“All the way to Calcutty have I been, and seed nothing but
one--banany. Howsomever, it was werry good, so I’m going back to
have another.”--_Old Sailor Story._
Back once more to the house of Trapp & Sons in the Minories, where I
had to face Captain Hole, and “dree my weird.”
It was essential in my sea time for obtaining my certificate that I
should have four years of good conduct to show, and that could only
be obtained by the cancelling of my indentures, or serving out the
remainder of my time. Now Captain Hole had retired from the sea, having
put the late mate, Mr. Coleman, in command of the _Alwynton_, and was,
moreover, keenly bent upon getting a bit of his own back, so he utterly
declined to cancel my indentures and finished the discussion by saying,
“I know you like big ships; you have just come home in one in time to
go out in a small one. The _Lord Nelson_ is in Swansea, and you will
join her at once. If you had stayed in the _Alwynton_ you would have
gone away second mate of her this voyage. And that’s for saying ‘I
won’t’ to me.”
Well, there was no help for it, but there was a touch of “I told you
so” in Mr. Trapp’s private remark, “If you had paid your premium to me
I could have altered things.” There was also human nature in this, but
what Captain Hole got he kept, as he was part owner, and I proceeded to
Swansea to join my new craft as second mate.
A little barque of 247 tons, built by White of Cowes for a whaler, she
had made many voyages round Cape Horn and had just come home with a
cargo of copper ore. She was not in good repair and was to be refitted
and rigged with new wire rigging. I am not at all sure that this was
not a stroke of good fortune for me, for as the operation took some
months it gave me an opportunity of learning some of the tricks of the
trade.
There was a captain who lived on board with his daughter; his name was
Boisse, and he was very kind to me, for I lived in the mate’s berth
and messed in the cabin. At the same time I had the good fortune to
become acquainted with the family of a Captain Outerbridge, the master
of a copper ore ship, the _Glamorganshire_. They treated me as one of
themselves, and Tom Outerbridge and myself were inseparable. We both
had a great liking for the theatre, to which we treated ourselves to
the extreme limit of our purses. Wybert Reeve was then the manager of
the Swansea theatre; I met him more than twenty years later in New
Zealand and we talked over and remembered the actors and actresses of
the old days, but admiration for Kate Saville lingered even then.
Captain Hole paid frequent visits to Swansea to see how the work
progressed, and he was also paymaster. After some little time Boisse
went on leave, and that left a great deal more responsibility for me,
but I learned how caulking required to be watched when it was being
done by contract, and also mysteries connected with re-coppering and
rigging a ship. It was good useful work. So far as I can recollect
there were three riggers and myself, and I suppose that by that time
I considered that I could do a man’s work, as my ability to do so had
not been questioned in the last ship, and furthermore I had shown that
I could do a day’s work at carrying bags of wheat, which is a hardish
test.
Whether there is the same zeal now concerning the details of their
calling among sailor boys as there was in my time I cannot say, but
we apprentices in the _Alwynton_ had always striven to learn all
we could about our business. Doubtless we were better in practice
than in theory, but we had certain text books that we hammered at
until we mastered the various difficulties that presented themselves.
Consequently I thought myself equal to sending anything aloft that
might be necessary, and naturally took a lead among the riggers. One
morning I learned a little more.
We were sending the foreyard aloft, and age and experience said that
two double blocks and a fall were the proper tackle to use--no, said
Youth, hook on a top block, reeve the end of a small hawser through it,
bend on to the yard, and we will take it to the windlass and heave away.
We did so, and hove the yard high enough, two men then going aloft to
shackle on the slings. It was a cold morning, and Youth, having held on
to the hawser while it was being hove on found his fingers cold, and
not suspecting harm, as there were many turns of it round the windlass
barrel, put it on the deck and stood on it while he warmed his hands.
