Aboard the Seth Parker: Fo'c's'le Yarns

Some of the following stories have been broadcast to you by Mr. Lord and the crew of the Seth Parker, direct from the ship's main cabin. Others are stories that have been picked up by various members of the Seth Parker's crew and are related in the homely phrases of the sea.

(p15) The Story of Dinty Maguire

Just as you sail into Boston Harbor, if you look on the port side of your vessel, you will see some old piling.

It won't mean anything to you unless you remember the story of Dinty Maguire, but that piling marks the wharf of one of the greatest of all the seafaring men who ever sailed a vessel along the Atlantic Coast.

Sixty years ago, there was a giant of a man who lived in an old barge tied up at the end of that pier. His name was Dinty Maguire and, although he had retired from active sea duty, the sea still was his life.

The whole Boston water front feared Dinty Maguire. He stood six feet three in his stocking feet. He was red-headed, quick tempered, and could take two barrels of salt pork and put them up on his shoulders at one time.

Every three or four months Dinty Maguire would go off on a jamboree, starting at one end of the water front and finishing up at the other. When he was on one of his sprees the men of the water front were careful to keep out of his way.

Now Dinty Maguire was a braggart. Repeatedly, he boasted of his prowess as a seaman. He got worse and worse and oftentimes ended up with:

"Boys, you're looking at Dinty Maguire, the only man in the world who can sail a four-masted schooner single-handed."

Every man on the water front believed it was impossible for any man, even Dinty Maguire, to sail a four-masted schooner single-handed, and after hearing this boast year in and year out, it tried their patience sorely.

Finally, one night after Dinty had visited all the dives on the water front and made his habitual boast many times, the boys put their heads together and decided to settle things once and for all.

They hated the tremendous strength of Dinty and were afraid of him. But Dinty had broken the bones of so many men along the water front that they were sure of support against him.

They canvassed the water front and got the men each to chip in a little money. Their "war-chest" totaled sixty-five dollars.

(p16) Over on the other side of the harbor was a derelict ship, owned by a retired sea captain. This boat hadn't been sailed for years. It leaked badly, and the only reason it didn't sink was because the water was too shallow. It had a little canvas on board and there was a little rigging, but the back of the vessel was broken.

With their fund of sixty-five dollars, the men bought this old schooner and towed it out to the mouth of the harbor where they anchored it. Each night one of the men would go out and work the pumps, in order to keep it afloat. Their idea was to wait until Dinty went on another jamboree. Then they would get their revenge.

They hadn't long to wait. Soon, Dinty started off again. He hit all the dives of the water front and ended up at Captain Esau's, a restaurant haunt of the seamen. The boys were there waiting for him. They sat around the tables and let him talk, and it looked for a while as if he wouldn't make his usual boast. But when he got up to go home, he looked around the room, and, doubling up his massive fist, he pounded the table and shouted:

"Boys, you're looking at Dinty Maguire, the only man in the world who can sail a four-masted schooner single-handed."

That was the signal agreed upon. They all made a dive for him. A couple got him by the right leg, two more by the left. Others got hold of his neck. The whole place rushed him. There ensued a fight that will never be forgotten along the Boston water front. It was Dinty Maguire against at least twenty men who were by no means weaklings themselves.

They finally got Dinty tied up. Then they gagged him and carried him on their shoulders down to the shore where they had a dory waiting. They put him in and rowed him out to the schooner, anchored in Boston Harbor.

They put Dinty on board, and hoisted what little canvas there was. Then they weighed anchor and put a knife in his hands so that in time he could cut himself loose. They sat him in a chair at the wheel of the ship and then all got back in their dory and rowed ashore, leaving Dinty Maguire alone to make good his oft repeated boast.

Well, the whole water front felt it was rid of Dinty Maguire at last. But the police heard about it, and arrested five or six of the old timers who had been instrumental in setting Dinty Maguire afloat. They were found guilty of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment.

One of the principal reasons they were found guilty was because two days after Dinty Maguire had been set afloat, a terrific gale came up out of the northwest. Dinty Maguire didn't have a chance to save himself, the jurors decided.

But that wasn't the end of the story. About ten days later, (p17) the water front people awoke one morning and saw and old derelict ship tied up to the wharf. They recognised it immediately as the ship on which Dinty had been set afloat. Excitedly they peered through their glasses and there, sure enough, was old Dinty Maguire, sitting on the poop deck and shouting defiantly at the whole water front!

Derelict Island
or the Grave of Living Men

I don't suppose there are many more thrilling stories of the sea than the one told by Captain Esau about Derelict Island.

The tides of the ocean have a tendency to move toward one point which sailors call a "dead low." As the tides near a dead low point, they run in ever-increasing speed. Also, the trade winds have a tendency to blow toward a dead low.

