BY WAY OF CAPE HORN
_FOURTH EDITION_
[Illustration: Cape Horn bearing northwest, distant fifteen miles]
BY WAY OF CAPE HORN
FOUR MONTHS IN A
YANKEE CLIPPER
BY
PAUL EVE STEVENSON
AUTHOR OF “A DEEP-WATER VOYAGE”
ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS TAKEN BY THE AUTHOR
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1908
+Copyright, 1898+
BY
+J. B. Lippincott Company+
TO
MY MOTHER
PREFACE
As in the case of our first “Deep-Water Voyage” to Calcutta, the
present one was undertaken with the sole idea of enjoyment. The
pleasure which such a voyage affords the fortunate few in whom there
is a real affection for the sea is quite indescribable. To such there
is no monotony, for there is always something interesting and amusing
going on aboard ship, if one’s eyes are open; the men themselves
present an inexhaustible field for study and reflection, and it is well
known that a more jovial and witty fraternity does not exist.
But there is also a sombre, tragic side to a voyage in a Yankee
deep-water ship, and that is the cruel and brutal treatment accorded
that most popular individual just now,--the American sailor; by which
is meant the men who sail before the mast under our flag. The merchant
service has ever been regarded as the navy’s nursery, and a faithful
account by an impartial observer will be found in these pages, showing
the manner in which our seamen are treated,--the brothers, as it were,
of those who won our victories at Manila and Santiago.
P. E. S.
+New York+, October 10, 1898.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Cape Horn bearing northwest, distant fifteen miles _Frontispiece_
PAGE
The course of the “Hosea Higgins” 13
The companion-way 18
Plan of cabin 28
Forty to the minute 48
Mending sails in fine weather 53
Overhauling the “Venturer” 84
“Blow, my bully boys, blow” 104
“Eight bells” 127
A fifty-foot Cape Horn gray-beard 212
The ablest seaman in the ship 303
The four-masted British ship “Loch Torridon” 333
Tarring down 358
Hauling taut the braces 387
[Illustration: The course of the “Hosea Higgins”]
BY WAY OF CAPE HORN
It would have been reasonable to suppose that, having made one long
voyage in a sailing ship, my wife and I would have been content to
stop ashore for the rest of our lives, or at least to limit the length
of our voyages to the distance which separates the United States and
Europe. For a while, indeed, after our return to America from India,
we were contented enough on land, and were kept busy answering the
innumerable questions of interested relatives and friends concerning
the voyage just ended. But restlessness presently attacked us again;
and it was not hard to perceive by the avidity with which my wife
searched the _Herald’s_ ship-news columns every morning for
tidings of deep-water vessels that no persuasion on my part would be
necessary in the event of our undertaking another voyage. Therefore,
when two years had passed away, we began to discuss the advisability of
once more tempting the elements in another sea-journey to far-distant
lands. Japan loomed up before us in a particularly rosy light as a
destination for this voyage; but there was one great objection to it:
a voyage to Yokohama would have taken us around the Cape of Good Hope
a second time, and it was our cherished desire to double Cape Horn,
and thus overcome the two most celebrated and tempestuous promontories
on the globe. Indeed, as far back as I can remember, I have always
wanted to accomplish the westerly passage around the southernmost
extremity of the earth’s continents. The very name of Cape Horn is
enough to fire the imagination of a true lover of the sea, and fills
the mind with pictures of ships battling with gales of wind and giant
seas and visions of bleak, iron-bound shores wrapped in the gloom
which enshrouds that desolate region. After much discussion, then, we
decided on the voyage from New York to San Francisco. It was January
when we first broached the matter, and, after arguing the pros and cons
of the subject, concluded to try and get away in May, as that would
take us to the Horn in July, the middle of the antarctic winter. At
this our friends stood aghast. “It is quite bad enough,” they said,
“to tempt Providence at all on so foolhardy an excursion, but to
double Cape Horn in midwinter is going beyond the limits of reason.”
But we stood our ground in spite of the hurricane of objections (and
it required some moral courage to do it), and forthwith commenced
systematic preparations for the journey. We were making the voyage to a
great extent for the purpose of experiencing the weather and seas off
Cape Horn, and as the latter would, no doubt, be larger and grander
in winter than in summer, I don’t think that our idea was so very
preposterous after all.
