Brendan reading a letter
Mike, and Martin and Fred were mere fillers in. Beef on a rope, and able eaters, they remain as memories, indistinct and still quite clear; they never succeeded in making an impression on the life of the ship but were the background of that distant time, seldom saying anything that was listened to. Of Tommy, or the more dignified Tom, we will learn more later on. He was a man with a past, and I hope a future, for he certainly earned the right to a very bright one while on theFuller; that future, however, did not lie on the sea. As high admiral of a pickle barge and fleet commander of a whole flotilla of shelf jugsfull of vinegar and preserved edibles, in his own delicatessen store, he may have risen to success.
Scouse never read anything; he was too busy thinking, and as he did less and less talking as the voyage lengthened, we concluded he must be a very deep fellow. Scouse had points, and I have no doubt after all the hazing afloat and skinning ashore, he learned and digested lessons of the utmost value.
Peter, of whom so much has been said and so little told, was in a way the most interesting character on board. He was, and no doubt still is, one of the most generous souls alive. If he is rich, it is certainly for no lack of a wild desire to share his last cent with any unfortunate that might cross his path. Peter started to sea in deep water sail for reasons that do him credit. He saw a way to recoup his health and at the same time bring to a conclusion an intense amour that seemed to lead directly to an early grave. He shipped on theFuller, leaving a large wash behind in the tender care of his sweetheart. No boarding master captured part of his advance, and for a week afterward at least, so Peter said, two coffee pots must have stood on a certain N. Y. kitchen window, as a signal that his laundrywas ready to be taken away. The lady's husband was a night clerk in the post office.
The career of Peter would serve as a theme for a first class psychological novel with the plots of half a dozen red-hot problem plays added by way of good measure. He started life with the curse of good looks, of the romantic type, dark and interesting, his rather long silky locks, curled slightly, and his regular features were classic. Deep brown eyes, and a very fine, rich voice completed his downfall. As reporter on a country paper, Peter told us how he would write up the stories of the socialist meetings, by sending a boy around to the local hall to see if the lights were lit. His adventures as foreman in a corset factory, as cadet in the American Line, and as a social worker in the humble ranks of those who uplift the sailor ashore, were chapters in the start of a busy life.
Asthe hold began to fill up, the top of the sugar was brought inboard from the wings to an apex, and the lower cargo space not quite filled. The 'tween deck was then loaded in order to carry the dead weight sufficiently high to prevent the ship from being stiff; to make her more "sea kindly" as sailors say. Theoretical questions of metacentric height, of the center of buoyancy, and their relation to stability never bothered the captain or Mr. Zerk. But as the loading progressed they paid a lot of attention to her trim and in the placement of the last part of the cargo, the mate assumed complete charge. TheFullersailed best trimmed a few feet by the stern, but in the final loading this extra depth aft was cut down to a single foot as a matter of experiment, the mean draft loaded being seventeen feet eight inches, giving her the usual freeboard of about four feet or three inches to every foot of draft, according to the old rule. Draftis shown by figures cut into the stem and stern post; these are six inches high and the figure rests on the mark it indicates.
In addition to the sugar from the railroad, we had steamers of the inter-island trade come along side and discharge their cargoes right onto our deck. These craft have been touched upon before. TheMauna Loa, one of the largest at that time, was quite a passenger carrier. As I think of the inter-island steamers they always appear to have been somewhat out of drawing, when compared with the beautiful sailers of those days.
Jack Hitchen
During the final week of loading, when we had closed the 'tween deck hatches to the lower hold and were putting down the finishing tiers of cargo, we paid our last visits ashore. I bid "good-bye" to Mr. McInerny and the good friends I had made, both in society and out. We went over to theBritish Monarch, Hitchen and I, for a last visit. The mates had a bit of a "blow" for us, hot toddy, which tasted right in spite of the warm weather, cigars, and some Huntley and Palmer biscuits broken out of their stores for this special occasion. Of course we promised to write, and never did, and Mr. Gore gave me an old copy of Raper, he having two of them, as a parting gift. To Hitchen he gavea tin of navy cut that had been sent out to him from England. They were hoping for word of a charter to be on their way, and thought they might load sugar for New York, when we planned to meet again as sailors sometimes do.
With what little change we had left, we laid in a few stores for the voyage home, a few bunches of bananas, odds and ends of clothing, and the like. I purchased a pair of mittens, after a search in that tropic city, as mine had worn out in hauling at the gear. The most startling addition to our life forward was a green parrot that Frenchy brought aboard, having swapped him at the Union saloon for a small brig, rigged in a bay rum bottle. This brig had been a long time making, and Frenchy only let go of it when he was assured of a prize. The bird, hailing from God knows where, as I don't believe they are native to the islands, was to be a present to his sister Madeleine. Frenchy named him Jaques, at once vulgarized to common Jake, and he was hung in his wooden cage under the fo'c'sle head.
Just before hauling into the stream, Captain Nichols shipped three Kanakas to take the places left vacant by Mr. Stoddard, Jimmy, and Joe. This made it certain that someone from the crewwould be taken aft as second mate. The Kanakas were a rare assortment. Kahemuku, a lanky, poetical looking fellow with long hair and dreamy eyes, hailed from Tahiti. The two others, both of them short and somewhat stout, were from Honolulu and should have known better than to ship around the Horn. John Aahee was assigned to the starboard watch; he was clean shaven and dull, a poor devil who merely existed after we got to sea. Black Joe, so the mate called him, since his name was beyond ordinary understanding, was fully whiskered with a bunch of fuzz that looked like the stuffing of an old hair mattress. Joe had a peculiar idea about the relation between officers and men, and never could get this straightened out. Black Joe and Kahemuku were assigned to the port watch to take the place of Jimmy and Joe.
Some of the men thought that I would be called aft as second mate. Ambitious as I was for preferment, I realized that the billet would be about the worst thing that could happen to me. Whatever the captain may have thought about it, the mate was against me, as we remained at loggerheads while I visited with my "dude friends," which I did at intervals as long as we were in port.
Old Smith was the logical candidate for the job, and the mate wanted him. Others were like Barkis, but the strange part was that the real sailors in the crew, the men who knew enough to stand a watch at sea and work the ship, were the most anxious to side step the honor.