Now this shows how a fine idea may miscarry by some absurd detail being
overlooked; in getting my feet on the hawser I suppose I had slacked it
slightly and the next thing I knew was being on my back, a vision of
flying rope, terrible swearing aloft, and the foreyard down across the
rails. I laugh as I recall the scene, but it might have been far more
serious. The lesson was learned, however, that a purchase was better
than a single rope, even if sufficient power could be applied. In this
particular case no harm was done, for as the mainstays set up right in
the eyes of her--they had eased the yard as it came down. It had been
a narrow thing for the men aloft, but they were good fellows and said
little after the first natural outburst.
Then there came an inventor from Whitstable and fitted the barque with
patent topsails of his own invention. I trust that Heaven may have
forgiven him by this time, but I freely confess that nothing will ever
induce me to do so. A good patent topsail, if there is such a thing
(which I doubt), may be a boon and a blessing. I can say a word or two
in favour of Cunningham’s patent, which is not so very bad, but this
particular patent in question must have been inspired by the spirit of
evil, who in some moment doubting his power over the destiny of the
souls of seamen, made assurance doubly sure as regards the future crews
of the _Lord Nelson_. These yards were awful things to work with and
had more weak points about them than even erring human nature.
By the time the ship was nearly ready for sea we received the new mate
on board. He was a great raw-boned Scotchman named McKinnon, a good
seaman, and not bad to get on with. His first introduction to his new
ship did not seem to impress him very favourably.
We loaded a cargo of coal to take round to Plymouth, where we were to
load for Australia, and with a scratch crew of ten all told we were
towed to sea. The skipper, Boisse, who had re-joined to take her round
the coast, observed, “Never mind about washing down to get the coal
dust from the deck, she’ll do that for herself when she gets outside.”
He showed a sound knowledge of her ways, for deep as she was it was
like being on a half-tide rock.
In due course we got to Plymouth, discharged a great portion of the
coal and commenced to load large iron pipes and machinery for Wallaroo.
It was mining gear of some sort, but, not being content with a fair
load, the skipper had some of the pipes filled in with coal to make
more room, the result being that the ship was loaded inordinately deep.
About this time, for some unexplained reason, there was a change of
skippers, and our new one was R. K. Jeffery. He was a most important
personage, with a great deal of the Methodist about him. There were
two or three apprentices and one Bob McCarthy, an ordinary seaman,
who was a friend of the owners. He was supposed to be suffering from
consumption and came to sea to be cured or killed. He was cured, as
it happened, and we were chums for the voyage, as he lived in the
deck-house with the carpenter and myself. The last I heard of him, some
years ago, was that he was in command of a steamer and doing well. The
apprentices disappeared from the ship before we put to sea.
This was early in the year 1866, and the winter season in the Atlantic
had been bad. It was shortly after the _London_ went down in the
Bay, and our anticipations of the trip were not hopeful. It will be
remembered that this was before Mr. Plimsoll began his celebrated
crusade, and, in point of fact, here was as fine an illustration of
overloading as any one could wish to see. So far as I know there was at
that time no check at all upon the amount of cargo a master or owner
might think fit to place on board, and I am sure that no one was ever
more entitled to the gratitude of seamen than was Samuel Plimsoll. His
method of procedure might have been crude, but the fact remains that
his book was a fair and just account of the usages of the sea at the
time it was written. Some years afterwards, when it came into my hands,
I found how closely my experiences coincided with his remarks.
This matter of overloading ships was a very vexed question, and “as
deep as a collier” is a proverb not altogether forgotten even to-day.
The evil now to some extent corrects itself, for a deeply-laden steamer
is always lightening herself by her coal consumption, but I am
confident that I could go to the docks to-day and point out first-class
steamers that would be overloaded if down to their Plimsoll mark, and
which, if they put to sea in the teeth of a bad breeze of wind, would
give considerable anxiety to those in charge of their navigation. Of
this, however, I may say more anon.
We put to sea loaded as deeply as possible, and had no great luck to
speak of, for after rounding Ushant the wind drew to the southward of
west and began to blow hard. The barque laboured heavily, commencing
to make a good deal of water. The pumps eventually got choked with
small coal and we had to bale the water out by buckets. This was only
possible because, owing to the nature of the cargo, the hold was not
full, and we were able to clear a way pretty deep down in the coal and
so keep the water under. Then the maintopsail yard (patent) carried
away, and that gave us more joy, and finally the men came aft to the
captain and demanded that he should put back to Plymouth or the nearest
port.
