 Chapter 9 of DOG WATCHES AT SEA Chapter 9 BEARING THE DEAD HORSE While the Hagerstown was being hauled through the docks, the attention of one of the sailors was fastened on me. He was a tall, raw-boned, kind-hearted Irishman, a thorough seaman, who although under the influence of the fire-water, did his work and conducted himself in a manner satisfactory to the officers. He had been an officer on American sailing ships and knew what to expect. With two others like himself he kept out of the way while the after-end was subduing the pugnacity of the forward crowd. He was sent af to get some seizing stuff, and standing in the lazarette, his head visible above the small catch homings, he looked at me so closely as to make me uncomfortable. I kept moving the wheel and steered in the wake of the tow-boat. What is your name, boy? he asked. King, I replied, where were you born? In Barbados, in the West Indies. My answers seemed to please him. That night he was called by the second mate for his watch, and during our first watch on deck we became friends. He knew the sailor's boarding-house where I had left my clothes and spoke of it as the worst dive in Antwerp. When we went below at twelve o'clock he overhauled his bag and fitted me out with a dry shift of clothing. During the passage my kind friend O'Brien made over some of his western ocean wardrobe to fit me. He could use a sewing needle as skillfully as he could a marlin spike. So with what he gave me and the few things I drew from the slop-chest I was comfortably supplied. The bad idea that boys were slaves prevailed on this ship. The ordinary seamen of the port watch, like myself in the starved watch, were soon made to understand that the dirty work of keeping the folksals clean fell to us, while the men stretched themselves out in their pews. Besides this we were expected to trim the oil-lamp, bring the food from the galley, and return the empty pans and kettles. I expected to do this menial service all the trip across, to take uncomplainingly all ill treatment, and to speak only when asked to do so, but fortune favored me. On the evening of the seventh day out O'Brien told me I need not bring the breakfast to the folksal in the morning. My boy, you have had your spell of flunky-ism for us flat-foot. Tomorrow I will get the breakfast, and I will clean up the folksal for a week. Every man forward will take his turn at it, and we will be in Philadelphia before your turn comes again. At seven bells we were called to get our breakfast, to be ready at eight o'clock to relieve the watch on deck. Instead of going to the galley for the food I waited, knowing that O'Brien had gone for it. In the folksal was a Russian fin, who struck me on the side of the head with the flat of his hand, and ordered me to fetch the grub. O'Brien, entering with the pan of cracker hash, was just in time to witness the blow. He put the pan down, and with one blow fell the Russian to the deck. Then standing erect, filled with anger, he declared that he was flunky for this week, and every mother's son would have to take a turn at keeping the folksal clean. Turning to me he said, King, if any man in this ship imposes on you, let me know, and I'll settle his hash. O'Brien proved a friend in many ways. He was my protector. He taught me to handle a marlin spike, and had promised to take me along to the weather earring of the topsoil, if an opportunity to reefer down was given. We must have been halfway across when the tail end of a West Indian hurricane reached us. This was the opportunity I had longed for. Both watches were on deck to get the muslin in. While going aloft I kept close to the heels of my friend. With the wind howling and screeching through the rigging, we reached the main topsoil yard. Out to the yard arm I followed, and holding on to the lift, swung myself into the Flemish horse. Seated astride the end of the yard, bracing my body against the lift, I took my first lesson in passing a reef earring. The noise and shouting of the men he-hawing while hauling the sail out to windward was sweet music to me. Having turns enough on the earring to hold it, O'Brien whispered, Shout! Hall out to Lord! Filled with pride I shouted, Hall out to Lord! I could see the contemptuous expression on some of the men's faces. They thought I was being spoiled by O'Brien's kindness, and that he allowed me to be cheeky. The sail was reefed, and word came from deck to make it fast. The gale was of short duration. The heavy force of it lasted about six hours, but during that time both watches were kept busy getting the upper top sails and main sails stowed. When it began to moderate and the sails were set, it was a revelation to hear how much noise a few men singing a chorus could make. At the top sails hallowed Frisco led off the first shanty, blow the man down. As the others joined in the refrain, why, hey, blow the man down, they threw the weight of their bodies back, and joyfully mass-headed the yards. Much has been written about shanties, and some writers have joined words to the music, but I have never heard two men use just the same words. The shanty man leads off, and if he is good at rhyming, will make one about the virtues and failings of ship and officers. All the men were good at singing and shouting, so we seldom hauled on a halyard, bowline, or sheet without someone starting a shanty. Even at the pumps we would suck her out with storm along, a woeful dirge that runs somewhat after this manner. Stormy is dead, he'll storm no more. To me, way, hey, storm along. Old storm is dead, he'll storm no more. To me, I, I, I, mister, storm along. Will dig his grave with a golden spade. To me, way, hey, storm along. Will dig his grave with a golden spade. To me, I, I, I, mister, storm along. Will lower him down with a silver chain. To me, way, hey, storm along. Will lower him down with a silver chain. To me, I, I, I, mister, storm along. One evening when we were just twenty-nine days at sea near the banks, and although it was mid-summer, the night was cold, my good friend came up on the folksal head where I was stationed on the lookout and wrapped his warm P-jacket around me. We walked the folksal deck together. I had often wondered why he did so much for me. This night we talked of Barbados. He said he knew my parents, and related this incident. About three years ago I deserted from an English bark in Barbados. We had brought a cargo of general merchandise from London, and were taking back sugar. There was very little to eat, and the old tub was in a wretched condition. I sold some of my clothes to the Negro stevedores for rum. As is always the case, when rum is in the man is out. I stowed myself in a lighter and reached the shore. I made for the country when I sobered up and hid myself in the cane fields till I thought the old bark had sailed away. Then I wandered about until I was ragged. Not even the Negroes noticed me. One day I was walking on the white sandy beach. I saw several trees with fruit that looked like apples on them. I ate one. It blistered my mouth. The juice blistered my hands. It got into my eyes and blinded me. It was the poisonous Mencheneal Berry. It reigned, and the drops falling from the leaves of the trees blistered my body. I should have died, but your mother, hearing of my distress, sent out her servants and brought me into her house. She gave me every care till I was able to be around. She clothed and fed me, and gave me a letter to her friend, the American consul, asking him to aid me in getting another ship. Although you have changed a little, the first day I came aboard I thought I knew you. I remembered telling you stories of the sea. It is for her sake, lad, I have befriended you. I could not see her son acting as servant to any of us. When you write home, give my regards to your good mother. The first opportunity I had in Philadelphia I wrote home, relating my meeting with O'Brien and the kindness he had bestowed upon me. In my mother's next and last letter to me she wrote, Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days. When the crew was shipped, an advanced note of one month's wages was granted each man. These notes were kept by the boarding masters, who took every precaution to have the men sail in the ship. Then at the expiration of forty-eight hours after sailing they could get the notes cashed. A donkey's breakfast, a pot, pan, and spoon, and a bottle of rum was the outfit most of the men received for their month's advance. The Belgian hadn't that much. Besides his advance note he had paid a small sum of money for the privilege of becoming a slave for a few weeks. Now that we had been at sea a