He called them together on the main deck in the afternoon. All were there except the man at the wheel. They were dressed in their Sunday clothes; they stood round as men do when there is a strike. The passengers kept out of sight, but were within hearing. We had heard of mutinies; perhaps we were now to have some practical experience of them.
The captain told them that the steward had informed him that they found fault with their beef. He believed that there may have been some reason for complaint; that a new barrel had been opened that morning; he believed that the first pieces had been exposed to the air, the brine having been absorbed since leaving New York; that the steward happened to give these pieces to them rather than to the cabin table, but there was no design in doing so; that had we had one of the pieces for dinner that day, we should no doubt have complained that it was not as fresh after coming round Cape Horn as it was on leaving Fulton Market; but we would not for this have abused the steward. Now as we were getting to the last tier of the beef barrels he should have to shorten their allowance a little, especially if they preferred to throw their beef overboard, which they might do if they pleased, but they would gain nothing by it; we were all in the same boat sharing alike. He had heard of some expressions being used which were not right; he hoped he was misinformed; they would find that so long as they showed themselves to be reasonable men they would have no just ground of complaint. They also knew what the consequences would be to any one who should make trouble.
The men separated peacefully, making no more complaint; for we soon drew from deeper brine and the beef proved to be all right.
Perhaps it was accidental, but the captain said that complaints against the grub had been most frequently made by some Irishmen in his different crews. Whether these offenders had been accustomed to the best of fare on shore, and so were less able to bear discomforts in sea life, or whether they were of a more jealous disposition than others from some natural cause in their temperament, he would not say, but he had found it more difficult to suit a man of this class in the matter of grub than others; the shillaleh was too ready to appear at a fancied attempt to get an advantage over him in his food. For quick witted, daring, nimble, nautical feats, none have surpassed Irish sailors. As quick as any one of his watch, you are sure to find an Irishman lying out on the yard arm as far as to the weather earring, in a gale.
It is not right to lay hold of a few cases and impute certain classes of faults to men of one nation, as though these men were all of them specially addicted to that kind of transgression. There is no assignable reason, for example, why an Irishman, rather than a Swede, should be quick to find fault with his grub; if it has so happened that, as a captain told us, he never in a long course of years, had a disturbance in his crew about the grub but an Irishman was sure to be at the bottom of it; that even when in all other respects the Irishman was exemplary in his disposition, grub was sure to be a weak point with him; still we would prefer to hear the experience of others before we drew a conclusion unfavorable to a whole class of men in that particular.
ON HAVING A FIN IN THE CREW.
There is a singular superstition among some seamen that where there is a Fin in the crew, you may be sure of bad luck. Had we been superstitious, we might have augured ill for ourselves, because the first entry on our shipping list was of John Reholm, Finland. Now John Reholm was, as to behavior, blameless. He was short and stout, about forty-five years old, always ready to go aloft, good at mending old sails, quiet, always at Sabbath service, often betraying emotion, which was noticeable in his moistened eye, his quivering lip. I do not remember to have heard him speak a word, so that I doubt if he could speak English, except a few indispensable sentences, though he understood the spoken tongue. Yet when all hands were on deck in some exigency, you would be attracted by his readiness to lead off in that part of the work which called for a strong arm; he knew where to look for the corner of the sail which the wind had torn then twisted. On receiving at the wheel your salutation as you passed him, though his hands might both be needed to keep the wheel straight he would be sure to lift a hand to his cap, and acknowledge your attention. There was no bad luck about him. He went the round voyage with us. Would that I could hear of his welfare. If any one says a disparaging word about a Fin, the image of a saint among sailors rises to my thoughts in the person of John Reholm.
ON PRAISING A CREW.
Now that I am out of all danger of incurring the disapprobation of the mates, I am free to speak thus about a sailor, and I would be glad to say more. One Sabbath I spoke to the crew in terms of commendation. We were lying at anchor in Hong Kong harbor. In the night there were signs of a gale. One anchor only was down; the ship drifted, and we were afoul of an English bark. As the wind was still rising and we had lately had a typhoon, we were apprehensive of another. All hands in each vessel were at work, some aloft, clearing the rigging and fending off, and those below anxiously watching the growing snarl, contending with unequal strength against the chafing, and now and then the grinding action, of the vessel. From my window I could see and hear all that was going on, as we lay close to. The crews being strangers one to the other, many of them of different nationality, there was due deference paid to each other, courteous, kind expressions, regrets on the one side at running upon a neighbor, on the other the deprecation or the ready acceptance of apologies, the ‘don’t mention it,’ or, ‘we should have been foul of you, if the wind had been the other way.’ After working hard from two o’clock till four, in the dark, we were clear of each other, and the spare anchor went down to hold us fast. No words of impatience met my ear during the whole work of disentangling the snarl. It came in my way to speak of this the next Sabbath. A few days after we were discussing the sailors, when one of the mates said to me, “I was afraid last Sabbath that you were going too far in praising them.” “Yes,” said the other, “I was on tenter hooks, till you got through.” I am ready to defer to the practical judgment of the mates, yet we may be too sparing of kind words, courteous tones, and praise, in our treatment of those whom we would impress with the feeling that they are under authority. It will not hurt any of us to have in mind the injunction of an old poet:
“Praise, above all; for praise prevails;