THE WIND-JAMMERS
Works of
T. Jenkins Hains
[Illustration]
The Windjammers $1.50
The Black Barque 1.50
The Voyage of the Arrow 1.50
[Illustration]
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building
BOSTON, MASS.
[Illustration: “CLAWING OFF THE CAPE.”
Copyright by S. S. McClure Co.]
THE
WIND-JAMMERS
By T. JENKINS HAINS
Author of “The Voyage of the Arrow,” “The Black Barque,”
“The Strife of the Sea,” etc.
[Illustration: colophon]
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1894, 1898, 1899, by T. JENKINS HAINS
Copyright, 1897, by FRANK A. MUNSEY
Sixth Impression, March, 1906.
COLONIAL PRESS
PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS & CO.
BOSTON, U. S. A.
TO
GENERAL P. C. HAINS
UNITED STATES ARMY
A STERN CRITIC AND
MY OLDEST FRIEND
_CONTENTS_
PAGE
THE EXECUTIVE OF THE RANDOLPH 9
TIMBER NOGGINS 28
OFF THE HORN: A TALE OF THE SOUTHERN OCEAN 38
THE BLACK CREW OF COOPER’S HOLE 52
JOHNNIE 71
THE TREASURE OF TINIAN REEF 84
THE LE MAIRE LIGHT 110
THE BACKSLIDERS 124
CAPTAIN CRAVEN’S COURAGE 146
THE DEATH OF HUATICARA 161
A BLUNDER 181
TO CLIPPERTON REEF 196
THE TRANSMIGRATION OF AMOS JONES 227
MURPHY OF THE CONEMAUGH 235
MY PIRATE 244
THE CURSE OF WOMAN 264
_THE EXECUTIVE OF THE RANDOLPH_
I was a few months over sixteen when my father set me to work in the
ship-yard. My task consisted in carrying water for the men to drink and
distributing among them armfuls of bolts and trunnels.
In this way I became acquainted with the different men employed upon the
various parts of the vast hull for the ship of war that was being set
up, and I knew their peculiarities and some of their affairs.
My father was working with several other men, one day, on the dead-wood
aft, when an unfinished butt flew out from its fastenings and struck a
man named Simms, injuring him so badly that he was laid off. As the
building dragged very slowly, other men were put on and my father had a
new assistant.
This new man was about thirty years of age and rather good-looking. He
had no beard or mustache, and his sensitive mouth wore a grave
expression, as if he were much given to deep thought.
It was his eyes, however, that appeared to me most remarkable. They
seldom met mine when he took his water from me, and when they did I
always had the impression that I had seen only the whites of them in
their corners.
Only once did he look straight at me, and that was when I was a trifle
slow about bringing him a bolt. Then he gazed at me for fully a quarter
of a minute, and I was so frightened by his fierce look that I almost
dropped the bolt from my hand.
At other times he smiled so pleasantly, and said so many flattering
things to everybody, that the other workmen took a strong liking to him.
He always had the latest war news, and solemnly bade the men thank
Providence for each success that attended General Washington’s army.
My father finally invited him to our house one Sunday, and he appeared
there all dressed and powdered like any gentleman of wealth and
position, much to my father’s disgust and to my sister Peggy’s
astonishment.
He saw our looks, and explained that he was more careful of his
appearance on the Lord’s day, inasmuch as he had held clerical orders,
and that the only reason he took up the work at the ship-yard was
because he felt that he could serve the Lord better by helping to build
defences for the suffering country than by talking.
His manner to both Peggy and my mother was such, that had they been of
the blood royal, he could hardly have treated them with more deference
and respect.
The way he took to Peggy was remarkable, and he spent much time, after
this first visit, in her company talking of church affairs, with which
he appeared to be quite familiar. My mother and father did not object to
this, for they were religious people, and their dislike for the young
man’s effeminacy soon gave place to admiration for his zeal in these
elevating matters.
The only person frequenting our house who did not take greatly to Mr.
Robinson was George Rhett, our young Episcopal clergyman, who was very
attentive to Peggy. He thought Mr. Robinson’s conversation more
fascinating than instructive.
One day, late in the winter, three rough-looking men appeared in the
yard and asked for work. They were put on the gang under my father. The
leader of these men was a perfect giant in size, and had a head as big
and bald as the butt of a twelve-pounder. He also had a face and manner
of peculiar fierceness.
I happened to be near him one day when my father gave him an order,
which he roughly answered with a great oath. Instantly Mr. Robinson
turned about and, holding up his hands, raised his face to heaven and
bade him ask forgiveness for using such language.
The deep tones of his voice startled me at first with their intenseness,
but the great ruffian laughed. Then he suddenly caught Mr. Robinson’s
eye, and a change came upon him.
He quietly asked my father’s forgiveness and apologized for swearing;
then he resumed work with an agility that reminded me I must not stand
about gaping.
Mr. Robinson, however, was not satisfied with what he had accomplished.
He went to the foreman and, after a little argument, persuaded him to
discharge the three new men, much to the big bald-headed ruffian’s
apparent disgust.
This fellow and his comrades left the yard with some show of feeling
against Mr. Robinson, and went directly to our young pastor, Mr. Rhett,
with their grievance. They showed him letters telling of their good
character, signed by several prominent officers in the army at the
North, and explained that they wished to work, and could do so to some
advantage on a part of the hull where Mr. Robinson would not be annoyed
by their presence.
