On shipboard

Copyright 1961, by the
William A. Farnsworth Library and Art Museum

Except for parts of the final page, which she had not completed, the story is as she wrote it a few years before her death in 1943. It is published with deep affection and respect for its author by:

Transcriber’s Notes

An American ship lay at anchor in one of the great harbors of the Orient. The young captain, as he stood for a moment on the quarter-deck, ready for a business trip ashore, glanced with special satisfaction at the American flag flying above him. He felt that that flag helped to insure full-fledged American citizenship for me, his tiny daughter, just born that day in the ship’s cabin. What mattered the foreign environment, thought he, since I was born of American parents, on an American ship, built and owned in the State of Maine, and with the stars and stripes floating overhead? From the very beginning my life was lived on shipboard and when, some three weeks later, we sailed away, homeward bound, my seafaring days began in earnest.

Those childhood voyages have left many happy memories-—There are no longer any such experiences for any child-—The day of sailing ships is past. But in the last half of the nineteenth century the square-rigged clipper ships were things of beauty and of service. They were carriers of merchandise around the world and it was no uncommon thing for a captain to have his family on board with him. Captains were proud of their ships, and as a class, they were men of ability and of resource. They needed to be so, for every sort of task was theirs, from navigation to surgery. I have known my father to extract an aching tooth, prescribe medicine for an ailing sailor, anoint and bandage sore hands, and once he even set a broken leg. He had always a keen sense of humor, and I still recall his amusement when some sailors requested the same sort of ointment which they had used before and found so healing. It was some my father had concocted himself of very simple ingredients, and the recommendation of the sailors amused him considerably. The ship had a “medicine closet” supplied with staple remedies, and our library contained a medical book describing every disease known to man with the required treatment. This was all very well in its way but it needed to be supplemented with a large slice of Yankee common sense.

My earliest recollections are of the little cabin which was “home” to us, our living room. It was finished with the highly polished hard wood which seems such a distinctive feature of ships cabins. The floor, though carpeted when we were in port, was bare when we were at sea, and was carefully scrubbed each week. The furniture, (center-table, chairs, sofa, sewing-machine) was screwed down securely to guard against the rolling and pitching of the ship. The skylight in the center was fitted at either end with shelves which held my mother’s plants. She found that geraniums and fuchsias were hardy enough to thrive and blossom in the salt air. Wandering Jew too grew well and was ornamental in a hanging pot. In the middle of the skylight hung my yellow canary, swinging happily with the motion of the ship, unmindful of the vagaries of wind and weather which play so large a part in the life of a sailor. Our family was never timid; I do not recall ever hearing a word or hint of fear. But necessarily weather rules life on shipboard. Was it calm and pleasant? I could busy myself with jump-rope, or top, or toys of any kind, on the house or on the quarter-deck; I could use the swing which my father put up for me on the main deck just outside the door of our forward cabin. I could set dolls and playthings about on the cabin floor. But when it was stormy and rough, that was indeed a different matter. Things could not be left scattered about. Everything that was loose must be secured. I early learned, in sailor phrase, to stow my belongings carefully. The little shelf assigned to me, across the foot of my bunk, was filled with boxes, my doll’s stove, and like treasures, and all were so carefully stowed that in roughest weather nothing could come adrift. Beds were of course built in bunk fashion and a board, nearly a foot high, fitted into grooves in front of my bunk to prevent my rolling out. Our dining-table was fitted with a rack, a compartment at each place holding a plate. Down the center of the table was a swinging shelf which held safely our glasses of water or cups of coffee.

In a severe storm when the sea was very heavy, our windows had their thick wooden shutters closed. Since this left us in utter darkness the little swinging lamps would be lighted and my mother and I would be comfortably established on the bed with books, or perhaps we might sit on the floor, braced between the bookcase and the wall, or in some other similar nook.

