and up-to-date precautions, but a generation ago it was a common
occurrence. Landspeople used to speak of it as one of the ordinary
risks of a sailor's profession that the general public had no
particular interest in, excepting that it added somewhat to seafaring
romance. I have often wished that those whom I have heard speaking in a
casual, airy fashion of this phase of sea-life could have the faculty
of imagination put into them so that they might realize what really
happened to those who had to experience the manifold sufferings and
privations of being short of water and provisions in mid-ocean where
there was little chance of seeing a sail for days, and when perchance a
vessel was seen, the weather might be so boisterous that communication
could not be effected, or _they_ might even be short of provisions.
In order to minimize the suffering of hunger and thirst, sailors
sometimes buckled their stomachs in with a belt, and those who had not
a belt did so with cord. Hunger is a terrible sensation anywhere, but
it is doubly intensified at sea when there is no hope of it being
appeased, and the whole surroundings become impregnated with a sense of
coming doom. Those who have never known the pangs of prolonged hunger
may have some idea of it conveyed to them by trying to imagine that
some wild animal is tearing at their internals. That is an accurate
description of it, and I should like to know what other thing is
calculated to create madness sooner. Sailors of that generation never
made a noise about their troubles once they got ashore and left them
astern, and so the possibilities of recurrence were left open. One
feels inclined bitterly to assail the owners, their captains and the
general public, for having allowed such things to happen, but in common
fairness we must put some of the responsibility on the seamen
themselves for playing into the hands of a gang of unmitigated
blood-suckers who, in some cases, purchased silence by paying
compensation for the time the men were short of grub; but never more
than the bare cost of the food for the time they were short of it was
allowed. In the majority of cases payment was evaded altogether. I have
been amongst this sort of thing on several occasions, and feel some
difficulty in writing with calmness when I reflect on all the
unnecessary hardships and sufferings that were caused by sheer wanton
greed. On four different voyages I learnt how terrible it was to be
short of provisions and water, and in three out of the four this was
preventable. The first case was excusable owing to the long continuance
of easterly gales in the chops of the English Channel. Some vessels
managed to reach Scilly or Falmouth, but many failed to do so, and we
were amongst the many. On several occasions we were nearly able to
fetch into port, and then the wind increased and we drifted back into
the ocean. This gaining and losing process went on for three or four
weeks. Each fresh sail sighted was signalled or hailed to the effect
that we were short of provisions and asking if they could supply us,
and invariably the reply came back, "Impossible: our supplies have run
out." We in turn were frequently appealed to for succour, but had to
plead the same thing. The one redeeming feature of the critical
position of the large fleet that was held in the grip of the wind for
so long a time was the knowledge that we were all in the same
predicament, and if we could not supply each others' wants we had at
least the pleasure of companionship, and this kept us from losing hope
until a slant of wind came to our aid and carried us into port. In this
case we had been on very short rations for many days, and yet there was
never a word of recrimination, and singularly little grumbling except
at the perversity of the wind.
Nothing whatever could be said in defence of the other cases, for the
vessels were not only sent away from a home port criminally short of
supplies, but they left the port at which they loaded for home with
only sufficient stores to last half the time it would take to make the
passage with average success; and not having any good fortune at all,
our allowance was reduced before the passage was half covered. We swept
past the last port of call with the wind right aft. The captain and
steward knew that the provisions were getting low, but the former
decided to trust to Providence giving him a fair wind all the way, so
we romped along for several days, and then adverse winds came and
everybody realized the seriousness of the position. Orders were given
that all hands had to be put on half fare, and not many days elapsed
before every article of food was exhausted and we had to broach our
cargo of lentils and sustain ourselves on lentil soup. Even that had to
be sparingly used on account of the scarcity of water. On some days we
drifted under two close reefed topsails into the heart of the western
ocean and out of the regular track of vessels bound out and home.
Whenever the weather fined down, sail was set according to the force of
the wind which kept in the N.E., varying perhaps a couple of points
each way. A look-out man was kept on the maintopmast crosstrees from
dawn until sunset each day to watch for passing vessels, and long,
painful days rolled on without our sighting anything. Sometimes a sail
would be seen hull down or too far off to attract attention. This
naturally had a saddening effect, and we wished they had never been
seen; but in spite of privations, which increased day by day, there was
a gaiety kept up until the last sweeping up of the provision lockers
had taken place, and we were reduced to the exclusive diet of boiled
lentils, which I have heard is considered by some people to be a
luxury; but whether this be so or not, I never wish to realize its
taste again. May Providence protect me from ever again having to put it
to my lips.
