Part 2

We ran our flag to the mast-head, hauled down the trysail and bent on the main-sail and began to heave in the anchor cable. The Captain, with a big pair of mittens on, tends the cable as it comes in around the windlass, and the cook takes in the slack and coils it down around the fore-hatch, quite a job for an able-bodied man to attend to, but boys in those days often were able to do the work of a man. While heaving up the anchor our merry crew sang shanty songs, and when the anchor was up all sail was made and we were off for Cape Cod with a light east wind. The watch was set with two men in each watch of two hours each, and then I began to count the days it would take us to get home. A few days after I heard the Captain say we were in the latitude of Cape Cod, and thought sure we must soon be home, but learned afterwards that although in the latitude of the Cape we were a long ways off from it.

Our homeward journey was a pleasant one, and in about eight days we anchored inside of Billingsgate Island on a fine morning about eight o’clock. One could smell the land and the salt hay, and oh, how beautiful and green the land looked to me! We rowed up into the Town Creek, and each one started to walk to his home. All of my belongings were in a calico pillow case and I was bare-footed, but I ran nearly all the way home, some two miles distant, and never before nor since was I so glad to get back home. I was dirty as a pig, but fat and healthy, and mother laughed and cried over me as she welcomed me home. She brought out the big wash-tub and scrubbed me from head to foot, and when a clean suit was put on I hardly knew myself.

We made a stay of three days, and then took the schooner to Beverly, Mass., where we washed our fish out at a wharf owned by a Mr. Crowell, and prepared the fish for the flakes to have them properly dried.

We then made ready for the fish grounds in Cape Cod Bay to finish out the number of days required in order to get our bounty money which was offered by the State.

Then, when the tide was up, we went into Provincetown and fitted out for Fall mackerel fishing, or otherwise termed, hooking, and went down on the Maine coast, in and out of several harbors, and keeping with the fleet. We made a very successful season of our fall fishing, and the shoresmen cleared something over $700 to shore--a rich voyage for those days, while I, poor Cookie, labored and toiled from March 25th to the 23rd of May for the magnificent sum of $45, together with something like $15 for extra fish caught.

The Captain was a crafty old soul; he reported to my mother that I was the best boy and best cook he had ever had, but he failed to report to her what a “sassy” boy I was. However, I never liked him, and told mother that never again would I sail under him as cook.

Years have passed on and all my old shipmates who were with me on this, my first experience at sea, have answered the roll call. Our old craft met her fate years ago, and “Cookie” is the only survivor. Although I have passed the allotted “threescore years and ten,” I still look back on my first sea trip without regrets. The men of these days were true men, God-fearing and honest and upright in all of their dealings. As seamen they were unequalled or surpassed by none. The training-school of the Grand Banks fisherman was a rough and hard one, but most of the famous American sea captains were apprentices in that school that made it possible for the American Flag to be seen in every port of the commercial world and for the term “Yankee Skipper” to be used in a sense of praise and commendation.

The great Civil War, the introduction of steam and the unwise acts of a National Congress have caused American supremacy in the shipping lines to be destroyed, but it is to be hoped that the future may bring forth a solution of the problem that will once again put American ships under American skippers on old ocean’s bosom, and once again send our flag to the uttermost corners of the earth.

[Illustration]

VOYAGE ON THE BARQUE SEA BIRD.

(CAPTAIN JOHN TAYLOR, _Master_).

I made this trip while in my “teens,” and the voyage was out to Cape Town from Boston and return. Our crew consisted of six men and four boys before the mast. The chief officer was a brother of the Captain, Prince Harding Taylor by name, and a man by name of Harding as second mate, all officers hailing from Chatham, Mass.

The Captain had his wife and two children with him, one a boy about seven years of age and the other a babe of eighteen months. The Captain was a big, powerful man, very nervous and always finding fault with someone, or something, and his special trouble was the weather. When it was fine we were going to have a storm, and when it was a fair wind it would not last long, and so on, day in and day out, always in a stir.

Now the Captain happened to be a cousin of mine, and was always pleasant with me, and would often come and chat with me while I had a trick at the wheel. But should any officer or man suddenly make his appearance he would damn me and order me to mind my course and not be star-gazing around, and I would always answer, “Aye, aye, sir.”