Having loaded our sugar, the chutes were sent ashore, and we again hauled out into the stream, this time for good. We at once battened down the hatches, putting on triple tarpaulins, and, having taken down the cargo pendants, we again rove the seagoing running gear; after a day of scrubbing, during which the spars were washed clean of dust, we then began to bend sail. This took us the greater part of two days while we sent aloft the fine weather canvas. Then followed another general washing down and cleaning over the side, and the shipA. J. Fullerlooked herself again. Loaded to her deep sea trim, with yards squared to a hair and canvas furled with a harbor stow, we were as flash a ship as ever hailed from the port of New York—clean, and seamanlike in every detail. Fancy manropes were got out for the gangways, the galley smoke stack was given a coat of black paint, making "Charlie Noble," as this piece of humble but necessary seafurniture is called, as sporty as any part of the old girl.
In the meantime, while our busy little ship world revolved within its restricted orbit, events of historic importance were happening in the great arena beyond the seas. Dewey had captured Manila and the first troops to go out from the United States were expected in Honolulu, en route to the Philippines. Preparations to welcome them of a gigantic nature were carried out by the enthusiastic citizens of Honolulu, the American element being in the ascendant. A tremendous flag was got ready, to be raised over the railroad wharf, and huge stores of sandwiches were made and held in readiness for the soldiers. Also every barrel and bottle of beer in the place was put on ice against an emergency. The citizens were determined that hunger should not outflank the U. S. forces, if by any means it could be prevented, nor was old General Thirst to be allowed to down a single man. It was also decided that U. S. legal tender was not to be accepted when offered for refreshment by a man wearing the uniform of Uncle Sam, showing how war fever (for a time) upsets the commercial mind.
The transportsCity of Pekin,City of Sydney,andAustralia, came into the harbor on June first carrying twenty-two hundred troops. These vessels were under convoy of the U. S. S.Charleston. The day was a gala one and in the midst of the excitement we received our orders to sail for Delaware Breakwater. This came as a surprise as we expected to be sent to Frisco because of the possibility of our being picked up by a Spaniard in view of the uncertain state of affairs in the Atlantic. We were then in the stream, wistful gazers at the harbor activities and the glimpses of great times ashore afforded by the pier heads and the esplanade.
With the coming of our orders, Captain Nichols sent out such fresh provisions as deep water ships usually take to sea with them. A potato bin had been constructed under the fo'c'sle head in a place that would be fairly dry and having a good circulation of air. Into this we put about a ton of the tubers. Some fresh meat was sent aboard, and a few bunches of bananas strung in the after wheel house for the cabin mess. A number of our men had been offered billets on coasters, and this was specially so during the last few weeks of our loading. The pay day of close to fifty dollars already on the books, and the prospect of landing in New York with almost eightydollars added to it, was a prospect hard to leave, especially since the plans for great futures depended absolutely upon these prospective nest eggs. The fact, however, was that we were a well selected crowd and liked to sail together. The captain was absolutely square and the mate was a sailor from his toes to his truck; we were too much accustomed to the routine on theFullerto want to change. As far as I was concerned, I was happy to remain on board and work back around old Cape Stiff again. Mr. McInerny had offered to have me released from the articles and wanted me to take up my residence in the islands, telling me of the many advantages, much after the manner of Robinson Crusoe's old father, when that wilful lad determined upon the sea as a career. I, too, had old Crusoe's trouble pretty well soaked into my system. I was really an enthusiast about going to sea, in spite of the hard knocks, so I made up my mind to complete the voyage.
On Sunday, five days before we sailed, the captain called Old Smith aft and formally offered him the billet as second mate. Old Smith refused to move out of the fo'c'sle, and came forward with a fat cigar in his teeth, saying, "The skipper's all right. He sure is all right."
After that we were too busy to think anything more of the vexed problem, being horsed about at bending sail and preparing for sea. On the eve of our departure we were sitting on the fo'c'sle head watching the crowded harbor, the comings and goings from the men o' war and transports, and listening to the bugle calls. We had washed up after the day's work, and the mess cooks had gone to the galley for the kids.
"We'll sleep our last night in, tonight," ventured Frenchy, as we perched on the heel of the starboard cathead. It was a thought that came to all of us.
"Grub O!" called Fred from the space about the fore pin rail, where both watches ate together while in port. We sat around the kids, under the tall gear of the foremast rising overhead, the faint peppering of stars showing between the yards as we began our supper.
"Here comes the mate," said Martin, who was perched on the short ladder leading to the fo'c'sle head, from the port side of the house.
"Wot of it, let him come."
Presently Mr. Zerk stood in the gangway looking at us, he bulked big, and smoked a strong cigar. This was the first time he had ever intruded upon our meals during our stay in port.
"Where's the second mate?" he asked pleasantly.
Most of us looked around anxiously, half expecting the old second mate would bob up from some dark corner.
"Come on, where is he?" The mate was evidently enjoying his little game. "Where is he now?" came the question again, but in a sharp tone such as we usually associated with coming trouble. "Come on, where is he?" Suddenly he started to laugh; of course we all joined him in a sort of nervous chorus.
"Ho, there he is hiding behind the kid! Our new second mate, Mr. Morstad!Well, well, well!" and this is how Tommy, most unexpected of candidates, became Mr. Morstad, second mate of the shipA. J. Fuller.
"Lay aft," said the mate, as he turned to go, "the steward has your dinner ready, and don't forget to bring your napkin."
Tommy was choking with astonishment, speechless, and miserable. None of us laughed at the last cruel thrust; in fact we felt sorry for Tommy, but as soon as we saw him stop eating the fo'c'sle grub, with the quick perception that better things awaited him aft, a lively discussion arose.
"Call himMr. Morstad!" thundered Australia. "I won't have no disrespect here just becauseMr. Morstadain't had the bringin' up you an' me has. No, sir, I have some respect for the officers of this ship, I have."
