Whether the Royal Mail or the P. & O. was entitled to the first place might be a matter of debate, but there is no doubt that in the matter of looks the P. & O. was an easy first. Their ships lay in the outer basin and always presented a beautiful appearance. Vessels like the Mooltan, Poonah and many more of the same class were even then being superseded by newer ships like the Australia, Bangalore and Kaiser-I-Hind, newer and more up-to-date, but not to be compared for appearance with the older vessels. With rigging and sails in perfect order they were all that the eye of a sailor could desire.
Mentioning that these vessels lay in the outer basin reminds me that the rise and fall of tide at Southampton was considerable, and that at times the bowsprits of these old-fashioned ships, extending as they frequently did over the lines of rails on the quay at low water, were level with the lines of railway trucks. One day an artist in mischief quietly hooked a truck coupling to a neighbouring bowsprit bobstay. As the tide rose so did the truck, and great was the interest taken in the incident. I never heard that the culprit was discovered, and he deserved immunity for his genius.
Beyond the Channel Mail steamers, a few grain ships, and the North German Lloyd ships, there was little traffic to the docks. The German ships were fine vessels, well managed, and the local pilots who had the handling of them always spoke in the highest terms of the qualifications of their officers. It struck me at the time in a vague sort of way that it was curious the Germans should have such fine craft. It is easy to see now that they were in the early stages of the thirst for sea power. Apropos of this matter, I might mention that the Union Company had just sent out their steamer Dane (Captain Ballard) with sealed orders, but as we afterwards learned on an expedition to the Western Islands to warn a German training-ship for officers that war had been declared between France and Germany.
No notice of Southampton in the early ’seventies would be complete without the mention of Queen’s Terrace and the Canute Hotel. The Terrace was, generally speaking, the abode of the officers of the vessels in harbour. As a rule the landladies were a good sort, looked after us well and did not unduly rob us. They were also fairly patient and long-suffering where our misdeeds were concerned. For the days were not long enough for all we tried to crowd into them, and the nights were very short and bed was to most of us a last resort. The experiences were many and varied, but there was mostly the charm of novelty about them. Some officers rather favoured a ladder that would afford an exit through the backyard from their bedroom windows when it was undesirable for various reasons to make use of the front door. The Canute Hotel was the general rendezvous of all officers in port for lunch. It was kept by Mrs. Hyles, who in her way would have mothered the lot of us. She supplied most excellent chops, the remembrance of which and the appetites that devoured them lingers to the present day. I have only one ground of complaint against that good lady and I may as well state it now.
There was a music hall in Southampton called the Royal York which was well attended by officers generally. When I had been in command about two years, Mrs. Hyles was managing it. One night Charlie Hight, a most respectable official of the National Provincial Bank, and myself thought we would like to see the York once more if we could do so in safety and with no loss of dignity. We consulted Mrs. Hyles, who said, “You shall have my own private box,” and we went there. That was all right, but she afterwards extended a similar favour to three young doctors from Netley who had been dining very well if not too wisely. At one period of the performance there was a lady on the stage known as Jenny Hill, or the “Vital Spot,” and these young doctors commenced to chaff her. She stood on the stage and dressed them down properly, for which she was applauded by the audience, but as we were also occupants of the box addressed, we tried to make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible, I especially so, for I could see my third officer in the stalls taking a great interest in the proceedings. Our box was at the end of a long gallery, filled with people, which had to be traversed to obtain exit, and when the doctors departed, the whole house rose and howled at them. Charlie and I sat fast, thinking that we should slip away later unobserved, but no such luck. After an hour we tried to go, but got rather a worse doing than the actual culprits. It only shows how accidents may happen to respectable well-meaning men if they stray from the paths of strict propriety.
It was amusing at times to observe the feeling between the P. & O. and the West Indian Mail men. For instance, one of the former would say, “Now, Mrs. Hyles, when you have quite finished with those brass-bound gentlemen will you spare me a little attention?” That was called for because the uniform of the P. & O. men was conspicuously plain and neat in contrast with the rather liberal use of gold lace by the West Indian Co. I think it may be found that a history of the Royal Mail Company would prove a valuable book if any one acquainted with the legends of the Company would write it, for it seems a pity that such interesting matter should be lost. Such stories, for instance, as permission being given to wear epaulets, “any number above two,” and an authentic statement as to when the white hat for full dress was finally dispensed with. These may be trivial matters, but the traditions of the sea service are precious to those who still love the Briton’s heritage, and the records of the merchant service are as much part of the country’s history as are those of the Royal Navy.
To leave the shore details and come back once more to the Roman, it was then the custom of the Company the day before the ship sailed to muster the crew, and go through fire and boat drill, and a very good custom too. It was a respectable show to see the men fallen in, dressed in uniform and saluting in proper fashion as their names were called over, the officers dressed in frock coats trimmed to the company’s fashion. The captain’s uniform had evidently been copied from that of the Trinity Masters, an excellent example, and it always appeared to me that it was a mistake to too closely follow the uniform of the Royal Navy. It is, I am aware, commonly done, but it would show better taste if it were discontinued.
Naturally this condition of things appealed to me vastly, and I may say gave a liking for the service which never departed. Years afterwards when I had sought “fields afresh,” it was said of me that “as well expect the planets to have left their orbits as me to sever my connection with the company,” and I am more than ever sure now that it was the biggest mistake in the many that I have to record. I firmly believe that that service was the last stronghold of the conservatism of the sea.
At the time of which I am now writing it was customary to leave Southampton two days before the date of sailing from Plymouth. The Company’s vessels were not powerful enough to make sure of their passage against a strong adverse wind, and cases were frequent when it was found necessary to put the vessel under fore and aft canvas, and reproduce in a mild form the tactics of sailing-ships with a head wind.
We also took a Channel pilot who was ordinarily employed as the Company’s pilot. His name was William Waters. He was a man of strong character, and stronger language. There was little of the suaviter in modo about him, but he was a sailor, and could handle a ship for all she was worth. Many are the stories that might be told of incidents that occurred during those trips down-Channel, but they would lose much of their point if their text were departed from, and as much of it is unprintable, there is nothing to do save leave it alone. But never shall I forget William’s language to the man in charge of a small schooner without any lights that we found in close proximity to us one dark night. In reply to a forcible question concerning lights, the reply came up, “Sure, sir, they’ve gone out.” This reminds me of another Irishman, Pat Malony, afterwards one of the Company’s captains, who being in the hold when he was fourth officer, was asked, “How many lights have you down there, Malony?” He replied, “Six, sir, but they’re all gone out.”