A bunch of rope yarns

by Stanton H. King

Careful steering, and good charts are next to the compass. But while sights and observations, the study of the barometer, thermometer and hydrometer should all be faithfully attended to, the lead line will hold its place as one of the important guides to navigation until something is invented whereby the master mariner can penetrate the fog and clouds that obscure the sun and other celestial objects.

The neglect of taking proper soundings has caused the loss of more ships and lives than can be enumerated.

In days long past the anxious navigator has found relief by resorting to the use of the lead line. The story of St. Paul’s shipwreck tells how the sailors on his vessel deemed that they drew near to land and that they resorted to the use of the lead and line. “When they had gone a little farther, they sounded again and found fifteen fathoms.”

There are seamen who have followed the sea for years and have had no experience with the lead line or any sounding apparatus. They have been on long voyages where it was not necessary to take soundings. I have sailed from land to land more than six months to reach our port of discharge, and during that time the lead has not been cast. Again, during a trip on a three-masted schooner from La Guayra to Maracaibo, we were using the lead as much as the compass in our navigation, even on this short passage.

Although a sailor may have no experience with the lead still he has a knowledge of its use in soundings. Long before I had ever taken a cast I knew how it should be done. My first experience of the deep-sea lead was on the Bermudan brig Excelsior. We were drawing near to the American coast bound in to New York, when we were enveloped in thick fog. Our captain was a competent navigator, and to make sure of his whereabouts after sailing without the sun or stars for three days, it became necessary for him to seek information from the bottom of the sea. Although there was no danger in getting a cast of the lead, as there was very little wind, still on some occasions I have seen all hands called and sail shortened, involving much labor at the peril of life.

I was once on a large American ship where for a whole night we were standing off the Delaware Capes in an easterly gale, and were forced to use deep-sea lead. At considerable peril and much loss of rest for the crew, the ship was rounded to the wind in the face of a dangerous sea, so as to check her speed. Twice during that night we had to haul up the mainsail and lay the mainyard back. At such a time every man is expected to know his duty. Should the night be as dark as pitch, an able seaman must take the lead, weighing twenty-eight pounds, on the forecastle head. He must see that the small cavity in the lower end is “armed”—filled—with tallow. This reveals the nature of the bottom when the lead is hauled aboard. It may be gravel, sand, mud, but whatever it is, it will aid the master in his navigation, as the nature of the bottom of the coast is marked on the chart.

In the meantime others had manned the rail, and starting from the quarter they pass the line along on the outside of the ship, till the end reaches the man on the forecastle head. Here he bends on the end of the line to the lead by reeving the eye splice on the end of the line, through the grummet on the top of the lead, allowing the lead to drop through the eye splice.

All being ready, the man on the forecastle head throws the lead overboard, well to windward, shouting as he does so, “Heave.” The man nearest to him feels the tug on the line, and he then throws what he has in his hand to windward making sure the bight of the line is clear of all eyebolts, and shouts, “Watch, there, watch.” Then the next man as he feels the strain lets go of what he is holding and shouts the signal, “Watch, there, watch,” and so on until the line reaches the leadsman aft. Then if the lead has not struck the bottom he pays out the line and tries to get a sounding. Usually there is an officer aft at the line. He feels that the strain is released and taps the lead two or three times to make sure of his soundings, and then notes the depth by the marks on the line.

The deep-sea lead is about one hundred and twenty fathoms, the first twenty fathoms of it being sometimes marked like the hand lead of which I shall write later. Beginning at twenty fathoms, there is a small piece of cod line with two knots on it, thirty fathoms, the same with three knots, forty fathoms with four knots, and so on up to one hundred fathoms. Half-way between each there is a strip of leather. The length of the lead itself is not counted in this measurement, so the ship gets the benefit of the depth plus the length of the lead. Usually a small snatchblock is on the mizzen backstay for the purpose of hauling the lead aboard. At night the officer of the watch carries the lead to the binnacle light and then reports to the captain the depth of the cast and the nature of the bottom on the tallow.

I once saved a collection from the bottom of the River Rio de la Plata. It was a curious assortment of bits of shell and teeth of small fish. I have heard old sailors tell of finding rare coins, finger rings and pieces of human bones fastened on the tallow of the deep-sea lead.