After speaking these coasting crafts, our course was still onward and
homeward. At noon we saw land; it was greeted with three as hearty
cheers as ever swelled American throats. All was bustle and excitement,
and naught but the discipline of a well-regulated ship kept our
enthusiasm within bounds. The watch below, wearied with exertion,
caught the gladsome cry, and, leaping from their berths, hurried on
deck as they were, and, without hesitating at the coldness of the
weather, sprang, half nude, into the rigging, to catch a sight of their
native land. One, more enthusiastic than the rest, made the foretop a
rostrum, and, hatless and shoeless, with his shirt flying in the wind,
he repeated in a loud voice, intelligible above the shrieking of the
gale, the beautiful lines of Sir Walter Scott:
“Lives there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said--
This is my own, my native land;
Whose heart has ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he has turn’d
From wandering on a foreign strand.
If such there be, go mark him well,
For him no minstrels’ raptures swell;
Proud though his title, high his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish could claim,
Despite his power and his pelf,
This wretch, concentered all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And doubly dying shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung--
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.”
Reader, have you ever read these lines before? Of course you have; so
had I before I went to sea; and then with me, as it must have been
with you, they had made my heart beat quicker, and my eye flash with
indignation at the recreant who could unmoved return to his native
shore. But it is impossible to describe our appreciation of the
beautiful text at such a moment as it was now presented to us; and in
the exuberance of our spirits we could have hugged the author to our
breasts and pronounced him sailor in feeling if not in practice. A
change, however, soon came over the spirit of our dreams; the yards
were squared, and, consequently, as we brought the wind aft, we were
enabled to show more canvas to the favoring gale, and in this outlet
we found a vent for our highly wrought feelings: reefs were shaken
out, gaskets cast off in a twinkling, and the yards and sails were
mastheaded, as if by magic, to the music of the merriest homeward bound
song in our category, although our fingers and other extremities were
benumbed with the cold. We were in hopes of getting in this night,
but still we had our misgivings; as, even should we come into close
proximity with Montauk Point, the weather was so boisterous that we
had little hopes a pilot would venture out upon such a night. So,
feeling that should we be necessitated to remain out another night, we
would need rest, our watch went below to seek consolation in Nature’s
great restorer--sleep; but in vain, slumber came not to our anxious
eyes, although wooed by every means in our power. We rolled our eyes,
we counted indefinite units, but all to no purpose; the one idea
preoccupied all our thoughts and forbade the intrusion of Morpheus on
its domain. At 2 o’clock a light-house was seen, which, at first, was
called Montauk light, but the land around it not agreeing with that in
the vicinity of Montauk, after some deliberation, it was pronounced
Fire Island light. This was a damper on all our spirits and dissipated
our air castles, which had been built with the provision of going
ashore within twenty-four hours; and long faces and dolorous sighs
were the attendants upon this decision. After a few minutes of painful
uncertainty, some one, whose memory was more retentive, called to mind
the fact of having seen in a newspaper a notice of the erection of
a new light between Fire Island and Montauk light. This view of the
subject was immediately endorsed by all hands, and a corresponding
buoyancy pervaded all; but as landmark after landmark was passed,
and still Montauk was not to be seen, we gave up all hopes of seeing
New Bedford that night, and were fearful that that much wished for
occasion might not occur for a fortnight or more; as these southerly
winds are not persistent, and no one knows how soon they may leave him
and be followed by a north-easter, which, at this season of the year,
lasts for weeks, and forbids all entrance into our destined harbor.
