MY THIRD VOYAGE
About October 1, 1860, I intended to take passage on the ship Robert
Ely, for Mobile, but changed my mind, for the reason that the ship had a
crew of negroes instead of white men. The P. T. Bartram was almost ready
to sail; the crew were all shipped, so I paid ten dollars for steerage
passage, and was to furnish my own food. So many sailors wanted to go
South that it was difficult for me to ship as a sailor, the
boarding-house keepers having the preference with the shipping offices
for their boarders. The P. T. Bartram was a bark of about six hundred
tons burthen. The cargo was general merchandise--a little of everything.
The North at that time furnished the Southern States with everything
excepting raw cotton.
We had a fine passage to the Gulf of Mexico, with fair prospects of a
speedy voyage. Slowly the fine breeze died away, the atmosphere became
unusually sultry, the barometer falling rapidly. Then we knew that
trouble was in store for us. It was not long in coming, either. A severe
hurricane from the West Indies struck us. All sail was taken in except
close-reefed main top-sail and fore-storm stay-sail. Then the bark was
hove to, head to wind. The wind roared and whistled through the rigging,
the waves commenced to rise rapidly and roll on deck, rain was pouring
down in torrents, and lightning seemed to be striking all around us. The
bark had a half deck extending to the main-mast. The after part was the
cabin, the rest was for storing freight. In there were several tons of
gunpowder. We did not know how soon the lightning might send us all
skyward. Partly for exercise and self-preservation, I was working with
the crew as one of them. The cook was with us also, since he had been
washed out of the galley by a heavy sea, and would take no more chances
among his pots and kettles. All hands kept aft on the vessel's
quarter-deck, no other place being safe from the heavy seas. The storm
kept increasing in violence, until finally the strain from the top-sails
bent the main-yard up and it snapped in two. All hands started aloft to
save the sails. I happened to be first, and went out to the weather
side, as is customary. When about half-way out the foot of the sail, it
flopped over the top-yard, struck me in the breast, and knocked me off
the yard. What a queer sensation I had while falling! So many thoughts
rushed through my brain in an instant, especially whether I would strike
on deck or go overboard! The vessel was heavily careened over to leeward
from the force of the wind, and luckily I struck in the lower rigging,
my arms going between the ratlins, where I hung on for life, the
pressure of the wind helping me considerably. My mishap was enough for
the other men--not one would venture on the yard. They just clung to the
rigging, and let the top-sail blow away in small pieces.
With the top-sail gone, the bark fell off into the trough of the sea.
Then the sea washed over the decks. For the first time on the ocean I
saw the experiment tried of dragging a vessel head on to sea. The end of
a large hawser was fastened to the vessel's head, the rest put
overboard, in hopes that in dragging through the water the strain would
swing us head on. It was not a success. The waves washed the hawser all
around the bark's bow and sides. If we could have once got it
straightened out, the plan might have worked. Many a shipwrecked sailor
has been saved by a similar plan, when compelled to abandon a ship and
take to a small boat, by fastening a rope to the middle of an oar and
throwing it into the water. It has thus kept the boat's head to the
seas, and prevented it from swamping. The lee-pump was kept going
continually, and that was hard work. Two men at a time were at the
handle. The bark was badly strained and leaking considerably. At one
time we thought all the water was pumped out, but that was a mistake on
our part. The pump had commenced sucking, and no water was coming up.
The fact of no air hissing as usual seemed rather strange. The upper
box was taken out, and then an iron hook lowered down for the lower box.
When that was hauled up, the mystery was explained. About a pint of
nicely water-soaked beans was holding the clapper down. By using the
sounding rod, we found about fourteen inches of water below. The pump
was rigged again and started, and in a few more minutes it was the same
old trouble--more beans! The process of drawing the boxes was gone over
again. The same result followed--more beans! A barrel of that edible
fruit had broken open in the cargo, and every individual bean had found
its way to the pump-well. The comments were loud and deep, and the man
who invented beans was damned in all styles in several different
languages.
Well, there was nothing else to do but pump the beans out on the
instalment plan. Just as soon as a certain quantity got on top of the
valve or clapper, it acted effectually as an automatic shut-off for the
water. The hurricane had been blowing for three days and our worst
danger--the terror of all sailors--was close at hand. We were drifting
towards the Florida reefs. A few hours more and the ship, with all
hands, would be a thing of the past. There was no possibility of escape
unless the gale abated or the wind shifted to another direction. Birds
by the hundreds were flying for our vessel. They were land birds of all
kinds and sizes, probably blown to sea from Cuba. Striking the rigging
or any part of the vessel, they would be instantly killed. Every nook
and corner on the deck was filled with their dead bodies. The wind blew
them around like so much dust. One was found in the compass-box, under
the compass. Its presence was made known by the smell of a decaying body
after the storm was over. The anchor-chain boxes had a fine assortment
sandwiched in between the big iron links. Those we could not get out
and, consequently, the odour was anything but pleasant in that locality.
