Part 5

We proceeded to load at once with a cargo of flour in bags. It was a busy time; stevedores, riggers and carpenters all were working at once, and the ship was a regular beehive. My old friend, Commodore Allen, who had come to California in the early fifties, was in the business of a stevedore, and had been most successful and was now handling three-fourths of all the ships that entered Frisco. He was very popular with all the ship masters and entertained them in a royal manner. His carriages and horses were at all times at our disposal, and you may be sure the favor was appreciated.

The drive to the Cliff House was a popular drive at that time, even as it is today, and thousands of people would flock to the Golden Gate on a pleasant afternoon. The house stood on the western promontory of a very big cliff, at the southern entrance of the Golden Gate. There was a beautiful view of the bay and ocean from the verandahs, and one could see sea lions and seals sporting around the rocks. A band was playing on the piazzas, and everywhere men and women were enjoying themselves lunching, drinking, card playing and dancing. It was said that the old proprietor made his thousands. This famous hotel was later destroyed by fire, built up again on a grander scale, and then destroyed again by fire, and when I visited California again in 1908, the ruins still remained, although there were many places of amusement nearby. At the present time, instead of going to this place by carriage, as we did in ’69, one can take the electrics right to the Golden Gate, through a country beautifully laid out with streets and beautiful flowers.

The ship had finished loading, and with all fitted aloft we took a tug down to the outer bar, as wind was light from the S. W. Many of my friends, old sea captains, came to see me off. Captain Lunt of the ship Sacramento, Captain House of the Agbar, Captain Knowles of the ship Puritan, and Captain John Taylor of the ship Imperial, besides Captain Purdington of the Westward Ho. After crossing the bar, the tug came alongside and they all left, bidding us a hearty good-by and a prosperous voyage.

We made sail and stood off on shore on the wind with the port tacks aboard. Pleasant weather followed until we reached the latitude of Cape Horn, about 800 miles to the westward, when thick weather set in and strong winds, increasing to violent gales from W. S. W. to W. N. W. We ran under bare poles for forty-eight hours, no sun, and with terrific seas. At four p.m. on the forty-second day out from Frisco the ship was laboring heavily and the seas were running so high that they broke completely over her stern and filled the decks completely. The only choice was to risk bringing her to on the run, or to founder; all the sail we had on at the time was foresail and lower main topsail. We watched our chance for a smooth time and took in all sail and hove the wheel hard down, and then with the head spanker eased. She came to flying, but unfortunately, when abeam to the sea, an old roller came and we all jumped for the rigging. It struck us full force, filled her fore and aft, and she careened over on starboard side and fairly trembled, her lower starboard yard arms in the water, starboard bulwarks washed away and everything moveable about decks gone.

We finally got her head to the wind on the port tack, yet she lay very badly and shipped much water until we placed a piece of No. 1 canvas in the mizzen rigging. Then she lay easier, but the sea still ran so high that it was like being on a ledge. Our cabin was flooded, trunks and everything moveable was awash and a sorry sight things were. This, I believe, was the only time in my career at sea that I felt the end was nigh. By dead reckoning the great rocky promontory of Cape Horn was not more than 75 miles away, and the heavy gale was blowing us right on to it. There was no indication that the barometer would rise; the night was as black as ink, and things looked very dubious.

About eight bells, at midnight, the gale abated nearly one-half, and, being exhausted from long hours on duty, I went below for a sleep. It seemed scarcely ten minutes when Chief Officer Wessel woke me and said, “Captain Taylor, we are very near land; come right up on deck.” It was only too true; the ship was ahead of my reckoning, and the big, dark rocks loomed up dead ahead. Like a flash I sang out, “Hoist up the jib and heave your wheel hard up.” The ship answered like a charm, and there on our port quarter rose the high rocky cliffs 1000 feet high, with the breakers dashing up against the sides, and not over a quarter of a mile away. All hands made sail and the ship headed south without any but the deck watch realizing the danger we had been in. Now the land tends more easterly, and with clearing weather we were in a safe position. Good luck had certainly been with us, and I shook the hand of Mate Wessel, whose watchfulness had saved us from a watery grave. Those who have rounded Cape Horn can more than others realize our danger and narrow escape.

The next day was fine and clear, with a good breeze from the N. West, and with all sail set we headed east, passing Cape Horn inside the islands called the “_Diego Ramirez_.” After running an easterly course for a while, we shaped our course for Cape San Antonio, at the mouth of the River Plate.