But just at nightfall, one, who had voluntarily perched himself on the
loftiest look-out on the fore royal mast, sung out, “Light ho!” and we
soon found that at last we had sighted the veritable Montauk Point
and light-house. This was cheering; but no pilot was to be seen, and
our only resort was to shorten sail, heave the ship to, and hang on
as closely as possible to the windward, so as to have no difficulty
in beating up at the approach of daylight. To this end we clewed up
and furled our light sails, reefed and furled the courses, clewed
down and close-reefed the topsails--and bitter work we had of it. The
weather, although not intensely cold to one accustomed to it, to our
tropical sensibilities was frigid; and as, during the day, we had been
enveloped by fog, our canvas was damp and heavy, and not to be handled
in a moment; so that it was a task of time, patience, exposure, and
danger, to reduce the old ship’s canvas to a spread commensurate to the
violence of the gale which now blew from west-north-west. In reviewing
my whole stock of sea experience, comprising over three years of actual
life upon the broad bosoms of four out of the five oceans of the globe,
I can call to memory no time at which I felt more depressed than during
the continuance of this night; not so much from the heaviness of the
gale, for I had weathered scores that were much heavier; not from the
short, breaking, combing sea, which, from being on soundings and in
shallow water, made it but a plaything in the heavy gust, and rendered
it trebly unpleasant, breaking upon and against the ship, keeping her
continually wet and uncomfortable; but this too was a matter of course
to me--I had had my jacket wet a hundred, ay, a thousand times, with
the salted spray of old ocean; nor was it from a sense of danger from
any or all of these combinations; but the wind gradually, yet steadily,
hauling to the northward, occasioned a dead weight; its remaining in
its present quarter, west-north-west, being our only hope of getting
in; and to be lying here within a few miles, almost in sight, of home,
without power to pursue our voyage thither, was a probation by no
means gratifying. I strove to shake off the feeling, calling to my aid
all the resources of manhood; but in vain. I then attempted to gain
some consolation from the old gray-headed seaman, who had for years
followed the coast in all its windings from Newfoundland to Florida;
but he, like me, was under the thrall of the same vague and undefinable
depression, and instead of administering consolation, went off into a
narration of how, time after time, he had made the same light with a
southerly wind, hove the ship to through the night, anticipating a run
in during the next morning, but at dawn the wind came out at north-east
with hail and snow, and for weeks nothing could be done but to lay to
and sweat it out. This was adding gall to wormwood, and the old fellow,
perceiving my lugubriousness, slapped me on the back, and said, “Cheer
up, my hearty! we have weathered many a gale together, and, please God,
we will make port to-morrow, when we can laugh at our forebodings of
to-night.” In this state of mental inquietude, at 11 o’clock at night
I went below, and with a prayer that the wind should favor us at dawn,
I threw myself in my berth, hoping to rid myself of the solicitude in
sleep, but fruitlessly; it was a mere repetition of the afternoon’s
performance. I rolled, tumbled, and almost worried myself into a fever;
several times I caught a moment’s nap, only to be visited by visions
in which the voices of home were calling me, and the outstretched
arms of loved ones, prompted by affection, were extended towards me to
welcome the wanderer home. But in vain did I struggle to reach them,
some invisible agency held me back despite my frantic efforts, and with
the sweat profusely dropping from my reeking brow, parched tongue and
straining eyeballs, I would awake to find it but a dream.
Thus passed the weary hours until 3 o’clock, when on the calling of the
watch I turned out, and took the helm. My attention, of course, was
directed first to the wind. My forebodings were too truly realized.
There it was, from the northwest; and, with gloomy resolution, I
resigned myself to the decree. Our officer of the deck, scarcely a whit
behind me, came to the binnacle for the same purpose. From his anxious
and careworn face I could see that he had experienced no refreshment in
sleep. Sympathizing with him, I forebore remark; but, after satisfying
himself, he turned to me, with a countenance on every line of which
was written mental torture, and in a tone that expressed his feelings,
he said, “There depart all our bright anticipations--God help me to
bear the disappointment!”--and then proceeded moodily to walk the
quarter-deck. Again he came, and related to me that on two former
occasions, in this same delectable month of March, he had been served
in precisely the same way, and wound up by saying, “I shall worry no
more! I am now satisfied that we will not get in before the first of
April; and so we may as well grin and bear it”
Unable to control my own thoughts, I perforce allowed them to run fancy
free, and whilst so engaged paid but little attention to the compass:
intuitively easing the helm when the vessel pitched from the surging of
the waves so as to endanger the spars, and occasionally when warned by
the flapping of the sails raising the wheel to keep her off from the
wind a trifle; until at length an unusually heavy sea, breaking over
the ship and drenching the decks, awoke me from my reverie.
Day had now began to dawn, and casually I glanced at the compass.
Could I be assured that the direction in which the magnetic needle
pointed was correct, or was it a mere phantasy of my overwrought brain!
I rubbed my eyes, and looked again. Could it be possible, or was I
in a lethargy, deceiving myself into a belief in the reality of a
wished-for fact! I shook myself, and stamped my feet, now grown cold
from inaction. Satisfied at length that I was in the perfect possession
of all my faculties, I ventured to glance again at the needle, and then
I received the fullest evidence that I was not deceived. I called the
second mate to me. He at first could scarce credit it--but, there it
was! The wind had hauled two points, and now was west-north-west, and
we had a prospect of delivery from all our somber soliloquies. Hurrah!
