Under Sail 17

Under Sail 17

MAKING PORT

 

 

One hundred and seven days out from Sandy Hook, we crossed the line for

the second time in longitude 122° west from Greenwich. The grooming for

port then started in grim earnest. Holystones were brought out and the

time-honored couplet of the sea,

 

Six days shalt thou labor and do all that thou art able,

And on the seventh holystone the deck and scrape the cable.

 

became a matter of routine on board the _Fuller_. Captain Nichols had

never been in the islands before, in fact none of us had, and we were

to make our acquaintance with them dressed up and polished in Yankee

form.

 

The art of holystoning, as practiced on American deepwater ships,

deserves a special niche in the archives of the sea. No more thorough

proceeding can be imagined. To the steamship hand who holystones like

a gentleman, at the end of a long handle, the art has lost its fine

points. On the _Fuller_ we dug into the work in deep sea fashion. Our

knees became sore from constant "praying" and the skin on our hands

was worn down thin, making us tender in hauling at the braces or going

aloft. To overcome the hardness of the deck, we rigged up pieces of

board to which three cleats were nailed and a strip of old canvas

stretched over them. This afforded a yielding cushion to kneel on and

kept our legs out of the water swishing about with the rolling of the

ship.

 

We worked in gangs, sawing away with the stones and wearing a scum of

wood from the deck. Each man soon became jealous of the work done by

his shipmates and we were careful to keep all hands going, as there

was a certain amount of deck to be gone over, and the sooner finished

the better. In holystoning we used two sizes of stones, the larger

ones called "bibles" and the small pieces, useful for getting into the

corners and along the edges of paintwork, known as "prayer books."

 

From the time of commencing to holystone, and slick up for port, there

was no more watch below in the afternoon; the watch coming on deck at

eight in the morning would stay on deck until six in the evening with a

half hour below at noon for dinner. Going below at six, supper would

be had and at eight the watch that had been on deck all day would turn

out for the first watch at night.

 

Thus, every other day, a watch coming on in the morning would have

eighteen hours of duty on deck during the following twenty-four. On

the other hand, the other watch would merely have the usual watch and

watch. Of all diabolical inventions for working men this afternoon on

deck was best designed.

 

While still in the doldrums, and after the holystoning had been

completed, we were set to cleaning the sides of the ship where the rust

had worked through, and where the dirt from the scum rubbed off the

decks had streaked long lines down from the scuppers. We liked this

work, scrubbing the black sides, and painting. It always seemed to me

like a vacation to get outside of the ship and off of the familiar

deck. Scaffolds were rigged and sometimes our feet would dangle in the

cool water on the shady side of the hull.

 

One day there was a commotion as Brenden and I worked away on a plank

slung beneath the mizzen channels. The water under us surged up and

a great black object rose beneath our feet, for all the world like a

submarine boat coming to the surface. Outcries brought all hands to

the ship's side. A huge whale had come up in the shadow of the ship.

Some hands ran forward, and presently big Scouse came aft on the run

carrying a harpoon from the bosun's locker and a coil of heaving line.

 

As he was mounting the rail the mate jumped after him, yanked the

harpoon from his grasp and sent the red head scurrying forward.

 

"You damned mutton-headed ass!" he cried. "Do you want to send us all

to the bottom? That's a _razorback_. He'll ram us, quick as hell, if we

rile him."

 

The whale sank from sight as suddenly as he appeared, and, razorback or

not, we had no opportunity to try his temper.

 

The sight of the whale started all hands forward looking for ambergris.

This was described as a grayish amberlike substance to be found

floating on the unsuspecting surface of the sea in large chunks of

fortune, the finding of which would set a man up on a cosy farm for

life, or enable him to see a snug retirement behind his own bar and

beer kegs. Frenchy and Jimmy both had seen ambergris, and for a while

regaled us with many tales of its origin, value and uses.

 

One of the results of the prospecting overboard for ambergris as we

lazed along in the tropic seas of the Pacific was the better knowledge

we obtained of the abounding life in the sea. In after years when at

sea on the decks of swiftly moving steamers, I have often pondered over

the sights that were given us of the queer inhabitants of the deep as

we slowly worked our way across the ocean in the _Fuller_. From her low

decks, when becalmed, or when sailing along at from four to five knots

in fine weather, especially in the tropic seas, the teeming life in the

depths below was brought very close to us.

 

The glint of queer fins, the vivid flash of some big fish rising near

the surface in hot pursuit of prey, and the common sight of a school of

flying fishes rising from the water just in time to miss the cruel jaws

of their pursuers, gave us a faint idea of the ruthless rule of might

below. Often the smother of white mist as the cloud of flyers would

rise, and the swift black demons in hot chase under them, like avenging

torpedoes tearing through the blue, would show glimpses of other and

larger fish after the pursuers.

 

Time and again we would lie out on the martingale and look under the

fore foot of the ship to see if there was a pilot fish around. These

queer customers would swim along just under the stem of the ship,

convict garbed, in thwartship black and white stripes, and about two

feet long. The presence of a pilot fish under the bow was evidence of a

shark under the bottom of the vessel, swimming along in the hope that

something edible would be thrown overboard, or that the vessel would

founder and disgorge her human freight into the deep.

