breezes came whispering over the Pacific; and it was so still that we
could plainly hear the sighing of porpoises as they rolled languidly
through the water alongside, a brilliant flash of phosphoric light
showing where each disappeared. At daylight this morning, though, a
delightful breeze came singing out of the east-southeast, and by nine
o’clock we were making seven knots, doing twenty-nine miles in the
forenoon watch,--no mean speed for the equatorial ocean. It seems that
the light spell was only a lull in the Trades, for there are plenty of
indications of wind round about.
At 4.30 yesterday, after pumping, I had yet another conversation with
the doughty Scot. “Have ye taken notice of the way the mate’s slacked
up on the men?” he asked; “that’s a bad sign, now. Here’s this man
cut; before ye’ll remember how he used to shout and charge around the
decks. What do ye hear from him now? Nothin’ at all. I haven’t heard
him raise his voice to one o’ the men since Wednesday night. Why?
’Cause he’s scared. He’s in a funk; and I have the task o’ keepin’ the
ship in order forrad. One o’ them, Tim, was goin’ to get ugly this
forenoon; but I turned on him sharp and says, ‘See here, now, drop
that; you’ve laid one man out, haven’t you? You have; but I’m d---- if
you’re goin’ to lay me out,’ says I, and that settled it for the time.
Who’ve I got to depend on if they do break out? The mate’s no good,
and t’other bosun’s only a child. When Mr. Rarx gets up again you’ll
see some fireworks. Did ye ever hear anythin’ about Cap’n Slocum in
the ‘D. G. Tillie’? He’s another hard nut. I was comin’ around in her
once from Baltimore, bound to ’Frisco with a load o’ coal. One o’ the
men forgot to say ‘sir’ to the second mate one day in a hard squall;
so Slocum clapped the irons on him, and then near beat the life out of
him with a fid. This little bit o’ fun, though, I heard cost him near
two thousand dollars. I’ll tell ye the ships you’d ought to sail in if
ye make another voyage,--one of the Loch Line; they’re grand ships, and
run like men-o’-war; I’ve been in them, and they’re the best that sails
the seas.”
They are, doubtless, the best run sailing ships in the world, and
were built not alone to carry agricultural implements and wool in the
London-Melbourne trade, but to take out passengers as well. There are
fifteen of them, and all named after Scottish lochs, and they vary in
size from twelve hundred to two thousand tons. If all ships were as
fast as the “Loch Torridon,” tramp steamers would be at a discount.
This vessel goes wherever she can find a charter, and has made a number
of wonderful records. She holds the best record for a deep-loaded ship
from Newcastle, Australia, to San Francisco,--forty-six days. In 1891
she made the passage from Sydney to London, wool-laden, in eighty days,
beating a fleet of seventy-eight vessels, similarly loaded and bound
to the United Kingdom. It was on this voyage that Captain Pattman,
who has commanded the ship for sixteen years, made a record that is
simply marvellous, by sailing from the Diego Ramirez to the Lizard in
forty-one days! In 1892 the “Loch Torridon,” in ballast, went out to
Melbourne from London in sixty-nine days, and the consecutive runs
for nine days were, in knots, 302, 290, 288, 272, 285, 282, 270, 327,
and 341; and from Saturday noon to Saturday noon the ship made 2119
knots, an average of 303 knots per day, or about thirteen miles per
hour. Another fast passage of this gallant ship was from Newcastle,
Australia, to Valparaiso in thirty days. It is easy to imagine the
intense pride that a ship-master must feel in such a vessel. Her
picture appears on the opposite page. It is a pity that her royals are
clewed up.