Naturally, our first thought was of the vessel in which we were to
sail, and we looked forward with much interest to a voyage in an
American ship, having all our lives heard that our ships were run in
a splendid manner, that the discipline on board was perfect, etc.;
and it would also be interesting to compare this vessel with those
of another nation, as our first voyage was made in the British ship
“Mandalore.” Now, it happened that all of our largest deep-watermen
were away from New York, and we were at a loss what to do, for, as a
general rule, the larger the vessel the more comfortable she is in
bad weather. There are many who will, no doubt, take exception to
this, as being by no means true; yet it would be absurd to argue that
the “Germanic,” for instance, is as easy in heavy weather as the
“Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse,” or a twelve-hundred-ton sailing ship as
the “Potosi.” At length, one morning appeared the announcement in the
marine news that the ship “Hosea Higgins,” Abner Scruggs, master, had
arrived from San Francisco. She was not as large as the “Roanoke” by
a thousand tons or more; but she was well known to us by name, and we
went over to Brooklyn one day, where she was discharging a cargo of
wine, canned salmon, and whale-oil, and introduced ourselves to the
captain. Although gruff in the extreme at first, he subsequently thawed
out sufficiently to warrant the belief that he was really quite an
amiable individual, and we parted with his assurance that if the owners
were willing he would take us around to San Francisco, and even went to
the length of offering us his own room, which was very large and well
ventilated. The owners raised no objections to our going, so we paid
the passage-money of six hundred dollars and took possession of the
captain’s room. I might remark parenthetically that this seemed to be a
pretty good round sum to pay as passage-money, in view of the fact that
we paid only three hundred dollars to Calcutta on the first voyage;
however, in the latter case the money went to the captain, while in
the present instance it went to the owners; besides, this passage
would probably be somewhat longer. The captain received no recompense
whatever, unless we should choose to make him a present.
The ship was advertised to sail on May 1, but there was the usual
delay incident to the departure of a sailing ship taking out a general
cargo, and it was nearly a fortnight after that date before we finally
departed.
Under any conditions it is interesting to watch the loading of a large
sailing ship, and when you are going to sea in that ship, a certain
degree of interest seems to attach itself to each article, and the
assortment of freight was bewildering. In a couple of hours, one
morning when I was on board, there came down in rapid succession two
large boilers for Spreckles’s sugar refinery in Honolulu, several
hundred cases of starch, ditto kegs of nails, two wagon-loads of
sewing-machines, two hundred bales of oakum, and four very large
whale-boats, about thirty-five feet long, going out to Sitka. Strange
that they can not or do not build good whale-boats on the Pacific
coast; the best boats used by our whalers are all built in New Bedford,
even down to the present time, and sent out to Alaska round the Horn.
It will be easily perceived how difficult it must be to stow a cargo
of this sort so that in the heaviest of weather it will not shift.
Imagine packing away four clumsy boats in a ship’s hold so that they
will not be crushed by heavier objects, and yet in such a way as to
prevent these very objects from shifting. If the various articles could
be delivered on the pier to suit the stevedores, it would be plain
sailing; but everything must be taken as it comes, and it calls for the
greatest skill from the most experienced men. There is said to be only
a single firm of this sort in New York whose men understand perfectly
the art of stowing the cargo of a deep-water ship.
For several days we were tortured on the rack of expectation; but after
the most aggravating delays and daily messages from the owners that
the ship “would positively go to sea to-morrow,” we learned one Monday
morning that the ship would be cleared that day and would sail the next
morning, which was
+May 11+
Oh, the riot attendant upon the departure of a ship on a long voyage!
The distraction and tumult are at some moments terrific, in spite of
everything that has been written about a vessel’s being in perfect
order to a sailor’s eye when leaving port. We have been on two large
ships now when getting under way, and all I have to say on the subject
is, that it is wonderful how much disturbance and disorder can be
gathered into so small a space as a ship’s deck. We were told to be
on board by nine o’clock, as the tide would serve soon afterward, and
we would haul out about ten. At the stipulated hour, then, we went
over the side and found that the crew had just come down. They were
collected together in the waist, and in the centre of the group stood
a hard-looking individual whom I took for the shipping-master. He was
haranguing the men, who seemed to listen intently, though I couldn’t
hear what was said; and when I strolled to the break of the poop to
be nearer to him, he gruffly commanded me to “go way from there, will
you.” Why he did so it is impossible to say, unless he was engaged in
some unlawful transaction. This was, no doubt, the reason, as there is
no attempt made by the United States authorities to enforce the laws
relating to the shipping of seamen. By and by this creature took his
disagreeable countenance over the side, and immediately those who were
not too drunk were turned to at various odd jobs about the decks. Some
of the men, however, were too far gone to even stand upright alone,
so the two mates seized half a dozen of them and drove them forward
and into the forecastle, the door of which was then locked, and the
men were left to themselves to sleep off some of the effects of South
Street grog. Those who come aboard in this condition generally have a
bottle or two each of rum concealed about them, and after a vigorous
search the mate found himself possessed of several quarts of very bad
grog, which he hove into the river.
Several of our relatives and friends had come down to see us off, and,
seated aft by the wheel-house, they seemed to take deep interest in
the rakish fellows who were to be our companions, as it were, for four
or five months. On the whole, they were a very decent-looking crowd;
but when the second mate sung out, “Come up here a couple of you,
and give us a hand with this tow line,” and all hands came stumbling
up the poop ladders and lumbered aft with that fixed, idiotic stare
of half-intoxicated men trying to show how very sober they are, we
observed that our relatives shuddered as they thought of our being
imprisoned for maybe half a year with this company of ruffians, as
they, no doubt, supposed the men to be.
