THE BITTER LESSON ENDS
Among his fellow-captains the master of the _Thurifer_ was accounted
a lucky man for his wonderfully smart passages and almost complete
immunity from accident, the occasional loss of a spar now and then
being merely incidental to the making of such passages, and hardly
to be called accidents. This voyage, in spite of its inauspicious
beginning, was no exception to the rule, for after getting out of the
Channel and licking his scratch crew into shape, nothing ever seemed
to go wrong again. Luck had but little to do with it, but consummate
seamanship had, and the ability and determination which made his men
admire while they hated him.
Poor Frank, who in spite of his high courage and dogged perseverance
had drunk the bitter cup of unhappiness and loneliness to the dregs,
could not help feeling that in one way, at any rate, the captain was
rendering him a service, that is, by getting the ship as quickly to
port as possible, for although hope was nearly dead within him, he
could not help stealing over him now and then a shadow of anticipation
that relief might come; but he did fear that it might come too late to
save him from what he felt would be the irreparable harm of making him
hate the profession he had loved so sincerely. He did not realise that
even this cold neglect, overwork, and incessant fault-finding that he
had been subjected to had been productive of benefit to others. He had
been driven to devote himself during work hours, whenever possible, to
assisting the boys to learn as much as he knew himself, and had fired
them with emulation, so that they were all in a fair way of becoming
good seamen much more rapidly than would otherwise have been the case.
At last, after a splendid passage of eighty-four days from Liverpool,
the _Thurifer_ was hove to off the Sandheads to receive her pilot from
one of the beautiful brigs which ply about the entrance to the great
Hooghly. With her usual good fortune the _Thurifer_ had not even to
wait for a tug, for the _Court-Hey_, at that time the acknowledged
chief of the fine Calcutta tug-boats, came steaming past with a big
outward-bounder, which she slipped just abreast of the _Thurifer_, then
turned and hooked on to the latter vessel at once.
There is always in the breast of the most case-hardened old sailor a
sense of prideful accomplishment upon the completion of a successful
passage under sail, a feeling that has been most attenuated, if not
entirely destroyed, by the advent of steam. And every man and boy on
board the _Thurifer_ seemed by common consent to have forgotten all
their grievances in their elation at having made so fine a passage,
with the exception of the two men primarily responsible for it, Captain
Forrest and Mr. Vincent. Their grim faces never relaxed a line, their
haughty unapproachable manner softened not in the least.
But Frank, for some reason that he was entirely unable to define, found
himself for the first time during the voyage in almost boisterously
high spirits, nor, although he found the captain’s eye fixed upon him
every now and then in sourest disapproval, did he feel at all inclined
to curb them. He flew about his duties as if full of the joy of life,
wondering why he felt so happy, and when the anchor rattled down at
Garden Reach, he actually felt as if all his troubles were over.
When the decks were cleared up and the cry of “Supper” was raised,
he went into his berth to find Mr. Wilson sitting in an attitude of
deepest dejection, looking like a thoroughly beaten man from whom all
hope had fled. Frank, somewhat alarmed, went up to him and inquired in
the heartiest manner after his health, thinking he must be ill.
The young man, however, merely said, “No, my body is all right, but
that demon of a skipper has broken my heart.”
“Why, what has he been doing now?” eagerly inquired Frank.
“Oh, nothing fresh,” groaned the poor fellow, “only he told me before
the pilot and the fellow at the wheel that I wasn’t worth a shilling
a month, and that he wouldn’t carry me for ballast, with a few other
choice remarks of the same kind. Nothing worse than he has often
said before, but coming to an anchor as we were, I felt sure that he
intended to sack me here and give me a bad discharge. I’ve a good mind
to jump overboard. I was so thundering happy when I heard I’d got
this ship, and I’ve got on so splendidly before, that it’s as if an
earthquake had come into my life and broken it all up.” And he let his
head drop again and groaned aloud.
