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[Illustration: FLOUNDERING OF THE "SILVERSPRAY."]



THE SHELLBACK'S PROGRESS

IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.



_By_

WALTER RUNCIMAN, _Sen._




LONDON AND NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE:
THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD.
NEW YORK: 3 EAST 14th STREET.
1904.




DEDICATION

_TO WALTER TOWNEND, ESQ._


"MY DEAR TOWNEND,--Perhaps no two men have ever been bound together
with ties of closer or more loyal friendship than you and myself. Many
years have elapsed since our unbroken comradeship was formed in the old
historic building in Cornhill. You have many claims to friendship and
to confidence, and perhaps you can hardly realize what pleasure it
gives me to remember that during our intercourse of so many years, your
sincerity, directness and single-mindedness could always be depended
upon. Your joyful relish of a tale of human interest, whether as a
listener or a narrator, is always contagious. Your indignation and
scorn for unmanly and dishonourable conduct, and your quick appreciation
of whatever is generous and true; this, and my high regard for your
own personal worth, have given me the wish to inscribe this volume
of sea stories to you.

"Ever yours sincerely,

"WALTER RUNCIMAN."

_August, 1904_




PREFACE


These stories are drawn from the reality of things, and perhaps I may
as well say that they have been written during short intervals snatched
from a busy and absorbing commercial life. I have tried to portray the
men as they were--brave, dauntless, rugged, uncouth, illiterate,
simple-minded, kind-hearted, and, at times, unmercifully savage. And
yet there shone through all these conflictingly peculiar eccentricities
a humorous kind of religion which belonged exclusively to themselves,
but which gave their characteristics a touch of sublimity. We have
travelled far since those days of aboriginal stupidity and sordid
blood-sucking. The contrast between the comforts and conditions of life
at sea then and now cannot be imagined. We may only talk of it; we can
never truly estimate the change. I do not draw attention to the
comparison because I think the sailor has got any more than he is
entitled to. I refer to it in order that he may recognize a desire on
the part of modern shipowners and the Legislature to give him every
possible advantage consistent with the peculiarities of the trade in
which he is engaged. One of the most recent advantages suggested in
their report by the Mercantile Committee, who sat for, I think, about
twelve months taking evidence from shipowners, shipmasters, sailors,
and others, is that an amended food scale should be adopted, and that
the seaman should have the right of appeal against a bad "discharge"
that may be given him. In my opinion the great body of shipowners will
endorse that portion of their recommendations. It is to be desired that
the seamen will recognize in this a willingness on the part of their
employers to deal justly with them, for undoubtedly it was the evidence
given by shipowners that influenced the Committee.




CONTENTS.


CHAP.                                                            PAGE

   I. THE WILD NORTH SEA                                            1

  II. CAPTAIN PLUNKER                                              30

 III. CAPTAIN MACGREGOR                                            67

  IV. PIRACY IN THE ARCHIPELAGO                                    97

   V. SAILORS' OPINIONS OF NOTABLE PUBLIC MEN                     148

  VI. MARY ROUTLEDGE                                              181

 VII. FORECASTLE LIFE                                             206

VIII. GRUB                                                        253

  IX. MISCELLANEOUS                                               283




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

By THOMAS RUNCIMAN.


                                                                 PAGE

FOUNDERING OF THE "SILVERSPRAY"                         _Frontispiece_

FINDING THE LEAK                                                   40

CAPTAIN PLUNKER ASTONISHED                                         90

"THERE WERE MANY CALLERS"                                         140

HAVING A NIP                                                      186

"NOW, BOYS, POUR IT ON THEM SMARTLY!"                             236

A NORTHUMBERLAND HARBOUR                                          288




I

THE WILD NORTH SEA


There was a large fleet of sailing brigs, barques and schooners waiting
for a favourable wind and spring tides, so that they might be put to
sea without running the risk of thumping their keels off on the Bar.
The vessels had been loaded for several weeks. Many of them were bound
to the Baltic. These were spoken of as the "Spring Fleet." The older
and smaller craft were engaged in the coasting trade, and the larger
were bound to ports in the southern hemisphere. Each of them carried
three or four apprentices; but the southern-going portion did not deem
the collier lads "classy" enough to permit of them forming close
comradeship. A condescending speaking-acquaintance was the limit of
their connection. There was nothing to justify this snobbery, for in
point of comparison the average collier lad in seamanship and physical
capacity was the equal, and in intelligence by no means inferior to the
young gentlemen who regarded the class of vessel they served aboard of
as a stamp of their own superiority. They were indeed a species of that
terrible creature who apes nobility because he lives in a mansion.
Occasionally the collier lads resented the lofty airs of the
southern-going gentry, until open hostility ensued and much blood was
spilt. But pugilistic encounters were conducted on strictly
professional lines, and no ill-will was supposed to exist on the part
of the combatants after they were over. That was the rule laid down,
and a breach of it brought disgrace on the violator and his coadjutors,
who were thereupon ostracised from the party to which they belonged.
The necessity for enforcing the penalty rarely occurred, not only
because of its severity, but because it involved loss of honour.

A disagreement as to valour and prowess and seamanship had arisen
between some sailor lads who belonged to the two different sections.
They decided that their differences could only be settled by being
fought out on neutral ground. This was solemnly chosen, a ring formed,
seconds appointed, and the contest began. In half-an-hour victory was
decided in favour of the collier boy, though with all the fulness of
sailor generosity his opponent received an ungrudging share of the
ovation that was given to the champion. Both, however, showed evidences
of rough usage: the only visible difference being that one had two eyes
badly damaged while the victor had but one. After it was over they
shook hands, swore allegiance to each other, walked back to their
respective vessels, had raw beef applied to the eyes that were
discoloured, tumbled into their hammocks and fell fast asleep.
Meanwhile a general meeting of apprentice lads from all the vessels in
port was mustered, so that the result of the dispute should be publicly
proclaimed; and in order that the occasion should be suitably
celebrated, it was suggested and approved by loud acclamation that
whereas there was every chance of the morrow being a sailing day, when
the little port would be emptied of all its shipping, it might be that
the parting would represent years, and perchance many of them would
never meet on earth again. The latter clause was announced with marked
solemnity. The orator proceeded to state that there had been enmities,
jealousies, perhaps unworthy statements made about the inferiority of
the collier boy, but the question had been settled by a brilliant
exhibition of physical science; both sides were well represented, and
both had shown that they were worthy champions of the noble art.

"Let me ask you then to call upon them both to join with us in becoming
friends, and in having on the last night in port a ripping
jollification. I propose," said the peacemaker, "that we have some
chanties, and that we start these aboard the vessel I belong to by
hoisting the topsail yards up."

The two heroes were roused, and cheerfully joined in what resolved
itself into a carnival of reckless mischief. The brains of the whole
company were excited, and they revelled in every form of scampishness.
The leaders gave orders as to the vessels that were to be visited and
have their yards crossed and their rig in other ways disfigured. This
being done, the spokesman informed them that they had spent a very
jolly night, and after hoisting the _Silverspray's_ topsails to the
mast head and furling the sails again, they were to disperse quietly
and go each to his own ship. The sails were loosened, a chanty man was
selected from among the southern-going seamen, and amid a chorus of
sweet song the yards were leisurely mast-headed. The music of many
voices had attracted a few people to the quay. A shout was raised that
the captain of the vessel was coming. The halyards dropped from each
one's hand, and a general scramble resembling a panic ensued. Down came
the main topsail yard with a run, and broke in halves as soon as the
sudden jerk came on the lifts. In almost as little time as it takes to
write it, there was none of the revellers to be seen.

After the novelty has worn off, there is never any particular desire to
put to sea on the part of youngsters; but on this occasion the anxiety
to get out of the harbour was very marked. Many of the vessels got away
before the damage done to the _Silverspray's_ yard and sail became
generally known. The captain did not know that anything of the sort had
happened until he came down to take the vessel to sea, and being a
commonsense sort of man, instead of joining in the chorus of screaming,
as his owner was doing, he adjured him to cease wasting time in
declaiming against those who had done the mischief.

"We must set to work," said he, "and have the damage repaired; that is
more important than theorising as to who did it."

By the time the repairs were set in full swing, nearly the whole of the
culprits had passed over the bar aboard their respective ships into the
booming waves of the German Ocean. Many of them were destined never to
reach their destination, and many never more to see the paradise that
had given them so many ineffable days and nights. Sad hearts were
grieving over the sudden parting from those who were loved because they
were lovable. They seemed to be musing thoughts of poetry.

The _Silverspray's_ repairs were completed in two days, and she and
another vessel, that had been detained owing to her pump gear not being
ready, were towed out of the harbour in the face of a strong easterly
wind and a lowering glass. The portly, ruddy appearance and pronounced
lurch or roll of Captain Thomas Arlington left no doubt as to his
calling. He spoke with an assumed accent which resembled the
amalgamation of several dialects. He was usually called Tom by his
intimate friends, but mere acquaintances were not permitted to address
him in any such familiar fashion. In his younger days he gained
notoriety for having made several voyages to the West Indies, the
Brazils and Constantinople, and he was therefore looked upon as a
far-sailed and much-learned person. Owners vied with each other in
sounding his praises and competing for his services. They looked upon
him as a captain of the first rank, both in seamanship and education.
There was no question about the former: the latter consisted in his
being able to read and write a legible hand, which was a rare
accomplishment in those days. He had saved a little money, and was
allowed as a special favour to invest to the extent of eight
sixty-fourth shares in the vessel he commanded. He never lost an
opportunity of making his less fortunate compatriots feel that he was
immeasurably their superior. Many of them who commanded the same class
of vessel were so impressed with his influence over the owners that
they looked upon his friendship as being of some value. Being part
owner, his privileges were wide; in fact he was admitted within the
owner circle, and contributed to the wisdom thereof in many eccentric
ways.

The two little brigs were bound to the Baltic, and the first day out a
heavy press of canvas was carried in order to get a good offing, lest
the wind and sea should make and catch them tight on a lee shore. After
they had been out twenty-four hours they both tacked off Flamborough
Head, bearing west twenty miles, and stood to the N.E. The _Silverspray_
passed close under the stern of the _Francis Blake_. The captains
saluted each other as was the custom. The _Blake's_ captain shouted
that his vessel was making a lot of water. The other responded: "We are
making some too, and we shall have more wind and sea before there is
less." This was about ten on a February morning. Their sailing
qualities were pretty much on a par, so that they were kept in company
all through the day. The wind had shifted from E.S.E. to S.E., and they
headed E.N.E. with about two and a half points leeway, making the true
course, after the toss of the sea had been allowed, about N.E. So long
as daylight remained no canvas was taken in, though both of them were
sometimes plunging their jibbooms under, and their bows almost level
with the foremast. Every bit of rigging and running gear was strained
to its maximum limit. There was no question of racing or foolhardiness,
but a pressing necessity to flog them off a lee shore.

And this reminds me that only six years before, I innocently committed
a serious breach of nautical faith for which I was roundly reprimanded
by a kindly sailor. It was my first voyage at sea. I had not seen
thirteen summers by many months. I heard two sailors who were standing
by the lee side of the windlass end conversing about the seriousness of
the vessel's position. One said to the other that if the wind did not
norther a little more she would be ashore in Filey Bay before four
o'clock in the morning. My views on seafaring had undergone a change. I
was overcome with delight, and, forgetting the lesson many times given
me never to speak until I was spoken to, with unrestrained impetuosity
I interjected that I hoped she would be ashore before four o'clock, so
that I might get back to my home again. I can never forget the
indignation of the two men. They frowned contemptuously on me, called
me names that I had never heard before, and swore with a refinement
that impressed me with the suspicion that I had said something that was
not to be readily forgiven. With childlike simplicity I asked if it was
wrong to wish that the vessel should go ashore.

"Wrong? you young devil!" said they. "Would you have us all drowned?"

Needless to say, my desire happily did not come to pass, and I became
the object for many a long day of good-humoured chaff which I would
have done anything to obviate. The sailors did not seem to recognize
any humorous side to their own part in it, and yet they used to roar
with laughter at my amazing conclusions, and as my anger increased so
did their amusement. A lee shore is always dreaded by seamen, and many
a sound ship has been made leaky, and many a spar and sail has been
carried away in the effort to keep off. It was precisely this fear that
possessed the two captains in question and caused them almost to bury
their ships in order to get well out to sea in case the wind should
back into the east again.

When darkness came on they lost sight of each other. All night long the
_Blake_ was plunged into a tremendous sea. The crew were nearly worn
out with incessant pumping, and when the dawn whirled into the sky
nothing could be seen of her companion. It was thought she must have
shortened sail and fallen astern. The hoarse moaning of the wind, and
the waves running like conical hillocks, were a sure indication that
there was greater turmoil behind them. The square foresail had been
hauled up, and the crew were in the act of stowing it when the
hurricane burst upon her, and she was held in the grasp of the wind.
The sea was flattened, and the wild drift flew before the screaming
tempest. The captain called out to the men on the foreyard to "hold on
for God's sake," as the vessel lurched over so far that the man on the
lee yardarm said that he felt his foot touch the water. With almost
superhuman effort the seamen, already worn out with pumping and with
lacerated limbs, managed to secure the sail and make their way on deck
to renew the fight to keep the vessel afloat. I do not believe the
owner belonged to the scoundrel class who sent their ships away with
the hope that no more would be heard of them, but I cannot help
thinking that he had close affinity to that no less terrible though
pious section who wearied heaven with prayer for the safe-keeping of
their ships and crews, while they themselves neglected fundamental
precautions for their safety. It was the fashion to look upon drowning
not only as an incident of the profession, but a natural finish to a
sailor's career; and it is no exaggeration to say that many people
thought the poor fellow preferred this form of extinction to any other.
The owner who squared his conscience by throwing the responsibility of
the seaman's safety on to Almighty God did not unduly concern himself
as to efficiency or seaworthiness; nor did he assume deep mourning if
calamity came in consequence thereof. A few appropriate words of
compliment addressed mainly to himself for his care in having the ship,
when she sailed, in a state of unimpeachable order, and his constant
intercession for divine protection were quite sufficient to exonerate
him from in any way contributing either to loss of life or to loss of
property. What cant, what insufferable _hypocrisy_! What hideous
slaughter was committed in those good old times in God's name and in
the name of British humanity! The late Dr Parker, preaching in the City
Temple some time ago on the Armenian atrocities, exclaimed amid
uproarious applause at the end of a fine peroration, "God damn the
Sultan!" And William Watson wrote a fine poem in which he charged
England with indifference and spoke of the Sultan as "Abdul the
damned." It is considered the prerogative of Englishmen to say strong
things about the heads of other Governments if their subject races are,
in their opinion, treated cruelly; but we are death on anyone who would
interfere or accuse us of injustice or inhumanity. The only difference
between the Government of Turkey and the Government of Great Britain
was that the one massacres by cutting throats, and the other used to
massacre by allowing rotten, ill-equipped, ill-designed vessels to sail
under the spotless flag of England and carry to their doom shiploads of
the finest seamen in the world. We "God damn the Sultan"; yes; but I
have known the time when poor sailors might with equal justice have
"God damned" the Government of St Stephen's who would not listen to
their woes. Poor fellows! Had Dr Parker and other public men dared to
"God damn" their own countrymen for carrying on a system of trading
with veritable coffins, the reform which has made our mercantile marine
the finest in the world would not have been so long delayed.

The little vessel of which I am writing hadn't a rope (as the sailors
said) strong enough to hang a cat with, and it was in consequence of
this most culpable neglect that the throat halyards of the fore trysail
gaff broke soon after sailing. The gaff came down with a run, and it,
together with the sail, was put into a long boat which stood on the
chocks over the main hatches. Paradoxical as it may appear, this
accident caused by rotten running gear was the means of saving the ship
and all her crew. This was only a minor mishap compared with the
breaking of one of the legs of the pump brake stand, which occurred
just at the time both pumps were required to keep down the increasing
flow of water. The storm continued to rage with unabated fury. No sky
could be seen for the flying sleet, and the sea was torn and tossed
into a wilderness of broken water. The only canvas set was the
close-reefed main topsail. Both pumps had been going for several hours,
and at one o'clock on the morning of February 12, the well was pumped
dry and the mate's watch ordered below to get a nap until four. They
took their drenched clothing off, wrung the water out, hung it on a
line round the bogey fire to dry, and turned into their hammocks as
naked as they were born. At three the hand-spike knocked heavily on the
deck and a loud voice called down the scuttle hatch, "Larboard watch,
ahoy! All hands to the pumps, the ship is sinking!"

Every man in a couple of minutes had put his steaming clothes on and
set to work; and the fight with death went on until noon, when it was
found that the water was gaining. The men despaired of keeping her
afloat over night, and as there came in sight several vessels, it was
decided to put the Ensign Union down in the main rigging. The captain
ordered a young hand to clear away the long boat and make her ready for
launching out by the lee gangway. This necessitated the foretrysail and
all its gear being thrown on to the weather side of the deck. As soon
as everything was ready the young seaman went to the pumps again. He
had not been long there before he observed that some of the ropes that
had been thrown on the deck did not wash from side to side as the
others did. His gaze became transfixed until it excited the anger of
the mate who asked what he was gaping at. This aroused him from a kind
of stupor, and without saying a word to the officer, he let go the
bellrope and went to the object which attracted him. He took hold of a
rope and found it would not yield. He then felt the deck with his bare
feet and found it was holed, but in order to ascertain the extent of
the hole, he determined to feel with his hands, and as the water was
continuously lashing over him on that part of the deck it was no easy
task to accomplish this. In a few minutes he had ascertained that about
two feet of deck, the shape of a wedge, had been staved close to the
hatch combings; in fact it had never been fastened with nail or bolt.
He shouted at the top of his voice, "I have found the leak!"

[Illustration: FINDING THE LEAK.]

And the little band of men re-echoed with wild delight: "The big leak
is found, hurrah! Down with the ensign." And the young seaman, who by
accident had discovered this wicked piece of workmanship, became the
object of many flattering compliments. Up to that time there had been
observed a solemn, dogged, defiant struggle to defeat death who gazed
into their eyes. An occasional unfriendly wish uttered by one or other
of the sailors as to the punishment the owner should have was received
with applause from all except the captain and mate. These little
outbursts of vengeance were a sort of tonic to their depressed spirits.
A fervent "thank God" came from each man's lips as soon as the leak of
the deck was stopped, the captain adding a supplementary remark that
"God was good even to wicked sinners."

"In an hour from now," said he, "we might have been swallowed up in the
waves. It was almost impossible that our boat could have lived until we
got under the lee of the schooner" (which had been sighted and which
hove to with the object of effecting a rescue). "Ah," said this
penitent old man, "it is good to live as we would wish to die. God
knows those who believe and trust in Him, and so He has saved us from a
watery grave."

"Then keep off the whiskey and stick on deck," said one of the boldest
of the crew, who was a naturalized Englishman. This remark brought the
captain very near to backsliding. Fire was seen in his eyes, and he
retorted with warmth: "If it wasn't the fear of God in my heart, you
darned neck end, I would kick you. But," added he, "I will not be
provoked into committing what may be considered a sin. We have much
work to do before this passage comes to an end, if ever it does."

"Then do your part," said Jack, "and take no more drink."

Here was sound advice, and it was rigidly adhered to, for the
temptation was removed by the cook slipping the remainder of the
whiskey over the side. Up to that time the men had much to complain of,
as their master had been very little on deck until he was made to
realize that his ship was in imminent peril. They knew pretty well what
he was after, and were glad of the opportunity of making him see that
his well-known skill was required on the quarterdeck. Kept from the
drink he was one of the smartest men that ever took charge of a vessel.
He had been at the helm for nine hours before the leak was found, and
as there was six feet of water in the hold, and a "private leak" which
kept one pump going every hour, he stuck to it for another seven hours,
when the crew called out "she sucks!" i.e., the well is dry. This was
gladsome news. It is gladsome even under favourable circumstances, but
here were men who had stood almost continuously up to the waist in
water; and sometimes a knot of a sea would smash right over them. Their
sleeves were doubled up and they had neither boots nor stockings on.
Their hands were cut and their arms and legs were red raw with friction
and salt water boils. Let him who may estimate the sufferings of these
poor creatures. I cannot, for my vocabulary fails me. Torture does not
describe it; nor yet the sweat of anguish. It was very shocking, and
were it not that I fear to offend the susceptibilities of some folk I
would use a term that might come very near to describing its awful
character. Those who are inclined to think the picture exaggerated know
little of what went on in the much applauded "good old times."

It had been dark for four hours. The clatter of the pumps could only
faintly be heard for the alternate whistling and roaring of the storm.
The combined music had a weird, saddening effect, as if doom were
approaching. A wild and leprous moon sometimes shone through the
troubled clouds of scudding sleet. The sea was white with angry
commotion, and there were no evidences of the turmoil abating.
Immediately the pumps sucked the captain ordered his men to go below
and get something to eat; meanwhile he would remain at the helm and
keep a look out. In half an hour they were at the pumps again. It took
a good while to get all the water out of her, as she was continuously
making a good deal, and that which had gone through the staved deck had
not quite drained through into the well. However, they felt that they
had got the upper hand, and would keep it, provided none of the
croppers levelled in upon her and smashed either the decks or the
hatches in.

As soon as the captain went below, and it was thought he was asleep,
the mate, who was a phlegmatic sort of person, went below also, and
left a man and a boy to do the pumping. At first they thought he had
gone to light his pipe, but as he was so long in making his appearance
again, one of them went into the cabin and found him in his berth fast
asleep. He was shaken for a long time before he showed signs of life,
and at last grunted out:

"All right. Don't worry. I'll be up directly."

He was reminded that he ought never to have been down, and that it was
no place for the mate of a leaky, or any other ship for that matter, on
such a night. The sailor then left him, and allowed an interval of half
an hour to pass, and as the worthy officer did not make his appearance,
he went below again, and found him slumbering as peacefully as before.
He threatened to do no more pumping if the mate did not get up and lend
a hand at once. Moreover, it was intimated to him that the skipper
would have to be called if he lay there skulking while other people
were being worked to death. This brought the mate out of his berth, but
he got no further than the after-lockers, where he sat down with the
object of lighting his pipe. Being comfortably seated, his head
gradually sank on to the table, and, with the pipe in one hand and the
matches in the other, he again became oblivious to the savage tumult
that raged above him. Again the sailor went to see why he did not come
up, and found him in the aforesaid position. This time he was not
roused; a plot had been arranged, and forthwith a large bucket of water
was taken below and thrown at him. He only shook himself, and murmured:

"She's the dirtiest beast that ever I was aboard of."

The second douse was flung quickly; he became confused, rushed into the
captain's berth, believing he was making his way on deck. He was asked
what was the matter, and replied excitedly:

"The skylight's stove in."

"Get it covered over," said the somnolent commander, "and let me know
what the weather's like at daylight."

The chief officer made his way to the man at the helm, and remarked:

"That was a nasty sea that stove the skylight in, Jacob."

"There's been no nasty seas over here," said Jacob; "why, you must
have been asleep."

"I tell you the cabin's flooded," said the mate.

"Very well," said the other, "if you disbelieve me, look for yourself.
As to sleeping, my God, don't _you_ talk, for you're hardly awake yet."

The mate made a survey, found no damage, and remarked in soliloquy:

"That's funny. Where can the water have come from?"

"Not funny at all," said Jacob, with some irritation; "get away and
lend them poor lads a hand. She might have foundered for all you
cared."

This was grave language to use to a superior officer, but the justice
of it was evidenced by the submissive composure in which it was
received. It was evidently soaking into the mate's thick skull that the
water had not come from the skylight, and this idea was borne out by
his not mentioning the matter to the lads when he went to their
assistance. In spite of their weary and almost exhausted condition,
they had to have their joke, so said to the officer:

"You're very wet, Tom; where have you been?"

"Been be darned!" said Thomas; "I've been nowhere. You shut up and
attend to your work."

"That's all very fine, but 'nowhere' was what the monkey said when he
was accused of stealing nuts," retorted the humourist.

The dialogue was cut short by the helmsman shouting out: "Two lights on
the port bow."

One turned out to be a distress signal, and the other a red light. The
dawn was breaking into the sky, and in less than half an hour daylight
had forced its way through the dull grey mist, and brought the vessels
in sight of each other. They were close to: one was a fishing smack,
and the other a brig, labouring heavily in the trough of the sea, and
flying a flag on the main rigging, just as the _Blake_ had been doing
the previous day. All hands were on deck, including the captain, and
every eye was fixed on the sinking vessel. One of the sailors went on
to the foreyard to ascertain more distinctly what was going on. As soon
as he got aloft he bellowed something which could not be made out owing
to the uproar, and finding that he could not make his voice heard, he
made his way to the deck, and amid much excitement conveyed the belief
that the brig was the _Silverspray_.

Sailors of that time were very quick and accurate in discerning the
identity of a vessel by the cut of her sails, the length of her masts
and yards, and the way they were stayed; even if she were hull down
they could tell by this alone. Several of the disabled vessel's sails
were in ribbons. They had evidently been blown out of the gaskets. She
was drifting under the close-reefed main topsail, and the fore one was
in shreds. The fore and main topgallant braces were broken, and the
yards were swinging about to the toss of the ship. The remains of a
boat hung to the stern davits. The long boat was flattened on the
hatches, and the crew hustled together on the quarterdeck gesticulating
to the other vessel (a smack) to make haste. At last all seemed to be
ready, and the smack was headed before the maddened seas, and flew on
the crest of a wave, which seemed to carry her on to destruction. Now
she was almost lost sight of in the trough, then she was seen to dance
on the summit of a roller, until the supreme moment came to bring her
under the lee of the ill-fated brig. There was then witnessed a most
sensational piece of bravery and superb seamanship. She was rounded to
with the fore staysail sheet to windward; the small boat was launched
out of the lee gangway; lines with life-buoys attached were drifted
towards the boat, and in less than half an hour the crew was taken off
and put aboard the Yarmouth fisherman. Succour came none too soon, as
in less than an hour the brig's mainmast went by the board. She cocked
her stern up and went down head first. The smack reached close across
the stern of the _Blake_, and the shipwrecked crew exchanged salutes
with her. Her speaking-trumpet was used in trying to communicate that
she was making a lot of water and to report having spoken her. This was
also signalled by the commercial code in case they should not have
heard. Good-bye was said by dipping the ensign, and as the rescuer
vanished into the dark, an unspeakable sadness crept over the _Blake's_
crew.

They knew their peril was great, and the physical agony they were
suffering was well-nigh unbearable. They predicted that neither would
diminish. But for the inherent manliness and heroism that have always
been a striking characteristic of the British sailor, these men would
have been quite justified in asking the skipper of the smack to take
them aboard. They were worn out with incessant labour, and the dividing
line between sinking and being kept afloat was very narrow. A little
more straining, or an ugly sea breaking on to a weak spot would quickly
seal their fate. They knew all this, but scorned the thought of
bringing on themselves the charge of cowardice. It soon became apparent
that the little craft of only 280 tons dead-weight would have to be put
before the wind if she was to be saved. The crew had to stand up in
water to their waists nearly all the time they were pumping, and
sometimes they were knocked down by the seas that came aboard. They
could stand it no longer, so a conference was held. The captain said:
"Well, my lads, there are two courses open to us: sink or run for it.
She has two bold ends and will scud for ever. The only thing is we will
be running out of the track of ships into the northern regions where
the cold will be intense, and there will be but little daylight.
Besides, our provisions may run short. Now I have put the position to
you both ways: I am willing to do what you decide."

"Then we decide to run," said the men, "and trust to Providence for the
rest."

The helm was put hard up, the main and foreyards laid square, and she
commenced to scud dead before the wind towards the mystery of the
north. For the first four hours it was doubtful whether the jolly boat,
which was in davits across the stern, would last long. Each diabolic
lump of water that came galloping along threatened not only the boat
but the vessel with sudden destruction. It was very thrilling to
witness the tiny brig flying before the ecstasy of the hurricane and
fluttering away like a seabird from the mountains that towered far
above and were only permitted to kiss her stern with their spray. The
crew were forbidden to look behind while at the helm lest their nerves
should be affected and cause erratic steering. There was really more
danger in this than in any lack of seakindliness on the part of the
vessel. Each time she ran away from a treacherous-looking breaker, the
captain would pat the topgallant bulwarks and speak words of touching
tenderness as though he was communing with a little child. The further
they ran north, the bigger the seas became. One of them came prancing
along, tossed up the stern so that part of the jibboom was put under
and her attitude became uncommonly like running head first under the
sea. Another quickly followed, and the poor captain's faith was
momentarily shaken. He called out "My God, this is awful!" and
certainly this was the only phrase that could describe the horror of
the situation. But there was nothing for it but to keep scudding. Had
any attempt been made to heave to, she would have been smashed to atoms
and no more would have been heard of her. It was only by great care in
steering and having the proper amount of sail set that she was kept
above water. An error in judgement or the neglect of a single point in
the handling would have sealed her fate. By the 20th of the month she
had got so far north there was little or no daylight; the biting cold
was frightful, and there was no prospect of betterness. The long winter
nights were spent in pumping, steering and keeping a look out (though
it was assumed she was long since out of the track of vessels and no
land was near), and the only lights to be seen were the flash of the
curling spray dancing on the top of tempestuous billows.

It was during the forenoon of February 21, just after a snow cloud had
rushed past, the crew were both surprised and cheered to observe a
barque a little on the starboard bow, heading north under two
close-reefed topsails. She was low in the water, and making heavy
weather of it. The crew were seen in the mizen rigging, frantically
waving. A tattered flag was flying beside them, but its nationality
could not be discerned. It was impossible to render the assistance that
was so eagerly sought for, but even if it had been possible it was too
late, for a sea was seen to break right over her stern, and in a few
minutes there was another added to the long list of North Atlantic
tragedies. Amongst the wreckage passed was a boat full of water, and
oars floating on each side of her. Whether this belonged to the latest
victim of the remorseless waves or not, no one could tell, though some
of the crew thought it might. This melancholy incident was not likely
to improve the spirits of the little band of indomitable workers, but
they knew if they had to be saved from the same fate they must not give
way to sentimental weakness.

The following day the force of the hurricane broke, and on the 24th she
had reached 65 degrees north. There were indications of a change of
wind. The sky had cleared so that the stars could be seen, and there
was a brightness in the N.N.W. that omened the wind coming from that
direction. At midnight the change came. Orders were given to let the
reefs out of the topsails, but it took a considerable time to do this
as the reef points and errings were covered with hard, flinty ice, and
it was not until marline spikes were used that any progress was made.
The men's hands, already covered with wounds, had their fingers badly
cut with the icy ropes and sails in carrying out this order, but it was
not until they had been running south for a couple of days that they
began to feel the full extent of their sores. Regular watches were now
kept, and each time they tumbled out of their hammocks to relieve each
other the pain of opening their hands was terrible. Two of the
apprentices had both their feet badly frostbitten.

At last the Norwegian land was made, and one fine morning in the month
of March she slipped into the beautiful harbour of Stavanger to have
the broken pump-stand and shattered rigging and sails put right. The
two boys were landed, and the doctors said their feet were in such a
state of putrefaction they must be taken off at once. None of the other
members of the crew were bitten by frost, but it took many days to heal
their raw wounds. The salt of the sea had not only pickled them, but
had penetrated into their very bones.

Meanwhile the crew of the _Silverspray_ had been landed at the Tyne by
the Yarmouth smack, and they reported that when last they saw the
_Blake_ she was hove to, and signalled making a lot of water; and as
day after day passed and no news came, grave fears were entertained for
her safety; heavy premiums were paid; and the relatives blamed the
_Silverspray's_ men for leaving the crew in a leaky ship--an
unjustifiable charge, for the sailors of that period were not given to
abandoning vessels prematurely. But so long a time had elapsed since
she was spoken of that all hope of her safety was given up. At last
there appeared in one of the local papers a paragraph stating that it
was feared the well-known brig had succumbed, with all aboard, to the
terrible storms that raged over the northern latitudes during the early
part of February. This put an end to all doubt: newspaper statements
were generally believed. But a few days after this announcement a
letter, part of which had been written while sailing along the
Norwegian coast, in order that it might be posted on arrival, was
received in a country village as the first intelligence of her safety.
It is quite sailor-like in its composition, and characteristically free
from whining. The writer merely deals with facts, and very briefly with
them. I have just been shown this greatly valued document, and give it
as it is:

    "DEAR PARENTS,--We expect to arrive to-morrow morning. We have had
    a devil of a voyage, and saw the _Silverspray_ founder, and asked
    the skipper of the smack to report us. One pump going all the time
    nearly. Then the decks were stove in and she nearly foundered
    before it was discovered. I hope the _Spray's_ crew were safely
    landed and reported us, as you would be anxious. We had to run
    north before the hurricane until there was no daylight. She
    wouldn't lie to. My word, what a sea! It was fearful to look at,
    and the captain said we hadn't to, while steering. One day we saw a
    barque founder with all hands. They were in the rigging waving, but
    we could render no assistance. We got into 65 degrees north, then
    the wind changed. It was very cold. Excuse bad writing, I am doing
    it on the galley seat. We are very bad with saltwater boils and cut
    hands. The two Swedes have their feet frostbitten: they are a
    sight. Hoping this will find you all well as it leaves me at
    present, except for the sores. We have had a fearful time. I
    thought you would like to know soon, so I am writing this before
    getting into port. Will add something more then. No more at
    present.

    "Your loving son,

    "J. ROBINSON.

    "PS.--The doctor says the Swedes will have to have the soles of
    their feet cut off. Perhaps their feet altogether. I won't go back
    in her again. If I have to be drowned, I want it to be fair. The
    other men are leaving as well. We've been on short allowance for a
    couple of days, the water was spoiled as well. We are going to have
    a good feed now. Suppose we have to buy it ourselves."




II

CAPTAIN PLUNKER


The _Cauducas_ was a brig of 120 tons dead-weight. She was very old,
very rotten, and very leaky, and was constantly employed carrying coals
from a north-east coast port to France or London. The crew consisted of
the master, mate, cook, and able seaman, and three apprentices, one of
whom was cabin-boy. No one cared to inquire as to when and where she
was built. Wherever paint and tar could be used to cover up defects it
was liberally applied, but that did not prevent the water rushing into
her holds, causing the crew to have to carry her with the pumps from
port to port, as it were, in their arms. The winter voyages taxed their
skill and endurance so that scores of times they were nearly forced to
abandon her or allow the sea to cover the vessel and themselves. The
old sailors used to say when they saw her making the port that she
always "looked far off at a distance," a saying peculiar to that part
of the country. And yet she out-lived many of the most handsome,
well-built, modern ships of that time.

Captain Bourne, or "Plunker," as he was nicknamed, was a man of much
dignity and superior presence, but like many of his contemporaries, he
was very illiterate; indeed, I do not believe he could either read or
write, and yet he was able to collect his freights and generally to
conduct the finances entrusted to him with amazing accuracy. His age
was between forty-five and fifty; he stood over six feet, and was
finely proportioned. He had a moderately-sized head, broad forehead,
strong clean-shaven chin, side board whiskers, and a profile which
suggested the higher type of man. Under pronounced, overhanging
eyebrows, there glowed a pair of medium-sized dark eyes, which at times
were penetrating, and occasionally wore a sad, sympathetic look. His
hands and feet betokened that he had sprung from a physical working
race, though there was nothing of the animal about him, and in spite of
a gruff, uncultured mannerism, he either had it naturally or had
acquired almost a grammatical way of addressing people when he wished
to assert what he obviously regarded as the dignity of his high
calling. This effort to check a natural tendency to the common dialect
was very comical, and yet no one ever thought of it as snobbish; the
whole thing seemed to belong to him, and he couldn't be different if he
wanted to. That was the impression people got of him. In an ordinary
way when he was in port he wore a blue pilot morning suit and silk hat.
The waistcoat was cut so as to show a good space of  shirt
front, though on Sundays when in port and days of sailing and arrival,
white shirts were worn; usually a stand-up collar with silk stock or
some kind of soft neckerchief encircled his neck. He was
weather-beaten, ruddy, and altogether rather pleasant to look at. He
could navigate his vessel along the coast almost blindfold. Charts were
rarely used by such nautical aborigines, as he and scores of his
compeers disdained the very idea of being thought incapable of carrying
all the knowledge in their heads that was necessary for the purposes of
practical navigation. They had a perfect knowledge of the compass and
the lead. The courses, cross-bearings, lights, buoys and beacons were
all riveted in their memory, and it was a rare occurrence when their
memories failed them.

Plunker had all the finer attributes of his class. His character was
unimpeachable; he was abstemious, and unless his fiery temper was
aroused by the sight of some supposed lack of seamanship on the part of
his men or boys, or the idea of imposition on himself or his owner, he
might have been considered religious, but never amiable. Parsimony was
his besetting sin, and he carried this to the extent of feeding his
crew in a way that brought him into frequent conflict with them.
Indeed, the relations on one occasion were so strained that the
apprentices were encouraged to conspire with some boys from other
vessels to commit an act that would humiliate him in the eyes of the
seafaring community and the public generally.

The old captain's pride in his ship and his position as her commander
was a slavish passion. He could not endure any liberties to be taken
with him, even by his employer or his equals on these two points. The
boys of his own and other ships knew this so well that they planned an
indignity that should lacerate his vanity. They knew he was very
partial to what are known by sailors as "two-eyed steaks," and that
never by any chance was he known to allow even his mate, much less any
of the crew, to partake of them except on special occasions, when he
distributed them himself. They were looked upon by him as a luxury, and
were actually kept under lock and key. These peculiarities of his had
often been freely spoken of, and now a conference of able-bodied seamen
in embryo decided that there should be no further tolerance of
parsimony and piety. It must be either one thing or the other. The
elder members of this august coterie gave instructions that the sacred
locker should be broken open and the contents thereof brought into
their presence on the quarterdeck. Each of the party was sworn to
secrecy in such a way that the dread of being haunted by unspeakable
troubles during the balance of their lives would have prevented any
breach of confidence, even had there been no higher sense of honour.
The bloaters were extracted at night and handed over to the recognized
authority. It was decided to decorate the vessel from topgallant trucks
to mainrail by attaching the herring to the signal haulyards about
three feet apart. Captain Bourne's beloved brig was forthwith then
trimmed in her frill of red herrings, and the equivalent to a vote of
thanks was unconventionally moved and carried for the fearless
assistance and patriotic advice rendered by comrades who upheld the
true national faith of being roundly fed with good joints of beef and
plum or suet pudding. After a few appropriate remarks in anticipation
of the trouble and sensation of the morrow, the young gentlemen
dispersed, each going aboard his own ship, while those belonging to the
_Cauducas_ tumbled into their hammocks and were soon fast asleep.
They rose at the usual hour the following morning, and while they were
having breakfast angry and excited voices were heard alongside; and as
they eagerly listened to the picturesque flow of profane language
intermixed with a few eloquent remarks to God to forgive such
irreverence, their minds were permeated with fear lest suspicion would
fall on them during the paroxysm of alternate rage and godliness.
Plunker was a powerful man, and when his anger was roused they knew by
experience it was not safe to interject a word either of denial or
assent; so they determined, when he called them to him, to pursue a
policy of negativeness, and trust to Providence to deliver them from a
position that was showing signs of serious consequences. While the
irate commander was in the white heat of a tremendous peroration, and
in the act of detaching the festoons of herring which he placed so much
value on, his owner, who had come down to see his property, as was the
custom in those early days, came laughing towards his much troubled
captain and greeted him with the advice not to take the matter too
seriously. It was obviously a practical joke intended for a purpose,
and he apprehended the intention was to convey the idea that a liberal
allowance of food should be served out to his crew, and that the luxury
he placed so much value on should no longer be the object of his
special care, but that he should take to heart the lesson just revealed
to him, and allow his people to partake generously of that also. As the
vessel was lying alongside a shipbuilding and repairing yard, a large
crowd of workmen had congregated to see so unusual a display.
Discourteous and jeering remarks were loudly spoken with the studied
intention of reaching the ears of the master and owner, and the news of
a revolutionary act having been committed within the precincts of an
unyielding discipline spread like an electric flash through the little
town, and the unknown perpetrators were eulogistically stamped as
heroes.

