At daylight, February 1st, we hove in sight of the Isle of St. Helena,
the world-renowned prison-rock of Napoleon Bonaparte, the conqueror of
Europe. At a distance, this isle looked not unlike other isles, despite
its notoriety. As we approached nearer, we found it distinctive in
all its features: high, frowning, and almost barren. A strange thing,
this, for so low a latitude, within the tropics, where Nature dons her
greenest garment, and smiles her sunniest smile: spreading rich and
plentiful productions over the earth’s surface. On approaching still
nearer, we found fortifications erected, which, as far as I am able to
judge, make the island impregnable; though what enemy would care to
take the trouble and expense of an expedition against so worthless an
object, I cannot imagine. After passing this chain of fortifications,
Rupert’s Valley gradually developed itself to our sight, and ensconced
on its narrow bosom we saw the city of Jamestown. From the water this
town presents quite a creditable appearance. The buildings being of
stone, and many of them of goodly size, give an air of solidity and
respectability to it, which I for one did not expect to find. On the
right of the town, viewed from the sea, is the far-famed Jacob’s
Ladder, consisting of I do not know how many steps, hewn out of the
solid rock, which affords the only means of ingress and egress to
the garrison occupying a fort at the summit of the elevation. There
is only a single narrow street laid out in the town--the narrowness
of the valley not admitting of any farther expansion. On the sides of
the acclivities are stone-walls, built for the purposes of travel.
They are wide, and admit of the passage of a vehicle upon them; but
a misstep will entail upon the unfortunate wight who should make it
certain death, as it would precipitate him into an abyss hundreds of
feet in depth. Shortly before our arrival an English seaman on liberty,
who had been carousing, was suddenly seized with the whim of drinking
his brandy on one of these airy places. In pursuance of this phantasy,
he procured a bottle of spirits, and, seating himself on the ledge of
the wall, with his feet suspended over the chasm, he was enjoying his
brandy and his position to his entire satisfaction. He could not be
removed by force, as such a proceeding would be productive of imminent
danger to him and his rescuers, and as he was proof against persuasion,
his shipmates were constrained to allow him to remain in his perilous
position, trusting for his preservation in Providence, who assists the
seaman out of so many difficulties and dangers. For a time he did very
well, and maintained an upright, and consequently a safe position; but,
as the spirits he had imbibed began to operate, his body swayed to and
fro, and finally, whilst about to take another drink from his bottle,
he lost his balance, and was precipitated down, far down, upon the
jagged rocks; from whence his body was taken, mangled almost out of the
semblance of humanity.
There is no harbor here--ships anchoring in an open seaway unprotected
from the winds; but as, during the greater part of the year, this
latitude is only visited by the south-east trade wind, a ship may
lay in this exposed position with impunity. Some twenty vessels lay
at anchor, three of which flew the stars and stripes; one of these
was the Messenger, whose crew was ashore on liberty; another was the
ship Thomas Glover, of Boston, bound home in a few days. The third,
a barque, whose name I did not learn, was in an extremely leaky
condition, and her captain, not wishing to have her condemned here, was
offering one hundred dollars bounty, and twenty-five dollars per month
for each man who would ship aboard to work her home; but if anything
else offers Jack Tar is shy about engaging himself aboard a leaky
ship, where the pumps are to be kept constantly going, day and night,
and, as her semi-water-logged condition renders her unsafe to carry a
press of canvass on, the probability is that a passage in her will be
an extended one. Then by the time she would get on our coast, heavy
weather might be looked for, and it, united with her leaky condition,
would render her anything but a comfortable craft.
The other vessels were English, French, Swedish, and Dutch. Inside of
all lay a number of condemned vessels, amongst them was the barque Ann,
of Sag Harbor, the same vessel we were in company with whilst engaged
in whaling on the coast of New Holland. After we left her she proceeded
to Desolation, where, from heavy weather, she received severe damages,
and, on arriving at St. Helena, a survey was had upon her and she was
condemned. The other condemned vessels lying here are, for the most
part, slavers, captured on the coast of Africa by the British squadron.
