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

It took the crew four hours to repair the damage, and as they did so the wail of the suffering wretches became fainter and fainter, until it had faded away into space, or it may be that their hearts had ceased to throb. After things were settled down and the vessel was slashing through a passage which leads into the Mediterranean Sea with a fresh easterly wind, the faithful steward, who had provided a substantial meal for the captain and officers, was informed by the former that he and his crew were indebted to him for the ghastly achievements of the day. "But Jake, my boy, I almost wish we hadn't done it."

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

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

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

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

For many years after this episode the Boadicea continued her trading. Captain Macvie made a great deal of money and then retired in favour of a younger man who was destined to have a short career as commander, for, on the second voyage from the Brazils, and almost within sight of his own home, his vessel was driven ashore by a hurricane and all hands were drowned. A few days later the weather was fine enough to allow fishermen to put to sea, and on rounding a rugged point on the coast some of them heard the piteous howling of a dog. They made towards it, and found it had taken shelter on the arm of a steep cliff. It was taken from its perilous position with great difficulty. A brass collar bearing the name of the ship and the owner suggested that it was the only survivor of the shipwreck. Poor Curly's body was discovered on the same day on a patch of yellow sand inside a cave. It was taken to a fisherman's hut, and round his neck was found a gold locket with four little portraits. Mr and Mrs Macvie were the idolised of one case, and his own wife and little girl were in the other. His body was put in the ground with reverence. Soon afterwards a cheque for five hundred pounds was received by his widow.

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

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

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

"Yes, it was very great," he soliloquised, "and the memory of his long association with me and the perilous life that he led and the horror of the tragic finish has caused my mind to revert to an occasion which nearly ended in the same way. We were caught by a heavy southerly gale when off Candia. I carried sail until she nearly jumped her masts over the side and herself out of water. We were then carrying the double reefed topsails, reefed courses, inner jib, fore and main topmast staysail, but the gale had so increased I gave orders to close-reef the topsails and furl the mainsail. I thought it better to run no further risk of dismasting her, as there was always a chance so long as they were kept standing. All hands were up reefing the main topsail and I had the wheel. I saw the black shadow of the mountains in the darkness towering far above our heads, and we seemed to be amongst the broken water to leeward. Every moment I expected her to strike and send us to our doom. A simple thought of the last words of my mother about Jesus and the sea flashed into my mind. I lashed the wheel for a moment or two, went to the lee side, knelt down, and offered a fervent prayer to Almighty God. I asked Him, if it was His will to save us, to do it in His own way. I had no sooner taken hold of the wheel again than the sails were caught aback by the wind veering and coming with the force of a hurricane from the opposite direction. It rushed from the mountain tops as from a funnel. I called to the men to come down and turn the yards round smartly. I feared she would not back off quickly and that she might get stern way on and knock the stern in and founder. My voice failed to carry through the vast roar of the tempest, but the men knew as well as I did that a critical moment had come, so they made their way on deck; the yards were quickly trimmed and I ran her dead off the land. We had not run more than eight to ten miles to the south amid a mad conflict of broken sea that twisted and lashed at the vessel, when all of a sudden the old wind came back and the struggle with the opposing legions for mastery kept for a time the vessel in imminent peril. Ultimately the southerly force prevailed, but fortunately it blew itself out in a few hours, and we sailed into fine weather. Never was a vessel so near destruction without being destroyed, and never were human lives so near passing from time into eternity. Even the most wayward of my crew attributed our safety to the pity of God, and they thanked Him with the usual condescension that sailors adopt even towards the Deity; but they never knew that I had addressed the Almighty on their behalf and on my own; and that is really how it comes that I am here to tell the tale."



V

SAILORS' OPINIONS OF NOTABLE PUBLIC MEN

The old-time sailors held strong opinions on law, i.e., sea law. The merits of military and naval notables and prominent politicians came within the limit of their strange discussions. Their naval heroes were Charlie Napier, Collingwood, Nelson and Hardy. They loved Napier best of all because he dared to be kind to his men and fight their battles for them against the authorities; they were never quite sure whether to give the weight of their respect on the side of Collingwood or Nelson; but as the latter came to grief at Trafalgar, he was generally given the benefit of any doubt as to superiority, and his devoted Hardy was regarded as a strong backer of the redoubtable national hero. They never got over the idea that poor Nelson was shot from the maintop by some of his own men and not by the French sharpshooters. It was a point that could never be cleared up to their satisfaction, hence the impression that his sailors must have had some grudge against him was very prevalent. His association with the King and Queen of the two Sicilies was said to have gone a long way towards giving him a swelled head, and in truth it was no mean distinction to be on terms of friendship with a daughter of Maria Theresa and sister to Marie Antoinette. They believed that Nelson had been influenced by the king and queen when in a soft-headed mood to commit an act that can never be obliterated. It was not only cruel and heartless, but it had close resemblance to a crime. "They talk," said they, "of the murder by Napoleon of their duke (Duke d'Enghien), but was it not as bad of Nelson to have Commodore Francisco Caracciolo tried by a court martial composed of the prisoner's enemies (Neapolitan officers) which sat only two hours aboard the Faudroyant and found him guilty of rebellion against his sovereign?" He was ordered by Nelson to be hanged at the fore yardarm of the Minerva. The sight of this poor man dangling at the yardarm must have had a revolting impression on the minds of those who witnessed it, and the aversion of the public who merely heard of it must have been equally well founded. No wonder that it was handed down to subsequent generations of seamen, and caused them to say, as I have heard them that, "Nelson should have left the dirty, bloody business to his pal the King of the Sicilies and kept his own hands clean." They always spoke of his death as retribution. "If there isn't something in it," said they, superstitiously, "why was Collingwood and Hardy not hit?"

