THE "DUBLIN"—CONCLUDED.

When eight days out from Cronstadt the ship was in the North Sea about forty miles S. W. of the Naze of Norway. The weather was rainy and the sky dark and threatening. The wind gradually increased to a gale from the westward, and in a few hours the ship was hove to under the close-reefed main-topsail, laboring heavily in the ugly confused sea. Careful attention to the pumps showed that the ship was leaking more than usual, keeping the pumps constantly going. The sand washed to the well-room and choked the pumps, which had not force enough to throw it out. It was blowing a living gale, the ship was leaking badly and the pumps were useless, the alternative that was presented was to founder at sea, or run for some port. Accordingly, in the afternoon, the captain ordered the yards to be squared, and the ship scudded before wind and sea towards the Cattegat. Getting one pump clear, the crew, by constant work, kept the water from gaining rapidly; but a new danger was now before us. The captain had not seen the sun for twenty-four hours and was not very confident as to the ship's position; she was running towards the land, and an error of a few miles in the reckoning might result in the loss of all on board before the next day-break. The Coast of Denmark is very low and cannot be seen far at sea even in clear weather, and though Captain Streeter hoped to fetch to the northward of it, still he felt very much concerned, as the distance would probably be run before day-light. I shall never forget my feelings as I stood by the wheel that night, in the middle watch, while the ship scudded before the howling tempest in the pitchy darkness, perhaps towards sudden and certain destruction.

The negro steward had the best eyes of any man in the ship, and at the first dawn of day he went forward and looked anxiously and earnestly ahead. In a moment the cry, "Land, ho!" sounded, and he ran aft and reported to the captain that he could see the land not more than five miles off. Calling all hands the captain hauled the ship by the wind and crowded all the sail possible in order to keep the ship off the lee-shore and weather the northern point of Denmark, which, as the day broke, appeared on the lee bow. He found that he had missed his course by only eight or ten miles, but had it not been for the steward's eye-sight, or had day dawned fifteen minutes later, the error would have proved fatal. The ship struggled bravely against the gale under double-reefed topsails, a press of canvas that threatened "to take the sticks out of her," but she seemed inspirited by the nearness of the dangerous coast, and when she finally fetched by the Scaw and squared away across the Cattegat, all on board felt that the question of life and death was decided in their favor, and cheerfulness and thankfulness took possession of them. One hundred and fifty vessels and three hundred lives were reported lost in that gale. That afternoon the ship took a pilot off the Swedish coast, and proceeding seven miles up the River Gotha, anchored at Masthugget, a suburb of Gothenburg.

The next day a survey was held and it was decided that the ship must discharge and be hove down, though the leak was no more than good pumps could have kept under. Here was a dismal prospect. It was October and three months must pass before the "Dublin" could be ready for sea again, and then it would be January, and probably the river would be frozen over, so that she would be ice-bound till spring. The dreary looking country and the low unattractive town which was in sight presented little temptation to a long residence, and great discussions went on in the forecastle, whether the "old man" would discharge the crew or not.

By law, sailors discharged from an American ship abroad are entitled to three months' extra pay, one third of which goes to the Consul. This made the crew still more anxious to leave and they impatiently awaited the decision. The Consul, with unusual liberality, told Capt. Streeter that if his crew wished to be discharged and would at once take passage in the steamer for England, he might let them go without any extra pay. The men were a little disappointed at this, but were so dissatisfied with the ship that they preferred to leave on these terms, and were accordingly paid off and took the steamer for Hull, England. As they passed the "Dublin" on their way down the river they waved their hats and one of them shouted "Bad luck to the old hooker."

