I TAKE TO THE SEA AGAIN
At San Carlos was a large ship receiving the ties as they were brought
from the different islands. The captain shipped me as an ordinary seaman
at ten dollars a month. The vessel was the Androkolis, of Copenhagen,
Denmark. Our destination was Callao, Peru. I never reached San
Francisco, although I sailed eighteen hundred miles towards that city.
San Carlos was 42 deg. and Callao 12 deg. south latitude. The crew of the
Androkolis was composed of Danes, Swedes, Norwegians, two Hollanders,
and one Englishman, every one of them speaking a different language from
mine, except the man from Liverpool, Jimmy Kincaid by name. Now Jimmy
and I became chums. He was very short and broad, and possessed unusually
large hands and feet. He was about twenty years old. We little knew
what hardships were in store for us when we became friends. If he is
alive to-day, he remembers, beyond all doubt, the night we saw the
Flying Dutchman while rounding Cape Horn on another vessel.[B] We both
saw that vessel--of course it was only an illusion--but we were both
badly scared for a few minutes, as certain death appeared imminent. I
will explain it in time. There are a few thousand miles of sea to be
sailed over before we come to the story of that night.
[B] Like the Wandering Jew on land, there is a ship at sea sailing
on and on until doomsday, manned by a crew of very old
Dutchmen, who are expiating some sin.
We had a very pleasant voyage. Sailing north towards the equator, the
weather was gradually getting warmer. In about four weeks' time we
sighted the Island of San Lorenzo, an immense, high rock which formed
the western side of Callao Harbour. The ship's sails were taken in and
furled, all but the top-sails. At last we came to anchor. Where our ship
lay in the bay was directly over the old city. A number of years ago,
during one night, an earthquake submerged Callao and raised up San
Lorenzo from beneath the waters. Five miles inland is the city of Lima,
the capital of Peru and the burial-place of Pizarro, the conqueror of
that country. The only railroad on that coast at that time was the
five-mile track connecting the two cities. Jimmy and I rowed the captain
ashore in the ship's boat. Sitting on the steps when we arrived there
was my old friend Amos. We were much surprised to meet again. He told me
all about himself since leaving the saw-mill in Chile so abruptly. He
invited me to visit him at the hospital, although there was nothing in
his appearance to indicate that he was an invalid.
Lighters came to the ship, and the unloading of our cargo commenced.
Jimmy and I were promoted to be cook and steward of the vessel, I being
the latter. One Sunday we had an afternoon holiday on shore. The captain
let us have only one dollar each out of the wages due to us. The first
place we visited was the hospital, in quest of Amos. It was a terribly
hot day. On a large grassy plain fronting the building were a number of
healthy-looking men playing a very lively game of ball. You can imagine
our surprise when Amos informed us that they were the patients belonging
to the hospital. The explanation was simple enough. Every man aboard of
an American ship has to pay twenty-five cents a month to support the
marine hospitals. A ship cannot get clearance papers until it is paid.
That entitles the sailors to admission to any marine hospital in the
United States when they are taken sick. If in a foreign port, the
American consul is obliged to pay for their keeping at whatever hospital
may be found in that place. The consul for Callao was a kind-hearted old
man by the name of Mills. Any American sailor who would go to him and
say, "I am sick, Consul," would get an order for admission at once. A
number of seamen imposed on him. It was an object for them to get their
board and clothing free while they were waiting only for seamen's wages
to rise as high as possible; then they would ship for some long voyage.
The hospital authorities were easily enough satisfied, as they were well
paid, and the patients were able to attend to their own ailments.
After our return to the ship, Jimmy was continually coaxing me to remain
in Peru with him, and live among the natives for a while. I was anxious
to get to San Francisco, but no ships in harbour were bound in that
direction, although a number arrived from there, loading with guano and
going around Cape Horn. At last I promised to go with Jimmy. He had
eighty dollars due him, and I twelve, but the captain would not
discharge us and pay us off. Then we got mad and determined to go
anyway. We got our clothes packed up in bags, ready for any chance we
could get to leave the ship. With the ship's telescope we took a good
look at the shores of the bay. At one place the beach looked as if it
would be a good landing-place for us; it appeared like the edge of a
mill-pond. Our chance soon came. The boat had not been hoisted up out of
the water, as was customary, but had been left overnight fastened to the
ship's side. Each sailor in turn had to stand "anchor watch" during the
night for one hour. He would then wake up his relief and go to bed.