His relationship with Lady Hamilton was vigorously defended; both voluble and comic reasons were poured forth in support of his action. "Had she not on more than one occasion saved the fleet, and had she not rendered great service to the British Government by her clever tongue and alluring beauty, to say nothing of a supreme genius for intrigue?" They believed that she had sacrificed everything to serve her country, and now that Nelson had smashed the combined fleets of Spain and France, and lost his life through it, this precious government had no further need for her services, so threw her helpless on a callous, canting world. They built a monument for him, and left his poor Emma, whom he regarded in the light of a good spirit, to starve, though he had begged that she should be provided for. That was the view the sailors took of it. They believed that Nelson's infatuation for the lady was his affair and hers, and nobody else's; but be that as it may, there were very few seamen in the merchant service who did not warmly sympathize with this poor, wretched, woman's fate. Nelson was often made responsible for that which he might have nothing to do with, and sailors have not spared him for his supposed share in instituting that monstrous system of pressing honest, respectable men into a service that reeked with the odour of disgraceful bureaucratic cruelty. I know something of the legacy of prejudice which extended to bitter, vindictive recollection of these days of brainless despots. I was reared amid an eighteenth-century environment; both my grandfathers fought at the Battle of the Nile; both were taken by force from their vessels which were owned by themselves and their relatives. One of them rose to the position of sailing-master; the other was a junior officer; but such was the condition of this kidnapping service they could not hope to rise higher. Both these men's lives were broken, as hundreds of others' were. Was it any wonder that strong feelings of wrong were handed down and indiscriminately fastened on to whosoever held any prominent authority? That is why Nelson came in for his share of condemnation. Personally, I think he was credited with more than he deserved. I believe he thought so well of that branch of the service, and his patriotism was so strong, that he wondered why there was any necessity to institute press-gangs. I should imagine that he was often amazed that men did not join in droves. But had he gone to the right source for information he would soon have become disillusioned. These gangs of ruffians preferred seamen as their prey, but they did not discriminate very much. If they could not get a sailor they took whatever came to hand—the bigger the better. And so, while on one of their prowling expeditions, it came to pass that a gentleman called Willie Carr was seized, and at the point of the bayonet or musket made to embark aboard their boat. This person was a ship's blacksmith. His strength was abnormal, and his feats of swimming were a marvel. He was known to fame as the Hartley giant. Tradition has it that they put Willie in the bow of the boat, and after they had got a little way on their journey he asked them if they could all swim. This question excited great laughter; but the giant coolly placed his hands on each of the gunwales of the boat, set his knees in position, called out, "then sink or swim, you B——," and with one mighty wrench he severed both sides of planking from the stem. Willie swam ashore, and how many of the men were said to be drowned I do not remember, though I have given the main facts as I heard them scores of times in my boyhood days. This story is told by Mr Soulsby in his excellent little history of Blyth.

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

In discussing the many phases of Napoleon, the sailor was never perplexed in coming to conclusions as to the right and wrong of his (Napoleon's) actions. Their quotations and manner of using them were at times amazingly tempestuous and erratic. Captain Maitland, of the Bellerophon, was generally believed to have behaved with becoming generosity towards the dethroned monarch, but the question as to whether he gave himself up voluntarily and without reservation, or, as Napoleon maintained, that he was prevailed upon to become the guest of England, and put himself under the protection of her laws, was a point that occasioned great diversity of opinion, and I think it may be said that Maitland's version in the majority of cases was thought to be correct. Admiral Sir George Cockburn came in for a good deal of harsh criticism for complaining about the Emperor rising from the table as soon as coffee had been served, and the well-known reminder of Madame Bertrand was quoted in a form that almost put the original beyond recognition, and had it been correct would have justified the admiral in putting the lady into solitary confinement for the remainder of the passage, for using language to him that was not only coarse and impolite, but unwarrantably seditious. Instead of this, Madame Bertrand merely remarked with all the charm of a cultured courtier: "Do not forget, admiral, that your guest is a man who has governed a large portion of the world, and that kings once contended for the honour of being admitted to his table." They had some misty notion that that admiral was not always considerate to his guest, and disliked his attentions to the officers and crew of the Northumberland, not one of which it is said could resist the magical influence of his actions and words. It was natural that the salient incidents of a voyage with such a man should be passed on and handed down to later generations of seamen.

The story of the passage of the line was an everlasting theme retailed in order to justify the goodness of Napoleon. The boatswain represents Neptune and becomes sovereign for a time. Neither rank nor position is exempt from the customary shaving and baptism, but on this occasion Neptune graciously respected the distinction of the exiles, and reminded them that they had too often received the baptism of fire and of glory to require additional attention from him. The Emperor consented to have Neptune presented to him, and gave him through the grand marshal five hundred napoleons in order that he and his court might drink his health. Well might this generous gift bring forth wild hurrahs and loud cries of "Long live the Emperor Napoleon." The amount by common consent was handed over to the captain to be distributed when the crew were discharged, but this did not prevent Neptune and a number of his subjects intoxicating themselves, and it was only through the interposition of the Emperor and his suite with the admiral that they were saved from being cruelly flogged. "They may talk about this man as they like," said one of the crew, "but I won't believe the bad they say of him." His popularity with the sailors of the Northumberland was not created by merely seeing him sitting for hours day by day on the gun which was named "The Emperor's." He became their hero now as passionately as he had previously appeared to them as being the foe of all that was humane. His little attentions and kindnesses, accompanied by an irresistible smile, and the act of putting them through some form of drill, endeared him to them long before they reached his lonely rock. Then the story of Sir Hudson Lowe's treatment of him in so many petty ways, such for instance as seizing a small bust of his son, the King of Rome, which had been sent to the exiled monarch, made friends for the Emperor in thousands; and not the least of them were the brave fellows who had traversed the ocean with him, and whose souls were filled with sympathy and horror at the crime that was being committed. Their testimony was that no one could live in close contact with him without instinctively realizing that he was a much maligned person. No wonder that this impression was spread widely not only through the whole navy but also throughout the whole mercantile marine. What a blunder the whole savage, senseless business was!

