A bunch of rope yarns
Date: 2023-08-12T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Seafaring life; Sailors

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Title: A bunch of rope yarns

Author: Stanton H. King

Release date: August 12, 2023 [eBook #71392]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Richard G. Badger, The Gorham Press

Credits: hekula03, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BUNCH OF ROPE YARNS ***

A BUNCH OF ROPE
YARNS

A BUNCH OF
ROPE YARNS

BY
STANTON H. KING
Author of “Dog Watches at Sea”

Boston: 1903
Richard G. Badger
The Gorham Press

Copyright 1902 by
Stanton H. King

All Rights Reserved

Printed at The Gorham Press, Boston

Contents

How I Was Educated | 13
Mission Work Among Seamen | 35
The Forecastle | 53
Superstitions of Seamen | 69
The Lucky Bag | 85
The Sailor and His Dudheen | 99
Pets Aboard Ship | 109
How Sailors Wash Their Clothes | 123
The Lead Line | 141
Rhymes Foretelling Weather | 155
Rules of the Road at Sea | 161
Signalling at Sea | 167

To Mary Bennett Holden

A  NOBLE woman has passed from earth, and great was her reception when she crossed the Harbor Bar.

I speak of Mary Bennett Holden, a young woman of leisure, who, for two years chose to employ her time in uplifting work among seamen, and made upon them the impression of a sweet, earnest soul.

She was much of her time at the Sailors’ Haven, joining with the sailors in their games and other forms of amusement, and was regarded by all as their personal friend. Her greatest joy was when contributing in some way to a sailor’s welfare, whose honest, and other good qualities she learned to admire. Her delight was to take the trimmer from the stoke hold, dressed in his rough clothing and show him the educational features of the City. She was constantly doing for them things which contributed to their comfort and pleasure, and the very day of her funeral, some of the seamen in port were given a number of comfort bags which she had made before and during her illness.

Many a sailor has been led from a careless life to one of high purposes and Christian ideals, by having known her.

In the spacious reading room of the Haven, hangs her portrait, perpetuating her self-sacrificing labors. The sailors gather round it and find consolation in looking on the picture of the one they loved.

One evening the boatswain of an ocean steamer dried his eyes with his bandana and said “I like to look at her even though it makes me cry.” Another old “Shell Back,” who had wasted his years in reckless living said “I never drew a sober breath in Boston till I met her.” I could fill a volume telling the various expressions of appreciation tendered her by the men of the sea, but forbear. Let it suffice when I say she was their friend in the truest sense; there emanated from her heart that genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but was immediately realized, and made the sailors feel at ease.

Her very presence diffused pleasure, she was the fountain of gladness, brushing, as it were by magic, the cares and troubles from their faces, and making everything in her vicinity freshen into smiles. It took but a moment for her joyous disposition to breed a perfect contagion. She made the youthful heart glad and forced old age to throw off its apathy and live again the freshness of life.

There was a healthful hardiness about her, that never dreaded contact and communion with others however humble.

Her whole demeanor was easy and natural, and without any pretension whatever, she won the confidence and respect of the sailor men.

They sadly miss her, and will ever do so. She has weighed her anchor and sailed for a happier shore. We know she is waiting to welcome her friends of the sea into her world where there are no farewells and separations.

To her memory I affectionately dedicate this volume.

S. H. K.

Preface

WHEN a boy, as a part of my training on shipboard, I unlaid the strands of old hemp rope, and separated the yarns. Then after knotting the ropeyarns together, the spinning jenny was secured on the top gallant forecastle, where I tugged at the bit of rope which was the motive power for revolving the spinning wheel. An able seaman rubbed the twirling ropeyarns with a piece of old canvas, thereby making spunyarn enough for the voyage. The remembrance of the oaths, cuffs and kicks from a cruel boatswain, on finding some of the ropeyarns poorly knotted, makes me offer in fear and trembling this literary “Bunch of Rope Yarns.” Still I hope that my reader may find some of the yarns knotted in seamanlike fashion.

STANTON H. KING

Sailors’ Haven, Mission for Seamen,
Charlestown, Mass.

HOW I WAS EDUCATED

How I Was Educated

WITHIN a week after my first attempt in the literary field had been placed on sale, I received a letter from a woman in Vermont, asking me to answer the four following questions:

“Was it the words of the hymn that brought about your conversion that Sunday afternoon, when you say you decided to sever yourself from every evil association?”

“May I ask how you obtained an education to enable you to write your book, seeing you left your home at an early age?”

“Did you go directly to the Sailors’ Haven from the sea?”

“Do you think it just the thing to place pool and billiards in a seaman’s mission, and allow the sailors to fill God’s house with tobacco smoke?”

I did intend to write to this good soul and answer her questions, but before I could find time to settle down to such a task other letters reached me. Some asked similar questions about myself, others wanted to know about my work, two requested me to tell them the whereabouts of their sons—prodigals who were among the swine. And another letter in the form of a circular desired me to ascertain if I could give some light on the baptism of William Kinge, who embarked at Weymouth in Dorsetshire, for America in 1635-6.

I will now take up the first three questions of my first letter. The answer to the fourth question regarding the use of pool and billiard tables in a seaman’s mission and allowing the men to smoke, to do justice to it, should be an article by itself.

I will say it was not the words of the hymn which appealed to me and convicted me of sin. One of my father’s favorite songs was “Annie Laurie.” If on that Sunday afternoon those young temperance workers had sung that old Scotch melody it would have stirred me as much and perhaps more than did the gospel hymn.

Seated in front of the singers that Sabbath day it was not the words, but the associations that hymn had with my boyhood days which made me desirous of changing my course of living. As I heard these young women my mind was filled with thoughts of home and loved ones; a longing to be the man my mother would have wanted me to be took possession of me; it entered my soul and permeated my whole being. During my travels I had heard many hymns sung, I had met religious men, but they made no impression on me. They may have done so in time. These young women singing this particular hymn brought to my mind recollections of a Christian home and fond parents. I will frankly say that on that afternoon no thoughts of a hereafter or of God entered my mind.

Among that gathering of women there was one who was so situated that it did not embarrass her homelife to have me visit her. When on liberty I was made welcome in her home. My birthday was on May first. She wanted to have me read the scriptures and so took advantage of the day to give me a handsome morocco-bound Bible, asking me to accept it as a birthday gift from her, remarking that she would like to have me mark with a pencil all the verses that interested me.

During this time, I was trying my best to overcome the ridicule of my shipmates. Some of them said in one month I would be as wild as ever; others, more generous, gave me six months to return to my old haunts; all were astonished and surprised to see that I had tacked ship. With my birthday gift in my hands, I seated myself on my ditty box on the port side of the gun deck, forward of the nine-inch gun, and opened the book. It was impossible for me then to receive any benefit from the reading. I had my pencil in hand to mark the verses, when some of the recruits leaned over the gun and began to quote, or rather misquote, scripture, asking me to find certain unheard of passages which I knew were not in the book. One man wanted me to find the story of the birth of Tom Bowline, declaring it was given in Holy Writ. Although exasperated, I held my peace, but locked my Bible in my ditty box and walked aft to the captain’s galley.

I knew in this small corner I would find help. Lewis, the captain’s cook, was there. Although colored, his intelligence and manliness were far ahead of many white men, and he had a kind heart. So on reaching his galley door I told him how some of the recruits had bothered me and how I longed to sail in and receive a thrashing or give one. “Look here, King,” he said, “don’t mind them, boy; they are jealous of you. They won’t do what’s right themselves and won’t let you. If you’d stand up there at the canteen and shout beer for the crowd, they would say you’re a fine fellow. They don’t want you to get ahead. Just don’t mind them, but keep right on as you’re going. Come to me any time and I will help you.”

Ah, Lewis, it was easy said, but difficult to accomplish. It was hard to resist the many temptations and to keep from returning to my former companions.

Sometimes when a feeling of loneliness came over me and the tempter was near at hand, I searched out Mr. Howe, the ship’s writer, a stanch Christian fellow, and in his company I would find help. Again one of my shipmates, a splendid character, one who attended his church regularly, allowed me to talk with him on religious topics.

I held the rate of a quarter gunner, which gave me the charge of the empty shellrooms as well as care of the guns and ammunition. I secured a handful of candles from Jack of the Dust, and with my Bible tucked into the folds of my blue shirt, one day I wended my way to the shellroom. The shellrooms were forward and aft. Those forward were near the fore peak, making it almost impossible for me to go there without being seen. The after shellroom was under the orlop deck on each side of the tunnel of the propeller shaft.

If my reader could visit the empty starboard shellroom under the orlop deck of the old Wabash, he would find, if they have not lately been removed, drippings of the candles which gave me light to read the story of Him Who “went about doing good.” I could not mark the verses. All of them were interesting to me. The only ones I did mark were those I remembered hearing my father quote. For the first time I carefully read the story of our blessed Lord. It was during these quiet hours in the shellroom that I sought forgiveness and desired the blessings of a Christian life. It was there, as a man, I said my first prayer.

It was my duty to instruct the recruits in singlestick exercise, big gun drill and marching. On a certain forenoon after I had finished drilling the recruits, I went below to the shellroom and was so absorbed in my studies that I forgot my dinner. The time passed on and two bells (one o’clock) were struck. I heard a voice saying, “Yes, King has broken adrift; he hasn’t been seen since he drilled the recruits and he can’t be found.” I quickly blew out my candle and reached the orlop deck. Here I met two recruits who were taking an empty trunk on deck, the property of an officer who had been detached from the ship. I soon learned from them the hour, and that the boatswain’s mate had been shouting himself hoarse calling for me. The temptation to say I had been cleaning the shellroom was present with me. I mastered it and said to the officer of the deck, as I met him, that I had been in the shellroom. Before I could say what kept me there he, trusting me, said, “Open the armory and give the recruits their muskets.” I had done no wrong, still I believed that the executive officer would rather I wouldn’t use a naked light in the shellroom even though it was empty. The ship’s corporal still mistrusted me. He went below to the shellroom and searched for liquor, believing he would find some there belonging to me.

Now I feel I have answered my first question, I will tackle the second. My first recollection of school is, when a mere infant I was taken in the arms of my nurse and carried to the desk of my god-mother, who taught a primary school within a stone’s throw of my father’s house. From her I learned my alphabet and then on till I started to sea I attended school regularly. At twelve years old I was well versed in English, history, geography and arithmetic. I could read readily, and aboard ship I enjoyed reading novels. Before I was sixteen years of age I had read nearly all of Dickens, Scott, and many other renowned authors. During my cruise on the Alliance I devoured everything in the ship’s library, and was continually borrowing both good and bad books from my shipmates.

The day came when I longed to be of some service to the men of the sea. I had gained strength in my Christian life and had won the respect of my shipmates. Those who had ridiculed me now stood by me and encouraged me. I bought an English grammar, and with the help of the ship’s writer and the ship’s printer, I tried to master it. It was a hard task. At this time I formed the acquaintance of a local minister. I told him I wanted an education. His first words were, “Why don’t you go to Moody’s school?” I questioned him closely and learned from him much about Mount Hermon School for young men. Next morning I sent in haste a letter to the principal of the school, telling him who I was and that my only desire was to enter Mount Hermon for a course of study.

In a few days I received a large envelope containing a blank form for me to fill, and requesting me to have someone of good standing in my community sign it, vouching for my being a desirable pupil. It also stated that the tuition fee was $100 a year. I had saved no money. My earnings were now given to the support of my youngest sister. The minister signed my application, I mailed it and in a few days I received word that I was granted admission to that grand institution for young men.

It was November and as the school term did not begin till February, I had time to save $50 for the half-year’s tuition. The ship’s company of the Wabash was granted liberty every other night. The starboard watch would be on liberty one night and the port watch the next. I wanted to enter the Charlestown evening schools and it was of no use my doing so unless I could be on liberty every night. I obtained permission, entered the school and was examined. Dear me! I was put in a class of small boys who were far ahead of me in their studies. They laughed at me, and, knowing I was a sailor they joked with me till I felt myself an object of their ridicule. It was impossible for me to study in that class, so I gave up the evening school.

Determined to master the contents of my grammar book, I entered the ward room one morning and obtained the promise of Chaplain Wallace to tutor me, which he kindly did. At that time the special service men enlisted for one year’s service. My enlistment did not expire till May. Therefore during the two months I was preparing for Mount Hermon I was anxious about my discharge.

For the past six months, Captain James O’Kane had been in command of the Wabash. During that time I had given no cause to be brought before him. There were so many men on the ship that I did not think he knew there was such a mortal as myself on his vessel. Three days before I was to enter Moody’s school, I braced up courage enough to reach the mainmast and make my request known to the officer of the deck. I think I see Captain O’Kane holding his sword in his hand walking towards me as I stood at the mast awaiting his coming.

“What is it, King?” I meekly replied I wanted my discharge and told him my heart’s desire. “Good fellow, good fellow,” was his answer. “To be sure, you can have it. Make out an application and I will approve it and send it to the commandant for his approval.” I did as he told me and my discharge was granted me. It was the best bit of parchment I had ever received, for on it was marked “Obedience, excellent.” I have it framed and as I write I can see it before me.

The day came for me to take my bag and hammock and leave the dear old sea to begin a different life. Just as I was going over the gangway, Captain O’Kane came on deck from his cabin. Seeing me he sent his orderly to say he wanted me. The attitude of this kind man towards me was more than I expected. He held out his hand for me to shake, and held mine while he said, “When you come to Boston come aboard and see me. I want to hear good things of you.”

I suppose twenty miles was the farthest I had ever travelled inland. Now I was on the train bound to the backwoods of Massachusetts, more than one hundred miles from salt water. That evening when the train stopped at Mount Hermon station, I was stupefied. About fifty young students were at the depot, shouting and screaming their school yells. It seemed to me as though the inmates of a lunatic asylum had escaped.

