We worked till after dark that night and got all the potatoes that were fit for the market on board, and nearly all the furniture. Then it blew very hard, and we gave up going that night. Next morning, Wednesday, I got everything on board before nine o’clock, but it kept on blowing. And we waited & waited-all the time looking for a lull—for the Captain was in a great hurry on account of the market. We did not finally get off till noon of the next day, Thursday.

The Julliet was a fine craft, built in New London for a packet 22 years ago. Since rebuilt once or twice, but the same cabin, large & comfortable with two spacious state-rooms. My sofa went lengthways in her. The chests, chairs, &c., were in the state-rooms. I propose to give you a particular account of our trip because there was some seamanship—or boatmanship—which you will like to examine—and appreciate-& perhaps it will be of use to you. I hope not.

The “Old Jule” is very deep, drawing more water than the largest river steamboats (i.e., 7 feet) with good beam, sharp, staunch, & weatherly. Will carry sail equal to a smack, almost. Of course, she is very wet. The Captain, (Clancy) a fine man of great experience and skill, accommodating, polite, and jolly, though suffering terribly with tic-douloureux all the time. He was not fit to be out at all and would not have been, but for the prospect of relief and chloroform in New York. The hand, old Dr. Sweet’s son, a very queer fellow—at sea almost from a baby and as competent a boatman as the Captain, Benoni—Nony, for short—his name. George Roberts shipped because the captain was sick—after we left the wharf of course. Jim, a boy, for cook. A good for nothing booby. Been a canal driver and cook on the lakes.

We were becalmed off New Haven—weather looked bad—put her head in. A sloop to westward put about, too. Calm continuing at sunset, began to row. At dark, a breeze from S.E.; stood up the harbor. I went below—and to sleep. Was woke up by a strange—very strange—noise. Jumped on deck and found we were trying to drive through the ice—fetched up by it—all hands trying to break a passage through with handspikes and crowding sail on her. Snow storm commenced.

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Cruise of the Sloop Julliet from Sachem’s Head
to Staten Island, March 1848

[309]

“Sloop ahoy! What sloop’s that?”

“Alert!”

“Hallo Sol!”

“Hallo! What sloop’s that?”

“Julliet.”

“Hallo Bill. What’s the matter? You fast?”

“Yes—fast enough—in the ice.”

“The Devil!”

So the Alert puts her helm down, tacks, and tries to pass someways to windward to us. Pretty soon she fetches up in the same way. Now, I never saw anything so dismal: snow storm, very thick, cold and ice. White with snow all about.

At length, I saw the light—over her stern bearing S.S.E. I sung out to the Captain that the ice was drifting (and carrying us) on to the west flats. He sounded and found it was so and let go anchor. She soon fetched ’round and held. The ice below pushed by us, and we were soon clear. Hailed the Alert, and she did the same. Hove up and beat up for the cove. Alert followed. Anchored when we sounded two fathoms muddy bottom. Alert ditto. Went below, got supper & turned in.

Next morning (Friday), put out under jib and afterwards got reefed mainsail on her. Afternoon cleared, off Norfolk islands. Took breeze from S.W. dead ahead. Set topsail and put her into it. Alert hull down, probably put in to Black Rock. Very heavy sea. Off Eaton’s Neck at sunset, wind increasing. I never saw a sloop go as we did from Sands Point to Throg’s Point! We carried whole mainsail-nothing else out. We came to anchor in a harbour a few miles east of Hell Gate at 11:30, and it was blowing a regular gale then.

Next day, Saturday, wind the same. Beat down through the Gate on so on. In going through Buttermilk Channel, just as we were tacking below the cut of the Atlantic Dock, she grounded. 15 feet of water, according to chart, close along side of us. Tide running ebb like a mill tail. Took in all sail and waited-very low neap tide—till half past three o’clock p.m. Got off then, and beat down. A’hazing breeze. Lots of vessels coming in. Beat everything going out.

I undertook to pilot her round from Fort Tompkins. Wind—a snorter—West, dead ahead as it could be. I kept Tompkin’s Light open by Robyn’s reef light, and stood out towards Sandy Hook. About halfway there, tacked and went to the Southward of white buoy on end of West Bank. Laid up towards the Elm Tree. Tacked and stood off shore—intending to lay up nearly to Red Bank light in Prince’s Bay. Sun set, wind increasing. Captain afraid to be out. Smacks putting back, so we followed them and stood back very much disappointed. Went inside of West Bank. Dark and threatening. Worked up under lee of Staten Island, anchored off Stapleton.

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Got supper. After supper George & I took the boat and boarded smacks till we found Mart’ Kimberly in his new smack, the “Robert Bruce.” He was very glad to see us. Spent the evening with him.

Sunday morning, Captain went on deck and immediately ordered the bonnet to be unlaced from the jib. It looked very nasty in the North West. We had breakfast. The wind same as last night yet. I advised the Captain to remain where he was (I wanted to go ashore). No, he said. It was going to blow from N.W. and he had rather be South side of the island.

After breakfast found all the smacks (half a dozen) getting under weigh and mostly going up to the city. We weighed, and stood out under jib. Mart’ run across our bows and told the Captain it was going to blow so he would not be able to land my stuff if he got ’round. But the Captain thought he would run into the Kills and lay there till tomorrow. It was blowing a good reefing breeze then. We reefed the mainsail, but before we set it the wind increased and we put two reefs—close reefed it. “We’ll get under snug sail and then take it leisurely along down,” said the Skipper.

We got below the Narrows and began to haul up on the wind—S.W. I went to help the men hoist the close reefed mainsail and stood to leeward with the throat halyards. We had got it about up when the Captain yelled out “Lower the mainsail. Let it go by the run.”

Only it would not run. We pulled away at the down haul, but as Nony said, all the men in New Jerusalem could not get it down soon enough. Before I knew what was to pay, the sloop jumped all under almost. I ran aft and stood by the helm.

The north wester had come butt-end foremost—a regular gale. Now you may suppose with jib and helm to contend against it we were going to leeward about as much as any way. And the first thing that way was the West Bank-with one foot sounding at low water—beyond that the Romer shoal, beyond that the coast of Africa. It was absolutely necessary to have some aft sail on her, so we passed a lashing ’round the leach and set the head of the mainsail—a sort of lazy reef or bob-mainsail.

Now she went along a good deal easier, and made better weather of it. But I can tell you, when the puffs came, if she did not shake herself, my imagination is pretty strong. The Captain, his face all quivering, had the helm. I stood alongside of him, and wished I was ashore and had gone to meeting like a good boy. I had my life-preserver on, by the way, and blew it up. (As to what I thought of it: At one time I really thought we should have put off to sea, and I. reckoned how long our water would last. Of course, with all my trumpery we had wood enough without calculating on the carlines of the “Old Jule,” and potatoes, turnips, & fowls enough to go to China with. I actually went and studied the chart that I might pilot her out without hitting.

George stood by the break of the quarter-deck, catching things that [311]were going overboard, lashing our deck load, and slapping his hands & kicking his feet. For you must understand, ice was making all the morning. Nony stood by the halyards—and stand there he would, the water breaking over him all the time, though the Captain ordered him half a dozen times to come aft. Jim was shut in the cabin with Nep’ and Minny. At length, Nony came aft. “It’s worse than a voyage to West Indies,” says he. George and he then went below.

“What are you going to do,” said I to the Captain. “Nothing to do but to anchor her,” he replied. And I went below—to see if I could find any shoal mud anywhere about (on the chart.)

“He’s going to anchor, Nony.”

“She won’t hold a minute.”

I went on deck again and asked the Captain if he could not get her about.

“I don’t know,” says he, “Her mainsail is all forward. I don’t think she can be brought up. I’ll try it bye & bye when we get a lull.”

“Nony, do you think we can get her about?”

“We can try.”

And we did and succeeded. You know how it’s done in such a case. Nony tended the jib, of course, and of course got well washed.

We now headed up N.E., perhaps, or better, towards Staten Island. The sail set a great deal better on this tack and we worked to windward some. We had a very large anchor and chain.

“Nony,” says the Captain, “don’t you think big Jonathan would hold her if we dropped him close in shore here?”

“The Devil! No! Nothing but hard sand there.”

“Well, I shall try him anyway,” says the Captain.

Forward goes Nony, and overhauls chain, &c.

We were nearly off the cedars—the elm tree if you remember in New Dorp plain—a quarter of a mile from shore when we came to anchor in this wise.

“Haul down the jib!” You know how confoundedly hard a jib always does come down when you need it in a hurry. That is, when it is blowing. (I sprang forward and caught hold the down haul. I was wet to the skin in an instant, and in another, all iced over.) “Haul down the mainsail. Let go the anchor (as soon as she begins to gather stern way. Not before or the chain may get foul the stock).”

Furled the jib. (Think of it.) And I tried to help the Captain smother the mainsail, but my fingers were so stiff with the icy water.

“Now you go below, Mr. Olmsted,” says the Captain, “and dry yourself; we can take care of the deck.”

I can tell you I was glad to go. Jim was there before me. And Nep, [312]how glad he was to see me. Oh! how my fingers did ache, directly. The Captain came down.

“Your fingers ache? Run them through your hair,” says he.

I did and found it relieved them.

We had nearly forty fathom of chain in two fathoms water. Nony stood in the bow with the lead line to feel her drag for some time. We then took ranges and concluded she held. As Nony opened the door to come down, the spray from over the bow reached my bookcase in the back of the cabin.

All the ships going to sea were close-reefed. A brig under close reefed fore topsail and reefed foresail. Imagine what it was in the Ben’ Swan under that sail—going free, recollect. And think what a time for a sloop to work to windward. Never mind how we spent the day, only Nony got us a first rate dinner. Frigsoup, he called it—a cross between a fricassee and a chowder.

p.m. Nony was mending our sails, for they were torn some in the morning. Towards evening it lulled a good deal. Got the anchor up, close reefed mainsail & jib (bonnet off), beat down opposite Ackerly. Standing in easy. Run aground. Down anchor. She swung to it. Down sail; Captain came ashore & took tea with me. 8 o’clock wind light. Arranged to boat ashore at high water in the morning.

In the night, I heard the wind up again—a regular howler. Early in the morning I went to the beach. ’Twas blowing like fury. Saw they were heaving up (high water). She paid off and run under head of the jib 20 rods and grounded again. Down jib. Up again after a while, and there she lay when I commenced this letter, bumping and thumping—stern to windward and sea making a breach over it.

She finally got off and ran on under bare poles till inside the Kill point where she came to anchor. This p.m. it lulled again, and we got all my things ashore and most of them carted home—all of consequence, (boating them in the Kills). At 12:00 last night the Captain found the wind was up again (hauled down West) but he was aground and nothing could be done till high water. So he turned in. At one he was woke by being shot out across the cabin floor, the sloop having heeled down of a sudden.