One harpoon, at least, is always kept in readiness for action in the

fore part of the ship. The sharpest and strongest of these deadly
weapons is generally stopped or fastened to the fore-tack bumpkin, a
spar some ten or twelve feet long, projecting from the bows of a ship
on each side like the horns of a snail, to which the tack or lower
corner of the foresail is drawn down when the ship is on a wind. This
spar, which affords good footing, not being raised many feet above the
water, while it is clear of the bow, and very nearly over the spot
where the porpoises glide past, when shooting across the ship's
forefoot, is eagerly occupied by the most active and expert harpooner
on board, as soon as the report has been spread that a shoal, or, as
the sailors call it, a "school" of porpoises, are round the ship.
There is another favourite station which is speedily filled on these
occasions; I mean, alongside of the slight-looking apparatus
projecting perpendicularly downwards from the end of the bowsprit.
This spar is not inaptly called the dolphin-striker, from its
appearing to dash into the waves as the ship pitches; perhaps it may
have acquired its name on account of its being so capital a position
from which to strike that fish. The lower end of the spar is connected
with the outer end of the jib-boom, by means of a stout rope, which,
after passing through its extremity, extends to the ship; and it is
upon this guy that the fortunate wielder of the harpoon fixes himself.
The harpoon is a triangular, or rather a heart-shaped barbed weapon,
somewhat larger than a man's head, and in the centre about as thick as
his knuckles. Its point and edges are made of iron so soft that they
can easily be brought to a rough edge by means of a file. This
javelin-head, or, as it is technically called by whalers, the "mouth,"
is connected by a slender arm or shank, terminating in a socket. The
barbed head or mouth is eight inches long, and six broad; the shank,
with its socket, two feet and a-half long. The shank is not quite half
an inch in diameter; and as this part is liable to be forcibly
extended, twisted, and bent, it requires to be made of the toughest
and most pliable iron.

A piece of small, but stout line, called, I think, the foreganger, is
spliced securely to the shank of the harpoon. To the end of this line
is attached any small rope that lies handiest on the forecastle,
probably the top-gallant clew-line, or the jib down-haul. The rope,
before being made fast to the foreganger, is rove through a block
attached to some part of the bowsprit, or to the foremost swifter of
the fore-rigging; a gang of hands are always ready to take hold of the
end, and run the fish right out of the water when pierced by the iron.

The harpooner has nothing to attend to but the mere act of striking
his object; and there are few exploits in which the dexterity of one
person is more conspicuous over that of another than in delivering the
harpoon. I have heard Captain Scoresby say, that, when a whale is
struck, it is an object of importance to drive the weapon socket-deep
into the blubber, or outer rind, of the floating monster; but in the
case of the porpoise the true point of skill appears to lie in the aim
alone: for the mere weight of the instrument, with its loaded staff,
is sufficient to lodge the barbs in the body of the fish, and in many
cases to carry it right through to the other side.

The strength of the porpoise must be very great, for I have seen him
twist a whale harpoon several times round, and eventually tear himself
off by main force. On this account, it is of consequence to get the
floundering gentleman on board with the least possible delay after the
fish is struck. Accordingly, the harpooner, the instant he has made a
good hit, bawls out, "Haul away! haul away!" upon which the men
stationed at the line run away with it, and the struggling wretch is
raised high into the air. Two or three of the smartest hands have in
the mean time prepared what is called a running bowline knot, or
noose, the nature of which may be readily described by saying that
although it slips up, or renders, very easily, it is perfectly secure,
without being subject to jamming. This running bowline, of which
several are always previously made ready, is placed by hand round the
body of the porpoise, or it may be cast, like the lasso, over its
tail, and then, but not till then, can the capture be considered quite
secure. I have seen many a gallant prize of this kind fairly
transfixed with the harpoon, and rattled like a shot up to the block,
where it was hailed by the shouts of the victors as the source of a
certain feast, and yet lost after all, either by the line breaking, or
the dart coming out during the vehement struggles of the fish.

I remember once seeing a porpoise accidentally struck by a minor
description of fish-spear called a grains, a weapon quite inadequate
for such a service. The cord by which it was held, being much too
weak, soon broke, and off dashed the wounded fish, right in the wind's
eye, at a prodigious rate, with the staff erect on its back, like a
signal-post. The poor wretch was instantly accompanied, or pursued, by
myriads of his own species, whose instinct, it is said, teaches them
to follow any track of blood, and even to devour their unfortunate
fellow-fish. I rather doubt the fact of their cannibalism, but am
certain that, whenever a porpoise is struck and escapes, he is
followed by all the others, and the ship is deserted by the shoal in a
few seconds. In the instance just mentioned, the grains with which the
porpoise was struck had been got ready for spearing a dolphin; but the
man in whose hands it happened to be, not being an experienced
harpooneer, could not resist the opportunity of darting his weapon
into the first fish that offered a fair mark.

