Reminiscences Of An Old—Timer

It was in June, 1863, that I first acquired a knowledge of and liking for the Navy. Farragut having made his memorable passage up the Mississippi River to New Orleans, then headed the Hartford northward to Port Hudson. En route there, he anchored off Baton Rouge. His steward came ashore in search of fruit and fresh vegetables. As our house was located only a block away from the river, and as there were no business establishments in operation, the entire adult male population being away in the Confederate service, this steward knocked at our front door, which I opened for him; he explained who he was and the object of his calling on us. I summoned my mother and she supplied his needs. I recall that he gave her in exchange several tins of roast beef together with a couple of fresh green turtle steaks. He evinced a liking for me and asked my mother to let him take me to the Hartford and see the Commodore and the supply of live green turtles they had on board. My mother consenting, I accompanied him to the ship. As we ascended the gangway ladder, the steward pointed out the Commodore, who was taking exercise on the quarter-deck alone, and thus I had a close-up view of the immortal Farragut. But, boy-like, I wanted most to see the turtles, so we descended to the berth deck, where the main hatch was open, affording a full view of a dozen or more of the monsters, sprawled helplessly on their backs. Their presence was due to the fact that when passing the Dry Tortugas Islands in daylight, a great shoal of them was observed waddling along the sands, and the Hartford came to anchor while a number of the crew rowed ashore and brought off two or three dozens of them.

During that afternoon a group of Confederate guerrillas rode into town and, galloping to the river bank, fired a volley i of musketry at the Hartford. This was responded to by a broadside fired over the town. Our next-door neighbor was the resident consul for France, and the tri- colored flag was displayed on a tall pole over his abode. Probably, for that reason, j no shells were fired over our block.

Shortly after my cruise in the Pensacola, described in the Proceedings for January, 1935, I made another, as a yeoman in the Tuscarora, under Commander John W. (Jack) Philip. Several vessels of the Pacific Mail SS. Co.’s fleet having been wrecked on uncharted rocks along the west coast of Mexico and Central America, the department fitted out the Tuscarora for scientific work and directed that we make a complete survey of the coast and harbors and, in connection therewith, to run a line of deep-sea soundings between Point Loma, California, and Acapulco, Mexico. Captain Philip selected me as his clerical assistant in the taking of these soundings.

One day we nosed into a beautiful, landlocked harbor named Sihuatanejo (pronounced See-what-an-Echo) and came to anchor. There was a great abundance of tropical trees and foliage clear down to the water’s edge; not a human being in sight, and but one building, a long adobe structure with thatched roof. After we had anchored, a peon emerged from this building, carrying a Mexican ensign, which he proceeded to hoist to a limb projecting from a near-by tree. Then another native made his appearance, wearing a 10-gallon | hat and a much soiled brown cotton suit- The two men then got into a sort of dug- out canoe and paddled off to the Tuscarora. The fellow in the cotton suit came on board and, in Spanish, addressed the officer of the deck who, incidentally, had a smattering of that idiom, saying, “Yo soy el Commandante y Jefe del Aduana,” —(“I am the Captain of the Port and Collector of Customs”). The officer of the deck expressed his pleasure at meeting this representative of the Sovereignty of Mexico, and asked him to state the nature of the visit. In a rather blustering manner, he replied that he wished to learn why the ship had, unannounced, entered the harbor, and for what purpose. The officer of the deck then directed the orderly at the cabin door to inform Captain Philip of the presence of the Captain of the Port.

During all this, I was at work in a charthouse constructed on the quarterdeck, with a window in front of me through which I was taking in the whole opera-bouffe performance. Presently, Captain Philip emerged. The officer of the deck told him what had just taken place; Captain Philip instructed the officer of the deck to tell the visitor that he would write him an official letter and send it to him in the course of an hour or two. Then the uncouth fellow left the ship, when Captain Philip turned to me and said, “Yeoman, write that fellow a real diplomatic letter, make it good and lengthy, for that is what they like, and bring it to me for signature.” And here is what I wrote, which was signed by Captain Philip and carried ashore by an officer wearing side arms:

To the Collector of Customs;
Sihuatanejo, Mexico.
Sir:

I have the honor to inform you, conformably to your request made personally when you paid an official visit to the vessel under my command, on this date, that the U.S.S. Tuscarora, acting pursuant to orders of the President of the United States is now engaged on a mission in the interests of science, commerce, and navigation, surveying the west coast of Mexico and Central America.

This has involved the necessity of our entering, thus far, various Mexican ports and harbors, and it affords me pleasure to state that, in every such instance, we have been most courteously greeted by the gentlemanly representatives of your government at those ports, who have extended every facility which might be helpful to the attainment of the end we have in view.

