[Illustration:
LITH. OF SARONY & C^o NEW YORK.
RIO DE JANEIRO
New York G. P. Putnam & C^o.
[Illustration:
LITH. OF SARONY & C^o. NEW YORK
O. CATETE
New York G. P. Putnam & C^o.
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BRAZIL AND LA PLATA:
THE
PERSONAL RECORD OF A CRUISE.
BY
C. S. STEWART, A. M., U. S. N.,
AUTHOR OF
“A RESIDENCE AT THE SANDWICH ISLANDS,” “VISIT TO THE SOUTH SEAS,”
“SKETCHES IN GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND,” ETC., ETC.
“Sail forth into the sea, O ship!
Through wind and wave right onward steer!
The moistened eye, the trembling lip,
Are not the signs of doubt and fear.—
Sail forth, nor fear to breast the sea!
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee!”
LONGFELLOW.
NEW YORK:
G. P. PUTNAM & CO., 321 BROADWAY.
1856.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856,
BY G. P. PUTNAM & CO.,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.
JOHN F. TROW,
Printer and Stereotyper, 377 & 379 Broadway,
_Corner of White street_.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO
MY DAUGHTERS,
THIS VOLUME
DRAWN FROM MANUSCRIPTS ADDRESSED TO THEM,
IS AFFECTIONATELY
Inscribed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE.
Two inducements have led to the publication of the following volume:
one, the favor with which similar works from my pen have been received;
the other, the belief that a book of fact, for light reading, would be
welcome to many, amid the floods of fiction of the present day.
It was with no purpose of making a book, that the record from which the
volume is drawn was kept; on the contrary, the chief difficulty I have
found, in fitting it for the press, has arisen, from its being so
strictly personal and private. To remodel the manuscript so as to change
its character in these respects, would have been a labor which I was
unwilling to undertake; and to select from it such matter as might be at
once suitable for publication, and acceptable to the general reader,
without affecting the connection and unity of the whole, has proved a
task not easily accomplished. In attempting it, I may have erred in
judgment by putting into print, in some instances, what might better
have been omitted; and again perhaps, in others by omitting what would
have been welcomed by the reader.
Besides such matter as was essential in giving an outline of the cruise
of the Congress, and such observation of the places visited by her, as
would be expected in a work of the kind, I have thought it proper to
retain of that which related specifically to the ship, sufficient to
convey a general idea of life on board a man-of-war; and also, of that
which referred to myself in my office, enough to throw light upon the
position, duties, and influence of a chaplain in the naval service.
Should the volume meet with any degree of acceptance from the public in
general, I shall be grateful; and should its circulation be limited to
the decks of a man-of-war, or to the forecastle of a merchant-ship, the
object in its publication will not be entirely lost.
C. S. S.
RIVERSIDE, 1856.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Departure from Cape Henry—Sacrifices in Naval Life—Evening
Prayers—First Casualty—Sabbath at Sea—Scene in the Gulf
Stream—My Ship and Shipmates—The Crew, 1
CHAPTER II.
Great Caycos—Case of Punishment—The Cat-o’-nine Tails—Moral
Effects of the Lash—Evening on board a Man-of-War—Scenes off
Havana—Entrance into Port, 13
CHAPTER III.
The Prisoners of Contoy—Excitement at Havana—The Captain General
and Chief of Police—Visits of Ceremony—Drive on Shore—The
Volante—Paseo and Champs de Mars—Evening Promenade—Visit to
Regla by Night—The Captive Filibusters—Destiny of Cuba, 26
CHAPTER IV.
Gulf of Florida—The Wreckers—Incidents in the Sick Bay—Maury’s
Wind and Current Charts—The Doldrums—Crossing the Line—Neptune
Aboard—Dreams of Home—Impediments to Piety on board a
Man-of-War—Giving up Grog, 42
CHAPTER V.
Cape Frio—Coast Scene—Bay of Rio—Reminiscence of the Past—City of
Rio—Yellow Fever—Equipages—Drive to Botafogo—A Tropical Home, 58
CHAPTER VI.
First Impressions at Rio—Mixture of Races—Senate Chamber—Imperial
Legislature—Form of Government—Council of
State—Ministry—Nobility—The Court in State—The Emperor and
Empress, 70
CHAPTER VII.
