[Illustration: THE “ROYALSHIRE”]
FIRST EDITION _November 1902_
_Reprinted_ _December 1902_
_Reprinted_ _December 1902_
_Reprinted_ _February 1903_
NEW (_lower priced_) EDITION _October 1903_
ROUND THE HORN
BEFORE THE MAST
By A. BASIL LUBBOCK
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
1903
_Printed in Great Britain_
TO
MY DEAR MOTHER
I DEDICATE THIS
BOOK
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
“FRISCO” 1
Choosing a Ship--Signing on--Don Henderson--At a Seaman’s
Tailor--First Day’s Work--Cleaning the Stringers--Sailors
_v._ Base-ballers at Cricket--The Seaman’s Institute--My
Carriboo Bag--A Sailors’ Concert--Emptying the Bilges--The
_Marlboro’ Hill’s_ Crew of Landlubbers--Yankee Brutality at
Sea--Chipping--Johnsen, the Swede.
CHAPTER II
OAKLAND CREEK AND PORT COSTA 39
A Lively Time crossing the Bay--Mooring Ship--Sea Serpents--An Old
South Seaman--More Cricket--The Bilges again--Lining the Hold--The
Art of Painting--Mosquitoes and Song--Bleeding the Grain--Bending
Sail--An Early Morning Picnic--Bathing in the Sacramento--A
Fatality--Ready for Sea--Taking in Stores--Our Crew come
Aboard--My Stewardship--The Return of the Californian Boys.
CHAPTER III
THE NORTH PACIFIC 72
Man the Capstan--Making Sail--Picking the Watches--Going About--My
Gaff-topsail--Timekeeping--The Binnacles--Matches--Dandyfunk and
Crackerhash--Dutchmen and Dagos--Johnsen’s Logbook--The Old Man’s
Models--The Bosun’s Songs--“Duckfoot Sue”--Crew complain of the
Food--Rows amongst the After gang--Peggy--Flying-Fish and Bosun
Birds--Lime-juice--Amateur Haircutters--Sharks and Pilot-Fish--In
the Doldrums--At the Braces in the Middle Watch--Deep-sea
Fishing--The Song of the Trade Wind--Heaving the Log--My First
Wheel--Fine Weather Kites--A “Jimmy Green.”
CHAPTER IV
THE SOUTH SEAS 121
Cross the Line--“Stand by your Royal Halliards”--Making
Rovings--Johnsen tries to Knife the Second Mate--Tarring
Down--Dancing in the Dog Watch--Sails--Discourses on Modern
Wind-jammers--Yankee Schooners--Clinching the Crossjack
Leech-line--The _Loudoun Hill_--Graining Dolphins--Our Farming
Bosun--A Queer Fish--British Sailors on British Ships--Yankee
Buckos--Pitcairn Island--“What ho, Piper!”
CHAPTER V
RUNNING EASTING DOWN 144
Grand Yachting--From the Bowsprit End--A Bad Squall--Fore-royal
blows away--On the Fore Upper-topgallant Yard--A Battle
with the Elements--Wilson and Myself on the Main-yard--Cape
Pigeons--Preparing for Cape Horn--Fog--Use of a Cowhorn at
Sea--Rotten Gaskets--In the Lazarette--Getting up Bread--Paraffiny
Sugar--Slumgullion--A Cape Horn Sunset--Arguments in the
Half-deck--The Stately Albatross--Our Hens--The “Roaring
Forties”--Famous Tea-Clippers--The _Thermopylæ_--A “Blue-nose”
Clipper--Rivalry between Watches--Checkerboard Crews--Negro
Crews--Burgoo--A Mollymawk Aboard--Colder Weather--Making
Fenders--Putting in Rovings--Bird-life in the Southern Ocean--Cape
Horn Hail-storms.
CHAPTER VI
OFF THE HORN 177
A big Beam Sea--Rolling both Rails Under--Port Watch washed away
from the Fore-braces--The Deck-bear--Dollops--Blood-stirring
Work--Main-deck under Water--Half-deck Water-logged--In
our Watch Below--Waking Mac--At the Lee Wheel--Cape Horn
Greybeards--Dodging the Seas--Don nearly Drowned in his
Lamp-locker--No Fresh Water--Standing by--Higgins in the
Lee Scuppers--Sunday Breakfast--Snugging Down--Turning up
Gear--Overboard--A Narrow Escape--An Unlucky Fall--Don Loses his
False Teeth aloft--Mountainous Seas--Pooped--“Sail ho!”--The
Music of the Gale--Chantying in Difficulties--A Huge Sea falls
Aboard--Retrieving the Lamps--All Hands on Deck--Terrific
Work--The _Royalshire_ on her Beam Ends--Hove-to--A Bad Middle
Watch--Make Sail Again--Chantying--Outward Bounders--Cape
Stiff--Old Man’s Yarns--Foot-gear.
CHAPTER VII
THE SOUTH ATLANTIC 239
On the Banks--A Low Glass--Blowing Again--I Fall and Shake the
Poop--Taylor’s Whitlow--Sea-Boils--Pipes growing Scarce--“Storm
along, Stormie”--The whole Crew washed away from the
Mainbrace--My knee damaged--The Bosun and Bower--Clark Russell
at Fault--Model-Making--Discussion on Flogging--An Albatross
Caught--Ill-health on Board--My Medicine Chest--A Dead Muzzler--An
Electric Storm--Jack o’ Lanterns--My poor Knee--Johnsen’s
Troubles--A Wild Highlander at Meals--A Prophet of Evil--Don and
Scar.
CHAPTER VIII
IN THE TROPICS 282
Old Slush and Greasy Food--A Fleet of Wind-jammers
collected by the Head-wind--Johnsen the Jonah--Washing
Clothes--Quartermaster--Amusements in the Night Watches--Painting
Down--The Frigate Bird--Ocean Races--Forecastle Artists--The
Contents of my Bunk--Taylor’s Backstays--Old Slush goes
Forward--Our new Cook--At our Prayers--Don in Disgrace--Oiling
Decks--Liverpool Hard-tack--Huge Shoal of Bonita--An Epidemic of
Cramps--The Art of Steering--Head-gear Scarce.
