Part 30

Yesterday afternoon a sail was sighted from the fore-sky-sail-yard, and at once threw everybody into tumult of excitement. Truly, a long time had passed since we had beheld a vessel of any sort, for the last time that we saw anything fashioned by man’s hand was seven weeks ago, off the Horn. We beat this record on our first voyage, however, when sixty-five days passed without our sighting a vessel. The ship “I. F. Chapman,” however, arrived at New York from Manila shortly before we sailed, having been at sea one hundred and twenty-five days, and during all that time not a single craft of any description sailed into her ken!

At five o’clock the upper sails of our new friend were in sight from the deck, and I walked to the break of the poop, where the mate was, to ask his opinion of her. He was extremely pompous, and talked with such assurance that you would suppose he had just come off the stranger. She had not risen to her upper topsails when Mr. Goggins said, “Ho! I know ’er; she’s a barkentine that trades between San Francisco and the Hawaiian Islands!” (I have never met a captain or mate who said Sandwich Islands.) This was to exhibit his infinite knowledge of the Pacific coast. Now, when hull down, I make it a rule never to contradict a sailor when he gives an opinion as to how a square-rigger is sailing, whether on or off the wind, or what her precise rig is; few objects are more puzzling, even to an experienced eye. But on this occasion I had a pair of very excellent glasses on the vessel, and suggested that she was either a bark or a ship steering by the wind. “Naw, naw,” shouted the mate, with a backward sweep of his arm; “she’s a barkentine, a-runnin’ free.” An hour later it proved to be a British ship close-hauled on the port tack, standing to the eastward. The mate was overwhelmed with chagrin, but his cup of misery was not yet full, for when the old man went on deck last night at ten, the moon being very bright, he asked him whether the ship was still in sight, to which the mate answered, “She’s not, sir.” “Then what’s that?” asked the skipper, pointing under the spanker. There, on the quarter, dim, but in plain view, was the handsome stranger, and she had gone around on our tack.

Last evening we witnessed a sunset that was the most impressive of the whole voyage. An hour before the sun disappeared we noticed great cumulo-nimbus clouds marshalling themselves in the west, the horizon then being veiled in a curious, diaphanous mist. When we came up from supper, though, the sun had nearly reached the sea-rim, and for ten minutes we were the enchanted spectators of most exquisite cloud scenery. High up toward the zenith two ranges of heavy, gloomy cloud mountains were reared, peak on peak, forming in themselves a scene of remarkable grandeur, and right between these purple ramparts, and just then touching the horizon, lay the great, blazing globe of fire, edging the immense vapory masses with a fringe as of living flame and transmuting the clouds into glowing pictures of the Delectable Mountains, more beautiful than artist ever conceived, with a suggestion of the Celestial City itself in the surpassing glory of the moment. As Handel said when composing the “Messiah,” “I did think that I did see all heaven before me, and the great God Himself.” The entire spectacle was visible through the thin mist, now changed into a veil of radiant bronze, putting a finishing touch upon a scene which, for magnificence of coloring and stately splendor, we have never seen equalled.

No sooner had the orb of day vanished than out soared the moon from behind a sable cloud and a night of ineffable peace and purity followed, with now and then a weird effect produced by a guny floating slowly across the moon’s face, with the appearance of a gigantic, prehistoric bat. Oh, how superb Nature is when viewed thus from the deck of a sailing ship! How can a man deny God at such moments as these? How can he say that he is lonely when he is surrounded by such wonderful memorials of His earthly magnificence? Latitude, 34° 5′ north; longitude, 137° 14′ west.

+September 10+

We can stand but very little more of this northerly wind, for we are getting very anxious to go on the other tack. Last night and this morning the wind was very unsteady, and we alternately broke off to west-northwest and came up to northwest by north. It would be useless to tack ship at long as we can hold as good a course as the former, for we would have to make a little southing on the other leg. By to-morrow we will probably be in the latitude of our destination, though a thousand miles west of it, and the skipper intimates that he will then let her come round whether or no.

