The evening we made Cape Cod, the sky began to clear in the westward and a light breeze came from that direction. "Now," said the captain, "we are in for it. It's just my luck. It's going to blow a living gale of wind from the nor'west; we shall be driven off the coast and not fetch back here for a fortnight." This was rather disheartening and I couldn't help replying: "If I thought so I wouldn't say it, for I think we have had quite trouble enough without borrowing any."
"I tell you what it is young man," said the captain, "there's a difference between borrowing trouble and being weather-wise."
A light westerly breeze blew all the next day. We beat up the bay with fine weather and off Boston light took the steam-tug "R.B. Forbes," which towed us quickly up to Lewis' Wharf, just as the day had ended. I heard a familiar voice through the darkness, and the ship was no sooner fast, than I went over the rail and for two days abandoning myself to the joys of home I tried to forget that there ever was a "Ship Dublin." Then I visited the ship, and the captain at once inquired "Did you notice how it blew last night? I knew it was coming; I'm not often deceived about the weather." I received the compliment of being asked to make another voyage in the ship and the black eyes snapped at my rather peremptory refusal.
The owner was offended with me for leaving, and finding that I had suffered in his good opinion by doing so, I ventured after some days, to excuse myself by saying just enough about Capt. Streeter to justify my conduct. He was very indignant, wouldn't allow such a man to sail for him, but didn't see how he could discharge him just then. He would tell him to do differently though. One of the partners remarked, "Oh, they all swear and fight, and Capt. Streeter is the smartest commander we have ever had."
He sailed again on another Russia voyage with the old instructions to "use his best efforts to suppress all vice and immorality on board and promote the welfare of his crew." How he did it the following letter from Mr. Wright the mate, written from Cronstadt will tell:
"I suppose you would like to hear how this old boat gets along and what kind of a voyage we've had so far. When we left the wharf at Boston, I called the men to come out of the forecastle and go to work, but the answers I got weren't very polite. They called out, 'we want to make our beds up; don't get your temper in an uproar; don't fret' and some other remarks that you can fancy. I got pretty mad, and I just picked up an iron belaying-pin and went into the forecastle and made Rome howl. All hands turned on me, and I had all the fighting I wanted. Things got too hot for me and I had to go aft and ask the old man to come in and help me. I thought he would be very glad to have such a chance for "spiflicating sailors" as he calls it, and some men I've sailed with wouldn't have asked for better sport than to walk into those sailors and make them take the measure for their coffins on deck. The way the old man showed the white feather surprised me. He got on top of the after-house, with a pistol in his hand, and called to the men to come aft, and talked to them as mild as a sucking parson. They were pretty sullen, and five men swore they wouldn't do a hands turn of work on board. The old man told me to put them in irons, and I did it without much trouble, for they had too much headache to make any more fuss. I put a rope through between their wrists and triced them up with the main lift tackles till their feet only just touched the deck. It wasn't long before they wanted to turn to. One was hurt so bad that we thought he would die, and he has been laid up the whole passage. I have had several sprees with the men since, but now I only have to hold up my finger and they mind me. The old man doesn't say much to the sailors, but he's down on the second mate, who is a youngster, and doesn't know much, and he hazes him when he wants to let off steam. We are loading for Boston, and I hope we will get there soon, for I've been about long enough in the "Dublin." I hope you'll get a good ship and a captain that'll suit you, but they are scarce fish to find."
The ship was sold on her return, and the captain entered another employ. His vessel finally went to Australia. When riding horseback he was thrown, and broke his ankle. The doctors declared amputation was necessary. With his usual contempt for medical opinions he drove them away, and thought he could apply to his own case the skill he had exercised on Old Harry, but in a few days he died of lockjaw. His end appeared significant to those who knew how his powers of speech had been misused.