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Redburn. His First Voyage

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Or this,

"Four wines and brandies I detest,
Here's richer juice from barley press'd.
It is the quintessence of malt,
And they that drink it want no salt.
Come, then, quick come, and take this beer,
And water henceforth you'll forswear."

Alas! Handsome Mary. What avail all thy private tears and remonstrances
with the incorrigible Danby, so long as that brewery of a toper, Bob
Still, daily eclipses thy threshold with the vast diameter of his
paunch, and enthrones himself in the sentry-box, holding divided rule
with thy spouse?

The more he drinks, the fatter and rounder waxes Bob; and the songs pour
out as the ale pours in, on the well-known principle, that the air in a
vessel is displaced and expelled, as the liquid rises higher and higher
in it.

But as for Danby, the miserable Yankee grows sour on good cheer, and
dries up the thinner for every drop of fat ale he imbibes. It is plain
and demonstrable, that much ale is not good for Yankees, and operates
differently upon them from what it does upon a Briton: ale must be drank
in a fog and a drizzle.

Entering the sign of the Clipper, Jackson ushered us into a small room
on one side, and shortly after, Handsome Mary waited upon us with a
courtesy, and received the compliments of several old guests among our
crew. She then disappeared to provide our supper. While my shipmates
were now engaged in tippling, and talking with numerous old
acquaintances of theirs in the neighborhood, who thronged about the
door, I remained alone in the little room, meditating profoundly upon
the fact, that I was now seated upon an English bench, under an English
roof, in an English tavern, forming an integral part of the English
empire. It was a staggering fact, but none the less true.

I examined the place attentively; it was a long, narrow, little room,
with one small arched window with red curtains, looking out upon a
smoky, untidy yard, bounded by a dingy brick-wall, the top of which was
horrible with pieces of broken old bottles, stuck into mortar.

A dull lamp swung overhead, placed in a wooden ship suspended from the
ceiling. The walls were covered with a paper, representing an endless
succession of vessels of all nations continually circumnavigating the
apartment. By way of a pictorial mainsail to one of these ships, a map
was hung against it, representing in faded colors the flags of all
nations. From the street came a confused uproar of ballad-singers,
bawling women, babies, and drunken sailors.

And this is England?

But where are the old abbeys, and the York Minsters, and the lord
mayors, and coronations, and the May-poles, and fox-hunters, and Derby
races, and the dukes and duchesses, and the Count d'Orsays, which, from
all my reading, I had been in the habit of associating with England? Not
the most distant glimpse of them was to be seen.

Alas! Wellingborough, thought I, I fear you stand but a poor chance to
see the sights. You are nothing but a poor sailor boy; and the Queen is
not going to send a deputation of noblemen to invite you to St. James's.

It was then, I began to see, that my prospects of seeing the world as a
sailor were, after all, but very doubtful; for sailors only go round the
world, without going into it; and their reminiscences of travel are only
a dim recollection of a chain of tap-rooms surrounding the globe,
parallel with the Equator. They but touch the perimeter of the circle;
hover about the edges of terra-firma; and only land upon wharves and
pier-heads. They would dream as little of traveling inland to see
Kenilworth, or Blenheim Castle, as they would of sending a car overland
to the Pope, when they touched at Naples.

From these reveries I was soon roused, by a servant girl hurrying from
room to room, in shrill tones exclaiming, "Supper, supper ready."

Mounting a rickety staircase, we entered a room on the second floor.
Three tall brass candlesticks shed a smoky light upon smoky walls, of
what had once been sea-blue, covered with sailor-scrawls of foul
anchors, lovers' sonnets, and ocean ditties. On one side, nailed against
the wainscot in a row, were the four knaves of cards, each Jack putting
his best foot foremost as usual. What these signified I never heard.

But such ample cheer! Such a groaning table! Such a superabundance of
solids and substantial! Was it possible that sailors fared thus?--the
sailors, who at sea live upon salt beef and biscuit?

First and foremost, was a mighty pewter dish, big as Achilles' shield,
sustaining a pyramid of smoking sausages. This stood at one end; midway
was a similar dish, heavily laden with farmers' slices of head-cheese;
and at the opposite end, a congregation of beef-steaks, piled tier over
tier. Scattered at intervals between, were side dishes of boiled
potatoes, eggs by the score, bread, and pickles; and on a stand
adjoining, was an ample reserve of every thing on the supper table.

