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Pirous and Acamas, of the Thracians. But he has also shown, and we think with equal success, that the two questions relative to the primitive unity of these poems, or, supposing that impossible, the unison of these parts by Peisistratus, and not before his time, are essentially distinct. These alterations Onomakritus, and the other literary friends of Peisistratus, could hardly have failed to notice, even without design, had they then, for the first time, undertaken the task of piecing together many self-existent epics into one large aggregate.

Everything in the two great Homeric poems, both in substance and in language, belongs to an age two or three centuries earlier than Peisistratus. Indeed, even the interpolations or those passages which, on the best grounds, are pronounced to be such betray no trace of the sixth century before Christ, and may well have been heard by Archilochus and Kallinus — in some cases even by Arktinus and Hesiod — as genuine Homeric matter.

As far as the evidences on the case, as well internal as external, enable us to judge, we seem warranted in believing that the Iliad and Odyssey were recited substantially as they now stand always allowing for partial divergences of text and interpolations in B. On the whole, I am inclined to believe, that the labours of Peisistratus were wholly of an editorial character, although I must confess that I can lay down nothing respecting the extent of his labours. At the same time, so far from believing that the composition or primary arrangement of these poems, in their present form, was the work of Peisistratus, I am rather persuaded that the fine taste and elegant, mind of that Athenian would lead him to preserve an ancient and traditional order of the poems, rather than to patch and reconstruct them according to a fanciful hypothesis.

I will not repeat the many discussions respecting whether the poems were written or not, or whether the art of writing was known in the time of their reputed author. Suffice it to say, that the more we read, the less satisfied we are upon either subject. I cannot, however, help thinking, that the story which attributes the preservation of these poems to Lycurgus, is little else than a version of the same story as that of Peisistratus, while its historical probability must be measured by that of many others relating to the Spartan Confucius.

I will conclude this sketch of the Homeric theories with an attempt, made by an ingenious friend, to unite them into something like consistency. It is as follows: Many of these, like those of the negroes in the United States, were extemporaneous, and allusive to events passing around them. But what was passing around them? The grand events of a spirit-stirring war; occurrences likely to impress themselves, as the mystical legends of former times had done, upon their memory; besides which, a retentive memory was deemed a virtue of the first water, and was cultivated accordingly in those ancient times.

Ballads at first, and down to the beginning of the war with Troy, were merely recitations, with an intonation. Then followed a species of recitative, probably with an intoned burden. Tune next followed, as it aided the memory considerably. He saw that these ballads might be made of great utility to his purpose of writing a poem on the social position of Hellas, and, as a collection, he published these lays connecting them by a tale of his own.

His noble mind seized the hint that there presented itself, and the Achilleis grew under his hand. Unity of design, however, caused him to publish the poem under the same pseudonyme as his former work; and the disjointed lays of the ancient bards were joined together, like those relating to the Cid, into a chronicle history, named the Iliad. Melesigenes knew that the poem was destined to be a lasting one, and so it has proved; but, first, the poems were destined to undergo many vicissitudes and corruptions, by the people who took to singing them in the streets, assemblies, and agoras.

However, Solon first, and then Peisistratus, and afterwards Aristoteles and others, revised the poems, and restored the works of Melesigenes Homeros to their original integrity in a great measure. Having thus given some general notion of the strange theories which have developed themselves respecting this most interesting subject, I must still express my conviction as to the unity of the authorship of the Homeric poems. To deny that many corruptions and interpolations disfigure them, and that the intrusive hand of the poetasters may here and there have inflicted a wound more serious than the negligence of the copyist, would be an absurd and captious assumption; but it is to a higher criticism that we must appeal, if we would either understand or enjoy these poems.

In maintaining the authenticity and personality of their one author, be he Homer or Melesigenes, quocunque nomine vocari eum jus fasque sit , I feel conscious that, while the whole weight of historical evidence is against the hypothesis which would assign these great works to a plurality of authors, the most powerful internal evidence, and that which springs from the deepest and most immediate impulse of the soul, also speaks eloquently to the contrary.

The minutiae of verbal criticism I am far from seeking to despise. Indeed, considering the character of some of my own books, such an attempt would be gross inconsistency. But, while I appreciate its importance in a philological view, I am inclined to set little store on its aesthetic value, especially in poetry.

Three parts of the emendations made upon poets are mere alterations, some of which, had they been suggested to the author by his Maecenas or Africanus, he would probably have adopted. Moreover, those who are most exact in laying down rules of verbal criticism and interpretation, are often least competent to carry out their own precepts.

Grammarians are not poets by profession, but may be so per accidens. I do not at this moment remember two emendations on Homer, calculated to substantially improve the poetry of a passage, although a mass of remarks, from Herodotus down to Loewe, have given us the history of a thousand minute points, without which our Greek knowledge would be gloomy and jejune. But it is not on words only that grammarians, mere grammarians, will exercise their elaborate and often tiresome ingenuity.

Binding down an heroic or dramatic poet to the block upon which they have previously dissected his words and sentences, they proceed to use the axe and the pruning knife by wholesale; and, inconsistent in everything but their wish to make out a case of unlawful affiliation, they cut out book after book, passage after passage, till the author is reduced to a collection of fragments, or till those who fancied they possessed the works of some great man, find that they have been put off with a vile counterfeit got up at second hand.

If we compare the theories of Knight, Wolf, Lachmann; and others, we shall feel better satisfied of the utter uncertainty of criticism than of the apocryphal position of Homer. One rejects what another considers the turning-point of his theory. One cuts a supposed knot by expunging what another would explain by omitting something else.

Nor is this morbid species of sagacity by any means to be looked upon as a literary novelty. Justus Lipsius, a scholar of no ordinary skill, seems to revel in the imaginary discovery, that the tragedies attributed to Seneca are by four different authors. Now, I will venture to assert, that these tragedies are so uniform, not only in their borrowed phraseology — a phraseology with which writers like Boethius and Saxo Grammaticus were more charmed than ourselves — in their freedom from real poetry, and last, but not least, in an ultra-refined and consistent abandonment of good taste, that few writers of the present day would question the capabilities of the same gentleman, be he Seneca or not, to produce not only these, but a great many more equally bad.

With equal sagacity, Father Hardouin astonished the world with the startling announcement that the AEneid of Virgil, and the satires of Horace, were literary deceptions. Now, without wishing to say one word of disrespect against the industry and learning — nay, the refined acuteness — which scholars like Wolf have bestowed upon this subject, I must express my fears, that many of our modern Homeric theories will become matter for the surprise and entertainment, rather than the instruction, of posterity.

Nor can I help thinking that the literary history of more recent times will account for many points of difficulty in the transmission of the Iliad and Odyssey to a period so remote from that of their first creation. I have already expressed my belief that the labours of Peisistratus were of a purely editorial character; and there seems no more reason why corrupt and imperfect editions of Homer may not have been abroad in his day, than that the poems of Valerius Flaccus and Tibullus should have given so much trouble to Poggio, Scaliger, and others.

But, after all, the main fault in all the Homeric theories is, that they demand too great a sacrifice of those feelings to which poetry most powerfully appeals, and which are its most fitting judges. The ingenuity which has sought to rob us of the name and existence of Homer, does too much violence to that inward emotion, which makes our whole soul yearn with love and admiration for the blind bard of Chios. To believe the author of the Iliad a mere compiler, is to degrade the powers of human invention; to elevate analytical judgment at the expense of the most ennobling impulses of the soul; and to forget the ocean in the contemplation of a polypus.

There is a catholicity, so to speak, in the very name of Homer. Our faith in the author of the Iliad may be a mistaken one, but as yet nobody has taught us a better. While, however, I look upon the belief in Homer as one that has nature herself for its mainspring; while I can join with old Ennius in believing in Homer as the ghost, who, like some patron saint, hovers round the bed of the poet, and even bestows rare gifts from that wealth of imagination which a host of imitators could not exhaust — still I am far from wishing to deny that the author of these great poems found a rich fund of tradition, a well-stocked mythical storehouse, from whence he might derive both subject and embellishment.

But it is one thing to use existing romances in the embellishment of a poem, another to patch up the poem itself from such materials. What consistency of style and execution can be hoped for from such an attempt? A blending of popular legends, and a free use of the songs of other bards, are features perfectly consistent with poetical originality. In fact, the most original writer is still drawing upon outward impressions — nay, even his own thoughts are a kind of secondary agents which support and feed the impulses of imagination.

But unless there be some grand pervading principle — some invisible, yet most distinctly stamped archetypus of the great whole, a poem like the Iliad can never come to the birth. Traditions the most picturesque, episodes the most pathetic, local associations teeming with the thoughts of gods and great men, may crowd in one mighty vision, or reveal themselves in more substantial forms to the mind of the poet; but, except the power to create a grand whole, to which these shall be but as details and embellishments, be present, we shall have nought but a scrap-book, a parterre filled with flowers and weeds strangling each other in their wild redundancy; we shall have a cento of rags and tatters, which will require little acuteness to detect.

Sensible as I am of the difficulty of disproving a negative, and aware as I must be of the weighty grounds there are for opposing my belief, it still seems to me that the Homeric question is one that is reserved for a higher criticism than it has often obtained. We are not by nature intended to know all things; still less, to compass the powers by which the greatest blessings of life have been placed at our disposal.

Were faith no virtue, then we might indeed wonder why God willed our ignorance on any matter. But we are too well taught the contrary lesson; and it seems as though our faith should be especially tried, touching the men and the events which have wrought most influence upon the condition of humanity. And there is a kind of sacredness attached to the memory of the great and the good, which seems to bid us repulse the scepticism which would allegorize their existence into a pleasing apologue, and measure the giants of intellect by an homaeopathic dynameter.

Long and habitual reading of Homer appears to familiarize our thoughts even to his incongruities; or rather, if we read in a right spirit and with a heartfelt appreciation, we are too much dazzled, too deeply wrapped in admiration of the whole, to dwell upon the minute spots which mere analysis can discover. In reading an heroic poem, we must transform ourselves into heroes of the time being, we in imagination must fight over the same battles, woo the same loves, burn with the same sense of injury, as an Achilles or a Hector.

