Part 5

I ordered the pumps sounded and the mate reported 12 feet of water in the hold, and said that we would all be on the bottom soon. On closer examination, it seemed that our sounding line had become wet, and after we had chalked the line and tried it again, we found but 18 inches of water, instead of 12 feet. But what a mess things were in! Some of our braces had parted and everything hung by the “eyelids.”

After the excitement was over, we commenced to patch up and save what we could, and found she had been heavily strained. The foremast head was sprung and the bob-stay broken. Lucky for us, the sea was so smooth as to enable us to replace some of our spars, and by evening we had her all pumped out and running on her course under light sail. I now felt that, crippled as we were, if the wind continued westerly, we could make Cape Town, even under jury-masts, if we could keep her afloat, but that was a question.

It now appeared that the ship was so badly wrenched that we had to keep the men at the pumps all the time, and we could not gain on the water. Two or three feet of water stayed in her all the time and we could not pump her clear. However, we reached Cape Town the last of May, and entered the harbor with six feet of water in the hold. Now, the harbor master always directs a ship to her anchorage, and he had pointed out to me where to anchor, but I informed him of our sinking condition, and ran her up on the beach before she sank. Thousands of people watched this unusual scene as we ran her up on the beach. She was condemned and sold for the benefit of the underwriters, and the cargo was so damaged that it brought only two hundred and fifty pounds. Thus ended the final trip of the barque Otago.

[Illustration: Wreck of American Barque “OTAGO” 1867 Cape Town, Africa]

VOYAGE OF THE BARQUE GEORGE T. KEMP.

The Kemp was named after Isaac Taylor’s agent at Port Elizabeth. The captains of most all sailing vessels were allowed to do a little speculating on the side, and often picked up quite a little pocket money by their various investments. So at Port Elizabeth I had purchased as a bit of speculation one ostrich, one tiger, and a large baboon, a regular man eater and a most vicious animal. I am very fond of all kinds of animals and, strange to say, this baboon took a fancy to me and was quite docile when I was with him. We were homeward bound and were getting into the S. E. trade winds, so we were obliged to chain the baboon down on the main hatch. We put him in a large pen that had been formerly occupied by the pigs and fowl, and strengthened it by placing large iron bars along the sides. A hole was bored in the bottom of the house and the chain mast fast to a ring-bolt and hauled in, which allowed him to just place his arms or forepaws on the edge of the pen. All the sailors were warned to keep away from him, for if they were hurt it was at their own risk. One of the sailors, a big Swede by the name of Swinson, seemed to take delight in getting big Jocko angry, and stirred him up whenever he went past the cage. The baboon would scream, froth at the mouth and bend the bars of the cage in his efforts to get at the sailor. I had cautioned Swinson to keep away and let him alone or he would get hurt, but he only laughed. The after part of the forward house had a main entrance to the starboard and port watches, which was about four feet from the main hatch-house, where big Jocko’s quarters were. One fine day at noon-time eight bells were struck and the starboard watch was relieved. Our big Swede thought he would have some fun with the baboon, so he picked up the deck broom and poked it through the cage, handle first. The baboon immediately hauled it in very quickly, but the sailor held fast to the broom instead of letting go, and was drawn rapidly towards the cage.

At that time I was on the quarter-deck, saw Swinson go towards the cage with the broom, and shouted for him to drop it and go about his business. But now there came a horrible scream from both man and beast. The baboon had fastened both of his big tusks in the sailor’s throat, and they were locked tight. The crew were now all on deck and things were in a general hubbub. I ran forward, got hold of the baboon’s tail, and commenced to twist it up, but as his teeth were locked over and under it did no good. We then put an iron belaying pin in his mouth, cut the skin clear in the man’s throat, and in this manner separated the pair. By this time the deck was covered with blood, Swinson was black in the face, and the baboon was about winded, as the pressure of the bars against his own throat had prevented his breathing somewhat. Swinson was now unconscious and we thought him dead, but as we carried him aft he showed some signs of life. His throat was now one mass of clotted blood and was a horrible sight. My knowledge of anatomy was slight, and this was one of my worst experiences in the surgical line aboard ship. We carried a medicine chest, a text book on medicine and one well illustrated book on surgery. The case was supplied with bandages, needles, silk thread and a variety of splints. The mate opened the book of surgery to a place which showed the anatomy of the neck, and we went to work to fix poor Swinson up the best we could. We washed and cleansed the wound and by using plenty of pressure succeeded in checking the constant oozing of blood. I put in some thirty stitches, which made the wound a little more presentable, but it still looked very nasty. We detailed one of the men to stand by the sailor and keep constant pressure over the bleeding places and to give him all the care he could. The man’s neck swelled something horrible and we thought sure he would die, but in three weeks’ time he was all right again and on duty. You may be sure he always gave Jocko a wide berth after that, and the baboon never forgot him, either, for he always made the most horrible noises and sounds whenever he saw the sailor. The only thanks we got for looking after Swinson’s wounds was a threat to sue both the ship’s owners and myself. Proper entries signed by witnesses of the affair had been made in the log-book, so I did not worry, and we never heard anything of the affair after we got ashore.

