Originally published in Harper's New Monthly Magazine (Harper and Brothers) vol.16 #92 (Jan 1858).
On that eventful night when the five hundred men composing the ship's company of the ill-fated steamer Central America were struggling for life with darkness and the billows, an old-time superstition of the sea turned toward them the prow of the Norwegian bark Ellen, whose brave crew succeeded in rescuing the survivors of those despairing swimmers. The circumstances of the rescue are too fresh in the public mind to need recital at our hands. We will simply quote the words of the Norwegian Captain, as to the cause of his so fortunate presence upon the scene of disaster and death: "Some time before I saw or heard you (so he spoke to one of the rescued), the wind hauled and I altered my course a little—thus standing away from the then unknown scene of wreck. Immediately after altering my course, a small bird flew across the ship twice, and then darted at my face. I took little notice of the circumstance. Again the bird flew around the ship, and again it darted in my face. This time I began to regard it as something extraordinary, and while pondering upon the matter, and hesitating whether to pay attention to the feathered monitor, it appeared for the third time and repeated its extraordinary actions. I immediately put the ship's head back to the course we had been originally steering; and shortly after we heard noises in the water about us;" which proved to be the shouts of the shipwrecked.
The vessel was in their midst. Had she been continued upon her altered course, it is certain that the cries of the swimmers would have failed to reach the bark, and they would have been in all probability lost.
If a disposition to believe more than is warranted by reason be the true meaning of superstition, then, to a certain extent, the existence of this faculty in the mind of an uneducated sailor is pardonable; placed in the sphere of action of the greatest wonders in creation he beholds the working of mysterious influences, acting on a gigantic scale—the rising and falling of the tides, awful from their immensity, and wonderful from their exact regularity; he sails, and in a few weeks the fickle and inconstant wind is changed for one that never varies—the needle, obeying a secret law occult from his investigation, becomes his constant friend and companion; and placing implicit reliance on these mysterious agents, he is easily led to give credence to things of meaner note, predisposing him to superstition.
With slight powers of observation, and still less reflection, the sailor is not an adept at tracing causes. Most things beyond the range of the familiar are a mystery to him—hence he is easily imposed upon. Continually exposed to perils of great moment, from habit he becomes bold and daring, as regards physical dangers; but at the same time he is the veriest slave of superstitious fear, and the dull hours of the middle watch are often passed in feverish excitement, as some garrulous old tar narrates to his listening mates the voices and echoes he has heard, and the flashes he has seen, since he first followed his restless calling.
Seamen are prone to wonder, and in their rambling vocation this faculty is constantly exercised. Flying Dutchmen and other supernatural appearances have ever been considered by them as among the things entitled to implicit faith; it is this faculty in its excited state that has produced the vision of the phantom ship—the sea serpent—and made them converts to the belief in all the wonderful tales about the Kraken.
The objects which induce the seaman to superstition are various, and in proposing to enumerate some of the most popular, we will commence with fishes.
The common barnacle, or shell-fish, frequently found sticking to the bottoms of ships, is believed by Scotch and English mariners to become a species of goose; and, indeed, when we find Hollinshed gravely asserting, that "with his own eyes he saw the feathers of these barnacles hang out of the shell at least two inches," who can be surprised at the credulity of the illiterate sailor? In Scotland this is widely believed, and the goose supposed to owe its existence to the barnacle has a name:
"Like your Scotch Barnacle, now a block,
Instantly a worm, and presently a great goose."[1]
Another very common superstition is, that the black spot on each side of the gills of the John Dory, and haddock, was made by St. Peter with his finger and thumb, when he took the tribute money out of the mouths of fish of these species, and which mark continued on the whole race ever since the performance of this miracle.
The dolphin and porpoise are never looked upon as favorable omens if they make their appearance during a calm—tie belief is, that the fish and the wind come from the same quarter. If they spring and bound about with energy, it is held to be a sure prognostic of an approaching gale—on the contrary, if they are seen pursuing each other during a storm, or when the sea is rough, it is a sign of fair and calm weather to ensue.
