The lieutenant and commander

by Basil Hall

"Heave the log now!" again says the officer. "Ten knots!" reports the middy.

By-and-bye the courses are reefed, and before dark the mainsail is rolled up, the fore and mizen topsails handed, and the top-gallant yards sent on deck. The sea has now risen to a disagreeable height, and the steering, in spite of every care, becomes wilder and much more difficult; and as the ship forges into the breast of the waves, or rises with a surge not much less startling, her way seems deadened for the moment, till she bounds up again on the top of the sea, to woo, as it were, the embraces of the rattling gale. The storm is not slow to meet this rude invitation; while, if the ropes, sails, and masts, be all wet, as they generally are in such a breeze, it is difficult to conceive any tones more gruff and unsentimental than the sounds of this boisterous courtship.

In line-of-battle ships, and even in frigates, the close-reefed main-topsail and foresail may be carried, for a very long time, when going nearly before the wind; and indeed it is the best seamanship to crack on her; for when the gale rises to its highest pitch, and the seas follow in great height, they are apt to curl fairly on board, and play fine pranks along the decks, even if the violence of the blow on the quarter do not broach the ship to, that is, twist her head round towards the wind in such a way that the next sea shall break over her gangway, and in all probability sweep away the masts. In small vessels it becomes a most anxious period of the gale when the sea has got up so much that it is difficult to steer steadily, and when the wind blows so strong that enough sail cannot be carried to keep the ship sufficiently ahead of the waves, except at the risk of tearing the masts away. When the requisite degree of speed cannot be secured, the inevitable consequence, sooner or later, is, that a monstrous pea-green solid sea walks most unceremoniously on board, over the taffrail, and dashes along the decks like those huge debacles, of which some geologists so confidently point out the traces on the earth's surface.

I never happened actually to witness a catastrophe of this kind on the great scale, though I have seen one or two smartish gales in my time. Indeed the most serious evils I recollect to have been present at occurred on board the Volage, on the very passage to India which I am now describing. The following are the words in which these incidents are noticed in my journal:—

"On the 13th of July, off the Cape of Good Hope, in the midst of a heavy winter's gale, our worthy passenger, Sir Evan Nepean, governor of Bombay, was thrown down the ladder, by the violent rolling of the ship; and another gentleman, the Baron Tuyll, the best-natured and deservedly popular passenger I ever saw afloat, was very nearly washed out of his cot by a sea which broke into the stern windows of the captain's cabin."

I have often enough been close to wars and rumours of wars, but was never in a regular sea-fight; and though I have also witnessed a few shipwrecks and disasters, I never was myself in much danger of what might be honestly called a lee shore; neither is it my good fortune to be able to recount, from personal knowledge, any scenes of hardship or suffering from hunger, cold, or any other misery. My whole professional life, in short, has been one of such comparative ease and security, that I cannot now remember ever going far beyond twenty-four hours without a good bellyful. Still I have often been forced to take a high degree of interest in formidable adventures of this kind, from their happening in fleets of which my own ship formed a part, or from these incidents including among the sufferers persons to whom I was attached.

In the year 1815, I accompanied a convoy of homeward-bound Indiamen from Ceylon, and a right merry part of the voyage it was while we ran down a couple of thousand miles of the south-east trade-wind; for these hospitable floating nabobs, the East India captains, seldom let a day pass without feasting one another; and we, their naval protectors, came in for no small share of the good things, for which we could make but a poor return. Along with our fleet, there sailed from Ceylon a large ship, hired as a transport by Government to bring home invalid soldiers. There were about 500 souls in her; of these a hundred were women, and more than a hundred children. I was accidentally led to take a particular interest in this ill-fated vessel, from the circumstance of there being four fine boys on board, sons of a military friend of mine at Point de Galle. I had become so well acquainted with the parents of these poor little fellows during my frequent visits to Ceylon, that one day, before sailing, I playfully offered to take a couple of the boys in my brig, the Victor, an eighteen-gun sloop of war; but as I could not accommodate the whole family, the parents, who were obliged to remain abroad, felt unwilling to separate the children, alas! and my offer was declined.

Off we all sailed, and reached the neighbourhood of the Cape without encountering anything in the way of an adventure; there, however, commenced the disasters of the unfortunate Arniston, as this transport was called. She had no chronometer on board; a most culpable and preposterous omission in the outfit of a ship destined for such a voyage. The master told me that he himself was not in circumstances to purchase so expensive an instrument, the cost of a good chronometer being at least fifty or sixty guineas, and that the owners considered the expense needless. He also stated that on his remonstrating still more, and urging upon these gentlemen that their property would be ten times more secure if he were furnished with the most approved means of taking good care of it, he was given to understand, that, if he did not choose to take the ship to sea without a chronometer, another captain could easily be found who would make no such new-fangled scruples. The poor master shrugged his shoulders, and said he would do his best; but having often rounded the Cape, he knew the difficulties of the navigation, when there was nothing but the dead reckoning to trust to.

During our passage from Ceylon, it was the practice every day, at one o'clock, for the Indiamen, as well as the men-of-war, to make signals showing the longitude of each ship by chronometer. Thus we had all an opportunity of comparing the going of our respective time-keepers, and thus, too, the master of the Arniston was enabled to learn his place so accurately, that if he had only kept company with his friends the Indiamen, each of whom was provided with at least four or five chronometers, the deficiency in his equipment might never have led to the dreadful catastrophe which speedily followed the loss of this assistance.

It was late in the month of May when we reached the tempestuous regions of the Cape; and we were not long there before a furious gale of wind from the westward dispersed the fleet, and set every one adrift upon his own resources. The poor Arniston was seen at sunset, on the day the gale commenced, with most of her sails split, but not otherwise in danger, for she had a good offing, and the wind was not blowing on shore. Three heavy gales followed in such quick succession during the next week, that not only the ordinary course, but the velocity of the current was changed, and instead of running, as it almost always does, to the westward, it set, on the days in question, to the south-eastward. According to the most moderate allowance for the current, all circumstances being taken into consideration, any navigator might fairly have supposed that, in the five days which elapsed from the 24th of May to the 28th inclusive, his ship would have been drifted to the westward by the current at least a hundred miles. Our chronometers, however, distinctly showed us that we had been carried, not, as usual, to the westward, but actually to the eastward, a distance of more than a hundred miles; so that, in less than a week, there occurred upwards of two hundred miles of error in the dead reckoning.