IN THE TROPICS
_Tuesday, 7th November._--Lat. 23°.51 S., long. 16°.23 W. Course--N. 46
E. Run 111 miles.
To-day we passed the tropic of Capricorn, and so are once more in balmy
climes; but, alas! no signs of the south-east trade wind, and we are
zigzagging along with the yards hard against the backstays.
Old Slush has been excelling himself lately in cooking the queer greasy
lumps of red fat which we poor sailormen have to feed upon.
None of our watch touched our meat to-day, even Mac heaving his share
overboard, and we fell back on hard-tack.
The other watch in their turn did the same, and the nipper said that he
was going to complain to the old man.
We tried hard to dissuade him, as we knew he would only make a fool of
himself, and get the worst of it, as Scar and Mac were the persons to
complain if anybody did, being officers of the ship.
Well, the nipper insisted. He first tried the mate, but was only
laughed at, as the mate had been hardened in much hungrier ships than
the _Royalshire_, and men who have experienced terrible hardships have
not much sympathy to give away.
It was the same with the old man, who jumped down his throat at once,
and sent him up to overhaul the mizen-royal leech-line in his watch
below.
The second mate’s advice is simple and to the point. “Take it out of
old Slush. What do you want to go and bother the old man about it for?”
and this is what I have advised all along.
As the days get hotter, the meat gets fatter and greasier; no wonder
there are so many bad boils on board.
Mac has threatened to heave it at the cook’s head several times, but it
has never come off yet.
Old Slush complains bitterly that he does his best, but that he cannot
cook without more fresh water.
He really is an extraordinary being. He is one of the ugliest men I
have ever seen: he is round-backed, with his chin touching his chest,
and his feet are so huge that he can’t lift them off the deck, but
slouches along, the very emblem of slackness and slovenliness; he has
served his time in the German army too.
He is horribly dirty, and, though we are waiting patiently for a
wonder to take place, he has not changed his shirt since the ship
sailed.
He and the steward get on very badly together, and more than once have
come to blows.
_Wednesday, 8th November._--The wind broke off about midnight, and we
went about a dead muzzler, worse than ever. We went about again this
morning at 8 A.M.
It is a wet morning, and what wind there is is very light. There are a
lot of ships in sight to-day: a barque to leeward, a four-master on our
weather quarter, a ship on our weather beam, and another right astern.
The old man says that all the wheat fleet from Frisco must be collected
round us, all gathered together by the head wind.
It is funny how a head wind or a calm will bring ships together.
There was a very long calm off the Azores about a year and a half ago,
which lasted over six weeks.
The _Royalshire_ was in it, and they counted nearly a hundred sail in
sight round them.
Loring was also in it, in a clipper ship called the _Argus_, and said
that one day he counted three hundred ships round him. This is a bit
hard to believe, but it has been verified.
[Illustration: A PASSING “LIME-JUICER”]
What a fleet this must have been! quite like the good old times, to
see so many sailing-ships together.
Lat. 23°.21 S., long. 16°.13 W.
We have only gone 31 miles in the last twenty-four hours, and can only
head up about N. 17 E.
The four-mast barque turns out to be our old friend the _Centesima_.
She went about at noon, and soon ran out of sight on the other tack.
I have turned out again to-day, and am hobbling about scrubbing
bulwarks. My knee is certainly better, though still very weak.
We went about at four bells in the first watch; the port watch were
below, and, of course, had to turn out, much to their disgust.
We are now heading N.W. by W.
_Thursday, 9th November._--At six bells in the morning watch we got
caught aback in a squall, and went about, the wind being rather
unsteady.
There is one of the ships in sight on the starboard quarter, and the
others cannot be far below the horizon.
We went about again at 8 A.M., and are now on the starboard tack,
heading N. 10 W.
Lat. 22°.33 S., long. 16°.33 W. Run 45 miles.
It is nasty, squally weather, with a lot of thunder about.
The royals and crossjack had to come in in the afternoon, and the
mainsail was hauled up at the change of the watch at midnight.
It is fairly sickening, this head wind, and we are hardly making any
northing at all.
Scar’s followers are growing in numbers. Old Foghorn says he never knew
a head wind to fail coming on after killing an albatross.
Others say that Johnsen is a Jonah, and ought to be chucked overboard.
Good old Chips, the most harmless and one of the nicest men on board,
is that most terrible of men amongst sailors, a Russian Finn.
Russian Finns are believed to have wonderful powers over the wind and
sea, and can bring on a gale of wind astern at a moment’s notice if
they feel inclined.
Unfortunately for us, I suppose Chips does not feel inclined, and
allows this wretched head wind and everlasting rain to continue.
_Friday, 10th November._--Wore ship at 8 A.M. on the port tack. Nothing
but squalls and pouring rain all day.
We are still hard at work scrubbing bulwarks with sand and canvas,
getting the rust off preparatory to painting; this is miserable work
in the wet; the rain ruins oilskins and washes the oil off. None of us
have got any dry clothes left again.
Lat. 22°.12 S. Course--N. 69 W. Run 71 miles. Heading from N.E. 1/2 E.
to 1/2 N. by compass.
Great was the excitement in the first dog watch when the ship came up
to her course for the first time for goodness knows how many days. But
in ten minutes the wind had broken off again, and we headed worse than
ever.
At 8 P.M. the mainsail was set. We had a wretched night again with
never-ceasing rain.
_Saturday, 11th November._--Hopes of getting in by Christmas are fast
fading away. The dead muzzler, and his companion the pouring rain,
continue to harass us.
We went about at 8 A.M., again at noon, and again at 4 P.M., and are
getting pretty expert at it. Now we are heading N.W. by N. compass
course, but I believe the real course is about W.N.W.
