Redburn: His First Voyage — Chapters L - LV

And Carlo!

ill betide the voice that ever greets thee, my Italian boy, with aught but kindness; cursed the slave who ever drives thy wondrous box of sights and sounds forth from a lordling’s door!

CHAPTER L. HARRY BOLTON AT SEA

As yet I have said nothing about how my friend, Harry, got along as a sailor.

Poor Harry!

a feeling of sadness, never to be comforted, comes over me, even now when I think of you.

For this voyage that you went, but carried you part of the way to that ocean grave, which has buried you up with your secrets, and whither no mourning pilgrimage can be made.

But why this gloom at the thought of the dead?

And why should we not be glad?

Is it, that we ever think of them as departed from all joy?

Is it, that we believe that indeed they are dead?

They revisit us not, the departed; their voices no more ring in the air; summer may come, but it is winter with them; and even in our own limbs we feel not the sap that every spring renews the green life of the trees.

But Harry!

you live over again, as I recall your image before me.

I see you, plain and palpable as in life; and can make your existence obvious to others.

Is he, then, dead, of whom this may be said?

But Harry!

you are mixed with a thousand strange forms, the centaurs of fancy; half real and human, half wild and grotesque.

Divine imaginings, like gods, come down to the groves of our Thessalies, and there, in the embrace of wild, dryad reminiscences, beget the beings that astonish the world.

But Harry!

though your image now roams in my Thessaly groves, it is the same as of old; and among the droves of mixed beings and centaurs, you show like a zebra, banding with elks.

And indeed, in his striped Guernsey frock, dark glossy skin and hair, Harry Bolton, mingling with the Highlander’s crew, looked not unlike the soft, silken quadruped-creole, that, pursued by wild Bushmen, bounds through Caffrarian woods.

How they hunted you, Harry, my zebra!

those ocean barbarians, those unimpressible, uncivilized sailors of ours!

How they pursued you from bowsprit to mainmast, and started you out of your every retreat!

Before the day of our sailing, it was known to the seamen that the girlish youth, whom they daily saw near the sign of the Clipper in Union-street, would form one of their homeward-bound crew.

Accordingly, they cast upon him many a critical glance; but were not long in concluding that Harry would prove no very great accession to their strength; that the hoist of so tender an arm would not tell many hundred-weight on the maintop-sail halyards.

Therefore they disliked him before they became acquainted with him; and such dislikes, as every one knows, are the most inveterate, and liable to increase.

But even sailors are not blind to the sacredness that hallows a stranger; and for a time, abstaining from rudeness, they only maintained toward my friend a cold and unsympathizing civility.

As for Harry, at first the novelty of the scene filled up his mind; and the thought of being bound for a distant land, carried with it, as with every one, a buoyant feeling of undefinable expectation.

And though his money was now gone again, all but a sovereign or two, yet that troubled him but little, in the first flush of being at sea.

But I was surprised, that one who had certainly seen much of life, should evince such an incredible ignorance of what was wholly inadmissible in a person situated as he was.

But perhaps his familiarity with lofty life, only the less qualified him for understanding the other extreme.

Will you believe me, this Bury blade once came on deck in a brocaded dressing-gown, embroidered slippers, and tasseled smoking-cap, to stand his morning watch.

As soon as I beheld him thus arrayed, a suspicion, which had previously crossed my mind, again recurred, and I almost vowed to myself that, spite his protestations, Harry Bolton never could have been at sea before, even as a _Guinea-pig_ in an Indiaman; for the slightest acquaintance with the sea-life and sailors, should have prevented him, it would seem, from enacting this folly.

“Who’s that Chinese mandarin?

” cried the mate, who had made voyages to Canton.

“Look you, my fine fellow, douse that mainsail now, and furl it in a trice.

” “Sir?

” said Harry, starting back.

“Is not this the morning watch, and is not mine a morning gown?

” But though, in my refined friend’s estimation, nothing could be more appropriate; in the mate’s, it was the most monstrous of incongruities;

and the offensive gown and cap were removed.

“It is too bad!

” exclaimed Harry to me; “I meant to lounge away the watch in that gown until coffee time;—and I suppose your Hottentot of a mate won’t permit a gentleman to smoke his Turkish pipe of a morning;

but by gad, I’ll wear straps to my pantaloons to spite him!

” Oh!

that was the rock on which you split, poor Harry!

Incensed at the want of polite refinement in the mates and crew, Harry, in a pet and pique, only determined to provoke them the more; and the storm of indignation he raised very soon overwhelmed him.

The sailors took a special spite to his chest, a large mahogany one, which he had had made to order at a furniture warehouse.

