CROSSING THE LINE.
The greatest holiday at sea is that of crossing the Equator. It is rare
fun to the initiated, but to those who have the process in prospect it
is a cause of sleepless nights and considerable mental anguish.
The time drew rapidly on for the celebration of this holiday on board
the Queer Fish. We were busy making preparations for it, a long time
beforehand. Almost every one was in excellent humor. Our cruise had,
thus far, been eminently successful. We had captured upward of twelve
vessels since our departure from Boston--a period of not more than two
months. The prospect was that, if we should bring the cruise to a
successful conclusion, we would each and all have something snug laid up
at home, with ease and comfort the balance of our lives. So we were in a
most excellent frame of mind for the merry-making that drew nigh.
Stop! There were a few exceptions. If any of you had been on the Queer
Fish for a day or two prior to the passage of the equinox, you would
have noticed, I think, a certain fidgetyness in the manner of both Dicky
Drake and Mr. Adolphus de Courcy, in strange contrast to the general
cheerfulness of every one else. The latter of these individuals, it is
true, would pretend to be exceedingly careless and free-and-easy. He
would be heard to hum the scraps of a great many little melodies and to
whistle scraps of a great many more, but you would notice, upon close
observation, that it was all put on, and that he was in reality faint at
heart.
Poor Dicky Drake hadn't the duplicity necessary for any such
make-believe as this. He began to look miserable from the very moment
that it became known that the equinox was to be passed, and continued to
grow worse from day to day, until the despondency of the poor lad was
positively pitiful, and I secretly promised myself to exert my influence
to render _his_ share of the initiation as light as possible.
There had existed some controversy as to whether Roddy Prinn and his
little chum, Willie Warner, were not also "liable." But they had
succeeded in proving to the satisfaction of Captain Joker, that they had
made the passage from Rio to the Bermudas, and it had eventually been
decided that they were exempt.
There were several others of the crew, who were prospective victims. But
they were genuine sailors, who really took the thing philosophically.
One of them, a little Irishman, by the name of Teddy Tight, swore that
he longed for the day to arrive, and that he didn't sleep "aisy" for
thinking of the fun in store for him.
The preparations we had been and were making, were somewhat extensive.
Everything was prepared beforehand, and we had several rehearsals. Old
Nick was to represent Neptune, and, from the description I have given of
him, you may judge that he suited the character to a T. Bluefish was
chosen for Amphitrite, the wife of the Ruler of the Waves, and, though
he had an unladylike habit of hitching up his skirts whenever he wanted
to use his jack-knife, it was thought that he would go off very
creditably. I was one of the Tritons, whose principal duty, on the
occasion, was to assist at the initiation of neophytes, while Tony
Trybrace, Roddy Prinn and Willie Warner were among the Nereids, who sung
the mystic songs of the ceremony. I can't vouch for the poetic merit of
these musical attempts. One of them was:
"We come from the depths of the ocean
Where Neptune is the king.
And the waves, with their commotion,
Keep time with what we sing.
"Huzza for the flag of the Union,
The Stars and the Stripes of the free
Our flag is the flag of the ocean,
Huzza for the flag of the free!"
I cannot say who was the author of these stanzas, but am compelled to
admit that I should keep exceedingly dark on the subject, if _I_ were
the author.
Another fragment (even worse than that already quoted) ran:
"Father Neptune, he is jolly,
Drink, lads, drink away!
Father Nep. hates melancholy,
Joy reigns at the bottom of the _say_.
"Drink, lads, drink, for Union,
The old flag must have sway,
Father Nep. hates communion,
Down at the bottom of the say."
I reckon the author of these must have been an Irishman; at any rate, no
one can question him as a poet.
Well, the day at length arrived.
According to rules, the novices were kept in strict confinement, till
the performance was ready to commence. The little captain stood looking
on, impatiently waiting for the opening ceremonies.