One evening in New Diep, old Harry went into the between decks on some duty, and as it was rather dark there he fell through the hatchway into the hold and broke his right arm. Captain Streeter was too economical to employ a doctor, and too strict a disciplinarian to allow the sailor to go on shore to see one; he also believed that he knew more than all the medical fraternity put together. He therefore set the bone himself, but did it so badly that the arm was nearly useless after the bones had knit. Harry was very downhearted about it, for now he could no longer ship as an able seaman and, as usual, when he was discharged at Gothenburg he sought relief from his sorrows in drink. In a few days he was picked up in the gutter, one cold morning, penniless and almost naked. The United States Consul kindly gave him some clothes, and wished him to accept a very serviceable coat which had belonged to his coachman. But the sailor said: "Old Harry is an old man-o'-wars-man and he can't wear a coachman's coat. Cut those big buttons off and I'll take it." In his buttonless coat he was put on board the steamer for England and disappeared.

One Sunday I went up to Gothenburg, in one of the little steam launches that ply up and down the river. In the evening after my return I told the mate of my visit; and after hearing my description of the city, he said:

"I wish you'd been aboard this afternoon when Capt. Mann of the brig "Hong Kong" was down in the cabin, visiting the old man. They talked so loud I couldn't help hearing all they said, though I didn't listen. You know you told me Capt. Streeter never commanded a vessel before he had this one; but if you had heard his yarns, you'd have learned that he's had charge of a whole fleet of ships, and he had such a great reputation that the Emperor of Russia wanted him to command one of his "cravats," as he called it, but I suppose he meant corvettes. He told the Emperor that if he took charge of her, the first thing he'd do would be to run her into action and get the crew killed off, in order to make room for true-born Americans—the only men who could get two ideas in their heads without bursting. The Emperor didn't like this plan of disposing of his subjects very well, but he knew that Capt. Streeter was such a smart man that he still urged him to accept, until the affair ended by the captain telling him he wouldn't take one of his ships if he'd give her to him.

"That wasn't the yarn I started to tell you though. Capt. Streeter said that he commanded the ship "Seaman's Bride." (I'm pretty sure he's been second mate of her). He was loading teas at Shanghae on owners' account, and they wrote to him to make the quickest passage home he possibly could, and not to spare either spars, sails or rigging. In eighty-four days after leaving Shanghae he dropped anchor off the Battery; the quickest passage ever made. He had carried away a set of top-gallantmasts, sprung the fore topmast, mainmast-head, and fore and main topsail-yards, and blown away two suits of sails. On discharging her, they found two of her deck beams broken, five knees started in the between decks, and four hanging knees in the lower hold broken, and so on till he ran up a list longer than a bill of repairs on an underwriter's job. When he got the ship's damages told, he began on the damages to sailors, and I tell you they were still worse. He killed two men outright and in New York nineteen men went ashore with broken heads, all fixed to order by himself, for his mates didn't know anything, and feared everything in the shape of sailors, and he had to lick them too. I never heard a man tell a straighter story in my life. I believe the old man would beat Tom Pepper at a yarn, and they say he was more than a match for the Old Nick at lying. I'd like to be behind the door when the match was going on, anyway. I never thought he told the truth very hard, but I believe now he's forgotten how, if he ever knew."

"Why," I added, "you know he said himself one day, 'I never tell the truth except when a lie won't answer,' and I thought he came nearer telling the truth than usual when he said that."

"My opinion of Capt. Streeter," said the mate, "is that he would be a thundering rascal if he dared to be, but he hasn't got the pluck, and he tries to get the credit of it by making up in lies what he hasn't courage to do."

"He's a pretty hard man though," said I; "I've seen him handle some sailors very roughly."

"Hard man," said the mate; "I wish you could have seen the work in some ships I've been in. What courage does it take for a great two-fisted fellow like him to handle a single sailor. There was old "Blower Aiken," who used to keep a bucket full of coal on the poop to heave at the sailors, and when they were at the main braces, if they didn't haul hard enough to suit, and it wasn't very often they did, he'd get up on the after-house, and jump down on top of one of the men, and then turn to and lick the whole watch. When I was in the packet-ship "Mountaineer," along with 'Bully Nat Johnson,' I was with what I call a hard man. If the man at the wheel got the ship a little off her course, I've seen him pick up a boat-hook and run it through the man's cheek, and keep him standing at the wheel till his trick was done.

