It seemed to be generally conceded that I had got enough of the sea; that after the discomforts I had experienced, and the unpleasant and revolting scenes I had witnessed, I should manifest folly in trying another voyage. My friends took it for granted that in my eyes a ship had lost all her attractions, and that I would henceforth eschew salt water as zealously and devoutly as a thrice-holy monk is wont to eschew the vanities of the world.

Indeed, for a time I reluctantly acknowledged that I had seen enough of a sailor’s life; that on trial it did not realize my expectations; that if not a decided humbug, it was amazingly like one. With my health the buoyancy of my spirits departed. Hope and ambition no longer urged me with irresistible power to go forth and visit foreign lands, and traverse unknown seas like a knight errant of old in quest of adventures. While shivering with ague, and thinking of my wretched fare on board the schooner John, and my uncomfortable lodgings during the passage from Savannah, I listened, with patience at least, to the suggestions of my friends about a change of occupation. Arrangements were accordingly made by which I was to bid adieu to the seas forever.

It cost me something to abandon a vocation to which I had looked for years as the stepping-stone to success in life; and as my health and spirits returned, I began to doubt whether I was acting wisely; but having embarked in a new pursuit, I determined to go ahead, and to this determination I unflinchingly adhered, for at least three months, when I fell in with a distant relation, Captain Nathaniel Page, of Salem, who was about proceeding on a voyage to the Brazils. After expressing surprise at my course in abandoning the sea, he more than hinted that if I wished a situation before the mast with him, it was at my service.

This was applying the linstock to the priming with a vengeance. My good resolutions vanished like a wreath of vapor before a westerly gale. Those longings which I had endeavored to stifle, returned with more than their original force. In fancy’s eye, I saw a marlinspike where Macbeth saw the dagger, and snuffed the fragrance of a tar-bucket in every breeze.

At the expiration of three days after my interview with Captain Page, I took the stage coach and proceeded to Salem. The brig Clarissa was then preparing to take in cargo for Maranham and Para, ports on the north coast of Brazil, which had just been thrown open to American commerce. The Clarissa was a good-looking, substantial vessel, of about two hundred tons burden, belonging to Jere. L. Page, Abel Peirso, and others, and had recently returned from a successful voyage to Calcutta.

The sight of the brig, and the flurry about the wharves, where several Indiamen were discharging cargoes or making ready for sea, confirmed me in my resolution to try the ocean once more. Indeed I began to be heartily ashamed of having seriously entertained the idea of quietly settling down among “the land-lubbers on shore,” and felt that the sooner I retrieved my error the better.

Filled with this idea, I sought Captain Page, and without further consideration, and without daring to consult my friends in New Hampshire, lest they should overwhelm me with remonstrances, I engaged to go in the Clarissa as one of the crew before the mast.

I returned home with all speed, gathered together my few sea-going garments and nautical instruments, again bade adieu to my relations, who gravely shook their heads in doubt of the wisdom of my conduct, and elated by visions of fairy castles in the distance, hastened to join the brig, which was destined to bear Cæsar and his fortunes.

This may have been the wisest step I could have taken. It is not likely I should have been long reconciled to any other occupation than that of a mariner. When a boy’s fixed inclinations in the choice of an occupation are thwarted, he is seldom successful in life. His genius, if he has any, will be cramped, stunted, by an attempt to bend it in the wrong direction, and will seldom afterwards expand. But when a person, while attending to the duties of his profession or occupation, whether literary, scientific, or manual, can gratify his inclinations, and thus find pleasure in his business, he will be certain of success.

It was at the close of January, 1811, that the brig Clarissa was cast loose from Derby’s Wharf in Salem, and with a gentle south-west breeze, sailed down the harbor, passed Baker’s Island, and entered on the broad Atlantic. Our cargo was of a miscellaneous description, consisting of flour and salt provisions, furniture, articles of American manufacture, and large assortment of India cottons, which were at that time in general use throughout the habitable parts of the globe.

The Clarissa was a good vessel, and well found in almost every respect; but like most of the vessels in those days, had wretched accommodations for the crew. The forecastle was small, with no means of ventilation or admission of the light of day, excepting by the fore-scuttle. In this contracted space an equilateral triangle, with sides of some twelve or fifteen feet, which was expected to furnish comfortable accommodations for six individuals, including a very dark-complexioned African, who filled the respectable and responsible office of cook were stowed six large chests and other baggage belonging to the sailors; also two water-hogsheads, and several coils of rigging.

