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Title: On shipboard
Author: Anne A. Craig
Release date: October 23, 2026 [eBook #79847]
Language: English
Original publication: Rockland, Maine: The Courier-Gazette, 1961
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79847
Credits: Steve Mattern
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON SHIPBOARD ***
[Illustration: The beautiful mahogany, rosewood and ivory scale model of
the “Frank N. Thayer”, pictured on the frontispiece, was built by
Captain Starrett, her Master 1872-1877.]
ON SHIPBOARD
BY ANNE A. CRAIG
AT THE OPENING OF THE EXHIBIT OF
THE CAPTAIN HENRY ATHERTON STARRETT
COLLECTION, ON SEPTEMBER 10, 1961, THIS
BOOKLET IS PRESENTED IN COOPERATION
WITH THE FARNSWORTH MUSEUM OF
ROCKLAND, MAINE.
design and decoration by VERA BOCK
Printed by The Courier-Gazette, Rockland, Maine
[Illustration]
Copyright 1961, by the
William A. Farnsworth Library and Art Museum
The following story is a description of the author’s
life as experienced aboard various sailing vessels in
her early youth. Anne Atherton Starrett Craig,
daughter of Captain and Mrs. Henry Atherton Starrett
of Warren and later Belfast, was born on April 26,
1865 aboard the ship “T. J. Southard” which lay
anchored in Singapore Harbor. The first twelve years
of her life were spent sailing the Seven Seas with her
parents and her younger brother, Francis James Starrett.
In order to complete her education Anne spent
the following four years with her aunt in Belfast,
where she attended the public high school, and the
succeeding two years in Germany at a private school.
But meanwhile she joined her family for short Atlantic
voyages during the summer months.
Except for parts of the final page, which she had
not completed, the story is as she wrote it a few years
before her death in 1943. It is published with deep
affection and respect for its author by:
Her Daughters
Mrs. Mabel Atherton Bryant
Mrs. Harold R. Stone
Her Nephews
Col. Henry Atherton Starrett
Mr. Frederic Durham Starrett
Her Cousin
Mrs. William James Lindenberger
(Edith Atherton Vaughan Lindenberger)
[Illustration]
An American ship lay at anchor in one of the great harbors of
the Orient. The young captain, as he stood for a moment on the
quarter-deck, ready for a business trip ashore, glanced with special
satisfaction at the American flag flying above him. He felt that that
flag helped to insure full-fledged American citizenship for me, his
tiny daughter, just born that day in the ship’s cabin. What mattered
the foreign environment, thought he, since I was born of American
parents, on an American ship, built and owned in the State of Maine,
and with the stars and stripes floating overhead? From the very
beginning my life was lived on shipboard and when, some three weeks
later, we sailed away, homeward bound, my seafaring days began in
earnest.
[Illustration: ANNE A. STARRETT AGED 8]
[Illustration: HER BROTHER FRANK]
Those childhood voyages have left many happy memories-—There are no
longer any such experiences for any child-—The day of sailing ships is
past. But in the last half of the nineteenth century the square-rigged
clipper ships were things of beauty and of service. They were carriers
of merchandise around the world and it was no uncommon thing for a
captain to have his family on board with him. Captains were proud
of their ships, and as a class, they were men of ability and of
resource. They needed to be so, for every sort of task was theirs, from
navigation to surgery. I have known my father to extract an aching
tooth, prescribe medicine for an ailing sailor, anoint and bandage sore
hands, and once he even set a broken leg. He had always a keen sense of
humor, and I still recall his amusement when some sailors requested the
same sort of ointment which they had used before and found so healing.
It was some my father had concocted himself of very simple ingredients,
and the recommendation of the sailors amused him considerably. The ship
had a “medicine closet” supplied with staple remedies, and our library
contained a medical book describing every disease known to man with the
required treatment. This was all very well in its way but it needed to
be supplemented with a large slice of Yankee common sense.
