THE SEA AND ITS LEGENDS.
One of the oldest superstitions connected with the sea is undoubtedly
that which associated peril with the malefic influence of some
individual on shipboard. We find it in the case of the seamen of Joppa,
who, when overtaken by a 'mighty tempest' on the voyage to Tarshish,
said to each other, 'Come and let us cast lots, that we may know for
whose cause this evil is cast upon us.' The lot, as we know, fell upon
Jonah, and after some vain wrestling with the inevitable, the men at
last 'took up Jonah and cast him forth into the sea, and the sea ceased
from her raging.'
Without offering here any comment on, or explanation of, the Scriptural
narrative, let us compare it with the following remarkable story, which
that indefatigable delver after old-world wonders, Charles Kirkpatrick
Sharpe, reproduced.
Somewhere about midsummer of the year 1480, a ship, sailing out of the
Forth for a port in Holland, was assailed by a furious tempest, which
increased to such a remarkable degree for the mild season of the year,
that the sailors were overcome with fear, and gave themselves up for
lost. At length an old woman, who was a passenger by the vessel, came on
deck and entreated them to throw her overboard as the only means of
preserving their own lives, saying that she had long been haunted by an
'incubus' in the shape of a man, from whose grasp she could not free
herself. Fortunately for all parties there was another passenger on
board--a priest--who was called to the rescue. After a long admonition,
and many sighs and prayers, 'there issued forth of the pumpe of the
ship,' says Hollinshed, 'a foul and evil-favoured blacke cloud, with a
mightie terrible noise, flame, smoke, and stinke, which presentlie fell
into the sea, and suddenlie, thereupon, the tempest ceassed, and the
ship passing in great quiet the residue of her journie, arrived in
safetie at the place whither she was bound.'
There is doubtless some association between this class of superstition
and the old Talmudic legend, according to which the devils were
specially angered when, at the creation, man received dominion over the
things of the sea. This was a realm of unrest and tempest, which the
devils claimed as belonging to themselves. But, says the legend,
although denied control of the life that is in the sea, the devils were
permitted a large degree of power over its waters, while over the winds
their rule was supreme.
There is scarcely a current legend or superstition which cannot be
traced to very remote sources. Thus, in the Chaldaeo-Babylonian
cosmogony there was a Triad which ruled the three zones of the
universe: the heaven, by Anu; the surface of the earth and the
atmosphere, by Bel; and the under-world, by Nonah. Now, Nonah is held to
be both the same as the Assyrian Hea, or Saviour, and as the Noah of the
Bible. So when Tiamat, the dragon, or leviathan, opens 'the fountains of
the great deep,' and Anu, 'the windows of heaven,' it is Hea, or Noah,
who saves the life of man.
This legend is supposed by M. Francois Lenormant to explain an allusion
in one of the most ancient Accadian manuscripts in the British Museum to
'the serpent of seven heads, that beats the sea.' This Hydra was the
type of the destructive water-demon who figures in the legends of all
countries.
In the same way, to the Syrian fish deities, Dagon and Artergatis, must
we look for the origin of our Undines and fish-maidens, and mermaidens.
The 'Nixy' of Germany has by some been supposed traceable to 'Old Nick';
but this is not probable, since St. Nicholas has been the patron-saint
of sailors for many centuries. It was during the time of the Crusades
that a vessel on the way to the Holy Land was in great peril, and St.
Nicholas assuaged a tempest by his prayers. Since then he has been
supposed to be the protector of mariners, even as Neptune was in ancient
times; and in most Roman Catholic countries you will find in seaport
towns churches dedicated to St. Nicholas, to which sailors resort to
return thanks for preservation at sea, and to make votive offerings.
The German Nixy was, no doubt, a later form of the old Norse water-god
Nikke. You meet with him again, in another form, in Neckan, the
soulless, of whom Matthew Arnold sings:
'In summer on the headlands
The Baltic sea along
Sits Neckan with his harp of gold,
And sings his plaintive song.'