A remarkable feature of the departure of our ship was the crowd that
had gathered to see us off. A body of men and boys to the number of
at least two hundred were ranged along the pier, minutely criticising
the ship and the way in which she was sparred, as well as the probable
length of voyage. “It’ll be Cape Horn in July,” said one, “and she’ll
never do it in less than a hundred and fifty.” “Guess you don’t know
the old man, or you wouldn’t say that,” said his neighbor. “If Scruggs
don’t take her out under a hundred and twenty, I’m a farmer.” Here
a movement was perceptible among the crowd; somebody seemed to be
elbowing his way through the midst, and in another moment we recognized
the fierce whiskers of Abner Scruggs himself. With him was one of the
agents, and they both seemed angry about something; but the captain
greeted us very amiably, imparting to us at the same time the unwelcome
news that he must now clear the ship of all who were not going along.
Sad farewells were said, relatives and friends were handed over the
gangway, which was instantly drawn on board, the powerful tow-boat
“C. E. Evarts” started ahead, and we began to move slowly out, stern
first, into the rapid current of the East River. So imperceptibly did
we gather way that it was a minute or so before any one on the pier
saw that we had started; some one in the crowd suddenly perceived it
and shouted “she’s off;” and as our long, slender jib-boom glided out
past the string-piece, we were saluted with a series of hearty cheers,
which lasted until the tugs (for another joined us) had slued the ship
around and headed her for Governor’s Island. On the way down the river
we passed two splendid iron sailing vessels,--the German ship “H.
Bischoff,” which had just arrived after an extraordinarily long passage
of two hundred and eighteen days from Hong Kong; and the British ship
“Walter H. Wilson,” being one of only a few English vessels named after
individuals.
The second tow-boat left us at Governor’s Island, and afterward it was
extremely slow work, as the speed at no time was greater than four
knots an hour. Off Tompkinsville we passed the battle-ship “Indiana”
and the cruiser “New York,” each of which we saluted with three dips of
the ensign, which were returned in kind. We could see the sailors on
the men-of-war gather in crowds to watch us drag slowly by, for it is
not so very frequently nowadays that a large ship flying the stars and
stripes is seen on her way to sea.
In the lower bay we found a very light southerly wind blowing, and a
German iron bark with painted ports that had passed us outward bound,
returned and anchored in the Horseshoe, not caring to continue under
conditions somewhat unfavorable. However, we kept on, and commenced
to make sail off the point of the Hook; and I must here assert that I
never saw such confusion as reigned during this operation. The disorder
when hauling into the stream was bad enough, but when the command was
given to cast off the gaskets the ship was in a perfect whirl till the
mizzen sky-sail had been swayed aloft, and as it takes several hours
to make sail when first leaving port, the mates were almost out of
their minds when the job had been finished. All hands began with the
customary blackguarding of the men who had bent the sails, and the
second mate passed the afternoon taking his oath that he “never did see
quite the like of the mess them riggers had made aloft,” while the men
were jumping about the decks like headless chickens, trying to find
where the various ropes led to, for no two ships are rigged alike. It
may be imagined how confusing it is for a man to come aboard of a ship
and find that some of the sheets and clew-lines are not belayed in the
same place as in the vessel that he left only a week ago. Indeed an
intelligent second mate will often be two or three days getting the
“hang” of a sailing vessel.
Before dark, though, everything had been straightened out, and the
ropes coiled away over the pins, and the decks at length began
to assume that well-ordered appearance so attractive in a large
square-rigger.
The men are a far better lot than we expected to find in a Cape-Horner,
and most of them are on the sunny side of thirty-five, though there
are two or three old hulks among them. About three o’clock the drunken
sailors were hauled out of the forecastle, and they were a sight
as they yawed around, falling over ropes and capstan-bars. As the
foretop-gallant-sail was being sheeted home, the captain went down
on the main deck to have a look about the ship, when to our intense
astonishment a young tow-headed sailor, the drunkest of the lot,
lurched up to him, and, leaning against the skipper’s shoulder, poured
some tale of woe into his ear. Now, Captain Scruggs doesn’t look like
a particularly mild-tempered person, and when the man held out a
ponderous fist to shake hands with him, we didn’t know what was going
to happen. But the captain gravely gave him his hand and nodded his
head, while the man lurched forward to his companions. At six o’clock
Captain Scruggs said, “I don’t believe in giving grog to sailors at any
time, but some of the men are feeling pretty well used up from the hard
work after a long drunk ashore, so I’m going to give ’em a bracer.”
Forthwith a bucketful of diluted Jamaica rum was served out at the
cabin door, each man as his pannikin was filled nodding his thanks to
the steward. One of them, however, a very sinister-looking man, tried
to snatch the bucket away from the little steward; but the skipper
caught him at the moment, and then for the first time we heard Captain
Scruggs’s deep-sea voice. The man was so scared by the hurricane of
words hurled at him that he dropped the bucket, which luckily didn’t
capsize, and, pulling his front hair to the skipper, insisted that it
wasn’t he “who was doin’ the funny business.”
Our first night on board began silently and peacefully, and we turned
in early after the turmoil of the day.
+May 12+
“The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared,
Merrily did we drop,
Below the kirk, below the hill, below the
Light-house top.”
When we reached the deck this morning, the lofty Navesink highlands
had vanished beyond the horizon and we floated alone upon the ocean.
The day came on with a fresh southerly wind and a lively sea. My wife
went to bed last night sea-sick, and this morning she was very ill and
wholly given over to dismal reflections. The motion was quite severe,
and I myself felt far happier on deck than below. Indeed, it generally
takes me three or four days to grow fully accustomed to being at sea.
