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“More than about literal translation, this collection of essays is about the movement of ideas from one culture to another, from one generation to another. Thus temporality infuses this collection, whose original in-depth research findings, by creative authors with deep knowledge in their respective fields (psychoanalysis, art history, archaeology, musical composition), retrace and rediscover the creative journey of psychoanalysis from Vienna to London with its tragic historical background. And so too it considers how cultures take into consideration essential issues in psychoanalysis from other cultures and transform them: translation is transformation. The theme of the Oedipus enigma and excellent reflections on art intermingle in this beautifully illustrated book, in which Dana Birksted-Breen blends these themes in her usual expected talent to conceive and design a collection as this remarkable one and in her revealing introduction. This centenary and anniversary collection of essays marks an historical and seminal milestone in the developing history and the continued evolution of psychoanalysis. A book not to be missed…”.

Haydée Faimberg, MD, Training and Supervising Analyst, SPP, APA, International Distinguished Fellow of BPAS

“‘Language has been invented, translation can be achieved, musical and mathematical notations exist, men compose and paint. And now psycho-analysis attempts to elucidate the barriers and links that hinder or promote the relationships that require a capacity for communication’ (Bion, Cogitations). The title of the book to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the IJP – and I would add the word tr ansmutation – faithfully reflects the task that Freud assigned to psychoanalysis. The task of the IJP is well represented in the words of the linguist Hagège, ‘it is not only languages that are translated, but also habits and intellectual processes’”.

Prof. Dr. Jorge Canestri, Training and Supervising psychoanalyst AIPsi, APA, Associate Editor of the IJP

“This multi-voice book highlights the foundations upon which the reputation of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis is built. Since the time of Freud, this Journal has become a reference for English-speaking psychoanalysts, its primary destination, and then

for each psychoanalyst all over the world. In addition to the richness of its professional, historical and cultural roots highlighted here, its value derives not only from the independence that an anonymous peer review process provides, but also from a non-partisan approach that respects everyone’s positions, in the tradition of the British Ps ychoanalytic Society responsible for its management”.

Quinodoz, Swiss Ps ychoanalytical Society, Editor for Europe 1994–2003

Translation / Transformation

Translation is at the heart of psychoanalysis: from unconscious to conscious, experience to verbal expression, internal to enacted, dream thought to dream image, language to interpretation, unrepresented to represented and transference of past to present.

The book’s first part discusses the question of translation, literal and metaphoric. Both linguistic and cultural translations are closely tied to specific and significant personalities who were involved in the early history of psychoan alysis and thus in the development of the IJP. There was a close relationship between the IJP and the visual arts via the Bloomsbury Group. The link between the visual arts and the IJP is indeed to be found in its logo, which is taken from a painting by Ingres. The second part of the book approaches transformations between psychoanalysis and the arts from conscious, unconscious and non-represented elements into non-verbal modes, specifically visual, poetic and musical; it also looks at the developments and transformations in psychoanalytic ideas about artistic expression as expressed within the pages of the IJP

This book will be of great interest to psychoanalysts and psychotherapists, and to those interested in the history of psychoanalysis and the IJP.

Dana Birksted-Breen, a training and supervising psychoanalyst of the British Psychoanalytical Society in private practice, was General Editor of t he New Library of Psychoanalysis (2000–2010), initiating the New Library Teaching Series, and is the Editor-in-Chief of the IJP since 2010.

THE NEW LIBRARY OF PSYCHOANALYSIS

The New Library of Psychoanalysis was launched in 1987 in association with the Institute of Psychoanalysis, London. It took over from the International Psychoanalytical Library which published many of the early translations of the works of Freud and the writings of most of the leading British and Continental psychoanalysts.

The purpose of the New Library of Psychoanalysis is to facilitate a greater and more widespread appreciation of psychoanalysis and to provide a forum for increasing mutual understanding between psychoanalysts and those working in other disciplines such as the social sciences, medicine, philosophy, history, linguistics, literature and the arts. It aims to represent different trends both in British psychoanalysis and in psychoanalysis generally. The New Library of Psychoanalysis is well placed to make available to the English- speaking world psychoanalytic writings from other European countries and to increase the interchange of ideas between British and American psychoanalysts. Through the Teaching Series, the New Library of Psychoanalysis now also publishes books that provide comprehensive, yet accessible, overviews of selected subject areas aimed at those studying psychoanalysis and related fields such as the social sciences, philosophy, literature and the arts.

The Institute, together with the British Psychoanalytical Society, runs a low-fee psychoanalytic clinic, organizes lectures and scientific events concerned with psychoanalysis and publishes the International Journal of Psychoanalysis. It runs a training course in psychoanalysis which leads to membership of the International Psychoanalytical Association – the body which preserves internationally agreed standards of training, of professional entry, and of professional ethics and practice for psychoanalysis as initiated and developed by Sig mund Freud. Distinguished members of the Institute have included Michael Balint, Wilfred Bion, Ronald Fairbairn, Anna Freud, Ernest Jones, Melanie Klein, John Rickman and Donald Winnicott.

Previous general editors have included David Tuckett, who played a very active role in the establishment of the New Library. He was followed as general editor by Elizabeth Bott Spillius, who was in turn

followed by Susan Budd and then by Dana Birksted-Breen. Current members of the Advisory Board include Giovanna Di Ceglie, Liz Allison, Anne Patterson, Josh Cohen and Daniel Pick.

Previous members of the Advisory Board include Christopher Bollas, Ronald Britton, Catalina Bronstein, Donald Campbell, Rosemary Davies, Sara Flanders, Stephen Grosz, John Keene, Eglé Laufer, Alessandra Lemma, Juliet Mitchell, Michael Parsons, Rosine Jozef Perelberg, Richard Rusbridger, Mary Target and David Taylor.

For a full list of all the titles in the New Library of Ps ychoanalysis main series as well as both the New Library of Psychoanalysis ‘Teaching’ and ‘Beyond the Couch’ subseries, please visit the Routledge website.

Translation / Transformation

100 Years of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis

First published 2021 by Routledge

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and by Routledge

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Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Dana Birksted-Breen; individual chapters, the contributors

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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Breen, Dana, editor.

Title: Translation/transformation: 100 years of the International journal of psychoanalysis / edited by Dana Birksted-Breen.

Other titles: International journal of psycho-analysis.

Description: Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY: Routledge, 2021. | Series: New library of psychoanalysis | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2020034919 (print) | LCCN 2020034920 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367563325 (paperback) | ISBN 9780367560935 (hardback) | ISBN 9781003096399 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: International journal of psycho-analysis. | Psychoanalysis. | Psychoanalysis and art. | Psychoanlysis and literature. Classification: LCC BF173.T623 2021 (print) | LCC BF173 (ebook) | DDC 150.19/505 dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020034919

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020034920

ISBN: 978-0-367-56093-5 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-0-367-56332-5 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-003-09639-9 (ebk)

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1 Translation as a metaphor, the role of archaeology in Freud’s deciphering of the human mind

HEINZ WEISS AND CARINA WEISS

2 Founding the International Journal of Psychoanalysis: a chapter of psychoanalytical science and association policy

BRUNS

3 “The Deep Open Sea” “l’alto mare aperto”: some notes on psychoanalysis and translation, focusing on the early vicissitudes of the first British attempts to translate Freud

4 Publish and be fair? “I am myself strongly in favour of doing it”: James Strachey as the candid wartime editor of The International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 1939–1945 120