And if we can but attain this degree of enthusiasm and less enthusiasm will scarcely suffice for the reading of Homer , we shall feel that the poems of Homer are not only the work of one writer, but of the greatest writer that ever touched the hearts of men by the power of song. And it was this supposed unity of authorship which gave these poems their powerful influence over the minds of the men of old. Heeren, who is evidently little disposed in favour of modern theories, finely observes: No poet has ever, as a poet, exercised a similar influence over his countrymen.

Prophets, lawgivers, and sages have formed the character of other nations; it was reserved to a poet to form that of the Greeks. This is a feature in their character which was not wholly erased even in the period of their degeneracy. When lawgivers and sages appeared in Greece, the work of the poet had already been accomplished; and they paid homage to his superior genius. He held up before his nation the mirror in which they were to behold the world of gods and heroes, no less than of feeble mortals, and to behold them reflected with purity and truth. His poems are founded on the first feeling of human nature; on the love of children, wife, and country; on that passion which outweighs all others, the love of glory.

His songs were poured forth from a breast which sympathized with all the feelings of man; and therefore they enter, and will continue to enter, every breast which cherishes the same sympathies. If it is granted to his immortal spirit, from another heaven than any of which he dreamed on earth, to look down on his race, to see the nations from the fields of Asia, to the forests of Hercynia, performing pilgrimages to the fountain which his magic wand caused to flow; if it is permitted to him to view the vast assemblage of grand, of elevated, of glorious productions, which had been called into being by means of his songs; wherever his immortal spirit may reside, this alone would suffice to complete his happiness.

The more we read, and the more we think — think as becomes the readers of Homer — the more rooted becomes the conviction that the Father of Poetry gave us this rich inheritance, whole and entire.


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Whatever were the means of its preservation, let us rather be thankful for the treasury of taste and eloquence thus laid open to our use, than seek to make it a mere centre around which to drive a series of theories, whose wildness is only equalled by their inconsistency with each other. Pope was not a Grecian. His whole education had been irregular, and his earliest acquaintance with the poet was through the version of Ogilby. It is not too much to say that his whole work bears the impress of a disposition to be satisfied with the general sense, rather than to dive deeply into the minute and delicate features of language.

Hence his whole work is to be looked upon rather as an elegant paraphrase than a translation. There are, to be sure, certain conventional anecdotes, which prove that Pope consulted various friends, whose classical attainments were sounder than his own, during the undertaking; but it is probable that these examinations were the result rather of the contradictory versions already existing, than of a desire to make a perfect transcript of the original. And in those days, what is called literal translation was less cultivated than at present.

We must be content to look at it as a most delightful work in itself — a work which is as much a part of English literature as Homer himself is of Greek. We must not be torn from our kindly associations with the old Iliad, that once was our most cherished companion, or our most looked-for prize, merely because Buttmann, Loewe, and Liddell have made us so much more accurate as to amphikipellon being an adjective, and not a substantive.

The poem opens within forty eight days of the arrival of Ulysses in his dominions. He had now remained seven years in the Island of Calypso, when the gods assembled in council, proposed the method of his departure from thence and his return to his native country. For this purpose it is concluded to send Mercury to Calypso, and Pallas immediately descends to Ithaca. She holds a conference with Telemachus, in the shape of Mantes, king of Taphians; in which she advises him to take a journey in quest of his father Ulysses, to Pylos and Sparta, where Nestor and Menelaus yet reigned; then, after having visibly displayed her divinity, disappears.

The suitors of Penelope make great entertainments, and riot in her palace till night. Phemius sings to them the return of the Grecians, till Penelope puts a stop to the song. Some words arise between the suitors and Telemachus, who summons the council to meet the day following. Telemachus in the assembly of the lords of Ithaca complains of the injustice done him by the suitors, and insists upon their departure from his palace; appealing to the princes, and exciting the people to declare against them. The suitors endeavour to justify their stay, at least till he shall send the queen to the court of Icarius her father; which he refuses.

There appears a prodigy of two eagles in the sky, which an augur expounds to the ruin of the suitors. Pallas, in the shape of Mentor an ancient friend of Ulysses , helps him to a ship, assists him in preparing necessaries for the voyage, and embarks with him that night; which concludes the second day from the opening of the poem. The scene continues in the palace of Ulysses, in Ithaca. Telemachus, guided by Pallas in the shape of Mentor, arrives in the morning at Pylos, where Nestor and his sons are sacrificing on the sea-shore to Neptune. Telemachus declares the occasion of his coming: They discourse concerning the death of Agamemnon, the revenge of Orestes, and the injuries of the suitors.

Nestor advises him to go to Sparta, and inquire further of Menelaus. The sacrifice ending with the night, Minerva vanishes from them in the form of an eagle: Telemachus is lodged in the palace. The next morning they sacrifice a bullock to Minerva; and Telemachus proceeds on his journey to Sparta, attended by Pisistratus.

Telemachus with Pisistratus arriving at Sparta, is hospitably received by Menelaus to whom he relates the cause of his coming, and learns from him many particulars of what befell the Greeks since the destruction of Troy. He dwells more at large upon the prophecies of Proteus to him in his return; from which he acquaints Telemachus that Ulysses is detained in the island of Calypso. In the meantime the suitors consult to destroy Telemachus on the voyage home.

Penelope is apprised of this; but comforted in a dream by Pallas, in the shape of her sister Iphthima. Pallas in a council of the gods complains of the detention of Ulysses in the Island of Calypso: The seat of Calypso described. She consents with much difficulty; and Ulysses builds a vessel with his own hands, in which he embarks. Neptune overtakes him with a terrible tempest, in which he is shipwrecked, and in the last danger of death; till Lencothea, a sea-goddess, assists him, and, after innumerable perils, he gets ashore on Phaeacia.

Pallas appearing in a dream in to Nausicaa the daughter of Alcinous, king of Phaeacia, commands her to descend to the river, and wash the robes of state, in preparation for her nuptials. Nausicaa goes with her handmaidens to the river; where, while the garments are spread on the bank, they divert themselves in sports. Their voices awaken Ulysses, who, addressing himself to the princess, is by her relieved and clothed, and receives directions in what manner to apply to the king and queen of the island.

The princess Nausicaa returns to the city and Ulysses soon after follows thither. He is met by Pallas in the form of a young virgin, who guides him to the palace, and directs him in what manner to address the queen Arete. She then involves him in a mist which causes him to pass invisible. The palace and gardens of Alcinous described. Ulysses falling at the feet of the queen, the mist disperses, the Phaecians admire, and receive him with respect. The queen inquiring by what means he had the garments he then wore, be relates to her and Alcinous his departure from Calypso, and his arrival in their dominions.

Alcinous calls a council, in which it is resolved to transport Ulysses into his country. After which splendid entertainments are made, where the celebrated musician and poet, Demodocus, plays and sings to the guests. They return again to the banquet and Demodocus sings the loves of Mars and Venus. Ulysses, after a compliment to the poet, desires him to sing the introduction of the wooden horse into Troy, which subject provoking his tears, Alcinous inquires of his guest his name, parentage, and fortunes.

Ulysses begins the relation of his adventures: From there they sailed to the land of the Cyclops, whose manners and situation are particularly characterised. The giant Polyphemus and his cave described; the usage Ulysses and his companions met with there; and, lastly, the method and artifice by which he escaped. Ulysses arrives at the island of AEolus, who gives him prosperous winds, and incloses the adverse ones in a bag, which his companions untying, they are driven back again and rejected.

Then they sail to the Laestrygons, where they lose eleven ships, and, with only one remaining, proceed to the island of Circe. Eurylochus is sent first with some companions, all which, except Eurylochus, are transformed into swine. Ulysses then undertakes the adventure, and, by the help of Mercury, who gives him the herb Moly, overcomes the enchantress, and procures the restoration of his men. Ulysses continues his narration. How he arrived at the land of the Cimmerians, and what ceremonies he performed to invoke the dead.

The manner of his descent, and the apparition of the shades: He meets his mother Anticles, from whom he learns the state of his family. He sees the shades of the ancient heroines, afterwards of the heroes, and converses in particular with Agamemnon and Achilles. Ajax keeps at a sullen distance, and disdains to answer him. He then beholds Tityus, Tantalus, Sisyphus, Hercules; till he is deterred from further curiosity by the apparition of horrid spectres, and the cries of the wicked in torments.

He relates how, after his return from the shades, he was sent by Circe on his voyage, by the coast of the Sirens, and by the strait of Scylla and Charybdis: With which his narration concludes. Ulysses takes his leave of Alcinous and Arete, and embarks in the evening. Next morning the ship arrives at Ithaca; where the sailors, as Ulysses is yet sleeping, lay him on the shore with all his treasures. On their return, Neptune changes their ship into a rock. In the meantime Ulysses, awaking, knows not his native Ithaca, by reason of a mist which Pallas had cast around him.

He breaks into loud lamentations; till the goddess appearing to him in the form of a shepherd, discovers the country to him, and points out the particular places. He then tells a feigned story of his adventures, upon which she manifests herself, and they consult together of the measures to be taken to destroy the suitors. To conceal his return, and disguise his person the more effectually, she changes him into the figure of an old beggar.

Ulysses arrives in disguise at the house of Eumaeus, where he is received, entertained, and lodged with the utmost hospitality. The several discourses of that faithful old servant, with the feigned story told by Ulysses to conceal himself, and other conversations on various subjects, take up this entire book. The goddess Minerva commands Telemachus in a vision to return to Ithaca. Pisistratus and he take leave of Menelaus, and arrive at Pylos, where they part: The scene then changes to the cottage of Eumaeus, who entertains Ulysses with a recital of his adventures. In the meantime Telemachus arrives on the coast, and sending the vessel to the town, proceeds by himself to the lodge of Eumaeus.

Telemachus arriving at the lodge of Eumaeus, sends him to carry Penelope the news of his return. Minerva appearing to Ulysses, commands him to discover himself to his son. The princes, who had lain in ambush to intercept Telemachus in his way, their project being defeated, return to Ithaca. Telemachus returning to the city, relates to Penelope the sum of his travels.