The dolphin, the bonito, and the albacore, are sometimes caught with
the grains, but generally by means of lines baited either with bits of
tin, or with pieces of the flying-fish, when any are to be had. In
fine weather, especially between the tropics, when the whole surface
of the sea is often covered with them, a dozen lines are hung from the
jib-boom end and spritsail yard, all so arranged, that when the ship
sends forward, the hook, with its glittering bait, barely touches the
water, but rises from it when the ship is raised up by the swell. The
grains, spoken of above, resembles nothing so much that I know of as
the trident which painters thrust into the hands of Daddy Neptune. If
my nautical recollections, however, serve me correctly, this spear has
five prongs, not three, and sometimes there are two sets, placed in
lines at right angles to one another. The upper end of the staff being
loaded with lead, it falls down and turns over the fish, which is then
drawn on board on the top of the grains, as a potato or a herring
might be presented on the point of a fork.

The dolphin is eaten and generally relished by every one, though
certainly a plaguy dry fish. It is often cut into slices and fried
like salmon, or boiled and soused in vinegar, to be eaten cold. The
bonito is a coarser fish, and only becomes tolerable eating by the
copious use of port-wine.

It happened in a ship I commanded that a porpoise was struck about
half-an-hour before the cabin dinner; and I gave directions, as a
matter of course, to my steward to dress a dish of steaks, cut well
clear of the thick coating of blubber. It so chanced that none of the
crew had ever before seen a fish of this kind taken, and in
consequence there arose doubts amongst them whether or not it was
good, or even safe eating. The word, however, being soon passed along
the decks that orders had been given for some slices of the porpoise
to be cooked for the captain's table, a deputation from forward was
appointed to proceed as near to the cabin door as the etiquette of the
service allowed, in order to establish the important fact of the
porpoise being eatable. The dish was carried in, its contents
speedily discussed, and a fresh supply having been sent for, the
steward was, of course, intercepted in his way to the cook. "I say,
Capewell," cried one of the hungry delegates, "did the captain really
eat any of the porpoise?"

"Eat it!" exclaimed the steward, "look at that!" at the same time
lifting off the cover, and showing a dish as well cleared as if it had
previously been freighted with veal cutlets, and was now on its return
from the midshipmen's berth.

"Ho! ho!" sung out Jack, running back to the forecastle; "if the
skipper eats porpoise, I don't see why we should be nice; so here
goes!" Then pulling forth the great clasp-knife which always hangs by
a cord round the neck of a seaman, he plunged it into the sides of the
fish, and, after separating the outside rind of blubber, detached
half-a-dozen pounds of the red meat, which, in texture and taste, and
in the heat of its blood, resembles beef, though very coarse. His
example was so speedily followed by the rest of the ship's company,
that when I walked forward, after dinner, in company with the doctor,
to take the post-mortem view of the porpoise more critically than
before, we found the whole had been broiled and eaten within
half-an-hour after I had unconsciously given, by my example, an
official sanction to the feast.

On the 24th of May, the day before crossing the equator, I saw the
grandest display of all these different kinds of fish which it has
ever been my fortune to meet with. In my journal, written on that day,
I find some things related of which I have scarcely any recollection,
and certainly have never witnessed since. A bonito, it appears,
darted out of the water after a flying-fish, open-mouthed, and so true
was the direction of his leap that he actually closed with the chase
in the air, and sought to snap it up; but, owing to some error in his
calculation, the top of his head striking the object of pursuit, sent
it spinning off in a direction quite different from that which his own
momentum obliged him to follow. A number of those huge birds, the
albatrosses, were soaring over the face of the waters, and the
flying-fish, when rising into the air to avoid the dolphins and
bonitos, were frequently caught by these poaching birds, to the very
reasonable disappointment of the sporting fish below. These intruders
proceeded not altogether with impunity, however; for we hooked several
of them, who, confident in their own sagacity and strength of wing,
swooped eagerly at the baited hooks towed far astern of the ship, and
were thus drawn on board, screaming and flapping their wings in a very
ridiculous plight. To render this curious circle of mutual destruction
quite complete, though it may diminish our sympathy for the persecuted
flying-fish, I ought to mention that on the same day one dropped on
board in the middle of its flight, and in its throat another small
fish was found half swallowed, but still alive!

All this may be considered, more or less, as mere sport; but in the
capture of the shark, a less amiable, or, I may say, a more ferocious
spirit is sure to prevail. There would seem, indeed, to be a sort of
perpetual and hereditary war waged between sailors and sharks, like
that said to exist between the Esquimaux and the Indians of North
America, where, as each of the belligerents is under the full belief
that every death, whether natural or violent, is caused by the
machinations of the other side, there is no hope of peace between
them, as long as the high conflicting parties shall be subject to the
laws of mortality.