But while the British sailors claimed the little corporal as their idol, they did not think that even for political reasons the Emperor had any right to divorce Josephine, though they thought he might have reasons other than those commonly understood to have been engineered by the arch-traitor Fouche, and ultimately agreed to by the Emperor. The Empress, when she was plain Josephine, had the reputation of carrying on violent flirtations with other gentlemen while her husband was in Italy, and subsequently, when he was in Egypt swiftly forging his way to fame and to his destiny. So that when Napoleon was accused of cruelty in putting her from him, there were ever some champions ready to palliate the act by putting her unfaithful conduct before their opponents. But the Emperor's divorce of the little Creole was never quite approved by his sailor admirers, more especially as they had a strong dislike to Marie Louise, the Austrian arch-duchess who took the place of the poor, wayward Josephine, and who forsook her imperial husband in the first hour of his adversity to become the mistress of an ugly Austrian count, named Neipperg, who was minus an eye. Subsequently this man entered into a morganatic marriage with the gentle Marie, and she bore to him several children who were declared to be legitimate, and this happened notwithstanding the fact that the Emperor her husband was still living in anguish under a tyranny and cruel despotism instituted by the British oligarchy. This was the kind of anecdote that filled the sailors with sympathy for the great man who in the decline of his days was at the mercy of a lot of little men. Then they had stories of how he could throw off the thought of his wretched position, and enter into a frolic with Betsy Balcombe and her sister at the Briars. He would play for hours with the two little girls, and also with the other children that became attached to him. The smattering knowledge and comic rawness of the discourses on this great personality were always intensely attractive. Faith in the accuracy of their own views was strong. Long before I was old enough to be allowed to take part in the forecastle Napoleonic discussions I used to listen to them with eager interest, and well remember the attention given to even a wrongly-informed orator. The subject was always made fascinating by serving up the tales in their own forecastle fashion. None of the other military notables of Napoleon's time claimed their admiration or devotion as he did; not even Wellington.

Their views on politics and politicians, and their mode of expressing them, were extremely queer. The prominent statesmen they talked of most were Fox, Pitt, Lord John Russell, Palmerston, Peel, Gladstone and Disraeli; and apart from the fault they had to find with the latter as a statesman, they believed him to be unwilling to legislate in their interests, though even they didn't appear to have the ghost of an idea as to how those interests were to be legislatively served. They knew there was something the matter, that was all. They also had a strong antipathy to Disraeli owing to his Hebrew origin. In fact, they regarded the great Jew in the light of a foreigner, whose intrusion into English politics was a humiliation to all British-born subjects. The confusion of opinions as to the character and duties devolving on members of Parliament was very embarrassing even to themselves, and the vivacity with which they delivered orations to each other on the merits or demerits of members was exquisitely droll. The rivalry between Fox and Pitt was a subject that involved them in vehement chaos, just as the rivalry between Disraeli and Gladstone did in later years. They had some mystified idea that those political gentlemen were ever thirsting for each others' blood. They had gathered from some gossipy source that Mr Fox was a hopeless gambler, and that Pitt was exclusively responsible for the Napoleonic wars, and that Palmerston was a mischief-maker who set his impudence up to everybody, and his rashness either ended in war or coming near to do so. It was the latter that was accused in forecastle circles of bringing on that Crimean War which caused so much suffering and loss of life both to sailors and soldiers. I have heard Sir Robert Peel spoken of in words of vituperation for having introduced "peelers," now known as "bobbies," to interfere, as they said, with poor people's rights. Many of them were full of wrath at his having repealed the Corn Laws. They had got some garbled notion, which was passed down to later generations, that it would tend to spoil their chances of getting employment and otherwise lower their wages. This doctrine had been well thumped into them by some agency or other, and it led to many a quarrel with the minority who held free trade views. They were opposed to the introduction of Board of Trade examinations for the purpose of obtaining certificates of competency, which is another evidence of their undeveloped sense. And I have actually known instances where exception was taken by common sailors to the close scrutiny of Board of Trade surveyors into the defects of a vessel they had long sailed in and had formed a strong regard for. The Reform Bill did not appeal to them in the same way as it did to other workmen. They had occasional opportunities of hearing that a great noise was going on about household suffrage and the extension of the franchise, but they had a very hazy conception of the meaning of the terms. It is no exaggeration to say that the former was often spoken of as having reference to the sufferings of somebody in the houses of the people, and the latter was talked of as having some French connection!

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

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

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

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

"Where?" said Mark.

"Why, here," replied Rush.

"Nothing but damned nonsense," said Mark.

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

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

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

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

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

"Beggared a one," said Mark.

"Then you're a leir."

