“All the way to Calcutty have I been, and seed nothing but one—banany. Howsomever, it was werry good, so I’m going back to have another.”—Old Sailor Story.

Back once more to the house of Trapp & Sons in the Minories, where I had to face Captain Hole, and “dree my weird.”

It was essential in my sea time for obtaining my certificate that I should have four years of good conduct to show, and that could only be obtained by the cancelling of my indentures, or serving out the remainder of my time. Now Captain Hole had retired from the sea, having put the late mate, Mr. Coleman, in command of the Alwynton, and was, moreover, keenly bent upon getting a bit of his own back, so he utterly declined to cancel my indentures and finished the discussion by saying, “I know you like big ships; you have just come home in one in time to go out in a small one. The Lord Nelson is in Swansea, and you will join her at once. If you had stayed in the Alwynton you would have gone away second mate of her this voyage. And that’s for saying ‘I won’t’ to me.”

Well, there was no help for it, but there was a touch of “I told you so” in Mr. Trapp’s private remark, “If you had paid your premium to me I could have altered things.” There was also human nature in this, but what Captain Hole got he kept, as he was part owner, and I proceeded to Swansea to join my new craft as second mate.

A little barque of 247 tons, built by White of Cowes for a whaler, she had made many voyages round Cape Horn and had just come home with a cargo of copper ore. She was not in good repair and was to be refitted and rigged with new wire rigging. I am not at all sure that this was not a stroke of good fortune for me, for as the operation took some months it gave me an opportunity of learning some of the tricks of the trade.

There was a captain who lived on board with his daughter; his name was Boisse, and he was very kind to me, for I lived in the mate’s berth and messed in the cabin. At the same time I had the good fortune to become acquainted with the family of a Captain Outerbridge, the master of a copper ore ship, the Glamorganshire. They treated me as one of themselves, and Tom Outerbridge and myself were inseparable. We both had a great liking for the theatre, to which we treated ourselves to the extreme limit of our purses. Wybert Reeve was then the manager of the Swansea theatre; I met him more than twenty years later in New Zealand and we talked over and remembered the actors and actresses of the old days, but admiration for Kate Saville lingered even then.

Captain Hole paid frequent visits to Swansea to see how the work progressed, and he was also paymaster. After some little time Boisse went on leave, and that left a great deal more responsibility for me, but I learned how caulking required to be watched when it was being done by contract, and also mysteries connected with re-coppering and rigging a ship. It was good useful work. So far as I can recollect there were three riggers and myself, and I suppose that by that time I considered that I could do a man’s work, as my ability to do so had not been questioned in the last ship, and furthermore I had shown that I could do a day’s work at carrying bags of wheat, which is a hardish test.

Whether there is the same zeal now concerning the details of their calling among sailor boys as there was in my time I cannot say, but we apprentices in the Alwynton had always striven to learn all we could about our business. Doubtless we were better in practice than in theory, but we had certain text books that we hammered at until we mastered the various difficulties that presented themselves. Consequently I thought myself equal to sending anything aloft that might be necessary, and naturally took a lead among the riggers. One morning I learned a little more.

We were sending the foreyard aloft, and age and experience said that two double blocks and a fall were the proper tackle to use—no, said Youth, hook on a top block, reeve the end of a small hawser through it, bend on to the yard, and we will take it to the windlass and heave away.

We did so, and hove the yard high enough, two men then going aloft to shackle on the slings. It was a cold morning, and Youth, having held on to the hawser while it was being hove on found his fingers cold, and not suspecting harm, as there were many turns of it round the windlass barrel, put it on the deck and stood on it while he warmed his hands. Now this shows how a fine idea may miscarry by some absurd detail being overlooked; in getting my feet on the hawser I suppose I had slacked it slightly and the next thing I knew was being on my back, a vision of flying rope, terrible swearing aloft, and the foreyard down across the rails. I laugh as I recall the scene, but it might have been far more serious. The lesson was learned, however, that a purchase was better than a single rope, even if sufficient power could be applied. In this particular case no harm was done, for as the mainstays set up right in the eyes of her—they had eased the yard as it came down. It had been a narrow thing for the men aloft, but they were good fellows and said little after the first natural outburst. Then there came an inventor from Whitstable and fitted the barque with patent topsails of his own invention. I trust that Heaven may have forgiven him by this time, but I freely confess that nothing will ever induce me to do so. A good patent topsail, if there is such a thing (which I doubt), may be a boon and a blessing. I can say a word or two in favour of Cunningham’s patent, which is not so very bad, but this particular patent in question must have been inspired by the spirit of evil, who in some moment doubting his power over the destiny of the souls of seamen, made assurance doubly sure as regards the future crews of the Lord Nelson. These yards were awful things to work with and had more weak points about them than even erring human nature.

