The Danube, as I have already stated, was a converted paddler, and in our eyes loomed as a big ship. As we went to muster, Captain Baynton casually drew attention to the fact that a few years ago they were serving in vessels that were not as long, as from the taffrail to the mainmast, and used his favourite expression: “It’s marvellous!” Now the Danube was about three hundred feet long, so that may give some idea of the size of the vessels that the Union Company made a commencement with. Baynton was one of the men who upheld the best traditions of the merchant service. In person he was short and unduly stout, but the possessor of great natural dignity, brave as a lion, and with an eye that brooked no contradiction. He had me under arrest one morning for a short time, and my fault so far as I could gather was that I had looked at him in a manner he disapproved of. But we were afterwards great friends and I had a most sincere regard for him. I think that the earlier portion of his life had been spent in the service of the Royal Mail, and he commanded the Medway when she towed H.M.S. Britannia in for the bombardment of the forts at Sebastopol. As he once told me, his wife and a faithful attendant named Anne were with him on that occasion, and he further explained that when he had finished with the flagship and went to see about them, they were sitting on camp-stools on one of the sponsons amused at watching the shots fall. It may be mentioned here that when the question of towing the flagship under fire was raised, the crew of the Medway gladly acquiesced, with the understanding that if fatalities occurred their families were to receive the same consideration financially as if they had been serving in corresponding rank in the Royal Navy.

Our chief, Sammy Valler, was quite a character in his way, but does not call for comment specially; the third was a nice enough youngster but as weak as water, and his own enemy. He took a great fancy to me, and if we had remained shipmates I fancy his career might have been better than it was. Altogether it was a good ship’s company, and I was very glad to get to sea. As it was a first voyage we were naturally trying what we could get out of the ship, and, going down-Channel the first night out, I nearly ran over a sailing-ship which was going the same way as ourselves without even showing a binnacle light over the stern. I did call the captain, who came on the bridge and made a few cursory remarks concerning the iniquities of sailing-ships generally, after which he retired. If Baynton could not trust the officer of the watch, he got some one he could trust. A master who is too much on the bridge is not an unmixed blessing, for he lessens the sense of responsibility in the officer of the watch, and, strange though it may seem to a landsman, the bridge under ordinary conditions is not his place. Baynton realised this and acted accordingly. The weather we experienced for the first day or two was such as to cause the ship to roll heavily, and the rigging, being new, stretched to an abnormal amount, so much so that it had to be “swiftered in” until we could get into quiet water. I watched this operation with some interest as it was carried on under the supervision of the chief and the boatswain, and inclined as I was to criticise steamboat sailors, I confessed to myself that it was done in a seamanlike manner. I think it was the same night in the middle watch that the wind came out fresh and free from the northward and I was able to get the square canvas on her. It was a treat to do so, for although lots of the gear was foul, sail never having been set before, the way she showed her sense of the attention was beautiful to see. In these days of twin screws and massive ships canvas would mean little, but in well-sparred, fine-lined steamers, canvas was then like water to a thirsty plant, and imparted a motion and buoyancy that were delightful to experience. To the speed of the Danube canvas would add at least two knots.

The remainder of the voyage passed without any event of interest, and in due course we got to Algoa Bay and commenced to load for home. We had started a new plan of stowing our own cargoes of wool, and naturally the second officer had charge of the business. This was rather a novelty and I was taking a great interest in the entire job. One day the chief and I wanted to go on shore to a ball to which we had been invited, and the captain had given us free permission to do so, saying with a certain amount of sarcasm, that if all the officers went, and the boatswain as well, he thought we might find the ship afloat when we returned. However, we made allowance for the fact that the atmosphere was a little sultry. I was on that day just finishing the stowing of the after orlop deck, when a voice from above gave notice that the captain was coming down. He duly made his appearance, being lowered in a big basket known as a cheese basket, variously used for discharging small boxes of cheese and also for landing timid passengers into boats in bad weather. There was a space into which I was determined to get a bale of wool, but there was considerable trouble in doing so, and Baynton, having comfortably seated himself in a chair I had procured for him, expressed a decided opinion that the job was impossible. His remarks continued to be of a very caustic nature, until the bale being in its place, he observed: “Now I suppose you think you are a dam clever fellow,” and as he did not patronise hold ladders, shouted out for his return conveyance. There must be many still alive who can picture this scene to themselves.

We went to our dance and had a splendid time, and I know that in this season of the Coronation I shall meet stately ladies who though unfortunately no longer young, helped on that occasion to make the sun rise far too quickly. On our return to Table Bay, Nemesis overtook me. I was far too comfortable and contented and consequently had to turn over to the coasting steamer Natal, a little craft of under 500 tons. The man I relieved was named Borlase, commonly known as “handsome Henry”; he was my senior and had managed to work the oracle with the Company’s agents, and my skipper had not objected. My shipmates in the Danube gave me a very cheery farewell dinner and send off, and I entered upon my new experience with a lot of curiosity, for the tales of the coast were many and various.

