Chapter I: Part 1

SEA YARNS

OR

The Log of a Cape Cod Sea Captain

BY CAPT. JOSHUA N. TAYLOR, OF ORLEANS, MASS.

CONTENTS

Chapter Page

Introduction. 4

I. The Schooner _Pennsylvania_, first trip, 1850. 5

II. Voyage on the Barque _Sea Bird_, Boston to Cape Town
and return. 12

III. The Cruise of the Yacht _Charmer_ or 15
_Canterbury_. New Zealand and South Sea cruises. 17

IV. Cruise on the Clipper Ship _Blue Jacket_. 19

V. The American Barque _Otago_. 21

VI. Last Voyage and Wreck of the _Otago_. (1867.) 27

VII. Voyage of the Barque _George T. Kemp_.
(The Baboon Story.) 31

VIII. Voyage on the Ship _Littleton_. 32
An Adventure with Sea Lions. 36
A Race to New York. 37

IX. Adventure on the Ship _Dexter_ with a negro cook. 38

X. Voyages on the Brig _J. L. Bowen_. 41

The Value of a Good Mother. 46

COPYRIGHT APPLIED FOR.

INTRODUCTION.

The golden age of the American Merchant Marine has gone and the old-time ships have passed away. Their bones lie on the oceans bottom, on foreign reefs of islands far away, on the rocky ledges off Cape Horn, or are serving an inglorious fate as coal barges. In our great Civil War many were destroyed by the “Alabama” or other privateers. Their old-time commanders and owners are also gone from the stage of action. But if you will travel down to old Cape Cod you will still find a few of them left, the neat, clean, white houses, giving proof of the fact that they are yet “on deck,” and keeping things “shipshape.” The early training of these men was, for the most part, received on the fishermen that went to the Grand Banks, from which they “graduated” into the service of the Merchant Marine.

These little “_Sea Yarns_” are true stories from chapters in my own life, given to my readers as little experiences of a sailor of the old school. The old-time “_Yankee_” skipper was an important factor in placing the American Flag in every known port of the world and in proving the commercial superiority of its men and ships. Those times are now long past, and remain in our minds as remembrances only, of a day when American ships and American men were supreme in the maritime world.

THE SCHOONER PENNSYLVANIA.

My first voyage at sea was on March 25th, 1850. I started out as a big fat boy of eight years and eight months to do the cooking on board the schooner Pennsylvania, Captain Tracy Kenney as skipper.

We left home at eight in the morning, loading our bed sacks and bedding onto a team belonging to a man by name of Daniel Higgins, who carried the goods to Suet Creek, West Dennis, Mass. It was a fine morning, and with the crew I trudged along until at twelve we reached the old schooner, which had been hauled up for the winter. The tide was out and she lay on her broad side, looking for all the world like an abandoned old hulk. Nevertheless, I was destined to get the first baptism of old ocean aboard of her, learn some hard lessons, and acquire a love of salt water that would never be lost. The sea has ever been and ever will be a wondrous magnet to many men.

Our bedding and earthly goods were put on board and we proceeded to make things as comfortable as possible. Each one had his little sugar tub with grub enough to last until we reached Boston, where we were going to fit out with salt and provisions for a voyage to the Grand Banks. The stench from bilge water and mustiness, as the vessel had been closed all winter, was something terrible, and the stove and pipe were covered with rust half an inch thick.

The schooner was lying on her port bilge and there was hardly room to stand up, yet late in the afternoon the tide came in and it was more comfortable. The anchors were placed down stream and the vessel was hove off the bank and put down stream alongside a small wharf where our sails and gear were stored in a shed. The men bent sails and rove gear and made ready to start for Boston.

In the meantime I had been cleaning up the cabin, scrubbing the rust from the stove and greasing it. I had no cooking to do, only to make tea and coffee, set each man’s tub by his side, when they all fell to and helped themselves. Our plates, knives and forks were of ancient type, tin plates, iron spoons, and knives and forks which had to be constantly scoured with wood ashes to make them presentable.

Salt water had to be used for dish water, and one can imagine how my dish cloths looked washed with salt water soap. While the grease was on the stove I had the fire going, and the companion was full of smoke. Every few moments some one of the boys would shout down to me, “Hi, cookie, your dish cloths are burning on.”

On the morning of the third day after leaving home, we dropped down the creek into Barnstable Bay and made sail for Boston.

Oh, my, wasn’t I homesick! I was a great mother’s boy, and would have given all I possessed could I have been back with her. It seemed cruel to me then, and has many times since, to think that a boy less than nine years old should have to leave home to help support the family. But such were the economic conditions of the times that all were obliged, when families were as large and as poor as mine was, to contribute to the general support. But I was glad to help out all I could, and the call of the deep blue sea was hard to resist. How often had I listened to tales of foreign lands, of smart skippers, and big ships, and at last my chance had come.

