THE TESTING OF A MAN
Very regretfully I notice how the recital of Frank’s career has drawn
me on to longer and longer chapters, until I hardly know where to draw
the line. But then at sea, you know, as a rule day succeeds day and
work flows on so steadily that, except when some sudden catastrophe
occurs, the necessity for a break in the narrative is not evident. Such
a necessity is now at hand. I have said that the elements seemed to
favour the departure of the _Sealark_, and the elevation of Hansen to
the position of bo’sun, or foreman of the crew, made Frank feel that
things were going exceptionally well with him, and that this voyage was
indeed a great improvement upon the last one.
And then a change took place, a change in the weather that made, as
the Scriptures say, “all faces gather blackness.” The wind backed
round into the north-west, with an awfully hideous sea which made the
deeply-laden _Sealark_ strain and labour as if she would loosen her
plates. (I hope I have made it clear that she was an iron ship, but I
don’t think I have.) Captain Jenkins, full of care for his charge, saw
to it that all the sails were well secured, all the mast supports well
looked to by means of preventer backstays, and, in short, everything
done that a good sailor could think of for the safety of the vessel and
all on board under any circumstances of weather. For he knew how low
the glass had fallen, and he felt the need of preparing for the worst
possible eventuality.
At last the weather grew so bad, and the wind so high, that the
carrying of any sail was impossible, and so the _Sealark_ lay hove-to
under bare poles, with just a tarpaulin in the mizzen rigging to keep
her head from falling off and leaving her in the trough of the enormous
sea then running.
She lay pretty comfortably considering, but Frank, who was quite a
sea-dog by this time, was much moved by the terror of his two poor
little housemates, the two new apprentices. They did not know how
much they were indebted to him for any comfort they had felt, yet
unconsciously they clung to him in their distress, because Johnson,
though a good fellow enough, hadn’t Frank’s sympathy with the weak.
He had quite forgotten his own early disadvantages. Some men are like
that, but it is a great pity, because it is a trait that rather adds to
manhood than detracts from it.
And in this dread time, when the howling storm tore off the sea-crests
and made them envelop the cowering ship in clouds of spray, when
sky and ocean seemed to mingle, and the uproar of the elements made
ordinary conversation impossible, they clung to one who, only a little
older than themselves, had risen to the full stature of a man and knew
how to control his natural fears. Not that Frank was in any way lavish
with his sympathy; rather he evinced it by speaking and acting in the
most natural and usual manner possible, as if there could be nothing
to make a fuss about. This, I take it, is, in the majority of cases,
far more effectual in the comforting of others than the most elaborate
endeavours to do so can ever be.
Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that time and conditions were bad
enough to daunt the stoutest heart. Only youngsters, not being able
to see so far ahead, are able to keep their end up at such a time
much better than the majority of men, that is, if they are as good
stuff as Frank Brown was to start with. It was a gale that will be
long remembered in shipping annals for the enormous destruction of
property and loss of life at sea, a regular tropical hurricane raging
in the temperate zone and just where the greatest traffic in the world
congregates, outward and homeward bound. It blew so hard that the
_Sealark_ lay down with her lee rail under water, deep laden as she
was, and refused to rise; while the sea smiting her weather side was
caught by the furious tempest and hurled high over her masts’ heads in
great sheets of spume. Then is the time when the weak spots show and
when faithful work proves its worth, for one small mishap at such a
time may, and often does, lead to the loss of the ship and the lives of
all hands.
So day faded into night with no relief, while all hands hung on to
their patience, as it were, thankful for a staunch ship and a fairly
good cargo. But oh! the weary hours of the night. A man does get so
weary of the ravenous roar of the wind, the unceasing assault of the
mighty sea, does long so for a little respite. Day, moreover, broke
again upon an ocean that was one expanse of white, for the sea seemed
mingling with the sky, its very surface torn off by the ferocious wind.
It was impossible to see for any distance through the hissing spray,
two or three hundred yards at the most, and yet they craved for further
vision, it was so lonely. Then suddenly there was a slight lull, the
ship eased up a little, and the sky cleared temporarily, although it
was still blowing a tremendous gale.
