Skouse
The first dog watch that day was unusually quiet, all hands mending and reading and wondering what the outcome would be when Joe got the tar cleaned up on deck. At five bells Joe returned to the fo'c'sle with the supper, a kid of saltpork and cabbage. Martin, who had busied himself in the galley, brought in a pan of "dandy funk," a baked mass of hard tack and molasses, a great delicacy with us and only possible at rare intervals when Chow would permit us to take up the space in his galley range. However, the dandy funk went begging. Joe was sullen and refused to touch it. Scouse ignored it, and so did everyone else with the exception of Martin, who for once enjoyed a complete meal of our favorite dessert. Conversation during supper was strained to the breaking point, and we were all glad to be away as soon as possible and get out on deck.
The second dog watch went by without incident, as we were rushed about the braces, sweating up for the night, trimming yards, and laboring at the bilge pumps. It was clear, but with no moon, and at eight bells we went forward to the square under the fo'c'sle head. The starboard watch were called aft by the second mate, to some task of horsing up this yard or that, and everything was propitious for the coming battle. Blood alone could wipe out the feud between Scouse and Joe.
"And I hope he gets a damn good lickin',"confided Martin to me as we went forward, referring to Scouse.
"Too heavy, Mart," was my opinion.
"But Australia says as how Joe can handle his self. That boy ain't no slouch, and he's mad. You bet he's mad," insisted Martin.
That Joe was mad, fighting mad, went without saying. He had the stinging insults from the mate still ringing in his ears, and the vile tactics of Scouse, culminating in the tar pot trick, had steeled Joe to the point of desperation. Scouse, on the other hand, faced the question of fighting for his right to exist in the fo'c'sle. For a man to be ostracized by the crowd forward is a living hell, as has been proven on other voyages.
Aggravated as the situation was by the hedging discipline of the ship, the preparations for the battle were as secret as though we were an illegal boxing club operating in some blue-stocking community. Jimmy Marshall decided all the details, jumping around as busy as a field louse at harvest time. He elected himself referee and told off Australia and Brenden to look after Scouse, while Martin and myself were detailed to take care of Joe.
Our men stripped to the waist, bare knucklesand bare feet, with the "ring" bounded by the fore pinrail to leeward, the fife rail, the knight heads, and the fore side of the fo'c'sle, all dimly lighted by the fo'c'sle lamp, moved to the doorway by Jimmy, and shedding a faint yellow gleam over the space on deck.
Aft, the watch under the second mate were going through the first half hour of trimming yards, and the general shake up of things with which the officers usually "woke up" their crowd. No time had been lost by Jimmy, for he know just what to do, and Joe was facing Scouse with blood in his eyes, a very few minutes after eight bells.
"Not much room, but good enough for a fight, if it's fight you want," said Jimmy, buzzing around the men to see that all was in order. Two buckets were filled with water from over side, hand swabs were got from the deck chest, and our men lined up for work.
Scouse weighed about two hundred pounds, topping Joe by twenty pounds, but for all that they were well matched, as Joe had the advantage of agility and the better chance to dodge the hard knocks of the very substantial deck fixtures all about.
Jimmy brought out a big silver watch and announcedthat the rounds would be three minutes, "An' no punchin' in a clinch, an' no noise. These is the Mark o' Queensberry rules," said Jimmy with great emphasis.
The fo'c'sle lookout of the other watch came aft to the break of the fo'c'sle head and stood by the mast, ready to warn us of a surprise from aft. It was to be a silent fight, a desperate, uncompromising battle for the freedom of the fo'c'sle slaves, and the general edification of all hands, long wearied by the bickering between Joe and the red head.
The men backed off in the gloom.
"Go to it!" cried Jimmy.
They clashed with the hard thuds of calloused fists. Both men were in the prime of condition. Both were crazy to fight. Big Scouse swung at Joe, landing a fraction before Joe connected with the big fellow's wind. The blow brought blood spurting from Joe's nose and cut his lip. "Play for his wind, Joe! The bread basket, Joe! Bat 'im in the eye! Kill him!" The side lines, hid in the shadow of the fo'c'sle, were with Joe.
For a minute or two there was a rapid exchange of blows without thought of guard or parry. To get in as many and as strong a lot of blows as possible was the simple system.
Jimmy cried out "time," but no account of time or rounds was contemplated in the scheme of things. Fight was the business, and to a finish.
