Looking Seaward Again

by Baron Walter Runciman Runciman

The pilot greeted the chief officer cordially, but did not receive a very polite response to his attempts to draw him into conversation about his recent experiences, and was cut short in a sailorly fashion by being told if he wanted any information about experiences, as he called them, to go and ask "that —— fool of a skipper about it."

"I have had a little conversation with him," replied the pilot; "and it does seem to me extraordinary—and if I were not here I might almost say an outrage—that no other course could be found than utter sacrifice."

"Oh, don't talk to me!" exclaimed the vivacious mate, in a flood of passion. "You call it extraordinary and an outrage! Is that a proper name for such wickedness? You ask me what I think of it? I tell you I cannot think. You talk about outrage! I say, sir, it is joining outrage to injustice, and I cannot believe that any other than a frozen-souled fool would have done it. There is not a glimmering of common-sense in it. The wonder is that he didn't take it back to the scoundrels, for pity's sake!"

This outburst of withering scorn encouraged the pilot to ask what the sailors thought of it.

"Go and ask them, if you want to hear something you've never heard before."

The captain, who was in the charthouse, could not help hearing these interesting opinions of himself, nor could he help enjoying the rugged humour of them. His mate had his peculiarities, but he never doubted his loyalty to himself, and he was sure that on reflection he would come to see the wisdom of disentanglement. He went on to the bridge as though all was serene, asked a few questions of the pilot, and settled down until the vessel arrived at her discharging port.

On landing, a message-boy told him there was a telegram at the office for him. He eagerly asked if he knew where it was from. The boy replied, "Gibraltar." He requested the messenger to get it for him, and found it was from the agent who shipped the tobacco, the purport of it being to offer him £500 to bring it back, and intimating that a letter was on the way. When this came to hand, it explained exhaustively the reason the freight was not paid as agreed, and boldly accused the port authorities and officials of having organized a plot in order to accomplish their own evil ends. This precious document was signed by the writer, and, needless to say, was not replied to. As a necessary protection to himself, the master had a declaration signed by the whole of the crew, stating that they had no tobacco concealed or in their possession other than that shown to the Custom-house officers.

As is usual after a vessel arrives in a home port, and is properly moored and decks cleared up, the crew go aft, draw a portion of their wages, and then go ashore. They had a fine tale to relate, and it may be taken for granted that no incident connected therewith lost any of its flavour in the process of narration. It would appear that the sailors got drunk and "peached" in a most grotesque way. They declared that although much of the contraband had been disposed of, this was only done as a blind, and that there were tons beneath the iron ore and in the peaks and bunkers, and all over the vessel. The story spread, and grew as it was passed along, until it became the most colossal smuggling enterprise ever known in the country. The captain came on board at noon on the day following the arrival, and found a large number of Custom-house officers on board. Some were in the holds digging vigorously at the ore with picks and shovels. Their coats were off, and their shirt sleeves doubled up. Others were on deck ready for action, but the chief mate prevented them going into the forepeak, which caused both suspicion and irritation. The captain gave them permission. Two went forth full of hope and confidence that they were on the point of reaping their reward. They had no sooner got down than indescribable cries for God to help them were heard. A rush was made to see what had happened. The lights were out, and nothing was visible. They groped their way to the peak ladder, and were nearly dead with fright when they reached the deck. When they had sufficiently recovered, they said that there was something in the peak alive, which kept butting up against them. They were sure it wasn't a man, and that it must be something evil. An Irish sailor stood close by laughing and jeering at them, and in genuine brogue he charged them with being haunted by their own "evil deeds."

"You had no business there," said he, "and to prove to you that I am right I'll swear divil a thing is there in the peak but cargo gear and other stores. I'll go down myself and face the evil one you talk about."

And down he went, but the fright of the officers was feeble to the Irishman's. He shrieked and flew on deck shouting, "Be God, you're right, he's there!"