Part 34
The poor old man has broken his record, and we feel very sorry for him; and, indeed, it is a very fine thing for a captain to be able to say that never, upon any voyage, in any part of the world, has he been more than one hundred and thirty days at sea. He takes this voyage very philosophically, which is a remarkable fact, and says that no matter how fine a man’s record may be, it’s only necessary to keep on and it will at last be broken. I divided up some articles of old clothes among the men this afternoon, and their pleasure as they drew lots for the various pieces, which they made no attempt to conceal, was delightful to see. We, ourselves, are all packed up ready to go ashore whenever the wind will allow us; it is very satisfactory to get this done, for we always travel with an altogether unnecessary quantity of impedimenta, and it is a matter of considerable skill to compress all the things into two or three trunks.
While we were looking at the smaller of those two ships this morning the captain said that she looked like the British ship “Eurydice,” the present holder of the record passage across the North Pacific, she having made the voyage from Yokohama to Port Townsend in the wonderfully fast time of nineteen days. With this voyage compare those of two other British square-riggers, the “Clan Macfarlane” and the “Matterhorn”; neither is a slow ship, yet the former was one hundred and one days sailing from Hong-Kong to San Francisco, and the latter one hundred and fourteen between the same ports.
The captain is beginning to wonder how difficult it is going to be for him to get a crew in ’Frisco when he is ready for sea again; he is worrying a good deal over it, for when we sailed from New York sailors were so scarce in San Francisco that the big ships “Forfarshire” and “Kensington” went to sea with crews half of which were ranch hands, who had been rounded up by the crimps. Latitude, 37° 11′ north; longitude, 124° 12′ west.
+September 19+
At half-past six this morning there was a great rapping and thumping on our door, and Captain Scruggs cried, “If you want to see the Faralleeones you’d better come on deck.” Ten minutes later we emerged from the companion-way, but at first could see nothing at all for a chilly fog that lay upon the water, which had, during the night, changed to the muddy green of soundings. By dint of perseverance, though, we saw a large, dark mass loom gradually up until we could plainly discern the brown, sterile cones of the Farallones, which lie about twenty-five miles west of San Francisco Heads. Many persons have been puzzled to know why it is that the majority of the Pacific coast population pronounce the word as though it was spelled Fa-ra-lee-owns. The explanation of it seems to me to be a corruption of the Spanish pronunciation Fa-ralyo-nes, as, of course, the double l in that language has the sound of y. The same can be said of Mollendo, an important Peruvian port in 17° south; for Californians who are not especially erudite call the place Mol-ly-en-do, from the Spanish Mol-yen-do. It will be perceived how readily careless persons could fall into the way of putting an extra syllable in names which contain the double l, from hearing Mexicans and South Americans pronounce the words, which, of course, they do correctly.
As we had packed all of our valises, etc., the night before, there was nothing for us to do but to anticipate with pleasurable excitement the entrance into the Golden Gate, for the captain assured us that by eleven o’clock there wouldn’t be a vestige of fog left; this being a peculiarity of the coast climate. Sure enough, at ten the mists began to disperse and a bright glare overhead indicated an impending flood of sunshine.
At this moment we heard several sharp whistles ahead, and a tow-boat passed close to us in another minute, and then rounding to, ranged up alongside. How odd a sensation it is to see a new face again after an absence of four months from the retreats of men! Day after day, week after week, we have watched Mr. Goggins relieve Mr. Rarx, and Broadhead relieve Paddy, so steadily that we almost forgot that there was any one else in existence; and when we perceived the captain of the tug-boat standing in the pilot-house in a glistening “biled” shirt and store clothes and a polish on his brown shoes that quite dazzled us, we gazed upon him fascinated, for he was the biggest dude we had seen in nineteen weeks. And how uncouth the ship’s company looked when contrasted with even the tow-boat’s crew! However, we were soon brought to from our reveries by a large bundle of newspapers that the tug’s skipper hove on board; and who can depict the joy of that hour, during which we pored over the journals, marvelling at the commonplace allusions to momentous events which had been almost forgotten by the daily reader?
Presently we passed two ships bound up to Puget Sound,--the “Dashing Wave” and the “Yosemite” (old Neilsen, a Swede, said he used to sail in the “Jo-se-might”),--and then, the fog lifting suddenly and completely, we found ourselves only two miles from the Heads. “Get out an old ensign,” said the skipper to the mate, “and put it in the riggin’, union down.” “Hall right, sir,” answered that individual with much satisfaction, and in a few minutes an old torn flag, reversed, fluttered in the starboard mizzen-shrouds. It was of ominous meaning, for to a sailor it signified “police assistance wanted on board.” And then we remembered the Frenchman below, and wondered what his thoughts and anticipations must be, for of course he knew that a tow-boat had our line.
It was a quarter to noon when we entered the Golden Gate under a cloudless sky and caught our first glimpse of the world-famed harbor. A single word describes it,--magnificent. The entrance itself, where the ship moves on between wild, rugged hills that tower sheer out of the sea, is marked with an individual grandeur, and serves to prepare one for the splendid haven within; and when the ship finally glides beyond a certain headland and creeps slowly along in a perfect maze of great wooden and steel sailing ships, with the immense expanse of shining water ahead, the wonderful, perpendicular streets on the starboard hand, and the endless chain of lofty hills on the other, a sensation of pride tingles through you when you think that it is your “ain countrie” that boasts this great, matchless harbor.
Long before the anchorage was reached a handsome white steamer was seen approaching us, with a vertically striped flag in the stern. It was the revenue cutter; and, steaming alongside, four men at once stepped on board. The first was the customs inspector, and the others, a deputy United States marshal and two policemen. It was a dramatic scene. All of our men were huddled around the galley, with anxious looks toward the officers of the law, who immediately went into the cabin and held a long conversation in low tones with the captain. Then the deputy marshal stepped into the second mate’s room and talked with him five minutes in whispers, a blue-coat posting himself at each cabin door. A rattling of keys was heard in another moment, and then old Goggins, somewhat awed, but as pompous and ridiculous as a turkey, stumped down into the lazarette, and with much unnecessary clanking of chains Louis issued forth into daylight. He was as pale as ashes, for a sort of prison pallor was upon his usually dark cheeks, and he seemed on the point of breaking down when he saw the police. Then he looked all around imploringly, first at his shipmates near the galley, then at Captain Scruggs, and finally he caught sight of us, when he cast upon us a look so sad and beseeching that I will remember forever the sorrowful look in his eyes. Only for an instant did he stop, though; the officers stepped forward at a nod from the deputy, grasped the Frenchman, still manacled, by the collar, marched him quickly over to the port side, hustled him aboard the revenue boat, and in another instant Louis Jacquin, able seaman, of Dunquerque, disappeared from view and was on his way to show cause for an assault on the high seas upon Thomas Rarx, second mate of the clipper “Hosea Higgins.”
When the anchor had touched the bottom we stood by for the crimps. Even before we were aware of it the evil creatures began to swarm on board like a flock of sinister vultures, and without ceremony they fell upon their prey. They plied the men from bottles whose black nozzles protruded from their coat-pockets; and in a few minutes each had persuaded his man to go with him when they should get ashore. Poor fellows, once more in the clutches of the vampires, who, while not actually fostered by the government, yet are allowed to ply their abominable and iniquitous trade full in the face of the law. And I repeat, _the allotment or advance system of wages that now prevails, and which is the basis upon which the whole scheme of crimping is founded, must be abolished_. It is the duty of the Federal government to see to it that this is done.
At fifteen minutes past twelve there was a loud order from the captain, “Let go.” Then came the heavy, crushing splash, the fierce rush of the cable, the big four-thousand-pound anchor gripped the mud of San Francisco Bay, and our long voyage was a thing of the past. How many exciting moments we had had in those one hundred and thirty-one days! What varied phases of the ocean we had witnessed in the seventeen thousand four hundred miles we had sailed, from the snowy squalls and hissing seas of Cape Horn to the quiet breezes and calm surface of the equatorial seas!
Little time was given us for reflection, though, for the tug-boat skipper had agreed to put us ashore at the foot of Market Street, if we would “look alive.” So we threw our valises and shawl-straps to a deck-hand on the tug, shook Captain Scruggs’ hardy fist, and then turned to do the same with Mr. Goggins; but as this individual was invisible at the time, no doubt below in the fore-peak, we were obliged to forego that pleasure. And now there ensued a remarkable scene: as we went over the side we noticed that all the sailors were on the mainyard, unbending the sail, and as we stepped aboard the tow-boat I shouted, “Good-by, boys! Good luck to you all!” There was a moment’s silence, and then Broadhead, who was at the starboard yard-arm just over our heads, sung out, “Now, fellows, three times three for them”; and at once there broke out the most vociferous and lusty cheering that ever came from eighteen throats. The men seemed to get worked up as they shouted, and at last MacFoy and a dozen others fairly yelled and threw their caps on deck and waved their arms like madmen, so that their voices went ringing peal on peal over the broad harbor, bringing to the rail the officers and crews of the big Scotch ships “Aberfoyle,” “County of Linlithgow” and “Blairgowrie,” which lay hard by, to know what all this cheering meant on a Yankee just in from sea. It was a moment to bring a tear to your eye; and neither my wife nor I can ever forget these honest, big-hearted sailors as they appeared on that yard, shouting themselves hoarse. Why? Simply because we had bade them good-morning and good-night during the voyage and had shown that we understood and appreciated their hard and thankless labors. If ship-masters would realize that a single kind word or even look often exerts more influence over a crew than oaths and blows, what a difference there would be in the handling and navigating of our long-voyage sailing ships!
APPENDIX
A few days after our arrival at San Francisco, Louis Jacquin was brought for trial at that port before the United States Commissioner. He made an excellent defence; so good, indeed, that after due consideration of both sides of the case, the commissioner was compelled to discharge him, and Louis walked forth a free man. This was a just and most satisfactory termination of the matter, though I would have liked to see Rarx properly punished for his treatment of Karl _et al._ In truth, Karl, Brün and Pettersen did prefer charges against both mates, who were held for trial; but when the case came up no witnesses appeared against them, for the very good reason that the three men were shanghaied aboard a New York bound ship by the boarding masters, thus pursuing the usual course in such matters. Rarx recovered in a short time, and no doubt is at this moment stamping on some poor fellow whom he has beaten down with the ever-present belaying-pin.
While this book was in press, there arrived at San Francisco one of our most widely known Cape-Horners. The men related stories of unusually shocking cruelties on the part of the captain as well as the officers, and the second mate was held in five hundred dollars bonds. Two of the sailors testified, on separate occasions, to this incident: While wearing off the Horn one day, the second mate struck a sailor down with a capstan-bar and was kicking him heavily in the head, when the mate yelled from the poop, “That’s right, kick the life out of him”; to which the second mate replied, “I would kill him if we were only bound to Hong-Kong.”
Is this the way our consuls protect the lives of men under the flag? What is the matter with our Eastern consular service that men may be killed on our ships (as they have been), and the murderers go free upon landing at Chinese and Japanese ports? A delightful travesty, indeed, upon our exalted civilization.
THE END.
Transcriber’s Notes
Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.
Colloquial spelling in dialog has been retained as in the original.
Variations in use of hyphenation, compound words and quotation marks have been preserved.
Illustrations have been moved nearer to the text to which they refer.