This morning, it being the first occasion for a long while, we had a brace of fresh eggs for breakfast, which when poached were so indescribably delicious that the memory of them lingered long and sweetly in the palate. It is only about once in three weeks that our barren, emaciated hens honor us in this fashion, and when they do, our gratitude is boundless. Ordinarily, my wife’s breakfast consists of fresh, crisp soda biscuit, a boiled potato, and a cup of cocoa; my own comprising soda biscuit, potatoes, jam, and tepid water. It is a matter of surprise to every one who has experienced a lack of ice how readily one becomes accustomed to being without it; by the seventh or eighth day the desire for iced water has passed entirely away and doesn’t return except in case of illness. People generally regard a man who refuses any of the customary matutinal beverages with the most extreme astonishment; when he declines coffee, they open their eyes; when he refuses tea, they begin to murmur; and when he also denies cocoa, they drop everything and look intently at him, as though they expected to discover some visible proof of his abstinence. “Why, but your health,” these people cry; “every one needs something hot in the morning.” This is quite false, even in winter weather, as anyone can prove to one’s own satisfaction by shunning so strong a stimulant as coffee for a fortnight and taking only water at breakfast; nearly everybody would feel great benefit from such a course in less than a week.

One would think that long-voyage ship-masters would grow to detest salt and dried meats and tinned vegetables, but they do not; and Captain Scruggs affirms that after one or two good “feeds” of fresh meat ashore after every voyage he wants to return to his salt beef; and I have yet to see the captain or mate who preferred the finest pressed tongue and canned corned beef to ordinary salt junk; they cling to it with a truly wonderful pertinacity.

The captain detailed to us last evening the ingenious method of loading coal at Newcastle, Australia. A ship there hauls in close to the pier, along the edge of which extends a railway track. A train of coal-cars is then backed down on the wharf, each car holding five tons. They are then uncoupled, a hydraulic crane lifts each one silently from the track, swings it over a given hatch, the bottom drops automatically, precipitating the coal into the hold, and the car is then swung back again and placed on the rails, and another takes its place. The same method is now or was once employed at Newport, Wales.

In the United States chutes are in general favor for loading colliers, especially in the coastwise trade, which is conducted by means of fore-and-aft schooners, some of which are as large as many ships. The “W. B. Palmer,” for instance, registers about two thousand tons, with a carrying capacity of thirty-five hundred, equal to that of the “Hosea Higgins,” while several range well over fifteen hundred registered tons. In spite of the encroachments of steam, these mammoth schooners seem to more than hold their own, as the fleet is constantly being increased. Ten years ago a vessel like the “Governor Ames,” or any of the Randalls, paid from twenty to twenty-five per cent., though the profits are now probably somewhat reduced. The “Ames” has loaded twenty-five hundred tons of coal at Norfolk in nine hours, which is the best work on record, as this included trimming, and everything else, all ready for sea. This phenomenal speed was attained by simultaneously working the four hatches, rivers of coal continuously sliding into the hold through the chutes. At Aden and Port Said the steamers are coaled entirely by hand in quite an interesting manner: A lighter of coal is secured alongside a steamer, aboard of which is a swarm of black men, mostly Kroumen, each with a shallow, wicker basket as large as a dish-pan. As soon as the lighter is made fast two cargo ports are opened in the steamer’s hull, one forward and one abaft the bunkers. The men then fill their baskets, which they carry upon their heads, and march in single file through the forward port, empty their baskets as they pass the bunkers without pausing, and issue from the after-opening into the lighter, where a freshly-filled basket awaits each. So great is the number of men that a solid black stream passes through the steamer; and though each basket holds but twenty pounds of coal, it is loaded into the bunkers at the rate of one hundred tons per hour. On our return from India in a P. and O. steamer through the Red Sea we coaled thus at Aden, by electric light; the weather was drizzly (itself a curiosity), and when the moisture condensed on the naked, sooty backs of the Kroumen, they appeared as though clad in a mail of sparkling jet; and as they maintained a dismal chant throughout the process, the whole scene resembled a picture from the land of gnomes and pixies. Latitude, 35° 50′ north; longitude, 139° 20′ west.