Ulysses is conducted by Eumaeus to the palace, where his old dog Argus acknowledges his master, after an absence of twenty years, and dies with joy. Eumaeus returns into the country, and Ulysses remains among the suitors, whose behaviour is described. The beggar Irus insults Ulysses; the suitors promote the quarrel, in which Irus is worsted, and miserably handled.

Penelope descends, and receives the presents of the suitors. The dialogue of Ulysses with Eurymachus. Ulysses and his son remove the weapons out of the armoury. Ulysses, in conversation with Penelope, gives a fictitious account of his adventures; then assures her he had formerly entertained her husband in Crete; and describes exactly his person and dress; affirms to have heard of him in Phaeacia and Thesprotia, and that his return is certain, and within a month. He then goes to bathe, and is attended by Euryclea, who discovers him to be Ulysses by the scar upon his leg, which he formerly received in hunting the wild boar on Parnassus.

The poet inserts a digression relating that accident, with all its particulars. While Ulysses lies in the vestibule of the palace, he is witness to the disorders of the women. Minerva comforts him, and casts him asleep. At his waking he desires a favourable sign from Jupiter, which is granted. The feast of Apollo is celebrated by the people, and the suitors banquet in the palace. Telemachus exerts his authority amongst them; notwithstanding which, Ulysses is insulted by Caesippus, and the rest continue in their excesses.

Strange prodigies are seen by Theoclymenus, the augur, who explains them to the destruction of the wooers. Penelope, to put an end to the solicitation of the suitors, proposes to marry the person who shall first bend the bow of Ulysses, and shoot through the ringlets. After their attempts have proved ineffectual, Ulysses, taking Eumaeus and Philaetius apart, discovers himself to them; then returning, desires leave to try his strength at the bow, which, though refused with indignation by the suitors, Penelope and Telemachus cause it to be delivered to his hands. He bends it immediately, and shoots through all the rings.

Jupiter at the same instant thunders from heaven; Ulysses accepts the omen, and gives a sign to Telemachus, who stands ready armed at his side. Ulysses begins the slaughter of the suitors by the death of Antinous. He declares himself, and lets fly his arrows at the rest. Telemachus assists and brings arms for his father, himself, Eumaeus, and Philaetius. Melanthius does the same for the wooers. Minerva encourages Ulysses in the shape of Mentor. The suitors are all slain, only Medon and Phemius are spared. Melanthius and the unfaithful servants are executed.

The rest acknowledge their master with all demonstrations of joy. Penelope scarcely credits her; but supposes some god has punished them, and descends from her department in doubt. At the first interview of Ulysses and Penelope, she is quite unsatisfied. Minerva restores him to the beauty of his youth; but the queen continues incredulous, till by some circumstances she is convinced, and falls into all the transports of passion and tenderness. They recount to each other all that has passed during their long separation.

The next morning Ulysses, arming himself and his friends, goes from the city to visit his father. The souls of the suitors are conducted by Mercury to the infernal shades. Ulysses in the country goes to the retirement of his father, Laertes; he finds him busied in his garden all alone; the manner of his discovery to him is beautifully described. They return together to his lodge, and the king is acknowledged by Dolius and the servants. The Ithacensians, led by Eupithes, the father of Antinous, rise against Ulysses, who gives them battle in which Eupithes is killed by Laertes: This web edition published by eBooks Adelaide.

Last updated Wednesday, December 17, at Oh, snatch some portion of these acts from fate, Celestial Muse! Ulysses, sole of all the victor train, An exile from his dear paternal coast, Deplored his absent queen and empire lost. At length his Ithaca is given by fate, Where yet new labours his arrival wait; At length their rage the hostile powers restrain, All but the ruthless monarch of the main.

When to his lust AEgysthus gave the rein, Did fate, or we, the adulterous act constrain? Did fate, or we, when great Atrides died, Urge the bold traitor to the regicide? Here paused the god; and pensive thus replies Minerva, graceful with her azure eyes: His death was equal to the direful deed; So may the man of blood be doomed to bleed! And will Omnipotence neglect to save The suffering virtue of the wise and brave? That wise Ulysses to his native land Must speed, obedient to their high command.

To distant Sparta, and the spacious waste Of Sandy Pyle, the royal youth shall haste. There, warm with filial love, the cause inquire That from his realm retards his god-like sire; Delivering early to the voice of fame The promise of a green immortal name. On hides of beeves, before the palace gate Sad spoils of luxury , the suitors sate. With rival art, and ardour in their mien, At chess they vie, to captivate the queen; Divining of their loves. Attending nigh, A menial train the flowing bowl supply. Others, apart, the spacious hall prepare, And form the costly feast with busy care.

There young Telemachus, his bloomy face Glowing celestial sweet, with godlike grace Amid the circle shines: Thus affable and mild, the prince precedes, And to the dome the unknown celestial leads. He led the goddess to the sovereign seat, Her feet supported with a stool of state A purple carpet spread the pavement wide ; Then drew his seat, familiar, to her side; Far from the suitor-train, a brutal crowd, With insolence, and wine, elate and loud: The tables in fair order spread, They heap the glittering canisters with bread: Viands of various kinds allure the taste, Of choicest sort and savour, rich repast!

Delicious wines the attending herald brought; The gold gave lustre to the purple draught. Luxurious then they feast. Light is the dance, and doubly sweet the lays, When for the dear delight another pays. But ah, I dream! And hope, too long with vain delusion fed, Deaf to the rumour of fallacious fame, Gives to the roll of death his glorious name! With venial freedom let me now demand Thy name, thy lineage, and paternal land; Sincere from whence began thy course, recite, And to what ship I owe the friendly freight? All who deserved his choice he made his own, And, curious much to know, he far was known.

Far from your capital my ship resides At Reitorus, and secure at anchor rides; Where waving groves on airy Neign grow, Supremely tall and shade the deeps below. Let not your soul be sunk in sad despair; He lives, he breathes this heavenly vital air, Among a savage race, whose shelfy bounds With ceaseless roar the foaming deep surrounds. Yet hear this certain speech, nor deem it vain; Though adamantine bonds the chief restrain, The dire restraint his wisdom will defeat, And soon restore him to his regal seat.

For sure Ulysses in your look appears, The same his features, if the same his years. To whom, with aspect mild, the guest divine: Or from their deed I rightlier may divine, Unseemly flown with insolence and wine? Unwelcome revellers, whose lawless joy Pains the sage ear, and hurts the sober eye. Then grateful Greece with streaming eyes would raise, Historic marbles to record his praise; His praise, eternal on the faithful stone, Had with transmissive honour graced his son. And I his heir in misery alone. She seems attentive to their pleaded vows, Her heart detesting what her ear allows.

They, vain expectants of the bridal hour, My stores in riotous expense devour. In feast and dance the mirthful months employ, And meditate my doom to crown their joy. Then let this dictate of my love prevail: Direct your toil Through the wide ocean first to sandy Pyle; Of Nestor, hoary sage, his doom demand: Thence speed your voyage to the Spartan strand; For young Atrides to the Achaian coast Arrived the last of all the victor host.

If yet Ulysses views the light, forbear, Till the fleet hours restore the circling year. With decent grief the royal dead deplored, For the chaste queen select an equal lord.

HISTORY OF THE WHALE FISHERY,

Then let revenge your daring mind employ, By fraud or force the suitor train destroy, And starting into manhood, scorn the boy. Hast thou not heard how young Orestes, fired With great revenge, immortal praise acquired? But my associates now my stay deplore, Impatient on the hoarse-resounding shore. Thou, heedful of advice, secure proceed; My praise the precept is, be thine the deed. So fathers speak persuasive speech and mild Their sage experience to the favourite child. But, since to part, for sweet refection due, The genial viands let my train renew; And the rich pledge of plighted faith receive, Worthy the air of Ithaca to give.

Abrupt, with eagle-speed she cut the sky; Instant invisible to mortal eye. His tender theme the charming lyrist chose. The shrilling airs the vaulted roof rebounds, Reflecting to the queen the silver sounds. A veil, of richest texture wrought, she wears, And silent to the joyous hall repairs. What Greeks new wandering in the Stygian gloom, Wish your Ulysses shared an equal doom! Mature beyond his years, the queen admires His sage reply, and with her train retires. Then swelling sorrows burst their former bounds, With echoing grief afresh the dome resounds; Till Pallas, piteous of her plaintive cries, In slumber closed her silver-streaming eyes.

Meantime, rekindled at the royal charms, Tumultuous love each beating bosom warms; Intemperate rage a wordy war began; But bold Telemachus assumed the man. Pacific now prolong the jovial feast; But when the dawn reveals the rosy east, I, to the peers assembled, shall propose The firm resolve, I here in few disclose; No longer live the cankers of my court; All to your several states with speed resort; Waste in wild riot what your land allows, There ply the early feast, and late carouse.

By him and all the immortal thrones above A sacred oath , each proud oppressor slain, Shall with inglorious gore this marble stain. May Jove delay thy reign, and cumber late So bright a genius with the toils of state! Fast by the throne obsequious fame resides, And wealth incessant rolls her golden tides. Nor let Antinous rage, if strong desire Of wealth and fame a youthful bosom fire: Your patrimonial stores in peace possess; Undoubted, all your filial claim confess: Your private right should impious power invade, The peers of Ithaca would arm in aid.

But say, that stranger guest who late withdrew, What and from whence? His grave demeanour and majestic grace Speak him descended of non vulgar race: That stranger-guest the Taphian realm obeys, A realm defended with encircling seas. Sole with Telemachus her service ends, A child she nursed him, and a man attends. The Council of Ithaca. Then by his heralds, restless of delay, To council calls the peers: Soon as in solemn form the assembly sate, From his high dome himself descends in state.

Bright in his hand a ponderous javelin shined; Two dogs, a faithful guard, attend behind; Pallas with grace divine his form improves, And gazing crowds admire him as he moves,. Yet still his Antiphus he loves, he mourns, And, as he stood, he spoke and wept by turns,. Say then, ye peers!