My salary was the magnificent sum of forty-five dollars for the season and fifty cents per hundred for every cod fish that I caught. We had a fine run to Boston, and at sundown was alongside the wharf at Chelsea, Mass. There we took on board seventy-five hogsheads of salt to salt the fish we expected to catch. After this was on we pulled the old craft over to Boston and took in our provisions for the trip.

They consisted of barrels of salt pork, beef, a barrel of beans, half a barrel of rice, five barrels of flour and corn meal and a big barrel of molasses to make sweet cake with, as this was a great treat to the fishermen at supper nine days out of ten while on the Grand Banks. We also used the molasses to sweeten our coffee with, as sugar was too costly at that time to feed fishermen.

One afternoon I strode up to Commercial Street with one of the men, who went to a ship chandler’s shop to get his fit out of lines and hooks and other little things he wanted for the trip. I waited for him outside. At that time the bow-sprits of the vessels stuck over into what is now Commercial Street, but which at the present time is all filled in. This was my first trip away from home, and I stood staring with open mouth at the sights. At last I commenced to look for my friend, a man named Long, but he had evidently forgotten me and gone back to the schooner. The rush and roar of the great city confused and frightened me, and I was scared half out of my wits. I had forgotten the name of the schooner, and when about in despair and ready to give up I saw a man from Orleans that I knew, a Captain John Gould, and in pitiful tones I told him I was lost. How he laughed, and pointing over his shoulder he said, “There is your old wash tub, Bub; you ought to pick her out of ten thousand,” and went along, roaring as he went. And years after, when I thought of that old schooner with the Dutch bows, I have laughed, too, though to me at that time she was a great ship.

Back on board, I started to cook my supper for the now hungry crew. It consisted of boiled potatoes, with fat salt pork scraps, biscuits and chocolate. They ate all of my cream of tartar biscuits, and I had to be content with hard bread for my supper. However, I naturally was looking for compliments on those biscuits, but all I got was a sharp growl from the Captain, who asked me if I had washed my hands before I had made them.

We soon had our stores on board, but were detained in Boston for a few days by a heavy storm with northeast gales. It snowed very heavily, and it was the third of April before we at last made sail and sailed down the channel with a light wind blowing from the westward.

When off Boston Light it began to be very rough, with a heavy ground swell, and it was here that I, for the first and only time during my entire sea life, was seasick. And I certainly was sick! I asked the men to throw me overboard I was so miserable, but they only laughed and made fun of me. Some said, “O, Cookie, take a piece of raw pork and tie it to a string, swallow it and haul it up and down; it’s a sure cure.”

Mr. Samuel Sherman, who was mate, now came down and drove away my tormentors. He was very kind to me, and I never forgot it. He got the dinner for me and cleared it away, and as we got further down the bay the water got smoother, and before we anchored inside Billingsgate Island at Orleans I was quite myself again. Early that evening I was home again with my folks, and I had wonderful tales to tell of Boston and of the things I had seen on the trip. In the old days it was the custom to stay in the home port after fitting out for a trip of fishing and to remain there a few days.

We then went to Provincetown and took on fresh water, which was put in barrels, stored in the fore hold and chocked up with wood, which we used to kindle the fire with. We took on at that time about fifty barrels of water.

We then took our departure for the Grand Banks, steering to eastward for a distance of about nine hundred miles, passing north of Sable Island, and running free most of the way by dead reckoning. When the Captain judged himself near the Banks we often sounded with the lead and line, and on the evening of the seventh day out from Cape Cod we baited up our lines and threw them overboard. As soon as the lead struck bottom they had a bite, and the Captain shouted out, “Let go the anchor; we are right on top of them.” Sure enough, up came a fine pair of cod-fish weighing about ten pounds each. Down came all sail and we played out about a hundred fathom of cable, made it fast around the windlass, put our riding sail up aft to keep her up to the wind and steady her. We set a big lantern on a pole out aft, and then all went below to make up the anchor watch. We divided up the time from 8 p.m. to 5 a.m., which gives each man the same amount of duty. In the locality of the Banks one encounters a great deal of fog, so much so, in fact, that it is impossible to tell whether the next hour will be fine or clear. It is so thick that at times you can barely see the hand in front of the face, and strict orders were given to keep a sharp look out for sailing ships, and especially for steamers. However, in those days sailing ships were in the great majority, and trade from all ports of the States were bound eastward, and many were those we saw on the Banks. So in foggy weather we kept the fog horn going all the time, and the “Old Man” always slept with one eye open.