+September 11+

The winter of our discontent is now at its height. Vainly do we endeavor to make easting; we cannot, for the wind for a long time has been at northeast instead of between north and west, as it should be. At four this morning, exasperated beyond endurance, I heard the skipper growl to the mate, “We’ll let her go round, anyway; maybe we’ll fetch Cape San Lucas.” We did make good an easterly course for a while, but at five we broke off to east-southeast, which, with the variation, was southeast three-quarters east, a preposterous course; so we went around again at eight, and are still pegging away on the starboard tack, making good north by west, and only twenty miles south of ’Frisco.

Every opportunity the dour Scot has for conversation now he embraces. At seven last evening, sitting on the main-hatch, he said, “I’ll bet you never heard what ‘Long John’ (Pettersen) said to the mate one night off Cape Horn; ’twas that night when we had the worst snow-squalls. I dunno what the row was about, but Mr. Goggins called John up on the poop and began to blackguard him; then he let him have it once or twice in the face about as hard as I ever saw, and was just goin’ to kick him down the poop-ladder, when down jumps Long John on the main-deck, turns around and yells, ‘You come down here and I’ll break yer ---- ---- neck!’ and he’d ’a done it, too. What did Mr. Goggins do? Walked aft and looked into the binnacle. ‘That settles you in my mind, me buck,’ says I to meself. I don’t believe he had a right to hit John, for, if I do say so, he’s the willingest sailor I ever had to do with; but when John dared him to come down off the poop---- Well, that’s the sort o’ stuff the mate’s made of; he hasn’t got the sand of a worm. But look, sir, I want to tell ye somethin’ more about the Australian packets. The best and finest voyage I ever had in all me life was in one o’ those ships, the ‘Loch Rannoch.’” (I love to hear MacFoy roll out his sonorous Scottish names.) “We had a hundred and eighteen passengers, most o’ them, of course, in the ’tween-decks, which was fitted up wi’ bunks for ’em. Oh! but we had the fun that passage, though the rules are strict, just like in the navy, and well they need be. The emigrants can’t go either forrad or aft o’ certain limits, all lights are out at eight in the evenin’, no smokin’ after that hour, and in heavy weather none o’ them are allowed on deck. In the Southern Ocean, runnin’ our eastin’ down, the hatches were battened for two weeks, and all the air the people got was thro’ the ventilators. When such emigrants get to Melbourne they have to report at Government House, and things are fixed so they can pay their passage-money in instalments. The men are generally a pretty decent, well-conducted lot; but the women,--oh, Lord! the women! Some o’ them’s amazons, and that’s a fact. I remember one that we had on board had the whole ship in a hurrah till one day Cap’n Skene ordered her aft to talk to her. I mind the time well: the cap’n, a fat, short, little man in blue and brass buttons wi’ podges on his shoulders, as vain as a turkey, but a good seaman, was talkin’ to a couple o’ first-class passengers when this lassie was led aft, and he turned with a frown to size her up like. ‘Well, mutton-face, who’re ye lookin’ at?’ says she; and then, without givin’ him time for a word, she bawled at him, ‘D’ye know what I think o’ you? You’re no more good than a hoot down a dumb-waiter shaft.’ She said she was no bloomin’ sailor, and she’d have the run o’ the ship if she liked; and, will you believe it, they had to put the irons on her, she got that bad. We used to have great singin’ in the dog-watches. Man, ’twould ha’ done yer heart good to see us sailors a-sittin’ on the forecastle-head, thirty of us, and pretty soon we’d start a chanty and keep it up for ten minutes; and no sooner would we stop than a score of emigrants amidships would take it up, the women’s and men’s voices soundin’ fine together, till it was most as good as a concert. You’d better believe it, though, that it takes strict discipline to keep a hundred and fifty people in order for three months.”

“See here, MacFoy,” said I, when he had finished. “I want you to answer me a straight question; is this a hard ship on the men?”

“Why, no, of course it’s not,” he answered.

“Well, Mr. Rarx told me that once, but I didn’t know whether to believe him or not,” said I.

