Twenty years at sea: Leaves from my old log-books

by Frederic Stanhope Hill

IN THE MERCHANT SERVICE

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CHAPTER I
HOW I WENT TO SEA

It was a blazing hot morning of the first week in September, 1842. The sun was pouring down with the fierce heat that so often marks the departing days of our Northern summers, and the evil smells in the filthy gutters of the southern section of Brooklyn were more than usually noxious.

A Knickerbocker ice-wagon had stopped at the corner beer saloon, and the sturdy, blue-shirted driver was carrying in a great block of ice, while the children of the tenement overhead were picking up the fragments from behind the wagon. Across the street, half a dozen frowsy, tow-headed boys were striving to drive an unwilling goat, harnessed to a soap-box on wheels, in which was seated one of their number, and the little wretches were cheerfully beating the unfortunate animal with a piece of iron hoop, when it stopped, to bleat forth its complaint.

A marine in blue uniform coat and white trousers, on duty at the Navy Yard gate, hard by, walked his beat, keeping close to the grateful shade of the high brick wall of the inclosure, and covertly watching the struggle between the children and the goat. The corporal of the guard lounged on a bench beneath the wooden porch of the guard-house, deeply interested in the morning paper.

Two persons, evidently strangers, came down the street, stopped hesitatingly at the gate, and asked a question of the corporal.

“The Bombay, is it?” said the marine. “You will find her at the dock near the shears. Keep down that path to the right, pass the commandant’s house, then take the first turn to the left, and you will see her.”

The elder of the two strangers, who thanked the corporal, was a grave, respectable, middle-aged man, with the general appearance of a trusted bookkeeper in some mercantile house, as indeed he was; his companion, evidently under his charge, was a bright-looking lad of thirteen, dressed in a blue sailor suit, with a tarpaulin hat with long ribbons hanging down his back. The boy’s fair skin and delicate appearance, however, indicated very plainly that he could not have had a very extended experience as a sailor.

Following the directions given them, the man and the boy soon reached the dock, where a good-sized merchant ship was moored, taking on board the cargo that filled the wharf.

Here we paused. I say we, for the boy was the writer, who is about to tell you his life story; and his companion was Mr. Mason, my uncle’s bookkeeper, sent over from New York to see me safely bestowed on board the good ship Bombay for my first voyage to sea.

“Well, Robert,” said Mr. Mason, “here we are; and now, before I take you on board, I am instructed by your uncle to ask you for the last time if you still persist in your resolution of going to sea. It is a hard life, lad, and I almost wonder that you should desire to undertake it. Come! take my advice; it is not yet too late: hadn’t you better turn around and go back? there is no harm done yet.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Mason, and I thank you for what you have said; but I shan’t change my mind. We will go on board, if you please.”

But before leaving the wharf, as I shall have a long story of my sea life to tell, suppose I go back a bit and explain how I came to be starting out for myself in this manner at such a tender age.

I was always a delicate lad, and had never been very strong, after I recovered from a fever that brought me well-nigh to death’s door several years before, and I had never cared much for the usual out-door sports of boyhood. Then I had an untiring passion for reading; and when I could curl myself up in a big arm-chair with dear old “Robinson Crusoe” or “Midshipman Easy,” I was perfectly happy, and forgot all the world in the adventures of one hero and the frolics of the other.

I have no doubt that my favorite books had something to do with it; for by the time I reached the age of thirteen and had been in the High School a couple of years, I had firmly decided in my own mind that I would be a sailor and nothing else. I had not lived in a seaport, and knew nothing of ships or sailors except what I had gathered from reading, and there seemed to be no very good reason for this decision. But it was just possible that my old grandfather, who was a famous sea captain in his day, had transmitted to me a strain of his sailor blood, rather than my poet father; so instead of fitting for college or going into a counting-room, my parents at last consented that I should go to sea.

My seafaring books had prepared me to expect hardships in the merchant service that I would not find in the navy, and I was boy enough to be thoroughly alive to the attractions of a middy’s uniform and dirk, for they wore dirks in those days; so when it appeared that a midshipman’s warrant might possibly be obtained for me by family influence, I was very anxious to enter the navy. This was before the establishment of the Naval Academy in 1843, and when midshipmen were appointed and sent at once to sea.

But my father wisely said: “No; let Robert try one year in the merchant service, and then if he finds a sea life distasteful he can easily abandon it, without any breach of good faith. But if he enters the navy, he will not feel the same liberty to resign, nor indeed have the opportunity of doing so, until after the expiration of a three years’ cruise.”

So it was settled that I should enter as a boy on board the ship Bombay, Leonard Gay, master, bound from New York to Rio Janeiro with a cargo of naval stores for the Brazil squadron. The ship was owned by a relative of ours.

How well I remember one fine summer day, fifty years ago, going down on Commercial Street in Boston with my father to order my outfit. I never pass along there now and inhale the mingled odors of tarred rigging, salt fish and New England rum, that seem perennial in that locality, that this important visit to the outfitter is not recalled. The mist of half a century of years rolls back, and I, a grave, gray-haired, somewhat rheumatic old man, seem for a moment a light-hearted boy again.

My father had been directed to the establishment of an old sailor turned tradesman, quite an original character in his way, and very well known in those days for his good wares and honest dealing. He was instructed to provide me with everything necessary for a voyage to the tropics and a winter on the English coast; and while my father was discussing the requisites for such a cruise with the proprietor, I was taking in the strange surroundings of the shop, so novel to a boy just down from Vermont.

It was a small, irregular shaped store, very low studded, which had enabled the old fellow to avail himself of the beams, from which hung specimens of his wares, all of them new to me. Upon one hook was a complete suit of oil clothing, southwester (as the head covering is called) and all, dangling and swaying about in the summer breeze and looking very much indeed like some mutinous tar or heavy weather pirate expiating his nautical crimes upon a gallows. Brilliant red flannel shirts were stacked up in great piles upon the shelves, and formidable sea boots overflowed from boxes ranged beneath the counter; gay bandanna handkerchiefs and glossy black silk neckerchiefs were temptingly displayed in the showcase; while on one side was a miscellaneous assortment of ironmongery utterly strange to me at that time, that I afterward came to know better as marline-spikes, prickers, fids, palms and sail needles, and sheath knives and belts.

Jack’s lass had not been forgotten; for in the window were hung, as a special attraction, certain printed handkerchiefs with pictorial representations of the “Sailor’s Farewell,” the “Jolly Tar’s True Love,” and other subjects of a sentimental character. In the rear of the store was an old-fashioned desk, with a fly-blown calendar hanging above it, and a ship’s chronometer ticking away in its case on one side; while above it, hung a spy-glass in brackets, and upon the shelf were an odd looking mahogany case and a ponderous leather-bound volume. These I came to know better, subsequently, as a sextant and the sailors’ vade mecum, “Bowditch’s Epitome of Navigation.”

This collection interested me amazingly, but I was soon called upon to select my “chist,” as the dealer called the gayly painted box he exhibited for my inspection. It was dark blue with vermilion trimmings, and had green-covered “beckets,” as the handles are called. This one, he said, “was neat and not gaudy, and had a secret till where a feller could stow away his tobacco and his ditty box,” which he seemed to think a very important consideration. This ditty box, by the way, is not, as one might well suppose, a special receptacle for ballads, but is for the thread, needles, buttons, etc., which are such necessaries on a long voyage, where every man is perforce his own tailor.

Into my chest were packed, under the advice of the proprietor, an assortment of red flannel shirts and drawers, with thick woolen stockings for cold weather and blue drilling trousers and white duck frocks for the tropics. Stout shoes and sea boots and a full suit of oil-clothes were provided for rainy weather, and two suits of blue cloth went in—one for ordinary wear of satinet, the other of broadcloth, with brass anchor buttons, for a Sunday go-ashore suit. These, with a tin cup and plate, a spoon, and fork for my mess, and a belt and sheath knife, completed the outfit, to which the dealer added, as a gratuity or “lanyap,” as he called it, a dozen clay pipes, a pound package of smoking tobacco, and a bundle of matches, “to make the fit out reglar.”

These gifts, rather scorned at the time, came in good play at a later date, and gained me many desired favors with my future shipmates.

By the time my chest was filled, locked, and the key deposited in my pocket, I was full of excitement and crazy to have it sent home for my mother’s inspection. The business completed by paying the bill, we returned home to Summer Street, where we were staying for a week with my uncle, and I answered every ring at the bell myself until the anxiously expected box was at last received.

Nothing then would do but I must try everything on for my cousin’s delectation, and the entire afternoon was devoted to a series of dress rehearsals with the different costumes. Poor, dear, little mother! many a tear she shed that night as she repacked those strange, rough garments that were to take the place in the future of the delicately made clothing it had been her pride and joy to fashion for her dearly loved boy.

The days now flew swiftly while I made my farewell visits to friends and relations, and my chest was filled in every corner with their last offerings. These, in most cases, took the form of rich cakes, mittens, or comforters for my neck; but I well remember an eccentric uncle bringing down a pair of dueling pistols as his parting gift, to the great horror of my mother, but to my infinite delight, as all boys can well understand.

Under the excitement of these preparations I had kept my courage up very bravely, but I almost broke down when the time came for parting and my mother clasped me in her arms in an agony of grief, exclaiming, “I cannot let him go from me!”

But when I was at last in the cars and had really started off on my journey, I felt that I must put aside all childish feelings and show myself a man and an American sailor. I had insisted upon traveling in full sea rig, and I wore my new blue suit, with white shirt and black silk neckerchief tied in a sailor’s knot, and a shiny tarpaulin hat, with long streaming ribbons hanging down my neck. I was, in fact, a veritable nautical dandy.

As I was only thirteen and small for my age, I have no doubt I presented rather a noticeable appearance. At any rate I know that quite a number of passengers spoke to me very pleasantly on board the Sound boat; and as I was walking through the saloon an old lady called me to her, and, after asking me no end of questions, gave me a kiss and a warm, motherly hug, rather to my mortification, I must confess.

The day after my arrival in New York I was sent over to the Brooklyn Navy Yard with my uncle’s bookkeeper to report for duty, and here we were.

As I walked up the Bombay’s gang-plank a rough looking man in his shirt sleeves eyed me rather sharply, and said, “Well, youngster, what do you want?”

“I wish to see the captain, sir.”

“What do you want of him? The captain isn’t on board, but I am the mate.”

“I am Robert Kelson, sir, and I am sent to go to sea in this ship. Mr. Mason, here, has a letter to the captain.”

At this juncture my companion interposed and explained the matter to the mate, giving him the letter to the captain, and then, evidently very much disgusted at our reception, endeavored again to dissuade me from my project; but I would not listen to him, and, shaking his hand, bade him good-by and accompanied him on shore.

When I returned the mate said: “Go down in the steerage; you will find your chest there; it came early this morning; get those longshore togs off and put on your working clothes. Then come up here, and I will find something for you to do.”

I looked about, not discovering anything answering at all to my idea of a stairway, when the mate, evidently understanding my dilemma, shouted: “You Jim! come here and take this greenhorn down into the steerage and show him his chest, and be quick about it! do you hear? Don’t you two boys stay loafing down there spinning yarns!”

I had never been spoken to so roughly before in my life, and for a moment I half regretted that I had not listened to Mr. Mason’s advice; but it was now too late, so I choked down a sob and followed Jim into that portion of the between decks from the mainmast aft which was called the steerage.

My companion informed me that I was to sleep and mess there with him and the ship’s carpenter. After looking about for a time we discovered my chest, half hidden beneath a pile of sails, and proceeded to pull it out to the light.

“What in thunderation have you got in this dunnage barge?” said Jim, as he sat down on the hatch coaming and looked at my beloved chest, half in admiration at its brilliant coloring and half in scorn at its size and weight. “Why, it weighs pretty nigh half a ton, and it’s big enough to hold a fit-out for a three years’ v’y’ge!”

As I deemed it advisable to placate Jim at the outset, I unlocked the chest, and hunting out one of the plum-cakes, divided it with my comrade, who watched this proceeding with ill-concealed anxiety and interest.

“Well, by gosh, you’re a lucky feller; how many more of these ’ere you got, anyhow? Lem’me look at your knife,” as my new sheath knife turned up; “what did you give for that knife? I got mine down by Fulton Market for a quarter, and I’ll bet it’s as good as yours! Yes, sir!” he shouted, in response to an imperative call from the mate above; “I’m coming right along!” And he half choked himself in his effort to swallow the rich cake as he said, “Look here, young feller, you’d better hurry up too; old Bowker will give you rats if you don’t get on deck mighty quick!”

I put on my second best suit, all too good, as it proved, for what was expected of me, and hurried on deck. Mr. Bowker hunted up a scraper, which is a triangular piece of steel with a wooden handle, and initiated me into its use in scraping the pitch from a portion of the decks that had lately been calked; and this, the first real work I had ever done in my life, was also my first lesson in “the sailor’s art.”

At noon Jim and I were “knocked off,” as stopping work is termed, and told to go to the galley and carry the dinner down into the steerage. Jim seized the kid, a small wooden tub containing a rough piece of boiled beef, and left me to bring the “spuds,” as he called the potatoes. While the cook, who was as black as the ace of spades, was fishing these out of the coppers, he looked me over critically and said, “Wot’s yo’ name, boy?”

“Robert Kelson,” I replied.

“Look yere, boy, we don’t pomper no boys here wid no ‘Roberts.’ Yo’ name’s Bob ’board dis ship; you understand? Now, Bob, is dis yo’ fust voyage to sea?”

“Yes.”

“Co’se it is; any one can see dat. Well, Bob, if you ’haves yo’se’f and don’t cut up monkey shines, like dat boy Jim does, I no doubt you’ll get on very well. But you mus’n’t ’spect to be pompered. I reckon you done had too much ob dat a’ready by yo’ looks. Now you go ’long down and eat yo’ dinner, and den you come up and pick dis chicken fer me, and I gwine gib you dese tapioca puddin’ scrapin’s fer yo’ dessert. I likes yo’ looks, and I gwine stand friend to you, boy!”

