ANOTHER QUEER SHIP.
Having thus satisfactorily arranged for my future during some months, at
all events, I lost no time in getting on board my new ship, finding her
fairly comfortable, although the crew's quarters were under the
top-gallant forecastle--that abominable place that no men should ever be
housed in. She was called the _Harrowby_, a barque of some five hundred
tons, and, as nearly as I could judge, about twenty years old. She had
been absent from England nearly two years, having been running backwards
and forwards between the Colonies and Mauritius for some time, and was
now, in the absence of any other freight offering, going in ballast to
Rangoon for a cargo of rice to the United Kingdom. Of her original crew
but half was left: the captain, mate, and second mate aft, two
apprentices, the carpenter, and three seamen forward. The mate was a
tall, wiry, red-headed Cumberland man, stern and morose, but a good
seaman, and inflexibly just. The second mate was so fat and easy-going
that he looked more like an East-end Jew tailor than a sailor; but he
was a very jolly fellow, knowing his business well, and thoroughly
independent, so that he stood not the slightest in awe of his superior
officers, but did pretty much as he liked. The two apprentices were
gentlemanly lads, whose parents had paid heavy premiums for their
indentures in this old tub, where they were just loblolly boys, at every
one's beck and call, no one pretending to teach them anything, and kept
on precisely the same level as the crew, except that they had a little
pigstye of a berth to themselves beside the carpenter's in a house on
deck. Poor lads! they were bitterly disillusioned, and full of projects
for showing up this shameful neglect when they got home again. At this
time one of them was acting as cabin-boy, and the other was playing at
cook, with such casual direction as he could get from Hansen, an old
Danish seaman. But, generally speaking, the hands went ashore to dinner
and chalked their bills up to the skipper's account. The old carpenter
was a philosopher in his way. Nobody interfered with him, and he just
muddled along from day to day, finding himself enough work to keep him
from being actually idle, and coming forrard every evening for a smoke
and a yarn with old Hansen, who, with a lanky Irishman and a pimply
faced young cockney, formed for the present the whole of the crew
forrard.
To my amazement I learned that for nearly a fortnight the vessel had
been ready for sea, but the old man was so enamoured of his snug
quarters behind the bar of the little pub, that he could not tear
himself away. Nobody seemed to care very much. They killed time in a
variety of ways, making believe to do some work, but principally
occupied in "dodging Pompey." This state of things was broken into by
my advent. Whether the act of engaging me had recalled Captain Bunker to
a sense of his duty or not, I can not tell; but in the course of a
couple of days we were joined by an elderly Yankee A.B., rejoicing in
the name of Oliver Peck, an ex-mounted policeman, whom we always called
Joe; a tall, merry Suffolk man, who was the very incarnation of
good-humour; a white-faced Scotchman, who said he had been chief cook of
a huge steamship called the _Mikado_, and had just shipped with us as
cook to work his passage home; another ordinary seaman, like myself, a
Londoner, but twice the man I was; and a delicate, artful little fellow,
about my own age, who shipped as cabin-boy. Now we had a full crew, and
soon the skipper made his appearance on board, marching us up to the
shipping-office with him in great pomp and putting us all on the
articles. Having once broken the spell that had bound him to the pub, he
kept free, remaining on board that night, and hauling off into the
channel at daylight ready to sail. But while we were actually getting
under way a boat came alongside, bearing a lady in deep mourning and an
official, who mounted the side, and solemnly presenting the skipper with
a piece of stamped paper, informed him that he had come to stop the ship
until all charges due to Mrs. Blank, landlady of the St. Margaret's
Hotel, for board, lodging, and refreshments supplied, had been settled.
The old man made a ghastly attempt to smile, but the thing was too
palpable. Besides, all his crew were witnesses of his attempt to pay the
widow with the "foretopsail sheet," as sailors say, and, hugely as
_they_ enjoyed the spectacle, he looked as if he had been suddenly
attacked by _cholera morbus_. There was no help for it; he had to pay
up, although how he did it I don't know. At any rate he succeeded in
satisfying the bailiff, who bade him an elaborate farewell and descended
to the boat, where the widow was volubly holding forth, in our delighted
hearing, upon the many delinquencies of our skipper. The news of the
settlement of her claim only seemed to add fuel to her fire, and, as
long as she was within hearing, she continued to favour us with a minute
account of the many acts and deeds of meanness of which Captain Bunker
had been guilty. As the shrill sounds grew fainter, I could not help
thinking that it was an inauspicious commencement for our voyage; and,
in accordance with an old mental trick of mine, began to run over in my
mind the probable state of my feelings had I been in the skipper's
place. There was quite a little spell of silence after the boat's
departure, during which all hands looked first at one another and then
at the rubicund face of the skipper, which bore a peculiar vacant smile,
but not the slightest symptom of shame. At last the uneasy quiet was
broken by the harsh voice of Mr. Messenger, our chief, shouting, "Man
the windlass!" In an instant we were all busy again, and did not cease
our labours until the old barque, under all canvas, was gliding gently
down the beautiful bay towards the wide Pacific.
