Chapter XIII: Part 13

The mate went below to put a fresh pair of irons on Louis, and in doing so handled him very roughly (a courageous performance), so that the Frenchman sobbed two or three times. “Ha,” quoth Goggins, “blubberin’, eh? That’s just like you Dagos. You’re nothin’ but a lot of old women with no more sand than a--a--a--jelly-fish, you ain’t.” People in glass houses occurred to me then, and I thought how Louis could, any day, pick up this miserable creature when he went down with his food, and shake the life out of him with just one of those mighty arms of his. The Frenchman is unlucky in having such wrists, for there is not a pair of irons in the ship nearly large enough, and each wrist is encircled by a ringlet of raw skin where the handcuffs have gripped and chafed it as though it had been seared with a hot bracelet. I cannot help feeling sorry for him, in spite of his deed; for it is improbable that a man whose general character is so good and whose face is so frank and honest is a villain at heart. Like the rest of his nation, he is very quick-tempered, and upon the second mate’s catching him by the throat his hand instantly flew to his weapon, the common sailor’s sheath-knife. On the other hand, both Tim and Coleman look like typical hard cases, with restless eyes and evil, discontented, sinister faces. Why is it that such men are seldom maltreated at sea? It is only such inoffensive creatures as Karl and Brün who are kicked about a ship’s deck like curs in an alley-way. Such men as I have mentioned first are thoroughly wide-awake, too, and know just how far to go in irritating captains and mates without laying themselves open to punishment; and when mates cannot detect them, they (the mates) “take it out” on others.

The most intelligent man forward is a New Yorker, Dick Broadhead, and, as he has been very willing to talk, we have had some interesting conversations. He is going out to ship in one of the Pacific mail steamers as quartermaster, which accounts for so respectable a young man’s signing in an American vessel. What a splendid lot of young, native Americans we would have in our merchant marine if boys at sea in our deep-water ships were treated as they are in the vessels of other nations! The real American sailor, as he has proved in our naval achievements, has no superior, and if even the mildest inducements were offered to young men of decent antecedents to sail in our ships, we would soon have a merchant service that would be the envy of the rest of the world. Look at the training-ship “St. Mary’s,” which is supposed to supply young men to officer our steamers and sailing ships. I have yet to meet with a single graduate of this excellent institution on a sailing vessel, for they absolutely refuse to sign in them even as second mate, saying that until blood and belaying-pins cease to fly in our long-voyage ships, they would leave them severely alone. The existing condition of things actually prevents our boys and young men from joining the merchant service. Why have we not a Plimsoll to strip our ships of the unprincipled wretches who command and officer them? Although not a sailor, this excellent man spent most of his life and ten thousand pounds in ameliorating the condition of English seamen. If our sailors were treated as they are in the foreign services, we should have gentlemen’s sons as captains and mates, as they have in Great Britain and Germany, and not the miserable examples of humanity that are to be found on the quarter-decks of the majority of our deep-water-men. The second mate of a ship once said to me, speaking of the captain of one of our crack San Francisco wind-jammers, “What! Cap’n B----? Why, he don’t know who his father and mother were.” If this is the captain, what can you expect?

But I have drifted away from Broadhead. This is the second ship under the stars and stripes that he ever served in, having been shanghaied on board the “Virago” once two or three years before in a Chinese port. It was this ship’s maiden voyage, and she came home around South America from Hong-Kong, instead of around Africa. Concerning Captain Jones, Broadhead remarked, “I’ve seen dummies in command of ships, but he beats the deck. The first bad squall we had off the Horn, I was steering, and he was so scared he just held on to the rail and yelled, and I heard the mate say to him, ‘Why don’t you get the t’-ga’nt-s’ls off her?’ She went down to the sheer-poles in that squall, and they do say he hasn’t had anything above the topsails on her since. I’ll give you a tip: the ‘Virago’s’ got three masts too many for Cap’n Jones.” Latitude, 4° 24′ north; longitude, 119° 20′ west.

+August 25+

So joyous a breeze has wafted us along for twenty-four hours that at noon to-day we were two hundred and two miles from where we were at the same time yesterday. We have no current now, and our run was due solely to good, honest winds from south-southeast. At about noon to-day, though, the breeze shifted to south-southwest, and now (4 +P.M.+) it is at southwest and not strong. It is probable that we have lost the Trades, after holding them for thirty-five degrees of latitude,--a remarkable piece of luck. It was grand sailing then; the very finest that we ever had. But hence to 15° north will no doubt be a trying week. It was a matter of some surprise to us when we first learned that the light southwesterly wind that blows between the Trades in the Atlantic and Pacific is called a monsoon. It is generally supposed that the term monsoon, which is from the Arabian _mawsun_, signifying season, is applied to certain winds on the southeast coast of Asia only.

Gracious, how hot it is here now! What a difference in a few hours! At noon, with the sky heavily overcast and on the coolest part of the deck, the thermometer stood at 84°. In equatorial regions it is only when far removed from salt-water that the mercury rises to such altitudes as 130°; this fearful temperature is experienced in many localities, such as Northern India, Mojave Desert, in Southern California, and in parts of Australia. In such places as Para, Singapore, and Madras, though close to the equator, the temperature seldom rises more than two or three degrees above 90°. Anything higher than 80° in such places, as well as at sea, would be considered almost unbearable by most people.

While my wife and I were reading on the deck-house this morning we observed the wee cook in transports of delight, the cause of which became apparent when he held up a fine bonito. We went down to look at it, and then perceived two men on the jib-boom end fishing for them, so we climbed up on the top-gallant forecastle-head to watch the sport. It was delightful up there, cool and breezy from the gush that whirled out of the curve of the foresail. We braced ourselves against the knight-heads and, looking down over the lofty, flaring bows, we could see dozens of bonitos darting swiftly about the cut-water as we swept grandly on through the blue, transparent sea. Far out on the tapering end of the spar were Charley and Olsen; the former with the line in his hand, the hook being concealed by that singular and universal deep-sea bait, a bit of white cotton cloth. Charley kept the hook just touching the surface, except when he jerked it sharply upward, in imitation of the flight of the flying-fish, which form the principal food of the voracious bonito. It would be all but impossible to conceive a more beautiful scene than that which fascinated us for half an hour. The fish themselves were of the most exquisite colors, some brilliant blue, some magenta, others of a rich purple; and as they flashed through the water with incredible speed, twisting and twirling about in pursuit of their prey, with now and then a gleam of silvery white from their under parts, they looked not unlike segments of a vivid rainbow. Presently one would shoot clear out of the water for the bait, straight and swift as a dart, and seize it in his toothless but greedy jaws. A great churning and splashing would follow, and then Charlie, almost hysterical with excitement, would haul up the lithe, handsome creature, quivering and vibrating as though galvanized. No sooner would he be hooked than perhaps a hundred flying-fish would break through the surface and sail gleaming away for a few rods, only to fall into the rapacious mouths of their enemies. The spectacle was one long to be cherished: the whizzing flight of the glittering little fish, the lustrous-hued bonitos, the tranquil surface of the ocean, broken here and there with foaming ripples, and the lofty tiers of canvas rearing themselves higher and higher toward the clouds.

Captain Scruggs continues his quiet, almost agreeable manner, answers pleasantly, and has little to say at meals. It is aggravating to think that the skipper knew quite well how he ought to have behaved during the voyage, and that he simply didn’t care “whether school kept or not.” Now and then the silence is broken during dinner by a shattering crash of the old man’s ponderous foot upon the oil-cloth floor, while he simultaneously yells, “Get out o’ here, you homely thing!” This is an exhortation to the gaunt, pop-eyed cat, which sometimes slinks into the cabin at meals. It seems impossible to fatten this singular animal, and it skulks and stalks about the decks as lank and ribbed as a Calcutta jackal, with its huge saffron eyes fixed motionlessly upon you in so startling a fashion that it looks like an incarnation of one of Cruikshank’s drawings. Its notions of sport are equally strange; Tommie, the sleek Maltese, has been trying to teach it how to play, but when Tom rushes sportively at it, the other executes a series of prodigious, vertical leaps, with its legs flat out at right angles, and in another moment vanishes with an eldrich cry.

Mr. Rarx is about the same; two of the men supported him to-day while he tried to hobble about the deck; but he cannot for an instant even stand alone. Latitude, 6° 56′ north; longitude, 121° 15′ west.

+August 26+

We are now certain that we have lost the Trades. The wind has been steady at southwest for twenty-four hours, and, though not a strong breeze, we made more than two degrees of latitude, which is not bad going for this region, and three days of it would take us into the northeast winds. It is intensely hot and moist, and heavy showers pelt us every half-hour; but it is a fine chance for cleaning ship, and all hands are at work scrubbing off the old paint from the bulwarks and deck-houses preparatory to the new coat.

How I wish we could get a photograph in colors of that villain, Tim Powers! I never supposed that one of the human species could so nearly in appearance approach the simian race. His head and jaws are covered with a thick growth of bright-red hair, which continues down his throat till it meets a shaggy breast. The body, powerfully made, is curved forward like an ape’s, and long, thick arms, hair-covered to the knuckles, swing loosely well below the middle; and he waddles in his gait like a monkey endeavoring to walk upright. The best possible description of this animal is to say that he is ever so much more like a chimpanzee than a chimpanzee is. Besides all this, he is so dirty that the rest of the men follow him with their eyes as he moves about the deck.

Those who are not especially interested in the well-being of our sailors may find the following dissertation somewhat tiresome; but the facts about to be set forth ought to be known to the public, as they certainly are not, so that I will not begin these remarks with an apology for their length.