Johnsen came aft to-day to complain of his treatment by the men
forward, and especially by Jennings.
The mate refused to let him see the old man, and told him to get
forward; but Johnsen was not to be put off, and he started to argue the
matter.
Just as I was beginning to think it was about time there was trouble,
the old man came on deck, and said,
“What do you want?”
“I vish to complain ’bout dat man Jennings.”
“Get forward at once. Do you think I’m going to be bothered because you
can’t keep an O.S. in order? Get forward, or I’ll log you.”
“I varn you, Captain Bailey, ve shall see ven de ship gets in; you and
de second mate I gets in de law courts for bad dreatment. I haf de
money, and I vill have de lawyer.”
The old man merely burst out laughing, in which the mate joined, as
Johnsen, muttering ferocious threats of what he would do, retreated
forward.
_Sunday, 12th November._--A great and welcome change this morning;
though the head wind is still with us, the weather has cleared up; once
more the decks are dry, and all sail has been set.
All hands are busy washing clothes, and there is a terrific run on
soap. Fresh water we have plenty of, as during the last few wet days we
have been collecting it in every thing available.
The ship is now festooned with line upon line of drying clothes.
Johnsen and I, who have both grown thick beards and whiskers whilst
off the Horn, shaved them off to-day, and I am told that I do not look
quite such a hard customer as I did.
The same cannot be said for Johnsen, who looks if possible a greater
scoundrel than ever. It is wonderful what a difference a beard and
whiskers make to a face; even Don has quite altered his appearance by
shaving off his moustache.
_Monday, 13th November._--We started shifting sail to-day, bending our
old sails for the tropics.
As my knee would hardly stand working aloft all day yet, I have been
made quartermaster in our watch, and I had eight hours at the wheel
to-day, from 4 A.M. to 8 A.M., and from noon until 4 P.M.,--the whole
of the morning and afternoon watches. I much prefer steering to the
hard work of shifting sail, of which I have had quite enough already
this passage.
I am steering by the compass N. 1/2 W.; our true course is N. 57 W.,
and we are in lat. 20°.15 S., long. 18°.55 W.; our run being 82 miles.
We must be very close to the south-east trades now. Not so many
years ago, captains could tell to the degree where they would pick
up their trades; nowadays you sometimes do not get them at all, and
have to fluke along to the line as best you can. Why the trades are so
uncertain nowadays is one of those facts of which scientists have not
been able to offer an explanation.
There are two ships right astern, a full-rig ship and a four-mast
barque, and it behoves me to steer my very best to prevent those two
ships coming up on us.
It was a lovely night, regular tropical weather, and in the middle
watch everybody coiled up into snug corners under the break of the
poop; and as the gallant old _Royalshire_ slipped quietly along,
everybody slept the sleep of the just except the second mate, helmsman,
lookout, and myself, I being the timekeeper.
Mac and Loring had even brought their blankets on deck, and lay very
snug. This was too much for the second mate--the sight of every one
snoring about him whilst he had to keep wide awake--so he bent the end
of a brace on to Mac’s and Loring’s blankets, and getting well out
of sight, suddenly jerked the blankets away across the deck. Mac and
Loring were rolled roughly over on to their faces; Loring woke up at
once in the deuce of a rage, but Mac, much to our amusement, took some
time to come to his senses.
There is a better trick than this, which is to drop a bucket overboard
with a line bent to it, take the line through a port, and then make it
fast to some luckless sleeper’s foot.
At the right moment you leave go; away goes the bucket astern, and if
it is blowing fresh the victim is pulled full speed across the deck
until he brings up with a bang against the port, where he sticks, not
being small enough to go through.
Even if the ship is only going a few knots through the water, this
trick will give the victim a nasty jerk, and almost pull his foot off.
It was very amusing to watch Loring’s look of amazement as he woke up
and saw his blankets careering across the moonlit deck as if of their
own accord.
_Tuesday, 14th November._--Lat. 19°.12 S., long. 19°.53 W.
I took the wheel this morning from 8 A.M. till noon, and ran the two
ships astern out of sight.
The sun is coming south, and the old man tells me that we are only
50 miles off it to-day, and it is very nearly straight overhead.
To-morrow, when we pass it, there will be no shadows.
It seems funny that you will be able to stand on the deck in the
brilliant sunshine and yet have no shadow.
The old man has been busy all the morning painting his models, which
he has got on the wheel box; and whilst I stood at the wheel he spun
me yarn after yarn of sea experiences--of gales, shipwreck, narrow
escapes, sea phenomena, fights, and fires, enough to stock a dozen
books.
He told me he had sailed the seas in every kind of sailing-ship,
but had never been on a steamer. He ran away to sea, and landed in
Australia from his first voyage a penniless boy, and for many weeks
picked up his living in the streets of Sydney, bare-footed and ragged,
before he got a ship again.
I took the wheel again in the first dog watch, and brought her up to
north by the compass. I don’t know what the variation was; but, alas!
some wretched Jonah in the other watch broke her off again soon after
to N.N.W.
We finished shifting sail to-day, and once more the _Royalshire_ is
clad in her old and patched suit of sails.
_Wednesday, 15th November._--I had another eight hours at the wheel
to-day whilst the masts and yards were painted down.
Of course there was a terrific race between the two watches, our watch
starting at the mizen mast, and the port watch at the main.
Rooning has the post of honour--that of painting the mast from the
truck down to the royal-yard.
Each of the other yards have a man at each yardarm, and the lowermast
has Chips and Mac at work on it in bosun’s chairs.
Of course the paint is slashed on, but no holidays (bare patches)
are allowed, and it is noticeable how much quicker some men are than
others. Mac is by far the quickest and best painter in our watch, and
next to him come Johnsen, Jamieson, and Wilson.
Johnsen and Wilson, who have each got a topsail yardarm, are having
a terrific race, both working as if for dear life; but I am afraid
Johnsen is the best, as at any sailoring job or at painting and
scrubbing he is very hard to beat; though he is not so good on a
yardarm taking in sail, at which I think old Foghorn Wilson is the
best--excepting of course the second mate and Mac, who, to use a Yankee
expression, are “crackerjacks” at picking up a sail.
Notwithstanding that old sails, awnings, and tarpaulins are spread on
the deck and bulwarks under the painters, still our champions, Bower,
Jennings, Higgins and Company, have managed to scatter paint pretty
promiscuously.
The colour is a light-yellowish salmon colour, and the _Royalshire_ is
beginning to look very smart aloft.
Meanwhile I loll at the wheel in the glorious sunshine, keeping the
ship a clean full in the gentle breeze, a spoke now and again being all
she needs. I have to be careful, however, not to let her get within
flapping distance of the wind, as the weather clews would soon have
wiped the paint off the gay yardarms.
Dressed in a slouch hat, flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and
a thin pair of light blue dungaree trousers turned up to the knees, my
feet, legs, and arms are burnt to a rich mahogany colour.
Without any flesh on my bones, with all my muscles like whipcord,
and with my belt buckled tight to prevent the feeling of hollowness
which comes from the ever empty stomach--what care I for the scorching
tropical sun which is making the pitch in the deck seams boil, and is
making the paint rise in blisters on the bulwarks!
It is a fascinating business steering a big sailing-ship, and keeps
all one’s faculties and senses at work; one knows how to steer more
by instinct than anything else, and unless you are born with this
instinct, however much practice you have, it is impossible to become a
really first-class helmsman.
We are heading N.N.W. by compass, but true course is only N.W. by W.
Lat. 18°.20 S., long. 21°.04 W. Run 85 miles.
We passed the sun this morning, and at noon the captain told me we were
15 miles to the north of it.
All the afternoon the wind got lighter and lighter, and there was a
calm all night.
“Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down;
’Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea.”
Oh, where! and oh, where! are our bonny south-east trades?
_Thursday, 16th November._--A nice little breeze sprang up this
morning, and allowed us to drop a full-rig ship which had come up
astern during the night when we were becalmed.
To-day I have six hours at the wheel, the forenoon watch and the first
dog.
Painting is still in full swing; the masts and yards have been
finished, Mac breaking all previous records painting down the
jigger-mast.
Lat. 17°.41 S., long. 21°.52 W.
The wind has gradually dropped away again in the first dog watch, and
the sails are flapping against the wet paint, so we have hauled up the
courses.
_Friday, 17th November._--The trades sprang upon us about midnight, and
at last we are able to make our course, steering N. by E. 1/2 E. by
compass.
I am having a glorious time of it at the wheel all day in this
delicious weather, whilst the others are up to their elbows in paint.
This morning is a typical morning in the trades: sunshine, and blue sky
covered with white fleecy clouds; blue sea and white horses; shoals of
glittering flying-fish, and swooping “frigate” birds, those robbers on
the high seas.
The “man-of-war” or “frigate” bird does not fish for himself, but,
swooping from a terrific height, so frightens those hard workers the
“booby” birds, that they drop their fish, which the robber catches
before it reaches the water.
These “frigate” birds rise to a greater height than any other sea-bird,
and are so swift that they can catch flying-fish on the wing.
This weather is simply idyllic. You can have all your English summer
days in the green fields--give me a ship’s deck in the trades, with the
sails bellying in gleaming rounds of white above you, and the deep,
transparent blue of the ocean stretching away until it meets the little
clouds of cotton wool on the horizon!
Everybody is cheerful to-day except Scar, who is only cheerful when
everybody else is in the dumps, and Johnsen, whose wrongs are too heavy
upon him to allow his grim features any aspect but a scowl.
The old man is yarning away to me again this morning.
“Ah!” he says, “if a sailor’s life was all like this, it would be
honey. Last time I was in these trades, there were the _Loch Horn_ and
the _Ben Lee_ in company with me; the trades were very strong, and we
sailed dead level for more than a week. All that time, though it was
piping strong, we carried every stitch we could set.
“I remember well one Sunday--the three of us were neck and neck--the
_Ben Lee_ kept splitting and carrying away sails all day.
“As I looked through my glass I watched the tears gradually getting
bigger in his royals, at last the fore-royal split from top to bottom;
with remarkable dispatch, he unbent the sail and sent it down on deck.
Now old Captain Gaines was short of canvas, and spare royals he hadn’t
got, so he turned his sailmaker and all hands to, and as fast as a sail
split he sent it down, patched it, and set it again.
“I think he sent up his fore-royal more than half a dozen times that
Sunday, each time with a fresh patch.
“I guess you heard of my race with the _Puritan_ and _Cromartyshire_:
we were in sight of each other the whole way from Frisco to the Horn.
“The _Cromartyshire_ (which is a full-rigged clipper, and the ship that
cut down that French liner in the Atlantic) is really a much faster
ship than this, but she only beat us by a few days into Queenstown, and
we just got in ahead of the _Puritan_. I daresay you saw the report in
the papers at the time.”
I had; and as far as I remember, it ran somewhat like this:--
“The days of ocean racing, when tea-clippers ran 16 knots before a gale
of wind with royals mastheaded, are not yet dead.
“The sailing-ship _Lord Dundonald_ reports passing, in lat. 40°.33 S.,
long. 106°.15 W., three sailing-ships racing neck and neck, one of
them being a big four-mast barque.
“Though it was blowing hard at the time, and the _Lord Dundonald_ was
under topsails only, they had each got every stitch of canvas set, and
must have been going well over 14 knots.