To proceed with the voyage in our then condition would have been
impossible, but the old man did not yield with any good grace. The
crew, however, were worn out by constant work and want of sleep, and
there was nothing for it but to shift the helm, and hope we might be
fortunate enough to get to port. The decision to do so acted as a tonic
to all hands, and eventually we got back to Plymouth Dock to unload and
refit. To the best of my recollection the ship was by this time so down
by the head that the hawse pipes were almost level with the water, and
it was a mercy that any of us ever again set foot on shore. It is one
of the dispositions of Providence, however, that a danger once escaped
leaves no lasting or abiding cautions behind it, and perhaps in the
interests of adventure it is well that it should be so.
When the cargo was discharged and it came to clearing the ship’s hold,
we found that the spaces between the ship’s timbers as high as the
’tween-decks were filled in tightly and solidly with small coal, which
was very troublesome to extract. In fact, a great deal of the inner
planking of the ship had to be removed to get at it, but eventually it
was done, the cargo reloaded, the coal being omitted, and once more we
set out on the voyage.
There was nothing particularly striking on the passage out. The ship
was too deep to sail well, and the captain after rounding the Cape went
no further south than was necessary to get a westerly wind. He was
greatly distressed, however, at the erratic course the ship made when
she had a fair wind. Of course the mate declared that she was properly
steered in his watch, and I do not doubt it, but I was called into
the cabin, and inferentially informed that iniquities always occurred
on my watch, further that it was _always_ in the second mate’s watch
that things did go wrong. Neither of my mentors appeared to realise
that they had both been in the same position themselves, and that,
therefore, they must have suffered in their time from that particular
original sin of which they were now complaining.
So long as my connection with sailing-ships lasted I found that this
idea concerning the second mate was very firmly rooted (it would not,
of course, apply to the steamers in which I afterwards served), and
indeed it was not much to be wondered at. He was as a rule the least
experienced of the afterguard. He was necessarily thrown much among the
crew, for he had to serve out and be responsible for all stores, other
than food, used by the men. And he required to be a strong character
in addition to his muscular development if he hoped to obtain the same
respect and attention given to his superiors.
We arrived at Wallaroo after a long passage, and were moored alongside
the pier. It was not a comfortable berth, for the port was subject to
sudden strong winds known as “Southerly busters.” These came up against
the side of the pier and consequently the stern moorings were slip
ropes, which permitted the vessel to cast off and ride by the head
moorings, end on to the wind. The pier is probably strengthened by this
time, but in those days it was a very flimsy affair.
Our skipper was a man who used his head, and by his instruction the
mate had rigged a swinging derrick that discharged our cargo with ease
and safety. We then ballasted and set sail for Port Victor, where we
loaded a cargo of wool for Melbourne.
Before leaving Wallaroo, however, my old shipmate Hill of the _Essex_
tried very hard to get permission for me to transfer to a brigantine
which he owned and was in command of in Adelaide. We had inspected her
together in London, and he had then bought her, declaring I should be
second mate with him. He reckoned, however, without my skipper, who was
obdurate. Hill afterwards took the _Belle_ trading in the China Sea,
where he died suddenly, leaving a young wife on board.
Port Victor was a curious little place in those days. It had originated
as a boiling-down station. It was not much more than an open roadstead,
but it was sheltered by an island that afforded some protection at the
mouth of the bay. We had fair luck there and, loading our wool easily,
got to Melbourne, where we discharged at Williamstown, and ballasted.
There were many splendid ships in port--curiously enough again the
_White Star_ and _Champion of the Seas_, and also a celebrated Aberdeen
White Star liner _The Star of Peace_. Those ships were in a class by
themselves; they made very good passages, at times records, and were
kept up in first-rate style, I retain a vivid recollection of being
passed by one of them when bound up-Channel--but I will refer to that
in its proper order.
