A Sailor's Tale: Miss Judith 1888-1893 Miss Molly

By E.G. ‘Lusko

In 1888, a US Navy sailor begins writing letters to his niece. The letters tell her where he is and what ventures he has gotten himself into. His sailor letters are retrospective, written after things happen. He also must tell her how he got to the place in time he started writing. He is educated for the time, trained as a naval navigator, lighthouse repairman, and watch repairman. His language is as he would speak to his fellow crew—clipped, as sailors use few G sounds, and an apostrophe is used to indicate the word is shortened, as they do. He is honest and kind. He is well trained in sword fighting.

His enlistment contract is not the standard form. His mother’s attorney wrote it. The fleet admiral approved it as he had served with the sailor’s uncle. His uncle was a noted ship navigator, shipmaster, an author of navy lore, and now provided ocean metrological data to the naval observatory. He has carried this on.

His early experiences involve train travel to San Francisco. The ship charts the then Northwest Territory and the Alaskan coast. His group verifies charts of the Missouri River. Mostly, his ship supplies food provisions to navy frigates in the Mediterranean and the Caribbean.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796031409

Book preview

A SAILOR’S TALE

MISS JUDITH 1888-1893 MISS MOLLY

E.G. ‘LUSKO

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A Sailor’s Tale: Miss Judith 1888-1893 Miss Molly

by E. G. ‘Lusko

Xlibris

book review by Michael Radon

Cheered him and got another shot! Best was, Stay home tomorrow. Paid for the day! Oh, thems all cheered.

Doing genealogical research on his family, the author of this book discovered a possible ancestor who walked a similar path in life, sailing around the world in the Navy. Through the author’s organizing and transcribing of a collection of found letters, that unnamed man, referred to as an Old Salt, has his life captured through each missive to his niece, Judith. Starting his journeys around California, through the Pacific Ocean, and up through Canada and Alaska, his travels during these five years take him through America and Europe as the Old Salt verifies maps and embarks on relief missions for other ships. These letters are more than just a bullet list of ports of call and duties though, describing to a civilian the colorful crews and peculiar behaviors that go hand in hand with life aboard a ship.

Despite being on the surface simply written accounts of the events that occur in a sailor’s life, the composer of these letters does a wonderful job of writing in a natural style, capturing on the page how he must have spoken. Due to the era and the naval lifestyle, this results in a wonderfully unique cadence and vernacular that immediately calls to mind life on the open seas. Even though the author can suppose a shared lineage and kinship as they were both in the Navy, any details of life and background on the correspondent are either covered within the letters or left ambiguous. This simultaneously opens a window to a lifestyle experienced over a century ago while leaving enough to be interpreted by the reader to engage the imagination. These beautifully preserved letters unintentionally allow the history of the time and these events to be shared by all.

Copyright © 2019 by E.G. ‘Lusko.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/03/2019

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Contents

In the year 99, March

October, 88

November, 88

In the year Eighty Nine, April

In the year 89, December:

In the year 1890, March:

In the year 90, 30 March:

In the year 90, April

In the year 90, August:

In the year 1890, 2 November:

In the year 1890, December, 22:

In the year 1891, May:

In the year 1891, June:

In the year 1891, September:

In the year 1891, 03 November:

In the year 1891, 4 December:

In the year 1892, 02 January:

In the year 1892, March:

In the year 1892, 15 April:

In the year 1892, 30 May:

In the year 1892, 19 August:

In the year 1892, 18 September:

In the year 1892, 11 December:

In the year 1893, 12 January:

In the year 1893, 08 February:

In the year 1893, 24 March:

In the year 1893, 10 May:

In the year 1893, 09 June:

Post Log:

I wish to thank many individuals in my life who

added some humor to the characters in this work.

A shy, Llassy old friend whom I can only refer to as

Ar Banna-mhorair na T-Lothian.

My wife, for putting up with me,

spending countless hours watching as I put this to paper.

In the year 99, March

Prelude: And so the story starts

I came to my parents’ home each year, about twice, one for Pennsylvania hunting season, to see my parents and siblings. Came up in the summer to keep up with what was going on. It must have been in the ’90s when Mom gave me this Family History book to look at. It was published in 1913 by a noted family history professor, not ninety or so pages long, and aboutthe last entry is concern my grandmother’s family.

