GULF OF FLORIDA.
_July 12th._—True to the announcement last night, all hands were called
to weigh anchor at daybreak this morning; and, by sunrise, under the
double impulse of a light land breeze, and the oars of a long line of
man-of-war boats having the Congress in tow, we made our way, through
the narrow entrance of the port, to the open sea.
Many merchant ships also were taking their departure. The shrill calls
of the bugle from barrack and fortress; the unfurling of signal and
banner from mast-head, battlement and tower; strains of military music
from different points; the lively movement in all directions of boats
and small craft on the water; and the rising hum of active life from the
city, gave exciting animation to the picture, while the purple hues of
the morning and its balmy breath, added a fresh charm to the whole.
After enjoying the scene till we were outside the harbor, I went below,
intending to return to the deck in time for a farewell view, not only of
the island, but of the Moro castle and city also. So rapid was our
course, however, from a strong current, as well as a fresh breeze, that,
on reaching the poop for this purpose, “the blue above and the blue
below” were alone to be seen; and undisguised satisfaction was every
where manifested that, not only the sickly, though beautiful port, but
the entire island had been left out of sight behind us.
The first object that met my eyes this evening, at the close of our
accustomed worship on deck, was the silver crescent of a new moon
beautifully defined in the empurpled sky; and, I interpreted the mild
and benignant beamings sent down upon us, from its young course, as an
omen of good in our voyage across the wide sea.
_July 22d_, N. Lat. 37°, W. Long. 59°.—We made our way gently and
pleasantly through the Straits of Florida: sighting, during successive
nights, on either sides of the channel, while making long stretches
against a head wind, the lights of Key West and Sand Key, Carysfort
Reef, and Gun Key. These numerous beacons speak the perilous navigation
of the region. It is peculiarly the empire of the wreckers, whose lives
are spent in constant search along the reefs, which for two hundred
miles here edge the coast, for the vessels which in great numbers are
yearly cast upon them by storms, or the treacherous currents of a calm.
The value of the commerce which annually passes through the Gulf of
Florida is estimated at four hundred millions of dollars, of which not
less than half a million, each year, is lost by shipwreck,
notwithstanding the vigilance and prompt exertion of the amphibious and
heroic race, whose business is the rescue of the lives and property here
endangered.
For three days after regaining a latitude which admitted of plain
sailing, we had boisterous weather and a wild sea, but an unclouded sky.
The elastic and invigorating atmosphere attending it, was most welcome
after the heats of Cuba. At such times the ocean, in its ever-varying
forms of beauty and changing shades of prismatic light in the sunshine,
often outrivals in attractiveness the still life of a wide-spread
landscape on shore. There is, too, a voice of music breathing over it;
for, not less truthfully than poetically, has it been said of the ocean,
there is
“In its sleep a melody,
And in its march a psalm.”
Now, however, in place of the
“Restless, seething, stormy sea,”
we have on every side an illimitable plain of the deepest blue, with
scarce a perception of those giant heavings from beneath, which ever, in
a greater or less degree, tell of an unfathomable abyss of waters. Over
this we are hurried, without a consciousness of motion, at the rate of
ten miles the hour, by a breeze as balmy, if not as fragrant, as the
zephyrs of “Araby the blest.” Add to these surroundings, the moon, at
night, riding the heavens above in sublime tranquillity, and you will
not be surprised, if, at times at least, I am ready with the poet to
exclaim—
“Oh! what pleasant visions haunt me,
As I gaze upon the sea,
All the old romantic legends—
All my dreams come back to me!”
_July 29th._—Happily I am not unfitted for mental occupation; by being
on shipboard, as is the case with many, and, with the prospect of a
voyage of fifty or sixty days, I have set myself closely to work. The
early part of the day I give to the graver studies of my profession, and
the later to lighter reading; visits to the sick, when there are such;
exercise on deck with some fellow-officer; and such “walks of
usefulness” as I can light upon among the crew, in different parts of
the ship in the evening, fill up the intervals of leisure till bed-time.