And into their circle of sight there came an object of pity, awakening
a passionate desire to do something at any risk whatever for the
help of their fellow-men. It was a vessel of about the same size as
themselves, but of wood, and by the appearance of her very near the
foundering-point. Her three masts, bulwarks, and boats were gone, she
was just a mere hulk upon the terrible sea; but upon the highest part
of her, lashed to the stanchions of the departed bulwarks, which showed
up like a set of broken teeth, were visible the cowering forms of her
crew, visible, that is, at intervals, when the incessant spray which
swept over them became thinner than usual. The word went quickly round
the _Sealark_, and all hands rushed on deck, staring with bated breath
on the pitiful sight, and glancing anxiously at the skipper between
whiles to see what he might be going to do.
Poor man, it was an anxious time for him, for his ship was quite
unmanageable, as he dared not make sail. True, the derelict was to
leeward of him, and a boat could reach her without very great danger;
but unless the wind let up soon, the getting of that boat back was an
obvious impossibility. However, there was no question about the urgency
of the matter, for at every scend of the sea it would be noticed
that the unfortunate craft had settled deeper, had less buoyancy. So
pulling himself together, Captain Jenkins shouted at the pitch of his
great voice, “Who will volunteer to go and try and save those men from
drowning?”
There was only a momentary hesitation, and then four men stepped
forward. They were the two Scotchmen, Hansen, and one of the Welshmen,
the other being at the wheel.
Then the second mate looked up at the skipper, and said quite coolly,
“I shall want another man, sir.”
He had hardly uttered the words when Frank, who had been watching the
wreck with indescribable feelings, sprang forward and said, “Let me go,
sir; I would have offered before, but I was afraid you would not let me
go.”
The skipper shook his head sadly, and said, “I’m afraid it’s no place
for you, my boy.”
But Frank bounded up the ladder to his side, and said gaspingly, “I’m
as strong as any of those men, sir, and you know I can pull a good oar.
Besides, I want to show the second mate, sir----”
That was all, but the skipper nodded “All right,” and immediately all
hands were busy getting the boat out, a difficult and heavy task in a
ship like that, where the boats are seldom carried ready for launching.
But by dint of hard work and eagerness, she was got all ready for
lowering in fifteen minutes.
“Now, Mr. Jacks,” roared the skipper, “all I’ve got to say is, keep
your eye on that ship that she doesn’t go down while you’re alongside,
and take you all with her. As soon as ever I see you have reached her,
I’ll keep away and run down to leeward at any risks, so that you can
run down to me as you are going to do to her, and may God grant you
save ’em all and yourselves too. Off you go.”
The six of them got into the boat as she hung by a single bridle from
a main-yard tackle, a steady shove off and she touched the seething
surface almost instantly. The man at the tackle fall let go, and, as
the barque heeled over, one hand in the boat unhooked the tackle and
hove it clear, while the sea surging up beneath the vessel’s bottom
bore the boat a hundred yards to leeward at a single sweep. The second
mate at the tiller kept her off before the wind, ordering his men to
ship their oars and hold the blades high out of water by depressing the
looms, with the effect that the boat sped away as if under a press of
sail.
There was no time to be afraid had the crew been ever so fearful, and
in addition they all felt at once that they were being steered by a
master in the science of boat-handling. It seemed but a minute or two
before she reached the wallowing vessel, and as she flew under the
stern the second mate shouted to his port oarsmen to pull for their
very lives, starboard oarsmen to ship their oars and watch for a rope.
The boat spun round right up into the smooth, and at the same moment a
coil of rope was hove into her from the derelict, which was caught and
held.
But now the boat’s position was full of peril, for the derelict’s decks
on the lee side were under water, and some ugly fragments of spars,
still attached by the lee rigging, were tumbling about and threatening
the boat with destruction. It was quite impossible to get close
alongside, and yet every moment was precious, while the poor fellows,
so close to rescue, and yet confronted with that terrible few feet of
boiling foam and jagged tumbling spars, were in an agony of doubt. But
their natural hesitation was solved by a huge sea which, bursting over
the weather side, washed full half of their number overboard, as they
were not then on the look-out for it; and before even they themselves
had realised what had happened, they were clambering into the boat.
The rest were emboldened by what had happened, and jumped into the
foaming vortex at the same moment as the second mate screamed, “Let
go that rope, she’s going.” Happily one of them managed to reach the
boat’s side, and clung to it with desperate tenacity, as the heavily
laden craft, caught by a swell, was swept away clear of that brutal
entanglement alongside. Only just in time, for, as the boat swung off
the wind, those in the boat, in spite of their efforts to get the
struggling men who were hanging on to the gunwale inboard, could not
help seeing the defeated ship give one throe like a Titan in his death
agony, and, her bow rising high in air, she slid down a yawning gulf
into darkness and peace, never again to be seen by the eye of man.
It was a splendid rescue, nobly planned and carried out, and all the
more impressive because of the scanty sum of the moments during which
it had been effected. And now the heavily laden boat must needs be
brought to the wind and sea, which latter was getting up at a most
dangerous rate, because it was evident that otherwise she would go
as fast to leeward as the ship to which she belonged. It was most
fortunate, therefore, that the second mate was so skilful, and calling
upon his men to stand by, one side to pull and the other to stern on
the word, he watched the smooth when a big sea had passed, and then
shouting fit to crack his throat, “Pull port, stern starboard,” he
swung the boat up into the wind, and she was safe for the time.
But she rode very deep, and threatened every moment to swamp, only the
most energetic baling keeping her afloat. In addition, the air was so
thick with spray that they could see nothing of the ship, and they
could only hope that from her superior height their shipmates were able
to keep sight of them. They all looked wistfully at the grim face of
Mr. Jacks, which showed no trace of his great anxiety, and took comfort
therefrom.
On board the ship they had not yet kept away, for a tremendous squall
had blotted out the whole scene, and when it had passed and vision
was restored for about a square mile, there was nothing visible but
the small circle of white sea and black sky, although all hands were
straining their eyes to leeward through the clouds of spindrift, for
sight or sign of the devoted little boatload of beings who were at
present all in all to them.
Suddenly there was a scream from forward heard above the monotonous
growl of the storm. It was from Johnson, who had climbed up inside the
lee fore-rigging, and had just caught a glimpse of something, he knew
not what, a black patch on a hill of white. But the skipper had heard,
and saw his pointing arm, and, focussing his glasses on the spot for a
moment, shouted, “Run that fore-topmast staysail up.”
All hands flew to obey, and steadily the small triangle of sail rose,
carefully attended as to the sheet, until without a shake it was
set. “Hard up with that helm, stand by your weather braces,” were
the next orders, while springing into the weather mizzen-rigging the
skipper tore the tarpaulin down which was holding her up to the wind.
Slowly she paid off, and gathered way as the yards were checked, and
presently, to the almost hysterical delight of all hands, they saw the
boat, a tiny spot in that snowy waste, being tossed like a chip in a
torrent, but looking staunch and seaworthy still.
Down towards her sped the ship now, although only that rag of sail was
set forrard, under full steerage control, with the skipper clinging
in the weather rigging like a bat, and conning the vessel with waves
of his hand, for his voice was useless in that uproar. Down past the
boat they swept, high on the crest of a gigantic wave, while the tiny
overloaded craft seemed to cower in the valley between two wave-crests
as if she were sheltering there.
Then at the skipper’s beckoning hand some of the fellows rushed aft and
hauled out the head of the mizzen. Down with the helm, no time to watch
for smooth seas now, let go the fore-topmast staysail halyards, and up
she comes into the wind, receiving as she did so the full impact of the
terrible sea that seemed as if it must crush her into fragments. She
shuddered in every rivet, but survived, the drivers of those rivets in
some far-away shipyard all unconscious of this life and death testing
of their work.