It not being our intention to make any stay here, without there was
sufficient freight for home to make it an inducement for us so to do,
we did not anchor, but stood off and on shore on alternate tacks. The
captain lowered away, taking with him the men who came aboard without
an agreement at Port Louis, for the purpose of shipping them before the
American consul. His principal object, however, was to get letters,
which we had directed to be sent here in numberless missives written
many miles to the westward, and on this account St. Helena has been,
for months, the wished-for port. Everybody expecting consecutive
letters filling up the void of the last eighteen months, since which
time none of us have received news of our families and friends, and,
from the many dolorous accounts we have heard of the financial affairs
of the country, everyone is interested to know what bearing such a
crisis had had upon his connections; hence our anxiety. After many
injunctions to send the boat off that night, the captain departed. We
patiently waited until sundown, when, no boat approaching, we began
to be uneasy. An hour later, we were chafing, almost the whole crew
were walking decks in an excited, uneasy manner; and, although they
did not curse the old man, they invoked anything but blessings upon
his head, innocent though he was. Next morning, when the boat arrived,
we found that from some misconception of orders, we should have stood
in, when we stood off, shore; and, consequently, the third mate was
kept chasing us in his boat from nightfall until three o’clock in the
morning, when, giving up the pursuit as hopeless, he went aboard the
Messenger, and, with his wearied crew, turned in.
On the letters being brought forth, I found that I had four; one of
August, 1855, left here by a ship that had carried it about the ocean
for years--the other three were of May, July, and November, 1858;
this last was inexpressibly welcome to me, as it brought everything
down to a comparatively late date, assuring me of a warm welcome home
whenever I did arrive. Of this, however unworthy, I had never doubted;
but it is a weakness of our nature to take delight in the rehearsal of
pleasant facts. The chief topic of interest, after being assured of
the welfare of my connections, and one that astonished and, to some
extent, perplexed me, was the birth of a niece, a child of my younger
brother. This was the first intelligence I had of his marriage, which,
however, was not unexpected; I had looked forward to it as a matter
of course; but that he should be blessed with issue ere I returned,
never once crossed my mind--though why, I know not. At first, I could
scarce believe it; but there it was, in black and white, the plainness
of the chirography forbidding a doubt of its authenticity; so there
was nothing left for me to do but to sit down and acknowledge myself
taken all aback by the intelligence. After a few minutes reflection, I
could not but laugh at my stupidity, or inadvertency, in never having
made a provision in my mind for such a contingency; however, so wags
the world; improbable events are fostered by the imagination, whilst
probable ones are allowed, through inattention, to escape notice.
After having thoroughly read over my letters, I had leisure to think
of my companions. Some, I could see by the expression of the eyes, and
nervous exhilarated step, had received good news from home; others, by
their troubled air, displayed their reception of unwelcome tidings;
whilst those who had received none, either walked alone with compressed
lip and lowering brow, refusing all sympathy, or strove by an affected
gayety to laugh off the carelessness of their people in not writing.
As the reception of a letter from home, by the seaman, after a long
cruise, exhilarates, and encourages him, developing all the best
principles of his nature, so, on the other hand, the least inattention
or slight on the part of his friends, depresses him; and, on arriving
in port where he has long expected intelligence; on being disappointed
he goes ashore and is ready to engage in any dissipation, apologizing
to himself for his departure from virtue, by the reflection that
nobody cares for him, or else they would take the trouble to write
to him. Mark a case in point. One of our crew, a Massachusetts boy
nearly approaching to manhood, had, for months, talked and thought of
nothing but his news and letters from home at St. Helena. He had, to my
knowledge, written some twenty-five letters; heretofore he had received
no letters from home, but thought, of course, they had written, and
their missives were aboard ships we had not seen. Meantime, he had
been at work for months, manufacturing trinkets and other articles
from ivory, for the purpose of presenting them to his friends and
relatives. On arriving at St. Helena, there was not a word or line from
home for him. I never saw a person so depressed; his trinkets were
given away or sold, and he asserted it as his firm determination, when
he did land in the United States, not to go home.
Mothers who wish to keep their sons in the path of virtue, and sisters
who cherish a brother’s memory, when far away upon the sea, would
do well to bear this fact in mind, and be careful to write, so that
at every civilized port the object of their solicitude may receive
intelligence from home; this, by a little inquiry at the outset of the
voyage, can be easily arranged. It does not make so much difference
about the reception of letters at sea, for there but few temptations
to the grosser paths of sin are experienced; but when, after a long
and arduous cruise, his ship enters port, he feels need of relaxation,
and, unless reminded of home and kindred, he easily falls a prey to the
wiles of the courtezan and the publican, who are ever on the alert to
entrap the unwary and inexperienced.
