A Floating Home Part 9

CHAPTER XII

'Vous etes tous les deux tenebreux et discrets: Homme, nul n'a sonde le fond de tes abimes, O mer, nul ne connait tes richesses intimes, Tant vous etes jaloux de garder vos secrets!'

Seated on the after cabin-top near the wheel, Sam Prawle made known to us the _arcana_ of barging. The comparison with yachting was to the disadvantage of yachting, and we felt that he would not have ventured to take this line had we still owned the _Playmate_. On the other hand, we were gratified at being treated with frankness as members of his profession.

'I don't reckon,' said Sam Prawle, 'there ain't nawthen as good as bargin', same as on the water, my meanin' is. Ye see, yaou gets home fairly frequent, yaou ain't got no long sea-pa.s.sages to make, yaou can see a bit o' life in the taowns, and ef yaou've got a good little ould barge and freights is anyways good ye can make a tidy bit o' money.

'Then agin, in respect o' livin', most all barges carries a gun, and there's some I could name as carries oyster drudges; then there's a bit o' fis.h.i.+n' to be done, and accordin' to where yaou're brought up there may be winkles, or mussels, or c.o.c.kles, and, as I says, chance time a few oysters; so my meanin' is the livin' is good.

'A course that don't do for it to be knaown ye carries a drudge no more than that do to be seen pickin' up oysters nit winkles in some places, same as on the Corporation's graounds in the Maldon River. But outside them graounds that does no detriment. I dessay yaou remember some time back abaout they chaps what was caught pickin' up winkles in the Maldon River. Well, the judge give it agin them, for a course the Corporation has all the fis.h.i.+n' rights above them beacons. But the most amusingest part was, they chaps' lawyer tried to make aout a winkle warn't a fish, but a wild animal. Yes, yes; they lost right enough.

'Us allus used to live wonnerful well on the ould _Kate_, for I had a mate, Bill Summers, who was a masterpiece at shoot'n'. He were suthen strorng, he were, and had masterous great limbs on 'im, but none the more for that he were a wonnerful easy-spoken chap. I've knaowed he caught a many times by same as keepers and that, but he allus had some excuse or spoke 'em fair. Leastways, he den't never git into trouble.

'I remember one November day there'd bin a heavy dag in the fore part o' the day which cleared off towards the afternoon, and Bill went ash.o.r.e after a hare or whatever he could git daown on they ould mashes away to the eastward there. A wonnerful lonely place that is--no housen nor nawthen but they great ould mashes. A course Bill den't reckon there'd be anyone a lookin' after the shootin' daown there, but there were. But as I was a tellin' yer, Bill most allus knaowed what to say to such as they. Well, just afore that come dark, about flight time, I raowed the boat ash.o.r.e to the edge o' the mud on the lookaout for Bill. I waited some time, and that grew darker and darker, and them watery birds and curlew kep' all on a callin', and one o' they ould frank-herons come a flappin' overhead, and that fared wonnerful an' lonesome.

'Well, I was jist a wonderin' whether I hadn't better goo and look for Bill in case he'd got stuck in one o' they fleets what run acrost mashes, or had come to some hurt, for a man might lay aout there days and weeks afore anyone might hap to find 'im. Then I heard suthen and sees Bill a comin' suthen fast along the top o' the sea-wall with another chap a comin' arter 'im. "Ullo," I thinks, "Bill's in trouble," so I gives a whistle, and Bill answers and comes straight on daown the mud towards the bo't with his gun in one hand and an ould hare or suthen in the other. When he gits half-way daown the mud Bill turns raound to the chap a follerin' and says, "Do yaou ever read the noospapers, mate?"

'The chap, he den't say nawthen, so Bill stops and 'as a look at 'is gun, and then he says agin werry slow, "Funny things you reads of 'appenin' in the noospapers."

'Well, that chap den't fare to come no further, and Bill finishes 'is walk daown the mud alone. Wonnerful easy-spoken chap, 'e was. Yes, yes; us allus had good livin' on the _Kate_.