 

Whole flotillas of the dainty nautilus would sail by us for days. These

"Portuguese men-o'-war," as sailors call them, spread a shell-like sail

to the wind, pink and airy, gliding gaily before the gentle zephyrs of

the line. They truly teach us a lesson, as Pope has it:

 

"Learn of the Little Nautilus to sail

Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale."

 

With the picking up of the N. E. trade wind a few degrees north of the

line, we knew that the main haul to Honolulu was on its last stages.

There was more easting in the wind than is generally the case, and we

made good progress, holding a course well to windward of Hawaii. For a

week at a time we cut through the water at an average speed above ten

knots, going it night and day. The sailing was glorious and we all felt

the thrill of it. Were we not rushing forward to a paradise set in the

middle of the broad Pacific for our rest and refreshment? We hungered

for fresh provisions and for a decent sleep of more than a shade over

three and a half hours at a stretch. The afternoons on deck had worn us

down and the cooler winds bringing such speed and hope were a wonderful

tonic.

 

"Will I take in the skysails?" Mr. Stoddard asked of the captain one

night as he came on deck to take the midwatch. I was at the wheel

turning over the course to Axel, who came aft to relieve me. The

_Fuller_ was boiling along, everything taut, the white water in her lee

scuppers.

 

"No, leave them blow away," said the skipper, laughing. However, we

found him on deck still at four in the morning and he took coffee with

the mate before going below for a nap. But the skysails "stayed put"

and indeed every bit of rag was doing noble duty.

 

"The Honolulu girls have us in tow," was the slogan on board.

 

At brace and sheet and halyard, we sung our ropes with a will, and a

cheerier crowd of weather-worn, under-fed and half-rested humanity

would be hard to find. Man is an adaptable animal, more rugged than

the beasts of burden, and cheaper than machinery, and in the lesson

taught us on the clean white decks of the _Fuller_ is to be found the

remaining hope for the survival of sail. _It is cheaper_, and with the

advent of iron boxes rigged by means of screws, and bolts, and nuts,

the sailor of the marling spike days will not be needed. Crews can be

recruited, and fed for less than it takes to make steam, and men can

be found to sail them, to drive them, as we were driven, and if they,

too, are past masters at the art, to lull the crews into a state of

contentment, and even happiness, after experiences that would cause a

revolt in the worst penitentiary of the land.

 

When in 154 degrees of west longitude, and 21 degrees north latitude,

Captain Nichols up helm and shaped a course direct for the northeast

point of the Island of Molokai, the leper island of the Hawaiian group.

We made the land just before nightfall. Anchors were got over the bow

ready for letting go in case of emergency, and the dipsea lead was

placed handy on the fo'c'sle head, the line being carried aft, outside

of all gear, to the tub at the taffrail, in which the bulk of it was

coiled. A small snatch block on the weather mizzen t'gallant backstay

was ready for hauling in should we have to take a cast. The hand lead,

or _blue pigeon_, was coiled in the mizzen chains; I was told by

the mate to stand by in case we should have to use it, my schoolship

training having made me a good leadsman.

 

All was excitement on board as we closed in with the land, the good

smell of it coming out to us as we raced into the Kaiwi Strait, lying

between Molokai and Oahu, upon the southern shore of which Honolulu is

situated.

 

At midnight we were abreast of Koko Head, a peak near the eastern end

of Oahu. We put down our helm and hauled our wind ahead, bracing sharp,

under easy canvas, on the starboard tack, the ship heading north.

Skysails, royals, and flying jib were allowed to hang in their gear,

while we hauled up the mains'l, and furled the crojik, at the same time

setting the spanker.

 

At four bells in the midwatch, closing in with the land faster than was

comfortable to sailors accustomed to large sea room, we wore ship, and

headed her back toward Molokai.

 

We wore ship again before daybreak in order to hold the weather gauge

off Diamond Head, and at the first streak of dawn we squared away and

the _Fuller_ was put under full sail as we bore down past Diamond Head

for the entrance to Honolulu Harbor.

 

A whale boat put out from the land carrying the pilot, followed by a

wheezy tug of diminutive build. We put down our helm, paid a hawser out

over the bow to the tug, and as we horsed up on her the Kanakas started

a panic cry on her decks, while the captain on the poop shouted rapid

orders to both mates and we let our yards down by the run and swayed up

on the courses, manning the clew garnets, clewlines and buntlines in

feverish haste.

 

"Take the lead!" the mate shouted to me, and at a nod from Captain

Nichols, I sent the blue pigeon shooting out ahead into the clear blue

water of the harbor entrance as we ran down between the barrel and spar

buoys that mark the fairway.

 

"And a half, six!" I felt sand. "Hard bottom!"

 

The pilot came over to me and looked curious. "No need of this,

captain," he said.

 

"Oh, give the lad some exercise, pilot," the skipper answered. "It won't hurt him."