On Board the "Rocket"

by Robert C. Adams

"A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow."—Dryden.

Fertility of resources is one of the most desirable traits of character to the seaman. His limited means and appliances beget contrivance and invention, and he naturally acquires a facility in accomplishing work under difficulties. His whole mode of life is an exemplification of the possibility of making much out of little. The sailor, with his "chest" for a chair, his knees for a table, the sheath-knife and spoon his only utensils, secures his food with all the necessary benefit. With the scanty sewing materials, buttons, pins and knicknacks jumbled together in his "ditty box," he contrives to mend his clothes or rig the model of a ship in his spare hours.

The carpenter, with his hammer and hatchet, does an amount of execution astonishing to the shore artizan, who has well filled tool-racks. The cook would likewise startle, perhaps offend, the ladies sensibilities by the manner in which his appurtenances do manifold duties, besides those considered appropriate. The mate racks his brain daily to discover how to repair a sail without canvas, mend a chain without spare links, paint ship without brushes, or tar the rigging without tar. The captain is as much put to it as any one in contriving for all the departments under his care. So they become Jacks of all trades, and too often masters of none. One incident of a personal nature will illustrate the manner in which necessity often becomes the mother of invention on shipboard. One day when off the west coast of Sumatra, the carpenter was caulking and paying the deck-seams. I picked up a little bit of his pitch and put it in my mouth, but soon removed it with the gold fillings from two teeth attached. Severe toothache soon followed. At Padang I enquired for a dentist, but to learn that none of those kindly torturers had yet located there. The surgeon of the place would extract the teeth for twenty dollars apiece, but the pleasure of paying this moderate sum was no inducement to lose the "ivories." But the cavities must be filled to exclude the air. Boy Frank had been in a dentist's office, so he was summoned to the council on the old man's toothache. He put in a filling of pitch and then of rubber, but they were not destined to remain. Finally, at sea the pain induced the resolution to part with the teeth. Frank was called again. There were no forceps in the ship, and an investigation of all the implements led to the selection of my spring-punch. The tooth of this was removed, the carpenter filed the lips to make them tenacious of grip, the big Webster's dictionary was laid on the cabin table, and resting my head back upon this, Dr. Frank made a desperate effort to pull out teeth, gum and jaw at one attack. He was speedily driven on deck, and warned not to try that again. At last he thought of an amalgam filling, but how should it be obtained? I possessed a silver "ten-cent piece, saved from the obliterating ravages of the age of Greenbacks. This I filed into dust, and after a serious consideration my thermometer-tube was broken, the mercury was extracted and mingled with the silver. Then laying my head once more on the dictionary, the cavities were effectually filled, the only instruments used by the dentist being a crotchet needle and a screw-driver. It was not till three years after, that other fillings were substituted by an American dentist in China, who laughed as much at my story of the previous operation, as I did at his account of the way the King of Siam tested the set of teeth made for him, by putting this worthy dentist's hand in his mouth, and nearly biting off the fingers. He was not so much injured, however, as to be unable to carry off the bag of a thousand dollars in gold, the price of his work."

Speaking of tarring without tar reminds me how this difficulty was overcome. Having had a great deal of work, turning in and fitting the rigging, the supply of tar gave out, and when we reached the south-east trades in the Atlantic, and were rolling down to St. Helena, an inspection of the tar-barrel showed it was only fit for a bonfire on the next dark night. How should we make the rigging black and shiny? was the query of thoughts, dreams and discussions in succeeding days and nights. I will confess what I did, but do not recommend the process. Two bundles of rattans were chopped up and consumed in the cook's stove with the draft checked. The ashes were placed in a barrel and pounded fine with an impromptu pestle, then linseed oil and varnish were added, and with this production, well stirred, all the ropes were "tarred" with such good effect that many old sailors admired the black gloss of the rigging as they inspected the vessel at Central Wharf. But using up the paint oil for this, brought about another crisis. How should we paint ship? That was most essential to our good appearance. After many experiments the kerosene oil was selected to serve as the substitute, the sailors' whale oil was appropriated to cabin use, and Jack was invited to illuminate his premises with a slush lamp, a wick floated in beef fat contained in a tin can. So the ship was painted! These are samples of the makeshifts of sea life.

The first moonless evening was appointed for the final ending of the tar-barrel. It was sawn in two, the smaller half being chopped up and deposited with the carpenter's chips and shavings in the remaining part. A bit of old rope from the "shakings barrel" suspends it over the side, while the cook with a fire-brand ignites the contents. As the flames gather volume the barrel is dropped into the sea. The sailors spring to the rail or into the rigging to watch it as it emerges from under the ship's counter and is left astern in the wake. For awhile it blazes fiercely and continuously, then it disappears—ah, it's gone! No, the swell hides it. There it is again! Its disappearances and reappearances occur at gradually lengthening intervals till it no longer can be seen from deck. The second mate runs half way up the mizzen-rigging and exclaims, "I see it." Soon he shouts "I can just see it from the topmast cross-trees." Then it is given up, faces are turned from the stern to the bow, for the gaze on shipboard is always forward, seldom backwards, and as the ship presses on into the dark night, we think with subdued feelings of the lost light, and fall to moralizing or musing as the disposition of each inclines him.

The south-east trades took us to the line and then the doldrums raged again, but instead of giving a repetition of the miseries of this region I will relate the second mate's yarn about a "Wild Ship."

One calm night in the doldrums I went on deck in the middle watch to see if there were any signs of a breeze. The moon "had scoffed the clouds," and shone brilliantly upon the glassy sea. The courses were hauled up, jib and staysails hauled down, and the vessel made no motion ahead. I felt that I could not sleep till a breeze came and thought I would stay on deck and help the second mate keep his watch; so I called him to me, and as we leaned over the rail, I said, "Mr. Bangs, I believe you told me you sailed in the 'Bloodhound' once. I should like to hear about your voyage."

So he told the following yarn:

"When I got home from Australia in the 'Grace Darling,' after I'd had a lively time on the Cape, and my money began to get low, I went up to Boston to the Sailors' Home and began to look for a ship. My chum Bill Holmes and I made up our minds we would sail together again, and as we cruised about the wharves, we came across the ship 'Bloodhound' lying at India wharf. She was an extreme clipper, eighteen hundred tons register, and the handsomest vessel I ever clapped eyes on. I was told she was bound out to 'Frisco,' and that evening I asked the Superintendent of the Home about her, for I felt rather shy of those crack California clippers. I had been shipmates with a man who was with Bully Woodman in the 'Sea Witch.' He had a fashion of shooting at the men aloft with a revolver, or would let go the topsail halyards when men were on the yard and shake them overboard. His owners paid him five thousand dollars a year and fighting expenses, and sometimes these were pretty heavy. They used to clear the ship out with another captain, and put Woodman aboard at Sandy Hook, for it was hard to ship a crew to sail with him. There were several men of that style in those clippers, and I thought the Superintendent would know if the 'Bloodhound' was a safe boat to go in. He said she belonged to Jones and Thompson one of the most respectable firms in Boston. Deacon Jones was a member of Old South church, a tip-top man. He often gave lectures to young men about good principles and success in life, and it was certain he wouldn't allow any 'bullyragging' in one of his ships, for he was a good friend of sailors.