It was sometimes possible to stand at the most sheltered of our three outside doors and to watch the rush and force of the sea-—a fascinating sight! Such tremendous power! Foam-crested rollers coming on in unending succession, and each great wave seeming higher than the last, when suddenly a deluge of water poured over the rail, the decks would be awash, and as the ship rolled and pitched the water would swash back and forth, carrying with it everything movable. Sometimes a rope, securely fastened at the ends, would be stretched the length of the deck, a safety line for the sailors in case of need. The men, in high rubber boots, oilskin suits, and sou’westers, kept as dry as they could. A man might add a belt of rope, humorously known as a “soul and body lashing”, to keep his coat more snug and tight. In such weather, and indeed in all weathers a burden of responsibility rested upon the captain. How much sail should he take in? Just what slight change of course would enable the vessel to meet more easily the wind and the sea? The safety of the ship and the welfare of the crew depended on the captain’s skill and judgment. How often I have watched my father come down from the deck to consult the little barometer which hung on the wall in his room. Back and forth he went at intervals throughout the day or night, watching closely for any sign of change in wind and weather.

The howling of the gale, the roar and pounding of the waves, the creak and rattle of the rigging, the lurching of the ship, are all closely associated in my mind with that small barometer and my father’s unfailing watchfulness-—when at last the barometer started up, there was hope for a cessation of the storm, and daily life would gradually slip back into its usual routine.

On shipboard bells tell the hours and call to the appointed tasks. Our ship carried a crew of 16 men, with three officers, and a cook, a steward and a carpenter. The crew was divided into two watches which changed at eight bells, i.e. at eight and twelve and four o’clock. The time from four to eight P.M. was subdivided into two hour periods, known as dog-watches; the watch changed then at six o’clock too, so as to alternate the periods-—the men on duty before midnight on Monday would be on duty after midnight on Tuesday.

The dog-watches were the leisure time of day, supper was served just before six to one watch, just after six to the other. The men were free to amuse themselves as they chose. Some one might play an accordion which seemed to be a favorite instrument with sailors, or they could always swap sailor yarns.

“Seamen’s Libraries” were supplied to ships and the men could take books whenever they cared to ask for them. Also chests of clothing known as “slop chests” were furnished by the captain and the men could buy needed garments and have the price charged against their wages. We had three such chests, made by the ship’s carpenter under my father’s supervision, and they are now counted among the interesting souvenirs of our sea voyages, along with charts, a spy-glass, and a sextant. Our carpenters were usually Swedes and were good workmen.

My father treated his men well and seldom had trouble with them, but the propensity of sailors for growling is proverbial. If they came aft to complain of the food, they would be told just what the United States law allowed them, so many pounds per week of salt beef, salt pork, hard tack, white flour, rice, beans, and so on. A few days of legal rations would convince them that they were better off before, and all would be again harmonious. The basis of the weekly menus was like this-—Monday, salt beef; Tuesday, baked beans; Wednesday, rice and curry; Thursday, salt pork; Friday, baked beans; Saturday, salt fish; Sunday, fish and canned meat. With these there were always potatoes in plenty, sometimes other vegetables or thick pea soup with croutons, or canned soups. Rice and curry was my favorite dish, and fritters, served for dessert, appealed to me-—They were large, buttered, sugared, rolled like jelly roll. Plum duff, always associated with sailor fare, was good with hot sweet sauce.

Lime juice, tamarinds, and some substitute for lemon juice were among our supplies. A limited quantity of lemons and oranges might be included, preserved in this effective way: Each one, carefully wrapped in paper was tied, and a loop made of the string. One by one they were dipped into hot pitch and hung up. The pitch coated the paper completely, making an air-tight covering.

Fresh meat and potatoes were necessary for the prevention of scurvy. On long voyages we often had a pig which could be butchered in the cool weather of the south Atlantic to furnish a supply of fresh pork. A small flock of hens was useful in the same way. Fish might be caught under favorable conditions and bonita was a welcome addition to our menu. Sharks were no help as food, but sailors are enthusiastic over catching the hated man-eaters-—Sometimes one was caught with hook and line, the bait being red flannel, or one might be harpooned.

We often had Chinese cooks and stewards, and found them satisfactory. One of our Chinamen boasted that he could make seventeen kinds of bread. Another one is remembered for quite a different reason. He had a feud with the second mate, and one day when the mate was at dinner the steward struck him, cutting his head. The mate retaliated by throwing the first dish that came handy. Doors were standing open between the forward cabin and our cabin. My father reached for the loaded revolver which was always in readiness at the head of his bed, and springing over a sofa which stood across the nearest open doorway, he appeared before the two angry men. The revolver and his threat to shoot the first man that moved, calmed them somewhat, and they were ordered to their rooms for a couple of day, or until they could keep the peace.