month every man felt that this, a day of all days, was a fresh starting point in his career. Now he began to work for himself, no longer did he toil for the boarding master. I heard the men talk about burying the dead horse and watched with keen interest their work of stuffing the animal. They secured some old grain sacks, which were in the forepeak, cut out the figure of a horse, and sewed the parts together. Each man gave a bit of straw from his dronky's breakfast, and this, with some old yarns from the shaking's barrel, they stuffed into the gunny sack horse. Although it would have suggested any other animal just as readily, it answered the purpose and created the desired merriment. During the six to eight dog-watch they brought forth the beast. Then some kicked and other scrambled to get a hit at him. This representative of the month's wages, given to the boarding masters, was hauled up on the folksal head, and here we had the fund to ourselves. The men entered so heartily into the frolic that I would have given the boarding master a month's advance so that, like them, the horse might have had a real meaning to me. No crowd of schoolboys could have appreciated the fun of the hour more than they did. I cannot remember the words of the trial, nor the verdict of the court, nor the sentences of the funeral service. I have witnessed a few dead horse scenes but have never heard the same words. Standing in front of the horse with a book in his hands, Frisco occasionally rolled his eyeballs upward, and in a comical, memorized rigamarole expatiated on the virtues and failings of the beast. For a few minutes he kept the crowd convulsed with laughter. And he finished the sentence with, So you must die. He struck the stuffed horse, a blow on the head with a serving mallet, and began the burial service. After this bit of facetiousness we carried the horse to the lee cat-head and roared out the chanty, Poor old man, your horse is going to die. Frisco, the life of the crowd, and always to the front, let off. Poor old man, your horse is going to die, and I say so, and I hope so. Oh poor old man, your horse is going to die, oh poor old man. Here are other verses, though my pen cannot do justice to the vigor of the rendering. For thirty days we've ridden him, and I say so, and I hope so. For thirty days we've ridden him, oh poor old man. When he's dead will tan his skin, and I say so, and I hope so. When he's dead will tan his skin, oh poor old man. At the conclusion of the chanty he was tossed over the rail, and thus ended the celebration of the end of the days of toil for the boarding-master. The food was plentiful and substantial. We had splendid hard bread and a cook who could make a variety from the beef, pork, and other stores. All sorts of names were applied to the different kinds of food. For instance, rice was known as strike me blind, oatmeal porridge or burgu was stir about, molasses was long-tail sugar, salt-beef-old junk, hard biscuit soaked in pea soup, dog's-body. This, with a little molasses added and baked in the oven, was dandy funk. In most ships the same terms are familiar to seamen. My hands and fingernails were beginning to whiten from the tar of the previous ship when the work of tearing down or rigging began. What a difference there is in ships. The Hagerstown, unlike the Ruby, had an abundance of tar in ship-stores. With plenty of seizing stuff the rat-lines were straightened and considerable sailorizing accomplished. O'Brien took pains to teach me, and I learned rapidly from the seizing on of a Scotchman to the making of a sword-mant, a Flemish eye and a Paunch-mant. We reached the banks and were enveloped in fog for days. Ever on the alert for the sound of a steamer's whistle or the toot of a sailing ship's foghorn, all the sail the ship could carry was set to hasten her through it, and every precaution was taken by keeping a bright look out and constantly sounding the foghorn. On one of these nights of fog the starboard watch was below. I was awakened by someone pounding on the side of the folksal and a voice at the door yelling, Get on deck and save yourselves. In a moment the watch was on deck. The fog was dense. It was impossible to see twenty feet ahead. Close to us was the white side of a mountain of ice. For a moment I held my breath and anxiously watched the iceberg fall astern. It was a close call. The man at the wheel quickly obeyed the order to starboard your helm, which saved us from striking head-on to the ice. At last we sailed out of the fog, no danger having fallen us, and kept on for the Delaware capes. Standing off a lee shore in a heavy gale is a trying time for the captain of an ocean greyhound, even though he has steam at his command to keep his vessel to the wind and sea. With a sailing ship it means carry on and beat your way off or be dashed upon the rocks. Running before an easterly gale and a heavy sea we were in close proximity to the capes. It would have been a great relief to make the land before dark. Failing this meant to beat off the lee shore all night. It was a great strain on Captain Boyd. He was compelled to carry on sail and drive her through the seas. Every two hours the watch was called to tack ship, and then ordered to stand by, ready for another call. The old man was on deck all night, and took command in putting her about. Call the watch, ready about. A noise and a yell, get on deck and get her round, brought all hands to their stations. It took every man to haul the mainsail up. At the command, main top-sail haul, it seemed as though the mast would be wrenched from the deck. The violent swing of the yards would sway them almost back again before the slack of the main braces was hauled in. The gale filling her canvas she would plunge and bury herself. Then trembling and shaking would rise on the crest of another wave. There was no room to wear, so all night she dove through the boiling seas with lower to gallant set, drenching herself for an aft. At daylight a pilot boat hailed us and put a pilot on board. We were in sight of land. A large ocean tug steamed out and bargained with our captain to tow us in. At such a time the sailor feels at his best. The voyage is drawing to a close, and his heart is light and filled with cheer. Though he may have no friends on shore, no one to greet and welcome him, still he is happy in the expectation of a change and a run on shore with a few dollars to spend. Hand over hand the hauser is hauled up on deck and paid out to the tug. In a few minutes we are aloft like birds in a tree, and each watch is doing its best to put a snug harbor furl on the sails. O'Brien told me he was going to New York as soon as he could get what money was do him. He advised me to ask the captain's permission to remain on the ship. So I went aft and made my desire known to the old man. Certainly, my boy, don't leave the ship, and when the boarding-house runners come aboard give them a wide berth. This I did. We were a long distance from Philadelphia when the sharks clambered on board. Rum was plentiful. Every man was tagged for some boarding-house, and when we tied up near Chester, where the empty oil-barrows were to be discharged, the sailors with their donnage were tumbled into a tug and carried up to the city. The hager's town remained at the oil-war for some days, and when we were towed up to the city the crew had been discharged. I tried to find my good benefactor, but learned from Frisco, who was holding up the dives of Philadelphia, that O'Brien had left for New York. Captain Boyd was very kind. He allowed me to remain on the ship, and when paying me my wages advised me in a fatherly manner to take care of my money and to keep clear of the sailor's district. He promised to take me with him to San Francisco, and intended to put me on the ship's articles on his return from a trip down east. While this good friend was on his vacation, Mr. Hanscombe, the old watchman, and I had the ship to ourselves. All the crew, officers, as well as seamen, were discharged. The stevedores were loading a general cargo for San Francisco, and as there was plenty of work a strong boy could do, I engaged myself with them for fifteen cents an hour. I earned enough to buy a snug outfit of shoes and clothing, and enjoyed the little I spent while visiting the old shipkeeper. Mr. Hanscombe and his family were members of a Baptist church. I attended service with them, and under the influence of that good home resolved to fight against the temptations that are put in a sailor's way. I wrote home to my mother, telling her of the friends I had made. I felt a new spirit enter my being. Good influence held me