No one knew better than this old-time shipmaster the amount of capital
that would be squeezed out of the incident by the gossips, and no one
recognized better than he the amount of odium that would stick to
himself. The poor fellow had been stabbed in a tender spot, and those
who knew him intimately foreshadowed a long period of bitter suffering
for him. Indeed, there were those who openly stated that he would not
long survive the insult to his professional authority. He intimated to
his employer that it was his intention to forthwith hold a
court-martial in his cabin, and requested him to take part in the
investigation. The owner was a person gifted with a sense of humour. He
laconically expressed his willingness to remain aboard, but refused to
have anything to do with the official inquiry.

The mate's Christian name was Matthew, but he was commonly addressed as
Matt. The dignity of Mr was never by any chance applied to chief
officers of this class of vessel, though quarter-deck manners were
always strictly sustained so far as the captain was concerned. He was
the only person who claimed the right of being addressed as "Sir," and
he would brook no violation of its use. Matt, as he was called, was
made the medium of communicating the master's wishes that the
apprentices should meet him in his cabin immediately. The rugged
officer was smitten with the comical aspect of his mission, though he
carried it out in a strictly punctilious manner. These rough, uncouth
men never wilfully offended the susceptibilities of their commanders,
unless they became unbearably despotic, then they retaliated with
unsparing vengeance. The three apprentices promptly obeyed the command
given to them, and were ushered into the presence of their infuriated
captain. They were each handsome, broad-shouldered athletes, with keen,
sparkling, fearless eyes that indicated fearlessness. He made a short,
jerky, almost inarticulate speech on the wickedness and indecency of
committing an act of gross disrespect to the vessel, the owner and
himself, all of whom should have been shielded from ridicule.

"I have had you brought to me," he said, "in order that I might learn
from your own lips whether you are the perpetrators of this base
robbery and vile insult to myself. I ask each of you, are you guilty of
committing or assisting to commit this villainous insult on myself?"

The owner, who was standing in the steerage brimming over with the
ludicrous character of the previous night's frivolity, was heard to
chuckle and say: "What damned nonsense to ask such a silly question!"

[Illustration: CAPTAIN PLUNKER ASTONISHED.]

Each of the lads stoutly denied having any knowledge of what had
happened, whereupon Plunker called them "a set of damned lying
mutineers, who ought to be swung to the yardarm." This phrase was
commonly used at that time whenever it was thought necessary to
emphasise displeasure. Sanguinary penalties were roundly threatened to
them and to their scoundrelly accomplices. Leading questions were put
in a more or less forceful way, but the boys determined to preserve a
secretive and even aggressive aspect, which sent their burly commander
into an ecstasy of violence. At last, despairing of getting any
satisfaction, he told them to get out of his sight. And tradition says
that he was never known to smile again; but the _Cauducas_ became from
that day one of the best found vessels, and her crew the best fed that
sailed out of port. There was no more concealment or locking up, or
doling out of Yarmouth bloaters, or any other thing. A great change had
been wrought in the hitherto inexorable old man of the sea. His conduct
became marked by a generosity that wiped out recollections of past
meanness. His natural make-up prevented him from giving prominence to
his better side, or of making himself endeared to those faithful men
who spent a long life in his service, sharing his precarious fortunes
in working and navigating a vessel that his contemporaries predicted
would carry him and his crew to a tragic doom. Yet this man of icy
exterior, blunt, uncouth and ofttimes vulgar manners, had beating
within him as big a heart as ever was planted in a human breast. His
men knew that there was a power about him that fascinated them. They
could not call it affection, but it was something akin to it: a strong
magnetism, indeed, that inspired their confidence and caused them to
follow him into dangers that resembled the very jaws of death. It was
never a thought of his to show any tender feelings. His susceptibilities
would have been much offended could he have been presented with the
idea that he had a soft place anywhere in his heart. This reluctance to
be supposed effeminate was a characteristic of the age which caused
many acts of injustice to be committed in order that the reputation for
stern, slashing, devil-may-careness should be established, and many a
fine fellow did violence to his whole nature by the desire to be
considered a desperado.

This, however, never appeared to be an ambition of Captain Bourne. All
he seems to have aimed at was to inspire his crew with an affection for
his much beloved vessel, and not on any occasion or under any
circumstances to be thought soft, or weak, or womanish. This of course
could only be assumed, because he never conveyed his thoughts to
anybody.

Long after the herring incident this little vessel was being loaded,
waiting for favourable wind and water so that she might start on her
voyage to Boulogne. She had been detained several weeks, when a fine
N.E. wind and high tide enabled him to pass out of port. It was called
in those days a sea tide, and several masters availed themselves of it
to put to sea. Before this little fleet of collier brigs got as far
south as Flamborough Head, it was blowing a fresh gale, and big lumps
of sea were slashed over them. The pumps of the _Cauducas_ were
continually kept going, and there was much concern as to the crew being
able to keep the water under. Her decks were opening and shutting, and
her timbers were making suggestive noises. She scudded across Boston
deeps under two close-reefed topsails and reefed foresail until abreast
of Cromer high land, when the gale subsided, and before the Cockle
light-ship was reached the wind had shifted into the south-south-east.
With the help of the flood tide she was beaten through the Gat into
Yarmouth roads, where the anchor was dropped, a good scope of chain run
out, sails furled and ship pumped dry. Then the forecastle hands cast
lots who should keep the first anchor watch. The hand who picked the
shortest piece of matchwood had to accept the position of having to
take the first two hours; then all the rest turned in.

The mate was always called at the turn of the tide to swing the vessel,
so that the cable did not foul the anchor. This was done by a skilful
manipulation of the yards and fore topmast staysail. Some mates had
quite a genius for this piece of real seamanship. Others never got
within the fringe of doing it successfully, and the result was that
many a mishap occurred in consequence of cables fouling the anchor
stock, or flukes, thereby pulling it out of the ground and causing it
to drag. It was also the occasion of many bitter quarrels between
master and mate. The former may have been a duffer at the manoeuvre
himself, but that did not bother him now that the position had changed.
Even a consciousness of the mate's knowledge of his fallibility did not
qualify his hostile remarks; indeed, the recollection of it never
failed to increase his anger. As a matter of fact, the knack of doing
it was a gift that no amount of training could create if it was not
inborn. I have known apprentices, after they have been at sea a year or
two, become really adepts at swinging ship at a single anchor, and many
of the seamen prided themselves in being able to do it well. A more
difficult task was that of preventing turns getting in the cable when
riding with both anchors down, and in skilled hands it could very often
be obviated. The thoughtful master or officer made a practice of coming
on deck at irregular hours during the night while anchored in a
roadstead, so that the men might become impressed with the idea of
never relaxing their vigilance. Notwithstanding this care it was not an
infrequent thing for the watch to be caught napping. On one occasion a
collier brig had been windbound for several days in the Yarmouth roads.
The mate was accustomed to pay nocturnal visits on deck, and had
suspected that a great deal of napping was done before the galley fire,
and he had his suspicion confirmed when coming up one night
unexpectedly, and, stealthily making his way to the galley, he found
both doors closed; no one was to be seen anywhere; he looked down into
the forecastle and saw one hammock vacant, so he made his way to the
galley again and listened, and heard someone snoring. He asked who was
there several times and got no answer. He then tried the door, but the
inmate had anticipated an invasion and had wedged it so that no one
could open it from without. The mate was seized with a superstition, or
exasperation, or both, so he drew a belaying pin from the rail, brought
it strongly in contact with the door, and loudly asked who was there. A
husky voice from within answered in broad Northumbrian accent: "Thor's
neebody heor!" "Then by Gox," said the excited mate, "Ye'ar the beggar
I've been luckin' for these last few neights!" The slumberer was the
person who ought to have been pacing the deck. Needless to say, he
became the object of much vituperation, and was never again trusted to
look after the lives of his shipmates or the property of his employer.
Similar incidents to this occurred on every collier vessel.

The _Cauducas_ was several days windbound. The crew had repaired
rigging, running gear, and sails that were damaged during the storm,
and they now welcomed a change of wind which came, so that the voyage
might be continued. The anchor was weighed, and every stitch of canvas
was spread and bellied out with a strong flowing wind. By the time the
Kentish Knock Lightship was reached the wind had increased so that the
topgallant sails had to be furled and two reefs taken in the topsails.
The North Foreland was passed and a course shaped for Boulogne. The
wind had increased to a gale, and the sea in the Channel was as cross
and as angry as it well could be. Every preparation was made for
entering port; mooring ropes and cable chains were got on deck so that
the anchors might be used if necessary. She was run well over towards
the French Coast before she could be hove to to take a pilot aboard.
This having been done, orders were given to square away for the
harbour. The sea was breaking a good distance off, and the prospects
for entering looked very ugly. The captain was at the tiller and was
unusually agitated. The pilot's excitement remained subdued until the
sinister commotion of seas was within easy distance. He then became
voluble in his orders. The little vessel rushed into the merciless
liquid breakers at great speed. One of them broke over the bluff of the
bow, carrying the bulwarks away, and at the same time the cable chain
was lurched over the side. The master rushed from side to side with the
tiller, irrespective of the pilot's equally chaotic orders. The crew
became alarmed for their safety, while the captain and pilot vied with
each other for first place in exhortation to keep cool, but neither the
one nor the other was cool. The pilot called out in very broken English
"Port" and "Starboard" in quick succession. The master answered "Port"
and "Starboard" each time the order was given, adding each time as an
addendum, "Look at that blooming cable chain hanging over the side!" so
that the confusion of orders and irrelevant responses to them became a
menacing danger to safe navigation. The pilot swore in French at the
captain, requesting him to steer the vessel and not to mind the ----
chain being over the side, and the captain delivered himself in even
more forceful language at the pilot for arrogance in dictating orders
as to how he should conduct himself; and in order to minimise the guilt
of hard swearing and to appease his conscience for having offended the
God of the British people, as soon as it was uttered the pilot begged
forgiveness, and then poured forth his anger in a flow of strong French
adjectives. The crew, being well trained and accustomed to perils of
this nature, did their part of the necessary work irrespective of
orders. They saw, however, that trouble would come to them if the
master could not be persuaded to forget that the cable chain was
overboard, so they induced Matt to go and offer to give him a spell,
and to everybody's surprise he was willing to give the steering into
the hands of his mate, who knew as well as either himself or the pilot
the way into the harbour.

The seas broke heavily over her until she entered the mouth of the
harbour. A crowd of their fellow-townsmen from other vessels had come
on to the pier with the object of rendering any assistance they could,
and by their goodness and skill she was moored without the necessity of
letting go the anchors or even breaking a ropeyarn. Plunker was very
grateful to these fine fellows for the valuable service they had
rendered. They knew that he was never effusive about any favours
conferred upon him, so were content to receive a plain "Thank you." The
local sailormen of that time used to caricature him running in confused
frenzy from side to side of the quarterdeck with the tiller, and
imitate the pilot and himself haranguing each other to keep cool, and
immediately afterwards breaking out into violent attacks on each
other's capacity for giving and receiving orders.

This strange being, at a time when he was passing through the peril of
facing death, never lost the power of making his men feel that he was
above their level. Even his undignified altercations with the pilot,
and his mixed erratic exclamations on the subject that obviously
troubled him, in no way diminished the awe in which he was regarded.

The vessel was moored alongside the quay, and great care was used in
having the fenders properly placed, so that her aged planking would be
preserved from chafing. Had she been the king's yacht, no greater
attention could have been given to prevent this.

[Illustration: "THERE WERE MANY CALLERS."]

The following morning there were many callers alongside, and many
congratulations offered to the captain and his crew on a safe
deliverance. There were shipbrokers, shipmasters, seamen and all grades
of dockworkers; each of them showed a common desire to be unusually
kind. The English vessels in port had their flags half-mast. Someone on
the _Cauducas_ asked the reason for this, and the reply came in subdued
tones that the _R----_ had come in on the last flood, and her master
reported having had very heavy weather crossing the Kent. Everything
had been swept from the deck, and Captain Bourne's eldest son, who was
serving as able-seaman, had been knocked off the lee foretopsail
yardarm while assisting to close reef the topsail. He held on to the
reef-earing as long as he could, but the flapping of the sail soon
caused him to call out to his shipmates, "I can hold on no longer," and
before any aid could be given he had slipped his hold and fallen into
the sea, and the surges covered him over.

The news of his son's tragic end was communicated to Captain Bourne by
his faithful mate, who pathetically, and with unconscious humour,
exhorted his master not to give way to grief. "It is a bad job," said
he, "but it would have been much worse had it been ourselves, and we
were very near done for." His bereaved master was a man of very few
words. He asked some particulars without apparent emotion, and then
proceeded to his cabin, where he was found shortly afterwards praying
in a simple, touching way to Almighty God that the body of his son
might be picked up so that it might be taken to his home. He petitioned
fervently that his younger boy might be spared to him. It seemed as
though his communion with the Deity had given him a glimpse into
futurity, or a presentiment of further bereavement. He was recalled to
material things by being reminded by the cabin-boy that the mid-day
meal was ready. He took his place at the table and proceeded to make
inquiries as to whether the discharging of the cargo would commence
that day. The mate informed him that he did not think there was any
intention of doing so, whereupon he replied, "I must go ashore and stir
them up." The masters and mates of the other vessels in port would have
come in a body to condole with him for the loss of his son, but they
knew that he loathed outward signs of soft emotion, and in any case
would never allow sentiment, no matter how justifiable, to come between
him and his business obligations.

He was well known in business circles for his devotion to the interests
of his employers. That was his first and last thought, and when he went
forth to do their business he wasted neither time nor words. He
possessed a natural gift of diplomacy, and wrote no letters. He had the
knack of conveying what he wanted to be at, and his quaint way of doing
it, though it might amuse, always inspired the person who was addressed
with the belief in his soundness, so that few men succeeded as he did
in getting what he wanted. On the occasion of which I am writing, the
merchants received him with obvious sympathy, and he was promised a
quick dispatch. That night he got the boy to write a few lines to his
wife at his dictation. They were very brief, very melancholy, very
reverential. Here is the letter:

    "DEAR WIFE,--We arrived here yesterday after a very rough passage.
    I hope you're well as it leaves me at present. The _R----_ arrived
    this morning's tide, and reports that Jack was knocked off the
    foretopsail yardarm, and they never see'd him again. He shouted
    'Guidbye, I cannot hold on any longer.' I asked God to have his
    body picked up and sent home, and while I was doing it, a queer
    thought came over me that little Bobby was being washed overboard
    from the _Savannah_. I hope it's not true, and that God won't take
    him from us as well. No more at present, from

         _HIS_
    "JOHN X BOURNE."
        _MARK_.

He seems to have had a rugged anxiety that the mother of his drowned
son should be given a prompt opportunity of sharing his sorrow. It was
not usual for these shellbacks to write letters while on a coasting
voyage. Indeed, they were very cautious about doing it at any time in
case even members of their own families should think them
tender-hearted. Moreover, those who could not write or read were very
sensitive about allowing others to do it for them.[1]

      [1] It may be as well to explain here that the straddle-leg
      patent, as it was called, often caused sailors to be both killed
      and drowned. They used to give advice in a flippant way to each
      other that if they were forced to let go their hands to be sure
      to hold on by the skin of their teeth or their feet. This little
      joke was rarely successful in saving them from being smashed to
      pieces or drowned. The invention by Collin and Pinkney for
      reefing and furling, and subsequently the double topsail yards
      introduced by the Americans, did a great deal towards preventing
      loss of life, and certainly saved many a spar from going over the
      side. It was found that there were fewer accidents both in life
      and property by the use of the latter. Occasionally the patents,
      which have been long out of use, went wrong, and the sail could
      neither be got up nor down, but this never happens when proper
      care is used with the double topsail yarders. With these a vessel
      may be put under close-reefed topsails in a few seconds.

In due course the cargo of the little brig was discharged and the
ballast was brought alongside. The side ports were knocked out, and the
crew commenced to throw the ballast into the hold, as it frequently
happened that only one side was available. A couple of hands were
placed in the hold to shovel it over to the opposite side in order to
keep the vessel upright. While this was being done the captain
proceeded to collect and pay his accounts. Cheques or bills of exchange
were dispensed with as a rule, and the freight was paid over the
counter in sovereigns, and scooped into a leather bag. This was taken
aboard and concealed in the master's room. It was a rare thing for the
freight to be wrongly settled, or go astray after it was settled. Men
like Captain Bourne had a mysterious way common to themselves of
counting and calculating, and any breakdown in their system (for each
had his own) would have made a deep wound in their pride. The day after
the ballast was all in and trimmed, orders were given to unmoor, and
the little craft sailed out of the harbour with a fine southerly wind
and all sail set. The breeze carried her as far north as Flamborough
Head, when it gradually veered into the west and kept steady, but blew
so hard that the topsails had to be double-reefed.

It was the morning watch from four to eight. The cabin-boy was called
at seven o'clock to prepare breakfast and polish the brass stove and
ashpan. The captain heard the little fellow doing his morning work, and
called out to him, "Boy!"

"Yes sir," said the boy.

"How is the wind?"

"I will go and ask," said he.

He came down and conveyed the pleasing intelligence that it was still
west and they were close in by Whitby Lights.

"Come into my berth and get yourself a glass of gin, my canny lad,"
said the indulgent skipper, "and see that I am not disturbed for
breakfast. Don't call me until she is abreast of Sunderland."

"All right, sir," said the boy, and availed himself of his master's
kindness by taking a second mate's nip out of the gin jar which was
kept under his bed. The little fellow wondered what had caused such a
convulsion of endearment, as Captain Bourne's demeanour had hitherto
been the very antithesis of external tenderness. About an hour had
elapsed when he was asked again "How the wind was."

[Illustration: HAVING A NIP.]

"W.N.W.," said the youth, "and inclined to break off" (i.e., norther).

"What are you making such a noise about?" growled the now uneasy
captain; "shut my door so that I may be quiet; and get the cabin
properly scrubbed out ready for going into port."

The wind had freshened, the vessel began to jump into a nasty head
swell, and in order to ease the strain on the rigging the necessary
sail was shortened. Captain Bourne was aroused by the sombre music of
the wind rustling through the rigging and making occasional discordant
noises. His mind became centred on the possibility of the voyage being
prolonged, and in order that his suspicions should be confirmed or
otherwise, he called with a deep, agitated voice for the boy to come to
him; and when he presented himself the captain asked in a tone which
indicated coming trouble: "How is the wind now?"

The youthful seaman replied, with a voice and manner indicative of
knowledge and assurance: "The wind, sir, is strong N.N.W., and
increasing," and as this was the direction in which they were bound,
the captain's mental processes became confused. A strange guttural
sound came from his throat as though there was a struggle going on
between the flesh and the devil. The conflict did not last long, as the
sanctity which he had observed for some days went under. He jumped from
his bunk, seized his boot which lay hard by, flung it at the poor,
fatigued laddie, bellowing out at the same time: "On deck, you darned
young spawn of ----. I've been kept awake by your clatter ever since
you got up." And the boy flew before the hurricane of wrath lest he
should come to grief.

The men asked him the cause of being turned out of the cabin.

"The cause," he said, "is, the old man asked me how the wind was, and
as soon as I told him it was N.N.W. he flung his boot at me and ordered
me on deck for making too much noise. I hadn't been more than a minute
in the cabin after lending a hand to shorten sail. Besides, the old
beast almost hugged me when I told him the wind was west and that we
were off Whitby. Why, he was so pleased he asked me to have a nip of
that gin he keeps under his bed!"

"Did he swear at you?" said one of the seamen.

"Swear?" said the boy, "it wasn't swearing, it was sulphurous."

"Ah," said the sailor, "it's a bad job he's broken out again. There'll
be no more peace until something serious happens. But perhaps a fair
wind might put him right for a bit. I thought the loss of Jack had
knocked all the sulks out of him, and that he had fairly become
religious."

"What are you gadding about, man?" said Matt, the mate; "how do you
expect anybody to keep religious with the wind N.N.W. and bound north,
with the prospect of being driven back to Burlington Bay or perhaps
Yarmouth Roads? And besides," continued this theological authority,
"sailors are allowed to swear when anything goes wrong, and the old man
is only taking advantage of his rights. You make no mistake; he cannot
read or write--no more can I for that matter--but he knows a thing or
two when it comes to law or religion." Thus spake the loyal,
well-informed Matthew.

After a few days' hard buffeting against a biting head-wind, the vessel
arrived at the port to which she was bound, and after she was moored
and everything made trim, running gear coiled round the belaying pins,
every bight being regular and equal, sails stowed in a cloth, and yards
laid perfectly square, the sailors then proceeded to arrange themselves
in spotless white fustian trousers and blue jerseys adorned in front
with their names or initials worked in red or white worsted. The latter
article of apparel was usually knit by their wives if they were
married, or their intended wives if they were not, and in either case
there was great competition in producing the very best work both of art
and serviceableness. They then packed their clothes in canvas bags and
carried them home on their shoulders. There was considerable emulation
not only in the neatness of the packing and the cleanness of the bags,
but the arrangements for fastening the mouth of the bag took weeks to
fashion into a very pretty piece of sailorising. These things may seem
small and frivolous, unworthy indeed of being referred to as even a
characteristic of the sailor of that locality and of that period. I do
not know anything that came under the lash of such severe criticism as
the sailor's own fashion of dress, and it must not be imagined that it
was confined to the sailors themselves, though they were merciless
enough with each other, but the owners and the public generally took
the keenest interest in these little touches of vanity and handiwork.
Many a worthy fellow got a good berth because he and his belongings had
the stamp of ingenuity and tidiness about them, and certainly many of
them knew that this was a sure means of winning the affections of young
girls whom they wished to make their wives.

These young maidens who resided in this interesting little seaport town
knew almost by instinct whether a vessel was kept smart or not; neither
those who were married nor those who were single liked either their
husbands or sweethearts to be associated with an ill-kept vessel. If
they read anything at all it was what the newspapers said about
shipping, or as a matter of religious devotion they might perchance
read an occasional chapter in the Bible, so that their mental energy
found a ready outlet in the gossip of things appertaining to their
daily life and immediate surroundings, which for the most part were
nautical, although I must not overlook the fact that many of the more
intelligent of them were connected with religious institutions. These
were mostly Dissenters, Wesleyan Methodists, Primitives and
Presbyterians. The Church of England had not at that time become the
evangelical force that it may be considered to-day. I am not sure to
which of these sects Captain Bourne belonged, but amongst every class
there was a widespread sympathy extended to him on his arrival at the
home port. The news of his son having come to so untimely an end moved
the little community so that condolences came to him from many
unexpected quarters. Dignified owners shared with the common sailor and
apprentices their ungrudging sympathy, and he received it with
transparent gratitude. All his gruff mannerisms were forgotten in the
sorrow of the moment. The poor lad who had passed so suddenly into the
valley of death was looked upon as a promising captain in embryo, and
there was much speculation as to the deeds he would have accomplished
and the high position he would have attained had the sea not claimed
him so soon. All this and a good deal besides was spoken to the
sorrowing parents by way of ameliorating their suffering, and also
because the occasion was opportune for speaking that which they really
believed would have come to pass. Little did the people or the object
of their compassion think that at the very time they were saying those
encouraging words destiny was fulfilling another tragedy, and the sea
had again become the tomb of a bonny, bright, promising youth who had
not reached his seventeenth year. The _Cauducas_ had been in port
for a couple of weeks and was on the point of sailing, when news came
that Captain Bourne's second son had been washed overboard and drowned
from the vessel he was serving aboard of. The presentiment that this
would happen had been overshadowed by the interest taken in the loss of
the eldest boy. When the news was broken to him, a sullen, stupefied
gaze came into his eyes. He murmured a few incoherent words, and then
with a superhuman effort he raised his voice, and with emphasis that
was terrible as well as pathetic he called out: "Oh, God, what have I
done to You that You should allow this thing to be done to me? I have
had two bonny lads taken from me within a month of each other. Oh, God,
help me to bear the trial like a man!"

This fine old sailor, believed he was holding communion with a personal
power of British nationality that could sway the universe at His will.
He believed, though he could not see Him, that God was a person that
kept Himself out of sight for a purpose, and that it was the duty of
every Englishman to keep on good terms with Him. The mystery of
divinity never entered his head. It was a simple, steadfast faith,
peculiar if you like, but unyielding in devotional loyalty to His
supremacy. It was a wonderful phenomenon, which even cynical logicians
might have found embarrassing to their iconoclastic notions could they
have witnessed it. Here was an uncultured though magnificent-looking
person passing through a sorrowful tribulation, exciting the pity and
calling for the admiration of hundreds of his fellow creatures, because
he was able to hold his head up and appeal to the only power he knew
that was capable of giving him consolation and courage. "Oh, God, help
me to bear the trial like a man!" That was the melancholy burden of his
petition, and the assurance that it would be answered never forsook
him.

His vessel was soon ready for sea, and sailed on the first of a series
of voyages that were contracted for her to run. On the completion of
these he was asked by his owner to take command of a barque of about
600 tons deadweight. To an ordinary man and to the average shipmaster
of that time, the opportunity of being shifted from an old rattle-trap
brig to the enviable position of commander of a "South Spainer" would
have been accepted with excessive pride and gratitude; but Bourne was
not an ordinary man. He had spent a long life as master of a vessel on
which he had placed his affections, so that the more urgent the owner
became for him to take advantage of the offer of much higher wages and
greater dignity, the more tenaciously he clung to the belief that some
serious judgement would befall him if he were ungrateful and disloyal
enough to forsake the brig that had carried him for more than a quarter
of a century across many a wrathful sea. "No," said he, "I must end my
days in the canny ship. Her and me have had a lot to do with each
other, and I would never forgive myself if I were to agree to this
request, and some useless fellow were to put her ashore on a bank or on
the rocks, and she became a total wreck. Besides, if anything were to
happen I could not rest in my grave."

"Well," said the owner, "I appreciate your high motives, and also the
strong regard you have shown for a vessel that has made me so much
money; and I must not forget to say that but for your skill and care in
conducting the business, and also in the navigation, the results would
have been very different. It is because of these and other sterling
qualities that you possess that I ask you to consider favourably the
offer I have made. You know how badly the _Grasshopper_ has done, and I
feel that you are the only man that can pull her out of the bad mess
she is in. Sleep over it."

Bourne slept over it, and informed the owner the next day that the ship
was far too big for him, but as the change was urged he must leave the
final decision to the owner, always bearing in mind that he wished to
remain where he was. The owner availed himself of the old mariner's
flexible state of mind by promptly taking him at his word. And he
forthwith became the object of notoriety. There had been not a few
aspirants to this enviable position, and much speculation as to whether
Bourne would ultimately be persuaded to take it or not. Of course it
was vigorously hoped he would not, and when the announcement in the
affirmative was made there were sundry disappointments. The predictions
were of a gloomy character. Forebodings that the new commander would
never be able to handle so large a ship became the prevalent idea, for
he had never been in a vessel carrying more than about 250 tons. It was
an open secret that Captain Bourne had misgivings of a similar kind
himself. He feared, indeed, that she might run away with him. He
apprehended that his capacity to handle a vessel of a different rig
from that to which he had been accustomed all his life might prove
defective. Many of his contemporaries, as well as he himself, held very
contracted and primitive ideas as to size. They talked of vessels of
400 tons burden as being large, and those of six to seven or eight
hundred were described as leviathans.

Captain Bourne showed signs of depression from the time his belongings
were taken from the object of his devotion. He felt he was parting from
a life-long friend. A Board of Trade certificated chief mate was
engaged to act as "nurse." The crew were signed on, stores shipped, and
after the cargo was all aboard, the _Grasshopper_ crossed the bar amid
much cheering from the people who lined the quays and piers. Moreover,
the occasion was of more than usual interest, for Captain Bourne had
never been off the coast during his whole life. After the tug and pilot
left, a course was shaped towards the hidden mysteries that lay across
the sea. The passage was made quickly, but not without mishap, for the
vessel had struck on a reef of rocks, and it was thought her false keel
and copper had received considerable damage. From the time the vessel
left the port of loading the captain had been little seen. It was well
known that a morbid brooding had taken complete possession of him. He
rarely came to his meals, and when he did he never spoke except to
murmur some words of endearment about the old ship he had been
persuaded to leave. The stranding of his new command was interpreted as
a judgement sent to him for the wrong he had committed in giving way to
pride by forsaking the craft that had carried him so many years in
safety. On his arrival in port several friends paid him a visit, and
were struck with his changed appearance. The mates and steward said
they had observed that there was a difference in him, but the passage
had been so wild and eventful they had never had time to think of it.
After the first two or three days his business visits ashore became
very irregular, and before the cargo was discharged they had ceased
altogether. He was seldom seen either below in his cabin or on deck. He
could not be induced to take his meals regularly, and took to shutting
himself up in his stateroom. A dangerous form of melancholia held him
in fetters, so that when friendly visitors called to see him his
reclusive mood forbade any intercourse with even men who knew him
intimately.

There was much speculation as to the cause of this morbid determination
to abstain from food and from having communication with anyone.
Naturally, drinking was freely attributed to him, but this was stoutly
denied by every one of the crew. His mate and steward were of opinion
that he was fretting badly about having to leave the old brig; and this
had led him to think more than he would have otherwise done of the loss
of his boys and the stranding of his vessel. Each day saw a change for
the worse, until the mate became alarmed by evidences of total
collapse. He determined to see the master of a steamer who was in port
and knew Bourne well enough to do what would have been resented as a
great liberty in another man. This captain insisted that he would not
stand the humbug of asking to be allowed to see Bourne, so he boldly
went aboard, knocked at the stateroom door, and demanded admittance. On
this being refused, he proceeded to force the entrance, and presented
himself before the amazed inmate with quite a string of strong
adjectives for the bad behaviour in not reciprocating his
neighbourliness.

"What are you lying there fretting your soul out for?" said the burly
commander; "get up and come ashore with me and pull yourself together.
You owe a duty to your owner, your wife, and yourself. You're not going
to mend matters by moping and refusing to take natural exercise and
food!"

"Ah," said Captain Bourne, "I will never set my foot ashore again. I am
very near the end, and I will be glad when it comes. Tell the owner as
soon as I am gone that I have never been myself since I acted so bad in
leaving my bonny little ship that did so much for me." And putting his
hand to his breast, he added: "I have felt queer and sore here ever
since. I hope God will forgive me, but I was sure my sin would find me
out; and here I am, a poor shrivelled-up man, anxious to get away from
earth and to be with my drowned boys. The parson told me I would meet
them in a better world to this, and so I want to get to it as quick as
I can, for all the pleasure was taken out of my life when I consented
to come here. I haven't been very bad, and always was as good as I
could to God. Sometimes I've sworn when anything went wrong, but I
never meant any harm in it. Besides, they say that sailors' swearing is
not like other people's."

His friend urged him in a rollicking manner to take a more cheerful
view of his position.

"There are many," said he, "who would give worlds to have command of so
fine a vessel."

"Let them have it, then," said Bourne; "but I was content to end my
days in the old ship. That was glory enough for me, and they (meaning
his owner and his friends) would not let me do it."

Captain W---- shook him warmly by the hand, and promised to call
again.

Bourne murmured: "I may never see you again. I feel the end is very
near. My general health is good, but what ails me is a sore heart. Tell
them, W----, if I should die before seeing you again, that I trusted in
God and His Son, that the parsons say preached the gospel of sorrow. My
cup is full of that. So that I would be satisfied to meet death
willingly could I catch but one glimpse before it comes of the ship
that has been my home all my life, brought up my bairns, and kept a
comfortable abode ashore for me."

His friend parted from him with a sad heart, believing that no earthly
power could save him, for he saw that he was encompassed by the shadow
of doom, and that the triumph of death would soon overtake him.

The following morning the _Grasshopper_ ensign flew half-mast. Poor
Bourne had passed the portal beyond which he was to find peace. His
last message to his mate and steward were: "I shall soon be dead. Say
'so long' for me to my wife and the owner. Tell them my heart broke,
for I could not bear the loss of my boys and the parting from the canny
little brig. Tell them I bear no ill-will to anybody, and that I expect
to meet them beyond the river in a better land."

These words were the last spoken by the grief-stricken old mariner, who
in the plenitude of his manhood would have scorned the idea of openly
giving way to emotion. His officers sat by him until he quietly slipped
his moorings.




III

CAPTAIN MACGREGOR


Captain Alexander Macgregor, as his name betokens, was a Scotchman, who
had left his native land with credentials which gave him the reputation
of being not only learned but one of the most expert mariners that ever
walked a quarterdeck. For many years he had traded to all parts of the
world in command of various sized vessels owned in Scotland, and had
earned the confidence of his employers by the deeds he had accomplished
in making them large profits. His old owner was perturbed when it
became known that his services had been sought for elsewhere, and
secured, owing to monetary inducements such as no worthy Scot could
refuse, for Scottish shipmasters at that time were shockingly paid. His
advent to English employment was not regarded favourably by the men who
claimed that vessels belonging to that particular port should be
commanded by men of the port, native born or reared into seamen by the
matchless skill of the generation of local sailors that preceded them.
He was looked upon as an interloper who had come to take bread from
their mouths. But what concerned them as much as anything was their
dread of a lower standard, which might lose for them the premier
position which they ostentatiously declared was theirs, of breeding and
rearing skilful, hardy men. The gentleman whom they held responsible
for the unwarrantable innovation carried on a nourishing trade in the
dual capacity of miller and shipowner. He came across Macgregor when on
a visit to one of his vessels which was discharging at a Scottish port,
and became fascinated by his bright, cheery intelligence. A bargain was
struck and he forthwith took command of Mr Hobkirk's finest craft. The
prejudice formed by this unpatriotic act had far-reaching consequences,
which were never really effaced. The community regarded it as another
proof of English generosity and Scottish unscrupulous pushfulness of
character which worms its way into the affairs of men and captures all
the blessings of earth and heaven at the expense of their neighbours.

"We suppose," said these proud men of the sea, "he has been brought
here to teach us something. We will let him see what he has come to.
His life shall be made not worth living, and the miserable traitor who
has put him over our heads shall be made to feel that we don't want any
Scottish instruction. His great seamanship must be tested, and as to
learning, what do we care for learning? This is not our business. We
want sailors, not learning."

This piece of shrewd eloquence was noisily applauded by the affected
persons, who felt convinced that their birthright had been stolen from
them. Meanwhile the object of their aversion showed qualities of genius
that caused Mr Hobkirk to marvel at his own inherent instinct which
had enabled him to fix on so distinguished a prodigy. Some of his
shipowning friends were struck with what they called his cleverness,
and asked him to convey to them his secret for finding a person so
unlike the ordinary shipmaster. He bowed his head low in token of
submission, and almost in a whisper conveyed to them the belief that he
was the instrument of divine Providence. The seamen and skippers of the
port did not hold the same view as the owner, so they set themselves to
make it very difficult for Macgregor to get a crew, and had he not been
an astute man of affairs, great loss and inconvenience would have
ensued. The local union was very strong, very active and intensely
popular. All its official machinery was thrown into the policy of
obstruction, and all its efforts were abortive, for the _Hebe_ was
towed out of port with a full crew in spite of a continual shower of
stones and other missiles.

Amongst this notorious crew was one named Ralph Davidson, a half-witted
young fellow who had served two apprenticeships without being able to
qualify for the dignity of A.B., that is, he could not pass the
necessary examination for admittance into the union. This poor creature
was permitted to sail as "half-marrow" or ordinary seaman because of
his local origin and good natured simplicity. Otherwise the very
mention of half-marrow was loathed, and no amount of persuasion could
induce these men and lads to tolerate a stranger in that capacity. I
commend the ideal to present-day sailors and shipowners. The British
Merchant Service would be all the better by going back to this old-time
method of keeping up the standard of proficiency. Ralph had all the
characteristic weaknesses of the sailor. He was a much-sought-after
institution at all the public house dances while at home, and was not
averse to either accepting a glass of whiskey or giving one when he had
the wherewithal to do it, but that was rarely. He spent much of his
meagre earnings and time in this way, and suffered for it when he was
obliged to go to sea without suitable clothing. Young people of both
sexes were very fond of getting him to do a step-dance or sing a song.
The latter sounded like paying chain cable out of a hawse pipe, and
kept the room in screams of laughter. The _Hebe_ had reached the Bay
of Biscay on her way to Lisbon. A strong south wind was blowing,
accompanied with heavy rain, and the spray flew all over her. Ralph
stood at the wheel shivering, clad in a suit of dungarees. His face
indicated all that he was suffering, and his mutterings attracted the
attention of the captain, who overheard him swearing, "My God, as soon
as I get into port I'll have a suit of oilskins!" In due time they got
into port, and Ralph was the first aft to ask for money to purchase the
water-proof articles. The captain made the advance and reminded him
that he relied on it being spent for the purpose for which it was
intended. He was assured that Ralph's suffering for want of proper
clothing had left an unpleasant recollection on his mind and he did not
intend to suffer in the same way in future. On landing, he was
prevailed upon to go to a grog shop and dance house before making his
purchase. The captain, suspecting that there was not much strength
behind his resolve, dropped into the place of amusement and witnessed
his half-marrow in full swing on the floor. He tapped him on the
shoulder as he waltzed round, and said:

"Didn't you say when the rain and spray were lashing over you in the
Bay of Biscay that you would buy a suit of oilskins as soon as you got
into port?"

"Ah, yes, captain, I said that. But there is no rain and spray lashing
at me now. It's different weather here," replied the irrepressible
sailor as he continued to play his part in the harmony of the evening.

The captain had brought some friends to witness and enjoy the
discomfiture of his "oddity," but the bright retort turned the tables
against him, and established the opinion with them that Ralph instead
of being half-witted was at any rate on that occasion very
ready-witted. They said they would not have lost the sight of seeing
the joke for anything. Macgregor wisely entered into the fun, and
admitted that Ralph had scored in a way that he had not anticipated.

