'Why, then, he takes it cheerily!'
A pleasant philosophy this; but we happen to know that sailors do
_not_ take cheerily to 'a life of wo'--they would be more than men if
they did. He talks coolly about times at sea when 'no duty calls the
gallant tars.' We should very much like to know on board what 'old
barkey,' and in what latitude and longitude, this phenomenon happened,
and would have no particular objection to sign articles for a voyage
in such a Ph[oe]nix of a ship; for in all the vessels we ever were
acquainted with, there was never such a thing heard of, as 'nothing to
do.' As to 'Saturday nights' exclusively devoted to pledging
'sweethearts and wives' over a flowing can in the forecastle, we are
sorry to say, we regard that as little better than a poetic myth.
Doubtless, at the time Dibdin's songs were written, sailors sang them
to a considerable extent, for the public enthusiasm would in a way
compel Jack to acquiesce in these eulogies on himself; but the said
Jack never took them fairly to heart--how could he, when every voyage
he made must have given the lie to many of these glowing pictures of
life at sea? And from that time to the present, Dibdin's songs have
gradually been forgotten among seamen, till, at this day, we question
whether there is a foremast--Jack afloat who can sing half-a-dozen of
them; and, probably, not many men aboard merchantmen know more than
one or two songs of the hundred in question, although they may
recollect fragments of several.
Dibdin's songs might be 'worth a dozen pressgangs' for manning the
navy in war-time, and, for aught we can predicate to the contrary,
they may be so again; but we reiterate our conviction, that they never
caused sailors to ship aboard a man-o'-war. Landsmen might volunteer
by scores through the influence of such stirring, patriotic ditties;
but seamen, who 'knew the ropes,' would never be induced to ship
through their agency.
Dibdin does ample justice to the bravery, the generosity, the
good-humour, the kind-heartedness of sailors; and, as a class, they
deserve his encomiums. His songs abound with just and noble
sentiments, and manly virtues were never more constantly and
strikingly enunciated by any author. We dearly love Charles Dibdin for
this; and as a writer of popular lyrics, we class him as the very
first England has ever produced. In this department of literature, we
consider he holds the same place in England as Burns does in Scotland;
Béranger, in France; Freiligrath, in Germany; and Hans Christian
Andersen, in Denmark.
The reader will now ask: 'What songs _do_ sailors sing?' We answer,
that their favourite _sea_-songs[5] are the most dismal, droning
doggrel it is possible to conceive; and yet they relish them mightily,
because they are stern matter of fact, and in most instances are
descriptive of a battle, a chase, a storm, or a shipwreck--subjects
appealing powerfully to their sympathies. The following may be taken
as a tolerably fair specimen of the style of the genuine 'sailors'
songs:'--
'It was the seventeenth day of May, in the year 'ninety-six,
Our taut frigate the _Ajax_, she from Plymouth did set sail;
Eight days out, com'd a squall from north-east by north,
And then by four bells, morning-watch, it did freshen to a gale.'
Perhaps the most universally popular song among seamen is _Rule
Britannia_; but in general they do little more than sing the chorus,
and the way in which a crew of tars, when half-seas-over, will
monotonously drawl out 'Britons never, never, never shall be
slaves!'--repeating it over and over again, as if they never could
have too much of a good thing--is highly amusing. We believe that a
decided majority of the songs sang in the forecastle are not sea-songs
at all, but purely land-songs; and, strange to say, the most popular
of these are sentimental ditties, such as were, a score of years ago,
drawing-room favourites! It is very rich to hear 'ancient marineres,'
rough as bears, hoarsely quavering, _I'd be a butterfly!_ or, _O no!
we never mention her_; or, _The days we went a-gipsying, long time
ago!_ They are also very partial to songs about bandits and robbers.
Well, after all, we have often, when in a tight craft, tossing amid
howling billows, complacently repeated--and perchance shall again--the
closing lines of _The Sailor's Consolation_, which, we believe, but
are not certain, Dibdin wrote--
'Then, Bill, let us thank Providence
That you and I are sailors!'