“They were steering a course for the Horn, and we made them out to
be the _Royalshire_, the four-mast barque, and _Cromartyshire_ (both
Glasgow ships), and the Yankee clipper _Puritan_. Each ship had got a
string of flags flying.
“From the _Royalshire’s_ signal hilliards flew the signal, ‘Shall I
take you in tow?’
“From those of the _Cromartyshire_, ‘Will report you at Queenstown!’
“And from the Yankee’s, ‘Good-bye, Britishers; can’t stop.’”
There is a barque in sight on our weather quarter, and though she is
not steering as high as we are, we are dropping her, and can only see
the royals of the ship astern.
We had a grand concert on the after-hatch this evening. We sang all the
old deep-sea choruses, the bosun twanged his guitar, Don discoursed
shrill music on the penny whistle, and Mac emitted hideous noises from
the mouth organ.
Several artists have appeared forward, and one of them is painting
a really wonderful canvas of the _Royalshire_ off the Horn. Another
prefers a steamer with red smoke-stacks and plenty of good black
smoke.
[Illustration: A “DOWN-EASTER”]
There are also minor artists, who content themselves with painting
flags and heraldic devices.
The break of the poop is beginning to look very smart, and I think the
coats of paint on it have got into double figures.
I employed my time one day whilst laid up in making stencils, and
now Mac and Scar are going to show off their stencilling on the
midship-house, break of the poop, and half-deck.
The finishing touch to the break of the poop will be the graining of
the lower part of it, which work of art will be done by the captain
himself.
Alas! of all our chickens there are only two left, and if these don’t
die of old age, they will be kept for the cabin Christmas dinner.
Lat. 16°.31 S., long. 22°.08 W.
_Saturday, 18th November._--The trades are fine and strong. We are
braced up on the starboard tack, with the yards off the backstays,
steering N. by E. 1/2 E. by compass.
Whilst I was at the wheel this morning, from 8 A.M. till noon, it
breezed up finely, until at noon we were doing 9-1/2 knots.
There was more kick in the wheel this morning than there has been for
some time. It is the great aim of every helmsman to have the ship
steady and dead on her course when he is relieved. This I have always
managed to do so far, and the other helmsmen of our watch, Jamieson,
Rooning, and Foghorn Wilson, generally leave you a steady helm; but the
other watch, with the exception of Yoko, who perhaps next to Jamieson
is the best helmsman in the ship, are a shocking bad lot.
They very often leave the wheel hard up or hard down, having managed to
get the ship on her course at the last moment before being relieved,
but of course without having her steady, the consequence is if you do
not watch it and meet her in time, you find your ship running a point
off her course. Very often, also, I have had the wheel given me and
found the ship more than half a point off her course.
I do not think our old man is as particular on this point as some
captains are, or he would have turned several of the port watch away
from the wheel.
Of course he knows that the _Royalshire_ is steering very badly on
account of her foul bottom, but still this would be no excuse with some
skippers.
Quartermasters on mail-boats have to be within half a degree of their
course, or they get severely called over the coals by the officer of
the watch. Steering is a speciality with them, and they do nothing else.
Mac and Scar, in despair of being able to get their second mate’s
tickets, talk of trying to get a quartermaster’s job on a liner; but
it is not so easy to get.
_Sunday, 19th November._--There is only one word for the weather, and
that is the word “delicious.” A fresh cool breeze is sending us along
about 8 knots, and the sun is warm without being too hot.
I overhauled my gear to-day, and turned out my bunk. It is wonderful
how things collect in one’s bunk; in mine I found chunks of plug
tobacco, magazines, lost socks, books, bits of wood, rope yarn,
rovings, lashings, a palm and needle, a marlinspike, sundry pieces of
soap, an odd matchbox or two, a quantity of used matches, a pen and a
pencil, a roll of diachylon plaster, a pair of scissors, my housewife,
a stray reel of cotton, some twine, two or three old shirts, and my
silk sou’wester which the captain gave me.
Our watch is still in a very bad way with sea-boils, and it looks as
if poor old Taylor will lose his hand; it all depends on how long we
take to get in, and if we get another dose of head winds or a strong
nor’-easter in the Western Ocean, I am afraid it will have to go.
The finger is in an awful state; the bone is rotting away, all the
tendons have broken, and it smells absolutely putrid.
Old Taylor puts a very good face on it. He showed it me this morning,
and said with a rather sorry laugh, “Another backstay carried away this
morning.”
He was right. The tendons, three of them, were hanging loose in long
white strings. Rooning’s arms are still one mass of boils, and if he
goes on taking pills at the rate he is going now, he will soon run me
out of them.
_Monday, 20th November._--The great day for cleaning and painting out
the half-deck has come.
This morning, Mac, Loring, and I turned out at 5.30 A.M. in our watch
below, and the lot of us turned to.
The chests and bags were taken out and put down the after-hatch, our
bedding and eating utensils being put on the main-hatch, where we shall
camp for the next few days under a tarpaulin.
First we scrubbed it all thoroughly with sugi-mugi, then we dried
it, and started painting everything except the deck, bunks and all.
After working like furies all day, we got it finished in the first dog
watch--a pretty smart bit of work.
The steward also painted out his berth to-day, and, as he can’t stand
the smell of wet paint, he is as ill and sick as he can be.
Lat. 7°.52 S., long. 22°.28 W.
We sighted a barque outward bound in the first watch.
_Tuesday, 21st November._--The cook left the galley this morning,
having handed in his resignation, and Loring has been appointed cook.
The trouble arose because the cook said he could not manage unless he
got more fresh water a day. As he really gets a very liberal allowance
for cooking purposes, considering how short of water we are, this
was not to be thought of, and the old man told him that if he could
not cook on the allowance he gets now, he could get forward to the
forecastle and do ordinary ship’s work.
The cook thought he could bluff the old man, and got badly left, so at
last we are rid of old Slush and his vile cooking.
This morning we have started work on the decks, beginning on the
main-deck.
Each man is on his knees, with a square block of wood, some canvas, and
plenty of sand and water.
With these blocks of wood, commonly called “prayer-books,” every plank
has to be rubbed until it is absolutely clean and white; and unlucky he
whose planks are not white enough to pass the mate’s keen criticism!
This is by no means a “soft” job, especially for me with a bad knee.
One is never allowed to sit down or be in a comfortable attitude
working at sea, as that is considered sodgering, and is a most heinous
offence.
So on our knees we go at it, each working for dear life; for one has
to keep up with the quickest worker in the watch, or else you get left
behind, and there is trouble.
Though this is almost as bad on the back as the “deck-bear,” it is a
much quicker process of cleaning the decks.
We have got no holystone on board, so the whole business will have to
be done with sand and canvas.
I don’t think old Slush likes it much, down on his knees amongst us
working harder than he has done for many a long day, whilst Loring, our
new cook, leans against the door of the galley with a pipe in his mouth.
Now that Loring has gone into the galley, I take a regular wheel, and
rejoice at giving up the thankless task of timekeeping at night.
Lat 5°.19 S., long. 22°.29 W.
Very hot to-day, and the trades falling light.
Oh, what a feed we had to-day! Our salt junk was a sight to see--clean,
no slush about it, and cut in decent slices.
Good old Loring is determined to do things in first-rate style, and is
taking no end of trouble to make the food as palatable as possible.
The trades hauled aft a bit in the first watch, and we squared in the
yards.
_Wednesday, 22nd November._--Hard at work again at our prayers.
The trades are leaving us, I am afraid, and it is getting very hot.
I don’t think old Slush is enjoying himself much; at this rate he will
soon get some of the superfluous fat off his greasy body.
I was very pleased this afternoon to get off two hours deck-scrubbing
by standing my trick at the wheel.
A day of sweltering heat and back-breaking toil; the deck is so hot
that one cannot walk bare-foot upon it, hardened as our feet are.
_Thursday, 23rd November._--Lat. 0°.36 N., long. 22°.26 W.
We crossed the line last night at 4 A.M., and are once more in the
northern hemisphere.
We broke up our camp on the main-hatch, and returned to the half-deck.
Old Slush came aft this morning and whined to the old man to let him go
back into the galley, but the old man refused; at which we all rejoiced
with exceeding joy, for Loring’s cooking is a tremendous improvement;
his soft bread--sailors call bread soft bread, as compared to ship’s
biscuit, which they call hard bread--is very nice for ship’s bread, and
far better than old Slush’s rocky loaves; and yesterday the pea-soup
was a treat--there was more of it, it was quite white, as Loring had
washed his peas thoroughly, and it was very tasty, as he had boiled
small pieces of pork in it.
We finished scrubbing the main-deck to-day, and now there is only the
poop to be done.
We are having magnificent starry nights, and the water is full of
phosphorus, which glitters round the ship. The trades are falling off,
being very unsteady and fluky to-day.
_Friday, 24th November._--Yards once more square. We have lost the
trades, and are now in the doldrums again.
We are hard at work to-day scrubbing the poop, and after a terrific
race we just beat the port watch, getting the starboard side done first.
Poor old Don got into trouble this afternoon in the first dog watch.
The port watch were at the starboard crossjack-braces. Don started to
sing out a chanty which had been made up on the ship in Japan--
“Hi! hi! hi! louralay, louralay,
Come and see the greatest living wonder of the day!”
The old man, who was on the poop, mistook one of the lines for some
very choice swearing, which of course would have been a great offence
right under the poop, so he holloa’d out to Don from the break of the
poop,
“Get forward, you there, swearing like that; get forward at once!”
So off Don had to go forward. He is rather pleased than otherwise, as
Scar and the nipper have been making his life a burden to him in the
half-deck.
I helped him to get his truck into the port forecastle in the second
dog watch.
He is in great disgrace, and is not allowed on the poop any more.
The old man really did not mean him to go forward into the forecastle
altogether, but only to stay forward till the end of the first dog
watch, and he was quite surprised when he saw Don and myself carting
his things forward.
Don is delighted with the change, and says it is a tremendous relief to
be amongst the merry good-tempered dagos instead of in the half-deck
with that sulky dog Scar.
There was a magnificent sunset, and as it grew dark, summer lightning
lit up the whole of the horizon. It was almost a dead calm all night,
with little fluky puffs, which soon died away again, but which kept us
at the braces most of the night; and the ship seldom had steerage way
on her for more than half an hour at a time.
_Saturday, 25th November._--There was a squall from the nor’ard at
7.30 A.M., and we braced her sharp up; but it did not last long, and
the wind blew for short whiles during the day from every point of the
compass.
Towards evening a light steady breeze blew from dead aft, and kept us
going all night.
It was a lovely night, dim and misty at first, until the moon rose and
the stars sparkled through the damp atmosphere. It was my wheel from
ten to midnight, and it was rather a case of--
“The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white,
From the sails the dew did drip;
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The horned moon, with one bright star,
Within the nether tip.”
I have shifted my things into Don’s bunk, the top one over mine.
_Sunday, 26th November._--Lat. 5°.20 N., long. 22°.59 W. Course--N. 16
E. Run 47 miles.
To-day is the hottest day, I think, we have had this passage, and most
of the watch have put shoes on, as the deck is much too hot for bare
feet.
No rest this morning, for every few minutes a light air springs up and
we have to brace her to it; this dies away, and just as we have coiled
the braces on the pins, another puff comes, and again the cry rings out,
“Weather crossjack-brace!”
