On a fateful Saturday night, the one when we drew five dollars apiece against our payday, Peter, the boy, and I decided to go ashore and have our hair cut by a regular barber and then indulge in the pleasure of a luxurious bath with plenty of soap and a good big tub of hot water. After the hair cut the bath—and this took us to a Japanese establishment that was conducted upon true oriental lines. As a bath house it was A1, but in addition to the supply of hot water, which was drawn by a female attendant, I found that she (the attendant) was ready to remain and assist in the scrubbing. Being of a modest turn of mind myself, and unable to converse with this would-be helper, I finally made known my desire for her removal by pushing her through the door. The floor was slippery and in my embarrassment I may have given her too hearty a shove, for she lost her footing and shot out in a most undignified manner, "cutting the star" as we used to call it when skating. Peals of laughter sounded through the flimsy walls, the Japs taking the whole thing in good part.

However, in the native Japanese quarter, this sort of thing was considered proper, and, as I afterward learned more of the Japanese, while in their islands, I found that it was all a simple matter of point of view and nothing at all extraordinary.

Of Peter a great deal might be said. He was a type of the young American who will, when circumstances force him into it, go to sea. However, I have only touched upon him lightly, as he in no way represented that bygone breed of sailor that made history on the hard square riggers of that day.

Peter had a delightful voice that passed in Honolulu in lieu of real coin, at least among the Kanakas, where his wit and general good nature won him many friends. We attended a luau up in the Nuuanu Valley, a real native feast where we were received royally because of the high regard in which Peter was held by the Kanakas. Poi, one finger stuff, and none of your poverty stricken watery three and two finger poi of the stevedores and little island traders, was on the bill of fare. Pork, fish, and fruits of all kinds afforded by the islands were served to us on ti leaves, while swipes flowed freely.

Peter sang "Hawaii Ponoi" over and over again with our hosts, and we wound up late at night with the native girls dancing the Hula Hula. All very decent, of course, but calculated to impress one with the broader range of vision accorded simple strangers traveling in that land of song and sunshine when without the stodgy hall mark of smug respectability to hamper them in their enjoyment. Peter astonished the natives by sleight of hand tricks with a pack of worn playing cards, and before we left them had dated us up for another engagement. My head the following morning was something to be remembered with respect, and I swore off all further indulgence in the Kanaka's wonderful hospitality.

On board, our routine became more established. After the consignment of case oil was put over, we found the work less trying and were better able to meet it as we accustomed ourselves to the new labor, although the Republican-Royalist feud continued to the end of our stay. In the main hold, directly below the hatch, we carried a locomotive boiler. Getting this overboard called for some seamanship on the part of the mate. He strengthened the main yard support by extra tackles, and hoisted the fish fall up to the cargo pendant, which in turn was backed by several parts of wire rope. The yard purchase was replaced by a fourfold tackle rove off with new gear. Once ready, we sent the boiler over the side in good style, setting it squarely on a flat car.

While this special gear for getting over the heavy freight was being rigged, the remaining running gear of the braces was unrove, coiled and marked for stowing while old stuff was sent up to take its place, as all such untarred rope deteriorates rapidly when exposed to the dust of the port for any length of time. Following the discharge of the boiler we roused out a large number of cases of heavy machinery, all to be assembled as a complete locomotive. The Fuller was stowed with a very mixed cargo, her manifest containing every kind of agricultural and household implement imaginable. Castle and Cook, a large importing house in the Islands, got a lot of our cargo and as we would unload a consignment of stuff for them they would run an advertisement in the daily papers—

CASTLE AND COOK, Large assortment
of the best fruit jars with patent screw tops
just received from the States by Ship A. J.
Fuller.

Had we been wrecked on a desert island, our freight would have set us up as a very respectable lot of Robinson Crusoes, for we brought the most general of general cargoes.

After a week in port, my mosquito mottled face having subsided to normal, I presented a letter of introduction to Mr. William H. McInerny, at his place of business on Fort Street. Mr. McInerny, his mother, sister and brothers, were most kind to me, and I enjoyed their hospitality with an appreciation made extra keen by the life of the ship. Clean table linen and all of the ordinary necessities of civilized existence seemed extra good. On the other hand I had sense enough to appreciate the life aboard ship. This was never dull, and was soon destined to become particularly strenuous.

Mr. McInerny called for me frequently of a Sunday and took me driving behind a pair of fast horses. His first appearance on the ship aroused the gravest sort of suspicions in the mind of the mate. He eyed me critically when I went ashore in my best Sunday suit, pressed the night before by a Chinaman on Nuuanu Street. As we drove off, so Peter told me afterward, the mate shook his head as much as to say, "Another young fellow gone wrong."

The next morning there was considerable coldness in the manner of the mate, but nothing actively malignant. He gave me no harder work to do than before, but he did not condescend to his customary gruff camaraderie.

When Mr. McInerny called for me again on the following Sunday with a different rig and another pair of high steppers, Mr. Zerk became thoroughly disgusted. On Monday he called me aft just before we turned to after the washdown, and made some very sarcastic remarks about my "dude friend."

"I suppose you will be getting out of the ship?" he ventured.

"I have never thought of getting out," I answered.

"Well, I was just thinking that you might have a chance to get out. Maybe your friends with their horses and carriages would not like to see you working too hard."

"I suppose they would hate to see me work hard, seeing what an easy time I am having now."

