_HE GOES ALOFT._
Talk of the confusion of hauling the ship out of dock! Here was uproar
thrice confounded with a vengeance! The ship seemed to be almost on her
beam ends; there was an ugly livid squall over the trucks and howling
through the masts; they had put the helm up to ease off the weight
of the first outfly, and the _Lady Violet_ was thrashing and foaming
through it with the spume blowing in snow-storms over her forecastle;
all three topsail yards were on the caps, and the huge sails—for we
carried single topsails—were blowing out like giant bladders in the grip
of their gear. The outer jib was slatting on the jibboom; the clewed-up
main topgallant-sail was making its mast up there whip to and fro like
the end of an angler’s rod; the immense mainsail was thundering at its
clews and sides and slowly rose to the yard to the drag of the sailors,
who were roaring out at the ropes which belonged to it; the captain,
standing near the wheel, was shouting out orders to the mate; the mate
was bellowing to the second mate, who was forward; the second mate was
vociferating to the boatswain; in all directions gangs of sailors were
delivering their working choruses at the top of their lungs. The wind
shrieked, the rain hissed through it like volleys of small shot; the
shaking of the loose canvas on high might have passed for the discharge
of the batteries of a frigate; the foam flew over the ship; the water
washed in angry sobs along the scuppers. Preserve us!
To such a greenhorn as I was then, very young, very sick, with
consternation and astonishment working in me like a passion, there was
distraction and uproar enough here to have justified me in concluding
that the end of all things was at hand.
In a few moments I found myself on the poop where the midshipmen were
hard at work with the reef tackle and other gear preparing the mizzen
topsail for reefing, snugging the spanker, and so forth. Their station
was aft, and their duty lay in attending to all the sails on the
mizzen-mast under the charge of the third mate. He was swinging off upon
a rope, when he caught sight of me.
“Come along! come along!” he roared. “All the beef we can get is wanted
here!”
I went in a staggering run to where the group were pulling and laid hold
of the rope.
“Belay!” shouted the third mate, and sprang into the weather mizzen
rigging, whither he was followed by the rest of the midshipmen. For a
moment I hung in the wind, sending one thirsty, dizzy look aloft. “Well,
now or never!” thought I; and with that I got on to the hencoop, swung
myself into the rigging, and began the ascent.
[Illustration: “I SEEMED TO BE PINNED TO THE RATLINES.”]
The wind came so hard that I seemed to be pinned to the ratlines, and
I felt as though all the breath were blown out of my body. I sent a
yearning look up, and saw the third mate on the weather mizzen-top-sail
yard-arm, striding the spar as though it were a horse, his muscular legs
dangling between the dark heavens and the wool-white water. The lads were
sliding out upon the foot-ropes, some to windward, some to leeward. I
tried to make haste, but the sweep of the blast reduced my struggles to
a mere crawling. It took me a full five minutes to reach to the height
of the futtock shrouds—thin bars of iron which stretch at a sharp angle
from the masts to the rim of the platform called “the top.” I took these
irons in my little hands, but lacked the courage to swing myself by them
over into the top. How on earth, then, was I to gain the yard upon which
the midshipmen were working? Through the irons I spied a hole in the
platform, and with great trouble and a deal of trembling I contrived to
squeeze through it, and then I found myself on a sort of stage with the
ship looking as if she were a mile below me, and the mizzen-royal yard as
if it were two miles above me.
The wind screamed frantically in my ears, yet not so loudly but that
I could hear my small heart thumping in them. I clutched a rope, and
stood staring wildly at the yard on which my shipmates were knotting the
reef-points. I thought Mr. Cock a much more wonderful man than Blondin or
any tight-rope walker that ever I had heard of, to be able to sit upon
that rocking point of spar without tumbling off, and to be passing the
earing as coolly as if he were tying his shoes.
“Stop where you are!” he bawled to me; “we’ll endeavour to manage without
you this once.”