Mom wondered if I could copy it to distribute it to others. Well, navy did have these new word processors that could save information to a Big Disk. Had one at my workplace. I looked at her and said, Course. Ya know, this is going to open a big can of worms. She gave me a look, and I had to say The book is Pandora’s box. Open it and it will only grow, as you and I aren’t in the book. Mom gave me this look a mom would give and said, So you could update it! Not a question but a request.

Afternoons at the local Historical Society and I’d be at the kitchen table that night, matching my notes to the book. Lots of annotations to enter at work. Oh, Mom would be there and Oh yes, that is right, Oh yes, remember them, and so on. As I envisioned, the Monster grew on my paper tablet. Come some free time at work, this mess went to paper. Grew like a child would. Larger by the year.

In early research at the local Historical Society, I just went to the files and took what I wanted. Now years later, you give a list to the attendant to give you. Seemed some people can’t spell and replace them files in the wrong place. So I got a pile of folders to go through. Old stuff I had seen before. Next list, other names. An hour later, I had another list and got a look at the first name on Me list. Fingered upon it and Related? Just opened the now big book and pointed to the family name. The older, pleasant-looking woman gave me a queer look and asked about my lineage.

That large now-printed-out history was right there, so I just turned back pages to my beginning patron. Pages were listed right there. Just flip forward in generations. And who do you ask about? Well, I had to go back to the start and get the pages to flip to generation listed. Didn’t take much. Husband, wife, children, and children. I flipped these double pages, showed the family, noted the pages, and the two-inch binder pages stopped right at the names of fathers, mothers, and children, and this woman’s finger pointed to a name in the book.

As footnoted, one of Mom’s DAR society patron names is all I know. As a Daughter of The American Revolution, she has four of the pins. The pin represents a person who served in the American Revolution in some manner. She is very proud of them.

Evening has me going over the legal notepad and Family History to make notes on. See page whatever repeatedly so I can update the file when I get back to Virginia. Mom is like a vulture on my side, looking over my scratchings. She sure hates my spelling, shorthanded it is. Get lots of corrections to Mom, I know the names! Never correct your mom. You will get bad words for that. Swat on the head also.

Next afternoon, I signed in at the Historical Society, only to be accosted by this woman and taken aside. Mrs. Bracken saw the family name I requested; it was familiar to her. Seemed the Historical Society had received a box of letters with the name I requested. A donation of letters from last century and were correspondence between two people. A donation of personal letters. Recipient deceased, and they were found in personal effects. So why should I get involved? Well, seemed Mom had mentioned I was a sailor. Sailed some, I did. This woman says, You just might be able to understand them. I just said if they were handy, I’d take a look next afternoon I came.

Afternoon the next day found me at a table with this two-foot square box. Seemed someone had opened the letters, maybe looking for money, and just thrown them back in. Whoever that was must have gotten tired of looking as I did find a bunch, probably a year’s worth, tied together. It took an hour for Magy and me to get some sorted by postmarked dates.

The first one I opened was from In the Year Twelve. Luckily, the sender printed rather than used cursive. I could see how a civilian might have a time with the language—rough old sailor language, at times, but not vulgar. Sometimes, it seems, he was in a better mood and toned down some of the Sailor Lingo.

Try as I did, I could never put his name in my Family History. The recipient, the same. The Historical Society has many files of families. Maybe that one I needed got placed wrong. Oh, they were relatives of the lineage in our family history. Three brothers from Ireland came to the Colonies in seventeen something by what I gathered. The Historical Society data just wasn’t clear on the other brothers offspring. The ending address was one county over, and a post office probably renamed or long gone.

I was able to copy a lot of the letters that first day. Still was a cost to copy. And during each visit, I’d copy more of them, just as a curiosity, in case I connected them to my family work. Mom would sit reading them and be enthralled with the words. I’d need to explain lots of what was mentioned. Even I had a time with some very old navy stuff but kept her from my notes.

As a sailor, I became entertained by the letters this person wrote home. Who was her to him? Probably a niece, some years younger. Where did he sail to? Some same places I have been to.

All he mentioned, well, I figure he watered it down some so as not to be vulgar, as his brother requested. The places he mentioned are still there in the Mediterranean and Caribbean. Been to both, though not all the ports or things he wrote about.

