Two Years Before the Mast

cook. This was a great comedown, from the highest seat in the synagogue to a seat in the galley with the black cook. At night, too, when supper was called, he stood in the waist for some time, hoping to be asked down with the officers, but they went below, one after another, and left him. His next chance was with the carpenter and sailmaker, and he lounged round the after hatchway until the last had gone down. We had now had fun enough out of him, and taking pity on him, offered him a pot of tea, and a cut at the kid, with the rest, in the forecastle. He was hungry, and it was growing dark, and he began to see that there was no use in playing the caballéro222 any longer, and came down into the forecastle, put into the “grub” in sailor’s style, threw off all his airs, and enjoyed the joke as much as anyone; for a man must take a joke among sailors. He gave us the whole account of his adventures in the country⁠—roguery and all⁠—and was very entertaining. He was a smart, unprincipled fellow, was at the bottom of most of the rascally doings of the country, and gave us a great deal of interesting information in the ways of the world we were in.

Saturday, Feb. 13th. Were called up at midnight to slip for a violent northeaster, for this rascally hole of San Pedro is unsafe in every wind but a southwester, which is seldom known to blow more than once in a half century. We went off with a flowing sheet, and hove to under the lee of Catalina island, where we lay three days, and then returned to our anchorage.

Tuesday, Feb. 23rd. This afternoon, a signal was made from the shore, and we went off in the gig, and found the agent’s clerk, who had been up to the pueblo, waiting at the landing place, with a package under his arm, covered with brown papers and tied carefully with twine. No sooner had we shoved off than he told us there was good news from Santa Barbara. “What’s that?” said one of the crew; “has the bloody agent slipped off the hooks? Has the old bundle of bones got him at last?”⁠—“No; better than that. The California has arrived.” Letters, papers, news, and, perhaps⁠—friends, on board! Our hearts were all up in our mouths, and we pulled away like good fellows; for the precious packet could not be opened except by the captain. As we pulled under the stern, the clerk held up the package, and called out to the mate, who was leaning over the taffrail, that the California had arrived.

“Hurrah!” said the mate, so as to be heard fore and aft; “California come, and news from Boston!”

Instantly there was a confusion on board which no one could account for who has not been in the same situation. All discipline seemed for a moment relaxed.

“What’s that, Mr. Brown?” said the cook, putting his head out of the galley⁠—“California come?”

“Aye, aye! you angel of darkness, and there’s a letter for you from Bullknop street, number two-two-five⁠—green door and brass knocker!”

The packet was sent down into the cabin, and everyone waited to hear of the result. As nothing came up, the officers began to feel that they were acting rather a child’s part, and turned the crew to again and the same strict discipline was restored, which prohibits speech between man and man, while at work on deck; so that, when the steward came forward with letters for the crew, each man took his letters, carried them below to his chest, and came up again immediately; and not a letter was read until we had cleared up decks for the night.

An overstrained sense of manliness is the characteristic of seafaring men, or, rather, of life on board ship. This often gives an appearance of want of feeling, and even of cruelty. From this, if a man comes within an ace of breaking his neck and escapes, it is made a joke of; and no notice must be taken of a bruise or cut; and any expression of pity, or any show of attention, would look sisterly, and unbecoming a man who has to face the rough and tumble of such a life. From this, too, the sick are neglected at sea, and whatever sailors may be ashore, a sick man finds little sympathy or attention, forward or aft. A man, too, can have nothing peculiar or sacred on board ship; for all the nicer feelings they take pride in disregarding, both in themselves and others. A thin-skinned man could not live an hour on shipboard. One would be torn raw unless he had the hide of an ox. A moment of natural feeling for home and friends, and then the frigid routine of sea life returned. Jokes were made upon those who showed any interest in the expected news, and everything near and dear was made common stock for rude jokes and unfeeling coarseness, to which no exception could be taken by anyone.

Supper, too, must be eaten before the letters were read; and when, at last, they were brought out, they all got round anyone who had a letter, and expected to have it read aloud, and have it all in common. If anyone went by himself to read, it was⁠—“Fair play, there; and no skulking!” I took mine and went into the sailmaker’s berth, where I could read it without interruption. It was dated August, just a year from the time I had sailed from home; and everyone was well, and no great change had taken place. Thus, for one year, my mind was set at ease, yet it was already six months from the date of the letter, and what another year would bring to pass, who could tell? Everyone away from home thinks that some great thing must have happened,