By the time the ship was nearly ready for sea we received the new mate on board. He was a great raw-boned Scotchman named McKinnon, a good seaman, and not bad to get on with. His first introduction to his new ship did not seem to impress him very favourably.

We loaded a cargo of coal to take round to Plymouth, where we were to load for Australia, and with a scratch crew of ten all told we were towed to sea. The skipper, Boisse, who had re-joined to take her round the coast, observed, “Never mind about washing down to get the coal dust from the deck, she’ll do that for herself when she gets outside.” He showed a sound knowledge of her ways, for deep as she was it was like being on a half-tide rock.

In due course we got to Plymouth, discharged a great portion of the coal and commenced to load large iron pipes and machinery for Wallaroo. It was mining gear of some sort, but, not being content with a fair load, the skipper had some of the pipes filled in with coal to make more room, the result being that the ship was loaded inordinately deep. About this time, for some unexplained reason, there was a change of skippers, and our new one was R.K. Jeffery. He was a most important personage, with a great deal of the Methodist about him. There were two or three apprentices and one Bob McCarthy, an ordinary seaman, who was a friend of the owners. He was supposed to be suffering from consumption and came to sea to be cured or killed. He was cured, as it happened, and we were chums for the voyage, as he lived in the deck-house with the carpenter and myself. The last I heard of him, some years ago, was that he was in command of a steamer and doing well. The apprentices disappeared from the ship before we put to sea.

This was early in the year 1866, and the winter season in the Atlantic had been bad. It was shortly after the London went down in the Bay, and our anticipations of the trip were not hopeful. It will be remembered that this was before Mr. Plimsoll began his celebrated crusade, and, in point of fact, here was as fine an illustration of overloading as any one could wish to see. So far as I know there was at that time no check at all upon the amount of cargo a master or owner might think fit to place on board, and I am sure that no one was ever more entitled to the gratitude of seamen than was Samuel Plimsoll. His method of procedure might have been crude, but the fact remains that his book was a fair and just account of the usages of the sea at the time it was written. Some years afterwards, when it came into my hands, I found how closely my experiences coincided with his remarks.

This matter of overloading ships was a very vexed question, and “as deep as a collier” is a proverb not altogether forgotten even to-day. The evil now to some extent corrects itself, for a deeply-laden steamer is always lightening herself by her coal consumption, but I am confident that I could go to the docks to-day and point out first-class steamers that would be overloaded if down to their Plimsoll mark, and which, if they put to sea in the teeth of a bad breeze of wind, would give considerable anxiety to those in charge of their navigation. Of this, however, I may say more anon.

We put to sea loaded as deeply as possible, and had no great luck to speak of, for after rounding Ushant the wind drew to the southward of west and began to blow hard. The barque laboured heavily, commencing to make a good deal of water. The pumps eventually got choked with small coal and we had to bale the water out by buckets. This was only possible because, owing to the nature of the cargo, the hold was not full, and we were able to clear a way pretty deep down in the coal and so keep the water under. Then the maintopsail yard (patent) carried away, and that gave us more joy, and finally the men came aft to the captain and demanded that he should put back to Plymouth or the nearest port.

To proceed with the voyage in our then condition would have been impossible, but the old man did not yield with any good grace. The crew, however, were worn out by constant work and want of sleep, and there was nothing for it but to shift the helm, and hope we might be fortunate enough to get to port. The decision to do so acted as a tonic to all hands, and eventually we got back to Plymouth Dock to unload and refit. To the best of my recollection the ship was by this time so down by the head that the hawse pipes were almost level with the water, and it was a mercy that any of us ever again set foot on shore. It is one of the dispositions of Providence, however, that a danger once escaped leaves no lasting or abiding cautions behind it, and perhaps in the interests of adventure it is well that it should be so. When the cargo was discharged and it came to clearing the ship’s hold, we found that the spaces between the ship’s timbers as high as the ’tween-decks were filled in tightly and solidly with small coal, which was very troublesome to extract. In fact, a great deal of the inner planking of the ship had to be removed to get at it, but eventually it was done, the cargo reloaded, the coal being omitted, and once more we set out on the voyage.