Men of the sea believe that everything afloat eventually ends up at a dead low point.

There is known to be a dead low in the southern Pacific where floating objects of all kinds are collected by the tides and the winds from the entire ocean. The debris piled up by the sea at this point has formed a huge floating island.⁠a

I shall relate Captain Esau's story as nearly in his own words as I can remember them.

"It was this way. I was skipper of a barquentine, headed for South America with a cargo for Buenos Aires.

"The night that I am speaking about, we were eleven hundred miles due north of the equator. The lookout came running down to the cabin and said there was something peculiar floating in the water two points off the starboard bow. I went up on deck and got my glasses. I could see something moving, so we put over a dory and rowed out. We found the wreckage of a small boat and holding on to it was a white man. He was absolutely exhausted. We brought him back to the ship and put him on a bunk. His skin hung loose about him, and I don't suppose he weighed more'n seventy-five pounds.

"Well, he slept for nearly twenty-four hours and when he woke he sent for me. I went down to see him and he begged me to go to a certain longitude and latitude.

"Of course, I couldn't because I had a cargo on board that the owners were waiting for in Buenos Aires, but he begged so hard that I went up to my cabin and checked on the chart.

(p18) There wasn't any land at that longitude and latitude. And then all of a sudden it dawned on me that that was the low of the Pacific ocean, the spot that all vessels keep well clear of.

"I went back to see the stranger and he cried like a baby and insisted that I go back. I explained to him why I couldn't and then he looked up at me and he said, 'Captain, I'll tell you why you've got to go back, but I know before I tell you that you won't believe me.'

"Then he raised himself up on his elbow and looking me in the eye he told the strangest story my ears had ever heard.

" 'I'm thirty-eight years old,' he said, 'and I shipped out of St. John's. The day before I left I was married and my wife came along for a honeymoon. We sailed down around the Horn and were bound for Australia when fire broke out in the hold. We fought it, but it looked bad and the whole crew took to the boats. My wife and I stayed on and we battened down the hatches. A storm came up and it was so severe that I don't think the crew in the small boats weathered it. They must have been drowned.

" 'We finally smothered the fire in the hold, but the boat was so badly damaged that we couldn't sail her, and so we drifted for days and days.

" 'Then, one night I felt the boat moving rapidly and I went up on deck. We were going through the water at a terrific rate of speed. I called my wife and she came up and we stood there by the rail. All that night and the next day we travelled at ever-increasing speed.

" 'Along about dusk of the second day we spotted something in the distance which we took to be land. You can imagine how excited we were.

" 'About four hours after dark we struck something and were knocked from our bunks. We went up on deck and there was the weirdest sight you ever saw. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but derelict ships, of all descriptions from all parts of the world.

" 'I lowered the ladder over the side and we climbed down. The ship we set foot on was moss from bow to stern. It was like a nightmare. We climbed over the slippery, slimy deck to another ship that was wedged tight up against it and there on the deck were several people asleep. We woke them up and tried to speak to them but they looked at us with glassy eyes and then turned over and went to sleep again.

" 'Later I found out that there were one hundred and seven people on this island of derelict ships, and all had gone crazy save fifteen!

" 'Just beyond I saw a large passenger steamship. The top sides were badly burned, but it was modern and my wife and I climbed aboard. We went inside and at the far end we could see a dim light coming out of a crack in a door. We heard strange sounds which we could not understand. We went down the companionway (p19) and opened the door. The only light in the room was a candle which was burning in a far corner. There sat a white haired old man playing on a piano. The room was beautifully furnished, but over everything there was a thick coating of dust, except on the piano which was spotlessly clean. When the old man saw us, he stopped playing and ran over and got down on his knees before us. He begged for a new piano. All he wanted in the world was a new piano. Later we found out that he was a musician and was the only one who had survived of his ship. He worshipped that piano, but ten years of salt air had ruined its tone. In spite of that fact, he would play for hours each day though no one could recognize any of the tunes.

" 'Then we went up on deck and onto a fishing boat, where lived an old captain who had been trapped on this island for forty years. He was one of the few who was still sane and had managed to keep sane only by taking his watch apart and putting it together again to give his mind something to do. He had taken that old watch apart and put it together again over a thousand times.

" 'We couldn't help thinking that we were dreaming for it was too strange a situation for any human mind to accept. But we weren't dreaming, for we ourselves stayed on that island four years.

" 'One night there came up a terrific typhoon. At the time it struck I was out on board one of the ships at the edge of our floating island, looking for food. You see, all of these ships had had big stores of food and canned things on board. There were guns, money, clothing, everything that you could want and I was out getting some things together when all of a sudden this terrific wind struck. During the storm, I just held on to whatever I could grab.