The captain evidently saw that I wasn’t feeling particularly robust, so
he instilled life into me by asking whether I wouldn’t like to keep
the meteorological record during the voyage, the ship being provided
with blanks for the purpose by the Hydrographic Office at Washington.
This will be very interesting work for me, and I feel quite important.
If a man commenced guessing what we in the cabin had for breakfast
to-day, he might keep on indefinitely without hitting the mark, for we
had broiled sweet-breads! Ponder on this, ye landsmen; a week hence,
though, will see the end of our ice and therefore of the fresh meat. To
our surprise, one hundred pounds of prime beef, mutton, and chickens
for broiling came down about an hour before we sailed, beautifully
packed in a cask in alternate layers of meat and ice, and now repose
under the forecastle head in a cool place. No doubt, by exercising
a little care, much, for us aft, may be accomplished in the way of
prolonging our Lucullian banquets. Imagine a fresh, juicy roast of beef
off Cape Horn!
Before proceeding with the history of our voyage, there may be some
readers who would like to know what sort of a ship this is in which we
are journeying, and the following is a description of the vessel.
The “Hosea Higgins” is a powerful wooden ship, a fraction over two
thousand tons net, with a length over all of two hundred and sixty
feet, a beam of forty-four feet, and a draught of twenty-five; she was
built at Waldoboro, Maine, in 1885, and is of course classed A 1. She
is a three-master, very loftily rigged, as nearly all Yankee ships are,
crossing three sky-sail-yards, and her mainyard is ninety-five feet
long. There is but one house on the main-deck, but it is a very large
one and contains the forecastle, sail-room, galley, and carpenter-shop,
in which there is a twenty horse-power donkey engine. So many persons
have asked us at various times about the cabins of sailing ships, that
we have made a plan of the saloon and staterooms, which appears on the
opposite page.
[Illustration: PLAN OF CABIN
1, captain’s room (ours); 2, spare room; 3, office; 4, steward; 5,
pantry; 6, second mate; 7, bath-room; 8, spare room (captain’s); 9,
chart-room; 10, store-room; 11, carpenter; 12, mate. A, harmonium;
B, table; C, chairs; D, sofa; E, exits; F, companion-way to poop; G,
mizzen-mast; H, dining-table; I, stove; J, vestibules; K, exits on
main-deck.
]
So much for the ship; now for the monarch who commands her. Abner
Scruggs is one of a very large family of sea-faring men, and hails from
Rockland, Maine; in stature he is not exalted, but is very massive,
and before he grew stout was no doubt a powerful man, his age being
about fifty years. He is fierce of aspect, with bristling whiskers and
dark eyes that snap like electric sparks when angry; and I have never
known a man who could utter his commands in so determined, severe, and
brittle a voice.
The mate’s name is Leander Goggins. By the way, on a sailing ship the
man who holds that position is never called the chief mate, first
officer, or anything except simply “the mate,” even if there are four
of them. Mr. Goggins was born in Chichester, England, about fifty years
ago, but left that country when a lad and became a citizen of the
United States, an unusual performance for an Englishman, who seldom
renounces his native land. He is short and small generally, talks with
a terrific cockney accent, in spite of his thirty-five years in and
about America, and possesses one of those countenances which you can’t
tell anything about; but his looks are not in his favor. One of his
most objectionable points is his fawning servility, which is never
prominent in a man who amounts to much, however humble his station.
The second mate, Thomas Rarx, is a Nova Scotian, and is a large,
raw-boned, hearty man with a fresh complexion, and is therefore the
mate’s antithesis. You would never suppose that he was addicted to the
thumping of sailors, yet this is one of the most important duties of
the second mate of an American ship; on some of our sailing vessels
it seems to be the most important. Then there are two bosuns; one of
them, a Brooklyn youth, is a weak-looking creature, and has more the
appearance of an American District Messenger boy than that of bosun
of a Cape-Horner; perhaps his name has crushed his spirit,--it is
Jimmie Rumps. But the other bosun is a brawny Scot, David MacFoy, of
Troon; he is a splendid man, beautifully built, tall, straight, very
good-looking, and is somewhat conceited, handles the men well, and has
a cyclonic voice.
The cook and steward are both natives of the East. The latter is from
Singapore, and is therefore a true Malay; blandness seems to be his
chief attribute, and his bashfulness allows him to do nothing but
smile and back out of sight. What there is of the cook seems to be
unexceptionable; he is a Cantonite, about four feet and a half high,
weighs possibly ninety pounds, and is a tip-top sea-cook.
Next comes the carpenter, whose only name aboard ship is “Chips.”
Instead of a neat, clean person, redolent of pine shavings and
saw-dust, our carpenter is a very dirty, fat individual, who appears
to have been steeped for an indefinite period in a solution of
kerosene and lamp-black. Most Finns (why Russian Finn? The man who
says that will say hop-toad) seem to be dirty, however, so that he is
no exception; in weight he would go well over two hundred and thirty
pounds, and, as a whole, is the most objectionable-looking person whom
I have ever seen. You could never call him Chips. As for Sammie, the
boy, he is a short, thick, young Jew, not prepossessing in appearance,
and with an apparently wonderful capacity for doing nothing; like Peter
Simple, he looks as though he could stand a great deal of sleep. We
have seen so little of the sailors as yet that, of course, no notion of
any of them can be formed.
