Two Years Before the Mast | Page 9

had finished my job and got upon the comparative
terra firma of the deck. In a few minutes seven bells were struck, the
log hove, the watch called, and we went to breakfast. Here I cannot but
remember the advice of the cook, a simple-hearted African. ``Now,''
says he, ``my lad, you are well cleaned out; you haven't got a drop of
your 'long-shore swash aboard of you. You must begin on a new tack,--
pitch all your sweetmeats overboard, and turn to upon good hearty salt
beef and ship bread, and I'll promise you, you'll have your ribs well
sheathed, and be as hearty as any of 'em, afore you are up to the Horn.''
This would be good advice to give to passengers, when they set their
hearts on the little niceties which they have laid in, in case of
sea-sickness.
I cannot describe the change which half a pound of cold salt beef and a
biscuit or two produced in me. I was a new being. Having a watch
below until noon, so that I had some time to myself, I got a huge piece
of strong, cold salt beef from the cook, and kept gnawing upon it until
twelve o'clock. When we went on deck, I felt somewhat like a man, and
could begin to learn my sea duty with considerable spirit. At about two
o'clock, we heard the loud cry of ``Sail ho!'' from aloft, and soon saw
two sails to windward, going directly athwart our hawse. This was the
first time that I had seen a sail at sea. I thought then, and have always
since, that no sight exceeds it in interest, and few in beauty. They
passed to leeward of us, and out of hailing distance; but the captain
could read the names on their sterns with the glass. They were the ship
Helen Mar, of New York, and the brig Mermaid, of Boston. They were

both steering westward, and were bound in for our ``dear native land.''
Thursday, August 21st. This day the sun rose clear; we had a fine wind,
and everything was bright and cheerful. I had now got my sea legs on,
and was beginning to enter upon the regular duties of a sea life. About
six bells, that is, three o'clock P.M., we saw a sail on our larboard bow.
I was very desirous, like every new sailor, to speak her. She came down
to us, backed her main-top-sail, and the two vessels stood ``head on,''
bowing and curveting at each other like a couple of war-horses reined
in by their riders. It was the first vessel that I had seen near, and I was
surprised to find how much she rolled and pitched in so quiet a sea. She
plunged her head into the sea, and then, her stern settling gradually
down, her huge bows rose up, showing the bright copper, and her stem
and breasthooks dripping, like old Neptune's locks, with the brine. Her
decks were filled with passengers, who had come up at the cry of ``Sail
ho!'' and who, by their dress and features, appeared to be Swiss and
French emigrants. She hailed us at first in French, but receiving no
answer, she tried us in English. She was the ship La Carolina, from
Havre, for New York. We desired her to report the brig Pilgrim, from
Boston, for the northwest coast of America, five days out. She then
filled away and left us to plough on through our waste of waters.
There is a settled routine for hailing ships at sea: ``Ship a-hoy!'' Answer,
``Hulloa!'' ``What ship is that, pray?'' ``The ship Carolina, from Havre,
bound to New York. Where are you from?'' ``The brig Pilgrim, from
Boston, bound to the coast of California, five days out.'' Unless there is
leisure, or something special to say, this form is not much varied from.
This day ended pleasantly; we had got into regular and comfortable
weather, and into that routine of sea life which is only broken by a
storm, a sail, or the sight of land.
[1] Of late years, the British and American marine, naval and
mercantile, have adopted the word ``port'' instead of larboard, in all
cases on board ship, to avoid mistake from similarity of sound. At this
time ``port'' was used only at the helm.

CHAPTER III
As we have now had a long ``spell'' of fine weather, without any
incident to break the monotony of our lives, I may have no better place
for a description of the duties, regulations, and customs of an American
merchantman, of which ours was a fair specimen.
The captain, in the first place, is lord paramount. He stands no watch,
comes and goes when he pleases, is accountable to no one, and must