Chapter II: Part 2

When the cyclone had passed and the ship had come up on an even keel, Captain Nickels surveyed the wreck aloft and then decided on his course, which was as follows: a part of the spars and rigging having been saved, a foretop-mast was made from a spare spar, and the stump of an old mizzentop-gallant-mast was used for a foretop-gallant-mast. The ship carried a spare fore-yard, the lower foretop-sail-yard was intact, and the upper maintop-sail-yard was utilized for an upper fore; the foretop-gallant- and royal-yards were saved, thus square-rigging the vessel forward. A portion of the main-yard, which was broken, was used for a maintop-mast, leaving the mainmast fore-and-aft rigged. The mizzentop-gallant-mast, which was apparently hopelessly damaged, was fished and repaired together with all the yards below it, so that the vessel was square-rigged forward and aft, but schooner-rigged amidships, presenting a most extraordinary appearance. She looked at a distance somewhat like two hermaphrodite brigs, yet after the repairs had been made, which occupied fifteen days, she was successfully navigated into New York harbor, a distance of two thousand two hundred miles, and on one day logged the extremely good run of two hundred and forty knots. For this fine performance the underwriters presented the gallant captain with a superb gold watch, and well he deserved it, for it was an act of seamanship so bold and unusual as to command the applause of Captain Nickels’s fellow ship-masters, a class of men who, as a rule, are extremely reserved in their expressions of approbation. Latitude, 31° 34′ north; longitude, 42° 10′ west.

+May 21+

Last night was windy, with a severe squall at one o’clock in the morning, with much rain, and we haven’t seen the sky-sails since six last evening.

As I was leaning against the rail yesterday afternoon, looking at the mizzen-stay being set up by the starboard watch, the captain came up and said, “I’ve found out we’ve got another cap’n aboard, a fellow called Murphy, I believe. I’m going to send him aft to run the ship, and I’m going forrad to sleep in the fo’c’sle.” The skipper has a curious way of saying such things, and we never know whether to smile or not. Presently, though, he cast joking aside and began to blackguard Murphy in the language of the deep sea, saying that when he (the captain) had gone forward to see that the regular weekly washing out of the forecastle was properly done, some of the men did not seem to relish the process, and he heard Murphy grumble. Now, when a foremast hand has been somewhat disagreeable for a few days, and at length finds audible fault with various things, it is almost certain that some one hour in the succeeding twenty-four will be unpleasant for him. Thus with Murphy. After supper we were sitting on the deck-house, when Captain Scruggs came up and said that at eight bells the decision would be reached, whether or not there were two captains aboard. He was very nervous and couldn’t sit still; which reminds me that I have never yet seen a long-voyage skipper who wasn’t nervous at even the mildest encounter with the men.

The evening shades fell early, by reason of heavy clouds, and at eight o’clock it was dark. Word was passed forward that both watches were to muster aft, and when eight bells had been struck, the eighteen seamen (including the bosuns) came trooping down from forward and grouped themselves at the after hatch. Here I sent my wife below, fearing scenes which she ought not to witness; while the captain at the same moment passed out of the cabin to the main deck and faced the men.

It was an impressive, rugged scene. The wind was puffy and uncertain and the decks were wet; and though it was too dark to see the men’s expressions, their forms stood out clearly enough as they rolled from side to side with the heave of the ship, two broad beams of light shooting out from the cabin doors and illuminating the showers of spray that flew incessantly over the weather side; the great main-sail bridging over the scene with its huge curve, till lost in the gloom of the upper sails.

As soon as the captain appeared, he began to pace athwartships between the hatch and the poop, keeping it up for several minutes in a dead silence. How well he knows how to handle a crew! Nothing is more effective than such a silence, for it shows the men that the skipper is about to act with deliberation. Suddenly he unexpectedly rapped out, “Go forrad, the port watch”; and the nine men quickly disappeared, wondrous glad to escape, no doubt. Now what the captain said to the rest I could not hear, for the wind cut his words off short; but he walked up among the men, shouldering his way roughly through them, until he stood directly in front of Murphy, who, though putting on some “side,” shrunk back from the glare that I knew shot from the old man’s eye. He spoke to him in the fierce, intense tones of a thoroughly angry man; and, after a considerable harangue, he seized Murphy by his nasal extremity, the size of which afforded him excellent holding ground, and led the recalcitrant youth around in a small circle, every few seconds tweaking and twisting his nose, till I was surprised that it did not part company with the rest of his face. This done, he sent the men forward, entered the cabin, sat down, and joined us in a game of casino.

At first this seemed a very puerile manner of administering punishment, but it is considered wonderfully effective, and, in truth, it is humiliating to be hauled about by the nose in the presence of one’s companions. I had expected that Murphy would have been floored with a belaying-pin, that handy instrument of correction which most American masters and mates know so well how to wield. But Captain Scruggs seems to be restraining himself, owing in part, no doubt, to our presence on board, though chiefly to the space which the newspapers have been devoting lately to aggravated cases of cruelty at sea. Indeed, the skipper himself said the other day, “What’s a ship-master to do nowadays, when the press jumps on him when he gets ashore?” He forgets that if the said ship-master conducted himself at sea like the captain of a ship ought to, the press would have no cause for writing him up.