It was ornamented with brass screw-heads, and other devices; and was well filled with those articles of the wardrobe in which Harry had sported through a London season; for the various vests and pantaloons he had sold in Liverpool, when in want of money, had not materially lessened his extensive stock.

It was curious to listen to the various hints and opinings thrown out by the sailors at the occasional glimpses they had of this collection of silks, velvets, broadcloths, and satins.

I do not know exactly what they thought Harry had been; but they seemed unanimous in believing that, by abandoning his country, Harry had left more room for the gamblers.

Jackson even asked him to lift up the lower hem of his browsers, to test the color of his calves.

It is a noteworthy circumstance, that whenever a slender made youth, of easy manners and polite address happens to form one of a ship’s company, the sailors almost invariably impute his sea-going to an irresistible necessity of decamping from terra-firma in order to evade the constables.

These white-fingered gentry must be light-fingered too, they say to themselves, or they would not be after putting their hands into our tar.

What else can bring them to sea?

Cogent and conclusive this; and thus Harry, from the very beginning, was put down for a very equivocal character.

Sometimes, however, they only made sport of his appearance; especially one evening, when his monkey jacket being wet through, he was obliged to mount one of his swallow-tailed coats.

They said he carried two mizzen-peaks at his stern; declared he was a broken-down quill-driver, or a footman to a Portuguese running barber, or some old maid’s tobacco-boy.

As for the captain, it had become all the same to Harry as if there were no gentlemanly and complaisant Captain Riga on board.

For to his no small astonishment,—but just as I had predicted,—Captain Riga never noticed him now, but left the business of indoctrinating him into the little experiences of a greenhorn’s career solely in the hands of his officers and crew.

But the worst was to come.

For the first few days, whenever there was any running aloft to be done, I noticed that Harry was indefatigable in coiling away the slack of the rigging about decks; ignoring the fact that his shipmates were springing into the shrouds.

And when all hands of the watch would be engaged _clewing up a t’-gallant-sail,_ that is, pulling the proper ropes on deck that wrapped the sail up on the yard aloft, Harry would always manage to get near the _belaying-pin, so_ that when the time came for two of us to spring into the rigging, he would be inordinately fidgety in making fast the _clew-lines,_ and would be so absorbed in that occupation, and would so elaborate the hitchings round the pin, that it was quite impossible for him, after doing so much, to mount over the bulwarks before his comrades had got there.

However, after securing the clew-lines beyond a possibility of their getting loose, Harry would always make a feint of starting in a prodigious hurry for the shrouds; but suddenly looking up, and seeing others in advance, would retreat, apparently quite chagrined that he had been cut off from the opportunity of signalizing his activity.

At this I was surprised, and spoke to my friend; when the alarming fact was confessed, that he had made a private trial of it, and it never would do: _he could not go aloft;_ his nerves would not hear of it.

“Then, Harry,” said I, “better you had never been born.

Do you know what it is that you are coming to?

Did you not tell me that you made no doubt you would acquit yourself well in the rigging?

Did you not say that you had been two voyages to Bombay?

Harry, you were mad to ship.

But you only imagine it: try again; and my word for it, you will very soon find yourself as much at home among the spars as a bird in a tree.

” But he could not be induced to try it over again; the fact was, _his nerves could not stand it;_ in the course of his courtly career, he had drunk too much strong Mocha coffee and gunpowder tea, and had smoked altogether too many Havannas.

At last, as I had repeatedly warned him, the mate singled him out one morning, and commanded him to mount to the main-truck, and unreeve the short signal halyards.

“Sir?

” said Harry, aghast.

“Away you go!

” said the mate, snatching a whip’s end.

“Don’t strike me!

” screamed Harry, drawing himself up.

“Take that, and along with you,” cried the mate, laying the rope once across his back, but lightly.

“By heaven!

” cried Harry, wincing—not with the blow, but the insult: and then making a dash at the mate, who, holding out his long arm, kept him lazily at bay, and laughed at him, till, had I not feared a broken head, I should infallibly have pitched my boy’s bulk into the officer.

“Captain Riga!

” cried Harry.

“Don’t call upon _him”_ said the mate; “he’s asleep, and won’t wake up till we strike Yankee soundings again.

Up you go!

” he added, flourishing the rope’s end.

Harry looked round among the grinning tars with a glance of terrible indignation and agony; and then settling his eye on me, and seeing there no hope, but even an admonition of obedience, as his only resource, he made one bound into the rigging, and was up at the main-top in a trice.

I thought a few more springs would take him to the truck, and was a little fearful that in his desperation he might then jump overboard; for I had heard of delirious greenhorns doing such things at sea, and being lost forever.

