for from the moment he donned the naval uniform and came on deck, the
young apprentice boys began to tease and make a fool of him. They told
him he would have to purchase clothes pins to use on the clothes line;
they sent him from one to the other in search of many things that did
not exist on a ship, making him believe that he was in duty bound to
obey them. He believed their yarn when they told him the sergeant of
marines was buried in the fore peak, and had him go with a lantern to
polish the brass corners of the tomb. The poor fellow’s mind was so
upset he doubted everyone, and even hesitated to obey the orders of the
officer of the deck, believing he too was a “fake.”
He could stand it no longer, so when the “Duke of Edinburgh” (the
nickname given to the cook) took hold of him he showed fight. Putting
himself in a defensive attitude, he clinched with the duke. Pots, pans
and kettles were tumbled about without any consideration on their part,
the crowd gathered to see the fun, the noise and uproar reached the
spar deck and in a flash the master-at-arms and ship’s corporal came
tumbling double time down the fore hatch ladder, and, pushing the crowd
aside, they separated the combatants and marched them to the mast.
Anderson, now nicknamed Cape Town, told his story to the officer of the
deck and then the duke related his. Here it was that Cape Town learned
from the ship’s corporal that his clothes were in the lucky bag.
Both men were put on the report and the next morning when the
delinquents were brought before the commanding officer, he punished the
duke by placing him on third class conduct list, which deprived him of
liberty while in that port. Cape Town he sentenced to do four hours
extra police duty for having his clothes in the lucky bag.
The nearest resemblance to a lucky bag on a man-of-war, is a small,
second hand clothing shop on Salem St. Although named the lucky bag,
it is not generally a bag. I have seen at times when there were only
a few things confiscated around the decks, a well filled bag in the
master-at-arms possession, but usually the lucky bag is a place, a
locker of some description where confiscated clothing and all such
articles are kept.
On board of a merchant vessel it matters not how long a sailor desires
to keep his clothes on deck, no one cares where he puts them or what
is done with them, so long as they are forward and below the rail of
the ship, but on a war ship it is different. A man-of-war’s man owns
a clothes bag in which he keeps his clothing, a hammock containing
his mattress and bedding, his ditty box for his sewing gear, and pipe
and tobacco. He may earn a few dollars by making clothes, hence the
ownership of a small sewing machine. He may possess a set of boxing
gloves, swinging clubs, a musical instrument, or curiosities that he
has bought for his sweetheart or for his friends, and while there is
a certain time given him each day when he can bring his belongings on
deck, and overhaul everything he owns to his satisfaction and to the
delight of his shipmates, there are other times when everything he
possesses must be stowed away, otherwise it will reach the ever open,
avaricious jaws of the lucky bag.
In the morning before breakfast the decks have been cleaned. Perhaps
there is still time to polish the deck brass work before eight bells,
when breakfast will be piped, but even then the man-of-war’s man
cannot put his bag away, for there is other work to be done before he
can clean himself for quarters. The gun bright (brass) work has to be
polished, for every man of a gun’s crew has a portion of the brass and
steel allotted him for his special care.
Therefore, after breakfast he must hurry and clean his gun bright work,
change his clothes, get his blacking and brush from his ditty box and
shine his shoes, for the messenger boy will soon strike two bells (nine
o’clock,) and the boatswain’s mates will be ordered to pipe sweepers.
Then as birds in a forest, the whistles of the boatswain’s mates are
heard chirping from stem to stern, calling the sweepers to man their
brooms and give the “old gal” a final brush down. Woe to the man who
has forgotten to stow away his traps, whatever they may be, for in a
little while before three bells, the executive officer emerges from the
ward room, and, followed by the masters-at-arms and ship’s corporal, he
inspects the whole ship.
Starting from the ward room to the spar deck, then to the berth deck,
he will pry into every corner and overhaul everything. The breech
blocks of the guns are thrown open, the tompions are withdrawn, he
peeps from breech to muzzle to make sure no oily rags have been stowed
therein and that the gun is clean inside.