There were other men on the train bound for Hermon, but I must have seemed easy to them. I had no sooner stepped from the train when they lifted me into a sleigh and insisted on my staying there. They then took hold of a long rope attached to the sleigh, and, yelling and shouting, they hauled me along a path through the woods leading to the school buildings. This was my first sleighride, and one that I will always remember. There was a quick turn in the road, and we were travelling at such a speed that in turning the bend the sleigh capsized and dashed me to my neck in the snow. The sleigh was righted, but on no account would I get into it again. The students knew I was the expected sailor and tried to use all kinds of nautical terms for my benefit. I at last reached the principal’s office and was enrolled a student of Hermon.

I had only the necessary $50 for the half-year’s tuition. I required textbooks and civilians clothes. To obtain these I worked on the farm sawing wood during my spare moments for eight cents an hour. Every student was compelled to work two hours each day. Some were in the kitchen, others were on the farm. I liked the farm life. It was something new to me. One day the superintendent of the farm sent me to drive the ox team. He gave me my lesson. With whip in hand I started. It was “Whoa, haw, gee, get up.” I forgot just when to say whoa, and haw and gee, so the oxen took full control. I had steered many a kicking stubborn ship, and could keep the worst of them near her course, but could not steer this yoke of oxen. We might have kept going on and on; as it was, they hauled the wagon so that a pine tree came between it and the wheel, which checked their progress.

Any poor student who wanted to earn a little money could always find employment on the farm. The day came when, in need of clothing and necessary articles, I became depressed and low spirited. It took so much time to learn my lessons that I had but little to give to the woodsaw. One afternoon a letter was handed to me. Shall I say that I walked into the woods and had a good cry after reading it? I did. I kneeled in the snow and thanked God for the message that envelope contained. It was a sheet of paper, on which was written “For our old shipmate, Stanton H. King, to help him through school.” Under this were thirty-one names of my shipmates on the Wabash. Pinned to the bottom of the names was a post office order for $28. This was a boom. Although I needed the money badly, my greatest joy was in the satisfaction of knowing my shipmates thought kindly of me, and remembered me in this way. Never have I received a gift which gave me such real happiness as this did.

The summer arrived and many of the students were preparing to start for their homes as soon as the school closed. I did not know what I should do. It was necessary for me to earn enough money to pay my way along through the summer months, and to have a balance of $100 for the coming year’s tuition.

The week before the term closed, a book agent visited the school, and before he left I was on his list as an agent for him during the summer. As soon as the examinations were over, I started to cover the territory. I called at several houses and found a cold reception at every door. The third morning I knocked on the door of a country house. A woman greeted me with, “I don’t want anything” and shut the door. I felt annoyed to be treated in this way and discouraged. I knocked again and continued knocking till the door reopened. Believing myself a failure as a book agent, I cast my prospectus and outfit at the woman’s feet and walked away.

By a brook in this country place I met a man who was leaning over a small bridge. He had a fishing-rod in his hand. I watched him haul up a little fish, which seemed to afford him lots of fun. I ventured to ask what pleasure he derived from such child’s play, for to me the pleasure of fishing was to have a fish on a line whose strength would almost tug me overboard. We soon became acquainted, and after telling him a few of my deep-sea fishing experiences, he informed me that he was the Congregational minister of the village. He invited me to dine with him, and had me promise I would relate some sea experiences to his church people that night. It was prayer-meeting night. It had been rumored that a sailor was to tell sea stories after the meeting. That night I was surprised to find the vestry of this country church filled with people. When my time came to begin I warmed up to the occasion, and made a good hit. They gave me splendid attention and I talked for an hour and a half. At the close the minister told my audience that I was a poor student and asked for a liberal collection for me. I was given $17.81 and a new field to plough. This good minister enjoyed my stories and gave me letters to other ministers. I told sea stories in four other towns. My eyes began to trouble me and I was forced to make sail for Boston for treatment. I called at the Boston Baptist Bethel and offered my services for my board, so that I could visit the Eye and Ear Infirmary. I worked in this field for three weeks.

I was indeed disheartened when, standing in the presence of Mr. Cutler, the principal of Mount Hermon, I related my summer experiences, but was cheered when he told me that a Christian man in Philadelphia had sent him $100 to pay the tuition of a faithful student, and he had decided to use it for my tuition fee.

Other avenues opened for me to earn a few dollars. The students who could address an audience or could lead a meeting had ample opportunity to take the services in some neighboring church where the congregation was too poor to pay the stipend of a regular minister. In this way I earned a little.

On one occasion I was sent to a country church. It was Saturday night when I reached the station, which was four miles from the village proper. Arrangements had been made with some of the church people to meet me at the depot, and to look after my welfare till Monday morning. A maiden lady about forty-five years old approached me as I left the train and inquired of me if I was Mr. King. “Yes ma’am,” I replied. She then informed me that I was to stay at her home and that the sleigh was waiting for me. I got in and she took a seat beside me. I don’t think we spoke a dozen words during the four miles ride. I was cold and so was she. When we reached the house we were met by another maiden lady, who, I should say, was fifty. She was introduced to me as a sister of my imperturbable friend. By-and-by the aged father came in. Supper was served.

The old man lighted his pipe and smoked till he fell asleep. About ten o’clock the two maidens looked in and the oldest said, “Father, it’s time for prayers.” The old man shook himself, put on his glasses and read from the Bible and then asked me to lead in prayer, which I did. When I announced that I was ready for bed, the youngest daughter took a lamp and told me to follow her. The guest chamber was as cold as a graveyard in mid-winter. Placing the lamp on a small table by the side of the bed, she said “Good night” and departed. I quickly unrobed, puffed the light out and jumped in, but quickly jumped out again and shouted “Help!” For my comfort these two dear creatures had placed a warm soapstone in my bed. Fortunately it was wrapped in woolen cloths or I should have been disabled for life. As it was, I thought my back was broken. The old farmer, followed by his daughters, hastened to my room. “What is it, Mr. King? What is the matter?” I looked at the stone on the floor and said, “Oh, nothing much. Please don’t mind me. I’m taken this way once in a while.”

For some time I could hear them laughing at my expense. Having no use for such things in tropical countries, and not being provided with them at sea, I was ignorant of the existence of the soapstone for heating purposes. I intend if ever I have to make a trip around the Horn to take along a couple of bricks and warm them in the galley stove, to be used in my bunk when below.

In answer to the third question, I will say that while holding a service in the town of Guilford, Vt., I met the minister of the Episcopal Church. He proved to be my old captain of the Kearsarge, Commander Allan D. Brown. He lived in Brattleboro, after being retired from the United States Navy. I spent many pleasant hours in his home in Brattleboro. It was he who sent word to the Episcopal City Mission that a sailor named King was at Mount Hermon, and would prove a profitable acquisition to their sailor work if they were to secure his services. I was asked by them to work in their field during my summer vacation. I accepted the call and at the close of the summer the Superintendent of the Sailor’s Haven in Charlestown held out every inducement for me to remain as his assistant. I yielded to him and here I am.

MISSION WORK AMONG SEAMEN

Mission Work Among Seamen

IN answer to my fourth question I would first repeat what I said in Dog Watches at Sea: “Missions are not what they were twenty years ago. Then they were tame and unattractive; places where seamen thought men were made ‘goody goody.’ Seamen steered clear of them then. To-day the missions have excellent concerts, full of healthy fun and frolic to influence the sailor and to satisfy his social nature; pool and billiard tables, games and a smoking room. All these things are as good there as in a bar-room.”

The important aim of a sailor’s mission is the salvation of men. It is generally admitted that the sailor is, at heart, a religious man. During my twelve years at sea and my ten years as a missionary to seamen, I have never met one sailor who did not believe in God. I do not mean that every sailor I have met was a professing Christian; that all have turned from sin and wrong-doing, and, being penitent, sought forgiveness from God; but rather that there is no doubt in their minds of the existence of God. “The Heavens declare the Glory of God, and the firmament sheweth His handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.” Can we not see that as the shepherd boy whose life was in the open saw the Heavens declaring the glory of God, so may the same impression be made on the minds of others.

When the sailor stands his lonely watch at night, with the sea around him calm and peaceful as the sleep of his tired shipmates, slumbering below, the spreading canopy above him covered with countless stars, shew to him God’s handiwork. Again he is called on deck, the barometer has fallen, dark threatening clouds have gathered to windward and are rolling towards his craft. His vessel now groaning under the pressure of the gale with lee scuppers awash, the sea wild and fierce as an untamed beast, the lightning darting through the black and frightening sky, all speak to him of a higher power; and as many a bad man has a good mother, so many a sailor, who, although living a life of recklessness, has no doubt of the existence of God, and that He is good.

The sailor has a religious nature. He is as other men and should be treated as such. Some seamen drink to excess, swear immoderately, and live loosely, so do some men on shore. I think it not only unnecessary, but wrong to approach a clean respectable seaman as he enters our presence and pounce upon him as though he were an object of our special religious efforts, or as though he required our charity, and thereby make him feel that he needs reforming.

I have met seaman’s missionaries who have told me that they have not time to entertain sailors, as their stay in port is of so short a duration that they feel it their duty to seek the salvation of Jack’s soul. Naturally such a missionary would have his mission strictly religious, if I may use such an expression. I have been shipmate with men who conversed about such places, and would never enter their doors, knowing what to expect therein. Who is there among us that would enter a Church, if we felt that we were numbered among the fallen and it was known among the congregation that the service, the singing, and the sermon were for our special benefit?

I say again that the important aim of a sailor’s mission is the salvation of men for this world and all others, and any mission which fails in that is no better nor worse than a respectable club, which in itself is a grand institution. I understand the great desire there is in the Christian heart to have the men of the sea openly confess Christ as their Saviour, and of their aim to save them to Eternal Life with God; but are we reaching the great mass of seamen when we make our mission a church? A sailor’s mission is a church; but it is also a home for him while in port. It is not intended merely for use once or twice a week, but it is open from early morning till late at night, every day in the year, just as every home is open to the family that dwells therein. What sort of a home would it be with nothing in it but religious exercises? Where only hymns are sung, nothing is read but the Bible, no conversation but that of the joy of Heaven and the torture of Hell, no laughter, fun or frivolity, only the quiet, sober, slow going actions of a feeble person? Such a home to say the least would not only be monotonous but killing, especially to young people having physical, social and mental wants, as well as spiritual longings. Personally I will say that such a home would sink and submerge me into ineptitude. We have not reached Heaven yet, we are still on earth and to my liking, if Heaven is as some describe it, I for one prefer to remain on earth, or go to some place like it.

We have come to understand what St. Paul meant when he said our bodies are temples of the Holy Ghost, and that we are to glorify God in our bodies as well as in our spirit. Realizing this we have established gymnasiums for the development of the physical, built libraries for the growth of the mental and we support clubs for the improvement of the social.

Now if we who live on shore provide these things which go to make up the whole man, why should we expect the sailor to be debarred from them? Sure enough he doesn’t need a gymnasium for exercise, he gets enough of that aboard his ship, but he does enjoy these other things of which I speak. Men pay large sums of money to join certain social clubs, and some who do not believe in clubs unite themselves with the Young Men’s Christian Association, but the sailor is expected to be content to sit in some religious reading room, stripped of all home appearances for the sake of sanctity, where, when the hour of the prayer meeting comes, he must put away his magazine to attend the meeting or go out on the street. Were I a sailor I would choose the street at such a time, that by so doing dispel from the missionary’s mind the idea that I was a bad child who needed his correction, and give him the thought that I were a man, if he could so receive it.

When the sailor visits the mission, his supposed home while in port, he does not care to sing hymns all the time, he will not constantly read the Bible for he enjoys the literature of the day. We must provide for him the homelife, sociability and freedom in the mission, or he will find it in that most democratic social settlement, the saloon. What we need is more good judgment, the knack of being a companion and a friend, and catch the meaning of the social teaching of Christ. “Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these.”

The majority of people believe that sailors have a religious nature and all who are acquainted with Jack know how strong a social mortal he is. Whatever else he may lack, he surely has a longing for fun and frolic. It is easy for us to understand why his social instincts are so predominant when ashore, and knowing that he desires fun and amusement we place them in his home, thereby keeping him from seeking it in places whose very atmosphere is contaminating.

When a ship is in port and the day’s work is over, the men are anxious to leave the forecastle and hasten to the shore, where they may find enjoyment. They are away from their homes and loved ones, they have been isolated from the world perhaps for months, they have seen only the faces of their own shipmates, they have exchanged their thoughts till each man’s knowledge is thread worn. The work has become tiresome for want of change, the voyage with all its changes of storm and calm has grown monotonous. They hail with delight the pilot and with a light heart they walk ashore. Now Jack’s social nature asserts itself, and he seeks a place to satisfy it. It may be he is taking his bag of clothes with him steering a course for a boarding house. Is he at home when he enters such a door? True enough he has the money to pay for what he eats and drinks and where he sleeps; but has this temporary abiding place that which satisfies his social life? Far from it.

Take the sailor who is working on his ship in port, or is staying in a boarding house. Ask him to attend Church? Will he follow you? Yes, if he knows you and you have won his confidence and respect, and he believes you think he is as you are, namely, that we all need the Church, wherein all, both sailor and landsman, may be helped.

But believing that your mission is only a Church without the homelife, established for his sole redemption because he is such a wicked creature, he steers a course for the places which welcome him as an equal and not as some inferior outcast, even though it is to his detriment. There he is welcomed as the door swings open, he is greeted with warmth, he readily becomes acquainted, takes an interest in the fun, he stands the treat all around, joins in the dance, then becoming noisy and reckless he ends the night in a debauch robbed of what money he possessed. Whereas if the missions had provided those social necessities he would have dispensed with so much alcoholic drinks and had a larger bank account.

I have in mind as I write a young man who had enlisted on the U. S. S. Vermont, in the Brooklyn navy yard. He was a machinist and had traveled from some one of our Western Cities to enlist in Uncle Sam’s employ. The easy life as a recruit on the cob dock became tedious. He grew restless. When on liberty there was no home to welcome him, no friends to receive him; he was a total abstainer, in fact he knew not the taste of alcoholic drinks. He played pool and billiards in his native city and accordingly for want of such amusements he frequented the pool rooms where liquor was sold, and there spent his evenings. Fortunately he was strong enough to resist the temptations surrounding these pool tables, and was not led astray.

