Chapter C: Arthur Pearson, Ltd (5)

But, as I have said, the _Belle_ was certainly an exception. I joined a magnificent steel clipper called the _Harbinger_ in Adelaide as second mate, and, on taking my first walk round her, discovered that she too was well provided in the matter of farm-stock, besides, to my amazement, for I had thought the day for such things long past, carrying a cow. But all the arrangements for the housing, feeding, and general comfort of the live-stock on board were on a most elaborate scale, as, indeed, was the ship’s equipment generally. The cow-house, for instance, was a massive erection of solid teak with brass fittings and fastenings, large enough to take two cows comfortably, and varnished outside till it looked like a huge cabinet. Its place when at sea was on the main hatch, where it was nearly two feet off the deck, and by means of ring-bolts was lashed so firmly that only a perfectly disastrous sea breaking on board could possibly move it. Its solidly-built doors opened in halves, of which the lower half only was kept fastened by day, so that Poley stood at her window gazing meditatively out at the blue expanse of the sea with a mild, abstracted air, which immediately vanished if any one inadvertently came too near her premises. She had a way of suddenly dabbing her big soapy muzzle into the back of one’s neck while the victim’s attention was taken up elsewhere that was disconcerting. And one night, in the middle watch, she created a veritable sensation by walking into the forecastle unseen by anybody on deck. The watch below were all sound asleep, of course, but the unusual footsteps, and long inquisitive breaths, like escaping steam, emitted by the visitor, soon roused them by their unfamiliarity. Voice called unto voice across the darkness (and a ship’s forecastle at night is a shade or so darker than a coal-cellar), “What is it? Light the lamp, somebody”; but with that vast mysterious monster floundering around, no one dared venture out of the present security of his bunk. It was really most alarming--waking up to such an invisible horror as that, and, as one of the fellows said to me afterwards, “All the creepy yarns I’d ever read in books come inter me head at once, until I was almost dotty with ’fraid.” This situation was relieved by one of the other watch, who, coming in to get something out of a chum’s chest, struck a match, and by its pale glimmer revealed the huge bulk of poor Poley, who, scared almost to drying up her milk, was endeavouring to bore her way through the bows in order to get out. The butcher was hurriedly roused from his quarters farther aft, and, muttering maledictions upon ships and all sailors, the sea and all cattle, slouched to the spot. His voice immediately reassured the wanderer, who turned round at its first angry words and deliberately marched out of the forecastle, leaving a lavish contribution in her wake as a memento of her visit.

Between the butcher and Poley a charming affection existed. She loved him most fondly, and the Cardigan jacket he wore was a proof thereof. For while engaged in grooming her, which he did most conscientiously every morning, she would reach round whenever possible and lick him wherever she could touch him. In consequence of this affectionate habit of hers his Cardigan was an object of derision to all on board until upon our arrival in Cape Town one of our departing passengers divided a case of extra special Scotch whisky among the crew. The butcher being of an absorbent turn, shifted a goodly quantity of the seductive fluid, and presently, feeling very tired, left the revellers and disappeared. Next morning he was nowhere to be found. A prolonged search was made, and at last the missing man was discovered peacefully slumbering by the side of the cow, all unconscious of the fact that she had licked away at him until nothing remained of his Cardigan but the sleeves, and in addition a great deal of his shirt was missing. It is only fair to suppose that, given time enough, she would have removed all his clothing. It was a depraved appetite certainly, but as I have before noticed, _that_ is not uncommon among animals at sea. It was her only lapse, however, from virtue in that direction. Truly her opportunities were small, being such a close prisoner, but the marvel to me was how, in the absence of what I should say was proper food, she kept up her supply of milk for practically the whole voyage. She never once set foot on shore from the time the vessel left London until she returned, and as green food was most difficult to obtain in Adelaide, she got a taste of it only about four times during our stay. Australian hay, too, is not what a dainty English cow would be likely to hanker after; yet with all these drawbacks it was not until we had crossed the Line on the homeward passage that her milk began to dwindle seriously in amount. Thenceforward it decreased, until in the Channel the butcher handed in to the steward one morning a contribution of about a gill, saying, “If you want any more, sir, you’ll have to put the suction hose on to her. I sh’d say her milkin’ days was done.” But for long previous to this the ingenious butcher had been raiding the cargo (of wheat) for his pet, and each day would present her with two bucketfuls of boiled wheat, which she seemed to relish amazingly. Partly because of this splendid feeding, and partly owing to the regular washing and groomings she received, I imagine she was such a picture of an animal when she stepped out of the ship in London as I have only seen at cattle shows or on advertisement cards. You could not see a bone; her sides were like a wall of meat, and her skin had a sheen on it like satin. As she was led away, I said to the butcher, who had been assisting at her debarkation, “I suppose you’ll have her again next voyage, won’t you, butcher?” “No fear,” he answered sagely. “She’s gone to be butchered. She’ll be prime beef in a day or two.” I looked at him with something like consternation. He seemed to think it was a grand idea, although even now the mournful call of his old favourite was ringing in his ears. At last I said, “I wonder you can bear to part with her; you’ve been such chums all the voyage.” “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he replied. “I looked after her ’cause it’s my bisness, but I’d jest as leave slaughter her myself as not.” With that he left me to resume his duty.

But in the fervour of my recollections of Poley, I have quite neglected another most important branch of the _Harbinger’s_ family of animals, the sheep. Being such a large ship, she had an immense house on deck between the main hatch and the fore mast, in which were a donkey-engine and condenser, a second cabin to accommodate thirty passengers, petty officers’ quarters, carpenters’ shop, and galley. And still there was room between the fore end and the fore mast to admit of two massive pens, built of teak, with galvanised bars in front, being secured there one on top of the other. When I joined the ship these were empty, and their interiors scrubbed as clean as a kitchen table. That morning, looking up the quay, I saw a curious procession. First a tall man, with an air of quiet want of interest about him; by his side sedately marched a ram, a splendid fellow, who looked fully conscious that he was called upon to play an important part in the scheme of things. Behind this solemn pair came a small flock of some thirty sheep, and a wise old dog, keeping a good distance astern of the mob, fittingly brought up the rear. They were expected, for I saw some of the men, under the bo’sun’s directions, carefully laying a series of gangways for them. And, without noise, haste, or fuss, the man marched on board closely followed by the ram. He led the way to where a long plank was laid from the deck to the wide-open door of the upper pen. Then, stepping to the side of it, without a word or even a gesture, he stood quite still while the stately ram walked calmly up that narrow way, followed by the sheep in single file. The leader walked into the pen and right round it, reaching the door just as the fifteenth sheep had entered. The others had been restrained from following as soon as fifteen had passed. Outside he stepped upon the plank with the same grave air of importance, and the moment he had done so the door was slid to in the face of the others who were still following his lead. Then the other pen was filled in the same easy manner, the ram quitting the second pen with the bearing of one whose sublime height of perfection is far above such paltry considerations as praise or blame, while the dog stood aloof somewhat dejectedly, as if conscious that his shining abilities were for the time completely overshadowed by the performances of a mere woolly thing, one of the creatures he had always regarded as being utterly destitute of a single gleam of reasonableness. The ram received a carrot from his master’s pocket with a gracious air, as of one who confers a favour, and together the trio left the ship. The embarkation had been effected in the quietest, most humane manner possible, and to my mind was an object-lesson in ingenuity.

We had no swine, but on top of this same house there was a fine range of teak-built coops of spacious capacity, and these were presently filled with quite a respectable company of fowls, ducks, and geese, all, of course, under the charge of the butcher. Happy are the animals who have no history on board ship, whose lives move steadily on in one well-fed procession unto their ordained end. Here in this grand ship, had it not been for the geese, no one would have realised the presence of poultry at all, so little were they in evidence until they graced the glittering table in the saloon at 6 P.M. But the geese, as if bent upon anticipating the fate that was in store for them, waited with sardonic humour until deepest silence fell upon the night-watches. Then, as if by preconcerted signal, they raised their unmelodious voices, awaking sleepers fore and aft from deepest slumbers, and evoking the fiercest maledictions upon their raucous throats. Occasionally the shadowy form of some member of the crew, exasperated beyond endurance, would be dimly seen clambering up the end of the house, his heart filled with thoughts of vengeance. Armed with a wooden belaying-pin, he would poke and rattle among the noisy creatures, with much the same result as one finds who, having a slightly aching tooth, fiddles about with it until its anguish is really maddening. These angry men never succeeded in doing anything but augmenting the row tenfold, and they found their only solace in gloating over the last struggles of one of their enemies when the butcher was doing his part towards verifying the statement on the menu for the forthcoming dinner of “roast goose.”

But the chief interest of our farmyard, after all, lay in the sheep. How it came about that such a wasteful thing was done I do not know, but it very soon became manifest that some at least of our sheep were in an interesting condition, and one morning, at wash-deck time, when I was prowling around forrard to see that everything was as it should be, I was considerably amused to see one of the sheep occupying a corner of the pen with a fine young lamb by her side. While I watched the pretty creature, the butcher came along to begin his day’s work. When he caught sight of the new-comer he looked silly. It appeared that he alone had been sufficiently unobservant of his charges to be unprepared for this _dénouement_, and it was some time before his sluggish wits worked up to the occasion. Suddenly he roused himself and made for the pen. “What are you going to do, butcher?” I asked. “Goin’ to do! W’y I’m agoin’ ter chuck that there thing overboard, a’course, afore any of them haristocrats aft gets wind of it. They won’t touch a bit o’ the mutton if they hear tell o’ this. I never see such a thing aboard ship afore.” But he got no further with his fell intent, for some of the sailors intervened on behalf of the lamb, vowing all sorts of vengeance upon the butcher if he dared to touch a lock of its wool; so he was obliged to beat a retreat, grumblingly, to await the chief steward’s appearance and lay the case before him. When that gentleman appeared, he was by no means unwilling to add a little to his popularity by effecting a compromise. It was agreed that the sailors should keep the new-comer as a pet, but all subsequent arrivals were to be dealt with by the butcher instanter, without any interference on their part. This, the steward explained, was not only fair, but merciful, as in the absence of green food there could only be a day or two’s milk forthcoming, and the poor little things would be starved. Of course, he couldn’t spare any of Poley’s precious yield for nursing lambs, besides wishing to avoid the natural repugnance the passengers would have to eating mutton in such a condition. So the matter was amicably arranged.

Thereafter, whenever a lamb was dropped, and every one of those thirty ewes presented one or two, the butcher laid violent hands upon it, and dropped it overboard as soon as it was discovered. Owing to the promise of sundry tots of grog from the sailors, he always informed them of the fact, and pointed out the bereaved mother. Then she would be pounced upon, lifted out of the coop, and while one fellow held her another brought the favoured lamb. After the first time or two, that pampered young rascal needed no showing. As soon as he saw the sheep being held he would make a rush, and in a minute or two would completely drain her udder. Sometimes there were as many as three at a time for him to operate upon, but there never seemed to be too many for his voracious appetite. What wonder that like Jeshurun he waxed fat and kicked. He grew apace, and he profited amazingly by the tuition of his many masters. Anything less sheep-like, much less lamb-like, than his behaviour could hardly be imagined. A regimental goat might have matched him in iniquity, but I am strongly inclined to doubt it. One of the most successful tricks taught this pampered animal was on the lines of his natural tendency to butt at anything and everything. It was a joyful experience to see him engaged in mimic conflict with a burly sailor, who, pitted against this immature ram, usually came to grief at an unexpected roll of the ship; for Billy, as our lamb was named by general consent, very early in his career gat unto himself sea-legs of a stability unattainable by any two-legged creature. I often laughed myself sore at these encounters, the funniest exhibitions I had seen for many a long day, until one night in my watch on deck, during a gale of wind, I descended from the poop on to the main deck to hunt for a flying-fish that I heard come on board. I was stooping down, the water on deck over my ankles, to feel under the spare spars lashed alongside the scuppers, when I heard a slight noise behind me. Before I had time to straighten myself, a concussion like a well-aimed, hearty kick smote me behind, and I fell flat in the water like a plaice. When I had scrambled to my feet, black rage in my heart against things in general, I heard a fiendish cackle of laughter which was suddenly suppressed; and there, with head lowered in readiness for another charge, stood Billy, only too anxious to renew his attentions as soon as he could see an opening. For one brief moment I contemplated a wild revenge, but I suddenly remembered that my place was on the poop, and I went that way, not perhaps with the dignified step of an officer, because that demoniacal sheep (no, lamb) was behind me manœuvring for another assault. I lost all interest in him after that. A lamb is all very well, but when he grows up he is apt to become an unmitigated calamity, especially if sailors have any hand in his education. So that it was with a chastened regret that I heard the order go forth for his conversion into dinner. We were able to regale the pilot with roast lamb and mint sauce (made from the dried article), and the memory of my wrongs added quite a piquant flavour to my portion.

IV

It has always been a matter of profound thankfulness with me that my evil genius never led me on board a cattle-boat. For I do think that to a man who has any feeling for the lower animals these vessels present scenes of suffering enough to turn his brain. And it does not in the least matter what provision is made for the safe conveyance of cattle in such numbers across the ocean. As long as the weather is fairly reasonable, the boxed-up animals have only to endure ten days or so of close confinement, with inability to lie down, and the nausea that attacks animals as well as human beings. The better the ship and the greater care bestowed upon the cattle-fittings the less will be the sufferings of the poor beasts; but the irreducible minimum is soon reached, and that means much more cruelty to animals than any merciful man would like to witness. But when a gale is encountered and the huge steamer wallows heavily in the mountainous irregularities of the Atlantic, flooding herself fore and aft at every roll, and making the cattlemen’s task of attending to their miserable charges one surcharged with peril to life or limbs, then the condition of a cattle-ship is such as to require the coinage of special adjectives for its description. Of course it will be said that human beings used to be carried across the ocean for sale in much the same way, and men calling themselves humane were not ashamed to grow rich on the receipts from such traffic; but surely that will never be advanced as an excuse for, or a palliative of, the horrors of the live cattle trade. I have passed through an area of sea bestrewn with the bodies of cattle that have been washed overboard in a gale--hurled out of the pens wherein they have been battered to death--when the return of fine weather has made it possible, and I have wished with all my heart that it could be made an offence against the laws to carry live cattle across the ocean at all.

No, the nearest approach that ever I had to being shipmates with a cargo of live stock was on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, when, after bringing a 24-ton schooner from a little village up the Bay of Fundy to Antigua in the West Indies, I found myself, as you may say, stranded in St. John, the principal port in that island. The dry rot which seems to have unfortunately overtaken our West Indian possessions was even then very marked in Antigua, for there was no vessel there larger than a 100-ton schooner, and only two or three of them, all Yankees with one exception, a Barbadian craft with the queerest name imaginable, the _Migumoo-weesoo_. The shipping officer, seeing that I was a certificated mate, very kindly interested himself in me, going so far as to say that if I would take his advice and assistance I would immediately leave St. John in the _Migum_, as he called her, for that the skipper, being a friend of his, would gladly give me a passage to Barbadoes. I hope good advice was never wasted on me. At any rate this wasn’t, for I immediately went down to the beach, jumped into a boat, and ordered the darky in charge to put me on board the _Migum_. When we got alongside I was mightily interested to see quite a little mob of horses calmly floating alongside with their heads just sticking out of the water. The first thing that suggested itself to me was that if those horses got on board with their full complement of legs it would be little less than a miracle, the harbour being notoriously infested with sharks. But presently I reflected that there was really no danger, the darkies who were busy with preparations for the embarkation of the poor beasts kicking up such a deafening row that no shark would have dared venture within a cable’s length of the spot. Everybody engaged in the business seemed to be excited beyond measure, shouting, screeching with laughter, and yelling orders at the top of their voices, so that I could not see how anything was going to be done at all. The skipper was confined to his cabin with an attack of dysentery, and lay fretting himself into a fever at the riot going on overhead for want of his supervision. As soon as I introduced myself he begged me to go and take charge, but, although I humoured him to the extent of seeming to comply with his request, I knew enough of the insubordinate ’Badian darkies to make me very careful how I interfered with them. But going forward, I found to my delight that they had made a start at last, and that two of the trembling horses were already on deck. Four or five darkies were in the water alongside, diving beneath the horses with slings which were very carefully placed round their bodies, then hooked to a tackle, by means of which they were hoisted on board, so subdued by fear that they suffered themselves to be pushed and hauled about the decks with the quiet submissiveness of sheep. There were twenty of them altogether, and when they had all been landed on deck there was not very much room left for working the schooner. However, as our passage lay through the heart of the trade winds, and nothing was less probable than bad weather, nobody minded that, not even when the remaining deck space was lumbered up with some very queer-looking forage.

As soon as the horses were on board we weighed, and stood out of harbour with a gentle, leading wind that, freshening as we got farther off the land, coaxed the smart craft along at a fairly good rate. This lasted until midnight, when, to the darkies’ dismay, the wind suddenly failed us, leaving us lazily rocking to the gently-gliding swell upon the wine-dark bosom of the glassy sea. Overhead, the sky, being moonless, was hardly distinguishable from the sea, and as every brilliant star was faithfully duplicated beneath, it needed no great stretch of imagination to fancy that we were suspended in the centre of a vast globe utterly cut off from the rest of the world. But the poor skipper, enfeebled by his sad ailment and anxious about his freight, had no transcendental fancies. Vainly I tried to comfort him with the assurance that we should certainly find a breeze at daybreak, and it would as certainly be fair for us. He refused consolation, insisting that we were in for a long spell of calm, and against his long experience of those waters I felt I could not argue. So I ceased my efforts and went on deck to enjoy the solemn beauty of the night once more, and listen to the quaint gabble of the three darkies forming the watch on deck.

Sure enough the skipper was right. Calms and baffling airs, persisting for three days, kept us almost motionless until every morsel of horse provender was eaten, and--what was still more serious--very little water was left. All of us wore long faces now, and the first return of steady wind was hailed by us with extravagant delight. Continuing on our original course was out of the question under the circumstances, so we headed directly for the nearest port, which happened to be Prince Rupert, in the beautiful island of Dominica. A few hours’ sail brought us into the picturesque harbour, with its ruined fortresses, once grimly guarding the entrance, now overgrown with dense tropical vegetation, huge trees growing out of yawning gaps in the masonry, and cable-like vines enwreathing the crumbling walls. Within the harbour there was a profound silence; the lake-like expanse was unburdened by a single vessel, and although the roofs of a few scattered houses could be seen embosomed among the verdure, there was no other sign of human occupation. We lowered the little boat hanging astern and hastened ashore. Hurrying toward the houses, we found ourselves in a wide street which from lack of traffic was all overgrown with weeds. Here we found a few listless negroes, none of whom could speak a word of English, a barbarous French patois being their only medium of communication. But by signs we made them comprehend our needs--fodder for the horses, and water. After some little palaver we found that for a few shillings we might go into the nearest thicket of neglected sugar-cane and cut down as many of the feathery blades that crowned the canes as we wanted, but none of those sleepy-looking darkies volunteered their assistance--they seemed to be utterly independent of work. Our energy amazed them, and I don’t think I ever saw such utter contempt as was expressed by our lively crew--true ’Badians born--towards those lotus-eating Dominicans. We had a heavy morning’s work before us, but by dint of vigorous pushing we managed to collect a couple of boatloads of cane-tops, carry them on board, and return for two casks of water which we had left one of our number ashore to fill. Some deliberate fishermen were hauling a seine as we were about to depart, and we lingered awhile until they had finished their unusual industry, being rewarded by about a bushel of “bill-fish,” a sort of garfish, but with the beak an extension of the lower jaw instead of the upper. I offered to buy a few of the fish, but the fishermen seemed mightily careless whether they sold any or not. After much expenditure of energy in sign language, I managed to purchase three dozen (about the size of herrings) for the equivalent of twopence, and, very well satisfied, pushed off for the schooner, leaving the fishermen standing on the beach contemplating their newly-acquired wealth, as if quite unable to decide what to do with it.

It was worth all the labour we had expended to see the delight with which those patient horses munched the juicy green tops of the cane, and drank, plunging their muzzles deep into the buckets, of the clear water we had brought. And I felt quite pleased when, upon our arrival in Barbadoes two days after, I watched the twenty of them walk sedately up a broad gangway of planks on to the wharf, and indulge in a playful prance and shake when they found their hoofs firmly planted upon the unrocking earth once more.

I hope I shall not be suspected of drawing a _longue beau_ when I say that I was once in a big ship whose skipper was an ardent agriculturist. On my first visit to the poop I saw with much surprise a couple of cucumber frames lashed in secure positions, one on either side of the rail at the break of the poop. When I fancied myself unobserved, I lifted the top of one, and looked within, seeing that they contained a full allowance of rich black mould. And presently, peeping down the saloon skylight, I saw that carefully arranged along its sides, on brackets, were many large pots of flowering plants, all in first-rate condition and bloom. It was quite a novel experience for me, but withal a most pleasant one, for although it did appear somewhat strange and incongruous to find plant-life flourishing upon the sea, it gave more of a familiar domestic atmosphere to ’board-ship life than anything I have ever known; much the same feeling that strikes one when looking upon the round sterns of the Dutch galliots, with their square windows embellished by snowy beribboned muslin curtains. When we got to sea, and well clear of the land, so that the skipper’s undivided attention could be given to his beloved hobby, there were great developments of it. For not content with growing lettuces, radishes, endive, and such “garden-sass,” as the Yankees term it, in his cucumber frames, he enlarged his borders and tried experiments in raising all sorts of queer seeds of tropical fruits and vegetables. His garden took up so much room on the poop that the officers fretted a good deal at the circumscribed area of their domain, besides being considerably annoyed at having to cover up the frames, boxes, &c., when bad weather caused salt spray to break over them. But this was ungrateful of them, because there never was a skipper who interfered less with his officers, or a more peaceable, good-natured man. Nor was the frequent mess of salad that graced the table in the saloon to be despised. In that humid atmosphere and equable temperature everything grew apace; so that for a couple of months at a time green crisp leaves were scarcely absent from the table for a day. Mustard and cress were, of course, his main crop, but lettuce, radishes, and spring onions did remarkably well. That was on the utilitarian side. On the experimental side he raised date-palms, coco-palms, banana-palms, mango trees, and orange trees, dwarfing them after a fashion he had learned in China, so that in the saloon he had quite a conservatory. But there were many others of which none of us knew the names. And all around in the skylight, beneath the brackets whereon the pots of geranium, fuchsia, &c., stood, hung orchids collected by the skipper on previous voyages, and most carefully tended, so that some lovely spikes of bloom were always to be seen. That saloon was a perfect bower of beauty, and although the ship herself was somewhat dwarfed by comparison with the magnificent clippers we forgathered with in Calcutta, few vessels had so many visitors. Her fame spread far, and nearly every day the delighted skipper would be busy showing a string of wondering shorefolk over his pleasaunce.

We went thence to Hong-Kong, and there, as if in emulation of the “old man’s” hobby for flowers, all hands went in for birds, mostly canaries, which can be obtained in China more cheaply, I believe, than in any part of the world. Sampans, loaded with cages so that nothing can be seen of the hull, and making the whole harbour melodious with the singing of their pretty freight, are always in evidence. For the equivalent of 3s., if the purchaser be smart of eye, he can always buy a fine cock canary in full song, although the wily Chinee never fails to attempt the substitution of a hen, no matter what price is paid. There arose a perfect mania on board of us for canaries, and when we departed for New Zealand there were at least 400 of the songsters on board. Truly for us the time of singing of birds had come. All day long that chorus went on, almost deafeningly, until we got used to it, for of course if one bird piped up after a short spell of quiet all hands joined in at the full pitch of their wonderful little lungs; so that, what with birds and flowers and good feeling, life on board the _Lady Clare_ was as nearly idyllic as any seafaring I have ever heard of.

V

It might readily be supposed that in such leisurely ships as the Southern-going whalers, calling, as they did, at so many out-of-the-way islands in the South Pacific, there would have been more inducement than usual to cultivate the bucolics, if only from sheer desire for something to break the long monotony of the voyage. And so, indeed, there was, but not to anything like the extent that I should have expected. On board the _Cachalot_ we were handicapped considerably in this direction by reason of several of the officers having an unconquerable dislike to fresh pork, which was the more remarkable because they never manifested the same aversion to the rancid, foul-smelling article supplied to us every other day out of the ship’s salt-meat stores. Whence, by the by, is ship salt pork obtained? Under what conditions do they rear the animals that produce those massy blocks of “scrunchy” fat, just tinged at one side with a pale pink substance that was once undoubtedly flesh, but when it reaches the sailor bears no resemblance to anything eatable? And how does it acquire that peculiarly vile flavour all its own, which is unlike the taste of any other provision known to caterers? I give it up; I have long ago done so, in fact. Men do eat it, although I never could, except by chopping it up fine with broken biscuit and mixing it with pea-soup, so that I could swallow it without tasting it. But the only other creatures able to do so are pigs and sharks. Sailors have all kinds of theories respecting its origin, of which I am restricted to saying that they are nearly all unprintable. But I do wish most fervently that those who supply it for human food, both dealers and ship-owners, were, as their victims are, compelled to eat it three times a week or starve. Just for a month or two. Methinks it would do them much good. But this is a digression.

Most of us had our suspicions that our officers’ dislike was not so much to fresh pork as to live pigs, and truly, with our limited deck space, the objection was most reasonable. Moreover, the South Sea Island pig is a questionable-looking beast at the best, not by any means tempting to look at, and of uncertain dietary. They affect startling colours, such as tortoise-shell and tabby, are woolly of coat, lengthy of snout, and almost as speedy as dogs. When fed, which is seldom, ripe cocoa-nut is given them, as it is to all live stock in the islands. But they make many a hearty meal of fish as they wander around the beaches and reef-borders, and this gives a flavour to their produce which is, to say the least of it, unexpected. But as if to make up for our lack of pigs we had the most elaborate fowlery fitted up that I ever was shipmates with. Its dimensions were about 8 ft. long, 6 ft. wide, and 5 ft. high. It was built of wood entirely, and exactly on the principle of an oblong canary-cage that is unenclosed on any side. Plenty of roosts and nests, plenty of pounded coral and cocoa-nut, and--as the result--plenty of eggs. But such queer eggs. The yolk was hardly distinguishable from the white, and they had scarcely any taste at all. Occasionally we got a brood hatched, but for some reason I don’t pretend to understand our fowls didn’t “go much on feathers,” as the skipper said. Not to put too fine a point on it, they never missed an opportunity of plucking one another’s feathers out and eating them with much relish. So that they all stalked about in native majesty unclad, doubtless rejoicing in the coolth, and occasionally scanning their own bodies solicitously for any sign of a sprouting feather, of which they themselves might have the first taste. This operated queerly among the young broods, who never got any chance of being fledged, and whose mothers were always fighting about them; but I believe as much that they (the mothers) might eat all the feathers themselves as to protect them from any fancied danger. These naked birds certainly looked funny; but the cook, who was an ingenious South Carolina negro, used to gaze at them earnestly and say, “Foh de good Lawd, sah; ef I aint agwine ter bring hout er plan ter raise chicken ’thout fedders altogedder. W’y, jess look at it. All de strenf dat goes ter fedders ’ll go ter meat--an’ aigs--kase dem chickens ez fatter den ever I see ’bord ship befo’; an den only tink ob de weary trubble save in pluckin’ ob ’em. Golly, sah, et’s a great skeem, ’n I’se right on de top ob it.” And, really, there did seem to be something in it.

Fowls were plentiful in Vau-Vau--fairly good ones, too; but it was entirely a mystery to me how any individual property in them was at all possible. For no native had any enclosure for them, or seemed to take any care of them. They just ran wild in the jungly vegetation around the villages and roosted on the trees; but as a result, I suppose, of the persistence through their many generations of their original fellowship with mankind, they never strayed far away from the houses. Our friends brought them on board at our first arrival in such numbers that no man was without a pair of fowls, and in sore straits where to keep them. The difficulty was soon solved by the skipper, who said that in his opinion it would soon be inconvenient for the fore-mast hands to see any difference between their fowls and his. Yes, and it was even possible that having eaten their own fowls they might forget that trifling fact, and absent-mindedly mistake some of the skipper’s poultry for their own. In order to prevent such mistakes he issued an edict that no more fowls were to be entertained by the crew or cooked for them by the “Doctor.” And although this was undoubtedly the wisest solution of our puzzle, there was thereat great discontent for a time, until the ingenious Kanakas took to cooking the fowls for us ashore, and bringing them on board ready for eating. Being plentiful, as I said, poultry was cheap, the standard price being a fathom of calico of the value of 6d. for two, for ship’s stock, while our private friends furnished them to us for nothing. And there are also in the South Pacific many small islands unpeopled upon which that most sensible and practical of navigators, James Cook, had left both fowls and pigs to breed at their own sweet will. These islets have always many cocoa-nut trees, the fruit from which affords plentiful food for the pigs, who show great ingenuity in getting at the contents of the fallen nuts, while the fowls apparently find no difficulty in picking up a comfortable livelihood. By tacit agreement these lonely ocean store-houses of good food are allowed to remain undisturbed by both the natives of adjacent islands and passing ships, except in cases of necessity. We once broke this unwritten law, for although we had not long left Fiji, we landed upon one of these oases in the blue waste, and had a day’s frolic there. It was a veritable paradise, although not more than three acres in area. Its only need seemed to be fresh water, for as it had grown to be an island by the deposit of sand upon the summit of a coral reef, there were of course no springs. And yet it was completely clothed with vegetation, the cocoa-palms especially growing right down to the edge of the sea, so that at high water the wavelets washed one side of their spreading roots quite bare. Being no botanist, I cannot describe the various kinds of plants that luxuriated there, having, I suppose, become accustomed to the privation of fresh water, as the fowls and pigs had also done. But I did notice that the undergrowth seemed to consist principally of spreading bushes, rising to a height of about 5 feet, and bearing, in the greatest abundance, those tiny crimson and green cones known to most people as bird’s-eye chillies. We all had cause to remember this, for thrusting our way through these bushes under the burning rays of the sun, we got in some mysterious way some of their pungent juices upon our faces and arms. And the effect was much the same as the application of a strong mustard plaster would have been.

We did not commit any great depredations. The second mate shot (with a bomb-gun) a couple of pigs, and we managed to catch half-a-dozen fowls, but they were so wild and cunning here, that except at night it was by no means easy to lay hands upon them. As so often happened to us, we found our best catch upon the beach, where just after sunset we waylaid two splendid turtle that had just crawled ashore to deposit their eggs. The advantage of such a catch as this was in the fact that turtle may be kept alive on board ship for several weeks, if necessary, by putting them in a cask of sea-water, and though unfed, they do not seem to be perceptibly impoverished. We also collected a goodly store of fresh unripe cocoa-nuts, which are one of the most delicious and refreshing of all tropical fruits. I do not suppose it would be possible to bring them to England without their essential freshness being entirely dissipated, for in order to enjoy them thoroughly they should be eaten new from the tree. They would be a revelation to people whose acquaintance with cocoa-nut is limited to the fully ripe and desperately indigestible article beloved of the Bank Holiday caterer, and disposed of at the favourite game of “three shies a penny.” In that form no native of cocoa-nut-producing countries ever dreams of eating them. For they are really only fit for “copra,” the universal term applied throughout the tropics to cocoa-nut prepared for conversion into oil. When the nuts are fully ripe, a native will seat himself by a heap of them, a small block of wood before him with a hollow in its centre, and an old axe in his hand. Placing a nut on the block, unhusked, of course, he splits it open by one blow of the axe and lays the two halves in the sun. By the time he has split open the last of the heap, he may begin at the first opened nuts and shake their contents into bags, for they will be dried sufficiently for the meat to fall readily from the shells. That is “copra.” But before the husk has hardened into fibre, even before the shells have become brittle, when it is possible to slice off the top of the nut as easily as you would that of a turnip, the contents almost wholly consist of a bland liquor, not cloyingly sweet, cool even under the most fervent blaze of the sun, and refreshing to the last degree. Around the sides of the immature shell there is, varying in thickness according to the age of the nut, a jelly-like deposit, almost tasteless, but wonderfully sustaining. I have heard it vaunted as a cure for all diseases of malnutrition, and I should really be inclined to believe that there was some basis for the claim. The juice or milk, if allowed to ferment, makes excellent vinegar.

A long spell of cruising without touching at any land having exhausted all our stock of fowls, to say nothing of fruit and vegetables, of which we had almost forgotten the taste, it was with no ordinary delight that we sighted the Kermadec group of islands right ahead one morning, and guessed, by the course remaining unaltered, that our skipper was inclined to have a close look at them, if not to land. As we drew nearer and nearer our hopes rose, until, at the welcome order to “back the mainyard,” we were like a school full of youngsters about to break up. Few preparations were needed, for a whaler’s crew are always ready to leave the ship at any hour of the day or night for an indefinite period. And in ten minutes from the time of giving the first orders, two boats were pulling in for the small semi-circular bay with general instructions to forage for anything eatable. A less promising place at first sight for a successful raid could hardly be imagined, for the whole island seemed composed of one stupendous mountain whose precipitous sides rose sheer from the sea excepting just before us. And even there the level land only appeared like a ledge jutting out from the mountain-side, and of very small extent. As we drew nearer, however, we saw that even to our well-accustomed vision the distance had proved deceitful, and that the threshold of the mountain was of far greater area than we had supposed, being, indeed, of sufficient extent to have afforded shelter and sustenance to quite a respectable village of colonists had any chosen to set up their homes in such a lonely spot. But to the instructed eye the steep beach, wholly composed of lava fragments, gave a sufficient reason why such a sheltered nook might be a far from secure abiding-place, even had not a steadfast stain of dusty cloud poised above the island in the midst of the clear blue sky added its witness to the volcanic conditions still ready to burst forth. But these considerations did not trouble us. With boisterous mirth we dodged the incoming rollers, and, leaping out of the boats as their keels grated on the shore, we ran them rapidly up out of the reach of the eager surf, delighted with the drenching because of its coolness. Dividing into parties of three, we plunged gaily into the jungly undergrowth, chasing, as boys do butterflies, the brown birds, like overgrown partridges, that darted away before us in all directions. We succeeded in catching a few, finding them to be what we afterwards knew in New Zealand as “Maori hens,” something between a domestic fowl and a partridge, but a dismal failure in the eatable way, being tough and flavourless as any fowl that had died of old age. Of swine, the great object of our quest, we saw not a hoof-print; in fact, we assured ourselves that whatever number of these useful animals the family that once resided in this desolate spot had reared, they had left no descendants. It was a grievous disappointment, for it threw us back upon the goats, and goat as food is anathema to all sailors. But it was a fine day; we had come out to kill something, and, as no other game appeared available, we started after the goats. It was a big contract. We were all barefooted, and, although on board the ship we had grown accustomed to regard the soles of our feet as quite impervious to feeling as any leather, we soon found that shore travelling over lava and through the many tormenting plants of a tropical scrub was quite another pair of shoes. We did capture a couple of goats, one a patriarch of unguessable longevity with a beard as long as my arm, and the other a Nanny heavy with kid. These we safely conveyed on board with us at the close of the day. But _the_ result of our day’s foraging, overshadowing even the boat-load of magnificent fish we caught out in the little bay, was the discovery of a plant known in New Zealand as “Maori cabbage.” It looks something like a lettuce run to seed, and has a flavour like turnip-tops. I do not suppose any one on shore can realise what those vegetables meant to us, that is, the white portion of the crew. For it was well-nigh two years since we had tasted a bit of anything resembling cabbage, and our craving for green vegetables and potatoes was really terrible. It is one of the most serious hardships the sailor has to endure, the more serious because quite avoidable. Potatoes and Swede turnips are not dear food, and, if taken up with plenty of mould adhering to them and left so, will keep for six months in all climates. They make all the difference between a good and a bad ship. I am sure no banquet that I have ever sat down to since could possibly have given me a tithe of the epicurean delight I felt over a plentiful plate of this nameless vegetable and a bit of hard salt beef that evening.

Although the addition to our stock of provisions, excepting the fish, was but small, we had an ideal day’s enjoyment, and the fun we got out of Ancient William, the patriarch, was great. We had him tame in two days, and trying butting matches with the Kanakas; in spite of his age I don’t know what we didn’t teach him that a goat could learn. Nanny presented us with a charming little pet in the shape of a kid two days after her arrival on board, but to the grief of all hands her milk dried up almost immediately afterwards, so that to save the little creature from starvation, as there was not even a drop of condensed milk on board, we were compelled to kill it. The Kanakas ate it, and pronounced it very good. Then William the Ripe, in charging a Kanaka, who dodged him by leaping over the fo’c’s’le scuttle, hurled himself headlong below, breaking both his fore legs. We could have mended him up all right, but he seemed to resent getting better, refused tobacco and all such little luxuries that we tried to tempt him with, and died. _I_ think he was broken-hearted at the idea that a mountaineer like himself, who for goodness knows how many generations had scaled in safety the precipitous cliffs of Sunday Island, should fall down a stuffy hole on board ship, only about eight feet deep, and break himself all up.

VI