“Now, look here,” said Frank after a pause, “I don’t know what it is,
but something tells me that our troubles are nearly over. I feel like
a man who is waiting to be hung and has just heard that he has been
pardoned. I don’t know why or how I’ve got this feeling, but I’d like
to give it to you, my dear man. But I do know this, that whatever
happens to me in after life, I’ll never abuse my position as this
hateful beast has done, a perfect enemy of mankind I call him, all the
worse because of his wonderful ability. Do cheer up, and remember that
if the worst comes to the worst, and we have to go home with him again,
we’ve both got good records up till the time we met him, and I don’t
believe he’ll dare to malign us to the owner. Curse him,” cried Frank
in a sudden fury, “how dare he come into our lives and try and wreck
them by means of his diabolical temper. He ought to be shot, and many a
far better man has been shot for less, if only half what I’ve heard is
true.”
That night, for the first time since they had come together, these two
young men were able to sit and talk for a long spell, comparing notes
of their experiences and fighting their battles over again, but never a
word more was uttered about the bane of both their lives.
When they turned in, Frank felt as if a crisis had arrived in his
career, and, as he had done on a momentous occasion before, turned
blindly to God and blurted out the desire of his soul. “Deliver me from
this evil man,” and with a swift after-thought, “and poor Wilson too.”
Then he sank peacefully and almost immediately to sleep.
Morning brought the mooring-boat and the allotted position off
Prinsep’s Ghaut. In the excitement of the work of mooring, unlike
the process anywhere else in the world, Frank forgot all about his
worries and his strangely unwarranted hopes. It was to him one of the
most peculiar and, at the same time, interesting pieces of work that
he had ever seen, the way in which the slender black men dived to the
bed of the turbid river and hooked on ropes to the moorings which lay
there; how skilfully they toiled in their huge launches to get the
ship’s cables attached to the mooring--chains ahead and astern, and how
splendidly the ship rode when moored, unable to move in any direction
but up and down.
It was a busy day, and there was no time for reflection until evening,
when the steward came and called Mr. Wilson and Frank to supper,
telling them that the captain and chief officer would not be there to
the meal. It was wonderful how great was their sense of freedom, and
when the steward had gone away on some trivial errand, Wilson lifted
his cap and cried boisterously, “Good luck to them! may they never
come back here any more!”
“Hush,” said Frank, “we don’t want anything reported to them when they
return; you know what some of these stewards are. Let us go and have
a smoke and a yarn on the poop, where we can sit now without fear of
being made to feel as if we were stowaways.”
And up they went, sat in the skipper’s long chair and on the skylight
settee, and talked until the bumping of the dinghy bringing the mate
against the accommodation-ladder roused them from their long discussion
of all things they knew anything about.
As they stood at the gangway to receive him, he said in quite a
different tone from any they had ever before heard from him, “Good
evening, gentlemen, glad to see you keeping such a good look-out. Come
into the saloon, I’ve got some news for you.”
They followed him with thumping hearts, wondering if their hopes were
to be realised. As soon as they were seated, the mate said cheerfully,
“The captain has just received the news that he has fallen heir to a
great estate, which requires his attention at home as soon as he can
get there, so he has resigned. And as the owners apparently think it
isn’t fair to the skipper of the barque _Coomallie_, which is lying
higher up the river here, to promote me to this big ship over his head,
I am exchanging with him to-morrow. I believe he is considered a very
smart man. It’s a pity, Wilson, that you hadn’t got your mate’s ticket,
or you might have gone on here. As it is, the mate of the _Coomallie_
is coming here, and I shall have to get a new one. That’s all, good
night.” And turning abruptly from them he went into his cabin.
Wilson and Frank stared at each other for a few moments in almost
stupid amazement, like men suddenly stricken imbecile; then, actuated
by a common impulse, they both turned and made for the deck outside,
which having reached, Wilson whispered hoarsely, “Frank, it can’t
possibly be true. Surely no such miracle has happened to save you and
me from destruction.”
Frank, who by this time had regained his composure, answered quietly,
“I believe it _is_ true. I’ve felt in my very bones lately that I was
going to be set free from this man. My only fear was whether I did
right in coming with him at all, since I knew what he was before we
started. But I felt that I couldn’t be far wrong if I did my duty,
and I certainly never imagined that any man could be so evil-minded
and cruel as he has turned out to be. I can only say, as I have had
occasion to say before, ‘Thank God for deliverance.’”
