CHAPTER III

THE NORTH PACIFIC

Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her short again! Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl, Loose all sail, and brace your yards back and full-- Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all! Well, ah, fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my love-- Down, set down your liquor and your girl from off your knee; For the wind has come to say: “You must take me while you may, If you’d go to Mother Carey (walk her down to Mother Carey!) Oh, we’re bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!”

KIPLING.

_Friday, 25th August._--Manned the capstan at 4 A.M. The crew were turned out with some difficulty, and some of them looked very much the worse for wear, especially those that only came aboard last night. The German-American bosun soon began to give tongue, which, with his size, soon brought the loiterers up to the scratch.

The longbars were put into the capstan, and we were soon tramping drearily round in the raw, misty, morning air. As no one felt equal to a chanty, we hove her short to occasional “Heave, and she comes!” “Heave, and break her out!” “Heave, and she must!” “Heave, and bust her!”

Presently the anchor was hove short, and we had to wait a while for our tug.

I took the opportunity to take stock of our crew; they seemed all sizes, shapes, and kinds. At my bar was a long, thin man, who looked like a sailor: he turned out to be a Swiss naturalised American, one of the hardest workers in the ship, who, though he had been at sea all his life in sailing-ships and steamers, yet could not steer, and certainly was hardly qualified for A.B.’s work.

Close to him was a little Arab, who, in light blue dungarees, dark blue shirt, and red tam-o’-shanter, made a picturesque figure, with his bowlegs and face of bright copper. This man had shipped as A.B., thereby earning four pounds a month; but he soon showed himself a lazy and ignorant little coward. Alongside him was a man who looked the very image of an old weather-beaten tar, but who also turned out very different.

Presently as it grew lighter, we made out the tug coming off. We soon had her hawser aboard, and “Man the capstan!” came the order, and “Break out the mudhook!”

Then came a struggle; everybody strained with all their might, slower and slower went the “click” of the pawls, until at last we were almost at a standstill;--that mudhook refused to leave his pleasant quarters at the bottom of Frisco Bay, and twenty men did not seem able to move him.

Puff! goes the tug, and with its help we soon break out the demon, which presently appears at the rail, with a mass of dark blue clayish mud clinging to him. A man is sent to the wheel, and the tug goes ahead.

The anchor is soon catted and fished, and we are turned to getting all ready for sea.

Slowly, in the twilight of early dawn, we leave Frisco, and pass our comrades lying in the bay. One of them, the smart French barque, has a tug alongside of her, and will soon be on our heels.

Anxious as I was to get to sea, I felt quite sorry as I saw Frisco, that gay wicked city of the West, fading out of sight. It was a lovely view as the sun rose in all his glory and flashed on the windows of the great “Call” buildings and lit up the bay, with the deep-sea sailors at anchor nearest the American battleship _Iowa_, beyond the ferry, and close to her the transport that had brought the Californian boys home, and a great Australian liner.

Good-bye, Frisco, we shall ever have pleasant memories of you; but, as the good old chanty goes--

“Our anchor we’ll weigh, and our sails we’ll set, Good-bye, fare-ye-well! Good-bye, fare-ye-well! The friends we are leaving, we leave with regret, Hurrah! my boys, we’re homeward bound!”

As Frisco fades into the distance, the Golden Gate begins to open up, and the deck to have a bit of a jump in it as we near the bar.

Here we had quite a tumble for a short time, and one of our landlubbers did not require any breakfast when eight bells went. For myself, as usual, I had an appetite like a shark, and one of our invaluable pots of jam was sacrificed to the occasion.

I had an accident this morning that might have turned out badly. I was down in the cabin helping the steward to put away some stores in the lazarette; the trap-door down to the lazarette was open, of course, and I carelessly, without looking where I was going, stepped through it, and of course fell with a terrific bang to the bottom of the lazarette, a fall of over 10 feet, but I am pretty hard and fit now, and was not a bit hurt.

By 8.30 we were nearly up with the light-ship, and we were turned to again.

“All hands make sail!” sang out the mate. There was a steady breeze from the north-west.

I went up on to the fore-topsail yards and loosed those sails, and then to the fore-topgallant yards, and finally the royal. We had a busy morning of it setting all sail.

When the royal yards had been mastheaded, I was sent up to the fore-royal to overhaul the leech and buntlines. This means shinning up the royal halliards, which are, of course, of chain, and just within reach from the top of the topgallant rigging.

Up I went, without any difficulty as regards the climbing, and luckily for me I have a very good head, so I was soon on the royal foot-ropes overhauling the gear.

What a magnificent lookout one gets from the royal yard of a ship, and what wee specks the people working on deck do look from such an elevation!

Having overhauled the gear, I was preparing to descend on to the upper-topgallant yard when I was hailed by one of the new hands, who was trying to overhaul the gear of the main upper-topgallant yard. He evidently knew nothing about the job, and I had to shout directions to him. Then he wanted to know how to get on to the main-royal yard. I told him, by shinning up the royal halliards. This was a job he did not seem to relish at all, and he was for going down on deck again, but up came the mate’s voice from below,

“Topgallant yard there!--get a move on, and overhaul those royal buntlines!”

Up he had to go, and a pretty shaky job he made of it; any moment I expected to see him lose his nerve and come tumbling down on deck, but at last he got up and on to the foot-ropes.

This man was afterwards on the starboard watch with me: he was a German-American, and had been “hoboing.” He was an ex-American soldier, and had no idea of anything connected with a ship; he found, like the Canadian, that it was very different from what he had expected. For some reason, most landsmen think that at sea, except for setting and taking in sail, you have nothing to do but sit and smoke.

When all the gear had been overhauled, and the _Royalshire_ was off with the wind on the beam, with everything drawing and the decks cleared up, all hands were called aft, and the watches were picked.

Don had a big compliment paid him, as, though only rated O.S., he was made lamp-trimmer, a job generally given to an A.B., and one which is sought after, as the lamp-trimmer has two hours of his afternoon watch on deck, (whether it is the afternoon or first dog watch) in which he is allowed to retire into the lamp-locker and prepare his lamps and binnacles for the night. As a smart man does not take two hours over this work, he generally has an easy time, instead of having to work at some job or other under the eye of the mate or bosun.