The course has been poor, with the wind at times to the southward of east, and, horrible to relate, we made a degree of westing in the twenty-four hours. If we don’t have a better chance than this, we’ll be jammed on San Roque in earnest. Latitude 28° 30′ north; longitude, 43° west.

+May 22+

It is necessary here to make an announcement of a very painful nature, an announcement of a fact so lamentable and unfortunate that for a long while we tried to believe that it could not be. Captain Scruggs has several times in the last week been very much under the influence of strong liquor! More than once we have noticed that he exhibited a strange uncertainty in his gait, and for two days he has been unusually aggressive and sometimes silly in his arguments. Still, neither of us would acknowledge to the other that which we knew in our hearts was true, until last evening at supper his conduct compelled us to admit the shocking fact that the master of the ship in which we have but just commenced one of the longest and stormiest of voyages was plainly drunk. He had to steady himself against the mizzen-mast at the end of the dining-room before he could sit down, and during the meal he was for a time a drooling idiot. His chief amusement seemed to lie in spilling small quantities of maple syrup over the table-cloth, in which he then dabbled with his fingers, like a boy with his feet in a puddle. The syrup appeared to revive memories of his childhood, for he told us stories of his passion for this fluid when a youth. Said he: “Why, I used to go out in the woods, tap a maple-tree, and let two gallons of surrup run into me.” No one said a word. “Two gallons!” glaring fiercely at the mate, who, of course, didn’t offer any objection. Then he caught sight of a small wash-tub, and, turning on the mate again, cried out violently, “When I was a boy, I used to could drink that right down full er maple surrup. This ’ere hain’t surrup; h’its mucilage.” Here we excused ourselves and went on deck.

Now, what is all this going to lead to? Pleasant thought, that of knocking about in a gale of wind off Cape Horn with a groggy skipper in charge! Indeed, when we first discovered his bibulous inclination, my wife was in despair, and the only consolation we have is to be found in the hope that the case of whiskey that we have seen is the only one on board. We can account now, too, for the innumerable times that the captain has popped into his little room, only to emerge in a few seconds, smelling furiously of Florida-water. Well, we’ll probably have fine, light weather through the northeast Trades, which we are now sure that we have taken; and at the rate at which the grog is vanishing at present, it will be gone before we reach the squally Doldrums, provided that the skipper has but one case.

In a copy of a nautical magazine on board, I saw an account of a singular fact that occurred a short while ago. The British ship “Crompton” was homeward bound a few months since, from Calcutta to Dundee, when one morning Captain Lloyd sighted something ahead which seemed to be either a capsized vessel or the back of a whale. As the vessel approached, however, the captain saw that it was neither, but a rock, about sixty feet long, eight feet high, and the same broad. He could scarcely believe his senses, for the position of the rock was 47° north and 37° 20′ west! Imagine a rock’s existing in the most crowded ocean on the globe, almost every square mile of which it was reasonable that at least one vessel had traversed, which had never been seen or reported before! For some time Captain Lloyd could not believe that it really was a rock, and so to verify it he sailed as close to it as possible; and as the morning was a perfectly clear one, and the hour twenty minutes to eight, he was at last compelled to believe the evidence of his eyes, that here was a large rock, extremely dangerous to navigation, lying five hundred miles north-northwest of the Azores!

Speaking of those balmy isles reminds one of that ardent, skilful yachtsman, the Prince of Monaco. About two years ago, while prosecuting some deep-sea soundings in the vicinity of the Azores on his steam yacht, he found a bank or ledge which rose from a depth of about two thousand fathoms to one of something like fifty fathoms, which, like the aforementioned rock, had never been charted or reported. So extremely zealous is the prince in his pursuit of knowledge concerning the floor of the Atlantic, that he shortly afterward gave an order for a twelve-hundred-ton steam yacht (he can well afford it!) fitted with the most recent inventions in connection with deep-sea sounding apparatus. I wonder whether he will use the machine for this purpose invented by Captain Sigsbee, who commanded the battleship “Maine” at the time of her destruction. It is said that Lord Kelvin, who, when Sir William Thompson, invented the famous sounding machine which bears his name, has stated that Captain Sigsbee has adopted an idea in his apparatus which he (Lord Kelvin) had vainly sought for years to utilize in his mechanism. If this be true, Captain Sigsbee has reason to be a very proud man, for Lord Kelvin is, perhaps, the most learned individual now living on hydro-dynamics and kindred sciences.

Last voyage it took us exactly a month in which to reach this spot where we are now, which illustrates how uncertain and erratic long voyages are. All fear of being “stuck” in this region, as we were before, has disappeared, for the Trades have come now without question; and while they are quite fresh enough to suit us, we would like to see the wind back two points to the northward. Latitude, 26° 18′ north; longitude, 41° 9′ west.