'Then agin, same as summer-time, maybe yaou've got a fair freight, or yaou're doin' a bit o' cotcheling, and yaou're a layin' up some snug creek, and the tides ain't just right for gittin' away, and yaou has to wait three or faour days. Well, that's wonnerful comfortable, that is, specially ef there's a bit of a village handy. Or same as layin'

wind-baound winter-time, maybe twenty barges all together--and I remember sixty-two layin' wind-baound at the mouth o' the Burnham River once't--well, that'll be a rum 'un if there ain't a bit o'

jollification goin' on aboard some o' they. Yes, yes; I allus says bargin' is what ye likes to make it.

'What other craft can a man take his missus in--leastways, ef he has a mind to? They what ain't got little 'uns often takes their wives with 'em, and summer-time they can often manage without a mate in same as ninety-ton barges. A course, that's a bit awk'ard ef ye gits into trouble, for a woman can't do what a man can, and a man can't allus say what he wants to ef he has the missus with him.

'But that's true, women's wonnerful artful, and I've knaowed a woman say suthen more better than what a man could. When ould Ted Wetherby--a wonnerful hard-swearin' man--took his missus with him, they was nearly run daown by a torpedo bo't in the Medway. That young lootenant in charge pitched into Ted suthen cruel, but Ted he den't say nawthen till that young chap was abaout in the middle of what 'e 'ad to say, and then 'e jist up and says, "Us.h.!.+ Ladies at the h.e.l.lum!"

And then the lootenant turns on Ted's missus, and tells she jist what he thought about Ted and the barge. Ted's missus den't say nawthen neither till they was jist sheerin' off, and then she says, "I don't take no more notus o' what yaou say than ef ye ain't never spoke."

Bill tould me he reckoned that lootenant were more wild than ef Bill 'ad spoke hisself.

'Then agin, a skipper of a barge is most all the time his own master in a manner o' speakin'. A course, some says yachtin' is easier, and maybe it is, but I don't hould with it. I've met scores o' yacht skippers and had many a yarn along o' they, but I'd rather be skipper of a little ould barge than any yacht afloat. My cousin, Seth Smith, is skipper of a yacht, and he's tould me some o' the wrinkles o'

yachtin'.

'From what I can 'ear of it, there's owners and owners. Accordin' to some, they what don't knaow nawthen fare to be the best kind to be with. Leastways, that's a wonnerful thing haow long a yacht will lay off a place the skipper and crew likes. I remember one beautiful little wessel a layin' off the same blessed ould place week after week, so I ast a chap I knaowed if she den't never git under way.

"Well," 'e says, "yaou see, the owner, he don't knaow nawthen, and the skipper and crew belongs 'ere. Chance time they do get under way, but we most allus says o' she 'ef there ain't enough wind to blaow a match aout there ain't enough wind for she to muster, and ef there's enough wind to blaow a match aout that's too much for she, as the sayin' is."

'But there's owners what sails their own wessels, and Seth says as haow they is good enough to be along with, for ef they gits into trouble they gits into trouble, and that ain't nawthen to do with the crew.

'But they owners what knaows a little is the worst, because they thinks they knaows everything, in a manner o' speakin', and the skipper has to be wonnerful careful. Yaou see, the trouble lays along o' the steerin'. A course, most anyone can steer, though they don't git the best aout of a wessel, but same as owners an' they allus fare to reckon that steerin' is everything, which a course it ain't. Seth has tould me a score o' times, he has, "Sam," he says, "that's a strain on a man, that is, for he's got to keep all on a watchin' his owner to see he keeps the wessel full or don't gybe she, or one thing an' another. Naow same as tackin' up this 'ere little ould river," he says, "or standin' into shaoal water, ye just says to me comfortable like, 'Shove the ould gal round,' whereas my meanin' is that 'on't do for a yacht skipper to say that to his owner. No, no; that 'on't do; he's got to goo careful like. Maybe he'll say, 'What do you think abaout comin' abaout sir?' Then maybe--if there ain't no visitors aboard--the owner'll say, 'Let 'er come.' Then agin, maybe there's visitors aboard, and the owner 'e takes a look raound and says, 'In another length,' or suthen o' that."

'But ef the skipper's bearin' a hand with suthen, or for one thing or another he leaves that a bit late, so as he ain't got time to ask the owner what e' thinks and let him have his look raound so that fare as haow he's in charge, but jist says, "Shove her round," quick like, then the owner ain't over and above pleased--especially if there's visitors aboard, as I was a sayin'. That's ill convenient, that is, for ef she don't come raound quick enough she'll take the graound, and then the skipper's got to say a hill has graowed up or a landmark's bin cut daown or suthen, and kaidge she off too; and a course, same as on the ebb, that's a hundred to one she 'on't s.h.i.+ft till she fleet next tide. Yes, yes; a skipper's got to be wonnerful forehanded as well as careful what 'e says.

