compass before him, by the aid of which he kept her head toward
Madeira, but, anxious to husband energy, he warned his men not to
pull too strenuously. Very peacefully passed the night, no sound
invading the stillness except the regular plash of the oars and an
occasional querulous cry from a belated sea-bird aroused from its
sleep by the passage of the boat. At dawn rowing ceased for a time,
and those who were awake watched in a perfect silence, such as no
other situation upon this planet can afford, the entry of the new
day. Not one of them but felt like men strangely separated from
mundane things, and face to face with the inexpressible mysteries of
the timeless state. But it was Svensen who broke that sacred quiet by
a sonorous shout of “Sail-ho!” With a transition like a wrench from
death to life, all started into eager questioning; and all presently
saw, with the vigilant Finn, the unmistakable outlines of a vessel
branded upon the broad, bright semi-circle of the half-risen sun.
No order was given or needed. Double-banked, the oars gripped the
water, and with a steady rush the boat sped eastward towards that
beatific vision of salvation. Even the skipper’s face lost its dull
shade of hopelessness, in spite of his loss, as he saw the haggard
lines relax from Mary’s face. Quite a cheerful buzz of chat arose.
Unweariedly, hour after hour, the boat sped onward over the bright
smoothness, though the sun poured down his stores of heat and the
sweat ran in steady streams down the brick-red faces of the toiling
rowers. After four hours of unremitting labour they were near enough
to their goal to see that she was a steamer lying still, with no
trace of smoke from her funnel. As they drew nearer they saw that
she had a heavy list to port, and presently came the suggestion that
she was deserted. Hopes began to rise, visions of recompense for all
their labour beyond anything they could have ever dreamed possible.
The skipper’s nostrils dilated, and a faint blush rose to his cheeks.
Weariness was forgotten, and the oars rose and fell as if driven
by steam, until, panting and breathless, they rounded to under the
stern of a schooner-rigged steamer of about 2000 tons burden, without
a boat in her davits, and her lee rail nearly at the water’s edge.
Running alongside, a rope trailing overboard was caught, and the boat
made fast. In two minutes every man but the skipper was on board, and
a purchase was being rigged for the shipment of Mrs. South. No sooner
was she also in safety than investigation commenced. The discovery
was soon made that, although the decks had been swept and the cargo
evidently shifted, there was nothing wrong with the engines or
boilers except that there was a good deal of water in the stokehold.
She was evidently Italian by her name, without the addition of Genoa,
the _Luigi C._, being painted on the harness casks and buckets, and
her crew must have deserted her in a sudden panic.
Like men intoxicated, they toiled to get things shipshape on board
their prize, hardly pausing for sleep or food. And when they found
the engines throbbing beneath their feet they were almost delirious
with joy. Opening the hatches, they found that the cargo of grain
had shifted, but not beyond their ability to trim, so they went at
it with the same savage vigour they had manifested ever since they
first flung themselves on board. And when, after five days of almost
incessant labour, they took the pilot off Dungeness, and steamed up
the Thames to London again, not one of them gave a second thought to
the hapless _Dorothea_. Twelve thousand pounds were divided among
them by the Judge’s orders, and Captain South found himself able to
command a magnificent cargo steamer of more than 3000 tons register
before he was a month older.
THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE “SARAH JANE”
There was no gainsaying the fact that the _Sarah Jane_ was a very
fine barge. Old Cheesy Morgan, whose _Prairie Flower_ she had
outreached in the annual barge regatta by half a mile, owned up
frankly that the _Sarah Jane_, if she _had_ been built out of the
wreckage of a sunken steamboat looted by the miserly old mudlark who
owned her, could lay over any of his fleet, and when _he_ gave in as
far as that you might look upon the discussion as closed. Her skipper
and mate, Trabby Goodjer and Skee Goss, were always ready (when in
company) to punch any single man’s head who said a word against her,
and many sore bones had been carried away from the “Long Reach House”
in consequence. Not that these two worthies were ever sparing of
their extensive vocabulary of abuse of their command when working
up or down the Thames, especially when she missed stays and hooked
herself up on a mudbank about the first of the ebb, making them lose
a whole day.
