A COW, TWO MEN, AND A PARSON
"YES," said the retired pilot, "I've as much respect for an able seaman as when I was learning to be one; at the same time, I may say that in these days of donkey-engines and steam capstans and windlasses the able seaman can be dispensed with, to a great extent. Ever tell you about that trip I made without a sailor aboard? No? Well, it's worth hearing about. It was certainly a remarkable voyage.
"I was a youngster then, just out of the forecastle, and was going out to Calcutta, second mate of the bark Tempest. The mate was a York State man, a rattling good fellow and an all-around sailor-man; but he had one failing—profanity. He could outcurse any man I ever met. It just rolled out of him, without any trouble on his part at all. He was never at a loss for a word or a forcible expression; but, to do him justice, he always swore at things, not men.
"Well, about this time there had been a lot of trouble in holding men to their ships after they had signed articles, and the captain had arranged to bring ours aboard with a tug after we had towed down to the lower bay. A gang of riggers bent sail at the dock and helped us down, and we dropped anchor to wait for the tug with the captain, pilot, and crew.
"Before leaving the dock our one passenger joined us and spent his time looking after his cow, that had come aboard with him. He was a missionary, going out to convert the heathen, and his Society had backed him up to the extent of the cow—for fresh milk. It wasn't usual to take cows to sea, but I suppose the skipper liked fresh milk and hoped to get some, so he let the cow come along. The cow wasn't consulted, of course. We knocked a few boards together and made her a temporary pen on the forehatch.
"The Chinese steward was ashore with the captain, but had got the cook, a countryman of his, aboard at the dock, and this gentleman—well, I'll speak of him afterward. The ship had lain port side to the dock, and our big anchor-chain was used to moor her. For some reason the mate had forgotten to have it shackled to the anchor as we towed down the bay, so we used a small one. It was safe enough if it didn't blow hard. No tug appeared, and, night coming on, the mate agreed to stand watch till midnight, when I was to relieve him.
"At supper-time we had our first rub with the cook. The mate had poked his head into the galley and told him to cook supper for us, as the steward was ashore. In Pidgin English he was answered that he had shipped cook, not steward; that he was to cook for a crew of fourteen men, which he would do and no more. And what did that Celestial do but cook up a supper of salt-horse hash for a full crew and place it in the empty forecastle.
"The mate interviewed him again, but got no satisfaction. During the interview the cook's heels cracked the carlines overhead, and several pots and pans were dented; but he knew his work, and would not cook for the cabin. So, all we could do was to muster around the dishpan of hash in the forecastle and get it down. The parson began to say 'Grace,' but the mate quashed it. 'Stow that, parson,' he said, irreverently. 'Be thankful if you like, but don't bring me in, for I'm not—for this grub.'
"You see, the mate had been used to the cabin menu for some years, but I, fresh from the forecastle, enjoyed it. As for the parson, he took one mouthful of the sickening mess and passed; but he ate it at the next meal, when hungrier.
"I turned in and slept till midnight, when the mate called me.
"'Looks rather bilious over there to the nor'west,' he said, as he went below. 'Look out for a Staten Island squall—wish we'd shackled on the other anchor.'
"I aroused him in an hour. The squall was coming, black and wicked. He came up, took one look, and said: 'Call the sky-pilot; he's got to help.' I got him up after some trouble and we went to work trying to shackle the chain to the big anchor—a big job for two men, for the parson was useless. Before we got the end up to the rail the squall struck us and away we went, the small anchor nearly jumping out of the water as we dragged.
"The mate ran aft, looked at the compass, and came back. 'We're dragging right into the Swash Channel!' he yelled, as he joined us.
"It was about the sharpest squall I have ever seen. We were forced to shout into one another's ears to be understood. Lightning played all around us, and by the light of the flashes we worked until we had the chain secured to the anchor, which, luckily, hung at the cat-head instead of being stowed on the rail. We then overhauled a range of chain, but just as we were ready to let go there came a mighty straining on the windlass, then a sudden jolt, and we knew the small anchor had caught something and parted the chain. Then we heard for a moment the bell-buoy and knew we were in the Swash Channel.
"'Stand by to give her the chain, quick!' shouted the mate as he let go the big mud-hook. We were going astern about six knots an hour, and, though we lifted the chain around the windlass fast as we could, she brought up too quick. Away went the big chain.
"The mate screamed in my ear: 'Show the head of the foretopmast staysail; slip both chains at the first shackles; I'll take the wheel!'
"I knew what he wanted to do—keep her off the bottom. So I loosed the staysail, then hunted for the parson, who had disappeared. I found him in the forecastle, praying, and felt that I did wrong to interrupt him; but that sail must go up, and I knew the cook wouldn't help, so he had to come.
"The mate had thrown the wheel over, backing the ship around broadside to it as we dragged the sail part way up. I made the sheet fast, then punched out the shackle-pins and let the chain go out of the hawse-pipes. She soon began to go ahead. The mate got her on the course down the channel, and, as he knew every foot of the bay, steered us right out to sea past Romer Shoal, Sandy Hook, and Scotland Lightship. The parson had gone below out of the rain, and I kept lookout on the poop to be near the mate. About a mile outside of the lightship he threw the wheel down and lashed it; then we stowed the staysail after a fashion and loosed the spanker to heave to under.
"We got the parson out again, and the mate took a pump-brake to the cook, who squealed and chattered, but would not turn out to help. We pulled the spanker up without him, and then she lay quiet enough in the offshore sea that was rising.
"At daylight the land was a dim line of blue, and that squall settled down to a three-days' gale that blew us a hundred miles to sea. The mate and I stood watch and watch, while the parson fed the cow and prayed. And the cook? Why, every meal-time hat demented heathen would lug the whole bill of fare to the forecastle door and return in an hour to dump the stuff overboard. Meanwhile we would have eaten what we wanted of it. The mate busied himself plotting the drift of the ship, hammering the cook, and swearing.
"The parson didn't offer to say grace any more, but the mate supplied plenty of profane language. Once, as he reeled off a string of oaths, the parson admonished him. 'What's the difference, parson?' he answered. 'You pray and it's supplication, isn't it? I swear. Same thing—supplication.'
"The poor parson rolled up his eyes. 'Shocking! Shocking!' he said. I didn't like to hear the mate talk like this, but he was my superior and I had nothing to say. The parson was a long-geared, mild-mannered man, with a chin-whisker and bald head; a nice old fellow, and very much frightened at the trouble we were in.
"The third day the wind moderated, and the mate proposed trying to set the lower topsails.
"'How'll we sheet home?' I asked. 'If we had a donkey-engine, now—'
"'I have it,' he broke in. 'We've got a cow—a good, strong, able-bodied cow. She has got to work her passage.'
"We inspected the cow. 'I'll make a canvas strap for her breast,' he said, 'and rig a harness to hook on to the gear.'
"He went at it, harnessed the cow, led her out and hooked her on to the weather main topsail-sheet. I loosened the sail and sung out, 'Sheet home!' but the cow would not. She just stood there and looked around in a bewildered way, remarking 'Moo-o-oo!' every time the mate whacked her with a board. He whacked and perspired, and swore until he was tired, and then the parson suggested that she might pull if she was fed first—perhaps she was hungry. It gave the mate an idea. He brought up a turnip and held it in front of her nose. She reached for it and got a smell; reached farther and pulled the sheet a little; he gave her a morsel. Then, with the taste in her mouth, she walked away with the sheet to get more. Soon we had both sheets home and the weather-brace tautened, and the cow got the rest of the turnip. Then we set the fore topsail the same way and put the cow in her pen.
The mate was in high feather. 'It won't do to feed that animal,' he said to the parson. 'She's our crew—fourteen sailors rolled into one cowhide. But if our crew has a full belly our crew won't work—understand.' We'll make her grub a reward for service rendered, payable when earned.'
"The parson saw the force of this reasoning, and the mate went below for a nap while I watched the ship. Every time I passed the galley door the cook stuck his head out and jabbered at me. All I could understand was that he had shipped to cook 'fol foulteen sailol-man; no glubbie, no cookie.' I went in and gathered that the salt beef the steward had weighed out to him was all cooked and he wanted more. When the mate came up I told him.
"Good enough. We'll stop this waste of grub. Parson,' he shouted, 'can you cook?' The parson left his cow and came aft.
"'Well, really,' he began, 'I can hardly claim—'
"'Can you, or will you, boil spuds, fry steak, and make coffee? We have these things aboard, and if you'll cook we'll have something to eat, and I'll put that yellow-back in irons.'
"He agreed to try it, so the mate got out the darbies, and with a belaying-pin battered the poor Chinaman into condition to submit to being ironed. Then he dragged the shrieking wretch aft and bundled him down the booby-hatch, where he lashed him to a stanchion and gave him the last dish of hash he had cooked and a bucket of water. We had no more trouble with him.
"The parson cooked dinner for us, and as the day wore on we made more sail, putting on the upper topsails, top-gallant-sails, and the jibs, the parson backing ahead of the cow with a turnip, I whacking her with a board, and the mate standing by to nipper and bossing the job. She always got a morsel of turnip for every rope she pulled, but it was a much-disgusted old cow that we led back to the pen. She must have thought it over that night, for the next morning when we introduced her to the main-brace she let out her heels, knocked me galley west and chased the parson up on the poop, while the mate took to the rigging and nearly fell overboard.
"But she cooled down and squared in the yards, for the wind was fair for Sandy Hook, and that day a pilot boarded us. He laughed till the tears came as he saw the cow walk along with a brace fast to her, bribed by the turnip ahead and fanned by a board behind.
"An ocean tug came along about dark and the mate struck a bargain to be towed in with the tug's tow-line and docked. The cow helped us to get the line, and worked half the night clewing up the sails. If she could have gone aloft we would have made her furl them. We were mean enough. As he backed into the slip next day the tug captain climbed aboard. 'What kind of a crew do you call this?' he asked, as he saw us getting lines ready.
"'Good crew,' said the pilot. 'A cow, two men, and a parson, and the best man here is the cow.' Then he told him what had happened.
"The tug captain grew black in the face as he cursed his stupidity in docking a helpless ship at ordinary rates. If he had known how short-handed we were he could have demanded and been paid a big pile. Then the mate came along and helped him out. The air was blue and sulphurous for a while, as these two experts turned loose, but the mate won.
"And the cow? Oh, the mate bought her from the parson at Calcutta. Said he'd put her on the articles when he got a ship to sail, and draw her pay."