My father’s occupation was that of valet de chambre to Lord William Fitzroy, son of the Duke of Grafton. My recollections concerning him are few and indistinct, as he died while I was yet scarcely three years old. One little incident alone reminds me of wearing a mourning dress as a memento4 of sorrow for his death. Returning from the parish church in Walthamstow, I observed the larger boys amusing themselves by swinging across the rails of the fences; endeavoring to join in their amusement, my hands slipped, and falling into a muddy ditch, I nearly finished my course, ere it was well begun, by a violent death. A benevolent5 stranger, however, rescued me, and once safe, my grief for the sad condition of my little black frock was excessive and inconsolable. A trifling6 cause for sorrow, to be sure, yet men and women often grieve for causes equally contemptible7.
Although my personal remembrances of my father’s death are so indistinct, yet the frequent mention made of him by my mother, has left the pleasing impression on my mind that he died a Christian8. “I have thought of my numerous sins, but God has forgiven them all. Be not troubled, for the Lord will provide for you and your children. You need not fear to leave me, for I am not alone; God is with me, though you are out of the room,” were among his dying expressions; when, after fourteen months endurance of the pains which accompany a slow consumption, he approached “that bourne from which no traveller returns.” I expect to find my honored father in heaven.
Wanstead, in Essex, about seven miles from the great metropolis9 of England, was the town, and 1798 the year, of my birth. Were it necessary to designate the place more particularly, it might be said that the part of Wanstead where I first struggled into being, was called Nightingale Place; a most musical name, conferred in honor of the nightingales which abounded11 in the vicinity.
Two years subsequently to my father’s demise12, my mother became an inmate13 of the family of Lady Francis Spencer, daughter of the Duke of Grafton, and wife of Lord Spencer. As a consequence of this event, I was deprived of a mother’s care and consigned14 to the charge of my aunt Turner, whose family amounted to the very respectable number of twenty-two sons and two daughters. The transfer of a child from the care of its parent to that of another person, may appear, at first sight, to be a very unimportant incident; but trifling as it seems, it often exerts an influence which very materially changes the destiny of the child: it was so in my case. Most of my cousins were sailors, and some of them were constantly returning home, bringing, with true sailors’ munificence15, the pleasing and curious productions of distant climes as presents to their parents and friends; then, seated round the bright hearth-side, they used to tell of wild adventures and hair-breadth escapes, spinning out the winter evening’s tale to the infinite delight of their willing listeners. Poor fellows! three of them died at sea; two more, John and Richard, perished in the ill-fated Blenheim, a seventy-four gun ship of the British navy, which went down off the Cape16 of Good Hope, with seven hundred as brave men on board as ever trod a plank17. Notwithstanding these sad recollections, and[9] though none perceived it, my three years’ residence among these “sailors bold” decided18 the nature of my future calling; it captivated my imagination and begat a curiosity, which ultimately led me to make my “home upon the bounding deep.”
An orphan19 is ever exposed to changes. The loss of either parent calls for a degree of sympathy and kindness from others, which they are rarely willing to expend20 except on their own. Such is the almost universal selfishness of human nature. My experience affords a verification of the truthfulness21 of the remark. For some cause or other, it became inconvenient22 for me to remain with my kind aunt Turner, and my next home was with a widowed aunt, at Wanstead, where I did not meet with the same kindness of treatment. The breaking of a cup, or any of the thousand-and-one offences found in the list of juvenile23 defects, was sure to bring upon me the infliction24 of the rod; and, what was equally painful, my most economical aunt exacted the full payment for all these losses from the little pocket money I obtained by holding a horse, running errands, or as new-year and Christmas presents; thus gratifying her temper and her covetousness25 at once, besides embittering26, to some extent, the boyish hours of my unfortunate self.
There is no evil in the management of children to be more deprecated than that species of treatment which tends to destroy their happiness. Correction for obvious faults, in a proper manner, is essential to their proper moral training; but a habit of incessantly27 scolding them for every little accident or offence, only serves to excite the growth of evil passions and to make them dislike their home; things to be avoided as much as Scylla and Charybdis by the careful mariner28. The influence of such mal-treatment follows the child through life, like an evil genius, materially affecting his views of life and the temper of his mind. For aught that now occurs to me, but for this unkindness, my early predilection29 for the sea would have died within me; while, as it was, I panted to enjoy the freedom my fancy painted in its pictures of sailor life. To add to my sorrows, my mother removed my sister, who had been my cheerful companion and true friend, to a lady’s school at Woodstock, in Oxfordshire, for the twofold purpose of affording her greater literary advantages, and of being able to see her more frequently.
