On Board the "Rocket"Adams, Robert C. (Robert Chamblet)
History
On Board the "Rocket"
Adams, Robert C. (Robert Chamblet)
Seafaring life
Of course I don't wish to be annoyed with the report of every little
misdemeanor or sign of insubordination; but when you fail to suppress
them by the means I have referred to, then let me know about it. If
you will adopt this course, although at first it may be too slow a
method for you, I will promise you that when we reach home you will
say you never got more work out of a crew, and never made a passage in
which you took so much comfort, or which you remembered with so great
satisfaction.
We gave the crew watch and watch, and Saturday afternoon was allowed
them for mending and washing clothes. Sunday at 9 A.M. services were
held in the cabin. Attendance was not compulsory, but as a rule all
hands were present, except the man at the wheel and the officer of the
deck. We made tolerable runs down to lat. 30° N., which we crossed
in lon. 40° W., eleven days out; but here for a few days the "horse
latitudes" assailed us with their calms. We whistled for the wind,
wondered how Job would have acted if he had ever been becalmed, tried
hard to be patient, and thought we were at the threshold of success,
when at last the wind settled at the eastward. A steady freshening
breeze proved we had got the north-east trades, and the log line, as it
marked nine knots over the taffrail, enabled us to be patient without
further effort.
Running along by the wind at the rate of eight and nine knots an hour,
with a regular sea that gave only a pleasing motion to the vessel, and
a blue sky enlivened by the swiftly flying, fleecy trade-wind clouds,
we understood the reality of "the romance of the sea." Flying-fish
continually darted out from under the ship's bow, the beautiful fleet
dolphins ran races, constantly beating us and coming back to try it
again, the fat, puffing porpoises occasionally tumbled across our hawse
and went snorting off to windward; the sea was strewn with patches of
gulf-weed, and Mother Carey's chickens tripped about amongst it as
though afraid of wetting their feet while searching for food. There was
always something to see, and life was never monotonous.
About this time I noticed that the first signs of the relaxing of
discipline were beginning to appear, in the occasional neglect of
the sailors to answer when spoken to. I watched to see if the mates
attempted to correct it, as I desired they should control the men in
minor matters, and I was relieved soon by hearing the mate call out,
"Why don't you answer when I speak to you?" A brief "growl" followed,
but the sailor, a Swede named Peterson gave in, declared he meant no
disrespect and intended to do his duty.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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