From St. Lucia to Jamaica, January 19, 1891. The fleet racing, the
'Emerald' beating every other ship. Band of Admiral's ship playing—
"See the Conquering Hero comes."
At length the fleet reached Jamaica. Two ships (V12), the 'Bellerophon' and 'Thrush,' proceeded up Kingston harbour, and on the night upon which the Great Exhibition was opened—and I think Prince George, the commander of the 'Thrush,' opened it—all the fleet was decorated aloft with incandescent lights—a truly grand sight. Two Russian ships were present, and their decorations surpassed our English display. One of them had the initial P shining between the foremast and mainmast, and G between the main mast and mizenmast. This was in honour of Prince George.
Just another incident in connection with this cruise. Our ship lay anchored off Curaçoa, and one morning whilst hoisting the foretopgallant mast, the mast' rope entwined round the foot of a seaman, causing him to fall from the topsail yard to the topgallant forecastle. He lived but a short time afterward. A coffin was made and covered in blue cloth—the custom of the service—and we followed him ashore to the grave. There was in harbour at the same time a Dutch ship—in fact, the very ship whose crew we had invited on board at Bermuda on Christmas day. The Dutchmen landed, bringing on shore with them three beautiful wreaths, thus manifesting their sympathy and respect. At the graveside many of them begged to be allowed to throw in the grave a shovelful of earth, a still further proof, I take it, of their kindly feeling toward the 'Emerald's' crew in their loss of a shipmate.
The fleet returned to headquarters. We prepared for the fishery cruise, believing it to be our last. The flag-ship had now received orders to leave for England as soon as the 'Blake' should arrive. One morning it was reported that the flag-ship's relief was coming up the Narrows. We had heard of this wonderful ship, of her heavy armament, and the electric lighting system on all her decks. What wonder, then, that we were anxious to behold her? As she drew nearer every eye was upon her, with the exception, however, of one man, who evidently took no interest in her arrival. He and I were together in a boat, and whilst I was gazing on the 'Blake,' he leaned over the side of the boat, and seized something that was floating along. He pulled it out of the water, and threw it on my foot. In less than a minute I was in an agony of pain, my foot swelled and burned with fiery heat, and I jumped about like a madman. I was taken to the sick berth, and the doctor treated it with oil and flour, which gave me a little ease.
Now this, that my companion threw on my foot, was a fish known as a Portuguese man-of-war—at least, that is the name by which naval men know it. When floating on the water it resembles a glass bottle, but under the surface it has long fangs several inches in length, and it was these which stung me. He was very sorry that he did such a stupid act, but I suppose having read or heard about this class of fish, he thought he would put to an experimental test the power of its sting, and chose my foot for that purpose.
The Second Newfoundland Cruise.
The 'Bellerophon' left for Plymouth the day after. Whilst all the crews cheered her from aloft she steamed amongst the ships, her band playing meantime 'Auld Lang Syne' and 'Home Sweet Home.' There was more than one on the 'Emerald' who desired to be on the flag-ship that day. We left Bermuda shortly after the 'Bellerophon' for another fishery cruise, calling at the Port of Sausages for warm clothing— yes, and for more sausages. At this time I was rated an O.D., which meant that I was regarded as a man. The dish-cloth was hung up in the mess as an outward and visible sign that we had parted company—for I may say until a boy is rated ordinary seaman, he is a slave to domestic work in his mess. Another change was made with this rating— I was transferred from the quarter-deck part of the ship to a flying-jib stower. A word of explanation here. The flying-boom is the furthermost pole projecting from the ship's bow, and the sail which is furled upon it is called the flying jib. Many narrow escapes had I on the flying-boom, having to cling to it for dear life when the ship dipped in the trough of the sea, causing me to be drenched through and through; then like a fearless bird she would rise quickly toward the sky, only to descend just as rapidly in the hollow of the next oncoming wave. Giddy, sick, and faint have I furled with my mate the flying jib, pinched with the cold and wet. It is impossible for me to put down on paper what the bitterness of my life then was—it cannot be reduced to writing. Often I found relief by stealing away to the topgallant forecastle, and on the wash-deck locker lay with my face buried in my arms and sob, praying to God to deliver me.
A very monotonous cruise was this one. Anticipating as much, I bought a melodeon at Halifax, and in my evening watch below would play some of Sankey's hymns. The men were only too glad to sing, and presently the whole mess deck would ring with bright and hearty singing. This was as a tonic to me then, and is now, for nothing, to my mind, is so inspiring as music accompanied with powerful song.
What was our surprise one day when steaming into St. John's harbour to find the city devastated by fire, which in some parts was still smouldering! It appeared that the fire had broken out a day or two previous to our arrival, and that it swept through the city in a maddening rush, accelerated by the high winds, and the dearth of water whereby to extinguish it. The heat, whilst the fire was raging, was so intense that all craft in the harbour had to put to sea in order to escape their sails being singed. Rich men's safes were taken to the water and cast in, and our divers were given the task of finding them again subsequently. We had looked forward to forty-eight hours' leave, but it was out of the question now. The Governor of the colony being absent from the capital, our captain took pre-eminence, and placed the inhabitants under martial law. Public houses were closed, and we patrolled the city night and day with blank and ball cartridges, for it was thought a panic might ensue, or worse still, that evil-disposed persons might set fire to the other side of the harbour, where were stored thousands of tons of cod-liver oil. A strict watch was kept afloat also, our steam-launch patrolling the harbour all night with an armed crew.
What about the dangerous ruins—should they be left standing? A party of bluejackets went ashore with charges of dynamite to blow them down. In the execution of their duty one of them found a part of the silver communion plate which belonged to the English cathedral buried in the debris. He brought it on board, and a skilled tradesman converted it into various articles. I bought a ring which was made out of it, but unfortunately lost it overboard. As to places of worship, I think the only two which remained intact were the barracks of the Salvation Army. As a relic of that great fire, I have in my possession the stamp with which the books and papers in the Atheneum reading room were marked.