Meanwhile the new captain was discussed at home with striking
regularity. Opinions varied as to how long he would last and what would
be the cause of his downfall. Quotations from the Scriptures were used
in profusion, the favourite of which was: "Pride goeth before
destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." Their faces wore an
aspect of great concern, and they ominously shook their heads in token
of sinister developments that were to bring much tribulation to their
friend who had broken the law of brotherhood. A letter was received by
Mr Hobkirk from the captain giving a graphic description of his passage
and the general prospects for dispatch at the port of discharge.
Dealing incidentally with his future plans, he remarked in passing: "I
cannot close without briefly saying how much I owe you for the honour
you have done me by entrusting so valuable a property and such
important interests to my keeping. May I assure you that it is my
intention to see that you are well rewarded for the confidence you have
placed in your humble servant." The owner went into ecstasy over this
letter and showed it to many of his friends as evidence against their
adverse opinion and as an indication of unusual capacity. Some of them
drily remarked: "The letter may be all right, but we believe in
results, and advise you to wait until you see your accounts." These
nasty insinuations, however, did not in any way shake the confidence of
the owner. Each communication dazzled his imagination and gave him
further opportunity for extolling the rare gifts of his valuable
skipper who was dashing his vessel along in a way that amazed the
inhabitants of the sleepy town to which she belonged. The first voyage
was made in quick time, and the profits were satisfactory. His
treatment of the crew was not all kindness, but they were rather proud
to be able to say that they had sailed with a dare-devil who had lost a
suit of sails crossing the Bay by sheer carrying on; besides he was
generous in the distribution of food and grog, and this was a trait
that palliated all other defects. On his arrival home the interview
between him and his employer was of the most cordial character, and he
was sent on another voyage with a free hand to act in chartering and
other things, as his judgement led him to think was in the best
interests of the vessel. On this occasion he went to Landscrona with
coals, and from there to a Russian place called Windau in ballast. On
arrival off this port he left the mate in charge with instructions to
dodge about while he went ashore to see if he could get a good charter.
In less than two hours he was aboard again with the pilot, and the ship
proceeded into the harbour to load at a high rate of freight for
London. The news of the unexpected arrival and unique fixture created
quite a flutter in shipping circles. Hobkirk's former critics became
suddenly enamoured of this remarkable captain, and his fame spread far
and wide. He was held up as an example of greatness to his less
successful contemporaries, and they in turn secretly desired a tragic
end for him. Hobkirk being a pillar of the church, deemed it necessary
when he took his walks abroad to hang his head in saintly humility. If
he came across any of his friends he warned them to guard against
covetousness, and should prosperity such as his come to them they were
adjured to subdue any inclination to pride.

"We have need to subdue vanity, haughtiness, self-glorification, and
other worldly ways. I often read and ponder over these awful words,"
said this sanctified commercial prince: "The nations shall rush like
the rushing of many waters, but God shall rebuke them, and they shall
flee far off, and shall be chased as the chaff of the mountains before
the wind, and like a rolling thing before the whirlwind."

At the time his owner was exhorting his fellow-townsmen to a closer
communion with God, Captain Macgregor had given way to habits that were
not commensurate with the doctrine of that righteousness which exalteth
a people, and as often happens (especially aboard ship) when a bad
example is shown by the master, the crew and officers drift into
irregularities, and all discipline is destroyed. This was exactly what
occurred aboard the _Hebe_. The master was known to be on the spree, so
the mate, Munroe, thought he would have a day off, and took as a
drinking chum, Ralph, the half-marrow; and, in order that they might
not be disturbed, they travelled to a snapshop in the country, some
miles away from the town. Instead of one day, two were spent in
drinking, swearing, dancing, and, as sailors generally call it when on
the spree, casting the lead--presumably to know their whereabouts. A
sailor belonging to the _Hebe_ got to know where they were, and
persuaded a man belonging to another vessel to go with him and bring
them back. They had a tough job, but at midnight of the second day they
succeeded in getting them to retrace their way to the ship, the plan
being to get aboard when nobody was about. Munroe was a typical sailor,
full of devilment, especially when he had had a few glasses of grog.
The two "plants" trudged their way conversing with great animation of
what they had seen and done and what they intended to do. Ralph was
ready to acquiesce in all his officer said as to future exploits. Their
shipmate reminded them (especially Ralph) that it would not be well for
them if the old man got to know they had been on the loose, whereupon
Ralph retorted, "I don't care a damn for the old beggar." This outburst
was supplemented by more sanguinary promises on the part of Mr Munroe.
At this point they were passing a farm just on the outskirts of the
town, and observed some poultry. The chief officer said he would not go
aboard emptyhanded, and had never done so in his life, and wouldn't do
so now.

"What do you say, Ralph?"

"I say the same as you say, James," said the complacent half-marrow;
"let us have a fowl for breakfast."

One cock and two hens were captured by the mate, who was full of
congratulations to himself. At last one of the escorts reminded him
that he would have to conceal the birds or he might be stopped and run
in by the sentry.

"By gox, that's true," said Munroe; "where shall I put them?"

"In your breeches," said Ralph, sharply.

"That's first class," said he, and with Ralph's assistance they were
stowed in the part of his wearing apparel where there was an abundance
of room generously supplied by the tailor. They had not gone many yards
when the mate showed evidences of discomfort. He was obviously
suffering pain. The two escorts were by this time in kinks with
laughter. Ralph asked his mate what was the matter with him.

"Matter?" said the mate, "why, the blooming things are biting me to
pieces."

"Let the beasts bite," said Ralph coolly; "you cannot have them there
without them doing something, you darned fool! How do you expect to get
past the sentry if you go on like that? Buck up and bear it."

At this point the cock gave an unnatural guttural cry. Ralph exhorted
his companion to keep the thing quiet. He replied he couldn't, and that
he would stand it no longer.

"Well," said Ralph, "if you won't stand it you won't have fowl for
breakfast."

"Oh, darn the breakfast! I must let them go. Help me to unbutton, for
if I move they'll go mad again."

The birds were taken from their concealment. Ralph secured two, twisted
their necks, stuffed one into his own nether garment, and informed the
mate that he should have adopted this plan of quietening them at first.

"Here," said he, passing him the other dead hen, "two makes it far over
bulky; you stow it away in yours."

"No fear," said Mr Munroe, "I'll never touch or eat a bit of fowl again
as long as I live. My sufferings are too great."

"Why that's rotten nonsense," said the resourceful half-marrow; "the
thing's dead."

"I don't care," responded the penitent thief, "I'll never handle them
again, dead or alive. Oh, Christo, I _am_ smarting!"

"Hold your blether about smarting and suffering, you fool, or you'll
get me nabbed," replied Ralph, who had now concealed both roosters.

The two escorts were by this time well nigh paralytic with laughter. As
they drew near to where the slumbering sentry stood, the chief officer
caused great anxiety by the style of walk he was forced to assume.
Ralph implored him not to go along as though he expected swine to pass
between his legs, and not to put on such an agonized look. He coaxed
him by the promise that he himself would attend to his wounds as soon
as they got safely aboard. The good-hearted soul took infinite trouble
in his rough way to fulfil the pledge he had given. They were not
intercepted by the military gentleman who guarded the destiny of the
port, and as soon as their feet were planted on deck Ralph exclaimed,
"Now we're safe." Jack has an inherent belief in the sacredness of
British territory, either floating or otherwise. He is a stout upholder
of British supremacy, and conformity to the laws of other nations does
not appeal to him. His creed is undisguised, and has been handed down
as an heirloom from the great naval hero who smashed the combined
fleets of Spain and France at Trafalgar. Here it is: "Fear God, and
hate a Frenchman as the devil hates holy water." The average sailor
continues to believe this to be an edict which alone can assure
patriotism and divine compassion. All these things were well mixed in
Ralph's brain. He never doubted the truth of them, and the one idea
which brought forth the utterance, "Now we're safe," was the conviction
of British supremacy and protection.

It took Mr Munroe a few days to get into working order. The news of the
adventure and the sequel to it soon spread amongst the English vessels
in port. There was much visiting and jocular sympathy expressed for the
prime mover, and the sailor's sense of humour was greatly touched by
all he heard. The mate himself was a humourist, and after he had got
over the painful period he often told the story against himself, and
never failed to do so with a vividness that made it highly attractive.

The loading of the vessel was in no way delayed by this little freak,
as there was no cargo down. Captain Macgregor, however, had not been
seen for several days, and the vessel was nearly ready for sea. The
proper agencies were instructed to have him brought aboard, drunk or
sober, so he landed aboard drunk, and gave everybody an unhappy time
until he was got into his bunk and sent to sleep. The next day he rose
early, got all his papers and accounts made right, paid them, signed
bills of lading, cleared, and put to sea with a fair wind. There were
no traces of intemperance in either his behaviour or in the manner of
giving orders. He talked with marked intelligence to his officer, and
partook of the evening meal with him; and as he had reason to leave the
table before Munroe had finished, he politely asked to be excused for
doing so. This mark of consideration overshadowed his other faults and
stamped him as a gentleman in the opinion of the mate. A somewhat
disturbing incident followed, for the guttural voice of someone nowhere
to be seen rebuked James Munroe for absenting himself from the vessel
for two days and indulging in intoxicating drink to excess and for
purloining a poor farmer's fowls, which even the painful results to
himself could not excuse. Then followed a modest tribute to Captain
Macgregor's superior morality. "It is not well that Macgregor should
ever taste alcohol," said the voice; "the slightest drop takes effect
and causes him to appear intoxicated when he is not." Then there came
from the stairs the almost incoherent announcement that a stormy
passage was to be experienced. Then the voice fluttered away, and left
only the sound of creaking timbers and the weird moan of the wind.
Munroe was riveted with dumb terror, and when speech came to him he
remarked: "That's darned funny," and proceeded on deck to attend to his
duties. In a short time he was joined by the captain, who was promptly
informed of what had been heard.

"Ah," said the skipper, in dead earnest, "that must have been a warning
to you and to me to regulate our lives aright."

"I don't know about the warning, but these visitations you talk about
are not very canny," responded the mate.

"How dare you complain of being reminded of absenting yourself from
your duties and stealing poultry and concealing them in a manner that
is disgraceful?" sternly replied the captain.

"All right," said Munroe in a voice obviously agitated, "say no more
about it."

Macgregor navigated for three days after leaving, with great vigour and
commendable care, though it was known that he was tippling. He seemed
to have an aversion to Ralph when he had imbibed too freely. This could
not be accounted for, as until recently Ralph was very popular with the
captain. After passing Elsinore he commenced to drink harder, but
always kept his watch until the Scaw was rounded. Then irregularities
became visible. Strong westerly winds were encountered after passing
the Jutland coast. The men knew by experience whenever a light was kept
burning in the stateroom at night, when the wind blew hard and a press
of canvas was being carried, that the intention was, not to take a
stitch in until something carried away. The sailors dreaded these
occasions, as the little craft was smothered at times and never a bit
of rest could be had until the wind eased down. Ten days after leaving
Windau the _Hebe_ entered the Commercial Docks, London. She had been
flogged heavily all the way home. A record passage was considered to
have been made under the circumstances, and several vessels that had
left before and at the same time were sheltering in Elsinore roads,
while others had put into Norwegian ports. Mr Hobkirk was much
gratified by his captain's performances, and would not listen to the
petty gossip that had been sent by some busybodies about him drinking
and being absent from the vessel while at the loading port. He deemed
it necessary, however, to mention the matter to the captain, who on his
arrival at the Tyne was asked to spend an evening with the owner and
discuss things generally. The use of offices was dispensed with in
these days. All accounts and correspondence were kept and carried on
from the owner's private house. When the interview took place, Captain
Macgregor was at his best. Hobkirk was like a willow in his hands. He
nervously introduced the subject of intemperance. It was eloquently and
contemptuously denied; and just as the owner was in the act of
repeating what had been told him, a stern voice came down the chimney
rebuking him for lack of confidence in a man who had given such proof
of integrity. Hobkirk felt uneasy, but the matter of accounts which
were not quite satisfactory had to be dealt with. As soon as they were
mentioned Macgregor fumed into white heat and rose to go, and got
nearly to the door when a sharp angry voice came down the chimney
demanding that the captain should be brought back again and peace made
with him. Hobkirk was by this time in such a state of terror he begged
the gallant commander to take his seat, and apologised for having
unintentionally offended him. Again the voice came: "The wicked in his
pride doth persecute the poor: let them be taken in the devices that
they have imagined." This was the climax. Hobkirk was beside himself
with fear, and tremblingly requested that all should be forgotten.

"I assure you, Macgregor, I have the fullest confidence in you. By the
way, did you hear anything just now?"

"Yes," said the captain, "and although I'm not a nervous man it has
made a very deep impression upon me. Good night, sir."

The captain never had the honour of being invited to his owner's home
again. There were those who said that Hobkirk believed him to have
communion with his Satanic majesty, or to possess supernatural power.
Hobkirk was undoubtedly convinced that the mill was haunted by a spirit
favourably disposed towards the man who had claimed to be his ideal
shipmaster. He became afraid to doubt his honesty or his sobriety lest
his nights might be disturbed and his days filled with trouble.

"Ah," said he to a friend in whom he had confided, "Solomon the son of
David was right when he said these words: 'Happy is the man that
findeth wisdom and the man that getteth understanding, for the
merchandise of it is better than the merchandise of silver, and the
gain thereof than fine gold.'"

"Very shrewd, very fine," said his friend, "but you might have added
one or two other things that the great Hebrew King's son said. What do
you think of these few words of wisdom and rebuke: 'But ye have set at
naught all my counsel, and would none of my reproof. I also will laugh
at your calamity: I will mock when your fear cometh?' It is no use,
Hobkirk; I told you all along that Macgregor would have to be watched,
but you were carried away with his money-making, his glamour and
letter-writing, and now he's your master. I'll tell you another thing
old Solomon said: 'Open rebuke is better than secret love, and faithful
are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.'
My advice is: have another master ready for the _Hebe_ as soon as
she gets back."

Hobkirk confessed to his friend that the quotations from his favourite
author and his own frank statements had made a deep impression on him,
though he was bound to admit that his confidence was only partially
shaken in the man to whom he had pinned his faith.

"Very well, we will see," responded the friend as he passed out of the
door.

Mr Hobkirk's meditations kept him awake right through the night, and at
an early hour in the morning he boarded the _Hebe_, and found the
captain and his men energetically preparing to take her to sea. The
cargo was all in. A gentle westerly breeze was blowing. The topsails
were set; the moorings were let go; and the little vessel proceeded out
of the harbour bound to Copenhagen.

The owner went over the bar with her, and on getting outside had a
private conversation with the master, the nature of which was never
disclosed, but so far as Macgregor was concerned it was animated. Mr
Hobkirk, before leaving with the pilot, gave the crew his benediction,
and slipped into the cobble which waited to convey them ashore. The
pilot, observing that the flag was being dipped, broke the silence by
remarking:

"She's off once more, sir, and they're dipping the blood and guts of
old England to say goodbye to us."

The owner was indignant, and smartly retorted:

"I wish you to understand, pilot, that I will not have the British flag
insulted in my presence. When you speak of that flag, sir, you must
speak of it with reverence, and remember that it has never been lowered
to an enemy."

The pilot, who had been a sailor and captain, was amazed at the owner's
ignorance in not knowing that seamen were accustomed to speak of the
flag in this way. Had he been a foreigner who dared to address him in a
similar tone of ill-nature, he would have thrown him overboard. As it
was, he merely remarked in an ironic accent that Mr Hobkirk "had a lot
to learn yet." By the time the cobble got ashore, the fine clipper brig
was nearly hull down.

Macgregor had prevailed upon the same crew to go with him again, and
the owner's back was scarcely turned before he commenced to drink and
ill-use the poor half-witted Ralph who was in his watch. There does not
appear to have been any reason for this except that of alcoholic
viciousness. The dark horror of secret drinking quickly developed into
hideous proportions; it gripped him like a vice; his bleary eyes and
wild fits of delirium foreshadowed inevitable collapse. He raved about
things that were supposed to be whispered in his ears by unholy voices;
he saw wild beasts of the most ferocious character, which were not
there, and imagined them grinding their teeth in anxiety to devour him;
he alternately yelled and whispered that rats, weasels and wild cats
were crawling over his body and gnawing at his vitals. In the paroxysm
of frenzy he lay down on the cabin floor and tried to bury his head
from the sight of the demons that he imagined pursued him. He cried out
in pitiful accents to be shielded from them, and in the effort lost
complete capacity for coherent speech. The crew were thrown into a
condition of chilly fear. A consultation was held, and it was decided
to have him carefully watched and occasional doses of brandy
administered. For three days a fine westerly breeze had raced over the
dappled sea. It had varied in strength, and nearly three hundred miles
had been covered when the wind died away to a calm which continued
nearly twenty-four hours. Then an air sprang up from the east and
gradually gained in strength to a whole sail breeze. The captain had
shown alarming signs of sudden recovery during the early hours of the
fourth day. The _delirium tremens_ had apparently left him, and he
became subdued and attractively rational. Munroe, who did not possess
much intelligence, knowledge or ambition, expressed his satisfaction
that the drunken beggar was about to resume control, as he was sick of
being both skipper and mate. As a matter of fact, responsibility did
not sit lightly on this frivolous officer, and it may be that he knew
the measure of his capacity. Ralph heard all the mate had to say, and
quietly remarked:

"They haven't left him yet. He's only at the cunning, dangerous stage."

"What do you mean, Ralph?" said Munroe (for in spite of his reputed
semi-idiotcy Ralph was supposed to possess intuitive foresight).

"I mean what I say. Now's the time to watch him, or he may have any one
of us by the throat before we know where we are. I'll be the first
he'll go for," said Ralph, in broad vernacular; "he used to like me,
but now that he's taken on to drink I feel that he wants to kill me."

At midnight on the fourth day from sailing Ralph had just relieved the
wheel, and Macgregor had come on deck, and commenced to walk the
quarterdeck in his usual dignified style. The vessel was being sailed
by the wind, and his eyes became fixed aloft, watching, as was his
custom, whether she was properly steered. At last he broke silence by
shouting out:

"Hard up! Don't you see the rocks right ahead?" Then he sprang at Ralph
like a tiger, and had nearly torn his clothes off him before other
members of the crew came to his aid. The captain's strength was
superhuman. It took four men to get him into his berth and lash him
securely down, and in a few minutes he died in a screaming fit of
madness.

It was promptly arranged that the body should, if possible, be landed
in England, and as there was blowing a whole sail breeze from the east,
her tail was put to it and then a heated discussion arose as to the
proper course to steer for Tynemouth Castle. The mate said W. by N.
Ralph insisted W. by S. from their position would land her right under
the castle foot. As both stubbornly maintained they were right, it was
agreed to come to a compromise by steering W. by N. one watch and W. by
S. the next, and so on until the land was made. After this knotty
question was settled an incident almost incredible in its awful
gruesomeness took place. Ralph became smitten by a revengeful mania. He
went below, took his deceased commander's clothes off, put his body on
the table and commenced to lash at it with a piece of rope, exclaiming
at every stroke, "You thrashed me, you tiger, when you were living, and
I'll thrash you now that you're dead." The mate happened to go into the
cabin while this performance was going on, and was stricken with chill
horror.

"My God, Ralph, what are you doing?" the mate shouted.

"Don't you see what I'm doing, you d----n fool?" said Ralph, "I'll
teach the villain to lash me for doing nothing!"

"But," said Munroe, "his body will be marked, and we will be had up for
murder!"

"There is no fear of that. A corpse never gets marked by beating it."

This assurance relieved Mr Munroe so much that he covered his strange
companion with profuse compliments on his knowledge of the inanimate
human body, and nicknamed him 'Ralph-ower-mony.' After this
extraordinary being had finished his gruesome revenge on the dead body
of his master, it was placed in a hastily-constructed deal casement,
and put on top of the longboat, and then covered over with the Union
Jack and an awning, so that it might be kept cool.

There is no class of Englishmen who regard the national flag with such
reverence as the sailor; to him it is a divinity, used as an emblem of
glory, or sorrow, as the case may be. He disdains making the noisy,
vulgar use of it that is sometimes practised at meetings by unctuous,
ill-read politicians, whose abnormal egotism, impudence and ignorance
cause them to boast of a devotion for the flag equalled by no one else.
The sailor, on the other hand, speaks of it as a thing too sacred to
act circus games with. If his shipmate dies at sea, he is sewn up in
canvas and covered over with the Union Jack; a heavy weight is placed
at his feet, and, with heads bowed low, they silently commit his
remains to the deep. If a sailor dies in port, the flag is used to
cover the coffin as a solemn token of having died while serving under
its beneficent protection. Think of the beautiful sentiment that
governs the sailor's ideal of using it, and then, if you can, think of
the blatant political person and the use he puts it to! How it reminds
you of Petticoat Lane, and makes you pray that England may be delivered
from such disgusting impertinence!

Mr Munroe had assumed command, and discussed with his crew the idea of
a burial at sea. This was strenuously opposed by Ralph, who insisted
that the body should be carried to England in case the question of foul
play should arise. This course was adopted, and great precaution was
taken to prevent premature decomposition. A smart breeze from the N.E.
carried the little brig rapidly towards the land, and on the morning of
the third day she sailed into the roadstead for which she had been
steered. The dual courses had worked out an accurate landfall. Before
the anchor was let go, the pilot cobble came alongside.

"Where's the captain?" asked the pilot.

"The beggar's dead, sir," answered Ralph, ignoring the respect he owed
to his superior officer, Mr Munroe, who requested him to keep his
tongue quiet and allow him to speak. The anchor was dropped, sails
furled and flag put half-mast, and the pilot was requested to go ashore
and acquaint the owner with what had happened. At eleven o'clock every
forenoon a few well-known owners met in the parlour of an inn, there to
discuss matters of personal and public interest. The banking accounts
and characters of their neighbours who did not belong to the coterie
were pulled remorselessly to pieces. If they happened to have
progressive ideas and were successful, their speedy bankruptcy was
predicted. Each member of the party had "churchwardens" kept in a
bracket with his name on, and only one glass of whiskey and one pipe of
tobacco was indulged in until the evening sitting, when they did not
stick at trifles. But the keynote of these forenoon and evening
sittings was _money_. Mr Hobkirk and his friends had just got quietly
seated and the conversation turned on the vessel that had been observed
to anchor in the roads, when the pilot in wild excitement burst in upon
their privacy, exclaiming:

"The _Hebe_ has put back with the captain's dead body aboard!"

"How did he come by his death?" asked several of the party; "he was a
stout, strong-looking man?"

"They say he died of drink," said the pilot.

"Ah," responded the comforting friends, "we told you, Hobkirk, what you
might expect. You remember the voice coming down the chimney? That was
his voice. We have been informed he could talk two ways. We never
believed in him, and told you so."

"I admit it, gentlemen, I admit it. I have been deceived, but please do
not refer to the chimney affair again; that unnerves me."

Instructions were given to the pilot to land the body of Captain
Macgregor, and without any show of mourning the remains of this once
brilliant man were put to rest in a drunkard's grave, close by the sea,
far away from his own home. The story of how he came by his death and
what subsequently occurred was told in all its ghastly detail to the
pilots, who in turn spread it abroad, without diminishing the account
given to them. Another captain was quickly engaged, and the _Hebe_
sailed on her voyage. The late owners of Captain Macgregor were
informed of his death, and about two weeks afterwards a comely-looking
lady with a little boy of four years old called at Mr Hobkirk's house
and asked for an interview. She was received with unfeigned
displeasure. The owner commenced a vigorous tirade against the man who
he considered had wronged him by killing himself with drink. The lady
suddenly cut this flow of vindictive denunciation short by stamping her
foot on the floor and shouting out: "Stop! I will listen to this no
longer. I am the widow of the late captain. I have come from Scotland,
not to hear your coarse abuse of him, but to learn where you have laid
his body. Tell me this, and then I desire to hear no more from you. His
effects and any money due from you to him you may send to this
address."

Hobkirk interjected:

"He has no money due."

"Very well, then," responded Mrs Macgregor, "there will be none to
send; but I must have his effects."

Hobkirk by this time had read the address. It startled him. He became
apologetic and asked if the baronet whose address she had given was in
any way related to her.

"Yes," said she, "he is my father, and my late husband's uncle."

"Ah," said Hobkirk, "I knew my judgement was right in believing him to
belong to a family of distinction. He was a man of great ability, and
had a fascinating address. What a sad thing that he should have given
way to drink."

"I must request you not to speak of Captain Macgregor in this way to
me. Whatever faults he may have had are covered up in his tomb. If he
has wronged you, be frank and tell me, so that I may atone for it in
some way. You have my address. I came here principally to visit his
grave and arrange for a tombstone to be put up. Please be good enough
to allow someone to take me to it."

"If I may, I should like to take you to it myself."

But the little lady declined. The fine dignity of her bearing, and the
charm of her bow when she said "good-day" to him, covered the parochial
potentate with shame for having received and treated her as a
commonplace captain's wife. Mr Hobkirk conveyed to his friends at their
evening sitting at the inn all that had passed between himself and his
distinguished visitor. He was smartly censured for being shortsighted
in not discerning that she belonged to the gentry, and he was charged
with the possibility of getting the leading citizens of the town into
bad repute.

"Why," said they, "she may write to the papers about it, and then there
will be a fine ado."

The tragedy of her husband's death and her visit created a sensation of
no small importance in the district. Local gossip made much of it, and
for a time the great Mr Hobkirk lost caste. The poor, bereaved lady was
the centre of sympathy. They thought of her standing by the grave-side,
holding her little son by the hand, and, wrapped by the veil of sorrow,
offering up a humble prayer to Almighty God, and then quietly passing
from the scene of sadness and death to make her way home.




IV

PIRACY IN THE ARCHIPELAGO


Who can fully estimate all the world owes to Providence and nature in
propagating the fervid Scottish race? They are found in every
continent, climbing from the three-legged stool in an office, or from
any other subordinate position. They toil upward with caution and
perseverance. They always aim at the top of the tree, and multitudes of
them succeed. But one of the Scot's extraordinary characteristics is
his deference to superiors. At an early age the average Scot is
characterized by this passion to get on by thrift, love of "siller," a
puritanic mode of thought, and an imperishable love of his country
which, however, does not prevent him from leaving it in order to enter
into mercantile or other pursuits in the farthest parts of the
earth--or the nearest, it really does not matter--so long as he gets a
decent start.

Archie Macvie's father, who was an elder of a Presbyterian Kirk,
managed one of the flax factories in an important town north of the
Forth. Archie was the youngest of the lads, and by far and away the
cleverest, but he had made up his mind to engage himself as an
apprentice aboard an English brig that was discharging flax for the
owners of the factory. This determination came as a great shock to the
Macvies, who had pictured their boy in the position one day of a
popular minister of their own denomination. Every strictly proper
device was used to change the mind of their laddie, but all to no
purpose. His imagination, and perhaps his desire to minimise the grief
of his parents, led him to urge that in a few years he would come to
them, not only a captain, but an owner. The old people were secretly
pleased to hear these aspirations from the lips of their much-beloved
boy, but they felt it their duty to treat the case with becoming
solemnity. "Ah, Archie," said his father, "I must warn you never to
allow the things of this world to take possession of your thoughts in a
way that will keep religion from you. I would remind you of the words
of Solomon: 'Better is little with the fear of the Lord than great
treasure and trouble therewith.'" However, he went to sea.

After four years and a half of hard training he had gained the
reputation of being one of the smartest young fellows that sailed out
of his port. He had become quite a favourite, not only with his
shipmates, but with the captain and owner. There was neither surprise
nor jealousy when the master recommended that his indentures should be
endorsed, and that he should be given the mate's situation, which had
become vacant. At this time he was in his twentieth year, and before he
had reached twenty-one his owner gave him command of the vessel which
about six years before he had joined as an apprentice. His rapid
advancement and singular success as a shipmaster made his
contemporaries speak of him as likely to reach the very highest place
in the profession before he had attained his thirtieth year. Their
estimate of the highest position was really very modest, as the largest
vessel belonging to the port did not exceed 700 tons deadweight, and of
these there were only about half-a-dozen. The general public rarely saw
them except when they came off a long voyage and had repairs to do.
Those occasions were looked upon as not merely incidental, but
historic. The whole country-side turned out to witness the advent of
what they conceived to be a leviathan; the vessel herself was dressed
from truck to rail on every mast with bunting, and there was a
corresponding display of it on shore. Events such as births, deaths,
marriages, and other more or less interesting doings were accurately
remembered by a visitation of this kind. The local almanac chronicled
the occasion as minutely as it did the death of Nelson or the accession
of Queen Victoria to the throne. So that if any lapse of memory
occurred a reference to this touchstone of local history put matters
right. Archie Macvie had longed for the time to come when someone would
offer him command of a large vessel. His reputation as a clever,
pushing, steady-going shipmaster had reached beyond the circle of local
critics, which entitled him to expect speedy promotion. His owner, as
well as other people, predicted great things of him, and it was
whispered that he had immediate prospects that were dazzling in their
lucrative possibilities. A landed proprietor, who owned the whole of a
handsome barque, had heard of his fame, and wrote requesting Macvie to
come and see him. The interview sealed the captain's future destiny. Mr
Rockfeller received him with becoming dignity; but after a few minutes'
conversation with the young captain his icy manner melted. He became
aware that the man whom he had asked to be seated in the
sumptuously-furnished drawing-room was his equal, if not his superior,
in knowledge and intelligence.

"Your youthful appearance surprises me," said the lord of the manor.

"Yes," responded the shrewd Scotsman; "I have been told that before,
and have often had reason to be grateful to a kind Providence in not
necessarily prohibiting me from occupying a position of trust because
of my juvenile appearance."

"Very good, very good," said Rockfeller. "And now, captain, I wish at
once to offer you command of the first vessel that brought gold from
Australia. Your wage will be L12 per month; and in order to give you a
good start I offer you an eighth of the _Boadicea_ at a low price.
If you have the money to pay for it, well and good; if not I will be
content to allow you to work it off."

"Your kindness overpowers me," replied Macvie; "I am sorry I have not
sufficient money saved to pay for the share you so generously give me
the opportunity of taking, and as I make it a rule never to purchase a
thing I cannot pay for in cash, I am reluctantly compelled to refuse
it."

"Very well," said the owner, "give me what you can spare, and I will
forego the balance, and hand you a bill of sale for eight
sixty-fourths. I do this not only because of the favourable impression
you have made, but to make you feel that your interest is not merely
that of a commander, but that of part owner with myself."

"I thank you; but may I suggest that this generosity be postponed until
you have tested whether I will suit you or not?" said the lucky
captain.

"No, I will risk that," replied Mr Rockfeller. "And now there is
nothing left for me to say except to request that you join the vessel
at once; and you have a free hand to do what you consider best with
her."

Captain Macvie hurried home and conveyed to his young wife the good
fortune that had come to them. He also informed his aged parents, whom
he had not seen since his first home-leaving, of all that had taken
place, and expressed his regret that he could not visit them before
sailing on a voyage to the Piraeus, but hoped to do so on his return.
This letter became a family heirloom. The joy of the old people was
reflected on the whole family, and also on their friends, and the
congratulations were numerous and sincere. In less than a week from the
time of being engaged, the _Boadicea_ was towed over the bar, and
she sailed away followed by a north-east wind. The hurrahs of the
visitors after embarking on the tug reverberated the joyous tidings of
goodwill, and soon the ship and her jolly crew passed from view into
the southern haze.

The Eastern question was causing great anxiety in diplomatic circles;
trouble was fast brewing into open hostility, and before the
_Boadicea_ arrived at the port of discharge, the great Russian war
of 1854 had broken out with all its hellish mismanagement and criminal
indifference to the needs of the finest soldiers in the whole world.
They were badly generalled, shockingly clothed and meagrely fed on
provisions that the ordinary civilian would scarcely give to swine.
Complaints of the grossest mismanagement were sent home and were
unheeded; while the predatory, heartless scoundrels who had contracts
were allowed to amass wealth by shamelessly robbing poor Tommy of his
food and clothes. Mon Dieu! What forbearance the thinking, sympathetic
portion of the British people must have had to endure it, knowing that
their fellow-subjects and kinsfolk were being done to death by some
contractors and by the callousness and incompetency of dunderheaded
politicians and drawing-room warriors! It is a sickening subject that
cannot be approached without feelings of anger.

The _Boadicea_ made a quick passage, and was boarded on her arrival by
swarms of Levantine gentlemen, each clamouring for first place to get
her in hand to charter. The declaration of war had created a wild
demand for transport tonnage. Sensational freights were offered for the
veriest rattletraps, and as the young commander of the _Boadicea_
estimated his craft to be one of the finest of her class afloat, he
made a counter-bid which startled the Grecian modesty of his
interesting visitors. The negotiations were animated, and before the
day closed the vessel was chartered at a rate that would pay back her
original cost in less than twelve months. Over and above this it was
agreed that the captain should receive legitimate gratuities that
amounted to more than double his wage per month. The director of
transports ordered the vessel to be taken to Malta to load stores
immediately she had finished discharging, and gave instructions that
overtime should be worked in order to get the cargo of much needed
supplies to the seat of war. It was a stirring time for the captain and
his crew. In four days the holds were emptied and she sailed from the
Piraeus on the fifth with 180 tons of sand ballast aboard. In five days
from leaving Athens she arrived in the beautiful harbour of Valetta,
and four days after left again with a full cargo of foods, stores and
other supplies for Constantinople for orders. Every stitch of canvas
was set after getting clear of the harbour; studding sails lower and
aloft were spread to the kiss of the singing wind, and the officers
were made to understand that there was to be hard cracking on; nothing
was to be taken in until the maximum amount of endurance of spars,
ropes and rigging had been reached. The breeze freshened and the sea
curled its white tops into angry combers Captain Macvie walked the
starboard quarterdeck with an air of dignity and luxury of dress that
would have called forth the supreme contempt of his associates of
earlier days. They would have stigmatized him as a fine-weather dandy,
and not a true British sailor. The captain had never been past
Gibraltar until he got command of his present vessel. As a matter of
fact, he had rarely been off the coast, and never at any time as far
south as Cape Finisterre. He had acquired large ideas of the
magnificence that should be observed by a captain aboard a vessel of
the _Boadicea's_ size and class. He had heard also that the men
liked to see monarchical display, and that is why he adopted it so
naturally. The third day after leaving Malta the forecastle hands were
congregated on the topgallant forecastle during the dogwatch from six
to eight. The discussion was of an animated character. The second
officer, who was an old hand in these waters, stood amongst them, and
the speaker frequently referred to him in order that his statements
might be confirmed. When the second officer came aft, the captain
remarked that the boys seemed to have had a heated discussion.

"Mr Robb, may I take the liberty of asking if it is anything that may
not be conveyed to me?"

"Not at all," said Mr Robb; "they were yarning about pirates that
infest the Grecian Archipelago. They sneak out of the bays and from
under the islands with the suddenness of a rocket. They have very swift
schooners, many of them built in America for the slave trade, and they
are full of well-armed, bloodthirsty villains who stick at nothing." It
was according to the strictly observed ethics of South Spainer
discipline that the commander never was supposed to so far lower the
supremacy of high office as to speak directly to a common sailor, but
only through his officers. Mr Robb took it for granted that this law
had been rigidly observed, and therefore said to the captain.

"You know that fair-haired man who was talking so excitedly?"

Macvie, not wishing to appear familiar with his men, and perhaps in
order to impress the officer with an air of majesty, replied:

"No, sir, I do not know him, but I think I _recognize_ the sailor to
whom you desire to call my attention. I saw him gesticulating, and I
think I heard him swear frightfully."

"That may be, sir," said the second officer, "but he means no harm by
it. He is indeed one of the best and bravest sailors attached to the
British Mercantile Marine; and were it not a breach of etiquette, I
would ask you to allow him to give you a brief account of all the
curious experiences and hardships he has gone through in a short life."

"My curiosity impels me to consent, but my judgement forbids such
familiarity. Had I been in charge of the _Vanquisher_ I might have
yielded; as it is, I must conform to the duty that devolves upon a
person in my position by asking you to be the medium of communication
of this sailor's strange adventures," said the captain.

"Very good," replied Robb, "then here is the story: I do not think he
would like me to tell you, but he was a pirate himself for over twelve
months. It came about like this. He and I were shipmates five years
ago. The barque we were in was discharging at Athens. We asked for
liberty to go ashore one Saturday night; he got a few glasses of grog
too much, and became pally with some Greek sailors who spoke broken
English. They asked him to go with them to some place of amusement, and
in spite of my pleading with him not to do so, he went; the result
being they decoyed him aboard their own vessel, which proved to be a
pirate schooner. When he came to himself after his drunken sleep, the
vessel was far out at sea. He was soon made to understand what he would
be expected to do, and the terrible conditions under which he would be
permitted to live. He was asked to take the oath of fidelity to their
cause, which carried with it awful obligations and consequences if not
rigidly adhered to; and after the hazy alcoholic stupor had been
shivered out of him, he grasped the situation, and not only agreed to
their code, but became, externally, the most enterprising of the gang.
They were indebted to him for much useful information, though for some
time his _bona-fides_ were suspected because of his pushful partiality
for conflict with any nationality rather than his own. He persuaded his
friends that six out of ten British vessels kept firearms and powder
magazines aboard, and that foreigners, such as Swedes, Norwegians,
Danes and Germans gave in much sooner than his own countrymen. They
cordially agreed with this, hence rarely gave chase after a Britisher
except when he suggested it, and it was policy for him to do this
sometimes in order to keep on perfectly good terms with them. He has
told me that over and over again they boarded Norwegian vessels laden
with flax, tallow or grain, and the crew asked them to take what they
wanted and no resistance would be made. This, he says, was the best
plan, because it saved blood from being spilt on either side. They used
to fill the craft's holds from the cargo of the captured vessel; take
any money or valuables, such as chronometers, that might be aboard; all
firearms, gunpowder and implements of warfare had to be given up; and a
squad of armed pirates covered their comrades who were operating for
the benefit of the whole.

The grief of having to leave my old shipmate behind was only equalled
by the mystery of what had become of him. He was very popular with all
of us in the forecastle. His quick humour and gifted capacity to
entertain and amuse endeared him to everybody. A born musician, he
could play on almost any instrument, sing comic songs, and step-dance
as well as any professional. His great weakness was love of gay company
and grog. He belonged to very well-to-do, highly respectable people;
and their sorrow at his supposed death was very bitter. His mother
declared that the light had gone out of her life, and begged me never
to cease trying to find out when on my voyages whether he was alive or
not. The old lady said she feared the worst, but never ceased to pray
and hope that some day he would be brought back to them. A little over
a year had elapsed since the fateful night of his disappearance. I was
on my second voyage in the same vessel, but had been promoted to
boatswain. We had rounded Matapan with a snoring breeze on the port
beam. We had just opened the Gulf of Nauplia out when the look-out man
shouted, 'A vessel on the port bow!' She was carrying full sail, and
steering towards us. We soon discerned that she was on an unfriendly
errand, and that the intention was to try and board us. No one could be
seen about the decks except the helmsman and a man apparently on the
look out. If we altered our course she did the same; and whichever way
we went, her sailing qualities outmatched ours. The excitement had
grown to fever heat, as a great conflict was now imminent. Our men had
been supplied with muskets, and told to conceal themselves and use them
when the critical time came, and to make sure that every shot was
effectual. Two small cannon, which were fixtures on the taffrail, were
loaded ready to do service. At last she came within hailing distance of
our weather beam. A man shouted through a speaking-trumpet in mongrel
English to 'Heave to!' We did not heed this insolent command, but kept
going. In a few minutes more a peremptory command came through the
speaking-trumpet to 'Heave to, or we would be fired upon.'

