An agreeable Surprise--Ordered to Swatow--Pirates--The weary
Anchorage again--Pay-day and Auction Sales--Relief at last--Happy
Highflyers--Departure from Whampoa--Hurrah for Home!--Working
with a Will--Departure from Hong-Kong--Caught in a Cyclone--The
Trades--Glorious Sailing--The _Roman Emperor_--Do you want
the Longitude?--Snarley-yow’s Growl--Simon’s Bay--Departure
from the Cape--The Long Pig or the Short Pig?--The Bill of
Portland--Anchor at Spithead--Wives and Sweethearts--Joys and
Sorrows--The Chaplain’s Advice--Pay-day and Liberty--Home--Getting
a Discharge--Conclusion.
September 26th.--We were quite surprised out of our inactivity, in the
early morning, by a gun-boat steaming up the river, flying the signal,
_Prepare for sea_. Soon all was hurry and bustle; we knew nothing of
our destination, but the bare idea of going from this dull place was
sufficient to make us work, and by seven o’clock we had sails bent,
boats in, and were steaming down the river. Early on the 27th we
arrived in Hong-Kong, and found we had to go to Swatow, to try to get
back some Europeans from the hands of the Chinese, who had unlawfully
taken them prisoners. Our instructions were, if we could not get them
by fair means we were to use foul means, and administer a little
punishment by way of wholesome admonition. So to Swatow we went, and
lay there two or three days, and by the assistance of the Consul and
his interpreter the captives were released.
Swatow is situated near the mouth of a river, in very flat country.
It is a great resort of pirates, who ravage their neighbours and
defenceless traders, and set everything but Englishmen and English
courage at defiance. The place does plenty of trade, however. We left
it on the 9th of November, and with a fair breeze away we went south
for Hong-Kong, where we arrived after a run of sixteen hours.
Here we stayed a day or two, to get some few stores and provisions,
and then up to our old anchorage off Whampoa, having been away the
remarkable space of three weeks.
And so time jogged on wearily enough till Christmas Day, which was
quite as jolly and noisy as in former years. I find it stands in
my log thus: “State of ship’s-company, very drunk; state of myself,
supremely wretched. Most of us had reckoned upon being in old England
this time last year; and it’s very true that ‘Hope deferred maketh the
heart sick.’”
If it had not been for pay-day and the arrival of the mail we should
perhaps have gone mad. Once a month we were allowed to draw ‘compo,’
that is, a part of the past four weeks’ wages, according to our
different ratings. A petty-officer, who got 3_l._ per month, could draw
one pound ten, or half; an able seaman, at 2_l._ per month, drew one
pound; boys and ordinary seamen, a smaller sum. On the first of every
month the table would be placed on the break of the quarter-deck, and
the paymaster and his clerk, with the captain or first-luff, to prevent
mistakes, took their seats at the table, with sundry heaps of money
before them. Then the hands would ‘lay aft,’ and according as they
stood on the ship’s books, so they got paid. I often resolved before
the first of the month that I wouldn’t take up my ‘compo’ this time,
but save it. However, so certainly as the day came round, and the money
chinked on the pay-table, so did my resolution forsake me, and my pay
came into my hands; but not long to stay there. As a general rule, I
noticed that those men who were married, or had been a long time in the
service, were always the men who could save. Now and then young Topman
would take a saving fit; but the money tempted him, and he found it too
hard to “leave it behind,” as we used to say.
When a messmate or a shipmate dies, his bag and effects are taken in
charge by the master-at-arms, a list made of them, and then they are
stowed away for a month. At the end of that time they are sold, the
proceeds going, with his wages, to his relatives.
On the quarter-deck and during the dinner-hour these sales take place;
the master-at-arms acting as auctioneer. “D’ye hear, there?” pipes the
boatswain’s mate. “You that wants to buy anything lay aft.” “Shall you
go, Bill?” “Yes; go! my word, won’t I! just to run up the things for
poor Dan’s old mother.” And ’tis surprising how every article is run up
to a high price, in order to benefit the poor fellow’s relations. The
men invariably say, “Well! I might want the same done for me, some day.”
When a ‘run’ man’s (a deserter) effects are sold, the money goes to
Government, and the difference in the prices offered then is striking:
a blue serge, which would have had a guinea bid for it at the dead
man’s sale, now fetches seven shillings.