The sea looked five times bigger than ever I had before seen it. The
worst of the squall was over, and past the edge of the flying gloom
to windward there was a sort of faintness in the sky, with curls and
wisps of scud blowing up it out of the hard green of the distant water
that looked calm, so far away it was; and right out in the midst of
the distant ocean, over which the dim light of the sky was breaking, I
saw a ship, like a toy, vanishing and reappearing amongst the surges,
flinging the foam away from her in bursts of steam-light cloud; and so
little did she look with her three milk-white bands of topsails and
marble-like round of foresail, that whilst my eye dwelt upon her, I could
scarce persuade myself that she was real: rather, indeed, some craft
of fairy-land, which a great strong fellow, such a man as Mr. Cock for
instance, might be able to hold in the hollow of his hand.
I was at no great height, yet the captain looked an insignificant little
creature as he stood at the rail sending his gaze aloft; the man at the
wheel resembled one of those dolls which you purchase as sailors for your
model boat, and the decks of the ship from poop to forecastle showed
like a long wet plank. It was wonderful to think so narrow a base should
support the tall, wide-spreading fabric of mast, yard, and gear that was
now somewhat nakedly shearing through the dusk of the squall, to the
plunging and long floating rushes of the hull over whose side a sea would
now and again fling a head of water that swept with the sparkle of a
fountain clear into the milk-white race to leeward.
“Two reefs, Mr. Cock!” bawled the mate from the foremost end of the poop.
I watched the lads swinging in a row upon the foot-ropes, tossing up
their heels as they brought the reef-points upon the yard, and wondered
how long it would take me to learn their trick of working aloft, as
coolly as though they toiled with the solid earth under them. All three
topsails were being reefed at the same time. I could not see forward, but
I could hear the voices of the men chorusing as they, lighted, the sails
over. Evidently the captain expected dirty weather; and, to be sure, out
abeam it looked ugly enough, with a kind of rusty light growing in the
atmosphere that threw a malevolent complexion of storm upon the sky.
Presently the last knot had been tied in the mizzen topsail, and the
midshipmen were in the act of descending.
“Jump aloft two of you and secure that t’gallants’l before it blows
adrift!” roared the captain.
A couple of the mids sprang into the topmast rigging, and in a few
moments were giving battle to the sail, that, even as the captain called,
began to flog upon the yard.
Well, thought I, as I stood staring up at them, some day I dare say I
shall be able to do that too; but I declare the possibility seemed mighty
remote from me just then. Indeed, once again I was beginning to feel
horribly sea-sick. The higher you mount above the hull of a ship, the
wilder of course grows the rolling, and the mizzen-top in which I stood
seemed to me to swing through the air a score of times more furiously
than the decks below were swaying. It increased my nausea moreover to
look up and see the two youngsters dizzily whirling under the dark sky,
plunging and hauling at the thrashing sail, as though the hold they had
with their boots was enough to save their lives if they fell backwards.
But now the others were swarming into the top, and swinging themselves
over into the lower rigging, and dancing down the shrouds till, taut as
those huge ropes were, they leapt again.
“Come along! come along!” bawled the third mate, as he plumped like a
cannon ball alongside of me, and with a sinewy arm poised himself an
instant before putting his foot on the futtock ratlines: “There’s nothing
good enough to look at up here, to keep you staring open mouth as though
you were a newly landed cod. Lay down smartly now, youngster, and tail on
to the topsail halliards.”
His prize-fighter’s face vanished over the rim of the top.
“_Lay down!_” thought I, “what does he mean?” and I went nervously to the
edge of the platform to ask him to explain himself, but saw that he was
already on deck.
“Mizzen-top there!” cried the captain, “Lay down, will you?”
There can be no mistake about _that_, thought I. I am not deaf. Twice I
had been told to _lay down_; and with that I stretched myself along on my
back, taking care however to keep a hearty good hold of some ropes which
passed through the top within reach of my grasp.
“Mizzen-top there!” after a little came a roaring hail from the mate;
“what are you about up there, sir? Do you mean to lay down or not?”
On hearing this, I crept on my knees to the rim of the top, and looking
over, cried out in the shrill voice of my childhood, “Please, sir, I _am_
lying down.”
The captain was staring up at me, but on hearing this, he turned his back
with a shake of his figure.
“Come down, Master Rockafellar,” sung out the mate in a voice full of
laughter.
When I heard this I crawled over to another edge of the top where I could
see him, and piped out, “The captain said I was to _lay_ down, sir.”