For all of such courtesies, and for such as may be hereafter encountered, the thanks of my government have been, and will hereafter be, extended to the President of your great country, through the usual diplomatic channels.

Very respectfully,
Your obedient servant,
(signed) Jno. W. Philip
Commander, U. S. Navy,
Commanding U.S.S. “Tuscarora,” 3rd rale.

But this mollifying of the rambunctious Captain of the Port was by no means the only memorable event of that day at Sihuatanejo. The harbor was infested with sharks of unusual size; they kept the water constantly churned as they battled for the ship’s garbage. Shortly after dinner, one of the crew shouted “devil fish.” That brought everyone to the rail and there, sure enough, floating near the ship, with his bat-like fins plainly visible above the water, was one of those rare monsters of the deep. Numbered among our crew were eight or ten seamen who had seen service in whalers. They were all keen for capturing the monster, and one of them, speaking for all, asked the executive officer, Lieutenant George C. Reiter, for permission to man and use the whaleboat, and for issuance to them of harpoons kept in the ship’s stores. After consulting Captain Philip, the permission was granted and a crew of six manned the whaleboat and rowed away. By this time, the devil fish was three ships’ length distant. The men at the oars pulled lustily until within 25 feet of the monster, when they ceased rowing and glided along noiselessly until near enough for the man in the bow to take careful aim and, at the very first attempt, to throw a harpoon so that it landed in the back of the monster’s neck. Then the trouble began. The surprised and infuriated monster ran away with his captors! They were absolutely helpless and at his mercy; their oars, pulled against him with the strength of desperation, could not budge him, since he weighed about a ton and had the speed of a motor launch. He pulled them all around the harbor, nearly dashing the whaleboat against rocks lining the shore; fortunately, he did not head out to sea. As it had been easily apparent from the outset that the men in the whaleboat were powerless and in imminent peril of their lives, Lieutenant Reiter had ordered our steam launch hurriedly prepared to go to their rescue. As soon as steam had been raised, the crew of the launch intercepted the whaleboat, threw them a line which was made fast in their bow and headed back to the ship with the devil fish in tow. When they had brought him alongside, the monster was dead, possibly because, as a result of his being dragged under water at an unlooked for speed, he had been suffocated and drowned.

Then the problem presented itself, what to do with the carcass. It was decided to hoist it to the cathead over night, and in the morning, before washing down the decks, to swing it aboard with a yard and stay tackle, for dissection. Accordingly, a powerful steel hook, comparable to one used in hoisting our anchor, was inserted through its jaw and gills, the capstan was manned and the carcass hoisted to the cathead. Then our surgeon, Lieutenant Commander George A. Bright, anticipating decomposition, climbed out and with a scalpel, removed both its eyes. And that was all under the head of “dissection,” because, just before sunset, there was a tremendous splash in the water under the cathead; the hook with which the carcass had been hoisted proved powerless, the great weight of the monster’s body had tom away from the part fastened to the hook, and the school of ravenous sharks, which had been hovering around awaiting a feast, held high carnival.

After the Tuscarora cruise, I had concluded to re-enter civil life, but, after a short interval, I felt the call of the sea again. This time I secured an appointment from the City of San Francisco as master-at-arms on the old Jamestown, sailing ship, sister to the St. Mary’s, and, like the latter, loaned to a municipality for use as a school ship. As an added duty, I functioned as instructor in calisthenics. Our commanding officer was Commander Henry Glass, U. S. Navy; executive officer, Lieutenant J. C. Burnette, U. S. Navy (Ret.); navigator, Ensign Frank H. Holmes U. S. Navy, who, with Ensign Charles F. Putnam, U. S. Navy, were two watch officers; when at sea the executive officer shared the watch with them. These, with a young medical officer, a captain’s clerk, a boatswain, a carpenter who also functioned as saiimaker, a cook, a steward and myself, were the only men in the crew. Otherwise, the personnel was made up of 110 boys, the majority of whom were incorrigible San Francisco hoodlums. Discipline was most rigid. When we got them so that they would eat out of our hands and had them well trained in the art of making and taking in sail, we undertook a round-trip voyage to Honolulu. I shudder to think what would have befallen us had the Jamestown encountered any of the perils of the ocean such as befell the Pensacola in 1875. It would have been a case of spurlos versenkt.

