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Anthropology of Infectious Disease
Honoring his landmark contributions to the anthropological study of infectious
disease and to the biocultural synthesis that has guided such work, this book is
dedicated to the memory and inspiration of George J. Armelagos, 1936–2014.
Merrill Singer
The
anthropology
of
infectious
disease
Walnut Creek
CAlifornia
Left Coast Press, Inc.
1630 North Main Street, #400
Walnut Creek, CA 94596
www.LCoastPress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Singer, Merrill.
Anthropology of infectious disease / Merrill Singer.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-62958-043-2 (hardback)—
ISBN 978-1-62958-044-9 (paperback)—
ISBN 978-1-62958-045-6 (institutional ebook)—
ISBN 978-1-62958-046-3 (consumer ebook)
1. Communicable diseases. 2. Medical anthropology. I. Title.
RA643.S56 2015
616.9—dc23
2014030349
∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American
National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library
Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48–1992.
List of Illustrations 7
Acknowledgments 9
Introduction
Anthropology and the Large Impact of Small Worlds 11
Chapter One
Defining the Anthropology of Infectious Disease: Toward a Biocultural/
Biosocial Understanding 20
Chapter Two
Denizens of the Microbial World 60
Chapter Three
More Than Human 101
Chapter Four
Environmental Disruption, Pluralea Interactions, and Infectious
Diseases 125
Chapter five
Emergent, Reemergent, and Drug-Resistant Infectious Agents 156
Chapter Six
Infectious Disease Syndemics 196
Chapter Seven
Inequality, Political Ecology, and the Future of Infectious Diseases 225
Glossary 267
References 284
Index 315
About the Author 320
Illustr ations
Figures
Tables
Acknowledgement
Introduction
Breathe in. Feel the air pass through your nostrils and move into your
nose. Your diaphragm contracts, pulling the air deep into your chest.
Oxygen floods into tiny cavities in your lungs and travels into your
capillaries, ready to fuel every cell in your body. You’re alive. So is that
breath you just took. When we inhale, our nostrils capture millions of
invisible particles: dust, pollen, sea spray, volcanic ash, plant spores.
These specks in turn host a teeming community of bacteria and viruses.
Nathan Wolfe, microbiologist (2013)
W
ith these words, Stanford microbiologist Nathan Wolfe, founder of
Global Viral and author of The Viral Storm, draws attention to the
intimate relationship between our species and a host of tiny organ-
isms, most too small to see with our own eyes, a relationship “we still understand
precious little about” (Wolfe 2012). Humans have been keenly aware of the exis-
tence of microorganisms since the invention of the microscope about 350 years
ago; long before that some people suspected their existence. But we discovered
some forms of microbes, such as viruses, little more than a century ago, and only
much more recently are we beginning to appreciate fully their abundance and
complex variety, the diverse niches they occupy in almost all environments,
their natural ecology, and the full role they play in human health. In fact, we
now believe that all life forms on Earth, including humans, are descendants of
microbes called Archaea, or “ancient ones.” Archaea are still around in some
unexpected locations—volcanic vents on the ocean floor, for example.
Just how important are microbes? Microbes are responsible for producing
about half of the oxygen we need to survive (plants account for much of the
rest of it). Within the human body they are more numerous than human cells.
Each of us is more than a distinct individual—we are composed of an internal
community of organisms that function together in various forms of mutual de-
pendency. Although most of the microbes inside of us have little or no impact on
us (that we have yet discovered), some, as we will see in Chapter 2, help us digest
food, absorb nutrients, produce needed vitamins, yield vital anti-inflammatory
Anthropology of Infectious Disease, by Merrill Singer, 11–19. © 2015 Left Coast Press, Inc. All rights reserved.
12 ❋ in t ro duc t io n
proteins, protect our skin, and serve other body functions that contribute to
human well-being. In return, we have a lot to offer microbes:
causes of death in the world, three are infectious diseases; these account for
about 16 percent of all deaths each year (Center for Strategic and International
Studies 2012). Consider just one of the infectious diseases discussed in this
book: tuberculosis. The World Health Organization (2011) estimates that the
microorganism that causes tuberculosis infects one person in the world every
second and that every twenty seconds one person dies as a result. This microbe
travels by air; other pathogenic microbes have evolved an array of strategies
for transmission. For example, rabies, which humans have contended with for
millennia, is spread through the bites and scratches of infected animals. Our
understanding of microbes may be recent, but we have long understood this
route of disease transmission: written descriptions of how to control the spread
of this disease date to more than three thousand years ago (Albers et al. 2004).
Unfortunately we are discovering new infectious diseases every year.
Among the most important new diseases of the twentieth century, of course,
is HIV disease. So far I have distinguished the microbe that causes a disease
from the disease itself, but in reality the dividing line between the infection
by a pathogen and the disease that develops is arbitrary. I use the term “HIV
disease” to avoid imposing an artificial line between infection with the HIV
virus and the development of a disease called AIDS. A growing list of other
emergent and reemergent infectious diseases includes the well-publicized severe
acute respiratory syndrome (SARS), swine flu, and avian flu. A few new infectious
diseases, notes anthropologist George Armelagos, are “so bloodcurdling and
bizarre that descriptions of them bring to mind tacky horror movies. Ebola
virus, for instance, can in just a few days reduce a healthy person to a bag of
teeming flesh spilling blood and organ parts from every orifice.” After decades
of believing that we would triumph over infectious disease, treatment-resistant
infections, covered in Chapter 5, have significantly heightened public concern
about infectious diseases in the contemporary world. In the United States infec-
tious diseases killed 58 percent more people in 1992 than in 1980 (Armelagos
1997:24). The impact of infectious diseases in the United States has continued
to grow since then. As stressed by the Institute of Medicine (Smolinski, Ham-
burg, and Lederberg 2003:21),
As we learn more about the relationships between ourselves and our mi-
crobes—and their own complex relationships with one another—scientists
are coming to see the microbiome the way ecologists have long viewed an
ecosystem: not as a collection of species but as a dynamic environment,
defined by the multitude of interactions among its constituents.
In other words, infectious diseases are never only biological in their nature, course,
or impact. What they are and what they do are deeply entwined with human
sociocultural systems, including the ways humans understand, organize, and
treat each other (see, in particular, Chapter 7). Infectious diseases are at once
biological realities and social constructions that reflect both biological and
social relationships and interactions. Ultimately, in spite of our ingrained habit
of treating them as distinct and even opposing forces, biology and culture are
inseparable. This fact makes anthropology particularly well suited to understand
and generate key insights about infectious disease.
Consider again HIV disease. As we all know, biomedical treatments for this
condition have improved enormously over the last thirty years, contributing to
astonishing advances in the health of people living with the disease. Yet three
stubborn challenges endure:
• People are often diagnosed late and, as a result, cannot receive the optimal
benefits from existing antiretrovial therapies.
• For various reasons, some people drop out of treatment.
• Some people are uneven in their adherence to day-to-day treatment
requirements.
anthropology and the large impact of small worlds ❋ 15
• How does the human world look different if we move beyond thinking
of human communities as collections of interacting people and instead
recognize that we live in multispecies communities that include disease
vectors and zoonotic pathogens that regularly “jump” from animal hosts
to humans?