One of our young officers, Midshipman L——, has the misfortune to be
incapacitated for duty, by a nervous affection of the eyes and head, the
consequence of three separate attacks of fever in the Gulf of Mexico.
The surgeons interdict to him all use of the eyes; and, to relieve the
ennui into which he is thus thrown, I have invited him to my room for an
hour or two every day, that by my reading aloud he may have the benefit
of such works as I am running over; travels and biography—Maxwell’s
Russia, Irving’s Mahomet, and the excellent books of Miss McIntosh, the
accomplished sister of the captain of the Congress, interspersed with
those of a more serious character, such as Angell James’ “Young Man from
Home” and Pike’s “Persuasives to Early Piety”—have thus far occupied
these hours. The touches of deep feeling frequently met in the writings
of Miss McIntosh, in her lifelike and instructive delineations of
character, have been the means of bringing into exercise sympathies, the
involuntary betrayal of which to each other, has led to quite an
intimate friendship, considering the disparity of our years.
For a week after leaving port, we had every reason to hope that it had
been with entire impunity, in regard to health, that we had been exposed
to the burning sun, and, at this season of the year, pestilential air of
Havana. But on the eighth day, just as we were congratulating ourselves
on the certainty of our escape from all infection, a light fever made
its appearance among both officers and men. Some dozen in number were
brought down by it. It was the yellow fever, but of so modified a type,
that, in a few days, all were convalescent and no new cases occurred.
Sickness, whether of a serious nature or not, presents an opportunity of
approach, and often gives access to the confidence which I am careful to
improve. I was much interested, a day or two ago, in an interview with a
fine-looking young man of the crew, under the influence of the
prevailing epidemic. He had evidently been familiar with better
associations than those of a man-of-war; and, I soon learned from him
that he was the prodigal son of a pious mother, by whom he had been
carefully trained and cherished, and was a child of many prayers. The
first glance of his eye, as I approached his cot, told me by the
starting tears—not from alarm, for no danger was apprehended in his
case, but from remembrances of the past—that he was in a state of mind
to open his heart to me; and, in the admissions and confessions of a
long conversation, I became deeply interested in the penitence and
purposes of future well-doing which he avowed.
In a hammock near by I found a middle-aged Scotchman, of intelligent and
respectable appearance, who was equally open to religious conversation.
He told me he had been long deeply sensible of his guilt and misery as a
sinner, and greatly troubled in mind and conscience; that a conflict had
been going on in his soul, as if a good and an evil spirit were ever in
contest there for the mastery over him: but that the good at last had
gained the triumph, and he was “at peace with the Father, through the
Son and Spirit, and feared no evil—not death itself.”
_August 7th_, N. Lat. 12°, W. Long. 38°.—Delicious seems the only
epithet descriptive of the atmosphere we are now breathing, and
“delicious—delicious!” is the stereotyped exclamation of every one, as
he mounts to the deck from below and drinks in the pure ether, as if it
were the very elixir of life. The morning is in all respects lovely. The
heavens have a look of infinity. A snow-white cloud alone floats here
and there in them; and, as, rushing over the blue sea, before the fresh
trade-wind, we dash the foam widely from our prow, unnumbered flying
fish spring into the air, and skim the surface of the water before and
around us, like so many birds of silver gleaming brightly in the sun.
_August 28th_, N. lat. 3° 30′, W. Long. 25°.—The region, through which
we have been making our way, for the last ten days, is known among
seamen by the very unsentimental name of the “doldrums.” The origin of
the epithet it might be difficult to trace. It is an equatorial belt,
characterized by light weather and head-winds; by alternate calms and
squalls, clouds and rain. Hence every thing on board and without, is,
and has been, in as wide contrast as possible with that of my last date.