In like manner, I fear, that in all future times, as in all times
past, when poor Jack falls overboard in Madras roads, or in Port Royal
harbour, he will be crunched between the shark's quadruple or
quintuple rows of serrated teeth, with as merciless a spirit of
enjoyment as Jack himself can display. Certainly, I nave never seen
the savage part of our nature peep out more clearly than upon these
occasions, when a whole ship's company, captain, officers, and young
gentlemen inclusive, shout in triumphant exultation over the body of a
captive shark, floundering in impotent rage on the poop or forecastle.
The capture always affords high and peculiar sport, for it is one in
which every person on board sympathises, and, to a certain extent,
takes a share. Like a fox-chase, it is ever new, and draws within its
vortex every description of person. Even the monkey, if there be one
on board, takes a vehement interest in the whole progress of this wild
scene. I remember once observing Jacko running backwards and forwards
along the after-part of the poop hammock-netting, grinning, screaming,
and chattering at such a rate, that, as it was nearly calm, he was
heard all over the decks.

"What's the matter with you, Master Mona?" said the quarter-master;
for the animal came from Teneriffe, and preserved his Spanish
cognomen. Jacko replied not, but merely stretching his head over the
railing, stared with his eyes almost bursting from his head, and by
the intensity of his grin bared his teeth and gums nearly from ear to
ear.

The sharp curved dorsal fin of a huge shark was now seen, rising
about six inches above the water, and cutting the glazed surface of
the sea by as fine a line as if a sickle had been drawn along.

"Messenger! run to the cook for a piece of pork," cried the captain,
taking command with as much glee as if it had been an enemy's cruiser.

"Where's your hook, quarter-master?"

"Here, sir, here!" cried the fellow, feeling the point, and declaring
it as sharp as any lady's needle, and in the next instant piercing
with it a huge junk of rusty pork, weighing four or five pounds; for
nothing, scarcely, is too large or too high in flavour for the stomach
of a shark.

The hook, which is as thick as one's little finger, has a curvature
about as large as that of a man's hand when half closed, and is from
six to eight inches in length, with a formidable barb. This
fierce-looking grappling-iron is furnished with three or four feet of
chain, a precaution which is absolutely necessary; for a voracious
shark will sometimes gobble the bait so deep into his stomach, that he
would snap through the rope as easily as if he were nipping the head
off an asparagus.

A good strong line, generally the end of the mizen-topsail-haulyards,
being made fast to the chain, the bait is cast into the ship's wake;
for it is very seldom so dead a calm that a vessel has not some small
motion through the water. I think I have remarked that at sea the
sharks are most apt to make their appearance when the ship is going
along at a rate of somewhat less than a mile an hour, a speed which
barely brings her under command of the rudder, or gives her what is
technically called steerage-way.

A shark, like a midshipman, is generally very hungry; but in the rare
cases when he is not in good appetite he sails slowly up to the bait,
smells at it, and gives it a poke with his shovel-nose, turning it
over and over. He then edges off to the right or left, as if he
apprehended mischief, but soon returns again, to enjoy the delicious
_haut gout_ of the damaged pork, of which a piece is always selected,
if it can be found.

While this coquetry or shyness is exhibited by John Shark, the whole
after-part of the ship is so clustered with heads that not an inch of
spare room is to be had for love or money. The rigging, the mizen-top,
and even the gaff, out to the very peak, the hammock-nettings and the
quarters, almost down to the counter, are stuck over with breathless
spectators, speaking in whispers, if they venture to speak at all, or
can find leisure for anything but fixing their gaze on the monster,
who as yet is free to roam the ocean, but who, they trust, will soon
be in their power. I have seen this go on for an hour together; after
which the shark has made up his mind to have nothing to say to us, and
either swerved away to windward, if there be any breeze at all, or
dived so deep that his place could be detected only by a faint touch
or flash of white many fathoms down. The loss of a Spanish galleon in
chase, I am persuaded, could hardly cause more bitter regret, or call
forth more intemperate expressions of anger and impatience than the
failure in hooking a shark is always sure to produce on board a ship
at sea.

On the other hand, I suppose the first symptom of an enemy's flag
coming down in the fight was never hailed with greater joy than is
felt by a ship's crew on the shark turning round to seize the bait.
The preparatory symptoms of this intention are so well known to every
one on board, that, the instant they begin to appear, a greedy whisper
of delight passes from mouth to mouth amongst the assembled multitude;
every eye is lighted up, and such as have not bronzed their cheeks by
too long exposure to sun and wind to betray any change of colour may
be seen to alter their hue from pale to red, and back to pale again,
like the tints on the sides of the dying dolphin.

