Richard Henry Dana, Jr. (1815–1882)

This book, a perennial best-seller in the 19th century, reads a bit old-fashioned today, but to a reader like me, that was part of its charm. What’s it about? A Harvard student interrupts his studies to see if he can save his troubled eyesight. So far understandable, but probably not the basis for an interesting book. The idea arises of a long sea voyage to restore his health. Warmer, but not quite there. Then this youth decides to ship out, not as a passenger, but as a seaman, although he show more has no experience. Now that could be interesting, if the result is also well-written. As this book is.
Dana boards a merchant ship setting out from his home, Boston, to the coast of California, via Cape Horn. The aim: to bring back a hold so tightly stuffed with hides (and a few horns) that the ship is barely above the waterline for the return voyage. Rounding the Cape is hazardous, going and returning, but even the coast of California is not danger-free: a violent wind from a clear sky sends the boat half-way to the Sandwich Islands (Hawaii) in the two weeks that it rages.
The California Dana reaches is sparsely populated, tenuously held by Mexico. Monterrey is the capital and finest bay on the coast; the chapter describing his impressions of it was one of my favorites. San Francisco has one brand-new adobe house, replacing a canvas tent within the previous year, in between the inevitable mission and presidio. Even then, the largest settlement in “Upper” California was Pueblo de los Angeles, with its 40,000 residents.
The tale is replete with incisive portraits of people he encountered — shipmates and their yarns, Kanakas (Sandwich Islanders who had settled on the coast, and whom he particularly admired), and Spanish aristocrats. One of the most famous passages is his description of the unjust flogging of one of the seamen. It is only one evidence of the sympathy and sense of humanity with which he encountered all.
Dana's tale is liberally sprinkled with nautical terminology, much of it unfamiliar to me. I wouldn’t be able to point to a mizzen, royal, or jib sail, and have no idea what it means to reef or to clew one. But I decided not to interrupt my reading to look up these terms. Even without understanding them, the author invoked in me the romance of a well-rigged ship scudding along under full sail.
No, this isn’t The Perfect Storm — although it includes masterful accounts of battling storms at sea. What it is: a remarkable memoir of a young man who leaves safety and shelter to embark on an unexpected course. It is finely-observed and honestly recounted. Will I ever see for myself the Southern Cross and the Clouds of Magellan? Perhaps not, but Dana’s description fired my imagination. What more can one ask of a memoir? show less

I rarely enjoy historical fiction. I find that authors often don't do enough to forget prejudices and sensibilities of their present day and carry this baggage into the imaginary past they are trying to recreate. This time machine for language, notions, ideas, stereotypes is difficult to avoid for authors and might be easy to spot for readers. It is almost impossible to purge, to surgically remove all vestiges of now from a creating mind, something is bound to slip in unconsciously.

Why not show more read an account of an actual eyewitness then? Something written at the time of the events in question is certainly going to be free of the interferences from the future.

Ever since setting foot in the Golden State for the first time I was interested in one point in history of California - the time when it stood at the crossroads of possible futures, the time when it was an almost forgotten province on the outer reaches of newly independent Mexico, the time when Russians used it as a supply zone to access the riches of fur trade in Alaska, the time when no reliable passage overland was known to open it up for pioneer wagons from the East.

In comes Richard Henry Dana Jr, a Harvard student tired of his studies, so intense that they affected his eyesight, looking for adventure. In 1834 he is recruited as a common sailor on board of a brig Pilgrim bound for California. His two-year voyage spent on the open seas and on the desolate western coast forms a basis for this book, published to great acclaim in 1840.

In addition to giving a historical perspective on a far away land and accurately depicting miserable living and working conditions of sailors, the book had a significant influence on many a traveler to the West, sparking in imagination of the masses the comparative ease of making it in the fertile lands of California. Was Dana instrumental in determining the course of California's history by directing the stream of pioneers to the land of plenty years before gold was discovered there? That we cannot say with certainty, but we can surely be grateful to Dana for his contribution to literature, if not by his own writing, but as a person responsible for pushing Melville to write his own masterpiece.

Another interesting aspect of the book is that it can be read today as a postmodernist recount by an unreliable narrator. It is evident from a close reading how the author hides his own failures and shortcomings, trying to paint himself in a more favorable light than he likely deserves. He uses his influence in Boston to secure his own early return back home ahead of the rest of the crew, he hides from his duties with a toothache when things get too tough around Cape Horn, he recounts the cruel punishment of sailors by the captain but fails to stand up to the captain when he is clearly the only one in a position to do so. Dana's personal deficiencies are complemented by prejudices common to many if not all in his days. These are necessary to paint a complete picture of the time and place: repeated references to inferior nations and races (pretty much anyone who is not Anglo-Saxon), propagation of stereotypes of the day (lazy Native Americans, good natured but stupid Hawaiians, fat loving and also stupid Russians, unenterprising Spaniards, etc), an attitude of reverence to everything English, an unshakable belief in Protestant values as the only acceptable ones.

In summary, it's an entertaining book of dwindling importance as the values it promotes no longer rhyme with the modern understanding of humanity. I would recommend it for everyone interested in that period in history and specifically the history of California. I would suggest to skip the Concluding Chapter as its moralizing and preaching can get tiring very quickly. show less

Loved this. Dana writes in a clear, straightforward style and in a down-to-earth tone. This book, more than many sea accounts of that period, showcases the contrast between life behind the mast (officers) and before it (the crew). Issues of class and dignity are central to this memoir, and Dana's first-hand experience of the work required of sailors gives his account a certain degree of weight. His concern for others is palpable throughout, and it's clear that his ideas of how to improve show more life at sea are the informed suggestions of one who has live that life. This book also serves as a sort of travelogue, as Dana describes the different places he visits and people he encounters. This was before California was part of the US, so much was different, and I appreciate the way that Dana breathed life into that time and place. Finally, I greatly enjoyed the portions about the sea journey itself. His account of Cape Horn was riveting, one of the most powerful and stunning passages I've read in any memoir. I was especially glad that Dana didn't try to over-simplify the technical aspects of sailing: his use of correct nautical terminology was a wise decision. To people who understand it, it makes perfect sense. To people who don't understand, it still conveys a sense of the amount of work involved, and the different elements connected to sailing. It also in no way hinders one's understanding of the narrative. On the contrary, it imbues it with a richness not to be found in many books of the sea. An afterward gives more details as to the changes out west and the fates of his fellow crew members. Brilliant, and not to be missed. show less

I'll try to be brief.

"Two Years Before the Mast" draws the clearest portraits of early nineteenth-century merchant marine written. It is also THE indispensable document of early California, the hide trade and the trading posts that dotted the coast, and really of international maritime trade in the 1830s. Dana also writes a Dickens-like account of American class structure with the sea trade as a microcosm that stands for all. This book is a time machine in the best sense of the word, a show more window into a world now nearly 200 years past, as viscerally evocative and tangible as could be. You can feel the salt crusting on your skin as you read. _Highly recommended_ to anyone interested in the real, not fictional, past, in all things maritime, someone looking for immersive escape, or the work of a significant 19th-century legal reformer (Dana was.).

Dana's book has some issues that cannot be overlooked, however. A well-born Bostonian of the early 1800s, he attended a school overseen by Emerson and his influences were the same New England transcendentalist tenets evoked by his contemporary Thoreau. His prose does not rise above theirs, and that is not a compliment; though there are passages that rise to poetic, his writing is mostly wooden, repetitive, and self-indulgent. Be advised that this is a journal-based memoir and does not deviate from that object. His attitudes are also rather uncomfortable to 21st century sensibilities as, while he waxes rhapsodic about human rights and the nobility of the poor, he voices clearly racist attitudes towards non-WASPs (especially Mexicans...wowzers), wants to convert everyone to Christianity to save them, feels the illiterate poor cannot help but be so, and cannot see past "savages" with "savage languages" when it comes to Native Americans. Yes, he was a product of his time and must be seen so.

A final point, one that other reviewers do not seem to have seen as I did. To wit, Dana was 19-21 years old during the voyage and published his account when 25. Also, he was a Boston Brahmin scion who shipped as a Jack Tar and published when back among his kind. A reader can see how these facts play out in his text: there are many long passages so chock-a-block with nautical jargon as to be incomprehensible to most of his readers even in 1840, let alone today. Further, he goes to great lengths until the last part of the voyage to describe the great health and vigor he and his fellow sailors enjoy on a diet of salt beef and ship's biscuit ... until scurvy hits, that is. Maybe it's because I was like him once, maybe because I have now-grown sons, but this rings of youthful swagger, braggadocio, and smugness. "Look how cool I am! I know sailing things and am a bad-ass!" Yeesh; it gets old, and begins to wear by the halfway point. Best grin and bear it.

I tried to be brief and, like Dana, missed that mark. But he scored dead-center hits with other shots in this book. Give it a read, but you'll have to bring your own salt. show less