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- salts_ (Glauber salts); for like many other seamen, he never went to
sea without a good supply of that luxury. He would frequently, also,
take this medicine in a wet jacket, and then go on deck into a rain
storm. But this is nothing to other sailors, who at sea will doctor
themselves with calomel off Cape Horn, and still remain on duty. And in
this connection, some really frightful stories might be told; but I
forbear.
For a landsman to take salts as this Blunt did, it would perhaps be the
death of him; but at sea the salt air and the salt water prevent you
from catching cold so readily as on land; and for my own part, on board
this very ship, being so illy-provided with clothes, I frequently
turned into my bunk soaking wet, and turned out again piping hot, and
smoking like a roasted sirloin; and yet was never the worse for it; for
then, I bore a charmed life of youth and health, and was dagger-proof
to bodily ill.
But it is time to tell of the Dream Book. Snugly hidden in one corner
of his chest, Blunt had an extraordinary looking pamphlet, with a red
cover, marked all over with astrological signs and ciphers, and
purporting to be a full and complete treatise on the art of Divination;
so that the most simple sailor could teach it to himself.
It also purported to be the selfsame system, by aid of which Napoleon
Bonaparte had risen in the world from being a corporal to an emperor.
Hence it was entitled the _Bonaparte Dream Book;_ for the magic of it
lay in the interpretation of dreams, and their application to the
foreseeing of future events; so that all preparatory measures might be
taken beforehand; which would be exceedingly convenient, and
satisfactory every way, if true. The problems were to be cast by means
of figures, in some perplexed and difficult way, which, however, was
facilitated by a set of tables in the end of the pamphlet, something
like the Logarithm Tables at the end of Bowditch’s Navigator.
Now, Blunt revered, adored, and worshiped this _Bonaparte Dream Book_
of his; and was fully persuaded that between those red covers, and in
his own dreams, lay all the secrets of futurity. Every morning before
taking his pills, and applying his hair-oils, he would steal out of his
bunk before the rest of the watch were awake; take out his pamphlet,
and a bit of chalk; and then straddling his chest, begin scratching his
oily head to remember his fugitive dreams; marking down strokes on his
chest-lid, as if he were casting up his daily accounts.
Though often perplexed and lost in mazes concerning the cabalistic
figures in the book, and the chapter of directions to beginners; for he
could with difficulty read at all; yet, in the end, if not interrupted,
he somehow managed to arrive at a conclusion satisfactory to him. So
that, as he generally wore a good-humored expression, no doubt he must
have thought, that all his future affairs were working together for the
best.
But one night he started us all up in a fright, by springing from his
bunk, his eyes ready to start out of his head, and crying, in a husky
voice—“Boys! boys! get the benches ready! Quick, quick!”
“What benches?” growled Max—“What’s the matter?”
“Benches! benches!” screamed Blunt, without heeding him, “cut down the
forests, bear a hand, boys; the Day of Judgment’s coming!”
But the next moment, he got quietly into his bunk, and laid still,
muttering to himself, he had only been rambling in his sleep.
I did not know exactly what he had meant by his _benches;_ till,
shortly after, I overheard two of the sailors debating, whether mankind
would stand or sit at the Last Day.
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