The 'Nixa' along the Baltic coast was once, however, much feared by the
fishermen. It was the same spirit which appears as the Kelpie in
Scotland--a water-demon which caused sudden floods to carry away the
unwary, and then devoured them.
There was a river-goddess in Germany, whose temple stood at Magdeburg,
of whom a legend exists that she also once visited earth and went to
market in a Christian costume, where she was detected by a continual
dripping of water from the corner of her apron. Generally speaking,
however, the Nixies may be described as the descendants of the Naiads of
ancient times, and as somewhat resembling the Russian Rusalkas, of which
the peasantry live in much dread.
A Russian peasant, it is said, is so afraid of the water-spirits that he
will not bathe without a cross round his neck, nor ford a stream on
horseback without signing a cross on the water with a scythe or knife.
In some parts these water-spirits are supposed to be the transformed
souls of Pharaoh and his host, when they were drowned, and the number is
always being increased by the souls of those who drown themselves.
It is said that 'in Bohemia' fishermen have been known to refuse aid to
drowning persons lest 'Vodyany' would be offended and prevent the fish
from entering the nets.
This 'Vodyany,' however, seems rather a variant of the old Hydra, who
reappears in the diabolical names so frequently given to boiling springs
and dangerous torrents. The 'Devil's Tea-kettles' and 'Devil's
Punch-bowls' of England and America have the same association as the
weird legends connected with the Strudel and Wirbel whirlpools of the
Danube, and with the rapids of the Rhine, and other rivers. Curiously
enough, we find the same idea in The Arabian Nights, when 'The sea
became troubled before them, and there arose from it a black pillar
ascending towards the sky, and approaching the meadow, and behold it was
a Jinn of gigantic stature.'
This demon was a waterspout, and waterspouts in China are attributed to
the battles of dragons. 'The Chinese,' says Mr. Moncure Conway, 'have
canonised of recent times a special protectress against the storm-demons
of the coast, in obedience to the wishes of the sailors.'
The swan-maidens, who figure in so many legends, are mere varieties of
the mer-maiden, and, according to the Icelandic superstition, they and
all fairies were children of Eve, whom she hid away on one occasion when
the Lord came to visit her, because they were not washed and
presentable! They were, therefore, condemned to be invisible for ever.
A Scotch story, quoted by Mr. Moncure Conway, rather bears against this
theory. One day, it seems, as a fisherman sat reading his Bible, a
beautiful nymph, lightly clad in green, came to him out of the sea, and
asked if the book contained any promise of mercy for her. He replied
that it contained an offer of salvation to 'all the children of Adam,'
whereupon she fled away with a loud shriek, and disappeared in the sea.
But the beautiful stories of water-nymphs, of Undines and Loreleis, and
mer-women, are too numerous to be even mentioned, and too beautiful, in
many cases, to make one care to analyze.
There is a tradition in Holland that when, in 1440, the dikes were
broken down by a violent tempest, the sea overflowed the meadows. Some
women of the town of Edam, going one day in a boat to milk their cows,
discovered a mermaid in shallow water floundering about with her tail in
the mud. They took her into the boat, brought her to Edam, dressed her
in women's clothes, and taught her to spin, and to eat as they did. They
even taught her something of religion, or, at any rate, to bow
reverently when she passed a crucifix; but they could not teach her to
speak. What was the ultimate fate of this remarkable creature is not
disclosed.
Everybody, of course, is familiar with the old sea-legend of the _Flying
Dutchman_, whether in stories of phantom ships, or in the opera of
Wagner. The spirit of Vanderdecken, which is still supposed to roam the
waters, is merely the modern version of our old friend, Nikke, the
Norwegian water-demon. This is a deathless legend, and used to be as
devoutedly believed in as the existence of Mother Carey, sitting away up
in the north, despatching her 'chickens' in all directions to work
destruction for poor Jack. But Mother Carey really turns out on inquiry
to be a most estimable being, as we shall presently see.