'I remember a friend o' mine, Jem Selby, goin' along of a gent who was wonnerful praoud o' his cruises, what 'e did without a skipper. He on'y took Jem, he said, cos Jem were a deep-water man and hadn't never been in a yacht afore, but on'y in same as barques and s.h.i.+ps and wessels similar-same to that, and 'e wanted a man just to cook and put him ash.o.r.e. Well, this gent and Jem brought the little yacht--I can't remember her name--from Lowestoft daown to Falmouth, and the gent was wonnerful praoud o' hisself, as they'd been aout in some tidy breezes.

He was a tellin' of his friends at Falmouth all abaout his adventures, and the gales o' wind they had come through, when he turns to Jem, who was standin' by, and says, "What do yaou say to goin' raound Land's End to-morrer, Jem?" "Well, I don't knaow, sir," says Jem; "yaou see, we're a gettin' near the sea now." Maybe it were that, maybe it warn't, but 'e den't ast Jem to sail along o' he next season.

'Well, there yaou are now. Ye can't do nawthen and ye can't say nawthen. No, no; from what I can 'ear of it and from what I can see of it, yachtin' ain't in the same street as bargin', as the sayin' is.

Let alone, some o' they chaps never does a hand's turn o' work from one week to another 'cept maybe polish a bit o' bra.s.s work.

'Seth says as haow that ain't a bad job to be in charge of a little yacht with a party o' young chaps, same as on their holiday. Young chaps, same as they, never drinks without the skipper, and a course they most allus lives well, so the skipper do too. Then agin, yaou see they likes to do all the work, and the skipper just puggles abaout like and tells they what to do, though a course they wants lookin'

arter none the more for that. Maybe on dewy nights the skipper 'as to goo raound quiet like and ease up the halyards, for young chaps is all for havin' everything smart and taut; but that ain't nawthen, and he can most allus do that while they has their supper.

'From what I see of it myself, I reckon young chaps same as they is a bit troublesome goin' into harbour. I remember seein' a party o' faour come into Lowestoft in a little yacht--a doddy little thing, she were--with an ould fellow in charge. The _Lord Nelson_ was just startin' for Yarmouth, so they couldn't berth until she'd gone, and as I happed to be standin' by I made fast the lines the ould chap thraowed on the pier. Well, the band was a playin' and the pier crowded with gals a watchin' the yachts in the harbour, and they young chaps den't fare to be able to keep quiet like with them gals a lookin' on, and kep' all on worritin' the ould chap to knaow ef they hadn't better give a pull on this or a pull on t'other. Then I seed the artful ould chap give one on 'em the headrope to hould and another the starn rope--though they might just as well a bin made fast--and another he give a fender to, and t'other one, what was the most worritsome o' the lot, 'e took and made fast the jib sheets raound the bitts and tould he to pull on that. And he did. Lor', that did make me laugh suthen.

'Then agin, some o' they young 'uns hears things what they den't ought to. I remember young Abe Putwain, who used to sail along of a wonnerful larned ould gent what was always a lookin' at things he got out o' the water with one o' they microscopes--a master great thing that were, accord' to Abe. Well, this ould party and his friends was most allus argyin' abaout suthen, and a course Abe could hear they through the fo'c'sle door. Abe was the most reg'lar chapel man I ever knaowed, and used allus to hould the plate by the door every Sunday till he took up along this larned gent what I'm a talkin' abaout. Just abaout Christmas my mate left to take a skipper's job, so bein' at home I says to Abe, who I ain't seen for some bit, "Will you come, mate, along o' me, as yaour bo't's laid up?" So he come as mate, and one day, when we was sailing daown past the Naze and had just opened up Harwich Church, I says, "Well, mate, there's the ould church!" I says, meanin' the landmark. "Oh," 'e says, scornful like. "You don't 'ould with them idle superst.i.tions, do yer?" he says. Well, that warn't no use argyin' with he, for he ain't never bin to chapel since, and that's what come o' yachtin', I reckon.'