"Biff!" They slammed against the side of the deck house; a splotch of blood, dimly visible in the night, smeared the white paint. Once again they swung back, when the ship gave a sudden roll, as a blow from Joe's right landed on Scouse's nose, toppling him backward against the fife rail. An iron pin, the one used to belay the chain sheets of the lower tops'l, caught Scouse behind the ear and, with a grunt, he was "out."
Fortunately, nothing but rumors of the fight got aft. Scouse was well beaten, and came to in his bunk, after Australia and Brenden had doused him with salt water. Joe was badly battered up, and both men carried "shiners." As Jimmy Marshall said, "Honors is even, but it was a wery wery ragged fight."
The mate next morning greeted the watch with a broad grin, and the story of the mill, told to the starboard watch by their lookout Tommy, lost nothing in the telling. As for the port watch, we were glad it was over and once again the atmosphere below returned to normal. A few nights later Joe and Scouse chummed together,and from that day to the night in Honolulu, when Joe deserted and went out on the barkentineIrmgardto Frisco, he and Scouse were inseparable.
Wewere then in about five degrees of North Latitude, the trades had failed us, and the doldrums claimed their share of bracing and hauling, giving us little time for any other work. Every ripple on the brazen sea called for a different angle of the yards, and in dead calm we lay with our head yards braced sharp up and the after yards square, the courses guyed out from the masts by slap lines and bowlines. During the day a vertical sun beat down on our bare deck in unmerciful fashion, lifting the scorching pitch from the seams and all but addling our senses with the heat. The mates became more and more exacting, every job palled, and the stuffy, unpalatable food of the fo'c'sle stuck in our throats. The vessel was a chip of hell floating on the unforgiving ocean; riveted for days, that stretched to weeks, amid the patches of rusty sea weed, a thousand feet across,that tangled about the rudder post, great sun-scorched fragments of the dead Sargasso Sea.
And all of this time we knew that the Southern branch of the Equatorial Current was sending us back to the W. N. W. at the rate of several miles a day!
In watch below, choking with the heat, we lay tossing sleeplessly in our bunks while the sickly smell of the bilges came up from the fore peak through the wind sails let down to ventilate the hold. Cockroaches throve in added millions, and we were treated to our first rations of weevily tack. The little white worms seemed to be everywhere. The cracker hash was riddled with them as Chow selected the rottenest bread for this purpose. Most of us developed boils, and the dark brown taste, left by the vile food, resulted in a general loss of appetite. The heat even forced the rats from the hold and on a dark night we could hear them scampering about under the fo'c'sle head. The healthy sea tan of the temperate zone left our faces, and we became peevish and morose.
Some of us tried to forget our misery by reading the books sent aboard by the Seamen's Friend Society, others whiled away the hot watches below, when sleep was impossible, by making wonderfulmodels of ships in bottles, almost a lost art nowadays, and revived on board theFullerby Frenchy. Most of these works of art found resting places behind the bars of waterfront saloons in Honolulu.
One blessing that came to us in this hell afloat was the fact that the mates winked at the snatching of a few hours' sleep during the night watches on deck, otherwise there is no telling how some of us would have survived.
Our fo'c'sle scuttle butt soured, and Old Smith of the starboard watch emptied it one Sunday morning and charred the inside with a bundle of rope yarns to which he set fire. He told us how water gets bad in the tropics, and then how its own impurities destroy themselves. "The bugs scoff each other and die," and, went on Smithy, "they drops to the bottom of the butt, like white skeletons, and the water is as clean and good as ever."
About this time considerable activity went on forward among the old sailors in both watches. One dog watch, men from both sides of the fo'c'sle went aft and interviewed the captain.
"We are near the line," said Frenchy to me shortly afterward. "Don't make any fuss aboutwhat goes on, and you'll get off easy," he cautioned.
There were quite a few of us who had never crossed the equator, and the preparations in the dog watches augured ill for those who chose to resist the just tribute demanded by Father Neptune of all green sailors who, in those days, ventured across the magic bounds.
A fair slant of wind had helped us along for a few days, when the Old Man called Jimmy aft and imparted important information.
At eight bells in the afternoon watch, as all hands were mustering in the waist, a hoarse hail from forward greeted us.
"Ship Ahoy! Ship Ahoy!" came the deep bass summons from a point beneath the bow.