Ever since her launching she had been regularly employed in the
Margate trade from London with general merchandise and returning
empty. Even this double expense for single freight paid the Margate
shopkeepers better than submission to the extortionate railway
charges, while their enterprise was a golden streak of luck for the
owner of the _Sarah Jane_, and her consorts. When she commenced
the memorable voyage of which this is the veracious log, she had
for crew, besides the two mariners already named, a youngster of
some fifteen years of age as near as he could guess, but so stunted
in growth from early hardships that he did not look more than
twelve. He answered to any name generally that sounded abusive or
threatening, from long habit, but his usual title was the generic
one for boys in north-country ships--Peedee. He had already seen a
couple of years’ service in deep-water vessels, getting far more than
his rightful share of adventurous mishaps, besides having done a
fairly comprehensive amount of vagabondage in the streets of London
and Liverpool. But being so diminutive for his years he found it
difficult to get a berth in a decent-sized ship, and in consequence
it was often no easy matter for him to fill even his small belly, for
all his precocious wits. Fate, supplemented by his own fears, had
hitherto been kind enough to keep him out of a Geordie collier or a
North Sea trawler, but on the day he met Trabby Goodjer outside the
“King’s Arms” in Thames Street, and asked him if he wanted a boy,
his evil genius must have been in the ascendant. He hadn’t tasted
food for two days with the exception of a fistful of gritty currants
he had raked out of a corner on Fresh Wharf, and as the keen spring
wind shrieking round the greasy bacon-reeking warehouses searched
his small body to the marrow he grew desperate. Thus it was that
he became the crew of the _Sarah Jane_. Properly, she should have
carried another man, but following the example of their betters in
the Mercantile Marine the skipper and mate trusted to luck, and found
under-manning pay. The owner lived at Rochester, and rarely saw his
vessel except through a pair of glasses at long intervals as she
passed the entrance to the Medway. So the payment of the crew was in
the skipper’s hands entirely, left to him by the London agent who
“managed” her. By sailing her a man short, and giving a boy 10s. a
month instead of a pound, Captain Goodjer and chief officer Goss were
able to enjoy many cheap drunks, and have thrown in, as it were, the
additional enjoyment of ill-using something that was quite unable to
turn the tables unpleasantly.
Between this delightful pair therefore, whose luck in getting
backwards and forwards to Margate and London was phenomenal, Peedee
had a lively time. Especially so when, from some unforeseen delay or
extra thirst, the supply of liquor in the big stone jar kept at the
head of the skipper’s bunk ran short and they were perforce compelled
to exchange their usual swinish condition of uncertain good-humour
for an irritable restlessness that sought relief by exercising
ingenious forms of cruelty upon their hapless crew. Occasionally they
had a rough-and-tumble between themselves, once indeed they both
rolled over the side in a cat-like scrimmage, but there was nothing
like the solace to be got out of that amusement that there was in
beating Peedee. But he, preternaturally wise, was only biding his
time. The score against his persecutors was growing very long, but a
revenge that should be at once pleasant, enduring, and final, slowly
shaped itself in his mind. Accident rather than design matured his
plans prematurely, but still he showed real genius by rising to the
occasion that thus presented itself and utilising it in a truly
remarkable manner.
One Friday evening in the middle of October the _Sarah Jane_ was
loosed from the wharf where she had received her miscellaneous
freight, and with the usual amount of river compliments and
collisions with the motley crowd of craft all in an apparently
hopeless tangle in the crowded Pool, began her voyage on the first
of the ebb. The skipper and the mate were both more than ordinarily
muzzy, but intuitively they succeeded in getting her away from the
ruck without receiving more than her fair share of hard knocks. Once
in the fairway the big sprit-sail and jib were hove up to what little
wind there was, and away she went at a fairly good pace. Peedee did
most of the steering as he did of everything else that was possible
to him, receiving as his due many pretty bargee-compliments from his
superiors as they sprawled at their ease by the bogie funnel. They
reached Greenhithe at slack water, where, the wind veering ahead,
they anchored for the night at no great distance from the reformatory
ship _Cornwall_. The sails were furled after a fashion, and with
many a blood-curdling threat to Peedee should he fail to keep a
good look-out, Trabby and his mate went below into their stuffy den
to sleep. Somewhere about midnight the shivering boy awoke with a
start, that nearly tumbled him off his perch on the windlass, to see
two white figures clambering on board out of the river. Wide awake
on the instant he saw they were boys like himself, and whispered,
“All right, mates, here y’are.” Noiselessly he showed them the
fo’c’s’le scuttle, where they might get below and hide. When they
had disappeared he crept to the side of the darksome hole and held
a whispered conversation with the visitors, finding that they were
runaways from the _Cornwall_, and immediately his active brain saw
splendid possibilities in this accession of strength if only he
could conceal their presence from his enemies aft. For the present,
however, there was nothing to be done but lie quietly and wait
events. Daring the risk of awakening the “officers” he made a raid
upon the grub-locker aft, securing half a loaf and a lump of Dutch
cheese, which he carried forward to the shivering stowaways. His
own wardrobe being on his back he could not lend them any clothes,
but they comforted themselves with the thought that they would
soon be dry. And assisted by Peedee they made a snug lair in the
gritty convolutions of a worn-out mainsail that was stowed in their
hiding-place, finding warmth and speedy oblivion in spite of their
terrors.