Up to a certain point our impoverished crew had borne the strain on
their minds and stomachs very manfully, but the period of despair was
now come. They talked indeed of which one among their comrades should
draw the lot that by shortening his life would prolong theirs. Sickness
had smitten some of them so that they could barely crawl on deck. Each
day showed signs of a galloping atrophy. Letters were written to their
relatives conveying in a matter-of-fact way all they were enduring: no
flowery phrases; no attempt at effect; but merely a statement of bald
fact. These communications were to be put into the orthodox bottle and
dropped into the sea in the hope that the sombre tidings would be
picked up and read at home. The stage of openly cursing the owner had
long since passed. Now and again they wondered if their spirits would
haunt him in the event of their having to succumb, but that was only a
passing mood. Their thoughts were mainly centred on charitable and
domestic matters, and what would be the end of all their sufferings. It
is a strange destiny which causes the agony of despair to be prolonged,
and then when life seems to be flickering out, suddenly the angel of
death is withdrawn and light and life burst forth with a radiance that
fills the sufferers with hope. The look-out man at the mast-head shouts
as loud as his strength will allow: "A sail! A sail on the starboard
bow, crossing our track! The vessel is hull down." Immediately the
whole crew except the man at the wheel are in the rigging scanning the
horizon, and a running flow of conflicting opinions are expressed as to
the exact course she is steering and whether she will discern our flag.
The captain gives peremptory orders to set every stitch of canvas and
ease the yards, so that his vessel might go quicker and meet the other
at an angle. Something like superhuman effort was made by enfeebled men
to get the canvas smartly set. The sight of the vessel impressed them
as a providential apparition. In less than an hour the hull came in
view. It was seen that the stranger was under a cloud of sail,
including royals, and topgallant studding sails on both sides. A fresh
wind blew right behind her, and the sea, though not rough, was showing
white feathers on the surface of the Atlantic rollers. The signal that
we were without any provisions was hoisted, but no notice was taken of
it. Night was drawing near, and the clipper was slipping fast away from
us. Our captain ordered his vessel to be hauled close to the wind again
in case the flags might be obscured by running free. It turned out that
this might have been the case, as we had no sooner manoeuvred in this
way than they began to take the other vessel's studding sails in and
haul to the wind. Our vessel's course was shaped towards her, and when
we had got fairly close to her both vessels had all small sail taken
in, courses hauled up, and their main yards laid aback. Our pinnace was
then hoisted out, and we proceeded to row alongside a beautiful tea
clipper. We were a lantern-jawed, scarecrow lot, and our general
appearance emphasized the story we had to tell of the privations we had
suffered. We had scarcely strength enough to lift the oars into the
rollicks, much less pull the boat through a choppy sea. The captain and
crew of the British clipper were very kind, supplied all our needs,
including tobacco, though we did not ask for the latter; this was
obviously given to express more emphatically their sympathy and kindly
feelings towards us. Very little water could be spared, as sailing
vessels at that time were nearly always stinted in accommodation for
water supply, but we were very grateful for the sacrifice the captain
made in allowing us to have even a few breakers full. The act which
touched the heart-strings most was the request made to their captain by
his crew to be allowed to row the supplies to our vessel. It was
granted by him and thankfully accepted by us; and over all the years
which have passed since that scene took place it has constantly lived
in my memory as one of the many traits that endear the sailor to his
fellow men. This self-sacrificing crew had been caused much additional
hard work on account of our misfortunes; some of them were losing their
watch below; and all of them had the arduous task of hurriedly taking
in the necessary sail and manipulating the yards so that a
communication could be effected, and then, after their mission was
done, the vessel was put on her course, and all the work of setting
sail, etc., had to be done over again. We knew all this, and therefore
appreciated all the more the little touch of sympathy which prompted
them to add to their labours by undertaking the work they saw we were
hardly fit to perform. Before leaving the hospitable deck of the
clipper our captain made a well-chosen and appropriate little speech of
thanks to our benefactor, by whom it was suitably responded to; and
then a cordial shaking of hands took place, and we parted with hearts
full of gratitude to those who had so beneficently helped us. When we
got aboard three cheers were rung out from both vessels, and then their
yards were filled and sail made, and we swept away from each other into
the gloom of the gathering night.