+May 23+

Last night was a windy one, and in the middle watch we split the mizzen-royal in a severe squall; so we took in the fore- and main-royals, the sea being choppy and the vessel plunging a good deal. It is customary to cut the light sails in such a manner that a fore-sky-sail will answer for a mizzen-royal; therefore, toward the end of the morning watch the fore-sky-sail was unbent and stretched on the mizzen-royal-yard, the royals having been set again an hour or so previously. It didn’t fit particularly well, but it will do until to-morrow, when the royal will be repaired, as such work is not done on Sunday unless in case of urgent need. Sometimes there is necessity for hard work on the Sabbath aboard ship, such an instance having occurred on the “Hosea Higgins” on her last homeward voyage from San Francisco. It might be first observed that, though it is the custom to give the men a holiday on Sunday, still if the captain orders anything done, he must be obeyed without murmur. On this particular occasion, Captain Scruggs saw fit to order one of the bosuns to do some work aloft, which he refused. The skipper went down on the main deck then and spoke to the man, a lusty young German, asking him why he refused to turn to.

“Because it’s Soonday, zur,” he replied.

“Sunday? Never heard of it. What is Sunday? Who told you anything about it?” quizzed the old man.

“I say, a man’s not supposed to turn to on Soonday, zur,” repeated the bosun.

“Oh, he’s not,” quoth the skipper; “then we always put him where he’ll have plenty of leisure. Mr. Goggins, the irons.”

(This same mate came around from California in the “Higgins.”)

The irons were brought, and the man, quietly enough, but with angry eye and sneering lip, put his hands behind him; the irons were locked on, and he was led down into the lazarette, where he sat calmly down, and the key was turned. Six hours afterward the mate went to him with some food and found that the man had in some way contrived to shift his hands around in front and was disposed to be ugly. Therefore he was taken up into the after part of the wheel-house (these structures on American ships are divided into equal portions, one containing the wheel and binnacle, the other the rudder-head, tiller, flag-locker, etc.), where a staple was driven into a carling, to which the man’s hands, still ironed, were secured, leaving him so that he could not sit down, his wrists being about six inches above his head. Now, this posture for twelve hours is enough to break the heart of a wild beast; yet this bosun stood there without a word for thirty hours, refusing food or drink during that time! At the end of every six hours or so the mate went to him and asked if he had had enough, to which the Teuton would answer “Naw.” His endurance yielded at the thirtieth hour and he implored to be released, which he was six hours later, and for the rest of the passage he was a model sailor.

At this time we are on or near a favorite whaling ground, great numbers of these leviathans being taken in this vicinity every year by schooners. In the old days a first-class whaling bark cost about thirty-five thousand dollars, and was manned by perhaps thirty Western Islanders, or natives of the Azores. They were owned by companies who supplied the vessels with provisions, clothes, and outfits, and also advanced certain sums of money to captain and crew (which did not go to crimps as it does now) while they were away on a three years’ cruise. No wages were ever paid to any one, but all hands received a percentage when the ship returned, the bulk, which remained, being divided among the stockholders. The most lucrative whaling voyage of which there is any record was made by the “Onward” of New Bedford, which, after a forty-one months’ voyage, stocked two hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, the captain’s share alone amounting to thirty-three thousand. More startling even than that is the fact that during the fifty-two years which formed the golden era of Massachusetts’s whaling industry the total value of whale products landed in New Bedford alone amounted to one hundred and forty-five million dollars!

We had quite an agreeable shock this morning when the carpenter walked aft to breakfast with a clean, new, checked shirt on, it being Sunday. He had combed the sawdust and other little inconveniences out of his unctuous locks, and he made quite a respectable appearance as he wabbled into the cabin.

Fresh Trades blew all day, and we have made good a course about south-southeast. Latitude, 23° 28′ north; longitude, 40° 15′ west.

+May 24+

This day broke with a strong breeze and a cloudy sky; but, as usual, the vapor cleared away at ten o’clock and a superb afternoon followed.

Nearly all wooden ships have to be pumped out twice every day, once in the morning watch and again at six in the evening. It is almost impossible to build a tight wooden vessel of any size, and the rougher the sea the more water she will make, on account of laboring. Of course, the leakage varies greatly, but I suppose that our own is an average one, about one thousand strokes of the pumps being necessary to free the ship at each session of thirty minutes, and the aperture through which the water escapes is about as large as a fire-hose.

Last evening, sadly needing exercise, I descended to the main-deck after supper and announced to Jimmie Rumps, the young starboard watch bosun, that it was my intention to assist in pumping ship, if the men had no objection; at which they smiled, while Rumps assured me that any such assistance would be eagerly welcomed. A ship’s pumps are worked by means of handle-bars attached to large, heavy fly-wheels, six feet in diameter; and the motion of pumping is similar to the old-fashioned way of lifting rock out of an excavation by man-power derricks. I therefore grasped the handle-bar with the reckless assurance of a man who knows not what he does, having opposite to me a raw-boned, powerful Englishman, Coleman. “Shake her up” came from the second mate in another moment; and, urged by the strong arms of the men, the great wheels began to slowly revolve. As moments passed, though with no indication of acceleration in the speed, I began to fear that after all I was not to find much exercise in this way, when all at once there was a distinct increase in the movement, and my breath came shorter and quicker. Faster and yet faster flew the iron handles till we must have been doing sixty revolutions to the minute. I was nearly pitched off my feet at every turn, and my head commenced to swim. Usually, at the end of fifteen minutes, a halt is called for a breathing-spell; but now we went on and on with no signs of cessation, and the men wrought with wooden faces. Then instantly I saw that they were having their joke, initiating me, as it were, and that they had no intention of resting till the trick was over. The pace was quite frightful; but I decided to faint on the deck rather than yield. Round went the relentless, cruel handles, carrying me with them, like a nautical Don Quixote on the windmill, while Jimmie Rumps, that young limb of Satan, made facetious observations, at which the men smiled compassionately.

“Fine exercise this, mister”; and, “How’d you like to do this when we’re turnin’ the Corner with two feet of water on deck?”

A ghastly smile was the only answer that I could summon, and in five minutes more I should certainly have succumbed to dizziness and want of breath, when I heard the voice of the mate, sounding strange and distant, “That’ll do the pumps.” I let go the handle, grinned like a skull to show how happy I was, summoned all my strength, tottered to the poop ladder, crawled up, fell into a deck-chair and for five minutes endured the bitter agonies of a man thoroughly “pumped.” This was a good deal better than giving in, however, and it is my intention to hammer away at it for the rest of the voyage.

To-day the sun was overhead at noon, the declination and latitude being the same. We made a somewhat better course during the past twenty-four hours, about south 30° east, and a heavy bank in the northeast presages a breeze from that quarter, so that we may come up a couple of points farther. The captain continues his libations with no indication of a change; evil as the thing is, though, there is some compensation in it for us, as he is usually asleep in his room all day. An ill wind, and so on. Latitude 20° 3′ north; longitude, 38° 23′ west.

+May 25+

Last night we celebrated the Queen’s birthday for Mr. Goggins’ sake; and the old man had a fête all by himself with a bottle of Monongahela. The first part of the proceedings consisted in burning balls of tar-soaked oakum mounted on sticks secured to the weather rail. Each ball was of the size of man’s head and burned with a brilliant flame that lit up the whole ship with a red glare, sending now and then a stream of sparks across the deck, quite alarming till we remembered that everything in the waist was drenched with spray.

The second portion of the festivities was more elaborate and was begun by carrying a barrel of oiled shavings up on the poop. The open end of the barrel was headed up and a hole a foot square was then cut in the side. Of course, the captain insisted on performing this piece of carpentry, and he entertained himself for ten minutes, jabbing away at the hard wood with a little key-hole saw till he was in quite a frenzy.

“Now gimme a match and I’ll show you some fireworks,” said he.

“Hi don’t think it’ll burn, Cap’n Scruggs: the hole ain’t big enough,” meekly observed the mate.

“I didn’t ask you whether you thought ’twould burn or not,” responded the skipper, who had snapped about an inch off the end of his little saw. “I asked you for a match.”

Finally the contents of the barrel were ignited, and the skipper, seizing the chimes at one end, bade the mate do the same at the other; then to lift it horizontally, swing it to and fro, and when he said “three,” to let it go over the stern. But the mate got it wrong in some way, and let go at “two,” and as the captain hung on, there was a good deal of excitement for a few seconds. The barrel all but hauled him overboard after breaking off two or three finger nails, banged loudly against the counter, turned over, and dropped into the water hole-side down.

The scene which followed was too harrowing for reproduction, but it was interrupted by the loud voice of the lookout, “Light right ahead, sir.” Instantly all was silent. The skipper jumped up on the deck-house, while the mate ran for the top-gallant-forecastle, whence he shouted back, “All right, sir, she’s keeping away”; and in a few minutes, a bark of about seven hundred tons under topsails passed us to leeward, by the wind, bound north.

Mr. Goggins entertained us at dinner to-day with a new version of an old sea-fight. The captain did not come to the table until supper, owing to his celebrations, which he prolonged far into the night; so, after the soup had been cleared away at dinner, the mate began, “Did you ever hear, sir, and ma’am, of the true ’istory about Sims (Semmes) in the battle of the ‘Kearsarge’ and ‘Halabama’?” “No,” said I; “let us have it.”

“’Twon’t take long to tell,” said the mate. “He warn’t in the fight at all. Where was he? Aboard o’ that English yacht, the ‘Greyhound,’ or whatever she was, a-lookin’ on! Yes, sir; I was in Liverpool then, and he come in and went on board the ‘Great Western,’ and her cap’n spit in his face, and him without the courage to reply.”

Mr. Goggins had a sousing yesterday which diverted all hands for some time. He was coming down from forward on the weather side, with that peculiar confidence assumed by captains and mates when the spray is flying, as if it were impossible for a drop of water to strike them. The mate had reached the main hatch, when he heard the swash of an unusually heavy sea, and casually turned his head in time to see a perfect storm of spray flying down upon him. It hit him fairly between the shoulders. He staggered, fluttered about for a moment, and then flapped heavily and helplessly against the hatch-combing, where he sat up finally in a foot of water, drenched to the bone.

Our fine breeze holds, but we are still hard on the wind; course, southeast by south, true. Latitude, 17° 15′ north; longitude, 36° 50′ west.

+May 26+

Last night was a squally one and the sky-sails were furled early in the evening, hands being stationed at the royal-halliards as well, until they, too, were stowed at three in the morning.

