CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
The Queen of night, whose vast command Rules all the sea, and half the land; And over moist and crazy brains, In high spring-tides at midnight reigns. HUDIBRAS.
Among the millions who, on the hallowed and appointed day, lay asidetheir worldly occupations to bow the knee to the Giver of all good,directing their orisons and their thoughts to one mercy-beaming power,like so many rays of light concentrated into one focus, I know no classof people in whose breasts the feeling of religion is more deeplyimplanted than the occupants of that glorious specimen of daringingenuity--a man-of-war. It is through his works that the Almighty ismost sincerely reverenced, through them that his infinite power is withdeepest humility acknowledged. The most forcible arguments, the mostpathetic eloquence from the pulpit, will not affect so powerfully themind of man, as the investigation of a blade of grass, or the mechanismof the almost imperceptible insect. If, then, such is the effect uponmankind in general, how strong must be the impressions of those whooccupy their business in the great waters! These men "see the works ofthe Lord, and his wonders in the deep." They behold him in all hismagnificence, in all his beauty, in all his wrath, in all his vastness,in all his variety. Unassisted by theory, they practically feel thatGod is great, and their worship, although dumb, is sincere.
I am aware that it is the idea of many that sailors have little or noreligion: and their dissolute conduct, when thrown on shore, iscertainly a strong argument in support of this opinion; but they mustnot be so partially judged. Those who are constantly mixed with theworld, and exposed to its allurements, are subject to a continualstruggle against their passions, which they are more enabled torestrain, as temptation so rapidly succeeds temptation that one destroysthe other--effacing it from their recollection before they have had timeto mature their embryo guilt. But in our floating monasteries, whererigid discipline and active duties allow only the thoughts to ramble tothat society which never has been intended to be abandoned, the passionsare naturally impelled towards that world, whose temptations are so muchincreased by long and unnatural seclusion.
In the mountain lake, whose waters are daily increasing, all isunruffled till their own weight has forced its boundaries, and theroaring cataract sweeps everything before it. Such is the licentiousand impetuous behaviour of the sailor on shore. But on board he is adifferent being, and appears as if he were without sin and withoutguile. Let those, then, who turn away at his occasional intemperance,be careful how they judge. They may "thank God that they are not asthat publican," and yet be less justified, when weighed in that balance,where, although Justice eyes the beam, Mercy is permitted to stand by,and throw into the scale her thousand little grains to counter-poise themass of guilt.
Religion in a sailor (I mean by the term, a common seaman) is more of anactive than a passive feeling. It does not consist in reflection orself-examination. It is in externals that his respect to the Deity ismanifest. Witness the Sunday on board of a man-of-war. The care withwhich the decks are washed, the hauling taut, and neat coiling down ofthe ropes, the studied cleanliness of person, most of which duties areperformed on other days, but on this day are executed with an extraprecision and attention on the part of the seamen, because it is_Sunday_. Then the quiet decorum voluntarily observed; the attention todivine service, which would be a pattern to a congregation on shore; thelittle knots of men collected, in the afternoon, between the guns,listening to one who reads some serious book; or the solitaryquarter-master, poring over his thumbed Testament, as he communes withhimself--all prove that sailors have a deep-rooted feeling of religion.I once knew a first-lieutenant receive a severe rebuke from a ship'scompany. This officer, observing the men scattered listlessly about theforecastle and waist of the frigate, on a fine Sunday evening, orderedthe fiddler up, that they might dance. The ship's company thanked himfor his kindness, but stated that they had not been accustomed to danceon that day, and requested that the music might be sent below.
The Sunday on board a man-of-war has another advantage over the Sabbathon shore: it is hallowed throughout. It commences with respect andreverence, and it ends with the same. There is no alehouse to resortto, where the men may become intoxicated; no allurements of the sensesto disturb the calm repose of the mind, the practical veneration of theday, which bestows upon it a moral beauty.
It was on the evening of such a day of serenity, after the hammocks hadbeen piped down and the watch mustered, that Captain M--- was standingon the gangway of the _Aspasia_, in conversation with Macallan, thesurgeon. It was almost a calm: the sails were not _asleep_ with thelight airs that occasionally distended them, but flapped against thelofty masts with the motion communicated to the vessel by the undulatingwave. The moon, nearly at her full, was high in the heavens, steeringfor the zenith in all her beauty, without one envious cloud to obscurethe refulgence of her beams, which were reflected upon the water inbroad and wavering lines of silver. The blue wave was of a deeperblue--so clear and so transparent that you fancied you could piercethrough a fathomless perspective, and so refreshing, so void of allimpurity, that it invited you to glide into its bosom.