The problem with this story is where to start it. He transgressed in life, at the request of his correspondent inquiries. Letters jumped back and forth in the years. The first letter I read, in year 12 (1912), was much after he had started sending letters, after he was retired but still aboard a ship. He be in High Spirits for that one.

After getting most in a chronological series, I did compile a dated list, which I corrected as I find some. As I know, letters do not always get home. So he gave a portion to catch her up and then went on. Being a Navy Qquartermaster, he could go back to the ship’s logs for places and, I think, his personal log to carry on what he was at places or people he met.

There are some areas I believe he was elaborating some situations, in others, glossing over some things that might have gone on. In later letters, he was more familiar with his language, she being no longer a young girl, familiar with his personal life. A letter or so may have not been kept or lost.

It is easier to go back to his first letter, follow his thoughts, varied they are. He, on her request, told of the earlier parts of his life. As he mentioned, A Sailor’s Story must be told as it comes to him.

May you enjoy reading about an Old Salt or Sea Dog and his ventures!

E. G. ’L.

October, 88

Dear Miss Judith,

At your request, though he disapproved most wholeheartedly, your Father has allowed me to write to you about my adventures aboard ship. His instructions were most explicit as to what I might say, given my perchance for Bawdy language. Oh, I just must be the Fowl Old Navy type when talking to a group. I Am, The Old Salt of a Sailor. Best I tell my tales with the bad language of a sailor so they think it is, As True As Davy Jones Locker is Under 10 Fathoms of water and Hold the Gold of the Earth In It! He should know better as I graduated from High School just after him. His scores in English were no more honorable than mine.

Oh, I saw you there up on the stairsteps, just out of view, as I was expounding on My Great Sailing Ventures. That or hiding behind the parlor door. You must not attempt to stifle a laugh, after you do it. You make this little sound that is almost an OINK thing. I recognized it, and luckily, could about cough so no one noticed. Well, maybe you father did, on occasion. He has much better hearing than I do.

I know of your desire to hear of adventure. My Uncle, CT, visited my mother, for a short time also, and just held all the family spellbound with, Wind, Seas, Waves as high as a House, Hurricanes blowin’ out the bolts of the yardarm, and such. This was when I was about your age. The more whiskey he drank, well, the higher they were.

After everyone went to sleep I’d hear him up, outside, and fixing stars in his notebook. Taught me to keep, A Proper Log and Star Fix! AND, You shoot the sun, Proper At Noon! Taught me lots of little Sailor thing I thought I’d never need. Like the wind he sailed upon, he was gone one day and when I asked, Why? Oh, he is a sailor.

It is said that a Fairy Tale starts out with, Once Upon a time. Well, a Sailor’s story starts out with, ah, Well, This is the God’s Truth! I’ll say this so your Father doesn’t burn the letter.

In the Parlor, with your father and all, I am expected to use Sailor Talk. A Guise, There I am The uncouth Old Sailor! I am not an Officer, so I need not speak perfect American. Crew members are both literate and not. To fit in with the crew, it is best to assume their manner. If your father reads this then you and I are in trouble! Ha! Ha!

Curtis Thomas Thompson, (CT), my great uncle on mother’s side, taught me the rules of a sailor. First on was to be as common with the people you are with, and to not, Have Airs About Ya! You would not go to school dressed for Easter each day as the others would think you were above them. This included sailors and local people in towns you are at. Second rule was to treat all honestly, with their level of dignity. If ya find yourself among thieves then, well, he never expounded upon that, but just gave me this eye. Honor among thieves, I believe he meant. And so, here is this story….

This last March we was all loaded out at our pier in Norfolk and headed for a Med (Mediterranean) cruise. It be 15 to 20 days across the Big Pond. Crossin’ is a curious thing. Wind and water and sail sorta make things fast and slow. Wind at your back pushes ya. Current comin’ from the front slows ya down. Big waves on the Bow slow you and those from back, well, pick ya up and throw ya forward. Add them together and it be worse than ya tryin’ to ride a calf. I heard about that! Critters sure can bounce ya around.