He was a clean, manly fellow, and I remember his collecting money from the recruits and marines to purchase a pool table for the reading room, but those who had the power to grant us a pool table refused because certain people living ashore held religious services there on Sundays. I have known young sailor lads who were clean in their habits to frequent dance halls. At first, their only desire was to enjoy a dance; but that very waltz was their downfall. It was not the dancing which brought about their ruin, it was the evil associations they encountered in such places.

Some of these young men had danced with the best young women of their town, their comrades and schoolmates, but now because the term sailor is attached to them and they have on the blue naval uniform they are debarred from every place except that of ill-repute. If Jack does not care to enter such a dive he must abide his time till he mingles with his own friends again though it may be for years, or it may never be, before he can step to a waltz, as no one of respectability dances with a sailor. The day may come when by providing the homelife in our missions for seamen we will have come to know them, our Christian young women will become acquainted with them and find that many young seamen are as clean and as moral as their own brothers, and they will dance with them as they do with young men of their acquaintance on land.

It is not that the sailor enjoys places of ill-repute more than something better. It is simply that is the best he finds after he leaves his ship. He likes the company of women; two-thirds of his life he is debarred from their society; he likes a social evening and he is bound to have it and all the fun he can so long as he is on shore.

Knowing then that they are as other men, we try to make the Sailor’s Haven not only a church but also a home for seamen. In our mission we hold religious services twice a week. At such times men are invited to attend; they have their choice. They can continue reading in the club rooms if it is Sunday, or play their games if it is a week night. Usually we have to lower some of the lights in the club rooms as the seamen have vacated them of their own free will and have attended the service.

Just the same as though I were visiting you and had enjoyed my stay, and as the evening hour drew near you invited me to join with you in your religious devotions, I kneel with you, so will the sailor who has that same freedom in a sailor’s mission, readily leave all games and everything else and accept your invitation to your devotional exercises. Here in the service as men, we try to find out and understand the teachings of our Blessed Lord, that we may have as our own the real happiness and comfort that comes in living the Christian life. At such times the seamen give strict attention and are never tired of hearing someone tell about Jesus. They and us receive help by the good advice given, they join in the old familiar hymns and are taken back to their boyhood days and the old home rises up before them. We visit the sick, comfort the sorrowful, help the needy and in His Name brighten and cheer lives. We provide special concerts full of fun and entertainment. Not bringing in a few hymns and short addresses of exhortation which leave a bitter taste, because of their unfitness; but a real sing song lively concert, just the kind we would have if we had company in our homes and were entertaining them. At such a time we would not be so rude as to ask our guests, if they desired our religious help, then why treat a sailor differently when he is your guest if love is the propelling power and good taste turns the helm? He will appreciate your kindness if offered in the right way. Of all men he is easily approached. He likes music. You can serve it to him in any shape or form and he will enjoy it every time. Let it be the piano, fiddle, banjo, jewsharp, tin whistle or a big drum and he will shout with delight. His cares are forgotten when he hears the ladies sing, and his sorrows are brushed away when he drinks in the music of the male quartettes and choruses. And he himself is not selfish. Full of sea songs, he takes his place by the piano and renders Nancy Lee and Tom Bowline, and to manifest to you that he is at home, he turns up the bottom edges of his trouser’s legs, and gives a step dance or a horn pipe for your amusement.

We provide suppers and treats of coffee and buns in the same spirit we invite any friends to sup with us, not because they are “poor hungry sailors” in need of these things; but as friends we meet and enjoy the very essence of sociability. All formality is blown to the winds, good cheer and freedom prevail, we meet from all corners of the earth, of different nationalities speaking different tongues, all petty grievances with our own shipmates are forgiven, we meet on common ground, and when we part we remember each other as friends.

I am safe in saying that nine out of every ten seamen smoke. Shall we send them on the street when they desire a pull on their pipes? We think it best to provide separate rooms for that. So aside from the hall where religious services are held we have these club rooms; here they can smoke, play pool and billiards and other games. They can take magazines and newspapers and read awhile. Social and scientific books are at their disposal, the same as the landsman reads, something besides a tract or circular asking them where they hope to spend Eternity. Here they can write to their friends for the material is on the tables for their sole use, they can play a solo at the piano, sing a song and while away the evening. When tired of one amusement they can turn to another, as there are many diversions to satisfy their social needs. Good women are present to talk with them, to write for those who cannot, to sing and play for any who desire it. They are received and treated as men without condescension or mock humility on the part of the missionaries, and welcomed not as inferior and illiterate beings, not as wild unregulated Ishmaelites nor as poor sailors, but as men.

We know that some games like ours are in the bar-rooms; but we have taken these enjoyable and harmless recreations from the surroundings that have done so much to degrade them, and are using them where they may not only be enjoyed without danger, but are means of shielding men from temptation. Some may ask, is it not enough to have a reading table and writing material, and perhaps a checker board? I answer, No. Even though you allow the seamen to smoke they, like other men, become tired of reading, and after a few games of checkers leave to find some other amusement.

Realizing the need of such a place for seamen and having a desire to work on such lines for their benefit, I left the sea.

A work of any kind must be judged by its results. Therefore is the Sailor’s Haven saving men? Are the seamen living cleaner and purer lives because of such work? Are they shielded from the land sharks and are they befriended? To all this and more I answer, Yes.

It would take many pages to tell of the men whose lives have been changed from recklessness and wrong-doing to lives of service and helpfulness to themselves and others. Men who are trying to live Christian lives, who once delighted to dabble in sin. I refrain and finish by saying it is right to have pool and billiard tables in a seaman’s mission, and allow the men to fill that part of God’s House, the home, with tobacco smoke.

THE FORECASTLE

The Forecastle

WHEN a new schoolhouse or any public building is planned, every attention is given to sanitation. When a private home is being built, it is expected to be fitted with every modern convenience and every improvement conducive to good health. When a new passenger steamer is launched, the public seek for all comfort, where they may abide during their short stay on board, and if a cargo steamship is ordered every attention is devoted to space for freight and cattle. But on that very vessel, so distinctly modern in every other respect, there is seemingly hardly any thought given to improving the condition of the forecastle.

I am glad to say that there are some masters of the ocean steamers who recognize room for improvement, and who are exerting themselves in the interest of their men. Lately we have seen large passenger steamers launched which are provided with large mess-rooms for the sailors and firemen, and we have one and all rejoiced at this gradual improvement. The laws of the United States and Great Britain provide on board their ships so much breathing space for each man. The law governing United States vessels reads thus: “Every place appropriated to the crew of a sea-going vessel of the United States, except a fishing vessel, yacht, pilot boat and all other vessels under two hundred tons register, shall have a space of not less than seventy-two cubic feet, and not less than twelve square feet measured on the deck or floor of that place for each seaman or apprentice lodged therein: Provided, That any such sea-going vessels built or rebuilt after June 30th, 1898, shall have a space of not less than one hundred cubic feet and not less than sixteen square feet measured on the deck or floor of that space for each seaman or apprentice lodged therein. Such place shall be securely constructed, heated and ventilated, protected from weather and sea, and, as far as practicable, properly shut off and protected from the effluvium of cargo or bilge water.” I do not know the exact space Great Britain grants her seamen, but by observation I should say they have about the same amount of space as our American seamen—that is to say, a space hardly as large as a good-sized grave. I am not now condemning the ship owners; they give the men what they are allowed. Nor am I writing in the spirit of the fault finder, but as one whose heart’s desire is to have the men of the sea so treated and housed on board their ships that they may believe they are men, that they be treated as such, and may be appealed to live their highest and best lives. The safety of life and property at sea depends upon the competency of the crew, and if we are to have efficient men, and an adequate merchant marine, and men of intelligence and skill, we must offer some inducements to secure such men and not the riff raff of the world.

How is this legally allotted space given to the sailor? In a room in the forward end of the ship, sometimes in the middle, known as the “forecastle”—a room with a dozen or more men in it, where at the most six men could miserably exist—a room (a few exceptions) poorly lighted and inadequately ventilated. In such a room the seamen smoke, eat, sleep and have their being. It is their home on shipboard. It is too small for a mess table. The food is brought in large pans, placed on the floor, and each man coming from his work has to make an effort, climbing over the pan of soup or meat, to get some share of it for himself. There are a few forecastles in which there are mess tables on which these pans are placed for men to “dig and get at” the contents.

As we approach some modern steamship’s forecastles it seems strange the sanitation should be so different from what it is on shore. We all know that in bad weather at seamen are exposed on deck. They wear their oilskins and rubber boots; they go below after spending four hours on deck. They are compelled to hang up their wet oilskins at the head of their bunks or on the bulkhead of the forecastle, and throw their sea-boots under a bunk where they may find them when called again to go on deck. We also know that the work in the fireroom is dirty. Where can a fireman hang up his dirty fireroom clothes wet through with perspiration? There is no place except it be over the top of his own bunk.

There was a certain steamer in port. It was mid-winter. I went on board the day she docked. Such a dismal sight! Every man forward was discontented and disgruntled. The dark forecastle was somewhat lighted by the coating of ice on the sides of the ship forming the forecastle. It was raining, and, without exaggeration, the sloppy mud and dirt was at least one half inch deep, covering the whole forecastle floor. There was some heat from the steam-pipes, which was thawing the coating of ice which covered the roof and sides of the place. One of the firemen asked me to feel of his bed. I did so; my heart was sore. Every article of clothing and his bed clothes were wet through from the drippings of the thawing ice. The water falling from the roof and sides of this half-heated dismal hole made it resemble a cave where the ebbing tide had just receded. This was the condition of an old cattle and freight steamer.

I told one of the men about the Sailor’s Haven and gave him an invitation to visit us. He looked at me and said, “To h—l with you and your mission!” Just then one of the mates rebuked him, saying, “Don’t talk that way to the gentleman; you know he’s not to blame for our treatment.” Before I left the ship I had a long talk with him. He apologized for his unkind language, and said he felt we worried ourselves too much about getting them into heaven and not enough about bettering their surroundings on earth.

That evening I was conversing with a chief engineer of another steamer. I told him of my experience on that ship. I remarked that it must be very hard for those men who had worked on deck in the cold to have to spend their evenings in such a miserable den. My heart even went out more in sympathy for the firemen than for the sailors, for they had been doing their work down in the bowels of the ship, with greasy hands and arms, half choked and black as negroes with cold dust. They must bathe on deck in a wash deck bucket, and make the best of what was given them.

“True enough, Mr. King,” he replied, “I admit that things could be better, but if you knew it all you would agree with me when I say they don’t deserve anything better. These men don’t and won’t appreciate anything else. Some steamship companies have tried their best to improve the surroundings of the crew, but they have so abused what has been done for them that they are given up by most companies as a hopeless lot.”

I know that many of the men going to sea have to learn the meaning of new conditions before they can value them; the failure of some to appreciate an improvement only shows more clearly the need of the improvement. Their very faculties for appreciating better conditions are nearly dead, and must be quickened and developed. We have to face the ignorance of those who need our help, and gradually carry on our reforming movements. The clean, respectable seamen will help the untidy, careless fellows to appreciate what is being done for them, and will join hands with the ship owners in making the sailor’s calling desirable. A ship’s forecastle is not a temporary place for some college student who is working his passage across the Atlantic during his summer vacation. It is the permanent home of the sailor. Therefore, if we are to have good men on our vessels, we must offer them comfortable quarters. The mechanic or laborer on land leaves his work at the close of the day, and goes to his home. There is a change, a new atmosphere greets him; not so with the sailor. The forecastle is his home. Debarred as he is from the society and companionship of his own people, he above all men should have the greatest comfort and the best of treatment when off duty.

I could endure the forecastle for a trip across, I could do the work on deck, or shovel coal in the fireroom, but I could not follow the sea for a living to-day and think that until my hair turns gray, and my hands tremble through age, I must eke out such an existence. Yes, a thousand times let me break the stones on the streets for a mere pittance, so that when my day’s work was over, I could find a shelter of warmth and cleanliness, even though it were poor and humble.

Now and again we find a steamer whose owners have given considerable thought to the crew. I call to mind a certain steamer which was in Boston not very long ago. In this vessel the twelve sailors had four large rooms. There was a good-sized mess-room near these quarters. Everything was neat and clean and manifested a spirit of cleanliness. Pictures of loved ones were hung up, there was a spirit of content prevailing on that vessel. Men lose all interest in keeping a place clean when they are huddled together like sheep in a pen.

The strongest and best of men are influenced by their surroundings. We shamefully admit this weakness, for we know as men we should be strong enough to master all our circumstances, and not they us. How then can we expect men who are ignorant of the laws governing their health to rise up and not be influenced by their circumstances? How do we expect our men in the engine room and on deck to be otherwise than they are? The hopeful sign is to find so many dissatisfied with their surroundings.

Not long ago I visited the firemen on a steamer. It was supper time. The room was dark, even though the sun was shining on deck. I thought one of my feet was in something slippery, and, going to the door of the forecastle, I discovered I had stepped into the “black pan.” This was a pan of food which consisted of the leavings of the cabin and engineers’ mess-room. The men, seeing I was embarrassed, said: “That’s all right, Mr. King; we have had all we want of it.” I have lived in forecastles where the conditions were almost as bad as this, but that was twenty years ago, but even then there were not so many of us huddled in one room. Suppose we go on board some of the finest and best steamers; go forward and visit the forecastles. You will find a large, undivided space, a place where a dozen men may be able to move around in comfort, containing from twenty to forty men. Their clothes are hung on lines around their bunks. At its best you will say: “What a gloomy den!”