I had learned at boarding-school the lesson that it is a good thing to be friends with the cook, so I assented to this proposal and went below with the potatoes.

“Chips,” as the carpenter is called on shipboard, although we boys were not permitted to take this liberty, was a gaunt, red-headed, surly, opinionated Dane, a good mechanic and a splendid seaman, but anything but an agreeable messmate. As I came down he hailed me: “Vot, in de name of Heffen, you been doin’ all dis time wid dose potatoes, you boy? You ’spose I am goin’ to wait all day for my dinner while you’re gorming ’round the galley, you lazy hound? If you try any of your games on me, my lad, I’ll warm you up wid a fathom of rattlin’ stuff!” and so he grumbled on, while I endeavored to explain that the cook had detained me.

“Vell, don’t you do it again; that’s all,” and he picked out the best of the potatoes and cut off the choicest part of the beef, leaving me the fat, which I detested, for my share.

After we had finished eating this meal, which nothing but a healthy young appetite, strengthened by my morning’s unaccustomed work, could have rendered endurable, I was instructed by Jim that it was the duty of the new boy to carry up the pots and pans to the galley to be washed, and Chips told me to hurry up and bring him a light for the pipe he was then industriously filling for an after-dinner smoke.

I submitted to these orders with an ill grace; and when I had seated myself on the spare spars lashed by the side of the galley, with the cook, whom I instinctively felt was a friend, I put the case to him and asked his advice.

“Now, Bob,” said he, “I tole you I gwine to be yo’ friend, and I means what I said. I done tuck yo’ measure, my son, soon’s you come on board, and I know’d you’se a quality youngster immegitely. You’se different breed o’ dog fum dat low-down Jim, and dat’s why I tole you dat you wasn’t gwine to be pompered here, cos I wanted to prepare you fer what was comin’. Bob, you’se like a young bar; yo’ trouble’s all befo’ you. But you des keep a quiet tongue in yo’ head, and watch out wid yo’ eyes open, and learn all you can, and ’fore you know it you’ll be jest as good as any ob ’em!”

“Yes, cook, that’s all right, but I can’t let Jim impose on me, you know.”

The old darky grinned from ear to ear. “Dat’s so, honey! Blood will tell, sho’s you born, and you’se got some of what my ole marse used to call ‘diwine ’flatus’; wotever dat is, dat belongs to quality folks and always fotches ’em on top ob de heap. So if dat Jim runs you too hard, why I ’speck you’se duty bound to take yo’ own part. You know wot de good S’marikan said: ’Ef de Farisee hit you on one cheek, you hit him on de udder.’ Now Bob, here’s yo’ pudden’, and don’t let de mate see you eatin’ it on deck.”

The doctor, as the cook is always called on board ship, had been a plantation darkey, and possessed that keen insight peculiar to his race in certain matters. He recognized at once that I was of gentle birth, and attached himself to me from the first. He was my firm friend as long as we were shipmates together, and many a surreptitious pot of coffee in the morning watch and plate of “menavalins” from the cabin table I owed to his kind offices during the voyage.

For the remainder of the week I was kept busily engaged from early morning until dark, so that I was only too glad to crawl into my hammock soon after our simple evening meal each day, and I was not sorry when at last our hold was filled, our hatches calked down, and a gang of riggers bent our sails, and we were ready for sea. Then one afternoon our crew was brought down by a shipping-master, a tug came alongside, we cast off our fasts from the Navy Yard wharf, and steamed down the bay.

As all my good-bys had been made in Boston, I experienced no particular feelings of regret as we passed down the harbor and bay, and at last made sail, cast off the tug, dropped the pilot, and saw Sandy Hook light sink away below the horizon. I had indeed no time for much sentiment; for as the good ship began to rise and fall to the long ocean swell, increased by the strong breeze that was blowing from the southeast, I soon became oblivious to everything, for I was quickly in the agony of seasickness.

Meanwhile the wind was freshening, and, the top-gallant sails having been taken in, the ship was plunging into the head beat sea and creaking and groaning in what seemed to me a very ominous manner. I had already paid my devoirs to Neptune several times until I was fearfully weak; and the last time, as I came from the lee rail, I fell prone into a convenient tub that contained a large coil of rope—the main topsail halyards, as it proved, unfortunately.

Just then a stronger flaw of wind struck the ship, and the mate, coming into the waist, shouted out: “All hands stand by to reef topsails! Let go the topsail halyards! Clew down and haul out the reef-tackles! Be sharp, men! Be sharp!”

The words were meaningless to me, but I saw a form near me casting off a rope from a belaying pin over my head; there was a whizzing sound; I was thrown from the tub into the air with great violence, and I knew nothing further!

CHAPTER II
MY FIRST VOYAGE

When I returned to consciousness I could not at first imagine where I was, but the creaking and groaning of the ship as she labored in the heavy seaway and the abominable smell of bilge water soon brought me to a realizing sense of the fact that I was in my hammock in the steerage. After some mental effort I recollected that I had been thrown from the tub in which I had been sitting on deck, though how or why this had happened I could not understand. But I was too deathly seasick just then to care to follow out this train of thought, and I languidly dozed and wondered whether we should all go to the bottom together in this gale. I fancy I rather hoped we might thus end the matter with the least personal exertion, and that death under existing circumstances would prove a happy release.

But I was recalled to myself by the cook, coming softly up to my hammock with a shaded light and gazing down at me with evident interest.

“Robert,” said he, for the first and last time calling me by my full name, “is you come to yo’se’f, honey, sure enough?”

I moaned, as a reply.

“Oh, I reckon you’se all right now, Bob! De ole man says dere’s no bones broke, and ef dat is so I specs you come out first-rate soon’s yo’ stummick’s done settle down. But you certainly did have a mighty narrer squeak! Whatever put it into yo’ head, boy, to squat down into dat topsail halyard tub? It’s a clean wonder you didn’t get carried chock up to de main-top! Well, I don’t reckon you ever try dat seat again in a hurry. Now, honey, you drink dis ’ere pot of cabin tea, and den go to sleep, and by ter-morrow you’ll be as bright as a button.”

Any one who remembers a first voyage can imagine what I suffered in that abominable hole, alone and uncared for, save for the friendly ministrations of that poor negro cook, during the next three days. I really believe I should have died from mere exhaustion if it had not been for the little delicacies he smuggled down to me. But fortunately there is an end to seasickness, and on the third day the captain condescended to remember that I was on board, and that he had not seen me since he had examined me after my involuntary feat of ground and lofty tumbling. So down he came into the steerage, and by his order I was carried up on deck into the pure, fresh air, where I soon rallied; and before another day I was myself again, or nearly so, at any rate.

During my illness the ship had been prepared for sea by work that is always done by the crew the first few days out from port. This consists in securing the anchors in board, lashing the spare spars on deck, and clearing away all rubbish that has accumulated in port. Then there is “chafing gear” to be put on aloft and a thousand odd jobs to be done that no one but a sailor can understand, all of them very necessary on a long voyage, however.

The Bombay was, for those days, a good sized ship of about six hundred tons register, but she would seem a mere tender by the side of the marine monsters of the present time. Her crew included twelve men and two boys, with captain, two mates, carpenter, cook, and steward. The men had been, as usual, divided into two watches, and I had fallen into the mate’s, or port watch. “It was Hobson’s choice” in my case, as Mr. Bowker delicately remarked in informing me of my station. It was very evident that I was not, as yet, considered a very valuable acquisition to his force.

“Now look here, you Bob,” said the mate one fine afternoon when I was barely convalescent, “you’ve been playing seasick passenger about long enough. It’s time you began to be of some use on board and to earn your grub. I’m going to be doctor myself! Look up aloft there, my lad; do you see that royal yard?”

I looked up, as he bade me, at the royal masthead, where the yard seemed to me to be about five hundred feet above the deck where we stood.

“Yes sir, I see it.”

“Very well, now suppose you waltz up there and take a closer look at it! It’s going to be a very familiar road for you this voyage, and you had better make yourself acquainted with the way at once;” and he smiled at his wit, which I failed to appreciate just then.

The ship was on the wind, with all sail set and drawing well, and she was reasonably steady; but as I gazed aloft the mast was sweeping about in a very dazing manner, and the rigging away up there seemed to me about the size of a fishing line. Remember, I had never been aloft in my life! I hesitated.

“Well, Bob, I am waiting for you, but I shan’t wait very long, my son;” and he picked up a piece of rattling stuff, a cord about the thickness of one’s finger, and ostentatiously swayed it to and fro.

I saw that he meant business, and I started on the trip at once. I have been aloft, since that beautiful afternoon, many times in howling gales of wind to close-reef topsails. I have crawled out to storm furl a sail in a typhoon in the Straits of Sunda when the force of the wind pinned me to the yard and I felt that every moment might be my last. I went through that hell of fire in the old Richmond, astern of Farragut in the Hartford, when we passed Forts Jackson and St. Philip below New Orleans, but I am sure that I have never since experienced the abject fear I endured that day before I reached the Bombay’s royal yard!

But I stuck to it and I accomplished the task at last, and my first lesson in seamanship, and the severest one, was past. Perhaps some of my readers may think that I magnify the undertaking, but, as I have said, I was a country lad, and in those days boys did not have gymnasiums, as they have now, to prepare them for such tests.

“Very well done, Bob, for a first attempt,” said the mate laughingly, as I reached the deck and busied myself in getting my trousers pulled down my legs after my frantic struggle aloft; “but I thought you would have squeezed all the tar out of the royal backstay, you gripped it so savagely. Oh, you’ll make a sailor yet, lad, or I’ll know the reason why. Now go forward and turn the grindstone for the carpenter.”

From that day on I was kept constantly in practice in going aloft, and was soon given the main royal to loose and furl; so that in my watch on deck no other person was ever sent aloft for that purpose, and what had been but a few weeks before such a terrible task, became mere play to me.

Meanwhile we were making our southing all the time, and in due course we approached the equator. Here both Jim and I were subjected to the usual horse-play that in those days marked the event of “crossing the line,” a custom now almost obsolete.

Neptune, represented by one of the men, came on board over the bows rigged out in a wig of tow, with a long beard, carrying as a trident a pair of grains, a kind of four-pronged fish spear. He asked us neophytes if we would promise never to eat brown bread when we could get white, unless we liked it better; never to kiss the maid when we could kiss the mistress, unless she were the prettier, and a lot more of such nonsense. As we attempted to reply one of the attendants forced a brush dipped in tar and ashes into our mouths, and they ended up by pulling away the board on which we were seated, thus giving us a ducking in a large tub of salt water.

However, the mate would not permit the men to go too far with us; so we at last escaped from our tormentors, and from that time were forever “free of the line” and at liberty to exercise our ingenuity in torturing other greenhorns when we had the opportunity.

I have failed to mention that our only passenger was a young passed-midshipman going out to join the Brazil squadron. His name was Clemson, and he was a general favorite fore and aft. Some years later he was drowned while striving to rescue one of his brother officers at the time of the loss of the United States brig Somers, capsized in the Gulf of Mexico. A handsome monument was afterward erected to his memory in the grounds of the Naval Academy at Annapolis.

As the days slipped along I was steadily gaining in the knowledge of my profession. On fine days, when there was little wind, I was sent to the wheel and taught to steer; at odd times I learned the mystery of making short and long splices and the various knots and “bends.” From the drudgery of turning the winch I was gradually promoted to making spun yarn myself, as well as plain and French sennit and other stuffs used in such quantities on board ship. Sometimes I was set at work ripping up old sails with the sailmaker’s gang; again at cleaning out paint pots and brushes in the paint-room, and I was taught how to handle a brush and lay on paint evenly. A boy at sea thus really serves an apprenticeship at several trades, and a good sailor is, or should be, a seaman, a rigger, a sailmaker, and a painter; he is in reality a “Jack of all trades.”

Kept busily engaged in this way, it was not strange that the time slipped by so quickly, and it did not seem long when, on the fifty-eighth day from New York, we made the land on the starboard bow, which proved to be Pernambuco, and five days afterward we sighted the Sugar Loaf, which rises abruptly twelve hundred feet from the sea at the entrance to the bay of Rio de Janeiro, one of the finest and most picturesque harbors in the world.

As soon as our anchor was dropped in the lower bay, we were surrounded by a fleet of boats of curious construction filled with jabbering negroes and native Brazilians, but none were permitted to come on board until after we had been inspected by the customs officer. He was a very great man indeed, who came alongside in a barge, with a wooden awning over the stern, flying a large Brazilian flag. This boat was pulled by twelve coal-black Congo negroes, naked from the waist up, who rose to their feet at every stroke, and fell back on the thwarts with a kind of rhythmic grunt that they gave in unison.

The officer was a shriveled-up little Brazilian, looking like a cross between a chimpanzee and a parrot, with his wizened face and gorgeous uniform of green and yellow—the bilious colors of the Brazilian Empire. After satisfying all the formalities, we were permitted to have the natives on board, and they came with great bunches of bananas, bags of luscious oranges and fragrant pineapples, and other tropical fruits in bewildering variety, and at what seemed absurdly low prices.

Every one on board, fore and aft, invested in fruit, and we sat up late into the night to devour it, for it seemed that we could never be satisfied. Fifty years ago tropical fruits were not hawked about the streets of Boston as they are to-day, and I do not think that I had ever seen a banana before. So that after two months of salt-beef diet these delicacies were thoroughly appreciated.

The day after our arrival was Sunday; and after washing down decks in the morning and cleaning all the brass-work about the ship, a duty that especially devolved upon Jim and myself, we were informed by the mate that the port watch was to have liberty on shore for the day.

How I did crow over Jim when this order was promulgated, for Jim was in the starboard watch, who were to remain on board, while we fortunate “larbowlins” were to pass the day amid the wonders of the strange city that looked so attractive from our deck.