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Why here once more in solemn council sit? Ye young, ye old, the weighty cause disclose: Arrives some message of invading foes? Or say, does high necessity of state Inspire some patriot, and demand debate? The present synod speaks its author wise; Assist him, Jove, thou regent of the skies! No story I unfold of public woes, Nor bear advices of impending foes: Peace the blest land, and joys incessant crown: Of all this happy realm, I grieve alone.

For my lost sire continual sorrows spring, The great, the good; your father and your king. Yet more; our house from its foundation bows, Our foes are powerful, and your sons the foes; Hither, unwelcome to the queen, they come; Why seek they not the rich Icarian dome? If she must wed, from other hands require The dowry: Yet through my court the noise of revel rings, And waste the wise frugality of kings. Scarce all my herds their luxury suffice; Scarce all my wine their midnight hours supplies. Safe in my youth, in riot still they grow, Nor in the helpless orphan dread a foe.

But come it will, the time when manhood grants More powerful advocates than vain complaints. Rise then, ye peers! By all the deathless powers that reign above, By righteous Themis and by thundering Jove Themis, who gives to councils, or denies Success; and humbles, or confirms the wise , Rise in my aid! If ruin to your royal race ye doom, Be you the spoilers, and our wealth consume. Then might we hope redress from juster laws, And raise all Ithaca to aid our cause: The big round tear hung trembling in his eye: The synod grieved, and gave a pitying sigh, Then silent sate — at length Antinous burns With haughty rage, and sternly thus returns: Elusive of the bridal day, she gives Fond hopes to all, and all with hopes deceives.

Where as to life the wondrous figures rise, Thus spoke the inventive queen, with artful sighs: Cease, till to great Laertes I bequeath A task of grief, his ornaments of death. The work she plied; but, studious of delay, By night reversed the labours of the day. We saw, as unperceived we took our stand, The backward labours of her faithless hand. Then urged, she perfects her illustrious toils; A wondrous monument of female wiles! Dismiss the queen; and if her sire approves Let him espouse her to the peer she loves: Bid instant to prepare the bridal train, Nor let a race of princes wait in vain.

With thee, the bowl we drain, indulge the feast, Till righteous heaven reclaim her stubborn breast. What though from pole to pole resounds her name! For, till she leaves thy court, it is decreed, Thy bowl to empty and thy flock to bleed. While yet he speaks, Telemachus replies: While sad on foreign shores Ulysses treads. Or glides a ghost with unapparent shades; How to Icarius in the bridal hour Shall I, by waste undone, refund the dower? How from my father should I vengeance dread!

How would my mother curse my hated head! And while In wrath to vengeful fiends she cries, How from their hell would vengeful fiends arise! If this displease, why urge ye here your stay? Haste from the court, ye spoilers, haste away: Waste in wild riot what your land allows, There ply the early feast, and late carouse. By him, and all the immortal host above A sacred oath , if heaven the power supply, Vengeance I vow, and for your wrongs ye die.

Above the assembled peers they wheel on high, And clang their wings, and hovering beat the sky; With ardent eyes the rival train they threat, And shrieking loud denounce approaching fate. Nor to the great alone is death decreed; We and our guilty Ithaca must bleed. Why cease we then the wrath of heaven to stay? Be humbled all, and lead, ye great! Now twice ten years are past, and now he comes!

Go prophesy at home, thy sons advise: Cold in the tomb, or in the deeps below, Ulysses lies; oh wert thou laid as low! His guideless youth, if thy experienced age Mislead fallacious into idle rage, Vengeance deserved thy malice shall repress. Till she retires, determined we remain, And both the prince and augur threat in vain: His pride of words, and thy wild dream of fate, Move not the brave, or only move their hate, Threat on, O prince! Threat on, till all thy stores in waste decay. True, Greece affords a train of lovely dames, In wealth and beauty worthy of our flames: But never from this nobler suit we cease; For wealth and beauty less than virtue please.

To whom the youth: Let tyrants govern with an iron rod, Oppress, destroy, and be the scourge of God; Since he who like a father held his reign, So soon forgot, was just and mild in vain! True, while my friend is grieved, his griefs I share; Yet now the rivals are my smallest care: They for the mighty mischiefs they devise, Ere long shall pay — their forfeit lives the price. But against you, ye Greeks!

Dumb ye all stand, and not one tongue affords His injured prince the little aid of words. While yet he spoke, Leocritus rejoined: Join all your powers? Yet would your powers in vain our strength oppose. Should great Ulysses stern appear in arms, While the bowl circles and the banquet warms; Though to his breast his spouse with transport flies, Torn from her breast, that hour, Ulysses dies.

But hence retreating to your domes repair. To arm the vessel, Mentor! But yet, I trust, the boaster means to stay Safe in the court, nor tempt the watery way. Then, with a rushing sound the assembly bend Diverse their steps: Hear from thy heavens above, O warrior maid! Descend once more, propitious to my aid. Without thy presence, vain is thy command: Greece, and the rival train, thy voice withstand. Were not wise sons descendant of the wise, And did not heroes from brave heroes rise, Vain were my hopes: But since thy veins paternal virtue fires, And all Penelope thy soul inspires, Go, and succeed: And lo, with speed we plough the watery way; My power shall guard thee, and my hand convey: The winged vessel studious I prepare, Through seas and realms companion of thy care.

Thou to the court ascend: Meanwhile the mariners, by my command, Shall speed aboard, a valiant chosen band. Indulge the genial hour, unbend thy soul, Leave thought to age, and drain the flowing bowl. Suffice it to have spent with swift decay The wealth of kings, and made my youth a prey. But now the wise instructions of the sage, And manly thoughts inspired by manly age, Teach me to seek redress for all my woe, Here, or in Pyle — in Pyle, or here, your foe. Deny your vessels, ye deny in vain: A private voyager I pass the main.

Free breathe the winds, and free the billows flow; And where on earth I live, I live your foe. To Pyle or Sparta to demand supplies, Big with revenge, the mighty warrior flies; Or comes from Ephyre with poisons fraught, And kills us all in one tremendous draught! What mighty labours would he then create, To seize his treasures, and divide his state, The royal palace to the queen convey, Or him she blesses in the bridal day!

Meantime the lofty rooms the prince surveys, Where lay the treasures of the Ithacian race: A double strength of bars secured the gates; Fast by the door the wise Euryclea waits; Euryclea, who great Ops! To whom the prince: And foreign lands contain the mighty dead. The watery way ill-fated if thou try, All, all must perish, and by fraud you die! Then stay, my, child! Heaven calls me forth; these counsels are of Heaven.

The matron with uplifted eyes Attests the all-seeing sovereign of the skies. Then studious she prepares the choicest flour, The strength of wheat and wines an ample store. While to the rival train the prince returns, The martial goddess with impatience burns; Like thee, Telemachus, in voice and size, With speed divine from street to street she flies, She bids the mariners prepared to stand, When night descends, embodied on the strand.

Then to Noemon swift she runs, she flies, And asks a bark: Next, to the court, impatient of delay. Swift to the shore they move along the strand; The ready vessel rides, the sailors ready stand. He bids them bring their stores; the attending train Load the tall bark, and launch into the main, The prince and goddess to the stern ascend; To the strong stroke at once the rowers bend. Full from the west she bids fresh breezes blow; The sable billows foam and roar below. And now they ship their oars, and crown with wine The holy goblet to the powers divine: Imploring all the gods that reign above, But chief the blue-eyed progeny of Jove.

Thus all the night they stem the liquid way, And end their voyage with the morning ray. There suppliant to the monarch of the flood, At nine green theatres the Pylians stood, Each held five hundred a deputed train , At each, nine oxen on the sand lay slain. They taste the entrails, and the altars load With smoking thighs, an offering to the god. Full for the port the Ithacensians stand, And furl their sails, and issue on the land. Urge him with truth to frame his fair replies; And sure he will; for wisdom never lies.

For nought unprosperous shall thy ways attend, Born with good omens, and with heaven thy friend. The banquet done, the narrative old man, Thus mild, the pleasing conference began: Oh grace and glory of the Grecian name! If or thy certain eye, or curious ear, Have learnt his fate, the whole dark story clear And, oh! Shall I the long, laborious scene review, And open all the wounds of Greece anew? What toils by sea! How trace the tedious series of our fate? Art thou the son of that illustrious sire? With joy I grasp thee, and with love admire. So like your voices, and your words so wise, Who finds thee younger must consult his eyes.

Thy sire and I were one; nor varied aught In public sentence, or in private thought; Alike to council or the assembly came, With equal souls, and sentiments the same. To these the cause of meeting they explain, And Menelaus moves to cross the main; Not so the king of men: Oh blind to fate! The gods not lightly change their love, or hate.

With ireful taunts each other they oppose, Till in loud tumult all the Greeks arose. Then so Heaven decreed Ulysses first and Neator disagreed! We sought direction of the power divine: The god propitious gave the guiding sign; Through the mid seas he bid our navy steer, And in Euboea shun the woes we fear. The whistling winds already waked the sky; Before the whistling winds the vessels fly, With rapid swiftness cut the liquid way, And reach Gerestus at the point of day.

There hecacombs of bulls, to Neptune slain, High-flaming please the monarch of the main. So fell Aegysthus; and mayest thou, my friend, On whom the virtues of thy sire descend, Make future times thy equal act adore, And be what brave Orestes was before! The prudent youth replied: Just was the vengeance, and to latest days Shall long posterity resound the praise. Some god this arm with equal prowess bless!

And the proud suitors shall its force confess; Injurious men! Say, is the fault, through tame submission, thine? Or leagued against thee, do thy people join, Moved by some oracle, or voice divine? And yet who knows, but ripening lies in fate An hour of vengeance for the afflicted state; When great Ulysses shall suppress these harms, Ulysses singly, or all Greece in arms. Soon should their hopes in humble dust be laid, And long oblivion of the bridal bed. Thus interposed the martial maid divine Forgetful youth!

Death only is the lot which none can miss, And all is possible to Heaven but this.

