Compensation to the cattle-owners during the cattle plague was difficult no doubt to adjust. Indeed all revolutionary schemes are surrounded with complexities that have to be got over; but in the hands of skilled, willing workmen they can be carried out. Not very long ago a political party introduced a scheme for compensating the publicans—ostensibly because drunkenness would be diminished. It bubbled over with difficulties, but it would have been passed into law had the other party of the state not intervened in such a way as to prevent it. The same political party which thought it right that the publicans should be compensated, were not unmindful of some more of their friends, and voted something like five million sterling per annum to be distributed among landowners, parsons, &c. When the poor old sailors, withered and broken by hard usage, pleaded, for pity's sake, not to be ruined, their appeals were ruthlessly ignored.

A most extraordinary feature of the agitation to prevent loss of life at sea was the attitude of some shipmasters. They believed it to be an undue interference with their sacred rights. At the time when Mr. Plimsoll was vigorously pushing his investigations into the causes for so many vessels foundering, he went to Braila and Galatz, and examined every English steamer he was allowed to visit. Some owners, hearing that he was on a tour of investigation, instructed their captains not to allow him admittance; and I heard at the time that these instructions in some cases were rudely carried out. One forenoon he paid a casual visit to the steamer "A——," and entered into conversation with a person whom he assumed to be the commander. He chatted some time with him upon general topics, and soon discovered that the captain was not of the same political faith as himself. Shipmasters who take political sides are generally conservative. Up to that time he had carefully avoided making known his identity. At last he ventured to approach the object of his visit. He said, "Now, Captain, we have had a pleasant little chat; I should like to have your views before I go, on the Plimsoll agitation. They may be of value to me. I should like you to state also what you think of Plimsoll. I have heard varied opinions of him."

"Well," said the captain, in broad North Shields dialect, "you ask what I think of the agitation. My opinion is that all the skallywags who are taking part in it should be locked up, and have the cat every morning at five o'clock, and every hour of the day after, until they abstain from meddling with what they know nothing about! And as for Plimsoll, I would tie one end of a rope round his neck, and attach the other to a fire bar, and chuck him in there," pointing to the ebbing stream of the Danube!

"Then," said Mr. Plimsoll, "you are not in sympathy with the movement?"

"No," said the infuriated skipper, "and nobody but a —— fool would be!"

"But don't you think, Captain," said Mr. Plimsoll, "that the measures you suggest are somewhat extreme, for after all they are only trying to improve the condition of the seamen?"

"Seamen be d——d," said this meteoric Northumbrian. "We don't want ships turned into nurseries, and that's what it's coming to!"

There were indications that the interview should cease. Mr. Plimsoll thereupon prepared to take his leave. He apologised to the captain for having taken up so much of his time, handed him his card, and proceeded to land. The gallant captain looked at the card, and called for his distinguished visitor to wait, so that he might make known to him that he was ignorant of his identity, otherwise he would have saved him the pain of disclosing his opinions!

"And your method of putting a stop to agitation?" interjected Plimsoll.

"Well," said the rollicking mariner, laughing at the joke that had been played upon him, "we sailors express ourselves that way, but we have no bad intentions!"

"I apprehend that is the case, Captain," said Plimsoll.

So ended an interview which is memorable to at least one person; and not least notable for the friendship Mr. Plimsoll showed towards his would-be executioner! The story was told to me about two months after the interview occurred by the captain himself. It is very odd that even one man, especially a shipmaster, should have been found disagreeing with a reform that was to be of so much benefit to all classes of seafaring men.

Up to that time vessels were sent to sea scandalously overladen. There was no fixed loadline as there is now. Cargoes were badly stowed; no bagging was done. The fitting of shifting boards was left pretty much to the caprice of the master, who never at any time could be charged with overdoing it, but rather the reverse. I am speaking now more particularly of steamers, though to some extent the same reckless disregard for human safety existed among sailing vessels. It was necessary, however, that commanders of "windjammers" should be more painstaking in the matter of having their cargoes thoroughly stowed, and that adequate bulkheads and shifting boards should be fitted; for the shifting of a sailing vessel's cargo was accompanied with the possibilities of serious consequences. Sailing vessels cannot be brought head-on to wind and sea, as steamers can, and the weather may be so boisterous as to make it impossible to get into the holds; and even if these are 'accessible, the heavy "list" and continuous lurching prohibit the trimming of the cargo to windward.

But the great loss of life was not altogether caused by allowing rotten, leaky, badly equipped sailing vessels to go to sea, nor by the neglect of commanders of both sailers and steamers to adopt reasonable precautions for the purpose of avoiding casualty. At the very time when the whole country was ablaze with excitement over the harrowing disclosures that investigation had brought to light, Lloyds' Classification Committee was allowing a type of narrow-gutted, double-decked, long-legged, veritable coffins to be built, that were destined to take hundreds of poor fellows to their doom. Their peculiarity was to capsize, or continuously to float on their broadsides. Superhuman effort could not have kept them on their legs. Neither bagging transverse or thwartship bulkheads were of any avail. Scores of them that were never heard of after leaving port found a resting-place, with the whole of their crews, at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. They lie there, unless enormous pressure has crushed them into mud; and their tombs, could they be revealed, would give ghastly testimony to the incompetence of naval architects. No amount of precautionary measures could have made this type of craft seaworthy. They were not shaped to go to sea. My own impression is, apart from the crankiness of these rattletraps, there was a vast amount of overloading which was the cause of many vessels being sent to the bottom; so many, indeed, that it became a common saying among seamen who were employed in the Baltic trade that if the North Sea were to dry up it would resemble a green field, because of the quantity of green steamers that had perished there. Perhaps the phrase was merely a picturesque figure of speech, as the North Sea makes no distinction as to the claim it has on its victims, and the colour of paint does neither attract nor repel its favour. Notwithstanding the startling evidence which proved that there was something radically wrong in the design and construction of what was known as the "three-deck rule" type, Lloyds' Classification and the Board of Trade officials adhered to the idea of their superiority over every other class. The Hartlepool Well-decker became the object of hostility. It was pronounced by dignified theorists to be unsafe. The long wells combined with a low freeboard lacerated their imaginations. They could not speak of it without exhibiting strong emotion. "Suppose," said they, "a sea were to break into the fore well and fill it, the vessel would obviously become overburdened. Her buoyancy would be nil, and she would succumb to the elements."

But practical minds had provided against such an eventuality. These objects of aversion had what is called a raised quarter-deck; two ends which stood boldly out of the water, and of course a big "sheer." Heavy seas rarely came over their bows or sterns, and when they did the bulk of the water did not remain or seem to affect their buoyancy. The heaviest water was taken aboard amidship, when they were running with a beam sea or scudding before a gale; but owing to their great sheer it gravitated in a small space against the bridge bulkhead, the structure of which was strong enough to stand excessive pressure. They were considered to be the finest and safest tramps afloat by men who sailed in them. Vessels of two thousand tons deadweight, with only eighteen to twenty-four inches freeboard, would make winter Atlantic passages without losing a rope-yarn, while many of the three-deckers with six or seven feet freeboard never reached their destination. Still the theorists kept up their unreasoning opposition to the Well-deckers, and the Hartlepool men were driven to take the matter up vigorously. They would have no indefinite, haughty assertions. They demanded investigation; and the result of it proved that the theorists were wrong, and the men of practical ideas were right. It was proved that there were singularly few cases of foundering among these vessels, and that fewer lives were lost in them than in any others. This is not the only instance in which Lloyds' Classification Committee have been proved wrong in their opinions. They refused in the same way, for some time, to class Turrets. I was obliged to give up a conditional contract which I had made with Messrs. Doxford and Sons, of Sunderland, for the first built of these, in consequence of their refusal to class. But Turrets have now been well tested, and prove very superior sea-boats. Underwriters, indeed, could not have better risks; and, what is as good a test as any of a vessel's seagoing qualities, is the readiness of seamen to join and their reluctance to leave it.

But each successive depression in shipping unrolls the resources of the mind, and there are evolved new ideas which disclose advantages hitherto unknown. They may not be great, but they are usually sufficient to make it possible to carry on a profitable trade instead of stopping altogether or working at a loss. It was this that brought the Switchback into existence: a vessel, by the way, which has a short, deep well forward; a long bridge; raised after deck; and a long well and poop aft. Then came the Turret, and then the Trunk; and last, the Single Decker on the "three-deck rule." I do not believe it possible that any of these will ever founder if they are properly handled, if their cargoes are properly stowed, and if no accident to machinery or stearing-gear occurs. They may come into collision with something, run on to a sand-bank or reef, and then founder, but not by force of hard buffeting. I am persuaded that the chances are a thousand to one in favour of them pulling through any storm in any ocean. But this is not all that can be said of them. The men that compose the crew have spacious, comfortable, healthy quarters, whereas in the old days, besides the prospect of being taken to Davy Jones's locker, men were housed in veritable piggeries: leaky, insanitary hovels, not good enough to bury a dead dog in.