Jim took occasion to upset some dirty water over my newly cleaned shoes while I was getting dressed, and then laughed spitefully at my discomfiture. This was by no means the first unpleasant trick Jim had served me since we left New York, and I had heretofore borne everything patiently; but this was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. So we decided, after considerable mutual recrimination, to settle the feud then and there comfortably in the retirement of the steerage.

I had gained immensely in physical strength during the past two months, yet Jim was still rather the larger boy of the two; but I sailed in and succeeded, at last, in giving him about the most thorough trouncing he had ever had in his life. When he cried “enough” and I hauled off to repair damages, I caught a glimpse of the old cook gazing in an interested manner down the hatchway at the affray. He grinned and shook his head approvingly. “Didn’t I tole you so?” he said as he vanished.

After re-cleaning my shoes and effacing all evidences of the passage at arms from my face, I arrayed myself, for the first time since I came on board, in my best blue suit, and, topping it off with a new white sennit hat, I took my seat in the boat and was rowed on shore with the others of the port watch.

We passed through a great fleet of ships of all nations at anchor, gayly dressed in flags, among which the bright American ensign largely predominated,—for in those days our flag was found in every foreign port,—and were speedily deposited upon the landing stage, and made our way on shore.

Here a strange scene was presented. The plaza was filled with people of all shades of color, from the Congo African to the pure white Europeans, scattered here and there. All were in their Sunday best, and with the fondness of the negroes for the most brilliant colors, the brightest reds and yellows were everywhere seen. All were chattering in Portuguese in the most animated manner; and as every one seemed to be talking at once it was indeed a very babel.

While I looked about me a tall, willowy mestizo girl came along carrying a tray upon her head, which at first I supposed contained some very elaborate confectionery; but to my astonishment, upon closer inspection I found she was bearing a little dead infant, dressed in white and covered with flowers. She was on her way to the Campo Santo, as I learned, to have it buried, and carried it, as they carried everything, very naturally upon her head. At the cemetery the bodies of the poor were piled each day in a long pit, which at night was filled with quicklime and closed up.

Strolling about, I came to a square with a large cathedral, near the Imperial Palace. While I looked around me a gay carriage, with six horses and outriders and a brilliant cavalry escort, came dashing up, and the youthful Emperor, Dom Pedro II., then scarce twenty years old, alighted and passed into the church. This was the same Dom Pedro who a few years since visited the United States so unostentatiously and who was such an admirer of our country and of our countrymen and countrywomen. He died in exile a year or two ago, poor fellow!

As this was my first glimpse of royalty, it was, of course, very interesting, and I deemed myself quite fortunate at having seen this spectacle on my first day ashore. After the grandees had passed into the church, I continued on my tour of inspection, and soon came to the Rua de Ouvidor, where the jewelers had their shops. Here the show of diamonds so lavishly displayed recalled to my mind the stories I had read in the Arabian Nights; and as I passed into the adjoining Rua Direta I was equally charmed with the wondrous feather flowers, for which Brazil was then so noted.

But by this time, boylike, my appetite was asserting itself, and I began to look about for something more satisfying than diamonds and feather flowers. I had been eating oranges and bananas in the market-place, but these trifles didn’t count for much, and I felt an overpowering desire for a good square meal. But I could not speak a single word of Portuguese, and those now about me evidently spoke no English, so I was in rather a bad way.

I walked on and on; but as I had passed into the residential quarter of the city I could see nothing looking at all like a restaurant, and I became a little uneasy for fear I might lose my way. At this juncture I saw a very sweet-looking old lady standing in a doorway watching me as I approached her. I hesitated, half paused, and she spoke to me in Portuguese.

I shook my head to indicate that I could not understand, and, in despair resorting to pantomime, pointed to my mouth to show that I was hungry.

“Poor little fellow!” said she in English to a little girl by her side; “he must be dumb!”

Oh, what a relief it was to hear those words! Did my own language ever before sound so sweet! I hastened to convince the lady of her error, and to ask her where I could find a restaurant.

“Why, bless your soul, you dear little midget, come in and dine with me! Whatever brought such a wee fellow as you all alone to Brazil?”

I attempted to decline this hearty invitation of my countrywoman, as she proved to be, but it was of no avail, and I was taken in and dined; and later, when it turned out that Mrs. —— was an old friend of my uncle in Boston, I was given a very charming drive in the suburbs, and finally returned in great state, soon after sunset, to the landing stage with my new friends. Before leaving the kind lady made me promise to call upon her again when I next came ashore.

CHAPTER III
THE MUTINY

I had been kept so late by my kind entertainer that I found, by inquiry of the boat-keeper of a man-of-war cutter at the landing stage, that the Bombay’s boat with the liberty men had been gone for nearly an hour; and the coxswain, seeing my dilemma, called in a shore boat pulled by a couple of darkeys, who agreed to take me off to my ship for a few reis.

As we neared the Bombay I saw evidences of unusual commotion on board, and observed a signal of distress hoisted in the mizzen rigging. We pulled alongside, and scrambling on deck I discovered what was the trouble.

Among the naval stores which composed our cargo were six hundred barrels of whiskey. In those days liquor was served out as a daily ration in the United States Navy, but the practice did not prevail in the merchant service, liquor being allowed on board but few ships, and it was served as a ration in no American vessels.

Sailors have always been noted for their ingenuity in stealing liquor; and to keep this out of his men’s reach, our captain had stored the barrels in the fore and after runs, or lowest part of the lower hold. The sailors were aware of this, and on this Sunday had found their opportunity.

Mr. Bowker, the chief mate, and the port watch were on shore, and Captain Gay had gone on board another ship, the Angier, to pass the day and dine with her commander. This left Mr. Daniels, the second mate, in charge. He was a rather easy-going young man, and soon retired to his stateroom to enjoy the quiet day in reading an interesting novel.

Chips, the carpenter, after smoking a pipe, went to sleep in his bunk, and the crew found little difficulty in taking from his chest such tools as they wished. With these the starboard watch proceeded to cut a hole through the forecastle deck, and succeeded so well that by dinner-time they had broken out the upper tier of stores and exposed the barrels of whiskey.

The cargo they removed they piled up carefully in the quarters of the absent port watch, filling their side of the forecastle up to the carlines.

Not satisfied with broaching one barrel for immediate use, they providently decided to lay in a stock for future consumption, and to this end hoisted three barrels of whiskey up into the forecastle, and concealed them underneath their berths.

They then restored the remainder of the cargo to its place, and refitted the deck planks so carefully as scarcely to leave a trace of their work.

After dinner the watch settled down to the business of drinking and carousing. When at five o’clock in the afternoon Mr. Daniels, having finished his novel, came forward to call away the boat to bring the liberty men on board, he was startled at finding the entire watch drunk and inclined to be very quarrelsome.

He at once sent the carpenter and the boy Jim in the dingey on board the Angier to state the case to our captain, and he accepted the offer of Captain Edson to send the Angier’s boat for our liberty men. The two captains then came at once on board the Bombay, in the dingey. The arrival, an hour later, of the liberty men, who were also drunk, made matters worse, instead of better, for the two watches fell to fighting in the forecastle.

This was the disturbance that was going on when I arrived on board. Captain Gay, who was one of the old-time sea captains and a very “taut hand” with his crews, ordered the second mate to go down into the forecastle and bring up any rum he might find there. He supposed, of course, that the liquor the men had obtained had been smuggled on board from the bumboat.

Mr. Daniels went down with a very ill grace, I thought. The forecastle was just then a very lion’s den, and he did not stay long, but came up with a rush through the hatchway with a bleeding nose and puffed eyes.

When he could regain his breath, he exclaimed: “Captain Gay, they’ve got a barrel of whiskey there on tap, and they are fighting over it like a lot of wild Indians! It was all I could do to get out of the forecastle alive!”

“A barrel! What do you mean?”

“It’s just so, sir; there is a barrel on tap, and they are drinking it out of their pint cups! I am almost sure it is one of the barrels from the hold, but how on earth they got it out I can’t imagine. The hatches haven’t been opened to-day; that I will swear to!”

This was certainly a very bad state of affairs, and Captain Gay felt that he must take summary action. Going to the cabin, he returned with four revolvers and gave one each to the officers and to the carpenter. Then looking down the hatch, he shouted, “Men, come on deck at once, every one of you!”

A howl of derision was the only reply.

“I will give you five minutes to get up here, or I’ll come down there and find out the reason why!” he cried.

They simply yelled defiantly in drunken chorus.

“Come along, Mr. Bowker,” said the captain. “You and I will start these fellows up. Mr. Daniels, you and the carpenter put the irons on them as they come up the hatchway!”

The captain and mate bravely started down the hatchway, revolvers in hand. They were taking desperate chances. It was no small thing for two men, even with arms in their hands, to face a dozen sailors, maddened with drink, at close quarters, in a hand-to-hand encounter such as this must needs be. But those old-time skippers were accustomed to rough-and-tumble fights, and they never shirked an encounter of the kind, even at long odds.

Jim and I had gone forward to see the outcome of the affair, and we were, of course, in a high state of excitement as the captain and mate disappeared below.

For several minutes there was a terrible confusion of voices in the forecastle, and then a sound of blows and oaths, followed by the sharp crack of a pistol shot. Then a brief pause, followed by a renewal of the uproar. Another shot was fired, and almost immediately the captain appeared on the ladder, struggling with a stalwart fellow who had grasped the pistol by the barrel, and was striving to get possession of it.

The carpenter leaned over the scuttle and struck the sailor a heavy blow on the head with a pair of iron handcuffs, whereupon the fellow let go his grasp of the pistol and fell heavily down the ladder. The captain then came up, bleeding from a cut on the side of his face, evidently the result of a blow, and with his clothing fairly torn to shreds. Mr. Bowker quickly followed, in an even worse condition, and without his pistol, which he had lost in the affray.

Mr. Daniels pulled over the scuttle and slipped in the hatch-bar; and, feeling that the wild beasts were at least caged, our side called a parley.

“I shot one of the scoundrels in the arm,” said the captain. “Did your shot take effect, Mr. Bowker?”

“I think so, sir; but I am not sure of it. They closed in on me so I could not very well see.”

I happened just then to glance through a port and saw a boat coming alongside. “Here’s a boat with some officers, sir,” I reported.

The captain went to the gangway and received a Brazilian officer who came on board. Looking curiously at the captain’s disordered condition, he said, “I am sent by the port captain to inquire what trouble you are in, as you have a distress signal flying.”

The captain explained and the lieutenant went forward to investigate. Mr. Bowker opened the scuttle, and the officer called down in his broken English, “Mariners, I command that you come on deck at once!”

“Who are you, monkey-face?” shouted a man from below. “Get out of this, or we will serve you worse than we did old Bowker!” At the same time a pistol shot whistled ominously past the young lieutenant, while a chorus of oaths and yells saluted him.

“But, captain,” said the young man, “this is truly a mutiny! I must report to my commanding officer and obtain further assistance.” And he hurried to his boat and left the ship.

By this time it was growing dark, and affairs were in a very bad state for the night. The two captains consulted together as to the best course to pursue. As discipline had now become almost a dead letter in the ship, we all gathered aft, having first secured the forward hatchway, and several propositions were discussed by the officers.

“Captain Gay,” said Captain Edson, “if you take my advice you will not allow the authorities to interfere in the matter, at this stage of the mutiny at least. If they undertake to settle it they will put you to no end of trouble and expense, and possibly delay your voyage. I have had some experience with them in a similar affair. I would at least exhaust my own resources first.”

“That is good advice, as far as the Brazilians are concerned,” replied Captain Gay, “but what shall I do with those wild men down in the forecastle?”

“Come below and we will talk over a plan by ourselves, where we haven’t quite so many listeners,” said Captain Edson, as he glanced at my companion Jim, who, with mouth and ears both wide open, was pushing forward to catch every word.

They went below, and Mr. Bowker, now that the excitement was over for the moment, found time to give us his attention; and we were set at work cleaning up the decks, securing the boats, and making all snug for the night.

In a short time the steward brought up an order to the mate to take the Angier’s boat and go on board the Brazilian man-of-war Independenzia, with Captain Gay’s compliments, and to say that we should not require any assistance that night, but should be glad to have the police boat sent in the morning to take the prisoners on shore. Before going the mate was directed to see that the forward hatch was well lashed down and that a kedge anchor was put on it as an additional precaution against its being lifted off by a combined effort of the men below.

As the “prisoners” were as yet a long way from being secured, we were all very much mystified by this message from the captain, and the mate remarked to Mr. Daniels in my hearing that he “thought the old man had better catch his chickens before he counted them.”

But all the same, he obeyed the order, and we went down into the steerage to supper, there to discuss the mutiny in all its various aspects. When the Angier’s boat returned, Captain Edson went back to his own ship.

That night the mates and the carpenter kept the anchor watches between them, and the crew long before midnight succumbed to the effects of the liquor, and were all quiet in the forecastle.

The next morning we were aroused at daylight, and for once found the captain on deck as early as any one. Jim and I were sent off at once in the dingey to bring Captain Edson on board, who came, bringing with him a mysterious package of something that smelled very much like matches.

Captain Gay received him at the gangway; and after they had drunk a cup of coffee, they both went forward with the mates and the carpenter, who to his and our surprise was ordered to bring: his broad-axe with him. The captain then looked about carefully, and at last directed the carpenter to cut a hole through the deck planks something more than a foot square, between the beams. The carpenter was rather astonished, but obeyed orders, and the chips at once began to fly.

The captain then went to the galley and returned with an iron pot, to which he attached a line, and Captain Edson poured the contents of his package into the kettle. By this time the hole was cut through the deck.

“Stand by to open the scuttle, Mr. Bowker,” said the captain. “Now, men,” he called down, as the hatch was opened carefully, “are you coming up like men, or shall I make you come up like sheep?”

The crew greeted this request with shouts and oaths. Many of them had waked and were again drinking the liquor.

