Voyage from Bombay to the Persian Gulf.

There is a monotony in a long sea-voyage, particularly to passengers, which those who have never traversed the wide ocean cannot well understand. A fair or contrary wind, a calm or a storm, a man overboard, a strange sail, or the hooking of a shark, are events which rouse for the moment; but the passenger soon sinks again into his listless, restless life, sitting half an hour below, walking another half hour on deck, holding on by the rigging when the ship rolls, looking over the gangway when the sea is smooth, watching the man casting the log, and waiting with anxiety to hear the latitude announced at twelve o'clock. His little incidents are, being in the way of the officer of the watch when upon deck, and when below disturbing the captain's calculations of the longitude, by laughing or talking with other idlers; for that is the class in which he is registered in the muster-roll of the crew. With me, however, there is a pursuit which helps to beguile a long voyage. I am always on the lookout for odd characters, and these abound at sea; from which circumstance, I suppose, we have our common phrase of calling an out-of-the-way person "an odd fish," alluding to the element where he is generally found. Such a one I met on board the frigate in which we sailed for Persia, and I shall give a sketch of him as taken at the moment.

This man, whose name was Peterson, was what he appeared to be, a blunt sailor: his experience in the Indian seas recommended him to the situation he now occupied, as acting master of a frigate: he was a figure to play Falstaff, being very stout, and nearly six feet high. He wore his clothes loose, and, when he came on board, a sailor, struck with his appearance, turning his quid as he eyed him, exclaimed, "We shall never be in distress for canvass; our new master wears a spare set of sails."

I shall give Peterson's history in his own words, as related after dinner the day he came on board. "I have been," said he, "thirty-two years at sea, and have seen both calms and storms. When a young man, I was stuck full of arrows by some savage Americans; and but for a tobacco-box, which stopped one that hit upon a vital part, I should have gone to Davy's locker at that time. Since I came to this country, twenty-eight years ago, I have had many ups and downs, but weathered them all pretty tolerably till three years since, when coming to Bombay in a small sloop, I was laid on board by some pirates belonging to Bate.[1] We fought as well as we could, but the rascals were too many for us, and while we were defending one part of the vessel they sprung on board at another, giving a fire at the same time, which killed my owner close beside me. A passenger then jumped overboard, for which, thought I, 'you are a fool;' for let the worst come to the worst, a man may do that at any time. One of these fellows looking at me cried 'Mar haramee,' which means, 'kill the rascal.' 'Mut mar,' 'don't kill him,' said a soft-hearted looking fellow, and defended me from the blow; so they did not kill me, but stripped and bound me to the capstan, and away they took us to Bate. When we came there, the chief or head fellow came on board, and I fully expected we should be sent ashore and hanged. When this chap sent for me, I was a pretty figure; I had not been shaved for three weeks, and I was wrapped round with a top-gallant studding sail. 'What are you?' said the fellow. 'An Englishman,' said I. 'Very well; I won't kill you.' 'Faith,' thinks I, 'I'm very glad of that.' 'My people,' says he, 'are all big thieves.' 'Egad,' thinks I, 'you are the biggest of the gang.' He then asked me what money or property I had; and I thought at one time he looked as if he would have given it back; so I tells him all, even to my gold watch. The whole was about five thousand rupees. 'Well, well,' says he, 'it shall be taken care of;' and I suppose it was, for I never saw a rap of it, only five rupees that the villain gave me, in a present, as he called it, to bear my expenses when he sent me and my crew to Bombay.

