On Board the "Rocket"

by Robert C. Adams

The second mate and I had a room in the starboard side of the after house, opening out upon the deck. The weather being warm, I usually left the door open when I turned in, and one morning at about five o'clock I was awakened by a tremendous string of oaths, uttered by the captain in a very loud tone just in front of my room. "That shows the ambition of my officers," said he. "Nothing can be done unless I see to it myself. I believe if I should keep in my room one day the ship would go clear to destruction," (only he used a more explicit name,) and he went on with mingled curses and denunciations about the ambition of his officers, in a way that made me tremble. The occasion of this display, I learned, was the falling of a bundle of salt-fish from underneath one of the boats, and it happened that I had sent a man the evening before to see that it was well secured, as there was an appearance of more wind coming during the night. Being before the wind, the ship rolled a good deal, and the salt-fish fetched away in spite of the sailor's effort at securing it. There was no damage done to the fish, but it showed to the captain's mind that his officers had no ambition, and he made use of it to let off the cross feelings which mates know as a general thing attend a captain's getting up in the morning, and seem to be a sort of morning bitters—an appetizer for his cup of coffee. All these things gave me a vivid impression of the meaning of the phrase "eternal vigilance;" for no matter how hard I tried or closely watched, every little while there would be discovered some job which a sailor had slighted, or a gasket would get adrift on a yard while I was busied with work which required my whole attention, and the captain, who had nothing else to do but look for such things, would happen to spy it, and then would begin his taunting, aggravating remarks: "Nobody sees anything, but me. I don't know what they'd do without the old man," and so on, in a way that sometimes goaded me almost beyond endurance. When the captain saw this effect, in the next leisure moment he would have a yarn to spin or a word about home to soothe me again, for he seemed quite concerned about my ultimate impressions of my captain.

I philosophized over all this and comforted myself with the reflection that it was good training for me to be under such strict surveillance, and then I fell back upon the memory of pleasures which had been the result of this voyage, my travels in Italy; and often in the night-watch, I sought refuge from my intense broodings over the captain's tyranny and harshness, by standing, in imagination, by the Coliseum or under the dome of St. Peter's, or in gazing with memory's eye upon the almost living figures of Raphael and Guido, or the statues of the Vatican. The whistling of the wind recalled to me the beautiful echoes of the Baptistry of Pisa, and the inclining masts, its leaning tower; or, in more sober moods I remembered my sensations as I stood by the tombs of Galileo, Michael Angelo and Dante at Florence.

After passing the longitude of Bermuda the course was shaped more to the northward, and losing the trades, southerly winds and variables took their place, and helped the good ship along still further. A few days more would end the voyage, and I hoped the disagreeable features of it might prove to be already ended.

There was an old negro on board called Jenkings, who was nearly sixty years of age. He had been to sea a good part of his life, but was now not much more of a sailor than when he first started. Being in the mate's watch, poor Jenkings was hauled over the coals every day for some bad job or mistake; and the mate had expended more words upon him than upon any two men in the crew.

The captain was very fond of calling Jenkings to him and giving him an errand at the other end of the ship, telling him to run as fast as he could, and the captain stood and laughed at his movements; for his feeble legs made strange work of it, and though they moved up and down pretty often, made a slow business of forging ahead. One day, while watching these movements, he remarked to me, as I was sitting on the deck near him, strapping a block: "A man would be a wretch that would strike that old thing." And I remembered it as evidence that the captain had some tender mercies with regard to sailors after all.

The mate never went farther with him than to pull his white beard, or tie him up in the rigging by his thumbs. But it was very hard for him to do anything to the mate's satisfaction; and every day Mr. Morrison's shrill tones and Scotch accent were bestowed most liberally upon old Jenkings, who always received his rebukes in perfect silence, but with his thick, pouting lips stuck out beyond their usual great prominence.

In crossing the Gulf Stream we found unsettled weather, as is apt to be the case in the region of this wonderful current, and were busied in taking in or setting sail, as occasion required. The captain had given orders in the afternoon to set the cro' jack; and having just had a dispute with the mate, he went into the cabin in a cross mood, to get out of the way while the sail was being set. When the work was about finished, he was just stepping out of the cabin, as I sung out to old Jenkings, who was on top of the house: "Let go that buntline; what are you hauling it taut for?"

"Aye, aye, sir," was the response, uttered in rather a testy voice.

Capt. Streeter was just shutting the cabin door at this time, and did it with a force that expressed his temper, and this prevented the "sir" from reaching his ears. He sprang to windward, and seeing me standing by the mizzen-rigging, called to me: "Get up on the house and knock that old nigger's head off!"

I stared at him in amazement, wondering if he had gone crazy.