Shanghaiing Days: The Thrilling account of 19th Century Hell-Ships, Bucko Mates and Masters, and Dangerous Ports-of-Call from San Francisco to Singapore

by Richard Dillon

  The Gallagher case opened on January 12 with Gallagher, the ship’s carpenter, swearing that the mate frequently beat him with a rope’s end. About three weeks out of New York, Douglass had changed his technique but only to the extent of substituting a belaying pin for the length of rope. Douglass at that time had asked the idler to do a piece of work for him on the fife rail. When Gallagher asked the mate for two or three men to help him, the irritable Scot had replied, “Go to hell!” He then struck “Chips” with the pin. The jury wasted no time in bringing in a guilty verdict.

  Although by mid-January, the public in. San Francisco was beginning to become a little tired of the Challenge case—or really, cases —the East Coast was becoming more and more interested. Waterman and the Challenge were becoming a cause célèbre. On the 13th the Alta stated that most of the Atlantic papers were not only following the case but were sympathetic to Waterman. “Nearly all of the papers we have received have something to say upon the subject and, as a general thing, they think Captain Waterman a much abused and injured person.” The Alta then reprinted a letter which had appeared as part of an article on the Challenge affair in the New York Tribune of December 3, 1851. It was a letter written home by the ship’s boy, E. A. Wheeler:

  At sea, Sunday, October 12, 1851

  As we are drawing somewhat near to the end of our passage, I thought I might begin to write. We left Sandy Hook on Saturday afternoon, July 12. The weather was very fine and light winds. We were 36 days getting to the Equator. Nothing of any moment transpired until we were in the latitude of Rio de Janeiro. On Sunday, there was a mutiny on board; the mate was knocked down and stabbed in one or two places. The Captain was aft, taking the sun but on hearing the noise, ran forward. The ringleader saw that there was no one that would follow on; he started and ran forward and no one knew where he went. The ship was searched all over but they could not find him. Off the Cape we took a snow squall; it lasted two days and during the time we did not gain a mile on our passage. During the gale we lost three men. It was on a cold morning; we were reefing the mizzen topsail; myself and 14 others were on the yard. I was way on the end of the lee yardarm; the sail was flapping very hard; the sailor by the side of me was thrown overboard by the sail and drowned. About five minutes after that, two more went; one struck the deck and was killed, the other went overboard.

  Oh, such cold weather I never saw in my life. The ship was rolling her rail under both sides, the sea ran mountains high; she shipped a great deal of water. The seas would come over her fore and aft. We have had the worst passage that we could have. It has been either no wind at all or else a gale of wind, one or the other, all the while. The Captain says we shall be about 110 days. He says that if we had had any kind of luck at all we should not have been over 85 days.

  Such a set of sailors there never was before in any other ship in this wide world. Out of 56 men, only ten Americans. There are 12 Englishmen, 20 Irishmen, 5 Dutchmen, 4 Frenchmen, 3 Italians, 1 Swede, 1 Russian [the Finn, Smiti]. Now, maybe you won’t believe it, but I tell you, it is the honest truth, out of the 10 Americans, seven of them are boys.

  Today is Sunday, the 19th October. I hope one week from this time we shall be there. We have lost eight men. Three of them fell overboard and five have died since; there were seventeen sick at one time. When we get to San Francisco, I expect that all of our crew will leave and run away. I shall stop by the ship till she gets back to New York, if I live. I get along very well with the captain and mate. J. W. is sick; he has his fits very often; has had eight or nine within the last 24 hours, poor fellow. I feel sorry for him. He says that he shall not get any further than San Francisco. Today is Sunday—106 days out and not there yet. Have been becalmed here about 5 days, have not gone 20 miles during that time. Yesterday we got a fair wind and a fair breeze. We shall get in about Tuesday noon. It does not make any difference to me if I don’t get there in a month. I am just as well contented to live here on salt pork and hard bread as I am at home. I never felt so well in my life as I do now—hearty as a brick.