The captain closed the hatch and called out, “Cook, bring me a shovelful of live coals here!”

The cook came with the hot coals, which he put, as directed, into the pot.

As the dense white smoke of the burning brimstone in the vessel curled up, the captain lowered the pot through the hole in the deck, keeping it close up to the beams and out of reach of the men below, and then placed two wet swabs over the hole, so that none of the fumes could escape above.

Flesh and blood could not endure the suffocating vapors that immediately filled the forecastle. In less than five minutes there was a terrific rush up the ladder, and a violent effort was made to raise the hatch, which was prevented by the lashings and the heavy kedge anchor.

“Stand by, now, all of you!” cried the captain to the mates, “and clap the handcuffs on them as I let them through, one at a time!”

He opened one door of the scuttle, through which the first man precipitated himself. He was at once secured and the door was closed. Then it was re-opened, and the crew were let out one by one until the whole twelve lay handcuffed on the deck in a row. The last men were scarcely able to crawl up, so dense were the noxious fumes in the forecastle.

When the work was completed, Captain Gay walked up and down the deck in a high state of glee at the entire success of his experiment, and addressed the captives as he passed:

“Oh, you are a precious lot of scoundrels, aren’t you? You thought you had the weather-gage of me, did you? I think you will sing a different tune when you find yourselves in the calaboose! I have more than half a mind to give you a round dozen apiece before I send you there, just to warm myself up this morning! But I won’t soil my fingers with you, you drunken brutes, much as I should enjoy it! Mr. Bowker, signal for the police boat, and send these fellows off as quickly as possible and let us be rid of them!”

He turned aft, and went down to breakfast with Captain Edson.

When the police boat came, the officer was greatly surprised at finding so large a number of prisoners awaiting him. They were taken on shore; and after remaining in the city prison until we sailed, they were, as we subsequently learned, released, and were shipped by a whaler who came in short of hands.

Our captain picked up another crew without much difficulty, and we went on unlading. We then took on board a cargo of coffee and carried it to New Orleans, where we loaded with cotton for Liverpool.

CHAPTER IV
NOT BORN TO BE DROWNED

The next voyage of the Bombay was to Mobile for a cargo of cotton, to be carried to Liverpool. It was the custom in those days for ships of any great size to discharge and take in their cargoes in the lower bay. The city is on the Mobile River, fully twenty-five miles above the entrance to the lagoon-like bay, cut off from the Gulf of Mexico by a narrow isthmus, upon the point of which the lighthouse stands.

The Bombay came to Mobile in ballast, so there was no cargo to discharge, very much to our satisfaction, as everything had to be loaded into large lighters, which made hard work for the crew.

Captain Gay, as was the custom, went up to the city as soon as the ship was safely anchored, to superintend the work of the brokers in obtaining freight, and to forward the cotton to the ship with all possible expedition. The chief mate remained on board in charge of the ship.

Of all the dismal holes I had ever seen, the lower bay of Mobile was the worst. The low shores are either alluvial mud or clear sand; there were no trees, no inhabitants but a very few ignorant fishermen, and absolutely nothing to relieve the monotony of life on shipboard, divested even of the excitement that is found when at sea in the changes of wind and weather, and the making and taking in sail that follows calm or storm.

We were supposed to be in port, and Jack dearly loves his “Sunday liberty,” with its attendant run ashore; but here no one cared to go on shore on Sundays or any other day, merely to wander about in the sand, half devoured by mosquitoes, and without a living soul to exchange a word with. Then, to make it even more disagreeable, as the bay is unprotected, and it was in the winter season, we were compelled to stand anchor watches at night, and keep our sails bent in readiness to slip our anchors and work off shore if a norther should strike us.

I have since lain at anchor off some very inhospitable and uninteresting shores, but I do not remember anything more detestable than life in Mobile Bay in 1844, unless, indeed, it was my blockading experience outside of that same bay in 1862, of which you will hear before you finish this volume.

Our only relaxation was crabbing. For this sport we took old iron hoops and wove upon them coarse nets of heavy twine, the meshes being very open. In these nets we fastened three or four pounds of the most ancient and malodorous salt beef we could find in the harness casks,—and these pieces could be scented the length of the ship. At night, the nets, heavily weighted, were thrown overboard with a stout line attached to them, and allowed to sink to the bottom.

The next morning we hauled the nets in, and rarely failed to find from one to half a dozen enormous hard-shelled crabs entangled in the meshes of each net and viciously fighting with each other. The result of these contests was frequently seen in an unfortunate crab minus half of his legs.

But the pleasure of crab-fishing soon palled upon us, and not even a hardened sailor’s stomach could endure a steady diet of these crustaceans. So, after the first week the crab nets were neglected, and we were forced into spending our few hours of leisure in sleep, an unfailing resource for a sailor.

However, the first lighter laden with cotton soon came down from Mobile, and with it a gang of stevedores who were to stow this precious cargo. At that time freights to Liverpool were quoted at “three half-pence a pound,” which represented the very considerable sum of fifteen dollars a bale. So it was very much to the interest of our owners to get every pound or bale squeezed into the ship that was possible.

The cotton had already been subjected to a very great compression at the steam cotton presses in Mobile, which reduced the size of the bales as they had come from the plantations fully one half. It was now to be forced into the ship, in the process of stowing by the stevedores, with very powerful jackscrews, each operated by a gang of four men, one of them the “shantier,” as he was called, from the French word chanteur, a vocalist. This man’s sole duty was to lead in the rude songs, largely improvised, to the music of which his companions screwed the bales into their places. The pressure exerted in this process was often sufficient to lift the planking of the deck, and the beams of ships were at times actually sprung.

A really good shantier received larger pay than the other men in the gang, although his work was much less laborious. Their songs, which always had a lively refrain or chorus, were largely what are now called topical, and often not particularly chaste. Little incidents occurring on board ship that attracted the shantier’s attention were very apt to be woven into his song, and sometimes these were of a character to cause much annoyance to the officers, whose little idiosyncrasies were thus made public.

One of their songs, I remember, ran something like this:—

“Oh, the captain’s gone ashore,

For to see the stevedore.

Chorus: Hie bonnie laddie, and we’ll all go ashore.

“But the mate went ashore,

And got his breeches tore,

Hie bonnie laddie,” etc.

As Mr. Bowker had returned to the ship the day before, after a visit to the lighthouse, with his best broadcloth trousers in a very dilapidated condition, this personal allusion to the unfortunate incident, shouted out at the top of their hoarse voices by “Number One” gang was, to say the least, painful. We boys, however, thought the sentiment and the verse equally delightful.

The second lighter of cotton was towed down to us by quite a large high-pressure steamer, the Olive Branch, that was going on to Pass Christian with passengers. After dinner that day, Mr. Bowker, who was in an unusually amiable mood, called out, “You, Bob, take Charlie with you in the dingey, and go on board that steamer, and see if you can’t get me some newspapers.”

Charlie was the new boy, the successor to Jim, who had unostentatiously departed from the ship, “between two days,” in Liverpool, last voyage. As Charlie was my junior, I took a great and not unnatural pleasure in making him as uncomfortable as possible when an opportunity presented. So I hauled the dingey up at once to the gangway, and, rousing Charlie up from his unfinished dinner, started off for the steamer.

I had already become quite a good boatman, but this was a novel experience for me, and indeed it was quite a delicate matter to lay a small boat safely alongside one of those great side wheel steamers while she was still in motion,—for the Olive Branch had not anchored, but had only stopped her engines and was slowly drifting.

As I approached the steamer I saw a man standing well forward of the wheel-house with a line ready to throw to us, and I headed the boat for him. As we came within good distance we tossed in our oars, the line was thrown, Charlie caught it, but stumbled and fell, and in a moment the dingey had capsized, and we were in the water and under the wheel of the steamer!

Unfortunately I had never learned to swim; and as I was heavily clad I went down in the cold salt water of the bay like a stone, and for a few seconds experienced all the agonies of drowning!

Then I rose and, as I came to the surface, found myself among the “buckets” of the great wheel of the steamer, which were green and slimy with river moss, and as slippery as ice. By a tremendous physical effort I succeeded in getting astride of one of these buckets, and obtained a precarious position of comparative safety, as I thought at first.

But, to my horror, I was scarcely out of the water when the wheel commenced very slowly revolving. The terror of that moment I shall never forget. The recollection of it returns to me now, after all these years, and in my bad attacks of nightmare I sometimes fancy myself clinging again with desperation to a slowly revolving wheel, drenched, shivering with cold, and expecting each moment a horrible death!

In my agony I shouted aloud; but, inclosed on all sides as I was by the wheel-box, I felt sure that my cries could not be heard. In the darkness of this prison box the wheel slowly, very slowly revolved, carrying me up toward the top of the cover, where I fully expected to be ground to pieces; or if perchance I escaped that fate, I knew that I would be drowned when I was drawn under the water in the fearful suction beneath the wheel.

Escape seemed impossible, but frantic with fear I again shouted at the top of my shrill young voice till my lungs seemed ready to burst. Then the wheel stopped. There was a pause; I heard the noise of hurried feet upon the wheel-box above me, a trap door was opened, and the blessed light of day came struggling in.

I saw a man looking earnestly down into the darkness of the space beneath him, and I tried to call out, but my voice seemed paralyzed, and, for the moment, I could not make a sound.

Neither seeing nor hearing anything, the man rose from his knees and was about to close the trap-door, when I made another effort, and, thank God, a faint cry burst from my parched throat.

The man paused, then sprang upon the wheel, picked me up in his arms, and I fainted dead away!

After what seemed a long time, although, as I was told, it was but a few minutes, I recovered consciousness to find myself stretched out on a mattress, covered with a blanket, and surrounded by a number of kind-hearted women. The passengers had seen the boat upset and noticed my sudden disappearance. Charlie, who could swim like a fish, was picked up, and declared that I was drowned. Indeed, he “saw me go down and never come up again.”

By the merest chance the captain had not started the steamer ahead. If that had been done I should, of course, have been killed.

My clothes were soon dried in the engine-room, the dingey and her oars had been recovered, a generous bag of fruit and cake was packed for me by the sympathetic ladies, and we returned to the Bombay.

As I came up over the side, Mr. Bowker greeted me with, “Where have you been all this time, Bob?”

I explained to him my narrow escape from a dreadful death, to which he cheerfully responded:—

“Well, Bob, you certainly were not born to be drowned; look sharp to it, lad, that you do live to be hanged!”

CHAPTER V
A “SHANGHAEING” EPISODE

The next three years of my life at sea were but a repetition of the first three months of my experience, with a slight change in the scene of the incidents and a natural increase in my knowledge of seamanship. For when I returned to Boston in the Bombay from Liverpool, at the end of my first year of probation, and the opportunity was again presented to me of going into the navy as midshipman, I declined the offer of my own free will.

My views had changed during the past year, for I had learned how slow promotion was in the naval service, and I had seen in our squadron in Brazil gray-haired lieutenants who were vainly hoping for one more step before going on the retired list. In fact, Farragut, who entered the navy as a midshipman in 1810, had passed through the War of 1812, and after thirty-one years’ service was still a lieutenant in 1841.

During my year at sea my dear mother had died, my home was broken up, and when my cousin, who owned the Bombay, promised me that I should have the command of one of his ships when I was twenty-one, if I proved myself competent, I decided to stay where I was.

I received my first promotion to the position of second mate, when I was barely seventeen years of age, and a very proud youngster I was when I heard myself called “Mr.” Kelson, for the first time on the quarter-deck of the old Bombay, where less than four years before I had made my appearance as a green boy.

We were lying at this time at the levee in New Orleans, not far from Bienville Street, and abreast of the old French Market. The Bombay was the inner vessel of three in the tier, and formed a portion of the tow just made up by the tugboat Crescent City, and we were only waiting for our crew, soon to be brought on board by the boarding-house runners and the shipping-master.

There was a fine old custom that prevailed in New Orleans in those days of bringing the crew on board at night, at the last moment, comfortably drunk, counting them as received, and bundling them into their berths in the forecastle, to sleep off the fumes of their debauch. And by the next morning, when the ship would be down the river at the Belize, the tugboat was cast off, and then, and not until then, would the ship’s crew be needed to make sail and clear up the decks for sea.

It was the duty of the junior officer to receive and count the men as they came on board ship in every stage of intoxication. Some were brought over the gangway, absolutely helpless, by two stalwart runners; and when the ship’s quota had been duly delivered in the forecastle the shipping and boarding-house masters received a month’s advance pay for each man.

Whatever else might be said against this system, it certainly had the merit of simplicity; for as the voyage to Liverpool rarely exceeded thirty or thirty-five days, it was quite customary for the men to “jump the ship” in Liverpool as soon as she was docked, and, having little or no wages due them, they were cared for by another set of boarding-house sharks, who kept them during a very brief carouse in the “Sailor’s Paradise,” as Liverpool was then called, and then quietly bundled them on board of another ship, bagging their advance pay, after the fashion of their New Orleans brothers in iniquity.

All this, however, is but the prelude to my little story. That Christmas eve in 1845 I, as second mate, stood at the starboard gangway of the old Bombay, crammed to her upper deck beams with cotton, and with a deck load beside, and had checked off thirteen men drunk and semi-drunk, as they came on board in squads of two and three.

“Now then, Mr. Kelson,” said the chief mate, as he came up from the cabin, “have we got these men all aboard yet?”

“Only thirteen yet, Mr. Ackley,” I responded, looking at my list by the light of the lantern hanging in the main rigging. “But here comes the shipping-master, sir.”

“Where in thunder is that other man, Thompson?” said the mate. “The old man is as savage as a meat-axe down in the cabin, and you had better not see him till we have got our full complement on board.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Ackley,” replied the shipping-master. “Here’s Dago Joe, now, coming with his man. Well, Joe, you almost missed your chance. They are just ready to cast off the breast lines. What have you got in your handcart?”