"'Now's the time,' hissed our captain; 'we will do some damage to
ourselves, but, by God, we'll teach them to order an English ship to be
hove to! We must run right into his midships. I will give the order at
the proper moment. The thing must be done with the suddenness of fork
lightning. It is not the shooting so much as the sinking, and the panic
that must be created by the suddenness of our action. 'Hard down the
helm!' cried the captain. 'Let go your weather braces, and stand by to
use your muskets and bayonets too if any of them attempt to board us.'
In less than a minute the pirate schooner's doom was sealed. Our vessel
struck her with such force amidships that she sank almost immediately.
Instead of tacking their vessel, and getting out of our way, which they
might have done, they were encouraged to fight; and the man who didn't
was the man who has attracted your attention to-night. So far as we
could tell, only himself and three of the Greeks were saved. They
jumped aboard unarmed, and Jack, or 'Curly' as he was called, shouted
out to me and the captain who he was. We were dumbfounded. He hastily
told us how he had managed to bring about the disastrous results to the
pirates, and asked the captain to put the Greeks, or whatever they
were, into a boat and set them adrift. This was promptly agreed to, but
before the painter was let go one of the sailors asked permission to
shoot the beggars before they left, to prevent them killing somebody
else. But our captain only laughed and ordered them from alongside.
After cordially shaking hands with the captain and all the crew, Jack
requested to be allowed to assist in clearing away the wreckage caused
by the collision, and fixing the spare jib-boom, for that was the only
spar carried away. Jack told us the pirates thought they had a soft
thing on, as we seemed so undecided what to do, and that we could not
have adopted a better move than we did. 'There is nothing frightens
them like panic, and I played up to it as near as I could; but, by
thunder! I played a high game. I stood to be shot by either you or my
Christian friends,' said Jack; 'and upon my soul I feel that I have
played them a dirty trick.' 'Not a bit of it,' said I. 'You have done
your country, and especially us, a great service by helping to rid the
world of a few murderous thieves and cunning assassins.'

"'Oh, damn it!' interjected Jack, 'I cannot allow you to call us such
villanous names as that. My late friends considered their trade quite
as honourable as yours. They knew that they were breaking the law by
carrying on a game of what is called pillage or brigandage at sea; but
then they thought the law was all wrong, and that it was unlawful to
enforce such restrictions, or put any penalty on freedom of action.
And, by Jove! their arguments were almost convincing; especially when
we had to fight for what we wanted, and got wounded.'

"'I see that you have got scars on your cheek and hands. Were they
received by encounter with some ship's crew?'

"'Yes,' said Jack, 'but not my own countrymen. It was a deadly fight.'
And then he became pensive. I could see his mind was working, but he
refused to be drawn into further conversation; and from that day to
this I have not been able to get anything more out of him on that
score. Though when he is in the mood, he relates the comical side of
the sea-rovers' life in a most fascinating way, and frankly admits the
better side to have a charm about it that only those who have lived the
life can know. 'But,' he would add, 'I would rather stand here and ask
that I might be shot if I thought there was any possibility of ever
becoming one of them again. On the criminal side it resembles hell's
tatterdemalions let loose. To call them thieves and murderers is to
flatter them. Their vicious scoundrelism transcends either murder or
thieving.'"

The hero of this sensational story was a well-built young fellow of
twenty-three or twenty-four years old; he stood about five feet nine,
and had the appearance of being possessed of great physical power; his
cleanshaven face disclosed a beautiful mouth and two fine rows of
teeth; his chin and nose indicated robust strength of character, and
his large blue eyes, sparkling under well-formed eyebrows and a massive
forehead, both spoke and laughed in a fascinating way while his tongue
was speechless. In short, he was a good-looking, typical sailor, whose
natural gifts made him popular and much sought after to amuse his
comrades by doing a step-dance, telling a funny yarn, singing a comic
song, or he would entertain them by reading from a book.

"I have told this tale at your own request, captain," said the second
officer. "My main object has been not only to interest you, but to
inform you of the dangers that may be expected in navigating these
piratical waters. And I have been asked by Curly to warn you against
hugging the land. He advises keeping well in mid-channel, as you are
more likely to carry a true wind; and if any of the rovers should make
their appearance and attempt pursuit, he says the thing that would
terrify them most would be to shape at running them down; but if that
course is adopted it must not be done in a halfhearted way. There
should be no first-you-will and then-you-won't policy. Nothing but a
daring, unfaltering attitude directed fair for the amidships can be
effectual. They fear the loss of their vessel more than the disablement
of a few men; and the leader of the band fears as much as anything the
creation of panic amongst his followers. Damage to the running down
vessel must be counted upon, but it must be arranged so that the other
gets hit so badly that, instead of fighting they have to swim for their
lives or plead for mercy. Curly informs me this is their prowling time,
and they may be expected to pop out from any of the islands as we pass
along."

Captain Macvie was much impressed, and thanked his second officer for
relating to him a story so full of keen interest and useful
information.

"You may rely on the facts being correct," said Mr Robb, "but should
you have any doubts as to the authenticity of some of the things I have
been talking to you about, reserve your final judgement, because it is
pretty certain that you won't be long in this trade until you find out
I have not exaggerated one single incident, and that there are
gentlemen cruising in these waters who claim a law unto themselves, and
who make a speciality of brigandage and murder. I understand from Curly
that many of them are educated and well-bred, and that it is the love
of adventure that causes that section of them to take to the life. They
are adepts at playing the double role of society person and murderous
buccaneer. In both capacities they are fascinating, and really
irresistible at a ball or a dinner-party; so much so, indeed, that it
is not an uncommon thing for young ladies of gentle birth to become
their wives, and in exceptional cases share their adventures."

"Oh," said Captain Macvie, "you must not suppose that I doubt the truth
of what you have related to me. I think it quite possible, and we must
be prepared to cope with any sudden emergency of a similar character. I
must now bid you good-night. You will find instructions in the night
order book. I do not wish to be disturbed unless something unusual
occurs."

Right through the night the _Boadicea_ romped along at the rate of
ten knots an hour, and when the captain came on deck at eight o'clock
the following morning she was flying through the Cerigo passage under
double-reefed topsails and courses.

"There is no fear of any pirates troubling us if this continues,"
remarked the captain.

"Not any," responded the chief mate, "and I think we shall have more of
it before we have less. You won't be able to carry this press of canvas
after passing Andros. We will have the wind more on the port quarter,
and she will bury herself after opening the AEgean Sea."

"Very well," said Macvie in an angry tone, "let her bury herself; and
in order that her qualities may be tested before we reach this
wonderful sea of yours, let the reefs out of the topsails and masthead
them. I desire you to know, Mr Scrivener, that I shall be the judge
when to shorten sail and when to set it. Do you imagine, sir, because I
only commanded a collier before coming here that I do not know my
business? Please remember that I am master of this craft, not you."

This was a crushing rebuke for the mate, and he resolved that if the
masts were going over the side he would never make another suggestion
while his chief was on deck. The additional canvas did not improve
matters, as her flat bows sent the sea churning angrily ahead, and the
spray flew all over her in smothering clouds. Mr Scrivener was secretly
glad that she was "making such a mess of herself," as he called it, but
he did not deem it prudent to say so to his captain. But, as he
afterwards said, it was not necessary to do this, for he saw the
skipper was thinking hard enough himself, though he was too proud to
own it, and would have seen the masts go by the board rather than show
weakness in shortening sail after what had passed. This freak, however,
kept him on deck all day and all night, for there was no abatement of
either wind or sea, until she was swept into the Dardanelles. The sail
had to be shortened so that she might be hove to, and the boat sent
ashore at Chanak to receive pratique and a permit to allow her to pass
through into the sea of Marmora. Many an expensive salvage case and
many a life has been lost through this barbarous system. It is the
worst part of the channel for erratic currents, and notwithstanding the
disasters to life and property, it has only been possible to establish
a steam launch there during the last twelve months. As soon as the boat
returned with the clearance she was hoisted up, and the vessel headed
on her course through the straits. The west wind blew through the
narrow passage with screaming gusts, and the volley of water was
churned into flying foam as she rushed along under a heavy press of
sail; for the young commander was bent on letting his officers and men
see that he knew how to crack on without losing his head, and the
average sailor rejoices in being able to say that he has sailed with a
man who was "a slogger." On the other hand, I have more than once seen
a whole crew come aft and ask the captain to reduce the sail when the
vessel was burying herself and the spars and sails were in danger of
being carried away; and I have more than once seen deputations of this
sort sent about their business, followed by a wrathful flow of
well-selected oaths that are only used by persons who have a very
resourceful vocabulary. It is not an uncommon thing for men to grumble
and refuse to go aloft and furl a royal or topgallant sail when it has
been carried too long; and I have seen the captain spring up the
rigging and appeal to their manliness to follow him. This challenge
rarely fails to bring forth volunteers, and those who lag behind have
been the cause of bringing torrents of wickedness into the world.

Captain Macvie was not a man who swore. He was more inclined to adhere
to his rigid Presbyterian training by quoting a psalm or a proverb to
emphasise displeasure or convey a rebuke. His officers did not
comprehend how he could be so unemotional and yet throw so much energy
and dash into the navigation of his vessel. Externally he was cool,
reticent, authoritative. He gave orders peremptorily, without
hesitation; and both officers and sailors like to feel that they have a
strong personality commanding them. The first and second mate had
formed an impression, owing to their captain never having been in these
regions before, that he would frequently have to appeal to them for
information and advice, and they were almost chagrined when they found
that he never once showed any indication of asking for information. But
what caused them to marvel was the masterful way in which he handled
his vessel, and navigated her not only through amongst the islands, but
through a narrow waterway that he had never seen before. The first
officer ventured to make a suggestion, when drawing towards Chanak, as
to the method of heaving the vessel to, so that the boat might be
picked up easily. The captain retorted with almost oriental dignity.

"Sir," said he, "when I was asked to take command of this vessel I did
not consent until I was perfectly assured of its being within the limit
of my capacity to do so, and it has not yet occurred to me that I am
incapable of carrying out what I undertook to do unaided by anyone.
Please do not think me angry with you. I only wish to say that you may
rely on my making use of your wide knowledge and experience when I find
my capacity defective. But not having realized that yet, I prefer to
depend on my own tactics in all that appertains to the navigation and
handling of the ship I have the honour to command."

The mate received this piece of information in subdued silence. It took
him all aback. He had not taken the trouble to ascertain whether there
was force and ability behind his chief's placid, silent exterior, and
the lesson he received was salutary and lasting. He watched with a
critical eye the management and navigation as the _Boadicea_ was
pressed through the stream past Gallipoli into the sea of Marmora, and
admitted to the second mate that but for the excessive carrying on
there was no flaw to be found.

"Indeed," said he, "I am beginning to see that we have got our master
here in everything. I'm sure he is a gentleman, and I wouldn't be
surprised to find that he's a sailor as well."

The following night the wind had fallen away to a gentle breeze. The
vessel was sailed close past San Stephano, and soon came within range
of that weird sepulchral cry of the Turk for the return of their
prophet Mahomet. I know what it is like, for I have often stood on deck
and listened to the melancholy wailing call of scores of voices
appealing to their God, and filling the air with thrilling pathos,
until I have been stricken with a sense of sadness myself, which caused
me to envy the devotion of the people whom we, who call ourselves
Christians, deride. Macvie was greatly touched by the sombre wail that
was wafted over the glassy waters, and for a brief moment it took his
thoughts to the old home of prayer and saintly song, and made him
wonder whether the God to whom these people were calling could also be
his. But he had no time to ponder over eternal things. His vessel was
slipping towards the anchorage at Scutari. A suitable berth was picked,
the anchor dropped, sails furled, and then the captain's gig was made
ready by her crew, who were ordered to wash and dress themselves in
white ducks and blue jerseys, the latter having the name of the vessel
in front. All being ready, the master stepped into the boat and was
rowed in regal style to a landing in the Golden Horn. He was met there
by an agent, who informed him that he knew the stores were much needed
in the Crimea, but no official instructions having been given, he would
have to remain at anchor until they came.

"But don't you think," said the captain, "it would be as well for me to
proceed off Sevastopol or Kertch, and see if they really are in need of
the supplies I have on board?"

"My dear fellow," replied the agent, "you must never think of doing
such a thing. It would be deemed a breach of the rules of the service,
and you might be court-martialled and lose a splendid charter for doing
so. Take my advice: lie where you are until red-tapeism finds out that
the wares you are carrying for Government account are needed. You can
make use of the time by putting your vessel in good order. It may be
months before they come to your turn, and until they precisely come to
it, you may rely on hearing nothing from them. Departmental methods are
very exact. You must never be donkey enough to interfere with an
ancient order of things: it might throw the machinery of uniformity
into chaos. Of course I know you will say, 'That is all very excellent:
but what about the poor, ill-fed, ill-clad, fever-stricken soldiers? Is
it right that I should be an accomplice in this dreadful crime?' For
God's sake, captain, leave off thinking like that, or it will harrow
your soul out of its casing; look at things from the broad, brainless
point of view of your mechanical employers who do everything by
routine. Go on board and order your sails to be unbent and put into the
sail cabin, for as sure as I am talking to you now, they will not be
needed for months."

"Will they not have heard at home of the distress in the army?"
interjected Captain Macvie.

"Why, yes, captain," said the versatile agent; "but, my dear fellow, do
try to get it into your head that these things have to go through many
intricate stages. First, the trouble which ought to have been foreseen
takes place; then weeks are occupied in transfixed amazement without
doing anything; then a council is held to consider why these breakdowns
should happen; and the conclusion arrived at is that they should never
have happened, therefore they have not taken place, and it is resolved
to await further developments before doing anything more. How is it
possible for the British army to have sickness in its ranks when we
have thought of sending out medicine? And how can they be without food
and clothes when we have given orders to our contractors to have these
supplied? It is a malicious libel to assert such things, to say nothing
of the lack of commonsense in supposing that the commissariat
department does not know its own business."

"Well," said the captain, "I must admit you seem to know the inner
workings of these Government concerns."

"I should just think I do," said the agent; "but of course we have to
speak with some regard to discretion. I am only giving you a tip or two
to keep you right. You will be going off aboard, so I will say
'good-day.' Come ashore to-morrow."

The captain had many opportunities of hearing from this voluble person
of the magnificent mismanagement shown by the way the transports were
kicking about in different parts of the Bosphorus and in the Black Sea.
Many of them would sail to Kertch or Sevastopol and come straight back
without their cargoes being broached. They anchored in a snug spot
where the shore was easy of access, and would remain for months in
peaceful indolence. The _Boadicea_ had been dismantled, and her anchor
was never seen for six months. How the men were to be kept employed
became a tax on the resources of the officers. Her sails, ropes and
rigging had been thoroughly overhauled, repaired and made equal to new,
and the hull showed indications of great taste and care. Not a speck of
dirt or disorder could be seen anywhere; and notwithstanding the jolly
entertainments, vocal and otherwise, they had on board each others'
vessels almost every night, the life of inactivity became so dreary
that they longed for the time when orders would be given to proceed to
the Crimea. It was not mere change they longed for, but they craved to
see the fighting on shore, and, better still, the bombardment of towns
and ports by the warships from the sea. Many of the merchant sailors
would have enjoyed taking part in the struggle.

Although the life at the Scutari anchorage had become a weary monotony,
it was not without incidents of excitement. Constantinople at that time
was overrun with the most daring brigands, who paid irregular visits to
the different roadsteads between midnight and the early hours of the
morning. They were armed with the most deadly weapons, and their secret
movements frequently evaded every precaution of watchfulness. The
sneaking caique, manned by accomplished emissaries handling muffled
oars, was rowed through the anchorage in advance, and for the purpose
of finding out the most vulnerable object of attack. Occasionally they
selected the wrong ship, and met with a sudden determined resistance
from the crew, who were eager for an opportunity of wreaking vengeance
on a gang of murderous ruffians who kept the men of the whole
mercantile fleet in these waters in a state of perpetual expectancy.
Most ingenious methods were planned for their destruction. An anchor,
for instance, would be hanging to the rail of the topgallant
forecastle, or the cathead, and, as the caique came dropping down with
the current, if they drifted her under the bow, the stopper and
shankpainter was let go simultaneously, and the anchor landed on their
heads and then through the bottom of the boat. Nothing more was ever
seen of that batch! Another plan was to drop large stones or pieces of
heavy iron into the frail craft; and in that case also no more was ever
heard from them. These chances seldom came, however, as they were a
wily lot, who nearly always made sure of their ground before embarking
on a hazardous expedition. The crews of vessels were warned to keep a
vigilant lookout, and sometimes the anchor watch succeeded in giving
the alarm in time to frustrate a boarding.

But even this, and the open encounters that occurred, became a very
monotonous business to a large number of crews. They were itching for
some other sensation to be put into their lives, and they had moods of
gloomy forebodings that the great war would be ended without their
being able to say that they had seen anything of it; and, in fact, many
of them never did, and it is fair to say some never wanted to. Poor
Captain Wilkins of the _Seaflower_ and his crew were among the latter.
The captain was a highly religious person who had imbued his men with
anti-war proclivities. He had a simple faith in the righteousness of
making large profits in consequence of the war, but never failed to
proclaim the originators of it as a gang of unholy rascals. His faith
had become strong in the belief that the robber was destined never to
set foot on the _Seaflower's_ decks. She had been lying there for
several months without ever having been interfered with. Captain
Wilkins was not unduly sympathetic when he heard of any neighbouring
vessel being pillaged during the night. In fact, he became so impressed
with his own virtue that he frequently fell into the error of speaking
contemptuously of his less fortunate brethren. Captain Macvie had
warned him against indulging in self-righteousness, and never to pin
his faith on immunity from attack.

"It may come," said he, "when you least expect it; and in order that
you may cultivate a more generous spirit towards your neighbours when
misfortune befalls them, always keep in mind the proverb: 'Rejoice not
when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he
stumbleth, lest the Lord see it and it displease Him.' These are words
that ought to be burnt into our minds and hearts."

"Yes," said Wilkins, "I appreciate your goodness in quoting them. They
have reminded me that I have not been sufficiently charitable in
judging others, while I have been at the same time professing to have
the spirit of the great Redeemer."

Captain Wilkins held a prayer-meeting in his cabin each evening before
the watch was set, and his friend Macvie nearly always attended, and
professed to receive great spiritual benefit therefrom. At those
devotional gatherings there was a simple petition offered to the Giver
of all good that He should guard them during the night from the
crimeful visitations of wicked men who coveted that which did not
belong to them, and who did not shrink from murder in order to get it.
Captain Wilkins had a profound belief in the efficacy of prayer, and
was therefore staggered when he realized about two o'clock one morning
that a giant of coppery colour stood over him with a revolver, while
his compatriots helped themselves to all that was of value. At the time
this was going on in the cabin, there stood an armed man at the
entrance to the sailors' forecastle, and another in the galley in
unpleasant proximity to the eldest apprentice, who had fallen asleep
before the fire, and while he had slept the vessel had been boarded.
Had he attempted to move or shout or make a noise of any kind
whatsoever, his life would have been instantly taken, and his body
thrown into the rushing stream. Poor fellow! I have often heard him
speak of the dull terror that took possession of him when he awoke and
saw that his own life and the lives of the whole ship's company
depended on his submission and silence. The chronometer, every piece of
brass, and every sail and rope of any importance was taken out of her,
and this included the sails that were unbent. In fact, there was not a
single article of that kind left aboard when the brigands went from
alongside. This was one of the most daring and gigantic robberies that
had taken place during the whole time the fleet had lain at anchor.
Naturally it created a great sensation both afloat and ashore. Captain
Wilkins was the object of much genuine sympathy. The whole of the
personal losses of his officers and himself were promptly made good by
subscription, and a good deal of the vessel's loss was contributed for
as well. Never a finger was put on the perpetrators, though it was said
the authorities were cognizant of their whereabouts. It was also
whispered that they had accomplices in persons holding high official
position, but this was never in any degree proved, and I should say it
had no foundation in fact. The idea may have originated in consequence
of the lethargic attitude of the officials whose duty it was to see
that they were captured. At this time lawlessness was rampant in those
parts, and it would have been beyond the capacity of even a more alert
and energetic officialism to subdue its ferocious and determined
attacks. In addition to the open brigandage that was carried on,
several captains who for some reason were detained ashore until after
dark were obliged to engage caiques to take them off to their vessels,
and when in mid-stream the boat's crew, consisting as a rule of two
Turks (or Greeks in Turks' clothing), would lay their oars in and
demand them to give up all their money and valuables, or they would be
thrown into the Bosphorus. And if they had the good fortune to have as
their passenger a timid man they demanded that every article of dress
should be given up so that they might be assured that nothing was
concealed. Some of the more courageous and defiant, instead of
complying with this peremptory request, took a revolver from a pocket,
pointed it at the gentlemen at the oars, and suggested that as soon as
they ceased to row they would have a lump of lead put into their heads.
Whereupon they usually did as they were told. In cases of this kind the
oars were taken from them as soon as the captain was put aboard and
they were then set adrift. It was believed that several captains who
never turned up were overpowered, robbed, and then thrown overboard.

The weather from the middle of October had been fitful and treacherous.
On November 14, 1854, a terrible hurricane burst on the Crimean coast
and wrecked nearly the whole of the British transports which lay at
anchor in the roadsteads. Several warships and transports belonging to
the French were wrecked. The British war vessels suffered severely, but
none were said to have been lost. The loss of property was estimated at
over a million, and the loss of life between 1,500 and 2,000. The
devastation and suffering ashore was also very terrible. The news of
the frightful disaster came to Constantinople on the night that the
_Seaflower_ was pillaged. Instructions were given to send on supplies;
the captain of the _Boadicea_ was among those who received orders to
proceed off Sevastopol without delay. Wilkins was in great distress at
having to part from the man whom he regarded as his friend and faithful
adviser. Tugs were sent to tow the vessels through the Bosphorus into
the Black Sea. A fresh wind blew from the west, and in four days after
leaving, Captain Macvie anchored his ship in Sevastopol Roads, and many
weeks elapsed before a particle of cargo was taken out and landed for
the benefit of the much neglected soldiers--such was the disorganized
condition of the service. Macvie and his crew saw many a skirmish and
several pitched battles during their five months' stay in the vicinity
of wild wreck and ruin. In April, 1855, the cargo had been all landed
and instructions were given to sail at once for Constantinople. In due
course they arrived there, and received orders to go on to Smyrna, to
load hay and oats. Six weeks after passing down, she anchored in
Scutari and lay there until peace was declared in 1856, when orders
were given to take the cargo to Portsmouth. After about two years'
absence the _Boadicea_ arrived in England; and on squaring up her
accounts it was found that she had cleared more than twice her original
cost. Mr Rockfeller received his fortunate and esteemed captain with
much favour, and was not many minutes in his presence before he
intimated with an air of generosity that he would sell his shares at
par.

"I think," said he, "that you ought to hold half the vessel."

"Very good," said Macvie, "I will pay you cash for the number of shares
I require to make up my half share, but you must not ask me to pay the
original cost price."

"Macvie," said Rockfeller, "I wish you to be reminded that I gave you
eight shares to work off when you joined me. I fear you allow your
national love of money to lure you into forgetfulness."

"No, no," said the shrewd Scotchman; "you are wrong. I do not forget
you having done what you say, nor do I forget that I have paid you a
good price for what you were good enough to give me, and it is as well
that your attention should be drawn to the fact that, owing to my
foresight in chartering with the Government, the vessel has more than
twice paid for herself in less than two years. Besides, if you are not
satisfied with my services I have a very tempting offer from another
firm."

At this stage Mr Rockfeller showed signs of nervous twitching, and
interposed by assuming an injured air:

"Really, Captain Macvie, you must be reasonable, and not talk of other
firms bidding for your services. I feel you are more than a match for
me, and the thought of it makes me wish I had been born and reared a
Scotchman. I know I am weak, but you may have the shares at any price
you name; only don't be too exacting."

"Very good," replied Macvie, "they are mine at L1,000."

Rockfeller looked aghast, and again appealed to his sense of justice.
The bargain was closed at L200 more.

Mr Rockfeller became transfixed with the thought of his own generous
simplicity. He soliloquised, "I think I must have been born to become
the victim of a stronger will than my own. Nature, I am assured, has
freaked with me. Yes, Captain Macvie, you are in many ways the
antithesis of myself; and my experience of you is very similar to the
description given of a horse by the melancholy though eloquent Arab. I
think these words describe our relations, my young friend, though the
superb old philosopher who is reported to have said them never
anticipated that they would be used in any such way: 'Hast thou given
the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst thou
make him afraid as a grasshopper? The glory of his nostrils is
terrible. He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his strength: he
goeth on to meet the armed men: he mocketh at fear, and is not
affrighted: neither turneth he back from the sword. He saith among the
trumpets, Ha, ha! and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of
the captains and the shouting.'"

"If," said the commander, "you mean these words of holy writ to apply
to me, I am gratified, but fear you have under-estimated their grandeur
and their real meaning. They pulsate the air, and make the heart throb
with a conviction that the world of literature would have been poorer
had they not been written. And now, Mr Rockfeller, let us cease further
attempts at satire, and get to business. I wish to visit my parents who
are very old; but before doing so I should like to have our little
transaction settled and the future employment of the vessel arranged."
The request was duly complied with in both respects.

The reunion of every branch of the Macvie family to do honour to the
Captain and his wife was the occasion of great rejoicing. He had
promised, long years before, on the eve of entering upon the real
battle of life, that he would not return until he was a Captain, and
may-be an owner, and he now presented himself with pride and modesty at
the old homestead, thronged with a vast number of friends who came to
welcome and congratulate him on having become both. After the flow of
greeting had subsided, he requested a private interview with his father
and mother. He informed them that a great joy had come into his life
in being able to give a bankers' order for the payment of four pounds
per month to them as long as they lived. The saintly couple's mental
process became confused. They entered upon a long disquisition of how
much affluence might affect their humility and endanger their religious
life. The noble son urged that their faith in God was too strong to
allow the possession of money to betray them into indifference. The
father being spokesman replied on behalf of his wife that they accepted
this bountiful goodness, "And believe me, my son," he said, "our hearts
are too full to say all we feel; but may the great God have you in His
holy keeping, and preserve you from the snares and fascinations of
worldliness."

And the aged mother interjected by adding a supplementary petition that
he should be saved from succumbing to the dangers of his profession.

"Take this present from your father and me," she added, handing him a
new Bible which she had kept concealed under her black silk apron until
the opportune moment came, "and when you are tossed on the troubled
ocean, read about Jesus and the sea, and trust in the Lord to bring you
back to us."

These simple words were delivered with compressed vehemence. A big lump
stuck in Archie's throat, for he felt that it was his mother's farewell
benediction, and that he would never see either of them on earth again.
He would have liked to have responded in a few endearing phrases, but a
dumb pain seized his heart and made him inarticulate. He tenderly
embraced the old people and passed from their presence with a heavy
heart, impressed with a consciousness that their next meeting would be
beyond the tomb. A large procession of townspeople met at the station,
in order to give the Captain and his wife a hearty send-off. Even the
Provost came to say good-bye to them.

On their arrival home they found a letter had come from their friend
Captain Wilkins. It was dated from Malta, and told a sickening tale of
many disasters before getting away from Scutari. Two attempts at
robbery had failed at the cost of one of the crew losing his life, and
another being seriously wounded. Wilkins wrote: "It was bad policy
making any noise about the big robbery, as it only made them
revengeful." This news distressed the Macvies, but they could do
nothing more than extend their sympathy, and this was tactfully and
ungrudgingly given.

Captain Macvie had a long clean record of success. His popularity among
his contemporaries was a growing process. No signs of rivalry were
seen. He was looked up to as an authority, not only on nautical
matters, but social, political and religious questions were well within
his grasp. On one memorable occasion, when he was at home, a church
meeting was called to consider the minister's relation in regard to his
people. It was thought that he was not sound on sanctification, and one
or two little matters that did not exactly bear on sanctification--a
love affair, in fact. The gallant captain took the side of his
minister, and put such a convincing case before his audience that a
large majority declared the accusation not proven. There was wild
excitement at this meeting; the hostile faction were rancorous about
the captain being put up, as they assumed he could not possibly know
all the facts; but both sides were one in admitting that his fame as a
debater and an orator was established. So general was this belief that
many of his adversaries congratulated him on having delivered a most
eloquent speech.

The desire to sail with this distinguished man seized me like a vice. I
determined as soon as I was free (for I was at that time an apprentice)
nothing would prevent me from asking him to allow me to serve as an
able seaman in the vessel which now entirely belonged to him. In a few
days after making the memorable speech at his church, the _Boadicea_
was sailing down Channel on her way to the Black Sea. Mrs Macvie was
aboard. She nearly always accompanied her husband, and was a good
English woman, to whom the captain owed much for her thrifty habits and
sound judgement. All the officers and most of the crew had sailed
continuously with him since he took command. Curly, who had served
aboard a pirate schooner, became quite an institution. He was very
popular, and so were his pirate stories when he could be persuaded to
tell them. He had served Macvie as A. B., boatswain, and was now
steward. They had been to Taganrog and loaded a cargo of tallow for
London. A gentle levanter was wafting them through the Archipelago.
When they got abreast of the north end of Zea Island they observed a
brigantine coming romping up to them under a cloud of sail. In light
winds the _Boadicea_ did not sail fast. The breakfast bell had been
rung, and as the captain was passing into the companion, Curly, who was
standing close to, intimated that the following vessel was a pirate
ship, and that she would soon overhaul them if the wind did not
strengthen. Curly was always addressed as "Johnny" by Mrs Macvie, who
was very fond of him, and as "Jake" by her husband, with whom he was a
great favourite. The lady observed the concerned manner of the captain,
and requested him to confer with Johnny as to the method of resistance
should the schooner run alongside and the pirates attempt to come
aboard. "He knows all about their tricks, and what they like and what
they don't; let us hear what he has to say, Archie," said Mrs Macvie.
So forthwith Jake was called into their presence. This resourceful
gentleman was quite elated at the prospect of having some fun, as he
termed it. His recommendations were of a very painful and drastic
character. He talked of putting them into practice in a cool,
frosty-blooded way which caused the lady and her husband to shudder.
"It is too dreadful, Johnny," remarked Mrs Macvie; "surely what you say
has never been resorted to, even to defeat the objects of pirates?"

"I don't suppose it has," said the sanguinary John; "but if you wish to
save your property and the lives of yourselves and your crew, you will
have to stick at nothing. My advice is, do your best to show them a
clean pair of heels. If you get plenty of wind in the narrows you will
easily do it; but be prepared for the worst. This is my plan: have
everything that will hold in, filled with boiling water, boiling oil,
and boiling pitch; have the old muskets ready for firing. If they ask
you to shorten sail, don't do so. They will then run alongside, and as
soon as they put their hands on the rail, blind them with boiling
liquid. Then shoot with the rifles, and they won't want much telling to
go away."

The chase was long and exciting. Sometimes the pirate vessel was very
nearly within gun range, then the breeze would strengthen and she would
fall astern. This alternate gaining and losing continued all day, until
the sun went down behind the mountains far away to the north of them,
and seemed to carry with it the breeze on which they had to depend for
their safety. The chasing vessel gathered way as soon as the wind fell
light, and the people of the _Boadicea_ saw that all hope of avoiding a
fight must be discounted. Curly advised having it before darkness came
on, but there was no need to wish for this as the stern inevitable had
come. The pirates had almost within their grasp their expected prize,
but were doomed to meet with a terrible penalty. They put their craft
alongside, and about a score of men made a jump for the rail, when the
intrepid Jake, who had full charge of the plan of defence and attack,
shouted: "Now boys, pour it on them smartly!" and in an instant the
pirates were an agonized rabble. Some of them jumped into the sea;
others fell back on to their own vessel; two got on to the
_Boadicea's_ deck, but were promptly put over the side. Boiling oil
and pitch as well as boiling water were thrown aboard the schooner, so
that even those who did not attempt a boarding did not escape the awful
consequences of their piratical invasion. As soon as Captain Macvie saw
that the punishment had been so great that they would more than
probably never fight again, he tried to steer clear, but found the
braces and other ropes had become entangled with the foreyard, which
broke, and then the vessels separated. The stillness of the night was
made a horror by the piteous moans that floated over the level sea, and
excited the sympathy of the men who were compelled to inflict the
suffering in order to preserve their own safety. They felt an
instinctive desire to launch a boat and go to the succour of their
victims. Curly, who knew the desperate character of these fearful men,
advised his shipmates to have neither remorse nor pity. He assured them
that the lesson given to the miscreants would not prevent those who
might recover or those who had received no injury from taking to their
trade with the same thievish and murderous zeal as they had practised
heretofore.

[Illustration: "NOW, BOYS, POUR IT ON THEM SMARTLY!"]

"Do not talk of your conscience when you think of these devils," said
he, "for, believe me, theirs are frozen, and all they want is a new
crew and fresh opportunity, and they won't mince matters with us or any
other ship's company. There is one thing, they won't be deceived in a
hurry into the belief that they have a soft thing on because no
apparent resistance is made; they will try to do some shooting first.
They won't forget the effects of boiling oil and pitch. But let us
cease chattering about them and get our rigging and sails repaired. We
may need to have everything staunch and strong, as the sky is
threatening mischief."

It took the crew four hours to repair the damage, and as they did so
the wail of the suffering wretches became fainter and fainter, until it
had faded away into space, or it may be that their hearts had ceased to
throb. After things were settled down and the vessel was slashing
through a passage which leads into the Mediterranean Sea with a fresh
easterly wind, the faithful steward, who had provided a substantial
meal for the captain and officers, was informed by the former that he
and his crew were indebted to him for the ghastly achievements of the
day. "But Jake, my boy, I almost wish we hadn't done it."

"Very well, then," said the blunt sailor with obvious indignation;
"you'd better go back and apologize, but you must not expect me to join
in the silly chorus. I suppose you are thinking of 'blessed are the
peacemakers' again? If you are, then I want to remind you that these
fellows were my compulsory pals once on a time, and I found that this
was no part of their religion."

Mrs Macvie interposed that Johnny was right, and that they undoubtedly
owed their lives to his genius.

"We had no intention of killing them or pillaging their ship, and they
had both of these designs on us," said the logical lady, "so that we
were justified in saving ourselves by the means which I fear have
proved so fatal to them."

The steward was henceforth looked upon with great devotion, so much so
that Mrs Macvie induced her husband to include him as one of the
legatees in his will.

For many years after this episode the _Boadicea_ continued her trading.
Captain Macvie made a great deal of money and then retired in favour of
a younger man who was destined to have a short career as commander,
for, on the second voyage from the Brazils, and almost within sight of
his own home, his vessel was driven ashore by a hurricane and all hands
were drowned. A few days later the weather was fine enough to allow
fishermen to put to sea, and on rounding a rugged point on the coast
some of them heard the piteous howling of a dog. They made towards it,
and found it had taken shelter on the arm of a steep cliff. It was
taken from its perilous position with great difficulty. A brass collar
bearing the name of the ship and the owner suggested that it was the
only survivor of the shipwreck. Poor Curly's body was discovered on the
same day on a patch of yellow sand inside a cave. It was taken to a
fisherman's hut, and round his neck was found a gold locket with four
little portraits. Mr and Mrs Macvie were the idolised of one case, and
his own wife and little girl were in the other. His body was put in the
ground with reverence. Soon afterwards a cheque for five hundred pounds
was received by his widow.

Mr Macvie and his wife lived to a ripe age in a very unpretentious way.
Years later I came across my old commander and owner seated outside a
small cottage which faced the sea in a remote part of Northumberland.
The common in front of him was ablaze with shining flowers, and the
sweet song of the lark swelled in the air. A sad, pensive look hallowed
his comely face, which made me hesitate to interrupt the reverie; but
he realized my presence and asked me to share his seat. He began to
tell me that his mind was reviving some of his early experiences at
sea.

"Ah!" said he, "I was thinking what a terrible end Curly and the old
vessel came to. Poor Jake, he was a fine, swaggering fellow; a smart
sailor, and as brave as a Turkish Bashi-Bazouk. He was very wayward at
times, but always faithful as a mastiff dog to me. His apparent
disregard for breaking the Sabbath grieved me, and when I rebuked him
for it he frequently took me in a sort of humorous way as though it
were a good joke to talk to him of religion. But he had periods of
despondency and remorse which brought out visions of spiritual life. He
would speak of death coming to take him from his wife and little girl
in the most piteous way, and then I had to say to him, 'Do not be so
irreverent to your Creator. Think of His imperishable goodness in
saving you and me from the abysses that have so often confronted us.
Think of those piratical throat-cutters whom He assisted us in
vanquishing, and remember when God wants to take you He will take you.'
I often quoted to him these words: 'I will lift up mine eyes unto the
hills from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord which
made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that
keepeth thee will not slumber.' I do hope he remembered to say, when
the hurricane woke out of the sky and was bearing them to destruction,
'Into Thine hand I commend my spirit: Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God
of Truth.'"

"I never realized the intensity of your attachment to him, Captain
Macvie," I interjected.

"Yes, it was very great," he soliloquised, "and the memory of his long
association with me and the perilous life that he led and the horror of
the tragic finish has caused my mind to revert to an occasion which
nearly ended in the same way. We were caught by a heavy southerly gale
when off Candia. I carried sail until she nearly jumped her masts over
the side and herself out of water. We were then carrying the double
reefed topsails, reefed courses, inner jib, fore and main topmast
staysail, but the gale had so increased I gave orders to close-reef the
topsails and furl the mainsail. I thought it better to run no further
risk of dismasting her, as there was always a chance so long as they
were kept standing. All hands were up reefing the main topsail and I
had the wheel. I saw the black shadow of the mountains in the darkness
towering far above our heads, and we seemed to be amongst the broken
water to leeward. Every moment I expected her to strike and send us to
our doom. A simple thought of the last words of my mother about Jesus
and the sea flashed into my mind. I lashed the wheel for a moment or
two, went to the lee side, knelt down, and offered a fervent prayer to
Almighty God. I asked Him, if it was His will to save us, to do it in
His own way. I had no sooner taken hold of the wheel again than the
sails were caught aback by the wind veering and coming with the force
of a hurricane from the opposite direction. It rushed from the mountain
tops as from a funnel. I called to the men to come down and turn the
yards round smartly. I feared she would not back off quickly and that
she might get stern way on and knock the stern in and founder. My voice
failed to carry through the vast roar of the tempest, but the men knew
as well as I did that a critical moment had come, so they made their
way on deck; the yards were quickly trimmed and I ran her dead off the
land. We had not run more than eight to ten miles to the south amid a
mad conflict of broken sea that twisted and lashed at the vessel, when
all of a sudden the old wind came back and the struggle with the
opposing legions for mastery kept for a time the vessel in imminent
peril. Ultimately the southerly force prevailed, but fortunately it
blew itself out in a few hours, and we sailed into fine weather. Never
was a vessel so near destruction without being destroyed, and never
were human lives so near passing from time into eternity. Even the most
wayward of my crew attributed our safety to the pity of God, and they
thanked Him with the usual condescension that sailors adopt even
towards the Deity; but they never knew that I had addressed the
Almighty on their behalf and on my own; and that is really how it comes
that I am here to tell the tale."




