Under Sail 16

Under Sail 16

Each night in the dog watch he insisted on reading from the Old

Testament, starting at the very beginning. Jimmy had a pair of

steel-rimmed spectacles, and to further his missionary work, he changed

bunks with Scouse, so that he could be directly under the lamp, while

the big red-head moved into the best bunk in the fo'c'sle right next to

an open port.

 

Jimmy worked his way through Genesis and got well started on Exodus

by the time we picked up the S. E. trades. His pronunciation of the

hard names was truly wonderful and required much careful wiping of his

spectacles. By the time he was within hailing distance of Leviticus we

were again approaching the doldrums and once more we unbent our storm

canvas and shifted into the easy weather sails.

 

Australia, one of the most consistent chronologists of the fo'c'sle,

working by the brad-hole-and-peg method, using the stumps of burnt

matches, pegged a hole around which he had scratched a circle.

 

"The 'dead horse' is worked off," announced Australia, as we turned out

for breakfast one morning, springing a surprise, as it had been more

than a week since the subject was broached last in the fo'c'sle. March

5th, three months since leaving the wharf at South Street! It seemed a

year in point of experiences.

 

"Well," ventured Martin, "the boarding masters are smiling today."

 

"Yes, the lousy squeezers, I'll bet the Front Street House has a good

dinner for the boss on my advance."

 

"I hope he chokes, Joe," chipped in Fred.

 

"Choking is too good for them; burning is wot they want," went on Joe,

almost forgetting his breakfast in the heat of his indignation. "They

take in Australia and Martin and Fred and me, and wot do we get? Wot do

we get? Why, a few days' grub and a lousy, dirty bed, wot ain't fit to

sleep on, and then they send us out. We go down and sign, and the next

day out to sea for us in this bloody hell wagon. A half a kit of dog's

wool and oakum slops, took from some dead sailor, maybe, and rotten

poor oilskins, and sea boots that is no good. A big bargain, and all

for six quid--that's all--only six quid for the lot; a mess of fine

wearin' rags. And today they collect their hard earned money and all we

has to do is to ride down here on a yachtin' toor round Cape Stiff."

 

"It ain't right. It's hell, that's it--hell!" agreed Australia. "Lookit

me and Fred, and Mike, we was only in port two days. Just two days

board and no advance money. Said the British Consul would get us sent

back to the _Ettrick_. And that cost us six quid!"

 

"Nothing ain't right," it was Jimmy who spoke. "You booze, and worse,

you sells out your manhood an' your rights to low livin' pigs wot

lives off o' the likes o' us. Its principles wot you needs. Young men,

take my advice and get principles. 'Ard? O' course it's 'ard to get

principles, but they saves you a lot o' trouble an' you can put away a

bit. I say live right and you'll be right."

 

"How old are you, anyway?" demanded Brenden.

 

"Old enough to know my own bloody business," rejoined Jimmy, scenting a

comeback on his reform precepts.

 

"Well, now that _your_ dead horse is worked off you can start in and

save until _you_ hit New York again."

 

"Well, if I do save a bit, it's none o' the likes o' a Dutchman like

you wot'll 'elp me spend it," and Jimmy hopped out of the fo'c'sle at

eight bells sharp. The mate was so surprised to see him leading the

watch aft that he promptly sent him up to the fore skysail to loose

sail, for the night had been squally and the second mate had taken in

the kites, a thing he was prone to do, while the mate always promptly

set them again.

 

After the argument about the advance, we all made up our minds to work

off no more dead horses. As Australia put it, "A year at sea and a week

in port, and nothing to show for it."

 

Most of us had slop accounts to clear off with the skipper, and then

the velvet would pile up at the rate of eighteen dollars a month, at

that time standard wages out of the port of New York for deepwater

sailors.

 

None of the men had shaved for at least a month, and the crew forward

presented a truly deep sea appearance; "Rooshin Jews on a ocean

picnic," was the comment of Jimmy, who never shaved, and whose whiskers

also failed to increase but rather diminished in their moth-eaten way.

 

On the first Sunday of real fine weather, when the bushes were

beginning to get uncomfortable, the fo'c'sle barbers got busy in both

watches. Frenchy and Australia were the tonsorialists of our watch and

after taking on all hands, Frenchy shaved Australia and trimmed his

mustache. Hair cuts were had by all and the effect was good. Perhaps

the feeling of cleanliness due to the trimming had something to do with

the desire for a "field day"; at any rate, two of the men, Old Smith,

of starboard, and Frenchy, went aft and got permission from the mate to

have a celebration.

 

The coming Wednesday was named, and as we were then on the edge of the

S. E. trades, the day broke fine. Accordingly after breakfast that

morning the watch on deck, all but the helmsman, were allowed to go

forward and assist in removing the contents of the fo'c'sle.

 

The watch below also turned to, and green and blue sea chests with

wonderful "tumble home" sides and fancy canvas tops; plain canvas

bags, "the sailor's round-bottomed trunk"; bags with fancy eyelets and

elaborate grommets; well-worn blankets; knobby straw mattresses, the

"donkey's breakfast" of the sea; and all of the humble furnishings of

the fo'c'sle of a deepwater merchantman, were hauled out on deck in

the light of day. The fore rigging, the bottoms of the upturned boats

on the forward house and the fo'c'sle head, were littered with these

things as box and bag yielded up their contents to the purifying action

of the sun. All of our salt encrusted gear was rinsed out in a barrel

of rain water, saved for the purpose, until free from salt, as most of

our clothing was so highly hygroscopic that the least fall of dew would

make them damp and clammy.

 

We then rigged the water spar, and with a liberal supply of sand and

canvas and with "_ki-yi_" brooms we scrubbed our home until the place

fairly radiated. The scuttle butt was cleaned out and re-charred, the

fo'c'sle lamp taken down and polished, and two hands got busy and gave

the ceiling a fresh coat of white paint, brightening up things to a

wonderful extent, for this had not been done for some years.

 

All doors and ports were left open to allow the fo'c'sle to dry out,

and at noon both watches lunched together, "al fresco," under the

shade of the fores'l. A hamper of chicken sandwiches, a case of cold

beer, and a box of cigars would have delightfully rounded out our

dinner of pork and pea soup. However, we were in a merry mood and

the unaccustomed company of the other watch made the simple fare and

weevil-ridden tack taste particularly good. Besides, relations with the

after-guard were becoming more and more pleasant. The fight between

Tony and Mr. Stoddard had faded from mind in the trying weeks that had

intervened and the feeling of anticipation, as we neared the end of the

passage, helped to make us receptive to better things.

 

By gradual stages, without in any way compromising their dignity, our

experienced officers assumed a less harsh way of speaking; orders were

mandatory to the last degree, of course, but less liberally spiced with

profanity. An occasional joke on the part of those aft would send a

ripple of laughter among the men pulling at sheet or halyard. The cook

also felt the mysterious balmy influence of the Pacific sunshine, and

every other day we would be delighted with a big pan of ginger bread in

the fo'c'sle. On Sundays we would have duff with real raisins in it.

 

Honolulu was drawing near; none of us had more than a few dollars of

pay on the books, and crews among the island and coast traders were

hard to get, with pay correspondingly high. Perhaps this had something

to do with the change of atmosphere. Even those who had the most reason

to complain were beginning to cheer up and forget their troubles of the

past.

 

A clean fo'c'sle, dry, well aired bedding, and smiling skies, ushered

us into the region of the equatorial rains. The flying fish began to

zip through the air again with increasing frequency and the mates as

usual gathered them up, but, strangest of strange things, the cook was

told to send half of the catch forward. The daily thunderstorms came

with their accustomed regularity. At about eight bells in the afternoon

watch it would cloud up suddenly, any sails spread out on deck, in the

course of repair, would be hastily dragged to the sail locker or under

the fo'c'sle head, and presto!--a rumble of thunder would follow the

first faint flashes of lightning. Then several bright jagged discharges

would come in quick succession, a clap of Jove's artillery, and a

douse of rain, followed by the golden rays of the sun streaming through

such rainbows as are seldom seen anywhere but in those latitudes.

 

During a tropic storm at night, just after leaving the trades, we were

roused out at midnight and ordered aloft to take in the t'gans'ls. The

yards and rigging were soaked with rain, and, as we got to the tops,

St. Elmo's fires started to flicker on the yard arms with a pale blue

light. The night was black, and oppressive with the hot humid wind, we

were wet and clammy, and the sleep was in our eyes when----

 

"And sudden breaking on their raptured sight,

Appeared the splendor of St. Elmo's light."

 

Jimmy Marshall, fear clutching at his heart, refused to mount the

futtock shrouds; springing to the forward leg of the main topmast

backstays, he slid to the deck while the rest of us went aloft. The

stoutest of us, however, were touched with superstitious feelings.

The "corposants," as the men called them, started us on a series of

ghost stories in the night watches on deck. A few days later we were

becalmed in a dense fog, such as sometimes is encountered in the warm,

damp region bordering the line. Joe went aft to relieve the wheel just

after listening to a gruesome tale. A giant man out in the fog over

the quarter reached for Joe when abreast of the open door of the wheel

house. Joe nearly fainted with fright, at the sight of his own shadow

thrown on the fog wall by the naked binnacle light that the helmsman

had taken from the cowl to trim.