In every port of any size in the United States there are a number of men whose business it is to maintain boarding-houses for sailors,--that is, they are known to the outside world as boarding-house-keepers, but in reality they form one of the most extensive aggregations of criminals, thieves, and persecutors to be met with in any country of the world that boasts a high civilization. Their technical name is crimps. The Encyclopædic Dictionary defines a crimp as “one who keeps a low lodging-house, into which sailors and others are decoyed and then robbed”; but it would be impossible to present properly, in so small a space, the different phases and extensions of a system which for generations has eluded and defied investigation and has baffled the attempts of well-meaning but incapable legislators. New York is the hot-bed of crimps, for there are more than fifty boarding-houses in the city near the water-front. Take the case of a vessel just in from a long voyage. No sooner does the anchor touch bottom than her decks are suddenly and mysteriously filled with strange men, who pay no attention to the captain or mates, but go at once into the forecastle among the sailors. They are the runners for the crimps,--men whose business it is to supply the sailors with grog which they have brought on board for the purpose, and then decoy and persuade them to their respective establishments. Every sailor at the end of a voyage has but half of his wages coming to him (more of this by and by), say about forty dollars. The crimp at once takes a week’s board in advance and then, having drenched the unfortunate with the vilest of rum, it is a matter of but two or three days until the crimp has wheedled him out of the rest of his hard-earned gains, and then he gets in his finest work by opening an account with the sailor for lodging, meals, drinks, etc. He then at once becomes the slave of the crimp and must do his bidding; not only can the latter prevent him from securing employment (in this free country!), but can actually prevent a ship-master from getting a crew, unless he signifies his willingness to deal with him; and as I have said, so powerful (politically) is the crimping organization in New York that it successfully defies all effort at checking it and controls absolutely the shipping of sailors in New York. When a captain wishes to engage a crew, not finding one at the shipping commissioners, where they are supposed to be, he is compelled to apply to a crimp, and if sailors are scarce at the time, he will charge the captain so much per head! If the sailors are plentiful, though, he will not charge the captain anything for supplying him with a crew; in fact, he will go to the extremity of paying the latter a bonus for the privilege of shipping his men, in order to prevent some other crimp from securing his business, taking the precaution of charging the sailors a fee sufficiently large to make up the deficiency. This fee is known among sailors as “blood-money,” and it varies from one to twenty dollars _per capita_; in our own case, the amount that each foremast hand had to pay for being allowed to sail in this ship was five dollars; and though their wages are so small (about eighteen dollars a month) it would be useless for them to object to the blood-money; alternative, starvation in the streets. This practice of paying ship owners and masters for the privilege of supplying them with sailors has grown so common that it is regarded by many owners and captains as a legitimate source of income; so much so, that the majority refuse to sign other than a crimp’s crew. The shipping commissioner, a federal officer, is supposed to look after the gathering together of a ship’s company; the men, it is true, sign the articles in his presence, but that is the sum total of his connection with the shipment of sailors. Why doesn’t the commissioner stop the crimping? He is well aware, of course, that it goes on; but he does not seek to prevent it because he is instructed not to interfere with the accredited “_agents_” of the owners, and it must not be forgotten that under the fee system in vogue at present the commissioners are, to a great extent, dependent upon the good-will of the owners for their income. Any attempt of the commissioner to interfere with the “agents” of the latter would evoke a strong protest from them, and would, perhaps, end in the suppression of the office of commissioner; therefore the majority of the owners insist that their “agents” shall be respected.

In many instances the commissioners have been utterly unfit for the office they have held, for they are supposed to look after the welfare of seamen, besides their shipment. It is even said that some have been appointed from the forces of the crimps themselves. Others have been common ward politicians (those who know New York will appreciate this), and even a metal-worker has in the past held the office at New York; while the most influential candidate for the position now at one of our greatest ports is a sign-painter! It will be appreciated at once how much men of this sort know of the grievances of sailors whom they are supposed to protect.

The allotment system which obtains now when sailors are about to go to sea is a most iniquitous arrangement. The law says that “a sailor may stipulate in his shipping agreement for the allotment of any portion of his wages which he may earn to his wife, mother, or other relative, or to an original creditor in liquidation of any just debt for board or clothing which he may have contracted prior to an engagement.” This law was evidently framed to the advantage of the sailor, but in its ambiguity lies its detriment to seamen. Of course, the “original creditor” is the crimp (which was obviously not what the law intended), who has turned the words “may stipulate” into “must stipulate.” When a ship-master makes known to a crimp that he wants a crew, the crimp rounds up the required number of men, marches them to the shipping commissioner’s, where they sign the articles and are paid usually two months’ advance wages (which is not lawful until it is turned into an “allotment”). This money, forty dollars in round numbers, is given to the crimp (“the original creditor”), who then extracts from the sum an amount three or four times in excess of what the man is really indebted to him, arranges for the blood-money, and hands the rest (if any money remains) to the victim. Frequently all of his advance is necessary to liquidate this “just debt,” and the man goes to sea without a cent. On the voyage he gets in debt to the ship for the slop-chest account, clothing, oil-skins, boots, tobacco, etc., and at the end of the voyage, if it lasts four months, generally not more than a month’s wages are due him. This is secured by the crimp at the destination, and the old story of robbery and persecution is repeated. No foreign nation that I know of, at least none of the highest rank, allows crimping. The government has charge of the procuring of crews, and any infringement or interference by an outsider is a criminal offence, and, more than that, it is always punished as such. The United States government has never attempted to stamp out the crimps, and they, in turn, have never experienced any difficulty in prosecuting their lawless and miserable business.