When Mr. Rhett heard it was Mr. Robinson who had had the men discharged
his indignation ran high, and he went about telling such a tale of
persecution that even my mild-mannered sister Peggy was ready to take up
matters in their behalf.
Mr. Rhett went to the foreman and had the men put back on the work, and
was loud in his praise of them.
They really were the best men for heavy work in the yard, and when, a
few days later, they asked to have several of their friends employed,
Mr. Rhett was quite willing to recommend them. As he was very popular in
the community, his word was of so much value that they were immediately
turned to with their comrades.
Mr. Robinson took no further notice of the matter, but about a week
before the launching Peggy came to me and, with many pretty blushes,
told me I was about to have a new brother. My father and mother had
consented to the marriage and every one was as happy as could be. That
is, every one except Mr. Rhett.
The wedding took place the day of the launching of the ship, and Peggy
was a proud girl as she stood there on the forward deck and watched a
beautiful woman break a bottle of wine over the vessel’s bows. Then a
cannon-shot boomed out and the name “Randolph” was cheered again and
again. It was a memorable day in our family, and my father came home in
such a state my poor mother instantly sent me for the doctor.
Of course, after this event of the launching, all talk was of the war
and of what part the frigate--named after the Hon. Peyton Randolph, of
Virginia--would take in it.
It was not long before the ship had her guns aboard and the riggers were
through with her. Then Captain Biddle began looking for volunteers to
help man her.
Seamen were not plentiful, but as a man-of-war must have men to man her
battery, landsmen are as good as any other class for this work after
they have had a little training.
I begged hard to join, and as I had now been out of employment nearly
two months, while the frigate was fitting out, and as I also had a
hearty appetite, my poor father and mother at last consented. This,
provided that I could be regularly shipped, and so have some chance of
promotion.
I was very happy and excited the morning my father took me on board and
asked Captain Biddle for his favor, and when I found I was really to go
to sea in that splendid ship I fairly danced with joy.
I was a heavy, active boy, and soon learned to handle a musket, cutlass,
or boarding-pike in a satisfactory manner.
The best men for this sort of thing, however, were those recommended by
Mr. Rhett. There were over twenty men aboard in this party, and they had
enlisted for the full term of the cruise. It was astonishing to see how
that bald ruffian would perk himself up when handling a musket or
cutlass.
Finally the day came for sailing, and a great crowd collected to bid us
farewell. I saw my parents early in the day, and then Peggy and her
husband came to bid me an affectionate good-by, my poor sister weeping
upon my shoulder and hugging me again and again.
Three hundred and five men stood upon the frigate’s deck and manned the
yards, to answer the shouts from the shore with three ringing cheers. A
gun boomed the parting salute, our yards were braced sharp on the
backstays to the southerly breeze, and we stood rapidly out to sea.
When the bar was crossed and the long, easy roll of the ocean was felt,
I began to get a little homesick. I forgot the grand thoughts I had
indulged in but an hour before.
I struggled against this peculiar feeling for some time, and then a
particularly heavy rolling sea taking the frigate squarely on the beam,
I leaned over the side, and cared not whether I was alive or dead.
My paroxysms must have attracted some attention, for I heard several men
laugh. I turned quickly, and at that moment a hand was laid heavily upon
my shoulder, and Mr. Robinson stood before me. He flashed a look at the
grinning men and they turned away.
Then he raised that thin, piping voice of his into a deep, sonorous
tone, and, lifting his face skyward, bade me have faith in the Lord. I
had actually begun to think I was dying, for the qualms were most
severe; so the grave face and solemn manner of my brother-in-law were
very welcome to me in spite of my utter astonishment at seeing him
aboard.
I thanked him for his kindness, and gained much strength from his words,
and then, without further remark, I lay down beside a broadside gun and
tried to lose consciousness.
All that night and the next day I suffered agony, but I found myself
able to attend to some duties, and asked Mr. Robinson why and how he
came to be on board. These questions he answered abruptly, but gave me
to understand that it was my sister’s wish that he should serve his
country as a sailor.
In a few days I was entirely well, and I was put to work as a
powder-boy, to help pass ammunition from the magazine to the guns.
The gun crews were drilled and the pieces fired to test their accuracy
and exercise the men. Then we were ready for any enemy of our size and
rating. Even greater, for that matter; for while we only rated as a
thirty-six-gun frigate, Captain Biddle was an officer of such high
spirit and courage that he would have willingly engaged a ship of the
line had one appeared.
Robinson was made captain of an after broadside gun crew, for in spite
of his knowledge of religious matters he was every inch a sailor, and
knew more of nautical affairs--including the handling of naval
guns--than any man on the ship, except, perhaps, Captain Biddle himself.
Four of the men recommended by Mr. Rhett were in his gun’s crew, and
they were the stoutest and most grim-looking ruffians when working
stripped to the waist that ever stood behind the breech of a
twenty-four-pounder. When they drilled, they would practise running in
their gun and whirling it around on the deck, and then send the tackles
about in a most confusing manner.
Finally the officer of the deck had to interfere, and give Robinson to
understand that gymnastic exercises were out of place on the gun-deck.
In spite of this he was highly esteemed by Captain Biddle, and when his
men yelled at each discharge he was not reprimanded.