“Oh, Mis’ Thompson, he reglar ole’ shellback, he is. He boad wid me six week. Came here bossun of de Susan Drew. You’ll ’member dis feller soon’s you see him. He say he won’t ship less’n sixteen dollar mont’. Dat’s de advance I giv’ him, ’cos I know Mis’ Ackley like good sailor man.”

“Why, he looks as though he were dead,” said I, peering at the prone body in the cart.

“Who, he? Oh no, sir; he been takin’ lil’ drop too much dis evenin’, but he be ol’ right ’fore mawnin’. Oh, he sober fust-class sailor man. ’Sure you of dat, Mis’ Ackley!”

At this moment our towboat gave an impatient whistle, and Captain Gay came up from the cabin, two steps at a time.

“Mr. Ackley, what are we waiting for? The tow has been made up for an hour, and we ought to have been a dozen miles down the river by this time!”

“The last man has just come on board, sir,” replied the mate, “and I shall cast off at once.”

“Be sharp about it then, sir!”

“Aye, aye, sir. Go forward, Mr. Kelson, and see to those head lines; take the cook, steward, and carpenter with you to haul them in. You, Joe, tumble that man of yours into the forecastle and get ashore yourself, or you’ll have a chance to take a trip down to the Southwest Pass! Let go the breast lines! Stand by forward!”

We cast off, the tugboat steamed ahead, the strong current struck us on the starboard bow, we slowly turned, and went on our way down the river, leaving the long line of twinkling lights of the Crescent City behind us.

The next morning at daylight the chief mate and I, after serious difficulties, succeeded in “rousing out” our befuddled crew, and then commenced clearing up decks and getting ready for making sail, for we were nearly abreast of Pilot Town, and would soon be over the bar.

Thirteen hard-looking subjects presented themselves from the forecastle, after some little time, but where was the fourteenth? A diligent search of the men’s quarters was at last rewarded by the discovery of the missing man—but such a man! A wretched-looking, frowsy-headed little creature, bandy-legged and narrow chested, a most unmistakable landsman, dressed in thin, blue cottonade trousers with a long-skirted, threadbare alpaca coat, buttoned over a calico shirt; with no waistcoat, or hat, and with well-worn lasting shoes on his feet. Trembling, blear-eyed, wild with evident astonishment at his surroundings, this unfortunate wretch was haled up before the mate by the carpenter, who had found him still asleep under one of the berths, hidden behind a large sea chest.

“Who the devil are you?” said Mr. Ackley roughly, looking contemptuously at the man, shivering in the chill of the early morning.

“Vere you vos takin’ me?” inconsequently replied the man, staring about him. “I want to go by my home. Lisbeth must ogspect me. Please stop the boat, lieber Herr; I must go home!”

“He’s got ’em bad, sir,” said the carpenter; “that New Orleans whiskey is mean stuff, sure. He’s got the ’trimmins, sir!”

“Who shipped you, you measly dog?” shouted the mate, paying no attention to the carpenter. “Come, speak up, or I’ll lather the hide off of you! Who shipped you I say?” raising a rope in a threatening manner.

“Please, goot gentleman, don’t strike me! I vant to go home. Lisbeth must ogspect me long ago. Why did you bring me here, goot gentleman?”

“I’ll ‘goot gentleman’ you! Here, Chips, take this fellow and put him under the head pump. Freshen him up a bit, and then I’ll warm him with a rope’s end and see if I can’t get some sense into him!”

The carpenter and one of the crew dragged the struggling man forward, and held him while one of the boys, delighted at the opportunity, pumped the cold river water over the poor creature, whose screams were drowned in the rough merriment of the sailors.

I look back at this scene now, as I record it, and at many others, even worse, that followed during the next month, and wonder if we were all—officers and men—brutes, in “those fine old days” of the Black Ball liners and the Liverpool trade!

Poor Shang—that was the name that fell to him in playful allusion to the fact that he had been made a victim to the “Shanghaeing” process, as it was called—had been drugged and brought on board helpless by Dago Joe to make up our full complement.

When we came to choose watches that evening Shang fell to me; he was left until the last, and Mr. Achley said, “Well, Mr. Kelson, you allowed Joe to bring this duffer on board, and its only fair that you should take him in your watch. I don’t want him!”

Shang, as I found out by questioning him, had gone out that Christmas Eve in New Orleans to buy a few little presents for their Christmas-tree. He was a poor journeyman tailor, a German who had come to this country from his native village of Pyrmont, several years ago, had married a fellow-countrywoman, Lisbeth, and they had one child,—a crippled girl, Greta,—whom the little man loved with his whole heart; and for her he had gone out to purchase something with his scanty, hard-earned wages, paid him that day.

He had stepped into a beer saloon for “ein glas bier,” as he said, had drunk it, felt drowsy, and—“Gott in Himmel, gnädiger Herr, nothing more know I more till I find myself in this strange ship! When think you, sir, we will get there—where we go—is it perhaps far?”

When I told poor Shang the real facts of the case, and that it would be months before he could again see his Lisbeth and Greta, the poor fellow was dumb with horror, and I almost feared he would make away with himself.

I did the best I could to make life endurable for the poor wretch. An old thick suit of mine he deftly made over for himself, and some of his shipmates helped him out with a few other clothes. But, even with the best intention, I could not make a sailor of poor Shang,—it was not in him, for he was a most helpless lubber,—and that was the misery of it.

He had been shipped and entered on our ship’s articles as an able seaman, and Joe had received sixteen dollars of monthly wages on his account. Our crew was short, at best, the winter voyage was a stormy one, and poor Shang could not be favored.

Mr. Ackley seemed to have taken an unconquerable dislike to the man from the first, and led him a dog’s life, beating him unmercifully several times for his shortcomings. Aloft he must go, though he clung helplessly to the ratlines in an agony of terror.

“You alone are goot to me, lieber Herr,” said the poor fellow. “I know you cannot help me more, but how can I live it? I know that I shall perish before we get there! Ach, lieber Gott, vot become of my lieblinge! Aber des Himmels Wege; sind des Himmels Wege!”

At last the long voyage was nearly at an end. Cape Clear was in sight one night as I came up to take the watch at midnight, and a very pleasant sight it was to all of us. There was a stiff all-sail breeze from the southward, and we were laying our course fairly up channel. I was looking over the quarter-rail at the light, now well abeam, as Shang came aft and drew near me.

“Is it then true, mein Herr, as they say, that we are almost there?”

“Yes, Shang, we are now almost there. If this breeze holds we will be in Liverpool day after to-morrow. And then,” I added, as I saw how anxiously he listened to me, “you can ship as a landsman, perhaps, and get back to Lisbeth and little Greta.”

“Gott sei dank,” he murmured, as he reverently lifted his hat, “if they have but live all this time.”

I endeavored to reassure the poor fellow, and then, as the breeze was freshening, I took in the topgallant sails, and later, finding the wind still increasing, called Captain Gay, who ordered all hands called and a single reef put in the topsails.

The watch below tumbled up, the yards were clewed down, reef-tackles hauled out, and both watches went aloft to the fore-topsail. As my station as second mate was at the weather earing, I was, of course, first aloft, and had just passed my earing and sung out, “Haul out to leeward,” when I noticed, to my great surprise, that the man next inside of me on the yard was Shang, who usually on such occasions was discreetly found in the bunt.

“Why, Shang,” said I, “you are really getting to be a sailor.”

“Ach, mein Herr,” said he cheerfully, “ich bin so glücklich und so frölich, now that I am really so near there and that I shall so soon see Lisbeth”—

A strong gust of wind struck us; there was a vicious slat of the sail that sent the heavy canvas over our heads; the ship made a desperate roll and a plunge into the rising sea, and then, as we all clung closely for our lives, the sail bellied out and filled again,—but the man next me was gone from the yard!

In the pitchy darkness of the moonless night he had fallen into the sea, and without a cry he was swept into eternity.

Poor Shang’s earthly troubles were forever ended!

CHAPTER VI
TO CALIFORNIA BEFORE THE GOLD DISCOVERY

In 1846, while the Mexican War was in progress, it was decided by President Polk, acting upon the advice of Secretary of the Navy George Bancroft, to send a volunteer regiment around Cape Horn to California for the occupation of that country, then a province of Mexico. In pursuance of this scheme a commission as colonel was given to a Mr. Thomas Stevenson, a well-known New York politician and a stanch Democrat, and he was authorized to raise and equip a full regiment of one thousand men, to be known as the First Regiment of California Volunteers.

It was found that three ships would be required to transport the regiment with its commissary stores and ammunition; and the Thomas H. Perkins, of which I was at the time second mate, was one of the three vessels chartered for the purpose. Accordingly we hauled into a berth at the Brooklyn Navy Yard in September, 1846, and commenced taking in a cargo of military stores in the lower hold, while the between decks were fitted up with berths to accommodate three hundred and fifty men.

Having completed this work, we were towed into the East River, and there three full companies, H, I, and K, with a portion of Company F, were sent on board from their camps on Governor’s Island. We were also notified that Colonel Stevenson and his headquarters staff would take up their quarters on board our ship for the voyage out, which gave us the distinction of being the flagship.

The men of the regiment were a tough lot of fellows. “Stevenson’s Lambs,” as they had been nicknamed, were recruited in and about the Five Points and the worst purlieus of the notorious Fourth Ward, and from the very first they gave their officers no end of trouble.

The officers, moreover, were but a shade better; for with the exception of the colonel’s son, Captain Matthew Stevenson, who was a West Pointer, and the staff officers, who were of the better class, the great majority of the company officers were mere ward politicians, elected by their men to their positions, and having little idea of military discipline.

The colonel had to come on board secretly at night to avoid arrest for debt, and one energetic deputy sheriff actually chased us down the harbor in an ineffectual attempt to serve a writ upon this impecunious officer.

We sailed, after many delays, very suddenly at last, under imperative orders from Washington, on the last day of September, in company with the ships Loo Choo and Susan Drew, carrying the remainder of the regiment, and all of us under the convoy of the United States sloop-of-war Preble. As she was a very dull sailer, however, we never saw her after the first day, as we ran her out of sight that night.

We had a pleasant run down to Rio Janeiro, where we put in for water and fresh provisions. Here one of the wild freaks of the Lambs was displayed.

Captain Lippitt, of Company K, was, in contrast to the other officers, quite a disciplinarian. He was not a New Yorker, but came from Vermont, where he had superintended a military school; and neither of these facts commended him to the consideration of his men, with whom he was very unpopular. His company had abused their uniforms shamefully during the voyage, and had been especially careless in losing their dress hats overboard.

These hats were not so comfortable as the fatigue caps, and there was little doubt that, in many instances, the men lost the hats with intent. In preparation for making a suitable appearance in Rio, Captain Lippitt had found a couple of hatters in the regiment, and with infinite labor had managed to have ninety new dress hats made for his company, and they had been served out a few days before we made the land. He took great pride in the success of this effort, and bragged in a mild manner to his brother officers of the fine appearance his men would make.

The day we entered the bay of Rio the entire company appeared on deck in their new headgear, rather to the surprise of the captain, who had not given orders for full dress; but, attributing it to a desire on the part of his men to appear well, he made no comment.

As we passed under the walls of the fort which guards the entrance to the bay, where all ships are hailed as they come in, Company K at a concerted signal sprang into the rigging or upon the rail, and, giving three wild cheers, every man threw his new hat overboard!

The Bay of Rio de Janeiro was alive with nearly one hundred military hats bobbing about in a most absurd manner, while the walls of the fort were at once crowded with Brazilian soldiers attracted by this most astonishing performance.

Captain Lippitt was speechless with rage and amazement, the colonel and the other officers could not restrain their laughter; and as they could not very well punish an entire company for a bit of fun, the matter was allowed to pass with a reprimand and a stoppage of the value of the hats from the men’s pay. But Captain Lippitt was not permitted to hear the last of the “battle of the hats” for the remainder of the voyage.

In Rio the three ships of our fleet met for the first time since we had parted company after leaving New York. One company of the regiment from each ship was given liberty on shore daily, and the Brazilian police probably never had such severe duty before in their lives. Fancy three hundred New York Fourth Ward roughs adrift in a quiet foreign city, entirely unprepared for their proper reception!

It was little wonder that at last a formal protest was entered with the American Minister, Mr. Wise, against the depredations of these reckless fellows, and a request was made that no more shore liberty be granted them. It was doubtless an immense relief to the authorities, who afforded us every facility for expediting our work, when the supplies were all on board and they had seen the last of the “Soldados Norte Americanos.”

We parted company with our consorts with the understanding that we should rendezvous at Valparaiso. Off the Rio de la Plata we had a very heavy blow, but after that enjoyed unusually pleasant weather until we got into the latitude of Cape Horn, where, although it was December, which is summer at the antipodes, we encountered a succession of severe gales from the northwest, right in our teeth, which drove us far to the southward, and against which we could make no headway.

On Christmas Day we were in latitude 60° 05′ S. The cold was intense, it was blowing heavily, and we were plunging into a headbeat sea, close on the wind, under double reefs, when the thrilling cry, “Man overboard!” was heard. The ship was at once hove to, every one rushed on deck, and there, on the weather quarter, the figure of a man was seen rising and falling on the crest of the dark green waves. Fortunately as he passed astern some one had thrown an empty chicken coop overboard, which, drifting near him, he had managed to get hold of, and to this he was clinging for dear life.

Captain Arthur at once called for volunteers for the whaleboat, which swung on the port quarter, and a good crew was speedily selected. I was put in charge, and, watching a favorable opportunity, she was partially lowered, with us seated in her, and then the falls were let go by the run, so that as she struck the water they unreeved, for it would have been impossible in such a seaway to unhook the blocks.

We drifted clear of the quarter overhang, which was the great danger, and then, directed by signals from the ship, pulled in the direction of the unfortunate man, who more than half the time was out of sight to us in the boat, as he went down in the hollow of the great waves.