V

SAILORS' OPINIONS OF NOTABLE PUBLIC MEN


The old-time sailors held strong opinions on law, i.e., sea law. The
merits of military and naval notables and prominent politicians came
within the limit of their strange discussions. Their naval heroes were
Charlie Napier, Collingwood, Nelson and Hardy. They loved Napier best
of all because he dared to be kind to his men and fight their battles
for them against the authorities; they were never quite sure whether to
give the weight of their respect on the side of Collingwood or Nelson;
but as the latter came to grief at Trafalgar, he was generally given
the benefit of any doubt as to superiority, and his devoted Hardy was
regarded as a strong backer of the redoubtable national hero. They
never got over the idea that poor Nelson was shot from the maintop by
some of his own men and not by the French sharpshooters. It was a point
that could never be cleared up to their satisfaction, hence the
impression that his sailors must have had some grudge against him was
very prevalent. His association with the King and Queen of the two
Sicilies was said to have gone a long way towards giving him a swelled
head, and in truth it was no mean distinction to be on terms of
friendship with a daughter of Maria Theresa and sister to Marie
Antoinette. They believed that Nelson had been influenced by the king
and queen when in a soft-headed mood to commit an act that can never be
obliterated. It was not only cruel and heartless, but it had close
resemblance to a crime. "They talk," said they, "of the murder by
Napoleon of their duke (Duke d'Enghien), but was it not as bad of
Nelson to have Commodore Francisco Caracciolo tried by a court martial
composed of the prisoner's enemies (Neapolitan officers) which sat only
two hours aboard the _Faudroyant_ and found him guilty of rebellion
against his sovereign?" He was ordered by Nelson to be hanged at the
fore yardarm of the _Minerva_. The sight of this poor man dangling at
the yardarm must have had a revolting impression on the minds of those
who witnessed it, and the aversion of the public who merely heard of it
must have been equally well founded. No wonder that it was handed down
to subsequent generations of seamen, and caused them to say, as I have
heard them that, "Nelson should have left the dirty, bloody business to
his pal the King of the Sicilies and kept his own hands clean." They
always spoke of his death as retribution. "If there isn't something in
it," said they, superstitiously, "why was Collingwood and Hardy not
hit?"

His relationship with Lady Hamilton was vigorously defended; both
voluble and comic reasons were poured forth in support of his action.
"Had she not on more than one occasion saved the fleet, and had she not
rendered great service to the British Government by her clever tongue
and alluring beauty, to say nothing of a supreme genius for intrigue?"
They believed that she had sacrificed everything to serve her country,
and now that Nelson had smashed the combined fleets of Spain and
France, and lost his life through it, this precious government had no
further need for her services, so threw her helpless on a callous,
canting world. They built a monument for him, and left his poor Emma,
whom he regarded in the light of a good spirit, to starve, though he
had begged that she should be provided for. That was the view the
sailors took of it. They believed that Nelson's infatuation for the
lady was his affair and hers, and nobody else's; but be that as it may,
there were very few seamen in the merchant service who did not warmly
sympathize with this poor, wretched, woman's fate. Nelson was often
made responsible for that which he might have nothing to do with, and
sailors have not spared him for his supposed share in instituting that
monstrous system of pressing honest, respectable men into a service
that reeked with the odour of disgraceful bureaucratic cruelty. I know
something of the legacy of prejudice which extended to bitter,
vindictive recollection of these days of brainless despots. I was
reared amid an eighteenth-century environment; both my grandfathers
fought at the Battle of the Nile; both were taken by force from their
vessels which were owned by themselves and their relatives. One of them
rose to the position of sailing-master; the other was a junior officer;
but such was the condition of this kidnapping service they could not
hope to rise higher. Both these men's lives were broken, as hundreds of
others' were. Was it any wonder that strong feelings of wrong were
handed down and indiscriminately fastened on to whosoever held any
prominent authority? That is why Nelson came in for his share of
condemnation. Personally, I think he was credited with more than he
deserved. I believe he thought so well of that branch of the service,
and his patriotism was so strong, that he wondered why there was any
necessity to institute press-gangs. I should imagine that he was often
amazed that men did not join in droves. But had he gone to the right
source for information he would soon have become disillusioned. These
gangs of ruffians preferred seamen as their prey, but they did not
discriminate very much. If they could not get a sailor they took
whatever came to hand--the bigger the better. And so, while on one of
their prowling expeditions, it came to pass that a gentleman called
Willie Carr was seized, and at the point of the bayonet or musket made
to embark aboard their boat. This person was a ship's blacksmith. His
strength was abnormal, and his feats of swimming were a marvel. He was
known to fame as the Hartley giant. Tradition has it that they put
Willie in the bow of the boat, and after they had got a little way on
their journey he asked them if they could all swim. This question
excited great laughter; but the giant coolly placed his hands on each
of the gunwales of the boat, set his knees in position, called out,
"then sink or swim, you B----," and with one mighty wrench he severed
both sides of planking from the stem. Willie swam ashore, and how many
of the men were said to be drowned I do not remember, though I have
given the main facts as I heard them scores of times in my boyhood
days. This story is told by Mr Soulsby in his excellent little history
of Blyth.

Their military champions were: the great Emperor of the French ("Bonny"
as they familiarly called him). Next came "the martyr" Ney, and then
Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, and the Prussian General,
Bluecher. The relative merits of these great men were discussed
sometimes with foaming partiality. Napoleon and Ney were their
favourites. Their wrath against the allied Powers was unappeasable. How
often have I heard them thunder out that Bonny would have wiped
Wellington and his myrmidons off the field but for the treachery of
Fouche, Talleyrand, and his own generals (Fouche in particular).
Wellington's prayer for "night or Bluecher" was always used in
mitigation of what might be called an unpatriotic opinion. I have
listened to the diatribes of these rugged critics who claimed for their
hero that he imbued his soldiers with a high sense of honour in
contrast to our barbarous disciplinary methods of flogging. The image
of the great man, and the part Wellington played in having him banished
to St Helena, never faded from their memories. They believed the Iron
Duke to be the instigator and encourager of a shabby trick. It was a
wonderful phenomenon that made these men talk so systematically of
their magical enemy, and yet they never lost an opportunity of showing
their national dislike for and superiority over the French people as a
whole. So strong was this instinct that it permeated British crews from
the captain to the cabin-boy. Of course there were at times violent
differences of opinion, but as a rule the Emperor was singularly
popular, and the aversion to his former subjects, especially civilians,
was never disguised. They showed frequent hostility towards
coal-heavers, dockers, sailors, fishermen, and sundry other grades of
workmen with whom they came in contact, but that is not to say they
were always successful in their attacks, though they invariably took
the initiative. In the old days the average British tar could not solve
the mystery as to what foreigners, and especially Frenchmen, were made
for; even at the present time they put on a lordly air when they come
in contact with people whom they regard as aliens. This attitude is
adopted independent of all reason, and becomes quite infectious. I must
have caught it early in life. I went to a French port on my first
voyage to sea, and although I was a mere child of twelve and a half
years, I became smitten with the forecastle belief that my country and
countrymen had suffered irreparable mischief at the hands of the French
nation. I therefore deemed it my duty to be avenged, so picked out a
French youth apparently my senior by some years, reminded him of
Trafalgar and Waterloo, and called him by the opprobrious name of
Johnny Crapo, the meaning of which I did not understand. I was promptly
made to run for my life before a sudden Napoleonic onslaught of about
half-a-dozen small boys, who had congregated to see their friend
demolish the avowed foe of their country.

In discussing the many phases of Napoleon, the sailor was never
perplexed in coming to conclusions as to the right and wrong of his
(Napoleon's) actions. Their quotations and manner of using them were at
times amazingly tempestuous and erratic. Captain Maitland, of the
_Bellerophon_, was generally believed to have behaved with becoming
generosity towards the dethroned monarch, but the question as to
whether he gave himself up voluntarily and without reservation, or, as
Napoleon maintained, that he was prevailed upon to become the guest of
England, and put himself under the protection of her laws, was a point
that occasioned great diversity of opinion, and I think it may be said
that Maitland's version in the majority of cases was thought to be
correct. Admiral Sir George Cockburn came in for a good deal of harsh
criticism for complaining about the Emperor rising from the table as
soon as coffee had been served, and the well-known reminder of Madame
Bertrand was quoted in a form that almost put the original beyond
recognition, and had it been correct would have justified the admiral
in putting the lady into solitary confinement for the remainder of the
passage, for using language to him that was not only coarse and
impolite, but unwarrantably seditious. Instead of this, Madame Bertrand
merely remarked with all the charm of a cultured courtier: "Do not
forget, admiral, that your guest is a man who has governed a large
portion of the world, and that kings once contended for the honour of
being admitted to his table." They had some misty notion that that
admiral was not always considerate to his guest, and disliked his
attentions to the officers and crew of the _Northumberland_, not one
of which it is said could resist the magical influence of his actions
and words. It was natural that the salient incidents of a voyage with
such a man should be passed on and handed down to later generations of
seamen.

The story of the passage of the line was an everlasting theme retailed
in order to justify the goodness of Napoleon. The boatswain represents
Neptune and becomes sovereign for a time. Neither rank nor position is
exempt from the customary shaving and baptism, but on this occasion
Neptune graciously respected the distinction of the exiles, and
reminded them that they had too often received the baptism of fire and
of glory to require additional attention from him. The Emperor
consented to have Neptune presented to him, and gave him through the
grand marshal five hundred napoleons in order that he and his court
might drink his health. Well might this generous gift bring forth wild
hurrahs and loud cries of "Long live the Emperor Napoleon." The amount
by common consent was handed over to the captain to be distributed when
the crew were discharged, but this did not prevent Neptune and a number
of his subjects intoxicating themselves, and it was only through the
interposition of the Emperor and his suite with the admiral that they
were saved from being cruelly flogged. "They may talk about this man as
they like," said one of the crew, "but I won't believe the bad they say
of him." His popularity with the sailors of the _Northumberland_ was
not created by merely seeing him sitting for hours day by day on the
gun which was named "The Emperor's." He became their hero now as
passionately as he had previously appeared to them as being the foe of
all that was humane. His little attentions and kindnesses, accompanied
by an irresistible smile, and the act of putting them through some form
of drill, endeared him to them long before they reached his lonely
rock. Then the story of Sir Hudson Lowe's treatment of him in so many
petty ways, such for instance as seizing a small bust of his son, the
King of Rome, which had been sent to the exiled monarch, made friends
for the Emperor in thousands; and not the least of them were the brave
fellows who had traversed the ocean with him, and whose souls were
filled with sympathy and horror at the crime that was being committed.
Their testimony was that no one could live in close contact with him
without instinctively realizing that he was a much maligned person. No
wonder that this impression was spread widely not only through the
whole navy but also throughout the whole mercantile marine. What a
blunder the whole savage, senseless business was!

But while the British sailors claimed the little corporal as their
idol, they did not think that even for political reasons the Emperor
had any right to divorce Josephine, though they thought he might have
reasons other than those commonly understood to have been engineered by
the arch-traitor Fouche, and ultimately agreed to by the Emperor. The
Empress, when she was plain Josephine, had the reputation of carrying
on violent flirtations with other gentlemen while her husband was in
Italy, and subsequently, when he was in Egypt swiftly forging his way
to fame and to his destiny. So that when Napoleon was accused of
cruelty in putting her from him, there were ever some champions ready
to palliate the act by putting her unfaithful conduct before their
opponents. But the Emperor's divorce of the little Creole was never
quite approved by his sailor admirers, more especially as they had a
strong dislike to Marie Louise, the Austrian arch-duchess who took the
place of the poor, wayward Josephine, and who forsook her imperial
husband in the first hour of his adversity to become the mistress of an
ugly Austrian count, named Neipperg, who was minus an eye. Subsequently
this man entered into a morganatic marriage with the gentle Marie, and
she bore to him several children who were declared to be legitimate,
and this happened notwithstanding the fact that the Emperor her husband
was still living in anguish under a tyranny and cruel despotism
instituted by the British oligarchy. This was the kind of anecdote that
filled the sailors with sympathy for the great man who in the decline
of his days was at the mercy of a lot of little men. Then they had
stories of how he could throw off the thought of his wretched position,
and enter into a frolic with Betsy Balcombe and her sister at the
Briars. He would play for hours with the two little girls, and also
with the other children that became attached to him. The smattering
knowledge and comic rawness of the discourses on this great personality
were always intensely attractive. Faith in the accuracy of their own
views was strong. Long before I was old enough to be allowed to take
part in the forecastle Napoleonic discussions I used to listen to them
with eager interest, and well remember the attention given to even a
wrongly-informed orator. The subject was always made fascinating by
serving up the tales in their own forecastle fashion. None of the other
military notables of Napoleon's time claimed their admiration or
devotion as he did; not even Wellington.

Their views on politics and politicians, and their mode of expressing
them, were extremely queer. The prominent statesmen they talked of most
were Fox, Pitt, Lord John Russell, Palmerston, Peel, Gladstone and
Disraeli; and apart from the fault they had to find with the latter as
a statesman, they believed him to be unwilling to legislate in their
interests, though even they didn't appear to have the ghost of an idea
as to how those interests were to be legislatively served. They knew
there was something the matter, that was all. They also had a strong
antipathy to Disraeli owing to his Hebrew origin. In fact, they
regarded the great Jew in the light of a foreigner, whose intrusion
into English politics was a humiliation to all British-born subjects.
The confusion of opinions as to the character and duties devolving on
members of Parliament was very embarrassing even to themselves, and the
vivacity with which they delivered orations to each other on the merits
or demerits of members was exquisitely droll. The rivalry between Fox
and Pitt was a subject that involved them in vehement chaos, just as
the rivalry between Disraeli and Gladstone did in later years. They had
some mystified idea that those political gentlemen were ever thirsting
for each others' blood. They had gathered from some gossipy source that
Mr Fox was a hopeless gambler, and that Pitt was exclusively
responsible for the Napoleonic wars, and that Palmerston was a
mischief-maker who set his impudence up to everybody, and his rashness
either ended in war or coming near to do so. It was the latter that was
accused in forecastle circles of bringing on that Crimean War which
caused so much suffering and loss of life both to sailors and soldiers.
I have heard Sir Robert Peel spoken of in words of vituperation for
having introduced "peelers," now known as "bobbies," to interfere, as
they said, with poor people's rights. Many of them were full of wrath
at his having repealed the Corn Laws. They had got some garbled notion,
which was passed down to later generations, that it would tend to spoil
their chances of getting employment and otherwise lower their wages.
This doctrine had been well thumped into them by some agency or other,
and it led to many a quarrel with the minority who held free trade
views. They were opposed to the introduction of Board of Trade
examinations for the purpose of obtaining certificates of competency,
which is another evidence of their undeveloped sense. And I have
actually known instances where exception was taken by common sailors to
the close scrutiny of Board of Trade surveyors into the defects of a
vessel they had long sailed in and had formed a strong regard for. The
Reform Bill did not appeal to them in the same way as it did to other
workmen. They had occasional opportunities of hearing that a great
noise was going on about household suffrage and the extension of the
franchise, but they had a very hazy conception of the meaning of the
terms. It is no exaggeration to say that the former was often spoken of
as having reference to the sufferings of somebody in the houses of the
people, and the latter was talked of as having some French connection!

They adhered to the idea of the nation being governed by the upper
classes, and yet they used to curse them with unrestrained fury for
their indifference to the needs of the common people. Gladstone was
very frequently in disfavour with them: for instance, they did not
altogether approve of the abolition of purchase in the army. It was
considered a gratuitous interference with a person's freewill. "Why,"
said they, "shouldn't a commission be purchased if a man wants to spend
his money in that way? It was no business of his!" Besides, their fears
were excited lest the army should become composed of low-bred wasters.
Their views on these particular questions were always very paradoxical
and very breezily expressed. How I used to listen and gape at the flow
of what I deemed gifted intelligence when there was a heated discussion
on. I did not understand it; indeed they did not understand it; but
they talked with a volubility and assurance that made deep impressions
on me and on them. The advent of Thomas Burt from the mine into the
political arena was not welcomed with a gush of enthusiasm by seamen.
They doubted the wisdom of a republican miner being allowed to enter a
legislature composed of aristocracy and landed gentry! The idea seemed
to have gripped their minds that this refined and gentle little man was
destined to inflict severe punishment on dukes, marquises and earls,
and in other ways disturb the British nation! Mr Burt was not long in
Parliament before he showed marked indications of wise statesmanship.
Men on both sides of the House soon learnt to respect and admire him.
He made it clear that he was not a mere class representative, and
during the whole time he has been in Parliament the sailors have had no
truer friend than he. I think they have long been satisfied of this
themselves.

These sturdy, commonplace fellows, taking them as a whole, knew no more
about politics than Tom Brown's horse; but, like many other simple,
ill-informed people, they had a calm belief in their unmeasured
knowledge which was void of all reason, and when they were thrown into
contact with shore people it was one of the funniest things in the
world to witness the lordly air they assumed in the initial stages of
acquaintanceship, and the humour of it was exhilarating when the period
for evaporation came, and they shone forth in all their artless
simplicity. I cannot pretend to portray or exactly reproduce the scene
of a sailor's political or any other controversy for that matter; I can
only hope to convey some idea of it; and the rest must be left to the
imagination of the reader.

Some twenty years ago a group of sailing-ship masters was seated at a
table under a verandah outside a Russian snap-shop. There were two of
the old school amongst them, and these were being egged on to a debate
by the younger men on a question that was creating a vast amount of
interest at that time. The heir to the Tichborne estates had left home
to travel abroad, and as nothing was heard of him for several years,
his mother became anxious and began advertising very widely in the
Colonial, English, and Continental press. The result of this was that a
person calling himself Sir Roger Tichborne turned up. He paid a visit
to Wapping, and then presented himself to Lady Tichborne, who was in
bed. She flung her arms around his neck in an ecstasy of joy and
claimed him as her long-lost son. The real Roger Tichborne was supposed
to have been lost in a vessel called the _Bella_, which had sailed from
Rio in South America for Australia. A claim was made on the Tichborne
baronetcy. The claimant's counsel, Dr Keneally, who did not get on very
well with the judges, commenced a paper called the _Englishman_,
which gave full accounts of the trial. It was widely read by
enthusiasts who believed that Dr Keneally's client was the real Sir
Roger. It was this trial that the coterie of commanders had gathered
together to discuss. One of them, Captain Rush, was a staunch believer
in the claimant. He had just received the paper, and was brim-full of
the convincing proofs that it contained. Another fine old salt, who had
neither education nor manners, endeavoured to take an intelligent
interest in the discussion. His name was Mark Grips. Both he and
Captain Rush belonged to the old school, and both were Northumbrians
who spoke the dialect without any attempt at moderation.

"Ah," grunted Captain Rush, almost jumping off his seat with delight;
"Keneally has Hawkins there!"

"Where?" said Mark.

"Why, here," replied Rush.

"Nothing but damned nonsense," said Mark.

"Nothing but nonsense? What? What? What d'ye say?" screamed Rush. "D'ye
mean to tell me that Keneally doesn't know what he's talkin' about?"

"No; you divent knaw what yo're talkin' about."

"What? I divent knaw what I'm talkin' about? I tell ye' what it is,
sor, Roger's the man!"

"Beggared a one," said Mark. (It wasn't exactly "beggared" a one that
he said, but that is near enough.)

"D'ye mean to tell me," said Captain Rush (as he frothed with wrath),
"that a man doesn't know the Ass's Bridge when he's asked about it?"

"Beggared a one," said Mark.

"Then you're a leir."

"A leir, d'ye say? Then I say beggared a one!"

"Another thing: d'ye mean to tell me, Mark, that a mother doesn't know
her own son?"

"Beggared a one," replied Mark.

"D'ye say that again?" said Rush; "I tell you, when a woman puts her
arms around her son's neck, d'ye think she doesn't know it's her son?"

Mark by this time is also frothing at the mouth; and, standing in a
bellicose attitude, hisses:

"I says 'beggared a one.' Roger's not the man!"

Rush becomes speechless, and his eyes flash with anger, and he flings
the _Englishman_ at Mark, who in turn calls his friend, "Coward; that's
the only argument you have. I tell you again, Roger's _not_ the man!"

"Who are you?" retorted Rush; "do you think yourself the Lord High
Admiral Dundas, then?"

"No," said the excited Mark; "I'm Mark Grips, one of Jimmy Young's
skippers, and I tell ye Roger never was the man!"

This finished the controversy for a time, as the two combatants were
prevailed upon to shake hands, and in spite of this spirited combat
they were soon enjoying their long pipes and their grog together.

Just about the time the Radicals in the House of Commons, aided by the
Irish Nationalists, were making a good stand-up fight for the abolition
of flogging in the army and navy, Mr Charles Bradlaugh was elected as
one of the members for Northampton, with Mr Henry Labouchere as his
colleague. The sanctity of the nation was violently shocked at the
effrontery of Northampton in electing so dangerous a Radical infidel to
represent them in Parliament as the notorious "Iconoclast." A wave of
screaming passed over the fair Christian land; the notorious advocate
of atheistic principles was proclaimed a menacing danger to the
Christian edifice. Injustice and untruth joined against him; shocking
stories of blasphemy were circulated with mad recklessness against him.
There was not a single word of truth in them. This was proved over and
over again in courts of law, and yet the charges were encouraged and
persisted in. Poor Bradlaugh; what a time he had of it until the
tempest of folly subsided, and both the people and some of their
representatives in Parliament came back to their senses, and not only
allowed the member for Northampton to take his seat, but passed an act
giving members the option of affirming instead of taking the oath, and
also ordered the erasing from the journals of the House those records
which were said to justify Mr Bradlaugh's exclusion. It was not to be
wondered at that this rapturous concert of passion and prejudice should
reach the impressionable sailors from one border of the ocean to the
other, and formed part of their occasional riotous debates. Any one who
has had the privilege of listening to the fiery arguments set forth by
sailors on the Bradlaugh or any other topic of absorbing interest must
ever cherish it as a memorable experience. There is seldom any regard
for moderation in such conflicts, and the extraordinary confusion of
ideas makes them fascinating. I have a vivid recollection of my
attention being attracted to the clamour of about half a dozen
weather-beaten nautical stagers that were seated outside a dram-shop
which was known to fame as "Jack the Blaster's." It will be readily
recognized that the name was given to it by a north-countryman. I
stopped, asked for a chair, and saw the whole thing through.
Occasionally, while the controversy was travelling along its more
turbulent stages, I was asked to intervene in some way or other, but I
had to act with studied impartiality, so adopted a neutral course.

"They tell me," said burly Captain Harvey, "that he's the best speaker
in England."

"Who's the best speaker in England?" asked Skipper Cowan; "do you mean
that fellow that's givin' members of Parliament so much trouble just
now?"

"I mean Bradlaugh," said Mr Harvey.

"Well then," said Mr Cowan, "you're decidedly in the wrong. I heard a
Methodist parson beat him to fits at Blyth. Bradlaugh lost his temper,
and after that the parson wiped the boards with him. They called the
parson Harrison,[2] and the atheists were all frightened of him after
that."

      [2] The same Mr Harrison is now a clergyman of the Church of
      England, and is pastor of St Thomas's, Newcastle.

"I never heard that before," said Harvey.

"Very well," retorted his friend, "you hear it now. I'm telling you;
and another thing, instead of making him a member of Parliament I'd put
the fellow in gaol and stop him going about the country destroying
religion and making people infidels. Lord Randolph is a grand chap; he
won't have any of his affirmin'. No, no, Sir Randolph doesn't believe
in that sort of cattle, and he means what he says. Randy's all their
daddies [Randy is cleverer than they]. Look what he did when Bradlaugh
kept running up to the bar of the House of Commons to kiss the book.
What did Randolph do, you say? Why he jumped after him every time,
seized him by the coat tails, and said, 'Bradlaugh, stand back!' That's
pluck, if you like. Of course he had what they call the sargent with a
sword by his side ready to stick him had Randolph not been too many for
him. And what do you think old Gladstone did? He's always up to some
mischief. He wrote that pamphlet on the Bulgarian atrocities that
brought about the war with Russia and Turkey. What did he do, sir? I'll
tell you what he did. He said, 'Gentlemen, Bradlaugh's been elected; he
must be allowed to come among us.' There's a fine Englishman for you!
But never mind, _his_ day will come!"

A bulbous, beery-looking skipper tapped a companion on the shoulder,
and said in startled undertone, "Cowan said something about Bradlaugh
running up to the bar of the House. Is there a bar there?" And Harvey
overhearing, said:

"Yes, Mister, there's a bar in that house, but not the kind of bar you
mean. It is a bar sir, not a drinking-bar, mind you."

"What do they call it a bar for, then?" asked the beery person; "a
bar's a bar, isn't it?"

"Yes, a bar's a bar, and you've got a lot to learn yet. What do they
call the speaker 'the speaker' for?"

"Because he can speak, of course," said the beery gentleman.

"Shut up, man," said Cowan; "don't show your ignorance, and let me go
on with the argument. It's not that at all."

"What is it, then?" said the inconvenient heckler.

"Never mind what it is. It's not what you say it is," remarked Cowan.
"By George, he was well served when they locked him up in the Clock
Tower for his impudence. Why, at one time it took ten bobbies to keep
him from mauling a lot of Christian gentleman that had taken the oath
and kissed the Bible over and over again. They tore his clothes, and
the pity is they were not torn off him altogether. Where was his cheek
to talk about his conscience? And as to Gladstone, well, he's a fine
Englishman to back a man up in his infidel works. He deserves as much
as Bradlaugh; and as to Northampton, they should take away the vote
from it."

The orator had completely exhausted and entwined a rich fund of
adjectives into his harangue as he went along; and, when he ceased
speaking, a warm supporter of his gave some applause, and nudging the
bulbous person, he remarked:

"He's a long-headed fellow, isn't he? Eh, what a wonderful man for
politics, and what a speaker! Why, Bradlaugh wouldn't have much chance
with him. He should be in Parliament hissel'. By gum, he'd make them
sit up. What do you say?"

His companion looked wise, and seemed smitten with awe. He could not
trust himself to speak of the brilliant oration they had just listened
to. Harvey followed up the debate by defending the right of freedom of
action and freedom of speech all round.

"What business is it of these members of Parliament to interfere with
what people think or say? I say 'no business at all.' Why, they tell me
that when Bradlaugh beat them and took his seat and defied them, the
Tories flocked round him and said: 'Bradlaugh, we're glad to see you in
this honourable House, and congratulate you as one of ourselves.' Now
there was brazen hypocrisy for you; and what do you think he said in
reply? He stood up and said: 'Gentlemen, I know you of old, but I'm not
going to be sucked in by any of your snakish ways.' Wasn't that fine?"

"Where did you hear that?" said Cowan.

"I saw'd in the papers; it's all right," said Harvey.

"Yes, and what's more," said Cowan, "I saw that Bradlaugh had become
very popular with everybody, and the Tories said he was a rare good
sort."

"Then I don't believe it," said Harvey.

"But I tell you I saw'd in the papers."

"Well," said Cowan, "if you hadn't telled me that, I wouldn't have
believed it."

"But I'm telling ye," said Harvey; "and what is more, there's
Labouchere: he's a queer 'un. He has a paper they call _Truth_, and he
writes all about the Queen and the aristocracy. He knows everything
about them, and doesn't care a damn for anybody. He's been had up for
libel many a time, but that never makes any difference. He goes on
worse. They call him a Radical. He belongs to that lot that wants
everything for themselves."

"But what about them Prussians wantin' to steal Denmark? What do you
call that but cowardly work; and had it not been that Austria, the
other bully, came to their assistance, the little Danes had the
Prussians by the throat, and then, like all bullies, they fell out
about the spoil and began to fight among themselves. No wonder that the
Germans are hated; everybody liked the Danes. And where was your
England then? Was she frightened of Von Bismarck? Yes, I says; yes! Was
Palmerston frightened of him or of all the Prussians in the world? No,
certainly not! He said: 'Gentlemen, let us draw the sword for the
father of the Princess of Wales'; but these great Christian members of
Parliament that you've been talking about so much said: 'No, we'll
fight for nobody but ourselves.' Where is your Waterloo, your Corunna
and Balaclava now? What about that foggy mornin' in the Baltic Sea when
the fog cleared away and we were right in the centre of the Danish
line-of-battleships, and the whole crew wanted to join the Danish navy,
and the skipper said: 'No, men, you must stick to your own ship.' But
we saluted them with the old flag, and gave them three good English
cheers, and they cheered us, and the skipper said: 'Ah, they're fine
fellows. What is England doin' of not to help them? There's no
ill-feelin' left about Nelson puttin' the spy-glass to his blind eye
and blowing Copenhagen down about their ears.'"

"Talk about makin' the Queen Empress of India? By George! Gladstone did
walk into Disraeli about that, and it was said the Queen got her hump
up about it."

"Well she might," said Cowan; "what business had Gladstone to
interfere? He's always interfering."

"Yes," said Harvey; "and a good job for England he is."

"What d'ye say? Good job for England? What about the Fenians? What
about Parnell and them Irishmen? What about the rascals who were nabbed
settin' fire to infernal machinery for blowing up the House of
Parliament? And then he talks of givin' them Home Rule! What about
Piggott, Parnell and company?"

"Yes, and what about the forgeries, Mr Sniggins," said Harvey.

"Don't call me Sniggins!" said Captain Cowan, "I'm a respectable man."

"Don't you say this and that about Gladstone, then," said Harvey.

"We will if we like," said the bulbous friend, who showed in his
phlegmatic way signs of taking sides against the great Liberal leader.

"What do you know about it?" contemptuously interposed Harvey. "My
advice is to you, 'keep yourself sober and your mouth shut, and don't
show your empty-headedness to people who have forgotten more than ever
you knew!' _You_ talk about Gladstone! Why, you would never have known
there was such a man if I hadn't told you. Of all the brazen cheek,
well! You take the cake to talk to me about a man that made England and
stopped the gentry from pilfering the whole thing."

"Get away, man!" replied our portly friend; "you would swear you were
the Duke of Argyle. I tell you he would have given the country away to
the foreigners if we hadn't stepped in."

"Do _you_ call yourself '_we_'!" interjected Harvey, his utterance
almost incoherent with anger; "you want to go to school again and get
some learnin'."

"Get some learnin', d'ye say, Mr Know-all? What has Gladstone done for
the sailors, you an' me? That's a poser for you; and look at the money
he gave away about the _Alabama_ to the Yankees, instead of fightin'
them for it like an Englishman. That's another poser for you!" retorted
the big, burly antagonist who had wakened up and entered into the
discussion with elephantine zeal. "Some of you would let foreigners
jump on your stomachs, but Captain Cowan and me says, 'England for
ever!' Why, if it hadn't been for Palmerston and the old Jew, we would
all have been Russians or blooming Germans before now."

"Bravo, John Bird, well said! That's a clinker for you, Harvey," chimed
in the devoted supporter of the previous speaker. "Fine Britishers they
are, givin' away the country of their birth in lumps at a time!"

Harvey was purple; his blood was at boiling pitch, and his poignant
attack on Captain John Bird gave that gentleman some concern lest it
should reach to something more than mere words. His peroration
consisted of a luxuriant use of imprecating adjectives which stamped
him as a person of original thought. He apologized to his Creator as he
passed from point to point of these profane heights, and was obviously
sure that this chaste mode of seeking forgiveness commended his
observations to the Deity. The attack on Gladstone's and his own
patriotism roused him to produce prodigies of declamatory
illustrations.

"Givin' the country away," he said. "Gladstone's trying to stop them
dukes and earls and such like from stealing it. What does he say that
the House of Lords should be shut up for, and these gentry made to work
like other folk? I'll tell you what he says that for: because he wants
it fairly shared, and the men that go down to the sea in ships to have
a bit of it."

"Now you needn't repeat Scripture after you've been swearin' see hard,"
interposed Captain Cowan.

"No, sir, I'm not using Scripture. I'm saying that Gladstone wants to
turn them fellows in the House of Lords out to work for their living,
instead of cribbing all the land and gettin' such as you to back them
up and crawl on your bended knees and kiss their hands for them; but
I'm not one of them sort. I says what Joe Cowan says: 'The land for the
people if they pay for it.' Wasn't it Gladstone and Bright that said no
good would ever be done until the House of Lords was pulled down, and
wasn't it Joe Cowan that stood up for them when they wanted to make the
Queen the Empress of India? Didn't he say: 'No, gentlemen, the Queen
of England's good enough for me; I wants no Empress'? And didn't that
favourite Jew of yours say to him it was a grand speech? But I'm not
goin' to open my mouth to fill your empty heads. You don't know your
A B C's yet; and you talk to me about givin' away England, and about
Dizzy, and you haven't a good word to say about your own countrymen who
want to get you a bit of the land to grow something on. I tell you,
you're nothing better than nincompoops, hobbledehoys that knows no more
about politics than the old hookers you're skippers of do." He
emphasized these last remarks by bringing his fist heavily down on the
table, knocking the glasses off, and then in a patronizing way he
walked from them a short distance, turned round quickly as though a
sudden impulse had seized him, and shouted at the top of his voice:

"You want to go to school again, if you've ever been there, but I don't
think you have!"

A reticent man sat close by during the singular debate. An observer
could see that Captain Harvey's last oration was having a convincing
effect on him, and immediately Harvey had fired his last shot Captain
George Halligay rose, and with unaffected solemnity remarked:

"That man knows too much to be a shipmaster. He should be in the House
of Commons. The language he uses, and his knowledge of men and what
they say, is very clever. It would take a funny 'un to tackle him. They
tell me he's written to the papers sometimes."

"All wind and blather," said Captain John Bird, which remark was
endorsed by Captain Cowan and received with some applause.

"Not so," said Halligay. "He has great gifts." And then they made their
way to the landing where their boats waited to convey them to their
respective ships.

These were some of the last specimens of our old-time sailor manhood.
Rough, uncultured, careless of danger, their fighting instincts
sometimes leading them to ferocity; but withal they were strong in many
ways, and had intervals of docility which ofttimes made them lovable. I
dare say many, if not all, of their generation (for they were aged men
when I knew them) have passed beyond the reach of the political or
social student, and we shall nevermore hear the same kind of confusion
of thought that made the discussions of these aged mariners so
delightful to listen to. Of course many of the captains of that time
had real accomplishments far beyond the stolid men of whom I have been
speaking. But even the most cultured of that generation did not reach
the zenith of fame to which the modern commander has risen. The average
present-day captain has little in common with his predecessors. His
political creed goes beyond the mere assertion of the superiority of
Britishers over foreigners. He claims association with a party, and
knows a good deal about prominent statesmen and politicians. He is up
to date in the causes which led to the Boer War, the Coal Tax, the Corn
Duty, Irish Land Purchase, the Education Act, and Chamberlain's
agitation to force a change in our fiscal policy from Free Trade to
Protection. He has a peculiar form of self-confidence which may be
considered phenomenal though it is rarely offensive.




VI

MARY ROUTLEDGE


I have often come in contact with old people living in the villages
close by the sea and far away from the bustle of railroads and large
towns, who lament the good times gone by when they used to look forward
to the homecoming and the passing to and fro of the bonny sailor lads,
who were always expected to lift the monotony from their dull,
uneventful lives by strange stories and rollicking habits. The
villagers for the most part lived under a kind of despotism. The Lord
of the Manor and the parson dominated them, and fashioned their
politics, their religion, and even their social lives. The rule was to
keep within the limits of their own little community when they wanted a
wife or a husband, but if at any time their affections travelled
outside this sanctified boundary, the two potentates were assiduous in
their warnings that if the new comer in any way transgressed the
unwritten code of laws that were framed in order that the estate might
be kept free from contamination they would have to leave it
peremptorily. Ranters, Wesleyans, and other Nonconformists were
regarded as heretics. A religious test was practised, and those who
openly avowed their dissent from the established form of worship were
frankly told that there was a strong aversion to having that manner of
person about the place, and that any attempt at proselytising would be
met by immediate expulsion. That was the state of things existent in a
certain country village no further back than the middle of the last
century, when, as though Providence had pre-arranged it, a man who at
one time had been a sailor came to live there. He was tall and
well-made, with broad shoulders, and he walked with a sort of military
tread. He had a broad forehead, firmly set lips, and altogether he was
good to look on. No one could come in contact with him without being
impressed with his strength of character. His wife was an equally
fine-looking person, with pronounced intellectual capacity. They were
both evangelical Wesleyans. Their family consisted of five sons and two
daughters, a fine wholesome brood, who were all quite young, the eldest
being about fifteen. The children were reared and trained with great
care, and without distinction of sexes: they were all taught to do
housework. Family worship was held morning and night. If the father was
unavoidably absent, the mother took the service, and if both were
absent, the eldest of the family, either son or daughter, took it. The
house was a hive of industry and religious fervour; everything about it
was neat and spotlessly clean. Soon after their arrival the parson made
a call on them, and of course the father and mother were asked what
their faith was. This being quickly settled, the man of holy orders
intimated that the parents would be expected to attend the parish
church each Sunday with their family. They of course reminded him that
they were Wesleyan Methodists, but that would not prevent them
attending his church in the mornings. "In the afternoon and evenings I
have been accustomed to conduct a service myself either in the open air
or in my own or someone else's home," said the placid-looking father.
The parson gazed at him with apoplectic surprise, and hinted that he
hoped he would not continue his mission work there, as Nonconformity
was not approved by the owner of the village, and, he might add, by
himself either.

"I fear I must disregard your request," said Mr Burnside, "and do what
my conscience and judgement demand of me."

The cleric took his leave, with the intimation that Squire Humbert
would no doubt call and have a talk with him about spiritual and other
matters. Burnside was not long in discovering that many of the
villagers were quite illiterate, and but little above the standard of
heathen. He resolved to throw his soul into the work of evangelizing
them at all costs. The first visit Mr Humbert paid him left no doubt as
to that gentleman's wishes. He spoke of the disturbing influence lay
Methodist preachers were having all over the country, and said that he
had decided no such sensational work should be permitted on his estate.
Burnside did not deem it prudent to enter into controversy, but
determined that nothing should deter him from carrying out the work
that God had sent him to do. The circumstances were so discouraging
that no ordinary man would have persisted in going on with it. He was
scoffed at, hooted, and at times both men and women were so enraged
that they threatened a personal attack; but there was something about
his physical appearance and his firm though gentle manner that cowed
even the most violent of those who were opposed to his religious
teaching. They felt he would stand no nonsense of that kind. He had not
been long in the locality before a spirit of strong revival came over
the place. Some of the worst men and women in the countryside were
converted, and ardently tried to influence others for good. They were
raw, crude, and uneducated, but there was a power behind them that made
their influence irresistible. People came from far and near to hear
this strange gospel of pity preached and to witness such an unexpected
revolution. Strong men and women were smitten with its force, until any
one of them who had shown ill-natured and violent dislike to even
listening to the simple message of the lay preacher, eagerly threw
their doors open to him in order that he might hold services in their
homes. He urged them to attend the parish church in the mornings, as
there was only one service on the Sundays, and none during the week.
Most of his own family did this, while the others went with him to the
chapels he was appointed to preach at. He knew the squire and the
parson were feeling full of wrath, and that they believed him to be a
mistaken instrument for evil, and that the whole parish was thrown into
revolt by his wild advocacy of a sacrilegious creed, and that it must
be put a stop to or he would have to leave the village.

