A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Redburn. His First Voyage

H >> Herman Melville >> Redburn. His First Voyage




Sailors have a great fancy for naming things that way on shipboard. When
a man is hung at sea, which is always done from one of the lower
yard-arms, they say he "takes a walk up Ladder-lane, and down
Hemp-street."

Mr. Thompson was a great crony of the steward's, who, being a handsome,
dandy mulatto, that had once been a barber in West-Broadway, went by the
name of Lavender. I have mentioned the gorgeous turban he wore when Mr.
Jones and I visited the captain in the cabin. He never wore that turban
at sea, though; but sported an uncommon head of frizzled hair, just like
the large, round brush, used for washing windows, called a Pope's Head.

He kept it well perfumed with Cologne water, of which he had a large
supply, the relics of his West-Broadway stock in trade. His clothes,
being mostly cast-off suits of the captain of a London liner, whom he
had sailed with upon many previous voyages, were all in the height of
the exploded fashions, and of every kind of color and cut. He had
claret-colored suits, and snuff-colored suits, and red velvet vests, and
buff and brimstone pantaloons, and several full suits of black, which,
with his dark-colored face, made him look quite clerical; like a serious
young colored gentleman of Barbados, about to take orders.

He wore an uncommon large pursy ring on his forefinger, with something
he called a real diamond in it; though it was very dim, and looked more
like a glass eye than any thing else. He was very proud of his ring, and
was always calling your attention to something, and pointing at it with
his ornamented finger.

He was a sentimental sort of a darky, and read the "Three Spaniards,"
and "Charlotte Temple," and carried a lock of frizzled hair in his vest
pocket, which he frequently volunteered to show to people, with his
handkerchief to his eyes. Every fine evening, about sunset, these two,
the cook and steward, used to sit on the little shelf in the cook-house,
leaning up against each other like the Siamese twins, to keep from
falling off, for the shelf was very short; and there they would stay
till after dark, smoking their pipes, and gossiping about the events
that had happened during the day in the cabin. And sometimes Mr.
Thompson would take down his Bible, and read a chapter for the
edification of Lavender, whom he knew to be a sad profligate and gay
deceiver ashore; addicted to every youthful indiscretion. He would read
over to him the story of Joseph and Potiphar's wife; and hold Joseph up
to him as a young man of excellent principles, whom he ought to imitate,
and not be guilty of his indiscretion any more. And Lavender would look
serious, and say that he knew it was all true-he was a wicked youth, he
knew it--he had broken a good many hearts, and many eyes were weeping for
him even then, both in New York, and Liverpool, and London, and Havre.
But how could he help it? He hadn't made his handsome face, and fine
head of hair, and graceful figure. It was not he, but the others, that
were to blame; for his bewitching person turned all heads and subdued
all hearts, wherever he went. And then he would look very serious and
penitent, and go up to the little glass, and pass his hands through his
hair, and see how his whiskers were coming on.




XVIII. HE ENDEAVORS TO IMPROVE HIS MIND; AND TELLS OF ONE BLUNT AND HIS
DREAM BOOK


On the Sunday afternoon I spoke of, it was my watch below, and I thought
I would spend it profitably, in improving my mind.

My bunk was an upper one; and right over the head of it was a bull's-
eye, or circular piece of thick ground glass, inserted into the deck
to give light. It was a dull, dubious light, though; and I often found
myself looking up anxiously to see whether the bull's-eye had not
suddenly been put out; for whenever any one trod on it, in walking the
deck, it was momentarily quenched; and what was still worse, sometimes a
coil of rope would be thrown down on it, and stay there till I dressed
myself and went up to remove it--a kind of interruption to my studies
which annoyed me very much, when diligently occupied in reading.

However, I was glad of any light at all, down in that gloomy hole, where
we burrowed like rabbits in a warren; and it was the happiest time I
had, when all my messmates were asleep, and I could lie on my back,
during a forenoon watch below, and read in comparative quiet and
seclusion.

I had already read two books loaned to me by Max, to whose share they
had fallen, in dividing the effects of the sailor who had jumped
overboard. One was an account of Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea, and
the other was a large black volume, with Delirium Tremens in great gilt
letters on the back. This proved to be a popular treatise on the subject
of that disease; and I remembered seeing several copies in the sailor
book-stalls about Fulton Market, and along South-street, in New York.