The sea had changed in colour from green to a milky white. This showed
that we were getting into shoal water. The agitation of the waves was
bringing up fine white coral, which formed the bottom of the ocean in
the locality of the reef.
Towards sundown the hurricane had passed us, the wind gradually veering
around to the north, which made a fair wind for us to Mobile. All sail
was set, the damage repaired as much as possible, the cook made a lot of
good strong coffee, and then all hands took turns in taking a
much-needed sleep.
A remarkable sight on that trip I have forgotten to mention: one
pleasant evening the sun was exactly even on the west horizon and a
bright full moon on the eastern. It lasted only a few minutes, but it
was a beautiful sight. All the time I have passed on the ocean, I never
saw the phenomenon but that once.
The next afternoon after the storm we sighted a vessel dead ahead. On
getting closer we saw a signal of distress flying. The ship had lost all
her masts close to deck, was almost on her beam ends, and rolling like a
log in the water. What did our gallant captain do but sail past without
giving any assistance! The signal indicated that the crew wanted to
abandon the wreck. All hands talked rather plainly to the captain
regarding his inhumanity. His excuse was that his own vessel was too
badly disabled to assist others. In a few days we were off Mobile
harbour and took the pilot on board. From him we got a description of
the storm at Mobile. The Robert Ely, the ship in which I had intended
taking passage at first, had arrived at the beginning of the storm, and
anchored outside of the harbour. The wind broke her from her anchorage
and wrecked her on the low, sandy island at the entrance of the bay.
Three of the crew were washed over the island into the bay on the
top-gallant forecastle and rescued. The remainder were drowned.
The island had been under water. When we arrived it was completely
covered with the cargo and fragments of the wreck. Pianos, boxes and
barrels, all kinds of dry goods, were to be seen mixed up with the
spars, rigging, and timbers of the Robert Ely. We sailed in through the
channel and up the bay. As we drew only twelve feet of water we could
go up the city to a wharf. A tug-boat took us in tow, and, striking a
mud-bank, the good bark P. T. Bartram stuck there. Some of the cargo had
to be taken out in lighters to enable us to get up the Spanish River.
Much to our surprise, the dismasted wreck that we saw at sea was towed
in and got up to Mobile city ahead of us.
I went ashore on board of a steamboat and, in a few hours, was back at
Campbell's boarding-house, giving a description of a storm in the Gulf
of Mexico. After I had finished my story, I was taken to the back yard
and saw two bales of cotton which they had captured floating in the
streets in front of the boarding-house. One third of the city had been
under water, the upper part of a wharf had been washed away, and a
flat-bottomed steamer had replaced it by standing squarely on top of the
spiles. Schooners and fishing-smacks were swept into the swamp and left
there--over a mile from the river. A great amount of damage had been
done all along the Gulf coast.
The season was rather early for work among the shipping, consequently I
was idle. Sailors were needed for a ship ready for Liverpool, but no one
wanted to leave Mobile. The wages, eighteen dollars a month, remained
the same, and advance pay of fifty dollars was offered and increased to
one hundred, so I concluded to accept it. The trip to England would take
about five weeks, and, by immediately returning, I should still have a
long winter for work. The giving of nearly six months' advance pay was
to evade the marine law in regard to discharging sailors in a foreign
port. If sailors deserted on a vessel's arriving, the owners were not
responsible. My name was signed on the articles for the full voyage.
Campbell, the boarding-house keeper, got the one hundred dollars and
handed my share to me. I sent part of it to New York and retained twenty
dollars for myself. Bidding my acquaintances good-bye and promising to
be back in ten weeks, I went by steamboat down the bay and reported for
duty on the full-rigged ship Annie Size. Campbell's responsibility for
the advance money then ceased. That was exactly thirty-seven years ago,
and I have never seen Campbell nor Mobile since.
The Annie Size was a ship of one thousand tons burthen, loaded with
cotton for the Liverpool market. The difficulty in getting a crew
detained us several days. Two other men and I had made up our minds to
make a short cut in the voyage. The plan was to steal the ship's boat,
get ashore and foot it back to Mobile. As we had our advance money,
there was no particular desire on our part to see Liverpool. The next
morning, while the mates were eating breakfast, two of us got into the
boat. The third man weakened and squarely "flunked." With only us two to
steer as we had planned, our little scheme had to fail. The second mate
had come from the cabin and had seen us going away. He called the mate,
and that gentleman hailed another ship to send a boat to him. In the
meantime we were doing our best to reach shore. The other boat, with a
full crew, caught up with us within a few yards of the shore. We were
taken back to the ship and handcuffed until the day of sailing.
