“Oh, we’re bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea.”—Kipling.

It was one thing to be assured by my friend the collector of Customs that I should never be in want of employment, and quite another part of speech to find a ship. I have a very distinct recollection of the trouble I had to get suited. Without any influence in the shipping world berths were not easy to obtain, and many a long day did I pass prowling round the various docks before success attended my efforts. What the procedure of others was I know not, but mine was to pick out a good-looking ship and then get into conversation with some one on board her to ascertain if she had a second mate. Of course this action would be useless in well-established lines, for they would promote their own men, but an outsider was all I could aspire to, as I was not sufficiently pleased with my late owners to apply to them for help.

One day my eyes lighted upon a very handsome little iron ship lying in the London Docks. I thought her a beauty, and on closer inspection discovered her name to be Lord of the Isles; she was not the celebrated tea clipper of that name, which ten years previously had beaten the Yankee vessels in the race from Foo Chow to London. There was this similarity, however, that she was built at Greenock by Steel, while the earlier ship was built by Scott of the same place. Anyhow she was a little beauty, and, when I went to try my luck, I was fortunate enough to find the captain on board, and to get into conversation with him. I think we took rather a liking to each other, for without much trouble I secured the berth of second mate. The ship was loading for Adelaide, and it transpired that the owner was anxious the ship should make a quick passage, for I well remember Mr. Williamson of the firm of Williamson and Milligan saying to me, “Mind, Mr. Second Mate, we expect the ship to make the passage of the season.” I rather liked that remark, for it seemed to give a share of responsibility to so very humble an individual as myself, and, indeed, as a matter of policy, or humbug, it might be well if people in authority realised more than many of them do, how a junior is “bucked up” by a word of encouragement. I can moralise over this now that the opportunity of putting the precept into practice has passed away, but I cannot remember that I was ever very sympathetic to my subordinates when I had them.

And while dealing with ethics, let me add the note of utility, and suggest to any young man the desirability of keeping some notes of his life’s events. There is no need to go into detail, but for one engaged in such a calling as the sea a chronological note-book will in many cases save an infinity of trouble. Even now as I pen these lines I find the want acutely of some record that would fix dates and aid memory, for it entails an enormity of trouble to get together the necessary data.

My new captain was James Craigie, a Scotchman, I think, from the kingdom of Fife, and there were two apprentices on board from the same town. I remember their Christian names were “Wully” and Peter. Occasionally the old man engaged them in broad Scotch conversation, presumably lest they should forget their native dialect, for they were broad Scotch, and the skipper was proud of the fact. Captain Craigie was a fine seaman and a skilled and scientific navigator. He had no notion of what fear was, and although he suffered from an absurd affliction that eventually killed him he was tireless in doing everything that he conceived to be his duty to his owner. But—and it was a big but—he had little notion of what discipline was, and perhaps the education I got on that ship was useful to me afterwards. It is all very well to be on familiar terms with those you control, but you require to be very careful how you set about it. However, I think we most of us learned things on that voyage.

The mate was a little Welshman named Jones, not a bad sort, but there was a certain natural antipathy between him and that which was the fact. He was a poor hand at keeping order amongst the men, and, all things considered, it was hardly matter for surprise that we had the trouble we did.

At that time there was a good deal of difficulty with the crews of outward-bound ships. The glamour of carrying canvas was very great. There were the traditions of the Marco Polo with Bully Forbes in command; the Black Ball liners such as the Red Jacket and her kindred ships; the Donald McKay, and others where it was the custom to say, “What you can’t carry you must drag,” all of which entailed an immense mastery over the crews. In the vessels I have mentioned there was a lot of hard usage, and the masters and mates were mostly young men who could fight, and occasionally use a belaying-pin with decent effect. But, as with the western ocean men, there were certain able seamen who habitually sailed in fighting ships by choice, and if they by chance got with a peaceable crowd of officers they might or might not behave themselves, as the fancy took them. Our crew contained a fine lot of men physically, and there was no doubt that the old man intended to get the utmost out of his ship, which was a smart craft and a good sailer. We had rather a dusting during the beat down-Channel. I got her into one mess through hanging on too long to the topgallantsails, but a mild reproof was all that I suffered, and a youngster must often pick up his experience at the expense of some one else. We made very fair progress on the way south, and the skipper stated his intention to go well south and make a passage if possible.