We had an accident yesterday afternoon, which, though comparatively trivial, occasioned some lively work. My wife and I were playing backgammon at the forward end of the deck-house in the first dog watch, and everything was running very smoothly, when, with a snap and a rattle of chain links, the lee maintop-gallant-sheet was carried away. In a second there was an uproar. Two men jumped with great alacrity into the weather rigging and in a few minutes were astride of the lee upper maintop-sail-yard-arm, working like demons, with the long length of chain sheet waving and slashing among the braces as the ship rolled in the beam seas. Louis, the Frenchman, swung himself into the rigging immediately afterward, stationing himself on the royal-yard-arm, followed by Mr. Rarx and three other men.

It wasn’t long before the work of repair was progressing satisfactorily, when the skipper appeared at the cabin door, and, without preliminary, commenced to shake things up a little. He shook with such success that in three or four minutes Jimmie Rumps began to simply hop into the air at intervals, the men were reduced to idiots, while Mr. Goggins charged about, gulping with excitement; for the captain would sandwich in such observations as, “I wonder whether I shipped you for a mate or a farmer”; and requesting him, in soft but deadly tones, to be “good enough to secure that sheet so it’ll hold till to-morrow, anyway.” After snarling everything up into a hundred grannies, Captain Scruggs vanished, and the work proceeded quietly. The only man who kept his head was the second mate. This French seaman, Louis Jacquin, is an ideal sailor. He is built like an ox, short and very broad, with a bull neck thrust well down between massive shoulders, a back all corrugated with muscle, and, what is very remarkable in a sailor, large, strong legs. He is as swarthy as a Spaniard, with blue-black hair and short moustache, and a wide, powerful jaw, with a pleasant scowl, if such can exist, on his lean, determined face. He is a man to lean on in an accident.

We were glad to hear that when repairs had been made, the men were going to mast-head the top-gallant- and royal-yards to the stimulus of chanties; and sure enough, when the top-gallant-halliards were manned, the invigorating strains of “A Long Time Ago” broke out in a hoarse but agreeable barytone. A sailor’s chorus of this sort is a very inspiring thing. The whole of the crew, eighteen brawny fellows, were stretched in line, clear across the deck, with David MacFoy, the lusty-voiced Scot, at the end, to sing the verses; and at the conclusion of each line a roar would go ringing over the water that must have been heard behind the horizon, the halliards coming in a full yard at each swing. The main-royal went aloft to the tune of “A Poor Old Man,” and the boys seem to find so much pleasure in their chanties and their faces so shine with merriment that even the sight of them is enough to put a man in a good humor.

Over against this pleasant diversion looms up gloomily to-day’s evening repast. The captain had again imbibed enough to make him quarrelsome, and during the half-hour that we were at table the mate was so jerked about at the end of the skipper’s tongue that, objectionable as he is, we could but pity him, for in five minutes he was in a running perspiration. The only one who enjoyed the situation was the little Malay steward, whose face shone with delight as he moved noiselessly about the table with his gentle “scuse” (excuse), which he utters whenever he places a plate before us. It might be stated that the mate and the steward of a ship are at perpetual war; for the former always has charge of the beef, pork, and flour, which he invariably grudges to the steward.

The skipper has surprised us by handing me his sextant now and then, at about a quarter to noon, with the injunction, “Just look out for her to-day,” and has then disappeared below, to lie concealed often for several hours. We made the discovery to-day that he does this to avoid making himself ridiculous when taking the sun; for naturally a man requires all his faculties to know exactly when the sun is at meridian. Latitude, 14° 34′ north; longitude, 35° 12′ west.

+May 27+

Our good luck still follows us, for the Trades are stronger than ever. We made two hundred and twenty-two miles in the twenty-four hours, and for the last ten days our average daily run has been one hundred and ninety miles. Not very many vessels can show such a record in the northeast Trades at the end of May, and while two hundred and twenty-two miles would be merely a fair run with a free wind, it is extremely good work close-hauled with the leeches of the sky-sails lifting. It is true that we are still four degrees too far west for this latitude, but I expect that we’ll fetch by San Roque all right anyhow. “Where will we lose the Trades?” is in every one’s mouth; forty eight hours will, no doubt, see the end of them, and then for the Doldrums and rain. It is very hot now, but the atmosphere is quite dry.

The captain hasn’t boozed any all day, and at dinner he was in normal condition, and we had a long talk about the Scotch clippers of forty and fifty years ago. I asked him which he thought was the fastest sailing ship ever launched; he was in a good humor and answered pleasantly, “Well, that’s a big question. Some will tell you that the ‘Sovereign of the Seas’ was the smartest; others, the ‘Andrew Jackson’; some, the ‘Flying Cloud,’ which went out to San Francisco in eighty-five days, twenty-one hours, in 1857. These were all American ships, as I suppose you know; but the fastest ship, I think, that ever left the ways was the ‘Lothair,’ of Aberdeen, and I believe she was faster than that other Scotchman, the ‘Thermopylæ,’ with her sixty days from London to Melbourne. I’ll tell you what happened to me once: I was second mate of a Newburyport ship, and we were running our easting down bound out to Canton, and were somewhere near Tristan d’Acunha, when we sighted a vessel astern. It was blowing hard from the nor’west, and the next time I looked, a couple of hours later, there was the ship close on our quarter, and we doing twelve knots. ‘Holy jiggers,’ says I to the mate, ‘there’s the “Flyin’ Dutchman.”’ ‘Naw,’ says he, ‘its the “Thermopylæ.”’ But when she was abeam a little later, she hoisted her name, the ‘Lothair,’ and its been my opinion ever since that she was making mighty close to seventeen knots.” Then I asked him what he thought of the runs of some of our old tea-clippers of from four hundred to four hundred and forty miles. “Don’t believe it,” was all he said. It is very possible that the “Lothair” was doing better than sixteen knots at that time, and one of the most prominent young naval architects in New York told me once that if he got the order, he could design a sailing vessel which, under favorable conditions, would log eighteen knots.