"Forward, there! Who hails us?" answered the captain, who stood out on the poop, replying to the voice from forward.
"Father Neptune hails us, Captain," answered Hitchen, returning from the bow. "He asks if there are any of his children on board who would receive his blessing on their heads."
"Aye, bring him on board," ordered the skipper, a broad grin lighting his features, and the two mates reflected the feeling aft by joining in the smiles.
A noise of trudging along the deck followed, the King of the Sea, his own whiskers hidden behind a broad beard of rope yarns, a bright red harpoon in his right hand serving as a trident, and a large razor, made of hoop iron, stuck in his belt, walked aft. He was draped in the folds of an old boat sail, and for all of his regal trimmings we recognized the famous Jimmy. A retinue followed, rigged out in true deepwater style, and carrying a tub between them, which was deposited on deck just aft of the mainmast.
"Captain," said Neptune, "I am told as 'ow you 'ave green 'ands on board who 'ave to be shaved."
"Yes, Your Majesty, we have some with the hayseed still in their whiskers," answered the skipper.
"Bring 'em forth!" thundered the King, unlimbering his razor and passing the trident to the safe keeping of his wife, Amphitrite, in the person of Axel, who towered two feet above the head of the King.
However, what Jimmy lacked in stature he made up in efficiency, and in the imperious glance of scorn with which he greeted eight of us who were lined up for his inspection.
Old Smith grabbed me by the neck; I wasseated on the bottom of an upturned bucket at the feet of the King.
"Your name?" demanded His Majesty, and as I was about to answer a filthy swab of soapsuds and grease was thrust in my mouth and smeared over my face and the shaving began, ending by a back somersault into the tub of water behind.
"Next!" called Neptune in true barber shop style, and so, in turn, each of the green hands went through the ordeal; the least willing getting the most attention. Scouse and Joe were among the lubbers, and were accorded special rites to the vast amusement of all hands. Australia wound up the entertainment by handing Scouse and Joe pieces of gunny sack, smeared with black paint, with which to wipe their faces.
"All right now!" called the mate, after the skipper had left the deck. "Turn to and clean up," and we were back again to the rigid discipline of the sea, relaxed for a brief hour to let King Neptune hold his sway.
After crossing the line we picked up the first whisperings of the S. E. trades, that soon began to blow steadily and ushered in another busy stage of the voyage. The refreshing wind and falling temperature brought renewed vigor to our jaded crew. Although we had commenced to feelthe lack of fresh provisions, scurvy did not bother us, possibly owing to the regular issue of lime juice, but the constant repetition of salt pork and salt beef, the weevily hard tack, and the abominable slumgullion, a stew made from canned mutton, made us crave for something decent to eat.
Frenchy often drove us to the verge of distraction with his stories of the cooks at home in Dunkirk, until we finally had to put the ban on that sort of discourse. Again, we landed several bonitas teeming with energy, and, after the silver coin test, all hands fell to with a will, myself included. We also hooked a shark and hauled him on board by a "handy billy" snatched to the fore rigging.
The regular routine of setting up shrouds and stays preparatory to entering the heavy weather off the Horn, now began in earnest. We had left New York with a full set of new hemp lanyards in our lower rigging. The lanyard knots were turned in in a slovenly manner, with a lubberly disregard for appearances, that proved an eyesore to Captain Nichols. We cast new knots in these, and set up all standing rigging anew; a long, interesting job that initiated us into the mysteries of "rackings" and the "Spanish windlass,"and the practical workings of the various "purchases" and "burtons"; the "luff tackles," and the "gun tackles."
The mate was the leading spirit in these proceedings, staying on deck practically all day to supervise the work. As we would set up one pair of shrouds to port and another to starboard, bringing them to a "full due," the mate was always there to say when to clap on the racking and "come up" on the rigging luffs.
How the mate stood it often amazed me, for he was very lively at night, but toward the end of this work the second mate would stand his last dog watch for him, giving our first officer a six hour spell of sleep every other day. What this means on a watch and watch racket, sailors who have traveled the long voyage route will know.
The real sailors came to the fore during this time in both watches, and Frenchy, Brenden, and Marshall, of our side, with Smith, Axel, and Hitchen of the starboard watch, proved their rightful claim to the full rating of A. B. Mr. Stoddard, who was a bit weak on his marline spike seamanship, though a good watch officer, made up for things by the way he bawled about and hurried and scurried his watch during the time the mate was on deck. His men hated himthoroughly and we were glad that he had very little to do with us.