“And I’ll say ‘Amen’ to that with all my soul,” rejoined Wilson. “It
means new life to me, for there can’t be such another brute in the
world of sailors as this one; or if there is, it’s against all laws of
chance that we should get him here.”
Yes, it was true. Morning brought Captain Forrest and the new
commander, Captain Sharpe, on board, when all hands were called aft
and informed of the change by Captain Forrest in a cold, contemptuous
fashion. He took no note of the palpable movement of relief which ran
through the entire ship’s company as the splendid news of his going
entered their minds, but he could not help seeing the earnest look of
pleased appreciation on every face when his successor stepped forward
at the close of his little speech and said, “Well, my men, you’ve got
a new skipper in me, and I hope and believe that we shall pull well
together. It shan’t be my fault if we don’t, for I am proud to be
appointed to so splendid a ship and such a good crew as you appear to
be.”
He stopped abruptly, having apparently no more to say, and a
spontaneous joyous cheer went up from all of them. A cheer wherein was
mingled immense relief and glad anticipation of better days in store.
Captain Sharpe then went up to Wilson and Frank, and shaking hands
heartily said, “I am very pleased to know you both, and especially you,
young Brown. I know your friend Captain Burns in Lytham, and heard all
about your wonderful work in bringing home the _Woden_; I’m proud to
have you on board my ship.”
Poor Frank was speechless, unable to say a word in reply, for a lump
came up into his throat and nearly choked him. It was not necessary,
however, for him to speak, for the captain patted him kindly upon the
shoulder and passed on to say a cordial word to the apprentices, all
of whose faces lighted up as he spoke to them. He was like a beam of
sunshine breaking through the lowering clouds of a dark and gloomy day.
The retiring skipper and the mate collected their belongings, and left
the ship without a word of farewell, consistently sullen and ugly
until the last. Thank heaven we know them no more either, but we must
not forget that there are more of the breed about, both afloat and
ashore, who conceive that their mission in life is to make other people
miserable, and who never cease their efforts for that fell end until
death has mercy upon their victims and removes their oppressors.
That was indeed a momentous day for the crew of the _Thurifer_. For
the new captain even improved upon closer acquaintance, and by the
end of the first week not a man on board had any other opinion of him
than that he must be about the best man in the world. I draw him from
the life, gratefully, but not one touch of exaggeration is there about
my description of him. He was a man of about forty-five years of age,
with a handsome sunburnt face, a big fair beard, and a roguish blue
eye. A prime seaman and navigator, he had yet been slow in getting
up the ladder, more I think from native modesty and want of hardness
in pushing himself forward, no matter who was pushed aside to make
room for him, a trait only too characteristic of many successful men.
But his chief charm was his innate kindliness and goodness of heart,
breeding an intense desire within him to see everybody around him
happy. Indeed a miserable face made him feel a sense of guilt, as if he
were in some measure responsible for the unhappiness. Wilson and Frank
literally adored him, and felt that they could cheerfully die for such
a man.
One of his first acts was to institute a regular course of lessons in
navigation and seamanship for the apprentices in the saloon, coupled
with a standing invitation to a certain number of them each day to have
dinner with him and his officers, no selection being made, but all
enjoying his hospitality in rotation. Also he made great improvements
in their dietary and accommodation, and visited their quarters every
day, so as to keep them up to the mark of decent living, knowing full
well that without such supervision boys on board ship invariably
get slack and often lose all the habits of neatness and cleanliness
instilled into them at home and at school. And all this he did not only
from a sense of duty to his young charges, but from inclination, for he
loved to act thus, and obeyed this the highest incentive to well-doing
that man can have.
The loading of the _Thurifer_ with jute for Dundee proceeded apace.
It was a time of high freights and plentiful cargo, and all hands
began to look forward with joy to the homeward passage. Mr. Wilson,
of course, was busy in the hold supervising the stowing of the cargo,
while Frank, now regarded as an officer indeed, was busy from dawn till
dark with the bo’sun in attending to all the hundred and one details
of the rigging and equipment which are necessary in order to prepare a
great sailing-ship for her homeward passage, work which can nowhere be
so well and expeditiously performed as in harbour. And in the evenings
the captain would often remain on board, busy with some of his boys,
while Wilson and Frank were able to go and visit friends ashore, whose
acquaintance they would never have made under the old system.
Liberty day came and went without any disturbance whatever, the men all
feeling so contented with the change that they voluntarily did what
they could not have been driven to do, in fact they had all sworn not
to go home in the ship with the other man. And I must interpolate one
remark here, although it is slightly out of its turn; instead of being
charged 2s. 4d. to the rupee, whose exchange value was then 1s. 5d., as
they would have been under Captain Forrest, they were charged 1s. 6d.,
for Captain Sharpe disdained to rob his men even in strictly orthodox
fashion, nor would he permit others to do so. There was only one cloud
in the blue sky of content which enveloped the ship, and that was
the uncertainty attendant upon the coming of the new mate. Everybody
wondered much what manner of man he would be, knowing well how much of
the comfort of a ship depends upon the character and ability of the
first executive officer.
The day before she sailed the new officer came on board, and looked
curiously about him as if he sought a sympathetic face. He would have
had my sympathy had I been there, for I know of few situations more
trying than his was. And it was well for him that he happened to strike
a little community of really good fellows who wished to put him at his
ease. They, that is, the captain and second and third mates, treated
him exactly as they would have treated a man who had been in the ship
for a long time. But he, poor fellow, actually mistook their kindly
attitude for a tribute to his personality, a mistake he was never able
to rectify afterwards. Because his personality was a kind to excite
derision, not sympathy or respect. He was not able to take the smallest
manoeuvre without the stimulus of liquor, and he had brought on board
with him a few bottles, of necessity few since his means were extremely
limited, and before he had been in the saddle forty-eight hours
everybody on board knew his weakness.
In this matter sailors are the keenest observers in the world.
And when, in getting under weigh the next day, he stood on the
forecastle-head and endeavoured to make up for his lack of ability by
making a noise, the men under his command quietly ignored him and did
the work they had been trained to do just as if he had not been there.
Poor chap, his bemused brain took it all in but was unable to deal with
it, and from thenceforth his position in the ship was a nominal one. I
cannot here explain how such men come to the position of chief officer
and sometimes captain, I only know that it is so, they do, and the fall
they make is painful to witness.
But nothing now could affect the happiness of the _Thurifer’s_ crowd.
The captain was such a real live man, so genuinely anxious for the
welfare and happiness of everybody on board and so indefatigable in
his attention to what he conceived his duty, that the fact of an
incompetent chief officer having joined the ship was but a small detail
in the general scheme of things.
No sooner had the ship got to sea than the skipper arranged a
three-watch system, whereby Frank had the first watch from 8 P.M.
till midnight, Mr. Wilson the middle watch, and the mate from 4 A.M.
to 8 A.M., thus giving each of the officers a long spell of rest and
recreation, as well as a chance to feel their power of independent
command. And as the captain invariably rose about 4 A.M., he was able
to keep his eye upon the mate and see that he did nothing wrong, but
he never actively interfered. What he said to the mate in the privacy
of his cabin no one but themselves ever knew, but it was doubtless
something very stern and searching. Yet it had no effect whatever.
The man was hopelessly incompetent and growing worse, not better, every
day. So that when at noon all the officers were grouped on the poop
with their sextants getting the sun’s meridian altitude, he was always
the one to be out at even this, the simplest of all marine operations.
For when you have, by moving the vernier on the arc of the instrument,
brought the sun’s lower limb in contact with the horizon and clamped
it, you have only to turn the tangent screw gently as the sun rises
until it rises no more, a sign that it is at its highest point or
meridian for the day--it is noon at that particular spot. It is so
simple, so easy, that any schoolboy could perform the operation with
just a few minutes’ tuition; but this poor bungler seldom if ever got
a correct meridian altitude. And at the working up of the ship’s noon
position, while the agreement between the captain and Mr. Wilson and
Frank was scarcely ever out more than a mile, it was the rarest thing
for Mr. Carter to be within five miles of the correct position.
Still, as I said, this matter did not affect the general comfort of
the ship or the happiness of the two junior officers, who both made
splendid progress, the captain saying one day to Frank, “What a pity it
is you weren’t either a _Worcester_ or a _Conway_ boy, you would have
been able to come as second mate next voyage. As it is, you’ll have to
make another trip as third before you can go up for your ticket.”
