Chapter II: Part 2

There was a certain steamer in port. It was mid-winter. I went on board the day she docked. Such a dismal sight! Every man forward was discontented and disgruntled. The dark forecastle was somewhat lighted by the coating of ice on the sides of the ship forming the forecastle. It was raining, and, without exaggeration, the sloppy mud and dirt was at least one half inch deep, covering the whole forecastle floor. There was some heat from the steam-pipes, which was thawing the coating of ice which covered the roof and sides of the place. One of the firemen asked me to feel of his bed. I did so; my heart was sore. Every article of clothing and his bed clothes were wet through from the drippings of the thawing ice. The water falling from the roof and sides of this half-heated dismal hole made it resemble a cave where the ebbing tide had just receded. This was the condition of an old cattle and freight steamer.

I told one of the men about the Sailor’s Haven and gave him an invitation to visit us. He looked at me and said, “To h--l with you and your mission!” Just then one of the mates rebuked him, saying, “Don’t talk that way to the gentleman; you know he’s not to blame for our treatment.” Before I left the ship I had a long talk with him. He apologized for his unkind language, and said he felt we worried ourselves too much about getting them into heaven and not enough about bettering their surroundings on earth.

That evening I was conversing with a chief engineer of another steamer. I told him of my experience on that ship. I remarked that it must be very hard for those men who had worked on deck in the cold to have to spend their evenings in such a miserable den. My heart even went out more in sympathy for the firemen than for the sailors, for they had been doing their work down in the bowels of the ship, with greasy hands and arms, half choked and black as negroes with cold dust. They must bathe on deck in a wash deck bucket, and make the best of what was given them.

“True enough, Mr. King,” he replied, “I admit that things could be better, but if you knew it all you would agree with me when I say they don’t deserve anything better. These men don’t and won’t appreciate anything else. Some steamship companies have tried their best to improve the surroundings of the crew, but they have so abused what has been done for them that they are given up by most companies as a hopeless lot.”

I know that many of the men going to sea have to learn the meaning of new conditions before they can value them; the failure of some to appreciate an improvement only shows more clearly the need of the improvement. Their very faculties for appreciating better conditions are nearly dead, and must be quickened and developed. We have to face the ignorance of those who need our help, and gradually carry on our reforming movements. The clean, respectable seamen will help the untidy, careless fellows to appreciate what is being done for them, and will join hands with the ship owners in making the sailor’s calling desirable. A ship’s forecastle is not a temporary place for some college student who is working his passage across the Atlantic during his summer vacation. It is the permanent home of the sailor. Therefore, if we are to have good men on our vessels, we must offer them comfortable quarters. The mechanic or laborer on land leaves his work at the close of the day, and goes to his home. There is a change, a new atmosphere greets him; not so with the sailor. The forecastle is his home. Debarred as he is from the society and companionship of his own people, he above all men should have the greatest comfort and the best of treatment when off duty.

I could endure the forecastle for a trip across, I could do the work on deck, or shovel coal in the fireroom, but I could not follow the sea for a living to-day and think that until my hair turns gray, and my hands tremble through age, I must eke out such an existence. Yes, a thousand times let me break the stones on the streets for a mere pittance, so that when my day’s work was over, I could find a shelter of warmth and cleanliness, even though it were poor and humble.

Now and again we find a steamer whose owners have given considerable thought to the crew. I call to mind a certain steamer which was in Boston not very long ago. In this vessel the twelve sailors had four large rooms. There was a good-sized mess-room near these quarters. Everything was neat and clean and manifested a spirit of cleanliness. Pictures of loved ones were hung up, there was a spirit of content prevailing on that vessel. Men lose all interest in keeping a place clean when they are huddled together like sheep in a pen.

The strongest and best of men are influenced by their surroundings. We shamefully admit this weakness, for we know as men we should be strong enough to master all our circumstances, and not they us. How then can we expect men who are ignorant of the laws governing their health to rise up and not be influenced by their circumstances? How do we expect our men in the engine room and on deck to be otherwise than they are? The hopeful sign is to find so many dissatisfied with their surroundings.

Not long ago I visited the firemen on a steamer. It was supper time. The room was dark, even though the sun was shining on deck. I thought one of my feet was in something slippery, and, going to the door of the forecastle, I discovered I had stepped into the “black pan.” This was a pan of food which consisted of the leavings of the cabin and engineers’ mess-room. The men, seeing I was embarrassed, said: “That’s all right, Mr. King; we have had all we want of it.” I have lived in forecastles where the conditions were almost as bad as this, but that was twenty years ago, but even then there were not so many of us huddled in one room. Suppose we go on board some of the finest and best steamers; go forward and visit the forecastles. You will find a large, undivided space, a place where a dozen men may be able to move around in comfort, containing from twenty to forty men. Their clothes are hung on lines around their bunks. At its best you will say: “What a gloomy den!”

