Eventually the skipper came off and we got under way for Colombo, where we were to load coffee for either New York or the Continent, calling off Bahia for orders. This was indeed good news, and the work of the ship went with a snap and a swing that made child’s play of it until the novelty of being homeward bound wore off a bit.
It was the fashion when a ship was leaving to send a boat’s crew on board from all the other vessels in harbour to help to work her out of the anchorage. The skipper usually took charge of that job, and it was a kindly and useful assistance which tended towards good fellowship all round. At times a marvellous smartness would be developed, seeing that no proper stations had been prearranged, but to help to get a ship under way for home was always a pleasant experience.
Now it should be known that the one great day on a long voyage is that on which one gets money and leave for twenty-four hours. It was looked forward to most keenly, and afterwards served as a topic of conversation until long afterwards. This particular leave was no exception to the rule, and as I have not visited Colombo since I shall always remember it for its intense beauty. There is only one place with which I can compare it for beauty, and that is Rio. The luxuriant vegetation made it appear as a sort of paradise to men who had been cooped up in a small craft for months past. I suppose we amused ourselves pretty much the same as sailors on shore usually do. We chartered a conveyance and drove out into the country, we bathed in a fresh-water lake, and generally disported ourselves like a lot of overgrown school-boys, but on return to town, in some way or other we made the acquaintance of certain bandsmen of the 25th Regiment and found them very good fellows. They did their best to do the honours of the place, and succeeded very much to our satisfaction. A dinner in the evening in an open-air corridor attached to a big hotel completed my enchantment, and I wanted to stay there and enlist in the “Borderers.” My particular friend (by this time), a bandsman named Hibbert, with a view to giving effect to this suggested that I should meet him after the officers’ mess, when he would be free and would put me in the way of doing so. I sat outside the officers’ mess on the other side of the street and envied them. Eventually I was taken to a Sergeant Sinclair, who invited me to his quarters and put me up for the night. I like to put this action on record as typical of the kindness shown by men of the services to youngsters when they get a little adrift. Before I turned in, in a spotlessly clean bed which was a change indeed from my usual quarters, he discovered that he had served in the 92nd under a cousin of mine for whom he had the greatest respect and regard. Next morning he said to me: “If I enlist you I shall get so much bounty (I forget how much), but for your own sake I think you had better go back to your ship. You very likely would work up to a commission, but go home and see your friends before altering the idea of your life.” Whether that was good advice or not I cannot say. Anyhow I took it, and retain a grateful remembrance of the Sergeant’s kindness.
So it was back to the mill once more, and an end of all the pleasant things that had been so tantalisingly held in view, back to the daily round, the wretched food, and the discomfort of poor quarters in hot weather with no chance of more shore leave.
Our cargo was being stowed by a gang of natives who lived on board at the fore end of the ship. We took the bags in, they stowed them, and a specially beautiful lot of coffee that was, in fact a rare consignment. Every possible care was taken in its stowage, and no precaution was neglected to ensure its safe carriage to its destination.
Our stock of ship’s bread or biscuit had run out by this time. It was of the hard brown type that required a deal of cracking, and we were rather pleased to take in a supply of native baked biscuits that at the time we first tasted them were a great improvement upon the former supply. But before we had been a month at sea they were simply swarming with black weevils, little insects resembling ants.
Sailing day came, and with it the usual crowd of boats from the various ships to help us out of port. On these occasions it was usual to offer the visitors a glass of grog, but I cannot remember that the crew of the Lord Nelson ever had a taste of it, for none was put on board. The advocates of so-called temperance can say what they please, but the judicious administration of grog on board ship (sailing-ships especially) will always have my support. In a wet weary world of toil it frequently helps to put a more cheerful face upon a very drab outlook.
The commencement of the homeward-bound trip is always an occasion when high spirits (animal, not spiritous) prevail. Yards were hoisted to the tune of artistic chanties, for where a collection of sailing-ships were gathered together each ship’s crew prided itself upon singing some particular ditty better than any one else. This was reserved for special occasions. The finishing pulls were given, hands were shaken with cheery good wishes, the strangers dropped over the side into their boats, and we were off under the most favourable auspices for a trip to which we all looked forward.
As I am now writing of events that occurred forty-five years ago, and as there are no notes to consult, I cannot pretend to remember more than a fair share of detail, but that fact will not form a pretext for drawing upon the imagination. We crossed the line and reached the latitude of Mauritius without any event of note happening, but we were conscious that it took longer to pump the ship out than it had formerly done. Nothing to speak of, perhaps, but as we had a valuable cargo we were naturally careful to eliminate any unnecessary chance of damage.
One evening we had a fine beam wind on the port side and the old man was rather keen upon making the most of it. As he cracked on more and more canvas the ship lay over a good deal. It was my first watch and it was spent mostly at the pump, but when the mate relieved me at midnight I was able to report that the ship had “sucked,” which was equivalent to saying that she was pumped dry. Dry below she might have been certainly, but as her starboard rail was more often under water than not, on deck it was certainly more than a little damp. I had hung on to the topgallantsails for my watch, and the mate now proceeded to get these in. That, I suppose, was really the beginning of the trouble, for we all, from the skipper down, should have known that a small old ship would not stand being driven unfairly. But she had the reputation for being strong and sound, and as she had been built by White of Cowes the idea obtained was that there was on occasion a turn of speed to be driven out of her.