Part 4

THE LUCKY BAG

The Lucky Bag

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE SAILOR AND HIS DUDHEEN

The Sailor and His Dudheen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PETS ABOARD SHIP

Pets Aboard Ship

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

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

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

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

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

I have seen a man-of-war’s man take a little Maltese kitten from the street outside the Boston Navy Yard gate, covered with mange and sores, and nestle it in the folds of his blue shirt while he conveyed it aboard the _Wabash_. Here it found a home. Poor little puss was fed and doctored, and in a short while she was the pet of the ship. She lived to be the mother of a large family. I recall her looks as she rubbed her fur against my trousers when I lifted the box containing her little ones on to the sill of a gun port, so that they would be clear of the water when we washed decks.