JOHN SHEPHARD.

After passing Amsterdam Island we gradually turned our course to the northward, and without any delay in the debatable ground north of the westerly wind region, we struck the south east trades. One evening the vessel was slipping along at the rate of seven knots, with the wind two points free and the sea so smooth that motion was scarcely perceptible. A hush pervaded the ship, that seemed indicative of as much peace within the vessel as without. At six o'clock John Shephard came to the wheel, and the quiet sailing and steady steering inclined me to break the usual custom—"no conversation with the man at the wheel." "She steers well to-night, doesn't she, John?"

John blushed up to his eyelids, as was his wont when addressed by the "old man."

"Yes, sir, she steers like a pilot-boat."

"This is pleasant sailing," I added, "if going to sea was all like this we would have the old women for sailors."

"It's the pleasantest going to sea ever I saw," said John, "and things are first rate all the time now; I never in all my going to sea knew things go on so well in the forecastle; we don't have any growling or rows with each other, and if things could be like this I wouldn't mind going to sea all my life."

"You don't expect to go all your life then, I suppose?"

"No sir, I came near knocking off some time ago, but I had bad luck."

"How was that?" I asked.

"Well, sir, I'm most ashamed to tell you, but it was this way: I was at Bombay in an English ship when the Sepoy war broke out, and I left the vessel and joined the army. I was at Delhi, and when we took the city I went through the palaces and got a good deal of plunder. I had a diamond ring that was worth two or three thousand dollars and I got a lot of gold coin and jewels that I sewed into a belt and wore around my waist. When the war was over I was discharged in Calcutta and engaged passage in a steamer for England. I meant to go home to Hanover, buy a farm and live there with my old mother, and I had money enough to keep us there in comfort. But the night before I was to sail I got on a spree, and the next morning I found myself lying in a gutter. Somebody had taken the ring off my finger and stolen the belt from my body, and I hadn't a cent left in the world. So I had to give up going home, and ship before the mast again. What little money I have earned since, I have sent to my mother, but I can't get ahead any, and every hour in the day I think about that awful night in Calcutta and what I lost."

This explained the pensive look that John continually wore. I was much touched by his story, told with child-like simplicity, his speech with its slight German accent striking musically upon the ear.

John was my favorite sailor. He was a Hanoverian by birth, and I suppose had some German name, but what it was I never knew. "John Shephard" was the false flag he sailed under. He had made a previous voyage with me and afterwards sailed on a third. On the first voyage he had been selected by the mate as the scape-goat for his ill temper. Many mates who aspire to the reputation of being "bullies" thus pick out a good-natured, inoffensive man, and hurrah, shout and curse at him, while the men whom they know would resent such conduct are treated mildly and their faults are overlooked. Soon reports came to me about that "green dutchman, John," "a perfect galoot," who didn't "know B from a bull's foot," didn't "know enough to go into the house when it rains," was "enough to make a minister swear," and so on. He was sent to do all the dirty work, pound the iron rust, slush the masts, do "rope-yarn jobs" aloft in a gale of wind, often being sent aloft without any explanation of what he was to do, and when he got above the top where he could scarcely hear, a volley of orders and abuse was yelled at him with bewildering effect. He certainly at such times did seem stupid, but all through the voyage I saw no resentment shown, heard no "back answers" and only noticed the flush of the cheek that betrayed the wounded spirit he so submissively controlled. I began to love that quiet, faithful sailor and to protect him from abuse whenever I could do so without disorganizing discipline.

On the present voyage I noticed that John was always placed at the best work. If a cringle was to be put in a sail, or a cloth let in, a seizing to be squared, or a ratline to be straightened, John was called on oftener than anyone else to do it. I asked the mate one day: "How is it you put John at such good jobs; do you consider him a good sailor-man?"

"Yes, sir," said the mate; "he's just as good a sailor-man as there is in the crew. It doesn't do to watch him too closely though. If I stand over him he often gets flustered and does things back-handed, but let him try his own way and he'll do things shipshape."

I was delighted to hear a good word spoken for John, and thought much better of the mate for his perception and wise dealing. Often have I said: "If all sailors were like John it would be only a pleasure to go to sea." He lives in my memory as my model sailor, in spite of his deficiencies.

He was a well-formed man, of medium size, straight and compact, with light, curly hair, good features, a very clean face with rosy cheeks, and blue eyes that were really beautiful in their soft expression. His cheerful smile and modest blush made it a pleasure to accost him. He was always neat in his dress, and though four bells struck when he was riding down a stay "up to his eyes" in tar, he would dive into the forecastle and in a few minutes appear to take his trick at the wheel with clean dungaree pants and hickory shirt. As his clear voice repeated the course, "Nord, nord-east, half east," I would go below saying to myself, "The ship will be well steered these two hours."