"Damn your hide, they will hate to see you work before I get through with you. Call that thick ass Scouse aft and that —— —— —— —— Joe."

When these unfortunates arrived they found Mr. Zerk under a heavy pressure of bottled-up wrath. The whole silly business had so exasperated him that he fairly sizzled with madness. Heretofore his outbursts were mostly impersonal, at least they always seemed so to me; merely a part of the day's work. We were now turned over to Chips and found that he had received instructions to clean out the limbers of the ship, starting in the fore peak and working aft as the bottom of the hold was uncovered. From that time on until the ship was discharged I was kept at the most disgusting work of the voyage. Bucket after bucket of a thick sludge, the results of a previous voyage to the Orient, when the Fuller loaded some filthy cargo in Hong Kong, was lifted out. Of course she was never cleaned in New York, where the crew was always discharged as soon as the hook went down, and no longshore laborer would do the work we were set to.

After three days of this Joe said to me as we came up out of the hold covered with filth: "Here is where I quits. To hell with this. That rotten bull aft thinks he can work anything off on us. Some may be soft an' easy, but," and here Joe came in strong, "I can get thirty dollars a month in the coasters, an' I won't be leavin' much. To hell with the rotten skunk, says I."

That night Joe found a chance to go out on the barkentine Irmgard due to sail in two days for San Francisco. Like most of the craft trading to the Islands from the coast, the Irmgard was glad to pick up a deepwater sailor. Joe agreed to work his passage to Frisco and would then sign on regularly before the U. S. Commissioner. Joe wanted Scouse to join him but the big fellow shook his head as Joe urged him, during the next two days down in the bilge dirt. All conversation on the subject of Joe's departure was taboo in the fo'c'sle, though Joe worked hard to have Scouse join him, even going so far as to see that it would be all right for him to ship in Frisco.

"No, Choe, I don't do no more pilge cleaning when I ged back. Dere ain't no rotten pilges on farms, ant you never knows what rotten backets you ship on. I stand dis ant, den, no more."

The night that Joe left we got his clothes ashore over the bow. All he had was a round bottomed sailor's trunk—a canvas bag. Joe was a favorite with all of us, and his bag bulked large with parting gifts of clothing. In addition to this we all chipped in, at the suggestion of Old Smith, and at a tarpaulin muster, though it was near the end of the week, we managed to find five dollars. Let it here be said that after the first generous advance of five each, the Captain cut us down to two dollars each week, and held down on the slop chest. Of course five dollars was out of the question, as the pay per month was only eighteen.

Also, in the details of Joe's departure we had to keep everything from Charlie Horse. As watchman he would undoubtedly be blamed for not reporting the desertion. As it was, Charlie Horse was given a hard call by Captain Nichols, and later on he thanked us for keeping him in the dark. Charlie was a decent sort and said he was glad he did not have to lie about the affair when called aft.

"Joe's going," Frenchy whispered this to me. It was near midnight and Joe had returned as he promised, after depositing his dunnage in the fo'c'sle of the Irmgard, only a few wharves away.

"Good-by, boys."

"So long, Choe. Goot-luck. Goot py," the last from Scouse. Joe slid down one of the bowlines and we watched his dark figure walking along the wharves. Under a street lamp on Nuuanu Street Joe waved back at us on the strength that we were watching him.

We all felt sorry to lose Joe. Scouse was especially gloomy over his departure, and I missed the happy-go-lucky fellow in our work below.

Next morning when Joe failed to show up at the wash down, Mr. Zerk was furious. Charlie Horse came in for a round of abuse and all hands in general were cursed fore and aft and athwartship. In it all I seemed to detect a certain note of insincerity. In fact the mate was glad that Joe had left; it seemed to please him that the drill in the limbers was tough enough to have had that result.

No one was assigned to take Joe's place, but after a week of it Scouse was relieved and Tony became my partner in filth.

"I suppose we will have other deserters," said the mate, coming down and looking us over. His words were evidently intended for me.

"I don't think so, sir. Scouse doesn't mind this a bit," which was a foolish remark, but at least resulted in giving the red-head a relief.

I kept fit by getting up an hour earlier each morning than the rest of the crowd and taking a plunge overboard as a bracer, swimming about the ship. In the evening, being too dirty to give a hand in pumping out, I had the pleasure of a plunge into the cool waters before supper. I always washed out my dungarees as soon as I came up, and alternated, leaving the ones last worn to have a good sunning.

Captain Nichols saw me one noon looking rather dirty. He may have remarked the fact that he had seen me in the same state some ten days before, when the grind first started.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Cleaning out the limbers, sir."

"How do you like it?" grinning.

"Fine; wish the ship had four instead of two, sir."

This seemed to tickle the old man, and whatever he did I don't know, but the next day the mate came below and lifted a horrible fuss about the way things were dragging, with Chips at his heels saying "Yes, sir, yes, sir," so fast that the mate turned on him and asked him if he had St. Vitus's dance. "Yes, sir," answered Chips, before he realized his mistake. "Well, then, get the hell out of here and let me finish this." Four extra men were sent down and the job cleaned up the next day.

I was mighty glad when the drill was over, for to tell the truth my health was beginning to suffer from the nasty grind and the constant breathing of foul air. In the fo'c'sle, too, the boys were more than decent about it. "Well, you stuck it out," was the opinion.