back from the downward path for a while. When the old man returned he was pleased at Mr. Hanscombe's report of my good behavior, but to my great disappointment Captain Boyd told me he was not going on the Hagerstown. My hopes were blasted, as I had intended asking him to ship me as able seamen. I lost all desire to sail on her without Captain Boyd. Accordingly, next day I strolled over to Point Breeze on the Schoolkill River and there saw several ships loading oil. Among these was an American, the St. Augustine, of about two thousand tons register loading for Kobe, Japan. The stevedores were sliding the cases of oil down the hatches. Everybody seemed busy. There were two well-dressed men on board who were, I learned, Captain and Mate. I had set my heart on making this trip, so I approached and lifting my hat inquired if the Captain was on board. The elder of the two replied, Yes, I'm Captain. What do you want? I told him, and in a few minutes was on my way to Mr. Hanscombe with good news. I was to make a voyage to Japan with Captain Thomas on the American Clipper, St. Augustine. I was to go as ordinary seamen at twelve dollars a month. It was not necessary to take my things to Point Breeze as the St. Augustine was to be towed to the wharf at the old Navy Yard where the Hagerstown was moored to get her stores and crew on board. I was glad on landing my things on her deck to be told by Mr. Parker, the mate, that I was to put them in the Boson's room as I was to bunk it with him. The St. Augustine was much smaller than the Hagerstown, single to gallant sails and no skisels. Her cabin and folksal were the same, except that instead of a folksal for each watch there was a large, undivided space with sixteen bunks in it. In a place where ten men could, possibly, move with comfort, sixteen were expected to eat, sleep, and smoke while they were on board. The sailing day came, my life seemed full. I had heard of the knowledge in seamanship gained by rounding the Cape of Good Hope. Now I was on my way to accomplish such a feat. The boarding masters brought the men down, tumbled them and their dunnage on deck, and kept the careful watch lest any man should leave the ship. Three months advance had been granted the crew, and the land sharks intended that none of their prey should escape. Some less drunk than others helped haul the lines in. The towboat took hold of us. I made for the wheel and steered in the wake of the tug till we dropped anchor a few miles down the Delaware. Besides the sixteen men forward there were eight others on board, Captain Thomas and Mr. Parker the Mate, a young man about twenty-two years old, bright and active. Though a mere boy, he was a competent sailor and a good boxer and wrestler. The second mate was a middle-aged man who abused his authority by constantly cursing and swearing at the men. The boson was a strong Liverpool Irishman who fought all the battles of the ship and made my existence wretched. Chips, the carpenter, a Norwegian who had sailed for years in deep water American ships, was now so Americanized that he delighted to apply the term Dutchman to the Scandinavians forward. He considered his position of so much importance that it was a condescension to speak to the men. His rank, like the bosons, was a step from the folksal where they had both lived so that they knew what a sailor's life is. But they were the haughtiest and most overbearing of our after-superiors. If they gave us a kind word their manner clearly showed it was a voluntary dissent from their dignity. The cork was an old negro. He had his wife with him, a bright mulatto, about twenty-five years old. She was rather a pleasant-featured woman, down on the articles as stewardess. It would have been better for him had he left his wife in Philadelphia. The ship would have had a steward. She could not then have roused his jealousy and suspicion. As it was, he was made miserable, and through the inconstancy of his wife he lost his life. There were two bunks in the boson's room. He took the upper and left me the lower. There was a table about two feet square in the room, and at it I ate my meals. The boson, carpenter, and second mate ate aft at the second sitting of the cabin table. The first night on board, the bulky Liverpool Irishman took a dislike to me. We had turned in, but I could not sleep. I have heard loud snoring, but none has ever equaled in volume the blast of the boson's foghorn. I was restless, and hoping that he might change his music to some other tune bumped my knees against the bottom of his bunk-boards. At last he roused himself and swore at me for disturbing him. I ventured to tell him that his snoring kept me awake. Whereupon he jumped from his bed and inflicted a thrashing which I shall never forget. If there had been a chance to skip out, I should have done so. But I went to bed again, knowing my best plan was to keep quiet and submit to this abuse. The men were allowed to sleep away their dissipation, but at three o'clock next morning, sick and fatigued, they were put to work filling the empty water-cask on deck from the Delaware River. It was cold, and the October winds pierced their vitals. Sparks began to come from the galley-stove pipe, and at five o'clock old Wilson, the cook, served hot black coffee. Why do I say black coffee? I have never seen any other kind served to seamen. Generally it is sweetened with molasses which gives it the flavor of a quack, blood-and-nerve tonic. Now came the word man the windlass. Up and down went the windlass breaks. The hot drink gave new life to the men. One, with a voice like a bowl of bachon, led off with the shanty, Sally, Sally Brown was a Creole lady. Way I roll and go. Sally Brown was a Creole lady. Spend my money on Sally Brown. Seven long years I courted Sally. Way I roll and go. Seven long years and she would not marry. Spend my money on Sally Brown. Sally Brown I now must leave you. Way I roll and go. And do not let this parting grieve you. Spend my money on Sally Brown. And so add infinitum. Although wet and uncomfortable, the others, like true shellbacks, joined heartily in the chorus. The clank of the Pauls sounded clear and distinct between the chorus and the song of the shanty man. As one finished another man would start a different shanty. Poor Patty works on the railroad. We're all bound to go. Till the mate shouted, She's short, sir. Now was the time for Mr. Williams to give free play to his vile vocabulary, and for the boson to exercise his strength. Curses were heaped on the men loosing the sails, while a constant uproar was taking place on deck. The rigors had roved the running rigging through the wrong fairleads, which elicited a blessing from Mr. Williams on every man that ever handled the rope. The topsoil set the strong tide and wind in our favor. We started the anchor from the mud and headed for the open sea on our way to Japan. Dog Watches at Sea by Stanton H. King Chapter 10 A Hot Ship The first day out was spent in securing every movable thing on deck, stowing away hausors, and cleaning up the ship from the wretched condition in which the stevedores had placed her during her stay in port. That evening there was not much choice for the mates in making up the watches, for every man forward had proved himself a competent seamen. Portuguese Joe, a native of Peru, a man almost as round as a ball, was the only small one amongst them. The others were strong, well-built, robust fellows. These sixteen men were representatives of half the globe. For besides Portuguese Joe, there were two Norwegians, one Hollander, a Swede, one Frenchman, three Germans, two each from England, Ireland, and Scotland, and Chris, a native of Denmark. In selecting the watches, the mate had given an equal number of Anglo-Saxons to each. Joe was unfortunately placed in Mr. Williams' watch. I was in the mates, under the eye of my evil genius, the Boson. He was my roommate below and my master on deck. Indeed, my only relief from his presence was when he was snoring in his bunk. After a few watches below, I became accustomed to the rasping noise of his nasal organ and could fall asleep. But I cursed the luck which put me in his room. Far easier would my lot have been in the folksle. I was told never to mingle with the men forward, except when on duty. As I wanted to know more about the crew, I would watch my opportunity to steal forward, listen to their yarns, and become better acquainted. Different ships, different fashions, as Paddy said, when he roved the foresheet through the least cupper. On my other trips I had been in the folksle and envied the after-end. Now I was between the two and would have changed to either gladly. On the other ships my stay had been so short that I had taken little interest in the crew, but now, unless some accident should befall me, I was in for a year's voyage. I should cross the line four times, round the cape twice, and be a seasoned deep-water sailor on my return. Although we had signed the articles with its scale of provisions, we were not confined to that. Old Wilson could make a dish of anything. He was kind-hearted and took a delight in seeing the men satisfied. As long as the potatoes lasted, we had a portion. Duff twice a week, and canned beef on Sundays. No one complained while Wilson was alive. In the Gulf Stream we encountered a gale which kept us hove, too, under reef top sails and fore-sail for four days. The fore top-sail was well worn. As it felt the force of the gale it started at the head and whipped itself into ribbons. All that was saved were the pieces that had wrapped themselves around the mast and topmost rigging. The seas flooded the deck, and some of our water casts were washed from their lashings and swept over the rail. Though it was no easy matter to haul a top-sail along the deck and get it aloft at such a time, yet we did it. There was a suit of sails in the lazarette. A top-sail was hauled up, taken into the forward cabin, spread out, and reefed, ready for bending. Head and reef earrings, rovings, and clues clear, we tugged the long roll of canvas on our shoulders, sliding from side to side till we got it forward. Then, bending on the end of the gantt line, which had been roved for this purpose, we hoisted it aloft, abaffed the yards, gying it out to winward. The mate remained on deck to slack away, while both watches, with Mr. Williams and the boson, bent and reefed it. The heat of the lazarette and the work of hauling the top-sail caused the perspiration to flow freely. Oil skins were discarded, and we were wet through with the salt spray. Before we started aloft, a roaming wave left its turbulent head on our deck, and for a moment it seemed as though we were in the surf at a seaside resort. Up we went, dripping wet, and mounted the rocking horse. Jack was next to me. Together we passed the weather-earring, and shouted, haul out to lord! Oh, how delightful! Seated on the yard arm, I could see the heavy seas tumble against the ship, the running, rigging, flying loose, and curving like coach whips. The whole scene aloft and below was wild and awe-inspiring. We were fully four hours bending the top-sail. During this time the men were grinding away on their tobacco. Those on the lee-yard arm could enjoy their weed. They could let fly the juice and watch it safely pass to leeward. Not so with us on the weather-yard arm. We must watch our opportunity to spit in the sail when Mr. Williams was not looking. Or we might bend our heads under the yard and hope a back-draft would not lift it to windward and drive it into some fellow's face. A spatter of tobacco juice fell full on the second mate's face. Immediately he opened his dictionary and put his vocabulary to use. Now most seafaring men use tobacco. I suppose they would chew less if they were allowed to smoke when they felt like it. But it is a great breach of discipline for a sailor to smoke while working, so they form the chewing habit, which they can indulge in while on deck. No greater blessing is bestowed on a sailor than his pipe. It makes him forget his cares, breaks the humdrum monotony, keeps him from mischief, and helps him build castles in the air. Why, then, deprive him of it? I know there are times when it is inconvenient to have a pipe in one's mouth. But is it any more disrespectful or will it lessen ship discipline any more than having a mouthful of the weed? I think not. The best-natured seaman becomes a grumbler when in need of tobacco, and a ship short of it is a very uncomfortable place in which to dwell. I have seen old salts dry their old chews and smoke them. Yes, smoke-dried coffee grounds and tea leaves. After the gale, a few rousing shanties made the work of spreading the muslin an easy matter, and we were by the wind in the northeast trades. Many people think sailors have nothing to do, but watch the ship sail along, except in stormy weather when they are forced to work the sails. Can a housekeeper find work to do in a home which is properly looked after? So in a ship. No matter how long the voyage may be there is always some work to be done. What with cleaning paint work, preserving the rigging from being chafed, scraping the bright woodwork, and pounding iron rust, a good mate is never in need of something for his men to do. Watch and watch we were kept busy doing things both necessary and unnecessary. At night, as the men came on deck, both watches mustered aft and were counted by the boson. Relieve the wheel and luck out, and keep on your pegs by the main hatch. There were many nights when the watch on deck could have dozed on the main hatch with perfect safety, but no, it meant the loss of an afternoon's watch below to be caught napping while on deck. Portuguese Joe founded a hard matter to keep awake on a fine night. Mr. Williams caught him napping and made him take the canvas draw bucket, haul water, and throw it over himself. Could he have resented? Yes, he did, but the greaser was too much for him. Why didn't the other men help him? They knew it was best not to kick against the supreme authority of the after-end. Least said, soonest mended, is a safe motto aboard a ship, as there is no unity in so mixed a crowd. I grew fat on the kicks of the boson, rousing me from stolen naps on deck. Somehow, the more I tried to keep awake, the more drowsy did I become. The one method used by the boson, which kept me awake, was to break the stops of the bunt lines and to glory in his spite while I was climbing from yard to yard, overhauling and stopping them again. Our yards were painted black. Scrapers were made from old knives, the grindstone brought on deck, and every man called on to use his sheath knife to scrape the paint from them. As soon as the watch came on deck it was, perch yourself aloft and get at the scraping. This work lasted for several weeks. The ordinary scraping of mast and yards is tiresome, but to remove a thick coat of paint from a pitch-pined stick is tedious and wearisome to the fullest extent. Even when the paint is off there must be another scraping to make it bright and clean. For days and days we were by the wind. When we entered the trades great was the old man's disgust. Driven to the southward and westward we edged along to the Brazilian coast. The compass might have been over the side for all the use it was to be at the man at the wheel. Our guide was the clue of the mizzen royal. The yards braced sharp up. The course was full and by. At the close of the two hours trick at the wheel my neck would be stiff from the constant upward gaze at the sail. When we drew near the equator the scraping had to be stopped. The trade wind squalls were frequent and severe and gave us a steady drill and taking in the light sails and settling them again. With the squall there came a downpour of rain so that we filled our cask from the water falling from the roof of the cabin. Though the scuppers were free still it poured upon us faster than it could leave the deck. Leaving us ankle deep in rain water hardly a breath of air stirring the force of the squall past and over our heads the sails flapped against the mast. As the ship rolled the wash of the water tumbling from side to side felt as though we were standing in the stream of a fast flowing river. This was a tropical shower. It seemed as if the ocean were over us and the bottom had fallen out. Water spouts were visible at the horizon. These dangerous funnel shaped black clouds emptied themselves upon us. Two of the monsters crossed our bows less than half a mile away. We could see the whirlpool and upheaval of the water as they swept along trailing their tapering stem filling the mighty reservoir above. Our old man was grumbling and discontented. We were now nearing the close of our second month and had barely crossed the line. But a change came and we bowled along full and by through the horse latitudes with a stiff southeast trade wind. The work of scraping was resumed. While on the four topsoil yard I noticed what seemed to be a black cloud to leeward which I concluded to be land. I shouted, land hoe, where away shouted the boson. About two points on the lee bow. The old man hearing the shout came on deck. He was frantic when he saw the mountain peak church steeple island of Fernando Noronja blocking his headway. It was ready about and beat our way clear of