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THE LOG OF A SEA-WAIF
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| =By FRANK T. BULLEN.= |
| |
| =The Log Of a Sea-Waif.= Being Recollections of the First Four |
| Years of my Sea Life. Illustrated. Uniform edition, 12mo. |
| Cloth, $1.50. |
| |
| The brilliant author of "The Cruise of the Cachalot" and |
| "Idylls of the Sea" presents in this new work the continuous |
| story of the actual experiences of his first four years at |
| sea. In graphic and picturesque phrases he has sketched the |
| events of voyages to the West Indies, to Bombay and the |
| Coromandel coast, to Melbourne and Rangoon. Nothing could be |
| of more absorbing interest than this wonderfully vivid account |
| of foks'l humanity and the adventures and strange sights and |
| experiences attendant upon deep-sea voyages. It is easy to see |
| in this book an English companion to our own "Two Years before |
| the Mast." |
| |
| =Idylls of the Sea.= 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. |
| |
| "This book is truly fascinating reading.... To everything Mr. |
| Bullen brings enthusiasm, a passion for accuracy, and the good |
| writing that comes of knowledge and sincerity."--_London |
| Academy._ |
| |
| "A fresh sea-breeze blows through the whole book, and |
| entertainment and instruction are delightfully blended."--_The |
| Daily Mail._ |
| |
| |
| =The Cruise of the Cachalot.= _Round the World after Sperm |
| Whales._ Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. |
| |
| MR. RUDYARD KIPLING writes the author: |
| |
| "It is immense--there is no other word. I've never read |
| anything that equals it in its deep-sea wonder and mystery, |
| nor do I think that any book before has so completely covered |
| the business of whale-fishing, and at the same time given such |
| real and new sea pictures. I congratulate you most heartily. |
| It's a new world that you've opened the door to." |
| |
| * * * * * |
| |
| =D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, New York.= |
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[Illustration: It was a bleak, gloomy day in January when I first beheld
her.]
THE LOG OF A SEA-WAIF
BEING RECOLLECTIONS OF
THE FIRST FOUR YEARS
OF MY SEA LIFE
BY
FRANK T. BULLEN, F.R.G.S.
_Author of The Cruise of the Cachalot,
Idylls of the Sea, Etc._
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1899,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
TO
J. ST. LOeE STRACHEY,
IN
GRATEFUL RECOGNITION
OF HIS UNWEARYING ENCOURAGEMENT OF AND
PERSISTENT KINDNESS TO THE AUTHOR,
THIS BOOK
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
Notwithstanding the oft-reiterated statement that the days of sea
romance are over, it may well be doubted whether any period of our
literary history has been more prolific in books dealing with that
subject than the last twenty-five years. Nor does the output show any
signs of lessening, while the quality of the work done is certainly not
deteriorating. Writers like Kipling, Cutcliffe Hyne, Joseph Conrad, and
Clark Russell, each in his own style, have presented us with a series of
sea-pictures that need not fear comparison with any nautical writers'
work of any day, although they deal almost exclusively with the
generally considered unromantic merchant service. Having admitted this,
the question perforce follows, "Who, then, are you, that presumes to
compete with these master magicians?"
To that inevitable question I would modestly answer that the present
book is in no sense a competitor with the works of any writers of
nautical romance. But having been for fifteen years a seafarer in
almost every capacity except that of a master, and now, by the greatest
kindness and indulgence on the part of men holding high positions in the
literary world, being permitted to cater for the reading public in
sterling periodicals, it has often occurred to me how little landsmen
really know of the seaman's actual life. "Two Years before the Mast,"
although written by an American, and of life on board an American
merchantman, has long held undisputed sway as a classic upon the
subject. And for the only reason, as it seems, that no serious attempt
has been made by a Britisher to do the same thing for life in British
ships.
Still, conscious as I certainly am of small literary equipment for such
a task, I should hardly have dared to try my hand but for the
encouragement most generously and persistently given me by Mr. J. St.
