Our captain was fond of pets of any kind, so he granted us a few
dollars to buy monkeys and parrots. Our ship was a floating menagerie.
There were seven monkeys and nine parrots. Among this lot was a large
spider monkey. The naturalist has correctly named this horrid creature.
He was a black object whose body was about the size of a full grown
cat, having long arms and a tail much longer than his body. He was
a hideous creature. Unlike the other monkeys, he could not stand
captivity. While the others became accustomed to their new surroundings
and remained on deck, his only delight was to be in the rigging.
Shortly after leaving Maracaibo, skin disease was visible through his
harsh, black fur, which made him extremely miserable. Far different
were the weeper monkeys. These mischievous fellows afforded us much
pleasure.
Forward of the forecastle there was a coop of hens. Before they were
killed for the cabin use they were devoid of feathers, for the monkeys
delighted to put their paws into the coop and pluck the feathers. When
we reached the American coast, our pets, both monkeys and parrots,
suffered from the cold weather. They contracted colds in the head and
severe coughs, insomuch that we were forced to sell them to the cook
for a mere trifle, for he could furnish them with the warmth of his
galley.
We were wind bound in Vineyard Sound for several days. About three
o’clock one early morning we were called to man the boat and go in
search of a doctor as one of the crew was taken ill. By the time we
were through with the doctor and had returned to the ship after putting
him ashore, it was drawing close to daylight. We were allowed to sleep
in till breakfast, so I thought I would have another nap. As I got into
my bunk I rolled on a dead monkey and a parrot; each one of us had the
same experience. The cook had played a joke on us. When he was called
at four o’clock he found every one of his pets dead. Not only the
monkeys and parrots, but a cat and her three kittens. They had all been
suffocated by the coal gas of the galley stove.
During a cruise on a war vessel we called in at several ports in
Madagascar. Before we finally left the island we had a large supply of
what the sailors called Madagascar cats. These Lemuroids (half monkey
and half cat) took possession of the ship. Their arboreal lives made
them discontented with the flat surface of the deck, but once they were
allowed to climb the rigging, they seemed satisfied with their new
surroundings. The majority of these pets slept during the day, but in
the evening, as the sun neared the western horizon they were wide awake
and full of animation. The boatswain’s mate in the starboard gangway
owned a most peculiar gray Lemur. During the day he remained cuddled up
in some corner, his head and face covered with his tail; but as soon
as he felt the cool of the evening approaching, he would jump in the
rigging and watch for a chance to spring on some man’s head. His soft,
prominent eyes had a pleasing expression and he would close them when
his fur was stroked, manifesting pleasure in being caressed. He had a
large, round head, set close on his shoulders, short fore limbs and
long hind ones. His tail was bushy and his slender body was covered
with a thick gray coat of fur which was like plush to the touch, and he
was fed on bread soaked in condensed milk. As soon as we sailed into
Southern latitudes our Madagascar cats succumbed to the cold.
In Bahia one of the ward room officers bought two yellow puppies, which
lived forward, and one of the men was paid a small sum to care for
them. The carpenter’s mate had two marmosets, and as soon as the yellow
dogs came aboard, they pounced upon their backs, showing a fondness
for horse back riding. At first the canines disliked this treatment
and tried every device to dismount their riders. The only relief they
found from the marmosets was to crawl under the bottom step of the
forecastle head ladder, and scrape them off their backs. Later on, one
of the marmosets was taken sick and died and the other became more
affectionate and less distrustful. One morning we were surprised to
hear the boatswain’s mates call us to “stand by our hammocks.” We all
wondered what this could mean, but in a few moments the word was passed
for us to take them below, unlash them and see if the marmoset was in
some man’s bed.
The carpenter’s mate had missed his pet; he searched every place for
him and at last it occurred to him that “Tippy” must have been lashed
in some bed as he usually slept at the head of a hammock. Sure enough.
The little marmoset was discovered under the blankets in a hammock,
where he had been smothered. Poor little fellow. We all mourned our
loss.
The yellow puppies grew to be large dogs. Just as soon as a boat was
called away they were at the gangway ready to visit the shore. Without
a guide they roamed the streets of strange cities, and when tired of
that, like old salts they made for the boat landing and came aboard.