There was a lot more in a similar vein. Volunteers offered to carry his chest aft, and did every thing but lift it, poor Tommy having to drag it along the deck until he got to the waist, when Chips came out of his den and helped him the rest of the way. It was dark then, and the gong for the second cabin table no doubt compensated Tommy for all the tortures of his departure.
"I'm damn glad he ain't in my watch," said Brenden, and all of us to port felt the same way. Before Tommy had time to adjust himself to his new condition, the kicking started to starboard.
In this particular episode of the voyage Mr. Zerk departed as far from the traditions of the sea as it was possible for him to go. The next morning, as we got under way to sea, Captain Nichols made it a point to show public respect to the new second officer. It was "Mr. Morstad, this," and "How do you head,sir?" all of which pleased Tom immensely, and was the right and proper thing to do.
And we're off to Mother Carey(Walk her down to Mother Carey!)Oh, we're bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!
Kipling.
Barefeet, gripping the cool deck of the fo'c'sle head, still wet with the washdown, pattered in rhythmic circles to the music of the pawls, sounding over the early morning stillness of Honolulu Harbor. We were heaving up the anchor, having already taken in our quarter moorings. The pilot was aboard; Captain Nichols stumped the poop with his characteristic jerky stride, all business; second mate Tom was aloft with a half dozen hands, and the pleasant swish of falling canvas, and the rattle of blocks and running gear, sounded above as they cast off the long sea gaskets. About us in the harbor the men o' war and transports lay silent to their moorings, sleeping off the effect of a day and nightof revelry ashore. Mr. Zerk stood out over the bow on the port cathead, his hand on the catfall, as he leaned far over.
"Five fathom shackle at the water!" he sung out.
"All right! Bring her short!" came the order from the poop.
"Aye, aye, sir! Walk her up, up, boys! Walk her up,and wake her up."
Old Smith got the tune and presently the dirge of an anchor chantey echoed across the water as we bent our weight against the capstan bars.
"Paddy come back and turn in your slack,Heave round the capstan, heave a pawl, heave a pawl.We're leavin' Honolulu girls, and never will come back,Heave round the capstan, heave a pawl, heave a pawl.An' happy days all lie behind, good-bye to swipes and rum,Heave round the capstan, heave a pawl, heave a pawl."
"Short stay, sir!" bawled the mate, and we stopped our song. The faint echo of a cheer wafted across the harbor; we recognized the hail from our friends on theBritish Monarch, watching to see us off.
"Break her out, sir!" answered the captain,sending his voice along the length of the ship in sharp, snappy syllables.
"Aye, aye, sir!"
At "short stay," I was ordered to the wheel and as I slipped the spokes from the beckets, the crowd at the bars again put their beef to the cable, and the anchor left bottom. The tug fastened to our quarter got her signal from the pilot; we heard the jangle of bells in her engine room; we commenced to move.
"Hard a port!" ordered the pilot.
"Hard over, sir!"
"Steady so! Steady so!" We were heading toward the old marine railway, the line of the Esplanade having swung under the jib guys with remarkable swiftness, as I turned the wheel to meet her.
"Port handsomely!" I gave her wheel. "Port, I say!Hard a port!"
"Hard a port, sir!" Again the shore shot past her bow, and then the blue water of the harbor mouth lay fair ahead.
"Steady! Starb'd a point! Steady so!"
We were pointing out through the narrow entrance of Honolulu Harbor. Forward they had hooked the cat and the fall was brought "twoblocks" while the great hook hung upright, dripping the slimy harbor silt.
The mate then assumed charge of the deck, sheeting home and hoisting away as fast as the men could man the ropes. A light off shore breeze on the port quarter bellied out the canvas. The buoys, barrel buoy to starboard, spar buoy to port, slipped past us. Presently the tug started to drag her head to port, as the ship's way increased, and I had to give her wheel to meet her.
"Guess we are all right now, Pilot."
"All right, Captain. All clear ahead and plenty of water from here to the Horn. Good luck and a quick passage."
They shook hands, the pilot waved a farewell to the mate down in the waist, then jumped onto the wheel house of the tug from our mizzen channels. A few squeaky toots by way of a salute as she cast off, and the tug swung sharply about and headed back to port; the last link binding us to Honolulu had been severed.
At eight bells, breakfast time, I was relieved and, on my way forward, I stopped for a parting glance back at Honolulu. What was my surprise when I found it well down on the horizon, the Island of Oahu stretching a mere blurof bluish green across our wake. A lump rose in my throat for I did wish to have another look at that fair city of dreams, but it was already a thing of the hazy past; a figment of memory; the port of phantasmagoria; a jumble of many colored people, of smells, of music; of green and restful bowers, of feverish energy and of indolence, of days of dirty, sweaty labor, and of nights of romantic adventures. And what of Jimmy Marshall, I wondered, left behind with his uniform and drum?
Yes, we were out to sea again, the cool breeze wafting us along, out on the restless ocean as before, months and months ago too numerous to remember, when we sailed to the eastward with the Navesink Highlands dropping far behind us in the sunset. Now the only difference was the fact that the Island of Captain Cook, the first port of Stevenson on his retirement to the Pacific, and that vivid stage upon which Father Damien lived and died, was fading away far to the north.
At breakfast we again separated into watches but with orders to turn to again, as the first day was to be one of "all hands." We were glad to a man that the homeward passage had commenced. The drop in temperature put snap intous and Australia celebrated our departure by tearing down the dingy mosquito bar triced above his bunk. He balled this up and hove it over the side with the remark, "Here goes me night cage; good-bye forever."
The breeze was blowing strong, a splendid northeast trade, and the smooth sea made our progress something very cheering. At two bells I was called aft and, with Brenden and Frenchy, helped heave the log chip under direction of Captain Nichols.
The log line, soaked with water, was wound on a large reel. Brenden stood on one side of the wheel house and held this over his head, each hand gripping a handle of the reel as he faced squarely aft. He was far enough forward from the taffrail so we could tend the line. The log chip, a small quadrant of wood weighted on its circular side to make it swim upright in the water, was attached to the line by a triple bridle, the two parts from the ends of the circle being seized to a small wooden plug that fitted snugly to a wooden socket seized to the part of the log line running from the apex of the chip. This arrangement holds the chip upright and perpendicular to the direction of the log line; when the line is given a sharp jerk, the plug disengages,the chip capsizes, and can be easily hauled aboard. It is really a sort of miniature sea anchor.