Where is John now? Has he bought his farm yet in the Faderland? Or has he fallen over board, or died in a foreign hospital? Has he been disheartened by the harsh treatment of cruel mates and become degraded in his habits on shore? May God bless him wherever he is, and through all his wanderings bring him safely to the Fatherland!

We attempted a Christmas dinner in the cabin, while the sailors had their plum duff in honor of the festival. Our table bore a goodly display of articles, as regards name, but probably their quality would be less attractive to landsmen's palates. We dressed in our "shore togs;" appropriate sentiments were uttered, and an original ode was recited, as follows:

ODE TO THE ROCKET.

TUNE: "Van Amburgh's Menagerie."
The Rocket is our vessel's name,
A noble Boston bark.
Her qualities are known to fame,
As I need not remark.
For fourteen years she's ploughed the wave,
And sailed through every clime;
Though billows roar and tempests rave,
She always comes to time.
Chorus: The Rocket now we'll praise,
For she's as good a craft
As ever dashed aside the sprays,
Or at the storm-king laughed.
The captain, first and second mate,
A passenger beside,
Are lads as true as ever ate
Plum duff upon the tide.
The Straits of Sunda is our goal
To which we're speeding free;
And now we fill the flowing bowl
To life upon the sea.
Chorus: The Rocket now we'll praise,
For she's as good a craft
As ever dashed aside the sprays,
Or at the storm-king laughed.
When with fresh wind and flowing sheet
We're flying through the foam,
Our hearts with joy and gladness beat,
As round the world we roam.
Or in the calm and tropic night,
The stars recall to mind
The eyes, as beautiful and bright
Of girls we've left behind.
Chorus: The Rocket now we'll praise,
For she's as good a craft
As ever dashed aside the sprays,
Or at the storm-king laughed.
Roll on ye waves, ye breezes blow,
Swift speed us on our course,
And soon to Asia's shores we'll show
The Ensign and Black Horse.[1]
And when we step on Java's strand,
Our double toast shall be
The glorious old bark Rocket, and
The Romance of the sea.
Chorus: The Rocket now we'll praise,
For she's as good a craft
As ever dashed aside the sprays,
Or at the storm-king laughed.

The vessel had received a liberal outfit from the owners, who expressed the wish that the sailors should not be restricted to a diet of salt beef and hard bread, believing this to be the most expensive way of provisioning a ship, as well as an unsatisfactory one to the crew. Accordingly the men were allowed "soft bread" every night; there was a good supply of potatoes, onions, and beets on board, and mackerel, herrings, tongues and sounds, dried apples, corn meal, and pickles were provided, in addition to the usual supplies of rice, beans, split peas, salt codfish and the inevitable beef, pork, and "hard-tack." Molasses and vinegar were freely served out, these condiments often making a plain meal quite palatable, and one evening in a week molasses gingerbread was furnished in place of the "soft bread." In the cabin we had a tolerable supply of canned provisions and had no reason to complain. I find, however, the following entry in my journal:

"I feel a strong desire to get ashore and have something new to eat. We have a good supply of stores, but there is so much sameness necessarily in our table fare, that the very thought of meal times takes away one's appetite. We had a large stock of vegetables and still have potatoes, onions and beets, so there is no fear of scurvy. I have sometimes said that the only advantage I ever discovered in going to sea, was the ability to eat onions, without fear of offending one's associates. But after indulgence in this respect every day for three months, I feel willing to renounce this luxurious privilege of sea life, and endure the privations of civilized society for a while."

Very small incidents become noteworthy at sea and one day was enlivened by the appearance of the Malay cabin boy before me, with very solemn face, exclaiming, in tragic tones: "Sir! the ginger won't live long." It proved that a jar of preserved ginger, having been left open in the pantry, the officers had treated themselves in a night-watch, thus shortening its life.

Some little anxiety was caused by some doubtful islands being set down on the chart, but we sailed over their supposed locality without striking anything, or seeing any sign of shoal water.

Those who have examined charts of the sea, have noticed frequent interrogation points, which indicate that dangers have been reported in the localities designated. The charts of the Pacific Ocean especially abound with these reputed rocks and shoals, and keep the navigator in continual alarm, lest one should prove to be a reality. It was a wonder to me how these false alarms, as most of them are now known to be, could ever have been given, but an occurrence, by which I myself was deceived, has suggested a plausible explanation of some of the instances.

I was sailing in the South Pacific (in the ship "California,") in lat. 24° 20´ south, lon. 125° 6´ west. We were steering south, with the wind north, the sky clear, and the ship going about two knots through the water. At 1, P.M., the officer of the deck reported to me that there were breakers ahead, and on the port bow. I went on deck, and saw what appeared to be an extensive field of breakers, and also a low island or sand bank, thirty feet high, and three miles long, without trees or verdure, and with shoals, on which the sea broke, extending five miles from it to the north and west. The island bore south-east, eight miles distant, and the nearest breakers were two and one half or three miles distant from the vessel.

