“’Tis a pity ... that truth, Brother Toby, should shut herself up
in such impregnable fastnesses.”--STERNE.
It was a very comfortable feeling, to find myself one of the circle
that I had looked up to and envied so long, but it did not appear to me
that I was in any way a different person to that which I had ever been.
I mean that I experienced none of that feeling of proud omnipotence
which I had always imagined to be part and parcel of a master. Perhaps
this was partly due to the fact that my old crony Harry Owen was in
port, preparatory to sailing for Natal in command of a tug built for
the Company’s service. Certainly no one could be serious for long in
his company.
The _Union_, as she was called, was a peculiar craft, for she had a
propeller at each end, with a shaft extending from one end to the
other, the object being to prevent racing on the short seas of Natal
bar by always having one propeller in the water. Bernard Copp, now
Captain Copp of Southampton, and one of the last of the old crowd, was
chief officer, and I think that the events of that passage might have
been chronicled with advantage as they were related to me, in language
of extreme raciness. I passed her off Agullas on the next voyage, and
she arrived at Natal in safety after many vicissitudes.
It was no part of my business to grumble, but I felt inclined to when
I learned that we were to have ten days at home and sail on Christmas
Day of all days. It was an outrage, for there was no necessity for it;
it was just one of those sardonic jokes that directors collectively
at times take a delight in. We were to carry no passengers, but were
to make a somewhat longer trip than usual, for after going up to and
down from Natal, we were to make a trip to Zanzibar before returning
home, in fact it was to be a five months’ voyage. Never shall I forget
that Christmas morning. We were to leave at noon, and every one seemed
anxious to kick us out and go back to their own firesides, also I had
more than an idea that several of the crew had not got quite over
Christmas Eve. I had a boatswain named Barrett, a good man, but one
who wanted some handling. We got outside the Needles and found a stiff
breeze blowing, with too much wind to carry whole trysails, so the
job was to put in a reef and set them. By this time most of the crew
were asleep, and my chief officer was hardly the man physically to get
a move on them, so I proceeded in the first place to the boatswain’s
cabin. It was touch-and-go how it went, but Barrett was sober enough
to retain a pride in his manhood, and after that there was no more
trouble. He was a man of powerful physique, so the crew appeared in a
twinkling, like bees from a disturbed hive, and the work was soon done.
The doctor, who was named Ernest Walters and now practises in Essex,
proved himself a good useful man when occasion arose, even outside his
own work.
I had been trying to see what I could do to improve the compasses in
dock, with so unsatisfactory a result that I did not feel sure whether
I should make the Start or Ushant going down Channel, for we were
not to call at Plymouth that trip. I had to replace a much-loathed
compensation at the first opportunity, but we did fairly well on the
whole, coming in for a fair dusting, however, as we got off Finisterre.
About this time there were two schools of thought as to the best way
to handle a steamer in bad weather. One party maintained that head on
to the sea was the correct plan, the other people varied in detail
but agreed in denouncing the end-on principle. On this occasion I
tried the end-on plan, but came to the conclusion, which I have since
retained, that almost any position is better in really bad weather; of
course the size of the vessel has a great deal to do with it.
To the best of my belief we got to Cape Town and docked on the morning
of January 22, 1879, the day on which the battle of Insandlwana was
fought. We had a good bit of cargo to land, and there was no great
hurry. That evening I was in town, gossiping at the club or something
of the sort about 11 p.m., when a rumour was whispered of a great
British defeat. All the Company’s shore officials were in the country
or in bed, and it occurred to me that there were troops in Cape Town
who would have to be moved up to Natal, also that I was the man to
do it in a hurry. I made at once for the office of the _Cape Argus_
and, by dint of an exercise of modesty, got hold of the Editor. I wish
I could remember his name. He was not popular, but on this occasion
showed me every courtesy. Without giving particulars, he told me a
disaster had happened, and that reinforcements were urgently wanted
at the Front. That was enough for my purpose. I made straight for
Government House, from there to the Castle, and then went down to the
ship, knowing that I had secured the job to take what troops there
were to Natal. This was all the more satisfactory because there were
three or four Currie ships in the dock that could have sailed at short
notice, but I doubt if they could have gone as fast as we did. When
daylight came in I set every one to work to get the cargo out of the
’tween decks to make room for the troops, and must say my fellows
worked like good ones. That afternoon I went up to see Sir Gordon
Sprigg, who was then Premier, and promised that I would not anchor
between the Cape and Natal. By the courtesy of Captain A. D. W.
Browne, Captain and Adjutant of 2nd Battalion, The King’s Own Regiment,
I am able to quote from the regimental records.
“The detachment at Capetown (_i. e._ C, G, and half E companies, with
Major Elliott, Captains Knox and Leggett, and Lieutenants Bonomi and
Ridley) was brought at a few hours’ notice to Maritzburg, sailing in
the s.s. _African_ on January 23, and landing at Durban on 26th.” I
take leave, however, to doubt the absolute accuracy of this record for
the following reason. The disaster happened on the 22nd. Certainly
one day elapsed, for it was in the afternoon of the 23rd that I saw
Sir Gordon Sprigg, and I have a distinct recollection of going out
of dock in a thick fog before breakfast, and the caution of the port
captain that there was a big sailing ship at anchor very near the dock
entrance. This discrepancy, however, is of no great importance. There
was one little incident in the embarkation of the troops that took my
fancy very much. Said young Bonomi, “Did you notice, major, when we
left that the barracks were on fire?” as if the matter were one of the
smallest importance only. If they were burning, at all events they were
soon extinguished.
