CABIN AND FO'C'SLE
Captain Nichols was a good deal of a mystery to us forward. He seldom
came on deck except for a few moments of a fine morning, when he would
bob up, "take a sight" and stump deliberately down the companion to
the chronometer, counting the seconds out loud on his way. At noon he
"took the sun" alone in solitary scientific grandeur; only once do I
remember seeing the mate take an observation. One noon, I was at the
wheel at the time, our first officer came aft shortly before eight
bells, carrying an ancient "hog yoke." His sleeves were rolled up,
and a greasy shine on the arc of his instrument told of efforts at
polishing. Somehow he could not get the sun to behave, for the curious
relic seemed sadly in need of adjustment. He retired in disgust when
the captain "made eight bells," and stumped forward without answering,
when the skipper asked him what he had for altitude.
Tipping me the shadow of a wink, the captain went below to work up the
position.
The captain on the other hand was quite regular in his methods of
navigation. He watched the course closely, having a particularly fine
tell-tale compass swung beneath the skylight in his private cabin, as
every one of us had evidence by the uncanny way in which he would pop
up out of the companion at the most unheard of hours of the night and
walk quickly to the binnacle, and seldom except when the helmsman was
off his course.
I met the captain a number of years afterward in Philadelphia. He was
then in command of a fine steamer and I was second mate of another
vessel of the same line. In the course of a pleasant visit talking
over old times on the _Fuller_, I asked him how he managed to keep
such close watch on the navigation of his ship without any particular
assistance from his officers.
"By staying awake nights, sir," was his laconic reply.
At any rate, whatever his method, Captain Nichols knew pretty well
where we were at all times.
On the old ships, and the _Fuller_ was a very good example of her
class, the master was housed in truly palatial style. On our ship the
captain's quarters were spacious, taking up two-thirds of the cabin and
running the whole width of the vessel, and fore and aft from the mizzen
mast to the lazarette. The captain's stateroom was most commodious; he
enjoyed the comfort of slumber in a large mahogany bunk built after
the lines of a Dutch galiot, as broad as it was long. This room took
up the space of three ordinary staterooms on the starboard quarter. At
the foot of the companion was a cozy after cabin luxuriously paneled
in mahogany between fluted columns of the same wood picked out with
gold leaf at base and capital. Other rare woods of a lighter shade were
inlaid on the center panels, and the whole furnishing of cushioned
lockers, round table, and skylight, with its tell-tale compass, book
and chart cases, gave it the air of a costly yacht cabin.
His bathroom, connected with a large salt-water tank, filled each
morning by the deck washers, was on the port side, and two spare
staterooms opened into the after cabin from port. A bulkhead divided
these private quarters from the forward or mess cabin, off which were
the pantry, storeroom, steward's room and slop chest. The mates were
berthed in two staterooms on either side of the after cabin, but their
doors opened into a sort of thwart ship vestibule running the width of
the after cabin just below the break of the poop. The mizzen mast came
down through the after end of the mess cabin, and a large brass lamp
swung in gimbals just below the long skylight.
A repeating rifle in a rack above the captain's bunk, and two revolvers
on each side of the chart table, composed the offensive battery. A long
brass telescope reposed in a rack in the companion, and at the foot of
this was slung a very good mercurial barometer. Typical of the best
traditions of the sea, such were the quarters of the after guard.
Forward we were not done so well. The fo'c'sle took up the forward part
of the deck house and was sheltered from the force of the sea and wind
by the high break of the fo'c'sle head. These quarters were divided by
a bulkhead running fore and aft, to separate the watches, and plain
unpainted bunks lined the sides. Light was afforded by a poor lamp set
in a hole in the wall between the two sides, a cheap expedient thought
of, no doubt, by some thrifty soul who knew that this was far better
than the traditional whale oil, or slush dip, of the hoary days when
sailor men were shoved below decks in reeking quarters just over the
fore peak.
However, the fo'c'sle was home to us. We lived there and had our being
amid an atmosphere not altogether bad; what we lacked in conveniences
we made up for in ingenuity. Above a few of the bunks were rough
calendars marked on the woodwork, some of them from previous voyages.
Brenden kept track of our position by notching each day on the
scantling overhead. Under these marks he had signs that stood for the
N. E. trades, the Line, the S. E. trades, etc. All sorts of little
shelves were rigged up to hold tobacco, matches, ditty bags, well
thumbed books, old newspapers, and what not. Lines of marline were
stretched above the bunks for drying clothes.
The scheme of society within the sacred walls of our castle was a sort
of despotic democracy. The ruling class, the able seamen of the watch,
Marshall, Frenchy, Brenden, were the arbiters of all matters temporal
and mundane. This was by mutual consent and should be so. In addition
to this, Jimmy was the autocrat of the crowd and ruled us with an
iron hand, though there was not a man forward but could have hove him
overboard.
Scouse, after the balance of power had been reestablished in the
conflict with Joe, became one of the common folks again, and was
glad of it. The bunks were arranged in order of desirability, the
able seamen taking the best bunks on the upper tier and near the two
ports or the lamp. Australia and I were about on a par as far as
social standing went, and when it came to talking about the mines or
discussing matters other than those relating to the sea, we often took
the center of the stage.
Martin, who had been a wood turner in his youth, and Fred, who was a
good average sailor with a discharge from the Revenue Cutter Service,
generally acted as spear carriers in our little fo'c'sle comedy. They
were excellent eaters, both of them, standing well up in the forefront
with Scouse and Joe; the rottenest cracker hash or the most greasy
salt pork never phased them. To the mate these men were a constant
inspiration in his flights of blasphemy, and hardly a day passed but
that he vented his wrath on one of them.
Never once during the entire voyage did any member of the crew miss a
single bit of personal property. Add to this the fact that the general
moral tone of conversation among us was far above the average of men
who would consider themselves superior, and we have to at least respect
the crew of the _Fuller_ as they respected themselves.
Chips, a melancholy Norwegian, a long, lanky, cadaverous knight of the
caulking iron and the carpenter's bench, berthed in a little room next
to the lamp locker. He was kept busy sounding the well, and making
the constant repairs that a well groomed wooden ship requires. In the
intervals of this duty he looked after the hatch tarpaulins sheltering
the precious cargo, tended the running lights, served out the daily
whack of water, oiled the tiller tackles, and sat down to dinner with
the second mate. Poor Chips! A gentleman of the lower caste, eating aft
and living forward. He was a good fellow, but far too gloomy for us,
who were of the "people," light hearted ourselves and ready to crack a
joke at the least opportunity.
Chips had one other duty which he performed twice on our voyage round
the Horn. On these occasions he was called upon to "salt the masts." A
small plug was taken out of the lower mast heads, and salt filled into
the hollow core of these great "sticks." The fore and main masts were
"built up," that is, made up of four quadrantal pieces, scarfed full
length, and banded by stout iron hoops. At the outside juncture of the
built-up pieces they were beveled, forming the "chapels" of the mast,
the latter being painted white and giving the lower masts on the fore
and main a checkerboard appearance.
Each morning of the voyage, and particularly during the fair weather
part of it, we were exercised at the washdown. This is more than a mere
part of the work at sea; it is an established institution, a sacred
rite that is carried on through all conditions of wind and weather. In
the tropics the washdown is a pleasure, and also a necessity, as it
alone keeps the decks tight and the ship sanitary.
A "water spar" would be rigged over the side to leeward at a point in
the waist abreast of the main hatch. A clump block and a single whip
with a canvas water bucket, the rim weighted with a ring of lead, was
used to haul aboard the water which was dumped into a deck barrel. Coir
brooms, wooden buckets, and much slopping about in bare feet would
usher in the day, no part of the deck being neglected.
The routine was: At four o'clock in the morning, "Get your gear on
the pins," everything being laid up clear of the deck. "Rig water
spar," and then old Chow would run out of the galley with a bag of hard
bread and a big can of slops, while the Japanese steward would hurry
along the deck with a cup _and saucer_; coffee--cabin style, for the
refreshment of the mate, who would sing out: "Get your coffee," and for
a few minutes we would all sit on the main hatch, in fine weather, or
crowd in the lee of the forward house if it was stormy, and dip into
the steaming chicory.
Then--"Get out your washdeck gear! Wash down!" and the day's work would
begin.