At last, about 11 A.M., after hauling at the braces ever since we came
on deck, our watch thought we had got a rest, but no such luck.
The burning heat was too great a temptation to the old man, and he
seized upon it as a splendid opportunity to oil the decks.
We were provided with oil in buckets, and with rags and old socks. At
it we went on our knees on the deck.
“No holidays, mind!” was the cry of the second mate.
You bet we did record time over it, as it was boiling hot, and kneeling
on the deck was like kneeling on hot bricks.
It took us just till eight bells to oil the whole of the main-deck.
A nice little breeze from the eastward sprang up in the afternoon, and
just kept us moving two or three knots through the water.
I spent the afternoon trying to catch a shark, but he was too cautious.
Don and one or two others wanted to go overboard for a swim, but, on
seeing the shark, soon dropped the idea.
Once more the Bear is rising on the horizon, whilst the great Southern
Cross hangs low.
_Monday, 27th November._--There was a bad squall last night in the
middle watch, which heeled the ship over as if she had been a small
cutter yacht.
The flying-jib split, and it was a wonder that nothing else carried
away.
It was only a tropical squall, however, and it soon fell dead calm
again.
All day we lay becalmed in the stifling heat. Paint-pots and brushes
are out again, and the bulwarks are being painted, whilst I stand
lazily at the wheel doing quartermaster again.
Standing all day in this fierce sun has burnt me as brown as a
Hottentot, especially my feet.
The flying-fish are flitting around us in great numbers, and I have
seen several with four wings.
I wish a few of them would fly aboard, as they are splendid eating.
The old man has started graining the break of the poop, and very well
he is doing it.
The second mate, Mac, and Scar, each tried their hands at it, but were
all miserable failures.
The most enjoyable part of the day is the second dog watch, when in
the cool of the evening we sit on the after-hatch spinning yarns and
singing songs.
We were talking about the wonderful hardness of Liverpool hard bread
this evening, and the subject produced quite a crop of very tall yarns.
The following, however, is quite true, and was told me by the doctor of
a large Glen Liner:--
“‘We had not been many days at sea,’ he said, ‘before our crew came aft
and complained that the hard-tack was of such stony substance that it
was impossible for any but a shark to bite it. They stated that if you
hit a biscuit with an iron belaying pin it made no impression upon it,
and soaking it in water made it no better.’
“‘Here, doctor,’ called the captain to me, ‘here’s a case for you to
decide: Is this biscuit fit for the men to eat?’ and he handed me a
regular bad-looking Liverpool pantile from the bread-barge which the
men had brought to show him.
“I took the biscuit, and made a great bite at it. There was a crack in
my jaw, and I found that I had hardly made a dent in the biscuit with
my teeth.
“As I took the biscuit from my mouth, something white came with it and
fell to the deck, where it glistened like a pearl of beauty.
“‘Halloa! what’s this?’ cried the skipper, and he picked it up. ‘By
gosh! doctor, you’ve carried away a tooth.’
“There was a roar of laughter; it was only too true, the pantile had
broken off my port eye-tooth.
“‘Captain,’ I said gravely, ‘this bread is not fit for human
consumption, and if you throw it to the sharks, they will be calling at
the dentist’s in a very short time.’
“There was a cheer. My poor tooth had solved the bread question.”
_Tuesday, 28th November._--The breeze was faint and unsteady all day.
A four-mast barque outward bound passed us to leeward this morning, and
there is a homeward bound barque like ourselves to windward, but we are
dropping her.
We are now right in the track of the outward bounders, having crossed
the equator well to the eastward.
I am still lolling at the wheel all day during our watch on deck,
whilst the rest slap, dab, dab away with their paint-brushes.
_Wednesday, 29th November._--A steamer homeward bound passed us quite
close this morning at 4.30, but it was too dark to get reported. This
is the first steamer we have seen this passage.
We think we have got the north-east trades at last, though they are
very light. Steering N.N.W. by compass. We are ninety-six days out
to-day.
Another wonderful tropical sunset to-day, the sky being one gorgeous
mass of colour.
_Thursday, 30th November._--A foreign barque, probably a dago, passed
us quite close outward bound, and notwithstanding that she was only
an old wooden ship with stump topgallant masts, she made a beautiful
picture as she wallowed slowly by.
There was a tremendous hunt up aloft to-day after a booby, which keeps
settling on the yards. He sits quite still until you are just about to
grab him, and then off he goes in circles uttering shrill cries, only
to alight again somewhere else.
Whilst I was at the wheel in the first dog watch there was a shoal of
bonita round us, all leaping out of the water in every direction. It
really was a wonderful sight; as far as you could see, the big fish
could be descried tumbling over each other and jumping about.
The sea round the ship was packed close with them. I have never seen
any fish so thick as these were, except of course the salmon in the
Fraser River, in British Columbia.
Talking of shoals of fish reminds me of an extraordinary sight I saw
whilst on the way up to the Klondyke in the steamer _City of Seattle_.
We went through snipe migrating north; the water was brown with them,
and they wheeled about in great clouds which almost obscured the sun.
For several hours we were going through them, steaming 10 knots.
This is a hard thing to believe, almost as hard as the sea serpent,
which gentleman I must say I firmly believe in.
I have met three different people who solemnly swear that they have
seen a sea serpent.
Why should there not be such a thing as a huge sea snake? No doubt
they are plentiful, but are so seldom seen, because they stay down in
the great depths of the ocean, never coming to the surface unless
compelled to against their will by some terrific convulsion below, such
as a submarine earthquake.
Of course, it is very probable that the tentacles of a giant squid have
often been mistaken for the sea serpent.
_Friday, 1st December._--Lat. 10°.50 N., long. 27°.00 W.
The trades are very light, but we are heading up well, which is
something.
A steamer crossed our bow quite close last night. It was a very dark
night, and we could only see her lights; she was evidently homeward
bound from the South.
The days have been rather uneventful lately, being composed of hot sun,
light breeze, and paint-pot. The ship is really beginning to look very
smart.
_Saturday, 2nd December._--Lat. 12°.2 N., long. 27°.00 W.
Very hot, and the trades are lighter than ever; the old man tells me
that they are caused by bad weather to the nor’ard.
All hands are still hard at work putting the last coats of paint on the
bulwarks, rails, etc., whilst I loll at the wheel.
Owing to Loring’s good cooking, the sea-boils amongst the men have been
getting better; but now a new trouble has broken out, and several of
the men are quite helpless from it.
It is very bad cramps in the stomach. Mac got it this evening in the
second dog watch, and is lying in his bunk helpless and faint from the
pain.
I gave him a strong dose of chlorodyne, but it only made him sick, and
did not ease up the pain.
He had to lie up all night, he was so bad.
_Sunday, 3rd December._--Dead calm all night and all day.
The _Royalshire_ without steerage way on her, is truly
“As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.”
Mac and several of the men forward are very bad still with cramps in
the stomach.
I think it must be the water, which, as we get nearer the bottom of the
tanks, is becoming very foul.
We have only got five weeks water left, and out of one tank it comes
up thick and muddy, and out of the other a dark red, from the rust, so
I think the dark red water must be like a very strong iron tonic, and
thus perhaps causes the cramp.
Lat. 12°.40 N., long. 27°.46 W.
I have got the worst wheels this week, the second dog watch and the
4 to 6 A.M. wheels being considered the worst two tricks to have; my
other wheel is a good one, though, the 10 to 12 in the forenoon watch.
The second dog watch was the one I hated most, as I could hear the
fellows singing and having a good time on the main-deck whilst I was
stuck by myself at the wheel.
The 4 to 6 A.M. wheel is really considered the worst by sailors, as
those are the two sleepiest hours of the whole twenty-four.
But there was one great compensation I found in this trick, and that
was, that every morning you saw a most superb sunrise whilst the rest
of the watch were dozing on the main-deck.
A breeze sprang up this evening in the second dog watch whilst I was at
the wheel, and it gradually increased in strength.
Poor old Mac, who was as strong and fit as a buck rabbit a few days
ago, is now as weak and ill as a far-gone patient in consumption. His
cheeks have fallen in, and he really looks very bad.
_Monday, 4th December._--Lat. 13°.39 N., long. 28°.12 W. Course--N. 24
W. Run 62 miles.
There is a fine little breeze this morning, and weare going course
steering N. 1/2 E. by compass.
Painting is now nearly finished, and to-day the varnish appeared, and
we varnished the poop-rail and stanchions.
_Tuesday, 5th December._--Fine breeze all night; going course N. by E.
by compass, with a heavy swell setting in from N.E.
Lat. 15°.22 N., long. 29°.20 S. Very hot again to-day, and wind falling.
I have fallen upon a soft job, painting the name of the ship in a blue
riband on the poop buckets.
The wind freshened up again in the afternoon, and we passed a
three-masted schooner painted white, a brigantine, and two barques, all
outward bound.
The second mate has fallen a victim to cramps in the stomach, and was
in great agony the whole of the second dog watch whilst I was at the
wheel.
He leant helpless most of the time over the rail, as sick as a
passenger on a channel boat on a choppy passage.
Directly the watch changed I gave him a terrific dose of chlorodyne,
which seemed to pick him up a bit.
Mac is still bad, and has not been able to touch any food since Sunday,
and he is a fair wreck of his former self.
_Wednesday, 6th December._--A welcome change has taken place; the wind
is blowing fresh, and the sea is rough, and we are fast making up for
lost time.
A heavy squall came up upon us whilst I was at the wheel about 11 A.M.
It came out of the N.E., and went away until it hung a black cloud on
the horizon to leeward, then it came swooping back upon us.
I put the helm up and held it there, but was too late, and in a moment
we were caught aback before we had time to go off.
The crossjack and mainsail were hauled up, and the staysails taken in,
but as it blew harder we had to take in the royals.
Lat. 17°.40 N., long. 29°.29 W. The wind freed a bit about 1 P.M., and
the mainsail and crossjack were set again, the royals and staysails
also being set in the first dog watch.
We are going 7-1/2 knots through the water on the port tack.
_Thursday, 7th December._--Fairly piping under all sail, except
flying-jib, on our course and going over 10 knots.
I was at the wheel this morning from 4 to 8, steering through my
trick and Jamieson’s, whilst the watch were busy sending down the
mizen-royal, which had split, and bending another one.
The helm is very hard, and kicking like a horse with the stiff sea
running, into which we were shoving our nose and boring our way at a
great pace. It took me all I knew to hold the wheel steady, and several
times she lifted me right off my legs; but I thoroughly enjoyed the
trick, as I exerted all my strength to fight the kicking demon.
It was a pretty heavy four hours’ spell, and by eight o’clock my arms
felt as if I had been riding a runaway horse.
A good helmsman has to be born, not made. Every boat and every ship
steers differently. Some steer very badly, some steer very easily; each
has its own peculiarities, which a good helmsman finds out at once.
The _Royalshire_ was not an easy steerer at all--very few long
four-mast barques are--but what made her worse than usual was the load
of wheat aft, and the foulness of her bottom.
Every day she steered worse, and required a great deal of watching, and
the other day one of the dagos in the port watch was turned away from
the wheel.
The most difficult task of all, is to steer a large ship running before
a gale of wind in a big sea.
