THE SEAMAN'S SUPERSTITIONS
The seamen of the fifties and sixties were grievously
superstitious. They viewed sailing on a Friday with
undisguised displeasure; and attributed many of their
disasters when on a voyage to this unholy act. I have known
men leave their vessel rather than sail on a Friday. The
owner of a vessel who did not regard this as a part of the
orthodox faith was voted outside the pale of compassion.
Then it was a great breach of nautical morals to whistle
when the wind was howling, and singing in such circumstances
was promptly prohibited. If perchance bad weather was
encountered immediately after leaving port, and it was
continuous, the forecastle became the centre of righteous
discussion and intrigue, in order that the reason for this
might be arrived at, and due punishment inflicted on the
culprit who was found to be the cause of all their sorrows.
They would look upon gales and mishaps, no matter how
unimportant, as tokens of Divine wrath sent as a punishment
for the sin of some one of them not having, for example,
paid a debt of honour before sailing. The guilty person or
persons were soon identified, even if they attempted to join
in the secret investigation, and the penalty of being
ostracised was rigidly enforced. It was a hard fate, which
sometimes continued the whole voyage, especially if no
redeeming features presented themselves. The sailor's
calling makes superstition a part of his nature. The weird
moaning of the wind suggests to him at times saintly
messages from afar; and he is easily lost in reverie. He
holds sweet converse with souls that have long since passed
into another sphere, but the hallucinary charm causes him to
fix his faith in the belief that they are hovering about
him, so that he may convey to them some message to transmit
to those friends or relatives who are the objects of his
devout veneration. Yet he ceases to be a sentimentalist when
duty calls him to face the realities of life. An order to
shorten sail transforms him at once into another being. He
usually swears with refined eloquence on unexpected
occasions, when a sudden order draws him from visionary
meditation. Dreams, which may be the creation of
indigestible junk--that is, salt beef which may have been
round the Horn a few times--are realities: privileged
communications from a mystic source. There is great vying
with each other in the relation of some grotesque nightmare
fancy, which may have lasted the twentieth part of a second,
but which takes perhaps a quarter of an hour to repeat;
traverses vast space in a progression of hideous tragedy and
calamitous shipwreck; and is served up with increased
profusion of detail when the history of the passage is
manuscripted to their homes and to their lovers. Here is an
instance of this mania in an unusually exaggerated form. For
obvious reasons it is undesirable that the name of the
vessel, or the captain, should be mentioned here. The
captain had a dream, or, as he stated, a vision, when off
Cape Horn bound to Valparaiso in a barque belonging to a
South Wales port. The vessel had been tossed about for days
with nothing set but close reefed topsails, amid the angry
storming and churning of liquid mountains. One midnight,
when eight bells had been struck to call the middle watch,
there suddenly appeared on the poop the commander, who was
known to be a man of God. He gave the order to hard up the
helm and make sail. When she came before the wind the crew
were puzzled to know the cause of this strange proceeding,
and their captain did not keep them long in doubt. He called
all hands aft, and when they had mustered he began: "Men,
you know I believe in God and His Christ. The latter has
appeared to me in a vision, and told me that I must sail
right back to where we came from; and if I hesitate or
refuse to obey the command the ship and all the crew will
perish." The crew were awestruck; the captain's statement
gave rise to vivid stories of presentiments; while the
luckless craft scampered back to the port where the
unsuspecting owner dwelt. In due course the vessel arrived
in the roads. A tug came alongside, and the captain was
greeted in the orthodox nautical style. The supernatural
tale was unfolded and the tug proceeded to convey the news
of the arrival of the _T----_. The owner would have fallen
on the neck of his captain had he been near. He wept with
uncontrollable joy. His feelings swept him into ecstasies of
generosity. Gifts of an unusual character for captains to
receive were to be conferred upon him, and the owner longed
for the flow of the tide so that his sentiments towards him
might be conveyed in person. "Ah," said he, "how often have
I said that Captain M---- was the smartest man that ever
sailed from a British port! Just fancy, to make the voyage
out and home in two and a half months! It is phenomenal!"
The master of the tug gaped at this local magnate in wonder,
and thought that sudden lunacy had seized him. He blurted
out, "Surely, Mr. J----, you have not lost your reason over
this terrible misfortune?"
"Terrible misfortune?" repeated the impassioned owner. "Is
it a terrible misfortune to make a West Coast voyage within
three months?"
"No," said the burly tug master, "I now see you do not
apprehend the position. I didn't care to say to you that the
captain had a vision off Cape Horn which decided him to
return to this port."
