Part 6

The weather was still calm, so we got out the ship’s long-boats, put in iron bars, rifles and hooks, and pulled in for the islands again. One of the crew had refused to go, saying that his brother had been killed by sea lions in the China Sea and that they were treacherous animals, but we had nine men in the boat, so felt secure. As they were up on the rocks, sunning themselves, we got the boat in a good position, and I let drive at them with the rifle. The mate shouted out, “You have killed him, captain; see him roll.” And sure enough, they all did roll, but they rolled into the water and came for us in quick time. They tried to climb into the boat, and how we did fight them! I fired the rifle till the barrel was hot; we clubbed, pounded and jabbed them until the sea was red with blood, but still they came on. Two of the men had gotten out a couple of oars, and we slowly pulled away from them back to the ship. I never want to see another sea lion again as long as I live. A breeze coming up, we made sail and went up the river.

TRIP OF THE SHIP LITTLETON FROM MONTEVIDEO TO NEW YORK.

Having loaded our cargo of hides and wool at Montevideo, it was now most imperative that we reach New York before the new duties on these articles were imposed. If we could get to an American port before the duties were put on, the owners would be saved a large sum of money.

The usual passage from Montevideo to New York is about 60 days, and we now had less than that time in which to perform the trip. We left port late in the day, with a strong westerly wind which carried us well on our course, averaging 12 knots until we took the S. East Trades. As these were very strong, we were able to cross the equator in 19 days. In sight of Cape St. Roque it became very moderate, with pleasant weather and light, baffling winds, continuing so for six days, which made me feel most uneasy, as we had but 54 days to make the voyage and save the duty.

It was now the month of November, and a winter passage often delays ships for many days even after nearing port. After taking the N. E. Trades, all went well until within 200 miles of port, when we ran into a heavy gale from the N. West, with only 60 hours left to perform the voyage before January 1st, and thus save the duties. I now had almost lost all hope of getting in port, but trusted that we would yet be able to drop anchor within the three-mile limit. At 12 noon on the last day of December we were, by good observations, about one hundred and ninety miles from Sandy Hook. The wind now suddenly veered round to S. S. East; we shook out all reefs, made sail, and by one o’clock she was logging thirteen knots, with the wind very squally and the barometer very low. These conditions were not at all encouraging.

We now had all hands on deck, and at times were obliged to take in all our light sails, and when they passed, up they went again, no time being lost. At two o’clock on the morning of January 1st we made Scotland Lightship, shortened sail and ran in. As I was not acquainted with New York harbor, I intended to run in as far as was safe and drop anchor. The night was very dark and intensely cold, and the barometer suddenly commenced to rise, and in a few moments the ship was taken flat aback, caught by the sudden change.

The wind howled from the N. West, and it seemed as if the masts would go out of her before we were able to change our position. In the meantime a pilot boat ran up under our lee and shouted out, “Hard a-port or you will be on the Shoal.” We clewed up all sail in time to avoid the danger, and having taken the pilot on board felt in a measure much safer, yet the wind was piping from the N. West all the time. A large steamer, one of the Knickerbocker tugs, hailed us for a tow, and said he would take us up for $350. I offered him $300, and he dropped alongside to pass us his hawser.

His first question was, “What ship and where from?” When I told him, how he did swear, and said if he had known who we were he would not have taken us up for less than $1000. He said the owners had sent out tugs for the last few days hoping to pick us up, but we had missed them. We now furled all sail, and at 7 a.m. was at quarantine grounds, and two hours later we were docked. I went at once to the owners’ offices at 40 Broadway, and you may be sure there was great rejoicing. And they had good reason to rejoice, for I had saved them over $50,000 by making the passage and getting in on January 1st. Isaac Taylor, one of the owners, made me a handsome cash present, while the present that Messrs. Vanhagen & Luling gave I will relate later.

I will mention that several ships from South American ports had sailed previous to my departure from Montevideo, and that we had passed a number of them hove to the evening before we arrived in New York. Meeting one of the captains afterwards in the city, a Captain White by name, he said he thought me very foolish to take the chances that I had taken and endanger the lives of my crew and also run the risk of losing the ship and get no thanks for it. I told him I thought life was one big chance, and the devil could take the hindermost.

