 CHAPTER XII. When a sailor cites a square-rigged vessel with a stumped fore to gallant mast carrying no fore-royal, he will remark in a scornful manner, no fore-royal, no coffee in the morning. I don't know how this saying originated, but we carried a fore-royal, and we were served with coffee when called at five, and after coffee began to tar down the rigging. Each day brought us nearer home. The very thought that the voyage would soon end was conducive to a contented spirit. For several days we were blackening the shrouds and stays, and when that was finished the painting and holy stoning began. We were restored to our usual watches. Bad squally weather had set in, so the holy stones and sand were put into use. Until we entered the Gulf Stream it was a constant push on a holy stone, and as we came on deck the word was, Get your prayer books and say your prayers. Clothed in oil-skinned trousers we would kneel and rub the stones on the deck with water and sand. The friction caused by the rubbing of the holy stone removed the dark surface of the wood and revealed its bright natural color. At the end of the voyage our decks were as bright and clean as a newly-plained plank. Even at night the process of cleaning the deck was carried on. When a holy stone has been used till the hand has grown accustomed to its shape more work can be done with it than with a new one. Each man was given a certain amount of deck to clean during his watch, and this induced us to hold on to our stones. We therefore took them below and placed them under our heads to have them ready for use when called on deck. Early one morning we had just relieved the watch. Our portion of scrubbing had been allotted to us, and we had already begun when Chris, a heavily-built Dane, one of the St. Augustine men, accused me of having his holy stone. It was too dark for him to see, but as I was the smallest of the crowd and he must growl with somebody, he said, King, you have my holy stone. No I haven't. We were in a heated argument when the Bosun shouted, Stop your Portuguese argument and go ahead with your holy stoning. Chris said no more. At eight bells we went below to breakfast. We had helped ourselves to lob scoose and a pot of coffee, and retired to different corners of the folksal to eat. I took my seat on the doorstep of the folksal with my portion. Chris renewed the holy stone difference. We abused each other in strong language, which ended by his rushing at me with his sheath-knife. I checked his progress by dashing the contents of my Liverpool hookpot in his face and thereby saved myself. It frightened me when I saw the skin shrivel from the scalding effect of the hot coffee. Then the mate came forward and threatened to throw me over the side. Mr. Clifford, will you listen to me, sir, I said. I then told him of my narrow escape from the sheath-knife. Great was my relief when he said, You did right, King, pity you hadn't poured the whole kettle on him. Chris was oiled and greased, and was forced to remain in his bunk for several days. I felt sorry for him. Still it gave me prestige among the others. I had been taken advantage of by most of the men during the whole trip. I had endured their railing and invectives. Now they knew I was likely to protect myself from their bitter and sarcastic taunts. After this I was not only unmolested, but on an equal footing with all forward. Without any incident worth recording, we raged the highlands of the Jersey Coast and took a pilot for Sandy Hook. A towboat took our hauser and hauled us rapidly along. The sails were unbent, made up, and stowed in the lazarette. It took the bosson most of his time to keep us clear of the boarding-house runners. They not only interfered by wanting to converse with us, but also watched their opportunity to give us their flasks of fire-water. I was determined to have no intercourse with the sharks, and not to implicate myself by accepting their liquor. As they approached me, I evaded their stubborn persistency by saying I had friends to stay with in New York. I had written home from Manila telling my mother to send her next letter to New York. As we tied up at the wharf, a representative from Fred Calcord's clothing store on South Street boarded us, bringing our mail. Can I describe my feelings, the fright, the quick pulsations of my heart, when a black-edged envelope was passed to me? I could see by stamps and postmark that it was from Barbados, but the handwriting was strange. I opened it and drew from the folds of the enclosed letter this card. Died yesterday, 1st August, at Paines Bay, St. James, Isabella Lewis, aged fifty-four years, wife of John King, her funeral will take place this Saturday at three-thirty-o-clock from St. Thomas Church, 2nd August, 1884. I quickly replaced letter and card in the envelope and struggled hard to make myself forget it, and to cast from my mind the thought that death had taken from me my mother. As the tears gathered, I sought another channel into which to defer it my thoughts. There was plenty of work to do. Even after the crew had left for the boarding-houses, I was assisting the boson to coil the gear of the courses in the tops. Assured that no one was in the folk-soul to witness my grief, I took out the letter and read the sad news of my dear mother's death. My father, unable to see sufficiently to write himself, had one of my sisters write for him. I had planned to look for a ship sailing to Barbados and to take her a portion of the wages due me. I had built my castles in the air. Now there was no mother to welcome me home. The boson, ready to leave the ship, came forward to lock the folk-soul door and saw me in my distress. His heart softened, and in his sympathy I was invited to go home with him. I would have fared as well in a sailor's boarding-house, for although there were no sailors among the inmates, this lodging-house was as vile and pernicious in its influence as any dive could be. The lager beer can was ever on the go between the house and the saloons. In two days we were officially discharged. I had about thirty dollars due me, so after buying a few articles of clothing and paying a week's board in advance, I blew to the winds the little money I had and was stranded again. I learned that Captain Painter of the Brigantine Pearl had arrived. As he was an old friend of ours, I had no trouble in securing a birth as able seamen on his ship. Just ten days after leaving the Oleander, I was outward bound to Port of Spain, Trinidad, with him. The Pearl was an easy ship. I made four trips to the West Indies, and the Captain's home was my headquarters while in New York. Those were pleasant days. On his vessel there was plenty of well-cooked food, and with watch and watch there was ample rest below for his seamen. The only discomfort was the lack of heat in the folksal. The folksal on the Pearl was a very small space with four bunks. In the center between these was the four mast, so that there was hardly room to stand. These four trips to the West Indies were made in winter, and I endured enough suffering from cold and exposure to fill me with rheumatism. Working cargo in the heat of the tropics made us especially susceptible to the cold weather on reaching the American coast. It does seem strange that ship owners, when building their ships, never seem to think of having the sailors' quarters large enough to contain a stove. And should their perchance be room enough, there is still no stove or means of making the place warm. Many a time I have felt it colder in the folksal than on the open deck. To keep warm we would turn in clothes in our stiff frozen oil skins and our wet sea boots. The heat of the tropical sun opened the seams on the top of the folksal, and the falling spray would drip and form icicles over our bunks. In such icy caves many seamen have endured the bitter cold and have suffered the effects of such treatment years afterwards, lingering on sick beds with frames racked with rheumatism. I had heard that the American coasting vessels were comfortable homes, so I decided to enjoy