• How does our understanding of ourselves change if we recognize that
every person is, in fact, a community of interacting species?
• How does our conception of health change if we think of health not as an
individual state but instead as a reflection of human social relationships
mediated by the environment?
• Why, in an era of miraculous improvements in health interventions,
do infectious diseases remain the leading cause of death in developing
nations?
• Why, even in highly developed and comparatively wealthy nations with
advanced and costly medical systems, such as the United States, are
infections the third leading cause of human mortality?
• How do human activities and understandings (e.g., cultural conceptions
of “plague” and stigmatization) contribute to the spread of infectious
16 ❋ in t ro duc t io n
Using Theory
The first chapter of this book lays a foundation for the anthropology of
infectious diseases, presenting some key lessons of biocultural and biosocial un-
derstanding as well as core concepts and special attributes anthropology brings
to comprehending disease in human societies. Chapter 2 focuses on microbes as
entities in the world. The chapter emphasizes the unexpected complexity of these
organisms; their origins, variety, considerable impact on the world around them,
their social interactions with each other; and both beneficial and malevolent
interactions with humans. Chapter 3 delves more deeply into the implications
of the fact that our species does not live separately from other species and their
infectious diseases. It reports current knowledge on the development of both
HIV and Lyme disease as examples of the biosocial nature of infectious diseases.
The role of the environment and dramatic human impacts on the environ-
ment in the nature and spread of infectious disease is addressed in Chapter 4.
This discussion extends a central theme of the book: the complexities of our
entwinement with the world around us and the ways our actions rebound on
our health. Chapter 5 highlights critical changes in today’s world of infectious
agents and disease, including the emergence, reemergence, and drug resistance
of pathogens as well as health implications for humans. The following chap-
ter concentrates on infectious disease syndemics and the social conditions
that foster pathogen concentration and adverse interaction. The last chapter
explores the multiple ways imbalances of power produce savage inequalities
in the distribution and health consequence of infectious diseases. A primary
message of the chapter is that you cannot understand infectious disease in the
world independent of the way social structures produce significant disparities
in living conditions and other aspects of daily existence. Together the chapters
in this book show the benefits of turning the anthropological lens on infectious
diseases, revealing clearly the biosocial and biocultural nature of these condi-
tions that significantly impact all life on Earth.
20
Chapter one
I believe that there is no dichotomy between the natural world and the
human environment
Juliet Clutton-Brock (1994:23)
Developing an Anthropology
of Infectious Disease
Anthropology of Infectious Disease, by Merrill Singer, 20–59. © 2015 Left Coast Press, Inc. All rights reserved.
defining the anthropology of infectious disease ❋ 21
the causes and clinical treatment of diseases are institutionalized around hospi-
tal-based or -linked treatment, a hierarchy of specialized clinical practitioners,
and, with reference to infectious diseases, a supportive set of ideas and actions
regarding identification of pathogens, hygiene, sanitation, and pharmaceutical
intervention. It is widely held that biomedicine is universal and acultural, in
contrast to ethnomedicine, for example, which implies that a medical system is
embedded within a specific cultural tradition.
In recent decades anthropologists have been critical of the distinction,
highlighting the sociocultural nature of biomedicine and viewing it as a Western
ethnomedical tradition that gained worldwide distribution through its historic
connections to colonialism and corporate globalization. But in the post–World
War II period anthropologists were invited to engage in new development-
driven health promotion programs that implemented centralized biomedical
treatment in urban areas. In short, anthropologists’ first involvement with
infectious disease work supported Western-oriented development in roles
that the discipline itself later criticized as being subordinated handmaidens of
biomedicine (Browner 1999).
Anthropologists in the postwar period found, in fact, that attempts to export
biomedical ideas often did not work as planned. One example is the experience
of Edward Wellin, who was sent to southern Peru in the early 1950s as a gradu-
ate student through a Rockefeller Foundation program on health promotion.
He observed an effort designed to get people to boil drinking water to avoid
infection. Wellin wrote about two of the Peruvians he worked with in the town
of Los Molinos:
Although Mrs. F and her daughter have attended several . . . [hygiene pro-
motion] talks, they remain unreceptive to the notion of bacteriological
contamination and unconvinced of the need to boil their drinking water.
. . . How, she argues, can microbes fall into water? Are they fish? If they
are so small that they cannot be seen or felt, how can such delicate things
survive in water? Even in the clean water they would have no chance, let
alone in dirty water. . . . There are enough real threats in the world to worry
about—“cold” [as in hot/cold imbalance], [bad] “airs”, poverty and hun-
ger—without bothering oneself about animals one cannot see hear, touch
or smell. (1955:92)
If you wish to help a community improve its health, you must learn to think
like the people of that community. Before asking a group of people to as-
sume new health habits, it is wise to ascertain the existing habits, how these
habits are linked to one another, what functions they perform [for society],
and what they mean to those who practice them. (1955:1)
Paleopathology
Paleopathlogy is the study of the diseases suffered by people who lived in the
past as revealed through archeological excavation. The term unites “paleo,”
meaning ancient, with pathology, which is the study of disease processes. Marc
Armand Ruffer, who named the field, often is credited with being the first pa-
leopathologist based on his discovery and description of the parasitic disease
urinary schistosomiasis among Egyptian mummies, which he published early
in the twentieth century. After the Second World War concern about the role of
disease in shaping ancient societies grew significantly within archaeology, the
branch of anthropology that deals with understanding past societies and their
change over time and across geographical contexts. Human remains, primarily
skeletal materials, record the impact of various diseases and provide clues to the
health challenges of prehistory. In addition, ancient DNA of infectious agents
can be recovered from human remains that are hundreds of years old.
By examining the skeletal remains of populations that lived in different
environments, paleopathology researchers have been able to gain new insights
concerning the long-term interrelationships among human biology, cultural prac-
tices, and infectious diseases. For example, paleopathology has helped to reveal
changes in patterns of infectious diseases in human populations that accompanied
the transition from hunting and gathering to agriculture. In this transition people
became more sedentary, increasing the likelihood of infectious disease exposure,
defining the anthropology of infectious disease ❋ 25
and they began to spend more time around domesticated animals, creating op-
portunities for pathogens to move from animals to people. Signs of infection in
human remains increased as settlements grew in size and became more permanent.
Mycobacterial diseases that have been a factor in human history for mil-
lennia have particular interest for paleopathologists “because they afford op-
portunity to examine the interactions between an infectious agent and human
migration and settlement patterns” as well as between diet and infectious disease
(Wilbur et al. 2008:963). For example, paleopathologists have contributed im-
portant research to our biocultural understanding of tuberculosis and leprosy.
In the case of tuberculosis, bone and joint changes can occur, usually in adult-
hood, three to five years after infection. In excavated skeletons tuberculosis
commonly is identified by the presence of lesions, often in the vertebrae of the
spine, although other skeletal indications, like pitting and new bone formation
on rib surfaces, have also been linked to tuberculosis. Additionally, ancient
DNA of the bacterial agent that is the immediate cause of tuberculosis has been
recovered in archeological finds (Murphy et al. 2009). Although there was a
long dispute about whether tuberculosis was only introduced to the New World
with the arrival of Europeans, recent research has documented tuberculosis in
skeletons from Point Hope in Alaska that date as far back as over two thousand
years ago (Dabbs 2009).
Paleopathology investigation of the skeletons excavated at Naestved, the
site of a medieval leprosy hospital in Denmark (Møller-Christensen 1978),
found that most of the individuals exhibited cribra orbitalia—small holes in the
bone ridges under the eyebrows caused by the body’s effort to produce more
red blood cells in bone marrow nourished by an iron-deficient diet. This find-
ing is interpreted as evidence that people who were most susceptible to leprosy
were the poor. As Manchester observes, “The possibility of chronic intestinal
parasitic infestation in infancy contributing to this anemia may also suggest a
poor general health status and level of poverty” (1991:28). This research sup-
ports recognition that leprosy is most commonly a disease of poverty, associ-
ated with overcrowding—as the pathogen is transmitted through breathing in
the exhalation of an infected individual—and socially compromised immune
systems. This kind of work on the diseases of ancient societies adds historical
depth to the anthropological understanding of the intersection of infections
and human societies through time and place.
In the 1980s, in the wake of the International Year of the Child, UNICEF
launched the Child Survival Initiative. Initially its efforts focused on oral
26 ❋ ch a p t er o ne
HIV Disease
When the HIV disease pandemic emerged, the disease was expressed differ-
ently across countries and groups, and “risk behaviors” were poorly understood.
This created a demand for anthropological research domestically and interna-
tionally, drawing hundreds of anthropologists over the years into the study of
infectious disease. Individuals whose first involvement in infectious disease
research was work on HIV disease went on to investigate a range of other infec-
tious diseases, a domain further broadened by the students of these research-
ers. To the study of HIV disease, anthropologists, as indicated in numerous
studies discussed in this book, brought a focus on comprehending both local
and wider social and cultural contexts that facilitate disease transmission, an
defining the anthropology of infectious disease ❋ 27
Global Warming
Global Health
During the 1990s the leading paradigm in health development shifted from
“international health” to “global health.” The rise of the concept of global health
paralleled the rise of the new economic term “global economy,” which recognized
the advancing and systemic economic globalization of human communities on
our planet. The global health concept also reflected a shift in perspective from
a focus on health issues within nations and regions to the understanding that
factors that affect health transcend national borders and are deeply entwined
with issues of socioeconomic class, ethnicity, gender, and culture. To put this
another way, the shift involved recognition of the fundamental importance to
health of flows of capital, people, infectious agents and diseases, medicines,
commodities, ideas, and practices that move relatively readily across our cultur-
ally constructed political boundaries and that differentially affect the health of
everyone. This notion coincides with anthropological attention to global flows
in other subfields of the discipline (Appadurai 1990).
As a result of the various influences discussed above, in increasing numbers
medical anthropologists are working on infectious disease issues in various roles
within the World Health Organization, the Centers for Disease Control, other
government bodies, domestic and international nongovernment organizations
(NGOs), and in other scholarly and applied venues. In addition, an impressive
body of literature in the field has developed (e.g., Hesser 1982; Inhorn and Buss
2010; Larsen and Milner 1994; Manderson 2012; Mascie-Taylor 1993). In some
ways, however, the anthropology of infectious disease remains an emergent
arena of research and applied work because it has yet to consolidate into a sub-
field with established concepts, theoretical frameworks, conferences, journals,
and a distinct identity among participants or to have acquired other common
markers of disciplinary institutionalization. The field is somewhat scattered and
30 ❋ ch a p t er o ne
process, and the environment factors at the core of the disease process. The lack
of a biocultural integration, these authors lamented, was hindering the system-
atic analysis of health and disease across societies. Building on an idea originally
proposed by the biological anthropologist Paul Baker, they urged adoption of an
ecological model informed by an integrated biocultural understanding of the
disease process to addresses this problem. This approach led to the publication
of the paradigm-framing volume Building A New Biocultural Synthesis (Good
and Leatherman 1998), which brought together the work of biological, cultural,
and archeological anthropologists. It also contributed to the development of a
number of university medical anthropology training programs that emphasize a
biocultural approach to health issues, such as Emory University, the University
of Alabama, University of Washington, the University of Connecticut, and the
University of Massachusetts, Amherst.
Within this context, central to the emergent field of the anthropology of
infectious disease is a biocultural or biosocial conceptualization. This is the
understanding that both cultural and social factors in environmental context
significantly mediate the impact of infectious agents on humans. Although the
dominant approach to health in society is biomedical—and involves a con-
ceptualization that attempts to isolate and identify biological causation—the
anthropological biocultural or biosocial approach is instead integrative, insisting
that biological life simply does not exist in isolation from social and cultural life.
The starting point for a biocultural/biosocial conceptualization of infec-
tious disease is recognition that infection is always more than just biology in that
it is a product of interaction on various levels. One of these levels, assuredly,
is biological. Infectious agents, be they viruses, bacteria, protozoa, helminths,
fungus, or other pathogens, are necessary for infectious disease to occur. So too
are the bodies of the hosts they infect, including their immune systems, which
have evolved over millions of years as biomechanisms for limiting the harm done
by pathogens. Although pathogens are necessary for infection, their presence is
not sufficient to explain how and why infection occurs at particular times and
places and with particular outcomes. To address these issues we must consider
cultural and social factors, often as mediated by environmental conditions. As
Niewöhner (2011:289–290) writes, the human body is “heavily impregnated
by its own past and by the social and material environment within which it
dwells. It is a body that is imprinted by evolutionary and transgenerational time,
by ‘early-life,’ and a body that is highly susceptible to changes in its social and
material environment.”
Although many anthropologists blend the cultural and social aspects of
human life, using terms like “sociocultural processes,” there is heuristic value in
maintaining conceptual differentiation. The term cultural factors, as used in this
32 ❋ ch a p t er o ne
book, refers to the beliefs, meanings, norms, values, and stylistics of local behav-
ior that give a distinctive pattern to the various human lifeways. Interpretations
of HIV disease as evidence of witchcraft or punishment from God, which are
specific local understandings of the nature and causes of this infectious disease,
are examples of cultural conceptualizations. So too is the traditional folk belief in
Sweden that cholera was spread by an agent of the king to limit the populations
of the poor or the Haitian belief during the contemporary cholera epidemic that
the disease was introduced by nongovernment organizations as a way to raise
money. Many cultural beliefs—such as what is edible or desirable to eat, what
a dwelling structure should look like and be made of, whose responsibility it is
to acquire water—can shape exposure to agents of infectious disease.
It is also analytically valuable to distinguish the social origins and outcomes
of infectious disease. In this case we are concerned with questions such as: Why
do infectious diseases tend to cluster among the poor? How do social structures,
like the global operations of transnational corporations, promote the spread of
diseases? How does war spread infectious disease? These are questions about the
biosocial nature of infectious diseases. Social systems can incorporate peoples with
diverse cultures. In the contemporary world, the Ju/’hosani—indigenous people
of southern Africa who have a tradition of living by hunting and gathering—sheep
herders on the grasslands of the Tibetan Plateau, mine workers in Bolivia, and the
readers of this book may have quite different cultures, but all are significantly af-
fected by their incorporation within the global capitalist economy, which is a social
structure. This book is concerned with both biocultural and biosocial interactions;
it recognizes that cultural and social processes and structures are entwined in the
real world but that it is useful to separate them for heuristic purposes.
