The Flying Bo'sun Part 1

The Flying Bo'sun.

by Arthur Mason.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Hards.h.i.+p is a stern master, from whom we part willingly.

But it is often true that real men learn thereby to handle their fellow-men, to love them, and to make the most of their own manhood. In no cla.s.s is this more marked than among those who have been formed by the training of the sea.

Hundreds have lost their lives there, hundreds more have been coa.r.s.ened through ignorance and because of rough living, but the survivors, who have used what G.o.d gave them of brain and muscle to the best advantage, are a lot of men to be trusted mightily.

I am proud to have known such men, and to have lived the life that made them what they are, and, above all, proud to have sailed before the time when steam began to drive the square-rigger from the seas.

Therefore I have ventured to set before the public a narrative of my own experience, somewhat condensed, but little changed, even in some parts that may seem hard to believe, but sailors are known to be superst.i.tious. Should this book fall into the hands of other sailors, I think it will interest them, and landsmen may care for the truthful record of a day that is almost gone.

A. M.

THE FLYING BO'SUN

CHAPTER I

OFF FOR THE SOUTH SEAS, WITH FEW CLOTHES BUT A STOUT HEART

Her name was the "Wampa," graceful to look at, with her tall and stately masts, rigged with fore and aft sails. She was known as one of the fastest schooners sailing to the Southern Seas.

That afternoon in December found her loading lumber in a rather quaint saw-mill town on the Puget Sound. Her Captain, who was a Swede, was tall and handsome and had none of the earmarks of the old salt. He seemed to be very nervous as he walked up and down the p.o.o.p deck. Once he called out, "Olsen, put one more truck load on, then get your deck las.h.i.+ngs ready. She is down now, she has eight inches of water on the after deck." With that he jumped ash.o.r.e saying, "If I can find a mate we will sail this evening."

As I stood there viewing her yacht-like lines and noticing the shark's fin on her bowsprit, I was satisfied that she was in a cla.s.s by herself.

As he turned to go I said, "Captain, do you need a mate?"

"Are you a mate? If you can get your trunk and bag on board we will sail within an hour."

"But I have neither bag nor trunk. If you want me you will have to take me as I stand."

"Have you a s.e.xtant?"

"No, but I can borrow one from the tug boat captain. He never leaves sight of land. I am sure he will rent it to me for this voyage."

"Very well," said he. "Get your s.e.xtant, and we will find some way of getting rubber boots and oil skins," and off he strolled up to the Company's office.

Two hours later, with the deck las.h.i.+ngs set up, tug boat alongside, everything ready for our voyage, our Captain sang out "Let go forward, starboard your helm, Murphy,"--the tug boat gave a "toot, toot," and we were off for the open sea.

By this time I had a chance to size up the crew. The second mate was a short, thick, heavy-set Dane, seemingly a good sailor. Our cook was a greasy, dirty-looking German and, from what few words I had with him, showed that he was a Socialist. The sailors were Dagoes, Irish, Swedes and Russian Finns.

With the wind freshening as we neared the open sea, the Captain sang out, "Mr. Mate, loose and set the foresail and main jib." With the gaskets off I gave the order to hoist away. I noticed one very large Swede hardly pulling a pound. I say "large"; he stood six feet or more and weighed upwards of two hundred. "What is your name?" said I.

He looked me over and said, "Why?"

I said "You must pull some more or you will never know what your name was."

I decided that now was the time to take care of this sea lawyer. The foresail was about half up. I gave the order to make fast.

I said to this big Swede, "Come here, I have something to say to you."

"If you want me come and get me."

"Very good," and with that I caught him with a strangle hold and dragged him across the deck. Then I released him. "Now tell me what your name is."

He looked amazed and humiliated, and in a hoa.r.s.e voice said, "Swanson."

I said, "Swanson, I want you to work, and work your share."

He said, "You ban good steerman."

Steerman is the Swedish for mate.

"Well then, Swanson, let us get those sails up."

Just then the Captain came forward saying, "What in h.e.l.l is the matter?

Why don't you get those sails on her?"

"Captain," I replied, pointing to Swanson, "this man did not quite understand me. Hoist away on your throat and peak halyards."

Up went the foresail as if by magic, then the main jib and inner jib, the tug boat gave three long whistles, signalling "let go your hawser."

I heard the Captain sing out, "Mr. Mate, up with your mainsail and spanker."

"Aye, aye, sir."

In a few minutes all sail was set.

The Captain gave the course south one-half west and went down below. I immediately took my departure, and entered it in the log book. The wind was free, about two points abaft the beam. I put the taff-rail log over the side and settled down for our trip to the sunny south. As it was getting late in the evening, I went forward to talk to the second mate about picking our watches.

It is always customary for the mate to take the s.h.i.+p out, and the captain to bring her home. This meant that I would have eight hours watch the first night out. The mate has always the privilege of choosing the first man, and by doing this the big Swede fell to the second mate.

Because I was sure I would have trouble with him, I tossed him into the starboard watch. After the watches were set, and the wheel relieved, I heard the supper bell ring.

As I was hungry I made for the cabin, and took a seat across from the Captain. Out of the pantry came the Socialist cook with two plates of soup.