IN HONOLULU TOWN
We have had enough of action, and of motion; we
Rolled to starboard, rolled to larboard, when the surge was seething free
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam fountains in the sea.
Let us swear an oath and keep it with an equal mind
In the hollow lotus-land to live and die reclined,
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
_Tennyson._
"Well, now that we are here, what?" Joe put the universal question. "I
hopes we has it a bit easy for a change," he went on, seeing that no
one rose to his query, and no doubt some dim, subconscious yearning
must have stirred in the recesses of Joe's mind; perhaps the sight of
the palms may have wakened this, for in his clumsy way he voiced the
spirit of the poet. Indeed we had all of us sensed the languor of that
lotus-land in the humid morning vistas of heavy tropical foliage lining
the avenues of the city, and stretching far beyond into the blue-green
richness of the Nuuanu Valley. After months of deep sea existence,
the smell and feel of the ripe, luxurious land came to us with a
powerful appeal. All of us felt this, but, sailor-like, the feeling was
disguised in various ways.
"I hope them bulls aft gives us a fair deal," went on Joe. We were at
breakfast, both watches together, assembled outside the fo'c'sle doors.
"Fair deal!" snapped Old Smith as he speared a spud. "Say, you young
heifer, do you think you was brung all the way out to Honolulu for to
loll back at your ease and eat the bread fruit, that we reads about,
offen the fatness of the land, without no toil nor trouble? You'll get
your damned good whack of sweatin' here. I know these ships, and it
won't be just because the weather is hot, neither."
This was followed by dire predictions of hard grinding to come, ghastly
prospects fathomed from the depth of experience by such masters of
discouragement as Jimmy Marshall and Australia.
"Say, shut up, will you! Maybe it won't be so bad," piped Frenchy, who
never liked to have his meals interrupted, especially when we were
breakfasting on dry hash made with potatoes and onions, a real feed
much needed by our hungry crowd. We had turned out at dawn for a hasty
washdown, had put the long boat over the side, and rousing out a number
of large manila hawsers, had flaked them down in the boat ready for
warping. The cable was hove short and the quarter moorings were taken
in. In addition to this a number of the men under the second mate had
completed the rigging of the cargo gear. The carpenter, with me helping
him, had rigged the _dolly_, wedging it under the pinrail on the
starboard side just forward of the main hatch with blocks of wood and
a small jackscrew. The large cargo blocks had been hooked and moused
to the pendants, and the falls were rove, all for the starboard side,
as the skipper had inspected the berth and that was to be our side for
discharging at the Brewer Wharf.
Breakfast came as a rest, a breathing and a talking spell with a good
day's work already to our credit. The change in routine, however, made
the work seem easy enough, for we arose from our full night of rest
with a feeling of wonderful vitality. Word came out that an island
steamer would hold the berth at the Brewer Wharf until noon, and we
were to warp in to the Oceanic Steamship landing to allow the port
warden and the agents the opportunity to inspect the hatches and make a
survey of the condition of the cargo, at the same time bringing us that
much nearer our berth.
A plunge overboard in the early dawn, the last man on anchor watch
having called me a half hour before the rest, put me in fine fettle.
All hands were eager to get foot ashore and the prospect of tying
up to the beach filled us with expectancy. The fresh grub, the full
night in, and the electric atmosphere of contact with human affairs,
gave us a keen sense of being again in the world of the living. After
breakfast we sat around for a few precious moments smoking and yarning
as we gazed toward the shore. News filtered out that the battleship
_Maine_ had been blown up in Havana harbor on the night of February
15th. War with Spain was imminent and the port of Honolulu was pregnant
with impending world affairs, made even more intense by the fact that
there was no cable in those days and news came only at intervals with
the arrival of the mail steamers. War might be declared at any moment
and rumor had it that a squadron of raiders from the Philippines might
descend on the port.
The gunboat _Bennington_ lay in the harbor with the old training ship
_Mohegan_ and constant gun drills were being gone through.
We "turned to" promptly after breakfast, and while one watch carried
out the lines the other manned the capstan bars and broke out the
hook as soon as the warp was thrown over a cluster of piles on the
Esplanade. When the anchor came up dripping with gray mud, the long
warp was carried in over the fo'c'sle head and taken to the main deck
capstan and we walked the ship alongside in the good old-fashioned way.
At the string piece of the wharf there was a misunderstanding as
to orders. The mate being in command took occasion to deliver his
compliments to the second mate in no uncertain tones. So refreshing was
the spectacle of wrath descending upon the head of the hated second
mate that all hands stood idle grinning at the show. The old saying,
"trouble aft; good times forward," at once went into effect. Mr. Zerk,
seeing his mistake, ordered Mr. Stoddard to his room, and then turned
his attention to "the people" as we hustled out the breast lines and
adjusted the springs. We got the gangway over in jig time, to the great
amusement of the dock loafers, and crowds of curious citizens, who had
heard that a Yankee hell wagon was alongside with the bucko mate in
full action.