The slack arrived some little time before the pale, cheerless dawn,
and with it a small breeze fair for their passage down. Unwillingly
enough Peedee aroused his masters from their fetid hole, getting
by way of reward for his vigilant obedience of orders a perfectly
tropical squall of curses. Nevertheless they were soon on deck,
having turned in like horses, “all standing.” Without speaking a word
to each other, they proceeded to get the anchor, but so out of humour
were they that Peedee had much more than his usual allowance of fresh
cuts and bruises before the barge was fairly aweigh. Gradually the
wind freshened as if assisted by the oncoming light, so that before
the red disc of the sun peeped over the edge of London’s great gloom
behind them, the _Sarah Jane_ was making grand progress. Again Peedee
took the wheel, while the skipper and mate retired to the cabin
for a drink. Suddenly sounds of woe arose therefrom. The agonising
discovery had been made that the precious jar was empty. It had been
capsized during the night, and the bung, being but loosely inserted,
had fallen out. Its contents now lay in a sticky pool behind the
stove, mixed with the accumulated filth of two or three days. It was
a sight too harrowing for ordinary speech. They glared at one another
for a few seconds in silence, until Trabby with a vicious set of his
ugly mouth growled, “Thet---- young mudlawk.” “Ar,” said the mate,
with an air of having found what he wanted, “I’ll---- well skin ’im
w’en I goo on deck.” But though the thought was pleasant and some
relief to their feelings, they remembered, being sober, that if they
were not a little less demonstrative in their attentions to the boy
they would certainly have to do his work themselves. That gave them
pause, and they discussed with much gravity how they might deal with
him without inconvenience to themselves, until breakfast time. When
they had in hoggish fashion satisfied their hunger (their thirst no
amount of coffee could quench) they lit their pipes and lay back
to get such solace as tobacco could afford, and ruminate also upon
the possibility of replenishing the stone jar. Peedee steered on
steadily, breakfastless, and likely to remain so. Swiftly the barge
sped down the reaches in company with a whole fleet of her fellows
“cluttering up the river,” as an angry Geordie skipper, who had just
shaved close by one of them, remarked, “like a school o’ fat swine
in a tatty field.” So they fared for the whole forenoon without
incident, until with a savage curse and a blow Trabby took the wheel
from the hungry lad, bidding him go and get their dinner ready.
While he was thus engaged a thick mist gradually closed in upon the
crowded river, reducing its vivid panorama to an unreal expanse of
white cloudiness through which phantom shapes slowly glided to an
accompaniment of unearthly sounds. Suddenly to Peedee’s amazement
the big sail overhead began to flap, the jib-sheet rattled on the
“traveller,” and Skee Goss, striding forward, let go the anchor. Then
the two men brailed in the mainsail, allowed the jib to run down, and
without saying a word to the wondering boy, shoved the boat over the
side, jumped into her, and were swallowed up in the fog. The instant
they disappeared Peedee stood motionless, his ears acutely strained
for the measured play of the oars as the skipper and mate pulled
lustily shorewards. When at last he could hear them no longer, he
rushed to the scuttle forward, and dropping on his knees by its side,
called down, “Below there! ’r y’ sleep? On deck with ye ’s quick ’s
the devil’ll let ye.” Up they came, looking scared to death. Without
wasting a word, under Peedee’s direction the three hove the anchor
up, although Peedee was artful enough to lift the solitary pawl so
that it could make no noise. By the time they got the anchor they
were all three streaming with sweat, but without a moment’s pause
Peedee dropped the pawl, and taking a turn with the chain round the
windlass end in case of accidents, cast off the brails, letting the
great brown sail belly out to the fresh breeze. Having got the sheet
aft with a tremendous struggle, he took the wheel, saying, “Now you
two fellers, git forrard ’n histe thet jib up, ’n look lively too
’less you want ter be dam well murdered.” In utter bewilderment as
to what was happening the two lads blundered forward, and guided by
the energetic directions of their self-appointed commander, soon got
the sail set. Fully under control at last, the _Sarah Jane_ sped away
seaward before a breeze that, freshening every minute, bade fair to
be blowing a gale before night.
