I NEVER had so much interest before, and very likely I shall
never have so much interest again, in the state of the wind, as on the
long-looked-for morning of Tuesday the Seventh of June. Some nautical authority
had told me a day or two previous, 'anything with west in it, will do;' so when
I darted out of bed at daylight, and throwing up the window, was saluted by a
lively breeze from the north-west which had sprung up in the night, it came upon
me so freshly, rustling with so many happy associations, that I conceived upon
the spot a special regard for all airs blowing from that quarter of the compass,
which I shall cherish, I dare say, until my own wind has breathed its last frail
puff, and withdrawn itself for ever from the mortal calendar.
The pilot had not been slow to take advantage of this favourable weather, and
the ship which yesterday had been in such a crowded dock that she might have
retired from trade for good and all, for any chance she seemed to have of going
to sea, was now full sixteen miles away. A gallant sight she was, when we, fast
gaining on her in a steamboat, saw her in the distance riding at anchor: her
tall masts pointing up in graceful lines against the sky, and every rope and
spar expressed in delicate and thread-like outline: gallant, too, when, we being
all aboard, the anchor came up to the sturdy chorus 'Cheerily men, oh cheerily!'
and she followed proudly in the towing steamboat's wake: but bravest and most
gallant of all, when the tow-rope being cast adrift, the canvas fluttered from
her masts, and spreading her white wings she soared away upon her free and
solitary course.
In the after cabin we were only fifteen passengers in all, and the greater
part were from Canada, where some of us had known each other. The night was
rough and squally, so were the next two days, but they flew by quickly, and we
were soon as cheerful and snug a party, with an honest, manly-hearted captain at
our head, as ever came to the resolution of being mutually agreeable, on land or
water.
We breakfasted at eight, lunched at twelve, dined at three, and took our tea
at half-past seven. We had abundance of amusements, and dinner was not the least
among them: firstly, for its own sake; secondly, because of its extraordinary
length: its duration, inclusive of all the long pauses between the courses,
being seldom less than two hours and a half; which was a subject of never-
failing entertainment. By way of beguiling the tediousness of these banquets, a
select association was formed at the lower end of the table, below the mast, to
whose distinguished president modesty forbids me to make any further allusion,
which, being a very hilarious and jovial institution, was (prejudice apart) in
high favour with the rest of the community, and particularly with a black
steward, who lived for three weeks in a broad grin at the marvellous humour of
these incorporated worthies.
Then, we had chess for those who played it, whist, cribbage, books,
backgammon, and shovelboard. In all weathers, fair or foul, calm or windy, we
were every one on deck, walking up and down in pairs, lying in the boats,
leaning over the side, or chatting in a lazy group together. We had no lack of
music, for one played the accordion, another the violin, and another (who
usually began at six o'clock A.M.) the key-bugle: the combined effect of which
instruments, when they all played different tunes in differents parts of the
ship, at the same time, and within hearing of each other, as they sometimes did
(everybody being intensely satisfied with his own performance), was sublimely
hideous.
When all these means of entertainment failed, a sail would heave in sight:
looming, perhaps, the very spirit of a ship, in the misty distance, or passing
us so close that through our glasses we could see the people on her decks, and
easily make out her name, and whither she was bound. For hours together we could
watch the dolphins and porpoises as they rolled and leaped and dived around the
vessel; or those small creatures ever on the wing, the Mother Carey's chickens,
which had borne us company from New York bay, and for a whole fortnight
fluttered about the vessel's stern. For some days we had a dead calm, or very
light winds, during which the crew amused themselves with fishing, and hooked an
unlucky dolphin, who expired, in all his rainbow colours, on the deck: an event
of such importance in our barren calendar, that afterwards we dated from the
dolphin, and made the day on which he died, an era.
Besides all this, when we were five or six days out, there began to be much
talk of icebergs, of which wandering islands an unusual number had been seen by
the vessels that had come into New York a day or two before we left that port,
and of whose dangerous neighbourhood we were warned by the sudden coldness of
the weather, and the sinking of the mercury in the barometer. While these tokens
lasted, a double look-out was kept, and many dismal tales were whispered after
dark, of ships that had struck upon the ice and gone down in the night; but the
wind obliging us to hold a southward course, we saw none of them, and the
weather soon grew bright and warm again.
The observation every day at noon, and the subsequent working of the vessel's
course, was, as may be supposed, a feature in our lives of paramount importance;
nor were there wanting (as there never are) sagacious doubters of the captain's
calculations, who, so soon as his back was turned, would, in the absence of
compasses, measure the chart with bits of string, and ends of pocket-
handkerchiefs, and points of snuffers, and clearly prove him to be wrong by an
odd thousand miles or so. It was very edifying to see these unbelievers shake
their heads and frown, and hear them hold forth strongly upon navigation: not
that they knew anything about it, but that they always mistrusted the captain in
calm weather, or when the wind was adverse. Indeed, the mercury itself is not so
variable as this class of passengers, whom you will see, when the ship is going
nobly through the water, quite pale with admiration, swearing that the captain
beats all captains ever known, and even hinting at subscriptions for a piece of
plate; and who, next morning, when the breeze has lulled, and all the sails hang
useless in the idle air, shake their despondent heads again, and say, with
screwed-up lips, they hope that captain is a sailor - but they shrewdly doubt
him.
It even became an occupation in the calm, to wonder when the wind WOULD
spring up in the favourable quarter, where, it was clearly shown by all the
rules and precedents, it ought to have sprung up long ago. The first mate, who
whistled for it zealously, was much respected for his perseverance, and was
regarded even by the unbelievers as a first-rate sailor. Many gloomy looks would
be cast upward through the cabin skylights at the flapping sails while dinner
was in progress; and some, growing bold in ruefulness, predicted that we should
land about the middle of July. There are always on board ship, a Sanguine One,
and a Despondent One. The latter character carried it hollow at this period of
the voyage, and triumphed over the Sanguine One at every meal, by inquiring
where he supposed the Great Western (which left New York a week after us) was
NOW: and where he supposed the 'Cunard' steam-packet was NOW: and what he
thought of sailing vessels, as compared with steamships NOW: and so beset his
life with pestilent attacks of that kind, that he too was obliged to affect
despondency, for very peace and quietude.
These were additions to the list of entertaining incidents, but there was
still another source of interest. We carried in the steerage nearly a hundred
passengers: a little world of poverty: and as we came to know individuals among
them by sight, from looking down upon the deck where they took the air in the
daytime, and cooked their food, and very often ate it too, we became curious to
know their histories, and with what expectations they had gone out to America,
and on what errands they were going home, and what their circumstances were. The
information we got on these heads from the carpenter, who had charge of these
people, was often of the strangest kind. Some of them had been in America but
three days, some but three months, and some had gone out in the last voyage of
that very ship in which they were now returning home. Others had sold their
clothes to raise the passage-money, and had hardly rags to cover them; others
had no food, and lived upon the charity of the rest: and one man, it was
discovered nearly at the end of the voyage, not before - for he kept his secret
close, and did not court compassion - had had no sustenance whatever but the
bones and scraps of fat he took from the plates used in the after- cabin dinner,
when they were put out to be washed.
The whole system of shipping and conveying these unfortunate persons, is one
that stands in need of thorough revision. If any class deserve to be protected
and assisted by the Government, it is that class who are banished from their
native land in search of the bare means of subsistence. All that could be done
for these poor people by the great compassion and humanity of the captain and
officers was done, but they require much more. The law is bound, at least upon
the English side, to see that too many of them are not put on board one ship:
and that their accommodations are decent: not demoralising, and profligate. It
is bound, too, in common humanity, to declare that no man shall be taken on
board without his stock of provisions being previously inspected by some proper
officer, and pronounced moderately sufficient for his support upon the voyage.
It is bound to provide, or to require that there be provided, a medical
attendant; whereas in these ships there are none, though sickness of adults, and
deaths of children, on the passage, are matters of the very commonest
occurrence. Above all it is the duty of any Government, be it monarchy or
republic, to interpose and put an end to that system by which a firm of traders
in emigrants purchase of the owners the whole 'tween-decks of a ship, and send
on board as many wretched people as they can lay hold of, on any terms they can
get, without the smallest reference to the conveniences of the steerage, the
number of berths, the slightest separation of the sexes, or anything but their
own immediate profit. Nor is even this the worst of the vicious system: for,
certain crimping agents of these houses, who have a percentage on all the
passengers they inveigle, are constantly travelling about those districts where
poverty and discontent are rife, and tempting the credulous into more misery, by
holding out monstrous inducements to emigration which can never be realised.
The history of every family we had on board was pretty much the same. After
hoarding up, and borrowing, and begging, and selling everything to pay the
passage, they had gone out to New York, expecting to find its streets paved with
gold; and had found them paved with very hard and very real stones. Enterprise
was dull; labourers were not wanted; jobs of work were to be got, but the
payment was not. They were coming back, even poorer than they went. One of them
was carrying an open letter from a young English artisan, who had been in New
York a fortnight, to a friend near Manchester, whom he strongly urged to follow
him. One of the officers brought it to me as a curiosity. 'This is the country,
Jem,' said the writer. 'I like America. There is no despotism here; that's the
great thing. Employment of all sorts is going a- begging, and wages are capital.
You have only to choose a trade, Jem, and be it. I haven't made choice of one
yet, but I shall soon. AT PRESENT I HAVEN'T QUITE MADE UP MY MIND WHETHER TO BE
A CARPENTER - OR A TAILOR.'
There was yet another kind of passenger, and but one more, who, in the calm
and the light winds, was a constant theme of conversation and observation among
us. This was an English sailor, a smart, thorough-built, English
man-of-war's-man from his hat to his shoes, who was serving in the American
navy, and having got leave of absence was on his way home to see his friends.
When he presented himself to take and pay for his passage, it had been suggested
to him that being an able seaman he might as well work it and save the money,
but this piece of advice he very indignantly rejected: saying, 'He'd be damned
but for once he'd go aboard ship, as a gentleman.' Accordingly, they took his
money, but he no sooner came aboard, than he stowed his kit in the forecastle,
arranged to mess with the crew, and the very first time the hands were turned
up, went aloft like a cat, before anybody. And all through the passage there he
was, first at the braces, outermost on the yards, perpetually lending a hand
everywhere, but always with a sober dignity in his manner, and a sober grin on
his face, which plainly said, 'I do it as a gentleman. For my own pleasure, mind
you!'