When the gangway was lowered, Mr. Stoddard walked ashore with as much
dignity as he could muster, garbed in a wrinkled brown suit and a
rusty, dented derby that struck a ludicrous note amid the straw-hatted
natives on the wharf.
"I hope he never come back," growled Tony, no doubt thinking of the day
off the River Plate. "If ever I get him ashore----" but the Italian did
not finish, for we were hustled about lifting hatch covers and setting
things to rights, the deck being littered with long bights of the wet
hawsers.
Native boys offered to dive for pennies, but we had none to give,
and enterprising Chinamen crowded on board with baskets of fruit and
hampers full of bottled pop, the whole gang being driven ashore by Mr.
Zerk with his best delivery of picturesque profanity. The Kanakas on
the shore started to mock him, and that made matters worse, as none
of us dared crack a smile. Later on Mr. Zerk was to learn that the
happy, carefree natives were an independent lot, who would work under
persuasion, but were stubborn as mules when driven.
Captain Nichols came aboard with the port warden, and the top layer
of cargo was examined. We carried a hundred tons of blacksmith coal on
top of a general cargo, the coal being separated from what was below
by old canvas and tarpaulins. One of the inspectors jumped down and
tasted the coal for salt. Indeed it would have been mighty hard to
tell whether the cargo had been damaged or not and, in a way, it was a
bit of strategy on the part of the South Street stevedores. After some
discussion, the state of things seemed to pass muster, and a great many
smart looking young men from the offices of the agent came down and
looked over the ship. Most of them carried papers of some sort, and
in their white duck trousers and their fancy silk shirts, brilliant
neckties, and spotless shoes, we seemed to behold some favored species.
No doubt they looked at us too, though without interest, we being
merely a lot of lean and leathery deepwater sailors dressed in common
dungaree.
The captain himself was no slouch when it came to dressing and on this
occasion he upheld the dignity of the ship, and the great American
Merchant Service, by sporting a wine colored cutaway suit. His shoes
were shined like the galley stove on a Sunday afternoon, and his heavy
watch chain and fob dangled across his vest, which was buttoned to
the very top in spite of the heat. Of course he wore a boiled shirt,
and his black derby was of a square topped model, conservative and
dignified.
Inspection over and the island steamer out of our berth at the Brewer
Wharf, we cast off and again warped our ship across the harbor. This
took up the remainder of the first day. The boss stevedore came aboard
and we learned that the crew was to work aboard ship, breaking out and
slinging the cargo. The "hatch man" and the "dolly man" were to be
natives of the shore gang; two important posts, as upon them depended
largely the speed of unloading.
[Illustration: AT BREWER'S WHARF]
Word was passed forward that the captain would allow those of us who
wished to, to draw against their pay on Saturday afternoon. In the
meantime, it being Wednesday, we were alongside and free to explore
the city in so far as such investigation could be carried on without
the expenditure of coin. However we found the Chinamen ready to take
"chits" for modest amounts.
After pumping out, and before knocking off for supper, the mate called
Charlie Horse aft and appointed him night watchman. He was delighted
with this billet, and except for a good deal of grumbling about not
being told earlier and having a chance to get some sleep in the
afternoon, he was well pleased. Charlie Horse had once been mate on
a schooner, a fact that he never allowed us to forget, much to the
amusement of such men as Australia and Hitchen. Jimmy Marshall resented
all mention of it and more than once made cracks about the kind of
"schooner" Charlie Horse was most familiar with. Charlie Horse, and
no one ever forgot the Horse part of his name, which I believe was
Horstman or something like that, never ventured an opinion without a
great deal of deliberation, a trait that has much to recommend it,
especially when at times he was referred to during heated arguments.
The long night shifts in Honolulu were well suited for one inclined to
secluded thinking and deep contemplation. Besides this, Charlie Horse
was to have the laugh on us after our second night in port.
That first blessed night of supreme rest while our ship lay in the
stream, swept by a cool sea breeze, was followed by a sweltering night
of discontent. Most of us turned in early, after a short stroll ashore,
and in our ignorance of the customs of the place, slumbered in innocent
exhaustion without a thought of the perils of the night.
Parts of New Jersey and Long Island are noted for their mosquitoes.
Alaska is also somewhat remembered on this account by unfortunates who
have summered along the southern shores, but Honolulu in the historic
year 1898 could boast of one of the most vicious swarms of torturers
lining the shores of the seven seas. We were ripe for them, our skins
spiced with the salt horse and pea soup fluid that coursed through our
veins. We were tired from the labors of the day, and slumbered unmoved
while the enemy put all that was exposed of us to the bayonet. I lay
stripped in my bunk gasping for breath, and in the morning found I was
a mass of bumps, red and unsightly. The next day the china merchants
along Nuuanu Street did a big business in mosquito bars, supplying
us on the strength of our "chits" after the captain had verified the
statement that each man was to be paid five dollars, on account, at the
end of the week.