An unthought-of protracted passage was in front of us, and long before
it was completed the fresh water ran short again; but we were more in
the track of vessels then, and succeeded in getting a further supply
which lasted until our arrival at Falmouth, where all our ills were
soon forgotten amid the charm of its scenery and the atmosphere of
congenial excitement which the tavern of that day afforded. Songs were
sung and step-dancing, such as none other but a sailor could do, as
usual aroused and kept local interest on the stretch. The audiences
were composed mainly of sailors, their sweethearts for the time being,
or those directly interested in him. Indeed these were occasions when
the place was kept humming with a salty brightness. Jack had the
singular gift of making his own amusement, and so long as he kept from
taking too much drink he was not only a source of pleasure to himself,
but in his way entertained other people. Of course the sailors here, as
always, told their experiences to each other when they met, and
incidentally their owners came in for a share of contumely such as
"God-forsaken robber," or "scrape-backed thief who was not fit to carry
guts to a bear," and other more or less harmless invectives.
The men were rarely vindictive or bitter even, after the thing had
passed on, and an example of this was shown in the story I have been
relating where there was just cause for resentment and claim for
compensation, and yet none was made, nor was compensation asked for or
offered in the other two cases which I have mentioned, although they
were on almost identical lines with the first. On these last occasions
the crew lived on Indian corn for two weeks. The corn was put into
canvas, battered as small as possible, then put through the coffee
mill, and after the last process it was made into bread or puddings;
but the mill did not last long, so we were driven to eat it in a very
rough state, and soon experienced the penalty of doing so. We could not
have kept on eating it. The captain reported that he had been obliged
to broach the cargo for food, and the receivers charged him with the
estimated amount used. He and his crew thought this very mean, and I
think I remember them expressing strong regret that they hadn't
scuttled the ---- ship and thereby have inflicted great personal loss
on the owner of the cargo who, they apprehended, would have rather seen
them starve than that a bag or two of his cargo should be used for the
purpose of saving their lives. That was the impression they had formed.
Of course it was a harum-scarum impression, but it gratified them to
hold it. The real culprit was the owner of the ship, who had not
provided sufficient stores. He had not escaped notice, but the meaner
sinner had obscured him for the moment.
An extraordinary characteristic of this age was the sailor's jealousy
lest improper innovations should be introduced into the mode of taking
their food. Knives and forks, cups, saucers, soup and plain plates were
a violation of sound forecastle principles, which in their eyes
threatened a coming degeneracy of the profession. Their use was viewed
as an attempt to become aristocratic, and those who dared adopt it were
looked upon as fops and mongrel seamen. The average man believed in his
tin pot, plate and pannikin, galvanized soup spoon and clasp knife;
there were no second course articles recognized. The tin pot had a hook
in front so that it could be hooked on to the galley grate to boil,
though it was not uncommon in long voyage ships to dispense with the
hook pot and have instead a large kettle for the whole of the
forecastle hands. The tidy man kept his utensils spotlessly clean. At
seven bells in the morning the watch below were knocked out to have
breakfast; this generally consisted of cracker hash, i.e., bread hash;
or cold salt beef or pork, whichever joint they had had on the day
previous hot for dinner; if she was a well-found ship butter was
supplied; they always had tea or coffee for the morning meal. If the
breakfast was of beef or pork, the platter or kid was put on the floor,
and each seaman took the piece of meat he intended to cut in one hand,
cut it off the junk with his clasp knife in the other, and if by any
means he happened to touch that which he did not cut he was submitted
to severe chastisement by being forcibly put over a chest lid and given
a dozen hard slaps with a boot jack. The piece of meat intended to be
eaten was put on a hard ship biscuit which served the purpose of a
plate, and was cut as required with the clasp knife and put into the
mouth with the right hand. Dinner was served at noon. On Sundays,
Tuesdays, Thursdays, it was beef and duff, according to scale;
Saturdays, beef and "strike-me-blind," i.e., boiled rice; Mondays,
Wednesdays and Fridays, pea-soup and pork. The mid-day meals were
partaken of in a similar way to the breakfast, except that the tin
plate was used for either duff and molasses, or pea-soup, or rice; it
might not be used for the beef or pork--this greatly depended on the
natural delicacy of the seamen, many of whom proclaimed that fingers
were made before knives or forks, therefore it was proper that they
should be used in preference. If he possessed a chest he sat on that,
and his knees served him as a table; if he had no chest, then he sat on
the floor or on the forehook, i.e., a beam which stretches across the
bows. This class of food and the method of eating it went on
uninterruptedly during the whole voyage. The duff, which was made of
flour, water and fat, was boiled in a canvas bag made in the shape of a
nightcap; it was very leathery, and was responsible for much dyspepsia.