CHAPTER VII

WAGES AND WIVES

When I first went to sea, and for many a long day after, I used to hear the sailors who were more than a generation my seniors, talking of the wages they received during the Russian war aboard collier brigs trading from the north-east coast ports to London, France, and Holland. They used to speak of it with restrained emotion, and pine for an outbreak of hostilities anywhere, so long as it would bring to them a period of renewed prosperity! Able seamen boasted of their wages exceeding by two or three pounds a voyage what the masters were getting. It was quite a common occurrence at that time for colliers to be manned entirely with masters and mates. They stowed away their dignity, and took advantage of the larger pay by accepting a subordinate position. Of course it was the scarcity of men that gave them the opportunity. They were paid in some cases nine to twelve pounds a voyage, which occupied on an average four weeks. The normal pay was four to five pounds a voyage for each man, all food, with the exception of coffee, tea, and sugar, being found. The close of the big war brought, as it always does, a reaction, and it is safe to say that collier seamen have never been paid so liberally since. The racing with these extraordinary craft was as eagerly engaged in as it was with any of the tea clippers. It was an exciting feature of the trade which carried many of them to their doom almost joyously. Their masters were paid eight pounds per voyage, and if their vessels were diverted from coasting to foreign trades their stipend was eight to nine pounds a month. Considering the cost of living in those days, it is a marvel how they managed, but many of them did not only succeed in making ends meet, but were able to save. They owed much to the frugal habits of their bonny, healthy wives, who for the most part had been domestic servants, or daughters of respectable working men, living at home with their parents until they were married. They were trained in household economy, and they were exclusively domesticated. Educational matters did not come into the range of their sympathies. They were taught to work, and they and their homes were good to look upon. Many of these thrifty girls married swaggering young fellows who were before the mast. They were not merely thrifty, but ambitious. Their ambition was to become captains' wives; nor did they spare themselves to accomplish their desire promptly. They did not overlook the necessity of inspiring their husbands with high aims, and in order that their incomes might be improved these married men were coaxingly urged to seek an engagement as cook—a post which carried with it ten shillings per month more than the able seamen's pay, besides other emoluments, such as the dripping saved by skimming the coppers in which the beef or pork was boiled, and casking it ready for turning into cash wherever the voyage ended. The proceeds, together with any balance of wages, were handed over to the custody of the imperious lady, who was continuously reminding the object of her affection that he should apply himself more studiously to learning during his voyages, so that he would have less time to stay at the navigation school, and more quickly achieve nautical distinction when their savings amounted to the sum required for passing the Board of Trade examination first, only mate, and then for master. But once they got their mate's certificates, financing became easier; and, although domestic expenditure might have increased, the good lady steadily kept in view the joy that would light up their home and come into her life when she could hear her husband addressed by the enchanting title of "Captain!" Hence the effort to save became a fixed habit.

When their object was attained, and the husband had passed his examination successfully, he soon got a command, and although the pay was small many of these men, with the assistance of their wives, saved sufficient to take an interest in a vessel. This was an achievement never to be forgotten. The news spread quickly over a large district. The gossips became greatly engaged, and the distinguished person was the object of respectful attention as he walked up and down the quays or public thoroughfares with an air of sanctified submission. It was a great thing to become part owner of a vessel in those days when large dividends were so easily made, and a small share very often led up to considerable fortune.

It is not to be supposed that the only road to success was through the galley doors. I do not mean that at all. There were scores of men that became shipmasters on our north-east coast who never sought the opportunity of figuring in the galley, and even if they had they could not have cooked a potato without spoiling it! It has long been a saying among sailors that "God sends grub and the devil sends cooks," and the saying is quite as true to-day as it was when cooks had not the advantages they have now of attending cookery classes. I merely relate the story of how a number of these men of the middle of last century added to their incomes in order that they might not stint their families of the necessaries of life, and at the same time might put aside a little each voyage until they had accumulated sufficient to enable them to stay ashore and pass the necessary examination. How a certain section of these men acquired their diplomas will always be a mystery to themselves and to those who knew of them. They were sailors every inch, and they claimed no higher distinction. It would be ridiculous to suppose that they were representative of the higher order of captain. With these they had nothing in common. Indeed, they were a distinct race, that disdained throwing off forecastle manners; whereas the higher type of captain, wherever he went, carried with him a bright, gentlemanly intelligence that commanded respect. The higher class of man nearly always soared high in search of a wife, not so much in point of fortune as in goodness, education, useful intellectual attainment—a lady in fact, combining domestic qualities compatible with his position. The merely intellectual person did not appeal to him. It was rational culture he sought for, a companionable woman indeed, who could use her hands as well as her head. Sometimes their judgment erred, and carried them into a vortex of misery.

The swift pulsations of a generous heart generally do lead to trouble if not well steadied by sound judgment. One of the most pathetic instances of this I have ever heard of occurred to a man who was high up in his profession. I knew him well. He was held in high esteem by his many friends. But his big soul was too much for him. He made the acquaintance of a young lady who intoxicated his fancy. She was beautiful: a quick, attractive girl of twenty-one, who could talk brightly of things that excited his attention. Soon she told him a piteous tale of domestic trouble. She was an artist in words and facial expression. Her whole being was indicative of a guileless life. One morning by appointment they met to say goodbye, for he was to sail from London that afternoon in command of a large vessel on a long voyage. She was brimming over with sparkling wit that overjoyed him. She skilfully hinted of marriage on his return, and playfully adjured that he should not allow other attractions when he was abroad to lessen his affection for her.

"Ah," said she, "sailors are so good, I fear you may not be an exception."

"Well," said he, "as you seem to have some doubt as to my bona-fides I think the question may be settled by my marrying you now."

"What!" said the fair maiden, "this forenoon? Surely you will allow me to consult my mother?"

"No," said the captain; "that would spoil the romance, and make it uninteresting. We must be spliced at once." And they were. The result was a ghastly tragedy. The lady turned out a termagant. Happily she did not live long, but while she lived it was terrible. He told me the tale long after, and the pathos of it, in all its hideous detail, was piteous. It sank deep into his life, and changed his whole character. He was a man of culture, and in the affairs of life displayed unusual common sense. No one could comprehend how he came to be drawn into this ill-assorted union, that might have sacrificed two lives.

There is no body of men who should be so careful in choosing their wives as sailors, no matter what their rank may be. If they have children, the sailor, or captain, sees little of them, and can have no part in their training, whereas the mother has it in her power to fashion their lives either for good or evil. She is always with them, and the responsibility of forming their characters must rest almost entirely with her. It would be a reckless exaggeration to say that all successful men had good wives; but I think it safe to assume that a large majority of them are blessed in that way. One thing is certain, if you see a well-conditioned, well-behaved child, there is a good mother and a good wife behind it. And it may not be unsafe to assert that the successful man nearly always owes some of his success to his wife's assistance. She may not have assisted actually in the business itself, but she may have done better still by holding her tongue at the proper time, and watching a suitable opportunity of making an appropriate suggestion, avoiding saying or doing anything that will irritate and break the continuity of thought which is essential to the husband's success. A great deal may be achieved by discreet silence.

The wages of captains sailing in north-east coast brigs and barques that traded to the Mediterranean, Brazils, West Indies, and America, ranged from ten to twelve pounds per month. Those trading to the East Indies received fourteen pounds, and some out of their wages had to find charts and chronometers. London owners paid higher wages to their captains, but less in proportion to their crews. These commanders were on the whole a very intelligent, well-conducted lot of men. They had high notions, perhaps, of their importance, but they did no ill to anybody by this. There were occasional squabbles between their mates and themselves, and sometimes bickerings with the crew, but these were never of a very serious or lasting character; in fact, I have known men sail for years with one captain, and it was delightful to witness the treatment and mutual respect shown to each other. The men were frequently far more jealous of their captain's dignity than he was himself. There were others whose dignity became a slavish occupation to sustain. It sometimes happened if the master and mate differed on some minor matter that their relations became childishly strained, and each asserted his rights until the feeling softened. The captain always claimed the starboard side of the quarter-deck as his special parading ground, the mate the port. It often happened when these disagreements occurred the master, to show his authority more drastically, would ask the carpenter for a piece of chalk and draw a line down the centre of the deck. When this was done the aggrieved commander would address his chief officer in a deep, hollow voice that was obviously artificial. "Sir," or "Mr.," he would begin, "I wish to impart to you that your conduct has been such as to cause me to draw this line so that our intercourse may not be so close as it has been. Please do not presume to attempt any familiarity with me again; stick to your own side!" This piece of grotesque quarterdeck-ism was made all the more comical by the serious way it was taken by the mate and enforced by the master! It did not occur to them that there was something extremely humorous in it. Another ludicrous custom was this: if the master and mate were on deck together, though there was ample room for both to walk on the weather side, the mate was always supposed to give way to the captain, and walk on the lee side, no matter what tack the vessel was on. If the officer in charge was smoking, and either standing or walking on the weather side, and the captain came on deck, immediately the short cutty pipe was taken out of his mouth, and, as a mark of respect, he passed to leeward! It was considered the height of ill-manners for a mate or second mate to smoke a churchwarden or a cigar!

The food that was supplied to these north country "southspainers" was neither plentiful nor good. It was not infrequently bought in the cheapest and nastiest markets—in fact, it is not an exaggeration to say that large quantities of it were not fit for human beings to eat.

The owners were, as a rule, of humble birth. Many of them inherited frugal habits from their parsimonious parents, and many of them became miserable misers independent of any hereditary tendency. If their generous impulses ever did swell big enough to give the captains a few delicacies, they were overcome with fear lest extravagance should enter into their lives, and therefore they hastened to caution them with imploring emphasis to take special care not to allow too much to be used, as luxuries of that kind were very costly! The captains were put to sore straits at times to carry out the wishes of their owners in doling out the food; and it often happened in the process of economising they became imbued with the same greedy ways as their employers. It would not be fair to charge all north-east coast owners of that period with the shame of stinting their crews of proper food; those who did so had no idea that they could be accused of being criminally mean. Their lean souls and contracted little minds could only grasp the idea of making money, and hoarding it after it was made. Hundreds of fine fellows had their blood poisoned so that their teeth would drop out, and their bones become saturated with virulent scurvy owing to the unwholesome food the law provided they should eat. The hereditary effects of this were in some cases appalling, and yet while this was going on never a voice in the country was raised effectually against it; and if the conditions under which the sailor lives to-day are vastly improved on what they were in the sailing-ship days, he has neither the country nor the Parliament of England to thank for it, but the new class of shipowner who sprang into existence simultaneously with the introduction of steam.