I have never witnessed such a miserable condition on board ship as I encountered in the forecastle of an ocean steamer one Sunday morning. I went on board to invite the men to the services at the Mission. About thirty-five men were in a room filled with bunks, with a narrow passage between them. The men were asleep. Just then a fireman entered with a large black pan and a kettle, and calling at the top of his voice “Hash!” he placed the pan and kettle on the dirty floor. The call of “hash” made the men roll over and think of getting up. The odor of that room was villainous. The night through, these men had smoked and slept, and in that same atmosphere they were called to eat their breakfast. One man tried to light his pipe as he was turning out, and shouting to me said, “Mr. King, can’t you do something for us? Look, sir, the match won’t burn, the air is so thick in here.” I did indeed feel sorry for him. Were I in his place, I would climb on deck, be it hot or cold, and in God’s pure air eat my meals. It is fortunate they have an abundance of fresh air on deck to help counteract the impure atmosphere of the forecastles.

On some of the ships the petty officers are put four and six men in a room; they keep their quarters clean and enjoy the comfort of being somewhat private in their lives on shipboard. The interest they take in keeping neat and clean where four are placed in a room is very noticeable. All of these petty officers were once in the forecastle, and, having left it, and appreciating something better, show that those in the forecastle to-day are capable of properly receiving improvements.

Before I close let me say what I think would improve the situation. First, abolish the forecastle as it is built to-day in one large room; put in its place fair-sized rooms, each to accommodate at the most four men. Let these rooms be known as the men’s quarters. Put in each room a clothes locker, in which clothes can be put away. Have these rooms sheathed, so as to protect them from the ice coated iron of the ship’s side and iron deck above. Also have a good ventilator and a comfortable steam heater in each room. Have a mess-room that will seat every man when the ship is in port, when all the crew are eating at the same hour. Have it put away from the men’s quarters. Let there be a man shipped to be known as the forward mess steward, his duty at sea and in port to care for the dishes, knives and forks which the ship should provide; hold him responsible for all the utensils, having him turn them over to the chief steward at the end of the voyage. Have him keep the mess-room and men’s quarters clean. Have a large bathroom and lavatory far away from the men’s quarters and mess-room, put in it lockers for oilskins and sea-boots—as many lockers as there are rooms; men in room No. 1 to use the corresponding numbered locker in the bathroom. The forward mess steward, or two stewards, if needed, must keep this bath clean and sweet. If the ship should be built for carrying cattle, have the cattlemen’s quarters in some part of the ship where they cannot interfere with the regular crew. Then there will be no danger of oilskins and clothing hung out to dry being stolen by the cattlemen.

I might write of some officers’ and engineers’ quarters, yes, and of captains also, and tell how miserably they are housed on some ships. On some of the steamers the officers and engineers find it a hard matter to get in and out of their rooms when the cattle are on board. May the day soon dawn when a sailor going on his ship will not have to think of pots, pans and spoons for use in a kennel, but will go expecting the treatment of the workingman ashore. Then the owners of vessels will be blessed by them where now they are cursed.

SUPERSTITIONS OF SEAMEN

Superstitions of Seamen

ALTHOUGH the ocean steamer has removed some of the superstitious ideas among seamen, still to this day there are hosts of sailors on steamships as well as on sailing vessels, who are filled with them. It is necessary to mingle freely with seamen to win from them their experiences of the strange apparitions they have seen and of the many Jonahs with whom they have been shipmates.

The landlubber has his superstitions as well as the sailor. Many of my strange notions came to me long before I started to sea. Born and brought up among the negroes in Barbados, rocked in a mammy’s arms, one of the first things I remember is the story of the obeah man told me by the faithful colored servants of my father. This ubiquitous obeah man was called on at all times by my nurse to help her in bringing me into a state of subjection. I believe such a being did exist. Often when a child I have listened to stories of the duppy (a ghost) and believing them I was afraid of the least noise I heard at night. Even to this day I find it difficult to overcome these superstitious ideas of my early boyhood days.

Some time ago a friend almost induced me to live in Everett, Massachusetts. I had made up my mind to pack my traps and move out there, but dear me! when I saw the trees in Woodlawn Cemetery through the back windows so close to the house, no amount of favorable reasoning could persuade me to live there. No wealth could entice me to walk alone through a graveyard at night. Not that I believe the dead can harm me, but simply there is a feeling that comes over me which I cannot master. I was told that if I were to point my hand or throw a stone at a ghost, the arm would stiffen and remain so forever. I believed this and had not the pluck to throw anything in the direction of a rustling noise at night. Fright and anger forced me to overcome it.

While serving on the U. S. S. Alliance, one of our shipmates died in “Rio”. His body was taken aft on the quarter deck and placed on boards resting on two ward room chairs. The American Ensign was spread over the whole. It was my anchor watch from twelve o’clock midnight, to four in the morning. There were four of us on watch, one from each part of the ship; namely, a forecastle man, a foretopman, a maintopman and an afterguard. The officer of the deck was lenient and allowed us to sleep on deck providing one man remained awake and watched near the corpse. The forecastle man, as he belonged to the forward end of the ship, was detailed to keep the first watch and we were to relieve each other hourly until our four hours were ended.

Being a maintopman it was my watch from two to three o’clock. At four bells the foretopman roused me from my slumbers where I had coiled myself on deck between the fife rail and mainmast. The officer of the deck was on the poop with the quartermaster; the Captain’s orderly had gone forward; I was standing forward of the corpse in close proximity to the after eight inch gun. I tried to think of everything except my duty. The very thought of being alone with a dead man, though there were living mortals close at hand, made me feel uneasy.

I had scarcely been ten minutes on watch when I observed the ensign covering the dead body move as though a cat or a dog were under it. A cold feeling came over me, my heart began to thump, I expected to see my departed shipmate stand up and hail me. The cold perspiration fell from my brow. I started to edge my way forward taking a backward step, when I saw a head peep out from under the flag. The handspikes belonging to the gun were under the gun carriage. I was tempted to haul one of them out and throw it at the ghost, but fearing my hand and arm would stiffen, I hesitated. Just then I heard a tittering on the opposite side of the deck, and looking in that direction I saw my watch mates and the Captain’s orderly laughing at my expense. I realized that a joke had been played on me, and angered through fright beyond self control, I quickly hauled out the heavy handspike and struck at the would be ghost. My aim was poor. I struck the chair at the foot of the corpse and the whole thing rolled over on deck. The anchor watch and Captain’s orderly quickly arranged the body on the boards and had just re-covered it with the flag, when the officer of the deck reached the break of the poop and inquired the cause of the disturbance. The forecastle man who had played the spectre, readily replied, “We’re catching a rat, sir!” My arm did not stiffen and since then I have thrown stones where I have heard strange noises at night, and struck at uncertain objects in the dark.

It is readily seen that, brought up in such an atmosphere of fetichism I credited all the stories of superstition any sailor cared to relate. I have known men relate yarns about ghosts in which they implicitly believed.

While in a sailor’s boarding house in Antwerp, some of the crew of an American ship which had arrived from San Francisco with grain, declared that the ship was haunted. Every man had a story to tell of his encountering a ghost on that voyage. It was said that while the men were asleep this creature of another world would enter the forecastle and rub its cold hands over the faces of the men. It was rumored in the grog shops that the apparition in the form of a man would walk aft on a stormy night just as the bell was struck at the close of a watch, and relieve the wheel. The officer of the watch would be annoyed to find the ship off her course, and looking aft, would find the ship without an helmsman. This occurred so often, the men declaring a man clothed in oilskins had relieved them, that the Captain ordered his officers to be present and hear for themselves the disembodied soul repeat the course as it relieved the wheel. So ended the tricks of this goblin, who was afraid to encounter more than one man.

There is a vast difference between the sailors of a wind-jammer and those of a steamer. The fireman and coal passers of these iron monsters began their sea careers as men and have not spent their youthful days in the forecastle. They hear nothing of the superstition of the sea, except what are told by the few remaining “old shell backs.”

I have sailed with a Captain who would dare do anything, but had not the courage to sail on Friday. No favorable weather could induce him to start his mudhook on this day. He told the story of losing his first command; how he sailed on that unlucky day from London to the Colonies and on the following Sunday his ship was run into and sank in the English Channel. This day on which “Our Saviour” was crucified has lost its horror among the majority of the English speaking seamen. The steamer is the cause of the change. There is no time lost in loading and discharging these iron hulks. As soon as their hatches are filled, be it Friday or any other day, they stir a lather under their sterns and speed away for another port. There is an old Captain on our coast who told me that he uses every device and frames all excuses, to avoid sailing on Friday. Now and again we meet a few old salts who still cling to the belief in the ill luck that comes from sailing on this unlucky day, but to most seamen the idea is too absurd to be entertained. Still among the Italian and other Southern European sailing vessels, it is yet held in superstitious fear. Once while in the harbor of Montevideo, I witnessed a carnival held on board a Spanish gun-boat, the Infanta Isabel, on Good Friday. The yards were cockbilled and at dinner the crew hauled an effigy of Judas out to the end of the jib-boom and hanging it just clear of the water, they subjected it to every abuse their imaginations could invent. Even the officers stood on the forecastle head and riddled it with shot from their revolvers. The effigy remained there till dark; finally besmeared with tar and oil, they set it alight and let it blaze away. With all discipline relaxed they ended the day with a lively fandango.

Another form of superstition is that of catching birds at sea. I have sailed with a Captain who allowed no one on his ship to meddle with birds of any kind even though they were from terra firma blown from their native soil and were resting on his vessel. He had a horror of some evil attending his voyage if any feathered creature was caught or disturbed while perched upon his craft.

Another captain, though not quite so strict, forbade our catching the albatross. We were in Southern Latitudes, where they were plentiful and seemingly hungry. One of our crew, a South African half breed, secretly hooked a large one. He took the bird under the forecastle head, wrung its neck, plucked it, and disposing of the feathers so that no one aft could see them, with hard tack, salt and pepper, dressed it for cooking. That night as soon as he knew the old colored cook was soundly sleeping, he quietly slipped into the galley and baked it. It being cold, the cook kept his fire all night to warm his room which opened into his kitchen. It was fortunate the wind was dead aft, for the man on the forecastle head, standing his lookout, declared the sweet smelling savor emanating from the oven gave him a gnawing at the bottom of his stomach. At eight bells when the watch went below, they rallied around the feast; but to their disappointment and surprise, the albatross proved an unpleasant diet. The flesh was rancid and fishy. It rather pleased the Peruvian Spaniard, however, for clothed in his oilskins and seated on the forecastle deck he hauled the pan between his legs and without stirring, devoured the whole bird. Next day it began to blow harder, the old ship rocked and rolled, we lost several watches furling and reefing sail, and the blame of all the bad weather was heaped upon Joe for killing the albatross. No one aft ever knew about it. Fortunately for Joe they did not, or he would have been half murdered.

Another superstition is about the disobedient prophet Jonah. No sooner does the head wind greet the wind-jammer, than there is a Jonah declared on board. If many misfortunes overtake a ship it is felt by all, both forward and aft, that someone who has inherited the prophet’s ill luck, is among the ship’s company. I once saw a captain strike a seaman and in the vilest language call him a “d— Jonah,” because the wind hauled ahead as soon as he, poor fellow, took the wheel. During his next watch below he was made to stand on the forward house and scratch the foremast till he brought a fair wind. Good luck was on his side, for the wind soon hauled aft again and remained steady for some days. He was no longer declared the Jonah.

A sailor once told me that while making a trip to the West Indies from New York, the second mate of his vessel rushed on deck in the night, and running forward, pointed to leeward shouting, “She’s calling for me, I must go to her.” They had to struggle severely to hold him from jumping over the side. He declared he saw his wife on the ocean calling to him for help. He quieted down, but his vision troubled him. He remembered the date and hour he had seen the apparition, and when the ship arrived in Trinidad, he received word from New York of the death of his wife. She had passed away the very day and hour he heard her calling to him. Is this superstition? Every sailor to whom he told this story, implicitly believed it was the spirit of his dead wife calling to him.

I had a friend, an old sea captain, who is now dead, having lost his life by being washed overboard in a heavy gale. Often he related this story in my hearing:

“I was on a Norwegian bark coming around the Horn, bound to Liverpool from ’Frisco. One night the old bark was hove to. The lookout man had to stand his watch on the after house, where he was safe from being washed overboard. About three o’clock in the middle watch the lookout reported to the mate that a woman was coming over the bow. Sure enough. There stood a woman in white by the lee cat head, waving something in her hand as though she were calling them. Every time the ship courtesied and dipped, the woman waved the thing in her hand violently. We managed to get the watch on deck at eight bells, but not a man would dare go forward of the poop. When daylight came the woman disappeared. For two days the crew kept aft in fear declaring the ship was haunted, but on the third day when the gale had weakened and the sea subsided, a man was sent to loose the jib. While on the jib-boom he discovered from whence the creation came.

“Our old vessel had a splendid figure head. It was a woman painted white, holding a wand in her hand. The heavy seas broke it away from its fastenings and jammed it erect between the jib-boom guys while the pitching of the vessel made the wand seem as though someone was beckoning. It was a difficult matter even then for the old skipper to make some of his men believe the apparition they saw was the figure head jammed between the guys.”

It is a known fact that men have refused to sail in ships because the rats were leaving. When a youngster, suffering privation in New York City, I saw four apprentices and the steward desert from an English full rigger because they claimed the ship would be lost at sea, for the rats were jumping into the river they were so anxious to leave the vessel. I do not know if she reached another port but I know that I felt grateful to the rats. One of the boys having more clothes than he cared to carry, gave me an old coat which was a God-send to me at that time. I needed it badly.

There are many other superstitions of which I could write. Every sailor has at some time whistled for a breeze. Most of us have objected to having a parson on board, believing he would prove a Jonah. We have seen sharks persistently follow the ship when there has been a dead body on board in anticipation of a great feast.

Are you superstitious, dear reader? Then know that your great-great-grandfather or some other relative was an old salt.

THE LUCKY BAG

The Lucky Bag

IT always seemed to me that the lucky bag on a man-of-war was wrongly named. To the few it was a lucky bag, but to the large majority of seamen it was the unlucky bag.

What is the lucky bag? It is the place where the young recruit is taught that there is a place for everything, and everything must be in its place at certain times.