While at Honolulu, we figured in a “Comedy of Errors” of a rather unique nature. The Like-Like (Leaky-Leaky is I right), the first steamboat designed for interisland passenger and freight traffic, had just been constructed at San Francisco, had arrived at Honolulu, and was at once placed in commission for her maiden trip to Hilo and return. To the natives, it was a great event, and the passenger list for this first voyage comprised many of the Slite of Honolulu. At that remote date, there was no wireless or radio, and when three days had elapsed since the one scheduled for the Like-Like to be at Honolulu on her return from Hilo, there ensued considerable uneasiness. The Jamestown was the only vessel in port. Our commanding officer, being appealed to, consented to go in search of the overdue craft, and, in great haste, we set sail and put to sea. When two days out, the wind fell off to “light airs,” and then to an absolute calm. And there we were, “in the doldrums,” helpless, with not even steerage way for four days. Meanwhile, the Like-Like, which had had engine trouble, and had drifted from the customary route, passed out of sight of the Jamestown, on her crippled return to her home port. Then it was our turn to be the cause of uneasiness at Honolulu, until our return from a fruitless relief expedition!

In 1881, I located in a town called Westport, midway between San Francisco and Eureka, on the ocean shore, in a sparsely settled section of Mendocino County. The town soon acquired some importance as a shipping point for redwood lumber, an immense body of the “Sequoias” being contiguous thereto. The county seat, Ukiah, was ninety miles away, in the interior, and there were no lawyers located on the coast. There was a growing demand for someone competent to draw up documents for use in the U. S. Land Office at San Francisco, and to function as a notary public and justice of the peace. And, behold! It was not long before I was appointed to both offices, with an additional title of “deputy county clerk”; also, I acted as ex officio coroner, and I performed marriage ceremonies, the only fee I ever exacted for the latter service was the privilege of kissing the bride, with, however, one exception, and that was when I married a Chinese couple. In short, I was a sort of “Lord High Executioner,” the town was unincorporated, and I really became a sort of mayor, “without portfolio,” as they say of certain cabinet ministers abroad.

One morning a strange vessel anchored off the town. She turned out to be the MacDougall, of the U. S. Coast and Geodetic Survey. I could see, with the aid of a glass, that the officers and men were attired in the uniform of our Navy. And so, in my capacity as “mayor de jure,” I was rowed out to the ship and went aboard, where I met the commanding officer, Lieutenant E. D. Taussig, U. S. Navy, and tendered him “the courtesies of the port!” Of course, I told him of my service in the Navy, which seemed to interest and amuse him; he invited me to stay to lunch, where I was introduced to the junior officers. They asked me if I didn’t find life at Westport very monotonous and lonesome; I said, “not at all, I am kept busy, and we have a few diversions, usually in the form of dances, and, by the way, there is to be one tonight at Kibesillah, a shipping point five miles south of here, and if any of you would like to attend, I’ll take you to it and find partners for you.” At this, Captain Taussig interposed, saying, “It’s not practicable, we are leaving at daylight for Mendocino City, forty miles south of here.” Desirous of giving the young men an enjoyable treat, I then said to the C.O., “if you will consent to their attending the dance, which is to be held in a hotel where there is good food and clean beds, I will agree to drive them safely to Mendocino City in the morning and be there at about the time you anchor.” This proposition, unusual as it was, actually met with favor, Captain Taussig very graciously giving his consent. There were a couple of young “schoolmarms” present at the dance who, with the young wife of the proprietor of the hotel, alternated as partners of the officers, and, as the country editors say, “a good time was had by all.” There was a fine collation at midnight. No one went to bed; they danced till daylight, when I gave the command “All Aboard,” and jumping on to a light buckboard wagon, with a pair of well-broke mules supplying the power, we “shaped a course” for Mendocino City. There was a fine breeze from the south to brace us up, and a constant flow of persiflage and repartee. I doubt if any of my passengers ever forgot that ride; they assured me feelingly that they wouldn’t.

Shortly afterwards, I had another encounter, of a most unexpected nature. One evening, as the stage from the south pulled up at the hotel where I lived, and where I was standing on the porch, who should descend but Lieutenant J. C. Burnette, U. S. Navy (Ret.), who had been a shipmate of mine in the old Jamestown, where he was executive officer, and his sister, Miss Frances. He was delighted to meet me and to learn of my status, as, to employ his own words, he was on a sort of wild-goose chase, and would need my cooperation. It transpired that, part of the estate of his father, one of the earlier governors of California, comprised a tract of redwood timber land, located rather remote from shipping facilities as yet, but of great future value. They had come up to get a glimpse of this inheritance and determine the wisdom of paying taxes and holding it indefinitely. I found a timber sharp who was competent to take them, horseback, to the land on the following morning. Lieutenant Burnette was then, and for a number of years later, on duty in charge of the Branch Hydro- graphic Office at San Francisco.