We were off Charleston one evening, cruising to the eastward under easy
canvas, and waiting for a prize to heave in sight. Several British
vessels were known to be bound for the colonies, loaded with arms and
supplies for the enemy’s troops, and it would be a godsend to catch up
with one, as there were not half enough muskets ashore to equip the
volunteers in the Carolinas.
It was noticed by some on board that, while the majority of the men and
all the officers appeared anxious for a meeting with the foe, there was
a peculiar apathy shown among a part of the crew. These were the men
whom Mr. Rhett had helped to get work, and they appeared quiet and
listless, taking no interest in the sails we raised above the horizon
and maintaining a manner of sullen effrontery to all who did not share
their intimacy.
It was first supposed that the new life and discipline did not appeal
favorably to them, but as they made no complaint little thought was
given to the matter. Robinson kept away from this crowd except at drill
times, and then he did much to exhort them not to be so profane.
Several times I noticed groups of men, who were not on watch, having a
large sprinkling of these fellows among them standing about, talking in
a manner that could hardly be said to speak well of the discipline
aboard the ship.
The sun had gone down but little over half an hour, dyeing the light
clouds in the west a fiery red, when the man on the lookout in the
foretop hailed the deck.
“Sail dead ahead, sir!” he bawled.
In half a second all eyes were turned in that direction. Instantly
royals were sheeted home, while the outer jibs, topmast, and
topgallant-staysails were run up, making the frigate heel to leeward
under the pressure.
Men were sent to quarters, the magazines opened, the guns loaded and
run out, and everything was ready for action.
We had little time to wait to find out what the vessel was ahead, for
her captain was evidently as anxious to meet us as we were to meet him,
and he stood for us with every stitch of canvas drawing alow and aloft.
It grew quite dark, but we could still see the stranger, and by the
heavy topsails and well-trimmed yards it was easy to see that the vessel
was a man-of-war.
In about half an hour we came abreast, and not more than fifty fathoms
distant, but somehow the Randolph was sent to leeward, giving the
stranger the weather-gage. Then we had no difficulty in recognizing the
frigate Yarmouth, sixty-four guns, commanded by Captain Vincent of his
majesty’s navy.
As we were new and unknown, the British ensign had been run up to
deceive the enemy, Captain Biddle hoping to get in close and deliver a
crippling broadside before the Yarmouth was aware of our intentions, but
I am not certain whether it was seen or not in the darkness.
Every man was at his post, standing silent and motionless in the dim
light of the battle-lanterns, and every gun on the starboard broadside
was kept trained on the British frigate.
We drew directly abreast, and a hoarse voice hailed us through the
gloom.
“Fire!” came the order clear and distinct from the quarter-deck, and
our answer to the hail was the deep rolling thunder of twenty heavy
guns, fired almost simultaneously.
Then, as we ran clear of the cloud from our guns, the Yarmouth appeared
to burst into a spitting line of flame, and the shot from her answering
broadside crashed among us while she disappeared in a storm of smoke.
The scene on our spar-deck was frightful. Men struck by the flying shot
or splinters were hurled and pitched about and fell in mangled groups
upon the sanded planks.
Then the order came to wear ship, and we paid off rapidly to the
northward, to bring our port broadside to bear upon the enemy as she
crossed our wake, coming after us in full chase.
We were new and light, and probably able to go two knots to her one, if
no accident happened to our sailing gear. Our rigging had not been
seriously cut and our spars were sound, so it is hard to tell just how
the action would have ended had the fight continued as it commenced.
But there were other matters at hand far more dangerous to us than his
majesty’s sixty-four-gun frigate Yarmouth.
As I passed a powder charge to the after starboard gun, I turned and
looked across the deck at Robinson and his crew.
Instead of running his gun out and laying it towards the enemy, he and
his men quickly shifted the tackles and, slewing it around, trained it
down the port broadside through the line of gun crews. As he did so,
some thirty men--among whom I recognized the big bald ruffian and his
comrades of the ship-yard--rushed down the starboard side, and came aft,
yelling and swearing and with their cutlasses swinging in their hands.
They took their places around and behind Robinson’s gun, while one man
stepped out and coolly rammed a bag of musket-balls down the muzzle.
“What are you doing?” roared the officer of the deck from the break of
the poop.
“Watch me,” said Robinson, quietly; and with that he let off the heavy
gun, double charged, along the deck.
The discharge swept the gangway clear of living men, the poor, surprised
fellows going down in groups like grass before a scythe-blade. Then,
with a roaring yell, the ruffians left the spar-deck to the gun crews
and rushed aft in a body, with Robinson and the bald-headed giant at
their front.
It was all so sudden no one realized what was taking place. The ship was
off before the wind, racing along to the northward through the gloom.
The lanterns of the port battery were smashed or blown out, and the
shrieks and groans of the wounded men added to the confusion and terror
of the scene. Those men left alive and unhurt on the port side were
tailing on to the waring braces.
The officers forward bawled and swore at the bewildered sailors, trying
to get them to realize their position, and while they did so the
villains were taking the quarter-deck.
It was a short, desperate fight aft, but they had laid their plans so
well that every officer was taken off his guard and cut down before even
preparing to make a defence. Then the ruffians were masters of the
quarter-deck.
I saw the Yarmouth on the port quarter. She loomed dimly through the
gloom nearly a mile away, and as I looked I saw the intermittent flashes
of her bow-chasers and heard the regular firing.