It was severe work forcing the boat through the rough water in the very teeth of the gale, for the ship had drifted well to leeward of the man before we got the boat lowered; but my men gave way with a hearty good will, and we at last had the satisfaction of reaching the man, who was almost exhausted, as well as frozen, and dragging him in, he fell prone in the bottom of the boat.

It was not so difficult to return to the ship, as we had the wind astern; but it was an exceedingly delicate and dangerous operation to hook on and hoist the boat in, and we were nearly swamped in doing it.

Loud cheers greeted us from more than three hundred throats as we came alongside, and the boat falls were stretched out and manned by all the men that could get hold of the ropes. The surgeon of the regiment was at hand, and poured nearly a gill of raw brandy down the man’s throat, and he was taken below, wrapped in a blanket, and thoroughly rubbed until the suspended circulation was once more restored. The next day he was up and about the decks again, very thankful for his escape from a great peril.

Within twenty-four hours the wind veered around to the southward, and we soon passed the Horn and ran up into the South Pacific, exchanging the Antarctic ice for the blue skies and summer weather of the tropics. In a couple of weeks we reached Valparaiso, where we remained until, a few days later, we were joined by our consorts, when profiting by our experience in Rio Janeiro, but a small number of men were permitted to go on shore each day.

We left Valparaiso January 15, 1847, and, after an uneventful run up the coast, sighted the Farallones, off the Bay of San Francisco, on the 5th of March.

Then all was excitement; for we had heard nothing of the condition of affairs in California since leaving New York six months before, and we did not know what reception we might encounter.

We stood in past the heads, since known as the Golden Gates, and ran up the lower bay, when suddenly we saw displayed, from a staff, on the Presidio, the American flag, and we then knew that we were among friends. A few minutes later we sighted the fleet at anchor, with our country’s flag flying from the peaks of the ships, and we ran up and anchored off the little hamlet of Yerba Buena, as what is San Francisco was then called, after a voyage of one hundred and fifty-five days.

Commodore Stockton, in the frigate Congress, was then in command of the naval forces, and the sloop-of-war Portsmouth, Captain Montgomery, was also in the harbor. A few weeks later Commodore McKean came over from China in the Razee Independence; and as our two consorts arrived a week after us, and General Kearney reached Monterey with a force of dragoons, overland, it will be seen that the United States was in overpowering force in California.

We discharged our government stores, carrying them ashore in our boats and landing them on the beach near Clark’s Point, in the manner described by Dana in his “Two Years Before the Mast;” for everything was very primitive at Yerba Buena in those days, and it would have required a very vivid imagination to conceive that the bay would within a lifetime be lined with wharves, and that a superb city of several hundred thousand inhabitants was to replace the cluster of half a dozen adobe houses we saw before us.

Our cargo out, we took in a sufficient quantity of sand ballast, and in June sailed for Manila. Within a week after getting off the coast of California, we struck the southeast trades, and had a most delightful run across the Pacific Ocean, the wind scarcely varying a couple of points for six weeks, when we sighted Guam, one of the Ladrone Islands. As scurvy had made its appearance among our crew, Captain Arthur decided to anchor and lay in a supply of fruit and vegetables. The natives soon came off to us with quantities of limes, yams, and cocoanuts, which they gladly exchanged for any articles of hardware we could spare.

The following day we got under weigh and stood to the westward for the Straits of St. Bernardino. At midnight breakers were seen close on the weather bow. We wore ship instantly to the eastward and hauled close on the wind for an hour and a quarter, the wind not permitting us to lay better than east half south. At 1.45 A. M. we tacked to the southward, and hoped to weather this reef, which we had not found set down on our chart; but at 3.15 breakers were again seen on the weather bow too near to allow us to tack. We accordingly wore, and when before the wind the ship struck under the forefoot and remained stationary. The wind was S. S. E., and fortunately the water was as smooth as a mill-pond.

We furled all sails, and I was sent by Captain Arthur in the cutter to sound around the ship. I found the eastern edge of the reef on which we lay to be very steep, with shelves projecting beyond each other as it deepened. These edges were of very sharp and ragged coral, descending so rapidly as scarcely to allow room to lay an anchor on.

The reef was about one mile and a quarter in length from north to south, and perhaps one hundred and fifty yards in breadth from east to west, and in the form of a crescent. Its concave side to the eastward was that on which we lay, nearly in the centre, with our bow pointing directly over the reef. Under our jib-boom there was but five feet of water; under the stern eleven feet; under the fore chains fifteen feet on the port side and thirty feet on the starboard side, and under the main chains four fathoms on one side and eight fathoms on the other.

Returning and reporting these facts, Captain Arthur had all our boats hoisted out and a kedge anchor laid under the port quarter in deep water, and a hawser attached to it and taken to the capstan and hove taut. The stream anchor was next laid on the starboard bow and its cable hove taut. All three boats were manned and attached to a tow-line from the bowsprit end. The jib, spanker, and staysails were loosed ready for hoisting.

By eleven o’clock the wind veered to the southwest and became squally, the tide began to flow and the swell to heave. At 11.30 the ship began to move, but just then the hawser parted. Captain Arthur immediately ordered the boats to pull away about forty-five degrees abaft the starboard beam; the breeze freshened and gave a greater impulse to the strain of the stream cable, and, to our delight, the ship launched off and got sternway, which, the boats assisting, swung her around on her heel with her head to the northward.

“Cut away the stream cable, Mr. Kelson!” shouted the captain, half wild with excitement.

The ship swung so as to bring the wind on the starboard quarter.

“Hoist away on the spanker, put the helm down!” She came to on the starboard tack. “Hoist away jib, main and main-topgallant staysails! Be lively, sir!”

Every one bent to the work with a hearty good-will; the good ship gathered headway; the boats came alongside.

“Aloft, men, and loose topsails and courses!” called out the captain.

The topsails were mastheaded, and the courses set as rapidly as possible, and we just shaved the reef, not more than five feet from its knife-like edge. Had we struck broadside on, it would have been the last of the ship, and, for the matter of that, of us also.

Thank God! we were clear of the reef, losing in the effort our stream and kedge anchors and a couple of hawsers, which we gladly relinquished in our joy at this narrow escape from wreck.

We steered N. N. W. between two other long reefs, which broke white as we passed them, and at last emerged to clear water, and again shaped our course for the straits. A week later, we anchored at the mouth of the Pasig in the beautiful Bay of Manila.

The city of Manila, on the island of Luzon, is the capital of the Philippine Islands, one of the most highly cherished of the Spanish possessions. It is the residence of the viceroy, who, at this great distance from home, is in everything but name a reigning monarch, and, indeed, supports almost as much state as his royal master in Madrid.

The bay is superb, almost as fine as that of Rio de Janeiro, and the city itself is much more curious and interesting to the traveler than Rio. The River Pasig divides the city, one portion, which is walled, being devoted almost exclusively to the palaces of the viceroy and the archbishop, the Hall of Audience, the military barracks, and innumerable churches and convents. Outside of the walls, along the shore of the bay, is the beautiful drive, the Calzada, where all the fashionable world drive in the cool of the evening, while the bands play choice selections of operatic music.

On the other side of the river is the residential quarter and the shops. The population was then about one hundred and fifty thousand, of which more than three quarters were natives, the ruling class and the aristocracy being of Spanish birth.

One of the many sights in Manila was the enormous government cheroot factory, where nearly twenty thousand people, mostly women, are employed.

We loaded here with hemp and sugar, which we carried home to Boston by the way of the Cape of Good Hope, having an uneventful passage of one hundred and sixty-five days to Boston Light.

CHAPTER VII
RECAPTURING A RUNAWAY

I did not long remain as second mate, for the very next voyage the chief mate was lost overboard one morning from the top of the poop-house. The watch were about to set the spanker, and Mr. Brown, who had the watch, was standing very imprudently to leeward of the boom, when the last turns of the gasket were thrown off and the gaff flying over struck him in the head with great violence and knocked him over the quarter-rail.

The ship was at once hove to, and a boat was lowered, but nothing was seen of him, and the supposition was that he was stunned by the blow and sunk at once, to rise no more.

So I was promoted to his place; and although full young to assume the responsibilities attendant upon the position, I managed to satisfy the captain so well that when we arrived in port I was confirmed in the place. About a year later I was sent for to go as chief mate in the Laodicea, another ship belonging to the same firm. In this vessel I made a voyage to the East Indies.

Early in 1848, while in New York, I received a letter from the owners requesting me to come on to Boston and take command of the Mystic, a fine new ship of nearly one thousand tons, lately launched at East Boston and fitting out for a voyage to Valparaiso.

So my cousin, the owner, had fulfilled his promise, and before I was twenty-one years of age I was to have command of a fine half-clipper ship. I wasted no time, but went on to Boston as speedily as possible, where I found my ship at Commercial Wharf and work already commenced on her lading.

I at once assumed the command; and as the owners were very anxious to get the ship to sea in the shortest time possible, I pushed things to the extent of my ability and secured as officers a Mr. King, whom I had known for several years as an experienced and thoroughly trustworthy man, as chief mate, and a Mr. Robinson, whom I did not know personally, but who brought me such excellent recommendations that I engaged him on the strength of them, as second mate. That I did not more closely examine into the character of this man was a very unfortunate oversight, as it afterward proved.

In due time our cargo was all in, and in addition, seventy thousand dollars in Spanish dollars, packed in kegs, came on board, which was to be used on owner’s account for the purchase of a cargo of copper at Coquimbo. These kegs were stowed away under the immediate direction of Mr. Robinson, who was in charge of the work, well down in the after run.

As one of the frequent South American revolutions was then in progress in Chili, my orders from the owners were that if I could not get a cargo of copper I should go over to China and report to Russell & Sturgis, who would invest my silver in a cargo of tea for Boston.

On the 5th of December we were ready for sea; and after clearing at the Custom House and receiving my last orders from my owners, I went on board and proceeded to sea.

Our run down to Cape Horn was prosperous and very uneventful, and we had remarkably fine weather. After passing through the Straits of Le Mar, however, we fell into a heavy gale from the westward, and for several days laid to under close sail. By the third day of the gale the sea was running heavily. That day just before noon the clouds lifted, and Mr. King sent a boy into the cabin to tell me that he thought there would be an opportunity to get a meridian altitude.

As we had not been able to get an observation for several days, I hurried on deck with my sextant. Just as I had braced myself against the port rail, the man at the wheel carelessly let the ship yaw, and a great wave that must have weighed tons came aboard, smashing the starboard quarter boat to flinders, dashing in the cabin skylight, and sweeping the decks in a terrible manner.

By great good fortune I had taken a turn of a rope about my waist to steady me for getting a sight; and by clinging on with both hands I managed to retain my position, but Mr. King, who was quite near me, was washed away and thrown with fearful violence across the deck and into the lee scuppers.

Fortunately no one was washed overboard, but on investigation we found that poor Mr. King was seriously injured. Two of his ribs were broken, and it was evident that he had also received some severe internal injuries, the extent of which I could not then determine.

He was carefully taken below to his stateroom, and I did all I could to relieve his sufferings, which were very great. That night the wind veered and moderated, and we made sail and were soon in the waters of the Pacific, standing to the westward with favoring winds and smooth seas.

On the 2d of March, at 9 A. M., we made the Point of Angels, and, bearing up for the entrance to the Bay of Valparaiso, stood in and anchored close to the lower batteries. I at once went on shore and reported to the Aduaña, and then made arrangements to have Mr. King sent to the hospital.

Going on board again, I told him what I had done and assured him that it would be necessary to have such careful medical and surgical attention as he could receive only in a hospital.

“I am perfectly aware of that, Captain Kelson,” said he. “I know that I can’t stay here on board, and I doubt if I shall ever be much more use as an officer of a ship; but there is one thing I must do before I leave the ship, and that is to warn you against putting too much trust in Mr. Robinson!”

“Why, Mr. King! what is the matter with him? He is a good sailor, and he appears to carry on the duty very well!”

“Oh yes, sir, he is a good sailor-man; no one can deny that; but I don’t trust him. He has too much palaver with the men. I am sure there is something wrong about him. What it is, unfortunately, I don’t know; I wish I did. But you are a younger man than I am, captain, and more confiding in your nature. Now I beg of you not to put too much confidence in Mr. Robinson!”

I thought it quite possible that this was merely prejudice on the part of my mate, increased by his anxiety at leaving the ship, so to ease his mind I said: “Oh, well, Mr. King, I will keep my eye on him, and I shall hope that you will soon be able to return to duty again. Now keep yourself perfectly quiet and get well as quickly as possible.”

After sending my mate on shore, I made Mr. Robinson, who seemed to be doing very well, chief mate temporarily, and put one of my best men in charge of the second mate’s watch. Engaging lighters, I then commenced discharging my cargo, which, as the goods I had happened to be in demand, sold rapidly and to excellent advantage. But when it came to arranging for my cargo of copper, I found that it would be necessary for me to make a visit to the capital, Santiago, to confer with the authorities in regard to a permit for export.

Accordingly I made arrangements with my consignees in Valparaiso to keep an oversight on my ship; and after leaving very strict orders with Mr. Robinson in regard to the care of the vessel, I started on horseback for Santiago.

With the positive genius for delay that characterizes Spanish American officials, I was detained at the capital for several weeks, badgered about from one department to another; but at last I succeeded in obtaining the desired permit, and returned to Valparaiso.

As I dismounted from my horse in the courtyard of my hotel, I met my good friend Don José Altimara. “Ah!” said he, “I am glad that you have returned. All your goods are sold and well sold. Have you obtained your permit to export copper?”

I told him of my various trials and final success.

“That is well. But tell me, why have you sent your ship away so suddenly? I fear you will have trouble with the authorities, as you had no clearance papers.”

“What do you mean? The Mystic sailed!”

“I mean,” said Don José, “that the Mystic left this port a week ago at night, and with no notice given at the Aduaña.”