But no; he stopped short, and looked down from the top.

Fatal glance!

it unstrung his every fiber;

and I saw him reel, and clutch the shrouds, till the mate shouted out for him not to squeeze the tar out of the ropes.

“Up you go, sir.

” But Harry said nothing.

“You Max,” cried the mate to the Dutch sailor, “spring after him, and help him; you understand?

” Max went up the rigging hand over hand, and brought his red head with a bump against the base of Harry’s back.

Needs must when the devil drives; and higher and higher, with Max bumping him at every step, went my unfortunate friend.

At last he gained the royal yard, and the thin signal halyards—, hardly bigger than common twine—were flying in the wind.

“Unreeve!

” cried the mate.

I saw Harry’s arm stretched out—his legs seemed shaking in the rigging, even to us, down on deck; and at last, thank heaven!

the deed was done.

He came down pale as death, with bloodshot eyes, and every limb quivering.

From that moment he never put foot in rattlin; never mounted above the bulwarks; and for the residue of the voyage, at least, became an altered person.

At the time, he went to the mate—since he could not get speech of the captain—and conjured him to intercede with Riga, that his name might be stricken off from the list of the ship’s company, so that he might make the voyage as a steerage passenger; for which privilege, he bound himself to pay, as soon as he could dispose of some things of his in New York, over and above the ordinary passage-money.

But the mate gave him a blunt denial; and a look of wonder at his effrontery.

Once a sailor on board a ship, and _always_ a sailor for that voyage, at least; for within so brief a period, no officer can bear to associate on terms of any thing like equality with a person whom he has ordered about at his pleasure.

Harry then told the mate solemnly, that he might do what he pleased, but go aloft again he _could_ not, and _would_ not.

He would do any thing else but that.

This affair sealed Harry’s fate on board of the Highlander; the crew now reckoned him fair play for their worst jibes and jeers, and he led a miserable life indeed.

Few landsmen can imagine the depressing and self-humiliating effects of finding one’s self, for the first time, at the beck of illiterate sea-tyrants, with no opportunity of exhibiting any trait about you, but your ignorance of every thing connected with the sea-life that you lead, and the duties you are constantly called upon to perform.

In such a sphere, and under such circumstances, Isaac Newton and Lord Bacon would be sea-clowns and bumpkins; and Napoleon Bonaparte be cuffed and kicked without remorse.

In more than one instance I have seen the truth of this; and Harry, poor Harry, proved no exception.

And from the circumstances which exempted me from experiencing the bitterest of these evils, I only the more felt for one who, from a strange constitutional nervousness, before unknown even to himself, was become as a hunted hare to the merciless crew.

But how was it that Harry Bolton, who spite of his effeminacy of appearance, had evinced, in our London trip, such unmistakable flashes of a spirit not easily tamed—how was it, that he could now yield himself up to the almost passive reception of contumely and contempt?

Perhaps his spirit, for the time, had been broken.

But I will not undertake to explain; we are curious creatures, as every one knows; and there are passages in the lives of all men, so out of keeping with the common tenor of their ways, and so seemingly contradictory of themselves, that only He who made us can expound them.

CHAPTER LI. THE EMIGRANTS

After the first miserable weather we experienced at sea, we had intervals of foul and fair, mostly the former, however, attended with head winds, till at last, after a three days’ fog and rain, the sun rose cheerily one morning, and showed us Cape Clear.

Thank heaven, we were out of the weather emphatically called _“Channel weather,”_ and the last we should see of the eastern hemisphere was now in plain sight, and all the rest was broad ocean.

_Land ho!

_ was cried, as the dark purple headland grew out of the north.

At the cry, the Irish emigrants came rushing up the hatchway, thinking America itself was at hand.

“Where is it?

” cried one of them, running out a little way on the bowsprit.

“Is _that_ it?

” “Aye, it doesn’t look much like _ould_ Ireland, does it?

” said Jackson.

“Not a bit, honey:—and how long before we get there?

to-night?

” Nothing could exceed the disappointment and grief of the emigrants, when they were at last informed, that the land to the north was their own native island, which, after leaving three or four weeks previous in a steamboat for Liverpool, was now close to them again; and that, after newly voyaging so many days from the Mersey, the Highlander was only bringing them in view of the original home whence they started.

They were the most simple people I had ever seen.

They seemed to have no adequate idea of distances; and to them, America must have seemed as a place just over a river.

Every morning some of them came on deck, to see how much nearer we were: and one old man would stand for hours together, looking straight off from the bows, as if he expected to see New York city every minute, when, perhaps, we were yet two thousand miles distant, and steering, moreover, against a head wind.