'Sailors,' says Brand, in his Popular Antiquities, 'usually the boldest
Men alive, are yet frequently the very abject slaves of superstitious
Fear. They have various puerile Apprehensions concerning Whistling on
Shipboard, carrying a Corpse, etc., all which are Vestiges of the old
Woman in human Nature, and can only be erased by the united Efforts of
Philosophy and Religion.'
It is to be regretted, however, that the good Brand did not devote as
much attention to the superstitions of sailors as he did to those of
some other folks.
As is the case with almost all folk-lore, little variety is to be found
in the sea superstitions of different nations. The ideas of the
supernatural on shipboard are pretty much the same, whether the flag
flown be the Union Jack, the German Eagle, the French Tricolor, the
American Stars and Stripes, or even the Chinese Dragon. These
superstitions are numerous, and are tenaciously preserved, but yet it
would not be fair to say that seamen are, as a class, more superstitious
than landsmen of their own rank. The great mystery of the sea; the
uncertainty of life upon its bosom; the isolation and frequent
loneliness; the wonder of the storms, and calms, and lights--everything
connected with a sailor's occupation is calculated to impress him with
the significance of signs and omens.
That mariners do not like to have a corpse on board is not remarkable,
for many people ashore get rather 'creepy' if they have to sleep in a
house where lies a dead body. Moreover, the old idea of bad luck which
led to the throwing overboard of Jonah, is in this case transferred from
the living to the dead. The objection to whistling is also explainable
by the time-honoured practice of 'whistling for a wind,' for an
injudicious whistler might easily bring down a blow from the wrong
quarter.
There are some animals and birds which have a peculiar significance at
sea. The cat, for instance, is generally disliked, and many sailors will
not have one on board at any price. If there is one which becomes
unusually frisky, they will say the cat has got a gale of wind in her
tail. On one part of the Yorkshire coast, it is said, sailors' wives
were in the habit of keeping black cats to insure the safety of their
husbands at sea, until black cats became so scarce and dear that few
could afford to buy one. Although Jack does not like a cat in the ship,
he will not throw one overboard, for that would bring on a storm.
Miss L. A. Smith, in her book about the Music of the Waters, states that
a dead hare on a ship is considered a sign of an approaching hurricane;
and Cornish fishermen declare that a white hare seen about the quays at
night indicates that there will be rough weather.
The pig is an object of aversion to Japanese seamen, and also to Filey
fishermen, who will not go to sea if they meet one in the early morning.
But, indeed, the pig seems to be generally disliked by all
seafarers--except in the form of salt pork and bacon.
Rats, however, are not objected to; indeed, it would be useless to
object, for they overrun all ships. And rats are supposed to leave a
vessel only when it is going to sink. A Welsh skipper, however, once
cleared his ship of them without the risk of a watery grave, by drawing
her up to a cheese-laden ship in harbour. He quietly moored alongside,
and, having left the hatches open all night, cast off with a chuckle in
the morning, leaving a liberal legacy to his neighbour.
The stormy petrel is supposed to herald bad weather, and the great auk
to tell that land is very near. This is true enough as regards the auk,
which never ventures beyond soundings; but one doubts the truth of the
popular belief that when the sea-gulls hover near the shore, a storm is
at hand. The Scotch rhyme runs:
'Seagull, seagull, sit on the sand;
It's never good weather when you're on the land!'
Mr. Thiselton-Dyer quotes from Sinclair's Statistical Account of
Scotland, in confirmation of this belief, that in the county of Forfar,
'when they appear in the fields, a storm from the southeast generally
follows; and when the storm begins to abate, they fly back to the
shore.' This does not accord with the present writer's experience of the
west coast of Scotland, where the sea-gulls frequent the lochs and
hillsides far inland all the summer. Naturally there are storms
sometimes after their appearance, but just as often fine weather
continues. As well say that the flocks of these beautiful birds that
follow in the wake of a tourist steamer, to pick up unconsidered
trifles, presage sea-sickness to the passengers!