[Illustration: The four-masted British ship “Loch Torridon”]
Last evening Louis’s coat and a change of clothes were brought aft
by Charlie, one of the jolly, good-tempered fellows. “Lemme see them
duds,” growled the mate, standing by the wheel-house, who then went
carefully through the pockets for concealed weapons, but found only a
lump of tobacco, which some one had slipped into the pocket, as Louis
is a great masticator of the weed. The mate subsequently transferred
the tobacco to his own pocket, whereupon Charlie actually expostulated
with him, at which Mr. Goggins said never a word! The second mate is
now doing quite well, and ate his first solid food to-day, a bit of dry
toast, but his rations still consist mostly of arrow-root gruel. The
captain told us to-day that last Friday he didn’t think that Mr. Rarx
would live through that day, but a robust constitution has apparently
pulled him past the crisis. The more we ponder on the stabbing affair
the more remarkable it seems that the second mate should have started
the row. If the truth were known, both Rarx and Louis were perhaps
getting a little rusty from disuse and tried to brighten matters up
a little; but Rarx’ll never take another Dago by the throat again
(at sea Frenchmen, Spaniards, and Italians are Dagos; Scandinavians,
Hollanders, and Germans are Dutchmen). Louis will have a very strong
case against the second mate if he can get Karl and some of the
others to testify as to their treatment at the hands of Mr. Rarx; and
self-defence is an excellent plea when a man takes another by the
throat, especially if the said man has been in the habit of utilizing
belaying-pins for other purposes than those for which they were
intended. Latitude, 1° 45′ north; longitude, 117° 15′ west.
+August 24+
Two hundred and two miles! How’s that for one day’s run in the
southeast Trades two hundred and fifty miles north of the equator?
Indeed, this is the best that we have done for a fortnight, and
it has put all hands in a happy mood. A powerful current setting
west-northwest, two and one-half knots an hour, has been responsible
for about sixty miles of the distance, but the wind is strong at
south-southeast and should give us another good run to-morrow. Except
the Gulf Stream, I do not know of a current in the open sea as strong
as this one, which, if in a harbor, would at times, half bury a small
can-buoy. The heat, though, is very severe now, the humidity and
oppressiveness being extreme.
The second mate was carried out of his room this forenoon and laid
in a reclining chair on the main-deck. His respiration is improving,
though it is still labored, and he says that he really feels but little
better. The probability of his being able to resume his duties before
we reach port is very remote, which is fortunate for the men, for if
Mr. Rarx should sufficiently recover to stand his watches, there would
be a terrific thumping of sailors.
The mate went below to put a fresh pair of irons on Louis, and in doing
so handled him very roughly (a courageous performance), so that the
Frenchman sobbed two or three times. “Ha,” quoth Goggins, “blubberin’,
eh? That’s just like you Dagos. You’re nothin’ but a lot of old women
with no more sand than a--a--a--jelly-fish, you ain’t.” People in
glass houses occurred to me then, and I thought how Louis could, any
day, pick up this miserable creature when he went down with his food,
and shake the life out of him with just one of those mighty arms of
his. The Frenchman is unlucky in having such wrists, for there is not
a pair of irons in the ship nearly large enough, and each wrist is
encircled by a ringlet of raw skin where the handcuffs have gripped and
chafed it as though it had been seared with a hot bracelet. I cannot
help feeling sorry for him, in spite of his deed; for it is improbable
that a man whose general character is so good and whose face is so
frank and honest is a villain at heart. Like the rest of his nation,
he is very quick-tempered, and upon the second mate’s catching him by
the throat his hand instantly flew to his weapon, the common sailor’s
sheath-knife. On the other hand, both Tim and Coleman look like typical
hard cases, with restless eyes and evil, discontented, sinister faces.
Why is it that such men are seldom maltreated at sea? It is only such
inoffensive creatures as Karl and Brün who are kicked about a ship’s
deck like curs in an alley-way. Such men as I have mentioned first are
thoroughly wide-awake, too, and know just how far to go in irritating
captains and mates without laying themselves open to punishment; and
when mates cannot detect them, they (the mates) “take it out” on others.
