On many seas; the life and exploits of a Yankee sailor

Preface

Whatever value this book may have is due to the fact that it is the plain story of a plain man, told in his own words. I had often listened to his stories with pleasure, and at last persuaded him to write them down, and it is but just to him to say that my task as editor has been confined to cutting out some yarns which, however suitable to the leisure of the forecastle, would have taken up too much space in print.

W. S. B.

Index To Chapters

CHAP. PAGE

I. Chased out of Maine i

II. My First Voyage 15

III. Two Glasses of Wine 30

IV. I SHIP ON THE Tanjore 36

V. Neptune meets his Match 47

VI. In Chinese Waters . . . . . -54

VII. " Country- Wauling " 63

VIII. Mike Cregan's Yarn . . . . . -70

IX. The Crash of Icebergs 81

X. I BECOME A "Lime-Juicer" 91

XI. Wrecked on Land's End 99

XII. Almena's Boarding-House no

XIII. Sentenced for Mutiny 120

XIV. Death and Resurrection 130

XV. A Soft-hearted Mate 138

XVI. French Seamanship 146

XVII. Black Maria 158

XVIII. Presidency Gaol 171

XIX. Scurvy 176

XX. The Stormy Cape 187

XXI. Viva Chile! 195

XXII. In the " Dago " Navy . . . . . . 203

XXIII. Caught Smuggling 210

XXIV. Bucked and Gagged 220

XXV. Wholesale Jail Delivery 232

INDEX TO CHAPTERS

CHAP. PAGE

XXVI. Ship on a Whaler 238

XXVII. Gamming 245

XXVIII. Ah! Blow! Blow! 251

XXIX. CUTTING-IN 261

XXX. Hunting Fresh Meat . ' . . . .. . 267

XXXI. Billy and I mutiny . . . . . . 274

XXXII. NicoLO 285

XXXIII. Colon 294

XXXIV. Sawin' 'em off 298

XXXV. A Calcutta Funeral 307

XXXVI. Bucko Officers 315

XXXVII. Drouth in Havre . . . . . . 327

XXXVIII. Suicide at Sea . . . . . . .333

XXXIX. Become Second Mate 339

XL. Yankee Schooners 346

XLI. Dago Charley 354

XLII. Straits of Sunda 366

XLIII. A Javanese Pilot 377

XLIV. Scenes of my Youth 387

XLV. Square Accounts with Lynch . . . -395

XLVI. Captain at last 409

Chapter I

After making Myself a Persona non Grata to Everybody ON Land, I go to Sea. — First Lessons in Maritime Etiquette.

Until I was eight years old, I was cared for by a paternal uncle who gave me a home at his farm in the interior of Maine. Then my father married again and introduced me to a stepmother, under whose influence I soon became an accomplished liar, and was well "whaled" for it by my truth-loving father whenever he found it out.

It was in 1859 that my father, finding that he could not make the farm pay, determined to go to New York and work at his trade. Having by this time made myself 2i persona non grata to my stepmother, it was decided that I should accompany my father, so I bade her a tearless adieu and never saw her again.

We landed from the old Fall River steamer Metropolis, and before I had been in the city an hour I was hopelessly lost.

It came about in this way. I of course wanted to go out, and he told me I might, but not to go far, and to remember the number of the shop, — 92. He forgot to tell me the name of the street, and not knowing that there was more than one 92 in New York, I started off without taking any notice of my surroundings ; for did not I know the number of the shop ? and could not I inquire at any time when I was ready to return? I finally strayed into the Bowery, and was delighted with its bustle and gaiety. After a while, thinking I had better return to my father, I asked a boy to show me number 92. He pointed across the street, and there sure enough was the number, but it didn't look familiar ; however, I went over and investigated. It was a tenement house, and I was looking for a shop.

Instantly I knew I was lost ; for if there were two 92's in New York, there might be hundreds. Then I started on a weary walk looking for "92's." I did not speak to a single soul again that day, neither did I sit down. Every time I saw a pohceman I ran for my life. Once I came in sight of City Hall Park ; and then I was scared. I thought I had come to the end of the city, and if once I got out in the country I would never find my way back again, so I turned and fled back the way I came.