And there, hove to again under bare poles with just the tarpaulin
spread as before, she lay with all hands straining their eyes for
the coming of the boat. Mr. Jacks, watching with stern-set face the
manoeuvres of the ship, followed her passing with orders to stand by
the oars so that at his word the boat might be swung off again, and
driven before the wind and sea, and got under the lee of the waiting
ship.
It was boldly, gallantly, successfully done, but not one of them
failed to note how hungrily the mighty seas roared around their
insignificance, but while some felt their hearts shrivel within them at
the immediate prospect of dissolution, others, among whom was Frank,
were elated as the old Vikings at the prospect of battle, and would
fain have shouted for joy. But the weary time of watching, and waiting,
and noting the onrush of each awful sea had tested them to the last
fibre, and they felt infinitely relieved at the change of action for
passive endurance.
Away she sped, flung from crest to hollow of the seas, but steered so
splendidly by the second mate that, although the foam seemed to stand
above her gunwale in wreaths, nothing but the spray came over. And they
all watched the face of the steersman, who looked, as indeed he was, a
tower of strength, confident and able. Just shaving the stern of the
_Sealark_ by, as it seemed, a hand’s breadth, he shouted, “Pull port,
all you know,” and the boat shot up alongside, to receive a line and be
secured.
Then as she rose and fell, kept away from being stove in by the eddying
seas coming under the ship’s bottom, one by one, watching their
opportunity, scrambled on board until, all but the second mate and
Frank having left her, the bridle was hooked on and many willing hands
swung the gallant craft up into her place again. A splendid feat nobly
performed, and one that all those engaged in it would ever remember as
making an elevating epoch in their lives.
No sooner was the boat secured than the weather broke, and before
midnight the _Sealark_, under topsail, foresail, and lower staysails,
was plunging away on her course again as if rejoicing in her victory
over the hungry sea. Meanwhile all the heroes of the adventure had
slipped back into their grooves again, Frank especially treating
the whole affair with a lofty nonchalance as if it were hardly worth
recalling, but secretly enjoying an uplifting sense of having done a
good deed.
The saved crew were distributed according to the barque’s limited
accommodation, and made as comfortable as was possible under the
circumstances, none of them, fortunately, being injured or so exhausted
that they needed special care. The skipper, entertaining the rescued
officers in the cabin, learned that the lost ship was a soft wood ship
hailing from Frederikstad, laden with coal from Newport, and bound to
Rio Janeiro. That she was leaky when she started from port, and never
from the first coming on of this frightful gale had she possessed the
faintest chance of living through it.
The Norwegian skipper further told them that towards the last, when the
enfeebled rigging had given way and the rusted-through chain-plates
had been broken off or torn out of the rotten topsides, letting the
masts tumble over the side, the overstrained hull just opened out like
a basket, and pumping became useless. The boats went early in the
fight; in any case they were of very little use, all of them having
the dry-rot. He finished his account by saying, “And but for you
coming just when you did, Captain Jenkins, sixteen of us some hours
ago would have been deep below the surface of this rough sea, all our
troubles over.” Thus the Norwegian skipper, one of nature’s gentlemen,
as with eyes humid with gratitude he grasped Captain Jenkins’ hand.
Jenkins, confused, changed the subject, and pointed out that he must
land them all at Las Palmas as his commissariat, to say nothing of his
accommodation, was entirely unequal to the strain upon it. In which the
Norwegian entirely agreed.
This little episode in a sailor’s life was full of interest for
Frank, and did him no end of good, but strange to say he did not once
associate his part in it with his folks at home until Sunday, when, to
his immense surprise, he received a summons to dine in the cabin. Now
in many fine ships I knew when I was at sea this was quite usual, but
it had never happened in the _Sealark_ before, and Frank hardly knew
how to contain himself at the prospect of having a decently-laid meal.
So he dressed himself as if for going ashore, to the undisguised
amazement of the two youngsters who had already begun to feel as if
they never had worn decent clothes and never would again, and then
waited most impatiently the tinkle of the steward’s bell. When he got
to table he was introduced to Captain Rasmussen, the rescued skipper,
as “One of your rescuers, sir, a lad on his second voyage,” and the big
Norwegian, taking both the lad’s hands in his, solemnly blessed him,
and predicted a splendid career for him if he lived. Poor Frank could
not speak, and wished himself anywhere else, but still the praise was
very sweet, and I am glad to say it did not spoil his appetite for
dinner.
