A Boy Crusoe

Early Life; Off for a Voyage.

I was born in a little town in the State of Maine, near the close of the Civil War. My boyhood life did not differ materially from that of the average farmer's son in the remote country districts of New England--except, perhaps, that I read more and thought more. Hard work on the rugged soil, two terms each year in the little yellow country schoolhouse, a day's fishing now and then filled the early years of my life full to over-flowing. In the winter it was work in the woods, cutting up the year's supply of fire-wood; and then, before the spring ploughing time, my brother and myself found pleasant labor and recreation combined in the maple woods, tapping the trees, gathering the sap and tending the fire under the great kettles where the sweet product of the maple was transformed into syrup and sugar.

I really think that I was more thoughtful than the average boy. I know that I read more. I do not remember ever feeling dissatisfied with my life or with the prospects that the future held out for me. Probably I was too young for these things to trouble me much; but I read everything in the way of books and papers that I could borrow, or purchase by saving a little money earned in various ways. I was fond of stories of adventure; but travel and adventure combined, interested me most. Therefore, as I grew older, I became imbued with a passionate desire to travel in foreign lands. The tropics were my ideal, and this feeling became stronger as the years went by.

When I was fifteen years of age my father removed to a large village where there was a graded school, and I entered the grammar school, then the high school from which I was graduated.

The passion for travel still had a strong hold upon me, but I saw no immediate prospect of gratifying it, for I was obliged to look about for some immediate means of earning a living for myself. When everything else fails, one can always find an opportunity to canvass for a publishing house or a novelty concern; so, soon after leaving the high school, I was trudging up and down the banks of the Penobscot river, calling from house to house. It was discouraging work, but I succeeded moderately well.

Late in the fall I went up to Bangor to canvass that city, and it was there that I made the acquaintance of a gentleman, which led to the experiences that I am about to relate, and which changed the whole course of my life.

Mr. William H. Sargent was a wealthy, retired merchant, with impaired health. His wealth had been acquired by trading with the South American countries, and the West Indies, and he still retained large interest in many vessels sailing to that part of the world.

It was his idea to make a voyage in one of these vessels, and the friendship which had developed between us, mostly through meeting in the reading room of the Public Library, caused him to suggest that I accompany him on his voyage to the Southern seas.

I accepted only too gladly, and that very evening I wrote a long letter to my mother, explaining my good fortune, bidding her not to worry by exaggerating, in her own mind, the dangers to be encountered.

The next few days I spent mostly with my benefactor, for as such I looked upon him, helping him in various ways in his preparations for the voyage. As for myself, I required little more than a modest supply of clothing.

Mr. Sargent was thoughtful and considerate, however, and insisted upon my procuring much that I deemed unnecessary for my modest requirements, paying for the same from his own pocket.

Our craft was a trim bark called the Ethelyn Hope, built at Searsport three years before. She was two hundred and fifty tons gross measurement and sat in the water jauntily and buoyantly. From her load water-line to the tips of her topmast she was as trim a craft as one could wish to see. As she lay at the wharf ready for sea, everything on deck had been made snug, and not a coil of rope or spare block was out of place. Her cargo consisted of case oil, salt fish and flour in her hold, and she carried a good deck-load of lumber. She was bound for Cayenne, French Guiana, on the north coast of South America.

The Ethelyn Hope was commanded by Captain Thomas Witham; and the first, second and third mates, with nine able seamen before the mast comprised the crew.

Nothing remained to be done except to cast off the lines, when, released from her bonds the bark slowly moved down the river. The sails on the lower yards and jib-boom were set, and with a light breeze favoring her, aided by the swift current, the city was soon lost behind High Head.

By daylight the following morning we had passed through the "Narrows", and just at sunrise all sails were set and the bark squared away for the mouth of the bay where she was laid on a sou', sou'-east course as she took her final departure.

My spirits were decidedly buoyant as the bark glided out of the bay into the open sea, and a delicious sense of elation took possession of me as I realized that I was really on board a ship, with the land fading away behind me, bound for a foreign shore, the wonderful tropics, the land of palms of which I had read so much. I should see for myself the curious things of the sea, strange countries and people; and perhaps encounter fierce animals in the virgin forests, the home of birds of rare and beautiful plumage.

With a strong northwest breeze the bark stood away on her course, with every sail filled out and drawing handsomely. Although the weather had been clear and the sea fairly calm, by sunset a thin haze rendered the outline of the horizon dimly visible, and the Captain began to fear a blow. His nautical instinct made him sure that there was to be a change in the weather, and he gave orders for everything to be made secure. And, sure enough, at dusk the wind freshened and hauled around into the north-east.

It was about this time that I suddenly became conscious of a peculiar feeling, a sudden dizziness, like the sensation caused by a boy's first cigar. I knew well enough that I was experiencing the first sensations of seasickness, and, suddenly losing interest in the sailing of the ship, I went below and tumbled into my berth.

Feeling somewhat better, while I lay quiet, I had nearly dropped off to sleep when I was aroused by a tremendous noise, which brought me to my senses, when I realized that the vessel was rolling and pitching wildly. I could hear the howling of the wind around the deck-houses, and the snapping of the great sails. Now and then I heard the sound of the Captain's voice on deck as though he were giving brisk orders; and I rightly concluded that we were having it very rough. I looked across the cabin and saw that Mr. Sargent was in his berth, but as he was apparently not asleep I spoke to him, asking if there was any danger.

"Oh, I guess not," he replied. "We are having a pretty stiff blow."

Strangely enough, I suppose, I did not now feel sick, though my head was a little dizzy, so I concluded to go on deck. I cautiously ascended the companion way, and found the Captain standing near the wheel, enveloped in oil-skins, his head being covered by an ample sou'wester.

"Hello, boy," was his greeting, "what are you doing up here? The best place for you is below; you might get blown over-board."

But I begged to be allowed to remain a little, arguing that I felt better on deck, and the Captain relented and found a sheltered place under the lee of the cook's galley, telling me not to try to move about the deck.

The bark was rolling and tossing, but appeared to be bounding through the water like a race-horse. Soon I heard the Captain tell the mate that the wind had shifted around into the east, and that they were in for a stiff blow, and rain, too, before long.

So it proved, and it was not long before the squall struck in earnest. The ship careened, and a sea came over her weather rail, until the lee-scuppers spouted green water, wetting me a little, even in my sheltered retreat.

The rain began to fall, and the sailors had their hands full. There was a great commotion of loudly spoken orders, the tramping of feet, the creaking of blocks, the rush and roar of the sea and the howling of the blast through the rigging. All hands were called to take in sail, and the bark, soon close hauled, was lying over nearly to her lee rail. The heavy sea beat against her bows with all the force which tons of water could exert, while the staunch little vessel, quivering for a moment would seem to hesitate, and then plunge forward to meet the next onslaught like an animate thing possessed of sensible emotions. The spray, flying back over the bows, drenched the deck from fore to aft. The topsail halyards had been hauled taut, and the sails filled out and backed against the masts with a noise like thunder.

I did not long remain in the scanty shelter afforded by the house, but made the best of my way to the cabin. To make matters worse, I was again off my "sea-legs," and was getting terribly sick.