Every time that a sailor signs articles any one or all of the following laws are violated, which the commissioner placidly disregards, and of which other government officials seem to be in complete ignorance:

1st. The payment of advance prohibited under penalty, fine, and imprisonment. 23 St. at L., page 55, Section 10, Dingley act, June 26, 1884; pages 66, 67 of U. S. Navigation Laws, also subdivision, Section 4522, U. S. R. S.

2d. Misuse of allotment notes. See 24 St. at L., page 80, Section 3, act June 19, 1886, and page 67, U. S. Navigation Laws.

3d. Payment of blood-money strictly forbidden. Section 4609, U. S. R. S.

4th. Withholding wages four or five days to bring seamen into the power of crimps. Section 4529, U. S. R. S.

5th. Withholding seamen’s baggage to prevent them from seeking employment on their own account. Prohibition and penalty, Section 4536, U. S. R. S., as amended February 18, 1895; page 68, U. S. Navigation Laws.

6th. Soliciting lodgers (employment of runners) on inward-bound ships. Section 4607, U. S. R. S; page 71, U. S. Navigation Laws.

All these violations tend directly to the demoralization and degradation of sailors, and ought to be immediately abolished.

Why our shipping laws should be so frequently broken, and with the utmost impunity, is, I think, partly due to their ambiguous construction, for many of them were prepared by either ship-owners or crimps with an abundance of political influence, and also partly to our lax method of carrying out the laws that we have framed; and they are disregarded because it would not be to the advantage of any one save the sailor, for whom they were supposed to have been enacted, to enforce them. The grievances of seamen are not popular subjects with the authorities, because of the peculiar obstacles generally met with in efforts to prove them; while the amount of damages awarded to sailors, except in unusual cases, do not offer sufficient inducements to the sort of maritime lawyers who would be likely to bring the cases to a successful issue.

As that able writer on the subject and champion of sailors, Mr. James H. Williams, says, “The complaining seaman has usually arrayed against him the combined powers of the wealthy ship-owners; the cunning, unscrupulous, and designing crimp; the sagacity and ability of the most experienced lawyers; and sometimes the traditional prejudice of the judicial mind is often turned against him. With this combination to overcome on the merits of his case alone, the allegations of the sailor must be well sustained indeed to enable him to win.” As for the cases of sailors suing for damages for maltreatment at sea, the difficulties encountered by them when seeking justice lie in the facilities afforded the offender--that is, the master or mate--to escape; the obstacles that the owners put in the way of his apprehension; and the disposal of the witnesses--“shanghaiing”--either by _bribery or intimidation by the crimps_.

Mr. Williams has accurately and truthfully summed up the seaman’s condition in the United States as follows: “The sailor is degraded to be more effectually robbed; he is cheated for want of official protection; he is not protected because of his own utter helplessness, and because we have no recognized shipping system such as exists in Great Britain, for instance. In this country the sailor is often despised because of his nationality; in European countries he is usually honored for the same reason. When this nation rises to a realizing sense of its own responsibility and manifest duty to the sailor, and provides proper laws for his protection and adequate means for their enforcement, both our merchant marine and navy will become Americanized, seamanship will become an honorable calling, and American boys will go to sea.”

Over against this wretched treatment allowed to exist by the government of the United States, for its commissioners make no attempt to prevent it, stands forth the protection accorded the sailors of Great Britain and Germany. Seamen are well taken care of in the latter country; but in Great Britain there exists a system of sailor protection ashore, so perfect as to leave little or nothing to be desired; and the perfection of its detail has led me to show the workings of this scheme in the next few pages, a scheme that is _facile princeps_, and that ought to be a model for the rest of the world. The shipment of seamen in Great Britain is conducted under the superintendence of the Board of Trade; this is a separate department of the government, and upon it devolves the supervision and control of the entire merchant marine,--_i.e._, commerce and navigation. The president of the Board of Trade is a cabinet minister, and of course occupies a seat in Parliament; and the duties of the Board are defined and guided by acts of Parliament. Among other specific functions, the Board of Trade must provide for the shipment, care, and protection of seamen, and must frame and _enforce_ (that’s the great point) proper laws for the suppression of crimping and similar abominations. Inasmuch as the Board was organized solely with reference to the interests of sailors and commerce, its officers have been, in nearly every case, judiciously chosen for their peculiar fitness and natural aptitude for the work rather than for any _political views_ they may have held, or because of any _influence_ exercised in favor of their appointment. As a result of this common-sense arrangement a most efficient and reliable body of officials has been secured, and for this reason the Board of Trade, from being considered at first a very troublesome innovation by maritime people, has succeeded in forming relations so close as to be almost indispensable with ship-owners and merchants throughout Great Britain; and what is even more remarkable, and certainly just as important, it has secured the confidence, improved the character, and protected the rights, interests, and persons of seamen to an extent which no other institution in any country has ever attained.

In all ports of Great Britain subdivisions of the Board of Trade, called Local Marine Boards, are established, each having authority over local maritime affairs. Seamen are entitled to direct representation on these local Boards, which are now maintained by the home government at various foreign seaports between Hamburg and Brest.