While serving on the U. S. S. Alliance, we shipped a landsman in Cape Town. He had passed the doctor’s examination and was served with an outfit of clothing from the paymaster’s stores. He was a strong young fellow, clean and neat in appearance, but his one great trouble was his carelessness in leaving his clothes, ditty box and other things around the decks when they should have been put in their proper places.

The very next day after his enlistment he went below on the berth deck after the forenoon’s exercises, to find his clothes bag. He searched and overhauled all the bags hanging on the jackstay near the mess chest belonging to his part of the ship, but could not find a bag with his number on it. The cook was a short, wiry cockney, who had just come below from infantry drill on the spar deck. He had not much time to waste, as in an hour all hands would be piped to dinner, and he must hasten and put his potatoes in the ship’s cook’s coppers and be ready to draw his boiling water when the ship’s cook shouted, “Get your coffee water.” He also had two coal passers who were going on watch at twelve o’clock. At seven bells (11.30) they would be making their appearance for dinner so that they could relieve their mates below, on time.

We all knew the necessary hustling it took for the mess cook to get our dinners ready. Therefore, we who wanted our bags, took them quickly from the jackstay on the side of the ship and moved out of the cook’s way. It was not thus with our Cape Town “joskin.” Not realizing that he was in the cook’s way, he kept on tossing the bags over in search of his own. The cook was impatient, so taking the greenhorn by the shoulders, he twisted him around, almost pushed him down the fore hatch on the head of old Bill Ried, the captain of the hold, and vehemently said, “Blast your blooming eyes. D’ye think I can get the grub ready with you a flying around ’ere like a feather in a gale of wind? Get to blazes out of my way.”

Anderson resented this treatment. He had been patient up to this point, for from the moment he donned the naval uniform and came on deck, the young apprentice boys began to tease and make a fool of him. They told him he would have to purchase clothes pins to use on the clothes line; they sent him from one to the other in search of many things that did not exist on a ship, making him believe that he was in duty bound to obey them. He believed their yarn when they told him the sergeant of marines was buried in the fore peak, and had him go with a lantern to polish the brass corners of the tomb. The poor fellow’s mind was so upset he doubted everyone, and even hesitated to obey the orders of the officer of the deck, believing he too was a “fake.”

He could stand it no longer, so when the “Duke of Edinburgh” (the nickname given to the cook) took hold of him he showed fight. Putting himself in a defensive attitude, he clinched with the duke. Pots, pans and kettles were tumbled about without any consideration on their part, the crowd gathered to see the fun, the noise and uproar reached the spar deck and in a flash the master-at-arms and ship’s corporal came tumbling double time down the fore hatch ladder, and, pushing the crowd aside, they separated the combatants and marched them to the mast. Anderson, now nicknamed Cape Town, told his story to the officer of the deck and then the duke related his. Here it was that Cape Town learned from the ship’s corporal that his clothes were in the lucky bag.

Both men were put on the report and the next morning when the delinquents were brought before the commanding officer, he punished the duke by placing him on third class conduct list, which deprived him of liberty while in that port. Cape Town he sentenced to do four hours extra police duty for having his clothes in the lucky bag.

The nearest resemblance to a lucky bag on a man-of-war, is a small, second hand clothing shop on Salem St. Although named the lucky bag, it is not generally a bag. I have seen at times when there were only a few things confiscated around the decks, a well filled bag in the master-at-arms possession, but usually the lucky bag is a place, a locker of some description where confiscated clothing and all such articles are kept.

On board of a merchant vessel it matters not how long a sailor desires to keep his clothes on deck, no one cares where he puts them or what is done with them, so long as they are forward and below the rail of the ship, but on a war ship it is different. A man-of-war’s man owns a clothes bag in which he keeps his clothing, a hammock containing his mattress and bedding, his ditty box for his sewing gear, and pipe and tobacco. He may earn a few dollars by making clothes, hence the ownership of a small sewing machine. He may possess a set of boxing gloves, swinging clubs, a musical instrument, or curiosities that he has bought for his sweetheart or for his friends, and while there is a certain time given him each day when he can bring his belongings on deck, and overhaul everything he owns to his satisfaction and to the delight of his shipmates, there are other times when everything he possesses must be stowed away, otherwise it will reach the ever open, avaricious jaws of the lucky bag.

In the morning before breakfast the decks have been cleaned. Perhaps there is still time to polish the deck brass work before eight bells, when breakfast will be piped, but even then the man-of-war’s man cannot put his bag away, for there is other work to be done before he can clean himself for quarters. The gun bright (brass) work has to be polished, for every man of a gun’s crew has a portion of the brass and steel allotted him for his special care.

Therefore, after breakfast he must hurry and clean his gun bright work, change his clothes, get his blacking and brush from his ditty box and shine his shoes, for the messenger boy will soon strike two bells (nine o’clock,) and the boatswain’s mates will be ordered to pipe sweepers. Then as birds in a forest, the whistles of the boatswain’s mates are heard chirping from stem to stern, calling the sweepers to man their brooms and give the “old gal” a final brush down. Woe to the man who has forgotten to stow away his traps, whatever they may be, for in a little while before three bells, the executive officer emerges from the ward room, and, followed by the masters-at-arms and ship’s corporal, he inspects the whole ship.

Starting from the ward room to the spar deck, then to the berth deck, he will pry into every corner and overhaul everything. The breech blocks of the guns are thrown open, the tompions are withdrawn, he peeps from breech to muzzle to make sure no oily rags have been stowed therein and that the gun is clean inside.

The berth deck cooks are standing by their mess chests ready with clean mess cloths and utensils for his all seeing eyes to peep into and inspect. The captain of the hold has thrown aside his dirty working suit and dressed in the uniform of the day, he stands in the hatchway with lantern in hand, to receive him. The sailmaker’s mate, the gunner’s mate, and every idler who has the care of any shellroom or locker, is at his post to greet him as he progresses in his onward march of inspection. Every clothes bag, piece of clothing, ditty box, musical instrument, anything that is out of place is confiscated by his orders.

It was at this particular time that Cape Town had forgotten to put his bag below and when the “first luff” spotted it under the forecastle head, he ordered it to be put into the lucky bag. This was not the only time that the jaws of the lucky bag had closed on Cape Town’s belongings, for on several occasions during the cruise he had to scrub the copper on the bottom of the sailing launch while others were loitering around the decks, as a punishment for having his traps enter there.

Not only during the executive officer’s inspection, is the lucky bag fed. It may be in the afternoon when all hands are called by the boatswain’s mates to “stand by your scrubbed and washed clothes.” At such a call every man who has clothes on the lines is expected to get on deck and remove them. Should some fellow who doesn’t heed the call allow his clothes to remain on the lines, the officer of the deck will order them put into the lucky bag unless some shipmate is kind enough to care for them, which is often the case.

Such confiscated clothing is occasionally kept in the “brig” (a cell for punishment) and if there is not an over abundance, such articles may be allowed to remain there even though a prisoner is doing a short sentence of five days bread and water.

While there is an order on a war vessel that every man shall have his name stamped on his clothes, there are men who evade it and do not mark everything. Sometimes the paint which was used in stamping the name is so worn by washing that it is illegible. Therefore, if such a piece of clothing finds its way to the lucky bag the owner will let it stay there, for he knows that if he claims it he will have to do some extra police duties or be classed. His best plan is to await his time. Some fellow may soon be sentenced to the brig, among the contents of the lucky bag, and may clandestinely secure it for him. At any rate he can look forward to the day when the auction sale of the lucky bag takes place and then buy his own clothes.

I remember having a blue flannel shirt made. It was valuable, for the sailor who made it had put on fancy silk stars on the collar, the tape was neatly stitched, the best of silk had been used. Just before inspection the tailor handed it to me. I had not time to go below and shove it into the mouth of my clothes bag, so I lifted the flap of the hammock cloth and pushed it between the cloth and the ship’s side. The bulge it made in the hammock cloth caught the “first luff’s” eyes; he put his hand under the painted canvass and hauled out my Sunday mustering shirt. Fresh from the tailor’s hands, it found its way to the lucky bag. There was no name on it to tell who was the owner, and as I had many extra hours of police duty to do for other misdemeanors, I held my peace and let the “go shore” shirt remain confiscated.

Good luck came my way sooner than I had hoped. The captain of the afterguard was sentenced the next day to do five days bread and water in the brig for being insolent to the officer of the deck. The contents of the lucky bag were pushed into one corner of the cell while the prisoner had the remaining portion of the iron brig to himself.

Here was my opportunity. I sneaked on the opposite side of the sentry and placed my mouth close to the small perforated holes in the iron walls of the brig and begged my incarcerated shipmate to overhaul the lucky bag and find my shirt. Although it was dark he managed to find the garment, so at seven bells the next morning, when he was brought on deck to have a bath, he tucked it under the folds of his shirt and left it on the forecastle head where I secured it.

About once in every two or three months the master-at-arms is ordered to bring the contents of the lucky bag on deck. Standing in the port gangway he holds up the various articles to the view of the crowd around him and asks for bids.

It was prearranged before the sales on our ship, that if any man shouted distinctly the words, “I will offer” in making his bid we were not to bid against him, for we knew that “I will offer,” meant it was the bidder’s own things. In this way we bought and rebought our own clothes during the cruise rather than be punished for our negligence.

Sometimes the clothing was marked, when the owner was reported, and would find no escape from cleaning the bottom of the sailing launch. Again, he might be on friendly terms with the master-at-arms or ship’s corporal, and in a begging attitude have him give them up without being reported, or he might approach the officer of the deck and be diplomatic in framing an excuse so as to win his favor and have the lucky bag give up its treasure.

THE SAILOR AND HIS DUDHEEN

The Sailor and His Dudheen

IT is possible to find a sailor who does not smoke or chew tobacco; but he is a rare creature. The great majority of seamen enjoy their pipes and some chew the weed as well, finding much comfort and consolation thereby.

A very large number of friends have asked why do sailors smoke so much? It is not an unusual occurrence to see some of the seamen leave our concert hall while there is an excellent entertainment taking place, for the sole purpose of having a few draws on their old dudheens. Generally they are firemen and coal passers of the merchant steamers. These men have more opportunities than the deck hands to smoke. Usually they are on watch four hours of every twelve, and off or on duty they are allowed to smoke their pipes. There may be an exceptional ship where the engineer of the watch will prohibit a fireman or coal passer from smoking while on duty, but such discipline in the fireroom of an ocean steamship is seldom seen.

Naturally these men feel the need of a smoke after the duration of an hour. They long for a whiff of the pipe, and therefore leave their seats during a good concert to obtain it.

I do not think that seamen smoke oftener nor use more tobacco than any other class of men. When a sailor has donned his “go shore” clothes and is ready to take a spin on the beach the chief thing he sees to, is that his pipe and tobacco are in his jacket pocket, and when away from the restraint of ship life, he smokes to his heart’s content. Perhaps during the day when other men have had the privilege of enjoying several cigars and as many pipefulls as they desired, poor Jack has had only a few draws during the meal hours, so when his day’s work is over he makes up for lost time.

Take the amount of tobacco used by a ship’s crew and compare it with the amount used by the same number of landsmen and I think we will find the lesser weight to be credited to the “shell back.” So with drinking. The sailor uses less alcohol than the man ashore; not being accustomed to drinking, a very few glasses makes him totter and shake, and soon throws him on his beam’s end, while his brother, the landlubber, has been pouring it down his throat all day, and is able at the close of the night to meander his way home safely.

On a sailing ship it would be considered a breach of discipline for a man to be seen smoking his pipe while on duty. He is expected to refrain from such tendencies which help to weaken ship discipline, and abide his time till eight bells have been struck and he is relieved. Then before he closes his weary eyelids for a few hours’ nap, he can have the pleasure of a draw on his old dudheen.

I recall a voyage on an American full rigger where the question of smoking tobacco was the cause of much disturbance to the crew. During the watch below a sailor was not allowed to come on deck with his pipe in his mouth. He must confine his incense to the denizens of the forecastle. On Sundays, when the decks had been washed and the brass work cleaned, he could chew and spit over the rail; but the privilege of smoking at such a time or on watch during the night was an offense which meant the loss of an afternoon below.

On some ships there are times when the boatswains are not severe and cruel, then a sailor may slip into the forecastle and steal a few draws from his pipe. Especially if the man has come from the wheel where he has been grinding salt water for two hours, doing his best to keep the ship on her course, lest the officer of the watch find her wake is crooked and greets him with an oath or blow, or from the lookout where he has spent his watch in strange meditations.

The merchant sailor can smoke his pipe only during his watch below at sea, and in the meal hours and the evenings when in port. I have heard that on some English vessels and American coasters, the crews are allowed to smoke at all times, even at the wheel; but I have never sailed in such homes. In the United States Navy there is such a thing as a “smoking lamp,” and when it is lighted every man can fill his pipe and smoke on any part of the spar deck forward of the mainmast. This smoking lamp is made of copper. Holes, about an inch in circumference, are bored through the sides so that a piece of paper can be inserted so as to reach the flickering flame. The lamp is hung in some convenient place, usually near the foremast, and during meal hours and the evenings in port, till nine o’clock (2 bells) it is kept lighted. At sea, in the dog watches and meal hours it is hung up for use. There are times on a war vessel when the smoking lamp is kept lighted the greater part of the day. Saturday afternoons, when the work of the week is ended and the men are overhauling their bags; Sunday after the morning inspection is over, and on holidays. Then the man-of-war’s man can smoke without fear of some officer or marine on duty inviting him to the mast for punishment.

Again it may be a day when all hands are busily engaged coaling ship or taking aboard provisions, something that keeps the whole crew busy, such a time the seamen feel they have sufficient reason to ask permission for the smoking lamp to be lighted.

Most seafaring men enjoy a smoke the last thing at night. It is a comfort to stretch oneself in a hammock and just before dozing into that unconscious state between wakefulness and sleep to withdraw the pipe from the lips and place it under the pillow, then roll over and slumber away.