A shot from one of her long twenty-fours tore past me, and killed a man
who was just starting aft to join in the affray on the poop. I thought
for an instant that they might know on the Yarmouth what was taking
place on board the Randolph, but afterwards I found they knew nothing.
In a few moments the men forward began to see what had happened aft, and
they just recovered themselves as Robinson and his crew finished off the
last man and were running the ship away to the northward without a
thought of engaging the enemy.
So far the villains had been successful, and with another turn of good
luck would be masters of a large frigate, fully equipped and provisioned
for a long cruise.
Robinson could then have become a wealthy pirate in the West Indian and
South American waters, and retired from the sea in a year or two without
much danger of being caught, for his vessel was larger and faster than
any he would be likely to meet. From the capes of Virginia to the river
Plate no vessel of this size had cruised for years, and he would have
had a good chance to make a clean sweep before anything caught up with
him.
But this turn of luck for him did not occur. When he had finished his
deadly work aft and started his men forward, our men rallied, and, led
on by the under officers left alive, began to make a stand.
Robinson rushed his men on in a style worthy of a better cause. And the
way that great bald ruffian went into our poor fellows was astounding.
They charged up the port gangway in a close body and engaged with pike
and cutlass, forcing those before them who were not cut down, until they
reached the mainmast. Robinson appeared like a fiend. He roared and
yelled to his men to press on, and slashed right and left with amazing
power.
The great bald ruffian, who now appeared as his right-hand man, kept
close to him, and they went along that deck leaving a bloody path to
mark their course.
They cut down and killed or wounded every man who had the hardihood to
dispute their way. I saw Robinson strike a gunner a blow that stretched
him dead with his skull cleft to the ears, and then, instantly
recovering his weapon, he drove it clear through the body of the man
next to him.
One officer alone stood before the rush. I do not remember his name, but
he commanded the forward battery.
He engaged Robinson for an instant and smote him sorely with his
weapon, for, although I could not see the stroke in the gloom, I heard
the villain cry out fiercely as if in pain. The next instant the bald
man struck the officer to the deck and pressed on harder than ever.
This officer evidently understood the situation to be more desperate
than it really was, for, as the crowd of ruffians passed over him, he
arose with difficulty and staggered to the hatchway which led to the
magazine. I guessed his purpose the instant he disappeared, and I saw
him no more.
The fight went on forward for some minute longer, and I was driven to
the forecastle by a fierce scoundrel who bore down on me with a reeking
cutlass. Then a sudden rally of our men turned my enemy and their rush
was brought to an end.
As we were five to one in point of numbers, it now began to look as if
we would soon make way against the assault. Some of our men got around
in their rear, and we began to close in on them with something like a
chance of winning the fight, but it was never fought out.
I saw the big bald man strike furiously at a man near me, and swing his
weapon around so fiercely that not one of our men dared get within its
reach, although they brought up stubbornly just beyond it. Then Robinson
dashed in to where I stood with my loaded musket. I fired blindly and
then saw his blade flash up, and I felt my end had come.
At that instant the whole ship shivered and burst into a mass of flame.
I felt myself hurled into the air as the deck disappeared under me, and
the next moment I found myself in the water.
I looked around me on all sides and saw nothing but the waves that
stretched away into the surrounding gloom. I was uninjured and swam
easily, thinking that my end must be near, and that I could only prolong
my existence by half an hour’s hard struggle.
I was much dazed, but remembered the Yarmouth, and looked about for some
sign of her.
Finally I made out a dark object over a mile away, and soon I recognized
her standing directly for me. This gave me hope for a short time, and I
struck out strongly, thinking it might be possible to gain her if she
remained in the vicinity of the blown-up frigate.
I was a good swimmer, and made some headway until I butted hard into a
floating object I failed to see in the darkness and nearly stove in my
skull. I reached wildly upward, and my hands clutched the combings of a
hatchway.
Then I recovered myself and drew my tired body clear of the sea. I had a
float that would keep me from sinking as long as I had strength to stay
upon it.
The Yarmouth bore down on me, and I cried out. She altered her course a
point or two, but did not stop, and in a moment she was gliding away
into the darkness, leaving me alone on the hatchway.
I could hear the rush of the water under her bluff bows, and the cries
of the men on deck calling out orders. Then she faded away into the
night.
In a little while I heard a cry from the dark water near me, and soon I
made out a man’s head close to the hatch. I called to him, and reached
out and pulled him up on the float, for he was too weak to help himself.
He raised his face as it came close to mine, and I recognized my
brother-in-law, Mr. Robinson.
He was very feeble, and I soon saw that he was badly hurt, but he said
not a word and lay there on his back, quietly gazing up at the stars.
I could see his features with that look of profound thought expressed
upon them as in the days we worked in the ship-yard together.
My only feeling towards him was one of awe. No idea of killing him
entered my head, though I could easily have disposed of him in his
present weak state, so there I sat gazing at him, and he took no more
notice of me than if I was part of the floating hatchway.
In a little while I made out another dark object in the water near us,
and presently a voice hailed me. I answered, and soon afterwards a piece
of spar supporting three men came alongside the hatch.
They were all Robinson’s followers. Taking some of the rigging that
trailed from the spar, they lashed it to the hatch, and the two pieces
together made a serviceable raft.