The berth deck cooks are standing by their mess chests ready with
clean mess cloths and utensils for his all seeing eyes to peep into
and inspect. The captain of the hold has thrown aside his dirty
working suit and dressed in the uniform of the day, he stands in the
hatchway with lantern in hand, to receive him. The sailmaker’s mate,
the gunner’s mate, and every idler who has the care of any shellroom
or locker, is at his post to greet him as he progresses in his onward
march of inspection. Every clothes bag, piece of clothing, ditty box,
musical instrument, anything that is out of place is confiscated by his
orders.
It was at this particular time that Cape Town had forgotten to put his
bag below and when the “first luff” spotted it under the forecastle
head, he ordered it to be put into the lucky bag. This was not the
only time that the jaws of the lucky bag had closed on Cape Town’s
belongings, for on several occasions during the cruise he had to scrub
the copper on the bottom of the sailing launch while others were
loitering around the decks, as a punishment for having his traps enter
there.
Not only during the executive officer’s inspection, is the lucky bag
fed. It may be in the afternoon when all hands are called by the
boatswain’s mates to “stand by your scrubbed and washed clothes.” At
such a call every man who has clothes on the lines is expected to get
on deck and remove them. Should some fellow who doesn’t heed the call
allow his clothes to remain on the lines, the officer of the deck will
order them put into the lucky bag unless some shipmate is kind enough
to care for them, which is often the case.
Such confiscated clothing is occasionally kept in the “brig” (a cell
for punishment) and if there is not an over abundance, such articles
may be allowed to remain there even though a prisoner is doing a short
sentence of five days bread and water.
While there is an order on a war vessel that every man shall have his
name stamped on his clothes, there are men who evade it and do not mark
everything. Sometimes the paint which was used in stamping the name is
so worn by washing that it is illegible. Therefore, if such a piece
of clothing finds its way to the lucky bag the owner will let it stay
there, for he knows that if he claims it he will have to do some extra
police duties or be classed. His best plan is to await his time. Some
fellow may soon be sentenced to the brig, among the contents of the
lucky bag, and may clandestinely secure it for him. At any rate he can
look forward to the day when the auction sale of the lucky bag takes
place and then buy his own clothes.
I remember having a blue flannel shirt made. It was valuable, for the
sailor who made it had put on fancy silk stars on the collar, the
tape was neatly stitched, the best of silk had been used. Just before
inspection the tailor handed it to me. I had not time to go below and
shove it into the mouth of my clothes bag, so I lifted the flap of
the hammock cloth and pushed it between the cloth and the ship’s side.
The bulge it made in the hammock cloth caught the “first luff’s” eyes;
he put his hand under the painted canvass and hauled out my Sunday
mustering shirt. Fresh from the tailor’s hands, it found its way to the
lucky bag. There was no name on it to tell who was the owner, and as
I had many extra hours of police duty to do for other misdemeanors, I
held my peace and let the “go shore” shirt remain confiscated.
Good luck came my way sooner than I had hoped. The captain of the
afterguard was sentenced the next day to do five days bread and water
in the brig for being insolent to the officer of the deck. The contents
of the lucky bag were pushed into one corner of the cell while the
prisoner had the remaining portion of the iron brig to himself.
Here was my opportunity. I sneaked on the opposite side of the sentry
and placed my mouth close to the small perforated holes in the iron
walls of the brig and begged my incarcerated shipmate to overhaul the
lucky bag and find my shirt. Although it was dark he managed to find
the garment, so at seven bells the next morning, when he was brought
on deck to have a bath, he tucked it under the folds of his shirt and
left it on the forecastle head where I secured it.
About once in every two or three months the master-at-arms is ordered
to bring the contents of the lucky bag on deck. Standing in the port
gangway he holds up the various articles to the view of the crowd
around him and asks for bids.
It was prearranged before the sales on our ship, that if any man
shouted distinctly the words, “I will offer” in making his bid we were
not to bid against him, for we knew that “I will offer,” meant it was
the bidder’s own things. In this way we bought and rebought our own
clothes during the cruise rather than be punished for our negligence.
Sometimes the clothing was marked, when the owner was reported, and
would find no escape from cleaning the bottom of the sailing launch.