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

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

"Beggared a one," replied Mark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just about the time the Radicals in the House of Commons, aided by the Irish Nationalists, were making a good stand-up fight for the abolition of flogging in the army and navy, Mr Charles Bradlaugh was elected as one of the members for Northampton, with Mr Henry Labouchere as his colleague. The sanctity of the nation was violently shocked at the effrontery of Northampton in electing so dangerous a Radical infidel to represent them in Parliament as the notorious "Iconoclast." A wave of screaming passed over the fair Christian land; the notorious advocate of atheistic principles was proclaimed a menacing danger to the Christian edifice. Injustice and untruth joined against him; shocking stories of blasphemy were circulated with mad recklessness against him. There was not a single word of truth in them. This was proved over and over again in courts of law, and yet the charges were encouraged and persisted in. Poor Bradlaugh; what a time he had of it until the tempest of folly subsided, and both the people and some of their representatives in Parliament came back to their senses, and not only allowed the member for Northampton to take his seat, but passed an act giving members the option of affirming instead of taking the oath, and also ordered the erasing from the journals of the House those records which were said to justify Mr Bradlaugh's exclusion. It was not to be wondered at that this rapturous concert of passion and prejudice should reach the impressionable sailors from one border of the ocean to the other, and formed part of their occasional riotous debates. Any one who has had the privilege of listening to the fiery arguments set forth by sailors on the Bradlaugh or any other topic of absorbing interest must ever cherish it as a memorable experience. There is seldom any regard for moderation in such conflicts, and the extraordinary confusion of ideas makes them fascinating. I have a vivid recollection of my attention being attracted to the clamour of about half a dozen weather-beaten nautical stagers that were seated outside a dram-shop which was known to fame as "Jack the Blaster's." It will be readily recognized that the name was given to it by a north-countryman. I stopped, asked for a chair, and saw the whole thing through. Occasionally, while the controversy was travelling along its more turbulent stages, I was asked to intervene in some way or other, but I had to act with studied impartiality, so adopted a neutral course.

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

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

"I mean Bradlaugh," said Mr Harvey.

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

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

"I never heard that before," said Harvey.

"Very well," retorted his friend, "you hear it now. I'm telling you; and another thing, instead of making him a member of Parliament I'd put the fellow in gaol and stop him going about the country destroying religion and making people infidels. Lord Randolph is a grand chap; he won't have any of his affirmin'. No, no, Sir Randolph doesn't believe in that sort of cattle, and he means what he says. Randy's all their daddies [Randy is cleverer than they]. Look what he did when Bradlaugh kept running up to the bar of the House of Commons to kiss the book. What did Randolph do, you say? Why he jumped after him every time, seized him by the coat tails, and said, 'Bradlaugh, stand back!' That's pluck, if you like. Of course he had what they call the sargent with a sword by his side ready to stick him had Randolph not been too many for him. And what do you think old Gladstone did? He's always up to some mischief. He wrote that pamphlet on the Bulgarian atrocities that brought about the war with Russia and Turkey. What did he do, sir? I'll tell you what he did. He said, 'Gentlemen, Bradlaugh's been elected; he must be allowed to come among us.' There's a fine Englishman for you! But never mind, his day will come!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where did you hear that?" said Cowan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get some learnin', d'ye say, Mr Know-all? What has Gladstone done for the sailors, you an' me? That's a poser for you; and look at the money he gave away about the Alabama to the Yankees, instead of fightin' them for it like an Englishman. That's another poser for you!" retorted the big, burly antagonist who had wakened up and entered into the discussion with elephantine zeal. "Some of you would let foreigners jump on your stomachs, but Captain Cowan and me says, 'England for ever!' Why, if it hadn't been for Palmerston and the old Jew, we would all have been Russians or blooming Germans before now."

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

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

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

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

"No, sir, I'm not using Scripture. I'm saying that Gladstone wants to turn them fellows in the House of Lords out to work for their living, instead of cribbing all the land and gettin' such as you to back them up and crawl on your bended knees and kiss their hands for them; but I'm not one of them sort. I says what Joe Cowan says: 'The land for the people if they pay for it.' Wasn't it Gladstone and Bright that said no good would ever be done until the House of Lords was pulled down, and wasn't it Joe Cowan that stood up for them when they wanted to make the Queen the Empress of India? Didn't he say: 'No, gentlemen, the Queen of England's good enough for me; I wants no Empress'? And didn't that favourite Jew of yours say to him it was a grand speech? But I'm not goin' to open my mouth to fill your empty heads. You don't know your A B C's yet; and you talk to me about givin' away England, and about Dizzy, and you haven't a good word to say about your own countrymen who want to get you a bit of the land to grow something on. I tell you, you're nothing better than nincompoops, hobbledehoys that knows no more about politics than the old hookers you're skippers of do." He emphasized these last remarks by bringing his fist heavily down on the table, knocking the glasses off, and then in a patronizing way he walked from them a short distance, turned round quickly as though a sudden impulse had seized him, and shouted at the top of his voice:

