Part 10

Many people, even those identified with affairs nautical, will be surprised to learn that there are still fully half a dozen of our ships which make a regular practice of carrying stunsails whenever they will draw. Those vessels which I am certain follow this plan are the “Paul Revere,” the “Judas Dowes,” and the “Indiana.”

The sail which the “Dowes” carried this afternoon probably doesn’t add half a knot to her speed; but some of the ships mentioned carry such an extra spread of canvas as to very decidedly augment their sailing powers. For instance, Mr. Rarx said, “While I was second mate of the ‘Paul Revere’ awhile ago, we had stuns’ls that added a thousand square yards to the ship’s canvas and put two knots on her speed.” Some seafaring people of the present day do not believe that fifty years ago our famous clippers carried royal-stunsails, a leading maritime publication in New York saying a year ago, “We never heard of a ship-master foolish enough to carry royal-stunsails.” Now this is a mistake, for Mr. Goggins has positively asserted that about thirty years ago he was in a bark for some months that set these auxiliary sails, the vessel’s name, according to the mate, being the “Chickloa,” so called after a large coffee plantation in Guatemala. Far more conclusive proof, however, is to be found in “Two Years before the Mast,” in which Dana, always minutely accurate, mentioned the royal-stunsails set on the ship “Alert,” in which he returned to Boston from California.

Last evening at the pumps I had some interesting yarns from Murphy, who is a round, jolly, chubby individual, very active and good-natured. The second mate says that this fellow is not at all a bad lot, and that his only fault lies in his inclination to be a little “fresh.” Murphy commenced about the American bark “St. James,” in which he went out from New York to Shanghai in ninety-seven days three years ago. “Oh, but she’s just a daisy, she is! Why, she’s a square-rigged yacht. And go, I tell you honest, I saw her log fifteen knots on that voyage under the tops’ls and fores’l between Tristan d’Acunha and the Cape; and if ever you want to sail with a nice man, you ship with Cap’n Banfield; there’s no better.” As a matter of fact, the “St. James,” which is a very large vessel to be bark-rigged, being of fifteen hundred tons, is the most yacht-like square-rigger under the stars and stripes, and a friend of mine who went out to Shanghai in her on this very voyage which Murphy mentioned, in speaking from a passenger’s stand-point, corroborated every word of the sailor’s, and said that it would be impossible to find a more agreeable man to sail with than Captain Banfield, who for some time was in the large Boston schooner yacht “Alert.”

In contradistinction to this fast passage of the “St. James” friend Murphy spoke as follows: “The last time I went round the Horn was in the Yankee ship ‘Centennial,’ and we were a hundred and ninety-nine days from New York to ’Frisco. We had a terrible time off Cape Horn, and ran back twice to the Falklands for repairs, and at last a third time we bore away for Montevideo. We passed close to Stanley this time, too, but there was a heavy gale on and we dasn’t try for that place again. As we ran by, though, we saw an American ship tryin’ to weather the Billy Rocks at the entrance to Stanley Harbor, and we passed so close to her that I heard the cap’n say as how he could see the sailors in the riggin’ with the glasses. We afterward found out ’twas the ‘City of Philadelphia.’” Then I remembered the tragedy of this ship. She sailed from Philadelphia for San Francisco a little over two years ago. Her captain had just bought her for himself, and she had on board a passenger travelling for his health. The vessel was disabled off Cape Horn, bore away for Stanley for repairs, missed stays off the harbor, struck on the terrible Billy Rocks in a gale of wind, and every soul on board perished.

The last Yankee square-rigger to lay her bones upon the beach was the “Commodore,” which ran on Malden Island in the Pacific, in 5° south and 155° west, about a year ago, while on a voyage from Honolulu to New York with sugar. All hands saved.

Murphy, like Louis, is a man-o’-war’s man, and said that the last government vessel in which he served was the “Olympia.” “Oh, Lord, she’s a terror for work,” he added. “I’ll bet she can’t beat this packet in that line,” said one of the men. “She can’t, eh? I’d just like to see you try her once. This ship’s a playground compared to her.” This, in part, bears out what Mr. Rarx said, that this is one of the hardest ships for work that he has ever seen. _If sailors get enough to eat_, though, by far the best way to run a ship is to keep them hard at work continuously; they will always be in far better humor, and when they turn in they will think more about sleep than about imaginary grievances, which foremast hands are very prone to do. Latitude 25° 12′ south; longitude, 42° 14′ west.

+June 21+

Oh, simple, childish Captain Platt of the “Judas Dowes!” This morning when day broke we looked in vain for this vessel, for behold the watery expanse void of objects fashioned by the hand of man save ourselves. We had confidently expected to see the “Dowes” upon our quarter, where, in truth, she would have been if Captain Platt hadn’t shown the white feather, sheering off under cover of the darkness and secreting himself beyond the horizon.

