THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR."
THE
WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR:"
AN ACCOUNT OF
_THE MUTINY OF THE CREW AND THE
LOSS OF THE SHIP_
WHEN TRYING TO MAKE THE BERMUDAS.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1877.
(_All rights reserved._)
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR."
CHAPTER I.
There was every appearance of a south-westerly wind. The coast of
France, which had been standing high and shining upon the horizon on
the port bow, and so magnified by the clear northerly air that you
could discern, even at that distance, the dim emerald sheen of the
upper slopes and the streaky shadows thrown by projecting points and
elbows on the white ground, was fast fading, though the sun still stood
within an hour of its setting beyond the bleak Foreland. The north
wind, which had rattled us with an acre of foam at our bows right
away down the river, and had now brought us well abreast of the Gull
lightship, was dropping fast. There was barely enough air to keep the
royals full, and the ship's number, which I had just hoisted at the
peak--a string of gaudy flags which made a brilliant figure against the
white canvas of the spanker--shook their folds sluggishly.
The whole stretch of scene, from the North Foreland down to the
vanishing French headlands miles away yonder, was lovely at that
moment--full of the great peace of an ocean falling asleep, of gently
moving vessels, of the solemn gathering of shadows. The town of Deal
was upon the starboard bow, a warm cluster of houses, with a windmill
on the green hills turning drowsily, here and there a window glittering
with a sudden beam of light, an inclined beach in the foreground with
groups of boats high and dry upon it, and a line of foam at its base
which sang upon the shingle so that you could hear it plainly amid
intervals of silence on board the ship. The evening sun shining over
the giant brow of the South Foreland struck the grey outline of the
cliff deep in the still water, but the clear red blaze fell far and
wide over the dry white downs of Sandwich and the outlying plains, and
threw the distant country into such bold relief against the blue sky
that, from the sea, it looked close at hand, and but a short walk from
the shore.
There were three or four dozen vessels at anchor in the Downs waiting
for a change of wind or anticipating a dead calm for some hours. A few
others, like ourselves, were swimming stealthily over the slack tide,
with every foot of their canvas piled upon them with the effort to
reach safe anchorage before the wind wholly failed and the tide turned.
A large ship, with her sails stowed and her masts and rigging showing
with the fineness of ivory-tracing against the sky, was being towed up
Channel, and the slapping of the water by the paddles of the tug, in
fast capricious revolutions, was quite audible, though both ship and
steamer were a long league distant. Here and there small boats were
rowing away from the anchored ships for the shore. Now and again you
could hear the faint distant choruses of seamen furling a big sail or
paying out more cable, the _clank, clank_ of which was as pretty as
music. Down in the east the heavens were a deep blue, flecked along the
water line with white sails, which glowed in the sunshine like beacons.
I was in a proper mood to appreciate this beautiful tranquil scene.
I was leaving England for a long spell, and the sight of that quiet
little town of Deal and the grand old Foreland cliffs shutting out the
sky, and the pale white shores we had left far astern, went right to
my heart. Well, it was just a quiet leave-taking of the old country
without words or sobs.
"The pilot means to bring up. I have just heard him tell the skipper to
stand by for a light sou'-westerly breeze. This is a _most_ confounded
nuisance! All hands, perhaps, in the middle watch to get under way."
"I expected as much," said I, turning and confronting a short,
squarely-built man, with a power of red hair under his chin, and a skin
like yellow leather through thirty years exposure to sun and wind and
dirt all over the world. This was the chief mate, Mr. Ephraim Duckling,
confidently assumed by me to be a Yankee, though he didn't talk with
his nose. I had looked at this gentleman with some doubt when I first
met him in the West India Docks. He had blue eyes, with a cast in
the port optic; this somehow made him humorous, whether or no, when
he meant to be droll, so he had an advantage over other wits. He had
hair so dense, coarse, and red withal, that he might have been safely
scalped for a door-mat. His legs were short, and his body very long and
broad, and I guessed his strength by the way his arm filled out, and
threatened to burst up the sleeve of his coat when he bent it. So far
he had been polite enough to me, in a mighty rough fashion indeed; and
as to the men, there had been little occasion for him to give orders as
yet.
"I expected as much," said I. "I have been watching the coast of France
for the last quarter of an hour, and the moisture has nearly shut it
out altogether. I doubt if we'll fetch the Downs before the calm falls."
"There's a little wind over the land, though, or that mill wouldn't be
turning."