We arrived safely at Montevideo, anchored as near the city as we could, and reported to my consignee, a Mr. Costello, that I was ready to discharge cargo on the following morning and that my “lay days” would commence from that date. He said, in the old Spanish way, “Manana, Capitano, Manana,” meaning tomorrow. Now, two barques had arrived just before we did from New York, loaded with flour, so they had plenty and wanted to use our ship as a storehouse until they had disposed of the other cargoes. So our “lay days” expired and they had taken no cargo out of our ship.

I now went to the American consul and reported these facts to him, so he went with me to Mr. Costello and demanded my demurrage as the charter specified, but Costello only laughed, refused to pay, and said it was not the custom of the country. The consul told him he would protect me and would begin to discharge and warehouse the cargo, and the cargo, according to law, would be responsible for freight and demurrage. This brought Mr. Costello to terms, and rather than incur extra expense he paid the demurrage daily. At the end of 17 days I had received my freight money and also $1700 demurrage, and learned afterwards that it was the first ever paid in that port for years. You may be sure Mr. Costello got sick of seeing me; he could speak no English, and I always greeted him with, “Bon Diaz, Senor, Manana,” which made him very angry.

We now loaded for Boston with a cargo of wool and hides, which ended most profitably for the owners.

ADVENTURE WITH SEA LIONS.

(SHIP LITTLETON).

On the voyage from Frisco to Montevideo in the ship Littleton we had an interesting experience with sea lions, and narrowly escaped losing our lives. As we entered the River Plate, on our way up to Montevideo, the wind left us, and as the tide was running out we came to anchor, clewed up the sails, and I went below for a nap. We lay about a mile off shore, and about four o’clock one morning I was awakened by a terrible screeching and bellowing, which I could not account for. It was now nearly daylight, and running up on deck I thought the sounds came from seals. I ordered the dingy to be put over the side, and took with me a Snider rifle and heavy shotgun. We pulled quietly inshore toward an island, which was called Lobos Island. The sun was now fairly up, and I could see what I supposed were seals moving about and completely covering the east side of the island. Pulling carefully, I got within a hundred feet of them when I saw my mistake. They were not seals, but sea lions, belonging to the seal family, but of no value. They were bellowing like a lot of mad bulls, and were big fellows, dark brown in color, and with eyes the size of an apple, I picked out one big fellow about fifty feet above the shore, and fired at him. In a few seconds they had rolled down into the water, every one of them, formed into a perfect line, and came right alongside of the boat. They were fierce-looking devils, with mouths wide open, and kept putting their fore flippers on the gunwale of the boat.

I now began to feel somewhat uneasy, and struck several of them with a long bar of inch iron which lay in the bottom of the boat. They dove down and came up about fifty feet away, handling themselves like a company of soldiers. I now thought the quicker I got back to the ship the better it would be for me. I had taken but a few strokes when on they came again, following in a V-shaped line like a lot of geese.

They quickly surrounded the boat, putting their flippers on the sides and biting the gunwale with their long, sharp teeth. Their weight made the boat rock and take in much water. As fast as I would strike them with the bar, down they would go, only to come up again a short distance away and repeat their tactics. By this time I was nearly exhausted, and called to the ship for help. The chief officer, a Mr. Wessel, afterwards told me that he thought I was fooling and having some fun, so he did not send help. They now attacked the boat fiercer than ever, so I picked up the heavy shotgun and let the old leader have a charge right in the face. Another followed, and he got the same dose. This seemed to sicken them and they turned and swam for the island. Almost exhausted, I got back aboard the ship and found the crowd very anxious to get out and take a crack at them.

The weather was still calm, so we got out the ship’s long-boats, put in iron bars, rifles and hooks, and pulled in for the islands again. One of the crew had refused to go, saying that his brother had been killed by sea lions in the China Sea and that they were treacherous animals, but we had nine men in the boat, so felt secure. As they were up on the rocks, sunning themselves, we got the boat in a good position, and I let drive at them with the rifle. The mate shouted out, “You have killed him, captain; see him roll.” And sure enough, they all did roll, but they rolled into the water and came for us in quick time. They tried to climb into the boat, and how we did fight them! I fired the rifle till the barrel was hot; we clubbed, pounded and jabbed them until the sea was red with blood, but still they came on. Two of the men had gotten out a couple of oars, and we slowly pulled away from them back to the ship. I never want to see another sea lion again as long as I live. A breeze coming up, we made sail and went up the river.

TRIP OF THE SHIP LITTLETON FROM MONTEVIDEO TO NEW YORK.

Having loaded our cargo of hides and wool at Montevideo, it was now most imperative that we reach New York before the new duties on these articles were imposed. If we could get to an American port before the duties were put on, the owners would be saved a large sum of money.