Captain Nichols stood by with the sand glass. Frenchy was told to cast the chip overboard, while I stood at the rail to see the line run clear. Twenty fathoms of the "stray line" went over first, the end being marked by a piece of red bunting. As this ran over the taffrail the skipper called out "Turn," at the same time turning the glass himself. He was greatly pleased with the whole proceeding and danced around much after the manner of a small boy with a new kite. The sand glass was a twenty-eight second one, and the captain had dried it out in the galley that morning and then compared it with his chronometer.
The line was tearing over the rail like wild and as the captain called, "Up!" Frenchy grabbed the line.
Examining the line we found we were making 10.2 knots.
At the time of shouting "Up!" Captain Nichols stepped over to the Bliss taffrail log trailing on the weather quarter and noted the dial. An hour later we again hove the old-fashioned log and checked our reading on the patent log. For the information of landsmen, it may be wellto say that a knot on the log line—and here is where the term comes from—is a distance of forty-seven feet, four inches (for a 28-second glass), the same proportional part of a sea mile or "knot" of 6,080 feet that 28 seconds is of an hour. The different knots along the line are distinguished by fish line tucked into the strands and a knot cast for each mark away from the start. Tenths are estimated, the length between knots being divided by shreds of white bunting into five parts. If sailing fast, as we were, ashort glassis sometimes used; this registers fourteen seconds and the readings on the log line must be doubled. In passing it may be well to mention that the old-fashioned log chip, where speeds are not over, say fifteen knots, is the most reliable method of measurement of rate of speed through the roster ever devised. Also, the fact that the sea mile or "knot" is six thousand and eighty feet, and not five thousand two hundred and eighty feet as ashore, is due to the fact that in navigating a ship over the sea it is necessary to have a standard of measurement bearing a simple relation to the size and shape of the earth. One sea mile is the length of one minute of arc measured on the meridian, 6,080 feet. This is the mean value, for, owing to the flattening at thepoles, the minute of arc varies slightly from the poles to the equator.
Ten knots and over is fair going for any sailer, and extra fine for trade wind sailing. Our hopes for a quick passage were high. The water boiled past us in a smother of swishing foam, a cheerful chatter when homeward bound, while aloft every inch of sail was doing its full duty. Before noon we got the anchor scrubbed clean and at once unshackled the cables and sent them below, bowsing the jackasses into the hawse pipes, as on the passage out. Both bower anchors were then secured inboard and lashed to heavy ring bolts on the fo'c'sle head, the cat and fish falls were unrove, stopped up and stowed below.
We put in the afternoon rousing up this rope and that, tautening every stitch of canvas to its full extent. Our new second mate was given his first lessons in the handling of a watch at sea, and did well enough, considering the fact that Chief Mate Zerk kept the center of the stage, as was his habit whenever anything transpired on the deck. At four bells the starboard watch went below, and we stood the first dog watch. In the second dog watch we sat around yarning, still being too full of rational rest to seek our bunks. We watched Tommy handle things alone—butfor all that Captain Nichols was always to be seen far aft, stumping the poop, and keeping a mighty watchful eye on the progress of events. During the night watches he was particularly in evidence. Tommy gained confidence faster than he did experience and assumed a certain air of superiority that was galling to his former watchmates. Old Smith was the one to carry things along by setting a correct example to the men. Often when Tom did not know just what to do, Old Smith would start things by jumping to the proper rope and the order would tally along afterward. On the other hand, things got so that when Tom gave the wrong orders the watch would disregard them and do what they thought was right. Old Smith, Hitchen, Axel and Charlie Horse knew as much about sailing as any second mate, and the result was not disastrous, although at times a trifle ragged.
The captain shaped a course due south, magnetic, running along the meridian of one hundred and fifty-eight degrees west from Greenwich. This carried us to the eastward of Karatoo Island and we then put more easting in the course and sailed past the Walker Islands, crossing the equator when five days out from Honolulu; a fair bit of travelling for a vessel of the latter sailingship days. Here the trades failed us and again we were to wallow in the stagnant latitudes that try the spirit and vex the soul. But the ship's company forward were in excellent humor and anything but sea weary. We employed the time below, not given over to sleeping, in sewing our much worn clothing, in scrubbing clothes, an art in which we were expert, and in yarning about the times gone by.
As the days spread into weeks we thought more and more of the times to come, and of course discussed them at great length. Much of our mental intercourse had a hopeful, speculative trend. Being wholly human and with all the weaknesses that sailor flesh abounds in, it is not to be wondered at if the ambitions of that voyage never fully materialized; judging by my own, I can say they did not. I wanted to command another such ship as theFuller, to stump to windward and set the course, to have all night in, and eat delicious viands at the cabin table. Stranger fate was to await me before I cast my anchor in the fair cove called home, with kids to crawl upon my knee and call me "Dadda," and a wife to remind me now and then that I am not captain here.
"Damnthese rotten oilskins. By —— what's this?" "Oh,hell!" It was black as a pocket on deck and a sudden douse of rain sent us scrambling for our oil clothing. "Damn it I'm lousy, sure as you're born. Ugh!" and similar forceful if inelegant expressions punctuated the night as we struggled into these smelly, sticky rags. They were as paper to the rain; we were wet before we knew it. In the pockets and in every fold millions of cockroaches, whole nations of them, debouched upon the streaming decks. Some of us stole forward and in the light from the fo'c'sle examined things. On the fo'c'sle deck, where we had knocked them in hastily, unhooking the oiled clothing from the bulkhead behind the water butt, were several regiments of roaches.
During our two months in Honolulu we had never used oilskins, and, sailor-like, left them hang. In the warm atmosphere the bugs multipliedamid luxurious surroundings with unlimited supplies of delicious linseed-oil to thrive upon. Fortunately we were in the tropics and a wet back did not matter, especially as we always doused ourselves with a bucket of salt water after a wetting by rain, a sure way to prevent colds. As for the evicted roaches, they were no doubt as mad as we were. In the next fine spell we rubbed our oilskins with fresh mixtures of raw oil and a little melted beeswax from the sailmaker's stores.
