But this attractive spectacle is sometimes changed with magical rapidity! The scene shifts; and instead of gentle zephyrs and smooth seas, the elements pour forth all their pent-up wrath on the devoted ship, and events are conjured into being which rouse into action the noblest faculties of man. If the records of the sea were truly kept, they would tell of hurricanes, shipwrecks, sufferings, and perils too numerous and appalling to be imagined, to struggle successfully against which demands those manifestations of courage and energy, that, when witnessed on the land, elicit the admiration of mankind. These chronicles, if faithfully kept, would tell of desperate encounters, of piracies where whole crews were massacred, of dark deeds of cruelty and oppression, of pestilence on shipboard, without medical aid and with no Florence Nightingale to soothe the pains and whisper comfort and peace to the dying!
And what may be said of the mariners, the life-long actors on this strange, eventful theatre, the sea, who perform their unwritten and unrecorded parts, face danger and death in every shape, and are heard and seen no more? Is it remarkable that, estranged from the enjoyments which cluster around the most humble fireside, and familiar with scenes differing so widely from those met with on the land, they should acquire habits peculiar to themselves and form a character of their own?
The failings of this isolated class of men are well known; a catalogue of their imperfections is scattered abroad by every wind that blows; they are acknowledged, even by themselves, and enlarged upon and exaggerated by those who know them not. True are the words of the poet,
"Men's evil manners live in brass; Their virtues we write in water."
Those who are familiar with a seafaring life, and have had opportunities for analyzing the character of the sailor, know that it possesses many brilliant spots as well as blemishes, and that it would be cruel and unjust on the part of those more favored with the smiles of fortune, to steel their hearts against sympathy for his sufferings, or respect for his intrinsic worth.
The sailor is said to be rough and unpolished, as well as addicted to vices. It is true he is seldom a proficient in classical studies, or versed in the logic of the schools. But he is conversant with men and manners in various parts of the globe, and his habits of life, and opportunities for observation, supply him with a fund of worldly wisdom and practical knowledge, which qualify him to render good service when strong hands and bold hearts are in demand on the land as well as on the sea. It should be remembered, also, that the sailor has few opportunities of receiving instruction in polite literature, of learning lessons of moral culture, and of sharing the pleasures and refinements of domestic life. The many temptations to which he is exposed should also be remembered, and it will be found that, with his generous heart and noble spirit, he is far more worthy of confidence and respect than the thousands we meet with in society, who, in spite of words of warning and the example of good men, with every inducement to pursue the path of rectitude, voluntarily embrace a life of dissipation, consume their substance in riotous living, and become slaves to habits of a degrading character.
The same records that tell of stormy passions, profligate habits, thrilling disasters, and violent deaths on the sea, also chronicle the manifold deeds of philanthropy, heroism, self-devotion, and patriotism of those,
"Whose march is on the mountain wave, Whose home is on the deep!"
Of those who, however rough and unpolished, are ever ready to lend a protecting hand to the weak, to spend their last dollar in encouraging the unfortunate or relieving distress, and to risk their lives in defence of the honor of their country, and the flag which waves over their heads.
When we look at the hardships, sufferings, and perils of the sailor, with his few enjoyments and recreations, and consider the services he renders society, that by his courage and energy we enjoy the countless advantages of commerce, and that through his means are spread abroad the blessings of civilization and Christianity, while for HIM "no Sabbath bell awakes the Sabbath morn," we ought to cherish a sense of gratitude and indulgence for that class of men "who go down to the sea in ships and do business on the great waters;" to that class of men to whom we intrust, with confidence, not only our golden treasures, but our wives and our children, all which are most dear to us.
So far from despising the character and calling of the sailor, and regarding him with an eye of distrust, let us throw a veil over his faults, appreciate his virtues, be ready at all times to give him words of good cheer, and encourage him to keep within his bosom a clear conscience and an honest heart. Let us not grudge our influence or mite in favor of measures to elevate his character and promote his comfort while sailing over the tempestuous sea of life; or in preparing for his reception, towards the close of the voyage, when broken down with toil and suffering, a quiet haven, a SNUG HARBOR, where, safely moored, secure from storms and troubles, he can calmly await the inevitable summons aloft.
My task is finished. I have given, in the foregoing pages, a brief, but strictly truthful, summary of my adventures during a few years of my early life. It would have been comparatively easy to concoct a series of incidents far more wild, romantic, and improbable, and, therefore, more interesting, than any thing contained in this simple narrative. But I have preferred to give a faithful transcript of events which actually occurred.
If the tale of my trials, temptations, resources, and enjoyments will tend to brighten a passing hour of the indulgent reader, throw light on the character, habits of life, recreations, and perils of the common sailor; guard an unsuspecting young man against temptations to vice, and encourage him to exert all his energies, and boldly press forward in the channel which leads to usefulness and honor; my labors will not have been in vain, and I shall never regret having attempted to lift a corner of the curtain, which has for centuries screened from public view, JACK IN THE FORECASTLE.
The End