University of Virginia Library

23. CHAPTER XXIII.

As yet, I have said nothing special about the passengers
we carried out. But before making what little mention I
shall of them, you must know that the Highlander was not
a Liverpool liner, or packet-ship, plying in connection with
a sisterhood of packets, at stated intervals, between the two
ports. No: she was only what is called a regular trader
to Liverpool; sailing upon no fixed days, and acting very
much as she pleased, being bound by no obligations of any
kind: though in all her voyages, ever having New York or
Liverpool for her destination. Merchant vessels which are
neither liners nor regular traders, among sailors come under the
general head of transient ships; which implies that they are
here to-day, and somewhere else to-morrow, like Mullins's dog.

But I had no reason to regret that the Highlander was
not a liner; for aboard of those liners, from all I could gather
from those who had sailed in them, the crew have terrible hard
work, owing to their carrying such a press of sail, in order
to make as rapid passages as possible, and sustain the ship's
reputation for speed. Hence it is, that although they are
the very best of sea-going craft, and built in the best possible
manner, and with the very best materials, yet, a few years
of scudding before the wind, as they do, seriously impairs
their constitutions—like robust young men, who live too fast
in their teens—and they are soon sold out for a song; generally
to the people of Nantucket, New Bedford, and Sag
Harbor, who repair and fit them out for the whaling business.

Thus, the ship that once carried over gay parties of ladies

and gentlemen, as tourists, to Liverpool or London, now
carries a crew of harpooneers round Cape Horn into the
Pacific. And the mahogany and bird's-eye maple cabin,
which once held rosewood card-tables and brilliant coffee-urns,
and in which many a bottle of champagne, and many
a bright eye sparkled, now accommodates a bluff Quaker
captain from Martha's Vineyard; who, perhaps, while lying
with his ship in the Bay of Islands, in New Zealand,
entertains a party of naked chiefs and savages at dinner, in
place of the packet-captain doing the honors to the literati,
theatrical stars, foreign princes, and gentlemen of leisure and
fortune, who generally talked gossip, politics, and nonsense
across the table, in transatlantic trips. The broad quarter-deck,
too, where these gentry promenaded, is now often choked
up by the enormous head of the sperm-whale, and vast masses
of unctuous blubber; and every where reeks with oil during
the prosecution of the fishery. Sic transit gloria mundi!
Thus departs the pride and glory of packet-ships! It is like
a broken down importer of French silks embarking in the
soap-boiling business.

So, not being a liner, the Highlander of course did not
have very ample accommodations for cabin passengers. I
believe there were not more than five or six state-rooms,
with two or three berths in each. At any rate, on this
particular voyage she only carried out one regular cabin-passenger;
that is, a person previously unacquainted with
the captain, who paid his fare down, and came on board
soberly, and in a business-like manner with his baggage.

He was an extremely little man, that solitary cabin-passenger—the
passenger who came on board in a business-like
manner with his baggage; never spoke to any one, and
the captain seldom spoke to him.

Perhaps he was a deputy from the Deaf and Dumb
Institution in New York, going over to London to address
the public in pantomime at Exeter Hall concerning the
signs of the times.

He was always in a brown study; sometimes sitting on
the quarter-deck with arms folded, and head hanging upon
his chest. Then he would rise, and gaze out to windward,
as if he had suddenly discovered a friend. But looking disappointed,
would retire slowly into his state-room, where you
could see him through the little window, in an irregular
sitting position, with the back part of him inserted into his
berth, and his head, arms, and legs hanging out, buried in
profound meditation, with his forefinger aside of his nose.
He never was seen reading; never took a hand at cards;
never smoked; never drank wine; never conversed; and
never staid to the dessert at dinner-time.

He seemed the true microcosm, or little world to himself:
standing in no need of levying contributions upon the surrounding
universe. Conjecture was lost in speculating as
to who he was, and what was his business. The sailors,
who are always curious with regard to such matters, and
criticise cabin-passengers more than cabin-passengers are perhaps
aware at the time, completely exhausted themselves in
suppositions, some of which were characteristically curious.

One of the crew said he was a mysterious bearer of secret
dispatches to the English court; others opined that he was
a traveling surgeon and bonesetter, but for what reason they
thought so, I never could learn; and others declared that
he must either be an unprincipled bigamist, flying from his
last wife and several small children; or a scoundrelly forger,
bank-robber, or general burglar, who was returning to his
beloved country with his ill-gotten booty. One observing
sailor was of opinion that he was an English murderer,
overwhelmed with speechless remorse, and returning home
to make a full confession and be hanged.

But it was a little singular, that among all their sage and
sometimes confident opinings, not one charitable one was
made; no! they were all sadly to the prejudice of his moral
and religious character. But this is the way all the world
over. Miserable man! could you have had an inkling of

what they thought of you, I know not what you would have
done.