The Monongahela was 280 feet long and 50 wide. About like an old Frigate but a bit fatter. 3 fathoms (18 feet) of water and three more up to the bulwark, where ya lean on the side. Looked like a Brit 48 gunship but not as tall. Front was raised for the waves and aft, the Capt’n had this raised area for his cabin. 120 of us lived on the next deck down, 15 Officers and us Lowlife sailors. Rest was taken up with 4 decks of Stores. Big barrels of salt beef and pork. No chicken! Seems to spoil. We have flower, biscuits, dried peas, salt, peper, sails, yardarms, howsers (big rope), cordage (little rope) and about all a ship would need! Yep, rum and wine to boot.

Livin’ would have been easier ’cept we have the 6, 18 pounders down there with us. 3 to a side. Same up on deck, with 2 little Long 9 powders on the forecastle and 4 there aft, just to make things fun. 12, 18’s sure can do some damage. Don’t want no little ship to take us over. Nope, exercised them once a month. Them Moors and such in North Africa just have to see ifn we was stupid.

Gunner had these sights for windage and elevation. Good gun crew could pick off a barrel out to about 100 yards. Three of them African Sultan Triremes (wind, sail and slave rowers make three) came out to get us and, well, we had a time of it. Never saw the Capt’n Forest so mad at some of the officers. Well, in the end, we took the living aboard and sorted out the Sultan’s men.

This one Bos’n is real good at doin’ a tattoo, so he put the ship’s initial on their forehead and all their arms, and I’ll just say that. Had the squeakers (boys 8 to 13) paint them with black paint, head to toes. We towed one boat, with the remaining Arabs in it, back to their port and sent them in. What was left of them, sure put a back to the sweepers (oars) and took them to port. We put some High, Elevated shots into the Sultan’s town, just to signal them boats a comin’ in. But, gettin’ ahead of myself.

So, we butted those waves the whole way across the Atlantic. Wind was a howling the whole time. Ship is like a cork in a bath with kids. Sailors can be stone sober and not walk straight on land. Why? Ain’t no level deck on the ocean! Had a scrap of sail, sorta like you MaMa waving a hanky on the whole time. We tried her apron on the tops and they blew out of the rope holes. Was water in the holds so we was pumping water the whole time across. But, we made it across in fair time of 20 days to Gibraltar, Brit colony.

I was in a rope and chair, over the Port bow (left), forward part of the ship, pounding oakum (rope) into the open planks as the Capt’n goes off to say, Whees Here! US has no real ports here, but the US consulate, in Gibraltar, gets ship’s reports, MAIL, and news. By the time the Capt’n got back, well, I was working Starboard side (Right). Navigator mentioned we was gettin’ Eye Ball Liberty! Ya, eyein’ the side of the ship and ifn I had an Officer’s magnifier I’d be seein’ the Local’s wavin’ Hello!

On the inner side of the hull, the Bos’n and Armorer are hammerin’ iron plates into the 9 inch pieces of the ship’s frame. Oh, they did try gluin’ the pieces together. Ya, Right. The waves shivered (split) those oak beams like Lincoln splittin’ logs, with gaps the same. Sooo, Armorer and Bos’n screwed the plates together over the planks.

After 5 days of hammerin’ and sticking the tar behind it I got an afternoon ashore. Me and Joe was dressed in Dress Blues, soled shoes, neckerchief, and stepped up to the bar of the first saloon for a, Warm Beer? A mile long street full of Establishments and the beer is warm? Been here afore. We stopped at the closest place with good whiskey, cheap ya mind, and a fair lookin’ wench to bother. Gibraltar is like Norfolk in the Med. Know most all the cheap bars and their wenches.

Supply ships have a sort of route we go on. Oh, them Frigates can go 6 months on stores they have but, best they have a good stock just in case. Well, first one we found was down to hardtack biscuits, hard water from Menorca, and the meat came from the weevils (bugs) inside them biscuits. They’d been chasin’ the Sultan’s ships, back and forth across North Africa, and not had time to stop. Ask, Get any? Nope! Swift buggers! I’d have said Poor Seaman but the Navigator shut me up mid sentence, talkin’ with Joe.