The usual passage from Montevideo to New York is about 60 days, and we now had less than that time in which to perform the trip. We left port late in the day, with a strong westerly wind which carried us well on our course, averaging 12 knots until we took the S. East Trades. As these were very strong, we were able to cross the equator in 19 days. In sight of Cape St. Roque it became very moderate, with pleasant weather and light, baffling winds, continuing so for six days, which made me feel most uneasy, as we had but 54 days to make the voyage and save the duty.

It was now the month of November, and a winter passage often delays ships for many days even after nearing port. After taking the N. E. Trades, all went well until within 200 miles of port, when we ran into a heavy gale from the N. West, with only 60 hours left to perform the voyage before January 1st, and thus save the duties. I now had almost lost all hope of getting in port, but trusted that we would yet be able to drop anchor within the three-mile limit. At 12 noon on the last day of December we were, by good observations, about one hundred and ninety miles from Sandy Hook. The wind now suddenly veered round to S. S. East; we shook out all reefs, made sail, and by one o’clock she was logging thirteen knots, with the wind very squally and the barometer very low. These conditions were not at all encouraging.

We now had all hands on deck, and at times were obliged to take in all our light sails, and when they passed, up they went again, no time being lost. At two o’clock on the morning of January 1st we made Scotland Lightship, shortened sail and ran in. As I was not acquainted with New York harbor, I intended to run in as far as was safe and drop anchor. The night was very dark and intensely cold, and the barometer suddenly commenced to rise, and in a few moments the ship was taken flat aback, caught by the sudden change.

The wind howled from the N. West, and it seemed as if the masts would go out of her before we were able to change our position. In the meantime a pilot boat ran up under our lee and shouted out, “Hard a-port or you will be on the Shoal.” We clewed up all sail in time to avoid the danger, and having taken the pilot on board felt in a measure much safer, yet the wind was piping from the N. West all the time. A large steamer, one of the Knickerbocker tugs, hailed us for a tow, and said he would take us up for $350. I offered him $300, and he dropped alongside to pass us his hawser.

His first question was, “What ship and where from?” When I told him, how he did swear, and said if he had known who we were he would not have taken us up for less than $1000. He said the owners had sent out tugs for the last few days hoping to pick us up, but we had missed them. We now furled all sail, and at 7 a.m. was at quarantine grounds, and two hours later we were docked. I went at once to the owners’ offices at 40 Broadway, and you may be sure there was great rejoicing. And they had good reason to rejoice, for I had saved them over $50,000 by making the passage and getting in on January 1st. Isaac Taylor, one of the owners, made me a handsome cash present, while the present that Messrs. Vanhagen & Luling gave I will relate later.

I will mention that several ships from South American ports had sailed previous to my departure from Montevideo, and that we had passed a number of them hove to the evening before we arrived in New York. Meeting one of the captains afterwards in the city, a Captain White by name, he said he thought me very foolish to take the chances that I had taken and endanger the lives of my crew and also run the risk of losing the ship and get no thanks for it. I told him I thought life was one big chance, and the devil could take the hindermost.

And now all these captains have passed on and anchored safely in the harbor of last refuge, where there are no chances to be taken and no customs duties to pay.

THE SHIP “DEXTER.”

While loading in New York for Frisco, we were obliged to ship a new cook, and because of this fact we had a most lively experience. We shipped a big negro, about 35 years of age, six feet tall, and who weighed about 200 pounds. He boasted of having served on different Californian clipper ships with notorious captains, such as Waterman, Knowles, and other “knock down and drag-out” style of skippers. Having sized me up as young and no doubt inexperienced, he probably concluded that he would have an easy time of it aboard the _Dexter_ and “rule the roost,” so to speak. After we had been a few days at sea, the steward came to me one morning with complaints to make about our colored cook. He said the cook positively refused to take orders from him, and had delayed him from serving his meals promptly and threatened to kill him if he came into the galley. The steward was somewhat of a timid man, and the cook had frightened him with his immense size and rough stories. I told the steward to go forward to the galley and send the cook aft. In a few moments the cook appeared with an ugly scowl on his still more ugly features and demanded what I wanted of him. I told him what the steward had reported, when he broke out like a madman, saying he would kill the steward or anybody else who interfered with him. In those days most captains went armed, for one could never tell when an emergency would demand the show of firearms for self-protect ion or to intimidate some tough member of the crew who had run amuck. By this time I thought moral suasion of little use, so whipped out my revolver and told him I was captain of this ship, and that he should go forward and in the future take his orders from the steward or he would get himself into trouble. His legs shook and he actually turned pale, but he went away without saying anything.