The only thing that ever diverted this poor old man from his earnest search for land, was the occasional appearance of porpoises under the bows; when he would cry out at the top of his voice—“Look, look, ye divils!

look at the great pigs of the sea!

” At last, the emigrants began to think, that the ship had played them false; and that she was bound for the East Indies, or some other remote place; and one night, Jackson set a report going among them, that Riga purposed taking them to Barbary, and selling them all for slaves; but though some of the old women almost believed it, and a great weeping ensued among the children, yet the men knew better than to believe such a ridiculous tale.

Of all the emigrants, my Italian boy Carlo, seemed most at his ease.

He would lie all day in a dreamy mood, sunning himself in the long boat, and gazing out on the sea.

At night, he would bring up his organ, and play for several hours; much to the delight of his fellow voyagers, who blessed him and his organ again and again; and paid him for his music by furnishing him his meals.

Sometimes, the steward would come forward, when it happened to be very much of a moonlight, with a message from the cabin, for Carlo to repair to the quarterdeck, and entertain the gentlemen and ladies.

There was a fiddler on board, as will presently be seen; and sometimes, by urgent entreaties, he was induced to unite his music with Carlo’s, for the benefit of the cabin occupants; but this was only twice or thrice: for this fiddler deemed himself considerably elevated above the other steerage-passengers; and did not much fancy the idea of fiddling to strangers; and thus wear out his elbow, while persons, entirely unknown to him, and in whose welfare he felt not the slightest interest, were curveting about in famous high spirits.

So for the most part, the gentlemen and ladies were fain to dance as well as they could to my little Italian’s organ.

It was the most accommodating organ in the world; for it could play any tune that was called for; Carlo pulling in and out the ivory knobs at one side, and so manufacturing melody at pleasure.

True, some censorious gentlemen cabin-passengers protested, that such or such an air, was not precisely according to Handel or Mozart; and some ladies, whom I overheard talking about throwing their nosegays to Malibran at Covent Garden, assured the attentive Captain Riga, that Carlo’s organ was a most wretched affair, and made a horrible din.

“Yes, ladies,” said the captain, bowing, “by your leave, I think Carlo’s organ must have lost its mother, for it squeals like a pig running after its dam.

” Harry was incensed at these criticisms; and yet these cabin-people were all ready enough to dance to poor Carlo’s music.

“Carlo”—said I, one night, as he was marching forward from the quarter-deck, after one of these sea-quadrilles, which took place during my watch on deck:—“Carlo”—said I, “what do the gentlemen and ladies give you for playing?

” “Look!

”—and he showed me three copper medals of Britannia and her shield—three English pennies.

Now, whenever we discover a dislike in us, toward any one, we should ever be a little suspicious of ourselves.

It may be, therefore, that the natural antipathy with which almost all seamen and steerage-passengers, regard the inmates of the cabin, was one cause at least, of my not feeling very charitably disposed toward them, myself.

Yes: that might have been; but nevertheless, I will let nature have her own way for once; and here declare roundly, that, however it was, I cherished a feeling toward these cabin-passengers, akin to contempt.

Not because they happened to be cabin-passengers: not at all: but only because they seemed the most finical, miserly, mean men and women, that ever stepped over the Atlantic.

One of them was an old fellow in a robust looking coat, with broad skirts; he had a nose like a bottle of port-wine; and would stand for a whole hour, with his legs straddling apart, and his hands deep down in his breeches pockets, as if he had two mints at work there, coining guineas.

He was an abominable looking old fellow, with cold, fat, jelly-like eyes; and avarice, heartlessness, and sensuality stamped all over him.

He seemed all the time going through some process of mental arithmetic; doing sums with dollars and cents: his very mouth, wrinkled and drawn up at the corners, looked like a purse.

When he dies, his skull ought to be turned into a savings box, with the till-hole between his teeth.

Another of the cabin inmates, was a middle-aged Londoner, in a comical Cockney-cut coat, with a pair of semicircular tails: so that he looked as if he were sitting in a swing.

He wore a spotted neckerchief; a short, little, fiery-red vest; and striped pants, very thin in the calf, but very full about the waist.

There was nothing describable about him but his dress; for he had such a meaningless face, I can not remember it; though I have a vague impression, that it looked at the time, as if its owner was laboring under the mumps.

Then there were two or three buckish looking young fellows, among the rest; who were all the time playing at cards on the poop, under the lee of the _spanker;_ or smoking cigars on the taffrail; or sat quizzing the emigrant women with opera-glasses, leveled through the windows of the upper cabin.