CHAPTER IX
THE WESTERN OCEAN 325
Shifting Sail Again--My Long Trick--Among the Western Isles--Slippery
Decks--At Work in the Hold--A Broken-down Steamer--Heavy
Gale--Between Two Seas--Loring Washed Out--Hove-to--A Pulling
Match--“Reuben Ranzo”--Fight with Bower on the Royal-yard--A
Midnight Brew--Grub running Short--Washing Decks in a
Gale--Wearing Ship--Old Man and Mate at Loggerheads--The
Lead-line--A Cause for Strong Language.
CHAPTER X
IN BRITISH WATERS 360
“The Coastwise Lights of England”--Queenstown--Away for
Birkenhead--News of the Boer War--A Christmas Dinner--A
Harbour Stow--A Sailor’s Plans--My Last Wheel--Befogged in the
Mersey--Nearly Run Down--“Leave Her, Johnnie, Leave Her”--Attempts
at Docking--Don’s Last Escapade--Fate of the _Royalshire_--The Old
Trail.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE “ROYALSHIRE” _Frontispiece_
FRISCO _To face page_ 22
MARKET STREET AND CALL BUILDING ” ” 26
FRISCO SWIMMING BATHS ” ” 48
FRISCO BAY ” ” 70
THE PILOT BOAT “BONITA” ” ” 78
CLINCHING THE CROSSJACK LEECHLINE 132
“ROYALSHIRE” UNDER FULL SAIL ” ” 144
THE ALBATROSS ” ” 164
AN AUSTRALIAN CLIPPER ” ” 168
CAPE HORN ” ” 232
A PASSING LIME-JUICER ” ” 284
A “DOWN-EASTER” ” ” 298
SHIFTING SAIL ” ” 326
MAP TO ILLUSTRATE AUTHOR’S VOYAGE
ROUND CAPE HORN _At the end_
ROUND THE HORN BEFORE THE MAST
CHAPTER I
“FRISCO”
“Serene, indifferent of Fate,
Thou sittest at the Western Gate;
Upon thy heights so lately won,
Still slant the banners of the sun;
Thou seest the white seas strike their tents,
O Warder of two Continents!
And scornful of the peace that flies,
Thy angry winds and sullen skies,
Thou drawest all things, small and great,
To Thee, beside the Western Gate.”
On Wednesday, 12th July 1899, I signed on before the mast on the
four-mast barque _Royalshire_ of Glasgow, which had just arrived in
Frisco from Japan, and was busy unloading the first cargo of Japanese
coal that had ever left the country.
I had just come out of the “Golden North,” having had several months
up in the Klondyke, where I experienced both the “midnight sun” and the
“midday night.” I had intended prospecting Vancouver Island for copper
during the rest of the summer, but the party having been broken up for
various reasons, I came down to San Francisco, meaning to ship on board
a South Sea schooner and proceed by slow stages to Australia; but after
a thorough search I failed to find a single South Sea trader in Frisco,
except the barque _Maura Al_, which ran to Honolulu with passengers, so
I decided to give up this plan.
I had long had a wish to sail before the mast, and witness real sea
life in all its dangers and hardships. The chief officer of one of
the Empress boats, those magnificent steamers of the Canadian Pacific
Railway, on my speaking to him of this wish, had told me that if I
shipped before the mast on a windjammer, I should find it a wonderful
experience, which, if I was not afraid of real muscle-trying work, and
was hardy enough to stand the bad food and other hardships, I should
look back upon with much pleasure.
As I was as fit as it was possible for any one to be, and felt sure
that nothing would come very hard after such an experience as I had
gone through in the Klondyke, I determined to ship home round the Horn
in one of the magnificent windjammers which lay in the port.
The next thing to do was to pick a good ship. There were several
four-mast barques--beautiful iron ships from the Clyde--and not a few
full-riggers and three-mast barques, all about to load grain for the
British Isles or Continent.
Though a very keen lover of the sea, and with a certain amount of
experience gained yachting and travelling, I really knew very little of
what a foremast jack’s life was on board a big deep-waterman. I knew
enough, however, not to ship before the mast on a ship with “down-east”
or “blue-nose” mates, who, though they are the finest seamen probably
in the world, are terrible “drivers,” and are a bit too free with
belaying pins, knuckle-dusters, and six-shooters to please me,--the
“gun-play” on board some “down-easters” being almost worthy of an
Arizona mining camp.
I also knew enough to find out before I signed on, whether the ship was
a hungry one or not, and whether her skipper drank.
I spent a whole morning prowling round the docks, and decided that the
_Royalshire_, _Lancing_, and _Loudon Hill_, all four-mast barques, were
the finest ships in port.
The _Royalshire_ I thought the finest looking alow and aloft, and from
the spread of her yards she had evidently got a larger sail plan than
either of the others. She only had one defect that I could take hold
of, and that was a rather heavy stern, though this was made up for
by one of the sweetest entrances I have ever seen; the curve of her
cutwater and her bow lines were a delight to the eye, and I at once
decided to make inquiries about her.
On the wharf, tallying the carts of coal as they were loaded from the
shute, was a small red-headed Scotchman.
From him I found out that she was reckoned one of the crack ships of
the “Shire Line” of Glasgow, that her captain and officers were all
Scotch, and that, though not noted for her good feeding, she could
hardly be called a “hungry ship.”
My red-headed friend answered every question very readily, and gave the
ship and her captain a first-rate character. He evidently thought that
I wanted a passage in her, and told me that I could see the captain on
the following day about eleven o’clock, before he went ashore.
Thanking him for his information, I asked him what position he held on
board.
He replied, “third mate,” and told me that she carried four mates, and
also that the whole of her crew had run on arriving in Frisco.
