Whaler. In the early 1800's every New England seaport had whaling ships. It is hard to imagine anybody being willing to spend five years at sea, horribly hazardous, terrible tablefare, slow cycle of monotony alternating with terror. And a pittance at payoff. But many young men had not better choice.
My uncle told me a yarn about two brothers in Belfast, ME. They were digging potatoes when one of them threw down his fork and declared he would never dig another potato so long as he lived. He went down to the harbor and signed aboard a whaler. He was gone twenty years. When he got back to Belfast, he saw his brother digging potatoes in the same spot. His brother looked up, and said: "Where are you going, Jake?" Jake blew up. "You goddam Yankee! After twenty years you might have asked where I've been!"