He turned his eyes up aloft; then went to the ship's side, and looked
over. I followed him. The clear green water was slipping slowly past,
and now and again a string of sea-weed went by, or a big, transparent
jelly-fish, or a great crab floating on the top of the water. A thin
ripple shot out in a semicircle from the ship's bow, and, at all
events, we might tell that we were moving by watching the mast of the
Gull lightship sliding by the canvas of a vessel hull below the horizon
to the eastward of the sands.
Some of the hands were on the forecastle, looking and pointing towards
the shore. Others stood in a group near the galley, talking with the
cook, a fat, pale man, with flannel shirt-sleeves rolled above his
elbows. The pigs in the long-boat grunted an accompaniment to the
chattering of a mass of hens cooped under the long-boat. There was
no movement in the sea, and the great sails overhead hung without
flapping, and nothing stirred aloft but the light canvas of the royals,
which sometimes shook against the masts lazily, and with a fine distant
sound.
The skipper stood on the weather-side of the poop, against the
starboard quarter-boat, conversing with the pilot.
Have before you a tall, well-shaped man, with iron-grey hair, a thin
aquiline nose, a short compressed mouth, small dark eyes, which looked
at you imperiously from under a perfect hedge of eyebrow, and whitish
whiskers, which slanted across his cheeks; dressed in a tall hat, a
long monkey-jacket, and square-toed boots.
Captain Coxon was a decidedly good-looking man, not in the smallest
degree approaching the conventional notion of the merchant-skipper.
Happily, it is no condition of good seamanship that a man should have
bow-legs, and a coppery nose, and groggy eyes; and that he should
prefer a dish of junk to a savoury kickshaw, and screeching rum to good
wine. I had heard before I joined the _Grosvenor_ that Coxon was a
smart seaman, though a bully to his men. But this did not prejudice me.
I thought I knew my duties well enough to steer clear of his temper;
and for the rest, knowing what a seafaring life is, and how scarcely an
hour ever comes without bringing some kind of peril of its own, I would
rather any day take service under a Bashaw who knew his work, than a
mild-natured creature who didn't.
The pilot was a little dusky-faced man, with great bushy whiskers, and
a large chocolate-coloured shawl round his throat, though we were in
August. I was watching these two men talking, when Duckling said--
"It's my belief that we shall have trouble with those fellows forward.
When we trimmed sail off the North Foreland did you notice how they
went to work?"
"Yes, I did. And I'll tell you what's the matter. As I was going
forward after dinner, the cook stopped me, and told me the men were
grumbling at the provisions. He said that some of the pork served out
stunk, and the bread was mouldy and full of weevils."
"Oh, is that it!" said Duckling. "Wait till I get them to sea, and I'll
give them my affidavit now, if they like, that _then_ they'll have
something to cry over. There's a Portugee fellow among them, and no
ship's company can keep honest when one of those devils comes aboard.
He'll always find out something that's wrong, and turn and tumble it
about until it sets all hands on fire."
He went to the break of the poop and leaned, with his arms squarely
set, upon the brass rail, and stared furiously at the group of men
about the galley. Some of them grew uneasy, and edged away and got
round to the other side of the galley; others, of those who remained,
folded their arms and stared at him back, and one of them laughed,
which put him in a passion at once.
"You lazy hounds!" he bellowed in a voice of thunder, "have you
nothing to get about? Some of you get that cable range there more over
to windward. You, there, get some scrubbing-brushes and clean the
long-boat's bottom. Forecastle, there, come down out of that and see
that your halliards are clear for running! I'll teach you to palaver
the cook, you grumbling villains!" and he made a movement so full of
menace that the most obstinate-looking of the fellows got life into
them at once, and bustled about.
I looked at the skipper to see what he thought of this little outbreak;
but neither he nor the pilot paid the smallest attention to it: only,
when Duckling had made an end, the pilot gave an order which was
repeated by the chief mate with lungs of brass--
"Aft here, and clew up the mainsail and furl it!"
The men threw down the scrubbing-brushes and chain-hooks which they
had picked up, and came aft to the main-deck in a most surly fashion.
Duckling eyed them like a mastiff a cat. I noticed some smart-looking
hands among them, but they all to a man put on a lubberly air; and as
they hauled upon the various ropes which snug a ship's canvas upon the
yard preparatory to its being furled, I heard them putting all manner
of coarse, violent expressions, having reference to the ship and her
officers, into their songs.
They went up aloft slowly and laid out along the yard, grumbling
furiously. And to show what bad sailors they were, I suppose, they
stowed the sail villainously, leaving bits of the leech sticking out,
and making a bunt that must have blown out to the first cap-full of
wind.