I have never witnessed such a miserable condition on board ship as I encountered in the forecastle of an ocean steamer one Sunday morning. I went on board to invite the men to the services at the Mission. About thirty-five men were in a room filled with bunks, with a narrow passage between them. The men were asleep. Just then a fireman entered with a large black pan and a kettle, and calling at the top of his voice “Hash!” he placed the pan and kettle on the dirty floor. The call of “hash” made the men roll over and think of getting up. The odor of that room was villainous. The night through, these men had smoked and slept, and in that same atmosphere they were called to eat their breakfast. One man tried to light his pipe as he was turning out, and shouting to me said, “Mr. King, can’t you do something for us? Look, sir, the match won’t burn, the air is so thick in here.” I did indeed feel sorry for him. Were I in his place, I would climb on deck, be it hot or cold, and in God’s pure air eat my meals. It is fortunate they have an abundance of fresh air on deck to help counteract the impure atmosphere of the forecastles.

On some of the ships the petty officers are put four and six men in a room; they keep their quarters clean and enjoy the comfort of being somewhat private in their lives on shipboard. The interest they take in keeping neat and clean where four are placed in a room is very noticeable. All of these petty officers were once in the forecastle, and, having left it, and appreciating something better, show that those in the forecastle to-day are capable of properly receiving improvements.

Before I close let me say what I think would improve the situation. First, abolish the forecastle as it is built to-day in one large room; put in its place fair-sized rooms, each to accommodate at the most four men. Let these rooms be known as the men’s quarters. Put in each room a clothes locker, in which clothes can be put away. Have these rooms sheathed, so as to protect them from the ice coated iron of the ship’s side and iron deck above. Also have a good ventilator and a comfortable steam heater in each room. Have a mess-room that will seat every man when the ship is in port, when all the crew are eating at the same hour. Have it put away from the men’s quarters. Let there be a man shipped to be known as the forward mess steward, his duty at sea and in port to care for the dishes, knives and forks which the ship should provide; hold him responsible for all the utensils, having him turn them over to the chief steward at the end of the voyage. Have him keep the mess-room and men’s quarters clean. Have a large bathroom and lavatory far away from the men’s quarters and mess-room, put in it lockers for oilskins and sea-boots--as many lockers as there are rooms; men in room No. 1 to use the corresponding numbered locker in the bathroom. The forward mess steward, or two stewards, if needed, must keep this bath clean and sweet. If the ship should be built for carrying cattle, have the cattlemen’s quarters in some part of the ship where they cannot interfere with the regular crew. Then there will be no danger of oilskins and clothing hung out to dry being stolen by the cattlemen.

I might write of some officers’ and engineers’ quarters, yes, and of captains also, and tell how miserably they are housed on some ships. On some of the steamers the officers and engineers find it a hard matter to get in and out of their rooms when the cattle are on board. May the day soon dawn when a sailor going on his ship will not have to think of pots, pans and spoons for use in a kennel, but will go expecting the treatment of the workingman ashore. Then the owners of vessels will be blessed by them where now they are cursed.

SUPERSTITIONS OF SEAMEN

Superstitions of Seamen

Although the ocean steamer has removed some of the superstitious ideas among seamen, still to this day there are hosts of sailors on steamships as well as on sailing vessels, who are filled with them. It is necessary to mingle freely with seamen to win from them their experiences of the strange apparitions they have seen and of the many Jonahs with whom they have been shipmates.

The landlubber has his superstitions as well as the sailor. Many of my strange notions came to me long before I started to sea. Born and brought up among the negroes in Barbados, rocked in a mammy’s arms, one of the first things I remember is the story of the obeah man told me by the faithful colored servants of my father. This ubiquitous obeah man was called on at all times by my nurse to help her in bringing me into a state of subjection. I believe such a being did exist. Often when a child I have listened to stories of the duppy (a ghost) and believing them I was afraid of the least noise I heard at night. Even to this day I find it difficult to overcome these superstitious ideas of my early boyhood days.

Some time ago a friend almost induced me to live in Everett, Massachusetts. I had made up my mind to pack my traps and move out there, but dear me! when I saw the trees in Woodlawn Cemetery through the back windows so close to the house, no amount of favorable reasoning could persuade me to live there. No wealth could entice me to walk alone through a graveyard at night. Not that I believe the dead can harm me, but simply there is a feeling that comes over me which I cannot master. I was told that if I were to point my hand or throw a stone at a ghost, the arm would stiffen and remain so forever. I believed this and had not the pluck to throw anything in the direction of a rustling noise at night. Fright and anger forced me to overcome it.