There is an ugly fish called a sea urchin. If these are observed to thrust themselves into the mud, or endeavor to cover their bodies with sand, it foreshows a storm. Cockles and other shell-fish frequently have sand and gravel sticking to them previous to bad weather. The philosophy of this appears to be, they try to ballast themselves, in order to resist being raised from the bottom by surges; and as a general rule, it is observed that both salt and fresh water fish leap and bite more eagerly before rain than at any other time.
A deadly feud exists between the sailor and the shark; and of all the fish which swim "the ocean stream," there is not one upon which he exercises such unrelenting animosity as this ravenous fish. Once in his power, on the deck. and instantly his knife is plunged into its voracious maw; and with greedy delight he gloats over the expiring agonies of his victim. He believes if one of these fish follow the ship for a few days a death is sure to occur on board.
With Danish and Norwegian seamen are associated many singular superstitions. The Neck is one of these: in shape he is described a handsome boy, wearing a red cap on his head, beneath which escapes a rich profusion of golden hair, luxuriant and dazzling; he is shaped below like a horse; his amusement is playing on a golden harp, sitting on the waters—he plays exquisitely. This superstition is interesting, inasmuch as it is connected with Christianity; fer it is believed the Neck will teach any one the art of playing on his golden harp who will present him with a black lamb, at the same time promising him redemption, as the loss of his salvation troubles him exceedingly.
From Norway also comes the story of the Kraken; and although the authority of Bishop Pontoppidan of Bergen, and member of the Royal Academy of Science at Copenhagen, appears to support the truth of the appearance of this wonderful marine production, still great deliberation must be exercised before we adopt the contradictory statements concerning it—nay, perhaps we may be pardoned if we place the whole account of it to superstitious fear, or at least to a want of proper investigation.
This immense marine animal (according to the authority above mentioned) frequents the northern seas, particularly near the coasts of Norway and Sweden; and the bishop, in his natural history of the latter kingdom, gives an interesting account of this stupendous creature. According to him the Kraken lies in deep water, in eighty or one hundred fathoms, and when he rises to the surface, which it appears he seldom does, the calmest sea becomes troubled to a vast distance around him, the heaving billows pointing out the more immediate space in which he will emerge; those parts of his back above the surface assuming the aspect of so many islands, variable in dimensions as well as shape, at every motion of the Kraken. The form of this monster is likened to a crab, and the back or upper part is said to be a mile and a half in circumference, or, as some affirm, even more. Its limbs, and it has many, are truly enormous, appearing, when elevated above the sea, as large as the masts of moderate-sized ships, and are besides possessed of such strength that with one of them he can seize on boats and the smaller kinds of ships, and draw them under water. His descent is no less terrible than his rising, since it occasions a swell and whirlpool, so violent and irresistible, that ships of the greatest size coming within its action inevitably sink into the abyss of waters—and sink to rise no more.
Various authors mention this tremendous animal besides Pontoppidan; among others, Denys Montfort, who, it appears, gave the subject much attention; he even classed him with the sepia—while some think he partakes of the mixed character of the sepia and medusa. He is also stated to belong to the mollusca order, or family of worms peculiar to the sea.
In proof of the existence of such an animal, the Norwegian sailors state, that on the coast adjacent to the place where the Kraken inhabits, the waters often suddenly become shallow—that is to say, the ground fished upon a few hours since in fifty or eighty fathoms, is rapidly reduced to five or ten, or even less than that; they believe this sudden shoaling of the water to be caused by the rising of the Kraken; and as fish always abound in the vicinity of the spot where he is supposed to be, they regard it as a fortunate circumstance; should the Kraken, however, approach very near the surface, they are compelled to pull for their lives, to avoid being killed by the enormous monster.
The opposite feelings of profaneness and superstition are often found united in sailors, and the same individual who would dread the storm-raising effect of whistling a jig, will often be guilty of the most revolting excesses and licentious conduct. One beautiful weakness, however, they possess, compensating for the absurdity of many others—it is, that children are always deemed lucky to a ship. May not this amiable superstition in some way explain the reason of the faith in a child's caul, or the holy and fortunate cap, as it is called by some? In France, "être né coiffé," is an expression signifying that a person is extremely fortunate. The possession of a caul is esteemed an infallible preservative against drowning, as occasional newspaper advertisements, in the middle of this nineteenth century, will sufficiently prove.