Finally, the full crew was on board, and made a class of sailors that
the mate had no use for. Americans, Irish, Irish Americans--men of that
class usually stick together; on the other hand, a mixed crew of all
nationalities does the reverse.
The anchor was weighed, our trip for Liverpool was begun, and our
destination would not be reached too soon for any of us. The first day
at sea war was declared. Our mate was the notorious bully, Billy
Shackleford. At one o'clock he came to the forecastle door and in a
gruff voice ordered watch on deck. "And he'd be ---- if there would be
any afternoon watch below on his ship!" He was curtly told to "Go to
----"
"Do you fellows know who Billy Shackleford is?"
"Yes, we know all about you, and any monkey business on your part,
overboard you go!"
Billy was perfectly docile for the rest of that trip. That was the
toughest crew I ever sailed with--nearly all old acquaintances in
Mobile. The amount of money in our possession was over a thousand
dollars, in gold coin. Usually, sailors on a ship leaving port are all
dead broke. An Irishman, for security, had bound a rag around his ankle
containing sixty dollars. One morning his rag was missing. He bewailed
his loss at a terrible rate. Somebody had quietly shaved his original
style of money-belt with a razor while he was taking his sleep on deck
during a night-watch. I was the next victim; twenty dollars in gold was
taken from my sea chest. The chest had been opened with a key. I said
very little about my loss, as I had a strong suspicion that a certain
man had taken it. He had shown me how safe his money was. It was rolled
up in a rag in his trousers' pocket with a string tied around the
outside of the pocket, so that the money could not be reached unless the
string was untied, and that could not be done without removing his
trousers, as he explained to me. His custom was to get into bed
all-a-stand--that is, without undressing. The first stormy night we had
plenty of work to do, reefing the top-sails, and all of us were tired
and sleepy when our watch went below. All were soon asleep but myself,
for my hour of revenge had arrived. With a sharp penknife, I cut a slit
in the trousers of my dishonest friend, the end of the pocket containing
the gold slipped out, then I cut off the whole business. The money was
all I wanted, and the string, rag, and remnants of the pocket I left as
a souvenir.
Ten five-dollar and one two-and-a-half gold pieces was the total amount.
I "planted" the money in a secure place and went to bed, and when my
misguided friend awoke there was more anguish in the camp. He had my
sympathy and consolation over the fact that we should both land in
Liverpool dead broke, and this made our friendship more binding.
Instead of making a trip in five weeks, as we expected, we were over two
months in getting to port. For a wonder, no one was killed during the
voyage. The ship was towed up the Mersey River, and we arrived at
Liverpool just at high tide and were taken alongside the outer dock,
ready to enter the gates as soon as they were opened. Every one of us
got our baggage and jumped on shore, and "dock-wallopers" had to be
hired in our stead to dock the ship. Bully Billy Shackleford was furious
at our leaving so abruptly, and he was politely invited to come on shore
and have a parting drink, which he very wisely declined to do.
Each man had some favourite boarding-place, so we all became separated.
I went to Whitechapel and had my meals and lodging at what the English
call a "cook-shop." As I could not find a ship returning to Mobile, I
made up my mind to go to Cardiff, Wales, by railroad, and there probably
I could ship on some vessel loaded with railroad iron down to Mobile or
New Orleans. My stay in Liverpool was only for two days. I crossed the
river to Birkenhead--and now for my first trip on an English railroad.
On my arrival at the railroad station I purchased a ticket for Cardiff;
then I wanted a check for my sea chest, but checking baggage was not a
custom in England, and an official addressed me thus: "Will you 'ave
your luggage booked?" My name and destination were duly inscribed.
"Sixpence, please." I got on the train thinking it would be smooth
sailing for "me luggage" and myself, but such was not the case. I was
told to change cars at a certain station, which I did, and, at the time,
I noticed that "me luggage" was on the platform at the station. Getting
on my train, another link of my journey was being made, and, about nine
o'clock that night, I found myself at a town called Open Gates, quite a
distance on the wrong road. They informed me that I should have changed
trains some distance back. "Why in ---- didn't you tell me to?" was my
reply. A free ride back and a new start was made in the right direction,
and, finally, I brought up at a town called Newport. There the "line of
rails," as they are called, ended. Twelve miles from Cardiff only, and
"me luggage" and I had to take another road, and "me luggage" could not
be found and no one knew anything about it. Now, what puzzles me to this
day is what the "booking" meant. And I have never been able to find
out, although it is the English custom. I went to a cook-shop and
remained in Newport a couple of days, and in the meantime there were
many inquiries about the "Young Hamerican's luggage." It was finally
located, and when I changed cars the first time I learned that it was my
duty to have it placed in the luggage car. While I was on my way to Open
Gates, the chest was left on the platform, where I had last seen it. In
the course of time a continuation of the journey was made, and at last
Cardiff was reached. Hunting up an old acquaintance, he took me to a
nice, quiet boarding-place.