Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-09-21
BY ANGUS MacGREGoR.

NEW YORK, September 20 CN.A.
N.A).-If it's romance you are looking
for it is in the wide smoky harbor of
New York that you'll find It, for there
come ships from all the seven seas with
their salty tales of distant adventure,
of storm and shipwreck and of the
strange, far places of the globe.
Nor is it on the great gay liners that
you'll find the best of these tales. The
little, battered ships that steam slowly
in, sometimes so YEARLY, are really the
ships of high adventure, though the
men aboard them may not know 1t or
may not care. Adventure to you might
be commonplace to them, and prob
ably is.
My only adventuring now comes
through my talks with these seafarers,
over the slow, strong drift from our
pipes, when have sought them out on
their smelly. shabby, thrilling old sea
wagons away across the harbor at
Staten Island, in the oily Jersey docks
or at some dingy Brooklyn pier.
Mass Cry Of Terror.
It is of these men and their ships
and their wanderings that propose to
write once q week. Some of the stories
l tell will seem incredible. But most
of them, believe, will be true For the
sea is a place Of strange, wild hap
penings.
I'VE we're swinging at anchor at a
little port in Southeastern China" ex-
planned the first mate Of the tramp
freighter Skule, now lying, salt-whit-
ened and tired, at busy pier in Staten
Island. II was in my cabin, writing
home. Suddenly there arose a strange,
shrill chattering. 1t grew louder and
louder. Then 1 knew 1t. A mass cry of
human terror!"
The oficer, for the moment alone in
command, as the skipper had gone
ashore. ran out of his room. A. sailor
was racing toward him.
"Typhoon coming, sir" he shouted,
and together the two dashed for the
deck.
Port Was In Panic.
1.-THE port was in a panic" the first
mate said. THE natives were running
in all directions. 1t was their cries 1
had heard. The sampan jewellers were
making desperate haste to snatch to-
gether few belongings and get ashore.
There was terror everywhere.
Yet the sun was shining braSSily in
a hard, blue sky. At FIRST glance the
sky seemed cloudless.
Then 1 saw it." said the mate. "A
little black pun. Far of. II looked
like smoke And it travelled like an
express train. Soon it covered all the
sky. And then the typhoon smashed
down on US. 1t was my frst experience
in one"
Almost in a moment, the flrst mate
went on, the harbor appeared fun of
struggling, drowning coolies. Their cries
were lost in the rush of the wind.
Aboard the Skule the crew had moved
in swift, sure discipline.
Hold her into the wind" were the
orders shouted into the gale. "Batten
down the matches. Everything movable.
Quick Quick"
Ship IL Tossed About.
The 5000 sturdy tons of the Skule
were tossed about like match box In
Niagara. The typhoon picked up the
ship, shook 1t. flung it down, smashed
It this way, smashed it that. And then
the storm passed and the sun came out.
I'VE hadn't been hurt, not seriously,
the first mate told me. ours was the
only ship that wasn't. Death and de-
struction were all around us. And
great waves which came in the wake
Of the wind pounded the shore with
wreckage and swept rolling up to hood
the port"
The oficer looked out over the sunny
green hills Of Staten Island.
THAT was only q few weeks ago" he
said, And then ne added, THIS young
man who has touched every port IN the
world except those of Australia: "Wher-
ever you turn there is trouble. The
world is too restless"
Youth Born on Vessel.
A tall, brown sailor lounged against
the rail of the freighter Tiegestea, just
in from Italy. His eyes, ignoring the
busy life Of New York harbor, were
fastened on the shore with a singular
intentnesS. And perhaps with alarm, 1t
occurred to me later.
'See that boy" one Of the ships Of
ficers had said, pointing him out to me.
Hes rs, and the time he's spent ashore
in all his life you could measure with
a few hours" Then he told me the
story of this sailor. Bucigalo.
Bucigalo was born on the sea. on a
sailing vessel His mother was cook on
that ship. His father was 4 sailor
whose love of the sea was q religion.
He wanted the boy to be sailor and
to know nothing else.
And so he proceeded to terrorize the
child with fantastic tales Of the land"
the officer told me. The father painted
pictures OF terror and suffering and
horror, Of misery and sickness and
death.
Fears Are Increased.
when the boy was his mother went
ashore at Genoa to see relatives. She
never came back. A runaway horse had
killed her, and the childish fears of
this little boy became conviction. No,
he would never 90 ashore. And he
never has, except very briefly, in trans
ferring from one ship to another. Then