These sparks frequently called for the steward to help them to brandy and water, and talked about going on to Washington, to see Niagara Falls.

There was also an old gentleman, who had brought with him three or four heavy files of the _London Times,_ and other papers; and he spent all his hours in reading them, on the shady side of the deck, with one leg crossed over the other; and without crossed legs, he never read at all.

That was indispensable to the proper understanding of what he studied.

He growled terribly, when disturbed by the sailors, who now and then were obliged to move him to get at the ropes.

As for the ladies, I have nothing to say concerning them; for ladies are like creeds; if you can not speak well of them, say nothing.

CHAPTER LII. THE EMIGRANTS’ KITCHEN

I have made some mention of the “galley,” or great stove for the steerage passengers, which was planted over the main hatches.

During the outward-bound passage, there were so few occupants of the steerage, that they had abundant room to do their cooking at this galley.

But it was otherwise now; for we had four or five hundred in the steerage; and all their cooking was to be done by one fire; a pretty large one, to be sure, but, nevertheless, small enough, considering the number to be accommodated, and the fact that the fire was only to be kindled at certain hours.

For the emigrants in these ships are under a sort of martial-law; and in all their affairs are regulated by the despotic ordinances of the captain.

And though it is evident, that to a certain extent this is necessary, and even indispensable; yet, as at sea no appeal lies beyond the captain, he too often makes unscrupulous use of his power.

And as for going to law with him at the end of the voyage, you might as well go to law with the Czar of Russia.

At making the fire, the emigrants take turns; as it is often very disagreeable work, owing to the pitching of the ship, and the heaving of the spray over the uncovered “galley.

” Whenever I had the morning watch, from four to eight, I was sure to see some poor fellow crawling up from below about daybreak, and go to groping over the deck after bits of rope-yarn, or tarred canvas, for kindling-stuff.

And no sooner would the fire be fairly made, than up came the old women, and men, and children; each armed with an iron pot or saucepan; and invariably a great tumult ensued, as to whose turn to cook came next; sometimes the more quarrelsome would fight, and upset each other’s pots and pans.

Once, an English lad came up with a little coffee-pot, which he managed to crowd in between two pans.

This done, he went below.

Soon after a great strapping Irishman, in knee-breeches and bare calves, made his appearance; and eying the row of things on the fire, asked whose coffee-pot that was; upon being told, he removed it, and put his own in its place; saying something about that individual place belonging to him; and with that, he turned aside.

Not long after, the boy came along again; and seeing his pot removed, made a violent exclamation, and replaced it; which the Irishman no sooner perceived, than he rushed at him, with his fists doubled.

The boy snatched up the boiling coffee, and spirted its contents all about the fellow’s bare legs; which incontinently began to dance involuntary hornpipes and fandangoes, as a preliminary to giving chase to the boy, who by this time, however, had decamped.

Many similar scenes occurred every day; nor did a single day pass, but scores of the poor people got no chance whatever to do their cooking.

This was bad enough; but it was a still more miserable thing, to see these poor emigrants wrangling and fighting together for the want of the most ordinary accommodations.

But thus it is, that the very hardships to which such beings are subjected, instead of uniting them, only tends, by imbittering their tempers, to set them against each other; and thus they themselves drive the strongest rivet into the chain, by which their social superiors hold them subject.

It was with a most reluctant hand, that every evening in the second dog-watch, at the mate’s command, I would march up to the fire, and giving notice to the assembled crowd, that the time was come to extinguish it, would dash it out with my bucket of salt water; though many, who had long waited for a chance to cook, had now to go away disappointed.

The staple food of the Irish emigrants was oatmeal and water, boiled into what is sometimes called _mush;_ by the Dutch is known as _supaan;_ by sailors _burgoo;_ by the New Englanders _hasty-pudding;_ in which hasty-pudding, by the way, the poet Barlow found the materials for a sort of epic.

Some of the steerage passengers, however, were provided with sea-biscuit, and other perennial food, that was eatable all the year round, fire or no fire.

There were several, moreover, who seemed better to do in the world than the rest; who were well furnished with hams, cheese, Bologna sausages, Dutch herrings, alewives, and other delicacies adapted to the contingencies of a voyager in the steerage.

There was a little old Englishman on board, who had been a grocer ashore, whose greasy trunks seemed all pantries; and he was constantly using himself for a cupboard, by transferring their contents into his own interior.

He was a little light of head, I always thought.

He particularly doated on his long strings of sausages; and would sometimes take them out, and play with them, wreathing them round him, like an Indian juggler with charmed snakes.

What with this diversion, and eating his cheese, and helping himself from an inexhaustible junk bottle, and smoking his pipe, and meditating, this crack-pated grocer made time jog along with him at a tolerably easy pace.