The whole ship is saturated, both on deck and below, with rain, and the
washings of the sea through the ports and hawser-holes. The air on deck
is close and oppressive, and below stifling and musty, and the tossings
and pitchings and rolling of the ship any thing but agreeable to the
fastidious stomachs of many on board—especially to my friend T——, who,
though familiar for more than twenty years with the caprices of the
deep, is in a most annoying state of discomfort at every return of rough
weather. The progress made on our course is small, averaging not more
than twenty-five or thirty miles in the twenty-four hours, though we
sail by tacks in that period, from a hundred to a hundred and fifty. We
are navigating by Lieut. Maury’s wind and current charts, and
notwithstanding the seeming tedium of our progress, in beating against
what he denominates the south-west monsoons of these latitudes, are
satisfactorily demonstrating the truth of his theory and the correctness
of his sailing directions in conformity with it.
It is now some six or eight years since this distinguished young
officer, whose attainments in abstruse and practical science have
reflected such high honor not only on his profession but on his country,
conceived the idea of collecting as many of the log-books of navigators
as could be secured, with a view of collating them, and of projecting
upon charts, to aid in the better navigation of the sea, the general
experience in winds and currents, at all periods of the year, in the
different regions of the ocean. He at the same time urged upon the
masters of ships, the importance of adding to the usual subject-matter
of their logs, the temperature of the water, the set of currents, and
the depth of the bed of the ocean when it was practicable to obtain
soundings. As an incentive to the trouble of thus keeping a log, and of
furnishing an abstract of it to the National Observatory at Washington,
the promise was given that each shipmaster complying with the
suggestion, should receive gratuitously from the government, a copy of
the charts and sailing directions which might be the result.
Not fully alive to the object or aware of its great importance, the
response was slow and imperfect. In the course of a few years, however,
sufficient data were secured; and the first practical result was the
shortening by ten days of the voyage to the equator, and consequently to
Rio de Janeiro. From the earliest times this passage, from North
America, had been made by running obliquely across the Atlantic to the
longitude of the Cape de Verde Islands, before venturing to strike the
north-east trade-wind. A traditionary report and belief in the existence
of strong adverse currents along the South American coast, and the fear
of not being able to double Cape St. Roque, should the equator not be
crossed far to the East, led to this. It required no little moral
courage and determination in one of a class proverbially wedded to
custom and subject to superstition, to venture the trial of the new
route. Such an one was found, however, and the result was most
satisfactory. The opinion is now firmly entertained by many of the most
experienced navigators, that by following the direction of the wind and
current charts, the length of the voyage is diminished one fifth. This
is an immense saving of time in a commercial point of view. Doubtless
the patient perseverance of the accomplished astronomer, in this new
field of discovery, with the aids which are now rapidly placed in his
possession, will lead to similar results on all the grand routes of
navigation over every ocean, and place the commercial world in
indebtedness to his genius for savings in time, and consequently in
money, of incalculable amounts.
Last night, from nine till ten o’clock, we enjoyed a beautiful
spectacle, in a halo around the moon of colors as vivid as those of an
ordinary rainbow, and in concentric circles most clearly defined. The
moon, near the full, retained her face of silver in the midst of a field
of gold, shadowing towards the outer edge into a delicate amber and then
into the deepest maroon. A belt of the purest blue intervened, when the
encircling colors were repeated in fainter hues; apparently, though not
philosophically, a reflection of the first. The phenomenon was so
striking, and so singularly beautiful, that Lieut. R——, the officer of
the deck at the time—one ever alive to the poetic and impressive in
nature, as well as to the scientific and practical in his
profession—dispatched a messenger hurriedly for me. The commodore and
captain were also summoned, and soon, with most of the other officers,
joined us on the poop, while the whole crew, from different parts of the
ship, shared in the admiration excited by the scene. It is the first
exhibition of any thing unusual in sky or sea that has thus far marked
our passage. A humid atmosphere and a thin fleecy scud were its
accompaniments.