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The best, the dearest favourite of the sky, Must taste that cup, for man is born to die. Pass we to other subjects; and engage On themes remote the venerable sage Who thrice has seen the perishable kind Of men decay, and through three ages shined Like gods majestic, and like gods in mind ; For much he knows, and just conclusions draws, From various precedents, and various laws. O son of Neleus! Live Menelaus not in Greece? At first, with the worthy shame and decent pride, The royal dame his lawless suit denied.

Then virtue was no more; her guard away, She fell, to lust a voluntary prey. And now the rites discharged, our course we keep Far on the gloomy bosom of the deep: Sailors have an inveterate dislike to young sprigs, who, when placed upon a level with them, assume airs of superiority. By guarding against this, we became great favorites. I must not omit, however, to mention one of the initiatory movements.

While standing at the door, the first evening after our arrival, we overheard the comments made upon ourselves and our mission. They'll be slushin' down the t'gallant mast before long, or I'm out o' my reckoning. With these and other remarks of the kind they amused themselves for some time, when one of the party, a regular old sea-dog, with a tremendous quid of tobacco in his cheek, waddled up to us, and, staring us in the face, exclaimed,.

I say, my lads, don't you. I'm Captain Bill Salt, wot used to larn you Lunars. Don't you know me? B—— is my name, and W—— is my friend's. You was both born to go to sea. Come, let's splice the main brace. I'm agoin' to give these 'ere young gentlemen the first lesson in Lunars. Captain Bill Salt's manner was, to say the least of it, very friendly. We thought it best not to refuse his polite invitation. The sailors followed their comrade, who led the way to a chop-cellar a short distance from the boarding-house. What d'ye say, shipmates," addressing W—— and myself; "close-reef or sea-breeze?

If you ain't sailors, it's the 'fects of eddecation or s'ciety, wot's all the same. Come, here's a toast. The toast was duly honored; and we discovered when we emptied our glasses, that "close-reef". Big-foot Jack, Chaw-o'-tobacco Jim, handsome Tom, Red Sandy, and the rest of our jolly friends, then seated themselves and called for cigars. Captain Bill Salt told us to do likewise; and, taking out his pipe, he soon enveloped himself in a comfortable cloud of smoke. Without waiting for the ceremony of an invitation, he gave vent to the following ditty, a copy of which I afterward procured from him:.

And hear this secret of my-heart: This song elicited the most rapturous applause. Captain Bill then spun us some tough yarns, while the company slipped out one by one. As we were about to leave, the bar-keeper called us aside, and. We accordingly gave him our last cent, and were not a little edified at the cool manner in which Captain Bill Salt witnessed the operation. Though our confidence in that eccentric individual was a little shaken, we took the whole proceeding as a very good joke, and laughed to think how cleverly we had been gulled.

Thus ended our "first lesson in Lunars. Our friend, the fitter, was a most accommodating man. With a delicate appreciation of our pecuniary embarrassments, he paid our board, furnished us with every little luxury we wanted, lent us his pleasure-boat to sail in, told us he would make our expenses all right with the owners, and gave us a great deal of fatherly advice about our conduct at sea.

In addition to all this kindness, he considerately provided us with chests and sea-clothes at a terrible sacrifice, being at least ten per cent. Besides, the mere fact of his crediting total strangers seemed so generous, so confiding, so high-minded! Through the exertions of our excellent friend, the fitter, the owners,. They told us the vessel was well fitted; better, in fact, than any vessel we could find. One of them, an old Quaker, assured us no whaler had ever sailed from New Bedford or Fair Haven as well fitted; he had attended to it all himself and, we might depend upon it, we would live in style.

The captain, we learned from them, was a young man, pretty strict in his discipline, but a fine, generous fellow. He would treat us well, and give us plenty to eat; and, if we made ourselves useful, he would he very kind to us. He was a first-rate whaleman, and no doubt we would make a good voyage, and come home in a year or a year and a half with lots of money due to us.

The vessel was a hundred and forty-seven tons burden, and calculated to hold a thousand barrels of oil. We were to receive the ordinary lay of green hands, being, as we were told, the one hundred, and thirtieth part of the oil taken. There was provision enough on board to last for twenty-seven months, so that, if not successful, there was no danger of our starving. We were to have what clothes we needed out of the slop-chest at the New Bedford prices. The shipping articles were then presented to us, and we signed them without exhibiting any such ungentlemanly want of confidence in the representations of the owners as to read the contents; besides, we were afraid, as they had accepted us so reluctantly, some difficulty might arise by which we would be deprived of the pleas-.

The signing of the articles we regarded as a sort of security. With sapguine hopes and enthusiastic dreams of adventure we bade good-by to our New Bedford friends, and, on the morning of July —, embarked. The styx lay in the middle of the Acoshnet River, opposite the town of New Bedford.

A light breeze slowly wafted us out into Buzzard's Bay. The shipping at the New Bedford wharf became gradually indistinct, and the houses looked misty in the distance. It was a beautiful Sabbath afternoon. The church bells were tolling a melancholy farewell; and I shall never forget the look W —— gave me as he pointed to the receding shores, and observed, in a melancholy tone, "I have unhappy thoughts.

It seems to me those familiar sounds call us back. But we are too late; it is useless to repent now.

Robert Louis Stevenson / G. K. Chesterton

I would have given all I ever hoped to possess to retrace a few hours of my life. Toward evening he captain came on board in a pilot-boat, and took charge of the vessel. I had not seen him before, and of course felt a curiosity to know what sort of a looking man he was. The owners had spoken in such glowing terms of him that, I must confess, he did not altogether realize my expectations.

His personal appearance was any thing but prepossessing. Picture to yourself a man apparently about thirty-five years of age, with a hooked nose, dark crop hair, large black whiskers, round shoulders, cold blue eyes, and a shrewd, repul- sive expression of countenance; of a lean and muscular figure, rather taller than the ordinary standard, with ill-made, wiry limbs, and you have a pretty correct idea of Captain A——. He wore a broad-brimmed Panama hat, turned up at the sides, a green roundabout, a pair of dirty duck pantaloons, very wide at the bottom, and slip-shod shoes, which had evidently done service for two or three voyages.

He walked the quarter-deck with his hands in his pockets, his eyes down; and his lips firmly compressed. Altogether he had a sneaking, hang-dog. When he gave orders, it was in a sharp, harsh voice, with a vulgar, nasal twang, and in such a manner as plainly betokened that he considered us all slaves of the lowest cast, unworthy of the least respect, and himself our august master.

Night closed upon us with rough and cloudy weather. By morning we had a heavy, chopping sea, and began to experience all the horrors of seasickness. The mate, a stout, bluff-looking Englishman, with a bull neck, kept us in continual motion, and gave us plenty of hard work to do, clearing up the decks, bracing the yards, stowing down the loose rubbish, and otherwise making the vessel tidy and ship-shape.

He bellowed forth his orders to the men in the rigging like a roaring lion, yelled and swore at the "green hands" in the most alarming manner, and pulled at the ropes as if determined to tear the whole vessel to pieces. The loungers or "sogers" had no chance at all with him; he actually made them jump as if suddenly galvanized. For the sea-sick he had no sympathy whatever. You'll never get well if you give up to it. Work it off, as I do! For my part, I thought the mate a great monster to talk about sickness, with a face as red as a turey-cock's snout. After a day of horrors such as I had never spent before, we were permitted to go below for the night.

Our condition was not improved by the change. The forecastle was black and slimy with filth, very small, and as hot as an oven. It was filled with a compound of foul air, smoke, sea-chests, soap-kegs, greasy pans, tainted meat, Portuguese ruffians, and sea-sick Americans. The Portuguese were smoking, laughing, chattering, and cursing the green hands who were sick. With groans on one side, and yells, oaths, laughter and smoke on the other, it altogether did not impress W—— and myself as a very pleasant home for the next year or two. We were, indeed, sick and sorry enough, and heartily wished ourselves ashore.

Nothing can be more bewildering to a youth, whose imagination naturally magnifies all the dangers of the deep, than to be roused up in the dead of night, when the ocean is lashed into a fury by a stiff gale, the vessel pitching and laboring, and the officers yelling at the men as if endeavoring to drown the roaring of the elements with loud, fierce imprecations, while thick darkness enshrouds all — darkness so dense, that, but for momentary flashes of lightning, one might fancy chaos had come again.

Such was the novel and startling scene that burst. Sea-sick and harassed after a hard day's work, we had gladly availed ourselves of a few hours' respite from duties so laborious. The mate came to the scuttle, and, with half a dozen tremendous raps, roared at us to bear a hand. Out with you, green hands and all. We won't have any sick aboard here. You didn't come to sea to lay up. No groaning there, or I'll be down after you.

D'ye hear the news down below? There was no refusing so peremptory a command as this, little as we liked it. Without exactly tumbling up , we contrived, with some difficulty, to gain the deck, for the vessel pitched so violently that few of the green hands could keep their feet under them. I shall never forget the bewilderment with which I looked around me. We were in the Gulf stream, enshrouded in darkness and spray.

The sea broke over our bows, and swept the decks with a tremendous roar. Momentary flashes of lightning added to the sublimity of the scene. When I looked over the bulwarks, it seemed to me that the horizon was. I looked aloft, and there the sky was sweeping to and fro in a most unaccountable manner. The vessel went staggering along, creaking, groaning, and thumping its way through the heavy seas. I grasped the first rope I could get hold of, and held on with the tenacity of a drowning man.

The confusion of voices and objects around me, the tremendous seas sweeping over the decks, and the flapping of the sails, impressed me with the belief that we were all about to be lost. I kept my grasp on the rope, thinking it must be fast to something, and, if the ship foundered, I should at least be sure of a piece of the wreck. As for my comrade W—— , I supposed he was still on board, and called for him with all my might, but the wind drove my voice back in my throat. While standing in this unpleasant predicament, the mate came rushing by, shouting to the green hands to "tumble up aloft, and lay out on the yards!

