Chapter IX: Miscellaneous 283 (8)

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the agony of despair to be prolonged, and then when life seems to be flickering out, suddenly the angel of death is withdrawn and light and life burst forth with a radiance that fills the sufferers with hope.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 manoeuvred 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.

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 aesthetic 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._

End of Project Gutenberg's The Shellback's Progress, by Walter Runciman