" 'Finally, the small fishing smack that I had boarded was torn loose and blown away from the island. I didn't want to leave my wife, but I was helpless. I hung on, hoping there might be some chance of getting back.

" 'I was blown about for days and days the occasional tropical rains gave me enough fresh water to keep me alive. Then you found me. Captain, you've got to turn this boat around and go back. You've got to!'

"I sat in utter amazement as this stranger completed his story. He knew that his time was short and I maintain that a man doesn't lie with his dying breath. But he no sooner finished his story than he leaned back on the pillow and five minutes later he was gone.

"That was twenty years ago, but sometimes at night now I wake up and there seems to be a voice saying, 'Go back to that island and see if she's still alive, waiting.' It may be imagination. I don't know, but someday I'm going back to find out."

(p20) The Death Ruby of the Cambodian Jungle

Over 700 years ago, in the jungles of Indo-China, there lived a tribe of people who had progressed greatly in what we call civilization.⁠b They built some beautiful buildings and created a very wealthy city.⁠c One night the king or chief of this tribe sent for the high priest and gave him all the royal jewels with instructions to hide them. The priest took the jewels and added to them the sacred Death Ruby, which was worshipped by the people of the city. This ruby was as large as a man's fist. It was blood red, and was supposed to strike death to any non-believer. It was surrounded by over a thousand precious stones.

The high priest carefully buried this tremendous wealth under a four-headed Buddha worshipped by the tribe.⁠d

Several days later the king and the priest and all the people of the city disappeared, leaving everything as it was. No one is sure why they left or where they went, but the city was abandoned.⁠e

History is supposed to have had records of this city, but its location nevertheless remained a mystery until about twenty-five years ago when it was accidentally discovered.⁠f

Seventeen years ago, a Captain Swanson headed an expedition from New York City⁠g in an effort to regain the treasure said to be buried beneath the Buddha. He landed in Indo-China with his party and after much difficulty, located the lost city and the four-headed Buddha which still stood within the crumbling gates.

This immense Buddha weighed upwards of ninety tons, and it was only after repeated failures that he succeeded in toppling it over with the aid of ship's (p21) tackle and gear. Underneath, true to legend, was a hole and in this dark interior shone the light of countless precious jewels. Right in the center was the famous Death Ruby. Eagerly, Captain Swanson dropped to his knees and reached in the hole to grasp the Death Ruby. But, as he did so, he was struck on the forearm by a cobra which was coiled within the hole. He jumped to his feet; and one of his sailors slit Swanson's arm with a knife, hoping to prevent the poison from spreading. But he died fifteen minutes later.

The frightened native guides, as well as the expedition itself, fled off into the jungle back toward the ship. Many members of the party perished in the jungle. Those few who remained, weighed anchor and returned to New York to tell their strange tale.

Eighteen months later a young English lieutenant, George M. Miley,⁠h organized a party, chartered a boat, and took along with him two of the men who had been with Swanson. They easily located the lost city. But the four-headed Buddha which had been toppled over by Swanson and his men, was again standing on its base. This in itself was mysterious as there were no people known to be living in that region.

This party being familiar with the tragedy which Swanson met, dug under the base of the Buddha, instead of pushing it over, so that they could smoke out any living thing that might be hidden in the dark hole beneath.

On the second day of their labors, a party of two men was dispatched back to the ship for additional supplies. Their trip took four days⁠i and when they returned to the deserted village they went immediately to the four-headed Buddha, where they naturally expected to find the rest of the party. It was night and there should have been a camp fire, but there was none.

So the two men made their own little fire, thinking the rest of the party would see it and signal them. But they received no response to their efforts. Finally, in apprehension, they decided to explore. In back of the Buddha, lying on the ground, just as if they had mysteriously gone to sleep, lay every member of the expedition. Examination revealed the gruesome fact that every bone in the bodies of these men had been broken, but there were no marks of violence of any kind upon their bodies.

Frightened beyond all reason, the two hapless men ran from the scene of this tragedy and made for their ship to return home with their awesome tale.

There have since been five expeditions to Indo-China bent on securing the Death Ruby.⁠j Three of these expeditions claim to have seen the ruby and the stones, but all have been mysteriously thwarted in their attempts to recover the precious stones.

We intend to make the sixth attempt; and, of course, we hope our efforts will be successful.⁠k

(p22) The Human Tree of Madagascar

On the shore of Madagascar stands one of the most talked-of mysteries of all sailordom. It is a huge tree which is said to eat human beings.

