LIFE IN THE FO'C'SLE
With livelier weather of the Southern latitudes we were often exercised
in tacking and wearing ship, and soon became a very well drilled
company, sending the big three-sticker about in record time. The
_Fuller_ was lively in stays and with our small crew required the
smartest kind of work in handling.
With all hands, including the "idlers," that is, the carpenter,
cook and cabin steward, we mustered twenty men forward, hardly a
man-o'-war complement, but enough, when driven and directed by superior
seamanship, to send the long braces clicking through the sheaves of the
patent blocks with a merry chatter.
"Hands about ship!" meant all hands, _and the cook at the fore sheet_,
a time honored station filled by the Celestial with all the importance
in the world. It was all the work that Chow ever did on deck and the
heathenish glee with which he would "let go" at the proper time, added
a certain zest to our movements, particularly as we always hoped to
have a sea come over and douse him, which often happened.
At the order, "Ready! Ready!" the gear of the main and cro'jik was
thrown down from the pins, clear for running. The command "Ease down
the helm!" and the order "Spanker boom amidships!" would quickly
follow, the vessel running rapidly into the eye of the wind with
everything shaking, and then flat aback.
"Rise tacks and sheets!" and the hands at the clew garnets would
sway up on the courses, lifting them clear of the bulwarks. Then all
hands would jump like monkeys to the main and cro'jik braces, at the
order, "Weather main, lee cro'jik braces!" the second mate, and Chips,
standing by to cast off on the other sides. By then, the wind being a
point on the weather bow, would come the hearty warning, "Haul taut!"
and "Now, boys, mainsail haul!" and the after yards, aback, with the
wind on their weather leeches, would spin about, the gear running
through the blocks like snakes afire, and the men on deck pawing it in
at the pins with feverish haste, belaying as the yards slammed back
against the lee swifters on the other tack.
By that time the ship would be practically about, with head yards and
head sails aiding in the evolution. As soon as the wind was on the bow,
all hands would spring to the lee fore braces. "Haul taut--_let go and
haul_!" thundered the order from aft. Chow would let out a wild yell as
he unhitched the fore sheet, and around would go the head yards. Then
with jib sheets shifted over, and the spanker eased off, as the tacks
were boarded, and the sheets hauled aft, we would pause to get our
breath amid the tangle of gear on deck.
"Steady out the bowlines--go below, watch below!" and as the watch
below would leave the deck, the order "Lay up the gear clear for
running," was the signal for the crowd on deck to get busy while the
good ship raced away on the new tack with the wind six points on the
bow, a bone in her teeth, and a half point of leeway showing in the
wake.
"I hope she holds this tack for a month," was a wish often expressed
after one of these frantic evolutions; but such hopes were vain with
the variable nature of the strong winds between the Plate and Staten
Land, that often sent us about a half dozen times a day, insuring us
plenty of healthful exercise and a minimum amount of sleep.
On a wind was the _Fuller's_ best point of sailing, so far as handling
was concerned, and she was as easy with the helm as a catboat.
"Keep the weather cloth of the mizzen skys'l shaking," was the order
for "full and by," and, under all plain sail, a spoke of the wheel
would hold her for hours, with a quarter turn of weather helm.
While our port watch crowd had at first thought themselves the losers
in the choice of officers, we soon realized that we were being favored
in many ways, mainly because of the superior ability of the mate. He
cursed unmercifully and made no bones about cuffing some of the crew
in a playful sort of fashion, accompanied with some ribald jest that
was meant to carry off the sting of a heavy blow, yet he managed to
give us the advantage in most operations requiring all hands. He never
hesitated to rouse out the starboard watch an hour ahead of time when
a sudden shortening of sail demanded all hands. On these occasions we
would work like fury and get below with the loss of a half hour's less
sleep than the other watch.
Ill feeling among the men of the second mate's watch became more and
more apparent as these tactics continued, and the talk in the fo'c'sle
had it that the second mate was afraid to stand up for his rights.