Was the man mad? The very idea seemed preposterous. Presently he came dashing back, thundering forth his orders with the ferocity of a Bengal tiger. Aloft there, before the sails are blown to Halifax! The darkness was so dense that I could scarcely see the ratlins, and it was only by groping my way in the wake of those before me, that I could at all make out where I was going. A few accidental kicks in the face from an awkward fellow who was above me, and a punch or two from another below me, convinced me that I was in company, at all events.

How I contrived to drag myself over the foretop, I do not well remember. By a desperate exertion, however, I succeeded, and holding on to every rope I could get hold of with extraordinary tenacity, I at length found myself on the foot-rope, leaning over the yard, and clinging to one of the reef-points, fully determined not to part company with that in spite of the captain, mate, or whole ship's company. A sailor close by good-naturedly showed me what I was to do, and having knotted my reef-point, I looked down to see what was the prospect of getting on deck again.

The barque was keeled over at an angle of forty-five degrees, plunging madly through the foam, and I could form no idea of the bearings of the deck. All I could see was a long dark object below, half hid-. My right-hand neighbor gave me a hint to get in out of the way, which required no repetition, for I found my situation any thing but pleasant.

By the time I reached the foretop my head was pretty well battered, and my hands were woefully skinned and bruised, the sailors having made free use of me to acelerate their downward progress. I found, on gaining the forecastle, that my friend W—— had passed throngh the ordeal in safety. We said nothing, but looked our unqualified disapprobation of such a life. Thee Portuguese, to make matters still worse, laughed heartily at the sorry figure we cut, and told us all this "was nothing to what we'd see yet. Next day the green hands, including my friend and myself, looked haggard enough. We were all dreadfully sea-sick.

Our fare was by no means inviting under such circumstances. For breakfast we had an abominable compound of water, some molasses, and something dignified by the name of coffee, with hard biscuit and watery potatoes; for dinner pork, salt beef, and potatoes; and for supper, a repetition of the biscuit and potatoes, with boiled weeds and molasses as a substitute for tea and sugar. It was perfectly amazing the voracity with which the Portuguese devoured this fare.

Had they whetted their appetites for months on raw corn they could not have swallowed such food as was now before them with more relish. I must confess, their digest-. It made me despair to see them eat. I would have given all I expected to make during the voyage to possess their swinish relish for food. However, before the expiration of two months, I had reason to change my tune.

I would have given twice as much to get rid of my appetite! We had on board a Yankee boy, who afforded much amusement to the crew. MacF——, or, as he was called for shortness, Mack, was a down-east chap from "away up Maine," somewhere in the neighborhood of sunrise.

Had Nature been in her most whimsical mood, she could not have formed a greater curiosity than Mack, in every respect. He was an odd specimen of the "live Yankee. Mack, notwithstanding these freaks of Nature, was a general favorite. Nothing could ruffle his good humor. His awkwardness and quaint wit were irresistible. I doubt if Yankee Hill or Dan Marble ever had a better model. Mack was woefully sea-sick. The poor fellow's face was the very picture of sorrow.

His skin, naturally dark, had assumed a greenish hue, and his lank cheeks and protruded lips formed a most pathetic picture of rueful retrospection. Sick as I was my-. From the bottom of my heart I sympathized with him as he groaned, "Dod burn the thing! I wouldn't grudge twenty dollars if I was at hum milkin' the keows. Dod blame the luck! I wish I hadn't never seen a drop on't. I came because I was a dod-burned fool; an' I s'pose you hadn't no better. Among the foremast hands was a man from Charleston, South Carolina, by the name of Smith.

According to his own representation, he had served as steward in some of the schooners running from Charleston to New York. He professed to be well acquainted with ship duties, and his name was down on the papers as ordinary seaman. A boy from Fall River, who had shipped as steward, was so sea-sick as to be unable to do duty. The captain sent the mate forward to procure a temporary substitute from among the crew. Smith was selected, and ordered aft to act as steward until the recovery of the boy.

He resolutely refused to act in that capacity, stating that he had shipped as an ordinary seaman, and would remain before the mast. The mate, upon reporting his refusal, was sent forward to make him turn out at all hazards. Smith was very ill at the. No threats, however, had any effect upon him.

He steadily refused to act as steward, and stated, moreove that he was unable to do duty of any kind, and would not be forced on deck until sufficiently recovered from his illness. The captain then came forward to the scuttle, and called upon him, in a peremptory voice, to turn out. I'll soon make you! I'm a Charleston man, myself! Let me go; let me go, sir! I'll let you know what I am; I'll let you know that I'm captain of this ship!

Faint and haggard with sickness, the offender commenced pleading for mercy. Smith staggered aft, rubbing his throat, and crying with pain. From that time forth he was the officers' dog. He had earned a bad name for himself, and he kept it during the remainder of his stay on board the vessel. This was the commencement of trouble. It was deemed an appropriate occasion to "lay down the law.

The captain deliberately stalked the quarter-deck, exulting in the "pomp and circumstance" of his high and responsible position. Every step he took be spoke the internal workings of a man swelling with authority. I stand before you arrayed in a halo of glory. I am commander of the great barque styx! Look upon me, all ye who have eyes to see, and tremble, all ye who have ears to hear! One of the officers replied in the affirmative. The scene was at once grotesque and impressive.

Fourteen men, comprising he whole crew, were huddled together in the waist, at the starboard gangway. Of these four were Portuguese, two Irish, and eight Americans; and certainly a more uncouth-looking set, including my friend and myself, never met in one group. The Portuguese wore sennet hats with sugar-loaf crowns, striped bed-ticking pantaloons patched with duck, blue shirts, and knives and belts. They were all barefooted, and their hands and faces smeared with tar. On their chins they wore black, matted beards, which had apparently never been combed.

The color of their skin was a dark, greenish-brown, if the reader can imagine such a color, and was calculated to create the impression that they never made use of soap and water. The variety of dress in which the rest of the crew were habited was fully as striking as that of the Portuguese.

Some wore Scotch caps, duck trowsers, red shirts, and big horse-leather boots; others, tarpaulin hats, Guernsey frocks, tight-fitting cloth pantaloons, and red neckerchiefs. Several were bareheaded and barefooted; having lost, their hats and shoes in the late gale. All the green hands, which included most of the Americans and the two Irishmen, were still cadaverous and ghastly after their sea-sickness, and not more than two had yet entirely "squared ac-.

Thus situated, and thus equipped for sea life, we stood gaping at the captain in silent admiration. The mates and boat-steerers, consisting of the chief mate, an Englishman, the second mate, an American, two Portuguese boat-steerers, and an American of the same grade, stood near the mainmast, looking on with the air of men who were used to such things, and took no particular interest in them.

The captain, after considerable deliberation, and a great show of contempt toward every body within range of his visual rays, then addressed is in a sharp nasal voice, fixing his eyes upon each man alternately. I had listened to many speeches, but never to one more pointed than this. No doubt he will be surprised to find it literally reported:.

If you don't, I'll tell you. You came to make a voyage, and I intend you shall make one. We didn't ship you. No, no, that ain't what we shipped you for, by a grand sight. If you think it is, you'll find yourselves mistaken. You will that — some , I guess. Come aft to me when you have any quarrels, and I'll settle 'em. I'll do the quarreling for you — I will. I don't want to hear nobody swear. It's a bad practice — an infernal bad one. It breeds ill will, and don't do no kind o' good. If I catch any one at it, damme, I'll flog him, that's all. When it's your watch on deck, you must stay on deck, and work, if there's work to be done.

I won't have no skulking. If I see sogers here, I'll soger 'em with a rope's end. Any of you that I catch below, except in cases of sickness, or when it's your watch below; shall stay on deck and work till I think proper to stop you. I'll give you vittles if you work; if you don't work, you may starve.

You'd better not, I reckon. You'll find it to your interest to pay attention to what I say. I ain't a man that's going to be trifled with. No, I ain't — not myself, I ain't! The officers will all treat you well, and I intend you shall do as they order you.

If you don't, I'll see about it. Go for'ed, where you belong! Had the captain made good all his promises, we would have had no just cause for complaint; but we soon discovered that his speech was merely designed to intimidate us. From that time forth we had the poorest fare, and in the scantiest quantities. The owners had given us positive assurance that there never had sailed from that port a vessel better fitted in every respect.

Books by Rob Heinze

For their misrepresentations, we. A month's trial at it would make them exercise more humanity toward their fellow-creatures. Next in the routine of business was the choosing of watches. We were all called to the waist that evening, and examined like a parcel of bullocks about to be butchered. The mate and second mate made the selections. Among others, I was chosen for the larboard or mate's watch, and my friend for the starboard or second mate's watch.

The watch on deck was then set to work on the whaling gear. Whenever the weather was fine we lowered the boats and practiced at pulling, backing, and all the maneuvers necessary in the capture of a whale. All this severe labor was very hard upon those who had not been accustomed to great physical exertion. Nothing of interest transpired after the difficulty with Smith, till. About two o'clock I was roused by the steward, who informed me that W—— had suddenly fallen upon the deck in a fit of convulsions. I immediately sprang up the ladder and ran aft.

Language can not depict, the shocking spectacle that met my eyes. There was my bosom friend, sitting up against one of the scuttle-butts, his shirt open, his hat lying on the deck, and his eyes ready to start from their sockets. The captain stood by him, holding him by the hand. I felt sick and giddy, when W—— stared at me with the vacant gaze of an idiot. Bursting into a wild laugh, he attempted to spring up. It was a fearful laugh — a laugh that rang like a death-knell in my ears. I grasped him by the hand; the terrible thought struck me that he had gone mad!

His voice was wild and unnatural, and his whole appearance awful in the extreme. Gazing vacantly in my face, he burst into tears, and sobbed as if his heart would break. I called him by name; I implored. Without noticing my appeals, he turned to the captain and inquired my name. Upon receiving an answer, he begged me, in the most piteous tones, to convey a message home to his mother, that he never should see her again. Am I never to see home again? I have kind, good parents; tell them I died thinking of them. It is horrible — horrible to be thrown overboard in a sack! No effort to console him had the slightest effect.