When we arrived below Boston Light a Captain Cates, who was master of the tug that took us up the harbor, had with him a magnificent bulldog that he thought would be more than a match for anything in the animal line, even a baboon, such was his fierceness and ability to fight. I told him he had better keep the dog away from the baboon, but he laughed and thought his dog could take care of himself. The baboon was chained forward under the top-gallant forecastle, and when Mr. Bulldog saw him he made a rush for him. It was the last rush the poor dog ever made; he was so badly used up before we got him away that he died soon after from the effects of his fight with the baboon.

An agent for a circus, a Mr. Thompson, bought the baboon from me for $300, so I was well paid for all the trouble he gave me on the trip. We had no trouble with the other animals, and sold them for good prices to representatives zoological gardens. This incident is related to show some of the varied experiences in a sailor’s life and how strongly they are fixed in one’s mind even many years after.

THE SHIP LITTLETON.

To take charge of the ship Littleton, I was obliged to go overland from Boston to San Francisco. She had recently come from Australia, was partially dismasted, was leaking badly, and her commander, a Captain Beck, was very sick. Instructions were given me by the owners to examine the ship and report as to her condition. This was done and it was estimated that $20,000 would be the cost of re-fitting her. She was re-caulked, a new copper bottom put on her, and the balance of repairs done by Coombs and Taylor, who were under bonded contract to put everything in shape as per specifications.

I was accompanied on the trip by my cousin, Mrs. Percival, and her two daughters, aged five and seven. Her husband, Captain Freeman Percival, in command of the old New York ship Blue Jacket, trading between Frisco and Puget Sound, had been away from home some years without seeing his family, and had decided to have them go to California to settle.

I think this trip was made during the first week that trains had made through connections from Chicago to San Francisco, and we were on the road seven days.

While the riggers and carpenters were working on the ship, several charters were offered me: grain and flour in sacks to go to Montevideo and Argentine Republic, and another to go to Queenstown, Ireland, for orders. One morning the king charterer of all the grain ships, a Mr. Friedlander, a German, weighing over three hundred pounds and over six feet in height, sent for me. This man was well versed in his business, sharp, tricky, and as crafty as an Arabian trader. His character was well known, however, and I had been told about him in Cape Town by old Commodore Allen, the port captain.

At this time the Littleton was the only ship in Frisco ready to sail, and there was an urgent demand for flour in Montevideo. Old Friedlander fully intended that a cargo should be sent there at once, but hoped to profit by chartering a ship to Ireland or other European ports. All this was known to me, and as my owners had given me “carte blanche” I was ready to talk business with him and prepared to beat him at his own game. I met Friedlander at his office, and we talked and argued for half a day, but without agreeing on any terms. At last he said, “Well, there are plenty of ships due here, but if you will agree to close charter party today the captain will receive fifty pounds sterling as a gift.” We did not close any bargain, however, and I went aboard the ship. An hour after he came down aboard saying he had a telegram to close the charter at once if possible. I told him that my terms were four pounds a ton to any South American ports east of Cape Horn or ports down to the equator, preferring, however, to take European ports at five shillings extra rather than South American ports. The old champion was wild, had never heard of such prices; said he would split the difference and call it three pounds fifteen shillings a ton. I said, “Mr. Friedlander, yesterday you were sure you wanted to sign charter for Europe, and I am willing to sign to that effect, but to any South American ports it is four pounds or nothing. Also, I shall demand thirty running lay-days for discharging cargo, the lay-days to commence twenty-four hours after reporting to consignee, and will give you until tomorrow to accept, as I have several offers to consider.” At last he accepted the terms, and I agreed to have the ship ready in a week. The next day all the waterfront had the news that Friedlander had been beaten at his own game by the boy captain of the ship Littleton.

We proceeded to load at once with a cargo of flour in bags. It was a busy time; stevedores, riggers and carpenters all were working at once, and the ship was a regular beehive. My old friend, Commodore Allen, who had come to California in the early fifties, was in the business of a stevedore, and had been most successful and was now handling three-fourths of all the ships that entered Frisco. He was very popular with all the ship masters and entertained them in a royal manner. His carriages and horses were at all times at our disposal, and you may be sure the favor was appreciated.

The drive to the Cliff House was a popular drive at that time, even as it is today, and thousands of people would flock to the Golden Gate on a pleasant afternoon. The house stood on the western promontory of a very big cliff, at the southern entrance of the Golden Gate. There was a beautiful view of the bay and ocean from the verandahs, and one could see sea lions and seals sporting around the rocks. A band was playing on the piazzas, and everywhere men and women were enjoying themselves lunching, drinking, card playing and dancing. It was said that the old proprietor made his thousands. This famous hotel was later destroyed by fire, built up again on a grander scale, and then destroyed again by fire, and when I visited California again in 1908, the ruins still remained, although there were many places of amusement nearby. At the present time, instead of going to this place by carriage, as we did in ’69, one can take the electrics right to the Golden Gate, through a country beautifully laid out with streets and beautiful flowers.

The ship had finished loading, and with all fitted aloft we took a tug down to the outer bar, as wind was light from the S. W. Many of my friends, old sea captains, came to see me off. Captain Lunt of the ship Sacramento, Captain House of the Agbar, Captain Knowles of the ship Puritan, and Captain John Taylor of the ship Imperial, besides Captain Purdington of the Westward Ho. After crossing the bar, the tug came alongside and they all left, bidding us a hearty good-by and a prosperous voyage.

We made sail and stood off on shore on the wind with the port tacks aboard. Pleasant weather followed until we reached the latitude of Cape Horn, about 800 miles to the westward, when thick weather set in and strong winds, increasing to violent gales from W. S. W. to W. N. W. We ran under bare poles for forty-eight hours, no sun, and with terrific seas. At four p.m. on the forty-second day out from Frisco the ship was laboring heavily and the seas were running so high that they broke completely over her stern and filled the decks completely. The only choice was to risk bringing her to on the run, or to founder; all the sail we had on at the time was foresail and lower main topsail. We watched our chance for a smooth time and took in all sail and hove the wheel hard down, and then with the head spanker eased. She came to flying, but unfortunately, when abeam to the sea, an old roller came and we all jumped for the rigging. It struck us full force, filled her fore and aft, and she careened over on starboard side and fairly trembled, her lower starboard yard arms in the water, starboard bulwarks washed away and everything moveable about decks gone.

We finally got her head to the wind on the port tack, yet she lay very badly and shipped much water until we placed a piece of No. 1 canvas in the mizzen rigging. Then she lay easier, but the sea still ran so high that it was like being on a ledge. Our cabin was flooded, trunks and everything moveable was awash and a sorry sight things were. This, I believe, was the only time in my career at sea that I felt the end was nigh. By dead reckoning the great rocky promontory of Cape Horn was not more than 75 miles away, and the heavy gale was blowing us right on to it. There was no indication that the barometer would rise; the night was as black as ink, and things looked very dubious.

About eight bells, at midnight, the gale abated nearly one-half, and, being exhausted from long hours on duty, I went below for a sleep. It seemed scarcely ten minutes when Chief Officer Wessel woke me and said, “Captain Taylor, we are very near land; come right up on deck.” It was only too true; the ship was ahead of my reckoning, and the big, dark rocks loomed up dead ahead. Like a flash I sang out, “Hoist up the jib and heave your wheel hard up.” The ship answered like a charm, and there on our port quarter rose the high rocky cliffs 1000 feet high, with the breakers dashing up against the sides, and not over a quarter of a mile away. All hands made sail and the ship headed south without any but the deck watch realizing the danger we had been in. Now the land tends more easterly, and with clearing weather we were in a safe position. Good luck had certainly been with us, and I shook the hand of Mate Wessel, whose watchfulness had saved us from a watery grave. Those who have rounded Cape Horn can more than others realize our danger and narrow escape.