It is supposed by seamen that the shark must of necessity turn on his
back before he can bite anything, and, generally speaking, he
certainly does so turn himself before he takes the bait; but this
arises from two circumstances--one of them accidental and belonging to
the particular occasion, the other arising out of the peculiar
conformation and position of his mouth. When a bait is towed astern of
a ship that has any motion through the water at all, it is necessarily
brought to the surface, or nearly so. This, of course, obliges the
shark to bite at it from below; and as his mouth is placed under his
chin, not over it, he must turn nearly on his back before he can seize
the floating piece of meat in which the hook is concealed. Even if he
does not turn completely round, he is forced to slue himself, as it is
called, so far as to show some portion of his white belly. The instant
the white skin flashes on the sight of the expectant crew, a subdued
cry, or murmur of satisfaction, is heard amongst the crowd; but no one
speaks, for fear of alarming the shark.

Sometimes, the very instant the bait is cast over the stern, the
shark flies at it with such eagerness that he actually springs
partially out of the water. This, however, is rare. On these occasions
he gorges the bait, the hook, and a foot or two of the chain, without
any mastication or delay, and darts off with his treacherous prize
with such prodigious velocity and force that it makes the rope crack
again as soon as the whole coil is drawn out; but in general he goes
more leisurely to work, and seems rather to suck in the bait than to
bite at it. Much dexterity is required in the hand which holds the
line at this moment; for a bungler is apt to be too precipitate, and
to jerk away the hook before it has got far enough down the shark's
maw. Our greedy friend, indeed, is never disposed to relinquish what
may once have passed his formidable batteries of teeth; but the hook,
by a premature tug of the line, may fix itself in a part of the jaw so
weak that it gives way in the fierce struggle which always follows.
The secret of the sport is, to let the voracious monster gulp down the
huge mess of pork, and then to give the rope a violent pull, by which
the barbed point, quitting the edge of the bait, buries itself in the
coats of the victim's throat or stomach. As the shark is not a
personage to submit patiently to such treatment, it will not be well
for any one whose foot happens to be accidentally on the coil of the
rope, for, when the hook is first fixed, it spins out like the
log-line of a ship going twelve knots.

The suddenness of the jerk with which the poor devil is brought up,
when he has reached the length of his tether, often turns him quite
over on the surface of the water. Then commence the loud cheers,
taunts, and other sounds of rage and triumph, so long suppressed. A
steady pull is insufficient to carry away the line; but it sometimes
happens that the violent struggles of the shark, when too speedily
drawn up, snap either the rope or the hook, and so he gets off, to
digest the remainder as he best can. It is, accordingly, held the best
practice to play him a little, with his mouth at the surface, till he
becomes somewhat exhausted. No sailor, therefore, ought ever to think
of hauling a shark on board merely by the rope fastened to the hook;
for, however impotent his struggles may generally be in the water,
they are rarely unattended with risk when the rogue is drawn half-way
up. To prevent the line breaking, or the hook snapping, or the jaw
being torn away, the device formerly described, of a running bowline
knot, is always adopted. This noose, being slipped down the rope, and
passed over the monster's head, is made to jam at the point of
junction of the tail with the body. When this is once fixed, the first
act of the piece is held to be complete, and the vanquished enemy is
afterwards easily drawn over the taffrail and flung on the deck, to
the unspeakable delight of all hands. But, although the shark is out
of his element, he has by no means lost his power of doing mischief;
and I would advise no one to come within range of the tail, or thrust
his toes too near the animal's mouth. The blow of a tolerably
large-sized shark's tail might break a man's leg; and I have seen a
three-inch hide tiller-rope bitten more than half-through full ten
minutes after the wretch had been dragged about the quarter-deck, and
had made all his victors keep at the most respectful distance. I
remember hearing the late Dr. Wollaston, with his wonted ingenuity,
suggest a method for measuring the strength of a shark's bite. If a
smooth plate of lead, he thought, were thrust into the fish's mouth,
the depth which his teeth should pierce the lead would furnish a sort
of scale of the force exerted.

I need scarcely mention, that, when a shark is floundering about, the
quarter-deck becomes a scene of pretty considerable confusion; and if
there be blood on the occasion, as there generally is, from all this
rough usage, the stains are not to be got rid of without a week's
scrubbing, and many a growl from the captain of the after-guard. For
the time, however, all such considerations are superseded; that is to
say, if the commander himself takes an interest in the sport, and he
must be rather a spoony skipper that does not. If he be indifferent
about the fate of the shark, it is speedily dragged forward to the
forecastle, amidst the kicks, thumps, and execrations of the
conquerors, who very soon terminate his miserable career by stabbing
him with their knives, boarding-pikes, and tomahawks, like so many
wild Indians.