He was accordingly blamed for every trouble forward, so far as his
own watch was concerned. Things culminated in the wake of a squall
that struck us soon after passing the River Plate. The tops'l yards
having been lowered to the caps, we were called out near the end of the
afternoon watch to man tops'l halyards.
Tony, of the starboard watch, was "beforehand" with Axel and the second
mate, on the main tops'l halyards. The rest of the ship's company
tailed along the deck from the lead block bending their "beef" on the
rope to the refrain of "Ranzo, boys, Ranzo." The deck was slippery with
the wet, and a high sea, in which the _Fuller_ wallowed without sail
enough to steady her, made footing precarious.
At the order "Belay!" given by the mate, and the sharp "Come up behind"
of the second officer, Tony failed to hold on to the rope, and the
consequence was a slight loss as the man next the lead block hitched
the halyard over the pin.
"You lazy dago ---- ---- ---- ----! Why did you let go that rope?"
shouted Mr. Stoddard, at the same time making a lunge for Tony and
smashing him on the side of the face with his fist. The Dago blocked
as best he could, and the second mate drove home a second blow on the
Dago's nose. Tony clinched, the blood spurted right and left as they
went to the deck, rolling over and over, first one on top and then the
other.
"What's this?" shouted the mate. "You dirty bum, ---- ---- you!" he
exploded, jumping into the scramble, while all hands lined up in a
threatening attitude, determined to see some sort of fair play.
The mate grabbed Tony by the shirt, as he was on top, and yanked him
over. The fact that the Dago had Mr. Stoddard down seemed to rile the
mate beyond all reason. He ripped off the shirt of the Dago, and as he
threw him across the deck a knife flashed and the mate kicked it into
the scuppers, at the same time digging his heavy sea boots into the
side of the Italian. The second mate staggered to his feet, a jagged
streak of blood on his face where Tony had landed, and his jacket
covered with gore.
This scene, common enough perhaps in the annals of the sea, made a
deep impression on us. His watchmates carried the Italian forward, and
Mr. Stoddard went to his room under the starboard side of the poop.
Bad as the feeling had been toward our officers, up to this time it
had mingled with it a certain element of respect. Artistic and fluent
profanity never hurt anybody, and was almost always justified by some
bungling piece of work on the part of the lubbers who "gummed up"
their action whenever the least chance was afforded them. But in the
attack of the second mate on Tony there was something that looked like
deliberate planning, and in the mixup a number of us saw the mate jerk
the knife from the Dago's belt.
As Mr. Zerk went aft he picked up the knife from the scuppers. "Irons
for you!" he hissed at the Dago as they took him to the fo'c'sle.
But we heard nothing more of it. The captain had come out on deck in
the height of the excitement, following the fight, and called the mate
to his side; he was wise in his day, and knew a thing or two about the
tactics of his officers.
Soon we were tailing again to the halyard, tautening out the leeches
of the tops'l, an embittered crowd who but a few moments before were
singing at the ropes. Peter, in the meantime, was swabbing up the
bloody deck.
One who has never been there can hardly realize the absolute
subjugation under which a crew may be placed by their officers,
especially if they are on a deep-sea voyage under sail. None of us is
perfect, and the humble sailor-man as well as the rest of the human
race is prone to take things as easy as the law of the craft on which
he sails will allow. This fact, coupled with the hard circumstances
under which a small crew is compelled to work a very large ship, may,
in a measure, condone the tactics which have for their object the
putting the "fear of God" into a crew.
Young officers at times are inclined to be a bit "easy" with men,
thinking it will result in more willingness. The more seasoned members
of the cloth, men who have sailed as merchant officers for many years,
realize that the maintenance of discipline aboard ship is only possible
under a rule of autocratic severity, demanding instant obedience to
orders and quick punishment for the first departure from the iron
bonds. This is as necessary as life itself. The least hesitation, the
slightest possibility of argument, when ordering men to places of
danger or extreme difficulty, would soon result in disaster.