There were many of the old shipowners and shipmasters generous in all their dealings with their men; but my experience compels me to say that a great number of them were heartless skinflints. The economical measures adopted by some captains in order that their supplies might spin out were not only comic, but idiotic. For instance, the master and his chief officer had their meals together, and if they were not on very lovable terms the few minutes allowed the mate was a very monotonous affair owing to the forced and dignified silence of his companion, who eyed with disfavour his healthy appetite; but this did not deter him from continuing to dispose of the meagre repast of vitiated salt junk. The request to be helped a second time broke the silence and brought forth language of a highly improper nature, and did the indiscreet officer happen to boldly go for the butter-pot after he had partaken of beef he was eloquently reminded that those who "began with beef must finish with beef," and those who "began with butter must finish with butter"! I quote the exact words, for I have heard them. If the mate was of a quarrelsome disposition he retaliated by declaiming against any attempt to restrict his food. Then followed mutual cursings, and hot recriminations. The title of gentleman was repudiated, and "you're another" substituted. But these little squabbles generally passed away without any permanent resentment; and although the mates may have strongly disagreed with the starvation policy of their captains and owners, as soon as they got command themselves they adopted the selfsame methods, and in some cases applied them with a rigour that would have put their former commanders to shame. The scale of provision was a scandal to any civilised nation. Both owners and captains were well aware of this, and shamefully used it as a threat to prevent men from justly complaining of the quality or quantity of food they were being served with. An opportunity was often made so that the men might be put on their "whack," or, to be strictly accurate, the phrase commonly used was "your pound and pint," and as an addendum they were dramatically informed that they should have no fresh provisions in port. The men, of course, naturally retaliated by measuring their work according to the food they got; and then it was seen that the game was to be too costly and too perilous. The common-sense commander would find a judicious retreat from an untenable position, and the blockhead would persevere with it during a whole voyage, and boastfully retail a sickening story of meanness to an audience who, he cherished the idea, would regard him as a hero! How much bitterness and loss was caused by this parochial-minded malignity can never be estimated. It was undoubtedly a prolific factor in making sea-lawyers, and a greater evil than this could not be incubated. The sea-lawyer always was and always will be a pest on land, and a source of mischief and danger on the sea. But while so much can be said against the tactless, and, it may be, the vindictive captain, just as much can be said against some crews who ignored the duty of submitting to control. They feasted on unjustifiable grumbling and discontent. They loafed and plotted to destroy all legitimate authority, and very often made it a perplexity to know how to act towards them. I do not class these men with the criminal class of which I have spoken; there is a very wide distinction between the two. The men I am now speaking of, at their worst, never went beyond loafing, grumbling, and plotting to evade some technical obligation.

The wages of the mate aboard these south-going craft were L5 5s. per month, the second mate got a pound above the A.B.'s, who, on these voyages, were paid L2 10s. to L2 15s. per month. The cook and steward (one man) got the same as the boatswain, the carpenter, and the second mate. The scale of wages for officers and crew aboard a tea clipper was regulated on more aristocratic lines. Their hands were carefully picked, and, as a rule, they carried double crews, exclusive of officers and petty officers. Both pay and food were vastly better in the clippers than that of the average trader. The statutory scale of provisions was, however, the same for all. A copy of it appears on the opposite page.

SCALE OF PROVISIONS

NOTE.—There is no scale fixed by the Board of Trade. The quantity and nature of the Provisions are a matter for agreement between Master and Crew.

Scale of Provisions to be allowed and served out to the Crew during the Voyage, in addition to the daily issue of Lime and Lemon Juice and Sugar, or other Anti-Scorbutics in any case required by the Act.

PROVISIONS. QUANTITY SUN. MON. TUE. WED. THUR. FRI. SAT. WEEKLY

Water Qts. 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Bread lb. 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 Beef " 1-1/2 1-1/2 1-1/2 1-1/2 Pork " 1-1/4 1-1/4 1-1/4 Preserved Meats " Preserved Potatoes oz. Preserved Vegetables. lb. Flour " 1/2 1/2 1/2 Peas Pint 1/3 1/3 1/3 Calavances " Rice lb. 1/2 Oatmeal " Barley " Salted Fish " Condensed Milk oz. Tea " 1/8 1/8 1/8 1/8 1/8 1/8 1/8 Coffee Beans (Roasted) " 1/2 1/2 1/2 1/2 1/2 1/2 1/2 Cocoa " Sugar " 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 Dried Fruit (Raisins, Currants, &c.) " Butter lb. Marmalade or Jam " Molasses Pint Mustard oz. Pepper " Vinegar or Pickles Pint [1].............. .... .............. ....

SUBSTITUTES AND EQUIVALENTS. Equivalent Substitutes at the Master's option. No spirits allowed.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Other articles may be inserted here.]



CHAPTER VIII

LIFE AMONG THE PACKET RATS

It is a noteworthy fact that many of the featherbrained, harum-scarum captains endeavoured to man their vessels with men who had been trained in north-country colliers. These men were considered not only the best, but the most subordinate in the world. Perhaps this was correct, but I think the west countrymen could claim a good place in point of seamanship, if not of subordination. I remember hearing the captain of an Australian passenger vessel making this complimentary statement of north-country men to my father, when I was a very small boy, and I learnt by experience many years afterwards that it was true. Life aboard some of the packet ships was a chronic convulsion of devilry. The majority of the men constituting the crew were termed "packet rats," and were the scrapings of British and foreign scoundrelism. No wonder the captains were anxious to have a proportion of fine, able-bodied north-country sailors, as a steadying influence on the devil-may-care portion of the crew. The signing on of a packet ship was quite an historic occasion. All the "gimlet-eyed" rascals in town were on the alert to bleed the sailor as soon as he had got his advance. It was usual for the sailors to sign articles binding themselves to be aboard at 5.30 or 6 a.m. on a fixed date, and in order that there might be no mistake as to how the discipline of the vessel was to be administered, the officers, who were generally Yankees, or aped the habits and manners of the Yankee, were stationed at the gangways for the purpose of suitably receiving the wretched, drink-sodden, semi-delirious creatures who were to constitute part of the crew. They were carted to the vessel, accompanied by animals opprobriously called "crimps," whose unrestrained appetite for plunder was a scandal to the public authority who permitted their existence. After these noxious gentry had sucked the blood of their victims, the latter were handed over to the officers who awaited their arrival at the gangway. Having arrived late, and in a condition contrary to the orthodox opinions of their officer, they were asked in strong nasal language why they did not turn up at 6 a.m.

"Do you know," the slap-dashing mate would say, "that you have committed a breach of discipline that cannot be overlooked on this craft?"

The half-drunken, whiskey-soaked creature would reply in an incoherent, semi-insolent way, whereupon the mate would haul out a belaying pin and belabour him with it. Many a criminal act of this kind was committed, and if the men as a body retaliated, they were shot at, or knuckle-dustered, until their faces and bodies were beaten into a pulp. This was called mutiny; so in addition to being brutally maltreated, there could be found, both at home and abroad, gentlemen in authority who had them sent to prison, and who confiscated their pay. Many of them were punished until they agreed to sign the entry in the official log against themselves.

It may be thought that these officers were justified in the initial stages of the voyage in striking terror into the minds of these men, so that their criminal instincts might be kept in check. I am well aware of the risks and responsibilities attending the control of a terrible class of persons such as the American "packet rat," and it is difficult to write of them with calmness of judgment. They were undoubtedly collections of incorrigible ruffians such as could not have been easily employed in any other class of British or American vessel. At the same time, it must be remembered that the officers of these crafts were not selected because of their pre-disposition to piety. It was because of their predilection for living in a chronic atmosphere of "Almighty Hell." They were trained to it, and were apt pupils. They saw a glory in the continuity of combat that raged from the beginning until the end of a voyage. It is worthy of note that, with few exceptions, they never allowed themselves to be overcome, though many a futile attempt was made. Poor devils of sailors! Many a voyage they made without receiving a penny for it, every cent of their wages being confiscated in fines and forfeitures. How many may have lost their lives during the progress of such passages, ostensibly by accidentally falling overboard, will never be known. I have heard old salts talk of these vessels never being hove to to pick up any of the unfortunate riff-raff who may have made a false step into the ocean. This may or may not be true; but from what I know of the desperate character of those commanders and officers, I am inclined to give credence to a good deal of what is said to have occurred.