The first operation is always to deprive him of his tail, which is
seldom an easy matter, it not being at all safe to come too near; but
some dextrous hand, familiar with the use of the broad axe, watches
for a quiet moment, and at a single blow severs it from the body. He
is then closed with by another, who leaps across the prostrate foe,
and with an adroit cut rips him open from snout to tail, and the
tragedy is over, so far as the struggles and sufferings of the
principal actor are concerned. There always follows, however, the most
lively curiosity on the part of the sailors to learn what the shark
has got stowed away in his inside; but they are often disappointed,
for the stomach is generally empty. I remember one famous exception,
indeed, when a very large fellow was caught on board the Alceste, in
Anjeer Roads at Java, when we were proceeding to China with the
embassy under Lord Amherst. A number of ducks and hens which had died
in the night were, as usual, thrown overboard in the morning, besides
several baskets, and many other minor things, such as bundles of
shavings and bits of cordage: all of which were found in this huge
sea-monster's inside. But what excited most surprise and admiration
was the hide of a buffalo, killed on board that day for the ship's
company's dinner. The old sailor who had cut open the shark stood with
a foot on each side, and removed the articles one by one from the huge
cavern into which they had been indiscriminately drawn. When the
operator came at last to the buffalo's skin, he held it up before him
like a curtain, and exclaimed, "There, my lads! d'ye see that? He has
swallowed a buffalo; but he could not disgest the hide!"

I have never been so unfortunate as to see a man bitten by a shark,
though, in calm weather, it is usual to allow the people to swim about
the ship. It would seem that they are disturbed by the splashing and
other noises of so many persons, and keep at a distance; for although
they are often observed near the ship both before and after the men
have been bathing, they very rarely come near the swimmers. I remember
once, indeed, at Bermuda, seeing a shark make a grab at a midshipman's
heel, just as he was getting into the boat alongside. This youngster,
who, with one or two others, had been swimming about for an hour, was
the last of the party in the water. No shark had been seen during the
whole morning; but just as he was drawing his foot into the boat the
fish darted from the bottom. Fortunately for my old messmate, there
was no time for the shark to make the half-turn of the body necessary
to bring his mouth to bear; and he escaped, by half an inch, a fate
which, besides its making one shudder to think of, would have deprived
the service of an officer now deservedly in the higher ranks of his
profession.




CHAPTER IX.

A MAN OVERBOARD!


The strange and almost savage ceremonies used at sea on crossing the
equator have been so often described that a voyager, at this time of
day, may be well excused for omitting any minute account of such wild
proceedings. The whole affair, indeed, is preposterous in its
conception, and, I must say, brutal in its execution. Notwithstanding
all this, however, I have not only permitted it to go on in ships
which I commanded, but have even encouraged it, and set it agoing,
when the men themselves were in doubt. Its evil is transient if any
evil there be, while it certainly affords Jack a topic for a month
beforehand and a fortnight afterwards; and if so ordered as to keep
its monstrosities within the limits of strict discipline, which is
easy enough, it may even be made to add to the authority of the
officers, instead of weakening their influence.

In a well-regulated ship, within one hour from the time when these
scenes of riot are at their height, order is restored, the decks are
washed and swabbed up, the wet things are hung on the clothes' lines
between the masts to dry; and the men, dressed in clean trousers and
duck frocks, are assembled at their guns for muster, as soberly and
sedately as if nothing had happened to discompose the decorous
propriety of the ship's discipline. The middies, in like manner, may
safely be allowed to have their own share of this rough fun, provided
they keep as clear of their immediate superiors as the ship's company
keep clear of the young gentlemen. And I must do the population of the
cockpit the justice to say, that, when they fairly set about it,
maugre their gentleman-like habits, aristocratical sprinklings, and
the march of intellect to boot, they do contrive to come pretty near
to the honest folks before the mast in the article of ingenious
ferocity. The captain, of course, and, generally speaking, all the
officers keep quite aloof, pocketing up their dignity with vast care,
and ready, at a moment's warning, to repress any undue familiarity. As
things proceed, however, one or two of the officers may possibly
become so much interested in the skylarking scenes going forward as to
approach a little too near, and laugh a little too loud, consistently
with the preservation of the dignity of which they were so uncommonly
chary at first starting. It cannot be expected, and indeed is not
required, that the chief actors in these wild gambols, stripped to the
buff, and shying buckets of water at one another, should be confined
within very narrow limits in their game. Accordingly, some mount the
rigging to shower down their cascades, while others squirt the
fire-engine from unseen corners upon the head of the unsuspecting
passer-by. And if it so chances (I say chances) that any one of the
"commissioned nobs" of the ship shall come in the way of these
explosions, it is served out to him like a thunder-storm, "all
accidentally," of course. Well; what is he to do? He feels that he has
indiscreetly trusted himself too far; and even if he has not actually
passed the prescribed line, still he was much too near it, and the
offence is perhaps unintentional. At all events, it is of too trifling
a nature; and, under the peculiar circumstances of the moment, to make
a complaint to the captain would be ridiculous. Having, therefore, got
his jacket well wet, and seeing the ready means of revenging himself
in kind, he snatches up a bucket, and, forgetting his dignity, hurls
the contents in the face of the mid who has given him a sousing but
two seconds before! From that moment his commission goes for nothing,
and he becomes, for the time being, one of the biggest Billy-boys
amongst them. The captain observing him in this mess, shrugs his
shoulders, walks aft, muttering, "It's all your own fault, Mr.
Hailtop; you've put yourself amongst these mad younkers; now see how
they'll handle you!"

