Under Sail 18

Under Sail 18

"By the mark, five!"

 

We were running past the sea wall and the boathouse to starboard. I

could see the lighthouse over the deck on the port bow. The tug was

whistling, and as we swung to port, into the harbor proper, I noted the

marine railway and the Pacific Mail Wharf with a lot of people on the

Esplanade watching us come in.

 

"Mark under water, five!" I shouted.

 

"All right, Felix, come in; that'll do," said the skipper, and a few

minutes later I found myself on the mizzen skysail, furling sail. We

were brought to in the stream by letting go the port anchor and casting

off the tug at the same time, and, as the chain rattled through the

hawse pipes in a smoke of rust, a whistle on a factory ashore blew a

long blast of welcome. It was noon, the harbor life suddenly stopped,

for we missed the faint rattle of steam winches and the shouting of the

Kanaka stevedores at the railroad wharf.

 

"Now give us a harbor furl, boys," called up the mate. And as we worked

away, we noted the captain going ashore in the whale boat with the

pilot. Below us stretched the most beautiful city in the world; cool

looking green palm trees lined the streets, the fat squat outline of

the Punchbowl rose gratefully verdant behind the little city, a restful

sight to our sea-weary eyes, and far beyond we looked up into the misty

vista of the Nuuanu Valley. Stranger still, on the wharves we noted

native and white women in their fresh looking white dresses, and we

could hear the cries of children at play.

 

Laying down from aloft we squared yards, and went below for our dinner

of pea soup and pork, with a kid of cabin tack--a piece of strategy on

the part of Chow that was truly an inspiration. The sight of weevils,

and the near view of the clean sweet shore, would have been too great a

contrast.

 

We opened hatches that afternoon, ready for the port warden's

inspection, ripping out the caulking of oakum and taking off the three

layers of tarpaulin, but not lifting the covers. We also sent down the

fore and main courses and tops'ls, and cockbilled the main yard for

a cargo boom, rigging the cargo pendant from the main topmast head,

the same being stayed out over the main hatch by a fall from the fore

topmast cross trees.

 

At four o'clock the captain returned with a boatload of fresh

provisions, joints of clean red meat, fresh vegetables, onions, green

stuff, bananas and pineapples, and a big basket of real baker's bread,

the loaves rich and mellow in the sunlight, like bricks of gold. How

our eyes popped out at the sight and smell of this treasure cargo from

the shore! Our salt ridden senses were starved for something fresh

and clean. A dozen hands rushed to the side to help unload the boat,

passing the grub up the ladder and carrying it in to Chow.

 

Captain Nichols also announced that we would go alongside at Brewer's

Wharf the next day.

 

At six, in the evening glow of the harbor, we pumped her out and went

below for supper. Vegetable soup, floating with fresh green things and

rich in meat extract; steak, onions, _and potatoes_! Have you ever

been without potatoes for three months? If you have you will know how

it feels to crave them. The fresh bread and the delicious ripe bananas

topped off the meal.

 

[Illustration]

 

We were too full to speak, all hands together at our feast under the

break of the fo'c'sle head. Millionaires cannot buy such appreciation,

and our bellies were stretched to the utmost limit.

 

An anchor watch was set, by lot, of one hour tricks, and I was

fortunate enough to escape. Before eight o'clock the fo'c'sle was heavy

with slumber as we dreamed away the hours in such heaven sent rest as

only the angels can understand; we were one hundred and twenty-one days

out from the port of New York, and our first night of unbroken sleep

ahead of us.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII

 

IN HONOLULU TOWN

 

We have had enough of action, and of motion; we

Rolled to starboard, rolled to larboard, when the surge was seething free

Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam fountains in the sea.

 

Let us swear an oath and keep it with an equal mind

In the hollow lotus-land to live and die reclined,

On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.

_Tennyson._

 

 

"Well, now that we are here, what?" Joe put the universal question. "I

hopes we has it a bit easy for a change," he went on, seeing that no

one rose to his query, and no doubt some dim, subconscious yearning

must have stirred in the recesses of Joe's mind; perhaps the sight of

the palms may have wakened this, for in his clumsy way he voiced the

spirit of the poet. Indeed we had all of us sensed the languor of that

lotus-land in the humid morning vistas of heavy tropical foliage lining

the avenues of the city, and stretching far beyond into the blue-green

richness of the Nuuanu Valley. After months of deep sea existence,

the smell and feel of the ripe, luxurious land came to us with a

powerful appeal. All of us felt this, but, sailor-like, the feeling was

disguised in various ways.

 

"I hope them bulls aft gives us a fair deal," went on Joe. We were at

breakfast, both watches together, assembled outside the fo'c'sle doors.

