As the strength of the winds increased and we were mostly always before it, Captain Nichols concluded the ship would sail better if she was a trifle further down by the stern. We had loaded on an evener keel in Honolulu than on the passage out and now it was decided by the skipper to shift some weight aft. This was done by breaking out two hundred bags of sugar from the fore part of the hold and dragging it aft to the extreme end of the lazarette. The weight shifted, about fifteen tons, certainly made her steer better than before.

On June twenty-third we rove off a new main tops'l halyard purchase, and overhauled the tops'l tye. The weather was getting more and more severe, and we ran before it under fore lower tops'l, close reefed fores'l, reefed main upper tops'l, main lower tops'l, and mizzen lower tops'l, all other sail being on the yards and furled with the exception of fore topmast stays'l and jib, both hauled amidships as a precaution against broaching to. The seas rose gradually and the ship rolled heavily. On June twenty-fifth our cargo shifted in the fore part of the 'tween deck, giving us a nasty list to leeward of about five degrees, and all hands were called at two in the mid watch to trim cargo. This was a devil of a job, except that it was warm, and kept us steadily employed for a stretch of twelve hours with only a short spell for grub. Captain Nichols himself came into the 'tween decks, and later on Mr. Zerk, myself and two of the men, Frenchy and Axel, if I remember right, went through the lower hold on top of the heaped-up sugar, where the sweet, sticky smell, slightly sour, mingled with the odors of the riled-up bilge, and the complaining of the hull. I carried a lantern and the rays, against the knees and beams, cast weird shadows. The hold was a fearsome place, pitching and rolling as if in mortal agony.

We found it increasingly necessary to keep the pumps going as the water worked in rapidly when running. A ship under such conditions of wind and sea is alternately lifted with her midship section carried on the back of a roller, her ends more or less tending to droop, or she is in the trough between two wave crests with her ends buried and the midship section hanging. Oftentimes a poorly built craft becomes "hogged," that is, the midship is permanently lifted up and her sheer thrown out.

A constant repetition of stresses such as we were experiencing on the Fuller, made intense by the dead weight of the cargo and the urge of the masts carrying their spread of sail, is bound to result in damage to the vessel. While working in the hold, the complaining of her timbers seemed worse than ever before on the voyage. We often wondered if she was going to pieces, as indeed many unreported ships have done. The sensation below gave one an impression of being at sea on a very uncertain proposition; a great leaky wooden box, with every solitary frame, scantling, hook, knee, and plank, complaining bitterly at the hard fate that had wrought them in the shape of a ship.

"I wish the bloody owners was down here for a day or two," said Old Smith, as we were shifting cargo in the hold, and I heartily agreed with him.

A few days later, when on deck, we forgot the forbidding pandemonium below; purposely forgot it, as so many people do with other things, and, as the ship did not wrack herself to pieces that voyage, we at least were saved a lot of unnecessary worry.

On July first we were still plowing before it under reefed canvas. All work on deck was at a standstill except that required for sailing the ship, and by way of exercise and safety, the "farmers" dragged the "bear." Cape pigeons were everywhere and we caught a number of them for their wings by trailing a fish line overboard and hooking them. These birds are beautifully marked and when taken on deck invariably vomit their dinners; it almost looks as though the motion of the ship made them seasick. High overhead gray molly-hawks and fulmar gulls soared white-bellied and noisy against the leaden sky.

Oil bags were trailed over the side as the high seas surged past us like race horses, their white crests crinkling dangerously under our transom, and along the full sweep of the bulwarks, slopping aboard as we rolled, filling the gangways and main deck with tons of cold, blue water. Often, at the braces, we would be buried in these seas, a strange sensation that for the moment, as the weight of water lifted the feet from the deck, gave one the sensation of being detached from the ship, of being out in the midst of it all thousands of miles from shore; a funny feeling is this, entirely devoid of fear, though, of course, one held on like blazes to whatever was most handy, usually the pin rail or other substantial deck fitting.

Much has been written about the height of waves, and as we approached the southern limit of our course and headed to the east, well below the parallel of Cape Horn, we got the full benefit of those constant westerly winds that blow around the world. Here the heaviest straight line gales are to be met with and the great fetch of deep water helps to produce magnificent waves of the first magnitude.

Lecky, in his "Wrinkles," a book no sailor should be without, and a book no lover of the sea who likes to "be up" on things nautical should neglect to read, quotes Mr. Thomas Stevenson as the authority for an empirical formula that approximates the possible maximum height of waves, the same being considered as a function of the "fetch."

This is given as a matter of interest, for working it backward it shows how tremendous the sea spaces through which the rollers that followed us had their being. The Stevenson formula is as follows:

Height of wave in feet equals the square root of the "fetch" in nautical miles multiplied by the constant 1.5.

Or, backward: the distance a wave has come equals its height, divided by 1.5, and the quotient squared.

As the wind increased in strength the waves mounted until immense billows were formed that measured from 50 to 60 feet in a vertical line from hollow to crest. This was easily determined by mounting the shrouds and watching until the ship was in the trough, then noting the height of eye on a level with the wave crests. In reversing the Stevenson formula we find that for a 60-foot wave a fetch of at least 1,600 miles is necessary.[8]

Enough sail had to be carried to give the ship ample steerage way when the walls of rushing water passed us, for incredible as it may seem to those who have not had the experience, the waves of the sea run at a speed far greater than anything afloat that sails. The tidal wave, theoretical at least, must have a speed of one thousand miles per hour in order that the tides may follow the attraction of the moon and girdle the earth each twenty-four hours; some speed even in these days of rapid travel. Here we have a vertical translation of motion and not a horizontal shifting of water at that terrific speed. In the sea waves caused by wind friction, there is also simply a translation of up and down motion, except for the rearing crest; if the sea waves moved bodily it would be extremely dangerous to live near the seashore and the coasts would soon be worn away; also, ships would not dare venture upon the ocean.

This statement about the possible destructive effect of the sea waves were they to move bodily started one of the hottest arguments ever contested in the fo'c'sle of the Fuller. Tired and worn as we were, the greater part of an afternoon watch below was taken up in assailing my position. Australia could not see that I was right; even my staunch pal Frenchy doubted it. Finally I brought out my trusty "Wrinkles in Practical Navigation" by that sailor's friend, the late Captain S. T. S. Lecky, who added laurels to the name of the English merchant sailor that will never fade, and put them all to rout. The passage on Great Sea Waves is worth giving, and I here include it.

"The term 'Great Sea Wave' is used in contradistinction to 'Great Earth Wave,' which latter is the name given to the disturbance experienced on land.

"An earthquake may have its center of impulse either inland or under the bed of the ocean. In the first case, when the 'Great Earth Wave,' or superficial undulation, coming from inland, reaches the shores of the sea (unless these be precipitous, with deep water) it may lift the water up, and carry it out on its back, as it were; for the rate of transit of the shock is sometimes so great that the heap of water lifted up has not time to flow away toward the sides.

"At Arica, in Peru, and other places, this sudden going out of the sea has made bare the bottom of the bay, and left ships aground which only a few minutes before were riding quietly at anchor in several fathoms of water.

"As soon as the shock is over, the body of water thus forced out to sea returns as a huge wave, and, on approaching a sloping shore, rears up like a wall, and breaks with overwhelming force. Sometimes, however, its volume, height, and velocity are so great that it comes ashore bodily, and breaks far inland, causing even greater destruction to life and property. At Arica, the Wateree—a 'double-ender' belonging to the United States Navy—was carried inland quite a distance by the reflux, and remained as evidence for many years. If the writer's memory is not at fault, she was carried clean over the railway embankment.

"When the seat of the disturbance is beneath the ocean, the 'Great Sea Wave' rushes in upon the land as before—with this difference, that it is not preceded by the water retiring from the foreshore, as in the first case....

"About the most notable instance of a 'Great Sea Wave' occurred during the stupendous and ever-memorable eruption in August, 1883, which had for its center the Island of Krakatoa, in the Straits of Sunda. On this occasion the loss of life amounted to 37,000, caused chiefly by the sea waves, one of which attained the almost incredible height of 135 feet. Its effects were traced to all the principal tide gauges of the world, and were even observed at Havre, some 11,000 miles from the source of origin.

"A full account of this eruption, which was investigated in detail by committees and sub-committees of the Royal Society, comprising many of the leading scientists of the day, has been published in a volume of nearly 500 quarto pages, under the editorship of Mr. G. T. Symons. In this book every branch of the phenomenon and its effects have been most thoroughly dealt with, and is consequently well worth perusal."

What Captain Lecky has said may well cause us to pause and wonder how a "Great Sea Wave" would affect Coney Island of a hot Sunday in midsummer.

However, on the ship Fuller, to get back to our muttons, we thought of no Coney Island. We were very much at sea, and thankful for the fact that the waves could grow no larger. For it is a fact that the rapid rate of progress of waves serves to limit their height, for as soon as the speed of the wave becomes about half that of the speed of the wind the accelerating effect of the wind action remaining is absorbed by the friction of the water particles, and the waves are at their maximum.

We had a splendid opportunity to study the waves, and it was with a never-failing fascination that I always looked for the occasional grouping of three or four large rollers, rising above the rest, due to a piling up because of differences in rate of progress. On the ships of an earlier day, the fear of being "pooped" was always uppermost in the minds of timid helmsmen, but on the Fuller we were protected in a measure by the wheelhouse. This structure, right aft against the taffrail, served as a shelter, and at the same time housed the tiller, the tiller shackles, and the relieving tackles. The fore part was given over to the wheel and was quite fancy, immaculate white gratings under foot, bright wood panelling inside and brass fittings wherever possible. A sliding shutter overhead was thrown back, when on the wind, to allow the helmsman a sight of the weather cloth of the mizzen skysail. Just forward of the binnacle, and taking in the whole front of the wheelhouse, was a window fitted with sliding shutters. At least one of these was always open, for the officer of the deck never came into the wheelhouse when on duty, merely shouting his orders to the man at the helm. The good sense that finally provided wheelhouses on sailers was amply justified. Comparative warmth and protection from wind and sea helped just that much in steering, and a far better course was held through the long, strenuous watches of heavy weather. The wheelhouse was always one of the most comfortable spots aboard ship.

To my mind, steering was a lot of fun. This was specially so in good lively weather. The direct pull of the rudder, the "kick" and the "feel" of the ship never failed to thrill me with a sense of power. Just as handling "the stick" on a good able boat in fine brisk weather is a sport of never-ending delight, so the trick at the wheel aboard the Fuller always made me feel that I was the man who sailed the ship.

The pointer by old Bo'sun Dreilick, of the St. Mary's, and now of the Newport, that ancient mariner of many, many voyages, filled with the accumulated wisdom of the seven seas, stood me in good stead. "When at the wheel, work the ship in your mind as if you had charge of the watch," was his advice. Doing this aboard the Fuller with such a consummate sailor as Mr. Zerk in charge was an instructive exercise. During daytime tricks I could see where sails needed trimming, or where a shift of canvas would help her, and would often have everything settled in my mind before the mate would notice things. At night it was different. The least shift of wind or the slightest change of weather always found him on the alert. To an ambitious lad, anxious to master the hoary art of conducting a ship across the surface—decidedly, surface—of the many wrinkled ocean, this practice can be recommended; the only trouble is that such ambitious lads are now scarce, and the ships are scarcer still.

Captain Nichols had a pleasant way of coming up, especially during the second dog watch, after the mellowing influence of a Chow dinner, cabin style, and conversing for a minute or two. He would let drop a hint as to where we were and sometimes give me sights to work out. While we were making such heavy weather of it and the wheel was hard to manage, he told a story calculated to make me anything but cheerful. The ship had yawed and the slap of the rudder sent the wheel over against all the "beef" I could bring to bear. Then suddenly, when the pressure shifted to the other side, the wheel came back with the kick of a stubborn mule, and I was bodily lifted off my feet, saving my head by doubling about the spindle.

"Look out, son!" shouted the Old Man. "I had a sailor thrown up against the top of the wheelhouse once and his skull bashed in. That was his last trick at the wheel. You better be careful."