My earliest recollections are of the little cabin which was “home”
to us, our living room. It was finished with the highly polished hard
wood which seems such a distinctive feature of ships cabins. The floor,
though carpeted when we were in port, was bare when we were at sea, and
was carefully scrubbed each week. The furniture, (center-table, chairs,
sofa, sewing-machine) was screwed down securely to guard against the
rolling and pitching of the ship. The skylight in the center was fitted
at either end with shelves which held my mother’s plants. She found
that geraniums and fuchsias were hardy enough to thrive and blossom
in the salt air. Wandering Jew too grew well and was ornamental in
a hanging pot. In the middle of the skylight hung my yellow canary,
swinging happily with the motion of the ship, unmindful of the vagaries
of wind and weather which play so large a part in the life of a sailor.
Our family was never timid; I do not recall ever hearing a word or hint
of fear. But necessarily weather rules life on shipboard. Was it calm
and pleasant? I could busy myself with jump-rope, or top, or toys of
any kind, on the house or on the quarter-deck; I could use the swing
which my father put up for me on the main deck just outside the door of
our forward cabin. I could set dolls and playthings about on the cabin
floor. But when it was stormy and rough, that was indeed a different
matter. Things could not be left scattered about. Everything that was
loose must be secured. I early learned, in sailor phrase, to stow my
belongings carefully. The little shelf assigned to me, across the foot
of my bunk, was filled with boxes, my doll’s stove, and like treasures,
and all were so carefully stowed that in roughest weather nothing could
come adrift. Beds were of course built in bunk fashion and a board,
nearly a foot high, fitted into grooves in front of my bunk to prevent
my rolling out. Our dining-table was fitted with a rack, a compartment
at each place holding a plate. Down the center of the table was a
swinging shelf which held safely our glasses of water or cups of coffee.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN HENRY ATHERTON STARRETT]
[Illustration: MRS. STARRETT]
[Illustration: ANNE AGED 15]
In a severe storm when the sea was very heavy, our windows had their
thick wooden shutters closed. Since this left us in utter darkness
the little swinging lamps would be lighted and my mother and I would
be comfortably established on the bed with books, or perhaps we might
sit on the floor, braced between the bookcase and the wall, or in some
other similar nook.
It was sometimes possible to stand at the most sheltered of our three
outside doors and to watch the rush and force of the sea-—a fascinating
sight! Such tremendous power! Foam-crested rollers coming on in
unending succession, and each great wave seeming higher than the last,
when suddenly a deluge of water poured over the rail, the decks would
be awash, and as the ship rolled and pitched the water would swash
back and forth, carrying with it everything movable. Sometimes a rope,
securely fastened at the ends, would be stretched the length of the
deck, a safety line for the sailors in case of need. The men, in
high rubber boots, oilskin suits, and sou’westers, kept as dry as they
could. A man might add a belt of rope, humorously known as a “soul and
body lashing”, to keep his coat more snug and tight. In such weather,
and indeed in all weathers a burden of responsibility rested upon the
captain. How much sail should he take in? Just what slight change of
course would enable the vessel to meet more easily the wind and the
sea? The safety of the ship and the welfare of the crew depended on
the captain’s skill and judgment. How often I have watched my father
come down from the deck to consult the little barometer which hung on
the wall in his room. Back and forth he went at intervals throughout
the day or night, watching closely for any sign of change in wind and
weather.
The howling of the gale, the roar and pounding of the waves, the creak
and rattle of the rigging, the lurching of the ship, are all closely
associated in my mind with that small barometer and my father’s
unfailing watchfulness-—when at last the barometer started up, there
was hope for a cessation of the storm, and daily life would gradually
slip back into its usual routine.
On shipboard bells tell the hours and call to the appointed tasks.
Our ship carried a crew of 16 men, with three officers, and a cook, a
steward and a carpenter. The crew was divided into two watches which
changed at eight bells, i.e. at eight and twelve and four o’clock.
The time from four to eight P.M. was subdivided into two hour periods,
known as dog-watches; the watch changed then at six o’clock too, so as
to alternate the periods-—the men on duty before midnight on Monday
would be on duty after midnight on Tuesday.
The dog-watches were the leisure time of day, supper was served just
before six to one watch, just after six to the other. The men were free
to amuse themselves as they chose. Some one might play an accordion
which seemed to be a favorite instrument with sailors, or they could
always swap sailor yarns.