The routine of daily life must have been much the same on all ships. Breakfast at seven bells (7:30 o’clock) dinner at seven bells again (11:30 o’clock). The noon hour was always important. Then captain and mate came on deck with their sextants for the daily solar observation, which should determine the exact location of the ship. Latitude and longitude were carefully reckoned, and the result was recorded on the chart, with the date. Then the clocks were set; ahead if we were sailing eastward, or back if we were heading west. If the ship had made a good day’s run, say 160 miles or more, there was general satisfaction.

In cloudy weather when the sun was not visible for an observation, navigators must figure their position by “dead reckoning”. This meant figuring the course steered and the mileage per hour as shown by the log. With careful calculation it could be done very accurately. On one short, gray Atlantic voyage we sighted land on the fourteenth day, just at the time and place indicated by the dead reckoning.

Many times we crossed the Atlantic-—to Liverpool often, to London, Cardiff, Bristol, Havre, Genoa, Antwerp and to Baltic ports, sailing on return voyages to New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Norfolk, Charleston or New Orleans. While the ship was discharging and loading again in these nearer American ports, my mother and I usually managed a visit to the small New England town which we called “home”, because there my mother’s relatives lived, with their latch-string always out to us. One autumn it was decided that we should spend the winter there, my father making the trip to Liverpool without us. My first taste of school and of a New England winter was a pleasant adventure to me. But my father’s adventure was the most disastrous of all his life as sea captain. In late November there came to us from the owners of our bark, “Egeria”, a telegram; “Cable dispatch. Egeria totally lost. Captain S —— safe at Waterford, no particulars.”

The particulars, which came to us later, were these—Off the Irish coast in storm and fog the vessel had been driven ashore in spite of all that could be done. The anchors would not hold. The shore was sheer rock. The ship at the last was thrown by each oncoming breaker against a high detached boulder-—some of the men had already been washed overboard. My father saw only one possibility of escape-—to jump onto that rock as the ship was dashed against it. He watched his chance, and succeeded in keeping his footing on the rock. The little group of men eagerly watching him from the deck set up a shout of cheer and one by one they followed his lead. But even then they found themselves still far from safe-—on an isolated rock, with the tide rising toward them and the fog still dense. If only the fog would lift! And it did lift, and the vigilant coast guards, ever on the look-out for ship-wrecked sailors, saw these men in distress. They shot them a line, and soon were able to bring them all safe to shore. Not long afterward the tide had completely covered the rock on which the men had stood. My father reached home just in season to join the large family gathering about the Christmas tree. And the next fall saw us sailing again, on a long voyage this time, bound around Cape Horn for San Francisco. We were all going, including my small brother. It was nearly four years before our next visit to New England. I had an eighth birthday in San Francisco, a ninth one at sea, and a tenth one in Liverpool. On previous long voyages our ship had been at Callao, where my mother gathered and pressed beautiful specimens of sea-mosses: At Rio Janeiro, where to her great delight she found an old school-mate; at Rangoon, where the mercury in her cabin registered 96 day and night; and at various other ports,-—Singapore, Chinchi Islands, Acapulco.

It is on long voyages that one comes to really know the sea in all its varying moods. Between the two extremes of storm and calm, are the normal commonplace days when with a fair moderate breeze the ship makes her way smoothly and swiftly through the glistening, dancing blue water, leaving astern a straight white wake which one loves to watch. There are other days when the wind is ahead, “dead ahead”, and to make even a few miles of actual progress the ship must tack back and forth in zigzag lines. A tedious game, requiring skill and patience. To my carefree child mind it was always rather thrilling to hear the shout “Call all hands, Bout ship”, and to see the men hurrying out, each one to his assigned post. Then came the hauling of ropes, the rattle of the spars, and the flapping of the sails as the ship bore away on the new tack.

The sailor’s chanties were always of interest, and my brother early learned to join in the lusty songs, particularly “Blow the man down, Johnny, Blow the man down, Way, Hey, blow the man down.” That was his special favorite and it certainly had a swing and rhythm about it, which helped the men to give the needed “pull all together.”