What do biocultural and biosocial understandings of an infectious disease
actually look like? Tuberculosis provides an example. It is known to be linked
to the bacteria Mycobacterium tuberculosis. Yet the presence of these bacteria
alone does not explain why only 25 to 50 percent of people exposed to it become
infected or why only 10 percent of those who are infected develop full-blown tu-
berculosis, with adverse consequences if untreated (Dutt and Stead 1999). Based
on a review of the literature, Ming-Jung Ho (2004), a cultural anthropologist,
has identified key cultural and social factors that help explain these patterns as
well as the fact that tuberculosis is disproportionately common among disad-
vantaged populations and has had a resurgence in developed countries since the
late 1970s. For example, communal water-pipe smoking, a custom practiced in
a number of African and Asian countries that also has defused to the West, is
now recognized as a cultural practice that promotes the spread of tuberculosis
(Knishkowy 2005). According to Rania Siam, professor of microbiology at the
American University in Cairo,
defining the anthropology of infectious disease ❋ 33
compromise this immune function and allow EBV to switch to an active state,
in which it releases viral antigens that can trigger a humoral antibody response.
Consequently EBV antibody level is defined as a biomarker of psychosocial
stress (a higher level of antibodies indicates lower immunity). McDade found a
significant association between elevated antibody levels and status incongruity
in adolescents, suggesting reduced cell-mediated immune function and a higher
burden of psychosocial stress. Thus, this study revealed how social and cultural
changes that produce stressful life experiences are linked to the transition from
latent to active infections, further revealing a fundamental aspect of biocultural/
biosocial interaction in the making of infectious disease.
Some cultural patterns, by contrast, may inhibit disease transmission.
In his research, Norbert Vecchiato (1997) found that the Sidama of Ethiopia
believed that overwork, excessive exposure to the sun, or carrying heavy loads
could cause tuberculosis (locally known as balamo). They also believed that
“avoiding contact with a patient” was the best prophylactic measure against
contracting this disease. It also has been found that certain cultural practices
may affect wealthy and poor sectors of a hierarchical society differently. Brown
(1998), for example, describes how the traditional social organization of the
grape harvest in Bosa, Sardinia, an autonomous region of the Italian Republic,
provided protection to the social elites from malaria. During the malaria season
the land-owning families of Bosa moved to summer homes on high ground so
they could supervise the harvest. The working class, however, remained living
in lower areas where infected mosquitoes were most numerous.
Social factors, including issues of social hierarchy and inequality, the ex-
ercise of power, and diverse forms of abuse are absolutely critical to the spread
and impact of infectious diseases. Chagas disease is a vector-borne infection
transmitted by triatomins (kissing bugs) that can produce initial symptoms like
fever, fatigue, body aches, rash, and nausea and may lead to more severe out-
comes, including congestive heart failure and cardiac arrest. It is most rampant
among the poor and happens to be one of the most neglected diseases interna-
tionally: “its unequal distribution illustrates the complex interaction of socio-
cultural, biological and environmental factors” (Ventura-Garcia et al. 2013).
For example, during the 1980s in the Amazon region, governments supported
economic policies that enhanced industrial production, international trade, and
globalization; promoted road building, land expropriations, and deforestation
(to support pasturing and beef exploration); forced migration of families to
cities; and expanded poorly remunerated wage labor. These changes “altered
the traditional conditions that had controlled transmission of the infection
to humans” (Briceño-León 2007:36). Triatomins, previously located in more
defining the anthropology of infectious disease ❋ 35
Environmental Factors
Food and water availability
Weather/Climate
Sociocultural Factors
Sociocultural systems seen as local or broader organized sets of knowledge, experi-
ence, attitudes, norms and behaviors that generate understanding of and respond to
disease
Sociocultural systems seen as forces and energy systems that impact environments
Sociocultural systems as historically rooted forces that structure social relationship,
exposure to disease, and access to resources
Patterns of globalization and the flow of commodities, people and disease
As this formula and the arrows within it suggest, infectious disease health
status is a reflection of dynamic interrelations among biological, environmental,
and social and cultural factors.
of all infected females and half of infected males are unaware they have been
infected, although, if left untreated, chlamydia can cause pelvic inflammatory
disease, ectopic pregnancy, and infertility (Watson et al. 2002). Conversely,
it is possible to be ill but undiseased. A classic example is described by Baars
(1997:104), who notes that “medical students who study frightening diseases
for the first time routinely develop vivid delusions of having the ‘disease of the
week’—whatever they are currently studying.” Upon first learning of the local-
ized symptoms of pneumonia, students may report feeling discomfort in possible
sites of pneumonia infection and become convinced, at least temporarily, that
they have pneumonia.
It is also important to clarify the difference between infection and infectious
disease. The human body can be infected with the strains of mycobacteria that
have the capacity to cause tuberculosis but then not develop the disease because a
healthy immune system prevents the development of active tuberculosis disease.
An individual with latent tuberculosis cannot transmit the bacteria to others.
If the individual’s immune system subsequently is compromised by other dis-
eases, chemotherapy, malnutrition, aging, or other factors, latent tuberculosis
can become active and damaging to the sufferer’s health and be transmitted
to others. In other words, one can be infected with the pathogen that causes
tuberculosis and not suffer the disease. The term infection also is often used to
refer to very local manifestations of pathogen activity, such as occurs around
a small paper cut on a finger, that does not reach the adequate scale of spread
and damage to the body to be considered a disease. On a biological level the
basic processes are the same, but there is a cultural differentiation made on the
basis of perceived threat.
The labeling of one pathogen-related condition as an infection and another
as a disease also reflects other sociocultural factors. Historically, for example,
infections transmitted through intimate contact were labeled sexually transmit-
ted diseases (STDs). Given the cultural meanings and emotions evoked by the
word disease, including social stigmas that may lead sufferers to avoid treatment,
there has been a strong push in biomedicine and public health to replace the use
of STD with sexually transmitted infection (STI).
One challenge posed by the anthropological definition and, indeed, all
definitions of disease is that it is impossible to establish fully what normal tissue
function is. Complex conditions influence body tissue, including diet, genetics,
stress, toxic exposure, pathogens, environmental conditions, and social fac-
tors. In defining health, many people follow the World Health Organization’s
(1946) statement that health is a state of complete physical, mental, and social
well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity. Although it is
useful to have this kind of starting point, it too leaves open what a complete
defining the anthropology of infectious disease ❋ 39
How important are infectious diseases in human health? The ways we under-
stand this question and respond to it also reflect sociocultural practices. Looking
a two profoundly important current infectious diseases, according to the World
Health Organization (2013a), almost 70 million people worldwide have been
infected with the HIV virus, and about 35 million of them have died of HIV
disease. At the end of 2011 it was estimated that there were 34.0 million people
in the world living with HIV infection, or 0.8 percent of adults aged fifteen to
forty-nine years, with considerable variance between countries and regions. The
World Health Organization (2012a) also reports that the global tuberculosis
rates have been falling for several years and decreased by a rate of 2.2 percent
defining the anthropology of infectious disease ❋ 41
between 2010 and 2011. At the country level the World Health Organization
points to Cambodia as an example of what can be achieved in a low-income and
high-burden country, as Cambodia reports a 45 percent decrease in tuberculosis
prevalence since 2002.