Again, he might be on friendly terms with the master-at-arms or ship’s
corporal, and in a begging attitude have him give them up without
being reported, or he might approach the officer of the deck and be
diplomatic in framing an excuse so as to win his favor and have the
lucky bag give up its treasure.
THE SAILOR AND HIS DUDHEEN
The Sailor and His Dudheen
It is possible to find a sailor who does not smoke or chew tobacco; but
he is a rare creature. The great majority of seamen enjoy their pipes
and some chew the weed as well, finding much comfort and consolation
thereby.
A very large number of friends have asked why do sailors smoke so much?
It is not an unusual occurrence to see some of the seamen leave our
concert hall while there is an excellent entertainment taking place,
for the sole purpose of having a few draws on their old dudheens.
Generally they are firemen and coal passers of the merchant steamers.
These men have more opportunities than the deck hands to smoke. Usually
they are on watch four hours of every twelve, and off or on duty they
are allowed to smoke their pipes. There may be an exceptional ship
where the engineer of the watch will prohibit a fireman or coal passer
from smoking while on duty, but such discipline in the fireroom of an
ocean steamship is seldom seen.
Naturally these men feel the need of a smoke after the duration of an
hour. They long for a whiff of the pipe, and therefore leave their
seats during a good concert to obtain it.
I do not think that seamen smoke oftener nor use more tobacco than any
other class of men. When a sailor has donned his “go shore” clothes and
is ready to take a spin on the beach the chief thing he sees to, is
that his pipe and tobacco are in his jacket pocket, and when away from
the restraint of ship life, he smokes to his heart’s content. Perhaps
during the day when other men have had the privilege of enjoying
several cigars and as many pipefulls as they desired, poor Jack has had
only a few draws during the meal hours, so when his day’s work is over
he makes up for lost time.
Take the amount of tobacco used by a ship’s crew and compare it with
the amount used by the same number of landsmen and I think we will
find the lesser weight to be credited to the “shell back.” So with
drinking. The sailor uses less alcohol than the man ashore; not being
accustomed to drinking, a very few glasses makes him totter and
shake, and soon throws him on his beam’s end, while his brother, the
landlubber, has been pouring it down his throat all day, and is able at
the close of the night to meander his way home safely.
On a sailing ship it would be considered a breach of discipline for
a man to be seen smoking his pipe while on duty. He is expected to
refrain from such tendencies which help to weaken ship discipline, and
abide his time till eight bells have been struck and he is relieved.
Then before he closes his weary eyelids for a few hours’ nap, he can
have the pleasure of a draw on his old dudheen.
I recall a voyage on an American full rigger where the question of
smoking tobacco was the cause of much disturbance to the crew. During
the watch below a sailor was not allowed to come on deck with his
pipe in his mouth. He must confine his incense to the denizens of the
forecastle. On Sundays, when the decks had been washed and the brass
work cleaned, he could chew and spit over the rail; but the privilege
of smoking at such a time or on watch during the night was an offense
which meant the loss of an afternoon below.
On some ships there are times when the boatswains are not severe and
cruel, then a sailor may slip into the forecastle and steal a few draws
from his pipe. Especially if the man has come from the wheel where he
has been grinding salt water for two hours, doing his best to keep the
ship on her course, lest the officer of the watch find her wake is
crooked and greets him with an oath or blow, or from the lookout where
he has spent his watch in strange meditations.
The merchant sailor can smoke his pipe only during his watch below
at sea, and in the meal hours and the evenings when in port. I have
heard that on some English vessels and American coasters, the crews
are allowed to smoke at all times, even at the wheel; but I have never
sailed in such homes. In the United States Navy there is such a thing
as a “smoking lamp,” and when it is lighted every man can fill his pipe
and smoke on any part of the spar deck forward of the mainmast. This
smoking lamp is made of copper. Holes, about an inch in circumference,
are bored through the sides so that a piece of paper can be inserted so
as to reach the flickering flame. The lamp is hung in some convenient
place, usually near the foremast, and during meal hours and the
evenings in port, till nine o’clock (2 bells) it is kept lighted. At
sea, in the dog watches and meal hours it is hung up for use. There are
times on a war vessel when the smoking lamp is kept lighted the greater
part of the day. Saturday afternoons, when the work of the week is
ended and the men are overhauling their bags; Sunday after the morning
inspection is over, and on holidays. Then the man-of-war’s man can
smoke without fear of some officer or marine on duty inviting him to
the mast for punishment.
