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Title: The Shellback's Progress

Author: Baron Walter Runciman Runciman

Release date: September 28, 2007 [eBook #22794]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
SHELLBACK'S PROGRESS ***

FLOUNDERING OF THE "SILVERSPRAY."

The Shellback's Progress

IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

By

WALTER RUNCIMAN, Sen.

LONDON AND NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE:
THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD.
NEW YORK: 3 EAST 14th STREET.
1904.

DEDICATION
TO WALTER TOWNEND, ESQ.

"My dear Townend,—Perhaps no two men have ever been bound together
with ties of closer or more loyal friendship than you and myself. Many
years have elapsed since our unbroken comradeship was formed in the old
historic building in Cornhill. You have many claims to friendship and to
confidence, and perhaps you can hardly realize what pleasure it gives me to
remember that during our intercourse of so many years, your sincerity,
directness and single-mindedness could always be depended upon. Your

joyful relish of a tale of human interest, whether as a listener or a narrator,
is always contagious. Your indignation and scorn for unmanly and
dishonourable conduct, and your quick appreciation of whatever is
generous and true; this, and my high regard for your own personal worth,
have given me the wish to inscribe this volume of sea stories to you.

"Ever yours sincerely,

"Walter Runciman."

August, 1904

PREFACE

These stories are drawn from the reality of things, and perhaps I may as
well say that they have been written during short intervals snatched from a
busy and absorbing commercial life. I have tried to portray the men as they
were—brave, dauntless, rugged, uncouth, illiterate, simple-minded, kind-
hearted, and, at times, unmercifully savage. And yet there shone through all
these conflictingly peculiar eccentricities a humorous kind of religion which
belonged exclusively to themselves, but which gave their characteristics a
touch of sublimity. We have travelled far since those days of aboriginal
stupidity and sordid blood-sucking. The contrast between the comforts and
conditions of life at sea then and now cannot be imagined. We may only
talk of it; we can never truly estimate the change. I do not draw attention to
the comparison because I think the sailor has got any more than he is
entitled to. I refer to it in order that he may recognize a desire on the part of
modern shipowners and the Legislature to give him every possible
advantage consistent with the peculiarities of the trade in which he is
engaged. One of the most recent advantages suggested in their report by the
Mercantile Committee, who sat for, I think, about twelve months taking
evidence from shipowners, shipmasters, sailors, and others, is that an
amended food scale should be adopted, and that the seaman should have the

right of appeal against a bad "discharge" that may be given him. In my
opinion the great body of shipowners will endorse that portion of their
recommendations. It is to be desired that the seamen will recognize in this a
willingness on the part of their employers to deal justly with them, for
undoubtedly it was the evidence given by shipowners that influenced the
Committee.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. THE WILD NORTH SEA1
II. CAPTAIN PLUNKER30
III. CAPTAIN MACGREGOR67
IV. PIRACY IN THE ARCHIPELAGO97
V. SAILORS' OPINIONS OF NOTABLE PUBLIC
MEN148
VI. MARY ROUTLEDGE181
VII. FORECASTLE LIFE206
VIII. GRUB253
IX. MISCELLANEOUS283

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

By THOMAS RUNCIMAN.

FOUNDERING OF THE
"SILVERSPRAY"Frontispiece
FINDING THE LEAK40
CAPTAIN PLUNKER ASTONISHED90
"THERE WERE MANY CALLERS"140
HAVING A NIP186
"NOW, BOYS, POUR IT ON THEM
SMARTLY!"236
A NORTHUMBERLAND HARBOUR288

I

THE WILD NORTH SEA

There was a large fleet of sailing brigs, barques and schooners waiting for a
favourable wind and spring tides, so that they might be put to sea without
running the risk of thumping their keels off on the Bar. The vessels had
been loaded for several weeks. Many of them were bound to the Baltic.
These were spoken of as the "Spring Fleet." The older and smaller craft
were engaged in the coasting trade, and the larger were bound to ports in
the southern hemisphere. Each of them carried three or four apprentices; but
the southern-going portion did not deem the collier lads "classy" enough to
permit of them forming close comradeship. A condescending speaking-
acquaintance was the limit of their connection. There was nothing to justify
this snobbery, for in point of comparison the average collier lad in
seamanship and physical capacity was the equal, and in intelligence by no
means inferior to the young gentlemen who regarded the class of vessel
they served aboard of as a stamp of their own superiority. They were indeed
a species of that terrible creature who apes nobility because he lives in a
mansion. Occasionally the collier lads resented the lofty airs of the
southern-going gentry, until open hostility ensued and much blood was
spilt. But pugilistic encounters were conducted on strictly professional
lines, and no ill-will was supposed to exist on the part of the combatants
after they were over. That was the rule laid down, and a breach of it brought
disgrace on the violator and his coadjutors, who were thereupon ostracised
from the party to which they belonged. The necessity for enforcing the
penalty rarely occurred, not only because of its severity, but because it
involved loss of honour.

A disagreement as to valour and prowess and seamanship had arisen
between some sailor lads who belonged to the two different sections. They
decided that their differences could only be settled by being fought out on
neutral ground. This was solemnly chosen, a ring formed, seconds
appointed, and the contest began. In half-an-hour victory was decided in
favour of the collier boy, though with all the fulness of sailor generosity his
opponent received an ungrudging share of the ovation that was given to the
champion. Both, however, showed evidences of rough usage: the only
visible difference being that one had two eyes badly damaged while the
victor had but one. After it was over they shook hands, swore allegiance to
each other, walked back to their respective vessels, had raw beef applied to
the eyes that were discoloured, tumbled into their hammocks and fell fast
asleep. Meanwhile a general meeting of apprentice lads from all the vessels
in port was mustered, so that the result of the dispute should be publicly
proclaimed; and in order that the occasion should be suitably celebrated, it
was suggested and approved by loud acclamation that whereas there was
every chance of the morrow being a sailing day, when the little port would
be emptied of all its shipping, it might be that the parting would represent
years, and perchance many of them would never meet on earth again. The
latter clause was announced with marked solemnity. The orator proceeded
to state that there had been enmities, jealousies, perhaps unworthy
statements made about the inferiority of the collier boy, but the question had
been settled by a brilliant exhibition of physical science; both sides were
well represented, and both had shown that they were worthy champions of
the noble art.

"Let me ask you then to call upon them both to join with us in becoming
friends, and in having on the last night in port a ripping jollification. I
propose," said the peacemaker, "that we have some chanties, and that we
start these aboard the vessel I belong to by hoisting the topsail yards up."

The two heroes were roused, and cheerfully joined in what resolved itself
into a carnival of reckless mischief. The brains of the whole company were
excited, and they revelled in every form of scampishness. The leaders gave
orders as to the vessels that were to be visited and have their yards crossed
and their rig in other ways disfigured. This being done, the spokesman

informed them that they had spent a very jolly night, and after hoisting the
Silverspray's topsails to the mast head and furling the sails again, they were
to disperse quietly and go each to his own ship. The sails were loosened, a
chanty man was selected from among the southern-going seamen, and amid
a chorus of sweet song the yards were leisurely mast-headed. The music of
many voices had attracted a few people to the quay. A shout was raised that
the captain of the vessel was coming. The halyards dropped from each one's
hand, and a general scramble resembling a panic ensued. Down came the
main topsail yard with a run, and broke in halves as soon as the sudden jerk
came on the lifts. In almost as little time as it takes to write it, there was
none of the revellers to be seen.

After the novelty has worn off, there is never any particular desire to put to
sea on the part of youngsters; but on this occasion the anxiety to get out of
the harbour was very marked. Many of the vessels got away before the
damage done to the Silverspray's yard and sail became generally known.
The captain did not know that anything of the sort had happened until he
came down to take the vessel to sea, and being a commonsense sort of man,
instead of joining in the chorus of screaming, as his owner was doing, he
adjured him to cease wasting time in declaiming against those who had
done the mischief.

"We must set to work," said he, "and have the damage repaired; that is more
important than theorising as to who did it."

By the time the repairs were set in full swing, nearly the whole of the
culprits had passed over the bar aboard their respective ships into the
booming waves of the German Ocean. Many of them were destined never
to reach their destination, and many never more to see the paradise that had
given them so many ineffable days and nights. Sad hearts were grieving
over the sudden parting from those who were loved because they were
lovable. They seemed to be musing thoughts of poetry.

The Silverspray's repairs were completed in two days, and she and another
vessel, that had been detained owing to her pump gear not being ready,
were towed out of the harbour in the face of a strong easterly wind and a

lowering glass. The portly, ruddy appearance and pronounced lurch or roll
of Captain Thomas Arlington left no doubt as to his calling. He spoke with
an assumed accent which resembled the amalgamation of several dialects.
He was usually called Tom by his intimate friends, but mere acquaintances
were not permitted to address him in any such familiar fashion. In his
younger days he gained notoriety for having made several voyages to the
West Indies, the Brazils and Constantinople, and he was therefore looked
upon as a far-sailed and much-learned person. Owners vied with each other
in sounding his praises and competing for his services. They looked upon
him as a captain of the first rank, both in seamanship and education. There
was no question about the former: the latter consisted in his being able to
read and write a legible hand, which was a rare accomplishment in those
days. He had saved a little money, and was allowed as a special favour to
invest to the extent of eight sixty-fourth shares in the vessel he commanded.
He never lost an opportunity of making his less fortunate compatriots feel
that he was immeasurably their superior. Many of them who commanded
the same class of vessel were so impressed with his influence over the
owners that they looked upon his friendship as being of some value. Being
part owner, his privileges were wide; in fact he was admitted within the
owner circle, and contributed to the wisdom thereof in many eccentric
ways.

The two little brigs were bound to the Baltic, and the first day out a heavy
press of canvas was carried in order to get a good offing, lest the wind and
sea should make and catch them tight on a lee shore. After they had been
out twenty-four hours they both tacked off Flamborough Head, bearing
west twenty miles, and stood to the N.E. The Silverspray passed close under
the stern of the Francis Blake. The captains saluted each other as was the
custom. The Blake's captain shouted that his vessel was making a lot of
water. The other responded: "We are making some too, and we shall have
more wind and sea before there is less." This was about ten on a February
morning. Their sailing qualities were pretty much on a par, so that they
were kept in company all through the day. The wind had shifted from E.S.E.
to S.E., and they headed E.N.E. with about two and a half points leeway,
making the true course, after the toss of the sea had been allowed, about
N.E. So long as daylight remained no canvas was taken in, though both of

them were sometimes plunging their jibbooms under, and their bows almost
level with the foremast. Every bit of rigging and running gear was strained
to its maximum limit. There was no question of racing or foolhardiness, but
a pressing necessity to flog them off a lee shore.

And this reminds me that only six years before, I innocently committed a
serious breach of nautical faith for which I was roundly reprimanded by a
kindly sailor. It was my first voyage at sea. I had not seen thirteen summers
by many months. I heard two sailors who were standing by the lee side of
the windlass end conversing about the seriousness of the vessel's position.
One said to the other that if the wind did not norther a little more she would
be ashore in Filey Bay before four o'clock in the morning. My views on
seafaring had undergone a change. I was overcome with delight, and,
forgetting the lesson many times given me never to speak until I was
spoken to, with unrestrained impetuosity I interjected that I hoped she
would be ashore before four o'clock, so that I might get back to my home
again. I can never forget the indignation of the two men. They frowned
contemptuously on me, called me names that I had never heard before, and
swore with a refinement that impressed me with the suspicion that I had
said something that was not to be readily forgiven. With childlike simplicity
I asked if it was wrong to wish that the vessel should go ashore.

"Wrong? you young devil!" said they. "Would you have us all drowned?"

Needless to say, my desire happily did not come to pass, and I became the
object for many a long day of good-humoured chaff which I would have
done anything to obviate. The sailors did not seem to recognize any
humorous side to their own part in it, and yet they used to roar with laughter
at my amazing conclusions, and as my anger increased so did their
amusement. A lee shore is always dreaded by seamen, and many a sound
ship has been made leaky, and many a spar and sail has been carried away
in the effort to keep off. It was precisely this fear that possessed the two
captains in question and caused them almost to bury their ships in order to
get well out to sea in case the wind should back into the east again.

When darkness came on they lost sight of each other. All night long the
Blake was plunged into a tremendous sea. The crew were nearly worn out
with incessant pumping, and when the dawn whirled into the sky nothing
could be seen of her companion. It was thought she must have shortened
sail and fallen astern. The hoarse moaning of the wind, and the waves
running like conical hillocks, were a sure indication that there was greater
turmoil behind them. The square foresail had been hauled up, and the crew
were in the act of stowing it when the hurricane burst upon her, and she was
held in the grasp of the wind. The sea was flattened, and the wild drift flew
before the screaming tempest. The captain called out to the men on the
foreyard to "hold on for God's sake," as the vessel lurched over so far that
the man on the lee yardarm said that he felt his foot touch the water. With
almost superhuman effort the seamen, already worn out with pumping and
with lacerated limbs, managed to secure the sail and make their way on
deck to renew the fight to keep the vessel afloat. I do not believe the owner
belonged to the scoundrel class who sent their ships away with the hope that
no more would be heard of them, but I cannot help thinking that he had
close affinity to that no less terrible though pious section who wearied
heaven with prayer for the safe-keeping of their ships and crews, while they
themselves neglected fundamental precautions for their safety. It was the
fashion to look upon drowning not only as an incident of the profession, but
a natural finish to a sailor's career; and it is no exaggeration to say that
many people thought the poor fellow preferred this form of extinction to
any other. The owner who squared his conscience by throwing the
responsibility of the seaman's safety on to Almighty God did not unduly
concern himself as to efficiency or seaworthiness; nor did he assume deep
mourning if calamity came in consequence thereof. A few appropriate
words of compliment addressed mainly to himself for his care in having the
ship, when she sailed, in a state of unimpeachable order, and his constant
intercession for divine protection were quite sufficient to exonerate him
from in any way contributing either to loss of life or to loss of property.
What cant, what insufferable hypocrisy! What hideous slaughter was
committed in those good old times in God's name and in the name of British
humanity! The late Dr Parker, preaching in the City Temple some time ago
on the Armenian atrocities, exclaimed amid uproarious applause at the end
of a fine peroration, "God damn the Sultan!" And William Watson wrote a

fine poem in which he charged England with indifference and spoke of the
Sultan as "Abdul the damned." It is considered the prerogative of
Englishmen to say strong things about the heads of other Governments if
their subject races are, in their opinion, treated cruelly; but we are death on
anyone who would interfere or accuse us of injustice or inhumanity. The
only difference between the Government of Turkey and the Government of
Great Britain was that the one massacres by cutting throats, and the other
used to massacre by allowing rotten, ill-equipped, ill-designed vessels to
sail under the spotless flag of England and carry to their doom shiploads of
the finest seamen in the world. We "God damn the Sultan"; yes; but I have
known the time when poor sailors might with equal justice have "God
damned" the Government of St Stephen's who would not listen to their
woes. Poor fellows! Had Dr Parker and other public men dared to "God
damn" their own countrymen for carrying on a system of trading with
veritable coffins, the reform which has made our mercantile marine the
finest in the world would not have been so long delayed.

The little vessel of which I am writing hadn't a rope (as the sailors said)
strong enough to hang a cat with, and it was in consequence of this most
culpable neglect that the throat halyards of the fore trysail gaff broke soon
after sailing. The gaff came down with a run, and it, together with the sail,
was put into a long boat which stood on the chocks over the main hatches.
Paradoxical as it may appear, this accident caused by rotten running gear
was the means of saving the ship and all her crew. This was only a minor
mishap compared with the breaking of one of the legs of the pump brake
stand, which occurred just at the time both pumps were required to keep
down the increasing flow of water. The storm continued to rage with
unabated fury. No sky could be seen for the flying sleet, and the sea was
torn and tossed into a wilderness of broken water. The only canvas set was
the close-reefed main topsail. Both pumps had been going for several hours,
and at one o'clock on the morning of February 12, the well was pumped dry
and the mate's watch ordered below to get a nap until four. They took their
drenched clothing off, wrung the water out, hung it on a line round the
bogey fire to dry, and turned into their hammocks as naked as they were
born. At three the hand-spike knocked heavily on the deck and a loud voice

called down the scuttle hatch, "Larboard watch, ahoy! All hands to the
pumps, the ship is sinking!"

Every man in a couple of minutes had put his steaming clothes on and set to
work; and the fight with death went on until noon, when it was found that
the water was gaining. The men despaired of keeping her afloat over night,
and as there came in sight several vessels, it was decided to put the Ensign
Union down in the main rigging. The captain ordered a young hand to clear
away the long boat and make her ready for launching out by the lee
gangway. This necessitated the foretrysail and all its gear being thrown on
to the weather side of the deck. As soon as everything was ready the young
seaman went to the pumps again. He had not been long there before he
observed that some of the ropes that had been thrown on the deck did not
wash from side to side as the others did. His gaze became transfixed until it
excited the anger of the mate who asked what he was gaping at. This
aroused him from a kind of stupor, and without saying a word to the officer,
he let go the bellrope and went to the object which attracted him. He took
hold of a rope and found it would not yield. He then felt the deck with his
bare feet and found it was holed, but in order to ascertain the extent of the
hole, he determined to feel with his hands, and as the water was
continuously lashing over him on that part of the deck it was no easy task to
accomplish this. In a few minutes he had ascertained that about two feet of
deck, the shape of a wedge, had been staved close to the hatch combings; in
fact it had never been fastened with nail or bolt. He shouted at the top of his
voice, "I have found the leak!"

FINDING THE LEAK

And the little band of men re-echoed with wild delight: "The big leak is
found, hurrah! Down with the ensign." And the young seaman, who by
accident had discovered this wicked piece of workmanship, became the
object of many flattering compliments. Up to that time there had been
observed a solemn, dogged, defiant struggle to defeat death who gazed into
their eyes. An occasional unfriendly wish uttered by one or other of the
sailors as to the punishment the owner should have was received with
applause from all except the captain and mate. These little outbursts of
vengeance were a sort of tonic to their depressed spirits. A fervent "thank
God" came from each man's lips as soon as the leak of the deck was
stopped, the captain adding a supplementary remark that "God was good
even to wicked sinners."

"In an hour from now," said he, "we might have been swallowed up in the
waves. It was almost impossible that our boat could have lived until we got

under the lee of the schooner" (which had been sighted and which hove to
with the object of effecting a rescue). "Ah," said this penitent old man, "it is
good to live as we would wish to die. God knows those who believe and
trust in Him, and so He has saved us from a watery grave."

"Then keep off the whiskey and stick on deck," said one of the boldest of
the crew, who was a naturalized Englishman. This remark brought the
captain very near to backsliding. Fire was seen in his eyes, and he retorted
with warmth: "If it wasn't the fear of God in my heart, you darned neck end,
I would kick you. But," added he, "I will not be provoked into committing
what may be considered a sin. We have much work to do before this
passage comes to an end, if ever it does."

"Then do your part," said Jack, "and take no more drink."

Here was sound advice, and it was rigidly adhered to, for the temptation
was removed by the cook slipping the remainder of the whiskey over the
side. Up to that time the men had much to complain of, as their master had
been very little on deck until he was made to realize that his ship was in
imminent peril. They knew pretty well what he was after, and were glad of
the opportunity of making him see that his well-known skill was required
on the quarterdeck. Kept from the drink he was one of the smartest men that
ever took charge of a vessel. He had been at the helm for nine hours before
the leak was found, and as there was six feet of water in the hold, and a
"private leak" which kept one pump going every hour, he stuck to it for
another seven hours, when the crew called out "she sucks!" i.e., the well is
dry. This was gladsome news. It is gladsome even under favourable
circumstances, but here were men who had stood almost continuously up to
the waist in water; and sometimes a knot of a sea would smash right over
them. Their sleeves were doubled up and they had neither boots nor
stockings on. Their hands were cut and their arms and legs were red raw
with friction and salt water boils. Let him who may estimate the sufferings
of these poor creatures. I cannot, for my vocabulary fails me. Torture does
not describe it; nor yet the sweat of anguish. It was very shocking, and were
it not that I fear to offend the susceptibilities of some folk I would use a
term that might come very near to describing its awful character. Those who

are inclined to think the picture exaggerated know little of what went on in
the much applauded "good old times."

It had been dark for four hours. The clatter of the pumps could only faintly
be heard for the alternate whistling and roaring of the storm. The combined
music had a weird, saddening effect, as if doom were approaching. A wild
and leprous moon sometimes shone through the troubled clouds of scudding
sleet. The sea was white with angry commotion, and there were no
evidences of the turmoil abating. Immediately the pumps sucked the captain
ordered his men to go below and get something to eat; meanwhile he would
remain at the helm and keep a look out. In half an hour they were at the
pumps again. It took a good while to get all the water out of her, as she was
continuously making a good deal, and that which had gone through the
staved deck had not quite drained through into the well. However, they felt
that they had got the upper hand, and would keep it, provided none of the
croppers levelled in upon her and smashed either the decks or the hatches
in.

As soon as the captain went below, and it was thought he was asleep, the
mate, who was a phlegmatic sort of person, went below also, and left a man
and a boy to do the pumping. At first they thought he had gone to light his
pipe, but as he was so long in making his appearance again, one of them
went into the cabin and found him in his berth fast asleep. He was shaken
for a long time before he showed signs of life, and at last grunted out:

"All right. Don't worry. I'll be up directly."

He was reminded that he ought never to have been down, and that it was no
place for the mate of a leaky, or any other ship for that matter, on such a
night. The sailor then left him, and allowed an interval of half an hour to
pass, and as the worthy officer did not make his appearance, he went below
again, and found him slumbering as peacefully as before. He threatened to
do no more pumping if the mate did not get up and lend a hand at once.
Moreover, it was intimated to him that the skipper would have to be called
if he lay there skulking while other people were being worked to death. This
brought the mate out of his berth, but he got no further than the after-

lockers, where he sat down with the object of lighting his pipe. Being
comfortably seated, his head gradually sank on to the table, and, with the
pipe in one hand and the matches in the other, he again became oblivious to
the savage tumult that raged above him. Again the sailor went to see why he
did not come up, and found him in the aforesaid position. This time he was
not roused; a plot had been arranged, and forthwith a large bucket of water
was taken below and thrown at him. He only shook himself, and murmured:

"She's the dirtiest beast that ever I was aboard of."

The second douse was flung quickly; he became confused, rushed into the
captain's berth, believing he was making his way on deck. He was asked
what was the matter, and replied excitedly:

"The skylight's stove in."

"Get it covered over," said the somnolent commander, "and let me know
what the weather's like at daylight."

The chief officer made his way to the man at the helm, and remarked:

"That was a nasty sea that stove the skylight in, Jacob."

"There's been no nasty seas over here," said Jacob; "why, you must have
been asleep."

"I tell you the cabin's flooded," said the mate.

"Very well," said the other, "if you disbelieve me, look for yourself. As to
sleeping, my God, don't you talk, for you're hardly awake yet."

The mate made a survey, found no damage, and remarked in soliloquy:

"That's funny. Where can the water have come from?"

"Not funny at all," said Jacob, with some irritation; "get away and lend
them poor lads a hand. She might have foundered for all you cared."

This was grave language to use to a superior officer, but the justice of it was
evidenced by the submissive composure in which it was received. It was
evidently soaking into the mate's thick skull that the water had not come
from the skylight, and this idea was borne out by his not mentioning the
matter to the lads when he went to their assistance. In spite of their weary
and almost exhausted condition, they had to have their joke, so said to the
officer:

"You're very wet, Tom; where have you been?"

"Been be darned!" said Thomas; "I've been nowhere. You shut up and
attend to your work."

"That's all very fine, but 'nowhere' was what the monkey said when he was
accused of stealing nuts," retorted the humourist.

The dialogue was cut short by the helmsman shouting out: "Two lights on
the port bow."

One turned out to be a distress signal, and the other a red light. The dawn
was breaking into the sky, and in less than half an hour daylight had forced
its way through the dull grey mist, and brought the vessels in sight of each
other. They were close to: one was a fishing smack, and the other a brig,
labouring heavily in the trough of the sea, and flying a flag on the main
rigging, just as the Blake had been doing the previous day. All hands were
on deck, including the captain, and every eye was fixed on the sinking
vessel. One of the sailors went on to the foreyard to ascertain more
distinctly what was going on. As soon as he got aloft he bellowed
something which could not be made out owing to the uproar, and finding
that he could not make his voice heard, he made his way to the deck, and
amid much excitement conveyed the belief that the brig was the
Silverspray.

Sailors of that time were very quick and accurate in discerning the identity
of a vessel by the cut of her sails, the length of her masts and yards, and the
way they were stayed; even if she were hull down they could tell by this
alone. Several of the disabled vessel's sails were in ribbons. They had

evidently been blown out of the gaskets. She was drifting under the close-
reefed main topsail, and the fore one was in shreds. The fore and main
topgallant braces were broken, and the yards were swinging about to the
toss of the ship. The remains of a boat hung to the stern davits. The long
boat was flattened on the hatches, and the crew hustled together on the
quarterdeck gesticulating to the other vessel (a smack) to make haste. At
last all seemed to be ready, and the smack was headed before the maddened
seas, and flew on the crest of a wave, which seemed to carry her on to
destruction. Now she was almost lost sight of in the trough, then she was
seen to dance on the summit of a roller, until the supreme moment came to
bring her under the lee of the ill-fated brig. There was then witnessed a
most sensational piece of bravery and superb seamanship. She was rounded
to with the fore staysail sheet to windward; the small boat was launched out
of the lee gangway; lines with life-buoys attached were drifted towards the
boat, and in less than half an hour the crew was taken off and put aboard the
Yarmouth fisherman. Succour came none too soon, as in less than an hour
the brig's mainmast went by the board. She cocked her stern up and went
down head first. The smack reached close across the stern of the Blake, and
the shipwrecked crew exchanged salutes with her. Her speaking-trumpet
was used in trying to communicate that she was making a lot of water and
to report having spoken her. This was also signalled by the commercial
code in case they should not have heard. Good-bye was said by dipping the
ensign, and as the rescuer vanished into the dark, an unspeakable sadness
crept over the Blake's crew.

They knew their peril was great, and the physical agony they were suffering
was well-nigh unbearable. They predicted that neither would diminish. But
for the inherent manliness and heroism that have always been a striking
characteristic of the British sailor, these men would have been quite
justified in asking the skipper of the smack to take them aboard. They were
worn out with incessant labour, and the dividing line between sinking and
being kept afloat was very narrow. A little more straining, or an ugly sea
breaking on to a weak spot would quickly seal their fate. They knew all this,
but scorned the thought of bringing on themselves the charge of cowardice.
It soon became apparent that the little craft of only 280 tons dead-weight
would have to be put before the wind if she was to be saved. The crew had

to stand up in water to their waists nearly all the time they were pumping,
and sometimes they were knocked down by the seas that came aboard. They
could stand it no longer, so a conference was held. The captain said: "Well,
my lads, there are two courses open to us: sink or run for it. She has two
bold ends and will scud for ever. The only thing is we will be running out of
the track of ships into the northern regions where the cold will be intense,
and there will be but little daylight. Besides, our provisions may run short.
Now I have put the position to you both ways: I am willing to do what you
decide."

"Then we decide to run," said the men, "and trust to Providence for the
rest."

The helm was put hard up, the main and foreyards laid square, and she
commenced to scud dead before the wind towards the mystery of the north.
For the first four hours it was doubtful whether the jolly boat, which was in
davits across the stern, would last long. Each diabolic lump of water that
came galloping along threatened not only the boat but the vessel with
sudden destruction. It was very thrilling to witness the tiny brig flying
before the ecstasy of the hurricane and fluttering away like a seabird from
the mountains that towered far above and were only permitted to kiss her
stern with their spray. The crew were forbidden to look behind while at the
helm lest their nerves should be affected and cause erratic steering. There
was really more danger in this than in any lack of seakindliness on the part
of the vessel. Each time she ran away from a treacherous-looking breaker,
the captain would pat the topgallant bulwarks and speak words of touching
tenderness as though he was communing with a little child. The further they
ran north, the bigger the seas became. One of them came prancing along,
tossed up the stern so that part of the jibboom was put under and her
attitude became uncommonly like running head first under the sea. Another
quickly followed, and the poor captain's faith was momentarily shaken. He
called out "My God, this is awful!" and certainly this was the only phrase
that could describe the horror of the situation. But there was nothing for it
but to keep scudding. Had any attempt been made to heave to, she would
have been smashed to atoms and no more would have been heard of her. It
was only by great care in steering and having the proper amount of sail set

that she was kept above water. An error in judgement or the neglect of a
single point in the handling would have sealed her fate. By the 20th of the
month she had got so far north there was little or no daylight; the biting cold
was frightful, and there was no prospect of betterness. The long winter
nights were spent in pumping, steering and keeping a look out (though it
was assumed she was long since out of the track of vessels and no land was
near), and the only lights to be seen were the flash of the curling spray
dancing on the top of tempestuous billows.

It was during the forenoon of February 21, just after a snow cloud had
rushed past, the crew were both surprised and cheered to observe a barque a
little on the starboard bow, heading north under two close-reefed topsails.
She was low in the water, and making heavy weather of it. The crew were
seen in the mizen rigging, frantically waving. A tattered flag was flying
beside them, but its nationality could not be discerned. It was impossible to
render the assistance that was so eagerly sought for, but even if it had been
possible it was too late, for a sea was seen to break right over her stern, and
in a few minutes there was another added to the long list of North Atlantic
tragedies. Amongst the wreckage passed was a boat full of water, and oars
floating on each side of her. Whether this belonged to the latest victim of
the remorseless waves or not, no one could tell, though some of the crew
thought it might. This melancholy incident was not likely to improve the
spirits of the little band of indomitable workers, but they knew if they had
to be saved from the same fate they must not give way to sentimental
weakness.

The following day the force of the hurricane broke, and on the 24th she had
reached 65 degrees north. There were indications of a change of wind. The
sky had cleared so that the stars could be seen, and there was a brightness in
the N.N.W. that omened the wind coming from that direction. At midnight
the change came. Orders were given to let the reefs out of the topsails, but it
took a considerable time to do this as the reef points and errings were
covered with hard, flinty ice, and it was not until marline spikes were used
that any progress was made. The men's hands, already covered with
wounds, had their fingers badly cut with the icy ropes and sails in carrying
out this order, but it was not until they had been running south for a couple

of days that they began to feel the full extent of their sores. Regular watches
were now kept, and each time they tumbled out of their hammocks to
relieve each other the pain of opening their hands was terrible. Two of the
apprentices had both their feet badly frostbitten.

At last the Norwegian land was made, and one fine morning in the month of
March she slipped into the beautiful harbour of Stavanger to have the
broken pump-stand and shattered rigging and sails put right. The two boys
were landed, and the doctors said their feet were in such a state of
putrefaction they must be taken off at once. None of the other members of
the crew were bitten by frost, but it took many days to heal their raw
wounds. The salt of the sea had not only pickled them, but had penetrated
into their very bones.

Meanwhile the crew of the Silverspray had been landed at the Tyne by the
Yarmouth smack, and they reported that when last they saw the Blake she
was hove to, and signalled making a lot of water; and as day after day
passed and no news came, grave fears were entertained for her safety;
heavy premiums were paid; and the relatives blamed the Silverspray's men
for leaving the crew in a leaky ship—an unjustifiable charge, for the sailors
of that period were not given to abandoning vessels prematurely. But so
long a time had elapsed since she was spoken of that all hope of her safety
was given up. At last there appeared in one of the local papers a paragraph
stating that it was feared the well-known brig had succumbed, with all
aboard, to the terrible storms that raged over the northern latitudes during
the early part of February. This put an end to all doubt: newspaper
statements were generally believed. But a few days after this announcement
a letter, part of which had been written while sailing along the Norwegian
coast, in order that it might be posted on arrival, was received in a country
village as the first intelligence of her safety. It is quite sailor-like in its
composition, and characteristically free from whining. The writer merely
deals with facts, and very briefly with them. I have just been shown this
greatly valued document, and give it as it is:

"Dear Parents,—We expect to arrive to-morrow morning. We
have had a devil of a voyage, and saw the Silverspray founder,
and asked the skipper of the smack to report us. One pump
going all the time nearly. Then the decks were stove in and she
nearly foundered before it was discovered. I hope the Spray's
crew were safely landed and reported us, as you would be
anxious. We had to run north before the hurricane until there
was no daylight. She wouldn't lie to. My word, what a sea! It
was fearful to look at, and the captain said we hadn't to, while
steering. One day we saw a barque founder with all hands.
They were in the rigging waving, but we could render no
assistance. We got into 65 degrees north, then the wind
changed. It was very cold. Excuse bad writing, I am doing it on
the galley seat. We are very bad with saltwater boils and cut
hands. The two Swedes have their feet frostbitten: they are a
sight. Hoping this will find you all well as it leaves me at
present, except for the sores. We have had a fearful time. I
thought you would like to know soon, so I am writing this
before getting into port. Will add something more then. No
more at present.

"Your loving son,

"J. Robinson.

"PS.—The doctor says the Swedes will have to have the soles
of their feet cut off. Perhaps their feet altogether. I won't go
back in her again. If I have to be drowned, I want it to be fair.
The other men are leaving as well. We've been on short
allowance for a couple of days, the water was spoiled as well.
We are going to have a good feed now. Suppose we have to buy
it ourselves."

II

CAPTAIN PLUNKER

The Cauducas was a brig of 120 tons dead-weight. She was very old, very
rotten, and very leaky, and was constantly employed carrying coals from a
north-east coast port to France or London. The crew consisted of the master,
mate, cook, and able seaman, and three apprentices, one of whom was
cabin-boy. No one cared to inquire as to when and where she was built.
Wherever paint and tar could be used to cover up defects it was liberally
applied, but that did not prevent the water rushing into her holds, causing
the crew to have to carry her with the pumps from port to port, as it were, in
their arms. The winter voyages taxed their skill and endurance so that
scores of times they were nearly forced to abandon her or allow the sea to
cover the vessel and themselves. The old sailors used to say when they saw
her making the port that she always "looked far off at a distance," a saying
peculiar to that part of the country. And yet she out-lived many of the most
handsome, well-built, modern ships of that time.

Captain Bourne, or "Plunker," as he was nicknamed, was a man of much
dignity and superior presence, but like many of his contemporaries, he was
very illiterate; indeed, I do not believe he could either read or write, and yet
he was able to collect his freights and generally to conduct the finances
entrusted to him with amazing accuracy. His age was between forty-five
and fifty; he stood over six feet, and was finely proportioned. He had a
moderately-sized head, broad forehead, strong clean-shaven chin, side
board whiskers, and a profile which suggested the higher type of man.
Under pronounced, overhanging eyebrows, there glowed a pair of medium-
sized dark eyes, which at times were penetrating, and occasionally wore a

sad, sympathetic look. His hands and feet betokened that he had sprung
from a physical working race, though there was nothing of the animal about
him, and in spite of a gruff, uncultured mannerism, he either had it naturally
or had acquired almost a grammatical way of addressing people when he
wished to assert what he obviously regarded as the dignity of his high
calling. This effort to check a natural tendency to the common dialect was
very comical, and yet no one ever thought of it as snobbish; the whole thing
seemed to belong to him, and he couldn't be different if he wanted to. That
was the impression people got of him. In an ordinary way when he was in
port he wore a blue pilot morning suit and silk hat. The waistcoat was cut so
as to show a good space of coloured shirt front, though on Sundays when in
port and days of sailing and arrival, white shirts were worn; usually a stand-
up collar with silk stock or some kind of soft neckerchief encircled his
neck. He was weather-beaten, ruddy, and altogether rather pleasant to look
at. He could navigate his vessel along the coast almost blindfold. Charts
were rarely used by such nautical aborigines, as he and scores of his
compeers disdained the very idea of being thought incapable of carrying all
the knowledge in their heads that was necessary for the purposes of
practical navigation. They had a perfect knowledge of the compass and the
lead. The courses, cross-bearings, lights, buoys and beacons were all riveted
in their memory, and it was a rare occurrence when their memories failed
them.

Plunker had all the finer attributes of his class. His character was
unimpeachable; he was abstemious, and unless his fiery temper was aroused
by the sight of some supposed lack of seamanship on the part of his men or
boys, or the idea of imposition on himself or his owner, he might have been
considered religious, but never amiable. Parsimony was his besetting sin,
and he carried this to the extent of feeding his crew in a way that brought
him into frequent conflict with them. Indeed, the relations on one occasion
were so strained that the apprentices were encouraged to conspire with
some boys from other vessels to commit an act that would humiliate him in
the eyes of the seafaring community and the public generally.

The old captain's pride in his ship and his position as her commander was a
slavish passion. He could not endure any liberties to be taken with him,

even by his employer or his equals on these two points. The boys of his own
and other ships knew this so well that they planned an indignity that should
lacerate his vanity. They knew he was very partial to what are known by
sailors as "two-eyed steaks," and that never by any chance was he known to
allow even his mate, much less any of the crew, to partake of them except
on special occasions, when he distributed them himself. They were looked
upon by him as a luxury, and were actually kept under lock and key. These
peculiarities of his had often been freely spoken of, and now a conference
of able-bodied seamen in embryo decided that there should be no further
tolerance of parsimony and piety. It must be either one thing or the other.
The elder members of this august coterie gave instructions that the sacred
locker should be broken open and the contents thereof brought into their
presence on the quarterdeck. Each of the party was sworn to secrecy in such
a way that the dread of being haunted by unspeakable troubles during the
balance of their lives would have prevented any breach of confidence, even
had there been no higher sense of honour. The bloaters were extracted at
night and handed over to the recognized authority. It was decided to
decorate the vessel from topgallant trucks to mainrail by attaching the
herring to the signal haulyards about three feet apart. Captain Bourne's
beloved brig was forthwith then trimmed in her frill of red herrings, and the
equivalent to a vote of thanks was unconventionally moved and carried for
the fearless assistance and patriotic advice rendered by comrades who
upheld the true national faith of being roundly fed with good joints of beef
and plum or suet pudding. After a few appropriate remarks in anticipation
of the trouble and sensation of the morrow, the young gentlemen dispersed,
each going aboard his own ship, while those belonging to the Cauducas
tumbled into their hammocks and were soon fast asleep. They rose at the
usual hour the following morning, and while they were having breakfast
angry and excited voices were heard alongside; and as they eagerly listened
to the picturesque flow of profane language intermixed with a few eloquent
remarks to God to forgive such irreverence, their minds were permeated
with fear lest suspicion would fall on them during the paroxysm of alternate
rage and godliness. Plunker was a powerful man, and when his anger was
roused they knew by experience it was not safe to interject a word either of
denial or assent; so they determined, when he called them to him, to pursue
a policy of negativeness, and trust to Providence to deliver them from a

position that was showing signs of serious consequences. While the irate
commander was in the white heat of a tremendous peroration, and in the act
of detaching the festoons of herring which he placed so much value on, his
owner, who had come down to see his property, as was the custom in those
early days, came laughing towards his much troubled captain and greeted
him with the advice not to take the matter too seriously. It was obviously a
practical joke intended for a purpose, and he apprehended the intention was
to convey the idea that a liberal allowance of food should be served out to
his crew, and that the luxury he placed so much value on should no longer
be the object of his special care, but that he should take to heart the lesson
just revealed to him, and allow his people to partake generously of that also.
As the vessel was lying alongside a shipbuilding and repairing yard, a large
crowd of workmen had congregated to see so unusual a display.
Discourteous and jeering remarks were loudly spoken with the studied
intention of reaching the ears of the master and owner, and the news of a
revolutionary act having been committed within the precincts of an
unyielding discipline spread like an electric flash through the little town,
and the unknown perpetrators were eulogistically stamped as heroes.

No one knew better than this old-time shipmaster the amount of capital that
would be squeezed out of the incident by the gossips, and no one
recognized better than he the amount of odium that would stick to himself.
The poor fellow had been stabbed in a tender spot, and those who knew him
intimately foreshadowed a long period of bitter suffering for him. Indeed,
there were those who openly stated that he would not long survive the insult
to his professional authority. He intimated to his employer that it was his
intention to forthwith hold a court-martial in his cabin, and requested him to
take part in the investigation. The owner was a person gifted with a sense of
humour. He laconically expressed his willingness to remain aboard, but
refused to have anything to do with the official inquiry.

The mate's Christian name was Matthew, but he was commonly addressed
as Matt. The dignity of Mr was never by any chance applied to chief
officers of this class of vessel, though quarter-deck manners were always
strictly sustained so far as the captain was concerned. He was the only
person who claimed the right of being addressed as "Sir," and he would

brook no violation of its use. Matt, as he was called, was made the medium
of communicating the master's wishes that the apprentices should meet him
in his cabin immediately. The rugged officer was smitten with the comical
aspect of his mission, though he carried it out in a strictly punctilious
manner. These rough, uncouth men never wilfully offended the
susceptibilities of their commanders, unless they became unbearably
despotic, then they retaliated with unsparing vengeance. The three
apprentices promptly obeyed the command given to them, and were ushered
into the presence of their infuriated captain. They were each handsome,
broad-shouldered athletes, with keen, sparkling, fearless eyes that indicated
fearlessness. He made a short, jerky, almost inarticulate speech on the
wickedness and indecency of committing an act of gross disrespect to the
vessel, the owner and himself, all of whom should have been shielded from
ridicule.

"I have had you brought to me," he said, "in order that I might learn from
your own lips whether you are the perpetrators of this base robbery and vile
insult to myself. I ask each of you, are you guilty of committing or assisting
to commit this villainous insult on myself?"

The owner, who was standing in the steerage brimming over with the
ludicrous character of the previous night's frivolity, was heard to chuckle
and say: "What damned nonsense to ask such a silly question!"

CAPTAIN PLUNKER ASTONISHED.

Each of the lads stoutly denied having any knowledge of what had
happened, whereupon Plunker called them "a set of damned lying
mutineers, who ought to be swung to the yardarm." This phrase was
commonly used at that time whenever it was thought necessary to
emphasise displeasure. Sanguinary penalties were roundly threatened to
them and to their scoundrelly accomplices. Leading questions were put in a
more or less forceful way, but the boys determined to preserve a secretive
and even aggressive aspect, which sent their burly commander into an
ecstasy of violence. At last, despairing of getting any satisfaction, he told
them to get out of his sight. And tradition says that he was never known to
smile again; but the Cauducas became from that day one of the best found
vessels, and her crew the best fed that sailed out of port. There was no more
concealment or locking up, or doling out of Yarmouth bloaters, or any other
thing. A great change had been wrought in the hitherto inexorable old man
of the sea. His conduct became marked by a generosity that wiped out

recollections of past meanness. His natural make-up prevented him from
giving prominence to his better side, or of making himself endeared to those
faithful men who spent a long life in his service, sharing his precarious
fortunes in working and navigating a vessel that his contemporaries
predicted would carry him and his crew to a tragic doom. Yet this man of
icy exterior, blunt, uncouth and ofttimes vulgar manners, had beating within
him as big a heart as ever was planted in a human breast. His men knew that
there was a power about him that fascinated them. They could not call it
affection, but it was something akin to it: a strong magnetism, indeed, that
inspired their confidence and caused them to follow him into dangers that
resembled the very jaws of death. It was never a thought of his to show any
tender feelings. His susceptibilities would have been much offended could
he have been presented with the idea that he had a soft place anywhere in
his heart. This reluctance to be supposed effeminate was a characteristic of
the age which caused many acts of injustice to be committed in order that
the reputation for stern, slashing, devil-may-careness should be established,
and many a fine fellow did violence to his whole nature by the desire to be
considered a desperado.

This, however, never appeared to be an ambition of Captain Bourne. All he
seems to have aimed at was to inspire his crew with an affection for his
much beloved vessel, and not on any occasion or under any circumstances
to be thought soft, or weak, or womanish. This of course could only be
assumed, because he never conveyed his thoughts to anybody.

Long after the herring incident this little vessel was being loaded, waiting
for favourable wind and water so that she might start on her voyage to
Boulogne. She had been detained several weeks, when a fine N.E. wind and
high tide enabled him to pass out of port. It was called in those days a sea
tide, and several masters availed themselves of it to put to sea. Before this
little fleet of collier brigs got as far south as Flamborough Head, it was
blowing a fresh gale, and big lumps of sea were slashed over them. The
pumps of the Cauducas were continually kept going, and there was much
concern as to the crew being able to keep the water under. Her decks were
opening and shutting, and her timbers were making suggestive noises. She
scudded across Boston deeps under two close-reefed topsails and reefed

foresail until abreast of Cromer high land, when the gale subsided, and
before the Cockle light-ship was reached the wind had shifted into the
south-south-east. With the help of the flood tide she was beaten through the
Gat into Yarmouth roads, where the anchor was dropped, a good scope of
chain run out, sails furled and ship pumped dry. Then the forecastle hands
cast lots who should keep the first anchor watch. The hand who picked the
shortest piece of matchwood had to accept the position of having to take the
first two hours; then all the rest turned in.

The mate was always called at the turn of the tide to swing the vessel, so
that the cable did not foul the anchor. This was done by a skilful
manipulation of the yards and fore topmast staysail. Some mates had quite a
genius for this piece of real seamanship. Others never got within the fringe
of doing it successfully, and the result was that many a mishap occurred in
consequence of cables fouling the anchor stock, or flukes, thereby pulling it
out of the ground and causing it to drag. It was also the occasion of many
bitter quarrels between master and mate. The former may have been a
duffer at the manœuvre himself, but that did not bother him now that the
position had changed. Even a consciousness of the mate's knowledge of his
fallibility did not qualify his hostile remarks; indeed, the recollection of it
never failed to increase his anger. As a matter of fact, the knack of doing it
was a gift that no amount of training could create if it was not inborn. I have
known apprentices, after they have been at sea a year or two, become really
adepts at swinging ship at a single anchor, and many of the seamen prided
themselves in being able to do it well. A more difficult task was that of
preventing turns getting in the cable when riding with both anchors down,
and in skilled hands it could very often be obviated. The thoughtful master
or officer made a practice of coming on deck at irregular hours during the
night while anchored in a roadstead, so that the men might become
impressed with the idea of never relaxing their vigilance. Notwithstanding
this care it was not an infrequent thing for the watch to be caught napping.
On one occasion a collier brig had been windbound for several days in the
Yarmouth roads. The mate was accustomed to pay nocturnal visits on deck,
and had suspected that a great deal of napping was done before the galley
fire, and he had his suspicion confirmed when coming up one night
unexpectedly, and, stealthily making his way to the galley, he found both

doors closed; no one was to be seen anywhere; he looked down into the
forecastle and saw one hammock vacant, so he made his way to the galley
again and listened, and heard someone snoring. He asked who was there
several times and got no answer. He then tried the door, but the inmate had
anticipated an invasion and had wedged it so that no one could open it from
without. The mate was seized with a superstition, or exasperation, or both,
so he drew a belaying pin from the rail, brought it strongly in contact with
the door, and loudly asked who was there. A husky voice from within
answered in broad Northumbrian accent: "Thor's neebody heor!" "Then by
Gox," said the excited mate, "Ye'ar the beggar I've been luckin' for these
last few neights!" The slumberer was the person who ought to have been
pacing the deck. Needless to say, he became the object of much
vituperation, and was never again trusted to look after the lives of his
shipmates or the property of his employer. Similar incidents to this occurred
on every collier vessel.

The Cauducas was several days windbound. The crew had repaired rigging,
running gear, and sails that were damaged during the storm, and they now
welcomed a change of wind which came, so that the voyage might be
continued. The anchor was weighed, and every stitch of canvas was spread
and bellied out with a strong flowing wind. By the time the Kentish Knock
Lightship was reached the wind had increased so that the topgallant sails
had to be furled and two reefs taken in the topsails. The North Foreland was
passed and a course shaped for Boulogne. The wind had increased to a gale,
and the sea in the Channel was as cross and as angry as it well could be.
Every preparation was made for entering port; mooring ropes and cable
chains were got on deck so that the anchors might be used if necessary. She
was run well over towards the French Coast before she could be hove to to
take a pilot aboard. This having been done, orders were given to square
away for the harbour. The sea was breaking a good distance off, and the
prospects for entering looked very ugly. The captain was at the tiller and
was unusually agitated. The pilot's excitement remained subdued until the
sinister commotion of seas was within easy distance. He then became
voluble in his orders. The little vessel rushed into the merciless liquid
breakers at great speed. One of them broke over the bluff of the bow,
carrying the bulwarks away, and at the same time the cable chain was

lurched over the side. The master rushed from side to side with the tiller,
irrespective of the pilot's equally chaotic orders. The crew became alarmed
for their safety, while the captain and pilot vied with each other for first
place in exhortation to keep cool, but neither the one nor the other was cool.
The pilot called out in very broken English "Port" and "Starboard" in quick
succession. The master answered "Port" and "Starboard" each time the
order was given, adding each time as an addendum, "Look at that blooming
cable chain hanging over the side!" so that the confusion of orders and
irrelevant responses to them became a menacing danger to safe navigation.
The pilot swore in French at the captain, requesting him to steer the vessel
and not to mind the —— chain being over the side, and the captain
delivered himself in even more forceful language at the pilot for arrogance
in dictating orders as to how he should conduct himself; and in order to
minimise the guilt of hard swearing and to appease his conscience for
having offended the God of the British people, as soon as it was uttered the
pilot begged forgiveness, and then poured forth his anger in a flow of strong
French adjectives. The crew, being well trained and accustomed to perils of
this nature, did their part of the necessary work irrespective of orders. They
saw, however, that trouble would come to them if the master could not be
persuaded to forget that the cable chain was overboard, so they induced
Matt to go and offer to give him a spell, and to everybody's surprise he was
willing to give the steering into the hands of his mate, who knew as well as
either himself or the pilot the way into the harbour.

The seas broke heavily over her until she entered the mouth of the harbour.
A crowd of their fellow-townsmen from other vessels had come on to the
pier with the object of rendering any assistance they could, and by their
goodness and skill she was moored without the necessity of letting go the
anchors or even breaking a ropeyarn. Plunker was very grateful to these fine
fellows for the valuable service they had rendered. They knew that he was
never effusive about any favours conferred upon him, so were content to
receive a plain "Thank you." The local sailormen of that time used to
caricature him running in confused frenzy from side to side of the
quarterdeck with the tiller, and imitate the pilot and himself haranguing
each other to keep cool, and immediately afterwards breaking out into
violent attacks on each other's capacity for giving and receiving orders.

This strange being, at a time when he was passing through the peril of
facing death, never lost the power of making his men feel that he was above
their level. Even his undignified altercations with the pilot, and his mixed
erratic exclamations on the subject that obviously troubled him, in no way
diminished the awe in which he was regarded.

The vessel was moored alongside the quay, and great care was used in
having the fenders properly placed, so that her aged planking would be
preserved from chafing. Had she been the king's yacht, no greater attention
could have been given to prevent this.

"THERE WERE MANY CALLERS."

The following morning there were many callers alongside, and many
congratulations offered to the captain and his crew on a safe deliverance.

There were shipbrokers, shipmasters, seamen and all grades of
dockworkers; each of them showed a common desire to be unusually kind.
The English vessels in port had their flags half-mast. Someone on the
Cauducas asked the reason for this, and the reply came in subdued tones
that the R—— had come in on the last flood, and her master reported having
had very heavy weather crossing the Kent. Everything had been swept from
the deck, and Captain Bourne's eldest son, who was serving as able-seaman,
had been knocked off the lee foretopsail yardarm while assisting to close
reef the topsail. He held on to the reef-earing as long as he could, but the
flapping of the sail soon caused him to call out to his shipmates, "I can hold
on no longer," and before any aid could be given he had slipped his hold
and fallen into the sea, and the surges covered him over.

The news of his son's tragic end was communicated to Captain Bourne by
his faithful mate, who pathetically, and with unconscious humour, exhorted
his master not to give way to grief. "It is a bad job," said he, "but it would
have been much worse had it been ourselves, and we were very near done
for." His bereaved master was a man of very few words. He asked some
particulars without apparent emotion, and then proceeded to his cabin,
where he was found shortly afterwards praying in a simple, touching way to
Almighty God that the body of his son might be picked up so that it might
be taken to his home. He petitioned fervently that his younger boy might be
spared to him. It seemed as though his communion with the Deity had given
him a glimpse into futurity, or a presentiment of further bereavement. He
was recalled to material things by being reminded by the cabin-boy that the
mid-day meal was ready. He took his place at the table and proceeded to
make inquiries as to whether the discharging of the cargo would commence
that day. The mate informed him that he did not think there was any
intention of doing so, whereupon he replied, "I must go ashore and stir them
up." The masters and mates of the other vessels in port would have come in
a body to condole with him for the loss of his son, but they knew that he
loathed outward signs of soft emotion, and in any case would never allow
sentiment, no matter how justifiable, to come between him and his business
obligations.

He was well known in business circles for his devotion to the interests of
his employers. That was his first and last thought, and when he went forth
to do their business he wasted neither time nor words. He possessed a
natural gift of diplomacy, and wrote no letters. He had the knack of
conveying what he wanted to be at, and his quaint way of doing it, though it
might amuse, always inspired the person who was addressed with the belief
in his soundness, so that few men succeeded as he did in getting what he
wanted. On the occasion of which I am writing, the merchants received him
with obvious sympathy, and he was promised a quick dispatch. That night
he got the boy to write a few lines to his wife at his dictation. They were
very brief, very melancholy, very reverential. Here is the letter:

"Dear Wife,—We arrived here yesterday after a very rough
passage. I hope you're well as it leaves me at present. The R
—— arrived this morning's tide, and reports that Jack was
knocked off the foretopsail yardarm, and they never see'd him
again. He shouted 'Guidbye, I cannot hold on any longer.' I
asked God to have his body picked up and sent home, and
while I was doing it, a queer thought came over me that little
Bobby was being washed overboard from the Savannah. I hope
it's not true, and that God won't take him from us as well. No
more at present, from

HIS
"John x Bourne."
MARK.

He seems to have had a rugged anxiety that the mother of his drowned son
should be given a prompt opportunity of sharing his sorrow. It was not
usual for these shellbacks to write letters while on a coasting voyage.
Indeed, they were very cautious about doing it at any time in case even
members of their own families should think them tender-hearted. Moreover,
those who could not write or read were very sensitive about allowing others
to do it for them.[1]

In due course the cargo of the little brig was discharged and the ballast was
brought alongside. The side ports were knocked out, and the crew
commenced to throw the ballast into the hold, as it frequently happened that
only one side was available. A couple of hands were placed in the hold to
shovel it over to the opposite side in order to keep the vessel upright. While
this was being done the captain proceeded to collect and pay his accounts.
Cheques or bills of exchange were dispensed with as a rule, and the freight
was paid over the counter in sovereigns, and scooped into a leather bag.
This was taken aboard and concealed in the master's room. It was a rare
thing for the freight to be wrongly settled, or go astray after it was settled.
Men like Captain Bourne had a mysterious way common to themselves of
counting and calculating, and any breakdown in their system (for each had
his own) would have made a deep wound in their pride. The day after the
ballast was all in and trimmed, orders were given to unmoor, and the little
craft sailed out of the harbour with a fine southerly wind and all sail set.
The breeze carried her as far north as Flamborough Head, when it gradually
veered into the west and kept steady, but blew so hard that the topsails had
to be double-reefed.

It was the morning watch from four to eight. The cabin-boy was called at
seven o'clock to prepare breakfast and polish the brass stove and ashpan.
The captain heard the little fellow doing his morning work, and called out
to him, "Boy!"

"Yes sir," said the boy.

"How is the wind?"

"I will go and ask," said he.

He came down and conveyed the pleasing intelligence that it was still west
and they were close in by Whitby Lights.

"Come into my berth and get yourself a glass of gin, my canny lad," said
the indulgent skipper, "and see that I am not disturbed for breakfast. Don't
call me until she is abreast of Sunderland."

"All right, sir," said the boy, and availed himself of his master's kindness by
taking a second mate's nip out of the gin jar which was kept under his bed.
The little fellow wondered what had caused such a convulsion of
endearment, as Captain Bourne's demeanour had hitherto been the very
antithesis of external tenderness. About an hour had elapsed when he was
asked again "How the wind was."

HAVING A NIP.

"W.N.W.," said the youth, "and inclined to break off" (i.e., norther).

"What are you making such a noise about?" growled the now uneasy
captain; "shut my door so that I may be quiet; and get the cabin properly
scrubbed out ready for going into port."

The wind had freshened, the vessel began to jump into a nasty head swell,
and in order to ease the strain on the rigging the necessary sail was
shortened. Captain Bourne was aroused by the sombre music of the wind
rustling through the rigging and making occasional discordant noises. His
mind became centred on the possibility of the voyage being prolonged, and
in order that his suspicions should be confirmed or otherwise, he called with
a deep, agitated voice for the boy to come to him; and when he presented
himself the captain asked in a tone which indicated coming trouble: "How
is the wind now?"

The youthful seaman replied, with a voice and manner indicative of
knowledge and assurance: "The wind, sir, is strong N.N.W., and
increasing," and as this was the direction in which they were bound, the
captain's mental processes became confused. A strange guttural sound came
from his throat as though there was a struggle going on between the flesh
and the devil. The conflict did not last long, as the sanctity which he had
observed for some days went under. He jumped from his bunk, seized his
boot which lay hard by, flung it at the poor, fatigued laddie, bellowing out at
the same time: "On deck, you darned young spawn of ——. I've been kept
awake by your clatter ever since you got up." And the boy flew before the
hurricane of wrath lest he should come to grief.

The men asked him the cause of being turned out of the cabin.

"The cause," he said, "is, the old man asked me how the wind was, and as
soon as I told him it was N.N.W. he flung his boot at me and ordered me on
deck for making too much noise. I hadn't been more than a minute in the
cabin after lending a hand to shorten sail. Besides, the old beast almost
hugged me when I told him the wind was west and that we were off Whitby.
Why, he was so pleased he asked me to have a nip of that gin he keeps
under his bed!"

"Did he swear at you?" said one of the seamen.

"Swear?" said the boy, "it wasn't swearing, it was sulphurous."

"Ah," said the sailor, "it's a bad job he's broken out again. There'll be no
more peace until something serious happens. But perhaps a fair wind might
put him right for a bit. I thought the loss of Jack had knocked all the sulks
out of him, and that he had fairly become religious."

"What are you gadding about, man?" said Matt, the mate; "how do you
expect anybody to keep religious with the wind N.N.W. and bound north,
with the prospect of being driven back to Burlington Bay or perhaps
Yarmouth Roads? And besides," continued this theological authority,
"sailors are allowed to swear when anything goes wrong, and the old man is
only taking advantage of his rights. You make no mistake; he cannot read or
write—no more can I for that matter—but he knows a thing or two when it
comes to law or religion." Thus spake the loyal, well-informed Matthew.

After a few days' hard buffeting against a biting head-wind, the vessel
arrived at the port to which she was bound, and after she was moored and
everything made trim, running gear coiled round the belaying pins, every
bight being regular and equal, sails stowed in a cloth, and yards laid
perfectly square, the sailors then proceeded to arrange themselves in
spotless white fustian trousers and blue jerseys adorned in front with their
names or initials worked in red or white worsted. The latter article of
apparel was usually knit by their wives if they were married, or their
intended wives if they were not, and in either case there was great
competition in producing the very best work both of art and
serviceableness. They then packed their clothes in canvas bags and carried
them home on their shoulders. There was considerable emulation not only
in the neatness of the packing and the cleanness of the bags, but the
arrangements for fastening the mouth of the bag took weeks to fashion into
a very pretty piece of sailorising. These things may seem small and
frivolous, unworthy indeed of being referred to as even a characteristic of
the sailor of that locality and of that period. I do not know anything that
came under the lash of such severe criticism as the sailor's own fashion of

dress, and it must not be imagined that it was confined to the sailors
themselves, though they were merciless enough with each other, but the
owners and the public generally took the keenest interest in these little
touches of vanity and handiwork. Many a worthy fellow got a good berth
because he and his belongings had the stamp of ingenuity and tidiness about
them, and certainly many of them knew that this was a sure means of
winning the affections of young girls whom they wished to make their
wives.

These young maidens who resided in this interesting little seaport town
knew almost by instinct whether a vessel was kept smart or not; neither
those who were married nor those who were single liked either their
husbands or sweethearts to be associated with an ill-kept vessel. If they read
anything at all it was what the newspapers said about shipping, or as a
matter of religious devotion they might perchance read an occasional
chapter in the Bible, so that their mental energy found a ready outlet in the
gossip of things appertaining to their daily life and immediate surroundings,
which for the most part were nautical, although I must not overlook the fact
that many of the more intelligent of them were connected with religious
institutions. These were mostly Dissenters, Wesleyan Methodists,
Primitives and Presbyterians. The Church of England had not at that time
become the evangelical force that it may be considered to-day. I am not sure
to which of these sects Captain Bourne belonged, but amongst every class
there was a widespread sympathy extended to him on his arrival at the
home port. The news of his son having come to so untimely an end moved
the little community so that condolences came to him from many
unexpected quarters. Dignified owners shared with the common sailor and
apprentices their ungrudging sympathy, and he received it with transparent
gratitude. All his gruff mannerisms were forgotten in the sorrow of the
moment. The poor lad who had passed so suddenly into the valley of death
was looked upon as a promising captain in embryo, and there was much
speculation as to the deeds he would have accomplished and the high
position he would have attained had the sea not claimed him so soon. All
this and a good deal besides was spoken to the sorrowing parents by way of
ameliorating their suffering, and also because the occasion was opportune
for speaking that which they really believed would have come to pass. Little

did the people or the object of their compassion think that at the very time
they were saying those encouraging words destiny was fulfilling another
tragedy, and the sea had again become the tomb of a bonny, bright,
promising youth who had not reached his seventeenth year. The Cauducas
had been in port for a couple of weeks and was on the point of sailing, when
news came that Captain Bourne's second son had been washed overboard
and drowned from the vessel he was serving aboard of. The presentiment
that this would happen had been overshadowed by the interest taken in the
loss of the eldest boy. When the news was broken to him, a sullen, stupefied
gaze came into his eyes. He murmured a few incoherent words, and then
with a superhuman effort he raised his voice, and with emphasis that was
terrible as well as pathetic he called out: "Oh, God, what have I done to You
that You should allow this thing to be done to me? I have had two bonny
lads taken from me within a month of each other. Oh, God, help me to bear
the trial like a man!"

This fine old sailor, believed he was holding communion with a personal
power of British nationality that could sway the universe at His will. He
believed, though he could not see Him, that God was a person that kept
Himself out of sight for a purpose, and that it was the duty of every
Englishman to keep on good terms with Him. The mystery of divinity never
entered his head. It was a simple, steadfast faith, peculiar if you like, but
unyielding in devotional loyalty to His supremacy. It was a wonderful
phenomenon, which even cynical logicians might have found embarrassing
to their iconoclastic notions could they have witnessed it. Here was an
uncultured though magnificent-looking person passing through a sorrowful
tribulation, exciting the pity and calling for the admiration of hundreds of
his fellow creatures, because he was able to hold his head up and appeal to
the only power he knew that was capable of giving him consolation and
courage. "Oh, God, help me to bear the trial like a man!" That was the
melancholy burden of his petition, and the assurance that it would be
answered never forsook him.

His vessel was soon ready for sea, and sailed on the first of a series of
voyages that were contracted for her to run. On the completion of these he
was asked by his owner to take command of a barque of about 600 tons

deadweight. To an ordinary man and to the average shipmaster of that time,
the opportunity of being shifted from an old rattle-trap brig to the enviable
position of commander of a "South Spainer" would have been accepted
with excessive pride and gratitude; but Bourne was not an ordinary man. He
had spent a long life as master of a vessel on which he had placed his
affections, so that the more urgent the owner became for him to take
advantage of the offer of much higher wages and greater dignity, the more
tenaciously he clung to the belief that some serious judgement would befall
him if he were ungrateful and disloyal enough to forsake the brig that had
carried him for more than a quarter of a century across many a wrathful sea.
"No," said he, "I must end my days in the canny ship. Her and me have had
a lot to do with each other, and I would never forgive myself if I were to
agree to this request, and some useless fellow were to put her ashore on a
bank or on the rocks, and she became a total wreck. Besides, if anything
were to happen I could not rest in my grave."

"Well," said the owner, "I appreciate your high motives, and also the strong
regard you have shown for a vessel that has made me so much money; and I
must not forget to say that but for your skill and care in conducting the
business, and also in the navigation, the results would have been very
different. It is because of these and other sterling qualities that you possess
that I ask you to consider favourably the offer I have made. You know how
badly the Grasshopper has done, and I feel that you are the only man that
can pull her out of the bad mess she is in. Sleep over it."

Bourne slept over it, and informed the owner the next day that the ship was
far too big for him, but as the change was urged he must leave the final
decision to the owner, always bearing in mind that he wished to remain
where he was. The owner availed himself of the old mariner's flexible state
of mind by promptly taking him at his word. And he forthwith became the
object of notoriety. There had been not a few aspirants to this enviable
position, and much speculation as to whether Bourne would ultimately be
persuaded to take it or not. Of course it was vigorously hoped he would not,
and when the announcement in the affirmative was made there were sundry
disappointments. The predictions were of a gloomy character. Forebodings
that the new commander would never be able to handle so large a ship

became the prevalent idea, for he had never been in a vessel carrying more
than about 250 tons. It was an open secret that Captain Bourne had
misgivings of a similar kind himself. He feared, indeed, that she might run
away with him. He apprehended that his capacity to handle a vessel of a
different rig from that to which he had been accustomed all his life might
prove defective. Many of his contemporaries, as well as he himself, held
very contracted and primitive ideas as to size. They talked of vessels of 400
tons burden as being large, and those of six to seven or eight hundred were
described as leviathans.

Captain Bourne showed signs of depression from the time his belongings
were taken from the object of his devotion. He felt he was parting from a
life-long friend. A Board of Trade certificated chief mate was engaged to act
as "nurse." The crew were signed on, stores shipped, and after the cargo
was all aboard, the Grasshopper crossed the bar amid much cheering from
the people who lined the quays and piers. Moreover, the occasion was of
more than usual interest, for Captain Bourne had never been off the coast
during his whole life. After the tug and pilot left, a course was shaped
towards the hidden mysteries that lay across the sea. The passage was made
quickly, but not without mishap, for the vessel had struck on a reef of rocks,
and it was thought her false keel and copper had received considerable
damage. From the time the vessel left the port of loading the captain had
been little seen. It was well known that a morbid brooding had taken
complete possession of him. He rarely came to his meals, and when he did
he never spoke except to murmur some words of endearment about the old
ship he had been persuaded to leave. The stranding of his new command
was interpreted as a judgement sent to him for the wrong he had committed
in giving way to pride by forsaking the craft that had carried him so many
years in safety. On his arrival in port several friends paid him a visit, and
were struck with his changed appearance. The mates and steward said they
had observed that there was a difference in him, but the passage had been so
wild and eventful they had never had time to think of it. After the first two
or three days his business visits ashore became very irregular, and before
the cargo was discharged they had ceased altogether. He was seldom seen
either below in his cabin or on deck. He could not be induced to take his
meals regularly, and took to shutting himself up in his stateroom. A

dangerous form of melancholia held him in fetters, so that when friendly
visitors called to see him his reclusive mood forbade any intercourse with
even men who knew him intimately.

There was much speculation as to the cause of this morbid determination to
abstain from food and from having communication with anyone. Naturally,
drinking was freely attributed to him, but this was stoutly denied by every
one of the crew. His mate and steward were of opinion that he was fretting
badly about having to leave the old brig; and this had led him to think more
than he would have otherwise done of the loss of his boys and the stranding
of his vessel. Each day saw a change for the worse, until the mate became
alarmed by evidences of total collapse. He determined to see the master of a
steamer who was in port and knew Bourne well enough to do what would
have been resented as a great liberty in another man. This captain insisted
that he would not stand the humbug of asking to be allowed to see Bourne,
so he boldly went aboard, knocked at the stateroom door, and demanded
admittance. On this being refused, he proceeded to force the entrance, and
presented himself before the amazed inmate with quite a string of strong
adjectives for the bad behaviour in not reciprocating his neighbourliness.

"What are you lying there fretting your soul out for?" said the burly
commander; "get up and come ashore with me and pull yourself together.
You owe a duty to your owner, your wife, and yourself. You're not going to
mend matters by moping and refusing to take natural exercise and food!"

"Ah," said Captain Bourne, "I will never set my foot ashore again. I am
very near the end, and I will be glad when it comes. Tell the owner as soon
as I am gone that I have never been myself since I acted so bad in leaving
my bonny little ship that did so much for me." And putting his hand to his
breast, he added: "I have felt queer and sore here ever since. I hope God
will forgive me, but I was sure my sin would find me out; and here I am, a
poor shrivelled-up man, anxious to get away from earth and to be with my
drowned boys. The parson told me I would meet them in a better world to
this, and so I want to get to it as quick as I can, for all the pleasure was
taken out of my life when I consented to come here. I haven't been very
bad, and always was as good as I could to God. Sometimes I've sworn when

anything went wrong, but I never meant any harm in it. Besides, they say
that sailors' swearing is not like other people's."

His friend urged him in a rollicking manner to take a more cheerful view of
his position.

"There are many," said he, "who would give worlds to have command of so
fine a vessel."

"Let them have it, then," said Bourne; "but I was content to end my days in
the old ship. That was glory enough for me, and they (meaning his owner
and his friends) would not let me do it."

Captain W—— shook him warmly by the hand, and promised to call again.

Bourne murmured: "I may never see you again. I feel the end is very near.
My general health is good, but what ails me is a sore heart. Tell them, W
——, if I should die before seeing you again, that I trusted in God and His
Son, that the parsons say preached the gospel of sorrow. My cup is full of
that. So that I would be satisfied to meet death willingly could I catch but
one glimpse before it comes of the ship that has been my home all my life,
brought up my bairns, and kept a comfortable abode ashore for me."

His friend parted from him with a sad heart, believing that no earthly power
could save him, for he saw that he was encompassed by the shadow of
doom, and that the triumph of death would soon overtake him.

The following morning the Grasshopper ensign flew half-mast. Poor
Bourne had passed the portal beyond which he was to find peace. His last
message to his mate and steward were: "I shall soon be dead. Say 'so long'
for me to my wife and the owner. Tell them my heart broke, for I could not
bear the loss of my boys and the parting from the canny little brig. Tell them
I bear no ill-will to anybody, and that I expect to meet them beyond the
river in a better land."

These words were the last spoken by the grief-stricken old mariner, who in
the plenitude of his manhood would have scorned the idea of openly giving

way to emotion. His officers sat by him until he quietly slipped his
moorings.

1 (Return)
It may be as well to explain here that the straddle-leg patent, as it
was called, often caused sailors to be both killed and drowned.
They used to give advice in a flippant way to each other that if
they were forced to let go their hands to be sure to hold on by the
skin of their teeth or their feet. This little joke was rarely
successful in saving them from being smashed to pieces or
drowned. The invention by Collin and Pinkney for reefing and
furling, and subsequently the double topsail yards introduced by
the Americans, did a great deal towards preventing loss of life, and
certainly saved many a spar from going over the side. It was found
that there were fewer accidents both in life and property by the use
of the latter. Occasionally the patents, which have been long out of
use, went wrong, and the sail could neither be got up nor down,
but this never happens when proper care is used with the double
topsail yarders. With these a vessel may be put under close-reefed
topsails in a few seconds.

III

CAPTAIN MACGREGOR

Captain Alexander Macgregor, as his name betokens, was a Scotchman,
who had left his native land with credentials which gave him the reputation
of being not only learned but one of the most expert mariners that ever
walked a quarterdeck. For many years he had traded to all parts of the world
in command of various sized vessels owned in Scotland, and had earned the
confidence of his employers by the deeds he had accomplished in making
them large profits. His old owner was perturbed when it became known that
his services had been sought for elsewhere, and secured, owing to monetary
inducements such as no worthy Scot could refuse, for Scottish shipmasters
at that time were shockingly paid. His advent to English employment was
not regarded favourably by the men who claimed that vessels belonging to
that particular port should be commanded by men of the port, native born or
reared into seamen by the matchless skill of the generation of local sailors
that preceded them. He was looked upon as an interloper who had come to
take bread from their mouths. But what concerned them as much as
anything was their dread of a lower standard, which might lose for them the
premier position which they ostentatiously declared was theirs, of breeding
and rearing skilful, hardy men. The gentleman whom they held responsible
for the unwarrantable innovation carried on a nourishing trade in the dual
capacity of miller and shipowner. He came across Macgregor when on a
visit to one of his vessels which was discharging at a Scottish port, and
became fascinated by his bright, cheery intelligence. A bargain was struck
and he forthwith took command of Mr Hobkirk's finest craft. The prejudice
formed by this unpatriotic act had far-reaching consequences, which were
never really effaced. The community regarded it as another proof of English

generosity and Scottish unscrupulous pushfulness of character which
worms its way into the affairs of men and captures all the blessings of earth
and heaven at the expense of their neighbours.

"We suppose," said these proud men of the sea, "he has been brought here
to teach us something. We will let him see what he has come to. His life
shall be made not worth living, and the miserable traitor who has put him
over our heads shall be made to feel that we don't want any Scottish
instruction. His great seamanship must be tested, and as to learning, what
do we care for learning? This is not our business. We want sailors, not
learning."

This piece of shrewd eloquence was noisily applauded by the affected
persons, who felt convinced that their birthright had been stolen from them.
Meanwhile the object of their aversion showed qualities of genius that
caused Mr Hobkirk to marvel at his own inherent instinct which had
enabled him to fix on so distinguished a prodigy. Some of his shipowning
friends were struck with what they called his cleverness, and asked him to
convey to them his secret for finding a person so unlike the ordinary
shipmaster. He bowed his head low in token of submission, and almost in a
whisper conveyed to them the belief that he was the instrument of divine
Providence. The seamen and skippers of the port did not hold the same view
as the owner, so they set themselves to make it very difficult for Macgregor
to get a crew, and had he not been an astute man of affairs, great loss and
inconvenience would have ensued. The local union was very strong, very
active and intensely popular. All its official machinery was thrown into the
policy of obstruction, and all its efforts were abortive, for the Hebe was
towed out of port with a full crew in spite of a continual shower of stones
and other missiles.

Amongst this notorious crew was one named Ralph Davidson, a half-witted
young fellow who had served two apprenticeships without being able to
qualify for the dignity of A.B., that is, he could not pass the necessary
examination for admittance into the union. This poor creature was permitted
to sail as "half-marrow" or ordinary seaman because of his local origin and
good natured simplicity. Otherwise the very mention of half-marrow was

loathed, and no amount of persuasion could induce these men and lads to
tolerate a stranger in that capacity. I commend the ideal to present-day
sailors and shipowners. The British Merchant Service would be all the
better by going back to this old-time method of keeping up the standard of
proficiency. Ralph had all the characteristic weaknesses of the sailor. He
was a much-sought-after institution at all the public house dances while at
home, and was not averse to either accepting a glass of whiskey or giving
one when he had the wherewithal to do it, but that was rarely. He spent
much of his meagre earnings and time in this way, and suffered for it when
he was obliged to go to sea without suitable clothing. Young people of both
sexes were very fond of getting him to do a step-dance or sing a song. The
latter sounded like paying chain cable out of a hawse pipe, and kept the
room in screams of laughter. The Hebe had reached the Bay of Biscay on
her way to Lisbon. A strong south wind was blowing, accompanied with
heavy rain, and the spray flew all over her. Ralph stood at the wheel
shivering, clad in a suit of dungarees. His face indicated all that he was
suffering, and his mutterings attracted the attention of the captain, who
overheard him swearing, "My God, as soon as I get into port I'll have a suit
of oilskins!" In due time they got into port, and Ralph was the first aft to
ask for money to purchase the water-proof articles. The captain made the
advance and reminded him that he relied on it being spent for the purpose
for which it was intended. He was assured that Ralph's suffering for want of
proper clothing had left an unpleasant recollection on his mind and he did
not intend to suffer in the same way in future. On landing, he was prevailed
upon to go to a grog shop and dance house before making his purchase. The
captain, suspecting that there was not much strength behind his resolve,
dropped into the place of amusement and witnessed his half-marrow in full
swing on the floor. He tapped him on the shoulder as he waltzed round, and
said:

"Didn't you say when the rain and spray were lashing over you in the Bay
of Biscay that you would buy a suit of oilskins as soon as you got into
port?"

"Ah, yes, captain, I said that. But there is no rain and spray lashing at me
now. It's different weather here," replied the irrepressible sailor as he

continued to play his part in the harmony of the evening.

The captain had brought some friends to witness and enjoy the discomfiture
of his "oddity," but the bright retort turned the tables against him, and
established the opinion with them that Ralph instead of being half-witted
was at any rate on that occasion very ready-witted. They said they would
not have lost the sight of seeing the joke for anything. Macgregor wisely
entered into the fun, and admitted that Ralph had scored in a way that he
had not anticipated.

Meanwhile the new captain was discussed at home with striking regularity.
Opinions varied as to how long he would last and what would be the cause
of his downfall. Quotations from the Scriptures were used in profusion, the
favourite of which was: "Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty
spirit before a fall." Their faces wore an aspect of great concern, and they
ominously shook their heads in token of sinister developments that were to
bring much tribulation to their friend who had broken the law of
brotherhood. A letter was received by Mr Hobkirk from the captain giving a
graphic description of his passage and the general prospects for dispatch at
the port of discharge. Dealing incidentally with his future plans, he
remarked in passing: "I cannot close without briefly saying how much I
owe you for the honour you have done me by entrusting so valuable a
property and such important interests to my keeping. May I assure you that
it is my intention to see that you are well rewarded for the confidence you
have placed in your humble servant." The owner went into ecstasy over this
letter and showed it to many of his friends as evidence against their adverse
opinion and as an indication of unusual capacity. Some of them drily
remarked: "The letter may be all right, but we believe in results, and advise
you to wait until you see your accounts." These nasty insinuations,
however, did not in any way shake the confidence of the owner. Each
communication dazzled his imagination and gave him further opportunity
for extolling the rare gifts of his valuable skipper who was dashing his
vessel along in a way that amazed the inhabitants of the sleepy town to
which she belonged. The first voyage was made in quick time, and the
profits were satisfactory. His treatment of the crew was not all kindness, but
they were rather proud to be able to say that they had sailed with a dare-

devil who had lost a suit of sails crossing the Bay by sheer carrying on;
besides he was generous in the distribution of food and grog, and this was a
trait that palliated all other defects. On his arrival home the interview
between him and his employer was of the most cordial character, and he
was sent on another voyage with a free hand to act in chartering and other
things, as his judgement led him to think was in the best interests of the
vessel. On this occasion he went to Landscrona with coals, and from there
to a Russian place called Windau in ballast. On arrival off this port he left
the mate in charge with instructions to dodge about while he went ashore to
see if he could get a good charter. In less than two hours he was aboard
again with the pilot, and the ship proceeded into the harbour to load at a
high rate of freight for London. The news of the unexpected arrival and
unique fixture created quite a flutter in shipping circles. Hobkirk's former
critics became suddenly enamoured of this remarkable captain, and his
fame spread far and wide. He was held up as an example of greatness to his
less successful contemporaries, and they in turn secretly desired a tragic end
for him. Hobkirk being a pillar of the church, deemed it necessary when he
took his walks abroad to hang his head in saintly humility. If he came across
any of his friends he warned them to guard against covetousness, and
should prosperity such as his come to them they were adjured to subdue any
inclination to pride.

"We have need to subdue vanity, haughtiness, self-glorification, and other
worldly ways. I often read and ponder over these awful words," said this
sanctified commercial prince: "The nations shall rush like the rushing of
many waters, but God shall rebuke them, and they shall flee far off, and
shall be chased as the chaff of the mountains before the wind, and like a
rolling thing before the whirlwind."

At the time his owner was exhorting his fellow-townsmen to a closer
communion with God, Captain Macgregor had given way to habits that
were not commensurate with the doctrine of that righteousness which
exalteth a people, and as often happens (especially aboard ship) when a bad
example is shown by the master, the crew and officers drift into
irregularities, and all discipline is destroyed. This was exactly what
occurred aboard the Hebe. The master was known to be on the spree, so the

mate, Munroe, thought he would have a day off, and took as a drinking
chum, Ralph, the half-marrow; and, in order that they might not be
disturbed, they travelled to a snapshop in the country, some miles away
from the town. Instead of one day, two were spent in drinking, swearing,
dancing, and, as sailors generally call it when on the spree, casting the lead
—presumably to know their whereabouts. A sailor belonging to the Hebe
got to know where they were, and persuaded a man belonging to another
vessel to go with him and bring them back. They had a tough job, but at
midnight of the second day they succeeded in getting them to retrace their
way to the ship, the plan being to get aboard when nobody was about.
Munroe was a typical sailor, full of devilment, especially when he had had a
few glasses of grog. The two "plants" trudged their way conversing with
great animation of what they had seen and done and what they intended to
do. Ralph was ready to acquiesce in all his officer said as to future exploits.
Their shipmate reminded them (especially Ralph) that it would not be well
for them if the old man got to know they had been on the loose, whereupon
Ralph retorted, "I don't care a damn for the old beggar." This outburst was
supplemented by more sanguinary promises on the part of Mr Munroe. At
this point they were passing a farm just on the outskirts of the town, and
observed some poultry. The chief officer said he would not go aboard
emptyhanded, and had never done so in his life, and wouldn't do so now.

"What do you say, Ralph?"

"I say the same as you say, James," said the complacent half-marrow; "let
us have a fowl for breakfast."

One cock and two hens were captured by the mate, who was full of
congratulations to himself. At last one of the escorts reminded him that he
would have to conceal the birds or he might be stopped and run in by the
sentry.

"By gox, that's true," said Munroe; "where shall I put them?"

"In your breeches," said Ralph, sharply.

"That's first class," said he, and with Ralph's assistance they were stowed in
the part of his wearing apparel where there was an abundance of room
generously supplied by the tailor. They had not gone many yards when the
mate showed evidences of discomfort. He was obviously suffering pain.
The two escorts were by this time in kinks with laughter. Ralph asked his
mate what was the matter with him.

"Matter?" said the mate, "why, the blooming things are biting me to pieces."

"Let the beasts bite," said Ralph coolly; "you cannot have them there
without them doing something, you darned fool! How do you expect to get
past the sentry if you go on like that? Buck up and bear it."

At this point the cock gave an unnatural guttural cry. Ralph exhorted his
companion to keep the thing quiet. He replied he couldn't, and that he
would stand it no longer.

"Well," said Ralph, "if you won't stand it you won't have fowl for
breakfast."

"Oh, darn the breakfast! I must let them go. Help me to unbutton, for if I
move they'll go mad again."

The birds were taken from their concealment. Ralph secured two, twisted
their necks, stuffed one into his own nether garment, and informed the mate
that he should have adopted this plan of quietening them at first.

"Here," said he, passing him the other dead hen, "two makes it far over
bulky; you stow it away in yours."

"No fear," said Mr Munroe, "I'll never touch or eat a bit of fowl again as
long as I live. My sufferings are too great."

"Why that's rotten nonsense," said the resourceful half-marrow; "the thing's
dead."

"I don't care," responded the penitent thief, "I'll never handle them again,
dead or alive. Oh, Christo, I am smarting!"

"Hold your blether about smarting and suffering, you fool, or you'll get me
nabbed," replied Ralph, who had now concealed both roosters.

The two escorts were by this time well nigh paralytic with laughter. As they
drew near to where the slumbering sentry stood, the chief officer caused
great anxiety by the style of walk he was forced to assume. Ralph implored
him not to go along as though he expected swine to pass between his legs,
and not to put on such an agonized look. He coaxed him by the promise that
he himself would attend to his wounds as soon as they got safely aboard.
The good-hearted soul took infinite trouble in his rough way to fulfil the
pledge he had given. They were not intercepted by the military gentleman
who guarded the destiny of the port, and as soon as their feet were planted
on deck Ralph exclaimed, "Now we're safe." Jack has an inherent belief in
the sacredness of British territory, either floating or otherwise. He is a stout
upholder of British supremacy, and conformity to the laws of other nations
does not appeal to him. His creed is undisguised, and has been handed
down as an heirloom from the great naval hero who smashed the combined
fleets of Spain and France at Trafalgar. Here it is: "Fear God, and hate a
Frenchman as the devil hates holy water." The average sailor continues to
believe this to be an edict which alone can assure patriotism and divine
compassion. All these things were well mixed in Ralph's brain. He never
doubted the truth of them, and the one idea which brought forth the
utterance, "Now we're safe," was the conviction of British supremacy and
protection.

It took Mr Munroe a few days to get into working order. The news of the
adventure and the sequel to it soon spread amongst the English vessels in
port. There was much visiting and jocular sympathy expressed for the prime
mover, and the sailor's sense of humour was greatly touched by all he heard.
The mate himself was a humourist, and after he had got over the painful
period he often told the story against himself, and never failed to do so with
a vividness that made it highly attractive.

The loading of the vessel was in no way delayed by this little freak, as there
was no cargo down. Captain Macgregor, however, had not been seen for
several days, and the vessel was nearly ready for sea. The proper agencies
were instructed to have him brought aboard, drunk or sober, so he landed
aboard drunk, and gave everybody an unhappy time until he was got into
his bunk and sent to sleep. The next day he rose early, got all his papers and
accounts made right, paid them, signed bills of lading, cleared, and put to
sea with a fair wind. There were no traces of intemperance in either his
behaviour or in the manner of giving orders. He talked with marked
intelligence to his officer, and partook of the evening meal with him; and as
he had reason to leave the table before Munroe had finished, he politely
asked to be excused for doing so. This mark of consideration overshadowed
his other faults and stamped him as a gentleman in the opinion of the mate.
A somewhat disturbing incident followed, for the guttural voice of someone
nowhere to be seen rebuked James Munroe for absenting himself from the
vessel for two days and indulging in intoxicating drink to excess and for
purloining a poor farmer's fowls, which even the painful results to himself
could not excuse. Then followed a modest tribute to Captain Macgregor's
superior morality. "It is not well that Macgregor should ever taste alcohol,"
said the voice; "the slightest drop takes effect and causes him to appear
intoxicated when he is not." Then there came from the stairs the almost
incoherent announcement that a stormy passage was to be experienced.
Then the voice fluttered away, and left only the sound of creaking timbers
and the weird moan of the wind. Munroe was riveted with dumb terror, and
when speech came to him he remarked: "That's darned funny," and
proceeded on deck to attend to his duties. In a short time he was joined by
the captain, who was promptly informed of what had been heard.

"Ah," said the skipper, in dead earnest, "that must have been a warning to
you and to me to regulate our lives aright."

"I don't know about the warning, but these visitations you talk about are not
very canny," responded the mate.

"How dare you complain of being reminded of absenting yourself from
your duties and stealing poultry and concealing them in a manner that is

disgraceful?" sternly replied the captain.

"All right," said Munroe in a voice obviously agitated, "say no more about
it."

Macgregor navigated for three days after leaving, with great vigour and
commendable care, though it was known that he was tippling. He seemed to
have an aversion to Ralph when he had imbibed too freely. This could not
be accounted for, as until recently Ralph was very popular with the captain.
After passing Elsinore he commenced to drink harder, but always kept his
watch until the Scaw was rounded. Then irregularities became visible.
Strong westerly winds were encountered after passing the Jutland coast.
The men knew by experience whenever a light was kept burning in the
stateroom at night, when the wind blew hard and a press of canvas was
being carried, that the intention was, not to take a stitch in until something
carried away. The sailors dreaded these occasions, as the little craft was
smothered at times and never a bit of rest could be had until the wind eased
down. Ten days after leaving Windau the Hebe entered the Commercial
Docks, London. She had been flogged heavily all the way home. A record
passage was considered to have been made under the circumstances, and
several vessels that had left before and at the same time were sheltering in
Elsinore roads, while others had put into Norwegian ports. Mr Hobkirk was
much gratified by his captain's performances, and would not listen to the
petty gossip that had been sent by some busybodies about him drinking and
being absent from the vessel while at the loading port. He deemed it
necessary, however, to mention the matter to the captain, who on his arrival
at the Tyne was asked to spend an evening with the owner and discuss
things generally. The use of offices was dispensed with in these days. All
accounts and correspondence were kept and carried on from the owner's
private house. When the interview took place, Captain Macgregor was at
his best. Hobkirk was like a willow in his hands. He nervously introduced
the subject of intemperance. It was eloquently and contemptuously denied;
and just as the owner was in the act of repeating what had been told him, a
stern voice came down the chimney rebuking him for lack of confidence in
a man who had given such proof of integrity. Hobkirk felt uneasy, but the
matter of accounts which were not quite satisfactory had to be dealt with.

As soon as they were mentioned Macgregor fumed into white heat and rose
to go, and got nearly to the door when a sharp angry voice came down the
chimney demanding that the captain should be brought back again and
peace made with him. Hobkirk was by this time in such a state of terror he
begged the gallant commander to take his seat, and apologised for having
unintentionally offended him. Again the voice came: "The wicked in his
pride doth persecute the poor: let them be taken in the devices that they
have imagined." This was the climax. Hobkirk was beside himself with fear,
and tremblingly requested that all should be forgotten.

"I assure you, Macgregor, I have the fullest confidence in you. By the way,
did you hear anything just now?"

"Yes," said the captain, "and although I'm not a nervous man it has made a
very deep impression upon me. Good night, sir."

The captain never had the honour of being invited to his owner's home
again. There were those who said that Hobkirk believed him to have
communion with his Satanic majesty, or to possess supernatural power.
Hobkirk was undoubtedly convinced that the mill was haunted by a spirit
favourably disposed towards the man who had claimed to be his ideal
shipmaster. He became afraid to doubt his honesty or his sobriety lest his
nights might be disturbed and his days filled with trouble.

"Ah," said he to a friend in whom he had confided, "Solomon the son of
David was right when he said these words: 'Happy is the man that findeth
wisdom and the man that getteth understanding, for the merchandise of it is
better than the merchandise of silver, and the gain thereof than fine gold.'"

"Very shrewd, very fine," said his friend, "but you might have added one or
two other things that the great Hebrew King's son said. What do you think
of these few words of wisdom and rebuke: 'But ye have set at naught all my
counsel, and would none of my reproof. I also will laugh at your calamity: I
will mock when your fear cometh?' It is no use, Hobkirk; I told you all
along that Macgregor would have to be watched, but you were carried away
with his money-making, his glamour and letter-writing, and now he's your

master. I'll tell you another thing old Solomon said: 'Open rebuke is better
than secret love, and faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an
enemy are deceitful.' My advice is: have another master ready for the Hebe
as soon as she gets back."

Hobkirk confessed to his friend that the quotations from his favourite author
and his own frank statements had made a deep impression on him, though
he was bound to admit that his confidence was only partially shaken in the
man to whom he had pinned his faith.

"Very well, we will see," responded the friend as he passed out of the door.

Mr Hobkirk's meditations kept him awake right through the night, and at an
early hour in the morning he boarded the Hebe, and found the captain and
his men energetically preparing to take her to sea. The cargo was all in. A
gentle westerly breeze was blowing. The topsails were set; the moorings
were let go; and the little vessel proceeded out of the harbour bound to
Copenhagen.

The owner went over the bar with her, and on getting outside had a private
conversation with the master, the nature of which was never disclosed, but
so far as Macgregor was concerned it was animated. Mr Hobkirk, before
leaving with the pilot, gave the crew his benediction, and slipped into the
cobble which waited to convey them ashore. The pilot, observing that the
flag was being dipped, broke the silence by remarking:

"She's off once more, sir, and they're dipping the blood and guts of old
England to say goodbye to us."

The owner was indignant, and smartly retorted:

"I wish you to understand, pilot, that I will not have the British flag insulted
in my presence. When you speak of that flag, sir, you must speak of it with
reverence, and remember that it has never been lowered to an enemy."

The pilot, who had been a sailor and captain, was amazed at the owner's
ignorance in not knowing that seamen were accustomed to speak of the flag

in this way. Had he been a foreigner who dared to address him in a similar
tone of ill-nature, he would have thrown him overboard. As it was, he
merely remarked in an ironic accent that Mr Hobkirk "had a lot to learn
yet." By the time the cobble got ashore, the fine clipper brig was nearly hull
down.

Macgregor had prevailed upon the same crew to go with him again, and the
owner's back was scarcely turned before he commenced to drink and ill-use
the poor half-witted Ralph who was in his watch. There does not appear to
have been any reason for this except that of alcoholic viciousness. The dark
horror of secret drinking quickly developed into hideous proportions; it
gripped him like a vice; his bleary eyes and wild fits of delirium
foreshadowed inevitable collapse. He raved about things that were
supposed to be whispered in his ears by unholy voices; he saw wild beasts
of the most ferocious character, which were not there, and imagined them
grinding their teeth in anxiety to devour him; he alternately yelled and
whispered that rats, weasels and wild cats were crawling over his body and
gnawing at his vitals. In the paroxysm of frenzy he lay down on the cabin
floor and tried to bury his head from the sight of the demons that he
imagined pursued him. He cried out in pitiful accents to be shielded from
them, and in the effort lost complete capacity for coherent speech. The crew
were thrown into a condition of chilly fear. A consultation was held, and it
was decided to have him carefully watched and occasional doses of brandy
administered. For three days a fine westerly breeze had raced over the
dappled sea. It had varied in strength, and nearly three hundred miles had
been covered when the wind died away to a calm which continued nearly
twenty-four hours. Then an air sprang up from the east and gradually gained
in strength to a whole sail breeze. The captain had shown alarming signs of
sudden recovery during the early hours of the fourth day. The delirium
tremens had apparently left him, and he became subdued and attractively
rational. Munroe, who did not possess much intelligence, knowledge or
ambition, expressed his satisfaction that the drunken beggar was about to
resume control, as he was sick of being both skipper and mate. As a matter
of fact, responsibility did not sit lightly on this frivolous officer, and it may
be that he knew the measure of his capacity. Ralph heard all the mate had to
say, and quietly remarked:

"They haven't left him yet. He's only at the cunning, dangerous stage."

"What do you mean, Ralph?" said Munroe (for in spite of his reputed semi-
idiotcy Ralph was supposed to possess intuitive foresight).

"I mean what I say. Now's the time to watch him, or he may have any one
of us by the throat before we know where we are. I'll be the first he'll go
for," said Ralph, in broad vernacular; "he used to like me, but now that he's
taken on to drink I feel that he wants to kill me."

At midnight on the fourth day from sailing Ralph had just relieved the
wheel, and Macgregor had come on deck, and commenced to walk the
quarterdeck in his usual dignified style. The vessel was being sailed by the
wind, and his eyes became fixed aloft, watching, as was his custom,
whether she was properly steered. At last he broke silence by shouting out:

"Hard up! Don't you see the rocks right ahead?" Then he sprang at Ralph
like a tiger, and had nearly torn his clothes off him before other members of
the crew came to his aid. The captain's strength was superhuman. It took
four men to get him into his berth and lash him securely down, and in a few
minutes he died in a screaming fit of madness.

It was promptly arranged that the body should, if possible, be landed in
England, and as there was blowing a whole sail breeze from the east, her
tail was put to it and then a heated discussion arose as to the proper course
to steer for Tynemouth Castle. The mate said W. by N. Ralph insisted W. by
S. from their position would land her right under the castle foot. As both
stubbornly maintained they were right, it was agreed to come to a
compromise by steering W. by N. one watch and W. by S. the next, and so
on until the land was made. After this knotty question was settled an
incident almost incredible in its awful gruesomeness took place. Ralph
became smitten by a revengeful mania. He went below, took his deceased
commander's clothes off, put his body on the table and commenced to lash
at it with a piece of rope, exclaiming at every stroke, "You thrashed me, you
tiger, when you were living, and I'll thrash you now that you're dead." The

mate happened to go into the cabin while this performance was going on,
and was stricken with chill horror.

"My God, Ralph, what are you doing?" the mate shouted.

"Don't you see what I'm doing, you d——n fool?" said Ralph, "I'll teach the
villain to lash me for doing nothing!"

"But," said Munroe, "his body will be marked, and we will be had up for
murder!"

"There is no fear of that. A corpse never gets marked by beating it."

This assurance relieved Mr Munroe so much that he covered his strange
companion with profuse compliments on his knowledge of the inanimate
human body, and nicknamed him 'Ralph-ower-mony.' After this
extraordinary being had finished his gruesome revenge on the dead body of
his master, it was placed in a hastily-constructed deal casement, and put on
top of the longboat, and then covered over with the Union Jack and an
awning, so that it might be kept cool.

There is no class of Englishmen who regard the national flag with such
reverence as the sailor; to him it is a divinity, used as an emblem of glory, or
sorrow, as the case may be. He disdains making the noisy, vulgar use of it
that is sometimes practised at meetings by unctuous, ill-read politicians,
whose abnormal egotism, impudence and ignorance cause them to boast of
a devotion for the flag equalled by no one else. The sailor, on the other
hand, speaks of it as a thing too sacred to act circus games with. If his
shipmate dies at sea, he is sewn up in canvas and covered over with the
Union Jack; a heavy weight is placed at his feet, and, with heads bowed
low, they silently commit his remains to the deep. If a sailor dies in port, the
flag is used to cover the coffin as a solemn token of having died while
serving under its beneficent protection. Think of the beautiful sentiment that
governs the sailor's ideal of using it, and then, if you can, think of the
blatant political person and the use he puts it to! How it reminds you of
Petticoat Lane, and makes you pray that England may be delivered from
such disgusting impertinence!

Mr Munroe had assumed command, and discussed with his crew the idea of
a burial at sea. This was strenuously opposed by Ralph, who insisted that
the body should be carried to England in case the question of foul play
should arise. This course was adopted, and great precaution was taken to
prevent premature decomposition. A smart breeze from the N.E. carried the
little brig rapidly towards the land, and on the morning of the third day she
sailed into the roadstead for which she had been steered. The dual courses
had worked out an accurate landfall. Before the anchor was let go, the pilot
cobble came alongside.

"Where's the captain?" asked the pilot.

"The beggar's dead, sir," answered Ralph, ignoring the respect he owed to
his superior officer, Mr Munroe, who requested him to keep his tongue
quiet and allow him to speak. The anchor was dropped, sails furled and flag
put half-mast, and the pilot was requested to go ashore and acquaint the
owner with what had happened. At eleven o'clock every forenoon a few
well-known owners met in the parlour of an inn, there to discuss matters of
personal and public interest. The banking accounts and characters of their
neighbours who did not belong to the coterie were pulled remorselessly to
pieces. If they happened to have progressive ideas and were successful,
their speedy bankruptcy was predicted. Each member of the party had
"churchwardens" kept in a bracket with his name on, and only one glass of
whiskey and one pipe of tobacco was indulged in until the evening sitting,
when they did not stick at trifles. But the keynote of these forenoon and
evening sittings was money. Mr Hobkirk and his friends had just got quietly
seated and the conversation turned on the vessel that had been observed to
anchor in the roads, when the pilot in wild excitement burst in upon their
privacy, exclaiming:

"The Hebe has put back with the captain's dead body aboard!"

"How did he come by his death?" asked several of the party; "he was a
stout, strong-looking man?"

"They say he died of drink," said the pilot.

"Ah," responded the comforting friends, "we told you, Hobkirk, what you
might expect. You remember the voice coming down the chimney? That
was his voice. We have been informed he could talk two ways. We never
believed in him, and told you so."

"I admit it, gentlemen, I admit it. I have been deceived, but please do not
refer to the chimney affair again; that unnerves me."

Instructions were given to the pilot to land the body of Captain Macgregor,
and without any show of mourning the remains of this once brilliant man
were put to rest in a drunkard's grave, close by the sea, far away from his
own home. The story of how he came by his death and what subsequently
occurred was told in all its ghastly detail to the pilots, who in turn spread it
abroad, without diminishing the account given to them. Another captain
was quickly engaged, and the Hebe sailed on her voyage. The late owners
of Captain Macgregor were informed of his death, and about two weeks
afterwards a comely-looking lady with a little boy of four years old called at
Mr Hobkirk's house and asked for an interview. She was received with
unfeigned displeasure. The owner commenced a vigorous tirade against the
man who he considered had wronged him by killing himself with drink. The
lady suddenly cut this flow of vindictive denunciation short by stamping her
foot on the floor and shouting out: "Stop! I will listen to this no longer. I am
the widow of the late captain. I have come from Scotland, not to hear your
coarse abuse of him, but to learn where you have laid his body. Tell me this,
and then I desire to hear no more from you. His effects and any money due
from you to him you may send to this address."

Hobkirk interjected:

"He has no money due."

"Very well, then," responded Mrs Macgregor, "there will be none to send;
but I must have his effects."

Hobkirk by this time had read the address. It startled him. He became
apologetic and asked if the baronet whose address she had given was in any
way related to her.

"Yes," said she, "he is my father, and my late husband's uncle."

"Ah," said Hobkirk, "I knew my judgement was right in believing him to
belong to a family of distinction. He was a man of great ability, and had a
fascinating address. What a sad thing that he should have given way to
drink."

"I must request you not to speak of Captain Macgregor in this way to me.
Whatever faults he may have had are covered up in his tomb. If he has
wronged you, be frank and tell me, so that I may atone for it in some way.
You have my address. I came here principally to visit his grave and arrange
for a tombstone to be put up. Please be good enough to allow someone to
take me to it."

"If I may, I should like to take you to it myself."

But the little lady declined. The fine dignity of her bearing, and the charm
of her bow when she said "good-day" to him, covered the parochial
potentate with shame for having received and treated her as a commonplace
captain's wife. Mr Hobkirk conveyed to his friends at their evening sitting at
the inn all that had passed between himself and his distinguished visitor. He
was smartly censured for being shortsighted in not discerning that she
belonged to the gentry, and he was charged with the possibility of getting
the leading citizens of the town into bad repute.

"Why," said they, "she may write to the papers about it, and then there will
be a fine ado."

The tragedy of her husband's death and her visit created a sensation of no
small importance in the district. Local gossip made much of it, and for a
time the great Mr Hobkirk lost caste. The poor, bereaved lady was the
centre of sympathy. They thought of her standing by the grave-side, holding
her little son by the hand, and, wrapped by the veil of sorrow, offering up a
humble prayer to Almighty God, and then quietly passing from the scene of
sadness and death to make her way home.

IV

PIRACY IN THE ARCHIPELAGO

Who can fully estimate all the world owes to Providence and nature in
propagating the fervid Scottish race? They are found in every continent,
climbing from the three-legged stool in an office, or from any other
subordinate position. They toil upward with caution and perseverance. They
always aim at the top of the tree, and multitudes of them succeed. But one
of the Scot's extraordinary characteristics is his deference to superiors. At
an early age the average Scot is characterized by this passion to get on by
thrift, love of "siller," a puritanic mode of thought, and an imperishable love
of his country which, however, does not prevent him from leaving it in
order to enter into mercantile or other pursuits in the farthest parts of the
earth—or the nearest, it really does not matter—so long as he gets a decent
start.

Archie Macvie's father, who was an elder of a Presbyterian Kirk, managed
one of the flax factories in an important town north of the Forth. Archie was
the youngest of the lads, and by far and away the cleverest, but he had made
up his mind to engage himself as an apprentice aboard an English brig that
was discharging flax for the owners of the factory. This determination came
as a great shock to the Macvies, who had pictured their boy in the position
one day of a popular minister of their own denomination. Every strictly
proper device was used to change the mind of their laddie, but all to no
purpose. His imagination, and perhaps his desire to minimise the grief of
his parents, led him to urge that in a few years he would come to them, not
only a captain, but an owner. The old people were secretly pleased to hear
these aspirations from the lips of their much-beloved boy, but they felt it

their duty to treat the case with becoming solemnity. "Ah, Archie," said his
father, "I must warn you never to allow the things of this world to take
possession of your thoughts in a way that will keep religion from you. I
would remind you of the words of Solomon: 'Better is little with the fear of
the Lord than great treasure and trouble therewith.'" However, he went to
sea.

After four years and a half of hard training he had gained the reputation of
being one of the smartest young fellows that sailed out of his port. He had
become quite a favourite, not only with his shipmates, but with the captain
and owner. There was neither surprise nor jealousy when the master
recommended that his indentures should be endorsed, and that he should be
given the mate's situation, which had become vacant. At this time he was in
his twentieth year, and before he had reached twenty-one his owner gave
him command of the vessel which about six years before he had joined as
an apprentice. His rapid advancement and singular success as a shipmaster
made his contemporaries speak of him as likely to reach the very highest
place in the profession before he had attained his thirtieth year. Their
estimate of the highest position was really very modest, as the largest vessel
belonging to the port did not exceed 700 tons deadweight, and of these
there were only about half-a-dozen. The general public rarely saw them
except when they came off a long voyage and had repairs to do. Those
occasions were looked upon as not merely incidental, but historic. The
whole country-side turned out to witness the advent of what they conceived
to be a leviathan; the vessel herself was dressed from truck to rail on every
mast with bunting, and there was a corresponding display of it on shore.
Events such as births, deaths, marriages, and other more or less interesting
doings were accurately remembered by a visitation of this kind. The local
almanac chronicled the occasion as minutely as it did the death of Nelson or
the accession of Queen Victoria to the throne. So that if any lapse of
memory occurred a reference to this touchstone of local history put matters
right. Archie Macvie had longed for the time to come when someone would
offer him command of a large vessel. His reputation as a clever, pushing,
steady-going shipmaster had reached beyond the circle of local critics,
which entitled him to expect speedy promotion. His owner, as well as other
people, predicted great things of him, and it was whispered that he had

immediate prospects that were dazzling in their lucrative possibilities. A
landed proprietor, who owned the whole of a handsome barque, had heard
of his fame, and wrote requesting Macvie to come and see him. The
interview sealed the captain's future destiny. Mr Rockfeller received him
with becoming dignity; but after a few minutes' conversation with the
young captain his icy manner melted. He became aware that the man whom
he had asked to be seated in the sumptuously-furnished drawing-room was
his equal, if not his superior, in knowledge and intelligence.

"Your youthful appearance surprises me," said the lord of the manor.

"Yes," responded the shrewd Scotsman; "I have been told that before, and
have often had reason to be grateful to a kind Providence in not necessarily
prohibiting me from occupying a position of trust because of my juvenile
appearance."

"Very good, very good," said Rockfeller. "And now, captain, I wish at once
to offer you command of the first vessel that brought gold from Australia.
Your wage will be £12 per month; and in order to give you a good start I
offer you an eighth of the Boadicea at a low price. If you have the money to
pay for it, well and good; if not I will be content to allow you to work it
off."

"Your kindness overpowers me," replied Macvie; "I am sorry I have not
sufficient money saved to pay for the share you so generously give me the
opportunity of taking, and as I make it a rule never to purchase a thing I
cannot pay for in cash, I am reluctantly compelled to refuse it."

"Very well," said the owner, "give me what you can spare, and I will forego
the balance, and hand you a bill of sale for eight sixty-fourths. I do this not
only because of the favourable impression you have made, but to make you
feel that your interest is not merely that of a commander, but that of part
owner with myself."

"I thank you; but may I suggest that this generosity be postponed until you
have tested whether I will suit you or not?" said the lucky captain.

"No, I will risk that," replied Mr Rockfeller. "And now there is nothing left
for me to say except to request that you join the vessel at once; and you
have a free hand to do what you consider best with her."

Captain Macvie hurried home and conveyed to his young wife the good
fortune that had come to them. He also informed his aged parents, whom he
had not seen since his first home-leaving, of all that had taken place, and
expressed his regret that he could not visit them before sailing on a voyage
to the Piraeus, but hoped to do so on his return. This letter became a family
heirloom. The joy of the old people was reflected on the whole family, and
also on their friends, and the congratulations were numerous and sincere. In
less than a week from the time of being engaged, the Boadicea was towed
over the bar, and she sailed away followed by a north-east wind. The
hurrahs of the visitors after embarking on the tug reverberated the joyous
tidings of goodwill, and soon the ship and her jolly crew passed from view
into the southern haze.

The Eastern question was causing great anxiety in diplomatic circles;
trouble was fast brewing into open hostility, and before the Boadicea
arrived at the port of discharge, the great Russian war of 1854 had broken
out with all its hellish mismanagement and criminal indifference to the
needs of the finest soldiers in the whole world. They were badly generalled,
shockingly clothed and meagrely fed on provisions that the ordinary
civilian would scarcely give to swine. Complaints of the grossest
mismanagement were sent home and were unheeded; while the predatory,
heartless scoundrels who had contracts were allowed to amass wealth by
shamelessly robbing poor Tommy of his food and clothes. Mon Dieu! What
forbearance the thinking, sympathetic portion of the British people must
have had to endure it, knowing that their fellow-subjects and kinsfolk were
being done to death by some contractors and by the callousness and
incompetency of dunderheaded politicians and drawing-room warriors! It is
a sickening subject that cannot be approached without feelings of anger.

The Boadicea made a quick passage, and was boarded on her arrival by
swarms of Levantine gentlemen, each clamouring for first place to get her
in hand to charter. The declaration of war had created a wild demand for

transport tonnage. Sensational freights were offered for the veriest
rattletraps, and as the young commander of the Boadicea estimated his craft
to be one of the finest of her class afloat, he made a counter-bid which
startled the Grecian modesty of his interesting visitors. The negotiations
were animated, and before the day closed the vessel was chartered at a rate
that would pay back her original cost in less than twelve months. Over and
above this it was agreed that the captain should receive legitimate gratuities
that amounted to more than double his wage per month. The director of
transports ordered the vessel to be taken to Malta to load stores immediately
she had finished discharging, and gave instructions that overtime should be
worked in order to get the cargo of much needed supplies to the seat of war.
It was a stirring time for the captain and his crew. In four days the holds
were emptied and she sailed from the Piraeus on the fifth with 180 tons of
sand ballast aboard. In five days from leaving Athens she arrived in the
beautiful harbour of Valetta, and four days after left again with a full cargo
of foods, stores and other supplies for Constantinople for orders. Every
stitch of canvas was set after getting clear of the harbour; studding sails
lower and aloft were spread to the kiss of the singing wind, and the officers
were made to understand that there was to be hard cracking on; nothing was
to be taken in until the maximum amount of endurance of spars, ropes and
rigging had been reached. The breeze freshened and the sea curled its white
tops into angry combers Captain Macvie walked the starboard quarterdeck
with an air of dignity and luxury of dress that would have called forth the
supreme contempt of his associates of earlier days. They would have
stigmatized him as a fine-weather dandy, and not a true British sailor. The
captain had never been past Gibraltar until he got command of his present
vessel. As a matter of fact, he had rarely been off the coast, and never at any
time as far south as Cape Finisterre. He had acquired large ideas of the
magnificence that should be observed by a captain aboard a vessel of the
Boadicea's size and class. He had heard also that the men liked to see
monarchical display, and that is why he adopted it so naturally. The third
day after leaving Malta the forecastle hands were congregated on the
topgallant forecastle during the dogwatch from six to eight. The discussion
was of an animated character. The second officer, who was an old hand in
these waters, stood amongst them, and the speaker frequently referred to
him in order that his statements might be confirmed. When the second

officer came aft, the captain remarked that the boys seemed to have had a
heated discussion.

"Mr Robb, may I take the liberty of asking if it is anything that may not be
conveyed to me?"

"Not at all," said Mr Robb; "they were yarning about pirates that infest the
Grecian Archipelago. They sneak out of the bays and from under the islands
with the suddenness of a rocket. They have very swift schooners, many of
them built in America for the slave trade, and they are full of well-armed,
bloodthirsty villains who stick at nothing." It was according to the strictly
observed ethics of South Spainer discipline that the commander never was
supposed to so far lower the supremacy of high office as to speak directly to
a common sailor, but only through his officers. Mr Robb took it for granted
that this law had been rigidly observed, and therefore said to the captain.

"You know that fair-haired man who was talking so excitedly?"

Macvie, not wishing to appear familiar with his men, and perhaps in order
to impress the officer with an air of majesty, replied:

"No, sir, I do not know him, but I think I recognize the sailor to whom you
desire to call my attention. I saw him gesticulating, and I think I heard him
swear frightfully."

"That may be, sir," said the second officer, "but he means no harm by it. He
is indeed one of the best and bravest sailors attached to the British
Mercantile Marine; and were it not a breach of etiquette, I would ask you to
allow him to give you a brief account of all the curious experiences and
hardships he has gone through in a short life."

"My curiosity impels me to consent, but my judgement forbids such
familiarity. Had I been in charge of the Vanquisher I might have yielded; as
it is, I must conform to the duty that devolves upon a person in my position
by asking you to be the medium of communication of this sailor's strange
adventures," said the captain.

"Very good," replied Robb, "then here is the story: I do not think he would
like me to tell you, but he was a pirate himself for over twelve months. It
came about like this. He and I were shipmates five years ago. The barque
we were in was discharging at Athens. We asked for liberty to go ashore one
Saturday night; he got a few glasses of grog too much, and became pally
with some Greek sailors who spoke broken English. They asked him to go
with them to some place of amusement, and in spite of my pleading with
him not to do so, he went; the result being they decoyed him aboard their
own vessel, which proved to be a pirate schooner. When he came to himself
after his drunken sleep, the vessel was far out at sea. He was soon made to
understand what he would be expected to do, and the terrible conditions
under which he would be permitted to live. He was asked to take the oath of
fidelity to their cause, which carried with it awful obligations and
consequences if not rigidly adhered to; and after the hazy alcoholic stupor
had been shivered out of him, he grasped the situation, and not only agreed
to their code, but became, externally, the most enterprising of the gang.
They were indebted to him for much useful information, though for some
time his bonâ-fides were suspected because of his pushful partiality for
conflict with any nationality rather than his own. He persuaded his friends
that six out of ten British vessels kept firearms and powder magazines
aboard, and that foreigners, such as Swedes, Norwegians, Danes and
Germans gave in much sooner than his own countrymen. They cordially
agreed with this, hence rarely gave chase after a Britisher except when he
suggested it, and it was policy for him to do this sometimes in order to keep
on perfectly good terms with them. He has told me that over and over again
they boarded Norwegian vessels laden with flax, tallow or grain, and the
crew asked them to take what they wanted and no resistance would be
made. This, he says, was the best plan, because it saved blood from being
spilt on either side. They used to fill the craft's holds from the cargo of the
captured vessel; take any money or valuables, such as chronometers, that
might be aboard; all firearms, gunpowder and implements of warfare had to
be given up; and a squad of armed pirates covered their comrades who were
operating for the benefit of the whole.

The grief of having to leave my old shipmate behind was only equalled by
the mystery of what had become of him. He was very popular with all of us

in the forecastle. His quick humour and gifted capacity to entertain and
amuse endeared him to everybody. A born musician, he could play on
almost any instrument, sing comic songs, and step-dance as well as any
professional. His great weakness was love of gay company and grog. He
belonged to very well-to-do, highly respectable people; and their sorrow at
his supposed death was very bitter. His mother declared that the light had
gone out of her life, and begged me never to cease trying to find out when
on my voyages whether he was alive or not. The old lady said she feared the
worst, but never ceased to pray and hope that some day he would be
brought back to them. A little over a year had elapsed since the fateful night
of his disappearance. I was on my second voyage in the same vessel, but
had been promoted to boatswain. We had rounded Matapan with a snoring
breeze on the port beam. We had just opened the Gulf of Nauplia out when
the look-out man shouted, 'A vessel on the port bow!' She was carrying full
sail, and steering towards us. We soon discerned that she was on an
unfriendly errand, and that the intention was to try and board us. No one
could be seen about the decks except the helmsman and a man apparently
on the look out. If we altered our course she did the same; and whichever
way we went, her sailing qualities outmatched ours. The excitement had
grown to fever heat, as a great conflict was now imminent. Our men had
been supplied with muskets, and told to conceal themselves and use them
when the critical time came, and to make sure that every shot was effectual.
Two small cannon, which were fixtures on the taffrail, were loaded ready to
do service. At last she came within hailing distance of our weather beam. A
man shouted through a speaking-trumpet in mongrel English to 'Heave to!'
We did not heed this insolent command, but kept going. In a few minutes
more a peremptory command came through the speaking-trumpet to 'Heave
to, or we would be fired upon.'

"'Now's the time,' hissed our captain; 'we will do some damage to ourselves,
but, by God, we'll teach them to order an English ship to be hove to! We
must run right into his midships. I will give the order at the proper moment.
The thing must be done with the suddenness of fork lightning. It is not the
shooting so much as the sinking, and the panic that must be created by the
suddenness of our action. 'Hard down the helm!' cried the captain. 'Let go
your weather braces, and stand by to use your muskets and bayonets too if

any of them attempt to board us.' In less than a minute the pirate schooner's
doom was sealed. Our vessel struck her with such force amidships that she
sank almost immediately. Instead of tacking their vessel, and getting out of
our way, which they might have done, they were encouraged to fight; and
the man who didn't was the man who has attracted your attention to-night.
So far as we could tell, only himself and three of the Greeks were saved.
They jumped aboard unarmed, and Jack, or 'Curly' as he was called,
shouted out to me and the captain who he was. We were dumbfounded. He
hastily told us how he had managed to bring about the disastrous results to
the pirates, and asked the captain to put the Greeks, or whatever they were,
into a boat and set them adrift. This was promptly agreed to, but before the
painter was let go one of the sailors asked permission to shoot the beggars
before they left, to prevent them killing somebody else. But our captain
only laughed and ordered them from alongside. After cordially shaking
hands with the captain and all the crew, Jack requested to be allowed to
assist in clearing away the wreckage caused by the collision, and fixing the
spare jib-boom, for that was the only spar carried away. Jack told us the
pirates thought they had a soft thing on, as we seemed so undecided what to
do, and that we could not have adopted a better move than we did. 'There is
nothing frightens them like panic, and I played up to it as near as I could;
but, by thunder! I played a high game. I stood to be shot by either you or
my Christian friends,' said Jack; 'and upon my soul I feel that I have played
them a dirty trick.' 'Not a bit of it,' said I. 'You have done your country, and
especially us, a great service by helping to rid the world of a few murderous
thieves and cunning assassins.'

"'Oh, damn it!' interjected Jack, 'I cannot allow you to call us such villanous
names as that. My late friends considered their trade quite as honourable as
yours. They knew that they were breaking the law by carrying on a game of
what is called pillage or brigandage at sea; but then they thought the law
was all wrong, and that it was unlawful to enforce such restrictions, or put
any penalty on freedom of action. And, by Jove! their arguments were
almost convincing; especially when we had to fight for what we wanted,
and got wounded.'

"'I see that you have got scars on your cheek and hands. Were they received
by encounter with some ship's crew?'

"'Yes,' said Jack, 'but not my own countrymen. It was a deadly fight.' And
then he became pensive. I could see his mind was working, but he refused
to be drawn into further conversation; and from that day to this I have not
been able to get anything more out of him on that score. Though when he is
in the mood, he relates the comical side of the sea-rovers' life in a most
fascinating way, and frankly admits the better side to have a charm about it
that only those who have lived the life can know. 'But,' he would add, 'I
would rather stand here and ask that I might be shot if I thought there was
any possibility of ever becoming one of them again. On the criminal side it
resembles hell's tatterdemalions let loose. To call them thieves and
murderers is to flatter them. Their vicious scoundrelism transcends either
murder or thieving.'"

The hero of this sensational story was a well-built young fellow of twenty-
three or twenty-four years old; he stood about five feet nine, and had the
appearance of being possessed of great physical power; his cleanshaven
face disclosed a beautiful mouth and two fine rows of teeth; his chin and
nose indicated robust strength of character, and his large blue eyes,
sparkling under well-formed eyebrows and a massive forehead, both spoke
and laughed in a fascinating way while his tongue was speechless. In short,
he was a good-looking, typical sailor, whose natural gifts made him popular
and much sought after to amuse his comrades by doing a step-dance, telling
a funny yarn, singing a comic song, or he would entertain them by reading
from a book.

"I have told this tale at your own request, captain," said the second officer.
"My main object has been not only to interest you, but to inform you of the
dangers that may be expected in navigating these piratical waters. And I
have been asked by Curly to warn you against hugging the land. He advises
keeping well in mid-channel, as you are more likely to carry a true wind;
and if any of the rovers should make their appearance and attempt pursuit,
he says the thing that would terrify them most would be to shape at running
them down; but if that course is adopted it must not be done in a halfhearted

way. There should be no first-you-will and then-you-won't policy. Nothing
but a daring, unfaltering attitude directed fair for the amidships can be
effectual. They fear the loss of their vessel more than the disablement of a
few men; and the leader of the band fears as much as anything the creation
of panic amongst his followers. Damage to the running down vessel must
be counted upon, but it must be arranged so that the other gets hit so badly
that, instead of fighting they have to swim for their lives or plead for mercy.
Curly informs me this is their prowling time, and they may be expected to
pop out from any of the islands as we pass along."

Captain Macvie was much impressed, and thanked his second officer for
relating to him a story so full of keen interest and useful information.

"You may rely on the facts being correct," said Mr Robb, "but should you
have any doubts as to the authenticity of some of the things I have been
talking to you about, reserve your final judgement, because it is pretty
certain that you won't be long in this trade until you find out I have not
exaggerated one single incident, and that there are gentlemen cruising in
these waters who claim a law unto themselves, and who make a speciality
of brigandage and murder. I understand from Curly that many of them are
educated and well-bred, and that it is the love of adventure that causes that
section of them to take to the life. They are adepts at playing the double role
of society person and murderous buccaneer. In both capacities they are
fascinating, and really irresistible at a ball or a dinner-party; so much so,
indeed, that it is not an uncommon thing for young ladies of gentle birth to
become their wives, and in exceptional cases share their adventures."

"Oh," said Captain Macvie, "you must not suppose that I doubt the truth of
what you have related to me. I think it quite possible, and we must be
prepared to cope with any sudden emergency of a similar character. I must
now bid you good-night. You will find instructions in the night order book.
I do not wish to be disturbed unless something unusual occurs."

Right through the night the Boadicea romped along at the rate of ten knots
an hour, and when the captain came on deck at eight o'clock the following

morning she was flying through the Cerigo passage under double-reefed
topsails and courses.

"There is no fear of any pirates troubling us if this continues," remarked the
captain.

"Not any," responded the chief mate, "and I think we shall have more of it
before we have less. You won't be able to carry this press of canvas after
passing Andros. We will have the wind more on the port quarter, and she
will bury herself after opening the Ægean Sea."

"Very well," said Macvie in an angry tone, "let her bury herself; and in
order that her qualities may be tested before we reach this wonderful sea of
yours, let the reefs out of the topsails and masthead them. I desire you to
know, Mr Scrivener, that I shall be the judge when to shorten sail and when
to set it. Do you imagine, sir, because I only commanded a collier before
coming here that I do not know my business? Please remember that I am
master of this craft, not you."

This was a crushing rebuke for the mate, and he resolved that if the masts
were going over the side he would never make another suggestion while his
chief was on deck. The additional canvas did not improve matters, as her
flat bows sent the sea churning angrily ahead, and the spray flew all over
her in smothering clouds. Mr Scrivener was secretly glad that she was
"making such a mess of herself," as he called it, but he did not deem it
prudent to say so to his captain. But, as he afterwards said, it was not
necessary to do this, for he saw the skipper was thinking hard enough
himself, though he was too proud to own it, and would have seen the masts
go by the board rather than show weakness in shortening sail after what had
passed. This freak, however, kept him on deck all day and all night, for
there was no abatement of either wind or sea, until she was swept into the
Dardanelles. The sail had to be shortened so that she might be hove to, and
the boat sent ashore at Chanak to receive pratique and a permit to allow her
to pass through into the sea of Marmora. Many an expensive salvage case
and many a life has been lost through this barbarous system. It is the worst
part of the channel for erratic currents, and notwithstanding the disasters to

life and property, it has only been possible to establish a steam launch there
during the last twelve months. As soon as the boat returned with the
clearance she was hoisted up, and the vessel headed on her course through
the straits. The west wind blew through the narrow passage with screaming
gusts, and the volley of water was churned into flying foam as she rushed
along under a heavy press of sail; for the young commander was bent on
letting his officers and men see that he knew how to crack on without losing
his head, and the average sailor rejoices in being able to say that he has
sailed with a man who was "a slogger." On the other hand, I have more than
once seen a whole crew come aft and ask the captain to reduce the sail
when the vessel was burying herself and the spars and sails were in danger
of being carried away; and I have more than once seen deputations of this
sort sent about their business, followed by a wrathful flow of well-selected
oaths that are only used by persons who have a very resourceful vocabulary.
It is not an uncommon thing for men to grumble and refuse to go aloft and
furl a royal or topgallant sail when it has been carried too long; and I have
seen the captain spring up the rigging and appeal to their manliness to
follow him. This challenge rarely fails to bring forth volunteers, and those
who lag behind have been the cause of bringing torrents of wickedness into
the world.

Captain Macvie was not a man who swore. He was more inclined to adhere
to his rigid Presbyterian training by quoting a psalm or a proverb to
emphasise displeasure or convey a rebuke. His officers did not comprehend
how he could be so unemotional and yet throw so much energy and dash
into the navigation of his vessel. Externally he was cool, reticent,
authoritative. He gave orders peremptorily, without hesitation; and both
officers and sailors like to feel that they have a strong personality
commanding them. The first and second mate had formed an impression,
owing to their captain never having been in these regions before, that he
would frequently have to appeal to them for information and advice, and
they were almost chagrined when they found that he never once showed
any indication of asking for information. But what caused them to marvel
was the masterful way in which he handled his vessel, and navigated her
not only through amongst the islands, but through a narrow waterway that
he had never seen before. The first officer ventured to make a suggestion,

when drawing towards Chanak, as to the method of heaving the vessel to,
so that the boat might be picked up easily. The captain retorted with almost
oriental dignity.

"Sir," said he, "when I was asked to take command of this vessel I did not
consent until I was perfectly assured of its being within the limit of my
capacity to do so, and it has not yet occurred to me that I am incapable of
carrying out what I undertook to do unaided by anyone. Please do not think
me angry with you. I only wish to say that you may rely on my making use
of your wide knowledge and experience when I find my capacity defective.
But not having realized that yet, I prefer to depend on my own tactics in all
that appertains to the navigation and handling of the ship I have the honour
to command."

The mate received this piece of information in subdued silence. It took him
all aback. He had not taken the trouble to ascertain whether there was force
and ability behind his chief's placid, silent exterior, and the lesson he
received was salutary and lasting. He watched with a critical eye the
management and navigation as the Boadicea was pressed through the
stream past Gallipoli into the sea of Marmora, and admitted to the second
mate that but for the excessive carrying on there was no flaw to be found.

"Indeed," said he, "I am beginning to see that we have got our master here
in everything. I'm sure he is a gentleman, and I wouldn't be surprised to find
that he's a sailor as well."

The following night the wind had fallen away to a gentle breeze. The vessel
was sailed close past San Stephano, and soon came within range of that
weird sepulchral cry of the Turk for the return of their prophet Mahomet. I
know what it is like, for I have often stood on deck and listened to the
melancholy wailing call of scores of voices appealing to their God, and
filling the air with thrilling pathos, until I have been stricken with a sense of
sadness myself, which caused me to envy the devotion of the people whom
we, who call ourselves Christians, deride. Macvie was greatly touched by
the sombre wail that was wafted over the glassy waters, and for a brief
moment it took his thoughts to the old home of prayer and saintly song, and

made him wonder whether the God to whom these people were calling
could also be his. But he had no time to ponder over eternal things. His
vessel was slipping towards the anchorage at Scutari. A suitable berth was
picked, the anchor dropped, sails furled, and then the captain's gig was
made ready by her crew, who were ordered to wash and dress themselves in
white ducks and blue jerseys, the latter having the name of the vessel in
front. All being ready, the master stepped into the boat and was rowed in
regal style to a landing in the Golden Horn. He was met there by an agent,
who informed him that he knew the stores were much needed in the
Crimea, but no official instructions having been given, he would have to
remain at anchor until they came.

"But don't you think," said the captain, "it would be as well for me to
proceed off Sevastopol or Kertch, and see if they really are in need of the
supplies I have on board?"

"My dear fellow," replied the agent, "you must never think of doing such a
thing. It would be deemed a breach of the rules of the service, and you
might be court-martialled and lose a splendid charter for doing so. Take my
advice: lie where you are until red-tapeism finds out that the wares you are
carrying for Government account are needed. You can make use of the time
by putting your vessel in good order. It may be months before they come to
your turn, and until they precisely come to it, you may rely on hearing
nothing from them. Departmental methods are very exact. You must never
be donkey enough to interfere with an ancient order of things: it might
throw the machinery of uniformity into chaos. Of course I know you will
say, 'That is all very excellent: but what about the poor, ill-fed, ill-clad,
fever-stricken soldiers? Is it right that I should be an accomplice in this
dreadful crime?' For God's sake, captain, leave off thinking like that, or it
will harrow your soul out of its casing; look at things from the broad,
brainless point of view of your mechanical employers who do everything by
routine. Go on board and order your sails to be unbent and put into the sail
cabin, for as sure as I am talking to you now, they will not be needed for
months."

"Will they not have heard at home of the distress in the army?" interjected
Captain Macvie.

"Why, yes, captain," said the versatile agent; "but, my dear fellow, do try to
get it into your head that these things have to go through many intricate
stages. First, the trouble which ought to have been foreseen takes place;
then weeks are occupied in transfixed amazement without doing anything;
then a council is held to consider why these breakdowns should happen;
and the conclusion arrived at is that they should never have happened,
therefore they have not taken place, and it is resolved to await further
developments before doing anything more. How is it possible for the British
army to have sickness in its ranks when we have thought of sending out
medicine? And how can they be without food and clothes when we have
given orders to our contractors to have these supplied? It is a malicious libel
to assert such things, to say nothing of the lack of commonsense in
supposing that the commissariat department does not know its own
business."

"Well," said the captain, "I must admit you seem to know the inner
workings of these Government concerns."

"I should just think I do," said the agent; "but of course we have to speak
with some regard to discretion. I am only giving you a tip or two to keep
you right. You will be going off aboard, so I will say 'good-day.' Come
ashore to-morrow."

The captain had many opportunities of hearing from this voluble person of
the magnificent mismanagement shown by the way the transports were
kicking about in different parts of the Bosphorus and in the Black Sea.
Many of them would sail to Kertch or Sevastopol and come straight back
without their cargoes being broached. They anchored in a snug spot where
the shore was easy of access, and would remain for months in peaceful
indolence. The Boadicea had been dismantled, and her anchor was never
seen for six months. How the men were to be kept employed became a tax
on the resources of the officers. Her sails, ropes and rigging had been
thoroughly overhauled, repaired and made equal to new, and the hull

showed indications of great taste and care. Not a speck of dirt or disorder
could be seen anywhere; and notwithstanding the jolly entertainments,
vocal and otherwise, they had on board each others' vessels almost every
night, the life of inactivity became so dreary that they longed for the time
when orders would be given to proceed to the Crimea. It was not mere
change they longed for, but they craved to see the fighting on shore, and,
better still, the bombardment of towns and ports by the warships from the
sea. Many of the merchant sailors would have enjoyed taking part in the
struggle.

Although the life at the Scutari anchorage had become a weary monotony, it
was not without incidents of excitement. Constantinople at that time was
overrun with the most daring brigands, who paid irregular visits to the
different roadsteads between midnight and the early hours of the morning.
They were armed with the most deadly weapons, and their secret
movements frequently evaded every precaution of watchfulness. The
sneaking caique, manned by accomplished emissaries handling muffled
oars, was rowed through the anchorage in advance, and for the purpose of
finding out the most vulnerable object of attack. Occasionally they selected
the wrong ship, and met with a sudden determined resistance from the crew,
who were eager for an opportunity of wreaking vengeance on a gang of
murderous ruffians who kept the men of the whole mercantile fleet in these
waters in a state of perpetual expectancy. Most ingenious methods were
planned for their destruction. An anchor, for instance, would be hanging to
the rail of the topgallant forecastle, or the cathead, and, as the caique came
dropping down with the current, if they drifted her under the bow, the
stopper and shankpainter was let go simultaneously, and the anchor landed
on their heads and then through the bottom of the boat. Nothing more was
ever seen of that batch! Another plan was to drop large stones or pieces of
heavy iron into the frail craft; and in that case also no more was ever heard
from them. These chances seldom came, however, as they were a wily lot,
who nearly always made sure of their ground before embarking on a
hazardous expedition. The crews of vessels were warned to keep a vigilant
lookout, and sometimes the anchor watch succeeded in giving the alarm in
time to frustrate a boarding.

But even this, and the open encounters that occurred, became a very
monotonous business to a large number of crews. They were itching for
some other sensation to be put into their lives, and they had moods of
gloomy forebodings that the great war would be ended without their being
able to say that they had seen anything of it; and, in fact, many of them
never did, and it is fair to say some never wanted to. Poor Captain Wilkins
of the Seaflower and his crew were among the latter. The captain was a
highly religious person who had imbued his men with anti-war proclivities.
He had a simple faith in the righteousness of making large profits in
consequence of the war, but never failed to proclaim the originators of it as
a gang of unholy rascals. His faith had become strong in the belief that the
robber was destined never to set foot on the Seaflower's decks. She had
been lying there for several months without ever having been interfered
with. Captain Wilkins was not unduly sympathetic when he heard of any
neighbouring vessel being pillaged during the night. In fact, he became so
impressed with his own virtue that he frequently fell into the error of
speaking contemptuously of his less fortunate brethren. Captain Macvie had
warned him against indulging in self-righteousness, and never to pin his
faith on immunity from attack.

"It may come," said he, "when you least expect it; and in order that you may
cultivate a more generous spirit towards your neighbours when misfortune
befalls them, always keep in mind the proverb: 'Rejoice not when thine
enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth, lest the
Lord see it and it displease Him.' These are words that ought to be burnt
into our minds and hearts."

"Yes," said Wilkins, "I appreciate your goodness in quoting them. They
have reminded me that I have not been sufficiently charitable in judging
others, while I have been at the same time professing to have the spirit of
the great Redeemer."

Captain Wilkins held a prayer-meeting in his cabin each evening before the
watch was set, and his friend Macvie nearly always attended, and professed
to receive great spiritual benefit therefrom. At those devotional gatherings
there was a simple petition offered to the Giver of all good that He should

guard them during the night from the crimeful visitations of wicked men
who coveted that which did not belong to them, and who did not shrink
from murder in order to get it. Captain Wilkins had a profound belief in the
efficacy of prayer, and was therefore staggered when he realized about two
o'clock one morning that a giant of coppery colour stood over him with a
revolver, while his compatriots helped themselves to all that was of value.
At the time this was going on in the cabin, there stood an armed man at the
entrance to the sailors' forecastle, and another in the galley in unpleasant
proximity to the eldest apprentice, who had fallen asleep before the fire, and
while he had slept the vessel had been boarded. Had he attempted to move
or shout or make a noise of any kind whatsoever, his life would have been
instantly taken, and his body thrown into the rushing stream. Poor fellow! I
have often heard him speak of the dull terror that took possession of him
when he awoke and saw that his own life and the lives of the whole ship's
company depended on his submission and silence. The chronometer, every
piece of brass, and every sail and rope of any importance was taken out of
her, and this included the sails that were unbent. In fact, there was not a
single article of that kind left aboard when the brigands went from
alongside. This was one of the most daring and gigantic robberies that had
taken place during the whole time the fleet had lain at anchor. Naturally it
created a great sensation both afloat and ashore. Captain Wilkins was the
object of much genuine sympathy. The whole of the personal losses of his
officers and himself were promptly made good by subscription, and a good
deal of the vessel's loss was contributed for as well. Never a finger was put
on the perpetrators, though it was said the authorities were cognizant of
their whereabouts. It was also whispered that they had accomplices in
persons holding high official position, but this was never in any degree
proved, and I should say it had no foundation in fact. The idea may have
originated in consequence of the lethargic attitude of the officials whose
duty it was to see that they were captured. At this time lawlessness was
rampant in those parts, and it would have been beyond the capacity of even
a more alert and energetic officialism to subdue its ferocious and
determined attacks. In addition to the open brigandage that was carried on,
several captains who for some reason were detained ashore until after dark
were obliged to engage caiques to take them off to their vessels, and when
in mid-stream the boat's crew, consisting as a rule of two Turks (or Greeks

in Turks' clothing), would lay their oars in and demand them to give up all
their money and valuables, or they would be thrown into the Bosphorus.
And if they had the good fortune to have as their passenger a timid man
they demanded that every article of dress should be given up so that they
might be assured that nothing was concealed. Some of the more courageous
and defiant, instead of complying with this peremptory request, took a
revolver from a pocket, pointed it at the gentlemen at the oars, and
suggested that as soon as they ceased to row they would have a lump of
lead put into their heads. Whereupon they usually did as they were told. In
cases of this kind the oars were taken from them as soon as the captain was
put aboard and they were then set adrift. It was believed that several
captains who never turned up were overpowered, robbed, and then thrown
overboard.

The weather from the middle of October had been fitful and treacherous.
On November 14, 1854, a terrible hurricane burst on the Crimean coast and
wrecked nearly the whole of the British transports which lay at anchor in
the roadsteads. Several warships and transports belonging to the French
were wrecked. The British war vessels suffered severely, but none were said
to have been lost. The loss of property was estimated at over a million, and
the loss of life between 1,500 and 2,000. The devastation and suffering
ashore was also very terrible. The news of the frightful disaster came to
Constantinople on the night that the Seaflower was pillaged. Instructions
were given to send on supplies; the captain of the Boadicea was among
those who received orders to proceed off Sevastopol without delay. Wilkins
was in great distress at having to part from the man whom he regarded as
his friend and faithful adviser. Tugs were sent to tow the vessels through the
Bosphorus into the Black Sea. A fresh wind blew from the west, and in four
days after leaving, Captain Macvie anchored his ship in Sevastopol Roads,
and many weeks elapsed before a particle of cargo was taken out and
landed for the benefit of the much neglected soldiers—such was the
disorganized condition of the service. Macvie and his crew saw many a
skirmish and several pitched battles during their five months' stay in the
vicinity of wild wreck and ruin. In April, 1855, the cargo had been all
landed and instructions were given to sail at once for Constantinople. In due
course they arrived there, and received orders to go on to Smyrna, to load

hay and oats. Six weeks after passing down, she anchored in Scutari and lay
there until peace was declared in 1856, when orders were given to take the
cargo to Portsmouth. After about two years' absence the Boadicea arrived in
England; and on squaring up her accounts it was found that she had cleared
more than twice her original cost. Mr Rockfeller received his fortunate and
esteemed captain with much favour, and was not many minutes in his
presence before he intimated with an air of generosity that he would sell his
shares at par.

"I think," said he, "that you ought to hold half the vessel."

"Very good," said Macvie, "I will pay you cash for the number of shares I
require to make up my half share, but you must not ask me to pay the
original cost price."

"Macvie," said Rockfeller, "I wish you to be reminded that I gave you eight
shares to work off when you joined me. I fear you allow your national love
of money to lure you into forgetfulness."

"No, no," said the shrewd Scotchman; "you are wrong. I do not forget you
having done what you say, nor do I forget that I have paid you a good price
for what you were good enough to give me, and it is as well that your
attention should be drawn to the fact that, owing to my foresight in
chartering with the Government, the vessel has more than twice paid for
herself in less than two years. Besides, if you are not satisfied with my
services I have a very tempting offer from another firm."

At this stage Mr Rockfeller showed signs of nervous twitching, and
interposed by assuming an injured air:

"Really, Captain Macvie, you must be reasonable, and not talk of other
firms bidding for your services. I feel you are more than a match for me,
and the thought of it makes me wish I had been born and reared a
Scotchman. I know I am weak, but you may have the shares at any price
you name; only don't be too exacting."

"Very good," replied Macvie, "they are mine at £1,000."

Rockfeller looked aghast, and again appealed to his sense of justice. The
bargain was closed at £200 more.

Mr Rockfeller became transfixed with the thought of his own generous
simplicity. He soliloquised, "I think I must have been born to become the
victim of a stronger will than my own. Nature, I am assured, has freaked
with me. Yes, Captain Macvie, you are in many ways the antithesis of
myself; and my experience of you is very similar to the description given of
a horse by the melancholy though eloquent Arab. I think these words
describe our relations, my young friend, though the superb old philosopher
who is reported to have said them never anticipated that they would be used
in any such way: 'Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his
neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? The glory
of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his
strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men: he mocketh at fear, and is not
affrighted: neither turneth he back from the sword. He saith among the
trumpets, Ha, ha! and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the
captains and the shouting.'"

"If," said the commander, "you mean these words of holy writ to apply to
me, I am gratified, but fear you have under-estimated their grandeur and
their real meaning. They pulsate the air, and make the heart throb with a
conviction that the world of literature would have been poorer had they not
been written. And now, Mr Rockfeller, let us cease further attempts at satire,
and get to business. I wish to visit my parents who are very old; but before
doing so I should like to have our little transaction settled and the future
employment of the vessel arranged." The request was duly complied with in
both respects.

The reunion of every branch of the Macvie family to do honour to the
Captain and his wife was the occasion of great rejoicing. He had promised,
long years before, on the eve of entering upon the real battle of life, that he
would not return until he was a Captain, and may-be an owner, and he now
presented himself with pride and modesty at the old homestead, thronged
with a vast number of friends who came to welcome and congratulate him
on having become both. After the flow of greeting had subsided, he

requested a private interview with his father and mother. He informed them
that a great joy had come into his life in being able to give a bankers' order
for the payment of four pounds per month to them as long as they lived. The
saintly couple's mental process became confused. They entered upon a long
disquisition of how much affluence might affect their humility and
endanger their religious life. The noble son urged that their faith in God was
too strong to allow the possession of money to betray them into
indifference. The father being spokesman replied on behalf of his wife that
they accepted this bountiful goodness, "And believe me, my son," he said,
"our hearts are too full to say all we feel; but may the great God have you in
His holy keeping, and preserve you from the snares and fascinations of
worldliness."

And the aged mother interjected by adding a supplementary petition that he
should be saved from succumbing to the dangers of his profession.

"Take this present from your father and me," she added, handing him a new
Bible which she had kept concealed under her black silk apron until the
opportune moment came, "and when you are tossed on the troubled ocean,
read about Jesus and the sea, and trust in the Lord to bring you back to us."

These simple words were delivered with compressed vehemence. A big
lump stuck in Archie's throat, for he felt that it was his mother's farewell
benediction, and that he would never see either of them on earth again. He
would have liked to have responded in a few endearing phrases, but a dumb
pain seized his heart and made him inarticulate. He tenderly embraced the
old people and passed from their presence with a heavy heart, impressed
with a consciousness that their next meeting would be beyond the tomb. A
large procession of townspeople met at the station, in order to give the
Captain and his wife a hearty send-off. Even the Provost came to say good-
bye to them.

On their arrival home they found a letter had come from their friend
Captain Wilkins. It was dated from Malta, and told a sickening tale of many
disasters before getting away from Scutari. Two attempts at robbery had
failed at the cost of one of the crew losing his life, and another being

seriously wounded. Wilkins wrote: "It was bad policy making any noise
about the big robbery, as it only made them revengeful." This news
distressed the Macvies, but they could do nothing more than extend their
sympathy, and this was tactfully and ungrudgingly given.

Captain Macvie had a long clean record of success. His popularity among
his contemporaries was a growing process. No signs of rivalry were seen.
He was looked up to as an authority, not only on nautical matters, but
social, political and religious questions were well within his grasp. On one
memorable occasion, when he was at home, a church meeting was called to
consider the minister's relation in regard to his people. It was thought that
he was not sound on sanctification, and one or two little matters that did not
exactly bear on sanctification—a love affair, in fact. The gallant captain
took the side of his minister, and put such a convincing case before his
audience that a large majority declared the accusation not proven. There
was wild excitement at this meeting; the hostile faction were rancorous
about the captain being put up, as they assumed he could not possibly know
all the facts; but both sides were one in admitting that his fame as a debater
and an orator was established. So general was this belief that many of his
adversaries congratulated him on having delivered a most eloquent speech.

The desire to sail with this distinguished man seized me like a vice. I
determined as soon as I was free (for I was at that time an apprentice)
nothing would prevent me from asking him to allow me to serve as an able
seaman in the vessel which now entirely belonged to him. In a few days
after making the memorable speech at his church, the Boadicea was sailing
down Channel on her way to the Black Sea. Mrs Macvie was aboard. She
nearly always accompanied her husband, and was a good English woman,
to whom the captain owed much for her thrifty habits and sound judgement.
All the officers and most of the crew had sailed continuously with him since
he took command. Curly, who had served aboard a pirate schooner, became
quite an institution. He was very popular, and so were his pirate stories
when he could be persuaded to tell them. He had served Macvie as A. B.,
boatswain, and was now steward. They had been to Taganrog and loaded a
cargo of tallow for London. A gentle levanter was wafting them through the
Archipelago. When they got abreast of the north end of Zea Island they

observed a brigantine coming romping up to them under a cloud of sail. In
light winds the Boadicea did not sail fast. The breakfast bell had been rung,
and as the captain was passing into the companion, Curly, who was
standing close to, intimated that the following vessel was a pirate ship, and
that she would soon overhaul them if the wind did not strengthen. Curly
was always addressed as "Johnny" by Mrs Macvie, who was very fond of
him, and as "Jake" by her husband, with whom he was a great favourite.
The lady observed the concerned manner of the captain, and requested him
to confer with Johnny as to the method of resistance should the schooner
run alongside and the pirates attempt to come aboard. "He knows all about
their tricks, and what they like and what they don't; let us hear what he has
to say, Archie," said Mrs Macvie. So forthwith Jake was called into their
presence. This resourceful gentleman was quite elated at the prospect of
having some fun, as he termed it. His recommendations were of a very
painful and drastic character. He talked of putting them into practice in a
cool, frosty-blooded way which caused the lady and her husband to
shudder. "It is too dreadful, Johnny," remarked Mrs Macvie; "surely what
you say has never been resorted to, even to defeat the objects of pirates?"

"I don't suppose it has," said the sanguinary John; "but if you wish to save
your property and the lives of yourselves and your crew, you will have to
stick at nothing. My advice is, do your best to show them a clean pair of
heels. If you get plenty of wind in the narrows you will easily do it; but be
prepared for the worst. This is my plan: have everything that will hold in,
filled with boiling water, boiling oil, and boiling pitch; have the old muskets
ready for firing. If they ask you to shorten sail, don't do so. They will then
run alongside, and as soon as they put their hands on the rail, blind them
with boiling liquid. Then shoot with the rifles, and they won't want much
telling to go away."

The chase was long and exciting. Sometimes the pirate vessel was very
nearly within gun range, then the breeze would strengthen and she would
fall astern. This alternate gaining and losing continued all day, until the sun
went down behind the mountains far away to the north of them, and seemed
to carry with it the breeze on which they had to depend for their safety. The
chasing vessel gathered way as soon as the wind fell light, and the people of

the Boadicea saw that all hope of avoiding a fight must be discounted.
Curly advised having it before darkness came on, but there was no need to
wish for this as the stern inevitable had come. The pirates had almost within
their grasp their expected prize, but were doomed to meet with a terrible
penalty. They put their craft alongside, and about a score of men made a
jump for the rail, when the intrepid Jake, who had full charge of the plan of
defence and attack, shouted: "Now boys, pour it on them smartly!" and in
an instant the pirates were an agonized rabble. Some of them jumped into
the sea; others fell back on to their own vessel; two got on to the Boadicea's
deck, but were promptly put over the side. Boiling oil and pitch as well as
boiling water were thrown aboard the schooner, so that even those who did
not attempt a boarding did not escape the awful consequences of their
piratical invasion. As soon as Captain Macvie saw that the punishment had
been so great that they would more than probably never fight again, he tried
to steer clear, but found the braces and other ropes had become entangled
with the foreyard, which broke, and then the vessels separated. The stillness
of the night was made a horror by the piteous moans that floated over the
level sea, and excited the sympathy of the men who were compelled to
inflict the suffering in order to preserve their own safety. They felt an
instinctive desire to launch a boat and go to the succour of their victims.
Curly, who knew the desperate character of these fearful men, advised his
shipmates to have neither remorse nor pity. He assured them that the lesson
given to the miscreants would not prevent those who might recover or those
who had received no injury from taking to their trade with the same thievish
and murderous zeal as they had practised heretofore.

"NOW, BOYS, POUR IT ON THEM SMARTLY!"

"Do not talk of your conscience when you think of these devils," said he,
"for, believe me, theirs are frozen, and all they want is a new crew and fresh
opportunity, and they won't mince matters with us or any other ship's
company. There is one thing, they won't be deceived in a hurry into the
belief that they have a soft thing on because no apparent resistance is made;
they will try to do some shooting first. They won't forget the effects of
boiling oil and pitch. But let us cease chattering about them and get our
rigging and sails repaired. We may need to have everything staunch and
strong, as the sky is threatening mischief."

It took the crew four hours to repair the damage, and as they did so the wail
of the suffering wretches became fainter and fainter, until it had faded away
into space, or it may be that their hearts had ceased to throb. After things

were settled down and the vessel was slashing through a passage which
leads into the Mediterranean Sea with a fresh easterly wind, the faithful
steward, who had provided a substantial meal for the captain and officers,
was informed by the former that he and his crew were indebted to him for
the ghastly achievements of the day. "But Jake, my boy, I almost wish we
hadn't done it."

"Very well, then," said the blunt sailor with obvious indignation; "you'd
better go back and apologize, but you must not expect me to join in the silly
chorus. I suppose you are thinking of 'blessed are the peacemakers' again?
If you are, then I want to remind you that these fellows were my
compulsory pals once on a time, and I found that this was no part of their
religion."

Mrs Macvie interposed that Johnny was right, and that they undoubtedly
owed their lives to his genius.

"We had no intention of killing them or pillaging their ship, and they had
both of these designs on us," said the logical lady, "so that we were justified
in saving ourselves by the means which I fear have proved so fatal to
them."

The steward was henceforth looked upon with great devotion, so much so
that Mrs Macvie induced her husband to include him as one of the legatees
in his will.

For many years after this episode the Boadicea continued her trading.
Captain Macvie made a great deal of money and then retired in favour of a
younger man who was destined to have a short career as commander, for,
on the second voyage from the Brazils, and almost within sight of his own
home, his vessel was driven ashore by a hurricane and all hands were
drowned. A few days later the weather was fine enough to allow fishermen
to put to sea, and on rounding a rugged point on the coast some of them
heard the piteous howling of a dog. They made towards it, and found it had
taken shelter on the arm of a steep cliff. It was taken from its perilous
position with great difficulty. A brass collar bearing the name of the ship

and the owner suggested that it was the only survivor of the shipwreck.
Poor Curly's body was discovered on the same day on a patch of yellow
sand inside a cave. It was taken to a fisherman's hut, and round his neck was
found a gold locket with four little portraits. Mr and Mrs Macvie were the
idolised of one case, and his own wife and little girl were in the other. His
body was put in the ground with reverence. Soon afterwards a cheque for
five hundred pounds was received by his widow.

Mr Macvie and his wife lived to a ripe age in a very unpretentious way.
Years later I came across my old commander and owner seated outside a
small cottage which faced the sea in a remote part of Northumberland. The
common in front of him was ablaze with shining flowers, and the sweet
song of the lark swelled in the air. A sad, pensive look hallowed his comely
face, which made me hesitate to interrupt the reverie; but he realized my
presence and asked me to share his seat. He began to tell me that his mind
was reviving some of his early experiences at sea.

"Ah!" said he, "I was thinking what a terrible end Curly and the old vessel
came to. Poor Jake, he was a fine, swaggering fellow; a smart sailor, and as
brave as a Turkish Bashi-Bazouk. He was very wayward at times, but
always faithful as a mastiff dog to me. His apparent disregard for breaking
the Sabbath grieved me, and when I rebuked him for it he frequently took
me in a sort of humorous way as though it were a good joke to talk to him
of religion. But he had periods of despondency and remorse which brought
out visions of spiritual life. He would speak of death coming to take him
from his wife and little girl in the most piteous way, and then I had to say to
him, 'Do not be so irreverent to your Creator. Think of His imperishable
goodness in saving you and me from the abysses that have so often
confronted us. Think of those piratical throat-cutters whom He assisted us
in vanquishing, and remember when God wants to take you He will take
you.' I often quoted to him these words: 'I will lift up mine eyes unto the
hills from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord which
made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that
keepeth thee will not slumber.' I do hope he remembered to say, when the
hurricane woke out of the sky and was bearing them to destruction, 'Into

Thine hand I commend my spirit: Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of
Truth.'"

"I never realized the intensity of your attachment to him, Captain Macvie," I
interjected.

"Yes, it was very great," he soliloquised, "and the memory of his long
association with me and the perilous life that he led and the horror of the
tragic finish has caused my mind to revert to an occasion which nearly
ended in the same way. We were caught by a heavy southerly gale when off
Candia. I carried sail until she nearly jumped her masts over the side and
herself out of water. We were then carrying the double reefed topsails,
reefed courses, inner jib, fore and main topmast staysail, but the gale had so
increased I gave orders to close-reef the topsails and furl the mainsail. I
thought it better to run no further risk of dismasting her, as there was
always a chance so long as they were kept standing. All hands were up
reefing the main topsail and I had the wheel. I saw the black shadow of the
mountains in the darkness towering far above our heads, and we seemed to
be amongst the broken water to leeward. Every moment I expected her to
strike and send us to our doom. A simple thought of the last words of my
mother about Jesus and the sea flashed into my mind. I lashed the wheel for
a moment or two, went to the lee side, knelt down, and offered a fervent
prayer to Almighty God. I asked Him, if it was His will to save us, to do it
in His own way. I had no sooner taken hold of the wheel again than the sails
were caught aback by the wind veering and coming with the force of a
hurricane from the opposite direction. It rushed from the mountain tops as
from a funnel. I called to the men to come down and turn the yards round
smartly. I feared she would not back off quickly and that she might get stern
way on and knock the stern in and founder. My voice failed to carry through
the vast roar of the tempest, but the men knew as well as I did that a critical
moment had come, so they made their way on deck; the yards were quickly
trimmed and I ran her dead off the land. We had not run more than eight to
ten miles to the south amid a mad conflict of broken sea that twisted and
lashed at the vessel, when all of a sudden the old wind came back and the
struggle with the opposing legions for mastery kept for a time the vessel in
imminent peril. Ultimately the southerly force prevailed, but fortunately it

blew itself out in a few hours, and we sailed into fine weather. Never was a
vessel so near destruction without being destroyed, and never were human
lives so near passing from time into eternity. Even the most wayward of my
crew attributed our safety to the pity of God, and they thanked Him with the
usual condescension that sailors adopt even towards the Deity; but they
never knew that I had addressed the Almighty on their behalf and on my
own; and that is really how it comes that I am here to tell the tale."

V

SAILORS' OPINIONS OF NOTABLE PUBLIC MEN

The old-time sailors held strong opinions on law, i.e., sea law. The merits of
military and naval notables and prominent politicians came within the limit
of their strange discussions. Their naval heroes were Charlie Napier,
Collingwood, Nelson and Hardy. They loved Napier best of all because he
dared to be kind to his men and fight their battles for them against the
authorities; they were never quite sure whether to give the weight of their
respect on the side of Collingwood or Nelson; but as the latter came to grief
at Trafalgar, he was generally given the benefit of any doubt as to
superiority, and his devoted Hardy was regarded as a strong backer of the
redoubtable national hero. They never got over the idea that poor Nelson
was shot from the maintop by some of his own men and not by the French
sharpshooters. It was a point that could never be cleared up to their
satisfaction, hence the impression that his sailors must have had some
grudge against him was very prevalent. His association with the King and
Queen of the two Sicilies was said to have gone a long way towards giving
him a swelled head, and in truth it was no mean distinction to be on terms
of friendship with a daughter of Maria Theresa and sister to Marie
Antoinette. They believed that Nelson had been influenced by the king and
queen when in a soft-headed mood to commit an act that can never be
obliterated. It was not only cruel and heartless, but it had close resemblance
to a crime. "They talk," said they, "of the murder by Napoleon of their duke
(Duke d'Enghien), but was it not as bad of Nelson to have Commodore
Francisco Caracciolo tried by a court martial composed of the prisoner's
enemies (Neapolitan officers) which sat only two hours aboard the
Faudroyant and found him guilty of rebellion against his sovereign?" He

was ordered by Nelson to be hanged at the fore yardarm of the Minerva.
The sight of this poor man dangling at the yardarm must have had a
revolting impression on the minds of those who witnessed it, and the
aversion of the public who merely heard of it must have been equally well
founded. No wonder that it was handed down to subsequent generations of
seamen, and caused them to say, as I have heard them that, "Nelson should
have left the dirty, bloody business to his pal the King of the Sicilies and
kept his own hands clean." They always spoke of his death as retribution.
"If there isn't something in it," said they, superstitiously, "why was
Collingwood and Hardy not hit?"

His relationship with Lady Hamilton was vigorously defended; both voluble
and comic reasons were poured forth in support of his action. "Had she not
on more than one occasion saved the fleet, and had she not rendered great
service to the British Government by her clever tongue and alluring beauty,
to say nothing of a supreme genius for intrigue?" They believed that she had
sacrificed everything to serve her country, and now that Nelson had
smashed the combined fleets of Spain and France, and lost his life through
it, this precious government had no further need for her services, so threw
her helpless on a callous, canting world. They built a monument for him,
and left his poor Emma, whom he regarded in the light of a good spirit, to
starve, though he had begged that she should be provided for. That was the
view the sailors took of it. They believed that Nelson's infatuation for the
lady was his affair and hers, and nobody else's; but be that as it may, there
were very few seamen in the merchant service who did not warmly
sympathize with this poor, wretched, woman's fate. Nelson was often made
responsible for that which he might have nothing to do with, and sailors
have not spared him for his supposed share in instituting that monstrous
system of pressing honest, respectable men into a service that reeked with
the odour of disgraceful bureaucratic cruelty. I know something of the
legacy of prejudice which extended to bitter, vindictive recollection of these
days of brainless despots. I was reared amid an eighteenth-century
environment; both my grandfathers fought at the Battle of the Nile; both
were taken by force from their vessels which were owned by themselves
and their relatives. One of them rose to the position of sailing-master; the
other was a junior officer; but such was the condition of this kidnapping

service they could not hope to rise higher. Both these men's lives were
broken, as hundreds of others' were. Was it any wonder that strong feelings
of wrong were handed down and indiscriminately fastened on to whosoever
held any prominent authority? That is why Nelson came in for his share of
condemnation. Personally, I think he was credited with more than he
deserved. I believe he thought so well of that branch of the service, and his
patriotism was so strong, that he wondered why there was any necessity to
institute press-gangs. I should imagine that he was often amazed that men
did not join in droves. But had he gone to the right source for information
he would soon have become disillusioned. These gangs of ruffians preferred
seamen as their prey, but they did not discriminate very much. If they could
not get a sailor they took whatever came to hand—the bigger the better.
And so, while on one of their prowling expeditions, it came to pass that a
gentleman called Willie Carr was seized, and at the point of the bayonet or
musket made to embark aboard their boat. This person was a ship's
blacksmith. His strength was abnormal, and his feats of swimming were a
marvel. He was known to fame as the Hartley giant. Tradition has it that
they put Willie in the bow of the boat, and after they had got a little way on
their journey he asked them if they could all swim. This question excited
great laughter; but the giant coolly placed his hands on each of the
gunwales of the boat, set his knees in position, called out, "then sink or
swim, you B——," and with one mighty wrench he severed both sides of
planking from the stem. Willie swam ashore, and how many of the men
were said to be drowned I do not remember, though I have given the main
facts as I heard them scores of times in my boyhood days. This story is told
by Mr Soulsby in his excellent little history of Blyth.

Their military champions were: the great Emperor of the French ("Bonny"
as they familiarly called him). Next came "the martyr" Ney, and then Arthur
Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, and the Prussian General, Blücher. The
relative merits of these great men were discussed sometimes with foaming
partiality. Napoleon and Ney were their favourites. Their wrath against the
allied Powers was unappeasable. How often have I heard them thunder out
that Bonny would have wiped Wellington and his myrmidons off the field
but for the treachery of Fouché, Talleyrand, and his own generals (Fouché
in particular). Wellington's prayer for "night or Blücher" was always used in

mitigation of what might be called an unpatriotic opinion. I have listened to
the diatribes of these rugged critics who claimed for their hero that he
imbued his soldiers with a high sense of honour in contrast to our barbarous
disciplinary methods of flogging. The image of the great man, and the part
Wellington played in having him banished to St Helena, never faded from
their memories. They believed the Iron Duke to be the instigator and
encourager of a shabby trick. It was a wonderful phenomenon that made
these men talk so systematically of their magical enemy, and yet they never
lost an opportunity of showing their national dislike for and superiority over
the French people as a whole. So strong was this instinct that it permeated
British crews from the captain to the cabin-boy. Of course there were at
times violent differences of opinion, but as a rule the Emperor was
singularly popular, and the aversion to his former subjects, especially
civilians, was never disguised. They showed frequent hostility towards
coal-heavers, dockers, sailors, fishermen, and sundry other grades of
workmen with whom they came in contact, but that is not to say they were
always successful in their attacks, though they invariably took the initiative.
In the old days the average British tar could not solve the mystery as to
what foreigners, and especially Frenchmen, were made for; even at the
present time they put on a lordly air when they come in contact with people
whom they regard as aliens. This attitude is adopted independent of all
reason, and becomes quite infectious. I must have caught it early in life. I
went to a French port on my first voyage to sea, and although I was a mere
child of twelve and a half years, I became smitten with the forecastle belief
that my country and countrymen had suffered irreparable mischief at the
hands of the French nation. I therefore deemed it my duty to be avenged, so
picked out a French youth apparently my senior by some years, reminded
him of Trafalgar and Waterloo, and called him by the opprobrious name of
Johnny Crapo, the meaning of which I did not understand. I was promptly
made to run for my life before a sudden Napoleonic onslaught of about
half-a-dozen small boys, who had congregated to see their friend demolish
the avowed foe of their country.

In discussing the many phases of Napoleon, the sailor was never perplexed
in coming to conclusions as to the right and wrong of his (Napoleon's)
actions. Their quotations and manner of using them were at times

amazingly tempestuous and erratic. Captain Maitland, of the Bellerophon,
was generally believed to have behaved with becoming generosity towards
the dethroned monarch, but the question as to whether he gave himself up
voluntarily and without reservation, or, as Napoleon maintained, that he was
prevailed upon to become the guest of England, and put himself under the
protection of her laws, was a point that occasioned great diversity of
opinion, and I think it may be said that Maitland's version in the majority of
cases was thought to be correct. Admiral Sir George Cockburn came in for a
good deal of harsh criticism for complaining about the Emperor rising from
the table as soon as coffee had been served, and the well-known reminder of
Madame Bertrand was quoted in a form that almost put the original beyond
recognition, and had it been correct would have justified the admiral in
putting the lady into solitary confinement for the remainder of the passage,
for using language to him that was not only coarse and impolite, but
unwarrantably seditious. Instead of this, Madame Bertrand merely
remarked with all the charm of a cultured courtier: "Do not forget, admiral,
that your guest is a man who has governed a large portion of the world, and
that kings once contended for the honour of being admitted to his table."
They had some misty notion that that admiral was not always considerate to
his guest, and disliked his attentions to the officers and crew of the
Northumberland, not one of which it is said could resist the magical
influence of his actions and words. It was natural that the salient incidents
of a voyage with such a man should be passed on and handed down to later
generations of seamen.

The story of the passage of the line was an everlasting theme retailed in
order to justify the goodness of Napoleon. The boatswain represents
Neptune and becomes sovereign for a time. Neither rank nor position is
exempt from the customary shaving and baptism, but on this occasion
Neptune graciously respected the distinction of the exiles, and reminded
them that they had too often received the baptism of fire and of glory to
require additional attention from him. The Emperor consented to have
Neptune presented to him, and gave him through the grand marshal five
hundred napoleons in order that he and his court might drink his health.
Well might this generous gift bring forth wild hurrahs and loud cries of
"Long live the Emperor Napoleon." The amount by common consent was

handed over to the captain to be distributed when the crew were discharged,
but this did not prevent Neptune and a number of his subjects intoxicating
themselves, and it was only through the interposition of the Emperor and
his suite with the admiral that they were saved from being cruelly flogged.
"They may talk about this man as they like," said one of the crew, "but I
won't believe the bad they say of him." His popularity with the sailors of the
Northumberland was not created by merely seeing him sitting for hours day
by day on the gun which was named "The Emperor's." He became their
hero now as passionately as he had previously appeared to them as being
the foe of all that was humane. His little attentions and kindnesses,
accompanied by an irresistible smile, and the act of putting them through
some form of drill, endeared him to them long before they reached his
lonely rock. Then the story of Sir Hudson Lowe's treatment of him in so
many petty ways, such for instance as seizing a small bust of his son, the
King of Rome, which had been sent to the exiled monarch, made friends for
the Emperor in thousands; and not the least of them were the brave fellows
who had traversed the ocean with him, and whose souls were filled with
sympathy and horror at the crime that was being committed. Their
testimony was that no one could live in close contact with him without
instinctively realizing that he was a much maligned person. No wonder that
this impression was spread widely not only through the whole navy but also
throughout the whole mercantile marine. What a blunder the whole savage,
senseless business was!

But while the British sailors claimed the little corporal as their idol, they did
not think that even for political reasons the Emperor had any right to
divorce Josephine, though they thought he might have reasons other than
those commonly understood to have been engineered by the arch-traitor
Fouché, and ultimately agreed to by the Emperor. The Empress, when she
was plain Josephine, had the reputation of carrying on violent flirtations
with other gentlemen while her husband was in Italy, and subsequently,
when he was in Egypt swiftly forging his way to fame and to his destiny. So
that when Napoleon was accused of cruelty in putting her from him, there
were ever some champions ready to palliate the act by putting her unfaithful
conduct before their opponents. But the Emperor's divorce of the little
Creole was never quite approved by his sailor admirers, more especially as

they had a strong dislike to Marie Louise, the Austrian arch-duchess who
took the place of the poor, wayward Josephine, and who forsook her
imperial husband in the first hour of his adversity to become the mistress of
an ugly Austrian count, named Neipperg, who was minus an eye.
Subsequently this man entered into a morganatic marriage with the gentle
Marie, and she bore to him several children who were declared to be
legitimate, and this happened notwithstanding the fact that the Emperor her
husband was still living in anguish under a tyranny and cruel despotism
instituted by the British oligarchy. This was the kind of anecdote that filled
the sailors with sympathy for the great man who in the decline of his days
was at the mercy of a lot of little men. Then they had stories of how he
could throw off the thought of his wretched position, and enter into a frolic
with Betsy Balcombe and her sister at the Briars. He would play for hours
with the two little girls, and also with the other children that became
attached to him. The smattering knowledge and comic rawness of the
discourses on this great personality were always intensely attractive. Faith
in the accuracy of their own views was strong. Long before I was old
enough to be allowed to take part in the forecastle Napoleonic discussions I
used to listen to them with eager interest, and well remember the attention
given to even a wrongly-informed orator. The subject was always made
fascinating by serving up the tales in their own forecastle fashion. None of
the other military notables of Napoleon's time claimed their admiration or
devotion as he did; not even Wellington.

Their views on politics and politicians, and their mode of expressing them,
were extremely queer. The prominent statesmen they talked of most were
Fox, Pitt, Lord John Russell, Palmerston, Peel, Gladstone and Disraeli; and
apart from the fault they had to find with the latter as a statesman, they
believed him to be unwilling to legislate in their interests, though even they
didn't appear to have the ghost of an idea as to how those interests were to
be legislatively served. They knew there was something the matter, that was
all. They also had a strong antipathy to Disraeli owing to his Hebrew origin.
In fact, they regarded the great Jew in the light of a foreigner, whose
intrusion into English politics was a humiliation to all British-born subjects.
The confusion of opinions as to the character and duties devolving on
members of Parliament was very embarrassing even to themselves, and the

vivacity with which they delivered orations to each other on the merits or
demerits of members was exquisitely droll. The rivalry between Fox and
Pitt was a subject that involved them in vehement chaos, just as the rivalry
between Disraeli and Gladstone did in later years. They had some mystified
idea that those political gentlemen were ever thirsting for each others'
blood. They had gathered from some gossipy source that Mr Fox was a
hopeless gambler, and that Pitt was exclusively responsible for the
Napoleonic wars, and that Palmerston was a mischief-maker who set his
impudence up to everybody, and his rashness either ended in war or coming
near to do so. It was the latter that was accused in forecastle circles of
bringing on that Crimean War which caused so much suffering and loss of
life both to sailors and soldiers. I have heard Sir Robert Peel spoken of in
words of vituperation for having introduced "peelers," now known as
"bobbies," to interfere, as they said, with poor people's rights. Many of
them were full of wrath at his having repealed the Corn Laws. They had got
some garbled notion, which was passed down to later generations, that it
would tend to spoil their chances of getting employment and otherwise
lower their wages. This doctrine had been well thumped into them by some
agency or other, and it led to many a quarrel with the minority who held
free trade views. They were opposed to the introduction of Board of Trade
examinations for the purpose of obtaining certificates of competency, which
is another evidence of their undeveloped sense. And I have actually known
instances where exception was taken by common sailors to the close
scrutiny of Board of Trade surveyors into the defects of a vessel they had
long sailed in and had formed a strong regard for. The Reform Bill did not
appeal to them in the same way as it did to other workmen. They had
occasional opportunities of hearing that a great noise was going on about
household suffrage and the extension of the franchise, but they had a very
hazy conception of the meaning of the terms. It is no exaggeration to say
that the former was often spoken of as having reference to the sufferings of
somebody in the houses of the people, and the latter was talked of as having
some French connection!

They adhered to the idea of the nation being governed by the upper classes,
and yet they used to curse them with unrestrained fury for their indifference
to the needs of the common people. Gladstone was very frequently in

disfavour with them: for instance, they did not altogether approve of the
abolition of purchase in the army. It was considered a gratuitous
interference with a person's freewill. "Why," said they, "shouldn't a
commission be purchased if a man wants to spend his money in that way? It
was no business of his!" Besides, their fears were excited lest the army
should become composed of low-bred wasters. Their views on these
particular questions were always very paradoxical and very breezily
expressed. How I used to listen and gape at the flow of what I deemed
gifted intelligence when there was a heated discussion on. I did not
understand it; indeed they did not understand it; but they talked with a
volubility and assurance that made deep impressions on me and on them.
The advent of Thomas Burt from the mine into the political arena was not
welcomed with a gush of enthusiasm by seamen. They doubted the wisdom
of a republican miner being allowed to enter a legislature composed of
aristocracy and landed gentry! The idea seemed to have gripped their minds
that this refined and gentle little man was destined to inflict severe
punishment on dukes, marquises and earls, and in other ways disturb the
British nation! Mr Burt was not long in Parliament before he showed
marked indications of wise statesmanship. Men on both sides of the House
soon learnt to respect and admire him. He made it clear that he was not a
mere class representative, and during the whole time he has been in
Parliament the sailors have had no truer friend than he. I think they have
long been satisfied of this themselves.

These sturdy, commonplace fellows, taking them as a whole, knew no more
about politics than Tom Brown's horse; but, like many other simple, ill-
informed people, they had a calm belief in their unmeasured knowledge
which was void of all reason, and when they were thrown into contact with
shore people it was one of the funniest things in the world to witness the
lordly air they assumed in the initial stages of acquaintanceship, and the
humour of it was exhilarating when the period for evaporation came, and
they shone forth in all their artless simplicity. I cannot pretend to portray or
exactly reproduce the scene of a sailor's political or any other controversy
for that matter; I can only hope to convey some idea of it; and the rest must
be left to the imagination of the reader.

Some twenty years ago a group of sailing-ship masters was seated at a table
under a verandah outside a Russian snap-shop. There were two of the old
school amongst them, and these were being egged on to a debate by the
younger men on a question that was creating a vast amount of interest at
that time. The heir to the Tichborne estates had left home to travel abroad,
and as nothing was heard of him for several years, his mother became
anxious and began advertising very widely in the Colonial, English, and
Continental press. The result of this was that a person calling himself Sir
Roger Tichborne turned up. He paid a visit to Wapping, and then presented
himself to Lady Tichborne, who was in bed. She flung her arms around his
neck in an ecstasy of joy and claimed him as her long-lost son. The real
Roger Tichborne was supposed to have been lost in a vessel called the
Bella, which had sailed from Rio in South America for Australia. A claim
was made on the Tichborne baronetcy. The claimant's counsel, Dr Keneally,
who did not get on very well with the judges, commenced a paper called the
Englishman, which gave full accounts of the trial. It was widely read by
enthusiasts who believed that Dr Keneally's client was the real Sir Roger. It
was this trial that the coterie of commanders had gathered together to
discuss. One of them, Captain Rush, was a staunch believer in the claimant.
He had just received the paper, and was brim-full of the convincing proofs
that it contained. Another fine old salt, who had neither education nor
manners, endeavoured to take an intelligent interest in the discussion. His
name was Mark Grips. Both he and Captain Rush belonged to the old
school, and both were Northumbrians who spoke the dialect without any
attempt at moderation.

"Ah," grunted Captain Rush, almost jumping off his seat with delight;
"Keneally has Hawkins there!"

"Where?" said Mark.

"Why, here," replied Rush.

"Nothing but damned nonsense," said Mark.

"Nothing but nonsense? What? What? What d'ye say?" screamed Rush.
"D'ye mean to tell me that Keneally doesn't know what he's talkin' about?"

"No; you divent knaw what yo're talkin' about."

"What? I divent knaw what I'm talkin' about? I tell ye' what it is, sor,
Roger's the man!"

"Beggared a one," said Mark. (It wasn't exactly "beggared" a one that he
said, but that is near enough.)

"D'ye mean to tell me," said Captain Rush (as he frothed with wrath), "that
a man doesn't know the Ass's Bridge when he's asked about it?"

"Beggared a one," said Mark.

"Then you're a leir."

"A leir, d'ye say? Then I say beggared a one!"

"Another thing: d'ye mean to tell me, Mark, that a mother doesn't know her
own son?"

"Beggared a one," replied Mark.

"D'ye say that again?" said Rush; "I tell you, when a woman puts her arms
around her son's neck, d'ye think she doesn't know it's her son?"

Mark by this time is also frothing at the mouth; and, standing in a bellicose
attitude, hisses:

"I says 'beggared a one.' Roger's not the man!"

Rush becomes speechless, and his eyes flash with anger, and he flings the
Englishman at Mark, who in turn calls his friend, "Coward; that's the only
argument you have. I tell you again, Roger's not the man!"

"Who are you?" retorted Rush; "do you think yourself the Lord High
Admiral Dundas, then?"

"No," said the excited Mark; "I'm Mark Grips, one of Jimmy Young's
skippers, and I tell ye Roger never was the man!"

This finished the controversy for a time, as the two combatants were
prevailed upon to shake hands, and in spite of this spirited combat they
were soon enjoying their long pipes and their grog together.

Just about the time the Radicals in the House of Commons, aided by the
Irish Nationalists, were making a good stand-up fight for the abolition of
flogging in the army and navy, Mr Charles Bradlaugh was elected as one of
the members for Northampton, with Mr Henry Labouchere as his colleague.
The sanctity of the nation was violently shocked at the effrontery of
Northampton in electing so dangerous a Radical infidel to represent them in
Parliament as the notorious "Iconoclast." A wave of screaming passed over
the fair Christian land; the notorious advocate of atheistic principles was
proclaimed a menacing danger to the Christian edifice. Injustice and untruth
joined against him; shocking stories of blasphemy were circulated with mad
recklessness against him. There was not a single word of truth in them. This
was proved over and over again in courts of law, and yet the charges were
encouraged and persisted in. Poor Bradlaugh; what a time he had of it until
the tempest of folly subsided, and both the people and some of their
representatives in Parliament came back to their senses, and not only
allowed the member for Northampton to take his seat, but passed an act
giving members the option of affirming instead of taking the oath, and also
ordered the erasing from the journals of the House those records which
were said to justify Mr Bradlaugh's exclusion. It was not to be wondered at
that this rapturous concert of passion and prejudice should reach the
impressionable sailors from one border of the ocean to the other, and
formed part of their occasional riotous debates. Any one who has had the
privilege of listening to the fiery arguments set forth by sailors on the
Bradlaugh or any other topic of absorbing interest must ever cherish it as a
memorable experience. There is seldom any regard for moderation in such
conflicts, and the extraordinary confusion of ideas makes them fascinating.

I have a vivid recollection of my attention being attracted to the clamour of
about half a dozen weather-beaten nautical stagers that were seated outside
a dram-shop which was known to fame as "Jack the Blaster's." It will be
readily recognized that the name was given to it by a north-countryman. I
stopped, asked for a chair, and saw the whole thing through. Occasionally,
while the controversy was travelling along its more turbulent stages, I was
asked to intervene in some way or other, but I had to act with studied
impartiality, so adopted a neutral course.

"They tell me," said burly Captain Harvey, "that he's the best speaker in
England."

"Who's the best speaker in England?" asked Skipper Cowan; "do you mean
that fellow that's givin' members of Parliament so much trouble just now?"

"I mean Bradlaugh," said Mr Harvey.

"Well then," said Mr Cowan, "you're decidedly in the wrong. I heard a
Methodist parson beat him to fits at Blyth. Bradlaugh lost his temper, and
after that the parson wiped the boards with him. They called the parson
Harrison,[2] and the atheists were all frightened of him after that."

"I never heard that before," said Harvey.

"Very well," retorted his friend, "you hear it now. I'm telling you; and
another thing, instead of making him a member of Parliament I'd put the
fellow in gaol and stop him going about the country destroying religion and
making people infidels. Lord Randolph is a grand chap; he won't have any
of his affirmin'. No, no, Sir Randolph doesn't believe in that sort of cattle,
and he means what he says. Randy's all their daddies [Randy is cleverer
than they]. Look what he did when Bradlaugh kept running up to the bar of
the House of Commons to kiss the book. What did Randolph do, you say?
Why he jumped after him every time, seized him by the coat tails, and said,
'Bradlaugh, stand back!' That's pluck, if you like. Of course he had what
they call the sargent with a sword by his side ready to stick him had
Randolph not been too many for him. And what do you think old Gladstone

did? He's always up to some mischief. He wrote that pamphlet on the
Bulgarian atrocities that brought about the war with Russia and Turkey.
What did he do, sir? I'll tell you what he did. He said, 'Gentlemen,
Bradlaugh's been elected; he must be allowed to come among us.' There's a
fine Englishman for you! But never mind, his day will come!"

A bulbous, beery-looking skipper tapped a companion on the shoulder, and
said in startled undertone, "Cowan said something about Bradlaugh running
up to the bar of the House. Is there a bar there?" And Harvey overhearing,
said:

"Yes, Mister, there's a bar in that house, but not the kind of bar you mean. It
is a bar sir, not a drinking-bar, mind you."

"What do they call it a bar for, then?" asked the beery person; "a bar's a bar,
isn't it?"

"Yes, a bar's a bar, and you've got a lot to learn yet. What do they call the
speaker 'the speaker' for?"

"Because he can speak, of course," said the beery gentleman.

"Shut up, man," said Cowan; "don't show your ignorance, and let me go on
with the argument. It's not that at all."

"What is it, then?" said the inconvenient heckler.

"Never mind what it is. It's not what you say it is," remarked Cowan. "By
George, he was well served when they locked him up in the Clock Tower
for his impudence. Why, at one time it took ten bobbies to keep him from
mauling a lot of Christian gentleman that had taken the oath and kissed the
Bible over and over again. They tore his clothes, and the pity is they were
not torn off him altogether. Where was his cheek to talk about his
conscience? And as to Gladstone, well, he's a fine Englishman to back a
man up in his infidel works. He deserves as much as Bradlaugh; and as to
Northampton, they should take away the vote from it."

The orator had completely exhausted and entwined a rich fund of adjectives
into his harangue as he went along; and, when he ceased speaking, a warm
supporter of his gave some applause, and nudging the bulbous person, he
remarked:

"He's a long-headed fellow, isn't he? Eh, what a wonderful man for politics,
and what a speaker! Why, Bradlaugh wouldn't have much chance with him.
He should be in Parliament hissel'. By gum, he'd make them sit up. What do
you say?"

His companion looked wise, and seemed smitten with awe. He could not
trust himself to speak of the brilliant oration they had just listened to.
Harvey followed up the debate by defending the right of freedom of action
and freedom of speech all round.

"What business is it of these members of Parliament to interfere with what
people think or say? I say 'no business at all.' Why, they tell me that when
Bradlaugh beat them and took his seat and defied them, the Tories flocked
round him and said: 'Bradlaugh, we're glad to see you in this honourable
House, and congratulate you as one of ourselves.' Now there was brazen
hypocrisy for you; and what do you think he said in reply? He stood up and
said: 'Gentlemen, I know you of old, but I'm not going to be sucked in by
any of your snakish ways.' Wasn't that fine?"

"Where did you hear that?" said Cowan.

"I saw'd in the papers; it's all right," said Harvey.

"Yes, and what's more," said Cowan, "I saw that Bradlaugh had become
very popular with everybody, and the Tories said he was a rare good sort."

"Then I don't believe it," said Harvey.

"But I tell you I saw'd in the papers."

"Well," said Cowan, "if you hadn't telled me that, I wouldn't have believed
it."

"But I'm telling ye," said Harvey; "and what is more, there's Labouchere:
he's a queer 'un. He has a paper they call Truth, and he writes all about the
Queen and the aristocracy. He knows everything about them, and doesn't
care a damn for anybody. He's been had up for libel many a time, but that
never makes any difference. He goes on worse. They call him a Radical. He
belongs to that lot that wants everything for themselves."

"But what about them Prussians wantin' to steal Denmark? What do you
call that but cowardly work; and had it not been that Austria, the other
bully, came to their assistance, the little Danes had the Prussians by the
throat, and then, like all bullies, they fell out about the spoil and began to
fight among themselves. No wonder that the Germans are hated; everybody
liked the Danes. And where was your England then? Was she frightened of
Von Bismarck? Yes, I says; yes! Was Palmerston frightened of him or of all
the Prussians in the world? No, certainly not! He said: 'Gentlemen, let us
draw the sword for the father of the Princess of Wales'; but these great
Christian members of Parliament that you've been talking about so much
said: 'No, we'll fight for nobody but ourselves.' Where is your Waterloo,
your Corunna and Balaclava now? What about that foggy mornin' in the
Baltic Sea when the fog cleared away and we were right in the centre of the
Danish line-of-battleships, and the whole crew wanted to join the Danish
navy, and the skipper said: 'No, men, you must stick to your own ship.' But
we saluted them with the old flag, and gave them three good English cheers,
and they cheered us, and the skipper said: 'Ah, they're fine fellows. What is
England doin' of not to help them? There's no ill-feelin' left about Nelson
puttin' the spy-glass to his blind eye and blowing Copenhagen down about
their ears.'"

"Talk about makin' the Queen Empress of India? By George! Gladstone did
walk into Disraeli about that, and it was said the Queen got her hump up
about it."

"Well she might," said Cowan; "what business had Gladstone to interfere?
He's always interfering."

"Yes," said Harvey; "and a good job for England he is."

"What d'ye say? Good job for England? What about the Fenians? What
about Parnell and them Irishmen? What about the rascals who were nabbed
settin' fire to infernal machinery for blowing up the House of Parliament?
And then he talks of givin' them Home Rule! What about Piggott, Parnell
and company?"

"Yes, and what about the forgeries, Mr Sniggins," said Harvey.

"Don't call me Sniggins!" said Captain Cowan, "I'm a respectable man."

"Don't you say this and that about Gladstone, then," said Harvey.

"We will if we like," said the bulbous friend, who showed in his phlegmatic
way signs of taking sides against the great Liberal leader.

"What do you know about it?" contemptuously interposed Harvey. "My
advice is to you, 'keep yourself sober and your mouth shut, and don't show
your empty-headedness to people who have forgotten more than ever you
knew!' You talk about Gladstone! Why, you would never have known there
was such a man if I hadn't told you. Of all the brazen cheek, well! You take
the cake to talk to me about a man that made England and stopped the
gentry from pilfering the whole thing."

"Get away, man!" replied our portly friend; "you would swear you were the
Duke of Argyle. I tell you he would have given the country away to the
foreigners if we hadn't stepped in."

"Do you call yourself 'we'!" interjected Harvey, his utterance almost
incoherent with anger; "you want to go to school again and get some
learnin'."

"Get some learnin', d'ye say, Mr Know-all? What has Gladstone done for
the sailors, you an' me? That's a poser for you; and look at the money he
gave away about the Alabama to the Yankees, instead of fightin' them for it
like an Englishman. That's another poser for you!" retorted the big, burly
antagonist who had wakened up and entered into the discussion with
elephantine zeal. "Some of you would let foreigners jump on your

stomachs, but Captain Cowan and me says, 'England for ever!' Why, if it
hadn't been for Palmerston and the old Jew, we would all have been
Russians or blooming Germans before now."

"Bravo, John Bird, well said! That's a clinker for you, Harvey," chimed in
the devoted supporter of the previous speaker. "Fine Britishers they are,
givin' away the country of their birth in lumps at a time!"

Harvey was purple; his blood was at boiling pitch, and his poignant attack
on Captain John Bird gave that gentleman some concern lest it should reach
to something more than mere words. His peroration consisted of a luxuriant
use of imprecating adjectives which stamped him as a person of original
thought. He apologized to his Creator as he passed from point to point of
these profane heights, and was obviously sure that this chaste mode of
seeking forgiveness commended his observations to the Deity. The attack
on Gladstone's and his own patriotism roused him to produce prodigies of
declamatory illustrations.

"Givin' the country away," he said. "Gladstone's trying to stop them dukes
and earls and such like from stealing it. What does he say that the House of
Lords should be shut up for, and these gentry made to work like other folk?
I'll tell you what he says that for: because he wants it fairly shared, and the
men that go down to the sea in ships to have a bit of it."

"Now you needn't repeat Scripture after you've been swearin' see hard,"
interposed Captain Cowan.

"No, sir, I'm not using Scripture. I'm saying that Gladstone wants to turn
them fellows in the House of Lords out to work for their living, instead of
cribbing all the land and gettin' such as you to back them up and crawl on
your bended knees and kiss their hands for them; but I'm not one of them
sort. I says what Joe Cowan says: 'The land for the people if they pay for it.'
Wasn't it Gladstone and Bright that said no good would ever be done until
the House of Lords was pulled down, and wasn't it Joe Cowan that stood up
for them when they wanted to make the Queen the Empress of India? Didn't
he say: 'No, gentlemen, the Queen of England's good enough for me; I

wants no Empress'? And didn't that favourite Jew of yours say to him it was
a grand speech? But I'm not goin' to open my mouth to fill your empty
heads. You don't know your A B C's yet; and you talk to me about givin'
away England, and about Dizzy, and you haven't a good word to say about
your own countrymen who want to get you a bit of the land to grow
something on. I tell you, you're nothing better than nincompoops,
hobbledehoys that knows no more about politics than the old hookers you're
skippers of do." He emphasized these last remarks by bringing his fist
heavily down on the table, knocking the glasses off, and then in a
patronizing way he walked from them a short distance, turned round
quickly as though a sudden impulse had seized him, and shouted at the top
of his voice:

"You want to go to school again, if you've ever been there, but I don't think
you have!"

A reticent man sat close by during the singular debate. An observer could
see that Captain Harvey's last oration was having a convincing effect on
him, and immediately Harvey had fired his last shot Captain George
Halligay rose, and with unaffected solemnity remarked:

"That man knows too much to be a shipmaster. He should be in the House
of Commons. The language he uses, and his knowledge of men and what
they say, is very clever. It would take a funny 'un to tackle him. They tell
me he's written to the papers sometimes."

"All wind and blather," said Captain John Bird, which remark was endorsed
by Captain Cowan and received with some applause.

"Not so," said Halligay. "He has great gifts." And then they made their way
to the landing where their boats waited to convey them to their respective
ships.

These were some of the last specimens of our old-time sailor manhood.
Rough, uncultured, careless of danger, their fighting instincts sometimes
leading them to ferocity; but withal they were strong in many ways, and had
intervals of docility which ofttimes made them lovable. I dare say many, if

not all, of their generation (for they were aged men when I knew them)
have passed beyond the reach of the political or social student, and we shall
nevermore hear the same kind of confusion of thought that made the
discussions of these aged mariners so delightful to listen to. Of course many
of the captains of that time had real accomplishments far beyond the stolid
men of whom I have been speaking. But even the most cultured of that
generation did not reach the zenith of fame to which the modern
commander has risen. The average present-day captain has little in common
with his predecessors. His political creed goes beyond the mere assertion of
the superiority of Britishers over foreigners. He claims association with a
party, and knows a good deal about prominent statesmen and politicians. He
is up to date in the causes which led to the Boer War, the Coal Tax, the Corn
Duty, Irish Land Purchase, the Education Act, and Chamberlain's agitation
to force a change in our fiscal policy from Free Trade to Protection. He has
a peculiar form of self-confidence which may be considered phenomenal
though it is rarely offensive.

2 (Return)
The same Mr Harrison is now a clergyman of the Church of
England, and is pastor of St Thomas's, Newcastle.

VI

MARY ROUTLEDGE

I have often come in contact with old people living in the villages close by
the sea and far away from the bustle of railroads and large towns, who
lament the good times gone by when they used to look forward to the
homecoming and the passing to and fro of the bonny sailor lads, who were
always expected to lift the monotony from their dull, uneventful lives by
strange stories and rollicking habits. The villagers for the most part lived
under a kind of despotism. The Lord of the Manor and the parson
dominated them, and fashioned their politics, their religion, and even their
social lives. The rule was to keep within the limits of their own little
community when they wanted a wife or a husband, but if at any time their
affections travelled outside this sanctified boundary, the two potentates
were assiduous in their warnings that if the new comer in any way
transgressed the unwritten code of laws that were framed in order that the
estate might be kept free from contamination they would have to leave it
peremptorily. Ranters, Wesleyans, and other Nonconformists were regarded
as heretics. A religious test was practised, and those who openly avowed
their dissent from the established form of worship were frankly told that
there was a strong aversion to having that manner of person about the place,
and that any attempt at proselytising would be met by immediate expulsion.
That was the state of things existent in a certain country village no further
back than the middle of the last century, when, as though Providence had
pre-arranged it, a man who at one time had been a sailor came to live there.
He was tall and well-made, with broad shoulders, and he walked with a sort
of military tread. He had a broad forehead, firmly set lips, and altogether he
was good to look on. No one could come in contact with him without being

impressed with his strength of character. His wife was an equally fine-
looking person, with pronounced intellectual capacity. They were both
evangelical Wesleyans. Their family consisted of five sons and two
daughters, a fine wholesome brood, who were all quite young, the eldest
being about fifteen. The children were reared and trained with great care,
and without distinction of sexes: they were all taught to do housework.
Family worship was held morning and night. If the father was unavoidably
absent, the mother took the service, and if both were absent, the eldest of
the family, either son or daughter, took it. The house was a hive of industry
and religious fervour; everything about it was neat and spotlessly clean.
Soon after their arrival the parson made a call on them, and of course the
father and mother were asked what their faith was. This being quickly
settled, the man of holy orders intimated that the parents would be expected
to attend the parish church each Sunday with their family. They of course
reminded him that they were Wesleyan Methodists, but that would not
prevent them attending his church in the mornings. "In the afternoon and
evenings I have been accustomed to conduct a service myself either in the
open air or in my own or someone else's home," said the placid-looking
father. The parson gazed at him with apoplectic surprise, and hinted that he
hoped he would not continue his mission work there, as Nonconformity was
not approved by the owner of the village, and, he might add, by himself
either.

"I fear I must disregard your request," said Mr Burnside, "and do what my
conscience and judgement demand of me."

The cleric took his leave, with the intimation that Squire Humbert would no
doubt call and have a talk with him about spiritual and other matters.
Burnside was not long in discovering that many of the villagers were quite
illiterate, and but little above the standard of heathen. He resolved to throw
his soul into the work of evangelizing them at all costs. The first visit Mr
Humbert paid him left no doubt as to that gentleman's wishes. He spoke of
the disturbing influence lay Methodist preachers were having all over the
country, and said that he had decided no such sensational work should be
permitted on his estate. Burnside did not deem it prudent to enter into
controversy, but determined that nothing should deter him from carrying out

the work that God had sent him to do. The circumstances were so
discouraging that no ordinary man would have persisted in going on with it.
He was scoffed at, hooted, and at times both men and women were so
enraged that they threatened a personal attack; but there was something
about his physical appearance and his firm though gentle manner that
cowed even the most violent of those who were opposed to his religious
teaching. They felt he would stand no nonsense of that kind. He had not
been long in the locality before a spirit of strong revival came over the
place. Some of the worst men and women in the countryside were
converted, and ardently tried to influence others for good. They were raw,
crude, and uneducated, but there was a power behind them that made their
influence irresistible. People came from far and near to hear this strange
gospel of pity preached and to witness such an unexpected revolution.
Strong men and women were smitten with its force, until any one of them
who had shown ill-natured and violent dislike to even listening to the
simple message of the lay preacher, eagerly threw their doors open to him
in order that he might hold services in their homes. He urged them to attend
the parish church in the mornings, as there was only one service on the
Sundays, and none during the week. Most of his own family did this, while
the others went with him to the chapels he was appointed to preach at. He
knew the squire and the parson were feeling full of wrath, and that they
believed him to be a mistaken instrument for evil, and that the whole parish
was thrown into revolt by his wild advocacy of a sacrilegious creed, and
that it must be put a stop to or he would have to leave the village.

When Burnside was having a stroll one morning with a little fellow of four
years old, who was chattering to him about his services, Squire Humbert
came upon them, stopped, and snappishly asked what he meant by
disturbing the whole district with such ranting nonsense.

"I tell you," said he, "it must cease, or I will ask you to leave the place."

Burnside withered him with a gaze that betrayed his feelings, and began:

"Sir, you may ask me to leave the village, but you may not ask me to cease
serving my God in the way I choose. Now, sir, listen. You have been

accustomed to talk to your village servants in a way that is insufferable. I
am not one of them, and if I were I should resent your doing so to me. I
must ask you to carry out your threat, and when I get your communication I
shall give you my definite answer. Meanwhile never you attempt to insult
me or make an attack upon my religion again. And bear in mind that I
refuse to allow you to be the controller of it. Good morning."

The dignified "Lord God the Squire" gasped with suppressed fury, but that
which he wished to utter was unutterable, and he rode off in the direction of
his hall. Burnside told his wife what had transpired. She commended him
for the manner in which he had treated it, though both she and the family
were filled with concern lest the threat of turning them out of their home
should be carried out. It made an everlasting impression on all the family,
but especially so on the little fellow who heard all that was said. He never
got over the cruel, senseless stab, and I have reason to believe it lives with
him still. Burnside regarded the whole thing with contempt, and continued
his religious services as though nothing had happened. Mr Logan, the
parson, not long after called to see him, and Burnside drew him into
discussion on Theology. He was a great student of Bishop Butler's
"Analogy," and was familiar with the writings of other theologians. The
parson was amazed at the plain man's strong logical instincts, the keen
fluency of his talk, and the fulness of his knowledge, and so enjoyed the
conversation that he asked if he might hope to have a further opportunity of
having another discussion. "Come any day you like except Sundays," said
the unconventional old sailor, "and I may assure you it will give me great
pleasure." They parted with feelings of growing respect for each other. The
parson evidently made some weighty communication to Mr Humbert, as
that gentleman's attitude towards Burnside soon underwent a marked
change, and this was shown by his commencing to chat whenever they met.
It was not long before they were on the most cordial terms. The squire
found that Burnside was not only a powerful religionist but a strong
personality. His reading was very wide, and his knowledge and
conversational gifts made him an attractive man to come in contact with.
Humbert had evidently seen it to be unwise to meddle with his religion any
more, and his friendship for him soon became apparent, for instead of
carrying out the threat of putting him off his estate, he offered him a better

house to live in, with a large plot of ground attached to it. The offer was
gratefully accepted, but this did not in any way interfere with the steady
progress of the propaganda, and in a few years the character of the men and
women who would have thrown him into the sea when he first came
amongst them changed from hatred into affection. Gambling, drunkenness,
wife-beating, profanity, all had disappeared.

As soon as his sons were old enough they left the district, and ere long
some of them were heard of in the metropolis of England, and had
succeeded in carving out distinguished careers for themselves. Two of them
gladdened the old man's heart by choosing the sea as a profession, but no
discrimination in point of affection was ever shown, though when he heard
the hoarse moaning of the wind on troubled nights, he never failed to put in
a supplementary prayer for his two seafarers. He had passed through the
dangers himself, and had a steadfast belief that close communion with God
was a strong safeguard against disaster. The homecoming of these sailor
lads, who frequently brought friends with them, was a great joy to the
Burnsides, and also to those of the villagers with whom they associated.
Both lads were very sailorly, and it was well known that they never failed to
make things hum with mirth and mischief, as soon as they had taken their
bearings and found the coast clear of "squires" and "parsons." It was a
pretty sight to see their two sisters rush out of the house as soon as their
brothers were seen in the distance crossing the long stretch of moor and run
to meet and fondly greet them. This had been one of the fundamental points
in their training, that they were to be affectionate to each other, and
lengthened separation did not diminish the well instilled habit. But the joy
of the young people's meeting was only second to that of seeing their
reunion with their parents, and great were Mrs Burnside's bewildering
exploits of cookery. The first night was generally spent in telling queer
stories of their skippers, mates and shipmates, whilst the father sat smiling
placidly and obviously living over again his youthful days when he also
was a sailor lad relating the same kind of stories in the same old way. The
girls asked all sorts of questions, and the merry babble was kept up until
Mrs Burnside reminded her husband that it was long past the usual time for
prayers, and that they had better postpone the narrative until the morrow. A
chapter suitable for the occasion was given out, and they read verse and

verse about until they reached the end of the lesson. Then they knelt round
the table and listened to the tremulous tones of their father's prayer. When
he had finished they all repeated after him the Lord's Prayer and then rose.
At one of these reunited gatherings one of the brothers had been restless,
and persisted in nudging his sisters and winking at them when his parent
had reached his most impressive periods and was oblivious of everything
but his communion with God. The scamp was taken aside by the younger
sister, who was a strong-minded little damsel with fixed ideas, and she
sharply reproved him for his irreverence; and the elder sister, who had a
keen sense of humour as well as fixed opinions, was so thankful that the
boys had been brought safely back to them, she commenced to make the
most comical excuses for their erring brother's buoyant indiscretion. The
young man's contrition was signified by his taking hold of his sisters,
waltzing them round the room, and then proceeding to stand on his head
and dangling his legs in the air. This threw them into fits of laughter, and
though it was against the rules of the home, the joyous chatter was resumed
and continued until long past the regulated time for going to bed. When I
hear people ridiculing religion and its forms, I think of those simple days of
village methodism with a throbbing of the heart.

There were coteries in this small out-of-the-way place as there are in large
towns and cities, and perhaps the exclusiveness was even more pronounced
there than in the larger centres. The fisher people were a class by
themselves, with whom the squire's employés thought it beneath their
dignity to be on regular visiting terms. They married and intermarried
amongst themselves, while Mr Humbert's servants were a mixed class.
Some had intellectual ambitions and rare musical talents, and others had
not; and it was amongst the former that the Burnsides found something in
common. Their home gathered up all the more cultured part of the
population. But apart from that, every young and old person in the village
was known to the others. The well was situated a good distance from the
cottages, and the girls of the village generally had to carry the water to their
homes either because there were no sons or because they were employed
elsewhere; but if any of them were about, the lassie with the burden was
always offered help, and rarely refused it. When the two young sailors came
home they made a point of insisting on carrying water for any young girl

they by chance saw at the fountain, hence they increased their popularity
and were sought after for that reason as well as for the fact of their being
rollicking sailors. In fact, it seemed as though the little circle were of one
family. The day following the home-coming from any given voyage was
spent in formally calling upon their friends, and in the evening all the young
people gathered up at their home to have tea, and afterwards dancing,
singing, talking, and all kinds of games. Of course the sailors were called
upon to do some step-dancing, and so the happy days and evenings sped on
until the time came to prepare to set off on a long voyage. Then for several
days previous to their departure the house was full each afternoon of
voluntary helpers, washing, making shirts, knitting stockings, and making
all kinds of underclothing. Things were kept moving in such a lively way
when these young seafarers were about, that a feeling of desolation
depressed the whole village for many days after they had left it.

Yet amid all the simple charm of the people and the natural beauty of the
place there came a period of sorrowing and grief. The motherless daughter
of an official of the Lord of the Manor, a beautiful girl who was the idol of
her family and loved by everybody, fell a victim to the villainy of her
father's assistant to whom she was engaged to be married; he betrayed her
and then left the village, and no one could trace his whereabouts. When her
condition became apparent, her father alone failed to realize her true state
until he received a note from his master to have her removed from his
estate, and with brutal severity the squire insisted that she should never be
allowed to stain the purity of his grounds by her presence again, nor could
he permit any intercourse whatever between her and any of his servants
either male or female, direct or indirect. The father was brokenhearted, and
indeed the whole community were stricken with grief for her and for him.
She was removed to a town a few miles away and then gave birth to a male
child. The father in his thoughtless anger left her to the callous mercy of an
inexperienced person, and through want of proper care consumption set in,
and the shadow of doom swiftly encompassed her. A burning remorse was
charring her to pieces. She craved the forgiveness of her parent, and longed
to see the home she had been ruthlessly turned away from. This desire was
intensified by a passion to feel the thrilling of the sea winds that came from
the moaning ocean. What insufferable cruelty to refuse the appeal of a

sweet girl who had been wronged, and who was passing from earth and
would soon be put to rest in a grave within easy reach of the springy links
and glossy sands where so many days of her joyous girlhood had been spent
in innocent and jovial scenes! A last appeal was made to the hard old squire,
who, to do him justice, believed he was an instrument in the hands of divine
Providence to enforce the cultivation and carrying out of high ideals.
Human fallibility was not sanctioned on his demesne outside his own
personality or household. The poor, grief-stricken girl wrote to him hoping
that her wishes might become known to his wife and touch her to have
compassion, and her plan succeeded, for on receipt of her letter permission
was given to have her brought home. Here is the simple, pleading request:

"Sir,—I ask you for pity's sake to forgive me and allow a poor
girl who is humbly and bitterly penitent, wrecked in body and
soul, to be taken from here to her father's home so that she may
seek forgiveness of him before she is called to appear before
her God. I have only a few weeks at the most left to me, and
then I shall pass from the scene of conflict and grief into that
long sleep which never endeth.

"I am, yours obediently,

"Mary Routledge."

The day following the receipt of this letter Mary was brought home, and the
good Mrs Humbert engaged a nurse to look after her. Mr Logan, the parson,
was sent for, and he administered what he regarded as a passport into
heaven. He pronounced a stern reproof, and then impressed on her the idea
of the great sin she had committed, and in the good old ecclesiastical style
admonished her to say her prayers and read her Bible night and morning,
and if she did that there might yet be hope for pardon. The girl did not think
the prescription comforting enough, so after a few days' misery she asked
for Mr Burnside. She had heard him both pray and preach in days gone by,
and the impressions made then came back to her vividly. On entering the
little home he chatted with her in his accustomed cheery way, never even

hinting at her great sorrow, and then he asked if she would like him to pray
with her before he went. She said: "Oh, yes, that is one of the reasons I sent
for you; and if you could make it convenient I would like you to come
often." Mr Burnside acquiesced, and before leaving his little friend he joked
with her judiciously until she laughed so heartily that a casual looker-on
would have thought she had neither mental nor physical trouble, but as she
said to him: "You make me forget all my affliction." "That is exactly what I
should like to do," said her bright companion, "and I think we are making
some progress."

His visits were always a joy to both of them, and after paying several she
called out to him one day when he entered her room, "I have found God. I
know now the plan of salvation that you have been so anxious for me to
see, and though I deeply regret to leave you and all those who have been so
considerately kind to me, I am anxious that my Master should claim me
soon and take me to dwell amid the silent glory of a last long dream. I am
now prepared to meet Him. My last dying request is very sacred. It touches
me so keenly I feel some doubt as to whether I can approach it without
giving you a mistaken thought of what I really do mean. It is this: may I ask
you to give an eye to my child when I am gone, and should you detect that
he is not being cared for, or trained properly, will you use your influence in
having this done? Perhaps one of the lads (meaning his sons) when they get
on will take an interest in him for the sake of his mother to whom they were
so kind and gentle in other days. Ah, what memories of sweetness I have
gathered up since I was laid aside; and these lines, which I committed to
memory long ago, have sometimes come to me:

But 'tis done—all words are idle;
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will."

She then assured Mr Burnside that she was quite resigned. He listened to
her gentle musings, only interjecting a word now and then in order that the
current of thought should not be stranded. But his heart was full of grief,

and when he stooped to kiss her brow and say "good-night" the tears were
dropping from his eyes.

"Ah," said she, "I know the sorrow you have for me, and your distress pains
me, but after all I am only passing to the shadows a few years before you,
and when you come I shall see you." And then she whispered softly, "I
should like, if it be possible and my boy lives, that his mother's shame be
kept from him. You, I'm sure, will try to prevent this."

He promised that her dying injunction, so far as he could arrange it, would
be strictly observed, and then he went out into the mystic night.

They did not commune together again, for the Omnipotent had willed that
she should pass through the valley before the long beams of light had been
drawn from the dawn. The little colony was cast into gloom, and neither the
chilly, puritanic doctrine of the Lord of the Manor, nor the mechanical piety
of his adjutant, the rector, could stay the anger that permeated even the
dullest of the inhabitants, who believed that a crime had been committed in
the name of righteousness. The indignation of the female portion of the
Burnside family was well subdued, not because of any cantish false
delicacy, but in order that their own lads might not be encouraged to say or
do anything rash. They left the father to communicate the news of Mary
Routledge's illness to them. He had prayed for her on the first night they
were at home; this gave them the first intimation of the tragedy, but the
ghastly character of it was learnt from outside, and they never either
forgave or forgot the wicked perpetrators.

The hearts of the two sailors were sorely touched by the tale of suffering
and treatment of the poor girl whom they were accustomed to regard in the
light of a sister when they were boys at school, and though a few years of
rough sea life had rubbed the finer edges off their early training, they still
retained a strong affection for the girls who were their favourites, and as she
was one of them, their affection and their grief for her was never concealed.
The fulness of their pleasures had been marred by this great affliction, but
as they would have made any sacrifice in order that their sympathy might
be known to her, they steadfastly observed an attitude of conduct that well-

nigh approached piety; and after she had been "put away" and their father
told them of her last dying message, they resolved that if spared to reach a
position, and her boy was alive, and those who had charge of him were
agreeable that he should become a sailor, either one or the other would
undertake his training. Meanwhile the child was left as a legacy to the
grandfather, but incredible though it may appear, he was not allowed to
bring it to the estate during the sanctified lifetime of Mr Humbert.

The young men had reached the limit of their period ashore; it was only
fourteen days, but that was all that could be spared, as the vessels they were
to sail in were nearly at the fitting-out stage. The night before they had to
depart a tea-party was given by a distinguished old lady, who was known
for her great kindness to needy people in the district, and to wayfarers who
passed by her house. She owned a large adjoining estate, and managed it
herself with consummate skill. She was very fond of the two lads, so that
they were invited to the party, and, truth to say, it was really in their honour
it was given. Nearly the whole of the young people round about were there,
but the tragic death of their young friend prevented a full outburst of joyous
revelry, though they arranged their mode of amusement to suit the occasion.
The hostess was charming to everybody, but especially to the sailors. Her
exhortations that they should be careful not to slip when they were climbing
all over the rigging and yards, and to be sure not to get washed off the jib-
boom, as she had heard of so many others being, and to keep ropes tied
round them when the sea was coming aboard, so that they might not be
washed overboard, were absurd and laughable, but tender. Of course the
young men, in the true orthodox fashion of sailors, on being pressed by her
and the young guests, male and female, told a few stories of their
adventures that created both admiration and sensation; then by request they
sang a few sea songs that were much appreciated. And when the regulation
hour came for closing the proceedings the time had slipped away too
quickly. A request was made to their hostess for an extension of time, and
with a goodness that always characterized her it was granted for one hour
longer, part of which was used by an appeal made by the sailor lads to be
allowed to correspond with her two granddaughters, who were young ladies
of prepossessing appearance. After some delicate negotiations and many
assurances of honourable intentions, they were told that, provided their

letters were confined to a history of their movements and their doings, and
without any foolishness, they might write twice a voyage to the girls and to
herself. "But," said she, "there must be no proposals of marriage until you
have both reached the head of your profession." This condition was
gratefully agreed to, and when the young men joined the party again there
were many inquiries and many hints as to the nature of the conference with
their hostess, but the secret was only divulged to the two who were directly
interested, and then the jovial gathering formed themselves into a ring, sang
"Auld lang syne," and added "Will they no come back again?" which was
specially intended to apply to the sailors. These formalities having been
completed, the young mariners proceeded to say their farewells, and kissed
and cuddled with astonishing rapidity first one girl and then the others until
all had shared the ebullition of their rugged endearment. The male portion
of the assembly viewed this form of emphasizing good-bye with sheepish
amazement. They would have been stupefied with shame if any one had
seen them walking even with a girl, although the enterprising seafarers had
done their best to assure them that it was the only true style of showing
genuine goodwill.

Long before dawn the following morning the lads were tramping over a
wild expanse of common towards a seaport, and they carried on their
shoulders as fine a kit as ever went into a vessel's forecastle. All the things
that had happened during their stay, especially the incidents of the last
night, were talked of amongst the villagers for many a long day after the
sailors had left the district and travelled to the southern hemisphere. Yes,
and many an eloquent petition was sent up from the familiar cottage homes
that knew them so well for their safe-keeping and speedy return. This phase
of sailor life existed in the country places, and to some extent in the smaller
seaport towns bordering on the country, in the middle of the last century. It
is always pleasant to think of the innocent, robust enjoyment these better
class seamen planned out for themselves, aided of course by their rural
friends. They were sought after and loved by everybody. What balderdash
has been spoken and written about poor Jack everlastingly misconducting
himself! Assuredly the Christian virtues did not take complete hold of all of
them, and no one will deny that a large percentage were wayward and took

a lot of steering. But compare them with other classes of men, and I do not
think they would take a second place.

Norman and Kenneth Burnside worked, saved, and studied very hard, and
rapidly rose in their profession. They had no sooner got their extra master's
certificates than they were offered and accepted the command of handsome
square-rigged vessels employed in the Eastern trade, and both of them
became famous for making quick passages. The old lady who had been
their friend so long became impressed with the idea of their reaching great
heights, and was quite frank in stating that she was proud to see the speedy
advancement of two boys that had been reared within sight of her home.
She indicated to some of her closest friends that she had no misgiving now
about giving her granddaughters in marriage to the young sailors, and this
interesting confession was made known to them by some unknown agent.
They arrived in England within a month of each other, and were quietly
married. The venerable lady settled a considerable sum on her
granddaughters, and no lack of instructions were omitted as to its purpose.
The sailors said it was very good of the old girl to do this for her young
relatives, but they each reminded their wives that they did not marry them
for money. After a brief holiday the brothers rejoined their respective ships,
and sailed, one from Liverpool to Australia, and the other from London to
Calcutta, and little did they expect when they parted that it would be nearly
two decades before they were to meet again.

Many years after, two vessels were racing down the China seas, one of them
a new barque heavily sparred and very crank, and the other a large, full-
rigged ship. Both were rushed through the sea at great speed. The full-
rigger, with Norman Burnside in command, drew ahead of the barque and
lost sight of her in the darkness. Between ten and eleven at night the second
officer was on the poop chatting with the captain; the sky was cloudless, not
a speck to be seen, and the wind strong and steady; every stitch of canvas
was set, when all of a sudden the captain ceased conversing with the officer,
told him that a white squall was close upon them, and to call all hands to
shorten sail. They had only got a portion of it in when the squall struck her,
and everything had to be let fly. During the few minutes it lasted it was
terrific; many of the sails were torn to shreds, the masts were heavily

strained, and the vessel herself was well-nigh doomed. Nothing was seen or
heard of the barque after that night, but the fears of those aboard the full-
rigger were great lest trouble should have come to her. When they arrived in
London an account was sent to them of the loss of their companion in the
China Seas. The paragraph stated that the vessel was struck by a white
squall, thrown on her beam ends and literally capsized; the captain was
Norman's brother. He was on deck at the time and tried to get down into the
cabin to rescue his wife, but the rush of water prevented him. She was
drowned almost before his eyes, and her body went down with the vessel.
Some of the crew who were aft managed with the assistance of the captain
to get the gig disentangled from the wreck, but he refused to save himself
and had to be dragged into the boat by force. Others of the crew clung to
floating spars, and were either killed or drowned, and only one survived
until succour came. The day following the casualty, those that took to the
boat were picked up. A day later a passing vessel saw some wreckage
ahead, and as they drew towards it they discovered a boy clinging to a spar
which was being tossed about by the motion of the sea. The vessel was at
once hove to and a boat went to his rescue. The only clothing he had on was
a light flannel shirt and a pair of drawers. The poor little fellow had tried to
lash himself to the spar with a piece of rope. When they got close to where
he was his feeble voice whispered from it a few words of touching thanks;
and then, as though a supernatural force had been given him, he said in a
tone that seemed to have been flashed from another world: "It is too late. I
am about to pass on to where my mother is. I feel my stomach is chafed
through." His face, it was said, wore a spiritual air, and his eyes had an
expression of quiet, resigned sadness. They cast off the rope that bound him
to the spar, took him gently from it and placed his disembowelled body in
the boat. His remains were sewn up in a hammock, heavy weights were put
at his feet, and at the dead hour of the night the mourners, with uncovered
heads bowed in hallowed manifestation of pity, listened to the harrowing
words that came throbbing from the captain's lips as substituted for the
written funeral service. When he had finished, orders were whispered to
lower the body in silence down the side of the vessel, and then the waters
covered him over. Many weeks elapsed before it was known that it was
Mary Routledge's boy.

Nothing could exceed the genuine sympathy that was shown to the poor
distracted Kenneth Burnside, but all attempts at consolation were received
by him with a sad smile that conveyed the idea of an unhealing wound. He
lived the life of a recluse and never went to sea again.

VII

FORECASTLE LIFE

The modern sailor can have no idea of the hardships and discomforts of his
predecessors even up to thirty or forty years ago. Unless a person has lived
with sailors in the forecastle as one of themselves and taken part in their
daily life, no accurate conception can be formed of what their peculiarities
and conditions of life were. It may be that they fluently cursed about the
latter, and had some idea that they were being imposed upon; but posterity
must ever remember that they bore their wrongs with heroism and with a
steadfast belief in the superiority over those of other nationalities of their
owners, their ships and themselves. Comparisons were never indulged in:
they insisted that all things British took in the nature of things first place,
and this child-like faith was never broken in spite of glaring, wicked
callousness to their men's sufferings on the part of some employers and
captains.

Their accommodation was in the extreme fore-end of the vessel, and the
space allowed was low-roofed and cramped, frequently leaky and
invariably dismal. Immediately abaft the forecastle ladder was the cable
stage where hawsers, cable-chains, tar-barrels, tar-pots, tar-brushes, marline
spikes, serving-mallets, cork-fenders, water-casks and other spare gear were
stowed. The first impressions of smell to a person who had been reared in a
pure atmosphere were deadly. I think I can feel all my first sensations even
now. On each side of the space, hammocks were slung to hooks, or to
eyebolts fastened into the beams, and on account of leaky decks the men
were obliged to have oil-covers hung the full length of the hammock like a
tent to keep the water from pouring on to them! There was great pride taken

in the spotless cleanliness of these canvas sleeping cots. The rings that the
lanyards and clews were attached to were neatly grafted, and the art of
hanging with accuracy so that the occupant lay in perfect comfort without
fear of being lurched out was often the cause of mutual criticism and heated
controversy. It looks a very simple matter, but there is an art that has to be
learned in slinging a hammock correctly. Alongside of them were the
seamen's chests, with skilfully carved oak or mahogany cleats, grafted rope
horseshoe handles, and turk's head at each side of the cleats. These were
painted white to give variety and effect. The lid inside displayed a full-
rigged clipper, barque, or brig, either under full sail with a peaceful blaze of
blue sea, or under close-reefed topsails labouring in the wrath of a cyclone
with a terrific turmoil. Underneath this work of art was the name of the
person to whom the chest belonged, painted in block shaded letters, and the
fate of many a crew has been traced by the washing ashore of a relic of this
sort. All this was done by the sailor himself, and during the process of
elaboration many a castle was built in the air and many a vow made that his
conduct for evermore should be regulated by a strict adherence to righteous
principles. There was great competition in this as in other things. The
forecastle sides and the deck were whitewashed with lime, and the floor in
fine weather, at sea as well as in port, was kept clean. The apprentices were
made to take week and week about in scrubbing the floor every morning,
and sweeping it after every meal. In well regulated vessels that sailed on
long voyages, as soon as they got into the N.E. trade winds the crew settled
down to a daily routine during the first hour or two of their watch below in
the daytime, of making, mending and washing their clothes. Some never got
beyond this, or making mats, but there were men who varied their pastime
by carving models of vessels, making wood sails or rigging, and fitting
them out in every detail. This work was done with great skill and neatness.
Those that could read and were fond of it gave a share of their time to that.
There were others who worked hard at learning navigation, their chest lids
serving as a desk. It occasionally happened that some of the forecastle
hands could neither read nor write, but if they were willing to learn there
was always someone ready to teach them, who in the process of teaching
learnt much that was useful to himself. A few months ago there died an old
man whom I taught to read and write when he must have been over forty
years of age. He was one of many skilled seamen of that day who were

much sought after to command collier brigs during the winter months,
notwithstanding they could not read, or write their own names even. This
man never failed to make the quickest passages and voyages on record, and
in the summer, without presuming on having been master, he would ship on
a deep sea vessel as able seaman or cook. It was in the latter capacity that I
first met him when I was an apprentice of fourteen. I was seated reading Sir
Walter Scott's "Old Mortality," and laughing as heartily as a boy will at
some of the sayings and doings of the Covenanters, when he asked what
amused me. I told him, and he expressed a desire for me to read to him. I
did so as well as I could, and when the time came for me to resume my
duties and close the book, he said in a very sheepish way, "I wish I could
read and write; I would make a fortune if I could." I immediately offered
my services, and with a slight indication of sensitiveness he accepted them.
It was a long, dreary process, but my pupil was so eager, especially after he
got to know three letter words, I soon led him into figuring—addition and
multiplication sums—and two years after starting him, he was learning
from me what little navigation I was able to impart. He seemed to pick this
up instinctively, which gave him a passionate desire to go to a navigation
school, and in a short time he had made such rapid progress that the teacher
thought he could pass the examination; and his opinion was confirmed by
Ned going to Dundee and passing at the first attempt. He got a mate's berth
in the summer, and went master in the winter, continuing to save money
until he had accumulated sufficient to purchase a small ketch which he
owned entirely himself. For some years he did well, then sold the little
vessel and commenced business ashore. I had not heard of or seen him for
many years, when one afternoon a friend of mine called at my office and
intimated that my old friend was in the workhouse, and had desired him to
call and inform me of it, feeling sure that I would not allow him to remain
there. I asked my friend to have him taken out and put into respectable
lodgings until I could get him some relief from a philanthropic institution,
and the odd easy jobs I saw put in his way kept him comfortably. He often
came to see me, and when I could spare the time I gratified the fine old
fellow's wish by encouraging him to talk to me of those days that were such
a joy to him. I believe he regarded himself, when aboard one of my vessels,
in the light of a special guardian of my interests, and I think he must have
assumed an air of superiority over others which was occasionally resented.

At any rate, one morning on reaching the office I found him ready to
receive me; he was well dressed, clean-shaven and looked all over like a
captain of the old school. I saw he had a grievance, and he at once plunged
into the object of his visit; complaining that one of the captains had treated
him as none of the others would think of doing, and when I asked what he
had said to the captain to cause his displeasure, he replied with energy and
warmth that he had told him he would "go and see his betters who had
known him before he (the captain) was born. And what do you think the
impudent fellow said? He told me I might go to h—ll if I liked, and so I'm
here to see whether he's to boss me, or if I'm to take orders from you. He
actually had the impudence to give me an order for my money on the office
instead of paying me as the others did in cash!"

This was the only time he ever complained to me about the treatment he
received from anyone. I was much amused, and humoured the old man into
a good temper. He never quite forgave the insult that had been offered him,
but went away satisfied that he had scored. Twelve months after this there
were signs that the hard usage of his earlydays was breaking him up. He
struggled on in the hope that his iron constitution would throw off the
malady that held him in its grip, but ere long the suffering old hero passed
away.

My brother once volunteered to teach another old illiterate, who shared his
watch, to read and write. It was one of the most comical proceedings I ever
witnessed, and when I reflect on it now I see a touch of pathos that fills me
with remorse for the part I took in making fun of that fine seaman, who had
been brought up in an atmosphere of heathenism, and was, in many ways,
little better than a heathen himself. He stood six feet four inches, and had
the frame of a giant; a large, well-formed head poised above a pair of broad
shoulders; his face was strong and highly intellectual; his nose, mouth and
full blue eyes indicated that he had sprung from a race of well-bred people
who may have declined on their luck. Had his intellectual faculties been
given a chance when young, he might have been great in any profession. As
it was, he was merely a rough, uncouth man, but a well-trained and
accomplished sailor. He had been trained in the hardest of all schools, that
of the coasting trade, and he knew every swirl of the tide and every

sandbank between St Abb's and Dungeness. He did not rise to be captain,
though he frequently went as mate during the winter months. It was not
until his ambition led him to a knowledge of the bigger world far beyond
the continents of Europe that he determined to learn how to read and write.
I am not sure whether he ever felt humiliated at having to seek the aid of a
young man so much his junior and occupying a subordinate position to
himself; if he did, I cannot recall having observed it. The owners'
confidence in him must have been great. He was signed on the ship's
articles as boatswain, but really he was intended to act as second mate,
keeping the captain's watch and doing the ordinary duties of a second
officer. The first intimation the captain had that his owner had sent such a
strange personality was on the evening that the vessel was towed out to sea.
The decks were in a condition of confusion, and this ardent officer was
busying himself in getting them cleared up before dark. The master
intimated to him that he was feeling very tired, and would like to lie down.

"You may go to bed, sir," said the officer, "and when you get there
remember you have a better man on deck than yourself."

The captain stared at this extraordinary creature, and when he had
recovered from his amazement at the unblushing audacity, he said:

"Sir, I wish to intimate to you that you are not aboard a collier brig, but a
deep-water ship, and you are addressing a deep-water captain who has
never been spoken to in such a strange way before."

"Good God, man!" said the irate second mate, "get away to your bunk, and
don't stand there talking damned nonsense about what you call etiquette. I
know nothing about that, but I'll take your ship along the coast for you, and
I want you to know as well that I can handle a marline spike or a palm and
needle with any of your South Spain dandies. You may go below, sir; I have
not time to talk to you just now."

"Well, Joss," said the subdued captain, "I will admit I believe you are a
better coasting navigator than myself"; and in the assurance that he was, the
captain went below, and was not seen again until we got clear of the English

Channel. The navigation was left in the hands of the mate and second mate.
It was after reaching the north-east trade winds that the latter's elementary
education began. The tutor could be seen any morning or afternoon watch
below sitting on the forecastle floor working at the construction of a
miniature full-rigged ship. His pupil sat beside him with the alphabet
written on a slate, and as he advanced in knowledge, three letter, four letter
and five letter words were given him, and it was when he arrived at this
stage that the process became feverishly attractive and amusing. The
following is something like how it appeared to those who were looking on:

"AND—and; FOUR—four," said the tutor, without lifting his eyes from his
work.

"THEIR, what the h—ll's that, Jack?"

"Their," said John.

"THERE, that's a b—— jawbreaker, Jack?"

"There," said the tutor, and off he would go in his own peculiar way. Almost
every word was introduced by a harmless swear, the droll thing being that
my brother simply took it as a matter of course, and never laughed unless
some unusually inventive oath combination was interjected; if the pupil
confined himself to ordinary swearing, there was no interruption; he was
allowed to rattle along in his own voluble way, letting fly vigorously at the
inventor of "larnin'." The result was that Joss learned to read and write
before the voyage was over. It is true there were few people outside the
forecastle that could tell what it was all about, unless they studied very
closely his eccentric pronunciation and the wild scrawl of his writing. He
never went far enough to get even a second mate's certificate. He thought it
an unnecessary waste of time, seeing that he intended to leave the sea as
soon as he could attain a pilot's branch. This he succeeded in doing, and had
a long and successful career; his fame as a pilot only equalled that which he
bore when employed as a sailor. He lived to a good ripe age, and died in
harness still adhering to the up-to-date belief that England was being
imposed upon by "a set of b—— neckends (foreigners), who took the bread

from the mouths of Englishmen." He is said to have saved and left a good
deal of money, and this I can well believe, as even when a common sailor
he lived far below his income. Joss, unlike most sailors, had not a note of
music in his composition, but there were few professionals on the halls who
could surpass him at step-dancing. I saw him dance the double-shuffle with
a professional on one occasion in the Ratcliffe Highway. I think the place
was called the "Gunboat," and he was there declared to be the champion.
Joss considered it a part of a sailor-boy's training that he should learn to
dance a hornpipe and other steps with facility, and he devoted a good share
of his spare time to teaching recruits how to do it. Undoubtedly a good step-
dance was a great acquisition on a long, dreary, ocean pilgrimage, and his
performance always added to the amusement of a Saturday evening when a
concert was organized. The songs were mostly comic, and were sung with
an imitative touch of the professional dandy. Occasional lapses into
sentimentality never failed to strike a penitent chord for some real or
supposed sins that had been thoughtlessly committed. But the mood was
merely of brief duration, and only required a comic interjection by someone
to send the little community into prolonged gaiety. It was quite usual when
they were in the mood to carry their revelry far into their watch below.

When the time came for the hand-spike to be thudded on the deck over their
heads, and eight bells called them from slumber to duty, there were found
some of whom it was said they would sleep with their heads in a bucket of
water, and these were speedily brought to consciousness by the head of their
hammocks being let fly by their less somnolent comrades. This was one of
the jokes which often led to days of estrangement between the sleeper and
the supposed culprit. It was always a mystery who committed the offence,
as great caution was used to preserve secrecy. It was a wonder no necks
were broken, notwithstanding the care taken to avoid injury in carrying out
this mode of arousing the heavy sleeper. Many were undoubtedly hurt, but
as there was a good deal of disgrace attached to sleeping on after being
called, there was rarely open revolt or complaint made. Another method of
dealing with hands who could not keep their eyes open when on watch was
to reeve a rope through the scupper-hole, attach one end to the person, and
the other to a coal basket, which was thrown overboard. If the vessel was
travelling fast, the poor culprit was rudely awakened, and before he could

extricate himself he was dragged into the lee scuppers. As that portion of
the deck was usually flooded when the vessel had any speed on her, there
were soon loud cries for mercy. When it was not prudent to adopt this plan,
a bucket of water was thrown at the sleeper's head; this produced the idea of
having to swim for it. I have often seen the culprit after an ablution of this
character strike out on the deck until his hands or his head came in contact
with something harder than either, and made consciousness revive.

But there were methods for dealing with the habit of sleeping on deck other
than those, which were fraught with greater danger. I was serving on a
vessel whose mate was in the habit of napping when on duty. It was
arranged to stretch ropes across the deck about one or two feet from it, and
about six feet apart. It was a dark, dirty night; the top of the sea was all
alive with phosphorus, which made it difficult to make out lights. The mate
slumbered peacefully, leaning against the weather topgallant bulwarks. The
man on the look-out shouted: "A red light on the starboard bow!" The man
at the wheel repeated it. The mate was awakened, and went straight into a
panic.

"Where is the light?"

"On the lee bow," said the helmsman.

"I think it is green," he said.

"Yes," said the helmsman; "so do I."

"No, it is not green; it is bright," said the mate.

"What do you think?"

"I think the same as you, George," said the helmsman.

The mate proceeded to rush along the deck towards the bow; each rope
tripped him up, and each fall caused him to see different-coloured lights.
After a succession of somersaults, he arrived at the fore end of the vessel
wide awake, but in a state of distraction. He called to the look-out man to

point out the light he had reported, and a deep, sepulchral voice came from
a tall figure robed in white, warning the officer of approaching disaster
because of his neglect of duty. Suddenly a trumpet sounded, and in an
instant the vision had disappeared, and in another two men stood at the bow.
They each spoke to their officer, but he was speechless. At last he managed
to jerk out:

"Did you see that figure?"

"No," said the men.

"Then," said he in great tribulation, "it is an apparition."

The ropes were removed, and when he made his way aft nothing interrupted
his progress. What could it have been? His fear was terrific; he must have
known that something like a joke had been practised upon him, but his
superstition, together with the consciousness of having committed a
criminal breach of duty, seized the imagination and made him desire to
believe that a supernatural visitation had taken place. He was never known
to sleep on deck again, and such was the shock to his nerves I am persuaded
he did not do a great deal of sleeping below. Whether it was owing to this or
not, the poor fellow never properly regained his equilibrium; and his
judgement, never reliable before, became after this event a negative
quantity. Long years afterwards he used to be chaffed about it, and stood it
very badly. A few months since I chatted with one of the men who with
myself took part in this plot. He still treasured it as a great diplomatic feat,
and laughed immoderately at the recollection of the poor mate's troubles,
and warmly complimented himself on the success of the enterprise, but
added very seriously: "There is no knowing what might have happened had
we all taken to napping. At the same time I am sure," said he, "this sharp
lesson put him off doing it again, and it may have saved our lives, though,
poor man, he wasn't very much use when left to himself."

Many more experiences not identical but similar to those I have been
relating were crammed into a long passage, which relieved the monotony of
the stereotyped character of everyday life. Day after day, when the weather

was fine, the same kind of work was carried on with unbroken regularity. In
the morning at five-thirty the cook made coffee for the watch on deck, and
at six they commenced to wash bulwarks, decks, etc. By eight o'clock this
was finished. The watch who had to relieve them were knocked out at
seven-thirty, had breakfast and came on deck at eight o'clock. The duties of
these watches varied: If the rigging was being rattled down, the mate's
watch did the fore, while the second mate's did the main and mizen; or if it
were only the fore, main, or mizen that was being "rattled," the port side
was done by the chief officer's men, and the starboard by the second
officer's. There was great rivalry among the seamen who were selected to
do this or any other skilled work, but only in regard to the quantity done
and its neatness. At times, of course, there was a common understanding
that a certain number of ratlines should be put on. This greatly depended on
the treatment they were receiving. If it was good, no restriction was
arranged, for each tried to excel the other, and this applied to every
department of work. Some of the dodges to evade work may not be written
here; but if it could be done it would reveal a phase of sea life that has never
been put into print. If it were not that our conventions forbid offending the
finer senses it might be written, and thereby show something more of the
really comic side of Jack when he is on the rampage against constitutional
government. There were occasions when the pride of the British tar was not
abashed at being called a dockyard loafer, but these were rare.

In making a sea passage there was great care taken that no chafing was
going on to the foots of the square sails, nor to the rigging, when the yards
were braced up against it. Hence thrum and sword mats were constantly
being made and laced on in order to obviate the possibility of a chafe
wherever there was a nip. Then the sails had to be kept in repair. Some
sailors were clever with the marline spike: could do all manner of neat
things about the rigging, but they were of no use with the palm and needle;
while there were others who could do anything with both. Some captains
through vanity and ignorance believed it to be "classy" to keep the men of
the afternoon watch below on deck with the rest, and the sailor who had to
take the helm at 6 p.m. was sent to have tea at five-thirty; the others were
kept at it until six. Then the apprentices had to clear up the decks and sweep
them down with a hair brush. The accumulation of dirt when far away from

the centre of mucky industries has always been a great mystery to seamen.
Interminable allusions were made to the late Mr Edward Cocker, writer,
arithmetician and engraver, as being the only person who could have solved
the problem. The phrase "according" or "not according to Cocker" was
constantly used in connection with matters that the scientist does not appear
to have included in his works, or in any way concerned himself about. The
custom of keeping men up doing their afternoon watch-below was common
though not universal; in fact the shrewd, sensible captain never did it unless
it was a necessity, and it was a rule in all well-regulated vessels to give
Saturday afternoons when at sea (and even in port when it could be
arranged) to the men, in order that they might do their washing and thereby
prevent them doing it on Sundays, which day was reverently spent by those
who could do so in reading and re-reading letters that had been sent to them
from their friends at home.

Those who have relatives at sea can never estimate to what extent a well-
written, cheery letter is appreciated, and the influence it has in keeping the
recipient out of mischief and in helping him to form good habits. I cannot
sufficiently urge the importance of never allowing a sailor, no matter what
his rank or capacity may be, to feel that he is being neglected by those of
his family whom he desires to believe have a strong affection for him. I do
not urge this exclusively in the sailor's interest, but also in the interest of
those whose duty it is to keep him well supplied with news of what is going
on at home. I have seen most deplorable results from this thoughtless
indifference. There is nothing the average sailor looks forward to so keenly
during a passage as the receipt of letters from home, and the disappointment
of not receiving any as soon as the vessel arrives has not infrequently been
the cause of irreparable mischief. If the relatives of these men could only
witness the eagerness with which the arrival of the captain or his agent is
watched for each day at noon, in the hope that letters may have come for
them, they would realize how necessary it is to attend regularly to this
phase of domestic life, and how little the trouble is compared with the joy it
gives. On the other hand, I think if those who do not carry out the behest
could see the effect of their callousness, they might either be frightened or
filled with remorse and pity. But they cannot see it, and the poor fellows are
often too sensitive about showing what would appear to them as feminine

weakness, and so the thing in some cases drifts on, each not knowing the
ugly consequences that are being inflicted on the other, until the climax
inevitably comes and it is found the wreck cannot be repaired. I have drawn
an extreme case, but there are such cases, and it is because I know of them
that I have made the picture emphatic. All manner of excuses are made,
such as being a bad letter-writer, and having so much to attend to, and "he
doesn't reply to my or our letters as he should." My reply to this nonsense
is, never mind whether he reciprocates your extreme condescension or not.
The communication with him should be kept going, and if letters are bright,
chatty, and without a word of indiscreet reproach for any lack of attention
on his part, depend upon it he will ultimately melt into penitence and
become a self-accused rascal. Of course I have known many cases where
unjustifiable cruelty has been shown by sailors in not writing and in not
answering letters sent to them by their wives, mothers or sisters. They did
not really mean to cause suffering. They merely drifted into a condition of
recklessness which perhaps their environments predisposed them to without
ever reflecting that they owed the same duty to their relatives as they
invariably complained was not being done to themselves.

I am reminded of a beautiful instance of unwavering devotion to a poor,
wayward fellow, who was engaged to serve in the far eastern trade for three
years. At each port the vessel touched at on the way out, letters were sent
home, and every mail took letters to him, so that when he arrived at the port
of discharge quite a batch were received. He wrote regularly for some
months, then his letters began to fall off, and at last ceased coming
altogether. For two years nothing was heard of his whereabouts except that
which was gathered in a mysterious reserved way at the owners' office, and
during the whole of these agonizing months never a mail went without a
letter for him, and never a word of reproach was uttered or written, though
the heart of the little writer was throbbing with soreness. The shipping
newspaper was scanned each day, and whenever she saw the vessel he had
left home in reported, her hope revived almost to the point of gaiety. Could
she have known that her husband had long since left the vessel whose name
she watched so eagerly, and the sight of which filled her soul with strange
emotion, she might have succumbed to the numbing intelligence. When the
weather was fine she strolled to the white sandy beach that was only a few

minutes' walk from her house, and there she would give herself up to the
luxury of day-dreams. Her fancy was sometimes pleased by the thought that
she could see the wake of the beautiful vessel as it ploughed through the
peaceful ocean. She listened to the gurgle of the miniature waves until the
sigh of the night wind came and reminded her it was time to go home.
These occasions were made memorable by the use they were put to. Many a
subject for a new essay that was to be sent over the seas found its text on
the lonely stretch of sand. Sometimes a shrewd hint was dropped in by the
way that his communications must have miscarried, and that there was a
painful longing to see his handwriting once again. "I cannot imagine you
wilfully or negligently ignoring me," said the writer, but she had a grave
suspicion that she was being neglected, and a still graver suspicion that the
cause thereof was not excessive sanctification.

After twenty-four months of roving and of silence, a letter came from him
announcing that he was tired of staying away, and by the time the letter was
received he would be on his way home. He acknowledged having received
a number of letters, and then proceeded in a clumsy way to make it appear
that he had written, and many sanguinary descriptions as to how some
people who were supposed to be concerned in the plot of withholding his
letters had to meet their death at his hands. In due course he arrived home,
but nothing could induce him to be drawn into a conversation about the
missing correspondence. Time had made him more charitably disposed
towards the mythical burglars of his precious documents, and no more
threats were indulged in. The lady did not deem it wise to raise the question
again, and seeing that nothing but harm could have arisen by doing it, I
commend her for the wisdom of resisting the temptation of an inquiring
mind. This woman's long-suffering, tactful endurance is an example of
splendid magnanimity that might be emulated with advantage by those who
may come under the devilish lash of similar treatment, and who may be
prompted by the spirit of rebellion to make matters worse by indiscreet
retaliation. The good woman won back the loyalty of her poor erring
partner by her persistent gentleness and toleration.

The following is a portion of a letter I have come across, written many
years ago, in which the writer's concern for the spiritual well-being of her

sailor brother is very apparent. She knew that it was letters such as this that
appealed to the susceptible seafarers. I have said it was their habit to read
and re-read their letters every Sunday, especially if they were of a
sentimental or religious character. Much of this letter is obliterated, as the
person to whom it was addressed tumbled overboard with it in his pocket,
and it has crumbled away:

"My own Darling Brother,—I cannot tell you all the joy I feel
at being able to write to you in England again. It has seemed a
long time while you have been away, and yet now, when you
are nearly beside us again, it seems but as yesterday. This may
arrive before you, but still it is happiness to think that your
vessel's prow is turned homeward. Our love and prayers have
travelled with you all the way, and I thank God that you are
preserved thus far, and trust He will bring you safe to us all. I
know you will be as glad as we are, and I know, too, that
though it has pleased God to give you the blessing of that best
love of all earthly love, yet you prize the old ties of home.

"I think to cherish those who have loved him all his life is not
the least of a man's duties, but I think where the love is, people
don't think about the duty of it at all; it is given and received as
a mutual blessing, for which the heart often rises up in silent
thanksgiving. I trust, my dear, that you are keeping to your
determination to live to God's glory. Don't be discouraged
because of the difficulties of the way; the Bible, which I hope
you study, says, 'Mighty is He that hath promised,' and the
whole Book is full of promises of help to those who are in
earnest, and you know if one is not in earnest even God cannot
save us. We must do our part, and we must work out our own
salvation. It is just and right that it should be so. The glories of
heaven, the reward of dwelling for everlasting in an atmosphere
of unspeakable purity, will be no reward to those who do not

value purity and holiness. Those who do will strive for the
reward with all their might, and when our weak and sinful
nature overcomes the powers of evil within and without, He
comes with His promised almighty help if we ask Him for it.
How very tender the words of scripture are when speaking of
God's children! He is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.
God help you, my darling, to take this word to yourself.

"With devoted love from us all,

"Your loving

"Sister."

It must not be taken for granted that the reasons I have enumerated were the
only ones that influenced the sailor not to write. There were motives that
may tax the credulity of the reader, but they existed, nevertheless. I have
served in vessels myself where a large proportion of the crew would not
trust the captain to post any letters for them owing to the habit of mean
peculation that was commonly practised by some captains in those days of
grossly overcharging postage and putting the proceeds into their own
pockets. But that was not the only method of pilfering from the poor
creatures whose wages ranged from £2 15s. to £3 10s. per month, according
to the trade they were engaged in, and might have a wife and group of
children depending on them. The captains were purveyors of tobacco, and
sold it to the crew at profits that far exceeded the limits of decency. Many
of them carried what were known as slop chests, which comprised every
article of apparel the sailors were accustomed to wear and use: oilskins, sea-
boots, suits of dongarees, jumpers, ducks, dark flannel drawers, stockings,
mufflers, mittens, blue flannel shirts, fustian and pilot cloth trousers, soap,
soda, needles and thread, worsted, knives, and any other thing that was
worn or used and likely to be marketable. It will be readily understood that
men who traded in this way were not particularly anxious to have a well-fit-
out crew at the beginning of a voyage, nor did they repine if bad weather
prevailed at the outset. The worse the weather, the barer the sailor's kit, the
better the market for the captain's commodities. These slop-chest skippers

were perfect terrors to the needy mariner, and many a physical punishment
would be endured so that he might be saved the ruinous cost of having to
buy from his covetous commander, who was not satisfied with a mere
hundred per cent., but regulated his prices according to the severity of the
weather and the demand that might be made for his goods. These human
vultures carried on a nefarious trade on lines that would have put a Maltese
Hebrew to shame. When the days were radiant with sunshine, and the sea
made glassy with continuous calms, the shrewd sailors who wanted supplies
would apply for them, expecting that they could be had at reduced prices
under such circumstances, but the predatory vendor did not do business on
these occasions; he waited until the poor devils were overcome and
punished by the treacherous icy winds and the mad rush of the waves that
tumbled over them and made their sufferings so acute that they were driven
to ask their captains to supply them with clothing, and the prices charged
were such as to justify the sailors regarding the said captains as the worst
types of usurers. A common phrase of the sailors in referring to this class of
man was that he would not hesitate to rob "Jesus Christ of his shoe-strings."
I have heard these nautical clothiers boast of how they had worked the
oracle so that the wretched men who served under them would be obliged to
come and on their knees beg that they might be forgiven for not taking the
articles when offered, and that they might have them now when they had
seen their error. Of course only the wasters would put themselves in any
such position. A captain who traded in this way had a right to cover himself
for the risk he ran, but it was a wicked imposition to charge more than a
reasonable profit for clothing, tobacco, or postages. In settling up at the end
of a voyage, the overcharges were frequently contested, and I have known
cases where a substantial reduction was enforced. The rate of exchange at
which the advances to the crew abroad were worked was invariably one that
realized a profit to the captain and caused grave suspicion that a petty theft
was being committed. Captains used to brag that they made as much as
their wages came to by the sales from their slop-chests and tobacco.
Judging from the amount of trade done and prices charged, I can quite
believe this.

One of the most mischievous customs of that period was that of giving grog
to sailors on Saturday nights, and whenever sail had to be shortened or any

extra work done, and many a drunkard was made thereby. What suffering,
what untold misery has been wrought by this damnable custom! The lives
that have been sacrificed, the property damaged, and vessels lost by having
grog aboard, and by captain and officers imbibing it and serving it out to the
others with too generous a hand, can never be estimated. Much of the
calamity that has occurred, and does yet occur, at sea could and can be
traced to its direct use, and the unutterable grief and ruin it has brought into
many a fine sailor's home is an odious testimony to those who put
temptation in their way and perhaps encourage the use of it for their own
benefit. A poor lad whom I knew many years ago acquired the taste for
drink aboard the vessel he served in. She was what is called by sailors a
grand grog-ship. He was assisting to discharge cargo, and in the middle of
the forenoon the bottle was passed round. Being a general favourite with
everybody, especially with the steward, whom he was always ready to give
assistance to in many little ways, he jokingly asked him for "a good second
mate's nip," a phrase which means that the rum or other spirits had to be
three fingers up from the bottom of the tumbler glass. It was never doubted
that the steward gave him a good deal more than the regulation quantity, for
he became very lively soon after. Just at the time grog was served, empty
waggons ran short, and the crew were ordered to do odd jobs. The poor lad
was sent to the fore topmast head to splice a new lanyard into the main
royal stay. He had done this, and was setting the stay up when the marline
spike must have slipped out of the hitch in the lanyard. Suddenly the song
he was singing ceased; a jerky, nervous shout attracted attention to what had
happened; then the hush of anguish seized the horror-stricken spectators
who watched the tragedy, and soon all was over. He tumbled backwards,
and the sails all being loosened to air them and the topsail yard at the mast
head, he fell over it, broke his fall on the foreyard, clutched at the reef
points of the foresail, and then tumbled headfirst into the jolly-boat which
lay at the bow, and was smashed to pieces. When the body was taken out of
the boat it was seen that the flesh of his hands had been torn off by the
clutch he made at the reef points.

The crew of this vessel was supplied with alcohol with the specific object of
getting them to work hard at the discharging of the cargo. In plain language
the owners or masters gave no thought to the personal effect of the custom

so long as it did not interfere with their material interests, but should their
policy cause the man to imbibe on his own account and commit a breach of
discipline, or to be temporarily absent from work, he was punished with
shameful severity, and in this the master or owner was encouraged both by
written and unwritten laws. No account was taken of how far the employer
was responsible in having helped his employee to form habits by which the
law was broken. The poor lad who lost his life might have done so anyhow;
but the impression that has been fixed on my mind is that the cause of his
tragic death lay at the door of those who gave him the second mate's nip.

The unrestrained appetite of the old sailing ship seamen for doing
something ridiculous was a problem that even those closely associated with
them could never solve. When their minds were bent towards a freak they
plunged into it regardless of consequences. The more daring the adventure
the more enjoyment they got out of it. On a memorable occasion long ago,
several ships' crews went ashore in a foreign port on leave, and at a late
hour they were returning aboard their respective ships. Some were half seas
over, and others badly sprung, but all seem to have been smitten with the
idea of reckless mischief. Sentries were stationed along the banks of a river
that Byron has sung of. They were not supposed to allow any one to pass
without a permit, and as the seamen were not in the temper to brook
coercion of this kind, they came into conflict with each other. One of the
sentries struck a sailor, who attempted to pass the line, with his bayonet.
This was the beginning of a carnival of lawlessness. The tars were
maddened by the attempt to slay their comrade, and a wild rush was made
upon several of the soldiers. They were promptly overpowered, disarmed,
and their muskets used in disarming their friends who were panic stricken
by the vigorous onslaught, and soon succumbed to Jack's bellicose
persuasiveness. It then became an easy task to carry out the impromptu plan
of campaign of putting each soldier into his sentry-box and casting both
him and the box into the running stream. The call for help was unavailing;
none came, and soon no voices were heard, but the following day the
funeral knell was sounded by the roar of the cannon from the gunboats,
splashing shot into the river with the hope that the vibration would resurrect
the bodies of the victims from their muddy tomb. Many of them were
brought to the surface by this means.

Jack is said to have thought it a great joke, and it must be admitted there is a
grim humour in the cool audacious method of disposing of the human
obstacles which stood in his way. No argument, however eloquent, could
convince them that a murderous act had been committed. Their idea was
that no b——y foreigner had any right to question the good intentions of a
British sailor or to intercept his perambulations either drunk or sober.
Pageantry and armed force did not appeal to them, but a kind word and an
expressed desire to escort them aboard their ship would have caused them
to fall on the neck of even a foreign soldier in adoration. The thirst for
joviality often led wayward sailors to crave for drink, and under its baneful
influence they were easily wafted into a delirium of foolhardy devices that
would never have entered the mind of the ordinary mortal.

A large barque was once in mid-ocean homeward bound, and was beating
against strong head-winds under whole topsails, courses, lower staysails,
and jib. It was the starboard watch on deck from eight p.m. until midnight.
The captain had retired for the night and left the second mate in charge. His
watch, with the exception of one man, was composed of as fine a brood of
young athletes as ever ran aloft. They were on the most friendly terms with
their officer, whose genial disposition led him to converse with them. I
daresay he was attracted by their boisterous cordiality. Be that as it may, he
either winked at or encouraged the successful negotiations that were
devised to induce the steward to invade the grog locker, which was situated
beneath the captain's bed, and bring from it the jar which contained
whiskey. At first Jimmy the steward was obdurate.

"It cannot be done," said he, "without wakin' the aud man."

"What the devil's the good of you talking that nonsense, Jimmy?" said the
persuasive orators; "why, you know he'd sleep with his head in a bucket of
slush."

"Yes, but I'm feared he'll waken, and then there'll be an almighty row."

"Well," replied the tempters, "we always thought you a real shipmate, and
as full of pluck as a pitman's badger. What's come over you, man; surely its

not the same old Jimmy Dinsdale that had the courage to stand before
Hennan and Tom Sayers? It's not as though you were not going to have a
nip with us."

"Look here," said one of the enterprising coterie; "if you are feared to go,
show me, and you bet I'll have the stuff on deck in a jiffy. If I can do it,
surely you can."

The form of dashing flattery, the appeals to his bravery and comradeship,
and the prospect of himself partaking of the convivial cup, punctured
Jimmy's will, and he fell. The coveted jar was brought on deck without
arousing the captain, and the seamen insisted that they could not touch or
taste till James himself had partaken; they would then have pleasure in
drinking his health. This order of things was carried out, the second officer
joining in by assuring his men that he "endorsed their complimentary
remarks about the steward"; he was an ardent sportsman, said the
condescending officer, "whose popularity was unequalled."

"Hear, hear," responded the breezy tars.

Jimmy had another nip, beamed all over with merriment, and pledged
himself to live for evermore up to the high reputation they had given him,
which he was proud to believe he deserved. At ten p.m. the wind and sea
had increased, and the vessel was plunging her jibboom and bowsprit under.
The second officer intimated that all hands would have to be called to reef
the topsails and haul the mainsail up and stow it, but his men were imbued
with heroic dash, and would not hear of such unseamanlike weakness. They
assured him that they could take the sail in without calling the watch below.
Amid much noise and many larks they managed to get the foretopsail
reefed. A chanty was lustily sung when hoisting the yard up, and when they
undertook to reef the main topsail it was quite obvious the over plentiful
supply of grog was taking serious effect. Their articulation became thick
and incoherent. They were alternately effusive with joy and senseless
laughter, and occasionally quarrelsome. The lee yardarm man insisted on
hauling out to leeward before the weather yardarm man told him to, which
was of course contrary to the order of nautical ethics. The situation became

very strained between the men to windward and those to leeward, because
of the profusion of tobacco-juice the former were expectorating into the
eyes of those to leeward, not intentionally, but with alcoholic recklessness.
The elderly stout man of the watch felt that it was no ordinary occasion, and
grunted out that he was b—— well going to lash himself to the haulyards,
as he felt wearied. The lee yardarm man managed to crawl in on the foot-
rope, got into the maintop, and fell asleep there, while the gradual cessation
of speech from the champions to windward indicated that they also slept.
The second officer and the helmsman conferred as to what had best be
done, and concluded not to risk startling any of them out of their drunken
unconsciousness by shouting, lest they should loose their hold and be
smashed to pieces or fall into the sea; but as the watch was drawing to a
close it was suggested by the sailor who was at the helm that he should go
up aloft, and make his way noiselessly to the weather yardarm, for the two
men who were there stood in the greatest danger. When he got to them he
found both had partially secured themselves, though the least lurch of their
bodies would certainly have placed them in a more perilous position. The
young sailor's task was both delicate and difficult, but he managed it so well
that no harm came to them. One of the men, as is the practice when reefing,
was straddle legs on the yardarm, and had a turn of a rope round him. The
other had his feet on the foot-rope, and his chest rested on the yard. They
made a good deal of jovial noise when they were aroused, with the obvious
intention of making it appear that they were very much alive. The stout
man, who was in the slings of the mast, and the first to succumb, was rudely
awakened by the rollicking yardarm man slapping him sharply on the back
and shouting at him, "what the h—— he meant by sleeping there and
risking his own and other people's lives?"

The phlegmatic gentleman grumbled out: "What business is that of yours?"

"Why," retorted the younger seaman, "you old scanamaran, you ought to be
put in irons for the remainder of the voyage, and have your wages stopped
into the bargain."

This was rather high-class audaciousness on the part of a young rascal who
had just been rescued from a worse position while committing the same

offence. The task of getting them round was nothing compared to that of
getting them humoured into a sufficiently sober condition so that no mishap
would befall them in the process of coming down the rigging. It is a perfect
marvel how Providence protects people under the influence of drink.
Almost every step downward threatened a calamity, so they slipped from
one rattling to another until their feet landed on the topgallant rail, and they
slid under the shear pole on to the deck. The second mate was greeted with
much affection; the attitude towards him was that of men who had been a
long time absent and come suddenly in contact with a dear friend. He was
sensible enough to reciprocate the kindness shown him. The reefed topsail
was hoisted vigorously up to the accompaniment of rapturous song. This
being done, the watch below was called, came on deck, and received a
greeting unequalled in every sense, but especially in its spirituous
effusiveness. The faithful James was in great demand, and after a prolonged
search he was found coiled up under the long-boat; an outburst of fluent
profanity indicated that his condition did not warrant him being entrusted
with any commission of grave, secret intricacy, so he was expeditiously
stowed away in the galley for the remainder of the night, and the port watch
that had just come on deck were bitterly chagrined that they were not given
the chance of "liquoring up," as they called it, with their shipmates. The
following day they proclaimed Jimmy a pink devil for getting intoxicated,
and his confederates were treated to a withering flow of invective for not
keeping some of the stolen property for them. The captain was serenely
ignorant of what was going on, but in the morning at breakfast his attention
became centred on the worthy James, whose performances were of an
unusually destructive character. The steerage and cabin exhibited heaps of
broken crockery-ware, mixed with the humble repast that hungry men had
been looking forward to. Jimmy, in an ordinary way, was really a devotee of
religion, who adhered to all its forms most rigidly so long as drink was kept
out of his way. He could quote Scripture by the fathom, and when in his
cups used to do so copiously. The captain said to him:

"Any one with half an eye can see, sir, that you have been at my grog."

James became virtuously indignant.

"Captain," said he, in a thick, guttural voice which indicated whiskey, "you
judge me wrongly"; whereupon, falling on his knees, he clasped his hands,
and in the attitude of prayer began as follows: "O Lord, forgive the captain.
Judge me, O Lord, for I have walked in mine integrity: I have trusted also in
the Lord, therefore I shall not slide."

The mate, a burly fellow who stood hard by, muttered:

"Get up, you d——d fool. You have slid." Whereupon the pious James
called him a liar, and continued:

"Examine me, O Lord, and prove me: try my reins and my heart."

When he had finished the sentence, the captain interposed:

"I'm quite satisfied that you are intoxicated, and must request you, Mr
Jones, to see that he is put to bed before he does any more mischief. I shall
keep my grog under lock and key for the future."

This strong indictment caused James to become piously agitated. The mate
eloquently remarked:

"Yes, it is all damned fine quoting Scripture, but that won't give us our
breakfast. What do you say, Mr Second Mate?"

"Amen," said the gallant officer, and, with a merry twinkle in his eye, he
added in a whisper, "but I don't quite agree with the grog being locked up."

Jimmy was very popular with all aboard, and everyone was full of
sympathy with him for having had the misfortune to fall into disgrace. In a
few weeks after his fall he was paid off in Bristol, and to celebrate the
occasion he and a young lad, who was much devoted to him, had a glass
together. He was very fond of his wife and his home, and used to confide all
manner of sacred things to his young friend. They were walking down a
fashionable street together, and observing a well-dressed lady looking in a
shop window, he remarked to the youth:

"That is a fine dress the lady has on. I would like to have one like it for our
Nanny (meaning his wife). I wonder if it cost much."

His young companion was eager to have some sport out of the incident, so
he urged him to ask her how much the dress cost. He was not quite sure of
the propriety of doing such a thing, but was reassured of this by his friend
in whose judgement he had profound confidence; so he went up to the lady,
took hold of her dress, held it up in his hand beyond the limit of discretion,
and asked her in pure Anglo-Scotch how much a yard it might cost. The
lady was startled, and looked contemptuously at him.

"Sir," said she, "how dare you! whatever do you take me for?"

"I take you for a lady," said Jimmy, "and I'm asking how much a yard your
dress cost, because if it's not over dear I would like to buy one for wor
Nanny."

His young friend kept close to him, and was in convulsions of laughter; but
seeing he was drifting into trouble he advanced towards where they stood
and tried to explain to the lady that it was he who had prevailed upon his
friend to satisfy his curiosity as to the price of her dress. Up to that point
she seemed to be embarrassed, and did not know whether to resent such
unconventional conduct or not. She asked if they were sailors; they replied
in the affirmative. It then seemed to dawn upon her that it was merely a
mischievous prank being played on her interrogator; but she was assured in
a sailorly manner by both that they knew it was very funny, but they were in
earnest all the same. She realized the true situation and laughed very
heartily.

"Come along," said she, "and I will take you to the shop where I got this
dress."

Jimmy assented, but suggested that she should walk ahead of them; but the
lady insisted that she wished them to talk to her of their sea experiences,
and before the shop was reached James had told her with touching
simplicity about his fall and how penitent he was, and that he felt he ought

to do something for the wrong he had done his wife, who would be very
grieved when she heard of it.

"Will you tell her?" asked the lady.

"Tell her," said he; "why, I wouldn't dare do any other. I tell her everything."

"Ah," said she, "sailors are very confiding. Now we are at the shop; come
with me, both of you."

The material was asked for, and the announcement of the price nearly made
Jimmy run out of the establishment.

"I am very sorry," said he, "but I cannot afford to buy it."

"How many yards does it take to make a dress for me?" asked the lady at
the shop-woman, without heeding his remark. She was told.

"Then," said she, "cut me a couple of yards extra, include the trimmings,
make it into a parcel, and send it and the bill to me at once. Now," she
continued to her two sailor companions, "come to my home with me and
have tea; by that time the material which I have bought for your wife will
have arrived."

"Madam," said the much-affected James, "surely you're no going to buy that
garment for me?"

"Oh yes, I am," said she, laughing; "don't say more about it, but tell me
some more of your adventures." And, fearing she was neglecting the youth
who had got over his frolicsome fit and become very shy, she added: "I
wish both of you to talk to me."

However, the youngster preferred to allow his friend to have all the say, and
contented himself by chipping in only when there was a pause or when he
was referred to. In due course they arrived at a mansion which stood in
beautiful grounds. The sailors were in awe, and reluctantly followed their
hostess. They had never seen anything like it before. They were taken into a

room that to them was gorgeous. Tea was brought in, and two other ladies
joined the party. They made both sailors feel quite at ease, and before very
long they were talking with as great freedom as though they had been in the
forecastle. The ladies were made very mirthful, and laughed merrily at
many of the quaint yarns that were told them, which were for the most part
personal. Jimmy told them of his domestic bliss and the form of petticoat
government that controlled him in a charmingly simple way; and his
companion had to relate all about his home and when and how he came to
go to sea. He became quite confiding, and asked them to read some letters
he had just received from his sister, so that they might form some idea of
the home he came from. They declared they were the sweetest and best-
written letters they had ever read.

"I am sure," said the hostess, "you must be fond of your sisters."

He admitted he had good reason to be proud of them, as they were not only
good sisters but clever ones.

"But now," said he, "it is time for us to go, and I thank you on behalf of
myself and my friend for your great kindness towards us."

Jimmy was handed his parcel, and in the course of a few original sentences
he committed himself, his friends and his family to obligations of gratitude
for generations to come. A five pound note was put into the hand of the
younger sailor, who declined to take it, but the good woman said:

"I am sure you will not intentionally give me pain by refusing to accept a
small gift from me. You have told me that it is your desire to take a present
home to your sisters, and I wish you to buy something suitable for them
with what I have given you."

"Yes," said the young man; "but I intended to buy it with my own money."

"I know you did," said she, smiling, "but I am informed you are going to try
and pass the Board for second mate, and that it will cost you a good deal.
Now I wish you to get your certificate and to use your own money to enable

you to go to school and stay long enough ashore to do so without feeling
pinched."

With marked self-consciousness he agreed to accept the gift, and they each
thanked her again with all the natural gratitude that sat so lightly on this
class of sailor. And when she and her friends said good-bye they felt that
they had been the guests of big-hearted English women. As soon as they
had passed outside the gate, Jimmy remarked that "there was none of the
jellyfish shake of the flipper about them folk."

The two friends walked down the principal street together, and had it not
been the prevailing opinion that sailors of that time did not meditate either
coherently or incoherently, they might by their manner have been thought to
be in deep soliloquy, whereas their silence was merely momentary. Any one
hard by could have heard a spontaneous "Well, by George, we are in luck!
What an experience!" And then in a sharp, jerky utterance: "Why, there's
Jack Rush ahead of us. Won't he get a surprise when we tell him where we
have been and how it all came about?"

When they came up to Mr Rush he was found to be more than half-seas-
over, and commenced grinding out odds and ends of profanity about the
shabby trick that had been played on the port watch on the occasion when
the captain's grog was purloined and some people had to be sent to bed.

"Shut up about that," responded the conscience-pricked James, in a sudden
gust of rage.

"All very well for you to say 'shut up,' but why the syntax didn't you save
some of the stuff for our watch: that's what I want to know?" said the
injured mariner, with an intoxicated air of Christian virtue. Jimmy's friend,
anticipating trouble, came to the rescue by judiciously calling his attention
from his grievance and asking where their shipmates were, as he wanted to
stand drinks and relate to him and them the singular experience and good
fortune of Jimmy and himself. Whereupon Mr Rush became effusively
obliging, and guaranteed to have them in the midst of their friends in a few
minutes. No further reference was made to the escapade that was

remembered with such aversion, and they were soon reunited to the whole
of their comrades, who received them with the joy of reclaimed brethren.
They had entered upon the initial stages of a vigorous spree, and were
cheerfully ready to listen to Jimmy's romantic story. They were not even
envious of him, but they did resolve amid a chorus of merriment to emulate
him in the art of sampling ladies' dresses, and in the exuberance of
uncontrolled mischief some of them went forthwith on the expedition.
Needless to say the experiment was not an unqualified success. They found
that their rude pleasures were neither understood nor appreciated by the
ladies of Bristol, and I have reason to know that some of the more
enterprising came to sudden grief.

These freaks of sailor life are recorded, not with a view of holding him up
as a drunken, ill-behaved, lawless creature, but merely as incidents that
seemed necessary adjuncts of his calling, and for the purpose of showing
the mischief that may be caused by supplying him with drink or putting
temptation in his way. For even in these days he is deplorably susceptible to
influences that are injurious to him. He is very weak, very reckless, and also
very human; but I am inclined to demur at the notion that in the good old
times he was pre-eminently so. There is one characteristic of the whole
class that should never be overlooked, and that is their devotion to one
another.

VIII

GRUB

In the extreme end of the forecastle, above what is called the forehook, was
a locker to keep the beef, duff (pudding) and sugar kids, bread barge and
other small stores, such as tea, sugar, coffee, etc. If these were not carefully
covered over, and there was any rain, or if sea-water came aboard, they
soon were destroyed, and the apprentice whose work it was to look after
them was held to blame by the men who meted out punishment to him in
one way or another, but they themselves suffered the penalty of his fault, for
they were reduced to short rations until the following week's allowance was
distributed. It was customary for the captain to weigh or serve out the
stores, and many a mean trick was adopted at the expense of the poor sailor
by the use of false scales, weights, or measures. I have seen instances of this
most wretched and meanest of all thieving more than once. One
incompetent conniver at inexpiable wrong thought by cheating his men out
of a portion of their meagre allowance he would make the insufficiency of
stores put aboard by the owner spin out till the voyage ended. The water
was served out just as exactingly as anything else, and as soon as the day's
allowance was handed over to each man, the bung was put in the cask with
canvas nailed over it, and the dipper, which is a long, narrow copper or tin
pot, with a lanyard attached to it, was bent on to the signal halyards and run
up to the masthead, so that no one could sneak any more water than their
whack during the close time. In spite of gross imposition, which, if
committed amongst any other class of workmen would have provoked the
spirit of murder, these jovial, light-hearted fellows were always ready if it
was fine weather to spend the dog watches in providing amusement for

each other, and at the close of each entertainment they never overlooked
what was inherently believed the patriotic duty of combining a display of
loyalty to their sovereign with a proportionate degree of disloyalty to the
captain and owner who were responsible for supplying them with food that
even a Russian serf might have felt justified in complaining about. So a
doggerel verse was composed and sung fervently to a modified form of the
National Anthem by way of intimating their grievance forcefully to the
notice of their commander. Relevancy did not come within the compass of
their thoughts; what they desired was to sing something that would strike
home, so the anthem was chosen as the most fitting benediction of all. Here
are the words:

God save our gracious Queen!
Long may she reign over us!
Pea-soup and pork amongst all hands of us,
Not enough for one of us,
God save our Queen!

After this had been repeated several times over, it usually happened that one
of the songsters who claimed to be gifted with more perspicuity than his
comrades would remind them that he had seen the old squirrel wriggle
under the lash of the song. And so their wretched days of starvation were
often made shorter by a more or less harmless attack on the poor skipper,
who might only be the instrument of a parsimonious managing owner. But
that was not the only method adopted of showing their dissatisfaction. The
seaman who had the most flippant tongue and legal mind was chosen (or, as
frequently happened, he selected himself) to introduce a deputation of the
whole forecastle. I always look back on these episodes as amongst the most
comical of my sailor life. The spokesman would pick up the unpopular
food, and with the air of an oriental dignitary march at the head of his
shipmates right up to the captain, plant the wooden kid down on the deck at
his feet, and ask if that "was the sort of grub for men to do a hard day's
work on; besides, it was beef or pork, not bones or fat pork we signed for."
If the captain happened to be a conceited, combative person, he would at
once reply that he fed them according to what he thought they were worth.
Then there were heated altercations, which sometimes ended in blood being

spilt, or some of the crew being put in irons and logged for having
instigated rebellion on the high seas. "I'll teach you to impeach my
authority," the stupid, arbitrary tyrant would say; "you shall be fed on the
smell of an oil-rag in future, and have your wages forfeited at the end of the
voyage into the bargain." Alas, this wicked threat was too often carried into
effect so far as the forfeiture of wages and ill-treatment were concerned.
Whereas the diplomatic, sensible master would deal with a case of this kind
in a way that was calculated to soften Jack into a condition that resembled
penitence, and make him feel as though he were a pig for having
complained in this direct way at all. I know there are cases that cannot be
dealt with at sea in any other than a despotic fashion, and although there is
no necessity to show weakness, there is as a rule a better chance of
governing men by kindness than by adopting a harsh, unyielding attitude
towards them, as though they were Mohammedan dogs.

A vessel short of provisions is seldom heard of in these days of steam and
up-to-date precautions, but a generation ago it was a common occurrence.
Landspeople used to speak of it as one of the ordinary risks of a sailor's
profession that the general public had no particular interest in, excepting
that it added somewhat to seafaring romance. I have often wished that those
whom I have heard speaking in a casual, airy fashion of this phase of sea-
life could have the faculty of imagination put into them so that they might
realize what really happened to those who had to experience the manifold
sufferings and privations of being short of water and provisions in mid-
ocean where there was little chance of seeing a sail for days, and when
perchance a vessel was seen, the weather might be so boisterous that
communication could not be effected, or they might even be short of
provisions. In order to minimize the suffering of hunger and thirst, sailors
sometimes buckled their stomachs in with a belt, and those who had not a
belt did so with cord. Hunger is a terrible sensation anywhere, but it is
doubly intensified at sea when there is no hope of it being appeased, and the
whole surroundings become impregnated with a sense of coming doom.
Those who have never known the pangs of prolonged hunger may have
some idea of it conveyed to them by trying to imagine that some wild
animal is tearing at their internals. That is an accurate description of it, and I
should like to know what other thing is calculated to create madness sooner.

Sailors of that generation never made a noise about their troubles once they
got ashore and left them astern, and so the possibilities of recurrence were
left open. One feels inclined bitterly to assail the owners, their captains and
the general public, for having allowed such things to happen, but in
common fairness we must put some of the responsibility on the seamen
themselves for playing into the hands of a gang of unmitigated blood-
suckers who, in some cases, purchased silence by paying compensation for
the time the men were short of grub; but never more than the bare cost of
the food for the time they were short of it was allowed. In the majority of
cases payment was evaded altogether. I have been amongst this sort of thing
on several occasions, and feel some difficulty in writing with calmness
when I reflect on all the unnecessary hardships and sufferings that were
caused by sheer wanton greed. On four different voyages I learnt how
terrible it was to be short of provisions and water, and in three out of the
four this was preventable. The first case was excusable owing to the long
continuance of easterly gales in the chops of the English Channel. Some
vessels managed to reach Scilly or Falmouth, but many failed to do so, and
we were amongst the many. On several occasions we were nearly able to
fetch into port, and then the wind increased and we drifted back into the
ocean. This gaining and losing process went on for three or four weeks.
Each fresh sail sighted was signalled or hailed to the effect that we were
short of provisions and asking if they could supply us, and invariably the
reply came back, "Impossible: our supplies have run out." We in turn were
frequently appealed to for succour, but had to plead the same thing. The one
redeeming feature of the critical position of the large fleet that was held in
the grip of the wind for so long a time was the knowledge that we were all
in the same predicament, and if we could not supply each others' wants we
had at least the pleasure of companionship, and this kept us from losing
hope until a slant of wind came to our aid and carried us into port. In this
case we had been on very short rations for many days, and yet there was
never a word of recrimination, and singularly little grumbling except at the
perversity of the wind.

Nothing whatever could be said in defence of the other cases, for the
vessels were not only sent away from a home port criminally short of
supplies, but they left the port at which they loaded for home with only

sufficient stores to last half the time it would take to make the passage with
average success; and not having any good fortune at all, our allowance was
reduced before the passage was half covered. We swept past the last port of
call with the wind right aft. The captain and steward knew that the
provisions were getting low, but the former decided to trust to Providence
giving him a fair wind all the way, so we romped along for several days,
and then adverse winds came and everybody realized the seriousness of the
position. Orders were given that all hands had to be put on half fare, and not
many days elapsed before every article of food was exhausted and we had
to broach our cargo of lentils and sustain ourselves on lentil soup. Even that
had to be sparingly used on account of the scarcity of water. On some days
we drifted under two close reefed topsails into the heart of the western
ocean and out of the regular track of vessels bound out and home.
Whenever the weather fined down, sail was set according to the force of the
wind which kept in the N.E., varying perhaps a couple of points each way.
A look-out man was kept on the maintopmast crosstrees from dawn until
sunset each day to watch for passing vessels, and long, painful days rolled
on without our sighting anything. Sometimes a sail would be seen hull
down or too far off to attract attention. This naturally had a saddening
effect, and we wished they had never been seen; but in spite of privations,
which increased day by day, there was a gaiety kept up until the last
sweeping up of the provision lockers had taken place, and we were reduced
to the exclusive diet of boiled lentils, which I have heard is considered by
some people to be a luxury; but whether this be so or not, I never wish to
realize its taste again. May Providence protect me from ever again having to
put it to my lips.

Up to a certain point our impoverished crew had borne the strain on their
minds and stomachs very manfully, but the period of despair was now
come. They talked indeed of which one among their comrades should draw
the lot that by shortening his life would prolong theirs. Sickness had smitten
some of them so that they could barely crawl on deck. Each day showed
signs of a galloping atrophy. Letters were written to their relatives
conveying in a matter-of-fact way all they were enduring: no flowery
phrases; no attempt at effect; but merely a statement of bald fact. These
communications were to be put into the orthodox bottle and dropped into

the sea in the hope that the sombre tidings would be picked up and read at
home. The stage of openly cursing the owner had long since passed. Now
and again they wondered if their spirits would haunt him in the event of
their having to succumb, but that was only a passing mood. Their thoughts
were mainly centred on charitable and domestic matters, and what would be
the end of all their sufferings. It is a strange destiny which causes the agony
of despair to be prolonged, and then when life seems to be flickering out,
suddenly the angel of death is withdrawn and light and life burst forth with
a radiance that fills the sufferers with hope. The look-out man at the mast-
head shouts as loud as his strength will allow: "A sail! A sail on the
starboard bow, crossing our track! The vessel is hull down." Immediately
the whole crew except the man at the wheel are in the rigging scanning the
horizon, and a running flow of conflicting opinions are expressed as to the
exact course she is steering and whether she will discern our flag. The
captain gives peremptory orders to set every stitch of canvas and ease the
yards, so that his vessel might go quicker and meet the other at an angle.
Something like superhuman effort was made by enfeebled men to get the
canvas smartly set. The sight of the vessel impressed them as a providential
apparition. In less than an hour the hull came in view. It was seen that the
stranger was under a cloud of sail, including royals, and topgallant studding
sails on both sides. A fresh wind blew right behind her, and the sea, though
not rough, was showing white feathers on the surface of the Atlantic rollers.
The signal that we were without any provisions was hoisted, but no notice
was taken of it. Night was drawing near, and the clipper was slipping fast
away from us. Our captain ordered his vessel to be hauled close to the wind
again in case the flags might be obscured by running free. It turned out that
this might have been the case, as we had no sooner manœuvred in this way
than they began to take the other vessel's studding sails in and haul to the
wind. Our vessel's course was shaped towards her, and when we had got
fairly close to her both vessels had all small sail taken in, courses hauled up,
and their main yards laid aback. Our pinnace was then hoisted out, and we
proceeded to row alongside a beautiful tea clipper. We were a lantern-
jawed, scarecrow lot, and our general appearance emphasized the story we
had to tell of the privations we had suffered. We had scarcely strength
enough to lift the oars into the rollicks, much less pull the boat through a
choppy sea. The captain and crew of the British clipper were very kind,

supplied all our needs, including tobacco, though we did not ask for the
latter; this was obviously given to express more emphatically their
sympathy and kindly feelings towards us. Very little water could be spared,
as sailing vessels at that time were nearly always stinted in accommodation
for water supply, but we were very grateful for the sacrifice the captain
made in allowing us to have even a few breakers full. The act which
touched the heart-strings most was the request made to their captain by his
crew to be allowed to row the supplies to our vessel. It was granted by him
and thankfully accepted by us; and over all the years which have passed
since that scene took place it has constantly lived in my memory as one of
the many traits that endear the sailor to his fellow men. This self-sacrificing
crew had been caused much additional hard work on account of our
misfortunes; some of them were losing their watch below; and all of them
had the arduous task of hurriedly taking in the necessary sail and
manipulating the yards so that a communication could be effected, and then,
after their mission was done, the vessel was put on her course, and all the
work of setting sail, etc., had to be done over again. We knew all this, and
therefore appreciated all the more the little touch of sympathy which
prompted them to add to their labours by undertaking the work they saw we
were hardly fit to perform. Before leaving the hospitable deck of the clipper
our captain made a well-chosen and appropriate little speech of thanks to
our benefactor, by whom it was suitably responded to; and then a cordial
shaking of hands took place, and we parted with hearts full of gratitude to
those who had so beneficently helped us. When we got aboard three cheers
were rung out from both vessels, and then their yards were filled and sail
made, and we swept away from each other into the gloom of the gathering
night.

An unthought-of protracted passage was in front of us, and long before it
was completed the fresh water ran short again; but we were more in the
track of vessels then, and succeeded in getting a further supply which lasted
until our arrival at Falmouth, where all our ills were soon forgotten amid the
charm of its scenery and the atmosphere of congenial excitement which the
tavern of that day afforded. Songs were sung and step-dancing, such as
none other but a sailor could do, as usual aroused and kept local interest on
the stretch. The audiences were composed mainly of sailors, their

sweethearts for the time being, or those directly interested in him. Indeed
these were occasions when the place was kept humming with a salty
brightness. Jack had the singular gift of making his own amusement, and so
long as he kept from taking too much drink he was not only a source of
pleasure to himself, but in his way entertained other people. Of course the
sailors here, as always, told their experiences to each other when they met,
and incidentally their owners came in for a share of contumely such as
"God-forsaken robber," or "scrape-backed thief who was not fit to carry
guts to a bear," and other more or less harmless invectives.

The men were rarely vindictive or bitter even, after the thing had passed on,
and an example of this was shown in the story I have been relating where
there was just cause for resentment and claim for compensation, and yet
none was made, nor was compensation asked for or offered in the other two
cases which I have mentioned, although they were on almost identical lines
with the first. On these last occasions the crew lived on Indian corn for two
weeks. The corn was put into canvas, battered as small as possible, then put
through the coffee mill, and after the last process it was made into bread or
puddings; but the mill did not last long, so we were driven to eat it in a very
rough state, and soon experienced the penalty of doing so. We could not
have kept on eating it. The captain reported that he had been obliged to
broach the cargo for food, and the receivers charged him with the estimated
amount used. He and his crew thought this very mean, and I think I
remember them expressing strong regret that they hadn't scuttled the ——
ship and thereby have inflicted great personal loss on the owner of the cargo
who, they apprehended, would have rather seen them starve than that a bag
or two of his cargo should be used for the purpose of saving their lives. That
was the impression they had formed. Of course it was a harum-scarum
impression, but it gratified them to hold it. The real culprit was the owner of
the ship, who had not provided sufficient stores. He had not escaped notice,
but the meaner sinner had obscured him for the moment.

An extraordinary characteristic of this age was the sailor's jealousy lest
improper innovations should be introduced into the mode of taking their
food. Knives and forks, cups, saucers, soup and plain plates were a
violation of sound forecastle principles, which in their eyes threatened a

coming degeneracy of the profession. Their use was viewed as an attempt to
become aristocratic, and those who dared adopt it were looked upon as fops
and mongrel seamen. The average man believed in his tin pot, plate and
pannikin, galvanized soup spoon and clasp knife; there were no second
course articles recognized. The tin pot had a hook in front so that it could be
hooked on to the galley grate to boil, though it was not uncommon in long
voyage ships to dispense with the hook pot and have instead a large kettle
for the whole of the forecastle hands. The tidy man kept his utensils
spotlessly clean. At seven bells in the morning the watch below were
knocked out to have breakfast; this generally consisted of cracker hash, i.e.,
bread hash; or cold salt beef or pork, whichever joint they had had on the
day previous hot for dinner; if she was a well-found ship butter was
supplied; they always had tea or coffee for the morning meal. If the
breakfast was of beef or pork, the platter or kid was put on the floor, and
each seaman took the piece of meat he intended to cut in one hand, cut it off
the junk with his clasp knife in the other, and if by any means he happened
to touch that which he did not cut he was submitted to severe chastisement
by being forcibly put over a chest lid and given a dozen hard slaps with a
boot jack. The piece of meat intended to be eaten was put on a hard ship
biscuit which served the purpose of a plate, and was cut as required with the
clasp knife and put into the mouth with the right hand. Dinner was served at
noon. On Sundays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, it was beef and duff, according to
scale; Saturdays, beef and "strike-me-blind," i.e., boiled rice; Mondays,
Wednesdays and Fridays, pea-soup and pork. The mid-day meals were
partaken of in a similar way to the breakfast, except that the tin plate was
used for either duff and molasses, or pea-soup, or rice; it might not be used
for the beef or pork—this greatly depended on the natural delicacy of the
seamen, many of whom proclaimed that fingers were made before knives or
forks, therefore it was proper that they should be used in preference. If he
possessed a chest he sat on that, and his knees served him as a table; if he
had no chest, then he sat on the floor or on the forehook, i.e., a beam which
stretches across the bows. This class of food and the method of eating it
went on uninterruptedly during the whole voyage. The duff, which was
made of flour, water and fat, was boiled in a canvas bag made in the shape
of a nightcap; it was very leathery, and was responsible for much dyspepsia.
It was cut into equal parts according to the number of men who were to

share it. On Sundays a few currants or raisins were scattered amongst the
flour and water; this was considered a luxury which was often taken off at
the caprice of the captain. Sailors have the character of being born
grumblers, and their knowledge of maritime law is much exhibited by them
at meal times. Poor creatures, what trouble they get themselves into at times
through this belief of theirs in their legal acquirements! There is a story of a
sailor who, insisting on breaking the law because he was positive he was
not breaking it, got himself put into prison in consequence, whereupon a
forecastle friend called to see him. He immediately exclaimed on seeing
and shaking hands with his friend, "I know d—n well, Jim, they cannot put
me in here, and they'll have to pay for it."

"What's the use of talking such d—— rot, you fool? Why, you are here!"

On another occasion a large, square-rigged vessel belonging to London
arrived in the West India Docks, and the captain, on being asked by his
owner what sort of a crew he had, replied that they were sailors all over,
always grumbling about their work or their grub, and it did not matter what
they got to eat they would always find something else they wanted. The
owner declared that he would provide a meal for them that would satisfy,
and there wouldn't be a single request for anything else. The captain said he
did not know what he was undertaking. The owner said: "Well, captain, if I
do not succeed in satisfying them I will pay you one hundred pounds."

"Done," said the skipper.

The crew's accommodation was in a house on deck; it was arranged to have
the skylight up and the side windows open, so that everything that was said
could be heard outside. The meal was cooked and served by first-class men,
and it was given on the occasion of the owner's birthday. A large party
assembled aboard, and the host addressed the men appropriately, asking
them to accept his hospitality. The sailors' spokesman replied that they
never wished to serve a better governor than he, and the banquet
commenced. The owner, his wife, and his daughter—a beautiful girl of
twenty—together with the captain, went quietly up the ladder at the fore-
end of the house and listened to what was said. The owner was grateful at

hearing such good things said about himself, though the eulogy was
flavoured with a pungency of language that was not intended for delicate
ears. At last one of the crew finished, tossed his tin plate on the floor, and
said:

"That's a damned good dinner, boys."

A second, third and fourth said the same thing. The owner was worked up
into an ecstasy of joy, and poked the skipper in the ribs as the others kept
throwing their plates down and expressing satisfaction. The owner
whispered: "It's a walk over, captain."

"Not yet," responded the skipper.

The last of the three broke the continuity of complete satisfaction by
remarking that the dinner was all right, but to make it perfect their wives
and sweethearts should have been asked. The captain became obviously
nervous, and asked the owner and his wife and daughter to withdraw, but
they refused. Then came the last but one, who said that the only thing that
would make the dinner faultless to him would be that he should propose
marriage to the owner's daughter and be accepted. The mother and daughter
became virtuously agitated, and the captain again urged withdrawal, but
they insisted on staying for the last chap's opinion, who became eloquent in
his praises of all concerned. "But," said he to the last speaker, "you want to
have the old man's daughter in marriage. I don't mind her so much; the only
thing that would make me satisfied with the thing would be for the owner to
die, so that I might marry his widow and get the coin."

The captain nearly took a fit, and the worthy host exclaimed: "Oh, mon
dieu!" Thereupon the ladies became hysterical, and the commander having
recovered from his embarrassment, said:

"Well, I suppose you will admit that I was right?"

"Yes," said the owner; "I never for one moment anticipated it would take
both my wife and daughter to satisfy them, but you have won, and my faith

in the possibility of pleasing sailors is broken. You shall have the hundred
pounds."

There is a more recent story, which is said to be quite authentic. It neither
belongs to the class of vessel or period with which I am dealing, but there is
something in it that is characteristic of the old sea cook who was devoted to
his ship and his employer. Lord Randolph Churchill was travelling on a
steamer owned by a well-known Line, and had reason to complain of the
cooking and the quality of the food, so he wrote in the visitors' book that
both were bad. The old chief cook took it to heart; and several years after
poor Lord Randolph had ceased to live, as the old man himself lay dying,
his family saw there was something troubling his mind. They asked him if it
was something in connection with his work.

"Yes," said he, mournfully, "it is, and I want you to send for Mr ——," who
was an old and trusted servant of the Company. The official went to the
cook's home, and before leaving him asked what it was that made him
unhappy.

"Well," replied the old fellow, "I have never got over what was said about
the food years ago, and I wanted to see you about it, so that you might hear
me say before I die: 'May the Lord forgive Lord Randolph Churchill for
saying the cooking and food of the —— Line was bad!' Now I have got it
off my chest I can die happy." And before the official left, the old man had
passed away.

Amongst the numerous traditions which cling to the sailors of these good
old days of which Mr John Ruskin used to speak so reverently, was one of a
London baker, who was known to have amassed fabulous wealth in
manufacturing biscuits from ground bones and selling them for human food
to complaisant shipowners who were of kindred spirit to himself. Hundreds
of poor seamen who were obliged to eat this vile stuff called bread,
provided by their God-forsaken employers as per scale of one pound per
day per man, had their bodies saturated with disease. Nay, hundreds of them
were killed by its use, and those who survived its poisonous effects had to

thank the pure air of the sea and a good deal of self-sacrifice on their own
part by preferring to starve themselves rather than eat it.

This system of villainy was openly carried on long after I first went to sea,
and although the London purveyor had passed to another place he must
have left behind him a set of imitators who acquired an equally charming
aptitude for murder by supplying vessels with deadly food of one kind and
another. The tradition went on to say that ultimately he died, and having
sold himself to "Jimmy Square Foot," his spirit was transferred from
Ratcliffe Highway to a volcanic island in the Mediterranean called
Stromboli. There he frequently appeared in his professional garb, standing
by the edge of the crater along with his satanic friend who was reputed to
have secured an eternal lease of this rock in order to provide a suitable
abode for some of those to whom he had been closely attached during their
earthly pilgrimage. Whenever the volcano was unusually active, the sailors
who were in the vicinity would say, "Ah, Jimmy is taking it out of the old
Baker to-night."

The first time I visited this part of the world, the vessel I served in was
creeping close past Stromboli with a light wind. Some of the forecastle
hands became reminiscent. They spoke of how they had been fed on
biscuits made by the gentleman whom they had seen standing by the molten
fire gesticulating to be taken from it. Strange tales were related as to the
reality of this notorious person's existence. I listened with feverish greed to
the yarns until my vision became confused and I fancied him not only close
by me but imagined I heard his sombre cry of despair beseeching our
compassion. The sailor's delight in hyperbole led one of our comrades to
relate most charmingly the story of the baker's first appearance in
Stromboli. An English barque some years ago lay becalmed within a mile
from the Stromboli shore. The captain and officers knew the biscuit
manufacturer well. The chief officer whose watch it was walked the quarter
deck in deep meditation. A sailor who was at the wheel suddenly became
aware of two figures close to the crater. One was stoking and the other was
vehemently urging him to greater effort. He called out excitedly:

"Look! Who's that standing by the glare of the fire? My God, if we were not
safe on salt water I would say we were near enough to hell!"

"What do you mean?" asked the flurried chief officer.

"I mean," said the sailor, pointing towards the shore, "the flames and the
figures yonder. May heaven send a breeze so that we may get away from
the sight of it."

The mate was over-awed; he steadied his nerves, took up the telescope and
looked towards the crest of the hill for a few seconds. The glass dropped
suddenly from his hands on to the deck, and he exclaimed:

"The Lord save us! It is the London baker with Jimmy Square Foot. Jump
down and call the captain while I say a few words of prayer."

The hand who aroused the commander told him that they were too near the
nether regions. The captain rushed on deck, and in a nervous tone asked
what was the matter.

"The matter?" responded the officer, "there is what's the matter. Look at
them, and if you are not satisfied that we're as near hell as ever we will be
until we get into it, I am."

The captain was agitated and tremulously stuttered:

"Why it's the baker! How piteously he pleads to be rescued, but we can do
nothing for him."

The day, hour and minute of the appearance were entered in the log-book,
and when the vessel arrived home, the tale was told and paraphrased in a
way that attracted national attention. The comparing of notes disclosed that
the entry in the log-book corresponded chronologically with the date and
time of the baker's death.

Contemporary with this traditional gentleman was a well known shipowner,
who was notoriously mean and wicked towards the sailors who manned his

ships. Prayers of a highly peculiar character were continuously made that he
should be transported to the same region of warmth as the Baker. Of course
all shipowners are relegated to these parts when they do anything to excite
the anger of Jack. But the owner of whom I am writing had put himself
beyond all forgiveness; he was an unspeakable wretch who would stoop to
the most revolting methods of sensuality. The sanctity of homes was
invaded by the fiend who carried on a double game of starving his men and
destroying all that was dear to them. The curses that were continuously
poured forth upon him from all parts of the world cannot be spoken; they
may only be imagined. Ultimately he died amid a storm of rejoicing, and
when the hearse came to take him to the graveyard the horses are said to
have refused to carry the body. It was no sooner placed in the hearse than
they went wild and smashed the conveyance; other horses were brought up,
but they were equally obdurate and violent, and it became necessary to
employ men to carry the coffin, but only the lowest roughs could be found
for the service. The community, especially the seafaring part of it, were
convinced that his wickedness had been so great that even the devil refused
to have anything to do with him in a respectable country. He was forthwith
passed on to Stromboli to assist the Baker in his arduous task of keeping the
fires going, and for the purpose of confirming the sailors' belief in the law
of retribution. This traditional person was a butcher—if it be safe or lawful
to use such a phrase as "tradition" in connection with one of the mariner's
solemn planks of faith. He left a large fortune behind, which has been a
curse to his descendants, and it would have been a great disappointment to
the contemporary seamen if it hadn't, as much of their time was used in the
imprecation of ghastly forms of punishment and in imagining modes of
disposing of what they vehemently avowed was ill-gotten wealth.

In my youthful days I listened to these tales and drank them in with juvenile
credulity. How often have boys remained on deck during their watch below
to get a glimpse of these personalities, and sometimes I imagined I could
see all that others had told me they had seen. Incidents of this kind varied
the monotony of a long passage, as the talk about it went on until some
other thing equally sensational developed. To make any attempt at
ridiculing the reality of such things was to offer a gross insult to the
seamen's susceptibilities.

To say that shipowning, even in the early part or middle of the last century,
was synonymous with a system of heartless starvation would be too
sweeping an assertion to make. There always have been men who strove to
act generously towards the people serving in their vessels, though these, I
am persuaded, were in the minority, and it is to the credit of that minority
that they had to struggle against precedent, example, and it may be the
habitual conviction that it was part of the sailor's business to take whatever
food was put aboard for him. Running short of provisions was to them only
an incident natural to the sailor's calling. This view had been handed down
by successive generations of avaricious stoats, not the least prominent and
contemptible of whom was Elizabeth, with her chilly heart, at one time
receiving from Drake the spoils of his voyage in the Pelican; at another
walking through the parks publicly with him, and listening with eager
fascination to his stories of "amazing adventure," adventures that some of
her Catholic subjects maintained to be "shocking piracy." We all remember
the story of his sailing off with bullion from Tarapaca worth half a million
ducats; also of the chase and capture of the Cacafuego, which had aboard
the whole of the produce of the Lima mines for the season, consisting of
silver, gold, emeralds and rubies. The hanging of Mr Doughty Philips, the
spy, was talked of; the cutting off from the Church of God for cowardice of
the chaplain, Mr Fletcher, and the chaining of his leg to a ringbolt in the
deck until he repented of his sin. And she is so much interested in all these
things that a royal banquet is held aboard the Pelican. Her Majesty attends
and knights Drake. Mendoza demands for his master the stolen treasure.
Leicester wants to share it with his friends; but Elizabeth puts her foot down
and maintains it to be a legal capture which must be held. She conceives
this to be a part of the game. Subsequent events cause Drake to plead with
her to grant supplies, and she rebukes him for his extravagance. The
Armada is close at our shores. Lord Howard reminds her that food is
exhausted and that her sailors are having to catch fish to make up their
mess, and yet they are praying for the quick arrival of the enemy. Their
commander says English sailors will do what they can to vanquish the
invaders, but they cannot fight with famine. "Awake, Madam," writes the
poor distracted Lord admiral; "awake, for the love of Christ, and realize the
danger that confronts the nation." He managed this time to squeeze one
month's rations out of her, but when asked if any more should be provided,

this lovely virgin monarch replied peremptorily, "No!" And when the great
Armada came in sight there was but two days' food remaining. "Let tyrants
fear," she says; "I have always so behaved myself that under God I have
placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will
of my subjects"!! She knows that she has the body of a weak and feeble
woman, but she is assured she has the heart of a king, and rather than any
dishonour should grow by her, "I myself will take up arms and be your
general, judge and rewarder of all your virtues." That is all very pretty, and
sounds pre-Napoleonic, but we cannot all swallow sweet, cantish little
nothings in place of food and wages. Better would it have been had
Elizabeth shown some practical evidence of "devotion" to her "people" by
granting supplies and food to her starving sailors who fought and won in the
most deadly naval encounter that the world has ever known. Their stomachs
were empty but their hearts were big, though many of them went under with
sickness brought on by famine, while she held tight that seven hundred and
fifty thousand pounds which Drake brought home for her. It is amazing that
a historian should be found to regard that speech of hers as being "free from
affectation." But one historian not only says this, he adds: "She was the
protector of her country, and the prudent executor of its will." She was
nothing of the sort; on the contrary, she was a cold, greedy, heartless
termagant, who risked the loss of her country by her parsimony, and it was
only saved by the dauntless courage of the famishing seamen. I think that is
one of the most gruesome and humiliating pieces of British history: for the
monarch of a great empire to exhibit herself in the light of a sailor's
boarding-housekeeper; squeezing his life's blood out, and herself handing
down to posterity a character for meanness that would put to the blush the
owner of a collier brig whose main idea of economy may be starving his
crew. When I hear her spoken of as the Good Queen Bess, I think of how
she ordered the Puritan lawyer, John Stubbs, and the printer of his pamphlet
to be led to the scaffold and have their right hands driven off by the wrist
with a butcher's knife and mallet, and how in God's name she commits
many other unspeakable acts of devilishness, the most dastardly of which
was her refusal to provide food for the thousands of brave men who saved
her and her kingdom. What a contrast between this woman and the great
Queen Victoria, whose long career is free from a single act of cruelty, and
whose whole life teems with good deeds, while Elizabeth's reeks with an

odour so bad that no student of history can peruse the account without
wondering why she was allowed to live; for truly she was as bad a shrew as
ever wore a skirt!

IX

MISCELLANEOUS

Fifty or sixty years ago the N.E. coast ports were all tidal; no harbours of
refuge; no twenty-four feet on any of the bars at low water as there is now;
no piers or breakwaters projecting as they do to-day far into the German
Ocean. It therefore frequently happened that during neap tides there was not
sufficient water over the bars for even the shallowest drafted vessels. In that
case, if the weather was fine, i.e., wind off the land, and smooth water, the
vessels were taken outside, and the balance of their cargoes sent to them by
a peculiar type of lighter known in that part of England by the name of
keels. These craft were skilfully managed by two men called keelmen, who
worked them up and down the stream with the tide and manipulated them
with long oars. One of these lighters was being rushed out of the river by a
heavy westerly wind and a current of abnormal velocity. The two men were
doing their best to control their little vessel towards its destination, when
the skipper spontaneously observed that they were going to drift out to sea
unless aid came to them, or some means of stopping her progress were not
adopted. He naturally bethought himself of the anchor, and shouted out to
his mate:

"By gox, Jimmy, w'or gan to drift into the German Ocean! Let go the b—y
anchor!"

The mate shouted back:

"What the devil's the use of lettin' go the anchor when there's ne chain fast
te'ed?"

"Never mind a d—n about that," shouted the skipper at the top of his voice
and with feverish excitement. "Chuck the b—y thing ower and trust to
Providence for'd hangin' her. We better de that, ye' fool as drive to
Norraway or some other place o' worship!"

The anchor was thrown over, but Providence did not yield to Geordie's
persuasive ingenuity, thereupon his faith gave way and he switched his
mind and utterance on to a singular form of petition to "Had her, Lord, had
her" (hold her). History tells us that Geordie believed this latter appeal to
have been answered, as it fell calm, and the sea became still.

Some sailors were rowing off to their vessel in a jolly-boat on the same
occasion, and when the wind went down a dense fog came on, with the
result that they missed their ship. They were all night in the fog, and in the
morning as there was no indication of it clearing up they were filled with
anxiety. At last one of their number said there was nothing else for it but to
pray, and called upon a companion to do so, but he said that he had never
prayed in his life.

"I don't know what to ask."

"Divvent ask," promptly replied his shipmate, "until you've made all kinds
of promises"; whereupon all kinds of specific pledges of an extraordinary
character were prompted, and the praying commenced and was continued
with great facility and becoming earnestness, when all at once the sailor
who had suggested prayer called out:

"Stop, stop! Don't commit yourself too far. I think I see the land," and the
man who was in the act of praying opened his eyes, beheld the land himself,
and called out:

"Why the devil didn't you tell me sooner, before I made all them promises?"

"I cautioned you as soon as I saw it myself," said his friend; "why didn't
you keep your own eyes open?"

"Eyes open, d'ye say? How d'ye think a man can pray with his eyes open,
you fool?"

These men belonged to an old-fashioned race, sailed in old-fashioned ships,
at a time when the old-fashioned winters, as they are sometimes called,
were a terror to underwriters, owners and seamen alike; for the easterly
gales always left in their wake along the whole seaboard relics of
devastation. Wrecks used to be strewn all over the coast, and sombre tokens
of bereavement were everywhere visible. When the White Sea, Baltic and
St Lawrence were closed to navigation, the class of vessels that were
employed in these trades were either sent to the Bay of Biscay or the coast
of Portugal with coal in order that they might bring from that country to this
cork or salt, or both; and from the French ports in the Bay of Biscay cargoes
of sugar were frequently obtained as return cargo; but the coal freights were
generally so good at that time that vessels could be brought back in ballast
and then leave a big profit.

Owners, however, always aimed at getting employment over the winter
months in the coasting trade to France or London, and when freights were
depressed beyond paying point they did not hesitate to lay them up until the
White Sea and Baltic season came round again. It frequently happened that
this course had to be adopted, and the ports all along the coast became
blocked with idle tonnage, and the little towns overcrowded with seamen,
who, as a rule, stuck to their ships and did odd jobs, without pay, until the
time came for them to be again engaged in active service. It was customary
for the captain and mate to specially look after the vessels when laid up so
that no harm came to them, and they were expected to do so without
remuneration. The honour and pride in those earlier days of having
command or being mate of even a leaky old craft was very pronounced.
Each brig, brigantine, or schooner, carried three or four apprentices. These
lads were allowed 10s. per week, which was called board money. The
owners, it may be presumed, found it cheaper to make this arrangement
rather than have cooking aboard while the vessel was laid up; but though an

allowance was made for food, it was a standing instruction that at least two
out of the four boys should sleep aboard the ship, and as soon as she was
put into commission none but the oldest apprentice could have the privilege
of sleeping ashore. This personage, by the way, was looked up to as a kind
of Mogul even by his commander, but especially by the younger
apprentices. He claimed the right indeed to chastise a wayward youth with
the rope's end, and when very bad offences occurred, a double punishment
was inflicted by keeping the little delinquent on deck in the cold at night,
until his superior thought fit to pardon him. On the other hand, I have seen a
mate soundly thrashed by this same person for striking a young boy during
the process of a voyage. Such were the peculiar ethics of this class of
seamen that, while they conceived it to be their duty to uphold the dignity
of discipline when they were in supreme control of the little colony of
apprentices during the time the vessel was laid up in port, they would not
brook undue physical interference with their co-apprentices on the part of
the chief officer when in active commission. Sometimes the stay in port
would last three months. The master and mate were in attendance every day,
and in order that their berths might be retained, the sailors came aboard on
fine days, repaired sails, running gear, standing rigging, scraped and tarred
the holds out, scraped masts, painted yards, scrubbed bottom, tarred and
blackleaded it, and, in fact, when the time came to fit out for the spring
voyage to the Baltic, the little vessels looked as trim and as neat as it was
possible to make them, and there was little left to do except bend sails and
take stores aboard.

A NORTHUMBERLAND HARBOUR.

Nor were the apprentices allowed to be idle. Each day they had to wash
decks when the tide was up, and although it may seem a very small matter
to refer to, it is worthy of note that the drawing of water by the youngest
boy was the occasion of much interest to the onlookers, who always
congregated in large numbers on the quays when anything of this sort was
being done. The bucket which supplied the water was stropped with rope so
that it did not injure the side of the vessel; great care was observed that no
harm came to the planking, no matter how old the craft might be. The boy
was expected to draw with such rapidity that the person who was throwing
the water along the deck should not have to wait. It was considered quite an
art to throw the water properly, and also to supply it, and it taxed both the
strength and the deftness of the youngster; many a wigging he would get in
the process of training even in this small matter.

The two youngest boys took week and week about in keeping the forecastle
clean. It was insisted that the floor should be spotless. This was enforced by
the oldest apprentice, and he had to account to the master if it were not as
he wished it to be. They of course assisted the men during the period of

inactivity, but on those days when no work was being done by the sailors it
was usual for the mate to give them so many nettles to plait: that is, five or
seven rope yarns plaited into seizings for bends in hawsers, mooring chains,
and ropes. Sometimes the mate was a person of artistic taste, and in that
case they would be given bucket strops or man ropes to graft, or turkheads
and grafting to work on to some deck arrangement or yardarm, and bunt
gaskets to work with marline. Indeed, the course of training was so
systematic and so perfect that these young fellows long before their time
had expired could do anything that a sailor might be called upon to do. To
be taunted with laziness was a grievous indictment. The average lad of that
period would do himself physical injury in the effort to avoid such a stigma.
They prided themselves on being the pupils and under-studies of the finest
sailors in the world; and so they were. When the time came round for the
spring fleet to fit out, there was great commotion amongst the little
community. The crews emulated each other in the effort to make their
vessels look smart, and the distinction of being first ready for sea claimed a
prominent share of their ambition. They knew also that they would be
subjected to the stern criticism of the female population, the limitations of
which would not necessarily be confined to wives and sweethearts, or even
relations.

Neither men nor women found companionship in books. If the women read
anything, it was what the newspapers said about shipping movements, and
it is safe to say very few concerned themselves about that. So their mental
energy found an outlet in the gossip of things nautical. They knew by
instinct almost when a vessel was thoroughly cared for, and although they
might not be able to call things by their proper names, they never liked their
husbands or sweethearts to have any hand in, or association with, an untidy
vessel. Hence, to secure approval from their women critics, these sailor men
and apprentice lads would strain every faculty to have sails stowed in a
cloth, that is, stowed so that not a wrinkle could be seen anywhere. The
youngest apprentice furled the royals and staysails, two other boys the
topgallant sails, and all the crew, except the master, the larger square sails.
The yards were squared by the braces. The lower yards were made to
correspond with the topsail yards by means of the lifts, every rope was
hauled taut, and every coil round the belaying pin was made strictly

uniform. Every end of a rope had to have what is called a cross-whipping to
prevent the end from becoming a tassel. A well-worn, though authentic
story, which bears on this, did service many times in those days of nautical
rectitude. A gentleman was brought from another district to our little port to
serve as chief mate aboard a hitherto well-kept brig, and his chief
characteristic was in neglecting to conform to one of the great essential
nautical principles by allowing everything to get into disorder; warps and
rope ends were allowed to go without whippings until it became an eyesore
and a subject of strong condemnation. His wife, who did not conform to the
orthodox faith, began to draw comparisons, and vigorously proclaimed that
her husband's taste was a thing to be emulated. "Look," said this incensed
lady, "at the fringes and tassels. Do they not look better than having things
tied up like whipcords?" But her æsthetic opinions did not prevent her
husband's services being dispensed with.

I have said that some of these small vessels were in the St Lawrence trade
carrying timber from Quebec, and grain or timber from Montreal. They
usually went out in ballast in order to make two voyages during the season,
and there were very few that did not succeed in doing it, provided they kept
free from accident. The spring voyage was fraught with great danger owing
to large fields of ice and icebergs drifting out of the St Lawrence across the
Banks of Newfoundland. Sometimes the spring fleet would be fast for days,
and many of them got badly damaged in the effort to force a channel
through the ice-field, while some got so badly crushed and damaged that
they foundered. That was a real danger at the beginning of the season, but it
did not compare with the danger of encountering the terrific westerly
hurricanes that swept over the Atlantic in the fall of the year. We speak
sympathetically about the six and seven thousand ton steamers that tramp
across during the winter months at the present time, and yet it is less than
fifty years since the whole of that trade was done by tiny brigs and barques
who leaked and worked like Russian prams, but were handled with an
ability that saved both them and their crews many times from destruction.
Every autumn some of them became waterlogged, and not a few were never
heard of after leaving the port of loading. The owner of an old brig which I
knew very well was induced by the high rate of freights from Montreal to
fix her to load a cargo of heavy grain from that port. Some of the owner's

friends expostulated with him on the danger of sending so old and small a
vessel to the St Lawrence so late in the season. "Old?" said the owner,
"hasn't she had new decks? And you call her small! What about Drake's
ships that he sailed to the Pacific Ocean and all over India with? Why, the
largest wasn't half the size of mine! No, gentlemen, ships were built to go to
sea, not to lie and rot at the quays." So to sea she went, and arrived at
Montreal none too soon to assure the completion of her loading and sailing
before the winter set in. She was, however, quickly loaded, and sailed on
her homeward voyage. A quick run was made to Cape Breton, and thence
through scores of "Codbangers" right away to the edge of the Banks of
Newfoundland. Anchors, boats, hatches and everything else were made
secure in anticipation of a wild passage. The studding-sail booms and other
spars or planks were lashed at each side of the hatchways in order to break
the weight or fire of the sea before it tumbled on to them. This was the old-
fashioned plan of protection, and I hope it is still practised. I have often had
recourse to it myself both in sailing vessels and steamers. There was no
Plimsoll mark in those days, and this cockle-shell of a vessel was literally
loaded down to the scuppers. A westerly hurricane struck her just after
crossing the Banks, and she was run so long before it that to attempt to
heave to meant certain destruction.

The whole length of two hawsers were put out at each side of the taffrail,
and as the mountains came roaring along, towering far above the stern of
the little ship and threatening her with extinction, these hawsers broke the
wrath of the rollers, and made them spread into masses of prancing foam.
The captain and crew said they would never have been able to scud before
the hurricane but for their influence. She arrived at Queenstown a complete
wreck having been literally under water or covered by it from leaving the
Banks until they passed the Fastnet; bulwarks were gone fore and aft; boats
were smashed, but the hatches were intact. The captain had been so long
without sleep and proper rest that he had lost the power of sleep. His nerves
were so badly shattered, and his physical endurance so completely
exhausted, a new captain had to be sent to relieve him, and the poor fellow
never really regained his normal state afterwards. I have often heard him
say "it was death or glory; scud, pump, or sink," which was one of the
common phrases used by seamen in describing circumstances of this nature.

Stories more or less sensational are written from time to time of the terrors
of a passage from Liverpool to New York aboard one of the White Star or
Cunard liners, or even a passage on an ordinary ocean tramp, and although I
would not under-estimate either the danger or the discomforts of either the
crew or the passengers aboard one of these, I am bound to say they can only
form a meagre conception of what it must have been like on one of the
diminutive frail sailing crafts that built up the supremacy of the British
mercantile marine. No one can really imagine the awfulness of the work
these vessels and their crews had to do except those who sailed in them.
This vessel, like many others of her class and size, did useful work in her
time in building up our trade with other parts of the world. Distance and
danger were no obstacles to the crews who heroically manned them. They
feared nothing and dared everything. Their pride of race was inherent. They
aimed at upholding the fine traditions of their nautical forbears, and
contemptuously ignored the right of other nations to a place on the high
seas. It was their dominion, and their prerogative therefore to monopolize
them. Uneasy, ill-informed, political propagandists and commercial
theorists would do well to ponder over what it has cost in courage, in vital
force, in genius and in wealth to build up an edifice that represents half the
world's tonnage. This structure of national strength has been erected without
the aid of subsidies or bounties, and it may be not only maintained without
them, but grow still greater if it is left alone to pursue its natural course
under a system that brought us out of commercial bondage into a freer air
over fifty years ago. That system has been the secret of much of our
success, and once we embark on the retrograde course of protection then
that will be the beginning of our mercantile decadence. Is the heritage not
too magnificent, too sacred, to have pranks played with it?

THE END

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD., NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

"WINDJAMMERS AND SEA-TRAMPS."

With Six Full-page Illustrations by Thomas Runciman.

"The special attractiveness of the volume arises from the fact that the author
began as a cabin-boy, worked his way up to master, and is now a leading
steamship manager, and that he has been at the pains to epitomise his
experiences and state his views."—Fairplay.

"In Windjammers and Sea Tramps, Mr. Walter Runciman, sen., has put
together memories and information drawn from many years' experience of
the British mercantile marine, mostly in sailing vessels."—St. James'
Gazette.

"His yarns are chiefly of the things that took place a generation ago, when
there was far more brutality on ocean-going ships than there is in these
more enlightened days."—Daily News.

"Mr. Walter Runciman, sen., has given the characteristic title, Windjammers
and Sea Tramps, to a little book of recollections and opinions on the
merchant service. His pages are full of experience and rich anecdotage, and
smack refreshingly of the sea."—Manchester Guardian.

"Mr. Runciman packs together a surprising amount of information on our
merchant service, and his modest hope that 'he has succeeded in making the
book interesting' is very fully justified."—Saturday Review.

"To all lovers of the sea, to all those whose hearts go the merrier for the
sight of a ship or a yarn with an old salt, this book will come a little sadly,
and bring regrets for the old days and the dead traditions. Not many men
now living can remember the old sea order."—The Speaker.

"Mr. Walter Runciman is a practical sailor. He has had experience of the sea
in many capacities, and this lends weight to his opinions on matters
connected with the mercantile marine and interest to the various yarns
which he has to spin."—Pall Mall Gazette.

"Every self-respecting Briton knows that a windjammer is a sailing vessel,
and the book before us, written by a man who 'went in at the hawse-hole
and came out of the cabin-window,' should commend itself to a maritime
nation."—Birmingham Gazette.

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