While serving on the U. S. S. _Alliance_, one of our shipmates died in “Rio”. His body was taken aft on the quarter deck and placed on boards resting on two ward room chairs. The American Ensign was spread over the whole. It was my anchor watch from twelve o’clock midnight, to four in the morning. There were four of us on watch, one from each part of the ship; namely, a forecastle man, a foretopman, a maintopman and an afterguard. The officer of the deck was lenient and allowed us to sleep on deck providing one man remained awake and watched near the corpse. The forecastle man, as he belonged to the forward end of the ship, was detailed to keep the first watch and we were to relieve each other hourly until our four hours were ended.

Being a maintopman it was my watch from two to three o’clock. At four bells the foretopman roused me from my slumbers where I had coiled myself on deck between the fife rail and mainmast. The officer of the deck was on the poop with the quartermaster; the Captain’s orderly had gone forward; I was standing forward of the corpse in close proximity to the after eight inch gun. I tried to think of everything except my duty. The very thought of being alone with a dead man, though there were living mortals close at hand, made me feel uneasy.

I had scarcely been ten minutes on watch when I observed the ensign covering the dead body move as though a cat or a dog were under it. A cold feeling came over me, my heart began to thump, I expected to see my departed shipmate stand up and hail me. The cold perspiration fell from my brow. I started to edge my way forward taking a backward step, when I saw a head peep out from under the flag. The handspikes belonging to the gun were under the gun carriage. I was tempted to haul one of them out and throw it at the ghost, but fearing my hand and arm would stiffen, I hesitated. Just then I heard a tittering on the opposite side of the deck, and looking in that direction I saw my watch mates and the Captain’s orderly laughing at my expense. I realized that a joke had been played on me, and angered through fright beyond self control, I quickly hauled out the heavy handspike and struck at the would be ghost. My aim was poor. I struck the chair at the foot of the corpse and the whole thing rolled over on deck. The anchor watch and Captain’s orderly quickly arranged the body on the boards and had just re-covered it with the flag, when the officer of the deck reached the break of the poop and inquired the cause of the disturbance. The forecastle man who had played the spectre, readily replied, “We’re catching a rat, sir!” My arm did not stiffen and since then I have thrown stones where I have heard strange noises at night, and struck at uncertain objects in the dark.

It is readily seen that, brought up in such an atmosphere of fetichism I credited all the stories of superstition any sailor cared to relate. I have known men relate yarns about ghosts in which they implicitly believed.

While in a sailor’s boarding house in Antwerp, some of the crew of an American ship which had arrived from San Francisco with grain, declared that the ship was haunted. Every man had a story to tell of his encountering a ghost on that voyage. It was said that while the men were asleep this creature of another world would enter the forecastle and rub its cold hands over the faces of the men. It was rumored in the grog shops that the apparition in the form of a man would walk aft on a stormy night just as the bell was struck at the close of a watch, and relieve the wheel. The officer of the watch would be annoyed to find the ship off her course, and looking aft, would find the ship without an helmsman. This occurred so often, the men declaring a man clothed in oilskins had relieved them, that the Captain ordered his officers to be present and hear for themselves the disembodied soul repeat the course as it relieved the wheel. So ended the tricks of this goblin, who was afraid to encounter more than one man.

There is a vast difference between the sailors of a wind-jammer and those of a steamer. The fireman and coal passers of these iron monsters began their sea careers as men and have not spent their youthful days in the forecastle. They hear nothing of the superstition of the sea, except what are told by the few remaining “old shell backs.”

I have sailed with a Captain who would dare do anything, but had not the courage to sail on Friday. No favorable weather could induce him to start his mudhook on this day. He told the story of losing his first command; how he sailed on that unlucky day from London to the Colonies and on the following Sunday his ship was run into and sank in the English Channel. This day on which “Our Saviour” was crucified has lost its horror among the majority of the English speaking seamen. The steamer is the cause of the change. There is no time lost in loading and discharging these iron hulks. As soon as their hatches are filled, be it Friday or any other day, they stir a lather under their sterns and speed away for another port. There is an old Captain on our coast who told me that he uses every device and frames all excuses, to avoid sailing on Friday. Now and again we meet a few old salts who still cling to the belief in the ill luck that comes from sailing on this unlucky day, but to most seamen the idea is too absurd to be entertained. Still among the Italian and other Southern European sailing vessels, it is yet held in superstitious fear. Once while in the harbor of Montevideo, I witnessed a carnival held on board a Spanish gun-boat, the _Infanta Isabel_, on Good Friday. The yards were cockbilled and at dinner the crew hauled an effigy of Judas out to the end of the jib-boom and hanging it just clear of the water, they subjected it to every abuse their imaginations could invent. Even the officers stood on the forecastle head and riddled it with shot from their revolvers. The effigy remained there till dark; finally besmeared with tar and oil, they set it alight and let it blaze away. With all discipline relaxed they ended the day with a lively fandango.

Another form of superstition is that of catching birds at sea. I have sailed with a Captain who allowed no one on his ship to meddle with birds of any kind even though they were from _terra firma_ blown from their native soil and were resting on his vessel. He had a horror of some evil attending his voyage if any feathered creature was caught or disturbed while perched upon his craft.

Another captain, though not quite so strict, forbade our catching the albatross. We were in Southern Latitudes, where they were plentiful and seemingly hungry. One of our crew, a South African half breed, secretly hooked a large one. He took the bird under the forecastle head, wrung its neck, plucked it, and disposing of the feathers so that no one aft could see them, with hard tack, salt and pepper, dressed it for cooking. That night as soon as he knew the old colored cook was soundly sleeping, he quietly slipped into the galley and baked it. It being cold, the cook kept his fire all night to warm his room which opened into his kitchen. It was fortunate the wind was dead aft, for the man on the forecastle head, standing his lookout, declared the sweet smelling savor emanating from the oven gave him a gnawing at the bottom of his stomach. At eight bells when the watch went below, they rallied around the feast; but to their disappointment and surprise, the albatross proved an unpleasant diet. The flesh was rancid and fishy. It rather pleased the Peruvian Spaniard, however, for clothed in his oilskins and seated on the forecastle deck he hauled the pan between his legs and without stirring, devoured the whole bird. Next day it began to blow harder, the old ship rocked and rolled, we lost several watches furling and reefing sail, and the blame of all the bad weather was heaped upon Joe for killing the albatross. No one aft ever knew about it. Fortunately for Joe they did not, or he would have been half murdered.

Another superstition is about the disobedient prophet Jonah. No sooner does the head wind greet the wind-jammer, than there is a Jonah declared on board. If many misfortunes overtake a ship it is felt by all, both forward and aft, that someone who has inherited the prophet’s ill luck, is among the ship’s company. I once saw a captain strike a seaman and in the vilest language call him a “d-- Jonah,” because the wind hauled ahead as soon as he, poor fellow, took the wheel. During his next watch below he was made to stand on the forward house and scratch the foremast till he brought a fair wind. Good luck was on his side, for the wind soon hauled aft again and remained steady for some days. He was no longer declared the Jonah.

A sailor once told me that while making a trip to the West Indies from New York, the second mate of his vessel rushed on deck in the night, and running forward, pointed to leeward shouting, “She’s calling for me, I must go to her.” They had to struggle severely to hold him from jumping over the side. He declared he saw his wife on the ocean calling to him for help. He quieted down, but his vision troubled him. He remembered the date and hour he had seen the apparition, and when the ship arrived in Trinidad, he received word from New York of the death of his wife. She had passed away the very day and hour he heard her calling to him. Is this superstition? Every sailor to whom he told this story, implicitly believed it was the spirit of his dead wife calling to him.

I had a friend, an old sea captain, who is now dead, having lost his life by being washed overboard in a heavy gale. Often he related this story in my hearing:

“I was on a Norwegian bark coming around the Horn, bound to Liverpool from ’Frisco. One night the old bark was hove to. The lookout man had to stand his watch on the after house, where he was safe from being washed overboard. About three o’clock in the middle watch the lookout reported to the mate that a woman was coming over the bow. Sure enough. There stood a woman in white by the lee cat head, waving something in her hand as though she were calling them. Every time the ship courtesied and dipped, the woman waved the thing in her hand violently. We managed to get the watch on deck at eight bells, but not a man would dare go forward of the poop. When daylight came the woman disappeared. For two days the crew kept aft in fear declaring the ship was haunted, but on the third day when the gale had weakened and the sea subsided, a man was sent to loose the jib. While on the jib-boom he discovered from whence the creation came.

“Our old vessel had a splendid figure head. It was a woman painted white, holding a wand in her hand. The heavy seas broke it away from its fastenings and jammed it erect between the jib-boom guys while the pitching of the vessel made the wand seem as though someone was beckoning. It was a difficult matter even then for the old skipper to make some of his men believe the apparition they saw was the figure head jammed between the guys.”

It is a known fact that men have refused to sail in ships because the rats were leaving. When a youngster, suffering privation in New York City, I saw four apprentices and the steward desert from an English full rigger because they claimed the ship would be lost at sea, for the rats were jumping into the river they were so anxious to leave the vessel. I do not know if she reached another port but I know that I felt grateful to the rats. One of the boys having more clothes than he cared to carry, gave me an old coat which was a God-send to me at that time. I needed it badly.

There are many other superstitions of which I could write. Every sailor has at some time whistled for a breeze. Most of us have objected to having a parson on board, believing he would prove a Jonah. We have seen sharks persistently follow the ship when there has been a dead body on board in anticipation of a great feast.