some of this home life on board ship and agreed with Captain Jacobson to sail as Abel Seaman on his three-mastered schooner, the Bella Armstrong, taking a cargo of Sulphur to Wilmington, North Carolina. This vessel proved to be a home while we were in American waters, but once clear of the coast she was the warmest craft I had ever sailed in. In Wilmington the Sulphur was discharged some five miles up a creek where nobody lived. For fear of contracting malaria we were conveyed each evening to the city in a towboat with the stevedores and housed in cheap lodgings returning each morning to the ship. Malaria or any kind of fever would perhaps have been less hurtful than the influences of the vile and contaminating surroundings along the waterfront of Wilmington. Numerous saloons and dance halls overcrowded not only with black women but also with the lowest corn crackers were the only open doors wherein to wail away the evenings of our two-week stay in this port. The Sulphur discharged we were towed down the river bound for Fernandina to load heavy timbers of pitch-pine lumber for La Guaira, Venezuela. Without a pound of ballast this flat-bottom schooner could travel and not imperil our lives. Having a centerboard we were constantly hauling it up and lowering it down. We reached the half-dead forsaken city of Fernandina and tied up at one of the wharves. Stevedores were engaged to stow the lumber while we sauntered around the decks hardly doing a thing. Mr. Gillespie the mate was taken sick with malaria and sent to the hospital. I called to see him expecting to see an institution of comfort for the sick. Instead I found him stretched on a cot in a room at the top of a house kept by a corn cracker who made a living by providing such a shelter for six seamen. She was well paid for her services, but the only benefit the patient derived from being at her home was his freedom from the stings of mosquitoes as she kept the windows screened. There have I seen these past more numerous or venomous than in this town. We were nightly in a state of torment with their hateful singing and troublesome bites, drawing the very life-blood from our faces, arms, and legs till we were in a condition approaching madness. After a stay of three weeks, timbers all stowed, and the mate recovered from his illness, we were towed out of the river. We were a minus one man, for a sailor had deserted, and it was almost impossible to secure another's service. But Mr. Gillespie had visited a schooner moored close to us, and had offered tempting inducements to a German to desert his ship and sail with us. So about eleven that night the mate and I rode our small skiff under the bow of the schooner, clandestinely met the German, and rode him to our craft. Next morning we tripped our anchor and started for La Guira. We were no sooner clear of land than our easy times vanished, and the mule driving began. No afternoon or dog watch below, constantly at work, with only two men in a watch. We were either at the wheel or a lookout when on deck at night. The food was meager, and it was useless to complain as the cook was a bully who sided with the after-end. Mr. Hanson, the second mate, though more lenient than the mate, was forced to work his watch to carry out Mr. Gillespie's orders. The poor German cursed the day he left his ship to join the Bella Armstrong. On the afternoon of the nineteenth day from Fernandina we came to anchor in the middle of the roadstead, about half a mile from the town of La Guira. Timbres were immediately made for discharging the cargo. An iron spike, dog, with a ring in it, was driven into an end of each timber before landing it over the side. When a quantity of timbers were lashed together they were cast loose from the ship and allowed to drift to Leeward with the wind in a projecting point of land. One afternoon the dog in a stick of timber fouled on the rail and was hauled out as the timber went shooting overboard. Away it went, floating astern. Knowing that I could swim well enough to bring it back, I jumped overboard and reached it. I had just taken hold of it when I felt something rub against me and onlooking saw a monstrous shark at my side. I quickly jumped on the stick of timber. Fortunately it was buoyant enough to keep me out of the water away from the shark's mouth. Anxiously watching every motion of my would-be destroyer I lay flat on my stomach and yelled for help. One of the native stevedores saw my predicament and, pointing at me, yelled to the maid on deck, Pronto, hombre, pronto! Jumping into a native dugout the second mate paddled to my rescue, but I had drifted about forty feet from the ship before he reached me. It was with a great sense of relief that I rolled myself into the canoe. Then together we paddled and pushed the timber back to the raft alongside the ship. There were days when, on account of the heavy swell rolling in, it was impossible to work the cargo. To roll and tumble about in such an unpleasant fashion, worse than if we were under way, is anything but cheering. As the days went by we took advantage of what favorable opportunities we had, and at last our sticks of timber were all hauled up on the sandy beach. Again, without any ballast, we were under way for maracaibo to load fustic wood for Boston. On Sunday we were allowed to visit the shores of this slow-going place. We tramped miles up the beach for the sake of an hour's surf bathing, but ever on the alert for sharks. The bay was alive with fish, both small and large, and when night came we would sit on the folksal head, watching them dart through the water. Upon some evenings the dusky men and maidens would row around our ship and serenade us, playing Spanish fandango airs on their guitars. The fustic all in we started early one morning to beat our way out of the gulf. A strong wind and tide being against us we made very little progress, only when the tide was in our favor could we gain any headway. The second afternoon we were drifting on a mud bank. To save ourselves the starboard anchor was let go. There must have been a flaw in a link of the chain near the anchor, for while we were heaving on the windlass the chain parted. Fortunately the foresail and mainsail were set. With the then favorable tide we edged our way along, clear of the mud bank, and let go the port anchor in deeper water. Now the work of finding our lost anchor began. Both our boats were lowered. With a grappling iron and a new coil of rope we rode over and over the location of the lost anchor, hoping that the grappling iron might hook on to it. Tired and hungry we were kept in the hot sun dragging the bottom of the gulf. To be continually towing a grappling iron with the fear that your efforts may be in vain is, to say the least, depressing exercise. But Mr. Gillespie did not lose hope. He stubbornly held to the opinion that the anchor would be found. On the next morning we began another day's search, and that afternoon our efforts were successful. The grappling iron hooked on to something which proved to be the anchor. We brought the rope attached to the grappling iron between the two boats and rigged a Spanish windlass. A boats mast was placed over the gunnels of the boats so that the two ends extended outside the two outer gunnels. Then the grappling rope was secured to the mast between the boats. A small crowbar was last to each end of the mast to be used as levers in revolving the mast. As the mast revolved it wound up the grappling rope, and by holding the strain on the crowbars we lifted the anchor under the bottom of the boats. A lashing was passed through the shackle and our prize secured to the stern of the larger boat. I had heard of the Spanish windlass, and although tired and weary, the experience of having to rig one was compensation enough. Once more we were under way for home, and with strong trade winds we bowled along. It was mid-winter, January, when we reached the American coast. For three days we sailed wing and wing before a stiff southwest gale. The old man was determined to make gay head with this