On our return trip we had pleasant S. E. trade winds, which carried us along to the island of St. Helena, where we stopped for fresh provisions and water, and were given a run ashore to visit the final resting-place of the great Napoleon.
One little incident occurred on the return trip. The captain’s little son had a small cart, and as he was up early every morning, would run back and forth on the deck, making plenty of noise and keeping the watch below, who had turned in, from getting their sleep. We had protested to the captain, but of no avail, so we drew lots to see which one of us should dispose of the cart, and it fell to me to do the deed. I afterwards learned that my name had been slyly written on all the slips, so they played it on me anyway, possibly as retribution for my silence in regard to the jalap being put in the pies, which they in some way seemed to attribute to me, although nothing had been said about it.
One very dark night I crept forward to the top-gallant fo’c’sle with the cart, and overboard she went. Next morning there was a big row. Little Johnny couldn’t find his cart, and all hands were called aft and questioned, but nobody knew where the cart was. The captain seemed very suspicious of me (probably my guilty conscience) and said, “Now, look here, do you know where that cart is?” Now, the cart by this time was many miles astern of us, so I said, “I couldn’t tell the place that cart was in if you gave me a hundred dollars.”
The captain was very angry, and ordered the steward to cut out the “duff” and potatoes, and to give us the “duff” twice a week instead of twice a day, as he had been doing. (This “duff” is like dumplings, and filled with raisins, dried apples or currants, is one of the sailors’ favorite dishes).
We protested, but it was no use; the captain ordered the store room opened, and overboard went eight barrels of potatoes. The captain was very angry, the crew did not dare to say any more, but I said I would report to the owners when we got to Boston. By good luck we made a rapid run to Boston, and I was detained as ship-keeper.
One day the captain said to me, “Now, Joshua, tell me who hove over that cart?” I said, “Will you hold me harmless and protect me if I tell you who did it?” He said, “Yes, I will, but I would like to know, and you can tell me now that it is all over.” So I told him that I did it. He grabbed me by the neck and slatted me around until I thought a stone crusher had run over me, he was so angry, and told me to pack up my bag and get ashore. You may be sure I did, and made for the office of the owner, who was my cousin, and told them the whole story. They all roared with laughter, for the captain was well known for his quick temper. They gave me a note to carry back to the captain, which ordered him to keep me until further orders.
THE YACHT CHARMER.
I took this yacht from Sag Harbor, New York, around to Boston and there fitted her out for the passage to New Zealand, and although this yacht was but 64 tons, we made the record time of 82 days from Boston out to Littleton, New Zealand. After we reached New Zealand the yacht was put under the British flag and her name changed to the “Canterbury” on account of the Civil War, which was then raging in the States. The Confederate privateers had destroyed so much of our shipping that it was necessary to do this if one wished to save his ship from destruction in case he should be overhauled by one of these “licensed pirates.”
My crew consisted of three men before the mast, a negro cook and two mates. Second Mate Kenrick and his brother Benjamin, who was before the mast, were both natives of my town. They both left me in 1864 at New Zealand, and remained out there; the mate died in 1906 and the other, I believe, is still living now at Christ Church, New Zealand. As this was my first command and as I was but a boy, I did indeed feel proud, but most anxious. The yacht was built of white oak, copper fastened, drew 13 foot aft and 7 foot forward, and could sail like a bird. It was a bitter cold day in December, in the early sixties, when we cast off our lines from Commercial Wharf, Boston, and started on this long journey of 16,000 miles, across several oceans where beautiful trade-winds blow and where the home reach is a long stretch of 7000 miles in the Southern Sea, where in latitude 50 south, one runs his eastern longtitude down. (By “reach” we mean the nautical term which means to sail directly on one’s course with the wind forward of the beam, usually with the sheets eased off).
In these regions strong gales prevail for ten months in the year from N. West to S. West, and as ships are seldom seen in these Southern latitudes, it makes the passage seem long and dreary. The wonderful bird called the “albatross” makes these regions its home and is ever on the wing, a monarch of the air. We also saw thousands of “penguins,” sometimes called the great auk, and one time, when we were obliged to “heave to” on account of the heavy south-east gale, thousands of them rose up from the ocean and covered the water as far as the eye could reach. Our nearest land was then 2000 miles away, so they must have had a long swim, as they can fly but a short distance, having but short, flipper-like wings which are used almost wholly for swimming. The king penguin has a yellow, heart-shaped breast, and while the feathers are short and thick, they are very beautiful. Humboldt, the great naturalist, in his early travels, states that he has seen these birds 3000 miles from their breeding place.