Nothing, I confess, now looks to me more completely out of character
with our well-starched discipline than a "staid lieutenant" romping
about the booms, skulling up the rigging, blowing the grampus, and
having it blown upon him by a parcel of rattle-pated reefers. But I
remember well in the Volage being myself so gradually seduced by this
animating spectacle of fun, that, before I knew where I was, I had
crossed the rope laid on the deck as a boundary between order and
disorder, and received a bucket of cold water in each ear, while the
spout of a fire-engine, at the distance of two feet, was playing full
in my eyes. On turning my head round to escape these cataracts, and
to draw breath, a tar-brush was rammed half-way down my throat!

Far different was the scene, and very different, of course, my
deportment, four or five years afterwards on the same spot, when,
instead of being the junior lieutenant, I was the great gun of all,
the mighty master-nob of the whole party, that is to say, the captain
himself. I was then in command of the Lyra, a ten-gun sloop-of-war;
and after the shaving operations were over, and all things put once
more in order, I went on board the Alceste frigate to dine with my
excellent friend and commanding officer, the late Sir Murray Maxwell.
Lord Amherst, the ambassador to China, was on board, and in great glee
with the sight of what had been enacted before him; for although, as I
have always said, these scenes are not of a nature to bear agreeable
description, they certainly are amusing enough to see--for once.

We soon sat down to dinner; and there was, of course, a great deal of
amusement in telling the anecdotes of the day, and describing Father
Neptune's strange aspect, and his still stranger-looking family and
attendants. I ventured to back one of my figures against all or any of
theirs, if not for monstrosity, at least for interest of another kind.
Our dripping Neptune in the Lyra was accompanied, as usual, by a huge
she-monster representing Amphitrite, being no other than one of the
boatswain's mates dressed up with the main-hatchway tarpaulin for a
cloak, the jolly-boat's mizen for a petticoat, while two half-wet
swabs furnished her lubberly head with ringlets. By her side sat a
youth, her only son Triton, a morsel of submarine domestic history
ascertained by reference previously made to Lempriere's Dictionary.
This poor little fellow was a great pet amongst the crew of the brig,
and was indeed suspected to be entitled by birth to a rank above his
present station, so gentle and gentleman-like he always appeared. Even
on this occasion, when disfigured by paint, pitch, and tar, copiously
daubed over his delicate person, to render him fit company for his
papa old Neptune, he still looked as if his ill-favoured parents had
stolen him, and were trying in vain to disguise their roguery by
rigging him up in their own gipsy apparel.

It was very nearly dark when I rowed back to the Lyra, which had been
hanging for the last half hour on the frigate's weather-quarter, at
the distance of a cable's length, watching for my return. The wind was
so light, and the brig so close, that no signal was made to heave to;
indeed I had scarcely rowed under the Alceste's stern, on my way back,
before it was necessary to call out, "In bow!" The rattle of the oar
on the thwarts gave the earliest notice of my approach to the people
on board the little vessel, and I could hear the first lieutenant
exclaim in haste, "Attend the side! Where are the sides-men?"

Scarcely had these words been spoken, when I heard a splash in the
water, followed by a faint cry of distress and despair. In the next
instant the brig was hove about, and the stern-boat lowered down,
accompanied by all the hurried symptoms of a man having fallen
overboard. I made the people in the boat tug at their oars towards the
spot; but though we pulled over and over the ship's wake twenty times,
the water was everywhere unruffled and unmarked by any speck. At
length I rowed on board, turned the hands up to muster, to ascertain
who was gone, and found all present but our poor little Triton! It
appeared that the lad, who was one of the sides-men, fatigued with the
day's amusement, had stretched himself in the fore-part of the
quarter-deck hammock-netting, and gone to sleep. The sharp voice of
the officer, on seeing the gig almost alongside, had roused the
unhappy boy too suddenly; he quite forgot where he was, and, instead
of jumping in-board, plunged into the sea, never to rise again!