One has heard that in Cornwall sailors will not walk at night along
portions of the shore where there have been many wrecks, because they
believe that the souls of the drowned haunt such localities, and that
the 'calling of the dead' is frequently audible. Some even say that they
have heard the voices of dead sailors hailing them by name. One can
readily excuse a timorousness in Jack in such circumstances. Many
persons besides sailors shrink from localities which have been the
scenes of murder or sudden death.
Friday is the sailor's pet aversion, as an unlucky day on which to sail
or begin work. But this is not surprising, when we remember that Friday
has everywhere more superstition and folk-lore attached to it than any
other day in the week, originating, perhaps, as Mr. Thiselton-Dyer
suggests, from the fact that it was the day on which Christ was
crucified. Lord Byron had the superstitious aversion to Friday; and even
among the Brahmins no business must be commenced on this day. In
Lancashire a man will not 'go a-courting on Friday'; and Brand says: 'A
respectable merchant of the city of London informed me that no person
will begin any business, that is, open his shop for the first time, on a
Friday.' The 'respectable merchant' might be hard to find nowadays, but
still one does not need to go to sailors to find a prejudice against
Friday.
Other things which are accounted unlucky by superstitious seamen are: to
sneeze on the left side at the moment of embarking; to count the men on
board; to ask fishermen, before they start, where they are bound for; to
point with the finger to a ship when at sea; to lose a mop or
water-bucket; to cut the hair or nails at sea, except during a storm.
These are a few of the sea superstitions as preserved in rhyme:
'The evening gray, and the morning red,
Put on your hat or you'll wet your head.'
(Meaning that it will rain.)
'When the wind shifts against the sun,
Trust it not, for it will run.'
(That is, soon change again.)
'When the sun sets in the clear,
An easterly wind you need not fear.
'The evening red and morning gray
Are sure signs of a fine day.'
(A distich not peculiar to followers of the sea.)
'But the evening gray and morning red
Makes the sailor shake his head.'
This refers to the barometer:
'First rise, after low,
Indicates a stronger blow.'
And this:
'Long foretold, long last;
Short notice, soon past.'
These, however, are hardly superstitions, but maxims based on
experience. Of the same character are the following:
'In squalls
When the rain's before the wind
Halyards, sheets, and braces mind.'
Also,
'When the wind's before the rain
Soon you may make sail again.'
And
'When the glass falls low,
Prepare for a blow;
When it rises high,
Let all your kites fly.
'A rainbow in the morning,
Sailors take warning;
A rainbow at night
Is the sailor's delight.'
The Manx fishermen have some curious sayings about herrings. Thus the
common expression, 'As dead as a herring,' is due to them. They say
also, 'Every herring must hang by its own gills'; and their favourite
toast is, 'Life to man and death to fish.' They count one hundred and
twenty-four fish to the hundred, thus: they first sort out lots of one
hundred and twenty, then add three to each lot, which is called 'warp,'
and then a single herring, which is called 'tally.' Before shooting the
nets at sea, every man goes down on his knees at a sign from the skipper
of the boat, and, with his head uncovered, prays for a blessing on the
fishing. This, at least, used to be the general practice, but in how
prevailing at the present day is doubtful.
The sound of the death-bell is often supposed to be heard at sea before
a wreck, and this idea may be either associated with the bell-buoy which
marks many sunken, dangerous rocks, or with the religious ceremonies of
the old days.
At Malta it is, or was, usual to ring the church bells for an hour
during a storm 'that the wind may cease and the sea be calmed,' and the
same custom prevails both in Sicily and Sardinia.
A Cornish legend of the bells of a church, which were sent by ship that
was lost in sight of the town, owing to the blasphemy of the captain,
says that the bells are supposed to be in the bay, and they announce by
strange sounds the approach of a storm.
There is a suggestion of Sir Ralph the Rover in this legend; but,
indeed, the superstitions of those connected with the sea are so
interwoven, that it is not easy to disentangle them, and they are
numerous enough to need a book to themselves. No doubt our mariners
derived many of them from the old Spanish navigators who once swayed the
main, for the Spaniards are one of the most superstitious peoples in the
world.