AT SEA
My first few days on the ocean were so miserable that I oftentimes
repented of having left my native land. I was, as my new friend Tom
Lokins said, as sick as a dog. But in course of time I grew well, and
began to rejoice in the cool fresh breezes and the great rolling
billows of the sea.
Many and many a time I used to creep out to the end of the bowsprit,
when the weather was calm, and sit with my legs dangling over the deep
blue water, and my eyes fixed on the great masses of rolling clouds in
the sky, thinking of the new course of life I had just begun. At such
times the thought of my mother was sure to come into my mind, and I
thought of her parting words, "Put your trust in the Lord, Robert, and
read His Word." I resolved to try to obey her, but this I found was no
easy matter, for the sailors were a rough lot of fellows, who cared
little for the Bible. But, I must say, they were a hearty,
good-natured set, and much better, upon the whole, than many a ship's
crew that I afterwards sailed with.
We were fortunate in having fair winds this voyage, and soon found
ourselves on the other side of the _line_, as we jack-tars call the
Equator.
Of course the crew did not forget the old custom of shaving all the men
who had never crossed the line before. Our captain was a jolly old
man, and uncommonly fond of "sky-larking". He gave us leave to do what
we liked the day we crossed the line; so, as there were a number of
wild spirits among us, we broke through all the ordinary rules, or,
rather, we added on new rules to them.
The old hands had kept the matter quiet from us greenhorns, so that,
although we knew they were going to do some sort of mischief, we didn't
exactly understand what it was to be.
About noon of that day I was called on deck and told that old father
Neptune was coming aboard, and we were to be ready to receive him. A
minute after I saw a tremendous monster come up over the side of the
ship and jump on the deck. He was crowned with seaweed, and painted in
a wonderful fashion; his clothes were dripping wet, as if he had just
come from the bottom of the sea. After him came another monster with a
petticoat made of sailcloth and a tippet of a bit of old tarpaulin.
This was Neptune's wife, and these two carried on the most remarkable
antics I ever saw. I laughed heartily, and soon discovered, from the
tones of their voices, which of my shipmates Neptune and his wife were.
But my mirth was quickly stopped when I was suddenly seized by several
men, and my face was covered over with a horrible mixture of tar and
grease!
Six of us youngsters were treated in this way; then the lather was
scraped off with a piece of old hoop-iron, and, after being thus
shaved, buckets of cold water were thrown over us.
At last, after a prosperous voyage, we arrived at our fishing-ground in
the South Seas, and a feeling of excitement and expectation began to
show itself among the men, insomuch that our very eyes seemed brighter
than usual.
One night those of us who had just been relieved from watch on deck
were sitting on the lockers down below telling ghost stories.
It was a dead calm, and one of those intensely dark, hot nights, that
cause sailors to feel uneasy, they scarce know why. I began to feel so
uncomfortable at last, listening to the horrible tales which Tom Lokins
was relating to the men, that I slipt away from them with the intention
of going on deck. I moved so quietly that no one observed me; besides,
every eye was fixed earnestly on Tom, whose deep low voice was the only
sound that broke the stillness of all around. As I was going very
cautiously up the ladder leading to the deck, Tom had reached that part
of his story where the ghost was just appearing in a dark churchyard,
dressed in white, and coming slowly forward, one step at a time,
towards the terrified man who saw it. The men held their breath, and
one or two of their faces turned pale as Tom went on with his
description, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. Just as I put my
head up the hatchway the sheet of one of the sails, which was hanging
loose in the still air, passed gently over my head and knocked my hat
off. At any other time I would have thought nothing of this, but Tom's
story had thrown me into such an excited and nervous condition that I
gave a start, missed my footing, uttered a loud cry, and fell down the
ladder right in among the men with a tremendous crash, knocking over
two or three oil-cans and a tin bread-basket in my fall, and upsetting
the lantern, so that the place was instantly pitch-dark.