At eight bells, all was ready. Neptune was in his throne, with a beard
as blue as the sea, and with a great crown of shells and sea-weed strung
round his brows. He had a conch-shell for a breast-pin, and each of his
shoes, or, rather, slippers, were surmounted with a large,
brilliant-hued bivalve.
Amphitrite sat by his side, with her flowing locks--constructed of
oakum--spangled with many varieties of weeds and shells and her long
beard (think of a sea queen with a beard!) daintily braided and plaited
into grotesque ringlets, while her long, blue paper-muslin robe was
intended to have a resemblance to the sea she ruled. The Nereids were
grouped around, looking excessively feminine and bewitching (to a
sailor), with their long hair, and sea-green garments; while we merry
Tritons were rigged in a little more convenient costume, as our work was
to be heavy; but, rely on it, we looked hideous enough.
As the ship's bells struck eight, three of us, at a signal from the
Ruler of the Waves, dove down below, and appeared, a moment afterward,
with Dicky Drake, our first victim.
The poor fellow was almost scared to death. He eyed the various
contrivances, which had been prepared for his benefit, and shuddered
from his cap to his boots.
"Bring forth the culprit!" roared Father Neptune, in a voice of thunder;
and we led the trembling victim before the throne.
"What is his crime?" was the lofty question of the ocean king.
"I ain't done nothin', yer Honor," began Dicky, thinking he might get
off by an eloquent appeal. "Yer see, I was brought up in Salem, I was--a
place as has furnished a great many sailors for yer Majesty's dominions.
It's true I never crossed the line, yer know, but yer see, I almost did
it onc't. It all as happened in this 'ere way. Ole Si Jinkins and I, we
started out on a mackerel fishin' an' got driv' away down south, almost
onto the equator, when a sou'east storm springs up, and sends us back a
joe-kiting. Well, as I was about ter say--"
"Peace!" roared Neptune in a voice of thunder.
"Yes, your Majesty, but yer see--"
"Peace!"
"Oh, yes! Wery good! but, as I was about ter say, the--"
"Peace, or I'll kick yer inter Davy Jones's locker!" was the dignified
interruption, and Dicky stopped short.
"Lead the prisoner to the plank!" was the final order of Neptune.
Visions of "walking the plank" immediately rose up before the wretched
youth, and he began to appeal in heartrending accents.
"But I didn't go an' do nothin', yer know. I was allers exceedingly
respectful and perlite. Onc't on a time, I see'd a feller spit inter the
sea, an' I remonstrated with indignation, because I thought yer Honor
might be averse to tobacco. Yer see--"
"Silence! Lead him to the plank and shave him!" roared the implacable
sea-god, and we led him away.
A great tank of water was situated right in front of the throne, and
between the fore and mainmasts of the ship. Over this was drawn a light
plank of pine. And the tank, we might as well mention now as any time,
was filled with salt water.
Upon this plank we seated our victim, and began to lather him with
soft-soap, without paying any regard to his sight. He gave a wild shriek
as the suds went into his eyes (but he had had fair warning from me to
keep them shut). Then, as my comrade held him fast, I proceeded to
scrape his face with the piece of an iron hoop, which I had picked up
and somewhat sharpened for the purpose. I laid it on as lightly as I
could, but, nevertheless, the performance was so ridiculously painful
that the poor fellow yelled again with agony. For the sharp but gritty
edge of the saw-like razor would grab the few hairs he had on the chin,
and would pull outrageously.
At length the barbering performance was over, and poor Dicky thought
that he had got through the whole passage of the equinox.
But, no sooner was he shaved than the plank was suddenly jerked from
under him, and down he went into the cold sea-water, where he floundered
about fully a dozen seconds before he could scramble out.
