On Board the "Rocket"

by Robert C. Adams

The captain watched me very closely, wishing to train me up in the way I should go, and many a harsh-sounding order or rebuke I got from him on deck, all the more galling because given in the presence of the men. But personally the captain seemed favorably inclined toward me, or else he feared lest I might make a report of his doings to the owner, and thus sought frequent opportunities to talk with me and smooth over my ruffled feelings. It is not customary for a captain to have any conversation with a third mate, and I was not quite sure as to his motive, though I leaned to the latter opinion, judging from the tenor of all his stories, talk and advice, which was to the sole end of discipline, or, perhaps more exactly, of fighting sailors. In consulting with the mate as to this he gave me a decided opinion. "All the old man wants," said he, "is to have you tarred with the same brush as himself, and then he thinks you wouldn't injure him ashore, for you know it doesn't do for the pot to call the kettle black."

One day we were reefing the mizzen-topsail and I was astride of the yard-arm hauling out the weather earing. The captain saw from the deck that the men had not gathered up all the slack sail on top of the yard, before tying the reef-points; and he at once set up a roar of mingled oaths and orders, which, with a storm howling past my ears produced a bewildering effect. With some difficulty I divined the pith of his remarks, and gave the necessary directions; but this was not enough for the captain, who sang out to me, "What's the use of sitting there and talking to them, get up on the yard and kick their heads off." A good deal more followed, but I was too angry to hear anything else and paid no attention.

The captain saw that I was rather out of sorts for the rest of the day, and in the dog-watch came up to me as I was leaning against the booby-hatch and began in his pleasant fluent way to tell me a story.

"You never met Mr. Jones of Baltimore did you?"

"No sir, I never did."

"Well, he was my second mate, when I had the ship 'Daphne' in the China trade."

I had heard from good authority on shore that the "Dublin" was the only ship Capt. Streeter had ever commanded, and since being at sea with him I had learned that Mr. Jones was his ideal officer, and whenever he wished to give a hint to his present mates upon points where he felt he could not command, his favorite and usual method was to convey it in a story about Mr. Jones, and Mr. Jones' name had already become a by-word among the officers. I knew what was coming and prepared to receive instructions.

"Mr. Jones," continued the captain, "never went aloft to reef topsails without having a belaying pin stuck into the leg of his boot. He used to take his stand in the slings of the yard, and if the sail wasn't picked up pretty lively, before you could count twenty he would have been out on both yard-arms, and hit every man a tap on the head that made 'em take hold like young tigers. Then when the sail was reefed he'd sing out, 'lay down,' and as every man got into the rigging, if he wasn't mighty spry, he'd get helped along with a kick, and then he followed the last man down and jumped on his head and shoulders, if he could overtake him. I tell you it was fun to see them scatter when he said 'lay down.' They would come sliding down the backstays like a parcel of monkeys, and once a Dutchman, who happened to be the last man, and saw the second mate's boots just above his head, got so frightened that he jumped down from half way up the main-rigging and broke his leg. I had to scold Jones though a little for that, as the galoot was laid up the rest of the voyage."

"I should think that was rather poor economy," said I, "to lose a man's labor for several months, for the sake of gaining a few seconds time in getting down from aloft."

"It paid though, after all," answered the captain, "for Jones could get as much work out of six men as some could out of a dozen. It's worse economy to be too humane with sailors."