They were two wise creatures, for when ashore they knew the men of
their ship among a crowd of other sailors, and kept in company with the
ones who were under the influence of strong drink, protecting them from
being robbed.
One afternoon it was blowing a stiff pampero in Montevideo Bay. The
steam launch left the ship to make a safe mooring alongside of a wharf,
and as the two dogs wanted to go ashore, they jumped overboard in hope
of overtaking her. The short, choppy seas soon exhausted their strength
and both were drowned.
On another vessel we had a goat. She was kept tied on the main hatch.
Once free, she fed on any clothes that were in her reach and butted
any person who came in her way. When she was at liberty it took two or
more men to secure her, for she was a vixen whose temper was savage and
unappeasable.
It has been my privilege to be shipmate with almost every kind of
living creature, animals, insects and birds, and in closing I will say
a few words about the much hated rats.
I was on a brig sailing between the West Indies and New York, which
had a full complement of rats. Some of them were tame. There was one
fat fellow who found his way to my bunk. At first he was timid but he
mastered it and was exceedingly friendly, for I could hold a pan for
him to eat, but if I attempted to stroke his fur he would skedaddle
away. It was amusing to watch them steal molasses from the casks.
They sat on the bung hole and allowed their tails to trail within. By
licking each other’s tail they secured a plentiful supply.
HOW SAILORS WASH THEIR CLOTHES
How Sailors Wash Their Clothes
We must have been about ten days out from Barbados on my first trip to
sea, when Captain Dunscombe ordered me to bring all my traps on deck
for his inspection. I felt ashamed to expose my ignorance, for I had
never washed a shirt, made a bed, or sewn on a button; in fact I did
not know how to care for my clothing and bedding.
During my short period of sea-sickness I had soiled some of my clothes
and had stowed them in my cubby hole, the sail locker. The colored
cook used a part of this locker in which to keep his stores, and while
rummaging around the mainsail which was stowed there, he discovered my
offensive clothing and brought it on deck for the old man to see what
a dirty boy he had aboard. True enough, for at this time I had not
a clean garment in my outfit. My first lesson in cleanliness was now
given.
Captain Dunscombe had one of his sailors fill a deck bucket with fresh
water, and, seating himself by my side, he taught me how to wash my
clothes. It was a new experience for me. It seems strange to me that my
sailor brothers did not tell my mother that it was necessary for me to
know how to wash and mend my clothes. No doubt they thought of it, but
they knew that in Barbados it was almost impossible for a respectable
family to wash their clothes, as it was considered degrading, so the
negroes did that work. And again, the method of washing clothes is very
different from that of northern countries. The negro washer women carry
the clothes to some running stream or river, and after giving them a
few rubs on a small board, they rinse them in the ocean by pounding
them on a white boulder at ebb tide. Then they are spread on the white,
burning sands of the beach to dry. I had no knowledge of wash tubs and
scrubbing boards, and had never seen clothes soaped and rubbed between
the hands, therefore, the lesson I was then receiving on the _Meteor_
was very much needed.
Before I proceed farther, I will advise every mother whose boy is
determined to follow the sea for a living, to take her youngster into
her kitchen and there give him his first lesson in a sailor’s calling.
Teach him how to wash his clothes; instruct him in the making of his
bed; have him sew on his buttons, and put a patch on his trousers or
mend a rent in his shirt; then as he enters upon his duties as boy on
board his vessel, he will thank you for his instructions. Make sure
that he can care for the dishes, the knives and forks; let him be the
housemaid, cook, the factotum of the home, for the more proficient he
is in such duties, the more efficient deck boy he will be. Instead of a
dirty slouch he will be a clean, tidy lad.
As there are no washer women on board a ship, it devolves upon every
man to do for himself the personal services which are done for men on
land, by the other sex.
After spending fully two hours rubbing and rinsing my clothes, I was
then shown how to secure them to the footstops of the mainsail; so that
they would not blow overboard. As cabin boy, I not only received my
lessons in arranging the dining table for meals, washing and wiping
dishes, but was fortunate to have a friend to teach me how to wash and
mend. I have seen boys enlist as apprentices, yes, landsmen too, young
men fresh from the country, who were utterly unable to grapple with the
conditions of their new surroundings. Unprepared for that self-reliance
which is suddenly thrust upon them, they go for days and days without
washing their clothes, until they are forced to do so by the officer of
their division.
I remember a lad of tender age who had enlisted as an apprentice. On
several occasions he was reported for being dirty and at last one day
his bag was brought on deck. As soon as the mouth was opened, a foul
odor emanated from his clothing. The poor little fellow had done his
best and had tried to keep clean as well as he knew how, but this had
proved a failure. His condition elicited the sympathy of an old “flat
foot.” The aged jack tar took the bag of clothes on a float alongside
the ship, and there with brush, soap and water, taught the lad how to
wash his clothes and helped him get his outfit clean once more.
I was once on board a large American sailing ship where we had a middle
aged man among our crew. He was a native of Belgium and could speak
no English. The poor man had a sore time of it on deck and hardly any
better treatment when below among his mates. One day when we had been
about four weeks at sea the sailor who slept in the lower bunk under
the “Joskin”, growled about the dirt and rubbish that was constantly
falling on him from the Belgian’s bunk. Every time the unfortunate
farmer rolled in his sleep, down would fall some dirt on the face of
his shipmate, disturbing his rest. It grew worse every day till at last
the sailor in the lower bunk inspected the joskin’s donkey’s breakfast.
In overhauling it he discovered that the whole bunk was alive with
vermin. His dirty clothes had been pushed under the mattress, his
bedding and what few clothes he owned were filthy beyond description.
The greenhorn had no knowledge of washing clothes. One of the sailors
bent on the end of an old piece of rope to the clothes and threw them
over the side where for four hours they were hauled on the surface of
the Atlantic till they were almost towed into shreds.
On a deep water sailing ship the water supply is a very important
factor. As there is no knowing how much rain water may be caught to
replenish the supply, every man must be careful and not waste any.
I have seen times when it became necessary to put the crew on an
allowance of water which was hardly enough for drinking purposes. How
then can a sailor wash his face, much less his clothes at a time like
this?
On a voyage to Japan I was five weeks without a drop of fresh water
on my face. We were on our allowance, and in the heat of the tropics
we could have used as much again to quench our thirsts. Each morning
I washed my face with salt water till I could brush the salt from my
features and see it fall in scales on my jumper. We were steering to
the south’ard and longingly looked for the rain deluges of the tropics.
When that solid down-pour fell upon us we all turned out from below
with dirty clothes and blankets, and made a lather of soap visible
everywhere. To keep clean during the days we were on our allowance, I
bent on my clothes to the end of my chest lashing, and had the ship
haul them along on the crest of the waves. In this way much dirt was
removed. The towing of clothes, if the ship is making good headway,
reduces the sailor’s wardrobe, for it will not take many hours for a
vessel to drag a piece of clothing to ribbons, if she is sailing at a
good rate.
When a youngster I took my blankets out over the bow and bending on a
line, allowed them to drag close to the stem of the ship. The wavelets
from her bow tumbled them over and over as they trailed in front of
the old girl’s nose. In an hour when I hauled them aboard they were
as clean as when I brought them from the store. This was such an easy
method of cleaning blankets that in about two month’s time I thought I
would give them another drag over the bow. But alas! I forgot to take
them in on going below. Next morning when I remembered them I hurriedly
reached the bowsprit and found instead of the white folds of my
blankets rolling themselves among the foam at the bow, a dirty woolen
mass wrapped around the rusty chain bobstays. I tried to release it but
could not, as the vessel was then ducking into the waves of a strong
trade wind.
It fell a dead calm one forenoon, so I got overboard to unwrap my
blankets from the bobstay. I was not molested even though my shipmates
tried to frighten me by shouting “a shark” while I was overboard,
but my labor was in vain, for my blankets were now a heap of shreds
covered with iron rust. Fortunately the slop chest was supplied with a
few blankets made of “dogs wool and oakum,” or I should have shivered
in my bunk when we sailed into cold weather. On another occasion I was
on a ship where the captain did not allow any towing of clothes over
the side, as he claimed it decreased the speed of his vessel. At night
he prowled around the decks and if there was a line made fast on deck
on which some sailor was towing his clothes, he would set the whole
adrift, a serious loss to the owner.