And now, here is a reminiscence of those day's, not, however having to do with officers then actually on duty, but with “a barefoot boy with cheeks of tan,” who was destined to become the ranking admiral in our Navy. During my “career” at Westport, the office of sheriff of Mendocino County was held by John M. (familiarly' known as “Doc”) Standley. It was in the very nature of things that an intimacy should exist between us. He functioned also as chairman of the Democratic County Central Committee and, at West- port, where we had 400 registered voters, I did my bit in corralling the unterrified, which added to the esteem in which I was held by Doc. He was possessed of an indomitable courage, and, as they say of the Canadian Mounties of today, “he always got his man.” His fame rested, however, upon his pursuit and capture of a group known as the “Mendocino Outlaws,” bank robbers and murderers and, because of the then infrequency of bank robberies, really a “cause celebre” of that period.

In later years, I read in Admiral Fiske’s autobiography how, during the Philippine Insurrection, where he commanded a monitor and was co-operating with the land forces, he desired to locate the position of the latter, before opening fire on the enemy and called for a volunteer to go ashore at daylight, climb a tree, and make a reconnaissance of the terrain. Ensign William H. Standley responded and successfully accomplished the dangerous mission, which elicited Admiral Fiske’s commendation of his courage and officer like conduct.

About October 1, 1898, during a visit to Washington, D. C., and while rambling through the State, War, and Navy Building, in the basement of the Navy section, I glanced through a door opening into the compass adjustment branch of the Bureau of Navigation. There was but one person busily engaged within and I at once recognized him as Mr. Timothy A. Lyons who, in the Pensacola in 1875, was lieutenant navigator, and whose amanuensis I had been throughout the cruise. When I spoke to him, he was quick in responding and addressing me by name, after an interval of 22 years. Noted for his conscientious devotion to duty and his always dignified manner aboard ship, he was on this occasion extremely cordial in the welcome extended me. In the course of our conversation, he asked me if the invention of writing machines had led to weakening my skill with the pen, and this led to the recalling, in that connection of what was to him a most auspicious occasion. In those days in the Pensacola, the navigator was required to keep up and to transmit to the department annually what was known as a Navigator’s Remark Book. So zealous was Mr. Lyons that he not only went into minute detail in recording nautical and astronomical matters, but actually incorporated in his Remark Book a history of the Hawaiian group and the manners and customs of the natives of “this miniature kingdom” as he designated it. This Remark Book I kept up from penciled data supplied by Mr. Lyons. About a month after it had been transmitted to the department, and at a general muster, after the reading of the Articles of War, Captain Gherardi handed to his clerk a letter, directing him to read it aloud. It was from the chief of the Bureau of Navigation, acknowledging receipt of the Remark Book and commending it, not only because of its letter-perfect preparation, but because it was, unlike most of those received, of real value to the bureau. Before separating, Mr. Lyons asked if I had any engagement for the following day, and when I replied that I had none, he handed me two tickets for the launching at Newport News, Va., of the battleship Illinois, with coupons for the luncheon given by the builders at Chamberlain’s Old Point Comfort Hotel.

In 1898-1902 I held a clerical position down at Havana.

The Republic of Cuba was installed on May 20, 1902, upon which date the American Army of Occupation returned to the United States. On May 22, the U.S.S. Eagle, a converted yacht engaged in survey work along the coast of Cuba, entered the port and was moored to a buoy adjacent to the wreck of the Maine. One of her junior officers, Midshipman John M. Caffery, son of the U. S. Senator from my state, was an acquaintance of mine, and I visited him aboard the Eagle. He introduced me to his commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander S. W. B. Diehl, who asked me to stay to lunch. I enjoyed membership in the Union Club, a leading social organization, which maintained a fine reading-room, stocked with newspapers and periodicals from all over the world. When I returned ashore, I went to the club and had the secretary issue a card, extending the usual courtesies of the club to Mr. Diehl, which was at once carried aboard to him by a servant in livery. Thus I met him every night during his stay in port.