DEE MCQUILLAN

5 Joan Riviere: the professional and personal struggles of a formidable foundress of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis

RACHEL B. BLASS

6 Marjorie Brierley’s contributions to the International Journal of Psychoanalysis

NELLIE L. THOMPSON

7 The International Journal of Psychoanalysis as the voice of psychoanalysis: united and different

RACHEL B. BLASS

8 Picturing Oedipus: Ingres, Bacon, Freud

9 Freud and Oedipus–the medal gifted to Sigmund Freud on his fiftieth birthday

CARINA WEISS

10 Form and feeling : reflections on a century of psychoanalytic discourse on meaning and poetry

WADDELL

12 A midpoint in time: the dual aspect of t he Wolf Man’s dream

Figures

1.1 20 Maresfield Gardens, the house, May 1983, copyright Carina and Heinz Weiss

1.2 20 M aresfield Gardens, Freud’s study, May 1983, copyright Carina and Heinz Weiss

1. 3 20 M aresfield Gardens, a glass cabinet with Egyptian, Etruscan, and other antiquities in the study, May 1983, copyright Carina and Heinz Weiss

1.4 20 M aresfield Gardens, fragment of a Roman sarcophagus on top of a bookshelf, May 1983, copyright Carina and Heinz Weiss

1.5 Front page of a letter March 10, 1986 by Robert Lustig to Dr. Carina Weiss, copyright Carina and Heinz Weiss

1.6 20 M aresfield Gardens, study, Pompeian wall paintings, May 1983, copyright Carina and Heinz Weiss

1.7 Pompeii, view over the forum towards Mt. Vesuvio (historical photograph, Ricordo di Pompei, 32 vedute, N. 227, undated, Edizioni A. Scrocchi, Milano)

1.8 20 M aresfield Gardens, study, Egyptian figurines in a bookshelf, May 1983, copyright Carina and Heinz Weiss

1.9 Wood tablet covered with wax used as a writing pad in the Roman Empire. 1st century A.D. Museo de Santa Cruz, Toledo, Spain. https://fr.wikipedia.org/ wiki/Fichier:Tablette-de-cire.jpg Auteur: Codex . Wikimedia Commons, File tablette de cire

24

25

26

27

2 8

32

33

35

38

1.10 Vienna, Berggasse 13 consulting room, plastercast Gradiva relief with papyrus, 1938, reproduced from Engelmann, 1976 40

2 .1 Or iginal papers of the IJP 1920–1935; originally English papers compared to papers translated from German 79

5.1 Joa n Riviere in garden, Courtesy British Psychoanalytical Society, Copyright: Melanie Klein Trust 161

5.2 Riviere aged 30 with her daughter Diana (Born 1908) –(picture taken circa 1912–1913). Courtesy British Psychoanalytical Society, Copyright: Melanie Klein Trust 162

5.3 Letter from Joan Riviere to Strachey 1949. Courtesy British Psychoanalytical Society, Copyright: Melanie Klein Trust 169

5.4 Letter from Joan Riviere to Strachey 1949. Courtesy British Psychoanalytical Society, Copyright: Melanie Klein Trust 170

7.1 Volume 1 of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis, 1920 194

7.2 Portrait of Melanie Klein, A. Freud, E. Jones. Reproduced by permission of the Wellcome Collection and the Melanie Klein Trust 197

8.1 Freud’s office at Berggasse 19, Vienna, Edmund Engelman, May 1938. The white arrow designates the engraving of Ingres’s Oedipus and the Sphinx. Freud Museum, London, reference number IN270. Used with permission 216

8.2 The engraved reproduction of Ingres’s Oedipus and the Sphinx that hung at the foot of Freud’s analytic couch (also see Figure 8.3). Freud Museum, London, reference number 6405. Used with permission 219

8.3 Oedipus and the Sphinx, Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, Musée du Louvre. Originally completed in 1808 when the artist was 28, the canvas was in 1827 modified for exhibition. Image © Scala / Art Resource, NY. Used with permission. © Seala/Art Resource, NY 22 0

8.4 Commemorative medal by Carl Maria Schwerdtner given to Freud on the occasion of his fiftieth

birthday. Freud Museum, London, reference number 4395. Used with permission 221

8.5 Red-figure hydria decorated with Oedipus and the Sphinx. From Freud’s collection. Freud Museum, London, reference number 3117. Used with permission 223

8.6 The logo, or “coat of arms”, of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis 226

8.7 Hermes Tying His Sandal, Roman copy of the 2nd century CE after a Greek original of the late 4th century BC, from the Theater of Marcellus in Rome. Image, open source, https://commons. wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Hermes_with_the_ sandal_(Louvre,_Ma_83)#/media/File:Hermes_ with_the_Sandal-Louvre.jpg 230

8.8 Nicolas Poussin, Et in Arcadio Ego, 1637–1638. Musée du Louvre. Image, open source: https:// en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Et_in_Arcadia_ ego#/ media/File:Nicolas_Poussin__Et_in_Arcadia_ego_ (deuxi%C3%A8me_version).jpg 231

8.9 Sph inx statuette, terracotta, on wooden base, from Freud’s collection. Freud Museum, London, reference number 4037. Used with permission 232

8.10 Oedipus and the Sphinx after Ingres, Francis Bacon, 1983, Museu Coleçao Berardo, Lisbon. © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved, DACS, London/ Artist Rights Society, New York, 2020. Photo: Prudence Cuming Associates Ltd, used with permission 236

8.11 Sphinx – Portrait of Muriel Belcher, Francis Bacon, 1979, Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo. © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved, DACS, London/Artist Rights Society, New York, 2020. Photo: Prudence Cuming Associates Ltd, used with permission 239

8.12 Fran cis Bacon, Oedipus, 1979, private collection. © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved, DACS, London/ Artist Rights Society, New York, 2020. Photo: Prudence Cuming Associates Ltd, used with permission 240

8.13 Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, Oedipus and the Sphinx, 1862, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Oedipus_and_the_Sphinx_(Ingres)#/media/ File:Jean-Auguste-Dominique_Ingres_-_ Oedipus_and_the_Sphinx_-_Walters_379.jpg 246

9.1a The medal gifted to Sigmund Freud at his 50th birthday, front with Freud’s bust, diameter 14.2 cm. Photo: Cortesy Freud Museum London 257

9.1b T he medal in Figure 9.1a. The photo wa s taken in 1976 (INO523, Photo: Cortesy Freud Museum London) and shows the medal in its wooden frame in one of the shelfs in Freud’s study in Maresfield Gardens 20 257

9.2a–c A specimen of the smaller edition of the medal Figure 9.1a and b with the mark “Münze Wien”, probably meant for relatives, friends, and followers. Private collection. Photo © J.S. Spering, Höchberg 257

9.3 Terracotta statuette of a sphinx. Freud Museum London, Inv. 4387. Photo © Carina and Heinz Weiss 260

9.4 At tic red-figure kalpis, Apollonia Group (attributed Carina Weiss) 380–360 B.C., Oedipus sitting in front of the sphinx, Freud Museum London, Inv. 3117. Photo © Carina and Heinz Weiss 262

Acknowledgements

The International Journal of Psychoanalysis grants permission for the publication of the articles below in the book TRANSLATION/ TRANSFORMATION: 100 Years of t he International Journal of Psychoanalysis, edited by Dana Birksted-Breen, published by the New Library of Psychoanalysis, Routledge.