Several incidents occurred during my abode30 here, which tended to increase my growing desire. A smart, active sailor, over six feet in height, and well-proportioned, one day presented himself at my aunt’s door. He told us he had been to America, where he had seen a young man named George Turner, who was her nephew and my cousin. He proceeded to tell many fine stories about him, and at last inquired if she should not like to see him, and if she should know him.
“I don’t know as I should,” said my aunt, “he has been away so long.”
“Well, then,” replied he, “I am George Turner!”
This fine, bold seaman31, then, was my own cousin, son to my aunt Turner; he had been eleven years at sea, and, after visiting his parents, took this method of surprising his aunt. Most likely he has made this adventure the subject of many a forecastle yarn32 since then. While he remained he was so jolly, so liberal, and so full of pleasant stories, that I began to feel quite sure that sailors were noble fellows.
We were also favored with a visit from an uncle, then visiting Europe from the West Indies. He was one of two brothers, who were educated at Greenwich for the navy. One of them had entered the British navy, and by dint33 of merit and hard service rose to the possession of a commission in the service, but ultimately perished at sea. This one had chosen the merchant service, but afterwards settled at Antigua. He took me with him to London, and carried me over the West India docks; he being well acquainted with many of the captains, they treated me with playful attention, inquiring if I did not wish to be a cabin-boy, and the like. When I returned to Wanstead, it was with a stronger desire than ever to be a sailor. My uncle went to Trinidad, and died shortly after.
A very pleasant piece of intelligence greeted me soon after these incidents; it was nothing less than my removal from the care of my unkind aunt to the roof of my mother. Weary of her widowhood, she had again become a wife. My new parent was a widower34 with one son; a carpenter by occupation, in the employ of the Duke of Marlborough. Great was my joy when this fact was communicated to my young mind. I hailed it as a deliverance from bondage35, and with beaming eyes and cheerful face hurried to bid adieu to my classmates in the day and in the Sunday school—a sad proof of the unfitness of my aunt for her task; since a child properly treated, will love its home too well to quit it without a tear; and if parents and guardians36 wish to prevent their children from being wanderers and stragglers through the wide world, let me bid them exert the utmost effort to make their home pleasant. Throw a charm round it, make it enchanted37 ground, cause it to become, in the language of a living poet,
“The fairy ring of bliss”
and then your children will love it too well to wander.
But I was now about to leave Wanstead, and, although delighted to be rid of the surveillance of a cross old relation, there were some things which threw an air of sadness occasionally over my mind. There were many pleasant associations connected with the place; its beautiful park, with herds38 of timid deer grazing under its tall oaks, upon whose green old heads the sun had shone for centuries; the venerable mansion39, seated like a queen amid the sylvan40 scene; the old parish church, with its gorgeously painted windows, to which I had often walked on the Sabbath with my fellow-scholars in the Sabbath school, and beside whose deep-toned organ I had sat listening to the learned priest; the annual hunt at Easter, in which I had often joined the crew of idle lads that gave chase to the distracted deer; and the pleasant walks, made cheerful by the songs of innumerable birds, in Epping forest, were all to be left—perhaps forever. This thought made me somewhat sad, but it was swallowed up in the joy I felt when my mother appeared to conduct me to Bladen, some sixty miles from London, which was the place of her abode since her marriage.
Behold41 me then, gentle reader, seated with my mother on the outside of a stage-coach, with some ten fellow-passengers. The stage-coach of England is quite a different vehicle from the carriage known by that name in America. True, it is drawn42 by four horses, and it runs on four wheels, but here the likeness43 ends; instead of being built to carry twelve persons inside, it carries but six, while outside it has seats for twelve. Three or four passengers ride very comfortably behind, in what is called the basket, which is the territory of the guard, as the boot before is of the coachman. All mail coaches, and all others travelling in the night, carry a guard, or an armed man, for the purpose of protecting the coach from the attacks of footpads or highway robbers.
The dullness of our journey was somewhat relieved, after a long season of silence, by the distress44 of an unfortunate passenger, who, falling asleep, nodded so violently, that his hat, supposing it was receiving notice to quit, very unceremoniously took leave of the skull45 it covered, and plunged46 into the mud. The outcry of the poor passenger, who was soon waked by the wind sporting amid his hair, and his unavailing requests to stop the stage, put us all into good humor with ourselves and with each other.
We had another source of relief in the antics of a wild, hair-brained sailor. From spinning yarns47, which looked amazingly like new inventions, he would take to dancing on the roof of the coach; at the foot of a hill he would leap off, and then spring up again with the agility48 of a monkey, to the no small amusement of the passengers. The more I saw of this reckless, thoughtless tar49, the more enamored I became with the idea of a sea life; and thus this journey to my mother’s new abode was another link in the chain that decided my future destiny in the drama of life. How strangely and imperceptibly do small events tend to unexpected results. A match may fire a city and lay desolate50 the work of ages; a single leak may sink a bark and carry desolation to a hundred firesides—and trifles in the daily scenes of human life, give character to our immortality51. We cannot, therefore, too carefully watch the influence of small events, especially on young minds.
