Soon after taking up our quarters on board, we had our first lesson in “Blackwall fashion.” Davies and I were on a stage on the ship’s side busily painting when one of the Jacks put his head over: “Here, you chaps, you’re doing too much work, that ain’t Blackwall fashion,” and I must confess that we immediately complied with the regulation.
That ship, of 1042 tons about, carried captain, four mates, midshipmen and apprentices, twenty-four able seamen, and a boatswain and two mates. It was a fine crew, and could work the ship handsomely. It was then considered that it took four A.B.’s to stow a topgallant sail, but I have some recollection that upon one occasion Davies managed by himself at the fore, where he was stationed as a foretop man. I was a maintop man, and, being under the immediate eye of the officer of the watch, had not that same freedom of action they enjoyed forward, and yet I seem to remember some association between the game of euchre and the maintop on fine afternoons.
The first night out on the homeward trip we had three topsails to reef at once. It was well done and quickly, and, in the curious way in which news gets forward, we learned that the old man was very pleased with the way in which it was done, and said he never had a finer crew. And let me here, as one of that crew, pay a tribute of respect to Captain J. S. Attwood, who was in command of it.
The said crew was one such as I am thankful to say I never had to deal with as a skipper. Almost without exception they were men holding Board of Trade certificates of competency, having been runaways or something of the sort. There was one man whom I had seen in command of a sailing-ship in Adelaide, the Jessie Heyns, he was working his passage in order to buy a ship in London. He did so, and afterwards wanted me to go as second mate with him. Fine seamen as they were, the men knew too much to be tractable. Their bête noire was the third mate. Now there are various ways of annoying officers. One punishment that can be served out by a crew is not to sing out when hauling upon the ropes in the night time. By the tone of the men’s voices it can usually be learned in the dark what they are doing, but to shorten sail with silent men was an ordeal that was spared me as an officer, I am thankful to say. I learned a lot on that trip, however. For one thing I cultivated the art of chewing tobacco, so that I might be able to demonstrate undeniably to my people at home the fact that I was an A.B., and could, therefore, spit brown with a clear conscience.
It is a curious thing how trifling incidents come back to the memory when dealing with past events. There was one night the third mate had already given rather more trouble than we thought he ought to have done, when he put the finishing touch by giving the order to set a lower studding-sail. The night was pitch dark, and we were being as awkward and as slow as we knew how to be. The captain was on deck, and ordered the third to go forward and see what the delay was caused by. He did so promptly, and got a ball of spun yarn thrown at his head by a hand unknown, on which he retired aft and told the skipper. Now Captain Attwood was a man who feared nothing or no one, and he promptly came to inquire who had “thrown a ball of spun yarn at his third mate’s head?” Such was the temper of the men that the betting was very even as to what he was likely to get himself; but after some talk of more or less lurid hue, Davies solved the difficulty by saying, “Look here, Captain Attwood, if you want the work done we can do it, but we are not going to be humbugged round by that third mate of yours; now we’ll show you how to set a stunsail.” And we did. But, as I said before, I am glad that I never had such a crowd to deal with. This little incident will serve to explain the temper of crews on the southern seas during the ’sixties.
We rounded Cape Horn without any striking incident. It was winter time, and beyond the clothes I stood in I had precious little. There was, however, some sort of a sale on board, for I know that I got a warm monkey jacket. We ran from the Horn to the line in under sixteen days—a good passage—and off the western islands were becalmed for some days with a number of other vessels, tea ships mostly, and vessels of repute at that. But when once the wind began to make from the westward, as it did, what a glorious spin home it was! The Essex was not loaded deeply, she had fine lines, and it took something to pass her. In this case I think she was the second ship to dock, the winner of the race being a ship called the Florence Henderson.
Blackwall dock at last, and my mother to meet me! I can see her look of horror as I jumped on shore from one of the maindeck ports, bare-footed, dressed in shirt and trousers, with a quid of tobacco in my cheek that was intended to be obvious even to the casual observer!
It is a little remarkable how one’s views on the conventions change with one’s surroundings.