Launched off the stocks, bound for the main."

I did not find my ballad, and to this day remain in ignorance of what fate
befell the "hundred and fifty brisk young men" therein commemorated. But I
found what the sailor does sing. It was a miscellaneous collection of
sentimental songs, the worn-out rags of the stage and the parlor, or
ditties of highwaymen, or ballad narratives of young women who ran away
from a rich "parient" with "silvier and gold" to follow the sea. The truth
of the story was generally established by the expedient of putting the
damsel's name in the last verse,--delicately suppressing all but the
initial and final letters. The only sea-songs that I remember were other
ballads descriptive of piracies, of murders by cruel captains, and of
mutinies, with a sprinkling of sea-fights dating from the last war with
England.

The point of remark is, that all of these depend for their interest upon a
human association. Not one of them professes any concern with the sea or
ships for their own sake. The sea is a sad, solemn reality, the theatre
upon which the seaman acts his life's tragedy. It has no more of
enchantment to him than the "magic fairy palace" of the ballet has to a
scene-shifter.

But other songs the sailor sings. The Mediterranean sailor is popularly
supposed to chant snatches of opera over his fishing-nets; but, after all,
his is only a larger sort of lake, with water of a questionable saltness.
It can furnish dangerous enough storms upon occasion, and, far worse than
storms, the terrible white-squall which lies ambushed under sunny skies,
and leaps unawares upon the doomed vessel. But the Mediterranean is not
the deep sea, nor has it produced the best and boldest navigators.
Therefore, although we still seek the sources of our maritime law amid the