A sailor’s great delight is to overhaul his belongings. His vessel is
at anchor in the bay or perhaps moored alongside some wharf. He has
been hard at work from daylight till dark every day of the week. Sunday
morning has dawned, and as soon as the decks have been cleaned, he has
the remaining portion of the Sabbath to himself. Up comes his bag or
chest on deck and the contents are aired and dried. Then it is he can
sit on the coamings of the hatch, or on a spare spar or bucket, and
gathering his dirty duds around him, with soap and plenty of fresh
water, he can wash to his heart’s delight. The method on a man-of-war
is different. Keeping one’s clothes clean is an important matter on
such a vessel. On some war ships there are three days in which the man
can wash clothes while in port, while on others only two wash days a
week are allowed. The evening before the wash clothes day, just before
sunset, the different parts of the ship are ordered by the officer of
the deck through the boatswain’s mates to get up their clothes line.
These lines are two single ropes reaching the full length of the ship.
At certain distances apart there are stirrups about four feet deep
holding them together. After the whips are hooked on to the lines, a
man stands by at each whip waiting for the quartermaster to report
sundown. Then as the colors are being lowered the lines are triced
aloft in their places. At such a time there may be other evolutions
in progress; the light yards are coming down, the awnings triced up;
everything accomplished as though it were the movements of one great
machine.
The question of fresh water arises at this time. The paymaster has
served us with salt water soap, a mixture of potash and grease which
does not give the cleansing lather in salt water that ordinary soap
will give in fresh. It is a poor substitute at its best. Fresh water
on a war vessel is a scarce luxury. The condenser is at work most of
the time for there are many men to use the supply. Therefore a marine
is stationed at the scuttle butt to see that no water is taken from it
except for drinking. There is a dipper fastened to the butt and each
man must drink what he needs in the presence of the sentry. I have seen
men resort to every device to secure a bucket of water to wash their
clothes. I, myself, have worked the drip bucket scheme. As there is a
bucket placed by the scuttle butt to receive the drippings and leavings
of the dipper, we have planned to make frequent visits to the scuttle
butt, fill the dipper, then take a mouthful and empty the remainder
into the save-all pail. In a little while the bucket needs to be
emptied. We are ready to do this, and so secure a couple of gallons of
water.
Again, when on friendly terms with the firemen on watch, they would
allow us to sneak down to the fireroom and draw a bucket full from the
condenser. In port when alongside a navy yard dock, it was different.
Then our supply was plentiful, but at sea, or at anchor in a foreign
harbor, we had to watch our chances to steal a bucketful to wash our
clothes.
On a certain war vessel the “first luff” gave a standing order, that
every part of the ship was to have a bucket of fresh water to swab off
the white paint on the bulwarks. Sometimes this water was used for this
purpose, but more frequently it was kept hidden back of a gun carriage
till the decks were cleaned. Then we would divide the water between us.
We had fully fourteen men in our part of the ship which was a large
number to bathe in this one pail. Still it was better than salt water.
I have washed in less than half a gallon of water which several men had
already used. Although only muddy soapsuds, thick enough to be cut with
a knife, it removed the dirt from my face and I could then give myself
the final polish by dousing my face with clean salt water.
If in port and the awnings were housed so as to shelter the crew from
the falling rain, every wash deck bucket was put into use. When the
awnings are housed only a few stops are in use and the remaining ones
make excellent places to fasten an empty bucket. The weight of it
forms a ridge on the awning. In this way we could secure water at times
for washing purposes.
We had a sailing launch which was seldom used. Only when all boats
armed and equipped for distance service, were called away, or to
abandon ship, did her keel touch the sea. This Noah’s Ark was a
secluded place for the maintop men. Resting in her crutches in their
part of the ship, they could hide a bucket of water from the eyes of
the “first luff,” or the officer of the deck.
It is the duty of the coxswain of each boat to see that his boat’s
water breaker is filled, especially when at sea. On this same ship
the coxswain of the first cutter was lowered on the conduct class as
a punishment for not having his boat’s breaker filled. It was not his
fault. Before the ship had left the harbor he had filled his breaker,
but some thoughtless fellow had lifted the corner of the boat’s cover
and getting into the boat, had stolen the water. It was useless for
the coxswain to make this statement for he had no proof, and even if
he had, he would have settled it on the forecastle head and not at the
mast. It was well for the thief he was not caught. He would have been
court-martialed and well he deserved it. If we had met with an accident
and had to abandon our vessel, some twenty or more men would have been
at sea in an open boat without water.
When in port we were called at five o’clock each morning. One half hour
was allowed for coffee; then if it was a morning to wash clothes the
officer of the deck would order the boatswain’s mates to pipe, “scrub
and wash clothes.” In both the starboard and port gangways, on top and
under the forecastle head the crew would do their washing. Sometimes a
blue flannel shirt which did not need much cleansing, or a white duck
suit too stiff to rub between the hands, were placed on deck, and the
dirt removed by rubbing the scrub brush over them, after first applying
a liberal coating of soapsuds.
It may be dark at such an hour according to the latitude we were in,
or the season of year, but whatever the conditions are, the man who
is scrubbing his clothes must see to it that he wets the deck before
he begins to scrub, otherwise the soapsuds will sink into the dry
deck, and unless it is a morning when holy stones are in order it will
require much strength on a hickory broom to remove them. He also sees
to it in scrubbing, that his soapsuds do not spatter the gun carriages,
for if they do and he neglects to wash them off, he will receive a
scolding and a growl from the chief of growlers, the quarter gunner.
If we had many pieces of clothing to scrub we would hurry and get
through, for in thirty minutes’ time the boatswain’s mates would be
ordered to lower the lines and in another ten minutes they were triced
aloft. If we were not through on time and missed the lines, we would
have to care for our wet clothing, keeping it out of sight. Often I
have been late in reaching the clothes line and have sneaked into the
sailing launch and there spread my things on the thwarts to dry.
Experience soon taught the green horns where not to hang their clothes
on the lines. Stretched from stem to stern, that portion near the
mainstay or close to the eyes of the lower main rigging, or any place
in close proximity to the smoke stack was undesirable. For if the wind
does not blow your washed garments against these sooted stays and
shrouds, in some way they will come in contact with the smoke stack,
when they are piped down in the afternoon. On a morning when hammocks
were scrubbed those who were through first selected the best place
on the lines near the mizzenmast or forward of the fore mast. It was
necessary to have our hammocks spotless; otherwise at evening quarters
the division officer would reject them and order us to scrub them over
again the next wash day. I have seen men who were slow in heeding the
call to “stand by their scrubbed hammocks,” compelled to scrub their
hammocks two, three and four times over before they were passed as
clean. It was their own fault as, instead of being on deck standing
under their hammocks to receive them and to keep them from striking
against the smoke stack guys, or being trampled on the deck by others
who were removing theirs, they were enjoying an afternoon nap in some
secluded corner of the ship.
The method of washing clothes at sea varies little from that in port.
There is a sea clothes line about six lengths of rope, stirrupped
together about four feet apart. These lines are secured between the
main and mizzen rigging. We were allowed to scrub our clothes every
morning except Sunday. At this rate it was only three wash days a
week, as those would be the mornings we were on deck. The crew was
divided into two watches and this gave a different watch on deck each
morning.
Among the many ways of earning a few dollars on a man-of-war, the
scrubbing of clothes and hammocks is one of the most lucrative. There
are several first class petty officers who pay others to do their
scrubbing. A thrifty apprentice or landsman can earn his spending
money doing this work. We had an ordinary seaman who made almost as
much money scrubbing clothes and hammocks for the first class petty
officers, as he earned as a salary from the government. He charged
seventy-five cents a hammock, and some mornings he would be on the
forecastle head long before all hands were called, working with
soapsuds to his waist, scrubbing with all his might. Had he saved his
money I should say it was a profitable task, but it was only a labor
for “Dirty Dick’s” saloon and the dance halls on Calle St. Theresa in
Montevideo.
THE LEAD LINE
The Lead Line
Since the coming of the mariners’ compass many centuries ago,
navigation has made steady headway. It is now an exact science, and
vessels properly equipped with needed instruments and with men able to
use them, can, no matter what the winds or seas, or how extended the
voyage, be brought safely to their destination.