Loee Strachey, who, with that large faith in another's abilities that
breeds confidence in its object, however diffident, urged me strongly to
tell the public some of my experiences of sea life. And his advice to me
was to set them down, just as they occurred, as nearly as memory would
permit. Of course, it was not possible to cover the whole field of my
experiences at once, except in the most scrappy and unsatisfactory way,
and therefore I decided to take the first four years--from the age of
twelve to sixteen. Following my friend's advice, I have written nothing
but the truth, and, in most cases, I have given the real names of ships
and individuals. If the book, then, does not please, it will be owing to
my lack of discrimination between interesting and commonplace details,
and not because the pictures given of life at sea in the forecastle are
not faithful.
And now, as I know that there are a great many people who do not read
prefaces, I will close mine by humbly commending this "autobiography of
a nobody" to that tremendous tribunal, with whom lies the verdict of
success or failure, and from whose fiat there is no appeal--the Public.
FRANK T. BULLEN.
CAMBERWELL, _September, 1899._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I.--MY FIRST SHIP
II.--OUTWARD-BOUND
III.--ARRIVAL AT DEMERARA
IV.--THE MUTINY AND AFTER
V.--THE LAND OF LIBERTY
VI.--TO HAVANA AND AFTER
VII.--OFF TO SEA AGAIN
VIII.--STRUGGLES IN LIVERPOOL AND LONDON
IX.--BOUND FOR JAMAICA
X.--ADVENTURES OF A SHIPWRECKED CREW
XI.--AN EVENTFUL PASSAGE HOME
XII.--ADRIFT IN LIVERPOOL ONCE MORE
XIII.--THE DAWN OF BETTER DAYS
XIV.--DUE SOUTH
XV.--EIGHT WEEKS' CALM
XVI.--UP THE INDIAN OCEAN TO BOMBAY
XVII.--ON THE COROMANDEL COAST
XVIII.--HOMEWARD TO LONDON
XIX.--A CHANGE OF NATIONALITY
XX.--THE PASSAGE TO MELBOURNE
XXI.--I BECOME A COLONIAL COASTER
XXII.--PROSPERITY PALLS UPON ME
XXIII.--ANOTHER QUEER SHIP
XXIV.--DEEP-WATER AMENITIES
XXV.--PROCEEDINGS AT RANGOON
XXVI.--HOMEWARD-BOUND IN DIFFICULTIES
XXVII.--DEEP-WATER COASTING
XXVIII.--WHICH BRINGS US TO PORT AT LAST
XXIX.--CONCLUSION
THE LOG OF A SEA-WAIF.
CHAPTER I.
MY FIRST SHIP.
Many boys clamour for a sea life, will not settle down to anything
ashore, in spite of the pleading of parents, the warnings of wisdom, or
the doleful experiences of friends. Occasionally at schools there breaks
out a sort of epidemic of "going to sea," for which there is apparently
no proximate cause, but which rages fiercely for a time, carrying off
such high-spirited youths as can prevail upon those responsible for them
to agree to their making a trial of a seafaring life. All this is quite
as it should be, of course, in order that Britain may continue to rule
the waves; but many a parent, whose affectionate projects for the future
of his offspring are thus rudely shattered, bitterly resents what he
naturally considers to be unaccountable folly.
In my own case matters were quite otherwise. I belonged to the ignoble
company of the unwanted. In spite of hard usage, scanty food, and
overwork, I ridiculously persisted in living, until, at the approach of
my twelfth year, an eligible opening presented itself for me to go to
sea. Being under no delusions whatever as to the prospect that awaited
me, since I had known intimately those who had experienced all the
vicissitudes of a sailor's life, I was not unduly elated at the idea.
Nevertheless, food and shelter were objects peculiarly hard of
attainment ashore, while I felt satisfied that at sea these necessaries
would be always provided, even if their quality was none of the best.
The vessel in which I obtained a berth as cabin-boy was commanded by my
uncle: a stubborn, surly, but thoroughly capable old seaman. Soured by
misfortune and cross-grained by nature, it was small wonder that he had
no friends, not even the sterling honesty of his character, or his high
ability, being sufficient to counterbalance the drawback of his
atrocious temper. His latest command was not calculated to improve him,
for she was a survival of a bygone day, clumsy as a Dutch galliot,
impoverished by her owner, who was heartily sick of seeing her afloat,
and would have rejoiced to hear that she was missing; and withal leaky
as a basket. When I first saw her huddled into a more than usually dirty
corner of the West India Docks, I was filled with wonder to see that her
cutwater was sunken between two swelling bows like the cheeks of a
conventional cherub. Though I could be no critic of marine construction,
this seemed an anomaly for which there appeared to be no excuse. Her
bowsprit and jibboom soared into the air exactly like those of the
galleons of old, and her three skimpy masts stood like broomsticks at
different angles--the foremast especially, which looked over the bows.