Then all drew themselves clear of the water and lay prone on the float
to rest.
It was an awful night we spent on that bit of wood washed by the waves,
but when morning dawned the breeze fell away entirely, so the sea no
longer broke over us.
The sun rose and shone hot on a glassy ocean, and not a sail was in
sight.
There is little use in describing the four days of suffering spent on
that float. Robinson was horribly burned and badly cut by a blow from a
cutlass. His left arm was shattered from the shot I fired at him, and he
was otherwise used up from the minor blows he had received in his fierce
rush. But he lived long enough to prevent his ruffian crew from killing
me. I was bound by a solemn oath to say nothing of the affair as I had
seen it, so that if we were the sole survivors--which we were not
certain of being at that time--there could be no evidence to implicate
my shipmates.
Robinson must have known that he was fatally hurt, and that is the
reason he made them spare my life. Whatever I told would not harm him;
and, besides, I really think he turned to the memory of my sister during
those last hours.
He died very shortly after the Yarmouth picked us up, and the British
officers and men buried him with some ceremony; especially respectful
were they when they were told that he was our executive officer.
There was some truth in this grim falsehood, although not of the kind
suspected.
He was sewn carefully in canvas the day after we were rescued, and had a
twelve-pound shot lashed to his feet. The burial service was read by
the ship’s chaplain in much the same tone I had heard Robinson quote
from the Scriptures in my father’s house.
All the officers uncovered as he was dropped over the side, and the
silence that followed the splash of his body into the sea was the most
impressive I have ever observed to fall on so large a body of men.
Had they known the truth about this villain, it is doubtful if they
would have shown him so much honor and respect; but then the truth is
often hard to secure, and also often undesirable when attained.
Peggy mourned her husband a year or more, but after her boy began to
occupy her attention she brightened up and married Mr. Rhett, who was
ever faithful to her.
I kept my oath because I took it. The three surviving ruffians had
joined the British navy and no retribution could be meted out to them;
and as for my sister, she always held her husband’s memory sacred, and
only harm could come to her and her son through knowledge of the truth
about him.
Captain Vincent of the Yarmouth may have thought it strange a frigate
like the Randolph should have met such a sudden end, but it was always
understood that she must have blown up from the effects of the shot from
his bow-chasers. Some of these did hull her, and it was the most
reasonable way to understand the matter.
Now, when all are gone, there can be no harm in telling what I know of
that affair.
_TIMBER NOGGINS_
Mr. Ropesend, the senior member of the firm of Snatchblock, Tackle &
Co., sat in his office and drew forth his pocket-knife. Upon the desk
before him lay a small wooden box which contained a patent taffrail log.
After some deliberation he opened his knife and began to pry off the lid
of the box, whistling softly as he did so. In doing this he awakened a
strange-looking animal which lay at his feet. But the animal, which Mr.
Ropesend called a “daschund,” after raising its long body upon four
twisted and double-jointed legs until its belly barely cleared the
floor, appeared overcome by the effort and flopped down again with its
head towards its master and its hind legs trailing out behind on the
floor.
Mr. Ropesend carefully removed the lid of the box and with considerable
anxiety removed the instrument. Then he laid it carefully upon the
table, while Gaff, his pet, looked lazily up with one eye, and then, not
caring for logs, slowly closed it again.
Presently Mr. Ropesend appeared to have developed an idea. He rang the
bell. A boy appeared almost instantly at the door leading into the main
office.
“Tell Mr. Tackle to step here a moment, please,” said Mr. Ropesend in a
soothing tone.
The boy vanished, and in a few minutes a man with red whiskers trimmed
“dishonestly”--with bare chin--made his appearance.
“Good-morning, Mr. Tackle; here’s the patent log for Captain Green. What
do you think of it?”
“H’m. Yes. H’m-m. I see. I don’t know as I’m any particular judge of
logs, although I’ve been in this shipping house for twenty years. But it
appears to me to be a very fine instrument. Very fine indeed, sir. Sort
of screw-propeller that end affair, ain’t it?”
“That’s it, of course,” said Mr. Ropesend in a tone bordering on
contemptuous; “sort of a fin-screw with long pitch. It says in order to
regulate it you simply have to adjust the timber noggins. I should
suppose a man who has been in a shipping house as long as you have would
know all about a plain taffrail log and be able to regulate it so as to
use it, if necessary.”
“Ah, yes, I see,” said Mr. Tackle instantly, without appearing to hear
the last part of the senior’s remarks. “Eggzackly. Regulated by timber
noggins, of course. I didn’t notice it, but any one might know it
couldn’t be regulated without timber noggins. Let me see it closer. That
new cord gave it a strange look.”
“I’m glad you like it and understand all about it,” said Mr. Ropesend in
a tone of decision, “for I’m very busy, and you can just take it into
your office and explain it to Captain Green when he comes for it. He
will be here presently.”
So saying the senior quickly replaced the instrument in the box and had
it in the astonished Tackle’s hands before he could get out an H’m-m.
Then he commenced writing rapidly upon some important-looking papers
before him, giving Mr. Tackle to understand that the incident had
closed.
Mr. Tackle flushed, hesitated a moment, and then quickly retired into
the outer office, and Mr. Ropesend, having rid himself of the log,
smiled grimly to Gaff, turned half-way around in his chair, proceeded to
light a cigar and puff the smoke at the dog’s face.