The deck leaked badly, in heavy weather, around the bowsprit-bitts, flooding the forecastle at every plunge; and when it is considered that each inmate of the forecastle, except myself, was an inveterate chewer of Indian weed, it may be imagined that this forecastle was about as uncomfortable a lodging place, in sinter’s cold or summer’s heat, as a civilized being could well desire. It undoubtedly possessed advantages over the “Black Hole of Calcutta,” but an Esquimaux hut, an Indian wigwam, or a Russian cabin, was a palace in comparison. And this was a type of the forecastles of those days.

After getting clear of the land the wind died away; and soon after came from the eastward, and was the commencement of a snow storm which lasted twelve hours, when it backed into the north-west, and the foresail was set with the view of scudding before the wind. It soon blew a heavy gale; the thermometer fell nearly to zero; ice gathered in large quantities on our bowsprit, bows, and rigging, and the brig labored and plunged fearfully in the irregular cross sea when urged through the water by the blustering gale.

To save the vessel from foundering, it became necessary to lay her to under a close-reefed main-topsail. It was about half past eleven o’clock at night, when all hands were called for that purpose. Unfortunately my feet were not well protected from the inclemency of the weather, and became thoroughly wet before I had been five minutes on deck. We had difficulty in handling the foresail, in consequence of the violence of the wind and the benumbing effect of the weather, and remained a long time on the yard. When I reached the deck, my stockings were frozen to my feet, and I suffered exceedingly from the cold.

It was now my “trick at the helm,”: for notwithstanding we were lying to, it was considered necessary for some one to remain near the tiller, watch the compass, and be in readiness for any emergency. I stamped my feet occasionally, with a view to keep them from freezing, and thought I had succeeded; and when at four o’clock I went below and turned into my berth, they felt comfortable enough, and I fell into a deep sleep, from which I was awakened by burning pains in my feet and fingers. My sufferings were intolerable, and I cried out lustily in my agony, and was answered from another part of the forecastle, where one of my watchmates, a youth but little older than myself, was extended, also suffering from frozen feet and hands.

Our united complaints, which by no means resembled a concert of sweet sounds, aroused from his slumbers our remaining watchmate, Newhall, an experienced tar, who cared little for weather of any description, provided he was not stinted in his regular proportion of sleep. In a surly mood he inquired what was the trouble. On being told, he remarked with a vein of philosophy and a force of logic which precluded all argument, that if our feet were frozen, crying and groaning would do us no good, while it would annoy him and prevent his sleeping; therefore we had better “grin and bear it” like men until eight bells, when we might stand a chance to get some assistance. He moreover told us that he would not put up with such a disturbance in the forecastle; it was against al rules; and if we did not clap a stopper on our cries and groans, he would turn out and give us something worth crying for he would pummel us both without mercy!

Thus cautioned by our compassionate shipmate, we endeavored to restrain ourselves from giving utterance to our feelings until the expiration of the watch.

When the watch was called our wailings were loud and clamorous. Our sufferings awakened the sympathy of the officers; our condition was inquired into, and assistance furnished. Both my feet were badly frost-bitten, and inflamed and swollen. Collins, my watchmate, had not escaped unscathed from the attack of this furious northwester, but being provided with a pair of stout boots, his injuries were much less than mine. In a few days he was about the deck as active as ever.

The result of my conflict with the elements on “the winter’s coast” was of a serious and painful character; and for a time there was reason to fear that amputation of a portion of one, if not both feet might be necessary. Captain Page treated me with kindness, and was unremitting in his surgical attentions; and by dint of great care, a free application of emollients, and copious quantities of “British oil,” since known at different times as “Seneca oil,” or “Petroleum,” a partial cure was gradually effected; but several weeks passed away ere I was able to go aloft, and a free circulation of the blood has never been restored.

A few days after this furious gale, we found ourselves in warm weather, having entered the edge of the Gulf Stream. We proceeded in a south-east direction, crossing the trade winds on our way to the equinoctial line. Were it not for the monotony, which always fatigues, there would be few undertakings more interesting than a sail through the latitudes of “the trades,” where we meet with a balmy atmosphere, gentle breezes, and smooth seas. In the night the heavens are often unclouded, the constellations seem more interesting, the stars shine with a milder radiance, and the moon gives a purer light, than in a more northern region. Often in my passage through the tropics, during the night-watches, seated on a spare topmast, or the windlass, or the heel of the bowsprit, I have, for hours at a time, indulged my taste for reading and study by the light of the moon.