At last, on the 3rd of February, 1861, a day to be long remembered, our
relief, in the shape of the _Simoom_ troop-ship, was signalled steaming
up the river. Oh! what a hubbub of voices, dancing and capering for
joy, and a shaking of hands. “Here she comes! Come at last!” Many of
us rushed to the capstan and actually shipped some of the bars: in
fact, it was a hard matter for us to keep from having a jolly good
hip--hip--hip! hurrah! And we were all so surprisingly active and
willing to get under weigh there and then. The next day was Sunday--a
mizzly wet day. Service was dispensed with for the day; as some of
us said, “D’ye hear, there? there’ll be no Sunday here this Sunday
the parson’s gone to Tamerton;” and some thought ‘Holy Joe’ would be
disappointed. We hove up the anchor about mid-day, and turning ahead
full speed, soon lost sight of our weary anchorage and that everlasting
Chinese town of Whampoa.
On arrival at Hong-Kong, we were glad to hear we were not likely to
stop long, nor did we. “Go ahead!” said Admiral Jones to our skipper;
“and get ready for sailing as soon as you like.”
And so we did; and at last, on the 8th of February, five days after
getting our orders, we were reported ready for sea. The Admiral came
on board and mustered us, and almost before he was over the gangway to
leave, the capstan was manned, and we danced the heavy iron ‘killick’
up to the bows quicker than ever before, and with our long pendant,
‘homeward-bound,’ streaming away on the wind far astern of us, the band
playing _Home, sweet home_, we steamed out of Hong-Kong harbour on our
way home; all hearts beating joyously, and a bright and laughing sky
overhead.
“Well, Tom, we’re off at last; how long d’ye give her?” “How long?
eighty-four days!” “Yes, she’d ought to do it in that time! Hooray!
Flare-up for Chatham!”
On the 28th, we had a heavy, favourable breeze, and a lumpy sea, and a
very wild and vague look in the horizon; and the master said he thought
we should have nasty weather, so we took in light sails and reefed.
About noon the wind increased, and before midnight blew a perfect
hurricane, we driving before it under close-reefed main-topsail and
storm-staysail. By certain indications, and by the sudden veering of
the wind continually, the master and captain knew we were in a cyclone,
so we ‘wore ship’ and stood back. But now, having the gale right in
our teeth, we could not make much headway, and the good little craft
laboured so much, and shipped such green seas, that the order was given
to ‘lay to.’ The wind was so furious we could not hear one another’s
voices, and instead of raising great waves it nipped off their tops in
one great mass of hissing and blinding foam; which made some of our old
hands cry, “Ugh! this is one of the days we reads about. Just my clip,
this is!”
On the 5th of March, the wind having dropped, we wore and stood upon
our course again; glad enough to have escaped running into the vortex
of the storm. It passed us twice, and the master said it extended over
many degrees. I noticed that the wind shifted from and to the following
points: S.W., N.W., S.S.W., S.S.E., and N.N.W.
By-and-by we got into the trades, which blew us along at the rate of
two hundred and forty miles in twenty-four hours. There is no mistaking
the real trade-wind sky; mottled and calm-looking generally, or white
and fleecy, and sometimes wild tiers of clouds piled upon clouds, in
every fantastic shape. And the deep blue waves chase after the ship
with white, foaming tops, the good vessel herself booming along at full
speed, knocking the water from her bows in one big sheet of foam.
Beautiful to look at; but mariners call it soapsuds.
Now and then we would see a shoal of flying-fish, their scales and
gauze-like wings glittering in the sun; or a lively shoal of dolphins;
but these customers fought shy of hook and line. We saw nothing to
break the sameness of the horizon, save now and then a sail; and often
when I was up aloft I had a feeling of being alone with the blue waves
and the sunshine. “If ’twas always like this,” said Jem W., one day,
“I’d bring my big sister to sea with me.”