This provoked the animal to such an extent that he growled, snarled, and
grew quite savage, much to Mr. Ropesend’s delight.
The dog finally grew frantic, and had just risen from the floor to find
more congenial quarters, when the door opened suddenly and Captain Green
stepped into the room with a hoarse roar of “Good-morning, Mr. Ropesend;
I’ve come for that patent log.”
This sudden entrance of the loud-voiced skipper was too much for Gaff’s
nerves, and he no sooner found himself attacked in the rear than he made
a sudden turn, and grabbed the first thing that came within his reach.
This happened to be the calf of Captain Green’s left leg, which he held
on to in a manner that showed he had a healthy appetite.
“Let go, you son of a sea cook!” bawled the skipper. “Let go, or I’ll
stamp the burgoo out o’ you.”
“Let go, Gaff; that’s a good doggie,” said Mr. Ropesend in his mildest
tone. “Let go, Gaff; you’ll hurt your teeth, doggie.”
“Let go, you son of a pirate!” roared the skipper. “Let go, or I’ll
smash you!”
“Good heavens, Captain Green, you forget yourself. What, strike a poor
dumb brute!” cried Mr. Ropesend. And he arose from his chair as if to
ward oft a threatened blow.
Gaff at this juncture looked up, and apparently realized the energy
stored within the skipper’s raised boot. He let go and waddled under his
master’s desk, his long belly touching the ground amidships, as his legs
were too short to raise it clear. From this safe retreat he sent forth
peculiar sounds which were evidently intended by nature to terrify the
enemy.
“Wouldn’t strike him, hey!” roared the skipper, rubbing his leg. “Well,
maybe I wouldn’t, I don’t think. By Gorry, Mr. Ropesend, that’s a
long-geared critter. I didn’t know but what he was a sort o’ walking
snake or sea-sarpint. I felt as if a shark had me. It’s a good thing I
had on these sea-boots.”
“Calm yourself. Calm yourself, captain,” said the senior. “Did he hurt
you?”
“No, confound him, not to speak of. It’s a fine watch-dog he is when he
bites his friends like this.--I came for that log you spoke of the other
day.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Ropesend; “I’ve just given it to Mr. Tackle to give
to you. He will explain it to you,--how it works and all that. Right in
the front office,--yes, that door. Good-morning.” And the skipper went
out cursing softly.
In the front office he met the boy with the box containing the log and a
note from Mr. Tackle delivering the same to him, in which he excused
himself from explaining the management of the instrument by the fact
that he was called out suddenly. The note concluded, however, with the
remark that “the instrument was quite easy to regulate by means of the
timber noggins, and that he anticipated no difficulty with it.”
The captain took the box and carried it on board his ship, and locked it
in the cabin. He was going to sea the next morning, and, as he had a
good deal to attend to, he couldn’t stop to investigate further.
When the ship had crossed the bar, the next afternoon, and backed her
main-yards in order to put the pilot off, the mate brought out the box
containing the log, and proposed to put the instrument over the
taffrail. The third mate happened to be standing near and noticed him.
The third mate’s name was Joseph, but being a very young man, and very
bright, having a fine grammar-school education, he was familiarly called
Joe by his superiors for fear that the handle of “Mister” to his name
might trim him too much by the head. Joe despised his superiors with all
the scornful feeling that a highly educated sailor has for the more
ignorant officers above him, and it required more than ordinary tact on
his part to keep from getting into trouble.
“Why, the skipper don’t know enough to be mate of a liner,” said he to
the steward one day in a burst of confidence. “As for Gantline, he don’t
know nothing. You just wait and see if I don’t get a shove up before we
make another voyage around the Cape.”
He had waited, but Joseph was still in his old berth this voyage.
It was natural he should be a little more scornful than ever now, and as
he watched the mate clumsily handling the patent log a strong desire to
revenge himself for slighted genius came upon him.
When the ship’s yards were squared again the skipper took up the log and
examined it.
“I suppose you know how to regulate the machine, Mr. Gantline,” said he,
addressing the mate.
“Can’t say as I do. I never seen one like this before.”
“Why, blast you, all you’ve got to do is to twist them timber noggins
till it goes right, and that does the whole business. Then you let her
go.”
“Where’s any timber noggins hereabouts?” asked the mate.
“Why, on the tail of the log; see?” and the skipper took up the
trailing-screw.
“Ah, yes, I see; but how about this clock machine that goes on the rail.
Don’t seem to open exactly.”
The skipper took up this part and examined it carefully.
“That’s all right. It don’t open; you just keep on letting her twist,
and add on to where you start from or subtract from where you are.”
“I see,” said the mate, and without further ado he dropped the
trailing-screw overboard.
The third mate saw all this, and he determined to investigate the
instrument during his watch that night.
When he went forward he stopped at the carpenter’s room.
“Chips,” said he, addressing his chum, “we’ve got a new log on board and
the skipper and mate don’t know how to use it. Now, I’ll bet you they
will have to get me to show them, and if I do, I’ll make them shove me
up the next voyage. Why, I tell you, putting a good instrument like that
in the hands of such men is like casting pearls before--before--Captain
Green and Gantline. You just wait and see.”
That night there was very little wind, but the third mate wound the log
up for about fifty miles more than the ship travelled.
