My first voyage at sea was on March 25th, 1850. I started out as a big
fat boy of eight years and eight months to do the cooking on board the
schooner Pennsylvania, Captain Tracy Kenney as skipper.
We left home at eight in the morning, loading our bed sacks and bedding
onto a team belonging to a man by name of Daniel Higgins, who carried
the goods to Suet Creek, West Dennis, Mass. It was a fine morning,
and with the crew I trudged along until at twelve we reached the old
schooner, which had been hauled up for the winter. The tide was out and
she lay on her broad side, looking for all the world like an abandoned
old hulk. Nevertheless, I was destined to get the first baptism of old
ocean aboard of her, learn some hard lessons, and acquire a love of
salt water that would never be lost. The sea has ever been and ever
will be a wondrous magnet to many men.
Our bedding and earthly goods were put on board and we proceeded to
make things as comfortable as possible. Each one had his little sugar
tub with grub enough to last until we reached Boston, where we were
going to fit out with salt and provisions for a voyage to the Grand
Banks. The stench from bilge water and mustiness, as the vessel had
been closed all winter, was something terrible, and the stove and pipe
were covered with rust half an inch thick.
The schooner was lying on her port bilge and there was hardly room to
stand up, yet late in the afternoon the tide came in and it was more
comfortable. The anchors were placed down stream and the vessel was
hove off the bank and put down stream alongside a small wharf where our
sails and gear were stored in a shed. The men bent sails and rove gear
and made ready to start for Boston.
In the meantime I had been cleaning up the cabin, scrubbing the rust
from the stove and greasing it. I had no cooking to do, only to make
tea and coffee, set each man’s tub by his side, when they all fell to
and helped themselves. Our plates, knives and forks were of ancient
type, tin plates, iron spoons, and knives and forks which had to be
constantly scoured with wood ashes to make them presentable.
Salt water had to be used for dish water, and one can imagine how my
dish cloths looked washed with salt water soap. While the grease was on
the stove I had the fire going, and the companion was full of smoke.
Every few moments some one of the boys would shout down to me, “Hi,
cookie, your dish cloths are burning on.”
On the morning of the third day after leaving home, we dropped down the
creek into Barnstable Bay and made sail for Boston.
Oh, my, wasn’t I homesick! I was a great mother’s boy, and would have
given all I possessed could I have been back with her. It seemed
cruel to me then, and has many times since, to think that a boy less
than nine years old should have to leave home to help support the
family. But such were the economic conditions of the times that all
were obliged, when families were as large and as poor as mine was, to
contribute to the general support. But I was glad to help out all I
could, and the call of the deep blue sea was hard to resist. How often
had I listened to tales of foreign lands, of smart skippers, and big
ships, and at last my chance had come.
My salary was the magnificent sum of forty-five dollars for the season
and fifty cents per hundred for every cod fish that I caught. We had a
fine run to Boston, and at sundown was alongside the wharf at Chelsea,
Mass. There we took on board seventy-five hogsheads of salt to salt the
fish we expected to catch. After this was on we pulled the old craft
over to Boston and took in our provisions for the trip.
They consisted of barrels of salt pork, beef, a barrel of beans, half
a barrel of rice, five barrels of flour and corn meal and a big barrel
of molasses to make sweet cake with, as this was a great treat to the
fishermen at supper nine days out of ten while on the Grand Banks. We
also used the molasses to sweeten our coffee with, as sugar was too
costly at that time to feed fishermen.
One afternoon I strode up to Commercial Street with one of the men,
who went to a ship chandler’s shop to get his fit out of lines and
hooks and other little things he wanted for the trip. I waited for him
outside. At that time the bow-sprits of the vessels stuck over into
what is now Commercial Street, but which at the present time is all
filled in. This was my first trip away from home, and I stood staring
with open mouth at the sights. At last I commenced to look for my
friend, a man named Long, but he had evidently forgotten me and gone
back to the schooner. The rush and roar of the great city confused and
frightened me, and I was scared half out of my wits. I had forgotten
the name of the schooner, and when about in despair and ready to give
up I saw a man from Orleans that I knew, a Captain John Gould, and in
pitiful tones I told him I was lost. How he laughed, and pointing over
his shoulder he said, “There is your old wash tub, Bub; you ought to
pick her out of ten thousand,” and went along, roaring as he went. And
years after, when I thought of that old schooner with the Dutch bows, I
have laughed, too, though to me at that time she was a great ship.
Back on board, I started to cook my supper for the now hungry crew. It
consisted of boiled potatoes, with fat salt pork scraps, biscuits and
chocolate. They ate all of my cream of tartar biscuits, and I had to be
content with hard bread for my supper. However, I naturally was looking
for compliments on those biscuits, but all I got was a sharp growl from
the Captain, who asked me if I had washed my hands before I had made
them.
We soon had our stores on board, but were detained in Boston for a few
days by a heavy storm with northeast gales. It snowed very heavily, and
it was the third of April before we at last made sail and sailed down
the channel with a light wind blowing from the westward.
When off Boston Light it began to be very rough, with a heavy ground
swell, and it was here that I, for the first and only time during my
entire sea life, was seasick. And I certainly was sick! I asked the men
to throw me overboard I was so miserable, but they only laughed and
made fun of me. Some said, “O, Cookie, take a piece of raw pork and tie
it to a string, swallow it and haul it up and down; it’s a sure cure.”
Mr. Samuel Sherman, who was mate, now came down and drove away my
tormentors. He was very kind to me, and I never forgot it. He got the
dinner for me and cleared it away, and as we got further down the bay
the water got smoother, and before we anchored inside Billingsgate
Island at Orleans I was quite myself again. Early that evening I was
home again with my folks, and I had wonderful tales to tell of Boston
and of the things I had seen on the trip. In the old days it was the
custom to stay in the home port after fitting out for a trip of fishing
and to remain there a few days.
We then went to Provincetown and took on fresh water, which was put
in barrels, stored in the fore hold and chocked up with wood, which
we used to kindle the fire with. We took on at that time about fifty
barrels of water.
We then took our departure for the Grand Banks, steering to eastward
for a distance of about nine hundred miles, passing north of Sable
Island, and running free most of the way by dead reckoning. When the
Captain judged himself near the Banks we often sounded with the lead
and line, and on the evening of the seventh day out from Cape Cod we
baited up our lines and threw them overboard. As soon as the lead
struck bottom they had a bite, and the Captain shouted out, “Let go
the anchor; we are right on top of them.” Sure enough, up came a fine
pair of cod-fish weighing about ten pounds each. Down came all sail
and we played out about a hundred fathom of cable, made it fast around
the windlass, put our riding sail up aft to keep her up to the wind
and steady her. We set a big lantern on a pole out aft, and then all
went below to make up the anchor watch. We divided up the time from 8
p.m. to 5 a.m., which gives each man the same amount of duty. In the
locality of the Banks one encounters a great deal of fog, so much so,
in fact, that it is impossible to tell whether the next hour will be
fine or clear. It is so thick that at times you can barely see the hand
in front of the face, and strict orders were given to keep a sharp look
out for sailing ships, and especially for steamers. However, in those
days sailing ships were in the great majority, and trade from all ports
of the States were bound eastward, and many were those we saw on the
Banks. So in foggy weather we kept the fog horn going all the time, and
the “Old Man” always slept with one eye open.
On the next morning the deck watch was called, as the fish had
commenced to bite in good shape, and five men were heaving them as fast
as they could haul them in. Each line had a rig for two hooks, and each
man tended two lines. In the deck space between each man was a large
deck-kid or box, which was made stationary and had a partition on the
inside to separate the fish that each man caught. Each gang fished for
two hours, and then the watch was changed.
Then they counted out the number of fish that each man had caught and
threw them into the main deck-kid or dressing bin, cleaned their fish
and prepared them for the salting process which takes place in the hold
of the schooner. One man throated, gutted and took out the cod tongues,
placed them on the dressing table for the splitter, who took out the
back-bones and threw the fish into a tub to wash out the blood. It was
the cook’s job to pitch the fish down the hatch-way to the salter in
the hold below. The salter was a man well adapted to see that the fish
were properly salted and stowed away. And so it goes on, day in and day
out, fish for two hours and then change.
The fish usually stop biting as soon as the sun goes down, and after
supper is over the Captain opens his log-book and records the tally
of each man’s catch that day. At the end of the voyage this shows the
standing of each man, and the one who catches the most fish is called
“high-liner,” and is considered a valuable man and is much sought
after by the owners, who wish to re-ship the man for another season.
It often happens that a man may be a first class sailor but has not
acquired the knack of hooking a fish, and for such a poor fellow the
chances of his getting on a crack fishing schooner were small.
On our boat Mr. Samuel Sherman was “high-liner” and had held the record
for years and was called “second hand,” a position corresponding
with that of a mate and next to the Captain in command. The old-time
fisherman carried no mate, all authority vesting in the Skipper or
Captain. The whole crew were on the same footing, and did practically
what they pleased and gave suggestions and advice as freely as they
wished. Mr. “Cookie” usually turns out about 2.30 a.m., makes his fire,
puts his biscuit in the oven, makes two gallons of coffee, and calls
“all hands” at 3.45 for breakfast. The crew tumble out, clothing all on
except coat, hat and boots, and how they could eat! And then for the
fish again.
On Sunday we did no fishing, had breakfast at 7 a.m., and spent the day
in cleaning up and lying around. We used to make about 300 doughnuts
for our Sunday morning breakfast, and it was here that my good friend
Mr. Sherman came to my rescue and helped me out with the work. He was
certainly one true Christian gentleman, a good and kind man. Our Sunday
dinner was “salt-horse,” or boiled dinner, with a large steamed apple
duff of dried apples, and for supper we always had fried mince-pies. I
tell you, we lived high!
Our Captain was a very pious man. He was called by those who knew him
well “a summer Christian and a winter devil.” On Sunday morning he
always prayed and read a chapter from the Bible and sang his favorite
hymns. His favorite songs were, “A Soldier for Jesus” and “Love and
Serve the Lord.” I used to snicker, as the Captain had no teeth to
speak of, and his voice was very flat and lispy. The name of Lord
always sounded like Lard. I often had my ears boxed when the men would
say, “Cookie, sing like Captain,” and I would put in, in earnest. Then
the Captain would cuff me and say, “You sassy thing, I will report
you to your mother when we get home.” They both belonged to the same
church, but I had no reason to fear on that score, as my mother was an
earnest and devout Christian, always self-sacrificing, and loved by all
who knew her, ever ready and willing to help and see good in everything.
Fishing continued good for several days, and no vessel in sight. We
were catching from 1200 to 1800 each day and running a fair size fish
until we were obliged to get under way in order to heave overboard
our gurry, cod heads and entrails, as our gurry kids were full, and
to heave it where we lay would spoil our fishing, as the fish would
be “gurry sick,” as fishermen call it. We played out our cable, put
a large buoy on the end, and stood off to the south about two miles,
threw it overboard, returned and picked up our moorings again, and
commenced fishing again. Along in May fishing slacked up. I suppose the
school had all been caught up. We lay here a week, averaging 500 to 600
daily.
One morning early two sails hove in sight, the first seen since we
anchored, except some large ships to the north of us. Well, we were
surprised to see that the schooners were from our own town, Orleans,
one Captain Alvin Smith in the old schooner Lapwing, and Captain
William Sherman in the schooner Stromboly. They were surprised to find
that we had nearly half our catch, and felt pretty down in the mouth,
for they had in all only 100 quintals, while we had about 400 quintals.
The captain came on board and we exchanged news, and then anchored
about half a mile either side of us. They met with no success, however,
so only remained there a few days, when we all hove up and started for
the Virgin Rock Ground, to the north east, about 100 miles from our old
berth, and I think all the crew were glad to get away, for our hands
were sore and badly swollen from handling salt and gurry.
When our distance was run up we hauled up jib and eased off fore sheet
and hove lines over in about 40 fathoms of water. Lo and behold! no
sooner was our lead overboard when we had fish on, fore and aft at the
same time. The Captain jumped up and down like mad calling out to let
go the anchor. Over she went, and it was only a few moments when sails
were furled and the watch had their lines out with fairly good fishing.
But we were on a small patch of ground, and every time the tide turned
the vessel would swing round and strain, and in this position we could
not get a bite, but when she swung round again the fishing was good
again.
This was our second berth for three weeks, yet we were compelled to
buoy the cable again as before and stand off to heave off our gurry. It
was estimated we had about 650 quintals in our hold, our whole capacity
being about 850 quintals.
About this time I began to get anxious, possibly it was home-sickness,
but I kept asking the Captain, “When are we going to wet our salt?”
That was the term we used to show that our salt was used up. To bother
me he would say, “About the first of October,” but my good friend Mr.
Sherman would tell me that July first would find us all cleaned up. In
my spare time it was my duty to help him in the hold, where he was at
work salting the fish. I used to bring the salt to him in a half bushel
measure, and you may be sure that I spilled all of it that I could so
the salt would be used up all the sooner and we could be on our way
back home. I would ask him if he thought he was getting salt enough
on the fish to keep them from turning red, and how he would laugh.
I watched the salt bins and prayed that they would soon be emptied.
Between cooking and fishing it was a busy time for me, and up to this
time I had caught over 1200 head of fish, which meant some extra money
for me, as I was to get 50 cents a hundred for all the fish that I
caught. My position for fishing was aft over the stern, and up to this
time good luck had been with me. At night, when we reported our daily
catch, the Captain asked me if all my fish had eyes, but I did not
understand what he meant until a loud roar of laughter from the men
showed me that he meant to insinuate that I had been cheating in my
count. At this I burst into tears, but again Mr. Sherman came to my
rescue and soundly berated the Captain for continually picking on me.
After this my cooking was praised up by the Captain and he let me
alone, as Mr. Sherman was a man whose words carried much weight. We had
fish chowders for supper every night while on the Banks, and you may be
sure that the fish was fresh, because scarce one half hour would pass
before the fish would be in the pot. The previous winter at home my
mother had taught me how to make bread and other things, but some of
them I had forgotten, especially in regard to the boiling of rice. On
this particular occasion I was ordered to prepare a supper of boiled
rice and bean soup. I asked one of the crew about how much rice to use,
and he told me to use at least two quarts, which he thought would be
plenty, and you may be sure it was. I put it to soak in my big boiler
on the stove, and as it commenced to cook it began to swell and soon
ran over on top of the stove. I commenced to shift it into my other
kettles, and soon had them all full and the water bucket besides. By
this time the joke was known all over the boat, and when the Captain
came down he said, “Cookie, are you sure you have saved out enough rice
for yourself?” But I answered him right off, “Yes, sir; two buckets
full,” at which they all had a hearty laugh, but you may be sure that
they did not fool me again.
On July 21st, 1850, we had wet all of our salt, and the schooner was
laden deep to her scuppers. On this glorious day we were to start for
home, and on this day I was just nine years old, but the fact that we
were to start for home was celebration enough for me. How many boys of
this generation can say that they passed their ninth birthday in such a
position? Thankful they should be that times have improved so that such
work at so early an age is not often necessary.
We ran our flag to the mast-head, hauled down the trysail and bent on
the main-sail and began to heave in the anchor cable. The Captain, with
a big pair of mittens on, tends the cable as it comes in around the
windlass, and the cook takes in the slack and coils it down around the
fore-hatch, quite a job for an able-bodied man to attend to, but boys
in those days often were able to do the work of a man. While heaving up
the anchor our merry crew sang shanty songs, and when the anchor was up
all sail was made and we were off for Cape Cod with a light east wind.
The watch was set with two men in each watch of two hours each, and
then I began to count the days it would take us to get home. A few days
after I heard the Captain say we were in the latitude of Cape Cod, and
thought sure we must soon be home, but learned afterwards that although
in the latitude of the Cape we were a long ways off from it.
Our homeward journey was a pleasant one, and in about eight days we
anchored inside of Billingsgate Island on a fine morning about eight
o’clock. One could smell the land and the salt hay, and oh, how
beautiful and green the land looked to me! We rowed up into the Town
Creek, and each one started to walk to his home. All of my belongings
were in a calico pillow case and I was bare-footed, but I ran nearly
all the way home, some two miles distant, and never before nor since
was I so glad to get back home. I was dirty as a pig, but fat and
healthy, and mother laughed and cried over me as she welcomed me home.
She brought out the big wash-tub and scrubbed me from head to foot, and
when a clean suit was put on I hardly knew myself.
We made a stay of three days, and then took the schooner to Beverly,
Mass., where we washed our fish out at a wharf owned by a Mr. Crowell,
and prepared the fish for the flakes to have them properly dried.
We then made ready for the fish grounds in Cape Cod Bay to finish out
the number of days required in order to get our bounty money which was
offered by the State.
Then, when the tide was up, we went into Provincetown and fitted out
for Fall mackerel fishing, or otherwise termed, hooking, and went down
on the Maine coast, in and out of several harbors, and keeping with the
fleet. We made a very successful season of our fall fishing, and the
shoresmen cleared something over $700 to shore--a rich voyage for those
days, while I, poor Cookie, labored and toiled from March 25th to the
23rd of May for the magnificent sum of $45, together with something
like $15 for extra fish caught.
The Captain was a crafty old soul; he reported to my mother that I was
the best boy and best cook he had ever had, but he failed to report
to her what a “sassy” boy I was. However, I never liked him, and told
mother that never again would I sail under him as cook.
Years have passed on and all my old shipmates who were with me on this,
my first experience at sea, have answered the roll call. Our old craft
met her fate years ago, and “Cookie” is the only survivor. Although I
have passed the allotted “threescore years and ten,” I still look back
on my first sea trip without regrets. The men of these days were true
men, God-fearing and honest and upright in all of their dealings. As
seamen they were unequalled or surpassed by none. The training-school
of the Grand Banks fisherman was a rough and hard one, but most of
the famous American sea captains were apprentices in that school that
made it possible for the American Flag to be seen in every port of the
commercial world and for the term “Yankee Skipper” to be used in a
sense of praise and commendation.
The great Civil War, the introduction of steam and the unwise acts of a
National Congress have caused American supremacy in the shipping lines
to be destroyed, but it is to be hoped that the future may bring forth
a solution of the problem that will once again put American ships under
American skippers on old ocean’s bosom, and once again send our flag to
the uttermost corners of the earth.
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