We left Cape Town docks in a thick fog, which, however, cleared when
we got to the entrance of the Bay, and we made the best of our way
round the coast. We had to call in at Algoa Bay, but I did not anchor,
as I had to do (though for a few minutes only) at East London, and on
the evening of the 26th we were all very thankful to make the Bluff
light at Natal where we anchored about 8 p.m. I should explain that
by common report it was one of the threats of Cetewayo that one night
he would come in and put out the big candle on the Bluff, meaning the
lighthouse, so that when we saw the light it gave us relief, for we
knew at all events that the worst had not happened. It is an easy
matter to think it over quietly now, but at the time there was a great
deal of uncertainty as to what the Zulu power was really capable of,
and on the previous voyage I had heard Judge Lushington Phillips, who
knew the country thoroughly, make the remark that if we tackled the
Zulus we should have many empty saddles before the affair was finished,
which unfortunately was a true forecast.
Captain Baynton was acting now as the Company’s manager in Natal. He
came off at the earliest moment and disembarked the troops; he also
gave me instruction to land one of the _African_’s twelve pounder guns,
with all its necessary equipment, for the defence of the Pynetown
laager. This was done, and the gun was duly mounted, though never used.
There is no doubt that at that time Durban was very uncertain as to
what would happen. A decision had been come to that if the worst came
to the worst they would all have to take to the ships, and consequently
great wooden barricades had been hastily run up across the Point to
assist in resisting any victorious Impi that might be out on that
particular piece of business. Very many of the stoutly built houses in
Durban were loop-holed with sandbags, and the entire male population
was being organised for the best resistance possible. On the first
evening I landed I went into some big hall, I forget which it was, and
saw the inspector of police, Alexander, putting the townsmen through
their drill with old Snider rifles. There never was a more attentive
class. So far as my remembrance serves me, there was not at this time
any naval officer to superintend at the Point; all that sort of thing
came in the course of the next month or so.
But although Rorke’s Drift had been fought and the Zulu rush stayed,
the ordinary trade had to be carried on, and I was soon dispatched
down the coast again. It is wonderful in these cases of emergency
what can be effected by the display of pluck and experience. In all
the excitement which prevailed, Baynton was unmoved, save with some
little scorn, perhaps, for those who took too seriously the normal
reverses of war. The 24th regiment, which was cut up at Isandlwana,
was a great favourite with every one, and I had known many of the
officers intimately, and enjoyed the hospitality of their mess. To
this day Pat Daley’s picture hangs in my bedroom as a memento of one
of the cherished friendships of early days, for he was of the best of
them, but old Ted was sternly practical, and retailed for the benefit
of the uninitiated the lessons he had learned in the Crimean War. As
it happened, on the previous voyage home I had with me, as passengers,
wives and children of officers who were killed, and the disaster came
to me with a great sense of personal loss.
It was found by experience that the Zanzibar mail work could be
better done by larger vessels than those we had on the coast, and the
_African_ was to be the first of our intermediates to make the trip.
One of our captains, H. De La Cour Travers, had been on shore on the
East Coast for some little time on Company’s business, and he came
up the coast with me. Nothing of importance occurred, but our stay
at Zanzibar was a very pleasant one. Leaving that port there were
two passengers of interest. One was Archibald Forbes, the other Lord
William Beresford. Of the great war correspondent there is little that
is fresh to be said, but the following anecdote may be permissible: I
did not like card-playing in the saloon on Sundays, and said so, but
when I was in my cabin dozing after dinner with one eye open, some of
the others came to Forbes, asking him to play and to disregard me.
“No,” said Forbes, “the skipper isn’t a bad chap, and he doesn’t like
it, so there will be no play,” and there was not. This was the more
noticeable, for I had had to address a few unpleasant remarks to him on
a certain subject. With regard to Lord William it was another matter.
We most of us have an idea of the energies of the Beresford family,
but here was the quintessence of it. I first met him jumping down the
steps of De Sousa’s shop, just as a child would do, both feet together.
We were soon on very good terms, and I owe to him my introduction to
Gordon’s poems and some other things of a like nature. He was full
of romance, and in order to get a look in at the Zulu War was taking
letters from Lord Lytton, the Governor-General of India, whose A.D.C.
he had been. I never saw him again after I said goodbye in Durban Club,
with the words “Luck and a V.C.” He got both.
Natal Roads was a different place in April to what it had been in
January or even March. There was a great collection of steamships
there, and the entire harbour was very busy. We skippers found it a
little awkward to get on shore and come off again, for the Company’s
tug was almost the only reliable conveyance, and she could not spare
individual attention to our ship only. Eventually the Curries got a
tug of their own, and that made matters better. The _African_ was now
bound home, and things were working very smoothly. Sailing from Cape
Town, however, we stayed in the Bay for some hours to pick up some
celebrities who wished to sail with us. Amongst these was the Rev.