But it is time that I should return to my original topic--the
consideration of the Island of St. Helena and its residents. Not having
had opportunity to go ashore myself, I must see it through the eyes of
others and describe it from their lips. Here comes the boat’s crew; it
consists of six, who, although dressed alike and of the same country,
vastly differ in sentiment. First, we will ask the less refined of
the lot--those two whose reckless, careless air, bespeak them jovial,
hearty fellows, ever ready for a lark without thinking of or caring for
consequences--their answer to my inquiry as to what kind of place it
was, being characteristic of their class (which is largely represented
in the whaling fleet), “That Jamestown is a sailor’s paradise.” “Why
so, my hearty?” “Because there is neither lack of women nor wine.”
We will now turn to the next comer; he is a Western man, from
Milwaukie, Wisconsin, of Scotch parentage, has been with us all the
voyage, and is one of the best and most reliable men in the ship; to
a naturally strong mind, he unites an acute perception of men and
manners, and, withal, a high moral tone pervades all he says and does.
His statement was, that on going ashore he found a stepping-stone, some
twenty feet in width, in front of the town, for the convenience of
boats landing; they pulled to it and landed, but the swell continually
heaving in, rendered it impossible to moor the boat without certainly
calculating on her being stoven; so a couple of the boys, of whom
numbers were swarming along ashore, were entrusted with her, and our
fellows went on a cruise about the town. He described the town as not
unlike other colonial cities, with the usual number of government
buildings, and red-coated soldiery standing guard, as if to keep these
massive stone heaps from escaping. The inhabitants were of all colors,
from black to white, each moving in its particular sphere. The blacks
are slaves, captured by British cruisers, and sent here to labor and
pay the expenses of their capture. Some months since, a cargo of six
hundred of these Africans was landed in Rupert’s Valley; they were
awarded by the Government a twelvemonths’ stay at St. Helena; at the
expiration of the year they were to be sent to the British West Indian
possessions to be disposed of as apprentices. The other inhabitants of
St. Helena are bitterly opposed to the introduction of these creatures
into their quiet island, stating that they are indolent and insolent
to an extreme degree, and are firmly persuaded that the island is a
part of Africa and belongs to them. The inhabitants have petitioned
the queen for their removal, but she has declined complying with their
request.
D.’s principal object in going ashore was to deliver several letters,
which had been handed to him by natives of St. Helena, on board ships
in the Indian Ocean. One of the parties he found, and made a mother’s
heart glad by tidings of the good health of her son; after perusing
it, she loaded the bearer of the missive with thanks. Another party,
for whom he had a letter, was dead; this was from a son who had not
seen home or parents for six years. I heard him speak of his home
and his anticipated return; but, alas! he will find a cheerless
hearthstone--his parents dead, and none but strangers to yield him
sympathy.
These people, or rather those who are natives, are brunettes. A number
of the children, who were on our vessel, seemed to be perfectly at
home upon the water. Their voices are peculiarly sweet, and we were
enlivened by these youngsters singing a number of whaling and naval
songs; and the spirit with which they entered into the performance,
rendered a prophecy of their future callings in life a matter of
certainty and easy augury.
I have before me the St. Helena Almanac for 1858, which contains much
information regarding the island--its trade, and inhabitants. From it I
learn that the population numbers five thousand four hundred and ninety
souls, and to attend to the health of this population, there is but one
doctor of medicine; so here is a fair held for any Yankee disciple of
Esculapius who wishes for employment, and does not object to leaving
home to find it.
The amount of importation for the year 1856, reached the sum of one
hundred and one thousand five hundred and sixty-two pounds, of which
one-fourth was through American whaleships engaged in the South Sea
fishery; the balance was from all parts of the world. The exports
for the same time amounted to twenty-four thousand nine hundred and
twenty-five pounds, twenty-two thousand five hundred and eighty-five
pounds of which was to the United States. These facts show the
importance of the whaling trade to the revenue of the island.
This book also contains information relative to the
government-officers, the various churches, the telegraph department,
&c., of the island; yet, as we are in a hurry to get homeward, we will
not tarry for the consideration of further statistics, but return to
our ship.
