A bunch of rope yarns

by Stanton H. King

I have never owned a cat but have been shipmates with several. When I was an ordinary seaman on the Hagarstown, the day we left port, a black cat belonging to the tow boat jumped aboard. She was curious and drifted into the steward’s store room where she became a prisoner. That evening her mewing attracted the steward’s attention, and she was released and allowed to wander around the decks. There was an unhappy look upon her face, and it was several days before she attempted to be friendly. Gradually the steward won her confidence and she lapped her milk quite contently. In about two weeks four little kittens were born, all black like the mother except one, which had a few white spots. When we arrived in port all hands left for their homes and boarding houses. The watchman and I were the only occupants of the ship. There was very little nourishment for the kittens so we gave them away. The mother remained a few days and then disappeared.

I have seen men fondle cats and care for them as tenderly as a mother would her babe. I was once shipmates with a colored cook who had a family of cats. They slept in his bunk, and in cold weather they enjoyed the warmth of his galley fire. One of his pets seemed to care for the companionship of the forecastle, which aroused his jealousy. At last he shut his galley doors against this turtle shell pet of the men. She did not mind this treatment; she shared her affections with all forward; though her relatives fed more sumptuously, she had sixteen bunks at her disposal. Every man’s bed was her property.

I have seen a man-of-war’s man take a little Maltese kitten from the street outside the Boston Navy Yard gate, covered with mange and sores, and nestle it in the folds of his blue shirt while he conveyed it aboard the Wabash. Here it found a home. Poor little puss was fed and doctored, and in a short while she was the pet of the ship. She lived to be the mother of a large family. I recall her looks as she rubbed her fur against my trousers when I lifted the box containing her little ones on to the sill of a gun port, so that they would be clear of the water when we washed decks.

It was the duty of one man to care for the float which was used as a landing at the wharf off which the Wabash was moored. Almost every cat in the Navy Yard was acquainted with him. In this sailor’s makeup there was an abundant supply of love for cats. In his bunk in the small shanty on the float, a whole family of cats could be found at any time. Unmolested, they did as they pleased.

I have a fondness for monkeys and whenever an opportunity was given me to own one I took advantage of it. Of all pets, they afforded me the most pleasure. Once during a calm in the Straits of Sunda the natives of Java visited us. In their canoes there were lots of yams, sweet potatoes and monkeys. Having no money we exchanged our clothing for pets. I gave a flannel shirt for a small macaque. My jinny was very affectionate. In my watch below she cuddled herself in my arms and slept. Sometimes I would have just fallen asleep when she would take hold of my eyelids and try to open them. It was fun to see her catch the water bugs and eat them. The hair on her head formed a beautiful crest, which she enjoyed having combed. During the dog watches we romped and played like children.

One evening I came from the wheel at eight o’clock. Before turning in I looked for my jinny. No where could I find her. At last I heard her scream on the top of the forward house. I hastened up there and between the boats under the mainstay, I found my pet under an empty beef barrel with a booby. The ship’s cook had caught the bird and had put it and jinny under the barrel. The dear little monkey was insane with fright. I could do nothing with her. Her reason was entirely gone, so I secured some lumps of coal and tied them in a bit of old canvas and sank my pet in the deep. I would have liked to treat the cook in the same manner but being too small to grapple with him, I held my peace.

This cowardly poltroon, the ship’s cook, was a brutal fellow. He owned several monkeys and in trying to make them perform tricks he murdered them. His last monkey was rescued from drowning. One day this savage cook was angry with his little jacko because he did not come to him when called. He struck the frightened monkey over the head with a potato masher and cast him overboard. The captain, standing on the poop deck, saw the monkey was still alive and threw the coil of the spanker sheet to him. We were sailing slowly and poor jacko had just strength enough to hold on while the skipper lifted him on board. The medicine chest was opened, his bruises stitched and cared for, and he became the protege of the quarter deck. Often while standing a trick at the wheel I watched the little fellow bask in the sun. The bandages around his head made him resemble some old men I have seen in hospitals.

Another time I was on a vessel loading fustic in Maracaibo, for Boston. Our captain was fond of pets of any kind, so he granted us a few dollars to buy monkeys and parrots. Our ship was a floating menagerie. There were seven monkeys and nine parrots. Among this lot was a large spider monkey. The naturalist has correctly named this horrid creature. He was a black object whose body was about the size of a full grown cat, having long arms and a tail much longer than his body. He was a hideous creature. Unlike the other monkeys, he could not stand captivity. While the others became accustomed to their new surroundings and remained on deck, his only delight was to be in the rigging. Shortly after leaving Maracaibo, skin disease was visible through his harsh, black fur, which made him extremely miserable. Far different were the weeper monkeys. These mischievous fellows afforded us much pleasure.

Forward of the forecastle there was a coop of hens. Before they were killed for the cabin use they were devoid of feathers, for the monkeys delighted to put their paws into the coop and pluck the feathers. When we reached the American coast, our pets, both monkeys and parrots, suffered from the cold weather. They contracted colds in the head and severe coughs, insomuch that we were forced to sell them to the cook for a mere trifle, for he could furnish them with the warmth of his galley.

We were wind bound in Vineyard Sound for several days. About three o’clock one early morning we were called to man the boat and go in search of a doctor as one of the crew was taken ill. By the time we were through with the doctor and had returned to the ship after putting him ashore, it was drawing close to daylight. We were allowed to sleep in till breakfast, so I thought I would have another nap. As I got into my bunk I rolled on a dead monkey and a parrot; each one of us had the same experience. The cook had played a joke on us. When he was called at four o’clock he found every one of his pets dead. Not only the monkeys and parrots, but a cat and her three kittens. They had all been suffocated by the coal gas of the galley stove.