On the next morning the deck watch was called, as the fish had commenced to bite in good shape, and five men were heaving them as fast as they could haul them in. Each line had a rig for two hooks, and each man tended two lines. In the deck space between each man was a large deck-kid or box, which was made stationary and had a partition on the inside to separate the fish that each man caught. Each gang fished for two hours, and then the watch was changed.

Then they counted out the number of fish that each man had caught and threw them into the main deck-kid or dressing bin, cleaned their fish and prepared them for the salting process which takes place in the hold of the schooner. One man throated, gutted and took out the cod tongues, placed them on the dressing table for the splitter, who took out the back-bones and threw the fish into a tub to wash out the blood. It was the cook’s job to pitch the fish down the hatch-way to the salter in the hold below. The salter was a man well adapted to see that the fish were properly salted and stowed away. And so it goes on, day in and day out, fish for two hours and then change.

The fish usually stop biting as soon as the sun goes down, and after supper is over the Captain opens his log-book and records the tally of each man’s catch that day. At the end of the voyage this shows the standing of each man, and the one who catches the most fish is called “high-liner,” and is considered a valuable man and is much sought after by the owners, who wish to re-ship the man for another season. It often happens that a man may be a first class sailor but has not acquired the knack of hooking a fish, and for such a poor fellow the chances of his getting on a crack fishing schooner were small.

On our boat Mr. Samuel Sherman was “high-liner” and had held the record for years and was called “second hand,” a position corresponding with that of a mate and next to the Captain in command. The old-time fisherman carried no mate, all authority vesting in the Skipper or Captain. The whole crew were on the same footing, and did practically what they pleased and gave suggestions and advice as freely as they wished. Mr. “Cookie” usually turns out about 2.30 a.m., makes his fire, puts his biscuit in the oven, makes two gallons of coffee, and calls “all hands” at 3.45 for breakfast. The crew tumble out, clothing all on except coat, hat and boots, and how they could eat! And then for the fish again.

On Sunday we did no fishing, had breakfast at 7 a.m., and spent the day in cleaning up and lying around. We used to make about 300 doughnuts for our Sunday morning breakfast, and it was here that my good friend Mr. Sherman came to my rescue and helped me out with the work. He was certainly one true Christian gentleman, a good and kind man. Our Sunday dinner was “salt-horse,” or boiled dinner, with a large steamed apple duff of dried apples, and for supper we always had fried mince-pies. I tell you, we lived high!

Our Captain was a very pious man. He was called by those who knew him well “a summer Christian and a winter devil.” On Sunday morning he always prayed and read a chapter from the Bible and sang his favorite hymns. His favorite songs were, “A Soldier for Jesus” and “Love and Serve the Lord.” I used to snicker, as the Captain had no teeth to speak of, and his voice was very flat and lispy. The name of Lord always sounded like Lard. I often had my ears boxed when the men would say, “Cookie, sing like Captain,” and I would put in, in earnest. Then the Captain would cuff me and say, “You sassy thing, I will report you to your mother when we get home.” They both belonged to the same church, but I had no reason to fear on that score, as my mother was an earnest and devout Christian, always self-sacrificing, and loved by all who knew her, ever ready and willing to help and see good in everything.

Fishing continued good for several days, and no vessel in sight. We were catching from 1200 to 1800 each day and running a fair size fish until we were obliged to get under way in order to heave overboard our gurry, cod heads and entrails, as our gurry kids were full, and to heave it where we lay would spoil our fishing, as the fish would be “gurry sick,” as fishermen call it. We played out our cable, put a large buoy on the end, and stood off to the south about two miles, threw it overboard, returned and picked up our moorings again, and commenced fishing again. Along in May fishing slacked up. I suppose the school had all been caught up. We lay here a week, averaging 500 to 600 daily.

One morning early two sails hove in sight, the first seen since we anchored, except some large ships to the north of us. Well, we were surprised to see that the schooners were from our own town, Orleans, one Captain Alvin Smith in the old schooner Lapwing, and Captain William Sherman in the schooner Stromboly. They were surprised to find that we had nearly half our catch, and felt pretty down in the mouth, for they had in all only 100 quintals, while we had about 400 quintals. The captain came on board and we exchanged news, and then anchored about half a mile either side of us. They met with no success, however, so only remained there a few days, when we all hove up and started for the Virgin Rock Ground, to the north east, about 100 miles from our old berth, and I think all the crew were glad to get away, for our hands were sore and badly swollen from handling salt and gurry.

When our distance was run up we hauled up jib and eased off fore sheet and hove lines over in about 40 fathoms of water. Lo and behold! no sooner was our lead overboard when we had fish on, fore and aft at the same time. The Captain jumped up and down like mad calling out to let go the anchor. Over she went, and it was only a few moments when sails were furled and the watch had their lines out with fairly good fishing. But we were on a small patch of ground, and every time the tide turned the vessel would swing round and strain, and in this position we could not get a bite, but when she swung round again the fishing was good again.

