LIFE ON BOARD
At 6.30 A.M. in these East Indiamen the crew began to wash down decks,
and an hour later the hammocks were piped up and stowed in the nettings
round the waist by the quartermasters. At eight o’clock was breakfast,
and then began the duties of the day.[E] The midshipmen slept in
hammocks also, but the chief mate and the commander were the only
officers in the ship to have a cabin of their own.
In no other ships outside the navy, excepting perhaps some privateers,
was discipline so strict. The seamen were divided into two watches, the
officers into three. The crew had four hours on duty and four hours
off. There was always plenty of work to be done. After saying good-bye
to the English coast cables had to be put away and anchors stowed for
bad weather. Sails were being set, men were sent aloft to take in sail,
and sheets and braces required trimming. The East Indiamen from the
latter part of the eighteenth century had all been steered by wheels,
and the accompanying illustration shows the wheel on board the East
Indiaman _Triton_. The rigging also had to be set up occasionally,
and among the confidential signals to be used by these ships when
proceeding in a convoy, you will find one which asks permission of the
commodore to be allowed to heave-to and set up rigging. In addition,
ballast sometimes required shifting, sails had to be repaired, leaks
stopped, masts greased, new splices made and so on. This was in normal
voyages: but in the case of bad weather there was much more besides.
[Illustration: DECK SCENE OF THE EAST INDIAMAN “TRITON.”
This contemporary sketch shows the wheel and mizzen mast and two gun
carriages of an East Indiaman of 1792, and is used as a decorative
heading to the ship’s list of signals employed when convoying.]
On Wednesdays and Saturdays the ‘tween decks were cleaned and
holystoned. The origin of the word “holystoned” has been variously
derived. To “holystone” is to rub the decks with sandstone or
“prayer-books.” When ships, both of the East India Company, his
Majesty’s navy and other craft, used to anchor in St Helen’s Roads
(off Bembridge, Isle of Wight, facing Portsmouth) the place was found
convenient for two reasons. There was a convenient dip-well close to
the shore, which still exists to-day: and this water kept in wooden
butts used to keep so well, and unlike much other water did not turn
putrid when the ships had been at sea some time, that East Indiamen
were actually known to have brought back some of it home quite
fresh after being out to the East and remaining in the ship about a
twelvemonth. But besides the excellent water, the men used to be sent
ashore here to obtain sand for scrubbing the decks. One day it was
discovered that there was nothing so good as a piece of the stone of
the old St Helen’s Church, which had recently been abandoned, the relic
of which survives to-day only as a sea-mark. In those sacrilegious days
there was little respect for hallowed things, such as churches or
graves, and before long every ship that came to these roads would send
men ashore as a matter of course to fetch bits of the church and even
gravestones in small blocks. The suggestion is that thus when the decks
were rubbed with them the work was known as “holystoning,” and the
blocks themselves called “Bibles” or “Prayer-books.”[F]
The men in these East Indiamen were divided into messes, of eight men,
their allotted space being between the guns, where the mess-traps were
arranged. The ‘tween decks had to be kept scrupulously clean, and
were inspected by the commander and surgeon. No work was allowed to
be performed on Sunday except what was necessary, though manuscript
journals rather show that this regulation was not much respected.
The crew were mustered in their best clothes, and then everyone that
could be spared was present at prayers. Dinner was served at noon,
and the passengers were given three courses and dessert, but without
fish. There was plenty of wine and beer, and there was also grog at
11 A.M. and 9 P.M. Champagne was drunk twice a week. There was a cow
carried, and later on the calf, which was always brought on board with
its mother, became veal when the ship had crossed the line and was
nearer India. In addition there were also ducks and fowls, sheep and
pigs, so that the ship’s boats and decks were often mildly suggestive
of a farmyard. The crew had grog served out to them at dinner-time
and on Saturday nights, when the time-honoured custom of “sweethearts
and wives” had not begun to die out. As we have seen from Addison’s
journals the ceremonies of crossing the line were kept up, and Eastwick
has instanced dances: and in addition theatricals were also given on
board to relieve the monotony of the long voyage.
The men often employed their dog-watches to “make and mend,” or going
through their sea-chests, games or amusements. On Saturday nights there
would be songs and dancing. When they reached their Eastern port, the
men would unload the ship themselves without the assistance of natives.