Cemetery of Gamboa—Governor Kent—Tomb of the Hon. William
Tudor—Island and Fortress of Villegagnon—Discovery of
Brazil—Huguenot Colonists—Treachery of Villegagnon—Progress in
Civilization—State of the Empire—Its Dangers and Safeguards, 80
CHAPTER VIII.
Praya Grande and Praya San Domingo—Bay of St. Francis
Xavier—Passage to the Plata—Montevideo—Sea-Birds—Cape
Pigeon—Albatross—Booby—Stormy
Petrel—Dolphin—Nautilus—Portuguese Man-of-War, 90
CHAPTER IX.
Rio de Janeiro—The City Palace—Scenes at Court—Mode of
Presentation—Character of the Emperor and Empress—Their Habits
of Life—Suppression of Slave Trade—Illness of a
Sailor-boy—First Death on board the Congress, 104
CHAPTER X.
All Souls’ Day—Church and Convent of San Antonio—Commemoration of
the Dead—Manner of preserving the Bones of the Dead—Ascent of
the Corcovado—Panoramic View—Sources of the Aqueduct—Its
Construction and History—Descent of the Hill of Santa Theresa, 117
CHAPTER XI.
Prisons and Prison Discipline—Ball on Ship-board—Fête at the
American Ambassador’s—Western Suburbs of Rio—Country Seat of
Mr. R—— —British Flag-Ship—Admiral and Mr. Reynolds—Garden of
Don Juan M—— —Madame M——, 128
CHAPTER XII.
Weather at Rio—Meteorological Changes—Mountain Walks—Shops and
Shopping—Restrictions upon Females by Custom—Slaves at
Auction—Birthday of Don Pedro II.—National Hymn and Air—A
Yankee Captain’s Opinion of Court State—The Emperor afloat, 143
CHAPTER XIII.
Wedding at the American Consulate—Marriage at the Orphan
Asylum—Foundling Hospital—Foreign Commerce—Arrivals in Port—U.
S. Sloop St. Mary—Captain Magruder—Botanical Garden—Storm from
the Corcovado—Fête at the Chapel Santa Lucia—Churches on
Christmas Eve—Twelfth Night Party—Youthful Piety in Military
Life, 154
CHAPTER XIV.
Montevideo—Its Political Condition—First Impressions on Shore—Mr.
H—— and Family—British Church and Services, 166
CHAPTER XV.
Buenos Ayres—Mode of Landing—Reception of Commodore
McKeever—Evening Drive—Negro Washerwomen—Carts of the
Pampas—Washington’s Birthday—Mr. Harris, American Chargé
d’Affaires—Quinta of Palermo—Doña Manuelita de Rosas—Pleasure
Grounds—Interview with Rosas—His Appearance and Conversation, 173
CHAPTER XVI.
The Argentine Confederation—Early Life of Rosas—A Type of the
People—Life in the Pampas—Police of Buenos Ayres—Description of
the City—Visit to the Conde de Bessi—Nuncio from the Pope, 188
CHAPTER XVII.
Montevideo—Store-ship Southampton—Dr. C——, Fleet Surgeon—The Poor
of Montevideo—French Troops—Dress of the Gaucho—Mr. and Madame
L—— —Mrs. Z—— —Pamperos at Montevideo—Diseases of the
Climate—Marriage of Dr. K—— of the St. Louis—Funeral of Mrs.
S—— —Protestant Burial-Ground, 198
CHAPTER XVIII.
Island of St. Catherine—Scenery at Santa Cruz—Captain Cathcart
acting Consul—City of Desterro—Its Public Square—Market
Place—Hotel—Civility of the Inhabitants—Manufactures of Flowers
in Feathers and Shells—Dinner—Waiter and Waitress—Walks at
Santa Cruz—An Unexpected Recognition—Dangerous Walking Ground, 209
CHAPTER XIX.
Return to Rio de Janeiro—Winter Weather there—The Larangeiras or
Orange Valley—Walk along the Aqueduct—Festivals of the Romish
Church—Corpus Christi and St. John’s Days—Marriages at the
Orphan Asylum—Hospital of the Misericordia—Magnificence of the
New Building—Country Seat of Mr. M—— —Scenes at a
Wedding—Lieut. R—— —Smuggled Liquor and the Consequence—A
Reproof to Despondency, 220
CHAPTER XX.
Political State of Montevideo—Defection of Urquiza—Address of
Rosas—Retreat of Oribe—Visit to the Mount—Pacification at
Montevideo—Termination of the Siege—Scenes in the Streets and
Suburbs, 237
CHAPTER XXI.
Visit to Urquiza—His Encampment at Pantanoso—Marqueé of
Commander-in-Chief—Travelling Carriage and Baggage
Wagon—Adjutant on Duty—Reception—Personal Appearance of
Urquiza—His Pet Mastiff—Professed Purposes of the Liberator—His
past History and Domestic Relations—The Cerrito and its
Fortress—Town of Restoracion—A Gilpin-like Ride—Gaucho Soldiers
in Camp—Their Dress, Pastime and Subsistence—Mode of
Slaughtering Cattle—Proclamation by Urquiza, 249
CHAPTER XXII.
Return to Brazil—Assault of a Runner on board the
Congress—Captain McIntosh—His Transfer to the
Falmouth—Departure for the United States—Making Daylight—Ship’s
Library—Sailors as Readers—Street Calls in Rio—Civility and
Patience of the People—Disinclination to
Locomotion—Omnibuses—Mules and Omnibus Drivers, 266
CHAPTER XXIII.
San Aliexo—Mr. and Mrs. M—— —Steam Packet—Passengers—Image
Venders—San Antonio—Superstition of the People—Experience in
Miracles—Admiral T—— —Luncheon—Negro Valet—Piedade—An American
Wagon—White Mules—Turnpike—Character of the Scenery—Town of
Majé—Private Road of Mr. M—— —Cotton Factory and American
House—Sabbath at San Aliexo—Romish Clergy—Peak Valley and
River—Rain in the Mountains—Sudden Rise in the Streams—Mandioca
Mill—Difficulties encountered by Mr. M——, 275
CHAPTER XXIV.
Christmas—Marriage of Miss K—— —Negroes in the Holidays—Scene of
Revelry in the Larangeiras—Amusing Street Scene—Custom-House
Regulations—Characteristic want of Confidence—Security of
Property and Person—Criminal Prosecutions—Forms in Court—Manner
of taking the Oath—Public executions—Return to Montevideo—State
of Affairs in the Plata—Invasion of Buenos Ayres by
Urquiza—Tragic Fate of Missionaries in Terra del Fuego, 291
CHAPTER XXV.
Overthrow of Rosas—Doña Manuelita at Palermo—Her Escape at Night
in Disguise on board an English Man-of-War—Pillage in Buenos
Ayres—First Checked by the Marines of the Congress and
Jamestown—Summary Punishment of the Marauders—Urquiza at
Palermo—General Terero—Visit to the Wounded in the
Hospital—Suburbs of the City—English Burial-Ground—Government
House built by Rosas, 307
CHAPTER XXVI.
Battle field of Monte Caseros—Scenes on the Way—Santos
Lugares—Anecdotes of the Conflict—Triumphal Entry of the Allied
Armies into Buenos Ayres—Te Deum at the Cathedral and
Thanksgiving Sermon, 322
CHAPTER XXVII.
Hospitality in Buenos Ayres—Return to Montevideo—Public
Rejoicings—Admirals Lepredour and Grenfell—Deep-Sea
Soundings—Sea Scene—Walks at Desterro—Praya Compreda—A Yankee
Cobbler—Ride to San Pedro d’Alcantara—Indoor Scenes—Our Host
and his Housemaid—Preparations for the Night—Chapel and
Cemetery—Mountain Scenery—Morning Visit to a German Family—A
Feat of Agility—Luncheon—Milk and Mandioca—Departure from San
Pedro—Ride by Night, 334
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Desterro—Mr. Wells—Funeral of a Child—Evening Walk—A
Novena—Singular Usage—Auction at the Church—Mock
Emperor—Evening Ride—Mountain View—Habits in Rural
Life—Indians—Venomous Snakes—Antidote for the Poison of
Snakes—Whit-Sunday—Coronation of the Mock Emperor—President of
St. Catherine—Preaching by the Vicar—Appointment and Support of
the Clergy—Pastime at Santa Cruz—Impoverished Germans—Estate of
Las Palmas—Señor de L—— —Antonio de L—— —Coup d’Etat by
Urquiza—Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Lore—Protestant Churches—Rural
Scenes—Native Cows—Hon. Mr. Schenck—Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, 359
CHAPTER XXIX.