At first my hopes were high that we should be going north about, for, in
addition to a strong desire to avoid the unpleasantness inseparable
from working to the westward through the Great Australian Bight, I was
anxious to see something of the East Indian Archipelago. But the thought
of Torres Straits, with its intricacies and baffling currents, was
evidently too much for Captain Bunker's courage or confidence in his
navigating ability, for we made the best of our way to the southward as
soon as we were well clear of the Heads. At the picking of watches I
found myself, much to my satisfaction, under the second mate, who seemed
to have some little liking for me as his townsman. My watch-mates were
the Yankee, Oliver, the ex-policeman, and the Suffolker. As I could
steer, and, except for being rather a light weight on a rope, was well
up to my work, we felt pretty well manned on our side. But the mate's
watch came worse off, as their "ordinary" could not steer. Oh, it was
weary work after my late life of ease! The deadly slowness of our
progress, too, down the coast I had been used to skirt with the
regularity of a railway-train, was hard to bear. And, in addition to all
this, I soon found that my poor three pounds a month was rankling in the
skipper's mind, and he was determined to try and reduce it if possible.
I got a friendly hint or two from the second mate, who, although he
liked me well enough, certainly did not intend to openly side with me
against the old man. In most matters, it is true, he treated the skipper
with such scant courtesy that I was amazed, but he put in no word of
backing for me. A fortnight passed away, and we had all fairly shaken
down into sea-life, while I, by strenuous efforts, had managed to
recall all my previous experience and use it, with the added benefit of
my additional strength. What troubled me most were the stun'sails.
Studding-sails, as the word should be spelt, are the _betes noire_ of
seamen. Modern vessels have practically discarded them, happily for
their crews; but such vessels as the _Harrowby_ cling to them as long as
they live. They are temporary sails, which in fair weather are set at
the ends of some of the yards, thereby extending the spread of canvas
(when they are carried on both sides) to nearly double its normal width.
They are set by means of booms, which slide along in two hoops screwed
into bands on the yards. These booms vary in size, of course, with the
ship, and also with the height at which they are carried; but even a
top-gallant stun'sail-boom, the size of an average scaffold-pole, which
has to be rigged out by one man, or even a boy, is a quite heavy enough
piece of timber to have loose on your hands, or hand (since you _must_
hold on), while swaying on a footrope some eighty or ninety feet above
the deck. Then the sails themselves, with their complicated gear,
require deft handling to get them adjusted in their lofty positions, and
as the upper ones need to be taken into the tops, there is some fancy
gymnastic work involved in handling them, which generally falls to the
boys. But when they _are_ set, if there is any wind worth mentioning,
and the vessel does not steer well, the helmsman has a bad time, for
their gear being necessarily slight and simple, catching them aback is
apt to bring them down by the run in a raffle of ropes, torn canvas,
and splintered booms. These delights on a dark, wet night cannot be
explained; they must be endured to be appreciated. No doubt a ship with
stun'sails set below and aloft, flying along with a steady breeze just
abaft the beam, the golden sunlight glancing on her canvas, and making
her look like a mountain of snow, while the sparkling wavelets leap
around her or are churned into lovely wreaths of dazzling foam by the
eager sheer of her cutwater, makes a magnificent picture, and one that
will be soon only seen in pictures. But when one remembers the cruel
toil and deadly danger attached to these "flying kites," as sailors term
them, one can only feel devoutly thankful that their day is done.
Unfortunately, in the _Harrowby_ we were continually harassed by these
wretched things, which was the more aggravating as she was a dull
sailer, to whom they made not a shadow of difference as far as any
acceleration of her speed went. But we accepted them grumblingly, as
sailors do any other crook in their never very straight lot.
Nevertheless I felt pretty sure that, sooner or later, I should suffer
in some severe way from them, and the fulfilment of my forebodings was
not long delayed. We got a heavy breeze from the north-east off Cape
Leeuwin, and the skipper, laudably anxious to get round that awkward
corner and up north into finer weather, carried on all the sail the old
barkey could stagger under, including topmast and lower stun'sails. Now
the _Harrowby_ steered none too well at the best of times, for she was
fitted with the old-fashioned chain and barrel steering-gear, that made
a two hours' trick at the wheel a fairly stiff ordeal for a youngster
like me. By dint of the hardest trying, however, I had managed so far to
get along without more than an occasional growl from the skipper to the
effect that I was making a devilish bad course. At last, on the night in
question, I came aft at four bells, fully equipped in oilskins, for it
was raining as well as blowing. As I reached to take the spoke from
Oliver, he muttered, "Yew'd better shed them oilskins, er she'll sweat
yer hull soul out. She's kickin' like a broncho." I took his advice,
preferring to get wet than to be hampered by too many coverings at such
a task. It was as dark as the inside of a coal-sack, so that there was
nothing to steer by but the compass and the "feel" of the wheel, which
every sailor knows is not conducive to keeping a straight course, as the
compass, however lively, never moves at the same moment the ship's head
does, and consequently you can't meet her with the helm as quickly as
when the stars or clouds are visible and indicate her slightest
movement. Besides, the "old man" was on deck, and, before I had time to
get into her present peculiarities, he was at me with, "Now, then! mind
y'r weather hellum. Where th' ---- er ye goin' with the ship? Meet
her--meet her! Blast your eyes, meet her! Goin' to sleep--er what?" and
so on. I might have done fairly well but for this brutal nagging; but
now I certainly steered badly, and the thought of wiping her up into the
wind and bringing all that raffle of stun'sails and gear down about the
ears of the watch on deck made me as nervous as a cat. However, I
sculled her along somehow--about two points each way, I reckon--the "old
man" keeping up a running commentary all the time, until suddenly, along
came a howling big sea, hitting her on the weather-quarter and sending a
dense mass of spray right over the quarter-deck, drenching my tormentor
and twisting her up into the wind till the weather-leech of the lower
stun'sails began to flap. Down sprang the second mate to my assistance,
and hove the wheel up so that she spun off the wind again like a
weather-cock. "Oh, we can't have any more of this!" yelled the old man.
"That ---- fellow's no good. 'Nother hand to the wheel!" "'Nother hand to
the wheel!" roared the second mate; and I declare I wasn't sorry, though
my pride was sorely hurt at the injustice of the thing. The Suffolker
came aft, good-humoured as was his wont, and smiled pleasantly as he
took the wheel from my clammy hands. He favoured me with a sly wink,
too, as much as to say, "Now you'll see some fun!" As I went forrard
along the lee alley-way, the old man followed me, saying. "I'll log ye
to-morrow. I'll show ye how ter come aboard my ship on false pretences."
This did my business, and I turned savagely round, saying, "I _can_
steer as well as any man in the ship if I'm let alone, and you know
that. You only want an excuse to stop my wages----" Further remarks were
drowned in a tremendous roar of tumbling water and cracking spars as the
ship flew up into the wind, taking a mighty mass of black sea over all,
and bringing the stun'sails down with an uproar truly terrific. "All
hands on deck! Tumble up, there! Shorten sail!" screamed the skipper,
fairly dancing in his excitement. Well, there _was_ a mess, and no
mistake! It took us three hours of hard struggle before we got her clear
and shortened down, and during that time there were as many curses
levelled at the old sinner as would have sunk the British Navy if their
weight had been proportionate to the wishes of their utterers. For my
part I was speechless with delight, for I felt if ever a poor fellow was
vindicated promptly it was me. The diversion gave us all sore bones,
though; and when, at last, we got below, we were almost too weary to
growl. Stripping off our drenched rags we tumbled into our bunks, and
slept so soundly that the two hours and a half left of our watch seemed
only like five minutes. I took my usual trick at the wheel again without
comment; but after breakfast, to my amazement, I was called down into
the cabin. The skipper solemnly read to me an entry in the Official
Logbook to the effect that on the night of ----, in lat. --, long. --, it
having been found that I could not steer, I was sent from the wheel as
unfit for my work, and, in consequence, my wages were reduced to one
pound per month. This libel was signed by the second mate as a witness.
I was then invited to sign it; but I refused, saying that the entry was
false, and appealing to the second mate to support my protest. He,
standing behind the skipper, gave me a reassuring wink which cheered me
mightily, and after bandying a few more compliments with the skipper, I
was told to "Get out of my cabin." The events of the past night were
the subject of a good deal of comment forrard, and the general
conclusion arrived at was that the old man was no good, and any
deference or politeness towards him might usefully be dropped in future.
But something happened that day which, although in no wise the skipper's
fault, made the feeling of insubordination ten times stronger than it
otherwise would have been. Hitherto we had been living fairly well upon
fresh meat and vegetables, although the cooking was very bad. The
pasty-faced Scotchman who had shipped as cook _might_ have been cook of
the _Mikado_ as he said; but, if so, he had certainly forgotten the most
elementary portion of his duties. Having just come to an end of the
fresh provisions, he informed us pompously that he was going to make us
"duff" to-day, "An', ma wurrd," said he, with an air, "a'll gie ye
somethin' ye _can_ eat! Ye dinna ken whatn' duff's like aboord ther
win'jammers." As may be imagined, we were in high glee at the prospect
of such a notable benefit as high-class duff would be. The last stroke
was hardly off the bell at seven bells before I was at the galley with
the kid, my mouth watering in anticipation of this superlative duff. But
it strikes me that the subsequent proceedings were important enough for
a new chapter.