"What?" said the almost speechless potentate. "A vision?
Back here, without being to Valparaiso? My God!--I will
never get over it!"
And in truth he nearly collapsed, business, body, and soul,
over the matter.
The vessel was brought into the harbour. The sanctified
skipper did not receive the promised gifts! The vessel
sailed in a few days without him for the same destination;
and until a few years since he could be seen any day walking
the quay, still holding to the belief that it was the Divine
will he had carried out. This faith was strengthened by the
vessel never having been heard of again after sailing the
second time. I never heard of the owner showing any
vindictiveness to the poor captain, who was, no doubt, the
victim of a strange hallucination.
It would be unfair to impute a monopoly of superstition to
the seafarer. Sailors have superstitions which are not now
exclusively theirs, though they may have been the
originators of them; for instance, placing a loaf of bread
upside down, spilling the salt (and nullifying the mischief
by throwing a few grains over the left shoulder); these, as
well as the leaving of stray leaves and stalks in teacups
are considered sure indications of past or coming events,
even by the large and enlightened public who pass their
lives on dry land. There are few things more comical than to
see the nautical person studiously avoid passing under a
shore ladder. The penalty of it has a terror for him; and
yet his whole life is spent in passing to and fro under rope
ladders aboard ship without any suspicion of evil
consequences. But the landsman's belief in mystic tokens and
flighty safeguards is faint indeed compared with that which
permeates and saturates the mind of the typical sailor. A
gentleman with whom I was long and closely associated held
definite opinions on symbolic apparitions. His faith in
black cats was immovable; but this only extended to those
who actually crossed his path, and to him that was a sign
indicative of good fortune. I have seen him go into
ecstasies of joy over an incident of this kind; and woe unto
the person who interrupted the current of his happiness. He
would curse him with amazing fluency until resentment choked
the power of expression. This same human phenomenon was, in
early life, shipwrecked on one of the hidden shoals with
which the north-east coast abounds, at the very moment when
he was taking from the girdle in the galley a hot cake he
had baked in celebration of his birthday, and as a
precaution against future calamities he ever after wore the
left foot stocking outside in; and although he has passed
through many dangers which nearly ended in disaster, he has
never again been shipwrecked. Hence his faith is unbroken in
the protecting virtue of this mode of wearing that article
of dress, and so is his reverent belief in black cats as
charms against evil fortune. I have never known a person
with a larger sense of genuine humour than this man
possessed, and yet one could never appear to slight _his_
peculiar superstitions without producing a paroxysm of fury
in him. He would watch for the appearance of a new moon with
touching anxiety, and although his finances were very
frequently in a precarious condition, he never allowed
himself to be without the proverbial penny to turn over
under the new moon as a panacea against hidden pecuniary
ills! If, in sailor parlance, a star "dogged the moon," that
was to him a disturbing omen, and great caution had to be
observed that no violation of nautical ethics took place
during the transit. It was never regarded as a transit, but
as a "sign" from which evil _might_ be evolved.
Amidst all this singular piety in externals (for it was
really a species of piety), this typical sailor never gave
up his belief in the efficacy of strong language, which,
among the worst of his class, was frequently indescribable;
and the more eloquent he was in the utterance of oaths the
larger became his conviction that he possessed a gift not to
be acquired by mere tuition. Many years ago, when I was a
very small apprentice boy aboard a brig we had a steward
who was also a sailor of no common ability. His career had
been a long one of varied villainy, he impersonating
alternately a parson and a rich shipowner. In the latter
_rôle_ he succeeded in getting large advances of money from
unsuspecting store, sail, and rope dealers--taking advantage
of a trade-custom which prevails in every port, in return
for which he gave orders, which caused the favoured firms to
be looked upon with envy. They were requested to have these
supplies put aboard four days after the order was given; and
the penalty for not being able to do so was to be the loss
of a very valuable connection. There was much condescension
on the part of the bounteous customer, who "would call again
in two days," and much thanking and bowing and shaking of
hands on the part of the recipients when the time came to
say "Good-day." The stores were duly sent to the docks where
the vessels were lying, but the real owners did not
recognise the person who had given the order as having any
connection with them, whereupon an unhappy dawn broke over
the minds of the unsuspecting victims. Many months elapsed
before the gentleman in question was apprehended and
confronted by the tradesmen to whom he owed a period of
blissful dissipation. Needless to say the meeting was not so
cordial as the parting, though a lack of cordiality could
not be charged against the improvised shipowner. Indeed, to
the great discomfort of his former friends, as soon as an
opportunity was given him, from his position in the
prisoners' dock, he saluted them with playful familiarity;
but this did not prevent him being sent to penal servitude.