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

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

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

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

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

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



VI

MARY ROUTLEDGE

I have often come in contact with old people living in the villages close by the sea and far away from the bustle of railroads and large towns, who lament the good times gone by when they used to look forward to the homecoming and the passing to and fro of the bonny sailor lads, who were always expected to lift the monotony from their dull, uneventful lives by strange stories and rollicking habits. The villagers for the most part lived under a kind of despotism. The Lord of the Manor and the parson dominated them, and fashioned their politics, their religion, and even their social lives. The rule was to keep within the limits of their own little community when they wanted a wife or a husband, but if at any time their affections travelled outside this sanctified boundary, the two potentates were assiduous in their warnings that if the new comer in any way transgressed the unwritten code of laws that were framed in order that the estate might be kept free from contamination they would have to leave it peremptorily. Ranters, Wesleyans, and other Nonconformists were regarded as heretics. A religious test was practised, and those who openly avowed their dissent from the established form of worship were frankly told that there was a strong aversion to having that manner of person about the place, and that any attempt at proselytising would be met by immediate expulsion. That was the state of things existent in a certain country village no further back than the middle of the last century, when, as though Providence had pre-arranged it, a man who at one time had been a sailor came to live there. He was tall and well-made, with broad shoulders, and he walked with a sort of military tread. He had a broad forehead, firmly set lips, and altogether he was good to look on. No one could come in contact with him without being impressed with his strength of character. His wife was an equally fine-looking person, with pronounced intellectual capacity. They were both evangelical Wesleyans. Their family consisted of five sons and two daughters, a fine wholesome brood, who were all quite young, the eldest being about fifteen. The children were reared and trained with great care, and without distinction of sexes: they were all taught to do housework. Family worship was held morning and night. If the father was unavoidably absent, the mother took the service, and if both were absent, the eldest of the family, either son or daughter, took it. The house was a hive of industry and religious fervour; everything about it was neat and spotlessly clean. Soon after their arrival the parson made a call on them, and of course the father and mother were asked what their faith was. This being quickly settled, the man of holy orders intimated that the parents would be expected to attend the parish church each Sunday with their family. They of course reminded him that they were Wesleyan Methodists, but that would not prevent them attending his church in the mornings. "In the afternoon and evenings I have been accustomed to conduct a service myself either in the open air or in my own or someone else's home," said the placid-looking father. The parson gazed at him with apoplectic surprise, and hinted that he hoped he would not continue his mission work there, as Nonconformity was not approved by the owner of the village, and, he might add, by himself either.

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

The cleric took his leave, with the intimation that Squire Humbert would no doubt call and have a talk with him about spiritual and other matters. Burnside was not long in discovering that many of the villagers were quite illiterate, and but little above the standard of heathen. He resolved to throw his soul into the work of evangelizing them at all costs. The first visit Mr Humbert paid him left no doubt as to that gentleman's wishes. He spoke of the disturbing influence lay Methodist preachers were having all over the country, and said that he had decided no such sensational work should be permitted on his estate. Burnside did not deem it prudent to enter into controversy, but determined that nothing should deter him from carrying out the work that God had sent him to do. The circumstances were so discouraging that no ordinary man would have persisted in going on with it. He was scoffed at, hooted, and at times both men and women were so enraged that they threatened a personal attack; but there was something about his physical appearance and his firm though gentle manner that cowed even the most violent of those who were opposed to his religious teaching. They felt he would stand no nonsense of that kind. He had not been long in the locality before a spirit of strong revival came over the place. Some of the worst men and women in the countryside were converted, and ardently tried to influence others for good. They were raw, crude, and uneducated, but there was a power behind them that made their influence irresistible. People came from far and near to hear this strange gospel of pity preached and to witness such an unexpected revolution. Strong men and women were smitten with its force, until any one of them who had shown ill-natured and violent dislike to even listening to the simple message of the lay preacher, eagerly threw their doors open to him in order that he might hold services in their homes. He urged them to attend the parish church in the mornings, as there was only one service on the Sundays, and none during the week. Most of his own family did this, while the others went with him to the chapels he was appointed to preach at. He knew the squire and the parson were feeling full of wrath, and that they believed him to be a mistaken instrument for evil, and that the whole parish was thrown into revolt by his wild advocacy of a sacrilegious creed, and that it must be put a stop to or he would have to leave the village.

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

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

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

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

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

As soon as his sons were old enough they left the district, and ere long some of them were heard of in the metropolis of England, and had succeeded in carving out distinguished careers for themselves. Two of them gladdened the old man's heart by choosing the sea as a profession, but no discrimination in point of affection was ever shown, though when he heard the hoarse moaning of the wind on troubled nights, he never failed to put in a supplementary prayer for his two seafarers. He had passed through the dangers himself, and had a steadfast belief that close communion with God was a strong safeguard against disaster. The homecoming of these sailor lads, who frequently brought friends with them, was a great joy to the Burnsides, and also to those of the villagers with whom they associated. Both lads were very sailorly, and it was well known that they never failed to make things hum with mirth and mischief, as soon as they had taken their bearings and found the coast clear of "squires" and "parsons." It was a pretty sight to see their two sisters rush out of the house as soon as their brothers were seen in the distance crossing the long stretch of moor and run to meet and fondly greet them. This had been one of the fundamental points in their training, that they were to be affectionate to each other, and lengthened separation did not diminish the well instilled habit. But the joy of the young people's meeting was only second to that of seeing their reunion with their parents, and great were Mrs Burnside's bewildering exploits of cookery. The first night was generally spent in telling queer stories of their skippers, mates and shipmates, whilst the father sat smiling placidly and obviously living over again his youthful days when he also was a sailor lad relating the same kind of stories in the same old way. The girls asked all sorts of questions, and the merry babble was kept up until Mrs Burnside reminded her husband that it was long past the usual time for prayers, and that they had better postpone the narrative until the morrow. A chapter suitable for the occasion was given out, and they read verse and verse about until they reached the end of the lesson. Then they knelt round the table and listened to the tremulous tones of their father's prayer. When he had finished they all repeated after him the Lord's Prayer and then rose. At one of these reunited gatherings one of the brothers had been restless, and persisted in nudging his sisters and winking at them when his parent had reached his most impressive periods and was oblivious of everything but his communion with God. The scamp was taken aside by the younger sister, who was a strong-minded little damsel with fixed ideas, and she sharply reproved him for his irreverence; and the elder sister, who had a keen sense of humour as well as fixed opinions, was so thankful that the boys had been brought safely back to them, she commenced to make the most comical excuses for their erring brother's buoyant indiscretion. The young man's contrition was signified by his taking hold of his sisters, waltzing them round the room, and then proceeding to stand on his head and dangling his legs in the air. This threw them into fits of laughter, and though it was against the rules of the home, the joyous chatter was resumed and continued until long past the regulated time for going to bed. When I hear people ridiculing religion and its forms, I think of those simple days of village methodism with a throbbing of the heart.