We did fairly well as to distance sailed in the twenty-four hours, and
at noon we were one hundred and seventy-five miles from Sandy Hook.
+May 13+
This was a glorious morning, with a fresh breeze from the southward.
Last night the wind came whistling along in strong puffs, and we had
to stow both sky-sails and royals for it; and when I went on deck at
7.30, quite a hummocky sea was running from the southwest. My wife
was exceedingly sea-sick all night long, and clung tenaciously to the
theory that she would perish within twenty-four hours. At about ten
this morning, though, both wind and sea having gone down somewhat, my
wife consented to go on deck, so we arranged chairs on the cabin-house,
and she stayed there all day, improving every minute. By supper-time
she had a hearty longing for food, and we have no more misgivings as to
sea-sickness for the rest of the voyage.
I rather like the way in which the second mate goes to work; he appears
to be a very fine seaman, and this is perhaps the most desirable
and necessary of all the acquirements of a second mate. He has also
considerable quiet humor; yesterday afternoon he caught sight of one
of the men who had not yet recovered the full use of his faculties,
fussing about on the mainyard; and after watching him for a few moments
he sung out, “Mainyard there, what the h---- are you gapin’ at! Cast
off that yard-arm gasket; d’ye think yer messperized?” After which, he
rolled forward, and we could see him chuckling and shaking at his own
conceit.
Our fresh breeze wafted us across two hundred and twenty miles of the
North Atlantic yesterday, and at noon we were in latitude 39° 22′
north; longitude, 65° 8′ west.
+May 14+
Another fine day with the same fresh breeze from the southward, and
the captain is busy shaking hands with himself on his good offing;
remembering the German who turned back and anchored in the Horseshoe,
he mutters from time to time, “Oh, I wish I was under Sandy Hook, I
don’t think.” We couldn’t carry the sky-sails last night, but they
were set this forenoon, and we are now doing fully ten knots. My wife
has entirely recovered, and is amusing herself with the three cats
on board. One of them is a splendid animal, a pure Maltese, whose
companion is a so-called coon cat; both of them belong to the captain.
The third beast is the mate’s, an unfortunate, weird, black-and-white
alley-cat, tall and lank, and as hideous as a nightmare.
It is remarkable how good the eating is on board; for although on many
ships the meat, flour, etc., are often the best that can be bought,
everything is frequently spoiled by villainous cookery; even our coffee
is as good as people generally have ashore. Captain Scruggs told us
before we sailed that he was a dyspeptic, and said that he had to
be very particular about what he ate. On this we somewhat callously
congratulated ourselves; and, sure enough, the skipper’s stomachic
infirmities have insured us none but the best of everything. It might
be here remarked that we brought absolutely nothing with us in the
way of provisions. It is customary for captains to ascertain what
their prospective passengers’ preferences are before storing the ship;
and, as I knew the company who had the vitualling of the ship, it was
certain that nothing better could be bought. Indeed, the average ship
in these days carries such an abundance and variety of wholesome food,
that unless one cared to take along such absurd edibles as patés and
the like, the food question can very well take care of itself.
The mate, Leander Goggins, entertained us at breakfast this morning
with some more or less remarkable conversation. It really seems
impossible that a man can hate his native country as he does; and he
gave an affirmative reply to Scott’s famous question,--
“Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
‘This is my own, my native land?’”
The skipper jollies him up constantly about his still being an
Englishman in spite of his citizen’s papers, and this morning the mate
couldn’t withstand it any longer, and delivered himself as follows,
with great intensity: “Cap’n Scruggs, sir, I thank God I left Hengland
w’en I were eleven year hold, sir. I tell you, cap’n, and you too,
sir, it ain’t no fit country for a man to call himself a native of.
A pore man carn’t take off ’is ’at to a lord, sir; ho, no; ’e’s got
to bow and sheer and pull ’is front ’air; and if hit’s a lady, why ’e
mustn’t look at all.” This was enough to disgust any one with him;
and he made so strange an appearance with his weather-stained face,
bleary little eyes, and heavily veined temples, that I almost shouted
when he finished. A great slashing scar on his chin, when his stubby
beard permits it to be seen, doesn’t add much to his personal charms.
Later on he began to talk about Captain Bob Waterman, perhaps the most
unpleasantly notorious ship-master in the old New York-California
trade. The mate averred that he had sailed with “Cap’n Bob,” and
he added that the yarn about Cap’n Bob’s having cast off the lee
main-brace in a Cape Horn squall one night, jerking half a dozen men
into the sea just because he didn’t like them, he had always considered
as probable. “’E shot ’is own child, you know,” pleasantly added Mr.
Goggins, as though he were mentioning the killing of a chicken.
At noon we were six hundred and fifty miles from Sandy Hook, in
latitude 38° 58′ north; longitude, 60° 14′ west.
+May 15+
Glorious weather, with southwest winds as fresh as ever; it is growing
much warmer, and the temperature of the water has risen to 71°, making
it possible to bathe in it without much gasping.