The first job of any magnitude started, after leaving port, was to scrape all bright work, that is, all varnished woodwork, masts and light spars. We then rubbed them down with boiled linseed-oil. This work was done from bo'sun's chairs, using pieces of broken glass as scrapers. The fine shavings fluttered into every crook and corner of the ship, lodging in the coils of rope and providing a constant job of cleaning while the work was under way. Scouse was again elected to the drudgery, but in this instance he became a man of some importance, for Kahemuku and Black Joe were assigned to work with him. He jollied them in a rough, uncouth way and they sat at his feet in respectful worship. They were permanently constituted the knockabout gang ofour watch and cleaned out the head every other morning when we were on deck for the washdown. Getting up coal for the galley of a Sunday morning was one of their regular jobs, and after the washdown they were the boys who handled the big deck swabs while the rest of us got the gear off the pins and stowed the washdeck utensils.
As for myself, a change had come over the mate, or I too would have been of this crowd. Our relations were fairly cordial again, becoming increasingly so when I loaned him copies of "Midshipman Easy" and "Commodore Junk," books given me by my father when I left home.
Of the three Kanakas we had the prize winner in Black Joe. In the first place Black Joe never said "sir" to an officer, but he applied this mark of distinction to every hand forward. At first some of the boys wanted to make Black Joe permanent messman of the watch. He was willing enough, for he knew nothing about a ship and felt his shortcomings and wanted to help out.
"Be fair with him. How would you like that job regular?" Frenchy put in the good word and we decided that Black Joe was to get a square deal forward anyhow.
His failure to properly respond to orders from aft caused a lot of suppressed amusement. The mate bawled him unmercifully but to no purpose, for Black Joe simply had things set in his mind and there was no changing him. Finally, the mate worked out a satisfactory solution of the problem, so far as he was concerned, though Black Joe could hardly be termed a third-rate success as a sailor.
"Here you! Fred, take that baboon and loose the fore upper tops'l!" was his method of horsing him. In working the gear on deck he would shout, "Get that Kanaka coon and hook him on the lee fore brace!" In working ship Black Joe was pushed and pulled from station to station. He could not coil down a rope properly no matter how often the trick was explained to him; every other time he would lay the gear down left-handed as like as not. If he hitched a coil on the fife or pin rails it was an even chance that a fid would be needed to get it down. Black Joe was all thumbs and his slow mind worked backward. His best performance was at the kids, but his table manners would have disgraced him at a luau.
Kahemuku was of a different type. He was sentimental, a dreamer and all for himself whenaloft. The way he would strangle the stick when out on a yard was a sight for the angels. His long arms were as good as three turns of a sea gasket, and his bare feet would grip the foot ropes with brown prehensile toes. Life was made more bearable for him by the fact that he was constantly looking forward to a shining goal.
"Pilladelpia" was the burden of his song. He intended to see the great city of "Pilladelpia" and asked interminable questions about it, sitting on the edge of his bunk, a great dusky six footer, with the wistful brown eyes of a trusting child. When told we would probably go to New York, he would answer, "No, I wanna go Pilladelpia." Poor Kahemuku, whatever became of you God only knows. You most certainly never fell from aloft, but your passage around the Horn in the Antarctic winter must have prepared you for any fate.
Sailors, like other mortals, are as jealous of their little rights and privileges as any of us ashore. To stand a trick at the wheel in regular turn, to see that everyone stood his lawful share of this duty, was a strong incentive to silence on the part of those who were wise to the fact that Kahemuku and Black Joe knew nothing about steering. They could not box the compass, andin fact knew nothing about the action of the helm or the use of the wheel.
Black Joe stood a trick nevertheless between Australia and Fred, and Ivahemuku followed Fred and was relieved in turn by able seaman Brenden. That these three worthies, Australia, Fred and Brenden, knew about the Kanaka's lack of proficiency was proven by the fact that they always passed the course over the head of the Kanaka to the man following. For the first few days out of port the steering was easy. The wind held on the port quarter and the sea was smooth. It also happened that the blacks had their tricks during the day watches while the captain slumbered. The mate, as was his custom, seldom bothered with the course during the day, devoting all of his energy to directing the work on deck.
On the third day out Australia went to the wheel in the first night watch and at four bells Black Joe headed aft to assume complete charge of the steering, being shunted on his way by watchful shipmates. Presently a terrible commotion aloft startled us, we were brought by the lee with a slamming and slatting like thunder. Mr. Zerk jumped to the break of the poop and started to bawl orders.
"Hard up, hellum! Weather fore braces!Lively there!"
Everything was shaking, with the yards pointing into the wind, and the ship started to roll. "How do you head?" There was no response. "How do you head,damn you!"
Forward we were swinging the head yards, and she started to box off, while aft a secondary commotion centered about the wheelhouse, with Captain Nichols acting the part of Satan, in yellow silk pajamas, and Black Joe performing duty as the Butt of All Evil.
"What are you steering?" roared the captain. "Mr. Zerk!" never had we heard him so sharp before. The mate was already aft, and to change the course of wrath, he grabbed Joe and tossed him headlong out on the deck, holding the wheel himself while he added to the din. "Lay aft! Lay aft,a man!" Frenchy responded. In a few more moments we were back on the course again and the captain held a drumhead court at the break of the poop.
"Keep those black monkeys forward," he ordered, "and don't let this happen again. By God, sir, these waters are full of coral reefs, and I have got to hold my course, sir," he added, turning to the mate.
The next morning the three Kanakas were mustered in the waist and the captain found that none of them had the least idea about steering, either by compass or by the wind. John Aahee of the starboard watch was denser even than Joe. Later on these simple fellows made up for their lack of steering by doing additional turns at the back-breaking bilge pumps.
After the generous way in which we lived in Honolulu, the return to sea grub was sudden and disappointing. A week or so saw the end of fresh provisions and we were back again on the salt horse of the passage out. Lime-juice was given us at noon, and with the exception of spuds, we were on the regulation lay. The tack was weevily, the tea even more flavored with roach content than before, and the old drill of cracker hash, slumgullion, salt horse, and pea soup, with occasional helpings of applejack, or rare treats of Chow's gingerbread, carried us along.
