OMENS AND SUPERSTITIONS OF OLD CHARLIE
Four days later a tramp steamer hove in sight. We signaled him, and
asked for his position. He signaled back, giving latitude and longitude.
He was about a mile to the eastward of us. We set and wound our
chronometer, and considered this luck indeed, as the Captain expressed
it. He seemed quite happy, and, with an expression of confidence on his
face, remarked:
"Well, we are all right again. You know I was very much worried about
forgetting to wind the chronometer. I have been master for fourteen
years, and this is the first time that I have neglected to do it. I have
heard from old-timers that it is considered a bad omen."
"I don't believe in any such superstitions," said I.
Here he called to the cook, who was throwing slop overboard from the
galley: "Have you given Toby any water today?"
"Yessir," said the cook, and cursed a large black and white gull for
eating more than his share of the scraps that were floating by. "Toby
wants for nothing, sir. In fact, he has been getting out of the
lazarette lately."
The Captain did not hear this last remark. He was watching the remains
from the galley to see if there was any waste. Old sailors say they can
tell how ships feed by the number of gulls who follow in her wake.
* * * * *
(Now follow some extracts from my diary, kept during a portion of this
trip.)
For the last week we have been having fine weather. The cook and crew
seem to be very friendly. I notice that during the dog-watch from six to
eight they gather around the mainmast. There the cook has a barrel in
which he freshens salt meat. In this watch he puts it to soak. This
evening he must have been carried away with his subject, for he was
talking loudly and very excitedly, exclaiming:
"That is it exactly, and here we are. What are we getting? Nothing. And
to think that we are the slaves of the owners--"
Some one interrupted, I believe that it was the Russian-Finn, saying:
"I'll bet they," meaning the owners of our ship, "don't have to eat this
old salt horse three times a day."
Riley voiced in with: "Begorra, and it's crame in their tay they are
having, and divil a thimbleful do we get here."
This last expression from the Irishman pleased the cook, who brought his
fist down sharply on the pork-barrel, crying: "And, men, your only
salvation lies in the ballot-box."
The cook's ballot-box amused me. Who ever heard of a sailor voting? Out
of ten of our crew, we had not one American citizen!
Our position at noon today was 17°.24 north latitude,--longitude 142°.10
west. The wind has been steady from the northeast for the last
forty-eight hours. I am satisfied that this is the commencement of the
trade-winds.
During the middle watch I was very sleepy, and decided to walk on the
deck load as far forward as the mainmast, and back again, and so on. I
noticed one of the crew standing against the weather main-rigging. As
the night was dark, I could not make him out, and, remembering Old
Charlie warning about the big Swede having it in for me, I stepped over
to the fife rail and pulled out a belaying-pin, thinking that it might
come in handy in case this ghost-like figure started anything. But just
then he lit his pipe, and from the rays of the match I could make out
the features of Old Charlie himself.
"Charlie," I said, "you scared me."
"I have been standing here thinking, sir. Have you noticed the Bo'sun
flying low lately, sir?"
The "Bo'sun" Old Charlie alluded to is a tropical bird, snow-white with
an exquisite tail, and flies very fast and usually very high. It is a
common tradition among sailors that this beautiful bird is the
embodiment of the souls of drowned sailors.
"No, Charlie," said I, "I haven't noticed them."
Taking a puff from his old pipe, and buttoning his overcoat around his
neck as if expecting a squall, then looking around the horizon to make
sure that we would not be interrupted by any wind-jammer:
"Yes, sir, at noon today one came near alighting on the end of the
jibboom."
"You must have mistaken it for a sea-gull," said I.
"No, sir; it was no sea-gull. I have been sailing the seas for
thirty-four years, and I have seen and heard strange things."
"Well, suppose it did light on the jibboom; it has to get a rest
sometimes."
"They have their island homes and never come near a ship, unless,"
speaking very softly, "unless some one is going to die."
"Nonsense, Charlie. Surely you don't believe in such foolishness."
"I started to tell you some time back about an old ship I was in off the
Cape of Good Hope. Maybe you remember her, she was called 'The Mud
Puddler,'" and Charlie continued with a grin, "she was never in the mud
while I was on her."
"Yes," said I, "I remember her. She sailed from Liverpool, didn't she?"
"Yes, sir; that's her; four-masted and bark-rigged. Well, as I was
saying, we left Calcutta bound for Hamburg. One night, off the Cape, it
was my lookout. It was a fine night with a fresh breeze, and we were
ploughing along about eight knots. I heard two bells go aft, and in that
ship we had to answer all bells on the foc's'le head."
"Is it one o'clock so soon?" thought I.
"You know," speaking to me, "where the fish-tackle davit is?"
"I know where it should be," said I.
"Well, that is where I was standing." (A lookout is very important on
all ships, especially at night, when they see a light or a sail they
report to the officer on watch.) "As I was in a hurry to answer the
bell, not wanting the mate to think I was napping, I rushed to ring it,
and, standing there, sir, was a man I had never seen!"
"It was one of the crew playing a joke on you," said I.
"Oh, no, Mr. Mate, not at all, not at all. I knew every man on board of
her, sir, and this man was not of this world. He had a pair of
Wellington boots on, you know the kind, all leather, to just below the
knee."
"Yes," said I, "I know the kind."
"He also had a sou'wester with a neat-fitting pea-jacket. And, sir, it
was his face that frightened me. His eyes were fiery, his beard was dark
and thick, with heavy, bushy eyebrows."
All this time I was getting very much interested in Old Charlie's story.
"What did you do? What did you say to him?" I asked, very impatiently.
"I reached in front of him to answer the bell. He spoke very mournfully,
saying: 'You shall have a visit from the Bo'sun tomorrow;' and he
instantly disappeared and left me with my hand still stretched out for
the bell-rope...."
I could smell the smoke from a cigar, and knew that the Captain was
pacing the poop. I walked aft slowly, anxious to hear what happened on
the bark "Mud Puddler." Sure enough, there was the Captain, walking up
and down, and occasionally glancing at the compass. Evidently the ship
was off her course when he came up from the cabin. He spoke to me rather
harshly, saying: "Don't let these fellows," pointing to the man at the
wheel, "steer her all over the ocean."
"Very well, sir. I was just forward seeing if the side-lights were
burning brightly."
"Well, keep your eye on them, they are not to be trusted too long. And
by the way, have the second mate get up the old spare sails in his
morning watch; we have some roping and patching to do before we bend
them. They are all right for this kind of weather. This breeze will
carry us near the Equator."
"Very good, sir. I will have Olsen get them up."
He took one more look at the compass and went below. I went to the
binnacle more to see the time than the compass. I was surprised to see
that it was twenty minutes past three. I was anxious to go forward and
have Charlie finish his story, but, seeing a light in the Captain's
room, I was doomed to finish the watch around the man at the wheel.
My rather troubled sleep was ended by a rap at the door. It was the
cook. "It has gone seven bells. Breakfast will be ready in a few
minutes, sir." Dressing was easy for me. In fact, all it required was
washing and putting on my cap, for in the tropics one has little use
for clothes, which was indeed fortunate for me.
"Steward," said I, as I perfected my toilet, "what have you for
breakfast this morning?" He hesitated before answering, and well I knew
what was passing in his mind. "How does he dare to ask me what I am
going to have for breakfast! I who have befriended him. What have I for
breakfast indeed!"
"Tongues and sounds," said the Emancipator, very sharply.
"A breakfast fit for a king," I replied cheerfully.
The word "king" was a red flag to a bull to him. The presence of the
Captain coming down the companion-way was all that saved me from the
fate of all reigning monarchs.
Tongues and sounds of the Alaska codfish come pickled in brine and
packed in firkins, and are sold principally to marine shipping. All that
is required in the process of cooking is to freshen them overnight, boil
and serve with drawn butter. They are an enviable breakfast delicacy on
land and sea.
The cook, although upset by my reference to kings, lost none of the
dignity of serving the byproduct of the Alaska cod. The Captain had
little to say during the morning meal, and seemed worried about
something.
On my leaving the table he remarked: "Get your palm and needle. I want
you to work with me on the spare sails, they are in bad shape."
The spare sails were indeed much in need of repair. Where they were not
worn threadbare, they had been chewed by the rats. While we were sitting
side by side sewing, this afternoon, we talked of many things--ships and
shipping, and foreign ports.
"Do you know," said he, "that trip that took me to South America when my
wife died was going to be my last trip." He stopped sewing. "You see,
she would never complain of being sick. Of course, I was away most of
the time, spending about two weeks a year at home with her and the
children. It was while I was home that trip, that I noticed how poorly
she looked, and that cough, and realized how much she must have
suffered. The doctor told me she might live for years with proper care
and right climatic conditions. She and I talked it over and decided that
on my return trip I would give up the sea for good, and devote my time
to her and the children on a farm in Southern California. When I
returned from Valparaiso and found that poor Bertha was dead, and the
boys living with their aunt, it was more than I could stand."
With tears streaming from his eyes, unconscious of the vast Pacific, the
ship he was in, or even the crew around him, he murmured softly to
himself:
"My wife, my wife,--gone, gone." In this intense moment a ball of sewing
twine rolled from his knee, and, reaching for it, he said: "Do you know
that sometimes I think she is with me."