In Great Britain the shipping and discharging of seamen is conducted and superintended by government officers, _and no person other than duly appointed officials of the Board of Trade are permitted to enter the shipping office under any pretext whatever while business is being transacted between master and crew under severe penalty_. Crimps and all manner of “beach pirates” are particularly objectionable, and if found on the premises occupied by an official shipping bureau, are incarcerated without the slightest ceremony. Every shipment of seamen must take place at a government office except in extraordinary cases provided for in the law. When crews are wanted, notices to that effect are posted at the shipping office, on the vessels requiring them, and in other places where sailors will be likely to see them. Men desiring employment then proceed to the shipping office, present their _discharges_ to the official, who in turn hands them to the captain. In this way crews are selected, and it will be perceived what an excellent body of men a captain can thus gather together. A seaman without his discharges generally finds great difficulty in obtaining a berth in England unless he can offer proof as to his previous service and character. These discharges are usually enclosed in a sort of wallet furnished by the government for a small sum, and are always accepted as evidence of the men’s rating, ability, and conduct. They are retained by the master until the end of the voyage, when they are returned to the owners with a new one added.

Aside from the mere formal engagement and official protection from “water-front parasites,” the Board of Trade is of immense importance and value to British sailors in a variety of ways altogether too numerous for enumeration here. Suffice it to say, then, that the many shining features of this splendid institution have proved of incalculable benefit to English sailors and their families, while the practical results obtained by means of its beneficent influence have contributed in no small degree to the present maritime greatness and power of the British nation.

Compare this method with the American fashion of throwing a dozen or more poor, wretched, half-starved, drunken creatures on board a ship, who have been robbed of their small pittance, gained often when looking into death’s jaws without so much as a flinch; and frequently stripped of every garment save the underclothes which alone cover them, the hapless victims of the laxity and the passive indifference of the United States government, commence the voyage of four or six months in a ship commanded in many, many instances by men little short of devils, and officered by men worse than beasts, conscious that for themselves it is merely a case of “out of the pan into the fire.” Latitude, 8° 53′ north; longitude, 122° west.

+August 27+

Last night was one of terrific heat. Imagine a temperature of 87° at one in the morning, with an atmosphere so oppressive with humidity that instead of sustaining a weight of fifteen pounds per square inch the body seems to be supporting at least thirty. It was hotter than any night that I ever remember afloat or ashore. There was a peculiar, smothering quality in the atmosphere, which was so heavy and moist that it seemed as though you ought to be able to seize a handful and squeeze the water out of it. The very essence of humidity seemed to be instilled into the air, and my wife, who readily withstood the heat in the Bay of Bengal at the close of the wet season, nearly fainted in the middle watch. It must not be supposed that because the air is pure that people do not suffer in hot weather at sea; that is an idea held only by those who have never crossed the equator. If the hygrometer would drop even to eighty-five or ninety the temperature could be conveniently borne; but this almost continual saturation is exceedingly trying. Think of the sufferings of passengers in the Red Sea, when steamers often have to alter their course and proceed against the wind to prevent people from dying of heat apoplexy!

The captain has once more donned his white drill suits, the jackets of which button closely up under the throat, like soldiers’ tunics in the tropics. By this arrangement it is not necessary to wear an ordinary shirt underneath; and at first glance the skipper looks to be most suitably and airily attired, and you envy him the possession of his gossamer tunics, until at meals, when there is an expansion of his corporeal sphericity which opens the spaces between the tunic buttons. And then, oh, horrors! the sight is blasted by the lurid glare of a red flannel undershirt! Red flannel on the equator! It is enough to throttle you, and the temperature instantly rises several degrees. No man ought to be allowed to so afflict his fellow-creatures.

Last night when I went on deck at 9.30 the skipper was on the lee side, looking at the heavens. On seeing me he said, “Well, there’s our old friend, the pole star; we haven’t seen him for many a day.” Now, I ought to have known better than to attempt any joke, but it seemed likely that he would surely know this ancient pleasantry of mariners, so I answered,--

“Yes; as the saying is, the pole star is the first land you make coming up from Cape Horn.”

This threw him into a grave meditation, at the end of which he ominously observed, “I don’t see what you mean.” I had by this time forgotten all about the star, and had to ask him in turn what _he_ meant.

“Why, how do you mean that the pole star is the first land you make?” he demanded, bristling; “you often see Juan Fernandez.”

“Oh, well,” I answered, desiring propitiation, “sailors used to say that in the old days, meaning that it reminded them that they were once more in northern latitudes.”

“Well, _I_ never heard it,” he returned; “and, anyhow, we don’t know whether hit’s land _or_ water.” Here I fled, unable to withstand the strain any longer.