“That does not look as if she was such a comfortable ship,” I said.
“Weel, I dinna think ye’ll find a vessel in port with her hands
aboard--all foremast hands run in Frisco--I’ve half a notion to run
mysel’, the wages is that gran’ sailing oot o’ Frisco; an A.B. gets
four pund a month, it’s naw great wonder crews run,” he replied. And
with this I left him and returned to my hotel, well pleased with my
day’s work.
Lo and behold, the first thing I saw on returning at the appointed
time, was the captain and my red-haired friend shaking their fists in
each other’s faces on the poop, and “cussing around” to beat creation.
From what I could hear of it, the third mate was asking for his
discharge in language both “painful and free,” but without success, for
presently the captain went below, and he came ashore, evidently off up
town.
As he stepped off the companion ladder, I buttonholed him, and asked
him when I could see the captain.
“The old man will be oot preesently, if ye just wait a wee while,” he
answered hurriedly, and away he went.
As I stood on the wharf watching the coal being unloaded, I noticed
that a small man, with a thick red moustache and kind, light-blue
eyes, seemed to be bossing things on board.
After a bit, seeing me loafing around, he called to me and asked me
what I wanted. I told him I was waiting to see the captain.
“Come aboard; he’s having his breakfast now but he’ll be going ashore
directly, and then you can see him.”
I came aboard, and spent a couple of hours waiting for the old man to
come on deck. For some reason or other he was later than usual going
ashore, and it was nearly one o’clock before he appeared.
Meanwhile I loafed about the deck, keenly interested in everything.
I gave the red-moustached man a cigar, and found out that he was the
mate, which bit of news caused me to look him over very carefully, and
I decided that I liked the cut of his jib.
He had got a nice face, with a steady, kindly eye, and from what I
could see, he had a temper to match. In the short talk I had with him
he was all civility, and I congratulated myself on hitting upon a ship
with such a mate. Of course I knew enough not to be too sanguine;
many a sailor, who ashore or in port is as mild and quiet as a lamb,
directly he gets to sea, for no apparent reason, turns into a fiend
incarnate. I felt sure, however, that this man was not one of that sort.
At noon “eight bells” were struck, and the men came up from the
after ’tween-decks, where they had been cleaning the coal out of the
stringers.
They consisted of the fourth mate, carpenter, sailmaker, an apprentice
out of his time, and the nipper, as an apprentice on his first voyage
is called.
The nipper, a boy of sixteen, was a picturesque figure, with a face
as black as a nigger minstrel’s, from the coal, surmounted by a red
tam o’shanter; he was full of fun, and I found out afterwards that his
father was a clergyman in Kent.
I’ll bet he would have stared if he could have seen his son then in
grimy dungarees and jumper, as I’ve no doubt the last time he saw him
was in a brass-bound serge suit and a deep-sea cap, one mass of gold
braid, with the badge of the “Shire Line” glittering resplendent upon
it.
The stevedores at work on the coal in the mainhold also knocked off,
and went ashore for their dinner.
I was beginning to think the captain was going to stay below all day,
when he appeared.
He was a keen-faced, middle-aged Scotchman, of medium height, with a
glitter of steel in his eye, and I put him down in my mind as a “hard
nut” after one look at him.
As he came off the poop I tackled him, telling him that I wanted to
sign on before the mast.
After scanning me curiously for a moment or two, he asked, “Can ye
climb up there?” pointing to the mizen-royal yard.
I had never been aloft in my life, but I knew that I had got a good
head from my prospecting experiences in the mountains, where, looking
for quartz reefs, one constantly takes terrific risks, especially
rock-climbing; a very different job to climbing the Alps with a guide
who knows every bit of the ground.
So I answered in the affirmative with great confidence. This was good
enough for him, and he gave me the address of his shipping agent, who
would sign me on, as he explained that if he signed me on himself
without the shipping agent and it was found out, the shipping agents
would turn against him, and the next time he came to Frisco he would
probably not be able to get a crew.
Away I went, and in an hour’s time had turned into an “ordinary
seaman,” signed on for two pounds a month for a passage round the Horn,
calling at Queenstown for orders, either for the British Isles or
Continent.
The shipping agent had got another victim with him, an Englishman, by
name Don Henderson, a man who had turned his hand to pretty nearly
everything--singing in the opera in New York, teaching swimming at
the Frisco baths (the finest in the world), mixing wine in Southern
California, gold prospecting in Arizona and Montana, lumbering in
Louisiana, farming and cow-punching from Texas to the Line--were but a
few of the things he had done.
He had had rather a bad time of it lately, having had to give up the
wine-mixing, where he was doing very well, as he got knocked over with
a very bad bout of fever; only half recovered from the fever, he hung
on at Frisco, living by means of his wits and free lunch counters,
until it struck him that he would try and get home, and see if he could
get hold of some money which was due to him.
He decided to go before the mast--a way not exactly new to him, as
he had come home from New York in the _Umbria_ before the mast; and
without much trouble he got an introduction to the shipping agent from
a pal, and the thing was done.
As Englishmen in the Colonies will, Don and I immediately palled up
together, and were very pleased to find we were both going on the same
ship, as we had a good deal in common, both being English Public School
men, and both knowing how dull it is living or camping for any length
of time with men with whom you have got nothing in common.
I once shared a canvas bunk for a fortnight with a man who had a
reputation of having killed twelve men. One would have thought that a
man like this would have been an interesting companion to yarn with,
but not a bit of it; he only had two ideas in his head, one was whisky,
and the other whittling wood.
He was a silent man, very slow of speech, but quick enough with a
six-shooter; as harmless and quiet as a prairie dog except when he
had a skinful of “nosepaint,” on which occasions he was like a busted
volcano or a wounded grizzly, a-raging and tearing around something
sinful to see, and a scandal to a quiet neighbourhood.
Don and I were both in pretty good spirits, and exchanged chaff with
the clerks of the Consulate.