“I can just tell you, she’s the quietest Yankee ship _I_ ever sailed in,” observed David; “why, there’s been no blood flyin’ at all to amount to much. The men can’t make it out; there hasn’t one o’ them been clouted now goin’ on three weeks. But I can tell you why it is; it’s all on account o’ you and your wife. The old man won’t let out before ye, but I’ve often seen him hold on tight to himself and just swear instead o’ knockin’ the feller end-wise. Yes, Mr. Rarx was right when he told ye this was an easy ship.” Latitude, 37° 18′ north; longitude, 139° 50′ west.

+September 12+

Hurrah for California! Hurrah for the north wind! Our bowsprit is at last pointing towards the brown crags of the Golden Gate. At the change of the watch at midnight we heard the captain sing out, “All hands on deck; tack ship.” A few moments later came “Put your hellum down”; and a moment afterward he called out “Hellum’s a-lee”; yet another minute or two and “Maintop-sail haul” split the air. A dead silence followed as the men cast off the braces, and then the heavy yards clattered noisily around, followed by the agreeable sound of ropes running over patent sheaves (always pronounced shivs); and finally, “Let go and haul” went ringing forward, the head-yards swung round, and in ten minutes more the ship was braced up on the port tack, heading somewhat to the northward of east. All continued to go well, and we are now doing seven knots.

At 10.30 this +A.M.+, as we were watching the mate reeve a new log-line on the “cherub,” I heard Kelly at the wheel say “Sst, sst,” and looking where he pointed, lo! a sail appeared well above the horizon on the lee bow. The glasses resolved her into a three-masted fore-and-aft schooner on the starboard tack; and we presently perceived that she was rigged with pole-masts and a spike bowsprit, being the first vessel of the sort I ever saw. It makes a very serviceable rig, not so picturesque as fidded topmasts and slender jib-boom, but powerful and able looking, which count for more in a seaman’s eye than æsthetic beauty.

Before long it became apparent that if neither of us shifted the helm there would be a collision; and as we were on the port tack, we should be the one to alter our course; but then the other vessel was only a schooner, so this would never enter the mind of a square-rigger skipper. Sure enough, although the other had the right of way, she shifted her wheel and we passed across her bows, not more than a cable’s length away. She was the “Sequoia,” of San Francisco, three hundred and twenty-five tons, and was probably bound up to Puget Sound from a southern Californian port. Observe how hard it is to make northing as well as easting here at this season, when vessels are obliged to stand off shore twenty degrees in order to reach up, and the “Sequoia” hadn’t tacked ship yet to fetch in. I never before saw a fore-and-aft schooner a thousand miles off shore, though there are small two-masters that trade between Newfoundland and Spain, and between Boston and the Bight of Benin.

As we passed the “Sequoia,” all hands aboard of her crowded to the side to see us; and we probably made a splendid picture as we swept by, only two or three hundred yards away, under all possible canvas. The captain and mate declared that her name was pronounced “Sequina”; ship-masters often have the most remarkable pronunciations even for well-known ports and landmarks, and they cling to them with dogged tenacity.

Last night we had another new dish for supper,--cream toast. This sounds odd, I expect, but it was simply delicious; it is true that, as in the case of the rarebits the other evening, the bread was not all that could be desired; but by using _unsweetened_ condensed Swiss cream, thinned a little with water, it proved to be a most savory dish, though an expensive one for the ship, as an entire can has to be used each time. In truth, if made thus, it tastes far better than if fresh milk is used, as the great fault with ordinary milk toast lies in its flatness and insipidity; but the Swiss cream, being very rich and perfectly pure, is eminently adapted to this purpose. It sticks in my mind that this ought to be a hint for housewives.

Already we have begun to estimate precisely when we will reach port; if we do it in six days, or by next Saturday, it will mean only a hundred and fifty miles a day, or six and a half per hour, which we should do without trouble if we do not fall to leeward of the Farallones.

Mr. Rarx is still very feeble, and will evidently have to be carried ashore. Latitude, 38° 10′ north; longitude, 139° 10′ west.