The most intelligent man forward is a New Yorker, Dick Broadhead,
and, as he has been very willing to talk, we have had some interesting
conversations. He is going out to ship in one of the Pacific mail
steamers as quartermaster, which accounts for so respectable a young
man’s signing in an American vessel. What a splendid lot of young,
native Americans we would have in our merchant marine if boys at sea
in our deep-water ships were treated as they are in the vessels of
other nations! The real American sailor, as he has proved in our naval
achievements, has no superior, and if even the mildest inducements were
offered to young men of decent antecedents to sail in our ships, we
would soon have a merchant service that would be the envy of the rest
of the world. Look at the training-ship “St. Mary’s,” which is supposed
to supply young men to officer our steamers and sailing ships. I have
yet to meet with a single graduate of this excellent institution on
a sailing vessel, for they absolutely refuse to sign in them even as
second mate, saying that until blood and belaying-pins cease to fly
in our long-voyage ships, they would leave them severely alone. The
existing condition of things actually prevents our boys and young men
from joining the merchant service. Why have we not a Plimsoll to strip
our ships of the unprincipled wretches who command and officer them?
Although not a sailor, this excellent man spent most of his life and
ten thousand pounds in ameliorating the condition of English seamen.
If our sailors were treated as they are in the foreign services, we
should have gentlemen’s sons as captains and mates, as they have in
Great Britain and Germany, and not the miserable examples of humanity
that are to be found on the quarter-decks of the majority of our
deep-water-men. The second mate of a ship once said to me, speaking
of the captain of one of our crack San Francisco wind-jammers, “What!
Cap’n B----? Why, he don’t know who his father and mother were.” If
this is the captain, what can you expect?
But I have drifted away from Broadhead. This is the second ship under
the stars and stripes that he ever served in, having been shanghaied
on board the “Virago” once two or three years before in a Chinese
port. It was this ship’s maiden voyage, and she came home around South
America from Hong-Kong, instead of around Africa. Concerning Captain
Jones, Broadhead remarked, “I’ve seen dummies in command of ships, but
he beats the deck. The first bad squall we had off the Horn, I was
steering, and he was so scared he just held on to the rail and yelled,
and I heard the mate say to him, ‘Why don’t you get the t’-ga’nt-s’ls
off her?’ She went down to the sheer-poles in that squall, and they do
say he hasn’t had anything above the topsails on her since. I’ll give
you a tip: the ‘Virago’s’ got three masts too many for Cap’n Jones.”
Latitude, 4° 24′ north; longitude, 119° 20′ west.
+August 25+
So joyous a breeze has wafted us along for twenty-four hours that
at noon to-day we were two hundred and two miles from where we were
at the same time yesterday. We have no current now, and our run was
due solely to good, honest winds from south-southeast. At about noon
to-day, though, the breeze shifted to south-southwest, and now (4
+P.M.+) it is at southwest and not strong. It is probable that
we have lost the Trades, after holding them for thirty-five degrees
of latitude,--a remarkable piece of luck. It was grand sailing then;
the very finest that we ever had. But hence to 15° north will no
doubt be a trying week. It was a matter of some surprise to us when
we first learned that the light southwesterly wind that blows between
the Trades in the Atlantic and Pacific is called a monsoon. It is
generally supposed that the term monsoon, which is from the Arabian
_mawsun_, signifying season, is applied to certain winds on the
southeast coast of Asia only.
Gracious, how hot it is here now! What a difference in a few hours!
At noon, with the sky heavily overcast and on the coolest part of
the deck, the thermometer stood at 84°. In equatorial regions it
is only when far removed from salt-water that the mercury rises to
such altitudes as 130°; this fearful temperature is experienced in
many localities, such as Northern India, Mojave Desert, in Southern
California, and in parts of Australia. In such places as Para,
Singapore, and Madras, though close to the equator, the temperature
seldom rises more than two or three degrees above 90°. Anything higher
than 80° in such places, as well as at sea, would be considered almost
unbearable by most people.
While my wife and I were reading on the deck-house this morning we
observed the wee cook in transports of delight, the cause of which
became apparent when he held up a fine bonito. We went down to look at
it, and then perceived two men on the jib-boom end fishing for them, so
we climbed up on the top-gallant forecastle-head to watch the sport.
