Looking Seaward Again

by Baron Walter Runciman Runciman

"That is very serious," I said. "Did it kill them?"

"No," drawled he, with a slow smile; "it didn't exactly kill them, but I guess it has flattened them out some."

The "Bran" Wharf was then a large pontoon, with dwelling accommodation for Custom-house officers and harbour officials. It was moored just at the entrance to the dock or mole, and was in charge of an official who regulated the berthing of vessels. This man was originally a boatswain aboard a Russian warship. He was illiterate, but very clever, so much so that great power was put into his hands; indeed, he became quite as powerful in his way as his Imperial Majesty himself. Every conceivable complaint and petty dispute was taken to him, and it was soon found that it could be settled in a way that did not involve a fine or imprisonment. In fact, there were occasions when a favourite English captain or mate asked this official's aid in getting the Russians to work properly. He would, if agreeably disposed, come aboard, spit, stamp, and swear at the men in a most picturesque way, and if he had had a glass or two of grog, or wanted one, and the captain or mate made a very bad report, he would lash the skulkers with a piece of rope. When he was finished there was no more need for complaint. This notorious person was called Tom the Boatswain. He drew very fine distinctions as to whom he favoured with his countenance and his chastening rod. For obvious reasons, he loathed a Swede and a Norwegian. In truth, he told me himself that Englishmen were "dobra" (good), and that Norwegians and Swedes were "knet dobra." He spoke a peculiar kind of English, with a fascinating accent, and when he went his rounds in the early morning, rowed by two uniformed sailors, studied respect was paid to him. His invitations to breakfast, or to have a glass of brandy (which he preferred to whisky), indicated the esteem, fear, or amount of favours inspired by him. He in turn endeavoured to pay a hurried visit to each of his guests, ostensibly to see that their vessels were properly berthed, and the men working properly, but really to test the generosity of the captains, who seldom let him go without a "douceur," which was sometimes satisfactory. He was accustomed, when asked to have refreshment, to request that his two men should have a nip also. One morning he visited a favourite captain who had arranged with his mate to act liberally towards the men. His stay in the cabin was prolonged, and when he came on deck and called for the boat, his devoted henchmen did not come forth. He looked over the quarter-deck, and was thrown into frenzy by seeing them both lying speechless, their bodies in the bottom, and their legs sticking up on the seats of the boat. He got into her, kicked the two occupants freely without producing from them any appreciable symptoms of life, and then finally rowed himself back to the "Bran" Wharf. The two culprits were compulsory teetotalers after that.

Their master went on accumulating roubles, which, under Russian law, Tom could not invest in his own name, and perhaps he had personal reasons for secrecy. He did not allow the amount of his wealth to be known to gentlemen who might have relieved him of the anxiety of watching over it. But, alas! there came a period of great trial to Tom. That portion of the "Bran" Wharf where the roubles were concealed took fire. The occupants had to fly for their lives, and soon the whole fabric was burnt to the water's edge. Another pontoon was erected in its place, and Tom put in command; but before he had time to replace the fortune he had lost, he was superseded by a naval officer, and his roubles were taken from him. I believe his dismissal was brought about by one of the countrymen to whom he had such a strong aversion making a complaint to the Governor about his partiality to Englishmen. Great sympathy was secretly extended to poor Tom by his English friends, but the loss of his position and his wealth broke his heart, and he only survived the blow for a few weeks.

In addition to controlling the berthing of vessels, and keeping the harbour free from confusion, it was Tom's duty to see that no fires or lights were allowed either by day or night, and, as these rigid rules were frequently broken, his "hush money" very largely contributed to his already affluent income. Nor did his removal affect the acquisitiveness of his successor, who loyally followed in his footsteps. As soon as a sailing-vessel arrived in the Roads, the galley fire had to be put out before she was allowed to come into the Mole. All cooking was done ashore at a cookhouse that was loathsomely dirty. A heavy charge was made for the use of the place, and also for the hire of the cook's lurky, a flat-bottomed kind of boat constructed of rough planks. These boats were invariably so leaky that on the passage to and from the shore they became half-foil of water, and the food was frequently spoiled in consequence. But, even if all went right, the crews often had to partake of badly cooked, cold rations. Many a meal was lost altogether, and once or twice a poor cook who could not swim was drowned by the boat filling and capsizing. The frail craft of this kind were of curious shape, and only a person who had the knack could row them. No more comical sport could be witnessed than the lurky race which was held every season. Many of the cooks never acquired the art of rowing straight, and whenever they put a spurt on the lurky would run amuck in consequence of being flat-bottomed and having no keel. Then the carnival of collisions, capsizing of boats, and rescuing of their occupants began. Some disdained assistance, and heroically tried to right their erratic "dug-outs." It would be impossible to draw a true picture of these screamingly funny incidents, but be it remembered they were all sailor-cooks who took part in the sport, and the riotous joy they derived therefrom was always a pleasant memory, and kept them for days in good temper for carrying out the pilgrimage to and from the cookhouse.

The popular English idea is that there are only two classes in Russia—viz., the upper and lower; but this is quite a mistake. There has always been a thrifty shopkeeping and artisan class, which may be called their middle lower class. Then there is a class that comes between them and the common labourer. Nearly all the shopkeepers that carry on business at Cronstadt, Riga, and other Northern Russian ports during the summer have their real homes in Moscow, and mostly all speak a little English. There are also the boatmen, who are a well-behaved, well-dressed lot of men, whose homes are in Archangel. They, as well as the tradesmen, come every spring, and leave when the port closes in the autumn. In the sailing-ship days each of the greengrocers—as they were called, though they sold all kinds of stores besides—had their connection. Every afternoon, between four and six, batches of captains were to be found seated in a greengrocer's shop having a glass of tea with a piece of lemon in it. It was then they spun their yarns in detail about their passages, their owners, their mates, their crews, and their loading and discharging. If their vessels were unchartered they discussed that too, but whenever they got authority from their owners to charter on the best possible terms they became reticent and sly with each other. To exchange views as to the rate that should be accepted would have been regarded as a decided token of business incapacity. Supposing two captains had their vessels unchartered, each would give instructions to be called early in the morning, that they might go in the first boat to St. Petersburg, and neither would know what the other intended. When they met aboard the passenger boat they would lie to each other grotesquely about what was taking them to town. If they were unsuccessful in fixing, they rarely disclosed what had been offered; and this would go on for days, until they had to fix; then they would draw closer to each other, and relate in the most minute fashion the history of all the negotiations, and how cleverly they had gained this or that advantage over the charterers; whereas, in truth, their agents or brokers had great trouble in getting some of them to understand the precise nature of the business that was being negotiated. The following is an instance.

Mr. James Young, of South Shields, whose many vessels were distinguished by having a frying-pan at the foretopgallant or royal mast-head, had a brig at Cronstadt which had been waiting unloaded for some days. Her master was one of the old illiterate class. His peace of mind was much disturbed at Mr. Young's indifference. At last he got a telegram asking him to wire the best freights offering. He proceeded to St. Petersburg, bounced into Mr. Charles Maynard's office, and introduced himself as Mark Gaze, one of Jimmy Young's skippers.

"Well," said Mr. Maynard, in his polite way, "and what can I do for you, Captain Gaze?"

"Dee for me, sorr? Wire the aad villain that she's been lyin' a week discharged."

"Yes," said the broker, writing down something very different. "And what else?"