At dinner to-day he unexpectedly relapsed into his usual morose, contrary humor, and came strutting and stamping into the dining-room, glaring at every object, till his eye lit on a plate of rather stale hard bread on the table; then he grabbed some, fiercely bit an enormous piece out of it, threw the rest back into the platter, dropped into his seat with a crash that shook the tumblers, and shouted at the quaking steward, “Ain’t I told yer not to put nothin’ on the table but what’s fit for a white man to eat?” Deep silence followed as he dashed the soup around in the tureen with the ladle and fell upon his dinner; and my wife, without thinking, observed, “Well, this is the hottest we have had yet.” “No,” said Captain Scruggs, “it ain’t, hit’s nice and cool.” Angry at this flat contradiction, I told him that the thermometer, unlike many people, always told the truth, and that it was 88° on deck. “In the sun,” he replied, which he knew wasn’t so; while that devilish Goggins smiled blandly at us, as if to say, “You can’t catch _him_”; but I stood by for developments. Presently the old man began to shift about in his seat; then he made the curious remark that it was too warm for rain; in ten minutes more the perspiration began to stream from his face, and in another five minutes he got up and left the cabin, almost prostrated with the heat on this cool and pleasant day; though as he departed he attributed it to “them beans bein’ too heavy eatin’.” The mate followed him, with a face like a worn-out wet carriage sponge.

We have crossed the sun and he is at last south of us and casts shadows in the opposite direction from yesterday. We haven’t had the racks on the table for two days, which means a phenomenally smooth sea; the ocean often appears quiet enough to the eye, but there is nearly always a swell present that would play havoc with glasses and bottles. This is the first time that we haven’t used the fiddles since leaving New York. Latitude, 10° 44′ north; longitude, 122° 35′ west.

+August 28+

Another very hot day and night, but not comparable with yesterday, when a draught of air out of the sails was more like a blast from Tophet than a breath from this great ocean. It was possible to get considerable sleep last night, and on the whole we did very well; for even if we made only seventy-five miles, it was in the right direction. During the whole of the first watch last night there wasn’t even a suspicion of wind and the silence that reigned was wonderfully impressive, so that we were deeply awed by the solemnity of the scene. All about the zenith was a large area of perfectly clear sky thickly dusted with stars that shone with a calm splendor not to be seen except near the equator.

“By night those soft, lasceevious stars
Leer from those velvet skies,”

saith Kipling.

About 45° from the zenith a mist commenced, thickening gradually into clouds dense and black, their lofty cones and dark abysses brought forth with startling clearness by great ceaseless surges of heat-lightning that enveloped the horizon like undulating, violet flames. On board no sound broke the stillness, which was that of the Arctic icefields, for minutes at a time, except now and then the creak of a yard that broke harshly on the ear, or the pleasant sound of a light swell at long intervals that chuckled to itself under the counter; and we floated motionless upon the deep, wrapped in an absolute and breathless calm. And the golden, bell-like tones of the exquisite _andante_ from the Sonata Appassionata seemed to dwell in the air; tones which Beethoven said was his own conception of the music of the spheres, for the movement occurred to him one night in the hills, while contemplating the stellar glories of a clear, tranquil sky. Oh, what majesty in such a night! Oh, the solemn grandeur of this phase of nature! Indeed, it is difficult to say which exerts the more powerful influence over the mind: a gale of wind or a great, soundless calm, when every star in the firmament seems reflected in the motionless sea.

Throughout this forenoon, too, the wind was of the lightest sort, though this fact was productive of some little diversion. Shortly after ten o’clock the captain called our attention to several sharks wandering about far down in the blue depths under the stern, and presently several dolphin appeared hovering about the rudder, offering, with their agility and marvellous coloring, a striking contrast to the slothful, sombre sharks. All at once the old man ran off, and then returned with a formidable engine of destruction, consisting of a huge iron hook strong enough to sustain an ox, with a short length of wire rope attached to it. His other hand clutched a mass of oleaginous pork, from which liquid fat exuded in the rays of a baking sun. This delicacy, the mere sight of which would revolt the stomach of an emu, the skipper gayly secured on the hook, and then bent the whole affair to a long line as big as the main-brace. This gear would really have been suitable for the capture of nothing smaller than a ninety-barrel whale; but the captain surveyed his arrangements with much urbanity and dropped the contrivance over the stern. There was no shark in sight, but one speedily appeared, and propelled himself with great caution toward the bait; his eye caught the cable then to which it was fastened, and he sheered off. When he had manœuvred thus several times, he seemed to summon his friends, for three more of the creatures mysteriously appeared. They, too, were very shy at first; but at length they began to turn slightly on their backs as they approached, a sure sign that before long they would seize the bait. At last the largest one swam boldly up to it, turned over, opened his wicked jaws, his double row of triangular teeth closed upon the extreme edge of the meat, and he deftly tore the whole piece off the hook, while he seemed to smile as he leisurely rejoined his companions.

Then the skipper fetched another lump of pork-fat, which he kneaded and squelched in his hand as he walked along. Again the same wily beast took the bait, and once more we drew up the naked hook. After a repetition of this, the skipper, with much pomposity, rigged the harpoon and bade me stand by with it while he endeavored to entice the sharks close under the counter with another pound of pork. Several times I hove the weapon without the least risk to any of the sharks, though I all but followed the harpoon overboard at every lunge, and once contrived to stand in the bight of the rope, which nearly cut me in two; and we could perceive the iron plunge down fathom after fathom in the transparent water. Finally I did strike one in the middle of the back, but the harpoon bounded off his tough hide and he glided away unharmed. This was discouraging, and we desisted soon afterward, as we had to carry on the attack under a terrific sun. The sharks looked unspeakably comfortable, sauntering around below the rudder, now sinking out of sight, now cleaving the surface at a distance with their sharp dorsal fins, upright like sabres, and I was secretly well pleased that we didn’t kill one, for I must confess that the sight of a shark does not throw me into convulsions of horror, nor does it consume me with the fanatical thirst for slaughter, which is the general effect produced by the appearance of one of these beasts.

