Going to Sea. 
One hot day in August, 1892, I was sitting 
under the trees that lined the Bay Ridge shore 
of New York harbor in those days, idly watch¬ 
ing the shipping on the bay. It was too hot to 
move, so I took my ease on a bench built around 
one of the trees and divided my attention be¬ 
tween the bathers on the beach below and the 
various ships passing up and down the channel. 
Occasionally a bif liner with immense red fun¬ 
nels, belching out clouds of smoke, would pass 
out on its way across the ocean, or a clipper 
ship, toy-like in the distance, being towed up 
to the docks at New York to there unload the 
cargo she had carried from India, China or per¬ 
haps some port on the west coast of America, 
would creep past. 
Once in a while a lighter, with its raking mast, 
dirty sails and high deck load of barrels, would 
push past the end of the wharf against the tide, 
or a tugboat would shoot by running up with it. 
My eyesight had given out from overwork, and 
I was forced to quit for a while. I had gone 
out sailing in my father’s yacht day after day, 
but it was monotonous all alone, and this day 
I just sat and let my thoughts ramble along on 
whatever came into my head. 
Like many other boys I had all my life longed 
to go to sea, and as the morning wore on I found 
this thought uppermost in my mind, and even 
began to entertain the idea seriously. Then, as 
if to further tempt me, a little green bark came 
past the coal dock, that shut out my view up 
the bay, quite close in to the shore. The tug 
that was towing her evidently wanted to- escape 
the head tide by coming close in, and it gave me 
an opportunity to scrutinize the craft. I saw 
at a glance she was a new vessel and admired 
the graceful flare of her bows, the full swelling 
sides, and finely moulded quarters. I noticed how 
taut every stay was set up, how black the rig¬ 
ging, and the general appearance of cleanliness 
of her freshly painted white houses. 
My usual dress, as I never cared for society, 
was a blue serge suit, blue flannel shirt, low shoes 
and a black felt hat, so my dress was rather in 
harmony with South street surroundings, but the 
sharp eyes of the shipping men probably detected 
something in my looks that told them I was not 
very salty. 
Old Captain Curtis, of the ship State of Maine, 
when I gained admittance to him in his cabin, 
spoke very kindly, but advised me to stay ashore 
and refused to take me, saying he only carried 
experienced seamen and but few of them. Had 
I gone on this ship I would have had a lively 
time, for she was dismasted in a pamparo off the 
River Platte and put into Montevideo to re-rig. 
My reception was the same on all the ships I 
boarded and I began to wonder how any of the 
sailors ever got a job, when one day as I stood 
on a corner after an unsuccessful sally aboard 
a ship I saw something which showed me there 
was another side to a sailor’s life I knew noth- 
tng of. A. truck, loaded with seamen sitting 
atop of their bags and chests, rumbled down a 
side street on to a pier alongside a bark that was 
ready for sea. How these men secured their job, 
and how it was they all came down together were 
questions that puzzled me for a whole day, and 
it was not until the first day in August, 1892, 
or about two weeks from the day I started look¬ 
ing for a ship, that I found out. 
My chum Bob accompanied me in my trip 
along South street that day, and when we came 
to Pier No. 9 we saw a bark, on either bow of 
which was painted in white letters the name 
James A. Wright, and under this on her ellipti¬ 
cal stern was an American shield worked in 
colors and the name Boston, U. S. A. Her fore¬ 
mast was decorated with various festoons of sails 
that had been sent up like so many bags slung 
in the middle on gauntlines by the gang of rig¬ 
gers who were just then lined out along the 
fore yard hauling out and bending on the fore¬ 
sail, as one of their number on deck slacked 
the gaunt line on which that sail was suspended. 
With many a “Yo-ho ! Heave ’em!” the heavy, 
many-patched and many-colored canvas was 
stretched along the yard and secured with rov¬ 
ings to the iron rod, called the jackstay, that was 
secured by eyes along the top of each yard. 
After watching these men and admiring the 
freedom with which they worked high up in 
entry way to the cabin below at the forward end 
and a row of square skylights along the top, 
while aft on the short deck there was the wheel 
box and steering wheel. 
A motley looking group of men were assem¬ 
bled around the main hatch down on the main 
deck watching the stevedores cramming and jam¬ 
ming in the last of her cargo. 
“Ask for the mate,” said Bob, as I left him 
and swung myself into the bark’s channels and 
so over her rail. Clerks, stevedores and board¬ 
ing house runners mostly composed the crowd 
on the Wright’s deck; so, stepping to the open 
galley door I asked the darkey cook within if 
the mate was around. 
“Yas, dat’s ’im ober dere,” indicating a man 
of medium height and build who was just com¬ 
ing down the poop ladder. An old battered straw 
hat, yellow from exposure to the weather, cov¬ 
ered the head of this individual whose bristling, 
stubby beard, square jaws and cruel restless black 
eyes indicated a nature both energetic and bully¬ 
ing. A cotton shirt, baggy-kneed, threadbare 
trousers and red leather slippers completed the 
makeup of the man I met on his way forward, 
and asked if he had his crew shipped yet. 
“Don’t know. Don’t know nawthin’ ’bout ’em,” 
DROPPING THE PILOT. 
the air on slender foot ropes I turned my atten¬ 
tion to the bark’s deck. 
She was what is known as a half-decked ves¬ 
sel ; that is, besides the regular main deck she 
had a raised deck level with the top of her bul¬ 
warks that extended from just abaft the main¬ 
mast to the stern. Around the mainmast were 
the main bitts where much of the gear was be¬ 
layed, and here were the pumps with a large 
red flywheel on either side. A ladder on each 
side led down from the half deck or poop as 
it is called to the main deck. The bows of the 
bark were also decked over for about twenty 
feet with a deck called the forecastle head. 
Just abaft the foremast was a long white deck 
house with the galley in the after end of it, and 
the forecastle for sailors’ quarters in the for¬ 
ward end with a narrow compartment between 
the two called the carpenter shop where all the 
tools, lamps, etc., were kept. On top of this 
house, turned upside down on skids, were two 
large white rowboats, while aft across the front 
of the poop was a smaller one lashed upside 
down on deck. 
The rest of the after part of the bark was 
arranged with a raised cover called the booby 
hatch set over the after hatch, the after house 
with its little square coach house forming an 
was the curt reply as he passed on. A man 
standing near heard my question and told me to 
go see Johnnie Walker at the Sailors’ Home, 
that he was going to put the crew aboard. And 
so I found the key of the way to go to sea. 
THEY WERE BENDING THE FORESAIL. 
How long I might have wandered about the 
shipping, trying to get a position, is doubtful, 
but had I known more about it at the start I 
could have gone direct to any sailors’ boarding 
house, of which there are only too many, and 
