and by a long absence from books
and study, a weakness of the eyes, which had obliged me to give up my
pursuits, and which no medical aid seemed likely to cure.
The change from the tight dress coat, silk cap, and kid gloves of an
undergraduate at Cambridge, to the loose duck trowsers, checked shirt
and tarpaulin hat of a sailor, though somewhat of a transformation, was
soon made, and I supposed that I should pass very well for a jack tar.
But it is impossible to deceive the practised eye in these matters; and
while I supposed myself to be looking as salt as Neptune himself, I
was, no doubt, known for a landsman by every one on board as soon as I
hove in sight. A sailor has a peculiar cut to his clothes, and a way
of wearing them which a green hand can never get. The trowsers, tight
round the hips, and thence hanging long and loose round the feet, a
superabundance of checked shirt, a low-crowned, well varnished black
hat, worn on the back of the head, with half a fathom of black ribbon
hanging over the left eye, and a peculiar tie to the black silk
neckerchief, with sundry other minutiae, are signs, the want of which
betray the beginner at once. Beside the points in my dress which were
out of the way, doubtless my complexion and hands were enough to
distinguish me from the regular salt, who, with a sun-burnt cheek, wide
step, and rolling gait, swings his bronzed and toughened hands
athwart-ships, half open, as though just ready to grasp a rope.
"With all my imperfections on my head," I joined the crew, and we
hauled out into the stream, and came to anchor for the night. The next
day we were employed in preparations for sea, reeving studding-sail
gear, crossing royal yards, putting on chafing gear, and taking on
board our powder. On the following night, I stood my first watch. I
remained awake nearly all the first part of the night from fear that I
might not hear when I was called; and when I went on deck, so great
were my ideas of the importance of my trust, that I walked regularly
fore and aft the whole length of the vessel, looking out over the bows
and taffrail at each turn, and was not a little surprised at the
coolness of the old salt whom I called to take my place, in stowing
himself snugly away under the long boat, for a nap. That was
sufficient lookout, he thought, for a fine night, at anchor in a safe
harbor.
The next morning was Saturday, and a breeze having sprung up from the
southward, we took a pilot on board, hove up our anchor, and began
beating down the bay. I took leave of those of my friends who came to
see me off, and had barely opportunity to take a last look at the city,
and well-known objects, as no time is allowed on board ship for
sentiment. As we drew down into the lower harbor, we found the wind
ahead in the bay, and were obliged to come to anchor in the roads. We
remained there through the day and a part of the night. My watch began
at eleven o'clock at night, and I received orders to call the captain
if the wind came out from the westward. About midnight the wind became
fair, and having called the captain, I was ordered to call all hands.
How I accomplished this I do not know, but I am quite sure I did not
give the true hoarse, boatswain call of "A-a-ll ha-a-a-nds! up anchor,
a-ho-oy!" In a short time every one was in motion, the sails loosed,
the yards braced, and we began to heave up the anchor, which was our
last hold upon Yankee land. I could take but little part in all these
preparations. My little knowledge of a vessel was all at fault.
Unintelligible orders were so rapidly given and so immediately
executed; there was such a hurrying about, and such an intermingling of
strange cries and stranger actions, that I was completely bewildered.
There is not so helpless and pitiable an object in the world as a
landsman beginning a sailor's life. At length those peculiar,
long-drawn sounds, which denote that the crew are heaving the windlass,
began, and in a few moments we were under weigh. The noise of the
water thrown from the bows began to be heard, the vessel leaned over
from the damp night breeze, and rolled with the heavy ground swell, and
we had actually begun our long, long journey. This was literally
bidding "good night" to my native land.