We are very familiar with health statistics like those reported above. They
regularly show up in mass media accounts of epidemics and other health issues.
They are used in this public venue to affirm how significant a health problem
has become or that substantial health improvements have been achieved. The
epidemiological and public health reporting of infectious disease outbreaks and
prevalences, in terms of precise numbers of cases and related quantitative infor-
mation about the characteristics of sufferers or regional distributions, reflects
a social reliance on seemingly objective figures and processes of enumeration.
Although tallies like those for HIV and tuberculosis reported above are used
in decision making about where to direct limited resources in public health
programming and what issues to focus on in public health education, from an
anthropological perspective, based on on-the-ground experience in the study of
infectious outbreaks and epidemics, questions are raised about the production
of official statistics: Where do the numbers come from? How are they compiled,
by whom, under what conditions, with what uniformity, and using what criteria?
And, in light of these other questions, what do the numbers actually mean?
Here is an example of the importance of being cautious about official sta-
tistics. Mary Dixon-Woods and colleagues (2012) conducted an ethnographic
study in England on central-line infections, a hospital-acquired bacterial infec-
tion most commonly seen in intensive care patients with catheters inserted close
to their hearts. They found notable variation in social practices of data collec-
tion and reporting across hospitals, which, simply put, “were not counting the
same things in the same way” (Dixon-Woods et al. 2012:580). These variations
reflected a number of factors, such as whether hospital staff, who bore burden-
some workloads and needed to prioritize their efforts, viewed detailed record
keeping as a legitimate use of their limited available time. Long-established and
entrenched work patterns as well as clinician preferences also contributed to
considerable variability in case reporting.
In another take on the reliability of quantitative infectious disease data,
Kathleen Gallagher and colleagues (2003) compared information on over two
hundred HIV infection cases reported to the Massachusetts Department of
Public Health to the original medical records for these cases at the site of patient
diagnosis. They found that although routine AIDS surveillance data were reliable
for demographic variables (e.g., patient age, gender), they were less reliable for
information about clinical events, laboratory findings, or, especially, treatments
patients had received. In infectious disease epidemics numbers often are based
42 ❋ ch a p t er o ne
gay men in the United States, HIV disease soon became disproportionately
frequent in low-income and socially subordinated communities of color. This
pattern of disease spread was not random, nor was it the consequence of biology;
rather, it reflects the fact that infectious disease spread is socially determined.
HIV infection interacts with human societies and the social relationships that
constitute them to create the global “HIV disease pandemic,” which is the
worldwide pattern of distribution of the disease and the social responses that
have developed around it in particular groups and populations. Glaring social
disparities between dominant versus subordinate groups and wealthy versus
impoverished populations in the distribution of HIV disease as well as in access
to available treatment have typified the pandemic. The relationship between
poor health and poverty is a consequence of multiple biocultural/biosocial
factors, including “weakened immunity and neurophysiological development
because of malnutrition, ease of spread of pathogens because of insalubrious
living conditions, and the precariousness of social support networks” (Nguyen
and Peschard 2003:449) (see Figure 1.1).
Beyond poverty, other forms of social discrimination, marginalization,
structural violence, and assaults on human dignity also are essential factors in
the development and spread of infectious diseases, as discussed in greater detail
in Chapter 7. Further, as Shirley Lindenbaum (2001:380) comments, the study
of infectious disease epidemics “provides a unique point of entry for examining
People everywhere suffer from infectious disease, and because humans character-
istically respond to and understand life experience using socially acquired cultural
frameworks, all societies have developed local knowledge about infection and
healing practices, including culturally constructed understandings that may differ
from biomedical models of infection. Even in the West, the broad adoption of the
biomedical germ theory model of infection took time and, in some ways, remains
less than fully complete, a fact revealed in times of infectious disease panics.
For example, during a global pandemic of influenza in the early twentieth
century that killed as many as 50 to 100 million people worldwide, countless
local health strategies were used to try to protect or cure people. In Utah, which
had the third highest rate of death of US states, archival records show that people
made use of a mixture of home and doctor remedies. Alcohol, normally banned
in the largely Mormon state, was sold to doctors to treat patients. Some parents
hung bags of herbs around children’s necks to prevent influenza (Department
of Health and Human Services n.d.). Many people understood from health
authorities that “germs” caused the disease but were not completely sure what
germs were or how they were transmitted from one person to another. To feel
safe, families locked themselves in their homes and sealed their keyholes and
the cracks around their doors with cotton. Utah public health officials enacted
laws requiring citizens to wear gauze masks. Some towns required anyone en-
tering their municipalities to possess a certificate signed by a doctor affirming
that they were symptom-free. Railroads were warned not to accept passengers
without such a certificate, and all passengers wore masks; streetcar conductors
were told to limit their passengers; and stores were banned from holding sales.
Following a ban on public assemblies, police began making arrests of people for
gathering together in small groups (e.g., to play a game of cards). In the town of
Cedar City a parade celebrating the end World War I featured a statue of Lady
Liberty wearing a mask to publicize this strategy for controlling the spread
of disease. Although we know that such masks do not prevent infection, even
today graphic news coverage of disease outbreaks around the world reveals the
widespread belief that they are protective.
Anthropologists are demonstrating the great diversity of beliefs about
disease as well as the many kinds of treatments people use outside of clinical set-
tings. In a study of Hispanic HIV infection patients receiving care at a biomedical
clinic in New Jersey, for example, Mariana Suarez and coworkers (1996) found
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Year with a
Whaler
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
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you are located before using this eBook.
Language: English
NEW YORK
OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
MCMXIII
Copyright, 1913, BY
OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.The Lure of the Outfitter 11
II. The Men of the "Alexander" 21
III.Why We Don't Desert 33
IV. Turtles and Porpoises 46
V. The A, B, C of Whales 59
VI. The Night King 71
VII. Dreams of Liberty 83
VIII. Gabriel's Little Drama 95
IX. Through the Roaring Forties 107
X. In the Ice 118
XI. Cross Country Whaling 128
XII. Cutting In and Trying Out 137
XIII. Shaking Hands with Siberia 149
XIV. Moonshine and Hygiene 162
XV. News From Home 171
XVI. Slim Goes on Strike 182
XVII. Into the Arctic 191
XVIII. Blubber and Song 198
XIX. A Narrow Pinch 210
XX. A Race and a Race Horse 219
XXI. Bears for a Change 230
XXII. The Stranded Whale 239
XXIII. And So—Home 247
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Cutting Out" a Whale Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
In Bowhead Waters 16
When Whaling is an Easy Job 40
Waiting for the Whale to Breach 72
Unalaska 112
Waiting for the Floes to Open 120
"Trying Out" 144
Callers From Asia 152
Peter's Sweetheart 160
Eskimos Summer Hut at St. Lawrence Bay 168
At the Gateway to the Arctic 176
Hoisting the Blubber Aboard 184
Our Guests Coming Aboard in St. Lawrence Bay 192
The Lip of a Bowhead Whale 208
A Close Call Off Herald Island 216
Skin Boat of the Siberian Eskimos 240
A YEAR WITH A WHALER
Next day the runner for Levy's tried to ship me aboard the steam
whaler William Lewis. When we arrived at the shipping office on the
water front, it was crowded with sailors and rough fellows, many of
them half drunk, and all eager for a chance to land a berth. A
bronzed and bearded man stood beside a desk and surveyed them.