But by far the most considerable man in the steerage, in point of pecuniary circumstances at least, was a slender little pale-faced English tailor, who it seemed had engaged a passage for himself and wife in some imaginary section of the ship, called the _second cabin,_ which was feigned to combine the comforts of the first cabin with the cheapness of the steerage.

But it turned out that this second cabin was comprised in the after part of the steerage itself, with nothing intervening but a name.

So to his no small disgust, he found himself herding with the rabble; and his complaints to the captain were unheeded.

This luckless tailor was tormented the whole voyage by his wife, who was young and handsome; just such a beauty as farmers’-boys fall in love with; she had bright eyes, and red cheeks, and looked plump and happy.

She was a sad coquette; and did not turn away, as she was bound to do, from the dandy glances of the cabin bucks, who ogled her through their double-barreled opera glasses.

This enraged the tailor past telling; he would remonstrate with his wife, and scold her; and lay his matrimonial commands upon her, to go below instantly, out of sight.

But the lady was not to be tyrannized over; and so she told him.

Meantime, the bucks would be still framing her in their lenses, mightily enjoying the fun.

The last resources of the poor tailor would be, to start up, and make a dash at the rogues, with clenched fists; but upon getting as far as the mainmast, the mate would accost him from over the rope that divided them, and beg leave to communicate the fact, that he could come no further.

This unfortunate tailor was also a fiddler; and when fairly baited into desperation, would rush for his instrument, and try to get rid of his wrath by playing the most savage, remorseless airs he could think of.

While thus employed, perhaps his wife would accost him— “Billy, my dear;” and lay her soft hand on his shoulder.

But Billy, he only fiddled harder.

“Billy, my love!

” The bow went faster and faster.

“Come, now, Billy, my dear little fellow, let’s make it all up;” and she bent over his knees, looking bewitchingly up at him, with her irresistible eyes.

Down went fiddle and bow; and the couple would sit together for an hour or two, as pleasant and affectionate as possible.

But the next day, the chances were, that the old feud would be renewed, which was certain to be the case at the first glimpse of an opera-glass from the cabin.

CHAPTER LIII. THE HORATII AND CURIATII

With a slight alteration, I might begin this chapter after the manner of Livy, in the 24th section of his first book:—“It _happened, that in each family were three twin brothers, between whom there was little disparity in point of age or of strength.

”_ Among the steerage passengers of the Highlander, were two women from Armagh, in Ireland, widows and sisters, who had each three twin sons, born, as they said, on the same day.

They were ten years old.

Each three of these six cousins were as like as the mutually reflected figures in a kaleidoscope; and like the forms seen in a kaleidoscope, together, as well as separately, they seemed to form a complete figure.

But, though besides this fraternal likeness, all six boys bore a strong cousin-german resemblance to each other;

yet, the O’Briens were in disposition quite the reverse of the O’Regans.

The former were a timid, silent trio, who used to revolve around their mother’s waist, and seldom quit the maternal orbit;

whereas, the O’Regans were “broths of boys,” full of mischief and fun, and given to all manner of devilment, like the tails of the comets.

Early every morning, Mrs. O’Regan emerged from the steerage, driving her spirited twins before her, like a riotous herd of young steers; and made her way to the capacious deck-tub, full of salt water, pumped up from the sea, for the purpose of washing down the ship.

Three splashes, and the three boys were ducking and diving together in the brine; their mother engaged in _shampooing_ them, though it was haphazard sort of work enough; a rub here, and a scrub there, as she could manage to fasten on a stray limb.

“Pat, ye divil, hould still while I wash ye.

Ah!

but it’s you, Teddy, you rogue.

Arrah, now, Mike, ye spalpeen, don’t be mixing your legs up with Pat’s. ” The little rascals, leaping and scrambling with delight, enjoyed the sport mightily; while this indefatigable, but merry matron, manipulated them all over, as if it were a matter of conscience.

Meanwhile, Mrs. O’Brien would be standing on the boatswain’s locker—or rope and tar-pot pantry in the vessel’s bows—with a large old quarto Bible, black with age, laid before her between the knight-heads, and reading aloud to her three meek little lambs.

The sailors took much pleasure in the deck-tub performances of the O’Regans, and greatly admired them always for their archness and activity; but the tranquil O’Briens they did not fancy so much.

More especially they disliked the grave matron herself; hooded in rusty black; and they had a bitter grudge against her book.

To that, and the incantations muttered over it, they ascribed the head winds that haunted us; and Blunt, our Irish cockney, really believed that Mrs. O’Brien purposely came on deck every morning, in order to secure a foul wind for the next ensuing twenty-four hours.