And now all these captains have passed on and anchored safely in the harbor of last refuge, where there are no chances to be taken and no customs duties to pay.

THE SHIP “DEXTER.”

While loading in New York for Frisco, we were obliged to ship a new cook, and because of this fact we had a most lively experience. We shipped a big negro, about 35 years of age, six feet tall, and who weighed about 200 pounds. He boasted of having served on different Californian clipper ships with notorious captains, such as Waterman, Knowles, and other “knock down and drag-out” style of skippers. Having sized me up as young and no doubt inexperienced, he probably concluded that he would have an easy time of it aboard the _Dexter_ and “rule the roost,” so to speak. After we had been a few days at sea, the steward came to me one morning with complaints to make about our colored cook. He said the cook positively refused to take orders from him, and had delayed him from serving his meals promptly and threatened to kill him if he came into the galley. The steward was somewhat of a timid man, and the cook had frightened him with his immense size and rough stories. I told the steward to go forward to the galley and send the cook aft. In a few moments the cook appeared with an ugly scowl on his still more ugly features and demanded what I wanted of him. I told him what the steward had reported, when he broke out like a madman, saying he would kill the steward or anybody else who interfered with him. In those days most captains went armed, for one could never tell when an emergency would demand the show of firearms for self-protect ion or to intimidate some tough member of the crew who had run amuck. By this time I thought moral suasion of little use, so whipped out my revolver and told him I was captain of this ship, and that he should go forward and in the future take his orders from the steward or he would get himself into trouble. His legs shook and he actually turned pale, but he went away without saying anything.

The boatswain, who had stood nearby, had seen and heard all that had taken place, and word soon spread that the “Old Man,” as the captain was usually called, had been setting up the negro cook. It appears that up to this time the cook had had all the crew in fear of him, and had been doing about as he pleased. Our ship was unusually well supplied with good food, and we gave the men bread twice a day instead of the customary hard bread, or ships’ biscuit. Now, the cook had put this bread out in such vile shape that it was impossible for the crew to eat it, and they hove overboard many a pan of biscuit because of its sour and half-cooked condition. And this entire crew of 25 men had so feared this gigantic negro that they did not dare to report to me the condition of things; but now they immediately sent aft a delegation asking for an interview. I accepted, and they came aft in a mass, bringing with them a kid containing the last batch of bread that the cook had baked for them. I saw at once the unfit condition of the bread, and asked them why they had not reported it before, but the spokesman said they were afraid the cook would poison them, and furthermore that I might approve of the bread he was serving them. I then sent for the cook, showed him the mess in front of all the men, and told him I would see him in the galley the next morning at two bells. The next morning I had a conference with the bo’sun and the third officer, both young and powerful men, telling them to act as my reserve in case we met with trouble when I went to see the cook.

Promptly at two bells I entered the galley by the starboard door and said, “Good morning, Dock” (a term always given to a cook on ship-board). “I have come to inspect your galley.” When we left New York the galley had been freshly painted, and was in fine shape, being a large room, with staterooms in the rear for the steward, cook and cabin-boy. I found the paint work very much smoked up.

This was caused by the cook putting wood on top of the coal to hurry up his fire so as to rush his meals along and get them on time. I spoke to the cook and said, “After dinner you clean up this place, and be sure to scrub up that paint.” Without warning, he suddenly picked up a big carving knife and sprang at me, yelling for me to get out of the galley, and at the same time making vicious lunges at me with the knife. Jumping aside, I grabbed a saucepan from off the stove, which was full of boiling water, and let him have the contents full in the face. With a blood-curdling yell he dropped the knife, picked up an axe and threw it at me, narrowly grazing my head and sticking in the starboard bulwarks. I then pulled out my pistol, fully intending to shoot him, when he bolted through the port door with a roar of “Murder, murder, the captain’s killing me.” As he went through the door the bo’sun struck him a heavy blow which knocked him flat. All hands were now on deck eager to have a hand in the fray. As the cook got up, he rushed off to the port side of the ship and gained the poop-deck. Running around the after part of the main deck-house, he ran into the third officer, who went at him hammer and tongs. By this time every man jack of the crew were at him, with fists, boots and belaying pins, and I actually had to show the gun again before they let him go. Such a sight one never saw. The deck, from galley to quarter-deck, was covered with blood, and Mr. Cook lay unconscious. A couple of buckets of cold sea water soon brought him to his senses, and he cried out, “Don’t let them kill me; this nigger got enough.” At four bells that afternoon a big hogshead, which we carried on deck, was filled with hot water, and Mr. Cook was asked to get in. Each man helped clean him up, and then as he stepped on deck we sprayed him over with our deck hose. He was then as clean as he ever was in his whole life. His chest and clothes were removed to a small room in the carpenter’s shop, a new cook appointed in his place from the crew, and Mr. Negro, cook no longer, was put on the third officer’s watch for the rest of the voyage, and he was ever after a most obedient and faithful servant. Peace and harmony reigned throughout the rest of the voyage, and the new cook proved most efficient. When we tied up at the wharf in Frisco our big negro decamped, not even waiting to be paid off, and he was never heard of after. This little incident simply shows how a man of great physical proportions can put fear into those who possess little, and how tame he can be after he has found his master.

The passage from New York had occupied 128 days, and now the ship was discharged and loaded with grain for Europe, and taken in command by Captain John Taylor, for whom she had been built.

I remained in California a short time, visiting my uncle, a Mr. Marshall Martin, who lived but fifteen miles from the big trees. The climate was delightful, but I soon was obliged to return to Frisco to return to my home on Cape Cod. While there, in came the ship Sacramento, Captain Lunt, that had left New York a week ahead of the Dexter, but was some two weeks behind us in getting to Frisco. We came through the Straits of Le Maire, which saved some 200 miles, although it offered a more dangerous passage. Captain Lunt was much chagrined to find himself so badly beaten by a ship that had left port after he had, for he was an able skipper and was famous for his quick runs.

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THE BRIG J. L. BOWEN.

The Bowen was built at Quincy, Mass., by Deacon Thomas, and was owned by a syndicate, Captain J. Amesbury being the principal owner. He had been her only and original commander up to the time he was murdered at sea by his colored crew. The story of the murder is fresh in my mind, as I took charge of the Bowen a few days after the captain met his death.

The Bowen was some 300 miles east of New York, bound for Gibraltar and Cadiz. The first officer (a mere boy), nephew of the captain, was ordered to take the anchors in on the top-gallant forecastle and secure them for the voyage. The first officer was inexperienced and, wanting to show his authority, had used abusive and insulting language to the crew. A dispute followed, the crew shouting and crowding about the mate, threatening to do him bodily harm. The captain, who was in his cabin at the time, on hearing the shouts and rush of feet, ran forward to the assistance of his mate, and picked up a hand spike as he ran along. The crew, who claimed they thought they were in danger of their lives, struck the captain with an iron belaying pin, which fractured his skull and caused instant death. This, it seemed, ended the mutiny, but the brig drifted helplessly around for several days, as the mate knew nothing of navigation. They finally hoisted signals of distress, and the German ship Helvetia, bound to New York from Europe, sent an officer and men aboard the brig and took her back to New York. She was anchored in the lower bay, libelled, a keeper put on board, and the crew arrested and brought to New York for trial. I was telegraphed for to take charge of the ship, and was present at the trial, which seemed to me the greatest farce that I ever witnessed. The negro crew were treated, not like sinners, but as if they had been sinned against. They were acquitted, probably to renew their mutinous acts on some other poor ship officer. The owners of the Bowen gave bonds, and afterwards the case was settled by giving the libellants $8000 as salvage.

With new officers and crew I sailed from New York to complete the voyage that had begun so disastrously. In just 18 days from New York we were at anchor at Gibraltar, after a pleasant and uneventful trip. Some of the sailors, who knew the history of the brig, kept voicing the opinion that we were bound to have bad luck, but their superstitious fears were doomed to be disappointed this time.

We now discharged that portion of the cargo which was bound for this place, and proceeded for the final port of discharge, which was Cadiz. It took us but twenty-four hours to run around to this port, as we had strong and favorable winds. There I found instructions from the owners to purchase a cargo of salt and proceed without delay to Boston. As soon as the salt agents found that I was in the market for salt I was deluged with offers, and at much lower prices than my owners had limited me. The American barque _Two Brothers_ was in port at this time loading salt for New York, with Mate Pease on board, who was an old Boston boy and was known to me. He introduced me to his commander, who told me to take my time, as I could name my own price, as the salt market was in a demoralized condition. He then introduced me to his agents, Solomon & Sons, Jews, but very honorable men. Through them I bought a full cargo of salt for seven cents a bushel, which gave the brig a good charter, resulting in a prosperous trip for the owners, especially for the widow of the late Captain Amesbury. He had built the brig to sail on half shares, he to victual and man the brig, pay half the port charges and other bills, and was to receive 5% on gross stock, which, for the round voyage, netted her something like $2500. We had a quick run across and discharged cargo at East Boston at the Eastern Salt Company’s wharf. I now purchased from Mrs. Amesbury all of her interest in the brig, and it turned out a most profitable deal for me.

On this voyage a lady came to me in East Boston, a Mrs. Gurney, and said her son James had the sea-fever very badly, and wanted me to ship him as cabin boy and, if possible, cure him of his illusions of sea life. I told her that I would do my best, and young James was duly installed as cabin boy of the Bowen. We found plenty to keep him busy, assisting on deck, keeping the lamps trimmed and making himself generally useful. Oftentimes, as he was not used to this kind of work, our red-and-green side lights would go out at midnight (and often the deck officer would put them out), and then poor “Jim” would be turned out of his warm bunk to trim and replace the ones that had refused to burn. He would rub his eyes, mutter, and cuss the captain, and say that if he ever got foot on shore he would never step on a ship again. He left us at Liverpool and returned home, but his first trip did not break him of his love for sea life. He made many foreign trips, and afterwards commanded the American barque _Bruce Hawkins_, in which ship he became dismantled in mid-ocean and narrowly escaped with his life.

We then went to Charleston, S. C., and up the Ashly River, loaded with phosphate-rock, and sailed to Liverpool with cotton as the balance of cargo. We left Charleston about the middle of December, and strong gales and fair winds drove us along nicely, so that in twenty-one days we were at anchorage in the Mersey River, Liverpool. The barque Keystone, Captain Bonny, left Charleston five days ahead of us and arrived three days later. Captain Bonny was a very sad and surprised man when he learned the Bowen was already in.

Discharging our cargo at Liverpool, we were chartered to load asphaltum for Port Cette, in the Mediterranean, about thirty miles west of Marseilles. The rate of charter seemed to me to be extra good, yet had I known the character of the cargo I would not have touched it at any price. The stuff was of a light, pitchy nature, and we packed her full from keelson to deck, and yet our draft was that of a light cargo. Our between-deck hatches were left off and we proceeded to sea, beating about the Irish Channel for a week before clearing Land’s End, and then fine weather to Bay of Biscay. Now the brig commenced to roll heavily, and it was almost impossible to stand on deck. One fine morning I ordered the main deck hatch to be taken off, and to my great surprise the pitch had melted and settled; not over eighteen inches remained on upper between-decks. That was like a frozen lake, smooth and glassy, and the lower hold was the same, a perfect skating rink. It was a sorry looking sight; most of the cargo had settled to the lower hold, and that was the cause of her rolling so. And as nothing could be done to remedy the matter, we made the best of it for the rest of the trip until we arrived at Cette.

I reported condition of cargo to the consignee. He ordered me to allow no one in the hold until contract had been made with stevedore to discharge, and also ordered me to require deposit of 1000 francs from the stevedore to bind the contract. This was done, and the hatches lifted off. My, but what a howl went up when they saw the stuff they had contracted to discharge. They offered to give half of forfeit money and give up the job, but the French law was such that we had them, and they were obliged to go ahead. For the next thirty days, early and late, the only sound heard was from the pick-axe force in the hold, toiling to get the stuff out. Men and women worked together, and the pieces were passed out weighing anywhere from ten to fifty pounds. To add to the misery, no fires or lights were allowed on board the ship; all cooking had to be done ashore in a general cook-house, and a dirty, filthy place it was. Then the food was transferred to the ship in a boat, and by the time it was on the table it was cool and unpalatable. I shall never forget Cette, yet it had one redeeming feature: champagne was only three francs a quart, and I must acknowledge I had my share.