This was our second berth for three weeks, yet we were compelled to buoy the cable again as before and stand off to heave off our gurry. It was estimated we had about 650 quintals in our hold, our whole capacity being about 850 quintals.

About this time I began to get anxious, possibly it was home-sickness, but I kept asking the Captain, “When are we going to wet our salt?” That was the term we used to show that our salt was used up. To bother me he would say, “About the first of October,” but my good friend Mr. Sherman would tell me that July first would find us all cleaned up. In my spare time it was my duty to help him in the hold, where he was at work salting the fish. I used to bring the salt to him in a half bushel measure, and you may be sure that I spilled all of it that I could so the salt would be used up all the sooner and we could be on our way back home. I would ask him if he thought he was getting salt enough on the fish to keep them from turning red, and how he would laugh. I watched the salt bins and prayed that they would soon be emptied. Between cooking and fishing it was a busy time for me, and up to this time I had caught over 1200 head of fish, which meant some extra money for me, as I was to get 50 cents a hundred for all the fish that I caught. My position for fishing was aft over the stern, and up to this time good luck had been with me. At night, when we reported our daily catch, the Captain asked me if all my fish had eyes, but I did not understand what he meant until a loud roar of laughter from the men showed me that he meant to insinuate that I had been cheating in my count. At this I burst into tears, but again Mr. Sherman came to my rescue and soundly berated the Captain for continually picking on me.

After this my cooking was praised up by the Captain and he let me alone, as Mr. Sherman was a man whose words carried much weight. We had fish chowders for supper every night while on the Banks, and you may be sure that the fish was fresh, because scarce one half hour would pass before the fish would be in the pot. The previous winter at home my mother had taught me how to make bread and other things, but some of them I had forgotten, especially in regard to the boiling of rice. On this particular occasion I was ordered to prepare a supper of boiled rice and bean soup. I asked one of the crew about how much rice to use, and he told me to use at least two quarts, which he thought would be plenty, and you may be sure it was. I put it to soak in my big boiler on the stove, and as it commenced to cook it began to swell and soon ran over on top of the stove. I commenced to shift it into my other kettles, and soon had them all full and the water bucket besides. By this time the joke was known all over the boat, and when the Captain came down he said, “Cookie, are you sure you have saved out enough rice for yourself?” But I answered him right off, “Yes, sir; two buckets full,” at which they all had a hearty laugh, but you may be sure that they did not fool me again.

On July 21st, 1850, we had wet all of our salt, and the schooner was laden deep to her scuppers. On this glorious day we were to start for home, and on this day I was just nine years old, but the fact that we were to start for home was celebration enough for me. How many boys of this generation can say that they passed their ninth birthday in such a position? Thankful they should be that times have improved so that such work at so early an age is not often necessary.

We ran our flag to the mast-head, hauled down the trysail and bent on the main-sail and began to heave in the anchor cable. The Captain, with a big pair of mittens on, tends the cable as it comes in around the windlass, and the cook takes in the slack and coils it down around the fore-hatch, quite a job for an able-bodied man to attend to, but boys in those days often were able to do the work of a man. While heaving up the anchor our merry crew sang shanty songs, and when the anchor was up all sail was made and we were off for Cape Cod with a light east wind. The watch was set with two men in each watch of two hours each, and then I began to count the days it would take us to get home. A few days after I heard the Captain say we were in the latitude of Cape Cod, and thought sure we must soon be home, but learned afterwards that although in the latitude of the Cape we were a long ways off from it.

Our homeward journey was a pleasant one, and in about eight days we anchored inside of Billingsgate Island on a fine morning about eight o’clock. One could smell the land and the salt hay, and oh, how beautiful and green the land looked to me! We rowed up into the Town Creek, and each one started to walk to his home. All of my belongings were in a calico pillow case and I was bare-footed, but I ran nearly all the way home, some two miles distant, and never before nor since was I so glad to get back home. I was dirty as a pig, but fat and healthy, and mother laughed and cried over me as she welcomed me home. She brought out the big wash-tub and scrubbed me from head to foot, and when a clean suit was put on I hardly knew myself.

We made a stay of three days, and then took the schooner to Beverly, Mass., where we washed our fish out at a wharf owned by a Mr. Crowell, and prepared the fish for the flakes to have them properly dried.

We then made ready for the fish grounds in Cape Cod Bay to finish out the number of days required in order to get our bounty money which was offered by the State.

Then, when the tide was up, we went into Provincetown and fitted out for Fall mackerel fishing, or otherwise termed, hooking, and went down on the Maine coast, in and out of several harbors, and keeping with the fleet. We made a very successful season of our fall fishing, and the shoresmen cleared something over $700 to shore--a rich voyage for those days, while I, poor Cookie, labored and toiled from March 25th to the 23rd of May for the magnificent sum of $45, together with something like $15 for extra fish caught.