At Woodstock, famed in the annals of England as the scene of the loves of King Henry and Rosamond Clifford, we quitted our stage companions, and proceeded on foot to Bladen, two miles distant. Our road lay through Blenheim or Woodstock park, which we entered through the triumphal arch, a spacious52 portal, erected53 to the memory of John, Duke of Marlborough, by Sarah, his duchess. On entering the park, which is nearly twelve miles in circumference54, one of the most beautiful prospects55 imaginable disclosed itself. Blenheim Palace, which is among the most magnificent piles of architecture in England, appeared in front; on the left were to be seen a part of the village of Woodstock, and on the right a broad and spacious lake, crossed by a superb bridge; a lofty column on the rising ground, erected in honor of John, Duke of Marlborough, on which is the statue of that noble warrior56; a delightful57 valley, hills, plantations58, herds of deer feeding, shady groves59 and ancient trees, all conspired60 to render the scene enchantingly beautiful.
Blenheim Palace, or Castle, was built at the public expense, in the reign61 of Queen Anne, and was given, with its annexed62 demesnes, in concurrence63 with the voice of parliament, to John, Duke of Marlborough, as a testimony64 of royal favor and national gratitude65 for his successes over the French and Bavarians; particularly for his victory at Blenheim, on the banks of the Danube, on the 2d of August, 1704.
Crossing the park towards Bladen, we were met by my father-in-law, who received me with a kindness which prepossessed me at once in his favor; he conducted us home, where, to my no small gratification, I met my sister.
My father-in-law appeared to be in comfortable circumstances. He resided in a very neat house, built of stone, shaded by a noble apricot tree, and ornamented66 with a small but pretty garden. This, together with another similar tenement67, was his own property. To add to my satisfaction, I perceived that he was very kind to my mother, and also to myself. She one day expressed a desire to have the cold stone floor of the kitchen removed, and boarded instead; my father, at considerable expense, gratified her wish; this assured me of his regard for her comfort.
With the village itself, I was equally well pleased. Though containing few houses, it was delightfully68 pleasant. Fine farms, with large flocks of quiet sheep grazing on their hill-sides; expansive fields, surrounded with fragrant69 hawthorn70 hedges; and old farm-houses, with their thatched roofs, and massive wheat ricks, met the pleased eye on all sides; while cultivated gardens and numerous wild flowers, especially the modest cowslip and humble violet, scented71 the air and perfumed the breeze. Thus far, perhaps, Bladen was equal to Wanstead; but in its moral aspects it was inferior. There was far less regard for the Sabbath; less attention to the moral culture of the young, than at the latter place. That blessed institution, which has vivified and renewed the church, which has filled her with the vigorous pulsations of youth—from which, as from some prolific72 nursery, she has obtained the plants, which now stand on her mountain-tops like the tall cedars73 of Lebanon—the modest, unassuming Sabbath school was not there. Consequently, the Sabbath was spent in roaming about the fields, in amusements, in visiting, in taking excursions to a place called Ramsden, some seven miles distant. True, there was a parish church, with two clergymen belonging to its altars, but there was service only once every Sunday within its ancient walls. During Lent, however, both priests and people were more religious; the church was better attended; the children were examined as to their knowledge of the church catechism! They were even excited to diligence in committing it to memory by the inducement of reward. A Bible and two prayer books were given to the lads who excelled in answering the questions. At the first Lent examination after my coming to Bladen, the Bible, the highest prize, was awarded to me, and the second year the minister assigned me the task of hearing the others recite—a striking proof of the benefit of Sunday school instruction; it gave me both a moral and mental superiority over all my compeers in the little village of Bladen. This special attention to religion only lasted during the term of Lent; when, with a return to the use of meat, the people returned to the neglect of the Sabbath.
The inhabitants of Bladen were very social in their habits. They held an annual feast, called Bladen feast, to which they invited their friends from other towns; it commenced on Sabbath and continued three days. Eating, drinking, talking, fortune-telling, gambling74, occupied three days of wassail and jollity; after which the visitors returned to their respective towns, and the people to their occupations. The neighboring villages gave similar feasts in their turn. They were occasions of much evil and folly75.
My time flew very rapidly and pleasantly away for two or three years, until, like most children, I began to sigh for deliverance from the restraints of home. I had already left school, and for some time, being now about thirteen years of age, had been em[ployed in the pleasure-grounds of Blenheim Palace. This, however, was too tame a business for a lad of my spirits. I had heard tales of the sea from my cousins; my mother had filled my mind with the exploits of my grandfather; my imagination painted a life on the great deep in the most glowing colors; my mind grew uneasy; every day, my ordinary pursuits became more and more irksome, and I was continually talking about going to sea; indeed, I had made myself unhappy by being so discontented.