By the way, I forgot to mention the fact that the tug had cast off directly we had got our topsails mastheaded, and with a toot of farewell had turned her head for the Golden Gate; and soon after the beautiful pilot-boat, the schooner _Bonita_, ran down upon us, and sent a boat aboard to take off the pilot.

But, to return to our watch picking, the mate always has first choice, and he took a Welshman, who was immediately made sailmaker. Our new Sails was a Cardiff man and one of the best all-round sailormen in the ship, besides being one of the most cheery. He was a man who knew something, having worked ashore and steadied down. He had a big outfit of clothes in his chest, which is a sure sign in a sailor that he does not chuck his money about quite so wildly as most foremast hands.

[Illustration: THE PILOT-BOAT “BONITA”

(_Drawn by the Author_)]

For some unknown reason, all the dago’s were picked in the mate’s watch; the second mate, in whose watch I was, having by far the best men. He only made one bad pick, which was in picking old man Higgins, second choice: this was the old buffer who I thought looked such an old salt whilst we were heaving up the anchor. Though rated A.B., he was soon found to be absolutely useless in any technical work.

It was his wheel in the forenoon watch, and, after nearly getting the ship in irons three times, he had to be sent away from the helm in disgrace. He was no sailorman at all really, but an old soldier who had seen a good deal of service in India with Roberts.

He was an Irishman, and a very good old chap; but the poor old man was very badly off for clothes, and the hardships of the passage pretty nearly broke him up. It was really hardly safe to send him aloft, and when you did, he was of very little use, as he could do nothing more than hang on as a rule.

The watches being picked, I think I might take the opportunity to give a list of the ship’s company.

Besides the captain, the bosun, Sails, Chips, the cook, and steward keep no watches. They are called on board ship the “idlers”--a very bad term, as no men work harder as a rule on board ship than the bosun, sailmaker, and carpenter, who begin work at 6 A.M., and with half an hour for breakfast and half an hour for dinner, as the midday meal at sea is called, work all day, knocking off at 6 P.M.

Of course, they have all night in, besides have a half-holiday on Saturday, and all Sunday free; but I had had all I wanted of working all day and sleeping all night, and I think working watch and watch infinitely more preferable.

I think I have already described all the idlers, and so will turn to the watches. In the mate’s watch were:--Scar, third mate; Whitmore, the nipper, and Don Henderson, lamp-trimmer, all three in the half-deck; Frenchie, an old man who had been some years in the French Navy, and was a good sailor but a bad helmsman, and was getting rather too ancient (he was a quarrelsome little beast, though, and the worst grumbler in the ship); Hassan, the Arab, I have already mentioned; Liverpool, a young Lancashire man, and not much of a sailor; Yoko, the Peruvian, a rare good old chap, and about the best sailor in the port watch, though too old (he was the first man of the crew to come aboard), he had an extraordinary sweet voice, a very rare thing in a sailor, and without doubt had the best temper in the ship; Webber, the Swiss-American, who was alongside me heaving up anchor; and Pedro, a Brazilian, the merry rascal already mentioned.

These six were all A.B.’s, and had come up from Chile in a dago barque, which they had left in Frisco. The two ordinary seamen in the port watch were the two hobos, Jackson and Joy, who had wanted to start work the other day in boiled shirts and white collars. Joy boasted when he came on board that he was a hobo, and had never done an honest day’s work in his life, and at first was inclined to think himself somebody, but this was soon knocked out of him.

The starboard watch consisted of--Mr Knowles, the second mate; MacDenny, fourth mate; Loring, and myself. Of the after gang, I don’t think I have mentioned Loring before. He was a young Londoner, about eighteen years old, and I believe his grandfather was an admiral. He was an apprentice of two voyages’ standing, but on his second voyage had run from his ship in Frisco, on account of bad treatment by the mate and captain. Then, enlisting in the American regular cavalry, he served several months, and did very well; but at Honolulu, on his way to Manilla, he deserted for two reasons, the chief of which was, that his charger, which he had a great love for, had died on the passage, and the other was, that he had won a lot of money at poker. From Honolulu he came back to Frisco first-class, in the clothes he stood up in, and there the good people of the Institute looked after him, and got him back again on his old ship, which had not yet sailed; but the day she was to sail, he fell down with enteric fever, and was sent ashore into hospital.

Recovering from fever, he found himself stranded again, and in danger of being arrested as a deserter; but Karney of the Institute got our old man to ship him as an ordinary seaman, and give him a bunk in the half-deck.

When he first came on board, he was so weak that it was as much as he could do to lift a bag of flour. I noticed this as he and I put the stores away in the lazarette, under the eye of the second mate.

Loring turned out one of the best, and full of grit. He and I were, of course, watch mates, and the first part of the passage looked after the binnacles, and kept time at night in our watch, each taking two hours. Our A.B.’s forward are--Jamieson, a little Scotchman, who had been shipwrecked three times, and is the best helmsman the captain has ever had, a good seaman and a hard worker; Taylor, an ex-man-of-war’s man, and a Londoner, but getting on in years (he was the cheery man in the starboard forecastle, though the passage ended very badly for him); Wilson, a Swede, an old man with a voice like a foghorn, and a nature as kind and affectionate as a child’s, a good sailor, and terrific hard worker; Johnsen, whom you have already heard about; Rooning, a young Norwegian, and a very good sort altogether, with a good temper for a red-headed man; and Higgins, the old soldier.

The O.S.’s were Bower and Jennings. Bower was the German-American who I had instructed in overhauling gear, and Jennings was the young, down-east American, who had interpreted the signals of the _Iowa_ the other day: precious little seamanship he knows, and he is a bit of a shirker too, though he is pretty active aloft, and twice as much use as Bower or Higgins. So much for the crew of the _Royalshire_: they were a pretty scratch lot, all things considered, though they might have been much worse.

The forenoon watch is our watch on deck; the wind is not very strong, and has hauled ahead, so that we are close-hauled on the starboard tack. The French barque soon ran past us, and heading higher, much to our disgust, was soon almost out of sight to windward. At which Don let off some keen sarcasm at Scar and Mac, who had been talking a great deal about the wonderful sailing qualities of the _Royalshire_.