There was nothing particularly striking on the passage out. The ship was too deep to sail well, and the captain after rounding the Cape went no further south than was necessary to get a westerly wind. He was greatly distressed, however, at the erratic course the ship made when she had a fair wind. Of course the mate declared that she was properly steered in his watch, and I do not doubt it, but I was called into the cabin, and inferentially informed that iniquities always occurred on my watch, further that it was always in the second mate’s watch that things did go wrong. Neither of my mentors appeared to realise that they had both been in the same position themselves, and that, therefore, they must have suffered in their time from that particular original sin of which they were now complaining.

So long as my connection with sailing-ships lasted I found that this idea concerning the second mate was very firmly rooted (it would not, of course, apply to the steamers in which I afterwards served), and indeed it was not much to be wondered at. He was as a rule the least experienced of the afterguard. He was necessarily thrown much among the crew, for he had to serve out and be responsible for all stores, other than food, used by the men. And he required to be a strong character in addition to his muscular development if he hoped to obtain the same respect and attention given to his superiors. We arrived at Wallaroo after a long passage, and were moored alongside the pier. It was not a comfortable berth, for the port was subject to sudden strong winds known as “Southerly busters.” These came up against the side of the pier and consequently the stern moorings were slip ropes, which permitted the vessel to cast off and ride by the head moorings, end on to the wind. The pier is probably strengthened by this time, but in those days it was a very flimsy affair.

Our skipper was a man who used his head, and by his instruction the mate had rigged a swinging derrick that discharged our cargo with ease and safety. We then ballasted and set sail for Port Victor, where we loaded a cargo of wool for Melbourne.

Before leaving Wallaroo, however, my old shipmate Hill of the Essex tried very hard to get permission for me to transfer to a brigantine which he owned and was in command of in Adelaide. We had inspected her together in London, and he had then bought her, declaring I should be second mate with him. He reckoned, however, without my skipper, who was obdurate. Hill afterwards took the Belle trading in the China Sea, where he died suddenly, leaving a young wife on board.

Port Victor was a curious little place in those days. It had originated as a boiling-down station. It was not much more than an open roadstead, but it was sheltered by an island that afforded some protection at the mouth of the bay. We had fair luck there and, loading our wool easily, got to Melbourne, where we discharged at Williamstown, and ballasted. There were many splendid ships in port—curiously enough again the White Star and Champion of the Seas, and also a celebrated Aberdeen White Star liner The Star of Peace. Those ships were in a class by themselves; they made very good passages, at times records, and were kept up in first-rate style, I retain a vivid recollection of being passed by one of them when bound up-Channel—but I will refer to that in its proper order.

We beat down Melbourne harbour in charge of one of the smartest pilots I ever saw. I am sorry I have forgotten his name, but the way he worked that ship to windward was a very masterpiece of handling. He had, moreover, a fairly biting tongue, and a vocabulary that was practically inexhaustible if the least thing went wrong in tacking ship. We heard a good deal of it, but we made a fair start for Point de Galle, and nothing of moment happened on the passage.

It is not given to me to adequately describe the first smell of the East. It is years since I last experienced it, and the thought arises whether steam and modernity can have made serious inroads into the characteristics of the Garden of the World? It is no use speculating on that point, however. Here we were anchored off Point de Galle, the smell of the land wind almost giving a sense of intoxication, spice-laden as it came, the native catamarans darting about at an astonishing speed, and what was of still greater interest to us, each boat with a bunch of big yellow luscious bananas that we lost no time in making acquaintance with. There again is a new experience, the first taste of an East Indian banana is not a thing to be easily forgotten. Let no one imagine that the forced and imported things we get in London to-day can be compared to the fruit in its native state; as well compare chalk with cheese!

We lay at anchor here some days, and I remember well seeing the largest shark in my experience. He was blue with black spots and a square head, and probably between eighteen and twenty feet long; in the clear still blue water he looked an enormous brute.