There was a Dutchman whose turn would be at three o'clock in the
morning. I told him when he was called to awaken me, then he could go to
sleep again, as Jimmy and I had to make fresh bread for breakfast, and
we would do the anchor watching. Sure enough, "Dutchy" woke me up; then
I called Jimmy, and in a short time we had our clothes in the boat, also
a good double-barrelled shotgun, a pair of pistols, a silver watch, and
a couple of dozen of clean shirts belonging to the captain. We wished to
have something for the money that was due us.
Away we went for the landing-place that we had selected. It was dark,
and quite difficult to see the beach; it appeared to us as though we
were close to a wall, several feet high, of rocks. The noise of the surf
also made us careful about landing. At last we discovered that it was
low tide, and the wall was only the wet cobble-stones left uncovered at
low water. We pulled hard, so as to run through the surf, and we went
up the beach on a heavy roller. Jimmy stood in the bow of the boat,
ready to jump and hold the rope, or "painter," as it is called, as the
surf receded. He was a little slow in jumping, consequently the boat
went back with the surf in a hurry, Jimmy's feet went from under him,
and he landed head first on the rocks. The next roller brought the boat
in again; this time we succeeded, and got everything on land. The boat
was pushed out in the surf, and was found the next day floating bottom
up. We heard afterward that it was reported we had both been drowned.
About nine o'clock I went to the hospital and told Amos what we had
done. He agreed to introduce us to a friend of his, who would take care
of us for a few days. That afternoon he brought a man with him to our
camping-place. In the evening everything was taken to a house in the
city. It very soon dawned upon us that we had got into the worst
sailors' "robbers' roost" that was in the town. Our clothing and
possessions were all locked up in a room. We were made to understand
that to remain in the house would be the best thing we could do. From
what I afterward saw in that place I had reason to believe they meant
what they said. The Vigilance Committee in San Francisco had driven all
the tough characters out of the city. Quite a number of the worst ones
went to Callao and started sailor boarding-houses and saloons. They
formed a "ring" for mutual benefit. The English consul and a number of
the Peruvian port officers were in with them. A fine crowd of robbers
they were. They kept the sailors' wages high, beyond doubt, but only for
the reason that they would have more for themselves when they cheated
the seamen out of two months' advance pay. It is always customary to
give that much on long voyages, or "deep sea trips," as they call them.
After a few days' sojourn in our quiet boarding-house, we concluded that
any change would be for the better. The landlord informed us that a
small English brig was going up the coast, and that he could ship us
both as ordinary seamen. In the English merchant marine a man cannot be
shipped unless he has a discharge from another vessel; in the American
service no papers are needed. We obtained discharges belonging to other
sailors, who had no use for them. The landlord took us to the English
consul's office. My name was to be Michael Murray. The clerk read the
law, as is customary; one rule especially--that any man assuming another
name would forfeit all wages. We had given bogus papers. When I went to
sign the articles I was rather embarrassed, as I had forgotten my new
name, so they had to tell me what it was. We were taken to our new ship,
which was anchored out in the bay.
I was not greatly pleased when I found what was in store for me. The
wages were twenty-five dollars a month. The landlord had received fifty
dollars--two months' pay--in advance. He was to deduct my board bill and
give me the balance of the money, but I never got a cent of it. I had
been "shanghaied," as the sailors call it. Instead of going up the
coast, as I was told we were to do, I found we were bound for Cork,
Ireland, a voyage of eighty-five hundred and twenty miles. The vessel
itself was a "holy terror," very heavily rigged, while everything on
board was old and played out, the rusty blocks, with heavy running gear,
making it very hard work for us, especially as we had a crew of only six
men, where twelve seamen, at least, should have been a crew for that old
tub. The cargo was guano in bulk, as a scow would be loaded with dirt.
Our sleeping quarters were in the forecastle, situated in the bow of the
vessel. Everything was covered with guano. As we had to live below, it
was our first object to clean up the place. Buckets of water were passed
down the scuttle, and the place was cleaned up as well as we could do
it; but it was of no use; the smell of ammonia made us sick. Some would
vomit, others bled at the nose, and a thick black phlegm would form in
our throats. The weather being warm, we slept on the deck, as we could
not endure it in the forecastle below.
Guano is the droppings from sea-birds, which have been accumulating for
thousands of years. The Chincha Islands, belonging to Peru, have an
inexhaustible supply. No rain ever falls in that country, consequently
nothing is washed away. The depth of the guano is from four to eight
feet. When a ship is to be loaded with guano, it has to go to Callao
first for a permit, then to the Chincha Islands. The cargo is put in by
Chinese coolies, and then the vessel returns to Callao for a clearance,
also to pay a certain amount per ton.