On all preceding Memorial Days, the only tribute paid to the wreck of the Maine consisted in the half-masting on her fighting top of a diminutive national ensign. About sunset on the evening before Memorial Day, I encountered Mr. Diehl at the club. He told me that his little crew, desirous of paying a tribute of respect to the boys who went down in the Maine, had subscribed $50 for the purchase of suitable material with which to decorate the wreck and had turned the money over to him to invest; that he had been to the leading florists, where he found the prices exorbitant and prohibitive, and he was at a loss to know what was to be done. I solved the problem for him; I told him that I was well acquainted with the major-domo out at the summer palace of the President, where there were a number of greenhouses and acres of tropical plants and flowers, and that if I could get him to the ’phone there would be a happy ending. I picked up a ’phone and he answered my call. I told him that if he would assemble his crew, make four wreaths, each of 6-ft. diameter, of the choicest flowers, and have them together with 300 ft. of evergreen rope at Muelle Luz at six o’clock next morning, I would be there to take delivery and hand him $50 for his trouble. He readily assented and at the appointed hour he was there with the goods. Before eight bells the wreck was beautifully decorated. When the Captain of the Port, making the rounds in a motor launch, saw what had been done, he went full speed ahead to his office and ’phoned the Presidential palace, the Alcalde, the Governor of the Province of Havana, the Supreme Court, the Cuban Veterans Association and the American Club, each of whom hurried to co-operate and sent their own choice floral and metal wreaths to further adorn the wreck.

On the following day, I received an official letter signed by the commanding officer of the Eagle thanking me, on behalf of his officers and crew, for my zealous and patriotic co-operation in their desire to suitably decorate the wreck of the Maine.

On the memorable day when Sampson’s squadron engaged the enemy off Santiago de Cuba, Lieutenant Commander Lucien Young, with the Scorpion, a converted yacht, was patrolling the south coast of the island, hoping for an opportunity to do his bit of damage to the foe. Off Manzanillo, he observed a steamer in that harbor flying the enemy flag. He headed in to a point dangerously near the fortifications where a shore battery was mounted and opened fire. His gunners were expert; they not only put a shot through the flag and the halyards to which it was attached but scored a couple of hits which penetrated the hull of La Purisima Concepcion, which was actually the bizarre name of the boat, and sank her!

When, in January, 1899, our army of occupation, under the terms of the Treaty of Paris, assumed control, Lucien Young was named Captain of the Port of Havana. We were neighbors and ere long an intimate friendship arose which continued during the entire period of that occupation. With a few congenial spirits, we fraternized almost daily at the cocktail hour and, as every one knows, who knew Lucien Young, he was always “the life of the party.”

Under the terms of the Treaty of Paris, Spain was permitted to remove from Cuba, or otherwise dispose of, all military or naval supplies or equipment of a movable character, and an evacuation commission, made up of three representatives of each of the belligerents, met at Havana to arrange the details. Rear Admiral William T. Sampson was the chairman of the American delegation and his colleagues were Major General James F. Wade, U. S. Army, and Major General Mathew C. Butler, U. S. Vols. At that date there was a floating dry dock moored by its stern to the bay shore opposite the city of Havana.

It had been constructed in England and towed across to Havana. When the matter of its disposal came up, Admiral Sampson, who realized fully what a valuable asset it would be, made a masterly plea to have the commission declare it immovable. To his surprise, he received no second to his motion to have it so declared and, it being put to a vote, to his utter amazement, the two landsmen voted nay, along with the Spaniards! It is quite likely that his colleagues assumed that as the dock had been towed across the Atlantic, it ought to be easily practicable to so convey it back to Barcelona or some other Spanish seaport. Captain del Peral was accordingly left at Havana in charge of and operated the dock until the installing of the Cuban Republic.

I am often asked to give the name of my alma mater. To the surprise of the inquirer, my response is that my school days terminated when I was wading through McGuffey's Third Reader. Our schools closed when the War between the States began.

Thus, whatever education I possess has been acquired by travel, constant reading , and observation, together with occasional periods of intimate association with per- | sons of erudition and refinement. That I should have acquired the extensive vocabulary and facility of expression indicated in these pages may be attributed to the possession of a phenomenal memory and an unimpaired mentality.

The house in which I was born, at Baton Rouge, Louisiana, possesses historical interest. It was built by a French colonist, prior to the “Louisiana Purchase” during the administration of Thomas Jefferson, and, like many similar structures still standing in the “Vieux Carrere” of New Orleans, was built for the ages. When the Marquis General de Lafayette revisited the United States in 1821, he came south to be entertained by some of his country men at New Orleans. After a brief sojourn there, he ascended the Mississippi to Baton Rouge. He was domiciled in the house where I was born (and for all that I know to the contrary) in the identical bed in which I had reposed, as it was a piece of imported period furniture, a massive four-poster, and like the house itself, “built for the ages.” In commemoration of his visit, the street on which the house fronts was named “Rue Lafayette.” A few years ago, a guild of literary women acquired possession of the historic house and have converted it into a “Little Theatre.”