The next day was fine and clear, with a good breeze from the N. West, and with all sail set we headed east, passing Cape Horn inside the islands called the “_Diego Ramirez_.” After running an easterly course for a while, we shaped our course for Cape San Antonio, at the mouth of the River Plate.

We arrived safely at Montevideo, anchored as near the city as we could, and reported to my consignee, a Mr. Costello, that I was ready to discharge cargo on the following morning and that my “lay days” would commence from that date. He said, in the old Spanish way, “Manana, Capitano, Manana,” meaning tomorrow. Now, two barques had arrived just before we did from New York, loaded with flour, so they had plenty and wanted to use our ship as a storehouse until they had disposed of the other cargoes. So our “lay days” expired and they had taken no cargo out of our ship.

I now went to the American consul and reported these facts to him, so he went with me to Mr. Costello and demanded my demurrage as the charter specified, but Costello only laughed, refused to pay, and said it was not the custom of the country. The consul told him he would protect me and would begin to discharge and warehouse the cargo, and the cargo, according to law, would be responsible for freight and demurrage. This brought Mr. Costello to terms, and rather than incur extra expense he paid the demurrage daily. At the end of 17 days I had received my freight money and also $1700 demurrage, and learned afterwards that it was the first ever paid in that port for years. You may be sure Mr. Costello got sick of seeing me; he could speak no English, and I always greeted him with, “Bon Diaz, Senor, Manana,” which made him very angry.

We now loaded for Boston with a cargo of wool and hides, which ended most profitably for the owners.

[Illustration]

ADVENTURE WITH SEA LIONS.

(SHIP LITTLETON).

On the voyage from Frisco to Montevideo in the ship Littleton we had an interesting experience with sea lions, and narrowly escaped losing our lives. As we entered the River Plate, on our way up to Montevideo, the wind left us, and as the tide was running out we came to anchor, clewed up the sails, and I went below for a nap. We lay about a mile off shore, and about four o’clock one morning I was awakened by a terrible screeching and bellowing, which I could not account for. It was now nearly daylight, and running up on deck I thought the sounds came from seals. I ordered the dingy to be put over the side, and took with me a Snider rifle and heavy shotgun. We pulled quietly inshore toward an island, which was called Lobos Island. The sun was now fairly up, and I could see what I supposed were seals moving about and completely covering the east side of the island. Pulling carefully, I got within a hundred feet of them when I saw my mistake. They were not seals, but sea lions, belonging to the seal family, but of no value. They were bellowing like a lot of mad bulls, and were big fellows, dark brown in color, and with eyes the size of an apple, I picked out one big fellow about fifty feet above the shore, and fired at him. In a few seconds they had rolled down into the water, every one of them, formed into a perfect line, and came right alongside of the boat. They were fierce-looking devils, with mouths wide open, and kept putting their fore flippers on the gunwale of the boat.

I now began to feel somewhat uneasy, and struck several of them with a long bar of inch iron which lay in the bottom of the boat. They dove down and came up about fifty feet away, handling themselves like a company of soldiers. I now thought the quicker I got back to the ship the better it would be for me. I had taken but a few strokes when on they came again, following in a V-shaped line like a lot of geese.

They quickly surrounded the boat, putting their flippers on the sides and biting the gunwale with their long, sharp teeth. Their weight made the boat rock and take in much water. As fast as I would strike them with the bar, down they would go, only to come up again a short distance away and repeat their tactics. By this time I was nearly exhausted, and called to the ship for help. The chief officer, a Mr. Wessel, afterwards told me that he thought I was fooling and having some fun, so he did not send help. They now attacked the boat fiercer than ever, so I picked up the heavy shotgun and let the old leader have a charge right in the face. Another followed, and he got the same dose. This seemed to sicken them and they turned and swam for the island. Almost exhausted, I got back aboard the ship and found the crowd very anxious to get out and take a crack at them.