When Burnside was having a stroll one morning with a little fellow of
four years old, who was chattering to him about his services, Squire
Humbert came upon them, stopped, and snappishly asked what he meant by
disturbing the whole district with such ranting nonsense.

"I tell you," said he, "it must cease, or I will ask you to leave the
place."

Burnside withered him with a gaze that betrayed his feelings, and
began:

"Sir, you may ask me to leave the village, but you may not ask me to
cease serving my God in the way I choose. Now, sir, listen. You have
been accustomed to talk to your village servants in a way that is
insufferable. I am not one of them, and if I were I should resent your
doing so to me. I must ask you to carry out your threat, and when I get
your communication I shall give you my definite answer. Meanwhile never
you attempt to insult me or make an attack upon my religion again. And
bear in mind that I refuse to allow you to be the controller of it.
Good morning."

The dignified "Lord God the Squire" gasped with suppressed fury, but
that which he wished to utter was unutterable, and he rode off in the
direction of his hall. Burnside told his wife what had transpired. She
commended him for the manner in which he had treated it, though both
she and the family were filled with concern lest the threat of turning
them out of their home should be carried out. It made an everlasting
impression on all the family, but especially so on the little fellow
who heard all that was said. _He_ never got over the cruel, senseless
stab, and I have reason to believe it lives with him still. Burnside
regarded the whole thing with contempt, and continued his religious
services as though nothing had happened. Mr Logan, the parson, not long
after called to see him, and Burnside drew him into discussion on
Theology. He was a great student of Bishop Butler's "Analogy," and was
familiar with the writings of other theologians. The parson was amazed
at the plain man's strong logical instincts, the keen fluency of his
talk, and the fulness of his knowledge, and so enjoyed the conversation
that he asked if he might hope to have a further opportunity of having
another discussion. "Come any day you like except Sundays," said the
unconventional old sailor, "and I may assure you it will give me great
pleasure." They parted with feelings of growing respect for each other.
The parson evidently made some weighty communication to Mr Humbert, as
that gentleman's attitude towards Burnside soon underwent a marked
change, and this was shown by his commencing to chat whenever they met.
It was not long before they were on the most cordial terms. The squire
found that Burnside was not only a powerful religionist but a strong
personality. His reading was very wide, and his knowledge and
conversational gifts made him an attractive man to come in contact
with. Humbert had evidently seen it to be unwise to meddle with his
religion any more, and his friendship for him soon became apparent, for
instead of carrying out the threat of putting him off his estate, he
offered him a better house to live in, with a large plot of ground
attached to it. The offer was gratefully accepted, but this did not in
any way interfere with the steady progress of the propaganda, and in a
few years the character of the men and women who would have thrown him
into the sea when he first came amongst them changed from hatred into
affection. Gambling, drunkenness, wife-beating, profanity, all had
disappeared.

As soon as his sons were old enough they left the district, and ere
long some of them were heard of in the metropolis of England, and had
succeeded in carving out distinguished careers for themselves. Two of
them gladdened the old man's heart by choosing the sea as a profession,
but no discrimination in point of affection was ever shown, though when
he heard the hoarse moaning of the wind on troubled nights, he never
failed to put in a supplementary prayer for his two seafarers. He had
passed through the dangers himself, and had a steadfast belief that
close communion with God was a strong safeguard against disaster. The
homecoming of these sailor lads, who frequently brought friends with
them, was a great joy to the Burnsides, and also to those of the
villagers with whom they associated. Both lads were very sailorly, and
it was well known that they never failed to make things hum with mirth
and mischief, as soon as they had taken their bearings and found the
coast clear of "squires" and "parsons." It was a pretty sight to see
their two sisters rush out of the house as soon as their brothers were
seen in the distance crossing the long stretch of moor and run to meet
and fondly greet them. This had been one of the fundamental points in
their training, that they were to be affectionate to each other, and
lengthened separation did not diminish the well instilled habit. But
the joy of the young people's meeting was only second to that of seeing
their reunion with their parents, and great were Mrs Burnside's
bewildering exploits of cookery. The first night was generally spent in
telling queer stories of their skippers, mates and shipmates, whilst
the father sat smiling placidly and obviously living over again his
youthful days when he also was a sailor lad relating the same kind of
stories in the same old way. The girls asked all sorts of questions,
and the merry babble was kept up until Mrs Burnside reminded her
husband that it was long past the usual time for prayers, and that they
had better postpone the narrative until the morrow. A chapter suitable
for the occasion was given out, and they read verse and verse about
until they reached the end of the lesson. Then they knelt round the
table and listened to the tremulous tones of their father's prayer.
When he had finished they all repeated after him the Lord's Prayer and
then rose. At one of these reunited gatherings one of the brothers had
been restless, and persisted in nudging his sisters and winking at them
when his parent had reached his most impressive periods and was
oblivious of everything but his communion with God. The scamp was taken
aside by the younger sister, who was a strong-minded little damsel with
fixed ideas, and she sharply reproved him for his irreverence; and the
elder sister, who had a keen sense of humour as well as fixed opinions,
was so thankful that the boys had been brought safely back to them, she
commenced to make the most comical excuses for their erring brother's
buoyant indiscretion. The young man's contrition was signified by his
taking hold of his sisters, waltzing them round the room, and then
proceeding to stand on his head and dangling his legs in the air. This
threw them into fits of laughter, and though it was against the rules
of the home, the joyous chatter was resumed and continued until long
past the regulated time for going to bed. When I hear people ridiculing
religion and its forms, I think of those simple days of village
methodism with a throbbing of the heart.

There were coteries in this small out-of-the-way place as there are in
large towns and cities, and perhaps the exclusiveness was even more
pronounced there than in the larger centres. The fisher people were a
class by themselves, with whom the squire's employes thought it beneath
their dignity to be on regular visiting terms. They married and
intermarried amongst themselves, while Mr Humbert's servants were a
mixed class. Some had intellectual ambitions and rare musical talents,
and others had not; and it was amongst the former that the Burnsides
found something in common. Their home gathered up all the more cultured
part of the population. But apart from that, every young and old person
in the village was known to the others. The well was situated a good
distance from the cottages, and the girls of the village generally had
to carry the water to their homes either because there were no sons or
because they were employed elsewhere; but if any of them were about,
the lassie with the burden was always offered help, and rarely refused
it. When the two young sailors came home they made a point of insisting
on carrying water for any young girl they by chance saw at the
fountain, hence they increased their popularity and were sought after
for that reason as well as for the fact of their being rollicking
sailors. In fact, it seemed as though the little circle were of one
family. The day following the home-coming from any given voyage was
spent in formally calling upon their friends, and in the evening all
the young people gathered up at their home to have tea, and afterwards
dancing, singing, talking, and all kinds of games. Of course the
sailors were called upon to do some step-dancing, and so the happy days
and evenings sped on until the time came to prepare to set off on a
long voyage. Then for several days previous to their departure the
house was full each afternoon of voluntary helpers, washing, making
shirts, knitting stockings, and making all kinds of underclothing.
Things were kept moving in such a lively way when these young seafarers
were about, that a feeling of desolation depressed the whole village
for many days after they had left it.

Yet amid all the simple charm of the people and the natural beauty of
the place there came a period of sorrowing and grief. The motherless
daughter of an official of the Lord of the Manor, a beautiful girl who
was the idol of her family and loved by everybody, fell a victim to the
villainy of her father's assistant to whom she was engaged to be
married; he betrayed her and then left the village, and no one could
trace his whereabouts. When her condition became apparent, her father
alone failed to realize her true state until he received a note from
his master to have her removed from his estate, and with brutal
severity the squire insisted that she should never be allowed to stain
the purity of his grounds by her presence again, nor could he permit
any intercourse whatever between her and any of his servants either
male or female, direct or indirect. The father was brokenhearted, and
indeed the whole community were stricken with grief for her and for
him. She was removed to a town a few miles away and then gave birth to
a male child. The father in his thoughtless anger left her to the
callous mercy of an inexperienced person, and through want of proper
care consumption set in, and the shadow of doom swiftly encompassed
her. A burning remorse was charring her to pieces. She craved the
forgiveness of her parent, and longed to see the home she had been
ruthlessly turned away from. This desire was intensified by a passion
to feel the thrilling of the sea winds that came from the moaning
ocean. What insufferable cruelty to refuse the appeal of a sweet girl
who had been wronged, and who was passing from earth and would soon be
put to rest in a grave within easy reach of the springy links and
glossy sands where so many days of her joyous girlhood had been spent
in innocent and jovial scenes! A last appeal was made to the hard old
squire, who, to do him justice, believed he was an instrument in the
hands of divine Providence to enforce the cultivation and carrying out
of high ideals. Human fallibility was not sanctioned on his demesne
outside his own personality or household. The poor, grief-stricken girl
wrote to him hoping that her wishes might become known to his wife and
touch her to have compassion, and her plan succeeded, for on receipt of
her letter permission was given to have her brought home. Here is the
simple, pleading request:

    "SIR,--I ask you for pity's sake to forgive me and allow a poor
    girl who is humbly and bitterly penitent, wrecked in body and soul,
    to be taken from here to her father's home so that she may seek
    forgiveness of him before she is called to appear before her God. I
    have only a few weeks at the most left to me, and then I shall pass
    from the scene of conflict and grief into that long sleep which
    never endeth.

    "I am, yours obediently,

    "MARY ROUTLEDGE."

The day following the receipt of this letter Mary was brought home, and
the good Mrs Humbert engaged a nurse to look after her. Mr Logan, the
parson, was sent for, and he administered what he regarded as a
passport into heaven. He pronounced a stern reproof, and then impressed
on her the idea of the great sin she had committed, and in the good old
ecclesiastical style admonished her to say her prayers and read her
Bible night and morning, and if she did that there might yet be hope
for pardon. The girl did not think the prescription comforting enough,
so after a few days' misery she asked for Mr Burnside. She had heard
him both pray and preach in days gone by, and the impressions made then
came back to her vividly. On entering the little home he chatted with
her in his accustomed cheery way, never even hinting at her great
sorrow, and then he asked if she would like him to pray with her before
he went. She said: "Oh, yes, that is one of the reasons I sent for you;
and if you could make it convenient I would like you to come often." Mr
Burnside acquiesced, and before leaving his little friend he joked with
her judiciously until she laughed so heartily that a casual looker-on
would have thought she had neither mental nor physical trouble, but as
she said to him: "You make me forget all my affliction." "That is
exactly what I should like to do," said her bright companion, "and I
think we are making some progress."

His visits were always a joy to both of them, and after paying several
she called out to him one day when he entered her room, "I have found
God. I know now the plan of salvation that you have been so anxious for
me to see, and though I deeply regret to leave you and all those who
have been so considerately kind to me, I am anxious that my Master
should claim me soon and take me to dwell amid the silent glory of a
last long dream. I am now prepared to meet Him. My last dying request
is very sacred. It touches me so keenly I feel some doubt as to whether
I can approach it without giving you a mistaken thought of what I
really do mean. It is this: may I ask you to give an eye to my child
when I am gone, and should you detect that he is not being cared for,
or trained properly, will you use your influence in having this done?
Perhaps one of the lads (meaning his sons) when they get on will take
an interest in him for the sake of his mother to whom they were so kind
and gentle in other days. Ah, what memories of sweetness I have
gathered up since I was laid aside; and these lines, which I committed
to memory long ago, have sometimes come to me:

    But 'tis done--all words are idle;
      Words from me are vainer still;
    But the thoughts we cannot bridle
      Force their way without the will."

She then assured Mr Burnside that she was quite resigned. He listened
to her gentle musings, only interjecting a word now and then in order
that the current of thought should not be stranded. But his heart was
full of grief, and when he stooped to kiss her brow and say
"good-night" the tears were dropping from his eyes.

"Ah," said she, "I know the sorrow you have for me, and your distress
pains me, but after all I am only passing to the shadows a few years
before you, and when you come I shall see you." And then she whispered
softly, "I should like, if it be possible and my boy lives, that his
mother's shame be kept from him. You, I'm sure, will try to prevent
this."

He promised that her dying injunction, so far as he could arrange it,
would be strictly observed, and then he went out into the mystic night.

They did not commune together again, for the Omnipotent had willed that
she should pass through the valley before the long beams of light had
been drawn from the dawn. The little colony was cast into gloom, and
neither the chilly, puritanic doctrine of the Lord of the Manor, nor
the mechanical piety of his adjutant, the rector, could stay the anger
that permeated even the dullest of the inhabitants, who believed that a
crime had been committed in the name of righteousness. The indignation
of the female portion of the Burnside family was well subdued, not
because of any cantish false delicacy, but in order that their own lads
might not be encouraged to say or do anything rash. They left the
father to communicate the news of Mary Routledge's illness to them. He
had prayed for her on the first night they were at home; this gave them
the first intimation of the tragedy, but the ghastly character of it
was learnt from outside, and they never either forgave or forgot the
wicked perpetrators.

The hearts of the two sailors were sorely touched by the tale of
suffering and treatment of the poor girl whom they were accustomed to
regard in the light of a sister when they were boys at school, and
though a few years of rough sea life had rubbed the finer edges off
their early training, they still retained a strong affection for the
girls who were their favourites, and as she was one of them, their
affection and their grief for her was never concealed. The fulness of
their pleasures had been marred by this great affliction, but as they
would have made any sacrifice in order that their sympathy might be
known to her, they steadfastly observed an attitude of conduct that
well-nigh approached piety; and after she had been "put away" and their
father told them of her last dying message, they resolved that if
spared to reach a position, and her boy was alive, and those who had
charge of him were agreeable that he should become a sailor, either one
or the other would undertake his training. Meanwhile the child was left
as a legacy to the grandfather, but incredible though it may appear, he
was not allowed to bring it to the estate during the sanctified
lifetime of Mr Humbert.

The young men had reached the limit of their period ashore; it was only
fourteen days, but that was all that could be spared, as the vessels
they were to sail in were nearly at the fitting-out stage. The night
before they had to depart a tea-party was given by a distinguished old
lady, who was known for her great kindness to needy people in the
district, and to wayfarers who passed by her house. She owned a large
adjoining estate, and managed it herself with consummate skill. She was
very fond of the two lads, so that they were invited to the party, and,
truth to say, it was really in their honour it was given. Nearly the
whole of the young people round about were there, but the tragic death
of their young friend prevented a full outburst of joyous revelry,
though they arranged their mode of amusement to suit the occasion. The
hostess was charming to everybody, but especially to the sailors. Her
exhortations that they should be careful not to slip when they were
climbing all over the rigging and yards, and to be sure not to get
washed off the jib-boom, as she had heard of so many others being, and
to keep ropes tied round them when the sea was coming aboard, so that
they might not be washed overboard, were absurd and laughable, but
tender. Of course the young men, in the true orthodox fashion of
sailors, on being pressed by her and the young guests, male and female,
told a few stories of their adventures that created both admiration and
sensation; then by request they sang a few sea songs that were much
appreciated. And when the regulation hour came for closing the
proceedings the time had slipped away too quickly. A request was made
to their hostess for an extension of time, and with a goodness that
always characterized her it was granted for one hour longer, part of
which was used by an appeal made by the sailor lads to be allowed to
correspond with her two granddaughters, who were young ladies of
prepossessing appearance. After some delicate negotiations and many
assurances of honourable intentions, they were told that, provided
their letters were confined to a history of their movements and their
doings, and without any foolishness, they might write twice a voyage to
the girls and to herself. "But," said she, "there must be no proposals
of marriage until you have both reached the head of your profession."
This condition was gratefully agreed to, and when the young men joined
the party again there were many inquiries and many hints as to the
nature of the conference with their hostess, but the secret was only
divulged to the two who were directly interested, and then the jovial
gathering formed themselves into a ring, sang "Auld lang syne," and
added "Will they no come back again?" which was specially intended to
apply to the sailors. These formalities having been completed, the
young mariners proceeded to say their farewells, and kissed and cuddled
with astonishing rapidity first one girl and then the others until all
had shared the ebullition of their rugged endearment. The male portion
of the assembly viewed this form of emphasizing good-bye with sheepish
amazement. They would have been stupefied with shame if any one had
seen them walking even with a girl, although the enterprising seafarers
had done their best to assure them that it was the only true style of
showing genuine goodwill.

Long before dawn the following morning the lads were tramping over a
wild expanse of common towards a seaport, and they carried on their
shoulders as fine a kit as ever went into a vessel's forecastle. All
the things that had happened during their stay, especially the
incidents of the last night, were talked of amongst the villagers for
many a long day after the sailors had left the district and travelled
to the southern hemisphere. Yes, and many an eloquent petition was sent
up from the familiar cottage homes that knew them so well for their
safe-keeping and speedy return. This phase of sailor life existed in
the country places, and to some extent in the smaller seaport towns
bordering on the country, in the middle of the last century. It is
always pleasant to think of the innocent, robust enjoyment these better
class seamen planned out for themselves, aided of course by their rural
friends. They were sought after and loved by everybody. What balderdash
has been spoken and written about poor Jack everlastingly misconducting
himself! Assuredly the Christian virtues did not take complete hold of
all of them, and no one will deny that a large percentage were wayward
and took a lot of steering. But compare them with other classes of men,
and I do not think they would take a second place.

Norman and Kenneth Burnside worked, saved, and studied very hard, and
rapidly rose in their profession. They had no sooner got their extra
master's certificates than they were offered and accepted the command
of handsome square-rigged vessels employed in the Eastern trade, and
both of them became famous for making quick passages. The old lady who
had been their friend so long became impressed with the idea of their
reaching great heights, and was quite frank in stating that she was
proud to see the speedy advancement of two boys that had been reared
within sight of her home. She indicated to some of her closest friends
that she had no misgiving now about giving her granddaughters in
marriage to the young sailors, and this interesting confession was made
known to them by some unknown agent. They arrived in England within a
month of each other, and were quietly married. The venerable lady
settled a considerable sum on her granddaughters, and no lack of
instructions were omitted as to its purpose. The sailors said it was
very good of the old girl to do this for her young relatives, but they
each reminded their wives that they did not marry them for money. After
a brief holiday the brothers rejoined their respective ships, and
sailed, one from Liverpool to Australia, and the other from London to
Calcutta, and little did they expect when they parted that it would be
nearly two decades before they were to meet again.

Many years after, two vessels were racing down the China seas, one of
them a new barque heavily sparred and very crank, and the other a
large, full-rigged ship. Both were rushed through the sea at great
speed. The full-rigger, with Norman Burnside in command, drew ahead of
the barque and lost sight of her in the darkness. Between ten and
eleven at night the second officer was on the poop chatting with the
captain; the sky was cloudless, not a speck to be seen, and the wind
strong and steady; every stitch of canvas was set, when all of a sudden
the captain ceased conversing with the officer, told him that a white
squall was close upon them, and to call all hands to shorten sail. They
had only got a portion of it in when the squall struck her, and
everything had to be let fly. During the few minutes it lasted it was
terrific; many of the sails were torn to shreds, the masts were heavily
strained, and the vessel herself was well-nigh doomed. Nothing was seen
or heard of the barque after that night, but the fears of those aboard
the full-rigger were great lest trouble should have come to her. When
they arrived in London an account was sent to them of the loss of their
companion in the China Seas. The paragraph stated that the vessel was
struck by a white squall, thrown on her beam ends and literally
capsized; the captain was Norman's brother. He was on deck at the time
and tried to get down into the cabin to rescue his wife, but the rush
of water prevented him. She was drowned almost before his eyes, and her
body went down with the vessel. Some of the crew who were aft managed
with the assistance of the captain to get the gig disentangled from the
wreck, but he refused to save himself and had to be dragged into the
boat by force. Others of the crew clung to floating spars, and were
either killed or drowned, and only one survived until succour came. The
day following the casualty, those that took to the boat were picked up.
A day later a passing vessel saw some wreckage ahead, and as they drew
towards it they discovered a boy clinging to a spar which was being
tossed about by the motion of the sea. The vessel was at once hove to
and a boat went to his rescue. The only clothing he had on was a light
flannel shirt and a pair of drawers. The poor little fellow had tried
to lash himself to the spar with a piece of rope. When they got close
to where he was his feeble voice whispered from it a few words of
touching thanks; and then, as though a supernatural force had been
given him, he said in a tone that seemed to have been flashed from
another world: "It is too late. I am about to pass on to where my
mother is. I feel my stomach is chafed through." His face, it was said,
wore a spiritual air, and his eyes had an expression of quiet, resigned
sadness. They cast off the rope that bound him to the spar, took him
gently from it and placed his disembowelled body in the boat. His
remains were sewn up in a hammock, heavy weights were put at his feet,
and at the dead hour of the night the mourners, with uncovered heads
bowed in hallowed manifestation of pity, listened to the harrowing
words that came throbbing from the captain's lips as substituted for
the written funeral service. When he had finished, orders were
whispered to lower the body in silence down the side of the vessel, and
then the waters covered him over. Many weeks elapsed before it was
known that it was Mary Routledge's boy.

Nothing could exceed the genuine sympathy that was shown to the poor
distracted Kenneth Burnside, but all attempts at consolation were
received by him with a sad smile that conveyed the idea of an unhealing
wound. He lived the life of a recluse and never went to sea again.




VII

FORECASTLE LIFE


The modern sailor can have no idea of the hardships and discomforts of
his predecessors even up to thirty or forty years ago. Unless a person
has lived with sailors in the forecastle as one of themselves and taken
part in their daily life, no accurate conception can be formed of what
their peculiarities and conditions of life were. It may be that they
fluently cursed about the latter, and had some idea that they were
being imposed upon; but posterity must ever remember that they bore
their wrongs with heroism and with a steadfast belief in the
superiority over those of other nationalities of their owners, their
ships and themselves. Comparisons were never indulged in: they insisted
that all things British took in the nature of things first place, and
this child-like faith was never broken in spite of glaring, wicked
callousness to their men's sufferings on the part of some employers and
captains.

Their accommodation was in the extreme fore-end of the vessel, and the
space allowed was low-roofed and cramped, frequently leaky and
invariably dismal. Immediately abaft the forecastle ladder was the
cable stage where hawsers, cable-chains, tar-barrels, tar-pots,
tar-brushes, marline spikes, serving-mallets, cork-fenders, water-casks
and other spare gear were stowed. The first impressions of smell to a
person who had been reared in a pure atmosphere were deadly. I think I
can feel all my first sensations even now. On each side of the space,
hammocks were slung to hooks, or to eyebolts fastened into the beams,
and on account of leaky decks the men were obliged to have oil-covers
hung the full length of the hammock like a tent to keep the water from
pouring on to them! There was great pride taken in the spotless
cleanliness of these canvas sleeping cots. The rings that the lanyards
and clews were attached to were neatly grafted, and the art of hanging
with accuracy so that the occupant lay in perfect comfort without fear
of being lurched out was often the cause of mutual criticism and heated
controversy. It looks a very simple matter, but there is an art that
has to be learned in slinging a hammock correctly. Alongside of them
were the seamen's chests, with skilfully carved oak or mahogany cleats,
grafted rope horseshoe handles, and turk's head at each side of the
cleats. These were painted white to give variety and effect. The lid
inside displayed a full-rigged clipper, barque, or brig, either under
full sail with a peaceful blaze of blue sea, or under close-reefed
topsails labouring in the wrath of a cyclone with a terrific turmoil.
Underneath this work of art was the name of the person to whom the
chest belonged, painted in block shaded letters, and the fate of many a
crew has been traced by the washing ashore of a relic of this sort. All
this was done by the sailor himself, and during the process of
elaboration many a castle was built in the air and many a vow made that
his conduct for evermore should be regulated by a strict adherence to
righteous principles. There was great competition in this as in other
things. The forecastle sides and the deck were whitewashed with lime,
and the floor in fine weather, at sea as well as in port, was kept
clean. The apprentices were made to take week and week about in
scrubbing the floor every morning, and sweeping it after every meal. In
well regulated vessels that sailed on long voyages, as soon as they got
into the N.E. trade winds the crew settled down to a daily routine
during the first hour or two of their watch below in the daytime, of
making, mending and washing their clothes. Some never got beyond this,
or making mats, but there were men who varied their pastime by carving
models of vessels, making wood sails or rigging, and fitting them out
in every detail. This work was done with great skill and neatness.
Those that could read and were fond of it gave a share of their time to
that. There were others who worked hard at learning navigation, their
chest lids serving as a desk. It occasionally happened that some of the
forecastle hands could neither read nor write, but if they were willing
to learn there was always someone ready to teach them, who in the
process of teaching learnt much that was useful to himself. A few
months ago there died an old man whom I taught to read and write when
he must have been over forty years of age. He was one of many skilled
seamen of that day who were much sought after to command collier brigs
during the winter months, notwithstanding they could not read, or write
their own names even. This man never failed to make the quickest
passages and voyages on record, and in the summer, without presuming on
having been master, he would ship on a deep sea vessel as able seaman
or cook. It was in the latter capacity that I first met him when I was
an apprentice of fourteen. I was seated reading Sir Walter Scott's "Old
Mortality," and laughing as heartily as a boy will at some of the
sayings and doings of the Covenanters, when he asked what amused me. I
told him, and he expressed a desire for me to read to him. I did so as
well as I could, and when the time came for me to resume my duties and
close the book, he said in a very sheepish way, "I wish I could read
and write; I would make a fortune if I could." I immediately offered my
services, and with a slight indication of sensitiveness he accepted
them. It was a long, dreary process, but my pupil was so eager,
especially after he got to know three letter words, I soon led him into
figuring--addition and multiplication sums--and two years after
starting him, he was learning from me what little navigation I was able
to impart. He seemed to pick this up instinctively, which gave him a
passionate desire to go to a navigation school, and in a short time he
had made such rapid progress that the teacher thought he could pass the
examination; and his opinion was confirmed by Ned going to Dundee and
passing at the first attempt. He got a mate's berth in the summer, and
went master in the winter, continuing to save money until he had
accumulated sufficient to purchase a small ketch which he owned
entirely himself. For some years he did well, then sold the little
vessel and commenced business ashore. I had not heard of or seen him
for many years, when one afternoon a friend of mine called at my office
and intimated that my old friend was in the workhouse, and had desired
him to call and inform me of it, feeling sure that I would not allow
him to remain there. I asked my friend to have him taken out and put
into respectable lodgings until I could get him some relief from a
philanthropic institution, and the odd easy jobs I saw put in his way
kept him comfortably. He often came to see me, and when I could spare
the time I gratified the fine old fellow's wish by encouraging him to
talk to me of those days that were such a joy to him. I believe he
regarded himself, when aboard one of my vessels, in the light of a
special guardian of my interests, and I think he must have assumed an
air of superiority over others which was occasionally resented. At any
rate, one morning on reaching the office I found him ready to receive
me; he was well dressed, clean-shaven and looked all over like a
captain of the old school. I saw he had a grievance, and he at once
plunged into the object of his visit; complaining that one of the
captains had treated him as none of the others would think of doing,
and when I asked what he had said to the captain to cause his
displeasure, he replied with energy and warmth that he had told him he
would "go and see his betters who had known him before he (the captain)
was born. And what do you think the impudent fellow said? He told me I
might go to h--ll if I liked, and so I'm here to see whether _he's_
to boss me, or if I'm to take orders from you. He actually had the
impudence to give me an order for my money on the office instead of
paying me as the others did in cash!"

This was the only time he ever complained to me about the treatment he
received from anyone. I was much amused, and humoured the old man into
a good temper. He never quite forgave the insult that had been offered
him, but went away satisfied that he had scored. Twelve months after
this there were signs that the hard usage of his earlydays was breaking
him up. He struggled on in the hope that his iron constitution would
throw off the malady that held him in its grip, but ere long the
suffering old hero passed away.

My brother once volunteered to teach another old illiterate, who shared
his watch, to read and write. It was one of the most comical
proceedings I ever witnessed, and when I reflect on it now I see a
touch of pathos that fills me with remorse for the part I took in
making fun of that fine seaman, who had been brought up in an
atmosphere of heathenism, and was, in many ways, little better than a
heathen himself. He stood six feet four inches, and had the frame of a
giant; a large, well-formed head poised above a pair of broad
shoulders; his face was strong and highly intellectual; his nose, mouth
and full blue eyes indicated that he had sprung from a race of
well-bred people who may have declined on their luck. Had his
intellectual faculties been given a chance when young, he might have
been great in any profession. As it was, he was merely a rough, uncouth
man, but a well-trained and accomplished sailor. He had been trained in
the hardest of all schools, that of the coasting trade, and he knew
every swirl of the tide and every sandbank between St Abb's and
Dungeness. He did not rise to be captain, though he frequently went as
mate during the winter months. It was not until his ambition led him to
a knowledge of the bigger world far beyond the continents of Europe
that he determined to learn how to read and write. I am not sure
whether he ever felt humiliated at having to seek the aid of a young
man so much his junior and occupying a subordinate position to himself;
if he did, I cannot recall having observed it. The owners' confidence
in him must have been great. He was signed on the ship's articles as
boatswain, but really he was intended to act as second mate, keeping
the captain's watch and doing the ordinary duties of a second officer.
The first intimation the captain had that his owner had sent such a
strange personality was on the evening that the vessel was towed out to
sea. The decks were in a condition of confusion, and this ardent
officer was busying himself in getting them cleared up before dark. The
master intimated to him that he was feeling very tired, and would like
to lie down.

"You may go to bed, sir," said the officer, "and when you get there
remember you have a better man on deck than yourself."

The captain stared at this extraordinary creature, and when he had
recovered from his amazement at the unblushing audacity, he said:

"Sir, I wish to intimate to you that you are not aboard a collier brig,
but a deep-water ship, and you are addressing a deep-water captain who
has never been spoken to in such a strange way before."

"Good God, man!" said the irate second mate, "get away to your bunk,
and don't stand there talking damned nonsense about what you call
etiquette. I know nothing about that, but I'll take your ship along the
coast for you, and I want you to know as well that I can handle a
marline spike or a palm and needle with any of your South Spain
dandies. You may go below, sir; I have not time to talk to you just
now."

"Well, Joss," said the subdued captain, "I will admit I believe you are
a better coasting navigator than myself"; and in the assurance that he
was, the captain went below, and was not seen again until we got clear
of the English Channel. The navigation was left in the hands of the
mate and second mate. It was after reaching the north-east trade winds
that the latter's elementary education began. The tutor could be seen
any morning or afternoon watch below sitting on the forecastle floor
working at the construction of a miniature full-rigged ship. His pupil
sat beside him with the alphabet written on a slate, and as he advanced
in knowledge, three letter, four letter and five letter words were
given him, and it was when he arrived at this stage that the process
became feverishly attractive and amusing. The following is something
like how it appeared to those who were looking on:

"AND--and; FOUR--four," said the tutor, without lifting his eyes from
his work.

"THEIR, what the h--ll's that, Jack?"

"Their," said John.

"THERE, that's a b---- jawbreaker, Jack?"

"There," said the tutor, and off he would go in his own peculiar way.
Almost every word was introduced by a harmless swear, the droll thing
being that my brother simply took it as a matter of course, and never
laughed unless some unusually inventive oath combination was
interjected; if the pupil confined himself to ordinary swearing, there
was no interruption; he was allowed to rattle along in his own voluble
way, letting fly vigorously at the inventor of "larnin'." The result
was that Joss learned to read and write before the voyage was over. It
is true there were few people outside the forecastle that could tell
what it was all about, unless they studied very closely his eccentric
pronunciation and the wild scrawl of his writing. He never went far
enough to get even a second mate's certificate. He thought it an
unnecessary waste of time, seeing that he intended to leave the sea as
soon as he could attain a pilot's branch. This he succeeded in doing,
and had a long and successful career; his fame as a pilot only equalled
that which he bore when employed as a sailor. He lived to a good ripe
age, and died in harness still adhering to the up-to-date belief that
England was being imposed upon by "a set of b---- neckends
(foreigners), who took the bread from the mouths of Englishmen." He is
said to have saved and left a good deal of money, and this I can well
believe, as even when a common sailor he lived far below his income.
Joss, unlike most sailors, had not a note of music in his composition,
but there were few professionals on the halls who could surpass him at
step-dancing. I saw him dance the double-shuffle with a professional on
one occasion in the Ratcliffe Highway. I think the place was called the
"Gunboat," and he was there declared to be the champion. Joss
considered it a part of a sailor-boy's training that he should learn to
dance a hornpipe and other steps with facility, and he devoted a good
share of his spare time to teaching recruits how to do it. Undoubtedly
a good step-dance was a great acquisition on a long, dreary, ocean
pilgrimage, and his performance always added to the amusement of a
Saturday evening when a concert was organized. The songs were mostly
comic, and were sung with an imitative touch of the professional dandy.
Occasional lapses into sentimentality never failed to strike a penitent
chord for some real or supposed sins that had been thoughtlessly
committed. But the mood was merely of brief duration, and only required
a comic interjection by someone to send the little community into
prolonged gaiety. It was quite usual when they were in the mood to
carry their revelry far into their watch below.

When the time came for the hand-spike to be thudded on the deck over
their heads, and eight bells called them from slumber to duty, there
were found some of whom it was said they would sleep with their heads
in a bucket of water, and these were speedily brought to consciousness
by the head of their hammocks being let fly by their less somnolent
comrades. This was one of the jokes which often led to days of
estrangement between the sleeper and the supposed culprit. It was
always a mystery who committed the offence, as great caution was used
to preserve secrecy. It was a wonder no necks were broken,
notwithstanding the care taken to avoid injury in carrying out this
mode of arousing the heavy sleeper. Many were undoubtedly hurt, but as
there was a good deal of disgrace attached to sleeping on after being
called, there was rarely open revolt or complaint made. Another method
of dealing with hands who could not keep their eyes open when on watch
was to reeve a rope through the scupper-hole, attach one end to the
person, and the other to a coal basket, which was thrown overboard. If
the vessel was travelling fast, the poor culprit was rudely awakened,
and before he could extricate himself he was dragged into the lee
scuppers. As that portion of the deck was usually flooded when the
vessel had any speed on her, there were soon loud cries for mercy. When
it was not prudent to adopt this plan, a bucket of water was thrown at
the sleeper's head; this produced the idea of having to swim for it. I
have often seen the culprit after an ablution of this character strike
out on the deck until his hands or his head came in contact with
something harder than either, and made consciousness revive.

But there were methods for dealing with the habit of sleeping on deck
other than those, which were fraught with greater danger. I was serving
on a vessel whose mate was in the habit of napping when on duty. It was
arranged to stretch ropes across the deck about one or two feet from
it, and about six feet apart. It was a dark, dirty night; the top of
the sea was all alive with phosphorus, which made it difficult to make
out lights. The mate slumbered peacefully, leaning against the weather
topgallant bulwarks. The man on the look-out shouted: "A red light on
the starboard bow!" The man at the wheel repeated it. The mate was
awakened, and went straight into a panic.

"Where is the light?"

"On the lee bow," said the helmsman.

"I think it is green," he said.

"Yes," said the helmsman; "so do I."

"No, it is not green; it is bright," said the mate.

"What do you think?"

"I think the same as you, George," said the helmsman.

The mate proceeded to rush along the deck towards the bow; each rope
tripped him up, and each fall caused him to see different-
lights. After a succession of somersaults, he arrived at the fore end
of the vessel wide awake, but in a state of distraction. He called to
the look-out man to point out the light he had reported, and a deep,
sepulchral voice came from a tall figure robed in white, warning the
officer of approaching disaster because of his neglect of duty.
Suddenly a trumpet sounded, and in an instant the vision had
disappeared, and in another two men stood at the bow. They each spoke
to their officer, but he was speechless. At last he managed to jerk
out:

"Did you see that figure?"

"No," said the men.

"Then," said he in great tribulation, "it is an apparition."

The ropes were removed, and when he made his way aft nothing interrupted
his progress. What could it have been? His fear was terrific; he must
have known that something like a joke had been practised upon him, but
his superstition, together with the consciousness of having committed a
criminal breach of duty, seized the imagination and made him desire to
believe that a supernatural visitation had taken place. He was never
known to sleep on deck again, and such was the shock to his nerves I am
persuaded he did not do a great deal of sleeping below. Whether it was
owing to this or not, the poor fellow never properly regained his
equilibrium; and his judgement, never reliable before, became after
this event a negative quantity. Long years afterwards he used to be
chaffed about it, and stood it very badly. A few months since I chatted
with one of the men who with myself took part in this plot. He still
treasured it as a great diplomatic feat, and laughed immoderately at
the recollection of the poor mate's troubles, and warmly complimented
himself on the success of the enterprise, but added very seriously:
"There is no knowing what might have happened had we all taken to
napping. At the same time I am sure," said he, "this sharp lesson put
_him_ off doing it again, and it may have saved our lives, though, poor
man, he wasn't very much use when left to himself."

Many more experiences not identical but similar to those I have been
relating were crammed into a long passage, which relieved the monotony
of the stereotyped character of everyday life. Day after day, when the
weather was fine, the same kind of work was carried on with unbroken
regularity. In the morning at five-thirty the cook made coffee for the
watch on deck, and at six they commenced to wash bulwarks, decks, etc.
By eight o'clock this was finished. The watch who had to relieve them
were knocked out at seven-thirty, had breakfast and came on deck at
eight o'clock. The duties of these watches varied: If the rigging was
being rattled down, the mate's watch did the fore, while the second
mate's did the main and mizen; or if it were only the fore, main, or
mizen that was being "rattled," the port side was done by the chief
officer's men, and the starboard by the second officer's. There was
great rivalry among the seamen who were selected to do this or any
other skilled work, but only in regard to the quantity done and its
neatness. At times, of course, there was a common understanding that a
certain number of ratlines should be put on. This greatly depended on
the treatment they were receiving. If it was good, no restriction was
arranged, for each tried to excel the other, and this applied to every
department of work. Some of the dodges to evade work may not be written
here; but if it could be done it would reveal a phase of sea life that
has never been put into print. If it were not that our conventions
forbid offending the finer senses it might be written, and thereby show
something more of the really comic side of Jack when he is on the
rampage against constitutional government. There were occasions when
the pride of the British tar was not abashed at being called a dockyard
loafer, but these were rare.

In making a sea passage there was great care taken that no chafing was
going on to the foots of the square sails, nor to the rigging, when the
yards were braced up against it. Hence thrum and sword mats were
constantly being made and laced on in order to obviate the possibility
of a chafe wherever there was a nip. Then the sails had to be kept in
repair. Some sailors were clever with the marline spike: could do all
manner of neat things about the rigging, but they were of no use with
the palm and needle; while there were others who could do anything with
both. Some captains through vanity and ignorance believed it to be
"classy" to keep the men of the afternoon watch below on deck with the
rest, and the sailor who had to take the helm at 6 p.m. was sent to
have tea at five-thirty; the others were kept at it until six. Then the
apprentices had to clear up the decks and sweep them down with a hair
brush. The accumulation of dirt when far away from the centre of mucky
industries has always been a great mystery to seamen. Interminable
allusions were made to the late Mr Edward Cocker, writer, arithmetician
and engraver, as being the only person who could have solved the
problem. The phrase "according" or "not according to Cocker" was
constantly used in connection with matters that the scientist does not
appear to have included in his works, or in any way concerned himself
about. The custom of keeping men up doing their afternoon watch-below
was common though not universal; in fact the shrewd, sensible captain
never did it unless it was a necessity, and it was a rule in all
well-regulated vessels to give Saturday afternoons when at sea (and
even in port when it could be arranged) to the men, in order that they
might do their washing and thereby prevent them doing it on Sundays,
which day was reverently spent by those who could do so in reading and
re-reading letters that had been sent to them from their friends at
home.