favorable wind, and he drove the Bella Armstrong through it. To heave a ship's wheel over when she is racing and griping as we were is no child's play. It was necessary for two men to be at the wheel. Hard up and hard down, look out you don't jibe her. At times the wheel would get away from the helmsman and spin around like a buzzsaw. Once she came to with a vengeance, and smothered herself as she drove under a monstrous sea, staggering like a drunken man, and dripping like a half-drowned rat, she would answer her helm and wear her nose before it. She steered so badly that although it was bitter cold the two men would come from the wheel dripping with perspiration as though they had been hoisting sugar hogsheads in the tropics. We passed gay head and anchored in tarpaulin cove. For eighteen days we tried to reach Cape Cod, but could not accomplish it. Whenever we started all the schooners at anchor would follow suit, and that night we would be at anchor again in some part of vineyard sound. At length a southwest wind lasted long enough to run us up inside the Cape. Ninet's light was passed, a towboat took hold of us and hauled us to an ice-packed berth at an east Boston wharf. I had told my shipmates of my determination to keep clear of the sailor's boarding houses, and they had agreed to do likewise. As a consequence the land sharks soon left us. While tying up the ship, Mr. Rose, a junkman in search of old rope and the contents of the shakings barrel, visited us. We learned that he had room to board us with his family, so we put our traps in his boat and went across the river with him to his home on Tyleston Street. For two weeks I breathed the demoralizing atmosphere of the north end of Boston. My money was exhausted, the weather was severe, the very thought of having to go to sea to suffer cold and the hard usage like the experience on the Bella Armstrong was painful. During my ramble around the sailor district I formed the acquaintance of one of Uncle Sam's blue shirts. From him I learned the whereabouts of the Navy Yard and that both seamen and ordinary seamen were wanted on the Wabash. Next morning, February 10, 1886, I entered the Navy Yard gate. After being questioned as to my business by the Marine on guard at the gate, I was directed to take the path leading to the Wabash and pass my examinations. The sight of the big guns, officers in brass buttons, everything having a military appearance made me somewhat timid. I reached the scow and was conveyed to the guard ship. I told the officer of the deck I wanted to enlist as ordinary seamen. I might have enlisted as seamen, but on account of my age I was afraid of being rejected. I was eighteen years old and one of the qualifications was that the applicant should be twenty-one. No one but an apprentice could enlist under that age. Being questioned regarding my age, I said I was twenty-one. I suppose I looked that old, as there was no hesitation on the part of the officer. After examining me upon sending aloft mast and yards, the use of the lead line, and the various points of the compass, I was turned over to a stout, good-natured, bosonsmate Bob Wilkes for his examination in seamen ship. He had me make a few splices, and serve some marlin on the iron rail around the hatch-comings, and passed me as a qualified, ordinary seamen. I knew I was collar-blind in red, green, and brown, and feared the doctor's examination. Many a night at sea I had seen a light well on the lookout, and had shouted, Light, ho! At the word from the officer of the watch, can you make it out? I would guess sometimes correctly. At other times I would be subjected to his abuse, and called a thick head, for not knowing a red from a green light. Whenever I was sent to put out the side-lights, I would have to read port or starboard on the lamps, to know which was which. For I would wait till one of the watch had taken a side-light, and then I would take the remaining one and put it in the box opposite his. Sometimes on seeing a light, as the officer would say, Can you make it out? I would, if near him, shout, There it is, sir, and so keep him from discovering my collar-blindness. It was afternoon before my turn came to meet the doctor. Away in the forepeak was the sick bay, in here he overhauled my frame. He had me perform the antics of a circus-clown, and satisfied that I was sound in body and mind, passed me over to the apothecary, old Doc Warren, to test my colour-sight. Doc Warren was in a hurry to leave the ship. He produced a box filled with skeins of different-coloured wool. Had he taken a bit of green, red, or brown, I should have guessed, as between these I cannot discriminate. As it was, he drew a skein of blue from the box, saying, What colour is this? Oh, that's blue! I guess you're not colour-blind! I guess not! I can see your nose is not red! This remark produced a smile. The box was closed, and I was declared a qualified, ordinary seaman in every way. The ship's rider brought us before the executive officer, and we, who were to enlist that day, swore a faithful allegiance to Uncle Sam. The paymaster's clerk and his yeoman, with his ever-faithful jack of the dust, Bill Griffin, served us our clothing, beds, and hammocks, and I, with seven others, donned the blue uniform of the American Navy. Then I sent word to Mr. Rose to take my citizens' clothes away. They were kind people. I liked them, and gave them every stitch I owned, thereby severing all connections with the garb of civil life. End of Chapter 12 CHAPTER XIII OF DOG WATCHES AT SEA CHAPTER XIII MAN OF WAR'S MAN I was a novice on board a man of war. As soon as I reached the spar deck, I was button-holed by a petty officer, wearing an eagle on his shirt sleeve, who said I was in the foretop, his part of the ship. This was foreign to me. We were piped to supper. The ship's corporal showed me my mess-table, and I relished my first meal on a man of war. It was a pleasant discovery to find that I no longer had to care for my pot, pan, and spoon, and to hustle around for my food at mealtimes. Here a man was detailed to care for the mess gear and clean up after meals. All I had to do was to sit at the swinging table, which was hooked to the deck above, and eat my fill. At supper I formed the acquaintance of a blue shirt, Tommy Pavour. From him I learned that an officer or petty officer could not abuse me, and I should be punished if caught fighting with a shipmate. But if at any time I was forced to fight, I could go down to the stoke-hole or the bag-room in the forepeak out of sight of jimmy-legs, the master-at-arms, or the ship's corporals. These secluded places were constantly used by the men in which to settle disputes. Shortly after supper Bob Wilkes blew his whistle, and like a roaring lion yelled, Fortop men, fill the scuttle-butt! The captain of the Fortop hustled his men below to the freshwater pump. Here we relieved each other at the pump-handle till the scuttle-butt, a large cask used to contain the water supply for the day, on the gun-deck was filled. Then came another blow of his whistle, and that vociferous shout, Stand by your hammocks! Knowing that mine was on the berth-deck, I watched the antics of the bosons meet and the men, all hands gathered by the hammock nettings, and opening along the top of the rail, extending from the break of the poop to abreast the foremast. A toot from the whistle sent the man from each part of the ship into the nettings. Then the officer of the deck, standing by the main-mass, said, Pipe down! A long shrill whistle, and the men in the nettings shouted the numbers on the hammocks and passed them to the men. Every man on a man of war has a ship's number, which is marked on his hammock, and a paymaster's number, which is stamped on his bag. I went below to the berth-deck and took my hammock from among those belonging to the men who had enlisted that day. I hooked this to two hammock-hawks on the gun-deck. After removing the lashing, I lifted myself and tried my new bed. No sooner was I in than out I came on the opposite side. My hammock-clues had been fastened so unevenly that, as I jumped in the thing careened, turned bottom up and dashed me in my bedding on the deck. This created a laugh. Tom Pevour came to my rescue and taught me how to sling a hammock and how to fasten the clues so that it would swing evenly. During this time I was delivering a harangue to the few who were indulging in contemptuous merriment at my expense. I loudly declared that, although unaccustomed to the ways of man-a-war life, I could show some of them what sailorizing was, and that I was able to guzzle any one of them. One of the recruits, a farmhand from Vermont, who had enlisted as landsmen about two weeks previous to this, thought he knew it all. Tom Pevour whispered in my ear, Choke his luff. I did. I jumped at him, and we struggled in each other's embrace till Pevour dragged me bodily from the crowd, saying, Cheez-it, here comes the marine sergeant. I saw that the only way to gain prestige among these men was to fight and win a battle. Suddenly I followed my man from Vermont to the door of the head in the eyes of the ship on the spardak, and hidden by the carpenter's shop, clenched with him again. We pounded each other till he cried, enough. I was as badly used up as he was, and was glad to let it drop. This engagement sufficed to show the others that I could defend myself. There were between two and three hundred recruits on board. That night the spardak of the old Wabash resembled an immense caravan sari, a warlike world by itself. Her spotless deck swarmed with sailors, many, like myself, raw recruits. Some were landsmen, who had never seen a ship till they landed here, and therefore knew nothing of ship life. These old man-a-warsmen, big discharge fellows who knew the ropes, kept by themselves. These old stages took good care to see that we, the greenhorns, did the work of answering calls and cleaning decks. In the gun ports and other parts of the deck the men grouped in cliques. By being friendly with Pervour I was welcomed to a gathering of old timers, and watching their movements and questioning them I soon entered into the spirit of man-a-war life. A crowd forward on the spardak engaged in a game of cards called Honest John, anything but honest. It was manipulated by a few who had control of the game and knew the private marks on the cards. Seeing others haul in their handsome stakes I put my money down, and within an hour, with other fools like myself, lost our months advance. When Honest John is played fair and square no one envies the banker. But when, with the aid of marked cards and accomplices, he defrauds they consider it dishonest. While the banker was handling the cards he had sentinels on the lookout for the master-at-arms, the ship's corporal, the sergeant of marines, or any other person in authority who would stop the game and report the banker. Until two bells, nine o'clock, above the general din of merrymaking around the decks the game was undisturbed. At this time the Boson's mate trilled his whistle in piping down. Early Brady the ship's corporal walked forward, but the sentinels gave the signal as he showed his head above the four-hatch comings. In the twinkling of an eye cards and money disappeared, and the washdeck locker used as the banker's table was a rest for a checkerboard. The scene presented was of a crowd enjoying a song or engaged in some frolic some sport. After blowing his whistle the old Boson's mate shouted to a few stragglers who were slow in turning in to keep silence. In a few moments the old ship was as quiet as a tomb. That night I slept soundly. Next morning the trill of the Boson's whistle roused me. Old Bob Wilkes, standing by the side of my hammock, yelled, All hands! Then blowing another call and shouting, Up all hammocks! He almost deafened me. I sprang from my hammock and began to lash it for stowing in the netting, but did not haul the turns taut enough. When I reached the deck it was baggy and loose. The blankets were bulging out and the whole thing resembled an ungainly, slovenly bundle. As I reached the spar deck Bob Wilkes saw me. Taking hold of my hammock he twisted me around and said in a gruff voice, My grandmother could lash a hammock better than that. Go below and give it a respectable lash. Looking at him I answered, Yes, your grandmother must have been a man-a-war's man to produce such a fine specimen as you. What's that you say? I repeated my statement and meant it. He was a splendid sailor, an old war veteran, with fully a dozen bullet holes in his body, cheerful and liked by every man. He believed I was earnest and was rather pleased at my remark. Following me to the gun-deck he taught me how to fold the blankets and place them on the mattress, how many turns to take with the lashing around the hammock, and how to expend the end of the lashing. Unhooking the tied hammock he stuck the clues between the turns of the lashing and patting the whole thing with his hand said, Young man, that's the way to lash a hammock. When I was a young man in the Navy we had to lash our hammocks so they would pass through a hoop made for that purpose, before we could stow them in the nettings. Things have changed now. Any old way will do. That morning after the decks were mopped and cleaned at three bells we mustered for quarters. Now I was put through my first drill in facing about and marching. I learned rapidly and within a week I was taken from the awkward squad and drilled with the others. As the days rolled on I was trained in the usual routine of big gun-drill, rifle-drill, single-stick exercise, and marching. The men out of debt to the government for their clothing and on the first-class conduct list were granted liberty. In April came the day when I could muster aft on the quarter-deck with the Liberty Party. Although I had no friends except the ones in the boarding-house I felt a real sense of gladness to be once more outside the Navy Yard gate. It was springtime. No peacote was needed. As I wended my way along in my blue-sailor uniform I was conceited enough to think every person I met was noticing me. The Rose family welcomed me. Having no money to spend I remained in their company that evening, and at ten o'clock returned on board, clean and sober. When the Liberty Party returned some of the old Stagers smuggled whiskey aboard. The Navy has changed. The battleship, with its complicated machinery and numerous improvements, has given positions to men of skill. Today, instead of the earlier type of man of war as man, our Navy is more largely manned by young men from good homes. They maintain their self-respect, and much of that planning and scheming to smuggle liquor on board is becoming a thing of the past. Before the war with Spain the man of war as man was seemingly shunned by people on shore. Now he is welcome in many places and his company is acceptable. His conduct on shore has noticeably changed. Instead of the open door of vile resorts, healthy places of amusement and recreation are frequented by him. Reading rooms, where the men can smoke, play games, and purchase a cup of coffee, are established for their sole use, and here they enjoy an atmosphere of comparative refinement. Many seamen, who are far from home, take advantage of their opportunities to see the best of the world, visiting places of historic interest and thereby gaining knowledge of inestimable value to them. Once while at the wharf at Hampton Roads, Virginia, as stroke oarsman in the captain's gig of the old corsage, I saw the officer of the boat enter the Higia Hotel. I followed him, thinking it would be easy to gain admission, but a color boy sneered at me as he said, No enlisted men allowed in here, and motioned for me to leave the premises. I suppose the worst rascal in civilians' dress would have been welcomed. Simply because I wore the blue uniform of the Navy, I was considered unfit to enter a hotel. It would require a book of itself to tell of the many schemes, the plots and plans, the queer devices used by the old man-a-warsman to smuggle liquor aboard. The men with whom I chummed