There are few accidents more frequent at sea than that of a man
falling overboard; and yet, strange to say, whenever it happens, it
takes every one as completely by surprise as if such a thing had never
occurred before. What is still more unaccountable, and, I must say,
altogether inexcusable, is the fact of such an incident invariably
exciting a certain degree of confusion, even in well-regulated ships.
Whenever I have witnessed the tumultuous rush of the people from
below, their eagerness to crowd into the boats, and the reckless
devotion with which they fling themselves into the water to save their
companions, I could not help thinking that it was no small disgrace to
us, to whose hands the whole arrangements of discipline are confided,
that we had not yet fallen upon any method of availing ourselves to
good purpose of so much generous activity.

Sailors are men of rough habits, but their feelings are not by any
means coarse; and, generally speaking, they are much attached to one
another, and will make great sacrifices to their messmates or
shipmates when opportunities occur. A very little address on the part
of the officers, as I have before hinted, will secure an extension of
these kindly sentiments to the quarter-deck. But what I was alluding
to just now was the cordiality of the friendships which spring up
between the sailors themselves, who, it must be recollected, have no
other society, and all, or almost all, whose ordinary social ties have
been broken either by the chances of war, or by the very nature of
their roving and desultory life, which carries them they really know
not where, and care not wherefore.

I remember once, when cruising off Terceira in the Endymion, that a
man fell overboard and was drowned. After the usual confusion, and a
long search in vain, the boats were hoisted up, and the hands called
to make sail. I was officer of the forecastle, and on looking about to
see if all the men were at their stations, missed one of the
foretop-men. Just at that moment I observed some one curled up, and
apparently hiding himself under the bow of the barge, between the boat
and the booms. "Hillo!" I said, "who are you? What are you doing here,
you skulker? Why are you not at your station?"

"I am not skulking, sir," said the poor fellow, the furrows in whose
bronzed and weather-beaten cheek were running down with tears. The man
we had just lost had been his messmate and friend, he told me, for ten
years. I begged his pardon in full sincerity, for having used such
harsh words to him at such a moment, and bid him go below to his berth
for the rest of the day.

"Never mind, sir, never mind," said the kind-hearted seaman, "it can't
be helped. You meant no harm, sir. I am as well on deck as below.
Bill's gone, sir, but I must do my duty."

So saying he drew the sleeve of his jacket twice or thrice across his
eyes, and mastering his grief within his breast, walked to his station
as if nothing had happened.

In the same ship, and nearly about the same time, some of the people
were bathing alongside in a calm sea. It is customary on such
occasions to spread a studding sail on the water, by means of lines
from the fore and main yard-arms, for the use of those who either
cannot swim, or who are not expert in this art, so very important to
all seafaring people. Half-a-dozen of the ship's boys, youngsters sent
on board by that admirable and most patriotic of naval institutions,
the Marine Society, were floundering about in the sail, and sometimes
even venturing beyond the leech rope. One of the least of these
urchins, but not the least courageous of their number, when taunted by
his more skilful companions with being afraid, struck out boldly
beyond the prescribed bounds. He had not gone much further than his
own length, however, along the surface of the fathomless sea, when his
heart failed him, poor little man! and along with his confidence away
also went his power of keeping his head above water. So down he sank
rapidly, to the speechless horror of the other boys, who, of course,
could lend the drowning child no help.

The captain of the forecastle, a tall, fine-looking, hard-a-weather
fellow, was standing on the shank of the sheet anchor, with his arms
across, and his well-varnished canvas bat drawn so much over his eyes
that it was difficult to tell whether he was awake, or merely dozing
in the sun, as he leaned his back against the fore-topmast backstay.
The seaman, however, had been attentively watching the young party
all the time, and, rather fearing that mischief might ensue from their
rashness, he had grunted out a warning to them from time to time, to
which they paid no sort of attention. At last he desisted, saying they
might drown themselves if they had a mind, for never a bit would he
help them; but no sooner did the sinking figure of the adventurous
little boy catch his eye, than, diver-fashion, joining the palms of
his hands over his head, he shot head-foremost into the water. The
poor lad sunk so rapidly that he was at least a couple of fathoms
under the surface before he was arrested by the grip of the sailor,
who soon rose again, bearing the bewildered boy in his hand, and,
calling to the other youngsters to take better care of their
companion, chucked him right into the belly of the sail in the midst
of the party. The fore-sheet was hanging in the calm, nearly into the
water, and by it the dripping seaman scrambled up again to his old
berth on the anchor, shook himself like a great Newfoundland dog, and
then, jumping on the deck, proceeded across the forecastle to shift
his clothes.

