Bill Bowls was the most amiable, gentle, kindly, and modest fellow that
ever trod the deck of a man-of-war. He was also one of the most
lion-hearted men in the Navy.
When Bill was a baby--a round-faced, large-eyed, fat-legged baby, as
unlike to the bronzed, whiskered, strapping seaman who went by the name
of "Fighting Bill" as a jackdaw is to a marlinespike--when Bill was a
baby, his father used to say he was just cut out for a sailor; and he
was right, for the urchin was overflowing with vigour and muscular
energy. He was utterly reckless, and very earnest--we might almost say
_desperately_ earnest. Whatever he undertook to do he did "with a
will." He spoke with a will, listened with a will, laughed, yelled,
ate, slept, wrought, and fought with a will. In short, he was a
splendid little fellow, and therefore, as his father wisely said, was
just cut out for a sailor.
Bill seemed to hold the same opinion, for he took to the water quite
naturally from the very commencement of life. He laughed with glee when
his mother used to put him into the washtub, and howled with rage when
she took him out. Dancing bareheaded under heavy rain was his delight,
wading in ponds and rivers was his common practice, and tumbling into
deep pools was his most ordinary mishap. No wonder, then, that Bill
learned at an early age to swim, and also to fear nothing whatever,
except a blowing-up from his father. He feared that, but he did not
often get it, because, although full of mischief as an egg is full of
meat, he was good-humoured and bidable, and, like all lion-hearted
fellows, he had little or no malice in him.
He began his professional career very early in life. When in after
years he talked to his comrades on this subject, he used to say--
"Yes, mates, I did begin to study navigation w'en I was about two foot
high--more or less--an' I tell 'e what it is, there's nothin' like
takin' old Father Time by the forelock. I was about four year old when
I took my first start in the nautical way; and p'r'aps ye won't believe
it, but it's a fact, I launched my first ship myself; owned her;
commanded and navigated her, and was wrecked on my first voyage. It
happened this way; my father was a mill-wright, he was, and lived near a
small lake, where I used to splutter about a good deal. One day I got
hold of a big plank, launched it after half an hour o' the hardest work
I ever had, got on it with a bit of broken palm for an oar, an' shoved
off into deep water. It was a splendid burst! Away I went with my
heart in my mouth and my feet in the water tryin' to steady myself, but
as ill luck would have it, just as I had got my ship on an even keel an'
was beginnin' to dip my oar with great caution, a squall came down the
lake, caught me on the starboard quarter, and threw me on my beam-ends.
Of coorse I went sowse into the water, and had only time to give out one
awful yell when the water shut me up. Fortnitly my father heard me;
jumped in and pulled me out, but instead of kicking me or blowin' me up,
he told me that I should have kept my weather-eye open an' met the
squall head to wind. Then he got hold of the plank and made me try it
again, and didn't leave me till I was able to paddle about on that plank
almost as well as any Eskimo in his skin canoe. My good old dad
finished the lesson by tellin' me to keep always _in shoal water till I
could swim_, and to look out for squalls in future! It was lucky for me
that I had learned to obey him, for many a time I was capsized after
that, when nobody was near me, but bein' always in shoal water, I
managed to scramble ashore."
As Bill Bowls began life so he continued it. He went to sea in good
earnest when quite a boy and spent his first years in the coasting
trade, in which rough service he became a thorough seaman, and was
wrecked several times on various parts of our stormy shores. On
reaching man's estate he turned a longing eye to foreign lands, and in
course of time visited some of the most distant parts of the globe, so
that he may be said to have been a great traveller before his whiskers
were darker than a lady's eyebrows.
During these voyages, as a matter of course, he experienced great
variety of fortune. He had faced the wildest of storms, and bathed in
the beams of the brightest sunshine. He was as familiar with wreck as
with rations; every species of nautical disaster had befallen him;
typhoons, cyclones, and simooms had done their worst to him, but they
could not kill him, for Bill bore a sort of charmed life, and invariably
turned up again, no matter how many of his shipmates went down. Despite
the rough experiences of his career he was as fresh and good-looking a
young fellow as one would wish to see.
Before proceeding with the narrative of his life, we shall give just one
specimen of his experiences while he was in the merchant service.
Having joined a ship bound for China, he set sail with the proverbial
light heart and light pair of breeches, to which we may add light
pockets. His heart soon became somewhat heavier when he discovered that
his captain was a tyrant, whose chief joy appeared to consist in making
other people miserable. Bill Bowls's nature, however was adaptable, so
that although his spirits were a little subdued, they were not crushed.