But far beyond all praise, or even the satisfaction of his own mind
at what he had been able to do, was Frank’s gratification at the
difference in the second mate’s behaviour towards him. There was
nothing said by either of them bearing upon the subject, but Frank
noticed with the utmost pleasure that he was now treated by Mr. Jacks
with a courtesy and consideration greater than that offered to any
other man on board, and this made him not only happy but more and more
eager to justify the position he had won.
And as an outlet for his energies he took upon himself the training of
the two youngsters Jones and Fordham, who were now fully recovered,
but extremely loth to begin work. Frank, however, roused them out and
drove them like a regular taskmaster, fully explaining to them that it
was all for their good, and when they rebelled and told him that he
was only a boy like themselves, and they weren’t going to be bullied
by him, he took unto himself a bit of ratline stuff, and laid it about
them sharply. Of course they did not appreciate this one bit, but as
Frank blandly explained to them, it was better that he should chastise
them for their good than that they should suffer the loss of all their
best days. I know there are many good people who would condemn Frank
for this, but I don’t, especially as I know there was not a bit of the
bully in him.
The run down to Las Palmas was quite a lady’s trip, steady gentle
Trades, bright beaming skies, and smooth sparkling seas. The kind of
weather, in fact, that Frank had grown to regard as leaving the sailor
free to do his repairing and reconstruction work without bothering his
head about the ship’s progress at all, she attending to that with
just a hand at the wheel to steer her. But when the bold outlines
of the beautiful Peak of Teneriffe rose up sharp and clear against
the horizon, all his interest in the external surroundings burst up
like a suppressed spring suddenly let loose, and he was as eager as
possible to see all that could be seen. That is a good sign in boy or
man. I have this opinion because I have known men who after voyages
to the same port still retained their interest in its approaches,
still maintained that every hour of the day, to say nothing of the
wizard-like changes of the night, added to the interest of the place.
The _Sealark_ coasted the beautiful island of Teneriffe, and Frank
saw with pleasure the dull drab of the land change into a curiously
irregular series of lines like a checkerboard made of paper and twisted
a bit; then the sun shone out and the checkers began to glow with many
tints of green creeping up the side of the mountain, until they reached
barrenness just below the line of snow, whence the pure white cone
soared into the blue.
Past that wonderful scene they sped with a splendid breeze, and across
to Gran Canaria, arriving off the port of Las Palmas well before
sunset. The port official’s boat came off, and finding that the captain
was unwilling to anchor, tried, as is their wont, to make him do so.
But Captain Jenkins was not inclined to waste his owners’ time under
any pretext. So he would not anchor, just lying hove to until a boat
came off, in which he was able to tranship his involuntary passengers.
They bade him farewell with heartfelt gratitude for his kindness;
and as they left the side he shouted “Square away,” and off went the
_Sealark_ on her long journey, leaving the shipwrecked men to be dealt
with by their consul. It was a splendid experience for Frank, and one
that left its mark upon his life; but he could not help wishing that
the skipper had not been so obdurate, and had allowed at least a day’s
stay in this wonderfully beautiful island. That, however, to a careful
skipper was out of the question; and so the shades of night falling saw
the dim outlines of the Canary Islands fade away into the distance and
become but a memory.
And now, as in many respects one voyage is the counterpart of another
in certain parts of the world, I propose to pass by without comment
the next fortnight, wherein day succeeded day in orderly sequence. The
Trades were lost, and the calm belt passed, while the ordinary duties
of the ship, like those of a house that is well managed, succeeded one
another in unfailing procession--a slipping by of unhistorical days,
wherein the commoner souls who are part of them just stagnate and think
how wearisome it all is, while those who count in the scheme of things
are ever growing in all those details that go to make up the sum of
life.
