Looking Seaward Again

by Baron Walter Runciman Runciman

"Who the h—— is he?"

The next morning at ten o'clock the captain gave orders to row him ashore. The mate wore a humbler appearance than on the previous day: meditation had mellowed him. He stepped into the boat beside his commander, but was told with icy dignity that the boy would take him ashore in the cook's lurky. No greater insult could have been offered to an officer. The Consul at that time was Walter Maynard, a charming man whom I knew well years afterwards. Although I only heard odds and ends of what transpired, I feel sure the advice given was in the mate's interests, and made him see his objection from another point of view. He did not take kindly to bringing the labourers off, but he sullenly commenced from that day to do it.

Coal cargoes were at that time jumped out of the hold with four ropes bent on to one called a runner, which was rove through a coal gin fastened on to the end of a derrick composed of two studdingsail booms lashed together, and steps were rigged with studdingsail yards and oars. The arrangement had the appearance of a gate, and was fixed at an angle. Four men gave one sharp pull with the whip ropes, and then jumped from the step on to the deck. The men in the hold changed places with the whips every two hours. It was really an exciting thing to witness the whipping out of coal cargoes. It may be seen even now in some ports of the United Kingdom, but the winch has largely taken the place of this athletic process. Most captains supplied rum or vodka liberally, with a view to expediting dispatch, and did not scruple to log and fine those seamen who acquired a craving for alcohol, and misconducted themselves in consequence when they got liberty to go ashore. Nobody was more severe on the men who committed a breach of discipline than those who, for their own profit, had taught them to drink.

The poor, wretched Russians who were employed aboard English and other vessels were treated with a cruelty that was hideous. Before the emancipation of the serfs by the Emperor Alexander II. in 1861, it was not an uncommon occurrence for captains and officers and seamen to maltreat them, knock them on the head, and then pass their bodies over the side of the vessel into the Mole. One of the first things I remember hearing in a Russian port was a savage mate swearing at some labourers and threatening to throw them overboard. It is no exaggeration to say that almost every day dead bodies came to the surface and were taken to the "Bran" Wharf or to the mortuary, with never a word of inquiry as to how they came by their end, though it was well known that there had been foul play. It is true they were awful thieves, very dirty, very lazy, and very provoking, and it was because the officers were unable to get redress that they took the law into their own hands. It is incredible that such a condition of things was allowed to exist.

A stock phrase even to this day of predatory Russians is, "Knet crawlim, tackem"—i.e., "I have not stolen, I have only taken." They have a pronounced conviction that there is a difference between stealing and taking. Tradition has it that a humorous seaman ages ago conveyed this form of distinction to them, and it has stuck to them ever since. Another peculiarity of the race is that they wear the same large grey coat in the summer as they do in the winter; they are taught to believe that what keeps out cold keeps out heat. When they take drink they never stop until they are dead drunk, then they lie anywhere about the streets and quays. The police, who are not much better, use them very cruelly. During the Russo-Turkish war hundreds of the common soldiers, who are similar to the common labourer, were found lying on the battle-field, presumably dead, when it was found they were only dead drunk. I was told by a doctor, who went right through the campaign, that it was customary to fill the "soldads," as they are called, previous to a battle, with vodka. The lower order of Russians must be hardy, or they could never stand the extremes of cold and heat, and the terrible food they have to eat. They are not long-lived. I cannot recall ever having seen a very old Russian labourer.

The emancipation of the serfs was a great grievance to the old seamen, who looked back to the days when they could with impunity chastise or finish a serf without a feeling of reproach. After the emancipation it became a terror to have them aboard ship. Many a mate has been heavily fined and locked up in a pestilential cell for merely shoving a fellow who was caught in the act of stealing, or found skulking, or deliberately refusing to work properly. Labourers, in fact, became a herd of blackmailers, and were encouraged in it by some agency or other, who shared the plunder. One old captain, with an expression of sadness on his face, told me, on my first visit to Cronstadt since I was a boy, that everything had changed for the worse.

"At one time," said he, "you never got up of a morning without seeing a few dead Russians floating about. You could chuck them overboard if you liked, and nobody interfered. Many a time I've put one over the side. But now you dare not whisper, much less touch them."

The general opinion amongst English seamen, from the master downwards, was that a great injustice had been done to us by the Decree of Liberation.

On one occasion I lay alongside a Yankee ship which was loading flax. Work had ceased for breakfast. I saw the chief officer on the poop, said "Good morning" to him, and asked him how the loading was going on.

"Well," said he, "it goes not so bad, but we've had an accident this morning which stopped us for nearly an hour. There were three or four bales of flax slung in the hatchway; the slings slipped, and the bales fell right on a dozen Russians."