“Seamen’s Libraries” were supplied to ships and the men could take
books whenever they cared to ask for them. Also chests of clothing
known as “slop chests” were furnished by the captain and the men could
buy needed garments and have the price charged against their wages. We
had three such chests, made by the ship’s carpenter under my father’s
supervision, and they are now counted among the interesting souvenirs
of our sea voyages, along with charts, a spy-glass, and a sextant. Our
carpenters were usually Swedes and were good workmen.
My father treated his men well and seldom had trouble with them, but
the propensity of sailors for growling is proverbial. If they came aft
to complain of the food, they would be told just what the United States
law allowed them, so many pounds per week of salt beef, salt pork, hard
tack, white flour, rice, beans, and so on. A few days of legal rations
would convince them that they were better off before, and all would be
again harmonious. The basis of the weekly menus was like this-—Monday,
salt beef; Tuesday, baked beans; Wednesday, rice and curry; Thursday,
salt pork; Friday, baked beans; Saturday, salt fish; Sunday, fish and
canned meat. With these there were always potatoes in plenty, sometimes
other vegetables or thick pea soup with croutons, or canned soups.
Rice and curry was my favorite dish, and fritters, served for dessert,
appealed to me-—They were large, buttered, sugared, rolled like jelly
roll. Plum duff, always associated with sailor fare, was good with hot
sweet sauce.
Lime juice, tamarinds, and some substitute for lemon juice were among
our supplies. A limited quantity of lemons and oranges might be
included, preserved in this effective way: Each one, carefully wrapped
in paper was tied, and a loop made of the string. One by one they
were dipped into hot pitch and hung up. The pitch coated the paper
completely, making an air-tight covering.
Fresh meat and potatoes were necessary for the prevention of scurvy.
On long voyages we often had a pig which could be butchered in the
cool weather of the south Atlantic to furnish a supply of fresh pork.
A small flock of hens was useful in the same way. Fish might be caught
under favorable conditions and bonita was a welcome addition to our
menu. Sharks were no help as food, but sailors are enthusiastic over
catching the hated man-eaters-—Sometimes one was caught with hook and
line, the bait being red flannel, or one might be harpooned.
We often had Chinese cooks and stewards, and found them satisfactory.
One of our Chinamen boasted that he could make seventeen kinds of
bread. Another one is remembered for quite a different reason. He had a
feud with the second mate, and one day when the mate was at dinner the
steward struck him, cutting his head. The mate retaliated by throwing
the first dish that came handy. Doors were standing open between the
forward cabin and our cabin. My father reached for the loaded revolver
which was always in readiness at the head of his bed, and springing
over a sofa which stood across the nearest open doorway, he appeared
before the two angry men. The revolver and his threat to shoot the
first man that moved, calmed them somewhat, and they were ordered to
their rooms for a couple of day, or until they could keep the peace.
The routine of daily life must have been much the same on all ships.
Breakfast at seven bells (7:30 o’clock) dinner at seven bells again
(11:30 o’clock). The noon hour was always important. Then captain and
mate came on deck with their sextants for the daily solar observation,
which should determine the exact location of the ship. Latitude and
longitude were carefully reckoned, and the result was recorded on the
chart, with the date. Then the clocks were set; ahead if we were
sailing eastward, or back if we were heading west. If the ship had made
a good day’s run, say 160 miles or more, there was general satisfaction.
In cloudy weather when the sun was not visible for an observation,
navigators must figure their position by “dead reckoning”. This meant
figuring the course steered and the mileage per hour as shown by the
log. With careful calculation it could be done very accurately. On one
short, gray Atlantic voyage we sighted land on the fourteenth day, just
at the time and place indicated by the dead reckoning.