Fish of many kinds are met with in those seas; and the attempt to capture them furnishes a pleasant excitement; and if the attempt is successful, an agreeable variety is added to the ordinary fare on shipboard. The dolphin is the fish most frequently seen, and is the most easily caught of these finny visitors. He is one of the most beautiful of the inhabitants of the deep, and presents a singularly striking and captivating appearance, as, clad in gorgeous array, he moves gracefully through the water. He usually swims near the surface, and when in pursuit of a flying-fish shoots along with inconceivable velocity.

The dolphin, when properly cooked, although rather dry, is nevertheless excellent eating; and as good fish is a welcome commodity at sea, the capture of a dolphin is not only an exciting but an important event. When the word is given forth that “there’s a dolphin alongside,” the whole ship’s company are on the alert. Business, unless of the last importance, is suspended, and the implements required for the death or captivity of the unsuspecting stranger are eagerly sought for. The men look resolved, ready to render any assistance, and watch the proceedings with an eager eye; and the wonted grin on the features of the delighted cook, in anticipation of an opportunity to display his culinary skill, assumes a broader character.

The captain or the mate takes his station in some convenient part of the vessel, on the bow or on the quarter, or beneath the bowsprit on the martingale stay. By throwing overboard a bright spoon, or a tin vessel, to which a line is attached, and towing it on the top of the water, the dolphin, attracted by its glittering appearance, and instigated by curiosity, moves quickly towards the deceiving object, unconscious that his artful enemy, man, armed with a deadly weapon, a sort of five-pronged harpoon, called a granes, is standing over him, with uplifted arm, ready to give the fatal blow.

The fish is transferred from his native element to the deck; the granes is disengaged from the quivering muscles, and again passed to the officer, who, it may be, soon adds another to the killed. It is sometimes the case that half a dozen dolphin are captured in this way in a few minutes. A hook and line over the stern, with a flying-fish for bait, will often prove a successful means of capturing the beautiful inhabitants of the deep.

The dolphin is a fine-looking fish. Its shape is symmetry itself, and has furnished a valuable hint for the model of fast-sailing vessels. It is usually from two to three feet in length, and is sometimes met with of nearly twice that size, and weighing seventy-five or a hundred pounds. One of the properties for which the dolphin is celebrated is that of changing its color when dying. By many this is considered fabulous; but it is strictly true. After the fish is captured, and while struggling in the scuppers, the changes constantly taking place in its color are truly remarkable. The hues which predominate are blue, green, and yellow, with their various combinations: but when the fish is dead, the beauty of its external appearance, caused by the brilliancy of its hues, no longer exists. Falconer, the sailor poet, in his interesting poem of “The Shipwreck,” thus describes this singular phenomenon:

“But while his heart the fatal javelin thrills,
And flitting life escapes in sanguine rills,
What radiant changes strike the astonished sight!
What glowing hues of mingled shade and light!
Not equal beauties gild the lucid west,
With parting beams all o’er profusely drest;
Not lovelier colors paint the vernal dawn,
When orient dews impearl the enamelled lawn,
Than from his sides in bright suffusion flow,
That now with gold empyreal seem to glow;
Now in pellucid sapphires meet the view,
And emulate the soft, celestial hue;
Now beam a flaming crimson in the eye,
And now assume the purple’s deeper dye.”

The second mate of the Clarissa, Mr. Fairfield, was a veteran sailor, and a very active and industrious man. He was always busy when not asleep; and, what was of more importance, and frequently an annoyance to the ship’s company, he dearly loved to see other people busy. He regarded idleness as the parent of evil, and always acted on the uncharitable principle that if steady employment is not provided for a ship’s company they will be constantly contriving mischief.

Unfortunately for the crew of the Clarissa, Mr. Fairfield had great influence with the captain, having sailed with him the previous voyage, and proved himself a good and faithful officer. He, therefore, had no difficulty in carrying into operation his favorite scheme of keeping all hands at work. A large quantity of “old junk” was put on board in Salem, and on the passage to Brazil, after we reached the pleasant latitudes, all hands were employed from eight o’clock in the morning until six o’clock in the evening in knotting yarns, twisting spunyarn, weaving mats, braiding sinnett, making reef-points and gaskets, and manufacturing small rope to be used for “royal rigging,” for among the ingenious expedients devised by the second mate for keeping the crew employed was the absurd and unprofitable one of changing the snug pole royal masts into “sliding gunters,” with royal yards athwart, man-of-war fashion.