"How clear the moon shines to-night! to-morrow, I think, will be fullmoon."
"It would be well," observed the surgeon in reply to remark of thecaptain, "to request the officer of the watch to permit the men to sleepon the upper deck. We shall have many of them moon-blind."
"I have often heard that effect of the moon in the tropics mentioned,but have never seen it. In what manner does it affect the eyes?"
"The moon can act but in one way, sir," replied Macallan,--"byattraction. The men who are affected see perfectly well in broaddaylight; but as soon as it is dusk, their powers of vision are gonealtogether. At the usual time at which the hammocks are piped down theywill not be able to distinguish the numbers. I have had sixty men inone ship in the situation I have described."
"We ridicule the opinion of the ancients, relative to the powers of thisplanet," observed the captain; "but, at the same time, I have oftenheard more ascribed to her influence than the world in general areinclined to credit. That she regulates the tides is, I believe, theonly point upon which there is now no scepticism."
"There has been scepticism even upon that, sir. Did you ever read awork entitled `Theory of the Tides'? I can, however, state some otherpoints, from observation, in which the moon has power."
"Over lunatics, I presume?"
"Most certainly; and why not, therefore, over those who are rational?We observe the effect more clearly in the lunatic, because his mind isin a state of feverish excitement; but if the moon can act upon thediseased brain, it must also have power, although less perceptible, overthe mind which is in health. I believe that there is an ebb and flow ofpower in our internal mechanism, corresponding to the phases of themoon. I mean, that the blood flows more rapidly, and the powers ofnature are more stimulated, at the flood and full, than at the ebb andneap, when a reaction takes place in proportion to the previousacceleration. Dr Mead has observed, that of those who are at the pointof death, nine out of ten quit this world at the ebb of the tide. Doesnot this observation suggest the idea, that nature has relaxed herefforts during that period, after having been stimulated during theflood? Shakespeare, who was a true observer of nature, has not omittedthis circumstance; speaking of the death of Falstaff, Mrs Quicklyobserves, `It was just at the turn of the tide.'"
"Well, but, Mr Macallan, laying aside hypothesis, what have youascertained, from actual observation, besides that which we termmoon-blindness?"
"The effect of the moon upon fish, and other animal matter, hung up inits rays at night. If under the half-deck, they would remain perfectlysweet and eatable; but if exposed to the moon's rays, in the tropics,they will, in the course of one night, become putrid and unwholesome.They emit no smell; but when eaten will produce diarrhoea, almost asviolent as if you had taken poison."
"I have heard that stated, also, by seamen," said the captain; "b
ut havenever witnessed it."
"A remarkable and corroborative instance occurred, when I was in the bayof Annapolis," resumed the surgeon. "I was becalmed in a small vessel,and amused myself with fishing. I pulled up several herrings; but, tomy astonishment, they were putrid and sodden an hour or two after theywere dead. I observed the circumstance to one of the fishermen, who informed me that several hundred barrels, taken at a fishery a few milesoff, had all been spoiled in the same manner. I asked the reason, andthe answer was, `that they had been spawned at the full of the moon.'How far the man was correct, I know not; but he stated that thecircumstance had occurred before, and was well known to the olderfishermen."
"Very singular," replied Captain M---. "We are too apt to reject thewhole, because we have found a part to be erroneous. That the moon isnot the Hecate formerly supposed, I believe; but she seems to have morepower than is usually ascribed to her. Is that seven bells striking?"
"It is, sir; the time has slipped rapidly away. I shall wish you goodnight."
"Good night," replied Captain M---, who, for some time after thedeparture of the surgeon, continued leaning over the rail of theentering-port, in silent contemplation of the glassy wave, until theworking of his mind was expressed in the following apostrophe:--
"Yes--placid and beautiful as thou art, there is foul treachery in thysmile. Who knows, but that, one day, thou mayest, in thy fury, demandas a victim the form which thou so peaceably reflectest? Ever-cravingepicure! thou must be fed with the healthy and the brave. Thegluttonous earth preys indiscriminately upon the diseased carcases ofage, infancy, and manhood; but thou must be more daintily supplied.Health and vigour--prime of life and joyous heart--high-beating pulseand energy of soul--active bodies, and more active minds--such is thefood in which thou delightest: and with such dainty fare wilt thou everbe supplied, until the Power that created thee, with the other elements,shall order thee to pass away."