[Illustration: “‘PLEASE, SIR, I _AM_ LYING DOWN.’”]
It was wonderful that my thin voice should have carried in such a wind,
yet I was heard plainly enough. Then arose a shout of laughter from the
midshipmen; the mate called something to Mr. Cock, who in a trice came
bundling up the mizzen rigging, and flounded with a crimson face into the
top.
“Why you young guinea pig, why don’t you obey orders?” he bawled; “to
_lay down_ at sea means to _come_ down, and you _know_ it too; I see it
in your eye! Over with’ee, over with’ee.”
His large nervous fist closed upon the collar of my jacket, and I found
myself lifted over the rim at the top.
“Catch hold of the futtock shrouds!” he roared, “those iron bars, d’ye
hear?—quick, before I let you go!”
I gripped at something, but whether it was iron or rope I was too
horrified to know. He let go, and my legs swung out into the air. But
green-horns cling too tightly to be in much danger on such occasions as
this. A heave of the ship swung me in again, my toes struck something
hard, and with the swiftness of a monkey I coiled my little shanks round
it. Down I slid, breathless, and with the eyes half out of my head, and
was not a little astonished and rejoiced to find my foot upon a ratline
in the mizzen rigging, whence the descent was as easy as walking the deck.
“That’s your lesson,” exclaimed the third mate as he jogged down the
rigging past me. “You’ll never shirk the futtock shrouds again, will
you?”
But I had no breath with which to answer him. It was a rough lesson, but
it did me good. It made me see that climbing and descending were no such
terrifying processes as they looked. Possibly I might not have got so
much confidence out of this adventure had I known that the third mate had
only pretended to let go; that in reality he was maintaining his hold of
my collar after my legs had swung out, though I was too much terrified to
be sensible of this.
I have always considered that the alarm of this little business cured me
of sea-sickness. Whilst in the top, as I have told you, the nausea was
over-poweringly strong upon me; but when I had come down I was no longer
sensible of it, and from that moment, indeed, I never had a return of it.
There can be no doubt that this distressing malady lies mainly in the
nerves, and the fright I had received by being hung out over the top, so
to speak, had acted upon me as an electric shock, healing and ending the
prostrating complaint.
It blew a gale of wind for three days. I don’t doubt I should have
heard a deal about my adventure aloft from the midshipmen but for the
weather. The wet on deck and the discomforts below were too much for the
youngsters’ spirits, and until the sun shone forth again we were a very
sulky lot. The ship was miserably uncomfortable. It rained incessantly,
with such a continuous blowing of spray over us, that it was sometimes
above one’s ankles on the main deck. There were tarpaulins over the
hatchways, and the ’tween-decks were as dark as the hold. There had
been no time yet for the passengers to grow seasoned to the sea life;
most of those in the “cuddy,” as the saloon was then called, kept their
cabins. Now and again one of them at long intervals crawled into the
companion-hatch, where he exhibited a face white as a spectre’s.
But the chief of the misery was amongst the emigrants. Boxes and chests
were incessantly breaking loose, and menacing their lives as the poor
creatures sat huddled in sea-sick groups under the booby-hatch, for the
sake of the dim light that sifted down through it. There were times
when the galley fire was washed out, and the emigrants had to content
themselves with biscuit and molasses and cold water, and small doses of
that nauseous food called “soup and boulli,” nick-named by the sailors
_soap and bullion_. I have seen a little family of them squatting round
a sea-chest belonging to one of us midshipmen, an old towel for a
table-cloth, and on it a tin dish or two containing hard ship’s biscuit,
a mess of soup and boulli, a lump of pork fat, probably two or three
days’ old, along with other such cold and throttling fare as the ship’s
third-class larder yielded; and while they were attempting to make a meal
off this trough-like collection of victuals, I have seen the chest slip
away from them, the food tumble on to the deck, and the whole family
capsized on their backs.
I do not know that the emigrant in these days is a person very carefully
and hospitably looked after at sea; but in my time the treatment he met
with on shipboard—that is to say, the utter indifference to his comfort
exhibited by owners and captains—rendered him the most miserable wretch
afloat.