The Brassbounder Part 18

"None o' yer slavin' at harbour jobs an' cargo work; not fer me, me sons! Ah wos a sailorman an' did only sailorin' jobs. Them wos th'

days w'en sailormen wos men, an' no ruddy cargo-wrastlin', coal-diggin'

scallywags, wot they be now!"

A great upholder of the rights of the fo'cas'le, he looked on the Mates as his natural enemies, and though he did his work, and did it well, he never let pa.s.s an opportunity of trying a Mate's temper by outspoken criticism of the Officers' way of handling s.h.i.+p or sail. Apprentices he bore with, though he was always suspicious of a cabin influence.

That was Martin, our gallantly truculent, overbearing Old Martin; and, as we looked on the motionless figure outlined by folds of the Flag, we thought with regret of the time we took a pleasure in rousing him to a burst of sailorly invective. Whistling about the decks, or flying past him in the rigging with a great shaking of the shrouds when the 'crowd'

was laying aloft to hand sail. "Come on, old 'has-been'!" Jones once shouted to him as he clambered over the futtock shrouds. Martin was furious.

"Has-been," he shouted in reply. "Aye, mebbe a 'has-been,' but w'en ye comes to my time o' life, young c.o.c.k, ye can call yerself a 'never-b.l.o.o.d.y-wos'!"

Well! His watch was up, and when the black, ragged clouds broke away from the sou'-west and roused the sea against us, we would be one less to face it, and he would have rest till the great call of 'all hands'; rest below the heaving water that had borne him so long.

Surely there is nothing more solemn than a burial at sea. Ash.o.r.e there are familiar landmarks, the nearness of the haunts of men, the neighbourly headstones, the great company of the dead, to take from the loneliness of the grave. Here was nothing but a heaving s.h.i.+p on the immensity of mid-ocean, an open gangway, a figure shrouded in folds of a Flag, and a small knot of bare-headed men, bent and swaying to meet the lurches of the vessel, grouped about the simple bier. The wind had increased and there was an ominous harping among the backstays. The s.h.i.+p was heaving unsteadily, and it was with difficulty we could keep a balance on the wet, sloping deck. Overhead the sky was black with the wrack of hurrying clouds, and the sullen grey water around us was already white-topped by the bite of freshening wind.

"I am th' Resurrection an' the Life, saith th' Loard"--Martin, laid on a slanted hatch, was ready for the road, and we were mustered around the open gangway. The Old Man was reading the service in his homely Doric, and it lost nothing of beauty or dignity in the translation--"an' whosoever liveth an' believeth in me sall never die."

He paused and glanced anxiously to windward. There was a deadly check in the wind, and rain had commenced to fall in large, heavy drops. "A hand t' th' tops'l halyards, Mister," quietly, then continuing, "I know that my Redeemer liveth, an' that He sail stand at th' latter day upon th' airth. An' though ... yet in my flesh sail I see Goad...."

Overhead, the sails were thras.h.i.+ng back and fore, for want of the breeze--still fell the rain, las.h.i.+ng heavily now on us and on the shrouded figure, face up, that heeded it not.

Hurriedly the Old Man continued the service--"Foreasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty Goad of his gre--at merrcy t' take unto Himself th'

so-al of oor de-ar brother, here departed, we therefore commit he's boady t' th' deep ... when th' sea sall give up her daid, an' th' life of th' worl-d t' come, through oor Loard, Jesus Christ."

At a sign, the Second Mate tilted the hatch, the two youngest boys held the Flag, and Martin, slipping from its folds, took the water feet first in a sullen, almost noiseless, plunge.

"Oor Father which airt in heaven"--with bent head the Old Man finished the service. He was plainly ill at ease. He felt that the weather was 'making' on him, that the absence from the post of command (the narrow s.p.a.ce between wheel and binnacle) was ill-timed. Still, his sense of duty made him read the service to a finish, and it was with evident relief he closed the book, saying, "Amen! Haul th' mains'l up, Mister, an' stand by t' square mainyards! ... Keep th' watch on deck; it's 'all hands'--thon," pointing to the black murk spreading swiftly over the weather sky.

We dragged the wet and heavy mains'l to the yard and stood by, waiting for the wind. Fitful gusts came, driving the rain in savage, searching bursts; then would come a deadly lull, and the rain beating on us, straight from above--a pitiless downpour. It was bitter cold, we were drenched and depressed as we stood s.h.i.+vering at the braces, and we wished for the wind to come, to get it over; anything would be better than this inaction.

A gust came out of the sou'-west, and we had but squared the yards when we heard the sound of a master wind on the water.