“We don’t need any more sights for a while,” said the skipper the next
morning. “Mr. Snatchblock said that the log was dead accurate, so we’ll
let her run. Must have blown pretty stiff during the mid-watch, Mr.
Gantline, eh?” he continued, as he looked at what the log registered.
“No, I can’t say as it did,” said the mate, scratching his head
thoughtfully as he looked at the night’s run.
“’Pears to me as if we made an all-fired long run of it.”
“Well, I guess you were a little off your first night out. You’ll be
sober in a day or so,” said the skipper, with a grin.
The next day it was dead calm and foggy, but in spite of this the log
registered a good fifty-mile run, and, as the ship was to put into
Norfolk to complete her cargo, she was headed more to the southward.
“I haven’t any faith in that log, captain,” said Mr. Gantline; “it don’t
seem as if we were off shore enough to head the way we do.”
“Well, haul it in and let’s look at it,” said the skipper.
The third mate was standing close by and helped haul in the line.
“Captain,” said he, as the screw came over the rail, “this log is not
set right; and if we’ve been running by it, we are too close in to the
beach.”
“Eh! what’s that? Too close in are we? How do you know the log ain’t all
right?”
“Why, it’s just a matter of calculation of angles,” replied the third
mate. “These fins that Mr. Tackle calls timber noggins are set at the
wrong angle. You see the sine of the angle, at which this blade meets
the water, must be in the same proportion to the cosine of the angle to
which it is bent as its tangent is to its secant, see?”
“H’m-m, yes, I see,” growled the skipper; “but why didn’t you mention it
before, if you knew it all this time, instead of waiting until we got
way in here? Why didn’t you tell Mr. Gantline?” His voice rising with
his anger. “Why didn’t you tell Mr. Gantline this when you knew he’d
never seen a log like this before? What do you suppose you are here for,
anyhow?” he fairly roared. “Go forward, sir; I won’t have such a man for
a mate on my ship.”
“Mr. Gantline,” he said, after Joe had gone, “get the lead-line and make
a few casts, sir, by yourself,--by yourself, sir,--and then come and
tell me how much water we’ve got under us.”
The mate, without any unnecessary disturbance, got out the lead, and, as
it was calm and the vessel had no motion, he had no difficulty in making
a deep-sea sounding. He was also materially aided by the startling
effect of the lead, when he hove it over the side with fifty fathoms of
coiled line to follow it. To his great amazement the line suddenly
ceased running out after the five-fathom mark had passed over, and it
became necessary to heave the remaining forty-five fathoms of coiled
line after it, in order not to transmit this startling fact to any one
that might be looking on. Then, with a great deal of exertion, he
laboriously hauled the forty-five fathoms in again, and then called to
Joe to haul in and coil down the rest, and then put the lead away. After
this he went quickly aft to the skipper and whispered something in his
ear that sounded to the man at the wheel like “Shoal--Barnegat.” The man
at the wheel might have been mistaken, and it is only fair to presume
that he was, but in a very short time the ship was headed due east
again.
As night came on, a slight breeze came through the fog and the ship
gathered headway. The captain, who had been walking fore and aft on the
quarter in his shirt-sleeves, mopping great beads of perspiration from
his forehead, now seemed to be aware of the chilliness of the air and
forthwith went below.
The ship made a very quick voyage around Cape Horn, and a year later,
when she returned, Mr. Ropesend met Captain Green in his office the
morning he arrived.
“How did you like the patent log, captain?” said Mr. Ropesend.
“Mr. Ropesend,” said the captain, in a deep voice that made Gaff look up
and recognize his old friend,--“Mr. Ropesend, I don’t believe in these
new-fangled logs what’s regulated by timber noggins, no more’n I do in
these worthless third mates that’s only good for teaching school.”
_OFF THE HORN: A TALE OF THE SOUTHERN OCEAN_
The average man knows as little of the region where the backbone of the
American continent disappears beneath the ocean as he does of the heart
of Africa. The mighty chain of mountains that raise their peaks miles
above the surrounding country at the equator sink gradually until only a
single cone-shaped hump--the last vertebra--raises itself above the sea
in latitude 55° 50’ south. This is the desolate and uninhabited end of
the southern continent, commonly known as Cape Horn, and no man gets any
nearer to it than he can help. Past it flows the deep ocean stream known
as the Pacific Antarctic Drift, and over it whirl fierce hurricanes in
almost uninterrupted succession.
To the southward and westward rise the jagged rocks of the Ramirez, but
these do not break in any manner the force of the high, rolling sea
which sweeps down from the Pacific. There is but little life on any of
these tussock-covered peaks, and they offer no shelter, save to the
white albatross and the wingless penguin.
It is past this dreaded cape, in a region of almost continual storm and
with a rapidly shifting needle, the navigator of the sailing vessel has
to drive his way. The Straits of Magellan offer no passage to the
handler of square canvas, and the furious, whirling current of the Le
Maire is usually avoided, as when navigated it only saves a few miles of
westing. The floating ice is always a dreaded menace, for with the
spume-drift flying before a freezing gale and surrounded by the gloom of
the high latitude in winter, it is difficult to distinguish an object
fifty fathoms ahead of a ship’s cut-water.