Again it may be a day when all hands are busily engaged coaling ship
or taking aboard provisions, something that keeps the whole crew
busy, such a time the seamen feel they have sufficient reason to ask
permission for the smoking lamp to be lighted.
Most seafaring men enjoy a smoke the last thing at night. It is a
comfort to stretch oneself in a hammock and just before dozing into
that unconscious state between wakefulness and sleep to withdraw the
pipe from the lips and place it under the pillow, then roll over and
slumber away.
During a cruise on an American war vessel, we came to anchor in the
harbor of Pernambuco. Several of the crew slept under the top gallant
forecastle where there was room for about fifty men. I managed to find
a vacant billet away from the suffocating berth deck. That very night
after taps had been sounded I turned into my hammock for a few hours’
solid comfort. My pipe was lighted so I decided to continue my smoke.
I stretched myself out, and pulled away at my old clay stump, keeping
one eye on the corporal of Marines at the gangway. I fell asleep while
smoking, for in a few moments I felt a burning pain at my side which
awakened me, and, on rolling over, I saw my blankets burning. In a
moment I was on deck, and in the twinkling of an eye I had the hammock
unhooked and “Presto change” the whole thing, bedding and all went
through the gun port. I was none too soon for the officer of the deck
and the anchor watch came running forward looking for the fire. They
had smelt the smoke and were seeking the cause. I hid myself in the
manger under the heel of the bowsprit and listened to them as they
discussed the whereabouts of the fire. My heart almost failed me when
the officer of the deck noticed the burning hammock over the side. The
tide was taking it astern and as there was an English ocean “tramp” a
short distance ahead of us, he decided that the smell of smoke came
from that bundle of old rags drifting by us from the steamer.
For five nights I slept on the bare deck planks and on the sixth
evening I reported my hammock missing. A search was made and when it
could not be found the first lieutenant said I must have thrown it
over the rail that morning in tossing it into the netting before the
hammock stower was there. I was glad to escape so easily for had I
been detected having smoked my pipe in bed, I would have suffered the
penalty of a court martial. As it was, I only lost my mattress and bed
clothes, which were worth about ten dollars. It would be easy to write
a few more pages of the many stolen smokes I and others have enjoyed,
yes, and of the many hours we have scrubbed the copper on the water
line of the ship as a punishment for smoking without permission; but I
will leave it untouched.
PETS ABOARD SHIP
Pets Aboard Ship
Cats, dogs and all other animals, when they find their way on board
of a ship seem to know that nothing but kindness will be their lot.
Sailors are fond of pets and when opportunities are afforded them to
own some sort of an animal, they lavishly bestow upon them pent-up
affections, which accumulate by being isolated from their loved ones.
There are many stories about the wonderful power possessed by seamen in
taming the wild creatures that have been under their care.
I was once a stowaway on a brig which carried as part of her freight,
a deck load of mules. It was my duty to wash their faces every morning
and assist in feeding them. The first few days they were so vicious
that it was impossible to pass in front of some of them. Before we
reached port the evil spirits left them and they were as affectionate
as children. At first a few slaps on the face were necessary to
conquer some of them, but with kindness they were tamed. When the day
came to hoist them over the side into the lighter, the sailors had some
kind parting word for each mule; especially for the one whose stall
was nearest the forecastle door. He had won a place in the hearts of
all forward; he had every opportunity to become acquainted, as there
was never a meal eaten but he was allowed a portion. From his stall he
could put his head inside the forecastle and feed from the men’s pans.
Though they were all gently hoisted and given a chance to kick their
legs while in mid air, poor “Dick” received the greatest attention.
Just before the lighter shoved off, a sailor climbed over the side, and
putting his arms around old Dick’s head, gave him a parting kiss.
