The beautiful kingfisher was the object of a curious belief among seamen. It was supposed that one of these birds, suspended by the beak, turned its breast to the coming wind. Sir Thomas Browne, in "Vulgar Errors," remarks that it is "a conceit supported chiefly by present practice, yet not made out by reason nor experience." Shakespeare, in "King Lear," says:
Disown, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters.
That well-known little bird the stormy petrel — called Mother Carey's chicken by the sailors — was regarded with great disfavor. The name petrel is from the Italian Petrello, or Little Peter, so called on account of its supposed power of walking on the water like the saint of that name. The bird figures in many traditions of the sea, and always unfavorably. Its appearance foretold of stormy weather:
The petrel telleth her tale in vain,
For the mariner curseth the warning bird,
Who bringeth him news of storms we heard.
A couple of verses in Mrs. Howitt's poem of the "Stormy Petrel" also illustrates the evil reputation of the bird:
Dost mark the billows heaving
Before the coming gale,
And scream for joy of every wind
That turns the seaman pale?
Oh! stormy, stormy petrel!
Thou art a bird of woe;
Yet would I thou could'st tell me half
Of the misery thou dost know!
The raven was a favored bird with the vikings of the North, nearly ten centuries ago. When starting on their voyages of discovery, the Norsemen obtained ravens, which were consecrated to the gods with much ceremony and taken on board the ships; uhimately, at sea, they were turned loose, the direction of their flight being a guide to the mariners in the search of land. Later superstitions, however, associated the raven with evil omen; it was supposed to possess a human soul; and the killing of the bird was a matter of fateful consequence. Both the Cape pigeon and the albatross were regarded as the habitations of the souls of drowned seamen[9]; and the wanton slaying of these birds — especially the albatross — was certain to bring disaster or shipwreck. Coleridge makes use of this particular superstition in the poems of the "Ancient Mariner:"
And I had done an evil thing,
And it would work 'em woe;
For all averr'd I had kill'd the bird
That made the breeze to blow;
Ah! wretch! said they, the bird to slay
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of a cross, the albatross
About my neck was hung.
From an examination of these myths it is apparent that the old sea rovers were believers in the doctrine of transmigration of souls; and other evidence connects their superstitions with religious origin or credence given to lingering figment of some paganic ceremony.
The Saints' Calendar of the early navigators was a long one, crowded with divinities enough to respond to the prayers of seamen under almost every circumstance of stress and danger. Beside many others, of lesser note, it embraced St. Clement, who was cast into the sea ; St. James the Greater, the savior of Spanish sailors, whose relics were miraculously conveyed in a ship of marble from Jerusalem to Spain; St. Peter, the fisher apostle; St. Columba, the patron of boatmen, who once caused a truss of hay to be flung from heaven to float three drowning boatmen safely to the shore; St. Barbara, the protector of French and Spanish seamen in thunder storms; St. Mark, the patron of the Venetian fishermen; St. George, at whose shrine Sardinian fishermen were wont to cast their off'erings; and St. Patrick, who caused a ship to sail against the wind. St. Thomas of Canterbury, the martyr, who saved mariners and fishermen in shipwrecks, and helped to launch vessels when no human power could move them; and St. Erasmus (the Italian St. Elmo), invoked by sailors on the Mediterranean for his beneficent interference in time of tempest. St. Anthony, who preached to the fishes, was another saintly patron, and accounted one of the most powerful in favoring the prayers of distressed seamen. St. Anthony, St. Christopher, and St. Nicholas were preeminently the guardians of superstitious mariners, and they were chiefly venerated by seamen of the British Isles, whose invocations to them occur in many old sea chants and snatches of tradition. St. Christopher rowed the boat in which Christ embarked across the river. His shrine in the churches was visited by sailors, who carried offerings to it, and there they prayed for safety. The greatest reverence, however, was reserved for St. Nicholas, who once restored a sailor to life, and subdued a storm during a journey to the Holy Land. He was also worshipped by Italian and Greek seamen. The latter carried with them, on their voyages, St. Nicholas' loaves, which were thrown into the sea during storms to calm the waves. In olden times, in England, it was customary on the termination of a voyage for seamen to lay thank-offerings on the shrine of St. Nicholas in the churches. Such offerings were made in the chapel of St. Nicholas, at Hythe, in Kent. Lambarde, an old Kentish writer, says:
"This is one of the places
Where such as had escapt the sea
Were wont to leave their guifts.
Insomuch as if any of the fishermen on this coast had hardly escaped the storms, then should Saint Nicholas not have only the thanks of that deliverance, but also one or more of the best fishes for an offering." There were many churches in English sea-ports dedicated to St. Nicholas. The most famous, perhaps, was the old church at Liverpool, and the custorn formerly observed of presenting offerings there is mentioned by a local author; "In the vicinity there stood a statue of St. Nicholas, and when the faith in the intercession of saints was more operative than at present the mariners were wont to present a peace-offering for a prosperous voyage on their going out to sea, and a wave-offering on their return; but the saint, having lost his votaries, has long since disappeared." Finally, to good St. Nicholas, we repeat Charles Sayle's sonnet:
In Muscovy when a corpse they bury
And round in a group the mourners stand,
Instead of an obol for Charon's ferry
They place a scrip in the dead man's hand;
"To holy Nicholas, Saint of God —
Here is a man who loved you well
When on the earth with us he trod,
Save him now from the Gates of Hell."
If, when I die, I have still bewailers,
While over me swings the cresset glass,
Open this book where these letters stand
And write again in a bold, round hand: —
"He loved boys and thieves and sailors,
Servant of Thine, St. Nicholas!"
9
An old man-o'-war's man, named Saxey Fisher, told the following story, with frequent protestations of its truth: — While on a passage from New York to Calcutta, and rounding the Cape of Good Hope, his particular chum fell overboard and was drowned, any attempt to save him being impossible in the heavy sea running. When rounding the Cape again, in warm and pleasant weather, homeward bound, he was lying one night on the forecastle chest, when he heard his name pronounced by his drowned shipmate. He looked about him; but seemed to be quite alone on the forecastle. Thinking he had been mistaken he lay down again, when his name was repeated by the same voice. He looked up, alarmed, and, over his head, a Cape pigeon was circling around, drawing nearer until it approached him closely, and again loudly called his name, "Saxey," three times. "Holloa! what's up?" cried the astonished mariner. Still hovering near him the bird replied: "You don't know me, yer old chum. Bill Evans, in my new togs; but I'm all right. Don't worry. When yer come this way again, I'll come and see you"; and away went the bird, soon lost in the darkness. — Communicated by Mr. F. H. Ramsay, U. S. N.