Chapter 4. Dee McQuillan, previously published: McQuillan, D. (2019). Publish and be fair? “I am myself strongly in favour of doing it”: James Strachey as the candid wartime ed itor of The International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 1939–1945. Int. J. Psycho-Anal., 100(3):540–566

Chapter 5. Rachel Blass, previously published: Blass, R. B. Joan Riviere: The professional and personal struggles of a formidable foundress of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis.

Chapter 7. Rachel B. Blass, previously published: Blass, R. B. The International Journal of Psychoanalysis as the voice of psychoanalysis: united and different.

Chapter 9. Carina Weiss: These are modifications of papers previously published: Weiss, C. The Enigma of the Hour: Display Case Compendium. Int. J. Psycho-Anal., 100(6):1481–1613 (2019).

Chapter 10. M argot Waddell, previously published: Waddell, M. (2019). “All the light we cannot see”: Psychoanalytic and poetic reflections on the nature of hope. Int. J. Psycho-Anal., 100(6):1405–1421.

Acknowledgements

Chapter 11, Francis Grier:

This has been previously published in a modified form: Francis Grier (2019) Musicality in the consulting room, The International Journal of Psychoanalysis, 100:5, 827–851, DOI: 10.1080/00207578.2019.1664905

INTRODUCTION

Each day except Sunday I spend an hour on the Prof’s sofa (I’ve now spent 34 altogether) – and the “analysis” seems to provide a complete undercurrent for life. As for what it’s all about, I’m vaguer than ever; but at all events it’s sometimes extremely exciting and sometimes extremely unpleasant – so I daresay there’s something in it. The Prof himself is most affable and as an artistic performer dazzling. He has a good deal rather like Verrall in the way his mind works.1 Almost every hour is made into an organic aesthetic whole. Sometimes the dramatic effect is absolutely shattering. During the early part of the hour all is vague – a dark hint here, a mystery there -; then it gradually seems to get thicker; you feel dreadful things going on inside you, and can’t make out what they can possibly be; then he begins to give you a slight lead; you suddenly get a clear glimpse of one thing; then you see another; at last a whole series of lights break in on you; he asks you one more question; you give a last reply – and as the whole truth dawns upon you the Professor rises, crosses the room to the electric bell, and shows you out at the door.

That’s on favourable occasions. But there are others when you lie for the whole hour with a ton weight on your stomach simply unable to get out a single word. I think that makes one more inclined to believe it all than anything. When you positively feel the ‘resistance’ as something physical sitting on you, it fairly shakes you all the rest of the day.

(Strachey, November 6, 1920; Forrester & Cameron, 2017, p. 529)

The year is 1920. James Strachey is describing to his brother Lyt ton his analysis with Freud. He had travelled to Vienna that year to begin psychoanalysis with Freud. Soon his wife Alix also began psychoanalysis with Freud. Freud asked the couple to translate some of his works into English. This initiated their life’s work as psychoanalysts and translators; James became Freud’s official translator and Editor of the Standard Edition, and, with Alix’s assistance, began publishing the New German-English Psycho-Analytic Vocabulary in 1943. In 1920, the International Journal of Psychoanalysis was established by Ernest Jones as the first Editor, under the direction of Freud, and Strachey became the second Editor after Freud’s death in 1939. Joan Riviere also met Freud in 1920, starting psychoanalysis with him in 1922 in Vienna. Freud also asked her to translate some of his papers, and she became the translation editor of the International Journal. Joan Riviere and Alix and James Strachey were all part of the Glossary Committee set up by Ernest Jones to create a glossary of psychoanalytic terms in English. These form the foundation of psychoanalytic writings in the English language.

Translation and temporality are the Ariadne’s thread that, as Ed itorin- Chief of the International Journal, I chose as a frame for its centenary year: temporality and translation at the heart of psychoanalysis, and translation and temporality at the heart of the development of the International Journal over 100 years.

Freud wrote: “How are we to arrive at a knowledge of the unconscious? It is of course only as something conscious that we know it, after it has undergone transformation or translation into something conscious” (1915, p.166). Further work is needed to transform it into language and still further into the written word, with the potential pain and pleasure of this work. Hilda Doolittle, poet and famous analysand of Freud, captures the experience of psychoanalysis, its transformation into the written word, and its strange temporality, paradoxically at once temporal and atemporal:

…it was not that he conjured up the past and invoked the future. It was a present that was in the past or a past that was in the future. (Doolittle, 1956, p.16)

Translation/ Transformation was planned as one of the celebrations of the centenary of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis ; its history is intermingled with and inseparable from the history and

development of psychoanalysis. To honour the International Journal in its specificity, and to accompany the International Journal C entenary Conferences on the theme of the unconscious, I organized an exhibition, presenting archival material set in conversation with art works. In preparation, I worked with an international group of psychoanalysts and researchers from different countries to research a number of archives, focussing in particular on the theme of translation-transformation. The exhibition, The Enigma of the Hour, One Hundred Years of Psychoanalytic Thought , took place at the Freud Museum to coincide with the London Centenary Conference. 2,3

This book has developed as an extension of the research that was initiated for the exhibition, which focussed specifically on the early history of the Journal, the centrality of translation, and the relationship to the visual arts via the “Bloomsbury editors” who were part of the European Intelligentsia of the early 20th century, into which the International Journal of Psychoanalysis was born. The art installations of the Centenary Celebrations therefore resonated with the early history of those who created the International Journal of Psychoanalysis. Some papers elaborate on the short pieces of text that discussed each item exhibited in the Display Case of the exhibition (original letter, object, or small artwork) and presented next to it in the Compendium ; other papers were developed during the research but never found their way into the exhibition or the Compendium, and still others are recent contributions on subjects close to the overall theme of translation/transformation.

Translation is at the heart of psychoanalysis; psychoanalysis is a work of translation, the translation from unconscious to conscious, from experience to verbal expression, the transference from past to present, from internal to enacted, from dream thought to dream image, to language and to interpretation. Solms points out:

Freud was, as he wrote, therefore obliged to invent a “figurative language” peculiar to depth psychology: “We could not otherwise describe the processes in question at all, and indeed we could not become aware of them” (Freud 1920a Freud, S. 1920a. “Beyond the Pleasure Principle” RSE 18. RSE , 18, 57). Herein lies the tension between discovery and invention in psychoanalysis. Freud was in this sense his own first translator. (Solms, 2018)

New terms had to be found and decisions about whether to stay close to the way of writing of the original language (German) or of the language being translated (into English). Steiner, in his chapter, describes Freud’s own acute awareness of issues of translation between cultures and languages, and he also describes emotional factors involved in choices made by Strachey but also Jones before him, regarding terms to be used in translating Freud:

Thinking of both terms ‘cathexis’ and ‘anaclitic type’, James St rachey, but also Jones if one considers his original input too, managed in some way to ‘occupy’ to ‘ besetz’, ‘cathect’ the reader, but also Freud, with their translation, and to reverse their dependency on Freud as a parental figure, making him in a sort of way depend on them, hiding their unconscious phantasies of control, possession, but also of being possessed, in the acoustic skin of those so very cacophonic and mysterious words.

