Chapter 26

Yet the circle of passion was not to surround my fated steps for ever. Noble aspirations rose in my melancholy heart. I had seen the birth of true science, true liberty, and true wisdom. I had lived with Petrarch, stood enraptured beside the easel of Angelo and Raphael. I had stood at Maintz, beside the wonder-working machine that makes knowledge imperishable, and sends it with winged speed through the earth. At the pulpit of the mighty man of Wittenberg I had knelt; Israelite as I was, and am, I did involuntary homage to the mind of Luther.

At this hour I see the dawn of things to whose glory the glory of the past is but a dream. But I must close these thoughts, wandering as the steps of my pilgrimage. I have more to tell--strange, magnificent, and sad. But I must await the impulse of my heart.

* * * * *

RICHARD HENRY DANA

Two Years Before the Mast

Richard Henry Dana was born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, on August 1, 1815. He was the son of the American poet who, with W.C. Bryant, founded "The North American Review," and grandson of Francis Dana, for some time United States Minister to Russia, and afterwards Chief Justice of Massachusetts. Young Dana entered Harvard in 1832, but being troubled with an affection of the eyes, shipped as a common sailor on board an American merchant vessel, and made a voyage round Cape Horn to California and back. His experiences are embodied in his "Two Years Before the Mast," which was published in 1840, about three years after his return, when he had graduated at Harvard, and in the year in which he was admitted to the Massachusetts Bar. His best known work gives a vivid account of life at sea in the days of the old sailing ships, touches sympathetically on the hardships of the seafaring life, which its publication helped to ameliorate, and affords also an intimate glimpse of California when it was still a province of Mexico. "If," he writes, "California ever becomes a prosperous country, this--San Francisco--bay will be the centre of its prosperity." He died at Rome on January 7, 1882.

_I.--Life on a Merchantman_

On August 14 the brig Pilgrim left Boston for a voyage round Cape Horn to the western coast of America. I made my appearance on board at twelve o'clock with an outfit for a two or three years' voyage, which I had undertaken from a determination to cure, if possible, by an entire change of life, and by a long absence from books and study, a weakness of the eyes.

The vessel got under way early in the afternoon. I joined the crew, and we hauled out into the stream, and came to anchor for the night. The next day we were employed in preparations for sea. On the following night I stood my first watch. During the first few days we had bad weather, and I began to feel the discomforts of a sailor's life. But I knew that if I showed any sign of want of spirit or of backwardness, I should be ruined at once. So I performed my duties to the best of my ability, and after a time I felt somewhat of a man. I cannot describe the change which half a pound of cold salt beef and a biscuit or two produced in me after having taken no sustenance for three days. I was a new being.

As we had now a long "spell" of fine weather, without any incident to break the monotony of our lives, there can be no better place to describe the duties, regulations, and customs of an American merchantman, of which ours was a fair specimen.

The captain is lord paramount. He stands no watch, comes and goes when he pleases, is accountable to no one, and must be obeyed in everything.

The prime minister, the official organ, and the active and superintending officer is the chief mate. The mate also keeps the log-book, and has charge of the stowage, safe keeping, and delivery of the cargo.

The second mate's is a dog's berth. The men do not respect him as an officer, and he is obliged to go aloft to put his hands into the tar and slush with the rest. The crew call him the "sailors' waiter," and he has to furnish them with all the stuffs they need in their work. His wages are usually double those of a common sailor, and he eats and sleeps in the cabin; but he is obliged to be on deck nearly all his time, and eats at the second table--that is, makes a meal out of what the captain and the chief mate leave.

The steward is the captain's servant, and has charge of the pantry, from which everyone, including the mate, is excluded. The cook is the patron of the crew, and those who are in his favour can get their wet mittens and stockings dried, or light their pipes at the galley in the night watch. These two worthies, together with the carpenter and the sailmaker, if there be one, stand no watch, but, being employed all day, are allowed to "sleep in" at night, unless "all hands" are called.

The crew are divided into two watches. Of these the chief mate commands the larboard, and the second mate the starboard, being on and off duty, or on deck and below, every other four hours. The watch from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. is divided into two half, or dog, watches. By this means they divide the twenty-four hours into seven instead of six, and thus shift the hours every night.

The morning commences with the watch on deck turning-to at daybreak, and washing-down, scrubbing, and swabbing the decks. This, with filling the "scuttle butt" with fresh water, and coiling up the rigging, usually occupies the time until seven bells (half after seven), when all hands get breakfast. At eight the day's work begins, and lasts until sundown, with the exception of an hour for dinner. The discipline of the ship requires every man to be at work upon something when he is up on deck, except at night and on Sundays. No conversation is allowed among the crew at their duty.

When I first left port, and found that we were kept regularly employed for a week or two, I supposed that we were getting the vessel into sea-trim, and that it would soon be over, and we should have nothing to do but to sail the ship; but I found that it continued so for two years, and at the end of two years there was as much to be done as ever. If, after all the labour on sails, rigging, tarring, greasing, oiling, varnishing, painting, scraping, scrubbing, watching, steering, reefing, furling, bracing, making and setting sail, and pulling, hauling, and climbing in every direction, the merchants and captains think the sailors have not earned their twelve dollars a month, their salt beef and hard bread, they keep them picking oakum--_ad infinitum_. The Philadelphia catechism is

Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thou art able, And on the seventh, holystone the decks and scrape the cable.

We crossed the Equator on October 1 and rounded Cape Horn early in November. Monday, November 17, was a black day in our calendar. At seven in the morning we were aroused from sleep by the cry of "All hands, ahoy! A man overboard!" This unwonted cry sent a thrill through the heart of everyone, and hurrying on deck we found the vessel hove flat aback, with all her studding sails set; for the boy who was at the helm left it to throw something overboard, and the carpenter, who was an old sailor, knowing that the wind was light, put the helm down and hove her aback. The watch on deck were lowering away the quarter-boat, and I got on deck just in time to heave myself into her as she was leaving the side. But it was not until out on the wide Pacific in our little boat that I knew we had lost George Ballmer, a young English sailor, who was prized by the officers as an active and willing seaman, and by the crew as a lively, hearty fellow and a good shipmate.

He was going aloft to fit a strap round the main-topmast head for ringtail halyards, and had the strap and block, a coil of halyards, and a marlin spike about his neck. He fell, and not knowing how to swim, and being heavily dressed, with all those things around his neck, he probably sank immediately. We pulled astern in the direction in which he fell, and though we knew that there was no hope of saving him, yet no one wished to speak of returning, and we rowed about for nearly an hour, unwilling to acknowledge to ourselves that we must give him up.

Death is at all times solemn, but never so much so as at sea; and the effect of it remains upon the crew for some time. There is more kindness shown by the officers, and by the crew to one another. The lost man is seldom mentioned, or is dismissed with a sailor's rude eulogy, "Well, poor George is gone! His cruise is up soon. He knew his work, and did his duty, and was a good shipmate." We had hardly returned on board with our sad report before an auction was held of the POOR man's clothes.

_II.--At the Ends of the Earth_

On Tuesday, November 25, we reached the Island of Juan Fernandez. We were then probably seventy miles from it; and so high did it appear that I took it for a cloud, until it gradually turned to a greener and deader colour. By the afternoon the island lay fairly before us, and we directed our course to the only harbour. Never shall I forget the sensation which I experienced on finding myself once more surrounded by land as I stood my watch at about three the following morning, feeling the breeze coming off shore and hearing the frogs and crickets. To my joy I was among the number ordered ashore to fill the water-casks. By the morning of the 27th we were again upon the wide Pacific, and we saw neither land nor sail again until, on January 13, 1835, we reached Point Conception, on the coast of California. We had sailed well to the westward, to have the full advantage of the north-east trades, and so had now to sail southward to reach the port of Santa Barbara, where we arrived on the 14th, after a voyage of 150 days from Boston.

At Santa Barbara we came into touch with other vessels engaged in loading hides and tallow, and as this was the work in which we were soon to be engaged, we looked on with some curiosity, especially at the labours of the crew of the Ayacucho, who were dusky Sandwich Islanders. And besides practice in landing on this difficult coast, we experienced the difficulties involved in having suddenly to slip our cables and then, when the weather allowed of it, coming to at our former moorings. From this time until May 8, 1836, I was engaged in trading and loading, drying and storing hides, between Santa Barbara, Monterey, San Pedro, San Diego, San Juan, and San Francisco.

The ship California, belonging to the same firm, had been nearly two years on the coast before she collected her full cargo of 40,000 hides. Another vessel, the Lagoda, carrying 31,000 or 32,000, had been nearly two years getting her cargo; and when it appeared that we were to collect some 40,000 hides besides our own, which would be 12,000 or 15,000, the men became discontented. It was bad for others, but worse for me, who did not mean to be a sailor for life. Three or four years would make me a sailor in every respect, mind and habits as well as body, and would put all my companions so far ahead of me that college and a profession would be in vain to think of.

We were at the ends of the earth, in a country where there is neither law nor gospel, and where sailors are at their captain's mercy. We lost all interest in the voyage, cared nothing about the cargo, while we were only collecting for others, began to patch our clothes, and felt as though we were fixed beyond hope of change.

_III.--A Tyrannical Captain_

Apart from the incessant labour on board ship, at San Pedro we had to roll heavy casks and barrels of goods up a steep hill, to unload the hides from the carts at the summit, reload these carts with our goods, cast the hides over the side of the hill, collect them, and take them on board. After we had been employed in this manner for several days, the captain quarrelled with the cook, had a dispute with the mate, and turned his displeasure particularly against a large, heavy-moulded fellow called Sam.

The man hesitated in his speech, and was rather slow in his motions, but was a pretty good sailor, and always seemed to do his best. But the captain found fault with everything he did. One morning, when the gig had been ordered by the captain, Mr. Russell, an officer taken on at Santa Barbara, John the Swede, and I heard his voice raised in violent dispute with somebody. Then came blows and scuffling. Then we heard the captain's voice down the hatchway.

"You see your condition! Will you ever give me any more of your jaw?"

No answer; and then came wrestling and heaving, as though the man was trying to turn him.

"You may as well keep still, for I have got you!" said the captain, who repeated his question.

"I never gave you any," said Sam, for it was his voice that we heard.

"That's not what I ask you. Will you ever be impudent to me again?"

"I never have been, sir," said Sam.

"Answer my question, or I'll make a spread-eagle of you!"

"I'm no negro slave!" said Sam.

"Then I'll make you one!" said the captain; and he came, to the hatchway, sprang on deck, threw off his coat, and, rolling up his sleeves, called out to the mate, "Seize that man up, Mr. A--! Seize him up! Make a spread-eagle of him! I'll teach you all who is master aboard!"

The crew and officers followed the captain up the hatchway, and after repeated orders, the mate laid hold of Sam, who made no resistance, and carried him to the gangway.

"What are you going to flog that man for, sir?" said John the Swede to the captain.

Upon hearing this, the captain turned upon him, but knowing him to be quick and resolute, he ordered the steward to bring the irons, and calling upon Russell to help him, went up to John.

"Let me alone!" said John. "You need not use any force!" And putting out his hands, the captain slipped the irons on, and sent him aft to the quarter-deck.

Sam by this time was placed against the shrouds, his jacket off, and his back exposed. The captain stood at the break of the deck, a few feet from him, and a little raised, so as to have a swing at him, and held in his hand the bight of a thick, strong rope. The officers stood round, the crew grouped together in the waist. Swinging the rope over his head, and bending his body so as to give it full force, the captain brought it down upon the poor fellow's back. Once, twice, six times.

"Will you ever give me any more of your jaw?"

The man writhed with pain, but said not a word. Three times more. This was too much, and he muttered something which I could not hear. This brought as many more as the man could stand, when the captain ordered him to be cut down and to go forward.

Then John the Swede was made fast. He asked the captain what he was to be flogged for.

"Have I ever refused my duty, sir? Have you ever known me to hang back, or to be insolent, or not to know my work?"

"No," said the captain. "I flog you for your interference--for asking questions."

"Can't a man ask a question here without being flogged?"

"No!" shouted the captain. "Nobody shall open his mouth aboard this vessel but myself!" And he began laying the blows upon the man's back. As he went on his passion increased, and the man writhed under the pain. My blood ran cold. When John had been cut down, Mr. Russell was ordered to take the two men and two others in the boat, and pull the captain ashore.

After the day's work was done we went down into the forecastle and ate our supper, but not a word was spoken. The two men lay in their berths groaning with pain, and a gloom was over everything. I vowed that if ever I should have the means I would do something to redress the grievances and relieve the sufferings of that poor class of beings of whom I was then one.

_IV.--I Become a Hide-Curer_

The comfort of the voyage was evidently at an end, though I certainly had some pleasant days on shore; and as we were continually engaged in transporting passengers with their goods to and fro, in addition to trading our assorted cargo of spirits, teas, coffee, sugars, spices, raisins, molasses, hardware, crockery-ware, tinware, cutlery, clothing, jewelry, and, in fact, everything that can be imagined from Chinese fireworks to English cartwheels, we gained considerable knowledge of the character, dress, and language of the people of California.