At length and at last, the promised wind came up in right good earnest, and
away we went before it, with every stitch of canvas set, slashing through the
water nobly. There was a grandeur in the motion of the splendid ship, as
overshadowed by her mass of sails, she rode at a furious pace upon the waves,
which filled one with an indescribable sense of pride and exultation. As she
plunged into a foaming valley, how I loved to see the green waves, bordered deep
with white, come rushing on astern, to buoy her upward at their pleasure, and
curl about her as she stooped again, but always own her for their haughty
mistress still! On, on we flew, with changing lights upon the water, being now
in the blessed region of fleecy skies; a bright sun lighting us by day, and a
bright moon by night; the vane pointing directly homeward, alike the truthful
index to the favouring wind and to our cheerful hearts; until at sunrise, one
fair Monday morning - the twenty-seventh of June, I shall not easily forget the
day - there lay before us, old Cape Clear, God bless it, showing, in the mist of
early morning, like a cloud: the brightest and most welcome cloud, to us, that
ever hid the face of Heaven's fallen sister - Home.
Dim speck as it was in the wide prospect, it made the sunrise a more cheerful
sight, and gave to it that sort of human interest which it seems to want at sea.
There, as elsewhere, the return of day is inseparable from some sense of renewed
hope and gladness; but the light shining on the dreary waste of water, and
showing it in all its vast extent of loneliness, presents a solemn spectacle,
which even night, veiling it in darkness and uncertainty, does not surpass. The
rising of the moon is more in keeping with the solitary ocean; and has an air of
melancholy grandeur, which in its soft and gentle influence, seems to comfort
while it saddens. I recollect when I was a very young child having a fancy that
the reflection of the moon in water was a path to Heaven, trodden by the spirits
of good people on their way to God; and this old feeling often came over me
again, when I watched it on a tranquil night at sea.
The wind was very light on this same Monday morning, but it was still in the
right quarter, and so, by slow degrees, we left Cape Clear behind, and sailed
along within sight of the coast of Ireland. And how merry we all were, and how
loyal to the George Washington, and how full of mutual congratulations, and how
venturesome in predicting the exact hour at which we should arrive at Liverpool,
may be easily imagined and readily understood. Also, how heartily we drank the
captain's health that day at dinner; and how restless we became about packing
up: and how two or three of the most sanguine spirits rejected the idea of going
to bed at all that night as something it was not worth while to do, so near the
shore, but went nevertheless, and slept soundly; and how to be so near our
journey's end, was like a pleasant dream, from which one feared to wake.
The friendly breeze freshened again next day, and on we went once more before
it gallantly: descrying now and then an English ship going homeward under
shortened sail, while we, with every inch of canvas crowded on, dashed gaily
past, and left her far behind. Towards evening, the weather turned hazy, with a
drizzling rain; and soon became so thick, that we sailed, as it were, in a
cloud. Still we swept onward like a phantom ship, and many an eager eye glanced
up to where the Look-out on the mast kept watch for Holyhead.
At length his long-expected cry was heard, and at the same moment there shone
out from the haze and mist ahead, a gleaming light, which presently was gone,
and soon returned, and soon was gone again. Whenever it came back, the eyes of
all on board, brightened and sparkled like itself: and there we all stood,
watching this revolving light upon the rock at Holyhead, and praising it for its
brightness and its friendly warning, and lauding it, in short, above all other
signal lights that ever were displayed, until it once more glimmered faintly in
the distance, far behind us.
Then, it was time to fire a gun, for a pilot; and almost before its smoke had
cleared away, a little boat with a light at her masthead came bearing down upon
us, through the darkness, swiftly. And presently, our sails being backed, she
ran alongside; and the hoarse pilot, wrapped and muffled in pea-coats and shawls
to the very bridge of his weather-ploughed-up nose, stood bodily among us on the
deck. And I think if that pilot had wanted to borrow fifty pounds for an
indefinite period on no security, we should have engaged to lend it to him,
among us, before his boat had dropped astern, or (which is the same thing)
before every scrap of news in the paper he brought with him had become the
common property of all on board.
We turned in pretty late that night, and turned out pretty early next
morning. By six o'clock we clustered on the deck, prepared to go ashore; and
looked upon the spires, and roofs, and smoke, of Liverpool. By eight we all sat
down in one of its Hotels, to eat and drink together for the last time. And by
nine we had shaken hands all round, and broken up our social company for ever.
The country, by the railroad, seemed, as we rattled through it, like a
luxuriant garden. The beauty of the fields (so small they looked!), the
hedge-rows, and the trees; the pretty cottages, the beds of flowers, the old
churchyards, the antique houses, and every well-known object; the exquisite
delights of that one journey, crowding in the short compass of a summer's day,
the joy of many years, with the winding up with Home and all that makes it dear;
no tongue can tell, or pen of mine describe.
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