During a cruise on an American war vessel, we came to anchor in the harbor of Pernambuco. Several of the crew slept under the top gallant forecastle where there was room for about fifty men. I managed to find a vacant billet away from the suffocating berth deck. That very night after taps had been sounded I turned into my hammock for a few hours’ solid comfort. My pipe was lighted so I decided to continue my smoke. I stretched myself out, and pulled away at my old clay stump, keeping one eye on the corporal of Marines at the gangway. I fell asleep while smoking, for in a few moments I felt a burning pain at my side which awakened me, and, on rolling over, I saw my blankets burning. In a moment I was on deck, and in the twinkling of an eye I had the hammock unhooked and “Presto change” the whole thing, bedding and all went through the gun port. I was none too soon for the officer of the deck and the anchor watch came running forward looking for the fire. They had smelt the smoke and were seeking the cause. I hid myself in the manger under the heel of the bowsprit and listened to them as they discussed the whereabouts of the fire. My heart almost failed me when the officer of the deck noticed the burning hammock over the side. The tide was taking it astern and as there was an English ocean “tramp” a short distance ahead of us, he decided that the smell of smoke came from that bundle of old rags drifting by us from the steamer.

For five nights I slept on the bare deck planks and on the sixth evening I reported my hammock missing. A search was made and when it could not be found the first lieutenant said I must have thrown it over the rail that morning in tossing it into the netting before the hammock stower was there. I was glad to escape so easily for had I been detected having smoked my pipe in bed, I would have suffered the penalty of a court martial. As it was, I only lost my mattress and bed clothes, which were worth about ten dollars. It would be easy to write a few more pages of the many stolen smokes I and others have enjoyed, yes, and of the many hours we have scrubbed the copper on the water line of the ship as a punishment for smoking without permission; but I will leave it untouched.

PETS ABOARD SHIP

Pets Aboard Ship

CATS, dogs and all other animals, when they find their way on board of a ship seem to know that nothing but kindness will be their lot. Sailors are fond of pets and when opportunities are afforded them to own some sort of an animal, they lavishly bestow upon them pent-up affections, which accumulate by being isolated from their loved ones.

There are many stories about the wonderful power possessed by seamen in taming the wild creatures that have been under their care.

I was once a stowaway on a brig which carried as part of her freight, a deck load of mules. It was my duty to wash their faces every morning and assist in feeding them. The first few days they were so vicious that it was impossible to pass in front of some of them. Before we reached port the evil spirits left them and they were as affectionate as children. At first a few slaps on the face were necessary to conquer some of them, but with kindness they were tamed. When the day came to hoist them over the side into the lighter, the sailors had some kind parting word for each mule; especially for the one whose stall was nearest the forecastle door. He had won a place in the hearts of all forward; he had every opportunity to become acquainted, as there was never a meal eaten but he was allowed a portion. From his stall he could put his head inside the forecastle and feed from the men’s pans. Though they were all gently hoisted and given a chance to kick their legs while in mid air, poor “Dick” received the greatest attention. Just before the lighter shoved off, a sailor climbed over the side, and putting his arms around old Dick’s head, gave him a parting kiss.

I have never owned a cat but have been shipmates with several. When I was an ordinary seaman on the Hagarstown, the day we left port, a black cat belonging to the tow boat jumped aboard. She was curious and drifted into the steward’s store room where she became a prisoner. That evening her mewing attracted the steward’s attention, and she was released and allowed to wander around the decks. There was an unhappy look upon her face, and it was several days before she attempted to be friendly. Gradually the steward won her confidence and she lapped her milk quite contently. In about two weeks four little kittens were born, all black like the mother except one, which had a few white spots. When we arrived in port all hands left for their homes and boarding houses. The watchman and I were the only occupants of the ship. There was very little nourishment for the kittens so we gave them away. The mother remained a few days and then disappeared.

I have seen men fondle cats and care for them as tenderly as a mother would her babe. I was once shipmates with a colored cook who had a family of cats. They slept in his bunk, and in cold weather they enjoyed the warmth of his galley fire. One of his pets seemed to care for the companionship of the forecastle, which aroused his jealousy. At last he shut his galley doors against this turtle shell pet of the men. She did not mind this treatment; she shared her affections with all forward; though her relatives fed more sumptuously, she had sixteen bunks at her disposal. Every man’s bed was her property.

I have seen a man-of-war’s man take a little Maltese kitten from the street outside the Boston Navy Yard gate, covered with mange and sores, and nestle it in the folds of his blue shirt while he conveyed it aboard the Wabash. Here it found a home. Poor little puss was fed and doctored, and in a short while she was the pet of the ship. She lived to be the mother of a large family. I recall her looks as she rubbed her fur against my trousers when I lifted the box containing her little ones on to the sill of a gun port, so that they would be clear of the water when we washed decks.

It was the duty of one man to care for the float which was used as a landing at the wharf off which the Wabash was moored. Almost every cat in the Navy Yard was acquainted with him. In this sailor’s makeup there was an abundant supply of love for cats. In his bunk in the small shanty on the float, a whole family of cats could be found at any time. Unmolested, they did as they pleased.

I have a fondness for monkeys and whenever an opportunity was given me to own one I took advantage of it. Of all pets, they afforded me the most pleasure. Once during a calm in the Straits of Sunda the natives of Java visited us. In their canoes there were lots of yams, sweet potatoes and monkeys. Having no money we exchanged our clothing for pets. I gave a flannel shirt for a small macaque. My jinny was very affectionate. In my watch below she cuddled herself in my arms and slept. Sometimes I would have just fallen asleep when she would take hold of my eyelids and try to open them. It was fun to see her catch the water bugs and eat them. The hair on her head formed a beautiful crest, which she enjoyed having combed. During the dog watches we romped and played like children.

One evening I came from the wheel at eight o’clock. Before turning in I looked for my jinny. No where could I find her. At last I heard her scream on the top of the forward house. I hastened up there and between the boats under the mainstay, I found my pet under an empty beef barrel with a booby. The ship’s cook had caught the bird and had put it and jinny under the barrel. The dear little monkey was insane with fright. I could do nothing with her. Her reason was entirely gone, so I secured some lumps of coal and tied them in a bit of old canvas and sank my pet in the deep. I would have liked to treat the cook in the same manner but being too small to grapple with him, I held my peace.

This cowardly poltroon, the ship’s cook, was a brutal fellow. He owned several monkeys and in trying to make them perform tricks he murdered them. His last monkey was rescued from drowning. One day this savage cook was angry with his little jacko because he did not come to him when called. He struck the frightened monkey over the head with a potato masher and cast him overboard. The captain, standing on the poop deck, saw the monkey was still alive and threw the coil of the spanker sheet to him. We were sailing slowly and poor jacko had just strength enough to hold on while the skipper lifted him on board. The medicine chest was opened, his bruises stitched and cared for, and he became the protege of the quarter deck. Often while standing a trick at the wheel I watched the little fellow bask in the sun. The bandages around his head made him resemble some old men I have seen in hospitals.

Another time I was on a vessel loading fustic in Maracaibo, for Boston. Our captain was fond of pets of any kind, so he granted us a few dollars to buy monkeys and parrots. Our ship was a floating menagerie. There were seven monkeys and nine parrots. Among this lot was a large spider monkey. The naturalist has correctly named this horrid creature. He was a black object whose body was about the size of a full grown cat, having long arms and a tail much longer than his body. He was a hideous creature. Unlike the other monkeys, he could not stand captivity. While the others became accustomed to their new surroundings and remained on deck, his only delight was to be in the rigging. Shortly after leaving Maracaibo, skin disease was visible through his harsh, black fur, which made him extremely miserable. Far different were the weeper monkeys. These mischievous fellows afforded us much pleasure.

Forward of the forecastle there was a coop of hens. Before they were killed for the cabin use they were devoid of feathers, for the monkeys delighted to put their paws into the coop and pluck the feathers. When we reached the American coast, our pets, both monkeys and parrots, suffered from the cold weather. They contracted colds in the head and severe coughs, insomuch that we were forced to sell them to the cook for a mere trifle, for he could furnish them with the warmth of his galley.

We were wind bound in Vineyard Sound for several days. About three o’clock one early morning we were called to man the boat and go in search of a doctor as one of the crew was taken ill. By the time we were through with the doctor and had returned to the ship after putting him ashore, it was drawing close to daylight. We were allowed to sleep in till breakfast, so I thought I would have another nap. As I got into my bunk I rolled on a dead monkey and a parrot; each one of us had the same experience. The cook had played a joke on us. When he was called at four o’clock he found every one of his pets dead. Not only the monkeys and parrots, but a cat and her three kittens. They had all been suffocated by the coal gas of the galley stove.

During a cruise on a war vessel we called in at several ports in Madagascar. Before we finally left the island we had a large supply of what the sailors called Madagascar cats. These Lemuroids (half monkey and half cat) took possession of the ship. Their arboreal lives made them discontented with the flat surface of the deck, but once they were allowed to climb the rigging, they seemed satisfied with their new surroundings. The majority of these pets slept during the day, but in the evening, as the sun neared the western horizon they were wide awake and full of animation. The boatswain’s mate in the starboard gangway owned a most peculiar gray Lemur. During the day he remained cuddled up in some corner, his head and face covered with his tail; but as soon as he felt the cool of the evening approaching, he would jump in the rigging and watch for a chance to spring on some man’s head. His soft, prominent eyes had a pleasing expression and he would close them when his fur was stroked, manifesting pleasure in being caressed. He had a large, round head, set close on his shoulders, short fore limbs and long hind ones. His tail was bushy and his slender body was covered with a thick gray coat of fur which was like plush to the touch, and he was fed on bread soaked in condensed milk. As soon as we sailed into Southern latitudes our Madagascar cats succumbed to the cold.

In Bahia one of the ward room officers bought two yellow puppies, which lived forward, and one of the men was paid a small sum to care for them. The carpenter’s mate had two marmosets, and as soon as the yellow dogs came aboard, they pounced upon their backs, showing a fondness for horse back riding. At first the canines disliked this treatment and tried every device to dismount their riders. The only relief they found from the marmosets was to crawl under the bottom step of the forecastle head ladder, and scrape them off their backs. Later on, one of the marmosets was taken sick and died and the other became more affectionate and less distrustful. One morning we were surprised to hear the boatswain’s mates call us to “stand by our hammocks.” We all wondered what this could mean, but in a few moments the word was passed for us to take them below, unlash them and see if the marmoset was in some man’s bed.

The carpenter’s mate had missed his pet; he searched every place for him and at last it occurred to him that “Tippy” must have been lashed in some bed as he usually slept at the head of a hammock. Sure enough. The little marmoset was discovered under the blankets in a hammock, where he had been smothered. Poor little fellow. We all mourned our loss.

The yellow puppies grew to be large dogs. Just as soon as a boat was called away they were at the gangway ready to visit the shore. Without a guide they roamed the streets of strange cities, and when tired of that, like old salts they made for the boat landing and came aboard. They were two wise creatures, for when ashore they knew the men of their ship among a crowd of other sailors, and kept in company with the ones who were under the influence of strong drink, protecting them from being robbed.

One afternoon it was blowing a stiff pampero in Montevideo Bay. The steam launch left the ship to make a safe mooring alongside of a wharf, and as the two dogs wanted to go ashore, they jumped overboard in hope of overtaking her. The short, choppy seas soon exhausted their strength and both were drowned.

On another vessel we had a goat. She was kept tied on the main hatch. Once free, she fed on any clothes that were in her reach and butted any person who came in her way. When she was at liberty it took two or more men to secure her, for she was a vixen whose temper was savage and unappeasable.

It has been my privilege to be shipmate with almost every kind of living creature, animals, insects and birds, and in closing I will say a few words about the much hated rats.

I was on a brig sailing between the West Indies and New York, which had a full complement of rats. Some of them were tame. There was one fat fellow who found his way to my bunk. At first he was timid but he mastered it and was exceedingly friendly, for I could hold a pan for him to eat, but if I attempted to stroke his fur he would skedaddle away. It was amusing to watch them steal molasses from the casks. They sat on the bung hole and allowed their tails to trail within. By licking each other’s tail they secured a plentiful supply.

HOW SAILORS WASH THEIR CLOTHES

How Sailors Wash Their Clothes

WE must have been about ten days out from Barbados on my first trip to sea, when Captain Dunscombe ordered me to bring all my traps on deck for his inspection. I felt ashamed to expose my ignorance, for I had never washed a shirt, made a bed, or sewn on a button; in fact I did not know how to care for my clothing and bedding.

During my short period of sea-sickness I had soiled some of my clothes and had stowed them in my cubby hole, the sail locker. The colored cook used a part of this locker in which to keep his stores, and while rummaging around the mainsail which was stowed there, he discovered my offensive clothing and brought it on deck for the old man to see what a dirty boy he had aboard. True enough, for at this time I had not a clean garment in my outfit. My first lesson in cleanliness was now given.

Captain Dunscombe had one of his sailors fill a deck bucket with fresh water, and, seating himself by my side, he taught me how to wash my clothes. It was a new experience for me. It seems strange to me that my sailor brothers did not tell my mother that it was necessary for me to know how to wash and mend my clothes. No doubt they thought of it, but they knew that in Barbados it was almost impossible for a respectable family to wash their clothes, as it was considered degrading, so the negroes did that work. And again, the method of washing clothes is very different from that of northern countries. The negro washer women carry the clothes to some running stream or river, and after giving them a few rubs on a small board, they rinse them in the ocean by pounding them on a white boulder at ebb tide. Then they are spread on the white, burning sands of the beach to dry. I had no knowledge of wash tubs and scrubbing boards, and had never seen clothes soaped and rubbed between the hands, therefore, the lesson I was then receiving on the Meteor was very much needed.

Before I proceed farther, I will advise every mother whose boy is determined to follow the sea for a living, to take her youngster into her kitchen and there give him his first lesson in a sailor’s calling. Teach him how to wash his clothes; instruct him in the making of his bed; have him sew on his buttons, and put a patch on his trousers or mend a rent in his shirt; then as he enters upon his duties as boy on board his vessel, he will thank you for his instructions. Make sure that he can care for the dishes, the knives and forks; let him be the housemaid, cook, the factotum of the home, for the more proficient he is in such duties, the more efficient deck boy he will be. Instead of a dirty slouch he will be a clean, tidy lad.