He was next submitted to the tumbling apparatus. This was nothing more
nor less than the mizzen-royal in the hands of a dozen men or so, two or
three grabbing each corner, while the victim was tossed into the middle,
where he was flung up and down, now and then letting him down far enough
to give him a good bump against the deck. We finished him up with a
keel-haul. There are two ways of doing this. The old way consisted in
making the victim fast by either ankle, and then flinging him overboard
at the bow, dragging him under the keel, with a rope on either side of
the ship. But this was never resorted to as pastime; in fact, it was
considered the worst of nautical punishments. Victims frequently died
under its infliction. If anything of that kind had been tried under the
Queer Fish, the sufferer would most certainly have had a hard time of
it. For our bottom was completely covered with that small variety of the
carbuncle shell-fish, known to seamen as ship-lice, and any one being
dragged against them, would have been terribly lacerated.
But, of course, nothing of _that_ kind was to be attempted upon such a
merry and good-humored craft as the Queer Fish. _Our_ keel-hauling
simply consisted in making the victim fast by the ankles, and shooting
him out far behind in the wake of the vessel (always making sure that
there were no sharks in the neighborhood), and whisking him back again
before he could well know how wet he was.
Poor Dicky Drake had stood everything else like a man, but his soul
instinctively revolted from keel-hauling--though, to tell the truth, it
was by far the easiest punishment inflicted in our category.
We made fast to his ankles, and swung him over the side, in spite of his
entreaties. The ship was going at a spanking pace--a good eight knots an
hour--as Dicky touched the water at her foaming wake. We let out lively
on the lines, and away he sped, a good fifteen fathoms, from the ship.
He squealed like a stuck pig as he hit the water, but we brought him
back so quick that his head swam.
We then led him up to the throne of Father Neptune, who stretched his
withered hands over his head, blessed him, and proclaimed him a true son
of the sea--made so by his last baptism therein. The victim was then
permitted to dress himself, was given a rousing glass of grog, and in a
few moments felt as merry as a king, quite anxious to laugh at the next
victim. They followed, one after another, amid roars of laughter. Most
of them were old tars, who took the thing as an excellent joke, and we
therefore made little out of them.
At last there were only two victims left. These were Teddy Tight and Mr.
Adolphus de Courcy. The latter was reserved as the last, because we
expected to have the most fun out of him; end the former was kept as
next to last, because we half suspected that his eager anticipation of
the fun that was in store for him was all gammon, and merely put on to
cloak his terror.
In fact it was the testimony of each of his predecessors in the
"ceremonies" that, as his turn came nearer and nearer, Teddy's courage
began to sink until, at last, it was at zero. When we led the doughty
little Irishman on deck, he was as pale as a ghost, and shook like a
leaf.
On being led before the august presence of Father Neptune, however, his
native blarney began to overflow, and excuse after excuse began to be
poured out in a profusion which would have been limitless, if we had not
cut him short.
"Och, yer Honor!" he cried, "w'at has yer Honor got ag'in' sich a poor
little spalpeen as meself? Sure, an' hav'n't I sarved yer Honor well, by
land and by say? Let me off this time, and I'll sarve ye better than
iver. Och, yer Honor, ye must surely remimber me father. He was owld
Barney Tight of Killarney. The way he would lick any one who would dare
to say onything ag'in' yer Honor's character was a caution to the
woorld. An' there was me uncle. Och, an' he was an ixcellent mon, yer
Honor. I see'd him onc't knock the top-lights out of a murtherin'
spalpeen who was afther injurin' yer Honor's reputation. An' there was
my sister--God rest her sowl!--you should 'a' see'd her when she--"
"Silence!" was the gruff reply of the ruler of the waves; and Teddy,
though he kicked and squirmed like an ugly worm on a bodkin, was put
through the necessary course of sprouts in short order, but with a will.
Then Mr. Adolphus de Courcy was led up amid peals of laughter. He had
had the philosophy to strip himself, with the exception of a pair of old
pantaloons, and now appeared on deck with an air of offended dignity,
which made him ridiculous in his present attire.
"What is yer crime?" was the gruff question of Neptune.
Adolphus eyed the venerable figure of the ruler of the waves with a
lofty air of scorn, and did not, at first, deign to reply.
"Yer crime?" bawled the king, seizing his scepter with a menacing
gesture.