The stormy petrel, or Mother Cary's chicken, is of the catalogue of marine superstitions. This delicate little ocean bird is not much larger than a lark, and takes the widest flight of any from the shore; and hence, when a gale springs up, it is frequently obliged to seek refuge on rocks in the sea, or on vessels. For this reason it has been called the tempest bird. The French name petit Pierre, is taken from their habit of walking on the water by the help of their wings. Mermaids are too well known to need a description; a lovely woman upward from the waist, and a fish below; they delight in combing their long golden locks with a comb, and examining themselves in a mirror; they are considered dangerous to approach, as their fascinating beauty, heightened and assisted by their delicious melody, entice the unwary into the water, to drown them. They are supposed to abide in caverns in the sea, and to delight in submarine grottoes. This fabulous creature, no doubt, owes its origin to the resemblance which a certain kind of seal, when in the water, bears to the upper part of the human body.
The belief is very common among old seamen that Fins and Laplanders are wizards, possessed of mysterious and occult powers over winds and storms. Dana, in his "Two Years Before the Mast," gives some particulars concerning this belief. One of his shipmates had been with a Fin, a sail-maker, "who could do any thing he had a mind to." This sail-maker, it was believed, kept in his bunk a very mysterious junk bottle, which was always just half full of rum, though he got drunk upon its contents nearly every day. The sailors believed that he daily placed this bottle before him on a chest, and talked to it by the half hour.
There are at sea numerous legends of headstrong Fins, who, taking dudgeon at some fancied insult from officers, have detained the ship, by causing head winds of weeks' duration. "John" told Mr. Dana that he had himself been in a ship where they had a head wind for a fortnight, and the captain discovered at last that one of the crew, whom he had given some hard words some time before, was a Fin. Upon this he immediately told him that, if he did not stop the head wind, he would shut him down in the fore-peak (a dark and narrow hole in the bow of the vessel). The Fin would not give in (so said John), and the captain shut him up, and stopped his allowance of food. After a day and a half of starvation the obstinate Fin was subdued, and "did something or other which brought the wind round again," upon which they let him up.
All seamen are more or less superstitious about the moon; they prognosticate from her appearance the kind of weather to ensue. If her horns appear sharp, fine weather is considered likely to follow; it is a bad omen when the new moon lies on her back, that is, when her horns are pointed toward the zenith. It often occurs that the dark side of the moon is seen, or, in other words, that part of the moon which is covered with shadow is visible through it. This they call the new moon carrying the old moon in her arms, and is considered a bad sign; a hazy circle round the moon foretells rain, the distance of the circle from the luminary indicating the near or distant period of its occurring.
Friday has, hitherto, been considered an unfortunate day for commencing a voyage—Sunday the reverse. This superstition probably arose from the circumstance of the crucifixion of the Redeemer on the first-mentioned day, and his resurrection on the last. It was the custom of the early mariners to obtain the good wishes of the church previous to going to sea, to protect them from its perils; and it is conjectured the priesthood, in order to enforce a strict observance of their religious rites, were the instigators of this superstition. The grand leveler, steam, however, is fast depriving the one of its supposed evil influence, and the other of its fancied good.
All good fortune is supposed to leave the ship while she carries a corpse on board. To lose a mop, or drop a water-bucket into the sea while drawing water—to drown a cat or to kill one, are deemed evil omens; and as a wind-up to these absurd notions, it is believed by most British mariners that all persons born at sea belong to Stepney parish, in London.
Some sailors believe that a kingfisher suspended freely in the air, by means of a piece of thread passed through its beak, will show from which quarter the wind blows, by an occult and secret law of its own turning its breast in the true direction, thereby introducing natural weathercocks.
Hanging a rope over a ship's side is a superstitious idea which many seamen possess; the belief is that their friends, sweet-hearts, or wives, as the case may be, secretly take hold of it, and help to pull the ship home again.