As there are no washer women on board a ship, it devolves upon every man to do for himself the personal services which are done for men on land, by the other sex.

After spending fully two hours rubbing and rinsing my clothes, I was then shown how to secure them to the footstops of the mainsail; so that they would not blow overboard. As cabin boy, I not only received my lessons in arranging the dining table for meals, washing and wiping dishes, but was fortunate to have a friend to teach me how to wash and mend. I have seen boys enlist as apprentices, yes, landsmen too, young men fresh from the country, who were utterly unable to grapple with the conditions of their new surroundings. Unprepared for that self-reliance which is suddenly thrust upon them, they go for days and days without washing their clothes, until they are forced to do so by the officer of their division.

I remember a lad of tender age who had enlisted as an apprentice. On several occasions he was reported for being dirty and at last one day his bag was brought on deck. As soon as the mouth was opened, a foul odor emanated from his clothing. The poor little fellow had done his best and had tried to keep clean as well as he knew how, but this had proved a failure. His condition elicited the sympathy of an old “flat foot.” The aged jack tar took the bag of clothes on a float alongside the ship, and there with brush, soap and water, taught the lad how to wash his clothes and helped him get his outfit clean once more.

I was once on board a large American sailing ship where we had a middle aged man among our crew. He was a native of Belgium and could speak no English. The poor man had a sore time of it on deck and hardly any better treatment when below among his mates. One day when we had been about four weeks at sea the sailor who slept in the lower bunk under the “Joskin”, growled about the dirt and rubbish that was constantly falling on him from the Belgian’s bunk. Every time the unfortunate farmer rolled in his sleep, down would fall some dirt on the face of his shipmate, disturbing his rest. It grew worse every day till at last the sailor in the lower bunk inspected the joskin’s donkey’s breakfast. In overhauling it he discovered that the whole bunk was alive with vermin. His dirty clothes had been pushed under the mattress, his bedding and what few clothes he owned were filthy beyond description. The greenhorn had no knowledge of washing clothes. One of the sailors bent on the end of an old piece of rope to the clothes and threw them over the side where for four hours they were hauled on the surface of the Atlantic till they were almost towed into shreds.

On a deep water sailing ship the water supply is a very important factor. As there is no knowing how much rain water may be caught to replenish the supply, every man must be careful and not waste any. I have seen times when it became necessary to put the crew on an allowance of water which was hardly enough for drinking purposes. How then can a sailor wash his face, much less his clothes at a time like this?

On a voyage to Japan I was five weeks without a drop of fresh water on my face. We were on our allowance, and in the heat of the tropics we could have used as much again to quench our thirsts. Each morning I washed my face with salt water till I could brush the salt from my features and see it fall in scales on my jumper. We were steering to the south’ard and longingly looked for the rain deluges of the tropics. When that solid down-pour fell upon us we all turned out from below with dirty clothes and blankets, and made a lather of soap visible everywhere. To keep clean during the days we were on our allowance, I bent on my clothes to the end of my chest lashing, and had the ship haul them along on the crest of the waves. In this way much dirt was removed. The towing of clothes, if the ship is making good headway, reduces the sailor’s wardrobe, for it will not take many hours for a vessel to drag a piece of clothing to ribbons, if she is sailing at a good rate.

When a youngster I took my blankets out over the bow and bending on a line, allowed them to drag close to the stem of the ship. The wavelets from her bow tumbled them over and over as they trailed in front of the old girl’s nose. In an hour when I hauled them aboard they were as clean as when I brought them from the store. This was such an easy method of cleaning blankets that in about two month’s time I thought I would give them another drag over the bow. But alas! I forgot to take them in on going below. Next morning when I remembered them I hurriedly reached the bowsprit and found instead of the white folds of my blankets rolling themselves among the foam at the bow, a dirty woolen mass wrapped around the rusty chain bobstays. I tried to release it but could not, as the vessel was then ducking into the waves of a strong trade wind.

It fell a dead calm one forenoon, so I got overboard to unwrap my blankets from the bobstay. I was not molested even though my shipmates tried to frighten me by shouting “a shark” while I was overboard, but my labor was in vain, for my blankets were now a heap of shreds covered with iron rust. Fortunately the slop chest was supplied with a few blankets made of “dogs wool and oakum,” or I should have shivered in my bunk when we sailed into cold weather. On another occasion I was on a ship where the captain did not allow any towing of clothes over the side, as he claimed it decreased the speed of his vessel. At night he prowled around the decks and if there was a line made fast on deck on which some sailor was towing his clothes, he would set the whole adrift, a serious loss to the owner.

A sailor’s great delight is to overhaul his belongings. His vessel is at anchor in the bay or perhaps moored alongside some wharf. He has been hard at work from daylight till dark every day of the week. Sunday morning has dawned, and as soon as the decks have been cleaned, he has the remaining portion of the Sabbath to himself. Up comes his bag or chest on deck and the contents are aired and dried. Then it is he can sit on the coamings of the hatch, or on a spare spar or bucket, and gathering his dirty duds around him, with soap and plenty of fresh water, he can wash to his heart’s delight. The method on a man-of-war is different. Keeping one’s clothes clean is an important matter on such a vessel. On some war ships there are three days in which the man can wash clothes while in port, while on others only two wash days a week are allowed. The evening before the wash clothes day, just before sunset, the different parts of the ship are ordered by the officer of the deck through the boatswain’s mates to get up their clothes line. These lines are two single ropes reaching the full length of the ship. At certain distances apart there are stirrups about four feet deep holding them together. After the whips are hooked on to the lines, a man stands by at each whip waiting for the quartermaster to report sundown. Then as the colors are being lowered the lines are triced aloft in their places. At such a time there may be other evolutions in progress; the light yards are coming down, the awnings triced up; everything accomplished as though it were the movements of one great machine.

The question of fresh water arises at this time. The paymaster has served us with salt water soap, a mixture of potash and grease which does not give the cleansing lather in salt water that ordinary soap will give in fresh. It is a poor substitute at its best. Fresh water on a war vessel is a scarce luxury. The condenser is at work most of the time for there are many men to use the supply. Therefore a marine is stationed at the scuttle butt to see that no water is taken from it except for drinking. There is a dipper fastened to the butt and each man must drink what he needs in the presence of the sentry. I have seen men resort to every device to secure a bucket of water to wash their clothes. I, myself, have worked the drip bucket scheme. As there is a bucket placed by the scuttle butt to receive the drippings and leavings of the dipper, we have planned to make frequent visits to the scuttle butt, fill the dipper, then take a mouthful and empty the remainder into the save-all pail. In a little while the bucket needs to be emptied. We are ready to do this, and so secure a couple of gallons of water.

Again, when on friendly terms with the firemen on watch, they would allow us to sneak down to the fireroom and draw a bucket full from the condenser. In port when alongside a navy yard dock, it was different. Then our supply was plentiful, but at sea, or at anchor in a foreign harbor, we had to watch our chances to steal a bucketful to wash our clothes.

On a certain war vessel the “first luff” gave a standing order, that every part of the ship was to have a bucket of fresh water to swab off the white paint on the bulwarks. Sometimes this water was used for this purpose, but more frequently it was kept hidden back of a gun carriage till the decks were cleaned. Then we would divide the water between us. We had fully fourteen men in our part of the ship which was a large number to bathe in this one pail. Still it was better than salt water. I have washed in less than half a gallon of water which several men had already used. Although only muddy soapsuds, thick enough to be cut with a knife, it removed the dirt from my face and I could then give myself the final polish by dousing my face with clean salt water.

If in port and the awnings were housed so as to shelter the crew from the falling rain, every wash deck bucket was put into use. When the awnings are housed only a few stops are in use and the remaining ones make excellent places to fasten an empty bucket. The weight of it forms a ridge on the awning. In this way we could secure water at times for washing purposes.

We had a sailing launch which was seldom used. Only when all boats armed and equipped for distance service, were called away, or to abandon ship, did her keel touch the sea. This Noah’s Ark was a secluded place for the maintop men. Resting in her crutches in their part of the ship, they could hide a bucket of water from the eyes of the “first luff,” or the officer of the deck.

It is the duty of the coxswain of each boat to see that his boat’s water breaker is filled, especially when at sea. On this same ship the coxswain of the first cutter was lowered on the conduct class as a punishment for not having his boat’s breaker filled. It was not his fault. Before the ship had left the harbor he had filled his breaker, but some thoughtless fellow had lifted the corner of the boat’s cover and getting into the boat, had stolen the water. It was useless for the coxswain to make this statement for he had no proof, and even if he had, he would have settled it on the forecastle head and not at the mast. It was well for the thief he was not caught. He would have been court-martialed and well he deserved it. If we had met with an accident and had to abandon our vessel, some twenty or more men would have been at sea in an open boat without water.

When in port we were called at five o’clock each morning. One half hour was allowed for coffee; then if it was a morning to wash clothes the officer of the deck would order the boatswain’s mates to pipe, “scrub and wash clothes.” In both the starboard and port gangways, on top and under the forecastle head the crew would do their washing. Sometimes a blue flannel shirt which did not need much cleansing, or a white duck suit too stiff to rub between the hands, were placed on deck, and the dirt removed by rubbing the scrub brush over them, after first applying a liberal coating of soapsuds.

It may be dark at such an hour according to the latitude we were in, or the season of year, but whatever the conditions are, the man who is scrubbing his clothes must see to it that he wets the deck before he begins to scrub, otherwise the soapsuds will sink into the dry deck, and unless it is a morning when holy stones are in order it will require much strength on a hickory broom to remove them. He also sees to it in scrubbing, that his soapsuds do not spatter the gun carriages, for if they do and he neglects to wash them off, he will receive a scolding and a growl from the chief of growlers, the quarter gunner.

If we had many pieces of clothing to scrub we would hurry and get through, for in thirty minutes’ time the boatswain’s mates would be ordered to lower the lines and in another ten minutes they were triced aloft. If we were not through on time and missed the lines, we would have to care for our wet clothing, keeping it out of sight. Often I have been late in reaching the clothes line and have sneaked into the sailing launch and there spread my things on the thwarts to dry.

Experience soon taught the green horns where not to hang their clothes on the lines. Stretched from stem to stern, that portion near the mainstay or close to the eyes of the lower main rigging, or any place in close proximity to the smoke stack was undesirable. For if the wind does not blow your washed garments against these sooted stays and shrouds, in some way they will come in contact with the smoke stack, when they are piped down in the afternoon. On a morning when hammocks were scrubbed those who were through first selected the best place on the lines near the mizzenmast or forward of the fore mast. It was necessary to have our hammocks spotless; otherwise at evening quarters the division officer would reject them and order us to scrub them over again the next wash day. I have seen men who were slow in heeding the call to “stand by their scrubbed hammocks,” compelled to scrub their hammocks two, three and four times over before they were passed as clean. It was their own fault as, instead of being on deck standing under their hammocks to receive them and to keep them from striking against the smoke stack guys, or being trampled on the deck by others who were removing theirs, they were enjoying an afternoon nap in some secluded corner of the ship.

The method of washing clothes at sea varies little from that in port. There is a sea clothes line about six lengths of rope, stirrupped together about four feet apart. These lines are secured between the main and mizzen rigging. We were allowed to scrub our clothes every morning except Sunday. At this rate it was only three wash days a week, as those would be the mornings we were on deck. The crew was divided into two watches and this gave a different watch on deck each morning.

Among the many ways of earning a few dollars on a man-of-war, the scrubbing of clothes and hammocks is one of the most lucrative. There are several first class petty officers who pay others to do their scrubbing. A thrifty apprentice or landsman can earn his spending money doing this work. We had an ordinary seaman who made almost as much money scrubbing clothes and hammocks for the first class petty officers, as he earned as a salary from the government. He charged seventy-five cents a hammock, and some mornings he would be on the forecastle head long before all hands were called, working with soapsuds to his waist, scrubbing with all his might. Had he saved his money I should say it was a profitable task, but it was only a labor for “Dirty Dick’s” saloon and the dance halls on Calle St. Theresa in Montevideo.

THE LEAD LINE

The Lead Line

SINCE the coming of the mariners’ compass many centuries ago, navigation has made steady headway. It is now an exact science, and vessels properly equipped with needed instruments and with men able to use them, can, no matter what the winds or seas, or how extended the voyage, be brought safely to their destination.

The instruments used in navigation are, the compass, by which ship’s courses are steered; the sextant by which observations of the sun, moon and stars are taken, and through which the latitude is ascertained; the chronometer by which the longitude is determined; the log, which measures the ship’s speed; the chart on which the ship’s position is daily traced; the barometer which gives the weight of the atmosphere and warning of coming storms; the hydrometer which shows the saltness of the sea; the thermometer which tells the temperature of the ocean; and the sounding lead which gives the depth of water and the nature of the bottom over which the ship is sailing.

The compass, the first in importance to the navigator, was known to the Chinese centuries before the Christian era, and was brought to Europe by the renowned Asiatic traveler, Marco Polo, in the latter part of the thirteenth century. And though improved in many ways the property of polarity in the lodestone, still remains the leading essential.

Careful steering, and good charts are next to the compass. But while sights and observations, the study of the barometer, thermometer and hydrometer should all be faithfully attended to, the lead line will hold its place as one of the important guides to navigation until something is invented whereby the master mariner can penetrate the fog and clouds that obscure the sun and other celestial objects.

The neglect of taking proper soundings has caused the loss of more ships and lives than can be enumerated.

In days long past the anxious navigator has found relief by resorting to the use of the lead line. The story of St. Paul’s shipwreck tells how the sailors on his vessel deemed that they drew near to land and that they resorted to the use of the lead and line. “When they had gone a little farther, they sounded again and found fifteen fathoms.”