The really first-class seamen on these vessels (both American and British) were treated not only with fairness, but very often with indulgence. It was not unusual, however, for them to have to fight their way to having proper respect paid to them. The expert seaman, who could box as well as he could handle a marline spike or use a sail-needle, appealed to the sympathies of the captain and officers. It must not be supposed that either the officers or men who were thought good enough to sail in these vessels were in any degree representative of the great bulk of British captains, officers, or men. At the same time, I do not mean to suggest that the rest of the mercantile marine was, or ever could be, composed of Puritans. But the men I have been trying to describe were the very antithesis of the typical British tar. Many of them were, constitutionally, criminals, who had spent years compulsorily on the Spanish main, when not undergoing punishment in prison. Having been shipmate with some of them I am able to speak of their character with some claim to authority. They were big bullies, and consequently abject cowards. The tales I have heard them relate before and during their sojourn on the Spanish main reeked with a villainous odour. They always commenced their bullying tactics as soon as they came aboard, especially if the vessel had apparently a quiet set of officers and a peaceful captain. They did not always gauge aright the pugilistic capacity of some of their forecastle brethren, and so it came to pass that once one of these six-feet-four rampaging creatures was threatening annihilation to a little forecastle colony, and, indeed, to the after-end colonists also, when there was heard, amid a flow of sulphurous curses, a quiet, defiant word of disapproval. It came from a Scottish able seaman who had served long in American sailing vessels. The orator promptly struck out at the semi-inanimate Sandy, who woke up, went for his man in true British style, and had him howling for mercy in less than two minutes. The Scottish sailor became the idol of the captain and crew, and the Yankee bullies deserted at the first port the vessel touched at. In 1871 I shipped aboard a barque in Liverpool as chief officer. I was very young, and what perhaps was more sinful, very youthful looking. The captain was only two years my senior, and the second mate four. There was a scarcity of desirable men available, which resulted in our having to engage what we could get, and, with the exception of three respectable men, the rest were "packet rats," though few of them had sailed in packets, and those who had were stamped with the mark of it. We left Birkenhead in tow. There was a strong wind blowing. It was my duty to see the anchors stowed properly. I gave orders to man the fish tackle, and directed one of the men to pinch the flukes of the anchor on to the gunwale while the crew were hauling on the tackle. He looked at me for a minute or two as though he were undecided as to the condition of his hearing and his eyesight. I repeated the order in authoritative quarter-deck style. He gaped in amazement apparently at my audacity, and told me in language that could not be overlooked there (or repeated here!) to do myself what I had ordered him to do. I became at once conscious of my youthful appearance! I assured him that I would stand no nonsense, and perhaps to awaken him to the possibilities of a physical encounter, I used some Americanisms that were obviously familiar to him and to the others who were ready to act with him. I insisted that the orders I had given should be carried out. He sneered at my youth, and intimated, with a grin that foreboded cannibalism, that he had eaten many a more manly-looking person than myself before breakfast, and that he would stand no G—— d—— cheek from a son of a—— like me! "Do it yourself," said he, "I won't," and suiting the action to the words, he tossed the handspike on to the top-gallant forecastle. I instantly picked it up, and it was all over his body before he had time to recover from the effect of so sudden an attack. The captain had told me that I was to beware of treachery, and to remember the advantage of the first blow. "Hit," said he, "right between the eyes, and see to it that it makes sparks!" I did not expect that the necessity would arise so soon after leaving the docks, and I must plead guilty to inaccurately carrying out the captain's suggestion, except in so far as the first blow was concerned, which was quickly and decisively struck, although not precisely between the eyes. There were visible signs that the head and face of the rebel had sustained damage; and it may be taken for granted that other parts of his body did not escape. He intimated that for the present he wanted no more, and I was secretly glad of it because I had been severely punished myself, although my general appearance did not show it much. Surely the only course open to me after so unjustifiable an attack was to resent not only the insubordination, but the filthy personal attack on myself. We had not arrived at the N.W. lightship where the tug was to cast off the tow-rope when this rebellion began, and it continued more or less until the vessel arrived at her destination, where the whole of the refractory ones were put in prison and kept there until she was ready to sail. They were then brought aboard by police escort. Prison diet and prison treatment had knocked a lot of the fight out of them, but the ship food soon revived the devil in them again. We had not been at sea many days before they commenced to revolt even against steering and making or shortening sail. It was only by the application of stringent measures that they were kept in subjection. It was found necessary for the captain and officers not only to lock their state-room doors when in bed, but to keep themselves well armed in case of a sudden rising. The suspense of it was terrible. We knew that a slight relaxation in the stern disciplinary attitude might give them an opportunity which they would be quick to take advantage of; it was therefore resolutely adhered to. The captain instilled into his officers the doctrine of keeping them always at work, bad weather or fine. "Make them permanently tired," said he; "make them feel fit for their bunks." That was all very well, but in order to carry this out the officers were kept permanently tired also.

Though many years have elapsed since those troubled days and nights, the memory of them is still with me, watching, working, wakeful, always on the alert, anticipating assassination; even my brief sleep was troubled with visions of sanguinary conflict. It was no mere delusion. Each day brought evidences of coming trouble. How and when it would come did not matter, so long as we were prepared for it. Whisperings and audible grumblings were ominous tokens of what was in the wind. The captain and I had some conversation concerning the situation. He was of opinion that the sailor who opened the rebellion at the beginning of the voyage would lead an open and concerted revolt, and perhaps I agreed with him that something of the sort might easily happen; so we resolved to keep a tight eye on this sinister development. One night about ten o'clock, while beating through a narrow channel, the captain said to me, "I am going below; you must take charge." And after giving me the necessary instructions, he said in a low tone, "Now mind, keep your eyes and ears wide open; you may be taken unawares at any moment." I thanked him for the advice, and he bade me good-night and left the poop. An Irishman was at the wheel, and for a time his steering was good. As the wind was dead in our teeth and blowing strong, the course was full and by the wind. It soon became necessary to tack, and as it is always customary for the officer in charge to take the helm in performing this evolution, it became my duty to do so, but as soon as the vessel was round, I told the man to take the wheel again. I then proceeded to see that all the sails were properly trimmed. This being done, I went on to the poop again, and as the helmsman was steering in a most erratic fashion, first sailing her bang off the wind and then shaking the sails almost aback, I remonstrated with him, but to no purpose. At last I said to him that if he did not steer better, I would be obliged to turn him from the wheel. No greater disgrace can be inflicted on a self-respecting seaman than this. I have known men suffer an agony by the mere threat of it. But the heterogeneous crew that we had to control had no sensitiveness of that kind. I was told, amid a running stream of filthy swearing, to take the wheel myself. The ship and all in authority were cursed with Hibernian fluency. A special appeal was made for our immediate consignment to the hottest part of hell. The harangue was suddenly cut short by my jumping from the poop on top of him as he was about to pass away from the helm. I had ordered a hand whom I could trust to steer, while I became engaged in physically reproving this blackguard for his insolence and disobedience to lawful commands. During my struggle with him I felt a sharp prick as though a pin had been run into me, but owing to the excitement of the moment I took no further notice of it—indeed, I was too busy to notice anything. The job did not prove so difficult as I had anticipated. His accomplices did not come to his assistance, and he evidently lost heart and became effusively submissive. The captain relieved me at midnight, and I returned to my berth. I was awakened during the watch by some one tapping at my door. It turned out to be the captain. When I admitted him he showed me a knife which he had picked up on the deck, and asked if I knew whom it belonged to. I said "Yes, it belongs to the Irishman." "Well," said he, "it was evidently his intention to bleed you." I was sitting up in my bunk, and suddenly observed a clot of blood on my shirt, and said to him, "I have been stabbed. Look at this." I examined myself, and found a slight cut where I had felt the sensation which I have spoken of. We conferred as to whether he should be put in irons, and given up to the authorities at the first port the vessel touched at. I asked to be allowed to deal with him when he came on deck, and it was agreed that I should. He was in due course ordered aft, and the knife shown to him. When asked if it was his, he became afflicted with fear, and admitted that he had attempted to stab me, and begged that he should not be further punished, and if he were allowed to resume his duty he promised with emotional profusion to give no further annoyance to any one. The appeal was pathetic; it would have been an act of vindictive cruelty not to have granted what he asked; though his conduct in conjunction with the others had up to that time been vicious in the extreme. It was thought desirable to give his promises a test, with the result that he gave no outward signs of violating them while the voyage lasted.

These men were mutineers by profession. Sentiment, or what is called moral suasion, was unintelligible to them. They were a species of wild beast that could only be tamed by the knowledge that they were weaker than the power set over them; and this could only be conveyed in one way that was understandable to them: that is, by coming down to their level for the time being, and smashing their courage (and their heads if need be) with electrical suddenness. If there was any hesitation, depend upon it they would smash you. The moralist will declaim against the adoption of such a doctrine, and will bring theoretic arguments in support of his theories; but before commencing a tirade against an unavoidable method, perhaps the moralist will state whether he has ever been confronted with a situation which might involve not only the unlawful absorption of supreme control, but the sacrifice of life and valuable property as a consequence of it. Let me put this proposition to them. Here is a vessel, it may be, out on a trackless ocean hundreds of miles from land, her forecastle hands consisting of a gang of murderous ruffians ready to make lawful authority impotent, and, if need be, to enforce their own by overpowering the captain and officers and making an opportunity for mutiny. Let the moralists think of it; four or five men at the mercy of a score of hang-dog scoundrels who despise every moral law, and who talk lightly of murder and every form of violent death! Let me ask them what their feelings would be suppose any of their near relations were placed in the position of having to fight for lawful supremacy and even for life? I think this might be trying to their faith in theoretic and sentimental government. But the question might be made more impressive still by devoting a chapter to the hideous butchery which horrified creation when the news came of the mutiny of the Flowery Land and the Caswell. I should like people who are so deadly virtuous as to repudiate self-preservation to picture the decks of these two vessels washed in human blood, and to imagine (if it is not too dreadful to do so) that some of it belonged to a kinsman who was very dear to them. I think if they are not past praying for they would then give up dispensing cant, and direct their sympathies to a policy that has the merit of being not only humane but logical. I well know how narrow the dividing line is between proper and improper discipline; and know also the care that should be used in such circumstances to act with fairness and even kindness. But I am writing about a section of men who mistake kindness for weakness, and who can only be appealed to and swayed by the magic of fear. I could find material to fill a three-hundred page book with the experiences of that one eventful and hazardous voyage. Space forbids my giving more than a brief account of it.

After ten months' absence from Liverpool we arrived at Antwerp. The conduct of some of the crew had been so shocking that they feared the penalty of it, and they absconded immediately on arrival, and were never heard of by us again. The Irishman fulfilled his pledge so thoroughly that he was not only pardoned but kept by the vessel. The more defiant of them saw the thing through, and received only a portion of their wages, the bulk of it being deducted for fines and forfeitures. I am bound to say these men got what they richly deserved. They had on several occasions endangered the safety of a handsome and valuable vessel and the lives of all aboard. But for the loyalty of the petty officers and the unyielding firmness of a strong, capable captain underwriters would have had a heavy loss to pay for.

The tale I have been unfolding shows one unwholesome and vicious aspect of sailor life. There is, happily, a more attractive, peaceful, and manifestly brighter and purer aspect; and those who live in it are beloved by every one.



CHAPTER IX

BRUTALITY AT SEA

In those days the deep-sea shipmaster looked upon the collier skipper as his inferior in everything, and regarded himself in the light of an important personage. His bearing was that of a man who believed that he was sent into the world so that great deeds might be accomplished. He lavishly patronised everybody, and never disguised his desire to repudiate all connection with his less imposing fellow-worker in a different sphere. He would pace the poop or quarter-deck of his vessel with the air of a monarch. Sometimes a slight omission of deference to his monarchy would take place on the part of officers or crew. That was an infringement of dignity which had to be promptly reproved by stern disciplinary measures.

There were various methods open to him of inflicting chastisement. An offending officer was usually ordered to his berth for twenty-four hours—that is put off duty. The seamen's offences were rigorously atoned for by their being what is called "worked up," i.e., kept on duty during their watch below; or, what was more provoking still, they might be ordered to "sweat up" sails that they knew did not require touching. This idle aggravation was frequently carried out with the object of getting the men to revolt; they were then logged for refusing duty and their pay stopped at the end of the voyage. It was not an infrequent occurrence for grown men to be handcuffed for some minor offence that should never have been noticed. The sight of human suffering and degradation was an agreeable excitement to this class of officer or captain. If some of the villainy committed in the name of the law at sea were to be written, it would be a revolting revelation of wickedness, of unheard-of cruelty. Small cabin-boys who had not seen more than twelve summers were good sport for frosty-blooded scoundrels to rope's-end or otherwise brutally use, because they failed to do their part in stowing a royal or in some other way showed indications of limited strength or lack of knowledge. The barbarous creed of the whole class was to lash their subjects to their duties. A little fellow, well known to myself, who had not reached his thirteenth year, had his eyes blacked and his little body scandalously maltreated because he had been made nervous by continuous bullying, and did not steer so well as he might have done had he been left alone. It is almost incredible, but it is true, some of these rascals would at times have men hung up by their thumbs in the mizen rigging for having committed what would be considered nowadays a most trivial offence.

One gentleman, well known in his time by the name of Bully W——, stood on the poop of the square-rigged ship Challenge, and shot a seaman who was at work on the main yardarm! It was never known precisely why he did it; but it was well known that had he not made his exit from the cabin windows, and had he not received assistance to escape, he would have been lynched by a furious public. This man once commanded a crack, square-rigged clipper called the Flying Cloud. His passages between New York and San Francisco were a marvel to everybody. He was credited, as many others like him have been, with having direct communication with the devil, and is said never to have voluntarily taken canvas in. He was one of those who used to lock tacks and sheets, so that if the officers were overcome by fear they could not shorten canvas. His fame spread until it was considered an honour to look upon him, much less to know him. He became the object of adoration, and perhaps his knowledge of this swelled his conceit, so that he came to believe that even the shooting of his seamen was not a murderous, but a permissible act, so far as he was concerned. But this man was only one among scores like him.

There was once a famous captain of a well-known Australian clipper, a slashing, dare-devil fellow, who made the quickest passages to and from Australia on record. But at last he lost his head, and then of course his money, and died in very pinched circumstances. Poor fellow, he couldn't stand corn! The people of Liverpool gave a banquet in honour of him. He arrived late in the banqueting hall, and there were indications that he was inebriated. When he had to respond to the toast of his health he shocked his audience by stating that he would either be in hell or in Melbourne in so many days from the time of sailing. Destiny ordained that he was not to be in hell, and not in Melbourne either—only hard and fast on Australian rocks! His misfortunes and his habits soon put an end to his professional career, but his deeds are deservedly talked of to this day. He was undoubtedly one of the smartest men of his time, and ought to have been saved from the end that befell him.

Captains who claimed public attention for reasons that would not now be looked upon with favour were usually known by the opprobrious name of "Bully this" or "Bully that;" but "Jack the Devil" and "Hell Fire Jack" were perhaps as widely used names as any others. There were various causes for the acquisition of such distinction. It was generally the fearless way in which they carried sail, and their harsh, brutal treatment of their crews that fixed the epithet upon them. I am quite sure many of them were proud of it. They were conscious of having done something to deserve it. It will appear strange that seamen should have been found to sail with such commanders; not only could they be found, but many were even eager to sail with them, the reason being that they desired to share some of the notoriety which their captains had acquired. They loved to talk of having sailed in a vessel made famous by the person who commanded her, even if he were a bully! His heroics were made an everlasting theme. The A.B.s rarely made more than one voyage with him; many of them deserted even at the first port. The dreadful usage, and the fear of being killed or drowned, were too much for them sometimes.



CHAPTER X

BRAVERY

Amid the many sides of the average sailor's character there is none that stands out so prominently as that of bravery and resourcefulness. Here is an instance of both qualities. Three or four years ago a Russian Nihilist made his escape from the Siberian mines and travelled to Vladivostock. A British ship was lying there, and the poor refugee came aboard and claimed the protection of her captain. The vessel could not sail for a few days, which gave his pursuers an opportunity of overtaking him. They got to know where he was, and proceeded to demand that he should be given up. They relied, as many other whipper-snappers do, on the importance of their official position and the glitter of their elaborate uniform to strike awe and terror into the soul of the British captain! They soon found out what a mistake they had made. "Gentlemen," said the resolute commander, "the person whom you call your prisoner has placed himself under the protection of the British flag. A British ship is British territory, hence he is a free man, and I must request that you cease to molest us or make any attempt to take him by force." They urged Imperial penalties and international complications; but this brave and resourceful man disregarded their threats, again reminding them that he stood on the deck of a British vessel; and that if they did anything in violation of his power and authority, complications would arise from his side instead of from theirs. He was allowed to sail with his interesting passenger aboard, and I hope the latter was genuinely grateful to his heroic protector for ever after. The name of such a man should be covered with imperishable fame.

Here is another bit of quiet bravery, loftier than the slaughter, in hot or cold blood, of one's fellow-creatures! About twenty-eight or twenty-nine years ago, a German vessel ran into and sank off Dungeness an emigrant ship called the North Fleet. She was a fine vessel. Her commander had married a young lady a few days before sailing from London, and she accompanied him on the voyage. When the collision occurred there was a rush made for the boats. Men clamoured for a place to the exclusion of women and children! The captain called out that he would shoot the first man who prevented or did not assist the women to save themselves, and I believe he had reason to put his threat into practice. He stood on the poop with his revolver in hand ready for action. When the proper time came, he asked his bride to take his arm, and led her to the gangway. They kissed each other affectionately. He whispered in her ear, "Courage, dear, I must do my duty." Then he handed her into the boat which was in charge of an officer, and exhorted him to take special care of her whom he had so recently led from the altar and to whom he had said his last farewell! He then proceeded to his post on the quarter-deck, and stood there until the vessel sank and the sea flowed over him. The opinion at the time was that he could have saved his life if he had made an effort to do so. I question this very much, as many of the people were picked up in the water, clinging to wreckage; the boats being overcrowded. The only way by which he could have been saved was to displace some one or clutch at a piece of wreck. He preferred death to the former, and there is no evidence that he did not attempt to save himself by means of the latter. The probability is that he gave any such opportunity to some drowning man or woman, and sacrificed himself. Honour to this brave man who died, not while taking life, but in saving it!



CHAPTER XI

CHANTIES

The signing on and the sailing from Liverpool or London docks of these vessels were not only exciting but pathetic occasions. The chief officer usually had authority to pick the crew. The men would be brought into the yard and formed into line. The chanty-man was generally the first selection, and care was taken that the balance should be good choristers, and that all were able to produce good discharges for conduct and ability. It was a great sight to see the majestic-looking vessels sail away. The dock walls would be crowded with sympathetic audiences who had come not only to say farewell, but to listen to the sweet though sombre refrain that charged the air with the enchanting pathos and beauty of "Goodbye, fare you well." The like of it has never been heard since those days. Attempts have been made to reproduce the original, and have failed. Nobody can reproduce anything like it, because it is a gift exclusively the sailors' own, and the charm filled the soul with delightful emotions that caught you like a strong wind.

The chanty-man was a distinguished person whom it was impolitic to ignore. He was supposed to combine the genius of a musical prodigy and an impromptu poet! If his composition was directed to any real or even imaginary grievances, it was always listened to by sensible captains and officers without showing any indications of ill-humour. Indeed, I have seen captains laugh very heartily at these exquisite comic thrusts which were intended to shape the policy of himself and his officers towards the crew. If the captain happened to be a person of no humour and without the sense of music this method of conveyance was abortive, but it went on all the same until nature forced a glimpse into his hazy mind of what it all meant! Happily there are few sailors who inherit such a defective nature. It is a good thing that some of these thrilling old songs have been preserved to us. Even if they do not convey an accurate impression of the sailors' way of rendering them, they give some faint idea of it. The complicated arrangement of words in some of the songs is without parallel in their peculiar jargon, and yet there are point and intention evident throughout them. For setting sail, "Blow, boys, blow" was greatly favoured, and its quivering, weird air had a wild fascination in it. "Boney was a warrior" was singularly popular, and was nearly always sung in hoisting the topsails. The chanty-man would sit on the topsail halyard block and sing the solo, while the choristers rang out with touching beauty the chorus, at the same time giving two long, strong pulls on the halyards. This song related mainly to matters of history, and was sung with a rippling tenderness which seemed to convey that the singers' sympathies were with the Imperial martyr who was kidnapped into exile and to death by a murderous section of the British aristocracy. The soloist warbled the great Emperor's praises, and portrayed him as having affinity to the godlike. His death was proclaimed as the most atrocious crime committed since the Crucifixion, and purgatory was assigned as a fitting repository for the souls of his mean executioners. The words of these songs may be distressing jargon, but the refrain as sung by the seamen was very fine to listen to:—

HAUL THE BOWLING (SETTING SAIL)

Haul th' bowlin', the fore and maintack bowlin', Haul th' bowlin', the bowlin' haul! Haul th' bowlin', the skipper he's a-growlin', Haul th' bowlin', the bowlin' haul.