(Steiner, Translation/Transformation, 2020)

The development of psychoanalysis in the English-speaking world is linked to the options which were taken by Strachey for the Standard Edition, and which have been debated ever since. A century later, the question of the translation of Freud is still open to interesting debates and new findings.4 Notably, it has been suggested that St rachey’s translation of certain concepts has obscured the complexity of Freud’s conception of psychic temporality, in particular the notion of Nachträglichkeit 5 As an English-language journal, the development of psychoanalysis held within the pages of the IJPA is intimately tied to these issues.6 Strachey, in his obituary of Joan Riviere, writes about her work as “Translation Editor”, translating and editing, and the importance of her work as “the foundation on which all our English knowledge of psycho-analysis was first built” (Blass, Chapter 5).

In 1920, the first issue of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis – a journal whose history is intertwined with the history of Freud, his research into the unconscious, his unstoppable drive for knowledge –was published: “Our work should go forward on the basis not of our doubts, but of our discoveries”, he had written a couple of years earlier (1917, p. 273).7

At that time, Freud was still in Vienna, and Europe was only just beginning to recover from the devastation of World War I. An English-language journal seemed the way forward for the diffusion

Introduction

of Freud’s ideas in the English-speaking world, and this was made possible, thanks to the dedication and financial capacity of the first editor Ernest Jones. The Journal began as a work of translation from German to English, but very soon papers were submitted directly in English, as it became the Journal of the international community. When Freud finally realized his wish to see the diffusion of his ideas via the publication of an English-language journal in 1920 alongside the German journals, he was already at a turning point in his theoretical thinking with the publication that same year of “Beyond the Pleasure Principle” (1920), soon followed by The Ego and the Id (1923), taking psychoanalysis in new directions, particularly in the Anglophone world, and often trumping the earlier models.

Freud had been in discussion with Ernest Jones about starting an English-language journal for some years; the first mention of it was apparently in 1913 (see Bruns, Chapter 2), but it was not until after World War I that the idea came to fruition. In the same letter in which he mentions his grief for the recent death of his young wife, Jones tells Freud that the time has now come for an Eng lish-language journal:

At last we are allowed to communicate freely again… I think the time is ripe for an English journal, or edition of the Zeitschrift (not identical, of course) owned by the Vereinigung. There is so much to talk over.

You see I can look forward in life, although I have been through hell itself these last three months. It has been an indescribably terrible experience, signifying more even than a tremendous loss—owing to my inner psychical situation and the poignant circumstances of my wife’s death. But I am surely winning through, and have learnt very much by it. Yesterday I read your paper on grief and melancholy, 1 which made a great impression on me.

(December 7, 1918, 326)

Freud writes to Jones in December of that year:

Needless to say we are all impatient to get your contributions to the Zeitschrift and see you taking an active part in the new career, opening for ‘her ”.

(Freud to Jones, 22 December 2018)

Coming not long after the devastation of the World War I, the new Journal becomes a sign of survival and of life over death, of creativity and action in the wake of mourning.

In her address given on the occasion of presenting the portrait of Ernest Jones, painted by Rodrigo Moynihan, the Slade artist Sylvia Payne ends by saying:

One of his most spectacular actions was to fly to Vienna at the time of Hitler’s invasion of Austria to help Professor Freud, his family and colleagues. He was instrumental in bringing about their escape to England, and was untiring in the work he did for colleagues and friends who had to escape from the Nazis. It was due to him mainly that Professor Freud was able to spend the end of his life in peace and safety.

(July 3, 1946)

If this was his most spectacular action, it was also down to Jones that the International Journal came into being, enhancing the future development of Freud’s work. There were many difficulties in getting the Journal established – financial, practical, and rivalry – as Bruns and Steiner discuss in their chapters (Chapters 2 and 3, this volume). Different agendas, personal rivalries, and financial issues were at stake. Freud writes to Jones in January 1919:

As for the journal, I hope you know, that both periodicals, Zeitschrift and Imago, have become official with the “European” groups. I hope also you have heard by Sachs, that we are setting on foot a ψα Verlag. Now Rank developed the idea at the same time as you, that you should bring out an English edition of the Zeitschrift (or both), all the papers getting translated into the two languages.

Meanwhile, Abraham wanted to resuscitate the Jahrbuch, which had been the first of a number of psychoanalytic journals started at the turn of the century, this one under the direction of Jung, and which had folded up due to rivalries, disputes, and economic problems. But Freud warns:

… a third publication would be restricted to the purely Ψα public, which does not have much buying power (…). I am afraid that

Introduction

the material produced by us in the course of a year might not be sufficient to keep it going. We do not exactly have an abundance of material even for the Zeitschrift (…) what England (and America) produce is henceforward to be diverted to the English Journal of Ψα. (1919, p. 401)

At the meeting held at the newly formed British Ps ychoAnalytical Society on February 20, 1919, “it was resolved that the subscription [to the Society] should be two guineas per annum, which should include the Journal and the Subscription to the International Ps ycho-Analytic Association” (1920, p. 116).

The International Journal of Psychoanalysis was finally published by the International Psychoanalytical Press (International Psychoanalytischer Verlag) in Vienna, with Jones as Editor and Otto Rank taking charge of things in Vienna. After many delays, the first issue was finally published. Jones writes: “Dear Otto, the Journal arrived today and I was very proud to see it. The get-up is altogether excellent and you are greatly to be congratulated (…)”. However, he then adds: “There are only two slight faults in the whole number, that the printing on the front cover is not in the middle and that Fleugel’s initials have got altered” (July 30, 1920). One senses Jones’s increasing frustration in the next few months:

Dear Otto, I am afraid that I cannot agree to the journal being issued without my having seen its contents, especially when there are as many and such serious errors as in the pages you sent, so I wired to you yesterday to stop the issue at all cost until I could send you the corrected proofs which I now enclose.

(November 30, 1920)

A few days later, Jones writes:

Dear Otto, you did the right thing to let the decision about Journal No2 rest with Prof. For my part I would suffer any cost and any delay rather than see the Journal appear with such impossible errors. I cannot describe to you how incredibly foreign such mistakes are as to write New-York instead of New York, and i instead of I; the latter is like writing sachs (his name occurs to me because

he always makes this mistake in English). Such things affect me deeply both for the sake of the Journal and because of my responsibility as editor; the world would not guess that Stern corrected the Journal in place of me, so that I would simply look ridiculous. (December 3, 1920)

In the first Editorial, Jones sets out the aims of the Journal:

The main consideration, though not the only one, that has made this increasingly imperative is the unexpectedly great progress in recent years of the interest taken in our Science by readers not familiar with the German language, and the desirability of making accessible to them the latest researches in the subject. It has long been evident that a periodical published mainly in German could not indefinitely subserve the function of an official international organ, and, since interest in Ps ycho-Analysis has extended from German-speaking countries to English-speaking countries far more than to any other, it was only a question of time when such a Journal as the present one would have to be founded: with the cessation of the war, the resumption of scientific activities, and the reestablishment of contact between different countries, that time may be judged to have now arrived.

(1920, p. 3, Editorial)

On the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of The International Journal, Anna Freud notes that “behind the scenes, the reasons for establishing an English Journal were essentially practical and humble ones”. She writes,

The International Journal came into being at a period when the publishing house established by Freud in Vienna (Internationaler Psychoanalytischer Verlag ) had suffered severe financial reverses due to the first world war and its aftermath. There was urgent need for rescue operations.

Anna Freud suggests that it was consequent to the Nazi advances and the subsequent World War II that “the balance between the German and English language became and remained reversed so far as psychoanalysis is concerned” (A. Freud, p. 473, 1969).