The Captain was a crafty old soul; he reported to my mother that I was the best boy and best cook he had ever had, but he failed to report to her what a “sassy” boy I was. However, I never liked him, and told mother that never again would I sail under him as cook.

Years have passed on and all my old shipmates who were with me on this, my first experience at sea, have answered the roll call. Our old craft met her fate years ago, and “Cookie” is the only survivor. Although I have passed the allotted “threescore years and ten,” I still look back on my first sea trip without regrets. The men of these days were true men, God-fearing and honest and upright in all of their dealings. As seamen they were unequalled or surpassed by none. The training-school of the Grand Banks fisherman was a rough and hard one, but most of the famous American sea captains were apprentices in that school that made it possible for the American Flag to be seen in every port of the commercial world and for the term “Yankee Skipper” to be used in a sense of praise and commendation.

The great Civil War, the introduction of steam and the unwise acts of a National Congress have caused American supremacy in the shipping lines to be destroyed, but it is to be hoped that the future may bring forth a solution of the problem that will once again put American ships under American skippers on old ocean’s bosom, and once again send our flag to the uttermost corners of the earth.

VOYAGE ON THE BARQUE SEA BIRD.

(CAPTAIN JOHN TAYLOR, _Master_).

I made this trip while in my “teens,” and the voyage was out to Cape Town from Boston and return. Our crew consisted of six men and four boys before the mast. The chief officer was a brother of the Captain, Prince Harding Taylor by name, and a man by name of Harding as second mate, all officers hailing from Chatham, Mass.

The Captain had his wife and two children with him, one a boy about seven years of age and the other a babe of eighteen months. The Captain was a big, powerful man, very nervous and always finding fault with someone, or something, and his special trouble was the weather. When it was fine we were going to have a storm, and when it was a fair wind it would not last long, and so on, day in and day out, always in a stir.

Now the Captain happened to be a cousin of mine, and was always pleasant with me, and would often come and chat with me while I had a trick at the wheel. But should any officer or man suddenly make his appearance he would damn me and order me to mind my course and not be star-gazing around, and I would always answer, “Aye, aye, sir.”

This always gave the men the idea that I was very harshly treated by him, and they were very ready with sympathies. Although the barque was a small one, not over 450 tons, one would have thought at times that she was a four-deck ship by some of the maneuvers we went through. Every week we had to holystone the decks, wash and wipe off the paint-work, and swab up the decks at 7 bells in the morning, when we were supposed to be through cleaning. We would then trim sails fore and aft and the watch would be relieved and go below for breakfast, and we would be off duty until 7 bells, or 11.30 a.m.

Those who were asleep would be called to dinner so as to relieve the other watch at 8 bells, or noon-time. Every other night the starboard watch had from 8 to 12, midnight, and from 4 a.m. to 8 a.m., when we had breakfast. In this way we changed the time and evened things up. At two bells, or five o’clock in the morning, we always commenced to wash down decks and clean things up for the day, except in stormy times, when we were kept at work below or in the deck house.

When nearing the equator, on our outward bound trip, I was at the wheel one morning from eight to ten, and as sailors are always scanning the horizon, I saw a sail coming up from astern and, as is the custom, sang out, “Sail ho!”

The captain said, “Where away?” and I answered, “Dead astern, sir.” He then told me to attend to my steering and never mind what was going on astern. In a short time we made her out to be a large, full-rigged ship, coming down on us with all sail set, and with her port studding-sails rigged out. She soon came up to us, going very fast and sailing at least two feet to our one. Instead of passing us under our lea, as is the custom, she hove down her wheel and shot across our port quarter, taking the wind out of our sails, which almost be-calmed us. Our skipper was now boiling mad. She was a beautiful sight, carrying an immense spread of canvas, and her decks crowded with passengers.

He then hailed us, but our captain was so mad that he could only swear and rave at him for an unwashed son of a sea dog. To cap the climax, the big ship’s band struck up “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”

She proved to be the old American ship “Red Jacket” (sister ship to the famous “Blue Jacket”.) She was bound for Melbourne, Australia, and was out of sight in a short time. Our captain continued to rave and swear about the “damned lime-juicer” as long as she was in sight.

Some of our night watches while passing through the tropics were lovely, and one would feel like having something to eat, if he could only have access to the cabin stores.

We soon learned the location of the cook’s pantry, and would often explore it when the officer of the deck was not near us, and “appropriate for the good of the watch” whatever tidbits we might run across. The pantry door opened off the main deck from the starboard side, and one man would always watch to see that the officer of the deck remained on the quarter deck, and if he changed his location the signal would be given, and whoever was in the pantry would slide out on the main deck again.