And a ship in those days was far more independent of the shore than
even a sailing ship is to-day. There were no better riggers in the
world, and steel rope had not taken the place of hemp. We have seen
from Addison that in China the crews of the Company’s ships rowed guard
on Sundays among the ships in the harbour. The number of guns which
these ships carried has been mentioned at various dates throughout
these pages, and the men were drilled with about as much persistency
as in the Royal Navy of that time. The mediæval boarding-pike was
still in use, and they were drilled also in musket, cutlass and other
small-arms. Also quite naval fashion was the custom of holding courts
martial on board, the members being composed of the captain and
the four senior officers, the latter having always been sworn when
the captain took his oath prior to the ship’s sailing from London.
Discipline was strict even to harshness and cruelty, and punishments
were sometimes inflicted for the merest trivialities. At the same time
these crews were not as mild as a porcelain shepherdess, and they were
a tough, virile, desperate class as a whole. The reader will recollect
Addison’s entry in his journal that such and such a seaman was punished
“with a dozen” for insolence or neglect. This punishment was inflicted
over the bare back and shoulders by the brawny boatswain’s mate armed
with a cat-o’-nine-tails, the victim being triced up by the thumbs. And
when it was all over a bucket of salt water washed the blood away. Yes,
these men were reckless, they were a coarse lot of dare-devils, they
were ever ready to break all the laws and regulations which concerned
them. They would desert or cheat his Majesty’s customs, knock a man
down, drink far more than was good for them, yet for all that they were
true seamen to their finger-tips, who could be relied upon to go aloft
in all weathers, and the very fellows on whom you could rely when it
was a question of nerve and pluck. In battle, stripped to the waist,
they would fight with the utmost courage: and when punishment was
whacked out to them they bore it like true sons of Britain.
They were kept fairly busy on board, yet as there were so many hands
no one could justly complain of being overworked as in the case of the
modern man-of-war. They had always plenty of food and grog, and they
knew that if they were killed in the Company’s service their wives and
dependents would be looked after.
As for the ships themselves, they were of course all built of wood.
From roughly 1775 to well on into the nineteenth century they were
not only rigged, fitted out, manned and handled like the contemporary
frigates of the Royal Navy, but they were, in the first place, built
after their model, with one exception. The East Indiamen were a
fuller-bodied type, but the naval frigates, inasmuch as they were
built for speed and not for cargo, could afford to have finer lines. A
great deal of valuable room had to be wasted in the excessive amount
of pig-iron ballast which these ships had to carry. To call them fast
would not be truthful, but then there was no competition before the
year 1814, and so there was little need to hurry, and they certainly
were not driven. At the approach of night they snugged down, for there
was no premium awaiting them, however fast they made the voyage. If,
however, they endangered the ship or damaged the cargo they would not
only incur the East India Company’s displeasure, but detract from their
own privileges.
Therefore before darkness overtook them these ships would always take
in their royals and fine-weather sails, and the royal yards would be
sent down on deck. If bad weather threatened them t’gallantsails and
mainsail would also be stowed, and a precautionary reef tucked in the
topsails. Thus these vessels never made record-breaking runs, and were
never given the opportunity of showing their fullest speed. Caution
was the dominating factor, and not speed. In other words, the policy
was the exact opposite of the clipper ships which were to follow: but
then the clippers were built for speed, and not for fighting. There was
in essentials very little difference between the hulls of the time of
James I. and of the early nineteenth century, if we omit the somewhat
elaborate external decoration which was peculiar to the Stuart times,
and give the ships their later triangular headsails, staysails and a
spanker instead of the old lateen mizen. The cumbrous hull was really
but little modified. Built of English oak, elm, and Indian teak,
copper-fastened throughout, the later ships of the Company were strong
and well-found, with good spars, stout rigging and canvas. Sometimes
they were built by the very men and on the very yard that had witnessed
the building of the King’s ships.
One of the finest ships ever built for the Company was the famous
East Indiaman _Thames_. Happily that great marine artist of the early
nineteenth century, E. W. Cooke, sketched her in all her beauty, and
the accompanying illustration shows how she appeared in the year 1829.
This was a vessel of 1424 tons, with her general, massive appearance,
the strength of her gear, the gun-ports, the decorative stern with
its windows—the East Indiaman with all her striking characteristics
of picturesque power. A boat hangs in davits on either quarter, the
topsails are still single and very deep, with plenty of reef-points,
but the hull is certainly unnecessarily cumbrous and clumsy—impressive
rather than beautiful, strong rather than fine. But in any case she
would have been a pretty tough proposition for a contemporary hostile
ship to tackle, especially with such crews as she carried. Compared
with her contemporary, the West Indiaman _Thetis_ (which is here shown
in the act of getting under way off the Needles), the _Thames_ is a
more powerful fighting ship. But the West Indiamen were essentially
more suited for trade, and their capacity for cargo was very great.