I never expected to see my father again, and as I walked along I fancied myself growing to be an old man, and no one belonging to me would ever know what had become of me, so vast did the city seem to me. And so I travelled on and on all that long day ; and when it grew dark I crept in behind a grocery store coal-box, and lay down on the flagstones, tired, hungry, cold, homesick, heart-sick, and scared almost to death. I would even have been glad then to see my stepmother.

After a while a man came along, wearing big boots and carrying a lantern. He caught sight of me, and told me to get up. I was so stiff and lame that I couldn't get up alone, so he helped me, and while he was asking me about myself, along came a policeman who took charge of me. How surprised I was to find the officer pleasant and kind ! I had supposed that the police were a kind of ogre. He took me to the station house and asked the sergeant if a lost boy had been called for that day. The sergeant said no, although I found out afterwards that my father had telegraphed twice to every station in the city. But when they told me that they could find my father, I thought that if they were not ogres they were certainly at least magicians.

That night there was a riot in the precinct, and I sat in the station and saw the officers bring in prisoners with their heads cut, eyes and noses bunged up, clothes torn and smeared with dirt ; and although I had never before seen a man suffering from the effects of a blow of any kind, yet I had become so surfeited with wonders and miracles that day that I thought nothing of it, but supposed it was the regular nightly custom of the big city.

I slept in the station-house dormitory, in one of the officers' bunks, and every time the watch was relieved some big policeman would discover me, give me a shake, and roughly make me account for myself; all of which gave me a somewhat broken night's rest. In the morning the officer who had brought me in the night before took me home with him to breakfast, and afterwards, with the assistance of what little information I was able to give him, he found my father and turned me over to him,

I now entered upon a humdrum existence, attending the public schools and living in boarding-houses with my father. Shortly after this my stepmother died, and two years later my father married again — a very estimable lady whom he had known for years. During their courtship she frequently took me from school for an outing, and I was her devoted admirer until I found that she was to be my new mother, when I immediately assumed a defensive attitude, urged thereto, no doubt, by some sort of unaccountable instinct, probably the result of my late experience.

At the age of fourteen I ran away, taking with me incidentally four five-dollar notes which my father had been carefully hoarding to buy himself an overcoat. Having thus provided myself with the sinews of w^ar after the traditional manner of the world's conquerors, I left a note on the table saying that I was bound West to fight Indians, and took the night express for Boston, en route to my old home in Maine, with the intention of becoming a farmer.

My uncle had no need of my services, so he turned me over to his son-in-law, under contract for one year. I was to receive board and schoohng, and at the end of the year my wardrobe to be as complete and in as good order as at the beginning.

I found that the poetry of farming was a myth, as I tramped wearily through the wet and mud alongside the oxen, to plough slowly and laboriously round and round the field until it seemed as if the job would never be done. But if I was getting disgusted with farming I made no complaints, but kept a stiff upper lip ; for I would not humble myself by owning that I had made a mistake. So to equahze matters a little I tried to divert myself in the evenings, or rather ' nights ; and being from the city I assumed a kind of leadership among the neighbouring farmers' boys, who seemed to me rather " slow." I soon initiated them into other ways, so that we managed to enjoy ourselves fairly well.

My reputation for good conduct, however, suffered to such an extent that, when my year's service with my cousin expired, he declined to renew the contract, and as none of the other farmers in the neighbourhood seemed eager to secure my services, my uncle was obliged to pack me off to his wife's brother, who lived ten miles away.

I did not stay long with Uncle Clark, and the reason was Tom Meserve. Tom was the elder brother of one of my cronies, Frank. And years before I knew anything of them, Tom, becoming tired of the farm had packed his belongings in a handkerchief and taken his departure in the dark of the moon, as runaways have done time out of mind. He did not come back for years, but what wonderful tales he had to tell when he did come ! And although ray uncle told me that he was a " poor miserable good-for-nothin' drunken sailor," yet to us boys, listening to Frank's oft-repeated tales of his brother's adventures, he was a maritime hero ; and we longed to follow his example.