It was cut into equal parts according to the number of men who were to
share it. On Sundays a few currants or raisins were scattered amongst
the flour and water; this was considered a luxury which was often taken
off at the caprice of the captain. Sailors have the character of being
born grumblers, and their knowledge of maritime law is much exhibited
by them at meal times. Poor creatures, what trouble they get themselves
into at times through this belief of theirs in their legal
acquirements! There is a story of a sailor who, insisting on breaking
the law because he was positive he was not breaking it, got himself put
into prison in consequence, whereupon a forecastle friend called to see
him. He immediately exclaimed on seeing and shaking hands with his
friend, "I know d--n well, Jim, they cannot put me in here, and they'll
have to pay for it."
"What's the use of talking such d---- rot, you fool? Why, you _are_
here!"
On another occasion a large, square-rigged vessel belonging to London
arrived in the West India Docks, and the captain, on being asked by his
owner what sort of a crew he had, replied that they were sailors all
over, always grumbling about their work or their grub, and it did not
matter what they got to eat they would always find something else they
wanted. The owner declared that _he_ would provide a meal for them that
_would_ satisfy, and there wouldn't be a single request for anything
else. The captain said he did not know what he was undertaking. The
owner said: "Well, captain, if I do not succeed in satisfying them I
will pay you one hundred pounds."
"Done," said the skipper.
The crew's accommodation was in a house on deck; it was arranged to
have the skylight up and the side windows open, so that everything that
was said could be heard outside. The meal was cooked and served by
first-class men, and it was given on the occasion of the owner's
birthday. A large party assembled aboard, and the host addressed the
men appropriately, asking them to accept his hospitality. The sailors'
spokesman replied that they never wished to serve a better governor
than he, and the banquet commenced. The owner, his wife, and his
daughter--a beautiful girl of twenty--together with the captain, went
quietly up the ladder at the fore-end of the house and listened to what
was said. The owner was grateful at hearing such good things said about
himself, though the eulogy was flavoured with a pungency of language
that was not intended for delicate ears. At last one of the crew
finished, tossed his tin plate on the floor, and said:
"That's a damned good dinner, boys."
A second, third and fourth said the same thing. The owner was worked up
into an ecstasy of joy, and poked the skipper in the ribs as the others
kept throwing their plates down and expressing satisfaction. The owner
whispered: "It's a walk over, captain."
"Not yet," responded the skipper.
The last of the three broke the continuity of complete satisfaction by
remarking that the dinner was all right, but to make it perfect their
wives and sweethearts should have been asked. The captain became
obviously nervous, and asked the owner and his wife and daughter to
withdraw, but they refused. Then came the last but one, who said that
the only thing that would make the dinner faultless to him would be
that he should propose marriage to the owner's daughter and be
accepted. The mother and daughter became virtuously agitated, and the
captain again urged withdrawal, but they insisted on staying for the
last chap's opinion, who became eloquent in his praises of all
concerned. "But," said he to the last speaker, "you want to have the
old man's daughter in marriage. I don't mind her so much; the only
thing that would make me satisfied with the thing would be for the
owner to die, so that I might marry his widow and get the coin."
The captain nearly took a fit, and the worthy host exclaimed: "Oh, mon
dieu!" Thereupon the ladies became hysterical, and the commander having
recovered from his embarrassment, said:
"Well, I suppose you will admit that I was right?"