We beat down Melbourne harbour in charge of one of the smartest pilots
I ever saw. I am sorry I have forgotten his name, but the way he worked
that ship to windward was a very masterpiece of handling. He had,
moreover, a fairly biting tongue, and a vocabulary that was practically
inexhaustible if the least thing went wrong in tacking ship. We heard
a good deal of it, but we made a fair start for Point de Galle, and
nothing of moment happened on the passage.
It is not given to me to adequately describe the first smell of the
East. It is years since I last experienced it, and the thought arises
whether steam and modernity can have made serious inroads into the
characteristics of the Garden of the World? It is no use speculating
on that point, however. Here we were anchored off Point de Galle,
the smell of the land wind almost giving a sense of intoxication,
spice-laden as it came, the native catamarans darting about at an
astonishing speed, and what was of still greater interest to us, each
boat with a bunch of big yellow luscious bananas that we lost no time
in making acquaintance with. There again is a new experience, the first
taste of an East Indian banana is not a thing to be easily forgotten.
Let no one imagine that the forced and imported things we get in London
to-day can be compared to the fruit in its native state; as well
compare chalk with cheese!
We lay at anchor here some days, and I remember well seeing the largest
shark in my experience. He was blue with black spots and a square head,
and probably between eighteen and twenty feet long; in the clear still
blue water he looked an enormous brute.
Eventually the skipper came off and we got under way for Colombo,
where we were to load coffee for either New York or the Continent,
calling off Bahia for orders. This was indeed good news, and the work
of the ship went with a snap and a swing that made child’s play of it
until the novelty of being homeward bound wore off a bit.
It was the fashion when a ship was leaving to send a boat’s crew on
board from all the other vessels in harbour to help to work her out of
the anchorage. The skipper usually took charge of that job, and it was
a kindly and useful assistance which tended towards good fellowship
all round. At times a marvellous smartness would be developed, seeing
that no proper stations had been prearranged, but to help to get a ship
under way for home was always a pleasant experience.
Now it should be known that the one great day on a long voyage is
that on which one gets money and leave for twenty-four hours. It
was looked forward to most keenly, and afterwards served as a topic
of conversation until long afterwards. This particular leave was no
exception to the rule, and as I have not visited Colombo since I
shall always remember it for its intense beauty. There is only one
place with which I can compare it for beauty, and that is Rio. The
luxuriant vegetation made it appear as a sort of paradise to men who
had been cooped up in a small craft for months past. I suppose we
amused ourselves pretty much the same as sailors on shore usually do.
We chartered a conveyance and drove out into the country, we bathed
in a fresh-water lake, and generally disported ourselves like a lot
of overgrown school-boys, but on return to town, in some way or other
we made the acquaintance of certain bandsmen of the 25th Regiment and
found them very good fellows. They did their best to do the honours of
the place, and succeeded very much to our satisfaction. A dinner in the
evening in an open-air corridor attached to a big hotel completed my
enchantment, and I wanted to stay there and enlist in the “Borderers.”
My particular friend (by this time), a bandsman named Hibbert, with a
view to giving effect to this suggested that I should meet him after
the officers’ mess, when he would be free and would put me in the way
of doing so. I sat outside the officers’ mess on the other side of the
street and envied them. Eventually I was taken to a Sergeant Sinclair,
who invited me to his quarters and put me up for the night. I like to
put this action on record as typical of the kindness shown by men of
the services to youngsters when they get a little adrift. Before I
turned in, in a spotlessly clean bed which was a change indeed from my
usual quarters, he discovered that he had served in the 92nd under a
cousin of mine for whom he had the greatest respect and regard. Next
morning he said to me: “If I enlist you I shall get so much bounty
(I forget how much), but for your own sake I think you had better go
back to your ship. You very likely would work up to a commission, but
go home and see your friends before altering the idea of your life.”
Whether that was good advice or not I cannot say. Anyhow I took it, and
retain a grateful remembrance of the Sergeant’s kindness.