How happy in these halcyon seas is the youth who is not afraid of work,
and who is fully equipped mentally and physically for that work; to
whom the sweet first breath of the new day arouses in him a desire to
do, and whose heart is too high to be daunted by any suggestion of
monotony. If in addition he is a reader, and can compare present-day
sea-life with the past, he will in addition be inclined to thank God
that his lines are cast in pleasant places as compared with the bad
old days of seafaring, when even the finest of days were lingered out
amid scenes of such horror as make the flesh of a modern creep to think
of, especially when he knows how much of this misery was entirely
preventable.
These are the reflections which often give me pause when endeavouring
to call attention to conditions which might be made so much better
than they are in the lives of our sailors. It is impossible for any
one who knows to ignore the wonderful advance that has been made, that
is still being made, in the amelioration of the lot of our seafarers,
even compared with the conditions of thirty years ago. But if we go
back for a century, and tear aside the veil of romance which distance
and fine writing has woven around the lives of those earlier seafarers,
we shall, if we possess any human sympathies at all, be nauseated,
horrified, made profoundly sad, to think of what poor human flesh and
blood has been called upon to endure for the benefit of us who live in
these luxurious days.
I often wonder how many of those who revel in the beauties of
Kingsley’s “Westward Ho!” stop to think of the meaning of the short
sentence or two in which he describes the arrival of Amyas Leigh and
his companions at Barbadoes. The length of the passage from England
is not given, but it could hardly at the outside have exceeded forty
days. Yet in that brief space we find that many of the crew are almost
at death’s door with scurvy and other foul diseases, which were then
regarded as the inevitable concomitants of life on shipboard, a life
whose only parallel apparently was to be found in our loathsome gaols
at that date, and even there, if the prisoner had friends or money, he
might be well, even luxuriously fed, and far from badly lodged. Such
necessities could not be had by the sailor at sea though he possessed
the treasures of Midas.
To-day we are fast approaching the maximum of comfort possible in a
seafaring life and compatible with the earning power of a ship; that
is, in the best type of ships. Of course there is a wide range, and
undoubtedly there are still many vessels afloat in which the food and
accommodation and the conditions of labour are no whit better than what
was the rule thirty years ago, and is happily the exception now. There
is, notwithstanding all this, much still to be done in order to bring
the lot of our workers at sea up as nearly as possible to the standard
obtaining on shore, and it is pleasant to know and realise that some of
the most strenuous efforts in this laudable direction are being made
by ship-owners themselves. Officers and seamen, too, are doing their
share; and when once we can get the press generally to take an interest
in our splendid mercantile marine, and deal with its stirring story
from the point of view of knowledge, I believe that sea life will have
little to fear by comparison with any other calling, as far as the lot
of the seafarer is concerned.
With none of these matters, however, did our hero trouble his head. He
was in the happy position of being in love with his work, healthy, full
of energy, and of a temperament to make the best of everything. Added
to this he was fortunate enough to be with men who appreciated him, and
to be free also from the continual croaking of those confirmed human
ravens so often met with on board ship, who take a sinister pleasure in
dinning into a boy’s ears what a silly ass he is to come to sea. Soured
in temper and stunted in mind, these old “growls,” as we used to call
them, are undoubtedly the means of spoiling the promising career of
many a bright young seaman, by making him feel that it is useless for
him to go on with a profession which is being continually represented
to him as the worst paid, and as having the least consideration of all
open to a lad who wants to make his way in the world.
Moreover, in great contrast with the last voyage, everything seemed to
go on greased wheels, as we say. The crew had settled down to their
work in splendid fashion, the weather was all that it should be, and
the _Sealark_ came bowling along round the Cape in fine style before
a steady, strong succession of westerly gales, never too strong for
her to carry her maintopgallant sail. A deep content was visible on
the face of the skipper. He was indeed a happy man. He had nobly won
his position, and he was fully justified in the way he was holding it,
while the elements themselves seemed to conspire in the determination
to do him good. And so in comfortable fashion they ran down the long
stretch of lonely ocean until they came in sight of the tiny island of
St. Paul’s, and hauled up for the passage up the Indian Ocean.