Shortly after breakfast the captain asked us if we wouldn’t like to
go forward and see him catch a bonito, as there were several playing
about the forefoot. So we went up on the forecastle head, sat down on
the gammoning-iron, and watched the skipper creep out on the bowsprit
with a cod-line and a hook baited with a bit of rag in his hand. Then
he went through various manœuvres necessary in the capture of these
deep-sea fish, and incidentally nearly manœuvred himself off the
jib-boom. The scheme consisted in dropping the rag swiftly down till it
touched the water, and instantly jerking it upward again, to excite the
imagination of the fish, I suppose. They looked very fine darting about
at great speed several feet beneath the surface, being of a brilliant
hue, and at first we thought that they were young dolphins,--that is,
the dolphin of sailors. At length, after innumerable vain efforts,
accompanied with much hard breathing and damning of the fish’s eyes,
the captain hooked one and hauled him up, snapping and fighting till he
was dropped into a gunny sack held by one of the men. He looked like a
plump mackerel, weighed six pounds, and will afford a little variety to
our evening repast.
This afternoon the skipper said that I ought to have a pair of
sea-slippers; so he vanished into the slop-chest (the technical name
for the apartment where all sorts of wearing apparel for the crew is
kept) and emerged with the most uncomfortable looking foot-gear
that I ever beheld. The slippers (?) were made of immensely thick red
grain-leather, with heavy, pegged soles, as inflexible as plate armor
and as easy-looking as Belgian sabots. The captain said that they were
as tight as sea-boots, if I kept the water from flowing over the tops,
adding, “I’ll tell you what I do: in cold, wet weather I just haul a
pair of heavy socks right over the outside of the slippers and make
boots of ’em.”
At a quarter to five this afternoon we sighted a steamer on the lee
bow, and as there was a chance of signalling her, and she was bound to
the westward, we put our helm up a little and kept away a couple of
points. At 5.30 she was abreast of us, and we hoisted our number and
“report me all well,” to which she hoisted her answering pennant. She
was a very large English cargo-boat, one of that new style of tramp
freighters with one funnel, two pole-masts, and a great sheer. She
seemed to be making more than ten knots (though the snow-drift under
her bows indicated about twenty-five), and should therefore reach New
York in time to be reported in next Wednesday’s papers. Latitude at
noon, 38° 31′ north; longitude, 55° 2′ west.
+May 16+
Our first Sabbath at sea broke calm and warm. When we went on deck
at seven bells not a breath of air was stirring, the ship had no
steerage-way, and an oily calm lay upon the face of the deep, recalling
memories of our previous voyage, when, in this very part of the ocean
in the month of July, we averaged twenty miles a day for twenty-one
days. Four hundred and twenty miles in three weeks wouldn’t burn a
ship’s copper off; it is about three-quarters of one day’s run of the
fastest express steamers.
It was truly hot this afternoon, for the calm prevailed all day; but
fortunately there was quite a swell present, in which we rolled about,
creating pleasant draughts from the slatting sails. How orderly and
quiet a ship is on a Sunday afternoon when the weather is mild and
clear! Every rope, every implement, is in its place, the decks have
been washed as clean as hard scrubbing can make them, and the brass
mountings shine like mirrors. Coiled away in shady nooks lie the watch,
each with a book or paper in his hand, deep buried in its contents.
Some recline in the waterways under shadow of the bulwarks, others
in the shade of the deck-house; some on the forecastle-head, where
cool airs circulate from the swinging of the big foresail and jibs.
The only audible sounds are the flapping of the sails, the somnolent
cheeping of the blocks, and the working of the rudder-head as the ship
rolls about in the swell, with perhaps the low tones of a man’s voice
humming an air to himself on the main-hatch. A more peaceful scene it
would be impossible to find than that presented by a large ship thus
becalmed,--more tranquil and solemn than the little country hamlet
dozing in the drowsiness of a mid-summer, Sabbath afternoon.
Let a breeze come along, though, from an unexpected quarter, and in an
instant everything starts into life. “Square the crojjick-yard!” comes
with startling suddenness from the officer of the watch. In a moment
the half-hidden forms of the men spring with a bound from their cool
retreats, and the forward part of the ship resounds with their deep
voices as they come rolling aft, each repeating the order, “Square the
crojjick-yard, sir.” Aft they come in a shuffling trot,--not slovenly,
but in a cheerful way,--and the ponderous yards creak slowly round to
the hoarse tones of the bosun.
It is during such scenes as this that the magic of the sea takes hold
of the imaginative mind. The remembrance of gales of wind, and of
hail and sleet and snow fade utterly from the memory, and the mind is
conscious only of the inexpressible charm which the mighty deep exerts
over those who truly love the sea and go down to it in ships.
After breakfast this morning the mate told me how oranges are loaded
at Tahiti, by hauling the vessels up under the trees which overhang
the water and shaking the fruit into the hold. Already Mr. Goggins
is beginning to growl at the weather. What he wants all the time is
“just enough to show the sky-sails to, sir.” We had a little more wind
after breakfast, it is true, but it came from the southeast and let
go at ten. Last night, just before we turned in, some Mother Cary’s
chickens which were flying around the ship began to utter their quaint,
plaintive cries, at which Captain Scruggs and the mate shuddered and
looked grave. I asked Mr. Goggins what was wrong, and he replied,
“Whenever the blarsted birds cry, there’s sure to be a long spell o’
light weather.”