About this time the parrot, Jake, came in for his share of attention. Frenchy planned to take the bird home to Madeleine, and as his sister would have no use for him otherwise, our careful shipmate guarded the moral tone of the green bird with great care. He also made a screen of ravensduck for the cage and was much worriedover how the bird would weather the cold in high southern latitudes. A month of this care on the part of Frenchy was rewarded by the usual result in cases of that kind, whether with dogs, birds, or children. Jake cut loose in a most extraordinary manner, after one of his French lessons, and the outburst would have been a credit to Mr. Zerk. Frenchy was grieved beyond all hope of recovery and one and all we swore to our own innocence. The upshot of it was that Frenchy lost interest in the parrot and the profane Jake became a prime favorite with the crew forward. He was really started on his downward path by Hitchen, of starboard, who took him in hand while his master slept.
"Here comes the grub!" was one of his respectable parts of speech, varied later on by "To hell with the grub," under the tutelage of Australia.
After crossing the line, and working our way through the doldrum belt of daily showers, calms and baffling winds, we held a course that carried us between the Marquesas and Tuamotu, or the Low Archipelago. During this time we kept a special lookout at night and sighted several islands, giving them a wide berth. We were instructed to keep our eyes peeled for "white water"and had a number of false alarms. On a dark night, in this region, the sea is particularly black, of a blue blackness that defies description. The seas are very phosphorescent, especially so under a cloudy sky, and the breaking of a number of rollers leaves a white wake that is disturbing to a lookout on the edge for breakers. One imagines that breakers are ahead every few minutes.
Light rain squalls and brilliant floods of sunshine alternating in the neighborhood of the Marquesas resulted in our witnessing the most remarkable phenomenon of the voyage. We lay becalmed late in the afternoon of a humid hot day, odd jobs were going on all over the ship, iron work was being chipped, service renewed, and Australia and Brenden were rattling down, everyone being busy. Frenchy and I, for we usually worked together at "nice" jobs, were cutting and fitting the canvas for a new mast coat on the mizzen, the old one having cracked and started a leak into the cabin. This was a job that required expert fitting and we were all attention to the work. All hands were so occupied that we did not notice the black rain squall that suddenly came upon us in a puff of cold air. A few minutes of this, while we manned the weather main and lee crojik, toget whatever push there was in it, was followed by the sun breaking through more scorching than before, while the wind, such as was left, was distinctly up and down. A beautiful rainbow formed under the receding cloud, and then we saw that we were near an island, close aboard off the starboard bow, while the rain pall drifted rapidly to port. We came upon it with such suddenness that for a moment most of us lost our heads.
"Hard starb'd!" shouted the skipper, and then there was a laugh on deck in which he joined heartily. We were as stationary as the island except for the little way upon us given by the passing rain squall. "Lay aloft and take a look at that." Captain Nichols addressed Frenchy and me, and we skinned up the mizzen while he went to the companion and took the long glass from the rack. That land certainly looked strange!
When going over the top, I stopped. Frenchy was ahead of me and almost at the crosstrees. He was looking around in a bewildered sort of a way; he was glancing around the entire horizon, thinking the ship had changed her head. I too looked all about but could see nothing.
"What do you make out?" called up the skipper.
"Nothing in sight, sir!"
"All right. Lay down!"
It was a fine mirage; a remarkably clear one. When we got to the deck the "island" had assumed grotesque shapes: the green faded out and the palm trees began to look like young waterspouts. Suddenly the whole picture melted from view.
Themirage served as a subject for conversation during many succeeding days and the captain warned us to be more than ever on the lookout for islands. He seemed to take especial pains with his navigation, testing the patent log repeatedly by use of the chip log, and coming up at all sorts of hours during the day and night when by any chance the lubber line was as much as a quarter point off the course. When on a wind, during this period, he practically lived on deck, turning in "all standing" for short naps during the day.
A lookout on the fore t'gallant yard was also stationed during the daytime. Several more small islands were passed, the distant palm trees seeming like a low broken comb upon the horizon, for we gave them plenty of offing as the atoll formation often throws its reefs far out. Several times our course was altered to do this.
In the fo'c'sle we had a round of mystery storiesabout islands mainly. One by Frenchy took the prize for heavy ghost atmosphere and when told in the dusk of a last dog watch with only the stars overhead to wink at its absurdity, the effect was all that could be desired. This tale had to do with an invisible island, situated somewhere about the Loyalty Group near New Caledonia. The island was invisible by day but could be found by a night landfall, and indeed was so discovered by that tight little brig thePère Duchêsne, owned and sailed by no less a person than the notorious Jean Ravail, who did not, as Frenchy assured me, perish in the sewers of Paris, as was supposed. Ravail was a pirate, of course, though he sailed as a peaceful trader, exchanging cognac and rum for bêche-de-mer, through the southern islands of Polynesia. Driving onto the ghostly island in the blackness of the night, anchor was let go just in time to prevent the brig from running up the beach, and then, to the tune of entrancing music, the whole crew, led by Ravail himself, were decoyed ashore by women in flowing robes of white. They left to a man, even old Pouly, the mate, who held out to the last until a scantily draped siren came aboard and carried him ashore in her canoe. The story is supposed to have been found entered by Pouly in the logbook of the brig whenshe was picked up by the frigateLa Perouse, drifting with her cable chafed through by the coral reef. Many weeks of cruising failed to locate the island. I always liked this story, for Frenchy enjoyed telling it and did it remarkably well.
The starboard watch also stirred uneasily after the mirage and as a direct result of it Charlie Horse got religion. Not that he had not always had it, but these singular events merely brought it to the surface as it were. Charlie Horse began where our late shipmate Jimmy left off. He was extremely rigorous in his beliefs and did not hesitate to preach infant damnation, advising all of us who had not been duly baptized to rectify this mistake as soon as possible. He paid special attention to John Aahee of his watch, and to that simple-minded native the awful creed of Charlie Horse was a throbbing reality. The existence of purgatory was assured; hell was a positive fact, a hot and terrible place of torture. Often during a brief dog watch of a Sunday, the port side would get some of the overflow, which we listened to with varying tolerance; his own watchmates had arrived at the point of active protest.