But this Sunday I got out a book, from which I expected to reap great
profit and sound instruction. It had been presented to me by Mr. Jones,
who had quite a library, and took down this book from a top shelf, where
it lay very dusty. When he gave it to me, he said, that although I was
going to sea, I must not forget the importance of a good education; and
that there was hardly any situation in life, however humble and
depressed, or dark and gloomy, but one might find leisure in it to store
his mind, and build himself up in the exact sciences. And he added, that
though it did look rather unfavorable for my future prospects, to be
going to sea as a common sailor so early in life; yet, it would no doubt
turn out for my benefit in the end; and, at any rate, if I would only
take good care of myself, would give me a sound constitution, if nothing
more; and that was not to be undervalued, for how many very rich men
would give all their bonds and mortgages for my boyish robustness.

He added, that I need not expect any light, trivial work, that was
merely entertaining, and nothing more; but here I would find
entertainment and edification beautifully and harmoniously combined; and
though, at first, I might possibly find it dull, yet, if I perused the
book thoroughly, it would soon discover hidden charms and unforeseen
attractions; besides teaching me, perhaps, the true way to retrieve the
poverty of my family, and again make them all well-to-do in the world.

Saying this, he handed it to me, and I blew the dust off, and looked at
the back: "Smith's Wealth of Nations." This not satisfying me, I glanced
at the title page, and found it was an "Enquiry into the Nature and
Causes" of the alleged wealth of nations. But happening to look further
down, I caught sight of "Aberdeen," where the book was printed; and
thinking that any thing from Scotland, a foreign country, must prove
some way or other pleasing to me, I thanked Mr. Jones very kindly, and
promised to peruse the volume carefully.

So, now, lying in my bunk, I began the book methodically, at page number
one, resolved not to permit a few flying glimpses into it, taken
previously, to prevent me from making regular approaches to the gist and
body of the book, where I fancied lay something like the philosopher's
stone, a secret talisman, which would transmute even pitch and tar to
silver and gold.

Pleasant, though vague visions of future opulence floated before me, as
I commenced the first chapter, entitled "Of the causes of improvement in
the productive power of labor." Dry as crackers and cheese, to be sure;
and the chapter itself was not much better. But this was only getting
initiated; and if I read on, the grand secret would be opened to me. So
I read on and on, about "wages and profits of labor," without getting
any profits myself for my pains in perusing it.

Dryer and dryer; the very leaves smelt of saw-dust; till at last I drank
some water, and went at it again. But soon I had to give it up for lost
work; and thought that the old backgammon board, we had at home,
lettered on the back, "The History of Rome" was quite as full of matter,
and a great deal more entertaining. I wondered whether Mr. Jones had
ever read the volume himself; and could not help remembering, that he
had to get on a chair when he reached it down from its dusty shelf; that
certainly looked suspicious.

The best reading was on the fly leaves; and, on turning them over, I
lighted upon some half effaced pencil-marks to the following effect:
"Jonathan Jones, from his particular friend Daniel Dods, 1798." So it
must have originally belonged to Mr. Jones' father; and I wondered
whether he had ever read it; or, indeed, whether any body had ever read
it, even the author himself; but then authors, they say, never read
their own books; writing them, being enough in all conscience.

At length I fell asleep, with the volume in my hand; and never slept so
sound before; after that, I used to wrap my jacket round it, and use it
for a pillow; for which purpose it answered very well; only I sometimes
waked up feeling dull and stupid; but of course the book could not have
been the cause of that.

And now I am talking of books, I must tell of Jack Blunt the sailor, and
his Dream Book.

Jackson, who seemed to know every thing about all parts of the world,
used to tell Jack in reproach, that he was an Irish Cockney. By which I
understood, that he was an Irishman born, but had graduated in London,
somewhere about Radcliffe Highway; but he had no sort of brogue that I
could hear.

He was a curious looking fellow, about twenty-five years old, as I
should judge; but to look at his back, you would have taken him for a
little old man. His arms and legs were very large, round, short, and
stumpy; so that when he had on his great monkey-jacket, and sou'west cap
flapping in his face, and his sea boots drawn up to his knees, he looked
like a fat porpoise, standing on end. He had a round face, too, like a
walrus; and with about the same expression, half human and half
indescribable. He was, upon the whole, a good-natured fellow, and a
little given to looking at sea-life romantically; singing songs about
susceptible mermaids who fell in love with handsome young oyster boys
and gallant fishermen. And he had a sad story about a man-of-war's-man
who broke his heart at Portsmouth during the late war, and threw away
his life recklessly at one of the quarter-deck cannonades, in the battle
between the Guerriere and Constitution; and another incomprehensible
story about a sort of fairy sea-queen, who used to be dunning a
sea-captain all the time for his autograph to boil in some eel soup, for
a spell against the scurvy.

He believed in all kinds of witch-work and magic; and had some wild
Irish words he used to mutter over during a calm for a fair wind.

And he frequently related his interviews in Liverpool with a fortune-
teller, an old negro woman by the name of De Squak, whose house was
much frequented by sailors; and how she had two black cats, with
remarkably green eyes, and nightcaps on their heads, solemnly seated on
a claw-footed table near the old goblin; when she felt his pulse, to
tell what was going to befall him.

This Blunt had a large head of hair, very thick and bushy; but from some
cause or other, it was rapidly turning gray; and in its transition state
made him look as if he wore a shako of badger skin.

The phenomenon of gray hairs on a young head, had perplexed and
confounded this Blunt to such a degree that he at last came to the
conclusion it must be the result of the black art, wrought upon him by
an enemy; and that enemy, he opined, was an old sailor landlord in
Marseilles, whom he had once seriously offended, by knocking him down in
a fray.

So while in New York, finding his hair growing grayer and grayer, and
all his friends, the ladies and others, laughing at him, and calling him
an old man with one foot in the grave, he slipt out one night to an
apothecary's, stated his case, and wanted to know what could be done for
him.

The apothecary immediately gave him a pint bottle of something he called
"Trafalgar Oil for restoring the hair," price one dollar; and told him
that after he had used that bottle, and it did not have the desired
effect, he must try bottle No. 2, called "Balm of Paradise, or the
Elixir of the Battle of Copenhagen." These high-sounding naval names
delighted Blunt, and he had no doubt there must be virtue in them.

I saw both bottles; and on one of them was an engraving, representing a
young man, presumed to be gray-headed, standing in his night-dress in
the middle of his chamber, and with closed eyes applying the Elixir to
his head, with both hands; while on the bed adjacent stood a large
bottle, conspicuously labeled, "Balm of Paradise." It seemed from the
text, that this gray-headed young man was so smitten with his hair-oil,
and was so thoroughly persuaded of its virtues, that he had got out of
bed, even in his sleep; groped into his closet, seized the precious
bottle, applied its contents, and then to bed again, getting up in the
morning without knowing any thing about it. Which, indeed, was a most
mysterious occurrence; and it was still more mysterious, how the
engraver came to know an event, of which the actor himself was ignorant,
and where there were no bystanders.

Three times in the twenty-four hours, Blunt, while at sea, regularly
rubbed in his liniments; but though the first bottle was soon exhausted
by his copious applications, and the second half gone, he still stuck to
it, that by the time we got to Liverpool, his exertions would be crowned
with success. And he was not a little delighted, that this gradual
change would be operating while we were at sea; so as not to expose him
to the invidious observations of people ashore; on the same principle
that dandies go into the country when they purpose raising whiskers. He
would often ask his shipmates, whether they noticed any change yet; and
if so, how much of a change? And to tell the truth, there was a very
great change indeed; for the constant soaking of his hair with oil,
operating in conjunction with the neglect of his toilet, and want of a
brush and comb, had matted his locks together like a wild horse's mane,
and imparted to it a blackish and extremely glossy hue. Besides his
collection of hair-oils, Blunt had also provided himself with several
boxes of pills, which he had purchased from a sailor doctor in New York,
who by placards stuck on the posts along the wharves, advertised to
remain standing at the northeast corner of Catharine Market, every
Monday and Friday, between the hours of ten and twelve in the morning,
to receive calls from patients, distribute medicines, and give advice
gratis.

Whether Blunt thought he had the dyspepsia or not, I can not say; but at
breakfast, he always took three pills with his coffee; something as they
do in Iowa, when the bilious fever prevails; where, at the boarding-
houses, they put a vial of blue pills into the castor, along with the
pepper and mustard, and next door to another vial of toothpicks. But
they are very ill-bred and unpolished in the western country.

Several times, too, Blunt treated himself to a flowing bumper of horse
salts (Glauber salts); for like many other seamen, he never went to sea
without a good supply of that luxury. He would frequently, also, take
this medicine in a wet jacket, and then go on deck into a rain storm.
But this is nothing to other sailors, who at sea will doctor themselves
with calomel off Cape Horn, and still remain on duty. And in this
connection, some really frightful stories might be told; but I forbear.

For a landsman to take salts as this Blunt did, it would perhaps be the
death of him; but at sea the salt air and the salt water prevent you
from catching cold so readily as on land; and for my own part, on board
this very ship, being so illy-provided with clothes, I frequently turned
into my bunk soaking wet, and turned out again piping hot, and smoking
like a roasted sirloin; and yet was never the worse for it; for then, I
bore a charmed life of youth and health, and was dagger-proof to bodily
ill.

But it is time to tell of the Dream Book. Snugly hidden in one corner of
his chest, Blunt had an extraordinary looking pamphlet, with a red
cover, marked all over with astrological signs and ciphers, and
purporting to be a full and complete treatise on the art of Divination;
so that the most simple sailor could teach it to himself.

It also purported to be the selfsame system, by aid of which Napoleon
Bonaparte had risen in the world from being a corporal to an emperor.
Hence it was entitled the Bonaparte Dream Book; for the magic of it lay
in the interpretation of dreams, and their application to the foreseeing
of future events; so that all preparatory measures might be taken
beforehand; which would be exceedingly convenient, and satisfactory
every way, if true. The problems were to be cast by means of figures, in
some perplexed and difficult way, which, however, was facilitated by a
set of tables in the end of the pamphlet, something like the Logarithm
Tables at the end of Bowditch's Navigator.

Now, Blunt revered, adored, and worshiped this Bonaparte Dream Book of
his; and was fully persuaded that between those red covers, and in his
own dreams, lay all the secrets of futurity. Every morning before taking
his pills, and applying his hair-oils, he would steal out of his bunk
before the rest of the watch were awake; take out his pamphlet, and a
bit of chalk; and then straddling his chest, begin scratching his oily
head to remember his fugitive dreams; marking down strokes on his
chest-lid, as if he were casting up his daily accounts.

Though often perplexed and lost in mazes concerning the cabalistic
figures in the book, and the chapter of directions to beginners; for he
could with difficulty read at all; yet, in the end, if not interrupted,
he somehow managed to arrive at a conclusion satisfactory to him. So
that, as he generally wore a good-humored expression, no doubt he must
have thought, that all his future affairs were working together for the
best.

But one night he started us all up in a fright, by springing from his
bunk, his eyes ready to start out of his head, and crying, in a husky
voice--"Boys! boys! get the benches ready! Quick, quick!"

"What benches?" growled Max-"What's the matter?"

"Benches! benches!" screamed Blunt, without heeding him, "cut down the
forests, bear a hand, boys; the Day of Judgment's coming!"

But the next moment, he got quietly into his bunk, and laid still,
muttering to himself, he had only been rambling in his sleep.

I did not know exactly what he had meant by his benches; till, shortly
after, I overheard two of the sailors debating, whether mankind would
stand or sit at the Last Day.




XIX. A NARROW ESCAPE


This Dream Book of Blunt's reminds me of a narrow escape we had, early
one morning.

It was the larboard watch's turn to remain below from midnight till four
o'clock; and having turned in and slept, Blunt suddenly turned out again
about three o'clock, with a wonderful dream in his head; which he was
desirous of at once having interpreted.

So he goes to his chest, gets out his tools, and falls to ciphering on
the lid. When, all at once, a terrible cry was heard, that routed him
and all the rest of us up, and sent the whole ship's company flying on
deck in the dark. We did not know what it was; but somehow, among
sailors at sea, they seem to know when real danger of any land is at
hand, even in their sleep.

When we got on deck, we saw the mate standing on the bowsprit, and
crying out Luff! Luff! to some one in the dark water before the ship. In
that direction, we could just see a light, and then, the great black
hull of a strange vessel, that was coming down on us obliquely; and so
near, that we heard the flap of her topsails as they shook in the wind,
the trampling of feet on the deck, and the same cry of Luff! Luff! that
our own mate, was raising.

In a minute more, I caught my breath, as I heard a snap and a crash,
like the fall of a tree, and suddenly, one of our flying-jib guys jerked
out the bolt near the cat-head; and presently, we heard our jib-boom
thumping against our bows.

Meantime, the strange ship, scraping by us thus, shot off into the
darkness, and we saw her no more. But she, also, must have been injured;
for when it grew light, we found pieces of strange rigging mixed with
ours. We repaired the damage, and replaced the broken spar with another
jib-boom we had; for all ships carry spare spars against emergencies.

The cause of this accident, which came near being the death of all on
board, was nothing but the drowsiness of the look-out men on the
forecastles of both ships. The sailor who had the look-out on our vessel
was terribly reprimanded by the mate.

No doubt, many ships that are never heard of after leaving port, meet
their fate in this way; and it may be, that sometimes two vessels coming
together, jib-boom-and-jib-boom, with a sudden shock in the middle watch
of the night, mutually destroy each other; and like fighting elks, sink
down into the ocean, with their antlers locked in death.

While I was at Liverpool, a fine ship that lay near us in the docks,
having got her cargo on board, went to sea, bound for India, with a good
breeze; and all her crew felt sure of a prosperous voyage. But in about
seven days after, she came back, a most distressing object to behold.
All her starboard side was torn and splintered; her starboard anchor was
gone; and a great part of the starboard bulwarks; while every one of the
lower yard-arms had been broken, in the same direction; so that she now
carried small and unsightly jury-yards.

When I looked at this vessel, with the whole of one side thus shattered,
but the other still in fine trim; and when I remembered her gay and
gallant appearance, when she left the same harbor into which she now
entered so forlorn; I could not help thinking of a young man I had known
at home, who had left his cottage one morning in high spirits, and was
brought back at noon with his right side paralyzed from head to foot.

It seems that this vessel had been run against by a strange ship,
crowding all sail before a fresh breeze; and the stranger had rushed
past her starboard side, reducing her to the sad state in which she now
was.

Sailors can not be too wakeful and cautious, when keeping their night
look-outs; though, as I well know, they too often suffer themselves to
become negligent, and nod. And this is not so wonderful, after all; for
though every seaman has heard of those accidents at sea; and many of
them, perhaps, have been in ships that have suffered from them; yet,
when you find yourself sailing along on the ocean at night, without
having seen a sail for weeks and weeks, it is hard for you to realize
that any are near. Then, if they are near, it seems almost incredible
that on the broad, boundless sea, which washes Greenland at one end of
the world, and the Falkland Islands at the other, that any one vessel
upon such a vast highway, should come into close contact with another.
But the likelihood of great calamities occurring, seldom obtrudes upon
the minds of ignorant men, such as sailors generally are; for the things
which wise people know, anticipate, and guard against, the ignorant can
only become acquainted with, by meeting them face to face. And even when
experience has taught them, the lesson only serves for that day;
inasmuch as the foolish in prosperity are infidels to the possibility of
adversity; they see the sun in heaven, and believe it to be far too
bright ever to set. And even, as suddenly as the bravest and fleetest
ships, while careering in pride of canvas over the sea, have been
struck, as by lightning, and quenched out of sight; even so, do some
lordly men, with all their plans and prospects gallantly trimmed to the
fair, rushing breeze of life, and with no thought of death and disaster,
suddenly encounter a shock unforeseen, and go down, foundering, into
death.




XX. IN A FOG HE IS SET TO WORK AS A BELL-TOLLER, AND BEHOLDS A HERD OF
OCEAN-ELEPHANTS


What is this that we sail through? What palpable obscure? What smoke and
reek, as if the whole steaming world were revolving on its axis, as a
spit?

It is a Newfoundland Fog; and we are yet crossing the Grand Banks, wrapt
in a mist, that no London in the Novem-berest November ever equaled. The
chronometer pronounced it noon; but do you call this midnight or midday?
So dense is the fog, that though we have a fair wind, we shorten sail
for fear of accidents; and not only that, but here am I, poor
Wellingborough, mounted aloft on a sort of belfry, the top of the
"Sampson-Post," a lofty tower of timber, so called; and tolling the
ship's bell, as if for a funeral.

This is intended to proclaim our approach, and warn all strangers from
our track.

Dreary sound! toll, toll, toll, through the dismal mist and fog.

The bell is green with verdigris, and damp with dew; and the little cord
attached to the clapper, by which I toll it, now and then slides through
my fingers, slippery with wet. Here I am, in my slouched black hat, like
the "bull that could pull," announcing the decease of the lamented
Cock-Robin.

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.