I would like to tell you the story of this Human Tree exactly as it was told to me by an old timer whom we called "Whiskers."⁠l His story goes like this:

"Well, I'm sixty-four years old now and I was twenty-two at the time. That makes it forty-two years ago this coming September. I was second mate on the Lucy Farrell, carrying spices from Capetown. The first mate and I didn't get along too well and, as all of the rest of the sailors on board were Portuguese, there wasn't anyone to talk to.

"One night, we were becalmed about two miles off the coast of South East Africa. I got lonesome and decided to look around a bit, so, when it got late, I just eased myself over the side and swam ashore, glad to be rid of the vessel.

"I came upon a small native town called Colatto⁠m and stayed all night. There was a trader, an Australian, there who had a couple of small ships plying between Colatto and the native villages on the northeastern coast of Madagascar. Next morning, I got a job on one of those ships — and the crew was four natives, a Spanish captain and myself.

"We sailed up the coast. To make a long story short, the weather blew up and we saw a little creek and went in to harbor. We hadn't been there twenty minutes, I suppose, before the natives were down on the shore hollering and the captain thought he might do some business while we were weather bound, so we put a boat over the side and he and I and two of the blacks went ashore.

"I thought the old fellow knew what he was doing, but he didn't. Those savages commenced howling and they jumped all over the presents we had brought them. We lost no time in starting back along the shore, but the savages threw spears at us. The first one they threw got the old Spaniard 'tween the shoulder blades and that was the end of him.

"Well, things happened in a hurry. I thought my time had come, but I picked up some rocks and started to fight back. Suddenly, everything went black and the next thing I knew I was in a little hut all bound up with vines and there was a burning in my shoulder like a red hot coal.

"I lay there in the dark for two days. I could hear the natives outside the hut and I called to them but for a long time nothing happened. Then two blacks came in and lugged me out and dumped me on the ground and they all gathered around to look at me. I made a motion like drinking but nothing happened. (p23) Finally along toward dark a girl came out from behind a tree and she put down a big gourd with water in it and then she was gone. I didn't get a good look at her, but I did see she wasn't as dark as the others.

"Later that night she came back, and there was an old woman with her. The two of them sat down. Later I found out the older woman was her mother. I'm here to tell you that the little one was a beauty. They treated my wound, gave me some kind of mush to eat and carried me over to their hut. When they got me inside, the girl leaned over and sad a few words of French.

"Well, sir, you could have knocked me over. As time went on I picked up a little from her. She was part native and part French, and I stayed there with them for quite a while. I could walk around a little square in the village, but at night they always bound me and set a guard outside the hut. I suppose I should have been pretty upset about it, but I wasn't. That little girl worshipped the ground I walked on. I'd led a pretty tough life and I'd never had anyone to care for me before, and to tell the truth I suppose I was half in love with her. 'Yoho,' they called her.

"Well, one morning there was a big commotion in the village. Everyone was stirring around. A couple of big blacks came in and took me out but they wouldn't take the bindings off me that morning except to loosen up on my legs so I could walk. Then the whole village started up a path along the creek. As I walked along with them, I could see Yoho. She'd look at me and then at the rest of them and then back at me. If ever I saw fear in the eyes of a human being, it was in the eyes of that girl. Pretty soon she managed to get over next to me and she whispered something that I couldn't make out. All I could get was something about the Live Tree, but that didn't mean anything to me.

"All of a sudden the natives began dancing around, and around, and around, and they seemed to forget all about me. But, even if I had the bindings off, I doubt if I could have left. It was as though all of us were in a trance.

"Then the men separated from the women and they got around in a circle and pointed their spears together. Slowly they moved over where the women were. They seemed to look them over, and then they moved in among them.

"I couldn't see plainly from where I was, because by that time they'd tied me up to a tree, but when they moved out again, there was one girl in the center of the spears. It was Yoho.

(p24) "They moved over to the tree and at first I thought it was some kind of a ceremony. Then she turned and looked at me. I won't forget that look if I live to be a hundred.

"Well, they jabbed her with their spears and boosted her up into the branches. Yoho stood there in the crotch of the tree and then, with a cry of the tribe she cupped her hands and scooped up from the crotch some of the fluid or sap and drank it. The whole tribe started to yell! Yoho threw her arms in the air and shrieked.

"I thought that was the end of the ceremony and that she was going to jump down, but quick as a flash those tentacles that were up in the air came down and looped round her. They folded around her time and time again and then crushed her with the force of a hydraulic press. She called my name. I strained at the cords that bound me, but I couldn't budge. The roots coiled tighter and tighter about her, crushing the life out of her, and the leaves closed up and hid her from view.