How odd it is to meet an acquaintance away down here near the end of Brazil! The last time that we saw the “Judas Dowes” she lay on the opposite side of the pier from the “Higgins,” both ships having just come in from sea; and lo! we renew our intimacy far down here, thousands of miles from home, below the southern tropic. And a sort of mutual good-fellowship springs up between us, for are we both not going to fling down the gauntlet to the dreadful Horn in the darkness and gloom of midwinter? Everything is so very smooth and sunny and cheerful here at present, that it is hard to believe that there are, no doubt, at this moment, giant four-masters struggling in the grip of an Antarctic sou’wester, hove to, with a tarpaulin in the after-rigging, or driving before it for their lives, buried to the rails in those great Cape Horn surges which roll so grandly onward in their endless journey around the globe.

Turning, then, from such violent scenes, it is doubly pleasant to be wafted thus along over a motionless sea, rippled by the fresh northeasterly breeze that blows us over two hundred miles of water every day. It is warm, too, for this latitude at this season, 77° at noon, for the sun to-day reached the most northerly point of his declination, and at four o’clock this morning, at Greenwich, he entered the constellation of Cancer, ushering in the first day of the southern winter.

Our skipper has formed the very obnoxious habit of immersing beer and Apollinaris bottles in the galvanized iron bucket which holds our drinking-water in the pantry, for the purpose of cooling them off; so that we were shocked one day to observe several labels floating about in the water, having added to it glue and other equally unpleasant foreign substances. Fortunately, the weather will soon be cold now, which will, I hope, put an end to these objectionable proceedings.

Every Sunday thus far Captain Scruggs has blossomed out in a white “biled” shirt, with a standing collar turned over in front, by reason of which he suffers torments throughout that day, until about three in the afternoon, when indications of a sudden metamorphosis begin to appear. First he begins to move restlessly in his chair, elevates and depresses his chin with great force, inserts his hand inside the band and tugs away at it, and finally, unable to stand it any longer, off comes the offending collar with a great wrench, while he passionately nods and revolves his massive head, to free himself of all restraint, as though he had been in a pillory.

It is a curious fact that hardly a single ship-master will say anything in favor of Nelson; personally, I have never yet met one who would admit that this greatest of sea-fighters was better or worse than any other naval commander, for all of whom they appear to have a silent disdain. A sea-captain usually takes as his model Napoleon or Cæsar or even the present emperor of Germany; our skipper reveres the memory of Napoleon and considers him the embodiment of everything grand and exalted; as for Nelson, he won’t even deign to talk about him, and brusquely dismissed the subject to-day by saying that Nelson didn’t even have much command or influence over his men!

There was a vast deal of shouting and confusion on board all day, occasioned by the shifting of the old sails to the new, strong suit for Cape Horn; as the captain said, “Now we’re gettin’ ready for business.” It is the general idea that old sails, nearly worn out, are bent for the bad weather, whereas the very newest of all are sent aloft, for old canvas would melt like wet paper in a really hard squall. Therefore the ship now glitters in a brand-new suit of clothes and presents quite a fine appearance; a yachtsman, however, would contemplate with dismay sundry streaks of mildew and tar-stains on the main-sail, though this is the first time that it has ever been stretched on a yard. So long are our topmasts that the big, upper main-topsail has a double row of reef-points in it; all the uppers are three times as deep as the lowers, which seem but strips of tape in comparison; when this vessel has nothing set but the lower topsails, it must verily be a howling gale. Latitude, 27° 50′ south; longitude, 44° 30′ west.

+June 22+

Good-by, sweet north wind! Farewell, bright, blue skies and balmy weather! We turned out this morning to find the ship ploughing into a short, severe sea, heading south-southeast, with nothing set above the topsails and a strong wind whistling from southwest, or dead ahead. The change came last evening in the second dog-watch; it was hard upon eight o’clock, and the mate was telling me something about the fit of the upper mizzentop-sail, when, looking ahead, he suddenly cried, “By jimminy, look at that cloud; here comes the river Plate,” and ran forward, bawling, “Let go the sky-sail-halliards!” Looking quickly toward the southwest I beheld a very wonderful sight; for, extending from west to east, about twenty degrees above the horizon, was a strange, narrow band of black cloud which came rushing toward us at headlong speed, with a gray bank of mist beneath it extending to the horizon. This mass had apparently risen by the exercise of some magic, for fifteen minutes previously there was not the least indication of it in the sky. Even as we looked, another ribbon of sable cloud formed at an angle of forty-five degrees to the first, and cornucopia-shaped (though not vertical like a tornado), with the big end toward us, came charging down upon us with all our kites aloft.

