Fragments of voyages and travels, including anecdotes of a naval life

by Basil Hall

Not long afterwards, I happened to meet Professor Playfair, of Edinburgh College, at a house in the country. It was the singular fortune of this amiable and accomplished philosopher, to be equally a favourite with the young as with the old. He won the regard and the confidence of children, not only by the matchless sweetness of his disposition, but by the generous encouragement he delighted to give to their opening thoughts; whilst among men of science, or of letters, he was not less admired for the extent and variety of his attainments, than for the clear, popular, and often eloquent facility which he possessed of giving expression to the most abstract branches of knowledge.

I found him one morning seated on the ground, taking the sun’s altitude with a pocket sextant, from an artificial horizon, which had been made by pouring some treacle into a bowl. Upon my expressing great curiosity to know what magical operation he could be about, he at once explained, or rather endeavoured to explain, the object of such pursuits. Instead of cutting me short with some idle reply about the thing being above my comprehension, he intermitted his work, and sought earnestly to make me perceive how closely such observations were connected with the duties of a naval life. Next day he gave me a copy of Bonnycastle’s Astronomy, which I possess to this hour; and I think I may date from the conversation above alluded to, the growth of a taste for this branch of professional pursuits—I mean nautical astronomy—which has not only proved at all times a source of the highest enjoyment, but, as will be seen in the sequel, has been accompanied by no small utility in helping me on in the world.

I shall be sorry if what I have here said dispose any idle youth who may not find himself happy at school, to try so rugged a profession as that of the sea, unless he have many other, and more substantial reasons for preferring it to all others. The whole system of school discipline, however, has been so much changed since the present century commenced, that boys have probably much less excuse than I had for not sticking to their lessons. And yet truth forces me to confess, that the fault lay fully more with the scholar than with the school. But my head had got so filled with notions of voyaging and travelling, that, even if I had been at Eton, I dare say I should have sighed to be allowed to fly away.

It is clear enough, that no boy, instruct him as we will, can form correct ideas of what he is likely to meet with in any profession; still, if his mind be ardently bent upon one particular pursuit, and it be decided to indulge this fancy, he will be bound in honour, if he have the spirit of a gentleman within him, to persevere in following up the line he has been allowed to choose for himself. The incipient difficulties and discomforts of all professions are probably pretty much alike; and the boy who has not energy enough to set his face resolutely against the early discouragements of any particular calling, will, in all probability, be successful in no other. It is, however, so great an advantage to have a young person’s own feelings, and his point of honour heartily engaged in the cause in which he has embarked, that, if circumstances render such a thing at all expedient, or not quite unreasonable, the choice of a profession may often be conceded with advantage. But such free choice ought to be afterwards burdened, with a positive interdict against change. In the case of a sea life, this appears to be quite indispensable; for the contrast is so striking, in most cases, between the comforts of home and the discomforts of a ship—to say nothing of rough fare, hard work, sea-sickness, and strict discipline—that, if an opening be constantly presented for escape, few youngsters will have resolution enough to bear up against those trials to which they must be exposed, and which they ought to hold themselves prepared to meet with cheerfulness.

Perhaps the naval profession owes a good deal of its peculiar character to these very disadvantages, as they are called; and though we may often regret to see young men, of good abilities, dropping out of the navy, who, if they had only cast on the right tack, might have done the service and themselves much honour—yet there is no denying that their more vigorous-minded and sterner-framed companions, whom they leave afloat, are, upon the whole, better fitted to make useful public servants.

In many other professions, it is possible to calculate, beforehand, with more or less precision, the degree and kind of work which a young man is likely to be called upon to perform; but there is peculiar difficulty in coming to any just conclusion upon these points, even in a vague way, in the life of a sailor. His range of duties includes the whole world,—he may be lost in the wilderness of a three-decker, or be wedged into a cock-boat;—he may be fried in Jamaica, or frozen in Spitzbergen;—he may be cruising, or be in action during six days of the week, in the midst of a fleet, and flounder in solitude on the seventh; or he may waste his years in peaceful idleness, the most fatal to subordination, or be employed on the home station, and hear from his friends every day, or he may be fifteen months, as I have been, at a time, without getting a letter or seeing a newspaper. He may have an easy-going commander, which is a very great evil; or his captain may be one of those tight hands, who, to use the slang of the cock-pit, keeps every one on board ‘under the fear of the Lord and a broomstick.’ In short, a man may go to sea for twenty years, and find no two men, and hardly two days alike. All this, which is delightful to some minds, and productive in them of every kind of resource, is utterly distracting, and very often ruinous, to others. Weak frames generally sink under its severity; and weak minds become confused with its complication, and the intensity of its action. But, on the other hand, the variety of its objects is so boundless, that if a young man have only strength of body, to endure the wear and tear of watching and other inevitable fatigues; and have also strength of character enough to persevere, in the certainty of openings occurring, sooner or later, by which his talents or his industry may find profitable employment,—there can be little doubt that the profession of a sailor might be made suitable to most of those who, on entering it, are positively cut off from retreat.

Supposing that this ticklish question, of the choice of a profession, has been conceded to a boy, there remains the still more perplexing problem—what is the fittest method of training him beforehand, so that he may enter his new life with best effect? The difficulty arises, I suspect, from two causes, one of which applies to education generally, the other to the particular case of a lad intended for the navy. Most people seem to think, and very naturally, that the object of a school is to teach knowledge which shall afterwards be practically available in the business of life; and they cannot well understand what is the use of teaching Latin and Greek, which appear to be so little applicable to real work. Much of this difficulty vanishes, however, if it be considered that the chief purpose of education is to discipline the mind, and to train up the character, so that it may be found equal to any task, no matter how unlooked-for it may be. In such a view, the Classics are as good, and probably better than any other.

If the principles, the faculties, and the feelings of a boy be duly cultivated at school, he may be expected to enter the world in as fit a state to profit by the opportunities in his path, as his nature will allow of; nor does it, perhaps, much matter by what artificial machinery this degree of perfection in mental culture has been attained. All that seems essentially of importance is, that the endowments given him by nature, should have been so well exercised, that when brought to bear on the real, manly business of life, they may act with effect. If the process of education has been well managed, its utility will probably not be the least sensibly felt, in cases where the pursuits to be followed in earnest are dissimilar to those, by means of which the boy’s faculties were originally developed at school.

In the instance of young men intended for the navy, I think this rule applies with particular force. The early age of thirteen, at which they must of necessity go on board ship, renders it almost impossible that they can have acquired any great stock of what is usually called knowledge. But, by proper management, they may, previous to that age, have secured a very large stock of that particular description of information which will be of most use to them in the outset of life; and their growing minds may have been fitted, by a good system of school discipline, to submit with cheerfulness, as well as advantage, to that singular mixture of constraint and freedom, which forms the most striking feature of a sea life. If this be true, it is perhaps of no great consequence whether the ground-work of such an education be the ancient classics, the mathematics, or modern languages: for the real object to be arrived at, viz. mental training, may, by proper management, be equally well attained by any of these methods.

No two boys, perhaps, out of a dozen, intended for the sea, may require the same training; but still there is no reason why the whole number should not be equally well fitted, by previous education, to advance themselves in the service, according to their respective talents, though some of them, at starting, may be altogether ignorant of those subjects, generally supposed to be of the most indispensable utility at sea.