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.

The starboard watch now went below. The mainsail was stowed, and we knew that the mate could handle the topsails if it became necessary to reef down. This, indeed, was very soon done, as we could gather from the various noises. We could also tell that she was wallowing into it, and that a great quantity of water was being taken on deck. Before our watch below expired “all hands” were called to take in the foresail.

It was blowing fairly hard, there was a good amount of sea running, and the ship had a very dull, heavy motion that did not seem to be quite right, but we got the foresail in, and went aloft to stow it. I had learned by that time that it was well to make sure work of such things, so as the gaskets on the lee side were rather insufficient I sent a man down to let go the lee leach line so that I could use it as an extra gasket.

While I was busy over this the day was breaking, and I saw the mate with the sounding line doing something at the pumps and making signs to me to come down. At the same time it occurred to me that the ship was rising very sluggishly to the sea. Even then the truth did not occur, but as I got on the deck, the mate yelled in my ear, “There’s seven feet of water in her.”

There are times when all men think alike, not frequently I will admit, but this was one of those rare cases when no one proposed to argue the point, and a rush aft was made for the mainbraces. The skipper was on deck by this time, and he also appeared to acquiesce, for he had not been specially called, and was unaware that anything out of the way was happening. There was another strange occurrence; there was a black man at the wheel—at least he was a black nigger when he went there—but as he put the helm up his face had paled to some nondescript colour that was certainly not black. I have never seen a similar case.

As we squared away the mainyard and the vessel got before the sea, the next consideration was to get the pumps going, and this we proceeded to do with a will, finding out as we did so that most of the stanchions on the starboard side were sprung and that the water was fast pouring into the hold. I am afraid that our saucy craft was not well fitted to cope with an emergency; there was a wooden pump brake to work one pump, but the double brake to work the two had for some time been used aloft as a spreader for the outriggers at the main topmast head. I soon nipped aloft, however, and got it down, and then we set to work in good earnest to see what fate had in store for us.

We ran under close-reefed topsails and the sea was not much, now that we ran before it, but our wake in the dark blue of the ocean was now a sickly olive green. I doubt if so large a brew of coffee has ever been made before or since. The water came up from the pumps green and smelling of it, and it did not require much prescience to forecast that the greater part of the cargo was hopelessly spoiled.

How long it took to clear the ship of water I do not remember; fortunately the weather became fine and enabled us to lay our course again—but the fact remained that in that eventful middle watch a great part of the starboard bulwarks had been washed away, and on the earliest opportunity as many men as could drive a nail and find a hammer to do it with, clapped on and nailed some planks to the stanchions for a makeshift, while the carpenter did his best to caulk the openings in the covering board through which the water had got below. But oh, what a mess it all was!

Naturally as soon as there was time to talk about anything, the discussion arose as to who was responsible for it all, and equally certain it was that the second mate was to be blamed if possible. I say nothing against the time-honoured custom of cursing “that second mate,” who has been held responsible for everything that has gone wrong from the time of the Ark, but on this particular occasion I was not taking the blame. It commenced this way: Quoth the skipper, “William, there can be no doubt that this is all your fault, you could not possibly have pumped the ship out properly in your watch.” My reply to this was that I had left the starboard bulwarks intact when I went below, that they had been washed away in the middle watch, and that if the mate could not explain how the ship got half full of water, neither could I, especially as he had had her for four hours to himself. That reasoning appeared to be conclusive, for afterwards there was no endeavour made to pile the blame upon me.

By the time we drew down to the Cape there was more pleasure in store for us, inasmuch as all the biscuits on board had developed so great a capacity for producing weevils that it began to be a matter for speculation who would eventually consume the biscuits, the weevils or ourselves? We generally tried to extrude the weevils before eating the biscuits, but in this we were not always successful, and we acquired the knowledge that they were very objectionable shipmates.

What a helping the Agulhas current is to homeward-bound ships! On this occasion we were lying-to under a close-reefed maintopsail, and all the time being set to windward thirty or forty miles a day directly on our course. I remember perfectly being passed one Sunday by one of the Natal traders called the Alphington, outward bound. She was carrying every stitch of canvas with a beautiful fair wind and we were lying-to under the shortest possible canvas. She reported us, however, when she got to port, as having sustained damage. In due course we rounded the Cape and drew up into the S.E. trades, heading for Bahia.