Are you superstitious, dear reader? Then know that your great-great- grandfather or some other relative was an old salt.

THE LUCKY BAG

The Lucky Bag

It always seemed to me that the lucky bag on a man-of-war was wrongly named. To the few it was a lucky bag, but to the large majority of seamen it was the unlucky bag.

What is the lucky bag? It is the place where the young recruit is taught that there is a place for everything, and everything must be in its place at certain times.

While serving on the U. S. S. _Alliance_, we shipped a landsman in Cape Town. He had passed the doctor’s examination and was served with an outfit of clothing from the paymaster’s stores. He was a strong young fellow, clean and neat in appearance, but his one great trouble was his carelessness in leaving his clothes, ditty box and other things around the decks when they should have been put in their proper places.

The very next day after his enlistment he went below on the berth deck after the forenoon’s exercises, to find his clothes bag. He searched and overhauled all the bags hanging on the jackstay near the mess chest belonging to his part of the ship, but could not find a bag with his number on it. The cook was a short, wiry cockney, who had just come below from infantry drill on the spar deck. He had not much time to waste, as in an hour all hands would be piped to dinner, and he must hasten and put his potatoes in the ship’s cook’s coppers and be ready to draw his boiling water when the ship’s cook shouted, “Get your coffee water.” He also had two coal passers who were going on watch at twelve o’clock. At seven bells (11.30) they would be making their appearance for dinner so that they could relieve their mates below, on time.

We all knew the necessary hustling it took for the mess cook to get our dinners ready. Therefore, we who wanted our bags, took them quickly from the jackstay on the side of the ship and moved out of the cook’s way. It was not thus with our Cape Town “joskin.” Not realizing that he was in the cook’s way, he kept on tossing the bags over in search of his own. The cook was impatient, so taking the greenhorn by the shoulders, he twisted him around, almost pushed him down the fore hatch on the head of old Bill Ried, the captain of the hold, and vehemently said, “Blast your blooming eyes. D’ye think I can get the grub ready with you a flying around ’ere like a feather in a gale of wind? Get to blazes out of my way.”

Anderson resented this treatment. He had been patient up to this point, for from the moment he donned the naval uniform and came on deck, the young apprentice boys began to tease and make a fool of him. They told him he would have to purchase clothes pins to use on the clothes line; they sent him from one to the other in search of many things that did not exist on a ship, making him believe that he was in duty bound to obey them. He believed their yarn when they told him the sergeant of marines was buried in the fore peak, and had him go with a lantern to polish the brass corners of the tomb. The poor fellow’s mind was so upset he doubted everyone, and even hesitated to obey the orders of the officer of the deck, believing he too was a “fake.”

He could stand it no longer, so when the “Duke of Edinburgh” (the nickname given to the cook) took hold of him he showed fight. Putting himself in a defensive attitude, he clinched with the duke. Pots, pans and kettles were tumbled about without any consideration on their part, the crowd gathered to see the fun, the noise and uproar reached the spar deck and in a flash the master-at-arms and ship’s corporal came tumbling double time down the fore hatch ladder, and, pushing the crowd aside, they separated the combatants and marched them to the mast. Anderson, now nicknamed Cape Town, told his story to the officer of the deck and then the duke related his. Here it was that Cape Town learned from the ship’s corporal that his clothes were in the lucky bag.

Both men were put on the report and the next morning when the delinquents were brought before the commanding officer, he punished the duke by placing him on third class conduct list, which deprived him of liberty while in that port. Cape Town he sentenced to do four hours extra police duty for having his clothes in the lucky bag.

The nearest resemblance to a lucky bag on a man-of-war, is a small, second hand clothing shop on Salem St. Although named the lucky bag, it is not generally a bag. I have seen at times when there were only a few things confiscated around the decks, a well filled bag in the master-at-arms possession, but usually the lucky bag is a place, a locker of some description where confiscated clothing and all such articles are kept.

On board of a merchant vessel it matters not how long a sailor desires to keep his clothes on deck, no one cares where he puts them or what is done with them, so long as they are forward and below the rail of the ship, but on a war ship it is different. A man-of-war’s man owns a clothes bag in which he keeps his clothing, a hammock containing his mattress and bedding, his ditty box for his sewing gear, and pipe and tobacco. He may earn a few dollars by making clothes, hence the ownership of a small sewing machine. He may possess a set of boxing gloves, swinging clubs, a musical instrument, or curiosities that he has bought for his sweetheart or for his friends, and while there is a certain time given him each day when he can bring his belongings on deck, and overhaul everything he owns to his satisfaction and to the delight of his shipmates, there are other times when everything he possesses must be stowed away, otherwise it will reach the ever open, avaricious jaws of the lucky bag.

In the morning before breakfast the decks have been cleaned. Perhaps there is still time to polish the deck brass work before eight bells, when breakfast will be piped, but even then the man-of-war’s man cannot put his bag away, for there is other work to be done before he can clean himself for quarters. The gun bright (brass) work has to be polished, for every man of a gun’s crew has a portion of the brass and steel allotted him for his special care.

Therefore, after breakfast he must hurry and clean his gun bright work, change his clothes, get his blacking and brush from his ditty box and shine his shoes, for the messenger boy will soon strike two bells (nine o’clock,) and the boatswain’s mates will be ordered to pipe sweepers. Then as birds in a forest, the whistles of the boatswain’s mates are heard chirping from stem to stern, calling the sweepers to man their brooms and give the “old gal” a final brush down. Woe to the man who has forgotten to stow away his traps, whatever they may be, for in a little while before three bells, the executive officer emerges from the ward room, and, followed by the masters-at-arms and ship’s corporal, he inspects the whole ship.

Starting from the ward room to the spar deck, then to the berth deck, he will pry into every corner and overhaul everything. The breech blocks of the guns are thrown open, the tompions are withdrawn, he peeps from breech to muzzle to make sure no oily rags have been stowed therein and that the gun is clean inside.

The berth deck cooks are standing by their mess chests ready with clean mess cloths and utensils for his all seeing eyes to peep into and inspect. The captain of the hold has thrown aside his dirty working suit and dressed in the uniform of the day, he stands in the hatchway with lantern in hand, to receive him. The sailmaker’s mate, the gunner’s mate, and every idler who has the care of any shellroom or locker, is at his post to greet him as he progresses in his onward march of inspection. Every clothes bag, piece of clothing, ditty box, musical instrument, anything that is out of place is confiscated by his orders.

It was at this particular time that Cape Town had forgotten to put his bag below and when the “first luff” spotted it under the forecastle head, he ordered it to be put into the lucky bag. This was not the only time that the jaws of the lucky bag had closed on Cape Town’s belongings, for on several occasions during the cruise he had to scrub the copper on the bottom of the sailing launch while others were loitering around the decks, as a punishment for having his traps enter there.

Not only during the executive officer’s inspection, is the lucky bag fed. It may be in the afternoon when all hands are called by the boatswain’s mates to “stand by your scrubbed and washed clothes.” At such a call every man who has clothes on the lines is expected to get on deck and remove them. Should some fellow who doesn’t heed the call allow his clothes to remain on the lines, the officer of the deck will order them put into the lucky bag unless some shipmate is kind enough to care for them, which is often the case.

Such confiscated clothing is occasionally kept in the “brig” (a cell for punishment) and if there is not an over abundance, such articles may be allowed to remain there even though a prisoner is doing a short sentence of five days bread and water.

While there is an order on a war vessel that every man shall have his name stamped on his clothes, there are men who evade it and do not mark everything. Sometimes the paint which was used in stamping the name is so worn by washing that it is illegible. Therefore, if such a piece of clothing finds its way to the lucky bag the owner will let it stay there, for he knows that if he claims it he will have to do some extra police duties or be classed. His best plan is to await his time. Some fellow may soon be sentenced to the brig, among the contents of the lucky bag, and may clandestinely secure it for him. At any rate he can look forward to the day when the auction sale of the lucky bag takes place and then buy his own clothes.

I remember having a blue flannel shirt made. It was valuable, for the sailor who made it had put on fancy silk stars on the collar, the tape was neatly stitched, the best of silk had been used. Just before inspection the tailor handed it to me. I had not time to go below and shove it into the mouth of my clothes bag, so I lifted the flap of the hammock cloth and pushed it between the cloth and the ship’s side. The bulge it made in the hammock cloth caught the “first luff’s” eyes; he put his hand under the painted canvass and hauled out my Sunday mustering shirt. Fresh from the tailor’s hands, it found its way to the lucky bag. There was no name on it to tell who was the owner, and as I had many extra hours of police duty to do for other misdemeanors, I held my peace and let the “go shore” shirt remain confiscated.

Good luck came my way sooner than I had hoped. The captain of the afterguard was sentenced the next day to do five days bread and water in the brig for being insolent to the officer of the deck. The contents of the lucky bag were pushed into one corner of the cell while the prisoner had the remaining portion of the iron brig to himself.

Here was my opportunity. I sneaked on the opposite side of the sentry and placed my mouth close to the small perforated holes in the iron walls of the brig and begged my incarcerated shipmate to overhaul the lucky bag and find my shirt. Although it was dark he managed to find the garment, so at seven bells the next morning, when he was brought on deck to have a bath, he tucked it under the folds of his shirt and left it on the forecastle head where I secured it.

About once in every two or three months the master-at-arms is ordered to bring the contents of the lucky bag on deck. Standing in the port gangway he holds up the various articles to the view of the crowd around him and asks for bids.

It was prearranged before the sales on our ship, that if any man shouted distinctly the words, “I will offer” in making his bid we were not to bid against him, for we knew that “I will offer,” meant it was the bidder’s own things. In this way we bought and rebought our own clothes during the cruise rather than be punished for our negligence.

Sometimes the clothing was marked, when the owner was reported, and would find no escape from cleaning the bottom of the sailing launch. Again, he might be on friendly terms with the master-at-arms or ship’s corporal, and in a begging attitude have him give them up without being reported, or he might approach the officer of the deck and be diplomatic in framing an excuse so as to win his favor and have the lucky bag give up its treasure.

THE SAILOR AND HIS DUDHEEN

The Sailor and His Dudheen

It is possible to find a sailor who does not smoke or chew tobacco; but he is a rare creature. The great majority of seamen enjoy their pipes and some chew the weed as well, finding much comfort and consolation thereby.

A very large number of friends have asked why do sailors smoke so much? It is not an unusual occurrence to see some of the seamen leave our concert hall while there is an excellent entertainment taking place, for the sole purpose of having a few draws on their old dudheens. Generally they are firemen and coal passers of the merchant steamers. These men have more opportunities than the deck hands to smoke. Usually they are on watch four hours of every twelve, and off or on duty they are allowed to smoke their pipes. There may be an exceptional ship where the engineer of the watch will prohibit a fireman or coal passer from smoking while on duty, but such discipline in the fireroom of an ocean steamship is seldom seen.

Naturally these men feel the need of a smoke after the duration of an hour. They long for a whiff of the pipe, and therefore leave their seats during a good concert to obtain it.

I do not think that seamen smoke oftener nor use more tobacco than any other class of men. When a sailor has donned his “go shore” clothes and is ready to take a spin on the beach the chief thing he sees to, is that his pipe and tobacco are in his jacket pocket, and when away from the restraint of ship life, he smokes to his heart’s content. Perhaps during the day when other men have had the privilege of enjoying several cigars and as many pipefulls as they desired, poor Jack has had only a few draws during the meal hours, so when his day’s work is over he makes up for lost time.

Take the amount of tobacco used by a ship’s crew and compare it with the amount used by the same number of landsmen and I think we will find the lesser weight to be credited to the “shell back.” So with drinking. The sailor uses less alcohol than the man ashore; not being accustomed to drinking, a very few glasses makes him totter and shake, and soon throws him on his beam’s end, while his brother, the landlubber, has been pouring it down his throat all day, and is able at the close of the night to meander his way home safely.

On a sailing ship it would be considered a breach of discipline for a man to be seen smoking his pipe while on duty. He is expected to refrain from such tendencies which help to weaken ship discipline, and abide his time till eight bells have been struck and he is relieved. Then before he closes his weary eyelids for a few hours’ nap, he can have the pleasure of a draw on his old dudheen.

I recall a voyage on an American full rigger where the question of smoking tobacco was the cause of much disturbance to the crew. During the watch below a sailor was not allowed to come on deck with his pipe in his mouth. He must confine his incense to the denizens of the forecastle. On Sundays, when the decks had been washed and the brass work cleaned, he could chew and spit over the rail; but the privilege of smoking at such a time or on watch during the night was an offense which meant the loss of an afternoon below.

On some ships there are times when the boatswains are not severe and cruel, then a sailor may slip into the forecastle and steal a few draws from his pipe. Especially if the man has come from the wheel where he has been grinding salt water for two hours, doing his best to keep the ship on her course, lest the officer of the watch find her wake is crooked and greets him with an oath or blow, or from the lookout where he has spent his watch in strange meditations.

The merchant sailor can smoke his pipe only during his watch below at sea, and in the meal hours and the evenings when in port. I have heard that on some English vessels and American coasters, the crews are allowed to smoke at all times, even at the wheel; but I have never sailed in such homes. In the United States Navy there is such a thing as a “smoking lamp,” and when it is lighted every man can fill his pipe and smoke on any part of the spar deck forward of the mainmast. This smoking lamp is made of copper. Holes, about an inch in circumference, are bored through the sides so that a piece of paper can be inserted so as to reach the flickering flame. The lamp is hung in some convenient place, usually near the foremast, and during meal hours and the evenings in port, till nine o’clock (2 bells) it is kept lighted. At sea, in the dog watches and meal hours it is hung up for use. There are times on a war vessel when the smoking lamp is kept lighted the greater part of the day. Saturday afternoons, when the work of the week is ended and the men are overhauling their bags; Sunday after the morning inspection is over, and on holidays. Then the man-of-war’s man can smoke without fear of some officer or marine on duty inviting him to the mast for punishment.

Again it may be a day when all hands are busily engaged coaling ship or taking aboard provisions, something that keeps the whole crew busy, such a time the seamen feel they have sufficient reason to ask permission for the smoking lamp to be lighted.

Most seafaring men enjoy a smoke the last thing at night. It is a comfort to stretch oneself in a hammock and just before dozing into that unconscious state between wakefulness and sleep to withdraw the pipe from the lips and place it under the pillow, then roll over and slumber away.

During a cruise on an American war vessel, we came to anchor in the harbor of Pernambuco. Several of the crew slept under the top gallant forecastle where there was room for about fifty men. I managed to find a vacant billet away from the suffocating berth deck. That very night after taps had been sounded I turned into my hammock for a few hours’ solid comfort. My pipe was lighted so I decided to continue my smoke. I stretched myself out, and pulled away at my old clay stump, keeping one eye on the corporal of Marines at the gangway. I fell asleep while smoking, for in a few moments I felt a burning pain at my side which awakened me, and, on rolling over, I saw my blankets burning. In a moment I was on deck, and in the twinkling of an eye I had the hammock unhooked and “Presto change” the whole thing, bedding and all went through the gun port. I was none too soon for the officer of the deck and the anchor watch came running forward looking for the fire. They had smelt the smoke and were seeking the cause. I hid myself in the manger under the heel of the bowsprit and listened to them as they discussed the whereabouts of the fire. My heart almost failed me when the officer of the deck noticed the burning hammock over the side. The tide was taking it astern and as there was an English ocean “tramp” a short distance ahead of us, he decided that the smell of smoke came from that bundle of old rags drifting by us from the steamer.

For five nights I slept on the bare deck planks and on the sixth evening I reported my hammock missing. A search was made and when it could not be found the first lieutenant said I must have thrown it over the rail that morning in tossing it into the netting before the hammock stower was there. I was glad to escape so easily for had I been detected having smoked my pipe in bed, I would have suffered the penalty of a court martial. As it was, I only lost my mattress and bed clothes, which were worth about ten dollars. It would be easy to write a few more pages of the many stolen smokes I and others have enjoyed, yes, and of the many hours we have scrubbed the copper on the water line of the ship as a punishment for smoking without permission; but I will leave it untouched.

PETS ABOARD SHIP

Pets Aboard Ship

Cats, dogs and all other animals, when they find their way on board of a ship seem to know that nothing but kindness will be their lot. Sailors are fond of pets and when opportunities are afforded them to own some sort of an animal, they lavishly bestow upon them pent-up affections, which accumulate by being isolated from their loved ones.

There are many stories about the wonderful power possessed by seamen in taming the wild creatures that have been under their care.

I was once a stowaway on a brig which carried as part of her freight, a deck load of mules. It was my duty to wash their faces every morning and assist in feeding them. The first few days they were so vicious that it was impossible to pass in front of some of them. Before we reached port the evil spirits left them and they were as affectionate as children. At first a few slaps on the face were necessary to conquer some of them, but with kindness they were tamed. When the day came to hoist them over the side into the lighter, the sailors had some kind parting word for each mule; especially for the one whose stall was nearest the forecastle door. He had won a place in the hearts of all forward; he had every opportunity to become acquainted, as there was never a meal eaten but he was allowed a portion. From his stall he could put his head inside the forecastle and feed from the men’s pans. Though they were all gently hoisted and given a chance to kick their legs while in mid air, poor “Dick” received the greatest attention. Just before the lighter shoved off, a sailor climbed over the side, and putting his arms around old Dick’s head, gave him a parting kiss.

I have never owned a cat but have been shipmates with several. When I was an ordinary seaman on the _Hagarstown_, the day we left port, a black cat belonging to the tow boat jumped aboard. She was curious and drifted into the steward’s store room where she became a prisoner. That evening her mewing attracted the steward’s attention, and she was released and allowed to wander around the decks. There was an unhappy look upon her face, and it was several days before she attempted to be friendly. Gradually the steward won her confidence and she lapped her milk quite contently. In about two weeks four little kittens were born, all black like the mother except one, which had a few white spots. When we arrived in port all hands left for their homes and boarding houses. The watchman and I were the only occupants of the ship. There was very little nourishment for the kittens so we gave them away. The mother remained a few days and then disappeared.

I have seen men fondle cats and care for them as tenderly as a mother would her babe. I was once shipmates with a colored cook who had a family of cats. They slept in his bunk, and in cold weather they enjoyed the warmth of his galley fire. One of his pets seemed to care for the companionship of the forecastle, which aroused his jealousy. At last he shut his galley doors against this turtle shell pet of the men. She did not mind this treatment; she shared her affections with all forward; though her relatives fed more sumptuously, she had sixteen bunks at her disposal. Every man’s bed was her property.