CHAPTER XIII

_'Here are our thoughts--voyagers' thoughts_, _Here not the land, firm land, alone appears_, may then by them be said; The sky o'erarches here--we feel the undulating deck beneath our feet, We feel the long pulsation--ebb and flow of endless motion; The tones of unseen mystery--the vague and vast suggestions of the briny world--the liquid-flowing syllables.'

The riding light was already garish in the early suns.h.i.+ne when we turned out the next morning. The fragrance of the breeze coming in faint puffs off the land, the clean taste of the air, the cries of the sea birds, and the tender haze that overhung the land, set all our senses tingling. Yet what a creature is man! As we stood by the main rigging there came wafted aft to us from the forehatch the bubbling sound and the smell of frying bacon, and we could scarcely endure the delay of staying to wash down the decks, though that was a duty to be performed before hunger might be satisfied honourably.

We got under way soon after breakfast, but the wind was fluky and we drifted rather than sailed. About low water we anch.o.r.ed in a clock calm to wait for the easterly breeze which we knew would come later, for the gossamers hung on the rigging. In the afternoon the wind duly 'shot up at east,' as the fishermen say, and we fetched over the Dengie flats, opened the Blackwater, and bore away for Mersea Island to pick up the other children.

We anch.o.r.ed in the Deeps, for there was no room for such a large vessel as ours in our old haunts up the creeks, but before the anchor was down two small figures in white came running down King's Hard.

Inky and Margaret had been watching for us. We soon had the sailing dinghy going off for them. How pleased they were, how excited about their cabins, how astonished at finding their toys ready for them!

At last, then, our scheme was complete. The family was rea.s.sembled under a new roof, and that roof was a deck.

We met several sailing friends at West Mersea, and found our old yacht, the _Playmate_, from whose owners we heard an account of their first trip to Mersea. Off the entrance they hailed the man on board the watchboat, to ask the way into the quarters. The watchman, who had known the _Playmate_ for years, and had seen her going in and out scores of times, answered the question in the spirit in which he supposed it had been asked. He had not heard that the vessel had changed hands.

'Go on. _Yaou_ knaow,' he shouted back.

'No, we don't,' bawled the new owners.

'Go on. _Yaou_ knaow,' he repeated, as the _Playmate_ forged on.

'No, we don't,' yelled the new owners, becoming nervous of running aground.

'Yaou let the ould girl goo herself, then. _She_ knaow the way in!'

was the last they heard.

During our short cruise we found out how best to arrange everything on board so as to avoid breakages in a sea. Our furniture, of course, had not been specially made for a s.h.i.+p; some of it had already been screwed to the walls or bulkheads; the rest of it could be quickly wedged. The shelves were all fitted with ledges, so that china and silver had only to be laid flat behind the ledges. On deck we hung thin boards over the windows, as these might easily be broken.

At Osea Island in the Blackwater we took in eight hundred gallons of water. We then visited Heybridge, Brightlingsea, and Wivenhoe, and still left ourselves ample time to make the pa.s.sage to Newcliff and settle down comfortably before the boys were due at their school.

To revisit the Ess.e.x sea-marshes is always to discover something new.

The dim low land may be called dreary compared with the more vivacious Solent, but when the spell of this Dutch-like scenery has been laid on you it has touched your heart for ever.

Not all people who are in love with Ess.e.x have always been so. The charms of the county inland, as well as on the coast, have to be discovered gradually, because they are widely spread.

Ess.e.x has no cathedral which gathers up the interest to one point. Yet its houses are an epitome of its history and character; they look as though they were part of the landscape, as though they had grown up with the trees. Some houses in Ess.e.x--farmhouses and inns--often welcome you with a clean white face, but the complexion of a whole village seen far off is nearly always red, and a thin spire generally tapers above the roofs. Churches and houses alike were built with the materials which were ready to hand. There is much timber in the building, because Ess.e.x has few quarries. In hundreds of churches, too, you may see the relics of the Roman occupation. The Roman bricks are worked into the lower parts of the walls; flint commonly comes above the brick, and stout timbers are used not only for the roof, but in the whole construction. Sometimes the spire is made entirely of wood, and there is surely something beautiful and touching in the exaltation to this use of the characteristic material of the county.