But Peedee, transformed into a man by his sudden resolve and its
successful execution, called his crew to him, and while he skilfully
guided the barge down the strangely quiet river, endeavoured to
explain to them what he had done and why; together with his plans
for the future. He was utterly contemptuous of their seafaring
abilities, telling them that “he’d teach ’em more in two days than
they’d learn aboard that ugly old hulk in a year,” and although they
were each quite a head and shoulders taller than himself, he treated
them as if they were mere infants and he was an old salt. And there
was a light in his eye, an elasticity in his movements that impressed
them more than all his words. Woe betide them had they dared to
cross him! For in that small body was bubbling and fermenting the
sweet must of satisfied revenge, strengthened by conscious power
and utterly unadulterated by any sense of future difficulty or
responsibility. Higher rose the wind, driving the mist before it and
revealing the broad mouth of the river all white with foam as the
conflicting forces of storm and tide battled over the labyrinth of
banks. Obviously the first thing to do was the instruction of his
crew in steering, for as soon as he found time to think of it he felt
faint with hunger. Fortunately one of the runaways had been coxswain
of a boat, and very little sufficed to show him the difference
between a tiller and a wheel. And all untroubled by the rising sea,
the deeply-laden barge ploughed on far steadier than many a vessel
ten times her size would have done. Relieved from the wheel, Peedee
hastened to the caboose and found some of the dinner he had been
preparing still eatable. Supplementing it by such provisions as he
could easily lay hands on in the cabin, the trio made a hearty meal,
winding up with a smoke all round in genuine sailor fashion.
With hunger appeased and perfect freedom lapping them around, who
shall say that they were not happy? Occasionally a queer little
tremor, a premonition of a price by-and-by to be paid for their
present adventure, thrilled up the spine of each of the two runaways,
but when they stole a glance at the calm features of their commander
they were comforted. So onward they sailed, through the tortuous
channels of the Thames’ estuary, scudding before a stress of wind
under whole canvas at a rate that made Peedee rejoice exceedingly,
although every few minutes a green comber of a sea swept diagonally
across the whole of the low deck, but never invaded the cabin top.
Night fell, the side-lights were exhibited, and like any thousand-ton
ship the _Sarah Jane_ stood boldly out into mid-channel, Peedee
shaping a course which would carry them down well clear of all the
banks. Morning saw them off the Varne shoal, the objects of eager
curiosity to the gaping crew of a huge four-masted barque that
passed them within a cable’s length. And as the sun rose the weather
cleared, the sky smiled down upon them, the keen wind and bright sea
gave them a delicious sense of freedom, while the grand speed of
their ship stirred them to almost delirious delight. This ecstatic
condition lasted for two days until, no definite land being in sight,
and passing vessels becoming fewer, the two new hands began to feel
that dread of the unknown that might have been expected of them.
Timidly they appealed to Peedee to tell them what he was going to
do. But with bitter scorn of their fears, all the fiercer because
he didn’t in the least know what was going to happen, he railed upon
them for a pair of cowardly milksops, and suggested hauling up for
some West-country port and dumping them on the beach. Truth to tell
he was becoming somewhat anxious himself as to his whereabouts, for
the stock of water was getting very low, although there was enough
food in the hold to have lasted them round the world. Fate, however,
served them better than design. When night fell a heavy bank of
clouds which had been lowering in the west all day suddenly began to
rise, and soon after dark, in a sudden squall, the wind shifted to
that quarter with mist and rain. Under these new conditions Peedee
lost his bearings and allowed his command to run away with him into
the darkness to leeward. At about four o’clock in the morning he
heard a dreadful sound, well known to him from experience, the hungry
growl of breakers. But before he had time to get too frightened
there was a sudden turmoil of foaming sea around them in place of
the dark hollows and white summits of the deep water, and with a
tipsy lurch or so the _Sarah Jane_ came to a standstill. She lay
so quietly that Peedee actually called his crew to brail up the
mainsail and haul down the jib in sailor fashion. Daylight revealed
the fact that she was high and dry, having run in past all sorts
of dangers until she grounded under the lee of a beetling mass of
rock and there remained unscathed. While they were having a last
meal they were startled by seeing some uncouth-looking men coming at
top speed over the rugged shore. But they lowered themselves down
over the side and ran to meet them, finding them foreigners indeed.