"We were coming home from Liverpool once, and went out of the North Channel; but then the wind came from the northward and blew a living gale. This brought the Irish coast on our lee, and the 'old man' carried sail pretty hard to claw off. Our fore-topsail blew all to ribbons, and while we were up bending another, a boy fell off the lee yard arm. Only the man next to him noticed him, and it was blowing so hard he could not make any one hear to windward. The mate, who was on deck, saw it, and beckoned to me to come down. (I was third mate of her). When I got on deck, he told me what had happened, and he had just thrown a rope which the boy had got hold of; for the ship of course was only just drifting. We tried to haul him in, but when he was nearly up, he slipped his hold and fell into the water. He floated aft, and caught hold of the main chain-plates; and just as I was going to get a rope round him the old man yelled out to me: 'Go up on that fore-topsail yard.'"

"'There's a boy overboard, sir,'" said I.

"'I don't care,' said he; 'let him help himself. If we don't get that fore-topsail bent we'll all be lost.'"

"While I stopped for this talk, a sea had washed the boy away, so I went up aloft.

"The sailors were so frightened at the force of the gale and flapping of the remnant of the old sail that they had all laid in off the yard, and wouldn't go out again. The old man came up and kicked them, and jumped on their heads as they stood in the rigging and top, but they wouldn't stir, and at last the second mate and I crawled out on the weather yard arm, and he lashed me on to the yard with a gasket, and then I cut away the old sail and hauled out the head of the new one, for the men came out when they found some one to take the weather earing.

"Old Johnson is dead now. They called him one of the smartest men that sailed out of New York, and he could always command his own wages, but I guess old Jimmy Squarefoot is putting him over the road now for—four bells! you don't say an hour's gone a'ready; you must want to turn in."

The cargo was discharged into lighters and stored on shore. Then the "Dublin" was hauled into the shipyard and her inmates, captain, two mates, cook and steward moved to boarding houses on shore. The ship was hove down on her side, caulked and sheathed, and all day long we stood on the rafts alongside and went through the form of watching the workmen. We had a vacation from the captain's society in the evening, except when I had to go up to his lodgings and write his business letters for him.

The beginning of January found the ship again loaded and ready for sea, only waiting for sailors, who were very scarce; partly so, because the captain had told so many fighting stories in the ship-chandlers' stores that the bad reputation the old crew had given the vessel had been confirmed and increased. The river froze over, and though a channel was kept open by steamers, this might be expected to close any night, and unless the ship desired to remain until spring it was time for her to leave. So she was towed down to an outer harbor through seven miles of ice and in a few days the captain joined her with a crew of young Swedes—no old sailors being willing to join the vessel. The river was now frozen entirely over, and even in this harbor ice had formed for two miles out amongst the islands towards the sea. Accordingly the captain made a bargain with the fishermen of the place to break out the ship, and they assembled in force with their ice boats. These were built with sharp bows which the men lifted and struck upon the ice, and as it gave way they jumped on to the boat. When a space had been cleared ahead of the ship, her fore-topsail was set, and she crashed along until brought up by the firm ice, when the boats again went to work while the ship held on by a line toggled into the ice astern. In this way we worked all of one day, and at its sunset found ourselves in open water; then we made sail and steered to the westward, delighted to be at last homeward bound.

Ten out of fifteen of the crew could not speak English and most of them were young men and very poor sailors. But they were "willing" and well disposed, and the knowledge of Swedish I had acquired in the long winter evenings enabled me to work ship with them quite easily.

The captain had not improved his opportunity to master the language, and it nearly drove him distracted when the men ran to the wrong end of the ship to execute an order. He tried on his "tantrums" at first, and issued his volleys of curses and blackguardism from the top of the after-house, but the sailors only turned and stared at him with their mouths open in wonder. He gave this up after awhile and we had quite a peaceable passage.