Events frequently happen at sea, strongly tending to feed and cherish a superstitious feeling; and men who too frequently judge of things from appearances, without inquiring into the cause, are apt to ascribe to supernatural agency what might be readily explained by scientific observation. The following is an example:
On a calm and sunny day a ship was sailing over the sea, hundreds of miles away from any land, and no other sail in sight, when suddenly the attention of her crew was arrested by the loud and distinct ringing of a bell. Clang, clang, clang it went, to the amazement of all. They ascended the rigging, but nothing could be seen but the gently-heaving sea and the fair blue sky. From whence could this sound proceed? No bell, by the ordinary mode of conveying sound, could be heard from the distance they could see; still the inexplicable sounds continued—clang, clang, clang—and terror was depicted in the countenances of the crew; it seemed to them as though they heard the ship's knell, and many a hardy tar grew pale. A scientific individual calmed their fears, for he accounted for the strange bell at once—upon the well known principle of the acoustic tube—in this way: as the sound of a gun discharged from a high mountain echoes from cliff to cliff, so, in the present instance, the clouds reflected the sound of a bell of a distant ship to the spot in which they were placed. Soon after, on the following day, they met a ship, and on inquiring they found it was her bell they had heard—her crew had been violently sounding it for their amusement. But for this explanation, and its happy confirmation, every seaman on board would have believed that the sounds of the bell were caused by supernatural agency.
Ships apparently navigated among the clouds are sometimes seen at sea, owing to certain peculiar states of the atmosphere, and under these circumstances it requires no ordinary effort to calm the superstitious apprehensions of ignorant men. A few years ago a ship left an English port on a distant voyage—she was expected to be absent about a year. After that period of time had elapsed, and some few months over, her owners began to be uneasy about her fate; still she came not. Month after month rolled away, until all hope of seeing her return had been banished from the mind of the most sanguine. In the course of the summer a violent storm of thunder and lightning arose, which on clearing away left the sky serene, when a ship bearing a great resemblance to the missing vessel appeared in the air, standing under all her canvas, and bearing for the harbor—she kept in sight twenty minutes. The phantom ship was borne along until she appeared within half a mile of the spectators; she then gradually disappeared, became fainter and fainter, until she wholly vanished into air. The vision was of course believed to be the spectre of the lost ship, and came to warn the towns-people of her fate. In thirty hours after the real missing ship sailed into the harbor. Science explains this mysterious appearance in the following manner: When the spectre of the missing ship was first seen, the real ship herself was a great distance off at sea, but her image was reflected on the clouds within the vision of the spectators in the town, by certain laws of optics well understood, before her outlines could be discerned on the horizon. A slight shifting of the sun's rays, or a different density of the atmosphere, caused her sudden disappearance.
A familiar illustration of the above singular appearance may be seen by trying the following experiment: Look at any object through alcohol lying on water, and the object will appear reversed; so a ship, or other object, seen through two strata of air of different densities will appear the same.
In the Isle of France there are persons who predict the approach of vessels long before they are visible to the ordinary eye; this is, no doubt, owing to their being reflected in the atmosphere or on the clouds, and caused by the high electric state of the air in that part of the world. Sailors call the lightning seen in those parts "Madagascar lightning," the most incessant and vivid known.
Whenever we are at a loss to assign to an object presented to our notice for the first time its proper class, or to trace a cause to its effect, we exercise the faculty of wonder, differing in intensity in proportion to the power of the exciting cause; and in elucidation of this theory, a circumstance which occurred to some English sailors, while investigating an island in the Pacific, is introduced here.
The shore-going party had left the ship, and were proceeding toward the land, which the morning sun had revealed to them rather unexpectedly. They had two boats, the jolly-boat and a cutter. On nearing the shore they were much surprised to find the sea covered with branches of the most beautiful coral, in places rising level with the surface of the sea, forming beautiful little bays and creeks, the margins of which were of the most dazzling hues; in one of them was a bed of coral a few feet below the surface; and as the boats skimmed over it the varying shades caused by the gentle rippling of the water afforded one of the most delightful sights that nature ever presented. It appeared to grow from the shore in a lateral direction, and branched out in surprising luxuriance, but its extensive ramifications prevented its root being seen; it had, therefore, the appearance of hanging in the water. The smooth sea, the bland air, and the bright sun illumined the different kinds of coral, and exposed them, in all their brilliancy, to the delighted gaze of the party. Bright as the coral was, it was dullness itself when compared with the myriads of fishes which glided about at their leisure in these coral basins; the intensity of their hues baffles all description, and the enchanting harmony of the whole was completed by the variety of their size and form.
