Looking Seaward Again

by Baron Walter Runciman Runciman

A handsome barque lay at the quay of a South Wales port, ready to sail, and waiting only for the flood tide. Her name was the Pacific, and she was commanded by a person of laborious dignity. His officers were selected to meet the tastes and ambitions of their captain, whose name was John Kickem. I have said before it was customary in those days for crowds of people to congregate on the quays or dock sides to watch the departure of vessels. Some came out of curiosity, but many were the relatives and friends of different members of the crew who wished to say their adieux, and to listen to the sombre singing of the chanties as the men mastheaded the topsail yards, or catted and fished the anchors. These vessels were known as copper-ore-men. They were usually manned with picked able seamen and three apprentices. In this instance they were all fine specimens of English manhood. It was no ordinary sight to witness the display of bunting as it stretched from royal truck to rail, and the grotesque love-making of the seafarers as they hugged and kissed their wives and sweethearts over and over again with amazing rapidity. One of the favourite songs which they delighted to sing on such auspicious occasions was rendered with touching pathos—

"Sing good-bye to Sal, and good-bye to Sue;
Away Rio!
And you that are list'ning, good-bye 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 to Rio Grande."

It didn't matter, of course, where they were bound to, this ditty was the farewell song; and it always had the desired effect of melting the bystanders, especially the females, though Jack himself showed no really soft emotion. Not that they were not sentimental, but theirs seemed always to be a frolicsome sentimentality.

The eldest apprentice of the Pacific was in his eighteenth year. He was a fine, broad-shouldered, fair-haired, medium-sized youth. He had been dividing his attentions amongst a number of girl admirers, and was told to come aboard to unmoor and give the tug the tow-rope. While these orders were being carried out the lad caught sight of a young girl who had just arrived in a great state of excitement. She was dressed in dazzling finery, and carrying something in a basket. The boy sprang on to the dock wall, and created much merriment with his elephantine caresses. They shouted to him from the vessel to jump aboard or he would lose his passage. He made a running spring for the main rigging as she was being towed from her berth. A wild cheer went up from the crowd when they saw the smart thing that had been done, and that he was safe. The devoted female who had caused him to dare so much, in the luxuriance of grief, shouted to him—

"Good-bye, Jim! You've always been a rare good pal to a girl. Take care of yourself; and mind, no sweethearts at every port!" The latter communication was made almost inarticulate with sobbing. Her last words were, "Don't forget, Jim!" To which he replied, "You bet, I won't!"

Soon the attractive craft, and her equally attractive crew were lost sight of amidst the haze of the gathering night. A quiet, easterly air was fitfully blowing in the Channel, and when full sail was set, the pilot and tug left. All night she trailed sinuously over the peaceful sea, and as the cold dawn was breaking she slid past the south end of Lundy Island with a freshening breeze at her stern. In a few days the north-east trade winds which blow gently over the bosom of the ocean were reached, and every stitch of canvas was hung up. The sailors had got over their monotony, and began to entertain themselves during the dog-watches from six to eight. The imperious commander was never happy himself, and was angry at the sight of mirth in anybody. He forthwith commenced a system that was well calculated to breed revolt, and which did ultimately do so. Orders were given that there were to be no afternoon watches below, and all hands were to be kept at work until 6 p.m. In addition to this petty tyranny, the crew were put on their bare whack of everything, including water; and so the dreary days and nights passed on until Cape Horn was reached. They had long realized that the burden of their song should be "Good-day, bad day, God send Sunday." The weather was stormy off the Horn, and nearly a month was spent in fruitless attempts to get round. The spirit had been knocked out of the officers and crew by senseless bullying and wicked persecution. They had no heart left to put into their work, otherwise the vessel would have got past this boisterous region in half the time. At last she arrived at Iquique, and, like all ill-conditioned creatures who have been born wrong and have polecat natures, the captain blamed the hapless officers and crew for the long passage, and in order to punish the poor innocent fellows, he refused to them both money and liberty to go ashore. Treatment of such a character could only have one ending—and that was mutiny, if not murder; and yet this senseless fellow, in defiance of all human law, kept on goading them to it. He was warned by a catspaw (whom even despised bullies can have in their pay) that the forecastle was a hotbed of murderous intent, and that for his own safety he should give the men liberty to go ashore, and advance them what money they required.

