[Footnote 2: Napier was a great favourite with his sailors,
notwithstanding his apparent harshness to them at times. Whenever he
wanted a dash made on a strong position, he inspired them with a fury
of enthusiasm by giving the word of command incisively, and then
adding as an addendum, "Now, off you go, you damned rascals, and
exterminate them." This was a form of endearment, and they knew it.]
"Dutchy" and his Chief
A handsome barque lay at the quay of a South Wales port, ready to
sail, and waiting only for the flood tide. Her name was the _Pacific_,
and she was commanded by a person of laborious dignity. His officers
were selected to meet the tastes and ambitions of their captain, whose
name was John Kickem. I have said before it was customary in those
days for crowds of people to congregate on the quays or dock sides to
watch the departure of vessels. Some came out of curiosity, but many
were the relatives and friends of different members of the crew who
wished to say their _adieux_, and to listen to the sombre singing of
the chanties as the men mastheaded the topsail yards, or catted and
fished the anchors. These vessels were known as copper-ore-men. They
were usually manned with picked able seamen and three apprentices. In
this instance they were all fine specimens of English manhood. It was
no ordinary sight to witness the display of bunting as it stretched
from royal truck to rail, and the grotesque love-making of the
seafarers as they hugged and kissed their wives and sweethearts over
and over again with amazing rapidity. One of the favourite songs which
they delighted to sing on such auspicious occasions was rendered with
touching pathos--
"Sing good-bye to Sal, and good-bye to Sue;
Away Rio!
And you that are list'ning, good-bye to you;
For we're bound to Rio Grande!
And away Rio, aye Rio!
Sing fare ye well, my bonny young girl,
We're bound to Rio Grande."
It didn't matter, of course, where they were bound to, this ditty was
the farewell song; and it always had the desired effect of melting
the bystanders, especially the females, though Jack himself showed no
really soft emotion. Not that they were not sentimental, but theirs
seemed always to be a frolicsome sentimentality.
The eldest apprentice of the _Pacific_ was in his eighteenth year. He
was a fine, broad-shouldered, fair-haired, medium-sized youth. He had
been dividing his attentions amongst a number of girl admirers, and
was told to come aboard to unmoor and give the tug the tow-rope. While
these orders were being carried out the lad caught sight of a young
girl who had just arrived in a great state of excitement. She was
dressed in dazzling finery, and carrying something in a basket. The
boy sprang on to the dock wall, and created much merriment with his
elephantine caresses. They shouted to him from the vessel to jump
aboard or he would lose his passage. He made a running spring for the
main rigging as she was being towed from her berth. A wild cheer went
up from the crowd when they saw the smart thing that had been done,
and that he was safe. The devoted female who had caused him to dare so
much, in the luxuriance of grief, shouted to him--
"Good-bye, Jim! You've always been a rare good pal to a girl. Take
care of yourself; and mind, no sweethearts at every port!" The latter
communication was made almost inarticulate with sobbing. Her last
words were, "Don't forget, Jim!" To which he replied, "You bet, I
won't!"
Soon the attractive craft, and her equally attractive crew were lost
sight of amidst the haze of the gathering night. A quiet, easterly air
was fitfully blowing in the Channel, and when full sail was set, the
pilot and tug left. All night she trailed sinuously over the peaceful
sea, and as the cold dawn was breaking she slid past the south end of
Lundy Island with a freshening breeze at her stern. In a few days the
north-east trade winds which blow gently over the bosom of the ocean
were reached, and every stitch of canvas was hung up. The sailors had
got over their monotony, and began to entertain themselves during the
dog-watches from six to eight. The imperious commander was never happy
himself, and was angry at the sight of mirth in anybody. He forthwith
commenced a system that was well calculated to breed revolt, and which
did ultimately do so. Orders were given that there were to be no
afternoon watches below, and all hands were to be kept at work until 6
p.m. In addition to this petty tyranny, the crew were put on their
bare whack of everything, including water; and so the dreary days and
nights passed on until Cape Horn was reached. They had long realized
that the burden of their song should be "Good-day, bad day, God send
Sunday." The weather was stormy off the Horn, and nearly a month was
spent in fruitless attempts to get round. The spirit had been knocked
out of the officers and crew by senseless bullying and wicked
persecution. They had no heart left to put into their work, otherwise
the vessel would have got past this boisterous region in half the
time. At last she arrived at Iquique, and, like all ill-conditioned
creatures who have been born wrong and have polecat natures, the
captain blamed the hapless officers and crew for the long passage, and
in order to punish the poor innocent fellows, he refused to them both
money and liberty to go ashore. Treatment of such a character could
only have one ending--and that was mutiny, if not murder; and yet this
senseless fellow, in defiance of all human law, kept on goading them
to it. He was warned by a catspaw (whom even despised bullies can have
in their pay) that the forecastle was a hotbed of murderous intent,
and that for his own safety he should give the men liberty to go
ashore, and advance them what money they required.
"Let them revolt!" said he. "I will soon have them where they deserve
to be, the rascals. Let them, if they dare, disturb me in my cabin,
and I'll riddle them with lead. If they want to go ashore, let them go
without liberty; but if they do, their wages will be forfeited, and I
will have them put in prison."