Introduction

When the Verlag was no longer able to subsidize the cost of publishing, printing moved to London, still under the International Ps ycho-analytical Press. In March 1922, Freud writes to Jones:

The Verlag has at last found an abode and I trust it will do good work. I am not so well satisfied by the Press. The sphinx in our coat of arms could be supplemented by a snail to give account of the rate of acceleration in its progress. Maybe its mechanism is too complex, I do not see where the fault lies. As we depend for our subsistence on the sale of the English products we throw on the market—the Verlag cannot pay—it is rather a serious affair.

Yesterday I got the first two volumes of the Journal in exquisite, nay gorgeous, leather-binding. The contents do not correspond to the cover. My wish is that these offsprings of the Anglo-Viennese alliance shall thrive as do the other two you raise in your house.

(Freud 1922, p. 464, Letter from Sigmund Freud to Ernest Jones, March 2, 1922)

In 1924, after a short period in Lawn House in Hampstead Square, the publishing moved to Baillière, Tindall and Co., who were already the publisher of Jones’s Papers on Psycho-Analysis. Baillière, Tindall and Co. remained the publisher of the Journal until 1989 when the publishing moved to Routledge; then, after a period of self-publishing, it moved to Wiley-Blackwell, and in 2018 back to Routledge, part of the Taylor and Francis group.

Jones persevered throughout, in spite of all the difficulties. Silvia Payne notes:

Unperturbed by a letter from a London publisher (1924), saying that the latest news from America suggested that ‘psycho-analysis was in decline already, the subject having suddenly gone ‘flop’’, Dr. Jones set the course by which the International Journal and the Library became highly respected means of communication and worthy archives of psycho-analytic development.

(Payne 1958, p. 308)

Glover writes about Jones:

Only those who have had the opportunity of watching Jones at work, as for a number of active years I had the privilege of doing,

can appreciate fully the strain of constantly exercising judgement, balancing opposing interests and producing what is in effect a new book every quarter … Jones enjoyed the immeasurable advantage of being able to do everything better than everybody else … The skill with which he maintained the international status of the Journal and secured its financial stability … had to be witnessed to be believed.

(Glover, 1969, IJPA, 50, p. 499)

Seventy-five years later, David Tuckett, in the footsteps of Jones (1920), James Strachey (1940), Adrian Stephen (1946), the triumvirate of Willi Hoffer, John Rickman and Clifford Scott (1947), then Hoffer (1949), John D. Sutherland (1960), Joseph Sandler (1969), and Thomas Hayley (1978), writes:

It is to Jones that the Journal owes two of its most important and scientific traditions: its non-partisan approach to controversy and its encouragement of the view that judgements concerning the truth and utility of ideas should be based as far as possible on evidential data.

(Tuckett, 1994, p. 1)

Writing in 1945, Adrian Stephen, brother of Virginia Woolf and Va nessa Bell, and third editor following Strachey (both of them were members of the Bloomsbury group), said: “True clinical observations are necessary for the formation of true theory, and true theory is of almost equal importance for the making of clinical observations” (Stephen, 1945, p. 55).

Clearly, however, Jones was not an easy character, though as Riccardo Steiner has noted, his “enormous, obsessive, and often authoritarian labor of control over and motivation of every part of the newborn British Psychoanalytical Society from 1919 onward” (p. xxxi–xxxii) is also what made it possible for him to establish the Journal. And Winnicott wrote that:

…those who came in contact with Ernest Jones were often stung by something in his way of making contact. It is not easy to know exactly what it was that people experienced, but whatever it was it had to be accepted. His mother told him he had a sharp tongue. His own Celtic quickness was not always to be matched by a

Introduction

similar quickness in the other person, and this could easily lead to a moment of awkwardness in which there was a sense of something having gone wrong, when in fact all was well. Jones had a keen grip on every subject that he interested himself in, and it would seem that he expected a similar preparedness on the part of those to whom he was talking; when the others were, in fact, not at grips with their subject in a way comparable to his own they were apt to feel a sense of intellectual inferiority, often only too well founded in fact.

(1958, p. 303)

Jones remained the editor until Freud’s death in 1939, by which time the Journal was very well established. Broadly speaking, the aims and editorial policy of the Journal set out by Jones in his first editorial have continued to apply through the century:

…the contents of the Journal will be on the following lines. They will be confined to the subject of Psycho-Analysis and kindred studies having a bearing on Psycho-Analysis. They will thus not attempt to cover the whole field of psychopathology (…), the contents will go beyond the clinical sphere and will embrace as well pure Psycho-Analysis and the other branches of applied Psycho-Analysis, e.g. its relation and application to literature, education, mythology, philology, sociology, anthropology, and so on.

(Jones, 1920, p. 5)

For its fiftieth anniversary, Joseph Sandler stresses the special place and role of the International Journal which had been started as the official journal of the IPA:

The Journal was started with the intention of representing international psychoanalysis, and it has maintained its identity and function over the past 50 years. This is perhaps all the more remarkable in view of the fact that the administration of the Journal has fallen to the lot of the British Society. That this Society has been able to maintain the Journal through many difficult periods, and at the same time to preserve the Journal’s independent identity, reflects the tradition of tolerance which has kept the British Society together even though it has contained so many divergent trends. The Journal has never become a partisan vehicle for any one trend

in psychoanalysis, even during the years when one point of view appeared to be quite dominant in the British Society.

Although a number of psychoanalytic journals have been started in recent years, the need for an international journal is no less acute than in the past. Indeed, it seems to be all the more necessary nowadays to have an organ which is at one and the same time the guardian of a long tradition and a liberal forum for the different viewpoints within psychoanalysis.

(1969, p. 417)

For its seventy-fifth anniversary, David Tuckett reaffirms the special international role of the International Journal:

Freud founded the Journal to provide a coherent on-going setting in which all those who were taking part in the growing body of psychoanalytic thought and research could enter into dialogue with one another. From the start it was clear that this dialogue should be international and, although the administration of the Journal quite soon became the responsibility of the British Society, an increasingly wide group of colleagues has come to make up the editorial group. They have seen fit to aim the Journal at being both the guardian of the psychoanalytic tradition and a liberal forum for the different points of view within psychoanalysis. As such, the Journal has successfully represented international psychoanalysis and in doing so has established a unique identity among the publications in our field. The Journal has enjoyed the goodwill and co-operation of many colleagues, who advise, write and read it.

(1994, p. 1)

These words are eminently applicable today. In an editorial a few years ago, I wrote:

Being ‘international’ in my view means publishing the best papers from all traditions. Psychoanalysis has developed in different places along different traditions. Strong traditions are to be valued and fostered. Enabling the creative and focused pursuit of specific ways of thinking and of particular topics of interest is important for our discipline. Difference is to be respected and can also nurture cross-fertilization. Looking at divergences and convergences is important and The International Journal is also the

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Prentice Mulford's story: life by land and sea

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Prentice Mulford's story: life by land and sea

Author: Prentice Mulford

Release date: September 2, 2023 [eBook #71549]

Language: English

Original publication: NYC: F. J. Needham, 1889

Credits: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

THE WHITE CROSS LIBRARY.

P M’ S

Life by Land and Sea. BY

NEW YORK: F. J. NEEDHAM, PUBLISHER, 52 W F S. 1889.

