"I suppose you would like to hear how this old boat gets along and what

kind of a voyage we've had so far. When we left the wharf at Boston,

I called the men to come out of the forecastle and go to work, but

the answers I got weren't very polite. They called out, 'we want to

make our beds up; don't get your temper in an uproar; don't fret' and

some other remarks that you can fancy. I got pretty mad, and I just

picked up an iron belaying-pin and went into the forecastle and made

Rome howl. All hands turned on me, and I had all the fighting I wanted.

Things got too hot for me and I had to go aft and ask the old man to

come in and help me. I thought he would be very glad to have such a

chance for "spiflicating sailors" as he calls it, and some men I've

sailed with wouldn't have asked for better sport than to walk into

those sailors and make them take the measure for their coffins on deck.

The way the old man showed the white feather surprised me. He got on

top of the after-house, with a pistol in his hand, and called to the

men to come aft, and talked to them as mild as a sucking parson. They

were pretty sullen, and five men swore they wouldn't do a hands turn

of work on board. The old man told me to put them in irons, and I did

it without much trouble, for they had too much headache to make any

more fuss. I put a rope through between their wrists and triced them up

with the main lift tackles till their feet only just touched the deck.

It wasn't long before they wanted to turn to. One was hurt so bad that

we thought he would die, and he has been laid up the whole passage. I

have had several sprees with the men since, but now I only have to

hold up my finger and they mind me. The old man doesn't say much to

the sailors, but he's down on the second mate, who is a youngster, and

doesn't know much, and he hazes him when he wants to let off steam. We

are loading for Boston, and I hope we will get there soon, for I've

been about long enough in the "Dublin." I hope you'll get a good ship

and a captain that'll suit you, but they are scarce fish to find."

The ship was sold on her return, and the captain entered another

employ. His vessel finally went to Australia. When riding horseback

he was thrown, and broke his ankle. The doctors declared amputation

was necessary. With his usual contempt for medical opinions he drove

them away, and thought he could apply to his own case the skill he had

exercised on Old Harry, but in a few days he died of lockjaw. His end

appeared significant to those who knew how his powers of speech had

been misused.

CHAPTER X.

COAST OF MADAGASCAR.

"A strong nor'wester's blowing, Bill;

Hark! don't ye hear it roar now?

Lord help 'em, how I pities them

Unhappy folks on shore now!"--_Wm. Pitt._

"In noble minds some dregs remain.

Not yet purged off, of spleen and sour disdain."--_Pope._

We sighted the coast of Madagascar about Fort Dauphin, but at a

distance of nearly fifty miles, so that our view of it was not very

distinct. But it is always a pleasure to a sailor to see land, and a

great relief after many days of wearisome, changing, wave scenery to

let the eye rest upon the everlasting hills. The mountains symbolize

stability and unchangeableness, and as the aspirations of the heart are

ever towards those things most in contrast with present experience,

so the sailor's life of unrest and variableness disposes his dream

of happiness to be one of enduring repose. This idea the land as

contrasted with water expresses to his mind. A thrilling sensation

always accompanies the sound of "Land, ho!" and longing glances are

directed to the faintest loom of land in the horizon.

Our easterly winds continued and took us to the coast of Africa, which

we sighted about Algoa Bay. Then the wind became light and variable and

with smooth water we sailed slowly along in sight of the land for four

days. One evening we sighted the light on Cape Agulhas, the south-east

point of Africa, and with the wind freshening at N.N.E. soon ran it out

of sight on the starboard quarter. Before this breeze sprang up we were

in company with a large ship showing Dutch colors. She sailed alongside

of us for a considerable time, then slowly gained ahead, crossed our

bow and in a few minutes disappeared from sight, though the twilight

gave a long range to the vision. Many were the conjectures about her,

and some of our crew will always believe they saw the veritable "Flying

Dutchman," the phantom ship that is supposed to cruise off the Cape of

Good Hope. The legend concerning her, as many will remember, is, that

a Dutch captain, who had encountered very severe gales, was advised to

put the ship back to a port of distress, but swearing a terrible oath

he declared he would beat around the Cape if it took him till the Day

of Judgment. In punishment for his sin he is doomed to battle with the

elements until that day, and his battered hulk, with threadbare sails

and skeleton crew haunts the southern sea.

At eight in the evening we passed another ship bound the same way, but

under close-reefed topsails, whereas we had the royals set. We hailed

her and found she was the "Meteor" from Batavia, but whither she was

bound, or where she hailed from, we failed to learn, for we went by her

so fast there was no time for further questions.

"What can she be doing under that sail?" asked the mate.

"O, she has got a prudent captain," I replied. "The barometer has

been down low for the last two days and no doubt there is a gale of

wind coming on. I can't take in sail though in this country, with a

fair wind blowing, until I see the breeze coming. Every mile here is

precious and as long as there is a chance to gain ahead we must use it.

But you must keep your eyes peeled to-night for nor'west squalls."

At ten o'clock I carefully inspected the wind and weather. It was a

bright starlight night, with not a cloud to be seen, except that ahead

in the horizon was a low streak that looked like a fog bank. A fresh

breeze was blowing from the northward driving the ship along nine

knots, with the yards just clear of the backstays, all sail being set.

The mate had the watch on deck, and I said to him, "This is fine, I

only hope it will last, but the glass says, No. However, very likely

we'll have good warning before the change comes. Keep a sharp lookout

and if it breezes on, or the weather looks threatening, get the light

sails off of her and give me a call."

In half an hour after that, the mate shouted "clew up the fore royal,"

but no sooner had they let go the halyards than a furious blast from

the north-west struck her flat aback. The helm was put hard up and

having a good deal of headway the vessel fortunately "fell off." None

of the watch below needed a call for every one was out of his bunk in

a few seconds as the bark, nearly on her beam ends, and the shaking

sails, gave their own summons. I was on deck promptly and shouted,

"Lower down the spanker;" but the mate had his men forward hauling down

the jib and flying-jib, for the sheets had parted and the sails were

blowing into ribbons. The second mate got his watch along aft as soon

as possible, and in the meantime I jumped on top of the after-house

to let go the spanker throat-halyards. As I passed forward of the

mizzen-mast to go to leeward, the wind and the inclination of the

vessel gave me a slide, and away I went head foremost off the house on

to the main deck. I had on rubber boots with my pants tucked into them,

and as I fell the belaying-pin of the main brace went up the right boot

leg and there I hung, heels up and head down in the lee-scuppers, while

the good bark was lying beam on to the hurricane, which threatened

every moment to dismast her, and in the meantime was blowing to

pieces a number of her sails. The night was pitchy dark and the rain

poured in large drops which, with the force of the wind, struck like

hail, while the storm roared with a sound such as that with which the

express train affrights one who stands on the platform of a country

station past which it flies. I managed to extricate myself from this

awkward position, and crawling to windward renewed the directions for

shortening sail. The vessel was run off to the S.E. for two hours while

we took in and furled every sail except the close-reefed main-topsail

and then she was brought to the wind on the port tack.

That was a night we long remembered, and a hard time the crew had

furling the wet sails in the cold rain, but there was one alleviation

to their discomfort, for I had the cook "roused out" and ordered him to

make coffee for all hands; and as soon as she was hove to, a mug of hot

coffee and a cake of hard bread gave them one of the greatest treats

they ever had in their lives.

"The prudent captain got the best of it this time," I said to the mate.

"I'm not so sure of that, sir," said he; "if he's been waiting two days

for the wind to blow we've gained enough distance on him to pay for a

good deal more damage than we've got."

"But it's a lucky job we did not lose our masts," I said; "if there had

been a flaw anywhere they would have gone. Things held on well. Didn't

it give you any warning?"

"No, sir," said the mate. "That bank that was hanging there ahead, when

you were on deck, was what did the mischief. It seemed to hold about so

and didn't look very threatening, but in five minutes it spread right

up over the sky. I made a start to get sail in before it struck her,

but I wasn't in time."

The gale blew very hard through the night and continued for seven

days, but it moderated at times so that we set the whole topsails for

a few hours. Four different times we were obliged to heave to under

the close-reefed main-topsail and once it was "goose-winged." This

time it blew a fearful gale. There was a black overcast sky, hanging

so low down that it seemed not far above the mast heads, and driving

across with great rapidity. Hard hail-squalls now and then passed over,

and every face had to be shielded from the stinging violence of the

hailstones. The sea was tremendous. At times there would be but one

wave in sight, that, the whole ocean, and towering high up above the

rail almost even with the tops it would come rolling on seeming to

bear inevitable destruction; but as it approached, the good bark would

gradually mount up its side, and then be whirled up and lifted over its

summit like a little toy. As the waves broke, the wind lifted the whole

crest into its arms and bore it onward mingling sea and air, driving

the spray in horizontal lines high aloft across the ship. At about two

o'clock in the afternoon a sea broke alongside and a good portion of

its top came tumbling in over the weather rail. Nothing could resist

its force. In went the galley and forecastle doors, the water-cask

lashings gave way, the pig-pen on the main hatch was smashed all to

pieces, the spare main-yard broke adrift, and the sea, having spent its

force, found a passage for itself through the lee ports.

[Illustration: Fishing off the Cape.]

After this gale a calm prevailed for a few hours and we heeded

Horsburgh's praise of the fishing on the Banks of Agulhas, by

trying our fortune with the line. The only result, however, was the

accompanying sketch of the performance.

[Illustration]

By these gales we lost eight days on our passage and only gained one

hundred miles in nine days, an inspection of our track for ten days

will show how hard it is sometimes for sailing vessels to make quick

passages.

When fifty days out we sighted the revolving light on Cape of Good

Hope, and the next day having a light westerly wind we stood along the

coast to the northward and enjoyed a fine view of Table Mountain.

This turning of the corner was a joyous event. Now we pointed the

ship's head towards home and realized that we were actually bound

there, which it was hard to do while our course had any southing in it.

Fine weather regions lay before us, and an immense load was removed

from the captain's mind by the safe "doubling of the Cape."

South-east winds set in next, and we went "rolling down to St. Helena"

before fresh trades, with very fine weather.

The steady winds and settled weather of the South Atlantic are always

taken advantage of by the homeward bound ships to tar-down the rigging,

paint and "fix up" generally for port. It is customary to keep all

hands then, even in ships where it is not the continual practice.

That is, instead of having only half of the crew at work at a time

and alternating every four hours, all hands are kept on deck in the

afternoon from one o'clock until six. They all get dinner together at

twelve and no work is done from noon until one. At one all "turn to,"

and either all hands get supper together at six, or one watch gets

theirs at half-past five and the other at six. Under the watch and

watch system a sailor is on deck ten hours out of the twenty-four on

one day and fourteen hours on the next, making twenty-four hours of

work and twenty-four of rest in forty-eight. In the all-hands system

a man is on deck thirteen hours one day and fourteen and a half the

next, making twenty-seven and a half hours of work and twenty and a

half of rest in forty-eight. To the advocates of the eight-hour system,

this may seem an undue proportion of working hours, but it is to be

remembered, however, that half of these hours occur in the night time,

when, if the wind is steady and weather fine, there is no work to be

done, and if the helmsman and the lookout are wide awake and the crew

answer promptly to a summons, it would not be noticed in most ships if

the men stole a nap on deck between times. But in "hard ships" the men

are always kept moving. The officers of course at all times in their

watch on deck must be wide awake and, it is presumed, on their feet, so

that keeping all hands is more of a privation to them than it is to the

sailors.

The mate asked me one night after we got past the Cape, if he should

begin now to keep all hands until the work was done.

"Do you think you could get the work done with watch and watch?"

"I suppose we could," said the mate, "but we shall have to keep driving

at it right up to Boston Light."

"Did you ever go through the trades with watch and watch?" I asked.

"No, sir, I never did," said the mate.

"Well, I never did myself till last voyage, then I was so well pleased

with the result that I should like to try it again. The voyage before

that, I came on deck one night, while we were keeping all hands, and

found the second mate sitting on the bumpkin, his arms on the rail and

his head buried down in them, while he was snoring after the style

called 'driving the pigs to market.' The next day I had a talk with

him about his neglect of duty. He acknowledged his fault, but said it

occurred in spite of all he could do. He said he had tried every way

he could think of to keep himself awake. He had walked the deck until

he was compelled from sheer exhaustion to sit down, for it was a hot

sultry night, and he had been on his legs all day long. He assured me

very earnestly that he had not neglected his duty intentionally. Said

he: 'Cap'n, did you ever have any fault to find with the way I kept the

night watch before we had all hands?'

"'No,' I answered, 'none whatever.'

"'No, sir,' he said, 'and I am sure you had no occasion to. Excuse me,'

said he, 'I don't mean to growl at your way of doing things, but I

can't feel that an officer is greatly to blame if he is drowsy at night

in an all-hands ship. I was studying it all out last night while I was

dragging myself fore and aft the deck trying to keep awake, and this

was what I made out: I get nineteen hours to myself out of forty-eight,

and when you take out meal-times, dog-watch, a little time for keeping

clothes in order and what time I give up to the ship in my watch below

to help things along, I can't get more than twelve hours' sleep in

two days. Six hours a day is thought a small allowance on shore where

a man can sleep it right through. But our rest is so broken I don't

believe it does as much good. Three hours and a half or four hours is

the longest sleep one can get at a time, and then he has to stand four

hours on deck before he has a chance to get another cat nap.'

"I felt he had a good deal of truth on his side, though I didn't like

to tell him so, and I thought a good deal about it afterwards. The next

voyage I resolved to try how watch and watch would work, and when we

got into the S.E. trades, homeward bound, I told the mate to say to the

men: 'There's just so much work that's got to be done before this ship

reaches port; now if you can do it with watch and watch, you shall have

it, but if there's any 'sogering' or loafing you'll be kept up in the

afternoon.'

"We began it. The men all worked with a will, and I am certain that

as much was done as on the previous voyage. I took special pains to

compare, and all through I noticed that there was more drive, and less

loafing, going for a drink, turns round the foremast, and long spells

at the grindstone. On some of the large jobs, too, I had a good chance

to judge. I suppose there's no job that admits of as many 'soger

moves' as scrubbing ship outside. The men come up on deck every little

while to haul up or 'fleet' the stages they are working on, and then

they spin out the time before they get back by sharpening knives and

scrapers, or getting a drink, and a good many other moves that every

one knows, who has ever had to follow up old sailors.

"When we had all hands we scrubbed the ship around outside in one day

and thought we had done a smart piece of work; but with watch and

watch we scrubbed her and cleaned the chain-plates below the channels,

beside, in the same time, and as far as I could see the work was done

fully as well. The difference was, that the men all felt an interest

in showing how the watch and watch system would work, and there was no

dodging, or loafing, or spinning yarns on the stages.

"Now I should like to have you do the same thing this passage, and the

fact is, I want to see it proved a second time before I go over to it

altogether."

[Illustration: Second officer sitting for his portrait, belaying pin in

hand.]

The next Monday the sailors supposed that we should begin of course

to keep all hands in the afternoon, and when eight bells was struck

at noon, they all opened their ears and looked out of the corners of

their eyes at the mate, waiting for the expected and dreaded order,

"All hands get dinner." But nothing was said, and the men kept on with

their work, with their brains full of surmises as to what it meant.

At one bell, when the watch came out, the mate mustered all hands at

the main-hatch, and said to them: "Men, the captain says he's willing

to give you watch and watch all the time, if you can get the work done.

But this bark has got to be put in just as fine order as any ship that

ever went into Boston harbor. Now we'll try you and see what you can

do. But if the work lags, or there's any hanging back, I'll have you

out."

So we went to work with the watch, fitting the rigging, and tarring

down. The men did as well as we could wish, things went on quietly, and

the work disappeared day by day faster than we had expected.

The crew presented a rather uncouth appearance on deck during this

period, for one suit of clothes was devoted to serve through the

tarring and then go overboard. The officers were not much more

attractive in appearance, as the second mate's portrait will testify.

It had a good moral effect to secure one day's cleanliness out of

seven, the result of our system of services in the cabin on Sunday.

The sailors in the _Rocket_ were favored with good living, watch and

watch, and kind treatment. They were never cursed, nor called by hard

names. Instruction was given to those who desired it, and religious

influences pervaded the vessel. The voyage was a pleasant one. Fine

weather and favoring breezes usually prevailed, and the fairest regions

of earth were visited. If sailors could ever be happy and contented,

these circumstances, which probably were in marked contrast to the

experiences of many, should have produced this result upon that crew.

When the voyage commenced they had no praise too good to bestow. They

allowed they were in a good ship; the captain was the best man they

ever sailed with; the officers were perfect gentlemen; the "grub" was

first-rate. But, on the homeward passage, although everything was the

same as when outward bound, the sailors sat down on their chests in the

forecastle with their feast of "soft-tack" and apple-sauce in their

pans, and, as the saying is, they growled like bears with sore heads.

Their behavior on deck and manner of working was unexceptionable, but

if their life and talk in the forecastle were chronicled it would

convey the impression that they considered themselves an ill-used,

poorly-fed and oppressed set of men.

The mate one evening practised an eaves-dropping in which he proved

the truth of the old proverb, "listeners never hear any good of

themselves." Old Nielson, a Swede, the best sailor-man in the ship,

with his mouth stuffed nearly full of molasses gingerbread, was leading

the growl. Said he, "I've been to sea thirty-two years and I never

sailed in a worse ship than this is. Nobody aft knows what we get to

eat, and that nigger gives us just as little as he likes. Last ship I

was in the cap'n or mate went into the galley every day and saw things

were cooked right and plenty of 'em, but here we don't get any more

notice taken of us than though we were a parcel of dogs. If the old

man had _some_ crews with him I bet he wouldn't impose on them. But

sailors don't seem to have any spunk now-a-days, same as they used to.

There's a whole barrel of vinegar down below, and yet we can't have but

two bottles full a week. What does he want to carry it home for? He's

keeping it back just to spite us. Do you call that being a Christian? I

call him a mean old skin-flint; if he's going to heaven, I don't want

to go there."

Now what did all this mean? Why, just this. They had found some of the

gingerbread not done quite through. That was all. On board of most

ships they would have been hard at work with "all hands on deck," all

the afternoon, and had hard bread and beef only for supper. No doubt

they would have enlivened the meal by growling about that in just the

same way. In spite of all his mutterings in the forecastle, this man

Nielson would come out on deck and be a model man in his behavior.

His cheerful, "Aye, aye, sir!" would ring out to every order, and

his respectful manners joined to his good seamanship had made him a

favorite with captain and officers.

The explanation of this unreasonable conduct is that expressed in the

well-known lines of Dr. Watts:

"Let bears and lions growl and fight,

For 'tis their nature to."

So it is with an old sailor, he must growl. Officers of ships often

say, they would not give a snap for a sailor that didn't growl, and

there is a good deal of truth in the remark. It by no means follows

that all who growl are good men, but it is certainly a fact that most

of the thorough-going old sailors are inveterate growlers.

This growling is a natural result of the life they lead. Spleen enters

more or less into the constitution of every one's character, and all,

at times, desire an opportunity of exercising this latent spite upon

some person or thing.

The man on shore has a wide range of objects upon which to scatter

it. There are his household and family arrangements, his employment

and business relations, the religious tenets of others, the affairs

of his city and the politics of the country. He comes home from his

day's business with an accumulation of spleen, resulting from numerous

annoyances. His good breeding and consideration perhaps keep him from

venting it upon his family, and he holds it in until after tea; then he

takes up the evening paper, glances over its contents and entertains

his patient wife or a friendly neighbor with a good, hearty growl about

the stupidity of the cabinet officers, the short-sightedness of the

President, the absurdity of the financial policy, and then berates a

politician for his foolish speech. Now his pent-up wrath has escaped.

He feels easier. Gradually cheerful conversation creeps in as his

shrewd companion notices his subsiding temper. Soon all his vexations

have escaped his mind or become far lighter burdens, and the next

morning he walks down town with a good courage and joyous heart.

But as for Jack, what are his diversions of mind? What does he care for

politics or religion or finance? Or, if he does care, where are the

newspapers and the evening caller? Where are the public amusements or

the endearments and consolations of social life? There are almost no

occurrences to direct his thoughts away from a continual contemplation

of, and brooding over the unpleasant circumstances of his life, and for

lack of these he must continue to dwell upon the sole objects which

interest him, and as a natural result their importance is magnified and

the habit of such contemplation increases with every voyage.

When the mate reported the "growl" he had overheard, I said, "If I

was a betting man I would lay a heavy wager that the day old Nielson

arrives in port he will say I am the best captain he ever sailed with,

and he never in his life sailed in such a good ship before." An exact

verification of this remark occurred on arrival. It happened that the

mate was riding in a horse-car, when old Nielson came in and sat

beside him. He began to talk over the voyage, and soon exclaimed, "I've

been to sea thirty-two years and that's the best ship ever I sailed

in, and if I go to sea all my life, I never expect to find another man

like our captain." This speech was very likely as far from the truth

as were the growls uttered at sea, but it illustrates a proverbial

habit of the sailor, to complain of his present circumstances and speak

well of the past. Amidst the growling of the forecastle it is seldom

that "last ship that I was in" is mentioned without praise. This fact

ought to be remembered to the sailor's credit. However ungrateful and

unappreciative he may appear with regard to his lot, in his memories

the bright things are uppermost, and he is not prone to speak evil of

old scenes and associates without good reason.

Reflections upon the incident narrated led to the attempt to illustrate

the subject in rhyme, by verses, to be called "Sailors' Opinions,"

which were to be divided into two parts, entitled "This Ship," and

"Last Ship." In this effort it was designed to portray a sailor's

comments upon the ship he was then sailing in, and the same man's

expressions concerning the same ship, uttered during his next voyage

in another vessel. They are produced here, as they may be recognized

as truthful by some who have lived in a ship's forecastle. It may be

premised that sailors in the watch below generally talk in the evening

from eight till half-past eight (one bell), and this is a favorite

time for "growls." When one bell strikes, pipes drop from the mouth,

growls cease and snores begin.

SAILORS' OPINIONS.

PART I.

"THIS SHIP."

_SCENE.--A ship's forecastle--Crew in their bunks--Jack loquitur._

I've followed the sea over thirty-two years,

In the Navy, hard Packets and wild Privateers;

But of all the old vessels that ever I cursed,

Just shiver my timbers if this ain't the worst.

The bloody old wall-sided cranky concern--

I think every squall she is sure to o'erturn,

And the way that she rolls and goes pitching about

Would have made all the patience of Job fizzle out.

It's enough to provoke a good parson to swear,

To see the bad way her old rotten sails tear,

And I never go higher aloft than the top

Without fear that the foot-ropes will give me a drop.

I wonder those owners are suffered to live

Who send out a ship that will leak like a sieve,

Which every time that she gives a bad jump

Makes fifty more strokes to be worked at the pump.

We ought to arrest the old man as a cheat

For bringing us here where there's nothing to eat;

It's a terrible shame for an old Yankee tub

To feed her good men with such horrible grub.

To be sure, he now and then gives us some flour;

But the mean dirty rat, it's because it's gone sour,

And as for his pies and the dried apple sauce,

I'd a precious deal rather have good old salt horse.

We slave every week day on board of the craft,

But on Sunday the hypocrite makes us come aft--

He preaches an hour about Christian hopes,

Then sends us on deck to give swigs at the ropes.

There's a heap of good sense in the famous old rule

Always choose a big rascal before a great fool.

And one thing I promise, whatever may happen,

I'll not sail again with a psalm-singing Cap'n.

The ship must have been in amazing great straits

When she took such poor things as these men are for mates.

It worries one's temper beyond all its bounds

To be bossed round the decks by such humbugging hounds.

Now! shipmates, you know I'm not given to growl,

And I hate a bad temper with all of my soul;

But worked and most starved till one scarcely can crawl,

A man that won't growl is just no man at all.

SAILORS' OPINIONS.

PART II.

"LAST SHIP."

Last time I went to sea

I sailed on board the _Rocket_;

Those were good days for me

And money in my pocket.

She was a perfect boat,

An easy one to handle--

For speed no ship afloat

Could hold to her a candle.

She tacked just like a yacht

And lay to like a duck;

If others thrived or not

She always was in luck.

The owners fitted out

In such a liberal way,

All things were trim and stout

From keel to royal stay.

The captain was a trump--

A perfect "saint in boots";

He never gave a thump

To greenhorns nor galoots.

The mates were tip-top men,

Gave us our watch below;

No oaths and curses then

Though it blew high or low.

We mustered aft to prayer

And navigation classes--

We had the best of fare

And lots of duff and 'lasses

I've sailed for many a year

And soon will have to dock it;

But while I've breath I'll cheer

And brag about the _Rocket_.

Even in the cabin there was a tendency to dissatisfaction, and the

passenger expressed his weariness of our simple and restricted fare by

composing a parody on the "Ode to the Rocket," in which she was abused

as heartily as any old sailor could have done it. His pencil was also

called into requisition, and the scantiness of fare on the cabin table

was graphically portrayed.

Sea life is a severe test of disposition, and it must be a remarkable

amiability which can endure its vicissitudes without complaint. Lord

Byron's prescription for truly knowing a man: "Go to sea with him," is

certainly correct, as regards knowledge of a man's temper.

The first verse of the Parody will serve as an example of its sentiment:

"IN THE DOLDRUMS--HOMEWARD BOUND."

The _Rocket_ is an old tub's name,

An aged Boston bark;

Her lack of speed is known to fame,

As I need not remark.

For fifteen years she's rolled and pitched.

And leaked in every clime,

She's worn out two old captains

And a young one in his prime.

_Chorus._--The _Rocket_ we won't praise,

For she's a wretched bark,

Homelier than Joe Bowers' dog,

And slower than Noah's ark.

Our stock of conversation got low after so long a season of

intercourse, and many trivial arguments were sustained for lack of

better material. Perhaps the most frequent of these minor themes was

the question, whether the dish which sailors always call "Hash," was

properly hash or minced meat.

[Illustration: Illustrated bill of fare:--"Spuds and Soft Tack."]

One of our greatest causes of annoyance, and a frequent occasion of

growls was the presence of cockroaches, in numbers which can only be

expressed by millions. The vessel for some time past, had been making

yearly voyages, which brought her home in the summer and kept her in

the Tropics in the winter, so this army had never been exposed to the

potent destroyer, cold weather. They were not the little creatures that

housekeepers are unpleasantly familiar with, but were almost more

like birds than insects, and carried out this resemblance in certain

conditions of the atmosphere, when they took to flying, tempting one

to jump overboard to escape their attacks against his head. They were

omnipresent day and night, alive, dead, whole or in parts. They eat the

bindings of books and everything that had paste in its composition,

and their especial relish seemed to be for pomade. In spite of all

precautions so many had encamped in the sugar, we had to pass our tea

through a strainer, and there was but little food free from their

presence or flavor, after it was sweetened. Were it a less disgusting

subject I could fill a volume with accounts of these creatures. I

will only add one of the many experiences with them. They were very

fond of frequenting my cabinet organ, and often while I was playing a

note would become dumb. An inspection would usually show a cockroach

leg caught by the reeds as its proprietor passed over them and left

it behind him. A ship at San Francisco had to pay twenty thousand

dollars for damages done to the cargo by cockroaches. The organ on

leaving Padang had a more agreeable inmate, which remained in it for

several weeks, a cricket, who entertained us with his evening chirp,

and lulled one to sleep with the pleasing fancy that he was on shore.

CHAPTER XI.

SAILORS' RESOURCES.

"Necessity, the mother of invention."--_Farquhar._

"A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow."--_Dryden._

Fertility of resources is one of the most desirable traits of character

to the seaman. His limited means and appliances beget contrivance and

invention, and he naturally acquires a facility in accomplishing work

under difficulties. His whole mode of life is an exemplification of the

possibility of making much out of little. The sailor, with his "chest"

for a chair, his knees for a table, the sheath-knife and spoon his only

utensils, secures his food with all the necessary benefit. With the

scanty sewing materials, buttons, pins and knicknacks jumbled together

in his "ditty box," he contrives to mend his clothes or rig the model

of a ship in his spare hours.

The carpenter, with his hammer and hatchet, does an amount of execution

astonishing to the shore artizan, who has well filled tool-racks. The

cook would likewise startle, perhaps offend, the ladies sensibilities

by the manner in which his appurtenances do manifold duties, besides

those considered appropriate. The mate racks his brain daily to

discover how to repair a sail without canvas, mend a chain without

spare links, paint ship without brushes, or tar the rigging without

tar. The captain is as much put to it as any one in contriving for all

the departments under his care. So they become Jacks of all trades,

and too often masters of none. One incident of a personal nature will

illustrate the manner in which necessity often becomes the mother of

invention on shipboard. One day when off the west coast of Sumatra,

the carpenter was caulking and paying the deck-seams. I picked up a

little bit of his pitch and put it in my mouth, but soon removed it

with the gold fillings from two teeth attached. Severe toothache soon

followed. At Padang I enquired for a dentist, but to learn that none of

those kindly torturers had yet located there. The surgeon of the place

would extract the teeth for twenty dollars apiece, but the pleasure

of paying this moderate sum was no inducement to lose the "ivories."

But the cavities must be filled to exclude the air. Boy Frank had been

in a dentist's office, so he was summoned to the council on the old

man's toothache. He put in a filling of pitch and then of rubber, but

they were not destined to remain. Finally, at sea the pain induced the

resolution to part with the teeth. Frank was called again. There were

no forceps in the ship, and an investigation of all the implements led

to the selection of my spring-punch. The tooth of this was removed,

the carpenter filed the lips to make them tenacious of grip, the big

Webster's dictionary was laid on the cabin table, and resting my head

back upon this, Dr. Frank made a desperate effort to pull out teeth,

gum and jaw at one attack. He was speedily driven on deck, and warned

not to try that again. At last he thought of an amalgam filling, but

how should it be obtained? I possessed a silver "ten-cent piece, saved

from the obliterating ravages of the age of Greenbacks. This I filed

into dust, and after a serious consideration my thermometer-tube

was broken, the mercury was extracted and mingled with the silver.

Then laying my head once more on the dictionary, the cavities were

effectually filled, the only instruments used by the dentist being a

crotchet needle and a screw-driver. It was not till three years after,

that other fillings were substituted by an American dentist in China,

who laughed as much at my story of the previous operation, as I did

at his account of the way the King of Siam tested the set of teeth

made for him, by putting this worthy dentist's hand in his mouth, and

nearly biting off the fingers. He was not so much injured, however, as

to be unable to carry off the bag of a thousand dollars in gold, the

price of his work."

Speaking of tarring without tar reminds me how this difficulty was

overcome. Having had a great deal of work, turning in and fitting

the rigging, the supply of tar gave out, and when we reached the

south-east trades in the Atlantic, and were rolling down to St. Helena,

an inspection of the tar-barrel showed it was only fit for a bonfire

on the next dark night. How should we make the rigging black and

shiny? was the query of thoughts, dreams and discussions in succeeding

days and nights. I will confess what I did, but do not recommend the

process. Two bundles of rattans were chopped up and consumed in the

cook's stove with the draft checked. The ashes were placed in a barrel

and pounded fine with an impromptu pestle, then linseed oil and varnish

were added, and with this production, well stirred, all the ropes were

"tarred" with such good effect that many old sailors admired the black

gloss of the rigging as they inspected the vessel at Central Wharf.

But using up the paint oil for this, brought about another crisis. How

should we paint ship? That was most essential to our good appearance.

After many experiments the kerosene oil was selected to serve as the

substitute, the sailors' whale oil was appropriated to cabin use, and

Jack was invited to illuminate his premises with a slush lamp, a wick

floated in beef fat contained in a tin can. So the ship was painted!

These are samples of the makeshifts of sea life.

The first moonless evening was appointed for the final ending of the

tar-barrel. It was sawn in two, the smaller half being chopped up and

deposited with the carpenter's chips and shavings in the remaining

part. A bit of old rope from the "shakings barrel" suspends it over the

side, while the cook with a fire-brand ignites the contents. As the

flames gather volume the barrel is dropped into the sea. The sailors

spring to the rail or into the rigging to watch it as it emerges from

under the ship's counter and is left astern in the wake. For awhile

it blazes fiercely and continuously, then it disappears--ah, it's

gone! No, the swell hides it. There it is again! Its disappearances

and reappearances occur at gradually lengthening intervals till it no

longer can be seen from deck. The second mate runs half way up the

mizzen-rigging and exclaims, "I see it." Soon he shouts "I can just see

it from the topmast cross-trees." Then it is given up, faces are turned

from the stern to the bow, for the gaze on shipboard is always forward,

seldom backwards, and as the ship presses on into the dark night, we

think with subdued feelings of the lost light, and fall to moralizing

or musing as the disposition of each inclines him.

The south-east trades took us to the line and then the doldrums raged

again, but instead of giving a repetition of the miseries of this

region I will relate the second mate's yarn about a "Wild Ship."

One calm night in the doldrums I went on deck in the middle watch to

see if there were any signs of a breeze. The moon "had scoffed the

clouds," and shone brilliantly upon the glassy sea. The courses were

hauled up, jib and staysails hauled down, and the vessel made no motion

ahead. I felt that I could not sleep till a breeze came and thought

I would stay on deck and help the second mate keep his watch; so I

called him to me, and as we leaned over the rail, I said, "Mr. Bangs, I

believe you told me you sailed in the 'Bloodhound' once. I should like

to hear about your voyage."

So he told the following yarn:

"When I got home from Australia in the 'Grace Darling,' after I'd had

a lively time on the Cape, and my money began to get low, I went up

to Boston to the Sailors' Home and began to look for a ship. My chum

Bill Holmes and I made up our minds we would sail together again, and

as we cruised about the wharves, we came across the ship 'Bloodhound'

lying at India wharf. She was an extreme clipper, eighteen hundred

tons register, and the handsomest vessel I ever clapped eyes on. I

was told she was bound out to 'Frisco,' and that evening I asked the

Superintendent of the Home about her, for I felt rather shy of those

crack California clippers. I had been shipmates with a man who was with

Bully Woodman in the 'Sea Witch.' He had a fashion of shooting at the

men aloft with a revolver, or would let go the topsail halyards when

men were on the yard and shake them overboard. His owners paid him five

thousand dollars a year and fighting expenses, and sometimes these were

pretty heavy. They used to clear the ship out with another captain, and

put Woodman aboard at Sandy Hook, for it was hard to ship a crew to

sail with him. There were several men of that style in those clippers,

and I thought the Superintendent would know if the 'Bloodhound' was a

safe boat to go in. He said she belonged to Jones and Thompson one of

the most respectable firms in Boston. Deacon Jones was a member of Old

South church, a tip-top man. He often gave lectures to young men about

good principles and success in life, and it was certain he wouldn't

allow any 'bullyragging' in one of his ships, for he was a good friend

of sailors.

"We went to the shipping-office next day and found the articles just

opened, and Bill and I were the first ones that signed. In a week we

went on board, and just as we hauled out from the wharf the mate came

over the rail with his duds.

"'Halloa!' said one of the men; 'I'll be blowed if we haven't Johnny

Clarkson for mate, and he's the biggest rascal that ever walked a

ship's deck.'

"It seemed that the reason why the mate didn't join the ship any

sooner, was, because he was such a notorious scoundrel that it would

be very hard to ship a crew if it was known that he was to go in her;

so the captain or owners kept him out of sight, until the last moment,

when all the crew were on board, and the steam-tug alongside, and then

he made his appearance.

"The ship came to anchor in the stream as the wind was ahead, and when

we got below that night into the forecastle, there were great yarns

a-going about the mate. The Dutchmen got scared half out of their wits,

and made up their minds to be murdered before they were a month older.

"There was a man named Jackson on board, who was boatswain of the

'Flying Cloud,' in Hong Kong, when Clarkson was there, mate of the

'Black Squall.'

"He was the chap that first spotted him when he came on board, and he

told hard stories about his carryings on and the number of sailors he

had murdered.

"The old man stayed ashore, and that night the mate and passenger got

to drinking in the cabin, and about ten o'clock the mate came forward,

'three sheets in the wind, and the fourth shaking.' He couldn't find

any one on the watch, and while he was prying about forward, he tumbled

over the chain-cable, and hurt himself some, I guess, by the noise he

made. Then he called all hands, and got the whole thirty of us out on

deck. He gave us a lecture in rather a different style from the owner's

speeches. He called us all 'the sons of sea-cooks,' that he could twist

round his tongue, and cursed us in a way that made our blood run cold;

about all we could make out was, that he was Johnny Clarkson, and was

going to jump down our throats, drive us around, play the mischief,

and kill Injuns generally. At last, he set the watch and sent us below

saying, 'Remember, I'm Johnny Clarkson.'

"We thought we'd got enough of an introduction, and if we could have

helped ourselves we wouldn't have continued the acquaintance; but there

was no backing out then.

"The next morning the captain and his wife came off in a steam-tug, and

we got underway and towed out past the light.

"The 'old man' was a Dane, or some kind of a Dutchman, named Johnson;

that's all I know about him or his wife, except that the passenger told

me in 'Frisco,' that he wrote home to his friends, that the captain was

a demon and his wife was a she devil.

"While we were making sail on the ship, the mate travelled about the

decks, raving like a madman. He thought one man didn't haul hard enough

on the main-topsail halyards, so he cursed him and called him a bad

name. The man gave him a 'black look' in return, and Clarkson knocked

him down senseless, with a big gash cut in his head, with an iron

belaying-pin. When the yard was mastheaded he sung out, 'haul that

thing out of the way and belay.'

"All hands were kept up in the afternoon and, if there was any excuse

to be found for doing it, the watch below would often be called

out in the forenoon. Every order was accompanied by an oath, and

belaying-pins, and leading-blocks were hurled about the deck at any one

that didn't move on the 'clean jump.' Things went on this way for about

a fortnight, without anything very particular happening, except that

somebody got licked nearly every watch, and then we had a little the

biggest row that ever I saw aboard of a ship.

"We were running down the north-east trades with all our port

stu'n'sails set, and at eleven o'clock one night in the second mate's

watch, a very heavy squall struck her. The mate jumped out on deck and

called all hands, without saying anything to the 'old man.' We didn't

get out of the forecastle quick enough for him, and he and the third

mate stood by the door on one side, and the second mate and boatswain

on the other side of the deck, and every man as he came out got struck.

"Jackson said to me, 'Hold on, Bangs, don't you go out till I do.'

"Just then the mate looked in and said, 'Bangs you hurry, get out on

deck!'

"'He's coming out when I do,' said Jackson.

"'Jackson,' said the mate, 'when you're ready come out on deck,' and

he went away. He never tried to impose on Jackson, and I thought I'd

keep close to him to secure my own safety. As the third mate struck one

of the sailors, the man drew his sheath-knife and cut him slightly.

Then there was a race. The man ran aft and the third mate after him.

Away they went around the poop and forward again, until the third mate

tumbled over a man that the second mate had knocked down, and so lost

the chase.

"When Jackson and I got out there was a general fight going on; some

of the watch on deck had pitched in, and belaying-pins and handspikes

were flying round at a lively rate. The 'old man' got on deck in the

midst of all this, and I guess he thought the Old Nick was let loose,

or else his officers had gone crazy. The man at the wheel had run her

off before the wind to save the sails, but there hadn't been the first

thing done about taking in anything.

"'Haul down that main-topmast studding-sail,' shouted the captain; for

the tack had parted and the sail was blowing all to pieces.

"The fighting stopped now, I hardly know how. But several of the

sailors were 'ended over' on deck with broken heads, and some of us

were at the main-hatch keeping clear of the 'muss.' I believe the rest

gave it up and ran forward of the foremast.

"The 'old man' kept singing out his orders, and at last the mate went

aft and had some words with him, while we went to work and saved the

pieces. The man at the wheel said the mate cursed the 'old man' all up

in a heap, and told him to go below and he'd look out for the ship, and

after a little jaw, the captain backed down and went into the cabin. We

blew away a lot of sails that night; one topmast and two top-gallant

stu'n'sails, a flying-jib, main-topmast staysail, fore royal, and broke

off the foretopmast stu'n'sail-boom, which tore an awful big hole in

the foresail. I guess if the owner knew how much that fight cost him he

would be still more of a sailors' friend. I never could quite account

for the officers not taking in sail sooner, unless it was they had been

drinking.

"Besides having all hands, we used to be kept going all night long in

the watch on deck, and after we got round the Cape into the south-east

trades we had to work every minute, either doing necessary duty,

or else performing military drill with handspikes, or something of

that sort. Night times our principal work was polishing the iron

belaying-pins and eye-bolts, for when we went into 'Frisco' every piece

of iron-work about deck shone like silver. We all had our stations

rubbing the iron with our sheath-knives, and every half hour, when the

bell struck, we had to call out like sentinels. This is the way it

would go: First, the man on the forward house, who was polishing the

cook's stove-pipe, would sing out: 'Cook's stove-pipe, one bell and

all's well!' Then would come, 'Starboard main-topmast staysail sheet

iron belaying-pin, one bell and all's well;' 'starboard eye-bolts

main-rigging;' 'strap of main-topsail halyard block;' and so on. When

all the workmen had sung out, you'd hear, 'Starboard handspike gangway

sentinel, one bell and all's well;' and then the port side the same.

These were two men that had to walk with shouldered handspikes on

the bridges that went from the top of the after-house to the boat's

gallows. At the last the mate would hail the skysail-yard, and a voice

would come down, 'Man in the moon, one bell and all's well.' This would

be some unlucky chap who was lowest down in the mate's good graces, but

got kept highest up in the air.

"That was the way every half hour at night when we were not pulling and

hauling. You wouldn't think men would stand such nonsense? I assure you

they did though, and they didn't dare to growl even in the forecastle,

for there was some one prowling about outside, pretty often, listening

to what was said; and if a man growled he was very apt to get licked

next watch. The second mate gave one man an awful thrashing, for no

other reason I believe than because he overheard him saying in his

watch below, 'This is a humbugging old workhouse.'

"There were lots of other moves they put up with. There were five

or six men in our watch that didn't know much, and the mate took a

particular fancy to hazing them. One morning he came forward with some

canvas for fools' caps, and made these men sew them in their watch

below. Then he took some empty flour barrels, knocked the heads out,

and cut holes each side of the top. We all wondered what was to pay

now, and at night we found out. He called these men aft, made them

put on the fools' caps and dismount one of the guns that stood by the

after-hatch. Then each man got into a barrel and ran his arms through

the holes, so that he had a kind of wooden shirt on. The mate made

a rope fast to the gun-carriage, and taking his seat, he made the

men grab the rope and haul him fore and aft the deck. He sat on the

carriage, holding a long stick with a sail-needle in the end, with

which he pricked up all the men he could reach, wherever the barrels

didn't protect them, and he cursed the rest in a way that hurt most as

bad."

"Mr. Bangs, didn't the captain have anything to say to all this?" I

asked.

"Not that I know of. I believe it just suited him. He didn't do any

fighting himself, but he'd get on top of the house and everlastingly

curse us."

"Did you ever get struck?" I asked.

"No sir."

"I suppose not," said I. "I never heard a man tell a yarn yet about a

wild ship, but he always went clear himself."

"But it's a fact," said the second mate, "Bill Holmes and I were about

the only ones in the crew, except Jackson, that didn't get a rap on the

head before the ship got to 'Frisco.' I expect we got spared because we

were Yankee boys, but I came pretty near catching it once or twice.

"Some of the men were shamefully beaten for no cause whatever, except

that they were good-natured Dutchmen. The mate used to fight with a

belaying-pin, or else use his fists, but the second and third mates

always carried brass knuckles in their pockets, and when they cut a

man's face open it sometimes made an ugly sore. But the fighting didn't

worry me as much as the blackguardism, for sometimes we'd go along a

few days without a blow being struck. There was no let up, though, to

bad words. Every order was followed up with oaths and vile language.

All the officers from mate to boatswain were tarred with the same

brush, and when all hands were on deck shortening sail, or tacking

ship, I don't believe hell could have furnished worse talk. I often

wondered what Mr. Jones would have thought if he could have dropped

down aboard, and Bill Holmes used to say that he thought Mr. Jones

would have done service to the cause of humanity if he'd taken a little

pains to pick out a decent captain and mate to oversee his sailors in

the 'Bloodhound,' in addition to his speech-making.

"We had a quick passage of one hundred and five days, but we didn't

get to Frisco any too soon to suit us, and we all cleared out bag and

baggage as soon as the ship got to the wharf.

"The ship anchored in the stream first; the mate got a boatman to take

him across the Bay, and he hid up country somewhere for awhile, to keep

clear of the police. Then he got aboard of a ship, just as she was

going out of the harbor, and went second mate of her over to China.

"When we hauled into the wharf on a Sunday afternoon, there were about

a thousand people down to see 'the blood boat' as they called her, for

the boarding-house runners had reported her character. The men got out

warrants against the officers, but none of them were arrested, for they

kept out of sight for awhile and the sailors all had a good drunk, and

what didn't go up to the mines were all shipped off again in less than

ten days, and the affair blew over.

"The next I heard of Clarkson he was mate of the ship 'Fantail' with

Capt. Harry Saunders, and went from Boston to Frisco in her. One day

he punished the 'galoots' by making them jump overboard in a calm, and

straddle a long plank made fast at one end by a rope from the ship.

He had made them some paddles and they had to work them as though

they were towing the ship ahead. Another time he lashed six of them,

head and heels together, laid them along the deck in a line, lashed

the heels of the last one to a ringbolt and putting a rope around the

shoulders of the first one he took it to the capstan and made some of

the sailors heave taut till the poor fellows on the stretch cried out

blue murder.

"Clarkson could always get more wages from the religious shipowners of

Boston than any mate sailing out of the port; he was considered such a

smart officer.

"They complain that there are no American seamen to man our ships,

and if the truth were known it would be found that the decent lads

are driven out of the service, in disgust, by the brutality of the

officers, or if they get through the forecastle they find it useless

to become officers unless they are qualified to be prize-fighters. The

boys on Cape Cod are going into stores in the cities, or on to farms

out West, instead of going to sea as they used to do.

"I've often wished I could have a word with Mr. Jones about that

voyage. I don't profess to love sailors much and I think sometimes that

the better you treat them the worse they are. But if a man really wants

to do them good, I should think he would do it at sea as well as on

shore."

"Rather," I said, "he should do more at sea than on shore. A sailor

spends three-fourths of his life on board ship and, if one wishes to

subject him to good influences, it would seem reasonable to bring

them to bear upon him where he passes most of his time. But Mr. Jones'

style seemed to be to build bethels and homes for him to benefit by in

the two weeks he is on shore, and then leave him for months in entire

neglect to hear only curses and blackguardism, and suffer tyranny.

"Besides, a sailor is more open to good impressions at sea than he is

ashore. There, his mind is full of novelties and pleasures and has

little room for good counsels, but on board ship in a long dreary

voyage, he reflects upon his past life, sees his follies and is

disposed to make resolutions of reform."

"Well," said I, "that yarn seems to have raised the wind; there appears

to be a light air on the port-quarter. You may square in the yards."

The second mate assured me so positively that his story was true, that

I wrote it out while fresh in my memory, word for word as he told it.

The last day of the "doldrums" brought about an event which had a great

effect in reviving our spirits. In the morning we made a ship ahead,

bound the same way, and at noon we caught up with her and spoke her.

It was the "Renown," from Calcutta bound to New York, ninety days

out. After dinner we spied a sail on our starboard bow bound to the

southward. She slowly drew down towards us and at two o'clock we saw a

boat put off from the "Renown" to board her. It was now nearly calm

and I thought I would imitate the example. So our quarter-boat was

lowered, and the mate and four men pulled away towards the stranger.

They reached her in about an hour and at four o'clock were again on

board, with a large roll of Boston newspapers, and what was still

better in the sailors estimation, a few pounds of tobacco. The mate

reported her to be the bark "Nonantum," from Boston, bound to Buenos

Ayres, twenty-six days out. He said the captain was in a dreadful stew

about falling to leeward of Cape St. Roque. He had only had E.S.E.

winds in place of north-east trades and had been unable to gain any

longitude. Now he expected nothing less than a fortnight's dead beat.

This had not put him in very good humor, and our men were told by his

sailors that one of the crew had just upset a tar-bucket on deck, and

the "old man" had been making the mate clean it up himself. The mate

said the captain had his wife aboard and that she was cross-eyed and

"as homely as a hedge-fence," but for all that he enjoyed making his

best bow to her, and asking her how she liked going to sea, which he

said was the only polite speech he could think of.

"What a little world a ship is," I thought. "There they are in that

bark shut up by themselves and engrossed with their own concerns as

though there were nothing and nobody else in existence. They have their

trials and growls and disagreements, just as we do and as the "Renown"

does, but each of us as isolated as is one star from another. Well,

poor fellow, I hope he'll fetch by St. Roque!"

There were fifteen newspapers in the bundle, and for the next week we

all took something of a vacation from our little world and enjoyed

a view of the larger one. A multitude of topics were discussed both

aft and forward, and had a good effect in stimulating our minds, and

diverting our thoughts from their well-worn channels, in which they

were moving with but a sluggish drift.

The same evening that we boarded the bark, the north-east trades

came in a squall, and started us again on our homeward course. They

brought with them also a more bracing air, which had a great effect

in restoring the elasticity of our spirits. On we sped, averaging two

hundred miles a day until we reached lat. 26° N. in lon. 65° W., where

the trades left us and the variable winds of the "horse latitudes" set

in.

The bark was now in fine order. She had been tarred down, painted

inside and out, and her masts and yards were all scraped bright and

had received good coats of oil and varnish. The yards we had scraped

in Padang when the sails were unbent, but the masts were done on the

passage. We all declared she looked as fine as a new fiddle. But there

was still plenty of work to be done in the way of small jobs, and

in keeping in order what was finished, though the main work being

completed we all felt easier in mind and more pleased to see her move

rapidly towards port. The sailors were very lively and every occasion

was seized for a song at their work.

CHAPTER XII.

SAILORS' SONGS.

"Odd's life! must one swear to the truth of a song."--_Matthew Pryor._

The songs of the sea offer a field for research, and one who could

trace the origin and use of some of them would doubtless discover

interesting, romantic histories. No information can be obtained from

sailors themselves on this point. No one knows who their favorite

"Reuben Ranzo" was, or whether "Johnny Boker" ever did what he is

so often requested to "do," nor can any one say more concerning the

virtues and vices of "Sally Brown" than is declared in song.

Sailors' songs may be divided into two classes. First, are the

sentimental songs sung in the forecastle, or on the deck in the

leisure hours of the dog-watch, when the crew assemble around the

fore-hatch to indulge in yarns and music. Dibdin's songs, which the

orthodox sailor of the last half century was supposed to adhere to as

closely as the Scotch Presbyterian to his Psalter, are falling into

disuse, and the negro melodies and the popular shore songs of the day

are now most frequently heard. The second class of songs is used at

work, and they form so interesting a feature of life at sea, that a

sketch of that life would be incomplete without some allusion to them.

These working songs may be divided into three sets:

First, those used where a few strong pulls are needed, as in boarding

a tack, hauling aft a sheet, or tautening a weather-brace. "Haul the

Bowline," is a favorite for this purpose. The shantyman, as the solo

singer is called, standing up "beforehand," as high above the rest of

the crew as he can reach, sings with as many quirks, variations and

quavers as his ingenuity and ability can attempt, "Haul the bow-line,

Kitty is my darling;" then all hands join in the chorus, "Haul the

bow-line, the bow-line _haul_," shouting the last word with great

energy and suiting action to it by a combined pull, which must once

be witnessed by one who desires an exemplification of "a long pull,

a strong pull, and a pull altogether." This seldom fails to make the

ropes "come home."

HAUL THE BOW-LINE.

[Illustration:

Haul the bow-line, Kit-ty is my dar-ling;

_Chorus._ Haul the bow-line, the bow-line _haul_.

][Music]

Then the song is repeated with a slight change in words, "Haul the

bow-line, the clipper ship's a rolling," &c., and next time perhaps,

"Haul the bow-line, our bully mate is growling."

Great latitude is allowed in the words and the shantyman exercises his

own discretion. If he be a man of little comprehension or versatility,

he will say the same words over and over, but if he possesses some

wit, he will insert a phrase alluding to some peculiarity of the ship,

or event of the time, which will cause mouths to open wider and eyes

to roll gleefully, while a lively pull follows that rouses the sheet

home and elicits the mate's order "Belay!" A good shantyman is highly

prized, both by officers and crew. His leadership saves many a dry

pull, and his vocal effort is believed to secure so much physical

force, that he is sometimes allowed to spare his own exertions and

reserve all his energies for the inspiriting shanty.

Another common song is:--

HAUL AWAY, JOE.

[Illustration:

Way, haul away; O, haul away, my Ro-sey.

_Chorus._ Way, haul a-way; O, haul a-way, _Joe_.

][Music]

And another:--

JOHNNY BOKER.

[Illustration:

Oh do, my Johnny Boker,

Come rock and roll me o-ver,

_Chorus._ Do, my Johnny Bo-ker, _do_.

][Music]

In both of these, the emphasis and the pull come at the last word of

the chorus: "Joe" and "do," as they end the strain, put a severe strain

on the rope.

In the second set of working songs, I would place those that are used

in long hoists, or where so large a number of pulls is required that

more frequent exertion must be used, than is called for by the first

set, lest too much time be occupied. The topsail halyards call most

frequently for these songs. One of the most universal, and to my ear

the most musical of the songs, is "Reuben Ranzo." A good shantyman, who

with fitting pathos recounts the sorrows of "poor Reuben" never fails

to send the topsail to the mast-head at quick notice, nor to create a

passing interest in the listener to the touching melody:--

REUBEN RANZO.

[Illustration:

Oh, poor Reuben Ranzo,

_Chorus._ _Ranzo_, boys, _Ranzo_!

Oh, poor Reuben Ran-zo,

_Ranzo_, boys, _Ranzo_!

Oh, Reuben was no sailor,

Chorus, and repeat with chorus.

He shipped on board of a whaler,

Chorus, &c.

He could not do his duty,

Chorus, &c.

The captain was a bad man,

Chorus, &c.

He put him in the rigging,

Chorus, &c.

He gave him six and thirty,

Chorus, &c.

Oh, poor Reuben Ranzo.

Chorus, &c.

][Music]

In this song the pulls are given at the first word "Ranzo" in the

chorus, sometimes at its next occurrence in addition.

Of all the heroines of deck song Sally Brown's name is most frequently

uttered, and a lively pull always attends it. She figures in several of

these songs; one has as its chorus "Shantyman and Sally Brown." But it

is used more frequently, I think, in connection with the song:--

BLOW, MY BULLY BOYS, BLOW.

[Illustration:

Oh, Sal-ly Brown's a bright mu-lat-to;

_Chorus._ _Blow_, boys, _blow_!

Oh, she drinks rum and chews to-bac-co,

_Chorus._ _Blow_, my bully boys, _blow_!

Oh, Sally Brown's a Creole lady,

Chorus, and repeat with chorus.

Oh, Sally Brown, I long to see you,

Chorus, &c.

Oh, Sally Brown, I'll ne'er deceive you.

Chorus, &c.

][Music]

It will be noticed that neither rhyme nor sentiment has much place in

these songs. Each line is usually repeated twice, even if there be a

rhyme impending, for the shantyman's stock must be carefully husbanded.

A favorite and frequently used song, in which Bonaparte's fortunes are

portrayed in a manner startling to the historian, as well as to those

who may have the fortune to hear it sung at any time, is:--

JOHN FRANCOIS.[2]

[Illustration:

Oh, Bo-ney was a war-rior, _A-way_, hey way!

Oh, Bo-ney was a war-rior, _John Fran-cois_.

Oh, Boney went to Roo-shy,

Chorus.

Oh, Boney went to Proo-shy,

Chorus.

He crossed the Rocky Mountains,

Chorus.

He made a mistake at Waterloo,

Chorus.

He died at Saint Helena.

Chorus.

][Music]

Where Tommy actually proceeded to when he went "a high low" nobody

knows, but the fact is related with continual gusto nevertheless:--

TOMMY'S GONE, A HIGH LOW.

[Illustration:

My Tom-my's gone and I'll go, too;

_Chorus._ Hur-rah, you high low.

For with-out Tom-my I can't do.

_Chorus._ My _Tommy's_ gone a _high low_.

My Tommy's gone on the Eastern Shore,

Chorus.

My Tommy's gone to Baltimore,

Chorus.

][Music]

A person who knows a little of geography can send Tommy around the

world according to his own discretion.

One of the best illustrations of the absolute nothingness that

characterizes the words of these songs, is given by the utterances

attending the melody called "Shanadore," which probably means

Shenandoah, a river in Virginia. I often have heard such confusing

statements as the following:--

SHANADORE.

[Illustration:

Sha-na-dore's a roll-ing riv-er,

_Chorus._ _Hur-rah_, you roll-ing riv-er.

Oh, Sha-na-dore's a roll-ing riv-er,

_Chorus._ _Ah hah_, I'm bound a-way o'er the wild Mis-sou-ri.

Shanadore's a packet sailor,

Chorus.

Shanadore's a bright mulatto,

Chorus.

Shanadore I long to hear you.

Chorus.

][Music]

and so the song goes on, according to the ingenuity of the impromptu

composer.

Sailors are not total abstainers as a rule, and one would suspect that

a song like "Whiskey Johnny" might find frequent utterance:--

WHISKEY JOHNNY.

[Illustration:

Whis-key is the life of man,

_Chorus._ _Whis-key_ John-ny.

We'll drink our whis-key when we can,

_Chorus._ _Whis-key_ for my John-ny.

I drink whiskey, and my wife drinks gin,

Chorus.

And the way she drinks it is a sin.

Chorus.

I and my wife cannot agree,

Chorus.

For she drinks whiskey in her tea.

Chorus.

I had a girl, her name was Lize,

Chorus.

And she put whiskey in her pies.

Chorus.

Whiskey's gone and I'll go too,

Chorus.

For without whiskey I can't do.

Chorus.

][Music]

Another popular song is:--

KNOCK A MAN DOWN.

I wish I was in Mo-bile Bay.

_Chorus._ _Way_, hey, knock a man down.

A-roll-ing cot-ton night and day.

_Chorus._ _This_ is the time to knock a man down.

The words already quoted will enable a person to sing this and nearly

all the songs of this set. He can wish he was in every known port

in the world, to whose name he can find a rhyme. If New Orleans was

selected, he would add, "Where Jackson gave the British beans." At

"Boston city," his desire would be, "a-walking with my lovely Kitty."

At "New York town," he would be, "a-walking Broadway up and down,"

or at Liverpool he would finish his education, "a-going to a Yankee

school."

The third set of working songs comprises those used at the pumps,

capstan and windlass, where continuous force is applied, instead of

the pulls at intervals, as when hauling on ropes. Many of the second

set of songs are used on such occasions, but there are a few peculiar

to this use and of such are the following:

RIO GRANDE.

[Illustration:

I'm bound a-way this ve-ry day.

_Chorus._ Oh, you Ri-o!

I'm bound a-way this ve-ry day, I'm bound for the Ri-o Grande.

_Chorus._ And a-way you Ri-o!

Oh, you Ri-o, I'm bound a-way this ve-ry day,

I'm bound for the Ri-o Grande.

][Music]

PADDY, COME WORK ON THE RAILWAY

[Illustration:

In eigh-teen hun-dred and six-ty three,

I came across the stormy sea.

My dung'ree breech-es I put on

_Chorus._ To work up-on the rail-way, the rail-way,

To work up-on the rail-way.

Oh, poor Pad-dy, come work on the rail-way.

][Music]

Many other songs might be named, some of which, peculiar to the

Liverpool packets, are of a rowdy nature.

One cannot but regret that a more rational set of words has not

been introduced to this service of song. A sphere offers for some

philanthropic poet to provide a more elevating style of composition.

On the old theory, the ballad-maker may accomplish more reform than the

law-giver.

In addition to these songs are the unnameable and unearthly howls and

yells that characterize the true sailor, which are only acquired by

years of sea service. There is the continuous running solo of "way-hey

he, ho, ya," &c., &c., accompanying the hand-over-hand hoisting of jibs

and staysails. Then for short "swigs" at the halyards, we have such

utterances as "hey _lee_, ho _lip_, or _yu_," the emphasis and pull

coming on the italicized syllables on which the voice is raised a tone.

Then comes the more measured "singing out," for the long and regular

pulls at the "braces." Each sailor has his own "howl" peculiar to

himself, but fortunately only one performs at a time on the same rope.

The effect, however, when all hands are on deck at a time, and a dozen

ropes are pulled on at once, is most suggestive of Babel. One learns

to recognize the sailors' method of singing: when lying in his berth

in the cabin he can tell what man is leading and by the measure of his

cadence can judge what class of ropes is being pulled. He thus can

often divine the changes of wind and weather without going on deck. The

wakeful captain with nerves harassed by contrary winds will recognize

the hauling in of the weather braces by the cry, and with only this

evidence of a fair wind will drop off into the slumber he so greatly

needs. At other times he will be impelled to go on deck by the evidence

that the outcries betoken the hauling of clew-lines and bunt-lines at

the approach of a threatening squall. By attention to these and other

sounds, and the motions of the vessel, an experienced mariner knows the

condition of affairs above deck without personal inspection.

The songs of the sea, as I have said, invite attention and research,

and I shall be glad if this brief sketch may incite another to more

thorough investigation.

How do you get along with your sailors? is a question often asked, to

which I will now endeavor to give a practical answer. The first captain

that I went to sea with remarked to a gentleman in my hearing: "If it

were not for sailors it would be only a pleasure to go to sea." Many

a time have I heard this echoed since and perhaps have repeated it

myself. No one has ever suggested how to do without sailors, so the

most rational question is, How shall we manage them? The only approach

to a quarrel on this passage was with "Little Hans," a diminutive

Swede, who was very great in temper and irritability. He was ordered

to do some work, but pleaded illness in excuse. Some passionate words

ensued, as the mate doubted his sincerity, but in the end Little Hans

made most ample apologies and confessed with tears what a bad temper he

had.

There must be these frictions on shipboard. They occur in every vessel.

They cannot be prevented entirely, and the only question is how to

deal with them. Shall authority be maintained on the instant by the

assertion of brute force, or shall the man by patient, judicious, but

firm treatment be in time subdued. The latter is the course I advocate.

It involves momentary mortification and great self-control, but gives

more abiding peace and great self-satisfaction.

Who overcomes by force

Hath but half o'ercome his foe.

An officer once said to me, "There are only two ways to treat sailors;

you must either bully them or coax them." Accepting this definition of

my theorizings I would say:

"By all means, coax them!"

But our success in controlling the men was not due alone to the method

of discipline adopted. In many ways they were made to feel that a

friendly spirit existed towards them, and that a desire to benefit them

ran through all the rules and customs of the ship. Some of the methods

I have tried successfully are the following: Saturday afternoons

were given up to the crew as a time for mending clothes and cleaning

themselves, and on Sunday morning when called aft to attend religious

services they had no excuse for not putting in a neat appearance. The

effect of this was often noticeable in creating more cleanly habits,

and I have repeatedly been complimented upon the unusually good looks

of my sailors when on shore or attending services. Wednesday evenings

a Bible Class was held, at which the men were encouraged to read aloud

the passages in the Bible which they were directed to search out,

illustrating the topic in hand. The valuable libraries furnished by

the Seamen's Friend Society, with other reading matter, were placed

at the disposal of the crew. Frequently on Saturday evenings lectures

were given upon matters of interest to the sailor, as, The Winds, The

Currents, The Stars, The Sea Serpent, &c. In the afternoons, when

weather permitted, the young men of the crew in their watch below

attended a navigation class, and took the first lessons in a science

which many of them will practice when commanding vessels in time to

come. I never found that such familiarity bred contempt, for all this

intercourse was dignified. On the contrary it rather heightened their

respect for the captain, as was evidenced by the remark of one after a

lecture, "I tell you when a man sees what a head our old man's got, it

makes him feel what a little pimple he's got on his own shoulders."

I have narrated methods of control which I have used with tolerable

success, but I am well aware that government cannot be reduced to an

exact science. With the help of the best systems some will fail to

control those under them, and others from the simple character and

energy of their natures, without extraneous aid, will command the

respect and obedience of those subject to them.

While human nature is what it is there will exist a conflict between

service and power. As the mind and heart are elevated and renewed these

conflicts will decrease, but it is only to a higher and purer sphere,

where sin will not exist and where all is perfect as God is perfect,

that we can look for continued and entire harmony.

Lest my reader should be tempted to yawn at this rather prosy effusion,

I append our artist's sketch of the result of such an indulgence on

shipboard.

When near the latitude of Bermuda, one afternoon when it was nearly

calm, we spied a schooner ahead drifting toward us. Visions of Nova

Scotia potatoes excited our enthusiasm; the boat was got ready and when

the vessels were near each other, the mate, passenger and two sailors

went off to board her in search of news and supplies. The passenger

had on a new cap of white duck made in naval style, and his imposing

appearance perhaps accounted for the trepidation of the captain of

the schooner, who stood on deck in his stockings trembling, as though

he might be fearing the attack of a pirate. When the mate politely

presented my compliments and asked for a few potatoes, his assurance

returned and he was enthusiastic in his desires to serve us.

[Illustration: The effects of a yawn.]

The schooner was the "Jane" of Shelburne, Nova Scotia, ten days out for

Barbadoes. The supplies obtained were salt-fish and a few potatoes.

But the captain, in the kindness of his heart, sent me a jar of

preserved wild strawberries gathered and prepared by his wife, which he

repeatedly assured the mate were "real nice," and, as though he might

not be believed, he turned to the man at the wheel and said, "Ai'n't

they, John." They certainly proved deserving of his encomium. We got

a little country newspaper, that gave a few items of news, and a "New

York Ledger," which proved to be a year old.

She reported a heavy gale two days before, when we had been in calm

weather.

Discussions of this event, the news obtained, and a salt-fish dinner

enlivened a few days.

The last Saturday afternoon of the passage, the decks were washed down

early and at four o'clock all hands were called aft. The captain took

his stand at the capstan and the crew sitting on boards laid upon

deck-buckets, listened attentively to a temperance lecture, and some

warnings and instructions about the dangers of life on shore soon to be

encountered. Several signed the pledge afterwards, "Old Brown" among

them.

The first sign of our approach to land was the meeting with some

fifty schooners mackerel fishing, south of Nantucket Shoals. As we

came among them one put his helm up, and running down on us till his

bowsprit seemed nearly to touch us, he sheered alongside and shouted,

"Cap'n, do you want some fish?"

"Aye! aye!" I replied.

Then the air was filled with mackerel aimed at my head by a half-dozen

men, and some of them came near the mark. Three schooners in succession

paid us this compliment, and all hands had a good supper and breakfast

of mackerel in consequence.

We generally expect a gale when coming on the coast and always promote

our fears by recalling the old rhyme:

"If the Bermudas let you pass,

Oh then beware of Hatteras;

If safely you get by Cape May

You'll catch it sure in Boston Bay."

This time our fears were not realized.

We bent the chains and put the anchors in the shoes, and on a Friday

evening were almost within range of the Highland Light when a dense

fog set in and deferred our hope of seeing it. The wind was moderate

from the southward and we rounded to every two hours for soundings,

and then kept on the course. A man was stationed on the top-gallant

forecastle with a fog horn, which he sounded vigorously, and now and

then received similar responses from neighboring vessels. The blast of

one horn continued to draw nearer until it seemed close by us, then we

heard a dog barking and a hoarse voice sounded through the fog, "How

are you steering?"

"No'th by west," said I.

"I'm heading east south east," said the stranger.

Then close alongside of us we saw a schooner.

"How does Cape Cod bear?" I asked.

"Nor' nor' west thirty miles," replied the skipper, as his craft

vanished in the fog.

"Just agrees with the chronometer," said I to myself. "That's doing

well."

"Pretty soon came another approaching blast of the horn, and in time

came the same question, "How are you steering?" and a voice shouted,

"Keep her to the no'th'ard and east'ard; I'm just going in stays."

"Hard a-port," I shouted to the man at the wheel, and just as the

ship's head began to answer to the helm, a cry sounded from right under

our bow, "Hard a-starboard, or you'll run into me." I sprang to the

wheel and lent the man a hand to shift the helm over, and then we saw a

large three-masted schooner with her jib-boom almost grazing our fore

channels.

"All right, Cap'n, you'll go clear; I've got my jibs aback," shouted a

cheery voice, and then he, too, drifted away into the darkness.

In the morning the fog lifted and the wind came out dead ahead. Two

pilot boats came running down from the Cape Ann shore, and the leading

one, being intent on securing both our vessel and a ship to leeward,

dropped a pilot in a "canoe" while sailing ten knots an hour, and sped

on to the other ship, thus successfully cutting out her rival. The

pilot pulled alongside of us, and we took both himself and his boat

on board. Many eager questions were asked, one of the first being,

if the "F----" had arrived? We were told she had not, and we had the

satisfaction of beating her eight days on the passage. All day we were

beating up the Bay, and at 10 P.M. took a tow boat off Boston Light

which soon brought us alongside Central Wharf, where we made fast early

on a Sunday morning after ninety-three days passage from Padang. In the

morning I stepped on to the wharf to take a survey from a new point of

view of what had been my home for so many months. As I was standing

near the stern I noticed some sailors belonging to the Revenue Cutter,

sitting down with their backs toward me and their legs hanging over the

edge of the wharf. They were discussing the looks of the vessel, and I

heard one of them say, "I wouldn't want to go to sea in that bark. She

must be a regular workhouse. Everything aboard of her is scraped bright

from her trucks to her fenders. Just see how that royal-yard shines!"

I walked up to them and said: "Boys, does she look well?"

"Yes," answered the one that had just spoken; "a neater looking vessel

than that never came into this harbor."

"Well," said I, "her crew haven't lost a watch below the whole voyage."

"Oh! that's a different thing then," said he; "if a man has watch and

watch he's got no right to complain. Of course he expects to work in

his watch on deck."

The next day the crew were paid off, all being sober except Murphy. I

handed him his money and said, "Take good care of that and don't throw

it away." Murphy was already well past a condition to take care of

anything. He had indulged in one good spree the night before, and was

now what would be called "ugly drunk." His thick black hair was tossed

about in confusion over his head, and his dark eyes fairly snapped

with passion. Holding his money in his clenched fist he brandished it

aloft and said, "Cap'n, all that's going for rum," and off he went

with a waiting land-shark, who no doubt sent him to sea within a week,

penniless and ragged. But everybody else was sober, and on the whole

the crew made a very creditable appearance, so much so that it excited

remarks from many who saw them.

As I went on shore I met the shipping master, old Capt. Harding. "Your

crew make a good show for themselves to-day," said he. "I never saw

a more orderly set, or heard any crack their ship up quite so much.

There was one man standing by me while I was talking to a gentleman,

and hearing me say something about the bark he put in his handspike and

said he, 'That's the best ship that sails out of this port. The captain

of her is a gentleman and a sailor and a Christian. We obeyed him just

out of the respect we had for him. There's nothing of the humbug about

_him_. He doesn't go round the decks trying to scare up work just to

haze men. The officers were good men, too. They've kept us at work

pretty sharp, but we had watch and watch the whole time, south-east

trades and all. She's in fine order and we did all the work up except

to scrape the belaying pins. We had to let those go. I'm sorry we

didn't have time to scrape _them_.'"

"After he went away the gentleman said, 'That sounds well, doesn't it?

That's better than broken heads and curses and lawsuits.' I told him I

thought I knew all the ins and outs of a sailor, but it was something

new to me to hear one regret he 'didn't have time to scrape the

belaying-pins.'"

The crew all went to the Sailors' Home, except Murphy, and behaved

well. Old Brown was a well-known character in Boston, and I was told

this was the first time he had ever kept sober in port. His friends

were quite astonished at such good conduct. He went to San Francisco on

his next voyage, and I heard afterwards that the mate of the ship had

selected him as a good man to "bully," he being quiet and inoffensive.

He beat him and drove him about the decks in a way that completely

disheartened him, and on reaching port he took to drinking again and

was "beastly drunk" all the time he was on shore.

In a few weeks the crew all scattered on different voyages, excepting

four who waited to sail again with me in another ship. I remember

them with affectionate interest and am sure they hold fast a pleasant

recollection of the days

ON BOARD THE _ROCKET_.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: Pronounced Frans-war.]

THE END.

Judge Burnham's Daughters. By "Pansy" (Mrs. G.B. Alden.) Boston: D.

Lothrop Co. Price $1.50. The multitude of readers of Mrs. Alden's

stories will remember _Ruth Erskine's Crosses_, and will be glad to

meet its principal character once more in her new character of wife and

mother, ripened by experience and strengthened by trial. Her marriage

will be remembered, and the radiant prospects of the future which

attended it. Her husband was kindness itself, but he cared little for

religious matters, and could not sympathize with what seemed to him

the very ridiculous and puritanical ideas of his wife regarding many

things. Still he always gave way to her. The great trouble of her new

life, however, was the disposition evinced by her two step-daughters

to resist her authority and cause her pain by their recklessness and

disobedience. Her husband, Judge Burnham, was wealthy, and occupied

a high social position. He was exceedingly proud of his family and

sensitive as to his reputation. He was strongly opposed to Ruth's being

actively connected with religious or temperance movements, and this

fact sometimes brought them dangerously near serious misunderstanding.

The pressure was constant, and made many unhappy hours for her,

especially when questions of right and propriety arose between her and

her step-daughters and an appeal was made to the father. Suddenly a

blow fell upon the house. The younger daughter fled from home to marry

a gambler and forger, and was disowned by her father and forbidden the

house. A few months later the other daughter fell a victim to quick

consumption, but in her later days turned to the mother whom she had

disliked and disobeyed, and finally died in her arms. The story with

its later incidents is a sad one, but its darkness is lighted by the

surprise which awaits the reader at the close. It is written in Mrs.

Alden's usual fascinating style, and like all her books, is transfixed

with a purpose.

The Secrets at Roseladies. By Mary Hartwell Catherwood. Boston: D.

Lothrop Company. Price $1.00. This charming story of the life on the

Wabash, which originally appeared as a serial in Wide Awake, will be

read by boys and girls with equal pleasure, for the action of the story

is pretty well divided between the two. The boys will be immensely

entertained with the adventures of the four young treasure-seekers,

particularly with that which ends in their capture by the crazy

half-breed Shawnee, who proposes to cut off their thumbs to bury in the

excavation they have made in the burial mound. The girls' secret, which

is of a very different character, is just as amusing in its way. Mrs.

Catherwood has a wonderful fund of humor, and a talent for description

which many a better-known author might envy. The character of old Mr.

Roseladies is capitally drawn, and the account of his journey to the

depot after Aunt Jane's trunk is really mirth-provoking. Cousin Sarah

and "Sister" and little Nonie are all charming, and the reader will

close the book with regret that there is not more of it.

Brownies and Bogles. By Louise Imogen Guiney. Ill. Boston: D. Lothrop

Co. Price $1.00. This little volume might be fitly styled a fairy

handbook, as in it the author describes every kind of the "little

people" that is found in traditions or literature in all the countries

of the world. There are the brownies and waterkelpies of Scotland, the

troll and necken of Sweden, the German kobalds, the English fairies,

pixies and elves, the Norwegian and Danish dwarfs and bjergfalls, the

Irish leprechauns, and a score of others, some of whom are mischievous,

some malicious, some house-helpers, and some who are always waiting to

do a good turn to those they like. The author mingles her descriptions

with anecdotes illustrative of the different qualities and dispositions

of the various fairy folk described.

Story of the American Sailor. By E.S. Brooks. Ill. Boston: D. Lothrop

Co. Price $2.50. Although several volumes have been written descriptive

of the rise and development of the American navy, this is the first

and only work of which we have knowledge that takes wide ground, and

deals with the American sailor. In its preparation Mr. Brooks has not

been actuated by a desire to merely make a readable book for boys; he

has given it the attention which the subject demands as a part of the

history of the country.

It would be a difficult matter to get at the first American sailor, or

to even guess when he existed, but that our continent was once well

populated, and that its prehistoric inhabitants sailed the lakes and

seas as well as trod the land, is a matter of certainty. Later, when

America became known to Europeans, the new comers found Indians well

provided with excellent canoes, built of bark or fashioned from logs,

but they were "near shore" sailors. The author quotes one instance

where a deep sea voyage was undertaken by them in the early days of

the English settlers. Certain Carolina Indians, he says, wearied of

the white man's sinful ways in trade, thought themselves able to

deal direct with the consumers across the "Big Sea Water." So they

built several large canoes and loading these with furs and tobacco

paddled straight out to sea bound for England. But their ignorance of

navigation speedily got the best of their valor. They were never heard

of more.

The early white navigators of our waters can hardly be considered

American sailors. The new found continent was to them of value only for

what could be brought away from them in treasure or in merchantable

produce, and it was only when an actual and permanent colonization

began that a race of native-born sailors was developed on the Atlantic

coasts.

OLD CONCORD: HER HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. Ill. By Margaret Sidney. Boston:

D. Lothrop Co. Price $3.00. Of all the books of the year there is not

one which carries within it such an aroma of peculiar delight as this

series of sketches and descriptions of the highways and byways of that

most picturesque of towns, Old Concord. Concord is like no other place

in New England. There may be other places as beautiful in their way;

there are others, perhaps, of more importance in the Commonwealth, and

we know there are hundreds of places where there is more active life to

the square foot, but with all these admissions Concord still remains a

place of special charm, the result and consequence of more causes than

we care to analyze. Its picturesqueness and a certain quaintness of

the village has always been noticed by visitors, no matter from what

part of the globe they may have come. Added to this is the flavor of

Revolutionary history, and the atmosphere created by the daily lives

and presence for years of three or four of the giants in American

literature. Here lived Hawthorne, and Emerson, and Thoreau, and the

Alcotts, father and daughter, and the work that they did here has made

it a literary Mecca for all time.

These sketches have all the accuracy of photographs, together with

that charm of color and life which a photograph never possesses. The

author is a resident of Concord, and a dweller in one of its historic

mansions, and is thoroughly acquainted with every nook and corner of

the town as well as with every legend which belongs to them. The task

which she assumes of guiding readers to the places made famous by pen

and sword, is a labor of love. She tells us how the pilgrimage should

be undertaken, and what should be seen. We visit with her the ancient

landmarks which belong to past generations, and the more modern ones

which have even more interest to the multitude.