They seem more conscious that they are in the Divine
presence. They have little to look upon but the heavens above and the
boundless ocean around them. Both seem made on purpose for them--the
sun to guide them by day, and the stars by night, the sea to bear them
on its bosom, and the breeze to waft them on their course. They feel
how powerless they are of themselves; how frail their bark; how
dependent they are on the goodness and mercy of their Creator, and
that it is He alone who can rule the tempest and control the stormy
deep. Their impressions are few, but they are strong. It is the world
that hardens the heart, and the ocean seems apart from it.
"They are noble fellows, sailors, and I love them; but, Cutler, how
are they used, especially where they ought to be treated best, on
board of men-of-war? The moment a ship arrives in port, the anchor
cast and the sails furled--what dees the captain do? the popular
captain too, the idol of the men; he who is so kind and so fond of
them? Why, he calls them aft, and says, 'Here, my lads, here is lots
of cash for you, now be off ashore and enjoy yourselves.' And they
give three cheers for their noble commander--their good-hearted
officer--the sailor's friend--the jolly old blue jacket,--and they
bundle into the boats, and on to the beach, like school-boys. And
where do they go? Well, we won't follow them, for I never was in them
places where they do go, and so I can't describe them, and one thing I
must say, I never yet found any place answer the picture drawn of it.
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