Ship went up ’tween France and Menorca, over to the top of Corsica, down between there and Italy, past Sardinia, and passed on some stuff to those we found. Pulled into Gaeta, Italy, just north of Naples, to load on Sweet Water. Ain’t none of that in Naples. Town been there before Jesus was born and water, well, tastes like it was sprung then. Me and Joe got another afternoon off the ship. Yep, first good tavern but, only local wine. Thems just don’t have but bad whiskey and rum ya only use as a liniment on a bruise. Monic, tavern server, well, she is still loud, and growin’, showin’ age, among other things. Answers to a coin on the counter!

Well, sailed South past the Fire Mountain of Stromboli and we made it through the straits of Massena, down the coast of Sicily. Never could spell that island’s name. Oh, and there was Mount Etna all aglow. One day that volcano will blow up and make our course easier, as the island will sink out of sight. Been stuck by the weather in some of them ports and was glad the wind carried us on. Nothing there but bad tempered people and dry dirt. Wine is good but the woman more firey than the mountain. Must be the air!

I charted us around the boot of Italy and over toward Greece. Had to stop in Cyprus as the Local US Delegation there need supplies. Locals don’t allow a full diplomatic post so, The Delegation has a house. Must be poor people there on the island. Delegation house was a Palace compared to the other stuff I saw people was livin’ in. Just basic stuff, they said. They lived off The Local Market! Poor creatures served us boat rowers, best lobster, fish, and vegetables, for a little lunch. The wine was so-so, they said. I had to agree! It was so-so good, compared to what I could buy with my poor coppers! Only Madeira, from the Canary Island was better.

We skirted around that island as there was no ships near the Middle East off Turkey, Lebanon and Palestine. Between Turkey and Egypt this is all Arab land and they ain’t too friendly to us Christians. They got the Holy Land all to themselves and can keep it. Only got sandstorms out of the east, from there.

‘Tween Cyprus and Egypt we caught up with another Frigate chasin’ those Moors, well, Arabs. Ship was down to about eatin’ shoe leather. Capt’n of the ship just wouldn’t give up the chase! Dawls would come out of port and just be too fast to catch, well for the Frigate. This was between Alexandria and Libyan coast. Winds were just so fickled we stayed well out to sea so sand and grit on the wind we didn’t eat. Oh, not thems, on the Frigate. Sand and grit was in every corner of that ship I looked into. Gray as dust she was. Pitied them sailors. Gave them what they needed and even the Capt’n shook his head, them fallin’ in our wake. Capt’ns had this long talk and, We, bein’ this slow slug, was to be bait for the Dawl’s. Capt’n had a talk with the ship’s officers and laid out this plan, knowing the Frigate Capt’n would make it look like His Ship Came to Our Rescue!

These Chase class of supply ships were made to about fight off a Full Frigate! 6 x 18 pounders to a side, upper and lower, with the 9 pounders fore and aft. Same timbers and frames but a bit wider, in the center, for the cargo. New fitted 18s, grooved riflin’ on all, so the bolts (long iron things, rather than round shot) we shoot go true. Graduated sights so you can put a shot in a wood barrel at, well, what it was dialed for. Explosive canister so you’d throw a hundred balls of lead way out there and it would explode and shower the others with balls of lead. Sounds nice but for a few problems.

We was 25 miles off the coast of Tripoli, Libya, Capt’n’s orders, and look out shouts of some Tricamines comin’. Tricamines! Like in Old Greece? Seems the Sultan of Tripoli decided to attach commerce in his area. These are boats with sails and rowed by slaves. Two levels of the slaves working sweeps (oars), plus sails! They can sail with the wind or drop sail and the slaves row. Can turn on a silver piece. Capt’n Forest about spits as the Frigate is over the horizon, we hope. Oh, I see him madder than a wet hen and callin’ for Officers On Deck, Hands to Sail, Clear the Deck, Sails for General Quarters, Hands to General Quarters! Signal Middie, Red Pennant to the Top Main! Signal to the Frigate.

So, Ship is cleared for and aft. We lay 9 inch timbers over the aft rail to protect his stained glass windows to his cabin. Top that off with chains connected, like chain male on a knight. He really liked his windows. The Aft 9 pound chasers to a use, Bolts, Till, we get their range, Gunner! Yes, Capt’n! Gunner, Zero All Guns Now, in case some Squeakers Have Played with them! Oh, Capt’n is not likin’ this situation!