The ship made good headway in spite of this, and soon again passed Fair Island and the inevitable boat-load of beggars, and commenced battling with the Atlantic. Lat. 60° N. in the month of January is not a very agreeable locality to sail in, and gales of wind were frequent visitors. We were about half way across the ocean, when one evening the captain, anxious to finish his passage, was "carrying on" to the ship with the double-reefed topsails, steering west, with the wind north. The ship was thus right in the trough of the sea and as it blew a fresh gale, and the seas were beginning to roll higher and higher, the men cast many uneasy glances to windward. At a little before eight o'clock, while the watch was pumping ship, a sea broke on board forward, and breaking down the bulwarks and tearing away the water-casks from their lashings, swept aft, and catching up the crew at the pumps carried them down into the lee scuppers. As I was washing about with the surges of the water I at first thought I was overboard, but after awhile managed to get on my feet and was pleased to find the deck still under them. Half a dozen men were standing up to their necks in water howling Swedish exclamations, declaring they had broken arms and legs and so on, and when I got around to windward the moon broke out through the clouds and showed a scene of the greatest confusion. Boat, spars, and ropes had been washed off the house, and the decks were piled up with the debris of water-casks and bulwarks. As soon as the frightened sailors could be got to work sail was reduced, and upon surveying the damage done, it was found that the ship's stem was started away from the "wood ends" and the water must be pouring into the hold. Some hands at once were set to work to prepare for throwing overboard cargo from the fore-hatch and the rest sent to the pumps. To the great relief of all, the noble pumps that had been furnished in Gothenburg worked splendidly and freed the ship from water. As soon as the mate could get time he began to count the men, fearing that some had been washed overboard, and failing to make out the number he took a look into the forecastle and discovered five sailors snugly ensconsed in their bunks. When they spied the mate they all began to groan and cry, and upon inquiry he learned that one had broken his back, two had broken legs, and the other two broken arms. He called the captain, who made a hasty examination which convinced him they were more frightened than hurt, and he said: "I'll give you all just five minutes to get out on deck, and if you ai'n't out in that time I'll come in and drive you out with a handspike." This threat brought the broken legs and arms into action and they all made their appearance within the prescribed time, somewhat bruised but none of them seriously injured.

Two days after this the water was quite smooth and the captain desired to do something to stop the leak forward, which kept the pumps going nearly all the time. It was necessary for some one to go over the bow in a "bow-line," and as the weather was cold and the person would dip in the water, it was an unpleasant as well as a dangerous task. The captain disliked to order any one to do it, but the mate volunteered to the work. A bed-quilt was cut up into long strips, and being lowered down over the bow in the bight of a rope with a stick, the mate proceeded to stuff the quilt into the open seam and then nailed canvas over it down to the water's edge. At every dip he was nearly submerged in the cold waves, but manfully did his work until the last nail was driven, and then the hammer dropped from his benumbed hand and he was drawn on board thoroughly chilled. He was taken to the cabin and treated to a stiff drink of whiskey. He soon recovered from the immediate effects of his exposure, though for some time after he felt the drain it made on his powers of endurance. The leak was reduced one half by his labors and he was regarded as a hero.

All felt very anxious upon approaching the coast, fearing to encounter heavy weather while the ship was in this crippled condition. But in spite of our hopes the gales were destined to come.

A few days after this, another gale set in at midnight, and at one o'clock in the morning all hands were called to double-reef the topsails. It was a dark, wild night, blowing hard with rain and sleet, and very cold. The crew were so worn out with exposure they were not very lively, and we were an hour and a quarter before we got below again. In reefing the fore-topsail we were aloft twenty minutes, the sail being wet and stiff and the yard not being properly braced to the wind so as to "spill" the sail. The captain swore we had been up there two hours, and said he would see if the main-topsail couldn't be worked quicker. He got his rope's end, and at the order "lay aloft," he flew around the deck and beat every man into the rigging; then he followed them aloft, thrashing at every one he reached. When they laid out on the yard, he walked out to each yard arm holding on to the top-gallant studding-sail booms, which were triced up, and beat each man over the head and shoulders. Standing in the maintop he struck at each sailor as he passed down. We were five minutes longer than we had been at the fore-topsail, but the captain flattered himself he had hurried matters. In memory, this dark night, the fierce storm, the cold blinding sleet, the weak and disheartened crew and the worst storm of rage, curses and blows from the captain, form an abiding impression of a demoniacal event.

The ship was so deep her decks were always wet, and seas broke over her continually when the wind attained to any force. Even if protected with oil-clothing a sea would often knock one down and soak him. To stand on deck four hours in a cold, stormy night, soaked to the skin and with boots saturated and partly filled with water, makes one's life seem to be oozing away. No wonder sailors are short-lived; sea exposure and shore degradation soon use them up!

When about in the longitude of Cape Sable we took a fresh southerly gale with warm rainy weather, and the same afternoon it suddenly hauled to the north-west, increasing in force, and the weather becoming very cold. The wet sails froze so stiff that it was with the greatest difficulty that the crew could furl them, and while trying to close-reef the fore-topsail five of the men had their hands frozen and with difficulty got safely on deck. The "Dublin" had the old-fashioned whole topsails and it was a dreadful job to handle them. The plan of making two handy sails out of one large one as in the "Howe's Rig," which is now almost universally adopted, is one of the greatest blessings of the age to the mariner, and yearly saves numbers of lives and a vast amount of hardship. Some of the men, whose hands were frozen, restored the circulation by rubbing them in the icy water which washed over the deck, but two of them were disabled, and upon arrival in port had to submit to the amputation of some of the fingers and toes. I had both hands frozen, but soon thawed them out in the cold sea water.

The ship was now hove to on the starboard tack, the gale was blowing fiercely, and ice making on the ship. The clothes of the men were frozen upon them, and when the watch was ordered to go below I took the last dry clothes I had from my chest and turned into my bunk. I was only just going to sleep, when above the noise of the gale sounded the rustling and slatting of the fore-topsail, which had blown adrift, and then came the mate's cry, "all hands ahoy! Rouse out here and furl the fore-topsail." This was a moment of real hardship, and it required a great deal of heroism to spring from one's bunk and face the freezing gale aloft. I confess I shirked duty and waited for a second call, which fortunately did not come. A few sailors soon appeared on deck, and the rest too much terrified or too irresolute to meet the harsh duty were dragged out of their bunks by the mate and driven aloft, with threats of blows from a handspike he carried in his hands.

For fifteen minutes the crew battled with the stiff icy sail. Again and again they had it gathered up and the blast would sweep it from their benumbed hands, but finally the gaskets were passed around it and the order was given to "lay down." The sailors then turned in and rolled themselves up in their blankets to try one phase of a sailor's life, "turn in wet and turn out smoking."

All the next day the gale raged with fury, the ice was a foot thick on deck, and the ropes and rigging were masses of ice. It was impossible to work ship or make sail and we let her lie and drift to the southward. The day succeeding, the gale moderated and the thermometer suddenly started up. Trying the temperature of the water alongside, we found ourselves in the Gulf Stream. All that day we were employed drawing up the warm water from alongside, pouring it over the rigging and beating off the ice. At night we got it sufficiently cleared to allow us to make sail. Fine weather succeeded and in a few days we found ourselves on George's Bank. The captain hailed the fishing schooner, "Eliza A. Proctor," to find out our position, as he was somewhat distrustful of the accuracy of his chronometer.

"Schooner ahoy!"

"Halloa," answered a shrill voice.

"What is your longitude?"

"We hai'n't got no longitude; we're after fish!"

"How does George's Shoal bear?"

"Nor' West by North."

As we passed the schooner Capt. Streeter discovered that the skipper was his mate of two voyages previous—Mr. Foster, whom he had quarrelled with and discharged from the ship in Mobile. The bearing he gave did not at all agree with the reckoning; the captain had some misgivings as to the skipper's information and decided not to trust to it. The schooner "Emporia" afterwards gave us another bearing and when we sighted Cape Cod we found Foster had deceived us, and given a course that would have wrecked the ship if it had been followed. He evidently did it out of spite to his old commander.

Capt. Streeter was weather-wise, and continually prophesied the changes of the wind. Once when it had been blowing from the north-west for two or three days, it began to moderate and give evidence that this wind had had its day. The captain said in the evening: "This wind is about done now, it will haul around to the eastward, going by the north, or it may die away calm and haul around by the south." At four in the morning I called him and told him there was an easterly breeze.

"Which way did it haul?"

"By the north, sir."

"Didn't I tell you so?" said the captain.

The evening we made Cape Cod, the sky began to clear in the westward and a light breeze came from that direction. "Now," said the captain, "we are in for it. It's just my luck. It's going to blow a living gale of wind from the nor'west; we shall be driven off the coast and not fetch back here for a fortnight." This was rather disheartening and I couldn't help replying: "If I thought so I wouldn't say it, for I think we have had quite trouble enough without borrowing any."

"I tell you what it is young man," said the captain, "there's a difference between borrowing trouble and being weather-wise."

A light westerly breeze blew all the next day. We beat up the bay with fine weather and off Boston light took the steam-tug "R.B. Forbes," which towed us quickly up to Lewis' Wharf, just as the day had ended. I heard a familiar voice through the darkness, and the ship was no sooner fast, than I went over the rail and for two days abandoning myself to the joys of home I tried to forget that there ever was a "Ship Dublin." Then I visited the ship, and the captain at once inquired "Did you notice how it blew last night? I knew it was coming; I'm not often deceived about the weather." I received the compliment of being asked to make another voyage in the ship and the black eyes snapped at my rather peremptory refusal.

The owner was offended with me for leaving, and finding that I had suffered in his good opinion by doing so, I ventured after some days, to excuse myself by saying just enough about Capt. Streeter to justify my conduct. He was very indignant, wouldn't allow such a man to sail for him, but didn't see how he could discharge him just then. He would tell him to do differently though. One of the partners remarked, "Oh, they all swear and fight, and Capt. Streeter is the smartest commander we have ever had."

He sailed again on another Russia voyage with the old instructions to "use his best efforts to suppress all vice and immorality on board and promote the welfare of his crew." How he did it the following letter from Mr. Wright the mate, written from Cronstadt will tell:

"I suppose you would like to hear how this old boat gets along and what kind of a voyage we've had so far. When we left the wharf at Boston, I called the men to come out of the forecastle and go to work, but the answers I got weren't very polite. They called out, 'we want to make our beds up; don't get your temper in an uproar; don't fret' and some other remarks that you can fancy. I got pretty mad, and I just picked up an iron belaying-pin and went into the forecastle and made Rome howl. All hands turned on me, and I had all the fighting I wanted. Things got too hot for me and I had to go aft and ask the old man to come in and help me. I thought he would be very glad to have such a chance for "spiflicating sailors" as he calls it, and some men I've sailed with wouldn't have asked for better sport than to walk into those sailors and make them take the measure for their coffins on deck. The way the old man showed the white feather surprised me. He got on top of the after-house, with a pistol in his hand, and called to the men to come aft, and talked to them as mild as a sucking parson. They were pretty sullen, and five men swore they wouldn't do a hands turn of work on board. The old man told me to put them in irons, and I did it without much trouble, for they had too much headache to make any more fuss. I put a rope through between their wrists and triced them up with the main lift tackles till their feet only just touched the deck. It wasn't long before they wanted to turn to. One was hurt so bad that we thought he would die, and he has been laid up the whole passage. I have had several sprees with the men since, but now I only have to hold up my finger and they mind me. The old man doesn't say much to the sailors, but he's down on the second mate, who is a youngster, and doesn't know much, and he hazes him when he wants to let off steam. We are loading for Boston, and I hope we will get there soon, for I've been about long enough in the "Dublin." I hope you'll get a good ship and a captain that'll suit you, but they are scarce fish to find."

The ship was sold on her return, and the captain entered another employ. His vessel finally went to Australia. When riding horseback he was thrown, and broke his ankle. The doctors declared amputation was necessary. With his usual contempt for medical opinions he drove them away, and thought he could apply to his own case the skill he had exercised on Old Harry, but in a few days he died of lockjaw. His end appeared significant to those who knew how his powers of speech had been misused.