Ascent of the Sierra of the Organ Mountains—Frieschal—La
Barriera—Mules and Muleteers—Mountain Wood in Flower—Boa
Vista—H—— Hall—Arrival at Constantia—Mr. Heath—His
Estate—Slaves and their Treatment—Morning and Evening
Benedictions—Mountain Route to Petropolis—Woodland
Scenery—Monkeys—Isolated Peaks—Valley of Piabanha—Mule
Riding—Petropolis—German Protestant Church, 401
CHAPTER XXX.
Buenos Ayres in 1853—Revolution and Civil War—Mode of Conducting
it—Savage Atrocities of the Outside Party—Failure of all
Mediations in effecting a Pacification—Final Departure of
Commodore McKeever and Suite—Homeward Bound, 418
POSTSCRIPT 425
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BRAZIL AND LA PLATA.
CHAPTER I.
U. S. SHIP CONGRESS, CAPES OF VIRGINIA.
_June 8th, 1850._—The time for my promised record has arrived: the
Congress is at sea. This afternoon, with light and baffling winds, in a
most lazy and listless manner she gained a distance of ten miles outside
of Cape Henry, where, a breeze springing up sufficiently fresh to insure
an offing before nightfall, the pilot took his leave for the land and we
filled away upon the sea.
The 8th of June thus becomes for a second time an anniversary with me.
Twenty years ago to-day, amid the bright beauty of a summer’s afternoon,
I entered the bay of New York from a voyage of the world. But, in what
wide contrast were the feelings of that hour with those of this in which
I now write! Then, the sunshine of the soul, beaming from face to face
and reflected from eye to eye, outrivalled the brightness of the joyous
scene around. We were safely at home, after a long and adventurous
absence, and within reach of the salutations and embraces of those we
most loved. Now, there is sunshine neither without nor within: without,
a thick and gloomy haze obscures its smiles, and within, the sadness of
separation for years from home and country, with all the uncertainty of
its issues, entirely beclouds them. There is nothing joyous to us in the
“glad sea:” it does not dance in our eyes as it was wont, or as we have,
at times at least, imagined it to do.
Little do they who may envy the lot of an officer in the navy—in its
opportunities of varied travel, the knowledge it affords of men and
things, and observation of nature in her most impressive forms—know at
what a sacrifice of the affections, in their choicest exercise, and by
what a penalty of wearisome duty, in irksome routine, the privileges of
the position are bought. A sacrifice and a penalty which, when the
novelty of travel and
“The magic charm of foreign land”
are passed, and the enthusiasm of youth is chastened by the experiences
of maturer years, are felt with a keenness which, to be justly
appreciated, must be personally known. The long conviction of this has
been impressed afresh upon my mind by an incident of the passing hour.
Mr. B——, a gentleman of wealth and distinguished social position in one
of our principal cities, has for some days past been a guest of the
ward-room mess, as the close friend of a fellow officer. He chose to
accompany us to the open sea, and risk the discomfort of a night on
board the pilot boat in a return to the shore, rather than take leave at
an earlier moment. While the little craft was still hovering around us,
waiting the signal to approach and take off its master and his
passenger, the officer referred to, in momentary expectation of this
second leavetaking of home, as it were, in parting from one who was
going directly to his family, approaching me, exclaimed, in a spirit of
half desperation—“Oh! Mr. S——, if I were in circumstances to live on
shore with my family independently of my profession, I would go straight
over the sides of the ship into that boat, and throw my commission to
the winds. When I think of my wife and children, I feel as if I would
dig and grub—do any thing for an honest living—rather than thus for
three years leave them for a drudgery so distasteful to me as life on
board a man-of-war in time of peace, with scarce an object but to get
through an irksome duty.” Such must be the feelings, in a greater or
less degree, of every sea-officer who has reached the meridian of life;
and such would be my own, were there not connected with my office and
its duties, issues, in hope at least, sufficient to outbalance all
earthly considerations.
_June 10th._—Little worthy of record, even in a journal for home, can be
anticipated in a passage to Cuba; yet an incident has already occurred,
which I would not pass over without notice. When Mr. B—— and the pilot
left us on Saturday, the shades of a sombre evening were settling around
us, and, as is customary on board a man-of-war in ordinary cruising, we
reefed topsails for the night. This done, as the lighthouse fires began
to gleam over the dark waters, from Cape Henry at one point and from
Cape Charles at another, all hands were called to our first evening
prayer on the quarter-deck. The deep twilight and the gloomy sky made
the service the more impressive. Few on board, even among the officers,
knew of the intention of Captain McIntosh with the sanction of Commodore
McKeever, to have daily evening worship. One or two of those who did,
had never witnessed such an observance on board ship, and doubted its
expediency. But the impression made by it was at once effective and
conclusive on the minds of those even who had most doubted. This they
readily admitted to others as well as to myself: and while saying that
it was the first time they had ever been present at such a service in
the navy, added a hope that it would never be discontinued on board the
Congress.
I was cheered by this frank avowal from those whose judgment I prized,
and whose high-toned character carries with it predominating influence
among their associates. Long experience warrants me in regarding this
appointment as a most important auxiliary in the work of a chaplaincy,
and an efficient promoter of discipline and good order on board a
man-of-war. It is honorable to the principles and moral perceptions of
those who framed the existing laws of the navy, that the second article
in the code enjoins a daily service of worship on board every ship
having a chaplain; and it is to be regretted that an injunction so
salutary, in the moral economy of a crew, and in its general tendency,
should in so few instances have been carried into effect.
The evening worship of the Cotter’s fireside—where,
“Kneeling down to Heaven’s Eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the husband prays,”
presents a picture which might well call forth the inspiration of the
poet. In every grade of life, the social altar, encircled in the
sincerity and simplicity of the Gospel, is in like manner an elevating
and a touching sight. But if impressive in the comparative security of
the shore, far from the fitful changes and dangers of the sea, how much
more so when exhibited in the floating dwellings of those whose “home is
on the deep.” If He, who alone “commands the winds and the waves, and
they obey”—He, who “rides upon the whirlwind and directs the storm,” is
the receiver of our thanksgiving and the only hearer of prayer, who
sooner than the sailor should be found in supplication, or who be more
frequent, or more fervent than he in praise?
Whatever may be the ultimate results in individual cases of such a
service, few persons have for a first time witnessed it, without bearing
testimony to its impressiveness on the eye, whatever may have been the
influence felt upon the heart. But, it is not without cause, that I ever
look for something more from it. The man-of-wars-man with all his
recklessness, and, too often, degrading vices, has, in many cases, moral
sensibilities and affections which bring him, where the means of grace
are enjoyed, within the pale of hope; and I have never yet been long on
board a ship where, to the preaching of the Gospel on the Sabbath, there
has been added this daily evening prayer, without hearing from some
troubled spirit the inquiry, “What shall I do to be saved?” followed,
not unfrequently, by the resolution of the repenting prodigal, “I will
arise and go to my Father, and will say to him, Father, I have sinned
against Heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy
son.”
The excitement incident to our departure and the tedium of a listless
day, with little progress till we were at sea, disposed all on board not
on watch, to retire early; and for the most part such were soundly
asleep, myself among the number, when suddenly aroused at midnight by
the cry, “A man overboard!” There was little wind and not much sea; but
the darkness was Egyptian; the rain poured in torrents; and while the
booming thunder of an approaching gust rolled heavily over the deep,
occasional flashes of vivid lightning added double intensity, in the
intervals, to the blackness around. The rescue of the perishing man
seemed hopeless. Supposing him of course to be one of the crew—perhaps
the most active and gallant of their number, who had lost his foothold
in some effort of duty in preparation for the coming squall—I felt
disheartened by so sad a casualty at the very outset of our cruise. I
thought of our evening prayer, and of the deep feeling with which, in
its brief worship, we had supplicated the defences of the Almighty, and
in confiding trust committed ourselves to his protecting care. Had the
Lord not had respect to our offering—had the Almighty not regarded our
prayer?
In the midst of thoughts such as these, it was a relief, though a
melancholy one indeed, to learn that the wretch overboard was not any of
the fine fellows whose physical aspect and general bearing had already
won from me, in my position, a deep interest, but a poor drunkard, who
had been brought on board in a state of delirium tremens, from the
receiving ship, the day we left Norfolk; and who had at once been
consigned, in care of the surgeons, to the sick-bay. In a paroxysm of
madness, he had now rushed from his keepers below to the gun-deck; and,
knocking down with a billet of wood caught up at the galley, one in
pursuit, had plunged headforemost through an open bridle-port, to be
seen and heard of no more.
The life-buoys were cut away, the ship put about, boats lowered and sent
off, at the risk of life both to officers and men, in the pitchy
darkness and rapidly approaching squall: blue lights were burned, and
repeated shouts through a trumpet made, in hope of some response, but
all in vain, in rescuing him from his doom. After the first plunge,
nothing was seen or heard from him. A miserable madman from strong
drink, the accompaniments of his end on earth—the midnight gloom, the
angry lightning, the muttering thunder, and the moaning wind, were
befitting the fate of an immortal spirit “unanointed—unannealed,” thus
passing into the eternal world. He was an old man-of-wars-man, and,
three years ago, in a similar condition and near the same place, jumped
overboard from a frigate the first night from port, and was with great
difficulty saved. How faithful the admonition, “He that being often
reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that
without remedy.”
Yesterday, the Sabbath, was a bright and beautiful day, with favoring
winds and a smooth sea. The quarter-deck, screened from the sun by
awnings, was our chapel; the capstan, spread with the stripes and stars
of an ensign, our reading desk and pulpit; and the band, with sacred
music, both our organ and choir. My sermon, suggested by the incident of
the preceding night, was an exposition of the evils, physical, moral and
spiritual, of intemperance, and the frightful condition of such as
become its hopeless victims. The fatal proofs of the truths advanced, in
the bodily and mental state of him who had just perished before our eyes
as it were, caused the most fixed attention to be given to what was
said, both by the officers and men.
I was happy to be told by the captain, immediately after the service,
that it had been officially reported to him the day before, that more
than three hundred of the crew, or two thirds of the whole number of
foremast hands, did not draw the ration of rum furnished them by the
government: this of their own voluntary choice, no persuasion having yet
been used on board to influence any one on the subject. An encouraging
fact certainly, at the offset, in this essential point in the morals of
the sailor, and one that ought to be suggestive to our national
legislators of the duty of striking at once from the list of naval
allowances, a poison tending to the destruction of both body and soul.
The day was a happy one to me, in the retirement of my own little room,
as well as in the public discharge of my duties. A long and kind letter
from an officer, in answer to a note with which I had returned one given
to me to read, was so encouraging to me in my office, and so full of
promise spiritually for himself, as deeply to affect me. I could but
regard it as a token of grace from Him in whose hands are all hearts,
and as an intimation of the good that may be accomplished on board, even
in the most influential quarters.
Our worship, at sunset, was commenced, after an air of sacred music from
the band, by the reading of Addison’s beautiful hymn—
“How are thy servants blest, O Lord!
How sure is their defence!
Eternal Wisdom is their guide,
Their help, Omnipotence.”
To-day we are crossing the gulf stream under a fresh breeze amounting
almost to a gale: a “smoky southwester” with a short and high sea, into
which the frigate plunges deeply, taking in large quantities of water
forward. This rushing aft, as the ship rises, makes the gun as well as
the spar-deck wet and uncomfortable. The wardroom, with all the stern
and air-ports closed, is dark and stifling in its atmosphere, and every
thing on board partakes largely of the disagreeable at sea. The motion
is so great that nothing can be left by itself; and, at breakfast, each
of us secured, as best he could, the very indifferent fare that came in
his way: bread like so much lead; biscuits which, bagged and netted,
might have passed inspection as grape-shot; rancid butter; addled eggs;
and execrable stuff under the names of tea and coffee! As I cast my eyes
over the mess-table and its surroundings, in the gloomy twilight falling
from the hatchway above, and upon a disconsolate-looking and silent set
of companions, I could not avoid contrasting the whole, involuntarily,
with a breakfast room in my mind, on shore, in the fresh beauty of a
morning in June—with a brightly gleaming lawn in front; the mingled
bloom of the rose and the honeysuckle at the windows; the cheerful
family group; and the varied fare fresh from the garden, the farm-house,
and the dairy—and sigh at the difference in the pictures. Such a day as
this, on shipboard in the gulf stream, with its discomfort in almost
every form, would be enough to make a landsman content, for the rest of
his life, with the blessings of the shore.
Apropos of our steward. We have been sadly imposed on by the professed
qualifications of this important functionary. Claiming to be perfect in
all, we find he knows nothing of any of his appropriate duties. The day
we left Norfolk he gave a characteristic proof of his fitness for the
office. It was at dinner, our guest Mr. B—— being of the number. Among
the courses was a salad dressed by our _maitre d’hôte_. Mr. B—— was
first served with it. I was the next to take from the dish, and in doing
so, happening to look towards the visitor, was struck by a very peculiar
expression of the eye and countenance as he tasted it—a blending of
surprise, comical inquiry, and effort at self-command, while the fork
was very quietly returned to his plate, as if he were done with it.
Suspecting the salad to be the origin of all this, and hastily testing
the point by a mouthful, I found to my utter disgust, that, in obedience
to the direction of the caterer to use plenty of oil in the dressing, he
had, in ignorance of any other, dashed the whole most copiously with the
vilest lamp oil! The effect upon the palate can be more readily imagined
than described.
_June 12th._—A breeze from the north-east, which set in last night,
promises to prove a regular trade-wind, and we are running rapidly
before it on our course. You may easily follow our track, by marking, on
a map, a pretty straight line from the mouth of the Chesapeake to the
channel of the sea, between the Islands of St. Domingo and Porto Rico.
It is our intention to pass between these, by what is named on the
charts of the West Indies, the Mona Passage, and then lay a course by
the south side of Cuba to Havana. Should it be asked why we go,
seemingly, so much out of our way and so far round; I answer, that for a
large ship, it is not only the safest, but, in point of time, the
shortest route. The strong and adverse current of the gulf stream, and
the intricate and hazardous navigation of the Florida channel, are the
objections to the direct course along the coast. The weather is now
fine—in strong contrast with that last described; and, at night, we have
a splendid moon, enticing to constant visits in thought and affection to
Riverside. Beautiful as moonlight is at sea, I must confess to a
preference, in the enjoyment of it in the month of June, for the
south-west corner of a verandah on the banks of the Hudson.
I have, thus far, been giving my time chiefly to visits through my
floating parish—from the quarters of the Commodore to those of “Jemmy
Ducks,” and “Jack of the dust,” as the feeder of the pigs and poultry,
and the sweeper of the Purser’s store-rooms, in shipboard nomenclature,
are respectively styled. Almost every day, since coming on board, I have
discovered here and there a shipmate of some former cruise; and perceive
hourly evidence of having through these—in part at least—already gained
the marked good will of the crew. I am quite at home in all my walks
among them; and have every reason to be more than satisfied—to be truly
thankful—in my official relation with them.
The Congress, a fifty-gun ship, is one of the finest vessels of her
class. She is a model of strength and symmetry in hull and spars, and of
imposing and effective equipment in her batteries and armament; never
failing to attract the notice of all who have an eye to appreciate a
chef d’œuvre in naval architecture. She is, too, a swift messenger over
the waters, as well as a tower of strength and beauty on the sea.
The intellectual and moral tastes of many of my immediate associates and
equals in naval rank, are such as not only to make them agreeable
companions, but also to give to our mess in general, by their example
and influence, a high-toned and elevated character; and I regard it a
providence of special kindness that, in those chief in authority and
executive power, I find cordial friends personally, and firm supporters
in my duty officially. Their views, too, and their purposes, in regard
to discipline and naval reform, harmonize with my own, in the persuasion
that kindness is the surest key to the human heart; and that, in
government, the law of love is more effectual than the rule of fear. I
felt this particularly, in a long conversation with the commodore this
morning, during a walk on the quarter-deck, and at breakfast with him
afterwards. On this point I like his views much; and augur great good
from them, in the support they will lead him to extend, officially, to
the executive officer of the ship, in carrying out a system of internal
rule based upon the principle of kindness and good will, of the
practical well-working of which he is entirely persuaded.
The crew, physically, are a fine set of men: healthful, athletic and
young, the average age of the four hundred foremast hands scarcely
exceeding twenty-five years. This general youthfulness of the ship’s
company encourages me to hope much from them as subjects of moral
culture. They are more likely, than seamen of a more advanced age, to
have had the benefit of a religious training in the Sabbath schools now
so universally established in most sections of our country; and, thus,
be more susceptible to moral impressions and persuasion, should they not
have already felt the influence of the general improvement in the
character of sailors which, confessedly, has taken place within the last
ten or fifteen years. Still, at best, a man-of-war is a sterile and
rocky field for spiritual labor. There is ever on board a large ship of
the kind, a greater or less number of reckless and desperately wicked
men: some who have been convicts and the inmates of state prisons and
penitentiaries, and more who, long under the surveillance of the police,
and pressed by close pursuit, have sought refuge at the rendezvous and
receiving ship, from the merited penalties of the law. Of these last we
are certain of having quite a company, composed pretty equally of
‘Southwark killers,’ ‘Schuylkill rangers,’ ‘Baltimore rowdies,’ ‘Bowery
boys,’ and ‘Five Pointers.’ The whole number of both these classes,
however, does not amount to more than fifty; the hundreds of others on
board are either honest-hearted and true sailors, or inexperienced and
raw landsmen: ‘good men,’ according to the ethics of the sea. The “baser
sort,” though comparatively so few in number, are ever first in gaining
prominence and notoriety on board, by bringing themselves, through a
manifestation of their evil propensities, in contact with the discipline
of the ship, while the true sailor and old man-of-wars-man, in the quiet
discharge of their duty remain for a time unappreciated, and perhaps
personally unknown.
To an inexperienced eye, a man-of-war with her crew of five hundred,
seems only like a bee-hive full of confusion and uproar, while, in
truth, there is throughout in every department perfect organization and
order. Every individual has his class, his number, and his station; the
duty of each in his place is clearly defined; and whatever is to be done
is accomplished with much of the regularity of a machine operating
through the same number of wheels. To the same eye there would appear no
signs of caste or grades of distinction, moral or social, in the general
mass: there would be only so many hundred sailors, seemingly alike in
all respects. Little would be dreamed of the extremes, not only of moral
character, existing among them, but of social distinction also—from the
exclusives of the “upper ten,” priding themselves on moving only in the
first circles, through three or four marked sets to the canaille,
utterly below recognition or social intercourse. There is a marked
difference, too, among many, in the outer man. Though the dress of all
is uniform in color and general material, still there is often the
widest difference in the quality, fitting, and make of the entire
wardrobe; and, while one is so careless and slovenly in his attire, as
to require the daily inspection of an officer, others are perfect
sea-dandies, as fastidiously neat and clean in person, as the whole
series of brushes known to the toilette-table can make them; and as fond
of being assured of this, by repeated inspections and last glances in
the miniature mirrors carried in their hats, or about their persons, as
a beau of the first water on shore, before a Psyche in preparation for
the ball or opera.
After the public worship of the last Sabbath, Mr. T——, the first
lieutenant, who has had long experience in Sabbath schools, both as a
teacher and superintendent, aided me in the formation of one among the
twenty-four boys on board, from ten to fifteen years of age: each of us
taking charge of a class of twelve. The value of a voluntary agency of
this kind, from an officer of commanding influence, can scarcely be
over-estimated. My next attempt, as a means of good, will be the
establishment of Bible classes among the men. If successful in this, I
am happy to know that others of the officers stand ready to assist me in
the like manner.
It is an interesting fact, and one strikingly illustrative of the
improved and elevated tone of morals in the navy, that of the fourteen
gentlemen constituting the wardroom mess, five are professedly religious
men of consistent and exemplary character.
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