At noon we went about, and no one who has not witnessed the sight of a big ship going about, can imagine the yelling and excitement that goes on.

Before going about, the braces are carefully coiled down on the deck from off the pins, all clear for running. The spankerboom is then hauled amidships. The old man then comes to the break of the poop, and calls out, “Ready oh!”

All hands are at their stations; being of the after gang, my station is on the poop with the fourth mate, at the mizen-topgallant and royal braces. The old man gives a keen look round, and then motions to the helmsman to ease the helm down. The helm is eased down, so that her way may not be checked too suddenly.

As soon as the helm is down, the old man calls out, “Helm’s alee!”

On which the fore and head sheets are let go and overhauled, the cook always attending to the fore sheet. Directly the wind is out of the mainsail, the order comes--

“Raise tacks and sheets!”

The foretack is kept fast until the mainsheet is hauled, for, as the foresail bellies into the mast, which it does directly the foretack is let go, it retards the ship from coming to.

Then comes the order--

“Mainsail haul!” and if the old man has judged his time well, the yards swing round so quickly that you can hardly get the slack of the braces in sharp enough.

The afteryards are now braced up and belayed. The ship is filled with strange, weird cries, and the tramp of many men, as on an occasion like this, every man sings out independently at the top of his pipes as he hauls on the brace. We on the poop soon have our topgallant yards round, and fly down on to the main deck to help the rest of our watch at the crossjack and mainbraces, whilst the mate and his watch attend to the foreyards.

I think the bosun has the most lively time, though, for he with two men has to attend to the headsheets, which, when the ship is put about in anything of a breeze, thrash about and thump their heavy blocks on the deck with a force strong enough to knock a man’s brains out; so he has to keep his eyes skinned, besides which he has the ticklish job of letting the foretack go.

Our German-American bosun is a pretty big coward, having had most of his nerve knocked out of him by a knife through his lung put in from behind, and this foretack job he fairly hates.

Everybody works as for a wager, and the old man stands at the break of the poop ready for trouble; woe betide the mate if he has trouble trimming his foreyards, but generally the bosun and his foresheet receive the most language.

Whilst the mate trims the foreyards, the old man generally attends to the trimming of the afteryards. Then we of the starboard watch board the maintack, whilst the port watch board the foretack.

The yards being trimmed, the tacks boarded, and the bowlines hauled out, the old man retires, and the order is given, “Go below, the watch!” the watch on deck coiling down and clearing up.

After a little practice at going about, the crew get together well, and the manœuvre is executed rapidly and without any hitch, and each time we go about we try to break the record as to time. Of course, putting about a great big ship like the _Royalshire_, whose yards are so heavy that it requires a couple of strong men to the royal braces, is a pretty heavy job, and every one has to put all his available weight and strength into the work.

Our old man is a thorough seaman, as are both the mates, and though there is plenty of noise, and a good deal of hard language, still there are no belaying pins flying, and wild confusion, as on some ships, Yankees mostly, with hard gangs aft.

Twice we went about in the afternoon, much to our disgust, as it was our watch below. The breeze freshened up towards sunset, and we took in the gaff-topsail in the second dog watch.

The _Royalshire_ is logging 10 knots, laying over to it, a bit cranky at present until the grain settles down a bit. The gaff-topsail is one of my sails, which I have always to go up to whenever they are set or taken in; and Loring and I went up to make the sail fast.

The gaff-topsail is an easy enough sail to get in if you know how, but if you do not know how, it is a terror. The way to do it is, to get on the outside of the sail and ride it down: and after two or three times, I found that even in a gale of wind I could manage to muzzle it pretty easily by myself.

Our first night at sea was an easy one, as it was our middle watch, so that we got the first and morning watches in.

Coming on deck at midnight, we found nothing to do, and most of the watch curled up and went to sleep on the deck. This is allowable in the tropics, the only men awake sometimes on a smooth night in the tropics being the mate of the watch, the helmsman, lookout, and timekeeper.

Timekeeping is by no means fun: all through the night at sea the bells are struck every half-hour, and one bell struck a quarter before the watch changes. So the timekeeper has no chance to get a doze, though I have slept between the bells.

Keeping the binnacles alight was the worst job. The cheapest and foulest of mineral oil being used, the wicks soon had a cake on them, and the binnacles promptly went out; this the timekeeper has to look out for, as the helmsman, when steering by the compass, must have his binnacles alight.

No extra matches were allowed for lighting binnacles; one has to use one’s own private store, and sometimes on a bad night I have used as many as a couple of boxes of matches in a watch, and the amount of swearing it produced was lamentable. I have sat in that half-deck, the sea washing about the floor up to my knees, a binnacle in each hand, my matches wet, in pitch darkness, as the lamp was not allowed alight at night after one bell in the first watch; when I got a match well alight, I had to scrape the wick clean and then light it, but often it utterly refused to light inside, as there was not air enough, and it would not keep alight outside, as there was too much.

There I would sit, lighting match after match, burning my fingers, and cursing in a loud whisper for fear of waking the watch below. Then the second mate’s voice would be heard at the break of the poop, “Hurry up with those binnacles!” and it would be a case of more haste less speed. Every half-hour, after striking the bell, the timekeeper has to go forward and see that the side lights burn brightly, and the lookout is wide awake on the forecastle head. Coming aft, one reports in a kind of chant, “Lights burn brightly, and all is well.”

Talking of matches, it is a great question for sailors and prospectors, and anybody on the trail or camping out, what are the best matches to take.

I have tried all kinds, from “stinkers,” the common West Coast matches, to all kinds of different wooden matches.

If you put a block of stinkers amongst your provisions, you may be certain that the provisions will be all spoilt. Wooden matches that only strike on the box are a great nuisance, as you invariably lose the box, or else it wears out in your pocket. I also had wooden matches that would strike anywhere, but their heads invariably come off. So the match question is still an unsolved one, as only millionaires can afford to use wax vestas out of England.

Coming over from Japan, there was great gambling on board in matches, the nipper losing twenty or thirty dozen, and Mac winning as many.