  Wednesday evening—We are at anchor in the harbor of San Francisco. We got in about 12 o’clock this noon. We are going to haul into the dock at daylight in the morning. J. W. died yesterday morning in a fit. I was the one what found him first. The carpenter made a coffin for him and we are going to bury him tomorrow—rather hard news for his parents to hear. The captain gave me the key of his chest and told me to take care of it till we get home. As the mails go tomorrow, I must bring my letter to a close.

  E. A. W.

  The San Francisco Herald as well as the Alta reprinted the New York Tribune Wheeler letter, but the Herald affixed to it a letter from a Herald reader who had noted the original communication in the New York paper. This reader’s letter threw more support behind Waterman:

  EDITOR Herald:

  The enclosed letter is from E. A. Wheeler, one of the sailors on the Challenge, to his mother in Connecticut, and relating an account of the mutiny on board, the stabbing of Douglass, the mate, also of the unusually bad character of the crew—“Such a set of sailors there never was in any other ship in the wide world.” Mention is made of three poor fellows lost overboard in a gale of wind; of sickness on board, and death from disease— but not a hint or an allusion is made to anything like cruelty having been practiced by Captain Waterman or Mr. Douglass toward the crew of the Challenge on the voyage to this port.

  Now, can any responsible person for the moment believe that if the charges against these unfortunate gentlemen had the least foundation in truth, that this young American in writing a private letter to his parent would not have alluded to them?

  It can be proved that soon after the Challenge arrived here, nine good fellows of the crew, of whom five were Americans, waited on the consignees and expressed their entire satisfaction with the captain on the voyage and their willingness to continue on with him to China. These men were then free to go where and in what ship they chose. Can it, as I have said, be believed that Captain Waterman is a “cruel and unjust man” with this evidence to the contrary?

  It is known that from over fifty men who composed the crew of the Challenge, some four or five have been retained as witnesses for the prosecution. It is believed that they are all foreigners, some of them never having sailed in an American ship before. Some of them were also active participants in the mutiny on board. That portion of the crew who were favorable to Captain Waterman and the mates have all shipped off and gone away—the only witnesses for the defense being two young gentlemen who were passengers aboard. Their evidence has been steadily in favor of the captain but as they can only swear that they never saw or heard, before arriving here, of the outrages committed on the crew, it amounts merely to what is called negative testimony and is of no avail if full credit is given to the direct testimony of those who are sworn enemies of the captain.

  The trials in these cases have now occupied the U.S. Court some six weeks. In two of them the jurors could not agree, being in both cases nine for acquittal and three for conviction. In the third case a verdict was given against Mate Douglass for a simple assault. Several other indictments still remain to be tried and Captain Waterman’s numerous friends here are beginning to hope that no jury can be got what will convict him.

  But, as I have already said to you in a former communication, he is a ruined man, ruined for exercising what he considered was his duty to the owners of his ship, to the owners or assurers of the valuable cargo, and for protecting the lives of the passengers and other innocent persons on board by forcing a set of mutineers to bring his vessel safely to the end of her voyage. The loss of employment by having given up command of his ship and the immense expense connected with protracted law proceedings in this country will leave him without an available free dollar. It is a hard case, ain’t it?

  The letter was signed only with an “R.” and one wonders if Waterman’s old pal and fellow
gentleman-farmer, Captain A. A. Ritchie of Suisun, was responsible for this superb stroke of opinion rousing. He might have pointed out, to bolster the captain’s and mate’s positions, too, that the carpenter—supposedly so deathly ill from beatings that he could not be moved to the Marine Hospital— had apparently no difficulty in arising from his death bed to turn to and box up “J. W’s” remains for Wheeler after the unfortunate tar died of the fits.

  Even earlier, by Christmas Day, the Picayune had edged over pretty much toward Waterman’s corner. The paper editorialized: “We have conversed with many gentlemen who have for a series of years maintained the most intimate relation with Captain Waterman in all the relations of life—men in whose service he has been employed for more than 15 years, men who have sailed with him for years and with whom he has sailed, others who have known him intimately in social and domestic life—and the uniform testimony of all is that, as a sailor, as gentleman, and as a friend, Robert Waterman has ever borne an unimpeached and unimpeachable character as a man of great force and strength of intellect, of honor, bravery, generosity, and the most kindly sympathies. It is true that on his quarterdeck he is absolute master and will enforce discipline, order and obedience. To those who manifest a disposition to do their duty he is kind and paternal, but the refractory he punishes promptly and with energy…. On more than one occasion, Captain Waterman has risked his own life to rescue his men from peril.

  “It is difficult for an unprejudiced mind to reconcile such facts characterizing a long and successful professional career and testified to by many of the most respectable merchants, shipmasters and seamen here, in New York, Liverpool, China and every port where he is known, with the charges of diabolical cruelty preferred against him on his last voyage and circulated so industriously in this city.

  “We sincerely believe he has been greatly if not intentionally misrepresented…. Very many people, without waiting to hear the facts, have imbibed a prejudice against him and denounced him as a very fiend…. When passion and prejudice have passed away the character of Captain Waterman will be seen and estimated in its true light…. Altogether there is probably no one man who has contributed more to raise our merchant marine to its present high character than Captain Waterman has done.”

  Although Waterman had already been convicted of inflicting unusual corporal punishment upon “the Russian boy.” Douglass was also tried on this charge during January. George Smith told the court that he had seen Douglass beat Miti one night off Cape Horn with a truncheon after the boy had been sick in his bunk for two days. The mate sent someone to fetch him and the Finn crawled up on deck on his hands and knees, putting his hands on his legs and gesturing to indicate to Douglass that they pained him and he could not stand. Smith volunteered that something was obviously wrong with the Finn’s legs; they were badly swollen. Nevertheless, Douglass ordered him to stand up. The boy remained on his knees and Douglass raised his truncheon and struck him two or three times before sending him forward, again on his hands and knees. Smith reported that Miti had then moaned and groaned in his bunk but he couldn’t understand a word of the Finn’s gibberish. Next day, Miti was carried on deck by his shipmates.

  Thomas Johnson also testified that he had seen Douglass beat the Finn frequently and on one occasion, off the Horn, had him dragged on deck for a beating in which he was cut over the eye. The boy was presented to the jury in order that they might see the marks still evident on his face. Again the prosecution hoped to make use of “Smiti’s” own testimony, but it was still impossible to find an interpreter for him.

  A juror, puzzled by the babel of tongues which obviously was spoken on the Challenge, innocently asked Johnson in cross-examination, “When an order was given, what language was used?” Johnson’s answer was unexpected, “I never knew anything to be used but a stick.”

  Charles Weldon was attacked by the defense as an unreliable witness. The defense claimed that not only had he participated in the mutiny but he had threatened and even struck the mate. He was allowed to speak his piece, however. He agreed with Johnson that Douglass’s esperanto was a truncheon. What most interested spectators and jurors in this case was that Waterman was finally given a chance to speak, at some length, as a witness.

  The captain described the mutiny and his pulling George Smith off the mate, who was crying out “Murder! Murder!” after being stabbed in the leg. Waterman then characterized Smiti, “He shipped as an ordinary seaman. He was lazy, dirty, indolent and always skulking. He could not speak English but he knew some. Although he did not know all the ropes of the ship he was no fool.” According to Waterman, he would go to work when ordered but as soon as an officer turned his back on him he was back to sojering. The captain admitted, “Yes, I ordered the mate to give him a rope’s end and I think he deserved it. I once ordered him to stand on the hatch and see other persons work. I asked him which he would rather do, stand there or work. He replied that it did not make any difference to him.”

  Here Waterman momentarily got confused over just who was on trial. He said “The defendant [and he meant Smiti, of course, not defendant Douglass] was not the only one who skulked. Nearly the whole crew did it. I think it was the worst crew I’ve ever seen. I have been to sea for the last thirty years. There were not more than ten Americans in the crew. They would fight among themselves, cut, gouge, bite and they kept in a continual row. I never saw the crew until I went aboard the ship.” (He had boarded the vessel at North [Hudson] River and mustered the crew at Sandy Hook.) “It is not always the case that captains inspect their crews before proceeding on a voyage.” Apparently the crew lost little love on the malingering Finlander, for Waterman had more than once seen him driven on deck by the crew and once saw them haze him by slinging him on a rope.

  When asked about the Finn’s health, Waterman conceded that he had often complained of bad legs but that he had never seen Miti crawling on deck on his hands and knees. And, the captain noted, his condition was a variable one… “He appeared to walk well enough when going to the galley for his tea.” Since he could speak only one or two words of English, Smiti invariably answered the captain’s orders or questions, no matter what they might be, with an “O. K.”

  The jury retired to find the mate guilty on the third count of the indictment and not guilty on the first, second and fourth counts. The third count read: “Defendant Douglass did maliciously and without sufficient provocation, strike one Ton Miti, alias John Smith, upon the head with a stick, three feet long, two inches thick, and two inches in breadth.”

  Judge Hoffman now turned his attention again from cruelty toward seamen to mutiny on the high seas, in the case of the U.S. v. Alexander Coghill and Frederick Birkenshaw. The examining of jurors took the entire day of January 16. Two venires were exhausted before a jury could be organized. The eight counts were boiled down and rendered out as two—striking down the mate while he was in the execution of his duty, and feloniously combining with other crewmen to “subvert the authority of the master and chief mate and take control of the ship from the officers.” George Smith led off the parade of witnesses. He testified to the ill-usage of the crew, the beating of the men nearly every day with belaying pins, sticks of wood, heavers, ropes and apparently almost everything which came to hand. The captain struck him on the day of “the difficulty” with a belaying pin, breaking the skin of his head and spattering his blood all over the deck. He had to have his hair shaved off and a plaster put on the wound. Following up on this, Waterman threw a searing mallet at him which hit him on the back of the hand—“I have a scar on the hand yet.” He showed it to the court. Later, Waterman beat him on the shoulders with a belaying pin. “He threatened to knock my brains out.” As Smith recalled, practically all of the crew were periodically beaten, but especially Pawpaw. Under cross-examination, he revealed that the second mate was present when Captain Waterman beat him with a belaying pin but that no one was about when the captain presented him
with the searing mallet. Fellow sailor Johnson had seen him beaten with a strap, at another time, he recalled. When the defense requested that the witness show his wounds to the jury, the U.S. Attorney leaped to his feet to protest. After some argument, the defense withdrew its request.

  Witness John Leggett declared that when Douglass struck Birkenshaw, he hit the sailor with a belaying pin for being too slow in getting the chests on deck. Birkenshaw grappled with him and pulled him down. Then, according to Leggett, Waterman beat Smith with a marlinspike and dragged him aft. He swore that he saw no one but Birkenshaw fighting with the mate nor did he ever hear a breath of mutiny. He saw Waterman beat the bosun. He saw him deprive some of the men of their breakfast. He saw Waterman beat Flanders with a stick and, “I remember getting a beating myself, with a stick, when we were two or three days out.”

  Charlie Weldon had little to say. He knew of no mutiny. Yes, he saw the men being struck by the mate for not opening their sea chests fast enough. He offered that it was mainly Stephenson who fed Birkenshaw while the latter was in hiding. Charles Flanders put the case more succinctly than Weldon. He stated, “I was beat with a club myself. I did not disobey orders. The first intimation I had was a crack on the head. All the crew was beat except the Dagoes, everybody [else] aboard except Jerry.” Charles Johnson agreed with Flanders but did add one tidbit of new information, that the captain had flung a heavy billet of wood at Pawpaw one day, knocking him down on the forehatching.

  Even though E. A. Wheeler was subpoenaed and yanked off the outward-bound Challenge, he was never called as a witness. One of the other boys before the mast, Thomas A. White, did testify, however. He saw Douglass bit Birkenshaw with a belaying pin during the examination of the chests. He saw him belt one or two others, as well. The boy had no knowledge of a mutiny afoot. He agreed that the officers’ treatment of the crew was very bad. Two or three were served with a rope’s end the very day after they left Sandy Hook and he himself had been given a taste of hemp not long after.