You
Must Begin On A New Tack, - Pitch All Your Sweetmeats Overboard,
And Turn-To Upon Good Hearty Salt Beef
And sea bread, and I'll
promise you, you'll have your ribs well sheathed, and be as hearty
as any of
'em, afore you are up to the Horn." This would be good
advice to give to passengers, when they speak of the little niceties
which they have laid in, in case of sea-sickness.
I cannot describe the change which half a pound of cold salt beef
and a biscuit or two produced in me. I was a new being. We had
a watch below until noon, so that I had some time to myself;
and getting a huge piece of strong, cold, salt beef from the cook,
I kept gnawing upon it until twelve o'clock. When we went on deck
I felt somewhat like a man, and could begin to learn my sea duty
with considerable spirit. At about two o'clock we heard the loud
cry of "sail ho!" from aloft, and soon saw two sails to windward,
going directly athwart our hawse. This was the first time that
I had seen a sail at sea. I thought then, and always have since,
that it exceeds every other sight in interest and beauty. They
passed to leeward of us, and out of hailing distance; but the
captain could read the names on their sterns with the glass.
They were the ship Helen Mar, of New York, and the brig Mermaid,
of Boston. They were both steering westward, and were bound in for
our "dear native land."
Thursday, Aug. 21st. This day the sun rose clear, we had a fine
wind, and everything was bright and cheerful. I had now got my
sea legs on, and was beginning to enter upon the regular duties
of a sea-life. About six bells, that is, three o'clock, P.M., we
saw a sail on our larboard bow. I was very anxious, like every new
sailor, to speak her. She came down to us, backed her main-top-sail,
and the two vessels stood "head on," bowing and curvetting at each
other like a couple of war-horses reined in by their riders. It was
the first vessel that I had seen near, and I was surprised to find
how much she rolled and pitched in so quiet a sea. She lunged her
head into the sea, and then, her stern settling gradually down, her
huge bows rose up, showing the bright copper, and her stern, and
bresthooks dripping, like old Neptune's locks, with the brine.
Her decks were filled with passengers who had come up at the cry
of "sail ho," and who by their dress and features appeared to be
Swiss and French emigrants. She hailed us at first in French,
but receiving no answer, she tried us in English. She was the
ship La Carolina, from Havre, for New York. We desired her to
report the brig Pilgrim, from Boston, for the north-west coast
of America, five days out. She then filled away and left us to
plough on through our waste of waters. This day ended pleasantly;
we had got into regular and comfortable weather, and into that
routine of sea-life which is only broken by a storm, a sail,
or the sight of land.
CHAPTER III
SHIP'S DUTIES - TROPICS
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, in the first place, is lord paramount. He stands no watch,
comes and goes when he pleases, and is accountable to no one, and must
be obeyed in everything, without a question, even from his chief officer.
He has the power to turn his officers off duty, and even to break them
and make them do duty as sailors in the forecastle. When there are no
passengers and no supercargo, as in our vessel, he has no companion
but his own dignity, and no pleasures, unless he differs from most
of his kind, but the consciousness of possessing supreme power, and,
occasionally, the exercise of it.
The prime minister, the official organ, and the active and superintending
officer, is the chief mate. He is first lieutenant, boatswain,
sailing-master, and quarter-master. The captain tells him what
he wishes to have done, and leaves to him the care of overseeing,
of allotting the work, and also the responsibility of its being
well done. The mate (as he is always called, par excellence)
also keeps the log-book, for which he is responsible to the owners
and insurers, and has the charge of the stowage, safe keeping, and
delivery of the cargo. He is also, ex-officio, the wit of the crew;
for the captain does not condescend to joke with the men, and the
second mate no one cares for; so that when "the mate" thinks fit to
entertain "the people" with a coarse joke or a little practical wit,
every one feels bound to laugh.
The second mate's is proverbially a dog's berth. He is neither
officer nor man. The men do not respect him as an officer, and he
is obliged to go aloft to reef and furl the topsails, and to put
his hands into the tar and slush, with the rest. The crew call
him the "sailor's waiter," as he has to furnish them with spun-yarn,
marline, and all other stuffs that they need in their work, and has
charge of the boatswain's locker, which includes serving-boards,
marline-spikes, etc. He is expected by the captain to maintain
his dignity and to enforce obedience, and still is kept at a great
distance from the mate, and obliged to work with the crew. He is
one to whom little is given and of whom much is required.
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