So it was back to the mill once more, and an end of all the pleasant
things that had been so tantalisingly held in view, back to the daily
round, the wretched food, and the discomfort of poor quarters in hot
weather with no chance of more shore leave.
Our cargo was being stowed by a gang of natives who lived on board at
the fore end of the ship. We took the bags in, they stowed them, and a
specially beautiful lot of coffee that was, in fact a rare consignment.
Every possible care was taken in its stowage, and no precaution was
neglected to ensure its safe carriage to its destination.
Our stock of ship’s bread or biscuit had run out by this time. It was
of the hard brown type that required a deal of cracking, and we were
rather pleased to take in a supply of native baked biscuits that at
the time we first tasted them were a great improvement upon the former
supply. But before we had been a month at sea they were simply swarming
with black weevils, little insects resembling ants.
Sailing day came, and with it the usual crowd of boats from the various
ships to help us out of port. On these occasions it was usual to offer
the visitors a glass of grog, but I cannot remember that the crew of
the _Lord Nelson_ ever had a taste of it, for none was put on board.
The advocates of so-called temperance can say what they please, but
the judicious administration of grog on board ship (sailing-ships
especially) will always have my support. In a wet weary world of toil
it frequently helps to put a more cheerful face upon a very drab
outlook.
The commencement of the homeward-bound trip is always an occasion when
high spirits (animal, not spiritous) prevail. Yards were hoisted to
the tune of artistic chanties, for where a collection of sailing-ships
were gathered together each ship’s crew prided itself upon singing
some particular ditty better than any one else. This was reserved for
special occasions. The finishing pulls were given, hands were shaken
with cheery good wishes, the strangers dropped over the side into their
boats, and we were off under the most favourable auspices for a trip to
which we all looked forward.
As I am now writing of events that occurred forty-five years ago, and
as there are no notes to consult, I cannot pretend to remember more
than a fair share of detail, but that fact will not form a pretext for
drawing upon the imagination. We crossed the line and reached the
latitude of Mauritius without any event of note happening, but we were
conscious that it took longer to pump the ship out than it had formerly
done. Nothing to speak of, perhaps, but as we had a valuable cargo we
were naturally careful to eliminate any unnecessary chance of damage.
One evening we had a fine beam wind on the port side and the old man
was rather keen upon making the most of it. As he cracked on more and
more canvas the ship lay over a good deal. It was my first watch and
it was spent mostly at the pump, but when the mate relieved me at
midnight I was able to report that the ship had “sucked,” which was
equivalent to saying that she was pumped dry. Dry below she might have
been certainly, but as her starboard rail was more often under water
than not, on deck it was certainly more than a little damp. I had hung
on to the topgallantsails for my watch, and the mate now proceeded to
get these in. That, I suppose, was really the beginning of the trouble,
for we all, from the skipper down, should have known that a small old
ship would not stand being driven unfairly. But she had the reputation
for being strong and sound, and as she had been built by White of Cowes
the idea obtained was that there was on occasion a turn of speed to be
driven out of her.
The starboard watch now went below. The mainsail was stowed, and we
knew that the mate could handle the topsails if it became necessary to
reef down. This, indeed, was very soon done, as we could gather from
the various noises. We could also tell that she was wallowing into it,
and that a great quantity of water was being taken on deck. Before our
watch below expired “all hands” were called to take in the foresail.
It was blowing fairly hard, there was a good amount of sea running, and
the ship had a very dull, heavy motion that did not seem to be quite
right, but we got the foresail in, and went aloft to stow it. I had
learned by that time that it was well to make sure work of such things,
so as the gaskets on the lee side were rather insufficient I sent a man
down to let go the lee leach line so that I could use it as an extra
gasket.
While I was busy over this the day was breaking, and I saw the mate
with the sounding line doing something at the pumps and making signs to
me to come down. At the same time it occurred to me that the ship was
rising very sluggishly to the sea. Even then the truth did not occur,
but as I got on the deck, the mate yelled in my ear, “There’s seven
feet of water in her.”
There are times when all men think alike, not frequently I will admit,
but this was one of those rare cases when no one proposed to argue the
point, and a rush aft was made for the mainbraces. The skipper was on
deck by this time, and he also appeared to acquiesce, for he had not
been specially called, and was unaware that anything out of the way was
happening. There was another strange occurrence; there was a black man
at the wheel--at least he was a black nigger when he went there--but as
he put the helm up his face had paled to some nondescript colour that
was certainly not black. I have never seen a similar case.
As we squared away the mainyard and the vessel got before the sea, the
next consideration was to get the pumps going, and this we proceeded to
do with a will, finding out as we did so that most of the stanchions
on the starboard side were sprung and that the water was fast pouring
into the hold. I am afraid that our saucy craft was not well fitted
to cope with an emergency; there was a wooden pump brake to work one
pump, but the double brake to work the two had for some time been used
aloft as a spreader for the outriggers at the main topmast head. I soon
nipped aloft, however, and got it down, and then we set to work in good
earnest to see what fate had in store for us.
We ran under close-reefed topsails and the sea was not much, now that
we ran before it, but our wake in the dark blue of the ocean was now
a sickly olive green. I doubt if so large a brew of coffee has ever
been made before or since. The water came up from the pumps green and
smelling of it, and it did not require much prescience to forecast that
the greater part of the cargo was hopelessly spoiled.
How long it took to clear the ship of water I do not remember;
fortunately the weather became fine and enabled us to lay our course
again--but the fact remained that in that eventful middle watch a
great part of the starboard bulwarks had been washed away, and on
the earliest opportunity as many men as could drive a nail and find
a hammer to do it with, clapped on and nailed some planks to the
stanchions for a makeshift, while the carpenter did his best to caulk
the openings in the covering board through which the water had got
below. But oh, what a mess it all was!
Naturally as soon as there was time to talk about anything, the
discussion arose as to who was responsible for it all, and equally
certain it was that the second mate was to be blamed if possible. I say
nothing against the time-honoured custom of cursing “that second mate,”
who has been held responsible for everything that has gone wrong from
the time of the Ark, but on this particular occasion I was not taking
the blame. It commenced this way: Quoth the skipper, “William, there
can be no doubt that this is all your fault, you could not possibly
have pumped the ship out properly in your watch.” My reply to this was
that I had left the starboard bulwarks intact when I went below, that
they had been washed away in the middle watch, and that if the mate
could not explain how the ship got half full of water, neither could I,
especially as he had had her for four hours to himself. That reasoning
appeared to be conclusive, for afterwards there was no endeavour made
to pile the blame upon me.
By the time we drew down to the Cape there was more pleasure in store
for us, inasmuch as all the biscuits on board had developed so great
a capacity for producing weevils that it began to be a matter for
speculation who would eventually consume the biscuits, the weevils or
ourselves? We generally tried to extrude the weevils before eating the
biscuits, but in this we were not always successful, and we acquired
the knowledge that they were very objectionable shipmates.
What a helping the Agulhas current is to homeward-bound ships! On this
occasion we were lying-to under a close-reefed maintopsail, and all
the time being set to windward thirty or forty miles a day directly on
our course. I remember perfectly being passed one Sunday by one of the
Natal traders called the _Alphington_, outward bound. She was carrying
every stitch of canvas with a beautiful fair wind and we were lying-to
under the shortest possible canvas. She reported us, however, when she
got to port, as having sustained damage. In due course we rounded the
Cape and drew up into the S.E. trades, heading for Bahia.
In most sea-going ships where a fair ship’s company is carried, there
are two cries or shouts from the poop or quarterdeck in the ordinary
routine, one is “Heave the log” the other “Trim the binnacle light.” In
this craft, however, in my watch I had to attend to the latter business
myself, and when the light required attention I would take it down the
cabin companion-way, and prick the wick up as required. One night
shortly after rounding the Cape I was doing this when in spite of all
I could do the light went out. I thought this was funny and got some
matches, but as I struck them they went out also. Then I took the lamp
and matches into the deck-house, where I slept, and had no difficulty
in lighting up. It puzzled me considerably why lamp nor match would
burn below, when suddenly the thought arose--where a light won’t burn
a man can’t live, so I went below and with difficulty aroused the mate
and then the skipper. They both took a deal of awakening before I got
them on deck, and then we came to the conclusion that the gas generated
by the decaying coffee in the hold had found a vent into the cabin,
which had it not been discovered in time would in all probability have
been fatal to life. The skipper slept in a hammock on deck between
there and New York, and the mate took very good care that the skylight
was kept open and a windsail run into his berth.
The pinch of hunger was by this time telling on us all--even the
rats--and I have repeatedly woke up when sleeping with bare feet in
warm weather and disturbed a rat that was making a light meal by
nibbling the hard skin from the soles of my feet. It was some time ere
I discovered how it was that at times my feet became so tender. The
failure of bread at sea is a disaster hard to overcome.
On this passage the chief point of interest to me was on the evening I
went to the skipper to announce the fact that I was “out of my time.”
I then discovered for certain what I had long suspected to be the
case, that the old man must be a Methodist with leanings towards the
pulpit, for the sermon he gave me was long enough and dull enough to
have run into “fourteenthly and lastly.” He wound up by advising me not
to forget the night I was out of my time, and I have carried out that
instruction religiously.
We called off Bahia and received orders to go to New York to discharge
our cargo. We arrived there without any further adventure, and as the
crew were entitled to be paid off at the port of discharge the able
seamen all left, only the mate and the cook remaining.
What a sight did the hold present when the hatches were removed! Not a
sound bag of coffee remained. The greater part of it was dug out with
shovels, and altogether it was one of the most deplorable losses that I
have come across at sea.
New York in those days had a lawless atmosphere, and revolver shots
could be heard on the river pretty frequently throughout the hours
of darkness, for thieves were daring in the pursuit of plunder, and
a night watchman if he did his duty on board a ship (ours did) had
need be a very determined and plucky man to hold his own. We were not
molested, however, and after our cargo was discharged we proceeded to
load resin and timber of sorts, for the run home to London.
Let me mention here as a matter of interest that during this visit
to New York we saw the celebrated sailing-ship _Great Republic_. She
was then laid up, but I well remember that her decks were temporarily
covered with loose planks, in order to preserve them from the weather.
She was an enormous vessel, and carried a crew of 100 men. She must
then have been near the end of her career, for she was built early in
the ’fifties and a life of fifteen years was a long one for a soft-wood
ship.
At this time, too, steam had not entirely driven the sailing passenger
ship from the Atlantic trade. Whether I ever saw the celebrated
_Dreadnought_ I cannot quite remember, but she was then in her prime
and had made passages across more than once in ten or twelve days.
It was generally a very rough life on the Atlantic, and whether in
steam or sail, canvas was carried to its extreme limit. There were in
existence a class of mates who were prime seamen and fighting men in
addition. The crew were a very hard-bitten lot too, but a reputation
once earned in that trade was not easily forgotten, and when a man
shipped in a western ocean packet, he was generally pretty well
cognisant of the treatment he was likely to receive on board. That
particular trade had its customs, and its laws, though unwritten, were
none the less binding. It had its own rough code of honour too. I shall
deal later on with a few of the methods that were put in practice in
order to ascertain just exactly how far a crew would be allowed to take
liberties, but I want to get home again in this chapter.
We filled up with the necessary number of “packet rats” as they were
called, for the run home, and I saw these men come on board with
great curiosity. They were a queer-looking lot, but fine big fellows,
not extravagantly burdened with clothes, and with faces that carried
plainly the marks of many a scrapping-match. But here the rough code of
honour came in. These men found themselves in a little quiet peaceable
ship, and they consequently did not consider it compatible with their
ideas to make trouble where they could have had it all their own way.
They behaved as decently as any men I have been shipmates with.
We had also on board some new stores for the trip, and it was possible
to eat the biscuits, seasoned only with the remembrance of the weevils
of the last lot. Still bad food will eventually tell upon the best
constitution, and it took some considerable time for me to shake off
all the ill-effects; in point of fact when I landed in London I had a
hole in my leg that one could have put a small egg inside.
The fates were good to us and we made a fair run across. With the first
smell of the Channel away went the remembrance of all troubles, and
eventually the ship was docked and I stepped on shore from the _Lord
Nelson_ “out of my time” and a free man.
This, however, was, as I fully recognised, only the beginning of
things. My kind friends nursed and fed me back to a decent state
of health, and then came the ordeal of getting my second mate’s
certificate. In this connection I should like to pay a tribute to the
memory of a good and clever man, the late John Newton, master of the
Navigation School in Wells Street. He was tireless and unremitting in
his endeavours to impart information, and his patience with pupils of
all sorts was a thing to be gratefully remembered.
I had, of course, been preparing myself at sea to the best of my
ability for the anticipated ordeal, and it may perhaps have been that
knowledge that led me to pay less attention than I might have done to
the advantages offered. I suppose it was a recrudescence of the spirit
which earned me three thrashings a day at school, but Newton’s patience
was equal to the test, and his kindness was inexhaustible, although I
was generally the ringleader in any attempt to adjourn the day’s work.
But there was now another factor in the equation, and that was the
Board of Trade. Let me say here, for the benefit of any young reader
whose eyes may fall upon these lines, that the anticipation of an evil
is far worse than the reality, but at the same time I do not wish to
belittle the ordeal through which I now had to pass.
It is needless to say that before examining a candidate for a
certificate, certain certificates of service and sobriety are required,
and the Board has the necessary machinery for verifying such
certificates. Hence when I went to put my papers in, it was discovered
that I had deserted from my ship, and I was informed that to purge so
heinous an offence it would be necessary to petition the Board. It
did not by any means follow that the petition would be granted, but
in this case, helped by my friend Newton, I got my petition through
successfully, and I was ready to face the music.
There were certain examiners in navigation and seamanship for the Board
of Trade whose names were well known--some with terror--to the aspiring
youths of the Mercantile Marine; but there were two who possessed
a reputation for severity that was somewhat phenomenal. Personally
speaking in all my examinations I got the fairest of fair play, but
it does not follow that others may not have suffered. Human nature is
not infallible, and some people would try the patience of a saint.
Further I have seen officers going up for their certificates dressed
so untidily and badly that if they created a prejudice they had only
themselves to thank for it. One case in particular recalls itself to me
as an illustration.... The man in question had been a brother officer
of mine, and I liked him. He was also a gentleman, but he went up
looking as though he had been rolled in a hayloft, and came back failed
and cursing his examiner--instead of his own folly.
The two undoubted dwellers on the threshold of certificated competency
were Captains Noakes and Domett. The former had been in the East
India Company’s service, and I should imagine had been a leader of
men. I had, therefore, many qualms when on the day of examination
the usher opened the door of the waiting-room and informed me that
“Captain Noakes is now waiting for you, sir.” My inmost reflection
was, “Shall I make a meal for him or not?” That feeling did not last
long, however. He asked me a few questions about rigging gear for
hoisting out weights, then about handling canvas, and it was done in
so conversational a manner that one had rather the feeling of enjoying
it. Finally we discussed shortening sail as per Falconer’s _Shipwreck_,
with a few other trifles of a like nature, and I heard him say that
he did not intend to put more questions, that I had passed a good
examination, and where would I like my certificate issued? To which I
promptly replied Ramsgate and bowed myself out, with a feeling that the
world was now a ball at my feet. As I write these lines I have the firm
knowledge that the ball has been me--but nevertheless it is good to
remember that the world was young once, and there were things to strive
for, with the store of energy necessary to secure them.
In due course I got back home to Margate, and walked the pier and
jetty with some of my old friends the boatmen, who having known me as
a boy were now inclined to regard me as being rather a credit to them.
I went to Ramsgate, received my certificate from the collector of
Customs there, who was kind enough to assure me that I should have no
difficulty in obtaining employment. In thanking him I was content to
accept his assurance, which, however, I found afterwards was a somewhat
optimistic one.