At sea we have the sharp distinction of caste--the wonderful potency
of _Mister_ So and So. He is an officer, if not always a gentleman. To
forget the "_sir_" when addressing one of our mates would have been a
dangerous thing to do. In fact only one man ever did it, but he was a
Kanaka and signs on later in the story.
In many ships, captain and mates never fail to use their "handles"
in addressing each other, and this was so on the _Fuller_, in fact
there was as little familiarity aft, in the personal relations of our
officers, as one might expect to find between the representatives of
two armies meeting to arrange a truce. And the wonderful part of it was
that they left the ship at the end of the voyage as coldly distant as
the day they stepped aboard; that is all but the second mate, which is
again running me ahead of the lawful progress of this yarn.
However, to get back to the deck and to the lives of our particular
little sea community, plowing their painful way over the cruel surface
of the many wrinkled ocean, we resented the underhanded flavor of the
affair between the mates and Tony. With all the excuses for hazing
granted and allowed for, there is nothing to be said in favor of lying
about a fight. The imputation of the knife, held as evidence by the
mate, and the whole character of the mixup left a bad taste in our
mouths for many weeks.
From that time on we entered upon a stage of the voyage notable for
its hardship. The officers were drivers from the time we dropped
the Navesink Highlands, but for a long time after the incident off
the River Plate, nothing but harsh words found any place in their
vocabulary. Weather conditions became more unsettled and severe and one
blow followed close on the heels of another. We were in oilskins for
weeks at a time, soaked to the skin through the worn out "slickers."
Most of us developed salt water boils and one formed on my left wrist,
through the constant chafing, and has left a scar to this day, as I
had the habit of stopping the sleeves of my coat with a few turns of
marline to keep the water out. It was impossible to dry things in
the brief four hours below, and the "slop chest" was soon depleted
of its stock of new oil clothing. It would be hard to picture a more
depressing period than that through which we passed just before
entering the real weather off Cape Horn.
In one of our brief periods below some of us were patching the tears
in our oilskin coats and pants, resulting from a tussle with the fore
upper tops'l, the downhauls having carried away, and left the sail
a bellying fighting mess of canvas that four of us were ordered to
subdue. Sewing oiled cloth is a poor job, and a loosened finger nail on
my right thumb, added nothing to the cheerfulness of the sewing party.
"I'll bet few lads would go to sea if they could look in here for a
half hour," I remarked, following a turn of thought that revolved more
or less about my own folly.
"An' I don't think you would stay in 'ere or out on deck or anywhere
else in this leaky old bucket if you knowed what is afore us," chipped
in Jimmy. "You 'aven't never gone round the Horn yet, so God 'elp you,
is wot I says."
"Yes, Gott help all of us," said Scouse with a heartfelt grunt from
the sea chest at the forward end of the fo'c'sle where he and Joe
were playing checkers on a new "heavy weather" board just made by the
resourceful Joseph. This board was covered with a piece of canvas,
the squares being marked off with pencil. The checkers (and here is
where Joe prided himself) were made by sawing pieces from an old broom
handle, and Joe had driven a sharp brad through each one of them so
they would cling to the canvas on the checker board.
On deck chanties had ceased to enliven us, and we went through the hard
watches in a dogged spirit of endurance. We felt like martyrs, a state
of mind not altogether without its compensations. In the watch below,
in a steaming atmosphere of gloom, lighted by a single oil lamp set
into a hole in the partition bulkhead between the two sides of the
fo'c'sle, we slept as much as possible, which was not half enough, ate
our rude meals, and had our dreams of happier days to come. Each man
respected the rights of his neighbors and each bunk was a sort of damp
narrow castle. Here in the smelly air, in the dim light, cold, tired,
and often hungry, we lived, or rather, existed.