Before long the whole scanty population was down and busy with the
spoil thus providentially provided, while the three boys were hailed
as benefactors to their species, and made welcome to the best that
the village contained. And two tides after the _Sarah Jane_ was as
though she had never been, while the wanderers, well provided with
necessaries, were off for an autumn tour on foot through Southern
Brittany.
SEA-SUPERSTITIONS
Not the least of the mighty changes wrought by the advent of steam
as a motive-power at sea is the alteration it has made in the
superstitious notions current among seamen from the earliest days
of sea-faring. In the hurry and stress of the steamboat-man’s life
there is little scope for the indulgence of any fancies whatever,
and the old sea-traditions have mostly died out for lack of suitable
environment. Indeed, a new genus of seafarers have arisen to whom the
name of sailors hardly applies; they themselves scornfully accept the
designation of “sea-navvies”; and many instances are on record where,
it having become necessary to make sail in heavy weather to aid the
lumbering tramp in her struggle to claw off a lee-shore, or keep
ahead of a following sea, the master has found to his dismay that he
had not a man in his crew capable of tackling such a job.
Perhaps the first old belief to go was that sailing on a Friday was
to court certain disaster. All old sailors dwell with unholy gusto
upon the legend of the ship that was commenced on a Friday, finished
on a Friday, named the _Friday_, commanded by Captain Friday, sailed
on a Friday, and--foundered on the same luckless day with all hands,
as a warning to all reckless shipowners and skippers never again
to run counter to the eternal decrees ordaining that the day upon
which the Saviour of the world was crucified should be henceforth
accursed or kept holy, according to the bent of the considering mind.
But steam has changed all that. When a steamer’s time for loading or
discharging began to be reckoned not in days but in hours, the notion
of detaining her in port for a whole day in deference to an idea
became too ridiculous for entertainment, and it almost immediately
died a natural death. This, of course, had its effect upon the less
hastily worked sailing vessels, although there are still to be
found in British sailing ships masters who would use a good deal of
artifice to avoid sailing on that day. Among the Spanish, Italian,
Austrian, and Greek sailing vessels, however, Friday is still held in
most superstitious awe. And on Good Friday there is always a regular
carnival held on board these vessels, the yards being allowed to
hang at all sorts of angles, the gear flung dishevelled and loose,
while an effigy of Judas is subjected to all the abuse and indignity
that the lively imaginations of the seamen can devise. Finally, the
effigy is besmeared with tar, a rope attached to it which is then
rove through a block at the main yard-arm, it is set alight, and amid
the frantic yells and execrations of the seamen it is slowly swung
aloft to dangle and blaze, while the excited mariners use up their
remaining energies in a wild dance.
Another superstition that still survives in sailing vessels
everywhere is, strangely enough, connected with the recalcitrant
prophet Jonah. It is, however, confined to his bringing misfortune
upon the ship in which he sailed, and seldom is any allusion made
to his miraculous engulphing by the specially prepared great fish.
It does not take a long series of misfortunes overtaking a ship to
convince her crew that a lineal descendant of Jonah and an inheritor
of his disagreeable disqualifications is a passenger. So deeply
rooted is this idea that when once it has been aroused with respect
to any member of a ship’s company, that person is in evil case, and,
given fitting opportunity, would actually be in danger of his life.
This tinge of religious fanaticism, cropping up among a class of men
who, to put it mildly, are not remarkable for their knowledge of
Scripture, also shows itself in connection with the paper upon which
“good words” are printed. It is an unheard-of misdemeanour on board
ship to destroy or put to common use such paper. The man guilty of
such an action would be looked upon with horror by his shipmates,
although their current speech is usually vile and blasphemous beyond
belief. And herein is to be found a curious distinction between
seamen of Teutonic and Latin race, excluding Frenchmen. Despite the
superstitious reverence the former pay to the written word, none of
them would in time of peril dream of rushing to the opposite extreme,
and after madly abusing their Bibles, throw them overboard. But the
excitable Latins, after beseeching their patron saint to aid them in
the most agonising tones, repeating with frenzied haste such prayers
as they can remember, and promising the most costly gifts in the
event of their safely reaching port again, often turn furiously
upon all they have previously been worshipping, and with the most
horrid blasphemies, vent their rage upon the whilom objects of their
adoration. Nothing is too sacred for insult, no name too reverend for
abuse, and should there be, as there often is, an image of a saint on
board, it will probably be cast into the sea.