Don and I brought three different kinds on board--stinkers, matches that struck on the box, and big wooden matches that struck anywhere. These big ones used to make a terrific explosion when struck; and at first, when I used to go down and wake the mate at one bell, and light his lamp, I used these, and sometimes I would use nearly a dozen before one would light, each one going off like the report of a pistol, and their heads coming off. They were an awful swindle too, for occasionally we came upon a box which had not got a match in it with a head on.

At last I had to give up these matches for lighting the mate’s lamp, for fear of waking the old man.

Bang! bang! bang! they would go, accompanied by whispered curses, whilst the second mate and Mac on the poop listened, and laughed to themselves.

“Listen to Bally’s bombardment of the mate; did you ever hear such a row?”

The second mate swore one morning that he had picked up nearly thirty of these matches round the door of the mate’s cabin.

The worst of the matches in general use was, that their boxes soon crumbled up in your pocket, or the striker on the side of the box wore out.

The second mate, who only smoked cigarettes, used always to have one of these boxes in his pocket, with a couple of matches and a cigarette-end inside.

But--to return at last--one’s two hours are up, and one strikes four bells, then the lookout and wheel are changed, and the old lookout reports who relieved him.

Much amusement was caused in our first middle watch by Bower, who came aft from the lookout and reported,

“Mr Higgins relieved the lookout, sir.”

Great was the laughter at the “mister” being given to a poor, broken-down old soldier.

This man Bower was fearfully green about seafaring matters. Whilst I was having a bit of a yarn with him, he asked me if all ships had the same coloured lights, referring to the sidelights. Nevertheless, when he left the ship at Liverpool, he thought he knew a terrible deal about the sea.

The weather is delicious and warm, without being too hot. A pair of serge trousers, rolled up to my knees, and a flannel shirt, is all I shall wear until we are well out of the south-east trades a month ahead.

What a blessing it is not requiring shoes or stockings; one’s feet soon get hard, and up aloft or at work on deck I never wore shoes except in cold weather, and then it was a case of rubbers and oilskins day and night.

Mac has been telling Loring and myself terrible yarns about the state of the half-deck in bad weather.

“You just mark my words: many a night in bad weather an’ you’ll wake up and find the water washing into your bunk; aye, I guess you two will have to swim for it in your lower bunks, off the Horn, sure enough,” says Mac.--“Why, I’ve had to swim out of my bunk before now, and its a top one!”

And truly, Mac’s words were verified; the half-deck was the worst and most dangerous part of the whole ship in bad weather.

_Saturday, 26th August._--Under full sail all day, with lightish fair breeze. Fine, smooth, favourable weather, and wind getting more and more on the quarter. In the forenoon watch we hauled down the staysails and jibs, and squared the yards. Busy sand-canvasing poop ladders, and overhauling gear aloft. The rigging is very badly off for ratlines, especially the fore and mizen topgallant.

This is one of the things a sailor has to be very careful about.

“Never hold on by the ratlines,” is one of the well-known rules. What might happen, and what sometimes does happen, is this:--The watch is sent aloft to shorten sail, all going up one after the other to windward; the first man breaks a ratline as he steps on it--he is holding on by a ratline also, that goes too, and down he comes, probably bringing several of the men underneath him down also. If ever you see a rotten ratline aloft, out with your knife and cut it at once.

In our topgallant rigging in some places there were three or four ratlines gone all together; this had to be seen to, and our best men under the bosun were put on the job.

Every day, at four o’clock in the afternoon, the fresh-water pump is shipped and water served out, the watch below doing the carrying, so many buckets to the cook, so many to the forecastle, one to the midship-house, and one to the captain, and one to the half-deck, and two to the steward.

Fresh water is very valuable on board ship, and if a drop is spilt as it is being carried along the deck, there is considerable trouble for the delinquent.

Scar and Mac each have charge of a tank, and give it out week and week about.

_Sunday, 27th August._--Wind dead aft; captain thinks we have got the N.E. trades. Weather superb. Deep-blue sky, and trade-wind clouds. We are doing about 5 knots.

We had our first go of soft tack to-day, each man getting a small loaf for breakfast. It was very poor bread, made with sour dough; and I thought longingly of the lovely, hot, yeast bread I used to make up in the Klondyke.

Nevertheless, I managed to eat the whole of my loaf at breakfast, and would have liked another.

It was my forenoon watch below, and I found no difficulty in sleeping from 8.30 to 11.30, after having the eight hours on deck last night.

I went out on to the bowsprit end to-day, and had a grand view of the ship as she cut through the clear water under full sail.

Spent part of the afternoon busy with needle and thread, putting patches on my overalls and oilskins.

As I sat sewing, Loring came up to me and proposed that we should make some dandyfunk for tea. I was always ready for anything in the eating line, and at once seconded the proposal; but what dandyfunk was I had no more idea than the man in the moon.

“What do you make it of?” I asked.

“Well, first we must make a canvas bag,” he answered.

“What, to put it in?”

“No, to smash it up in, of course.”

“Smash it up in?” I asked; this was truly curious. What could be the dish, that to start making it you have to smash it up in a canvas bag? At last I struck it.

“You are not going to make us a pudding out of brick-dust and oyster-shells, like the hen’s food, are you? because, if so, I’m off.”

“You will eat it quick enough when I’ve made it,” Loring answered. “I’ll make the dandyfunk if you will make the bag.”

Well, curiosity and greed got the better of me, and borrowing a palm and needle from the third mate, I soon had a small canvas bag made.

This Loring proceeded to fill with hard tack, and then went forward with it; I followed.

He took it to the rail forward of the galley, and then looked about him for something.

“Get me an iron belaying pin, will you?” he asked.

“Certainly, if you swear not to use it on me.”

I gave him the belaying pin, with which he proceeded to pound the bag of biscuits until it was so much fine dust.

He put this dust into my plate (as it was the largest in the half-deck), and then proceeded to put water to it, and mixed it up until it was a thick paste. Then he added molasses and some jam (Don and I still had a pot or two left). This compound, after being thoroughly mixed up, was taken to the cook, who put it in the oven.

At tea time we were all curious to see the result of the dandyfunk. Loring went to the galley for it, and brought it aft steaming hot, a mixture between a cake and a pudding.