In most sea-going ships where a fair ship’s company is carried, there are two cries or shouts from the poop or quarterdeck in the ordinary routine, one is “Heave the log” the other “Trim the binnacle light.” In this craft, however, in my watch I had to attend to the latter business myself, and when the light required attention I would take it down the cabin companion-way, and prick the wick up as required. One night shortly after rounding the Cape I was doing this when in spite of all I could do the light went out. I thought this was funny and got some matches, but as I struck them they went out also. Then I took the lamp and matches into the deck-house, where I slept, and had no difficulty in lighting up. It puzzled me considerably why lamp nor match would burn below, when suddenly the thought arose—where a light won’t burn a man can’t live, so I went below and with difficulty aroused the mate and then the skipper. They both took a deal of awakening before I got them on deck, and then we came to the conclusion that the gas generated by the decaying coffee in the hold had found a vent into the cabin, which had it not been discovered in time would in all probability have been fatal to life. The skipper slept in a hammock on deck between there and New York, and the mate took very good care that the skylight was kept open and a windsail run into his berth.

The pinch of hunger was by this time telling on us all—even the rats—and I have repeatedly woke up when sleeping with bare feet in warm weather and disturbed a rat that was making a light meal by nibbling the hard skin from the soles of my feet. It was some time ere I discovered how it was that at times my feet became so tender. The failure of bread at sea is a disaster hard to overcome.

On this passage the chief point of interest to me was on the evening I went to the skipper to announce the fact that I was “out of my time.” I then discovered for certain what I had long suspected to be the case, that the old man must be a Methodist with leanings towards the pulpit, for the sermon he gave me was long enough and dull enough to have run into “fourteenthly and lastly.” He wound up by advising me not to forget the night I was out of my time, and I have carried out that instruction religiously.

We called off Bahia and received orders to go to New York to discharge our cargo. We arrived there without any further adventure, and as the crew were entitled to be paid off at the port of discharge the able seamen all left, only the mate and the cook remaining.

What a sight did the hold present when the hatches were removed! Not a sound bag of coffee remained. The greater part of it was dug out with shovels, and altogether it was one of the most deplorable losses that I have come across at sea.

New York in those days had a lawless atmosphere, and revolver shots could be heard on the river pretty frequently throughout the hours of darkness, for thieves were daring in the pursuit of plunder, and a night watchman if he did his duty on board a ship (ours did) had need be a very determined and plucky man to hold his own. We were not molested, however, and after our cargo was discharged we proceeded to load resin and timber of sorts, for the run home to London.

Let me mention here as a matter of interest that during this visit to New York we saw the celebrated sailing-ship Great Republic. She was then laid up, but I well remember that her decks were temporarily covered with loose planks, in order to preserve them from the weather. She was an enormous vessel, and carried a crew of 100 men. She must then have been near the end of her career, for she was built early in the ’fifties and a life of fifteen years was a long one for a soft-wood ship.

At this time, too, steam had not entirely driven the sailing passenger ship from the Atlantic trade. Whether I ever saw the celebrated Dreadnought I cannot quite remember, but she was then in her prime and had made passages across more than once in ten or twelve days. It was generally a very rough life on the Atlantic, and whether in steam or sail, canvas was carried to its extreme limit. There were in existence a class of mates who were prime seamen and fighting men in addition. The crew were a very hard-bitten lot too, but a reputation once earned in that trade was not easily forgotten, and when a man shipped in a western ocean packet, he was generally pretty well cognisant of the treatment he was likely to receive on board. That particular trade had its customs, and its laws, though unwritten, were none the less binding. It had its own rough code of honour too. I shall deal later on with a few of the methods that were put in practice in order to ascertain just exactly how far a crew would be allowed to take liberties, but I want to get home again in this chapter.

We filled up with the necessary number of “packet rats” as they were called, for the run home, and I saw these men come on board with great curiosity. They were a queer-looking lot, but fine big fellows, not extravagantly burdened with clothes, and with faces that carried plainly the marks of many a scrapping-match. But here the rough code of honour came in. These men found themselves in a little quiet peaceable ship, and they consequently did not consider it compatible with their ideas to make trouble where they could have had it all their own way. They behaved as decently as any men I have been shipmates with.

We had also on board some new stores for the trip, and it was possible to eat the biscuits, seasoned only with the remembrance of the weevils of the last lot. Still bad food will eventually tell upon the best constitution, and it took some considerable time for me to shake off all the ill-effects; in point of fact when I landed in London I had a hole in my leg that one could have put a small egg inside. The fates were good to us and we made a fair run across. With the first smell of the Channel away went the remembrance of all troubles, and eventually the ship was docked and I stepped on shore from the Lord Nelson “out of my time” and a free man.

This, however, was, as I fully recognised, only the beginning of things. My kind friends nursed and fed me back to a decent state of health, and then came the ordeal of getting my second mate’s certificate. In this connection I should like to pay a tribute to the memory of a good and clever man, the late John Newton, master of the Navigation School in Wells Street. He was tireless and unremitting in his endeavours to impart information, and his patience with pupils of all sorts was a thing to be gratefully remembered.

I had, of course, been preparing myself at sea to the best of my ability for the anticipated ordeal, and it may perhaps have been that knowledge that led me to pay less attention than I might have done to the advantages offered. I suppose it was a recrudescence of the spirit which earned me three thrashings a day at school, but Newton’s patience was equal to the test, and his kindness was inexhaustible, although I was generally the ringleader in any attempt to adjourn the day’s work.

But there was now another factor in the equation, and that was the Board of Trade. Let me say here, for the benefit of any young reader whose eyes may fall upon these lines, that the anticipation of an evil is far worse than the reality, but at the same time I do not wish to belittle the ordeal through which I now had to pass.

It is needless to say that before examining a candidate for a certificate, certain certificates of service and sobriety are required, and the Board has the necessary machinery for verifying such certificates. Hence when I went to put my papers in, it was discovered that I had deserted from my ship, and I was informed that to purge so heinous an offence it would be necessary to petition the Board. It did not by any means follow that the petition would be granted, but in this case, helped by my friend Newton, I got my petition through successfully, and I was ready to face the music.

There were certain examiners in navigation and seamanship for the Board of Trade whose names were well known—some with terror—to the aspiring youths of the Mercantile Marine; but there were two who possessed a reputation for severity that was somewhat phenomenal. Personally speaking in all my examinations I got the fairest of fair play, but it does not follow that others may not have suffered. Human nature is not infallible, and some people would try the patience of a saint. Further I have seen officers going up for their certificates dressed so untidily and badly that if they created a prejudice they had only themselves to thank for it. One case in particular recalls itself to me as an illustration.... The man in question had been a brother officer of mine, and I liked him. He was also a gentleman, but he went up looking as though he had been rolled in a hayloft, and came back failed and cursing his examiner—instead of his own folly.

The two undoubted dwellers on the threshold of certificated competency were Captains Noakes and Domett. The former had been in the East India Company’s service, and I should imagine had been a leader of men. I had, therefore, many qualms when on the day of examination the usher opened the door of the waiting-room and informed me that “Captain Noakes is now waiting for you, sir.” My inmost reflection was, “Shall I make a meal for him or not?” That feeling did not last long, however. He asked me a few questions about rigging gear for hoisting out weights, then about handling canvas, and it was done in so conversational a manner that one had rather the feeling of enjoying it. Finally we discussed shortening sail as per Falconer’s Shipwreck, with a few other trifles of a like nature, and I heard him say that he did not intend to put more questions, that I had passed a good examination, and where would I like my certificate issued? To which I promptly replied Ramsgate and bowed myself out, with a feeling that the world was now a ball at my feet. As I write these lines I have the firm knowledge that the ball has been me—but nevertheless it is good to remember that the world was young once, and there were things to strive for, with the store of energy necessary to secure them.

In due course I got back home to Margate, and walked the pier and jetty with some of my old friends the boatmen, who having known me as a boy were now inclined to regard me as being rather a credit to them. I went to Ramsgate, received my certificate from the collector of Customs there, who was kind enough to assure me that I should have no difficulty in obtaining employment. In thanking him I was content to accept his assurance, which, however, I found afterwards was a somewhat optimistic one.