They were mercantile craft pure and simple.
One of the greatest disasters which ever befell any of these East
Indiamen was the loss of the _Kent_. This was a fine new ship which had
left the Downs on the 19th of February 1825. She was of 1350 tons,
so very similar to the _Thames_. She was bound out to China, calling
first at Bengal, and in her were travelling officers, troops, women and
children of the 31st Regiment, as well as twenty private passengers and
a crew of 148 officers and men.
Favoured with a fine north-east wind the _Kent_ made, for her class of
vessel, a quick passage down the English Channel, and on the 23rd was
out in the Atlantic pitching to the swell. Interrupted occasionally
with bad weather the stately ship pursued her way across the Bay of
Biscay for another five days, when a heavy gale from the south-west
sprang up, and the following morning the weather got worse: the fair
wind which had brought them down Channel now headed them and tormented.
The bigger sails were taken in, and others were close reefed.
Topgallant-yards had to be struck, and so violent was the gale that
by the morning of the 1st of March the vessel had to be hove-to under
a triple-reefed main-topsail only. In other words, there was only the
merest patch of canvas allowed on her.
[Illustration: THE WEST INDIAMAN “THETIS” (CAPTAIN BURTON).
This shows an Early Nineteenth Century first-class ship employed in the
West Indian trade.]
She was rolling very badly, and life-lines were run along the deck
for the whole watch of soldiers to hang on by. For the women and
children below, matters were alarming and unpleasant in those cooped-up
quarters. So heavily did the _Kent_ roll that at every lurch her main
chains were well below the water. Things were bad enough on deck, but
below the furniture and other articles had broken away from their
cleats and were being violently dashed about both in the cabins and
the cuddy. In order to see whether everything was all right below in
the hold, one of the ship’s officers went down with a couple of
seamen, in case anything might have broken adrift and be endangering
the hull. He took with him a patent safety lantern, but as the lamp
was burning dimly he handed it up to the orlop deck to be trimmed. He
then discovered that one of the spirit casks had got adrift, and sent
the two men to get some wood to wedge it up. Soon afterwards the ship
gave a heavy lurch, so that the officer most unfortunately dropped the
lantern. In his eagerness to recover it he let go his hold of the cask,
and there was a smash. Instantly the spirits reached the lamp and the
whole of the afterhold was in a blaze.
Here was a terrible position: a raging storm outside and a raging fire
within. Clouds of smoke came up the hatchway and were blown violently
to leeward as the wind fanned the flames. The captain of the ship
gave his orders, and both the seamen and the troops worked their very
hardest with buckets, pumps, wet sails, hammocks—anything in fact that
could be employed to put the fire out. But far from decreasing the
conflagration was spreading, and smoke came up in volumes from all four
hatchways. The captain now ordered the lower decks to be scuttled, the
combings of the hatches to be cut, and the ports to be opened, so that
all the sea possible might have a free entry. Meanwhile some of the
sick soldiers, a woman and several children, unable to gain the upper
deck, had perished.
As some of the passengers went below they met one of the mates
staggering up the hatchway, exhausted and almost senseless. He reported
that he had just stumbled over some dead bodies, who must have
perished in the suffocating smoke. With difficulty the lower ports
could be opened owing to the atmosphere, but when the passengers at
last succeeded the sea came pouring in, carrying chests and bulkheads
before it. Happily the tons of water which made their way into the
hold checked the fury of the flames and decreased the possibility of
explosion, which had been the greatest fear. But now the ship was
fairly water-logged, and death from explosion was apparently to give
way to death by drowning. Efforts were therefore made to close the
ports again, and batten down the hatches and stifle the fire. The
occasion was terrifying in the extreme, for it was merely a question as
to how long the grave position could be tolerated. Six or seven hundred
human beings in the agony of suspense—often more trying than physical
pain itself—were on the upper deck. Some had been suffering the pangs
of seasickness for days, many had rushed up from below with no time
to slip on warm clothes, others were seeking out husbands, wives or
children. Some were standing resigned to their fate, while others, as
is always the case on such occasions, were indulging in despair and
frenzy. Some were saying their prayers, while some of the toughest of
the soldiers and seamen took up their positions immediately over the
magazine in the hope that when the explosion came at any moment they
might be blown into eternity without delay. Every man, woman and child
was, to use a fitting expression, “bump up against the inevitable,” and
everyone acted according to his or her character in this time of crisis.