The bell struck eight, and its sharp peals, followed by the hoarsesummoning of the watch below, by the boatswain's-mates, disturbed hisreverie, and Captain M--- descended to his cabin.
And now, reader, I shall finish this chapter. You may, perhaps, imaginethat I have the scene before me, and am describing from nature: if so,you are in error. I am seated in the after-cabin of a vessel, endowedwith as liberal a share of motion as any in His Majesty's service:whilst I write I am holding on by the table, my legs entwined in thelashings underneath, and I can barely manage to keep my position beforemy manuscript. The sea is high, the gale fresh, the sky dirty, andthreatening a continuance of what our transatlantic descendants wouldterm a pretty-considerable-tarnation-strong blast of wind. Thetop-gallant-yards are on deck, the masts are struck, the gunsdouble-breeched, and the bulwarks creaking and grinding in mostdetestable regularity of dissonance as the vessel scuds and lurchesthrough a cross and heavy sea. The main-deck is afloat: and, from thecareless fitting of the half-ports at the dockyard, and neglect ofcaulking in the cants, my fore-cabin is in the same predicament. Abubbling brook changing its course, ebbing and flowing as it were withthe rolling of the ship, is dashing with mimic fury against the trunkssecured on each side of the cabin.
I have just been summoned from my task, in consequence of one of thebattens which secured my little library having given way to theimmoderate weight of learning that pressed upon it; and as my books havebeen washed to and fro, I have snatched them from their first attemptsat natation. Smith's Wealth of Nations I picked up first, not worth _afig_; Don Juan I have just rescued from a second shipwreck, with noother _Hey-day_ (Haidee) to console him, than the melancholy oneextracted from me with a deep sigh, as I received his shattered frame.Here's Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy," in a very melancholy plightindeed, and (what a fashionable watering-place my cabin has turned to!)here's Burke's "Peerage," with all the royal family and aristocracy ofthe kingdom, taking a dip, and a captain of a man-of-war, like anotherSally Gunn, pulling them out. So, you perceive, my description has beenall moonshine.
"My wishes have been fathers to my thoughts."
My bones are sore with rocking. Horace says, that he had a soul ofbrass who first ventured to sea; I think a body of iron very necessaryto the outfit. My cot is swinging and jerking up to the beams, as ifthe lively scoundrel was some metamorphosed imp mocking at me. "Sarveyou right--what did you _list_ for?"--Very true--Why did I?--Well,anxious as I am to close this chapter, and to close my eyes, I will tellyou, reader, what it was that induced me to go to sea. It was not toescape the drudgery and confinement of a school, or the admonitionsreceived at home. The battle of Trafalgar had been fought--I recollectthe news being brought down by the dancing-master when I was at school;but although I knew that eighteen or twenty sail of the line had beencaptured, yet never having seen a vessel larger than a merchant ship atLondon Bridge, I had very imperfect ideas on the subject--except that itmust have been a very glorious affair, as we had a whole holiday inconsequence. But when I returned home, I witnessed the funeralprocession of Lord Nelson; and, as the triumphal car upon which hisearthly remains were borne disappeared from my aching eye, I felt thatdeath could have no terrors, if followed by such a funeral; and Idetermined that I would be buried in the same manner. This is the fact;but I am not now exactly of the same opinion. I had no idea at thattime, that it was such a terrible roundabout way to St. Paul's. Here Ihave been tossed about in every quarter of the globe, for between twentyand five-and-twenty years, and the dome is almost as distant as ever.
I mean to put up with the family vault; but I should like very much tohave engraved on my coffin--"Many years Commissioner," or "Lord of theAdmiralty," or "Governor of Greenwich Hospital," "Ambassador," "PrivyCouncillor," or, in fact, anything but Captain: for, though acknowledgedto be a good travelling name, it is a very insignificant title at theend of our journey. Moreover, as the author of "Pelham" says, "I wishsomebody would adopt me."
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