For several nights I did the foraging and my chum kept watch. From the several cupboards in the pantry I would select pie, cake and chicken, and carry them forward to the fo’c’sle, where they would be stowed away and eaten at our leisure. One morning, when I was at the wheel, the first table in the cabin were at breakfast, I heard loud talking between the captain and his brother, the mate. Just before this row, I had heard the captain’s wife say, “Steward, bring out some of that cold chicken that was left over from yesterday.” The colored steward replied, “Dar is none, dey done eat him all last night.” This led the captain to say to his brother, “Eat all you want at the table, but don’t be lunching at all hours aboard this ship,” and “There is no need of you eating in the night watch, anyway.” The conversation became heated, and as the wheel was near the cabin door, I could hear the mate say, “I don’t eat in the night-time, and you need not accuse me of being a thief.” After a while they cooled down, and when the second mate came to breakfast the captain said to him, “Mr. Harding, eat all you want at the table, but quit cleaning out the pantry at night.” This led to another denial from Mr. Harding, and I heard the captain say, “By God, I’ll find out the thief.”

It was extremely funny, and I could hardly keep from laughing out loud. Later on in the morning, the captain came to me and said, “Have you seen any of the sailors going in the cabin at night time?” Now, I was not a sailor, but had shipped as an ordinary boy, so I replied, “No, sir. I have seen cake crumbs and pieces of pie about, but supposed it was something the steward had given the men, and had I seen any one in the pantry stealing, I would have felt it my duty to have reported it to you.” “Well, by God,” he said, “I will find out who has been stealing aboard this ship.”

Then he called the steward aft and said in my hearing, “Steward, make up a batch of cake and some dried apple pies, and dose them heavy with jalap, which I will get you from the medicine chest.” Now, jalap is a very active purgative, and in a strong dose causes free movements, with some pain and griping, so I concluded to say nothing and await results. That night, when all hands were in the fo’c’sle, except the man at the wheel and the lookout, the crew said to me, “Now, Taylor, get us some pie and cake.” I replied, “Not on your life; you will give me away.” They all swore strict allegiance, so at midnight I “yaffeled” three pies and a loaf of cake from out the steward’s pantry, and brought them into the fo’c’sle. It was customary for both watches at midnight to smoke and talk for about half an hour, so all hands set to and cleaned up the stolen grub, which was, as I knew, well dosed with the jalap. I did not eat any, as I told them I had eaten all I wanted, but I made up my mind that there would be a windstorm by daylight.

Sure enough, they commenced to feel the effects of the medicine and were soon grumbling and rubbing their stomachs. I said to them, “Well, it looks like Asiatic cholera, as we are in the tropics, and liable to get these sort of things.” At two o’clock the starboard watch were so sick they could not go on duty, and at daylight reported to the captain, who sent for them to come aft.

The captain said, “What hurts you?” They answered, “Pains in the stomach and bowels, sir.” “What have you been eating?” was his next question. “Nothing, sir, outside our regular grub,” they replied. “You act as if you had taken poison; go forrard, you thieves, now I know who has been stealing my cabin grub.” He then called me aft and questioned me sharply, but I was innocence abroad. This ended the “cake walk,” and there was nothing missing after that.

The remainder of the outward voyage was very quiet, and we soon came to anchor in the open roadstead at Cape Town, in one of the finest of harbors on the African coast. After discharging cargo, we took on board a cargo of dry and salted hides, sheep-skins, and wool. This kept us in Cape Town about four weeks, and we had ample time to see the place to our hearts’ content. The harbor was filled with ships from all parts of the world, and many English warships were there at that time, so there was plenty going on to make things interesting for the sailors.

On our return trip we had pleasant S. E. trade winds, which carried us along to the island of St. Helena, where we stopped for fresh provisions and water, and were given a run ashore to visit the final resting-place of the great Napoleon.

One little incident occurred on the return trip. The captain’s little son had a small cart, and as he was up early every morning, would run back and forth on the deck, making plenty of noise and keeping the watch below, who had turned in, from getting their sleep. We had protested to the captain, but of no avail, so we drew lots to see which one of us should dispose of the cart, and it fell to me to do the deed. I afterwards learned that my name had been slyly written on all the slips, so they played it on me anyway, possibly as retribution for my silence in regard to the jalap being put in the pies, which they in some way seemed to attribute to me, although nothing had been said about it.

One very dark night I crept forward to the top-gallant fo’c’sle with the cart, and overboard she went. Next morning there was a big row. Little Johnny couldn’t find his cart, and all hands were called aft and questioned, but nobody knew where the cart was. The captain seemed very suspicious of me (probably my guilty conscience) and said, “Now, look here, do you know where that cart is?” Now, the cart by this time was many miles astern of us, so I said, “I couldn’t tell the place that cart was in if you gave me a hundred dollars.”

