Promptly at two bells I entered the galley by the starboard door and said, “Good morning, Dock” (a term always given to a cook on ship-board). “I have come to inspect your galley.” When we left New York the galley had been freshly painted, and was in fine shape, being a large room, with staterooms in the rear for the steward, cook and cabin-boy. I found the paint work very much smoked up.
This was caused by the cook putting wood on top of the coal to hurry up his fire so as to rush his meals along and get them on time. I spoke to the cook and said, “After dinner you clean up this place, and be sure to scrub up that paint.” Without warning, he suddenly picked up a big carving knife and sprang at me, yelling for me to get out of the galley, and at the same time making vicious lunges at me with the knife. Jumping aside, I grabbed a saucepan from off the stove, which was full of boiling water, and let him have the contents full in the face. With a blood-curdling yell he dropped the knife, picked up an axe and threw it at me, narrowly grazing my head and sticking in the starboard bulwarks. I then pulled out my pistol, fully intending to shoot him, when he bolted through the port door with a roar of “Murder, murder, the captain’s killing me.” As he went through the door the bo’sun struck him a heavy blow which knocked him flat. All hands were now on deck eager to have a hand in the fray. As the cook got up, he rushed off to the port side of the ship and gained the poop-deck. Running around the after part of the main deck-house, he ran into the third officer, who went at him hammer and tongs. By this time every man jack of the crew were at him, with fists, boots and belaying pins, and I actually had to show the gun again before they let him go. Such a sight one never saw. The deck, from galley to quarter-deck, was covered with blood, and Mr. Cook lay unconscious. A couple of buckets of cold sea water soon brought him to his senses, and he cried out, “Don’t let them kill me; this nigger got enough.” At four bells that afternoon a big hogshead, which we carried on deck, was filled with hot water, and Mr. Cook was asked to get in. Each man helped clean him up, and then as he stepped on deck we sprayed him over with our deck hose. He was then as clean as he ever was in his whole life. His chest and clothes were removed to a small room in the carpenter’s shop, a new cook appointed in his place from the crew, and Mr. Negro, cook no longer, was put on the third officer’s watch for the rest of the voyage, and he was ever after a most obedient and faithful servant. Peace and harmony reigned throughout the rest of the voyage, and the new cook proved most efficient. When we tied up at the wharf in Frisco our big negro decamped, not even waiting to be paid off, and he was never heard of after. This little incident simply shows how a man of great physical proportions can put fear into those who possess little, and how tame he can be after he has found his master.
The passage from New York had occupied 128 days, and now the ship was discharged and loaded with grain for Europe, and taken in command by Captain John Taylor, for whom she had been built.
I remained in California a short time, visiting my uncle, a Mr. Marshall Martin, who lived but fifteen miles from the big trees. The climate was delightful, but I soon was obliged to return to Frisco to return to my home on Cape Cod. While there, in came the ship Sacramento, Captain Lunt, that had left New York a week ahead of the Dexter, but was some two weeks behind us in getting to Frisco. We came through the Straits of Le Maire, which saved some 200 miles, although it offered a more dangerous passage. Captain Lunt was much chagrined to find himself so badly beaten by a ship that had left port after he had, for he was an able skipper and was famous for his quick runs.
THE BRIG J. L. BOWEN.
The Bowen was built at Quincy, Mass., by Deacon Thomas, and was owned by a syndicate, Captain J. Amesbury being the principal owner. He had been her only and original commander up to the time he was murdered at sea by his colored crew. The story of the murder is fresh in my mind, as I took charge of the Bowen a few days after the captain met his death.
The Bowen was some 300 miles east of New York, bound for Gibraltar and Cadiz. The first officer (a mere boy), nephew of the captain, was ordered to take the anchors in on the top-gallant forecastle and secure them for the voyage. The first officer was inexperienced and, wanting to show his authority, had used abusive and insulting language to the crew. A dispute followed, the crew shouting and crowding about the mate, threatening to do him bodily harm. The captain, who was in his cabin at the time, on hearing the shouts and rush of feet, ran forward to the assistance of his mate, and picked up a hand spike as he ran along. The crew, who claimed they thought they were in danger of their lives, struck the captain with an iron belaying pin, which fractured his skull and caused instant death. This, it seemed, ended the mutiny, but the brig drifted helplessly around for several days, as the mate knew nothing of navigation. They finally hoisted signals of distress, and the German ship Helvetia, bound to New York from Europe, sent an officer and men aboard the brig and took her back to New York. She was anchored in the lower bay, libelled, a keeper put on board, and the crew arrested and brought to New York for trial. I was telegraphed for to take charge of the ship, and was present at the trial, which seemed to me the greatest farce that I ever witnessed. The negro crew were treated, not like sinners, but as if they had been sinned against. They were acquitted, probably to renew their mutinous acts on some other poor ship officer. The owners of the Bowen gave bonds, and afterwards the case was settled by giving the libellants $8000 as salvage.
With new officers and crew I sailed from New York to complete the voyage that had begun so disastrously. In just 18 days from New York we were at anchor at Gibraltar, after a pleasant and uneventful trip. Some of the sailors, who knew the history of the brig, kept voicing the opinion that we were bound to have bad luck, but their superstitious fears were doomed to be disappointed this time.
We now discharged that portion of the cargo which was bound for this place, and proceeded for the final port of discharge, which was Cadiz. It took us but twenty-four hours to run around to this port, as we had strong and favorable winds. There I found instructions from the owners to purchase a cargo of salt and proceed without delay to Boston. As soon as the salt agents found that I was in the market for salt I was deluged with offers, and at much lower prices than my owners had limited me. The American barque Two Brothers was in port at this time loading salt for New York, with Mate Pease on board, who was an old Boston boy and was known to me. He introduced me to his commander, who told me to take my time, as I could name my own price, as the salt market was in a demoralized condition. He then introduced me to his agents, Solomon & Sons, Jews, but very honorable men. Through them I bought a full cargo of salt for seven cents a bushel, which gave the brig a good charter, resulting in a prosperous trip for the owners, especially for the widow of the late Captain Amesbury. He had built the brig to sail on half shares, he to victual and man the brig, pay half the port charges and other bills, and was to receive 5% on gross stock, which, for the round voyage, netted her something like $2500. We had a quick run across and discharged cargo at East Boston at the Eastern Salt Company’s wharf. I now purchased from Mrs. Amesbury all of her interest in the brig, and it turned out a most profitable deal for me.