B04 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 28, 1901 1 
hardtack appetizing, and dampness brought no twinge to 
the elastic muscles; when I could lie out o' nights in 
the solitude with my back to the sod and my face to the 
stars and apprehend no danger or discomfort. And 
although these experiences are never to be repeated, I 
have few regrets. It is true that clouds hover over the 
horizon which defines the boundary of earthly joys, but 
the stars are bright overhead, even now, the Milky Way 
spans the heavens like a pathway to glory, and a bow 
rests upon the clouds. So mote it be! 
Charles Hallock. 
Sea Rack. 
In Two Parts— Part One. 
It is sweltering, dripping weather in New York. 
Arizona leans across the breakfast table with the morn- 
ing paper in her hand and indicates an advertisement 
in one of its columns. 
" 'Cruise down the Gulf,' " she reads. ^ " 'The fine 
yacht-like twin-screw steamship Petrel will sail,' etc., 
etc. 'Steam heat in every stateroom.' " 
"Well," I say, languidly, "excuse me from 'steam 
heat' under existing conditions. It is scarcely to be 
viewed as an inducement, is it?" 
"Why, it's the principal inducement. Don't you see 
that steam heat implies cold weather?" 
"Cold weather!" I exclaim, mopping my brow. 
"Certainly. What's a twin-screw? But it doesn't 
matter. 'Yacht-like!' — I know what that means. Cabin 
upholstered in plush, with silk curtains and a duck of a 
mirror at one end where you can see every bit of your- 
self. And the stateroom! Just think of it! A darling 
love of a doll's house, not very big of course, but, oh, 
so sweet and snug!" 
"I'd be seasick, I fancy," I remark casually. 
"You needn't be horrid," Arizona retorts with dig- 
nity. 
"Shall I telegraph and secure passage?" I hasten to 
say. 
"Yes, do. And when you're gone to business I'll 
get out a lot of our woolen things and your winter over- 
coat." 
"Not for me," I say loftily. "I know too much about 
lying advertisements to be taken in to that extent. I 
shall go just as I am." 
By the end of the week we are in Montreal, and driv- 
ing in a cab to the wharf where the Petrel lies. Pres- 
ently the cab swings off the roadway and goes scram- 
bting down a descending shelf in the revetment wall 
and then along through an acre or two of barrels of 
molasses, barrels of oil, barrels of fish, to a wharf. 
When the driver can get no further, he pulls up his 
horse and gets down. 
"Why are you stopping?" Arizona demands. "It is 
the Petrel we want." 
"That's her, ma'am," he answers, pointing to a ship 
with his whip. 
"That?" Arizona exclaims. "That horrid, dirty old 
coal barge! You must be mistaken." 
"She ain't a coal barge, ma'am. She's a trader that 
goes down the coast to the fishing villages." 
"Yacht-like," I suggest mildly. "Plush and silk cabin 
with a duck of a mirror at one end. Shall I get out and 
mspect?" 
"Please do," Arizona says, in an agitated whisper. 
"And please don't be any more horrid than you can 
help. I'll wait here." 
I make my way through tlie huge disorder of the 
wharf, and mount to the ship's deck by an improvised 
gangplank. A man with a black smut on his nose 
stands by the entrance to the engine room. 
"I'd like to speak with the captain," I say, address- 
ing him. 
"He's ashore, sir," he answers civilly. "But one of the 
owners is aboard. I'll find him for you in a moment." 
He comes back in a few minutes, bringing a pleasant- 
faced gentleman with him. 
"My wife and I are somewhat in doubt as to — " I 
begin. 
"About the Petrel?" he says, breaking through my 
high air with a smile there is no resisting. '"You'll 
never regret taking the trip. I took my family down 
last time, and they were delighted. She's a bit dirty 
now, and everything's at sixes and sevens; but when 
she gets away, she'll be as fit as anything." 
"Anything like a yacht?" I inquire, with gentle sar- 
casm. 
"More roomy, more comfortable, safer!" he says. 
And then he breaks into a laugh that wins me over 
completely. "Come along and look her over," he con- 
tinues. "See, here's the dining saloon." 
We look into a stufify, dark little box of a place, with 
two fixed tables running lengthwise and fixed benches 
beside them. 