I never heard such a howl of terror as these men gave vent to when this
misfortune befell me. They rushed upon deck with their hearts in their
mouths, tumbling, and peeling the skin off their shins and knuckles in
their haste; and it was not until they heard the laughter of the watch
on deck that they breathed freely, and, joining in the laugh, called
themselves fools for being frightened by a ghost story. I noticed,
however, that, for all their pretended indifference, there was not one
man among them--not even Tom Lokins himself--who would go down below to
relight the lantern for at least a quarter of an hour afterwards!
Feeling none the worse for my fall, I went forward and leaned over the
bow of the ship, where I was much astonished by the appearance of the
sea. It seemed as if the water was on fire. Every time the ship's bow
rose and fell, the little belt of foam made in the water seemed like a
belt of blue flame with bright sparkles in it, like stars or diamonds.
I had seen this curious appearance before, but never so bright as it
was on that night.
"What is it, Tom?" said I, as my friend came forward and leaned over
the ship's bulwark beside me.
"It's blue fire, Bob," replied Tom, as he smoked his pipe calmly.
"Come, you know I can't swallow that," said I; "everybody knows that
fire, either blue or red, can't burn in the water."
"Maybe not," returned Tom; "but it's blue fire for all that. Leastwise
if it's not, I don't know wot else it is."
Tom had often seen this light before, no doubt, but he had never given
himself the trouble to find out what it could be. Fortunately the
captain came up just as I put the question, and he enlightened me on
the subject.
"It is caused by small animals," said he, leaning over the side.
"Small animals!" said I, in astonishment.
"Aye; many parts of the sea are full of creatures so small and so thin
and colourless, that you can hardly see them even in a clear glass
tumbler. Many of them are larger than others, but the most of them are
very small."
"But how do they shine like that, sir?" I asked.
"That I do not know, boy. God has given them the power to shine, just
as he has given us the power to walk or speak; and they do shine
brightly, as you see; but how they do it is more than I can tell. I
think, myself, it must be anger that makes them shine, for they
generally do it when they are stirred up or knocked about by oars, or
ships' keels, or tumbling waves. But I am not sure that that's the
reason either, because, you know, we often sail through them without
seeing the light, though of course they must be there."
"P'r'aps, sir," said Tom Lokins; "p'r'aps, sir, they're sleepy
sometimes, an' can't be bothered gettin' angry."
"Perhaps!" answered the captain, laughing. "But then again, at other
times, I have seen them shining over the whole sea when it was quite
calm, making it like an ocean of milk; and nothing was disturbing them
at that time, d'ye see."
"I don' know _that_," objected Tom; "they might have bin a-fightin'
among theirselves."
"Or playing, maybe," said I.
The captain laughed, and, looking up at the sky, said: "I don't like
the look of the weather, Tom Lokins. You're a sharp fellow, and have
been in these seas before; what say you?"
"We'll have a breeze," replied Tom, briefly.
"More than a breeze," muttered the captain, while a look of grave
anxiety overspread his countenance; "I'll go below and take a squint at
the glass."
"What does he mean by that, Tom?" said I, when the captain was gone; "I
never saw a calmer or a finer night. Surely there is no chance of a
storm just now."
"Aye, that shows that you're a young feller, and han't got much
experience o' them seas," replied my companion. "Why, boy, sometimes
the fiercest storm is brewin' behind the greatest calm. An' the worst
o' the thing is that it comes so sudden at times, that the masts are
torn out o' the ship before you can say Jack Robinson."
"What! and without any warning?" said I.
"Aye, _almost_ without warnin'; but not _altogether_ without it. You
heer'd the captain say he'd go an' take a squint at the glass?"
"Yes; what is the glass?"
"It's not a glass o' grog, you may be sure; nor yet a lookin'-glass.
It's the weather-glass, boy. Shore-goin' chaps call it a barometer."
"And what's the meaning of barometer?" I enquired earnestly.
Tom Lokins stared at me in stupid amazement. "Why, boy," said he,
"you're too inquisitive. I once asked the doctor o' a ship that
question, and says he to me, 'Tom,' says he, 'a barometer is a glass
tube filled with quicksilver or mercury, which is a metal in a soft or
fluid state, like water, you know, and it's meant for tellin' the state
o' the weather.'
"'Yes, sir,' I answers, 'I know that well enough.'