It is not an easy matter after many years to put events in quite their right perspective, especially when many things were happening at the same time, but the history of that little ship was a fairly crowded one. In the first place she had recently been sent home with the mails, when the proper mail steamer had broken down. They had then greatly increased her passenger accommodation by building a saloon on deck, which was an advantage, and as at that time the Franco-German war was on, there was a clause in the ship’s articles when they were opened at Southampton that was unusual and, if I may say so, more’s the pity! It ran as follows: “The said crew agree to fight and defend the ship to the best of their ability, at the discretion of the said master.” Advantage had not been taken of the chance to reboiler the ship, and this was an endless source of trouble, for it always made sailing-day a period of uncertainty. It was the old story of putting a new patch on an old garment, and a patch on one place often caused a break-out in another.

But, as in all the Company’s ships, the personnel of the officers was of the best. Ballard was skipper; I have referred to him in connection with a previous experience. He was a sailor, curiously quiet until roused, when he could make the sparks fly with a vengeance; very self-contained, but always ready and willing to do a good turn if he could to any one. I am happy to say I won his confidence. The chief was the ill-fated Edward Manning, afterwards lost in the Teuton. His end was in keeping with his life, for probably no man ever kept himself under more complete control than did Manning. Knowing his work thoroughly, he seldom if ever raised his voice; nothing ruffled—outwardly at least—the calm serenity of his temper. I only saw him move hastily twice; once to get the helm over when I was shaving a point rather closely, and again to fling me a rope’s end when, in lifting the end of a buoyed cable, the boat was capsized and we were all in the ditch. He was a very fine character, and a good shipmate. Our third, Harrison, was a good man too, but after a short time he was relieved by Jones, of whom more anon.

The duties of the Natal were to make a trip monthly between Cape Town and Durban, taking up the mail and passengers brought out by the mail steamer coming to Cape Town, and feeding her in a similar manner from Natal. It usually took about two days to accomplish the transhipment. There was a certain amount of novelty in this work, for it was rather out of the beaten track, and the eastern ports were in a very primitive state of development. Take in the first place East London, then a very difficult port to enter even with the smallest craft. The mouth of the Buffalo river, which made the port, was closed by a sand bar that at times was impassable even by a lifeboat. The method of working was for lighters to haul out by surf lines laid over the bar and extending a fair distance into the anchorage; the ship that had cargo or passengers to discharge anchored as closely in as was prudent and then ran a warp to the buoyed end of the surf line for the lighter to reach the ship by; the work was rough, very, and the boatmen were in perfect keeping with their surroundings. I should not like to do the men an injustice, but they seemed to be the scourings of the roughness and rascality of the world. Their lives were mostly in their hands, and they did not attach much value either to them or the language with which they adorned them. It was no uncommon thing when there was a sea on the bar—and there mostly was—to see a breaker sweep a surf boat from end to end. The men generally managed to hold on, but fatal accidents were not infrequent. These boats would frequently land passengers, who were carefully battened down and in almost complete darkness while the passage was being accomplished. Both at this port and Durban, passengers were put into the lighters in large baskets lowered by the cargo whips, and if the ship were rolling it would be no uncommon occurrence to see a basket containing perhaps three or four men and women hoisted half way out and held fast by derrick and stay until the roll had subsided. People got used to it, however, and no improvement was made until the visit of the Empress EugÈnie to South Africa, when it occurred to some genius that a wicker cage might be made with a door in the side which would obviate the necessity for lifting the ladies into the basket. If, however, the ladies were young and good-looking there was never much difficulty noticeable in finding volunteers to take on this arduous duty.

Leaving East London the navigation of the ship was conducted on different lines to that adopted to the westward. There one could steer a course and be moderately confident of making it within reasonable limits, but between East London and Natal you had to face the full force of the Mozambique current, which mostly ran anything between three and five knots to the south-west, unless you were close in shore, when you were sometimes, but not always, favoured with a drain of eddy current.

With a vessel steaming perhaps nine knots it was therefore necessary to keep as much inshore as could be done with safety. To set a course was not possible; during the daylight hours the ship was steered by the coastline, and when darkness closed in a course was set which ran parallel to the land by the chart, yet caught the current on the port bow, with the result that when daylight came the ship would be thirty miles out, or more, fighting the full strength of an adverse current. The nett result was that passages between East London and Natal were a very uncertain quantity.