In the early part of May I was called upon to take up my quarters for a few months at our hide-house at San Diego. In the twinkling of an eye I was transformed into a beach-comber and hide-curer, but the novelty and the comparative independence of the life were not unpleasant. My companions were a Frenchman named Nicholas, and a boy who acted as cook; Four Sandwich Islanders worked and ate with us, but generally slept at a large oven which had been built by the men of a Russian discovery ship, and was big enough to hold six or eight men. Mr. Russell, who was in charge, had a small room to himself. On July 18 the Pilgrim returned with news. Captain T------ had taken command of a larger vessel, the Alert, and the owners, at the request of my friends, had written to Captain T------ to take me on board should the Alert return to the States before the Pilgrim.

On September 8, I found myself on board the new vessel, and with her visited San Francisco, as well as other ports already named. Our crew were somewhat diminished; we were short-handed for a voyage round Cape Horn in the depth of winter, and so cramped and deadened was the Alert by her unusually large cargo, and the weight of our five months stores, that her channels were down in the water; while, to make matters even more uncomfortable, the forecastle leaked, and in bad weather more than half the berths were rendered tenantless. But "Never mind, we're homeward bound!" was the answer to everything.

The crew included four boys, regarding two of whom an incident may here be chronicled. There was a little boxing-match on board while we were at Monterey in December. A broad-backed, big-headed Cape Cod boy, about sixteen, had been playing the bully over a slender, delicate-looking boy from one of the Boston schools. One day George (the Boston boy) said he would fight Nat if he could have fair play. The chief mate heard the noise, and attempted to make peace; but, finding it useless, called all hands up, ranged the crew in the waist, marked a line on the deck, brought the two boys up to it, and made them "toe the mark."

Nat put in his double-fisters, starting the blood, and bringing the black-and-blue spots all over the face and arms of the other, whom we expected to see give in every moment. But the more he was hurt the better he fought. Time after time he was knocked nearly down, but up he came again and faced the mark, as bold as a lion, again to take the heavy blows, which sounded so as to make one's heart turn with pity for him. At length he came up to the mark the last time, his shirt torn from his body, his face covered with blood and bruises, and his eyes flashing with fire, and swore he would stand there until one or the other was killed.

And he set to like a young fury. "Hurrah in the bow!" said the men, cheering him on. Nat tried to close with him, but the mate stopped that. Nat then came up to the mark, but looked white about the mouth, and his blows were not given with half the spirit of his first. He was evidently cowed. He had always been master, and had nothing to gain and everything to lose; whilst the other fought for honour and freedom, and under a sense of wrong. It would not do. It was soon over. Nat gave in, not so much beaten as cowed and mortified, and never afterwards tried to act the bully on board.

_V.--An Adventurous Voyage Home_

By Sunday, June 19, we were in lat. 34° 15' S. and long. 116° 38' W., and bad weather prospects began to loom ahead. The days became shorter, the sun gave less heat, the nights were so cold as to prevent our sleeping on deck, the Magellan clouds were in sight of a clear night, the skies looked cold and angry, and at times a long, heavy, ugly sea set in from the southward. Being so deep and heavy, the ship dropped into the seas, the water washing over the decks. Not yet within a thousand miles of Cape Horn, our decks were swept by a sea not half so high as we must expect to find there. Then came rain, sleet, snow, and wind enough to take our breath from us. We were always getting wet through, and our hands stiffened and numbed, so that the work aloft was exceptionally difficult. By July 1 we were nearly up to the latitude of Cape Horn, and the toothache with which I had been troubled for several days had increased the size of my face, so that I found it impossible to eat. There was no relief to be had from the impoverished medicine-chest, and the captain refused to allow the steward to boil some rice for me.

"Tell him to eat salt junk and hard bread like the rest of them," he said. But the mate, who was a man as well as a sailor, smuggled a pan of rice into the galley, and told the cook to boil it for me, and not to let the "old man" see it. Afterwards, I was ordered by the mate to stay in my berth for two or three days.

It was not until Friday, July 22, that, having failed to make the passage of the Straits of Magellan, we rounded the Cape, and, sighting the island of Staten Land, stood to the northward, and ran for the inside of the Falkland Islands. With a fine breeze we crowded on all the canvas the ship would bear, and our "Cheerily, men," was given with a chorus that might have been heard halfway to Staten Land. Once we were to the northward of the Falklands, the sun rose higher in the horizon each day, the nights grew shorter, and on coming on deck each morning there was a sensible change in the temperature.

On the 20th of the month I stood my last helm, making between 900 and 1,000 hours at this work, and 135 days after leaving San Diego our anchor was upon the bottom in Boston Harbour, and I had the pleasure of being congratulated upon my return and my appearance of health and strength.