He was the skipper of the steamer. The men were pushing and
elbowing in an effort to get to the front and catch his eye.
"I've been north before, captain," "I'm an able seaman, sir," "I
know the ropes," "Give me a chance, captain," "Take me, sir; I'll
make a good hand,"—so they clamored their virtues noisily. The
captain chose this man and that. In twenty minutes his crew was
signed. It was not a question of getting enough men; it was a mere
matter of selection. In such a crowd of sailormen, I stood no show.
In looking back on it all, I wonder how such shipping office scenes
are possible, how men of ordinary intelligence are herded aboard
whale ships like sheep, how they even fight for a chance to go.
It was just as well I failed to ship aboard the William Lewis. The
vessel went to pieces in the ice on the north Alaskan coast the
following spring. Four men lost their lives and only after a bitter
experience as castaways on the floes were the others rescued.
That afternoon Captain Shorey of the brig Alexander visited
Levy's. I was called to his attention as a likely young hand and he
shipped me as a member of his crew. I signed articles for a year's
voyage. It was provided that I was to receive a $50 advance with
which to outfit myself for the voyage; of course, any money left over
after all necessary articles had been purchased was to be mine—at
least, in my innocence, I imagined it was.
The brig was lying in the stream off Goat Island and the runner
set about the work of outfitting me at once. He and I and a clerk
went about the store from shelf to shelf, selecting articles. The
runner carried a pad of paper on which he marked down the cost. I
was given a sailor's canvas bag, a mattress, a pair of blankets,
woolen trousers, dungaree trousers, a coat, a pair of brogans, a pair
of rubber sea boots, underwear, socks, two flannel shirts, a cap, a
belt and sheath knife, a suit of oil-skins and sou'wester, a tin cup, tin
pan, knife, fork and spoon. That was all. It struck me as a rather
slender equipment for a year's voyage. The runner footed up the
cost.
"Why," he said with an air of great surprise, "this foots up to $53
and your advance is only $50."
He added up the column of figures again. But he had made no
mistake. He seemed perplexed.
"I don't see how it is possible to scratch off anything," he said.
"You'll need every one of these articles."
He puckered his brow, bit the end of his pencil, and studied the
figures. It was evidently a puzzling problem.
"Well," he said at last, "I'll tell you what I'll do. Bring me down a
few curios from the Arctic and I'll call it square."
I suppose my outfit was really worth about $6—not over $10. As
soon as my bag had been packed, I was escorted to the wharf by
the runner and rowed out to the brig. As I prepared to climb over
the ship's rail, the runner shook me by the hand and clapped me on
the back with a great show of cordial goodfellowship.
"Don't forget my curios," he said.
CHAPTER II
THE MEN OF THE "ALEXANDER"
The brig Alexander was a staunch, sea-worthy little vessel. She
had no fine lines; there was nothing about her to please a
yachtsman's eye; but she was far from being a tub as whaling ships
are often pictured. She was built at New Bedford especially for Arctic
whaling. Her hull was of sturdy oak, reinforced at the bows to enable
her to buck her way through ice.
Though she was called a brig, she was really a brigantine, rigged
with square sails on her fore-mast and with fore-and-aft sails on her
main. She was of only 128 tons but quite lofty, her royal yard being
eighty feet above the deck. On her fore-mast she carried a fore-sail,
a single topsail, a fore-top-gallant sail, and a royal; on her main-
mast, a big mainsail with a gaff-topsail above it. Three whale boats
—starboard, larboard, and waist boats—hung at her davits.
Amidships stood the brick try-works equipped with furnaces and
cauldrons for rendering blubber into oil.
As soon as I arrived on board I was taken in charge by the ship
keeper and conducted to the forecastle. It was a dark, malodorous,
triangular hole below the deck in the bows. At the foot of the ladder-
like stairs, leading down through the scuttle, I stepped on something
soft and yielding. Was it possible, I wondered in an instant's flash of
surprise, that the forecastle was laid with a velvet carpet? No, it was
not. It was only a Kanaka sailor lying on the floor dead drunk. The
bunks were ranged round the walls in a double tier. I selected one
for myself, arranged my mattress and blankets, and threw my bag
inside. I was glad to get back to fresh air on deck as quickly as
possible.
Members of the crew kept coming aboard in charge of runners
and boarding bosses. They were a hard looking lot; several were
staggering drunk, and most of them were tipsy. All had bottles and
demijohns of whiskey. Everybody was full of bad liquor and high
spirits that first night on the brig. A company of jolly sea rovers were
we, and we joked and laughed and roared out songs like so many
pirates about to cruise for treasure galleons on the Spanish Main.
Somehow next morning the rose color had faded out of the prospect
and there were many aching heads aboard.
On the morning of the second day, the officers came out to the
vessel. A tug puffed alongside and made fast to us with a cable. The
anchor was heaved up and, with the tug towing us, we headed for
the Golden Gate. Outside the harbor heads, the tug cast loose and
put back into the bay in a cloud of smoke. The brig was left swinging
on the long swells of the Pacific.
The captain stopped pacing up and down the quarter-deck and
said something to the mate. His words seemed like a match to
powder. Immediately the mate began roaring out orders. Boat-
steerers bounded forward, shouting out the orders in turn. The old
sailors sang them out in repetition. Men sprang aloft. Loosened sails
were soon rolling down and fluttering from every spar. The sailors
began pulling on halyards and yo-hoing on sheets. Throughout the
work of setting sail, the green hands were "at sea" in a double
sense. The bustle and apparent confusion of the scene seemed to
savor of bedlam broke loose. The orders were Greek to them. They
stood about, bewildered and helpless. Whenever they tried to help
the sailors they invariably snarled things up and were roundly
abused for their pains. One might fancy they could at least have
helped pull on a rope. They couldn't even do that. Pulling on a rope,
sailor-fashion, is in itself an art.
Finally all the sails were sheeted home. Ropes were coiled up and
hung neatly on belaying pins. A fresh breeze set all the snowy
canvas drawing and the brig, all snug and shipshape, went careering
southward.
At the outset of the voyage, the crew consisted of twenty-four
men. Fourteen men were in the forecastle. The after-crew comprised
the captain, mate, second mate, third mate, two boat-steerers,
steward, cooper, cook, and cabin boy. Captain Shorey was not
aboard. He was to join the vessel at Honolulu. Mr. Winchester, the
mate, took the brig to the Hawaiian Islands as captain. This
necessitated a graduated rise in authority all along the line. Mr.