It was a bleak, gloomy day in January when I first beheld her. The snow,
which had fallen heavily for some days previously, was, wherever it
could be, churned into filthy slush, and where undisturbed, was begrimed
more into the similitude of soot-heaps than anything else. Everything
wore a pinched, miserable appearance. So forbidding and hopeless was the
outlook that, had it been practicable, I should certainly have
retreated. But there was no choice; I had burned my bridges.
Climbing on deck, I found such a state of confusion and dirt reigning as
I could hardly have believed possible. Owing to the parsimony of the
owner, not even a watchman had been kept on board, and, in consequence,
the decks had not smelt a broom for a month. The cargo and stores were
littered about so that progress was gymnastic, while in every corner and
hollow lay the dirty snow. Several discontented-looking men were engaged
aloft bending sails, others were gradually coaxing the cargo on deck
into the hold, but no one seemed to have any energy left. Seated upon an
up-ended beef-cask was a truculent-looking individual whom I
instinctively regarded as the boss. Him, therefore, I timidly
approached. Upon hearing my message, he rolled off his throne and led
the way aft, uttering all the time some, to me, perfectly unintelligible
sounds. I made no pretence of answering, so I suppose he took me for a
poor idiot hardly worthy of his attention. When, after some effort, he
disappeared down the cabin companion, I was close behind him, and,
understanding his gestures better than his speech, made out that here
was to be the scene of my future labours. The place was so gloomy that I
could distinguish none of its features by sight; but the atmosphere, a
rank compound of the reek of bilge-water, mouldering stores, and
unventilated sleeping-places, caught me by the throat, making my head
swim and a lump rise in my chest. A small locker by the ladder's foot,
reminding me curiously of a rabbit-hutch, was pointed out to me as my
berth, but I naturally supposed it to be a place for my bag. How could I
have dreamed that it was also to be my chamber? But everything began to
reel with me, so, blindly clutching the ladder, I struggled on deck
again, where the bitter wind soon revived me.
Henceforth no one noticed me, so I roamed about the deck, prying into
holes and corners, until the stevedores knocked off for dinner.
Presently the mate came towards where I sat, shivering and solitary, on
the windlass end, and made me understand that I was to come ashore with
him. He conducted me through a labyrinth of mean streets to a spacious
building in a wide thoroughfare, around which were congregated many
little groups of seamen of all nations. We entered the place at once,
and soon reached a large bare room crowded with seamen. Here I was told
to wait while Mr. Svensen went to seek the captain. While I stood
bewildered by the bustle of the crowded place, I heard occasional
hoarse demands for "Three A.B.'s an' one ordinary for Pernambuck!" "Cook
an' stooard for Kingston, Jamaica!" "All the croo of the _Star o'
Peace_!" and similar calls, each followed by a general rush towards the
speaker, accompanied by a rustling of discharges in the air as their
owners sought to attract attention.
After about an hour's wait I heard the cry of "Croo of the _Arabella_
here!" which was followed by the usual rush; but, to the disappointment
of the watchers, the whole of the crew had been already selected. One by
one they squeezed through the crowd into an office beyond, whither I
managed to follow. I was too much amazed at the hurly-burly to notice
who were to be my future shipmates, but I paid a sort of awe-struck
attention to the reading of the "articles." Doubtless much excuse must
be made for the officials, who have to gabble the same rigmarole over so
many times each working day; but I certainly think some attempt might
always be made that the essential parts of the agreement should be clear
to men who are about to bind themselves for a long period to abide by
it. In our case, the only words clearly accented, heard, and understood
by all, were the last three, "no spirits allowed." Each man then signed
the articles, or made his mark, ending with myself, when I found I was
entitled to receive five shillings per month, without any half-pay or
advance. Each of the men received a month's advance, in the form of a
promissory-note, payable three days after the ship left the Downs,
"providing the said seaman sails in the said ship." None of them lost
any time in getting away to seek some accommodating (?) shark to cash
their notes at an average discount of about forty per cent., most of the
proceeds being payable in kind.