One clear morning we were about due south of the Cape of Good Hope, running under all the canvas we could carry and making about thirteen knots, when we sighted our first iceberg. It was about eight bells, and the whole of the forenoon we made towards it, passing it shortly after noon. In size and shape it reminded me of St. Paul’s cathedral. Modern Antarctic explorers tell us that the size of these southern bergs have been greatly exaggerated, but as we saw this particular berg more than fifty miles off it cannot have been a very small one.

For some days after this we constantly saw ice. One Sunday afternoon, my watch on deck, it was misty, and we continually sighted the heads of bergs in more or less close proximity. There was a strong following wind, but the old man took in the mizzen-royal and crossjack, and, telling me that he had snugged the ship down for me, went below to sleep the sleep of perfect peace. With the gaudy confidence of youth, however, this did not give me any immediate concern.

But we did carry canvas, and I should hesitate to say how many topmast-stunsail-booms we carried away. We had got into a streak of fair wind, varying from N.W. to S.W., and made the most of it. The watch on deck was frequently occupied with draw knives helping the carpenter make new booms to replace those that went, but after a few days of this work it began to pall upon the crew, who lacked the accustomed stimulus to their exertions as supplied by a “heftier” school of mates, and for some days the men would not come out of the forecastle. The ship in the meantime was worked by the apprentices and afterguard. This was not an uncommon occurrence at the time, and should have been cured by the administration or threat of a few leaden pills, but before the old man made up his mind to apply this remedy the crew turned to again. They had secured a store of biscuits, but were unable to cook anything below, and this brought them to reason.

In the last chapter I mentioned the sort of custom that existed when there was any serious friction between the men in the forecastle and any particular officer. If action was deliberately decided upon, the development would be something on the following lines. At 4.30 a.m. it was the custom for the watch on deck to have their morning coffee. This is a sustenance that is very greatly appreciated in all ships, and I can remember that my friend Mr. Clark Russell enlarges more than once in his inimitable books upon its advantages. At 5 a.m. when the watch commenced to wash decks, one man would come aft to relieve the man at the wheel to go and get his coffee. I have not previously mentioned the custom of the sea which reserved the weather side of the poop for the captain or officer of the watch, whichever might be in possession (if the captain came on deck the officer of the watch would cross over to the lee side), but by reason of this custom if a man were out looking for trouble he would attempt to come aft on the weather side of the poop to relieve the wheel. The officer of the watch would then meet him at the head of the poop-ladder with, “Go up the lee side, you ——;” that is left blank for the reader to fill in the precise amount of profanity or warmth that had been previously generated, and consequently brought about the breach of the peace which was now certain to follow. Curious ways sailors have!

Well, in that telepathic manner in which news spreads on board ship, the hands got to know that I was not a believer in half measures where refractory men were concerned, and my watch laid themselves out to see how much trouble they could give me. They really succeeded in a most creditable manner, and the result of a little difference of opinion that became manifest, concerning the setting of a lower stunsail one middle watch, was that when the mate came on deck to relieve me he found me insensible and covered with snow. I had been rather badly manhandled, and when next I looked at my face in the glass it was not by any means a thing of beauty; in fact, I carry the scars to-day. Worst of all they were very manifest when I had to again face my refractory watch, but there was no help for it; we were making a splendid passage, and the old man was for peace at any price.

We made the run from the meridian of the Cape to Adelaide in twenty days, which was very fair work, and duly docked the ship and started to discharge cargo. There was, however, to be another unpleasant little episode before the crew were finished with, and to this day I laugh at the remembrance of the mate’s coat-tails streaming behind him as he rushed forward one afternoon with a hammer in his hand, to take vengeance on some man who had aroused his ire. I forget what it was all about, but the men came aft in a body bent on mischief. The ship was alongside the wharf, the old man was on shore, and there was a crowd of onlookers from other ships, when the mate left to fetch the police. I was being roughly handled, but putting up the best fight I could, when, seeing the captain of another ship looking on, I shouted to him to ask what I was to do. “Get a cutlass and smash their skulls for them,” was the answer I got, and with one in my fist I escaped further trouble. The police came down and marched the lot off to jail, and on the next day I fancy they got three months a-piece. There was a Captain Douglas, R.N., acting as one of the magistrates on the bench, and he appeared highly interested in learning the manners and customs which had obtained on board the Lord of the Isles.

Our stay in port after this was most agreeable; I renewed acquaintance with many old friends, and when it was time to depart did so with regret. There is a certain great artist alive to-day, who may remember an episode concerning a letter and an old boot. Do you, Mortimer Menpes? I have not forgotten.

Some pains were taken to get a decent crew together. We were towed to the outer anchorage, there to await their arrival, for we were to sail for Newcastle, N.S.W., in ballast and then take a cargo of coal for Manilla, where we were to load for home. The mate and I had by this time made up our minds that if there was to be any more hammering done we were not intending to play the passive part.

It is very curious how these things happen. The cook was the only bit of the old leaven that was left, and there was no love lost between him and the steward. The first morning we were at anchor outside, the steward, who was a very good-looking fellow, went forward to the galley to get early morning coffee for the mate and me. While it was preparing in the customary saucepan, the cook blew upon the rising steam to see if the preparation was boiling.

“Don’t blow on the coffee, cook,” said the steward.

“Shall if I like!” replied the cook. The steward gave a hitch up to his trousers, and the cook brought the saucepan of hot stuff down on the steward’s head, cutting it open, and sending him aft badly hurt and much scalded. The cook then proceeded to sharpen his knife on the grindstone for the edification of those whom it might concern. It did not help him much, however, for the mate told me to put him in irons, and that I promptly did, using only such arguments as were really necessary.

That day the old man came off with the crew, and we got under way, settling all little unpleasantnesses as we went. To make a long story short, there was only one more case of trouble during the voyage. I found it necessary on one occasion to stretch a man out, and the old man, who was looking on barefooted and dressed in his usual rig of shirt and trousers, kept up by one brace, quietly knocked a broom off the handle and giving me the stick observed, “Now baste him until there isn’t a whole ‘bane’ in his body.” I did not altogether obey the injunction, but that was the last of any trouble.

The experience of a coal cargo is not a pleasant one, but there were quite a lot of fine ships in Newcastle on a similar errand to ours. We got away with fair expedition and made the eastern passage up to Manilla, where every basket of coal that came out of the main hatch was tipped over the side by me. Work of that sort in a blazing sun is a fair test of endurance; however, it was done, the holds cleaned, the ship watered and loaded for home with sugar. Then we had a day’s leave on shore. The place that all the skippers and mates who came to visit us expressed a wish to see was the cigar manufactory, but it appeared to be a difficult matter to obtain the necessary permission. When I got on shore (I had a brass-bound coat, as was the fashion then for young mates to wear if they fancied themselves) the comprador got me a pony and I started out to the manufactory. There were soldier sentries at the entrance, but no difficulty was made about admitting me. I was shown into the presence of some high official, offered white sweet cake and wine, then a cigar, and was taken over the factory. Whether the same plan of manufacture is carried on to-day I know not, but the pounding of the tobacco leaves with flat stones, by women or girls, on thin wooden tables made a deafening noise, comparable to very noisy machinery. Of the courtesy shown me I can only speak in the highest terms.

I was also very successful in regard to my mid-day meal, to which I was directed by a monk from the window of some religious house, who heard me inquiring after the manner of Englishmen. When Admiral Dewey sailed into Manilla Bay, I know that I remembered the stately courtesy I had there experienced and felt sorry that the modern world had broken in upon it. We all know that it is no trouble for a Spaniard to die as a brave man should, but to have modernity thrust down his throat, at the sacrifice of his life’s teachings, entitles him to the sympathy of every Briton who cherishes his own hereditary rights and privileges.