Landers, who had shipped as second mate, became mate; Gabriel,
the regular third mate, became second mate; and Mendez, a
boatsteerer, was advanced to the position of third mate.
Captain Winchester was a tall, spare, vigorous man with a nose
like Julius Caesar's and a cavernous bass voice that boomed like a
sunset gun. He was a man of some education, which is a rarity
among officers of whale ships, and was a typical New England
Yankee. He had run away to sea as a boy and had been engaged in
the whaling trade for twenty years. For thirteen years, he had been
sailing to the Arctic Ocean as master and mate of vessels, and was
ingrained with the autocratic traditions of the quarter-deck. Though
every inch a sea dog of the hard, old-fashioned school, he had his
kindly human side, as I learned later. He was by far the best
whaleman aboard the brig; as skillful and daring as any that ever
laid a boat on a whale's back; a fine, bold, hardy type of seaman
and an honor to the best traditions of the sea. He lost his life—poor
fellow—in a whaling adventure in the Arctic Ocean on his next
voyage.
Mr. Landers, the mate, was verging on sixty; his beard was
grizzled, but there wasn't a streak of gray in his coal-black hair. He
was stout and heavy-limbed and must have been remarkably strong
in his youth. He was a Cape Codder and talked with a quaint, nasal,
Yankee drawl. He had been to sea all his life and was a whaleman of
thirty years' experience. In all these years, he had been ashore very
little—only a few weeks between his year-long voyages, during
which time, it was said, he kept up his preference for liquids,
exchanging blue water for red liquor. He was a picturesque old
fellow, and was so accustomed to the swinging deck of a ship under
him that standing or sitting, in perfectly still weather or with the
vessel lying motionless at anchor, he swayed his body from side to
side heavily as if in answer to the rise and fall of waves. He was a
silent, easy-going man, with a fund of dry humor and hard common
sense. He never did any more work than he had to, and before the
voyage ended, he was suspected by the officers of being a
malingerer. All the sailors liked him.
Gabriel, the second mate, was a negro from the Cape Verde
islands. His native language was Portuguese and he talked funny,
broken English. He was about forty-five years old, and though he
was almost as dark-skinned as any Ethiopian, he had hair and a full
beard as finely spun and free from kinkiness as a Caucasian's. The
sailors used to say that Gabriel was a white man born black by
accident. He was a kindly, cheerful soul with shrewd native wit. He
was a whaleman of life-long experience.
Mendez, the third mate, and Long John, one of the boatsteerers,
were also Cape Verde islanders. Long John was a giant, standing six
feet, four inches; an ungainly, powerful fellow, with a black face as
big as a ham and not much more expressive. He had the reputation
of being one of the most expert harpooners of the Arctic Ocean
whaling fleet.
Little Johnny, the other boatsteerer, was a mulatto from the
Barbadoes, English islands of the West Indies. He was a strapping,
intelligent young man, brimming over with vitality and high spirits
and with all a plantation darky's love of fun. His eyes were bright
and his cheeks ruddy with perfect health; he loved dress and gay
colors and was quite the dandy of the crew.
Five of the men of the forecastle were deep-water sailors. Of
these one was an American, one a German, one a Norwegian, and
two Swedes. They followed the sea for a living and had been
bunkoed by their boarding bosses into believing they would make
large sums of money whaling. They had been taken in by a
confidence game as artfully as the man who loses his money at the
immemorial trick of three shells and a pea. When they learned they
would get only a dollar at the end of the voyage and contemplated
the loss of an entire working year, they were full of resentment and
righteous, though futile, anger.
Taylor, the American, became the acknowledged leader of the
forecastle. He quickly established himself in this position, not only by
his skill and long experience as a seaman, but by his aggressiveness,
his domineering character, and his physical ability to deal with men
and situations. He was a bold, iron-fisted fellow to whom the green
hands looked for instruction and advice, whom several secretly
feared, and for whom all had a wholesome respect.
Nels Nelson, a red-haired, red-bearded old Swede, was the best
sailor aboard. He had had a thousand adventures on all the seas of
all the world. He had been around Cape Horn seven times—a sailor
is not rated as a really-truly sailor until he has made a passage
around that stormy promontory—and he had rounded the Cape of
Good Hope so many times he had lost the count. He had ridden out
a typhoon on the coast of Japan and had been driven ashore by a
hurricane in the West Indies. He had sailed on an expedition to
Cocos Island, that realm of mystery and romance, to try to lift pirate
treasure in doubloons, plate, and pieces-of-eight, supposed to have
been buried there by "Bugs" Thompson and Benito Bonito, those
one-time terrors of the Spanish Main. He had been cast away in the
South Seas in an open boat with three companions, and had eaten
the flesh of the man whose fate had been sealed by the casting of
lots. He was some man, was Nelson. I sometimes vaguely suspected
he was some liar, too, but I don't know. I think most of his stories
were true.
He could do deftly everything intricate and subtle in sailorcraft
from tying the most wonderful knots to splicing wire. None of the
officers could teach old Nelson anything about fancy sailorizing and
they knew it. Whenever they wanted an unusual or particularly
difficult piece of work done they called on him, and he always did it
in the best seamanly fashion.
Richard, the German, was a sturdy, manly young chap who had
served in the German navy. He was well educated and a smart
seaman. Ole Oleson, the Norwegian, was just out of his teens but a
fine sailor. Peter Swenson, a Swede, was a chubby, rosy boy of
sixteen, an ignorant, reckless, devil-may-care lad, who was looked
upon as the baby of the forecastle and humored and spoiled
accordingly.
Among the six white green hands, there was a "mule skinner"
from western railway construction camps; a cowboy who believed
himself fitted for the sea after years of experience on the "hurricane
deck" of a bucking broncho; a country boy straight from the plow
and with "farmer" stamped all over him in letters of light; a man
suspected of having had trouble with the police; another who, in
lazy night watches, spun frank yarns of burglaries; and "Slim," an
Irishman who said he had served with the Royal Life Guards in the
English army. There was one old whaler. He was a shiftless,
loquacious product of city slums. This was his seventh whaling
voyage—which would seem sufficient comment on his character.
"It beats hoboing," he said. And as his life's ambition seemed
centered on three meals a day and a bunk to sleep in, perhaps it
did.
Two Kanakas completed the forecastle crew. These and the cabin
boy, who was also a Kanaka, talked fair English, but among
themselves they always spoke their native language. I had heard
much of the liquid beauty of the Kanaka tongue. It was a surprise to
find it the most unmusical and harshly guttural language I ever
heard. It comes from the mouth in a series of explosive grunts and
gibberings. The listener is distinctly and painfully impressed with the
idea that if the nitroglycerine words were retained in the system,
they would prove dangerous to health and is fearful lest they choke
the spluttering Kanaka to death before he succeeds in biting them
off and flinging them into the atmosphere.
CHAPTER III
WHY WE DON'T DESERT
As soon as we were under sail, the crew was called aft and the
watches selected. Gabriel was to head the starboard watch and
Mendez the port. The men were ranged in line and the heads of the
watches made their selections, turn and turn about. The deep-water
sailors were the first to be chosen. The green hands were picked for
their appearance of strength and activity. I fell into the port watch.