Shrieking with fury long withheld, the squall was upon us. We felt the s.h.i.+p stagger to the first of the blast; a furious plunge and she was off--smoking through the white-lashed sea, feather-driven before the gale. It could not last; no fabric would stand to such a race. "Lower away tops'l halyards!" yelled the Old Man, his voice scarce audible in the shrilling of the squall. The bo'sun, at the halyards, had but started the yard when the sheet parted; instant, the sail was in ribbons, thras.h.i.+ng savagely adown the wind. It was the test for the weakest link, and the squall had found it, but our spars were safe to us, and, eased of the press, we ran still swiftly on. We set about securing the gear, and in action we gave little thought to the event that had marked our day; but there was that in the shriek of wind in the rigging, in the crash of sundered seas under the bows, in the cries of men at the downhauls and the thundering of the torn canvas that sang fitting Requiem for the pa.s.sing of our aged mariner.

XXI

DOLDRUMS

"Lee fore-brace!"

Mister M'Kellar stepped from the p.o.o.p and cast off the brace coils with an air of impatience. It wanted but half an hour of 'knocking off time'--and that half-hour would be time enough, for his watch to finish the sc.r.a.ping of the deck-house--but the wind waits on no man, and already the weather clew of the mainsail was lifting lazily to a s.h.i.+ft.

It was hard to give up the prospect of having the house all finished and s.h.i.+p-shape before the Mate came on deck (and then tr.i.m.m.i.n.g yards and sail after the _work_ was done); but here was the wind working light into the eastward, and the sails nearly aback, and any minute might bring the Old Man on deck to inquire, with vehemence, "What the ---- somebody was doing with the s.h.i.+p?" There was nothing else for it; the house would have to stand.

"_T--'tt_, lee-fore-brace, the watch there!" Buckets and sc.r.a.pers were thrown aside, the watch mustered at the braces, and the yards were swung slowly forward, the sails lifting to a faint head air.

This was the last of the south-east trades, a clean-running breeze that had carried us up from 20 S., and brace and sheet blocks, rudely awakened from their three weeks' rest, creaked a long-drawn protest to the failing wind; ropes, dry with disuse, ran stiffly over the sheaves, and the cries of the men at the braces added the human note to a chorus of s.h.i.+p sounds that marked the end of steady sailing weather.

"_He--o--ro_, round 'm in, me sons; _ho--io--io_--lay-back-an'-get-yer-muscle-up-fer ghostin' through th'

doldrums!" Roused by the song (broad hints and deep-sea pleasantries) of the chanteyman, the Old Man came on deck, and paced slowly up and down the p.o.o.p, whistling softly for wind, and glancing expectantly around the horizon. Whistle as he might, there was no wisp of stirring cloud, no ruffling of the water, to meet his gaze, and already the sea was gla.s.sing over, deserted by the wind. Soon what airs there were died away, leaving us flat becalmed, all signs of movement vanished from the face of the ocean, and we lay, mirrored sharply in the windless, silent sea, under the broad glare of an equatorial sun.

For a s.p.a.ce of time we were condemned to a seaman's purgatory; we had entered the 'doldrums,' that strip of baffling weather that lies between the trade winds. We would have some days of calm and heavy rains, sudden squalls and s.h.i.+fting winds, and a fierce overhead sun; and through it all there would be hard labour for our crew (weak and short-handed as we were), incessant hauling of the heavy yards, and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g of sail. Night or day, every faint breath of wind a-stirring, every shadow on the water, must find our sail in trim for but a flutter of the canvas that would move us on; any course with north in it would serve. "Drive her or drift her," by hard work only could we hope to win into the steady trade winds again, into the gallant sailing weather when you touch neither brace nor sheet from sunset to sunrise.

Overhead the sails hung straight from the head-ropes, with not even a flutter to send a welcome draught to the sweltering deck below.

Everywhere was a smell of blistering paint and molten pitch, for the sun, all day blazing on our iron sides, had heated the hull like a furnace wall. Time and again we sluiced the decks, but still pitch oozed from the gaping seams to blister our naked feet, and the moisture dried from the scorched planking almost as quickly as we could draw the water. We waited for relief at sundown, and hoped for a tropical downpour to put us to rights.

Far to the horizon the sea spread out in a gla.s.sy stillness, broken only by an occasional movement among the fish. A widening ring would mark a rise--followed by the quick, affrighted flutter of a shoal of flying fish; then the dolphin, darting in eager pursuit, the sun's rays striking on their glistening sides at each leap and flurry. A few sharp seconds of glorious action, then silence, and the level sea stretching out unbroken to the track of the westing sun.

Gasping for a breath of cooler air, we watched the sun go down, but there was no sign of wind, no promise of movement in the faint, vapoury cirrhus that attended his setting.

Ten days of calms (blazing sun or a torrent of rain) and a few faint airs in the night time--and we had gained but a hundred miles. 'Our smart pa.s.sage,' that we had hoped for when winds were fair and fresh, was out of question; but deep-sea philosophy has a counter for every occasion, and when the wind headed us or failed, someone among us would surely say, "Well, wot's th' odds, anyway? More bloomin' days, more bloomin' dollars, ain't it?" Small comfort this to the Old Man, who was now in the vilest of tempers, and spent his days in cursing the idle steersman, and his nights in quarrelling with the Mates about the trim. If the yards were sharp up, it would be, "What are ye thinkin'

about, Mister? Get these yards braced in, an' look d.a.m.n smart about it!" If they were squared, nothing would do but they must be braced forward, where the sails hung straight down, motionless, as before.

Everything and everybody was wrong, and the empty grog bottles went '_plomp_' out of the stern ports with unusual frequency. When we were outward bound, the baffling winds that we met off Cape Horn found him calm enough; they were to be expected in that quarter, and in the stir and action of working the s.h.i.+p in high winds, he could forget any vexation he might have felt; but this was different, there was the delay at the Falklands, and here was a further check to the pa.s.sage--a hundred miles in ten days--provisions running short, gra.s.s a foot long on the counter, and still no sign of wind. There would be no congratulatory letter from the owners at the end of this voyage, no kindly commending phrase that means so much to a s.h.i.+pmaster. Instead it would be, "We are at a loss to understand why you have not made a more expeditious pa.s.sage, considering that the _Elsinora_, which sailed," etc., etc. It is always a fair wind in Bothwell Street! It was maddening to think of. "Ten miles a day!" Old Jock stamped up and down the p.o.o.p, snarling at all and sundry. To the steersman it was, "Blast ye, what are ye lookin' round for? Keep yer eye on th' royals, you!" The Mates fared but little better. "Here, Mister," he would shout; "what's th' crowd idlin' about for? Can't ye find no work t'

do? D'ye want me t' come and roust them around? It isn't much use o'

me keepin' a dog, an' havin' t' bark myself!"

It was a trying time. If the Old Man 'roughed' the Mates, the Mates 'roughed' us, and rough it was. All hands were 'on the raw,' and matters looked ugly between the men and Officers, and who knows what would have happened, had not the eleventh day brought the wind.

It came in the middle watch, a gentle air, that lifted the canvas and set the reef points drumming and dancing at each welcome flutter, and all our truculence and ill-temper vanished with the foam bubbles that rose under our moving fore-foot.

The night had fallen dark and windless as any, and the first watch held a record for hauling yards and changing sheets. "'Ere ye are, boys,"

was the call at eight bells. "Out ye comes, an' swigs them b----y yards round; windmill tatties, an' th' Old Man 'owlin' like a dancin'

---- dervish on th' lid!" The Old Man had been at the bottle, and was more than usually quarrelsome; two men were sent from the wheel for daring to spit over the quarter, and M'Kellar was on a verge of tears at some coa.r.s.e-worded aspersion on his seamans.h.i.+p. The middle watch began ill. When the wind came we thought it the usual fluke that would last but a minute or two, and then, "mains'l up, an' square mainyards, ye idle hounds!" But no, three bells, four bells, five, the wind still held, the water was ruffling up to windward, the s.h.i.+p leaning handsomely; there was the welcome heave of a swell running under.

So the watch pa.s.sed. There were no more angry words from the p.o.o.p.

Instead, the Old Man paced to and fro, rubbing his hands, in high good humour, and calling the steersman "m' lad" when he had occasion to con the vessel. After seeing that every foot of canvas was drawing, he went below, and the Second Mate took his place on the weather side, thought things over, and concluded that Old Jock wasn't such a bad sort, after all. We lay about the decks, awaiting further orders.

None came, and we could talk of winds and pa.s.sages, or lie flat on our backs staring up at the gently swaying trucks, watching the soft clouds racing over the zenith; there would be a spanking breeze by daylight.

A bell was struck forward in the darkness, and the 'look-out' chanted a long "Awl--'s well!"

All was, indeed, well; we had picked up the north-east trades.

XXII

ON SUNDAY

Sunday is the day when s.h.i.+ps are sailed in fine style. On week days, when the round of work goes on, a baggy topsail or an ill-trimmed yard may stand till sundown, till the _work_ be done, but Sunday is sacred to keen sailing; a day of grace, when every rope must be a-taut-o, and the lifts tended, and the Mates strut the weather p.o.o.p, thinking at every turn of suitable manoeuvres and sail drill that will keep the sailormen from wearying on this, their Day of Rest.

On a fine Sunday afternoon we lay at ease awaiting the Mate's next discovery in the field of progress. She was doing well, six knots or seven, every st.i.tch of sail set and drawing to a steady wind. From under the bows came the pleasing _thrussh_ of the broken water, from aloft the creak of block and cordage and the sound of wind against the canvas. For over an hour we had been sweating at sheets and halyards, the customary Sunday afternoon service, and if the _Florence_, of Glasgow, wasn't doing her best it was no fault of ours.

Now it was, "That'll do, the watch!" and we were each following our Sunday beat.

Spectacled and serious, 'Sails' was spelling out the advertis.e.m.e.nts on a back page of an old _Home Notes_; the two Dutchmen were following his words with attentive interest. The Dagos, after the manner of their kind, were polis.h.i.+ng up their knives, and the 'white men' were brus.h.i.+ng and airing their 'longsh.o.r.e togs,' in readiness for a day that the gallant breeze was bringing nearer. A scene of peaceful idling.