The fearful idea that he was about to be devoured by the sharks seemed to drive him mad. He raved of strange things which he had seen at the masthead; talked incoherently of birds with beautiful plumage, curiously-formed fishes, and called upon us wildly to save him from the sharks. It was a scene of horror that I shall never forget. When he became somewhat composed, one of the hands, assisted by myself, carried him forward to the forecastle, and laid him in his berth.

For three hours he lay in a trance, with his eyes wide open, not moving a muscle. He looked like one that was dead. It appeared, from the statements of the watch on deck, that he had just come down from the masthead, where the rays of the sun poured down with an intense heat. On reaching the deck, he walked aft toward the captain, who was parading the quarter-deck. After passing the break of the deck he. From all these circumstances, and from the fact that he was not subject to fits, it was quite evident that it was a sunstroke.

He had suffered severely from sea-sickness, and was greatly debilitated. A burning sun beating down upon his head for two hours could very easily have produced the terrible effects described. I thought it very hard that a man, really suffering from illness, should be compelled by the captain to stand two hours a day at the mast-head.

It was, in this case at least, little better than murder. W—— never recovered from the effects of this fearful affliction. Better, far better would it have been for him, had he fallen from his post and found a watery grave. There are things connected with this event that weigh heavily upon my heart; things not rudely to be touched — affections tried and hearts broken. It is needless to dwell upon his sufferings during the remainder of his stay on board the ship. The Portuguese were mere brutes, and, with two or three exceptions, the rest of the crew were little better.

Sympathy for the sick was a weakness unknown to them. No temptation mould induce them to refrain from smoking, swearing, and blackguarding. I attempted to purchase peace by giving them my clothes, but my exertions were of no avail. I saw that it was useless to expostulate, and finding that the noise increased W——'s malady, I appealed to the captain to exert his influence over them.

The Portuguese, as well as the Americans, were at liberty to do as they pleased in it. He had no control over them after they went below. W—— had no business coming to sea to get sick, and be a trouble to all on board. He had seen such fellows before, and would not put himself out of his way to pamper to their wants. Now that he was in a scrape, let him make the best of it, and not trouble folks with his complaints. If he wanted medicine, he might have it, and that was all that could be done for him.

Where such an example was set by the captain, I could not expect the crew to do otherwise than follow it. The captain gave him to understand that he should not leave the vessel the whole voyage; he might die in the forecastle, for what he cared. During all this time, my unfortunate comrade had nothing to eat but hard biscuit, and occasionally, a piece of butter about the size of a dollar; so reduced was he that nothing else allowed the crew would remain on his stomach.

The hot, close atmosphere of the forecastle, rendered still more suffocating by the fumes of old pipes and bad cigars, was not very well calculated to promote his recovery. In wet weather, when most of the hands were below, cursing, smoking, singing, and spinning yarns, it was a perfect Bedlam.

Think of three or four Portuguese, a couple of Irishmen, and five or six rough Americans, in a hole about sixteen feet wide, and as many, perhaps, from the bulk-heads to the fore-peak; so low that a full-grown person could not stand upright in it, and so wedged up with rubbish as to leave scarcely room for a foothold. It contained twelve small berths, and with fourteen chests in the little area around the ladder, seldom admitted of being cleaned. In warm weather it was insufferably close. It would seem like exaggeration to say, that I have seen in Kentucky pig-sties not half so filthy, and in every respect preferable to this miserable hole: In this loathsome den, the Portuguese were in their element, revelling in filth, beating harsh discord on an old viola , jabbering in their native language, smoking, cursing, and blackguarding.

Their chief recreation, however, was quarreling, at which they were incessantly engaged. Nor was it confined to week-days, for not the slightest regard was paid to the Sabbath. The most horrible profanity was indulged in, and to an excess that was truly revolting. They did not seem aware even of the existence of a Supreme Being. And yet these Christians chattered a paternoster over their beads every night! I asked Enos, the most intelligent of them, if he had ever read a book called the Bible.

When Sunday come, dey go to chapel. In de morning dey pray, in the evening dey dance and play cards; dey have fandango. Old padre say dat bad; we say, here ten cent. Den padre laugh and say no more 'bout it. As soon as we arrived on the western whaling ground, boat watches were set. In a small vessel like the styx, with three boats, besides a spare boat aft, there are usually three watches, consisting of the larboard, starboard, and waist boat's crew.

Each watch is under the command of a boat-steerer after sail is shortened, which is generally about sundown. In our watches there were four men, and the boat-steerer. The mate and second mate sleep all night, and remain on duty all day. The alternate hours of duty and rest with the crew are arranged thus: Say the larboard and starboard boat's crews go below after sail is taken- in; the waist boat's crew remains on deck till ten o'clock, when it is relieved by the larboard boat's crew, and turns in till the hands are called in the morning.

The watch then on deck is relieved at one by the starboard boat's crew, which. The starboard watch then has forenoon watch below, the larboard the afternoon, and the waist boat's crew all day on deck. In making a passage, there are but two watches, the larboard and starboard, which are headed by the first and second mate, who take the same hours of rest allowed the crew. So much of my time was taken up at the helm and mast-head, that I had but few hours every day to devote to my unfortunate friend, who could look to me alone for aid. Each day he became more exhausted from want of proper nourishment and care.

I took my place, for the first time, at the aft oar in the waist boat. After rowing about two miles, we came up with the school. We made several unsuccessful attempts to get a dart at them, and continued the chase for six or eight hours under a burning sun. I was pretty well tired of my oar by the time we turned toward the vessel. The Portuguese consoled me with the remark, that I bad not begun to see "a hard pull yet," and enjoyed my cadaverous looks with great satisfaction. From seven till nine o'clock we usually spent on deck, amusing ourselves at the various pastimes common among sailors.

When the weather permitted, we had dancing, singing, and spinning yarns. The Portuguese had a guitar, or viola, as they called it, with wire strings, upon which they produced two or three melancholy minors, accompanying their performance with a harsh, unmusical chant. Four of them formed couples, and while one of the by-standers played the guitar, those forming the set moved backward and forward like hyenas in a cage, pawing the deck with their feet, and using their fingers by way of castanets; all chanting, in a whining tone, two or three monotonous notes, which they repeated till it became fairly distracting.

While the Portuguese amused themselves in this way, the American portion of the crew had songs, yarns, and dances after their own fashion. As all human enjoyments are comparative, so many an hour of real pleasure was thus passed on board the styx by myself and others, who had seen worse times since we had left New Bedford. I alluded , in the preceding chapter, to the difficulty with Smith as the beginning of trouble on board. Soon after that a disease of long standing attacked him, and confined him to the forecastle for some time.

He was abused by the Portuguese, and hazed by the officers for not getting well. The captain, disappointed in procuring oil, became so morose that, for days in succession, he spoke not a kind word to any of the crew. He swore, one morning, that if Smith would not come on deck and go to work, he'd drag him out of the forecastle. Between the abuse of the Portuguese on the one hand, and threats on the other, Smith thought it best to attempt to go on duty; and the same evening he crawled up the ladder, and staggered aft, so weak that he could scarcely walk. In all vessels the invalids, who are able to do any thing, take the helm, which was the duty assigned to this man.

The captain was sitting on the gunwale of the larboard boat, close by. It should be remarked that he had an inveterate ill will against Smith ever since the. Weak and nervous from the effects of his disease, the poor fellow continued to luff, muttering that she was coming up. Now, I tell you to meet her. I'll teach you to answer! I'll flog the stubbornness out of you! You hear well enough; but it's your stubbornness! With that the captain sprang down on deck, and, rushing upon Smith, struck him several times across the face with his open hand. Haggard and faint, the poor wretch clung to the wheel to avoid falling.

I'll have you answer me when I speak to you. Now, when I tell you to do a thing, you'll do it;" and, with other polished expressions of the kind, he walked to and fro on the quarter-deck, chafing with rage. There was no answering such an accusation as this; for, if the captain says black is white, it must be so. I tell you, you lie! Don't you lie to me! If I catch you lying, I'll warm you!

You'll be larning me the compass next! I'll warm your back! No doubt this treatment was intended to impress the man at the wheel as well as the spectators with. To me, however, there was something horribly brutal in it. I vowed in my heart he should be sorry for such cowardly conduct toward one who was unable to resent it. The time, I hoped, would come when I would have it in my power to show him that even a foremast hand may have feeling, and is not to be abused with impunity. This was but an everyday incident, after all. It may be that I have wasted time in describing it.

I know there are some whose nicer feelings will revolt at such scenes. It should be borne in mind, however, that incidents of this kind form a great part of a sailor's life. To some readers, who derive their ideas of things aboard ship from sea novels, in which the valor of the heroes consists in a heroic contempt of all authority, and a superabundance of impertinence, it may seem that to submit tamely to the over-bearing bullying of a brute, without retort or resentment, shows a want of manly spirit.

I would ask, what is to be done in such cases? A man has no right to strike his commander, however well justified he may be in so doing, according to our notions of right and wrong. Nor must he use language that can be termed insolent or mutinous. This might do ashore, where one man can meet another upon equal terms; but it can not be carried out at sea. If the captain can not manage Jack, the officers are ready to lend their aid; and, to my thinking, it would be.

Until masters are taught, by the severest punishment, that their little brief authority does not justify them in acts of tyranny and cruelty, poor Jack must quietly submit to all his woes! At 6 o'clock P. The larboard and starboard boats, headed by the captain and the mate, were lowered. All hands set to work rigging up the cutting tackle, and getting the try-works ready. The appearance of this, our first whale, was hailed by a general cheer. After the watches were set, and the decks cleared, I had an opportunity of examining our prize. It was about thirty-five feet in length, of a rather light color, and had a strong, disagreeable smell of oil.

Though considered a very small whale, its proportions seemed gigantic enough to me. It was surrounded by sharks eagerly awaiting their prey. I shall take pains to make my information on this subject as intelligible as possible to the "unlearned" landsman, taking it for granted he is not versed in the mysteries of the craft. A strap, or piece of tarred rope, fastened to the pole and firmly woven over the socket, keeps them together, and forms a loop to which the tub-line is attached.