Being rather homesick and discontented at Uncle Clark's, I used to start off every Saturday night after supper and walk the ten miles back to my old home, spend Sunday with the boys, and return Sunday evening. I usually made Frank Meserve's home my headquarters, as he was my particular chum. After a while I found that Frank was becoming discontented, and, on my expressing myself as being pretty well tired of farming too, he asked why should we not start for New Bedford and go whaling the same as his brother had done. Although I didn't particularly care to go to sea, still I craved a change from farming, and, besides, I disliked to say no to anything that promised to require a little nerve, so Frank and I made a compact. He was to see the other members of our "Club" and get as many of them to come along as he could. They were to leave home as soon as the folks were all abed, and walk to where I lived. I was to sleep in the barn ; they would call me, 'and we would tramp to New Bedford and go whaling. The following Friday night was agreed upon. I rummaged in the attic and found an old knapsack which had belonged to Uncle Jake, who was killed in the Civil War. In this I packed what I considered the most necessary articles for an outfit. I did not then know the old sea song which I have since heard in many an old " blubber hunter's " forecastle, the refrain of which says :

" And he'll send you up to the Arctic With two suits of Dungaree."

Still, I dare say that if I had, it would not have made any difference, for I must needs take what I could lay hands on. None of us had a cent, and we expected to walk every step of the way to New Bedford ; consequently lightness was desirable in our luggage. I managed to smuggle the knapsack out of the barn and hide it away without being caught, and that night I slept on the hay. When I woke it was broad daylight, and I could hear Uncle Clark feeding the cattle. Something had gone wrong, and the boys hadn't arrived. I watched my chance, left the barn without being seen, and went into the house and told my aunt that I had spent the night with one of my cronies, so no suspicions were excited.

That evening being Saturday, away I went to see Frank and find out what was the matter ; somehow his father had suspected him, and watched and caught him, and, as he was to be the first one to start and pick up the others on his route, of course the whole scheme fell through.

The next day after church Frank and I were sitting in the wagon in front of the house, talking over our blighted prospects, when old man Meserve came up to the wagon, and, looking at me very severely, said, " You've had your dinner, ain't ye, Fred? "

"Yes, sir," said I.

"Well, then, I wish you'd go home. I don't want ye round here coaxing Frank off."

He said further that I had "spiled" every boy in the place.

While we were talking, who should drive into the yard but Uncle Clark.

" Is Fred here? " he asked Mr. Meserve.

" Yes, he's here, and the sooner you take him away the more I shall be 'bliged to ye."

With that, Uncle Clark drove up to the wagon where we sat, and said to me, " Mr. Fred, I will send your clothes to your Uncle James, and you can go there or anywhere you Hke, so long as you don't come back to my house. 1 will call on your Uncle James on my way back, and let him know what I think of you."

Here, now, was a pretty mess ! Uncle James had done all he could to get me a place, and this was the only one he could find for me, and I was turned adrift before two months had passed. There was no use in crying over spilt milk, so I went down to Uncle James. He asked me what I was going to do, and I told him I was off to New Bedford to go to sea. " How would I get there ? " "Walk." He laughed at the idea, and finally made me a proposition.

He had a piece of land overgrown with bushes, and offered me ten dollars to cut and pile the bushes, and he would board me for fifty cents a day while I was doing it. Of course 1 agreed, for I saw that it gave me a chance to have a little money at starting. So I turned to and worked like a tiger, and when finished I had three dollars and a half coming to me.

Then my good uncle had a long talk with me. First he asked me if I still intended to go to sea, and I told himi I did, as I savv no other thing to do. But he advised me to return to my father in New York and be guided by him, and he would see that I had money for my fare. This I finally agreed to do, and two days later I found myself in New York, chased out of the State of Maine, ashamed to meet my father, but determined unalterably to go to sea.

On leaving Maine, my good old uncle, who had stuck to me through thick and thin, through evil and — I had nearly forgotten myself so as to say through o-^(7c/ — report, furnished me with money enough to take me to New York. And if I except a liberal quantum of good advice, that was about all ; for no man who had passed upwards of fifty years on a New

England farm would be very apt to give a boy money to play ducks and drakes with.

As I lost my cap overboard from the Fall River boat, the first thing I did when I got to New York again was to buy a second-hand one from an old Jewish street dealer, for ten cents, and with seven cents left in my pocket I set out in search of my father. I knew where his shop was in West Street, below Rector. It was on the top floor, and there was a pair of doors in the front, surmounted by a projecting beam to hook on tackle, for hoisting and lowering merchandise. These doors were open and protected by a crossbar. I took my station on the string piece of the wharf directly in front of the shop and watched those double doors and the street door at the foot of the stairs all day. Several times father came to the double doors, and leaning on the crossbar stood looking out. The first time he did that, he appeared so suddenly and seemed to be looking so straight at me, that being not more than three or four hundred feet away, in an air line, I was sure he had recognized me, and guiltily shook in my shoes, expecting every minute he would beckon me to come over ; and then when he went back to the office and stayed for hours, I tormented myself with the thought that he did not intend to receive me at all. So there I sat or stood around all day long, with hunger gnawing at my midriff, for not a mouthful had I eaten since the day before, in Boston ; and I dared not lose sight of the shop, for fear my father might go away and I not know it.

I had not courage enough to go up and face him, and I suppose I hardly knew what I was waiting for, unless to put off to the very last this terrible ordeal of meeting him, as, in addition to the fact that I had robbed him when I left, I had also treated with silent contempt several letters which he had written to me during my farming career. No wonder that I dreaded to meet him.

Since all things must come to an end some time, even this longest of all long weary days finally waned ; working hours were over, and I saw my father come out at the street door and set out rapidly for home.

Now my father was always a very rapid walker ; when with him I always had to go at a jog trot. I dashed after him, grabbed him by the sleeve, and said in a faint voice, " Father." He looked round, and, as he has since told me, saw to his surprise that he had been accosted by one of the young German emigrants who used to be so numerous in that part of the city. "Did you speak to me?" said he. His face still wore the scowl of the busy man, and in his eyes there was not the least sign of recognition. I almost gave up, but with an expiring effort, accompanied by a sickly grin, I said feebly, "Don't you know me, father?"

Instantly a genial smile broke over my dad's naturally handsome features, and before he had time to speak, I knew I was saved. The horrible day through which I had just passed was already a half-forgotten nightmare ; and when he stuck out his hand, and said in his hearty way, " Why, Fred! how are you?" the last vestige of my troubles disappeared.

As we travelled along, father naturally asked me as to the why and wherefore of my return, and I frankly told him the whole story. I noticed him looking askance at my make-up, and when we arrived at the ferry, putting his hand in his pocket he turned to me and asked, " Got any money?"

" Seven cents, sir," said I.

He laughed, and remarked that I couldn't have travelled much farther, anyway. He now told me that he and his wife had broken up housekeeping and were boarding with her sister, which was ample notice to me that they were living in better style than I had ever known. A nice outlook, truly, for me with my fantastic rig ! We reached the lO ON MANY SEAS

house, and father took me directly up to their room, where my stepmother was putting the finishing- touches to her' toilet, preparatory to going down to tea. She was so glad to see me that she could hardly maintain her proper dignity ; her eyes dilated and the blood swept to the very roots of her hair as she exclaimed, with ill- suppressed maternal love and pride, " Well, what in the world have you come back for?"

I told my father of my intention to go to sea. He tried to dissuade me, as he had been familiar all his life with ships, and knew what a very undesirable calling it was. He urged me rather to get a position in an office which he thought he could obtain for me through his trade connections, and grow to be a business man ; but that would necessitate my living at home, and when I remembered the effusive welcome with which I had been received by the senior member of the firm, I persistently dechned : not caring to become a spoiled child, but preferring rather to carve out my own fortune, good or ill.

I wished to go on a voyage to India, or China, or some other strange land where I could see wonderful things.

There was but one China trader in port, the ship Windward, owned and sailed by Captain William Barstow of Thomaston, Maine. Father was acquainted with the captain, having had business relations with him, so we boarded the good ship where she lay at pier 45, North River. She was the regulation down-east built ship of that day, of sixteen hundred tons register, and as I looked over her decks with the expectation of becoming a member of her crew I thought she was splendid ! grand ! magnificent ! But when we came to talk with Captain Barstow, my hopes were dashed. And with what veneration and awe I regarded him ! He was not only captain, but owner also of that splendid great ship. Could human ambition ever aspire to more than that?

