We were not a very cheerful crowd that night, most of us being
busy with his own reflections. I must confess that I felt far
greater sorrow at leaving Vau Vau than ever I did at leaving
England; because by the time I was able to secure a berth, I have
usually drunk pretty deep of the bitter cup of the "outward
bounder," than whom there is no more forlorn, miserable creature
on earth. No one but the much abused boarding-master will have
anything to do with him, and that worthy is generally careful to
let him know that he is but a hanger-on, a dependant on
sufferance for a meal, and that his presence on shore is an
outrage. As for the sailors' homes, I have hardly patience to
speak of them. I know the sailor is usually a big baby that
wants protecting against himself, and that once within the four
walls of the institution he is safe; but right there commendation
must end. Why are good folks ashore systematically misled into
the belief that the sailor is an object of charity, and that it
is necessary to subscribe continually and liberally to provide
him with food and shelter when ashore? Most of the contributors
would be surprised to know that the cost of board and lodging at
the "home" is precisely the same as it is outside, and much
higher than a landsman of the same grade can live for in better
style.
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