Sea watches were now set—four hours for sleep and four for
work throughout the twenty-four. My watch was sent below. No one
slept during this first watch below, but we made up for lost time
during our second turn. Soon we became accustomed to the routine
and found it as restful as the usual landsman's method of eight
hours' sleep and sixteen of wakefulness.
It is difficult for a landlubber to understand how sailors on
shipboard can be kept constantly busy. The brig was a veritable hive
of industry. The watch on deck when morning broke pumped ship
and swept and flushed down the decks. During the day watches, in
addition to working the ship, we were continuously breaking out
supplies, keeping the water barrel on deck filled from casks in the
hold, laboring with the cargo, scrubbing paint work, polishing brass
work, slushing masts and spars, repairing rigging, and attending to a
hundred and one details that must be looked after every day. The
captain of a ship is one of the most scrupulous housekeepers in the
world, and only by keeping his crew busy from morning till night is
he able to keep his ship spick and span and in proper repair. Whale
ships are supposed to be dirty. On the contrary, they are kept as
clean as water and brooms and hard work can keep them.
The food served aboard the brig was nothing to brag about.
Breakfast consisted of corned-beef hash, hardtack, and coffee
without milk or sugar. We sweetened our coffee with molasses, a
keg of which was kept in the forecastle. For dinner, we had soup,
corned-beef stew, called "skouse," a loaf of soft bread, and coffee.
For supper, we had slices of corned-beef which the sailors called
"salt horse," hardtack, and tea. The principal variation in this diet
was in the soups.
The days were a round of barley soup, bean soup, pea soup, and
back to barley soup again, an alternation that led the men to speak
of the days of the week not as Monday, Tuesday, and so on, but as
"barley soup day," "bean soup day," and "pea soup day." Once or
twice a week we had gingerbread for supper. On the other hand the
cabin fared sumptuously on canned vegetables, meat, salmon, soft
bread, tea, and coffee with sugar and condensed milk, fresh fish and
meat whenever procurable, and a dessert every day at dinner,
including plum duff, a famous sea delicacy which never in all the
voyage found its way forward.
From the first day, the green hands were set learning the ropes,
to stand lookout, to take their trick at the wheel, to reef and furl and
work among the sails. These things are the A B C of seamanship,
but they are not to be learned in a day or a week. A ship is a
complicated mechanism, and it takes a long time for a novice to
acquire even the rudiments of sea education. Going aloft was a
terrifying ordeal at first to several of the green hands, though it
never bothered me. When the cowboy was first ordered to furl the
fore-royal, he hung back and said, "I can't" and "I'll fall," and
whimpered and begged to be let off. But he was forced to try. He
climbed the ratlines slowly and painfully to the royal yard, and he
finally furled the sail, though it took him a long time to do it. He felt
so elated that after that he wanted to furl the royal every time it had
to be done;—didn't want to give anyone else a chance.
Furling the royal was a one-man job. The foot-rope was only a
few feet below the yard, and if a man stood straight on it, the yard
would strike him a little above the knees. If the ship were pitching, a
fellow had to look sharp or he would be thrown off;—if that had
happened it was a nice, straight fall of eighty feet to the deck. My
own first experience on the royal yard gave me an exciting fifteen
minutes. The ship seemed to be fighting me and devoting an
unpleasant amount of time and effort to it; bucking and tossing as if
with a sentient determination to shake me off into the atmosphere. I
escaped becoming a grease spot on the deck of the brig only by
hugging the yard as if it were a sweetheart and hanging on for dear
life. I became in time quite an expert at furling the sail.
Standing lookout was the one thing aboard a green hand could
do as well as an old sailor. The lookout was posted on the forecastle-
head in fair weather and on the try-works in a storm. He stood two
hours at a stretch. He had to scan the sea ahead closely and if a sail
or anything unusual appeared, he reported to the officer of the
watch.
Learning to steer by the compass was comparatively easy. With
the ship heading on a course, it was not difficult by manipulating the
wheel to keep the needle of the compass on a given point. But to
steer by the wind was hard to learn and is sometimes a nice matter
even for skillful seamen. When a ship is close-hauled and sailing, as
sailors say, right in the wind's eye, the wind is blowing into the
braced sails at the weather edge of the canvas;—if the vessel were
brought any higher up, the wind would pour around on the back of
the sails. The helmsman's aim is to keep the luff of the royal sail or
of the sails that happen to be set, wrinkling and loose—luffing,
sailors call it. That shows that the wind is slanting into the sails at
just the right angle and perhaps a little bit is spilling over. I gradually
learned to do this in the daytime. But at night when it was almost
impossible for me to see the luff of the sails clearly, it was extremely
difficult and I got into trouble more than once by my clumsiness.
The trick at the wheel was of two hours' duration.
The second day out from San Francisco was Christmas. I had
often read that Christmas was a season of good cheer and
happiness among sailors at sea, that it was commemorated with
religious service, and that the skipper sent forward grog and plum
duff to gladden the hearts of the sailormen. But Santa Claus forgot
the sailors on the brig. Bean soup only distinguished Christmas from
the day that had gone before and the day that came after. No liquor
or tempting dishes came to the forecastle. It was the usual day of
hard work from dawn to dark.
After two weeks of variable weather during which we were often
becalmed, we put into Turtle bay, midway down the coast of Lower
California, and dropped anchor.
Turtle bay is a beautiful little land-locked harbor on an
uninhabited coast. There was no village or any human habitation on
its shores. A desolate, treeless country, seamed by gullies and
scantily covered with sun-dried grass, rolled away to a chain of high
mountains which forms the backbone of the peninsula of Lower
California. These mountains were perhaps thirty miles from the
coast; they were gray and apparently barren of trees or any sort of
herbage, and looked to be ridges of naked granite. The desert
character of the landscape was a surprise, as we were almost within
the tropics.
We spent three weeks of hard work in Turtle bay. Sea watches
were abolished and all hands were called on deck at dawn and kept
busy until sundown. The experienced sailors were employed as sail
makers; squatting all day on the quarter-deck, sewing on canvas
with a palm and needle. Old sails were sent down from the spars
and patched and repaired. If they were too far gone, new sails were
bent in their stead. The green hands had the hard work. They broke
out the hold and restowed every piece of cargo, arranging it so that
the vessel rode on a perfectly even keel. Yards and masts were
slushed, the rigging was tarred, and the ship was painted inside and
out.
The waters of the harbor were alive with Spanish mackerel,
albacore, rock bass, bonitos, and other kinds of fish. The mackerel
appeared in great schools that rippled the water as if a strong
breeze were blowing. These fish attracted great numbers of gray
pelicans, which had the most wonderful mode of flight I have ever
seen in any bird. For hours at a time, with perfectly motionless
pinions, they skimmed the surface of the bay like living aeroplanes;
one wondered wherein lay their motor power and how they
managed to keep going. When they spied a school of mackerel, they
rose straight into the air with a great flapping of wings, then turned
their heads downward, folded their wings close to their bodies, and
dropped like a stone. Their great beaks cut the water, they went
under with a terrific splash, and immediately emerged with a fish in
the net-like membrane beneath their lower mandible.
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