land. The chronometer was out as the previous day's reckoning had made the ship 160 miles to the east of this Brazilian conflict island. We kept 24 hours on the starboard tack which enabled us to weather it. Still, there was an uncertainty which worried Captain Thomas. He was not sure of weathering Cap St. Rock. Keeping the yards pointed sharp to the wind, we cleared the cape and bowled along to the southward. One afternoon we were surrounded by a school of bonitos. These creatures feed upon flying fish and squid and delight to follow a ship, gambling around her vows and darting in and out around the cut water. The mate was soon seated on the jib-boom end with a line and gunny sack ready to haul them in. We were sailing fast which aided him in his fishing. With a bit of white rag on his hook, the line curved out by the force of the wind dragging well to Leeward. Mr. Parker kept us busy passing in the bonitos and dumping them on deck. Our headway was too swift for the bonitos to study the appearance of the bait, so as it skimmed along on the crest of the water they would think it a flying fish and nab it. Although not large, I suppose about 18 inches long and weighing up from 20 to 30 pounds it took a skilled man to haul them up to the boom. It was a splendid pastime of feverish excitement. Standing on the folksal head we could feel the ship tremble with the jerking of the fish on the line. The forward end of the ship was besmeared with blood. We didn't mind that, for the fun was immense and the expectation of a feed of fried fish fully commensated for the work of washing down. That evening old Wilson cooked enough bonitos to satisfy all hands and a delightful meal it was. Next morning our disappointment was great when our breakfast was the usual lob-scouse. We had pickled the barrel of the fish, but in that moist atmosphere they did not take the brine. They were putrid, filled with maggots, and had to be tossed over the side. The day came at last when we could check in our yards. With a fair wind from the westward we steered a course to the southward and eastward. As we crept along south the wind gradually increased we sighted the towering mass of Tristan de Kuna far above the clouds. Here the ocean was covered with long patches of kelp, and their cable-like stems heaving in the restless sea made the rolling waves look like the furrows of a newly plowed field. Here the westerly wind gathered in force and volume and settled into a gale which lasted quite as long as we wanted it. For three weeks we ran before it with square yards till we reached the island of St. Paul. I suppose it is blowing a westerly gale there now. There was no let up. We sailed out of it when we shaped our course to the northward from St. Paul. Day and night we ran our longitude down under our topsals and foresals, covering between 250 and 300 miles each day. Spreading the snowy foam before her bows like an open sheet she glided fish-like through the sea. When abreast of the cape it seemed as if the old gale would roll herself over, for burying the rail at each roll she scooped up the sea and flooded the decks. It was dangerous as well as uncomfortable to get forward or aft. One had to await a favorable opportunity and then wade through the foaming lather. At times a heavy rolling sea would overtake us and dash on our poop deck. We managed to get some of the cases of oil from the forehatch. Piercing holes in the cans we hung them over the taff rail where the oil might drip in her boiling weight. In the hollows of the waves the albatross and cape pigeons could be seen. Disturbed by us in our mad rush up they would fly to return to rest again after we had passed. One morning I went below at four o'clock. The port watch had the eight hours in. I found the bosons room afloat. A sea had rolled in and the wash of the water was making havoc of everything except the bed in the top bunk. My clothes and bed were wet. The boson turned in and left me to clear up the wreck. I sneaked forward to the folk-soul and climbed into a top bunk belonging to Peter, one of the Norwegians. I must have been asleep about an hour when I felt a wet hand on my ankle and without a word of warning I was dragged from the bunk and kicked and cuffed by the second mate till I reached the cabin door. Opening the door of his room he told me to use his bed rather than one in the folk-soul. Don't you ever let me catch you there. If your bed is wet use mine. Between the rolls of the ship old Wilson waded aft and invited me forward to his room which was partitioned off from the galley where I was soon fast asleep between his warm comfortable blankets. Then this kind-hearted negro mopped up the bosons room and hung my wet clothes by his galley fire to dry. For several days we had been drinking the vileest kind of water. We had not yet opened the iron tank between decks and the casks were filled with rainwater which had become putrid, alive with animal matter, and emitted a disgusting odor. The men complained and the big tank was tapped for our use. Rainwater, when barreled up, will become rotten, but after some time will regain its freshness and be excellent for drinking. It will rot twice over and each time it is sweeter for the change. While undergoing this process it will breed swarms of mosquitoes. Each day to the northwood brought us into better weather. The sunshine and warmth gave us new life and energy. Our clothes were white and the decks and rigging were bleached with salt. In two weeks we had forgotten all about the gales of the southern latitudes and were basking in the tropical sun in sight of Sandalwood Island. We were now sailing through miles of floating pumice stone which had been ejected from the volcanic islands in the Indian Ocean. Worse luck for us. The mate had us scoop up fully half a ton and between the squalls of the trades and the bad weather in the China Sea we were ever pumice stoning the paintwork. Although Barbados is known as the only regular flying fishery in the world, I think the natives of Sandalwood Island might compete with them. I have seen swarms of these fish flying from the jaws of the dolphin and bonito, but never so numerous as they were here. The flying fish leaves the water with such force that with one prolonged leap it skims and skips along the surface. I have seen it stated that they do not fly. My native fishermen say they do. I have seen a swarm headed for our ship and as they drew near they have turned at right ankles out of the way. In Barbados the natives live on flying fish six months of the year. I have seen the market filled with them and at a late hour in the evening they are sold fifty for a penny, although usually the price is a penny for two or three. Ice is a scarce luxury and as the fish will not keep till the next day the negro fishermen gladly disposes of them for any sum. A half dozen fish will make a hearty meal for a fair-sized family. The fishermen start out at dawn and reach the grounds before the sun is high. With mast unstepped they cast decayed fish overboard and while the flying fish are feeding they scoop them in with circular nets of small mesh stretched on wooden hoops. The largest kind, the guinea man, are caught with hook and line. Occasionally at night a flying fish will fly on board in the tropics. Once as punishment for sleeping during my watch on deck I had to spend an afternoon's watch below over the side in a bowline scraping the scales and brains of the flying fish from the black painted side of the ship. Often I have watched them skim through the air, skip along for about two hundred yards, and then seen the splash of the dolphin that had traveled as fast as they and was ready to receive them. Then making another leap away they would dart only dropping when the drying of the wing membrane compelled them. Within a week after sinking sandalwood we raised the island of Timo. The space between these two islands must be the home of the porpoise. All day in their clownest fashion they rolled and tumbled around the bow. A snatch block was hung at the end of the bow sprit. A line roved through it and then bent on to the harpoon. At first the mate did the harpooning but soon grew tired of it. With a strap securing him to the martingale a man would stand on the back ropes and with harpoon ready await the opportunity to stick them. In a little while the harpoon would be raised the point following the track of a rising porpoise till its back was clear of the water. Then the iron fell and hand over hand we lifted the struggling pig to the boom. Then bending on a rope's end we hauled him on board as another man slacked away on the harpoon line. Many times we hauled these kicking trembling sea pigs on deck. Occasionally a porpoise would tear himself from the harpoon and fall back into the sea streaming with blood. I am told that the others chase and devour him in his weakness. This may be so but it is a fact that when a wounded porpoise falls from a harpoon the whole school disappears for a time. The blubber was boiled and we all had oil enough to grease our sea boots. Chips had what he wanted to oil his tools and some to spare for the donkey engine. The beef was fine. We cut it in flakes and spread it out in the sun to dry. It was a treat after being at sea so long to have so plentiful a supply of fresh meat. Several days after the dried meat made a delicious a dish as one could desire. The longer it is kept unlike any other fish the more tender and sweet it becomes. Any man even though it was his watch on deck was allowed to pin a porpoise as when they were on board the harness cask was kept locked and unused. We passed Timor and entered the Galolo Passage. For days we were become surrounded on all sides by islands. For over a month we tried to get through into the open Pacific. The old man grew impatient and irritable. His only relief was to keep box hauling the yards around and trying to make a breeze where there was none. It was a continual haul on this and take a drag on the other thing. Every effort was made to take advantage of the least puff of wind. We had been told these islands were inhabited by cannibals. One afternoon a canoe full of black natives paddled to us. They came shouting and bawling the outrigger of the dugout trailing in the water and stopped about fifty feet away. The old man had his rifle, the mate or revolver, while we were armed with knives to defend ourselves. But instead of coming to eat us, as we had supposed, they had shells and matted material to exchange for tobacco. The captain had to coax them to come alongside. Hidious looking mortals they were, naked and with skins streaked and rough, like alligators, where the sun had dried the salt water on them. They would not come on board, but holding on to a rope's end showed us their curiosities and shouted, Tobac, Tobac! Mr. Parker descended to the canoe and in exchange for a few pounds of tobacco emptied it of its contents. The ship's slop chest was stocked with high-priced dogs' wool and oakum, clothing, soap, matches and tobacco, every article costing about twice its market value. Now tobacco was a dollar and a half a pound, yet this high price did not hinder us from negotiating with the blacks for their useless curiosities. A light breeze was carrying us along about four knots, so the mate climbed up the rope ladder and the blacks paddled for their native soil. While sailing between these islands we caught several large albacores, weighing between fifty and sixty pounds each. We salted and hung them under the boat's skids. They were good-eating, but where they were hung to dry the full moon shone on them. A few days after we had albacore for dinner, I ate heartily and within an hour was suffering with a violent headache. For over twenty-four hours after that I was unconscious. My head was swollen. When I regained consciousness I learned that, like myself, half of the crew had been poisoned by the fish. The full moon of the tropics makes the night almost as bright as day. I remember reading Barnaby Rudge by moonlight during my watch on deck. Men dare not sleep in its glare, for it will distort the features and blind the eyes so powerful is its light. That experience guarded me more than once. Not only was I careful after that never to hang fish or meat where the moon could shine on it, but I also was sure to keep my face covered when stealing a nap on a moonlit deck. Chapter 11 Round the Cape Mrs. Martha Wilson, the stewardess, was a woman who feared no man. She could defend herself. Once she happened to hear a sailor speak of her as Dina. For this impudence she rolled up her sleeves and thrashed him. At times she was very religious. Then she was greatly pleased if we joined in the refrain of her favorite song. I's going for to walk the narrow road, and I want you all for to follow me. Old Wilson stood in fear of her. So she did as she pleased, and her will was law. While we all spoke of her as Dina, no one dared address her except as Mrs. Wilson or stewardess. On leaving Philadelphia she slept in her husband's room, but when we sailed into warm weather she grumbled and complained about the heat of the galley and expressed a desire to have one of the staterooms in the forward cabin for her own. Captain Thomas consented to the change, but Old Wilson tried every means to keep her forward with him. For peace's sake he finally yielded, and Dina shifted her traps aft. She became warm friends with Mr. Parker. Together they walked the deck evenings, thereby arousing her husband's jealousy. Early one morning, as we were emerging from the galolo passage, the cook walked aft and listened at the window of his wife's stateroom. In a few moments, crazy with rage, he was clinched in strife with the mate. The boson came to the latter's aid. Together they put handcuffs on Wilson, and hooking a handy billy to a strap on the mizzen stay, they then hooked on to the hand irons and lifted him clear of the deck. They kept him there till he was unconscious when they lowered him. In less than an hour he was dead. The verdict was that Wilson died of heart disease. Captain Thomas was very much disturbed. The following day the body was sewn in canvas with bits of old iron placed at the feet. The main yard was whole of a back, and the old cook was launched into the deep. I looked over the side and watched the white canvas bubble and sink in the clear transparent water till it disappeared under the bottom of the ship. Brace up the main yard, away we headed on our course for Japan. There was much talk about the death of the cook, but no man dare openly give his opinion of the matter. Dinah seemed to be happy. Her husband's death was evidently of no consequence to her. That afternoon I was standing by the main hatch when Captain Thomas shouted from the cabin door, Harry, come aft here. It disturbed me when he said I was to help the stewardess in her work till we reached Japan. The bosson was cruel, but I was used to his ill treatment. But not knowing how to frame an excuse, I stood still and looked at the old man. Well, what's the matter with you? Please, sir, don't send me into the galley with the stewardess. Get forward and do what I say. I put on my best rig and reported to Dinah for duty. For two weeks I was her orderly. It was Harry do this and that till I was tired of being ordered about by this woman. One afternoon Dinah started to fill two small jugs with yeast. She was on deck near the galley door and I was in the galley. In a very domineering tone she said, Harry, go aft and get me the corkscrew from the pantry. I want to draw this cork. I looked at her and then replied, Get aft and get it yourself. The words were hardly out of my mouth when the full jug of yeast came tumbling at me. I dodged it. It struck the stove and broken pieces. The yeast spilled all over the brickpaved floor of the galley. Dinah rushed at me, screaming, scratching, and biting. We rolled over and over in the yeast, for it was impossible to get a footing. I was a strong lad, but no match for this tigress. I shouted, Help! Murder! Come to me! The second mate, the carpenter, and three seamen came to my assistance. It took all their strength to release me from her embrace. Bleeding and crying I ran to the old man, who, hearing the rumpus, had just come on deck. Oh, cappin! I cried. I can't stand this any longer, sir. Dry your tears, my boy. Go forward and clean yourself. You have done very well. You've stood it longer than I thought you would. You deserve a leather medal, and I'll cut one out for you in the morning. Go forward. Then he turned to Dinah, who had been roughly handled by the men. They hated her, and had used the chance to get in a few sly knocks. I've had enough of your humbug. Go to your room, and never let me see you forward, or the main mast, or on deck at all, after sunset. So she was subdued, and kept confined in her room. Bill was made cook, and I steward, a fine team. We had ample opportunities to play tricks on Dinah, and I availed myself of them. But she behaved as she should, and in less than 24 hours after we had reached Japan, was on her way to San Francisco via Yokohama. Old Wilson was sadly missed. We were now in our fifth month at sea. Dinah had not taken the same interest as her husband in making the most of a little, and neither Bill nor I knew how. The duff was heavy, the food poorly cooked, and everybody grumpy and discontented. To stiffen the ship, the stevedores had stowed two hundred tons of coal under the oil cases. Now our supply was nearly gone, so it was necessary to move the cargo that the coal bins might be replenished. We began the tedious and ungainly work of passing the cases of oil up the lazor at hatch. Only one man could work in the hatch, so we labored two days before the coal was reached. Then we hauled it up in buckets and filled the bins on deck. To force the ship along, a bull ringer was rigged. This is the only time I have seen such a sail used. A spare stasel was set under the lee of the jib boom. The head was hauled out to the boom end, the tack to the lee cathead, and the sheet to the end of the martingale. This sail may have helped our progress, but it certainly was a nuisance, for at every squall it required the whole watch to take it in. At last all hands had to be called to get it in board. In diving she had filled it with water, and to save the boom the sheet and outhaul were let go, and the sail trailed under the lee bow till we could haul it aboard. We were favored with a strong monsoon, and so plowed our way along through the China Sea. Scurvy began to show itself. Portuguese Joe was the first victim. He was in a miserable state. His teeth were loosened from his soft, spongy gums. He could press his finger into the flesh of his limbs and leave an indentation as though in a lump of dough. Although exhausted, weary, and fit only for his bunk, the cruel second mate forced him to keep the night lookouts. Nearly all the men were in misery with saltwater boils. At twelve o'clock each day the captain mustered all hands aft and served a drink of lime juice to us to check the scurvy. Discontent was supreme, but at last, after a weary-some passage of one hundred and sixty-seven days, we dropped anchor in the harbor of Kobe. Labor is cheap here, so the japs were engaged to work the cargo while we were busy scraping the black paint off the hull. The first trip the old man made on shore, he brought back a Japanese steward and a Chinese cook and with a good supply of fresh beef and potatoes, the ill-will of the men vanished. Dino left without a parting farewell. She was taken in a sandpan and placed on the mail steamer for Yokohama on her way to San Francisco. The first Saturday night in port the men went aft to demand liberty. The mate said the captain was on shore, but that he intended giving the port watch liberty till Monday morning. They were advised to wait his return so that they might have some money to spend. Seven o'clock came and went. There were no signs of the old man's return and their patience was exhausted. They went aft and asked leave to go without the money. The mate consented and two sandpans were hailed. Taking it for granted that I was to have my liberty with the port watch, I partly secreted myself in the sandpan and we were sculled to the shore. Previous to this the captain had agreed to allow each man to incur a debt of fifteen dollars with a clothing merchant in Kobe. As we landed, hordes of Japanese men gathered round us, pulling at us and shouting, Take me, Zherinshka. They knew where this merchant lived and hurriedly pulled us in their perambulators to his store. We stormed the place and threatened not to purchase one cent worth of clothing unless he advanced us some money. After much pressure he gave us five dollars each and had us sign our names on his books as having bought seven dollars worth of clothing from him. Now was shown the fallacy of keeping me away from the folksal. Not allowed to mingle with the men in their quarters on board, here was I in a strange place without a scent in my pocket allowed to go and do as I pleased. For although I had left the ship stealthily, both the mate and second mate noticed me when the sandpan shoved off and they could easily have intercepted us and made me return on board. Naturally I kept with the men and like the others hired a Jynrikisha. Kobe, although in the Far East, is poisoned like every seaport by the presence of some Anglo-Saxon who establishes himself as a liquor dealer. There was an old American man of war's man who kept a rum shop and dared to insult his country by naming the vile din the American Eagle. The Jynrikisha men knew their business and were familiar with the work of hauling sailors through the city. Therefore they headed for Tom Kelly's dive. Mrs. Kelly was a Japanese woman and both she and her husband welcomed us. Here we met the crew of an English square rigor, the undaunted of Glasgow. At first we were as friendly as brothers, but after the drinks began to take effect, the crews settled an argument on the battle of Bunker Hill by fighting it over again. Tom Kelly was an ex-pugilist. He joined in, and for a few moments blood was as plentiful as the liquor behind the bar. We became separated in the fracas. My Jap hustled me into the Jynrikisha and away he dragged me through the lower part of the town. They must have had similar experiences with seamen as they knew just where to take us. My man stopped at a place where some Japanese women were seated in a large window, playing on their samessan. Go in, John, go in. Welcome all the same. In I went and found the greater part of our port watch and some of the undaunted's men. Forgetting the rupture of the evening, they were enjoying the Chonkino dance with some Japanese girls. My visit to Kobe consisted in being hauled around the city in a baby carriage between these Chonkino houses and the American Eagle. Only once did we emerge from this district when the Japs, to gain our goodwill or our money, drove us to the top of a hill where there was a waterfall, near which several tea houses were located. I suppose it was too quiet and peaceful here and too much attention was shown the officers of the British warship Daido for us to be comfortable. My reader may imagine that there were other things to attract a lad beside carousing with a crowd of sailors. I suppose there would be for one who had not been confined on a ship for so long a time and who would have been received in places of refinement and respectability. Japan is no different from other parts of the world. The respectable amongst the Japanese, Europeans, and Americans in Kobe would not think for a moment of associating with a common sailor. Debarred from respectable resorts, he enters where he is welcomed. Glad to be away from my tyrant and as a sailor, though a young one, I remained in my shipmate's company while on liberty. On Monday morning it was a sore looking crowd that reported on board. It had been decided on the way off to refuse duty and to demand an interview with the American consul regarding the death of old Wilson. I made up my mind to defend myself against the assaults of the cruel Bosun who began to bully us as we came over the side. The men refused to turn to and asked to see the captain. I kept with them thereby showing that I, too, desired to see the old man. Perhaps I might have acted differently if I had been free from the effects of the recent debauch. The Bosun, grabbing me by the coat collar and quickly twisting me around, kicked me and ordered me forward. I pulled a belaying pin from the rail and landed a blow which stunned him. In a moment both he and the second mate were at me and all hands were involved in a violent struggle. I did not witness the end for, beaten into a state of unconsciousness, I was put into my room. This trouble was much helped to me, for while it was in progress I had told the Bosun I intended to defend myself at the peril of my life if he or any man tried to take advantage of me. My life was my own. They could have it if they wanted it, but beware how they took it. I suffered punishment by being kept on deck at arduous labor, but received no more blows or kicks. I learned from the men that Captain Thomas and Mr. Parker quieted the disturbance, and after listening to the men's demands the old man satisfied them by taking three on shore with him. The consul gave them no reprisal. He ordered them aboard and when they refused they were put in jail. When the news of their confinement reached us most all the crew refused duty were lodged in jail and Japanese hired in their places. Gradually one after another succumbed under this treatment and returned to their work on board. From daylight till dark we were busy scraping the outside of the ship and on Sundays it would be dinner time before we finished polishing the brasswork. Long strips of copper were nailed on the after part of the top sail yards to prevent them from chafing against the backstays when the yards were braced up. After the deck had been scrubbed and cleaned and every bit of copper below the rail polished with pumice stone and kerosene oil we were sent to polish the copper tips on the ends of the lower shrouds and the copper on the top sail yards. The St. Augustine became a very uncomfortable ship. The boson proved to be a drunkard, spending several days on shore in a debauch and thereby losing the goodwill of the mate. Mr. Parker and Mr. Williams quarreled and beginning aft revenge and hatefulness passed to the forward crowd. A strict watch was kept to prevent anyone leaving the ship. The oil and the coal were discharged and we were ballasted with gravel. After a stay of about five weeks in Kobe we raised our mud hook and before a strong northeast monsoon scutted for Manila Bay. Now we may be termed a hot ship. The afternoon and dog watches below were no longer a reality. With the exception of a given time for eating the watch that came on deck at eight in the morning remained there till twelve that night. The pumice stone was put in use. During the day we scrubbed and cleaned and at night by the light of a lantern we polished the bolt heads between decks and gave them a coat of red lead. On the eighteenth day out from Kobe we anchored in the quiet harbor of Manila Bay. Here again the crew demanded an interview with the American consul but on the captain's return from shore we were told that the consul had refused to see us. The natives did the work of discharging the ballast and loaded us with sugar and hemp. We were not idle. In the hot sun we were continually scraping or doing labor some necessary and much that was not. The Chinese cook was not in favor with the forward crowd. He was not only filthy in his habits but insolent and sullen. He became involved in some trouble aft and to be rid of the ship plotted with Bill and Jack to destroy her. We were all loaded for Boston with the sails bent when about two o'clock of the night before we were to sail the man on anchor watch reported that the ship was on fire. Sure enough the smoke was ascending from the forepeak. The ship's bell was rung. The crews of the vessels in the harbor gave their aid to quench the flames but it was of no avail. By daylight the St. Augustine was ablaze and burning freely. The ship's stores in a new suit of sails were brought on deck and hung over the stern. Every effort was put forth to save something but it was an unprofitable task as the next day the harbor officials went from ship to ship and confiscated everything that was saved. Although it was a sad sight to see so fine a ship absorbed by the lapping flames of fire yet I rejoiced to see her burn. But the ships in the bay were in imminent danger of being set on fire by the flying sparks. It was impossible to go forward to pay out the chain. A Spanish gunboat steamed out from Cavite and tried to shoot a hole in the ship's side below the waterline. The aim was poor so they accomplished nothing, though they shot away our ball works. The last resort was to send a diver to the bottom to bend on a rope to the anchor. While at the bottom he managed to unshackle the Jew's harp after which the gunboat hauled the old St. Augustine clear of the shipping. Entirely enveloped in flames she was beached on the shore near Cavite. Bill Jack and the Chinese cook were put in jail but I never knew what became of them. The rest of us were huddled in a native hotel. We demanded our discharges and our request was granted. I had sixty-two Mexican dollars, more money than I ever owned before. For nine days with others of the crew I indulged in all the wretchedness Manila affords a sailor. Having had enough of the Philippines I shipped as Abel Seaman with Captain Dodge of the American Clipper Oleander sailing for New York with sugar and hemp. I signed the articles in the consul's office and was rode out to the ship where I found three of my late mates on board ahead of me. The Oleander was in need of four Seaman and so completed her compliment of men from the beachcombers from the St. Augustine. Hardened and fearless and quite competent to do the work of Abel Seaman, I would have been pleasantly situated among strangers. Instead of being glad to have me with them, my shipmates of the St. Augustine did their utmost to bully me and to have me do the work of a boy in the folksil. The first day out from Manila I asserted my rights when Oscar cursed me and told me in very strong language that though down on the articles as Abel Seaman I would have to care for the folksil. The question was soon settled. He was a fat ungainly fellow. I felt quite sure I could tucker him out at a stand-up tussle. So I offered to fight, providing the other men would not allow him to clinch me. They were in for the fun, so they jeered at my opponent and spurred me on to thrash him. Their attitude incited me to conquer. From chest to chest I leaped at him, rained on blows, and gained the victory. For some time after this I was unmolested by anyone forward. We had our afternoon watch below, but no dog watch. From four to six all hands were on deck. We entered the Straits of Sunda. The natives from Java visited us in canoes loaded with yams, sweet potatoes, monkeys, and parrots. The deck of the oleander was like a menagerie. In exchange for a piece of clothing every man secured a monkey or parrot. While they were on board they were a constant source of amusement, but as soon as they reached cold weather in the southern latitudes they sickened and died. Java head passed. We bowled along before a strong southeast trade. If we could have rounded the Cape and kept up our pace, no steamer could have made a quicker passage. But the almost invariable westerly wind greeted us, and for seventeen days we were trying to weather the Cape. Most of the time we were head-reaching from one tack to the other. Rainy and blowing it was a most favorable opportunity to sugi mugi. There was no end to our misery. Wet and cold we forever rubbed the white paint with sand and canvas. It was no use to complain. Growl you may, but work you must. One morning while we were close into the land the wind died out to a calm. Then a soft southerly wind sprung up which carried us around the Cape. We left the outlines of Table Mountain astern and rolled along down to the tropics. Now the overhauling and refitting to which every homeward bounder is subjected began in reality. Fine weather prevailed, the trade being so steady that for days we never touched a brace. Mr. Clifford the mate naturally took advantage of the weather. With the exception of two men in each watch to steer and keep the lookouts, all hands were on deck all day, splicing, serving shrouds, fitting new running gear, and setting up the lower rigging for an aft. At night the man at the wheel, the lookout, and the officer of the watch cared for the ship. With a blue sky overhead and a steady breeze on our quarter, two weeks flew rapidly past. Then one morning we sighted the shores of St. Helena, rising above the sea like a great cloud black on the horizon. That afternoon we sailed close into the shore and anchored in Jamestown Harbor. During our few hours stay here five square rigged homeward bounders following us came to anchor close to us. For St. Helena lies in the track of all vessels homeward bound from the Cape to Europe or the United States. Jamestown is situated in a valley between two lofty hills, and from where we were at anchor we could see the winding roads on each side of these hills. On the top of one ladder hill is a fort with barracks for the English soldiers. At the extreme top is a signal station. From the town to the flag pole is a ladder with 365 steps. It is not necessary to take the road to the top of the hill. If you are strong enough you can ascend the steps. Several bumboats surrounded us well stocked with fruit, eggs, curios, and photographs of Longwood and Napoleon's grave. The old man had engaged one man as purveyor to the ship and allowed us to contract a debt of five dollars each. The men anxiously sought for rum, but the bumboat man knew the unwritten law prohibiting the sale of liquor to seamen. He also knew he would forfeit his license besides losing his payment for the good supplied us. Five dollars is a small sum for a deep water sailor to dispose of at such a time. Without questioning the prices we expended the allotted amount on fruit and curios. That afternoon a water boat came alongside. We filled our tanks, the old man returned bringing a barrel of tar with him, and at twilight we were leaving behind us the black high hills of St. Helena. End of chapter 11