We fell to with all our hearts; wrapt ourselves in hot jackets of
beef-steaks; curtailed the sausages with great celerity; and sitting
down before the head-cheese, soon razed it to its foundations.

Toward the close of the entertainment, I suggested to Peggy, one of the
girls who had waited upon us, that a cup of tea would be a nice thing to
take; and I would thank her for one. She replied that it was too late
for tea; but she would get me a cup of "swipes" if I wanted it.

Not knowing what "swipes" might be, I thought I would run the risk and
try it; but it proved a miserable beverage, with a musty, sour flavor,
as if it had been a decoction of spoiled pickles. I never patronized
swipes again; but gave it a wide berth; though, at dinner afterward, it
was furnished to an unlimited extent, and drunk by most of my shipmates,
who pronounced it good.

But Bob Still would not have pronounced it so; for this stripes, as I
learned, was a sort of cheap substitute for beer; or a bastard kind of
beer; or the washings and rinsings of old beer-barrels. But I do not
remember now what they said it was, precisely. I only know, that swipes
was my abomination. As for the taste of it, I can only describe it as
answering to the name itself; which is certainly significant of
something vile. But it is drunk in large quantities by the poor people
about Liverpool, which, perhaps, in some degree, accounts for their
poverty.




XXIX. REDBURN DEFERENTIALLY DISCOURSES CONCERNING THE PROSPECTS OF
SAILORS


The ship remained in Prince's Dock over six weeks; but as I do not mean
to present a diary of my stay there, I shall here simply record the
general tenor of the life led by our crew during that interval; and will
then proceed to note down, at random, my own wanderings about town, and
impressions of things as they are recalled to me now, after the lapse of
so many years.

But first, I must mention that we saw little of the captain during our
stay in the dock. Sometimes, cane in hand, he sauntered down of a
pleasant morning from the Arms Hotel, I believe it was, where he
boarded; and after lounging about the ship, giving orders to his Prime
Minister and Grand Vizier, the chief mate, he would saunter back to his
drawing-rooms.

From the glimpse of a play-bill, which I detected peeping out of his
pocket, I inferred that he patronized the theaters; and from the flush
of his cheeks, that he patronized the fine old Port wine, for which
Liverpool is famous.

Occasionally, however, he spent his nights on board; and mad, roystering
nights they were, such as rare Ben Jonson would have delighted in. For
company over the cabin-table, he would have four or five whiskered
sea-captains, who kept the steward drawing corks and filling glasses all
the time. And once, the whole company were found under the table at four
o'clock in the morning, and were put to bed and tucked in by the two
mates. Upon this occasion, I agreed with our woolly Doctor of Divinity,
the black cook, that they should have been ashamed of themselves; but
there is no shame in some sea-captains, who only blush after the third
bottle.

During the many visits of Captain Riga to the ship, he always said
something courteous to a gentlemanly, friendless custom-house officer,
who staid on board of us nearly all the time we lay in the dock.

And weary days they must have been to this friendless custom-house
officer; trying to kill time in the cabin with a newspaper; and rapping
on the transom with his knuckles. He was kept on board to prevent
smuggling; but he used to smuggle himself ashore very often, when,
according to law, he should have been at his post on board ship. But no
wonder; he seemed to be a man of fine feelings, altogether above his
situation; a most inglorious one, indeed; worse than driving geese to
water.

And now, to proceed with the crew.

At daylight, all hands were called, and the decks were washed down; then
we had an hour to go ashore to breakfast; after which we worked at the
rigging, or picked oakum, or were set to some employment or other, never
mind how trivial, till twelve o'clock, when we went to dinner. At
half-past nine we resumed work; and finally knocked of at four o'clock
in the afternoon, unless something particular was in hand. And after
four o'clock, we could go where we pleased, and were not required to be
on board again till next morning at daylight.

As we had nothing to do with the cargo, of course, our duties were light
enough; and the chief mate was often put to it to devise some employment
for us.

We had no watches to stand, a ship-keeper, hired from shore, relieving
us from that; and all the while the men's wages ran on, as at sea.
Sundays we had to ourselves.

Thus, it will be seen, that the life led by sailors of American ships in
Liverpool, is an exceedingly easy one, and abounding in leisure. They
live ashore on the fat of the land; and after a little wholesome
exercise in the morning, have the rest of the day to themselves.

Nevertheless, these Liverpool voyages, likewise those to London and
Havre, are the least profitable that an improvident seaman can take.
Because, in New York he receives his month's advance; in Liverpool,
another; both of which, in most cases, quickly disappear; so that by the
time his voyage terminates, he generally has but little coming to him;
sometimes not a cent. Whereas, upon a long voyage, say to India or
China, his wages accumulate; he has more inducements to economize, and
far fewer motives to extravagance; and when he is paid off at last, he
goes away jingling a quart measure of dollars.

Besides, of all sea-ports in the world, Liverpool, perhaps, most abounds
in all the variety of land-sharks, land-rats, and other vermin, which
make the hapless mariner their prey. In the shape of landlords,
bar-keepers, clothiers, crimps, and boarding-house loungers, the
land-sharks devour him, limb by limb; while the land-rats and mice
constantly nibble at his purse.

Other perils he runs, also, far worse; from the denizens of notorious
Corinthian haunts in the vicinity of the docks, which in depravity are
not to be matched by any thing this side of the pit that is bottomless.

And yet, sailors love this Liverpool; and upon long voyages to distant
parts of the globe, will be continually dilating upon its charms and
attractions, and extolling it above all other seaports in the world. For
in Liverpool they find their Paradise--not the well known street of that
name--and one of them told me he would be content to lie in Prince's Dock
till he hove up anchor for the world to come.

Much is said of ameliorating the condition of sailors; but it must ever
prove a most difficult endeavor, so long as the antidote is given before
the bane is removed.

Consider, that, with the majority of them, the very fact of their being
sailors, argues a certain recklessness and sensualism of character,
ignorance, and depravity; consider that they are generally friendless
and alone in the world; or if they have friends and relatives, they are
almost constantly beyond the reach of their good influences; consider
that after the rigorous discipline, hardships, dangers, and privations
of a voyage, they are set adrift in a foreign port, and exposed to a
thousand enticements, which, under the circumstances, would be hard even
for virtue itself to withstand, unless virtue went about on crutches;
consider that by their very vocation they are shunned by the better
classes of people, and cut off from all access to respectable and
improving society; consider all this, and the reflecting mind must very
soon perceive that the case of sailors, as a class, is not a very
promising one.

Indeed, the bad things of their condition come under the head of those
chronic evils which can only be ameliorated, it would seem, by
ameliorating the moral organization of all civilization.

Though old seventy-fours and old frigates are converted into chapels,
and launched into the docks; though the "Boatswain's Mate" and other
clever religious tracts in the nautical dialect are distributed among
them; though clergymen harangue them from the pier-heads: and chaplains
in the navy read sermons to them on the gun-deck; though evangelical
boarding-houses are provided for them; though the parsimony of
ship-owners has seconded the really sincere and pious efforts of
Temperance Societies, to take away from seamen their old rations of grog
while at sea:--notwithstanding all these things, and many more, the
relative condition of the great bulk of sailors to the rest of mankind,
seems to remain pretty much where it was, a century ago.

It is too much the custom, perhaps, to regard as a special advance, that
unavoidable, and merely participative progress, which any one class
makes in sharing the general movement of the race. Thus, because the
sailor, who to-day steers the Hibernia or Unicorn steam-ship across the
Atlantic, is a somewhat different man from the exaggerated sailors of
Smollett, and the men who fought with Nelson at Copenhagen, and survived
to riot themselves away at North Corner in Plymouth;--because the modern
tar is not quite so gross as heretofore, and has shaken off some of his
shaggy jackets, and docked his Lord Rodney queue:--therefore, in the
estimation of some observers, he has begun to see the evils of his
condition, and has voluntarily improved. But upon a closer scrutiny, it
will be seen that he has but drifted along with that great tide, which,
perhaps, has two flows for one ebb; he has made no individual advance of
his own.

There are classes of men in the world, who bear the same relation to
society at large, that the wheels do to a coach: and are just as
indispensable. But however easy and delectable the springs upon which
the insiders pleasantly vibrate: however sumptuous the hammer-cloth, and
glossy the door-panels; yet, for all this, the wheels must still revolve
in dusty, or muddy revolutions. No contrivance, no sagacity can lift
them out of the mire; for upon something the coach must be bottomed; on
something the insiders must roll.

Now, sailors form one of these wheels: they go and come round the globe;
they are the true importers, and exporters of spices and silks; of
fruits and wines and marbles; they carry missionaries, embassadors,
opera-singers, armies, merchants, tourists, and scholars to their
destination: they are a bridge of boats across the Atlantic; they are
the primum mobile of all commerce; and, in short, were they to emigrate
in a body to man the navies of the moon, almost every thing would stop
here on earth except its revolution on its axis, and the orators in the
American Congress.

And yet, what are sailors? What in your heart do you think of that
fellow staggering along the dock? Do you not give him a wide berth, shun
him, and account him but little above the brutes that perish? Will you
throw open your parlors to him; invite him to dinner? or give him a
season ticket to your pew in church?--No. You will do no such thing; but
at a distance, you will perhaps subscribe a dollar or two for the
building of a hospital, to accommodate sailors already broken down; or
for the distribution of excellent books among tars who can not read. And
the very mode and manner in which such charities are made, bespeak, more
than words, the low estimation in which sailors are held. It is useless
to gainsay it; they are deemed almost the refuse and offscourings of the
earth; and the romantic view of them is principally had through
romances.

But can sailors, one of the wheels of this world, be wholly lifted up
from the mire? There seems not much chance for it, in the old systems
and programmes of the future, however well-intentioned and sincere; for
with such systems, the thought of lifting them up seems almost as
hopeless as that of growing the grape in Nova Zembla.

But we must not altogether despair for the sailor; nor need those who
toil for his good be at bottom disheartened, or Time must prove his
friend in the end; and though sometimes he would almost seem as a
neglected step-son of heaven, permitted to run on and riot out his days
with no hand to restrain him, while others are watched over and tenderly
cared for; yet we feel and we know that God is the true Father of all,
and that none of his children are without the pale of his care.




XXX. REDBURN GROWS INTOLERABLY FLAT AND STUPID OVER SOME OUTLANDISH OLD
GUIDE-BOOKS


Among the odd volumes in my father's library, was a collection of old
European and English guide-books, which he had bought on his travels, a
great many years ago. In my childhood, I went through many courses of
studying them, and never tired of gazing at the numerous quaint
embellishments and plates, and staring at the strange title-pages, some
of which I thought resembled the mustached faces of foreigners. Among
others was a Parisian-looking, faded, pink-covered pamphlet, the rouge
here and there effaced upon its now thin and attenuated cheeks,
entitled, "Voyage Descriptif et Philosophique de L'Ancien et du Nouveau
Paris: Miroir Fidele" also a time-darkened, mossy old book, in
marbleized binding, much resembling verd-antique, entitled, "Itineraire
Instructif de Rome, ou Description Generale des Monumens Antiques et
Modernes et des Ouvrages les plus Remarquables de Peinteur, de
Sculpture, et de Architecture de cette Celebre Ville;" on the russet
title-page is a vignette representing a barren rock, partly shaded by a
scrub-oak (a forlorn bit of landscape), and under the lee of the rock
and the shade of the tree, maternally reclines the houseless
foster-mother of Romulus and Remus, giving suck to the illustrious
twins; a pair of naked little cherubs sprawling on the ground, with
locked arms, eagerly engaged at their absorbing occupation; a large
cactus-leaf or diaper hangs from a bough, and the wolf looks a good deal
like one of the no-horn breed of barn-yard cows; the work is published
"Avec privilege du Souverain Pontife." There was also a velvet-bound old
volume, in brass clasps, entitled, "The Conductor through Holland" with
a plate of the Stadt House; also a venerable "Picture of London"
abounding in representations of St. Paul's, the Monument, Temple-Bar,
Hyde-Park-Corner, the Horse Guards, the Admiralty, Charing-Cross, and
Vauxhall Bridge. Also, a bulky book, in a dusty-looking yellow cover,
reminding one of the paneled doors of a mail-coach, and bearing an
elaborate title-page, full of printer's flourishes, in emulation of the
cracks of a four-in-hand whip, entitled, in part, "The Great Roads, both
direct and cross, throughout England and Wales, from an actual
Admeasurement by order of His Majesty's Postmaster-General: This work
describes the Cities, Market and Borough and Corporate Towns, and those
at which the Assizes are held, and gives the time of the Mails' arrival
and departure from each: Describes the Inns in the Metropolis from which
the stages go, and the Inns in the country which supply post-horses and
carriages: Describes the Noblemen and Gentlemen's Seats situated near
the Road, with Maps of the Environs of London, Bath, Brighton, and
Margate." It is dedicated "To the Right Honorable the Earls of
Chesterfield and Leicester, by their Lordships' Most Obliged, Obedient,
and Obsequious Servant, John Gary, 1798." Also a green pamphlet, with a
motto from Virgil, and an intricate coat of arms on the cover, looking
like a diagram of the Labyrinth of Crete, entitled, "A Description of
York, its Antiquities and Public Buildings, particularly the Cathedral;
compiled with great pains from the most authentic records." Also a small
scholastic-looking volume, in a classic vellum binding, and with a
frontispiece bringing together at one view the towers and turrets of
King's College and the magnificent Cathedral of Ely, though
geographically sixteen miles apart, entitled, "The Cambridge Guide: its
Colleges, Halls, Libraries, and Museums, with the Ceremonies of the Town
and University, and some account of Ely Cathedral." Also a pamphlet,
with a japanned sort of cover, stamped with a disorderly
higgledy-piggledy group of pagoda-looking structures, claiming to be an
accurate representation of the "North or Grand Front of Blenheim," and
entitled, "A Description of Blenheim, the Seat of His Grace the Duke of
Marlborough; containing a full account of the Paintings, Tapestry, and
Furniture: a Picturesque Tour of the Gardens and Parks, and a General
Description of the famous China Gallery, 6-c.; with an Essay on
Landscape Gardening: and embellished with a View of the Palace, and a
New and Elegant Plan of the Great Park." And lastly, and to the purpose,
there was a volume called "THE PICTURE OF LIVERPOOL."

It was a curious and remarkable book; and from the many fond
associations connected with it, I should like to immortalize it, if I
could.

But let me get it down from its shrine, and paint it, if I may, from the
life.

As I now linger over the volume, to and fro turning the pages so dear to
my boyhood,--the very pages which, years and years ago, my father turned
over amid the very scenes that are here described; what a soft, pleasing
sadness steals over me, and how I melt into the past and forgotten!

Dear book! I will sell my Shakespeare, and even sacrifice my old quarto
Hogarth, before I will part with you. Yes, I will go to the hammer
myself, ere I send you to be knocked down in the auctioneer's shambles.
I will, my beloved,--old family relic that you are;--till you drop leaf
from leaf, and letter from letter, you shall have a snug shelf
somewhere, though I have no bench for myself.

In size, it is what the booksellers call an 18mo; it is bound in green
morocco, which from my earliest recollection has been spotted and
tarnished with time; the corners are marked with triangular patches of
red, like little cocked hats; and some unknown Goth has inflicted an
incurable wound upon the back. There is no lettering outside; so that he
who lounges past my humble shelves, seldom dreams of opening the
anonymous little book in green. There it stands; day after day, week
after week, year after year; and no one but myself regards it. But I
make up for all neglects, with my own abounding love for it.

But let us open the volume.

What are these scrawls in the fly-leaves? what incorrigible pupil of a
writing-master has been here? what crayon sketcher of wild animals and
falling air-castles? Ah, no!--these are all part and parcel of the
precious book, which go to make up the sum of its treasure to me.

Some of the scrawls are my own; and as poets do with their juvenile
sonnets, I might write under this horse, "Drawn at the age of three
years," and under this autograph, "Executed at the age of eight."

Others are the handiwork of my brothers, and sisters, and cousins; and
the hands that sketched some of them are now moldered away.

But what does this anchor here? this ship? and this sea-ditty of
Dibdin's? The book must have fallen into the hands of some tarry captain
of a forecastle. No: that anchor, ship, and Dibdin's ditty are mine;
this hand drew them; and on this very voyage to Liverpool. But not so
fast; I did not mean to tell that yet.

Full in the midst of these pencil scrawlings, completely surrounded
indeed, stands in indelible, though faded ink, and in my father's
hand-writing, the following:--

"WALTER REDBURN.

"Riddough's Royal Hotel, Liverpool, March 20th, 1808."

Turning over that leaf, I come upon some half-effaced miscellaneous
memoranda in pencil, characteristic of a methodical mind, and therefore
indubitably my father's, which he must have made at various times during
his stay in Liverpool. These are full of a strange, subdued, old,
midsummer interest to me: and though, from the numerous effacements, it
is much like cross-reading to make them out; yet, I must here copy a few
at random:--

£ s. d

Guide-Book 3 6
Dinner at the Star and Garter 10
Trip to Preston (distance 31 m.) 2 6 3
Gratuities 4
Hack 4 6
Thompson's Seasons 5
Library 1
Boat on the river 6
Port wine and cigar 4

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