At the top of the ladder he was stopped by the marine officer, who had
witnessed the whole transaction, as he sat across the gangway
hammocks, watching the swimmers, and trying to get his own consent to
undergo the labour of undressing and dressing. Said the soldier to the
sailor, "That was very well done of you, my man, and right well
deserves a glass of grog. Say so to the gun-room steward as you pass;
and tell him it is my orders to fill you out a stiff norwester."

The soldier's offer was kindly meant, but rather clumsily timed, at
least so thought Jack; for though he inclined his head in
acknowledgment of the attention, and instinctively touched his hat,
when spoken to by an officer, he made no reply, till out of the
marine's hearing, when he laughed, or rather chuckled out to the
people near him, "Does the good gentleman suppose I'll take a glass of
grog for saving a boy's life?"

It is surely very odd that there should ever be such a thing as a
sailor who cannot swim. And it is still more marvellous that there
should be found people who actually maintain that a sailor who cannot
swim has a better chance than one who can.

This strange doctrine, as may well be supposed, derives but slender
support from any well-established facts. It is merely asserted that,
on some occasions of shipwreck, the boldest swimmers have been lost in
trying to reach the shore, when they might have been saved had they
stayed by the ship. This may be true enough in particular cases, and
yet the general position grounded upon it utterly absurd. The most
skilful horsemen sometimes break their necks, but this is hardly
adduced as an argument against learning to ride. I suppose there is
not an officer in the service, certainly not one who has reached the
rank of captain, who has not seen many men drowned solely from not
being able to swim; that is, because they had not learned a very
simple art, of which, under his official injunctions, and aided by due
encouragement, they might readily have acquired a sufficient
knowledge. My own conscience is not quite clear on this score,
whatever that of my brother officers may be; and certainly, should I
again take the command of a ship, I shall use every exertion, and
take advantage of every opportunity, to encourage the men and officers
to acquire this invaluable accomplishment. Would it be unreasonable to
refuse the rating of A.B. (able seaman) on the ship's books to any man
who could not swim? If it be our duty to ascertain that a sailor can
"hand, reef, and steer," before we place against his name these
mystical letters, might we not well superadd, as a qualification, that
he should also be able to keep his head above water, in the event of
falling overboard, or that he should have it in his power to save
another's life, if required to leap into the sea for that purpose by
the orders of his superior? At present, in such an emergency, an
officer has to ask amongst a dozen persons, "Which of you can swim?"
instead of saying to the one nearest him, "Jump overboard after that
man who is sinking!"

This, then, seems the first material step in the establishment of an
improved system in that branch of seamanship which relates to picking
up men who fall overboard. There can be no doubt that highly-excited
feelings always stand in the way of exact discipline, and especially
of that prompt, hearty, and thoroughly confiding obedience to the
officer under whose orders we are serving. Such obedience is necessary
on this occasion, above all others, and is essentially required, in
order to accomplish the purpose in view.

Different officers will, of course, devise different plans for the
accomplishment of the same end. Every one who has been exposed to the
misery of seeing a man fall overboard must remember that by far the
greatest difficulty was to keep people back, there being always ten
times as many persons as are required, not only ready, but eager to
place themselves in the situations of greatest risk. In executing the
duties of a ship-of-war, there should be no volunteering allowed.
Every man ought to have a specific duty, or a set of duties, to
perform at all times. But these duties, in the case of a man falling
overboard, must, of course, vary with the hour of the day or night,
with the circumstance of its being the starboard or the larboard watch
on deck, with the weather being fine or tempestuous, or with the
course the ship is steering relatively to the wind, the quantity of
sail, and so on. The crew of every ship should be exercised or
drilled, if not as frequently, at least specifically, in the methods
of picking up a man, as they are trained in the exercise of the great
guns and small arms, or in that of reefing topsails.

Every one who has been much at sea must remember the peculiar sounds
which pervade a ship when a man is known to have fallen overboard. The
course steered is so suddenly altered, that as she rounds to the
effect of the sails is doubled; the creaking of the tiller-ropes and
rudder next strike the ear; then follows the pitter-patter of several
hundred feet in rapid motion, producing a singular tremor, fore and
aft. In the midst of these ominous noises may be heard, over all, the
shrill startling voice of the officer of the watch, generally
betraying in its tone more or less uncertainty of purpose. Then the
violent flapping of the sails, and the mingled cries of "Clear away
the boats!" "Is the life-buoy gone?" "Heave that grating after him!"
"Throw that hen-coop over the stern!" "Who is it, do you know?"
"Where did he fall from?" "Can he swim?" "Silence!" An impetuous, and
too often an ill-regulated rush now succeeds to gain the boats, which
are generally so crowded that it becomes dangerous to lower them down,