It was delightful up there, cool and breezy from the gush that whirled
out of the curve of the foresail. We braced ourselves against the
knight-heads and, looking down over the lofty, flaring bows, we could
see dozens of bonitos darting swiftly about the cut-water as we swept
grandly on through the blue, transparent sea. Far out on the tapering
end of the spar were Charley and Olsen; the former with the line in his
hand, the hook being concealed by that singular and universal deep-sea
bait, a bit of white cotton cloth. Charley kept the hook just touching
the surface, except when he jerked it sharply upward, in imitation
of the flight of the flying-fish, which form the principal food of
the voracious bonito. It would be all but impossible to conceive a
more beautiful scene than that which fascinated us for half an hour.
The fish themselves were of the most exquisite colors, some brilliant
blue, some magenta, others of a rich purple; and as they flashed
through the water with incredible speed, twisting and twirling about
in pursuit of their prey, with now and then a gleam of silvery white
from their under parts, they looked not unlike segments of a vivid
rainbow. Presently one would shoot clear out of the water for the bait,
straight and swift as a dart, and seize it in his toothless but greedy
jaws. A great churning and splashing would follow, and then Charlie,
almost hysterical with excitement, would haul up the lithe, handsome
creature, quivering and vibrating as though galvanized. No sooner would
he be hooked than perhaps a hundred flying-fish would break through
the surface and sail gleaming away for a few rods, only to fall into
the rapacious mouths of their enemies. The spectacle was one long to
be cherished: the whizzing flight of the glittering little fish, the
lustrous-hued bonitos, the tranquil surface of the ocean, broken here
and there with foaming ripples, and the lofty tiers of canvas rearing
themselves higher and higher toward the clouds.
Captain Scruggs continues his quiet, almost agreeable manner, answers
pleasantly, and has little to say at meals. It is aggravating to think
that the skipper knew quite well how he ought to have behaved during
the voyage, and that he simply didn’t care “whether school kept or
not.” Now and then the silence is broken during dinner by a shattering
crash of the old man’s ponderous foot upon the oil-cloth floor, while
he simultaneously yells, “Get out o’ here, you homely thing!” This
is an exhortation to the gaunt, pop-eyed cat, which sometimes slinks
into the cabin at meals. It seems impossible to fatten this singular
animal, and it skulks and stalks about the decks as lank and ribbed as
a Calcutta jackal, with its huge saffron eyes fixed motionlessly upon
you in so startling a fashion that it looks like an incarnation of one
of Cruikshank’s drawings. Its notions of sport are equally strange;
Tommie, the sleek Maltese, has been trying to teach it how to play,
but when Tom rushes sportively at it, the other executes a series of
prodigious, vertical leaps, with its legs flat out at right angles, and
in another moment vanishes with an eldrich cry.
Mr. Rarx is about the same; two of the men supported him to-day while
he tried to hobble about the deck; but he cannot for an instant even
stand alone. Latitude, 6° 56′ north; longitude, 121° 15′ west.
+August 26+
We are now certain that we have lost the Trades. The wind has been
steady at southwest for twenty-four hours, and, though not a strong
breeze, we made more than two degrees of latitude, which is not bad
going for this region, and three days of it would take us into the
northeast winds. It is intensely hot and moist, and heavy showers pelt
us every half-hour; but it is a fine chance for cleaning ship, and all
hands are at work scrubbing off the old paint from the bulwarks and
deck-houses preparatory to the new coat.
How I wish we could get a photograph in colors of that villain, Tim
Powers! I never supposed that one of the human species could so nearly
in appearance approach the simian race. His head and jaws are covered
with a thick growth of bright-red hair, which continues down his
throat till it meets a shaggy breast. The body, powerfully made, is
curved forward like an ape’s, and long, thick arms, hair-covered to
the knuckles, swing loosely well below the middle; and he waddles in
his gait like a monkey endeavoring to walk upright. The best possible
description of this animal is to say that he is ever so much more like
a chimpanzee than a chimpanzee is. Besides all this, he is so dirty
that the rest of the men follow him with their eyes as he moves about
the deck.
Those who are not especially interested in the well-being of our
sailors may find the following dissertation somewhat tiresome; but
the facts about to be set forth ought to be known to the public, as
they certainly are not, so that I will not begin these remarks with an
apology for their length.