The mate went aloft with me to the mizzen-topsail yard, and with my marine glass we took a good look, and were both entirely convinced that what we saw were genuine breakers. The sea was very smooth and we could see the swell rolling towards us, then cresting, and spreading thin sheets of foam upon the water. The island also appeared very distinct as seen through the glass. I went down on deck with the intention of altering the ship's course, but deciding to run a little nearer to the breakers, I went up to the fore-topsail yard to watch them and steer the ship past them. I soon noticed that they changed their position somewhat, that the ship drew no nearer to them, and that there was a perfect calm where they prevailed. Finally I found the whole appearance was an optical delusion, caused by the sun shining upon the glassy swell of the sea, and a peculiar state of atmospheric refraction.

I kept the ship on her course, and sailed through the spot where the first breakers appeared, finding blue water there, but still observing the breakers in the calm spots at varying distances for the next three hours, until 4, P.M., when the breeze freshened at the west, and the illusion was dispelled. The island vanished after being in sight for an hour, and I presume was caused by the looming of the swell of the sea in the horizon.

The whole ship's company were deceived by this remarkable appearance, and if circumstances had not favored my prolonged inspection of it, I should certainly have made a report which would have added another to the list of doubtful dangers, which are combined puzzles and terrors to navigators.

Fresh south-east trades brought us north at an average speed of over nine knots, for a few days, and carried us to lat. 12° 30´ S. Here, according to books, we should find the N.W. Monsoon, and anticipating it I had followed the sailing directions and kept to the westward of the direct course, in order to be sure of fetching into the Straits of Sunda with the north-west wind. Instead of this, eleven successive days of light south-east airs and calms attended us. Coming at the end of the passage, this delay was very hard to bear, and we saw daily the hopes of a "crack passage" dwindling away. The tropical sun poured down upon us, and with no breezes stirring to alleviate its effects, discomfort of body was added to the distress of mind. The attitudes assumed on one of these calm, hot days, are so expressive of the mental emotions entertained, that the reader for further information as to how we felt, is referred to our artist's portrayal of the scene.

The Rocket's cabin was below the poop-deck, built in the style called a "trunk," that is, sunk part way into the between decks. My room was in the forward end, on the starboard side, and a small window opening through the "break of the poop" admitted sights and sounds from the deck. This was often very serviceable in keeping track of what was going on when the "old man," as the captain is always styled, was supposed to be safely out of the way. I also overheard many conversations not intended for my ear, and was sometimes entertained by the officers' yarns as they sat on the booby-hatch in the dog-watch, six to eight o'clock in the evening. As this was the passenger's first experience of sea-life, they very kindly supplied him most liberally with information on that topic. Some of the items were of considerable interest. The mate gave most of the stories, but the second mate sometimes "put in his oar." One evening, I heard the mate describe, in terms that would have done honor to a city-press reporter, the construction of a new steamer that was to combine two means of locomotion. A railroad was laid on her deck, and when she left New York, a train containing the passengers started from her stern. When the bow of the ship reached Liverpool, the train would just get to that end of the ship, having been rushing ahead all the time that the steamer was crossing the Atlantic. If I remember rightly, the passengers were only three days in crossing by this double method of travel.

pic

Dead calm.—Thermometer 90° in the shade.

The second mate followed this up with an account of a sailing-ship that he was in, which had a gangway built around the ship, and the captain used to ride around the vessel on horseback with a speaking-trumpet, giving orders. The ship was lighted by gas. Pipes with hot tea and coffee ran to the captain's state-room from the galley, and a small railroad was laid on deck to carry the hands fore and aft, but it was a horse-car affair, and so on.

The most remarkable story, I felt worthy of record, and I will give it in the mate's words.