were all big discharge men. Under the impression that they were the ideal Tars, I adopted their ways and habits. A small discharge is not dishonorable. The difference is that a big discharge is a continuous service certificate, whereby an enlisted man, if he conducts himself so that at the expiration of his enlistment his marks in seamanship, gunnery, sobriety, etc., average a possible twenty out of twenty-five he is given a continuous certificate. This entitles him to three months' pay, providing he re-enlists three months from date of discharge, and besides this one dollar a month is added to his wages for every such discharge. The liquor these men brought on board with them was of the vilest kind. Two restricted old timers, who had not been unsure for nearly a month, were in the heated dispute, which developed into a fierce struggle. The disturbance was soon quelled, for the master at arms took them to the main mast, where all offenders are brought before the officer of the deck. They were put under the sentries' charge on the birth-deck to be brought before the commanding officer next morning. The police duty on a warship is executed by the marine guard. Dressed in a soldier's uniform, they guard all prisoners and watch the scuttle-butt that no water is taken except for drinking. They take their place on the folksal head and gang-ways to hail all boats, to prevent anyone from leaving the ship, and to hinder citizens coming on board without permission from the officer of the deck. At sea the post on the folksal head is removed and a marine stationed aft at the life-buoy. At nine o'clock every morning the master at arms, who is the chief of police, brings all delinquents to the mast. The officer of the deck sends word to the commanding officer that the delinquents are at the mast. He appears abath the fife-rail, and in company with the executive officer, the officer of the deck, the ship's rider and master at arms listens to the charges brought against the men. Punishment is meted according to the offence. The man may have overstayed his liberty, been insolent to an officer or petty officer, or may have struck a shipmate. The different modes of punishment are as plentiful as the offenses. An enlisted man may be reduced a class or four classes in the conduct list which stops his liberty on shore, taking a month to regain a class on the list. He may be given several hours extra duty, which means that he must work while his comrades are idling about the decks. If the offence is serious, he may be sentenced to ten days double irons, both hands and feet, on the berth deck under a sentry's charge, or to five days bread and water in the brig, a small room used as a cell for solitary confinement. The offence may require the trial of a general or summary court-martial. Even if the offender be found guilty, he must suffer from one month to five years imprisonment. Generally the punishment of a summary court is carried out on board ship, while that of a general court is executed in the naval prison in some United States Navy-yard. At the forward end of the berth deck on the Wabash there are four brigs, with a small porthole in each. Next morning my two comrades were sentenced to five days bread and water in solitary confinement. Not realizing the need of strictest discipline on a war vessel, and that, for being drunk on duty as these men had been, their punishment was light, it seemed to me very cruel to keep them confined and hungry for five days. So I decided to feed them. At meal-hours I would collect pieces of meat and bread and a beer bottle of coffee. Fastening the end of a ball of spun yarn on a parcel of food I would await a favorable opportunity, and secreting myself in the four chains would lower the food on a line with the portholes in each brig. The men expected it, and quickly drew the parcels into their cells. The beer bottles were concealed in the cells, and when the prisoners were taken on deck, which happened every four hours, I removed the empty bottles. I knew that if detected my punishment would be worse than theirs, but I was not discovered. When the sentence was served and the men returned to duty, we became close friends. From them I learned much of a man-a-war man's life. As they had no liberty but money to spend, they gave me a portion of their store to waste for them, in return for which I was to smuggle a bottle of liquor on board. While this is not an offense on a merchantman, it is a very serious thing if detected on a warship. The bottom of the trousers leg is wide enough to conceal a flask securely fastened to the limb above the ankle. These old salts showed me the exact place to lash the bottle so that the corporal at the gangway would not feel it when searching me on my return. Fortunately, there were several men returning from liberty when I mounted the gangway. The corporal was hurried in his search. He felt the folds of my shirt and ran his hands along the outside of my trousers. Many passed me on to report my return to the officer of the deck. I walked forward and gave my first smuggled bottle of liquor to the two old soaps. As the spring opened we began to clean the old ship. The rigging was tarred and the mast and yards painted. Then orders came from Washington to dismantle her. Rigged as a full-rigged ship, lower in top-sail yards crossed, although roofed over, the old Wabash had a dignified war-like appearance. Standing on the shore at night, the lights on deck shining through her gun-ports resembled the lights of a distant city. Some of the old sailors growled at the work of dismantling her. Others thought it sacrilege to dismantle so fine a ship. For two weeks, attired in white-working clothes, we wore off that lazy-tired feeling that comes from doing nothing by stripping the old warrior to her lower mast. It would have been easy work, but for the wooden roof covering the whole spar deck. As it was, we had to rig a purchase from the shore to the ship and haul the heavy yards clear of the eaves to get them over the side. All the gear loft was stiff and rusty for want of use. Still she was stripped of her beauty without an accident. The decks were wholly stoned and cleaned, and the routine of drill and loafing around the decks was resumed. The method of wholly stoning the deck of a warship is easier than that on an old wind-jammer. Here, instead of kneeling and rubbing a small stone on the deck, a strap is fastened around a large stone, two pieces of rope are spliced to the strap, and a man on each rope's end hauls the stone backward and forward. A third man guides it along the deck with a long stick. During the early part of May, orders came to transfer all the recruits to the guard ship Vermont at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. We hustled and made preparations for leaving. The Paymasters' accounts were signed, and we were put on board the tug and conveyed to a landing near the old colony depot. The old Wabash seemed deserted. Only a few men were left, those who had enlisted for one year to do special service on that particular ship. Some of the men had friends in Boston who had come to the station to see them off. Though the Marines and officers vigilantly watched every movement to prevent anyone from obtaining liquor, yet several men were amply supplied. Seated at the car windows before the train started, the splendid catches of the men as they stopped the speed of the bottles thrown them would have qualified them as catchers on any baseball team. With no disturbance except the heavy rolls of a few old Tars who were doing their best to hold up with their load, we reached the deck of the old Vermont. There were several warships at the Cobb Dock. Just before sunset I was on the deck close to the USS Uniata. I heard the whistle of the Bosun's mate, and then his loud voice yelling, All hands down to gallant royal yards and to gallant masts. She was bark-rigged. In a moment every man was at his station. The executive officer stood on the poop deck and gave his orders. First, to gallant and royal-yard men on the sheer