At last, upon her coming forward one morning, Max the Dutchman accosted her, saying he was sorry for it, but if she went between the knight-heads again with her book, the crew would throw it overboard for her.

Now, although contrasted in character, there existed a great warmth of affection between the two families of twins, which upon this occasion was curiously manifested.

Notwithstanding the rebuke and threat of the sailor, the widow silently occupied her old place; and with her children clustering round her, began her low, muttered reading, standing right in the extreme bows of the ship, and slightly leaning over them, as if addressing the multitudinous waves from a floating pulpit.

Presently Max came behind her, snatched the book from her hands, and threw it overboard.

The widow gave a wail, and her boys set up a cry.

Their cousins, then ducking in the water close by, at once saw the cause of the cry; and springing from the tub, like so many dogs, seized Max by the legs, biting and striking at him: which, the before timid little O’Briens no sooner perceived, than they, too, threw themselves on the enemy, and the amazed seaman found himself baited like a bull by all six boys.

And here it gives me joy to record one good thing on the part of the mate.

He saw the fray, and its beginning; and rushing forward, told Max that he would harm the boys at his peril; while he cheered them on, as if rejoiced at their giving the fellow such a tussle.

At last Max, sorely scratched, bit, pinched, and every way aggravated, though of course without a serious bruise, cried out “enough!

” and the assailants were ordered to quit him; but though the three O’Briens obeyed, the three O’Regans hung on to him like leeches, and had to be dragged off.

“There now, you rascal,” cried the mate, “throw overboard another Bible, and I’ll send you after it without a bowline.

” This event gave additional celebrity to the twins throughout the vessel.

That morning all six were invited to the quarter-deck, and reviewed by the cabin-passengers, the ladies manifesting particular interest in them, as they always do concerning twins, which some of them show in public parks and gardens, by stopping to look at them, and questioning their nurses.

“And were you all born at one time?

” asked an old lady, letting her eye run in wonder along the even file of white heads.

“Indeed, an’ we were,” said Teddy; “wasn’t we, mother?

” Many more questions were asked and answered, when a collection was taken up for their benefit among these magnanimous cabin-passengers, which resulted in starting all six boys in the world with a penny apiece.

I never could look at these little fellows without an inexplicable feeling coming over me; and though there was nothing so very remarkable or unprecedented about them, except the singular coincidence of two sisters simultaneously making the world such a generous present; yet, the mere fact of there being twins always seemed curious; in fact, to me at least, all twins are prodigies; and still I hardly know why this should be; for all of us in our own persons furnish numerous examples of the same phenomenon.

Are not our thumbs twins?

A regular Castor and Pollux?

And all of our fingers?

Are not our arms, hands, legs, feet, eyes, ears, all twins; born at one birth, and as much alike as they possibly can be?

Can it be, that the Greek grammarians invented their dual number for the particular benefit of twins?

CHAPTER LIV. SOME SUPERIOR OLD NAIL-ROD AND _PIG-TAIL_

It has been mentioned how advantageously my shipmates disposed of their tobacco in Liverpool; but it is to be related how those nefarious commercial speculations of theirs reduced them to sad extremities in the end.

True to their improvident character, and seduced by the high prices paid for the weed in England, they had there sold off by far the greater portion of what tobacco they had; even inducing the mate to surrender the portion he had secured under lock and key by command of the Custom-house officers.

So that when the crew were about two weeks out, on the homeward-bound passage, it became sorrowfully evident that tobacco was at a premium.

Now, one of the favorite pursuits of sailors during a dogwatch below at sea is cards; and though they do not understand whist, cribbage, and games of that kidney, yet they are adepts at what is called _“High-low-Jack-and-the-game,”_ which name, indeed, has a Jackish and nautical flavor.

Their stakes are generally so many plugs of tobacco, which, like rouleaux of guineas, are piled on their chests when they play.

Judge, then, the wicked zest with which the Highlander’s crew now shuffled and dealt the pack; and how the interest curiously and invertedly increased, as the stakes necessarily became less and less;

and finally resolved themselves into _“chaws.

”_ So absorbed, at last, did they become at this business, that some of them, after being hard at work during a nightwatch on deck, would rob themselves of rest below, in order to have a brush at the cards.

And as it is very difficult sleeping in the presence of gamblers; especially if they chance to be sailors, whose conversation at all times is apt to be boisterous; these fellows would often be driven out of the forecastle by those who desired to rest.

They were obliged to repair on deck, and make a card-table of it; and invariably, in such cases, there was a great deal of contention, a great many ungentlemanly charges of nigging and cheating; and, now and then, a few parenthetical blows were exchanged.

