THE LAND OF LANGUOR
The month in port had pulled us together in a remarkable manner. The
ship's company forward were as one large family gathered by strange
chance from the ends of the earth, and, because of the wonderful
adaptability of human nature, we were working and living our life in
pleasant harmony. Of course it might as well be said that if anything
otherwise had occurred, if constant fighting had taken place, our well
trained masters of the cabin would have put the disturbances down with
little delay.
On the _Fuller_ we mustered an imposing array of nationalities; besides
Americans, we had Norwegians, a Swede, an Italian, two Germans, and an
Englishman. The mate, an American, had "Blue Nose" written all over
him. He was one of those hard men, originating in Nova Scotia, who
have added their bit to the consummate seamanship of New England and
New York. The Chinese cook, and Japanese boy, and later on our Kanaka
sailors, helped to make us as conglomerate as any melting pot. The one
man we lacked, and it was the only place in my career of much work and
poor pay, that I did not find him, was the Irishman. We missed Paddy;
he should have been there.
The amount of the pay day coming to us, some time in the distant
future, was a constant source of computation. Figuring the time since
the working off of the dead horse, and deducting the slop chest
account, also the money advanced while in port, and while the figures
were often disappointing, there was still the possibility of a tidy
pay day looming far ahead. Unlike the poor whaleman with the prospect
of nothing but his "Iron Dollar" and escape from slavery, we did have
a show to collect. The captain in American ships is allowed to charge
a profit of ten per cent on his slop chest account. I doubt if Captain
Nichols did even this. He had the steward serve out such things as were
wanted, and the prices were lower than the cost of similar articles
on South Street. When Peter dipped in too strong, getting, or rather
attempting to get expensive things from the slops, the captain refused
to let him have them. Peter once wanted some tobacco, he was going very
heavy on this item as he regularly gave it away. Captain Nichols shut
down on him and after that handed him cigars whenever he happened to
see Peter.
Scouse was one of the principal calculators of the pay day. He had
a frugal mind and was planning great things with his money when he
should once more get back to New York. With Joe gone, Scouse became a
different man. He was a sobered Scouse, a deep thinking plodder who
gave himself up to day dreams that must have been of vast extent.
Scouse announced that he intended to get married. He planned to meet
and marry some good obliging German girl, "Just over; dot's the one." A
girl not averse to a big lumbering Dutchman with a shock of coarse red
hair, and a terrible appetite; however a man not afraid to work. His
idea was to go west. "No more from dis rotten sailor's humbug by me. I
was going to be somepody ant get respect ant lif like decent people."
Also he figured on a nest egg of a little over one hundred dollars.
But then, families have been founded on less, though of course the
founders were not destined to be welcomed home by a band of crimps and
blandishers.
Frenchy too had great plans. He was going back to Dunkirk. To be sure
he even talked of going back to Havre, in the French Line, paying his
steerage passage. Then he planned to get spliced, and his scheme was to
go out in the fishing fleet, or else back to New Caledonia, where he
knew the country, and start life afresh.
Axel was going back to Sweden, to Stockholm, so he said, and never more
out on the briny billows of discontent. Fred was also a prospective
homeward bounder. Trondhjem was his destination, and the fishing fleets
of the town the means for his living. Tony and Charlie Horse intended
to join Scouse in so far as they were bound for the interior of the U.
S. A.
During these many discussions, the wise sailor-men like Hitchen,
Brenden, and Smith, the seasoned shellbacks, full of the cruel
furrows of time spent before the mast, and God alone knows what other
outlandish callings that roving men may follow, kept their counsel and
smiled.
"Sonny, I guess I am down on the books of some ship that sails a few
weeks after we get back. Another crowd, another skipper and mates, and
another voyage." Old Smith was as nearly sentimental as it was possible
for him to be, and still be Old Smith. "Yes, I like this ship, but how
in hell are we all going to sign on again when more than half the
crowd is going to get married?"
It was strange how thoughtful the hard days of hauling that chain made
all of us. Besides this, the Honolulu climate was gradually getting
under our hardened hides. They can say what they like about the
Hawaiian Islands being a "white man's country." It is if you mean a
white man who never has anything harder to do than to tell a Kanaka or
a Jap to lift the burden. The trades do blow, and it is lucky for the
inhabitants that they do, otherwise, the Isthmus of Panama would be
duplicated out in the broad Pacific. In spite of the pleasing winds and
the beautiful clear weather, things are a bit too balmy for continued
physical exertion. Lifting a gin rickey is good enough exercise, and if
you lift them often enough, out at Sans Souci, for instance, you can
imagine anything you like about the Islands.
Working men stay home, if you are white, let the coolies shoulder the
physical burdens; but if you are wealthy and also lucky, you will very
likely own stock in a sugar plantation. They were paying seventy-five
per cent dividends in those days, and this is so even now, I believe.
Also if one is ambitious to put pep and fire into things, seek a cooler
clime. It is a fact that the white people of the Islands, who can do
so, spend a part of their time on the coast and whenever possible,
prospective mothers go to the coast during the time of their pregnancy,
as the Hawaiian climate seems to rob them of much of the necessary
vitality for the ordeal of birth.
But the Islands do hold a magic, all pervading charm, they are as
unlike any other islands as it is possible for them to be. Honolulu,
with its beautiful villas, with its modern setting amid a glory of
tropical verdure, springing from an age old fertile humus, bathed in
tropic sun, cannot be duplicated.
On getting alongside the railroad wharf, which we did by the economical
and laborious process of warping across the harbor by use of a kedge
anchor, we found that the greater part of the day had gone by, a day
that started at four o'clock in the morning with the regular washdown
to begin things, when we were ordered to carry out the kedge and pick
up our moorings.
Time was plentiful with us in those days, for the eight hour schedule
had never been heard of. Mr. Furuseth and Senator La Follette were
not there to shield us from cruel fate, and besides, whatever extra
drilling was done, was simply at the expense of sleep, a thing under
the complete control of the mate. We got up when we were told to by
the mate, as Charlie Horse went aft for his orders each evening, and
when extra work was to be done he was instructed accordingly.
Once alongside, we took aboard the long hardwood sugar chutes, worn
smooth by endless polishing of the gunny sack, in which the partly
refined sugar is shipped. These chutes were arranged very cleverly by
Nigger who came aboard with a shore gang of stevedores. The inclination
must be just right, and the chutes must be placed just so, in order
to prevent spilling, where it is necessary to cut corners in order to
reach the farther parts of the hold. We were glad that natives were
to stow the ship; in fact this work is mighty technical, and we never
would have been able to do so with our crew. Working with the natives,
we picked up a lot of knowledge about the handling of sugar, points
that were to be of much use to me in later years when I returned to the
islands as mate of a steamer.
On the Railroad Wharf there were several lines of track and some
turnouts carrying short flat cars loaded with sugar bags all safe under
huge tarpaulins. We also found the warehouse pretty well stocked with
it, and were told that when we once started to load, the sugar would
pour into the ship in a constant stream.
That night we again put up our mosquito bars against the enemy from
which we had mercifully been saved during the few days in the stream.
Tired but strangely content, we sat on the fo'c'sle head in the evening
glow or walked out on the stringpiece of the railroad wharf, which then
jutted far into the harbor, and watched the lights aboard the U. S. S.
_Bennington_. Except Peter, we had made no friends aboard the gunboat.
They seemed like men of a different world, as indeed they were. The
sounding of "taps" over the water, the clear plaintive notes of the
bugle, ended our day. We were to load on the morrow; at last we were to
start on the final half of our voyage, with the taking aboard of our
first bag of sugar.