_August 23d._—In the course of the night of the 22d inst. we took the
south-east trade-wind, three degrees north of the equator, and at once
bade adieu to the doldrums. We crossed the line at high noon, yesterday,
on the parallel of 28° 30′ W. long, without any very perceptible ‘jolt;’
and are rushing on our course at the rate of ten miles the hour.
Just in the edge of the evening, after hammocks had been piped down, the
ship was hailed loudly from the bows, and it was reported to the officer
of the deck, that “Neptune was alongside and requested permission to
come on board.” This was granted, and very unexpectedly to me this
monarch of the seas, his queen and suite made their appearance on deck.
They were soon enthroned on the forecastle, with an immense bathing tub
filled with salt water in front of them, in readiness for the
presentation of those of the crew who had never before been in this
section of their watery dominions. The sun being long set, and the moon,
for the time, obscured, I could not make out very well the costume of
their majesties further than to judge it to be of the latest marine
fashion. The most conspicuous article in that of Neptune was a full
bottomed wig of white manilla grass, closely curled, like that of a lord
chancellor on the woolsack, but covering not only his head, face and
shoulders, but his entire figure, giving him the aspect in general of a
polar bear with the head and mane of a lion. He bore himself with
imperial dignity, while Madame Amphitrite, of very sturdy and Dutch-like
make, sat meekly by his side, in a fashionably made dress of coarse
canvas, or sacking, with a shepherdess hat of the same material, hair in
long ringlets ‘à l’Anglaise,’ cheeks highly rouged, low neck and short
sleeves, with bare arms which bore a very suspicious resemblance, in
muscle and color, to those of one of our most brawny forecastle men.
The commodore, with whom I was walking on the poop-deck, being informed
of the presence of the distinguished company, made his way to the
forecastle, claiming courteously from the monarch the privilege of the
entrée, from having crossed the equator already some dozen of times.
This Neptune most graciously conceded, with the flattering remark that
he “recollected his countenance perfectly, and was very glad to see
him.” The interview, like most others on state occasions, was brief,
concluding on the commodore’s part by his saying, “he presumed the
presentations of the evening would be numerous,” Neptune replying “yes,”
that he had “never seen so many green-horns on board one ship in his
life!” A call of the names of candidates for the honor was now begun,
and the gentlemen of the court, disguised in dress and with blackened
faces, began to drag from every hiding place many an unwilling, but
vainly resisting subject, who had never before entered the southern
hemisphere. Forced into the presence with good-nature and laughter, by
overpowering numbers, and blindfolded and seated on the edge of the tub,
the victim was hailed by Neptune with stentorian voice through an
immense paste-board trumpet, in the questions—“What is your name?”
“Where are you from?” “Were you ever in these parts before?” While in
the act of answering each of these respectively, a coarse brush dipped
in a mixture of tar, slush, and lampblack was hastily passed over the
mouth of the respondent. The court barber was then called to do his duty
in shaving the gentleman with No. 5, No. 9, or No. 15, referring to the
qualities of the razor; this being determined by the degree of
submissiveness and good-nature, or the surliness and resistance of the
subject in hand. The lathering brush was something of the form and
softness of a broom of split hickory, the lather the composition before
described, and the razors, two or three feet in length, of different
degrees of edge, from the smoothness of straight wood to the roughness
of a jagged piece of iron hoop. When an order for dressing the hair was
added, in penalty of special refractoriness and ill-humor, the brush
used was formed of long wooden pegs fixed in a board with a handle, like
a hatchel for dressing flax; the pomatum, tar; to which, in extreme
cases, was added a powdering of flour in the style of “’76,” the whole
winding up with a sudden souse, backwards, heels over head into the tub
of salt water. The presentation thus completed, the new courtier, half
drowned, and dripping like a water god, was left at liberty to free
himself at leisure from the tar and lampblack, and dry himself as best
he could.