I took to this sort of watch-keeping in the daylight very kindly. The coast was mostly like English parkland, and I set myself to learn it as thoroughly as possible; in this I was assisted in every possible manner by the captain, who spared no pains to point out the various places by name. It was interesting work, for it gave one a chance to exercise one’s initiative which was in no way checked by my seniors. Durban harbour in those days was not the ample port it is now. Under the best conditions there might be perhaps sixteen feet of water on the bar at high tide. It was more often twelve or even less. Outside the bar there were the remains of three attempts to improve the harbour, but each one had been a failure. There was an impression that any of them might have been a success if it had been persevered with, but money had been too scarce to push the experiment to a successful ending. There was, however, one man who even then had made up his mind that Durban should be a port, and he lived long enough to realise his ambition. His name was Harry Escombe, afterwards “Right Honourable.” If Harry Escombe and Cecil Rhodes were alive to-day there would be some backbone in the councils of the Empire. But this is a digression.

There was a good deal of formality about getting the little Natal into the Bluff Channel, a dignified port captain, an oracular pilot, lots of signalling and a final pointing for the bar. Whether we touched or not I cannot remember; most likely we did, for it was a very common occurrence—but anyhow we got in, moored in the Bluff Channel, and looked around us with satisfaction. There was every reason to do so. A beautiful harbour, a hearty welcome from all, and an utter absence of anything approximating to bustle. Further it was the land of the Zulu, who was relied upon to do all the hard work. I suppose that it would be difficult to find finer specimens of muscular humanity than were the Zulus who did the shipwork; their scanty raiment appeared perhaps inadequate to the white ladies who were then making their first acquaintance with the manners and customs of the country, but if modernity has now insisted upon trousers in the towns of Natal, it has destroyed a picturesque side of the national life. Natal was absolutely different from any other part of South Africa, inasmuch as it was mainly British! In Cape Town you heard as much Dutch spoken as English, if not more. Towns like Stellenbosch or Wellington might be called all Dutch, and I remember when I first visited those places I wondered in a vague sort of way how it happened that the British flag flew over them, by which it is evident that I had not learned my history properly. But in Durban there was a different atmosphere. It was essentially British and the inhabitants prided themselves upon being up to date and live specimens of colonists. They were, moreover, intensely loyal, and fully realised what their country was going to be in the future.

I was sitting in the Durban Club one Sunday afternoon and certain men were arguing as to the possibility of a railway between Durban and Pietermaritzburg, the journey in those days being made by mail cart. Escombe brought the matter to a head with the following words addressed to a sugar planter named Tom Milner, a splendid fellow who had come out with me on the first voyage of the Roman: “Look here, Milner, I will give you a shilling a day until I go by train from Durban to Maritzburg; after that you shall pay my butcher’s bill for life!—is it a bet?” Milner said yes, and this being in 1872 he received his cheque yearly until about eight years later when the railway was built and the bet was compromised. I fancy he paid back two shillings for each one received.

No one walked in Natal. If a man wished to go one hundred yards down the street, the Kaffir boy invariably brought his horse. There was never any difficulty in borrowing a mount. The people were most generous and hospitable; but underlying it all there was the sure knowledge that the great Zulu power in the north would some day have to be reckoned with. There was one little incident that happened about this time that should find a place here, for it shows that even then the minds of Germans were fixed upon the great expansion of their nation. There was a small German trading steamer on the coast called the Bismarck. She was commanded by a very fine fellow named Staats, who wore a magnificent beard. On one occasion he had a difference of opinion with the Point boatmen, who were not quite as bad as the East London men, although very nearly, and they declared they would cut off his beard. Staats, however, set them at defiance, and declared that the German flag was sufficient to prevent such an outrage even then, and would be for all time. The men admired his pluck and cheered him, for it took a bit of doing.

When I left the Roman, Leigh presented me with a suit of canvas clothes which he had found useful. In the daytime I lived in them, for the forehold of the Natal was not a place adapted for the wear of fine raiment. The principal articles we took away were raw hides, sugar and wool, and the smell of those hides was a thing to remember. There was no trouble in getting cargo either stowed or discharged, but an officer had to be there all the time, and in a canvas rig it was possible to sit down. The Zulus would work well if you did not lose your temper, and as they happened to approve of me I never had any trouble with them.

One voyage was much like another, but sailing day at Natal offered considerable variety, for it depended upon the vagaries of the bar. I have known passengers and their friends come down four days in succession and be detained for want of water. Those days, however, usually resulted in a sort of picnic on the bluff—and were most enjoyable. It was a treat to see the way the girls could negotiate the steep slope under the lighthouse, and if the idea was to go up town, there would be a rush for the point, with not too much care exercised as to whose pony you mounted to get there. Upon one occasion we stuck on the bar for over half-an-hour, bumping fairly heavily, but she was a well-built little ship and it did not seem to do much harm; it used to jar the spars a good deal though. On the passage down the coast we would call at the ports, weather permitting and pick up such passengers and cargo as we could, transhipping to the mail steamer in Cape Town Docks.

After a few trips I got some knowledge of the upper part of the coast, and experienced a dislike to being set off miles in the middle watch by the current. I therefore sounded the skipper as to whether he would let me exercise my judgment in keeping her in when I could see well. I found he was agreeable that I should do so, and I used to report to him every hour, and hand the ship over to the chief at 4 a.m. well in shore. This led to a considerable shortening of the passage up the coast; but it told against me in one way, for when I wanted to get home the old man said, “No, the ship has made much better passages up since you’ve been here and I shan’t let you go.” That was a bit hard, for there was a lot of promotion going on at home, new men being taken in as chief, and I out of it all, as was said, for lack of experience.

On one passage down we were anchored at East London, and a breeze of wind came on from the sea. Seven sailing-ships went on shore that night, one, a brig called the Nant-y-Glo, driving close past us. At that we decided to slip and go to sea without loss of time; we did so, but, picking up the cable next day when we were fast to the slip rope in the cutter, the ship drifted down on us, fouled the rope with her propeller and capsized us all into the water. That was one of the occasions when I saw Manning run. Curiously enough, we let go another anchor, and when we picked it up brought up the other cable that we had slipped foul of it, so all was joy once more.

But the boilers were in that sad condition that it was necessary to go in for thorough repairs. We had had to delay our sailing from Cape Town for four days through bad leaks, on one occasion; and as the Company had just got the contract for the Zanzibar mail we went in for a thorough overhaul. This was towards the end of 1872, and a good two months were spent over the operation. When it was finished, we found the Natal painted yellow, the better to withstand the anticipated heat of Zanzibar.

Before we started the first voyage on the new route, we made a trial trip to Saldanah Bay, and took up with us as visitors many of the principal people in the Cape, including Mr. Molteno, the premier, and his two sons. I wonder if one of those sons, now an M.P. and director of a steamship company, remembers firing one of our twelve-pounder signal-guns under my tuition? It was a very jolly trip, and we all enjoyed ourselves immensely. We changed our chief officer about this time, and got in his place an officer named Barker, a man of no striking personality but a good fellow, who always went about the deck humming, and had a most curious voice.

When we left Natal behind us on the first upward trip I think we all felt like Columbus when he started on his voyage of discovery. The East Coast of Africa was very imperfectly known, and the charts were by no means reliable guides. It was a mercy that in those early days the craft we were navigating were small, and drawing little water, or I fear that there would have been a good few landmarks left by the pioneers. Delagoa Bay, for instance, splendid harbour though it is, was absolutely without a solitary buoy to give a friendly lead, and the land in the immediate vicinity at the entrance is not conspicuous enough to give any definite leading marks. No actual mishap occurred either going in or coming out, but we had enough experience of the various tides to show us that it was no place to take liberties with. Quillemane, which is the port at the mouth of the Zambesi, was also touched at; here again was a river entrance apparently big enough to take in any ship, but there was the same failing—imperfect survey and lack of competent pilotage. Presumably in the future this will be one of the big ports of the world, but at that time it was considered as a place to be avoided at all hazards.

It was a change to get to Mozambique, where there was a harbour with plenty of water, and sufficiently well surveyed to make negotiation easy; it was also a striking-looking place from the sea, with a magnificent old fort built (so report had it) of stone brought from Portugal early in the sixteenth century. The work accomplished by those early navigators and settlers was simply marvellous; it made one wonder why it was that people who had been so enterprising and splendid as explorers should have so terribly deteriorated. May the Gods avert a similar fate for Britain! So far as we could gather the country in the immediate vicinity of the settlement was rich and fertile, but no strong or satisfactory rule had then been established, and the entire place seemed to be marking time.

A strong current sets down the coast past Cape Delgado, but we had fine and favourable weather for the run into Zanzibar. The entrance to the anchorage is narrow in one or two places, but in the absence of buoys the ship could in the daylight be easily conned from aloft between the coral reefs, though that indeed was hardly necessary. But it was not advisable to attempt the narrow passes in the hours of darkness, and consequently the mail steamer bound south usually left before noon. Our first arrival at Zanzibar was on a Sunday, with a temperature of ninety-seven degrees in the shade—not a breath of wind, and the water so clear that the bottom could be seen in ten fathoms. We found H.M.S. Daphne at anchor, and also the B.I. steamer Punjaub, which was concerned in the mail contract from Zanzibar northward.

About this time there was some excitement at home concerning slavery at Zanzibar, and Sir Bartle Frere paid a visit to the place in the Enchantress. He arrived the day we left. There was also fitting out a Livingstone expedition under the leadership of Colonel Pelly. There is no need here to go into any description of the place itself, except to say that it was quaint, the people well disposed towards the British, and that slavery as then practised, was on the whole a respectable institution, although more than one black man swam off to the ship and begged to be taken down the coast. Indeed, in after years we were frequently asked by friends at the Cape and Natal to bring them down a black boy for service, and there was never any difficulty in procuring them. There were at times very strong winds of hurricane force, and the previous year the island had been visited by one that did great damage.

We had a slight specimen of this sort of thing. One morning we had just commenced working cargo in the usual manner, taking it in from lighters, when a dense cloud gathered to the N.W., and occasional flashes of lightning were seen. About 7.30 a.m. down came the squall with great fury. We got up steam, but had no occasion to use it although a small dhow full of cargo that was made fast to us went down, and the beach was strewn with dhows driven from their moorings. I saw a roof—part of the Sultan’s palace—lift at one side, roll up like a piece of paper and blow over into the courtyard with a mighty crash, but I did not hear it if killed many people. By noon the weather had changed, the wind was gone, and people commenced to pick up the pieces and resume the ordinary routine of life.

Shortly afterwards we left for Natal, passing H.M.S. Briton on the road. One trip on this route was much like another, but we spent a very fair portion of every month in Natal harbour. The last voyage I made was under somewhat altered circumstances, for Captain Ballard had been appointed to the Basuto, and Barker was in acting command of the Natal. I, of course, got an acting appointment as chief which tended to stir up in my mind a taste or longing to participate in that stream of promotion that was flowing at Southampton, but which did not flow my way. I tried vainly for some time to get home, but as long as Ballard commanded the Natal I could not manage it, for he would not let me go. He was very good-humoured, however, in granting leave.

On one occasion I greatly wanted to go to a dance at Maritzburg to be held on a Monday night. A great friend of mine, and one well-known and liked by all, named Manisty, offered to find me the necessary mounts and to ride with me. We started off on Sunday afternoon, arriving at Maritzburg at 9 a.m. on Monday, sleeping some hours on the road. After a bath and breakfast we rode to a place fifteen miles out, and in again to a dinner and the dance, which was kept up till 5 a.m. Then I changed my clothes, got on my horse, and started for Durban, arriving on board by 6 p.m. in time for dinner. My companion on the road down was a cheery soul named Innes. It rained heavily all the time, but it was the most enjoyable ride I ever had. It was fifty-seven miles between the towns, and the journey totalled 144 miles in just over two days, but I had relays of horses to do it, although there were some of all sorts amongst them.

Soon after Ballard left the Natal to join the Basuto we met her in Natal harbour, and I arranged to change into that ship for the run to Cape Town, and the transfer to a home ship. Here for the first time I met a notable character in the person of Harry Owen, who was chief of that ship, and one of those who had been put over the heads of many. He was in those days one of the cheeriest of companions one could well find, and also a reckless dare devil. We first foregathered over the matter of firing a royal salute on the Queen’s birthday. We had two big guns in the Natal, the Basuto had three little ones, but as the ships were alongside each other the combined salute was done in a fairly respectable manner. I can’t say more than that, but no one was killed or hurt, and after all that counts for a little. Here also I first met Bishop Colenso, who would come on board our ships in the Bluff Channel and simply delight us with his charming companionship; he was shipmate with me afterwards and was fond of sailors, but it always seemed strange to me to be on even conversational terms with the man whose book on algebra had given me as a boy so much trouble to master. I transferred to the Basuto as second officer and thus came under Owen’s orders. He was the worst man at relieving a watch I ever knew. We dined at 6 p.m., and if I had the dinner look-out, he never showed up on the bridge before 7.30 p.m., for the chief was always relieved for dinner. This was rather a tax on the second, who had to turn out at midnight, but it came to an end in a few days, and I turned over to the European for the passage home, acting as third officer. About this period the Roman had had an accident and returned to Cape Town for repairs. She had had a difference of opinion with some rocks off Dassen Island, and the European was instructed to make the best passage home with the news, for there was no cable in those days. She was for her time a fast ship, steaming a good twelve, which was exceptional for us, and every one was delighted; she was comfortable and there was a nice crowd of passengers on board. Our skipper was named Jeffries, a curious compound, who did not make friends easily, but where he did, stuck to them. I should like to tell many stories about him, but refrain. His great hobby was whist, and he played a fair game, but his main fault was that he had little tact in dealing with awkward people, and this on one occasion, coupled with his having also a tactless chief officer, led to a lot of reckless young passengers throwing overboard a great portion of his cabin furniture, including various embroidered covers by which he set great store. I personally got on well with him, and I adopted when my time came many hints that he gave me as to various duties that the officer of the watch should perform.

We made a good passage home. I was favourably received, and after a spell of sick leave, which I had asked for to enable me to leave the coast, I was sent down to Dundee to join the American, the newest ship then fitting out. My application for sick leave was not humbug, however; I had had a touch of the sun one afternoon riding from the point to Durban, and the particular way the ailment should be treated caused a marked difference of opinion between two celebrated London physicians.

There was a very delightful old Scotchman who kept an hotel where we stayed in Dundee. His family were as hospitable as himself; I think the house was called the Globe, but anyhow it was close to the dock where the American was fitting out. One remark of his impressed itself upon my memory: “Ye ken we have a’ things in season in the good toon o’ Dundee,” and it seemed as if a good time was specially in season at that period. The builders of the ship, Stevens & Co. and some of their connections named Crowdace, were particularly attentive and civil to us all, but I entirely fail to remember who was chief officer of that ship. Baynton was in command and Mrs. Baynton was also with him. She came round to Southampton in the ship, and it was a fortunate day for me when she did so, for it enabled me to make a friendship that, apart from the pleasure it gave me, was of infinite value as far as my future prospects were concerned. To any young man I would say that if you come in touch with the ladies connected with your seniors or superiors, use your best efforts to interest and be agreeable to them, for apart from the advantage you derive from association with women possessing presumably “the knowledge of life,” you never know where it may not possibly be in their power to put in a word in the home circle that may be of benefit to you in your professional career. Some men may sneer at this advice, but my experience is that it is good. At all events Mrs. Baynton was a good friend to me.

When we got to Southampton there were many changes going on in the officering of the ships, and in the midst of it stood out the fact that there was a captain and a chief officer short who would have to come from somewhere. The manager of the Company in Southampton at that time was Mr. G.Y. Mercer; he had been with it from its creation, and possessed great power. He was a far greater man even than the marine superintendent. Now Mrs. Mercer and Mrs. Baynton were great friends, and it may be mentioned that the latter lived in a very charming house at Shirley, called Trafalgar Lodge; it was an ideal place for the people living in it. I was invited to dine there one evening, and doing so met Mr. and Mrs. Mercer. It was fairly evident to me afterwards why I had been invited, for after the ladies had left the table and the men were discussing things generally Mr. Mercer made the casual remark that “Nothing was certain in this world, not even that Crutchley would go out as second of the American.” Very shortly after this I was appointed to the Syria as chief, and my skipper was Garrett, late of the Roman, his first voyage in command. This opened up to me a new vista of boundless possibilities, for the ship was one of our best. Both the skipper and myself were new brooms and most anxious to sweep clean. Our second was named Merritt, a nice fellow who came from Cape Town. Garrett liked him very much, and when a year or so afterwards Merritt died as the result of an accident, was inconsolable for months.

The passage out was uneventful, but when we got to Algoa Bay we had some time to spend there. The ship was in beautiful order, even to the satisfaction of the skipper, who took a delight in trying to find out something amiss out of sheer mischief and for the love of tormenting me. Not that I minded in the least—it was good training—but for some reason or other it came to the front that there were one or two anchors and chains on the bottom in the vicinity of where we were anchored, and Garrett told me to find them and pick them up. I started to sweep and soon got fast to something heavy, and the work of recovery began. I picked up an anchor and chain, claimed as belonging to one of the Castle line, another anchor and chain, and also heavy moorings laid down for the company’s ships some years before. On the last day I was engaged in this operation, Garrett took Merritt on shore to the races, leaving me with a pious adjuration to be sure not to kill any one. It’s rather a mercy we had no accident, for we were dealing with heavy weights with makeshift gear. However, it was done, though when we got home the skipper was asked his reason for picking up the company’s moorings. There is no doubt, however, that it was a good piece of work, for it cleared a large space of the best anchoring ground; they were moorings that would have held a liner of today, but the place was not suitable for them.

On the passage home we called at St. Helena, and as there was some spare room in the afterhold, we took in a great number of casks of whale oil for Southampton. They were old and leaky and made an awful mess of my beautifully clean teak deck before we could stow them in the after lower hold. I had grave misgivings about them from the first, but had to do as I was told. When we got off Ushant there was a heavy beam sea and the ship rolled badly, with the result that they all collapsed and not a single cask was landed. It took days to clean the hold, and there had to be an extension of protest and all sorts of trouble to get clear of the liability for loss, and to put it on the shoulders of the insurance people.

When we arrived at Southampton, Garrett was relieved of his command and so far as I remember was appointed to a new coasting steamer. With him he took Merritt, who was succeeded by Dacre Bremer, an old Wigram’s man and a very nice fellow. The new captain was H.E. Draper, and even now after a lapse of years I find a difficulty in rightly defining his character. I was with him a long time in various ships, and found him kind and considerate; he had, however, a caustic wit that was very telling, and which was perhaps nourished at the expense of other more important qualities. I fail to remember anything of particular note that occurred either on the outward passage or on the coast, but homeward bound in the S.E. trades one beautiful Sunday afternoon I, with many others, was having a delightful sleep. I woke up feeling an awful vibration with the impression that the end of the world was upon us. As I tumbled out on deck the masts seemed to be bending together, and the first thing I remember was seeing the chief engineer making for the engine-room and driving before him some firemen who were trying to escape. The vibration soon ceased, and then we were informed that the main shaft had broken well aft in the tunnel, that it had very nearly gone through the side of the ship, that what remained was bent in the stern tube, and that we must stop the ship’s way until it was so secured that the propeller would not revolve. Now we were too far north to fetch St. Helena under canvas, for although the ship was brig-rigged and sailed fairly well, it was no use trying conclusions on a wind with the S.E. trade, so when the shaft was secured we set course for Ascension, and in due course made the island dead to leeward. The trouble was to get the ship before the wind, but it was done by a little scheming, and we rounded the east side of the island and luffed up for the anchorage in quite the approved sailing-ship fashion. The skipper, however, would not risk going into the proper anchorage, so we put the anchor down some distance out, and warped further in next day, in charge, much to my disgust, of a Naval lieutenant whose interference was to my mind quite unnecessary. Beggars, however, could not afford to be choosers. After a considerable amount of consultation it was decided that we should endeavour to trim the ship by the head so that we could unship the propeller, and that we should try and do this before the arrival of the American, which was expected in about a month, in the hope that she would give us a tow home. We had a fair number of passengers on board, but fortunately they could spend lots of their time on shore, where they were very welcome. Many of them, in fact nearly all, were ultimately transhipped to the Northam, which came in before the American, but it was no use looking to her for a tow; it took her all her time to get about herself. She did, however, bring Captain East, R.N., the new captain of the island, who, had he come earlier, would, I fancy, have advised other steps than those we had taken. It was then too late, however, for we had failed to trim the ship sufficiently by the head to get at the propeller, and had had to content ourselves with securing it with a length of stream chain, replacing all the cargo we had shifted and leaving the ship on an even keel. Thinking it all over, it seems rather a mercy that she did not capsize with us, for we took a good many liberties with her.

One evening Captain East was detained on board as the “rollers” were in, and a vessel in the offing was seen making signals. As they could not get off from the shore, I went in our gig to see what they wanted. She was the barque Dione short of provisions, and the skipper was very glad to avail himself of my assistance and that of the boat’s crew to get into the anchorage. I stood well over to the eastern point, tacked ship close in shore and then steered for the stern of the Syria, luffed up as I rounded it, and then, laying everything flat aback, put the anchor down in a beautiful inshore berth, where she got what she wanted the next day and went on her way rejoicing. That was the last sailing-ship I handled.

While waiting for the American we proceeded to get ready our towing gear, and for this purpose we got from the naval stores two big hawsers. One was a thirteen inch and a beautiful bit of rope, the other one as it turned out was afflicted with dry rot and gave a lot of trouble at odd times. We had none of us had any experience in the towing of ships, and I am greatly afraid the preparations we made were of an unsatisfactory nature, for we provided for four tow-lines, and that was three too many. By the light of experience it is easy to see that one large hawser shackled on to a bower cable which could be veered to any extent required by the ship being towed, would have given all the elasticity required to prevent breakage, and the towing ship could have slipped her end at any time she thought it necessary. In due time the American arrived, with Captain Baynton in command. She had a fair number of passengers too, who were not overjoyed when they learned that their passage would be delayed by towing us. But Baynton decided he would do it, and the hawsers were passed. We sent some firemen on board her, but before we got under way Baynton hailed us to send for them back, which we did, as he observed, “They want a nursemaid to look after them.” What the poor devils had done to offend him I know not, but he was of a very peppery nature, and had little patience with any obstruction. The scene getting those ships out of the roadstead must have been a source of high entertainment to the onlookers, and it was in no way creditable even as a first rehearsal. There are two things necessary to those carrying out such an operation—patience and moderation of language. Unfortunately we were none of us burdened with either, but we managed to get away after indulging in comments on all and sundry, to which the Commination Service would have seemed mild. We parted hawsers and generally made as big a mess of things as was possible. That scene, however, had its use, for when we could think it over it was a fine object lesson for the future. It all arose from the fact that there were two masters, and that was the weakness which was evident on many future occasions.

There is little need for me to go into daily detail. We carried the S.E. trade well north, and one morning we were informed by means of a black board exhibited over the stern of the American that we were to go into Goree for coal, and this we did. When we got there it was found that there was very little to be obtained, in fact only enough to take us to St. Vincent in the Cape Verde Islands. It would have been well if the American had gone there alone, filled up with coal and come back for us to tow in the comparatively smooth water near the land, but that was no part of Baynton’s idea. He had towed us so far, and did not intend to lose sight of us until he saw us safe so far as salvage was concerned, so over we went to St. Vincent, where the N.E. trade nearly always blows half a gale. There we found lots of ships and transports, for the Ashanti War was just over and the troops were being sent home. I seem to remember also that there were certain complications concerning anchorages, differences of opinion in fact, but before we had been there long in came the Roman homeward bound with Garrett in command, and to her the American transhipped such of her passengers as could be accommodated. We also, as did the American, took on board some of the returning troops, mostly the married men. Incidentally I may mention that the trooper Tamar was at anchor to windward of us, and I saw one afternoon a young lieutenant do the best bit of boat-sailing it was ever my good fortune to witness. I wish I could remember his name. When matters had been arranged we started again on our homeward way. It was blowing hard from the N.E., and as we left the harbour the tow-ropes at times stood out stiff as the ships pitched to it, but, as we found in time, it is easier to tow with a head wind than with a fair one. There were incidents in that trip that would have made the fortunes of a comic writer and artist, but they would run to too great length here. We called at Madeira for coal and set out on the last stage of the journey. There was a S.W. gale in the Bay of Biscay in which the ships parted company, and we were lost sight of for some time, but picked up again the next day, and again taken in tow for the run up-Channel. It was a Sunday, and remarks had been passed that we only wanted a really good collision to make our experiences complete, and as it happened we got it.

It was a fine cold night in March, and the Portland lights were in sight. I was in my cabin asleep, for all was going well, when in rushed the chief engineer asking for my tomahawk to cut the tow-ropes. I grabbed it myself and jumped on deck habited in a scarlet flannel sleeping suit, such as some of us rather affected at the time. There I found that a large sailing-ship had struck the American on the port side, making a big hole in her, and knocking down the engine-room skylight on top of the engines, so that they could not be moved. The Syria’s helm for some reason had been starboarded and we passed the stern of the sailing-ship dragging our tow-ropes with us; when these tightened the two steamers drew alongside one another and the Aracan, as the sailing-ship was called, lay across our two sterns. No one that was playing an acting part can describe a scene such as that. I can only record certain, impressions—I looked over the side and saw the interior of the ladies’ saloon of the American through a great hole in the side, a stewardess standing with a candle in her hand in blank amazement. On the quarter-deck of the American was Baynton as cool as a fish, with his chief beside him, saying that there were plenty to do the running about, all he wanted was his engines cleared. At the after end of the Syria was a crowd trying to board the American, thinking we were sinking. At the fore end of the American another crowd were coming on board us under similar delusion, and to add to it all some Irish women were yelling blue murder either from fright or devilment, I know not which. I got some of our boats in the water by the skipper’s orders and then went on board the Aracan, whose crew had left her, to get her clear of our stern. This I succeeded in doing. She drifted a short distance away and went down by the head, her masts crashing as the sails felt the water on her downward plunge. She had been loaded with ammunition for Hong Kong, and it was rather a mercy that nothing caused an explosion, for her bow was flattened in like a wall where she had sailed into the American’s side. When I got back to the Syria I got orders to hoist the boats, and, hailing one to come alongside, I asked who was in charge, “Sergeant Dighton, sir,” came back the reply. She was manned mostly by volunteers from marine artillery, passengers, and that incident always struck me as being comical. By this time they had cleared the American’s engines, and Baynton, seeing that the tow-ropes hung clear of his propeller, went full speed ahead like the fiend he was. Any other man would have got a spring out to separate the ships, but he meant to be out of it at the first minute at all costs—it was rather a mercy that we did not have some of the sticks down. Beyond a few breakages, however, little harm was done to us, and one of the tow-ropes held, so that we proceeded on our way to Southampton I cannot say how, but we got there the next day and I for one was not sorry.

There is a good deal of incident, even when you get on shore, over a collision case. The solicitor’s clerks are very busy collecting or procuring evidence of sorts. I believe there is more honest perjury in collision cases than in any other. It appears to me that no two men view the same thing in exactly the same light. Thus—

(a) There is the thing as it happened.

(b) The thing as each individual thought it happened.

(c) The thing that you state in court, after your solicitor has persuaded you the particular manner in which it ought to have happened.

After we got a new crank-shaft and repaired damages we had a change of captains. Draper had to stay behind for the law business, and I was once more shipmate with Vyvyan. The voyage passed pleasantly and without incident. I had been warned before leaving Southampton to hold myself in readiness to transfer to a coasting steamer, but as no one gave me positive orders to go I made the complete trip, one of the most pleasurable of all, the passage home being very jolly, with nice passengers.

I was ordered out as a passenger in the African to serve on the coast, and was told it was a compliment to be selected for the post, but that will need another chapter.