A bad helmsman in such a case will have his spokes flying round the
whole time; first his helm will be hard up and then hard down, and the
ship will be swinging a couple of points on each side of her course.
This is because he probably watches his compass too much and his ship
too little.
A good helmsman will know instinctively when his ship is beginning to
come up, and will at once meet her with the helm a second or two before
the compass shows the fact.
Never watch your compass too much, as the compass is slow always, and
very deceiving.
At night, if it is clear, and you are steering a compass course (by
which I mean that you are not steering by the wind, and the ship is
able to lie her course), take a star at a yardarm and steer by it.
Always try to keep the wheel as still as possible. In steering the
ship by the wind, a spoke or two occasionally is all that ought to be
required to keep the ship dead on her course, if the wind is steady.
Steering like I am now, the ship going over 10 knots with the yards off
the backstays, once she is steady she ought not to require a spoke once
in half an hour.
When steering by the wind, you ought to keep the weather clew of your
royal just quivering.
A landsman will no doubt wonder why, if the royal leech is flapping,
the other sails are not doing the same: but that belongs to another
branch of the art of sailoring, that of trimming your yards properly.
The royal should be braced up the least bit more than the topgallant,
and the topgallant more than the topsail, and the topsail more than the
course.
A good quality in a mate is to be a good sail-trimmer.
But to return to steering. The steering of a big square-rigged
sailing-ship is I think a most fascinating job, whether you are
standing bare-footed in flannel shirt and dungarees, watching the
flying-fish as your ship hums through the trades with the maintack
boarded, or whether you are running before a gale of wind with lashings
on your oilskins, working like a donkey-engine, and hardly daring to
look behind you. You know that if you take your keenest attention off
for a moment, your ship will run two or three points off her course,
and will ship a huge sea, which, washing the decks fore and aft, will
perhaps smash a boat to matchwood, or wash out the galley, or even
carry some of the watch over the side.
It is terrifying to a weak-nerved helmsman to see a huge mass of water
with a foaming top rear itself up behind and chase him, trying its best
to poop the ship, and ready to fall on top of him if he makes the least
mistake.
It is for this reason that some ships have wheel-houses to hide the
following sea from the fearful helmsman. This is the time when the
good men come to the fore and the indifferent helmsmen are turned away
disgraced.
Liverpool in the other watch, who relieved me at eight bells, got
turned away from the wheel, as the old man coming on deck found him a
couple of points off his course, and there was the deuce of a kick-up.
Liverpool said that it was not his fault, as he could not hold her.
It is a lovely sunny day. The old man is hanging on to his royals,
and dollops and sprays are once more coming aboard, one, of course,
flooding into the half-deck.
Lat. 21°.6 N., long. 30°.22 W. Run 217 miles.
We passed a ship in the first dog watch homeward bound like ourselves,
under three lower-topsails and main upper-topsail, and we were under
all sail.
I bet her old man looked at us in amazement as we surged by, going
close on 12 knots.
_Friday, 8th December._--Lat. 25°.01 N., long. 30°.46 W.
These are champion trades, and in the last twenty-four hours we ran 236
miles.
A heavy squall came down about 9 A.M. We stood by the royal halliards,
and hauled in the head of the spanker, but the old man held on to his
royals, and she fairly lay over and smoked through it, the spray flying
in sheets over the starboard bow.
It was my wheel from 10 to 12. At 11.30 they set the spanker again, and
it was wonderful what a difference that extra bit made to the steering.
Before they hauled out the head of the spanker she was steering nice
and easy, being well balanced, but the extra cloth just made her
uncomfortable and disagreeable.
Seventeen more days to Christmas, and the great question is, Shall we
get home in time?
_Saturday, 9th December._--Lat. 28°.16 N., long. 31°.54 W.
It was squally all night, and we clewed up the royals in the first
watch, but set them again before midnight.
Old Slush was sent up on to the main-royal yard to overhaul the gear,
and the old rascal stayed skulking up aloft in the maintop whilst we
were working on deck until the watch was over, when he sneaked down on
deck; but the second mate was up to his tricks, and sent him up again,
and kept him up aloft overhauling gear until half an hour of his watch
below had passed.
This morning, after my trick at the wheel, the second mate sent me up
on to the fore-royal yard to see if there was any sail in sight, and
also to put in a couple of rovings.
As I was shinning up the royal halliards, my good old felt hat (which
I have had all this time, and which I had got quite fond of, with its
faded ribbon, and splashed as it was with paint of every colour), blew
off my head and went sailing away to leeward.
I was very much annoyed to lose it, as, besides being my last hat,
except for my sou’wester and a Klondyke fur cap, it was such an old
friend.
I had worn it on the prairie, in mining camps in the Klondyke, and even
played cricket matches in it in England.
We started shifting sail again this morning; shifted the crossjack,
main upper and lower topsails, and mizen upper-topsail.
I am out of luck to-day, as on the crossjack yard the buckle of my belt
carried away, and away went my belt overboard. My knife luckily dropped
out of the sheath on to the deck, and I got it again; but I was almost
as sorry at losing my belt as my hat, as it was a good old pigskin
belt, and had been companion to my hat in all kinds of adventures.
I was very pleased at not losing my knife, though, which bears a
charmed life; several times I have lost it and found it again; three
times has it fallen from aloft, and off the Horn it was afloat in the
half-deck for several days.
Scar gave me an old deep-sea cap this morning, and so I have still got
head gear, and have not been brought to making caps out of canvas, like
Don, Jennings, and one or two others.
It is blowing pretty hard, and makes shifting sail very heavy work; but
the old man dare not wait any longer, or we shall find ourselves in the
Western Ocean with only our summer suit on, and we are looking forward
to a bad time in the stormy, wintery Atlantic.