On the afternoon of the 2d inst., having ran close in to land, we
were becalmed and in imminent risk of going ashore; but by lowering
the boats and strenuously pulling we managed to get the ship’s head
pointed seaward. A light breeze springing up, we were soon relieved
from our apprehensions. At 6¹⁄₂ o’clock P. M. the captain came off, and
immediately the order was given to square away for home. Every one
at once turned-to with a will: the yards were manned in a twinkling;
studdingsail booms and studdingsail rigging were rigged and rove aloft
and alow, until the masts wore, as it were, an entire sheet of canvass
from the royal yards to the deck, extending twice or thrice our beam,
and assisting to the utmost our expeditious return. But the wind was
aft and light, and our ship by no means kept pace with our impatient
desires. Yet directly onward she made her way, unmarked by incident,
until within a few degrees of the Equator. Here the doldorums (those
pests of the homeward-bound!) occasioned a delay which well nigh again
exhausted our patience. These doldorums are neither one thing nor
the other: they are not positive calms, neither are they gales. For
instance, one may wake at sunrise, find a pleasant breeze blowing, the
wind fair, sky clear, and not a sign in the horizon on which to base
a supposition of change: under this impression he will lounge around,
congratulate himself on the ship’s progress, and occupy his mind with
thoughts of home; but, pausing, he glances to the sails, and finds
them flapping from the scarcity of wind; and awakened from his reverie
by the cheerless booming of the canvass, he directs his attention to
the horizon, and finds haze or clouds in every quarter, portending
squalls, either of rain or wind. A minute later, the flapping sail
is hard aback, with a contrary wind; torrents of rain are falling;
squall follows squall, in rapid succession, each from a different
point--and thus they continue, until, having boxed the compass in
the course of an hour, the ship returns to her former position, and
lazily drags herself along for awhile, when the same scenes re-occur,
and so alternate day after day. For ten days were we in irons, (as
seamen term our situation,) during the whole of which time we made no
more than ten degrees--an average of two and a half miles per hour: a
pace that was far too slow to be easily endured by men who had been
for forty-four months past looking forward to this passage with such
intense interest. No idea of the uneasiness (I can use no better word)
of the crew can be formed by a person who has never witnessed a ship’s
company situated precisely as we were. Every mile--every degree of
the course was accurately measured and counted. All who were capable
might have been seen, with quadrant in hand, taking the sun’s altitude,
working up the ship’s time, comparing one day’s run with another, and
guessing what the performance of the next twenty-four hours would be;
whilst those not possessed of a quadrant watched with peering eyes for
the moment that would reveal the result of the operator’s calculations.
On turning out, before donning their apparel, the first questions of
the watch below, were--how is the wind? how many knots is she going?
what is the latitude? what the longitude?--all delivered in a breath.
If the answer was, “She is going along some eight or nine knots an
hour,” the interrogator took a long inspiration, thus evincing his
relief and inward satisfaction, and would then say, “Pull, girls,
pull!” But if the ship was plunging, and the spars and rigging creaking
from the pressure of their snow-white pinions, he would be delighted;
and, jumping on deck to assure himself that everything was drawing, he
would chuckle forth, in the height of his glee, “Give it to her, old
boy! She is all oak. She knows where she is bound to; so, pack on your
tappa--she will hear it!” If some one remarked that she was heeled down
very much, and sail was being dragged instead of carried, he was hooted
at for a soldier, and sent to the cook to learn seamanship. If the
officer of the deck started away or took in any sail, he was maligned
for a milksop, and fated to hear lots of grumbling, together with the
advice, given to him in an undertone, that he should stay at home, when
he got there, and send his big sister to sea to carry sail for him.
To obviate this uneasiness, many plans were resorted to, and the true
one was at length hit upon: the infallible one of labor. All hands
seemed suddenly transformed into a colony of curiosity-hunters. One
would be seen with a box of shells, cleaning them; another with a
Madagascar spear, polishing it, so as to be presentable; whilst others
had articles of ivory, bone, and wood, and were busily employed in
improving their appearance, so as to render them more creditable to
the donor. Every man in the ship had more or less of this description
of articles; the greater part of which had been constructed aboard
from the jaws and teeth of the sperm whales. Our occupation with
these things continued not only for hours, but for days, and in some
instances whole weeks.