A policy of this kind was the more remarkable, as even if the men were
driven to desertion it was impossible to fill their places at anything
like the same wages, or with the same material. The available hands
were either not sailors at all, or if they were, they belonged to the
criminal class that feared neither God nor man, and knew no law or
pity except that which was unto themselves. On the other hand, this
vessel was manned with the cream of British seamen, who would have
dared anything for their captain and owners had they been treated as
was their right. He had run the length of human forbearance. The crew
struck. They demanded to see the British Consul, and submit their
grievances to him. Sometimes this authority is but a poor tribunal to
appeal to when real discrimination is to be determined. On this
occasion the seamen were fortunate in getting a sympathetic verdict,
and the captain got what he deserved--a good trouncing for his
treatment of them. They were willing to sign off the articles, and he
was plainly told that they must either be paid their wages in full, or
he undertake to carry out the conditions of engagement in a proper
manner. "And I must warn you," said the irate official of the British
Government, "if you drive these men out of your ship, you may expect
no assistance from me in collecting another crew. The men are right,
and you are wrong."
The captain was in a state of sullen passion at the turn things had
taken against him. He said that he would decide the following day
whether the proper course for him to take, now that his authority had
been broken, was to pay the men off or not. On the morrow he
intimated his decision to pay them off. Poor creature, it would have
been well for him and all connected with this doomed vessel had he
swallowed his pride and resolved to behave in a rational way to his
crew. The places of respectable men were filled with human reptiles of
various nationalities--criminals, every one of them. He must have
persuaded himself that his despotism would have fuller play with these
foreigners, whose savage vengeance was destined to shock the whole
civilized world with their awful butchery. The apprentices and
officers did not take kindly to the changed condition of things. They
instinctively felt that they were to become associated with a gang of
-, and hoped that something would transpire to prevent this
happening. An opportunity was given the oldest apprentice in an
unexpected way. The captain had ordered his gig to be ashore to take
him aboard at a certain time at night. The boat was there before the
captain, and as he was so long in coming the boat's crew went for a
walk ashore. The great man came down and had to wait a few minutes for
his men. This caused him to become abusive, which the oldest
apprentice, James Leigh, resented by using some longshore adjectives.
The master seized the foothold of the stroke oar and threw it at the
lad, and when they got aboard the captain again attempted to strike
him, but the lad let fly, and did considerable damage in a rough and
tumble way to the bully, who was now like a wild beast. James was
ultimately overpowered and got a bad beating. He thereupon determined
to run away, and he laid his plans accordingly. In a few days he was
far away from the sea in a safe, hospitable hiding-place, with some
friends who knew his family at home, and the _Pacific_ had sailed long
before he reached the coast again.
After a few months' travelling about, picking up jobs here and there,
he was brought in contact with a rich old Spaniard who owned a leaky
old barque which was employed in the coasting trade. The captain of
her was a Dutchman who spoke English very imperfectly, and what he did
know was spoken with a nasal Yankee twang. It was a habit, as well as
being thought an accomplishment in those days, as it is in these, to
affect American dialect and adopt their slang and mannerisms in order
to convey an impression of importance. Even a brief visit to the
country, or a single passage in a Yankee ship was sufficient to turn a
hitherto humble fellow into an insufferable imitator. It was obvious
the skipper had been a good deal on the Spanish Main, as he spoke
their language with a fluency that left no doubt as to what he had
been doing for many years. He was discovered at a time when the owner
was in much need of some one to take charge of his vessel, as she did
not attract the highest order of captain. The Dutchman had no Board of
Trade master or mate certificate; he was merely a sailor. James Leigh
was discovered in pretty much the same way as the captain, and the
owner took a strong liking to him at the outset. He was good to look
at, and gifted with a bright intelligence which made him attractive,
besides having the advantage of knowing something about navigation.
The chief mate's berth was offered to him and accepted. Furthermore,
it was suggested that he should visit and stay at the owner's house,
whenever the vessel was in port and his services were not required
aboard, and seeing that he was not yet eighteen, he felt flattered at
the distinction that had been thrust upon him. Perhaps he accepted the
invitation all the more readily as he was informed by his employer
that he had two daughters that would like to make his acquaintance.
The first voyage was to Coronel and back with coal to Iquique. Mr.
Leigh, as he was now addressed by everybody, on the ship or ashore,
had intimated to his commander that he liked his berth for the
prospects that might open up to him, but he didn't relish the thought
of having to pump so continuously; whereupon Captain Vandertallen
winked hard at him, and strongly urged that it should be put up with,
and to keep his eye on the girls who were to inherit their father's
fortune.
"I tink," said he, "I vill marry de one and you vill have de other."
"I don't know about that," retorted James Leigh. "You see I've a girl
at home, and somehow I thinks a lot about her. But a bit of money
makes a difference; I must think it over."
Quarterdeck etiquette was not observed between the two men. The
captain addressed his first officer as Jim, and Jim addressed his
captain as "Dutchy." This familiarity was arrived at soon after they
came together, owing to a strong difference of opinion on some point
of seamanship which had to do with the way a topgallant sail ought to
be taken in without running any risk of splitting it. The quarrel was
furious. Jim had called his commander "a blithering, fat-headed
Dutchman, not fit to have charge of a dung barge, much less a
square-rigged ship. Captain Kickem of the _Pacific_ would not have
carried you as ballast."