In every port of any size in the United States there are a number of
men whose business it is to maintain boarding-houses for sailors,--that
is, they are known to the outside world as boarding-house-keepers,
but in reality they form one of the most extensive aggregations of
criminals, thieves, and persecutors to be met with in any country of
the world that boasts a high civilization. Their technical name is
crimps. The Encyclopædic Dictionary defines a crimp as “one who keeps
a low lodging-house, into which sailors and others are decoyed and
then robbed”; but it would be impossible to present properly, in so
small a space, the different phases and extensions of a system which
for generations has eluded and defied investigation and has baffled
the attempts of well-meaning but incapable legislators. New York is
the hot-bed of crimps, for there are more than fifty boarding-houses
in the city near the water-front. Take the case of a vessel just in
from a long voyage. No sooner does the anchor touch bottom than her
decks are suddenly and mysteriously filled with strange men, who pay no
attention to the captain or mates, but go at once into the forecastle
among the sailors. They are the runners for the crimps,--men whose
business it is to supply the sailors with grog which they have brought
on board for the purpose, and then decoy and persuade them to their
respective establishments. Every sailor at the end of a voyage has but
half of his wages coming to him (more of this by and by), say about
forty dollars. The crimp at once takes a week’s board in advance and
then, having drenched the unfortunate with the vilest of rum, it is a
matter of but two or three days until the crimp has wheedled him out of
the rest of his hard-earned gains, and then he gets in his finest work
by opening an account with the sailor for lodging, meals, drinks, etc.
He then at once becomes the slave of the crimp and must do his bidding;
not only can the latter prevent him from securing employment (in this
free country!), but can actually prevent a ship-master from getting
a crew, unless he signifies his willingness to deal with him; and as
I have said, so powerful (politically) is the crimping organization
in New York that it successfully defies all effort at checking it and
controls absolutely the shipping of sailors in New York. When a captain
wishes to engage a crew, not finding one at the shipping commissioners,
where they are supposed to be, he is compelled to apply to a crimp,
and if sailors are scarce at the time, he will charge the captain so
much per head! If the sailors are plentiful, though, he will not charge
the captain anything for supplying him with a crew; in fact, he will
go to the extremity of paying the latter a bonus for the privilege of
shipping his men, in order to prevent some other crimp from securing
his business, taking the precaution of charging the sailors a fee
sufficiently large to make up the deficiency. This fee is known among
sailors as “blood-money,” and it varies from one to twenty dollars
_per capita_; in our own case, the amount that each foremast hand
had to pay for being allowed to sail in this ship was five dollars; and
though their wages are so small (about eighteen dollars a month) it
would be useless for them to object to the blood-money; alternative,
starvation in the streets. This practice of paying ship owners and
masters for the privilege of supplying them with sailors has grown so
common that it is regarded by many owners and captains as a legitimate
source of income; so much so, that the majority refuse to sign other
than a crimp’s crew. The shipping commissioner, a federal officer, is
supposed to look after the gathering together of a ship’s company; the
men, it is true, sign the articles in his presence, but that is the sum
total of his connection with the shipment of sailors. Why doesn’t the
commissioner stop the crimping? He is well aware, of course, that it
goes on; but he does not seek to prevent it because he is instructed
not to interfere with the accredited “_agents_” of the owners, and
it must not be forgotten that under the fee system in vogue at present
the commissioners are, to a great extent, dependent upon the good-will
of the owners for their income. Any attempt of the commissioner to
interfere with the “agents” of the latter would evoke a strong protest
from them, and would, perhaps, end in the suppression of the office of
commissioner; therefore the majority of the owners insist that their
“agents” shall be respected.
In many instances the commissioners have been utterly unfit for the
office they have held, for they are supposed to look after the welfare
of seamen, besides their shipment. It is even said that some have been
appointed from the forces of the crimps themselves. Others have been
common ward politicians (those who know New York will appreciate this),
and even a metal-worker has in the past held the office at New York;
while the most influential candidate for the position now at one of our
greatest ports is a sign-painter! It will be appreciated at once how
much men of this sort know of the grievances of sailors whom they are
supposed to protect.