He was wont to console himself, and his comrades, with the remark that
this state of things couldn't last for ever, that the voyage would come
to an end some time or other, and that men should never say die as long
as there remained a shot in the locker!
That voyage did come to an end much sooner than he or the tyrannical
captain expected!
One evening our hero stood near the binnacle talking to the steersman, a
sturdy middle-aged sailor, whose breadth appeared to be nearly equal to
his length.
"Tom Riggles," said Bill, somewhat abruptly, "we're goin' to have dirty
weather."
"That's so, lad, I'm not goin' to deny it," replied Tom, as he turned
the wheel a little to windward:
Most landsmen would have supposed that Bill's remark should have been,
"We _have_ got dirty weather," for at the time he spoke the good ship
was bending down before a stiff breeze, which caused the dark sea to
dash over her bulwarks and sweep the decks continually, while thick
clouds, the colour of pea-soup, were scudding across the sky; but
seafaring men spoke of it as a "capful of wind," and Bill's remark was
founded on the fact that, for an hour past, the gale had been
increasing, and the appearance of sea and sky was becoming more
threatening.
That night the captain stood for hours holding on to the weather-shrouds
of the mizzen-mast without uttering a word to any one, except that now
and then, at long intervals, he asked the steersman how the ship's head
lay. Dark although the sky was, it did not seem so threatening as did
the countenance of the man who commanded the vessel.
Already the ship was scudding before the wind, with only the smallest
rag of canvas hoisted, yet she rose on the great waves and plunged madly
into the hollows between with a violence that almost tore the masts out
of her. The chief-mate stood by the wheel assisting the steersman; the
crew clustered on the starboard side of the forecastle, casting uneasy
glances now at the chaos of foaming water ahead, and then at the face of
their captain, which was occasionally seen in the pale light of a stray
moonbeam. In ordinary circumstances these men would have smiled at the
storm, but they had unusual cause for anxiety at that time, for they
knew that the captain was a drunkard, and, from the short experience
they had already had of him, they feared that he was not capable of
managing the ship.
"Had we not better keep her a point more to the south'ard, sir?" said
the mate to the captain, respectfully touching his cap; "reefs are said
to be numerous here about."
"No, Mister Wilson," answered the captain, with the gruff air of a man
who assumes and asserts that he knows what he is about, and does not
want advice.
"Keep her a point to the west," he added, turning to the steersman.
There was a cry at that moment--a cry such as might have chilled the
blood in the stoutest heart--
"Rocks ahead!"
"Port! port! hard-a-port!" shouted the men. Their hoarse voices rose
above the gale, but not above the terrible roar of the surf, which now
mingled with the din of the storm.
The order was repeated by the mate, who sprang to the wheel and assisted
in obeying it. Round came the gallant ship with a magnificent sweep,
and in another moment she would have been head to wind, when a sudden
squall burst upon her broadside and threw her on her beam-ends.
When this happened the mate sprang to the companion-hatch to get an axe,
intending to cut the weather-shrouds so that the masts might go
overboard and allow the ship to right herself, for, as she then lay, the
water was pouring into her. Tom Riggles was, when she heeled over,
thrown violently against the mate, and both men rolled to leeward. This
accident was the means of saving them for the time, for just then the
mizzen rigging gave way, the mast snapped across, and the captain and
some of the men who had been hastening aft were swept with the wreck
into the sea.
A few minutes elapsed ere Tom and the mate gained a place of partial
security on the poop. The scene that met their gaze there was terrible
beyond description. Not far ahead the sea roared in irresistible fury
on a reef of rocks, towards which the ship was slowly drifting. The
light of the moon was just sufficient to show that a few of the men were
still clinging to the rail of the forecastle, and that the rigging of
the main and foremasts still held fast.
"Have you got the hatchet yet?" asked Tom of the mate, who clung to a
belaying-pin close behind him.
"Ay, but what matters it whether we strike the rocks on our beam-ends or
an even keel?"
The mate spoke in the tones of a man who desperately dares the fate
which he cannot avoid.
"Here! let me have it!" cried Tom.
He seized the hatchet as he spoke and clambered to the gangway. A few
strokes sufficed to cut the overstrained ropes, and the mainmast snapped
off with a loud report, and the ship slowly righted.
"Hold on!" shouted Tom to a man who appeared to be slipping off the
bulwarks into the sea.