Little do lads and young men know of the difference between the comfort of a parent’s roof and the indifference77, unkindness, and trouble they invariably experience, who go out into the world, until they have made the experiment. They paint everything in bright colors; they fancy the future to be all sunshine, all sweets, all flowers, but are sure to be wofully disappointed, when once away from the fireside of their infancy78. Let me advise young people, if they wish to escape hardships, to be contented76, to remain quietly at home, abiding79 the openings of Providence80, obeying the wishes of their parents, who not only have their best good at heart, but, however they may think to the contrary, actually know what is most for their advantage.
My passion for a seaman’s life was not a little increased by a soldier, who was sergeant81 to a company in Lord Francis Spencer’s regiment82 of cavalry83. Seated by my father’s hearth-side, this old soldier, who had once been a sailor, would beguile84 many an evening hour with his endless tale, while I sat listening in enrapt attention. My mother, too, heedlessly fanned the flame by her descriptions of the noble appearance of the ships she had seen when at Brighton. Besides this, a footman at Blenheim House used to sing a song called “the poor little sailor boy;” which, although somewhat gloomy in its descriptions, only served to heighten the flame of desire within me, until I could think of nothing else, day or night, but of going to sea.
Finding my desires so strong, my kind-hearted mother mentioned them to Lady Spencer. Just at that time, her brother, Lord William Fitzroy, who was then expecting the command of a frigate85, and with whom my departed father had lived as valet, happened to visit Blenheim, previously86 to going to sea. Anxious to serve my mother, Lady Spencer mentioned me to Lord Fitzroy. He sent for me. Trembling in every joint87, I was ushered88 into his presence. He inquired if I should like to go to sea. “Yes, my lord, I should,” was my ready answer. He dismissed me, after some further questionings; but was heard to say, before he left, that he would take me under his care, and see to my future advancement89.
These dazzling prospects not only well nigh turned my brain, but decided my parents to send me to sea. To have their son an officer in the navy was an unlooked-for honor; and they now entered into my plans and feelings with almost as much ardor90 as myself. Alas91! We were all doomed92 to learn how little confidence can be placed in the promises of nobles!
Not long after Lord Fitzroy’s departure, we received a letter stating the fact of his appointment to his majesty’s frigate Macedonian, which, being out of dock, was rapidly preparing for sea. This intelligence was the signal for bustle93, excitement, preparation, and I know not what. Friends and gossips constantly crowded in to administer their gratuitous94 advice; some predicting, to my infinite delight, that certainly so smart a boy would make a great man; others wore very grave countenances95, and gave certain expressive96 shrugs97 of the shoulders, while they told of flogging through the fleet, or of being “seized up” for merely a look or a word; in short, but for a strong conviction in my own breast that this was all said for effect, it is doubtful whether they would not have succeeded in deterring98 me from my purpose.
At last, after much ado, the long-expected day arrived when I was to bid farewell to home and friends, to venture abroad upon an unknown future. It would only vex99 the reader by its common place character, or I would reveal all the nice little acts of parental100, brotherly and neighborly affection which took place. Suffice it to say, that my parting was very much the same as that of all other boys of twelve, when they leave home for the first time—a mixture of hopes and fears, of tears and smiles, of sunshine and cloud.
Attended by my mother and her infant daughter, on the 12th day of July, 1810, I turned my back on the quiet hamlet of Bladen. Henceforth my lot was to be cast amid noise, dissipation, storms and danger. This, however, disturbed my mind but little; brushing away a tear, I leaped gaily101 on to the outside of the coach, and in a few minutes, enveloped102 in a cloud of dust, was on my way to London, filled with the one absorbing idea, “I am going to sea! I am going to sea!” Should the reader take the trouble to read the following chapters, he will learn the mishaps103, hardships, pleasures and successes that befell me there; and though my narrative may not be filled with the witching tales, and romantic descriptions, that abound10 in the works of the novelist, it shall at least commend itself to his notice for its truthfulness.
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1
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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8
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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munificence
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| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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covetousness
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embittering
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的现在分词 ) | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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predilection
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| n.偏好 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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53
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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concurrence
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| n.同意；并发 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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prolific
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| adj.丰富的，大量的；多产的，富有创造力的 | |
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cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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shrugs
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| n.耸肩（以表示冷淡，怀疑等）( shrug的名词复数 ) | |
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98
deterring
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的现在分词 ) | |
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99
vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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100
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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101
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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102
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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