The captain was now called (he having gone below for sleep--the two
preceding nights he had been upon deck until utterly worn out). He
came up skeptical, but was soon a convert. “We cannot show much sail,”
said he, “but we will venture a little more. Shake a reef out of each
topsail. Loose the foresail.” (I had now been relieved from the wheel.)
Still she did not go fast enough. “Loosen the jib and spanker.” No
sooner said, than done. I sprang upon the bowsprit and out upon the
jib-boom, skinning my hands fearfully, and receiving a severe blow upon
the head from the jibsheet-block; both, at any other time, sufficient
to make me groan with pain; but now they passed almost unnoticed.
Without faltering, I cast the gasket off. The jib was foul. I had to
lay out, and to overhaul the hoops. It was done. The jib gradually rose
to its proper position. The sheet was then hauled aft by the strength
of the entire crew; but still it was not sufficient. A powerful tackle
was now attached to it, and with the aid of numerous arms (the captain,
cook, and every one else assisting) it was brought flat enough, and
thus secured. Arriving on deck, the clotted blood called my attention
to my lacerated hands; but it was no time to complain. Half-a-dozen
were so wounded. Our skins being dry, parched, and benumbed, the least
contact with any hard material produced an abrasion; which, however, no
one noticed: for the spanker was to be set, more reefs shaken out, and
the staysails loosened.
And, hurrah again! there came the pilot-boat. Now was the time: we
could not lose a minute. “Loosen topgallant-sails and royals!” (We
dared not set them; but should the wind have moderated, we would have
lost no time in casting off gaskets.) A few minutes more, and the
pilot-boat was alongside. “Is there New-Bedford pilot in the boat?” was
our hail. “Aye, aye!” came booming across the water. “Send down a boat,
with a barrel of pork and a tub of tow-line, and he will board you.”
This was soon effected. The pilot entered the boat, now half full of
water; but her crew knew bow to manage her. He was soon aboard the
ship, and without further delay took the command of her.
Captain Sherman’s vocation has gone--his responsibility is over: the
ship is now in American waters, with an American pilot aboard, who
gives his orders to the ever-willing crew. He is obeyed with alacrity,
as long as he makes sail; but no one wants to take any in--neither does
he. He is a perfectly competent man, and fortunately a driver. “Where
are your studding-sails? Pack them on whilst we have a chance. Never
mind a few yards of canvass, or a whole sail. Give them to her. Let her
have all she can spread: the wind may not hold half an hour.”
There she goes!--now she is moving! Block Island is passed. There, off
the beam, frowns Point Judith. Now for Cuttyhunk light. “Go along, old
ship!--cleave the waters, as never you did before. Soon you, as well as
we, will be at rest.”
Nobly did the old barque answer our appeal. She appeared endowed with
life--and, on she goes! The Cuttyhunk light is passed; Clarke’s Point
opens to our view, and some of the crew, who reside in the rural
districts, see familiar landmarks. “There I live,” you hear from one.
“There is the church-steeple--there, the sawmill--there, the almshouse.”
“Hurrah!”--now we near the city. There are new buildings, erected since
we left here. There is a new lighthouse. There is Fair Haven. There
is the shipping at the docks. And now we are closing-in with Clarke’s
Point. The wind is hauling--well, who cares--who cares now? We are
perfectly independent of the clerk of the weather. But we can go only
a few ship’s lengths farther: that is near enough--we are only three
miles from New Bedford.
“Now, then, round in on your weather-braces. Start away tacks and
sheets. Clew up everything. Haul down your jibs and staysails. Start
away your halyards, and let your yards come down by the run. Let the
spanker remain till she comes to the wind. Hard down the helm. Square
the main yard. Brail up the spanker--one minute more. Let go the
anchor.” The heavy cable runs out unimpeded, and once more we have a
firm hold on American bottom!
Our next duty is to furl the sails, and then our engagement is ended:
then we are free to do as we please; then we are released from all
discipline, except that enjoined by self-respect; then we once more
become members of society; then we will discard the blue shirt of
the sailor, and in the midst of long anticipated comforts forget our
manifold hardships and dangers; then we will take the preliminary steps
toward meeting friends and relatives, and in the joy of the moment we
are repaid for much that we have undergone of toil and exposure.
Our job aloft was an arduous one, having carried such a press of sail
up the bay and river, and then when a ship is at anchor she always
swings head to wind--consequently her sails are pressed aft by the
breeze, and it is only by considerable tugging and straining that they
are drawn up to the yard. However, this, like many other unpleasant
duties, could not last for ever. By dint of hauling and tugging, we
accomplished it, and descended to the deck, with the gratifying
consciousness that we should have no more of it to do for this voyage
at least, whatever the future may have in store for us.
Whilst aloft on the maintopsail yard, from which I had a good view
of the bay and the ocean beyond, I asked myself whether I should be
content ashore, or whether it was decreed that I should form one of
that great body of uneasy spirits who gain their livelihood by toil
upon the ocean. All my chequered life for the previous four years
passed in array before me, with its ills and its pleasantries; and,
although the former overbalanced the latter, I could not, without a
sigh of regret, bid farewell to old ocean.
On getting on deck, all hands were busily employed packing and securing
chests, donning their best suits, and making all necessary preparations
for leaving the ship. This leaving the ship was by no means a pleasant
operation. Her sturdy sides had so long afforded us protection from
the storm and wave, that she was endeared to us by a thousand ties.
Every spar and rope in her were as familiar to us as household words,
and each object begat some pleasant reminiscence; but we were too busy
reflecting on dearer objects to allow the old barque’s memory to make
us sad--so we continued our preparations in silence, scarce a word
being spoken, each heart being too full for utterance.
Fifteen minutes after a boat came alongside, which is technically known
as the shark’s boat. In it were the proprietors and agents of all the
outfitting firms of the city, black and white, Portuguese, Germans,
Irish, French, &c., each intent on getting a customer from amongst
our vessel’s crew. They jumped aboard, and endeavored by passing the
bottle around (with which they always go provided, knowing that the
sailor is much more easily gulled when half seas over), to get as
many to go with them to their places of business as possible; at the
same time they readily give their aid in packing and lashing their
customer’s chests, assiduously waiting upon him, and not allowing
him to get out of their sight for a moment--fearful of losing him.
After some little chaffering our chests and selves were all aboard
the boat and were rapidly approaching the city. A large concourse of
spectators had assembled on the wharves, comprising the runners of all
the most miserable and nefarious houses of the town. The captain of
the boat, anxious to disappoint them, ran to another wharf, to which
these harpies speedily conveyed themselves. As soon as we had landed,
each man went with his outfitter, or rather infitter, in order to be
thoroughly renovated in appearance and pocket. Although we landed on
Sunday, we had no difficulty in obtaining clothing, these outfitters
being provided for all such contingencies. After enjoying a thorough
wash, and getting into an entire suit of long togs, or landsmen’s
wearing garments, but little was left of the semblance of sailors to
us, except the rolling gait and embrowned countenances. Our next trip
was to the barber’s, where all superfluous hair was removed from heads
and faces, and a thorough scrubbing operation gone through with; which,
on viewing ourselves in the glass, gave us a pretty good opinion of
our personal qualifications, and we started for a walk. The first
things, of course, that attracted our attention, were the hoops in
female dresses; we had heard marvellous stories of the rotundity of a
fashionably dressed lady, but had never seen one. One of my informants
having told me six months before, whilst we were cruising off the
Island of Madagascar, that it was not unusual for a lady to wear hoops
thirty feet in circumference. In the occupation of mind attendant upon
getting ashore, I had totally forgotten the existence of hoops, but
was astonished at the corpulence of every woman I met, and I thought,
no, I won’t tell you what I thought; but you must imagine yourself in
the same position, and then what would you think? As yet I had not
passed close to a lady with hoops, but in turning the corner of a
street I came in contact with one, and in my endeavors to escape from
my embarrassing position, I made no allowance for the rolling motion
acquired aboard ship, and only made matters worse. In a few minutes,
however, I managed to get clear, though not without getting into the
lady’s arms, or she in mine, I do not now remember which; during said
contact I was convinced that the large size of the ladies was a work
of art and not of nature. This called my wandering memory back to the
descriptions of hoops that I had heard, and henceforth the solution of
the mystery was easy.
Having made such a poor attempt on my first promenade, I returned to
the house, situated on Union Street (I preferred a private house to a
hotel), where also were several other of my shipmates; and in talking
of old times we whiled away the hours, nor thought them irksome. When
evening came and we sat down to supper at the well-spread board,
enlivened by the genial and handsome face of our worthy landlady, we
began to realize what comforts and pleasures we had been deprived of
by our three years’ jaunt; instead of sitting down on a rude chest,
with tin pan and pot before one, and a sheath-knife to carve out the
salt junk that formed the greater part of our repast, here were the
various viands arranged in a clean and neat manner, inviting the
hungry and the gourmand to partake of them. After supper we smoked our
cigars, and, tired with the exercise of the day, retired early, and
enjoyed a night of refreshing slumber, uninterrupted by the hoarse
cry of “Starbowlines, ahoy!” “Eight Bells!” or the still less welcome
one of “All hands turn out and take in sail.” Then, again, each was
comfortably ensconced between clean sheets, on feather beds, totally
distinctive in all their relations from our own straw mattresses,
packed down by three years use, and well-worn, dusky-looking blankets.
All was comfort, and we appreciated it as only men can who for years
have been deprived of the many little et ceteras that make life
bearable.
The succeeding morning I proceeded to the telegraph office and
telegraphed home, receiving an answer that satisfied my fullest
longings. All my immediate family were alive and well; but such was not
the case with some of my less fortunate shipmates--several had lost
fathers, one a mother, others a sister or brother; in fact, there were
few but had to weep for a near and dear one gone, whom in the fullness
of their wishes they had hoped would have been the first to welcome
them home.
My shipmates, I said before, looked different from what they did
aboard ship; but some of them were exceptions to this rule. Several
had nothing coming to them, and could get neither clothing nor money;
pretty hard, was it not, after over three years hard work at sea for
one employer, to land without the wherewithal to purchase a meal’s
victuals.
There is a dark side to the whaling service, and I shall endeavor to
place it before the community in its true character, and I hope that
it may discourage those young men from embarking in it who think that
money can be saved on a whaling voyage, because there is so little
opportunity to spend it.
In the first place, when a green hand engages to perform a voyage,
he knows nothing at all about what clothing he requires. The shark,
perhaps, tells him that the ship, being bound to the Indian Ocean,
there is no necessity for him providing woolen clothing, and palms
off upon him an assortment of blue dungaree raiment, precisely like
the summer suits of the population our city supports at the Blockley
almshouse. One of these suits will last him about a week; but as he
gets into high southern latitudes he finds that he requires woolen
clothing, and goes to the slop-chest, imagining that he can get what he
wants at a reasonable price. If he inquires how much such an article
is valued at, the captain will tell him that he does not know; but,
nevertheless, he must have the clothes, and therefore takes them, and
thus his account goes on increasing during the voyage. Just before
the ship returns home, his bill is handed to him by the captain, and
what is his dismay to discover that he is indebted to the owners
of the slop-chest, one hundred dollars, or more, independent of the
outfitter’s bill. He finds a woolen shirt is charged to him at the
extortionate price of three dollars and a half; pumps, worth fifty
cents a pair, at a dollar and a half; the commonest kind of rawhide
boots, five dollars a pair; a frieze jacket, seven dollars; thread, six
cents a skein; and suspenders, such as could be bought anywhere else
for five cents a pair, aboard ship are sold for half a dollar. These
prices are not exaggerated, I copy them from my ship’s bill.
Beside these extortions an additional twenty-five per cent. is charged
on all money advanced in foreign ports by the captain to the crew; six
per cent. interest per annum is our legal rate, and I for one should
not grumble at paying for cash advanced at that rate; but some of our
money we only received seven months previous to our arrival home, and
I cannot but think that a charge of twenty-five per cent. for the use
of money a trifle over six months, is exorbitant and dishonest. Still
there are Shylocks in the world who would absorb the last dollar of
earnings from the sailor, after years of exposure to wind and weather
have rightfully earned for him his scanty wages.
I have not yet finished with the specifications of these overcharges.
The ship is not at home yet, and we only know what the bill aboard
ship amounts to; the recipient of it, although he is astounded at its
amount, adds it and the amount of his outfitter’s bill together, and
consoles himself with the thought that he has forty or fifty dollars
still due him; and thus persuaded, on the arrival of the ship he goes
ashore, confident of being able to pay his board for a week or two,
and have enough remaining to secure him a passage home, he goes up
to the owners and asks for a small sum of money for present wants.
They refuse him, saying that nothing is coming to him. He demands
a settlement. On obtaining it, in the first place he finds that
twenty-five per cent. interest has been charged on his outfitting bill,
next he finds a charge varying from ten to fifteen dollars for loading
and discharging the ship. In many cases, three per cent. for insurance
is packed on, and with these additional items the poor fellow is
brought in debt and knows not what to do. Then the agent claps him on
the shoulder and tells him to cheer up, as another ship will be ready
to sail in a few days, and, if he will sign his name upon her articles,
money and clothing will be advanced to him. Destitute and hopeless,
down goes his name, and a few weeks afterward he is at sea again, bound
on another three or four years’ voyage.
The average number of barrels of oil taken by sperm whalers, during a
four years’ voyage, is twelve hundred; if the ship carries four boats,
a green hand’s lay is the two hundredth part; this will give him six
barrels of oil, worth about forty-five dollars a barrel, amounting to
two hundred and seventy dollars. The ship’s and outfitter’s bills will
amount to at least two hundred and twenty dollars, leaving a residue
of fifty dollars or about a dollar a month over and above personal
expenses.
Even if the ship should get full of oil and return home in two years,
which, by the way, would be a miracle now-a-days, one of her crew
cannot, at the most, make more than half as much as the day-laborer
ashore.
These are facts, and are palpable enough to deter any and all who wish
to go whaling for the purpose of making or saving money; but there is
another class who think whaling must be the most delightful of all
pursuits from its pleasant adventures, its perils, and the facilities
offered by it for seeing foreign lands. This is all extremely
visionary, as any one who has ever made such a voyage will tell you.
All its adventures, and all its perils are matter of fact, stern
realities; for instance, you lower away in the boat, get alongside of
a whale, the boat is stoven and you are obliged to remain in the water
for an hour or two, until you are almost frozen; or if you are in warm
latitudes, with the pleasant reflection that at any minute a shark may
come along and snap off one of your limbs, how much pleasure would such
an adventure yield you? It would do to tell after you got home, to be
sure; and whilst you are telling it, ten chances to one, you will be
more fully reminded of it by a twinge of rheumatism, the sowing of the
seeds of which dates back to the very day of your adventure. No; there
is no fun in going on a whaling voyage; nobody goes a second time but
those who are compelled to; they see no adventure in it--it is the mere
perilling of life and limb to fill ship owners’ coffers.
Then, again, if you go for adventure’s sake, it does not exempt you
from other and more disagreeable duties that your sense of manliness
will revolt at. Go and look at the scavengers at work in the streets of
your native city, and ask yourself how you would like to participate
in their employment. But there is no such work aboard ship, some one
says. I know better; and so does any other sailor who ever was in a
ship where pigs were kept, or where the captain had a dog. Yes! he
knows it, for he has had a thorough acquaintance with such duty; and so
will any one else who is foolish enough to go to sea before the mast,
as a green hand.
Now I think I have presented the subject in its true light, and I will
conclude by advising all young men who can gain a livelihood ashore, to
stay at home. I have been through the mill, and am satisfied to remain;
and in reviewing my whole stock of sea adventures and incidents, I must
say the most pleasant of all is getting home safe, with a chest full
of curiosities, displaying them to appreciating friends, and spinning
yarns descriptive of them. Trusting that all my readers may arrive
as safe at their journey’s end, whether in a voyage to sea or in the
voyage of life, I will bid them adieu; also hoping that, in the perusal
of this book, they have whiled away their hours pleasantly, and gleaned
some little information concerning the whale and his pursuers.
THE END.
Transcriber’s Notes
Errors and omissions in punctuation have been fixed.
Page xi: “Leviathen of the deep” changed to “Leviathan of the deep”
Page 204: “demands a disciplne” changed to “demands a discipline”
Page 208: “a thorough alterative,” changed to “a thorough alternative,”
Page 236: “discrimation in withdrawing” changed to “discrimination in
withdrawing”
Page 258: “are diposed to” changed to “are disposed to”
Page 281: “our own satifaction” changed to “our own satisfaction”
Page 321: “mucular system” changed to “muscular system”
Page 353: “for all deficiences” changed to “for all deficiencies”
Page 408: “straw mattrasses” changed to “straw mattresses”