WHICH BRINGS US TO PORT AT LAST.
Fortunately for us the condition of the skipper didn't count for
anything, as we made our usual progress homeward indifferent to his
pranks. The north-east trades hung far to the eastward, allowing us to
make an excellent course northward; but, as we were very light, our gain
from their favouring cant was slight. Just upon the northern verge of
the tropic we lost them altogether, and lay lolling about in windless,
stagnating ease for another week, exasperating all hands at this
unlooked-for extension of our already lengthy passage. But even this
enforced wait had its advantages. We spoke another barque--homeward
bound from Brisbane--and again our adventurous commander would go
ship-visiting. In fact, he allowed it to become known that, but for our
determined attitude about calling at Ascension, he had intended to _beg_
his way home--a peculiarly irritating practice much fancied by men of
his stamp, who thus levy a sort of blackmail upon well-found ships. They
pitch a pitiful yarn about bad weather and abnormal length of passage,
with such embroidery as their imagination suggests, and generally
succeed in getting quite a lot of things "on the cheap."
What sort of a yarn our mendacious skipper spun to this last vessel we
had no means of knowing, as the boat's crew were not allowed to board
her; but he succeeded in getting a couple of cases of preserved beef and
some small stores. Much to his disgust, however, there was no liquor of
any kind to be had. The only thing that the other ship wanted was a few
coals for the galley fire; so, while our skipper stayed on board, the
boat was sent back for them. Now it was Sunday afternoon, and when Bill
and I were ordered to go down into the fore-peak and fill three sacks
with coal, we felt much aggrieved. So, grumblingly, we dived into the
black pit forrard, and began to fill the sacks. But, suddenly, a bright
idea struck us. The only pretence at ship-smartening we were likely to
make was "holystoning" the decks, and, to this end, several lumps of
sandstone had been saved ever since we left Sydney. Now, I have before
noted in what abhorrence holystoning is held by all who have to perform
it, and here was a heaven-sent opportunity to make the job impossible.
So we carefully interspersed the lumps of stone among the coal in the
sacks, taking every precaution to leave not a fragment behind. Away it
went to the other ship; it was hoisted on board, our boat returned, a
breeze sprang up and we parted company, seeing each other no more. Two
or three days after the order was given to get up the holystones for
cleaning ship. Words could not express the wrath of the mate when it was
reported to him that none were to be found. Every bit of coal in the
fore-peak was dug over under his immediate supervision, he getting in a
most parlous mess the while, but in vain. I never saw a man get so angry
over a trifle. He swore that they had been thrown overboard by somebody,
being certain that there had been an ample store. Singularly enough, he
never dreamed of the real way of their going, and the actual
perpetrators of the certainly immoral act were never even suspected. We
had to do the best we could with ashes and brooms, but they made a poor
substitute for the ponderous scouring of the stones. I regret to say
that neither of us felt the slightest remorse for our deed, and, when we
heard the delighted comments of the men were more puffed up, I am
afraid, than we should have been by the consciousness of having acted
ever so virtuously.
And now, as we were approaching the area of heavy weather, and our
stun'sails were worn almost to muslin, we began to send down the
stun'sail gear. The first thing that happened: the ex-cook, in sending
down one of the top-gallant stun'sail-booms (a spar like a smooth
scaffold-pole), made his "rolling-hitch" the wrong way. Perfectly
satisfied that all was in order he sung out to us on deck to "hoist
away." The moment we did so, and the boom swung out of the irons in
which it had been lying, it assumed a vertical position and slid through
the hitch like lightning, just missing the rail, and plunging end-on
into the sea alongside. We were going about four knots at the time, and
when it sprang upwards again it struck us under the counter with a bang
that almost stove in the outer skin of the ship. And, instead of being
at all chagrined at such a gross piece of bungling, the offender simply
exhausted his copious vocabulary of abuse when the "old man" ventured to
rebuke him. Oh, our discipline was grand! Hardly an hour afterwards, in
taking in the fore-topmast stun'sail, the halliards carried away. The
tack and sheet, rotten as cobwebs almost, followed suit, so we lost that
too. The rest of the rags were saved for the old-rope merchant.