Haul th' bowlin', oh Kitty is me darlin', Haul th' bowlin', the bowlin' haul. Haul th' bowlin', the packet is a bowlin'; Haul th' bowlin', the bowlin' haul.

As for the song itself, it was as follows:—

BONEY WAS A WARRIOR

Oh, Boney was a Corsican, Oh aye oh, Oh, Boney was a Corsican, John France wa! (Francois.)

But Boney was a warrior, Oh aye oh, But Boney was a warrior, John France wa.

Oh, Boney licked the Austrians!— Oh aye oh, Oh, Boney licked the Austrians!— John France wa!

The Russians and the Prussians! Oh aye oh, The Russians and the Prussians! John France wa.

Five times he entered Vienna! Oh aye oh, Five times he entered Vienna, John France wa.

He married an Austrian princess, Oh aye oh, He married an Austrian princess, John France wa.

Then he marched on Moscow, Oh aye oh, Then he marched on Moscow, John France wa.

But Moscow was a-blazing! Oh aye oh, But Moscow was a-blazing, John France wa.

Then Boney he retreated, Oh aye oh, Then Boney he retreated, John France wa.

Boney went to Waterloo, Oh aye oh, Boney went to Waterloo, John France wa.

And Boney was defeated, Oh aye oh, And Boney was defeated, John France wa.

Oh Boney's made a prisoner, Oh aye oh, Oh Boney's made a prisoner, John France wa.

They sent him to St. Helena! Oh aye oh, They sent him to St. Helena, John France wa!

Oh Boney was ill-treated! Oh aye oh, Oh Boney was ill-treated, John France wa!

Oh Boney's heart was broken! Oh aye oh, Oh Boney's heart was broken, John France wa.

Oh Boney died a warrior;— Oh aye oh, Oh Boney died a warrior, John France wa.

But Boney was an Emperor! Oh aye oh! But Boney was an Emperor, John France wa!

This song never failed to arouse the greatest enthusiasm, so much so that the officer in charge had to keep a keen eye on what was going on and shout out "belay!" before something should be broken! The sailors' regard for the great Emperor was a passion; and as they neared the final tragedy they seemed to imagine they were in combat with his foes, so that it was dangerous to leave them without strict supervision.

One of the most rollicking and joyous days the sailor had during a voyage was that on which his dead horse expired; that is, when his month's advance was worked out. If he took a month's advance, he always considered that he had worked that month for nothing: and, literally, he had done so, as the money given to him in advance usually went towards paying a debt or having a spree; so it was fitting, considering these circumstances, that special recognition should be made of the arrival of such a period. An improvised horse was therefore constructed, and a block with a rope rove through it was hooked on to the main yardarm. The horse was bent on, and the ceremony commenced by leading the rope to the winch or capstan, and the song entitled "The Dead Horse" was sung with great gusto. The funeral procession as a rule was spun out a long time, and when the horse was allowed to arrive at the yard arm the rope was slipped and he fell into the sea amid much hilarity! The verse which announces his death was as follows:—

"They say my horse is dead and gone;— And they say so, and they say so! They say my horse is dead and gone;— Oh, poor old man!"

The verse which extinguishes him by dropping him into the sea goes like this:—

"Then drop him to the depths of the sea;— And they say so, and they say so! Then drop him to the depths of the sea;— Oh, poor old man!"

This finished the important event of the voyage; then began many pledges of thrift to be observed for evermore, which were never kept longer than the arrival at the next port, or at the longest until the arrival at a home port, when restraint was loosened. The same old habits were resumed, and the same old month's advance was required before sailing on another voyage.

The "White Stocking Day" was as great an event ashore as the Dead Horse day was at sea. The sailors' wives, mothers, or sweethearts always celebrated half-pay day by wearing white stockings and by carrying their skirts discreetly high enough so that it might be observed. This custom was carried out with rigid regularity, and the participators were the objects of sympathetic attraction. Poor things, there is no telling what it cost them in anxiety to keep it up. Their half-pay would not exceed thirty shillings per month, and they had much to do with it, besides providing white stockings and a suitable rig to grace the occasion.

"We're homeward bound and I hear the sound," was the favourite song when heaving up the anchor preparatory to pointing homeward. This chanty has a silken, melancholy, and somewhat soft breeziness about it, and when it was well sung its flow went fluttering over the harbour, which re-echoed the joyous tidings until soloist and choristers alike became entranced by the power of their own performances; and the multitudes who on these occasions came to listen did not escape the rapture of the fleeting throbs of harmony which charged the atmosphere, and made you feel that you would like to live under such sensations for ever!

HOMEWARD BOUND (HEAVING THE ANCHOR)

Our anchor's a-weigh and our sails are well set;— Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well! And the friends we are leaving we leave with regret;— Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

We're homeward bound, and I hear the sound;— Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well! Come, heave on the cable and make it spin round!— Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

Oh let ourselves go, and heave long and strong;— Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well! Sing then the chorus for 'tis a good song;— Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

We're homeward bound you've heard me say;— Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well! Hook on the cat-fall, and then run away! Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

After a long, dreary pilgrimage of trackless oceans, the last chant had to be sung as their vessel was being warped through the docks to her discharging berth; and now all their grievances, joys, and sorrows were poured forth in "Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!" It was their last chance of publicly announcing approval or disapproval of their ship, their captain, and their treatment. Here is a sample of it:—

"I thought I heard the skipper say, 'Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! To-morrow you will get your pay, Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!'

The work was hard, the voyage was long;— Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! The seas were high, the gales were strong;— It's time for us to leave her!

The food was bad, the wages low;— Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! But now ashore again we'll go;— It's time for us to leave her!

The sails are furled, our work is done! Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! And now on shore we'll have our fun! It's time for us to leave her! &c, &c."

Such songs were not stereotyped in their composition. They varied according to circumstances. Sometimes they were denunciatory, and at other times full of fun, praise of the ship, and pathos. There was seldom a middle course, but whatever side was taken the spontaneous poetic effusion was not ended until the whole story had been unfolded.



CHAPTER XII

JACK IN RATCLIFF HIGHWAY

As soon as the vessel was moored in a home port, decks cleared up and washed down, the mate intimated to the crew that their services would not be required any longer; and those who wanted it, received a portion of the balance of wages due to them in advance until they signed clear of the articles. There were few who did not take advantage of this, and many of them had disbursed it in one way or another long before the three days' grace, which was allowed the captain to make up his accounts and pay off, had expired.

The villainous agencies at work in those days (and even in these) to decoy poor Jack, could be counted by the score. Their task was not a difficult one. They knew him to be a complacent prey for their plans to drug and rob him. Many of these poor fellows on the first night after landing would allow the whole of a voyage's earnings to be bartered from them, so that before they actually received their balance of wages they had spent it, and they became ready for the first ship, which oft-times, indeed, was long in turning up. Meanwhile they were turned into the street without any compunction, just as they stood. Of course they were to blame; but what about the evil tribe who tempted them? They should have been made to refund every penny that had been extorted while their victims were under the influence of drink, or should have been made to do six months in lieu of refunding. This plan might be adopted with advantage to the community even at the present time.

In these sailor circles there was once a well-known incorrigible named Jimmie Hall, a native of Blyth, who for the most part sailed out of London on long voyages. It did not matter how long Jimmie had been away on a voyage, or how much pay he had to take, he was never longer than a week in funds, and more frequently only one or two days. This half-tamed creature was walking up Ratcliffe Highway one winter morning between two and three o'clock, and he met an old shipmate of his. They greeted each other with some warmth. Jimmie's friend related to him a tale of destitution. He had been on the spree, spent all his money, and two days before had been turned out of the boarding house, and had slept out for two nights. Jimmie, with sailor-like generosity, said, "I am glad to have met you. It gives me an opportunity of asking you to share with me rooms at my hotel."

"Hotel!" gasped the bewildered shipmate. "Have you had money left you? You always were a good sort."

"No," said his companion; "I have had no money left me, but I thought I would stay in an hotel this time. I can go out and in whenever I like, and I find it an advantage to do so. The doors are always open. Come along!"

The two friends walked up the highway arm in arm, Jimmie observing a patronising silence while his companion covered him with affectionate compliments. After they had walked a considerable distance in meditation, the shipmate said—

"Where is the hotel? Are we far off?"

"No," said the accommodating Jimmie; "here it is. I must make one condition with you before we get any nearer. You must go in by the back door."

"I will go in by any b—— door you like. I am not a particular chap in that way!"

"Very well," said Jimmie, pointing to an object in the middle of the road; "then you go in there, and I will go in by the front."

"But," said his shipmate, "that is a boiler."

"You" said the philanthropic James, "may call it what you like, but, for the time being, it is my hotel! It has been my residence for two weeks, and I offer you the end I do not use. If you accept it, all that you require to make you perfectly comfortable is a bundle of straw. We shall sit rent free!"