pole. At this the light-yard men were in the rigging. Then came the order, Top men on the sheer poles, aloft, to gallant and royal-yard men, aloft, top men. Like monkeys in a forest, these nimble fellows ran up the rat lines till they reached their stations aloft. It astonished me to see how quickly they ran aloft. When the executive officer said, Stand by, and the drummer boy was told to, Roll off! The whole manoeuvre was more than my slow-going sailing-ship experience could grasp. The shrill whistle, the roll of the drum, the sound of the bugle, mingled with the voices of the men, completely confused me. I had sent down a yard on a merchantman which had required much time and labor. Here, in a few moments, they had stripped this vessel to her top mast. I could not understand how they did it. Presently, my old friend, Pavour, hove in sight. I headed him off, and had him explain it all to me. He readily revealed the use of the strap and toggle, an iron grommet on which the lifts and braces are hooked fits over the yard-arm. A strap and toggle holds the yard rope to the quarter of the yard, and a tripping line, having a snotter made of flat senate attached to it, pulls the lower lift and brace off, and guides the yard on its way to the deck. At the command Stand by, the tripping line is let go from the slings of the yard, and at the order Sway, the yard rope, being hooked out to the quarter of the yard, trips the yard as the men on deck haul on it. The light-yard men quickly catch the grommets as they leave the yard-arms and hook them to small hooks in the cross-trees and royal jacks, placed there for that purpose. Of course, this necessitates having lifts reaching to the deck. While in port, the foot-ropes on the light-yards are forward of the mast, and no peril-lashings are passed. The short ties are always unrove, and the yard rope is roved through a gin block hooked to the iron funnel on which the eyes of the rigging are placed. All the rigging is fitted over these iron funnels, and when the weight of the yards is off the yard ropes, a pull on the mast rope enables the to-gallant-yard men to haul out the mast-fid, and down comes the naked mast. As the truck leaves the topmost cap, a turn of a running lizard on the standing part of the mast rope is passed around the mast-head, which holds the mast upright in its descent. The funnels with the rigging around them rest on each other all on the topmost cap. Next morning a man goes aloft on each mast and straightens out everything in readiness for sending the mast and yards aloft. I understood all of this man-a-war seamanship and could see by the yards in the lower rigging and the mast on deck the fullness of Pavours' instructions. Yet I hoped that when it came my turn to be drafted to a sea-going ship I should not be stationed on a light-yard before having an opportunity to examine the rig aloft. I had been on the Vermont about a week when, one day, at dinner, the Boson's mate blew his whistle and bawled, Now do you hear there? At this everybody was quiet, and he went on, All you men, whose names I call, go down to the Paymaster's office and sign your accounts. My name was among the twenty-five. We knew we were drafted for some ship. Whether in the Brooklyn Navy-yard or not we could not tell. I gathered with the others at the Paymaster's office, signed my accounts, and was told to be ready to leave for Norfolk, Virginia, to join the USS Alliance. In charge of an ensign and a ship's corporal, we started on the Old Dominion for Norfolk. Next afternoon we reached the dock and were taken in a steam launch alongside the Alliance. With bags and hammocks we mustered on the quarter-deck in the presence of Commander McGregor. I felt shaky when Lieutenant Commander George E. Ide, the executive officer, told me my number was two hundred and sixty-four, and that I was main to Gallant-yard man. Stowing my bag below on the berth-deck and my hammock in the netting, worrying about the method of sending the to Gallant-yard aloft in the morning, I reported to the captain of the main top as one of his men. CHAPTER XIV OF DOG WATCHES AT SEA This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. DOG WATCHES AT SEA by Stanton H. King CHAPTER XIV A THREE YEARS CRUISE The Alliance was a third-rate Corvette, bark-rigged, with single top-sale yards. She was armed with four nine-inch smooth-bore guns of the old-fashioned muzzle-loading order, one muzzle-loading eight-inch rifle, and a rifled sixty-pounder on the folksal head. Aside from the regular complement of officers and blue jackets, she raided a guard of marines, officered by Lieutenant Alan C. Kelton. It was Sunday evening when we arrived on board. During the few moments remaining before sunset I roamed around the decks, making myself familiar with the ship and forming acquaintances among the men. At five o'clock we were piped to supper. At the first toot of the whistle every man made a dash for the berth deck. This was a small space extending from the forward end of the fire-room to the bulkhead of the sick bay. Here the whole crew missed. The place was too small to admit the use of mess-tables, so each mess had a painted piece of canvas called a mess-cloth, which was spread on deck and the pots and pans placed on the outer edges. The big pan of hash or meat, or whatever it might be, was placed in the center of the cloth, and as the men were piped to supper each took a pan and pot and helped himself. Then the man moved to some part of the berth deck where he could find a seat, or perhaps he might take his pan on to the spar deck and finding a seat on his ditty-box eat his meal. I owned a ditty-box. Indeed, a man-a-war's man would feel lonesome without one, for here he keeps his sewing gear and his pipe and tobacco. It is everything to him. As soon as I had prunes and bread enough and a pot of tea I made for the spar deck, found my ditty-box, and seated myself on the top of the Tagallant folksal. No sooner was I seated than the captain of the folksal greeted me with, "'What part of the ship do you belong to?' "'Main top,' I replied. "'Well, look here, sonny. You must eat your grub in the starboard gangway where you belong. Don't come up here and spill your grease on this deck.' "'I'm not spilling any grease.' "'Well, don't eat up here, anyway.' I now learned that the men, when not on duty, were supposed to loaf in their own parts of the ship, the folksal men on the top and under the Tagallant folksal, the foretap men in the port gangway and the main top men in the starboard, the afterguards, idlers, and marines, wherever they could find a congenial spot. At sunset the drummer rolled off. The bugler sounded colors, while the bosons mates trilled their whistles and yelled, "'Stand by your hammocks!' All hands mustered to the side of the ship to receive them. My hammock hooks were on the starboard side of the berth deck, as I was a main top man. When I got below I found the berth deck crowded with hammocks packed as closely as sardines in a box. I hunted for a hook two hundred and sixty-four and found that to have room in which to sleep I was forced to sling my hammock under those on each side of me. Though a cramped position in which to sleep, I soon became used to it. The Tagallant and Royal Yards were in the lower rigging, so next morning I went aloft with my opposite number in the starboard watch and eagerly examined the gear and made everything ready for receiving the yards at eight o'clock. At half-past seven the executive officer took the deck. A few minutes before eight all hands were called to cross Tagallant and Royal Yards. At the command, Lightyard men aloft, I made my way up as nimbly as any one. Without a hitch the main Tagallant Yard was rigged as quickly as any of the others. Puffing and blowing I was in the cross-trees as soon as my opposite number and was kept to Galant Yard man the whole of the crews. I had been on the alliance two days when Bill Reed, captain of the hold, came off Liberty half drunk. Then L. K. Reynolds had the deck and had given orders to the