There are seamen who have followed the sea for years and have had no experience with the lead line or any sounding apparatus. They have been on long voyages where it was not necessary to take soundings. I have sailed from land to land more than six months to reach our port of discharge, and during that time the lead has not been cast. Again, during a trip on a three-masted schooner from La Guayra to Maracaibo, we were using the lead as much as the compass in our navigation, even on this short passage.

Although a sailor may have no experience with the lead still he has a knowledge of its use in soundings. Long before I had ever taken a cast I knew how it should be done. My first experience of the deep-sea lead was on the Bermudan brig Excelsior. We were drawing near to the American coast bound in to New York, when we were enveloped in thick fog. Our captain was a competent navigator, and to make sure of his whereabouts after sailing without the sun or stars for three days, it became necessary for him to seek information from the bottom of the sea. Although there was no danger in getting a cast of the lead, as there was very little wind, still on some occasions I have seen all hands called and sail shortened, involving much labor at the peril of life.

I was once on a large American ship where for a whole night we were standing off the Delaware Capes in an easterly gale, and were forced to use deep-sea lead. At considerable peril and much loss of rest for the crew, the ship was rounded to the wind in the face of a dangerous sea, so as to check her speed. Twice during that night we had to haul up the mainsail and lay the mainyard back. At such a time every man is expected to know his duty. Should the night be as dark as pitch, an able seaman must take the lead, weighing twenty-eight pounds, on the forecastle head. He must see that the small cavity in the lower end is “armed”—filled—with tallow. This reveals the nature of the bottom when the lead is hauled aboard. It may be gravel, sand, mud, but whatever it is, it will aid the master in his navigation, as the nature of the bottom of the coast is marked on the chart.

In the meantime others had manned the rail, and starting from the quarter they pass the line along on the outside of the ship, till the end reaches the man on the forecastle head. Here he bends on the end of the line to the lead by reeving the eye splice on the end of the line, through the grummet on the top of the lead, allowing the lead to drop through the eye splice.

All being ready, the man on the forecastle head throws the lead overboard, well to windward, shouting as he does so, “Heave.” The man nearest to him feels the tug on the line, and he then throws what he has in his hand to windward making sure the bight of the line is clear of all eyebolts, and shouts, “Watch, there, watch.” Then the next man as he feels the strain lets go of what he is holding and shouts the signal, “Watch, there, watch,” and so on until the line reaches the leadsman aft. Then if the lead has not struck the bottom he pays out the line and tries to get a sounding. Usually there is an officer aft at the line. He feels that the strain is released and taps the lead two or three times to make sure of his soundings, and then notes the depth by the marks on the line.

The deep-sea lead is about one hundred and twenty fathoms, the first twenty fathoms of it being sometimes marked like the hand lead of which I shall write later. Beginning at twenty fathoms, there is a small piece of cod line with two knots on it, thirty fathoms, the same with three knots, forty fathoms with four knots, and so on up to one hundred fathoms. Half-way between each there is a strip of leather. The length of the lead itself is not counted in this measurement, so the ship gets the benefit of the depth plus the length of the lead. Usually a small snatchblock is on the mizzen backstay for the purpose of hauling the lead aboard. At night the officer of the watch carries the lead to the binnacle light and then reports to the captain the depth of the cast and the nature of the bottom on the tallow.

I once saved a collection from the bottom of the River Rio de la Plata. It was a curious assortment of bits of shell and teeth of small fish. I have heard old sailors tell of finding rare coins, finger rings and pieces of human bones fastened on the tallow of the deep-sea lead.

It is a doleful sound to hear each man along the rail shouting, “Watch, there, watch!” I once saw the second mate of ship leave the poop, and, running down to the main deck, hustle a fellow along who was slow in getting aft to haul in the lead line. After the lead was aboard he received this warning: “When I say come I want you to run, and when I say run I want you to fly, and when you fly, flap your wings or I’ll make you.” This had a good effect, for before the end of the voyage he lost his easy gait and could “hop light and come a running” as well as any on board.

The hand lead line is between twenty-five and thirty fathoms long, according to the height of vessel from the water, but only the first twenty fathoms are used in sounding. I have seen the planks on the deck of an English square rigger marked for the purpose of measuring a new lead line, but on vessels in which I have sailed this was done with a three-foot rule and a bit of chalk. A good-sized eye is spliced in one end, and after wetting the line it is stretched, measured and then marked. The hand lead line consists of nine marks and eleven deeps. Beginning at two fathoms, a piece of leather with two ends is tucked into the strand of the line, at three fathoms there are three ends of leather; at five fathoms a piece of white calico, at seven a piece of red bunting, at ten a strip of leather with a hole in it, at thirteen a piece of blue cloth, at fifteen a piece of white calico, at seventeen a piece of red bunting, and at twenty fathoms a bit of cord with two knots.

On some lead lines instead of white calico or blue cloth, bunting of the same color is used, but for accurate soundings on a dark night, the leadsman can put the mark in his mouth and with his tongue tell whether it is cloth, calico or bunting, or he may by feeling the marks tell the difference if his fingers are not too cold. The fathoms which are not marked are termed “deeps.” They are 1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 11, 12, 14, 16, 18, 19.

If a sailing ship is in thick fog close to land the officer of the watch may call a man aft and have him take a cast of the hand lead, or he may do it himself, but on some ocean steamers and yachts the lead is in constant use on entering and leaving harbor.

On a war vessel as soon as the ship draws near to the channel the leadsman is at his post. He fastens a large canvas apron to the shrouds of the rigging so that it will hold him as he stretches his body well over on the outside of his ship. The apron reaching to his feet, protects him from the water falling from the line. Making fast one end of the line to a shroud he takes hold of the other end about nine feet from the lead, and then swings the lead backward and forward till there is motion enough for him to swing it over his head two or three times. He must then let it go at the right time, so that it will drop close alongside under the bow. By the time the vessel has reached the place where the lead sunk it has had time to reach the bottom. As the line comes up and down under the leadsman he taps the bottom smartly and shouts the depth of water to the officer on the bridge. If he sees the piece of red bunting on the surface of the water he calls out, “By the mark seven.” If it should be some distance from the water, he uses his judgment and calls “A quarter less seven,” or “And a half six,” “And a quarter six.” Perhaps he feels safe in believing the mark seven is a good fathom from the water and calls “By the deep six,” and so on through the nine marks and eleven deeps, he calls the soundings he receives. Generally the hand lead weighs seven pounds, but when the vessel is going at a good rate of speed a fourteen pound lead is necessary. It requires much practice to become a good leadsman. The starboard leadsman throws the lead with his right hand and the port with his left.

On a certain war vessel we had a seaman who was accustomed to throw the lead from the starboard chains. He was changed to the foretop and his first cast of the lead from the port chains caused a man to go on the sick list for several days. Instead of the lead dropping on the outside of the ship it landed on the starboard side of the forecastle head, falling on the feet of a fireman. It was well the force of the lead was broken by first striking the fish davit or it would have broken the man’s head.

Whenever the apprentices were instructed in casting the lead we took good care to keep out of the way, as there was no telling where the lead would drop, for it might go all over the forecastle head instead of the sea. A good leadsman is a valuable man. A part of the examination a merchant sailor receives when he joins the navy is a cast of the lead.

I recall the first time I saw Lord Kelvin’s (Sir William Thomson,) sounding machine used. I was then on a war vessel. The boatswain’s mate sent me aft to assist the quartermaster in taking a cast of the lead.

This machine consists of about three hundred fathoms of galvanized wire to which is attached a glass tube about fifteen inches long by three quarters of an inch in diameter. This tube contains a secret chemical compound on the principal of the thermometer. To the tube is fastened a rod of small iron called the sinker, which, when sounding takes the tube to the bottom where the density of the water acting on the chemical therein shows when carefully read on the indicator, also attached to the tube, the exact depth of the water.

With the ship going at full speed ahead, the quartermaster, aided by two men to attend the brakes and wind in the wire, it ascertained correctly the depth of one hundred fathoms in less than ten minutes.

The seamen to-day feel kindly disposed to this sounding machine which has removed the hardship of the deep-sea lead, and navigators the world over feel greatly indebted to Lord Kelvin, not only for his sounding machine, but because in many ways he has done more than any other man to advance the science of navigation.

RHYMES FORETELLING WEATHER

Rhymes Foretelling Weather

THERE is considerable truth in the rhymes used by seamen in detecting signs of a coming storm. Although it matters little to a modern steamer what the weather is, as long as it keeps clear, still if such an up-to-date craft is in the hurricane regions during the season, it will give the master much anxiety.

Tropical cyclones generally originate in about latitude 10° north or south of the equator. The sign of an approaching hurricane is the ugly threatening appearance which comes ahead of most severe gales, and increases in severity at every gust. Sometimes a long heavy swell and confused sea will precede the hurricane, rolling from the direction in which the hurricane is approaching. The halo around the sun, the moist and heavy air with squalls of misty rain, the light feathery whitish glare of the sky all give evidence that bad weather is at hand. In northern latitudes a mackerel sky moving rapidly from the westward indicates an approaching westerly gale. The mare’s tail is another sign of a coming storm. Oily looking clouds tell of wind, while soft ones speak of fine weather. High upper clouds crossing the sun and moon in a direction opposite to that from which the wind is blowing indicate a change of wind coming from that direction. When the first glimmer of dawn appears over a bank of clouds instead of the horizon, it foretells wind. When the first streaks of light appear on the horizon expect fine weather. A rapid rise of the barometer indicates unsettled weather. A slow, steady rise foretells fair weather. A rapid fall a heavy gale with rain.

“A red sky in the morning,
Sailors take warning,
A red sky at night,
The sailors delight.”

The same rhyme answers for the rainbow as it does for the sky.

In squally weather this old doggerel has its truth.

“When the rain’s before the wind
Topsail halliards you must mind,
When the wind’s before the rain,
Soon you may make sail again.”

“At sea with low and falling glass,

Soundly sleeps the careless ass.

Only when it’s high and rising,

Safely rests the careful wise one.”

“Evening red and morning grey,

Are excellent signs of a very fine day.”

“Mackerel sky and mare’s tails

Make lofty ships carry low sails.”

The doggerel for the barometer is:

“Quick rise after low

Foretells stronger blow.

Long foretold, long last,

Short notice soon past.”

The flight of the sea gull is also an indication of the weather.

“The wind will blow hard when the gull comes ashore.”

“Sea gull, sea gull, sit on the sand,

It’s never good weather when you’re on the land.”

RULES OF THE ROAD AT SEA

Rules of the Road at Sea

THE rules governing the direction which ships may take at sea are very clearly defined by the international laws of all maritime countries, and when violated by masters of either steam or sailing vessels, are very drastically punished. If a collision occurs by disregarding the rule of the road at sea, the ship so doing is held responsible for all damage, and in case, as it sometimes happens, lives are sacrificed, the master of the ship at fault is tried before the court of the country in whose jurisdiction the casualty happens for manslaughter, and punished as a common criminal. For these reasons, “Rules of the Road” as they are termed, are strictly followed by most navigators.

When a ship is at sea, the officer in charge of the deck is usually expected to keep a bright lookout. A following ship must always keep clear of a ship ahead. If the weather is foggy the steam whistle is periodically blown. But foggy or clear, good weather or bad, at sundown all lights are in their places and the lookout man takes his stand in the crows nest. The lights of a steamer at sea, electricity being now much used, are a white light on the foremast head, a green light on the starboard bow or bridge, and a red light on the port, all of which have clearly defined significations, and to the initiated speak a plain language, which is thus poetically put by some ancient nautical genius.

At sea, two steamships meeting:—

“When all three lights I see ahead,

I port my helm and show my red.”

Two steamships passing:—

“Green to green or red to red.

Perfect safety, go ahead.”

Two steamships crossing:—

“If to my starboard, red appear,
It is my duty to keep clear
To act as judgment says is proper;
To port, or starboard, back or stop her.

But when upon my port is seen
A steamer’s starboard light of green,
There’s naught for me to do but see,
That green to port, keeps clear of me.

Both in safety and in doubt,
I always keep a bright lookout;
In danger, with no room to turn,
I ease her, stop her, go a-stern.”

For sailing vessels, the rule of the road is:—

“On starboard tack, with yards braced tight,
See that your red and green are bright,
For every ship that’s in your way,
Must clear your track both night and day.

But if on the port tack you steer,
Stand by! for you must then keep clear
Of every close hauled ship ahead,
No matter whether green or red.”

SIGNALLING AT SEA

Signalling at Sea

A SHIP desiring to hold a conversation with another ship while on the deep must first display the flag of the nation to which she belongs.

The other ship immediately hoists the flag of her country. The first ship then begins the conversation which can be carried on indefinitely.

Eighteen flags of various shapes and colors constitute the international “Code of Signals.” It is a most interesting mathematical fact that, with this small number of flags, and never more than four displayed at any one time, any amount of conversation can be kept up; and no fewer than 78642 questions can be asked and answered. When the new “Code of Signals,” consisting of the whole alphabet is put into general use, the number of questions will be more than doubled.

In signalling at night the conversation is much more limited, and is carried on by means of various colored lights, by guns and rockets.

The national ensign upside down, or in its absence any flag or token unusually displayed from mast or yard signifies distress and need of assistance, and at night a rocket has the same meaning. Any vessel seeing such signals at a day or night must, if able, go immediately to give relief, and is expected to do all in its power to render assistance in food or the saving of life. The towing of a distressed ship to port or safe anchorage is optional and cannot be insisted on.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

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Table of Contents

- A BUNCH OF ROPE YARNS
- Contents
- To Mary Bennett Holden
- Preface
- HOW I WAS EDUCATED
- MISSION WORK AMONG SEAMEN
- THE FORECASTLE
- SUPERSTITIONS OF SEAMEN
- THE LUCKY BAG
- THE SAILOR AND HIS DUDHEEN
- PETS ABOARD SHIP
- HOW SAILORS WASH THEIR CLOTHES
- THE LEAD LINE
- RHYMES FORETELLING WEATHER
- RULES OF THE ROAD AT SEA
- SIGNALLING AT SEA
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE