population of five hundred and a black-and-tan one of unknown
dimensions, pearling predominates, as different a form of pearling from
that of the Paumotus as can well be imagined. Here machinery is
permissible, and with the up-to-date motor compressor keeping up a
mechanically uniform and unfailing air supply, great depths are
attained, and shell of a prodigious size and lustre obtained.
"I don't know," mused a pearling-lugger owner of my acquaintance; "I'm
beginning to think it's the survival of the fittest, after all. The
Japs are the best machine divers in the world. They don't seem to put
the same value on life that we do, and maybe they're right; I don't
know.
"But I can tell you this: they work as no white man would ever work--day
and night for two weeks without shutting an eye; then they bring the
stuff in, sleep two days and nights on end, and are ready for another
two weeks.
"I used to go out with a crew now and then, and I've seen them go down
fifty-two fathoms, and be hauled up dead, and another man climb into his
suit and be 'down' inside of ten minutes.
"Another little trick they've got is to sail--almost into the wind, mind
you, but still sail--towing a diver along the bottom. It saves him
having to walk and he covers more ground; but would you like to be in
that suit? What happens if it catches on a bit of coral? ...
"I tell you what it is: they come over here on a three-years'
indenture--it's the only way we allow them into Australian
territory--and during that time they set out to make enough to keep 'em
for the rest of their lives. And they do it--because they don't live
long anyway after much fifty-two-fathom diving.
"Skin divers? We've got as good here in Torres Straits as any in the
world! Twenty fathoms, and three minutes under water in the Paumotus?
Well, that's not so bad, but we can beat it with a good abo
(aboriginal). Come and see."
I did, and am forced to give the palm to Torres Straits. Our crew was a
hotch-potch of mainland aboriginals--Islanders, Malays, and
Filipinos--but it was the aboriginal who did the diving, and his
performance was every whit as good as, and in some cases better than,
that of the Paumotan. But with what different results! Instead of the
cleanly pearl-shell, beche-de-mer or trepang was brought to light,
immense brown or black sea slugs that are gutted, impaled on a stick,
and cured in a smoke-box amidships. When cooked they make a soup as
nutritious and appetizing as turtle, and although China is by far the
largest consumer of beche-de-mer at the present time, it is rapidly
gaining favour in Europe.
[Illustration: Pearl diver]
The remaining important products of the Coral Sea and its coasts are
trochas shell and sandal wood. The first of these is second only to
mother-of-pearl for buttons, knife-handles, and what-not; and as for
sandalwood, its uses are too familiar to call for mention here. But I
am grateful to this externally unlovely but fragrant tree for taking me
to the shores of the Gulf of Carpentaria where it grows in profusion,
for a stranger, more deserted land--saving always the Galapagos
Islands--it would be difficult to find.
You may stand on these shores and look inland over thousands of miles of
gently undulating and lightly timbered country, containing not a living
soul with the exception of a few bands of ever-wandering and rapidly
decreasing aboriginals. Cotton grows here to perfection. What would
not grow? There are rivers that Western-American irrigators would smack
their lips over, a light but assured rainfall, a rich loam soil, and
millions of acres of pasture untouched save by wallaby and kangaroo.
Yet we still cry out that the world is over-full.
Some day the entirely admirable bluff of "white Australia" will be
called, and these territories of vast possibilities will be inundated by
a people able and eager to develop them. It will be unpleasant, but
then so are most penalties of degeneration and sloth in this
cannibalistic old world of ours.
Back from "the Gulf," we celebrated a successful trip in the approved
fashion at one of Thursday Island's numerous and well-known circular
bars, presided over by a high priestess who, after three years in New
Guinea, favoured the native style of coiffure.
Discussion turned on a race meeting of the morrow. A race meeting on
T.I.! Why not? I had forgotten that wherever you find an assembly of
more than two Australians, there you will find a race-course of some
sort. It appeared that someone had stolen the favourite; nothing less!
The horse had been pastured on Friday Island, a few miles distant, and
now, a day before the race, it had vanished. The owner, who happened to
be present, was telling us just what he was going to do to the culprit
when he caught him, but I fear my attention wandered. An aboriginal was
standing at my elbow with the most ghastly healed wound encircling his
neck that could have been inflicted without decapitation. How the man
could have suffered it and remained alive, was beyond my comprehension.
"That," I was told, "is Treacle, the only man who's had his head in a
shark's mouth and got it out again. Care for an introduction?"
I did care, and after sundry amenities elicited the following: "Me push;
'im leave go." That was all, delivered with every appearance of delight
and pride in the accomplishment. Some of the shark's teeth were still
embedded in the fellow's skull. With a vast grin, he will guide your
finger to the spot--for sixpence; and for a like amount one is permitted
to photograph Treacle the miraculous.
The Australian "abo's" recuperative qualities are equalled only by his
inventiveness. Was he not the originator of the boomerang, that most
ingenious of weapons? And had he not, before the advent of the white
man, instituted certain surgical operations which might, with advantage,
be introduced into other lands? For example, the rendering incapable of
a degenerate male parent to propagate his species, whereby his race was
kept up to the highest standards of physique.
But let these things pass, as relics of barbarism if you will, and there
is still a quaint originality in his make-up that shows itself in his
speech. Beche-de-mer, or Pidgin-English, is his tongue for dealing with
white folk, and here is some of his vocabulary:
"Trousers belong letter" = Envelope.
"Bokkus belong noise" = Gramaphone, piano, or almost any musical
instrument.
"Pull um come; push um go, brother belong tomahawk" = Saw.
"Belly belong me fnuast" = I am hungry.
"What time papa belong you plant um you?" = How old are you?
Some day there will be a dictionary of Pidgin-English. It would make a
diverting document.
For a tiny community like that of Thursday Island, the racing on the
following day was too commendable to be treated otherwise than
seriously. The course was complete with grandstand and "bleacher"
seats, totalisator, judge's box, and bar, and was soon thronged with the
entire white population of T.I., and most of the coloured. Jockeys wore
anything from orthodox "silk" to an undervest, and rode anything on four
legs with immense earnestness, and amidst thunderous acclamation. We
lost money or won money, as the case might be, but there is no doubt
that we enjoyed ourselves.
At the end of a pleasant and instructive fortnight a south-bound
steamer, direct from New Guinea, touched at T.I., and as she came
alongside, my gaze became fixed on a slight, inconspicuous but vaguely
familiar figure standing at the rail.
It was Peter.
There, on T.I.'s rickety jetty, seated on a stack of sandalwood, we
talked of many things; but behind all lurked the eternal question, and I
was obliged to answer it:
"I'm beat. You're right, both of you. There never will be another
dream ship."
But there I was wrong.
*ADVICE TO DREAMERS OF DREAM SHIPS*
_For the prospective dream-ship owner the world over_
[Illustration: Chapter XVII headpiece]
*CHAPTER XVII*
_For the prospective dream-ship owner the world over_
There are more dreamers in the world than I had reckoned on. So much is
evident from the snowdrift of letters received from every corner of the
world, asking this, that, and the other in connection with the dream
ship, until it became a physical impossibility for me to answer them
individually.
Here I hope to answer them all, out of sympathy more than anything else,
for I know how the dreamer feels; but let me tell him or her this at the
outset: unless you are willing to take a chance, your dream will never
be realized. To sail away on a dream cruise is an easier thing than to
climb out of the rut you are probably in. There may be the most
excellent reasons for your remaining in that rut--marriage and family
ties, or ill health--but those are the only insurmountable obstacles in
the path of any dream merchant worth his salt.
You will notice, no doubt, that penury is not included in this catalogue
of obstacles, and the reason of its absence is that penury ought to be
an incentive rather than an obstacle. One must work for dream
fulfilment as one is obliged to work for anything worth while.
"It's all very well for you to talk," people have said to me more than
once, "but you have no ties; and you always have your writing."
If they only knew, neither of these statements is true. To hear them
talk one would think I had neither friend nor relation in the world, and
that the average writer makes as much money as a plumber. My reply to
such folk is: "All right, let's be personal. You have no ties but what
you could fling aside for a while without hurting yourself or any one
else, for it is a fifty-to-one chance that they are nothing but
money-grubbing at best. It has become a habit with you, that is all.
You have enough money to buy a car, why not a tight little cruiser, and
sail where you will? And if you have not, you could soon make it, for
your trade is less precarious than mine.
"No, my friend, you may sit in that chair, and simulate the adventurous
spirit beating its wings at the prison bars of Duty, or some such stuff,
but what really ails you is that you are in a rut, and afraid to get
out; or else your dream has not taken firm enough hold to hoist you out.
The latter is a matter of personal temperament, and cannot be helped,
but the former is something quite different. It simply means that you
lack initiative, dread possible discomfort, and fear the world."
Please do not imagine because I am pointing out the disabilities of the
average dreamer that I claim to be exempt myself. I possess them in an
all-too-marked degree, but my dream was strong enough to lift me above
them, and it was worth it.
I know a man who, at the age of thirty, and while I was working the soul
out of myself on cattle and horse ranch, in lumber-camp and
salmon-cannery for an average of two dollars a day, bought a decked-in,
dug-out canoe for twenty dollars, and with a capital of a like amount
went clean up the British Columbia coast. During the summer he sailed,
fished, and shot deer, trading his bag with farmers and store-keepers
for other commodities that he needed. In the winter, he laid up the
canoe, but lived aboard and trapped fur. He was his own man, and he
lived. That was his dream, and he accomplished it. And I might have
been doing precisely the same thing all those weary years, and come out
a good deal better off at the end of them if I had only had the courage
of my dream.
For the benefit of the apparent multitude whose dream lies along much
the same lines as my own, I must attack the more technical side of the
dream cruise, and, before doing so, I want it to be clearly understood
that everything I may say in these pages is simply the outcome of my own
personal experience. Others have had different and, perhaps, much wider
experience, and will no doubt differ with me at every point. But then,
after a woman, and a horse, there never was a subject more provocative
of dissension than the proper conduct of a ship. So here's to it!
[Illustration: _Out of the Deep;
The Main Products of Torres Straits. From left to
right:--Green Snail (used for buttons). Pearl-Shell
(with natural blister in form of an elephant).
Trochas (used for buttons, etc.). At back: Beche-de-mer._]
_The Dream Ship_.--The dream ship is my idea of the ideal ocean cruiser
to be handled by a crew of three. That is why I bought her, and she
cost (second hand) L300 or about $1,500. She was designed as a North
Sea pilot cutter by the late Colin Archer, who also designed the _Fram_
for Nansen, and was the originator of this type of vessel. She was
built at Porsgrund, Norway, in 1908, and I reduced her canvas to make
for easy handling by a small and light-weight crew. For this reason she
was slow going to windward, but I would not have had her otherwise for
one cannot have _everything_--there is bound to be a compromise
somewhere--and one does not expect to go round the world "on a wind."
[Illustration: _An Islander's Home on T.I.;
The Tennis Handicap_]
[Illustration: Lines of the Dream Ship,
Designed by Colin Archer and Built
at Porsgrund, Norway, in 1908]
_Construction_.--Her timbers were of pine and her planking of Italian
oak, which is admittedly a reversal of the usual order of things, but is
easily accounted for by the fact that Norway has plenty of pine (grown
on hilltops so that the wind will make it "natural bent" for elbows and
knees), but little or no oak; while Italy is oppositely placed, and the
two countries trade their woods.
The dream ship was copper-fastened, which made it possible to have her
copper-sheathed against the inroads of the tropical cobra worm, and this
was an immense saving of labour. With ordinary iron fastenings it is
impossible to copper-sheathe because the two metals, when immersed in
salt water, set up a galvanic action destructive to both. It must not
be imagined, however, that because a boat is iron-fastened she is
useless for tropical waters. There is no stronger and better fastening
for a boat than galvanized iron, but it entails her under-water body
being kept in the best condition by putting her on "the hard" wherever
and whenever possible, and paying her up with anti-fouling paint. Most
of the Island schooners are iron-fastened, and they last for forty years
and longer, if well looked after. If not, they are a honeycomb from
worm inside of a year.
The dream ship was of life-boat or "double-ender" build, which means
that she was "all ship," and had no counter. Various stems and sterns
are recommended by various people, but I have found nothing better than
the life-boat.
_Rig_.--She was cutter rigged, and, always provided that the boom does
not extend too far beyond the counter to be easily accessible, it is as
handy an arrangement of sail as any other, and admittedly the best for
sailing.