Those who have relatives at sea can never estimate to what extent a
well-written, cheery letter is appreciated, and the influence it has in
keeping the recipient out of mischief and in helping him to form good
habits. I cannot sufficiently urge the importance of never allowing a
sailor, no matter what his rank or capacity may be, to feel that he is
being neglected by those of his family whom he desires to believe have
a strong affection for him. I do not urge this exclusively in the
sailor's interest, but also in the interest of those whose duty it is
to keep him well supplied with news of what is going on at home. I have
seen most deplorable results from this thoughtless indifference. There
is nothing the average sailor looks forward to so keenly during a
passage as the receipt of letters from home, and the disappointment of
not receiving any as soon as the vessel arrives has not infrequently
been the cause of irreparable mischief. If the relatives of these men
could only witness the eagerness with which the arrival of the captain
or his agent is watched for each day at noon, in the hope that letters
may have come for them, they would realize how necessary it is to
attend regularly to this phase of domestic life, and how little the
trouble is compared with the joy it gives. On the other hand, I think
if those who do not carry out the behest could see the effect of their
callousness, they might either be frightened or filled with remorse and
pity. But they cannot see it, and the poor fellows are often too
sensitive about showing what would appear to them as feminine weakness,
and so the thing in some cases drifts on, each not knowing the ugly
consequences that are being inflicted on the other, until the climax
inevitably comes and it is found the wreck cannot be repaired. I have
drawn an extreme case, but there are such cases, and it is because I
know of them that I have made the picture emphatic. All manner of
excuses are made, such as being a bad letter-writer, and having so much
to attend to, and "he doesn't reply to my or our letters as he should."
 My reply to this nonsense is, never mind whether he reciprocates your
extreme condescension or not. The communication with him should be kept
going, and if letters are bright, chatty, and without a word of
indiscreet reproach for any lack of attention on his part, depend upon
it he will ultimately melt into penitence and become a self-accused
rascal. Of course I have known many cases where unjustifiable cruelty
has been shown by sailors in not writing and in not answering letters
sent to them by their wives, mothers or sisters. They did not really
mean to cause suffering. They merely drifted into a condition of
recklessness which perhaps their environments predisposed them to
without ever reflecting that they owed the same duty to their relatives
as they invariably complained was not being done to themselves.

I am reminded of a beautiful instance of unwavering devotion to a poor,
wayward fellow, who was engaged to serve in the far eastern trade for
three years. At each port the vessel touched at on the way out, letters
were sent home, and every mail took letters to him, so that when he
arrived at the port of discharge quite a batch were received. He wrote
regularly for some months, then his letters began to fall off, and at
last ceased coming altogether. For two years nothing was heard of his
whereabouts except that which was gathered in a mysterious reserved way
at the owners' office, and during the whole of these agonizing months
never a mail went without a letter for him, and never a word of
reproach was uttered or written, though the heart of the little writer
was throbbing with soreness. The shipping newspaper was scanned each
day, and whenever she saw the vessel he had left home in reported, her
hope revived almost to the point of gaiety. Could she have known that
her husband had long since left the vessel whose name she watched so
eagerly, and the sight of which filled her soul with strange emotion,
she might have succumbed to the numbing intelligence. When the weather
was fine she strolled to the white sandy beach that was only a few
minutes' walk from her house, and there she would give herself up to
the luxury of day-dreams. Her fancy was sometimes pleased by the
thought that she could see the wake of the beautiful vessel as it
ploughed through the peaceful ocean. She listened to the gurgle of the
miniature waves until the sigh of the night wind came and reminded her
it was time to go home. These occasions were made memorable by the use
they were put to. Many a subject for a new essay that was to be sent
over the seas found its text on the lonely stretch of sand. Sometimes a
shrewd hint was dropped in by the way that his communications must have
miscarried, and that there was a painful longing to see his handwriting
once again. "I cannot imagine you wilfully or negligently ignoring me,"
said the writer, but she had a grave suspicion that she was being
neglected, and a still graver suspicion that the cause thereof was not
excessive sanctification.

After twenty-four months of roving and of silence, a letter came from
him announcing that he was tired of staying away, and by the time the
letter was received he would be on his way home. He acknowledged having
received a number of letters, and then proceeded in a clumsy way to
make it appear that he _had_ written, and many sanguinary descriptions
as to how some people who were supposed to be concerned in the plot of
withholding his letters had to meet their death at his hands. In due
course he arrived home, but nothing could induce him to be drawn into a
conversation about the missing correspondence. Time had made him more
charitably disposed towards the mythical burglars of his precious
documents, and no more threats were indulged in. The lady did not deem
it wise to raise the question again, and seeing that nothing but harm
could have arisen by doing it, I commend her for the wisdom of resisting
the temptation of an inquiring mind. This woman's long-suffering,
tactful endurance is an example of splendid magnanimity that might be
emulated with advantage by those who may come under the devilish lash
of similar treatment, and who may be prompted by the spirit of
rebellion to make matters worse by indiscreet retaliation. The good
woman won back the loyalty of her poor erring partner by her persistent
gentleness and toleration.

The following is a portion of a letter I have come across, written many
years ago, in which the writer's concern for the spiritual well-being
of her sailor brother is very apparent. She knew that it was letters
such as this that appealed to the susceptible seafarers. I have said it
was their habit to read and re-read their letters every Sunday,
especially if they were of a sentimental or religious character. Much
of this letter is obliterated, as the person to whom it was addressed
tumbled overboard with it in his pocket, and it has crumbled away:

    "MY OWN DARLING BROTHER,--I cannot tell you all the joy I feel at
    being able to write to you in England again. It has seemed a long
    time while you have been away, and yet now, when you are nearly
    beside us again, it seems but as yesterday. This may arrive before
    you, but still it is happiness to think that your vessel's prow is
    turned homeward. Our love and prayers have travelled with you all
    the way, and I thank God that you are preserved thus far, and trust
    He will bring you safe to us all. I know you will be as glad as we
    are, and I know, too, that though it has pleased God to give you
    the blessing of that best love of all earthly love, yet you prize
    the old ties of home.

                *      *      *      *      *      *

    "I think to cherish those who have loved him all his life is not
    the least of a man's duties, but I think where the love is, people
    don't think about the duty of it at all; it is given and received
    as a mutual blessing, for which the heart often rises up in silent
    thanksgiving. I trust, my dear, that you are keeping to your
    determination to live to God's glory. Don't be discouraged because
    of the difficulties of the way; the Bible, which I hope you study,
    says, 'Mighty is He that hath promised,' and the whole Book is full
    of promises of help to those who are in earnest, and you know if
    one is not in earnest even God cannot save us. We must do our part,
    and we must work out our own salvation. It is just and right that
    it should be so. The glories of heaven, the reward of dwelling for
    everlasting in an atmosphere of unspeakable purity, will be no
    reward to those who do not value purity and holiness. Those who do
    will strive for the reward with all their might, and when our weak
    and sinful nature overcomes the powers of evil within and without,
    He comes with His promised almighty help if we ask Him for it. How
    very tender the words of scripture are when speaking of God's
    children! He is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. God help
    you, my darling, to take this word to yourself.

    "With devoted love from us all,

    "Your loving

    "SISTER."

It must not be taken for granted that the reasons I have enumerated
were the only ones that influenced the sailor not to write. There were
motives that may tax the credulity of the reader, but they existed,
nevertheless. I have served in vessels myself where a large proportion
of the crew would not trust the captain to post any letters for them
owing to the habit of mean peculation that was commonly practised by
some captains in those days of grossly overcharging postage and putting
the proceeds into their own pockets. But that was not the only method
of pilfering from the poor creatures whose wages ranged from L2 15s. to
L3 10s. per month, according to the trade they were engaged in, and
might have a wife and group of children depending on them. The captains
were purveyors of tobacco, and sold it to the crew at profits that far
exceeded the limits of decency. Many of them carried what were known as
slop chests, which comprised every article of apparel the sailors were
accustomed to wear and use: oilskins, sea-boots, suits of dongarees,
jumpers, ducks, dark flannel drawers, stockings, mufflers, mittens,
blue flannel shirts, fustian and pilot cloth trousers, soap, soda,
needles and thread, worsted, knives, and any other thing that was worn
or used and likely to be marketable. It will be readily understood that
men who traded in this way were not particularly anxious to have a
well-fit-out crew at the beginning of a voyage, nor did they repine if
bad weather prevailed at the outset. The worse the weather, the barer
the sailor's kit, the better the market for the captain's commodities.
These slop-chest skippers were perfect terrors to the needy mariner,
and many a physical punishment would be endured so that he might be
saved the ruinous cost of having to buy from his covetous commander,
who was not satisfied with a mere hundred per cent., but regulated his
prices according to the severity of the weather and the demand that
might be made for his goods. These human vultures carried on a
nefarious trade on lines that would have put a Maltese Hebrew to shame.
When the days were radiant with sunshine, and the sea made glassy with
continuous calms, the shrewd sailors who wanted supplies would apply
for them, expecting that they could be had at reduced prices under such
circumstances, but the predatory vendor did not do business on these
occasions; he waited until the poor devils were overcome and punished
by the treacherous icy winds and the mad rush of the waves that tumbled
over them and made their sufferings so acute that they were driven to
ask their captains to supply them with clothing, and the prices charged
were such as to justify the sailors regarding the said captains as the
worst types of usurers. A common phrase of the sailors in referring to
this class of man was that he would not hesitate to rob "Jesus Christ
of his shoe-strings." I have heard these nautical clothiers boast of
how they had worked the oracle so that the wretched men who served
under them would be obliged to come and on their knees beg that they
might be forgiven for not taking the articles when offered, and that
they might have them now when they had seen their error. Of course only
the wasters would put themselves in any such position. A captain who
traded in this way had a right to cover himself for the risk he ran,
but it was a wicked imposition to charge more than a reasonable profit
for clothing, tobacco, or postages. In settling up at the end of a
voyage, the overcharges were frequently contested, and I have known
cases where a substantial reduction was enforced. The rate of exchange
at which the advances to the crew abroad were worked was invariably one
that realized a profit to the captain and caused grave suspicion that a
petty theft was being committed. Captains used to brag that they made
as much as their wages came to by the sales from their slop-chests and
tobacco. Judging from the amount of trade done and prices charged, I
can quite believe this.

One of the most mischievous customs of that period was that of giving
grog to sailors on Saturday nights, and whenever sail had to be
shortened or any extra work done, and many a drunkard was made thereby.
What suffering, what untold misery has been wrought by this damnable
custom! The lives that have been sacrificed, the property damaged, and
vessels lost by having grog aboard, and by captain and officers
imbibing it and serving it out to the others with too generous a hand,
can never be estimated. Much of the calamity that has occurred, and
does yet occur, at sea could and can be traced to its direct use, and
the unutterable grief and ruin it has brought into many a fine sailor's
home is an odious testimony to those who put temptation in their way
and perhaps encourage the use of it for their own benefit. A poor lad
whom I knew many years ago acquired the taste for drink aboard the
vessel he served in. She was what is called by sailors a grand
grog-ship. He was assisting to discharge cargo, and in the middle of
the forenoon the bottle was passed round. Being a general favourite
with everybody, especially with the steward, whom he was always ready
to give assistance to in many little ways, he jokingly asked him for "a
good second mate's nip," a phrase which means that the rum or other
spirits had to be three fingers up from the bottom of the tumbler
glass. It was never doubted that the steward gave him a good deal more
than the regulation quantity, for he became very lively soon after.
Just at the time grog was served, empty waggons ran short, and the crew
were ordered to do odd jobs. The poor lad was sent to the fore topmast
head to splice a new lanyard into the main royal stay. He had done
this, and was setting the stay up when the marline spike must have
slipped out of the hitch in the lanyard. Suddenly the song he was
singing ceased; a jerky, nervous shout attracted attention to what had
happened; then the hush of anguish seized the horror-stricken
spectators who watched the tragedy, and soon all was over. He tumbled
backwards, and the sails all being loosened to air them and the topsail
yard at the mast head, he fell over it, broke his fall on the foreyard,
clutched at the reef points of the foresail, and then tumbled headfirst
into the jolly-boat which lay at the bow, and was smashed to pieces.
When the body was taken out of the boat it was seen that the flesh of
his hands had been torn off by the clutch he made at the reef points.

The crew of this vessel was supplied with alcohol with the specific
object of getting them to work hard at the discharging of the cargo. In
plain language the owners or masters gave no thought to the personal
effect of the custom so long as it did not interfere with their
material interests, but should their policy cause the man to imbibe on
his own account and commit a breach of discipline, or to be temporarily
absent from work, he was punished with shameful severity, and in this
the master or owner was encouraged both by written and unwritten laws.
No account was taken of how far the employer was responsible in having
helped his employee to form habits by which the law was broken. The
poor lad who lost his life might have done so anyhow; but the
impression that has been fixed on my mind is that the cause of his
tragic death lay at the door of those who gave him the second mate's
nip.

The unrestrained appetite of the old sailing ship seamen for doing
something ridiculous was a problem that even those closely associated
with them could never solve. When their minds were bent towards a freak
they plunged into it regardless of consequences. The more daring the
adventure the more enjoyment they got out of it. On a memorable
occasion long ago, several ships' crews went ashore in a foreign port
on leave, and at a late hour they were returning aboard their
respective ships. Some were half seas over, and others badly sprung,
but all seem to have been smitten with the idea of reckless mischief.
Sentries were stationed along the banks of a river that Byron has sung
of. They were not supposed to allow any one to pass without a permit,
and as the seamen were not in the temper to brook coercion of this
kind, they came into conflict with each other. One of the sentries
struck a sailor, who attempted to pass the line, with his bayonet. This
was the beginning of a carnival of lawlessness. The tars were maddened
by the attempt to slay their comrade, and a wild rush was made upon
several of the soldiers. They were promptly overpowered, disarmed, and
their muskets used in disarming their friends who were panic stricken
by the vigorous onslaught, and soon succumbed to Jack's bellicose
persuasiveness. It then became an easy task to carry out the impromptu
plan of campaign of putting each soldier into his sentry-box and
casting both him and the box into the running stream. The call for help
was unavailing; none came, and soon no voices were heard, but the
following day the funeral knell was sounded by the roar of the cannon
from the gunboats, splashing shot into the river with the hope that the
vibration would resurrect the bodies of the victims from their muddy
tomb. Many of them were brought to the surface by this means.

Jack is said to have thought it a great joke, and it must be admitted
there is a grim humour in the cool audacious method of disposing of the
human obstacles which stood in his way. No argument, however eloquent,
could convince them that a murderous act had been committed. Their idea
was that no b----y foreigner had any right to question the good
intentions of a British sailor or to intercept his perambulations
either drunk or sober. Pageantry and armed force did not appeal to
them, but a kind word and an expressed desire to escort them aboard
their ship would have caused them to fall on the neck of even a foreign
soldier in adoration. The thirst for joviality often led wayward
sailors to crave for drink, and under its baneful influence they were
easily wafted into a delirium of foolhardy devices that would never
have entered the mind of the ordinary mortal.

A large barque was once in mid-ocean homeward bound, and was beating
against strong head-winds under whole topsails, courses, lower
staysails, and jib. It was the starboard watch on deck from eight p.m.
until midnight. The captain had retired for the night and left the
second mate in charge. His watch, with the exception of one man, was
composed of as fine a brood of young athletes as ever ran aloft. They
were on the most friendly terms with their officer, whose genial
disposition led him to converse with them. I daresay he was attracted
by their boisterous cordiality. Be that as it may, he either winked at
or encouraged the successful negotiations that were devised to induce
the steward to invade the grog locker, which was situated beneath the
captain's bed, and bring from it the jar which contained whiskey. At
first Jimmy the steward was obdurate.

"It cannot be done," said he, "without wakin' the aud man."

"What the devil's the good of you talking that nonsense, Jimmy?" said
the persuasive orators; "why, you know he'd sleep with his head in a
bucket of slush."

"Yes, but I'm feared he'll waken, and then there'll be an almighty
row."

"Well," replied the tempters, "we always thought you a real shipmate,
and as full of pluck as a pitman's badger. What's come over you, man;
surely its not the same old Jimmy Dinsdale that had the courage to
stand before Hennan and Tom Sayers? It's not as though you were not
going to have a nip with us."

"Look here," said one of the enterprising coterie; "if you are feared
to go, show me, and you bet I'll have the stuff on deck in a jiffy. If
I can do it, surely _you_ can."

The form of dashing flattery, the appeals to his bravery and
comradeship, and the prospect of himself partaking of the convivial
cup, punctured Jimmy's will, and he fell. The coveted jar was brought
on deck without arousing the captain, and the seamen insisted that they
could not touch or taste till James himself had partaken; they would
then have pleasure in drinking his health. This order of things was
carried out, the second officer joining in by assuring his men that he
"endorsed their complimentary remarks about the steward"; he was an
ardent sportsman, said the condescending officer, "whose popularity was
unequalled."

"Hear, hear," responded the breezy tars.

Jimmy had another nip, beamed all over with merriment, and pledged
himself to live for evermore up to the high reputation they had given
him, which he was proud to believe he deserved. At ten p.m. the wind
and sea had increased, and the vessel was plunging her jibboom and
bowsprit under. The second officer intimated that all hands would have
to be called to reef the topsails and haul the mainsail up and stow it,
but his men were imbued with heroic dash, and would not hear of such
unseamanlike weakness. They assured him that they could take the sail
in without calling the watch below. Amid much noise and many larks they
managed to get the foretopsail reefed. A chanty was lustily sung when
hoisting the yard up, and when they undertook to reef the main topsail
it was quite obvious the over plentiful supply of grog was taking
serious effect. Their articulation became thick and incoherent. They
were alternately effusive with joy and senseless laughter, and
occasionally quarrelsome. The lee yardarm man insisted on hauling out
to leeward before the weather yardarm man told him to, which was of
course contrary to the order of nautical ethics. The situation became
very strained between the men to windward and those to leeward, because
of the profusion of tobacco-juice the former were expectorating into
the eyes of those to leeward, not intentionally, but with alcoholic
recklessness. The elderly stout man of the watch felt that it was no
ordinary occasion, and grunted out that he was b---- well going to lash
himself to the haulyards, as he felt wearied. The lee yardarm man
managed to crawl in on the foot-rope, got into the maintop, and fell
asleep there, while the gradual cessation of speech from the champions
to windward indicated that they also slept. The second officer and the
helmsman conferred as to what had best be done, and concluded not to
risk startling any of them out of their drunken unconsciousness by
shouting, lest they should loose their hold and be smashed to pieces or
fall into the sea; but as the watch was drawing to a close it was
suggested by the sailor who was at the helm that he should go up aloft,
and make his way noiselessly to the weather yardarm, for the two men
who were there stood in the greatest danger. When he got to them he
found both had partially secured themselves, though the least lurch of
their bodies would certainly have placed them in a more perilous
position. The young sailor's task was both delicate and difficult, but
he managed it so well that no harm came to them. One of the men, as is
the practice when reefing, was straddle legs on the yardarm, and had a
turn of a rope round him. The other had his feet on the foot-rope, and
his chest rested on the yard. They made a good deal of jovial noise
when they were aroused, with the obvious intention of making it appear
that they were very much alive. The stout man, who was in the slings of
the mast, and the first to succumb, was rudely awakened by the
rollicking yardarm man slapping him sharply on the back and shouting at
him, "what the h---- he meant by sleeping there and risking his own
and other people's lives?"

The phlegmatic gentleman grumbled out: "What business is that of
yours?"

"Why," retorted the younger seaman, "you old scanamaran, you ought to
be put in irons for the remainder of the voyage, and have your wages
stopped into the bargain."

This was rather high-class audaciousness on the part of a young rascal
who had just been rescued from a worse position while committing the
same offence. The task of getting them round was nothing compared to
that of getting them humoured into a sufficiently sober condition so
that no mishap would befall them in the process of coming down the
rigging. It is a perfect marvel how Providence protects people under
the influence of drink. Almost every step downward threatened a
calamity, so they slipped from one rattling to another until their feet
landed on the topgallant rail, and they slid under the shear pole on to
the deck. The second mate was greeted with much affection; the attitude
towards him was that of men who had been a long time absent and come
suddenly in contact with a dear friend. He was sensible enough to
reciprocate the kindness shown him. The reefed topsail was hoisted
vigorously up to the accompaniment of rapturous song. This being done,
the watch below was called, came on deck, and received a greeting
unequalled in every sense, but especially in its spirituous
effusiveness. The faithful James was in great demand, and after a
prolonged search he was found coiled up under the long-boat; an
outburst of fluent profanity indicated that his condition did not
warrant him being entrusted with any commission of grave, secret
intricacy, so he was expeditiously stowed away in the galley for the
remainder of the night, and the port watch that had just come on deck
were bitterly chagrined that they were not given the chance of
"liquoring up," as they called it, with their shipmates. The following
day they proclaimed Jimmy a pink devil for getting intoxicated, and his
confederates were treated to a withering flow of invective for not
keeping some of the stolen property for them. The captain was serenely
ignorant of what was going on, but in the morning at breakfast his
attention became centred on the worthy James, whose performances were
of an unusually destructive character. The steerage and cabin exhibited
heaps of broken crockery-ware, mixed with the humble repast that hungry
men had been looking forward to. Jimmy, in an ordinary way, was really
a devotee of religion, who adhered to all its forms most rigidly so
long as drink was kept out of his way. He could quote Scripture by the
fathom, and when in his cups used to do so copiously. The captain said
to him:

"Any one with half an eye can see, sir, that you have been at my grog."

James became virtuously indignant.

"Captain," said he, in a thick, guttural voice which indicated whiskey,
"you judge me wrongly"; whereupon, falling on his knees, he clasped his
hands, and in the attitude of prayer began as follows: "O Lord, forgive
the captain. Judge me, O Lord, for I have walked in mine integrity: I
have trusted also in the Lord, therefore I shall not slide."

The mate, a burly fellow who stood hard by, muttered:

"Get up, you d----d fool. You _have_ slid." Whereupon the pious James
called him a liar, and continued:

"Examine me, O Lord, and prove me: try my reins and my heart."

When he had finished the sentence, the captain interposed:

"I'm quite satisfied that you are intoxicated, and must request you, Mr
Jones, to see that he is put to bed before he does any more mischief. I
shall keep my grog under lock and key for the future."

This strong indictment caused James to become piously agitated. The
mate eloquently remarked:

"Yes, it is all damned fine quoting Scripture, but that won't give us
our breakfast. What do you say, Mr Second Mate?"

"Amen," said the gallant officer, and, with a merry twinkle in his eye,
he added in a whisper, "but I don't quite agree with the grog being
locked up."

Jimmy was very popular with all aboard, and everyone was full of
sympathy with him for having had the misfortune to fall into disgrace.
In a few weeks after his fall he was paid off in Bristol, and to
celebrate the occasion he and a young lad, who was much devoted to him,
had a glass together. He was very fond of his wife and his home, and
used to confide all manner of sacred things to his young friend. They
were walking down a fashionable street together, and observing a
well-dressed lady looking in a shop window, he remarked to the youth:

"That is a fine dress the lady has on. I would like to have one like it
for our Nanny (meaning his wife). I wonder if it cost much."

His young companion was eager to have some sport out of the incident,
so he urged him to ask her how much the dress cost. He was not quite
sure of the propriety of doing such a thing, but was reassured of this
by his friend in whose judgement he had profound confidence; so he went
up to the lady, took hold of her dress, held it up in his hand beyond
the limit of discretion, and asked her in pure Anglo-Scotch how much a
yard it might cost. The lady was startled, and looked contemptuously at
him.

"Sir," said she, "how dare you! whatever do you take me for?"

"I take you for a lady," said Jimmy, "and I'm asking how much a yard
your dress cost, because if it's not over dear I would like to buy one
for wor Nanny."

His young friend kept close to him, and was in convulsions of laughter;
but seeing he was drifting into trouble he advanced towards where they
stood and tried to explain to the lady that it was he who had prevailed
upon his friend to satisfy his curiosity as to the price of her dress.
Up to that point she seemed to be embarrassed, and did not know whether
to resent such unconventional conduct or not. She asked if they were
sailors; they replied in the affirmative. It then seemed to dawn upon
her that it was merely a mischievous prank being played on her
interrogator; but she was assured in a sailorly manner by both that
they knew it was very funny, but they were in earnest all the same. She
realized the true situation and laughed very heartily.

"Come along," said she, "and I will take you to the shop where I got
this dress."

Jimmy assented, but suggested that she should walk ahead of them; but
the lady insisted that she wished them to talk to her of their sea
experiences, and before the shop was reached James had told her with
touching simplicity about his fall and how penitent he was, and that he
felt he ought to do something for the wrong he had done his wife, who
would be very grieved when she heard of it.

"Will you tell her?" asked the lady.

"Tell her," said he; "why, I wouldn't dare do any other. I tell her
everything."

"Ah," said she, "sailors are very confiding. Now we are at the shop;
come with me, both of you."

The material was asked for, and the announcement of the price nearly
made Jimmy run out of the establishment.

"I am very sorry," said he, "but I cannot afford to buy it."

"How many yards does it take to make a dress for me?" asked the lady at
the shop-woman, without heeding his remark. She was told.

"Then," said she, "cut me a couple of yards extra, include the
trimmings, make it into a parcel, and send it and the bill to me at
once. Now," she continued to her two sailor companions, "come to my
home with me and have tea; by that time the material which I have
bought for your wife will have arrived."

"Madam," said the much-affected James, "surely you're no going to buy
that garment for me?"

"Oh yes, I am," said she, laughing; "don't say more about it, but tell
me some more of your adventures." And, fearing she was neglecting the
youth who had got over his frolicsome fit and become very shy, she
added: "I wish both of you to talk to me."

However, the youngster preferred to allow his friend to have all the
say, and contented himself by chipping in only when there was a pause
or when he was referred to. In due course they arrived at a mansion
which stood in beautiful grounds. The sailors were in awe, and
reluctantly followed their hostess. They had never seen anything like
it before. They were taken into a room that to them was gorgeous. Tea
was brought in, and two other ladies joined the party. They made both
sailors feel quite at ease, and before very long they were talking with
as great freedom as though they had been in the forecastle. The ladies
were made very mirthful, and laughed merrily at many of the quaint
yarns that were told them, which were for the most part personal. Jimmy
told them of his domestic bliss and the form of petticoat government
that controlled him in a charmingly simple way; and his companion had
to relate all about his home and when and how he came to go to sea. He
became quite confiding, and asked them to read some letters he had just
received from his sister, so that they might form some idea of the home
he came from. They declared they were the sweetest and best-written
letters they had ever read.

"I am sure," said the hostess, "you must be fond of your sisters."

He admitted he had good reason to be proud of them, as they were not
only good sisters but clever ones.

"But now," said he, "it is time for us to go, and I thank you on behalf
of myself and my friend for your great kindness towards us."

Jimmy was handed his parcel, and in the course of a few original
sentences he committed himself, his friends and his family to
obligations of gratitude for generations to come. A five pound note was
put into the hand of the younger sailor, who declined to take it, but
the good woman said:

"I am sure you will not intentionally give me pain by refusing to
accept a small gift from me. You have told me that it is your desire to
take a present home to your sisters, and I wish you to buy something
suitable for them with what I have given you."

"Yes," said the young man; "but I intended to buy it with my own
money."

"I know you did," said she, smiling, "but I am informed you are going
to try and pass the Board for second mate, and that it will cost you a
good deal. Now I wish you to get your certificate and to use your own
money to enable you to go to school and stay long enough ashore to do
so without feeling pinched."

With marked self-consciousness he agreed to accept the gift, and they
each thanked her again with all the natural gratitude that sat so
lightly on this class of sailor. And when she and her friends said
good-bye they felt that they had been the guests of big-hearted English
women. As soon as they had passed outside the gate, Jimmy remarked that
"there was none of the jellyfish shake of the flipper about them folk."

The two friends walked down the principal street together, and had it
not been the prevailing opinion that sailors of that time did not
meditate either coherently or incoherently, they might by their manner
have been thought to be in deep soliloquy, whereas their silence was
merely momentary. Any one hard by could have heard a spontaneous "Well,
by George, we are in luck! What an experience!" And then in a sharp,
jerky utterance: "Why, there's Jack Rush ahead of us. Won't he get a
surprise when we tell him where we have been and how it all came
about?"

When they came up to Mr Rush he was found to be more than
half-seas-over, and commenced grinding out odds and ends of profanity
about the shabby trick that had been played on the port watch on the
occasion when the captain's grog was purloined and some people had to
be sent to bed.

"Shut up about that," responded the conscience-pricked James, in a
sudden gust of rage.

"All very well for you to say 'shut up,' but why the syntax didn't you
save some of the stuff for our watch: that's what I want to know?" said
the injured mariner, with an intoxicated air of Christian virtue.
Jimmy's friend, anticipating trouble, came to the rescue by judiciously
calling his attention from his grievance and asking where their
shipmates were, as he wanted to stand drinks and relate to him and them
the singular experience and good fortune of Jimmy and himself.
Whereupon Mr Rush became effusively obliging, and guaranteed to have
them in the midst of their friends in a few minutes. No further
reference was made to the escapade that was remembered with such
aversion, and they were soon reunited to the whole of their comrades,
who received them with the joy of reclaimed brethren. They had entered
upon the initial stages of a vigorous spree, and were cheerfully ready
to listen to Jimmy's romantic story. They were not even envious of him,
but they did resolve amid a chorus of merriment to emulate him in the
art of sampling ladies' dresses, and in the exuberance of uncontrolled
mischief some of them went forthwith on the expedition. Needless to
say the experiment was not an unqualified success. They found that
their rude pleasures were neither understood nor appreciated by the
ladies of Bristol, and I have reason to know that some of the more
enterprising came to sudden grief.

These freaks of sailor life are recorded, not with a view of holding
him up as a drunken, ill-behaved, lawless creature, but merely as
incidents that seemed necessary adjuncts of his calling, and for the
purpose of showing the mischief that may be caused by supplying him
with drink or putting temptation in his way. For even in these days he
is deplorably susceptible to influences that are injurious to him. He
is very weak, very reckless, and also very human; but I am inclined to
demur at the notion that in the good old times he was pre-eminently so.
There is one characteristic of the whole class that should never be
overlooked, and that is their devotion to one another.




VIII

GRUB


In the extreme end of the forecastle, above what is called the
forehook, was a locker to keep the beef, duff (pudding) and sugar kids,
bread barge and other small stores, such as tea, sugar, coffee, etc. If
these were not carefully covered over, and there was any rain, or if
sea-water came aboard, they soon were destroyed, and the apprentice
whose work it was to look after them was held to blame by the men who
meted out punishment to him in one way or another, but they themselves
suffered the penalty of his fault, for they were reduced to short
rations until the following week's allowance was distributed. It was
customary for the captain to weigh or serve out the stores, and many a
mean trick was adopted at the expense of the poor sailor by the use of
false scales, weights, or measures. I have seen instances of this most
wretched and meanest of all thieving more than once. One incompetent
conniver at inexpiable wrong thought by cheating his men out of a
portion of their meagre allowance he would make the insufficiency of
stores put aboard by the owner spin out till the voyage ended. The
water was served out just as exactingly as anything else, and as soon
as the day's allowance was handed over to each man, the bung was put in
the cask with canvas nailed over it, and the dipper, which is a long,
narrow copper or tin pot, with a lanyard attached to it, was bent on to
the signal halyards and run up to the masthead, so that no one could
sneak any more water than their whack during the close time. In spite
of gross imposition, which, if committed amongst any other class of
workmen would have provoked the spirit of murder, these jovial,
light-hearted fellows were always ready if it was fine weather to spend
the dog watches in providing amusement for each other, and at the close
of each entertainment they never overlooked what was inherently
believed the patriotic duty of combining a display of loyalty to their
sovereign with a proportionate degree of disloyalty to the captain and
owner who were responsible for supplying them with food that even a
Russian serf might have felt justified in complaining about. So a
doggerel verse was composed and sung fervently to a modified form of
the National Anthem by way of intimating their grievance forcefully to
the notice of their commander. Relevancy did not come within the
compass of their thoughts; what they desired was to sing something that
would strike home, so the anthem was chosen as the most fitting
benediction of all. Here are the words:

    God save our gracious Queen!
    Long may she reign over us!
    Pea-soup and pork amongst all hands of us,
    Not enough for one of us,
    God save our Queen!

After this had been repeated several times over, it usually happened
that one of the songsters who claimed to be gifted with more
perspicuity than his comrades would remind them that he had seen the
old squirrel wriggle under the lash of the song. And so their wretched
days of starvation were often made shorter by a more or less harmless
attack on the poor skipper, who might only be the instrument of a
parsimonious managing owner. But that was not the only method adopted
of showing their dissatisfaction. The seaman who had the most flippant
tongue and legal mind was chosen (or, as frequently happened, he
selected himself) to introduce a deputation of the whole forecastle. I
always look back on these episodes as amongst the most comical of my
sailor life. The spokesman would pick up the unpopular food, and with
the air of an oriental dignitary march at the head of his shipmates
right up to the captain, plant the wooden kid down on the deck at his
feet, and ask if that "was the sort of grub for men to do a hard day's
work on; besides, it was beef or pork, not bones or fat pork we signed
for." If the captain happened to be a conceited, combative person, he
would at once reply that he fed them according to what he thought they
were worth. Then there were heated altercations, which sometimes ended
in blood being spilt, or some of the crew being put in irons and logged
for having instigated rebellion on the high seas. "I'll teach you to
impeach my authority," the stupid, arbitrary tyrant would say; "you
shall be fed on the smell of an oil-rag in future, and have your wages
forfeited at the end of the voyage into the bargain." Alas, this wicked
threat was too often carried into effect so far as the forfeiture of
wages and ill-treatment were concerned. Whereas the diplomatic,
sensible master would deal with a case of this kind in a way that was
calculated to soften Jack into a condition that resembled penitence,
and make him feel as though he were a pig for having complained in this
direct way at all. I know there are cases that cannot be dealt with at
sea in any other than a despotic fashion, and although there is no
necessity to show weakness, there is as a rule a better chance of
governing men by kindness than by adopting a harsh, unyielding attitude
towards them, as though they were Mohammedan dogs.

A vessel short of provisions is seldom heard of in these days of steam
and up-to-date precautions, but a generation ago it was a common
occurrence. Landspeople used to speak of it as one of the ordinary
risks of a sailor's profession that the general public had no
particular interest in, excepting that it added somewhat to seafaring
romance. I have often wished that those whom I have heard speaking in a
casual, airy fashion of this phase of sea-life could have the faculty
of imagination put into them so that they might realize what really
happened to those who had to experience the manifold sufferings and
privations of being short of water and provisions in mid-ocean where
there was little chance of seeing a sail for days, and when perchance a
vessel was seen, the weather might be so boisterous that communication
could not be effected, or _they_ might even be short of provisions.
In order to minimize the suffering of hunger and thirst, sailors
sometimes buckled their stomachs in with a belt, and those who had not
a belt did so with cord. Hunger is a terrible sensation anywhere, but
it is doubly intensified at sea when there is no hope of it being
appeased, and the whole surroundings become impregnated with a sense of
coming doom. Those who have never known the pangs of prolonged hunger
may have some idea of it conveyed to them by trying to imagine that
some wild animal is tearing at their internals. That is an accurate
description of it, and I should like to know what other thing is
calculated to create madness sooner. Sailors of that generation never
made a noise about their troubles once they got ashore and left them
astern, and so the possibilities of recurrence were left open. One
feels inclined bitterly to assail the owners, their captains and the
general public, for having allowed such things to happen, but in common
fairness we must put some of the responsibility on the seamen
themselves for playing into the hands of a gang of unmitigated
blood-suckers who, in some cases, purchased silence by paying
compensation for the time the men were short of grub; but never more
than the bare cost of the food for the time they were short of it was
allowed. In the majority of cases payment was evaded altogether. I have
been amongst this sort of thing on several occasions, and feel some
difficulty in writing with calmness when I reflect on all the
unnecessary hardships and sufferings that were caused by sheer wanton
greed. On four different voyages I learnt how terrible it was to be
short of provisions and water, and in three out of the four this was
preventable. The first case was excusable owing to the long continuance
of easterly gales in the chops of the English Channel. Some vessels
managed to reach Scilly or Falmouth, but many failed to do so, and we
were amongst the many. On several occasions we were nearly able to
fetch into port, and then the wind increased and we drifted back into
the ocean. This gaining and losing process went on for three or four
weeks. Each fresh sail sighted was signalled or hailed to the effect
that we were short of provisions and asking if they could supply us,
and invariably the reply came back, "Impossible: our supplies have run
out." We in turn were frequently appealed to for succour, but had to
plead the same thing. The one redeeming feature of the critical
position of the large fleet that was held in the grip of the wind for
so long a time was the knowledge that we were all in the same
predicament, and if we could not supply each others' wants we had at
least the pleasure of companionship, and this kept us from losing hope
until a slant of wind came to our aid and carried us into port. In this
case we had been on very short rations for many days, and yet there was
never a word of recrimination, and singularly little grumbling except
at the perversity of the wind.

Nothing whatever could be said in defence of the other cases, for the
vessels were not only sent away from a home port criminally short of
supplies, but they left the port at which they loaded for home with
only sufficient stores to last half the time it would take to make the
passage with average success; and not having any good fortune at all,
our allowance was reduced before the passage was half covered. We swept
past the last port of call with the wind right aft. The captain and
steward knew that the provisions were getting low, but the former
decided to trust to Providence giving him a fair wind all the way, so
we romped along for several days, and then adverse winds came and
everybody realized the seriousness of the position. Orders were given
that all hands had to be put on half fare, and not many days elapsed
before every article of food was exhausted and we had to broach our
cargo of lentils and sustain ourselves on lentil soup. Even that had to
be sparingly used on account of the scarcity of water. On some days we
drifted under two close reefed topsails into the heart of the western
ocean and out of the regular track of vessels bound out and home.
Whenever the weather fined down, sail was set according to the force of
the wind which kept in the N.E., varying perhaps a couple of points
each way. A look-out man was kept on the maintopmast crosstrees from
dawn until sunset each day to watch for passing vessels, and long,
painful days rolled on without our sighting anything. Sometimes a sail
would be seen hull down or too far off to attract attention. This
naturally had a saddening effect, and we wished they had never been
seen; but in spite of privations, which increased day by day, there was
a gaiety kept up until the last sweeping up of the provision lockers
had taken place, and we were reduced to the exclusive diet of boiled
lentils, which I have heard is considered by some people to be a
luxury; but whether this be so or not, I never wish to realize its
taste again. May Providence protect me from ever again having to put it
to my lips.