"And this is the smoking room," he says, taking me 
forward and showing me a tiny closet with wooden 
benches fixed against the walls. "It's a nice place," 
he continues, cheerfully, "but the gentlemen usually 
prefer to smoke on the deck." 
"I can understand that." 
He looks at me a little doubtfully, and then laughs 
again, and in spite of myself, I join in the laugh. 
"It's a delightful trip," he says, "and you're certain 
to enjoy it. Now, we'll go up on the hurricane deck 
and see the ladies' saloon." 
Just back of the wheelhouse, on the hurricane deck, 
is_ a structure that looks like a large packing box with 
windows let into the sides. One end of the packing box 
is accounted for by a door; the other end and the two 
sides have a narrow wooden bench nailed against them. 
A little, spindly table holding a deca5'ed copy of Black- 
wood's Magazine, stands in the middle. 
"Do the ladies prefer the deck?" I ask. 
"Not when it's raining. This is really uncommonly 
snug when the rain is coming down. They can shut 
the door, you know— and there they are!" 
"Yes," I answer, "to be sure!" 
"It's a delightful trip," he says again. "You'll remem- 
ber it all your life." 
"If you don't mind, I'll ask you to go out to the cab 
and tell my wife about it. You can do it much better 
than I. I'm lacking a little in imagination. You don't 
mind, do you? I want to have a heart-to-heart talk 
with the steward, if you have anything of the kind on 
board." 
"Oh, dear, j'es! The ship has an excellent steward 
and a fine cook. The meals are very superior." 
He goes to the head of the companionway and shouts 
down, "Beatty! Beatty!" and in answer to this a neatly 
dressed, businesslike and cheerful-looking man appears 
who is presented to me as the steward. 
Fifteen minutes later, when I make my way out to the 
cab, I find the part-owner talking volubly to Arizona. 
"I think we'll go on board," Arizona announces. "The 
ship isn't quite what I fancied, but it'll be a lark." 
"The ship certainly is a bird," I remark. 
"You've given me quite a different idea of things," 
Arizona says to our pleasant friend. 
"No doubt," I say, smiling largely, "I fancy he wrote 
the advertisement." 
In due time we and our belongings are on board the 
Petrel, and we spend the rest of the time before the hour 
set for sailing in lying in wait for other passengers and 
prevailing upon them not to take flight — a by no means 
easy task in some cases. When the hour is past and 
there is no sign of the ship moving out, I go down to 
the dining saloon and question the genial steward. 
"The two stokers engaged, sir," he says, "didn't show 
up, and the captain and the first mate are ashore looking 
for them. The first and second engineers have steam 
up, and everything's ready." He looks out upon the 
wharf, and adds, with a chuckle. "Well, here they are, 
sir — and much good they'll be to us for the next day or 
two!" 
The captain and mate are seen leading two helplessly 
drunken and very dirty individuals toward the ship, who, 
being duly fetched over the gangplank, are unceremoni- 
ously tumbled into the forward hatchway and left to 
struggle back to the reality of things. 
About 3 o'clock in the afternoon the captain appears 
on the wheelhouse deck. "Mr. Wrigleyl'i he shouts, 
"go aft and pay out the line, and watch them propellers 
now!" 
A queer sea animal comes lumbering down the deck 
and takes a position near where we are sitting. His post 
does not seem a very responsible one, but nevertheless 
he is flustered. "Yes, sir; yes, sir!" he says constantly 
to the captain, "the propellers is clear, sir!" Then he 
leans over the rail and says to a man on the lower deck, 
"Be cool, Herbert; don't get excited. Slack the line a 
bit, now, Herbert, and watch your hand on that stanch- 
ion. All right, sir; we're slacking off. Yes, sir, the 
propellers is clear, sir!" 
The captain comes across the deck and shouts down 
the skylight over the engine room, "Say, Mr. Gordon, 
didn't you hear them bells?" There is a subterranean 
answer, and then he says, ."Oh, all right!" and goes 
back to his post by the wheelhouse. 
"This is the funniest ship!" Arizona whispers. 
"It is funny," I answer. "But we came for amuse- 
inent, you know." 
'Do you think it is safe?" 