There were coteries in this small out-of-the-way place as there are in large towns and cities, and perhaps the exclusiveness was even more pronounced there than in the larger centres. The fisher people were a class by themselves, with whom the squire's employes thought it beneath their dignity to be on regular visiting terms. They married and intermarried amongst themselves, while Mr Humbert's servants were a mixed class. Some had intellectual ambitions and rare musical talents, and others had not; and it was amongst the former that the Burnsides found something in common. Their home gathered up all the more cultured part of the population. But apart from that, every young and old person in the village was known to the others. The well was situated a good distance from the cottages, and the girls of the village generally had to carry the water to their homes either because there were no sons or because they were employed elsewhere; but if any of them were about, the lassie with the burden was always offered help, and rarely refused it. When the two young sailors came home they made a point of insisting on carrying water for any young girl they by chance saw at the fountain, hence they increased their popularity and were sought after for that reason as well as for the fact of their being rollicking sailors. In fact, it seemed as though the little circle were of one family. The day following the home-coming from any given voyage was spent in formally calling upon their friends, and in the evening all the young people gathered up at their home to have tea, and afterwards dancing, singing, talking, and all kinds of games. Of course the sailors were called upon to do some step-dancing, and so the happy days and evenings sped on until the time came to prepare to set off on a long voyage. Then for several days previous to their departure the house was full each afternoon of voluntary helpers, washing, making shirts, knitting stockings, and making all kinds of underclothing. Things were kept moving in such a lively way when these young seafarers were about, that a feeling of desolation depressed the whole village for many days after they had left it.

Yet amid all the simple charm of the people and the natural beauty of the place there came a period of sorrowing and grief. The motherless daughter of an official of the Lord of the Manor, a beautiful girl who was the idol of her family and loved by everybody, fell a victim to the villainy of her father's assistant to whom she was engaged to be married; he betrayed her and then left the village, and no one could trace his whereabouts. When her condition became apparent, her father alone failed to realize her true state until he received a note from his master to have her removed from his estate, and with brutal severity the squire insisted that she should never be allowed to stain the purity of his grounds by her presence again, nor could he permit any intercourse whatever between her and any of his servants either male or female, direct or indirect. The father was brokenhearted, and indeed the whole community were stricken with grief for her and for him. She was removed to a town a few miles away and then gave birth to a male child. The father in his thoughtless anger left her to the callous mercy of an inexperienced person, and through want of proper care consumption set in, and the shadow of doom swiftly encompassed her. A burning remorse was charring her to pieces. She craved the forgiveness of her parent, and longed to see the home she had been ruthlessly turned away from. This desire was intensified by a passion to feel the thrilling of the sea winds that came from the moaning ocean. What insufferable cruelty to refuse the appeal of a sweet girl who had been wronged, and who was passing from earth and would soon be put to rest in a grave within easy reach of the springy links and glossy sands where so many days of her joyous girlhood had been spent in innocent and jovial scenes! A last appeal was made to the hard old squire, who, to do him justice, believed he was an instrument in the hands of divine Providence to enforce the cultivation and carrying out of high ideals. Human fallibility was not sanctioned on his demesne outside his own personality or household. The poor, grief-stricken girl wrote to him hoping that her wishes might become known to his wife and touch her to have compassion, and her plan succeeded, for on receipt of her letter permission was given to have her brought home. Here is the simple, pleading request:

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

"I am, yours obediently,

"MARY ROUTLEDGE."

The day following the receipt of this letter Mary was brought home, and the good Mrs Humbert engaged a nurse to look after her. Mr Logan, the parson, was sent for, and he administered what he regarded as a passport into heaven. He pronounced a stern reproof, and then impressed on her the idea of the great sin she had committed, and in the good old ecclesiastical style admonished her to say her prayers and read her Bible night and morning, and if she did that there might yet be hope for pardon. The girl did not think the prescription comforting enough, so after a few days' misery she asked for Mr Burnside. She had heard him both pray and preach in days gone by, and the impressions made then came back to her vividly. On entering the little home he chatted with her in his accustomed cheery way, never even hinting at her great sorrow, and then he asked if she would like him to pray with her before he went. She said: "Oh, yes, that is one of the reasons I sent for you; and if you could make it convenient I would like you to come often." Mr Burnside acquiesced, and before leaving his little friend he joked with her judiciously until she laughed so heartily that a casual looker-on would have thought she had neither mental nor physical trouble, but as she said to him: "You make me forget all my affliction." "That is exactly what I should like to do," said her bright companion, "and I think we are making some progress."

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

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

She then assured Mr Burnside that she was quite resigned. He listened to her gentle musings, only interjecting a word now and then in order that the current of thought should not be stranded. But his heart was full of grief, and when he stooped to kiss her brow and say "good-night" the tears were dropping from his eyes.