Still the fine weather persisted, and at last we crawled up under the
lee of Terceira in the Azores, where we got becalmed within a couple of
miles of Angra. That was on a Sunday afternoon--and if Captain Bunker
didn't actually propose to go ashore and have a donkey-ride! He was
perfectly sober, too. But this was too much for even our quiet mate's
patience. He turned upon his commander at last. I was at the wheel, and
heard him tell the skipper that if he carried out his proposal, and a
breeze sprang up while he was ashore, he, the mate, would certainly make
sail and leave him there. He was sick to death of the state of things,
and he would have no more of it. This outburst frightened the old fellow
terribly, and, with a feeble remark that he was "only joking," he
disappeared below. The calm continued all through the night, some
invisible influence setting the vessel so closely inshore that I began
to fear we were going to lose her after all. Yet nothing whatever was
done to prepare for such a contingency. The anchor was securely lashed
in its sea-position on the forecastle, and, to all outward appearance,
no notice was taken at all by the officers of our undoubtedly perilous
proximity to the shore. Just before dawn, however, a little
south-easterly breeze sprang up, to which we trimmed the yards, and soon
glided away from all danger. Gradually the wind freshened and veered
until at west-southwest it was blowing a strong steady breeze, and, with
all square-sail set, the old _Harrowby_ was bowling along at a good
eight knots for the Channel. Faithful as usual, this well-beloved wind
to the homeward-bounder never relaxed its strenuous push until the
changing hue of the water, plain for all men to see, told us that we
were once more on soundings. Oh, blessed sight, that never palls upon
the deep-water sailor, the fading away of that deep fathomless blue
which for so many, many weary watches has greeted the eye! Somehow or
other, too, the green of the Channel of Old England has a different tint
to any other sea-green. It is not a pretty colour, will not for a moment
bear comparison with the blazing emerald of some tropical shore, but it
looks welcome--it says home; and even the most homeless and hardened of
shellbacks feels a deep complacency when it greets his usually
unobservant eye. Contrary to my usual experience of the brave
westerlies, this breeze of ours did not culminate in a gale; but as we
neared the Scilly Isles it gradually took off, and the weather
brightened, until one heavenly morning at daybreak we saw under a
pale-blue sky, bathed in brilliant sunshine, those straggling outposts
of dear old England like bits of fairyland--uncut jewels scattered over
a silver sea. And here, to our intense delight, came a dandy: one of
those staunch Falmouth boats with the funny little jigger perked up aft
like the tail of a saucy cockerell. She made straight for us in a
business-like fashion, rounded to alongside, and her commander climbed
nimbly on board, while the other two men in her hove on board a splendid
mess of fish. The enterprising boatman was the runner for a Falmouth
tailor, who had come out thus far seeking customers. He was, of course,
elated to find that we were bound into Falmouth, and that his diligence
was likely to be rewarded. For few indeed are the homeward-bounders
calling at Falmouth for orders, whose crews do not liberally patronize
the Falmouth outfitters, getting good value for their money, and being
able to choose their goods with clear heads, apart from the bestial
distractions of sailor-town. And the captains of such vessels are never
loth, _of course_, to allow their men to run up a bill with the tailor,
and to forward the amount from the port of discharge, wherever it may
be.
Favoured still by fortune we sped on toward the lovely harbour, and at
four p.m. rounded the well-known old tower of Pendennis and entered the
anchorage. Sail-furling and clearing up decks was got over as if by
magic, and, by the time we were at leisure here was the prompt
tailor-man with his leather-covered trunks full of boots and clothes,
ready to reap the first-fruits of our labours.
Here we lay in serenest peace for a couple of days, the weather being
more like late spring than November, so fine and balmy as to make us
wonder whether we had not mistaken the time of year. Then orders came
for us to proceed to London. We towed out of the harbour on a lovely
afternoon, with the Channel looking like a glimpse of fairyland under
the delicate blue of the cloudless sky. Under all sail we gently jogged
along the coast, standing more to seaward as night came on, and noting,
with comfortable compassion, the outward-bounders just beginning the
long journey of which we were so near the end. I had the ten to midnight
wheel, and, in consequence of the mild weather, was lightly clad in the
usual tropical rig of shirt, trousers, and cap. Before half my "trick"
was over there was a sudden change. The wind came out from the
north-east, and piped up with a spiteful sting in it that pierced me
through. My thin blood seemed to suck up the cold until I was benumbed
and almost unable to move the wheel. But there was no chance to wrap up.
