“Oh! Mr. L.——, I don’t know what I should do at the judgment day, if I couldn’t have a Saviour. I know I shall have a blacker account than a’most any body there, and how can it all be blotted out, except by Christ’s blood?
“Why, Sir, you can’t tell how wicked sailors generally be. There ain’t more’n one out of a hundred that cares any thing ’bout religion, and they are head and ears in debauchery and intemperance, and gamblin’, and all kinds of sin, and oh! ‘twould make your heart ache to hear their oaths. I’ve seen ’em tremble, and try to pray durin’ a dreadful storm, and all looked like goin’ to the bottom—for I don’t care how heathenish and devilish any body is, if they see death starin’ on ’em in the face, and they ‘spect to die in a few minutes, he’ll cry to God for help—but no sooner than the storm abated they’d cuss worse than ever. Now this was jist my fashion, and if any body says that a man who abuses a good God like that don’t desarve to be cut off and put into hell, why then he han’t got any common sense.
“But all this comes pretty much from the officers. I never knowed but one sea captain but what would swear sometimes, and most all on ’em as fast as a dog can trot; and jist so sure as our officers swears, the hands will blaspheme ten times worse; and if the captain wouldn’t swear, and forbid it on board, his orders would be obeyed like any other orders, _but, as long as officers swears, so long will sailors_. ☜
“But sailors have some noble things about ’em as any body of men. They will always stand by their comrades in the heart of danger or misfortune, or attack; and if a company on ’em are on shore, you touch one you touch the whole; and if a sailor was on the Desert of Arabia, and hadn’t but a quart of water, he’d go snacks with a companion. They are sure to have a soft spot in their hearts somewhere, that you can touch if you can git at it, and when they feel, they feel with all their souls. But, arter all, _it’s the ruination of men’s characters to go to sea_, for they become heathens, and ginerally, ain’t fit for sober life arter it, and _ten to one they ruin their souls_.
“But my v’yges are finished, and I’ll sing you one sailor’s song, and then my yarn is done.”