Up to a certain point our impoverished crew had borne the strain on
their minds and stomachs very manfully, but the period of despair was
now come. They talked indeed of which one among their comrades should
draw the lot that by shortening his life would prolong theirs. Sickness
had smitten some of them so that they could barely crawl on deck. Each
day showed signs of a galloping atrophy. Letters were written to their
relatives conveying in a matter-of-fact way all they were enduring: no
flowery phrases; no attempt at effect; but merely a statement of bald
fact. These communications were to be put into the orthodox bottle and
dropped into the sea in the hope that the sombre tidings would be
picked up and read at home. The stage of openly cursing the owner had
long since passed. Now and again they wondered if their spirits would
haunt him in the event of their having to succumb, but that was only a
passing mood. Their thoughts were mainly centred on charitable and
domestic matters, and what would be the end of all their sufferings. It
is a strange destiny which causes the agony of despair to be prolonged,
and then when life seems to be flickering out, suddenly the angel of
death is withdrawn and light and life burst forth with a radiance that
fills the sufferers with hope. The look-out man at the mast-head shouts
as loud as his strength will allow: "A sail! A sail on the starboard
bow, crossing our track! The vessel is hull down." Immediately the
whole crew except the man at the wheel are in the rigging scanning the
horizon, and a running flow of conflicting opinions are expressed as to
the exact course she is steering and whether she will discern our flag.
The captain gives peremptory orders to set every stitch of canvas and
ease the yards, so that his vessel might go quicker and meet the other
at an angle. Something like superhuman effort was made by enfeebled men
to get the canvas smartly set. The sight of the vessel impressed them
as a providential apparition. In less than an hour the hull came in
view. It was seen that the stranger was under a cloud of sail,
including royals, and topgallant studding sails on both sides. A fresh
wind blew right behind her, and the sea, though not rough, was showing
white feathers on the surface of the Atlantic rollers. The signal that
we were without any provisions was hoisted, but no notice was taken of
it. Night was drawing near, and the clipper was slipping fast away from
us. Our captain ordered his vessel to be hauled close to the wind again
in case the flags might be obscured by running free. It turned out that
this might have been the case, as we had no sooner manoeuvred in this
way than they began to take the other vessel's studding sails in and
haul to the wind. Our vessel's course was shaped towards her, and when
we had got fairly close to her both vessels had all small sail taken
in, courses hauled up, and their main yards laid aback. Our pinnace was
then hoisted out, and we proceeded to row alongside a beautiful tea
clipper. We were a lantern-jawed, scarecrow lot, and our general
appearance emphasized the story we had to tell of the privations we had
suffered. We had scarcely strength enough to lift the oars into the
rollicks, much less pull the boat through a choppy sea. The captain and
crew of the British clipper were very kind, supplied all our needs,
including tobacco, though we did not ask for the latter; this was
obviously given to express more emphatically their sympathy and kindly
feelings towards us. Very little water could be spared, as sailing
vessels at that time were nearly always stinted in accommodation for
water supply, but we were very grateful for the sacrifice the captain
made in allowing us to have even a few breakers full. The act which
touched the heart-strings most was the request made to their captain by
his crew to be allowed to row the supplies to our vessel. It was
granted by him and thankfully accepted by us; and over all the years
which have passed since that scene took place it has constantly lived
in my memory as one of the many traits that endear the sailor to his
fellow men. This self-sacrificing crew had been caused much additional
hard work on account of our misfortunes; some of them were losing their
watch below; and all of them had the arduous task of hurriedly taking
in the necessary sail and manipulating the yards so that a
communication could be effected, and then, after their mission was
done, the vessel was put on her course, and all the work of setting
sail, etc., had to be done over again. We knew all this, and therefore
appreciated all the more the little touch of sympathy which prompted
them to add to their labours by undertaking the work they saw we were
hardly fit to perform. Before leaving the hospitable deck of the
clipper our captain made a well-chosen and appropriate little speech of
thanks to our benefactor, by whom it was suitably responded to; and
then a cordial shaking of hands took place, and we parted with hearts
full of gratitude to those who had so beneficently helped us. When we
got aboard three cheers were rung out from both vessels, and then their
yards were filled and sail made, and we swept away from each other into
the gloom of the gathering night.

An unthought-of protracted passage was in front of us, and long before
it was completed the fresh water ran short again; but we were more in
the track of vessels then, and succeeded in getting a further supply
which lasted until our arrival at Falmouth, where all our ills were
soon forgotten amid the charm of its scenery and the atmosphere of
congenial excitement which the tavern of that day afforded. Songs were
sung and step-dancing, such as none other but a sailor could do, as
usual aroused and kept local interest on the stretch. The audiences
were composed mainly of sailors, their sweethearts for the time being,
or those directly interested in him. Indeed these were occasions when
the place was kept humming with a salty brightness. Jack had the
singular gift of making his own amusement, and so long as he kept from
taking too much drink he was not only a source of pleasure to himself,
but in his way entertained other people. Of course the sailors here, as
always, told their experiences to each other when they met, and
incidentally their owners came in for a share of contumely such as
"God-forsaken robber," or "scrape-backed thief who was not fit to carry
guts to a bear," and other more or less harmless invectives.

The men were rarely vindictive or bitter even, after the thing had
passed on, and an example of this was shown in the story I have been
relating where there was just cause for resentment and claim for
compensation, and yet none was made, nor was compensation asked for or
offered in the other two cases which I have mentioned, although they
were on almost identical lines with the first. On these last occasions
the crew lived on Indian corn for two weeks. The corn was put into
canvas, battered as small as possible, then put through the coffee
mill, and after the last process it was made into bread or puddings;
but the mill did not last long, so we were driven to eat it in a very
rough state, and soon experienced the penalty of doing so. We could not
have kept on eating it. The captain reported that he had been obliged
to broach the cargo for food, and the receivers charged him with the
estimated amount used. He and his crew thought this very mean, and I
think I remember them expressing strong regret that they hadn't
scuttled the ---- ship and thereby have inflicted great personal loss
on the owner of the cargo who, they apprehended, would have rather seen
them starve than that a bag or two of his cargo should be used for the
purpose of saving their lives. That was the impression they had formed.
Of course it was a harum-scarum impression, but it gratified them to
hold it. The real culprit was the owner of the ship, who had not
provided sufficient stores. He had not escaped notice, but the meaner
sinner had obscured him for the moment.

An extraordinary characteristic of this age was the sailor's jealousy
lest improper innovations should be introduced into the mode of taking
their food. Knives and forks, cups, saucers, soup and plain plates were
a violation of sound forecastle principles, which in their eyes
threatened a coming degeneracy of the profession. Their use was viewed
as an attempt to become aristocratic, and those who dared adopt it were
looked upon as <DW2>s and mongrel seamen. The average man believed in his
tin pot, plate and pannikin, galvanized soup spoon and clasp knife;
there were no second course articles recognized. The tin pot had a hook
in front so that it could be hooked on to the galley grate to boil,
though it was not uncommon in long voyage ships to dispense with the
hook pot and have instead a large kettle for the whole of the
forecastle hands. The tidy man kept his utensils spotlessly clean. At
seven bells in the morning the watch below were knocked out to have
breakfast; this generally consisted of cracker hash, i.e., bread hash;
or cold salt beef or pork, whichever joint they had had on the day
previous hot for dinner; if she was a well-found ship butter was
supplied; they always had tea or coffee for the morning meal. If the
breakfast was of beef or pork, the platter or kid was put on the floor,
and each seaman took the piece of meat he intended to cut in one hand,
cut it off the junk with his clasp knife in the other, and if by any
means he happened to touch that which he did not cut he was submitted
to severe chastisement by being forcibly put over a chest lid and given
a dozen hard slaps with a boot jack. The piece of meat intended to be
eaten was put on a hard ship biscuit which served the purpose of a
plate, and was cut as required with the clasp knife and put into the
mouth with the right hand. Dinner was served at noon. On Sundays,
Tuesdays, Thursdays, it was beef and duff, according to scale;
Saturdays, beef and "strike-me-blind," i.e., boiled rice; Mondays,
Wednesdays and Fridays, pea-soup and pork. The mid-day meals were
partaken of in a similar way to the breakfast, except that the tin
plate was used for either duff and molasses, or pea-soup, or rice; it
might not be used for the beef or pork--this greatly depended on the
natural delicacy of the seamen, many of whom proclaimed that fingers
were made before knives or forks, therefore it was proper that they
should be used in preference. If he possessed a chest he sat on that,
and his knees served him as a table; if he had no chest, then he sat on
the floor or on the forehook, i.e., a beam which stretches across the
bows. This class of food and the method of eating it went on
uninterruptedly during the whole voyage. The duff, which was made of
flour, water and fat, was boiled in a canvas bag made in the shape of a
nightcap; it was very leathery, and was responsible for much dyspepsia.
It was cut into equal parts according to the number of men who were to
share it. On Sundays a few currants or raisins were scattered amongst
the flour and water; this was considered a luxury which was often taken
off at the caprice of the captain. Sailors have the character of being
born grumblers, and their knowledge of maritime law is much exhibited
by them at meal times. Poor creatures, what trouble they get themselves
into at times through this belief of theirs in their legal
acquirements! There is a story of a sailor who, insisting on breaking
the law because he was positive he was not breaking it, got himself put
into prison in consequence, whereupon a forecastle friend called to see
him. He immediately exclaimed on seeing and shaking hands with his
friend, "I know d--n well, Jim, they cannot put me in here, and they'll
have to pay for it."

"What's the use of talking such d---- rot, you fool? Why, you _are_
here!"

On another occasion a large, square-rigged vessel belonging to London
arrived in the West India Docks, and the captain, on being asked by his
owner what sort of a crew he had, replied that they were sailors all
over, always grumbling about their work or their grub, and it did not
matter what they got to eat they would always find something else they
wanted. The owner declared that _he_ would provide a meal for them that
_would_ satisfy, and there wouldn't be a single request for anything
else. The captain said he did not know what he was undertaking. The
owner said: "Well, captain, if I do not succeed in satisfying them I
will pay you one hundred pounds."

"Done," said the skipper.

The crew's accommodation was in a house on deck; it was arranged to
have the skylight up and the side windows open, so that everything that
was said could be heard outside. The meal was cooked and served by
first-class men, and it was given on the occasion of the owner's
birthday. A large party assembled aboard, and the host addressed the
men appropriately, asking them to accept his hospitality. The sailors'
spokesman replied that they never wished to serve a better governor
than he, and the banquet commenced. The owner, his wife, and his
daughter--a beautiful girl of twenty--together with the captain, went
quietly up the ladder at the fore-end of the house and listened to what
was said. The owner was grateful at hearing such good things said about
himself, though the eulogy was flavoured with a pungency of language
that was not intended for delicate ears. At last one of the crew
finished, tossed his tin plate on the floor, and said:

"That's a damned good dinner, boys."

A second, third and fourth said the same thing. The owner was worked up
into an ecstasy of joy, and poked the skipper in the ribs as the others
kept throwing their plates down and expressing satisfaction. The owner
whispered: "It's a walk over, captain."

"Not yet," responded the skipper.

The last of the three broke the continuity of complete satisfaction by
remarking that the dinner was all right, but to make it perfect their
wives and sweethearts should have been asked. The captain became
obviously nervous, and asked the owner and his wife and daughter to
withdraw, but they refused. Then came the last but one, who said that
the only thing that would make the dinner faultless to him would be
that he should propose marriage to the owner's daughter and be
accepted. The mother and daughter became virtuously agitated, and the
captain again urged withdrawal, but they insisted on staying for the
last chap's opinion, who became eloquent in his praises of all
concerned. "But," said he to the last speaker, "you want to have the
old man's daughter in marriage. I don't mind her so much; the only
thing that would make me satisfied with the thing would be for the
owner to die, so that I might marry his widow and get the coin."

The captain nearly took a fit, and the worthy host exclaimed: "Oh, mon
dieu!" Thereupon the ladies became hysterical, and the commander having
recovered from his embarrassment, said:

"Well, I suppose you will admit that I was right?"

"Yes," said the owner; "I never for one moment anticipated it would
take both my wife and daughter to satisfy them, but you have won, and
my faith in the possibility of pleasing sailors is broken. You shall
have the hundred pounds."

There is a more recent story, which is said to be quite authentic. It
neither belongs to the class of vessel or period with which I am
dealing, but there is something in it that is characteristic of the old
sea cook who was devoted to his ship and his employer. Lord Randolph
Churchill was travelling on a steamer owned by a well-known Line, and
had reason to complain of the cooking and the quality of the food, so
he wrote in the visitors' book that both were bad. The old chief cook
took it to heart; and several years after poor Lord Randolph had ceased
to live, as the old man himself lay dying, his family saw there was
something troubling his mind. They asked him if it was something in
connection with his work.

"Yes," said he, mournfully, "it is, and I want you to send for Mr
----," who was an old and trusted servant of the Company. The official
went to the cook's home, and before leaving him asked what it was that
made him unhappy.

"Well," replied the old fellow, "I have never got over what was said
about the food years ago, and I wanted to see you about it, so that you
might hear me say before I die: 'May the Lord forgive Lord Randolph
Churchill for saying the cooking and food of the ---- Line was bad!'
Now I have got it off my chest I can die happy." And before the
official left, the old man had passed away.

Amongst the numerous traditions which cling to the sailors of these
good old days of which Mr John Ruskin used to speak so reverently, was
one of a London baker, who was known to have amassed fabulous wealth in
manufacturing biscuits from ground bones and selling them for human
food to complaisant shipowners who were of kindred spirit to himself.
Hundreds of poor seamen who were obliged to eat this vile stuff called
bread, provided by their God-forsaken employers as per scale of one
pound per day per man, had their bodies saturated with disease. Nay,
hundreds of them were killed by its use, and those who survived its
poisonous effects had to thank the pure air of the sea and a good deal
of self-sacrifice on their own part by preferring to starve themselves
rather than eat it.

This system of villainy was openly carried on long after I first went
to sea, and although the London purveyor had passed to another place he
must have left behind him a set of imitators who acquired an equally
charming aptitude for murder by supplying vessels with deadly food of
one kind and another. The tradition went on to say that ultimately he
died, and having sold himself to "Jimmy Square Foot," his spirit was
transferred from Ratcliffe Highway to a volcanic island in the
Mediterranean called Stromboli. There he frequently appeared in his
professional garb, standing by the edge of the crater along with his
satanic friend who was reputed to have secured an eternal lease of this
rock in order to provide a suitable abode for some of those to whom he
had been closely attached during their earthly pilgrimage. Whenever the
volcano was unusually active, the sailors who were in the vicinity
would say, "Ah, Jimmy is taking it out of the old Baker to-night."

The first time I visited this part of the world, the vessel I served in
was creeping close past Stromboli with a light wind. Some of the
forecastle hands became reminiscent. They spoke of how they had been
fed on biscuits made by the gentleman whom they had seen standing by
the molten fire gesticulating to be taken from it. Strange tales were
related as to the reality of this notorious person's existence. I
listened with feverish greed to the yarns until my vision became
confused and I fancied him not only close by me but imagined I heard
his sombre cry of despair beseeching our compassion. The sailor's
delight in hyperbole led one of our comrades to relate most charmingly
the story of the baker's first appearance in Stromboli. An English
barque some years ago lay becalmed within a mile from the Stromboli
shore. The captain and officers knew the biscuit manufacturer well. The
chief officer whose watch it was walked the quarter deck in deep
meditation. A sailor who was at the wheel suddenly became aware of two
figures close to the crater. One was stoking and the other was
vehemently urging him to greater effort. He called out excitedly:

"Look! Who's that standing by the glare of the fire? My God, if we were
not safe on salt water I would say we were near enough to hell!"

"What do you mean?" asked the flurried chief officer.

"I mean," said the sailor, pointing towards the shore, "the flames and
the figures yonder. May heaven send a breeze so that we may get away
from the sight of it."

The mate was over-awed; he steadied his nerves, took up the telescope
and looked towards the crest of the hill for a few seconds. The glass
dropped suddenly from his hands on to the deck, and he exclaimed:

"The Lord save us! It is the London baker with Jimmy Square Foot. Jump
down and call the captain while I say a few words of prayer."

The hand who aroused the commander told him that they were too near the
nether regions. The captain rushed on deck, and in a nervous tone asked
what was the matter.

"The matter?" responded the officer, "_there_ is what's the matter.
Look at them, and if you are not satisfied that we're as near hell as
ever we will be until we get into it, I am."

The captain was agitated and tremulously stuttered:

"Why it's the baker! How piteously he pleads to be rescued, but we can
do nothing for him."

The day, hour and minute of the appearance were entered in the
log-book, and when the vessel arrived home, the tale was told and
paraphrased in a way that attracted national attention. The comparing
of notes disclosed that the entry in the log-book corresponded
chronologically with the date and time of the baker's death.

Contemporary with this traditional gentleman was a well known
shipowner, who was notoriously mean and wicked towards the sailors who
manned his ships. Prayers of a highly peculiar character were
continuously made that he should be transported to the same region of
warmth as the Baker. Of course all shipowners are relegated to these
parts when they do anything to excite the anger of Jack. But the owner
of whom I am writing had put himself beyond all forgiveness; he was an
unspeakable wretch who would stoop to the most revolting methods of
sensuality. The sanctity of homes was invaded by the fiend who carried
on a double game of starving his men and destroying all that was dear
to them. The curses that were continuously poured forth upon him from
all parts of the world cannot be spoken; they may only be imagined.
Ultimately he died amid a storm of rejoicing, and when the hearse came
to take him to the graveyard the horses are said to have refused to
carry the body. It was no sooner placed in the hearse than they went
wild and smashed the conveyance; other horses were brought up, but they
were equally obdurate and violent, and it became necessary to employ
men to carry the coffin, but only the lowest roughs could be found for
the service. The community, especially the seafaring part of it, were
convinced that his wickedness had been so great that even the devil
refused to have anything to do with him in a respectable country. He
was forthwith passed on to Stromboli to assist the Baker in his arduous
task of keeping the fires going, and for the purpose of confirming the
sailors' belief in the law of retribution. This traditional person was
a butcher--if it be safe or lawful to use such a phrase as "tradition"
in connection with one of the mariner's solemn planks of faith. He left
a large fortune behind, which has been a curse to his descendants, and
it would have been a great disappointment to the contemporary seamen if
it hadn't, as much of their time was used in the imprecation of ghastly
forms of punishment and in imagining modes of disposing of what they
vehemently avowed was ill-gotten wealth.

In my youthful days I listened to these tales and drank them in with
juvenile credulity. How often have boys remained on deck during their
watch below to get a glimpse of these personalities, and sometimes I
imagined I could see all that others had told me they had seen.
Incidents of this kind varied the monotony of a long passage, as the
talk about it went on until some other thing equally sensational
developed. To make any attempt at ridiculing the reality of such things
was to offer a gross insult to the seamen's susceptibilities.

To say that shipowning, even in the early part or middle of the last
century, was synonymous with a system of heartless starvation would be
too sweeping an assertion to make. There always have been men who
strove to act generously towards the people serving in their vessels,
though these, I am persuaded, were in the minority, and it is to the
credit of that minority that they had to struggle against precedent,
example, and it may be the habitual conviction that it was part of the
sailor's business to take whatever food was put aboard for him. Running
short of provisions was to them only an incident natural to the
sailor's calling. This view had been handed down by successive
generations of avaricious stoats, not the least prominent and
contemptible of whom was Elizabeth, with her chilly heart, at one time
receiving from Drake the spoils of his voyage in the _Pelican_; at
another walking through the parks publicly with him, and listening with
eager fascination to his stories of "amazing adventure," adventures
that some of her Catholic subjects maintained to be "shocking piracy."
We all remember the story of his sailing off with bullion from Tarapaca
worth half a million ducats; also of the chase and capture of the
_Cacafuego_, which had aboard the whole of the produce of the Lima
mines for the season, consisting of silver, gold, emeralds and rubies.
The hanging of Mr Doughty Philips, the spy, was talked of; the cutting
off from the Church of God for cowardice of the chaplain, Mr Fletcher,
and the chaining of his leg to a ringbolt in the deck until he repented
of his sin. And she is so much interested in all these things that a
royal banquet is held aboard the _Pelican_. Her Majesty attends and
knights Drake. Mendoza demands for his master the stolen treasure.
Leicester wants to share it with his friends; but Elizabeth puts her
foot down and maintains it to be a legal capture which must be held.
She conceives this to be a part of the game. Subsequent events cause
Drake to plead with her to grant supplies, and she rebukes him for his
extravagance. The Armada is close at our shores. Lord Howard reminds
her that food is exhausted and that her sailors are having to catch
fish to make up their mess, and yet they are praying for the quick
arrival of the enemy. Their commander says English sailors will do what
they can to vanquish the invaders, but they cannot fight with famine.
"Awake, Madam," writes the poor distracted Lord admiral; "awake, for
the love of Christ, and realize the danger that confronts the nation."
He managed this time to squeeze one month's rations out of her, but
when asked if any more should be provided, this lovely virgin monarch
replied peremptorily, "No!" And when the great Armada came in sight
there was but two days' food remaining. "Let tyrants fear," she says;
"I have always so behaved myself that under God I have placed my
chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my
subjects"!! She knows that she has the body of a weak and feeble woman,
but she is assured she has the heart of a king, and rather than any
dishonour should grow by her, "I myself will take up arms and be your
general, judge and rewarder of all your virtues." That is all very
pretty, and sounds pre-Napoleonic, but we cannot all swallow sweet,
cantish little nothings in place of food and wages. Better would it
have been had Elizabeth shown some practical evidence of "devotion" to
her "people" by granting supplies and food to her starving sailors who
fought and won in the most deadly naval encounter that the world has
ever known. Their stomachs were empty but their hearts were big, though
many of them went under with sickness brought on by famine, while she
held tight that seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds which Drake
brought home for her. It is amazing that a historian should be found to
regard that speech of hers as being "free from affectation." But one
historian not only says this, he adds: "She was the protector of her
country, and the prudent executor of its will." She was nothing of the
sort; on the contrary, she was a cold, greedy, heartless termagant, who
risked the loss of her country by her parsimony, and it was only saved
by the dauntless courage of the famishing seamen. I think that is one
of the most gruesome and humiliating pieces of British history: for the
monarch of a great empire to exhibit herself in the light of a sailor's
boarding-housekeeper; squeezing his life's blood out, and herself
handing down to posterity a character for meanness that would put to
the blush the owner of a collier brig whose main idea of economy may be
starving his crew. When I hear her spoken of as the Good Queen Bess, I
think of how she ordered the Puritan lawyer, John Stubbs, and the
printer of his pamphlet to be led to the scaffold and have their right
hands driven off by the wrist with a butcher's knife and mallet, and
how in God's name she commits many other unspeakable acts of
devilishness, the most dastardly of which was her refusal to provide
food for the thousands of brave men who saved her and her kingdom. What
a contrast between this woman and the great Queen Victoria, whose long
career is free from a single act of cruelty, and whose whole life teems
with good deeds, while Elizabeth's reeks with an odour so bad that no
student of history can peruse the account without wondering why she was
allowed to live; for truly she was as bad a shrew as ever wore a skirt!




IX

MISCELLANEOUS


Fifty or sixty years ago the N.E. coast ports were all tidal; no
harbours of refuge; no twenty-four feet on any of the bars at low water
as there is now; no piers or breakwaters projecting as they do to-day
far into the German Ocean. It therefore frequently happened that during
neap tides there was not sufficient water over the bars for even the
shallowest drafted vessels. In that case, if the weather was fine,
i.e., wind off the land, and smooth water, the vessels were taken
outside, and the balance of their cargoes sent to them by a peculiar
type of lighter known in that part of England by the name of keels.
These craft were skilfully managed by two men called keelmen, who
worked them up and down the stream with the tide and manipulated them
with long oars. One of these lighters was being rushed out of the river
by a heavy westerly wind and a current of abnormal velocity. The two
men were doing their best to control their little vessel towards its
destination, when the skipper spontaneously observed that they were
going to drift out to sea unless aid came to them, or some means of
stopping her progress were not adopted. He naturally bethought himself
of the anchor, and shouted out to his mate:

"By gox, Jimmy, w'or gan to drift into the German Ocean! Let go the
b--y anchor!"

The mate shouted back:

"What the devil's the use of lettin' go the anchor when there's ne
chain fast te'ed?"

"Never mind a d--n about that," shouted the skipper at the top of his
voice and with feverish excitement. "Chuck the b--y thing ower and
trust to Providence for'd hangin' her. We better de that, ye' fool as
drive to Norraway or some other place o' worship!"

The anchor was thrown over, but Providence did not yield to Geordie's
persuasive ingenuity, thereupon his faith gave way and he switched his
mind and utterance on to a singular form of petition to "Had her, Lord,
had her" (hold her). History tells us that Geordie believed this latter
appeal to have been answered, as it fell calm, and the sea became
still.

Some sailors were rowing off to their vessel in a jolly-boat on the
same occasion, and when the wind went down a dense fog came on, with
the result that they missed their ship. They were all night in the fog,
and in the morning as there was no indication of it clearing up they
were filled with anxiety. At last one of their number said there was
nothing else for it but to pray, and called upon a companion to do so,
but he said that he had never prayed in his life.

"I don't know what to ask."

"Divvent ask," promptly replied his shipmate, "until you've made all
kinds of promises"; whereupon all kinds of specific pledges of an
extraordinary character were prompted, and the praying commenced and
was continued with great facility and becoming earnestness, when all at
once the sailor who had suggested prayer called out:

"Stop, stop! Don't commit yourself too far. I think I see the land,"
and the man who was in the act of praying opened his eyes, beheld the
land himself, and called out:

"Why the devil didn't you tell me sooner, before I made all them
promises?"

"I cautioned you as soon as I saw it myself," said his friend; "why
didn't you keep your own eyes open?"

"Eyes open, d'ye say? How d'ye think a man can pray with his eyes open,
you fool?"

                *      *      *      *      *      *

These men belonged to an old-fashioned race, sailed in old-fashioned
ships, at a time when the old-fashioned winters, as they are sometimes
called, were a terror to underwriters, owners and seamen alike; for the
easterly gales always left in their wake along the whole seaboard
relics of devastation. Wrecks used to be strewn all over the coast, and
sombre tokens of bereavement were everywhere visible. When the White
Sea, Baltic and St Lawrence were closed to navigation, the class of
vessels that were employed in these trades were either sent to the Bay
of Biscay or the coast of Portugal with coal in order that they might
bring from that country to this cork or salt, or both; and from the
French ports in the Bay of Biscay cargoes of sugar were frequently
obtained as return cargo; but the coal freights were generally so good
at that time that vessels could be brought back in ballast and _then_
leave a big profit.

Owners, however, always aimed at getting employment over the winter
months in the coasting trade to France or London, and when freights
were depressed beyond paying point they did not hesitate to lay them up
until the White Sea and Baltic season came round again. It frequently
happened that this course had to be adopted, and the ports all along
the coast became blocked with idle tonnage, and the little towns
overcrowded with seamen, who, as a rule, stuck to their ships and did
odd jobs, without pay, until the time came for them to be again engaged
in active service. It was customary for the captain and mate to
specially look after the vessels when laid up so that no harm came to
them, and they were expected to do so without remuneration. The honour
and pride in those earlier days of having command or being mate of even
a leaky old craft was very pronounced. Each brig, brigantine, or
schooner, carried three or four apprentices. These lads were allowed
10s. per week, which was called board money. The owners, it may be
presumed, found it cheaper to make this arrangement rather than have
cooking aboard while the vessel was laid up; but though an allowance
was made for food, it was a standing instruction that at least two out
of the four boys should sleep aboard the ship, and as soon as she was
put into commission none but the oldest apprentice could have the
privilege of sleeping ashore. This personage, by the way, was looked up
to as a kind of Mogul even by his commander, but especially by the
younger apprentices. He claimed the right indeed to chastise a wayward
youth with the rope's end, and when very bad offences occurred, a
double punishment was inflicted by keeping the little delinquent on
deck in the cold at night, until his superior thought fit to pardon
him. On the other hand, I have seen a mate soundly thrashed by this
same person for striking a young boy during the process of a voyage.
Such were the peculiar ethics of this class of seamen that, while they
conceived it to be their duty to uphold the dignity of discipline when
they were in supreme control of the little colony of apprentices during
the time the vessel was laid up in port, they would not brook undue
physical interference with their co-apprentices on the part of the
chief officer when in active commission. Sometimes the stay in port
would last three months. The master and mate were in attendance every
day, and in order that their berths might be retained, the sailors came
aboard on fine days, repaired sails, running gear, standing rigging,
scraped and tarred the holds out, scraped masts, painted yards,
scrubbed bottom, tarred and blackleaded it, and, in fact, when the time
came to fit out for the spring voyage to the Baltic, the little vessels
looked as trim and as neat as it was possible to make them, and there
was little left to do except bend sails and take stores aboard.

[Illustration: A NORTHUMBERLAND HARBOUR.]

Nor were the apprentices allowed to be idle. Each day they had to wash
decks when the tide was up, and although it may seem a very small
matter to refer to, it is worthy of note that the drawing of water by
the youngest boy was the occasion of much interest to the onlookers,
who always congregated in large numbers on the quays when anything of
this sort was being done. The bucket which supplied the water was
stropped with rope so that it did not injure the side of the vessel;
great care was observed that no harm came to the planking, no matter
how old the craft might be. The boy was expected to draw with such
rapidity that the person who was throwing the water along the deck
should not have to wait. It was considered quite an art to throw the
water properly, and also to supply it, and it taxed both the strength
and the deftness of the youngster; many a wigging he would get in the
process of training even in this small matter.

The two youngest boys took week and week about in keeping the
forecastle clean. It was insisted that the floor should be spotless.
This was enforced by the oldest apprentice, and he had to account to
the master if it were not as he wished it to be. They of course
assisted the men during the period of inactivity, but on those days
when no work was being done by the sailors it was usual for the mate to
give them so many _nettles_ to plait: that is, five or seven rope yarns
plaited into seizings for _bends_ in hawsers, mooring chains, and
ropes. Sometimes the mate was a person of artistic taste, and in that
case they would be given bucket strops or man ropes to _graft_, or
turkheads and _grafting_ to work on to some deck arrangement or
yardarm, and bunt gaskets to work with marline. Indeed, the course of
training was so systematic and so perfect that these young fellows long
before their time had expired could do anything that a sailor might be
called upon to do. To be taunted with laziness was a grievous
indictment. The average lad of that period would do himself physical
injury in the effort to avoid such a stigma. They prided themselves on
being the pupils and under-studies of the finest sailors in the world;
and so they were. When the time came round for the spring fleet to fit
out, there was great commotion amongst the little community. The crews
emulated each other in the effort to make their vessels look smart, and
the distinction of being first ready for sea claimed a prominent share
of their ambition. They knew also that they would be subjected to the
stern criticism of the female population, the limitations of which
would not necessarily be confined to wives and sweethearts, or even
relations.

Neither men nor women found companionship in books. If the women read
anything, it was what the newspapers said about shipping movements, and
it is safe to say very few concerned themselves about that. So their
mental energy found an outlet in the gossip of things nautical. They
knew by instinct almost when a vessel was thoroughly cared for, and
although they might not be able to call things by their proper names,
they never liked their husbands or sweethearts to have any hand in, or
association with, an untidy vessel. Hence, to secure approval from
their women critics, these sailor men and apprentice lads would strain
every faculty to have sails stowed in a cloth, that is, stowed so that
not a wrinkle could be seen anywhere. The youngest apprentice furled
the royals and staysails, two other boys the topgallant sails, and all
the crew, except the master, the larger square sails. The yards were
squared by the braces. The lower yards were made to correspond with the
topsail yards by means of the lifts, every rope was hauled taut, and
every coil round the belaying pin was made strictly uniform. Every end
of a rope had to have what is called a cross-whipping to prevent the
end from becoming a tassel. A well-worn, though authentic story, which
bears on this, did service many times in those days of nautical
rectitude. A gentleman was brought from another district to our little
port to serve as chief mate aboard a hitherto well-kept brig, and his
chief characteristic was in neglecting to conform to one of the great
essential nautical principles by allowing everything to get into
disorder; warps and rope ends were allowed to go without whippings
until it became an eyesore and a subject of strong condemnation. His
wife, who did not conform to the orthodox faith, began to draw
comparisons, and vigorously proclaimed that her husband's taste was a
thing to be emulated. "Look," said this incensed lady, "at the fringes
and tassels. Do they not look better than having things tied up like
whipcords?" But her aesthetic opinions did not prevent her husband's
services being dispensed with.

I have said that some of these small vessels were in the St Lawrence
trade carrying timber from Quebec, and grain or timber from Montreal.
They usually went out in ballast in order to make two voyages during
the season, and there were very few that did not succeed in doing it,
provided they kept free from accident. The spring voyage was fraught
with great danger owing to large fields of ice and icebergs drifting
out of the St Lawrence across the Banks of Newfoundland. Sometimes the
spring fleet would be fast for days, and many of them got badly damaged
in the effort to force a channel through the ice-field, while some got
so badly crushed and damaged that they foundered. That was a real
danger at the beginning of the season, but it did not compare with the
danger of encountering the terrific westerly hurricanes that swept over
the Atlantic in the fall of the year. We speak sympathetically about
the six and seven thousand ton steamers that tramp across during the
winter months at the present time, and yet it is less than fifty years
since the whole of that trade was done by tiny brigs and barques who
leaked and worked like Russian prams, but were handled with an ability
that saved both them and their crews many times from destruction. Every
autumn some of them became waterlogged, and not a few were never heard
of after leaving the port of loading. The owner of an old brig which I
knew very well was induced by the high rate of freights from Montreal
to fix her to load a cargo of heavy grain from that port. Some of the
owner's friends expostulated with him on the danger of sending so old
and small a vessel to the St Lawrence so late in the season. "Old?"
said the owner, "hasn't she had new decks? And you call her small! What
about Drake's ships that he sailed to the Pacific Ocean and all over
India with? Why, the largest wasn't half the size of mine! No,
gentlemen, ships were built to go to sea, not to lie and rot at the
quays." So to sea she went, and arrived at Montreal none too soon to
assure the completion of her loading and sailing before the winter set
in. She was, however, quickly loaded, and sailed on her homeward
voyage. A quick run was made to Cape Breton, and thence through scores
of "Codbangers" right away to the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland.
Anchors, boats, hatches and everything else were made secure in
anticipation of a wild passage. The studding-sail booms and other spars
or planks were lashed at each side of the hatchways in order to break
the weight or fire of the sea before it tumbled on to them. This was
the old-fashioned plan of protection, and I hope it is still practised.
I have often had recourse to it myself both in sailing vessels and
steamers. There was no Plimsoll mark in those days, and this
cockle-shell of a vessel was literally loaded down to the scuppers. A
westerly hurricane struck her just after crossing the Banks, and she
was run so long before it that to attempt to heave to meant certain
destruction.

The whole length of two hawsers were put out at each side of the
taffrail, and as the mountains came roaring along, towering far above
the stern of the little ship and threatening her with extinction, these
hawsers broke the wrath of the rollers, and made them spread into
masses of prancing foam. The captain and crew said they would never
have been able to scud before the hurricane but for their influence.
She arrived at Queenstown a complete wreck having been literally under
water or covered by it from leaving the Banks until they passed the
Fastnet; bulwarks were gone fore and aft; boats were smashed, but the
hatches were intact. The captain had been so long without sleep and
proper rest that he had lost the power of sleep. His nerves were so
badly shattered, and his physical endurance so completely exhausted, a
new captain had to be sent to relieve him, and the poor fellow never
really regained his normal state afterwards. I have often heard him say
"it was death or glory; scud, pump, or sink," which was one of the
common phrases used by seamen in describing circumstances of this
nature.

Stories more or less sensational are written from time to time of the
terrors of a passage from Liverpool to New York aboard one of the White
Star or Cunard liners, or even a passage on an ordinary ocean tramp,
and although I would not under-estimate either the danger or the
discomforts of either the crew or the passengers aboard one of these, I
am bound to say they can only form a meagre conception of what it must
have been like on one of the diminutive frail sailing crafts that built
up the supremacy of the British mercantile marine. No one can really
imagine the awfulness of the work these vessels and their crews had to
do except those who sailed in them. This vessel, like many others of
her class and size, did useful work in her time in building up our
trade with other parts of the world. Distance and danger were no
obstacles to the crews who heroically manned them. They feared nothing
and dared everything. Their pride of race was inherent. They aimed at
upholding the fine traditions of their nautical forbears, and
contemptuously ignored the right of other nations to a place on the
high seas. It was their dominion, and their prerogative therefore to
monopolize them. Uneasy, ill-informed, political propagandists and
commercial theorists would do well to ponder over what it has cost in
courage, in vital force, in genius and in wealth to build up an edifice
that represents half the world's tonnage. This structure of national
strength has been erected without the aid of subsidies or bounties, and
it may be not only maintained without them, but grow still greater if
it is left alone to pursue its natural course under a system that
brought us out of commercial bondage into a freer air over fifty years
ago. That system has been the secret of much of our success, and once
we embark on the retrograde course of protection then that will be the
beginning of our mercantile decadence. Is the heritage not too
magnificent, too sacred, to have pranks played with it?


THE END


THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD., NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE.




BY THE SAME AUTHOR.


"WINDJAMMERS AND SEA-TRAMPS."

_With Six Full-page Illustrations by Thomas Runciman._

"The special attractiveness of the volume arises from the fact that the
author began as a cabin-boy, worked his way up to master, and is now a
leading steamship manager, and that he has been at the pains to
epitomise his experiences and state his views."--_Fairplay._

"In _Windjammers and Sea Tramps_, Mr. Walter Runciman, sen., has put
together memories and information drawn from many years' experience of
the British mercantile marine, mostly in sailing vessels."--_St. James'
Gazette._

"His yarns are chiefly of the things that took place a generation ago,
when there was far more brutality on ocean-going ships than there is in
these more enlightened days."--_Daily News._

"Mr. Walter Runciman, sen., has given the characteristic title,
_Windjammers and Sea Tramps_, to a little book of recollections and
opinions on the merchant service. His pages are full of experience and
rich anecdotage, and smack refreshingly of the sea."--_Manchester
Guardian._

"Mr. Runciman packs together a surprising amount of information on our
merchant service, and his modest hope that 'he has succeeded in making
the book interesting' is very fully justified."--_Saturday Review._

"To all lovers of the sea, to all those whose hearts go the merrier for
the sight of a ship or a yarn with an old salt, this book will come a
little sadly, and bring regrets for the old days and the dead
traditions. Not many men now living can remember the old sea
order."--_The Speaker._

"Mr. Walter Runciman is a practical sailor. He has had experience of
the sea in many capacities, and this lends weight to his opinions on
matters connected with the mercantile marine and interest to the
various yarns which he has to spin."--_Pall Mall Gazette._

"Every self-respecting Briton knows that a windjammer is a sailing
vessel, and the book before us, written by a man who 'went in at the
hawse-hole and came out of the cabin-window,' should commend itself to
a maritime nation."--_Birmingham Gazette._





End of Project Gutenberg's The Shellback's Progress, by Walter  Runciman

*** 