I thought it extremely good, and it had another excellent quality, it was exceedingly stodgy, and filled up the chinks splendidly.

For several Sundays, Loring, the nipper, and I made dandyfunk, but it soon got stopped. The old man noticed one of us bringing it aft one day from the galley, and thinking that too much hard tack was used by this means, put his veto on it, and shortly afterwards, having run out of both jam and molasses, we had to give up our Sunday dish.

Crackerhash is another sea-dish for tea. You save some of your salt junk from dinner, and mixing it up roughly with broken-up hard tack, have it baked by the cook, and thus you have something hot for tea.

Old Slush hated having to bake our dandyfunk and crackerhash for us; but the old man gave us leave to have crackerhash for tea, and ordered the cook to bake it for us.

Each man brought forward his little dish of crackerhash, and the cook often had his ovens full, contributions coming both from the forecastle, midship-house, and half-deck.

The wind is getting rather light. We hauled down the staysails in the second dog watch.

Lovely starlight night. We shall soon have seen the last of the North Star, as it is almost on the horizon now.

_Monday, 28th August._--The wind is same as yesterday, evidently the north-east trades, but rather light.

We started shifting sail again to-day, changing our hard weather sails for the old and light weather sails. With a whole watch on the job, this is a very much lighter business than the bending sail up the Sacramento.

I had my first taste of sea grub to-day, as our fresh meat has now given out, and salt junk and pork are now the order of the day.

I did not think much of the look of our first go of salt junk.

There, in the kid, lay a greasy, fat mass, which gave out a very strong and nasty smell.

If one is lucky, one may find a couple of mouthfuls of meat on one’s portion, which is chiefly nasty red fat. The cook, who is nicknamed “Old Slush,” well deserves his name, and many a curse did we give him as we tried in vain to find some meat on the dirty, greasy, square chunk he had given us.

The port watch are no good; we are by far the stronger and better of the two watches, illustrating well the fact that Britishers and Dutchmen are far superior to dagos.

Perhaps I ought to explain, for the benefit of those who do not know it, that in sea parlance “Britishers” include, of course, anybody hailing from the “British Isles.” “Dutchmen” include Germans, Swedes, Danes, Russians, Russian Finns, and Norwegians; and “dago” is a general term for any one of the Latin races.

The two O.S.’s in our forecastle, namely Bower and Jennings, are great rivals, and disputes and arguments are everlasting between them. They have both fallen foul of Johnsen already, and I expect matters will end in a fight. Jennings is a stout-built little chap, and knows how to handle his fists, but I doubt if he has got much “sand.”

Bower is a thin, weedy, unhealthy man, with no strength or endurance about him.

To-day, when we were bending the fore upper-topsail, I was between Johnsen and Rooning on the yard, and was talking to Rooning as we put in the rovings.

Suddenly Johnsen chimes in, and says to Rooning,

“What’s dat you say about me, young fellow? Wait till I gets mit you on deck; you just call me dat down dere, and you see I just puts one big head on you.”

Rooning, not knowing Johnsen’s peculiarities yet, did not know what to make of this, as he was not even speaking about Johnsen. So I turned my tongue adrift on Johnsen, as the only way to treat a scoundrel like him, was to take a high hand, or he would try to bully you.

“You d--d scoundrel of a white-livered Swede, we weren’t talking about you at all. You just keep that villainous mouth of yours shut, and don’t come any of your idiotic talk over us, or when we get on deck, I’ll turn to and give you such a dressing down as you never got in your life.”

This stopped his nonsense, and he kept clear of the pair of us for a bit after this.

Whenever he got up to any of his rot with me, I always used to let him have it straight back in the worst language I could think of, and sometimes even laid hands upon him; and under this treatment he was always very polite to me, though it all went down in his log, which, for fear of having it stolen, he always carried about with him inside his shirt, even in the hottest weather, much to the amusement of everybody on board.

In this logbook of his he puts down every little incident that occurs on board, but it is chiefly full of different offences which have been committed against him by various members of the crew. They managed to get hold of the book one day in the forecastle, and great was the laughter thereat; every soul on the ship had been “logged” for some offence or other, from the captain down, and as for people like Don, Mac, and myself, there were pages given up to our misdemeanours.

The man was as sulky as a bear, and not a man would he speak to forward; but with quiet cunning he palled up to the bosun, and thus managed to get a lot of soft jobs out of him until he tumbled to it.

_Tuesday, 29th August._--Same fine weather. We finished bending sail to-day, our lightest and oldest sails being bent.

The old man is at work now all day making the most beautiful little model yachts, at which he is a past master. He told me one day that he had made models of every kind of ship that sails the seas.

Though his models are very pretty, still I am not particularly fond of them, as he covers the poop with shavings, and as I have to see that the poop is kept shipshape and clean in our watch. Every afternoon I have to spend some time sweeping these shavings up out of all the corners.

We are busy again on all the teak wood with the everlasting sand and canvas.

_Wednesday, 30th August._--Same fine weather; the wind is blowing nice and fresh, and we logged 10 knots in the first dog watch.

The bosun come into the half-deck this evening, in the second dog watch, with his guitar, which he plays very well, and gave us some songs, we doing full justice to the choruses, of which the following was a great favourite:--

CHORUS OF “DUCKFOOT SUE.”

“For now I’ll sing to you, Of the girl I love so true; She’s chief engineer of the ‘white shirt’ line, And her name is ‘Duckfoot Sue.’ Her beauty was all she had; She’d a mouth as large as a crab; She had an upper lip like the rudder of a ship, And I tell you she was mad.”

This is sung very fast, and with a great swing. Besides comic songs, he had some pathetic ones; one of the prettiest of the choruses was this--

“Just a little cradle, Just a little child, Just a few fast-fleeting years, Then a boy so wild! Soon he reaches manhood, Then comes on old age; Thus we have the journey from The cradle to the grave.”

The wind dropped in the middle watch, and it came on to rain. There is nothing more detestable at sea, I think, than rain. Rain water seems so different to salt water; it wets you, makes you feel cold and miserable, gives you rheumatism, and washes the oil off your oilskins.

_Thursday, 31st August._--Wet day and head-wind.

Hard at work scrubbing and sand and canvasing the poop ladders, rails, etc., in the pouring rain, with oilskins on.