Sunday on board the Clarissa was welcomed as a day of respite from hard labor. The crew on that day had “watch and watch,” which gave them an opportunity to attend to many little duties connected with their individual comforts, that had been neglected during the previous week. This is exemplified in a conversation I had with Newhall, one of my watchmates, one pleasant Sunday morning, after breakfast.

“Heigh-ho,” sighed Newhall, with a sepulchral yawn; “Sunday has come at last, and I am glad. It is called a day of rest, but is no day of rest for me. I have a thousand things to do this forenoon; one hour has passed away already, and I don’t know which to do first.”

“Indeed! What have you to do to-day more than usual,” I inquired.

“Not much out of the usual way, perhaps, Hawser. But I must shave and change my clothes. Although we can’t go to meeting, it’s well enough for a fellow to look clean and decent, at least once a week. I must also wash a couple of shirts, make a cap out of a piece of canvas trousers, stop a leak in my pea-jacket, read a chapter in the Bible, which I promised my grandmother in Lynnfield I would do every Sunday, and bottle off an hour’s sleep.”

“Well, then,” said I, “if you have so much to do, no time is to be lost. You had better go to work at once.”

“So I will,” said he; “and as an hour’s sleep is the most important of all, I’ll make sure of that to begin with, for fear of accidents. So, here goes.”

And into his berth he tumbled “all standing,” and was neither seen nor heard until the watch was called at twelve o’clock.

But little time was given for the performance of religious duties on the Sabbath; indeed, in the times of which I write, such duties among sailors were little thought of. Religious subjects were not often discussed in a ship’s forecastle, and even the distinction between various religious sects and creeds was unheeded, perhaps unknown. And yet the germ of piety was implanted in the sailor’s heart. His religion was simple, but sincere. Without making professions, he believed in the being of a wise and merciful Creator; he believed in a system of future rewards and punishments; he read his Bible, a book which was always found in a sailor’s chest, pinned his faith upon the Gospels, and treasured up the precepts of our Saviour; he believed that though his sins were many, his manifold temptations would also be remembered. He manifested but little fear of death, relying firmly on the mercy of the Almighty.

My description of the uninterrupted labors of the crew on board the Clarissa may induce the inquiry how the ship’s company could do with so little sleep, and even if a sailor could catch a cat-nap occasionally in his watch, what must become of the officers, who are supposed to be wide awake and vigilant during the hours they remain on deck?

I can only say, that on board the Clarissa there was an exception to this very excellent rule. Captain Page, like other shipmasters of the past, perhaps also of the present day, although bearing the reputation of a good shipmaster, seldom troubled himself about ship’s duty in the night time. He trusted to his officers, who were worthy men and experienced sailors. Between eight and nine o’clock he turned in, and was seldom seen again until seven bells, or half past seven o’clock in the morning. After he left the deck, the officer of the watch, wrapped in his pea-jacket, measured his length on the weather hencoop, and soon gave unimpeachable evidence of enjoying a comfortable nap. The remainder of the watch, emulating the noble example of the officer, selected the softest planks on the deck, threw themselves, nothing loath, into a horizontal position, and in a few minutes were transported into the land of forgetfulness.

The helmsman only, of all the ship’s company, was awake, to watch the wind and look out for squalls; and he, perhaps, was nodding at his post, while the brig was moving through the water, her head pointing by turns in every direction but the right one. If the wind veered or hauled, the yard remained without any corresponding change in their position. If more sail could be set to advantage, it was seldom done until the sun’s purple rays illumined the eastern horizon, when every man in the watch was aroused, and a great stir was made on the deck. When the captain came up the companion-way, every sail was properly set which would draw to advantage, and the yards were braced according to the direction of the wind.

It was, undoubtedly, owing to this negligence on the part of the officers during the night watches, and not to any ill qualities on the part of the brig, that our passage to Maranham occupied over sixty days. And, undoubtedly, to this negligence may be ascribed the extraordinary length of passages to and from foreign ports of many good-sailing ships in these days.