"The tribe ran in a frenzy to the tree and out of the leaves there poured down a thick white fluid which they drank. It seemed to drive them crazy. They danced and shrieked all that night and all the next day. As evening came, I felt the bindings around me loosening. Yoho's mother had cut them. As soon as I was loose, she pressed something in my hand. I turned and ran down the path. I got to the boat. There was nobody on board. I hoisted sail and started off alone and finally landed near a little village on the mainland.⁠n

"I have in my sea chest today, the wooden bracelet of Yoho that the old lady pressed into my hand. Sometime I'll show it to you, but not tonight. I've never told that story before and I don't know as I ever shall again, but sometime I'd like to go back to that island, for it brings back memories that I shan't ever forget."

(p25) Services at Sea

This strange story of the sea was told me by Captain Amos Lufkin of Hill Harbor, Maine.

"When I was a young man, I had an experience at sea which I will never forget," Captain Lufkin said.

"I was on a small boat and the master of it was a Dutchman we called Hans. Hans was married to a very sweet little girl and this voyage was their honeymoon. I shipped in the fo'c's'le as one of the hands on board.

"We were to be gone for two years.

"On board that ship Hans' wife gave birth to a little baby boy. Hans was a very proud father, but the baby lived only two weeks.

"Naturally, the young couple was broken-hearted but Hans went down in the hold of the ship and he got an old barrel and sawed it in half. Then he caulked it with oakum and put some tar over the seams to make it water tight.

"He brought this half barrel up on deck and put some soft baby blankets in it, and then he placed the tiny body of the baby on the blankets.

"Next, he made a little sail for the improvised crib. That evening just as the sun was setting he took the little cradle and gently put it overboard. There was a slight breeze blowing and the cradle started off over the water on the path towards the sun, while Hans and his wife stood by the rail, and Hans read from an old Dutch Bible.

"I have seen lots of services at sea, but I have never seen one that affected me as this one did, ending with that little cradle sailing off into the twilight from whence it had come."

Love and Hate on the Rosemarie Anne

A ship in mid ocean, hundreds of miles from land, is a world in itself where the Captain's word is law. Strange stories of hatred, revenge and passion are told of ships wherein handfuls of human souls are thrown together for weeks, months, sometimes years at a time. Oftentimes old enemies meet again on board ship after years of separation and, in the narrow confines of a ship's cabin, their smouldering hatreds are fanned into flame.

In 1870, the schooner "Rosemarie Anne" put out from Rouen, bound for New York. She had aboard two bitter enemies of many years' standing, in the persons of the skipper, George Giloumen, and his wife Mathilde.

(p26) Giloumen was a drunken brute and, although he didn't know it, this voyage was to mark the end of years of suffering and bitterness on his wife's part. For, in the hold of the ship her lover, Robert Duray, a poor mechanic, and two of his friends were stowed away.

Mathilde and Robert planned to run away together when the ship reached New York and Robert's two friends agreed to assist the couple in the event that the Captain uncovered their plan.

For many days Mathilde managed to take food and water down into the hold late at night to her lover and his friends. But one day she fell ill and was unable to make her accustomed trip. For two days the stowaways waited anxiously below for the coming of Mathilde with food and water. At length, in desperation, they climbed out of their hiding place and ran furtively along the deck to the galley.

Captain Giloumen was sitting in his cabin, at the time. He had been drinking heavily and amusing himself by baiting and brow-beating his wife. In his bloodshot eyes Mathilde read his suspicion of her. Her feverish state and her mounting imagination made her feel certain that he knew of her plan for escape. As she lay ill and helpless on her bunk, her brutal husband taunted and questioned her almost beyond endurance.

Suddenly, on deck, there arose sounds of commotion. She knew, instinctively, that her lover and his friends had been discovered! Then Mathilde saw the skipper snatch his cutlass from the wall and, with a growl like that of a wild animal, leap into the passageway. She heard the pounding of his heavy steps up the companionway. Weak as she was Mathilde staggered to her feet and seized the Captain's heavy pistol from the drawer . . . the very pistol with which a few hours before the Captain had threatened her life. Dizzily, she climbed to the deck, but, already, the stowaways had disappeared.

On the poop deck, where the Captain had ordered them to watch, sat the huddled crew. Following the direction of their eyes, she saw the skipper climbing up the gunwale. With one hand he was waving his bloody⁠o cutlass over his head. A fiendish grin distorted his face. As reached the deck, he turned and, peering over the side of the vessel, he spat foul oaths into the dark waters below.

Then Giloumen caught sight of Mathilde, but not before she had run to the side of the ship and had seen three men struggling desperately, helplessly, in the forbidding sea. The skipper laughed at Mathilde but, somehow, she escaped his clutching hands and shrieked defiance. Then, holding the heavy pistol in both her trembling hands, Mathilde closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. The Captain dropped with a thud to the deck.