The mate’s yell brought the skipper on deck, who sang out instantly, “Get the sky-sails and royals in as quick as you can, Mr. Goggins. Keep her off there; hard up.” This last to the helmsman; for in an instant our northerly breeze had been nipped off, and the wind was now from the west; therefore, as the yards were squared, there was a great thrashing about of new canvas. Nothing parted, though, and by 8.30 we were pretty well straightened out, but were surprised an hour later to see the wind let go a good deal, while the ship came up to her course again, southwest. But the captain, glancing at a gray mist to windward, muttered, “There’s dirt in that yet”; and sure enough, at five this morning we had our first taste of nasty weather, and breakfasted in a severe squall which played tenpins with the dishes. Once more it eased up before dinner and we set the fore- and mizzentop-gallant-sails; but while the skipper was enjoying his postprandial siesta, the second mate came below and, poking first his head and then his shoulders into the cabin in that peculiarly cautious manner of mates desiring to speak to the old man, aroused him with, “There’s too much wind coming for the t’-ga’nt-s’ls, sir”; to which the captain answered, “All right; tie ’em up,” jumping on deck, whither we followed him. It is remarkable how quickly sailors rouse themselves from insensibility to alert action; only a moment previously the captain was breathing heavily in a deep sleep, yet no sooner did Mr. Rarx touch him and make the above observation than the answer came instantly, as though the skipper were talking in his sleep.

The wind when we reached the deck was rapidly increasing and had knocked us off to south again, with a bad, greasy look to windward, and it was raining heavily. The men were hauling on the lee maintop-gallant-clew-line and buntlines, while Mr. Rarx was settling away the halliards and swearing that never, since Noah took charge of the ark, was there a slower gang on a ship’s deck, as he ordered four hands aloft to put the gaskets on the sail, the wind blowing their oil-skin jackets up over their heads as they trotted up the ratlines, exposing them to a hard drenching in the pelting rain.

During the forenoon watch we sighted a sail, which was doubtless the “Judas Dowes” again. It is astonishing how enormously a slight elevation will add to the visibility of objects at sea. From the deck, for instance, this vessel was sunk to her royals, and at the moment it was utterly impossible to tell whether she was a ship or a bark; but by mounting to the top of the wheel-house, only seven feet above the deck, all three of her upper topsails were in plain sight.

We saw Louis Jacquin fly into a regular Frenchman’s passion yesterday afternoon while shifting the sails. He was at the lee upper mizzen-topsail yard-arm, putting the finishing touches on some gear, when the second mate shouted up to him, “All ready to sheet home?” To which he answered, “All ready, sair”; evidently misunderstanding the question; for no sooner did those below man the sheet on which Louis was seated than crack! went that individual’s black head against the under side of the yard, and he was then thrown off to leeward, only preventing himself from going over for good by a piece of wonderful agility. Oh, what a rage he was in! He thought that Mr. Rarx did it intentionally, and the atmosphere smoked with foreign imprecations; and even at that distance we could see his angry blue eyes (he has china-blue eyes and raven hair) snapping and popping away as he roared down, “Eh! well, sair; what is zee mattair below? Do you want to heave me ovair side wiz your sheet?” and it was several hours until he recovered his composure.

Our new maintop-gallant-yard is all but finished and has been secured under the starboard rail till needed. A little remains still to be done to it, and these finishing touches the goblin carpenter insists on bestowing upon it in spite of the showers of spray; and it is an amusing sight to watch him pop out of his shop, snip off a few shavings, working like a demon for thirty or forty seconds, and then pop into his den again to avoid a sea. By reason of all this spray flying and damp weather, I have donned my Cape Horn red-leather slippers purchased from the slop-chest and said to be impervious to water. But they defy comfort equally well, being as inflexible as Cape Horn itself, and are spangled inside with perfect little galaxies of wooden pegs, so that I fain would have boiled them as the pilgrim did his pease. If man were provided with hoofs instead of feet, it is conceivable that he might contrive to become accustomed to these slippers; as it is, I cannot understand it.

Having crossed the thirtieth parallel, we are now “off” the river Plate in the sailor’s sense, who always speaks of being off the Plate when between 30° and 40° south. At least one gale is usually experienced before these ten degrees of latitude have been crossed, though ships generally reach the thirty-fifth degree before anything happens. Latitude, 30° 25′ south; longitude, 45° 33′ west.