"Let them revolt!" said he. "I will soon have them where they deserve to be, the rascals. Let them, if they dare, disturb me in my cabin, and I'll riddle them with lead. If they want to go ashore, let them go without liberty; but if they do, their wages will be forfeited, and I will have them put in prison."

A policy of this kind was the more remarkable, as even if the men were driven to desertion it was impossible to fill their places at anything like the same wages, or with the same material. The available hands were either not sailors at all, or if they were, they belonged to the criminal class that feared neither God nor man, and knew no law or pity except that which was unto themselves. On the other hand, this vessel was manned with the cream of British seamen, who would have dared anything for their captain and owners had they been treated as was their right. He had run the length of human forbearance. The crew struck. They demanded to see the British Consul, and submit their grievances to him. Sometimes this authority is but a poor tribunal to appeal to when real discrimination is to be determined. On this occasion the seamen were fortunate in getting a sympathetic verdict, and the captain got what he deserved—a good trouncing for his treatment of them. They were willing to sign off the articles, and he was plainly told that they must either be paid their wages in full, or he undertake to carry out the conditions of engagement in a proper manner. "And I must warn you," said the irate official of the British Government, "if you drive these men out of your ship, you may expect no assistance from me in collecting another crew. The men are right, and you are wrong."

The captain was in a state of sullen passion at the turn things had taken against him. He said that he would decide the following day whether the proper course for him to take, now that his authority had been broken, was to pay the men off or not. On the morrow he intimated his decision to pay them off. Poor creature, it would have been well for him and all connected with this doomed vessel had he swallowed his pride and resolved to behave in a rational way to his crew. The places of respectable men were filled with human reptiles of various nationalities—criminals, every one of them. He must have persuaded himself that his despotism would have fuller play with these foreigners, whose savage vengeance was destined to shock the whole civilized world with their awful butchery. The apprentices and officers did not take kindly to the changed condition of things. They instinctively felt that they were to become associated with a gang of -, and hoped that something would transpire to prevent this happening. An opportunity was given the oldest apprentice in an unexpected way. The captain had ordered his gig to be ashore to take him aboard at a certain time at night. The boat was there before the captain, and as he was so long in coming the boat's crew went for a walk ashore. The great man came down and had to wait a few minutes for his men. This caused him to become abusive, which the oldest apprentice, James Leigh, resented by using some longshore adjectives. The master seized the foothold of the stroke oar and threw it at the lad, and when they got aboard the captain again attempted to strike him, but the lad let fly, and did considerable damage in a rough and tumble way to the bully, who was now like a wild beast. James was ultimately overpowered and got a bad beating. He thereupon determined to run away, and he laid his plans accordingly. In a few days he was far away from the sea in a safe, hospitable hiding-place, with some friends who knew his family at home, and the Pacific had sailed long before he reached the coast again.

After a few months' travelling about, picking up jobs here and there, he was brought in contact with a rich old Spaniard who owned a leaky old barque which was employed in the coasting trade. The captain of her was a Dutchman who spoke English very imperfectly, and what he did know was spoken with a nasal Yankee twang. It was a habit, as well as being thought an accomplishment in those days, as it is in these, to affect American dialect and adopt their slang and mannerisms in order to convey an impression of importance. Even a brief visit to the country, or a single passage in a Yankee ship was sufficient to turn a hitherto humble fellow into an insufferable imitator. It was obvious the skipper had been a good deal on the Spanish Main, as he spoke their language with a fluency that left no doubt as to what he had been doing for many years. He was discovered at a time when the owner was in much need of some one to take charge of his vessel, as she did not attract the highest order of captain. The Dutchman had no Board of Trade master or mate certificate; he was merely a sailor. James Leigh was discovered in pretty much the same way as the captain, and the owner took a strong liking to him at the outset. He was good to look at, and gifted with a bright intelligence which made him attractive, besides having the advantage of knowing something about navigation. The chief mate's berth was offered to him and accepted. Furthermore, it was suggested that he should visit and stay at the owner's house, whenever the vessel was in port and his services were not required aboard, and seeing that he was not yet eighteen, he felt flattered at the distinction that had been thrust upon him. Perhaps he accepted the invitation all the more readily as he was informed by his employer that he had two daughters that would like to make his acquaintance.