Part 2

The second mate, Thomas Rarx, is a Nova Scotian, and is a large, raw-boned, hearty man with a fresh complexion, and is therefore the mate’s antithesis. You would never suppose that he was addicted to the thumping of sailors, yet this is one of the most important duties of the second mate of an American ship; on some of our sailing vessels it seems to be the most important. Then there are two bosuns; one of them, a Brooklyn youth, is a weak-looking creature, and has more the appearance of an American District Messenger boy than that of bosun of a Cape-Horner; perhaps his name has crushed his spirit,--it is Jimmie Rumps. But the other bosun is a brawny Scot, David MacFoy, of Troon; he is a splendid man, beautifully built, tall, straight, very good-looking, and is somewhat conceited, handles the men well, and has a cyclonic voice.

The cook and steward are both natives of the East. The latter is from Singapore, and is therefore a true Malay; blandness seems to be his chief attribute, and his bashfulness allows him to do nothing but smile and back out of sight. What there is of the cook seems to be unexceptionable; he is a Cantonite, about four feet and a half high, weighs possibly ninety pounds, and is a tip-top sea-cook.

Next comes the carpenter, whose only name aboard ship is “Chips.” Instead of a neat, clean person, redolent of pine shavings and saw-dust, our carpenter is a very dirty, fat individual, who appears to have been steeped for an indefinite period in a solution of kerosene and lamp-black. Most Finns (why Russian Finn? The man who says that will say hop-toad) seem to be dirty, however, so that he is no exception; in weight he would go well over two hundred and thirty pounds, and, as a whole, is the most objectionable-looking person whom I have ever seen. You could never call him Chips. As for Sammie, the boy, he is a short, thick, young Jew, not prepossessing in appearance, and with an apparently wonderful capacity for doing nothing; like Peter Simple, he looks as though he could stand a great deal of sleep. We have seen so little of the sailors as yet that, of course, no notion of any of them can be formed.

We did fairly well as to distance sailed in the twenty-four hours, and at noon we were one hundred and seventy-five miles from Sandy Hook.

+May 13+

This was a glorious morning, with a fresh breeze from the southward. Last night the wind came whistling along in strong puffs, and we had to stow both sky-sails and royals for it; and when I went on deck at 7.30, quite a hummocky sea was running from the southwest. My wife was exceedingly sea-sick all night long, and clung tenaciously to the theory that she would perish within twenty-four hours. At about ten this morning, though, both wind and sea having gone down somewhat, my wife consented to go on deck, so we arranged chairs on the cabin-house, and she stayed there all day, improving every minute. By supper-time she had a hearty longing for food, and we have no more misgivings as to sea-sickness for the rest of the voyage.

I rather like the way in which the second mate goes to work; he appears to be a very fine seaman, and this is perhaps the most desirable and necessary of all the acquirements of a second mate. He has also considerable quiet humor; yesterday afternoon he caught sight of one of the men who had not yet recovered the full use of his faculties, fussing about on the mainyard; and after watching him for a few moments he sung out, “Mainyard there, what the h---- are you gapin’ at! Cast off that yard-arm gasket; d’ye think yer messperized?” After which, he rolled forward, and we could see him chuckling and shaking at his own conceit.

Our fresh breeze wafted us across two hundred and twenty miles of the North Atlantic yesterday, and at noon we were in latitude 39° 22′ north; longitude, 65° 8′ west.

+May 14+

Another fine day with the same fresh breeze from the southward, and the captain is busy shaking hands with himself on his good offing; remembering the German who turned back and anchored in the Horseshoe, he mutters from time to time, “Oh, I wish I was under Sandy Hook, I don’t think.” We couldn’t carry the sky-sails last night, but they were set this forenoon, and we are now doing fully ten knots. My wife has entirely recovered, and is amusing herself with the three cats on board. One of them is a splendid animal, a pure Maltese, whose companion is a so-called coon cat; both of them belong to the captain. The third beast is the mate’s, an unfortunate, weird, black-and-white alley-cat, tall and lank, and as hideous as a nightmare.

It is remarkable how good the eating is on board; for although on many ships the meat, flour, etc., are often the best that can be bought, everything is frequently spoiled by villainous cookery; even our coffee is as good as people generally have ashore. Captain Scruggs told us before we sailed that he was a dyspeptic, and said that he had to be very particular about what he ate. On this we somewhat callously congratulated ourselves; and, sure enough, the skipper’s stomachic infirmities have insured us none but the best of everything. It might be here remarked that we brought absolutely nothing with us in the way of provisions. It is customary for captains to ascertain what their prospective passengers’ preferences are before storing the ship; and, as I knew the company who had the vitualling of the ship, it was certain that nothing better could be bought. Indeed, the average ship in these days carries such an abundance and variety of wholesome food, that unless one cared to take along such absurd edibles as patés and the like, the food question can very well take care of itself.

The mate, Leander Goggins, entertained us at breakfast this morning with some more or less remarkable conversation. It really seems impossible that a man can hate his native country as he does; and he gave an affirmative reply to Scott’s famous question,--

“Breathes there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, ‘This is my own, my native land?’”

The skipper jollies him up constantly about his still being an Englishman in spite of his citizen’s papers, and this morning the mate couldn’t withstand it any longer, and delivered himself as follows, with great intensity: “Cap’n Scruggs, sir, I thank God I left Hengland w’en I were eleven year hold, sir. I tell you, cap’n, and you too, sir, it ain’t no fit country for a man to call himself a native of. A pore man carn’t take off ’is ’at to a lord, sir; ho, no; ’e’s got to bow and sheer and pull ’is front ’air; and if hit’s a lady, why ’e mustn’t look at all.” This was enough to disgust any one with him; and he made so strange an appearance with his weather-stained face, bleary little eyes, and heavily veined temples, that I almost shouted when he finished. A great slashing scar on his chin, when his stubby beard permits it to be seen, doesn’t add much to his personal charms. Later on he began to talk about Captain Bob Waterman, perhaps the most unpleasantly notorious ship-master in the old New York-California trade. The mate averred that he had sailed with “Cap’n Bob,” and he added that the yarn about Cap’n Bob’s having cast off the lee main-brace in a Cape Horn squall one night, jerking half a dozen men into the sea just because he didn’t like them, he had always considered as probable. “’E shot ’is own child, you know,” pleasantly added Mr. Goggins, as though he were mentioning the killing of a chicken.

At noon we were six hundred and fifty miles from Sandy Hook, in latitude 38° 58′ north; longitude, 60° 14′ west.

+May 15+

Glorious weather, with southwest winds as fresh as ever; it is growing much warmer, and the temperature of the water has risen to 71°, making it possible to bathe in it without much gasping.

Shortly after breakfast the captain asked us if we wouldn’t like to go forward and see him catch a bonito, as there were several playing about the forefoot. So we went up on the forecastle head, sat down on the gammoning-iron, and watched the skipper creep out on the bowsprit with a cod-line and a hook baited with a bit of rag in his hand. Then he went through various manœuvres necessary in the capture of these deep-sea fish, and incidentally nearly manœuvred himself off the jib-boom. The scheme consisted in dropping the rag swiftly down till it touched the water, and instantly jerking it upward again, to excite the imagination of the fish, I suppose. They looked very fine darting about at great speed several feet beneath the surface, being of a brilliant hue, and at first we thought that they were young dolphins,--that is, the dolphin of sailors. At length, after innumerable vain efforts, accompanied with much hard breathing and damning of the fish’s eyes, the captain hooked one and hauled him up, snapping and fighting till he was dropped into a gunny sack held by one of the men. He looked like a plump mackerel, weighed six pounds, and will afford a little variety to our evening repast.

This afternoon the skipper said that I ought to have a pair of sea-slippers; so he vanished into the slop-chest (the technical name for the apartment where all sorts of wearing apparel for the crew is kept) and emerged with the most uncomfortable looking foot-gear that I ever beheld. The slippers (?) were made of immensely thick red grain-leather, with heavy, pegged soles, as inflexible as plate armor and as easy-looking as Belgian sabots. The captain said that they were as tight as sea-boots, if I kept the water from flowing over the tops, adding, “I’ll tell you what I do: in cold, wet weather I just haul a pair of heavy socks right over the outside of the slippers and make boots of ’em.”

At a quarter to five this afternoon we sighted a steamer on the lee bow, and as there was a chance of signalling her, and she was bound to the westward, we put our helm up a little and kept away a couple of points. At 5.30 she was abreast of us, and we hoisted our number and “report me all well,” to which she hoisted her answering pennant. She was a very large English cargo-boat, one of that new style of tramp freighters with one funnel, two pole-masts, and a great sheer. She seemed to be making more than ten knots (though the snow-drift under her bows indicated about twenty-five), and should therefore reach New York in time to be reported in next Wednesday’s papers. Latitude at noon, 38° 31′ north; longitude, 55° 2′ west.

+May 16+

Our first Sabbath at sea broke calm and warm. When we went on deck at seven bells not a breath of air was stirring, the ship had no steerage-way, and an oily calm lay upon the face of the deep, recalling memories of our previous voyage, when, in this very part of the ocean in the month of July, we averaged twenty miles a day for twenty-one days. Four hundred and twenty miles in three weeks wouldn’t burn a ship’s copper off; it is about three-quarters of one day’s run of the fastest express steamers.

It was truly hot this afternoon, for the calm prevailed all day; but fortunately there was quite a swell present, in which we rolled about, creating pleasant draughts from the slatting sails. How orderly and quiet a ship is on a Sunday afternoon when the weather is mild and clear! Every rope, every implement, is in its place, the decks have been washed as clean as hard scrubbing can make them, and the brass mountings shine like mirrors. Coiled away in shady nooks lie the watch, each with a book or paper in his hand, deep buried in its contents. Some recline in the waterways under shadow of the bulwarks, others in the shade of the deck-house; some on the forecastle-head, where cool airs circulate from the swinging of the big foresail and jibs. The only audible sounds are the flapping of the sails, the somnolent cheeping of the blocks, and the working of the rudder-head as the ship rolls about in the swell, with perhaps the low tones of a man’s voice humming an air to himself on the main-hatch. A more peaceful scene it would be impossible to find than that presented by a large ship thus becalmed,--more tranquil and solemn than the little country hamlet dozing in the drowsiness of a mid-summer, Sabbath afternoon.

Let a breeze come along, though, from an unexpected quarter, and in an instant everything starts into life. “Square the crojjick-yard!” comes with startling suddenness from the officer of the watch. In a moment the half-hidden forms of the men spring with a bound from their cool retreats, and the forward part of the ship resounds with their deep voices as they come rolling aft, each repeating the order, “Square the crojjick-yard, sir.” Aft they come in a shuffling trot,--not slovenly, but in a cheerful way,--and the ponderous yards creak slowly round to the hoarse tones of the bosun.

It is during such scenes as this that the magic of the sea takes hold of the imaginative mind. The remembrance of gales of wind, and of hail and sleet and snow fade utterly from the memory, and the mind is conscious only of the inexpressible charm which the mighty deep exerts over those who truly love the sea and go down to it in ships.

After breakfast this morning the mate told me how oranges are loaded at Tahiti, by hauling the vessels up under the trees which overhang the water and shaking the fruit into the hold. Already Mr. Goggins is beginning to growl at the weather. What he wants all the time is “just enough to show the sky-sails to, sir.” We had a little more wind after breakfast, it is true, but it came from the southeast and let go at ten. Last night, just before we turned in, some Mother Cary’s chickens which were flying around the ship began to utter their quaint, plaintive cries, at which Captain Scruggs and the mate shuddered and looked grave. I asked Mr. Goggins what was wrong, and he replied, “Whenever the blarsted birds cry, there’s sure to be a long spell o’ light weather.”

It is strange what disdain merchant skippers have for yachting, nor can they ever understand why a man should expend so much on a vessel without trying to derive some income from the same. I happened to mention to the skipper last evening that I once chartered a pine-apple schooner at Nassau and took a party of friends on a cruise through the Bahamas. “After shells, I suppose,” quoth the worthy man, thinking that my scheme was to load up with the beautiful shells found in those islands and take them across to the mainland and sell them. Again I told him that my most cherished scheme was to navigate the South Seas in an auxiliary yacht. “Yes,” he answered, “it’s a good notion; trading ain’t dead there yet.” Perhaps the most amusing incident of this sort happened once when I was on board a yacht lying at Vineyard Haven. A large three-masted schooner came in, having lost her mizzentop-mast. The owner of the yacht pulled aboard of the schooner and looked her over, and then asked her captain and mate back to the yacht. Of course they admired her exceedingly, and as she was quite a large boat, they observed that it must cost a sight to run her. Finally, when they were about to return to their own vessel, the skipper asked, gravely and in perfect good faith, “What I don’t understand is, how do you make her pay?” Latitude, 37° 50′ north; longitude, 53° 40′ west.

+May 17+

Perhaps we may change our opinion before the voyage is over. Perhaps we may not. I have seen enough of the skipper to know that this voyage is not going to be exquisitely pleasant for ourselves, the mates, or the men. A little disturbance started this forenoon in the following manner: A barrel of carrots, onions, and parsnips had been rolled under the forecastle-head by the mate, who then forgot all about it; so that, instead of giving it to the cook, he allowed the green stuff to wilt and wither in the heat of the past forty-eight hours. The captain heard of this for the first time to-day, and ever since not a single thing has gone right for him. We first noticed that something was amiss with the skipper by the tone he used to the helmsman at eleven o’clock, when he told him to “hold her up a little more.” The man obeyed instantly, but made an inexcusable mistake: he forgot to answer, and in this he was, of course, wrong, for he should have either repeated the order or said, “Ay, ay, sir.” The captain then told him in forcible language what would happen to men who failed to answer. We thought that the matter was settled, when the mate came aft from the break of the poop on a run, thrust his fist through the wheel-house window in the man’s face and snarled, “Now, luk ud ’ere, ain’t I told yer to answer w’en yer spoken to, eh? Well, you just do it, or _I’ll_ teach yer to open yer mouth; I’ll _fix_ yer.” Innocent words, comparatively speaking, but no one can imagine the intensity of emphasis on the “fix,” or the malignant, hazing tone which the mate threw into his threat. The skipper had just “jumped on” the mate, and, of course, the latter must find some one to retaliate on, and here was an opportunity. The boy Sammie, too, came in for his share of attention, but it must be said that this slothful youth deserved it; and, finally, the skipper and mate came to words at dinner about a barrel of hard bread. Captain Scruggs graduated years ago with high honors in the art of nagging, and at last he provoked Mr. Goggins beyond endurance. “Goddlemighty, Cap’n Scruggs, if I ain’t seen no ship-bread, ’ow could I break it out?” We expected an explosion from the old man, but he only tugged fiercely at his whiskers and shut the mate up with, “All right, sir; all right. We won’t continue the argument.” As the day wore on his temper grew worse and worse; and when I called his attention to a school of fish playing alongside, supposing that he would like to see them, he answered tartly, “Very well, sir; you’d better jump overboard and catch ’em.” I thought it best not to reply; but it was very annoying, for some of the men hard by smiled broadly.

It must be acknowledged that the thought of being obliged to sit opposite to this man at table three times a day for at least four months is a disagreeable one, and this is not a cheerful meditation at the very beginning of a voyage. Yet, the captain has proved that in some ways he is very kind and considerate; but he has that hard, flinty voice and overbearing manner, an instance of which the reader can doubtless recall among his seafaring friends.

Throughout nearly the entire day we had an almost perfect calm; this, of course, aggravated the old man’s temper, for he seems to be a most intolerant individual. So little headway did we make that at noon we were in latitude 37° 22′ north; longitude, 52° 39′ west.

+May 18+

We had another sample of American ship “discipline” this morning. We went on deck at 7.30 to eat some fruit before breakfast, and as soon as the skipper hove in sight it was plain that he was looking for trouble. Presently the mate appeared, and it was evident from his countenance that he had found the trouble the captain was looking for. In a little while two of the men came aft, each with a case of oil in his arms, which they deposited on deck by the wheel-house, preparatory to passing them down into the lazarette. One of the hands, Brün, an inoffensive, quiet Norwegian (the most peaceable sailors in the world), happened to put his case down with the lettered side underneath, which displeased the skipper, who asked him, in his ogre’s voice, if he hadn’t told him the way to handle case-oil. Now, the man was evidently doing the very best he could, which was evident from his great desire to please, and also from the way in which his hands shook. Finally he grew so nervous that when he picked up the case to turn it over, it slipped and fell with a loud noise on the deck. At this the poor fellow jumped back several feet and put up his arm to ward off the expected blow; but the skipper saw plainly that it was an accident and was going to let the matter pass, when the mate jumped in between them and, catching a firm hold of Brün’s right ear, gave it a terrific wrench, that slued him round and brought him to his knees, while he yelled, “Ain’t _I_ told yer how to lay them cases down?”

Such scenes as this are extremely unpleasant, particularly as they are always accompanied with boisterous language; and, as we saw the whole affair, I can say with certainty that it was absolutely unprovoked and unnecessary. If the man had been of a surly or ugly disposition, and intentionally put the case down wrongly, some excuse might be in order for the mate’s conduct; but this fellow has always been unobtrusive, and actually jumps in his desire to please. It is generally men of a certain temperament that mates pick out to haze,--men with no appearance of “sand.” I have never known a man of Mr. Goggins’s sort to try it on a determined-looking, deliberate seaman.

How calm it was until five o’clock yesterday afternoon! The sea was as if oiled and of a rich blue, fascinating to contemplate and deeper in color than usual. No stream that ever cascaded down a mountain-side could approach in transparency the sea-water as found in the remote solitudes of the ocean. We had a strange sunset, too, the horizon being apparently at an immense distance, with whole chains of ragged, golden-tipped clouds, like jagged mountain rocks, seemingly a hundred miles away. We had a fine breeze all day from east-northeast, which, it is true, jammed us on the wind, but it was fresh enough to blow us along at seven knots. Latitude at noon, 36° 5′ north; longitude, 50° 36′ west.

+May 19+

This was perhaps the finest day which we have had yet. It broke with the heavens obscured; but during the forenoon the clouds melted under the influence of the sun and an afternoon of dazzling brilliancy followed. A fresh breeze whistled out of the east-northeast, giving us as much as we could show the sky-sails to; and the ocean was covered with foam-topped waves like immense snow flakes, the crests of which often came tumbling in glee over the weather side.