We did so, and hove the yard high enough, two men then going aloft to shackle on the slings. It was a cold morning, and Youth, having held on to the hawser while it was being hove on found his fingers cold, and not suspecting harm, as there were many turns of it round the windlass barrel, put it on the deck and stood on it while he warmed his hands. Now this shows how a fine idea may miscarry by some absurd detail being overlooked; in getting my feet on the hawser I suppose I had slacked it slightly and the next thing I knew was being on my back, a vision of flying rope, terrible swearing aloft, and the foreyard down across the rails. I laugh as I recall the scene, but it might have been far more serious. The lesson was learned, however, that a purchase was better than a single rope, even if sufficient power could be applied. In this particular case no harm was done, for as the mainstays set up right in the eyes of her—they had eased the yard as it came down. It had been a narrow thing for the men aloft, but they were good fellows and said little after the first natural outburst.
Then there came an inventor from Whitstable and fitted the barque with patent topsails of his own invention. I trust that Heaven may have forgiven him by this time, but I freely confess that nothing will ever induce me to do so. A good patent topsail, if there is such a thing (which I doubt), may be a boon and a blessing. I can say a word or two in favour of Cunningham’s patent, which is not so very bad, but this particular patent in question must have been inspired by the spirit of evil, who in some moment doubting his power over the destiny of the souls of seamen, made assurance doubly sure as regards the future crews of the Lord Nelson. These yards were awful things to work with and had more weak points about them than even erring human nature.
By the time the ship was nearly ready for sea we received the new mate on board. He was a great raw-boned Scotchman named McKinnon, a good seaman, and not bad to get on with. His first introduction to his new ship did not seem to impress him very favourably.
We loaded a cargo of coal to take round to Plymouth, where we were to load for Australia, and with a scratch crew of ten all told we were towed to sea. The skipper, Boisse, who had re-joined to take her round the coast, observed, “Never mind about washing down to get the coal dust from the deck, she’ll do that for herself when she gets outside.” He showed a sound knowledge of her ways, for deep as she was it was like being on a half-tide rock.
In due course we got to Plymouth, discharged a great portion of the coal and commenced to load large iron pipes and machinery for Wallaroo. It was mining gear of some sort, but, not being content with a fair load, the skipper had some of the pipes filled in with coal to make more room, the result being that the ship was loaded inordinately deep.
About this time, for some unexplained reason, there was a change of skippers, and our new one was R. K. Jeffery. He was a most important personage, with a great deal of the Methodist about him. There were two or three apprentices and one Bob McCarthy, an ordinary seaman, who was a friend of the owners. He was supposed to be suffering from consumption and came to sea to be cured or killed. He was cured, as it happened, and we were chums for the voyage, as he lived in the deck-house with the carpenter and myself. The last I heard of him, some years ago, was that he was in command of a steamer and doing well. The apprentices disappeared from the ship before we put to sea.
This was early in the year 1866, and the winter season in the Atlantic had been bad. It was shortly after the London went down in the Bay, and our anticipations of the trip were not hopeful. It will be remembered that this was before Mr. Plimsoll began his celebrated crusade, and, in point of fact, here was as fine an illustration of overloading as any one could wish to see. So far as I know there was at that time no check at all upon the amount of cargo a master or owner might think fit to place on board, and I am sure that no one was ever more entitled to the gratitude of seamen than was Samuel Plimsoll. His method of procedure might have been crude, but the fact remains that his book was a fair and just account of the usages of the sea at the time it was written. Some years afterwards, when it came into my hands, I found how closely my experiences coincided with his remarks.
This matter of overloading ships was a very vexed question, and “as deep as a collier” is a proverb not altogether forgotten even to-day. The evil now to some extent corrects itself, for a deeply-laden steamer is always lightening herself by her coal consumption, but I am confident that I could go to the docks to-day and point out first-class steamers that would be overloaded if down to their Plimsoll mark, and which, if they put to sea in the teeth of a bad breeze of wind, would give considerable anxiety to those in charge of their navigation. Of this, however, I may say more anon.
We put to sea loaded as deeply as possible, and had no great luck to speak of, for after rounding Ushant the wind drew to the southward of west and began to blow hard. The barque laboured heavily, commencing to make a good deal of water. The pumps eventually got choked with small coal and we had to bale the water out by buckets. This was only possible because, owing to the nature of the cargo, the hold was not full, and we were able to clear a way pretty deep down in the coal and so keep the water under. Then the maintopsail yard (patent) carried away, and that gave us more joy, and finally the men came aft to the captain and demanded that he should put back to Plymouth or the nearest port.
To proceed with the voyage in our then condition would have been impossible, but the old man did not yield with any good grace. The crew, however, were worn out by constant work and want of sleep, and there was nothing for it but to shift the helm, and hope we might be fortunate enough to get to port. The decision to do so acted as a tonic to all hands, and eventually we got back to Plymouth Dock to unload and refit. To the best of my recollection the ship was by this time so down by the head that the hawse pipes were almost level with the water, and it was a mercy that any of us ever again set foot on shore. It is one of the dispositions of Providence, however, that a danger once escaped leaves no lasting or abiding cautions behind it, and perhaps in the interests of adventure it is well that it should be so.