I have never owned a cat but have been shipmates with several. When
I was an ordinary seaman on the _Hagarstown_, the day we left port,
a black cat belonging to the tow boat jumped aboard. She was curious
and drifted into the steward’s store room where she became a prisoner.
That evening her mewing attracted the steward’s attention, and she was
released and allowed to wander around the decks. There was an unhappy
look upon her face, and it was several days before she attempted to be
friendly. Gradually the steward won her confidence and she lapped her
milk quite contently. In about two weeks four little kittens were born,
all black like the mother except one, which had a few white spots. When
we arrived in port all hands left for their homes and boarding houses.
The watchman and I were the only occupants of the ship. There was very
little nourishment for the kittens so we gave them away. The mother
remained a few days and then disappeared.
I have seen men fondle cats and care for them as tenderly as a mother
would her babe. I was once shipmates with a colored cook who had a
family of cats. They slept in his bunk, and in cold weather they
enjoyed the warmth of his galley fire. One of his pets seemed to care
for the companionship of the forecastle, which aroused his jealousy. At
last he shut his galley doors against this turtle shell pet of the men.
She did not mind this treatment; she shared her affections with all
forward; though her relatives fed more sumptuously, she had sixteen
bunks at her disposal. Every man’s bed was her property.
I have seen a man-of-war’s man take a little Maltese kitten from the
street outside the Boston Navy Yard gate, covered with mange and sores,
and nestle it in the folds of his blue shirt while he conveyed it
aboard the _Wabash_. Here it found a home. Poor little puss was fed and
doctored, and in a short while she was the pet of the ship. She lived
to be the mother of a large family. I recall her looks as she rubbed
her fur against my trousers when I lifted the box containing her little
ones on to the sill of a gun port, so that they would be clear of the
water when we washed decks.
It was the duty of one man to care for the float which was used as a
landing at the wharf off which the _Wabash_ was moored. Almost every
cat in the Navy Yard was acquainted with him. In this sailor’s makeup
there was an abundant supply of love for cats. In his bunk in the small
shanty on the float, a whole family of cats could be found at any time.
Unmolested, they did as they pleased.
I have a fondness for monkeys and whenever an opportunity was given me
to own one I took advantage of it. Of all pets, they afforded me the
most pleasure. Once during a calm in the Straits of Sunda the natives
of Java visited us. In their canoes there were lots of yams, sweet
potatoes and monkeys. Having no money we exchanged our clothing for
pets. I gave a flannel shirt for a small macaque. My jinny was very
affectionate. In my watch below she cuddled herself in my arms and
slept. Sometimes I would have just fallen asleep when she would take
hold of my eyelids and try to open them. It was fun to see her catch
the water bugs and eat them. The hair on her head formed a beautiful
crest, which she enjoyed having combed. During the dog watches we
romped and played like children.
One evening I came from the wheel at eight o’clock. Before turning in
I looked for my jinny. No where could I find her. At last I heard her
scream on the top of the forward house. I hastened up there and between
the boats under the mainstay, I found my pet under an empty beef
barrel with a booby. The ship’s cook had caught the bird and had put
it and jinny under the barrel. The dear little monkey was insane with
fright. I could do nothing with her. Her reason was entirely gone, so
I secured some lumps of coal and tied them in a bit of old canvas and
sank my pet in the deep. I would have liked to treat the cook in the
same manner but being too small to grapple with him, I held my peace.
This cowardly poltroon, the ship’s cook, was a brutal fellow. He owned
several monkeys and in trying to make them perform tricks he murdered
them. His last monkey was rescued from drowning. One day this savage
cook was angry with his little jacko because he did not come to him
when called. He struck the frightened monkey over the head with a
potato masher and cast him overboard. The captain, standing on the poop
deck, saw the monkey was still alive and threw the coil of the spanker
sheet to him. We were sailing slowly and poor jacko had just strength
enough to hold on while the skipper lifted him on board. The medicine
chest was opened, his bruises stitched and cared for, and he became the
protege of the quarter deck. Often while standing a trick at the wheel
I watched the little fellow bask in the sun. The bandages around his
head made him resemble some old men I have seen in hospitals.