Mathilde rushed to the rail and tore off three life-belts, which she cast overboard with what little strength she had. But by this time the three men were swimming far astern, and as she watched the life belts go bobbing up and down, (p27) she saw the frantic efforts of the men to reach them. Two appeared weaker than the third and, dazedly, Mathilde prayed that the strongest might prove to be Robert. Finally, two of the hapless men disappeared from view and the sea swallowed them up. But at length Mathilde saw the third succeed in reaching one of the life-belts.

The sailors rushed to the rail and lowered a life-boat while Mathilde stood over the Captain who groaned and tried to rise. But she leveled her pistol at his head and threatened him in a manner so calm and resolved that he lay prone upon the deck.

It seemed hours before the life-boat finally turned and put back to the ship. But Mathilde's prayers were answered. It was Robert whom the sailors snatched from the sea . . . Robert, nearly dead from his wounds and exhaustion.

Night and day for many weeks Mathilde nursed Robert. He was week from loss of blood and his wounds proved seriously deep. But he lived — to reward her loving, patient efforts.

The skipper? At the decision of all hands on board he was put in irons until the "Rosemarie Anne" reached New York, and there turned over to the police.

This is the story Mathilde gave the authorities and it was confirmed by the crew of the "Rosemarie Anne." It proves, perhaps, the old sea-legend that a woman brings bad luck aboard ship — but this time at least, bad luck for a brutal husband.

The Double "Shanghai"

Every ship leaving port is required by law to be manned by an adequate crew. Especially was this true in the days of the old sailing ships when every man was needed. But it was not always possible to secure sufficient men; particularly if the skipper were known to be a hard man or if there happened to be more attractive opportunities available at sailing time.

The proprietors of water front dives often found it profitable, in the old days, to drug or blackjack sailors and haul them, unconscious, aboard ship. Few old-time sailors but could relate experiences of their own in finding themselves up strange ships bound for the out-of-the‑way ports of the world.⁠p

Perhaps the most noted and masterly "shanghai" was the story related to me by an old seaman who had taken an unwilling part in a "double shanghai."

There was a saloon on the water front, known unfavorably to all seamen. It (p28) was kept by a giant negro, who had developed "shanghaiing" into a veritable art. Sailors avoided his place when sober, but it was convenient to all the ships and, inevitably, in working their way back to their vessels, groups of sailors would take the chance of visiting "Shanghai John's."

On this particular night the sailor who told this story to me had gone there alone. He was looking for an old enemy. He had been nursing his grievance against this man throughout several days of heavy drinking and had discussed his intended revenge with countless sailors during that time. All had jokingly advised him to find his enemy and settle the matter once and for all.

This thought lodged in his befuddled mind and carried him, at length, to Shanghai John's.

As he stumbled through the door, he went directly to the bar and asked Shanghai John if he had seen the man he was seeking. "I've been hunting him all up and down the shore," he said, "but I don't expect the rat has guts enough to take a drink in your place." The giant proprietor motioned him silently into a back room. There in a corner, hunched over a table, he saw his enemy.

Angry words passed between them and would have resulted in a fight to the finish, but for the restraining hand of the proprietor, whose grip was one of iron.

"Listen, you bullies," he said, "I'll have no fighting here. If you two really want to settle things, there's an upstairs room where you can fight to your heart's content — and I'll supply the weapons. There ain't gonna be no one to look on though. It's gotta be between yourselves and me. If you want to fight it out, come along of me, alone, upstairs."

In the heat of their rage, the two sailors forgot all caution, and tramped up the stairs after the giant black. He led them to a little dark room under the eaves; thrust pistols into their hands and then whispered his proposition. He promised them he would assist the survivor to escape. The two men vowed it was a fair proposition for any man, and the black quietly closed the door and waited. He, alone, knew that the pistols were loaded with blanks.

Within the room there arose the sound of shuffling as the two drunken sailors took position. Two shots rang out. Instantly the black jumped into the room, seized the nearest man, and pulled him out into the hall. It was my sailor friend.

"You killed him. You just got time to make the schooner I'll send you to and save your neck. Come with me."

Trembling, the sailor hurried after the negro whose last words to him were "Sign your papers and go below until the ship leaves port."

The next morning he was called on deck to take the wheel and relieve the helmsman there. All night long he had been tortured with thoughts of the man (p29) he had murdered. He staggered up the companionway, and lurched toward the wheel.

Suddenly, he stopped short and rubbed his eyes. The helmsman was no other than his enemy, the man he believed he had murdered the night before! Excitedly, each man told his story. Each, it developed, had been duped aboard ship by the wily black. Each had been led to believe that he had murdered the other!

