WE CROSS THE LINE.
We were now in the latitudes of burning days, of starry nights, and
bright blue seas. The winds were light, and, as usual near the line,
there was a tremendous swell upon the ocean, which rose in long and
slowly-heaving hills, without foam or ripple--smooth, glassy, and
without sound.
On a lovely night, when the ocean seemed to sleep in the moonshine,
we crossed the equator.
The _Eugenie_ was running with the lee clews eased off--_i.e._, with
a flowing sheet--when Father Neptune came on board, and the usual
unpleasant pranks were played on those who had never passed the
girdle of the world before.
Great preparations had been in progress all day in the forecastle,
and these were perfected under cloud of night. All the crew were on
deck save Antonio, who turned in, having probably a dread of what was
about to ensue, and knowing that he was any thing but a favorite.
Accompanied by the shouts of the crew, and preceded by Will White,
playing "Rule Britannia" on a violin, old Father Neptune was drawn on
a species of hurdle aft to the quarter-deck, where Weston stood ready
to receive him, with his hat in one hand, and a case-bottle of brandy
in the other.
Under an old swab, which had been well dried and curled to make a wig
for the son of Saturn and Vesta, I recognized the
grotesquely-tattooed visage of my friend Tom Lambourne. A cutlass
was stuck in his girdle, and he wore a huge paunch of canvas stuffed
with oakum.
In a gown made by the sailmaker, Ned Carlton officiated as
Amphitrite; and both deities were armed with harpoons, as emblems of
their dominion over the sea.
The attendant Tritons were got up in the same fashion, and all wore
false noses of singular size and great brilliance, with tow wigs, and
long tails.
On Neptune and his goddess receiving a dram, and questioning the
captain about his crew, it was discovered that Antonio and I were the
only two on board who had never crossed the line before; whereupon
the Tritons whooped and danced as they laid violent hands on me. I
submitted to the usual shaving and so forth with a good grace, and
compounded, to avoid other annoyances, for two bottles of brandy, and
ascending to the main-cross-trees, without going through the lubber's
hole. But for the Cubano there was neither ransom, escape, or
outlet; and the poor wretch, in consequence of his mysterious
antecedents, was very roughly handled, the more so that he had
threatened to use his knife if molested.
It was soon trundled out of his hand by one body of Tritons, while
another soused him well with salt water, as he was conveyed past the
long boat, which was lashed amidships, and in which they were
stationed with buckets ready filled.
Held fast on every side, he was brought before the "goddess-born" and
inexorable monarch of the main, who ordered "the Lord Chief Barber at
once to shave him."
Now, as Antonio had rather a luxuriant beard and moustache, the
plentiful application thereto of a compound of tar and slush, such as
we used for greasing the masts, was the reverse of agreeable; but the
stern orders of Neptune, which were bellowed hoarsely through a tin
trumpet, were faithfully and elaborately obeyed, and the contents of
a dirty iron-pot were smeared over the cheeks, beard, and mouth of
the Cubano, by Billy, a mischievous shipboy, with an unsparing hand.
"Demonio! Maldita!" were heard at intervals, and greeted with
laughter; but when he attempted to storm, or swear, the brush--a
reeking tuft of oil, tar, and every horrid grease--was thrust into
his mouth.
The Lord Chief Barber was now commanded to remove this noisome mess
with his razor, and he scraped it off with a piece of hoop, which had
been carefully notched for the purpose--a process which, as it
uprooted sundry thick portions of Antonio's coal-black bristles,
caused him to yell and sputter out hoarse Spanish oaths alternately.
He was again deluged with salt water; and greater severities were
about to be practised upon him, as some of the Tritons cried for "the
ghost of Roberts to come out of the sea;" others, to "smoke him, by
putting his head in the hood of the cook's funnel," when Weston
ransomed him for two bottles of brandy, and he was permitted to slink
away to his bunk, breathing vengeance against all his tormentors.
Grog was again served round, the deck was cleared for a dance, and
the crew footed the hours away in a succession of hornpipes, while
the grim Cubano lay growling in the forecastle. Three cheers for the
Captain, and three more for Marc Hislop, terminated the fun, and all
but the watch retired below.
"They have gone too far with that fellow, as some of us may discover
before the voyage comes to a close," said Hislop, when we were having
a parting glass in the cabin.
"Yes," replied Weston; "he is a dark dog, and though I am not very
rich, I would give a hundred pounds to fathom the mystery of old
Robert's disappearance. Well, here's to our wives and sweethearts at
home."
"I have neither sweetheart nor wife," said Hislop, as he tossed off
his glass; "but I have a poor old mother who loves me as well as
either could do."
Weston's eye wandered to the portraits of his wife and child, to whom
he was tenderly attached, and for whom all his savings, by salary,
tonnage, and hat-money,* were carefully hoarded; for whom, poor
fellow, he tempted the dangers of the great deep, the war of the
elements, and endured the hardships of a sailor's life--his wife, his
little one, and their home--"his all; his sheet-anchor in this world,
and his guide to the next," as I once heard him say, forcibly and
strangely.
* Primage, or "hat-money," is a small allowance paid to the master of
a vessel for the care he takes of the goods with which she is laden.