On Board the "Rocket"

by Robert C. Adams

Where is John now? Has he bought his farm yet in the Faderland? Or has he fallen over board, or died in a foreign hospital? Has he been disheartened by the harsh treatment of cruel mates and become degraded in his habits on shore? May God bless him wherever he is, and through all his wanderings bring him safely to the Fatherland!

We attempted a Christmas dinner in the cabin, while the sailors had their plum duff in honor of the festival. Our table bore a goodly display of articles, as regards name, but probably their quality would be less attractive to landsmen's palates. We dressed in our "shore togs;" appropriate sentiments were uttered, and an original ode was recited, as follows:

ODE TO THE ROCKET.

TUNE: "Van Amburgh's Menagerie."
The Rocket is our vessel's name,
A noble Boston bark.
Her qualities are known to fame,
As I need not remark.
For fourteen years she's ploughed the wave,
And sailed through every clime;
Though billows roar and tempests rave,
She always comes to time.
Chorus: The Rocket now we'll praise,
For she's as good a craft
As ever dashed aside the sprays,
Or at the storm-king laughed.
The captain, first and second mate,
A passenger beside,
Are lads as true as ever ate
Plum duff upon the tide.
The Straits of Sunda is our goal
To which we're speeding free;
And now we fill the flowing bowl
To life upon the sea.
Chorus: The Rocket now we'll praise,
For she's as good a craft
As ever dashed aside the sprays,
Or at the storm-king laughed.
When with fresh wind and flowing sheet
We're flying through the foam,
Our hearts with joy and gladness beat,
As round the world we roam.
Or in the calm and tropic night,
The stars recall to mind
The eyes, as beautiful and bright
Of girls we've left behind.
Chorus: The Rocket now we'll praise,
For she's as good a craft
As ever dashed aside the sprays,
Or at the storm-king laughed.
Roll on ye waves, ye breezes blow,
Swift speed us on our course,
And soon to Asia's shores we'll show
The Ensign and Black Horse.[1]
And when we step on Java's strand,
Our double toast shall be
The glorious old bark Rocket, and
The Romance of the sea.
Chorus: The Rocket now we'll praise,
For she's as good a craft
As ever dashed aside the sprays,
Or at the storm-king laughed.

The vessel had received a liberal outfit from the owners, who expressed the wish that the sailors should not be restricted to a diet of salt beef and hard bread, believing this to be the most expensive way of provisioning a ship, as well as an unsatisfactory one to the crew. Accordingly the men were allowed "soft bread" every night; there was a good supply of potatoes, onions, and beets on board, and mackerel, herrings, tongues and sounds, dried apples, corn meal, and pickles were provided, in addition to the usual supplies of rice, beans, split peas, salt codfish and the inevitable beef, pork, and "hard-tack." Molasses and vinegar were freely served out, these condiments often making a plain meal quite palatable, and one evening in a week molasses gingerbread was furnished in place of the "soft bread." In the cabin we had a tolerable supply of canned provisions and had no reason to complain. I find, however, the following entry in my journal:

"I feel a strong desire to get ashore and have something new to eat. We have a good supply of stores, but there is so much sameness necessarily in our table fare, that the very thought of meal times takes away one's appetite. We had a large stock of vegetables and still have potatoes, onions and beets, so there is no fear of scurvy. I have sometimes said that the only advantage I ever discovered in going to sea, was the ability to eat onions, without fear of offending one's associates. But after indulgence in this respect every day for three months, I feel willing to renounce this luxurious privilege of sea life, and endure the privations of civilized society for a while."

Very small incidents become noteworthy at sea and one day was enlivened by the appearance of the Malay cabin boy before me, with very solemn face, exclaiming, in tragic tones: "Sir! the ginger won't live long." It proved that a jar of preserved ginger, having been left open in the pantry, the officers had treated themselves in a night-watch, thus shortening its life.

Some little anxiety was caused by some doubtful islands being set down on the chart, but we sailed over their supposed locality without striking anything, or seeing any sign of shoal water.