CHAPTER XV


It was during the early winter of 1892 that I resolved to go to
sea. My Hancock Fire Brigade experience was very little
responsible for this. I still drank and frequented saloons--
practically lived in saloons. Whisky was dangerous, in my
opinion, but not wrong. Whisky was dangerous like other dangerous
things in the natural world. Men died of whisky; but then, too,
fishermen were capsized and drowned, hoboes fell under trains and
were cut to pieces. To cope with winds and waves, railroad
trains, and bar-rooms, one must use judgment. To get drunk after
the manner of men was all right, but one must do it with
discretion. No more quarts of whisky for me.

What really decided me to go to sea was that I had caught my first
vision of the death-road which John Barleycorn maintains for his
devotees. It was not a clear vision, however, and there were two
phases of it, somewhat jumbled at the time. It struck me, from
watching those with whom I associated, that the life we were
living was more destructive than that lived by the average man.

John Barleycorn, by inhibiting morality, incited to crime.
Everywhere I saw men doing, drunk, what they would never dream of
doing sober. And this wasn't the worst of it. It was the penalty
that must be paid. Crime was destructive. Saloon-mates I drank
with, who were good fellows and harmless, sober, did most violent