Massachusetts, however, sailed in 411 the old-fashioned state and
dignity of a master, four mates, a purser, surgeon, carpenter,
gunner, four quartermasters, three midshipmen, a cooper, two
cooks, a steward, and fifty seamen. The second officer was Amasa
Delano, a man even more remarkable than the ship, who wandered
far and wide and wrote a fascinating book about his voyages, a
classic of its kind, the memoirs of an American merchant mariner
of a breed long since extinct.

While the Massachusetts was fitting out at Boston, one small
annoyance ruffled the auspicious undertaking. Three different
crews were signed before a full complement could be persuaded to
tarry in the forecastle. The trouble was caused by a
fortune-teller of Lynn, Moll Pitcher by name, who predicted
disaster for the ship. Now every honest sailor knows that certain
superstitions are gospel fact, such as the bad luck brought by a
cross-eyed Finn, a black cat, or going to sea on Friday, and
these eighteenth century shellbacks must not be too severely
chided for deserting while they had the chance. As it turned out,
the voyage did have a sorry ending and death overtook an
astonishingly large number of the ship's people.

Though she had been designed and built by master craftsmen of New
England who knew their trade surpassingly well, it was discovered
when the ship arrived at Canton that her timbers were already
rotting. They were of white oak which had been put into her green
instead of properly seasoned. This blunder wrecked the hopes of
her owners. To cap it, the cargo of masts and spars had also been
stowed while wet and covered with mud and ice, and the hatches
had been battened. As a result the air became so foul with decay