As no reply was given, the sailor boldly leapt forward, caught the man
by the collar, and dragged him into a position of safety.
"Why, Bill, my boy, is't you?" exclaimed the worthy man in a tone of
surprise, as he looked at the face of our hero, who lay on the deck at
his feet; but poor Bill made no reply, and it was not until a glass of
rum had been poured down his throat by his deliverer that he began to
recover.
Several of the crew who had clung to different parts of the wreck now
came aft one by one, until most of the survivors were grouped together
near the wheel, awaiting in silence the shock which they knew must
inevitably take place in the course of a few minutes, for the ship,
having righted, now drifted with greater rapidity to her doom.
It was an awful moment for these miserable men! If they could have only
vented their feelings in vigorous action it would have been some relief,
but this was impossible, for wave after wave washed over the stern and
swept the decks, obliging them to hold on for their lives.
At last the shock came. With a terrible crash the good ship struck and
recoiled, quivering in every plank. On the back of another wave she was
lifted up, and again cast on the cruel rocks. There was a sound of
rending wood and snapping cordage, and next moment the foremast was in
the sea, tossing violently, and beating against the ship's side, to
which it was still attached by part of the rigging. Three of the men
who had clung to the shrouds of the foremast were swept overboard and
drowned. Once more the wreck recoiled, rose again on a towering billow,
and was launched on the rocks with such violence that she was forced
forward and upwards several yards, and remained fixed.
Slight although this change was for the better, it sufficed to infuse
hope into the hearts of the hitherto despairing sailors. The dread of
being instantly dashed to pieces was removed, and with one consent they
scrambled to the bow to see if there was any chance of reaching the
shore.
Clinging to the fore-part of the ship they found the cook, a negro,
whose right arm supported the insensible form of a woman--the only woman
on board that ship. She was the wife of the carpenter. Her husband had
been among the first of those who were swept overboard and drowned.
"Hold on to her, massa," exclaimed the cook; "my arm a'most brok."
The mate, to whom he appealed, at once grasped the woman, and was about
to attempt to drag her under the lee of the caboose, when the vessel
slipped off the rocks into the sea, parted amidships, and was instantly
overwhelmed.
For some minutes Bill Bowls struggled powerfully to gain the shore, but
the force of the boiling water was such that he was as helpless as if he
had been a mere infant; his strength, great though it was, began to
fail; several severe blows that he received from portions of the wreck
nearly stunned him, and he felt the stupor that preceded death
overpowering him, when he was providentially cast upon a ledge of rock.
Against the same ledge most of his shipmates were dashed by the waves
and killed, but he was thrown upon it softly. Retaining sufficient
reason to realise his position, he clambered further up the rocks, and
uttered an earnest "Thank God!" as he fell down exhausted beyond the
reach of the angry waves.
Soon, however, his energies began to revive, and his first impulse, when
thought and strength returned, was to rise and stagger down to the
rocks, to assist if possible, any of his shipmates who might have been
cast ashore. He found only one, who was lying in a state of
insensibility on a little strip of sand. The waves had just cast him
there, and another towering billow approached, which would infallibly
have washed him away, had not Bill rushed forward and dragged him out of
danger.
It proved to be his friend Tom Riggles. Finding that he was not quite
dead, Bill set to work with all his energy to revive him, and was so
successful that in half-an-hour the sturdy seaman was enabled to sit up
and gaze round him with the stupid expression of a tipsy man.
"Come, cheer up," said Bill, clapping him on the back; "you'll be all
right in a short while."
"Wot's to do?" said Tom, staring at his rescuer.
"You're all right," repeated Bill. "One good turn deserves another,
Tom. You saved my life a few minutes ago, and now I've hauled you out
o' the water, old boy."
The sailor's faculties seemed to return quickly on hearing this. He
endeavoured to rise, exclaiming--
"Any more saved?"
"I fear not," answered Bill sadly, shaking his head.
"Let's go see," cried Tom, staggering along the beach in search of his
shipmates; but none were found; all had perished, and their bodies were
swept away far from the spot where the ship had met her doom.
At daybreak it was discovered that the ship had struck on a low rocky
islet on which there was little or no vegetation. Here for three weeks
the two shipwrecked sailors lived in great privation, exposed to the
inclemency of the weather, and subsisting chiefly on shell-fish. They
had almost given way to despair, when a passing vessel observed them,
took them off, and conveyed them in safety to their native land.
Such was one of the incidents in our hero's career.