It is strange what disdain merchant skippers have for yachting, nor
can they ever understand why a man should expend so much on a vessel
without trying to derive some income from the same. I happened to
mention to the skipper last evening that I once chartered a pine-apple
schooner at Nassau and took a party of friends on a cruise through the
Bahamas. “After shells, I suppose,” quoth the worthy man, thinking
that my scheme was to load up with the beautiful shells found in those
islands and take them across to the mainland and sell them. Again I
told him that my most cherished scheme was to navigate the South Seas
in an auxiliary yacht. “Yes,” he answered, “it’s a good notion; trading
ain’t dead there yet.” Perhaps the most amusing incident of this sort
happened once when I was on board a yacht lying at Vineyard Haven. A
large three-masted schooner came in, having lost her mizzentop-mast.
The owner of the yacht pulled aboard of the schooner and looked her
over, and then asked her captain and mate back to the yacht. Of course
they admired her exceedingly, and as she was quite a large boat, they
observed that it must cost a sight to run her. Finally, when they were
about to return to their own vessel, the skipper asked, gravely and in
perfect good faith, “What I don’t understand is, how do you make her
pay?” Latitude, 37° 50′ north; longitude, 53° 40′ west.
+May 17+
Perhaps we may change our opinion before the voyage is over. Perhaps
we may not. I have seen enough of the skipper to know that this voyage
is not going to be exquisitely pleasant for ourselves, the mates, or
the men. A little disturbance started this forenoon in the following
manner: A barrel of carrots, onions, and parsnips had been rolled under
the forecastle-head by the mate, who then forgot all about it; so that,
instead of giving it to the cook, he allowed the green stuff to wilt
and wither in the heat of the past forty-eight hours. The captain heard
of this for the first time to-day, and ever since not a single thing
has gone right for him. We first noticed that something was amiss with
the skipper by the tone he used to the helmsman at eleven o’clock, when
he told him to “hold her up a little more.” The man obeyed instantly,
but made an inexcusable mistake: he forgot to answer, and in this he
was, of course, wrong, for he should have either repeated the order or
said, “Ay, ay, sir.” The captain then told him in forcible language
what would happen to men who failed to answer. We thought that the
matter was settled, when the mate came aft from the break of the poop
on a run, thrust his fist through the wheel-house window in the man’s
face and snarled, “Now, luk ud ’ere, ain’t I told yer to answer w’en
yer spoken to, eh? Well, you just do it, or _I’ll_ teach yer to
open yer mouth; I’ll _fix_ yer.” Innocent words, comparatively
speaking, but no one can imagine the intensity of emphasis on the
“fix,” or the malignant, hazing tone which the mate threw into his
threat. The skipper had just “jumped on” the mate, and, of course, the
latter must find some one to retaliate on, and here was an opportunity.
The boy Sammie, too, came in for his share of attention, but it must be
said that this slothful youth deserved it; and, finally, the skipper
and mate came to words at dinner about a barrel of hard bread. Captain
Scruggs graduated years ago with high honors in the art of nagging, and
at last he provoked Mr. Goggins beyond endurance. “Goddlemighty, Cap’n
Scruggs, if I ain’t seen no ship-bread, ’ow could I break it out?” We
expected an explosion from the old man, but he only tugged fiercely at
his whiskers and shut the mate up with, “All right, sir; all right. We
won’t continue the argument.” As the day wore on his temper grew worse
and worse; and when I called his attention to a school of fish playing
alongside, supposing that he would like to see them, he answered
tartly, “Very well, sir; you’d better jump overboard and catch ’em.” I
thought it best not to reply; but it was very annoying, for some of the
men hard by smiled broadly.
It must be acknowledged that the thought of being obliged to sit
opposite to this man at table three times a day for at least four
months is a disagreeable one, and this is not a cheerful meditation at
the very beginning of a voyage. Yet, the captain has proved that in
some ways he is very kind and considerate; but he has that hard, flinty
voice and overbearing manner, an instance of which the reader can
doubtless recall among his seafaring friends.
Throughout nearly the entire day we had an almost perfect calm; this,
of course, aggravated the old man’s temper, for he seems to be a most
intolerant individual. So little headway did we make that at noon we
were in latitude 37° 22′ north; longitude, 52° 39′ west.
+May 18+
We had another sample of American ship “discipline” this morning. We
went on deck at 7.30 to eat some fruit before breakfast, and as soon as
the skipper hove in sight it was plain that he was looking for trouble.