The case of all others, in which the least sympathy was elicited, was
that of a young landsman, who, after long impunity, had been detected
some time before as a thief—supplying his own wardrobe very freely from
the clothes-bags of his shipmates. The answer to the usual question,
“who is this?” when he was brought forward, “Jackson the thief!” was
received with a general shout of applause, and the following dialogue
ensued. “What is your name?” “Jackson.” “Yes, sir; and the sooner you
slip yourself out of one so illustrious the better.” “Where are you
from?” “O——.” “And a disgrace you are to so respectable a place. Were
you ever in my dominions before?” “No.” “I knew it: and take care you
are never found in them again; or, if you are, look out how you fill
your bag with other men’s clothes for an outfit!” “Barber, do your duty:
give him No. 15, and see that you dress his hair in the first style!”
The striking of eight bells and the calling of the first night watch
brought the rough sport to an end. I have not time to-night to moralize
on the subject or to speculate upon the propriety of the indulgence. By
whose authority it was sanctioned I do not know. Many of the officers
regarded it I believe with disapprobation, as a species of saturnalia
unsuited to the rigid discipline of a man-of-war, and liable to be
abused, while others defended it on the ground of old usage among
sailors, and as an amusing relief to the tedium of a long voyage. By a
little management I succeeded in screening from observation, till all
hands were called to duty, two or three youngsters who were anxious to
escape the annoying process.
_August 25th._—Sailing in the latitudes of the south-east trade-winds is
the very perfection of life at sea. The waters, as smooth and level as a
prairie, are of the deepest tint of blue, with the addition in certain
declinations of the sun, of a dash of rose color, imparting to the
whole, for a time, the appearance of a plain of velvet of the true
Tyrian purple. Though moving with great rapidity, through a wide and
deep furrow of sparkling foam cast up by our bows, the sails of our
frigate, fully set from the deck to the royal-mast-heads fore and aft,
sleep by the hour, without the slightest apparent motion, as if, in
place of canvas spread to the breeze, they were a like quantity of
chiselled marble. Then, at night, such a moon! with the southern cross
in marked beauty inviting to the sublimest meditations. The Magellan
clouds, too, are in sight: small spots of fleecy whiteness in the sky,
similar in general aspect to the nebulæ of the milky way. Indeed, with
the mercury by Fahrenheit at 66° the whole Southern hemisphere is in
brilliant exhibition, many of the most conspicuous stars flashing on the
eye, not only with the brightness, but apparently with the varying tints
of the diamond.
The smoothness of the sea and steadiness of the wind have afforded a
good opportunity for exercise at the batteries, and in the various
evolutions incident to an engagement in battle. The station of a
chaplain, in action, is with the surgeons in the cockpit in attendance
upon the wounded and dying; or, at his option perhaps, on the
quarter-deck, in taking notes of the conflict. In these sham
engagements, at least, I prefer the deck: and have stood with the
commodore and captain, while broadside after broadside has been fired,
till the whole ship has been enveloped in smoke, and I found myself at
the end as well powdered as a miller, though not in such whiteness. An
evening or two since trial was made in throwing shell with the Paixhan
guns. The explosion took place eight seconds after the discharge, with
beautiful effect. The tendency of all these exhibitions, though only as
an exercise, is ever to make me regard with fresh horror and abhorrence
the entire system of war—its principles, spirit, implements and cruel
results.
_August 30th._—The prevailing thoughts and feelings of my mind and heart
this morning, traceable to visions of the night, may be best expressed,
perhaps, by the familiar quotation—
“Who has not felt how sadly sweet
The dream of home—the dream of home
Steals o’er the heart too soon—too fleet,
When far o’er sea, or land we roam!
Sunlight more soft may o’er us fall,
To greener shores our bark may come,
But far more bright, more dear than all,
That dream of home—that dream of home!”