With Charlie Horse preaching religion of thehell-fire-and-damnation brand, Frenchy and other less expert story-tellers filling the intervals of the night watches on deck with ghostly discourse, and adding to this the appearance of St. Elmo's fires at the yard arms after one of the tropic disturbances, it was no wonder that we were a bit on edge where anything that smacked of the supernatural occurred. Talk had been rather reminiscent in one of the last dog watches, the weather was fine and we were sailing along before a gentle quartering breeze without having started a sheet or brace for several days—calm of spirit prevailed on board for a time, there was little hazing and, except for the growing rottenness of the tucker, we were content. The mind must therefore cast about for something new to seize upon. The name of Jimmy Marshall had been mentioned a great deal during the watch referred to, Axel having told of meeting Jimmy on his last night ashore, while returning to the ship. Jimmy was sneaking up the dark side of Nuuanu Avenue—there was a moon out—and bumped into Axel before he knew it.
"What! Down to the ship, Jimmy?"
"Naw, jest took a look at 'er. I 'ears you was sailin' an' jest walked down past theMonarchan' looked over. 'Ow's 'ell on board?"
"Same old wagon, Jimmy. How are they treating you?"
"They's slowly killin' me, Axel, so help me Gawd, they is. Talk erbout yer rotters! Say, if you knowed as 'ow they does me along of some other poor Gawdfersooken fellers. Well, what ov it? They looses Jimmy afore long, that's wot they does."
"I'll bet they prays the liver out of him, and starves the little faker to boot," was Australia's opinion.
At about one bell, in the first watch, we had just got to the stage of half sleep, and were dropping off for our precious three and a quarter hours, when we were all sitting up as well as we could, in our bunks. Fred was terror stricken. "By —— It's Jimmy. I see him!"
"What in hell's bitin' you?" Australia demanded.
"Jimmy Marshall's in here! He spoke to me!"
"Spoke? Say, you big stiff, if you don't shut up I'll speak a few words you'll remember!" Australia was mad clean through. There was a silence. Something stirred over Australia's bunk, next to Fred's.
"Who's that?"
"Jimmy Marshall?" shouted the thoroughlyfrightened Fred, and then a voice near the top of the fo'c'sle, in the familiar tones of our late shipmate, very cracked and lifelike, added to the fear.
"Gawd have mercy. Gawd have mercy!" came the words.
"It's Jimmy! Take him away! Take him away!" shouted several, Martin and Scouse among them. We were all tumbling out of our bunks. Frenchy shot through the open door of the fo'c'sle and Scouse close after him. Suddenly there was a wild mixture of screams and screeches and Australia exploded in a loud, whole-souled oath of relief. He held the struggling Jake by the tail feathers. The parrot had recently been about the only consistent listener to the doctrines of Charlie Horse, and his appearance in our fo'c'sle at night gave him a chance to retail some of his new line of talk. Someone had evidently left his cage open and he came in to get out of the draft. From this time on the bird got to be a nuisance as well as a reminder of our folly. Frenchy sold him to Chips for a suit of oilskins.
During these days of the voyage we overhauled our best suit of sails preparatory to bending them for the heavy weather off the Cape. I had by that time become fairly proficient in the use ofthe palm and needle and could sew a presentable flat seam, or round seam, as occasion demanded. Frenchy was the best sailmaker in our watch, and with Brenden and myself, constituted the sailmaker's gang to port. Old Smith, Hitchen and Axel were the starboard complement in this kind of work. We had our benches in the most comfortable part of the deck and of a morning, after the washdown, while we were getting the canvas out, the rest of the crowd would wipe the deck dry with pieces of old sugar bags, getting right down on their shin bones and rubbing the planks. We put in new tabling, renewed lining cloths, sewed on new leather at the clews, wetting it so that when dry the leather would shrink tight, gripping the bolt ropes so the strands would show through. In some of the older sails we sewed an extra line of stitching down the middle of the double flat seam where the cloths join.
I learned to properly work the reef and head holes. The canvas was cut with a "stabber" and a small fish line grommet laid over the edge, the hole then being finished off with a fencing of heavy waxed and double laid twine. In these later degenerate days, a brass eyelet ring is often crimped around the hole, a much quicker job and about one-third as strong.
In all of the lore of cutting canvas for sails, and we made a set of skysails on the voyage, the mate was a past master. The "roaching," the proper way to allow for gores in the cloths, the fact that "square" sails are anything but square; all such old-time knowledge was handed down and eagerly assimilated. We talked of the "hoist" of this sail, meaning sails that spread by hoisting the yard; and the "drop" of that sail, referring to the courses and lower tops'ls.
On theFullerthe mains'l and crojik (corrupted from the "crossjack" of the ancients) were fitted with "cross leeches" and a "midship rope." These were stout hemp ropes sewed to tabling clothes on the forward side of the sail, the cross leeches running from the head earings to the middle of the foot, and the "midship rope" from the head to the foot of the sail also on the forward side. This left the after side of the sail smooth so as to draw best when flattened on a wind. At the foot of the sail, and hooked into a stout thimble where the cross leeches and midship rope joined, the "slap line" led aft, and the "midship tack" led forward. With wind a point or two on the quarter, the weather clew garnets of the main and crojik would be hauled up and these sails set perfectly by the midship tack and theweather cross leech, in this way allowing a good share of the breeze to distend the great foresail for all it was worth. Sailors who have not been shipmates with this method of fitting the after courses will appreciate the utility.
One thing Mr. Zerk always harped upon was the necessity of making canvas set flat, whether on the wind or before it.
