THE MONTANA COWBOY--A HORSE-MARINE ADVENTURE
There are instances where the Captain and mates of the old time sailing
ships have had cause to regret their methods of procuring sailors from
the crimps.
When a drugged and shanghaied sailor comes on board the mate looks him
over for dangerous weapons.
If he has a sheath knife the mate breaks the point off. If a gun, he
takes it aft to the Captain. When the drug-crazed man comes to he is
easy to handle. If he should show fight, a crack over the head with a
belaying-pin will send him down and out. When the stars disappear and he
comes back to earth again, he is very responsive, and willing to scrub
decks or anything else that is desired of him.
A Montana cowboy, seeing the sights in a Pacific port, fell a prey to
the crimps. Blood money was high. One hundred and fifty dollars was not
to be laughed at, when it could be had so easily. The cowboy was given
the usual dose of knock-out drops, then thrown into a boat, and rowed
off to the ship, which was lying at anchor. When the boat came alongside
the ship, the crimp shouted: "Ahoy, Mr. Mate, I have a good sailor for
you."
The mate never expected shanghaied men to walk up the gangway. He knew
what to expect, and usually gave them the allotted time, about
twenty-four hours, to sleep the drug off.
"Are you sure he is a good sailor?" said the mate.
"Oh, yes," replied the crimp, "he is an old-time sailor, we have known
him for years. He has been sailing to this port in some of the best
ships afloat."
The mate called some members of the crew to get the tackle over the side
and yank him aboard. The cowboy was heavy, and he did not yank aboard as
easily as some of the other drugged men, very much to the astonishment
of the old-time sailors.
They know by the weight on the tackle fall how to guess what the
vocation ashore has been of this latest addition to their number. If the
drugged man is a light-weight, he is proclaimed a tailor, if medium
weight he is a sheep-herder, and so on.
But they could not find a suitable vocation for this cowboy who was so
damned heavy. After long, long pulls, and strong, strong pulls, he
landed on deck as limp as a rag. The mate rolled him over with his foot,
and seeing that he had no weapons of any kind ordered him thrown on the
hatch to sleep it off.
The crimp had relieved him of the cowboy hat, but not the riding shoes,
very much to the disgust of the mate, who remarked:
"I have sailed in many ships and with all kinds of sailors, but I will
go to Hell if I ever saw a sailor with as long heels on his boots as
this fellow has."
Nevertheless he impressed the mate as being a sailor. He had the desert
and mountain ruggedness and complexion, and not the sallow dyspeptic
look of the tailor, which mates and crew despise so. When the anchor was
up, and they were standing out to sea, the mate undertook to awake the
cowboy with a force pump.
After the salt water had been played on him about five minutes, he
awoke, and realized that he was on board of a ship. He inquired of the
mate how he got aboard, and where he was going. The mate answered him
very sharply, saying:
"You get up, damn quick, and loose the main-upper-topgallant-sail if you
want to get along well and happy in this ship."
He might have been talking the dead languages for all the cowboy knew
about upper-topgallant-sails. He rubbed his eyes, and pulling himself
together realized that this was not a dream after all, but a stern
reality. After looking over the ship and feeling the roll, he eyed the
mate with suspicion, saying: "See here, stranger, haven't you made a
mistake? Tell me how I came aboard this here ship."
The mate thought the new sailor was having a joke at his expense.
Stepping up to him he said, "Damn you, don't you dare to joke with me,
or I will break every bone in your body."
"Let me tell you, stranger," said the cowboy, "I want you to turn this
here thing around 'cause I must be a hitting the trail."
This was too much for any good mate to stand, especially when the
members of the crew were highly pleased with the new sailor's remark.
The mate pulled off his pea-jacket, and tightening his belt, remarked:
"I guess I will teach you how to respect your superiors while you are on
board this ship."
The cowboy, seeing that the mate meant business, pulled off his wet coat
and vest, also the black silk handkerchief that was tied in a very
fashionable knot around his neck and remarked, "Stranger, you be mighty
keerful how many bones you break in my body."
Here the mate made a lunge for him, which the boy ducked, and with an
upper-cut he sent the mate to the deck in a heap. The mate got up and
started for a belaying pin. The crafty range rider was upon him in a
second with a left hook to the jaw. The mate went down, and stayed down
for some time. Then the second mate, third mate and captain came to the
rescue of their first mate. The mates were knocked down as fast as they
could get up. The Captain called the crew saying, "Arrest this man and
put him in irons for mutiny on the high seas."
This the crew refused to do, because the way this new sailor could use
his hands was not at all to their liking, and they were not anxious to
take on any rough stuff so early on the voyage.
The Captain, flushed with rage, ran to the cabin shouting:
"I will get my gun and kill this mutineer." The mates picked themselves
up and the two went after guns. The cowboy, turning to the sailors,
said:
"Here, you critters, get behind a sage bush or something,--get out of
range and get out damned quick, for there is going to be Hell shot out
of this here ship in about a minute." Reaching down in his riding boots
he pulled out two forty-fives and backed over to the starboard bulwarks
to await the signal from the cabin.
He did not have to wait long. The Captain came roaring up the
companion-way, thinking that the new sailor at the sight of the gun
would run and get under cover. But not so with this one, far from it.
There he stood, a plain and visible target for the Captain's and mate's
guns. While the Captain was running along the lee alleyway of the
bridge-deck, the cowboy called to him, saying:
"Can you kill from the hip, Mister? If you can't you'd better get close
and shoot straight."
The Captain was too angry to utter a sound. It was bad enough to knock
his three mates down and out, without heaping insult upon insult by
asking if he could shoot straight. The blow he had got on the jaw from
this untamed sailor he considered enough to justify him in killing on
sight anyway, for it would be days before he could bring his jaws
together on anything harder than pea soup or bread pudding.
With these maddening thoughts twitching his nautical brow, he swung from
the bridge-deck onto the main deck. There in front of him stood the new
mariner leaning against the bulwarks with his hands behind his back. The
Captain's gun was swinging at arm's length in the right hand, but not
pointed toward the cowboy.
This code of ethics pleased the cowboy, for he remarked to the Captain:
"Remember you draw first, and if you have any message for the folks at
home now is the time to send it."
Hearing the mates coming, the Captain took courage, and raised his gun
as if to shoot, when a shot rang out and his right arm fell limply to
his side. With a spring of a wild animal the cowboy changed for a new
position. He jumped onto the main hatch, where he could command a view
of the ship fore and aft. No sooner had he changed to his new position,
than the mates appeared on the main deck and ordered him in the King's
name to surrender or take the consequences.
"I don't know anything about your kings," remarked the cowboy, "but I do
know I'm going back to my ole horse and I'm going mighty quick. Let me
tell you, strangers, I want you to turn this here ship back. I'll give
you five minutes to make up your minds."
The Captain broke the silence by ordering the ship back to port, saying,
to save his dignity, that he could never go to sea wounded as he was,
and was also anxious to bring this sailor to the bar of justice for
mutiny and attempted murder on the high seas.
"Before you obey the orders of your boss here," said the cowboy,
addressing the crew, "I want your guns. You know it is dangerous for
children like you to be handling something you don't know much about."
Evidently the Captain was in great pain, for he commanded the mates to
give up their weapons, which they did very reluctantly after the ship
had tacked and stood in for port again. To make matters worse, the
cowboy walked the weather side of the bridge-deck, and practically
commanded the ship until she dropped anchor.
Then the police boat came off and took captain, mates and cowboy ashore
to the hall of justice, where the new sailor put a kink in the crimp,
sending him for five years to the penitentiary for drugging and
shanghaing him. He also caused the Captain and first mate to exchange
their comfortable quarters aboard ship for uneasy cells in jail; six
months for the mate and a year for the Captain....
* * * * *
The old Hell Ships have passed away into the murky horizon, to be seen
no more, and with them have gone the old sailors, some to the Land of
Shadow, others to pass their remaining years working ashore, and many to
that most coveted place on earth, Snug Harbor. A new age has dawned
upon the mariner of today. He sails on ocean greyhounds, where there are
no yards to square, no topsails, no tiller ropes to steer with. He
doesn't have to sail four years before the mast to learn how to become a
sailor. Steam, the simplified, has made it pleasant and easy for him. He
no longer requires the tin plate and hook pot, nor has he any place for
the donkey's breakfast. (The latter used to be supplied by the crimp and
consisted of a handful of straw tucked into a cheap bed tick; that was
the sailor's bed in the old days.)
Today he is supplied with everything necessary for his comfort, even to
five hundred cubic feet of air space, and food as good as he was likely
to get ashore.
The cracker or hardtack hash was an art years ago, and required the
skill of a French chef. It is even possible that the French chef would
not have scorned what the old sailor discarded in making this sumptuous
repast. The first process of this delicious dish was to economize for
days to save enough hardtack. Secondly, it was necessary for it to soak
at least forty-eight hours. By that time you were sure that all living
creatures had forsaken their pleasant abode for a breath of fresh air or
a swim around the hook pot.
When you were satisfied that the hardtack was malleable, you would mix
in what salt horse you could spare without stinting yourself too much,
and anything else that happened to be around. Then came the supreme
task, getting a concession from the cook to bake it. It required much
study as to how to approach the "Doctor," for this was his title in
important functions. Should he be so generous with you as to grant an
interview for this noble concession, you were to be complimented, and
considered in line for promotion to the black pan. It is only a brother
in death that could share the remnants from the Captain's table. Hence
the black pan.
The sailor of today no longer need covet the crumbs from the captain's
table, he is fed à la carte and waited on by uniformed waiters; even his
salary is more than captains received twenty to thirty years ago in
sailing ships.