"'Then why did you ask?' says he, gettin' into a passion.
"'I asked what was the meanin' o' the _word_ barometer, sir,' said I.
"The doctor he looked grave at that, and shook his head. 'Tom,' says
he, 'if I was to go for to explain that word, and all about the
instrument, in a scientific sort o' way, d'ye see, I'd have to sit here
an' speak to you right on end for six hours or more.'
"'Oh, sir,' says I, 'don't do it, then. _Please_, don't do it.'
"'No more I will,' says he; 'but it'll serve your turn to know that a
barometer is a glass for measurin' the weight o' the air, and, _somehow
or other_, that lets ye know wot's a-coming. If the mercury in the
glass rises high, all's right. If it falls uncommon low very sudden,
look out for squalls; that's all. No matter how smooth the sea may be,
or how sweetly all natur' may smile, don't you believe it; take in
every inch o' canvas at once.'"
"That was a queer explanation, Tom."
"Aye, but it was a true one, as you shall see before long."
As I looked out upon the calm sea, which lay like a sheet of glass,
without a ripple on its surface, I could scarcely believe what he had
said. But before many minutes had passed I was convinced of my error.
While I was standing talking to my messmate, the captain rushed on
deck, and shouted:
"All hands tumble up! Shorten sail! Take in every rag! Look alive,
boys, look alive."
I was quite stunned for a moment by this, and by the sudden tumult that
followed. The men, who seemed never to take thought about anything,
and who had but one duty, namely, to _obey orders_, ran upon deck, and
leaped up the rigging like cats; the sheets of nearly all the principal
sails were clewed up, and, ere long, the canvas was made fast to the
yards. A few of the smaller sails only were left exposed, and even
these were close-reefed. Before long a loud roar was heard, and in
another minute the storm burst upon us with terrific violence. The
ship at first lay over so much that the masts were almost in the water,
and it was as impossible for anyone to walk the deck as to walk along
the side of a wall. At the same time, the sea was lashed into white
foam, and the blinding spray flew over us in bitter fury.
"Take in the topsails!" roared the captain. But his voice was drowned
in the shriek of the gale. The men were saved the risk of going out on
the yards, however, for in a few moments more all the sails, except the
storm-trysail, were burst and blown to ribbons.
We now tried to put the ship's head to the wind and "lay to", by which
landsmen will understand that we tried to face the storm, and remain
stationary. But the gale was so fierce that this was impossible. The
last rag of sail was blown away, and then there was nothing left for us
but to show our stern to the gale, and "scud under bare poles".
The great danger now was that we might be "pooped", which means that a
huge wave might curl over our stern, fall with terrible fury on our
deck, and sink us.
Many and many a good ship has gone down in this way; but we were
mercifully spared. As our safety depended very much on good steering,
the captain himself took the wheel, and managed the ship so well, that
we weathered the gale without damage, further than the loss of a few
sails and light spars. For two days the storm howled furiously, the
sky and sea were like ink, with sheets of rain and foam driving through
the air, and raging billows tossing our ship about like a cork.
During all this time my shipmates were quiet and grave, but active and
full of energy, so that every order was at once obeyed without noise or
confusion. Every man watched the slightest motion of the captain. We
all felt that everything depended on him.
As for me, I gave up all hope of being saved. It seemed impossible to
me that anything that man could build could withstand so terrible a
storm. I do not pretend to say that I was not afraid. The near
prospect of a violent death caused my heart to sink more than once; but
my feelings did not unman me. I did my duty quietly, but quickly, like
the rest; and when I had no work to do, I stood holding on to the
weather stanchions, looking at the raging sea, and thinking of my
mother, and of the words of kindness and counsel she had so often
bestowed upon me in vain.
The storm ceased almost as quickly as it began, and although the sea
did not all at once stop the heavings of its angry bosom, the wind fell
entirely in the course of a few hours, the dark clouds broke up into
great masses that were piled up high into the sky, and out of the midst
of these the glorious sun shone in bright rays down on the ocean, like
comfort from heaven, gladdening our hearts as we busily repaired the
damage that we had suffered from the storm.