Aboard a real shipshape and Bristol fashion deepwaterman of the old school, if there be any such left today, everything is done according to the custom of the sea. From the main truck to the keel, from the outermost end of the flying jibboom to the last band on the spanker, the ancient art of seamanship has decreed the exact way in which certain things shall be done. The deadeyes carry their knots inboard, forward to starboard, and aft to port. The lanyard lengths are justly proportioned to the length of the stay they extend, so the required "give" will be right, and the shroud pairs, stays, and backstays, are passed over the mast heads and rest upon the trestle trees, in due and proper form; the same in all ships worthy of the name.
Nations differ in their customs, and likewise in their rigs. No Italian ship can sail the sea with a straight martingale, and no other ship would venture forth with one that was anything but true.
For weeks at a time, after our entry into the southern trades, it was hardly necessary to touch a brace except for the sweating up each night in the last dog watch, when a swig or two on theropes would bring back any slack that had worked around the pins. The job of setting up standing rigging completed, we turned our attention to the running gear. We rove off new whips on all the braces, using an eye splice that was a favorite with the mate, being tucked after the manner of a sailmaker's splice, that is, the continuity of the strands of the rope was preserved, the appearance of the whips being very trim.
The tops'l downhauls were rove off with new rope, and the gear of all the lower stays'ls, lower tops'ls and courses was overhauled and replaced where needed.
As we began to lift the Southern Cross and the trades left us, we again shifted sail, an all day job that this time fell on a Sunday, and when completed found us under our best suit of canvas ready for that storm corner of the voyage, Cape Horn. We overhauled the rudder tackles, reeving new purchases "with the sun," as indeed all purchases are rove. Oil bags were made, shaped like beech nuts, bound with ratline stuff, and fitted with a stout becket. By filling these with heavy non-freezing animal or vegetable oil and puncturing them with a sail needle, they affordedthe best means for spreading oil on the waters in time of storm.
One sail in particular that we bent at this time made a great impression on me; this was a heavy storm spencer made of dark hemp canvas, soft and pliable even when wet, unlike the stiff white American cotton stuff that rips out your finger nails when fighting the bellying folds, tough as sheet iron, as it slams out from a bucking yard. The main spencer was evidently an acquisition from some Asiatic or European voyage. It bent to an iron jackstay, and furled in to the mast with a set of brails, being cut "leg-o'-mutton," the sheet hauling aft to big eyebolts on either side of the waist.
Double lashings were passed on all of the lifeboat gripes. Rolling and jumper tackles were got ready for the lower and tops'l yards, to relieve the stress on yards and parrals, and straps and whips were prepared, and laid aside, for use as preventer braces should the necessity arise. In these preparations on theFullerwe had a foresight of what to expect when off the dreaded Cape; at the same time we were certain that no vessel was ever better or more intelligently groomed for heavy weather.
These preparations carried us well down to thelatitude of the River Plate; here we were warned by the wise ones to expect some weather, which was not long in coming.
Our watch had just gone below at midnight, when a sou'wester zipped in from the distant land, a live whole gale, sweetened with the breath of the Patagonian prairies that stretched for leagues beneath its origin. The starboard watch started to shorten sail, but by four bells in the midwatch things were getting so far ahead of them that all hands were called, and we tumbled out in the midst of a Bedlam of thrashing gear and general confusion.
Most of the port watch were ordered aloft to take in the fore upper tops'l, thrashing in its gear, while the ship plunged ahead under lower tops'ls, reefed fore course and stays'ls. The starboard watch were completing the job of furling the main tops'l, and with two of our men to help, were about to tackle the mains'l.
I was on the fore upper tops'l yard, with Frenchy at the lee yardarm, and Scouse in between me and the mast. We were just passing the last of the sea gaskets, when the lower tops'l yard seemed to lift up in the air with a sudden jump for we were standing on it, instead of on the footropes of the upper tops'l. A great smashingbelow us, and the loud impact of something big and hard banging against the yard under our feet, sent us clambering to the upper stick for our lives.
"Lee fore sheet's adrift!" someone shouted. There was a rush in to the mast to escape the heavy spectacle iron, and the cluster of flying clew garnet blocks, and the next thing we knew we were ordered to lay out on the fore yard and secure the sail.
"Lay down and secure fores'l!" came the order from the mate, who stood on the fo'c'sle head, back to the gale, bellowing up his instructions.
Six of us slid down to the top and out on the jumping foreyard. The buntlines and leechlines were finally hauled home, and we got our gaskets about the flying iron. A weird morning light was then breaking in the east and as our watch below was gone, all hands remained on deck for morning coffee after we hove her to under lower tops'ls, fore and main storm stays'ls, and trys'l.
The Pampero gave us a taste of real weather, and came as an actual relief after the long monotonous passage through the trades and doldrums.
Withlivelier weather of the Southern latitudes we were often exercised in tacking and wearing ship, and soon became a very well drilled company, sending the big three-sticker about in record time. TheFullerwas lively in stays and with our small crew required the smartest kind of work in handling.
With all hands, including the "idlers," that is, the carpenter, cook and cabin steward, we mustered twenty men forward, hardly a man-o'-war complement, but enough, when driven and directed by superior seamanship, to send the long braces clicking through the sheaves of the patent blocks with a merry chatter.
"Hands about ship!" meant all hands,and the cook at the fore sheet, a time honored station filled by the Celestial with all the importance in the world. It was all the work that Chow ever did on deck and the heathenish glee with which he would "let go" at the proper time, added a certainzest to our movements, particularly as we always hoped to have a sea come over and douse him, which often happened.
At the order, "Ready! Ready!" the gear of the main and cro'jik was thrown down from the pins, clear for running. The command "Ease down the helm!" and the order "Spanker boom amidships!" would quickly follow, the vessel running rapidly into the eye of the wind with everything shaking, and then flat aback.
"Rise tacks and sheets!" and the hands at the clew garnets would sway up on the courses, lifting them clear of the bulwarks. Then all hands would jump like monkeys to the main and cro'jik braces, at the order, "Weather main, lee cro'jik braces!" the second mate, and Chips, standing by to cast off on the other sides. By then, the wind being a point on the weather bow, would come the hearty warning, "Haul taut!" and "Now, boys, mainsail haul!" and the after yards, aback, with the wind on their weather leeches, would spin about, the gear running through the blocks like snakes afire, and the men on deck pawing it in at the pins with feverish haste, belaying as the yards slammed back against the lee swifters on the other tack.
By that time the ship would be practicallyabout, with head yards and head sails aiding in the evolution. As soon as the wind was on the bow, all hands would spring to the lee fore braces. "Haul taut—let go and haul!" thundered the order from aft. Chow would let out a wild yell as he unhitched the fore sheet, and around would go the head yards. Then with jib sheets shifted over, and the spanker eased off, as the tacks were boarded, and the sheets hauled aft, we would pause to get our breath amid the tangle of gear on deck.
"Steady out the bowlines—go below, watch below!" and as the watch below would leave the deck, the order "Lay up the gear clear for running," was the signal for the crowd on deck to get busy while the good ship raced away on the new tack with the wind six points on the bow, a bone in her teeth, and a half point of leeway showing in the wake.
"I hope she holds this tack for a month," was a wish often expressed after one of these frantic evolutions; but such hopes were vain with the variable nature of the strong winds between the Plate and Staten Land, that often sent us about a half dozen times a day, insuring us plenty of healthful exercise and a minimum amount of sleep.
On a wind was theFuller'sbest point of sailing, so far as handling was concerned, and she was as easy with the helm as a catboat.
"Keep the weather cloth of the mizzen skys'l shaking," was the order for "full and by," and, under all plain sail, a spoke of the wheel would hold her for hours, with a quarter turn of weather helm.
While our port watch crowd had at first thought themselves the losers in the choice of officers, we soon realized that we were being favored in many ways, mainly because of the superior ability of the mate. He cursed unmercifully and made no bones about cuffing some of the crew in a playful sort of fashion, accompanied with some ribald jest that was meant to carry off the sting of a heavy blow, yet he managed to give us the advantage in most operations requiring all hands. He never hesitated to rouse out the starboard watch an hour ahead of time when a sudden shortening of sail demanded all hands. On these occasions we would work like fury and get below with the loss of a half hour's less sleep than the other watch.
Ill feeling among the men of the second mate's watch became more and more apparent as these tactics continued, and the talk in the fo'c'sle hadit that the second mate was afraid to stand up for his rights. He was accordingly blamed for every trouble forward, so far as his own watch was concerned. Things culminated in the wake of a squall that struck us soon after passing the River Plate. The tops'l yards having been lowered to the caps, we were called out near the end of the afternoon watch to man tops'l halyards.
Tony, of the starboard watch, was "beforehand" with Axel and the second mate, on the main tops'l halyards. The rest of the ship's company tailed along the deck from the lead block bending their "beef" on the rope to the refrain of "Ranzo, boys, Ranzo." The deck was slippery with the wet, and a high sea, in which theFullerwallowed without sail enough to steady her, made footing precarious.
At the order "Belay!" given by the mate, and the sharp "Come up behind" of the second officer, Tony failed to hold on to the rope, and the consequence was a slight loss as the man next the lead block hitched the halyard over the pin.
"You lazy dago —— —— —— ——! Why did you let go that rope?" shouted Mr. Stoddard, at the same time making a lunge for Tony and smashing him on the side of the face with his fist. The Dago blocked as best he could, and the secondmate drove home a second blow on the Dago's nose. Tony clinched, the blood spurted right and left as they went to the deck, rolling over and over, first one on top and then the other.
"What's this?" shouted the mate. "You dirty bum, —— —— you!" he exploded, jumping into the scramble, while all hands lined up in a threatening attitude, determined to see some sort of fair play.
The mate grabbed Tony by the shirt, as he was on top, and yanked him over. The fact that the Dago had Mr. Stoddard down seemed to rile the mate beyond all reason. He ripped off the shirt of the Dago, and as he threw him across the deck a knife flashed and the mate kicked it into the scuppers, at the same time digging his heavy sea boots into the side of the Italian. The second mate staggered to his feet, a jagged streak of blood on his face where Tony had landed, and his jacket covered with gore.
This scene, common enough perhaps in the annals of the sea, made a deep impression on us. His watchmates carried the Italian forward, and Mr. Stoddard went to his room under the starboard side of the poop. Bad as the feeling had been toward our officers, up to this time it had mingled with it a certain element of respect. Artisticand fluent profanity never hurt anybody, and was almost always justified by some bungling piece of work on the part of the lubbers who "gummed up" their action whenever the least chance was afforded them. But in the attack of the second mate on Tony there was something that looked like deliberate planning, and in the mixup a number of us saw the mate jerk the knife from the Dago's belt.
As Mr. Zerk went aft he picked up the knife from the scuppers. "Irons for you!" he hissed at the Dago as they took him to the fo'c'sle.
But we heard nothing more of it. The captain had come out on deck in the height of the excitement, following the fight, and called the mate to his side; he was wise in his day, and knew a thing or two about the tactics of his officers.
Soon we were tailing again to the halyard, tautening out the leeches of the tops'l, an embittered crowd who but a few moments before were singing at the ropes. Peter, in the meantime, was swabbing up the bloody deck.
One who has never been there can hardly realize the absolute subjugation under which a crew may be placed by their officers, especially if they are on a deep-sea voyage under sail. None of us is perfect, and the humble sailor-man as wellas the rest of the human race is prone to take things as easy as the law of the craft on which he sails will allow. This fact, coupled with the hard circumstances under which a small crew is compelled to work a very large ship, may, in a measure, condone the tactics which have for their object the putting the "fear of God" into a crew.
Young officers at times are inclined to be a bit "easy" with men, thinking it will result in more willingness. The more seasoned members of the cloth, men who have sailed as merchant officers for many years, realize that the maintenance of discipline aboard ship is only possible under a rule of autocratic severity, demanding instant obedience to orders and quick punishment for the first departure from the iron bonds. This is as necessary as life itself. The least hesitation, the slightest possibility of argument, when ordering men to places of danger or extreme difficulty, would soon result in disaster.
At sea we have the sharp distinction of caste—the wonderful potency ofMisterSo and So. He is an officer, if not always a gentleman. To forget the "sir" when addressing one of our mates would have been a dangerous thing to do. In fact only one man ever did it, but he was a Kanaka and signs on later in the story.
In many ships, captain and mates never fail to use their "handles" in addressing each other, and this was so on theFuller, in fact there was as little familiarity aft, in the personal relations of our officers, as one might expect to find between the representatives of two armies meeting to arrange a truce. And the wonderful part of it was that they left the ship at the end of the voyage as coldly distant as the day they stepped aboard; that is all but the second mate, which is again running me ahead of the lawful progress of this yarn.
However, to get back to the deck and to the lives of our particular little sea community, plowing their painful way over the cruel surface of the many wrinkled ocean, we resented the underhanded flavor of the affair between the mates and Tony. With all the excuses for hazing granted and allowed for, there is nothing to be said in favor of lying about a fight. The imputation of the knife, held as evidence by the mate, and the whole character of the mixup left a bad taste in our mouths for many weeks.
From that time on we entered upon a stage of the voyage notable for its hardship. The officers were drivers from the time we dropped the Navesink Highlands, but for a long time after the incidentoff the River Plate, nothing but harsh words found any place in their vocabulary. Weather conditions became more unsettled and severe and one blow followed close on the heels of another. We were in oilskins for weeks at a time, soaked to the skin through the worn out "slickers." Most of us developed salt water boils and one formed on my left wrist, through the constant chafing, and has left a scar to this day, as I had the habit of stopping the sleeves of my coat with a few turns of marline to keep the water out. It was impossible to dry things in the brief four hours below, and the "slop chest" was soon depleted of its stock of new oil clothing. It would be hard to picture a more depressing period than that through which we passed just before entering the real weather off Cape Horn.
In one of our brief periods below some of us were patching the tears in our oilskin coats and pants, resulting from a tussle with the fore upper tops'l, the downhauls having carried away, and left the sail a bellying fighting mess of canvas that four of us were ordered to subdue. Sewing oiled cloth is a poor job, and a loosened finger nail on my right thumb, added nothing to the cheerfulness of the sewing party.
"I'll bet few lads would go to sea if they couldlook in here for a half hour," I remarked, following a turn of thought that revolved more or less about my own folly.
"An' I don't think you would stay in 'ere or out on deck or anywhere else in this leaky old bucket if you knowed what is afore us," chipped in Jimmy. "You 'aven't never gone round the Horn yet, so God 'elp you, is wot I says."
"Yes, Gott help all of us," said Scouse with a heartfelt grunt from the sea chest at the forward end of the fo'c'sle where he and Joe were playing checkers on a new "heavy weather" board just made by the resourceful Joseph. This board was covered with a piece of canvas, the squares being marked off with pencil. The checkers (and here is where Joe prided himself) were made by sawing pieces from an old broom handle, and Joe had driven a sharp brad through each one of them so they would cling to the canvas on the checker board.
On deck chanties had ceased to enliven us, and we went through the hard watches in a dogged spirit of endurance. We felt like martyrs, a state of mind not altogether without its compensations. In the watch below, in a steaming atmosphere of gloom, lighted by a single oil lamp set into a hole in the partition bulkhead between the two sidesof the fo'c'sle, we slept as much as possible, which was not half enough, ate our rude meals, and had our dreams of happier days to come. Each man respected the rights of his neighbors and each bunk was a sort of damp narrow castle. Here in the smelly air, in the dim light, cold, tired, and often hungry, we lived, or rather, existed.
Ona clear Monday morning, the seventh of February, 1898, to be exact, the captain, after working up his A. M. sight, came on deck and announced a good observation. It was the first time the sun had been visible in some days, and by working a Sumner he found we were on a line cutting close past Cape St. John, on Staten Land, having sailed the ship down between the Falkland Islands and Cape Virgins by dead reckoning. We were coiling down the gear after the morning washdown, and I was busy at the monkey rail when he came on deck with his results, and imparted the above information to the mate in my hearing.
"Better send a hand to the main skys'l yard, Mr. Zerk," said the captain, in conclusion.
I was handy, and at a nod from the mate sprang up the Jacob's ladder and onto the ratlines, going up like a monkey, out over the futtock shrouds, up the topmast rigging, narrowingto the topmast crosstrees, in through the horns of the crosstrees, and on farther up the t'gallant and royal rigging, on the slight rope ladders abaft the mast. Coming to the skysail mast, hardly larger round than the stick of a fair catboat, I shinned up with the help of the halyards, and swung myself astride of the yard, my arm about the aerie pinnacle of the main truck. From my vantage point the sea was truly an inspiring sight; clear as crystal, the limpid air stretched free to the distant horizon without a mist or cloud to mar the panorama of vast blue ocean. I felt as though I had suddenly been elevated to a heaven far above the strife and trouble of the decks below.
