While loading in New York for Frisco, we were obliged to ship a new
cook, and because of this fact we had a most lively experience. We
shipped a big negro, about 35 years of age, six feet tall, and who
weighed about 200 pounds. He boasted of having served on different
Californian clipper ships with notorious captains, such as Waterman,
Knowles, and other “knock down and drag-out” style of skippers. Having
sized me up as young and no doubt inexperienced, he probably concluded
that he would have an easy time of it aboard the _Dexter_ and “rule the
roost,” so to speak. After we had been a few days at sea, the steward
came to me one morning with complaints to make about our colored cook.
He said the cook positively refused to take orders from him, and had
delayed him from serving his meals promptly and threatened to kill
him if he came into the galley. The steward was somewhat of a timid
man, and the cook had frightened him with his immense size and rough
stories. I told the steward to go forward to the galley and send the
cook aft. In a few moments the cook appeared with an ugly scowl on his
still more ugly features and demanded what I wanted of him. I told him
what the steward had reported, when he broke out like a madman, saying
he would kill the steward or anybody else who interfered with him. In
those days most captains went armed, for one could never tell when an
emergency would demand the show of firearms for self-protect ion or to
intimidate some tough member of the crew who had run amuck. By this
time I thought moral suasion of little use, so whipped out my revolver
and told him I was captain of this ship, and that he should go forward
and in the future take his orders from the steward or he would get
himself into trouble. His legs shook and he actually turned pale, but
he went away without saying anything.
The boatswain, who had stood nearby, had seen and heard all that had
taken place, and word soon spread that the “Old Man,” as the captain
was usually called, had been setting up the negro cook. It appears
that up to this time the cook had had all the crew in fear of him,
and had been doing about as he pleased. Our ship was unusually well
supplied with good food, and we gave the men bread twice a day instead
of the customary hard bread, or ships’ biscuit. Now, the cook had put
this bread out in such vile shape that it was impossible for the crew
to eat it, and they hove overboard many a pan of biscuit because of
its sour and half-cooked condition. And this entire crew of 25 men
had so feared this gigantic negro that they did not dare to report
to me the condition of things; but now they immediately sent aft a
delegation asking for an interview. I accepted, and they came aft in
a mass, bringing with them a kid containing the last batch of bread
that the cook had baked for them. I saw at once the unfit condition
of the bread, and asked them why they had not reported it before, but
the spokesman said they were afraid the cook would poison them, and
furthermore that I might approve of the bread he was serving them. I
then sent for the cook, showed him the mess in front of all the men,
and told him I would see him in the galley the next morning at two
bells. The next morning I had a conference with the bo’sun and the
third officer, both young and powerful men, telling them to act as my
reserve in case we met with trouble when I went to see the cook.
Promptly at two bells I entered the galley by the starboard door
and said, “Good morning, Dock” (a term always given to a cook on
ship-board). “I have come to inspect your galley.” When we left New
York the galley had been freshly painted, and was in fine shape, being
a large room, with staterooms in the rear for the steward, cook and
cabin-boy. I found the paint work very much smoked up.
This was caused by the cook putting wood on top of the coal to hurry up
his fire so as to rush his meals along and get them on time. I spoke
to the cook and said, “After dinner you clean up this place, and be
sure to scrub up that paint.” Without warning, he suddenly picked up
a big carving knife and sprang at me, yelling for me to get out of
the galley, and at the same time making vicious lunges at me with the
knife. Jumping aside, I grabbed a saucepan from off the stove, which
was full of boiling water, and let him have the contents full in the
face. With a blood-curdling yell he dropped the knife, picked up an
axe and threw it at me, narrowly grazing my head and sticking in the
starboard bulwarks. I then pulled out my pistol, fully intending to
shoot him, when he bolted through the port door with a roar of “Murder,
murder, the captain’s killing me.” As he went through the door the
bo’sun struck him a heavy blow which knocked him flat. All hands were
now on deck eager to have a hand in the fray. As the cook got up, he
rushed off to the port side of the ship and gained the poop-deck.
Running around the after part of the main deck-house, he ran into the
third officer, who went at him hammer and tongs. By this time every man
jack of the crew were at him, with fists, boots and belaying pins, and
I actually had to show the gun again before they let him go. Such a
sight one never saw. The deck, from galley to quarter-deck, was covered
with blood, and Mr. Cook lay unconscious. A couple of buckets of cold
sea water soon brought him to his senses, and he cried out, “Don’t let
them kill me; this nigger got enough.” At four bells that afternoon a
big hogshead, which we carried on deck, was filled with hot water, and
Mr. Cook was asked to get in. Each man helped clean him up, and then as
he stepped on deck we sprayed him over with our deck hose. He was then
as clean as he ever was in his whole life. His chest and clothes were
removed to a small room in the carpenter’s shop, a new cook appointed
in his place from the crew, and Mr. Negro, cook no longer, was put
on the third officer’s watch for the rest of the voyage, and he was
ever after a most obedient and faithful servant. Peace and harmony
reigned throughout the rest of the voyage, and the new cook proved
most efficient. When we tied up at the wharf in Frisco our big negro
decamped, not even waiting to be paid off, and he was never heard of
after. This little incident simply shows how a man of great physical
proportions can put fear into those who possess little, and how tame he
can be after he has found his master.
The passage from New York had occupied 128 days, and now the ship was
discharged and loaded with grain for Europe, and taken in command by
Captain John Taylor, for whom she had been built.
I remained in California a short time, visiting my uncle, a Mr.
Marshall Martin, who lived but fifteen miles from the big trees. The
climate was delightful, but I soon was obliged to return to Frisco
to return to my home on Cape Cod. While there, in came the ship
Sacramento, Captain Lunt, that had left New York a week ahead of the
Dexter, but was some two weeks behind us in getting to Frisco. We came
through the Straits of Le Maire, which saved some 200 miles, although
it offered a more dangerous passage. Captain Lunt was much chagrined to
find himself so badly beaten by a ship that had left port after he had,
for he was an able skipper and was famous for his quick runs.
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