master-at-arms not to allow him any beer. A bumbo woman supplied the ship with bottled beer. A half hour before meals the master-at-arms, or ships corporal, stood near the boxes to see that we drank only our allowance a bottle before each meal. I had begun to drink mine when Reed asked me for a swallow. Not knowing that his beer was restricted I handed him the bottle. The master-at-arms quickly took it from him and ordered me to the mast. L. Reynolds put my name on the report. When brought before Commander McGregor he sentenced me to be put on the fifth-class conduct list which meant no liberty for three months. I felt severely wronged and made up my mind to take liberty whenever I had opportunity, which I did both in Norfolk and New York. I secretly left the ship and returned without having been missed. I took a dislike to the master-at-arms and during the whole cruise he was my evil genius. He watched every chance to report against me, but my day came when stripped of his brass buttons I clinched with him on an equal footing and whipped him. We remained in Norfolk most of the summer and then sailed to New Port Rhode Island to adjust our compasses before starting on our cruise. Previous to our departure we called at the Brooklyn Navy Yard to receive our stores and to assemble at anchor in the bay with other warships on the occasion of the lighting of the Statue of Liberty. All the ships at the Navy Yard of all grades and classes from the old Minnesota to the smallest tugboat were assembled beautifully dressed in bunting. The whole harbor presented a grand and brilliant display of flags. In the afternoon the USS Dolphin, bearing the President of the United States and the Secretary of the Navy, was steaming in towards the anchorage. As she passed the first ship a storm of artillery fire greeted her. Gun after gun in rapid succession sounded one prolonged roar. At this moment the yards of all the ships were manned. Alliance reached from the lifts to the ties so that we could stand on the yards and touch each other's hands. In this exalted position I watched the course of our honored guest. A few days after this we cast off our lines from the cob dock. The steam hissed, the engines groaned, and the propeller stirred a lather of foam under the stern, and the alliance started on a three-years cruise assigned to the South Atlantic Station. Gradually we glided towards Sandy Hook, and an hour after we crossed the bar we spread our canvas to the soft westerly breeze. Moving to the eastward we took our last lingering look at the land disappearing beneath the horizon. It would have been a matter of forty or fifty days for us to reach Rio and report to the flagship of the station, but we were detailed to do a special work on our way. The captain of a wailing schooner had sold his vessel to a Dr. Wilson who lived on the island of Johanna, one of the Cormoros, in the northern end of the Mozambique Channel. We were ordered to proceed through the Suez Canal and search for this schooner. Therefore it was fully nine months before we sailed round the Cape of Good Hope on our way to South America. On the fourth day out we were well into the Gulf Stream. The westerly breeze increased to a moderate gale with a choppy sea. Several of the crew, landsmen and marines, who had never before been out of sight of land, afforded much amusement to the seasoned Tars. We tossed and plunged, rolled and heaved, causing the seasick Joscans to be unutterably miserable. Strange gymnastic performances took place on the birth deck. The seasick fellows stowed themselves in every secluded corner and envied us as we tumbled and scrambled after the dishes running away with the spoons. Until they gained their sea legs, stanchions and ball-works were hugged most affectionately. A cold and cheerless rain set in, which converted the clean, pleasant, though small, birth deck into a very disagreeable, abiding place. Every man not on duty retreated into the regions below glad to find shelter. At seven bells, the time to lay the mess-cloths, it was an effort for Jimmy Legs and his corporal to chase the crowd on deck to make room for the mess-cooks. The first evening of the bad weather the Tagallant sails were stowed and the top sails single-reefed. As we manned the halyards to sway up the main top-sail yard, I let off on an old deep-water chantee a long time ago. A few sailing ship sailors joined in the refrain. We had sung one verse when the officer of the deck, Lieutenant Hanson Tyler, got hold of me by the shoulders. Here, what do you mean? Where do you think you are? I thought, sir, it would make the yard fly aloft to sing a long time ago. Well, we don't have shanties in the Navy. The Boson's mate whistle will do all that. Let it be a long time ago before you sing another. We sailed into favorable weather and the days flew by. There is not much variety on a man of war at sea. Each day has its exercises and every hour its duties. The calls are as regular and the movements as sure as though we were all parts of one great machine. Instead of one man on the folksal head to keep the lookout, there were fully half a dozen stations at night. With all sails set at the stroke of the bell every half hour, the lookout on the starboard side of the folksal head shouted, starboard cat head, bright light. Then the next man, port cat head, bright light. The royals set, the men stationed at the halyards would continue the solemn sound. Four royal halyards, main royal halyards, at last the marine at the life buoy hanging over the taff rail aft ended with life buoy alls well. So long as we had neither a wheel, a station at the halyards, nor a lookout, we might snooze away our watch on deck on the soft side of a deck plank. The caterer of the petty officer's mess was dissatisfied with the mess cook. He offered me two government rations, $18 a month, if I would take charge of the mess and endeavor to give satisfaction. Instead of drawing the food for all the men, the paymaster of the ship gave in money the value of one ration for every fifth man. Thus there were 24 men in the petty officer's mess. The caterer received the money for five and drew provisions for the remaining 19. With the $2 a month which each man chipped in and the five rations, $45, the caterer could afford to pay me the value of two rations and have enough money to purchase from the shore potatoes, milk, and dinkies for his men. I accepted the call to go forth on the birth deck. My good friend, Yank Peterson, the captain of the main top grumbled a little and disapproved of my leaving the deck but was pacified when I told him I would still run his to gallant yard when in port. On the birth deck I was under the eye of the master at arms. I kept the mess clean so that at inspection he could find no cause for complaint. We must have been out about two weeks and we sighted the Azores and came to anchor in Feyal Harbor. Here we cold, proceeded on to sea and within another week were in sight of the coast of Spain. One fine morning we entered the Straits of Gibraltar through which the wind raged as through a pair of giant bellows and anchored in the bay at the foot of the great towering fortress. During our few days stay here the men on the first class conduct list were given sunset liberty. I had heard much about the rock but now because of the meanness of the master at arms report against me in Norfolk I could not have liberty with the others. The caterers were allowed on shore to purchase stores for their messes. My stores came and I began to empty a sack of flour. The caterer seemed disturbed and tried to hinder me. Jimmy legs suspicions were aroused and he took hold of the flour bag and emptied it. No wonder the caterer was anxious, for packed in the flour were two bottles of liquor and a square face of gin. We were both ordered to the mast. We pleaded ignorance. We did not know the liquor was there. Probably the merchant was making it a present to the men. Oh yes, said Captain McGregor in a sarcastic tone. I know these daggers are very generous. But as nothing could be proven against us we were dismissed and the liquor emptied over the side. In a few days we were on our way to Malta. A sailor in the folksel was a good man, although ridiculed and buffeted by almost everybody called Holy Joe and the psalm singer, yet he was morally strong enough to withstand it all. By his sweet patient spirit and Christian life he not only made two converts, but also gained the respect of the whole crew. The forenoon we made the island of Malta, these three professing Christians were by the fife rail around the foremask reading the story of Paul's shipwreck. I became interested, especially when Targerson explained that this was the place where the wreck occurred. Boldly and fearlessly these three knelt in prayer and gave thanks for being allowed to see this land. As we drew near the famous old roadstead with its numerous impregnable and formidable fortresses and batteries we could see the vessels at anchor in the bay. We passed the entrance to the harbor of Valletta and shortly afterward moored near the English ironclad squadron. Soon we were surrounded with boats loaded with birds, silks, bird feathers and curios of all kinds. At dinner time our deck was like an oriental street for the Arabs spread out their wares on both sides of the deck to tempt the eyes of the seamen. The war vessels are the life and business of the place, creating sufficient trade to atone for days of stagnation. The peddlers worked like bees in summer to provide for times of inactivity. Merchants in all seaports pray earnestly for the arrival of a war vessel or squadron. Each man had two hammocks. Once a month the clean ones were brought on deck at evening quarters and each division officer had them served to his men. The following morning the dirty hammocks were scrubbed and hung on the clothesline to dry. When the bosons mate's pipe, stand by your scrubbed hammocks. The men get on deck to remove them from the line, taking care to keep them clean so that they will pass inspection at evening quarters. We scrubbed our hammocks in Malta. That day I reached first class conduct list so my name was on the liberty list to leave the ship at five o'clock. At about three we were called to stand by our scrubbed hammocks. Now during the day several men had bought liquor from the Arabs. I purchased a plentiful supply. The birth deck cooks had been washing the white paint on their deck. My blue suit was besmeared with soap suds. In this filthy state I hurriedly reached the port side of the quarter deck where above me on the line my scrubbed hammock was hung to dry. Unfortunately the first lieutenant saw me. King, what do you mean by coming here so dirty looking? At any other time I would have held my peace and sneaked quickly forward. Indeed, had I been in my right mind I would not have gone aft in that condition. But the Arabs firewater had control of me. I sullenly replied, Do you suppose I can scrub paint on the birth deck and be as clean as you are? Before I could take a half dozen steps he shouted, Master at arms, bring King to the mast. Here he saw that it was liquor which made me insolent. Turning to the ship's rider he said, Isn't King on the liberty list? Yes, sir, take his name off and put his name on the report for being untidy around the decks. I had tried hard to gain the first class conduct list. Now I was on the report. This meant a reduction of class conduct which would prevent my visiting the shores of Malta. I walked forward and motioned to a Maltese boatman to haul under the four chains. Throwing a rope's end over the side I slid down to the boat and concealed myself under the bow. Halfway to the shore the miserable Maltese wanted me to pay him a sovereign. After making him understand that I would stand up hail the ship and have him arrested for conveying me to shore in this clandestine manner he continued sculling and landed me for five shillings. Now I was surrounded on all sides by the beggars of the town. They seemed to earn a living merely by following strangers all day and begging from them in their peculiar dialect. This is based on the Arabic mixed with plenty of French, Italian and English. I met several of my shipmates who were overstaying their liberty and with them enjoyed the sights of the city. During three days on shore I was in constant fear of arrest as the captain had offered $10 each for the capture of several men breaking their liberty. On the second day to escape the eyes of a policeman who had been watching me I kept with a few blue jackets and marines who had just come on liberty. This little company were the total abstainers of the ship. Having no desire to frequent the dives they made their way to the better part of the town. At first I thought they did not care for my company but one of them locked arms with me and away we went to St. John's Cathedral. This is the principal temple of the Knights of Malta and decidedly the most interesting spot on the island. We entered the many chapels of the Knights with their numerous superb mausoleums of grandmasters. These of bronze, copper and marble all manifest the highest perfection of art. At every corner we were besieged by the Maltese guides who caused us much annoyance and it took all our efforts to rid ourselves of their companionship. The next day a policeman saw me as I was leaving the door of a house in the lower district stopped me and began to examine my hands and face. The tattooed marks on my hands and arms satisfied him and he placed the irons on my wrists and walked me to the station house. Sure enough I answered the descriptive list they had of me. With three others who had been arrested for overstaying their liberty I was rode off to the alliance. On reaching the deck the two policemen were paid the rewards of $10 for each man which some was charged to our accounts. We were put below on the birth deck under the centuries charge. Next morning when the delinquents were brought to the mast Commander McGregor ordered my case tried by a summary court-martial. Again I was put under the centuries charge and four days after Ensign Eaton handed me a copy of the specifications and charges. In due time I was tried by a court of our officers held in the cabin. On the tenth day the Boson's mates' whistles blew and the call came all hands to muster. Every officer and enlisted man mustered aft on the quarter deck while the master-at-arms walked me along to the main mast. Here the executive officer in the presence of the commanding officer and the whole crew read the following specifications and charges and the sentence of the court. He began. Specification of offenses preferred by Commander McGregor commanding USS Alliance against Stanton H. King, ordinary seamen, U.S. Navy. Specification, in that said Stanton H. King and ordinary seamen in the United States Navy attached to and serving on board the USS Alliance in the harbor of Valletta Malta did on the day of 1886 without permission leave the same said ship. Approved, McGregor, Commander U.S. Navy, commanding USS Alliance. After reading the specification the executive officer continued. The court finds the specification proved. The court does therefore sentence him the said Stanton H. King, ordinary seamen, U.S. Navy to the following punishment. Solitary confinement in double irons on bread and water for 30 days with full ration every fifth day. To perform extra police duties for one month and to lose 30 days pay amounting to $19. The proceedings and sentence in the case of Stanton H. King, ordinary seamen, U.S. Navy are approved. That part of the sentence which involves loss of pay is respectfully referred to the Honorable Secretary of the Navy, McGregor, Commander U.S. Navy, commanding USS Alliance. Here let me say that to all such loss of pay the Honorable Secretary of the Navy always gave his approval. The executive officer then gave the order to pipe down and for the master at arms to carry out the sentence. Once more on the birth deck the irons were fastened on my wrists and ankles and I was locked in the brig to begin my punishment. End of Chapter 14.