Charles Clarke, the celebrated elocutionist. We became great friends,
and I enjoyed his society very much. The saloon was full of passengers,
and I well remember the events of that sailing day. I had to deal
with peppery men standing up for their rights on the one hand, and
the supplications of beauty in distress on the other, whilst looking
on with calm serenity were the wonderful eyes that years afterwards
were to be my guiding stars. I had to exercise considerable diplomacy
to arrange matters, but eventually it was done, and peace reigned for
the rest of the trip. Upon that occasion we had a really live ship’s
mother, and any one who has travelled much knows what that means;
but she was a charming, good-natured soul, and her husband was the
best tempered man I think I ever met. In case they are still alive
and chance upon these lines, I should like to say that the kindest
remembrances of them remain, for we were shipmates afterwards on more
than one occasion. There was a very fair spell at home that time, and
I had my first experience of playing expert witness in a law case. It
related to the loss of a vessel on Point Padrone in Algoa Bay, and the
fees we received were grateful and comforting, but the masterly summing
up of the case by the then Master of the Rolls, Sir George Jessel, was
a thing to remember.
We were still on the direct Algoa Bay, Natal and Zanzibar route, which
was out to Natal--then to the Cape--then Zanzibar and home _via_ Cape
Town. Calling at Delagoa Bay on the outward trip we took on board H. E.
Governor Castilho, who was proceeding to Mozambique. He was a naval
officer by profession (Portuguese) and had been well known for some
years as Consul in Cape Town. He was a man of very marked ability,
and spoke English perfectly. I once asked him how it was he spoke our
tongue with such purity. His reply was “You learned to speak from your
nurse. I learned my English from the _Spectator_.” I quite recently
had a pleasant reminder of our old friendship, for he sent me his
photograph. He is now an admiral, and I have to mention him more than
once in these pages. There is always a certain rivalry between seamen,
and it was not wanting in this case. Mozambique is a port that in
those days was not entered during the hours of darkness, as there were
no leading lights to ensure safe navigation. It was dark before we made
the light on St. George’s Island, and Castilho observed to me that I
should have to anchor outside. The spirit of opposition made me reply
that I should go inside. To make a long story short I turned in just a
little too soon, and the port lead gave “half four” just north of the
Island light. It was coral formation and that meant very close to the
bottom. Castilho, who was on the bridge said, “You are on the north
side,” but I knew better, ported the helm, went full speed and was into
safety once more. But it was touch-and-go. However, by this time I had
got confidence on the bridge, and, thank Heaven, it never left me. I
left my friend the Governor at Mozambique, for he told me he was going
to the Cape _en route_ for home with me on the downward trip.
Need I say that there are times when masters of ships are charged with
delicate commissions? The trip under notice was a case in point. The
agent of a company, if properly accredited, is supposed to exercise
the powers of the owners if need arises, but the master is also the
owners’ representative so far as his ship is concerned. The point
is a nice one, as to how far it lies in the power of an agent to
supersede the master’s authority, but the problem is not perhaps now so
difficult when there are so many facilities for cabling information.
In my time, however, our masters were not taking more orders from the
smaller agencies than they could comfortably manage. Our Zanzibar
agent was a man rather awkward to deal with, but he always consulted
me before deciding any point concerning any ship. When I left Cape
Town I was charged by our chief agent, afterwards Sir T. E. Fuller,
K.C.M.G. (as to whose authority there was no doubt), to confer with
the Zanzibar agent as to the Company’s accounts, which were apparently
in a somewhat backward condition. This was rather a delicate matter,
but I did my best and the affair passed off very well as I thought,
and I received the assurance that the accounts should be forthcoming
without more delay. H.M.S. _London_ was the station ship at Zanzibar
for the suppression of the slave traffic, and naturally we were on good
terms with the various officers, and on the morning we were to leave
I went to the Sultan’s levee with them. The preceding evening we had
illuminated the ship with blue lights, as it was Ramadan time, and H.H.
Seyyed Burghesh was kind enough to compliment me on the appearance of
the _African_, for from his watch-tower he could see all that went on.
The levee was over by 10 a.m. and I went on board in order to sail at
noon.
About 12.30 the agent arrived with the ship’s papers, and I casually
observed that I was very fond of punctuality, little dreaming of the
mine I was setting fire to. Amongst other things he said something
about wishing to send some particular sort of ox and a goat to Algoa
Bay. I judged that he had intended to do so, and thought no more about
it. We left the port and proceeded through the pass all right. But
unknown to me, and while I was at the levee, the Sultan had sent on
board (as it turned out eventually as a present to me in recognition
of our fireworks) an ox and a goat, which I imagined when I saw them
were the ox and the goat referred to by the agent to be landed in
Algoa Bay. There that matter can rest for the present, but there is
more to follow. At Mozambique we picked up both the old and the new
Governors of Delagoa Bay and a Major Da Andrade who was to be landed
at Quillimane. I think he has since played an important part in
Portuguese East Africa. When we got to Quillimane there was no sign of
craft coming out, so, after long waiting, we put the passengers, mails
and specie on board an Arab schooner anchored outside, and left for
Delagoa Bay. It may appear in these days a loose way of doing business,
but there was then no help for it.