The glass is falling, and there is a heavy head-sea. We took in the jigger-topmast staysail and gaff-topsail in the forenoon watch.

I shinned up to the staysail, and got dripping wet in spite of my oilskins, whilst I was making it fast, as the sail was full of water.

I was not sorry to go below at eight bells, as our watch on deck had been very cold, wet, and uncomfortable.

We are all furious with our dirty old cook, as the food is so awfully badly cooked, and comes aft one mass of dirty grease and fat, with hardly a mouthful of meat per man.

The pea-soup, which is our chief sustenance, and which we get three times a week, is so dirty that, instead of being white it is nearly black, as he never takes the trouble to wash the peas.

Still, though Mac says it is the worst pea-soup he has ever tasted, I take good care to get all I can of it, as without it I really don’t think we could exist.

We save a little of our meat and potatoes for tea, and take it to the galley, so that the cook can make us some dry hash out of it.

At present the steward has given us nothing from the cabin; he will find out his mistake when the bad weather comes.

The wind fell altogether in the afternoon, and an oily calm with a swell remained, which continued until the middle watch, when a breeze sprang up.

_Friday, 1st September._--Same fine weather.

The crew came aft to-day at eight bells, noon, with their grub, and there was some strong language on both sides. Of course we in the half-deck did not take a hand, as we are supposed to be of the after gang, though we are no better off than those in the forecastle.

In the midship-house the carpenter, bosun, and sailmaker are living like fighting-cocks, as the carpenter has got flour, currants, and jam; so they even get plum dough, besides getting the nicest bits of meat.

The old man was down on the men like a ton of bricks, and says that they shall now only have their legal whack according to the Board of Trade regulations, which have made a fine science of prescribing just enough to keep a man alive and no more.

The rules say a man is to have 1-1/4 lbs. of salt junk a day. This is weighed out every day by the steward; but is so boiled away in the cooking, that a man thinks himself lucky if he gets half a dozen mouthfuls.

It is the same with the pork, of which each man’s allowance is supposed to be three-quarters of a pound.

We had less than 1 lb. of pork between three of us to-day, and my belt is rapidly getting too large for me.

The other day the old man and the mate had a terrific row, and they have not spoken to each other since. The old man has the mate absolutely in his power, as it is only by his influence that the mate can get a ship, which he has been hoping for for so many years--the old man having more influence than any skipper in the line.

The second mate gets all the old man’s smiles now the mate is in bad odour; but presently the mate and old man will be all right again, and the second mate’s turn will come for the rough side of the old man’s tongue.

From what I can see of the matter, I think this petty rowing between old man and mates is pretty general in wind-jammers, and is chiefly caused by the old men getting livers on them, caused by not getting enough exercise; this, added to anxiety, worry, and excitable dispositions, is quite enough to account for the extraordinary exhibitions of childish temper which sea-captains so often give way to.

It was wet again during the night, and the wind was very light.

_Saturday, 2nd September._--We scrub out the half-deck twice a week, each watch taking it in turn on Saturdays and Thursdays.

To-day it was our turn.

An institution on board a sailing-ship is “peggy.” Each of us take it in turn, and peggy has to fetch the grub from the galley, and, in fact, do all the “fagging” necessary.

At breakfast this morning, the steward called to me to give the burgoo to the chickens.

This was the remains from the cabin table, and I was the chicken that ate it.

There are a lot of flying-fish about now, and I think they produce one of the prettiest effects in the tropics.

It is lovely to see a mass of them suddenly dart out of the water, flashing like silver in the sun, to plunge with tiny little splashes in again; out and in, they never get any rest, for the bonita go for them in the water, and the bosun birds in the air.

I think we are only about 18° N. latitude now.

The port watch caught four albacore this afternoon. These are big fish, rather like bonita, and are not at all bad eating. Dagos are pretty good fishermen as a rule.

The binnacles were an awful nuisance last night. We lit them no less than twenty-one times in the middle watch.

_Sunday, 3rd September._--Lovely day; flying-fish and bosun birds in abundance. The wind freshened up, and we set staysails and jibs.

The latitude to-day is 17°.06 N., longitude 121°.18 W., and the run for the last twenty-four hours was 111 miles--not very good; but our bottom is awfully foul, as the inland seas of Japan and Frisco Bay are two of the worst places for fouling a ship’s bottom.

It is much hotter to-day, and I slept on deck. Sunday is given over to washing and repairing one’s clothes, and there is a run on needles. To-day I put a huge patch in my oilskins, which have got rather worn, from work in the Klondyke, and I wished that I had invested in another suit at Frisco.

_Monday, 4th September._--To-day, at noon, the steward appeared with a bucket of lime-juice for the first time.

Each man had to come aft and take his whack. In the half-deck we all thought it very good, and were up to all kinds of dodges for getting two goes; in the end, the steward finding we appreciated his brew, used to give us whatever was left over every day.

I never heard anybody growl at having to take lime-juice, as, besides being a very good drink, each deep-water jack knows how good it is to keep off scurvy.

We turned the after-hatch to-day into a barber’s shop in the second dog watch; of the haircutters, the bosun was the best, and I was the worst.

The nipper was my victim, and I don’t think his hair has ever grown since. I found myself cutting huge holes, so cut round them to level it down; the result was, that when I had finished, only a razor would have been of any use to take more hair off, and the nipper got up looking like an escaped convict gone prematurely bald.

We are still hard at work sand and canvasing the poop rails and stanchions; every bit of varnish has to be rubbed off by the primitive means of sand and canvas, pumice stone, and elbow-grease.

_Tuesday, 5th September._--Calm, with big swell running. Two sharks have been hanging around us to-day. It is interesting to watch a shark and his pilot-fish. This little fish is the one friend and companion of the shark: he is of a blue-and-gold colour, and generally swims just in front of the shark, or alongside the shark’s head, and in times of danger even takes refuge in the shark’s huge jaws along with the little sharks. No shark will touch even the most tempting lump of pork before he has had the little pilot-fish’s report upon it. Contrary to general belief, the shark in reality is a very timorous beast, and a little splashing is sufficient to frighten any number of ravenous sharks away.

I have seen men bathing off ships in water infested with sharks, such as the roads off Durban, Natal; but, what with the splashing, laughing, and shouting, not a shark dared approach.

Sharks eat human beings whenever they can, for the chief reason that they have to keep body and soul together, as they are not fast enough swimmers, and far too sluggish, to catch any other fish. Their movements are so slow that expert swimmers, like South Sea Islanders, have no fear of them in smooth water, and as the shark turns slowly on to his back to open his mouth, they dive quickly under him and plunge a knife into his white belly, to his great discomfort.

Of all things that have life, the shark has the greatest appetite, and nothing goes amiss with him; indigestion does not trouble him, and he takes his food as it comes, whether it be animal, mineral, or vegetable.

I don’t suppose even one of Sandow’s big dumb-bells would give him the least inconvenience.

Lat. 12°.59 N., long. 120°.28 W.

Course--S. 14 E. Run 95 miles.

The ex-American soldier, Bower, in our watch, is finding out that sailoring is very different to anything he imagined. He complains that the work and the food are more than he can bear, and he is so despondent that he says it will be a merciful release if he were to fall overboard and be drowned.

There is something to be said, however, for the poor devil, as he is in an awful state of health, being one mass of boils from head to foot.

_Wednesday, 6th September._--Calm all day. There was a thunderstorm in the second dog watch, it being our watch on deck.

We took in the spanker, gaff-topsail, and royals in pitch darkness, with the rain coming down in torrents. One soon gets used to working up aloft in the dark.

The storm took us by surprise, and as we did not have time to get our oilskins on, we got a nice soaking.

Lat. 12°.30 N., long. 120°.29 W. Course--S.

The run was only 29 miles. We are now right in the troubles, and trials, and heart-burnings of the doldrums. Very trying weather, hot and muggy; heaps of rain; the wind never steady for a moment, and during a good deal of the time conspicuous by its absence.

However, the thunderstorm did not last long, and we had to set the spanker, gaff-topsail, and royals again before the watches changed.

It is trying work at night at the braces in the doldrums, bracing her up, then squaring the yards again to every puff of wind.

Behold us on deck in the middle watch; it is a coal-black night, with not a star showing, and what little wind there is, is very unsteady and constantly shifting.

The watch are all lying about under the break of the poop, and probably the second mate, the helmsman, the lookout on the forecastle head, and myself, who am timekeeper, are the only people awake on the ship.

Even I, though I have to strike the bell every half-hour, am dozing between the times. I open my eyes for a moment, and am just turning over for another snooze, when the second mate’s voice rings clear through the quiet night,

“Weather crossjack brace!”

I jump to my feet and cry out, in repetition,

“Weather crossjack brace! Up you get, there! Can’t you hear? Weather crossjack brace!”

Mac goes to the lee braces to slack them away, and on doing so, cries,

“Haul away!”

Meanwhile we are all standing ready to haul, with the crossjack brace in our hands, the A.B.’s at the head, the O.S’s at the tail of the rope. Our general order was--Wilson, Jamieson, Rooning, Johnsen, or Taylor, myself, Loring, Bower, and Jennings.

Then one of us would sing out as we haul on the brace--(Jamieson and Wilson were our chief criers, and Jamieson had a very weird, curious note, in high, minor tones),

“Eh--hai--ai! Eh--hai--ee! Eh--heu!”

Old Wilson had a very deep, gruff voice. We called him old “Foghorn.” His cry was like the growl of a big dog, ending in a half bark.

Johnsen used to sing out jerkily,

“Oh--ho! Now den! In mit her!”

I used to sing out,

“Aye--hay! Aye--hay--oh! Oh--ha! Oh--ho--ah!”

In would come the crossjack brace; until the second mate would cry,

“Turn the crossjack brace!”

Then--“Lower-topsail brace! Take it off!”

More hauling and crying.

“Belay!”

Then--“Upper-topsail brace!”

More hauling and crying.

“Turn the upper-topsail brace!” from the second mate.

Then--“A couple of hands to the topgallant braces!”

The topgallant and royal braces come down to the fife-rail. Loring and I were the two hands meant, and a rare time we did have sometimes, as they were very heavy yards, and occasionally, of course, several hands were wanted to them.

Whilst we were at the topgallant braces, the rest of the watch were at the crossjack sheet.

In a strong breeze we had to take the sheets to the capstan, but in an ordinary breeze you can get the sheet in easy enough, if you watch your time.

Say it is blowing fresh, we all get on to the sheet, even the second mate, the strongest nearest the head.

The man who is going to take the sheet off the pin, cries,

“Ready?”

“Take it off!” cries the second mate. “In with her, now--hang on all--watch for the slack up--now she flaps--in she comes--in with her sharply--now turn that! Look sharp, do you think we can hang on all day?”

Devil take the man who does not turn a brace or sheet quickly; the rest hang on with straining muscles, the sheet trying to pull the first man through the port into the sea, as he has to give inch by inch.

A sheet never really succeeded in taking charge of us in the starboard watch; but it did with the port watch, two or three times, and then there was trouble.

It takes quite a slice out of the watch, bracing up the _Royalshire_, as her yards are so heavy.

As a rule, in the trades the lee braces would be hauled tight in the second dog watch, the lifts and sheets being also attended to.

You have to be sharp at turning braces; generally this was Loring’s or my job in our watch.

Directly the mate says “Turn that!” the men in front of you hang on, and the men behind you at the tail of the rope leave go, and you take it round the pin as quick as you can directly it is fast, calling out, “All fast!”

Then, and not till then, the men at the head of the brace leave go.

_Thursday, 7th September._--Light breeze and sunshine once more. Grub very scarce, and bad. We got a greasy lump of fat for our watch dinner to-day, and had a consultation what to do with it, as it was quite uneatable. I advised heaving it at the cook’s head; but as the responsibility for any row falls on the shoulders of the fourth mate, he decided against this course, instead heaving the fat overboard in the presence of the cook, at the same time commenting on the cooking in language both promiscuous and free.

Lat. 11°.25 N., long. 120°.32 W.

Course--S. 20 W.; 65 miles.

_Friday, 8th September._--Fine breeze, with tacks boarded all day, the ship doing 9 knots.

There was a heavy squall in the afternoon watch, with rain.

I had to go up the jigger and make fast that everlasting nuisance, the gaff-topsail, and soon afterwards the royals were tied up.

There has been a good deal of fishing off the bowsprit, and a number of bonita were caught to-day, and Loring, who is a great fisherman, caught a couple.

I had a try, but was not successful. You want to trail your bait (a bit of white linen makes as good a bait as anything else) along the water, jumping it occasionally.

_Saturday, 9th September._--My birthday, but the celebrations were not up to their usual excellence, and there was no birthday cake.

Since last night, we have been going like a steamboat, lying over to the fresh breeze, close-hauled, with the royals fast and the lee scuppers full of water.

Shoals of porpoises are all round us: they are a pretty sight as they come curving out of the water, the sun gleaming on their glistening backs.

Loring, the fisherman, caught another bonita to-day.

_Sunday, 10th September._--We had Loring’s bonita for breakfast in the half-deck. I don’t think any of these deep-water fish are much good eating, being coarse and without much flavour; but they are very welcome on a hungry “lime-juicer,” though sometimes you catch a tartar in the shape of a poisonous one.

We went about at two bells in the forenoon watch, and set staysails, flying-jib, gaff-topsail, and royals; and are now on the port tack, heading S.W. by W. by compass.

A fine day, and fresh breeze. We think we have got the S.E. trades.

Lat. 6°.25 N., long. 116°.35 W.

Course--S. 68 E. Run 114 miles.

Everybody on board seems very curious about the Klondyke, and an admiring group sit round me in the dog watch as I discourse thereon.

Most of them seem to think that one simply went up there with a spade and dug up nuggets like potatoes.

Jamieson and old Foghorn are especially curious, and very keen to go to the Golden North, but some of my yarns damped their enthusiasm a good deal.

_Monday, 11th September._--We have got the S.E. trades all right, but they are too far to the S., so we can only head S.W. by S.

The trades are the ideal weather at sea,--day after day you sail before a fresh breeze in warm, balmy weather without touching brace or tack.

“Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love-- I am steady and strong and true; They follow my track by the clouds above, O’er the fathomless tropic blue.

“For, close by the shores of the sunny Azores, Their ships I await to convoy; When into their sails my constant breath pours, They hail me with turbulent joy.

“From the deck to the truck I pour all my force, In spanker and jib I am strong; For I make every course to pull like a horse, And worry the great ship along.

“As I fly o’er the blue I sing to my crew, Who answer me back with a hail; I whistle a note as I slip by the throat, Of the buoyant and bellying sail.

“I laugh when the wave leaps over the head, And the jibs thro’ the spraybow shine; For an acre of foam is broken and spread, When she shoulders and tosses the brine.

“Through daylight and dark I follow the barque, I keep like a hound on her trail; I’m strongest at noon, yet under the moon, I stiffen the bunt of her sail.

“The ocean wide thro’ for days I pursue, Till slowly my forces all wane; Then, in whispers of calm, I bid them adieu, And vanish in thunder and rain.”

Thus sings Thomas Fleming Day of the “Trade-Wind.”

The ship is evidently very foul, as she is only logging 5 knots in this fine breeze.

On board a sailing-ship a patent log is not generally used much, and the log is hove in the old-fashioned and most reliable style about once every watch.

The log is a conical-shaped canvas bag, to the mouth of which the logline is attached.

The logline, which is wound on a reel, is divided up into knots by means of different pieces of leather--the first knot being a single piece of leather, the second knot has two tails to the leather, and the third knot has an ordinary knot tied, and so on. The knots are marked off on the line to correspond with a sand-glass running 28 seconds, the distance between each knot on the logline bearing the same proportion to a real knot that the 28 seconds of the sand-glass bear to the seconds in an hour. Thus, avoiding any calculation, you just read off the number of knots that have run astern during the 28 seconds, and they are the number of knots per hour the ship is going.

The mate or second mate generally heave the log, whilst one of us held the glass, and another the reel, which he holds above his head as the line runs out.

The first 20 or 30 fathoms of line are allowed to run out, so that the log may settle in the water; then, when a piece of rag is reached, the mate, who is at the rail watching the line run out, calls out sharply to the man holding the glass, “Turn!”

The man turns the glass, and the moment the sand has run out, calls, “Stop!”

The mate at once stops the line from running out further, and notes the number of knots that have run out.

When the ship is going 10 knots or over, the line runs out very fast, and it is as much as one man can do to haul it in again.

It was the duty of us in the half-deck; and on hearing the second mate sing out from the poop, “Heave the log!” Loring and I always had to scuttle out on to the poop, one to hold the glass, and the other the reel. The log was generally hove at the end of the watch, just before eight bells.

We had a lovely sunset to-day, with a mackerel sky.

I stood my first trick at the wheel last night, from ten to twelve in the first watch.

It was an easy night to steer in, as the wind was steady, and it was light enough to see the mizen-royal, which, as the ship was close-hauled, required watching, to see that the clew was just lifting and no more.

_Tuesday, 12th September._--Wind rather light all day. We sighted a sail in the afternoon off our lee quarter, and could see down to her topsails from the deck.

This is the first sail we have sighted, and there was some excitement as to what ship she was, as it was evident, as she was heading our course, that she is one of the San Francisco Cape Horn fleet.

She turned out to be the smart French barque which had passed us the first day out, and so everyone was in great spirits at our being ahead of her, especially the old man.

A superb night again, with the breeze freshening up.

The second mate is very keen for me to take him up to the Klondyke. If I did ever think of going there again, I could not wish for a better partner for the job.

_Wednesday, 13th September._--All hands disgusted to find the Frenchy out on our weather beam at daybreak this morning. The old man is very angry about it, and bent and set a topgallant jigger-staysail and a “save-all,” or “jimmy green,” consisting of a spare topsail under the mainsail.

Of course, stunsails are hardly known at sea now, and very seldom met with, though I believe the American clippers _Judas Dowes_, _Indiana_, and _Paul Revere_, still carry them.

A fine breeze, and lovely day.

We can only head S.S.W. by the wind, and shall cross the line to-night, as at noon to-day our lat. was 1°.25 N. only.