CHASED OUT OF MAINE II

A sea-captain was in my estimation an absolutely wonderful person. Only to think of his knowledge and his power ! Here was this huge ship that appeared to be as stationary as the docks and warehouses themselves. And yet I knew that this man before me could handle her as though she were not more than ten feet long. He could do anything with her. He could start from New York and go to any place in the world where there was water enough to float her ; and go there just as surely and by the most desirable route as though there were a road all the way with a fence each side of it. Nor was that all. That man before me knew just exactly what to do and the right time to do it, no matter what dangers threatened. For twenty-one years he had sailed her, and during all those years he had defeated the winds and waves in their ceaseless efforts to wreck the old ship. Could I ever become like him ? I certainly meant to become a captain ; but when I thought of all that I must learn, I felt tired beforehand.

But to return to business. Captain Barstow was a man with an idea, and he was happily so situated, owning his ship, that he could carry out his idea to its logical conclusion. He thought it was discreditable to the American mercantile marine to be largely manned and officered by foreigners, and he proposed to do what one man could to remedy the evil. So he told us he intended to take with him on every voyage as many American boys as he could accommodate, and give them every chance to fit themselves for master's and mate's berths. " But," said he, " I have promised all the boys I can possibly take with me this voyage, Mr. Williams; I did intend to fit up a place in the after part of the forward house to accommodate six or eight boys, but I have spent twelve thousand dollars on the old ship now, and you can't see it ; so I'll have to wait until I come back again, when I promise to take your son with me, if he still wishes to go to sea. In the meantime, I should prefer that he should not sail in any other vessel, as I wish my boys not to have any previous experience of ships and sailors. The best thing for him to do while waiting is to go to school. There is a very good school in the interior x)f the State, where I have a Chinese boy ; I can recommend it as being both good and reasonable in price, should you desire to send your boy there until I return."

Father thanked the captain for his kind promise and also for his advice, and we went ashore. As we were walking up the dock, father said to me, " Well, Fred, what do you think of Captain Barstow's proposition for you to go to school until he comes back?" What did I think of it? I laughed it to scorn. I would never go to school again. I was going to sea; and right away, too. "Well, then," said father, " I know of but one more chance. There's a Fairhaven schooner down here ; a brand-new one. I am acquainted with the captain ; let us go and see if he wants a boy." So we boarded the schooner A. F. Kijnberly, and father introduced me to Captain Nelson as his " son with a hankering to go to sea."

" All right," said Captain Nelson. " I'll take him, and give him five dollars a month."

"Thank you, captain," said father. " I didn't expect you to give him anything ; but if you will only take him along, if he isn't able to pay his way, why, perhaps I can help pay, it for him." All of which I thought might better have been left unsaid.

However, the captain stuck to his bargain; and so, instead of going to China in a fine, big ship, I shipped in a little three-hundred- ton schooner for Fernandina, Florida.

But I was in luck, after all ; for Captain Barstow and the Windward met the proverbial fate of the pitcher that goes too often to the well ; for they were never heard from after the pilot left them outside of Sandy Hook.

Captain Nelson was a Dane by birth, although he had been so long in this country, and saiUng out of Fairhaven, that he had all the earmarks of a regular Connecticut Yankee. The mate, Mr. Johnson, was a Norwegian, a short, rather square-built, and sinister-looking man ; I never liked him very well. My immediate boss, the steward (and also cook), Herbert Stacy, was a fine fellow. He had been with Captain Nelson for years, and before had been whaling. I never tired of listening to the yarns of which he had an abundant supply ; but as I shall have enough of ray own to tell, before I get through, I will not bother to retail his here.

My first job was to scrub the brass work about the wheel and screw steering gear, and that evening I learned my first lesson in marine economy and naval etiquette. The schooner being brand-new, there was a deal of work to do about the rigging, which had stretched all out of shape on the passage from Fairhaven to New York. Consequently, the captain had the crew all sent aboard several days before sailing, to get things in shape. On this, my first day, they had been setting up the lower rigging, and the decks were considerably littered, when the mate ordered me to sweep up. First, I went round and gathered up a handful of " shakings " ; that is, odds and ends of rope yarns, and so forth, and with them a brand-new piece of inch-and-a-half manilla rope, about six or seven feet long, which had been cut off for some purpose ; and supposing it to be of no value where there was such an abundance of ropes of all sorts, I carelessly threw it overboard. The mate was on the poop, and, hearing the splash, looked, and saw what had caused it. Down he came, on the main deck, and asked me who threw that piece of rope overboard. I told him I did ;

and then I got a lecture on economy, so emphasized and punctuated with choice expletives, that I have never forgotten it, to this day. He told me I was the most useless