The ceremony of signing on was soon got through, somebody gabbled off
the “ship’s Articles” to us. I caused some amusement by giving the
“Bachelors’ Club, Piccadilly,” as my address, and Don raised a laugh by
making his mark, a huge, straggly cross, as he pretended he could not
write.
Pocketing our month’s advance, we gave the shipping agent a drink, he
in return giving us the address of a seaman’s tailor, and telling us
also to be sure and get aboard the following noon. This we promised to
do, and then we went off together to do our shopping.
Few landsmen know that a common sailor before the mast has to provide
all his own clothes, his soap, matches, eating utensils, blankets, and
bedding.
Don and I were soon hard at work bargaining with as precious a robber
of the innocents as I have ever met.
Luckily for us we were not poor, ignorant, foremast jacks, whom these
landsharks simply prey upon, but both fellows who had knocked about a
good deal.
We soon had his prices down, and our purchases were rubber sea-boots,
blue jerseys, overalls, heavy clothing for the Horn, soap, towels,
matches, and plug tobacco.
Then we went off to buy something to eat and drink out of. From
Klondyke experience, I bought the largest graniteware plate with the
highest rim I could get, and also a huge pannikin.
By the time we had got everything we wanted, the sun was beginning to
go under.
We determined to do this our last evening as gentlemen, in some style,
so we dined at the Palace, and went to the opera afterwards, finishing
up with an excellent supper.
_Thursday, 13th July._--We turned out fairly early, meaning to go on
board about eleven.
Taking a last stroll before going on board, we began trying the
“nickel machines” at the cigar stores; our luck was terrific wherever
we went, every time we got two or more cigars; the way we turned up
three of a kind, straights, flushes, and full houses, made us wish that
we were sitting down to a game of poker, and by the time we were ready
to go on board, we had each got thirty cigars in our pockets.
We hired an express cart, and, piling it with our luggage, drove down
to the ship in style.
The crew and stevedores on the _Royalshire_ stared in amazement as our
craft, with its huge pile of kit and dunnage bags, hove in sight.
But the mate was ready for us, and told us to get into working togs and
turn to at one o’clock.
We packed our truck (British Columbian for “carried our baggage”) into
the port forecastle.
One o’clock found me on the wharf in an old flannel shirt, cowboy hat,
and well-worn pair of overalls--the same had seen a lot of service
in the Klondyke and on the prairie, where I had bought them, and had
lasted twice as long as English dungarees.
Alongside of me was a big stack of lumber in long inch and half-inch
planks, for lining the hold with. This must be done before a ship is
allowed to load grain.
These planks I had to pass aboard through a port, which, as the tide
flowed, got higher and higher above me.
At six o’clock our day’s work was over, and I for one was quite ready
to knock off, for the lumber was not light, and so rough that it tore
my hands to bits and filled them with splinters.
On going to the galley for our grub, we were presented with a kid of
meat and potatoes, and had our pannikins filled with a queer-tasting
liquid which the cook, a slab-footed and extraordinary German, tried to
make us understand in broken English was tea.
“What is this stuff?” said Don, pointing to the contents of his
pannikin.
“Dot ist ze tea.”
“The what?”
“Ze tea, I dell you, for zu drinken!”
“It’s not medicine, is it?”
“Nein; ze tea, I dell you; ze tea, ze tea!”
“What is tea?” asked Don, solemnly.
“Vot is tea! you not know! vy tea is tea; ze tea for zu drinken.”
Don ended by nearly worrying that wretched Dutchman off his head.
“Tea, is it?”
“Tea, zat is vat it is; ze tea for zu drinken.”
“Do you mean to say you call that tea?”
“For shor’ zat is tea, very fine tea.”
“Then why on earth didn’t you say so before?” With this we retired to
the forecastle, which den we had all to ourselves, the crew having run.
The meat we found was fresh, as, being in port, we got shore rations;
but sailors as a rule prefer the ship’s salt meat to the fresh meat
which they get in port, as this fresh meat is the cheapest that can be
bought, in fact nothing but the refuse bits from the butchers.
But Don and I were hungry after our four hours’ work, and finished it
all up.
After our meal we started in and got things shipshape, choosing our
bunks, into which we hove our “donkey’s breakfasts,” as sailors call
their straw mattresses, and stowing away our things.
_Friday, 14th July._--We were turned out by the night-watchman at 6.30,
and told that we had got to turn to at seven o’clock.
We had not much time to lose, as we had to wash, dress, and get our
breakfast in less than half an hour. This at first sight would appear
to be a bit of a rush, but it was not, for washing consisted of a rough
sluice down with salt water, gained by lowering a bucket overboard, and
dressing was but slipping on a pair of overalls, a flannel shirt, and
foot gear.
For breakfast, we got half a pannikin of hot liquid each, some “wet
hash,” and some “hard-tack.”
“Wet hash” is broken-up beef and potatoes in hot water, with, perhaps,
an onion thrown in: occasionally, however, we got “dry hash,” which I
much preferred.
Dry hash is simply minced meat and mashed potatoes, and I believe goes
by the name of “shepherd’s pie” ashore.
As to what the hot liquor was at first, we were not quite sure.
“I suppose it’s another brew of what the cook calls ‘ze tea,’ only a
bit lighter in colour,” said Don, sipping it. “I don’t detect much
difference in the taste; I’ve got a pretty keen palate, and but for a
slight flavouring of garlic, I’m willing to bet it’s ‘ze tea.’”
“I’m inclined to think it’s coffee myself: it’s got a sediment of flour
which seems to remind me of the slumgullion I’ve drunk at different
times in mining camps,” I answered.
“I think you are wrong. You don’t get me to believe that a hard nut of
a section boss like our old man is going to pay us two pounds a month,
and throw in two kinds of liquor as well, don’t you believe it; he’s
got his eye square on the almighty dollar, and he ain’t going to chuck
his dust around in no such lordly style as that.”
“And I say it’s a full house against a pair of jacks that it’s coffee,
because why--”
“Turn to!” said the mate, poking his nose in at the door, and out we
had to trundle.
We were soon hard at work cleaning the Japanese coal out of the
stringers in the after-hold, down in the gloomy depths of the ship.
Each man was given a broom-end and a bit of rag or canvas, and woe
betide the unlucky one who overlooked a small piece of coal stuck in
the stringers, or who did not wipe off every speck of coal-dust, for
the lynx-eyed mate was sure to spot it.
Here we worked all day in the semi-darkness of the hold, which was only
half lighted by the open after-hatch.
Occasionally one of us had to shovel coal for a while, which soon finds
out the weak muscles of the back.
We worked hard, with never a spell, for the mate was a great lover of
work, always taking a hand himself and doing more than any of us. I
found my hands very sore and blistered from handling the rough lumber
yesterday, but comforted myself with the fact that they would very soon
get hard and would be fit for anything before we sailed.
At twelve o’clock we were knocked off work for the “dinner hour,” and
how pleased I was to come up into the sunshine again!
I enjoyed that dinner (the midday meal is always called dinner on board
ship), and especially the smoke after it, as I have seldom enjoyed a
meal, refuse meat and irrigated potatoes though it was. Then at it we
went again until 5.30, when we were sent on deck to clear up.
The decks were swept, and any loose gear put away in the bosun’s
locker, and as the factory whistles screeched out six o’clock, the
mate said quietly, “That’ll do.” We were free, and our day’s work was
finished.
The first thing to do was to wash, for we were all as black as chimney
sweeps, and our eyes and ears were full of coal-dust.
We got a couple of buckets of fresh water from the pump, which was just
aft of the mizen-mast, and soon turned ourselves from black into white
men again.
On going to get the grub from the galley, I found that I was right
about the queer liquid we had drunk in the morning; it was coffee all
right, according to the cook.
As soon as we had demolished our supper, Don and I dashed ashore, and
anybody who saw us seated in a couple of stalls at the opera listening
to “Carmen” would have been very much surprised if they had seen us,
black and grimy coalheavers as we were, an hour or so back.
On our way back to the ship I bought some Alaska bread and tinned
plums, to augment our scanty fare.
Both these I can thoroughly recommend. Alaska bread is made of ginger,
and is like sponge cake; it lasts for ever, never gets stale, and is
exceedingly cheap. Tinned plum puddings, I admit, were luxuries; they
were delicious eaten cold, and I thought they were as good as any plum
pudding I had ever eaten.
“I calculate,” said Don to me as we turned in, “that you save quite
a lot of breath calling me Don instead of Henderson, whilst I’m all
behind the game calling you Lubbock. What was the name your godfathers
and godmothers gave you? I’m rising thirty-nine, and can’t afford to
waste my breath any longer on a jaw-breaking name like Lubbock.”
“Jehoshaphat Nebuchadnezzar are my Christian names; if you think you
can save breath on either of them you are welcome to try,” I replied
laughing.
“No, bar rot, you old deadbeat; if you don’t tell me, I shall call you
‘Jos,’ short for Jehoshaphat.”
“Well, what do you think of ‘Basil’ for a fine, high-sounding, bang-up,
number one, top-side, high-born Christian name?”
“Too good for a bally old ruffian like you. Dashed if I don’t call you
Bally, it’s short for Basil, just as Johnny is short for John.”
And Bally I remained the whole time I was on the _Royalshire_, though
some of the crew called me “Klondyke.”
_Saturday, 15th July._--The mate told us, while we were at work this
morning, that the captain had given leave for Rowland, the apprentice
out of his time, the nipper, and myself to play cricket in the
afternoon for the “British Sailing Ships” against the “Californian
Cricket Club,” over at Oakland.
This was a great bit of luck. Our old man and the mate were both very
interested in cricket, which accounted for our being allowed to go.
How they found out that I played cricket I don’t know, as Don, who was
also a cricketer, was never asked to take part in any game, though he
would have been a valuable addition to the “British Sailing Ships’”
eleven.
Our eleven assembled about 1.30, at the Institute, and were taken over
by the ferry to Oakland by Mr Karney, one of the two clergymen of the
Institute.
We had a most exciting match, just beating our opponents by two runs.
Both teams were very, very scratch; the Californian Club were the best
side, and as half their men were base-ballers, their fielding was
superb.
The wicket was on cocoanut matting and concrete, and the ball came
along plain and easy, but the out-fielding was very difficult, being
very sandy and almost rocky ground in places.
The scoring was not very high, I managed to notch 11 and 24 in my two
innings, getting caught beautifully each time by a base-baller in the
deep field.
After a most enjoyable game, in which we _Royalshires_ well accounted
for our fair share of runs and wickets, we crossed to Frisco again, and
sat down to a huge tea at the Institute.
Few people know what splendid work the Institute to British Seamen is
performing all over the world, and in no place more than in Frisco,
where it has perhaps more to contend against than anywhere else.
It is chiefly apprentices whom it benefits; and but for it, I am sure,
many and many an apprentice, but an ignorant boy fresh from his English
home, would have gone utterly to the bad in the great seaport towns of
the world.
If an apprentice runs away from his ship, the clergymen of the
Institute search until they find him, and over and over again persuade
him to return. Even if they cannot persuade him to go to sea again,
they go to endless trouble to get him a job on shore, or arrange to
send him home.
These institutes are like clubs, where apprentices can spend their
evenings reading, playing billiards, or with music, or even gymnastics
or boxing; and but for them the apprentices would loaf about the town,
spending their money in all kinds of sailor’s hells and dance halls,
where they would run great dangers, not only of being stripped of every
cent they possess, but even their clothes, and could count themselves
lucky if they got safe back to their ship with a whole skin; this,
without speaking of the unmentionable experiences of drink and women,
they would have in such haunts of vice.
There is no more dangerous waterfront in the world than that of Frisco;
many a mate or apprentice has disappeared never to be seen alive again,
and often his body would be found, stripped and mutilated, floating in
the Sacramento.
Not only is the Institute a refuge for mates and apprentices, but
sailormen of every nationality are welcome there.
Most nights they provide you with a splendid tea for the huge sum
of five cents, and certain nights a week the tea is extra fine, and
is free. Once a week a very good concert takes place, in which both
outsiders and talented ones amongst the ships perform.
As for the clergymen at Frisco who carry on this noble work, mere words
cannot express the admiration I feel for them.
Their daily duties require an infinity of tact, dogged perseverance,
and courage, not to despair at some of the setbacks they get. They
have to be hardened to every kind of insult; such an incident as being
kicked off a Yankee floating hell, or having to use their fists in a
real stand-up fight, being by no means unusual in their daily work.
They have to contend against the crimps and boarding-house masters, the
saloon and dancehall keepers, all of whom stick at nothing from bribing
and perjury to cutting throats.
Frisco is one mass of gambling hells, dancehalls, low drinking-saloons,
and such like places, which only keep going by bribing the highest in
authority to the lowest.
The policemen pay 500 dollars for their posts, so lucrative are they in
bribes and blood-money.
So much for the Institute to British Seamen, and the extraordinary
good work it is doing; of course it scatters tracts a bit, but the
tract-mongers at home send them out for distribution, and there would
be a terrible row if they found out that they were not distributed.
[Illustration: FRISCO]
No one hates a tract maniac more than myself, with their absurdly and
often blasphemously worded literature; of course they are pretty
harmless, except that they bother and worry poor strangers with their
everlasting cant.
I was once in a railway carriage with a tract maniac and another man.
The maniac started straight away assuring the other man that he was
bound to go straight to hell if he did not mend his ways, at the same
time pressing various coloured tracts into the man’s unwilling hands.
At last the worm turned.
“I guess, stranger,” he said, “these here be my passports to that there
hell that you say I am going to sure.”
(But I am clean off the line altogether, and must make a cast back and
see if I can pick up the scent again.)
Well, I was talking about the Institute. There is no doubt that this
tract-scattering has done the institutes a great deal of harm and
gained them a bit of a bad name in places; but this is the fault of the
spindle-legged, black-gloved tract fraternity at home, not the fault of
the hard-working, fearless, and undaunted clergymen stationed at the
different institutes.
The Institute at Frisco, for instance, in no way thrusts religion upon
you. It did not matter whether you were a Hindoo Lascar, a Mahommedan
Arab, or a Heathen Chinee, you get the same welcome.
On Sundays there was a Church of England service in the Institute,
which you attended or you didn’t just as you chose.
To Messrs Karney and O’Rorke, the gallant workers in Frisco, go my
heartfelt thanks for their many and great kindnesses to me, and my very
best wishes that their great work may prosper--that work of helping and
looking after the great company of our British mercantile marine.
_Sunday, 16th July._--How I did enjoy our long lie in bed, my bed being
especially more comfortable than anybody else’s, for I slept in my
carriboo-skin sleeping-bag. This bag I got at a bargain. I gave a pair
of 12-lb. blankets for it to a man who was camped alongside me at Lake
Bennett, on the way into the Klondyke. The very next day I was offered
sixty dollars for it, but it was worth a great deal more than that, and
but for it I should have been in a bad way many a time.
I have slept on ice in it, and have crawled into it on the muddy floor
of a log hut, through the leaky roof of which the rain poured down; in
the morning I found the bag in a pool of water, but inside I was quite
dry. Where would blankets, even with waterproof sheets, have been in a
case like that?
This bag was made in Newfoundland by the Indians from the skins of a
couple of carriboo deer, sewn together with the sinews of the animal,
and Indian cured.[1]
[1] I have since found this bag invaluable whilst at the front in South
Africa.
In the very cold weather in the Klondyke, I used to fill it as tight as
it would pack with blankets, and, with my head covered up, slept out in
the open with the thermometer well on the wrong side of zero.
The nipper came and turned Don and myself out at 8 A.M. to hoist the
ensign and house flag, as it was Sunday.
Don and I spent the morning washing clothes, a regular Sunday
occupation on board ship as it is in camp.
In the afternoon we went ashore, and taking a car went into the park
and listened to the band, which was an excellent one; and in the
evening we looked into the Olympia, a free music hall where, provided
you spent five cents on a glass of beer, you could sit comfortably and
smoke whilst a first-class variety show was performed before you.
_Monday, 17th July._--Cleaning the stringers all day, and getting
into fine condition. Karney came on board to-day to ask me to dine
with him, and was rather amused when he was shown a blackface, grimy
ruffian, in very dirty dungarees and a slouch hat.
I shall never forget that dinner though: he took me to the top of the
“Call” building, where there is a very good restaurant.
Here, added to an excellent dinner, you get a superb view over Frisco
in every direction; but I had come to eat, and eat I did, everything
in the _table-d’hôte_, and countless plates of nice white bread and
butter, neither of which I had even seen on board the _Royalshire_.
My favourite dish on the West Coast of America is “hot cakes and maple
syrup,” not “flapjacks” made out of flour, baking powder, and water,
on which one lives in the Klondyke, but batter cakes, smoking hot, and
smothered in butter and maple syrup.
You can get as much as you can eat of these, with a good cup of coffee
to wash them down, for ten cents at any restaurant in Frisco, and they
are very satisfying to a hungry man, filling up the corners so well!
Every night when Don and I wander ashore after the day’s work is over,
we have a go of hot cakes, and sometimes more.
[Illustration: MARKET STREET AND CALL BUILDING]
Unfortunately, we are running rather short of ready cash, and so are
economising rigidly; Don’s boots have fallen off his feet in pieces, so
we had to provide him with new ones, and now all our spare cash is
to go for jam and plum puddings!
_Tuesday, 18th July._--Cleaning coal out of the stringers all day.
The darky steward has cleared out, and a German has appeared, who,
according to himself is a man of vast attraction and many parts, and
his wonderful stock of lies would make even Kruger or Li Hung Chang
green with envy.
_Wednesday, 19th July._--The after and main holds are now quite clean
after a hard day’s work.
There is a concert every Wednesday at the Institute, and performers
from the ships are eagerly sought after.
Don and I went to-day for the first time, and Don proved a great catch,
as he has a vast _répertoire_ of songs, comic and otherwise, and
accompanies himself.
We found that the two favourites with sailors are “Tommy Atkins” and
“Eliza ’Awkins.”
It was a very amusing concert, and ended with a hauling chanty, that
good old stager “Blow, Boys, Blow,” all hands tailing on to the end of
the rope, and running three fat apprentices up by means of a hook in
the ceiling and a block and tackle.
_Thursday, 20th July._--My only entry in my log to-day was a most
important one, namely, “We laid in a stock of jam.” This jam Don and I
meant to keep until we got to sea; but, alas, when we finally did sail,
there were only four small pots left.
_Friday, 21st July._--At work to-day cleaning out the bilges in the
after and main holds. This is a most filthy job; the bilges are filled
with a thick, greeny-yellow fluid, the refuse of the different cargoes,
case oil, rotten wheat, etc. We have to shovel it out with anything we
can get hold of, empty sardine tins being at a premium, and where it is
thicker and more foul than usual you have to use your hands in scooping
it out.
Someone stands at the opening of the hatch and hauls the buckets up as
fast as they are filled, dumping the foul muck overboard into the bay,
which, if you please, supplies the city with water.
By the time that we had been six hours at this, the water all round the
ship was covered by a mass of slimy, yellow and green decayed matter,
which smelt worse than anything I have ever smelt yet.
The four-mast barque _Earl of Dunmore_ came into the wharf next to
us this morning, fifty-two days from Newcastle, Australia. She is
nothing like such a fine ship as the _Royalshire_; though her tonnage
is greater, her masts and spars are half the size of ours. She is a
Glasgow-built ship, like the _Royalshire_, and is overrun by a wild
crowd of Scotch apprentices.
_Saturday, 22nd July._--The _Marlboro’ Hill_, which has been lying in
the stream for several days trying to get a crew, has at last got one.
This fine four-mast barque had a very bad name, and her crew ran
directly she arrived in Frisco; and the mate, having had a row with the
captain, left her also.
Her old man has the reputation of being a very hard nut, and some
people thought he would be months without getting a crew, as men are
very scarce just now.
Every Saturday afternoon we wash down decks fore and aft, and put
everything into spick and span order for Sunday.
We are waiting now for our “stiffening,” as we dare not take our last
400 tons of coals out until we get a like weight of grain, as there is
no ballast to speak of, and the ship might turn turtle on the way up to
Port Costa if there happened to be a fair breeze blowing.
All ships loading grain from Frisco have to go up the Sacramento and
load at Port Costa and Crockett, where the railway deposits the grain.
Our cargo, it is rumoured, is to be barley, so we shall be a light
ship, and probably cranky.
We had a merry evening at the Institute, singing and feeding, Don being
to the fore with a new lot of songs.
_Sunday, 23rd July._--Delicious weather, sunshine and blue sky, without
being too hot. As usual, I spent the morning washing clothes.
I dined with O’Rorke, the boss sky-pilot at the Institute; he is an old
Etonian, and I am not certain if he was not at Eton with me.
The first time he saw me, I was as black as a sweep, shovelling coal;
but he spotted a faded Eton Rambler ribbon on my dirty old slouch hat,
and inquiring from the captain, found out who I was. Once before,
up in the Klondyke, my faded Rambler ribbon caused me to make the
acquaintance of a fellow old Etonian.
The new mate of the _Marlboro’ Hill_, which sails to-morrow, was also
dining with O’Rorke. He seems to have had a hard time with his new men.
He found the ship swarming with wild apprentices, who had been having
a fine time, with no one to keep them in order; and of his new crew,
hardly a man has been to sea before; most of them are farm hands, and
six of them had to be put in irons at once, including two ex-clergymen
and two ex-bartenders.
He said they had great trouble bending sail, and took the whole of
Saturday afternoon bending the mainsail.
With such a crew as that, a captain and his mates must use strong
measures if they hope ever to get their ship safe home; but the fault
is generally the captain’s if he cannot get sailors to ship, and has to
pay blood-money to the boarding-house keepers to “shanghai” farm hands
and dead-beats aboard.
But this is a big subject, and few people know that this sort of thing
still goes on in big ports like Frisco, New York, and Philadelphia.
Very different to that of the _Marlboro’ Hill_ was the case of the
_Benares_, another Scotch four-mast barque, a magnificent ship with
several record passages to her credit.
She left about a week ago with every man on board a Britisher, and the
same crew that she had left England with.
This, of course, was a great feather in her captain’s hat, for most
crews run at Frisco, as A.B. wages are four pounds a month out of
Frisco, as compared with two pounds ten out of British ports.
It is nothing unusual, either, for a ship to sail with several of her
crew in irons. The _Royalshire_ sailed from Philadelphia this very
voyage with half her men in irons.
The second mate told me of a ship sailing out of Philadelphia, whose
crew were shipped on board drunk, and were chucked into the sail-locker
and shut in there by her two mates, who were both very strong men.
After keeping them there for twenty-four hours, the two mates went in
amongst them with belaying pins and laid about the poor devils with
such effect, that the sails they were lying upon were soon covered with
blood, and two of the victims succumbed to their injuries.
There are quantities of stories of this kind, but nearly always on
Yankee ships; for on board a British ship a sailor can get justice in
port, and a captain or mate knows he will get heavy punishment for
brutality.
A British ship came in here yesterday from Cape Town, where her mate
had been hanged for killing a man during the passage there.
One of the biggest bits of brutality I have heard of, was the case of
an apprentice on a ship outward bound round the Horn.
This poor little chap was shut in the hencoop with the hens for the
whole passage of one hundred and fifty days, and was never allowed to
come out, even to wash himself. When the ship arrived in Frisco, the
boy was in a truly pitiable condition; but I am glad to say that the
captain and mates got it very hot, as the case was taken into court.
There is even a still more terrible case of a boy who was lashed to the
mizen fife-rail all through the bitter passage round the Horn. It was a
wonder that he did not die of exposure; for to be wet and half-drowned
in that awful weather, day after day, night after night, unable to
lie down to rest, unable to sit or even stand on account of the seas
continually washing his feet from under him, this terrible experience
many a strong man would not have survived.
It was a wonder that the boy kept his senses, but he lived through it
all, only to die before getting into port, from neglected cold and
pneumonia contracted whilst lashed up thus off the Horn.
If ever a boy was murdered it was that boy. On some of the Yankee hell
ships the things that go on are almost incredible, and the captains
have to be skilled surgeons to cope with the work of destruction
wrought by their mates.
Legs and arms broken were considered nothing, ribs stamped in by heavy
sea-boots had to mend as best they could, faces smashed like rotten
apples by iron belaying pins had to get well or fear worse treatment,
eyes closed up by a brawny mate’s fist had to see. There have been many
instances of men triced up in the rigging, stripped, and then literally
skinned alive with deck-scrapers.
Thus the reputation of American ships has got so bad that none but a
real tough citizen, or a stolid, long-suffering Dutchman (as sailors
call all Germans, Swedes, Norwegians, or Russian Finns), will ship in
them.
On board these “down-easters” and “blue-nose” craft, where discipline
is enforced by a plentiful use of belaying-pin, knuckle-duster, and
boot, the work done is stupendous, and the ship is certainly kept in a
wonderfully trim state.
Of course there is also a certain amount to be said on the side of
the captains and mates, as nowadays some crews are composed of such
villainous scoundrels, that unless you take a high hand with them, and
show you are not to be trifled with, they would soon take advantage of
what they would call a “softy,” and a reign of terror would begin, any
sort of discipline would be impossible, the men would do just as much
work as they felt inclined for, and they would openly sneer and scoff
at you if ordered to do anything they did not wish.
_Monday, 24th July._--Thank goodness, we have finished with the hold
for the present, and to-day we are all over the side on stages,
chipping the rust off the plates preparatory to giving the ship a coat
of paint.
This is a very pleasant change, and it is quite delicious working in
the open air and sunshine after the gloom of the stuffy hold. But now,
instead of getting our eyes filled with coal-dust, they get bombarded
by bits of rusty iron.
Chips wears goggles for protection; and I tried to find my snow
goggles, but not being able to, had to do without.
Chipping is not nearly so simple as it looks. To begin with, the
hammers are by no means light, and I found that at the end of my first
day’s chipping, my wrist was very stiff.
If you hit too hard, you make dents in the iron; if you hit too soft,
you get nothing done.
Don and I, though we worked like furies, found that we could not keep
up with the others, who did not seem to be working hard at all.
We started chipping from the port bow, and as soon as a plate was
chipped and rubbed smooth, it was immediately painted.
We were a very cheerful party. Don and I started singing choruses
at the top of our pipes in time to the chipping. The mate, who was
prowling about the deck, came to the side and watched us in amazement,
but said nothing.
The second mate, who is a real white man, does not mind, though his
language is often forcible. Rowland, who had been degraded from his
post of night watchman because he was ashore till two o’clock one
night, joined in with a will, and Mac, the fourth mate, was also
induced to tune up when he saw that nothing happened.
Chip! chip! chip! And it’s Blow, my bully boys, blow! As we were not
under the eyes of the mate the whole time, we slipped in an occasional
smoke, and, in fact, thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
This evening Don and I went to see _Heartsease_ played at the Columbia
Theatre. The piece was well put on, and well acted. To my great
surprise, the pathetic bits moved Don to tears, and he insists that he
must go again; it is wonderful what delight a piece gives some people
if it is tragic enough to make them cry.
_Tuesday, 25th July._--Still chipping and painting all day. My hands,
which were very sore, are now quite healed and hardened up, and I am as
fit as a fiddle, and ready for anything.
Don went off this evening, with Rowland in tow, to see _Heartsease_
again.
_Wednesday, 26th July._--Again chipping and painting.
We are waiting anxiously for our stiffening, which may turn up at any
minute, as we have to go over to Oakland Creek to discharge the rest of
our coal.
Don and I, on coming on board this evening from the shore, found
Johnsen, the sailmaker, camped down in our forecastle, and trying to
get to sleep in the bunk next to Don’s.
This man is a very queer character: he is very silent, and rarely says
a word, though he speaks English very well: he is a Swede, and an
excellent sailor, but a more unpopular scoundrel never sailed the seas.
He has got a villainous face, with queerish eyes; and, owing probably
to two severe falls from aloft, he is not all there. He is exceedingly
suspicious, and thinks everybody is trying to do him a bad turn.
As he is such a good sailor, the old man, on losing his sailmaker,
offered him the job, which he accepted, and moved into the
midship-house, where Chips (who is a Russian Finn) and our German cook
live.
But now, for some reason or other, he has refused to go home as
sailmaker, and has come back into the forecastle, meaning to come home
as an A.B.
Such is our queer, new mate in the forecastle. I must say he does not
interfere with Don and myself in any way, even getting his own grub
from the galley, which an A.B. expects an O.S. to do for him.
_Thursday, 27th July._--Oh, joyful sight! On turning out this morning,
we found four lighters alongside with our 400 tons of stiffening on
board.
Before knocking off this evening, we cockbilled the lower yards, as
we are going to be towed over to Oakland Creek to-morrow morning to
discharge the rest of our coal, and the yards have to be cockbilled,
apparently to clear the top of the coal sheds.
As this is our last day in Frisco for some time, I took the second
mate, Don, and Rowland, to dinner at the top of the “Call,” and
afterwards to see _Heartsease_ again.