Each of these sharks was attended by the familiar little pilot-fish, about the size of a small mackerel, with his body wonderfully marked with bands of dark blue and black, as sharply defined as the turning-post of a croquet set; strange it surely is to see these tiny fellows fearlessly maintain their position just under the gaping mouth.

As indicated elsewhere, Mr. Goggins hasn’t much to say these days, although he has recovered somewhat from the cataleptic state into which the stabbing of the second mate threw him. He was quite talkative last night in his watch, and congratulated me upon my not smoking, saying, “I’m glad to see you don’t use these cigareets; they’re bad things, and I can tell you why,--’cause they’re full o’ nicoline.”

The second mate is pulling slowly along, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, an ill-looking man, and what is more miserable than a sick sailor? Every one aboard ship has his own duties to perform, and scant attention and no sympathy is vouchsafed to the luckless man confined to his room. Latitude, 11° 49′ north; longitude, 123° 5′ west.

+August 29+

The northeast Trades! Yes, the northeast Trades! Even the skipper is pretty sure that they have arrived, though we are still three degrees south of where they generally are in August. It is a piece of very good luck, for we all expected to be several days more in the Doldrums, and those who were on deck when the wind came in a squall at sunrise hardly dared to breathe or move for fear that it would be nothing but a puff. But as the hours wore on and the breeze momentarily increased, it was soon apparent that the Trades had reached us. How vastly different to-day is from yesterday! Then, all stagnation and blighting, withering heat; now, all motion and joy and sparkling sea. We had not a breath of air for eight solid hours last night, though, and the wrath of Abner Scruggs was very, very great. From eight to ten, during his watch on deck, we, sitting on the cabin-house, could hear him muttering and thumping away by the wheel-house, and we privately smiled thereat. Finally, after a couple of hours of this harlequin act, my wife went below; and then I went over to him and listened to the liveliest sort of arguments that he had with himself for nearly an hour. In vain he tried to draw me into them, and as a last resort he began on Central Park. “That’s a queer kind of a park, that is, where they won’t let people walk on the grass. Why don’t they have it like the park in Sydney? What’s a park for, anyway? Why don’t they put the thing in a glass case?” But I let him gibber on, and when I turned in, a little later, he had wrought himself into one of his passions.

A day or two ago I was reading at the wheel-house door. The hour was ten in the morning, and hardly a sound was to be heard. The old man was below asleep and the mate was at work on the main-deck. Old Kelly was steering, and suddenly he leaned over and said, “Can you tell me about where she is, sir?” in a whisper. Then he went on, “I want to tell you somethin’; if ’twasn’t for you and the lady there’d be trouble in this ship.” “There has been trouble,” said I. Kelly glanced askance at me and answered disdainfully, “Ho! I don’t call _that_ trouble; that’s what you expect when you ship in a Yankee. What I mean is real trouble that begins with M. But the men, even the worst of ’em, have got such a regard for your lady for the way she behaved off Cape Horn, and all through the voyage for that matter, that they’re holdin’ in for her sake.” Whether this was said with some ulterior motive it is impossible to tell; but Kelly spoke in a calm voice as if he meant what he said. What he suggested by his mysterious M. was a word that I have never heard a sailor pronounce,--mutiny. To them it is a word too full of deadly meaning for ordinary conversation. For, generally speaking, there are only two things aboard ship,--one is duty, and the other is mutiny. All that a seaman is ordered to do is duty; all that he refuses to do is mutiny. Rarx is beginning to lose heart as well as flesh, and says that if he lives to see the Farallones he’ll surprise himself. This is unfortunate, and we are doing all we can to cheer him up. Latitude, 12° 30′ north; longitude, 124° 30′ west.

+August 30+

Our course has been bad for twenty-four hours, as during the greater part of that period we steered nothing to the northward of west, and our present course would take us to Honolulu in 165°. Ships are generally forced over to 140° or 145° even under ordinary conditions, and if we do not find ourselves 20° west of San Francisco when the Trades let go, we will do well. The weather, though, is perfect; warmer certainly than in the southeast Trades, but not at all disagreeable in the shade,--about 81° at mid-day. A very acceptable change since we took this wind is that there have been no more rain-squalls. During the late Doldrums these squalls were at times practically continuous; and while the old man did finally rig up a bit of canvas, six feet by six, to serve as an awning, under which we had to crouch as though in the ’tween-decks, it was not of much use in the rain. It was extremely annoying to have to gather up the backgammon-board, two novels, a lot of sewing, a pillow, and two chairs and dash for the wheel-house half a dozen times a watch. Often the squalls lasted only two or three minutes, yet there was enough water in each shower to drench everything.