Lookout is still callin’ out three Arab vessels and closing. Aloft, says Capt’n, Frigate? No sail, says the top man. Capt’n call all officers to the chart table and goes over the plan to each, each to respond. Gentlemen, we either decimate the first ship or will be boarded at some time. Armorer, you have the list of items at each station? Yes, Sir! Gunner, your plan for Bolts, Explosive Canister set? Yes, Sir! Capt’n looks over all and say, Well, Gentlemen, each ship has two hundred Arabs aboard. They have two big guns forward and aft. Probably two to side to put big holes in us. If the 9s don’t dis-swade them, well, then we will be forced to pounce upon them or none of us will live! Those that live, well, chained to a sweep is in your future, if you live! Navigator, edge us up a full point to the North, and back on course, Like We are a Slug! If anyone has some items aboard which ‘Might’ assist our current situation, I would say he states it now!

Oh, I’m at the chart table and see some eyes flickering between the Supply Officer and the Armorer! Armorer say, Well, I got these 10 cases of muskets and some thousands of rounds for them. Supposed to be for some Sheik in Morocco, last voyage, till they claimed they were too expensive. Ask the Supply Officer! 10 MM stuff, we can’t use it! Supply Officer is red and says, On the manifest it says just muskets from Winchester and two machines from Gatling Company!

Officers don’t like to dishonor each other, well, in open, so I see the Gunner whisper to the Capt’n. Capt’n about explodes but just say, Supply Officer and Armorer, if you Please! Bring a case of the ammo, case of the muskets and one of the machines here, NOW! Lookout yells down, On Deck, Triremes at three leagues! (About 3 miles) We got about 2 hours before we be boarded and hacked to pieces by them Arabs, unless we just go to war with them.

A case of the 10 MM stuff hit the Quarterdeck and was pried open to cartridges that looked like the 45-70 for the Marines’ guns. Gunner, fresh from Navy Artillery place in Dahlgren just looks at it. When the first case of Muskets opens he about swoons on the spot. He grabs one musket, a handful of those cartridges, stuffs them in its side, goes over to the port side and Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, and Bangs, comes from the musket. Capt’n Forest is speechless.

Gunner about smashes open the long box and yell out, Gatling Gun! 600 rounds per minute! Crank the handle and aim! Gatling Machine Gun! Supply Officer, where is the mounting gear! Capt’n, lays us in 1000 yards of any ship and OH, Man, We Are So Well Armed! I thought he would be jumping around. I guess Officers don’t do that when excited.

All guns are loaded with bolts (look like a long, pointy piece of iron) and Capt’n and Gunner are there for the start of this Battle! Gunner has this BiNocular thing he’s looking through and gives out the range of 2,000 yards to the first ship. As per plan, the first long 9 pounder fires a round and we wait about 5 second when the lookout says, Left by a ship length and Low by the same! Gunner adjusts each gun and the second 9 fires! Just by the ship and short by a Bit! I do hope the Gunner knows what, A Bit is. Third 9 fires and, and, and, Second row of sweep (oars), 5 back! Gunner adjust each and looks at the Capt’n. Gunner, Fire All 4 and then wait. Lookout! Keep the Gunner informed! Hits were about 1 in 4 until at this range (2000) yards. Then, Lookout starts sayin’ 2 or 3 in 4 hit, as it comes up on us. Sure don’t hope that ship has hole plugs as that is 10 bolts gone home and put a 4 inch hole in the bottom.

At 1000 yards, as all is ready, Capt’n call for Port Rudder! All Guns Fire AS She Bears! Ship turns like the slug she is but this is already taken into account. Well, the Trireme sees us and turns with us, her Starboard Side comin’ around with us. Capt’n is smiling as he hoped she would. Well, starting Aft, gunports are opened and those 18 pounders fired those bolts from Bottom and Top Deck as we swung around. Lookout is calling out lots of Hit, Hit, Hit…. Last 18 fires and the forward two Long 9’s take over. Forward Lookout is just shouting, Hit, Hit,,,,Hit,,,Hit, as the range was just known.

Well, the Old Slug comes around, is pointed to the first offender, whose Starboard side is just holed all over. But, her Port Sweeps bring her around, straight at us. Oh, they lost sweeps and speed but raise their triangle sails, pull sweeps inside. Closin’ speed is not much, what with the wind, but, enough for us to get set. They fire the forward two Really Big guns but one lands to Port and other to Starboard. Next they shoot it will be down our throats. Yep, except for the two Long 9s of us forward, just throwing canister at the bow.

Canister is a bunch of 44 caliber balls enclosed in a 4 inch can with a center powder charge. When fired, a fuse lights and at 4 to 600 yards it explodes, well, just enough to throw out the balls. Nasty stuff, at their end. Two rounds of this and they go back to Old Fashioned Iron Balls! Still nasty! However, we are now at 300 yards and the Armorer and Mate light off the Forward, Starboard Gatling gun, bein’ just a bit higher than the Trireme, well, they clear that part of the forward deck. 200 hundred yards and that gun is just throwing out lead all over the ship. I hear, DECKS, Fire As She Bears! Well, Gatling is sweepin’ the deck and them 18s BANG so you can’t hear nor count shots! Forward to Aft I hear the 18 pounders just Roaring out at not 50 yards to this ship. They fire one gun Amidships that I heard doing damage to the lower deck. Oh, Be A Butcher’s Bill (dead) down there!

Them Marines sure loved the Winchester muskets. The Gatling was chewin’ up the Trireme deck, just blazin’ away. Well, the Marines took to pickin’ off anyone who poked their heads up, or was movin’. 6 to the side at a time, aiming, shooting, and then the next six. They got off two magazines a piece before that battered thing went by. Oh, all I seen was carnage before the Capt’n says, Gunner, Forward 9s to the next ship! Bolts for range and then canister at range!

Second one was comin’ straight on so Capt’n calls for a Port Helm so the Starboard guns will bear on. Port gunners help man the sails. This next Trireme blows powder smoke from forward and 5 seconds later one ball come over the side and the other takes off the Port Quarter Galley (Officers Toilet). At least it wasn’t the Capt’n one on the Starboard side. OH, that would have really put some fire in him. It then turns hard to port. Next I see there is this smoke plume over this ship. Oh, 9s had fired canister. Starboard Guns fire as she bears. We turn like the slug we are and the Trireme does the same. Oh, big mistake on thems part!

The Forward 9s is shooting and the aft two on the starboard side start throwing canister. I see smoke from two places on the Trireme, midships and they are short, a bit, and I could still feel them hit our hull, down there. Starboard 18s Upper and Lower deck commence to fire right then. Seconds later, Lookout is callin’, Hit, Hit, Hit…so on. Capt’n yells out, Navigator, Off Their Port and don’t let them board! Just like the first Triremes, we move over to Port so their forward guns belch smoke and just miss the Capt’n’s Galley! He saw how close that ball came.

Same as on the first Triremes, Gunner opens up with the Starboard Gatling and just throws them 10 MM (40 Caliber) at them at 300 yards. The Forward 9s throw balls or I saw one shoot, a canister. I figured the canister hit something and burst open before the fuse went off. Well, I was wrong as there was this poof of smoke there on that ship. Didn’t matter as our guns had been moved to shoot a bit forward and as that Trireme bow went by Upper and Lower guns just blasted out those balls. Armorer is cranking that handle and assistant is throwin’ those tubes of round in the top. Marines come 6 to the side and are throwing those 10 MM casings in the air, and the next 6 step up and do the same. That ship was only a bit less damaged than the first. Course, the Long 9s hadn’t hit it as much. Oh, we was so close to this one that the last gun fired at about 25 feet and our ship, we snapped off the last 10 rows of thems sweeps (oars).

The third was just a bit smarter. We are by the second and the forward guns of that Trireme shoot. It ain’t at about 600 yards and one of them balls smash into the bow. We turn, again to Starboard, and the Port guns fire as they bear. Well, them Arabs get two shots from their middle guns off and we got hit amidships, Upper and lower deck. Forward, Port, and Aft 9s thrown canister as fast as you never seen.