"I left Bate, notwithstanding my losses, as happy as could be, to get out of their clutches alive; and after some days we reached Bombay in a pretty pickle; my feet were swelled, I had not shaved since my capture, and I had only a few ragged clothes on. Two rupees were left out of the five, and with them I went to a tavern and ordered breakfast; when it was over I told one of the servants to call his master. In came an English waiter, with his head all powdered, shuffling and mincing, saying, as he entered the room, 'Do you want me, Sir?' 'Yes,' says I, 'I want you: I have been plundered, and have got no cash, and will thank you to lend me twenty or thirty rupees.' 'What are you—a common sailor?' 'Not quite,' says I; 'but I want the money to get a few clothes, and then I can go to my friends.' 'I am not master of this house,' said this gentleman, and out he skips. I saw no more of him or his twenty rupees; and when I told a servant to get me a tiffin, he said I had not paid for my breakfast. As I was jawing with this fellow, a Parsee[2] came in, and asked me if I had not better go to the bazar, and borrow some clothes, and then go to my friends. Well, God knows, I had not much heart to do any thing; for the unkindness of my countryman, after all I had suffered, cut me just as if I had been cut with a knife; but I thought I might as well follow the Parsee, who was one of those fellows that go about Bombay trying what they can make of every body they meet. I goes first to one shop, and tries things on; and when they fit, I says, 'I will pay you to-morrow;' but the fellow says, 'No; ready money.' Well, I was obliged to strip again: this happened at four shops, and I was quite tired, when a good fellow, who keeps No. 18, of the Great Bazar, said I might fit myself, and pay when I could. I then got rigged, and stood away for Mr. Adamson, whom I had before known. I met him at the door of his house, and he did not know me; but when I told him my story—'Oh!' says he, quite pitiful, 'are you the poor fellow who has suffered so much? I will get you a berth in another ship—and take this.' So saying, he gives me one hundred rupees. Well, I thanked him; and next goes to Captain Phillips, and got from him a present of two gold mohurs, and six suits of good clothes, from top to toe. He made me report and write three or four sheets about Bate, and how I had been used; and then sent me to the governor, Mr. Duncan, who gets all the long story from me again, and then gave me one hundred rupees. I had now two hundred and thirty rupees and clean rigging. I goes again to the tavern, and sings out lustily for tiffin. Well, they look and sees I am quite a different thing from before, and so become mighty civil and attentive. The waiter begs my pardon—says he was mistaken—and that he had twenty rupees ready, and would give me any aid I liked. 'D—n your aid,' says I; 'you are very ready to give it to any person who does not want it.' It was a great treat to me to serve him as I did: I eat my tiffin, paid for it on the table, and left the house.

"Well," said Peterson, "to make a long story short, I went in a China ship, and last year got the command of a vessel belonging to a Persian merchant, who trades to the Gulf. He was a bad owner, had no credit, and, what with that and the fear of the Arabs, I had a troublesome time of it. We parted; and he has got another captain, rather black to be sure, but he likes him all the better, I suppose, from being nearer his own vile colour than I was; and I, by this means, being along shore, having no money or credit, am glad to come as acting-master of this here ship. I thank God I have good health, and don't complain; many are worse off than I am."

Such was our master's[3] history. In a conversation I had with him, as we were walking the deck, the day we arrived at Muscat, I asked him if he had a wife? "No;" said he. "You were never married, then?" "I didn't say so," he replied. "I beg your pardon," said I. "Oh! no harm, no harm! the honest truth never need be hid: I was married: but taking a long voyage, being away seven years, and my letters (of which, by the by, I wrote but few) miscarrying, what does my wife do, but marries again. This I heard when I got home to England." "And what did you do?" said I; "did you inquire after her?" "Indeed I did not," said Peterson with great indifference; "I didn't think her worth so much trouble; she was glad, I suppose, to get rid of me, and, God knows, I was not sorry to be shot of her."

The vicissitudes to which sailors are subject train them to bear what are termed the ups and downs of life better than any other men in the world. They appear, when afloat, not only to leave all their cares on shore, but to forget the hardships incident to their condition. A remarkable instance of this was given by our captain, who told us that he went one day to see a tender, on board which there was a great number of men who had just been pressed, and who, though strictly confined in their floating prison, were, nevertheless, joining in the chorus of one of our patriotic airs, and singing with great glee the old song:—

"Who are so free as we sons of the waves?"