This important preliminary over, I was free till next morning, when all
hands were ordered on board by ten o'clock. Not feeling at all desirous
of returning to the ship, yet being penniless, and in a strange part of
London, I made my way westward to the Strand, where I soon managed to
pick up enough for a meal. I spent the night in Hyde Park in a snug
corner, unknown to the police, that had often served me as a refuge
before. At daybreak I started East, arriving on board at about half-past
nine very tired and hungry. The mate eyed me suspiciously, saying
something which I guessed to be uncomplimentary, although I was still
unable to understand a word. But, as before, he did not interfere with
me, or set me any task.
The litter of cases, bales, etc., about the deck was fast disappearing
under the strenuous exertions of the stevedores and dock-wallopers,
while the raffle of gear aloft was reduced to as near an approach to
orderly arrangement as it could ever be expected to assume. Presently a
grimy little paddle-steamer came alongside, through the clustering swarm
of barges, and was made fast ahead and astern. An individual with a
stentorian voice, a pilot suit, mangy fur cap, and brick-red face
mounted the forecastle, bellowing out orders apparently addressed to no
one in particular. Their effect was at once evident, however, for we
began to move deliberately away from the wharf, splitting the crowd of
barges asunder amid the sulphurous remarks of their attendants. Once out
into the comparatively clear centre of the dock, we made good progress
until the last lock was reached; but there we came to a full stop. As
yet none of the crew had arrived, the vessel being handled by a
shore-gang so far. After about a quarter of an hour's delay, during
which the captain and pilot exhausted their vocabulary in abuse of the
laggards, the latter hove in sight, convoyed by a motley crowd of
tailor's "runners," boarding-masters, and frowsy looking women.
They made a funny little group. The sailors were in that happy state
when nothing matters--least of all the discounter of an advance-note;
hence the bodyguard of interested watchers, who would leave no stone
unturned to see that their debtors went in the ship, although being
under the vigilant eyes of the police, they dared not resort to violent
means. The ladies, possessing but a fast-fading interest in outward
bounders, were probably in evidence more from slackness of business than
any more sentimental cause. But having cajoled or coerced Jack to the
pierhead, he seemed unpersuadable to the final step of getting aboard.
Again and again a sailor would break loose and canter waveringly
shoreward, only to be at once surrounded by his escort and hurriedly
hauled back again. At last, exasperated beyond endurance by the
repetition of these aimless antics, the skipper sprang ashore followed
by the pilot. Bursting in upon the squabbling crowd, they seized upon a
couple of the maudlin mariners, hurling them on board as if they had
been made of rubber. With like vigour the rest were embarked, their
"dunnage" flung after them; the warps were immediately let go, and the
ship began to move ahead.
Outside the dock-gate a larger tug was waiting in readiness to hook on
as soon as we emerged, and tow us down the river. With a final shove,
accompanied by a stifling belch of greasy smoke, our sooty satellite
shook herself free of us, retreating hastily within the basin again,
while, obedient to the increasing strain on our hawser ahead, we passed
rapidly out into the crowded stream.
During the uneventful trip the shore-gang, under the direction of Mr.
Svensen and the second mate (who, being also the carpenter, was always
known as "Chips"), worked indefatigably to get the decks clear for
sea--lashing spars, water-casks, boats, etc. But their efforts were
greatly hindered by the crew, who, not being sufficiently drunk to lie
still in the forecastle, persisted in tumbling continually about the
decks, offering assistance while getting in everybody's way. In vain
were they repeatedly conducted to their doghole; no sooner were they
left than they were out again, until the hard-working "lumpers" were
ready to jump on them with rage.
Meanwhile I grew so weary of standing about that I was quite grateful
when Chips ordered me to fetch him a marlinespike. What he wanted I had
not the slightest idea; but, unwilling to confess such ignorance, I ran
forward and asked a labourer who was stowing the cable. He told me that
it was a pointed bar of iron with a hole at one end for a lanyard to
hang it round the neck by, adding that I should find some in the
fo'lk'sle, "right forrard in the eyes of her." Away I went into the
thick darkness of the men's dirty cave, groping my way into its
innermost recesses among the bags, chests, and beds with which the deck
was bestrewn. Reaching the farthest corner, I felt a great bundle of
something upon what I took for a shelf, which barred my further search.
Tugging heartily at it to get it out of my way, I suddenly felt it move!
I did not wait to investigate, but floundered back on deck again almost
witless from fright. Breathlessly I reported to Chips my discovery,
which brought him quickly to the spot with a light. Sure enough there
was a sea-bag, about six feet long, stuffed full--the draw-string
tightly closing the mouth. As soon as it was touched, there was a
movement within. Its contents were evidently alive. Chips and his
assistant promptly muzzled the bag, dragging it out on deck, and,
casting the cord adrift, turned it bottom upwards. Out there tumbled,
head foremost, a lanky nigger-lad, who had been missing since the
previous morning and given up as having deserted. On being questioned as
to the meaning of this freak, he humbly explained that, despairing of
ever getting warm again, he had put on his entire wardrobe, lain down in
his bunk, and crept into his bag, managing somehow to draw the string
tight over his head; that he had been there ever since, and was likely
to have died there, since he could not get his arms up again to let
himself out. He was dismissed to work with a grim promise of being
warmed in an altogether different fashion if he was again guilty of
skulking.
Upon arrival at Gravesend we anchored; the tremendous racket made by the
cable rushing over the windlass giving me a great fright. I thought the
bottom of the ship had fallen out. The tug departed for a berth close at
hand, the pilot and shore-gang leaving us in a wherry. I looked
longingly after them as they went, for I felt strangely that the last
link connecting me with England was now broken, and, although I had not
a single soul ashore to regret me, or one corner that I could think of
as home, there was sufficient sadness in the thought of leaving the land
of my birth to bring to my eyes a few unaccustomed tears.
Fortunately the cook, a worn-out seaman, whom, in common with most
vessels of that class, we carried for the double duty of cook and
steward, was now sober enough to get supper ready. In the emphatic
sea-phrase, he "Couldn't boil salt water without burning it;" but, as
nobody expected anything different, that passed without comment. My
regular duties now began: my uncle, the captain, giving me my first
lesson in laying the table sea-fashion, showing me where to find the
gear, and so on. The curious atmospheric compound below was appreciably
improved, but still there was a prismatic halo round the swinging lamp.
The skipper and his two officers took no notice of it, seeming quite at
their ease as they silently ate their humble meal, though I got a
racking headache. Supper over, I was ordered to "Clear away the wreck,"
and get my own meal in the pantry: a sort of little-ease in a corner of
the cuddy, wherein a man might successfully block all the crockery from
falling out by inserting his body in its midst. Hungry as I was, I could
not eat there, but stealthily seized the opportunity, as soon as the
skipper had retired to his state-room, to flee forrard to the galley
with the cook. His domain consisted of an erection about six feet
square, with sliding doors on either side, which was lashed firmly down
to ring-bolts in the deck. A coal-locker ran across it at the back, its
lid forming a seat. Between it and the stove there was just room to
turn, while most of the cooking utensils--no great store--had permanent
positions on the range.
Here, by the dim flicker of an antique contrivance of a lamp like a
handleless teapot--the wick sticking out of the spout and giving almost
as much smoke as flame,--I spent quite a pleasant hour with the ancient
mariner who ruled there, eating a hearty supper of biscuit and tea. He
was not in the best of spirits, for the drink was dying out of him; but
his garrulous, inconsequent talk amused me mightily. At last, feeling
that I might be wanted, I returned to the cabin, where I found the
captain and Chips making melody with their snores; Mr. Svensen being on
deck keeping watch, for which none of the crew were yet available. And,
finding no other corner wherein I might creep, I made just such a lair
as a dog might, in the hutch that held my scanty stock of clothing, and,
crawling into it, was soon in the land of perfect peace.