The best authentic day’s run which I know of was made by the ship in which we sailed from New York to Calcutta three years ago, on her next eastern voyage to Anjer. She was running her easting down in ballast not far from Amsterdam Island, and from noon to noon on one occasion she sailed three hundred and fifty-one miles, an average of fifteen miles an hour; I mean knots, of course. Captain Kingdon wrote to me of this performance from Passaroean, and asserted positively that it was done by some of the best observations which he ever got in the Southern Ocean, and that dead reckoning had nothing to do with it. Indeed, that whole passage was a very quick one, as he went out to Java in eighty-three days from New York, and broke the record, as far as he knew, from the longitude of Cape Agulhas to Anjer, having covered that immense distance in twenty-one days. I told Captain Scruggs about this, and he doubted it, until he learned the vessel’s name. “Oh,” said he, “the ‘Mandalore’; well, maybe she did. I saw her in the dry-dock once, and there never was such a bottom on a merchant ship; ’twas like a yacht’s.” And, in truth, the handsomest vessel which I ever saw, taken as a whole, alow and aloft, was the “Mandalore” of London, built at Stockton-on-Tees. Seen, as we often saw her afterwards, moored in the Hooghly at Calcutta, among scores of the finest sailing ships in the world, she was the star of the fleet, the pride and very life of her captain. Poor, dear old Kingdon! The voyage on which he broke the record from Good Hope to the Straits of Sunda was the last he ever made. The “Mandalore” sailed from Banjoewangie, bound to Boston on the return passage, but called a few weeks later at Table Bay with the captain sick. He pluckily continued, though against the doctor’s orders, but was soon afterwards landed at St. Helena ill with cancer, the vessel proceeding in charge of the mate. Captain Kingdon then went by steamer to London _via_ Madeira, but was too far advanced in life for an operation, so he was ordered to Cairo, in the hope that the dry atmosphere would prolong his life. But his constitution was not able to hold out much longer, and two months after his arrival in Egypt died Ray Kingdon, true friend, master mariner, gentleman. Latitude, 11° 25′ north; longitude, 33° 14′ west.

+May 28+

The wind god is so exceedingly gracious to us at present that I cannot but think that he is saving himself to swoop down upon us in fell wrath at the Horn. Here we are bowling merrily along within five hundred miles of the equator, doing two hundred and twenty miles in the twenty-four hours, with an unlimited prospect of wind ahead; and if we could maintain this speed of nine knots, we would cross the line on Sunday, nineteen days from New York. There are sure to be several days of calms between the Trades, though, so let us call it twenty-five days.

During the whole of yesterday the captain kept as sober as a lord chancellor, until ten o’clock last night, when he took a drink, which set him off again. He was very talkative when we left the deck at 10.30, and the last thing that I remember before dropping off to sleep was, “You’ll have an easier time of it if you break a few of their ---- ---- heads.” This to the second mate after he had had two more drinks. We knew by this he was in for another round of festivities, and my wife said this morning that he was charging around the cabin all night, snoring and groaning, falling over camp-chairs and door-sills. I have known him to sink into a stupor on the cabin sofa, shoot off with a whoop in a lurch of the ship, wallow on the floor till he struck the table-legs, and then peacefully continue his slumbers in that attitude. He doesn’t like my mixing with the men so much, especially when pumping-ship; he is very suspicious, and said last evening that he shouldn’t think that I’d want to come into contact with such men, forgetting how much more interesting they are than he is.

If sailors can be induced to talk, they are the most entertaining people as a class which it is possible to find. But it is very hard for a stranger to break the ice with them; and if the stranger should be a gentleman it makes it twice as hard, for they will always be extremely reserved in his presence. The only way to do if you want them to talk freely among themselves (which is much the most amusing) is to ask them questions and try to start conversations with them at every opportunity; generally, at the end of a week, they will see that you really like to converse with them, the ice will gradually melt, and from that time forward, if you should ever feel gloomy and sulky, go down on the main-deck and stand by the galley during the second dog-watch, and listen to the witty passes at each other; in fifteen minutes you will be shaking with laughter, for theirs is real humor.

At the pumps this evening I asked the Frenchman several questions, and found him not at all averse to talking, though his English is very bad. In speaking of the Southern Ocean, he said that his preference lay in favor of the Horn voyages, saying that the Good Hope seas were too short, meaning that in the event of a very heavy sea it is best to have as long a one as possible. Probably he was thinking of the Agulhas Bank, where there is at times possibly the most dangerous sea in the world,--a Bay of Fundy sea multiplied by ten. Across this bank, in a westerly direction, flows a swift current that issues from the Mozambique Channel, called now the Agulhas Current, and this, meeting the westerly gales, produces enormous, hollow seas, from which no vessel, however buoyant, can keep free.