However, not knowing any thing about these surmisings
and suspicions, this mysterious cabin-passenger went on his
way, calm, cool, and collected; never troubled any body, and
nobody troubled him. Sometimes, of a moonlight night, he
glided about the deck, like the ghost of a hospital attendant;
flitting from mast to mast; now hovering round the skylight,
now vibrating in the vicinity of the binnacle. Blunt, the
Dream Book tar, swore he was a magician; and took an
extra dose of salts, by way of precaution against his spells.

When we were but a few days from port, a comical
adventure befell this cabin-passenger. There is an old custom,
still in vogue among some merchant sailors, of tying
fast in the rigging any lubberly landsman of a passenger
who may be detected taking excursions aloft, however moderate
the flight of the awkward fowl. This is called “making
a spread eagle” of the man; and before he is liberated,
a promise is exacted, that before arriving in port, he shall
furnish the ship's company with money enough for a treat
all round.

Now this being one of the perquisites of sailors, they are
always on the keen look-out for an opportunity of levying
such contributions upon incautious strangers; though they
never attempt it in presence of the captain; as for the mates,
they purposely avert their eyes, and are earnestly engaged
about something else, whenever they get an inkling of this
proceeding going on. But, with only one poor fellow of a
cabin-passenger on board of the Highlander, and he such a
quiet, unobtrusive, unadventurous wight, there seemed little
chance for levying contributions.

One remarkably pleasant morning, however, what should
be seen, half way up the mizzen rigging, but the figure of
our cabin-passenger, holding on with might and main by all
four limbs, and with his head fearfully turned round, gazing
off to the horizon. He looked as if he had the nightmare;

and in some sudden and unaccountable fit of insanity, he
must have been impelled to the taking up of that perilous
position.

“Good heavens!” said the mate, who was a bit of a
wag, “you will surely fall, sir! Steward, spread a mattress
on deck, under the gentleman!”

But no sooner was our Greenland sailor's attention called
to the sight, than snatching up some rope-yarn, he ran softly
up behind the passenger, and without speaking a word, began
binding him hand and foot. The stranger was more dumb
than ever with amazement; at last violently remonstrated;
but in vain; for as his fearfulness of falling made him keep
his hands glued to the ropes, and so prevented him from any
effectual resistance, he was soon made a handsome spread-eagle
of, to the great satisfaction of the crew.

It was now discovered for the first, that this singular
passenger stammered and stuttered very badly, which, perhaps,
was the cause of his reservedness.

“Wha-wha-what i-i-is this f-f-for?”

“Spread-eagle, sir,” said the Greenlander, thinking that
those few words would at once make the matter plain.

“Wha-wha-what that me-me-mean?”

“Treats all round, sir,” said the Greenlander, wondering
at the other's obtusity, who, however, had never so much as
heard of the thing before.

At last, upon his reluctant acquiescence in the demands
of the sailor, and handing him two half-crown pieces, the
unfortunate passenger was suffered to descend.

The last I ever saw of this man was his getting into a
cab at Prince's Dock Gates in Liverpool, and driving off
alone to parts unknown. He had nothing but a valise with
him, and an umbrella; but his pockets looked stuffed out;
perhaps he used them for carpet-bags.

I must now give some account of another and still more
mysterious, though very different, sort of an occupant of the
cabin, of whom I have previously hinted. What say you

to a charming young girl?—just the girl to sing the Dashing
White Sergeant; a martial, military-looking girl; her
father must have been a general. Her hair was auburn;
her eyes were blue; her cheeks were white and red; and
Captain Riga was her most devoted.

To the curious questions of the sailors concerning who
she was, the steward used to answer, that she was the
daughter of one of the Liverpool dock-masters, who, for the
benefit of her health and the improvement of her mind, had
sent her out to America in the Highlander, under the captain's
charge, who was his particular friend; and that now
the young lady was returning home from her tour.

And truly the captain proved an attentive father to her,
and often promenaded with her hanging on his arm, past the
forlorn bearer of secret dispatches, who would look up now
and then out of his reveries, and cast a furtive glance of
wonder, as if he thought the captain was audacious.

Considering his beautiful ward, I thought the captain behaved
ungallantly, to say the least, in availing himself of the
opportunity of her charming society, to wear out his remaining
old clothes; for no gentleman ever pretends to save his
best coat when a lady is in the case; indeed, he generally
thirsts for a chance to abase it, by converting it into a
pontoon over a puddle, like Sir Walter Raleigh, that the
ladies may not soil the soles of their dainty slippers. But
this Captain Riga was no Raleigh, and hardly any sort of
a true gentleman whatever, as I have formerly declared.
Yet, perhaps, he might have worn his old clothes in this instance,
for the express purpose of proving, by his disdain for
the toilet, that he was nothing but the young lady's guardian;
for many guardians do not care one fig how shabby they
look.

But for all this, the passage out was one long paternal
sort of a shabby flirtation between this hoydenish nymph and
the ill-dressed captain. And surely, if her good mother,
were she living, could have seen this young lady, she would

have given her an endless lecture for her conduct, and a
copy of Mrs. Ellis's Daughters of England to read and
digest.