Needless to say the offer was accepted, and the two "plants" lived together until they got a ship.

Mr. Hall's knowledge of the Highway, as it was called, enabled him to be of occasional service to the police, hence he was on the most cordial terms of friendship with them. He could swoop plain-clothes men through intricacies which flashed with the flames of crime, without exciting the slightest suspicion of the object he had in view. He could talk, swear, and drink in accurate harmony with his acquaintances, and was looked upon with favour by a circle of estimable friends. Members of the constabulary were always considerate and accommodating towards him during his periodic outbursts of alcoholic craving. He owed much to the care they took of him during his fits of debauchery; and he was not unmindful of it when he had the wherewithal to compensate them. Like most of those wayward inebriates who followed the sea as a calling, he was a perfect sailor; and even his capricious sensual habits did not prevent him being sought to rejoin vessels he had sailed in.

Jimmie Hall was only one among thousands of fine fellows who were encouraged to go to bestial excesses by gangs of predatory vermin (men and women) who infested Wapping and Ratcliffe Highway.

There was a tradition amongst sailors, which I am inclined to give some credence to, that a certain barber who had a shop in the Highway availed himself of the opportunity, while cutting the hair or shaving his sailor customers—mainly, it was thought, those who were sodden with drink—to sever their wind-pipe, rob them of all they had, and then pull the bolt of a carefully concealed trap-door which communicated with the Thames, and drop their weighted bodies out of sight! This system of sanguinary murder is supposed to have been carried on for some years, until a sailor of great physical power, suspecting foul play to some of his pals, went boldly in, was politely asked to take his seat, and assumed a drunken attitude which caused the barber to think he had an easy victim. The barber wormed his way into Jack's confidence, who was very communicative as to the length of his voyage and the amount of money he had been paid off with. He flattered him with loving profusion, and was about to take the razor up and commence his deadly work, when the sailor, who had discerned the secret trap, jumped up, pulled a revolver from his pocket, and demanded that the trap-door should be shown to him, or his brains would be scattered all over the place! The barber implored that his life should be spared, and piteously denied the existence of a secret communication with the river. Jack's attitude was threatening; the supplicant pleaded that if his life was spared he would do what was asked of him. The condition was agreed on, and the trap opened. It disclosed a liquid vault. The sailor accused the panic-stricken villain of foul murder, and of having this place as a repository for his unsuspecting victims, and the man shrieked alternate incoherent denials and confessions. The sailor suspected the awful truth all along, but now he became satisfied of it, and forcing the barber towards the vault, he ordered him to jump down; he had to choose between this and being shot. He preferred the former mode of extinction, so plunged in. The hatch was then covered over him, and there were no more murders.

Another of the many instances of the resourceful mariner's irrepressible gaiety even under most embarrassing conditions is contained in a story which I heard related aboard ship in the early days of my sea-life many times, and the veracity of it was always vouched for by the narrator whose personal acquaintance with the gentlemen concerned was an indispensable factor in the interest of the tale, and a distinction he was proud of to a degree. I have said that Ratcliffe Highway was the rendezvous of seafaring men. It provided them with a wealth of facilities for the expeditious disposal of money that had been earned at great hazard, and not infrequently by the sweat of anguish. One chilly November morning a sailor was walking down the Highway. His step was jerky and uncertain, for his feet were bare; his sole articles of dress consisted of a cotton shirt and a pair of trousers that seemed large enough to take another person inside of them. These were kept from dropping off by what is known as a soul-and-body lashing—that is, a piece of cord or rope-yarn tied round the waist. His manner indicated that he felt satisfied with himself and at peace with all creation, as he chanted with a husky voice the following song:—

"Sing goodbye to Sally, and goodbye to Sue; Away—Rio! And you who are listening, goodbye to you, For we're bound to Rio Grande! And away—Rio, aye Rio! Sing fare ye well, my bonny young girl, We're bound for Rio Grande!"

He was met by a shipmate just then who had been searching for him during several days. The song was cut short by the mutual warmth of greeting.

"What ho, Jack!" interjected the faithful comrade, with a gigantic laugh; "you are under very small canvas this morning. Have you been in heavy weather?"

"Yes," said Jack, "I have; but there's a fellow coming up astern must have had it worse than me. He was under bare poles, but I see he's got a suit of newspapers bent now, and he's forging ahead very fast!"

There is a grim humour about this story which brings a certain type of sailor vividly to mind.



CHAPTER XIII

THE MATTER-OF-FACT SAILOR

I always feel inclined to break the law when I see a West End or any other dandy on a theatrical stage libelling the sailor by his silly personification: hitching his breeches, slapping his thigh, lurching his body, and stalking about in a generally ludicrous fashion, at the same time using phrases which the real sailor would disdain to use: such as "my hearty," "shiver-my-timbers," and other stupid expressions that Jack of to-day never thinks of giving utterance to. If theatrical folk would only take the trouble to acquaint themselves with the real characteristics of the sailor, and caricature him accurately, they would find, even in these days, precious material to make play from. Even Jack's culpable vagaries, if reproduced in anything like original form, might be utilised to entertaining effect; but the professional person insists upon making him appear with a quid rolling about in his mouth and his stomach brimful of slang, which he empties as occasion may require. It may or may not go down with their audiences, but the tar himself cannot stand it. I was seated beside a typical sailor in a London theatre not very long ago, and a few gentlemen in nautical attire came one after the other strutting on to the stage. Their performances were quite unsailorly, so much so that my neighbour said to me: "If this goes on much longer I shall have to go. Just fancy," said he, "a matter-of-fact sailor making such a d——fool of himself!" I reminded him that this achievement was not so rare an occurrence. But he was not to be appeased! The sailor of the olden times never used tinsel nautical terms. His dialect was straight and strong, and his peculiar dandyism very funny. His hair used to be combed behind his ears, he wore a broad, flat cap cocked to one side, and his ears were adorned with light drops of gold or silver; and when he went forth to do his courting he seemed to be vastly puzzled as to the form his walk should take. Alas! all this has passed away, and our eyes shall see it never more; but the fascination of it is fixed in one's memory, and it is pleasant to think of even now.

The average seaman has always expressed himself with unmistakable clearness on matters pertaining to his profession. I was walking down the main street of a seafaring town some years ago, when I saw a group of people standing at a window looking at an oil-painting of a large, square-rigged ship which had been caught in a squall. The royals and top-gallant sails had been let fly, and they were supposed to be flapping about as sails will in a squall if the yards are not trimmed so as to keep them quiet. There were two sailors in the group who were criticising the painting with some warmth: the ropes were not as they should be, the braces and stays were not properly regulated, and "Whoever saw sails flying about like that!" said the more voluble of the two. The other dryly retorted, "I don't know, mister, what you think, but I want to say that I have seen them cut some d—— funny capers at times!" This very sailor-like sally both tickled the audience and convinced it that the sails were really correctly drawn.

On another occasion, during the prevalence of one of the most terrible easterly gales that ever visited the north-east coast, a multitude of people had congregated on the south pier at the mouth of the Tyne to witness the vessels making for the great Northern Harbour. The sight was awful in its peculiar beauty, the foam fluted and danced on the troubled air until it found a resting place far up the inner reaches of the harbour. There were seen in the distance two sailing vessels labouring amid a wrathful commotion of roaring seas. As they approached the harbour the excitement became universal. Women stood there transfixed with dread lest the storm-tossed vessels should be conveying some of their beloved relations to a tragic doom. Two gentlemen of clerical voice and appearance conversed with obvious agitation, one of whom audibly spoke of the grandeur and picturesque charm of the flurry of wild waters. "Look at them," said he, "as they curtsey and rustle along to the kiss of the tempest. Oh, it is a magnificent sight!" A few burly, weather-beaten sailors stood hard by. It soon became apparent that their professional pride had been touched by the poetic babble to which they had listened. One of them took upon himself the task of interjecting what the practical opinion of himself and friends was by addressing the aesthetic dreamer in accents of stern reproof: "You," said he, "may call it grandeur and picturesque and magnificent and curtseying, but we call it a damned dirty business. If you were aboard of one of them, you wouldn't talk about rustling through the cloven sea to the kiss of the tempest, you would be too tarnation keen on getting ashore!"

The orator had just finished his harangue when one of the vessels, a brigantine, was crossing the bar. The supreme moment had come. All eyes and minds were fixed on the doomed vessel; men were seen clinging to the rigging, and one solitary figure stood at the wheel directing her course through a field of rushing whiteness. She was supposed to have crossed the worst spot, when a terrific mountain of remorseless liquid was seen galloping with mad pace until it lashed over her and she became reduced to atoms. Nothing but wreckage was seen afterwards. The crew all perished. It was a heartrending sight, which sent the onlookers into uncontrollable grief. The sailor was right: "It was a dirty business."

The sporting instinct in the bona-fide British seaman was always very strong. The white-washed Yankee—that is to say, not a real American, but a Blue-nose, i.e., a Nova Scotiaman—was never very popular, because of his traditional bullying and swaggering when all was going well, and his cowardice in times of danger. Once a vessel was coming from 'Frisco, and when off Cape Horn she ran into an ice-berg which towered high above the sailors' heads. There was great commotion and imminent peril. A Blue-nose was chief mate, and he became panic-stricken, flopped on to his knees, and piteously appealed for Divine interposition to save them from untimely death. The second mate, who was a real John Bull, believed in work rather than prayer, at least so long as their position threatened sudden extinction. He observed the petitioner in the undignified position of kneeling in prayer beside the mainmast. It angered him so that he put a peremptory stop to his pleadings by bringing his foot violently in contact with the posterior portion of his body, simultaneously asking him, "Why the h—- he did not pray before? It's not a damned bit of good praying now the trouble has arisen! Get on to your pins," said the irate officer, "and do some useful work! This is no time for snivelling lamentations. Keep the men in heart!" There was pretty fair logic in this rugged outburst of enlightenment. But while this striking flow of opposition to prayer under such circumstances was proceeding, the thought of peril was briefly obscured by the sight of a pretty little girl, a daughter of one of the passengers, frollicking with the ice which had tumbled on the deck, in innocent oblivion of the danger that encompassed her. What a beautiful picture! By skilful manoeuvring the vessel was extricated from an ugly position, and the unhappy first mate who had neglected to put himself into communication with the Deity before the accident happened, became the object of poignant dislike for having broken one of the most important articles of nautical faith by doing so afterwards!