Little as I may have confessed it, “Riverside!”—“Riverside!” is the
constant echoing of my heart, and my home is ever in bright vision
before me. I breakfast with you every morning, sit by moonlight with you
in the verandah every evening: walk with you every day to “Prospect
Rock”—to “Gortlee”—to the upper fields beneath the mountain, and drive
with you, if at no other time, at least every Sunday to your little
church, along the magnificent terrace of the river-road.
I say, I breakfast with you every morning. Did you know exactly the
state of the larder and store-room of our mess, you would wonder that I
do not include all my meals in the avowal. For some time past, on each
successive day, the giving out of article after article for our table,
has been reported, till nothing now remains but salt beef, so hard as
fully to justify the sailor’s cognomen of “Uncle Sam’s Mahogany,” and
salt pork as rusty as the beef is hard. No potatoes or other vegetables,
no butter better than rancid lard, and no bread fit to be eaten except
the ship’s “hard tack,” are left. Dried beans and peas we have, but both
filled with weevil, which the cook has devised no means of separating,
before being served, from the article itself. The consequence is, that
when they come to us in the form of soup, the floating insects drowned
and overdone, are the most conspicuous part of the mess, and when baked,
give to the dish the appearance of being already well peppered. I can
join very cheerfully in a jest over such untempting fare, and think of
home; but cannot, like some of my messmates, persuade myself into the
illusion that the little black insects speckling our board are only a
rich condiment to give zest to the repast, and with them partake of it
_con gusto_.
Yesterday our last turkey, after having given flavor to a tureen of
watery soup, was served as a boiled dish. As we were about taking our
seats at the table, a suggestion, made either seriously or in mischief,
that the poor bird had not waited for the cook to bring its head to the
block, but had died unexpectedly of its own accord, put a participation
of either soup or meat, on my part, out of the question; and led, by the
time the report had made the circuit of the table, to a kind of
impromptu Court of Inquiry in the case. The steward was at once summoned
by the head of the mess, who, fond of a joke, and knowing that the fat
and shining negro, now honored with this office, like many of the more
imitative and aspiring of his race, was somewhat grandiloquent in his
language, put to him the question—“Steward, are you quite sure that the
old fellow under this cover was entirely vigorous when he was taken from
the coop?” “No! sir, he wasn’t wigorous at all! he was perfectly good!”
“Why, steward, what do you suppose I mean by vigorous?” “I don’t know,
sir, but I suppose from the way you ask me, something bad.” “Well,
steward, I do not wish to be too particular in this investigation, but
just tell me this much, could the old fellow really stand on his legs
when he was killed?” “Sartain, sir, he could.” “Then, gentlemen,” says
Mr. ——, addressing himself to the mess, “I go for the turkey,” and
lifting the cover disclosed to view a mere skeleton in a shrivelled bag
of skin, with scarce an ounce of flesh on the whole carcass.
You must not infer, either from the feelings expressed at the beginning
of this date, or from the dietetic disclosure into which I have been
incidentally betrayed, that I am otherwise than entirely content and
happy: as much so as I well can be in this world of imperfection and
sin. This is attributable, however, chiefly if not solely to the
conviction in mind and heart, that I am at the post of duty—
“The shepherd of a wandering flock
That has the ocean for its wold—
That has the vessel for its fold;”
and am, as I trust, in a spirit cheerfully and faithfully to meet its
responsibilities. Whether to any high result or visible effect, it is
not in the power of man to say. The sufficiency for this is of God
alone. I am thankful that I feel no discouragement in the use of the
means for moral reformation and spiritual grace in those around me.
Nothing but personal experience could persuade one of the almost
insurmountable obstacles that exist, on board a man-of-war, to the
conversion of any of the crew, and to a life of godliness in one of
their number, or make him credit without close observation, the number
and the power of
“The secret currents that here flow
With such resistless under-tow,
And lift and drift with terrible force
The will from its moorings and its course.”
Nothing less than a miracle, humanly speaking, could achieve such a
result; but, as the conversion of any soul, and a life of godliness in
any heart, anywhere, are miracles of grace, I do not allow myself to
despair of such results ultimately through the word and Spirit of God,
whether I ever know them or not. So firmly is hand joined in hand among
the crew, against every thing savoring of a profession of or pretension
to personal religion, that it would require no ordinary degree of moral
courage, in any one—whatever might be his secret convictions, feelings
or purposes—to disclose or avow it. Many cheerfully give countenance,
both by their words and conduct to good morals in others; but all seem
tacitly at least to say “thus far only shalt thou go.” Though it is by
no means unusual to see one and another in different parts of the ship
reading a Bible or a Testament either alone or aloud to others; though
tracts, and religious papers, and books, are eagerly accepted and
seriously read, still, to get the name of a ‘Bible-man’ by joining a
class for reading under the chaplain, or of a psalm-singing and praying
man, from being known to practise such devotion, is as much dreaded as
would be a scurrilous reproach. From this feeling it is, that I have
thus far attempted in vain to establish Bible-classes or secure a
meeting for moral and religious instruction, beyond the public worship
of the Sabbath and our daily evening prayer: and from the same fear of
man it is that one or two spiritually-minded members of a church, whom I
have discovered among the ship’s company, are unwilling to have their
true character and profession known.
The purpose of those chief in authority, to abandon as far as
practicable, in the discipline of the ship, the iron rule, and in place
of the “cats” and the “colt,” the kick and the curse, to substitute a
treatment less degrading to man and more befitting him as a moral agent
and an intelligent being, has been carried out. Thus far the experiment
has been successful; and we have a cheerful, obedient, active and
efficient crew. We are also demonstrating the fact by experience, that a
crew can be content and happy without having served to them the ration
of grog furnished by government. Knowing that two thirds of all the evil
and misery to which sailors, as a class, are subject both at sea and on
shore, arises from the use of strong drink, I, early after the
commencement of our cruise, made efforts by private argument as well as
by public addresses, to demonstrate the magnitude of the evils arising
from intemperance, and to persuade all to follow the example of those
who had stopped drawing rum. In securing so desirable an object, I have
had the warm support of those in authority, whose opinion and influence
would be likely to have most effect. Commodore McKeever and Captain
McIntosh have both given me their aid; and the former has twice publicly
addressed the ship’s company on the subject. The consequence is, we
shall enter port without the name of an individual on the grog list;
with the universal admission that the ship’s company, to say the least,
are as content and happy without the rum as they were with it, and
certainly more quiet and orderly.
In the course of my canvass on the subject, I had, not only, many
interesting, but many amusing conversations and arguments with various
individuals. Before yielding, there was a great struggle in the minds of
some half a dozen old topers—old men-of-wars-men, perfect sea-dogs, who,
for half a century have drunk their grog as regularly as the roll of the
drum announcing its readiness was heard, and felt that they could not
live without it. I really pitied some of these old fellows, in the
mental struggle they suffered, between conscience and a desire to follow
the advice of those they honor, and the continued craving of an appetite
strengthened by the habit of a whole life. I fell in with two of these
one day immediately after one of the addresses of the Commodore. They
were looking most doleful—as a true sailor seldom does look except in
some great moral extremity. Suspecting the cause, I opened a
conversation in which one of them met my persuasions by saying, with a
most appealing look, “Why, Mr. S——, I haven’t been without my grog every
day for fifty years. Why, sir, I should die without it. I was brought up
on it; my father kept a public house, and I sucked the tumblers, sir,
from the time I was a baby!” But the old man soon joined the rest of his
shipmates in the resolution to banish the grog tub. He has now gone a
long time without his rum; and, in place of dying from the want of it,
as he said he should, came up to me yesterday, looking hale and hearty,
and with a bright smile and sparkling eye, said, “Mr. S——, I wouldn’t
have believed it—but, it’s true. I don’t miss my grog at all. You told
me I would live through it, if I did knock it off. And so I have, and I
feel ten times better without it than I ever did with it!”
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