"The cook told me the hull was sound. I take that to 
be cither a recommendation or an attempt to hedge on 
hii cooking." 
"Watch your hand, Herbert!" Mr. Wrigley says, warn- 
ingly over the side. "Yes, sir, (to the captain), they're 
clear, sir!" 
The Petrel gets clear of the tangle of small craft an ^ 
awa> from the wharf at last, and turns her nose down 
stream. At half past 5 the supper bell rings, and we go 
down to the saloon, seventeen hungry passengers who 
quite fill the two tables; and thereupon, while the two 
cabin boys are taking orders, we begin to nibble at 
each other to discover if, by good fortune, we be 
socially edible. Apparently we all are, each after his 
own manner, and very soon the ice is broken and con- 
versation becomes general. 
The ship, drawing too much water with her heavy 
cargo, does not venture to cross shallow Lake St. Peter 
in the dark, but anchors for the night and goes on at 
dawn of the next day. About eight miles an hour is our 
maximum speed. I crawl down into the engine room 
about 6 o'clock in the morning for a matutinal chat with 
the engineers. 
"You're not getting nervous, sir?" Gordon (he of the 
erstwhile smutty nose) says, smiling, and making room 
for me on the bench. 
"Not nervous" I answer, "but just curious. What 
manner of craft is she?" 
Duncan, the second engineer, laughs outright. "Tell 
him," he says. "Tell him, and don't give him any 
blamed advertisements." 
"Well, sir," Gordon says, cheerfully, "she's the rot- 
tenest, bummest, meanest old harridan I ever sailed on. 
The company got her cheap, seeing nobody wanted 
her, and they've started this coastwise cruise as a specu- 
lation." 
"The fine, yacht-like, twin-screw steamship Petrel," 
I murmiir reflectively. 
They both shout with such laughter as only healthy 
young men are capable of. 
"Yacht-like!" Duncan shouts, wiping his eyes with 
the back of his hand. 
"Twin-screw!" Gordon bellows, rocking in ecstacy 
on his seat. "O Lord!" 
"Hasn't she got twin screws?" I ask. 
"Yes, she's got 'em, and a couple of engines to match, 
as you can see for yourself. But the engines are too 
small for the hull, and we're burning coal that — Say, 
where do you think the company got the coal? It was 
sunk in a barge and lay at the bottom of the river for 
a year, and the company bought it, unsight unseen, you 
know, and raised it. It isn't worth a tinker's curse to 
get power oiit of." 
"Well," I say. putting the best foot foremost, "there 
is one satisfaction, anyway. I like the looks of you 
two men, and of the captain." 
"The captain's as capable a man as ever sailed a ship," 
Duncan says seriously, "And he knows every inch of 
that coast — and a mean coast it is! — from the Island of 
Orleans to Cape Despair." 
''Yes, sir," Gordon chimes in, "the ship is rotten, her 
engines ain't competent, she won't answer her helm; 
but with that man in command, she's as safe as a liner, 
Duncan and I and Beatty the steward, have sailed, with 
him for years, and we know him. This is the first sea- 
son for all of us on the Petrel, and I guess it'll be our 
last. We're not the kind of men, if I say it myself, that 
are going to risk our reputations on such an old tub. 
When you go up on deck, sir, go aft and look at the 
name on the rudder post. It don't read much like 
Petrel. That ain't her real name. She was built in 
Mobile Bay and has done a lot of nosing around South 
American ports. In the Spanish-American war, the 
Yankees used her as a blockade runner.'' 
"Runner?" I say. "Nonsense!" 
They both chuckle. "She might better be called the 
Snail," Duncan says. "Lord, but she's a disreputable 
old creature, with no more of a shred of character than 
a lady of Scotland Road. But, give her her due, she ain't 
bad in a sea." 
"If she would only answer her helm," I suggest. 
"Well, that's where the twin screws come in," Gordon 
says. "The captain can do a whole lot with the screws." 
After breakfast, I leave Arizona engaged in transform- 
ing the stuffy little stateroom into the semblance of a 
home, and go forward to the smoking room. As I go 
along the main deck I pass an open stateroom door and 
see Gordon and one of the passengers with glasses in 
their hands., 
"Will you join us?" the passenger calls to me. 