There is a very ingenious way of disposing of the main-top-sail and top-gallant-halliards on the “Higgins.” They are always very bulky, heavy ropes, and when coiled over a pin in the rail are very unsightly objects. To obviate this, there are two large reels in the monkey-rail at the forward end of the cabin-house, one on each side, upon which the free end of these ropes are wound when the yards have been mastheaded. A bit of twine then secures the reel to prevent the halliards paying out, and another piece stops it (the rope) up to the shrouds, clear of the men’s heads on the main-deck. When the yards have to be lowered, a sharp jerk breaks the twine, and the halliards run off without danger of fouling. It is a clever scheme and ought to be in more general use, the only drawback to it being that a hand has to mount the poop and reel up the halliards again when the yards have been hoisted; but that is a small matter.

I went down into the lazarette yesterday afternoon, after Louis had gone forward, and found that his quarters were not so stiflingly hot as might have been expected; the Frenchman still bears his confinement with extraordinary indifference. Mr. Rarx passed a very bad night. Latitude, 13° 17′ north; longitude, 126° west.

+August 31+

On this, the last day of August, we have but little cause for rejoicing. In the first place, the wind has been dead against us and light at that; and, in the second place, the captain is in so churlish a temper as to barely answer yes and no to civil questions. Shortly before four o’clock yesterday the wind began to ease up, and by nightfall had dwindled to a light air, and then whipped into the north-northwest, so that our course up to eight this morning was west, and we got that only by pinching her, so that our speed was seldom more than two knots. The night was a gorgeous one, with a sky that glistened with golden stars, while a new moon hung low down in the west; and far away in the southeast, over the face of a black cloud, shimmered waves of heat-lightning, lovely in the extreme.

By morning, as there were no indications of coming up, the captain concluded to tack ship, which was done between eight and nine o’clock; and we discovered, when braced up on the port tack, that we looked up to north-northeast, which was by no means bad. At the present time, three in the afternoon, the wind is a fresh, even a strong breeze, and we are doing pretty well except for a long head-swell, into which we plunge so heavily that we are not doing more than five knots instead of seven or eight.

The captain is in a worse humor than ever before, though it must be said that the evolution of tacking ship this morning was accomplished quietly, and, what is much more remarkable, without a single oath. Conversation at meals has been almost completely suspended again, except that my wife and I converse together, ignoring the captain entirely; this would be childish behavior on our part were it not that every remark that we have made lately has met with either a rough denial or indifferent silence. He asked us the other day whether Captain Kingdon of the “Mandalore” used to lose his temper in calms and head-winds; a question which we found much pleasure in answering in a vehement negative. The sailors have resumed most of their erstwhile good humor, perhaps on account of the proximity of the end of the voyage; it is reassuring to see them thus again, for a score of brooding, scowling sailors aboard ship is an unpleasant reminder of what the men could do if they were determined. Indeed, from a passenger’s point of view, I would far rather see a captain in a perpetual bad humor than the men. Considering all the ill-treatment that sailors get, it is extraordinary at first sight that they do not vindicate more frequently their wrongs at sea by quietly dropping the after-guard over the side. It is perfectly feasible to dispose of the officer of the watch at night. A single well-aimed blow of an iron belaying-pin in the helmsman’s hand is all that is necessary; and the captain and the other mate are asleep below and both could be readily made away with. But on close inspection two very strong reasons are disclosed showing why it is that the sailor does not more readily appear in the _rôle_ of avenger. The first reason is, not being a navigator, what is to become of the ship? and if they do reach a port, what credible story can be concocted? Murder will out. The second reason is to be found in that wonderful sense of obedience to captain and officers apparent in even the most desperate and abandoned seamen; so blind is their submission to authority, however grossly and fiendishly it may be abused, that they sometimes at the present day, in our own long-voyage ships, suffer death itself rather than resist him whom the law has invested with power so absolute that the might of a sultan suffers in comparison! But too few of our sailing-ship-masters seem to be possessed of the ordinary feelings of humanity toward their crews. After they have exhausted all other defences in upholding their bad treatment of sailors, they nearly always conclude by saying, “Well, what have we got in our ships? A lot of Dutch and English scum that you’ve got to lick h---- out of afore they’ll obey an order.” But how about the “S. P. Hitchcock” and the “St. James,” commanded respectively by Captains Gates and Banfield? Here are two deep-water American ships, who also have to take whatever crews the shipping masters give them, so that they are not a whit better off in the quality of their sailors than other vessels; yet there is never any trouble aboard of them at sea, and good-will and cheerfulness pervade both vessels. They have made some rattling good passages, and are positive proof that discipline can be obtained without violence; and, after nearly four months’ experience here, I believe that I am justified in expressing my opinion, which is, that _brutality toward and the continual driving and hazing of sailors do not conduce to order and discipline_. Commands are not obeyed here with the precision that they were on the “Mandalore,” and many and many a time I have seen the men make a great show of hauling on the braces when in reality they were not pulling a hundred pounds. Knock them over for this? No, it only makes them worse next time, but that’s what Yankee mates generally do. If work is to be got out of sailors, _they must be treated justly to begin with_; if not, you will get no more out of them than out of any other class.