C, 1889

B F. J. NEEDHAM.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Shadows of Coming Events, 5

II. Going to Sea, 14

III. Getting My Sea Legs On, 20

IV. Much Water and Mutiny, 31

V. San Francisco in 1856, 43

VI. As a Sea Cook, 51

VII. Sights while Cooking, 61

VIII. Whaling in Marguerita Bay, 71

IX. Our Butter Fiends, 82

X. Guadalupe, 86

XI. At the Gold Mines, 90

XII. Swett’s Bar, 99

XIII. One Day’s Digging, 105

XIV. The Miner’s Rainy Day, 114

XV. The Miner’s Sunday, 122

XVI. The Cow Fever, 129

XVII. Red Mountain Bar, 135

XVIII. My California School, 145

XIX. “Jimtown,” 157

XX. Romance of Ah Sam and Hi Sing, 168

XXI. On a Jury, 174

XXII. Some Culinary Reminiscences, 178

XXIII. The Copper Fever, 186

XXIV. Rise and Fall of Copperhead City, 193

XXV. Prospecting, 199

XXVI. High Life, 207

XXVII. Leaving High Life, 217

XXVIII. The Last of High Life, 226

XXIX. On the Rostrum, 237

XXX. Running for Office, 246

XXXI. An Early California Canvass, 254

XXXII. Another Change, 262

XXXIII. Editing vs. Writing, 266

XXXIV. Opinions Journalistic, 275

XXXV. Recent Antiquity, 279

XXXVI. Going Home, 287

PRENTICE MULFORD’S STORY.

CHAPTER I.

SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS

O June morning, when I was a boy, Captain Eben Latham came to our house, and the first gossip he unloaded was, that “them stories about finding gold in Californy was all true.” It was “wash day” and our folks and some of the neighbors were gathered in the “wash house” while the colored help soused her fat black arms in the suds of the wash tub.

That was the first report I heard from California. Old Eben had been a man of the sea; was once captured by a pirate, and when he told the story, which he did once a week, he concluded by rolling up his trousers and showing the bullet-scars he had received.

California then was but a blotch of yellow on the schoolboy’s map of 1847. It was associated only with hides, tallow, and Dana’s “Two Years Before the Mast.” It was thought of principally in connection with longhorned savage cattle, lassoes, and Mexicans. Very near this in general vacancy and mystery was the entire region west of the Rocky Mountains. What was known as the Indian Territory covered an area now occupied by half a dozen prosperous States. Texas was then the Mecca of adventurers and people who found it advisable to leave home suddenly. The phrase in those days, “Gone to Texas,” had a meaning almost equivalent to “Gone to the ——.” Then California took its place.

The report slumbered during the summer in our village, but in the fall it commenced kindling and by winter it was ablaze. The companies commenced forming. It was not entirely a strange land to some of our people.

Ours was a whaling village. Two-thirds of the male population were bred to the sea. Every boy knew the ropes of a ship as soon if not sooner than he did his multiplication table. Ours was a “travelled” community. They went nearer the North and South Poles than most people of their time and Behring Straits, the Kamschatkan coast, the sea of Japan, Rio Janeiro, Valparaiso, the Sandwich Islands, the Azores and the names of many other remote localities were words in every one’s mouth, and words, too, which

we were familiar with from childhood. Many of our whalers had touched at San Francisco and Monterey. There had recently been a great break down in the whale fishery. Whale ships for sale were plentiful. Most of them were bought to carry the “ ’49” rush of merchandise and men to California.

By November, 1848, California was the talk of the village, as it was all that time of the whole country. The great gold fever raged all winter.

All the old retired whaling captains wanted to go, and most of them did go. All the spruce young men of the place wanted to go. Companies were formed, and there was much serious drawing up of constitutions and bylaws for their regulation. In most cases the avowed object of the companies, as set forth in these documents, was “Mining and trading with the Indians.” Great profit was expected to be gotten out of the California Indian. He was expected to give stores of gold and furs in exchange for gilt watches, brass chains, beads, and glass marbles. The companies bought safes, in which to keep their gold, and also strange and complex gold-washing machines, of which numerous patterns suddenly sprang up, invented by Yankees who never saw and never were to see a gold mine. Curious ideas were entertained relative to California. The Sacramento River was reported as abounding in alligators. Colored prints represented the adventurer pursued by these reptiles. The general opinion was that it was a fearfully hot country and full of snakes.

Of the companies formed in our vicinity, some had more standing and weight than others, and membership in them was eagerly sought for. An idea prevailed that when this moral weight and respectability was launched on the shores of California it would entail fortune on all belonging to the organization. People with the lightning glance and divination of golden anticipation, saw themselves already in the mines hauling over chunks of ore and returning home weighed down with them. Five years was the longest period any one expected to stay. Five years at most was to be given to rifling California of her treasures, and then that country was to be thrown aside like a used-up newspaper and the rich adventurers would spend the remainder of their days in wealth, peace, and prosperity at their Eastern homes. No one talked then of going out “to build up the glorious State of California.” No one then ever took any pride in the thought that he might be called a “Californian.” So they went.

People who could not go invested in men who could go, and paid half the expense of their passage and outfit on condition that they should remit back half the gold they dug. This description of Argonaut seldom paid any dividends. I doubt if one ever sent back a dollar. Eastern shareholders really got their money’s worth in gilded hopes, which with them lasted for years. But people never put such brilliant anticipations on the credit side of the account; and merely because that, at the last, they are not realized.

As the winter of “ ’48” waned the companies, one after another, set sail for the land of gold. The Sunday preceding they listened to farewell sermons at church. I recollect seeing a score or two of the young Argonauts thus preached to. They were admonished from the pulpit to behave temperately, virtuously, wisely, and piously. How seriously they listened. How soberly were their narrow-brimmed, straight-up-and-down, little plug hats of that period piled one atop the other in front of them. How glistened their hair with the village barber’s hair oil. How pronounced the creak of their tight boots as they marched up the aisle. How brilliant the hue of their neck-ties. How patiently and resignedly they listened to the sad discourse of the minister, knowing it would be the last they would hear for many months. How eager the glances they cast up to the church choir, where sat the girls they were to marry on their return. How few returned. How few married the girl of that period’s choice. How little weighed the words of the minister a year afterward in the hurry-scurry of the San Francisco life of ’49 and ’50.

What an innocent, unsophisticated, inexperienced lot were those forty odd young Argonauts who sat in those pews. Not one of them then could bake his own bread, turn a flapjack, re-seat his trousers, or wash his shirt. Not one of them had dug even a post-hole. All had a vague sort of impression that California was a nutshell of a country and that they would see each other there frequently and eventually all return home at or about the same time. How little they realized that one was to go to the Northern and one to the Southern mines and one to remain in San Francisco, and the three never to meet again! What glittering gold mines existed in their brains even during the preaching of that sermon! Holes where the gold was put out by the shovelful, from which an occasional boulder or pebble was picked out and flung away.

The young Argonaut, church being dismissed, took his little stiff, shiny plug and went home to the last Sunday tea. And that Sunday night, on

seeing her home from church for the last time, he was allowed to sit up with her almost as long as he pleased. The light glimmered long from the old homestead front parlor window. The cold north wind without roared among the leafless sycamores and crashed the branches together. It was a sad, sad pleasure. The old sofa they sat upon would be sat upon by them no more for years. For years? Forever in many cases. To-day, old and gray, gaunt and bent, somewhere in the gulches, “up North” somewhere, hidden away in an obscure mining camp of the Tuolumne, Stanislaus, or Mokelumne, up in Cariboo or down in Arizona, still he recollects that night as a dream. And she? Oh, she dried her eyes and married the stay-at-home five years after. A girl can’t wait forever. And besides, bad reports after a time reached home about him. He drank. He gambled. He found fair friends among the señoritas. And, worse than all, he made no fortune.

By spring most of the Argonauts had departed. With them went the flower of the village. Their absence made a big social gap, and that for many a day. The girls they left behind tried for a time to live on hope, and afterward “took up” and made the most of the younger generation of boys. They remembered that after all they were not widows. Why should their mourning be permanent? ’Twere selfish for the departed Argonaut to demand it. And who knew how these Args might console themselves on arriving in San Francisco?

After many months came the first letters from San Francisco, and then specimens of gold dust and gold pieces. The gold dust came in quills or in vials, mixed with black sand. But this dust was not always dug by the moral Argonauts, from whom the most was expected. It was often the gathering of some of the obscurer members of our community. Fortune was democratic in her favors.

In the course of two years a few of the “boys” came straggling back. The first of these arrivals, I remember, walked up our main street, wearing on his shoulders a brilliant-hued Mexican serape. It created a sensation. All the small boys of the village “tagged on behind him” a sort of impromptu guard of honor. The serape was about all he did bring home. He talked a great deal of gold and brought specimens, but not in sufficient quantity to pay all outstanding bills. The next of the returned was a long, gaunt, yellow case of Chagres fever. He brought only gloom. Along in 1853-54 came a few of the more fortunate who had made a “raise.” Two returned and paid up their creditors in full who had been by creditors given over. But few came to

remain. They “staid around” home a few weeks, turned up their noses at the small prices asked for drinks, cigars, and stews, treated everybody, grew restless and were off again. Relatives of the not returned beset them with inquiries which they found it difficult to answer, because there was an idea prevalent in the village that a man in California ought to make money, and why didn’t he?

Up to 1860 a “returned Californian” was an object of curiosity and of some importance if he brought any money with him, or rather as long as the money he brought with him lasted. But “the war” wiped them out in this respect. The California fortune of that time was a mere pimple compared with the fortunes made by the war. A generation now exists to whom the whole Argonaut exodus is but an indifferent story.

Sometimes on visiting my native village I stand before one of those oldfashioned houses, from whose front door thirty-four years ago there went forth for the last time the young Argonaut on his way to the ship. There is more than one such house in the village. The door is double, the knocker is still upon it, the window panes are small, the front gate is the same and up to the door the same stones lie upon the walk. But within all are strangers. The father and mother are past anxious inquiry of their son. The sisters are married and live or have died elsewhere. A new generation is all about. They never heard of him. The great event of that period, the sailing of that ship for California, is sometimes recalled by a few—a few rapidly diminishing. His name is all but forgotten. Some have a dim remembrance of him. In his time he was an important young man in the village. He set the fashion in collars and the newest style of plugs. Oh, fame, how fleeting! What is a generation? A puff. A few old maids recollect him. What a pity, what a shame that we do all fade as a leaf!

What a sad place; what a living grave is this for him to return to! Where would he find the most familiar names? In the cemetery. Who would he feel most like? Like “Rip Van Winkle.” Who are these bright and blooming lasses passing by? They are her grown-up children—she with whom he sat up that last Sunday night in the old-fashioned front parlor on the oldfashioned sofa. Where is she? That is she, that stout, middle-aged woman across the street. Is she thinking of him? No; she is thinking whether there shall be cabbage or turnips for dinner. Who is that codgery-looking man going up the street. That is the man she didn’t wait for and married. Should the Argonaut return home if he could? No. Let him stay where he is and

dream on of her as she was, bright, gay, lively, blooming, and possibly romantic. The dream is solid happiness compared with the reality.

The recollections treated in this chapter are to me as a commencement and an ending of the shadows of a series of coming events.

CHAPTER II.

GOING TO SEA

E years later I shipped “before the mast” on the A 1 first-class clipper Wizard bound from New York to San Francisco.

When I made up my mind to become a sailor, I had tried several of this world’s callings and seemed to find none suitable. I had asked counsel of several elderly gentlemen in my native village as to the best way of securing all things needful during my sojourn in this world. They said many wise and good things. They looked wise and good. But really the wordy help they offered was unsatisfactory. So I cut the knot myself and said I would be a sailor. I explained to my male and female friends that I felt myself destined for a maritime career. I needed more excitement than could be got out of a shore humdrum life. The sea was the place for enterprising youthful Americans. The American merchant marine needed American officers and sailors. All heard me and agreed. No doubt it was the best thing. And I talked on and they agreed with all my arguments. How people will agree with you when it’s all one to them what you do! I was eighteen and in most respects a fool, including this—that I did not know it.

The Wizard, on which I shipped with five other boys from my native town, was a first-class clipper. She was a fine thing to look at from a distance, either as she lay at anchor, the tracery of her spars and rigging in relief against the sky, or speeding along under studding sails rigged out on both sides. But once on board and inside her symmetrical lines, things were not so beautiful. Those white, cloud-like sails tore men’s fingers as, hard and heavy with ice or snow, the sailors tried to furl them. Those graceful tapering yards, supporting the studding sails, strained and half-crushed men’s backs when lowered and toted about the deck. There were wooden belaying-pins, iron marline-spikes and other miscellaneous things to fling at men’s heads by those in authority. Those cobweb-like ropes had hard, thick ends lying coiled on deck to lash men’s bodies.

We, the six boys, were obliged to leave our native heaths because there wasn’t room for us on them to earn our bread and clothes. We were not

clearly aware of this at the time, though an unspoken sentiment prevailed there, as it does in most of the older settled States, that the young man must move away to “seek his fortune.” Ten years previous we should have entered the whaling service. But the whale fishery had utterly failed. Once it was the outlet for nearly all the brawn and muscle of our island.

The Captain of the Wizard was from our native town. Therefore myself and the five other boys had shipped under him, expecting special favors. A mistake. Never sail under a Captain who knows your folks at home. You have no business to expect favoritism; he has no business to grant it.

I was the last of the six young lubbers to leave the town for New York. On the morning of my departure the mothers, sisters, and other female relatives of the five who had gone before discovered many other things which they deemed necessary for the urchins to carry on the voyage. So they bore down on me with them, and I bade most of these good people an earthly farewell, loaded down, in addition to my own traps, with an assorted cargo of cakes, sweetmeats, bed quilts, Bibles, tracts, and one copy of “Young’s Night Thoughts” for the boys.

I ate my last dinner as a free man at a Broadway restaurant, and then I went to the wharf where the ship lay. Already the tug was alongside, preparatory to hauling her out in the stream. I went up the plank and over the side. A gentleman in authority asked me, as I stepped on deck, if I belonged to the ship. I said I did. “Take off those togs, then, put on your working duds and turn to, then,” he remarked. The togs went off. I put on my canvas pants and flannel shirt, the garb of sea servitude. Henceforth I was a slave. The ship just then was not a Sunday-school nor a Society for Ethical Culture. It was a howling pandemonium of oaths and orders. Fully one-third of the able seamen had not recovered from their closing-out shore spree, and had tumbled into their berths or were sprawled on deck drunk. Cargo in cases, bales, boxes, and barrels was still rattled over the bulwarks and into the hold. Everybody seemed to be swearing—first, each one on his own, private account, and secondly, all in one general chorus for mutual purposes. Many people seemed in command. I couldn’t distinguish the officers of the ship from the stevedores. Still officers continued to turn up everywhere, and each officer ordered me to some particular and separate duty.

The world looked pretty black to me then. I wished there was some way out of it. On shore the period between the foremast hand and the position of Captain was only the duration of a thought. Here it was an eternity. Day dreams are short, real experience is long. But all this is often in youth a difficult matter to realize.

There came along a short, stout man with a deeper voice and more sonorous oath than anybody else. This was the fourth and last mate. It was a relief to find at last the end of the mates and to know the exact number of men legitimately entitled to swear at me. This gentleman for a season concentrated himself entirely on me. He ordered me with a broom and scraper into the ship’s pig-pen, which he argued needed cleaning. This was my first well-defined maritime duty. It was a lower round of the ladder than I had anticipated. It seemed in its nature an occupation more bucolic than nautical. I would have preferred, also, that compliance with the order had not been exacted until the ship had left the wharf, because there were several shore visitors on board, and among them two of my intimate friends who had come to see me off. There they stood, in all the bravery of silk hats and fashionably-cut attire, conversing on terms of equality with the first mate. They could talk with him on the weather or any subject. I, by virtue of my inferior position, was not at liberty to speak to this potentate at all.

I jumped into the pig-pen. Thus destiny, despite our inclinations, forces down our throats these bitter pills. The fourth mate was not more than a year my senior. He stood over me during the entire process and scolded, cursed, and commanded. My shore friends looked on from afar and grinned. Already they saw the great social chasm which yawned between me and them, and governed their actions accordingly. Already did they involuntarily patronize me. It requires a wise man to detect the wickedness and deceit in his own nature. Probably I should have similarly acted had our positions been reversed. The mate was very particular. He made me sweep and scrape every corner with an elaborate and painful accuracy. He sent me into the pig’s house to further perfect the work. I was obliged to enter it in an almost recumbent position. The pig ran out disgusted. I scraped his floor in a similar mood. Thus commenced life on the ocean wave.

But I got even with the mate. Destiny made me my own involuntary avenger of the indignity put upon me. By indignity I don’t mean the cleaning of the pig-pen. That was an honorable, though menial occupation —at least in theory. Cincinnatus on his farm may have done the same thing.

But I do mean the scurrility and abuse the young officer bestowed on me, while I did my best to execute his bidding.

I hauled the young man overboard about three minutes afterward, but he never knew I did it, and I never allowed myself to think of the occurrence while on shipboard, for fear the powers of the air might ventilate the matter. It came about in this way: A line was passed through a hawse-hole forward to the tug, which was puffing, fretting, fuming, and churning with her screw the mud-ooze and garbage floating in the slip into a closer fusion. My friend the mate stood on the fore-chains with the end of the heavy rope in both hands, trying to pass it to those on the tug. This line running through the hawse-hole aft was lying near where I stood. Some one called out: “Haul in on that line!” I supposed that the order referred to me and the hawser lying at my side. So I hauled with all my might. I felt at first some resistance—something like a tugging at the other end. I hauled all the harder. Then something seemed to give way. It hauled easier. I heard, coincident with these sensations, a splash, loud cries, much swearing and the yell of “Man overboard!” I raised my head over the bulwarks and there was my mate, floundering amid dock ooze, rotten oranges, and salt water. It was he who held the other end of the line, and my hauling had caused the centre of gravity in his short body to shift beyond the base, and in accordance with a natural law he had gone overboard. He was the general cynosure of all eyes. They fished him out, wet and swearing. There was a vigorous demand for the miscreant who had been hauling on the line. I was as far as possible from the spot and kept myself very busy. Bluster went below and changed his clothes. I was avenged.

CHAPTER III.

GETTING MY SEA LEGS ON

W were towed into the stream and anchored for the night. To look at New York City, with its many lights and its thousands amusing themselves in various ways, from the ship’s deck, without the possibility of joining them, was to feel for the first time the slavery of marine life. Emerging very early next morning from the “boys’ house,” I found everything in the bustle and confusion of getting under way. A long file of men were tramping aft with a very wet hawser. As I stood looking at them my ear was seized by our Dutch third mate, who accompanied the action with the remark, “Cooms, I puts you to work.” He conducted me in this manner to the rope and bade me lay hold of it. I did so. I could have done so with a better heart and will had it not been for the needless and degrading manner in which he enforced his command. Most men do their work just as well for being treated with a certain courtesy of command due from the superior to the inferior.

At noon the tug cast off. The Highlands of Navesink sank to a cloud in the distance. The voyage had commenced. All hands were mustered aft. The Captain appeared and made them a short speech. He hoped we would all do our duty and that the voyage would be a pleasant one. It was not a pleasant one at all. However, that was all in the future. The first and second mates then chose the men for their respective watches, commencing with the able seamen, then picking out the ordinary seamen, and finally descending to the boys. Of course the best of all these grades were picked off first. I think I was among the last of the boys who were chosen.

The first night out was fine. The Wizard slightly bowed to the ocean, and the sails seemed great black patches, waving to and fro against the sky. The six boys, so soon to be miserable, gathered in a cluster on deck. Jed Coles proposed that we “spin yarns.” It was the nautically correct way of passing the time. So we “spun yarns,” or at least Jed did. He had a batch ready for the occasion. He sat on a tub, put an enormous chew of tobacco in his mouth, hitched up his trousers and felt every inch a sailor. I noticed the

second mate, that incarnation of evil and brutality, hovering about us, dark as it was. I saw his fiendish grin and the glare of his greenish eye. A precious lot of young fools we must have seemed to him. A little after our yarn spinning was interrupted by shrieks and cries of distress proceeding from the forward part of the ship. We had then our first exhibition of the manner of enforcing American merchant-service discipline. The second mate was beating Cummings, a simple being, who, having sailed only in “fore-and-aft” coasting vessels, had made the mistake of shipping as an ordinary seaman on a square-rigged craft, and was almost as much at sea in his knowledge of the ropes as the “boys.” This officer had singled out Cummings for his awkwardness as the proper man to “haze.” He was showering upon him blows, thick and fast, with the end of one of the fore braces. It was the first time I had ever seen a man beaten by one in authority. The cringing attitude, the cries, sobs, and supplications of a fullgrown man, and the oaths and terrible ferocity of his castigator, were inexpressibly shocking to me. The incident, which was often repeated during the voyage, broke up our amateur yarning and made us very thoughtful.

Jedediah Coles was not at all nautically loquacious the next night. Then the Gulf Stream gave us a touch of its tantrums. All during the afternoon the sky grew more and more threatening. By dark it was blowing hard. The lighter sails one by one were stowed. Then it blew harder. The mate swore the harder. The Captain came on deck and swore at everybody. One of the “boys” asked him if he thought it would be stormy. He considered himself privileged to ask the Captain that question. He was a native of the same village. His father and the Captain were friends, and his mother and the Captain’s wife visited each other. So he deemed it advisable to establish himself on a sociable footing with the Captain at the commencement of the voyage. Poor boy! Never again during the trip did he consult the Captain meteorologically. He learned speedily the great gulf which yawns between the cabin and the forecastle.

It grew dark, the waves became bigger and bigger, and the ship seemed taxed to her utmost trying to clamber them one after another as they presented themselves. The mates came out in their oilskins. The order was given to reef topsails. Gangs of men ran hither and thither, pulling here, hauling there, and running straight over us whenever we got in their way, and it seemed impossible to get out of their way. Everything became

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