The two men, impressed by the fate they had both escaped, settled their differences and became fast friends!

The Mystery of the Missing Watch

Long before the days of the modern detective story, in the year 1870, to be exact, the mate aboard the schooner "Southern Cross," out of San Francisco, lost his watch.

There was no question but that it had been stolen and that the thief was on board.

The ship was four days out of port and the mate determined to solve the mystery before the voyage ended.

The Captain and a few trusted members of the crew were taken into his confidence. It was a valuable watch, but more important than its value was the question of discipline.

Quietly and systematically every man's luggage was examined. The ship was searched from stem to stern and every individual who could possibly have had access to the mate's cabin was questioned, but days passed and no trace of the watch was found.

On board was a steward whom the mate disliked. He was a methodical soul, and had a collection of buttons, twine, and other small articles that members of the crew freely borrowed from time to time. In fact, every sailor aboard depended upon this steward to supply the little necessaries that most men forget.

One day the mate had occasion to tie up some packages and much as it galled him, he was forced to ask Griswold, the steward, if he had some twine. Griswold produced a large bound ball that almost everyone aboard ship had borrowed at some time or other throughout the voyage.

When the ship docked the mate resolved to follow the steward ashore. He dogged the man's footsteps through dark streets along the water front and up to the door of a pawn shop. Dodging into a doorway opposite, the mate saw the (p30) steward furtively glance about and then produce from under his coat a ball of twine. It was the same ball of twine that the mate and everyone else on shipboard had borrowed. There, outside the door, the steward unwound the ball and the mate saw him lift from its core a glittering bit of gold. It was the missing watch!

As told to me by an Old Captain

An old-time seaman told me this story before we started on our cruise in search of adventure. I repeat it in his own words.

"It was fifty years ago this New Year's Day. I was quartermaster on the schooner Saxonia, Captain Reuter, commanding, plying between Hamburg and the West Indies.

"New Year's night had just passed and all of us were in good spirits. I was just a young fellow and, as the nine o'clock watch went below, there arose sounds of commotion on deck. At first, I thought it was part of the celebration, but then I went up I saw a light — not an ordinary ship's light — but a flare on the far horizon like a burning tar barrel.

"The sea was running high and the wind was a gale. It was an hour before we came alongside and then we saw an English barque wallowing in the trough of the sea. Part of her riggin' was gone, she carried no sail, and the sea was shipping first over one side and then over the other.

"It was a night of full moon⁠q and we could see dark figures clinging to the rail, Captain Reuter ordered us in as far as possible. We saw that the foretopgallant mast was gone and, even as we watched, the mizzen crashed.

"We knew the men would have to be got off, for the ship was foundering. Captain Reuter called us all on deck and asked for volunteers. He was going to lower a boat and he told us no married men were wanted.

"Well, I shipped aboard that boat. Sometimes it was straight up in the air and sometimes it was pointed down to the bottom of the sea and pulling against those waves seemed to do no good at all.

"Half of us left the oars and went to bailing the water out. We had to work around to the lee side of the English barque and we finally got there.

"We couldn't stand in too close for fear of being dashed against the side because the old ship lurched like a drunken sailor and was due to slide over any moment. Captain Reuter cast a line that caught hold around the main yard. He yelled to the men to swing out on it.

" 'We'll get you,' he yelled, 'and if we don't, we'll pick you up from the water.'

(p31) "Just as the first man was on the rope, the seas came over and dashed him off thirty feet into the sea. We got him in and, one by one, all the rest. They lay there in the bottom of the boat, all worked out, for they had been manning the pumps for days. The last man to come over was the captain of the ship and on his back was a little boy. That lad, in his turn, one day became the captain of a ship and now corresponds with his aged rescuer, who is in a sailors' home."

Blow the Man Down

Thayer's Notes:

a As far as this goes, this is more or less accurate, and for the reasons stated, the South Pacific Gyre hosting one of five groups of such collection areas on our oceans. Everything that our storyteller then proceeds to describe in luxuriant detail, however, is pure fantasy, based on a gross exaggeration of just what is collected in them and the density of the débris; the bulk of these patches of débris consists today of microplastics, and the change in concentration is barely noticeable to the naked eye. See the page at NOAA, among many places online. By comparison, in 1934 these patches were negligible.

b Speaking of Asia and civilization, Gandhi's comment sprang immediately and unavoidably to my mind: when asked by an officious young reporter on landing in England, "What do you think of western civilization?", he is said to have replied, "It would be nice."

c The setting for this tale is clearly Angkor, a great city in the Cambodian jungle, the most recent major elements of which date to the thirteenth century, 700 years before our booklet. For more detailed timelines — that don't quite match — see the very nice page at Visit-Angkor.Org and the more summary Chronology in Dickason's Wondrous Angkor.

d One of the least garbled bits of this story: a number of great stone towers in Angkor Thom, but especially 51 towers in the Bayon, each bear four divine effigies said variously to represent the Buddha, or Brahma, or most frequently the boddhisatva Lokeśvara. For photographs and text, see Dickason, pp32‑33, p57, p58; and many other places online.

e Why Angkor was abandoned remains unknown. Theories and conjectures fill the void of this ignorance, of course.

f Angkor was rediscovered by Westerners in 1861, and essentially by accident: well before "about twenty-five years ago" which would be putting the date at roughly 1909.

g I've been unable to find the slightest trace of this Captain Swanson or his expedition. If you have good information, I'd be happy to hear from you.

h Similarly, I've been unable to find the slightest trace of George Miley or his expedition. If you have good information, I'd be happy to hear from you.

i There are no significantly navigable watercourses between Angkor and the coast: the closest that ship could have been was 200 km away. Slogging that distance thru the jungle would have taken considerably longer than four days; a fortiori if those four days are meant as the time taken for the full round trip.

j Cambodian rubies, it is true, are known for their quality and at one time for their abundance, but by now it should be clear to us all that this tale of a "Death Ruby" is the wildest fiction; or at least I haven't found online the slightest shadow of this fabled jewel nor of the five purported expeditions. If you have good information, I'd be happy to hear from you.

k This attempt was never made. The Seth Parker's original cruise plan was either (1) to head east from Boston across the Atlantic, sail thru the Mediterranean and the Suez Canal, or (2) south to Brazil to cross the South Atlantic and sail around the Cape of Good Hope and Madagascar; then in either case back to the United States via the Indian Ocean and the Pacific. Instead, the actual projected circumnavigation was changed to proceed in the opposite direction, and the cruise went down the eastern seaboard of the United States, across the Caribbean, thru the Panama Canal, and across most of the Pacific until it met with disaster somewhere between Tahiti and Samoa: the crew was safe, but the ship was no longer seaworthy and the trip came to an abrupt end. The detailed course of the voyage, with a lot of interesting additional information, is given in an excellent page by John Woram, which includes a map of all three cruise tracks. The Madagascar and Cambodian tales told here, never terribly germane to the voyage of the Seth Parker in the first place, thus became entirely irrelevant.

l The tale of the Madagascar tree was a work of newspaper fiction spawned by a writer at the New York World in 1874 (supposedly by the name of Edmund Spencer, although no one has yet found any other trace of him), about the time our putative "Whiskers" was born. Excellent details on this piece of fake news and its detection are given at Hoaxes.Org among other places online; essentially we're dealing with the 19c analog of a common species of YouTube videos — a way of monetizing lies.

m For what it's worth, a hill by the name of Colato is found on the coast of Mozambique at 26.100 S, 32.955 E., roughly 1130 km W of the southwestern tip of Madagascar, at the southern end of the very wide Mozambique Channel between that island and the mainland. There is currently no village or settlement there or nearby.

n Taking our tale literally, the nearest straight-line distance from the northeast coast of Madagascar to the African mainland is about 950 km. Any boat traveling in a more or less straight path would almost certainly hit the Comoros first, in about 500 km.

The tale gains some slight plausibility in that for several centuries the northeastern coast of Madagascar and the Comoros were notorious pirate haunts. If "Whiskers" ever existed, he was very likely a pirate, and his recycling of the story no doubt served some kind of cautionary or apologetic purpose.

p As our author says, shanghaiing the vulnerable was very common; usually drunken adults, but others could fall prey to the practice. A particularly interesting case is that of a Native American named John Douglas Bemo who was shanghaied in about 1834 or 1835 by a French merchant captain (although apparently very gently), wound up sailing under him for eight years with some freedom, and eventually left his service in Philadelphia in 1842: he went on to become one of the Seminole Nation's most educated and prominent Christian religious leaders. The details of his story are known to us from an anonymous first‑hand witness to his early preaching, who took down his "autobiography" pretty much verbatim; Bemo's own account of his abduction starts on p13 of the heretofore unpublished manuscript.

q A rare bit of accurate and verifiable information midst all these sailors' tales. On December 31, 1884, the moon was indeed full.

r The Black Ball packet line, founded in 1817, was the first commercial line of ships to provide regularly-scheduled passenger and freight transportation across the Atlantic, from New York to Liverpool; a Black Baller was thus one of their ships, or by extension, one of their sailors. Why these should have been considered any worse than other sailors, as strongly implied by these well-known lyrics, is not clear to me.

(p14) Fo'c's'le Yarns