In the Nubian I had had a compass that had been tried and proved during a great many voyages. In the Mexican we had one of the best, but we were only now finding out how to adjust Sir Wm. Thompson’s compass for changes of latitude. On this particular voyage I pulled mine to pieces in Algoa Bay and re-adjusted it by stellar azimuths. It was a long operation, but it was well worth doing, and no one can appreciate the value of a really good compass until they have been well broken in by attempting to navigate with an indifferent one. There was one other little matter that may well be mentioned. The Mexican always seemed to us all to be a brilliantly lit ship, and oil lamps appeared to meet every requirement, but as soon as the electric light came in, we all wondered how we had managed to exist in what was by comparison a state of semi-darkness.
Once more in Cape Town, homeward bound, and coming events did not cast their shadows before, for little did I think as I took her out of dock in the most approved “show off” fashion that it would be the last time I should do so. Sailing days at the Cape for the mail steamers were red-letter days, when all men interested came down to criticise the way in which the various ships were handled. On this particular occasion I managed to retain my reputation, but the pitcher sometimes goes to the well once too often, and I fear I was what the boys call “coxy” over what I could do with that ship. Altogether that was one of the days of my life on which I felt pleased with myself, and it may be observed that there have not been many of them. Sailing day at the Cape was once well described by Leigh, who, speaking of visitors generally, said, “They come on board in ballast trim, and leave drawing twenty-seven feet by the stern.”
Few things would give me greater pleasure now than to revisit the old scenes and see how the modern school of men deal with the great ships they command, but the early negotiators of Cape Town dock had a fair amount of pioneer work to do. We learned as we went along.
My chief recollection of that last trip home was that I first made the acquaintance of Clark Russell’s novels, and on my arrival at Southampton I wrote him a letter expressing my admiration of them, which resulted in a friendship still unbroken. There are few men who have so faithfully painted life at sea as it really was. His Wreck of the Grosvenor is simply a marvel of realism, having only one equal so far as my knowledge serves me,—Dana’s Two Years before the Mast.
Southampton dock came at last, and it was with little pleasure that I learned the Commodore was at home without a ship and that I should have to make way for him. It was no use kicking against the pricks; seniority was the law of the service and it had to be abided by, so I turned the Mexican over with regret to Ballard, and once more joined the army of the “stand-bys.”
But it was in reality much worse than merely standing down. At the end of the year 1883 the trade to the Cape was in a very depressed condition, and it was not found possible to keep all the ships employed. Consequently “rotten row” began to fill up, and there were many masters and officers on shore on half pay. “Economy and retrenchment” became the watchword of the board of direction, and the Union Company was by no means singular in commencing its retrenchment policy by seeing how much it could possibly save from the pay of the sea-going staff. There was one favourite question commonly asked of masters by directors. “Did not we consider the difference of pay to be too great between the chief officer and the master?” and we always rightly and religiously answered “No,” for the chiefs were content to wait their turn and the masters knew perfectly well that if any levelling was to be done, it would not be in the upward but the opposite direction. The blow descended at last, however, for, taking advantage of an indiscretion by a prominent master, to whom pay was no great object, the Company gave him the choice of signing a new agreement for less pay, or being unemployed for an indefinite period. The master in question was taken completely by surprise and signed without consultation with any of us, and the path of the directors was then easy, for the rest of us had no choice but to follow suit. I remember, though, that when he came from the office and told me what he had just done, I made use of remarks that might have strained a great friendship of many years’ standing.
At this time many of our intermediate ships had been put into the North American trade, amongst them the Nubian with my old friend Jones in command. They were in no way fit for the trade. As showing the difficulty of finding two seamen who will take the same view of any situation I may mention that during a conversation at dinner one night I said to Jones that he was the only man of my acquaintance to whose opinion I would defer on a point of seamanship. Shortly after this he was telling me how he had run for Holyhead in bad weather and let go both anchors at once to bring the ship up. I at once proceeded to argue stoutly that he was entirely wrong in doing so, and if he were alive today, which unfortunately he is not, that point would serve for an unending difference of opinion.
There was now a chance to put in a good spell of drill on board the Trincomalee, and this I took full advantage of, but the system of training officers which obtained in those days was not one calculated to give the best results. In that particular ship the commanding officer was always most anxious to do everything possible to further the interests of officers on drill, but the guns were hopelessly obsolete, and indeed the ship was shortly after replaced by an up-to-date vessel. I think it was about this time that I succeeded in obtaining for officers the loan of a confidential book from which they could obtain useful information.
I had found it necessary to take steps to obtain my promotion in the Royal Naval Reserve, for at this time very little attention was paid to the officering of this force. Admiral Sir Augustus Phillimore was the admiral superintendent, and with him I obtained an interview which I did not consider to be by any means satisfactory. He informed me that he considered the rank of sub-lieutenant was ample for the master of a mail steamer, and with that I had to content myself, but when H.R.H. the late Duke of Edinburgh became admiral superintendent I renewed my application in writing and was promptly granted the rank of lieutenant.
Between one thing and another the time in no way hung heavily with me. I was on half-pay, it was true, but that was the worst of it, and there is no doubt I should soon have had another command, but it cannot be denied that losing the Mexican had made me discontented, and that frame of mind is not a healthy one.