"Yes," said the owner; "I never for one moment anticipated it would
take both my wife and daughter to satisfy them, but you have won, and
my faith in the possibility of pleasing sailors is broken. You shall
have the hundred pounds."
There is a more recent story, which is said to be quite authentic. It
neither belongs to the class of vessel or period with which I am
dealing, but there is something in it that is characteristic of the old
sea cook who was devoted to his ship and his employer. Lord Randolph
Churchill was travelling on a steamer owned by a well-known Line, and
had reason to complain of the cooking and the quality of the food, so
he wrote in the visitors' book that both were bad. The old chief cook
took it to heart; and several years after poor Lord Randolph had ceased
to live, as the old man himself lay dying, his family saw there was
something troubling his mind. They asked him if it was something in
connection with his work.
"Yes," said he, mournfully, "it is, and I want you to send for Mr
----," who was an old and trusted servant of the Company. The official
went to the cook's home, and before leaving him asked what it was that
made him unhappy.
"Well," replied the old fellow, "I have never got over what was said
about the food years ago, and I wanted to see you about it, so that you
might hear me say before I die: 'May the Lord forgive Lord Randolph
Churchill for saying the cooking and food of the ---- Line was bad!'
Now I have got it off my chest I can die happy." And before the
official left, the old man had passed away.
Amongst the numerous traditions which cling to the sailors of these
good old days of which Mr John Ruskin used to speak so reverently, was
one of a London baker, who was known to have amassed fabulous wealth in
manufacturing biscuits from ground bones and selling them for human
food to complaisant shipowners who were of kindred spirit to himself.
Hundreds of poor seamen who were obliged to eat this vile stuff called
bread, provided by their God-forsaken employers as per scale of one
pound per day per man, had their bodies saturated with disease. Nay,
hundreds of them were killed by its use, and those who survived its
poisonous effects had to thank the pure air of the sea and a good deal
of self-sacrifice on their own part by preferring to starve themselves
rather than eat it.
This system of villainy was openly carried on long after I first went
to sea, and although the London purveyor had passed to another place he
must have left behind him a set of imitators who acquired an equally
charming aptitude for murder by supplying vessels with deadly food of
one kind and another. The tradition went on to say that ultimately he
died, and having sold himself to "Jimmy Square Foot," his spirit was
transferred from Ratcliffe Highway to a volcanic island in the
Mediterranean called Stromboli. There he frequently appeared in his
professional garb, standing by the edge of the crater along with his
satanic friend who was reputed to have secured an eternal lease of this
rock in order to provide a suitable abode for some of those to whom he
had been closely attached during their earthly pilgrimage. Whenever the
volcano was unusually active, the sailors who were in the vicinity
would say, "Ah, Jimmy is taking it out of the old Baker to-night."
The first time I visited this part of the world, the vessel I served in
was creeping close past Stromboli with a light wind. Some of the
forecastle hands became reminiscent. They spoke of how they had been
fed on biscuits made by the gentleman whom they had seen standing by
the molten fire gesticulating to be taken from it. Strange tales were
related as to the reality of this notorious person's existence. I
listened with feverish greed to the yarns until my vision became
confused and I fancied him not only close by me but imagined I heard
his sombre cry of despair beseeching our compassion. The sailor's
delight in hyperbole led one of our comrades to relate most charmingly
the story of the baker's first appearance in Stromboli. An English
barque some years ago lay becalmed within a mile from the Stromboli
shore. The captain and officers knew the biscuit manufacturer well. The
chief officer whose watch it was walked the quarter deck in deep
meditation. A sailor who was at the wheel suddenly became aware of two
figures close to the crater. One was stoking and the other was
vehemently urging him to greater effort. He called out excitedly:
"Look! Who's that standing by the glare of the fire? My God, if we were
not safe on salt water I would say we were near enough to hell!"
"What do you mean?" asked the flurried chief officer.
"I mean," said the sailor, pointing towards the shore, "the flames and
the figures yonder. May heaven send a breeze so that we may get away
from the sight of it."
The mate was over-awed; he steadied his nerves, took up the telescope
and looked towards the crest of the hill for a few seconds. The glass
dropped suddenly from his hands on to the deck, and he exclaimed: