STRICT SERVICE
Captain Lord Gillford, afterwards Lord Clamwilliam, was one of the
finest seamen, and his ship was one of the smartest ships, in the
Service. The _Tribune_ was what we used to call a jackass frigate.
She was pierced for 31 guns, was of 1570 tons burthen, and 300
h.p.--not that anything could ever induce the captain to use steam.
Before I joined the _Tribune_, she had sprung her foremast so she went
up the Fraser River to cut a new spar out of he forest. Such things
were done in those days. But on the way up she grounded on the bar.
Everything--guns, coal, stores--was taken out of her; anchors were got
out; and every effort was made to warp her off. Still she would not
move. In this desperate pass, when every man in the ship, except one,
was hauling on the purchases, it is on record that when the chaplain
put his weight on the rope, away she came. The power of the man of God
is remembered even unto this day. Then the _Tribune_ sailed up the
river, and they cut a new spar, set it up and rigged it, and she came
home with it.
Captain Lord Gillford prided himself on the speed of his ship under
sail. He had fitted her with all sorts of extra gear, such as they had
in the famous tea-clippers. His tacks and sheets were much thicker
than was usual; strengthening pieces were fitted to the sails; there
were gaffs for topgallant backstays, and extra braces. His order book
was a curiosity, Day after day it bore the same entry: "The course.
Carry sail." Sailing from Vancouver to Valparaiso, the _Tribune_ {62}
beat the _Sutlej_, another fine sailing ship commanded by another
first-class seaman, by two days.
Captain Lord Gillford's orders were that sail should never be shortened
without his permission. One night when it was blowing hard I went down
to the captain's cabin to ask him if we might take in the topmast
studding-sail. The ship was then heeling over. The captain stuck one
leg out of his cot and put his foot against the side of the ship. "I
don't feel any water here yet," says he, and sent me on deck again.
The next moment the sail blew away.
I can never be too grateful for the seamanship I learned on board the
_Tribune_. The captain lost no opportunity of teaching us. On one
occasion, for instance, we carried away the starboard foremast swifter,
in the fore rigging--the _Tribune_ had rope lower rigging. Captain
Lord Gillford, instead of splicing the shroud to the masthead pennants,
chose, in order to educate us, to strip the whole foremast to a
gantline. We got the whole of the lower rigging over the masthead
again. I was in the sailmaker's crew; and another midshipman and
myself, together with the forecastle men, fitted in the new shroud,
turned it in, wormed, parcelled, and served it; put it over the
masthead, and got the fore rigging all a-taunto again. I also helped
to make a new foresail and jib out of number one canvas, roped them,
put the clews in, and completed the job. Lord Gillford's object was to
teach those under him to carry out the work in the proper shipshape
manner. The sailmaker's crew, among whom was another midshipman, named
Morrison, and myself, numbered 15 or 20 men, including able seamen, and
we were all as happy as possible. We were taught by one of the best
sailmakers in the Service, who was named Flood. We always worked in a
sailmaker's canvas jumper and trousers made by ourselves. I could cut
out and make a seaman's canvas working suit, jumper and trousers, in 30
minutes, using the sailmaker's stitch of four stitches to the inch.
I had a complete sailmaker's bag with every sailmaker's tool
necessary--serving and roping mallets, jiggers, seaming {63} and roping
palms, all-sized marling-spikes, fids, seam-rubbers, sail-hooks,
grease-pot, seaming and roping twine, etc. etc.
Morrison and I worked together at everything. We turned in new boats'
falls, replaced lanyards in wash-deck buckets, as well as taking our
turn at all tricks sailmaker's crew. We put in new clews to a topsail
and course. We roped a jib and other fore-and-aft sails. Both of
these jobs require great care and practice, and both of them we had to
do two or three times before we got them right. A sailmaker knows how
difficult it is to keep the lay of the rope right in roping a sail. We
used also to go aloft and repair sick seams in the sails to avoid
unbending.
Captain Lord Gillford himself could cut out a sail, whether
fore-and-aft or square. I have heard him argue with Flood as to the
amount of goring to be allowed, and Lord Gillford was always right. It
was he who put it into my head to try to teach myself all that I could,
by saying, "If a man is a lubber over a job, you ought to be able to
_show_ him how to do it, not _tell_ him how to do it."
We were never so proud as when Lord Gillford sent for us and told us
that we had made a good job of roping the new jib. Among other things,
I learned from the "snob," as the shoemaker was called, to welt and
repair boots. In after years, I made a portmanteau, which lasted for a
long time, for my old friend, Chief Engineer Roffey; and I made many
shooting and fishing bags for my brother officers.
Merely for the sake of knowing how to do and how not to do a thing, in
later years I have chipped a boiler (a devil of a job), filled
coal-sacks, trimmed bunkers, stoked fires and driven engines.
We used up all our spare canvas in the _Tribune_; and I remember that
on one occasion we were obliged to patch the main-royal with a
mail-bag, so that the main-royal bore the legend "Letters for England"
on it thereafter.
While in the _Tribune_, two misfortunes occurred to me on the same day.
As we all know, misfortunes never come singly. The sailmaker had
reported me for skylarking; and it {64} occurred to me that if he was
going to put me in the report, he might as well have a better reason
for that extreme action. I therefore rove a line attached to a
sailmaker's needle through the holes of the bench upon which he sat.
When he seated himself to begin his work, I jerked the line, and he
leaped into the air with a loud cry. That was my first misfortune.
The second was entirely due to the rude and thoughtless conduct of
another midshipman, who, in passing me as I sat at my sailmaker's
bench, industriously working, tilted me over. I took up the first
thing which was handy, which happened to be a carpenter's chisel, and
hurled it at his retreating figure. It stuck and quivered in a portion
of his anatomy which is (or was) considered by schoolmasters as
designed to receive punishment. I had, of course, no intention of
hurting him. But I was reported for the second time that day. I was
put on watch and watch for a week, a penance which involved being four
hours on and four hours off, my duties having to be done as usual
during the watch off in the daytime.
We sailed from Vancouver early in December, 1865. On 2nd January I was
promoted to be acting sub-lieutenant. I find that Captain Lord
Gillford endorsed my certificate with the statement that Lord Charles
Beresford had conducted himself "with sobriety, diligence, attention,
and was always obedient to command; and I have been much pleased with
the zealous manner in which he has performed his duties."
We arrived at Valparaiso towards the end of January. I continued to
discharge my duties in the _Tribune_ until the middle of February, when
I was transferred to the _Sutlej_.
I was as happy on board the _Tribune_ as I had been in the
_Marlborough_ and the _Clio_, and for the same reason: the splendid
seamanship and constant sailorising.
[Illustration: THE OFFICERS OF H.M.S. "SUTLEJ," 1865. (THE AUTHOR IS
THE SECOND FIGURE ON THE LEFT OF THE CAPSTAN)]
The _Sutlej_ was a steam frigate pierced for guns, of 3066 tons and 500
h.p., flagship of the Pacific station. Before I joined her, the
commander-in-chief of the station was Admiral Kingcome, who had (as we
say) come in through {65} the hawse-pipe. It was the delight of this
queer old admiral to beat the drum for night-quarters himself. He used
to steal the drum, and trot away with it, rub-a-dub all along the lower
deck, bending double beneath the hammocks of the sleeping seamen. On
one of these occasions--so runs the yarn--a burly able seaman thrust
his bare legs over the edge of his hammock, clipped the admiral under
the shoulders, swung him to and fro, and, with an appropriate but
unquotable objurgation, dispatched him forward with a kick.
Such (in a word) was the condition of the flagship to which
Rear-Admiral the Honourable Joseph Denman succeeded, after the
enjoyment of twenty-five years' profound peace in the command of the
Queen's yacht.
The captain, Trevenen P. Coode, was tall and thin, hooked-nosed and
elderly, much bent about the shoulders, with a habit of crossing his
arms and folding his hands inside his sleeves. He was a taut hand and
a fine seaman. He nearly broke my heart, old martinet that he was; for
I was mate of the upper deck and the hull, and took an immense pride in
keeping them immaculately clean; but they were never clean enough for
Captain Trevenen P. Coode. In those days we had little bright-work,
but plenty of whitewash and blacking. The test of a smart ship was
that the lines of white or black should meet with absolute accuracy;
and a fraction of error would be visited with the captain's severe
displeasure. For he employed condemnation instead of commendation.
There was an old yarn about a mate of the main deck, who boasted that
he had got to windward of his captain. We used to take live stock,
poultry and sheep to sea in those days. The captain found fault with
the mate because the fowls and coops were dirty. The mate whitewashed
the chickens and blacked their legs and beaks. Now the poultry in
question belonged to the captain. Thereafter the fowls died.
It was the custom for the admiral to take a cow or two {66} to sea, and
the officers took sheep and fowls. There is a tradition in the Navy
that the cow used to be milked in the middle watch for the benefit of
the officer on watch; and that, in order that the admiral should get
his allowance of milk, the cow was filled up with water and made to
leap backwards and forwards across the hatchways. Another tradition
ordains that when the forage for the sheep ran short, the innocent
animals were fitted with green spectacles, and thus equipped, they were
fed on shavings.
When we put into Valparaiso the Spanish fleet was threatening to
bombard the town. Rather more than a year previously, in 1864, Spain
had quarrelled with Chile, alleging that Chile had violated neutrality,
and had committed other offences. In March, 1864, Spain began the
diplomatic correspondence with Chile in which she demanded reparation,
which was refused. Chile sent artillery and troops to Valparaiso. The
Spanish admiral, Pareja, then proclaimed a blockade of the Chilian
ports, and Chile declared war.
The European residents in Valparaiso, who owned an immense amount of
valuable property stored in the custom-houses, were terrified at the
prospect of a bombardment, and petitioned Admiral Denman to prevent it.
An American fleet of warships was also lying in the Bay. Among them
was the _Miantonomoh_, the second screw ironclad that ever came through
the Straits of Magellan, the first being the Spanish ironclad
_Numancia_.
When the _Miantonomoh_ crossed the Atlantic in 1866, _The Times_ kindly
remarked that the existing British Navy was henceforth useless, and
that most of its vessels "were only fit to be laid up and 'painted that
dirty yellow which is universally adopted to mark treachery, failure,
and crime.'"
The British and American admirals consulted together as to the
advisability of preventing the bombardment. The prospect of a fight
cheered us all; and we entered into elaborate calculations of the
relative strength of the Spanish fleet and the British-American force.
As a matter of fact, they were about equal. The Spanish admiral,
Nunez, who {67} had succeeded Pareja, visited the _Sutlej_ and
conversed with Admiral Denman. It was reported by the midshipman who
was A.D.C. to the admiral that, upon his departure, the Spaniard had
said: "Very well, Admiral Denman, you know your duty and I know mine."
The information raised our hopes; but at the critical moment a telegram
forbidding the British admiral to take action was received from the
British Minister at Santiago.
So the British and American fleets steamed out to sea while the
Spaniards fired upon Valparaiso from eight in the morning until four in
the afternoon, setting the place on fire, and then retired to their
anchorage outside. The British and American fleets then returned to
the Bay, and I accompanied a landing-party to help to extinguish the
conflagration.
Five of us were standing on the top of the high wall of a building
whose roof had fallen in, so that the whole interior was a mass of
burning wreckage, upon which we were directing the hose, when the men
below shouted that the wall was falling. We slid down the ladder, and
no sooner had we touched the ground than the whole wall tottered and
fell inwards.
We put the fires out, but the inhabitants were so angry with us because
we had not prevented the bombardment, that they requested that the
landing-party should be sent back to their ships. Then the flames
broke out afresh. For years the resentment of the Valparaisians
remained so hot that it was inadvisable to land in the town men from
British ships.
The meeting of the British and American seamen gave rise to much
discussion concerning the respective merits of the British and American
theories of gunnery. The Americans advocated the use of round shot to
deliver a "racking blow"; the British preferred firing a pointed
projectile which would penetrate the target instead of merely striking
it. When an American bluejacket asked his British friend to explain
the new English system of {68} shell-fire, the British bluejacket said:
"We casts our shot for the new gun so many fathoms long, and then, d'ye
see, we cuts off a length at a time, regulatin' the length required
according to the ship we uses it against. For your ship, I reckon we
should cut off about three and a half inches."
The Spanish fleet was afflicted with scurvy; and we used to pull over
to the Spanish ships in the evenings, bringing the officers presents of
chicken, fresh meat and fruit.
Having done with Valparaiso, the Spaniards went to Callao; but there
they had a more difficult job; for Callao was fortified, and the
Spaniards were considerably damaged by the gun-fire from the forts.
During the progress of hostilities between the Chilians and the
Spaniards, the Chilians constructed one of the first submarines. It
was an American invention worked by hand and ballasted with water. The
Chilians intended, or hoped, to sink the Spanish fleet with it. The
submarine started from the beach on this enterprise; but it was never
seen again. It simply plunged into the sea, and in the sea it remains
to this day.
We left Valparaiso about the middle of April, 1866, and proceeded to
Vancouver. On the way, the _Sutlej_ ran into a French barque, taking
her foremast and bowsprit out of her. Captain Coode stood by the rail,
his arms crossed, his hands folded in his sleeves, looking down upon
the wreck with a sardonic grin, while the French captain, gesticulating
below, shouted, "O you goddam Englishman for you it is all-a-right, but
for it it is not so nice!"
But we repaired all damages so that at the latter end he was better off
than when he started.
We arrived at Vancouver early in June, and left a few days later, to
encounter a terrific hurricane. It blew from the 18th June to the 22nd
June; and the track of the ship on the chart during those four days
looks like a diagram of cat's-cradle. The ship was much battered, and
her boats were lost. On this occasion, I heard the pipe go "Save ship"
for the second time in my life.
{69}
We put into San Francisco to refit. Here many of our men deserted. In
those days, it was impossible to prevent desertions on these coasts,
although the sentries on board had their rifles loaded with ball
cartridge. Once the men had landed we could not touch them. I used to
meet the deserters on shore, and they used to chaff me. As we had lost
our boats, the American dockyard supplied us with some. One day the
officer of the watch noticed fourteen men getting into the cutter,
which was lying at the boom. He hailed them from the deck. The men,
returning no answer, promptly pushed off for the shore. The officer of
the watch instantly called away the whaler, the only other boat
available, intending to send a party in pursuit. But the deserters had
foreseen that contingency, and had cut the falls just inside the
lowering cleat, so that the whaler could not be lowered.
While I was at San Francisco, I had my first experience of the American
practical view of a situation. Bound upon a shooting excursion, I had
taken the train to Benicia, and alighted with a small bag, gun and
cartridges. I asked a railway man to carry my bag for me to a hack
(cab). He looked at me, and said,
"Say, is it heavy?"
"No," I said, "it is quite light."
"Waal then," said he, "I guess you can carry it yourself." I had to,
so I did.
Benicia is celebrated as the birthplace of John Heenan, the "Benicia
Boy," the famous American boxer. The great fight between Heenan and
Tom Sayers was fought at Farnborough on the 17th April, 1860. Heenan
was a huge man, six feet and an inch in height; Sayers, Champion of
England, five feet eight inches. The fight was interrupted. Both men
received a silver belt. I remember well the event of the fight, though
I was not present at it. More than three years afterwards, in
December, 1863, Tom King beat Heenan.
From San Francisco we proceeded to Cape Horn, {70} homeward bound. On
these long sailing passages we used to amuse ourselves by spearing
fish. Sitting on the dolphin-striker (the spar below the bowsprit) we
harpooned albacore and bonito and dolphin, which is not the dolphin
proper but the coryphee.
We rounded the Horn, buffeted by the huge seas of that tempestuous
promontory. On that occasion, I actually saw the Horn, which is an
inconspicuous island beaten upon by the great waves, standing amid a
colony of little black islands. And off Buenos Aires we were caught in
a pampero, the hurricane of South American waters. It blew from the
land; and although we were three or four hundred miles out at sea, the
master smelt it coming. Indeed, the whole air was odorous with the
fragrance of new-mown hay; and then, down came the wind.
We were bound for Portsmouth. And when we rounded the Isle of Wight,
and came into view of Spithead, lo! the anchorage was filled with great
ships all stationed in review order. They were assembled for a review
to be held for the Sultan of Turkey.
We took in the signal containing our instructions, and fired a salute;
and then, standing in under all plain sail and starboard studdingsails,
we sailed right through the Fleet, and all the men of the Fleet crowded
rails and yards to look at us, and cheered us down the lines. For the
days of sails were passing even then; we had come home from the ends of
the world; and the splendid apparition of a full-rigged man-of-war
standing into the anchorage moved every sailor's heart; so that many
officers and men have since told me that the _Sutlej_ sailing into
Spithead through the lines of the Fleet was the finest sight it was
ever their fortune to behold.
In the _Tribune_ and in the _Sutlej_ it was my luck to serve under two
of the strictest and best captains in the Service, Captain Lord
Gillford and Captain Trevenen P. Coode. I may be forgiven for
recalling that both these officers added a special commendation to my
certificates; an exceedingly {71} rare action on their part, and in the
case of Captain Coode, I think the first instance on record.
Part of the test for passing for sub-lieutenant was bends and hitches.
Captain Lord Gillford was highly pleased with a white line which I had
spliced an eye in and grafted myself. Knowing that I was a good
sailmaker, he once made me fetch palm and canvas and sew an exhibition
seam in public.
From the _Sutlej_ I passed into the H.M.S. _Excellent_, in order to
prepare for the examinations in gunnery. In those days, the
_Excellent_ was a gunnery school ship of 2311 tons, moored in the upper
part of Portsmouth Harbour. The _Excellent_ gunnery school is now
Whale Island.
While in the _Excellent_ I had the misfortune, in dismounting a gun, to
break a bone in my foot; and although the injury seemed to heal very
quickly under the application of arnica, I have felt its effects ever
since.
In 1867 I was appointed to the _Research_, which was stationed at
Holyhead, and in which I served for a few months. There was a good
deal of alarm felt with regard to the Fenians, who were active at the
time, and the _Research_ was ordered to look out for them. With my
messmates, Cæsar Hawkins, Lascelles, and Forbes, I hunted a good deal
from Holyhead with Mr. Panton's hounds. I also hunted with the Ward
Union in Ireland. I used to cross from Holyhead at night, hunt during
the day, and return that night.
Among other memories of those old days, I remember that my brother and
myself, being delayed at Limerick Junction, occupied the time in
performing a work of charity upon the porter, whose hair was of an
immoderate luxuriance. He was--so far as we could discover--neither
poet nor musician, and was therefore without excuse. Nevertheless, he
refused the proffered kindness. Perceiving that he was thus blinded to
his own interest, we gently bound him hand and foot and lashed him to a
railway truck. I possessed a knife, but we found it an unsuitable
weapon: my brother searched the station and found a pair of snuffers,
used for trimming the station lamps. With this rude but practicable
{72} instrument we shore the locks of the porter, and his hair blew all
about the empty station like the wool of a sheep at shearing-time.
When it was done we made him suitable compensation.
"Sure," said the porter, "I'll grow my hair again as quick as I can the
way you'll be giving me another tip."
We had an old Irish keeper at home, whose rule in life was to agree
with everything that was said to him. Upon a day when it was blowing a
full gale of wind, I said to myself that I would get to windward of him
to-day anyhow.
"Well, Harney," said I. "It is a fine calm day to-day."
"You may say that, Lord Char-less, but what little wind there is, is
terrible strong," says Harney.
A lady once said to him, "How old are you, Harney?"
"Och, shure, it's very ould and jaded I am, it's not long I'll be for
this worrld," said he.
"Oh," said she, "but I'm old, too. How old do you think I am?"
"Sure, how would I know that? But whatever age ye are, ye don't look
it, Milady."
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