For the moment I forgot the object of my climb in the contemplation of the sparkling scene stretching as far as eye could reach. I glanced down to the narrow deck far beneath, white in the sun, the black top of the bulwarks outlining the plan of the ship against the deep blue waters; my eye followed the easy curves of the squared canvas on the main, the great breadth of the yards extending to port and starboard, and I wondered that so small a ship could support such an avalanche of sail as bowled along under my feet. Aft, a foamy wake stretched for a mileor two, for we were sailing at a fairish speed with the wind from the north, a point on the port quarter.
I saw the men flaking down the fore tops'l halyards, clear for running, on the top of the forward house, and I saw the mate watching me from the weather fore pinrail, his head thrown back as he gazed aloft; something told me to get busy, and I looked far ahead to the south.
A faint blue streak on the horizon held my eyes. Accustomed to the sight of land from out at sea, through my voyages in the schoolship; still I hesitated to name it land. We were sixty-two days out, and land looked strange. Again I brought my sight to bear upon the distant skyline ahead; there was no mistaking the dim outline of land rising from the sea at a point immediately to the south of us and reaching westward.
"Land ho!" I hailed the deck.
"Where away?" came the voice of Captain Nichols.
"A point on the lee bow, sir!"
"All right! Lay down!" shouted the mate, evidently not intending that I should further enjoy my lofty perch on the skysail yard.
We raised the land rapidly, the breeze increasing slightly as the day advanced. At noonStaten Land was visible from the deck, and by eight bells in the afternoon watch we were sailing past the bold shores, some ten miles distant, and drawing the land well abeam. Running south for a good offing, and taking in our light sails with the coming of darkness, we hauled our wind to the starboard quarter at the end of the last dog watch and headed bravely for old "Cape Stiff."
Captain Nichols might have ventured through the Strait of Le Maire, with the weather we were having, though at the best it is taking chances to keep the land too close aboard when in the troubled latitudes of Terra Del Fuego. Countless ships, with the fineDuchesse de Berryamong the last of them, have ground their ribs against the pitiless rocks that gird those coasts. However, we were enjoying the rarest of Cape Horn weather—sunshine, fair wind, and a moderate sea.
For the first time in many weary days we livened things up with a chantey as we swigged away on the braces and tautened every stitch of canvas with well stretched sheets and halyards.
Jimmy Marshall had just started "Whiskey for my Johnnie," and the captain came forward on the break of the poop and joined in the chorus in a funny, squeaky voice—but none of us daredlaugh at him. He was so delighted with the progress we were making and the chance that we might slip by the "corner" in record time, that nothing was too good for us. The mate came down from his high horse and with Mr. Stoddard and Chips, who had just finished their supper and were stepping out on deck, to join them, the full after guard took up the refrain—and the words rose in a great volume of deep sea song.
"Oh, whiskey—my Johnnie;Yes, whiskey made me sell my coatWhiskey, my Johnnie.Oh, whiskey's what keeps me afloat,Oh whiskey for my Johnnie."
When we pumped her out that night at the main pump, for the ship was almost on an even keel, we noted the skipper had begun to stump the quarter deck in a very excited way, constantly ducking up and down the companion, and scanning the horizon with an anxious eye. Cape pigeons were circling close to the ship with an endless chatter, and far above us swung a huge, dun-colored fulmar gull, its white belly clean against the grey sky.
"There is something doing with the glass," remarked Frenchy, eyeing the skipper. "We'llhave some weather to look out for before long," and all of us watched the gull with fascinated eyes. Jimmy and Brenden agreed with Frenchy that we were in for heavy weather.
But in spite of these dire predictions, and in spite of a "red dawn," the day broke and continued fair, and we were again regaled with a glimpse of land, jagged somber peaks, jutting into the sky to the north like the cruel teeth of a ragged saw, grey blue above the far horizon.
I was aft flaking down the mizzen tops'l halyards on the morning following the landfall when Captain Nichols stumped past me from the break of the poop to the companion. He had been up all night, and the continuation of fine weather evidently pleased and surprised him. He had a pair of binoculars in his hand, and, in passing, he stopped and offered the glasses to me, pointing to the southernmost promontory, a cold blue knob rising from the sea.
"That's Cape Horn over there, Felix. Take a good look at it. You may never see it again, if you were born lucky."