He had played many other _rôles_ under many names, but it
was as a parson he prided himself in having met with success
by the startling number of conversions that attended his
efforts. He belonged to a respectable and well-known family,
and their anxiety to have him reclaimed from the vices that
had produced for them so much sorrow induced them to prevail
on his brother-in-law, who was master of a brig, to take him
under his special care; so he was appointed as steward, and
thereby given the opportunity of spoiling much valuable
food, and causing grievous dissension among the crew.
This loathsome creature could only be appealed to through
his superstitions, and even the young apprentice boys soon
discovered his weakness, and terrorised him whenever they
got the chance. One awful morning in November, 1864, the
vessel was hove-to under close-reefed main topsail. All
hands had been on deck during the whole night, which was one
of raging storm and disaster. The decks had been swept, and
the galley carried away in the general destruction, so that
no food could be cooked on deck. The captain gave orders to
the steward to light a fire in the cabin stove, and make
coffee for all hands. He proceeded to do this. The matches,
however, had suffered in the commotion of the night, and
would not ignite. After many futile efforts the steward's
patience gave way; but certain members of the crew had
impressed him with the conviction that the hurricane that
was being encountered and the disasters that had befallen us
were sent as a judgment on _him_ for the blasphemous
language he was accustomed to use at all times, whenever the
slightest thing crossed his devilish nature. He put his
hands on the table, his eyes were upturned, and with a
softness of speech he slowly uttered, "Jesus wept--and so He
might!" Of course he would have preferred a string of oaths
as a relief to his pent-up anger. On the following night the
hurricane still raged, and it was thought that something was
wrong with the maintop-gallant sail. It looked as though it
were blowing adrift. A hand was sent aloft to secure it, but
when half-way up the top-mast rigging, he got on to the
top-mast back stay, and slid down on deck. He was speechless
for some time after reaching the deck. At last he jerkingly
articulated that there was nothing wrong with the sail, but
that which was believed to be sail was really some ferocious
living thing. Whereupon great consternation spread; and
volunteers were asked for to go aloft, and ascertain
precisely what it was. It turned out to be an eagle, and
after considerable difficulty a rope was got round it, and
it was safely landed on deck. It so happened that shortly
after the capture was made a tremendous sea struck the
vessel, causing her to leak badly, and taking the remaining
two boats overboard. This was put down not merely as a
coincidence, but a coincidence that was sent for a purpose,
and every mind was fixed upon the steward. The wretched man
was stricken with panic. His thoughts centred on his past,
and he became an abject drivelling confessionist, emptying
himself of deeds that were awful to listen to, and had been
kept to himself for years. The voyage soon ended, and the
last I heard of him was that he was drinking himself to
death; he had never got over the conviction that the Divine
wrath was upon him.
The sight of a shark is an everyday occurrence in some
latitudes. Nothing is thought of it, and sometimes much
sport is derived in attempting a capture. But should a
vessel be dogged for a succession of days by a shark, or (as
very frequently happens) by a shoal of them, gloom begins to
spread, imaginations begin to widen; whisperings and close
consultations for evil purposes take place; and soon there
has developed an epidemic of melancholia. Conjecture is
rife. The explanation of it all is that these sharks have
designs on human flesh, or they would not follow with such
tenacity. There is much speculation as to how the
unfortunate men are to be delivered into the grip of their
ferocity, and whether the feast will involve the sacrifice
of one or all of them. The more dismal the weather, the more
impressive the danger becomes. Perchance a man falls
overboard, or an accident occurs, no matter which; it is at
once attributed to the proximity of the sharks. "They would
never follow a vessel if they did not know they were to be
rewarded by some tasty recompense." Indeed they were
believed to have supernatural instincts as well as
gluttonous intentions, which filled the sailor with alarm,
and caused him to ponder uneasily over the idea of his last
moments. It did not occur to him that these "slim" followers
kept in close proximity to their vessel so that they might
partake of the food that was daily cast into the sea; they
are not particular whether it is human or not. What they
look for is food. But Jack loves tragedy. He likes to
imagine he is in danger of being eaten or robbed or imposed
upon. The non-fulfilment of his prognostications does not
humiliate him: it seems to inspire more tenacious belief.