The captain was very angry, and ordered the steward to cut out the “duff” and potatoes, and to give us the “duff” twice a week instead of twice a day, as he had been doing. (This “duff” is like dumplings, and filled with raisins, dried apples or currants, is one of the sailors’ favorite dishes).

We protested, but it was no use; the captain ordered the store room opened, and overboard went eight barrels of potatoes. The captain was very angry, the crew did not dare to say any more, but I said I would report to the owners when we got to Boston. By good luck we made a rapid run to Boston, and I was detained as ship-keeper.

One day the captain said to me, “Now, Joshua, tell me who hove over that cart?” I said, “Will you hold me harmless and protect me if I tell you who did it?” He said, “Yes, I will, but I would like to know, and you can tell me now that it is all over.” So I told him that I did it. He grabbed me by the neck and slatted me around until I thought a stone crusher had run over me, he was so angry, and told me to pack up my bag and get ashore. You may be sure I did, and made for the office of the owner, who was my cousin, and told them the whole story. They all roared with laughter, for the captain was well known for his quick temper. They gave me a note to carry back to the captain, which ordered him to keep me until further orders.

THE YACHT CHARMER.

I took this yacht from Sag Harbor, New York, around to Boston and there fitted her out for the passage to New Zealand, and although this yacht was but 64 tons, we made the record time of 82 days from Boston out to Littleton, New Zealand. After we reached New Zealand the yacht was put under the British flag and her name changed to the “Canterbury” on account of the Civil War, which was then raging in the States. The Confederate privateers had destroyed so much of our shipping that it was necessary to do this if one wished to save his ship from destruction in case he should be overhauled by one of these “licensed pirates.”

My crew consisted of three men before the mast, a negro cook and two mates. Second Mate Kenrick and his brother Benjamin, who was before the mast, were both natives of my town. They both left me in 1864 at New Zealand, and remained out there; the mate died in 1906 and the other, I believe, is still living now at Christ Church, New Zealand. As this was my first command and as I was but a boy, I did indeed feel proud, but most anxious. The yacht was built of white oak, copper fastened, drew 13 foot aft and 7 foot forward, and could sail like a bird. It was a bitter cold day in December, in the early sixties, when we cast off our lines from Commercial Wharf, Boston, and started on this long journey of 16,000 miles, across several oceans where beautiful trade-winds blow and where the home reach is a long stretch of 7000 miles in the Southern Sea, where in latitude 50 south, one runs his eastern longtitude down. (By “_reach_” we mean the nautical term which means to sail directly on one’s course with the wind forward of the beam, usually with the sheets eased off).

In these regions strong gales prevail for ten months in the year from N. West to S. West, and as ships are seldom seen in these Southern latitudes, it makes the passage seem long and dreary. The wonderful bird called the “albatross” makes these regions its home and is ever on the wing, a monarch of the air. We also saw thousands of “penguins,” sometimes called the great auk, and one time, when we were obliged to “heave to” on account of the heavy south-east gale, thousands of them rose up from the ocean and covered the water as far as the eye could reach. Our nearest land was then 2000 miles away, so they must have had a long swim, as they can fly but a short distance, having but short, flipper-like wings which are used almost wholly for swimming. The king penguin has a yellow, heart-shaped breast, and while the feathers are short and thick, they are very beautiful. Humboldt, the great naturalist, in his early travels, states that he has seen these birds 3000 miles from their breeding place.

We crossed the equator in 18 days out from Boston, were in the same longtitude of the Cape of Good Hope in 40 days, and dropped anchor in New Zealand in 82 days. This was a remarkable trip for a small craft to cover 16,000 miles in that time.

My brother, Captain James P. Taylor, sailed from Boston 60 days before we did, and was 145 days in making the passage, and 135 days was considered a good passage from European ports. The cause of my brother’s lengthy trip was due to the fact that he got so far to “leeward,” as sailors say, in crossing the equator that he was obliged to beat about Cape St. Roque for nearly 80 days before he got by this point, being detained by a strong N. West current which runs from four to five miles an hour. Such conditions are one of the chief causes of profanity in seafaring men.

I had discharged my outward cargo, which consisted mostly of Yankee notions, brooms, buckets, wheel-barrows, wash-tubs, etc., and Mr. Curtis, the agent, had arranged to send me to Hobart Town for a load of potatoes. A failure of the potato crop had sent the price up to six and eight pence a pound, and there was a good chance for a large profit. Hobart Town was about 1400 miles across from Littleton, and we made the trip without any trouble.