Thus the time glided on, until we found ourselves hurried along by the
northeast trades. These delightful winds we encountered when but two
degrees to the northward of the line; and during their continuance we
had nothing to grumble at, as we had a fair wind and plenty of it.
From the testimony of former voyagers, who had run up and down these
trades, we expected that we would be favored with their continuance
until we should arrive in latitude 23 or 24° north; but in this, like
in most of our other pleasant anticipations, we were disappointed. When
we reached the fourteenth parallel of north latitude, they had almost
ceased; and then, forgetful of their benefits, we grumbled at their
scarce more than ephemeral existence. I well remember the expression
of one of our crew, delivered with approved bitterness of spirit. The
occasion of this was a mid watch at night, when all of the starboard
watch were grouped together by the windlass, discussing our experience
of the variability of the winds, while destined to some port or other
in the course of the voyage. The speaker, having heard the opinions
of several others, stepped into the center of the little knot, and,
with an emphatic gesture of the hand, said: “Shipmates! it is no use
talking: we are fated to meet with nothing but foul winds and head-beat
seas until we get home, and then the bad luck that has kept us company
for the past forty-four months may leave us. But there is, and has
been, a Jonah in the ship the whole voyage, from the time we left New
Bedford. The first we saw of it was in the Eliza Carrew’s coming in
contact with us; next, sperm whaling off New Holland. When bound to
Balli we had a head wind; bound to the Australian Bight we had one of
the dirtiest of dirty passages. To New Zealand we made a first-rate
passage; but, when there, what was our fortune? To get scarce any oil,
and lose one of our best men! Then, bound from there to Hobartown, we
had the wind smack in our teeth for two weeks, when, with a favorable
breeze, we should have performed the run in three or four days. Our
ill-success in whaling to the southward, and on our visit to the
Abrolhas’, is too glaring to need particularization. Our passage to
Mauritius was but a drawl, from the lightness of the winds. In doubling
the Cape we were Jacksoned a week--at the line the same ill-fortune
attended us. Now we have lost the northeast trades a week before we
ought to. Add to these our other malexperiences, such as men falling
from aloft, boats capsized and stoven, a sperm whale’s head lost. And,
to crown all, here we are, bound on to the North American coast in the
worst month of the year, with an unremunerative voyage. Now, in the
name of reason! how any one can expect good luck in the face of this
category I cannot understand: as for myself, I cannot.” And, with a
gloomy shake of the head, the speaker concluded, folded his arms across
his breast, and seemed resigned to the hard fate he had depicted for
himself. His manner, however, was such as to convince the most casual
observer that his was a spirit to combat manfully whatever further
misfortunes might befall us, through accident or any other cause. The
whole bearing of the man, in fact, showed a perfect confidence in the
ability of himself and his shipmates to resist every tide of evil
the great Neptune might send. His enumeration of our ill-successes
heretofore made his argument almost unanswerable; but still I essayed
to administer some consolation by quoting the old adage, “it is always
darkest before day,” and adding that from the fact of our former
misadventures we might reasonably look forward for corresponding good
ones in the future. Yet I awakened no sympathetic chord in the bosoms
of my auditors. My predecessor had something tangible to base his
prediction upon: a something, which, through its familiarity to the
minds of all, appealed directly to their hearts; and, although I took
the other side, I must confess that I myself was almost convinced there
was more probability in his than in my theory. I felt, indeed, that our
past crosses were sure prestiges of still more to come.
It may be supposed by some that such a conversation and prediction
would have a gloomy effect on the minds of persons with such vivid
imaginations as seamen; but, fortunately, (or unfortunately, whichever
it may be,) in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred neither good nor evil
makes any more lasting impression on their minds than water does upon
a duck’s back. For the moment, they become absorbed in the topic of
that moment; but look at them an instant later, you will see the same
careless bearing, and hear the merry jest passed around as gleefully as
ever. Verily, there is need of a “sweet little cherub to sit up aloft,
and keep up a watch over the life of Jack Tar”; for he will not look
out for himself. This very thoughtlessness, however, renders him all
the more useful aboard ship. Many times, if he should pause to think
of the danger to himself in the performance of a particular duty, his
hesitation would bring destruction upon the ship and its inmates. For
instance, it is blowing heavily: a topsail is clewed up--the ship will
not bear it, and the sail is flapping in a manner which will destroy
it in a few minutes, for it is sweeping abaft the yard. (Now this is
the only topsail that can be depended upon in case the ship on arriving
at the coast should be jammed on a lee-shore: for then nothing could be
saved except by its proper management and use.) Jack knows that under
precisely these circumstances hundreds of seamen have been torn from
the foot-rope while in the line of their duty, and hurled into the sea,
when the fury of the elements precluded the possibility of an attempt
to save them. Perchance in his last ship such an accident occurred:
mayhap his messmate was swept from the same yardarm he himself was on.
