DESSERT
Jack Corbett, Mariner
This vivid account ofseafaring 150years ago was retrieved from family papers and published for the first time in November this year. It is narrated by A. S. Hatch, son ofa Vermont doctor who went to sea at age twenty in 1849 as a "cure of Kill" treatment for his chronic asthma. On the New York waterfront he met jack Corbett, who showed him the ropes aboard the Western Ocean packet New World. The cure worked and Hatch kept sailing until he came ashore to become one of the nation's leading financiers. Meeting his old seadog mentor thirty years later, he adopted Corbett as family boatman and wrote up their time at sea together for his children's enjoyment. This excerpt brings to life for us the experience of sailing before the mast in a crack Yankee packet. An Exultant Dash H avin g dropped tugboats and pilot, with all plain sa il set and straining at th e ya rds in a stron g northwest wind , the New World was layin g her co urse fo r the G ulf Stream . T here was a buoya ncy in her rise and fall to the ocean swell and so rt of exultant das h in the way she threw the spray fro m her bow that seemed to say she was glad to be fr ee at las t of the wharf, th e ancho r and puffing steam tugs, cl ear of shoals and buoys and muddy channels, with th e broad ocean before her and fa th o ml ess depths of blue and briny wa ter under her keel. The ocean too see med glad to welco me her and tossed her o n irs boso m and ca ressed her sides and smil ed in the bright sunlight as ifi n pl ayful sa tisfacti o n, whil e the rush and whistl e of the wind through the rigging was not witho ut its no te of gladness . All this seemin g exhilaration of ship and sea and wind was contagious. Passe nge rs and crew caught it and reveled in it, forgetful fo r the rim e of the comin g perils of sto rm and fog, and of the ho rro rs of im pending seas ickn ess . Towa rds night I was on the poo p aft, where I had been sent for some triAin g tas k. W hen it was fini shed, I linge red for a las t loo k at th e land now fas t sinkin g fro m sight as tern. M y blood had been racing and my nerves thrilling all day with the ge neral
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exaltation that had pervaded the ship, and with th e excitem ent of th e novelty of it all to me. Mingling with these feelings there now cam e a pensive mood , softenin g but not subduing them. As the rw ili ghr gathered, I realized for the first time that I was losing sight of the land o n whi ch all my life had been spent. T he sun went d own in a blaze of glory behind the Highlands. Fleecy clo uds, thro ugh which had gleamed streaks and parches of blue sky, hun g fro m the zenith down the wes tern sky, fo rming themselves in to strange and fa ntas ti c shapes and raking on brilliant hues of crimso n and gold and purple and o range as they neared the ho rizo n .
The famous Swallow Tail Line packet New Wo rld in Liverpool. Then, as the deepening rwilighr lost itself in darkness, th e rwin Aas hes of the Highland Lights sho t out over th e sea. The outlin e of the coast, which had grown dim and hazy, disappeared , and the rwo lights we re all that rem ai ned in sight of my native land. I had never seen them before and did not know what they were. But as the las t visible links berween my hea rt -now filled with tender memo ries-and what I had left behind, the Li ghts ca me to represent to me ho me, kindred, fri ends, country, and all that I loved. As I looked at them th ey becam e to my qui ckened imagination a pair of wa tchful eyes, taking no te of al l the ships that we nt out to sea and the hum an lives and interests th at we nt with them . . . . Afterwards, on the remrn voyage, I used to thin k of them, es pecially in the dark nigh rs, as watching th ere still, with un fa iling co nstancy, to guide and welco me us home.
A Slippery Start O ne day I was sent up to slush the fore
topgal lant mas t. I fill ed my slush bu cket at the barrel that stood just o utside the cook's galley and we nt gail y to my tas k. T he weath er was fin e and bracing, just a fr esh breeze blow in g, and t he sun shinin g brightl y. I made my way up the to pgallant rigging to the mas th ead, made my bu cket fas t by its la nya rd to a backs ray with a slipkno t so that I could move ir alon g d own as I worked fro m th e masthead dow nward, and we nt at it. I had bur just begun, w hen, as I was reaching to the bucker for a h a ndful of slush, it suddenly disappeared. Lo oking downwa rd, I saw it sliding swiftly down the backsray. Ir fetched up o n the rail w ith a bang, go ing all to pi eces and scatte ring its con ten ts over deck and bulwarks. I had no t m ade my slip kn ot right, and it had sli pped p remamrely o n its own respo n sibili ty with o ut any help fro m m e. Luckil y the chief mate w as on th e poop aft, intent o n raki n g the sun, and th e thi rd ma te and m ost of th e wa tch were busy a t somerhi ng o n the forecastl e fo rwa rd. I succeeded in getting do wn o n deck, secu rin g ano ther bucket, fillin g it, and getting back to my post of d uty without attracting attenti o n except from old Du ffy the cook, who remarked wi th a grin that perhaps I had better rake the barre l alo ng with me at o nce a nd be donewirh it ifI was going to slush th e whole ship . Th is time I made out to keep my bu cket fro m go ing down any fas ter than I did . W hen I had , as I supposed, suffi cie ntly slushed the m ast, I went d own on d eck. I met the third mate going afr. He stop ped and looked me over and laughed. "W hat have yo u been do ing, boy? " he asked. "Slushin g the fo re to pgallant mas t , Sir, " I replied, pro ud as a drum major. "What we re yo u slushing mos tly, the mas t or yo urself?" he as ked . I knew th at I was pret ty well covered with the stuff, bur had supposed th at was a necessary inc ident to the occupatio n of slushing a m ast in a fres h breeze. "S up pose yo u try the weather sid e next time, " he sa id , and turned away wi th a fres h laugh. I had go ne up o n the lee side o f the mas t and slushed against the wind, with the res ult that mos t of what was intend ed fo r the mas t had been blown back over me.
SEA HISTORY I 03, WINTER 2002-03