I decline, thank him, and pass on. The rain is com- 
ing down in torrents, and the wind is so strong that I 
have to clutch at things to make my way. The smoking 
room is chill as the grave, and the rain leaks through 
the roof and window frame at will. Five passengers 
one of them a lady, are there before me, sitting on the 
dry edges of the benches and chatting amicably. My 
already good opinion of them is confirmed. People who 
can be cheerful under adverse circumstances are a good 
sort of folk to travel with. A gust of wind swings open 
one of the doors, and then slams it back again with suci 
force that it breaks in pieces and falls to the deck. Thi 
wind and the rain sweep in now without anything to sta; 
them, and send us huddling to the other side. A mai 
in oilskins, hurrying along the port deck, is hailed an< 
told of the trouble. He comes back presently with som 
tools and sets to work. In five minutes he has put th^ 
pieces together and stayed them with a .couple of board 
nailed crosswise. 
"Are you a carpenter?" I ask. 
"No, sir," he answers, "I'm the first mate. A sailor's 
got to be all kinds of things on board ship. I may be a 
cook or a stoker before we get home." 
Late in the afternoon of the following day, we reach 
Quebec. A combination of three elements makes our 
arrival a notable one. First, some uncertainty as to 
which really is the Petrel's wharf; second, an unfavorable 
tide, and third, a strong wind. We end by crashing into 
the stringpiece head on, with engines reversing and 
everybody shouting unintelligibly. After all, no damage 
is done to the ship, and we eventually slide to our place 
and make fast. 
The evening and night are spent in loading on more 
cargo — as though we hadn't enough already! — flour, 
salt, molasses, a stove, a buggy, lifted from the wharf in 
slings"" and lowered into the hold by a steam winch. 
Like other manual operations, it has a nomenclature of 
its own. "Go ahead," means to haul the line up, and 
"Come back," to lower it. The captain and I sit in the 
smoking room for an hour or two, watching the work. 
"East of Montreal," he says, "and all the way down 
till you strike Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, you 
find men who have handled craft all their lives, and yet 
remain to their last days utterly incompetent sailors. 
They make river and gulf work dangerous to them- 
selves and to everybody else. They get foul of your 
propellers, cut right across your bows or come slam- 
bang into your quarter. They're hades and all, these 
French-Canadians. Their legs are hollow and filled with 
words, and they jabber away at you all the time they're 
mixed with your gear, until there isn't another word left 
in them." 
A moment later he puts his head out of the window 
and begins a low-toned conversation with some man on 
the deck, only bits of which come to me. I hear him say, 
'Tf I tell you to go below, you're under articles." Then 
a moment later, "Either get off this ship or go below." 
Presently Gordon comes in, evidently from a con- 
tinuance of a conversation with the same individual. It 
is quite apparent from his flushed face and unsteady 
gait that he has been drinking. 
"I wish you'd let me put the darbies on him, sir," he 
says. 
"No, no," the captain answers; "this is a passenger 
ship—I daren't do it. I'll settle him!" 
He goes outside and I hear him say emphatically, 
"Now, my man, go below or get off this ship. If you 
stand there I'll knock the silly head off your shoulders!" 
He comes back to the smoking room and sits down be- 
side me. 
"What's the trouble?" I ask. 
"No trouble," he says, comfortably. "Just a stoker." 
"I wish Gordon would " I begin. 
"Yes," he interrupts with an impatient movement of 
his big shoulders, "it's his one weakness. He's the best- 
engineer I ever sailed with and a good fellow all round.. 
But that's his weakness. Good Lord, wouldn't you think 
a passenger'd know better than to ask him! I'll talk to 
that man — ^I don't care who he is — if this thing goes on. 
I'm not going to have my officers made beasts of. I 
need every man the company has given me, and every 
faculty that God has given them, to handle this ship." 
We leave Quebec before dawn. In the channel south 
of the Island of Orleans, just as the first streaks of dawn 
begin to lighten the sky, we meet a schooner under sail, 
her starboard light showing clearly. There is plenty of 
room for the ships to pass each other and not the re- 
motest reason why either should alter its course; but 
suddenly the schooner throws her wheel over and tries 