Meanwhile the seas were making game of the ship, and suddenly the
_Kent’s_ binnacle broke away and was dashed to pieces on the deck. This
was taken as a particularly bad omen by some, and the end was being
awaited as certain. But just then the fourth mate decided to send a man
up to the foretop in case—and it was not even a slender hope—that a
distant ship might be descried. With dramatic suddenness the man, after
scanning the horizon, began waving his hat and shouting.
“A sail on the lee bow!” he exclaimed, and the announcement was
received with three cheers. Flags of distress were at once hoisted,
minute guns began to be fired, and setting the three topsails and
foresail the _Kent_ ran down to the direction of the stranger. This was
found to be the brig _Cambria_, of 200 tons burthen, on her way from
Falmouth to Vera Cruz with a number of Cornish miners on board. After
the _Kent’s_ signals had been hoisted there followed a further period
of suspense. Had the brig seen the signals? Had the sound of the guns
reached her in the violence of the gale? But presently the stranger was
seen to hoist British colours and to crowd on all sail, in spite of the
gale. Her captain was evidently determined to assist if he could.
There are those who say that the age of miracles has ended, but the
good fortune of falling in with the _Cambria_ was really far more
extraordinary than may seem to the modern reader. To-day the continuous
stream of traffic across the Bay of Biscay—liners, men-of-war, tramp
steamers and a few sailing ships—is something very considerably
greater than at the time of which we are speaking. To-day, if such an
occurrence took place in a ship bound for India, there would always
be shipping in the vicinity and wireless would summon assistance
before very long. But at this time there were no lines of steamships
ploughing their regular furrow across the Bay. There were few
ocean-going vessels of any sort, and you might cross the ocean time
after time without sighting another craft. It was therefore one of
those rare instances that the _Cambria_ should have chanced to be
anywhere in the neighbourhood.
As the ships were lessening the intervening distance, the _Kent’s_
boats were being got ready. The ship’s commander consulted with the
colonel and major of the regiment, and provision was made to prevent
that dreaded incident in such a case as this, which has sometimes
marred the whole picture of self-sacrifice and resignation. Some of the
soldiers and seamen in the _Kent_ seemed to give evidence of being the
ones to rush the boats at the first opportunity. To thwart this, some
of the military officers stood over them with drawn swords, and this
had a wholesome effect.
[Illustration: THE “KENT,” EAST INDIAMAN, ON FIRE IN THE BAY OF BISCAY.
(By courtesy of Messrs. T. H. Parker Brothers)]
The starboard boat was filled with women and children so far as its
capacity allowed, these people getting into her through the cuddy-port
on that side. The boat was then lowered away into a sea that was so
awful that it seemed impossible for the little craft to live many
minutes. Even as it touched the water the usual difficulty occurred—and
it must have been much worse in those days when there were no patent
davits or disengaging gear. The tackle was unhooked only with
difficulty, and the boat narrowly escaped being dashed to fragments
against the great, heavy hull of the _Kent_. Over the sea the people
in the _Kent_ watched the load of human lives, now on the summit of
a wave crest, now disappearing in the trough. But at length, after
this further suspense, strong British arms pulled her alongside the
_Cambria_, and the first human being to be lifted into the _Cambria_
was an infant of only a few weeks old.
The passage had taken twenty minutes between the sinking and rescuing
ships, and after this load had been received on board, the other boat
came off. One of the passengers in the _Cambria_ who watched the
incident afterwards stated that the seas were so big that when the two
ships happened to be in a trough of sea at the same time, the _Kent_,
great as she was, could not be seen for the intervening mountain wave.
The _Cambria_ had wisely taken up her position some distance from the
_Kent_, fearing that if there were an explosion she might be badly
injured. But evidently the _Kent’s_ boats on their return journey
had to row to windward, and this was not easy. Owing to the seas now
running these boats could not come alongside the _Kent_ again: so the
women and children had to be tied together in twos and then lowered
from the stern, the boat doing its best to be immediately underneath at
the right time. Everyone who has had experience of the sea knows how
difficult this must have been, and it happened that many of these poor
women were unwillingly ducked several times in the sea before being
received half-drowned and half-dead with terror into the boats. Still,
not one of this sex was lost thereby, though some of the children
perished with exhaustion and shock.
Some of the soldiers behaved with great gallantry, and worked hard to
save the women and children, to their own danger. The _Kent_ had six
boats, but three had been swamped or stove in during the trips between
the two vessels. All this time the flames were spreading worse than
ever, and as the daylight was drawing to a close it became a race
against time, for there were still many passengers on board, although
many had been taken off to the _Cambria_. The _Kent’s_ captain had a
rope made fast to the outer end of the spanker-boom, and after walking
out to the end of this spar the men had to slip down by the rope into
the remaining boats below. Many landsmen, however, dreaded this means
of escape so much that they preferred to throw themselves out of the
stern windows. Rafts were constructed out of spars, hen-coops and other
materials, and acted as a means of reaching the boats. But now night
had fallen over the wreck. Some of the baser passengers who remained
still on board had drunk themselves speechless: others were prowling
about for spoil, whilst the ship’s poultry and pigs were turning the
ship into a mad farmyard.
As the darkness came down the work of rescue was the more difficult.
The _Kent_ was now sunk ten feet below her marks, and squalls of wind
and rain together with the big seas made her hours of existence fewer.
The guns had burst their tackle owing to the action of the flames, and
as they fell into the hold exploded. There were still a few people left
in the ship, including the captain, but the latter, having in vain
tried to persuade the others to leave, left them too terror-stricken
and dumbfounded to move. Crawling out along the spanker-boom and
steadying himself by the topping lift, he dived into the sea and was
picked up by one of the boats. As the last boat left the side of the
_Kent_, flames burst through the cabin windows. Some of those who had
feared to leave the ship had also a miraculous escape. Driven by the
flames, they sheltered as best they could on the chains (where the
rigging joins the ship’s hull) and stood there till the masts went by
the board. They then clung to one of these masts until a ship named
the _Caroline_, bound from Egypt to Liverpool, saw the explosion when
three miles away and made all sail in its direction, and so picked
up fourteen survivors. The captain of the _Caroline_ stood by till
daylight, but was unable to find any more people.
The magazine (which in East Indiamen ships was placed under the
forecastle) had exploded about 1.30 A.M., and portions of the old East
Indiaman that had set forth so well with a fair wind now rose into the
air like rockets. As for the survivors in the _Cambria_, they had been
hauled on board with difficulty by the Cornish miners standing in the
chains as the heave of the sea lifted the boats up to that level. The
women, surviving children and men were made as comfortable as possible,
in spite of the fact that 600 people in a brig of only 200 tons put a
somewhat heavy strain on the accommodation at their disposal, with a
heavy Atlantic gale blowing too. In a few days all the food and water
on board would give out, so, at the risk of carrying away his masts,
the captain of the brig drove her for all she was worth before the
gale, so that by the afternoon of 3rd March the Scillies were sighted,
and soon after midnight the ship had cast anchor in Falmouth harbour.
It was another miracle that the _Cambria_ arrived in Falmouth when
she did, for an hour after she had dropped anchor the wind flew right
round to north-east and remained there for several days. This would
have meant a head-wind for the brig, and meanwhile in this delay—for
those bluff old craft were very slow beating and could not sail very
close—many of her passengers must have died of starvation.
At Falmouth the survivors disembarked, being met on the beach by huge
crowds, and were hospitably received in the houses of the inhabitants,
who also got up a subscription for the relief of the sufferers. A
service of thanksgiving was held, and a few days later the passengers
and sailors were sent to their homes, the troops embarking for Chatham,
while the sick and injured remained in hospital. Notwithstanding that
about six hundred had been saved, yet eighty-two had perished in this
disaster. Some of the seamen belonging to the _Kent_ had certainly
behaved in a cowardly manner by refusing to go back and fetch the
remainder of their shipmates until they were compelled by the captain
of the _Cambria_. It is such instances as these which make one wonder
whether those rough characters were always as brave as we have
preferred to hope they were.
The captain of the _Cambria_ for his fine seamanship and the excellent
manner in which he directed the rescue was awarded the sum of £150
from the War Office, with smaller sums to the mate, crew and miners.
The East India Company, in compensation for the losses and expenses
caused by this rescue, sent the sum of £287, 11s. to the captain of the
_Cambria_ for payment of the bill of provisions, £287, 10s. on account
of the owners for the food of the passengers, and £300 for demurrage.
In addition, they presented the _Cambria’s_ captain with the sum of
£600, the first mate £100, and varying sums to the crew and miners.
Other presents were also made by Lloyd’s, the Royal Humane Society, the
Royal Exchange Assurance, and the Liverpool underwriters.
FOOTNOTES:
[E] For some details in this connection I am indebted to Lindsay’s
“History of Merchant Shipping,” as well as to an article in _The
Mariner’s Mirror_, vol. i., No. 1.
[F] Mentioned in Captain E. du Boulay’s “Bembridge, Past and Present.”