"When I was mate of the clipper ship "Nonesuch" (she had three decks and no bottom) we were sailing in the Indian Ocean bound from Mauritius to Calcutta, in ballast. One day, looking to windward I saw a great splashing in the water, which rapidly approached the vessel. I ran up the mizzen-rigging and discovered that a large whale was coming towards us pursued by a swordfish, which made attacks upon it whenever it could overtake the whale. As they neared the ship the whale sank a little below the surface of the water, and then, seeing the hull of the vessel in the way, it rose to the surface, gave one twist of its tail, and with a tremendous effort leaped into the air, and went clean over the royal-mast head. I never was so astonished in my life, and the swordfish appeared to be equally surprised, for he stopped and looked aloft for half a second, and then making a dive he went under the keel of the ship. As he rose to the surface on the other side, he pointed his sword up straight in the air, and when the whale fell he caught it on the point and whirled it round and round for nearly a minute. Then the whale got off, the swordfish being wearied out, I suppose, and both started on another race. After going a little distance the whale turned towards the ship, and being too feeble now, from loss of blood, to take another leap, he struck the ship and swung alongside, broadside on. The swordfish came on with such force that his sword pierced the body of the whale and we felt the jar as it struck the ship's side. There they lay thrashing and bleeding. We were surprised that the whale didn't move off, as we had been going five or six knots, and we also noticed that our speed was reduced. The carpenter went down into the hold, and found that the fish's sword had cut right through the side of the ship, and whale and swordfish were made fast to us. He got his hammer and bent the end of the sword so that it couldn't be pulled out; and the whale soon dying, we turned into a whale-ship for a while, cut it up and tried out several barrels of oil. We shot the swordfish with a rifle, but left his sword in the plank, and it was cut out when we got home and put in a museum for a curiosity. We found the greatest lot of trash in the whale's stomach that you can imagine—pieces of sailor's shirts, old boots, tin pans, glass bottles and preserve-cans. There was a very fine linen handkerchief with some queer letters in the corner, which no one could make out. The captain carried it home and showed it to a minister, who was a great scholar. He said the letters were Hebrew and spelt Jonah! There seemed to be no doubt that this was the very whale that swallowed the prophet, when he cut sticks off to sea and got hove overboard in a gale of wind. It's said Jonah felt down in the mouth after the whale took him in, and no doubt he cried and took out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. Then he came out pretty sudden, and must have dropped it in his surprise. I've always believed in Jonah since then."

One afternoon, when ninety-eight days out, we sighted Java Head, the south-western point of Java, and at sunset were just fifteen miles west of it. This seemed almost like arrival at our destination. It is a great relief to the navigator, after months of steering by the stars, to find his reckoning proved correct by seeing the dry land appear, just where his calculations lead him to look for it. It thrills his mind to think that he has been enabled to find his way through pathless wastes, over half the circumference of the globe, to a little head-land in the eastern seas. He feels a reverence for the noble science whose deductions have led to this result, and also usually indulges in some self-complacent emotions at his own successful application of its rules. Having bearings of the land he now knows where he is by sight, and gladly leaves his life of faith. He finds, however, that this element of security is offset by a vast increase of danger. In proximity to the land are rocks and shoals, and around them sweep ever varying currents. Dark nights and storms envelope and assail him, and hours of anxiety are passed, such as are wholly unknown in the deep sea sailing.

This night I was destined to experience the hazards of coast navigation and to recognize the preserving hand of God in preventing our shipwreck. Knowing my position so exactly, I felt emboldened to attempt to work into the Straits of Sunda in the night. In the evening a fresh breeze sprang up ahead varying from E.S.E. to E.N.E., accompanied by heavy rain-squalls. The night was very dark and I remained on deck the whole time, except for the few moments occasionally required for marking the supposed position on the chart and planning the movements of the vessel. We made several tacks and at three o'clock in the morning, when I supposed we were well into the Straits, after a rain-squall had passed, the clouds broke away, revealing the old moon just getting out of bed from behind a high hill directly ahead, towards which we were hastening at a rate of speed which would have cast us upon its shores in another quarter of an hour. The bark was immediately hove to, while I tried unsuccessfully to verify my position. Daylight revealed that we had been about running into Java Head, the current having set us back S.W. by S. 32 miles in twelve hours. So here we were, instead of being in the Strait, still at its entrance, not having secured any gain from all the night's work, the insidious current having robbed us of the fruits of our toil. I had been fretting all the night because the wind would not haul and allow us to steer in a certain direction. I was thrilled and instructed by noticing on the chart that, if I had been permitted to take the course I desired, we should have certainly been wrecked on the dangerous reef extending from Prince's Island. How near we came to it I cannot say, but that we avoided it was not owing to my own skill, but to Him whose hand led me in the uttermost parts of the sea. Many a successful navigator in these Eastern waters could join me in acknowledging that in some instances his safety has been owing "more to luck than good management" as the common phrase goes, or as one had better say, to a kind Providence. This event gave me an illustration of "Prayer answered by crosses" and in later trials has helped me to say: "Thy will be done."

The next night, being in very close quarters among islands and rocks, I took bearings of a light to test my progress, the darkness hiding the dangers from view. A light breeze was blowing, and the bark moved at the rate of about two knots through the water. The light however remained on the same bearing, showing that we gained nothing on it, and I supposed the same strong current was neutralizing all the power of the wind. I was about to come to anchor to avoid the peril of drifting about in the darkness amid so many dangers, when a close inspection of the light with the marine glass, showed it was not on the land, but on board a vessel in shore, sailing with us, and on the other side we soon discovered a rock, which we were passing quite swiftly, the current evidently having changed in the opposite direction. This event supplied another moral reflection: the importance of measuring by a right standard.