The golden age of the American Merchant Marine has gone and the old-time ships have passed away. Their bones lie on the oceans bottom, on foreign reefs of islands far away, on the rocky ledges off Cape Horn, or are serving an inglorious fate as coal barges. In our great Civil War many were destroyed by the “Alabama” or other privateers. Their old-time commanders and owners are also gone from the stage of action. But if you will travel down to old Cape Cod you will still find a few of them left, the neat, clean, white houses, giving proof of the fact that they are yet “on deck,” and keeping things “shipshape.” The early training of these men was, for the most part, received on the fishermen that went to the Grand Banks, from which they “graduated” into the service of the Merchant Marine.
These little “Sea Yarns” are true stories from chapters in my own life, given to my readers as little experiences of a sailor of the old school. The old-time “Yankee” skipper was an important factor in placing the American Flag in every known port of the world and in proving the commercial superiority of its men and ships. Those times are now long past, and remain in our minds as remembrances only, of a day when American ships and American men were supreme in the maritime world.
THE SCHOONER PENNSYLVANIA.
My first voyage at sea was on March 25th, 1850. I started out as a big fat boy of eight years and eight months to do the cooking on board the schooner Pennsylvania, Captain Tracy Kenney as skipper.
We left home at eight in the morning, loading our bed sacks and bedding onto a team belonging to a man by name of Daniel Higgins, who carried the goods to Suet Creek, West Dennis, Mass. It was a fine morning, and with the crew I trudged along until at twelve we reached the old schooner, which had been hauled up for the winter. The tide was out and she lay on her broad side, looking for all the world like an abandoned old hulk. Nevertheless, I was destined to get the first baptism of old ocean aboard of her, learn some hard lessons, and acquire a love of salt water that would never be lost. The sea has ever been and ever will be a wondrous magnet to many men.
Our bedding and earthly goods were put on board and we proceeded to make things as comfortable as possible. Each one had his little sugar tub with grub enough to last until we reached Boston, where we were going to fit out with salt and provisions for a voyage to the Grand Banks. The stench from bilge water and mustiness, as the vessel had been closed all winter, was something terrible, and the stove and pipe were covered with rust half an inch thick.
The schooner was lying on her port bilge and there was hardly room to stand up, yet late in the afternoon the tide came in and it was more comfortable. The anchors were placed down stream and the vessel was hove off the bank and put down stream alongside a small wharf where our sails and gear were stored in a shed. The men bent sails and rove gear and made ready to start for Boston.
In the meantime I had been cleaning up the cabin, scrubbing the rust from the stove and greasing it. I had no cooking to do, only to make tea and coffee, set each man’s tub by his side, when they all fell to and helped themselves. Our plates, knives and forks were of ancient type, tin plates, iron spoons, and knives and forks which had to be constantly scoured with wood ashes to make them presentable.
Salt water had to be used for dish water, and one can imagine how my dish cloths looked washed with salt water soap. While the grease was on the stove I had the fire going, and the companion was full of smoke. Every few moments some one of the boys would shout down to me, “Hi, cookie, your dish cloths are burning on.”
On the morning of the third day after leaving home, we dropped down the creek into Barnstable Bay and made sail for Boston.