After passing over this singular place the water suddenly deepened, and pulling direct for the shore, distant about half musket shot, they perceived the mouth of a cavern into which the sea flowed. At the entrance the water was about six fathoms deep, which gradually became shallower as they advanced into the interior; at a distance of about three hundred yards from its mouth the cavern branched off in two directions almost at right angles—the main channel, however, continuing in a straightforward course, the branch to the right having an opening which communicated with the sea, though at a considerable distance. After a little delay, spent in examining the glittering sides of the cavern, the boats separated, the one taking the opening to the right, and the other the opening to the left, which was but obscurely lighted. We will follow the fortunes of the first boat. After passing some distance down the new-found opening they came to others, branching off in various directions, in most of which there was water sufficient to float the boat; they continued to gently grope their way toward the light, leaving the side channels unexplored, fearing to lose themselves in the labyrinths of the grotto.
Pulling gently along, and constantly sounding the bottom with a boat-hook, they ultimately arrived at the other entrance of the cavern; but before coming to it they entered one of the most stupendous and magnificent-looking halls the mind can contemplate, placed at such a distance from the mouth of the cave as to exclude the too scrutinizing effects of the daylight, and yet obtaining sufficient light to indistinctly show the outlines of the place.
It was impossible to ascertain the height of the roof, as it was totally concealed from view in impenetrable gloom; on rowing round it, the circumference was considered at least a quarter of a mile. In different places broad, lofty aisles, flying buttresses, Gothic pillars—all on the grandest scale—were presented to the imagination; and the effect of the whole was singularly heightened by the flashes of phosphorescent light emitted from the water as the boat passed through it; living streams of pale blue fire seemed to cling to the blades of the oars, and the boat's wake shone with the brilliancy of melted silver.
Admiration and astonishment are but poor terms to express the emotions of the mind in visiting this extraordinary place. If a mermaid or a siren, or any other fabled creation of the brain, had sprung out of the water, she would have been considered in her proper place; in short, it seemed the fitted abode for such beings. After lingering about, loth to leave the spot containing such singular beauty, and regretting that a natural curiosity so stupendously elegant should be so far removed from the civilized world, the boat's crew retraced their course, in order to join their companions.
They were doomed to be terrified as well as delighted ere they reached the open day again, as, by the time they had gained the spot where the boats separated, they found their shipmates waiting their return in the greatest impatience.
It appeared, after their separation, the boat's crew investigating the opening in the cavern to the left, after penetrating a little distance, found their further progress impeded by some object which nearly reached across the channel of the cave, and which appeared to move itself up and down as if endowed with life. The indistinctness of the light prevented an accurate examination, and as mystery always magnifies danger, they concluded it was some huge marine monster entangled in the mazes of the cavern; and not knowing what to make of it, they paused at a respectful distance, to examine more closely. One roll of the mass, however, completely disconcerted their nerves; and the sighing of the wind through the vaulted roofs and arches of the cave gave a moaning and indistinct sound, which had a powerful effect upon their imagination. After waiting a single instant they pulled the boat's head round, and rowed with all their might toward their companions, who arrived just in time to witness their excitement. Now these very men, who, in all probability, would have faced the battery of a ninety-gun ship, hour after hour, without flinching, fled from an indistinct and unknown danger acting upon their superstitious fears.
After quieting their apprehensions, the boats united and returning to the charge with increased numbers, they set about in right earnest to unriddle the cause of their dismay. Upon close examination it proved to be an old palm, which, having been blown from the land into the sea, had floated into the cavern, where the set of the tide had placed it in the position found by the party. One end was poised upon a shelving rock, and time had covered the whole with a mass of long sea-weed. The rising and falling of the waters, caused by the swell of the sea from the outside, gave it that motion which the excited imagination of the sailors converted into the agonizing throes of some dying sea-monster. How many of our superstitious fears might be calmed if a similar investigation into cause and effect were instituted!
1. "There are (says Gerard, in his Herbal, edit. 1597, p. 1391), in the north parts of Scotland, certain trees, whereon do grow shell-fishes," etc., etc., "which, falling into the water, do become fowls, whom we call Barnakles—in the north of England, Brant Geese—and in Lancashire, Tree Geese," etc.