But he does not stop to think of all this: he springs into the rigging,
climbs to the yard, gets a foothold, and (at every step forced to throw
the sail over his head) arrives at the earing, when his task becomes
comparatively easy. Little by little he gathers up, passing his gasket,
and securing the sail, until all is snugly lashed along the yard in
such a manner that the wind has no effect upon it. His task now done,
he descends to the deck, as if nothing more than the most ordinary
occupation had been his; and he is ready and willing to go aloft again,
if necessity demands it.
It is ever thus at sea. The seaman’s life, day by day, hour by hour,
is exposed to peril, now in one form, now in another: from the heavy
sea sweeping the ship, the unruly canvas, the defective spar. The wheel
may throw and maim him, a stranded rope precipitate him to the deck;
or, in laying out of a tempestuous night upon the jib or flying-jib
boom he may miss his footing: he falls into the sea, the ship passes
over him!--Jack has furled his last sail, and dies far from home and
friends, without a tombstone to mark his resting-place: his body at
the mercy of the wave, whilst his spirit, we hope, ascends to a better
and happier state of existence, where he anchors in a bright haven of
peace, in vivid contrast with his life on earth, or rather on the sea.
God help the sailor! is the prayer of all who wish him well. And God
does help him, or else his would indeed be a comfortless existence.
The Creator gives him a merry heart, and a brave one too. The former
enables him to meet cheerfully the many discomforts incident to his
profession, whilst the latter prevents him from perceiving danger and
destruction in every blast that sweeps the ocean: together, they incite
him to hope almost against hope, and continue his exertions in the
storm, until absolute destruction overwhelms him. Who ever heard of a
seaman’s giving up in despair, even when the merest thread of hope only
remained? None. No, they are manly to the last; and they always have
at least the proud satisfaction of having performed their duty, even
though their exertions were all in vain. The pleasant poetess, Miss
Eliza Cook, has done them but justice, when she says,
“The dark-blue jacket that enfolds the sailor’s manly breast
Bears more of real honor than the star and ermine vest.
The tithe of folly in his head may wake the landsman’s mirth
But Nature proudly owns him as her child of sterling worth.”
Some persons ashore may think that I have allowed my feelings to
carry me away, and that in writing of a class of men, endeared to
me by association and a participation in the vicissitudes of their
everyday life, I have fallen into a rhapsody, or employed rodomontade;
whilst not a few readers will think that I have merely blown my own
horn. Yet I will appeal for corroboration of all I have written to
those who have seen Jack Tar on his proper element: whether, on the
sea, he does not display some of the noblest traits of humanity--not
merely physical excellencies, but high moral qualities? Whether he is
not there the most patient and courageous of human beings? Whether he
does not sing the same in storm or calm, and unflinchingly meet all
hardships with a cheerful spirit? I feel assured that all who have
thus seen him will attest to his good qualities. Ashore he is not the
same creature. The only apology I can offer for his excesses here is,
that such are naturally prompted by the liberation of his buoyant
spirit,--with a hardy frame and hot blood--from a long confinement and
abstinence aboard ship. It is from sheer wantonness that he exults in
the commission of his thousand-and-one frivolities; but which seldom
leads him into the perpetration of any criminal act.
But, let us take a sober second view of this matter, and see whether
Jack’s follies--crimes, too, if you please--are altogether of his own
immoral brewing. Of course there can be no question of this, if we use
the cold-blooded formal argument of the self-sufficient man, which is,
that inasmuch as he, like all the rest of mankind, is a free agent, his
shortcomings and misdeeds must necessarily be voluntary, and therefore
he alone should be held responsible for them. But, I would ask, does
not society in a measure assist in his demoralization? Are not its
respectable avenues closed to the foremast hand? Fathers and mothers
of families, do you, in your philanthropic moods, extend to the seaman
the same warm welcome into your families as you do to the landsman?