 

"Fair deal!" snapped Old Smith as he speared a spud. "Say, you young

heifer, do you think you was brung all the way out to Honolulu for to

loll back at your ease and eat the bread fruit, that we reads about,

offen the fatness of the land, without no toil nor trouble? You'll get

your damned good whack of sweatin' here. I know these ships, and it

won't be just because the weather is hot, neither."

 

This was followed by dire predictions of hard grinding to come, ghastly

prospects fathomed from the depth of experience by such masters of

discouragement as Jimmy Marshall and Australia.

 

"Say, shut up, will you! Maybe it won't be so bad," piped Frenchy, who

never liked to have his meals interrupted, especially when we were

breakfasting on dry hash made with potatoes and onions, a real feed

much needed by our hungry crowd. We had turned out at dawn for a hasty

washdown, had put the long boat over the side, and rousing out a number

of large manila hawsers, had flaked them down in the boat ready for

warping. The cable was hove short and the quarter moorings were taken

in. In addition to this a number of the men under the second mate had

completed the rigging of the cargo gear. The carpenter, with me helping

him, had rigged the _dolly_, wedging it under the pinrail on the

starboard side just forward of the main hatch with blocks of wood and

a small jackscrew. The large cargo blocks had been hooked and moused

to the pendants, and the falls were rove, all for the starboard side,

as the skipper had inspected the berth and that was to be our side for

discharging at the Brewer Wharf.

 

Breakfast came as a rest, a breathing and a talking spell with a good

day's work already to our credit. The change in routine, however, made

the work seem easy enough, for we arose from our full night of rest

with a feeling of wonderful vitality. Word came out that an island

steamer would hold the berth at the Brewer Wharf until noon, and we

were to warp in to the Oceanic Steamship landing to allow the port

warden and the agents the opportunity to inspect the hatches and make a

survey of the condition of the cargo, at the same time bringing us that

much nearer our berth.

 

A plunge overboard in the early dawn, the last man on anchor watch

having called me a half hour before the rest, put me in fine fettle.

All hands were eager to get foot ashore and the prospect of tying

up to the beach filled us with expectancy. The fresh grub, the full

night in, and the electric atmosphere of contact with human affairs,

gave us a keen sense of being again in the world of the living. After

breakfast we sat around for a few precious moments smoking and yarning

as we gazed toward the shore. News filtered out that the battleship

_Maine_ had been blown up in Havana harbor on the night of February

15th. War with Spain was imminent and the port of Honolulu was pregnant

with impending world affairs, made even more intense by the fact that

there was no cable in those days and news came only at intervals with

the arrival of the mail steamers. War might be declared at any moment

and rumor had it that a squadron of raiders from the Philippines might

descend on the port.

 

The gunboat _Bennington_ lay in the harbor with the old training ship

_Mohegan_ and constant gun drills were being gone through.

 

We "turned to" promptly after breakfast, and while one watch carried

out the lines the other manned the capstan bars and broke out the

hook as soon as the warp was thrown over a cluster of piles on the

Esplanade. When the anchor came up dripping with gray mud, the long

warp was carried in over the fo'c'sle head and taken to the main deck

capstan and we walked the ship alongside in the good old-fashioned way.

 

At the string piece of the wharf there was a misunderstanding as

to orders. The mate being in command took occasion to deliver his

compliments to the second mate in no uncertain tones. So refreshing was

the spectacle of wrath descending upon the head of the hated second

mate that all hands stood idle grinning at the show. The old saying,

"trouble aft; good times forward," at once went into effect. Mr. Zerk,

seeing his mistake, ordered Mr. Stoddard to his room, and then turned

his attention to "the people" as we hustled out the breast lines and

adjusted the springs. We got the gangway over in jig time, to the great

amusement of the dock loafers, and crowds of curious citizens, who had

heard that a Yankee hell wagon was alongside with the bucko mate in

full action.

 

When the gangway was lowered, Mr. Stoddard walked ashore with as much

dignity as he could muster, garbed in a wrinkled brown suit and a

rusty, dented derby that struck a ludicrous note amid the straw-hatted

natives on the wharf.

 

"I hope he never come back," growled Tony, no doubt thinking of the day

off the River Plate. "If ever I get him ashore----" but the Italian did

not finish, for we were hustled about lifting hatch covers and setting

things to rights, the deck being littered with long bights of the wet

hawsers.

 

Native boys offered to dive for pennies, but we had none to give,

and enterprising Chinamen crowded on board with baskets of fruit and

hampers full of bottled pop, the whole gang being driven ashore by Mr.

Zerk with his best delivery of picturesque profanity. The Kanakas on

the shore started to mock him, and that made matters worse, as none

of us dared crack a smile. Later on Mr. Zerk was to learn that the

happy, carefree natives were an independent lot, who would work under

persuasion, but were stubborn as mules when driven.