A few days before we got to the Cape, we passed and spoke the ship
_Roman Emperor_. We had sighted her early in the morning, and it was
soon manifest which vessel was the better sailer; but as a stern chase
is always a long one, we did not overhaul her till nearly eight P.M.,
and soon we were within hailing distance, and we could see the people
moving about on her decks and hear the straining of the yards as they
‘gave’ to the roll of the ship, while the bright moonlight enabled us
to trace every inch of her cordage high aloft. She was a fine sight,
with every stitch of available canvas set; ‘stunsails’ alow and aloft,
and everything showing out in good relief. By this time we could have
pitched a biscuit on her deck. At last our skipper hailed, “Ship
ahoy!” “Halloo,” came back very plainly, as if somebody had hailed
from the belly of her topsail. “Do you want the longitude?” “If you
please.” Then a pause, during which we heard nothing but the splashing
of the water against the bows of the two vessels, the creaking of
wheezy blocks, and the melancholy sough of the wind among the cordage.
Presently, “31 degrees 41 minutes at seven o’clock,” from our side,
breaks the pause. “Thank you, much obliged,” is the answer. Again our
skipper shouts, “Where are you from?” “Akyab; bound home;” and so we
parted, she gradually dropping astern and to leeward, and we dashing
away on our separate course, and the briefly-broken monotony again
reigned. In two hours she was out of sight, and we were again quite
alone.
The next day the wind shifted, and for several days after we had light
head winds, and frequently tacked. Some of our men grumbled at this,
or rather at the captain and master, something after this style:
Snarley-yow and his chum Curtis were sitting in the gangway, smoking:
“Well,” said Curtis, puffing hard and blowing out his blue clouds, “I’d
like to know when we’re agoin’ to get in! I don’t think, Snarley, as
how he knows where he is, ’cause I heard him tell the captain so.”
“Not he!” rejoins Snarley; “I’d go aft and manage her a great deal
better than he do.” “You’d have to be heaps smarter than you are now,
before you could,” said I, quietly; whereupon Snarley recommended me to
shut up, and be willing to know a little less than everything, but with
a seaman’s usual freedom of speech and vigorous expletives.
We arrived early on the morning of the 30th of March in Simon’s Bay.
The cutter--the boat to which I belonged--was the first for the shore;
and my feelings were joyous in the extreme to set foot on land again
among English people and English faces, especially in the fine weather
of an African autumn. But, as on our former visit here, my hopes of
seeing Cape Town were disappointed.
During this homeward voyage my time was much employed in the
‘sick-bay,’ helping the surgeon in his attendance on the men who were
on the sick-list. The chaplain had spoken of me to ‘the doctor,’ as
we used to call him, and I got many a kind word from him, and now and
then the loan of a book. In return I tried to do my best in assisting
him and waiting on the sick, for which he was good enough to give me
an acknowledgment, when about to leave the ship at Portsmouth, in a
testimonial letter, which I preserve for his sake.
We sailed again on the 4th of April, and were speeding along in the
Atlantic trades, when, one bright evening in May, up came the butcher,
in a great huff, to the officer of the watch, who was a Prussian
lieutenant taking a passage home in our ship: “Please, Sir, one of
the captain’s pigs is dead.” Now the skipper set great store on these
pigs, because they were Chinese. “What!” exclaimed the officer, in his
imperfect English; “you vas not say so; the captain vas very nearly
mad before, he vas be quite mad now!” However, he went below, as was
his duty, and reported it to the captain, who, quietly and contrary
to expectation, said, “Thank you, Waldersee; thank you.” The Prussian
came on deck again, and was talking to the middy of the watch, when
the skipper darts up the companion-ladder: “Waldersee! Waldersee!” (“I
vas catch it now,” said the lieutenant, running aft), “which pig is
it that’s dead, the long one or the short one?” For the life of him
the lieutenant did not know; but he hazarded a guess, “The long one,
Sir!” “Oh! thank you,” rejoined the skipper, snapping his fingers;
“what’s she going now?” “10.2, Sir!” “Oh! yes, just so; clap the lower
stunsail on, Waldersee;” and he dived again down the ladder.
Sailors’ pets are numerous, but monkeys and birds hold the
pre-eminence. We brought home about eighty canaries. Pigeons, fowls,
hawks, and even seagulls, are made so tame in a short time, as almost
to surpass belief; but sailors have a saying, that “anything can be
tamed in a man-o’-war in a week; a lion would be, let alone a bird.”