+June 23+

A pampero! By heaven’s thunder, we are battling in the vortex of one of these river Plate howlers, with a high, confused sea, and the ship plunging heavily into it, almost denuded of canvas! Yesterday at 4.30 a reef was tied in the foretop-sail, as the wind showed signs of rapidly freshening; but there was a lull from five until midnight, when it began to breeze up again, and when we went on deck at 7.30 this morning, behold! a strong gale coming out of the west-southwest and the ship, under a reefed maintop-sail and foresail, was pounding considerably in a very ugly sea, but not taking much green water aboard. By the way, when a ship is under an upper maintop-sail, it is, of course, to be understood that all three lower topsails are set as well; and a “reefed fore- and maintop-sails” means only the uppers, as the lowers are too narrow for reef-points.

Wonderful to relate, there astern of us at daybreak was the redoubtable “Judas Dowes,” with the same canvas set as ourselves. We knew her by her stunsail-boom, and she was apparently gaining on us and was making better weather of it than we were. I never heard the wind so shriek and roar in a ship’s rigging as it did this morning, and it whipped the tops off the seas and sent them flying aboard in storms of whistling spray, which seemed to cut the face like powdered glass. It kept on breezing, too, and at 9.30 the old man ordered another reef tied in the maintop-sail. Thus far the damage from wind or sea was limited to the injury of one man, Louis Jacquin, who was thrown across the forecastle-head against an anchor-fluke with great force, badly lacerating his left leg, and incapacitating him from other work than steering. And still the wind increased, and at half-past eleven the skipper estimated its velocity at fifty-five nautical miles an hour. At noon I started to go on deck to bring down a book which I had left in the wheel-house; and, without stopping to put on oil-skins, I got into a leather jacket and went up out of the companion door. The captain was leaning against the lee side of the wheel-house, and I was about to join him, when he called out, “Hey, don’t you see that sea,--jump!” I looked over my shoulder and beheld a huge hill of water rising higher and higher alongside, in that peculiar, lazy manner of very large waves. Still, trusting to my own judgment, I did not think that it would break aboard, when there was a crash like a broadside of artillery, relieving me of any further suspense, and I was swept completely off my feet (and this on the poop), only saving myself from bringing to against the rail by a lucky clutch of the lazarette hatch-house. Then swash came the water back again, and I was once more half buried in the cold brine; but, watching a chance, the skipper and I shot across to the companion door, opened it, and were assailed with the cry, “The cabin’s flooded,” which rang out above the gale. It was even so. The great sea had stove the forward skylight on the cabin-house, and had deluged the dining-room with hundreds of gallons of salt-water. It is impossible to conceive of such a wreck as we encountered below. The poor little gentle Malay was leaning against the table almost in tears, trying to keep his feet under him, while Sammie was doing noble work with a bucket, baling out the water which was swirling about with the rolling, to a clinking chorus of plates, cruets, thick glass tumblers (as indestructible as granite), knives, forks, and spoons, which had been swept off the table when the water broke full upon it. Ten minutes later our dinner would have been reposing on it; and fancy the calamity in that event! But it is too dreary to contemplate. Indeed, the dinner was delayed nearly an hour, and we had neither soup nor dessert,--the first occasion on which we ever knew these courses to be omitted at sea; the weather must truly be violent when it so happens. But we had plenty of good scorching hot coffee; and, it might be asked, why is it that during the heaviest weather at sea the coffee is always boiling, while in one’s private house it is only after a protracted warfare with the cook that the coffee comes in at a higher temperature than lukewarm?

Well, the wind kept on blowing still harder, and at two in the afternoon had attained the fury of a full-grown pampero. And the sea! Oh, how it boiled and seethed like frothy cream! And how the wind screamed aloft in the squalls! Fortunately, they came at comparatively long intervals, with sunshine between; but while one lasted it was nearly impossible to catch sight of a square yard of dark water, for the surface was as white as milk; and the crests of the tall seas were fairly wrenched off and shot through the air with terrific force, the atmosphere being full of flying spoondrift which the toughest skin couldn’t face, while the horizon was everywhere filled with ponderous, breaking seas. Our motion all day was very severe: first a heavy roll which dipped the lee rail under, while the water boiled up to the lee fore-dead-eyes; then the awkward weather roll down the windward side of the sea; and finally a deep, headlong dive into the valley, with a wall of water on either hand. The skipper thought that the average height of the larger seas was about forty feet from crest to trough,--not so large as the Cape Horn rollers; but it must be borne in mind that this was a very quick, vicious sea, with not more than three hundred feet between the crests, so that solid water was bound to come aboard even on the poop.

Well, well, it was a magnificent sight; and as we are now accompanied by a cheerful flock of Cape pigeons, everything has a true Southern Ocean look. My wife was not in the least frightened during the day; but she had such a good grounding on our first voyage that it is not astonishing. We made no departure in the twenty-four hours but two degrees of latitude, which was extremely good work, considering that we were by the wind in a pampero. Latitude, 32° 25′ south; longitude, 45° 33′ west.

+June 24+