All hands were as busy as bees shortening her down, for the wind rose
faster than they could get the sail in, and at midnight it was blowing a
gale, with squalls of sleet and driving banks of fog. One o'clock came
before I was relieved, and then I had hardly enough vitality left to get
forrard, my two garments being stiff upon my lead-coloured flesh.
Somehow I got into the forecastle and changed my rig; then, rolling my
one blanket round me, I crawled into my bunk. No sleep and no warmth
could I get, nor did I feel more than half alive at eight bells. But I
dragged myself on deck and suffered, till at five a.m. the cook shouted
"Coffee!" as usual, and then the pannikin of boiling brown water did
comfort my frozen vitals.
We were now just fore-reaching under two lower topsails, reefed
foresail, and fore-topmast staysail--not even holding our own. Every
little while the big flyers outward-bound would spring out of the
fog-laden gloom, and glide past us under a pyramid of canvas like vast
spirits of the storm. Or a panting, labouring tramp-steamer would plough
her painful way up channel right in the wind's eye, digging her blunt
snout into the angry brine, and lifting it aboard in a roaring flood
that hid her for a minute entirely under a mantle of white foam. We had
even some pity to spare for the poor devils in such evil case as that on
those perishing iron decks, or being flung like a tennis-ball between
bunker, bulkhead, and furnace-door in the Gehenna below, while the
freezing floods came streaming down upon them through the grated
"fidley" above. Fifteen days did that merciless north-easter thrash and
wither us, until we felt that nothing mattered--we had reached such a
dumb depth of misery. Still, we did make _some_ progress, for on the
sixteenth day we sighted Dungeness, the first clearly distinguishable
land we had seen since leaving Falmouth. The arrival of the pilot
cheered us up, as it always does. He seems to bring with him the
assurance of safety, to be a hand stretched out from home able and
anxious to draw you thither. And, as so often happens, too, the weather
fined down almost immediately. Under his wise guidance we stole
stealthily along the coast until, off Dover, a big tug-boat sallied
out and made for us. None of us took any notice of him; we knew too well
that we were not the sort of game he was after. A ship about five times
our size was nearer his weight. Still, he came alongside and hailed us
with, "'R ye takin' steam up, cap'n?" ironically, as we all felt. "Ah!"
replied the old man, "yew're too big a swell f'r me." "Nev' mind 'bout
that," promptly came back. "I'm a-goin' up, anyhow, 'n _you_ won't make
any diff'rance ter me. Come, wot'll yer gimme?" "Ten poun'," sniggered
the old man. "Oh! Go on ahead!"--the interjection explosive, and the
order snarled down the speaking-tube to his engineer. Before, however,
the paddles had made one revolution he stopped them, and shouted back,
"Looky 'ere, I ain't foolin'; I'll take ye up fur thutty poun'. Thet
won't 'urt yer." "Can't do it," drawled the skipper. "Owners wouldn't
pay it. 'Owever, ef yew mean bizness, I'm 'lowed to go ter twenty, n'
not 'nother pice." Then the fun began. They argued and chaffed and swore
until, finally, the tug got so close that her skipper stepped off the
paddle-box on board of us, and, as he did so, we saw a bottle sticking
out of his pea-jacket pocket. They both went below, and there was
silence. When they reappeared our old man's face was glowing like
burnished copper, and Oliver muttered, "I'm off'rin' big money thet
bottle's empty, and the steam-boat man ain't a-hed much neither." But
they hadn't settled the bargain. No; the next game was to toss one
another--best two out of three--whether the tug should take us up for
twenty pounds or twenty-five. Steam won; and the old man immediately
signed to the mate to get the hawser up. Great Caesar! how we did snake
the hatches off before the order came, forgetting that we hadn't got a
hawser fit for the job. That made no odds; the tug-boat man wasn't going
to let a little thing like that stand in his way, especially as his coal
supply was so low that every minute was precious. So he lent us his
tow-line, and in less than five minutes the _Robert Bruce_ was pelting
away homeward as if nothing was behind her at all, and we were all
admiring the first bit of speed the old _Harrowby_ had put on since we
had belonged to her. Night fell as we passed the Nore, but there was no
delay. Onward we went, until, passing everything on the way, we anchored
at Gravesend. Off went the tug with the last shovelful of coal in the
furnaces, just in time. Then down came the fog, a regular November
shroud, so thick that the mainmast was invisible from the poop. Somehow
the "mud"-pilot found us, his boat taking away our deep-water man, in
whom--such is the fickleness of mankind--we had now lost all interest.
All the next day that thick darkness persisted; but about seven in the
evening it lifted a little. The tug was alongside of us directly, so
anxious was her skipper to get his cheap job over. We were mighty smart
getting under way, being off up the river in less than half an hour from
the first glimmer of clear. All went well till we entered Long Reach,
when down came the curtain again thicker than ever. The tug turned round
and headed down the river, just keeping the paddles moving as we
dropped up with the young flood. It was a terribly anxious time. The
river was full of craft, and every minute or two there was a tempest of
howls as we bumped into some bewildered barge, or came close aboard of a
huge ocean steamer. At last the pilot could stand it no longer, and,
telling the carpenter to get his maul ready for knocking out the
ring-stopper of the anchor, he shouted, "Stand clear the chain!" At that
instant, as if by some pre-arranged signal, the fog rolled up, and in
five minutes the sky was as clear as heart could wish. The tug swung
round again, and, under a full head of steam, we rushed onwards,
entering the Millwall Docks just at the stroke of midnight. The process
of mooring in our berth was all a confused jumble of rattling chains,
hoarse orders, and breathless, unreasoning activity, succeeded by that
sweetest of all sounds to a homeward-bound sailor's ears, "That'll do,
men."
Unearthly as the hour was, most of the fellows would go ashore,
delivering themselves over to the ever-watchful boarding-house runners
like a flock of sheep. But three of us--Oliver, Bill, and myself--rolled
once more into our bunks, and, utterly wearied, soon fell fast asleep.
When we awoke in the morning the new sensation of being our own masters,
able to disregard the time, and lay in till noon if we chose, was
delightful. But just because we could do as we liked we rose at
daylight, had a leisurely wash, and, dressed in our best, climbed over
the rail and sauntered along the gloomy, grimy quays towards the
dock-gates. We had just two shillings and sixpence between us,
sufficient to get a good meal only, but we knew where we could get
more. And that is one of the first pitfalls that beset the path of the
homeward-bounder. Many skippers have sufficient thoughtfulness to
advance their crews a little money upon arriving in dock, and thereby
save them from the dangerous necessity of borrowing from those harpies
who abound and batten upon the sailor. Nothing of the kind could be
expected from our skipper, of course, so we just had to take our chance.
As I was at home and familiar with every corner, I became the guide, and
led the way to a snug eating-house in the West India Dock Road, where I
knew we could get a civilized breakfast. But Oliver hove-to at the first
pub, and swore that what _he_ needed was rum. I tried hard to dissuade
him, assuring him that he wouldn't be able to eat any breakfast if he
got drinking rum first. I might as well have tried to tie an elephant
with a rope-yarn. He had his rum: a full quartern of the famous brand
that used to be sold about sailor-town, whereof the bouquet was enough
to make a horse sick. Then I hurried him off to the coffee-shop, where,
with a lordly air, I ordered three haddocks, three hot rolls and butter,
and three pints of coffee. Oh, the ecstatic delight of that meal!--that
is, to us two youngsters. Oliver just pecked a little daintily, and
then, turning to a burly carman sitting by his side who had just
finished a mighty meal, he said coaxingly, "I say, shipmate, I ain't
touched this grub hardly, can you help me out?" With a commiserating
look the carman reached for the food, and concealed it like an expert
conjurer.