What a splendid fellow this Gaul is! What a back and legs! and his wrists are as large as some men’s ankles. He has a really engaging smile, too, in spite of his bulldog jaws and shaggy brows. Opposite to me to-day pumped Jimmie Rumps. Curiously enough, he is the only sailor whom I have ever heard swear in joking among themselves, however they may talk alone in the forecastle, and he does so because he thinks that it is big. “There’s a fellow I’d like to see on the pumps,” he remarked, quite an ugly look coming into his face; and, glancing astern, I saw the skipper descending the weather-poop ladder. Though many of the men were evidently of this opinion, not a word was said by any of them; for might I not repeat their sentiments aft in the cabin for aught that they knew? Therefore the observation was received with scowls and a dead silence, which continued until Rumps again broke in with, “Last voyage I was in the American ship ‘Ivanhoe,’ and I was nearly starved to death!” “Eh?” said Louis, sharply. “I said I was starved in the ‘Ivanhoe,’” repeated Jimmie. “Oh,” replied the Frenchman; “I t’ought you meant zees sheep; you’ll find no bettair food anywhere zan here.” It is not often that a sailor will acknowledge this, and it speaks very well for Louis.

“Say,” Jimmie went on, “I’ve had enough of the sea, and if I can, I’m going home to Brooklyn on eight wheels [_i.e._, railway car]; and lemme give you a tip on San Francisco; don’t you miss the baths, though it’ll cost you ten cents, and a quarter for a fresh-water swim. And, say, you go over and see Oakland; but I dunno if they’ve got the fare down to five yet.”

It is rather surprising that Captain Scruggs doesn’t take an interest in keeping track of his various voyages, plotted off on the different charts, as Captain Kingdon did. The latter used some which had sixteen voyages pricked off on them as plain as ink could make it, forming a very useful aid for future work, as he could select the average from them all, for each voyage as it progressed. Our skipper, however, takes no such pains, and so far hasn’t even looked at an ordinary chart. To-day my wife asked him to show her where we were, at noon, and he hauled out from under the sofa an old, ragged, hydrographic wind-chart, and after much stertorous breathing he managed to stab the position on the paper with the dividers, being so palsied from last night’s potations that he had to steady one hand with the other before he could hit the chart within several degrees of where we were. Latitude, 8° 24′ north; longitude, 31° 40′ west.

+May 29+

The end of the Trades is at hand. After blowing us through nearly twenty-five degrees of latitude, the wind began to let go yesterday afternoon and to simultaneously haul to the southward, while an immense pall of blue-black cloud rose slowly out of the southwest and solemnly spread itself over the clear sky, with an indication of thunder-squalls in the “white heads” which crowned its summit. Sure enough, in the middle watch there was some mild thunder and lightning, but hardly any rain. However, a drizzle started later on, and as the morning was a soft one and the atmosphere almost as heavy and hot as the steam from a kettle,--a typical tropical morning,--the men were turned to scrubbing the paint-work generally. It was a very long, tedious job, for every particle of white paint had been transformed into a dirty drab in the New York docks. I never saw such a change in a vessel as the men, starting at the taffrail, worked their way forward--poop, bulwarks, boats, skids, everything putting off the grimy look, and assuming in its stead a glossy whiteness which almost hurt the eye.

It is strange that we have no head-pump here. On the “Mandalore” there was a very powerful one, worked by four men, and a line of two-inch hose that reached to the after hatch. Our method of washing down the decks, though, is as primitive as irrigation in India, for all the water must be hoisted over the side in a canvas bucket and dumped into a cask, whence it is taken out as wanted.

Speaking of the “Mandalore” reminds me of a gruesome tale which MacFoy, the bosun, told me last evening. So broad is his brogue that it was rather hard to understand him, but I gathered the following: One day, about nine years ago, there started from Hamburg, bound to San Francisco, the big Liverpool ship “Falls of Ayr.” The weather growing very bad in the Channel, though, she up helm and ran back for the Downs, to anchor till the gale should break. Shortly before she sailed the “Mandalore” left Hull, also bound around the Horn to San Diego, on what MacFoy said was her maiden voyage. After getting well out into the Channel, though, and finding it as thick as pea-soup, she, too, ran back for the Downs, and before anybody knew what was happening, with a fearful crash she hit the “Falls of Ayr” head on, well aft on the quarter, dividing her nearly in two and smashing her boats, which she carried aft, Liverpool fashion. Very curiously, the “Ayr” had no after companion-way, entrance to the main cabin being effected solely by means of the doors on the main-deck. These, being of iron, crumpled like paper under the impact of collision, and then jammed, so that in the hurry and confusion they baffled all attempts at opening, and before anything could be done the ship foundered, carrying down with her every soul aft,--captain, two mates, steward, and cook, caught like flies in a trap. Nor was this all. Three boats had been broken into match-wood, leaving but one unharmed, in which only a handful of the men and two apprentices escaped. “And look again, sir,” continued David, “she’s the unluckiest ship that ever left a yard. Two years later she ran down a large Belfast ship off Pernambuco, one of the Star Line,--I think ’twas the ‘Star of Greece,’--though both ships finally made Buenos Ayres for repairs.”