“Then all I hope and pray is, Captain Sharpe,” brightly responded
Frank, “that it will be with you. I don’t care a bit about the position
as long as I am treated as you treat me; I am happier than I have ever
been in my life before.”
“That’s all right, my lad, you deserve all you’re getting,” answered
the captain. “I am always very pleased with you.”
At which Frank turned away, his heart too full for utterance, and yet
with a sense of shame that he should have allowed the transient evil
of being under Captain Forrest to have almost made him hate the noble
profession. In which I do not at all agree with him, knowing as I so
well do what a hell of misery a bad captain can make of a ship.
So the _Thurifer_ fared homeward, happily, uneventfully, her crew all
now thoroughly trained and ready for any eventuality, a ship where
there were no quarrels or discontents, where the work went as goes
well-oiled machinery, dominated by the splendid personality of one
man. Shall I be believed when I say Frank actually dreaded the arrival
of the ship at her destination? I am afraid not, yet such was really
the case. As each day saw her drawing nearer home, he had hard work
to keep from feeling downhearted with the prospect of another ship or
another skipper in view; he felt so fit and so happy, that the idea
of again being bullied and worried as he had been on the passage out
almost terrified him. So that in very truth he was what the old salts
used to say the perfect sailor must be, wedded to his ship. Indeed he
grew to love her more and more every day, as the perfect weather they
were having allowed them to paint, polish, varnish, and beautify her
generally, even to the extent of granting a calm for two days, without
more than an incipient swell, just to the southward of the Western
Islands, so that they were able to paint her round outside quite close
to the water’s edge. Oh but they were proud men on board that ship,
feeling that never did a homeward bound Sou’spainer come into port
looking as their ship would look.
Nearer and nearer home they drew, still favoured by fortune with the
brightest and best of weather, until they were met in the chops of the
Channel by a heavy easterly wind, hardly a gale, but necessitating a
good deal of stern carrying on in order to hold their own, since the
bottom of the ship was of necessity foul, affecting her weatherly
qualities very much. Now it so happened that just about this time
Captain Sharpe was not at all well, not ill enough to lay up entirely,
but compelled to take all the rest he could. And so he was not able
to be with Mr. Carter in taking over the “gravy-eye” watch, as it is
called--4 A.M.--when the tides of life run lowest, and some men find
it positive agony to keep awake. There is little doubt that owing to
the captain’s constant supervision of him the mate had become utterly
careless, so much so, that even the fact that he was left to himself
to watch over the lives of thirty-four of his shipmates had no power
to make him vigilant. At least that is the only construction I can put
upon his behaviour upon this terrific occasion, the account of which I
am now about to give.
It was about 4.15 _A.M._, with a moderate gale blowing and the fine
ship under topgallant sails, a tremendous press of canvas for the
weight of wind, was standing across the mouth of the Channel on the
starboard tack. As always with an easterly wind up there the weather
was clear, but there being no moon it was fairly dark. Still there was
ample range of sight for a sailor.
Suddenly a shout was heard from the forecastle, “A green light on the
port bow, sir.”
The mate emitted a sleepy roar in reply, but actually for several
minutes did not trouble himself to go to leeward and look, although he
must have known that by the rule of the road at sea it was his duty
to give way to the other vessel in the event of their approaching too
closely to each other, and at night it is impossible to be too careful
with ships crossing. When he did go over and look, the crossing vessel
seemed to leap out of the dark at him, she was so close.
Panic-stricken, he ordered the helm hard up, but as the _Thurifer_
swung slowly off the wind, the officer in charge of the crossing ship
having waited in agony for some sign that the other vessel was going
to do the right thing and give way, until he could bear it no longer,
hove his helm hard up also. The result was that the two ships, which
might have gone clear had both kept their course, rushed at each other
end on, and when the stranger hauled his wind again, it was too late,
he had only time to present his broadside to the immense shock of the
_Thurifer’s_ 4000 tons coming on at the rate of about eight miles an
hour. There was an awful moment of suspense as men’s hearts stood
still, a tremendous crash, and the huge steel wedge of the _Thurifer’s_
bow shore its relentless way right through the strange vessel’s middle,
amid a gigantic chorus of crashing masts, rending metal, and human
yells of terror.