THE SAILOR-BOY.
For the first few hours at sea, Jerry was little better than a piece of
lumber, in everybody’s way. Nobody told him what to do, and, indeed,
he was pretty diligently employed in watching the quick movements of
the sailors, for the purpose of dodging out of their path. But, with
all his alertness, he was not quick enough to avoid being sometimes
rudely shoved one side, with a muttered imprecation on his head for
getting in the way. The city now began to recede rapidly from view.
The State House dome, the church spires, and the forest of ship-masts
along the water-side, were all that could be distinguished in the city
proper. East Boston, with clouds of smoke ascending from its numerous
foundries, was in full view in the distance; while nearer at hand, on
the right, was South Boston, with its highlands, its large public
buildings, and its many work-shops with tall chimneys. The last sound
that came from shore, was the striking of the church clocks. There
was a brisk north-west wind, before which the brig dashed along at a
rapid rate. Soon they were sailing between two fortresses, situated
on islands about a mile apart, and commanding the only channel by
which large vessels can enter or leave the port. Several other islands
were in sight, on some of which there were large buildings. They
also passed near two light-houses—tall towers built on islands, with
dwelling-houses near by for their keepers. Towards noon, the pilot,
whose business it is to guide vessels in and out of the harbor, took
leave of the brig, and returned to port in a small sail-boat. But
little land was now in sight, and the broad ocean, dotted with white
sails, was spread out before them.
The sun shone pleasantly upon the waters, but the wind was raw and
cold, and Jerry began to realize that he must stir about to keep warm.
He was slowly sauntering along, to see for the fiftieth time if he
could find anything to do, when he was accosted in a rough voice by one
of the men, who said:—
“Here, you land-lubber, did you ship for a gentleman, or a figure-head,
or what do you mean to do with yourself?”
“I mean to do my duty, if anybody will tell me what it is,” replied
Jerry, who did not like the tone in which he was addressed, and
answered accordingly. The surly manner in which this was said, was more
objectionable than the language itself. In an instant, the man to whom
it was addressed (who was the chief-mate), gave Jerry a blow with his
hard fist, which sent the boy reeling across the deck.
“There, you young snapping-turtle,” said he, “that’s your first lesson;
and hereafter look out when you’re spoken to, and give a civil answer,
or I’ll crack your tow-head for you. Now bear a hand here, and clean
out that pig-pen,” he continued, pointing to a shovel and scrubbing
brush standing in one corner.
Pigs and poultry are frequently carried to sea, to furnish a supply of
fresh meat for passengers and sailors; but these particular pigs, to
whose acquaintance Jerry was so summarily introduced, were themselves
passengers, on their way to a foreign land. A small pen had been fitted
up for them on deck, and as cleanliness is one of the cardinal virtues
on ship-board, it was necessary that they should be continually looked
after. And cleaning out a hog-sty was to be Jerry’s first experience
of “a life on the ocean wave!” Had any one at home ordered him to do
such a job, it is very doubtful whether he would have obeyed; but here,
after the lesson he had just received, he dare not refuse or even
hesitate, and so he leaped into the pen, scraped up the filth, and
threw it overboard.
[Illustration: Sea-sickness]
Shortly after Jerry had completed this useful but most unromantic
task, he began to grow ill. His stomach rolled and pitched with the
brig, and his head was light and dizzy. When he walked he reeled like
a drunken man, and the deck seemed about to fly up into his face.
Every moment, his sensations became more distressing. He laid himself
down in a sheltered part of the deck, but found no relief. His pale,
wo-be-gone countenance bore the impress of his misery. O, how he wished
he was once more on shore! How he cursed in his heart the hour that he
turned his wayward steps from Brookdale! As the motion of the vessel
rolled him about like a log, he almost wished that it might pitch him
overboard, and thus put an end to his misery. Should such an accident
happen, it seemed to him he would not lift a finger to escape a watery
grave. Such thoughts as these were passing through the brain of the
sea-sick boy, when some one stole slyly up behind him, and dropped a
large piece of greasy salt pork almost directly into his mouth. Any
fatty substance is very disagreeable to a sea-sick person; and this
mischievous prank, with the laughter and jibes of the sailors which
followed it, put the climax upon the misery of Jerry. He got upon his
feet, and, clinging to the rail, began to vomit, or “throw up Jonah,”
as the sailors term it. The more he retched, and gagged, and groaned,
the more his tormentors ridiculed him. The most conspicuous among them
was a raw, freckle-faced lad, apparently a little older than himself,
who was now on his second voyage, and was retaliating upon Jerry the
treatment he had himself suffered but six or eight months before. He
it was that dropped the pork into Jerry’s face. The sailors called him
Bob, for they seldom use any but nick-names, and those of the shortest
kind.
Jerry remained upon the deck nearly all the afternoon; and no one,
from Bob to the Captain, took any notice of him, except to laugh at
his condition. Sea-sick people generally get but little sympathy from
old salts. Towards sunset, feeling no better, Jerry asked one of the
sailors if he would please to show him to his bed-room,—for, in his
simplicity, it had never occurred to him that a bed-room, and even a
bed, were luxuries that did not belong to the sea. The old tar, with
the utmost gravity, called out:—
“Come here, Bob,—this ’ere young gentleman wants you to show him the
way up to his bed-room.”
Bob came, and conducted Jerry to the ratlin, or ladder, leading up
the mast,—and told him to “go up two pair of stairs, and knock at the
left-hand door.” If there was anything funny in this, Jerry was too
sick to apprehend it. His good-nature had long since given out; but
now he was getting positively angry, and retorted upon his tormentors
with some spirit. But this only increased their sport and aggravated
his misery. At length, however, they became weary of their bantering,
and one of the sailors, whom they called Tom, led Jerry down into the
forecastle, as that part of the vessel, where the sailors sleep, is
called. This apartment was in the forward part of the brig, immediately
under the deck. It was a small place, barely high enough to stand erect
in, and with no light except what entered at the door-way. Great chests
were strewed around the floor, so that it was difficult to walk without
running into them. The sides of the forecastle were fitted up with
three tiers of what looked like large shelves, with raised edges. These
were the bunks in which the sailors slept. Each man had his own bunk,
which was just large enough to lie down in. Two or three of these bunks
were unclaimed, and Tom told Jerry he could take his choice of them.
But Jerry had come on board without the slightest preparation for sea,
and of course had neither mattress nor blankets, which each sailor is
expected to provide for himself. What was he to do in this emergency?
Luckily for him, Tom happened to have some spare bed-clothing in his
chest; and as he rather pitied Jerry, he offered to let him use it
until he should have an opportunity to furnish himself with an outfit.
Jerry gladly accepted the offer, and taking off a portion of his
clothing, crawled into this narrow, box-like resting-place.
Our young sailor did not enjoy a very sound sleep, on his first
night at sea. The motion of the vessel, the creaking and straining
of the rigging, the noise of the water dashing against the bows, the
dolorous sighing of the wind through the blocks and ropes, the loud,
sharp-spoken orders on deck, and the frequent passing of the seamen
to and from the forecastle, together with his sea-sickness, allowed
him but little repose. Nor did he quite fancy the atmosphere of the
forecastle, which became close and stifled before morning, and was
flavored with various odors, the most prominent of which seemed to
be tar, bilge-water, and tobacco. However, he made out to catch a few
short naps, from one of which, about daylight, he was aroused by a
hearty shake, and ordered on deck. It at first seemed to him that he
had not strength sufficient to arise, but he managed to get upon his
feet, and staggered up on deck, where the mate at once set him to work,
washing down the decks. Weak and sick as he was, he worked at the pump
awhile, the cold water in the meantime running in streams about his
feet, his shoes offering but little resistance to the flood. Then he
was obliged to kneel down and scrub the deck with small stones, called
by the sailors, “holy-stones,” and used at sea for cleaning the decks
of vessels. This laborious employment continued for more than an hour,
and whenever Jerry attempted to relax his efforts in the slightest
degree, he would hear the stern voice of the mate:—
“Bear a hand there, sir,—no skulking here!”
On one occasion, this admonition was enforced by a smart stroke of a
rope’s-end laid over his shoulders. Jerry began to regard the mate as a
monster; and, indeed, he looked upon the officers and men, generally,
as little better than the pirates of whom he had read in some of
his juvenile books. But these men were not so bad as he imagined. It
is stern, rough discipline that makes the hardy sailor; and Jerry’s
initiation was no more severe than that of most boys who go to sea
“before the mast.”
After the deck had been holy-stoned, Jerry made his first meal at
sea,—he having been too sick hitherto to eat anything. His breakfast
consisted of hard ship-bread, cold salt junk, or beef, and rye coffee,
without milk. He ate but little, for the fare was not very tempting,
and his stomach had not yet got accustomed to the ups and downs, the
pitchings, and tossings, and reelings, of a life at sea. He was kept
busily employed, most of the day, in doing various little chores
about the vessel; for being the youngest, he was obliged to run at
everybody’s call. He learned from one of the sailors, during the day,
that the brig was bound for Valparaiso; but this did not give him a
very definite idea of his destination,—for so sadly had he neglected
his geography at school, that he could not tell in what quarter of the
globe Valparaiso was situated, or whether it was a week’s, or month’s,
or six months’ sail from Boston. He also discovered that the name of
the brig was “The Susan.”
Towards the evening of the second day out, the weather grew milder
and the sea more calm. The brig, which had dashed through the water
as if on a race, from the moment they got under headway, now began to
slacken her speed,—and one of the old sailors predicted an “Irishman’s
hurricane,” as a calm is sometimes humorously called. The motion of
the vessel was much less perceptible, and Jerry began to get over his
sea-sickness. He now took some interest in the strange scenes spread
out before him: the level ocean stretching away in every direction,
until it apparently touched the sky; no hill bounding the horizon, and
not a speck of land to be seen. But one other vessel was in sight,
and that was so far off that only the white sails could be discerned,
the hull being hidden from sight by the roundness of the earth.
Dolphins and porpoises were sporting round the brig in a very amusing
manner,—now darting entirely out of water, and now plunging to the
bottom, or scudding along very swiftly near the surface. Occasionally,
a small bird was seen flitting past the vessel, or skimming along upon
the water, in its wake. At first, Jerry took them to be swallows, but
he soon learned from Tom, that they were stormy petrels, or, as the
sailors call them, Mother Carey’s Chickens. The sailors regard these
birds with much superstitious fear, because they appear in greatest
numbers just before a storm, and are besides very singular in their
habits; but the petrels are really very inoffensive birds, and have no
more to do with getting up a tempest than our ducks, geese, swallows,
snow-birds, and other land birds, which are uncommonly noisy and busy
just before a storm. Tom, however, like most sailors, believed the
traditions concerning the petrel, and when he told Jerry they were
messengers of the evil one, they lost none of their interest in the
eyes of the young sailor. At night, while stowed away in his little
bunk, sound asleep, they appeared to him in countless flocks, and he
dreamed that they settled around him in such vast numbers, that he had
to struggle desperately to avoid being suffocated by them.
Thus passed Jerry’s first two days at sea. You would hardly have
patience to follow him through all the long voyage; nor is it
necessary that you should, for the experience of one day was much like
that of another. He found going to sea a very different thing from what
he expected. To be sure, there were at first some pleasant novelties
about it, but these wore away after a while. This was not the case,
however, with the toils and hardships,—which only grew more distasteful
the longer they were continued. The romantic, free-and-easy life of the
sailor, which he had pictured in imagination, he found to be in reality
a life of severe labor, drudgery, exposure, and deprivation. There
were few idle moments for him, even in the most delightful weather. At
daylight, each morning, rain or shine, he must scrub the decks; and
clean out the pig-pen. Next, perhaps, he would be ordered to assist
in shifting sails, and would be obliged to haul rough ropes until his
hands were sore, and his back felt ready to break; then, for an hour or
two, he would be kept hard at work scraping and oiling the masts and
yards,—or be sent aloft with a bucket of tar and grease, called slush,
and, hanging in mid-air, be compelled to dip his hand into the nasty
mixture, and rub down some portion of the rigging or mast. He also had
his own washing and mending to do; and when there was nothing else
to employ his time, he must pick oakum, or make spun-yarn and sennit.
Even at night, he could not claim exemption from toil,—but was liable
at any hour to be turned out by the shrill cry of “All hands, ahoy!” to
face rain or snow, or to feel his way aloft in a gale of wind, and in
pitch-darkness!
There was one thing, however, that Jerry, at first, felt more than
even the hard work and poor fare of his new calling; this was, the
iron discipline to which he found himself subjected. He had never been
accustomed to obey any one, at home; but here, it was prompt, instant
obedience, or a blow. This deep-rooted habit of disobedience, together
with his settled habit of laziness, made his “breaking in” at sea much
more painful than it would otherwise have been. One morning he did not
instantly obey the summons when called up, and, without intending it,
dropped asleep again; a moment afterwards he found himself sprawling
among the chests in the forecastle, every bone in his body aching as
though it had been twitched out of its place. The captain, with one
jerk, had brought him from his bunk to the floor, and accompanied
the act with an imprecation on his eyes, for not turning out when
called. Jerry had to take his turn in watching on deck, at night. One
night he was greatly fatigued, and sitting down on the boom he fell
asleep with his head in his lap. The second mate happened to be on
deck, and seeing the situation of Jerry, he seized the rope’s-end, and
approaching him stealthily, brought it down with all his strength upon
the back and shoulders of the boy. Jerry, in his fright, came near
leaping overboard, and it was a long time before he again took a nap at
the watch. At work, too, a kick, or cuff, or a bit of rope was always
handy, if there was any inclination to skulk. “Hurrah, there! bear a
hand! heave along! heave along!” was constantly sounding in his ears,—a
system of driving which he found anything but agreeable.
Jerry also added unnecessarily to the bitterness of his lot, during
the first few weeks of the voyage, by his surly, insolent manners
towards the sailors. Being treated as inferiors themselves by their
officers, sailors have no opportunity to play the superior except
towards the boys on ship-board, and they are very apt to make the
most of this opportunity. It is best for the boy to submit patiently
and good-naturedly to this petty tyranny; for, if he is saucy or
surly, they show him no mercy. Jerry soon learned this, from his own
experience. He at first bore the treatment of the crew with much
ill-grace; but he was soon cured of this fault, and learned to be civil
and obliging towards them.
In addition to all these troubles and hardships, Jerry found himself
thrown into intimate companionship with men, some of whom were not
only shockingly profane and disgustingly indecent, in their language,
but even boasted of the immorality of their lives. But these evil
influences, though they startled Jerry a little, at first, were not
the things that troubled him;—and yet, with his unformed habits and
principles, they were a thousand times worse for him than all the stern
hardships of the sea.