But this was not so much to be wondered at, seeing they could see but very little, being provided with no light but that of a midnight sky;

and the cards, from long wear and rough usage, having become exceedingly torn and tarry, so much so, that several members of the four suits might have seceded from their respective clans, and formed into a fifth tribe, under the name of _“Tar-spots.

”_ Every day the tobacco grew scarcer and scarcer; till at last it became necessary to adopt the greatest possible economy in its use.

The modicum constituting an ordinary _“chaw,”_ was made to last a whole day; and at night, permission being had from the cook, this self-same _“chaw”_ was placed in the oven of the stove, and there dried; so as to do duty in a pipe.

In the end not a plug was to be had; and deprived of a solace and a stimulus, on which sailors so much rely while at sea, the crew became absent, moody, and sadly tormented with the hypos.

They were something like opium-smokers, suddenly cut off from their drug.

They would sit on their chests, forlorn and moping; with a steadfast sadness, eying the forecastle lamp, at which they had lighted so many a pleasant pipe.

With touching eloquence they recalled those happier evenings—the time of smoke and vapor; when, after a whole day’s delectable _“chawing,”_ they beguiled themselves with their genial, and most companionable puffs.

One night, when they seemed more than usually cast down and disconsolate, Blunt, the Irish cockney, started up suddenly with an idea in his head—“Boys, let’s search under the bunks!

” Bless you, Blunt!

what a happy conceit!

Forthwith, the chests were dragged out;

the dark places explored; and two sticks of _nail-rod_ tobacco, and several old _“chaws,”_ thrown aside by sailors on some previous voyage, were their cheering reward.

They were impartially divided by Jackson, who, upon this occasion, acquitted himself to the satisfaction of all.

Their mode of dividing this tobacco was the rather curious one generally adopted by sailors, when the highest possible degree of impartiality is desirable.

I will describe it, recommending its earnest consideration to all heirs, who may hereafter divide an inheritance;

for if they adopted this nautical method, that universally slanderous aphorism of Lavater would be forever rendered nugatory—“Expect _not to understand any man till you have divided with him an inheritance.

”_ The _nail-rods_ they cut as evenly as possible into as many parts as there were men to be supplied; and this operation having been performed in the presence of all, Jackson, placing the tobacco before him, his face to the wall, and back to the company, struck one of the bits of weed with his knife, crying out, “Whose is this?

” Whereupon a respondent, previously pitched upon, replied, at a venture, from the opposite corner of the forecastle, “Blunt’s;” and to Blunt it went; and so on, in like manner, till all were served.

I put it to you, lawyers—shade of Blackstone, I invoke you—if a more impartial procedure could be imagined than this?

But the nail-rods and last-voyage _“chaws”_ were soon gone, and then, after a short interval of comparative gayety, the men again drooped, and relapsed into gloom.

They soon hit upon an ingenious device, however—but not altogether new among seamen—to allay the severity of the depression under which they languished.

Ropes were unstranded, and the yarns picked apart; and, cut up into small bits, were used as a substitute for the weed.

Old ropes were preferred; especially those which had long lain in the hold, and had contracted an epicurean dampness, making still richer their ancient, cheese-like flavor.

In the middle of most large ropes, there is a straight, central part, round which the exterior strands are twisted.

When in picking oakum, upon various occasions, I have chanced, among the old junk used at such times, to light upon a fragment of this species of rope, I have ever taken, I know not what kind of strange, nutty delight in untwisting it slowly, and gradually coming upon its deftly hidden and aromatic _“heart;”_ for so this central piece is denominated.

It is generally of a rich, tawny, Indian hue, somewhat inclined to luster; is exceedingly agreeable to the touch; diffuses a pungent odor, as of an old dusty bottle of Port, newly opened above ground; and, altogether, is an object which no man, who enjoys his dinners, could refrain from hanging over, and caressing.

Nor is this delectable morsel of _old junk_ wanting in many interesting, mournful, and tragic suggestions.

Who can say in what gales it may have been; in what remote seas it may have sailed?

How many stout masts of seventy-fours and frigates it may have staid in the tempest?

How deep it may have lain, as a hawser, at the bottom of strange harbors?

What outlandish fish may have nibbled at it in the water, and what un-catalogued sea-fowl may have pecked at it, when forming part of a lofty stay or a shroud?

Now, this particular part of the rope, this nice little “cut” it was, that among the sailors was the most eagerly sought after.

And getting hold of a foot or two of old cable, they would cut into it lovingly, to see whether it had any _“tenderloin.