Section III.—The Dandy Sailor; or, “Fine Tommy.”
In this connection, whilst now story-telling, we may perhaps, as fittingly as elsewhere, introduce a little record, very often told by my Father, for enforcing a moral lesson in respect of a species of folly which we often witness, and from which some of my young readers, peradventure, may not find themselves entirely devoid.
If the sacrifice of personal comfort to the tyranny of fashion appeared to my Father a great absurdity; much more did the risking of health for the indulgence of personal conceit in dress, or the braving of severity of climate, inadequately clothed, from the vanity of singularity in hardiness, seem to him as the very summit and extravagance of folly.
It was in support of his views on this particular subject, when conspicuous instances of such folly happened to come before him, that my Father was wont to tell, as an impressive warning, the instructive story of “Fine Tommy.”
Fine Tommy, who had acquired this appellation by particularity and almost dandyism of dress when at sea, was a smart and well-looking youthful sailor, who had shipped himself with my Father in one of the voyages in which he commanded the “Dundee.” His personal conceit, so unusual with the thoroughbred sailor, was nevertheless associated in him with such a measure of activity and seamanlike acquirements, as to save him from that ridicule of his associates, which in any other case would have been excessive, if not intolerable. Whilst the temperature of the weather was but moderately severe, his appearance on deck in a smart light shore-going jacket, exposed him to little damage beyond the playful salutations of his comrades,—salutations which he was wont good-humouredly to return by speaking with indifference of the hitherto experienced cold, and ridiculing the feminine weakness of a premature muffling of the person with pea-jackets, huge boots, comforters, and mittens.
During most of the progress of the ship northward, Fine Tommy continued successfully and proudly to brave, as I have just intimated, the gradually increasing cold, and that without material inconvenience or damage. But at length, when the region of ice had been some little way penetrated, the previously prevailing southerly or temperate wind happened to shift during the night to the northward, which, with a fresh blowing gale, brought a rapidly lowering temperature, approaching the zero of the thermometic scale. The ship soon became covered with ice, and a chilly penetrating “frost-rime” powdered the hair, or (as in some cases adopted) the rough wigs of the sailors. Before Fine Tommy’s watch was called,—for there were usually three watches in the whale ships, affording eight hours below alternately with four upon deck,—the extreme change, almost from a bearable frostiness to the greatest severity of cold, had taken place. He, incredulous of the influence as well as unconscious of the change that had taken place, came up in his usual clothing, a thin jacket, light shoes, and uncovered hands. Now jeered by his watch-mates as to his perception of cold, he determinately faced the chilling blast, renewing his bravadoes of indifference of feeling even to the then prevailing severity. This lasted during his two watches for the day. All hands besides were muffled up in every species of warm clothing, whilst Fine Tommy still walked the deck and performed his various duties with no other protection against the really Arctic severity of cold than aforetime.
On the calling of the watch the following morning, however, Fine Tommy did not appear. The next day, too, he was absent from his station. When his turn came to take the helm he was not there. Enquiry was made, and my Father found, as he had well predicted, that Fine Tommy was ill, and obliged to keep his bed. Day after day, and week after week, passed over, and the absent one was still unseen. Even months passed over until the voyage, which had been prospered with splendid success, was approaching to a close, so that the attainment of a temperate latitude and a return of warm weather had begun to cheer our northern adventurers with the prospect of a speedy realization of home enjoyment, when, like the hybernating insect revived by the genial influence of the summer sun, Fine Tommy was also resuscitated; and the long prostrate and once foolish defier of the Arctic climate appeared again upon deck to breathe the restorative air as it came pure from the grand repository of the atmosphere, instead of the defiled and mixed vapours of the ’tween decks of a whale-ship.
The lesson thus impressively taught was often read in my hearing; the application, in some cases, possibly, might be intended for myself. If one was seen wading, as it were, in mud with a pair of light shoes inadequate for defence either against cold or wet,—the admonition or remark was ever prompt, “it would be well to mind Fine Tommy.” If a fashionable “dandy” coat, in the days of dandyism, were worn in the severity of winter; if a dress insufficient for protection or warmth were, by either sex, observed to be worn; if the outside of a coach were mounted without an adequate covering, or a ride in an open carriage undertaken with only the habiliments usually worn in walking, the monition became natural, as the moral was apt,—“to remember Fine Tommy.” Whenever, too, I have myself remarked the analogous folly, every where, indeed, more or less observable, of risking health or abandoning personal comfort to appearance or fashion, the moral of this very lesson has constantly been forced on my recollection, tempting to the relation of the story, in order to the more impressive effect of the warning,—“Remember Fine Tommy!”
Section IV.—Unfortunate Voyage, and Adventure in the Greenland Ices.
One of my Father’s voyages in the Dundee, and but one in the various ships he commanded for a period of upwards of a quarter of a century, commencing with the year 1792, proved a failure. The failure, however, arose from one of those incidental circumstances of climate, on the one part, and neglect of a principal officer, on the other part, which no human foresight could have anticipated, or human skill or diligence have remedied, after the perilous character of the ice-entanglement became clearly apparent.