Frank Brown, Sea Apprentice

by Frank Thomas Bullen

The second mate, who joined late, was a splendidly clean-built young fellow, who looked not only the highest type of seamen, but bore unmistakably the hall-mark of a gentleman; and, as like cleaves to like, he soon found Frank out, and took to him at once, uttering a few kindly words in appreciation of his late feat that gave Frank the first sensation of pleasure he had known since he came on board. He had served his time in one of the splendid ships of Messrs. Patrick Henderson & Co., the Oamaru, on the long trail from England to New Zealand, being third mate on his last voyage, and this was his first essay as second. His name was James Wilson, an Englishman from the Midlands.

Precisely at noon on a grim December day, the 13th of that stern month, the Thurifer was seized by the tug and dragged out into the river, looking most ungainly and helpless among the huge trim liners lying easily at anchor on the bosom of the grey Mersey as she submitted clumsily to the fussy efforts of the great Jolliffe tug. No sooner was she in the river, and the mooring gear cleared away, than the big business of rigging the jibboom out was taken in hand, and here the mate got the first taste of the quality of his crew. Fortunately he had as a bo’sun a huge Londoner from Blackwall, one of those splendid seamen of the old school who, although he could hardly write his name, could do anything with rope and wire and canvas that was possible, having been, as he was wont to say laughingly, almost born in a rigging-loft. In addition he was immensely strong, and stood well over six feet.

This worthy seaman, under the orders of the mate, marshalled his motley gang, who tumbled over one another, got in the way of the good men, and showed conclusively that they were hopelessly bewildered at the vast entanglement. There was much shouting and cursing and objurgation generally of men who sign on as seamen and are only labourers, the mate being almost beside himself with rage. Frank was in the thick of it toiling like any beaver, and by his intelligent seamanship completely winning the heart of the bo’sun, who, being so good a sailor himself, was fully able to appreciate Frank’s ability, smartness, and industry. But even Frank was amazed at the magnitude of the spar which they were handling, and the complication of gear attached to it, for, as he afterwards said in conversation with the bo’sun, the Sealark’s jibboom was only a walking-stick compared with it. And as the number of really useful hands engaged upon it was limited to four men and two lads, the work proceeded but slowly, while the mate raved and swore like a man possessed of a devil.

Steadily seaward went the ship into a rising gale, a nasty sea, and the coming night. Gradually she began to dip and curtsy to the seas as she was dragged to meet them, adding to the immense difficulty of the work being performed by the devoted handful of workers, because of the great showers of spray that were continually breaking over the bows. But at last the mighty job was finished as well as it could be under the circumstances, and wearied to the very bone, the workers’ thoughts were turned to rest. But in cases of this kind, especially leaving Liverpool, where a ship is on the high sea so soon, those that have knowledge have the burden laid upon them of using that knowledge, with generally the added satisfaction of finding that the wasters and loafers have a far better time all round.

However, respite came at last, and all hands, with the exception of those at the wheel and look-out, went to supper, with the prospect of presently being started at setting the great sails and proceeding independently. Frank went to his cabin, which he was to share with the second mate, and while waiting for his call to supper prepared to have a wash.

But he had hardly entered before he heard the harsh voice of the mate shouting, “Brown, where have you got to?”

Frank presented himself at once, and the mate said impressively, “What sort of an officer do you think yourself, sneaking off below directly you see a slant, like any other waster? You’ll keep watch up here with the pilot, while the captain and I go to get our suppers, and don’t let me catch you shirking again.”

Frank merely uttered the formula, “Very good, sir,” and turned away rather relieved than otherwise, for he noted that the mate had recognised him as an officer, against his previous declaration that he was only a senior apprentice.

So he paced the broad expanse of the poop, looking round at the darkening, lowering sky and rising sea, and feeling a sense of responsibility coming back to him again to compensate him. Also the pilot spoke a few cheery words to him about his recent exploit, warming his heart anew, because praise from such men is of all the most valuable to a sailor.

Then came the mate, who said ungraciously, “Go and get your supper, and make haste up again. Don’t sit there half the night.”