Four years aboard the whaleship / Embracing cruises in the Pacific, Atlantic, Indian, and Antarctic oceans, in the years 1855, '6, '7, '8, '9

by William B. Whitecar

After being tired out with dancing, singing was substituted; and, take it all in all, it was about as merry an evening as could well be passed. All parties, before entering into these gayeties, had been pledged to decorum; and, as there were no intoxicating liquors, by an indulgence in which any one might be led to forget his or her sense of propriety, nothing was said or done that could have called a blush to the most modest cheek: a circumstance, the more remarkable, when the motley character of the assemblage is remembered.

There are several establishments in the city, professedly theaters, but really houses of questionable character, where dancing, in which all the audience indulge, is by far the greatest part of the performance.

One of these houses my curiosity led me to enter. Having paid over my shilling to the door-tender, I was ushered into a small amphitheater. On its stage sat five performers, whose faces were blackened with burned cork. They were attempting to give delineations of Ethiopian characteristics; but, although the audience seemed delighted with the performance, their brogue smacked more of the Paddy or Sandy than of that of the Virginia Darkie.

It is to be deplored that such establishments so often entrap the unwary sailor; who, on his liberty-day, bent upon amusement, his mind unoccupied, and in possession of funds sufficient to make him an object of attraction to the harpies who conduct them, is led to enter, and, ere he is aware, (unless he has a spirit that is proof against temptation,) they lead him from one folly to another, until he becomes helplessly intoxicated, and then he is an easy prey to whoever wishes to plunder him. Strange it is, that, with the victims of such sharks continually before his eyes in every seaport he visits, he should still persist in entering such places. He certainly does not do it blindly, but with a culpable recklessness, that is almost inexcusable. He will not stop to consider what may be the consequences of the first steps he takes in the path of sin. He is never deterred from his evil course by viewing the wreck of his fortune; for, when utterly impoverished by his heedless career on land, he again returns to his favorite element, upon whose broad expanse, or in whose mighty deeps, he sanguinely expects to regain all his treasure. He scorns to reflect upon the vile arts by which he has been debarred from the field of fair sailing ashore, nor regards the foul atmosphere of the brothel as more to be shunned than the spray. So, at sea, he thinks not of danger, when the storm king in his wrath is sweeping over the surface of the ocean, but goes aloft unfaltering, although surrounded by the elemental war.

The Hobartown market is abundantly furnished with most excellent meat—the beef I never saw surpassed, and the mutton is excellent. The principal part of the beeves consumed here are brought from Port Phillip in small craft known as “bullockers,” and, despite their uncomfortable passage across the straits, land in excellent condition. We had plenty of such provender whilst we lay here—the cook, or steward, having orders to get abundant supplies each morning, except Sundays—and we did it justice. Although a seaman sighs for fresh meat, after a long cruise, when he has enjoyed it for several days his appetite becomes surfeited, and he gladly hunts up salt junk, and partakes of it with a relish. The consumption for the first and second days is treble that of the succeeding three. A vessel, several years ago, touched at a port on the western coast of South America, for a reason not assigned. There was no fresh meat furnished to the crew, in lieu of it poultry was substituted, which, for a short time, was partaken of with relish; but one day the captain was surprised at seeing his men come aft and complain of their chicken diet, asserting that they had had too much of it, and could not work upon it. Salt junk was served out in its place, and the difficulty settled. This is not an isolated case of the kind; I have read elsewhere, I think in one of J. Fennimore Cooper’s works, that the Scotch garrisons originally stationed on the various outposts of Great Britain, on the lakes, were accustomed to complain when an over supply of venison or salmon was meted out to them; these articles, to us luxuries, being so plentiful near their abode, and so often partaken of as to lose their novelty. At the present writing I have been but a few months without fresh provisions, and so long a dissertation on the coveted food, has conjured up to my imagination, visions of fresh and juicy meat, vegetables in profusion, and amongst other delicacies, last, though not least, a buckwheat or Johnny cake; neither would a piece of bread and cheese he out of the way, or any other of the little et ceteras grateful to the appetite, that the poorest person ashore can command at will, but which the wanderer on the sea must deny himself when engaged in a long voyage; the owners generally considering salt junk and hard bread as the staffs of life at sea.

Daily, whilst here, some one or more of the crew of the James Allen would cut stick, and defy the most strenuous efforts of the authorities to recapture them. Finally the crew was reduced to but a moiety of her usual number. They were restricted to the day ashore, at night being required to return aboard their ship; those who violated this restriction were confined altogether to the vessel, and those allowed to go ashore were put by their captain under the surveillance of the police, and if found ashore at nightfall, were placed in the lock-up. Our captain, to secure us from molestation, furnished us with passes to the effect that, by his permission our liberty extended for twenty-four hours; but as our men behaved themselves in the most decorous manner, they were never interfered with; and I do not remember having heard of a single instance where they were required to show their passes.

This passport system was a feature worthy of the worst despotism of the Old World. Here were we, a body of Americans, visiting an English harbor, after a long confinement aboard ship at sea, debarred from enjoying our rambles on shore with perfect freedom, and feeling ourselves liable at any moment to be stopped by the police, and have our passports demanded. And why? Forsooth, was this done, because several of the James Allen’s crew—disgusted either with whaling, the sea, or the harshness of the discipline aboard that ship—chose to remain ashore? To be sure, they had all signed the ship’s articles, and agreed to remain as part of her crew during the continuance of her voyage, and by leaving her here they violated the letter of their agreement; but when it is remembered, that the greater proportion of those now deserting, at the time of joining the vessel and registering their names, were minors—totally ignorant of what their duties and hardships might be—their offence appears to be merely venial. And, again, the captain is also bound by these articles and by the maritime laws of the United States; and, if he has observed those laws in letter and spirit, he will be entitled to sympathy, should his men desert him. But, unfortunately, as soon as a ship is outside of land, and away from the jurisdiction of our courts, the captain is too apt to consider himself as the law and all its officers. He is, emphatically, when on the high seas, himself the judge and jury; from his decision there is no appeal, and to his fiat the seamen under his command must submit. Now, should he be guilty of gross personal abuse, or otherwise injure any of his men, or by a system of petty annoyances, render a situation under him unpleasant and uncomfortable, who will say that the party so injured or offended may not withdraw from the ship? The captain, however, will not let him go. What, then, shall he do? Life is a burden to him whilst under the espionage of his tormentor. His remedy, the superficial observer at once would say, would be to throw himself and his complaints on the consideration of the American consul, and demand justice. I will merely relate a case that happened at the American Consular Agent’s Office in Hobartown, (the agent, by the way, was not an American,) to wit:

At Flores we received aboard a Portuguese, without an agreement. He remained with us, as one of the crew, up to the time of our arrival at Hobartown, and had become a pretty good seaman. One liberty-day, as he was going ashore, the captain said to him he wished that he would accompany him to the consul’s office, and have his name put upon the ship’s articles. The Portuguese assented; but, previous to this, the shipping agents of the town had conferred with him, and, discovering that he was not bound to the ship, had offered him a seaman’s wages to sail in their employ; consequently, he imbibed a notion of the real value of his services, and when taken to the consul’s office and offered a landsman’s lay by the captain, he demanded a greater proportion of the vessel’s earnings—one commensurate with his services. His remonstrance was answered by a box on the ear; and he was taken to the wharf, put in a boatman’s charge, and conveyed to our vessel; from which time he was not allowed to go ashore again whilst we remained in the harbor.

It may be seen, from the result in this instance, that men have but little encouragement to apply to the consul. What, then, shall they do? The English courts will not receive an American seaman’s complaints—stating that they have no jurisdiction in such a case; but, at the same time, they will grant to the captain of a vessel warrants for the arrest and detention of any of his crew who may desert.

Thus, both these avenues to justice and right are in a measure closed against the sailor; but, even were they open, I doubt whether Jack would resort to them. Taught by experience, as well as from the prejudice of ignorance, he cherishes a strong antipathy toward both the law and its executors; for which reason, he does not care to prefer a complaint in a court of justice, but would rather forswear its promised shelter, and take the seemingly shorter and easier method offered by desertion, to gain a release from tyranny or exemption from unbearable wrongs. In adopting the latter course, however, it not unfrequently happens, that, instead of having improved his condition, he finds, to use a homely adage, that he has jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire.