Good-bye to sail! The chance had come to make the plunge that was rendered inevitable by the opening of the Suez Canal and the march of modern invention. It was sad to realise that the sailing-ship was becoming a back number and that the future for the sea lay with steam—a means of propulsion that would for ever put in the background the manly management of masts, yards and sails. To-day, the period in which this country won its greatest triumphs on the sea is commonly referred to (even in the Royal Navy) as the “stick and string time,” but I am old-fashioned enough to believe that the seamen of the past were in their way as clever engineers as the men that fit and drive the modern turbine engines.

In the museum of the Royal United Service Institution is to be seen a fully rigged model of the old Cornwallis. Stand by the side of it and try to realise the exquisite skill that was necessary to rig that vessel, and then keep the masts in her through all the varied experiences that would befall. How, pitching in a head sea, every stay must bear its due proportion of strain or something would go! Consider the friction and chafe that would be constantly taking place with rope rigging, and the unceasing vigilance that was necessary to preserve it intact, and then, if you know enough to realise what it meant, sneer if you will at the days of stick and string, but forgive those who look back with regret at what was the inevitable eclipse of a notable phase in a very noble calling. The sailing-ship man had a little doubt in his mind as to how he should properly rank the steamship man. I had on the previous voyage heard engineer officers in a mail steamer speak disparagingly of the seamanlike qualities of the ship’s officers—such, for instance, as an order to the engine-room, “Half a turn sideways if you can; if you can’t never mind.” Not to be believed for a moment, but still we sailors doubted as to how they ought to rank in the hierarchy of the sea. It was also said by the same engineers that they had a chief officer who was worth anything in bad weather, for he could go round the decks with such a beautiful command of language that nothing ever went wrong with them, and so the conclave with whom I discussed the matter concluded that there might possibly be an opening for one that had graduated even in a hard school of seamanship. Need I say that, in spite of chaff and theoretical leanings, I was unfeignedly thankful to be offered the berth of third mate in the mail steamer Roman belonging to the Union Steamship Company, of Southampton. I said good-bye to Captain Gissing of the Albuera with regret, and proceeded with all due haste to take up my appointment.

It was in July 1870 that I first set eyes upon the Roman. It was evening and she was deserted save by an old shipkeeper, who having been an officer in the very early days of the company was willing enough to gossip, and satisfy such curiosity as I was not backward to confess on the subject of my new surroundings.

Naturally the first things that caught my eyes were the ship’s spars, and there I was gratified; she being rigged with yards beautifully squared, sail covers on, and royal and topgallant-yards up and down the lower rigging in approved man-of-war fashion. Next, the decks were clean, and there was a look of the old Blackwall liner about the paintwork that spoke well for her. Altogether she bore an air of prosperity that made me think my lines had fallen in pleasant places. My first impression in this case was the right one, for I doubt if I ever had an unhappy day on board that ship. She had originally been built with a flush deck by Lungley of Deptford, on a so-called unsinkable principle, but the exigencies of increasing trade had caused the company to build a poop on her to a great sacrifice of good looks. She carried it well, however, and years afterwards they even lengthened and put a forecastle upon her, from which you descended by a ladder to the bowsprit to get at the jib.

On the day after my arrival I reported myself at the office to the Marine Superintendent, Captain R.W. Ker, R.N.R., and learned from him that I was on a trial voyage, and that my tenure of office depended upon my suitability for the company’s service. With this information I was perfectly satisfied, and went down to the ship to present my appointment to Captain Warleigh. Things were then done with a good deal of form, and I trust I may be forgiven a certain amount of regret that a system which gave excellent results has been departed from. The policy of “hustle” is not the only one productive of good results.

My new captain was somewhat of a revelation. He received me as one gentleman would another, and when he chose he could be particularly agreeable. His appearance was decidedly prepossessing, and he had a pair of steely blue eyes that could on occasions show a very lurid light. Let me say at once that I always found him a kind friend, though years afterwards we had differences of opinion. Warleigh was a very fine character and would have been an ornament to any service; he was not, however, physically strong, having suffered greatly from fever contracted on the Mauritius service. When he had asked me some few questions as to where I had been and what I did there, he called to the chief officer, whose name was Coathupe, and introduced me to him in the following manner: “Curly, this is our new third, show him round and help him feel his feet, will you?” The freedom of speech, I afterwards learnt, was owing to the fact that Warleigh had only been promoted the previous voyage, and as he and Coathupe had been great friends when officers together, the skipper was on more free and easy terms with his chief than would otherwise have been the case. Fred Coathupe was one of those gifted mortals liked by every one; indeed, I cannot call to mind any occasion on which I knew him to lose his temper. There was little if anything of the sailor in his manner, but for all that he was a smart officer and kept his ship in excellent order. We proceeded in search of the second officer, whom we found in the shed tallying cargo—or going through the form of doing so—for let me say here, that to put a steamer’s officer on to do clerk’s work is both unfair and a farce. I know that in some cases it is done to-day, but I feel sure that the loss entailed by an imperfect record of cargo carried is far more than would pay for the time of a clerk who has been properly trained to the work. In sailing-ship days, when there was no hurry, the mate could sit on the rail and do his tallying easily enough, but not so now.

Reginald Leigh, the “second,” was a man with a very keen sense of humour, never at a loss for a reply to any curious remark that might be addressed to him, and altogether gifted with a flow of language that on occasion compelled even the admiration of the victim to whom it might be addressed. I could tell amusing stories on this subject, but think I will refrain from details. Indications of them may appear, however, in future pages. Leigh made my acquaintance with a humorous grin, observed that “It was a good dog that barked when it was told,” that was his motto, and would I just relieve him for a little time with the tally book? He and I had to share the same cabin, and we were on very good terms, the one difference of opinion being that he abhorred tobacco, while I and my pipe were good friends. When the ship was not full of passengers the captain gave permission for the third to use one of the saloon cabins, and indeed the fashion in the service was for every one to be made as comfortable as possible. The captain, throughout the company’s service, was a very important personage. Under him the chief officer was practically supreme in all matters. If, for instance, one of the crew had a grievance and wished to represent it to the chief, he had first to secure the attention and support of a warrant or petty officer who would certify to his statement and accompany him aft to lay it before the chief officer.

It may not be out of place here to say a few words about Southampton as it then was—not the great home of mammoth liners it is to-day—but a nice, quiet little place with just enough of the best sort of shipping to make it of considerable importance. The people who lived there did not seem very keen about encouraging shipping, they rather preferred it to be considered the county town, and to rely upon the support of the county families; at all events that is what the townsfolk used to say if one pointed out the vast potentialities of the port. I confess that to visit the place to-day makes me look back to the old times with keen regret, for a Southampton sailor in the early ’seventies could with truth take unto himself the thanksgiving of the Pharisee when he contemplated the despised Publican. Firstly, to mention the shipping companies in their order of precedence, there was the Royal Mail Steam Packet Company. This was, and is, I believe, the only steamship company incorporated by Royal charter, and it had various quaint privileges denied to others. It is difficult even now to arrive at them, but the tie between the Royal Navy and the Royal Mail has been close, and undoubtedly the line was at one time more or less under the active patronage of the government of the day. Its ships were well officered, and there was fairly rapid promotion, for the climate of the West Indies taken all round was not very conducive to longevity, owing to the fevers that were at that time very common.

The Union Company drew many of its officers from the Royal Mail, and there was consequently a good deal of intercourse between the two services. Antagonism existed, however, to a considerable extent between the officers of the Royal Mail and the P. & O. service; they would not foregather on any condition, the reason being that each was jealous of the other. Either, however, would associate with us, for they could and did say in a patronising tone: “Oh, yes, that’s a very nice little company of yours, quite nice,” little thinking what it would grow to in the very near future. At that time the Royal Mail was modernising its fleet. It still had running such paddle steamers as the La Plata and Shannon, and the contrast between these and the new Elbe was very marked. I happened to know an officer named Teddy Griffiths who was appointed to the latter ship, and he, in describing his first visit to her, declared she was so spacious and intricate that he lost his way, and sat down crying on a hatch until a boy came along and showed him the way out. Be that as it may, we spent many a cheery evening on board that ship, for we were young, we could sing a good song, and we had the gift of good fellowship—which I regret is not always appreciated at its proper value when one is its owner. It may lead you into undue exuberance, but it’s a valuable possession to be able to see the best that’s in your immediate surroundings.

Whether the Royal Mail or the P. & O. was entitled to the first place might be a matter of debate, but there is no doubt that in the matter of looks the P. & O. was an easy first. Their ships lay in the outer basin and always presented a beautiful appearance. Vessels like the Mooltan, Poonah and many more of the same class were even then being superseded by newer ships like the Australia, Bangalore and Kaiser-I-Hind, newer and more up-to-date, but not to be compared for appearance with the older vessels. With rigging and sails in perfect order they were all that the eye of a sailor could desire.

Mentioning that these vessels lay in the outer basin reminds me that the rise and fall of tide at Southampton was considerable, and that at times the bowsprits of these old-fashioned ships, extending as they frequently did over the lines of rails on the quay at low water, were level with the lines of railway trucks. One day an artist in mischief quietly hooked a truck coupling to a neighbouring bowsprit bobstay. As the tide rose so did the truck, and great was the interest taken in the incident. I never heard that the culprit was discovered, and he deserved immunity for his genius.

Beyond the Channel Mail steamers, a few grain ships, and the North German Lloyd ships, there was little traffic to the docks. The German ships were fine vessels, well managed, and the local pilots who had the handling of them always spoke in the highest terms of the qualifications of their officers. It struck me at the time in a vague sort of way that it was curious the Germans should have such fine craft. It is easy to see now that they were in the early stages of the thirst for sea power. Apropos of this matter, I might mention that the Union Company had just sent out their steamer Dane (Captain Ballard) with sealed orders, but as we afterwards learned on an expedition to the Western Islands to warn a German training-ship for officers that war had been declared between France and Germany.

No notice of Southampton in the early ’seventies would be complete without the mention of Queen’s Terrace and the Canute Hotel. The Terrace was, generally speaking, the abode of the officers of the vessels in harbour. As a rule the landladies were a good sort, looked after us well and did not unduly rob us. They were also fairly patient and long-suffering where our misdeeds were concerned. For the days were not long enough for all we tried to crowd into them, and the nights were very short and bed was to most of us a last resort. The experiences were many and varied, but there was mostly the charm of novelty about them. Some officers rather favoured a ladder that would afford an exit through the backyard from their bedroom windows when it was undesirable for various reasons to make use of the front door. The Canute Hotel was the general rendezvous of all officers in port for lunch. It was kept by Mrs. Hyles, who in her way would have mothered the lot of us. She supplied most excellent chops, the remembrance of which and the appetites that devoured them lingers to the present day. I have only one ground of complaint against that good lady and I may as well state it now.

There was a music hall in Southampton called the Royal York which was well attended by officers generally. When I had been in command about two years, Mrs. Hyles was managing it. One night Charlie Hight, a most respectable official of the National Provincial Bank, and myself thought we would like to see the York once more if we could do so in safety and with no loss of dignity. We consulted Mrs. Hyles, who said, “You shall have my own private box,” and we went there. That was all right, but she afterwards extended a similar favour to three young doctors from Netley who had been dining very well if not too wisely. At one period of the performance there was a lady on the stage known as Jenny Hill, or the “Vital Spot,” and these young doctors commenced to chaff her. She stood on the stage and dressed them down properly, for which she was applauded by the audience, but as we were also occupants of the box addressed, we tried to make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible, I especially so, for I could see my third officer in the stalls taking a great interest in the proceedings. Our box was at the end of a long gallery, filled with people, which had to be traversed to obtain exit, and when the doctors departed, the whole house rose and howled at them. Charlie and I sat fast, thinking that we should slip away later unobserved, but no such luck. After an hour we tried to go, but got rather a worse doing than the actual culprits. It only shows how accidents may happen to respectable well-meaning men if they stray from the paths of strict propriety.

It was amusing at times to observe the feeling between the P. & O. and the West Indian Mail men. For instance, one of the former would say, “Now, Mrs. Hyles, when you have quite finished with those brass-bound gentlemen will you spare me a little attention?” That was called for because the uniform of the P. & O. men was conspicuously plain and neat in contrast with the rather liberal use of gold lace by the West Indian Co. I think it may be found that a history of the Royal Mail Company would prove a valuable book if any one acquainted with the legends of the Company would write it, for it seems a pity that such interesting matter should be lost. Such stories, for instance, as permission being given to wear epaulets, “any number above two,” and an authentic statement as to when the white hat for full dress was finally dispensed with. These may be trivial matters, but the traditions of the sea service are precious to those who still love the Briton’s heritage, and the records of the merchant service are as much part of the country’s history as are those of the Royal Navy.

To leave the shore details and come back once more to the Roman, it was then the custom of the Company the day before the ship sailed to muster the crew, and go through fire and boat drill, and a very good custom too. It was a respectable show to see the men fallen in, dressed in uniform and saluting in proper fashion as their names were called over, the officers dressed in frock coats trimmed to the company’s fashion. The captain’s uniform had evidently been copied from that of the Trinity Masters, an excellent example, and it always appeared to me that it was a mistake to too closely follow the uniform of the Royal Navy. It is, I am aware, commonly done, but it would show better taste if it were discontinued.

Naturally this condition of things appealed to me vastly, and I may say gave a liking for the service which never departed. Years afterwards when I had sought “fields afresh,” it was said of me that “as well expect the planets to have left their orbits as me to sever my connection with the company,” and I am more than ever sure now that it was the biggest mistake in the many that I have to record. I firmly believe that that service was the last stronghold of the conservatism of the sea. At the time of which I am now writing it was customary to leave Southampton two days before the date of sailing from Plymouth. The Company’s vessels were not powerful enough to make sure of their passage against a strong adverse wind, and cases were frequent when it was found necessary to put the vessel under fore and aft canvas, and reproduce in a mild form the tactics of sailing-ships with a head wind.

We also took a Channel pilot who was ordinarily employed as the Company’s pilot. His name was William Waters. He was a man of strong character, and stronger language. There was little of the suaviter in modo about him, but he was a sailor, and could handle a ship for all she was worth. Many are the stories that might be told of incidents that occurred during those trips down-Channel, but they would lose much of their point if their text were departed from, and as much of it is unprintable, there is nothing to do save leave it alone. But never shall I forget William’s language to the man in charge of a small schooner without any lights that we found in close proximity to us one dark night. In reply to a forcible question concerning lights, the reply came up, “Sure, sir, they’ve gone out.” This reminds me of another Irishman, Pat Malony, afterwards one of the Company’s captains, who being in the hold when he was fourth officer, was asked, “How many lights have you down there, Malony?” He replied, “Six, sir, but they’re all gone out.”

The fore and aft canvas carried by the Union ships was peculiar to those vessels. I never saw anything quite like it, though I believe the P. & O. Company at one time had something very similar. The trysails were set on very large booms, and the gaffs were hoisted by the steam winches. They were quite easily handled if once people knew the way to do it, but at first it required a good deal of faith to see a steam winch tearing away with throat and peak halliards. I can’t say I ever saw an accident, but years afterwards in the same ship with the same spars and sails, it was sad to see how the old skill had departed from the hands that worked them. They seemed to have lost the knowledge that to work big fore-and-afters, the throat should always be higher than the peak in hoisting, but that principle takes a lot of driving into the heads of people. There was also another peculiarity in the rig of these ships, the lower yards were fitted to lower across the rails when steaming against a head wind. The Jeer falls were always kept rove, and I have on occasion, when dealing with baffling winds about the line, seen royal, topgallant and lower yards up and down three times in a day. It took about twenty minutes to complete the job.

Nothing of special importance occurred on the way down-Channel on this voyage, but it was a novel experience to be left in charge of a steamer’s bridge for the first time. It was frequently the custom to double the watches in narrow waters, but on this particular occasion the captain did not do so. He left me entirely to myself, although I had the impression that he kept a very careful eye on all that transpired in that first watch. It was an excellent way to let a new man feel his feet, but on no occasion did the captain interfere with me when carrying on the duty of officer of the watch.

We did a thing leaving Plymouth that is not often done, we ran well into Cawsand Bay to pick up a gentleman and his wife as passengers from a shore boat. He had formerly been one of the Company’s captains, and report, rightly or not, said that he being an old friend, Warleigh had taken him away in this fashion to save him from his creditors. I dare say it was likely enough, for there was no breach of the law in doing as we did. The ex-captain afterwards made a fortune on the diamond fields. Needless to say we were fairly filled with passengers, but it is one of the difficulties in writing this story to know just how much or how little one should say on that particular subject. There was every inducement for passengers and officers to be on friendly terms. We messed with them, and they were always treated as though they were guests. There was a lot of spare time to get through, and it was expected that the officers would take the lead in devising amusement to pass the time. The contract speed for the mails was seven and a half knots and the passage was seldom made under thirty-five days, and gave one ample opportunity to acquire a very fair knowledge of whether one’s fellows were amiable or otherwise.

The Cape Colony in those days was a small place, and I soon began to discover that almost every one of our own nationality took an interest in the officering of the mail steamers, and to do bare justice to the hospitality universally extended to us on shore, we were generally welcome guests wherever we went. Therefore, there was a great amount of good feeling on all sides, and disagreeables were rare.

Particularly fortunate in this respect were we on the occasion of my first voyage in steam. We had a most agreeable set of passengers, and at our first port of call, Madeira, we were put into quarantine. We found the Company’s ship Northam there, and as she was in a similar plight, homeward bound, we foregathered with her officers and passengers. I was greatly struck by the good tone that seemed to pervade the Company’s ships, and was immensely pleased at my good fortune in being able to take a share in it. When Cape Town was reached, it was customary to fire two guns as an announcement that the English mail had arrived. These were answered by two fired from the castle, for in those days this was an event. Upon this particular occasion we carried out the news of the outbreak of the Franco-German War. This, however, did not seem to greatly interest our visiting officials, who were then full of the discovery of the diamond fields, and it may be said that we on our side did not realise the vast importance of this new discovery. There was no cable in those days, and the near interior of South Africa was an unexplored country. We landed our Natal passengers, who were sent up the coast in a smaller vessel called the Natal, and said good-bye with regret to one of the best of fellows, a sugar-planter called Tom Milner, whose memory is still green to old Natalians.

Cape Town docks were at that time open for sailing-ships and small vessels, but we discharged our cargo in Table Bay to sailing lighters. Little more than the commencement of the present magnificent breakwater had been made, and it was not an infrequent occurrence for vessels to drive on shore when it blew hard from the north-west. The Table Bay boatmen were very splendid seamen. In the worst weather a well-fitted anchor boat would keep the sea, and if a vessel was driving, or had parted her cable, they were very clever at passing on board the end of a big coir cable, the other end of which was fast to an anchor they had let go to windward.

Before we left Table Bay, the homeward-bound mail steamer came in—the Briton, afterwards H.M.S. Dromedary. She looked a small but beautiful little ship, as she came in with yards squared to a nicety, sail covers on, nicely painted, and generally speaking spick and span. She looked thoroughly workmanlike and typical of her captain, by name George Rawlinson Vyvyan, of whom more anon. On a preceding voyage the Briton had lost her propeller and had run into Vigo at the rate of three hundred miles in a day under canvas only, which was plain proof that sail was not carried in those ships for ornament only.

In due course we completed our trip to Algoa Bay, discharged our cargo and loaded wool for home, calling at Table Bay on the way back to fill up with cargo and passengers. We had amongst our passengers one very accomplished man named Woollaston, who took great pains both to teach me ÉcartÉ and indicate the sort of reading that would be useful to me; I retain grateful memories of him. On the passage home the S.E. trades blew strongly. The Roman on that voyage had a two-bladed propeller; this we fixed up and down when the engines were stopped, and for two days we ran over ten knots with no steam at all. As that was well over contract speed it was thought desirable to save coal, but the pursuance of that policy brought about the opposition which in time absorbed the original line of mail steamers.

Captain Warleigh was naturally anxious to make the most of the sailing powers of the ship, and as I was last out of a sailing-ship, I was pleased to find that one and all permitted me to trim canvas to my heart’s content, and I was encouraged to do so by every one except the boatswain, who did not like the officer of the watch to interfere with details. He was told, however, by the chief, that if other officers left the work to him, that was no reason why every one should, and after that there was no trouble, for he was a decent sailor man. This business of canvas helped me materially with the captain, who told me one evening he would do all he could to retain me in the Company’s service, for which I was grateful. My advice to any young fellow joining a new service would be to try how much they will let you do even to the usurpation of what may be the work of other people—do the work, and do it well—it pays.

When we got home the ship was immediately taken in hand to fit up for an extra crowd of passengers. I was confirmed in my appointment, and we got a new chief officer named Alex J. Garrett, a man as strong as Hercules and as obstinate as a mule, a good sailor, and a good friend where he took a fancy. He was very good to me, and gave me the run of his father’s house in Southampton. I may say that the father was a clergyman, but Garrett’s proclivities did not run that way much; he had been trained in one of the old Blackwall liners of Smith’s, and represented the type of officer capable of filling any position with credit. He had a short and effective way of managing the crew, and rejoiced in the nickname of “three-fingered Jack.” In the matter of our crews the men often stuck by the same chief officer, voyage after voyage. They were mostly a very decent lot and, in sharp contrast to the present day, the firemen were probably the best men on board. They as a rule had been seamen taken into the stokehold because of their steady conduct. In those days the glands of the engines were made tight by hempen or cotton packing, and this was made in the form of square sennit by firemen, and they had to make lots of it. The pressure of steam in the main engines was about fourteen pounds. There were no spring safety valves, and at each moderate roll of the ship there would be the escape of a large puff of steam brought about by decrease of pressure on the weighted bar that controlled the safety valve. This loss of steam was a very considerable item, but the time for reform had not then arrived, and we were all content to pursue the old and pleasant road of “as you were.”

In addition to the main and second saloons we now had first-class accommodation fitted up in the midship and after between-decks. The ship had been built with a view to this being done if necessary; there were consequently ports fitted that only required to be brought into use to provide light and ventilation. These cabins were of the rough-and-ready description, but they were eagerly snapped up by the first crowd of adventurers making for the diamond fields. There were names among those people that were well known in South Africa in after years. Many of them did well, some came to grief, and one of the brightest of them all, Albert Ward, had his career ended fighting for his adopted country in the Cowie Bush. We also had on board the Roman Catholic Bishop of Cape Town with several priests, who were mostly good fellows. Their presence gave us, according to sea superstition, promise of a good passage which was not falsified. It is a curious fact that Anglican clergy are generally credited with bringing bad weather.

We left Plymouth, leaving behind us various would-be passengers who had come off in the vain hope of getting a passage. On the passage to Madeira I was very friendly with a young man named Brett, who was going to spend the winter there. He was, I believe, a great man afterwards in the Isle of Wight. At all events I know he must have been known to the police, for one evening some months later we had been dining together, and then finding a stray horse wandering about the High Street, Southampton, we took it to the police station and wished to give it in charge for disorderly conduct. The sergeant in charge seemed disposed to think it was we who were disorderly, but my companion took charge and saved the situation in a masterly manner. I never looked him up afterwards, but it was a pleasant friendship of young men while it lasted, and the faculty for friendship does not improve with age.

The passage to Madeira was rather a rough one. Crossing the Bay the wind was just abaft the beam, and Warleigh was disposed to make the most of it. One first watch I had been hanging on to the canvas in the good old-fashioned style, but it had taken a bit of doing to get her to stand up decently when the squalls came down, and Leigh, when he came on deck, would not take charge until the canvas was reduced. He did not care to take the extra care necessary to carry it, and I dare say he was right, but with a good ship and a good crew I loved the job. We got to Madeira in good time, and there are few changes more striking than the beauty of a fine morning at Madeira after you have had a dusting across the Bay.

To my surprise when we anchored the skipper sent for me, and asked whether I could ride? A reply in the affirmative brought me an invitation to go on shore and ride with him, as he could provide a mount. It did not take me long to get into riding clothes, and we had a most delightful scramble over the hills. I am afraid we rather exceeded the speed limit in the town, but the officials in Funchal were fairly tolerant when once you were on shore, although inexorable over matters of quarantine, and, moreover, the influence of the Blandy family, which was very considerable, was always devoted to making things go as smoothly as possible; in fact there was always a touch of old world courtesy in all the business relations with our agents at Madeira. Needless to say, that on our return to the ship it was every button on duty once more.

With the number of people we had on board it was necessary to duplicate each meal. I presided at first breakfast at 8 a.m., and first dinner at 3.30 p.m. These meals were mostly attended by the younger and more rowdy element, who naturally seemed to gravitate in my direction, but the skipper was pleased on one occasion to express his approval of the way in which I represented him at the head of the table, and that gave me great pleasure. There is little need in these days to describe what life on board ship was like; athletics, cards and sweepstakes absorbed much time. Add to this a little music, and perhaps amateur theatricals, and you obtain a fair list of the methods, mostly employed successfully, to pass the time.

They were a lively crowd on that journey, and the officers of the watch had to keep the quartermaster pretty much on the qui vive to prevent sheer mischief, for with a number of young fellows in a confined space with nothing to do save to try how they can create diversion for themselves, what one does not think of the other does. The passage ended in a great spree at Cape Town, and the party separated to their varying fortunes.

On this voyage we went into Cape Town Docks for the first time. It was a very awkward entrance, and it is not given to every man to handle a ship under steam in the vicinity of a pier. Warleigh, however, acquitted himself well, and I can only say that his first performance was a marked success in comparison with mine.

When lying in Algoa Bay loading for home, the ship was rather well thought of. The skipper was very particular as to the stowing of the sails, and the chief was quite as keen. We lay there with royal yards across and fancied ourselves no end. I should mention that along the rails forward, all our ships in those days carried an immense coir spring for putting on the cables if riding out a south-easter. It was probably ten inches in diameter, and in use would stretch and take up like a bit of elastic, but I do not now feel sure by any means that the plan of riding out a gale in shallow waters, as we then did, was the best course. Far better weather is made in fifteen to seventeen fathoms of water.

As showing the vagaries of sea-sickness, the skipper, Leigh, Trotman, the chief engineer, myself and four men pulled out one day to fish on the Roman rock. We duly anchored upon it, and at the expiration of an hour, when we had caught many fish, every soul in the boat was sea-sick with the exception of the chief engineer. The motion of a boat at anchor under some circumstances is disgusting, very, but Trotman fairly had the laugh of us all.

On the return trip from Algoa Bay we went into dock to complete loading, and there occurred an incident I shall always remember with amusement. Leigh had taken under his protection a curious specimen of a pariah dog that used to prowl round the docks, and the poor beast was rather at a loss to understand the vast amount of consideration shown him. He was permitted to sleep in his master’s cabin and generally was made a pet of. One night after dinner, when we had a young fellow named Hanbury dining with us, Leigh had retired to his cabin, got into his pyjamas and prepared to go to sleep, attended by the faithful hound. Now, as it happened, Hanbury had a dog also, a bull terrier, and as Garrett, Hanbury and I went to say good-night to Leigh, the dog came also. No sooner did he catch sight of the stray dog than he went for him, and the next moment the two were on the top of Leigh in his bunk, indulging in a wonderful scuffle. It was a trifle difficult to differentiate between barks and yells, for Leigh under the dogs was yelling to Garrett to take the dogs away, and that was eventually done—when we were able to stop laughing. That was the finish of the good time of the pariah dog.

We had a fine passage home, a lovely run across the Bay with a strong fair wind. I find in a note-book certain caustic comments on the wisdom or otherwise of running under whole topsails, and taking in the foresail, but age brings a certain amount of charity with it, and the skipper might possibly have had reasons for his actions which he did not impart to us. I remember the matter rather well, for some of the gear of the foresail had parted, and I lost some of the skin off my fingers in helping to furl the sail. They had, I suppose, become soft for want of work. There was no need to have gone aloft, but it was a stiffish job, and I fancied myself if there was anything out of the way to be done. “Zeal, Mr. Simple, zeal!”

When we got to Southampton the skipper had to change over to the Briton, a very quick turn round, and I never again had the pleasure of sailing with him.

Our next captain, I am glad to say, is still alive and well, honoured and respected by all who know him. He is now Sir George R. Vyvyan, K.C.M.G., the late Deputy Master of the Trinity House, and it was my great good fortune to sail with him more than once.

If I were to attempt to record events of separate voyages this reminiscence would run to an intolerable length, therefore I think that I will mention only certain occurrences that impressed themselves on me during the time I served as third officer, and so bring this chapter to an end. Let me place on record my thankfulness that I was never deprived of my watch-keeping privilege. It was the custom in some ships in narrow waters to give the watches to the chief and second officers only. Both my captains held, however, that if a man was not fit to keep a watch in one place, he was not fit in another, and really this reasoning is the true one, for once in charge of the bridge of a steamer you have to deal, as a rule without notice, with whatever may happen, and it is a little lowering to the self-respect of even a young officer to infer that he is not at all times capable of taking charge of the ship.

Now it is not pleasant to find fault with anything in that service, but the days of steam were comparatively young, and there were numbers of things that were not rated at their real importance. I will mention two only. There was no engine-room telegraph and orders were shouted down the engine-room skylight; and secondly, and of still more importance, there was no recognised standard compass. The ship was steered right aft on the poop, and there was a binnacle on either side; the starboard one was that by which the ship was navigated, and that speaks so eloquently that no further comment is necessary. If any captain had proposed expenditure to provide a suitable navigating instrument such as a well-placed standard compass, I doubt if his wishes would have been listened to. He would have been told that surely he could do as others had done. It was reserved for Sir W. Thompson, afterwards Lord Kelvin, to first convert the shipbuilders on the Clyde to the belief that it was necessary to provide a suitable location for a standard compass, and then to confer that greatest boon that was ever given to seamen, a really sound and effective compass.

This voyage was the last one on which the mail steamer called at Plymouth on the outward trip. For some years after this there was a good deal of see-saw about calling at that port to take or land mails. Now that steamers have such power that they can be certain of landing mails at Southampton by a stated time, there is no reason why the western port should be visited, but at the time of which I write a trip down-Channel to Plymouth in a low-powered steamer was a hard experience in the winter time.

We had now lots of passengers both ways, and the ship was a very comfortable one to be in. There was no great change in the routine, and the ship was always kept in apple-pie order. The Saturday inspection was as thorough as it was possible to be. The Southampton ships were, I think, unique in the matter of the inspection of the crews’ quarters. Whether the fashion was set by the Royal Mail or the P. & O. I hesitate to say, but it was the custom, and a good one.

There was one little matter that made a great impression on my mind on that voyage, and I have never forgotten it. On the visit to Table Bay homeward bound we did not go into dock, but finished loading in the bay. One morning at lunch time the skipper came into the saloon in his riding togs. I suppose I looked at him hungrily, for he asked me if I would like to go with him, saying he would mount me. When I had quite got my breath, of course I said yes, and hurried off to change into suitable clothes. Well, we went on shore and had a glorious ride, visiting his friends at Bishopscourt and Newlands. Such kindness was not a common occurrence. It set me an example as to the way junior officers might be treated where the opportunity arose, and in after years I tried to do likewise.

On that passage home we had as passengers Mr. Molteno (afterwards Sir John Molteno, the first premier of Cape Colony under responsible government) and two of his charming daughters. When they returned to the Colony I was always welcomed at Claremont by the family, and some time later, when I was in command of the Mexican, I had the great pleasure and pride of entertaining some of the family in the finest ship of the line.

Do any of my readers know what “coal fever” is? It is a nasty disorder prevalent in small-power steamers, when a doubt arises as to the sufficiency or otherwise of the coal on board to take the ship into port. It was rather common in some of our ships, but I never saw it arrive at the crisis when the ship’s woodwork had to be sacrificed, an occurrence which has been known to take place. In some cases preparation has been made to cut up derricks and every available thing that would burn. I should say that the worst evil that can befall a ship-master is to be cursed with a chief engineer who cannot keep a correct account of coal expended.

I propose to relate one incident more that occurred during my service as third, for it has its amusing side.

When in Cape Town dock on one occasion it was blowing hard outside, and there was a nasty run in the dock causing the ship to strain at her moorings and bump heavily against a shoulder in the dock wall that took us about the main rigging. Unknown to any of us we started some rivets in the side. On the way round to Algoa Bay we had bad weather, and arriving at the anchorage, went in rather further than was usually done, causing the lighthouse-keeper to say we were on shore. The ship did not touch, however, and had ample water under her.

When the captain was asked if he had been on shore, he said no, and his word was, of course, taken; but a day or so afterwards it transpired that we had made water in the afterhold, and people knowing nothing about the dock episode revived the story of our grounding. The port captain, Skead, a really good fellow, again approached our captain, saying that as an accident had occurred would he formally deny that the lighthouse-keeper’s story was true? That was enough to set the skipper going. He stated in incisive language that he had already done so, but that if the port captain chose to accept the word of a “reptile” against his, he was at liberty to do so and take what steps he pleased.

The result was a court of inquiry, at which about half the ship’s company attended and swore we had not touched the bottom. The ship was acquitted, but the port captain afterwards observed to me, “To my dying day I shall believe you were all perjurers.”

On the homeward trip on one occasion we met the outward-bound steamer Celt, one of ours, and passed within hailing distance. Before the captains could get a word in there was a chorus from our passengers: “What won the Grand National?” Answered from an equal chorus: “The Lamb.” We had one or two breakdowns, between that and the Channel, and on one occasion I remember hoisting the mainyard by the passengers only, the inducement to help being that if we did not hurry up they would not see the Derby. That was Favonius’ year.

When the time came to leave the Roman, I was pleased to get my promotion, but sorry to lose my shipmates. I was rather lucky, two of my seniors had just resigned in order to try their luck at the diamond fields. One was named Johnson, and I don’t know what eventually became of him; but the other was Doveton, who, as Major of the Imperial Horse, was killed at Wagon Hill. At one time serving in the Cambrian when she put into Saldana Bay short of coal, he rode to Cape Town for help in record time, for he was one of our best riders, and a first-class all-round man.

The Company had bought from the Royal Mail their paddle steamer, Danube, had converted her into a screw, and generally made a very nice little ship of her. She was commanded by Captain Baynton, who was commodore. She was, therefore, the best ship in the Company, and I was very proud when I mustered on her as second officer. It was true that I was told I should have to change with a senior then serving on the coast ship, but that in no way detracted from my satisfaction.