Many times we crossed the Atlantic-—to Liverpool often, to London,
Cardiff, Bristol, Havre, Genoa, Antwerp and to Baltic ports, sailing on
return voyages to New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Norfolk,
Charleston or New Orleans. While the ship was discharging and loading
again in these nearer American ports, my mother and I usually managed
a visit to the small New England town which we called “home”, because
there my mother’s relatives lived, with their latch-string always out
to us. One autumn it was decided that we should spend the winter there,
my father making the trip to Liverpool without us. My first taste of
school and of a New England winter was a pleasant adventure to me. But
my father’s adventure was the most disastrous of all his life as sea
captain. In late November there came to us from the owners of our bark,
“Egeria”, a telegram; “Cable dispatch. Egeria totally lost. Captain S
---- safe at Waterford, no particulars.”
The particulars, which came to us later, were these-—Off the Irish
coast in storm and fog the vessel had been driven ashore in spite of
all that could be done. The anchors would not hold. The shore was sheer
rock. The ship at the last was thrown by each oncoming breaker against
a high detached boulder-—some of the men had already been washed
overboard. My father saw only one possibility of escape-—to jump onto
that rock as the ship was dashed against it. He watched his chance, and
succeeded in keeping his footing on the rock. The little group of men
eagerly watching him from the deck set up a shout of cheer and one by
one they followed his lead. But even then they found themselves still
far from safe-—on an isolated rock, with the tide rising toward them
and the fog still dense. If only the fog would lift! And it did lift,
and the vigilant coast guards, ever on the look-out for ship-wrecked
sailors, saw these men in distress. They shot them a line, and soon
were able to bring them all safe to shore. Not long afterward the tide
had completely covered the rock on which the men had stood. My father
reached home just in season to join the large family gathering about
the Christmas tree. And the next fall saw us sailing again, on a long
voyage this time, bound around Cape Horn for San Francisco. We were all
going, including my small brother. It was nearly four years before our
next visit to New England. I had an eighth birthday in San Francisco,
a ninth one at sea, and a tenth one in Liverpool. On previous long
voyages our ship had been at Callao, where my mother gathered and
pressed beautiful specimens of sea-mosses: At Rio Janeiro, where to
her great delight she found an old school-mate; at Rangoon, where the
mercury in her cabin registered 96 day and night; and at various other
ports,-—Singapore, Chinchi Islands, Acapulco.
It is on long voyages that one comes to really know the sea in all
its varying moods. Between the two extremes of storm and calm, are
the normal commonplace days when with a fair moderate breeze the ship
makes her way smoothly and swiftly through the glistening, dancing blue
water, leaving astern a straight white wake which one loves to watch.
There are other days when the wind is ahead, “dead ahead”, and to make
even a few miles of actual progress the ship must tack back and forth
in zigzag lines. A tedious game, requiring skill and patience. To my
carefree child mind it was always rather thrilling to hear the shout
“Call all hands, Bout ship”, and to see the men hurrying out, each one
to his assigned post. Then came the hauling of ropes, the rattle of the
spars, and the flapping of the sails as the ship bore away on the new
tack.
The sailor’s chanties were always of interest, and my brother early
learned to join in the lusty songs, particularly “Blow the man down,
Johnny, Blow the man down, Way, Hey, blow the man down.” That was
his special favorite and it certainly had a swing and rhythm about it,
which helped the men to give the needed “pull all together.”
In my experience Cape Horn was never as black as it is painted. One
recollection of it is of the picturesque sunset light on the barren
rocky islands along the straits of Le Maire, and of our watching it
from the deck. The next morning as we turned northward in the Pacific
we sighted a small English vessel with signals set, meaning “I am on
fire.” Further signals gave the information that she was loaded with
coal which had taken fire from spontaneous combustion. The crew had
been fighting the fire without much success, and asked if we had a
force pump to give them. We had one—-a row-boat was lowered and the
mate, with sailors to row, carried it to the other ship. We lay by them
until the next morning in case they should need further help. Then
another ship was sighted, and strangely enough proved to be an English
vessel of the same ownership as the first one. She of course offered to
stay by her sister ship, and we sailed on. We heard afterwards that the
fire was extinguished and the ship reached port safely, only to be sunk
in the English Channel on her next voyage.
It is a rare thing indeed that a captain at sea can have a call from a
personal friend. But this was one of the pleasant happenings which came
to us. We sighted a ship commanded by a special friend. A calm pleasant
afternoon made it possible to row over to our ship, and the captain
availed himself of this opportunity for a neighborly call at sea.
In the tropics come those dead calms so trying to the soul of a
mariner: the poet’s line “As idle as a painted ship upon a painted
ocean,” is no longer a figure of speech, but a realistic description
of the plight of a vessel in such a calm, and somber thought, though
the ship stands still, expenses do not--they are mounting steadily
and alarmingly. This quiet weather was a time for extras and the crew
was kept busy with repairing of sails, splicing of ropes, painting of
woodwork, tarring the rigging, polishing the brass, holystoning and
oiling the decks. All these things could be done toward making our
craft trim and shipshape. My father could work at odd minutes on the
ship model which was for seven years his special hobby.
The model is now a valued family heirloom, admired especially by
nautical people who appreciate its fine workmanship and perfection of
detail. We helped him in the twisting of fine wire or machine silk for
the ropes, and in the polishing of the ivory blocks, capstans, capstan
bars, belaying pins, and other small articles. Two little tables, a
foot-stool and an inlaid tray are other souvenirs from the ship’s
workshop.
A problem arose one Christmas time, when we were still at sea instead
of in port as had been expected. What to do for a small child who
confidently anticipated Christmas gifts? My mother turned to her
sewing-machine, my father to his carpenter’s shop. Results were
eminently satisfactory. On December twenty-fifth there appeared a
wooden train of cars with engine, tender, passenger and freight
cars, all complete and carefully painted; a doll’s cradle, fitted
with bedding, and an old doll transformed by her layette into a new
baby-doll to fit the cradle.
Animals were often a part of life on shipboard; cats for ridding us of
mice and rats, dogs for companionship. My tiny white Skye-terrier was a
most aristocratic creature. In his estimation the quarter-deck belonged
to the captain and the captain’s family only, and to no one else. The
sailors must have hated him. Whenever one came aft to take his turn
at the wheel, out came “Friday” barking, growling, and nipping at the
man’s heels.
My brother had a fine black retriever and her family of eight pups were
an enlivening feature of one passage. In Calcutta a small Himalayan
pony was added to our circle and voyaged with us across the Indian and
Atlantic Oceans.
Among other adventures of that four-year voyage were a stop at
Honolulu, where the tropical fruits delighted us, and a brief visit
at a tiny island of the Pacific where we loaded guano to be used as
fertilizer. On this island lived only one white family, with the
natives employed by them in the guano trade. The shore was lined with
nests of the sea-birds, and they were so fearless that one could almost
come within arm’s length of them.
On again to the great Chinese port of Hong Kong, where the family life
lived on the small boat of our Chinese Boatman attracted my special
attention,-—a tiny Chinese baby boy, dressed in the same costume as the
older children, had the usual little coin sewed on his cap to ward off
the evil spirits.
Pleasant memories of our stay in Calcutta are associated with the
missionaries there. Dr. Thoburn, afterward Bishop in the Methodist
Church, was friendly to us, and a group of Episcopalian workers helped
us to get a glimpse of native life. I was allowed to accompany one
of them on a visit to a Zerana home and to a hospital. The elaborate
Indian temples, the street scenes, and the native forms of worship on
the banks of the sacred River Ganges form a composite picture of misery
and superstition in my recollection.
After Calcutta there were only two more ports to make: Liverpool and
New York. And then of course it was on to, where the Warren and Belfast
relatives lived.
Soon afterward a ship, the “Levi B. Burgess”, was built in Thomaston,
Maine, and my father was given command of her. The launching was a
great event in our family. We were all launched on board, together with
some of the relatives who were also guests at a family breakfast in the
immaculate new cabin. In this new ship we again rounded the Horn, this
time on our way to Astoria, on the Columbia River. But that is another
story.
Six years more-—and we exchanged our ship’s cabin for a New England
homestead, (14 High Street, Belfast),-—our seafaring days were over.
Transcriber’s Notes
Illustrations have been moved to appropriate locations in the text.
Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON SHIPBOARD ***
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