Does he, landing in a strange port, find those who take him into the
society of the virtuous, and thus place before him the opportunity of
passing his hours rationally, and so endeavor to prevent his becoming
the victim of irksome idleness, in whose train there usually is such
an execrable brood of ills? No!--I can answer from experience--you do
not. In your stead, out of consideration for his hard earnings, the
harlot and the publican meet him at every landing, and with Judas-like
greetings prevail on him to his destruction.
“Nobody cares for me!” one will hear from at least one-half the inmates
of every forecastle, and in the greater proportion of such cases it is
really too true. If the seaman has no immediate relatives, he finds
those whom he meets ashore solicitous to make his acquaintance only for
the sake of their own profit. To be sure, Seamen’s Homes, Bethels, and
Aid Societies, have done much, very much. God forbid! that I should
say a word that could be construed into a disparagement of the efforts
of these noble and benevolent institutions. But there is something
more than these needed to reclaim the outcast seaman for society, and
teach him truly that he has a character to maintain, as well as an
abiding interest in the commonwealth. In fact, to effect a permanent
amelioration of his condition, he must in his youth be educated and
disciplined with a view to his profession, become accustomed to revere
the ties and restraints of home and society, and be fully imbued with
the principles of national citizenship.
In this humane work, the influence of the gentler sex is vitally
essential. The time has long gone by when the seaman (the American
seaman in particular) was a rude, uncouth being--half fish, half man:
apparelled in a blue jacket and tarpaulin hat; his cheek pouched out
with a great chew of tobacco; his walk a swagger, and his language
redolent of oaths and tar. Such is a picture of Jack that has
been drawn (from time immemorial) by too many authors, whose very
particularizing, however, discloses to the initiated their ignorance
of the subject. Your true sailor, from the general stigma that
attaches to his class ashore, rather inclines to conceal, than make an
unnecessary display of his calling. I have now been afloat almost four
years; in one place or another, met with at least ten thousand seamen,
principally belonging to our mercantile and whaling marine; and,
although closely observing their habits, manners, and peculiarities, I
never saw the original of the false picture above presented--a familiar
one, it is true, to the readers of the yellow-covered nautical romances
of the day. So, ladies, you need not fear, that, in urging you to
extend a cordial greeting to Jack, I desire to favor the introduction
of a boorish clown into your refined circles. But I will leave that to
your own fair judgments. Compare him with the landsman: ten to one, you
will place them on an equality; and, if you have a sparkling of romance
in your character, you will give the Tar the preference.
To your parents, dear ladies, I would particularly address myself,
and say to them: it is your duty (I speak plainly) to hasten this
important matter, by which a noble class of your fellow-men may be
so greatly benefitted, both here and hereafter. Do not fear, that by
the introduction of the sailor into your families, you would nurse an
adder, who would take advantage of your courtesy, and either corrupt
your daughters, or entice your sons from home into his own perilous
pursuit. His high appreciation and admiration of virtue will secure for
the female portion of your family a degree of respect and attention
from him, that would be looked upon by the young bucks of the present
day with wonder and contempt; whilst his plain matter-of-fact and
common-sense descriptions of the sea and its perils, hardships and
pleasures, would divest the subject of the glowing imagery with which
it is clothed by the fertile fancy of your youthful son, and thus
enable him to see it in its true light. If the latter should then,
however, still be anxious to barter the comforts and luxuries of home
for the discomforts and privations of the sea, let him go! He was cut
out for a sailor, and will sooner or later arrive at eminence in the
profession of his well-advised choice.
But how, (methinks I hear you ask,) and by what means, is this good
work to be accomplished? It is quite easy, says another I imagine, to
see and describe the need of such a proceeding; but how is it to be
done? My answer is: I have accomplished what I originally intended,
namely, to indicate the great good to be done by such a movement.
It would be presumption, on the part of so young a man as myself,
to point out the means by which it may be effected. Older and wiser
heads are now engaged in this good work: men of much experience and
pure, active Christianity. But, if these should fail, or wish my
views, I will not hesitate to furnish my opinions and plans at some
future day, and with great pleasure respectfully submit them to their
consideration.