I can almost hear the noble army of schooner-, ketch-, and yawl-owners
howling their execration at these remarks, but I cannot help it. I have
tried most rigs, and come back to the cutter. The howlers will at least
admit that she sails as close to the wind as any, and closer than most;
and as for facility in handling by the smallest possible crew, we of the
dream ship had no trouble on this score, for she would heave-to in a
gale under single reef like a duck, and with the wind abeam would go for
hours on end with the tiller pegged.
Our main difficulty was that the dream ship was too heavily sparred.
The boom was the size of an average mast for a vessel of her tonnage,
and the gaff little smaller in proportion.
Next time, we shall have smaller spars, and a top-mast instead of a pole
mast. Aboard the dream ship our topsail yard was twenty-three feet
long, and many were the anxious moments in lowering it when taking in
the topsail during a squall. The topmast does away with any necessity
for a yard, and can be lowered to the deck in foul weather, thus also
eliminating considerable top-hamper.
[Illustration: Sail and Rigging Plan of the Dream Ship]
A hollow topmast and a hollow squaresail yard sound alluring, and have
proved themselves efficient in temperate climes, but would they stand
the intense heat of, say, the Paumotus? I know they are put to a
boiling test for several hours, but what about months? It would be a
disconcerting episode, to say the least, if one's spars commenced to
open out like a flower in mid-ocean. I am sufficiently generous to
allow someone else to make the experiment.
_Gear_.--The importance of good ground tackle cannot be over-emphasized.
Never carry less than one hundred fathoms of sound, galvanized-iron
cable, preferably amidships, and see that the anchors have long shanks.
We carried three: a skeleton, for dropping for short periods; a medium,
for ordinary use; and a large, for holding her in an emergency. We
never used any but the medium, and we never dragged anchor, mainly on
account of the length of shank.
A winch is better than a capstan for heaving anchor, and if placed abaft
the mast, serves also for "swigging" on halyards, or hoisting sail.
As for sails, the dream ship's were all "barked" or tanned after the
fisherman style, and there is no doubt that this process prevents rot,
especially in the humid tropics. We carried one medium-weight mainsail,
a working and a balloon foresail, storm and balloon jibs, and a
squaresail, and of these the last was the most generally useful. Again
I hear the howlers howling: "Why not a spinnaker?" and my reply is that
a squaresail can be used whenever a spinnaker can be used; it is a
larger sail, yet infinitely easier to handle.
Our main halyards were of "combination" rope, that is, hemp to all
outward appearances, but internally carrying several strands of flexible
steel wire. There is nothing stronger, and nothing that will stand the
perpetual chafe of a long passage better. Its slight awkwardness in
handling compared with ordinary manila is amply atoned for by its
durability. I was afraid to use it for peak halyards on account of its
inelasticity, but next time it shall be rove throughout, with the
exception of the main sheet, which must perforce be of manila.
Wheel- or tiller-steering gear is a matter of taste. Personally, I like
to feel the "life" of a ship, and this is better accomplished with a
tiller.
_Fittings_.--A deep-sea cruiser should always be flush-decked, and have
an entirely detached, self-emptying cockpit. Coach roofs and immense
skylights make for additional headroom below, but during bad weather are
an abomination.
We did not carry davits. They look "yachty," but we were not anxious to
look that way, and found it far less trouble to haul the thirteen-foot
dinghy over the bulwarks with the fore halyards. If one went in for
every "fitting" advertised in a yachting catalogue, the deck--which must
be kept as clear as possible--would be a scrap-heap of "gadgets."
Brass, too, is a good thing to do without. Again, it looks well, but
think of the work it entails, and have painted galvanized-iron instead.
There is no reason why a vessel should not look as "ship-shape" with
these latter fittings as with all the glinting--and dulling--brasswork
in the world.
Good paint is the best wood-preserver there is; for that reason, and
several others not unconnected with labour, the dream ship was painted
throughout instead of varnished. The decks were painted (pinewood
colour), and remained as sound and unscathed at the end of the voyage as
they had been at the beginning. Boom and gaff were painted the same
colour, hatches and skylights were white, as also were her top sides.
And that is another thing: never have black paint if going to the
tropics. The dream ship's cockpit was black, and the helmsman could
scarcely bear to touch any part of it with his naked hand, though the
white ship's rail was comparatively cool. The mere thought of black top
sides in the neighbourhood of the Paumotus causes me to break into a
profuse perspiration to this day.
Down below, the two prime factors are ventilation and light. In order
to secure the first of these, the dream ship's internal arrangements
were of the simplest. There were no separate staterooms, which confine
space and are difficult to air. She was open from end to end, save for
the bulkheads, each containing a comprehensive doorway, so that the
for'ard hatch could be opened and a current of air pass clean through
the ship.
As for light, the interior decoration was white enamel, which reflects
every gleam from the skylights.
The engine-room was a problem, until we decided--very rightly, as we
discovered later--to sacrifice some living space in order to have a
roomy "chamber of horrors." It is far more satisfactory to be tortured
in a palace than in a pill-box. It leaves adequate space for the
expression of feeling.
Because his ship is essentially a sailing vessel, the present-day owner
too often tucks his engine away anywhere. It does not do. Some time or
other, when the necessary atrocity is engaged in saving life, as ours
did on more than one occasion, a vital part of the machinery is found to
be out of reach, or so difficult to get at that invaluable time is lost.
As regards cooking and artificial lighting, we had three Primus stoves
and an oven on gimbals, over which we contrived to render food eatable,
and ordinary swinging lamps. There are those, I know, who prefer
electric light on account of its comparative coolness, and to such I
would say: "Enterprising fellow! You like dynamos and fiddling with
'gadgets' generally. Very well." Personally, I am a coward in this
department.
_Ballast_.--There is something peculiarly unattractive about ballast.
One sees nothing for many laborious hours spent upon it, and it takes up
valuable space. But it must not be forgotten that on its correct
distribution the whole stability of a vessel depends. Whether lead,
pig-iron, or stone, according to purse, for a cruise anywhere in the
neighbourhood of coral, it must be _inside_, and immovable. The reasons
for these stipulations are obvious, but too often cruising yachts do not
return, and it is not always a matter of a lee shore, broaching to, or
being pooped; but ballast.
An excellent plan is to have it cemented in, for this also ensures a
clean bilge, but if this is done, the owner would be well advised to
have the vessel's timbers surveyed first and a certificate of soundness
given, because before now cement has been used for nothing less than
hiding rotten timbers.
[Illustration: Palm trees]
_Auxiliary Engines_.--There is no doubt that an auxiliary engine for a
deep-sea cruiser is well-nigh indispensable. It may be used but twice
in a passage of four thousand miles, as ours was--once for getting out
of harbour and once for getting in. But what of the countless
contingencies that may arise, such as lee shores, narrow waters,
contrary currents and calms, when without power a vessel is helpless?
The heavy-duty, comparatively slow-revolutioned, kerosene-burning type
is the best. It may be more cumbersome, and make more noise than the
natty little launch engine, but it is infinitely more reliable. A
thirteen-horsepower drove the dream ship at four knots through calm
water, so one's own particular fancy may be selected on that basis.
Each has his own idea as to motor marine engines, and all I can do here
is to extend to the engineer my good wishes--and sincerest sympathies.
_Deep-Sea Cruising_.--The inevitable remark that greets the deep-sea
cruiser in small craft on completing a passage is: "Fancy coming all
this way in that little thing!" And if the speaker only knew it, his
remark is an insult to the owner. There is no reason in the world why a
staunch, seaworthy craft of not less than forty-one feet on the
waterline should not continue to circumnavigate the globe indefinitely,
and with every whit as much safety as a ten-thousand-ton liner. The
forty-one-footer goes to the top of every wave; the ten-thousand-tonner
rests upon two or more; that is the sole difference.
Before leaving England, "know-alls" were good enough to point out to me
that it was a silly game at best; that I was risking my precious life
for no particular purpose, and that I should never get where I wanted
to, anyway. As for taking one's sister, it was nothing short of murder.
When I returned, the self-same people, chatting over a club "port"
between races, agreed that there was, after all, nothing in it. Was not
deep-sea cruising in fair-weather latitudes safer than coastal
navigation in our pestiferous home waters?