About this time Delagoa Bay was in a very poor state politically. There
was government by an autocracy, not always a wise one at that, and the
management of the natives was a source of considerable profit to the
so-called emigration agents. In fact, affairs were in bad confusion and
I scarcely think Castilho was sorry to turn his back on the scene of
his late governorship, for events had been a little too hard to manage.
We got down to the shoals as it was getting dusk and a heavy sea was
breaking on many of the shoal patches. There were no marks or lights,
so I put her at one of the dark patches of water and she came through
all right, in fact it was about as safe a plan as could have been
adopted. But I will admit it was rough-and-ready navigation, adapted to
the needs of the time and also the circumstances of the case. We got
to Cape Town in due course on the way home. There, to my satisfaction,
I met my friend, Herbert Rhodes, and got up a little luncheon party on
board to celebrate the occasion. I thought I had picked my party well,
for I had Castilho and Rhodes, who sat opposite one another and next
to me. There was F. St. Leger, “the Saint,” as the dear old editor
of the _Cape Times_ was commonly called, Peter van Breda, and others
whose names do not now occur to me. I was greatly surprised to find
that Castilho did not talk willingly to Rhodes, and that the latter
had some reason for mirth which he did not impart to me at the time.
When we left the table Castilho observed to me, “If I could have have
laid hold of your friend in Delagoa Bay, he would have gone to jail
for a long time.” I was a bit astonished, but the party then broke up.
Here was the reason of it all. For some years past there had been a
lot of young Englishmen coming to South Africa in search of adventure,
and there was very little that was too hot or too heavy for some of
them to tackle in one way or the other. Some were soldiers, I remember
Major Goodall and Captain Elton in the early ’seventies; then there
were young men such as Dawnay, Reggie Fairlie, Campbell, and others
like Rhodes. They might be hunting, or transport riding, or exploring,
but one was fairly confident that no piece of mischief was passed that
could by any means be negotiated. Now, some little way up the river
that runs into Delagoa Bay there lived a dusky potentate whose soul
thirsted for the possession of some piece of artillery, be it ever so
small, and as proof of his earnestness offered in return a tumbler full
of diamonds. I never heard that they were to be of any fixed value,
but they ought to have been, for the Portuguese strictly forbade the
importation of artillery of any sort or kind, and it would go hard with
any one engaged in smuggling. I am not certain who Rhodes’s companions
were, but some of those I have mentioned were surely in the job. They
chartered a little schooner at Natal, named the _Pelham_, then got a
six-pounder old brass gun, which they smuggled on shore at Delagoa
Bay one night and buried in the mangrove bushes above the town. They
got their diamonds and, then, instead of getting on board their craft
as sensible, or older, men would have done, they proceeded to paint
Lourenço Marques red, in the brightest coloured paint procurable.
There was a certain lady there with very sharp ears who, forming a
conclusion, gave the game away to the authorities, and the young
adventurers owed their freedom to the fact that there did not happen
to be a Portuguese gunboat in Delagoa Bay, as there usually was.
Doubtless, however, that absence had been taken into consideration.
This was the last occasion but one on which I saw my friend Rhodes.
The last was when he came off to my ship at Quillimane, a short time
after this, to bring some ivory tusks for home, to get some Eno’s fruit
salt, and if possible a toothbrush, and chiefly to see me. It seems
that he had got some great shooting concession from a chief up country
and was going the next day to take possession of it. We had a long yarn
about mutual friends, and that was the last of him, for some accident
happened at the camp fire the next day, and he was so burned that
death in agony was the end of a man who in my mind always stands as an
embodiment of Charles Ravenshoe.
About this time I had as passenger the late Arthur Sketchly, of “Mrs.
Brown” fame, going out to write that lady’s adventures in South Africa.
He was a man of great bulk and moved slowly. One night at dinner, some
boys were very happy and jolly. He turned to me, saying, “Young men!
Young men! they can run, jump, laugh, eat, make love, do anything. Ugh,
I hate ’em!”
On my next passage from home we got a very severe dusting just south
of the Bay of Biscay. I find by my notes that we lost a lifeboat, got
the bridge rails smashed, man washed from the wheel, and various other
damages; but these things will happen at times. We got to Algoa Bay
on December 25, 1879, and there the fun began concerning the ox and
goat being landed in an unauthorised manner, and I was liable for all
sorts of fines. Further, I was told that the Zanzibar agent had written
about a “buffalo and a calf,” and these were not as described. Given
these circumstances there can be lots of correspondence and, as in
this case, serious results. About this time I was in severe domestic
trouble, such as shakes a man to his foundations, but fortunately,
perhaps, if you happen to be a cogwheel of a machine you are kept
grinding and so have less time to brood over the workings of fate. I
was thankful for the companionship of two of my passengers, one Herbert
De La Rue, and the other Fred Struben, both of whom are now well-known
men. We got to Zanzibar, and there it was reported to me that the agent
had been spreading reports concerning my sobriety when I left the port
on the previous voyage. I did not concern myself about this until the
agent made the statement to my chief officer. It was all over the “ox
and goat,” for the statement was that I was told in good plain English
by the agent that they were a present to me from the Sultan, but I was
not in a fit state to comprehend what was said. Now on the morning in
question I had been, as I have said, to the Sultan’s levee and had
not touched intoxicants at the time of leaving port. The inference
that coffee and sherbet had influenced me was of course unbearable.