The sea serpent, whatever that might be, has caused mariners
of every age much perturbation. Periodically there are
sensational reports emanating from some sea captain, that
the real bleary-eyed monster has at last been discovered.
Illimitable dimensions are given, together with much detail
of its many peculiarities. Three years ago, in the month of
May, I was cruising with some friends in my schooner yacht.
We had traversed many of the Scottish Lochs, amongst them
Loch Fyne, where the finest herring in the world abound, and
are much sought after by fishermen as well as by
bottle-nosed whales. We were making our way from Inverary
towards Campbeltown, and as the wind was shy, off the north
side of Arran, we were hugging the land in order to lead to
our destination. A good wind was carried as far as Loch
Ryan, when it slowly died away and became flat calm. One of
my friends and myself were walking the deck together, when
he excitedly observed, "What is that on our starboard beam;
is it a reef?" I assured him there were no shoals in the
vicinity of the yacht; and I took up the field-glasses, and
saw quite plainly that it was a bottle-nosed whale. It soon
began to move and send masses of water into the air. The
calm continued, and some anxiety was felt lest the leviathan
should playfully come towards us and test its power of
lifting. It passed close to where we lay, and then shaped a
course towards the opposite shore. Naturally our interest
was excited, and as a favourable breeze sprang up and
gradually strengthened we were able to follow at a discreet
distance from the tail of the sea disturber. It would have
taken the vessel out of our way to have followed it far, so
a course was set for Campbeltown, and the monster was soon
lost to view. Navigation was made intricate by a large fleet
of fishing boats beating up towards the playground of the
fish they sought to catch. The day following our arrival at
Campbeltown this fleet re-entered the port, their crews
stricken with a conviction that they had encountered the
much-spoken-of sea-monster. Their tales varied only in
degree, but their convictions were similar, and as they
unfolded with touching solemnity the story of peril, the
little town became the centre of wild, fluttering pulses. It
was a conflict between pride of race and sanctified horror,
for had not their townsmen looked into the very jaws of
death? One imaginative gentleman made a statement that was
creepy in his version of a gallant fight against the
demoniac foe. The monster is said to have raised itself high
out of the water, and opened its jaws, which exposed to view
a vast space, and suggested that the intention was to
receive, if not a few of the boats, certainly a multitude of
the people who manned them. One craft came gliding along,
and the skipper promptly picked up an oar, and put it into
the "serpent's" mouth, whereupon the oar was as promptly
snapped asunder; and the skilful mariner sailed his craft
gallantly out of harm's way while the cause of all the
commotion went prancing about the ocean in defiance of the
vast flotilla which is said at the same time to have
occupied its attention. It would be impossible to give more
than a summary of all the things that were said to have been
done during this trying episode; and all that need be said
now is that the men were stricken with awe. They remained in
port for several days in the belief that their enemy was
still on the rampage outside. Their deliverance had been
miraculous; and no doubt much thanksgiving, and much
petitioning for divine interposition, so that this visitor
from a sinister world might be spirited away to some other
locality, held their attention during the days that were
spent under cover of a safe harbour. There can be little
doubt that the cause of the fishers' frenzy was the quiet,
inoffensive bottle-nosed whale, leisurely prowling about the
Sound in search of a living, and, in fact, none other than
the one that my friend had supposed to be a reef. These
creatures rarely run amuck until the harpoon is thrust into
them. They usually roll about the sea in the most harmless
way. No doubt the sight of a huge creature in localities
unaccustomed to it creates an impression of dull alarm, and,
strange though it be, some minds are so constituted that
their superstitions and imaginations are always thirsting
after association with the nether regions.
A common belief among seamen is that if rats migrate from a
vessel that vessel is doomed; and many hardships have been
endured at times on account of this belief. I am inclined to
favour the idea that these creatures are just as tenacious
of life as human beings are; but to say they have keener
intuitive capacity than we is arrant nonsense. It is true
they do not like leaky ships any more than their crews do;
and they leave them for the same particular reasons as would
induce them to leave districts on shore. Scarcity of food
or comfort, or danger of attack, create their itinerant
moods. Of course if their pasture is good they are difficult
to get rid of. They are prolific and cling to their young.
That unquestionably is a reason for their willingness to be
driven from a position where the food supply may be
precarious. They have their channels of communication which
are as difficult to cut off as to find out, so that when
they do leave a vessel that is in port it is pretty certain
they have heard of some more comfortable quarters and a
better playground. This accounts for them clearing out of a
ship just before she sails, thus throwing some poor
superstitious creature into abject fear that their exodus is
the forerunner of calamity. To carry the superstition out
logically, instead of rats being exterminated throughout a
place or a vessel, they should really be encouraged to
remain and multiply. I saw an extract from an American paper
some years ago, and it told a sensational tale of a steamer
which had arrived at Baltimore from Cuba, laden with iron
ore. During the passage the whole crew were attacked by
swarms of rats, which had come aboard at the loading port.
The crew, including the captain, his wife, and family, were
driven to take refuge on deck. The rats became infuriated
for want of food, and boldly clamoured for it, until it was
decided to feed them discreetly from the ship's stores. Many
of the crew were bitten. Under less startling circumstances
it is quite a common occurrence for seamen to have their
toenails eaten off while they are asleep. It rarely happens
that the flesh is penetrated; and they nearly always go for
the big toe. People who have not seen such things are sure
to be sceptical about the truth of this statement. It can,
however, be easily verified. On the Baltimore vessel's
arrival in the stream, and after communications had been
effected with the shore, it was found that men could not be
induced to risk working in the holds until the rats were
expelled. It was decisively arranged to have the vessel
scuttled. This was done, and the situation became more
perplexing than ever. As soon as the water began to flow
into the vessel, the rats took to the rigging, and every
available space of it became occupied. Never had such a
sight been witnessed before. It was decided to shoot at
them. The panic at once grew into pandemonium, both amongst
the rats and the public. The fear of large numbers of the
rats making their escape seized the imagination, and took
some subduing. Methods were adopted, however, which soon put
an end to mere contemplation, and the rats were speedily put
out of harm's way. The story comes from America, and is an
answer to those who cling to the silly notion that rats have
the faculty of prevision and always leave a ship that is to
be sunk or is sinking. _These_ rats would not leave even
after the vessel was sunk.
Many years ago, long before sailing vessels succumbed to
steam, I was serving as cabin boy aboard a brig laden with
salt, which had been taken on board at St. Ubes, Portugal.
We were in the Bay of Biscay, and had encountered a
succession of gales from the time of leaving St. Ubes. The
vessel had a private leak, that is, a leak which was not
occasioned by constructive weakness, but by some omission of
caulking, bolting, trinnelling, &c. This alone only called
for one pump to be set going every two hours, but the heavy
buffeting made her strain and leak so badly that it
ultimately necessitated the continuous use of both pumps.
The sea was running cross and heavy, which caused the cargo
to shift, and the water to come on the ceiling, that is, the
inner planking of the hull. A portion of the crew that could
be spared from the pumps was ordered to take some forecastle
bulkhead planks down, and make their way into the hold for
the purpose of trimming the cargo over. The work was carried
on vigorously, amid a continuous flow of adjectives. The
captain and owner, both of whom were much-respected men,
were consigned by the sailors many times to perdition and
other more or less sulphurous places. Indeed, the father of
evil was freely invoked against them; but as both captain
and owner are very much alive at the present time, the
former controlling a vast business in conjunction with his
sons, and the captain for many years having been living a
peaceful life far away from the desolate storming of angry
waters, whatever may be in store for those two well-cursed
gentlemen, external appearances up to date favour the
assumption that Jack's invocation has been unheeded. There
was much desultory talk during the spells of shovelling, and
one of the sailors, who, by the way, had at one time
commanded his father's Scotch clipper, remarked, as though
he were soliloquising, "I don't care a Scotch damn so long
as the rats stick to us." Whereupon there arose a discussion
upon the protective influence of rats, and it was decided
that no leaky vessel should go to sea without them. One of
the men thought he heard water coming in at the bow, and, as
that part of the hold was not occupied with cargo, he made
his way towards it, and asked me to bring him a light. He
inquired if I heard anything. I replied in the affirmative.
The carpenter was brought down into the hold, and the
ceiling cut away; it was found that the rats had gnawed a
hole through the _outside_ planking, until they tasted tar
and salt water. The sea pressure afterwards forced the skin
in, and there became a free inlet of water. The hole was not
large, but it had been sufficient to keep one pump going
every two hours. There was now no doubt that this was the
private leak. There was great rejoicing at the discovery,
and after a few appropriate words, not necessary to
reproduce here, against a Providence that could allow the
perpetrators of such infinite mischief to prowl about
attempting to scuttle ships, it was generally concluded that
the occasion being one of peril, should be allowed to pass
without any stronger demonstration of reproach--as it might
excite retaliation.