I did not stop for another word, but hurried to the mole to convince myself that my friend was mistaken, as I was sure he must be. Eagerly I scanned the bay, searching for my ship, but she was not there! She was gone; of that there was no manner of doubt. But where could she have gone? and why should Mr. Robinson have taken such a strange course?

Beyond the slight suspicion created by the vague impressions of Mr. King, I had found no reason for doubting the probity of this officer. But I was soon to be enlightened; for as I stood gazing out over the bay, a rough-looking fellow dressed like a sailor, with a half-healed scar running transversely across his face, that looked like the mark of a recent knife wound, touched me on the shoulder to rouse me from my reverie, and said, “Is this Captain Kelson?”

“Yes, my man,” I replied; “what do you want of me?”

“Well, sir,” said he, with a half sneer, “I think it’s more than likely you will want something of me!”

“What should I want of you, then?”

“Don’t you want to find your ship?”

“Why, what do you know about her?”

“Well, captain, I know all about her, and I am ready to tell you the whole story; and what is more, I’ll help you to find her.”

“I will pay you well for it, my lad, if you can indeed do so,” I replied eagerly.

“Well, I don’t object to that, but I shall do it, not so much for love of you or your money, as to get even with Jack Robinson for the dirty trick he played me!”

“Jack Robinson! Do you know Mr. Robinson?”

“Aye do I! We were shipmates together in the old Palmetto, of Boston, three years ago. He didn’t have a handle to his name then. We were both in the forecastle. You never heard of the Palmetto getting into port, did you, captain?”

“No; it was supposed that she was lost off Cape Horn, with all hands; she was never heard from.”

“No; and she never will be. When I have helped you to find the Mystic and have got square with Jack Robinson, perhaps I may tell you what became of the Palmetto.”

“Well, never mind about her; what can you tell me about my own ship?”

“I’ll tell you, sir, if you will give me time. Three weeks ago Jack met me here ashore. I had been beach-combing for six months and I was dead broke. Jack was flush and paid for the aguardiente like a man. One day he said, ‘Look here, Charlie, I’ve got a devilish sight better lay here than we had with the old Palmetto, and an easier job; do you want to go in with me?’ Naturally I was ready for anything that promised well; and when Jack took me on board ship, showed me those kegs down in the after run, and told me they were all full of silver dollars, I was red hot to get hold of them and ready for anything!”

“You are frank, at any rate.”

The fellow laughed and continued: “Jack told me his plan. It was simple enough. He wanted me to pick up half a dozen reckless fellows like myself, who could be depended upon, and who would join us for a fair price. Then, on the first dark night, we would slip the cable, put to sea, and carry the Mystic to an island we both know of, that has water and cocoanuts but no inhabitants,—well, if you must know, the same place where we laid the old Palmetto’s bones,—and then get rid of the rest of the crew, according to a clever plan he had, and divide the spoil between us two!”

“And how comes it, then, that you are here and the ship gone?”

“That is the deviltry that I am coming to. A week ago yesterday we had everything ready. I had sent aboard half a dozen fellows who were ready for anything that would put a handful of doubloons in their pockets. Jack told the old crew that you had ordered these men shipped to help in loading copper at Coquimbo, and they were pleased at the prospect of more help in the work. Jack and I were ashore for the last time, waiting for night to come, so that we could cut the cable and run. We had both taken our share of grog, but Jack had taken a deal less than I. That I had noticed, and it ought to have made me suspicious. At eleven o’clock we started from the pulqueria for the beach; but as I turned the first corner, Jack dropped a bit behind, and at the same moment I felt his knife running in between my ribs, and as I turned he gave me this slash over the head, and I fell in the street with a shout of ‘Murder!’

“The patrol came along and Jack scuttled off! Well, sir, I was carried to the hospital, where I have been ever since, and I had a narrow squeak for it; but I pulled through at last, and now I am ready to pilot you to Amatavi Island, as soon as you can get something to go in, to hunt up your ship!”

The fellow’s story carried conviction in the telling; it was verified by the police, so far as they were concerned, and by old Francisco, in whose pulqueria all the nefarious business had been planned.

My good friend Altimara, to whom I went with the strange tale, was now of the greatest assistance in various ways. He found, at my suggestion, a fast-sailing schooner with a good armament, that had lately returned to Valparaiso from a smuggling voyage up the coast. She could be chartered just as she was, manned and all ready for sea, excepting her stores.

I made the round of my customers; and after stating my desperate case, they at once settled their various bills for the goods they had purchased, paying me in silver, in all nearly sixty thousand dollars. I then laid in a sufficient supply of stores for a voyage of four months; and obtaining the necessary papers for my vessel from the government officials, who were all very sympathetic, I took Charlie on board as pilot, and sailed from Valparaiso with a fair wind, on the 6th of May, in search of my runaway ship.

I found my schooner all that I could have wished: she was very fast and easily handled; and the crew, which was largely made up of runaway men-of-war’s men, were familiar with the use of the great guns and well drilled in small arms.

I explained to them the object of our voyage and what I hoped and expected to accomplish, and assured them that if we succeeded in overhauling and capturing the Mystic, they should receive one hundred dollars each as prize money, in addition to their wages. But I told them at the same time that very possibly we might have a sharp fight, for I knew Mr. Robinson was a desperate man and had everything at stake.

The men cheered at the end of my speech, and promised to go wherever I led them, and I saw that they meant what they said.

From the description Charlie gave of the island where he said Robinson had intended taking the Mystic, I found that it laid in latitude 2° 21′ S., longitude 146° 04′ E., and that it was doubtless one of the Admiralty Islands, which were little known to navigators at that time.

We made an excellent run, and at noon on June 30 I found by a good observation that we were probably about forty miles to the southward of the island we were seeking; and as we were then making about seven knots an hour, I felt sure we should sight the land before night. The excitement of the chase and the preparation for a possible fight had thus far kept me up, but now that I was so soon to know the result of this attempt I was making to recover the property of my owners, and should either reinstate myself in their good opinion or return to Boston a ruined man, I acknowledge for the first time my courage almost failed me.

What if, after all, I should be on the wrong track! This fellow might have deceived me, or, in his turn, might have been deceived by that craftier villain, my former mate! However, I should soon know the worst—or the best!

By three o’clock we raised the land bearing N. 31° W., a cluster of low, flat, woody islands. By four o’clock a large, high island bore N. 18° W., its outline forming a hollow like a saddle. It appeared to be surrounded with smaller islands on the south and west sides. At the same time an extensive reef was observed stretching to the southward.

I decided to haul to windward of the south-eastern islet then in sight, and, by Charlie’s advice, to pass between it and the next island to the northwest, which he recognized, and where the channel was to all appearances, perfectly clear and about four or five miles wide.

At 6 P. M. I anchored in six fathoms of water about two miles from the land, as I did not dare to run in the midst of these reefs at night. As soon as the men had eaten their supper, I ordered three boats cleared away and armed, and with muffled oars we all started from the schooner, my boat, with Charlie as pilot, ahead.

The moon did not rise until late, but there was sufficient light for us to make our way, and, after four hours’ steady work at the oars, we gained the entrance to a little land-locked bay at the head of the channel between the two easternmost islands.

Here we laid on our oars until about three o’clock in the morning, and then pulled in shore. As we opened up the entrance to the bay I almost set up a shout of joy; for there, swinging quietly at her anchor, a cable’s length from shore, was my old ship!

I gathered my three boats together and asked my men if they would stand by me in an attempt to board the ship. They assured me of their readiness, and seemed to look upon the whole affair as a good joke.

I warned them not to fire a shot until we were fairly on board, and then to trust mainly to their cutlasses; for I felt sure we could surprise the ship at this early hour when the crew would be in their deepest sleep, and I knew if we once succeeded in getting on board, we could carry her.

I divided the boats, giving them orders to pull one for the bow, one for the starboard quarter, while I would board on the port side amidships, thus taking them in flank if there should be any resistance. We then pulled quietly into the little bay, and as the tide was running flood, quickly approached the ship. As I had anticipated, there was no lookout kept, as they evidently fancied themselves entirely safe from an attack by sea and the island was uninhabited.

We all kept in range until quite near, then made a dash alongside, and most of us had actually gained the deck before any alarm was given. Then it was too late for any organized resistance. I shot the first man who came up the fore hatch. Charlie cut down another as he appeared from the cabin companionway, and we then clapped the hatch bar on the fore scuttle, and, after closing the companionway, we had the whole party fast as rats in a trap.

In the first moments of exultation that followed our victory I thought our work was practically accomplished, but I soon learned that although I had scotched the snake I had not yet killed him. For as I came aft from seeing the forward hatch barred down, I was saluted by a well-aimed musket shot that passed through my hat and grazed my scalp, while at the same time another shot from the same quarter struck poor Charlie full in the chest, bringing him to the deck with a mortal wound.

“Jack Robinson has made a sure thing of it with me this time, captain. I saw him as he fired from the skylight,” whispered the poor fellow, as I kneeled down by his side. “But I have got even with him, Cap., and I brought you here as I promised you I would!”

But the bullets were flying too thick to spend much time with a dying man, so I drew him forward out of range of the skylight, from which they were keeping up a fusillade. As the magazine was in the after-cabin the pirates, for such of course they were, had the command of an unlimited supply of ammunition and plenty of arms, and were in a very difficult position to dislodge.

To add to our annoyance they opened fire on our boats from the ship’s stern windows. Indeed, it seemed to be a veritable case of capturing a Tartar, and for a time I was rather nonplussed as to the manner in which I should reap the fruit of my incomplete victory.

The first thing to do was evidently to protect ourselves from this galling fire from the cabin skylight. So I stationed two men in the mizzen rigging with orders to fire down the skylight at any one they could see, and I then sent two other men aloft; and after cutting the spanker adrift we let the peak and throat halyards go by the run, and the heavy sail tumbled down on the skylight, very effectually shutting the occupants of the cabin out from a sight of the deck.

By this time the men who were barred down in the forecastle were pleading to be released, shouting out that they surrendered. So we opened one side of the hatch and allowed them to come out, one at a time, slipping handcuffs on each man as he appeared.

By the time this had been accomplished the sun had risen, and we felt the need of some breakfast after our all-night work. The cook was one of those who came up from the forecastle; and when he found that his old captain was once again in command of the ship, he was loud in his expressions of delight. Mr. Robinson, as he said, had led him and the members of the old crew a dog’s life since he had run away with the ship, and moreover they had a well-grounded belief that he purposed dealing foully with them now that he had got the ship safe in this unknown bay.

The cook bustled about and soon had a savory breakfast ready for us of fresh fish, of which they had caught an abundance in the bay, with hot coffee and ship bread, which we thoroughly enjoyed.

I went with a pot of coffee to poor Charlie, thinking he might perhaps take some; but he was already dead, and I covered him up with a boat sail and left him at rest.

After breakfast I sent the cook below as a messenger to Mr. Robinson, offering terms for his surrender. The fellow was intrenched in such a way as to be able to cause us great annoyance, so I agreed to give him the ship’s cutter, with her sails and oars, and provisions for himself and the Valparaiso men. I also offered to land him and these men on the island unharmed. He was to take no arms with him, but I agreed to leave a couple of muskets and some ammunition on the reef at the entrance of the harbor, where he could get them after our departure.

At first he was disinclined to accept these terms and blustered a great deal, threatening to blow up the ship, with all of us on board, unless I made a more liberal offer; but I was firm and gave him to understand that I did not fear his threats and that all the old crew had already surrendered at discretion. This last news settled the matter, and he consented to my terms.

I then addressed my old crew and gave them their choice, either to remain in the ship or to go on shore with the mate. They at once, to a man, decided to stay by the ship, assuring me that they would be only too glad to be rid of Mr. Robinson and his Valparaiso beach-combers, who had tyrannized over them completely.

That afternoon, after giving poor Charlie a sailor’s burial, I got the schooner into the bay and alongside the Mystic, and transferred the specie from her hold to my ship’s run, where it was placed by the side of the other treasure, which had not yet been tampered with.

I then settled the charges for the schooner, paid the men I had hired their prize money, and, after thanking them for their brave support, we parted company, the schooner standing to the southward for the coast of Chili, while I laid my course in the Mystic N. N. W. for Hongkong.

CHAPTER VIII
CHASED BY PIRATES

We made an excellent run over to China after striking into the southeast trades, and sixty days after leaving the Admiralty Islands we anchored off Hongkong.

I at once went on shore and reported to Russell & Sturgis, and learned that we had arrived in a good time. There were very few ships in port, teas were low in price and very good in quality, and the consignee said that he could secure me some very desirable chops at reasonable rates, and that if we had any room remaining after investing my owner’s silver, that he could fill me up with cargo, on freight, at remunerative rates.

This was indeed good news, and I proceeded to land my specie, which the firm at once invested; and after thoroughly cleaning out and fumigating my hold, a quantity of sampan wood was sent off for dunnage, and we commenced receiving and storing our cargo of tea.

Soon after my arrival I was visited by Captain Archer, late in command of the ship Essex, of Salem. Captain Archer had lost his ship a few months before on a reef while trading among the Fiji Islands, and he was anxious to obtain a passage home for himself, officers, and crew.

As I was very shorthanded, having lost both my mates, Mr. King and Mr. Robinson, whose places I had temporarily supplied from my crew, I was very glad to ship his two officers, and I arranged for his crew to work their passage home in the Mystic. I had a spare stateroom in the cabin, which I placed at the disposal of Captain Archer.

He was a veteran shipmaster, and had been in command before I was born, but he had decided, since his late misfortune in losing his ship, that this should be his last voyage. He had had many years’ experience in the Indian Seas, and particularly in the Fijis, where he had traded for bèche de mer, a marine delicacy which the Chinese esteemed so highly that it was not infrequently sold for its weight in silver.