I shall say no more of this anonymous nymph; only, that
when we arrived at Liverpool, she issued from her cabin in
a richly embroidered silk dress, and lace hat and vail, and
a sort of Chinese umbrella or parasol, which one of the sailors
declared “spandangalous;” and the captain followed after
in his best broadcloth and beaver, with a gold-headed cane;
and away they went in a carriage, and that was the last
of her; I hope she is well and happy now; but I have some
misgivings.

It now remains to speak of the steerage passengers. There
were not more than twenty or thirty of them, mostly mechanics,
returning home, after a prosperous stay in America,
to escort their wives and families back. These were the
only occupants of the steerage that I ever knew of; till
early one morning, in the gray dawn, when we made Cape
Clear, the south point of Ireland, the apparition of a tall
Irishman, in a shabby shirt of bed-ticking, emerged from
the fore hatchway, and stood leaning on the rail, looking
landward with a fixed, reminiscent expression, and diligently
scratching its back with both hands. We all started at the
sight, for no one had ever seen the apparition before; and
when we remembered that it must have been burrowing all
the passage down in its bunk, the only probable reason of its
so manipulating its back became shockingly obvious.

I had almost forgotten another passenger of ours, a little
boy not four feet high, an English lad, who, when we were
about forty-eight hours from New York, suddenly appeared
on deck, asking for something to eat.

It seems he was the son of a carpenter, a widower, with
this only child, who had gone out to America in the Highlander
some six months previous, where he fell to drinking,
and soon died, leaving the boy a friendless orphan in a
foreign land.

For several weeks the boy wandered about the wharves,
picking up a precarious livelihood by sucking molasses out
of the casks discharged from West India ships, and occasionally
regaling himself upon stray oranges and lemons found
floating in the docks. He passed his nights sometimes in a
stall in the markets, sometimes in an empty hogshead on
the piers, sometimes in a doorway, and once in the watch-house,
from which he escaped the next morning, running, as
he told me, right between the door-keeper's legs, when he
was taking another vagrant to task for repeatedly throwing
himself upon the public charities.

At last, while straying along the docks, he chanced to
catch sight of the Highlander, and immediately recognized
her as the very ship which brought him and his father out
from England. He at once resolved to return in her; and,
accosting the captain, stated his case, and begged a passage.
The captain refused to give it; but, nothing daunted, the
heroic little fellow resolved to conceal himself on board previous
to the ship's sailing; which he did, stowing himself
away in the between-decks; and moreover, as he told us, in
a narrow space between two large casks of water, from
which he now and then thrust out his head for air. And
once a steerage passenger rose in the night and poked in
and rattled about a stick where he was, thinking him an
uncommon large rat, who was after stealing a passage
across the Atlantic. There are plenty of passengers of
that kind continually plying between Liverpool and New
York.

As soon as he divulged the fact of his being on board,
which he took care should not happen till he thought the
ship must be out of sight of land; the captain had him
called aft, and after giving him a thorough shaking, and
threatening to toss him overboard as a tit-bit for John
Shark, he told the mate to send him forward among the
sailors, and let him live there. The sailors received him with
open arms; but before caressing him much, they gave him

a thorough washing in the lee-scuppers, when he turned out
to be quite a handsome lad, though thin and pale with the
hardships he had suffered. However, by good nursing and
plenty to eat, he soon improved and grew fat; and before
many days was as fine a looking little fellow, as you might
pick out of Queen Victoria's nursery.

The sailors took the warmest interest in him. One
made him a little hat with a long ribbon; another a little
jacket; a third a comical little pair of man-of-war's-man's
trowsers; so that in the end, he looked like a juvenile boat-swain's-mate.
Then the cook furnished him with a little
tin pot and pan; and the steward made him a present of a
pewter tea-spoon; and a steerage passenger gave him a jack-knife.
And thus provided, he used to sit at meal times half
way up on the forecastle ladder, making a great racket with
his pot and pan, and merry as a cricket. He was an uncommonly
fine, cheerful, clever, arch little fellow, only six
years old, and it was a thousand pities that he should be
abandoned, as he was. Who can say, whether he is fated
to be a convict in New South Wales, or a member of Parliament
for Liverpool? When we got to that port, by the
way, a purse was made up for him; the captain, officers,
and the mysterious cabin passenger contributing their best
wishes, and the sailors and poor steerage passengers something
like fifteen dollars in cash and tobacco. But I had
almost forgot to add that the daughter of the dock-master
gave him a fine lace pocket-handkerchief and a card-case to
remember her by; very valuable, but somewhat inappropriate
presents. Thus supplied, the little hero went ashore by
himself; and I lost sight of him in the vast crowds throng
ing the docks of Liverpool.

I must here mention, as some relief to the impression
which Jackson's character must have made upon the reader,
that in several ways he at first befriended this boy; but the
boy always shrunk from him; till, at last, stung by his
conduct, Jackson spoke to him no more; and seemed to

hate him, harmless as he was, along with all the rest of
the world.

As for the Lancashire lad, he was a stupid sort of fellow,
as I have before hinted. So, little interest was taken in
him, that he was permitted to go ashore at last, without a
good-by from any person but one.