This is alluding to the rough fare and usage he would certainly meet
with. We had a monkey so tame he would come into the mess and eat his
meals with the men, and even drink part of their grog, and sometimes
get drunk, when its idiotic antics were called a “jolly lark.”
The North Star rose higher and higher, and at length we entered the
Chops of the Channel. On the 22nd of May we saw and passed the Bill of
Portland; I gazed on it with emotion and gratitude as the first English
land I had seen for five years, and home was near. This was about
mid-day, and later in the afternoon our anchor was let go, and we rode
safely in the waters of Spithead.
The next day the ship was beset by boats, crowded with the men’s wives
and sweethearts, and the meetings were striking by their extreme
contrast. Here, one poor fellow’s daughter had come off to see her
father--alas! poor girl, she will never see him more; he lies in a
lonely grave on the banks of the Canton River. Here, a mother and
sister have come to see their Joe--what a hugging and kissing and
admiring; while the solitary occupant of the next boat, upon being
informed of her poor husband’s fate, buries her face in her hands and
sobs as if her heart would break. There are plenty of rough and honest
sympathisers with her among her husband’s former companions; but she
heeds them not; what is the world to her now poor Tom is gone?
The day following we steamed into harbour, where, moored alongside the
dockyard wharf, we began the work of dismantling and stripping gaily
enough. On Saturday evening we had liberty given till Monday, but I
did not go; I knew no one in Portsmouth, and I did not want to borrow
anything from the pleasure of going for good on the Friday following.
On Sunday morning, May 26, our good chaplain read prayers for the
last time, many of the ship’s company being present. I improved the
greater part of the afternoon by having a long and very interesting
conversation with the excellent man, who said, as our time drew to a
close, “Remember, my dear young friend, it doesn’t always require
extraordinary talents or endowments to get on in this life. If you
always endeavour to do right, so as to have no cause for self-reproach,
and remember your Maker, you cannot fail of success! And now, if I
don’t see you again, I will say good-bye. Remember my simple advice and
act up to it; while performing your earthly duties do not forget your
heavenly ones, and may you prosper.” I am not ashamed to confess that
tears were in my eyes as I shook hands with the man who had been my
friend, and I felt I loved him.
By Wednesday evening the ship was stripped, and there lay the gallant
_Highflyer_, a mere hulk.
Friday came, the pay-day! We began pretty early; each one went into
the cabin, received his five years’ wages, had his liberty ticket
given to him, and was free to come and go for two months. I got my
wages and ticket: the latter bore a precept requiring me to report
myself on board the _Fisgard_, at the end of my leave. About three in
the afternoon, and with cheerful feelings, I stepped from the gangway
into the dockyard, took a long look at the wooden walls which had
been my home for nearly five years, and for which I shall always have
a warm corner in my heart; and with light step and a long, heavy,
bolster-like bag and a bundle or two I made my way to the railway
station, and in half an hour from the time I was paid-off was being
rapidly whirled towards London and home.
Was it not strange? The delight of arrival at home had occupied my
mind, day and night, for months and years; yet, when I carried my bag
up the steps and left it at the door while I ran down to the cab for my
bundles, it seemed to me as if home had lost all its charm, and that
I could willingly have gone away without opening the door for another
five years. I cannot account for the strange emotion; all I know is
that it took a little time to rouse up the proper home-feeling in my
heart.
After a day or two, when the burst of greetings and congratulations was
over, I set about getting my discharge. For this purpose I went down
to the _Fisgard_ at Woolwich, and got aboard just before dinner-time,
and was told I couldn’t see the commander till half-past one, so of
course I had to wait, and a dreary wait it was. I wasn’t asked to have
a bit of grub by anybody--so different from a sea-going ship, where
I should have been dragged down below in quarter less than no time;
but _Guardhos_ are always stingy. Well, at the half-hour I saw the
commander, who merely glanced at me, and appeared to be just aware of
my presence, looked at my liberty-ticket, and then with his hand waved
a most majestic “You can go;” and I went below with the schoolmaster,
who gave me a form of petition to be filled up and forwarded to the
Admiralty, at the same time telling me “he most times have got a
trifle, and he have known himself to get five shillings; ’cause, you
know,” added he, “I writes them.” “Well,” said I, “if any one ever
gave you five shillings for doing your duty, he was a fool;” and away
I went on the upper-deck, where I met the master-at-arms, who it seems
goes halves with the schoolmaster--one writes the form and the other
takes it to the _Fisgard’s_ office, and of course he expects a trifle
too. I went away in one of the ship’s boats to the dockyard, walked up
to the office and presented my paper, and was told to call after ten
days, when my discharge would most likely be down. So at the end of
that time I went again, but nothing had come; I waited a week, and went
again, but nothing had come. I waited another week, went once more to
Woolwich, and was at last told the discharge had come. But as I had
served only five of the ten years agreed on, I had to pay 12_l._ 16s.
for the bit of parchment, filled up as appears in the Appendix, which
the clerk put into my hands. However, with light heart, and pocket
equally light, I stepped out of the office a free man, and no longer a
servant of the Queen.
And so I quitted a sea-life, in which with many hard experiences I
had learned one great thing--obedience. I had seen Teneriffe, South
America, the Cape, the East, and last, but not least, Japan and
Tartary. I had seen storm and calm, and waterspouts, and St. Elmo’s
lights, and other marvellous works of Nature in the great deep. I
could hand, reef, and steer, and, from the chaplain’s teaching, make
out a day’s work and find a ship’s course. No young fellow could go
through all this without being somewhat the better for it. I quitted
the service from a general feeling of dislike, and from its holding out
but a poor prospect. All I could hope for was a petty-officer’s rating
at 3_l._ per month, and with scarcely a privilege beyond that of an
ordinary seaman.
Soon after getting my discharge I called at Somerset House for my
share of the 30,543_l._ 15s. of Canton prize-money. The clerk handed
me twenty-eight shillings, which, apart from the glory, was all I got
for my fortnight’s “hard laying,” and the chance of being shot by the
provost-marshal. Then as my friends wished to remember how I looked as
a sailor, they sent me to a photographer, and the publisher of my book
taking advantage of that circumstance, and thinking that boys may wish
to see what a young topman in the Royal Navy looks like, has copied me
for a frontispiece. I wish he hadn’t.
And now, having told my tale, I cannot help saying, in conclusion, that
it is good to have discovered that discipline can be borne and with
advantage; to feel that you have striven for the right and not in vain;
and that you have brought away from the great ocean something that will
impress and elevate the mind, and promote manliness of character.
APPENDIX.
_________ \In the event of a man
/ \ \having borne a bad
|Admiralty| \character on board
| Seal | \any ship, the
\_________/ CONTINUOUS SERVICE CERTIFICATE OF \Captain of such
_________________________________ Y. M. \ship is to cut
\off this corner.
\
Date of Entry for such Service. Age at that time. \
When and where registered. \
---------+----+--------+----------+----------+--+--+--+--------+-------+------+------+-----
Ship’s | | | |Discharge | | | | |Ability| C | Captain’s
Name. |No. |Rating. | Entry. | or |Y.|M.|D.|Conduct.| as |Badge.| Signature.
| | | |Transfer. | | | | |Seaman.| |
---------+----+--------+----------+----------+--+--+--+--------+-------+------+------------
Highflyer| 21| Boy 1 C| Dec., 55|17 May, 57| | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3|Ord. 2 C| May, 57|1 Oct., 57| | | | Good | Fair | |C. F. A.
| | | | | | | | | | | Shadwell
| | | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 161| ” | Oct., 57|2 Jan., 60| | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 161|Ord. 1 C|3 Jan., 60|31 May, 61| | | | Good | Good | |W. A. J.
| | | | | | | | | | | Heath
| | | | | | | | | | |
Fisgard |1757| Ord. |1 June, 61|4 July, 61| | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | Shore by } Time only | |Henry Hawker
| | | | | purchase } | |
---------+----+--------+----------+----------+-----------------+-------+------+------------
NOTE.--The conduct of a seaman being his passport for future service,
the character of the party is to be impartially stated, after careful
inquiry, and with reference to his whole period of service in the ship.
THE END.
Transcriber’s Notes
• Italics represented by surrounding _underscores_.
• Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.
• Obvious typographic errors or omissions silently corrected.
• Variations in hyphenation and spelling kept as in the original.
• The footnote has been numbered and moved to below its referent
paragraph.