At night the consul came. The captain and the mates were all dolled
up. They had even cleaned their finger nails. In the cabin the
consul was the only one who was given a napkin. On the skylight sat
Nauke and I. We watched the ducks on the table. We had brought
along a boat hook, waiting for the moment when the consul should
leave.
The consul ate well, but the captain seemed to have very little
appetite. He took only one small helping of the duck. The two mates
held back out of politeness. It would have been bad manners for them
to eat more than the captain.
When the duck course was done the captain would not let the birds be
taken away, but kept them in his sight. When the consul left, the
captain had to escort him to the gangway, but he ushered the mates
out first, so that they would not have a chance to snatch a
drumstick, and, before he left the cabin, he had Smutje take the
ducks away to the pantry. Nauke and I watched all this from the
skylight. There was no chance for us to use our boathook.
The pantry, however, could be reached from the bull's-eye. We waited
till Smutje had gone to his bunk, and then stole our way to the
bull's-eye. I reached in. Good luck. The pantry was open. Smutje
must have forgotten to close it. The unfortunate part of it,
however, was that it was the captain who had left the pantry door
open. He had stolen down to have his fill of ducks, and at this
moment was sitting at a table with a bird before him. His back was
turned to the pantry.
I fished around and first got a big handful of plum and apple
stuffing, which I put in my pants pocket for safe keeping. I was
very quiet about it, and the captain heard nothing. I felt around
again, and found a whole, fine bird. It must have been my excitement
and delight which caused me to make a slight noise. The captain
looked around and saw the magnificent fowl suspended in midair and
going away. With half a drumstick in his mouth he yelled:
"My bird!"
Then he jumped, and grabbed my arm just as it was disappearing.
"Let go that bird," he howled, twisting my arm.
I let the bird go, and kept silent in spite of the pain, hoping that
he would let me go without learning who I was. He reached for a rope
and spliced my arm to the brass handle of the drawer. Nauke reached
into my pants pocket and took out the stuffing to save it from
destruction during the coming licking.
The captain came out.
"Oh, it's you, Phelax. You don't like ducks, do you? But you like
the rope's end."
With that, he gave me an awful beating with a rope's end. I howled,
by Joe.
Limping and sore, I went forward to get my share of the stuffing from
Nauke. He had eaten it all. That made me so angry that, in spite of
my soreness, I passed a good share of my licking on to him. Smutje
shook his head and remarked sadly that the society of thieves had
corrupted the only honest fellow aboard.
We took on a supply of sausages made out of pemmican that were to be
sewn up in canvas and whitewashed so they would keep. For this work
younger seamen are used, they being considered more honest and
unspoiled than the older hands. I was not in line for the job.
However, we slipped appropriate advice to the yeomen on the sly.
Broomsticks were cut up in lengths a trifle shorter than the
sausages. The two ends of sausages were cut off and spliced to the
ends of the pieces of broomstick. The dummies were then tied up in
sail cloth in such a way that the ends could be inspected. After
this they were whitewashed. When the captain carefully counted the
one hundred and sixty sausages and inspected the unmistakable sausage
ends of each one, he said: "Thank God, boys, that you are still
honest."
Later on he stormed and raged when he had to revise this good opinion.
We contrived to swipe a number of hams out of the galley. The
captain accused Smutje, which made that honest sea cook so indignant
that he deserted the ship at Newcastle. Now there was no cook, no
Smutje. The captain asked for volunteers, but none came forward.
Ships' cooks as a rule think themselves indispensable and
irreplaceable, and make the sailors think so, when in fact they often
cannot do more than cook pea soup and fry doughnuts.
"If nobody wants to be the cook," said the captain, "I shall have to
commandeer one. Phelax, can you boil water?"
"Yes, sir."
"Into the galley, then, and beware if you burn the peas."
I did not know how long my new job would last, so I immediately began
to eat until I was ready to burst. My first pea soup was a great
success. I took care, and, to make myself popular, put in a hambone
and half a bottle of the captain's red wine. The captain and the
crew all said:
"What a soup, Phelax! You are a master cook."
The next day the bean soup burned. I had heard that in a case like
that the thing to do was to put some soda in. I didn't know how
much, so I tried two handfuls, and then added half a bottle of the
captain's red wine. The soup still tasted good, and they said:
"Phelax, you are a born cook."
At six bells the soda had done its work, and I was fired from the
galley. The captain was sick for three days. Nauke was ordered into
the galley, and proceeded to do pretty well.
Four weeks after Smutje left us, we got him back. The harbour police
found him in a hotel where he had been hired as a chef. He should
have waited for deserting until the last day before sailing time, as
most men do when they clear out. There is less chance of recapture
then.
After discharging cargo at Melbourne, we took on a shipload of
Australian coal and set sail for Caleta Buena in Chile. I'll never
forget that part of the voyage, because I managed to pass New Year's
in a Chilean dungeon. After a spree ashore, I determined to go back
to the ship in a certain particular direction. I went in that
direction until I came to a wall. I climbed over it and fell into a
pig sty. Hearing the grunts of the porkers, the owner of the place,
a very dignified gentleman, came out. I told him I wanted to go to
my ship.
"I will escort you to your ship," he offered with grave politeness.
With no less politeness, I accepted his kindness.
He led me to a house, in front of which stood a police guard. I was
astonished, but he invited me to enter. I did.
"This thief has tried to steal my pigs," he told the police officers
inside.
"I want to get back to my ship," I protested.
They threw me into a cell, where there were a number of others,
sailors among them, who had been celebrating New Year's Eve too well.
I fell asleep on a bench. I awakened. A woman was being hurled into
the cell. I fell asleep, and when I became conscious again, I found
that the new arrival had taken a place beside me, and fallen asleep
with her head in my lap. I raised her from my lap, to place her on
the bench. She yelled, "_Robadores!--caramba._" The guard came in,
and the señora, still shrieking, told him that I had beaten her.
They seized me and threw me down a dark stairway into a dungeon. I
fell over a mule harness into a pile of saltpetre dust. I put my
head on the harness and fell asleep again.
I stayed there, in the company of many very tame rats, for three
days. Then the mate came and got me out. The captain had been
informed on the first day that I was in the calaboose, but he said:
"Oh, Phelax! We have three days in port, and it won't hurt him to be
by himself a little until we sail."
With a cargo of saltpetre, we headed for Plymouth, and off the
Falkland Islands were caught in a dreadful hurricane. At first we
were able to run before the wind. The _Cæsarea_ was good at
scudding, a fast boat with the wind behind her. The pull of the
water at the stern varies greatly with different ships. With some it
drags back heavily. With others it falls readily away. On the other
hand, you must not run before the wind too long, or you may be unable
to heave to at will, and your ship may be overwhelmed by seas
overtaking her from astern and raking her deck from stern to bow.
Well, aboard the _Cæsarea_ we were caught in just this peril. The
seas were breaking over her. We hung out all the hawsers we had to
catch the waves astern.
Then we reached the centre of the storm. From that howling hurricane
of wind and rain we passed suddenly into a deathly calm. In the sky
above the stars gleamed down. The sea was like a kettle of boiling
water. Stirred up from the outer edges it came pouring in toward the
centre. The danger is greatest in the vortex of a hurricane. The
water rushes upon the ship from all sides. Lacking wind, the vessel
cannot be steered. It lies helpless and tossing. The rigging cannot
forever bear the strain of the tremendous and convulsive jerking and
rolling. We lost our top-masts and topgallant masts. They had stood
in the blasting wind and the head-on plunging of the ship, but could
not sustain the dizzy reeling at the centre. For a full half hour we
stayed in that circle of death, with its peaceful air and starry sky.
It seemed as though the ship were turned inside out. Then, with a
sudden blow, we were in the rush and wild fury of the wind again.
The remainder of the rigging, now thoroughly weakened, came down,
except the mainmast and its lower yards. The wreckage fell over the
stern and tangled with the rudder. The deck was flooded and there
seemed little hope of our riding the storm, when, as suddenly as it
had burst upon us, the wind shifted eight points, and soon we were
out of the hurricane.
We reached Plymouth after one hundred and twenty days, and only the
older mate, Nauke, and I remained aboard for another voyage. Smutje
left, but before going ashore said to me:
"Phelax, God knows whether we will ever see each other again. We
have been good comrades ever since that scoundrel stole the
flapjacks. You are an honest fellow. Therefore, let us go ashore
and have a 'pain expeller.'"
"All right, Smutje," said I, and we went ashore.
At a bar the cookie ordered up two big "pain expellers." The glasses
had just been put in front of us, when I thought to myself, "Phelax,
if you are an honest fellow, surely this is the time to show your
honesty."
"Smutje," I said, "I know who took your flapjacks."
"You know? Who was it?"
"Me."
"You?"
"Yes, me."
He took his stick, took his hat, turned his back on me, and walked
right out, never touching his pain expeller. I looked at the two
glasses, and thought to myself:
"Phelax, it is the reward of your honesty. First for your honesty
you get the compote of cranberries. Now you get two pain expellers
instead of one--for your honesty."
Eleven years later, as an officer in the Imperial Navy, I went from
Kiel to attend a dinner in Hamburg. At the Hamburg railway station,
as I called for a taxi, I heard a voice quite close to me.
"Hello there, Phelax."
"Hello, Smutje."
"How have you changed, Phelax! Are you an officer in the Imperial
Navy?"
"Yes, Smutje."
"How have you changed, Phelax! Do you still remember your old
cookie?"
"You bet I remember you, Smutje."
"Well, how have you changed, Phelax!"
"By Joe, Smutje, I have an invitation to dinner, but I'd rather have
dinner with you. Come along."
I took him in the taxi to Hotel Atlantic, the finest in Hamburg.
Bellboys came to open the door and usher us in. Cookie looked around.
"This too, Phelax?"
"Yes, Smutje."
"How have you changed, Phelax!"
I ordered champagne and cigarettes brought to a private room. There
Smutje and I sat talking over old times. The waiter brought the
wine. Cookie looked at the waiter's evening clothes in awe and then
looked at me.
"How have you changed, Phelax!"
He essayed to grow friendly with the waiter, and ventured a familiar,
joking remark. But the pompous waiter disdained to talk to such a
fellow, ignored him, and turned to me.
"Do you wish anything else, Count?"
"Hey, Phelax, did you hear what he called you? Count! Are you a
count?"
"Yes, Smutje."
"How have you changed, Phelax!"
He thought for a while, and then gave me his two hands.
"You swiped my fourteen pancakes, Phelax. I haven't forgotten it. I
shall be proud all my life that a count swiped my pancakes."
The _Cæsarea_ took on a cargo for New York. It consisted chiefly of
chalk packed in barrels. Abaft we had a load of arsenic, three
hundred tons packed in small barrels, which, because of its great
weight, took up little room. It was a badly stowed, ill-balanced
load. Of our new crew, some were sent from Hamburg and some were
signed in England. These latter were stokers and trimmers who had
never been on a sailing ship before. They could neither steer nor
set sails. They received higher wages than we, and yet we had to do
all the work. As a consequence, we treated them pretty roughly.
Even our Hamburg cabin boys, whose duty it was to clean the sailors'
quarters, were loath to do this for the green hands who knew less
than they.
The captain had hopes of a fast run to New York, which certainly
seemed an easy jump after our trip through the latitudes of the
hurricanes. But we had storm after storm from the first day out, and
could make scarcely any headway at all. With our worthless crew, it
was particularly miserable and trying. Christmas came, and with it
the first fine weather and a fair wind. After a long time, we could
set the topgallant sails again. It was fine to see the deck dry once
more. The captain said:
"This is a sign from God. Let us celebrate Christmas properly."
So thankful was he that the old skinflint gave orders for Christmas
cheer regardless of expense. In sailor fashion, we made a Christmas
tree out of a broomstick and decorated it with coloured paper. The
captain sent down a ham and a bowl of punch. When the candles were
lit, a committee called on him to wish him a Merry Christmas and
invite him to look at the tree. He accepted, and came down jovial
and merry. Our new Smutje brought the flowing bowl, and we stood in
line, each glass in hand, ready to toast the captain.
Then a white squall struck us.
A squall is called white when you have not seen it coming. It hit us
square on the bow. The ship shivered from one end to the other, and
was pushed stern-wise. The foremast went overboard. Its yard
smashed upon my bunk. The main topmast followed. Everything went to
pieces. Only the lower masts remained. We tumbled on deck. The
captain ran to the steering wheel, where the helmsman had been
knocked down and could not get up. (He died two days later.) The
combers were sweeping over the ship. With axes we cut away the
wreckage. The sails on the lower yards, the only ones that were in
place, had to be braced into the wind. In four hours we had the ship
under control again. The green crew had hidden themselves below. We
were so enraged with them now that they did not dare to show their
faces.
The storm turned into a hurricane. It blew throughout Christmas
night and the next day. On the second afternoon of the storm, at
eight bells, the steerage deck broke under the heavy load of arsenic.
That broke several rivets, and the ship began to leak. We hurried to
shift the barrels. Several had burst. We did not realize our danger
from the arsenic dust. It produced terrible inflammation, and after
several days most of us were badly swollen and bloated.
Nevertheless, the arsenic was stowed again.
The ship started going down at the bow, and the carpenter reported
three feet of water in the hold.
"Clear the pumps!"
We pumped, by Joe. The water in the hold grew deeper. We pumped
until we grew weak. They gave us liquor to strengthen us. When we
felt we could go on no longer, the cry went up:
"Grog ahoy!"
The grog made us pump again, although we doubted that we would win
out.
A breaker came over the deck and swept away the galley. The cookie
was making coffee for us and warming himself at the fire. He went
overboard with his stove, pots, pans, and the coal box. He hung for
a moment on the chimney, crying out for help at the top of his voice.
There was no chance to save him. An old sailmaker next to me shouted:
"Smutje, you're all right. You've got plenty of coal for your trip
to the devil."
That joke in the teeth of death made me shiver, since death was so
close to us all.
We worked at the pumps for forty-eight hours. The water in the hold
rose higher and higher. We were at the end of our rope. The
constant drink, too, had worn us out. We could pump no longer. The
captain, harpoon in hand, threatened:
"The one who stops pumping, I'll harpoon him."
A voice from abaft sang out:
"Lookout! Breaker!"
At the pumps we could not see the comber, but we heard it roaring.
It broke over us. Six men were swept away from the pumps. Two were
washed straight overboard. A third was thrown against the shrouds.
His arm was smashed, and then he was washed overboard. Another's
skull was fractured. Still another was left on the deck in a heap
with several broken bones. I was lucky. There were several timbers
on the deck. I braced myself with one foot between two of them. The
wave drove them together and pinned my foot. I fell, and my leg
snapped. The timbers still held my foot, while the swirling water
tugged and twisted me as though it were determined to carry me into
the sea.
The mate released me with a crowbar, and the captain had me taken to
his cabin. My leg was bent like an L.
"We have lost seven men," he said, "and we cannot afford to lose
another. Carpenter!"
They tied me to one wall and fastened a block and tackle to the
drawer of the sideboard. They hitched the tackle to the foot of my
broken leg, and pulled slowly until the leg was straight and the
bones in place. By Joe, it hurt. The carpenter measured me and made
a pair of splints, which they fastened tightly to the leg. The
splints were long enough to act as a wooden leg, and I could walk
around, painfully, but enough to be of some use.
The _Cæsarea_ was sinking now. We cleared the lifeboats. But first
we poured out oil to calm the sea. The boats were swung overboard
and lowered into the water with long ropes attached to them. A man
tied a rope around his body, jumped overboard, and swam over to the
boat and climbed in. The next one followed and was hauled in by the
first one. They tied a rope to me and threw it to the men in a boat.
Then they threw me overboard, and the men pulled me to the boat. One
boat was under the command of the captain. The first mate had the
other. We could make no headway rowing, so we simply held the boats
against the heavy sea to keep them from overturning. In spite of my
broken leg, I did my share of the work. The boats drifted apart. I
was in the captain's boat. The mate's boat was lost and never seen
again.
The storm lasted for four days. We had a little hardtack soaked with
salt water, and a small supply of fresh water. It was bitterly cold.
What wood we might have burned was soaking wet. It was almost
impossible to sleep. On the fourth day, we sighted a steamer. Its
course would take it some distance away from us, but we were certain
that we could hail it. With great jubilation, we hoisted a pair of
pants on a mast as a signal. We were certain we saw the vessel
change its course. We were overjoyed. Nevertheless, the steamer
gradually disappeared.
All our food was gone now, and only a very little water was left,
which the captain, with an inflexible will, doled out in minute
quantities. The weather was fair now, and we could sleep. Our
thirst increased. We sucked our hands to start the spittle in our
mouths. We wanted to drink sea water, knowing that it would hasten
our end. The captain encouraged us:
"Don't throw away your young lives. Look at me, an old man. I won't
give up."
On the sixth day, we decided to draw lots to determine which one
should be sacrificed so the others might drink his blood. No one
proposed a start of the drawing of lots, each afraid that he would
draw the fatal number. The authority of the captain still preserved
a remnant of drinking water to be doled out. Late in the afternoon,
we defied him, seized the water, and drank the last drop.
The next morning we sighted a steamer. We waved feebly, and she bore
down upon us.
At that moment our last strength left us. We were delirious with
joy, but we could not move. We lay dumped in our boat. The ship,
the Italian steamer _Maracaibo_, came alongside, and dropped rope
ladders. We were as if asleep. The _Maracaibo_ had to get its
cranes out and hoist us aboard like pieces of freight. Afterward, we
were unable to remember how we had reached the steamer's deck. We
slept for sixteen hours. When we awakened, all the doctor would give
us was a little milk. Three of our men died. In New York, where we
arrived the next day, they went ashore and gorged on ham and eggs.
It killed them.
I was taken to the German hospital. My leg was in such condition
that at first they thought they would have to amputate it, but
finally the head surgeon decided that he might be able to save it,
and he did save it. After eight weeks I left the hospital and was
ready to go to sea again.