The captain was full of stories of Thakombau, the savage chief of Bau, one of the Fiji group. This chief was a most terrible old cannibal, who, not satisfied with devouring the enemies captured in his raids on the neighboring islands, frequently ordered the massacre of his own people, when he was desirous of having a grand feast, and they were baked and eaten. “Long pig” he facetiously designated his human sacrifices.

The captain assured me that these dreadful orgies were not, as I had supposed, religious rites, but were simply for the satisfaction of a depraved appetite, and that in the gratification of this taste nothing was sacred.

And yet the captain had succeeded in inspiring a friendship in the breast of this old savage that had caused him to issue an edict making the captain strictly taboo, and no native dared to harm him, while the choicest canoe loads of bèche de mer were brought off to him for trade. Thakombau actually proposed to make Captain Archer a chief and to give him the island of Viti for his very own, but the captain declined the tempting offer.

It must be confessed, however, that this gentle treatment had had its effect upon the captain, who did not seem to think the cannibal chief was nearly so much of a brute as he was generally considered by Europeans.

I can scarcely realize that since that time such a marvelous change has taken place in the condition of the Fijians. The missionaries managed to gain a foothold in the islands soon after the time of which I am writing, and now there are Christian churches in every island of the group, several thousand professing Christians among the natives, absolute safety for white residents everywhere, and cannibalism is utterly unknown!

While the loading of my ship was progressing, in company with Captain Archer I made a visit to Canton, which is about one hundred miles above Hongkong. This was only a couple of years after the siege of Canton by the Triad rebels, and the breaches that had been made by them in the wall that surrounded Canton, six miles in extent, had not yet been repaired.

We passed a week at Russell & Sturgis’s hong, and had a very pleasant time exploring the curious city under the charge of one of his native clerks, who took us into many of the labyrinths of the “Old City” not usually penetrated by the Fanquis, as they called their foreign visitors.

We made many purchases of curios, at prices that would now seem marvelously low, and returned to Hongkong, at the expiration of our visit, loaded down with presents for our friends at home.

Our lading was completed and the hatches calked down early in October, and we sailed on the 10th of the month, in time to take advantage of the northeast monsoon. We were favored with light winds from N. N. E. to N. E. after passing the Great Ladrone, and on the 30th entered Banca Straits, where the wind veered to the southeast and fell very light.

At night we anchored; and as that part of the Malayan coast in those days bore an unenviable reputation for pirates, I not only maintained a regular sea watch, but divided the time with Captain Archer, so that one of us in turn should be on deck all night. And to this precaution, as it turned out, we owed our subsequent preservation from a great peril.

Just before daylight Captain Archer came to me, where I was sleeping on the break of the poop, and aroused me, saying that there were some suspicious looking sails in sight.

I sprang up, and although it was not yet light I could readily see with my night glass two proas coming out from under the land a few miles to the northward.

I at once ordered all hands called, and as the wind had got round northeast, although still light, I immediately got under weigh and made all sail. Meanwhile the proas were standing down toward us, and as the daylight broke it was evident that they were full of men.

The Mystic, as was quite common in those days, carried a couple of 24-pounders, with a fair amount of ammunition, and we had, in addition to the ship’s muskets, the rifles I had purchased in fitting out the schooner at Valparaiso, when I started in pursuit of my runaway ship. So we were unusually well prepared in that direction, and, having Captain Archer’s crew, we were nearly doubly manned.

Still, so far as force was concerned, we were outnumbered by the Malays in the proas five to one. For we could see that they fairly swarmed with men, and it was evident that in a hand-to-hand fight we should have much the worst of it. It would never do to let them get on board of us.

“We shall have to fight those devils, Kelson,” said Captain Archer, “unless the breeze freshens pretty quickly. They are gaining on us hand over hand; and they are getting out sweeps now, I believe. Yes; by Jove they are!” he exclaimed, looking through his glass. “It won’t do to let them get alongside; there are two of them, and they will take us on both sides and carry us by sheer force of numbers! Hadn’t we better open the ball?”

“Yes; I think that fellow ahead is already within safe range. You look out for the ship, and I will try my hand at a shot or two. Now, sir; luff her up carefully, but don’t get her aback, and I will bring this gun to bear!”

The old gentleman went aft and took his stand by the wheel. “Put your helm down, my man; look out, Captain Kelson! Let draw the head sheets! Meet her with the helm; meet her!”

The Mystic came up in the wind, the head sails flapped; I watched my chance, got a good sight with the gun, which was loaded with a solid shot, and pulled the lock-string!

As the smoke blew to leeward I sprang on the rail, and as our ship payed off and the sails filled, the foremast of the leading proa snapped off a few feet above the deck and fell overboard with a great crash, dragging with it the heavy lateen sail!

“Good shot, Kelson!” shouted Captain Archer from the poop; “that fellow has got his hands full of work and is out of the game for the present!” And our men set up a hearty cheer at this sudden and unexpected discomfiture of our adversary.

We supposed that the other proa would heave to and go to the assistance of her companion, but that evidently was not her intention, for she passed her without pausing, and with her sweeps out and heavily manned she bore rapidly down upon us.

I ordered the starboard gun run over on the port side and tried several shots at the approaching proa, but, although I hit her once, I did not seem to inflict any very serious damage, so I had both guns loaded with shrapnel and langridge, and determined to have the fight out at closer quarters.

Stationing both my officers and the carpenter, who was a splendid shot, on the quarter-deck with rifles, I ordered them to pick off the men who seemed to be the leaders, and then waited for the approach of the proa.

When she had crept up within easy rifle range, I luffed the ship up, as before, and getting a deliberate aim at the crowded deck, depressed the guns and fired them at the word, both at once, point blank, reloading and repeating the dose before the smoke of the first discharge had cleared away.

The effect of this murderous fire, at such close quarters, upon the crowd massed upon the proa’s deck was terrific, and the slaughter was frightful. Yet, by some strange chance, the captain, a tall, vicious-looking Malay, stripped to the waist and waving a naked kreese to encourage his followers, had escaped uninjured, and was shouting to his men, to rally them, with the evident intent of boarding us.

Captain Archer had meanwhile filled our ship away, but the wind was light, and before we had fairly gained headway the proa, with sweeps out, shot under our starboard quarter, and a grapnel thrown from her caught in our mizzen channels.

The pirate captain at once sprang forward, and, with his kreese in his mouth, scrambled up our side, followed by a score of his men, and gained the poop deck of the ship!

Abandoning our battery, we gathered in the waist, and I called to the carpenter to pick off the Malay captain. He nodded, and, taking a careful sight, fired, and the Malayan fell dead among his men. Our other riflemen were meanwhile dropping those of the proa who had followed their captain.

Just then the wind freshened, and by great good fortune the proa’s grapnel disengaged itself and she dropped astern.

Calling upon my men, we made a dash upon the few remaining Malays and fairly drove them overboard. I then put the helm down, and as we came round on the other tack and gathered headway, I stood down on the proa, a good wrap full, and striking her fair and square amidships cut her to the water’s edge.

Our victory was now complete, and as the first proa, having disentangled herself from the wreck of her foremast, was coming down, with sweeps out, to rescue the survivors of her consort, I made all sail and kept on my course, leaving them to their own devices.

The next day we fell in with a Dutch man-of-war brig, lately out from Batavia. I reported the affair to her, and she made all sail for the straits in hopes of capturing the pirates, who, if they were caught, would have received a short shrift, for the Dutch were very active in the suppression of piracy in those waters.

The 15th of November we passed through the Straits of Sunda and laid our course to the westward. The wind continued generally from the southeast, but it was extremely variable, and on the 18th it increased to a brisk whole sail breeze, attended with showers and occasional squalls.

That night the barometer went down in a most astonishing manner and the sea rose without any seeming cause, for the wind was not heavy, while the air was close and the temperature unusually sultry.

“What do you think of it, Captain Archer?” said I, as we both looked at the barometer in the cabin.

“I think we are about to have some nasty weather. It would not surprise me if we caught the tail end of a typhoon.”

“That is exactly my idea, captain, and I hope you won’t laugh at me when I tell you that I am going to take in sail and prepare for it!”

“Not a bit of it, my dear fellow. An ounce of prevention may be worth tons of after care. With such a low barometer as that, you are justified in doing anything for the safety of your ship.”

I went on deck at once. “Mr. Ireson,” said I to the chief mate, “call all hands, send down all three of those royal yards, and house the masts. Take in the main-topgallant sail, close-reef the topsails, and put a reef in both the courses. And don’t waste any time about it, sir. The glass is very low and still falling, and I believe that we shall have some heavy weather before morning.”

The mate looked rather surprised at these orders, but he saw that I was in earnest and proceeded to carry them out. The wind soon commenced freshening, but with our double crew the work was speedily accomplished, and by the time that all was snug the wind had chopped round and came out howling from the southward and eastward. In consequence of our timely preparation, however, we were ready for it.

The gale continued to increase, and on the third day we hove to under close-reefed main-topsail and reefed foresail, under which sail the ship made good weather, although the sea was running very heavily indeed.

Just before midnight the wind suddenly fell, and for a few minutes it was almost calm. It was intensely dark, the sky was as black as night, not a star was seen through the dense clouds, and the sails flapped in an ominous manner.

Then, in a moment, as though all the powers of the wind-god had been loosed, the gale struck us with infernal force, accompanied with torrents of rain and the most vivid chain lightning, which played about the ship till it seemed as though she must be on fire; the thunder pealing like a park of artillery!

The two sails we had set bellied, and with one flap fairly blew out of the bolt ropes. For a moment I thought the ship would surely founder, for she went almost on her beam ends, trembled like a live thing, and then, relieved by the loss of the sails, slowly recovered herself and came up again to the wind.

I had been in many severe gales in these latitudes, but I had never experienced anything like the tremendous power of this wind: the waves were fairly beaten down, which had been running half mast high after the three days’ heavy gale.

With the aid of a dozen men we succeeded with great difficulty in getting a stout tarpaulin in the weather mizzen rigging, and this was quite sufficient to keep the ship’s head to the wind.

One by one every sail in the ship was blown from the yards, although they were furled, and, in some cases, storm-furled with extra gaskets. But the wind seemed to cut like a knife, and we could see by the lightning flashes the long ribbons of canvas streaming out and then disappearing to leeward. Had I not seen this I would not have believed it possible.

All of us, officers and men, were lashed to the weather rail, absolutely helpless, so far as our own exertions were concerned, and utterly unable to communicate with each other, as no trumpet could be heard above this wild discord of the winds and waves. No man dared leave his place lest he should be washed or blown overboard.

At about two o’clock in the morning we shipped a heavy sea, and two large, full water casks lashed amidships broke adrift and dashed from side to side, with every roll of the ship, with appalling violence, threatening to stave in our bulwarks.

It seemed certain death for any one to attempt to secure these casks, and yet it was equally certain they would do us great mischief if they were permitted to dash about in this manner.

At last one of them became temporarily blocked by some spare spars and coils of rope in the lee scuppers, and the carpenter, with a life-line attached to his waist, succeeded in staving in one of the heads of the cask, thus rendering it harmless. Watching his opportunity when the other cask came over to leeward, he was equally fortunate and staved it also, to our great relief.

The ship, meanwhile, was laboring very heavily, straining and groaning as she pitched and rolled, as helpless as a log in the heavy trough of the sea, and it was evident that her seams were opening, as we found on sounding the well that there was more than a foot of water in the hold.

“Pray God the gale may break with daylight, Kelson,” said Captain Archer, who was lashed close to me, as he saw the sounding rod drawn up from the pumps.

“Yes, sir, the old barkey won’t stand many more hours of this hammering and twisting. If the gale doesn’t break with daylight I fear we shall never see Boston again!”

With difficulty I worked my way into the cabin, to look at the barometer we had been consulting so anxiously all night. It had certainly stopped falling! Yes, and better still, the surface of the bulb was at last convex! That was at least hopeful. I returned to the deck and reported the news to my companion.

“Yes,” said he; “I really believe the wind has gone down a bit. It is scarcely perceptible yet, but I think I can notice a slight difference for the better. Can’t you sound the pumps again?”

The carpenter again got the sounding rod down, and we anxiously watched his face by the light of the lantern as he measured the wet place on the iron.

“The water has only gained a scant inch, sir,” he reported.

That was reassuring; so we waited more hopefully for morning, and as the first gray light of dawn showed in the east the gale began to moderate, and by eight o’clock we were able to get about the decks again and commence to clear up the wreck.

We found, on inspection, that all our sails were blown away with the exception of the jib and main-trysail. In addition, the three topgallant masts had been carried away, the head of the mizzen topmast was gone, and the fore yard was badly sprung in the slings, while the starboard, or lee quarter boat, had been washed from the davits.

Fortunately we had a new suit of sails below, that I had been keeping for use in coming on our coast in the winter season. These we got up and bent; new topgallant masts were fitted and sent aloft from our spare spars; the fore yard was fished, and by night we were standing on our course all a-tanto again.

We passed the Cape of Good Hope a couple of weeks later, and on Christmas Day we anchored in the roads off the island of St. Helena. Here we sent down the fore yard and bought a new spar on shore and had the bends calked by carpenters, while we overhauled and refitted our rigging with the ship’s crew. This work detained us for a week at the island.

As this was my first visit to St. Helena, I made the usual pilgrimage to Longwood and to Napoleon’s grave. The remains of the great Emperor had been removed to France by the Prince de Joinville a few years before, in 1840, but there were several people on the island who remembered him perfectly during his residence at Longwood, and it was very interesting to listen to their stories and personal reminiscences of General Bonaparte, as they usually called him.

Our repairs completed, we sailed and had a fine run till we came on the coast, when we encountered some heavy weather and head winds, but at last we got a favorable slant, and on Washington’s Birthday, February 22, we sighted Cape Ann Light, and the following day anchored off Commercial Wharf after a voyage of fifteen months, which had been full of adventure and had more than once promised to be most disastrous in its outcome. But thanks to divine Providence, I had been enabled to finish it in safety and with success for myself and my employers.