CHAPTER XIV

RESOURCEFULNESS AND SHIPWRECK

If the oceans of the world could speak, what marvellous tales of heroism they could relate that are hidden in the oblivion of their depths. Sailors generally are singularly reticent about their adventures. They are sensitive about being thought boastful; the nature of their training and employment is so pregnant with danger that they become accustomed to treat what most people would consider very daring acts as a part of their ordinary business that should not be made a fuss about. Hence many a gallant deed has been done that was never heard of beyond the ocean and the vessel where it took place.

There is not a crew that sails on salt water that could not relate after every voyage they make events and doings thrilling with interest which would be considered stirring and brave if they had taken place on shore among persons other than sailors. It is no uncommon thing to hear the cry "A man overboard!" while a vessel is being rushed through a heavy sea at a great speed, and the alarm is no sooner given than some gallant fellow is seen to jump overboard to his rescue. Not long ago a large vessel bound out to the west coast of South America was running before heavy north-east trade winds and a high following roller. A man was seen to fall from the foretopsail yard right overboard before the order could be given to haul the vessel to the wind. One of his shipmates plunged into the bosom of a mountainous sea without divesting himself of any clothing; even his boots had to be taken off in the water. The ship was promptly brought to the wind, and skilfully manipulated towards the drowning man and his rescuer. The order was given to lower the cutter, and a scramble was made for the distinction of being one of the crew. The two men battled with the waves until the boat reached them. They were taken into her and saved. A short paragraph in the newspapers telling the simple story was all that was heard of it.

Three years ago, Mr. Barney Barnato, the millionaire, was coming home from South Africa, and when off the Western Islands, from some cause or other he fell overboard. The mail steamer must have been going sixteen or seventeen knots an hour at the time, but it did not prevent the second officer (I think it was) from jumping in after him and recovering his body, though, alas! it was inanimate. This brave fellow's act was made famous by a gifted and wealthy young lady passenger falling in love with him, and he of course with her. They have since been married, and I wish them all the blessings that earth and heaven can bestow upon them. I believe Mrs. Barnato and the executors of the genial Barney showed their appreciation in a suitable way also.

Few people except sailors and passengers who may have witnessed it can fully realise how difficult it must be to keep an eye on a person in the sea, even if it is perfectly smooth. It is one of the most exciting experiences of sea-life. All except the rescuing party and the man at the wheel run up the rigging and gaze with frantic eagerness to keep in view and direct the boat towards where they think the object of their mission is. It often happens that all their efforts are unavailing, and when the search has to be given up a creepy sensation, like some shuddering hint of death, takes possession of you. I have more than once felt it. Sailors on these occasions are subdued and divinely sentimental, though their courage remains undaunted.

There are, however, phases of bravery, endurance, and resourcefulness that test every fibre of the seaman's versatile composition; and a communication to the outer world of the tremendous struggles he is called upon to bear would be calculated to stagger the lay imagination. It would take a spacious library to contain all that could be written of his bitter experiences and toilsome pilgrimages throughout ages of storm and stress. The pity is so much of it is lost to us, but this again is owing to the sailor's habitual reticence about his own career. A characteristic instance of this occurred to me about six months ago. I had business in a shipyard, and the gateman who admitted me is one of the last of the seamen of the middle of the century. He was for many years master of sailing vessels belonging to a north-east coast port. He is a fine-looking, intelligent old fellow. I knew him by repute in my boyhood days; he had the reputation then of being a smart captain, and owners readily gave him employment. After greeting me with sailor-like cordiality, he commenced to converse about the old days, and as the conversation proceeded the weird sadness of his look gradually disappeared, his eyes began to sparkle, and joy soon suffused his ruddy face. His soul was ablaze with reminiscences, and his unaffected talk was easy and delightful to listen to. I was reluctant to break the charm of it by introducing a subject that might be distasteful to him. It was my desire to hear from his own lips a tale of shipwreck which is virtually without parallel in its ghastly tragedy. I instinctively felt myself creeping on to sacred ground. As soon as I mentioned the matter his countenance changed and he became pensive. A far-off look came over him, which indicated that a tender chord had been touched. Obviously his thoughts were revisiting the scene of a fierce conflict for life. The sight was sublime, and when I saw the moisture come into his eyes and his breast heave with emotion, it made me wish that I had not reminded him of it. At length he began to unfold the awful story. He was master of a brig called the Ocean Queen. I think he said it was in the month of December, 1874. They sailed from a Gulf of Finland port laden with deals. After many days they reached the longitude of Gotland; they were then overtaken by a hurricane from the west which battered the vessel until she became water-logged and dismasted. The crew lashed themselves where they could, and huddled together for warmth to minimise the effects of the biting frost and the mad turmoil of boiling foam which continuously swept over the doomed vessel, and caked itself into granite-like lumps of ice. At intervals they would try to keep their blood from freezing by watching a "slant" when there was a comparative smooth, and run along the deckload a few times, keeping hold of the life-line that was stretched fore and aft for this purpose. After twelve hours the force of the tempest was broken, and they were able to take more exercise, but they were without food and water, and no succour came near them. They held stoutly out against the privations for two days, then one after another began to succumb to the combined ravages of cold, thirst, and hunger. Some of them died insane, and others fought on until Nature became exhausted, and they also passed into the Valley of Death. There were now only the captain and a coloured seaman left. The wind and sea were drifting the vessel towards the Prussian coast, and on the fifth morning after she became water-logged the wreck stranded on a sandy beach two hours before daylight. The captain and his coloured companion attached themselves to a plank, and by superhuman effort reached the shore. They buried their bodies up to the waist in sand under the shelter of a hill, believing it would generate some warmth into their impoverished systems. Their extremities were badly frostbitten, and when they were discovered at daylight by a man on horseback who had been attracted to the scene of the wreck, they were both in a condition of semi-consciousness. He galloped off for assistance, and speedily had them placed under medical treatment, and under the roof of hospitable people. A few days' rest and proper attention made them well enough to be removed to a hospital. It was soon found necessary to amputate both of the coloured man's legs, and also some of his fingers. The captain had the soles of his feet cut off; and he told me that he always regretted not having the feet taken off altogether, as he had never been free from suffering during all these years. He said the doctor advised it, but that he himself was so anxious to save them that he preferred to have the soles scraped to the bone, hoping that the diseased parts would heal; "but," said he with an air of sober melancholy, "they never have."

Long before this story of piercing sadness, and horror, and heroism, and superb endurance was finished, I felt a big lump in my throat, and every nerve of me was tingling with emotion; and as I passed from the presence of this noble old fellow and pondered over all he had so reluctantly and modestly told me of himself, it made me conclude that I had been holding converse with a hero! I have been obliged to confine myself to a brief outline of this tale of shipwreck. There are incidents of it too painful to relate, and I am quite sure I am consulting the wishes of the narrator by abstaining from going too minutely into detail. The main facts are given, and they may be relied on as absolutely true.

The seamen of the middle of the nineteenth century were trained to be ingenious and resourceful in emergencies, and, as a rule, they did not disgrace their training. If a jib-boom was carried away, a mast sprung, or a yard fractured, they had only to be told to have it fished. They knew how to do this as well as their officers did, and would not brook being instructed. If a mast was carried away they regarded it as a privilege to obey the captain's instructions to have jury masts rigged, and it is not an exaggeration to say that astonishing feats of genius have been done on occasions such as these.

In 1864 I was an apprentice aboard a brig bound from the Tyne to the Baltic; Tynemouth Castle bore west 60 miles. A strong north-west wind was blowing, and the sea was very cross. A press of canvas was being carried. The second mate being in charge, orders were given to take in the foretopgallant sail. It was clewed up, and just as another apprentice and myself were getting into the rigging to go up and furl it one of the chain-plates of the maintopmast backstays carried away. The maintopmast immediately snapped and went over the side, dragging the foretopmast with it. Fortunately we had not as yet got aloft, or we would have come to a precipitate end. The storm was increasing, and the confusion of ropes, chains, sails, spars, &c, all lurching against the side, caused the captain and his crew much concern, lest the vessel should be so injured as to endanger her safety. The men worked like Trojans to minimise danger, and to save as much gear as possible to rig jury masts with. The accident happened at 6 a.m., and at 8 p.m. the wreck had been cleared away and all the necessary gear saved. Over and over again during that toilsome day men risked their lives to save a few pounds' worth of gear; indeed, it was a day of brave deeds. On the following days it blew a hard northerly gale so that the vessel had to be hove-to. After that it gradually fined down, and the task of rigging jury topmasts began. It took four days to accomplish all that was necessary; and, although the men were fagged, they were also proud of their work. Any adverse criticism would have been visited with rigorous penalties. They were not boastful about it, though they quite believed a smart job had been carried out; and perhaps they took some credit to themselves for saving the vessel from total destruction. I have reason to know that neither the owner nor his underwriters estimated their services as being worthy of any recognition whatever. It was a custom in those days to guard strictly against the sin of generosity, even to recompense brave deeds done or valuable services rendered!