There is, perhaps, no contrivance in the wide world more wonderful than
a ship--a full-rigged, well-manned, gigantic ship!
Those who regard familiar objects in art and nature as mere matters of
course, and do not trouble themselves to wander out of the beaten track
of everyday thought, may not at first feel the force or admit the truth
of this statement. Let such folk endeavour to shake themselves
vigorously out of this beaten track of everyday thought. Let them knit
their brows and clench their teeth, and gaze steadfastly into the fire,
or up at the sky, and try to realise what is involved in the idea of--a
ship.
What would the men of old have said, if you had told them that you
intended to take yonder large wooden house, launch it upon the sea, and
proceed in it out of sight of land for a few days? "Poor fellow," they
would have replied, "you are mad!" Ah! many a wise philosopher has been
deemed mad, not only by men of old, but by men of modern days. This
"mad" idea has long since been fulfilled; for what is a ship but a
wooden house made to float upon the sea, and sail with its inmates
hither and thither, at the will of the guiding spirit, over a trackless
unstable ocean for months together? It is a self-sustaining movable
hotel upon the sea. It is an oasis in the desert of waters, so
skilfully contrived as to be capable of advancing against wind and tide,
and of outliving the wildest storms--the bitterest fury of winds and
waves. It is the residence of a community, whose country for the time
being is the ocean; or, as in the case of the _Great Eastern_ steamship,
it is a _town_ with some thousands of inhabitants launched upon the
deep.
Ships are, as it were, the electric sparks of the world, by means of
which the superabundance of different countries is carried forth to
fill, reciprocally, the voids in each. They are not only the media of
intercourse between the various families of the human race, whereby our
shores are enriched with the produce of other lands, but they are the
bearers of inestimable treasures of knowledge from clime to clime, and
of gospel light to the uttermost ends of the earth.
But for ships, we should never have heard of the wonders of the coral
isles and the beauties of the golden South, or the phenomena and
tempests of the icy North. But for ships, the stirring adventures and
perils of Magellan, Drake, Cook, etcetera, had never been encountered;
and even the far-famed Robinson Crusoe himself had never gladdened, and
saddened, and romantically maddened the heart of youth with his escapes,
his fights, his parrots, and his philosophy, as he now does, and as he
will continue to do till the end of time.
Some account, then, of ships and boats, with anecdotes illustrative of
the perils to which they are frequently exposed, cannot fail, we think,
to prove interesting to all, especially to boys, for whose particular
edification we now write. Boys, of all creatures in this world, are
passionately fond of boats and ships; they make them of every shape and
size, with every sort of tool, and hack and cut their fingers in the
operation, as we know from early personal experience. They sail them,
and wet their garments in so doing, to the well-known sorrow of all
right-minded mammas. They lose them, too, and break their hearts,
almost, at the calamity. They make little ones when they are little,
and big ones when they grow big; and when they grow bigger they not
unfrequently forsake the toy for the reality, embark in some noble
craft, and wed the stormy sea.
A word in your ear, reader, at this point. Do not think that because
you fall in love with a _ship_ you will naturally and necessarily fall
in love with the _sea_! Some do, and some don't: with those who do, it
is well; with those who don't, and yet go to sea, it is remarkably ill.
Think _philosophically_ about "going to sea," my lads. Try honestly to
resist your own inclination _as long as possible_, and only go if you
find that _you can't help it_! In such a case you will probably find
that you are cut out for it--not otherwise. We love the sea with a true
and deep affection, and often have we tossed upon her foam-topped waves;
but we don't wish to be a sailor--by no manner of means!
And now, boys, come along, and we will conduct you as pleasantly and
profitably as we can from a ship's cradle, through all her stormy
existence, to her grave.