This place was first settled by the English, and after they abandoned Botany Bay as a penal station they moved the prisoners over to Hobart Town. Here they employed the convicts in opening up the country and building roads. Many of these men had been exiled from England for what seemed to me to be trivial offences, such as petty larceny, begging and drunkenness.

One of the convicts I met had received ten years for stealing a penny loaf of bread, and after serving most of his time had been shot in the right leg by the guard in attempting to escape. After suffering for a long time, he was obliged to have it amputated, and after a long time he became one of the leading “ticket-of-leave men” in the place, and went by the name of “One Leg George.” He built one of the finest hotels in Hobart, especially for the seafaring men, and kept the place and surrounding gardens in beautiful condition. All of his help were ex-convicts who had been sent out for minor offences, many of them being mere boys, but under the care of “One Leg George” had become good citizens again, and were now making clean records for themselves and a new colony for “Old England.” The executive ability of this man was remarkable; he had a most pleasing personality, and was well liked by all the captains who made his place their headquarters. I shall never forget “One Leg George” and his experiences as a proof that, though man may fall, he will rise again.

With our little craft loaded with potatoes in sacks, we left the wharf late one evening, dropped down the bay, and out into the ocean. The ensuing four days and nights will never be forgotten by me or by those who were with me at that time. It blew a terrific gale, all the sail we could carry was the bonnet out of the small square-sail we carried. We put two reefs in this, and when the yard was hoisted up it served to steady her and keep the sea from flooding us from behind. Our decks were constantly filled with water and, heavily laden as she was, it seemed as if she would founder. Not one wink of sleep did I get for over 70 hours, the storm was so fierce, and we reached Littleton Heads in six days, beating the steamer by two days.

In beating up the harbor I passed a ship which I at once recognized as my brother’s, so we dropped anchor near-by, furled sails, and went alongside of him in my small boat. The deck officer gruffly hailed us and demanded to know our business, and when I explained to him that I was the captain’s brother, he said they had just arrived a few hours ago, and the captain was below and asleep.

I stepped in the cabin and woke him up, and there was great rejoicing. “Have you just arrived from Boston? I never thought your yacht would stand the trip, and had made up my mind you had gone to the bottom of old ocean.” When I told him that we had made the trip out from Boston in 82 days, and had already been to Tasmania and return, he laughed and said, “That is a pretty good yarn for Robinson Crusoe to tell.” But I finally persuaded him that the so-called “yarn” was true, and you may be sure he was pleased. He was some twelve years older than myself, and was as capable a commander as ever trod a ship’s quarter deck, being an expert navigator and handler of ships.

The next day the Littleton Times had quite an article in it about the little yacht and its remarkable trip out from the States, and the meeting of the brothers.

After leaving the sea, my brother went to Chicago, became a broker “On Change,” associated with the famous “Old Hutchinson,” and for years was a familiar figure in the stock exchange, and was called by all “Captain Jim.” On his 83rd birthday he dropped anchor forever, and one more of the old-time American sea-dogs passed on.

While in Littleton the news reached us of the destruction of the “Alabama.” I immediately ran up the American flag, and kept it up all that day. I really had no right to do this, as my yacht was under the British flag, but no one offered to molest it. This news created great excitement in New Zealand, as it practically was a forerunner of the downfall of the so-called “Southern Confederacy,” and the re-establishment of the Union.

THE YACHT CANTERBURY

(CONTINUED).

We made several trips in the yacht to different ports in the South Sea Islands, and to south ports in Van Dieman’s Land, trading and carrying passengers as the opportunity presented itself.

We now had an interesting experience, as we had entered her in the cup race which was held in the middle island of New Zealand, and was one of the events in that locality.

We were to race against the English mail ketch “Sylph.” She was a crack yacht, having been used in carrying the mails to the different islands, and up to this time had never been beaten in a race. We made everything ready; although our suit of sails were of English make and fitted badly, they were adapted to heavy weather, which, should it blow hard, would be in our favor.

The morning of the race came, and with it a heavy wind, and at 10 a.m. we maneuvred around the guardship for position. When we were in line the starting gun was fired and we were off. The course we were to run over was down the harbor to the heads, or entrance, where we were to round a large red buoy, and then run back to the guard ship.

On our first trip around the buoy the Englishman beat us by at least a quarter of a mile, but when we rounded and hauled up against the strong wind, we had him. Now he was obliged to take in his light sails, and even then was making bad weather. These conditions were just what I had been praying for, and on our second tack we crossed his bows about a half mile to windward, and I ordered a broom to be sent aloft and fastened there. I did this as, on our first trip down, he had passed us and when he went by had hung a line over his stern, indicating that he would tow us in, but he had commenced too soon.

We rounded the guardship on our first turn about 20 minutes ahead of him, and the natives were yelling like mad.