Product details

The harpoon is the first instrument made use of in the capture of a whale. Instances, however, have occurred, in which whales have been taken by the skillful thrusts of a lance. In ordinary cases, only one harpoon is made use of, but should it "draw," or the whale prove difficult to manage, it is not unusual to dart three or four. Each boat is provided with that number. The head of the harpoon, when not in immediate use, is preserved from rust by a wooden cover, the inside of which is formed to fit it closely.

It is the province of the boat-steerer to keep the whaling gear in good order, and he takes particular pride in the sharpness and polish of his "irons. The first fast harpoon, if still attached to the line in the boat, forms an indisputable right to the whole whale; but if the line be cut or broken, and the last save the loose whale, then the oil is equally shared, or the claimant yields his right by courtesy, or for a suitable consideration.

The handle is perfectly straight and handsomely rounded, and varies from five to seven feet in length. A small line, about the thickness of a ratlin, is attached to it, for the purpose of drawing it back to the boat after a "dart" The lance is made use of to dispatch the whale, after having first secured him with the harpoon. When the whale becomes sufficiently quiet from exhaustion caused by exertion or loss of blood, the boat from which the harpoon has been darted draws up by the line, and the chief officer in command exchanges places with the harpooneer, being of a higher grade, and presumed to be more experienced in the business, and begins the responsible task of lancing.

This is the most dangerous part of the contest. It is often difficult to get the boat in a favorable position, and a slight error of judgment, or a want of skill in the officer, may occasion the loss of the whole boat's crew. Two or three skillful darts. To strike a whale in the "life," or vitals, the first dart, is the ambition of all good whalemen. Each boat is provided with a spade, though it does not immediately come into requisition. It is employed to cut holes in the blubber after the capture of the whale, in which to fasten the tow-rope, or to plant the "whift," or small flag, by which the position of the dead whale may be ascertained, in case the boat puts off after others in the school.

When the lines of two or more boats become entangled out of the reach of the hatchet, the spade is sometimes used to cut away. It is also convenient in case the sharks become troublesome. On board the ship it is made use of to cut the blubber from the carcass of the whale; and, in the hold blubber-room, spades having short shafts. In detaching the meat from the blubber, or making "lippers" to clean the decks, they come in play. Mincers consider themselves perfect in their branch of the busi-.

In connection with the mincing knife should be mentioned the "mincing horse," which is simply a board about three feet long and ten inches wide, fastened to the bulwarks, and supported by a leg; upon this "horse" the blubber is laid for the knife. A large tub in front of the mincer, and under the horse, receives the minced blubber.

After the whale has been fastened to by the harpoon, the drug is thrown overboard, secured to the whale-line, so as to impede his progress and tire him down. The slightest tangle or. Great care is, therefore, observed in making each layer perfectly smooth, so that it may have a free run. These are the principal implements employed in the process of capturing, cutting in, and trying out the sperm whale. It is hardly necessary to go into dry details at greater length; for were I to undertake a description of every thing pertaining to whaling, there is no telling where it would end.

I was much amused at the remarks of the "downeaster," suggested by the novel appearance of our first whale. I observed him, as he leaned over the monkey-rail, gazing steadfastly at the whale, while he muttered something to himself which I could not hear. They ain't got fish like that up the Kennebeck. I rayther calculate they are, myself.

Whales has fins, so has fish; whales has slick skins, so has fish; whales has tails, so has fish; whales ain't got scales on 'em, neither has catfish, nor eels, nor tadpoles, nor frogs, nor horse-leeches. I conclude, then, whales is fish. Every body had oughter call 'em so. Nine out of ten doos call 'em fish. If whales live on small fish, they'd drive a smashin' business up the Kennebeck. I never see none up thar'. If I was a whale, I'd try them diggins. There ain't better fodder for whales no whar'.

This may be a good place, for all I know; but it looks dreadful blue and lonesome. I'd want to be in fresh water, if I was a whale; and then, if I wanted to season the vittles Natur' gave me, I'd pile the salt on rayther more moderate. I'd salt 'em to suit me. I don't like to be forced to eat salt vittles now, and I ain't a whale. I've a bad opinion of 'em myself. I don't like the looks of 'em, no how.

I'd rayther let 'em be, and do business on a smaller scale. Folks that doos business on a small scale ain't so likely to git bu'st. I like fishin' as well as any body; but catchin' of whales is a leetle too extensive.

ETCHINGS OF A WHALING CRUISE,

It's orfully alarmin' work. I don't want to be swallered jest yet; not in the whalin' line, I don't! At daylight next morning all hands were called, and set to work upon the whale. A brief description of the process of procuring the oil may not be. The blubber varies from four to ten inches in thickness.

It is cut from the whale in layers about three feet wide, which run from the head to the flukes, in a spiral form. After the blubber and flukes are hoisted on board with a large tackle attached to a pendant in the main-top, the boat-steerers cut them in sizes sufficiently small to fit snugly in the blubber-room, an, apartment in the main hold. The try-works are then cleaned out, and got in readiness for boiling. Two or three hands are stationed in the blubber-room with short spades, whose duty it is to cut up the large pieces of blubber called blanket pieces into blocks or pieces about a foot and a half long and six inches wide.

The blubber is then minced into thin slices, and cast into the boilers; a fire started, and the first batch of oil obtained: The hot oil is strained into a large copper cooler, where it is permitted to settle till the boilers are again ready to be emptied. It is then strained into casks, and kept on deck till quite cool, when it is stowed down in the casks in the hold by means of a hose. A "trying out" scene is the most stirring part of the whaling business, and certainly the most disagreeable. The try-works are usually situated between the fore-mast and the main hatch.

In small vessels they contain two or three large pots, imbedded in brick. A few barrels of oil from the whale's case, or head, are bailed into the pots before com-. Two men are standing by the mincing horse, one slicing up the blubber, and the other passing horse pieces from a tub, into which they are thrown by a third hand, who receives them from the hold. One of the boat-steerers stands in front of the lee pot, pitching the minced blubber into the pots with a fork. Another is stirring up the oil, and throwing the scraps into a wooden strainer.

We will now imagine the works in full operation at night. Dense clouds of lurid smoke are curling up to the tops, shrouding the rigging from the view. The oil is hissing in the try-pots. Half a dozen of the crew are sitting on the windlass, their rough,. The cooper and one of the mates are raking up the fires with long bars of wood or iron. The decks, bulwarks, railing, try-works, and windlass are covered with oil and slime of black-skin, glistering with the red glare from the try-works. Slowly and doggedly the vessel is pitching her way through the rough seas, looking as if en- veloped in flames.

By-and-by the captain comes up from the cabin to see how things are progressing. He peeps into the pots, and observes, in a discontented tone, "Why don't you keep that 'ere oil stirred? It's all getting black. Make Bible leaves of 'em. Give these fellows something to do. We can't have idlers about now. Having delivered himself of these sentiments, he goes back to his snug nest in the cabin. About the middle of the watch they get up the bread kid, and, after dipping a few biscuit in salt water, heave them into a strainer, and boil them in the oil.

It is difficult to form any idea. Sometimes, when on friendly terms with the steward, they make fritters of the brains of the whale mixed with flour, and cook them in the oil. These are considered a most sumptuous delicacy. Certain portions of the whale's flesh are also eaten with relish, though, to my thinking, not a very great luxury, being coarse and strong. Mixed with potatoes, however, like "porpoise balls," they answer very well for variety.

A good appetite makes almost any kind of food palatable. I have eaten whale-flesh at sea with as much relish as I ever ate roast-beef ashore. A trying-out scene has something peculiarly wild and savage in it; a kind of indescribable uncouthness, which renders it difficult to describe with any thing like accuracy. There is a murderous appearance about the blood-stained decks, and the huge masses of flesh and blubber lying here and there, and a ferocity in the looks of the men, heightened by the red, fierce glare of the fires, which inspire in the mind of the novice feelings of mingled disgust and awe.

But one soon becomes accustomed to such scenes, and regards them with the indifference of a veteran in the field of battle. I know of nothing to which this part of the whaling business can be more appropriately compared than to Dante's pictures of the infernal regions. It requires but little stretch of the imagination to suppose the smoke, the hissing boilers, the savage-looking crew, and the waves of flame that. Our "down-easter," who always had something characteristic to say of every thing that fell under his observation, very sagely remarked on one occasion, when nearly suffocated with smoke, that "if this warn't h—l on a small scale, he didn't know what to call it.

Of the unpleasant effects of the smoke I scarcely know how any idea can be formed, unless the curious inquirer choose to hold his nose over the smoking wick of a sperm oil lamp, and fancy the disagreeable experiment magnified a hundred thousand fold. Such is the romance of life in the whale fishery. I have thus endeavored to describe a trying-out scene; and I hope, with the aid of a drawing taken on the spot, my hasty sketch will not be altogether unintelligible. We saw, during our cruise on the western ground, great numbers of black-fish, grampus, porpoises, and jumpers; and caught in abundance dolphins, albacore, bonitos, and skip-jacks, which are all dry, and not to be compared with bay-fish.

During the day it became more distinct, and toward evening could be seen from the deck, bearing west-northwest. Pico, at this distance, has much the appearance of Teneriffe. The naked eye could scarcely distinguish the peak from the clouds on the horizon at so great a distance; but I was told that Pico could be seen, on a clear day, at the distance of a hundred and twenty miles. It resembles, when first in sight, a dark blue cloud, the top of which is distinctly marked, while the base is lost in clouds of a lighter cast, mingling with the haze on the horizon.

Fayal, another of the Azores, lying to the northward of Pico, within about seven miles, was not visible at so great a distance. On Sunday, 11th of September, we made the island of Terceira, the largest of the Azores. The wind being light, we did not approach near enough to see the houses and farms until next day, when we ran under the lee coast to avoid an impending gale.

Terceira is a remarkably picturesque island, beautifully laid out in farms, which, at this season of the year, have a rich golden hue that bespeaks abundant crops. The coast is broken and rugged, and in many places so steep as to preclude the possibility of ascent. Part of the island seems to have been ingulfed by an earthquake, which accounts for the rugged appearance of the coast.

It is visited at certain seasons of the year by heavy gales and rains, especially in October and November, when there is.