However, as the statement was persisted in there was no alternative
but to take the matter before the Consul. There were numbers of
independent witnesses from the shore to testify on my behalf, and the
agent was fined and mulcted in costs. They had a fine expeditious way
of doing business in that court, for a defendant is ordered to appear
“forthwith.” To close the incident, there was some talk in the harbour
about the “cheek” of a master putting an agent in the court, but I
knew that unless I took immediate steps the lie might have lasted my
lifetime. The next time I faced my board and the business came up, the
chairman, Sir Benjamin Phillips, said to me, “We think that you acted
quite rightly, sir,” and that was all that I required. I should like
also to put on record my sense of appreciation of the kindness of Sir
John and Lady Kirk, Sir John being at that time Political Agent at
Zanzibar. The remainder of this voyage, so far as I was concerned, was
uneventful, save that I found it quite necessary to really practise
star navigation. I had then with me, as chief officer, Franz K. Thimm,
an old Worcester boy, and he seconded my efforts by all the means in
his power. Between us we came to the conclusion that we could be, if
necessary, independent of daylight observations, and that state of
things was useful on a coast where currents often run both strongly
and in uncertain directions. But, apart from its usefulness during the
whole of my sea career, I never lost a sense of wonderment that man
could compile such a book as the Nautical Almanac. To step on deck,
take three or four all-round shots at stars, and then go in and place
the ship to a nicety, gives one cause for reflection and thankfulness
for the work of the great discoverers who have so benefited those who
came after them.
When we arrived home there were some changes made. Wait, who I have
explained was my senior in command by a few days, was in port in the
_American_, and there was then building on the Clyde the _Trojan_, to
which it was necessary to appoint a master, to finally supervise her
fitting out, and bring her round to Southampton.
One day Wait was ordered to go north--and I to the _American_, then
Wait was ordered back to his old ship and I to the _Trojan_. This was
rather a fortunate thing for me, as on the passage out, when on the
line, the _American_ broke her screw shaft and sank. Fortunately all
hands were saved, to the infinite credit of her captain and officers.
Captain Hepworth, R.N.R., C.B., of the meteorological office, was then
chief officer, and my old friend Jones of the _Basuto_ was the second.
I came to hear of the accident in the following manner. I was in my
lodgings one afternoon when the office messenger, Fancourt, came in
with a face of great importance, “Captain Dixon’s compliments, and he
would like to see you at once.” Those who have known Fancourt will
realise the manner in which the message was delivered, for I really
believe he thought he ran the Company, in the same manner that the
limelight man dominates the stage. I went to the office of my chief,
who paid me a great compliment or else was pulling my leg. The table
was covered with charts, and he said, “The _American_ has sunk in lat.
---- long. ----. All hands saved in the boats. I want you to tell me
where we should look to find these boats, for I conclude you know more
about it than any of us.” As it happened I was wrong in my estimate,
for the boats were picked up by ships, but the currents, both the
Guinea and Equatorial, might have played a part in their destination.
Some of the passengers had a second shipwreck in the vessel that
picked them up and there were fatalities. I cannot quite remember how
the news first reached home, but several details stood out rather
prominently. One was that the theatre on the poop, where theatricals
had taken place the preceding evening, was conspicuous as she sank,
and also that the second officer had been seen getting the butcher’s
water-tank into his lifeboat. That was typical of Jones, essentially
a practical seaman. I asked him afterwards to tell me about it, and
whether he had any trouble at all. “When I got down in the boat,” he
said, “to get things in order I chucked out several bundles of things
that were no use and took up room, one of which belonged to the cook,
who resented my action. I just told him that if he said more I would
see that he followed his bundle, and there was no more trouble.” It has
always been a matter of congratulation to me that I escaped being in
that business. Captain Wait was very justly highly complimented for his
action, and his officers, too, received their meed of recognition.
I duly went north to take over the _Trojan_. She was a ship of
something under four thousand tons, but that was big for us in these
days. Taken all round she was one of the nicest little ships I ever
had to do with, and curiously enough she was the _second_ ship that
carried an electric light. I fancy the _City of Berlin_ was the first,
but the _Trojan_ was the second. It was merely an arc lamp in the
saloon, and Captain Dixon referred to it as “one of the chairman’s
fads.” A special cabin also was being fitted up to bring home the
Empress Eugenie from the Cape. She had travelled out in the _German_.
I found the two brothers Thompson, who built the ship, very agreeable,
and they did their best to make my stay pleasant. Leaving Clydebank
on the top of high water we actually bridged the Clyde, by accident
it was true, but we might easily have been in a very awkward fix. We
went into the Gareloch to adjust our compasses, and there I first
had the pleasure of meeting Sir William Thompson, afterwards Lord
Kelvin. Seamen should be eternally grateful to him, for in addition
to a perfect compass, he gave us also a sounding machine which, if
fairly used, is simply invaluable. I once asked him, some years after
this, for I am pleased to say that I retained his friendship, why he
could not give us a reliable log that would register the ship’s speed
accurately. He replied that there would be no difficulty in doing
that, but as it would engender a false confidence he thought it better
left alone, for surface currents that could not be accounted for
would falsify the correctness of any log. We did not run our official
trials in the north, but at Stokes Bay. On the way round Captain Dixon
was with us, and I learned that I was to take the ship out. This, I
thought at the time, was a little too good to be true, for I knew some
senior would come along and hustle me out of her, and after we had
our speed trial in Stokes Bay, sure enough Travers had managed to so
work it that he came home in the _Asiatic_ and the exchange was duly
effected. My connection with the _Trojan_ was not a long one, but for
many reasons it was eminently pleasant. For instance, it had given me
an opportunity to meet, unofficially as it were, most of my directors,
and it convinced me that there were times when they could behave as
human beings. I should specially like to mention the unvarying courtesy
of Mr. Giles, who had succeeded to the chair. He was then member for
Southampton, and his dinner-parties at Radleys, to which all our
captains in port were invited, were functions much appreciated by those
asked to attend.
There have been many ugly ships afloat--the _Basuto_, for instance--but
for sheer naked ugliness and brutality unashamed, the _Asiatic_ must
be given the palm. She was built at some north-country port, and had
a bow like a circular haystack. When she was light and a breeze was
blowing, very nice handling was required to prevent her taking charge
herself. But she had her good points: for one thing there was a decent
compass, and she handled well in fine weather; for the rest she was
comfortable enough at sea, but had not been well attended to as regards
her upkeep, and wore a slovenly aspect altogether. This I at once set
myself to remedy, and she presented a vastly different appearance
the next time she came into Southampton. We of course were on the
intermediate service, but when we arrived at Zanzibar for some reason
there was great jollification going on, in which we participated. I
gave a dinner and ball attended by every lady in the place, except
two--the French consul’s wife and sister. They were absent, as the
captain of a French man-of-war told me in strict confidence, because
the unmarried sister’s dress was prettier than that of madam. The fact
remains that we mustered, I think, eight ladies, and they were very
well pleased. What was of more importance, however, to my mind, was a
shooting match got up between the officers of the cable-laying ship,
H.M.S. _London_, and ourselves. The _London_ found the rifles and the
ammunition, and P. G. VanderByl, one of the lieutenants, was in charge
of the _London_ team. I had known his people at the Cape for years
past, and was afterwards shipmates with him in the old _Devastation_.
We sailed up the harbour in one of the _London’s_ sailing cutters;
they had several, and very fancifully named they were--after the names
then in vogue on the front pages of waltz music. This one was called
_Olga_, and she was navigated and conned by VanderByl as if she had
been a battleship. It is, perhaps, needless to say that we were fairly
well provided also for a picnic. I had in my team a great big hulking
quartermaster whom I had seen do very well on the range at home, and
I was relying upon him and some of my officers to make a good show.
To make a long story short, the _Londons_ shot abominably, and we did
rather worse, the cable ship being a bad third. My quartermaster was a
distinct failure. The _Londons_ were delighted to find they were not
beaten, for it turned out afterwards that their captain would have been
vexed had they been. It was at this time that I made the acquaintance
of Captain Ouless, R.N., who was navigator to the _London_. I always
found navigating officers most willing to help a shipmaster with the
time, or any information that may be at their disposal. I fancy it was
on this voyage also that I first met H. M. Stanley. I was taken by one
of the officers from the consulate, a nice fellow named Holmwood,
into a large, low, fairly light room. A small white man was leaning
against the wall, and squatted all round the room were the men Stanley
was engaging for his trip to the interior. It was a rather remarkable
gathering, but if the truth be told, neither then nor afterwards did
he give me the impression of being the remarkable man he in reality
was. There was also in the port that beautiful yacht the _Lancashire
Witch_, afterwards bought by the Admiralty for a surveying craft. She
was owned by Sir Thomas Hesketh, but I do not remember making his
acquaintance. The Sultan’s forces were then under the command of a
British naval officer named Matthews, and it was very remarkable the
success that attended his efforts. His men regarded him with immense
respect and veneration, and would have gone through fire and water for
him. It was quite a sight to see them drilling in the square in front
of the palace. I ought also to say that the Sultan was most generous in
providing horses for visitors who wished to ride. He had a sort of a
henchman called Mahomet, who spoke very good English, but was not, if
my memory serves me, an unswerving Mohamedan, for at times he admired
the wines of France. Although afflicted badly with elephantiasis, a
very common complaint there, he would always manage any little matter
that might be required on shore, but naturally he liked his perquisites
and saw that he got them. If report spoke correctly, he could have told
the tale as to how the death of gallant Captain Brownrigg, R.N., was
brought about, but as I cannot state facts it is little use talking
over that sad story.
There were quite a nice lot of passengers for the homeward trip from
Natal and the Cape, amongst them a newly married couple, the bride
being a very beautiful Dutch girl. Before we left the Cape there was
quite a gay time. One day we started out in a drag for a picnic at
Newlands, but it came on to rain badly. There was a man I knew lived
near to where we were, named Raphael Bensusan, and he was a good
fellow, so we drove up to the house. He was not in, but his brother,
or a male relative was, and he joined us in our picnic on the floor of
the dining-room, for as it happened the house was half shut up. That
was a very jolly afternoon, and the day ended with one of those balls
in the Exchange Building that went far to make Cape Town one of the
pleasantest places to know.
The following story is absolutely true, and shows how circumstances
at times seem to try and assist the hangman to put the rope round
the victim’s neck. It was my custom when in command to sleep in the
afternoon, and then remain about well into the middle watch. In the
_Asiatic_ my cabin was at the fore end of the saloon on the starboard
side. One night, about half-past twelve, I was sitting up with a
Captain Le Breton, smoking and yarning. The door was open, windows and
ports also, for the night was very warm. This was before the time of
electric lamps, and my cabin was lit by a moderator lamp, and another
one hung in the saloon, for ordinary cabin lights were extinguished
at 11 p.m. save when by the doctor’s orders they were kept burning.
Suddenly in rushed a girl, yelling that some one was looking into her
cabin through the porthole, and asking to be saved, flung herself down
in a chair, and went off into a faint. Just at that moment a puff of
wind blew my lamp out, a thing that had not happened before to my
knowledge. Then I went for the lamp in the saloon, which also went out,
after which I got the quartermaster’s bull’s-eye, and went and called
the stewardess, who took the frightened girl back to her cabin and put
things straight once more. When I and my companion were alone again I
asked him, if he was on a jury, would he believe in such a combination
of circumstances, and he gave an unhesitating No, and I can certainly
say, Neither would I.
The _Asiatic_ got back to Southampton looking so smart that she hardly
knew herself. It’s really wrong to make fun of my ship, but on her
first voyage, when she was commanded by Captain Coxwell, the commodore,
on her arrival in Algoa Bay he was chaffed by his acquaintances upon
his skill in bringing in his ship stern first, for they pretended
to believe that no vessel in existence could have a bow like the
_Asiatic_. They might almost have been forgiven for the belief.
Back now once more to the _African_, for as far as seniority went I
was in my proper place there. The directors had come to the conclusion
that they would run a monthly line to Hamburg, in connection with the
intermediate service to Zanzibar, and the _African_ was the first
one to undertake this business. Our chairman, Mr. Giles, who had
carried out engineering work at Cuxhaven, thought it fair to masters
to send them over first as passengers to let them see what the Elbe
was like before taking their ships there. This was a considerate act,
for a frozen river was a novel experience to me, if not to others. I
therefore took passage in one of the General Steam Navigation ships.
The Elbe was frozen over, and it was curious to see the steamer
charging a great floe of ice and splitting and rending her way
through it all. The main difficulty, however, appeared to be that the
injection water occasionally froze, and there they had to use a special
contrivance for blowing steam through the injection plate. I duly wired
that information home, but no notice was taken of it, and I had just
the same bother in the _African_. One could not help being impressed
by the iron order imposed upon all and sundry in Hamburg. The people
lived by rule, and they lived well; the docks were in excellent order
and far better fitted than were ours, either in London or Southampton.
I was taken by the Company’s agent to a ball where the admission was
sixpence. It was 2 a.m. and there were about three thousand people
of the working class present, but not a sign of rowdiness or any one
the worse for drink. It was something of a revelation, but there was
a great deal more to be learned than that. I suppose I, as most young
Britons of the period, had the idea firmly fixed in my mind that we
were the one people in the world, and that no one else counted. Our
agent was a very nice fellow, and we never had the smallest friction,
but somehow or other he managed to convey to my mind that there was a
nation of Germans that intended to become, as they thought themselves
then, top dogs of the world. I have mentioned an earlier instance of
this already.
I saw all I could and went back to bring my ship over, and if any one
is under the impression that the North Sea is a nice place to navigate
they are welcome to their belief. It is not mine. I suppose that in
time those trading there become accustomed to it, but it must make
seamen of them, and this factor should be taken into consideration when
appraising the worth of our Teutonic cousins as possible rivals at sea.
It is undoubtedly a good thing to have a change of route. Constantly
trading between the same places is pleasant in many ways, but you see
little that is fresh, and the mind has a tendency to run in a groove,
which is not healthy. And again, fresh faces and places sharpen your
wits, and remove the impression that you have learned all that there is
to know.
A first trip up the Elbe in the winter time was a fine corrective for
any feeling of stagnation. The Company was kind enough to supply us
with a North Sea pilot, a shipmaster acquainted with those waters, but
I had no idea of letting him do aught else than consult me. In this
case he was not anxious to assume any responsibility, but arriving one
night after dark at the mouth of the Elbe, we got on board as a pilot
a little old man, who gave one the idea of Rip Van Winkle. There was a
lot of ice coming down, and I was considerably surprised when the pilot
asked me to put the anchor down with the ship making at least six knots
through the water. It was quite all right, however, and next day we got
to Hamburg.
My instructions were to give a dinner and entertainment to some of the
shipping magnates, and that I proceeded to do, sending out invitations
on the advice of our agent. The eventful evening came round, and I had
had some doubt for a day or so as to the strict sobriety of my chief
steward. As dinner was proceeding I looked backwards where I could
see the pantry, and then observed the steward in a helpless state of
inebriety. He caught a look from me that would have sufficed to wither
an anchor, but he was too far gone to be affected. My own personal
servant and the head waiter pulled us through, however, all right. The
dessert was hardly on the table when one of the guests was on his feet
proposing the health of the Kaiser, and the rest got up and yelled
“Hoch” enough to lift the deck beams. I sat fast and said nothing, for
the situation was an awkward one. I was host, but it was a British
ship, and our Queen had to come first, so when the national ebullition
had died down, I got on my feet as I said to propose the first toast of
the evening, “The Queen and the Kaiser.” That was perhaps too great a
concession, but it was better than discord under the circumstances. It
was duly honoured and the rest was harmony, for I had provided music.
My servant at that time was a perfect attendant; I scarcely needed to
tell him anything, for he had the faculty of anticipating my wishes.
There was one of the guests who was needlessly pro-German throughout
the evening, but at the end of it he had to be put into a cab and sent
home. I fancy that for his final brandy and soda he must have had
brandy and gin. I gave no instruction or hint on the matter, but I had
the impression that honours were about easy at the finish. A day or so
afterwards he came to wish me _bon voyage_, but he did not seem very
well, and I doubt if he meant it. It was so cold in Hamburg that the
steam winches on deck had to be kept moving all night when not in use,
to prevent them freezing, and as the ice-breaker was not then properly
at work we had to cut our own way through the ice going down the river.
When we got back to Southampton the ship’s sides at the water line were
bare of paint, and the steel side was as bare as a knife and the same
colour.
When we reached Natal in the course of that voyage, we heard of the
outbreak of the first Boer war, which commenced by the shooting down
of one of our regiments without any declaration of hostilities. I will
only say this, that the feeling between the Dutch and the British
was then, and for many years afterwards, so acute that the last Boer
war was the inevitable outcome of it, and for this state of things
I, in my own mind, have always considered Mr. Froude and his friends
responsible. Left to themselves, the Boers would have accepted the
ruling of Sir Bartle Frere, had his administration in the Transvaal
been carried out as he intended it should be.
My chief officer in the _African_ was a man I have mentioned before,
E. T. Jones, who wore an abnormally large black beard, from which he
had acquired the soubriquet of “Black Jones.” I had the very highest
regard for him in every way. When we arrived home in February 1881,
as a matter of course I went to London to see the directors. At that
time the _Roman_ had been chartered to take out troops to Natal. There
was then no master appointed to her, and I was questioned as to the
ability of my chief officer, to which I replied that he was as good a
man as I was. But, said one director, “is that the man with a black
beard that looks like a pirate?” and the conversation closed with a
laugh, and the intimation that they would come to Southampton to see
about it. When I returned that evening I got hold of Jones, and much
against his will took him to a barber’s and had his beard off. It
was a time for heroic measures, for that use of the shears probably
decided the matter in his favour. As, however, it would not do to send
out troops with a man whose first voyage it was in command, he took
the _African_ and I the _Roman_, with orders to change again on the
coast. As I write this I have before me a letter signed by the officers
who travelled in the _Roman_, thanking me for a pleasant passage. The
first signature is Finch White, major 85th Light Infantry, commanding
troops. It is followed by F. Grenfell, lieutenant-colonel 60th rifles
(now Field-Marshal Lord Grenfell). Amongst many others comes R. B.
Lane, major rifle brigade (now General Sir R. B. Lane), D. N. Stewart,
2nd lieutenant 92nd Highlanders, who afterwards achieved honours in
many parts of the empire, and Charles E. Knox, captain 85th regiment,
one of our best generals in the late war. They were a pleasant crowd
to travel with, and the passage passed without a hitch, but so far as
I was personally concerned I had a little trouble, for on the line I
discovered that my carpenter had been neglectful of his duties, and we
had only one day’s water on board. I said nothing about it but put on
the condenser night and day until we had refilled our tanks. I then
put an officer in charge of them, but my chief engineer rose manfully
to that occasion, for it was not pleasant to have many hundreds of men
depending entirely upon condensed supplies. Major Lane and I became
very intimate. He had a wonderful personality which attracted every
one, and I doubt not he still retains it. One evening he and I caught a
booby, and the question was the best use to put it to. Colonel Grenfell
was then asleep, and we thought it might be a good idea to put the bird
in his bunk. We put that squawking beast on top of him as he lay, but
he never turned a hair, only said, “Ugh! take the beastly thing away,”
and we did. It was no small test of a man’s nerve, however, since tried
and verified in many a tight corner. One thing struck me, however,
on that trip, and it was the great interest taken by the officers in
theological works of all sorts. There was a fine collection on board,
and I remember reading one called _The Approaching End of the Age_, by
Gratton Guinness, which proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that the
world must end by 1894.
Going into Cape Town dock it was blowing a strong south-easter and
the ship was listing heavily to starboard. We got the troops over
to the port side and that put her upright in a trice. It was very
smartly done, but they only wanted a word to do what was wanted.
Then we learned that the war was over. I fancy that Lord Roberts had
already arrived and returned, and there were loud murmurs of discontent
all round. We went on to Natal, however, and landed our troops. The
late Admiral Andoe and Sir Edward Chichester were there disembarking
officers, and they gave me a very nice certificate for the manner in
which the entire job had been performed. By the way, I had a bet with
Colonel Grenfell that the Government that made the peace would not last
six months, but I was wrong in the sequel.
On the way back to the Cape I had with me as passenger Sir J. H. De
Villiers, the Lord Chief Justice, who told me that had peace not been
made the whole of South Africa would have risen in revolt, so perhaps
things were as well as they were. I got back into my own ship at Mossel
Bay, and resumed regular work once more.