A large sail, the main course, for instance, is fitted with what at first blush appears to be a useless amount of gear. The sail being bent to the yard by means of thehead earingsandrobandsis handled by use of the following ropes: thetacksleading forward from the clews, thesheetsleading aft. When before the wind the sail is held to the deck by the twosheets, thetacksbeing idle. When on a wind, that is, close hauled, the weathertackis boarded and the lee sheet hauled aft. To reef, the tacks and sheets are started and the reef band hauled up on the yard by thereef tackles. To furl, theclewsare hauled up to the quarter of the yard by means of theclew garnetswhile the body of the sail is gathered in by theleechlinesand thebuntlines. Add to thisbowline bridlesfor steadying out the weather leech when on a wind,slap linefor keeping the foot of the sail away from themast in light winds and calm, themidship tackused when sailing with the weather leech hauled up, and we have a very respectable lot of rigging on our sail. Upper tops'ls are almost as bad. Now this means nothing to the landsman, but a lot of queer names, yet the gear has come down through long ages of elimination and represents the utmost efficiency in handling sailing canvas. A main sail is a mighty spread on a large modern ship and may show to the wind as much as four thousand square feet of surface. Our mainsail on theFullerwas approximately of this size. Given a heavy press of wind, say twenty pounds to the square foot, and we have the sail urging our ship along to some purpose.
To get back to the voyage, after a reminiscent ramble with technicalities for which we ask forgiveness, though old, and perhaps new, "shells" may read it, I will add that the working of canvas is one of the best jobs aboard ship. We were excused from jumping up at every order to do some bit of pulling or hauling, and knowledge of the tricks of palm and needle stamped a man as of the real salt.
Australia, Charlie Horse, Tony, and a few others were kept busy renewing chafing gear, fitting sword mats and helping Chips, who was constantlyemployed about the ship at repair and renewal of the wooden fittings. The battens on the "swifters" were always being broken by the clew garnets, and had to be renewed, the pump leathers were overhauled at frequent intervals, hatch wedges were constantly inspected and "set up," and Chips was the man to do these things.
Martin, Mike, Fred and Peter were given a large job of overhauling all spare blocks. The pins were knocked out and turned over so that the least worn side of the pin would bear against the bushing. Iron straps were chipped and red leaded and all the deck and emergency tackles were treated in the same way, the blocks, thimbles, and falls being put in fine shape; nothing was spared in the quality of the material with which we worked. Whips and gear aloft might be turned end for end, but after that they were unrove and put to humbler uses; never spliced except in an emergency. On a ship, the odds and ends of rope yarn, oakum, and old wornout gear is headed up in barrels and sold as "shakings." This is often the perquisite of the mate.
Scouse, as usual, was in for the drudgery, with Kahemuku and Black Joe tailing along as his assistants. He did not seem to mind it and got on famously with the Kanakas. It was always "sir"to Scouse, from Black Joe, who looked upon the big Dutchman as a sort of hero. The red thatch may have had something to do with this attitude, but whatever the cause, Scouse would have got at least two votes had he ever become a candidate for President of Hawaii.
Just before shifting sail, this taking place during a lull between the S. E. trades and the counter trades, we sent down the main lower tops'l yard and rigged and sent up a spare spar that we had on deck. This was a regular seaman's job and called for all hands during an entire day. The old yard had a slight spring, a fault developed in the heavy weather off the Cape on the passage out. We unbent the sail, leaving it stopped on the main yard, all the gear, clewlines, buntlines, etc., being carried into the top and the quarter blocks hooked to the main cap. The yard was sent down by means of a stout burton from the topmast pendant, and the upper tops'l sheets, downhauls, etc., were unrove and carried into the main top. The upper tops'l was hung in its gear and the yard steadied out by the braces alone. As we had a fair sailing breeze, the t'gan's'l and upper canvas was kept set.
As soon as the long yard was down, we unhooked the burton and fastened onto the newstick, swaying this aloft, when the braces were hooked. The lifts were then attached and, as soon as the yard was up, the standard was keyed, and all running gear rove. We bent sail in record time, had everything shipshape again and sheeted home before two bells in the afternoon watch.
A few days after this, on a Sunday, of course, we shifted sail and we knew that we were in for some more dirty weather. "Well, this will be the last," was the feeling voiced more than once by the men in the fo'c'sle.
During the time of many jobs, of fine weather, and much activity of a sailor kind, the Kanaka Kahemuku astonished us by his skill in tattooing. Of a Sunday he was always busy. His first subject was Scouse, and we watched the progress of art with great interest. Kahemuku offered to fix me up, but I had in mind the advice of my father and decided to remain undecorated by anchor or star.
"You are wise, kid," Australia agreed. "Them marks never come off and they are a hard thing to get by with. Many a poor bloke has gone to the gallows because he carried a bright red star of hope tattooed on his chest."
While not altogether complimentary in his allusion,Australia was right. Scouse, however, showed his honest contempt for this point of view by having a Hula Hula dancer done on his chest. For a while he looked as if he had been crusted by a growth of barnacles.
As we ran past the little islands of the South Pacific, that lay sparsely scattered along our track, Kahemuku would gaze at them with intense longing. His desire for "Pilladelpia" alone compensated him for their loss. But, after a while, the increasing chill overcame all thoughts of that wonderful city of "Pilladelpia," and Kahemuku, Black Joe and the melancholy Aahee turned a shade of ghastly gray. They lay shivering in their bunks during the watch below, objects of compassion to the rest of us who were hardened to the cold sea.
The rapidly dropping temperature, it was then the last week of June and the middle of the Antarctic winter, served to remind us that we might expect a colder and perhaps stormier time of it than on the passage out when we rounded Cape Horn in the middle of the southern summer. One thing that would be in our favor, and all of the old sailors mentioned this, was the fact that for the most part we would have fair winds, the prevailing storms coming from the west, sweepingeastward along the edge of the Antarctic Continent, Cape Horn shoving its nose into the very center of the storm path.
The sting of the cold, crisp nights, as we increased our latitude, warned us that we were in for weather not far ahead. The Kanakas became more and more inert at each drop in temperature. They were so poorly provided for in the way of warm clothing that all hands dug into chest and bag, contributing from wardrobes none too large. The Kanaka boys did everything they could to show their gratitude. Our two of the port watch worked at the bilge pumps each night until they were utterly done. "It keeps them warm, and no one died working yet," said Brenden. "As long as they keep going they're still alive," added Australia, and this was true enough, so we were ready to accept their sacrifice at the back-breaking job.