This always gave the men the idea that I was very harshly treated by him, and they were very ready with sympathies. Although the barque was a small one, not over 450 tons, one would have thought at times that she was a four-deck ship by some of the maneuvers we went through. Every week we had to holystone the decks, wash and wipe off the paint-work, and swab up the decks at 7 bells in the morning, when we were supposed to be through cleaning. We would then trim sails fore and aft and the watch would be relieved and go below for breakfast, and we would be off duty until 7 bells, or 11.30 a.m.

Those who were asleep would be called to dinner so as to relieve the other watch at 8 bells, or noon-time. Every other night the starboard watch had from 8 to 12, midnight, and from 4 a.m. to 8 a.m., when we had breakfast. In this way we changed the time and evened things up. At two bells, or five o’clock in the morning, we always commenced to wash down decks and clean things up for the day, except in stormy times, when we were kept at work below or in the deck house.

When nearing the equator, on our outward bound trip, I was at the wheel one morning from eight to ten, and as sailors are always scanning the horizon, I saw a sail coming up from astern and, as is the custom, sang out, “Sail ho!”

The captain said, “Where away?” and I answered, “Dead astern, sir.” He then told me to attend to my steering and never mind what was going on astern. In a short time we made her out to be a large, full-rigged ship, coming down on us with all sail set, and with her port studding-sails rigged out. She soon came up to us, going very fast and sailing at least two feet to our one. Instead of passing us under our lea, as is the custom, she hove down her wheel and shot across our port quarter, taking the wind out of our sails, which almost be-calmed us. Our skipper was now boiling mad. She was a beautiful sight, carrying an immense spread of canvas, and her decks crowded with passengers.

He then hailed us, but our captain was so mad that he could only swear and rave at him for an unwashed son of a sea dog. To cap the climax, the big ship’s band struck up “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”

She proved to be the old American ship “Red Jacket” (sister ship to the famous “Blue Jacket”.) She was bound for Melbourne, Australia, and was out of sight in a short time. Our captain continued to rave and swear about the “damned lime-juicer” as long as she was in sight.

Some of our night watches while passing through the tropics were lovely, and one would feel like having something to eat, if he could only have access to the cabin stores.

We soon learned the location of the cook’s pantry, and would often explore it when the officer of the deck was not near us, and “appropriate for the good of the watch” whatever tidbits we might run across. The pantry door opened off the main deck from the starboard side, and one man would always watch to see that the officer of the deck remained on the quarter deck, and if he changed his location the signal would be given, and whoever was in the pantry would slide out on the main deck again.

For several nights I did the foraging and my chum kept watch. From the several cupboards in the pantry I would select pie, cake and chicken, and carry them forward to the fo’c’sle, where they would be stowed away and eaten at our leisure. One morning, when I was at the wheel, the first table in the cabin were at breakfast, I heard loud talking between the captain and his brother, the mate. Just before this row, I had heard the captain’s wife say, “Steward, bring out some of that cold chicken that was left over from yesterday.” The colored steward replied, “Dar is none, dey done eat him all last night.” This led the captain to say to his brother, “Eat all you want at the table, but don’t be lunching at all hours aboard this ship,” and “There is no need of you eating in the night watch, anyway.” The conversation became heated, and as the wheel was near the cabin door, I could hear the mate say, “I don’t eat in the night-time, and you need not accuse me of being a thief.” After a while they cooled down, and when the second mate came to breakfast the captain said to him, “Mr. Harding, eat all you want at the table, but quit cleaning out the pantry at night.” This led to another denial from Mr. Harding, and I heard the captain say, “By God, I’ll find out the thief.”

It was extremely funny, and I could hardly keep from laughing out loud. Later on in the morning, the captain came to me and said, “Have you seen any of the sailors going in the cabin at night time?” Now, I was not a sailor, but had shipped as an ordinary boy, so I replied, “No, sir. I have seen cake crumbs and pieces of pie about, but supposed it was something the steward had given the men, and had I seen any one in the pantry stealing, I would have felt it my duty to have reported it to you.” “Well, by God,” he said, “I will find out who has been stealing aboard this ship.”

Then he called the steward aft and said in my hearing, “Steward, make up a batch of cake and some dried apple pies, and dose them heavy with jalap, which I will get you from the medicine chest.” Now, jalap is a very active purgative, and in a strong dose causes free movements, with some pain and griping, so I concluded to say nothing and await results. That night, when all hands were in the fo’c’sle, except the man at the wheel and the lookout, the crew said to me, “Now, Taylor, get us some pie and cake.” I replied, “Not on your life; you will give me away.” They all swore strict allegiance, so at midnight I “yaffeled” three pies and a loaf of cake from out the steward’s pantry, and brought them into the fo’c’sle. It was customary for both watches at midnight to smoke and talk for about half an hour, so all hands set to and cleaned up the stolen grub, which was, as I knew, well dosed with the jalap. I did not eat any, as I told them I had eaten all I wanted, but I made up my mind that there would be a windstorm by daylight.

Sure enough, they commenced to feel the effects of the medicine and were soon grumbling and rubbing their stomachs. I said to them, “Well, it looks like Asiatic cholera, as we are in the tropics, and liable to get these sort of things.” At two o’clock the starboard watch were so sick they could not go on duty, and at daylight reported to the captain, who sent for them to come aft.

The captain said, “What hurts you?” They answered, “Pains in the stomach and bowels, sir.” “What have you been eating?” was his next question. “Nothing, sir, outside our regular grub,” they replied. “You act as if you had taken poison; go forrard, you thieves, now I know who has been stealing my cabin grub.” He then called me aft and questioned me sharply, but I was innocence abroad. This ended the “cake walk,” and there was nothing missing after that.

The remainder of the outward voyage was very quiet, and we soon came to anchor in the open roadstead at Cape Town, in one of the finest of harbors on the African coast. After discharging cargo, we took on board a cargo of dry and salted hides, sheep-skins, and wool. This kept us in Cape Town about four weeks, and we had ample time to see the place to our hearts’ content. The harbor was filled with ships from all parts of the world, and many English warships were there at that time, so there was plenty going on to make things interesting for the sailors.

On our return trip we had pleasant S. E. trade winds, which carried us along to the island of St. Helena, where we stopped for fresh provisions and water, and were given a run ashore to visit the final resting-place of the great Napoleon.

One little incident occurred on the return trip. The captain’s little son had a small cart, and as he was up early every morning, would run back and forth on the deck, making plenty of noise and keeping the watch below, who had turned in, from getting their sleep. We had protested to the captain, but of no avail, so we drew lots to see which one of us should dispose of the cart, and it fell to me to do the deed. I afterwards learned that my name had been slyly written on all the slips, so they played it on me anyway, possibly as retribution for my silence in regard to the jalap being put in the pies, which they in some way seemed to attribute to me, although nothing had been said about it.

One very dark night I crept forward to the top-gallant fo’c’sle with the cart, and overboard she went. Next morning there was a big row. Little Johnny couldn’t find his cart, and all hands were called aft and questioned, but nobody knew where the cart was. The captain seemed very suspicious of me (probably my guilty conscience) and said, “Now, look here, do you know where that cart is?” Now, the cart by this time was many miles astern of us, so I said, “I couldn’t tell the place that cart was in if you gave me a hundred dollars.”

The captain was very angry, and ordered the steward to cut out the “duff” and potatoes, and to give us the “duff” twice a week instead of twice a day, as he had been doing. (This “duff” is like dumplings, and filled with raisins, dried apples or currants, is one of the sailors’ favorite dishes).

We protested, but it was no use; the captain ordered the store room opened, and overboard went eight barrels of potatoes. The captain was very angry, the crew did not dare to say any more, but I said I would report to the owners when we got to Boston. By good luck we made a rapid run to Boston, and I was detained as ship-keeper.

One day the captain said to me, “Now, Joshua, tell me who hove over that cart?” I said, “Will you hold me harmless and protect me if I tell you who did it?” He said, “Yes, I will, but I would like to know, and you can tell me now that it is all over.” So I told him that I did it. He grabbed me by the neck and slatted me around until I thought a stone crusher had run over me, he was so angry, and told me to pack up my bag and get ashore. You may be sure I did, and made for the office of the owner, who was my cousin, and told them the whole story. They all roared with laughter, for the captain was well known for his quick temper. They gave me a note to carry back to the captain, which ordered him to keep me until further orders.

THE YACHT CHARMER.

I took this yacht from Sag Harbor, New York, around to Boston and there fitted her out for the passage to New Zealand, and although this yacht was but 64 tons, we made the record time of 82 days from Boston out to Littleton, New Zealand. After we reached New Zealand the yacht was put under the British flag and her name changed to the “Canterbury” on account of the Civil War, which was then raging in the States. The Confederate privateers had destroyed so much of our shipping that it was necessary to do this if one wished to save his ship from destruction in case he should be overhauled by one of these “licensed pirates.”

My crew consisted of three men before the mast, a negro cook and two mates. Second Mate Kenrick and his brother Benjamin, who was before the mast, were both natives of my town. They both left me in 1864 at New Zealand, and remained out there; the mate died in 1906 and the other, I believe, is still living now at Christ Church, New Zealand. As this was my first command and as I was but a boy, I did indeed feel proud, but most anxious. The yacht was built of white oak, copper fastened, drew 13 foot aft and 7 foot forward, and could sail like a bird. It was a bitter cold day in December, in the early sixties, when we cast off our lines from Commercial Wharf, Boston, and started on this long journey of 16,000 miles, across several oceans where beautiful trade-winds blow and where the home reach is a long stretch of 7000 miles in the Southern Sea, where in latitude 50 south, one runs his eastern longtitude down. (By “_reach_” we mean the nautical term which means to sail directly on one’s course with the wind forward of the beam, usually with the sheets eased off).

In these regions strong gales prevail for ten months in the year from N. West to S. West, and as ships are seldom seen in these Southern latitudes, it makes the passage seem long and dreary. The wonderful bird called the “albatross” makes these regions its home and is ever on the wing, a monarch of the air. We also saw thousands of “penguins,” sometimes called the great auk, and one time, when we were obliged to “heave to” on account of the heavy south-east gale, thousands of them rose up from the ocean and covered the water as far as the eye could reach. Our nearest land was then 2000 miles away, so they must have had a long swim, as they can fly but a short distance, having but short, flipper-like wings which are used almost wholly for swimming. The king penguin has a yellow, heart-shaped breast, and while the feathers are short and thick, they are very beautiful. Humboldt, the great naturalist, in his early travels, states that he has seen these birds 3000 miles from their breeding place.

We crossed the equator in 18 days out from Boston, were in the same longtitude of the Cape of Good Hope in 40 days, and dropped anchor in New Zealand in 82 days. This was a remarkable trip for a small craft to cover 16,000 miles in that time.

My brother, Captain James P. Taylor, sailed from Boston 60 days before we did, and was 145 days in making the passage, and 135 days was considered a good passage from European ports. The cause of my brother’s lengthy trip was due to the fact that he got so far to “leeward,” as sailors say, in crossing the equator that he was obliged to beat about Cape St. Roque for nearly 80 days before he got by this point, being detained by a strong N. West current which runs from four to five miles an hour. Such conditions are one of the chief causes of profanity in seafaring men.

I had discharged my outward cargo, which consisted mostly of Yankee notions, brooms, buckets, wheel-barrows, wash-tubs, etc., and Mr. Curtis, the agent, had arranged to send me to Hobart Town for a load of potatoes. A failure of the potato crop had sent the price up to six and eight pence a pound, and there was a good chance for a large profit. Hobart Town was about 1400 miles across from Littleton, and we made the trip without any trouble.

This place was first settled by the English, and after they abandoned Botany Bay as a penal station they moved the prisoners over to Hobart Town. Here they employed the convicts in opening up the country and building roads. Many of these men had been exiled from England for what seemed to me to be trivial offences, such as petty larceny, begging and drunkenness.

One of the convicts I met had received ten years for stealing a penny loaf of bread, and after serving most of his time had been shot in the right leg by the guard in attempting to escape. After suffering for a long time, he was obliged to have it amputated, and after a long time he became one of the leading “ticket-of-leave men” in the place, and went by the name of “One Leg George.” He built one of the finest hotels in Hobart, especially for the seafaring men, and kept the place and surrounding gardens in beautiful condition. All of his help were ex-convicts who had been sent out for minor offences, many of them being mere boys, but under the care of “One Leg George” had become good citizens again, and were now making clean records for themselves and a new colony for “Old England.” The executive ability of this man was remarkable; he had a most pleasing personality, and was well liked by all the captains who made his place their headquarters. I shall never forget “One Leg George” and his experiences as a proof that, though man may fall, he will rise again.