HAWAIIAN HOSPITALITY
On a fateful Saturday night, the one when we drew five dollars apiece
against our payday, Peter, the boy, and I decided to go ashore and
have our hair cut by a regular barber and then indulge in the pleasure
of a luxurious bath with plenty of soap and a good big tub of hot
water. After the hair cut the bath--and this took us to a Japanese
establishment that was conducted upon true oriental lines. As a bath
house it was A1, but in addition to the supply of hot water, which was
drawn by a female attendant, I found that she (the attendant) was ready
to remain and assist in the scrubbing. Being of a modest turn of mind
myself, and unable to converse with this would-be helper, I finally
made known my desire for her removal by pushing her through the door.
The floor was slippery and in my embarrassment I may have given her
too hearty a shove, for she lost her footing and shot out in a most
undignified manner, "cutting the star" as we used to call it when
skating. Peals of laughter sounded through the flimsy walls, the Japs
taking the whole thing in good part.
However, in the native Japanese quarter, this sort of thing was
considered proper, and, as I afterward learned more of the Japanese,
while in their islands, I found that it was all a simple matter of
point of view and nothing at all extraordinary.
Of Peter a great deal might be said. He was a type of the young
American who will, when circumstances force him into it, go to sea.
However, I have only touched upon him lightly, as he in no way
represented that bygone breed of sailor that made history on the hard
square riggers of that day.
Peter had a delightful voice that passed in Honolulu in lieu of real
coin, at least among the Kanakas, where his wit and general good nature
won him many friends. We attended a luau up in the Nuuanu Valley, a
real native feast where we were received royally because of the high
regard in which Peter was held by the Kanakas. Poi, one finger stuff,
and none of your poverty stricken watery three and two finger poi of
the stevedores and little island traders, was on the bill of fare.
Pork, fish, and fruits of all kinds afforded by the islands were
served to us on _ti_ leaves, while _swipes_ flowed freely.
Peter sang "Hawaii Ponoi" over and over again with our hosts, and we
wound up late at night with the native girls dancing the Hula Hula.
All very decent, of course, but calculated to impress one with the
broader range of vision accorded simple strangers traveling in that
land of song and sunshine when without the stodgy hall mark of smug
respectability to hamper them in their enjoyment. Peter astonished the
natives by sleight of hand tricks with a pack of worn playing cards,
and before we left them had dated us up for another engagement. My head
the following morning was something to be remembered with respect,
and I swore off all further indulgence in the Kanaka's wonderful
hospitality.
On board, our routine became more established. After the consignment of
case oil was put over, we found the work less trying and were better
able to meet it as we accustomed ourselves to the new labor, although
the Republican-Royalist feud continued to the end of our stay. In the
main hold, directly below the hatch, we carried a locomotive boiler.
Getting this overboard called for some seamanship on the part of the
mate. He strengthened the main yard support by extra tackles, and
hoisted the fish fall up to the cargo pendant, which in turn was backed
by several parts of wire rope. The yard purchase was replaced by a
fourfold tackle rove off with new gear. Once ready, we sent the boiler
over the side in good style, setting it squarely on a flat car.
While this special gear for getting over the heavy freight was being
rigged, the remaining running gear of the braces was unrove, coiled and
marked for stowing while old stuff was sent up to take its place, as
all such untarred rope deteriorates rapidly when exposed to the dust
of the port for any length of time. Following the discharge of the
boiler we roused out a large number of cases of heavy machinery, all
to be assembled as a complete locomotive. The _Fuller_ was stowed with
a very mixed cargo, her manifest containing every kind of agricultural
and household implement imaginable. Castle and Cook, a large importing
house in the Islands, got a lot of our cargo and as we would unload a
consignment of stuff for them they would run an advertisement in the
daily papers--
CASTLE AND COOK, Large assortment of the best fruit jars with patent
screw tops just received from the States by Ship _A. J. Fuller._
Had we been wrecked on a desert island, our freight would have set us
up as a very respectable lot of Robinson Crusoes, for we brought the
most general of general cargoes.
After a week in port, my mosquito mottled face having subsided to
normal, I presented a letter of introduction to Mr. William H.
McInerny, at his place of business on Fort Street. Mr. McInerny, his
mother, sister and brothers, were most kind to me, and I enjoyed
their hospitality with an appreciation made extra keen by the life of
the ship. Clean table linen and all of the ordinary necessities of
civilized existence seemed extra good. On the other hand I had sense
enough to appreciate the life aboard ship. This was never dull, and was
soon destined to become particularly strenuous.
Mr. McInerny called for me frequently of a Sunday and took me driving
behind a pair of fast horses. His first appearance on the ship aroused
the gravest sort of suspicions in the mind of the mate. He eyed me
critically when I went ashore in my best Sunday suit, pressed the night
before by a Chinaman on Nuuanu Street. As we drove off, so Peter told
me afterward, the mate shook his head as much as to say, "Another young
fellow gone wrong."
The next morning there was considerable coldness in the manner of
the mate, but nothing actively malignant. He gave me no harder work
to do than before, but he did not condescend to his customary gruff
camaraderie.
When Mr. McInerny called for me again on the following Sunday with
a different rig and another pair of high steppers, Mr. Zerk became
thoroughly disgusted. On Monday he called me aft just before we turned
to after the washdown, and made some very sarcastic remarks about my
"dude friend."
"I suppose you will be getting out of the ship?" he ventured.
"I have never thought of getting out," I answered.
"Well, I was just thinking that you might have a chance to get out.
Maybe your friends with their horses and carriages would not like to
see you working too hard."
"I suppose they would hate to see me work hard, seeing what an easy
time I am having now."
"Damn your hide, they will hate to see you work before I get through
with you. Call that thick ass Scouse aft and that ---- ---- ---- ----
Joe."
When these unfortunates arrived they found Mr. Zerk under a heavy
pressure of bottled-up wrath. The whole silly business had so
exasperated him that he fairly sizzled with madness. Heretofore his
outbursts were mostly impersonal, at least they always seemed so to me;
merely a part of the day's work. We were now turned over to Chips and
found that he had received instructions to clean out the limbers of the
ship, starting in the fore peak and working aft as the bottom of the
hold was uncovered. From that time on until the ship was discharged I
was kept at the most disgusting work of the voyage. Bucket after bucket
of a thick sludge, the results of a previous voyage to the Orient, when
the _Fuller_ loaded some filthy cargo in Hong Kong, was lifted out. Of
course she was never cleaned in New York, where the crew was always
discharged as soon as the hook went down, and no longshore laborer
would do the work we were set to.
After three days of this Joe said to me as we came up out of the hold
covered with filth: "Here is where I quits. To hell with this. That
rotten bull aft thinks he can work anything off on us. Some may be soft
an' easy, but," and here Joe came in strong, "I can get thirty dollars
a month in the coasters, an' I won't be leavin' much. To hell with the
rotten skunk, says I."
That night Joe found a chance to go out on the barkentine _Irmgard_ due
to sail in two days for San Francisco. Like most of the craft trading
to the Islands from the coast, the _Irmgard_ was glad to pick up a
deepwater sailor. Joe agreed to work his passage to Frisco and would
then sign on regularly before the U. S. Commissioner. Joe wanted Scouse
to join him but the big fellow shook his head as Joe urged him, during
the next two days down in the bilge dirt. All conversation on the
subject of Joe's departure was taboo in the fo'c'sle, though Joe worked
hard to have Scouse join him, even going so far as to see that it would
be all right for him to ship in Frisco.
"No, Choe, I don't do no more pilge cleaning when I ged back. Dere
ain't no rotten pilges on farms, ant you never knows what rotten
backets you ship on. I stand dis ant, den, no more."
The night that Joe left we got his clothes ashore over the bow. All
he had was a round bottomed sailor's trunk--a canvas bag. Joe was a
favorite with all of us, and his bag bulked large with parting gifts
of clothing. In addition to this we all chipped in, at the suggestion
of Old Smith, and at a tarpaulin muster, though it was near the end
of the week, we managed to find five dollars. Let it here be said that
after the first generous advance of five each, the Captain cut us down
to two dollars each week, and held down on the slop chest. Of course
five dollars was out of the question, as the pay per month was only
eighteen.
Also, in the details of Joe's departure we had to keep everything from
Charlie Horse. As watchman he would undoubtedly be blamed for not
reporting the desertion. As it was, Charlie Horse was given a hard call
by Captain Nichols, and later on he thanked us for keeping him in the
dark. Charlie was a decent sort and said he was glad he did not have to
lie about the affair when called aft.
"Joe's going," Frenchy whispered this to me. It was near midnight and
Joe had returned as he promised, after depositing his dunnage in the
fo'c'sle of the _Irmgard_, only a few wharves away.
"Good-bye, boys."
"So long, Choe. Goot-luck. Goot py," the last from Scouse. Joe slid
down one of the bowlines and we watched his dark figure walking along
the wharves. Under a street lamp on Nuuanu Street Joe waved back at us
on the strength that we were watching him.
[Illustration: Charlie Horse]
We all felt sorry to lose Joe. Scouse was especially gloomy over his
departure, and I missed the happy-go-lucky fellow in our work below.
Next morning when Joe failed to show up at the wash down, Mr. Zerk was
furious. Charlie Horse came in for a round of abuse and all hands in
general were cursed fore and aft and athwartship. In it all I seemed to
detect a certain note of insincerity. In fact the mate was glad that
Joe had left; it seemed to please him that the drill in the limbers was
tough enough to have had that result.
No one was assigned to take Joe's place, but after a week of it Scouse
was relieved and Tony became my partner in filth.
"I suppose we will have other deserters," said the mate, coming down
and looking us over. His words were evidently intended for me.
"I don't think so, sir. Scouse doesn't mind this a bit," which was a
foolish remark, but at least resulted in giving the red-head a relief.
I kept fit by getting up an hour earlier each morning than the rest of
the crowd and taking a plunge overboard as a bracer, swimming about the
ship. In the evening, being too dirty to give a hand in pumping out,
I had the pleasure of a plunge into the cool waters before supper. I
always washed out my dungarees as soon as I came up, and alternated,
leaving the ones last worn to have a good sunning.
Captain Nichols saw me one noon looking rather dirty. He may have
remarked the fact that he had seen me in the same state some ten days
before, when the grind first started.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Cleaning out the limbers, sir."
"How do you like it?" grinning.
"Fine; wish the ship had four instead of two, sir."
This seemed to tickle the old man, and whatever he did I don't know,
but the next day the mate came below and lifted a horrible fuss about
the way things were dragging, with Chips at his heels saying "Yes, sir,
yes, sir," so fast that the mate turned on him and asked him if he had
St. Vitus's dance. "Yes, sir," answered Chips, before he realized his
mistake. "Well, then, get the hell out of here and let me finish this."
Four extra men were sent down and the job cleaned up the next day.
I was mighty glad when the drill was over, for to tell the truth my
health was beginning to suffer from the nasty grind and the constant
breathing of foul air. In the fo'c'sle, too, the boys were more than
decent about it. "Well, you stuck it out," was the opinion.