In my experience Cape Horn was never as black as it is painted. One recollection of it is of the picturesque sunset light on the barren rocky islands along the straits of Le Maire, and of our watching it from the deck. The next morning as we turned northward in the Pacific we sighted a small English vessel with signals set, meaning “I am on fire.” Further signals gave the information that she was loaded with coal which had taken fire from spontaneous combustion. The crew had been fighting the fire without much success, and asked if we had a force pump to give them. We had one—-a row-boat was lowered and the mate, with sailors to row, carried it to the other ship. We lay by them until the next morning in case they should need further help. Then another ship was sighted, and strangely enough proved to be an English vessel of the same ownership as the first one. She of course offered to stay by her sister ship, and we sailed on. We heard afterwards that the fire was extinguished and the ship reached port safely, only to be sunk in the English Channel on her next voyage.

It is a rare thing indeed that a captain at sea can have a call from a personal friend. But this was one of the pleasant happenings which came to us. We sighted a ship commanded by a special friend. A calm pleasant afternoon made it possible to row over to our ship, and the captain availed himself of this opportunity for a neighborly call at sea.

In the tropics come those dead calms so trying to the soul of a mariner: the poet’s line “As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean,” is no longer a figure of speech, but a realistic description of the plight of a vessel in such a calm, and somber thought, though the ship stands still, expenses do not—they are mounting steadily and alarmingly. This quiet weather was a time for extras and the crew was kept busy with repairing of sails, splicing of ropes, painting of woodwork, tarring the rigging, polishing the brass, holystoning and oiling the decks. All these things could be done toward making our craft trim and shipshape. My father could work at odd minutes on the ship model which was for seven years his special hobby.

The model is now a valued family heirloom, admired especially by nautical people who appreciate its fine workmanship and perfection of detail. We helped him in the twisting of fine wire or machine silk for the ropes, and in the polishing of the ivory blocks, capstans, capstan bars, belaying pins, and other small articles. Two little tables, a foot-stool and an inlaid tray are other souvenirs from the ship’s workshop.

A problem arose one Christmas time, when we were still at sea instead of in port as had been expected. What to do for a small child who confidently anticipated Christmas gifts? My mother turned to her sewing-machine, my father to his carpenter’s shop. Results were eminently satisfactory. On December twenty-fifth there appeared a wooden train of cars with engine, tender, passenger and freight cars, all complete and carefully painted; a doll’s cradle, fitted with bedding, and an old doll transformed by her layette into a new baby-doll to fit the cradle.

Animals were often a part of life on shipboard; cats for ridding us of mice and rats, dogs for companionship. My tiny white Skye-terrier was a most aristocratic creature. In his estimation the quarter-deck belonged to the captain and the captain’s family only, and to no one else. The sailors must have hated him. Whenever one came aft to take his turn at the wheel, out came “Friday” barking, growling, and nipping at the man’s heels.

My brother had a fine black retriever and her family of eight pups were an enlivening feature of one passage. In Calcutta a small Himalayan pony was added to our circle and voyaged with us across the Indian and Atlantic Oceans.

Among other adventures of that four-year voyage were a stop at Honolulu, where the tropical fruits delighted us, and a brief visit at a tiny island of the Pacific where we loaded guano to be used as fertilizer. On this island lived only one white family, with the natives employed by them in the guano trade. The shore was lined with nests of the sea-birds, and they were so fearless that one could almost come within arm’s length of them.

On again to the great Chinese port of Hong Kong, where the family life lived on the small boat of our Chinese Boatman attracted my special attention,-—a tiny Chinese baby boy, dressed in the same costume as the older children, had the usual little coin sewed on his cap to ward off the evil spirits.

Pleasant memories of our stay in Calcutta are associated with the missionaries there. Dr. Thoburn, afterward Bishop in the Methodist Church, was friendly to us, and a group of Episcopalian workers helped us to get a glimpse of native life. I was allowed to accompany one of them on a visit to a Zerana home and to a hospital. The elaborate Indian temples, the street scenes, and the native forms of worship on the banks of the sacred River Ganges form a composite picture of misery and superstition in my recollection.

After Calcutta there were only two more ports to make: Liverpool and New York. And then of course it was on to, where the Warren and Belfast relatives lived.

Soon afterward a ship, the “Levi B. Burgess”, was built in Thomaston, Maine, and my father was given command of her. The launching was a great event in our family. We were all launched on board, together with some of the relatives who were also guests at a family breakfast in the immaculate new cabin. In this new ship we again rounded the Horn, this time on our way to Astoria, on the Columbia River. But that is another story.

Six years more-—and we exchanged our ship’s cabin for a New England homestead, (14 High Street, Belfast),-—our seafaring days were over.