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

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

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

The hearts of the two sailors were sorely touched by the tale of suffering and treatment of the poor girl whom they were accustomed to regard in the light of a sister when they were boys at school, and though a few years of rough sea life had rubbed the finer edges off their early training, they still retained a strong affection for the girls who were their favourites, and as she was one of them, their affection and their grief for her was never concealed. The fulness of their pleasures had been marred by this great affliction, but as they would have made any sacrifice in order that their sympathy might be known to her, they steadfastly observed an attitude of conduct that well-nigh approached piety; and after she had been "put away" and their father told them of her last dying message, they resolved that if spared to reach a position, and her boy was alive, and those who had charge of him were agreeable that he should become a sailor, either one or the other would undertake his training. Meanwhile the child was left as a legacy to the grandfather, but incredible though it may appear, he was not allowed to bring it to the estate during the sanctified lifetime of Mr Humbert.

The young men had reached the limit of their period ashore; it was only fourteen days, but that was all that could be spared, as the vessels they were to sail in were nearly at the fitting-out stage. The night before they had to depart a tea-party was given by a distinguished old lady, who was known for her great kindness to needy people in the district, and to wayfarers who passed by her house. She owned a large adjoining estate, and managed it herself with consummate skill. She was very fond of the two lads, so that they were invited to the party, and, truth to say, it was really in their honour it was given. Nearly the whole of the young people round about were there, but the tragic death of their young friend prevented a full outburst of joyous revelry, though they arranged their mode of amusement to suit the occasion. The hostess was charming to everybody, but especially to the sailors. Her exhortations that they should be careful not to slip when they were climbing all over the rigging and yards, and to be sure not to get washed off the jib-boom, as she had heard of so many others being, and to keep ropes tied round them when the sea was coming aboard, so that they might not be washed overboard, were absurd and laughable, but tender. Of course the young men, in the true orthodox fashion of sailors, on being pressed by her and the young guests, male and female, told a few stories of their adventures that created both admiration and sensation; then by request they sang a few sea songs that were much appreciated. And when the regulation hour came for closing the proceedings the time had slipped away too quickly. A request was made to their hostess for an extension of time, and with a goodness that always characterized her it was granted for one hour longer, part of which was used by an appeal made by the sailor lads to be allowed to correspond with her two granddaughters, who were young ladies of prepossessing appearance. After some delicate negotiations and many assurances of honourable intentions, they were told that, provided their letters were confined to a history of their movements and their doings, and without any foolishness, they might write twice a voyage to the girls and to herself. "But," said she, "there must be no proposals of marriage until you have both reached the head of your profession." This condition was gratefully agreed to, and when the young men joined the party again there were many inquiries and many hints as to the nature of the conference with their hostess, but the secret was only divulged to the two who were directly interested, and then the jovial gathering formed themselves into a ring, sang "Auld lang syne," and added "Will they no come back again?" which was specially intended to apply to the sailors. These formalities having been completed, the young mariners proceeded to say their farewells, and kissed and cuddled with astonishing rapidity first one girl and then the others until all had shared the ebullition of their rugged endearment. The male portion of the assembly viewed this form of emphasizing good-bye with sheepish amazement. They would have been stupefied with shame if any one had seen them walking even with a girl, although the enterprising seafarers had done their best to assure them that it was the only true style of showing genuine goodwill.

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

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

Many years after, two vessels were racing down the China seas, one of them a new barque heavily sparred and very crank, and the other a large, full-rigged ship. Both were rushed through the sea at great speed. The full-rigger, with Norman Burnside in command, drew ahead of the barque and lost sight of her in the darkness. Between ten and eleven at night the second officer was on the poop chatting with the captain; the sky was cloudless, not a speck to be seen, and the wind strong and steady; every stitch of canvas was set, when all of a sudden the captain ceased conversing with the officer, told him that a white squall was close upon them, and to call all hands to shorten sail. They had only got a portion of it in when the squall struck her, and everything had to be let fly. During the few minutes it lasted it was terrific; many of the sails were torn to shreds, the masts were heavily strained, and the vessel herself was well-nigh doomed. Nothing was seen or heard of the barque after that night, but the fears of those aboard the full-rigger were great lest trouble should have come to her. When they arrived in London an account was sent to them of the loss of their companion in the China Seas. The paragraph stated that the vessel was struck by a white squall, thrown on her beam ends and literally capsized; the captain was Norman's brother. He was on deck at the time and tried to get down into the cabin to rescue his wife, but the rush of water prevented him. She was drowned almost before his eyes, and her body went down with the vessel. Some of the crew who were aft managed with the assistance of the captain to get the gig disentangled from the wreck, but he refused to save himself and had to be dragged into the boat by force. Others of the crew clung to floating spars, and were either killed or drowned, and only one survived until succour came. The day following the casualty, those that took to the boat were picked up. A day later a passing vessel saw some wreckage ahead, and as they drew towards it they discovered a boy clinging to a spar which was being tossed about by the motion of the sea. The vessel was at once hove to and a boat went to his rescue. The only clothing he had on was a light flannel shirt and a pair of drawers. The poor little fellow had tried to lash himself to the spar with a piece of rope. When they got close to where he was his feeble voice whispered from it a few words of touching thanks; and then, as though a supernatural force had been given him, he said in a tone that seemed to have been flashed from another world: "It is too late. I am about to pass on to where my mother is. I feel my stomach is chafed through." His face, it was said, wore a spiritual air, and his eyes had an expression of quiet, resigned sadness. They cast off the rope that bound him to the spar, took him gently from it and placed his disembowelled body in the boat. His remains were sewn up in a hammock, heavy weights were put at his feet, and at the dead hour of the night the mourners, with uncovered heads bowed in hallowed manifestation of pity, listened to the harrowing words that came throbbing from the captain's lips as substituted for the written funeral service. When he had finished, orders were whispered to lower the body in silence down the side of the vessel, and then the waters covered him over. Many weeks elapsed before it was known that it was Mary Routledge's boy.

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



VII

FORECASTLE LIFE

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

Their accommodation was in the extreme fore-end of the vessel, and the space allowed was low-roofed and cramped, frequently leaky and invariably dismal. Immediately abaft the forecastle ladder was the cable stage where hawsers, cable-chains, tar-barrels, tar-pots, tar-brushes, marline spikes, serving-mallets, cork-fenders, water-casks and other spare gear were stowed. The first impressions of smell to a person who had been reared in a pure atmosphere were deadly. I think I can feel all my first sensations even now. On each side of the space, hammocks were slung to hooks, or to eyebolts fastened into the beams, and on account of leaky decks the men were obliged to have oil-covers hung the full length of the hammock like a tent to keep the water from pouring on to them! There was great pride taken in the spotless cleanliness of these canvas sleeping cots. The rings that the lanyards and clews were attached to were neatly grafted, and the art of hanging with accuracy so that the occupant lay in perfect comfort without fear of being lurched out was often the cause of mutual criticism and heated controversy. It looks a very simple matter, but there is an art that has to be learned in slinging a hammock correctly. Alongside of them were the seamen's chests, with skilfully carved oak or mahogany cleats, grafted rope horseshoe handles, and turk's head at each side of the cleats. These were painted white to give variety and effect. The lid inside displayed a full-rigged clipper, barque, or brig, either under full sail with a peaceful blaze of blue sea, or under close-reefed topsails labouring in the wrath of a cyclone with a terrific turmoil. Underneath this work of art was the name of the person to whom the chest belonged, painted in block shaded letters, and the fate of many a crew has been traced by the washing ashore of a relic of this sort. All this was done by the sailor himself, and during the process of elaboration many a castle was built in the air and many a vow made that his conduct for evermore should be regulated by a strict adherence to righteous principles. There was great competition in this as in other things. The forecastle sides and the deck were whitewashed with lime, and the floor in fine weather, at sea as well as in port, was kept clean. The apprentices were made to take week and week about in scrubbing the floor every morning, and sweeping it after every meal. In well regulated vessels that sailed on long voyages, as soon as they got into the N.E. trade winds the crew settled down to a daily routine during the first hour or two of their watch below in the daytime, of making, mending and washing their clothes. Some never got beyond this, or making mats, but there were men who varied their pastime by carving models of vessels, making wood sails or rigging, and fitting them out in every detail. This work was done with great skill and neatness. Those that could read and were fond of it gave a share of their time to that. There were others who worked hard at learning navigation, their chest lids serving as a desk. It occasionally happened that some of the forecastle hands could neither read nor write, but if they were willing to learn there was always someone ready to teach them, who in the process of teaching learnt much that was useful to himself. A few months ago there died an old man whom I taught to read and write when he must have been over forty years of age. He was one of many skilled seamen of that day who were much sought after to command collier brigs during the winter months, notwithstanding they could not read, or write their own names even. This man never failed to make the quickest passages and voyages on record, and in the summer, without presuming on having been master, he would ship on a deep sea vessel as able seaman or cook. It was in the latter capacity that I first met him when I was an apprentice of fourteen. I was seated reading Sir Walter Scott's "Old Mortality," and laughing as heartily as a boy will at some of the sayings and doings of the Covenanters, when he asked what amused me. I told him, and he expressed a desire for me to read to him. I did so as well as I could, and when the time came for me to resume my duties and close the book, he said in a very sheepish way, "I wish I could read and write; I would make a fortune if I could." I immediately offered my services, and with a slight indication of sensitiveness he accepted them. It was a long, dreary process, but my pupil was so eager, especially after he got to know three letter words, I soon led him into figuring—addition and multiplication sums—and two years after starting him, he was learning from me what little navigation I was able to impart. He seemed to pick this up instinctively, which gave him a passionate desire to go to a navigation school, and in a short time he had made such rapid progress that the teacher thought he could pass the examination; and his opinion was confirmed by Ned going to Dundee and passing at the first attempt. He got a mate's berth in the summer, and went master in the winter, continuing to save money until he had accumulated sufficient to purchase a small ketch which he owned entirely himself. For some years he did well, then sold the little vessel and commenced business ashore. I had not heard of or seen him for many years, when one afternoon a friend of mine called at my office and intimated that my old friend was in the workhouse, and had desired him to call and inform me of it, feeling sure that I would not allow him to remain there. I asked my friend to have him taken out and put into respectable lodgings until I could get him some relief from a philanthropic institution, and the odd easy jobs I saw put in his way kept him comfortably. He often came to see me, and when I could spare the time I gratified the fine old fellow's wish by encouraging him to talk to me of those days that were such a joy to him. I believe he regarded himself, when aboard one of my vessels, in the light of a special guardian of my interests, and I think he must have assumed an air of superiority over others which was occasionally resented. At any rate, one morning on reaching the office I found him ready to receive me; he was well dressed, clean-shaven and looked all over like a captain of the old school. I saw he had a grievance, and he at once plunged into the object of his visit; complaining that one of the captains had treated him as none of the others would think of doing, and when I asked what he had said to the captain to cause his displeasure, he replied with energy and warmth that he had told him he would "go and see his betters who had known him before he (the captain) was born. And what do you think the impudent fellow said? He told me I might go to h—ll if I liked, and so I'm here to see whether he's to boss me, or if I'm to take orders from you. He actually had the impudence to give me an order for my money on the office instead of paying me as the others did in cash!"