The boatswain, who had stood nearby, had seen and heard all that had taken place, and word soon spread that the “Old Man,” as the captain was usually called, had been setting up the negro cook. It appears that up to this time the cook had had all the crew in fear of him, and had been doing about as he pleased. Our ship was unusually well supplied with good food, and we gave the men bread twice a day instead of the customary hard bread, or ships’ biscuit. Now, the cook had put this bread out in such vile shape that it was impossible for the crew to eat it, and they hove overboard many a pan of biscuit because of its sour and half-cooked condition. And this entire crew of 25 men had so feared this gigantic negro that they did not dare to report to me the condition of things; but now they immediately sent aft a delegation asking for an interview. I accepted, and they came aft in a mass, bringing with them a kid containing the last batch of bread that the cook had baked for them. I saw at once the unfit condition of the bread, and asked them why they had not reported it before, but the spokesman said they were afraid the cook would poison them, and furthermore that I might approve of the bread he was serving them. I then sent for the cook, showed him the mess in front of all the men, and told him I would see him in the galley the next morning at two bells. The next morning I had a conference with the bo’sun and the third officer, both young and powerful men, telling them to act as my reserve in case we met with trouble when I went to see the cook.

Promptly at two bells I entered the galley by the starboard door and said, “Good morning, Dock” (a term always given to a cook on ship-board). “I have come to inspect your galley.” When we left New York the galley had been freshly painted, and was in fine shape, being a large room, with staterooms in the rear for the steward, cook and cabin-boy. I found the paint work very much smoked up.

This was caused by the cook putting wood on top of the coal to hurry up his fire so as to rush his meals along and get them on time. I spoke to the cook and said, “After dinner you clean up this place, and be sure to scrub up that paint.” Without warning, he suddenly picked up a big carving knife and sprang at me, yelling for me to get out of the galley, and at the same time making vicious lunges at me with the knife. Jumping aside, I grabbed a saucepan from off the stove, which was full of boiling water, and let him have the contents full in the face. With a blood-curdling yell he dropped the knife, picked up an axe and threw it at me, narrowly grazing my head and sticking in the starboard bulwarks. I then pulled out my pistol, fully intending to shoot him, when he bolted through the port door with a roar of “Murder, murder, the captain’s killing me.” As he went through the door the bo’sun struck him a heavy blow which knocked him flat. All hands were now on deck eager to have a hand in the fray. As the cook got up, he rushed off to the port side of the ship and gained the poop-deck. Running around the after part of the main deck-house, he ran into the third officer, who went at him hammer and tongs. By this time every man jack of the crew were at him, with fists, boots and belaying pins, and I actually had to show the gun again before they let him go. Such a sight one never saw. The deck, from galley to quarter-deck, was covered with blood, and Mr. Cook lay unconscious. A couple of buckets of cold sea water soon brought him to his senses, and he cried out, “Don’t let them kill me; this nigger got enough.” At four bells that afternoon a big hogshead, which we carried on deck, was filled with hot water, and Mr. Cook was asked to get in. Each man helped clean him up, and then as he stepped on deck we sprayed him over with our deck hose. He was then as clean as he ever was in his whole life. His chest and clothes were removed to a small room in the carpenter’s shop, a new cook appointed in his place from the crew, and Mr. Negro, cook no longer, was put on the third officer’s watch for the rest of the voyage, and he was ever after a most obedient and faithful servant. Peace and harmony reigned throughout the rest of the voyage, and the new cook proved most efficient. When we tied up at the wharf in Frisco our big negro decamped, not even waiting to be paid off, and he was never heard of after. This little incident simply shows how a man of great physical proportions can put fear into those who possess little, and how tame he can be after he has found his master.

The passage from New York had occupied 128 days, and now the ship was discharged and loaded with grain for Europe, and taken in command by Captain John Taylor, for whom she had been built.

I remained in California a short time, visiting my uncle, a Mr. Marshall Martin, who lived but fifteen miles from the big trees. The climate was delightful, but I soon was obliged to return to Frisco to return to my home on Cape Cod. While there, in came the ship Sacramento, Captain Lunt, that had left New York a week ahead of the Dexter, but was some two weeks behind us in getting to Frisco. We came through the Straits of Le Maire, which saved some 200 miles, although it offered a more dangerous passage. Captain Lunt was much chagrined to find himself so badly beaten by a ship that had left port after he had, for he was an able skipper and was famous for his quick runs.

THE BRIG J. L. BOWEN.

The Bowen was built at Quincy, Mass., by Deacon Thomas, and was owned by a syndicate, Captain J. Amesbury being the principal owner. He had been her only and original commander up to the time he was murdered at sea by his colored crew. The story of the murder is fresh in my mind, as I took charge of the Bowen a few days after the captain met his death.