Presently the mate appeared, and it was evident from his countenance
that he had found the trouble the captain was looking for. In a little
while two of the men came aft, each with a case of oil in his arms,
which they deposited on deck by the wheel-house, preparatory to passing
them down into the lazarette. One of the hands, Brün, an inoffensive,
quiet Norwegian (the most peaceable sailors in the world), happened to
put his case down with the lettered side underneath, which displeased
the skipper, who asked him, in his ogre’s voice, if he hadn’t told him
the way to handle case-oil. Now, the man was evidently doing the very
best he could, which was evident from his great desire to please, and
also from the way in which his hands shook. Finally he grew so nervous
that when he picked up the case to turn it over, it slipped and fell
with a loud noise on the deck. At this the poor fellow jumped back
several feet and put up his arm to ward off the expected blow; but the
skipper saw plainly that it was an accident and was going to let the
matter pass, when the mate jumped in between them and, catching a firm
hold of Brün’s right ear, gave it a terrific wrench, that slued him
round and brought him to his knees, while he yelled, “Ain’t _I_
told yer how to lay them cases down?”
Such scenes as this are extremely unpleasant, particularly as they are
always accompanied with boisterous language; and, as we saw the whole
affair, I can say with certainty that it was absolutely unprovoked and
unnecessary. If the man had been of a surly or ugly disposition, and
intentionally put the case down wrongly, some excuse might be in order
for the mate’s conduct; but this fellow has always been unobtrusive,
and actually jumps in his desire to please. It is generally men of
a certain temperament that mates pick out to haze,--men with no
appearance of “sand.” I have never known a man of Mr. Goggins’s sort to
try it on a determined-looking, deliberate seaman.
How calm it was until five o’clock yesterday afternoon! The sea was as
if oiled and of a rich blue, fascinating to contemplate and deeper in
color than usual. No stream that ever cascaded down a mountain-side
could approach in transparency the sea-water as found in the remote
solitudes of the ocean. We had a strange sunset, too, the horizon
being apparently at an immense distance, with whole chains of ragged,
golden-tipped clouds, like jagged mountain rocks, seemingly a hundred
miles away. We had a fine breeze all day from east-northeast, which,
it is true, jammed us on the wind, but it was fresh enough to blow us
along at seven knots. Latitude at noon, 36° 5′ north; longitude, 50°
36′ west.
+May 19+
This was perhaps the finest day which we have had yet. It broke with
the heavens obscured; but during the forenoon the clouds melted under
the influence of the sun and an afternoon of dazzling brilliancy
followed. A fresh breeze whistled out of the east-northeast, giving us
as much as we could show the sky-sails to; and the ocean was covered
with foam-topped waves like immense snow flakes, the crests of which
often came tumbling in glee over the weather side.
Yesterday afternoon at two o’clock we rose the upper canvas of a bark
on the port bow, bound in the same direction as ourselves; at 4.30 she
was abeam, and at seven in the evening, her trucks had vanished below
the horizon astern! In truth this ship is a flyer on a wind, for, in
order to pass the other vessel in so short a time, we must have sailed
almost, if not quite, two miles to her one. Again, this morning at
daylight, we made out the sails of a ship hull down to leeward; she was
then abeam, steering about southeast, but during the afternoon we ran
her out of sight, too. For the past twenty-four hours we have certainly
done splendidly, logging one hundred and ninety-eight miles, hauled
as close to the wind as possible. Captain Scruggs even went so far as
to say that he thought that there were only two other American ships
afloat that could have made more than two hundred miles to-day by the
wind,--the “Henry B. Hyde” and the “A. G. Ropes.” Later I asked the
skipper which he considered was the finest all-round wooden ship under
the flag to-day; his answer instantly was, “the ’Hyde’ by all odds; and
not only that, but she’s one of the finest ships that ever came out
of a Maine ship-yard.” She was built about ten years ago in Bath, by
John McDonald, a Nova Scotian and a pupil of the famous Donald Mackay
of Boston, who turned out so many celebrated clippers thirty or forty
years ago. The “Hyde” is a large ship, registering twenty-five hundred
tons; but in spite of her size she is a three-master, being, I believe,
the second largest ship of this rig at the present time, the British
ship “Ditton” heading the roll of three-masters with a net tonnage of
about twenty-eight hundred. Almost all sailing vessels of over two
thousand tons register are now built with four masts.
Last night I was talking with the mate about sea-birds, and he was
giving me considerable information of the birds on the Pacific coast,
when he said, suddenly, “I see a ’awk at sea once, sir.” “Indeed,” said
I, “that is very interesting, for the bird is almost extinct; it must
have been a long time ago, for even the eggs now are quite valuable.”
He looked very hard at me then for a few moments, when the captain
called him away; and for some time I wondered why he had stared at me
so fixedly; when all at once I realized that he meant hawk, not auk!
Latitude, 34° 4′ north; longitude, 47° 15′ west.
+May 20+
Light showers prevailed this morning early, but at ten the clouds
disappeared, leaving a sky of deep cobalt and a glorious, sparkling
sea. Fresh winds from east-northeast blew all day, giving us frequently
ten knots, the ship driving along with the even, modulated swing of a
pendulum. The mate says that Captain Scruggs is so lucky in making fast
passages that in New York they say that he carries a fair wind in his
pocket and spills it out when necessary. However true this may be, the
direction of the wind could be easily improved at the present time, by
hauling more to the northward, so that we could come up a little; our
position, too, would be a far better one if we were five or six degrees
more to the eastward, as it is a little too soon to make so much
southing. _Nolens volens_, though, southeast has been our course
for some time, and the skipper jocosely remarks that he expects to see
San Roque this time.