And this was the dear old “Mandalore” which carried us so happily across thirteen thousand miles of ocean only a short time ago! We had absolutely no suspicion of those accidents before, and I asked the bosun if he couldn’t be mistaken, but he answered, “I never forget a ship, sir; this one I mean is a London ship built at Stockton nine years ago.” That settled it; but how strange that we should never have heard of either case!

There are two boxes of Sicilian oranges on board which are holding out remarkably well; for though they are getting a little dry, not one has so far spoiled. We also have good cool water to drink yet; for in spite of the great heat of the last two days, it has not penetrated the big galvanized iron tanks below. Indeed, the water is so much cooler than the air that a blur forms on the outside of a tumbler. But this will soon change, and we will have drinking-water at a temperature of ninety degrees for a fortnight. Latitude, 6° 5′ north; longitude, 30° 30′ west.

+May 30+

This afternoon was very hot and calm, and we had the first hard rain of the voyage. As we had had no wind at all previous to this shower, the courses had been hauled up to prevent chafing; but some of the buntlines and clew-lines had been let go when the rain came, although as there was not much wind in the squall, the men were allowed to drop braces and everything else and run for tubs and buckets to be filled with fresh water, so that for the next thirty minutes the decks presented a remarkable sight. The head-yards were braced up, while the main- and after-yards were still squared, with the starboard clew of the foresail, both clews of the mainsail, and the port-clew of the cross-jack hauled up, while the decks were covered with a wonderful snarl of ropes. However, we filled every bucket, tub, and cask on board, while the men ran for their soiled clothes and spread them out all over the forward deck to soften in the warm rain, the mate producing three pairs of old trousers which he carefully deposited on the after-hatch. Odd notion, this washing of ordinary clothes; I had never heard of such a thing. The rain lasted for an hour, and the captain had the bathtub filled and I had a delightful fresh-water bath, the temperature of the rain being 79°. Only those who have been compelled to bathe for weeks in brine can appreciate the luxury of fresh water.

Our calm reminded the mate at dinner of a curious circumstance which happened once in the Pacific. Quite a fleet of ships started out together from San Francisco bound around the Horn; and, keeping well together, they all fell into a calm streak just north of the line which lasted for twelve days. During this time several ships passed this fleet about fifty miles to the westward of them (among which was the “Wandering Jew,” an American ship, since burned) with half a gale of wind! This story seems to be quite true, as the “Jew’s” log-book for that day showed that she was a degree west of the becalmed vessels, and mentioned that they stowed the fore and mizzentop-gallant sails. A fact of this sort shows what different weather conditions may exist at a distance of less than one hundred miles.

We witnessed a punishment this afternoon which I thought was never resorted to except in the navy; and, even there, the construction of a modern war-ship necessarily precludes it. We were sitting at the break of the poop, when we saw a man coming down from aloft in a hurry, as though he were especially anxious to reach the deck; when, to our surprise, no sooner had he done so than MacFoy gruffly said to him, “Back you go; and this time to the sky-sail-yard; d’ye hear?”

So up he went again (it was Louis Eckers, the youngest and dullest seaman in the ship) till he reached the main-royal, when of course he had to “shin” up to the sky-sail-yard, as there are never any ratlines above the royals. Presently, though, he stood upon the yard, one hundred and eighty feet above the water, grasping the slender sky-sail pole with one arm, and surveying the deck quite comfortably. When he had been there about half an hour, the bosun roared out “Come down”; and it was not till then that we realized that he had been mast-headed for bad conduct. It seems incredible that a punishment so humane should be resorted to on a Yankee ship.

The eating on board, aft at any rate, is still extremely good, particularly the coffee, which is put up in convenient packages for sea use and labelled “Best Maracaibo”; thus there is no deception, the greater part of “Mocha” having its origin in Central or South America. Every day at meals the mate seems to grow more hideous and grotesque, and he is the only man whom I ever saw to whom the latter adjective could be applied. His nose, which is enormous, is canted far over to the right; one nostril is the size of a slate-pencil, while the other would fit a small gas-pipe, and his dense, kinky moustache becomes at meals the lurking place of various liquids and solids; while ears like water-lilies expand from his head like those of a bat. His table manners are actually shocking, though in some ways he is perhaps not much worse than the skipper, who contrives to decorate the lapels of his coat with a spray of soup at each dinner. Some men embellish the region of their waist-bands with various fluids, but Captain Scruggs is dexterous enough to decorate his entire front with such things.

Mr. Goggins has a stock phrase which is simply too absurd, when he declines anything further at table. Suppose the captain to say, “Have some more potatoes, sir?” he will reply, closing one eye and leering at the dish with the other, “No-o-o, sir, I thank you, sir; I’ve ’ad sufficient, sir, I thank you, sir.” This answer is invariable, and it is never abbreviated or curtailed in any way. He has also of late acquired the extremely objectionable habit of coming to the table with bare feet, which I am going to ask the skipper if he cannot prevent. Latitude, 5° 16′ north; longitude, 30° 5′ west.

+May 31+