I was rather of opinion that Duckling's behaviour was founded on
traditions which had been surrendered years ago by British seamen to
Yankee skippers and mates. He had sailed a voyage in this ship with
Coxon, and the captain therefore knew his character. That Coxon should
abet Duckling's behaviour towards the men by his silence, was a bad
augury. I reckoned that they understood each other, and that the whole
ship's company, including myself, might expect a very uncomfortable
voyage.
Meanwhile, Duckling waited until the men were off the yard and
descending the rigging: he then roared out, "Furl the mainsail!"
The men stopped coming down, and looked at the yard and then at
Duckling; and one of them said, in a sullen tone, "It is furled."
I was amazed to see Duckling hop off the deck on to the poop-rail and
spring up the rigging: I thought that he was going to thrash the man
who had answered: and the man evidently thought so too, for he turned
pale, and edged sideways along the ratline on which he stood, whilst he
held one of his hands clenched. Up went Duckling, shaking the shrouds
violently with his ungainly, sprawling way of climbing, and making the
men dance upon the ratlines. In a moment he had swung himself upon
the foot-rope and was casting off the yard-arm gaskets. I don't think
half a dozen men could have loosed the sail in the time taken by him
to do so. Down it fell, and down he came, hand over fist along the
main-topsail sheets against the mainmast, bounded up the poop-ladder,
and without loss of breath, roared out, "Furl the mainsail!"
The men seemed inclined to disobey: some of them had already reached
the bulwark: but another bellow, accompanied by a gesture, appeared to
decide them. They mounted slowly, got upon the yard, and this time did
the job in a sailor-like fashion.
"I'm only beginning with them," he said in his rough voice to me; and
then glanced at Coxon, who gave him a nod and a smile.
The pilot now told me to go forward and see everything ready for
bringing up. We were drawing close to the Downs, but the air had quite
died out and the sea stretched like oil to the horizon. I don't know
what was giving us way, for the light sails aloft hung flat, and the
smoke of a steamboat with its two funnels only showing away across the
Channel, went straight up into the sky. There must, however, have been
a faint, imperceptible tide running, but it took us another half-hour
to reach the point where the pilot had resolved to bring up, and by
that time the sun had sunk behind the great headland beyond Deal, and
was casting a broad crimson glare upon the further sea.
The royals and top-gallant sails were clewed up and furled, and then
the order was given to let go the topsail halliards. Down came the
three heavy yards rumbling along the masts, with the sound of chain
rattling over sheaves. The canvas fell into festoons, and the pilot
called, "All ready forrard?"
"All ready."
"Let go the anchor."
"Stand clear of the cable!" I shouted.
Whack! whack! went the carpenter's driving hammer. A moment's pause,
then a tremendous splash, and the cable rushed with a hoarse outcry
through the hawser hole.
When this job was over I waited on the forecastle to superintend the
stowing of the sails forward. The men worked briskly enough, and I
heard one of them who was stowing the fore-topmast stay-sail say "that
it was good luck the skipper had brought up. He didn't think he'd be
such a fool."
This set me wondering what their meaning could be; but I thought it
best to take no notice nor repeat what I had heard, as I considered
that the less Mr. Duckling had to say to the men the better we should
all get on.
It was half-past seven by the time the sails were furled and the decks
cleared of the ropes. The hands went below to tea, and I was walking
aft when the cook came out of the galley and said--
"Beg your pardon, sir; would you mind tasting of this?" And he handed
me a bit of the ship's biscuit. I smelt it and found it mouldy, and put
a piece in my mouth, but soon spat it out.
"I can't say much for this, cook," said I.
"It's not fit for dogs," replied the cook. "But, so far as I've seen,
all the provisions is the same. The sugar's like mud, and the molasses
is full of grit; and though I've been to sea man and boy two and twenty
year, I never saw tea like what they've got on board this ship. It
ain't tea--it makes the liquor yaller. It's shavings, and wot I say is,
regular tea _ain't_ shavings."
"Well, let the men complain to the captain," I answered. "He can report
to the owners and get the ship's stores condemned."
"It's my belief they wos condemned afore they came on board," answered
the cook. "I'll bet any man a week's grog that they wos bought cheap in
a dockyard sale o' rotten grub, by order o' the Admiralty."
"Give me a biscuit," said I, "and I'll show it to the captain."
He took one out from a drawer in which he kept the dough for the
cuddy's use, and I put it in my pocket and went aft.