At the time of year that we were at Manilla the wind blew pretty constantly down the harbour; it was consequently a fair wind out, and the custom obtained there to some extent of helping another ship to get under way. There was one point of seamanship over which much argument took place, and this was whether, getting under way with a fair wind, it was the correct thing to leave the afteryards square, or to fill them as soon as possible. I could argue it either way myself, but it was a source of never-failing criticism whichever way was adopted. In our case the afteryards were left square.

Our run down the China Sea was a pleasant one, through Gaspar Straits and so down to Sunda, where we were becalmed for ten days, to the intense exasperation of every one. Even the supply of the mangosteen procured at Anger Point did not compensate for this. Lest it should seem that I overrate the charms of fresh fruit, let me say that no one who has not eaten mangosteen is qualified to form a fair opinion. Unfortunately, the fruit is so delicate it hardly stands carriage, for I have never seen one away from its place of growth. It is, however, probably the daintiest and most delicious fruit that grows.

Once clear of the Straits, our good fortune returned to us and we made a fine run across to the Cape. The ship was rapidly fouling, but the old man hung on to the canvas with all his wonted pertinacity, and very little wind got past us that could be put to any use. As an instance, once in a morning watch I was keeping, I saw a foretopgallant-studdingsail depart in its entirety; tack, sheet and halliards parted at the same moment, and where the sail went I never saw. It was the only time such an occurrence took place in my experience, but it gives an idea of how canvas was carried.

In due course we got to Queenstown, and, getting orders for London, arrived at St. Katherine’s dock without further incident. I was not anxious to make another trip in that ship as I wanted to see other fashions, so took my discharge and went down home once more. I parted from Captain Craigie with regret, for I had profound respect for him, and he had helped me on the passage home to coach myself for my first mate’s examination.

That was the next thing to encounter, so once again to John Newton and the Wells Street associations! This time I stayed at the Sailors’ Home while passing, and spent my spare time looking for a ship. The details of this examination do not seem to have left any lasting impression upon me. I got through all right, and passed in seamanship before Captain Domett, but I remember there were one or two critical moments when my certificate seemed to waver in the balance.

Then began once more in earnest the search for a ship that was to my liking. There was in those days a place frequented by shipowners called the “Jerusalem.” I was never clear as to what went on there exactly, but one of the officials was a Mr. Paddle, and to him I took a letter from a friend. By this interposition I secured a berth as second mate in a tea clipper called the Omba, belonging to the firm of Killick & Martin.

The Omba was a fine composite built ship of about eight hundred tons, well found in all respects, and altogether I was not displeased with my bargain. But she turned out to be by no means the ship of my aspirations, for I often found myself wondering why it was not possible for officers of a ship to carry out their duties in a gentlemanly manner. I had seen that the officers in the Essex were gentlemen and could do their work, and I hoped it might be my good fortune to again sail in a ship where the decencies of life might receive some little attention. There was some show of refinement in the ship, but not much, although nothing was wanting to secure it but the will.

The skipper was an Englishman hailing from close to Deal; the mate was a Scotchman, herculean in size and apparently simple in manner on first acquaintance. This simplicity, however, disappeared as the ship left the dock, and he stood revealed as big a hustler as it had been my fortune to come across—a voice like a bull, dauntless courage, and in the technique of his calling with little if anything to learn. I have seen him swing the deep sea lead (thirty-two pounds) over his head with two fathoms of line for drift, and it will be realised that this was no common accomplishment. At all events I could not do it; in fact I did not try, nor did any other man in the ship, but when he started to go aloft, via the main tack and up the weather leaches to the main royal yard, it became necessary for me also to acquire that accomplishment, at all events if my end of the stick was to be properly supported. And in the end I think that at that particular game I beat him. We were never on cordial terms, for I was not his sort, and curiously enough both he and the skipper resented my holding a certificate superior to my rating. In fact, the old man once observed, “Look here, Mr. Crutchley, you seem to think that mate’s certificate of yours makes you a gentleman: there’s only one gentleman in this ship, that’s me; if there’s to be another then it’s the mate, not you!” That statement appeared to me to be quite adequate, and not to be controverted.

There was, however, a third mate with whom I did associate. Tom Boulton was a nice boy, and we had much in common. Further, he liked the same books that I did. It is many years since I saw him, but I know he rose to the command of fine sailing-ships, afterwards setting up in some business on shore. Of all those I knew in the sailing-ship days he is the only survivor that I have recently been in touch with. As for the rest of the crew, there were some boys living in the half-deck with the warrant officers. I think they were special lads, more or less friends of the owners and well born, but long years afterwards, when I commanded a steamer, I saw a certain foolish expression on the face of my boatswain, and my mind went back, prompting the question, “Were you ever in the Omba?” I knew I recognised that expression. He was one of the boys; his father was a doctor, but he himself only a waster who could never do any good for himself or any one.

About this period the theory of compass compensation for local attraction was understood by the few, and composite ships were supposed to be more difficult to adjust than iron or steel ones. So we made fast to the buoys off Greenhithe while the operation was being gone through, afterwards making the best of our way down-Channel in charge of a pilot whom we landed off the Isle of Wight. The wind soon after this came out from the westward, and we had the pleasure of working her down-Channel in company with many other biggish ships. I remember one we were often in company with—she was called the Liberator, and she sailed well. We had the misfortune to knock the mast out of a trawler somewhere off the Start; I do not think it was our fault, though I doubt not the ship paid.

It fell to me to write the letter to the owner describing the circumstances, and how it occurred, for the old man was not fluent with his pen. I shall later on give an instance of how letter-writing was regarded by many masters.

During the first part of the passage out there was no particular incident, save that we boarded a little schooner in order to send home letters. She was a Spaniard, and the skipper was as polite as his countrymen usually are, begging me to accept the present of a box of cigars, which, needless to say, I was glad to do. It was my first experience of boating on a line swell, and it came as a surprise.

We made a fair passage through the Trades and commenced to run the Easting down. The skipper decided to run through the Straits of Sunda and up the China Sea in preference to the eastern passage, but that did not hinder him from getting well down into the “roaring forties.” As a general thing no one minded much being up to the waist in water, but higher than that was unpleasant, for it induced a suggestion of swimming that had its drawbacks. The ship had fine bulwarks, nearer six feet high than five, and she was fairly deep in the pickle too, but the way she took the water over in heaps when she was running was uncomfortable. There was no fuss about it, but just one steady cataract, that at times gave the relieving ports all they could do to get clear of it before another lot came along. I am not going to say that at any time she was filled up to the top of the bulwarks, but it seemed very much like it, and I do not believe we took the maintopgallantsail in while we were down south, for the old man carried canvas like a hero. Our best day’s run was 335 miles—a very respectable performance, but it was fortunate there was no ice about.

Up through the Straits of Sunda and the smooth tract of sea immediately north of them, which always struck me as being so eminently quiet and peaceful. The passage through Gaspar Straits was not looked forward to by many masters with much pleasure, but I suppose that with steam all its difficulties have disappeared. We had only to anchor once, but when we got higher up the sea into the Bashee Channel we caught something that was worth having from the point of view of experience.

I cannot state the exact position of the ship when this happened, seeing that I did no navigation save an occasional star latitude when the skipper wanted one, but it was somewhere in the Bashee Channel and the wind blew from one direction only—I think it was N.N.E. We took in bit by bit every scrap of canvas down to a lower maintopsail and a mizzen-staysail; in due course both these sails disappeared in rags, and it was a brand-new maintopsail too. It was blowing far too hard for a big sea to get up, but at times a vicious one would come along and smash something; for instance, one hit her on the starboard bow and started the knight-heads—a very curious accident. There she lay for the better part of twenty-four hours without a rag of canvas, and heeling over about a steady forty-seven degrees—(I may say that a clinometer I had rigged early on the trip was regarded as one of my fads). I suppose the rain also helped to keep the sea down, but on one occasion I saw the watch at the pumps fairly overwhelmed, and I scarcely expected to find any of them left.

At last it ended. The ship came upright, we got canvas on her, and found that we were not very far from land. It is really comical the manner in which sailors take things for granted. I should not have dared to ask the skipper to see the chart, and had we all known of the danger it would have done no good, so perhaps it was for the best.

The following story I believe to be true, it was told me by Captain Ballard, C.M.G., in these words: “Once in a cyclone the —— was off Mauritius; we could not help ourselves, and I saw we must be swept upon —— Island, when it would all have been over. I went aft to tell the people in the saloon, but stopped half-way; I thought it could do no good, and would only worry them before it was necessary; but she was either swept over the island by the tidal wave or else we missed it.”

But what an awful mess that ship was in; as a rule she was spic and span, the acme of neatness, but now a survey of our state was pitiable. The laniards of the lower rigging on the lee side were so chafed that it was doubtful if they would last to port, and altogether the rigging had suffered greatly. But Providence was good to us, and we got in without much more trouble, although it was a beat up the China Sea.

When I speak of the customary neatness of our rigging I in no way exaggerate. As an instance of my meaning, most people know that to save chafe on the backstays in the way of the lower yards, wooden battens are usually seized to the backstays. That was far too rough a method for us. We had the backstays served with unlaid strands of wire rigging, and if any one wishes to try his hand at putting that on, he is welcome to the job so far as I am concerned, for it came to my lot frequently to have to show men that the operation of serving with stiff wire was a possible one.

It was early winter when we arrived at Shanghai and fairly cold. There were a lot of ships in the harbour, and among them was the Lauderdale, of which George Davies was now mate. We renewed our friendship, and had lots to talk over. I think he obtained command of that ship on her next voyage, and was never again heard of. There was also a ship called the Loudoun Castle, whose skipper had the dire misfortune to incur the enmity of our mate, which led to disagreeables for the following absurd reason. A party of skippers were with our old man talking in the cabin, and the topic of discussion was the writing of letters home to the owner, an operation sometimes considered a difficulty. One of the guests happened to say that when he wrote home he turned the mate out of the cabin, imagined he had the owner opposite him, and then wrote as if he were speaking to him. There was no great harm in that, one would say, but our mate heard it, and attributing it rightly or wrongly to the captain of the Loudoun Castle, made it a personal matter that a mate should be asked to leave the cabin. There was considerable trouble over the matter, and I very stupidly went to a lot of trouble to make peace in a business in which I had no concern whatever.

We discharged our cargo in due course, and in spite of the bucketing we found there had been no leaking or damage to speak of. Then we commenced preparing for the homeward cargo of tea. Now, as all people know, tea is a very light commodity, and the ship had to be ballasted to stiffen her. The second mate is supposed to supervise the stowage, but in this case the mate did. To save space he did not leave a sufficient thickness of ballast on the turn of the bilge, and so some tea was spoiled. I heard afterwards it was put down to the fault of “that second mate,” although I had nothing whatever to do with it. It is one of the prettiest operations conceivable to see Chinamen stowing a cargo of tea—great heavy mallets are used, and the tiers are built up with almost mathematical accuracy.

We carried several boats bottom upwards on skids, and these were filled with every article we could bring up from any place below where tea could be stowed, and with the cargo work went on the repairing of the rigging. Here I can illustrate how splendid a sailor the mate was. We rove new laniards to the lower rigging fore and aft. It was bitterly cold weather, yet such care was taken over the business that they did not require to be set up again when we got into warm weather, or touched for the remainder of the voyage, and let no man say he stretched the rope to ruin, for it was not so, but the strain was put on properly.

We had rather a good day’s leave on shore there. Pony-riding seemed the correct thing to do, and most of us were duly shot off by the sudden swerve of the beast into some haunt of seamen with which we were unacquainted. We also foregathered with some of the officers of the old P. & O. paddler Ganges. Nothing of note occurred, however, and in due course the ship was fully loaded, all the officers were given the usual bounty of tea as a present, and we prepared to make the start homewards.

We had taken on board three passengers, a clergyman and his wife and child. A lady at table was a novelty for us, but they were nice people, and I in my spare time got the loan of many books, and for the first time made acquaintance with a series of back numbers of the Saturday Review. I can remember a lot of the smart and caustic writing they contained even now.

We had to beat out to sea, and in doing so discovered that the ship was rather tender with a beam wind, the royals made an appreciable difference, but thus it was and we had to make the best of it. To beat out was fairly hard work, for we had to tack so frequently that there was no time to coil the braces down; as they came in, so they went out. But the pilot was a smart fellow and handled the ship beautifully.

Once outside there was a fair wind down the China Sea and we started to make the best of it. We carried royal stunsails and let very little wind get past us. The canvas was good, the gear was good, not a moment was lost in trimming or making sail, and we did well.

One morning, it was my watch, I had rather a scare, for I suddenly made out breakers on the port bow and I had not the least idea that there was land in the vicinity. I yelled down the skylight for the skipper, and at once began to brace up and haul off. The old man came on deck in a hurry, and was graciously pleased to consider that I had done well to avoid running on top of the Pescadore Islands, which with a slack look-out might easily have happened.

There was a certain amount of confusion in getting clear, and to make matters more complex we heard a great riot going on in the cabin, and clouds of steam were arising therefrom. It seems that as we came to the wind, the cabin stove fetched way to leeward and capsized, scattering the lighted coals. The crash brought the parson out of his cabin and he promptly made use of all the liquids he could lay hands upon, thus creating a condition combining safety with a filthy smell. The skipper was good enough to say that we kept a very good look-out in my watch, even if the proverbial second mate’s slackness was apparent in other matters, but looking back at this little episode after the lapse of years, it seems to me there was no excuse for not warning the officer of the watch that there was a possibility of the ship making a bad course. I trust that a different order of things now exists, but in that ship it would have been little short of sacrilege to ask to see a chart, or to inquire as to the ship’s position. I should have been informed with biting sarcasm, “When I want you to navigate the ship, Mr. So-and-So, I will let you know, meantime, I am quite capable.”

We had great luck down the China Sea, through the straits and as far as St. Helena, which we made in sixty days from Shanghai. But when we reached the line our troubles began. There we ran into a stark calm that lasted for three weeks, and tried the patience of all. More especially did it affect the captain, as was but natural, and his extravagances were at times very comical. On the first part of the trip, when all had gone well, no one concerned themselves about the proverbial ill-luck which attends the carriage of parsons by sea, but it now seemed to have improved by keeping. It had been the custom of the skipper to make up a dummy whist party with the parson and his wife, but this was now discontinued, and the old man’s text as he tramped the poop was loudly spoken and often. “Oh, if the Lord will only forgive me this once for carrying a parson I’ll never do it any more.” One night he solemnly brought up a pack of cards and consigned them with many varied and choice imprecations to the deep. I cannot, however, consider that he was an artist in the use of language—there was too much sameness and repetition about it.

Whether it was owing to the foregoing incantation I do not know, but we did eventually get away from the line. Our passage, however, was completely spoiled, and at the end of it we were shamefully outsailed by that celebrated clipper the Jerusalem. We were going up-Channel with a fine southerly wind that was about a-beam, but, as I have said before, we were a bit tender and could not usefully under those conditions carry all the sail we should have wished. The Jerusalem passed us to windward under all plain sail, and we felt the beating badly, for we could not carry our royals without burying the lee side to the detriment of our speed. Off Beechy Head, however, we took on board a hoveller as a Channel pilot, and I can hear even now the sigh of relief the old man gave as he welcomed him on board.

There is nothing more to chronicle of that ship; I had made up my mind she did not suit me—nor I her—so we parted with scant regret on either side.

There was in the East India Docks a vessel called the Albuera. She belonged to the firm of John Willis & Co., and rejoiced in a double row of painted ports. To her I transferred my services. Her captain, Gissing by name, was a nice fellow, and we should have got on together, but my fortune was now in the ascendant, and I left her to take up the berth in steam that was then becoming the ambition of all young seamen. The Suez Canal was open, and it required no great prescience to foresee the end of sails. The modern sailing-ship that was then being built, however, was very beautiful. Let me instance one as an example, the Lothair; she was afterwards commanded by Tom Boulton, but she was built on the lines of a yacht and was as beautiful, although the modern ship never had the stately grace of the old frigate-built Indiaman.