Rough, hard men were the “wind-jammers” as they were called, who earned
a right to live by driving overloaded ships around this cape, from 50°
south latitude on one side to 50° south latitude on the other. With the
yards “jammed” hard on the backstays, they would take advantage of every
slant in the wind, until at last it would swing fair, and then away they
would go, running off for the other side of the world with every rag the
vessel would stand tugging away at clew and earring, sending her along
ten or twelve knots an hour towards the latitude of the trade-wind.
Men of iron nerve, used to suffering and hardship, they were, for they
had to stand by for a call to shorten sail at any hour of the day or
night. Their food consisted of salt-junk and hardtack, with roasted
wheat boiled for coffee, and a taste of sugar to sweeten it. Beans and
salt pork were the only other articles to vary the monotonous and
unhealthful diet. As for lime-juice, it existed only in the imagination
of the shipping commissioner who signed-on the men.
* * * * *
The Silver Sea was manned and officered by a set of men who had been
longer in the trade around the Cape than any others of the deep-water
fleet. She crossed the 50th parallel on the morning of June 20, and not
being certain of her exact longitude, Captain Enoch Moss headed her a
trifle to the eastwards to clear Staten Land. The second day afterwards
land was looked for, the first to be seen in eighty days out of New
York.
Enoch Moss was said to be a hard man among hard men. His second mate was
a man named Garnett, a fellow who had been so smashed, shot, and stove
up, in the innumerable fracases in which he had taken part, that to an
unnautical eye he appeared an almost helpless old man. His twisted
bow-legs, set wide apart, gave him a peculiar lurching motion when he
walked, and suggested the idea that he was continually trying to right
himself into equilibrium upon the moving world beneath his feet.
A large, red-headed Irishman, with a freckled, hairless face, named
O’Toole, was the first officer on board. It was his watch on deck, and
he stood, quadrant in hand, calling off time sights to the skipper, who
sat below checking up his reckoning.
Garnett sat on the main-hatch and smoked, waiting and resting, for he
seldom turned in during his day watches below. A man sat in the maintop,
and, as O’Toole took his last sight, hailed the deck.
“Land ho!” he bawled. “Little for’ard o’ the beam!” And he pointed to
the ragged peaks of Staten Land showing dimly through the haze to the
westward. It was very close reckoning after all, and O’Toole was well
pleased as he bawled the news down the companion-way to the skipper.
Then he turned to Garnett, who had come on the poop.
“’Tis a pity, Garnett, yer eddication was so misplaced ye don’t know a
hog-yoke from a dead-eye, fer ye miss all the cream av navigation.”
Garnett removed his cap and mopped the dent in the top of his bald
cranium.
“You an’ your hog-yoke be hanged. If I used up as much canvas as you the
company would be in debt to the sail-makers. I mayn’t be able to take
sights like you, but blast me if I would lift a face like yourn to
heaven. No, stave me if I wouldn’t be afraid of giving offence. I mayn’t
have much of a show hereafter, but I wouldn’t like to lose the little I
have.”
“Git out, ye owld pirit! And say, Garnett, ye know this is the first
land sighted, so ye better get your man ready to go ashore. The owld man
swore he’d put him ashore on the first rock sighted, for sez he, ‘I
don’t want no more cutting fracases aboard this ship.’”
The man referred to was a tall, dark-haired Spaniard, who had already
indulged in four fights on board in which his sheath-knife had played a
prominent part. Having been put in double irons he had worked himself
loose, so the captain, not wishing to be short-handed with wounded men
off the Cape, had decided to hold court in the after cabin before
marooning the man, as he had sworn to do when the ruffian had broken
loose and again attacked a former opponent. The news of sighting the
land brought him on deck while the mates were talking, and he made known
his course in the matter a few moments after O’Toole had ceased
speaking.
“You can bring the fellow aft, Mr. Garnett,” said he. “And twelve men of
your watch can have a say in the matter before I put him ashore.”
Garnett left the poop and went forward and told his watch what was
wanted, and they in turn told the man, Gretto Gonzales, whom they held
tightly bound for further orders.
“Eet iz no fair! Yo no hablo Engleeze!” cried the ruffian, who began to
understand his position.
“Colorado maduro, florifino perfecto,” replied Garnett, gravely,
remembering what Spanish he had read on the covers of various
cigar-boxes. “If you don’t savey English, I’m all solid with your
bloomin’ Spanish. So bear a hand, bullies, and bring the convict aft.”
His victim, a mortally wounded man lying in a bunk, and two others badly
cut in the onslaughts Gonzales had begun the first day at sea, smiled
hopefully. Davis, the principal object of his attacks, cursed him
quietly, although his lungs had been pierced twice by the Spaniard’s
knife. The two other men, Americans, who had taken his part in the
affrays and suffered in consequence, also swore heartily, and
sarcastically wished Gonzales a pleasant sojourn on the Tierra del
Fuego.
Although the ship carried no passengers, Enoch Moss had thought fit to
provide a stewardess. This woman was well known to many deep-water
skippers, and at one time had possessed extreme beauty. Her early
history no one knew, but since she had taken to the sea she had
endeavored to make up for this deficiency by creating enough for several
women.
Plump and rosy she was still, and much thought of by all with whom she
sailed. Many a poor sailor had reason to thank Moll, as she was called,
for the tidbits she brought forward from the cabin mess, for often a few
meals of good food did much to save a man from the horrible scurvy which
for years has been the curse of the deep-water fleet.
Whatever faults the woman had, she also had good qualities in abundance.