Here was sound advice, and it was rigidly adhered to, for th

Produced by StevenGibbs and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

[Illustration: FLOUNDERING OF THE "SILVERSPRAY."]

THE SHELLBACK'S PROGRESS

IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

_By_

WALTER RUNCIMAN, _Sen._

LONDON AND NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE:

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD.

NEW YORK: 3 EAST 14th STREET.

1904.

DEDICATION

_TO WALTER TOWNEND, ESQ._

"MY DEAR TOWNEND,--Perhaps no two men have ever been bound together

with ties of closer or more loyal friendship than you and myself. Many

years have elapsed since our unbroken comradeship was formed in the old

historic building in Cornhill. You have many claims to friendship and

to confidence, and perhaps you can hardly realize what pleasure it

gives me to remember that during our intercourse of so many years, your

sincerity, directness and single-mindedness could always be depended

upon. Your joyful relish of a tale of human interest, whether as a

listener or a narrator, is always contagious. Your indignation and

scorn for unmanly and dishonourable conduct, and your quick appreciation

of whatever is generous and true; this, and my high regard for your

own personal worth, have given me the wish to inscribe this volume

of sea stories to you.

"Ever yours sincerely,

"WALTER RUNCIMAN."

_August, 1904_

PREFACE

These stories are drawn from the reality of things, and perhaps I may

as well say that they have been written during short intervals snatched

from a busy and absorbing commercial life. I have tried to portray the

men as they were--brave, dauntless, rugged, uncouth, illiterate,

simple-minded, kind-hearted, and, at times, unmercifully savage. And

yet there shone through all these conflictingly peculiar eccentricities

a humorous kind of religion which belonged exclusively to themselves,

but which gave their characteristics a touch of sublimity. We have

travelled far since those days of aboriginal stupidity and sordid

blood-sucking. The contrast between the comforts and conditions of life

at sea then and now cannot be imagined. We may only talk of it; we can

never truly estimate the change. I do not draw attention to the

comparison because I think the sailor has got any more than he is

entitled to. I refer to it in order that he may recognize a desire on

the part of modern shipowners and the Legislature to give him every

possible advantage consistent with the peculiarities of the trade in

which he is engaged. One of the most recent advantages suggested in

their report by the Mercantile Committee, who sat for, I think, about

twelve months taking evidence from shipowners, shipmasters, sailors,

and others, is that an amended food scale should be adopted, and that

the seaman should have the right of appeal against a bad "discharge"

that may be given him. In my opinion the great body of shipowners will

endorse that portion of their recommendations. It is to be desired that

the seamen will recognize in this a willingness on the part of their

employers to deal justly with them, for undoubtedly it was the evidence

given by shipowners that influenced the Committee.

CONTENTS.

CHAP. PAGE

I. THE WILD NORTH SEA 1

II. CAPTAIN PLUNKER 30

III. CAPTAIN MACGREGOR 67

IV. PIRACY IN THE ARCHIPELAGO 97

V. SAILORS' OPINIONS OF NOTABLE PUBLIC MEN 148

VI. MARY ROUTLEDGE 181

VII. FORECASTLE LIFE 206

VIII. GRUB 253

IX. MISCELLANEOUS 283

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

By THOMAS RUNCIMAN.

PAGE

FOUNDERING OF THE "SILVERSPRAY" _Frontispiece_

FINDING THE LEAK 40

CAPTAIN PLUNKER ASTONISHED 90

"THERE WERE MANY CALLERS" 140

HAVING A NIP 186

"NOW, BOYS, POUR IT ON THEM SMARTLY!" 236

A NORTHUMBERLAND HARBOUR 288

I

THE WILD NORTH SEA

There was a large fleet of sailing brigs, barques and schooners waiting

for a favourable wind and spring tides, so that they might be put to

sea without running the risk of thumping their keels off on the Bar.

The vessels had been loaded for several weeks. Many of them were bound

to the Baltic. These were spoken of as the "Spring Fleet." The older

and smaller craft were engaged in the coasting trade, and the larger

were bound to ports in the southern hemisphere. Each of them carried

three or four apprentices; but the southern-going portion did not deem

the collier lads "classy" enough to permit of them forming close

comradeship. A condescending speaking-acquaintance was the limit of

their connection. There was nothing to justify this snobbery, for in

point of comparison the average collier lad in seamanship and physical

capacity was the equal, and in intelligence by no means inferior to the

young gentlemen who regarded the class of vessel they served aboard of

as a stamp of their own superiority. They were indeed a species of that

terrible creature who apes nobility because he lives in a mansion.

Occasionally the collier lads resented the lofty airs of the

southern-going gentry, until open hostility ensued and much blood was

spilt. But pugilistic encounters were conducted on strictly

professional lines, and no ill-will was supposed to exist on the part

of the combatants after they were over. That was the rule laid down,

and a breach of it brought disgrace on the violator and his coadjutors,

who were thereupon ostracised from the party to which they belonged.

The necessity for enforcing the penalty rarely occurred, not only

because of its severity, but because it involved loss of honour.

A disagreement as to valour and prowess and seamanship had arisen

between some sailor lads who belonged to the two different sections.

They decided that their differences could only be settled by being

fought out on neutral ground. This was solemnly chosen, a ring formed,

seconds appointed, and the contest began. In half-an-hour victory was

decided in favour of the collier boy, though with all the fulness of

sailor generosity his opponent received an ungrudging share of the

ovation that was given to the champion. Both, however, showed evidences

of rough usage: the only visible difference being that one had two eyes

badly damaged while the victor had but one. After it was over they

shook hands, swore allegiance to each other, walked back to their

respective vessels, had raw beef applied to the eyes that were

discoloured, tumbled into their hammocks and fell fast asleep.

Meanwhile a general meeting of apprentice lads from all the vessels in

port was mustered, so that the result of the dispute should be publicly

proclaimed; and in order that the occasion should be suitably

celebrated, it was suggested and approved by loud acclamation that

whereas there was every chance of the morrow being a sailing day, when

the little port would be emptied of all its shipping, it might be that

the parting would represent years, and perchance many of them would

never meet on earth again. The latter clause was announced with marked

solemnity. The orator proceeded to state that there had been enmities,

jealousies, perhaps unworthy statements made about the inferiority of

the collier boy, but the question had been settled by a brilliant

exhibition of physical science; both sides were well represented, and

both had shown that they were worthy champions of the noble art.

"Let me ask you then to call upon them both to join with us in becoming

friends, and in having on the last night in port a ripping

jollification. I propose," said the peacemaker, "that we have some

chanties, and that we start these aboard the vessel I belong to by

hoisting the topsail yards up."

The two heroes were roused, and cheerfully joined in what resolved

itself into a carnival of reckless mischief. The brains of the whole

company were excited, and they revelled in every form of scampishness.

The leaders gave orders as to the vessels that were to be visited and

have their yards crossed and their rig in other ways disfigured. This

being done, the spokesman informed them that they had spent a very

jolly night, and after hoisting the _Silverspray's_ topsails to the

mast head and furling the sails again, they were to disperse quietly

and go each to his own ship. The sails were loosened, a chanty man was

selected from among the southern-going seamen, and amid a chorus of

sweet song the yards were leisurely mast-headed. The music of many

voices had attracted a few people to the quay. A shout was raised that

the captain of the vessel was coming. The halyards dropped from each

one's hand, and a general scramble resembling a panic ensued. Down came

the main topsail yard with a run, and broke in halves as soon as the

sudden jerk came on the lifts. In almost as little time as it takes to

write it, there was none of the revellers to be seen.

After the novelty has worn off, there is never any particular desire to

put to sea on the part of youngsters; but on this occasion the anxiety

to get out of the harbour was very marked. Many of the vessels got away

before the damage done to the _Silverspray's_ yard and sail became

generally known. The captain did not know that anything of the sort had

happened until he came down to take the vessel to sea, and being a

commonsense sort of man, instead of joining in the chorus of screaming,

as his owner was doing, he adjured him to cease wasting time in

declaiming against those who had done the mischief.

"We must set to work," said he, "and have the damage repaired; that is

more important than theorising as to who did it."

By the time the repairs were set in full swing, nearly the whole of the

culprits had passed over the bar aboard their respective ships into the

booming waves of the German Ocean. Many of them were destined never to

reach their destination, and many never more to see the paradise that

had given them so many ineffable days and nights. Sad hearts were

grieving over the sudden parting from those who were loved because they

were lovable. They seemed to be musing thoughts of poetry.

The _Silverspray's_ repairs were completed in two days, and she and

another vessel, that had been detained owing to her pump gear not being

ready, were towed out of the harbour in the face of a strong easterly

wind and a lowering glass. The portly, ruddy appearance and pronounced

lurch or roll of Captain Thomas Arlington left no doubt as to his

calling. He spoke with an assumed accent which resembled the

amalgamation of several dialects. He was usually called Tom by his

intimate friends, but mere acquaintances were not permitted to address

him in any such familiar fashion. In his younger days he gained

notoriety for having made several voyages to the West Indies, the

Brazils and Constantinople, and he was therefore looked upon as a

far-sailed and much-learned person. Owners vied with each other in

sounding his praises and competing for his services. They looked upon

him as a captain of the first rank, both in seamanship and education.

There was no question about the former: the latter consisted in his

being able to read and write a legible hand, which was a rare

accomplishment in those days. He had saved a little money, and was

allowed as a special favour to invest to the extent of eight

sixty-fourth shares in the vessel he commanded. He never lost an

opportunity of making his less fortunate compatriots feel that he was

immeasurably their superior. Many of them who commanded the same class

of vessel were so impressed with his influence over the owners that

they looked upon his friendship as being of some value. Being part

owner, his privileges were wide; in fact he was admitted within the

owner circle, and contributed to the wisdom thereof in many eccentric

ways.

The two little brigs were bound to the Baltic, and the first day out a

heavy press of canvas was carried in order to get a good offing, lest

the wind and sea should make and catch them tight on a lee shore. After

they had been out twenty-four hours they both tacked off Flamborough

Head, bearing west twenty miles, and stood to the N.E. The _Silverspray_

passed close under the stern of the _Francis Blake_. The captains

saluted each other as was the custom. The _Blake's_ captain shouted

that his vessel was making a lot of water. The other responded: "We are

making some too, and we shall have more wind and sea before there is

less." This was about ten on a February morning. Their sailing

qualities were pretty much on a par, so that they were kept in company

all through the day. The wind had shifted from E.S.E. to S.E., and they

headed E.N.E. with about two and a half points leeway, making the true

course, after the toss of the sea had been allowed, about N.E. So long

as daylight remained no canvas was taken in, though both of them were

sometimes plunging their jibbooms under, and their bows almost level

with the foremast. Every bit of rigging and running gear was strained

to its maximum limit. There was no question of racing or foolhardiness,

but a pressing necessity to flog them off a lee shore.

And this reminds me that only six years before, I innocently committed

a serious breach of nautical faith for which I was roundly reprimanded

by a kindly sailor. It was my first voyage at sea. I had not seen

thirteen summers by many months. I heard two sailors who were standing

by the lee side of the windlass end conversing about the seriousness of

the vessel's position. One said to the other that if the wind did not

norther a little more she would be ashore in Filey Bay before four

o'clock in the morning. My views on seafaring had undergone a change. I

was overcome with delight, and, forgetting the lesson many times given

me never to speak until I was spoken to, with unrestrained impetuosity

I interjected that I hoped she would be ashore before four o'clock, so

that I might get back to my home again. I can never forget the

indignation of the two men. They frowned contemptuously on me, called

me names that I had never heard before, and swore with a refinement

that impressed me with the suspicion that I had said something that was

not to be readily forgiven. With childlike simplicity I asked if it was

wrong to wish that the vessel should go ashore.

"Wrong? you young devil!" said they. "Would you have us all drowned?"

Needless to say, my desire happily did not come to pass, and I became

the object for many a long day of good-humoured chaff which I would

have done anything to obviate. The sailors did not seem to recognize

any humorous side to their own part in it, and yet they used to roar

with laughter at my amazing conclusions, and as my anger increased so

did their amusement. A lee shore is always dreaded by seamen, and many

a sound ship has been made leaky, and many a spar and sail has been

carried away in the effort to keep off. It was precisely this fear that

possessed the two captains in question and caused them almost to bury

their ships in order to get well out to sea in case the wind should

back into the east again.

When darkness came on they lost sight of each other. All night long the

_Blake_ was plunged into a tremendous sea. The crew were nearly worn

out with incessant pumping, and when the dawn whirled into the sky

nothing could be seen of her companion. It was thought she must have

shortened sail and fallen astern. The hoarse moaning of the wind, and

the waves running like conical hillocks, were a sure indication that

there was greater turmoil behind them. The square foresail had been

hauled up, and the crew were in the act of stowing it when the

hurricane burst upon her, and she was held in the grasp of the wind.

The sea was flattened, and the wild drift flew before the screaming

tempest. The captain called out to the men on the foreyard to "hold on

for God's sake," as the vessel lurched over so far that the man on the

lee yardarm said that he felt his foot touch the water. With almost

superhuman effort the seamen, already worn out with pumping and with

lacerated limbs, managed to secure the sail and make their way on deck

to renew the fight to keep the vessel afloat. I do not believe the

owner belonged to the scoundrel class who sent their ships away with

the hope that no more would be heard of them, but I cannot help

thinking that he had close affinity to that no less terrible though

pious section who wearied heaven with prayer for the safe-keeping of

their ships and crews, while they themselves neglected fundamental

precautions for their safety. It was the fashion to look upon drowning

not only as an incident of the profession, but a natural finish to a

sailor's career; and it is no exaggeration to say that many people

thought the poor fellow preferred this form of extinction to any other.

The owner who squared his conscience by throwing the responsibility of

the seaman's safety on to Almighty God did not unduly concern himself

as to efficiency or seaworthiness; nor did he assume deep mourning if

calamity came in consequence thereof. A few appropriate words of

compliment addressed mainly to himself for his care in having the ship,

when she sailed, in a state of unimpeachable order, and his constant

intercession for divine protection were quite sufficient to exonerate

him from in any way contributing either to loss of life or to loss of

property. What cant, what insufferable _hypocrisy_! What hideous

slaughter was committed in those good old times in God's name and in

the name of British humanity! The late Dr Parker, preaching in the City

Temple some time ago on the Armenian atrocities, exclaimed amid

uproarious applause at the end of a fine peroration, "God damn the

Sultan!" And William Watson wrote a fine poem in which he charged

England with indifference and spoke of the Sultan as "Abdul the

damned." It is considered the prerogative of Englishmen to say strong

things about the heads of other Governments if their subject races are,

in their opinion, treated cruelly; but we are death on anyone who would

interfere or accuse us of injustice or inhumanity. The only difference

between the Government of Turkey and the Government of Great Britain

was that the one massacres by cutting throats, and the other used to

massacre by allowing rotten, ill-equipped, ill-designed vessels to sail

under the spotless flag of England and carry to their doom shiploads of

the finest seamen in the world. We "God damn the Sultan"; yes; but I

have known the time when poor sailors might with equal justice have

"God damned" the Government of St Stephen's who would not listen to

their woes. Poor fellows! Had Dr Parker and other public men dared to

"God damn" their own countrymen for carrying on a system of trading

with veritable coffins, the reform which has made our mercantile marine

the finest in the world would not have been so long delayed.

The little vessel of which I am writing hadn't a rope (as the sailors

said) strong enough to hang a cat with, and it was in consequence of

this most culpable neglect that the throat halyards of the fore trysail

gaff broke soon after sailing. The gaff came down with a run, and it,

together with the sail, was put into a long boat which stood on the

chocks over the main hatches. Paradoxical as it may appear, this

accident caused by rotten running gear was the means of saving the ship

and all her crew. This was only a minor mishap compared with the

breaking of one of the legs of the pump brake stand, which occurred

just at the time both pumps were required to keep down the increasing

flow of water. The storm continued to rage with unabated fury. No sky

could be seen for the flying sleet, and the sea was torn and tossed

into a wilderness of broken water. The only canvas set was the

close-reefed main topsail. Both pumps had been going for several hours,

and at one o'clock on the morning of February 12, the well was pumped

dry and the mate's watch ordered below to get a nap until four. They

took their drenched clothing off, wrung the water out, hung it on a

line round the bogey fire to dry, and turned into their hammocks as

naked as they were born. At three the hand-spike knocked heavily on the

deck and a loud voice called down the scuttle hatch, "Larboard watch,

ahoy! All hands to the pumps, the ship is sinking!"

Every man in a couple of minutes had put his steaming clothes on and

set to work; and the fight with death went on until noon, when it was

found that the water was gaining. The men despaired of keeping her

afloat over night, and as there came in sight several vessels, it was

decided to put the Ensign Union down in the main rigging. The captain

ordered a young hand to clear away the long boat and make her ready for

launching out by the lee gangway. This necessitated the foretrysail and

all its gear being thrown on to the weather side of the deck. As soon

as everything was ready the young seaman went to the pumps again. He

had not been long there before he observed that some of the ropes that

had been thrown on the deck did not wash from side to side as the

others did. His gaze became transfixed until it excited the anger of

the mate who asked what he was gaping at. This aroused him from a kind

of stupor, and without saying a word to the officer, he let go the

bellrope and went to the object which attracted him. He took hold of a

rope and found it would not yield. He then felt the deck with his bare

feet and found it was holed, but in order to ascertain the extent of

the hole, he determined to feel with his hands, and as the water was

continuously lashing over him on that part of the deck it was no easy

task to accomplish this. In a few minutes he had ascertained that about

two feet of deck, the shape of a wedge, had been staved close to the

hatch combings; in fact it had never been fastened with nail or bolt.

He shouted at the top of his voice, "I have found the leak!"

[Illustration: FINDING THE LEAK.]

And the little band of men re-echoed with wild delight: "The big leak

is found, hurrah! Down with the ensign." And the young seaman, who by

accident had discovered this wicked piece of workmanship, became the

object of many flattering compliments. Up to that time there had been

observed a solemn, dogged, defiant struggle to defeat death who gazed

into their eyes. An occasional unfriendly wish uttered by one or other

of the sailors as to the punishment the owner should have was received

with applause from all except the captain and mate. These little

outbursts of vengeance were a sort of tonic to their depressed spirits.

A fervent "thank God" came from each man's lips as soon as the leak of

the deck was stopped, the captain adding a supplementary remark that

"God was good even to wicked sinners."

"In an hour from now," said he, "we might have been swallowed up in the

waves. It was almost impossible that our boat could have lived until we

got under the lee of the schooner" (which had been sighted and which

hove to with the object of effecting a rescue). "Ah," said this

penitent old man, "it is good to live as we would wish to die. God

knows those who believe and trust in Him, and so He has saved us from a

watery grave."

"Then keep off the whiskey and stick on deck," said one of the boldest

of the crew, who was a naturalized Englishman. This remark brought the

captain very near to backsliding. Fire was seen in his eyes, and he

retorted with warmth: "If it wasn't the fear of God in my heart, you

darned neck end, I would kick you. But," added he, "I will not be

provoked into committing what may be considered a sin. We have much

work to do before this passage comes to an end, if ever it does."

"Then do your part," said Jack, "and take no more drink."

Here was sound advice, and it was rigidly adhered to, for the

temptation was removed by the cook slipping the remainder of the

whiskey over the side. Up to that time the men had much to complain of,

as their master had been very little on deck until he was made to

realize that his ship was in imminent peril. They knew pretty well what

he was after, and were glad of the opportunity of making him see that

his well-known skill was required on the quarterdeck. Kept from the

drink he was one of the smartest men that ever took charge of a vessel.

He had been at the helm for nine hours before the leak was found, and

as there was six feet of water in the hold, and a "private leak" which

kept one pump going every hour, he stuck to it for another seven hours,

when the crew called out "she sucks!" i.e., the well is dry. This was

gladsome news. It is gladsome even under favourable circumstances, but

here were men who had stood almost continuously up to the waist in

water; and sometimes a knot of a sea would smash right over them. Their

sleeves were doubled up and they had neither boots nor stockings on.

Their hands were cut and their arms and legs were red raw with friction

and salt water boils. Let him who may estimate the sufferings of these

poor creatures. I cannot, for my vocabulary fails me. Torture does not

describe it; nor yet the sweat of anguish. It was very shocking, and

were it not that I fear to offend the susceptibilities of some folk I

would use a term that might come very near to describing its awful

character. Those who are inclined to think the picture exaggerated know

little of what went on in the much applauded "good old times."

It had been dark for four hours. The clatter of the pumps could only

faintly be heard for the alternate whistling and roaring of the storm.

The combined music had a weird, saddening effect, as if doom were

approaching. A wild and leprous moon sometimes shone through the

troubled clouds of scudding sleet. The sea was white with angry

commotion, and there were no evidences of the turmoil abating.

Immediately the pumps sucked the captain ordered his men to go below

and get something to eat; meanwhile he would remain at the helm and

keep a look out. In half an hour they were at the pumps again. It took

a good while to get all the water out of her, as she was continuously

making a good deal, and that which had gone through the staved deck had

not quite drained through into the well. However, they felt that they

had got the upper hand, and would keep it, provided none of the

croppers levelled in upon her and smashed either the decks or the

hatches in.

As soon as the captain went below, and it was thought he was asleep,

the mate, who was a phlegmatic sort of person, went below also, and

left a man and a boy to do the pumping. At first they thought he had

gone to light his pipe, but as he was so long in making his appearance

again, one of them went into the cabin and found him in his berth fast

asleep. He was shaken for a long time before he showed signs of life,

and at last grunted out:

"All right. Don't worry. I'll be up directly."

He was reminded that he ought never to have been down, and that it was

no place for the mate of a leaky, or any other ship for that matter, on

such a night. The sailor then left him, and allowed an interval of half

an hour to pass, and as the worthy officer did not make his appearance,

he went below again, and found him slumbering as peacefully as before.

He threatened to do no more pumping if the mate did not get up and lend

a hand at once. Moreover, it was intimated to him that the skipper

would have to be called if he lay there skulking while other people

were being worked to death. This brought the mate out of his berth, but

he got no further than the after-lockers, where he sat down with the

object of lighting his pipe. Being comfortably seated, his head

gradually sank on to the table, and, with the pipe in one hand and the

matches in the other, he again became oblivious to the savage tumult

that raged above him. Again the sailor went to see why he did not come

up, and found him in the aforesaid position. This time he was not

roused; a plot had been arranged, and forthwith a large bucket of water

was taken below and thrown at him. He only shook himself, and murmured:

"She's the dirtiest beast that ever I was aboard of."

The second douse was flung quickly; he became confused, rushed into the

captain's berth, believing he was making his way on deck. He was asked

what was the matter, and replied excitedly:

"The skylight's stove in."

"Get it covered over," said the somnolent commander, "and let me know

what the weather's like at daylight."

The chief officer made his way to the man at the helm, and remarked:

"That was a nasty sea that stove the skylight in, Jacob."

"There's been no nasty seas over here," said Jacob; "why, you must

have been asleep."

"I tell you the cabin's flooded," said the mate.

"Very well," said the other, "if you disbelieve me, look for yourself.

As to sleeping, my God, don't _you_ talk, for you're hardly awake yet."