We come to Port and them Starboard guns open up as they bear. Trireme is running away but we move rudder to Starboard and the Port guns just pound. After three time doin’ this, well, them Starboard gunners are just as true in each shot. The Trireme tried to row around for shots by their Starboard side but, well, like the first two, 6, 18s with Grapeshot (load the gun with 10 pounds of 1 inch across. lead balls), and that Gatling sure killed most on their deck. We drop sail and just come up on them on the Starboard side. Oars are about all gone on this side. Somehow, just enough of them is still alive to throw a boarding plank over to our side. Theys came a screaming and waving those Scimitars, curved swords, like they was on drugs. Marines just cut them down right at their side, what with the 10 MM Winchesters.

We slung grappling hooks to that third ship and the Marines went over that boarding plank first. Found not many alive, so we took it in tow, Marines sorting out what was there.

Second one was not much better. Bos’n and mates went over with the second 6 Marines, as we just rigged a plank, and found fewer. Any alive were brought over for the Doctor to look at. Took time to get up to that first ship. Sent two ships boat over to find a coupe of those chained to the floatin’ sweeps and a boat of their Officers! Seems I said before that they got the letter M on their heads, arms, and painted black. That color sure wears off hard. Wouldn’t have happened but this one Turban headed Guy just wouldn’t shut up! When he spat on the Capt’n’s shoe, well, seein’ as he spoke English! Capt’n explained the next step to him. Gist of it was his report would say that any person captured from Africa, attaching ships, with an M on their bodies was to be fed to the sharks, plus some other little things done to make the sharks notice them.

Back on that last Trireme, Leader was yellin’ this stuff and his officers didn’t understand the leg irons and ball at the end. Bos’n made motions to row the sweeps, OR. He picked up one of them chain balls and lifted it over the side. They elected to row. The Leader, turban headed, sure was not happy, being colored, chained to the helm. Rest of his officers stroked the sweeps real nice, toward that port of Tripoli!

Oh, the battery at Tripoli started to throw them 18 pound balls at us, way out of range. Guess the battery didn’t like them Triremes either. Capt’n say, Gunner, Please silence that tower! Also, as per our Charts, Ensure the Sheik’s home is signaled to the approach of his ships! Gunner tips his hat and says, Aye, Aye, Capt’n."

Gunner calls out orders for Bolts, Range for the Battery! We go to Port and Fire as She Bears! After the last action, well, the tower just goes to rubble after the last gun is fired. Navigator, Starboard Please. Gunner, Bolts! Aim for The Minuet, next to the Sheik’s house. Fire as She Bears! Never saw what happened there.

The iron pieces the Bos’n laid in took lots of the damage to the bow. Oh, it was still bad. Seems the Navy inspector, in Gibraltar, said we’d need a refit in a yard, If, we made it back to an American port. Which we did! Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. Navigator gave me 1 month’s leave to go home. Why I got to see family and you.

It had been 2 years since I saw the rolling hills of Eastern Pa. Oh, then the ride up into the Allegany’s. Farms, cattle, fields of grain, the trees, hearing the Local language of long ago. Same cracker box train stations. On that stinkin’ train!

Much like CT, well, I had a very lovely time of it. I remembered the closeness of family, the drudgery of Chores. Plowing, planting, the growing of the garden, Tellin’ My Tall Tails! Well, who would want to hear of the dreary life aboard a ship. Your father and friends just might think they had a better life on a quiet farm. Plus, A Bit of Good Whiskey On The Lips Sure Helps Make the Story Better!

I’m not a true sailor. Oh, I help set the sails and all that seaman stuff. I’m a Navigator, which charts the course so the sailors don’t run into anything but the port or pier. Time, tide, currents, wind, Sun, and Moon I use for this, like CT.

By You Leave,

An Old Salt….

November, 88

Dear MJ,

As you are receiving this letter, you can rightly assume I arrived in Philadelphia. That, or you have a ghost writer! It was 1 day of rail and train stations. Oh, you would have enjoyed to see all the changing scenery, the change of people, and it all. One day, hopefully, you will partake of this scenery and be reminded of my journey. And, I would enjoy no more than a walk to the top of the hill and view the landscape. Old images I carry with me.

Now, Me Lady, I reported back aboard to a ship like you never seen. Cordage (lines) about like Irish Pennants (like threads of an unhemmed skirt). Oh, deck awash in filth and barrels. Them shipyard workers just makin’ a mess of the whole ship! Oh, we can’t peep a word as theys have the ship for repairs. Till