"May hit please your hill-favored 'Ighness, has I hain't got hanything
of that kind habout my person, I hain't hable to produce hany."
"You'r' accused of striving to usurp our throne," exclaimed old Neptune,
wrathfully.
"_W'ot!_" exclaimed the astonished cockney, with his breath almost taken
away by the novelty of the charge. "I--I husurp your throne! My dear
hold fellow, I vouldn't 'ave it for ha gift."
"Ha! do yer insult us? Executioners, do your duty!" roared the indignant
monarch.
"Now, 'old hon, hexecutioners," argued the cockney, remonstrating, "let
me warn you not to go han' do hanything so wery rash. Do you 'appen to
know 'oo I ham?"
"Yes, you're the grandson of--the Lord Knows Who," said Father Nep.
"Bless me, now, and 'ow did you know that my grandfather was a lord?
That's wery astonishing, I declare. Wery well, you see I'm considerably
different from halmost all of you fellows, hinhasmuch has I was brought
hup a gentleman, hand was born hin dear hold Hingland, the Hempress of
the Hocean. Now, certainly, your Hexcellency won't be so unfortunately
rash has to hoffend the Hempress of the Hocean by hany hundue
hinterference with one of her favorite sons, while hin the pursuit of
'is peaceful havocation."
The Britisher argued this in his most solemn and impressive style, and
looked, when he was through, as if he thought the argument to be
conclusive. But he roused a new enemy in an unexpected quarter. Scarcely
had he finished his harangue, before Amphitrite (_née_ Bluefish) sprung
from her throne, with a wild yell, and caught him by the hair.
"Who dares to style any other than me the hempress of the briny deep?"
she shrieked in his ear. "Ha! villain, thou art convicted out of thine
own mouth. Usurper, thy time's come! Tritons, do your work!"
"But I protest! I demand ha hinstantaneous release has a Hinglishman on
the 'igh seas! Captain, I happeal to you! This houtrage to Hinglishmen
will be hawfully havenged! I protest--I--"
But he was now on the plank, undergoing the operation of shaving, and
his open mouth received the great brush of lather full between his
teeth, almost choking him, and completely gagging him for some time to
come. Then the plank was whipped from under him, and down he went with
an awful splash into the tub, protesting, amid the shouts of laughter,
something about his being "a chosen son of hold Hingland."
We tossed him in the sail with the jolliest vehemence, but, when the
ropes were being adjusted for the final part of the programme, that of
keel-hauling, he begged off piteously.
"Captain, I shall drown, I know I shall," he pleaded, turning with an
imploring gesture, to Captain Joker, who was enjoying the thing
amazingly. "Captain, I 'ave a natural hantipathy to hanything but 'ot
water. A bath hin my present state of perspiration will be the certain
death of me, I know hit will. Now, please, captain, for the sake of hour
hold and hardent friendship--for the sake--"
But the captain was implacable, and the cockney, though struggling
violently, was swung over the taffrail. He was truly in a melting mood.
The day was hot enough, as you may judge by the latitude we were in, and
the course of sprouts through which we had been rushing our English
victim, had made the sweat come from every pore of his skin. The
revulsion, therefore, as his body hit the coolness of the rushing ocean
stream, must have been very great. As it was, he gave an awful scream,
and floundered like a stranded shark. Away he went, far out from the
stern in the swift wake of the gliding ship. When we drew him in and
landed him safe and sound, once more on deck, he was so overjoyed at his
rescue, that he pretended to have liked his bath.
"Do you know, I henjoyed hit himmensely," he exclaimed.
And when he was dressed, with a good, stiff glass of grog in his hold,
he really was one of the merriest men on the ship.
Well, that ended the ceremonies, but the holiday was not over by any
means. We had an extraordinary dinner, and, after the sun had set and
the bright tropic moon had risen, Snollygoster brought out his violin,
and we had a glorious dance. Grog was freely distributed, and I am
afraid there were a good many heads that felt abnormally large next
morning.