The mate made a survey, found no damage, and remarked in soliloquy:

"That's funny. Where can the water have come from?"

"Not funny at all," said Jacob, with some irritation; "get away and

lend them poor lads a hand. She might have foundered for all you

cared."

This was grave language to use to a superior officer, but the justice

of it was evidenced by the submissive composure in which it was

received. It was evidently soaking into the mate's thick skull that the

water had not come from the skylight, and this idea was borne out by

his not mentioning the matter to the lads when he went to their

assistance. In spite of their weary and almost exhausted condition,

they had to have their joke, so said to the officer:

"You're very wet, Tom; where have you been?"

"Been be darned!" said Thomas; "I've been nowhere. You shut up and

attend to your work."

"That's all very fine, but 'nowhere' was what the monkey said when he

was accused of stealing nuts," retorted the humourist.

The dialogue was cut short by the helmsman shouting out: "Two lights on

the port bow."

One turned out to be a distress signal, and the other a red light. The

dawn was breaking into the sky, and in less than half an hour daylight

had forced its way through the dull grey mist, and brought the vessels

in sight of each other. They were close to: one was a fishing smack,

and the other a brig, labouring heavily in the trough of the sea, and

flying a flag on the main rigging, just as the _Blake_ had been doing

the previous day. All hands were on deck, including the captain, and

every eye was fixed on the sinking vessel. One of the sailors went on

to the foreyard to ascertain more distinctly what was going on. As soon

as he got aloft he bellowed something which could not be made out owing

to the uproar, and finding that he could not make his voice heard, he

made his way to the deck, and amid much excitement conveyed the belief

that the brig was the _Silverspray_.

Sailors of that time were very quick and accurate in discerning the

identity of a vessel by the cut of her sails, the length of her masts

and yards, and the way they were stayed; even if she were hull down

they could tell by this alone. Several of the disabled vessel's sails

were in ribbons. They had evidently been blown out of the gaskets. She

was drifting under the close-reefed main topsail, and the fore one was

in shreds. The fore and main topgallant braces were broken, and the

yards were swinging about to the toss of the ship. The remains of a

boat hung to the stern davits. The long boat was flattened on the

hatches, and the crew hustled together on the quarterdeck gesticulating

to the other vessel (a smack) to make haste. At last all seemed to be

ready, and the smack was headed before the maddened seas, and flew on

the crest of a wave, which seemed to carry her on to destruction. Now

she was almost lost sight of in the trough, then she was seen to dance

on the summit of a roller, until the supreme moment came to bring her

under the lee of the ill-fated brig. There was then witnessed a most

sensational piece of bravery and superb seamanship. She was rounded to

with the fore staysail sheet to windward; the small boat was launched

out of the lee gangway; lines with life-buoys attached were drifted

towards the boat, and in less than half an hour the crew was taken off

and put aboard the Yarmouth fisherman. Succour came none too soon, as

in less than an hour the brig's mainmast went by the board. She cocked

her stern up and went down head first. The smack reached close across

the stern of the _Blake_, and the shipwrecked crew exchanged salutes

with her. Her speaking-trumpet was used in trying to communicate that

she was making a lot of water and to report having spoken her. This was

also signalled by the commercial code in case they should not have

heard. Good-bye was said by dipping the ensign, and as the rescuer

vanished into the dark, an unspeakable sadness crept over the _Blake's_

crew.

They knew their peril was great, and the physical agony they were

suffering was well-nigh unbearable. They predicted that neither would

diminish. But for the inherent manliness and heroism that have always

been a striking characteristic of the British sailor, these men would

have been quite justified in asking the skipper of the smack to take

them aboard. They were worn out with incessant labour, and the dividing

line between sinking and being kept afloat was very narrow. A little

more straining, or an ugly sea breaking on to a weak spot would quickly

seal their fate. They knew all this, but scorned the thought of

bringing on themselves the charge of cowardice. It soon became apparent

that the little craft of only 280 tons dead-weight would have to be put

before the wind if she was to be saved. The crew had to stand up in

water to their waists nearly all the time they were pumping, and

sometimes they were knocked down by the seas that came aboard. They

could stand it no longer, so a conference was held. The captain said:

"Well, my lads, there are two courses open to us: sink or run for it.

She has two bold ends and will scud for ever. The only thing is we will

be running out of the track of ships into the northern regions where

the cold will be intense, and there will be but little daylight.

Besides, our provisions may run short. Now I have put the position to

you both ways: I am willing to do what you decide."

"Then we decide to run," said the men, "and trust to Providence for the

rest."

The helm was put hard up, the main and foreyards laid square, and she

commenced to scud dead before the wind towards the mystery of the

north. For the first four hours it was doubtful whether the jolly boat,

which was in davits across the stern, would last long. Each diabolic

lump of water that came galloping along threatened not only the boat

but the vessel with sudden destruction. It was very thrilling to

witness the tiny brig flying before the ecstasy of the hurricane and

fluttering away like a seabird from the mountains that towered far

above and were only permitted to kiss her stern with their spray. The

crew were forbidden to look behind while at the helm lest their nerves

should be affected and cause erratic steering. There was really more

danger in this than in any lack of seakindliness on the part of the

vessel. Each time she ran away from a treacherous-looking breaker, the

captain would pat the topgallant bulwarks and speak words of touching

tenderness as though he was communing with a little child. The further

they ran north, the bigger the seas became. One of them came prancing

along, tossed up the stern so that part of the jibboom was put under

and her attitude became uncommonly like running head first under the

sea. Another quickly followed, and the poor captain's faith was

momentarily shaken. He called out "My God, this is awful!" and

certainly this was the only phrase that could describe the horror of

the situation. But there was nothing for it but to keep scudding. Had

any attempt been made to heave to, she would have been smashed to atoms

and no more would have been heard of her. It was only by great care in

steering and having the proper amount of sail set that she was kept

above water. An error in judgement or the neglect of a single point in

the handling would have sealed her fate. By the 20th of the month she

had got so far north there was little or no daylight; the biting cold

was frightful, and there was no prospect of betterness. The long winter

nights were spent in pumping, steering and keeping a look out (though

it was assumed she was long since out of the track of vessels and no

land was near), and the only lights to be seen were the flash of the

curling spray dancing on the top of tempestuous billows.

It was during the forenoon of February 21, just after a snow cloud had

rushed past, the crew were both surprised and cheered to observe a

barque a little on the starboard bow, heading north under two

close-reefed topsails. She was low in the water, and making heavy

weather of it. The crew were seen in the mizen rigging, frantically

waving. A tattered flag was flying beside them, but its nationality

could not be discerned. It was impossible to render the assistance that

was so eagerly sought for, but even if it had been possible it was too

late, for a sea was seen to break right over her stern, and in a few

minutes there was another added to the long list of North Atlantic

tragedies. Amongst the wreckage passed was a boat full of water, and

oars floating on each side of her. Whether this belonged to the latest

victim of the remorseless waves or not, no one could tell, though some

of the crew thought it might. This melancholy incident was not likely

to improve the spirits of the little band of indomitable workers, but

they knew if they had to be saved from the same fate they must not give

way to sentimental weakness.

The following day the force of the hurricane broke, and on the 24th she

had reached 65 degrees north. There were indications of a change of

wind. The sky had cleared so that the stars could be seen, and there

was a brightness in the N.N.W. that omened the wind coming from that

direction. At midnight the change came. Orders were given to let the

reefs out of the topsails, but it took a considerable time to do this

as the reef points and errings were covered with hard, flinty ice, and

it was not until marline spikes were used that any progress was made.

The men's hands, already covered with wounds, had their fingers badly

cut with the icy ropes and sails in carrying out this order, but it was

not until they had been running south for a couple of days that they

began to feel the full extent of their sores. Regular watches were now

kept, and each time they tumbled out of their hammocks to relieve each

other the pain of opening their hands was terrible. Two of the

apprentices had both their feet badly frostbitten.

At last the Norwegian land was made, and one fine morning in the month

of March she slipped into the beautiful harbour of Stavanger to have

the broken pump-stand and shattered rigging and sails put right. The

two boys were landed, and the doctors said their feet were in such a

state of putrefaction they must be taken off at once. None of the other

members of the crew were bitten by frost, but it took many days to heal

their raw wounds. The salt of the sea had not only pickled them, but

had penetrated into their very bones.

Meanwhile the crew of the _Silverspray_ had been landed at the Tyne by

the Yarmouth smack, and they reported that when last they saw the

_Blake_ she was hove to, and signalled making a lot of water; and as

day after day passed and no news came, grave fears were entertained for

her safety; heavy premiums were paid; and the relatives blamed the

_Silverspray's_ men for leaving the crew in a leaky ship--an

unjustifiable charge, for the sailors of that period were not given to

abandoning vessels prematurely. But so long a time had elapsed since

she was spoken of that all hope of her safety was given up. At last

there appeared in one of the local papers a paragraph stating that it

was feared the well-known brig had succumbed, with all aboard, to the

terrible storms that raged over the northern latitudes during the early

part of February. This put an end to all doubt: newspaper statements

were generally believed. But a few days after this announcement a

letter, part of which had been written while sailing along the

Norwegian coast, in order that it might be posted on arrival, was

received in a country village as the first intelligence of her safety.

It is quite sailor-like in its composition, and characteristically free

from whining. The writer merely deals with facts, and very briefly with

them. I have just been shown this greatly valued document, and give it

as it is:

"DEAR PARENTS,--We expect to arrive to-morrow morning. We have had

a devil of a voyage, and saw the _Silverspray_ founder, and asked

the skipper of the smack to report us. One pump going all the time

nearly. Then the decks were stove in and she nearly foundered

before it was discovered. I hope the _Spray's_ crew were safely

landed and reported us, as you would be anxious. We had to run

north before the hurricane until there was no daylight. She

wouldn't lie to. My word, what a sea! It was fearful to look at,

and the captain said we hadn't to, while steering. One day we saw a

barque founder with all hands. They were in the rigging waving, but

we could render no assistance. We got into 65 degrees north, then

the wind changed. It was very cold. Excuse bad writing, I am doing

it on the galley seat. We are very bad with saltwater boils and cut

hands. The two Swedes have their feet frostbitten: they are a

sight. Hoping this will find you all well as it leaves me at

present, except for the sores. We have had a fearful time. I

thought you would like to know soon, so I am writing this before

getting into port. Will add something more then. No more at

present.

"Your loving son,

"J. ROBINSON.

"PS.--The doctor says the Swedes will have to have the soles of

their feet cut off. Perhaps their feet altogether. I won't go back

in her again. If I have to be drowned, I want it to be fair. The

other men are leaving as well. We've been on short allowance for a

couple of days, the water was spoiled as well. We are going to have

a good feed now. Suppose we have to buy it ourselves."

II

CAPTAIN PLUNKER

The _Cauducas_ was a brig of 120 tons dead-weight. She was very old,

very rotten, and very leaky, and was constantly employed carrying coals

from a north-east coast port to France or London. The crew consisted of

the master, mate, cook, and able seaman, and three apprentices, one of

whom was cabin-boy. No one cared to inquire as to when and where she

was built. Wherever paint and tar could be used to cover up defects it

was liberally applied, but that did not prevent the water rushing into

her holds, causing the crew to have to carry her with the pumps from

port to port, as it were, in their arms. The winter voyages taxed their

skill and endurance so that scores of times they were nearly forced to

abandon her or allow the sea to cover the vessel and themselves. The

old sailors used to say when they saw her making the port that she

always "looked far off at a distance," a saying peculiar to that part

of the country. And yet she out-lived many of the most handsome,

well-built, modern ships of that time.

Captain Bourne, or "Plunker," as he was nicknamed, was a man of much

dignity and superior presence, but like many of his contemporaries, he

was very illiterate; indeed, I do not believe he could either read or

write, and yet he was able to collect his freights and generally to

conduct the finances entrusted to him with amazing accuracy. His age

was between forty-five and fifty; he stood over six feet, and was

finely proportioned. He had a moderately-sized head, broad forehead,

strong clean-shaven chin, side board whiskers, and a profile which

suggested the higher type of man. Under pronounced, overhanging

eyebrows, there glowed a pair of medium-sized dark eyes, which at times

were penetrating, and occasionally wore a sad, sympathetic look. His

hands and feet betokened that he had sprung from a physical working

race, though there was nothing of the animal about him, and in spite of

a gruff, uncultured mannerism, he either had it naturally or had

acquired almost a grammatical way of addressing people when he wished

to assert what he obviously regarded as the dignity of his high

calling. This effort to check a natural tendency to the common dialect

was very comical, and yet no one ever thought of it as snobbish; the

whole thing seemed to belong to him, and he couldn't be different if he

wanted to. That was the impression people got of him. In an ordinary

way when he was in port he wore a blue pilot morning suit and silk hat.

The waistcoat was cut so as to show a good space of coloured shirt

front, though on Sundays when in port and days of sailing and arrival,

white shirts were worn; usually a stand-up collar with silk stock or

some kind of soft neckerchief encircled his neck. He was

weather-beaten, ruddy, and altogether rather pleasant to look at. He

could navigate his vessel along the coast almost blindfold. Charts were

rarely used by such nautical aborigines, as he and scores of his

compeers disdained the very idea of being thought incapable of carrying

all the knowledge in their heads that was necessary for the purposes of

practical navigation. They had a perfect knowledge of the compass and

the lead. The courses, cross-bearings, lights, buoys and beacons were

all riveted in their memory, and it was a rare occurrence when their

memories failed them.

Plunker had all the finer attributes of his class. His character was

unimpeachable; he was abstemious, and unless his fiery temper was

aroused by the sight of some supposed lack of seamanship on the part of

his men or boys, or the idea of imposition on himself or his owner, he

might have been considered religious, but never amiable. Parsimony was

his besetting sin, and he carried this to the extent of feeding his

crew in a way that brought him into frequent conflict with them.

Indeed, the relations on one occasion were so strained that the

apprentices were encouraged to conspire with some boys from other

vessels to commit an act that would humiliate him in the eyes of the

seafaring community and the public generally.