+September 13+

A magnificent day, though not quite so much wind as we would like to have. Up to ten this morning we did passably well, but since then it has been pretty light, though there is a bank of wool-packs rising in the west, foretelling more wind from that desirable quarter. We made three degrees of departure, and to our chagrin, not to say consternation, fifty-eight miles of southing; this latter must be due, we think, to an error in our previous dead reckoning, as we hadn’t had the sun for two days, and the currents here are often strong. A line drawn from yesterday’s alleged noon position to that of to-day passes directly over the reputed Reed Rocks; but as we are by no means sure of yesterday’s work, we cannot on that account positively deny their existence. They were first reported about fifty years ago by one Reed, an American mariner; but as the British admiralty charts do not acknowledge the presence of the rocks, and as our own charts have D marked beneath them, meaning doubtful, it is probable that, if they ever did exist, they have now disappeared.

It is worthy of mention that the total cost of running and maintaining a ship like the “Hosea Higgins” for one year amounts to an average of twenty-five thousand dollars. In New York alone the bills that Captain Scruggs had to pay before we went to sea amounted to almost fifteen thousand dollars, though this was a somewhat excessive amount, owing to the putting in of a new bowsprit and fore lower mast, which, with the rigger’s bill, footed up a total of two thousand dollars. Here is a list of the accounts rendered: Riggers, stores, stevedore, foremast, blacksmith, wharfage, advance to men, ship-chandler, sail-maker, tow-boat, pilot, shipwright, tonnage dues, butcher (fresh meat).

In San Francisco there will be an equally heavy account, as a new mizzen lower mast will be shipped there; and when the “Higgins” arrives back at New York she will have to be thoroughly overhauled and repaired, being of the age of fifteen years. Wooden vessels are classed A 1 for that period and no longer without a complete renovation, and she is then reclassed; iron vessels are rated A 1 for a much longer period. The list of firms above enumerated would not be complete, however, without mentioning the cooper’s bill. This is sometimes quite large for repairs made to cases, barrels, etc., on account of damage sustained while loading, at sea, or discharging. Goods must always be delivered in first-rate condition. Yet, in spite of the heavy running expenses, this ship averages fifteen and sixteen per cent. profit; and there is one very large iron four-masted ship, belonging to the keenest ship-owner in New York, which regularly pays a twenty per cent. annual dividend. Nearly all American sailing ships pay well; but the greatest profits that I know of in late years have been made by a British eleven-knot tramp steamer, whose name I cannot remember. This vessel for the last four years has paid the owners an average annual profit of thirty-four per cent. Much of this is, of course, due to the vessel’s happening to strike the various markets at exactly the right time, though there must be a good, sharp business head to the concern to achieve such an astonishing result. It is said, however, that the majority of British sailing ships are not good money-makers. Latitude, 37° 12′ north; longitude, 136° 15′ west.

+September 14+

A magnificent breeze that has driven us along at nearly nine knots has blown steadily from the north-northeast for twenty-four hours, giving us an easterly course by compass. But, alas! the point and a half of variation and another half-point of leeway force us to steer about east-southeast true. We made a whole degree of southing in consequence, and are now ninety miles south of ’Frisco Heads. If we have to tack ship it will be a piece of outrageous luck; and if the ship doesn’t come up three points by noon to-morrow, that’s just what we will have to do.

Last Sunday, as I was talking to some of the men forward, Broadhead spoke of the Yellowstone Park, and he chanced to mention that a friend of his had spent his honeymoon in that delectable locality, adding that, of course, everything looked particularly rosy even for the Yellowstone. Conversation then changed, when all at once I found the eyes of Jimmie Rumps fixed upon me, and a moment later he said, wistfully and earnestly, “I should think it must be just grand to go on a honeymoon.” Rumps, it might be added, would make an excellent cabin-boy on a yacht; but as bosun of a large ship, it would be difficult to find one more thoroughly incompetent than he is. There are at least a dozen of the men before the mast who are far better sailors than he, and seamanship is a _sine qua non_ in a bosun as well as in a second mate.